CHAP. V. The paying of a French compliment, which will be repaid in a future chapter. A fierce attack upon hairs. A niece compliment, and lessons gratis to untaught sword-bearers.

After the action of the Coa the enemy quickly possessed themselves of the fortress of Almeida, when there remained nothing between Massena and his kingdom but the simple article of Lord Wellington's army, of which he calculated he would be able to superintend the embarkation within the time requisite for his infantry to march to Lisbon. He therefore put his legions in motion to pay his distinguished adversary that last mark of respect.

The Wellingtonians retired slowly before them shewing their teeth as often as favourable opportunities offered, and several bitter bites they gave before they turned at bay—first on the heights of Busaco, and finally and effectually on those of Torres Vedras.

The troops of all arms composing the rear guard conducted themselves admirably throughout the whole of that retreat, for although the enemy did not press them so much as they might have done, yet they were at all times in close contact, and many times in actual combat, and it was impossible to say which was the most distinguished—the splendid service of the horse artillery, the dashing conduct of the dragoons, or the unconquerable steadiness and bravery of the infantry.

It was a sort of military academy which is not open for instruction every day in the year, nor was it one which every fond mamma would choose to send her darling boy to, calculated although it was to lead to immortal honours. A youngster (if he did not stop a bullet by the way) might commence his studies in such a place with nothing but "the soft down peeping through the white skin," and be entitled to the respect due to a beard or a bald head before he saw the end of it.

It is curious to remark how fashions change and how the change affects the valour of the man too. The dragoon since the close of the war has worn all his hair below the head and none on the top it, and how fiercely he fought in defence of his whiskers the other day when some of the regiments were ordered to be shaved, as if the debility of Samson was likely to be the result of the operation. My stars! but I should be glad to know what the old royal heavies or fourteenth and sixteenth lights cared about hairs at the period I speak of, when with their bare faces they went boldly in and bearded muzzles that seemed fenced with furze bushes; and while it was "damned be he who first cries hold—enough!" they did hold enough too, sometimes bringing in every man his bird, mustachoes and all. In those days they seemed to put more faith in their good right hand than in a cart-load of whiskers, for with it and their open English countenances they carved for themselves a name as British dragoons, which they were too proud to barter for any other.

Every attempt at rearing a moustache among the British in those days was treated with sovereign contempt, no matter how aristocratic the soil on which it was sown. But, to do justice to every body, I must say that, to the best of my recollection, a crop was seldom seen but on the lips of nobodies.

It was in the course of this retreat, as I mentioned in a former work, that I first joined Lord Wellington's army, and I remember being remarkably struck with the order, the confidence, and the daring spirit which seemed to animate all ranks of those among whom it was my good fortune to be cast. Their confidence in their illustrious chief was unbounded, and they seemed to feel satisfied that it only rested with him any day to say to his opponent, "thus far shalt thou come but no farther;" and if a doubt on the subject had rested with any one before, the battle of Busaco removed it, for the Portuguese troops having succeeded in beating their man, it confirmed them in their own good opinion, and gave increased confidence to the whole allied army.

I am now treading on the heels of my former narrative, and although it did not include the field of Busaco, yet, as I have already stated, it is foreign to my present purpose to enter into any details of the actions in which we were engaged, further than they may serve to illustrate such anecdotes as appear to me to be likely to amuse the reader. I shall therefore pass over the present one, merely remarking that to a military man, one of the most interesting spectacles which took place there, was the light division taking up their ground the day before in the face of the enemy. They had remained too long in their advanced position on the morning of the 25th of September while the enemy's masses were gathering around them; but Lord Wellington fortunately came up before they were too far committed and put them in immediate retreat under his own personal direction. Nor, as Napier says, "Was there a moment to lose, for the enemy with incredible rapidity brought up both infantry and guns, and fell on so briskly that all the skill of the general and the readiness of the excellent troops composing the rear guard, could scarcely prevent the division from being dangerously engaged. Howbeit, a series of rapid and beautiful movements, a sharp cannonade, and an hour's march, brought every thing back in good order to the great position."

On the day of the battle (the 27th) the French General Simon, who led the attack upon our division, was wounded and taken prisoner, and as they were bringing him in he raved furiously for General Crawfurd, daring him to single combat, but as he was already a prisoner there would have been but little wit in indulging him in his humour.

In the course of the afternoon his baggage was brought in under a flag of truce, accompanied by a charm to soothe the savage breast, in the shape of a very beautiful little Spanish girl, who I have no doubt succeeded in tranquillizing his pugnacious disposition. I know not what rank she held on his establishment, but conclude that she was his niece, for I have observed that in Spain the prettiest girl in every gentleman's house is the niece. The Padrès particularly are the luckiest fellows in the world in having the handsomest brothers and sisters of any men living,—not that I have seen the brother or the sister of any one of them, but then I have seen nine hundred and ninety-nine Padrès, and each had his niece at the head of his establishment, and I know not how it happened but she was always the prettiest girl in the parish.

It was generally the fate of troops arriving from England, to join the army at an unhappy period—at a time when easy stages and refreshment after the voyage was particularly wanted and never to be had. The marches at this period were harassing and severe, and the company with which I had just arrived were much distressed to keep pace with the old campaigners—they made a tolerable scramble for a day or two, but by the time they arrived at the lines the greater part had been obliged to be mounted. Nevertheless, when it became Massena's turn to tramp out of Portugal a few months after, we found them up to their work and with as few stragglers as the best. Marching is an art to be acquired only by habit, and one in which the strength or agility of the animal, man, has but little to do. I have seen Irishmen (and all sorts of countrymen) in their own country, taken from the plough-tail—huge, athletic, active fellows, who would think nothing of doing forty or fifty miles in the course of the day as countrymen—see these men placed in the rank as recruits with knapsacks on their backs and a musket over their shoulders, and in the first march they are dead beat before they get ten miles.

I have heard many disputes on the comparative campaigning powers of tall and short men, but as far as my own experience goes I have never seen any difference. If a tall man happens to break down it is immediately noticed to the disadvantage of his class, but if the same misfortune befals a short one, it is not looked upon as being anything remarkable. The effective powers of both in fact depend upon the nature of the building.

The most difficult and at the same time the most important duty to teach a young soldier on first coming into active service, is how to take care of himself. It is one which, in the first instance, requires the unwearied attention of the officer, but he is amply repaid in the long run, for when the principle is once instilled into him, it is duly appreciated, and he requires no further trouble. In our battalion, during the latter years of the war, it was a mere matter of form inspecting the men on parade, for they knew too well the advantages of having their arms and ammunition at all times in proper order to neglect them, so that after several weeks marching and fighting, I have never seen them on their first ordinary parade after their arrival in quarters, but they were fit for the most rigid examination of the greatest Martinet that ever looked through the ranks. The only thing that required the officers' attention was their necessaries, for as money was scarce, they were liable to be bartered for strong waters.

On service as every where else, there is a time for all things, but the time there being limited and very uncertain, the difficulty is to learn how to make the most of it.

The first and most important part lies with the officer, and he cannot do better than borrow a leaf out of General Crawfurd's book, to learn how to prevent straggling, and to get his men to the end of their day's work with the least possible delay.

The young soldier when he first arrives in camp or bivouac will (unless forced to do otherwise) always give in to the languor and fatigue which oppresses him, and fall asleep. He awakens most probably after dark, cold and comfortless. He would gladly eat some of the undressed meat in his haversack, but he has no fire on which to cook it. He would gladly shelter himself in one of the numerous huts which have arisen around him since he fell asleep, but as he lent no hand in the building he is thrust out. He attempts at the eleventh hour to do as others have done, but the time has gone by, for all the materials that were originally within reach, have already been appropriated by his more active neighbours, and there is nothing left for him but to pass the remainder of the night as he best can, in hunger, in cold, and in discomfort, and he marches before day-light in the morning without having enjoyed either rest or refreshment. Such is often the fate of young regiments for a longer period than would be believed, filling the hospitals and leading to all manner of evils.

On the other hand, see the old soldiers come to their ground. Let their feelings of fatigue be great or small, they are no sooner suffered to leave the ranks than every man rushes to secure whatever the neighbourhood affords as likely to contribute towards his comfort for the night. Swords, hatchets, and bill-kooks are to be seen hewing and hacking at every tree and bush within reach,—huts are quickly reared, fires are quickly blazing, and while the camp kettle is boiling, or the pound of beef frying, the tired, but happy souls, are found toasting their toes around the cheerful blaze, recounting their various adventures until the fire has done the needful, when they fall on like men, taking especial care however that whatever their inclinations may be, they consume no part of the provision which properly belongs to the morrow. The meal finished, they arrange their accoutrements in readiness for any emergency, (caring little for the worst that can befal them for the next twenty-four hours,) when they dispose themselves for rest, and be their allowance of sleep long or short they enjoy it, for it does one's heart good to see "the rapture of repose that's there."

In actual battle, young soldiers are apt to have a feeling, (from which many old ones are not exempt,) namely, that they are but insignificant characters—only a humble individual out of many thousands, and that his conduct, be it good or bad, can have little influence over the fate of the day. This is a monstrous mistake, which it ought to be the duty of every military writer to endeavour to correct; for in battle, as elsewhere, no man is insignificant unless he chooses to make himself so. The greater part of the victories on record, I believe, may be traced to the individual gallantry of a very small portion of the troops engaged; and if it were possible to take a microscopic view of that small portion, there is reason to think that the whole of the glory might be found to rest with a very few individuals.

Military men in battle may be classed under three disproportionate heads,—a very small class who consider themselves insignificant—a very large class who content themselves with doing their duty, without going beyond it—and a tolerably large class who do their best, many of which are great men without knowing it. One example in the history of a private soldier will establish all that I have advanced on the subject.

In one of the first smart actions that I ever was in, I was a young officer in command of experienced soldiers, and, therefore, found myself compelled to be an observer rather than an active leader in the scene. We were engaged in a very hot skirmish, and had driven the enemy's light troops for a considerable distance with great rapidity, when we were at length stopped by some of their regiments in line, which opened such a terrific fire within a few yards that it obliged every one to shelter himself as he best could among the inequalities of the ground and the sprinkling of trees which the place afforded. We remained inactive for about ten minutes amidst a shower of balls that seemed to be almost like a hail-storm, and when at the very worst, when it appeared to me to be certain death to quit the cover, a young scampish fellow of the name of Priestly, at the adjoining tree, started out from behind it, saying, "Well! I'll be d——d if I'll be bothered any longer behind a tree, so here's at you," and with that he banged off his rifle in the face of his foes, reloading very deliberately, while every one right and left followed his example, and the enemy, panic struck, took to their heels without firing another shot. The action requires no comment, the individual did not seem to be aware that he had any merit in what he did, but it is nevertheless a valuable example for those who are disposed to study causes and effects in the art of war.

In that same action I saw an amusing instance of the ruling passion for sport predominating over a soldier; a rifleman near me was in the act of taking aim at a Frenchman when a hare crossed between them, the muzzle of the rifle mechanically followed the hare in preference, and, as she was doubling into our lines, I had just time to strike up the piece with my sword before he drew the trigger, or he most probably would have shot one of our own people, for he was so intent upon his game that he had lost sight of every thing else.