UNDER ENGLAND’S FLAG (continued 2)

On the 3rd some information was obtained of the strength of the enemy, and it was rated so low as between 2000 and 3000. At night the order of march was given to commence at two o’clock, our General being probably anxious to come to blows before the enemy should have collected his full strength; but whilst the order of march was forming, an important reinforcement of several thousand (as we have since learned) arrived in the enemy’s lines.

If this reinforcement had not arrived, the opposing forces would have been nearly equal. As it was, Sir John Stuart, at daybreak on the 4th of July, with about 4000 men, found himself in presence of 7500 of the best troops of France.

To my eternal regret, I was not present at the battle. My mind was in a state of curiosity and high expectation, and when I received the order to remain behind, though aware of its necessity and justice, my disappointment was childish and excessive.

An entrenchment which we had thrown up on the beach required still to be completed, and our Chief was very anxious to strengthen it by an inundation, for which the mouth of a small rivulet offered great facilities. He felt it necessary to entrust an officer with the execution of his intentions, and as junior officer (in that spirit of perfect fairness with which he always treats us) he selected me, and sent me strict orders not to leave the spot until duly relieved. There was a high square tower at a short distance from our entrenchment, which was occupied by four companies of Watteville’s regiment under Major Fischer, who had remained to protect the point of debarkation.

By the time some sound of cannon announced the approaching conflict of the two armies, my inundation wanted little of completion, and my men were well under the observance of this tower.

From hence, therefore, with the veteran Major Fischer, I saw the general movements of the battle, near enough to be filled with the most terrible interest, to see the masses descend from the heights, tracked by smoke and fire, to see opposing bodies approaching to collision, and by the rapidity of motion to distinguish horse from foot, and where approaching columns had been lost to sight, to recognise their conflict from the sudden smoke of the volleys. But though near enough for this, I was too distant to pretend to give the description of an eye-witness, not indeed being able to distinguish one regiment from another, or indeed the enemy from ourselves, except from the direction in which each was moving.

What anxious moments did we pass, near enough to see where the battle raged, but not in what way it was decided. However, it was more like victory than defeat, we thought, as no runaways came to spread bad tidings, and the whole system of sights and sounds seemed rather more distant than more near.

At length I descried a brother-officer riding alone towards us. I flew to meet him.

“Well, Theso, you have been fighting all morning. What have you done? We are half dead with anxiety.”

“Oh,” said the good-natured fellow, “would you had been with us! Never was anything more complete. They are all but destroyed.”

“Now, God be praised!” said I, running to seize Theso’s hand. “God Almighty be praised! This is grand news indeed.”

“I came to tell you,” said he, “that you need stay no longer here. We don’t think of entrenchments now.”

“Then I may ride to the field, where I can better understand all you have been doing.”

So saying I mounted my horse, Theso giving some directions as to the right track, and away I cantered.

This might have been a scene harrowing to the last degree, for I might have found it full of suffering I had no power to mitigate, and have paid dearly in agony of mind for the gratification of a natural and overwhelming curiosity. But the noble compassion and prompt activity of the victors, aided by our generous sailors, had already removed from the field, without distinction of friend or foe, all who stood in need of the offices of humanity.

Still it was a field of battle smoking with recent carnage, peopled with prostrate warriors distorted with the death agony, harnessed for battle in gay colours, feathers, and gold, but stained and bathed in their own life-blood, having on that gory bed suddenly closed all the sanguine, joyous hopes of life.

A sight so disfigured, what heart of rock could long dry-eyed behold!

The events of the battle were in some sort told by the mute and motionless, but sad and appalling forms with which the ground was covered; all indeed were still and silent, but all bore the attitude of struggle, of fearful flight, or eager chase.

A picture of a battle represents but one instant; no figure can move, yet all seems stirring and tumultuous.

So, in some sort, is the actual field of glory. The chieftain’s hand is lifted to strike; his lips have not closed since the shout of victory or mandate of battle has passed through them. The passions, too, in the midst of death remain strongly impressed upon each warrior’s features. The daring courage, the bitterness of anger or revenge, and the thrilling agony of mortal pain—all speak distinctly in the countenance of the dead.

The route of the flying enemy was thickly tracked through the straggling course of the shallow Amato and up the heights beyond by slaughtered bodies of the 1st Regiment of French Light Infantry, which had ventured to charge ours with the bayonet. All lay in one direction, in the attitude of headlong desperate flight.

I forget the number of this regiment buried on the field, but a skeleton of it only could have escaped.

Amid all the disfigurements of wounds and scenes of human agony, nothing so powerfully inclined my heart to pity and compassion as the letters which lay near each unburied soldier, representing the last remains of the affections and softer feelings, as the body represented his warlike powers. Many of these, in female characters, were expressed with all the tender beauties of the French tongue, and, with an absence of reserve taught by the Revolution, showed by their intenseness of feeling how bitterly living hearts were to be grieved with the tidings of the scene before me.

No one can tell from description how wretched is the feeling, when standing over the body of a youthful soldier, to read in a fair female hand such expressions as these:—

“Oh, preserve thy life! Venture not too much for the sake of thy poor Adèle, who has never ceased to deplore thy absence, but who will think the first moment of thy return an ample compensation for all her sufferings.”

Return! shall that prostrate blood-stained figure ever return to the poor Adèle? The beauty of youth indeed has not yet left him, but by to-morrow the form even of humanity will be gone! Many of the letters were from all degrees of kindred—mother, wife, sister, daughter. It was impossible to read unmoved.

Poor Harry Paulet was dreadfully wounded in the thigh, and our Commandant had a beautiful horse killed under him.

* * * * *

Having been unable to be actually present at the battle of Maida, I write the following account from subsequent observation and inquiry, by which I satisfied my natural thirst to know all the events of this memorable day.

Battle of Maida

July 4, 1806.—The position of the enemy was at right angles with the trend of the beach, and so distant from it as to admit of operations between the sea and his left flank, which was weak from the nature of the ground, an inconvenience the enemy could not avoid from our being masters of the water, upon which was Sir Sidney Smith with a line-of-battle ship and three frigates. The British marched with extended flanks and a heavy column in the centre, the right flank covered by the sea, the left flank exposed, so that during the approach of the English the left flank of each army was more particularly exposed to the operations of the other.

General Regnier, thinking with some reason that the impetus of assault has much influence over the fate of battles, determined not to wait for our attack. He descended from his position, crossing the river Amato, which bathed its foot, and rushed upon the daring foe that was advancing to attack him.

It happened that the Light Infantry Corps, under Colonel Kempt, in advance of our right, was opposed to the Premier Regiment de L’Infanterie Légère, one of the most distinguished regiments in Napoleon’s service. After these two regiments had exchanged some well-directed volleys, the French corps rushed forward at the pas de charge, their commander exclaiming furiously as they advanced, “Ne tirez pas! ne tirez pas! À la bayonnette! à la bayonnette!”6

“Steady, Light Infantry!” shouted Kempt. “Wait for the word! Let them come close, let them come close! Now fire! Charge bayonets! March!”

All this passed in a moment, but duly as ordered each deed was done. When the French were very near they received a murderous volley from their steadfast-hearted opponents, who then, as one man, rushed forward to the charge. Just as that thing, which it is said has never happened, viz. the equal shock of opposing lines of troops, seemed inevitable, just as the two regiments seemed in the very act of contact, the French Light Infantry, as one man, turned round and fled. They were driven across the river and up the heights, and a horrible slaughter took place of this beautiful regiment, which was almost totally destroyed.

Other regiments now volleyed and charged, as is usual in battles, and the enemy’s left being totally routed, Regnier redoubled his efforts to make an impression with his right, but with no better success. Neither cavalry nor infantry could make the smallest impression in front.

The cavalry now made a rapid movement to turn our left flank, which was unprotected; but at this critical moment the 20th Regiment, which had just landed, led by the gallant Colonel Ross, advanced in such a manner, and so skilfully availing itself of the advantages of cover which the ground afforded, that the cavalry were compelled to go to the right-about under a galling fire.

The victory was now decided, the enemy flying with the utmost precipitation. But as we had no cavalry, he was enabled, with those regiments which had less entirely committed themselves, to preserve some order in his retreat.

The slaughter on the side of the enemy was immense, indeed hardly credible when compared to the smallness of our loss. In killed, wounded, and taken, the French loss has been estimated at more than 3000, while our total loss exactly amounts to as many hundreds, our killed amounting to 40 privates and 1 officer, while 700 Frenchmen were buried on the field. A French general (Compère), severely wounded, is amongst the prisoners. He led the enemy on to the charge with an acharnement that seemed like individual hate, and on being taken he rode with his shattered arm through our ranks, menacing with the action of his other arm, and cursing and swearing with the most voluble bitterness.

Another prisoner said, “Ma foi! they told us the English were fish that could only fight by sea, and knew nothing of the matter by land.”

An officer asked him “What he thought now?”

“Oh, now,” said he, “it’s quite another thing.”

Surely this must be considered a brilliant victory when the disparity of numbers is taken into account, and it is the more gratifying to us because Regnier stands so high in reputation, and also because one of these French fellows had formerly spoken very slightingly of the talents of our gallant little General.

After having advanced some miles in pursuit of the enemy, our army resumed the position of the morning.

The action began at half-past eight, and the firing ceased at eleven on the 4th of July.

July 5.—The army after so severe an exertion formed a sort of camp of rest about a mile from the field of battle, and near the sea, so as to have an easy communication with the fleet.7

Tents were established for the convenience of the officers, and all the wounded were comfortably accommodated on board, while whatever could contribute to the comfort of the troops was brought to them on shore.

After a short refreshment of this kind, the army advanced to Maida, and there took possession of some French stores.

Having increased its distance from the sea, all the comforts of camp equipage were abandoned, and we now bivouacked in the open fields, and shared in all respects the fare of the private soldiers. Our mess of raw meat was delivered to us in the same proportion as theirs; our camp kettle hung gipsy-like over a fire of sticks, and each officer’s cloak and blanket spread upon the ground served him for a bed and his valise for a pillow, where he lay with his sword by his side and his spurs on his heels, while his horse was picketed close at hand. In the morning I went to some rivulet or spring with shaving tackle and brush in my pocket, and sat down beside it, to lather and brush and scrape uncomfortably enough.

This was a fine climate and a fine season, and that mode of lodging on the bare ground had nothing in it really formidable to youthful strength and spirits, but I never thought it agreeable; and by far the worst night I spent was one in which we had all endeavoured to be a little more comfortable by making huts of branches of trees, and beds of the new-cut corn. An unhandy Sicilian, who acted as my squire of the body, had undertaken to make “my Excellency” a superb “camera frondosa.” Nothing could be worse. A few ill-arranged and ill-supported branches to shade my head only, and over these a loose thatch of wheat. I had made my own bed of golden flax, but he assured me this generated a malaria, and made me change it for bearded wheat. I no sooner lay down than every bearded ear, as if endued with life and motion, began to work itself into my pantaloons, which for coolness were of the dark blue Sicilian web silk, then worn by all our officers. Soon the discomfort this occasioned was increased by the changeful night.

My Dominico, the unhandy, had made the mouth of my little canopy to face the seaward wind, which now blew rudely upon me, drifting in all insects of nocturnal wing, especially the large, cold, chaffy locusts, with which the country was so covered that your horse kicked them up like dust under his feet. Awkward, ill-guided creatures, as big as one’s thumb, that when they got upon one did not know how to get away again.

My under-lip, like that of all the officers, was almost cleft in two by the effect of sun and night air, so that to laugh or smile brought tears into one’s eyes, and every time the wind dashed a locust against my face I gave myself a slap on the chops that stung my poor lip to distraction. Then it began to rain like the deuce, and soon giving weight to the wheat at top, the branches could no longer support it, so down it all came, wet bearded corn, branches and insects, all at once on my face.

I was extremely glad when this memorable night was over, and ere earliest dawn the signal for awaking sounded through the leafy roofs under which the army had that night reposed. At two o’clock I was busy in preparing my horse for his march, caring little now for the ill construction of my hut or all the disasters of the night.

The enemy, who had advanced to meet us from the south, having immediately after the battle retreated northwards to Catanzaro, instead of attempting to cover the country whence he came, it was plain that he no longer thought of defending Lower Calabria, which province with its garrisons he thus abandoned to his victorious adversary. Sir John Stuart was strongly minded to pursue these extraordinary advantages, and with his small unassisted army (for there was no indication of a national rising) to drive the French still further to the north, and increase the extent of his footing in the kingdom of Naples. There was certainly more gallantry than prudence about this idea; for when the interests which depend on this little army are considered, the importance of the Island of Sicily at this moment, and our trifling numbers for territorial occupation, there can be no doubt that those about the General, who prevailed with him to be satisfied with the conquest of the province8 almost touching this important island, with whose safety he was entrusted, did better service by their counsels than they could at that time have rendered by their swords.

Of this number, I believe, was his Quartermaster-General, a young man of great acquirement and high military promise; and certainly not the least influential of them was our own Commandant9 of the Royal Engineers, whose vigorous and strong professional opinion certainly had great influence, for the Quartermaster-General in reference to it used these emphatic words, “It has succeeded.” It was in conformity with the decision produced by these counsels that the Headquarters had moved to Monte Leone, and the General was now disposed to content himself with placing the province of Lower Calabria upon such a footing of military occupation as would delay its reoccupation even by a very superior force, and ensure to us for a considerable time both shores of the Straits of Messina.

Most of the ports to the southward of Monte Leone were so inconsiderable as to surrender on the first appearance of a military force or of a ship of war. But the port which by its position was by far the most important (viz. the castle, strongly built upon the rock of Scylla) was in a good state of defence, impregnable to assault, fully garrisoned, and commanded by the chief engineer of Regnier’s army; so as might have been expected, the commandant had treated the Admiral’s summons to surrender with contempt. It was necessary, therefore, to march against the place. And when the commander of the brigade which sat down before it gave a more serious summons, the Frenchman answered that before he could surrender he must at least see the means by which he could be reduced, meaning without doubt heavy artillery, so placed as to batter him in breach.

It became necessary therefore to attack this castle by a regular siege, and the army on the 12th of July began its march at four o’clock in the morning. It had not proceeded many miles before I, being then about fifty miles distant, received an order from my Commandant to repair to the siege also. So I set forward alone.

The road lies over bold mountains, and is so intricate and devious that I lost my way and greatly lengthened my ride; but having traversed the promontory of Tropea, the route is then more certain and confirmed—keeping still indeed over mountains, but having the near-sounding sea as a general guide, sometimes showing itself through the cleft of two mountain peaks, and sending up the report of every gun fired on its surface multiplied by the muffled echoes of the mountains.

After riding about fifty miles, the incessant sound of guns advertised me of my approach to the scene of action, and soon, by one of those dangerous paths whereon a horse moves with difficulty, and a stumble would precipitate both horse and rider many hundred feet, I descended to the small marine town of Scylla (bounded to the south by the peninsular rock on which the besieged castle stood), and saw on its highest tower (in spite of its investment by sea and land) the tricolour flag flying.

The rock on which the castle stands seems, as it were, shoved out a considerable way into the sea by the low and narrow isthmus which ties it to the shore, and from this isthmus it rears itself suddenly in the midst of the waves.

Before the castle was built this spot was probably an inaccessible peak of naked rock; the top, however, has been blown away to afford space for military occupation, leaving height enough to afford a formidable scarp of natural rock towards the land as the basement of the artificial rampart; towards the sea, an abrupt precipitous cliff, inaccessible to man, descends perpendicularly into the deep water.

The fort constructed upon the table of this peninsular rock was, up to a certain point, admirably adapted for security and strength. But that abrupt and lonely precipitousness of inaccessible circuit, which to the unlearned eye presented so imposing a picture of invulnerable strength, was in fact the radical defect of the position, which made it impossible to secure it against the means and measures of modern war. The great strength of modern fortification consists certainly in the glacis, or in that smoothly sloping mound which conceals and covers the rampart to the very chin, yet is severed from it by a deep and impassable ditch, screening it from every injury, even by the heaviest and most numerous ordnance, whilst its own gradual slope is swept by a rain and hail of cannon-balls, grape shot, and musketry, both from its own parapet and that of the superior rampart. But to construct this, ample space is necessary, and consequently for a rocky peak like Scylla, joined to the land by a narrowing isthmus, this work, so indispensable to durable strength, was totally unattainable.

The strength, then, of the Castle of Scylla lay briefly in this, that its reduction required the bringing against it of heavy artillery, capable of beating down the rampart that fronted the land.

So much for the castle which I now beheld, and which, surrounded with enemies by sea and land, and cut off from all connection with any friendly force, stood up boldly in the midst of that sapphire sea and unfurled the three-coloured flag of national defiance.

I shall now briefly describe the circumstances and things by which it was at this time surrounded, not so much on account of any historical importance attaching to this little siege, as because the classic associations and natural beauties of the scene consecrate it to memory, and its local form subjected all these operations to the eye, like some warlike spectacle in the theatre of the gods.

If we can fancy ourselves within the castle and looking over the isthmus in the direction of the land, behind us and almost all round us is the sea. On the left hand is the beach and town of Scylla. On the right the bold and mountainous shore takes a gradual sweep, till over a space of sea it looks down upon our right flank. Here Sir Sidney Smith has established a battery and hoisted the English colours.

Immediately in front, from the base of the isthmus, rises a steep cliff, whose brow, divided into several distinct hills, overlooks the castle at the distance of some five or six hundred yards. These heights have a surface very spacious, rising very gradually from the cliff towards the steeps of the Superior Mountains. Farms, vineyards, gardens, and country houses occupy and intersect this sloping headland. But the head of each hill or cliff looking upon the castle has been kept bare, probably with a view to defence, though unfortunately the same precaution had not been observed with respect to the ground nearer the foot of the cliff, and looking very close upon the main rampart; for there, for marine convenience, a little suburb had been suffered to rise, and it was behind the mask of one of these houses that the breaching battery was at last erected.

Beyond that vine-clad esplanade or level district which rose very gradually from the brow of the cliff, the heights, still clothed with cultivation, ascended more steeply towards the summit of that vast range of mountains, which makes this trend of coast so bold, imperious, and pre-eminently beautiful.

It was partly upon, and partly still above, these steeper slopes that the besieging army bivouacked, as the nearer ground would have made them liable to annoyance from the guns of the castle.

All the necessary communication with the army from Sicily and from the sea was by a rugged mountain path formed upon the side of an awful ravine, whose embouchure opened upon the beach between the town and castle.

The road which this ravine afforded was not only difficult but likely to cause frightful accidents; for when I ascended by it the first time, to join the besiegers’ army, I saw where a sumpter horse heavily laden had fallen the day before with its load, and the poor animal was still visible lying on its back some hundred feet below.

To supply the requisites for a siege by such a road, it may well be believed, was difficult in the extreme, and would have been impossible but for our all-conquering sailors, who with their tackling and their “yo-hee-ho” hauled the guns and carriages up the rocks at the points nearest to the ground chosen for their position. Yet it was some days after my arrival before operations could be commenced, and much of those days I passed in a lofty observatory built of branches, in so elevated a position that I looked down upon the castle and the sea.

On one side I saw the Neapolitan gunboats, and on the other Sir Sidney Smith’s battery, cannonading the castle, and the castle occasionally making a shrewd shot at the gunboats, which also, oftener than the castle, were startled by the plunging fire of our naval battery. On the arrival of my Commandant all these futile operations died away. The General and the Admiral equally relied upon the resources of his science and the natural energy of his powerful mind, and after some loss from irregular experiments, no one was suffered to interfere with his plan of operations.

He went with us to the embouchure of the ravine to have a good view of the castle from head to foot; and whilst he stood with his uplifted telescope carefully examining the nature of its defences, a cannon-ball very nearly struck him, and covered him with sand; but he never even lowered his telescope or remitted his attentive speculation, and only showed that he was aware of the fact by saying, as he continued to look through his glass, “What asses, to fire in that way at an individual!”

It seemed to my inexperience that this was standing fire tolerably well—brave and invincible Lefebure! It was as he stood just so, with his eagle glance bent on the foe, the last to quit a ruined fort he was ordered to evacuate, that in after years a cannon-ball struck his breast, and severed his brave spirit from his noble form.10

That there might be no disappointment in the stores expected from Messina, I was desired to cross the Faro, superintend their embarkation, and return with them. For this purpose I took one of the Calabrese boats which lay on the beach.

The warders of the castle seeing a British officer put off in a boat, honoured us with a shot or two, to the great and undissembled terror of the boatmen, while I was doing all I could to imitate the cool indifference of our Commandant on the preceding day; but we soon got out of their range, and they ceased to fire, which made me wonder the more to see that the boatmen were going a devious course, sometimes one way, sometimes another. “What now,” said I, “body of Pluto! what ails the rogues?”

“Zitto! zitto! cellenza!” they whispered, and with their eloquent hands at once motioned me to be quiet, and to come forward to the prow. There on the very peak one of the men, having thrown off his jacket and shirt, stood up, as straight as a mast, with his flat hands pressed together on his breast, and looking down intensely upon the sea. Following the direction of his eyes, I perceived at a great depth, in the bright blue sea, rowing itself contentedly along, a turtle of a size uncommon in these waters. With great dexterity they so managed the boat as to follow closely the course of the turtle; and when they had brought the prow of the boat nearly over him, the man who stood there, lifting his joined hands above his head, turned himself over, and went head foremost like an arrow into the sea.

In a moment up he came again, bearing the dripping, gasping turtle on its back, in his two hands, clear above the water, flapping its oary legs, and gasping with its hawk’s beak; the man treading the water, panting and laughing at his exploit, and his delighted companions, as they relieved him of his load, all applauding him at once, helping him in, and saying, “Bravo, Signor, bravissimo! La Maestro! da capo! et viva!”

I thought I never saw a neater bit of fishing. A small silver coin served to make the turtle my own, and I determined to take him back with me to see what we could make of him.

* * * * *

But to return to Scylla. Before heavy guns could be got up, it was thought advisable to make such use of the Light Artillery as could destroy as much as possible the defences or fire of the enemy.

The most anxious night I ever passed was in erecting a breastwork for two 12-pounders within half musket-shot of the place, as everything depended upon its being completed before the light should discover us to the enemy. And though I explained to the men their danger if they should be discovered, it did not appear to create in them any extraordinary vigour. On the contrary, if my back was an instant turned, I found half of them asleep or sitting down, and it was difficult to detect them owing to the darkness of the night. Only by the most violent means could I extort a tolerable portion of labour, though I knew that if we were not covered before dawn, the spot was so exposed that at least half the party would be sacrificed.

By perfect silence, however, we avoided discovery during the night, favoured by the enemy being himself employed, as we could distinctly hear by every move, which, at cautious intervals, interrupted the silence of the night. The radiance of the stars faintly delineated the features of the gloomy horizon, and when the light of day discovered us to the enemy, he opened upon us a very brisk fire of musketry without intermission for an hour and a half, which, after being partially silenced by a howitzer, continued at intervals until the battery was finished. We were so well covered, and so little remained to be done on the outside, that only one man was wounded.

Nothing could be prettier than the siege to a person out of fire. The ruddy evenings gave the most tranquil warmth to the scene, which was bounded in front by the Lipari Islands, with Scylla on the left, and the beautiful Calabrian promontory on the right, and the only thing wrong was that the volcano should (quite contrary to usual practice) choose to remain in perfect repose.

When I left Scylla, the two 12-pounders had destroyed a part of the fort which hitherto had given us considerable annoyance, and in two days it was expected that we should open a battery of four 24-pounders within 150 yards of the castle, which could not fail in a few hours to knock it to pieces. The result was that Scylla surrendered on the 23rd July 1806.

* * * * *

Now for myself. I was ordered to put myself under the command of Lieut.-Colonel M’Leod, who with his regiment (78th) was to proceed on a reconnaissance on the eastern coast of Calabria; and here I am, installed on board the London transport, and probably after a month’s cruising we shall come back and settle quietly in Messina.

“London” Transport (off Calabria), July 20, 1806.

My dearest Father—I seize the only advantage immediately resulting from being cooped on board, viz. the opportunity to address one’s friends leisurely and comfortably; and as the duty on which I am now going is not likely to be at all dangerous, I have no fears of alarming you by giving as much account of myself as will be comfortable to you and me.

* * * * *

H.M.S. Amphion, July 24, 1806.

My situation has been considerably amended as to comfort since coming on board this ship, which is commanded by the brother of my friend Hoste, R.E., whom I never spoke to until my arrival in the Bay of St. Eufemia. Yet with the most gratifying attention, he has rescued me from the miserable transport, where I was destitute even of those comforts which usually palliate the sufferings of a transport imprisonment, and taken me into his own cabin, which is like most other cabins of men-of-war—a compact assemblage of convenience and comfort. It was besides in some ways better that I should be here with Colonel M’Leod, who came the moment we fell in with the frigate, which, with the vessels and boats under the command of Captain Hoste, is to co-operate with the troops under Colonel M’Leod.

Very important despatches were intercepted yesterday; they were from King Joseph to General Regnier, containing a positive order to retire to Cassano, which is completely out of Calabria.

The King is afflicted and yet more astonished at the conduct of the troops, which rendered nugatory the good arrangements of General Regnier. He would have the 1st Regiment of Light Infantry reminded that they never before had any fear of the English, but always made them fly before them; and the rest of the troops—that they have, until this unfortunate moment of panic-struck terror (for which His Majesty is unable to account), been uniformly victorious. But above all, they are desired to remember that they are Frenchmen, and also to be assured that the Emperor shall be ignorant of their conduct until some fresh intelligence convinces H.N.M. that it is really a body of French troops of which General Regnier has the command.11

We are every moment receiving on board the leaders of the Patriot Mountaineers, who are the most striking, barbarous-looking fellows.

6th August.—I send these sheets as they are. I have no time to revise, and add the conclusion of my expedition, as tho’ I am at present on board the Amphion, yet not much time will elapse before I tread the firm ground of Messina.

The march of the enemy from Catanzaro towards Naples was very much harassed by the frigate, which threw her shot with admirable precision, insomuch that the column, dispersed and flying for cover, with the utmost precipitation, presented a favourable moment for the Mountaineers, which, alas! they let escape them.

This system of annoyance on our part was followed up on the enemy’s camp, north of Cotrone, from whence they marched in the night, leaving a garrison in the fortress which surrendered to our summons.

When we went on shore we were joyously received by the poor oppressed inhabitants, and the nobility of the town vied with each other in attention to us.

Being chief engineer I was attached to Captain Hoste and Colonel M’Leod, so that my situation was as pleasant as possible; for neither of the commanders treating me with the least Big-wig, we carried on the war like three jolly fellows.

A carriage waited each day at the Marina for our coming on shore, and a good dinner was prepared for all the officers.

The first day we dined at the house of a baron whose family had during the stay of the French been in the most terrible alarm, as the house was just in the range of fire between the vessels and the fortress.

One daughter was very beautiful, and I asked her if she was glad that the French were gone; she looked pensive and pale, and answered “Ma quanto.”

There was something gratifying though melancholy to me in the way these people clung to us in all their fears—for the French being gone, their alarm as to the depredations of the native masses was equally oppressive.

During dinner, some of the savage chiefs entered upon business with Colonel M’Leod, and this young creature showing evident signs of inquietude, I asked if she were afraid? “Con voi—no,” with much softness of expression, replied the beautiful Italian.

The British authorities, however, with very laudable solicitude, by threats and promises ensured to the town tranquillity, and quite calmed the fears of the inhabitants.

Yet I was shocked at some of the misery which I saw; alas! human misery can attain a very high pitch.

Colonel M’Leod desired me to give him a report upon Cotrona.

Now, reports are very ticklish sort of things, it being no difficult matter to get the wrong side, and then you are subscribed a fool in black and white to the end of your days—and this was the first time I had been called upon to act by myself. I obeyed orders with much trepidation, but as I afterwards found that Colonel M’Leod, in a despatch to Sir T. Stuart, called my paper “an able report, the ideas in which coincide with his own,” I am well satisfied, and indeed I have had a most pleasant expedition.

Messina (2 hours later).

I find that General Moore has arrived. I hope I was recommended to him.—Ever your dutiful son,

C. B.

* * * * *

Messina, August 13, 1806, and August 28.

My dearest Mother—I am just returned from a most unexpected cruise in the Gulf of Taranto (mouth of the Adriatic), where I was despatched at a very short notice to reconnoitre Gallipoli and Tarentum, port towns in the Gulf, and I this day carried in my report to H.E. General Fox, who is a man of pleasant manners and sensible appearance.

I was sent out in H.M.S. Wizard, a very fast-sailing brig, Captain Palmer commander, and as he could not take me into the harbour of Tarentum in the brig, owing to the batteries on an island at the mouth—from which they gave us a hint or two—he lowered his boat, and we advanced unmolested, very near the walls of the town, which imprudence nearly cost us our liberty. For the enemy on the watch let us come on as far as we would, and the moment we turned, sent out a boat full of soldiers with a huge sail. We attempted for some time to sail before them, but finding they gained on us very fast, the sail was downed, and we threw ourselves upon hard rowing for escape, which at one time neither the captain nor myself had any hopes of; and I felt no small degree of exultation to find myself on board H.M.S., as I was far from wishing to be captured in so silly a manner.

They tell us of peace, but I will not believe it. No Minister can, no Minister dare make peace in the present position. Nothing, in my opinion, but this island being an acknowledged British colony, could justify our admitting Joseph’s title to Naples, and we cannot do this without providing for this king, and if he be provided for, somebody else must be robbed. No, no, it won’t do.—Adieu, my dearest mother, ever your affectionate son,

Charles.

* * * * *

September 1.

To-day I wish my dearest father much good sport, and you a good appetite to enjoy his success.

I am ashamed, my ever dearest lady mother, to send you so dirty a letter, but I trust you will excuse it, as I was hurried by the idea of the vessel sailing.

Sir John Stuart carries the mail in which are these letters. I hope the country will receive him as the daring nature of his exploits and the fulness of his victory warrant and demand.

* * * * *

Messina, October 10, 1806.

My dearest Father—I have seen but little of General Moore. When I meet him he treats me in the most agreeable way possible. I dined with him the other day. He came very close to my heart talking of you in a very friendly manner. Not indeed that he said much, but when he mentioned you, he had a sort of friendly satisfaction very agreeable. He told me I was not such a slim fellow as you, and asked about your shooting, etc.

I feel it a sort of comfort to have some interest with a man who may possibly prevent my being left in holes and corners when I should be elsewhere.

General Sherbrooke is here. I do not know him, but hear he is a first-rate officer.

We are extremely anxious for the packet. We expect to hear by the next arrivals what our countrymen think of the battle of Maida.—Your dutiful and affectionate son,

C. B.

* * * * *

Catania, Feb. 21, 1807.

My ever dearest Father—I did not remember until I dated this letter that probably in the course of this day I should come across your recollection. I beg your blessing, and that of my dearest mother, and I pray God to bless you both, that you may long be able to give it me on the return of this day.

My change of place prevents my writing so often as formerly, from not being in the way of opportunities.

The packet of January has arrived, and possessed us of very late papers.

It is believed here that the French, having crossed the Vistula, have been beaten by the Russians, and any reverse with so large a river in their rear would be incalculable. It is likewise believed that Buonaparte is at Paris, endeavouring to reinforce his army, in spite of a general ferment throughout France.

An expedition is expected to leave Sicily every hour, generally supposed to be destined for Alexandria; but it is difficult to conceive why we should wish to garrison Alexandria (the Porte having defied us). As Turkey will do for the enemy as well as Egypt in respect to India, to seize Constantinople would seem more desirable, for I think there is no doubt but that Napoleon will occupy the states of his ally as far as he thinks expedient; and thus we should anticipate Buonaparte and preserve the passage of the Dardanelles.

If this expedition is going to Egypt, I am glad I remain here, but if Constantinople, I shall much regret that I was not ordered to join it. There is still, I believe, some doubt about its going at all, but I trust our dear old sturdy State will still be superior to the continental commotion. She never saw the time more calculated to try whether she be a solid fabric or no. For in this dearth of political talents, and of all talents (for there are no great men as yet visible), she must go almost by herself.

I am now quartered in this most beautiful town (Catania) upon Mount Etna, which I shall ascend when the fine weather comes, if I am still here.

I am rather inclined to believe that the war is near its close; but I cannot discern the end.—Ever, my dearest father, your very affectionate and dutiful son,

Charles.

* * * * *

Augusta, May 25, 1807.

My dearest Mother—I make an effort to save this packet, because you will perhaps be anxious about Egypt, of which you will now learn such unpleasant intelligence. There is at present no prospect of my going there, altho’ I expected it some days ago, for I should think that the first advices from England will lead to the evacuation of that precarious possession. By what I can learn, General Fox designs to maintain Alexandria until he can receive new instructions.

Captain Lefebure, to my great vexation, has at his own desire been relieved from his command by Major Bryce. He wrote me a long and very kind letter upon the subject, and I transcribe a paragraph which occurs at the latter end, because I know it will give old Dad pleasure:—

“Dear Boothby, praise from me is superfluous, but I must yield to my feelings, and give you my hearty thanks for your unremitted, zealous, and useful professional support since we have been on the same service.”

I am here under the command of Colonel Campbell, who, I suppose, is one of those men than whom there cannot be a better. I never knew him before.

Augusta is on a peninsula between Syracuse and Catania. The party of Guards with whom I live is the pleasantest society that can be, and I sometimes go over to Syracuse, where I see Lord Fred Bentinck, who is a capital fellow.

General Fox comes here to-day. He came here some time ago, but was suddenly called to Messina by the Egyptian despatches. Being obliged to go away early in the morning, he desired me to walk home with him after dinner to show him a plan of the works, in which walk he talked a great deal about Minorca and your family. My kindest love to all.—Ever your truly affectionate son,

Charles.

The packet is gone, but a friend of mine goes to England under convoy of the Intrepid, which will sail immediately with General Fox, leaving General Moore in chief.

Copy of Letter from Sir John Moore to Lieutenant Boothby, R.E., Augusta:—

Messina, August 18, 1807.

My dear Boothby—I had the pleasure of receiving your letter of the 22nd July, on my return from Palermo, two days ago. All I shall say at present is, that I have a strong wish to serve and to oblige you.

I shall speak both to Major Bryce and to General Oakes on the subject of your wishes, and when an opportunity offers, if the situation is thought eligible for you and can be managed, you shall have my interest.—I have the honour to remain with great regards, very faithfully,

John Moore.

* * * * *

Augusta, Sept. 14, 1807.

My ever dearest Father—The arrival of the packet at Malta has relieved very strong apprehensions for her safety. If, as I hope, there are a great many letters for me, I shall not get them until they are delivered at Messina, and sent from thence hither. It always happens in this manner that my answers are never able to reach the return mail, but on this occasion I am determined to answer by anticipation.

I can at least assure you that I am perfectly well, which is all in the present press that I have time to do.

The heat of the summer caused an epidemic of fever, which has now, however, almost entirely subsided. It plagued me for about a week, since which I have been rudely well, though the weather has been hot to a most irksome degree, and I have been obliged to brave the sun at the peril of no other inconvenience than the prickly heat—if you know what that is. I have indeed been harassed more by anxiety than labour: the former, however, is nearly at an end now.

When I found my fever gone and my appetite returned, and nothing left but depression of spirits and a little languor, I puts me into a boat at night by a beautiful moon, more lovely than the sun, and starts me for Syracuse for the next day’s races, where I had a horse to run, and I knew there would be jollity.

I arrived much fatigued and slept a most excellent night, and breakfasted late next morning—no sooner finished, than the sporting gentlemen entered, and roused me up with a long pole, and the quicksilver mounted directly; for these were people that I much affect.

But first of all, for fear you should suppose that there is much extravagance in this affair, I must tell you how it goes.

The races have been generally about once in six weeks, subscribers pay a guinea, and each subscriber may, if he pleases, enter a Sicilian horse. The guineas thus collected are divided into four parts or three, according to the number of horses, which are also arranged in classes according to their merits. The winner of each class gets one of the divisions of the money, and then all the winners run for the last division. They are weighted by handicaps.

In this manner my horse has won for me upwards of twenty guineas. I should always subscribe whether I had a horse or not, because the meeting is more pleasant than anything in this horrid country, and I can afford it. With a little care I keep my head very well above water.

Well, on the race day I was very merry, and dined in the evening with the Jockey Club, which was entertained by a man by everybody loved and esteemed for his excellence of all sorts, and who was by me additionally regarded, because we were made acquainted by a letter from poor Gould,12 who was his first cousin. Finding myself de buon appetito, I drank lots of champagne well iced, and since have enjoyed robustness of health.

I do not see where will be the sense in talking to you about what you will see in the papers. They now say that the seven islands are all strictly blockaded; and it appears, by a letter from our Consul at Corfu to Colonel Campbell, that Cæsar Berthier with 1500 men had taken possession of Corfu, and felt himself critically situated with so small a force in case of attack from us.

I fancy Zanti and the other islands are not yet occupied by the French. We are all in a bustle to put the fortresses in a good state of defence, and indeed, now the French have nothing else to do, it behoves us to be very much on our guard if we are to keep the island.

But I imagine that the immediate preparation was against any attempt that might be meditated from Corfu—the very island which now appears to have been in equal fuss on our account.

As I have been some time resident here upon other business, I was desired to draw up a full memoir upon the defences of the place,13 which I set about reluctantly and fearfully, unwilling to write myself ass, and not knowing that it would so soon come in question.

The thing gave much anxiety and trouble, but it seems that I have not come very wide of the mark, as I am threatened with an order to execute most of my proposals. This is very pleasantly terminated, as I wrote to recommend that an older officer should be sent down (which some would call spiritless, but we call honest); and now I find that the Captain whom I particularly wished to have, is ordered to come here immediately.

September 27.—Since I last wrote I have been highly delighted with a visit to the crater of Mount Etna, which is not only more sublimely terrific and more dreadfully beautiful than anything else I ever beheld, but much more than my imagination had ever pictured. I had been so much occupied since my residence in this island, as to be prevented from joining any of the numerous parties of last year. Thus I began to be very apprehensive that I might labour under the reproach of residing near two years in Sicily without beholding one of the most stupendous objects of nature—the greatest of volcanoes. But the history of my ascent to Mount Etna must be suspended sine die.

We were fortunate in finding the crater in an incessant state of fiery eruption—tremendous indeed! It threw out red stones very near us. The guide was alarmed. Hereafter I may relate more at length an excursion strongly impressed upon my mind.

An expedition is on the eve of departure from Sicily. It will have about 7000 men, commanded by General Moore and General Paget—the Guards and Moore’s own regiment (52nd),—in short, the flower of the army.

I wrote to go, and was gratified to find that I was in the arrangement. I am told that it is intended to place me on the staff. At any rate I am delighted to go.

Nobody can guess our destination. All parts of the world have been conjectured, England and Ireland not excepted.

I have been very lucky never to be ill on these occasions, and am much pleased at being remembered, though in this out-of-the-way place, and being placed immovably on the list.

I long to see General Moore wave his hat, and hope we are to trim the real French—and no auxiliaries nor Turks.

Burgoyne is Commanding Engineer, and almost all my friends and people to whom I am attached are going, which gives much huzza to my feelings. I should certainly have hanged myself had I been left in this hole after the Guards had left it, and when all my world had gone forth. Perhaps my being on the expedition may much expedite my return to God’s dearest blessings, which I prize so far above all other earthly goods. It is fortunate for a man’s piety when the objects of his gratitude are so undeniably great as to fill his heart and make him know how good God has been to him. I have come to that state when I would be thought truly pious—I had always a hankering after it,—as I find that nothing encourages half so much the gladness of the heart or the sublimity of the mind.

With infinite love, your truly affectionate

Charles.

October 17.—At the time the above was written the fleet was getting under way, and was to rendezvous at Syracuse, where it was to be joined by the troops from Egypt, who were already at Messina. Colonel Campbell had no idea of the destination of the expedition. An order has since gone out for its recall to Sicily.

“Elizabeth” Transport, Mediterranean Sea, 240 miles from Gibraltar. Foul wind, fresh. November 29, 1807. 30 days at sea.

My dearest Louisa—I know nothing more efficacious in my present misery than writing to you, by which for the moment I may lose the consciousness of it. Do not be alarmed; they are only the miseries of this restless element and stinking prison to which I allude.

On leaving Sicily some one persuaded me that our undoubted destination was Palermo. When that was passed, we all thought Lisbon the mark. Now we learn by the Minstrel (which spoke the Queen about ten days ago) that the Prince Regent of Portugal has declared against us; and I am inclined to think that this event may make the object of this army a secret to Sir John Moore himself; but Brazil is the general speculation. For my part I think our return more likely, as it appears of increasing importance to rivet Sicily as our perpetual colony—a measure which I am persuaded would be unattended with difficulty in the execution, and, as far as I can judge, filled with advantage in the end.

But leave we this to the wise, while we content ourselves with ourselves.

I find complaints about not writing so unavailing that I am quite puzzled how to act. I will have no letter that can be written in a day; I will have a journal! a compilation! Why do I see others—Colonel Campbell, for instance—receive packet upon packet copiously filled? Do you think that because he is a great man his friends write to him about State affairs, which are better treated in the papers—or Philosophy, or History perhaps? No, no; they write to him those heaps of gossip which are interesting only to him, but which of course delight him a thousand times more than any other subjects. Those incidents, dear Lou, which you think too trivial to send two thousand miles, never considering that domestic anecdotes so many thousand miles as they travel are so many thousand times more valuable to a man of affections than if sent to him a trifling distance, which you would not scruple to do.

It surprises me the more that you, my dearest lass, are silent, who write with such apparent facility and impress your expressions with the graces of your nature—the true secret to make correspondence delightful—when that which I have long loved in yourself breathes through your letters and gives them the air of your conversation.

I therefore recommend that you would keep a regular journal, enough to make me an immense letter once a month; and don’t be particular about a subject, so as you talk about what is actually going on amongst you. If “Molly Morley be brave to what she war,” it is very interesting to hear so, and if you still keep your taste for barley sugar! which I doubt not! But Brookes’ exploits must always be productive, with his badgers and things, and I thank you again for those anecdotes. I wrote the lad a letter some time ago. How I long to see him! Nobody makes me laugh half so much as he does, and I love a hearty laugh.

But my home letters feel always so skinny between the finger and thumb that I am always sure there cannot be much in them, and every line I read I grudge, for fear of coming to the end. When once I do get home what a zest will my absence give to every blessing; for whereever I go or whatever I see, I may say with the feeling Goldsmith—

I long incessantly to return to the bosom of that family to which may be applied the words of a less celebrated poet—

This letter will probably be concluded from Gibraltar, where I may have a better idea of my destination. At present I am tired out with this tedious passage and tossing about from one side of the cabin to the other. The soup in my lap! and my fist in the pudding. Oh dear! Oh dear! But now, please Neptune, we may have a fair wind, and may run into Gibraltar in two or three days. The only amusement on board ship is light reading and making verses. It is quite impossible to bore.

Since I came on board I have read with a good deal of attention for the first time Dryden’s Virgil and Pope’s Homer, from which in themselves I did not derive half so much pleasure as the conviction of Milton’s decided superiority to both.

A man reading a translation cannot of course judge of the language or numbers of the original, but these I believe are not of the first consequence, and Pope is generally esteemed a greater master of both than Milton (though I am myself quite of a contrary opinion); but it is in the thoughts that Milton so astonishingly surpasses, I think, both Homer and Virgil; for surely nobody who reads Paradise Lost, and the Iliad by Pope, can doubt how cumbersome rhyme is to an epic poem, or how much it relaxes the energy of the verse, or how much grander a translation of Homer Milton could have furnished than that for which we are so greatly obliged to Pope. I prefer the Odyssey to the Iliad, and the Georgics to the Æneid, for the latter is something like a servile imitation of the Greek.

By the way, if you have never read Boswell’s Life of Johnson, let me recommend you to a most delicious entertainment. Although the biographer portrays himself an inconceivable goose, I never met with anything so interesting as his book, nor so wonderful as the conversation and universal wisdom of Johnson, whom he will never believe to be a coward, though it were proved in fifty thousand courts—and this indissoluble attachment is with me called rectitude of heart.

* * * * *

Gibraltar, December 4, 1807.

After a most unpleasant passage of thirty-six days, we arrived here on the 1st inst. We have received no intelligence of any sort. Sir John Moore has sailed alone to the westward, and it is supposed that his object is to concert what may be best, by what he may find to have happened at Lisbon. All thoughts of South America seem to have subsided; and if in the end we do return, our advance and enterprise do not seem to be yet quashed, from the orders which the General gives us.

I have been much gratified by a letter from the mother of my friend,14 promising that the epitaph I sent should be placed on his tomb, and professing to have derived much comfort from my sympathy, and from the affectionate tribute paid to her son’s memory. It has in a manner set my heart at rest on this melancholy subject, for there is a great mental satisfaction, if no solid sense, in the consideration that I have performed the last sad duty to his ashes, by establishing a little register of his virtues and our friendship, which otherwise would have sunk with me and those who loved him into oblivion, the idea of which is horrible.

5th December.—The mail closes to-morrow and I have no time to alter or peruse anything—so take it as it is—it’s just a talk.—Yours,

Charles.

* * * * *

Isle of Wight, St. Helens, December 29, 1807.

Ever dearest Father—If you have not been prepared for it, my arrival in England will be to you an agreeable surprise, as in fact it is almost to me.

We had a favourable passage of thirteen days, and came to anchor last night. When I have seen Sir John Moore in Portsmouth and General Morse in London, I shall be better able to fix my movements; at present my thoughts are to stay here two or three days, then to London, and so meet you at Sudbury before the 9th.

Hereafter I shall probably wish to adhere to General Moore, who has intimated a disposition entirely friendly to me. But I cannot help hoping to spend the greater part of the winter with you—a hope, however, too flattering to be implicitly trusted. I heard, by means of Colonel Campbell, the valuable intelligence that you were all well on the 12th November. As I trust we shall meet very soon I need not lengthen this letter, farther than to say how much I am, my dearest Dad, your ever most affectionate

Charles.

P.S.—There is not such an air of happiness in this letter as my situation may be supposed to inspire. The fact is, I fear giving myself too much up to certainty which may possibly forerun disappointment.—Adieu.

Letter from Lieut. Charles Boothby to Sir John Moore

Sudbury, March 1808.

Dear Sir—I did myself the honour to wait upon you in London, and trust that you will allow me to say by letter what I would have expressed in conversation.

I experienced with much regret the breaking up of that army in which I felt so fortunately situated and befriended by you. But I do not despair of being again under your command, which is my first wish, and have only to fear the being sent out of the way before anything should occur.

As your kindness on that head, as on all others, left me nothing to desire, I am anxious to state that my wish to belong to an army of which you have the command is entirely independent of any hopes I might suffer to arise in consequence of your late disposition to indulge my wishes and promote my advantage, and that I shall ever esteem myself sufficiently fortunate to meet with active practice in my own particular profession under your auspices in any part of the world. I found my father and family here on a visit to Lord Vernon. I delivered your message, which gave him much pleasure, and he is highly gratified to find himself remembered by your kindness to me.—I have the honour to be, dear sir, with great respect, your very obedient, obliged, and humble servant,

Charles Boothby.

I had not long to wait before this letter was answered by a summons to join the expedition to Sweden, under Sir John Moore, and by the 15th April I was in London preparing for departure.

Blenheim Hotel, Bond Street, London, April 27, 1808.

Ever dearest Dad—I feel conscious from your letter that you have not much spirits to spare. Whatever hurts you, goes to the quick with me also. But God did not mean us to be perfectly happy here, and I hope that we jog on towards the next place with as comfortable prospects as our neighbours.

If from any want of efficiency on my part, it were your business to prescribe my motions, you would (however disagreeable to your affections) direct me as I am now going. The rage that pervades the youth of blood to go with General Moore exceeds anything I ever heard of, and many suicides are expected in consequence of rejected applications.

I pray God to bless you all, and me, in such a return as lately gladdened my heart.—Your ever most affectionate

Charles.

* * * * *

Blenheim Hotel, Bond Street, London, April 29, 1808.

Ever dearest Dad—I hope it will not be a great disappointment to you not to find me in London, as I was peremptorily obliged to leave on the 30th.

I would have done anything to save you a disappointment. But for myself, I should have had no pleasure in the meeting unless you were merry, and much pain at parting if you were sad.

Your remittance was very convenient and sufficient, and I am not in want of anything.—Ever dearest Dad, yours,

C.

* * * * *

Sheerness, May 6, 1808.

The ships are under way and bound for Yarmouth. Thence I suppose to Gothenburg. Perhaps I shall see Sir Brooke in my rambles.

* * * * *

Yarmouth, May 9, 1808.

We arrived in the roads this morning, and I have just come on shore for an hour to get a few things that are wanting, as a fine fair breeze is to be taken advantage of immediately, and I hope to see Gothenburg in less than a week. General Moore is on board the Mars, and not an officer is to be seen on shore, as the Fleet is to sail at three o’clock.

* * * * *

Amity Brig, May 10.

Got under way at 4 o’clock P.M. Wind blowing towards evening with rain, and threatened a gale; moderated again, and the moon rose in unclouded majesty.

Fine clear night. List of men-of-war of the convoy. Mars 74, Audacious 74, Tigress 16, —— 16, and Piercer.

* * * * *

Friday 13.—All last night hazy weather, moderate breezes; in the morning thick fog—so thick that not a ship in the Fleet could be discovered except at intervals, although the voices of the people aboard could be distinguished.

The faint form of the ships, at times in the fog, had rather a sublime appearance. The Commodore was on our starboard beam, which we knew by his occasionally firing guns of guidance; the sound was very near, but the flash could not be perceived. About twelve o’clock he made a signal to alter the course, and at two o’clock he made another signal, and we had some anxiety lest a mistake should make us lose the Fleet.

At about three o’clock, however, the fog cleared away, and discovered the Commodore close on our larboard-quarter, steaming the same course with us, some thirty or forty miles from the coast of Jutland.

These Baltic fogs are extremely unpleasant, and lie chiefly on the shoal called Jutland Reef. The vessel was obliged to be constantly beating drums and ringing bells, lest some other ship should come upon her unknowingly, from the perfect obscurity in which we were involved.

Tuesday, May 17.—Wind blowing very fresh and a heavy sea. At a quarter before three had Gothenburg on the lee beam. At half-past three pilot came on board, at four anchored near Elfsborg Castle; experienced much pleasure from the force of contrast—coming at once from very rough sea-weather into harbour, and leaving the waves in the lurch.

Aspect of Gothenburg Harbour very wild and bleak.

Wednesday 18.—May go on shore, but not to sleep. Mr. Hindmarsh takes us in his boat and we land at Tod’s Quay.

After entering the gates of Gothenburg, we went into a shop to inquire for an inn, and found a very pretty boy translating English into Swedish. His book was entitled Village Dialogues. He spoke English very well, and also French and German, and was exceedingly modest and well-behaved. His father stood by, and contemplated the acuteness of his son with delight, pleased to find that he could make Englishmen understand him.

We proceed, meet a gentleman, and ask for an inn where a dinner might be got.

“’Twas a shocking place,” he said, but told us of an hotel. I then asked where I could hear of foreigners who might be in Gothenburg. “Did not know. Who did I want?” “Sir Brooke Boothby.”15 Had seen him that morning; showed me where he lived—“Not at home.” Go to dine at Eryxon’s and find party of officers. After dinner go again to call on my uncle (Sir Brooke Boothby), whom I had not seen for nine years. We were delighted to see each other; had tea, walked to Tod’s Quay, embarked at nine, and was on board at 11 P.M.

General Stewart is the kindest creature in the world. He went the other day to ask the General (Sir John Moore) to appoint me his aide-de-camp, as the brigadier-generals were to be allowed them; but General Moore’s answer was, that he intended me for himself.

If the General has an opportunity of putting his intentions into execution, I shall have the situation which I wish for more than any other in the Army. But my mind misgives me that we shall come home without achieving or seeing anything.

Sir Joshua Reynolds.

Penelope Boothby.

Born 1785. Died 1791.

Only Child of Sir Brooke Boothby, Bart.

My uncle has introduced me to the best society here. We went to a ball on board the Victory the other day, and the prettiest lady said to me in very pretty broken English, “Wan I dance wid you, sair, I will assure you dat I wish we dance de whole long of de sheep”; and when the two dances were over, she said, “Sair, I tank you; I will assure you it is de plaisantess dance I dance to-day.” Seeing me smile she added, “You not belief it. Ah! it is true!” I went simpering up to another lady and said, “What a very fine day, ma’am, for our party.” She curtseyed, and uttered from her throat with a smile, “Bakkelseg Morgon Vakka Thikka Pukk,” and so I simpering replied as if I understood her, “Yaw, yaw, Pukk,” bowed and went away.

June 14, 1808.—Agree with Wilmot, Sandham, and Foster to go to Trollhättan, and on Friday, 17th, at 5 A.M. start in two gigs with two horses each, arriving at half-past one, after a pleasant journey of fifty-two miles, stopping an hour on the road. The waterfall fell below my expectations, although it be terrible to stand close beside an enormous body of water in motion so rapid; but the view from below is much less grand and astonishing than I can conceive a cataract to be, nor do I think my ideas of the tremendous much invigorated or more defined than they were before, and as a proof that the cataract did not fill or satisfy the mind, I observed, that on beholding it, I ever cast my eyes to the lofty precipice on the right, saying to myself, “Oh, that it came tumbling over that!” The canal was just what I expected, and a most laudable work.

June 19.—Start for Ström at four. This road offers to the eye of the traveller much picturesque beauty. A great part of it lies as if through a beautiful English park, and from the excellence and trimness of the road and culture of the verdure you imagine yourself in some studied approach to a great man’s house, while the beautiful gleams of the romantic Gotha, seen through the trees, make you exclaim, “Happy he whose eye is frequent on such a prospect.” The Gotha is an exquisitely beautiful river: its waves are true silver and azure; its banks are green, enamelled with flowers, embossed with dwellings, and feathered with woods; and its stately windings are frequently caught through an irregular perspective colonnade of the trunks of trees, while their beautiful foliage embowers you above, and calms and attunes your mind to the beauties of the farther prospect. Its vessels never overpower it (I mean as landscape), that is to say, you never think of a crowd of masts, of coals, of bawlings, of canals, and all the horrors of navigation.

A graceful sail now and then glides swiftly through the trees, or dimples the silver surface, the here-and-there cascade having eminent beauty, deserving of notice; and the cultivated fields enwrapping the hills.

The skirts of the vast cataracts at Trollhättan, and indeed at Edet, are applied to the sawing of timber; and in various parts of Sweden the sledgehammer is raised, the borer driven, and the polisher whirled by the same perpetual power.

Thursday, June 30.—Sir John Moore embarked last night. Learn that he had been a prisoner at Stockholm, and had made his escape. See General Stewart; learn that the point in dispute between the General and the King16 had been the attack upon Norway, which His Majesty had stated was impossible, but in a subsequent conversation, being reminded of this statement, he denied it in the most positive terms.

The General said, “Not only I, but Colonel Murray, heard you; but if your Majesty says you did not say so, I must have misunderstood you.”

The King accuses him of disrespect—in a rage.

Sir John, to pacify, concedes so far as to say he will wait for further despatches, but on going home and reflecting, finds his instructions too positive to admit of it, and apprises the King that he must depart from the country.

The King sends to him in the middle of the night to say that he must not leave Stockholm without his permission.

The General immediately despatches a messenger to embark every part of the army, and remonstrates upon the detention. No answer; but the next day a repetition of prohibition arrives.

Sir John takes a drive in the curricle of the Secretary of Legation beyond the first stage, where he is taken up in his plain clothes by a messenger, who, with his courier’s pass, gets along uninterrupted. He arrived at Gothenburg on Wednesday, 29th June, and pushed off for the Victory. Only the Admiral knew him.

Saturday, July 2.—The General desires to see Burgoyne and me immediately, and we go on board the Victory.

Sir John Moore informs us that the Admirals, particularly Keats, are anxious about the little island of Sproe in the Great Belt, upon which during winter the French might establish themselves, and harbour gunboats, to the annoyance of the passage in summer.

The French had designed to possess it, and built a barrack on it, and there is a probability that next winter they may complete their design, which formerly they began too late.

The Admirals desire to forestall the enemy, and I must go to see if the nature of the island and our means admit of such a defence being established before the necessary departure of the Fleet. The British have destroyed the barrack made by the French, so that barracks, storehouses, etc., for the troops must be established, as well as fortifications.

Sunday, July 3.—Get up at 3 A.M.; pack. At four pilot comes on board. Fleet gets under way. At seven Admiral sends on board and takes me away.

Go on board the Superb. No instruments, no colours. Apply to be sent on board the Victory to see Sir John Moore. Sir John comes up himself to take me to the Admiral’s breakfast. General Stewart brings instructions; Admiral very civil.

Sail with a convoy of merchantmen and the Etna towards the Belt. The army leaves for England.

July 5.—Heavy foggy weather with rain; coast of Jutland in sight.

July 6.—Came in sight of Sproe. Next morning I go on shore with surveying implements, half survey it, and next day complete survey. Superb in sight. As I go on shore in the afternoon, I receive a note from Admiral Keats to breakfast with him, and come again on board the Superb. Takes me altogether into the cabin. I enlarge my scale of plan, and prepare it for the field.

Sunday, July 10.—Victory, Edgar, and Cruizer in sight, entering the Belt. Admiral Keats takes me a divil of a row to meet the Superb. Captain Graves dines there, and begs the boys to go on shore. Joey Easterbrook prefers it to the Admiral’s dinner. Poor FitzClarence left behind. “It was a cruel thing,” he said. After dinner ye Admiral, Captain Graves, and myself, go on shore. Boys shoved off ere our arrival. Admiral snuffs the green air; walk over the ground, gather wild spinach, return on board. The youngsters were in dismay! The Captain’s Newfoundland dog Tigress having run down a sheep, which had taken refuge in the sea, they feared it would be laid to them, but they had neatly skinned it, and hoped their mess would benefit by it. Little rascals! The Admiral, from prudential motives, took particular care that they should not taste it.

Dear little Georges begged the officer on deck to let him put me on board the Brunswick. This began our friendship. He put me on board, I having agreed with Admiral Keats that, as I should finish with the island to-morrow, I should again come on board the Superb.

Tuesday, July 12.—This day drew up my report. Ships weigh, and anchor again.

July 19.—Desired by Sir James to travel in plain clothes. Make necessary change. Signal made, “Send Mr. Boothby on board the Swan cutter immediately. Make haste.”17

Sit down in the cabin with a party of particular friends. Georges in the chair, Lord Bury on my right hand, little Johnny Russell over against me. Boat ready; cutter waiting. Take an affectionate leave of my friends, Georges, Lord Bury, and Johnny, and part from Admiral Keats in the kindest manner; indeed, his behaviour and friendly conduct had quite attached me to him.

When taking leave of the wardroom officers I am entreated below to wine, steadily refuse, but Captain Jackson being gone with the Admiral, Mr. Crowe, the first lieutenant, orders me to be carried below, upon which officers, youngsters, and marines surround me, and spite of a strenuous resistance, carry me bodily by neck and heels into the wardroom, where I drink adieu.

Sent on board the Admiral to receive more despatches. Get on board the cutter; nasty odious little thing. Pass close under the Superb’s stern. All hands crowd the poop, and actively wave me many farewells.

Wind foul; go to bed.

July 20.—Wind still fouler. Change our tack, and at length conceive hopes of arriving at Ystad, a pretty-looking town as seen from the distance; but nothing can be more park-like and beautiful than the shores of the Great Belt.

Get on shore about 5 P.M. Sailors take up my baggage. Go to the inn. Mr. Lucas brings Mr. Strom (clerk to an Ystad merchant), who undertakes my passports, horses, etc. Asking about Swedish travelling, it appears that robbing or breach of trust are species of dishonesty unknown to the Swedes. Send my baggage off at ten, start at eleven. No moon, good horses. As I go along, astonished to see the sea on my right hand. “How the devil,” said I, “can this be?”

The sea, in or out of sight, must be to the left hand. But still I saw the sea approaching even to the edge of the road, broken by beautiful ports, isles, and rocks. “Diable,” said I, “what call you dat?” pointing to a fine harbour, embossed with islands and romantic shores. The driver looked, but returned no answer, for he saw nothing but the white mist arising from the face of the earth. The deception was complete. A bank on the left of the road obstructed my view, but on the right it commanded an extensive tract of country. The thick, white, shining mists lying in the low grounds gave them the exact appearance of water at that dusk time of night, while mountains in their range sketched out the harbours and islands which I had discovered.18

Overtake my baggage, and arrive.

July 21.—At Everslip by half-past one. Dispatch the holker for horses. Go into a room in the house, like an oven; no light, but merely darkness visible; lie on a sofa; see a black many-legged reptile glide across the wall; start up and go out to meet my baggage.

Men impatient for payment. “What will you have?” “For my two horses, five dollars.” “Rascal! I will give you one and a half, which I know to be right, and a half for yourself.” “Very right, tanka,” said he. Baggage arrives—relieved.

Daylight now, as with a mantle, robed our world, and bade fictitious seas and white mists yield the deceptive mask. And now I took the reins.

Sudden each blade of grass, each feathered shrub, gleamed golden bright, and turning to the east, the glorious orb above the hills exalted half his disk.

Arrive at Regerberg much tired, and roost. Wait for horses; start at half-past twelve, and arrive at Glumslouf. View beautiful—wooded banks of Zealand, Copenhagen spires. Meet divers Swedish nobles; they are diverted at the manner in which I expedite the hostler. “Holker,” said I, and he looking back, I shake a bag of halfpence at him, and he runs like blazes.

Arrive at Helsingborg at five; much delighted as I approach with the view of Zealand.

The Orion and Vanguard and Calypso in the Sound, and beautiful Cronberg Castle beyond them.

Drive to Mr. Fenwick, the British Consul, and deliver letters. He, a gentlemanlike young man, actively obliging, procures me a room, and invites me to his house. Covered with dust and sweat, I plunge delightedly, and lave my limbs, then I robe myself afresh, and freed from all my dirt, sally forth and drink tea at the Consul’s. The boat announced, we proceed on board the Orion, and I deliver my despatches. As Admiral Bertie is not on board, I reclaim them, and pursue him to the Vanguard. Return on shore, sup with Mr. Fenwick, who gives me a snuff-box. Go to bed at twelve.

July 22, Friday.—Get up half-past 2 A.M., open the window, to find a midshipman looking for me, so I dress quick and send baggage to boat.

Admiral had said at daylight the Calypso’s instructions should be perfectly ready. Get on board about four—delightful brig. Captain goes on board the Orion; no despatches yet. Fine breeze, which would shoot us by Cronberg Castle and the swarming gunboats, blowing to waste. At 2 P.M. calm.

Signal made by telegraph: “Come on board; bring the engineer.” So we go on board, and Calypso weighs; as the breeze rises away we go; there is no firing, and we dart along.

July 25, Monday.—Fall in with a Dutch fishing-boat and board her, and get ten or a dozen very large cod. Fish ourselves; catch numerous mackerel in a light breeze—beautiful dying—green, blue, red, and rose. Becalmed. Plumb for cod; catch plenty, very large codfish and ling, also a dogfish. Cabinetmaker begs the skin to finish off his work. This evening the sun set in unusual splendour; he sank down into a thick indigo bank, whose edges he tinged with colours dipt in heaven. Sky tinctured green, and all above was yellow golden radiance, richly fretted in vapours, which blended off to the wilder clouds in the richest roseate glow. The sea was glassy smooth, but heaved gently with majesty, in her borrowed robe of gold refulgent, while in the east a perfect bow shone in full colours, striding over heaven, an arch superb, which the reflecting waves joined underneath again, making the round complete:—

Rain,—imperceptible breeze; slip through at four knots. 140 miles from Yarmouth.

July 28, Thursday, 4 A.M.—Fair wind, going nine miles per hour. Board a suspicious vessel like a French privateer and find her a Greenland schooner. Heavy rain, dirty weather, close to Norfolk coast. Anchor for the night.

July 29, Friday, 4 A.M.—As we were getting up anchor the fog came on very thick. And though the wind at length relents, the envious fog still obscures the entrance to port; as it clears away we weigh anchor about 1 P.M., at which time I land, having preceded in the gig with Captain Bradby.

I wait upon Admiral Douglas, and hear that Sir J. Moore is at Portsmouth and expected to sail hourly. After this very fretful. Go on board again to make distribution of bag, but return immediately and get on shore half an hour before the mail starts. Take my place. In the mail are two men in coarse jackets and trousers, just escaped from France, having broken their parole. The joy of having escaped seemed entirely to fly away with all compunction, if indeed they had any conscience. They had undergone great hardships, so I smothered the severity of my disapprobation.

July 30.—Go to the Blenheim Hotel, Bond Street. Find that General Moore has taken care that I shall follow him. The General invites me to breakfast to talk of my report. See Sir R. Milnes. Call on Mrs. Meynell.

July 31.—Breakfast with General Moore. Office to-morrow. No tidings of baggage. Write letters home.

Blenheim Hotel, New Bond Street, July 31, 1808.

My Louisa—First let me tell you that I am going to-morrow to Portsmouth to join or follow Sir John Moore, so hope not to see me just yet.

Having completed my services in the Baltic, I arrived at Yarmouth yesterday, and hearing that Sir J. Moore only waited for a wind, I was upon tenterhooks until in London, so half an hour after I landed I put myself into the mail, and arrived here at nine o’clock this morning. “Keep moving” has been for some time my motto.

Now, my own lass, have I much to discourse with thee about. There is my journey to Trollhättan and my peregrinations in the Baltic, my travels again through Sweden, all which, as I kept a circumstantial journal, you shall be sure to have. The civility and kindness of Admiral Keats, with whom I lived, made my stay quite delightful. After I had been on board three days it was necessary to transfer me to another line-of-battle ship, and when I was going he told me he should be back in a few days: “And then, if you please, you shall take up your quarters with me.” This pleased me much, and when he did return he took me into his cabin, and I was as happy as the day was long, although very hard worked. He is by all the Navy esteemed now the first character in it, and all his officers, although they dislike him, absolutely swear by him in a professional point of view, and acknowledge that they believe a better or more tender-hearted man does not exist, but still he is disagreeable on duty. He, as Captain Keats, commanded the Superb in Admiral Saumarcy’s action off Algeciras, dashed in between two Spanish three-deckers, and, giving each a broadside, passed clear in the smoke and engaged another ship of equal force, which he sank. Meanwhile the two Spaniards continued by mistake to fight each other in the smoke until they both blew up; thus by such conduct he destroyed three line-of-battle ships. All the great folks send their sons under his charge, and admirably kind and masterly he is with them. A son of the Duke of Clarence is with him, a fine lad. I never saw such delightful boys. The Admiral makes them write sham letters to him every Saturday. My favourite, little Georges, gave an account of a sea-fight. “My Lords,” he says, “I enclose a copy of my letter to Admiral Easterbrooke (another monkey just like himself), and in an event of this importance I have thought it necessary to send my first lieutenant, Hawkins (another), to whom I refer your Lordships for any further, etc., and beg to recommend him, etc., as an officer of distinguished merit, etc.,” and so on.

The Admiral has a favourite little dog and a favourite cow. “I think it very odd, Mr. Georges,” said he, “that none of you youngsters have had the civility to write to my dog or cow; it would do just as well to exercise you; besides, you might take a sly fling at the Admiral.”

So next time young Georges writes:—“Dear Madam Cow,” begging her to bestow a little of her great bag of milk on the youngsters—a pretty broad hint to the Admiral. But what prattle is this! I delivered my papers to the chief engineer this morning, the originals of which are sent, I fancy, to Lord Castlereagh and the Admiralty. My chief received me very graciously. I learned from him with great joy that General Moore had applied to Lord Chatham to have me follow him, and that his Lordship had acceded; but as General Moore does not command in chief, I have no staff hopes, for the present at least.

The people in this house speak in raptures of dearest old Dad.... Do you write by return of post, and I shall write to-morrow, and in the meantime, my dearest Lou, Heaven have thee in its holy keeping.

Charles.

I breakfast with my chief to-morrow, and only wait my baggage from Yarmouth.

I think after a Spanish or Portuguese campaign I may rest a bit, and perhaps a peace will bless the world and fetter Buonaparte, for unfettered the rascal cannot be left.

August 2.—Wretchedly fidgety about my baggage. Get a letter from Bradby telling me where to find it, as it has been delayed by the Custom House officers.

August 4, 5 o’clock A.M.—Start on the stage for Portsmouth, having sent my baggage on before.

“Penelope” Transport (P.S.), August 9, 1808.

Dearest Louisa—Here I am embarked, and your letters in future had better be addressed to me with the expedition under Sir Harry Burrard and sent to the engineers’ office.—Ever yours,

Charles.

August 9, Tuesday.—N.E. Bustle aboard the Penelope brig. Get on board at twelve. Get under way.

N.W. Tossing ten at night. God send a good passage. Forty-two sail, including the convoy.

August 10, Wednesday.—Off. St. Albans barely in sight. Foul wind. At the old work—toss, tack, toss, toss, tack toss, toss tack. Stercoraceous smells under my berth; porter used to be stored there; a chance fracture stains the straw and accounts for it.

August 12.—A very numerous fleet under the land, sailing up Channel. Breeze freshens. Cool dry weather. An Italian tailor told me to-day that the English have good pay, but that in five weeks in London he spent all he had gained in the rest of the year. When mirth sat in the heart and money lay in the pocket he could not resist it, he said; and what with dances, coaches, dresses, and feasts, guineas flew out like dust, and he was forced to come to sea again!

Breeze increased at about 11 P.M.; blew very hard; short high sea; signal to veer, and sail on starboard tack.

August 13, Saturday, 2 A.M.—A gale S.W. very high. Suppose at daylight he will run for Plymouth. Rendezvous signal. Plymouth Sound. Anchor outside the Drake Islands at 8 P.M.

August 14, Sunday.—Weigh and get within the bight. Write letters.

Plymouth Sound, “Penelope” Brig, August 14.

Sweet Sister—Encountering a S.W. gale has led us a sad rakish life. We were glad to put in here to-night, an operation which the thickness of the weather rendered very bothering.

As the wind may blow contrary some time, write to me here, directed Army under Sir H. Burrard, Plymouth, or elsewhere.

Chickens all well, but Jack and I cannot get the ducks to eat now; they waddle about and crack their toes. Jack’s great delight (Jack is the cabin boy, my only companion) is my solicitude about the ducks, and I thought he never would have done laughing when I told him to clean away some tar from the coop because it made them sneeze; and when we turned them out to exercise the other day, one tried to quack and could not, so Jack said, “He’s speechless, sir.” We anchored at eight o’clock—sad, sad work. Should have been half way to Lisbon.—Ever yours,

Charles.

August 15, Monday.—French prize brought in yesterday, a fine brig of war of eighteen guns. She was in company with a corvette and another brig of equal force. They gave chase to an English twenty-gun ship, which disguised herself and stopped her way. The brig that was taken outsailed the other and began to engage the Englishman, upon which the corvette and other brig crowded sail and made off, while their more honourable companion, after fighting thirty-five minutes, was taken.

August 19, Friday.—Wind fresh, six knots, smooth water. At evening a bird flying like a duck met the ship, and lighted on the foretopsail yard, where he began looking up and down and all about, peering, as it were, with his long flexible neck and long beak. When it became dark, Antonio, a cunning, merry Italian, went aloft to try to catch him, at which everybody cried, “Fool!”—As he perched with his face aft, the man got on the foreside the sail (they wondered how the devil he managed it), and we could see his hands glide under the yard until they laid hold of the animal, which he brought down with him upon deck, the enraged creature snapping at him all the time with great dexterity.