RECOLLECTIONS
OF THE
EVENTFUL LIFE OF A SOLDIER.

BY THE LATE

JOSEPH DONALDSON,

SERGEANT IN THE NINETY-FOURTH SCOTS BRIGADE.

‘I will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver—

Of moving accidents by flood and field,

Of hair-breadth ’scapes i’ the imminent deadly breach,

And with it all my travel’s history.’

Shakspeare.

‘The romance of real life certainly goes beyond all other romances.’

Miss Edgeworth.

NEW EDITION.

LONDON AND GLASGOW:
RICHARD GRIFFIN & COMPANY.
1859.

INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.

The ensuing narrative was originally published in three successive volumes, entitled respectively,—‘Recollections of the Eventful Life of a Soldier’—‘The War in the Peninsula’—AND ‘Scenes and Sketches in Ireland.’ Although these volumes were eminently successful, the form in which they were brought out rendered them accessible to only a comparatively small portion of the community. They are now collected into one volume, and published at a price which brings the work within the reach of all classes of people.

The narrative, from its outset to its close in 1814, embraces a period of about twenty-one years, fifteen of which relate to the author’s boyhood, and the remaining six to his career in the army. The circumstance of the work having been published anonymously will account for the scrupulous care with which he has avoided making any such allusions as might be calculated to draw aside the veil of his incognito. In this Edition, however, the author’s name, the number of his regiment, and the rank he held in it, are given; the names of places, so far as they could be ascertained, and of individuals, so far as was deemed prudent, which were left blank in the early Edition, have been supplied in this—but in other respects the original text has been preserved. The only part of the soldier’s story which begets a feeling of disappointment is its abrupt termination. The vicissitudes of his subsequent career might have formed an interesting, though melancholy, sequel to the present volume. The few particulars we have gathered refer chiefly to that period of his life.

While in Ireland in 1814, about a year previous to the conclusion of the narrative, the author married the individual of whom, under the name of Mary M’Carthy, he speaks in such high terms of admiration in the ‘Scenes and Sketches.’ By this union he became the father of ten children, seven of whom died in early life. In 1815, he returned with his family to Glasgow, where he underwent various changes of fortune, more particularly adverted to in the narrative, which induced him ‘to resume the uniform of a soldier.’ He accordingly embarked with his family for London, and enlisted in the service of the East India Company, in which he was soon promoted to the rank of recruiting sergeant. This occupation, while, contrary to his wishes, it imposed on him the duty of remaining in this country, afforded facilities for indulging those literary and scientific predilections which had distinguished him in the Peninsula; and he now endeavoured to turn them to advantage by the study of anatomy and medicine. Thus occupied, he remained in London, until, in 1817, he was removed to Glasgow, where he began and completed writing from memory the interesting ‘Recollections’ which form the first portion of this volume, the proceeds of which enabled him still farther to prosecute his studies at the University, where, ‘exchanging the tartan for the broadcloth,’ he mingled unobserved among the other students. In consequence of his great dislike to the revolting practices which at that time characterized the recruiting service, he applied to Captain William Marshall, Superintendent of the East India Company in Edinburgh, who, through the influence of Colonel Hastings, got him transferred to the situation of head-clerk in the Glasgow Military District Office, where he remained for some years. During this period, he completed, in rapid succession, the consecutive portions of his ‘Eventful Life.’

In 1827, having procured his discharge, he was enabled, on the trifling proceeds of his literary labours, and by dint of severe economy and close application, to take the degree of surgeon. Shortly afterwards, he removed to the town of Oban in Argyllshire, where he continued to practise his new profession with as much success as a field so circumscribed would permit, till the year 1829, when, wearied with the proverbial drudgery of such a life, and anxious to give greater scope to his talents, he once more embarked for London, leaving his wife and children in Scotland. With ‘manners and dispositions not framed in the world’s school,’ it is scarcely matter of surprise that in such a place as the metropolis he failed to procure the employment he sought. He remained there several months, occasionally solacing his dreary hours with that species of literary composition which was his chief delight. Besides contributions to periodicals, he completed a work, entitled ‘Life in Various Circumstances,’ which, had not the MS. been unfortunately lost, with other property, on its way from France two years afterwards, might have precluded the necessity of this brief and imperfect notice. Unsuccessful in London, he proceeded to Paris, where, while attending the anatomical academies, he died in October, 1830, of pulmonary disease, at the early age of thirty-seven.

Mrs Donaldson, from whom the foregoing particulars have been obtained, still lives, but since her husband’s death, and, indeed, for some years previous, has suffered severe privation and poverty. The sole dependence to which she and her remaining daughter can look forward with hope, is to this Edition of the recorded Recollections of her husband’s misfortunes, now published for her behoof.

Glasgow, Sept., 1855.

AUTHOR’S PREFACE.

The present Work was first published in separate volumes, within a twelvemonth of each other, under the title of ‘Recollections of an Eventful Life,’ and ‘The Peninsular War.’ The favourable reception they met with from the Public, even in their unavoidably imperfect state, far exceeded my most sanguine expectations. Many, indeed, alleged ‘that they were the production of some book-maker,’ and others ‘that some person of literary ability must have assisted the soldier.’ Neither, however, is the fact. Such as the narrative is, it was composed and written by me without the slightest assistance. Indeed, I think it strange that scepticism on that point should have been excited. Why should not a soldier (if he has cultivated his natural abilities) express himself in a tolerable manner as well as an individual of a different class? It would be more strange if a particular grade of men were to engross all the talent existing; and it is only the presuming arrogance of rank, or the overweening conceit of literary pedantry, which would seek to shut the door against the exercise of talent, merely because the individual does not enjoy any of the arbitrary distinctions which they themselves have created.

As to my being really an actor in the scenes I have described, I believe little doubt now exists in the public mind. I could at once dissipate it, by giving my name and the number of my regiment; and I would have done so, were it not that it might point out too minutely some ill-favoured characters which I have given in the work. Fear for myself would not prevent me; but I have no personal enmity to gratify, and I shall feel sufficiently satisfied, if the picture drawn deter others from following their example.

My unsettled situation caused the former Edition of the work to be so hurriedly written, that many errors escaped notice, which, in the present, I have endeavoured to amend. The two volumes are now thrown into one, forming a continued narrative down to the close of the war, and several incidents added, which were omitted in the first Edition. If in its former state it excited an interest in the public mind, I trust it is now rendered more worthy of its approbation. I am aware that there are still imperfections in it that will require indulgence—an indulgence, however, which, I am persuaded, will be readily conceded to the humble station of

THE AUTHOR.

THE EVENTFUL LIFE OF A SOLDIER.

CHAPTER I.

I was born in Glasgow: my father held a situation in a mercantile house, that enabled him to keep his family respectable. I was the only surviving child, and no expense would have been spared on my education, had I been wise enough to appreciate the value of it; but, unfortunately for me, that was not the case. I had early learned to read; but novels, romances, and fairy tales, were my favourite books, and soon superseded all other kinds of reading. By this means, my ideas of life were warped from reality, and the world I had pictured in my imagination was very unlike the one in which I lived. The sober realities of life became tiresome and tasteless. Still panting after something unattainable, I became displeased with my situation in life, and neglected my education—not because I disliked it; on the contrary, I was fond of learning, and used to form very feasible plans of study, wherein I omitted nothing that was necessary to form the accomplished gentleman. I could pleasingly, in imagination, skim over the whole course of literature, and contemplate my future fame and wealth as the result; but when I considered how many years of arduous application would be required, I was too impatient to put it into practice. I had required too great a facility in raising castles in the air, and embellishing them with my fancy, to submit to the drudgery of building on a more stable foundation. Thus, straining at shadows, I lost substantial good.

Amongst other books which fell into my hands, when very young, was Robinson Crusoe. It was a great favourite; and at that time, I believe I would willingly have suffered shipwreck, to be cast on an island like his. An island to one’s self, I thought, what a happiness! and I have dreamed for hours together, on what I would do in such a situation. I have often played truant to wander into the fields, and read my favourite books; and, when I was not reading, my mind was perfectly bewildered with the romantic notions I had formed. Often have I travelled eagerly to the summit of some neighbouring hill, where the clouds seemed to mark the limits of the world I lived in, my mind filled with an indescribable expectation that I would there meet with something to realise my wild ideas, some enchanted scene or other; and when I reached its summit, and found those expectations disappointed, still the next similar place had the same attraction. The sky, with the ever-varying figures of the clouds, was an inexhaustible field for my imagination to work in; and the sea, particularly those views of it where the land could not be seen from the shore, raised indescribable feelings in my breast. The vessels leaving the coast, thought I, must contain happy souls; for they are going far away,—all my fancied happy worlds were there. Oh, I thought, if I could once pass that blue line that separates the ocean and the sky!—then should I be content; for it seems the only barrier between me and happiness.

I was often beat for being absent from school, and urged to tell the cause. The reason I felt, but could not describe; and, the same fault recurring again and again, I was at last set down as incorrigible. What most surprised my friends was, that I never had any companions in my rambles; but a companion would have spoiled all my visions. Never did I enjoy so pure unmixed delight, as in those excursions: I feel not now, as I then did, the novelty of life and nature; but memory cherishes with fondness her first-born feelings, and I regret that those happy days are gone for ever.

So ill exchanged for riper times,

To feel the follies and the crimes,

Of others or my own.

In some old romances which I had read, the life of a shepherd was described in colours so glowing, that I became quite enamoured of it, and would not give my parents rest until they procured such a situation for me. It was in vain that they assured me I would find every thing different in that life from what I imagined. I could not believe it. They made some agreement with a farmer, from whom they got their milk and butter, to take me out with him to his farm, that I might learn the truth by experience. I set off with him on his buttermilk cart, my mind filled with the most extravagant anticipations of my new employment, and arrived at the farmer’s house at night. Next morning I was called up at four o’clock to my new avocation, and an old man was sent out with me to show me my charge. I was left by him on a bleak hill, with four-score sheep, and told that my breakfast and dinner would be brought out to me. I sat down to contemplate the scene; there were no sylvan groves, no purling streams, no shepherds piping in the dale,—nothing but peat-bog was to be seen for miles around; the few scathed hills which reared their heads above the blackened soil were covered with heather, which still retained its winter suit; the shepherds had none of the appendages attributed to them in poetry or romance, they had neither pipe nor crook, and shepherdesses there were none. I tried to transform the female servant, who was in my master’s house, into a shepherdess; but it would not do. It was a horrible caricature; she was a strong masculine looking Highland girl, any thing but lovely or romantic. Surely, thought I, there must be some mistake here. I never spent a day so lonely and tiresome. My flock seemed to think they had got a fool to deal with, for they ran in every direction but the right one. It is true I had a dog, but he did not understand my language. We had not been long enough acquainted; and, by the time night came, I was pretty well convinced that the life of a shepherd was not what I had imagined it. Day after day passed, without realising any of my expectations. My feet got sore running through the rough heather, and I returned to my parents about a month after, completely cured of my predilection for a shepherd’s life. One would think that this disappointment would have rendered me more cautious in forming opinions from the same source—but no! Indeed, it was ever my misfortune to pay dearly for my experience, and to profit little by that of others.

CHAPTER II.

I found few boys of my own age, who entered into my notions. One, indeed, I did find equally extravagant, and we were scarcely ever separate. Tired of living under the control of our parents, we determined to make a bold push at independence. We mustered as much money as bought the sixteenth of a lottery ticket. In the interval between buying and drawing—how we did dream! It never entered our minds that we would get less than the share of a prize of £30,000; and, of course, the disposal of the cash was the constant theme of our conversation. At last the wished for day arrived, on which we were to receive intelligence of the fate of our ticket. We did not go to inquire concerning it until night. With hearts fluttering with apprehension, we went to the shop where we had bought it. I would not go in, but sent in my companion. I durst scarcely look after him. To such an intense pitch of interest was my mind wrought up, that the criminal on his trial for some capital crime could not wait with more dreadful anxiety for the verdict of the jury, than I did for my companion to come out. He did come, but I was afraid to look him in the face, lest I should read disappointment in it. I waited for him to speak, but his tongue refused its office. I at last ventured to look in his face, and there I read the truth. Had he spoken and told me it was a blank, I might have doubted him, and thought he only joked me; but I could never doubt the expression of despair which I saw there depicted. Not a word was exchanged, we walked on in stupified vexation. After wandering about for some time unconscious of where we were going, he at last burst into tears. I could have willingly joined him, but I suspected that something else preyed on his mind. On asking him what distressed him so much, he said that part of the money with which he had purchased his share of the lottery ticket was the balance of an account, due to his father, which he had received without his knowledge. He depended on the receipt of his prize to pay it with interest, but now those hopes were blasted; he could never face home—his countenance would betray him, and his father was very severe.

He said he was determined to go to Greenock, and engage with some merchant vessel bound to Surinam. He had an uncle a planter there, and, of course, when he should arrive, there would be no danger of him; his uncle would procure his discharge from the ship, and the result, that he would become a gentleman. I listened eagerly to this. We had often expatiated on the pleasure of seeing foreign countries, and I resolved to accompany him, not doubting but his uncle would provide for me also, for his sake. Any thing like adventure was always welcome to me, and my mind was soon decided.

We had no money, however, to carry us to Greenock; but I recollected a person who owed my father money, and I proposed to go and ask it in my father’s name. This was the first time I had ventured to do any thing so glaringly dishonest, and I hesitated long. I passed the door a dozen times before I mustered effrontery enough to go in; but it was drawing near the hour of shutting up, and I was obliged to resolve. I went in and asked the money. The candle burned dimly, and I stood as much in the shade as possible, but I am sure he noticed my embarrassment. However, he gave the money, and we hurried out of the town immediately.

We travelled all night, and next morning arrived in Greenock. After getting some breakfast, and brushing ourselves up a little, although we were very tired, we resolved in looking out for a vessel. On inquiry, we learned that there was no vessel in the harbour bound for Surinam. This was a disappointment; but, we thought, if we were once in the West Indies, we would find little difficulty in getting to the desired spot.

The first vessel we came to, was a ship bound for Kingston, Jamaica. We went on board; and, inquiring for the captain, asked if he wanted any men. He looked at us with a smile of contempt, eyeing us from head to foot, ‘Men,’ said he, laying a particular emphasis on the word, (for neither of us exceeded thirteen years of age,) ‘it would be a pretty vessel that would be mann’d with such men as you—Whaur hae ye come frae na? Ye’ll be some runawa weaver callans frae Glasgow, I’se warrant ye; but ye had better gang hame again, for I’m thinkin’ ye’ll like the sea waur than the loom.’ We were galled by his reply; but consoled ourselves with the idea that some one else would be glad to get us.

After trying several other vessels with nearly the same success, at last, tired and crest-fallen, we were going home to our lodging, when an old man, who had seen us going from one vessel to another, accosted us, and asked if we wanted a ship. Replying in the affirmative, ‘you need not want that long,’ said he, ‘for if you go with me, I will soon find one for you. Where do you wish to go?’

‘To Surinam.’

‘Then, you could not have come in a better time, for there is a vessel lying in the roads ready to sail for that place.’

‘Do you think they will take us?’ said we.

‘Oh, to be sure they will, and glad to get you, I’ll take you on board now if you like.’

We assented, and he went to procure a boat to take us on board.

When he was gone, a sailor, who was standing by and saw us talking to the old man, came up, and asked us what he had been saying. Having told him, he said the sooner we were off out of that the better; for the fellow, who had been talking to us, was one of a set of rascals in the pay of the press-gang; and that, instead of putting us on board of a vessel such as he described, he would put us on board the Tender; and that there was actually no such vessel in the roads as the one he had mentioned. We lost no time in taking his advice, and hurried home to our lodgings.

When there, my spirits began to sink; and the thought of how I had left my parents, and the distress they must be in about me, completely overcame me, and I burst into tears; and my companion feeling as bad as myself, we resolved to return home, and ask forgiveness of our parents; but, being fatigued with travelling, we put off our return until next morning.

When we got up next day, our minds had recovered some of their former elasticity, and we felt less disposed to return than we did the preceding evening. The idea of the ridicule which we should have to encounter from our acquaintance, and on my part, the stigma which would be thrown on my character for drawing the money in my father’s name, seemed to be insurmountable barriers in the way, so we walked into the town with our minds still undecided.

In crossing the main street, we met one of our old school-fellows, who had run away from his parents about six months before. He had just returned from the West Indies; and having leave for a few days to go to Glasgow to see his friends, he had got himself rigged out in the jolly-tar style—his Jacket and trowsers of fine blue cloth, white stockings, short-quartered shoes, a black silk handkerchief tied loosely round his neck, over which the collar of his checked shirt was folded neatly down—a glazed hat on his head, and an enormous quid of tobacco in his cheek. In fact, he was so completely metamorphosed, that we scarcely knew him: for when at school, he was remarked for being a soft, dull sort of boy.

On seeing us, he seized a hand of each, and exclaimed, ‘Oh, my eyes! Joe and Bill! how are ye, my hearties? what has brought you to Greenock; be you looking out for a berth?’ We were expressing our pleasure at having met him, when he said, ‘Don’t be standing here in the street. Let’s go and get a glass of grog.’ We remarked, that it would look very odd for boys like us to go into a tavern and call for liquor; but Tom thought that a very foolish objection, and leading the way into a tavern, we followed him. As he walked in before us, I perceived that he had altered his manner of walking quite to the rocking gait of the veteran tar. I certainly thought that Tom had been an apt scholar; he seemed to be as finished a sailor as if he had been twenty years at sea. From being a boy of few words, he had acquired a surprising volubility of tongue, along with an affected English accent. He could curse and swear, chew tobacco and drink grog; and although we perceived much affectation in what Tom said and did, still we were disposed to think him a very clever fellow. When seated over our grog, we disclosed our minds to him, and inquired if he could assist us in getting a vessel. Tom looked rather grave on this subject, and sinking his voice from the high English accent he had acquired so rapidly, said he was not sure whether he could get a vessel for us or not; ‘but,’ said he, ‘in the mean time drink your grog, and we will see about that after.’

Warmed by the liquor, Tom began and gave us an account of his voyage, which, as he afterwards owned, he painted in very extravagant colours. We were so charmed with his description, that we gave up all idea of going home, and adjourned from the tavern to Tom’s lodgings, where he displayed to our wondering eyes the treasures he had acquired by his West India voyage—conch shells, cocoa nut, and stalks of Indian corn, which were designed to grace his mother’s chimney-piece, and excite the wonder of her visitors.

Between the liquor we had drunk, and what we had heard and seen, we were in high spirits, and went out to perambulate the town; but, going up the main street, towards the head inn, I met my father full in the face. He had just arrived from Glasgow in search of us. I thought I would have sunk into the earth. Confounded and ashamed, I stood like a felon caught in some depredation. Tom ran off, and left William and I to manage affairs as we could. My father was the first who broke silence.— ‘Well, Joseph,’ said he, ‘will you tell me the meaning of this jaunt you have taken? But I am going to Mr C——’s, and you had better come with me, and we shall talk over the matter there.’ We followed him without saying a word, and when we were seated in Mr C——’s, he again asked my motive for leaving home. I looked in William’s face, and saw he was determined. I then said we were resolved on going to sea, and that we had come to Greenock for that purpose. Mr C. and my father said every thing they could to dissuade us from our foolish resolution, but to little purpose. The idea of the ridicule we would have to bear from our acquaintance if we returned, and Tom’s exaggerated description of the pleasures of a sea life, had confirmed us in our determination.

‘Well,’ said my father (after he had reasoned the matter with me, and painted what a sailor’s life was in reality, with little effect,) ‘I might exert the right I have over you, as a parent, in forcing you to return, but I will not. If you have so far forgot your duty to me, and to yourself, after all that I have done for you, as to throw yourself away as a common ship-boy, where you can have no opportunity of learning any thing but wickedness, you may do it, but remember my words—you will repent it, when you will perhaps have no father to question the propriety of your conduct. Indeed, after the dishonest action you have been guilty of at home, I don’t know but your presence would be more disagreeable to me than your absence, unless you altered much for the better; and if I have any very anxious wish that you would return, it is more on your poor mother’s account than my own. Oh, how could you leave us in the manner you did, without a cause?—The first night you were absent from home, your mother was frantic. She wandered from place to place in search of you—and was sure you were not in life—that some accident had befallen you. When she knows the truth, how cruel must she think you?—O! Joseph, after all our care and attention, I am afraid you will bring down our gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.’

Here the tears came into my father’s eyes, and his voice became choked. I could bear it no longer, and burst into tears. My first impulse was to throw myself at his feet, and beg forgiveness; but the obstacles which were in the way of my return before, again recurring to my mind, prevented me, and I only wept in sullen silence.

‘Say no more to him now,’ said Mr C. ‘Give him until to-morrow to think on what you have said; and if he be then of the same opinion, we shall procure a good ship for him, and see him properly fitted out.’ My father took his advice, and did not resume the subject that day. He wrote, however, to William’s father, telling where his son was.

Next morning, he arrived, and insisted on taking him home by force, and even beat and abused him in the house we were in; but my father and Mr C. interfered and represented to him how foolish his conduct was, as he might be sure the boy would take the first opportunity of running away again. He was at last brought to reason, and agreed to be guided by my father. We were again asked what we had determined on doing, and I replied that we were fixed in our determination of going to sea.

It was then proposed to get us bound immediately as my father could not be spared from his business, and was obliged to return next day. Mr C. took us to a friend of his, a Mr G. a respectable merchant and ship-owner, who was in want of apprentices at that time for some of his vessels. We were there bound for three years, and attached to a letter-of-marque brig, which carried 18 guns, loading at that time for New Providence.

The afternoon was spent in purchasing the necessary articles to fit me out. When that was finished, my father, feeling uneasy on my mothers account, resolved to return to Glasgow that night. Before going away he said, ‘I could almost wish your mother saw you before you went away—and yet, perhaps it would be better that she would not. You will soon find yourself among very strange company; and if I am not wrong informed, company from whom you will be able to learn little that is good; but I trust you will remember the religious instruction you have received from your parents, when you are far from them; and although you have grieved and disobeyed your earthly parents, I hope you will not forget your Creator. Remember his eye is on you wherever you go; and although you may be bereft of every other stay, still he will be ever with you, to succour, and to help, if you call upon him. Farewell, my boy, God help you!’

My heart sunk within me. As the coach started, I saw him wipe the tears from his eyes. I must surely be a hardened wretch, thought I, to persist so resolutely in what I know to be wrong, and what is breaking the heart of my parents; but I was roused from my reflections by some one slapping me on the shoulder. It was Tom—‘Well, my boys, so you have got bound to our owner—have you?’

‘Do you belong to Mr G. also?’ said I.

‘To be sure, and I don’t think but I shall get into your ship too, although she sails so soon; for I don’t like the one I am in.’

We felt well pleased that Tom was to be our shipmate; and in the contemplation of all the good fortune that I thought awaited me, I am ashamed to say, that I nearly forgot my distressed parents.

As for William, the moment his father set off, (for my father and his went up to Glasgow together,) the poor fellow seemed quite relieved! His mother had died when he was very young, and his father being a man of a morose severe disposition, he scarcely knew what parental tenderness was.—How different from me! He had some excuse for what he had done; but I had none.

Tom went up to Glasgow next day, to see his friends; and a day or two after, William and I were sent on board, to commence our seamanship. The first day or two passed away well enough. There was little or nothing to do. The third day, the mate called us aft to the quarter deck. ‘Do you see that flag?’ said he, pointing to the mast head. It had got entangled in the signal halliards. ‘Now let me see which of you will get up first and clear it.’

Will and I got on the shrouds, and mounted with great alacrity, until we got to that part of the shrouds which takes a sweep outwards to meet the edge of the top. Will was up over it in a twinkling; for he had been used to mount the rigging of the vessels at the Broomielaw; but I thought it a dangerous-looking place, and seeing a hole through the top, by the side of the mast, I proceeded to squeeze myself through it; which being an offence against the laws of good seamanship, (as the sailors’ name for it denotes, being called the lubber’s hole,) the mate seized a rope’s end on deck, and running up the shrouds after me, called out, ‘You young dog! is that the way you are taking?’

I made haste to rectify my error by taking the same route that Will had pursued; but, in my hurry, from the fear of the rope’s end, when I reached the edge of the top, I let go the hold with my feet, and being suspended by my hands, would soon have dropped on the deck, or into the sea, had the mate not caught hold, and assisted me up. Will had by this time got as far as the cross-trees; but he was foiled in his attempts to climb up the royal mast. The mate, however, thought we had done enough for once, and we were ordered down; but our exercise at this kind of work being continued every day while in harbour, we soon became expert at it.

CHAPTER III.

At last, the long-expected day of sailing arrived, and among the first of the men who came on board was Tom. He had received liberty to join our ship, and, men and boys, we mustered about sixty hands. The greater number, when they come on board, were ‘half-seas-over,’ and the ship was in great confusion.

Towards evening, it began to blow fresh, and I became miserably sick. No one took any notice of me, unless when I went to the weather-side of the vessel to vomit, when some one or other of my tender-hearted shipmates would give me a kick or a push, and, with an oath, bid me go to leeward.

In this state I was knocked about from one place to another, until at last I lay down in the waste of the vessel, on the lee-side, with my head opposite to one of the scuppers.[1] I had not been long there when some one came running to the side. I looked up to see who it was, and saw poor Tom in nearly as bad a plight as myself. I was too sick to speak to him, or I would have asked why he had omitted this in his description of the pleasures of a sea life.

I had not seen William from the time I became sick; but at that time I could feel interested for no one, or about any thing. I only wished I were on shore; and nothing should ever tempt me to put my foot on board of a vessel again.

Night came on, and the weather being cold, I began to wish that I could get below. I crawled to the first hatchway I could find, which happened to be the steerage. As this place was appropriated to the petty officers of the ship, and they being all employed on deck, I was allowed to get down unmolested. There were some of the cables coiled in the steerage; and as I had experienced the inconvenience of being in the way, I crept in as far as I could, beyond the cables, where some old sails were lying, and there, although not relieved from sickness, I was at least free from annoyance.

I had not been long there, when the steerage mess came down to supper; and I quaked with terror when I heard the gunner say, ‘I wonder where all those boys are. I can’t get one of them to do either one thing or another.’

‘They’ll be stowed away in some hole or other, I’ll warrant ye,’ said the boatswain, ‘but if I had hold of them, I would let them feel the weight of a rope’s end.’

I strove to keep in my breath lest they should hear me, but at the moment my stomach heaved, and in spite of all my efforts to suppress it, I made such a noise that I was overheard.

‘Who the devil’s that?’ cried the boatswain; ‘some one of the rascals stowed away in the cable tier—hold the lantern, and I’ll haul him out whoever he is.’

Already I thought I felt the rope’s end on my shoulders, when I was unexpectedly relieved from my apprehensions, by the mate calling them on deck to arrange the watches for the night. While they were gone, I squeezed myself behind some boxes, where I was pretty sure they could not get at me. When they came down again, they had forgotten the circumstance; and those whose watch was below got into their hammocks.

A little before daylight, I felt inclined to go on deck, as I was nearly suffocated in my hiding-place, and slipping out cautiously, got up the ladder without disturbing any of them. I had felt pretty well settled, when my head was down; but whenever I got up, the sickness returned, and my stomach being completely empty, my efforts were more distressing. An old sailor who was standing near me advised me to take a drink of salt water. I thought it was a rough cure; I tried it, however, but it was no sooner down than up again.

‘Take another drink,’ said he; I did so—the same result followed. He advised me to take a third.

‘Oh, no,’ said I, ‘I can take no more.’

I then leaned over the lee bow of the vessel; and whether it was the fresh air or the salt water I know not, but I soon got better; and in the course of an hour or two I began to move about pretty briskly.

While I was stirring about, the carpenter came forward to me and inquired if I was sick. No, I said.

‘Will you have any objection to attend our mess?’

‘I don’t know, what have I to do?’

‘Only draw our provision, and boil our kettle morning and evening.’

‘Very well—I am willing.’

He took me down to the steerage, and showed me where things lay. When breakfast-time came I got their kettle boiled, and brought down their mess of bargoo, and sat down to take my breakfast with them; but before I had taken half-a-dozen spoonfuls, it began to discompose my stomach; and getting up to pass them for the deck, the motion of rising brought the contents of my stomach up to my mouth. I endeavoured to keep it down, but was obliged to give it vent, and it flew like water from a fire engine over the mess. The boatswain, who was a surly old fellow, and who had been the principal sufferer, rose up in a fury, and seizing the wooden dish that held the bargoo, threw it at my head. I escaped the blow of the dish, but the contents came right on my face and blinded me. I tried to grope my way up the ladder, but they did not give me time to get up, for they threw me out of the hatchway. When I got to my feet the whole of the seamen on deck gathered round, and began to jeer me on my appearance; but I managed to flounder on through them to the head, where I got some water and washed myself. Ah! thought I, this is hard usage; yet I could scarcely refrain from laughing at the idea of spoiling their mess.

I walked about the deck for some time, ruminating on my folly in exchanging my comfortable home for a place like this. Towards dinner-time, the carpenter came and asked me to prepare the mess-dishes for dinner, but I told him he might find some one else, for I would not do it.

‘The more fool you are,’ said he, ‘you will soon find yourself worse off.’

I was then obliged to shift my things into the forecastle amongst the crew. Here I found William lying in one of the berths, so sick that he could not lift his head. When he saw me he beckoned me to him. ‘O Joseph,’ said he, ‘this is misery. I wish we were at home again; but I will never live to return.’

‘No fear of that,’ I said, ‘I was as sick as you are, and I am now nearly well.’

At this moment the vessel gave a heave, and down I came on the deck. William began to make cascades, and I was soon as bad as ever, and got tumbled into the berth beside him. Shortly after, the seamen’s dinner was brought down, and having served themselves, one of them called out ‘You green-horns, in there, will you have some beef and biscuit?’

‘No, no,’ said I, ‘but if you will be kind enough to open my chest, you will find a cake of gingerbread in it—I will thank you to hand it to me.’

While he was searching for the gingerbread, he cast his eyes on a large case bottle, filled with whisky, which Mr C. had given me when I parted with him. He immediately gave up his search for the gingerbread, and hauling out the bottle and holding it up, he cried, ‘D——n my eyes, messmates, if I ha’n’t found a prize.’

‘Here with it,’ cried a dozen voices at once, and in spite of my remonstrances, they deliberately handed it round until there was not above a glass left.

‘Oh shame,’ said one of them, ‘give the boy a drop of his own grog;’ but I could not look at it—the smell was sickening.

‘No, no,’ said I, ‘send that after the rest.’

‘Right,’ said one of them, ‘boys have no use for grog.’

‘Will you give me the gingerbread now?’ said I.

‘Oh, by the by, I had forgot that, here it is for you, my hearty.’

The most of them went on deck, and left William and I to reflect on the justice of their appropriation of my property. However, the liquor was a thing I cared little about, and it gave me the less uneasiness. We were now allowed to lie quietly enough until night, when those whose watch was below came down to go to bed—one of them came to the berth, where William and I were lying, and seizing him by the neck, cried out, ‘Hollo, who the devil’s this in my berth?’

‘It is two of the Johnnie-raws that are sick,’ replied one of them.

‘Johnnie-raw or Johnnie-roasted, they must get out of that, for I want to turn in.’

Out we were bundled, and during the whole course of that night we were knocked about from one place to another, by each succeeding watch.

Next morning early, the word was passed for the boys to go aft to the quarter-deck. It was hard rooting them out; but at last we were mustered—six in all. When we were assembled, the mate addressing us, said, ‘I think I have given you long enough time to recover from your sickness. You, Tom, have no right to be sick. You were at sea before.’ I looked at Tom: there was not a more miserable-looking object amongst us. I could scarcely allow myself to believe that he was the same being whom we saw swaggering on the streets of Greenock a few days before. We were then appointed to different watches. William and I were luckily appointed to the same one, which being on duty at the time, we were ordered to scrub the hen coops, and feed the fowls, while the men washed the deck. The boys were always made the drudges in every thing dirty and disagreeable. But the duty of the ship was little in comparison to the way in which we were teased and ill used by the sailors. I have often been roused up after a fatiguing watch, and just when I had fallen into a profound sleep, to go and fetch a drink of water for some of the crew. A fellow, of the name of Donald M’Millan, was one of our chief tormentors. He used to invent new mortifications for us; and he was of so brutal and savage a disposition, that he would beat and abuse the boys for the most trifling fault, and often without cause. I am sure, if the conduct of the men had been reported to the captain, he would not have allowed the boys to be used in the manner they were. But we were afraid to say any thing concerning our usage, knowing that they could find numberless methods of tormenting without openly beating us.

I began, however, to get used to the sea; and taking courage, I strove to get through as well as I could. It was, nevertheless, with a great effort that I could prevent my spirits from sinking under the many hardships and contumely I had to endure. Nothing but the hope of leaving the vessel when she returned home kept me alive. Poor William lost all heart; he became melancholy and moping, and used to cry for hours together, when we were on watch at night. In this state he was ill calculated for the duty he had to perform, and was brow-beaten by almost every one in the ship. This sunk his naturally buoyant spirits; and at length he became so accustomed to ill usage, that he seemed afraid I would also turn against him. I, however, had known him in happier days; but his feelings were morbidly acute, and little calculated to struggle through the ill usage which a ship apprentice had to endure.

As we proceeded on our voyage, the weather became delightful; and getting into the trade winds, we got on so pleasantly, often for days together, without changing a sail, that had we not been tormented by the seamen, we would have been comparatively comfortable. But the only happy periods I enjoyed were, when my turn came to look out aloft—seated on the cross-trees, away from the din of the deck, with the clear blue sky above, and the sea extending far as the eye could reach beneath. It was there I almost realised some of the fairy scenes I had pictured in my imagination. I felt myself in an enchanted world of my own, and would sit watching the clouds as they passed along, comparing their shape to some romantic image in my mind, and peopling them with corresponding inhabitants. So lost was I in those reveries that I did not feel the time passing; and when the man came up to relieve me, I have often volunteered to stop his two hours also. When I came down on deck, I felt as it were cast from heaven to earth, and used to long for my turn to look out again. These were the only pleasures I enjoyed unmolested and unenvied; for few of my comrades required any pressing to allow me to remain in their place. The nights were now delightful; the moon shone in ‘cloudless majesty,’ and the air was so cool and pleasant, that it was preferred by the seamen to the day: instead of going below, they often gathered in knots on the deck, and played at various games, or told stories. Many of them were good at this. One of them, a Swede, had as large a collection as any person I ever knew; they were those of his country—mostly terrific—ghosts and men possessed of supernatural powers, were the heroes of his stories.[2] The flying Dutchman, and many other naval apparitions, were talked of and descanted on with much gravity. Sailors, in general, are very superstitious, and these stories were listened to with the greatest attention.

One night the weather was hazy, when I was appointed to look out a-head along with an old sailor, who was remarkable for being an attentive listener when any stories were telling. The moon was up; but a dense curtain of clouds hid her almost completely from our view. The wind came in gusts, and swept the clouds along in irregular masses. Sometimes a doubtful light would be thrown around us; again a dark cloud would intervene, and we could scarcely see the end of the jib-boom. The wind whistled through the rigging of the vessel occasionally with a low murmuring sound; then it would rise gradually to such a fury, that we could scarcely hear each other talk. We were anxiously looking out, when he asked me if I did not see something like a sail a-head. I replied that I did not. He pointed to the place where he imagined he saw it. I looked again. A partial gleam of light, occasioned by a cloud of lighter texture passing over the moon, being thrown on the place, I really thought I saw something like a sail. He did not wait for any more investigation, but gave the alarm. The mate came forward to see it; but the light was so uncertain, that he could not decide on what it was. The watch gathered about the bows of the vessel, every one having something to say on the subject. One pretended he saw a sail plainly—she was a square-rigged vessel, with all her sails set; another said she was schooner rigged. Ominous whispers now began to go round, intimating that her appearance was anything but natural. The mate, hearing some hints that were dropped, said, ‘There was a cursed deal too much of that ghost story-telling of late; and he would lay his head to a marlin-spike, that this would turn out to be no sail after all.’ At this moment (luckily for his prediction) the moon broke through in all her splendour; and as far as the eye could reach, not a speck on the surface of the dark blue waters could be traced. The laugh was now turned against those who had pretended to see the sail; but they only shook their heads doubtfully, and wished that nothing bad might follow. I venture to say that every one on board joined in that wish.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Scuppers, the holes by which the water runs off the deck.

[2] One of the stories he narrated was of a seaman with whom his father had sailed. He was a wonderful fellow: he could arrest a ship in full sail. When he wanted liquor, he had nothing to do but bore a hole in the mast, and out flowed rum, brandy, or any liquor he wished for. He once had committed some crime, for which he was sentenced to be flogged; the crew were assembled, and the culprit stripped and tied up; the boatswain raised his brawny arm to give the lash, but by some invisible power his arm was arrested in the air, and he stood with it stretched out, unable to bring it down. The master-at-arms raised his cane to strike the boatswain for his seeming neglect of duty, and his arm was arrested in like manner. The captain, enraged to see both boatswain and master-at-arms in the strange position, drew his sword, and raised it, to let it fall on some of their heads, when he shared the same fate. Thus all three stood with their arms upraised in air; nor would our hero release them from their awkward position, until he was pardoned and taken down. Some time after, he committed another crime; but they were afraid his power was too potent on board for them to proceed against him there: therefore he was conveyed ashore, and tried. In addition to the alleged crime, they brought forward a charge of dealing with the devil. The proof was reckoned conclusive, and he was sentenced to suffer death. He gave himself no uneasiness about it. The day arrived on which he was to be executed; and the guard entered his prison for the purpose of conveying him to the place of execution. When they entered, he was busily drawing a ship upon the wall with chalk; he requested them to wait a moment until he would finish it. They did so. When he had done, he bade those about him adieu; and lifting his foot, as if it were to step into his mimic ship, he disappeared from their eyes in a moment, and was never heard of after.

CHAPTER IV.

A few days after that, we fell in with a vessel which we hailed, and found she was bound for Greenock from Jamaica. She brought to; and all those who wished to send letters to their friends were ordered to make haste and write them. I got out my writing materials; but I was at a loss what to say. Had I been inclined to tell the truth, I would have been at no loss; but I could not bear the idea of owning how grossly I had been deceived in my ideas of a sailor’s life. However, I believe I gave them room to think that I did not like it very well. I had lost so much time in resolving what to write, that the letters were called for before I had time to give any particulars. When I was sealing my letter, I ardently wished I could insinuate myself inside of it.

Nothing particular occurred during the rest of our voyage, until a few days before we made the land. One morning early a sail appeared to windward, the captain looking at her through his telescope, was of opinion that she was a French privateer. All hands were called to quarters; and as she bore down upon us, the captain’s opinion was confirmed, for she fired a gun, and hoisted French colours. We were well manned, and carried as many guns as she appeared to do. Every thing was prepared for action; only the guns were not run out, and the ports were down. The captain had ordered all the men, with the exception of the petty officers, to lie down on the deck, concealed behind the bulwarks, until he should give the word of command. She was bearing fast down upon us, when I was ordered to the magazine to hand up ammunition. I was frightened enough when on deck; but when below, I became much more so. It was not long before a broadside was fired. I was sure it was from the enemy, and, stunned with the noise, fell flat on my face. ‘God be merciful to me!’ said I: for I was sure we were going to the bottom. In a minute after, I was surprised with the men cheering on deck. I mounted the ladder; and venturing my head up the hatchway, saw the strange ship a good way to leeward, making all the sail she could. On inquiring, I found that she had borne down close on us, thinking we were an unarmed merchant ship, and ordered us to strike. The reply we gave was what had alarmed me so much; for our men, starting to their feet on the word of command from the captain, ran out the guns, and gave her a broadside. She was so completely taken in by the reception she met with, that she sheered off without firing a shot. The captain’s orders were, not to deviate from his course, else we might have captured her.

We now drew near the land, and the lead was frequently hove to ascertain what sort of a bottom we had.[3] Pieces of sugar-cane, melons, and fruit of various kinds, were floating about; birds, in great numbers, hovered about the ship; and every thing intimated that the land was nigh. It was my turn to look out aloft, and I felt sure of the bottle of rum which is usually given to the man who espies land first. I was not long up, when I thought I saw land off the lee bow. I watched it attentively. It became better defined every minute. I was positive it was land, and I sung out, ‘Land, ho!’ with a joyous voice. The intelligence ran through the crew; and I saw them skipping about on deck, seemingly delighted with the news. The mate came up beside me to see where the land lay. I pointed it out to him; but it soon altered its appearance, and began slowly to move up from the verge of the horizon, and in less than ten minutes not a vestige of the appearance remained. To me it looked like enchantment; but I learned from the mate that such sights were not uncommon, and were termed by the seamen, ‘Cape Flyaway.’

In the course of the day we made the real land, but were too late to get into the harbour that night. However, next morning early we got in, and came to anchor nearly opposite Fort Charlotte, town of Nassau, after a passage of six weeks. As we entered the harbour, we found a sloop-of-war lying there: and some of our men, afraid of being pressed, took a boat, and made towards the shore; but the officers of the man-of-war observing them, they sent a boat in pursuit. Our fellows pulled hard, and would have made the shore before them, had they not fired a musket shot or two, and obliged them to lie to. They were then all taken on board the sloop-of-war; but in the course of the day they were sent back, with the exception of Donald M’Millan, who had given some insolence to the officers; and they sent word that they had kept him to teach him better manners. The boys did not mourn much at his detention, nor, I believe, did any of the crew; for his disposition was such, that every one hated him.

We were not long at anchor before we were surrounded by canoes from the shore, with black fellows in them, selling fruit of various kinds, not common in Britain. Here we got rid of some of our money, in exchange for bananas, guavas, and pine apples; and I almost forgot all my sufferings in the novelty of the scene around me. The white sandy beach, the light ornamented wooden buildings, walks bordered by palm and cocoa-nut trees, with the singular dresses of the planters and their negroes, were objects which made me think myself in a new world. In the course of the day we got off fresh beef and plenty of vegetables, which was a treat, having had nothing but salt provision from the time of leaving Greenock; and to complete our happiness, we got an extra allowance of rum sent from the owners of the cargo.

Next day we began to deliver the cargo. There was no quay, but wharfs here and there to the different stores. When the tide was in, we got our boats unloaded by means of a crane; but at low water we were obliged to push the hogsheads from the boats into the sea, and wading up to the middle to roll them out before us to the shore. This was most fatiguing and disagreeable work; therefore we were not sorry when it was finished. On Sundays, (the negroes’ market-day in the West Indies,) the half of the crew alternately got leave to go ashore. William and I happened to be of the first party, and we were delighted with every thing around us; but we could not discover that the inhabitants were disposed to give their money away for nothing any more than at home. Nor could we find anything to justify the notion, that a rapid fortune could be acquired there, without similar exertion to that we had been accustomed to see in other places. After taking a view of the town, and purchasing some shells and other curiosities, we came on board well pleased with the holiday we had had on shore. Soon after this, we began to take in our cargo, which consisted principally of rum, cotton, and coffee.

As yet it had been delightful weather, only excessively warm in the middle of the day; but the mornings and evenings were very pleasant. The third morning, after we began to take in our cargo, came on sultry and close. The air was oppressive—the clouds hung low and heavy, and ere long the rain burst out in torrents. This had not continued ten minutes, until we were up to our knees in water on the deck. It poured down so fast that it could not escape by the scuppers. The earth seemed threatened with another deluge. The whole face of the heavens was dark as night. The crew were all employed in striking the top-gallant masts, lowering the yards, and making everything snug. ‘This is shocking rain!’ said I to an old sailor who stood near me.

‘Yes,’ said he; ‘but we will have worse than rain by and by.’ He had scarcely said so, when the heavens seemed to open, and a flash of lightning burst forth, so strong and vivid that it took the sight from my eyes. A clap of thunder followed so loud and long that it must have appalled the stoutest heart. Flash after flash succeeded each other, and the peals of thunder were incessant. I thought the last day was come. Heaven and earth seemed jumbled together in one mass of fire, and the continued noise of the thunder struck my imagination as the result of the fabric falling to ruin.

Towards the afternoon the wind blew with great fury. The vessels in the harbour began to drag their anchors, and before night many of them were on shore; but we were well moored, and did not stir. The storm continued the greater part of the night; and such a night I hope I will never see again. No one would go below. We did not know the moment the lightning might strike the vessel, and perhaps send her to the bottom. It is in vain for me to attempt to convey any adequate description of that dreadful night in words. No one can form an idea of its awfulness, unless he had seen it. The men stood huddled in groups, on the deck, in silence. Indeed it was useless to speak, for they could not be heard; nor scarcely could they see each other, unless when the lightning shot its awful glare athwart their faces, and made their horror visible for an instant: and the livid cadaverous colour it shed over their countenances, gave them an expression truly appalling.

About one o’clock in the morning, the storm began to moderate; the flashes of lightning became weaker, and less frequent; the awful roaring of the thunder changed into a hoarse growl, and at length died away. By two the storm had so much subsided, that the seamen, with the exception of the harbour watch, went below to their hammocks.

I was surprised next morning, when I got up at sunrise, to see no vestige of the night’s storm remaining. All was calm and serene, save a pleasant breeze from the shore, which brought the most delicious odours along with it. The sun rose with unusual brightness, and all nature seemed renovated. We could not, indeed, have imagined that there had been a storm the preceding night, if the effects of its fury had not been visible in the roofless buildings and stranded vessels around us.

Our vessel had suffered little or no damage. We got on with our loading, and in a short time we were ready for sea. The day before we sailed, the owners sent a present of a bottle of rum to each man, to hold a sort of ‘chevo,’ as the sailors called it. The decks were cleared, and we sat down in groups with our bottles, and commenced drinking. Ail went on very well for a time. The song and joke went round, and harmony and good humour prevailed. But when the drink began to operate, some of them who had differences during the voyage began to ‘tell their minds.’ The result was, that they came to high words, and from that to blows. The rest of the crew took different sides, according as they were interested; and the deck soon became a scene of confusion and bloodshed. I had drunk little, and mounted into the foretop to be out of ‘harm’s way;’ and from thence saw the combat, without danger of getting any of the blows which were dealing out so plentifully. The mate came forward to try to quell the disturbance; but they knocked him over a kedge anchor that lay on the deck, and broke one of his ribs.

At length the disturbance died away, and I came down on deck. Some deep drinkers had gathered the bottles which had escaped destruction during the fight, and were emptying their contents. Others were lying insensibly drunk and vomiting. Broken bottles, with their contents promiscuously mixed on the deck with the blood of the combatants, lay scattered about in every direction. I never saw such miserable-looking wretches as they were next morning. Most of them were ‘horrified.’ Almost all of them bore marks of the late fray—black eyes, swelled lips, sprained thumbs, &c. &c. As the vessel was to sail that day, the captain, in order to bring them about a little, served them out their grog, and they quickly got to rights again.

We got up our anchors, and set sail with a fair wind. I could not describe the emotions I felt, when I saw the vessel’s head turned homewards. I was all joyous anticipation of meeting with my parents. ‘I shall never leave them again,’ thought I. ‘I shall obey them in everything, and we shall be so happy. I have seen my folly, and I shall make a good use of my experience.’

Nothing particular occurred on the passage home, until we got near the British coast, when the weather became extremely cold. The look-out aloft was no longer a pleasant berth. I have often been so benumbed when the man came up to relieve me, that I could scarcely move my limbs to come down upon deck. The weather had been rough for some time, but one afternoon it began to blow uncommonly hard. The wind was fair, however, and the captain seemed unwilling to take in sail, but the gale increasing, he ordered the top-gallant sails to be handed. William and I, with another boy, went up to hand the main top-gallant sail. The vessel was pitching dreadfully. William went to the weather, and I went to the lee earing to haul in the leach of the sail. The part which bound the yard to the mast gave way, and it pitched out with such violence, that William was shook from his hold, and precipitated into the sea. I got a dreadful shock. This was an awful moment. Every pitch that the vessel gave, the yard was thrown out from the mast with such force, that it was a miracle I escaped. The other boy had got in on the mast, but it appeared impossible for me to follow him. Nothing could save me, unless the despairing hold that I retained, and I could not have kept it long, for every shock rendered me weaker; but some of the seaman were sent up with a loose line, and succeeded in bracing the yard to the mast, and I was relieved from my perilous situation.

Poor William! I saw him fall. ‘O God!’ he cried, as he fell. I heard no more. The next moment he was swallowed by the waves. They told me he never rose. It was impossible to do anything to save him in such weather with any effect. His fate made a great impression on my mind, for he was my only companion. He was a clever boy, warm-hearted, and kind in his disposition, although he had become quite broken-hearted. Nor did he seem relieved from his melancholy by the prospect of returning home; for he was sure that his father would do nothing to get him free from the ship; and even if he did, he could feel little pleasure in the anticipation of his usage there. ‘O Joseph!’ he would often say, ‘If I had a father and mother like yours, how happy would I be! but I may truly say that I am an orphan! To be sure, while my mother was living, she was everything that was good and affectionate to me; but when she died, I lost the only friend I had in the world, for my father never was kind to me, and after he married again, I never had a happy minute in the house; and if I were to go home again, even supposing that he would get me free from the ship, things would be worse than before. But I am sure I will not live to return. There is a heavy something hangs on my mind, that tells me I will not see the end of this voyage; but I do not feel grieved at it, I rather feel a pleasure in the idea. Then I will be free from ill usage and persecution; and what makes me long for my death, is the hope that I will meet my mother in heaven, never to part from her again.’ I could not forbear weeping when he spoke in this manner; and I tried to cheer him as much as I could, by putting him in mind of our former schemes of happiness and fortune; but he only shook his head, and said, ‘This is not the world we dreamed it was; but even so, I have no friends, no prospects, and death appears to me to be the only thing that can alter my situation for the better.’ Poor fellow! he little thought it was so near.

The gale still continued to increase, and all our sails were taken in, with the exception of a close-reefed fore-top-sail. The wind veered about, and blew a hurricane. Some of the sails were torn in ribbons before they could be handed. The sea ran mountains high. The sky was darkened, and the flapping of the sails and rattling of the blocks made such a noise that we could scarcely hear our own voices. The sea broke over us in such a way that boats, spars, and camboose, were carried off the deck, and the helm became almost totally unmanageable, although four men were constantly at it. When a sea struck the vessel, she creaked as if her very sides were coming together. The men were obliged to lash themselves to every place where they could find safety, to prevent their being washed overboard; and in this manner we stood in awful suspense, waiting the issue of the storm. One minute she would rise, perched as it were, on the verge of a precipice; the next, she would descend through the yawning gulf as if she would strike the very bottom of the sea, while vivid flashes of lightning contributed to throw a horrific glare over the scene.

Three days were we tossed about in this manner, every day expecting it to be our last, for we thought it impossible that the ship could weather the gale. During that time we could not get below, the hatches being battened down, and we had to subsist on dry biscuit, or eat raw pork with it, for we could get nothing cooked.

On the fourth day the storm abated, and the weather cleared up, but the vessel rolled so that we expected her masts to go overboard. After the gale we fell in with some vessels which had suffered severely, one in particular had lost all her masts. We were at this time near the mouth of the Channel; and next day, we made Cape Clear. I could not express what I felt at again seeing the shores of Britain. My imagination was hard at work drawing pictures of the future. We ran up along the Irish coast with a fair wind, and at last came in sight of the well-known Craig of Ailsa; and passing it, and the Cumbrays and the Clough light-house, we anchored in Greenock roads. I was in transports of joy at the idea of getting home again; but a doubt would often cross my mind, whether my father might feel inclined to get me free from the vessel, after so obstinately persisting in going to sea; I, at least, felt sensible that I did not deserve such indulgence. The day after we arrived, however, my mind was set at ease, for my mother came from Glasgow to see me, and the first words she said, were, ‘Well, Joseph, are you tired of the sea?’ The tears came into my eyes, but I could not speak. ‘I find you don’t like it,’ said she: ‘you have found out, I believe, that your father’s description of a sea life was a true one—well, we must try and get you home again.’ A day or two afterwards, my father came to Greenock, and having settled matters with the owners, I went home with him on the coach, fully resolved that I should be more wise in future. I had a joyful meeting with my friends, and, for a time, all went on pleasantly; but my restless disposition still remained the same, and I soon grew tired of home. My parents expected a miraculous change in me; and when they found that my voyage had made me little wiser, any indiscretion was generally checked with an allusion to my former conduct. This irritated my feelings. Those boys who used to associate with me now avoided my company; most of them, I believe, by the injunction of their parents. There were two boys with whom I had been on the most friendly terms—their parents and mine were very intimate—they were constant playfellows of mine before I went to sea, and I had occasionally seen them after my return, without their seeming any way reserved towards me. Some months after I came home, however, I happened to be diverting myself with them in their court-yard, we were playing at hide-and-seek, having hid myself in the straw-house, I heard their father call them and ask who was with them; when they told him, he said, ‘Never let me see you in that boy’s company again, for he ran away from his parents, and he may induce you to do the same.’ This went like a dagger to my heart. It humbled me severely in my own eyes. I waited until he went into the house, and then slunk away like a felon. From that day I thought every one who looked at me were passing similar observations in their minds. My temper became soured, and I grew melancholy and restless. I brooded continually over the indignity which I conceived I had suffered. ‘Then,’ said I to myself, ‘I have become an object of contempt to every one. I can never endure this—I will not remain in Glasgow.’

FOOTNOTES:

[3] There is a cavity in the bottom of the lead, which is filled with tallow, to which sand or gravel, composing the bed of the sea, adheres.

CHAPTER V.

One evening, in January, 1809, returning from dinner to school, brooding over my real or imaginary evils—my mind in such a state of despondency that I could almost have taken away my life,—I determined to leave Glasgow, for, I thought, if once out of it I should be happy. In this state of mind, walking down the High Street, I met a soldier. The thought struck me instantly that I would enlist, although I rather felt a prejudice against the army. Yet, by enlisting, I would get out of Glasgow, and to me that was everything. I followed the soldier, and asked him where his officer lodged. He showed me the place, and I enlisted, with the proviso that he would send me out of the town immediately. I was sent to Paisley, and remained with the party there until the recruits were ordered to march for head-quarters. When I came into Glasgow to join them, in passing through the Bridgegate, I met my mother. I had never written to my parents, nor had they heard of me from the time I enlisted. I could scarcely define my feelings: shame—grief—a sort of sullen despair—a sense that I had cut myself off from the world—that I had done my worst, and a determination to push it to the utmost—were mingled together in my mind. My mother first broke silence. ‘Poor, infatuated boy!’ said she, the tears flowing down her cheeks, ‘what new calamity have you brought on yourself by your wild, inconstant disposition?’ I told her I had enlisted, and was going that day to join my regiment,—‘Alas!’ said she, ‘you have now finished it. Now you are lost to us and to yourself; but will you not come home, and see your father before you go?’ I hesitated. ‘Perhaps,’ said she, ‘it will be the last time you may ever see him. Come, you had better go with me.’ I consented, and we went home together. It was near four o’clock. My father generally came at that hour to dinner. My mother met him as he came in, and explained matters to him. He strove to assume an air of calmness; but his countenance showed the emotions that were working in his mind. We sat down at the table to dinner; but no one seemed inclined to eat. My father cut some meat on his plate, but instantly pushed it from him. He rose from his seat, and walked about the floor with a rapid pace. He opened his waiscoat.—He seemed suffocating. I could no longer endure to see the convulsive agony with which his whole frame was agitated. I sunk on my knees at his feet, and cried out, ‘Forgive me, O father—forgive me!’

He looked at me for a moment: then, bursting into tears, he said, ‘God forgive you! God forgive you! my poor unfortunate boy. Alas!’ said he, ‘I had none but you. I had formed schemes for your advancement in life. I saw you had some talent, and was determined to spare no expense in making you fit to fill a respectable situation. I had figured to myself you going in and out with me, happy and contented—a credit to yourself and to your parents; but, alas! those hopes are now fled for ever: for the first news I hear of you, may be that your corpse is bleaching on the Continent—a prey to wolves and eagles.’ Then, as if correcting himself for drawing such a picture—‘But your life is in the hands of God. Yet even now, are you not lost to me? May I not say that I am childless?—I give you my forgiveness freely, and also my blessing; and if you should survive, oh! may you never have a son that will cause you such agony as I feel at this moment. Farewell! my poor boy; I am afraid I may say Farewell for ever!’ With these words he rushed into an adjoining room, and threw himself on his knees, I suppose to pray for that son who had repaid all his kindness with ingratitude and disobedience. My mother was wild with grief. It was the hour at which we were to march. I tore myself out of the house in a state of distraction, and joined the party, who were now on the road to Airdrie. My mind was in such a state of agitation, that I scarcely knew where I was going. I walked on before the party, as if some evil thing had been pursuing me, anxious, as it were, to run away from my own feelings.

I am scarcely conscious of what passed between that and Dunbar; it seems like a confused dream. But the parting scene with my father often recurred to my memory; and although it is now fifteen years since it took place, it remains in it as fresh as yesterday. The step I took at that time has been to me the source of constant and unavailing regret; for it not only destroyed my fair prospects in life, and fixed me in a situation that I disliked, but I believe it was the means of breaking the heart of a parent, whose only fault was that of being too indulgent. I felt sensible of his tenderness, and I am sure I loved him. But mine was a wayward fate. Hurried on by impulse, I generally acted contrary to the dictates of my own judgment—‘My argument right, but my life in the wrong.’

He has long gone to his eternal rest; but while he lived, he was a man—take him all in all—whose equal will be rarely found; for it could truly be said of him, that ‘even his failings leaned to virtue’s side.’

When our party arrived in Dunbar, where the regiment lay, after being finally approved, and the balance of my bounty paid, which was about four guineas, (after deducting necessaries,) I was conducted by the sergeant to the room where my berth was appointed. When he left me, I sat down on a form, melancholy enough. An old soldier sat down beside me; and, remarking that I looked dull, asked me where I came from, when I replied, ‘Glasgow.’

I was immediately claimed as a townsman by some of the knowing ones, one of whom had the Irish brogue in perfection, and another the distinguishing dialect and accent of a cockney.

‘You don’t speak like natives of Glasgow.’ said I.

‘Och! stop until you be as long from home as me,’ said Paddy, giving a wink to his comrades, ‘and you will forget both your mother-tongue and the mother that bore you.’

‘Ha’ ye got yere boonty yet, laddie?’ said an Aberdeen man.

‘Yes,’ said I.

‘Than you’ll no want for frien’s as lang as it lasts.’

So I found; for every little attention was paid me that they could devise. One brushed my shoes, another my coat; and nothing could equal the many professions of good-will and offers of service I received. There was a competition amongst them who should be my comrade, each supporting his offer by what service he would render me, such as cleaning my accoutrements, teaching me my exercise, &c. It appeared to me that I was set up at auction to be knocked down to the highest bidder. But I paid little attention to them. My mind was taken up, thinking of my folly, and ruminating on its consequences.

After holding a private consultation amongst themselves, one of them took me aside, and told me it was the usual custom for each recruit, when he joined the company, to give the men of the room he belonged to a ‘treat.’

‘How much?’ said I, putting my hand in my pocket; for, in the passive state of mind I was then in, they would have found little difficulty in persuading me to give them all I had.

‘A guinea,’ was the reply.

‘Why didn’t you ask two?’ said an old fellow aside to the spokesman, when he saw me give the one so freely. He seemed vexed that he had not.

It was then proposed to go into the town, to purchase the liquor; and I, of course must go along with them. Four or five accompanied me to town, and we met two or three more as if by accident. As we returned home, they lingered behind me a little, and appeared to be consulting about something. When they came up to me, one of them said, as I had been so free in treating them, they could not do less than treat me; and led the way into a public-house for that purpose. One half pint of whisky was called in after another, all protesting that they would be their share; but when the reckoning came to be paid, which amounted to seven or eight shillings, each asked his neighbour to lend him until he went up to the barracks. It turned out, however, that none of them had any money; and it ended in a proposal that I should pay the whole, and they would repay me on pay-day. This opened my eyes a little. I thought I could see a great deal of meanness and trick in their conduct; but I seemed to take no notice of it.

When night came, the room was cleared, and the forms ranged around. An old Highlander in the room had a pair of bagpipes, which, with two fifes, constituted our music, and when we were all assembled, the drinking commenced, handing it round from one to another. After a round or two, old Donald’s pipes were called for, and the men commenced dancing with the women of the company. The stamping, hallooing, and snapping of fingers which ensued, intermingled with the droning sound of the bagpipes, was completely deafening. In the confusion some of the thirsty souls took the opportunity to help themselves out of their turn, which being observed, caused a dispute; and the liquor being expended, a join of a shilling a man was proposed to ‘carry on the glory.’ I was again applied to, and aided by this fresh supply, they kept up ‘the spree’ until one o’clock in the morning. When some of them who had got drunk began to fight, the lights were knocked out, and pokers, tongs, and tin dishes were flying about in every direction. At last the affair ended by the officer of the guard sending some of them to the guard-house, and ordering the others to bed.

Next morning I was besieged, before six o’clock, by a band of the fellows who had got drunk the night before, begging me to treat them to a glass to ‘heal their head.’ I felt little inclined to drink at that hour, and expressed myself to that effect. They then asked me to lend them money to procure it, and they would repay me on pay-day. I gave them what they wanted, and I soon had the most of the men in the room at me on the same errand. In the course of the day I got my regimentals served out, and was sent to drill. After drill it was intimated to the recruits who had lately joined, that they ought to treat the drill sergeant, by way of propitiating his favour. While we were talking, the sergeant who had conducted us to the regiment came up to bid us farewell.

‘You are not going away to-night,’ said a recruit.

‘I believe I will,’ said the sergeant, ‘unless you have anything to treat me to.’

‘You ought to give the sergeant a supper,’ said a man who had joined about a month before; ‘we gave our conducting sergeant a supper.’

It was therefore agreed that we could be no worse than the others, and he was accordingly invited along with our drill sergeant. When night came, and we were going into town, it was moved that the sergeants of our companies ought to be invited also; of course it was insinuated that we would be no losers by so doing. When we were all met, between sergeants of companies and their friends, whom they had taken the liberty to invite, we were a goodly company.

The supper came in, and was done great justice to by the guests. Next came the drink, and when all hearts were warmed by the rum punch, numerous were the protestations of friendship and promises of favour from the sergeants to the recruits, which were very soon forgotten. I was sitting next our conducting sergeant: he seemed very restless, and spoke often to a very loquacious sergeant who sat near him, who replied several times that it was too soon yet. At last, however, when he found we were all pretty mellow, he rose and commenced his harangue with, ‘I say, lads, I daresay you are all very well pleased with Sergeant A——.’ This was assented to by all the recruits. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I just wished to inform you that it is the usual custom for the recruits to give the sergeant who conducts them a present when they receive their bounty.’

The acquiescence of all present, showed how well the sergeant had chosen the time to make his proposition.

‘What is the usual sum?’ said one.

This question was put to our conducting sergeant: and after some hesitation, he very modestly replied, ‘five shillings each.’

The money was soon collected, and he pocketed it with great glee.

At a late hour we separated, and got home to our barrack rooms without disturbance, having previously had leave from tattoo. Next day I was roused for drill at daylight; and after coming in, wishing to procure some breakfast, I was surprised to find my cash dwindled to a very few shillings. During the day, I was applied to by some of my comrades for the loan of more money; but I refused, alleging that I had little left. I could soon see that this information made a great impression on them; for the things which they had formerly been so officious in doing for me were now left to be done by myself; and amongst all those who had been so anxious to become my comrades, I could not find one now that would accept of me, and a new party of recruits joining I was soon altogether forgot.

Next day, having purchased some little things that I needed, I found my money expended; but I gave myself little uneasiness about it, as I had lent so much, and the following day was pay-day. When the men received their pay, I spoke to those who had borrowed the money from me, and said that I would be obliged to them for it; but how was I surprised when some of them swore I had never lent them a farthing, and threatened to beat me for presuming to say so! Others said they could not pay me at that time; and more of them laughed at my simplicity in expecting repayment of any money borrowed out of a bounty! This is strange kind of justice, thought I; and leaving the room, I wandered down by the sea side, thinking on the honest men I had got amongst. I heard the step of some one behind me, and turning round to see who it was, I perceived one of the recruits who had joined some time before me. His name was Dennis ——: he was an Irishman. I had remarked that he took no part with the others, in their professions of kindness to me, and that on the night of the spree he had gone to bed without joining in it. When he came up to me, he said, ‘I have waited until now to speak to you, for I would not say a word while the bounty lasted, lest you might suspect that I was like the others; but now I have come to say that if you choose you can be my comrade, for mine left me before you came to the room, to go along with a recruit; and now, that his bounty is finished, he wishes to come back again; but I hate such meanness, and would never associate with a fellow of his description; however, I think you and I will agree.’ I was glad to accept his disinterested offer; and during all the time that Dennis and I were comrades, I never had reason to repent it; for he was of a warm-hearted generous disposition, and never flinched from me in distress. He had no education: he could neither read nor write; but he had a judgment, which no sophistry could blind, and his acute Hibernian remarks often puzzled men who thought themselves better informed; besides this, he had a fund of honour that never would allow him to stoop to a mean action. One fault, indeed, he had in common with the generality of his countrymen, and that was, when he got liquor he was a thorough madman.

Dennis and I were now left to ourselves, to act as we pleased, and the ‘knowing boys’ looked out for newer hands to fleece, some of them descending to very mean stratagems to get drink. I remember being in town with Dennis one evening, and having gone into a public-house to get a glass before we went home, one of those disgraceful animals came into the room where we were sitting, and after telling some rigmarole story, without being asked to drink, he lifted the glass from before us, and having said, ‘Here’s your health,’ swallowed its contents. I was confounded at his impudence, and sat staring at him; but Dennis was up in an instant, and knocked him down, and, as he said himself, ‘kicked him for falling.’ The fellow never made any resistance, but gathered himself up, and crawled out of the room. When he was gone,—‘By my faith!’ said Dennis, ‘I think I gave the rascal the worth of his money—that is the only cure for a “spunge.”’

‘I wonder they have no shame,’ said I.

‘Shame!’ rejoined Dennis, ‘shame and they might be married, for any relationship between them!’

In a short time I began to recover my spirits, and when I had any spare time, I had recourse to my old favourites, which I obtained from a circulating library in the town. It is true I could not now dream so delectably of the life of a shepherd or a sailor; but I had the field of honour before me. To fight in defence of one’s country, thought I—to follow the example of a Bruce or a Wallace—must be a glorious thing. Military fame seemed the only object worth living for. I already anticipated my acts of valour, charging the enemy, driving all before me, and coming back loaded with honour and a stand of French colours; receiving the praise of my commanding officer, and a commission. On I went in my career of arms, and it was impossible to stop short of being a general.

In these day-dreams of promotion and honour, I did not look particularly to the situation I was then in; or even very attentively at the intermediate ground I had to go over; but these were trifles in my estimation at that time. I must confess, however, that a damp was often thrown over these fine speculations by some harsh words from the drill sergeant, or some overbearing conduct of my superiors. Or when I saw a poor fellow taken out, and receiving a flogging for being ten minutes late from tattoo, I could not help thinking the road to preferment rather rough. Be that as it may, I believe I had by this time caught a portion of military enthusiasm; and ‘death or glory’ seemed very fine words, and often, when walking alone, have I ranted over the words which Goldsmith puts into the mouth of the Vicar of Wakefield, when his son leaves him to go into the army,—‘Go, my boy, and if you fall, though distant, exposed, and unwept by those who love you, the most precious tears are those with which heaven bedews the unburied head of the soldier.’

The miserable retreat of our army to Corunna, and the account given of it by some of those who had returned, often lowered my too sanguine anticipations; but nothing could permanently keep down my ever active imagination. In this state of mind, I felt a relief from the melancholy I had previously sunk into; but still I was far from being contented; something was continually occurring which made me draw comparisons between my present way of living, and that which I had enjoyed at home. There were few of those with whom I could associate, that had an idea beyond the situation they were in:[4] those who had were afraid to show they possessed any more knowledge than their comrades, for fear of being laughed at by fellows who, in other circumstances, they would have despised. If a man ventured to speak in a style more refined than the herd around him, he was told that ‘Every one did not read the dictionar’ like him;’ or, ’ Dinna be gi’en us ony o’ your grammar words na.’ If a man, when accused by his superiors of something of which he was not guilty, ventured to speak in his own defence, he was called a lawyer, and desired to give no reply. If he said that he thought it was hard that he should be condemned without a hearing, the answer was, ‘Be silent, sir! you have no right to think; there are people paid for thinking for you—do what you are ordered, sir, right or wrong,’

If he did not join with his neighbours in their ribald obscenity and nonsense, he was a Methodist,—if he did not curse and swear, he was a Quaker—and if he did not drink the most of his pay, he was called a miser, a mean scrub, and the generality of his comrades would join in execrating him.

In such society, it was a hard matter for a man of any superior information or intellect to keep his ground; for he had few to converse with on those subjects which were most congenial to his mind, and to try to inform his comrades was a vain, and by them considered a presumptuous attempt. Thus, many men of ability and information were, I may say, forced from the intellectual height which they had attained, down to the level of those with whom they were obliged to associate; and everything conspired to sink them to that point where they became best fitted for tractable beasts of burden.

Blackguardism was fashionable, and even the youngest were led into scenes of low debauchery and drunkenness, by men advanced in years. Many of the officers, who, at least, ought to have been men of superior talents and education, seemed to be little better, if we were allowed to judge from the abominable oaths and scurrility which they used to those under their command, and the vexatious and overbearing tyranny of their conduct, which was too often imitated by those beneath them.

It redounds much to the honour of those who superintend the discipline of the army at present, that the situation of the soldier has been much ameliorated since that period.

Let it not be thought, however, that there were not many exceptions to this general character which I have drawn, (some of whom I will have occasion to mention in this narrative,) who have shed a lustre around the military character that has often served to conceal its defects.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] This is not to be wondered at when we consider how the army was at that time recruited; it is very different now.

CHAPTER VI.

About the beginning of May, we got the route for Aberdeen. On the march I have nothing interesting to take notice of, unless the kindness which we experienced from the people where we were billeted on the road, particularly after we crossed the Firth of Forth.

We arrived in Aberdeen, after a march of ten days, where we had better barracks, and cheaper provisions than in Dunbar; but the barracks being too small, a number of our men were billeted in the town, and not being in the mess when pay-day came, it was a common thing for many of them to spend what they had to support them in drink; and some of them were so infatuated as to sell even their allowance of bread for the same purpose. They were then obliged (to use their own phraseology) to ‘Box Harry,’ until the next pay-day; and some of them carried this system to such a length, that it was found necessary to bring them into barracks, to prevent them from starving themselves.

If I may be allowed to draw a conclusion from what I have seen, the men’s morals are no way improved by being lodged out of barracks; for, while here, the principal employment of many of them when off duty was drinking, and associating with common women; and I think, if anything tends to depreciate the character of the soldier in the eyes of his countrymen, in civil life, more than another, it is this habit of associating publicly with such characters. This total disregard of even the appearance of decency, conveys an idea to the mind that he must be the lowest of the low. But many of them seem to be proud of such company; and it is quite a common thing to meet them on the streets arm in arm.

This debasement of feeling and character, I imagine, arises from the system of discipline pursued by many commanding officers, which teaches the soldier to believe that he is a mere piece of machinery in the hands of his superiors, to be moved only as they please without any accordance of his own reason or judgment, and that he has no merit in his own actions, independent of this moving power. Such a belief has naturally the effect of making a man so little in his own eyes, that he feels he cannot sink lower, let him keep what company he may.

But let soldiers be taught that they have a character to uphold; give them to understand that they are made of the same materials as those who command them, capable of feeling sentiments of generosity and honour; let officers evince by their conduct that they believe that the men they command have feelings as well as themselves, (although it would be a hard task to make some of them think so;) let them be encouraged to improve their minds, and there will soon be a change for the better in the army—one honourable to all concerned.

The doctrine which teaches that men are most easily governed when ignorant, is, I believe, now nearly exploded; and I can say from my own experience, and also safely appeal to all unprejudiced individuals of the army, whether they have not found men having some intellectual cultivation the best soldiers.

We had been about three months in Aberdeen, when we received orders to hold ourselves in readiness to sail for Jersey; and four transports having arrived for us, we prepared to embark.

This was a busy scene. We had been on good terms with the townspeople, and many of them attended us to the pier. As we marched down, the old women stood in rows, exclaiming,—‘Peer things! they are gaun awa’ to the slauchter.’ While the boys were ranked up, marching before our band, with as much importance as if they considered themselves heroes; and no doubt, the fine music, and the sight of the soldiers marching to it, gave them high ideas of a military life; and perhaps, was the incipient cause of their enlisting at a future period. Indeed, I must confess that when I heard the crowd cheering, and our music playing before us, I felt at least a foot higher, and strutted with as much dignity as if I had been a general. I almost felt proud at that moment that I was a soldier.

Once embarked, however, and fairly out to sea, my enthusiasm soon evaporated. Stowed like any other part of a cargo, with only eighteen inches allowed for each man to lie on, we had scarcely room to move. The most of the men became sea-sick, and it was almost impossible to be below without becoming so. The women particularly suffered much; being crammed in indiscriminately amongst the men, and no arrangement made for their comfort.

No incident of any consequence took place on this voyage, with the exception of a severe gale of wind, which forced us to run into Dungeness; but it soon abated, and proceeding on our voyage, we made the island of Jersey, and disembarked at St Oban’s harbour; from thence we marched through St Helier’s to the Russian barracks near Groville.

All kinds of liquor, tea, sugar, and fruit, were here uncommonly cheap; but bread was dear, and what we had served out as rations was quite black and soft, something in consistence like clay. Brandy was only a shilling a bottle; wine, two shillings; cyder, three-halfpence a quart; and tobacco, fifteen pence a pound.

The jovial drinking fellows amongst us thought this another paradise—a heaven on earth; and many of them laid the foundation of complaints here which they never got rid of.

It was during the time we were here that the jubilee (on his late Majesty’s entering the fiftieth year of his reign) was celebrated. We were marched to the sands between St Helier’s and St Oban’s, where the whole of the military on the island were assembled. We were served out with eighteen rounds of blank cartridge per man, and the feu-de-joie was fired from right to left, and again taken up by the right, thus keeping up a constant fire until it was all expended. The artillery, with the various batteries, and shipping in the harbour, joined in the firing; and altogether formed an imposing scene.

When we arrived at our barracks, we got a day’s pay in advance, and, with great injunctions not to get drunk and riotous, we were allowed to go and make ourselves merry until tattoo-beating. Dennis and I resolved to hold the occasion like the others, although he said he did not admire this way of ‘treating us to our own.’

We went to one of the usual drinking-houses; but it was full, up to the door; volumes of tobacco smoke issued from every opening; and the noise of swearing and singing was completely deafening.

We were obliged to go farther off to get a house to sit down in. At last we found a place of that description, and went in. After a glass or two, we became quite jovial; and Dennis insisted that our host and his wife should sit down along with us. He was a Frenchman and spoke little English; but Dennis did not mind that, and there soon commenced a most barbarous jargon—Dennis laying off a long story, of which, I am sure, the poor man did not understand a syllable. Yet he went on, still saying at the end of every sentence, ‘You take me now?’—‘You persave me now, don’t you?’ While our host, whose patience seemed pretty well taxed, would shrug up his shoulders with a smile, and looking at his wife, who seemed to understand what was said nearly as well as himself, he would give a nod and say,

‘Oui, monsieur—yees, sare,’

Dennis having got tired of talking, asked the landlord if he could sing. This completely puzzled the Frenchman. At last, after every method had been tried in vain to make him comprehend, Dennis said, ‘You do this,’ and opening his mouth, he howled out a line of an Irish song. The Frenchman, seemingly frightened with the noise that Dennis had made, started to his feet and exclaimed,

‘Me no chanter.’

‘Och! the devil’s in ye, for a liar, Parly-vu. But no matter, I’ll give you a song—a true Irish song, my jewel,’ and he commenced with the ‘Sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.’ He had got as far as ‘An Irishman all in his glory was there,’ quivering and spinning out the last line of the verse to a prodigious length, when a rap came to the door, and the voice of the sergeant of the picquet, asking if there were any soldiers in the house, put an unpleasant end to his melody. Previous to this, however, Dennis had taken up a spade handle, to represent the shillelah, and it was with difficulty that I prevented him from bringing it down on the sergeant’s head.

We were then escorted to the guard-house, for being out after tattoo, which we found so full that we could scarcely get admittance. Dennis cried and sung by turns, until he fell fast asleep. I was so stupified with the drink I had taken, that I scarcely knew how I felt. Next morning, however, we were released along with all the others who had been confined the preceding evening.

We had been about three months in Jersey when the order came for our embarkation for Portugal; but only six women to every hundred men were allowed to accompany us. As there were, however, a great many more than that number, it was ordered that they should draw lots, to see who should remain. The women of the company to which I belonged were assembled in the pay-sergeant’s room for that purpose. The men of the company had gathered round them, to see the result, with various degrees of interest depicted in their countenances. The proportionate number of tickets were made with ‘to go’ or ‘not to go’ written on them. They were then placed in a hat, and the women were called by their seniority to draw their tickets. I looked round me before they began. It was an interesting scene. The sergeant stood in the middle with a hat in his hand, the women around him, with their hearts palpitating, and anxiety and suspense in every countenance. Here and there you would see the head of a married man pushed forward, from amongst the crowd, in the attitude of intense anxiety and attention.

The first woman called, was the sergeant’s wife—she drew ‘not to go.’ It seemed to give little concern to any one, but herself and her husband. She was not very well liked in the company. The next was a corporal’s wife—she drew ‘to go.’ This was received by all with nearly as much apathy as the first. She was little beloved either.

The next was an old hand, a most outrageous virago, who thought nothing of giving her husband a knock down when he offended her, and who used to make great disturbance about the fire in the cooking way. Every one uttered their wishes audibly that she would lose: and her husband, if we could judge from his countenance, seemed to wish so too. She boldly plunged her hand into the hat, and drew out a ticket; and opening it, she held it up triumphantly, and displayed ‘to go.’ ‘Hurra,’ said she, ‘old Meg will go yet, and live to scald more of you about the fireside.’ A general murmur of disappointment ran through the whole.

‘Hang the old wretch!’ said some of them, ‘she has the devil’s luck and her own.’

The next in turn was the wife of a young man, who was much respected in the company for his steadiness and good behaviour. She was remarkable for her affection for her husband, and beloved by the whole company for her modest and obliging disposition. She advanced with a palpitating heart and trembling hand, to decide on (what was to her, I believe) her future happiness or misery. Every one prayed for her success. Trembling between fear and hope she drew out one of the tickets, and attempted to open it: but her hand shook so that she could not do it. She handed it to one of the men to open.—When he opened it, his countenance fell, and he hesitated to say what it was. She cried out to him, in a tone of agony, ‘Tell me, for God’s sake, what it is.’

‘Not to go,’ said he in a compassionate tone of voice.

‘Oh, God, help me! O Sandy!’ she exclaimed, and sunk lifeless in the arms of her husband, who had sprung forward to her assistance, and in whose face was now depicted every variety of wretchedness. The drawing was interrupted, and she was carried by her husband to his berth, where he hung over her in frantic agony. By the assistance of those around her, she was soon recovered from her swoon; but she awoke only to a sense of her misery. The first thing she did was to look round for her husband, when she perceived him she seized his hand, and held it, as if she was afraid that he was going to leave her. ‘O, Sandy, you’ll no leave me and your poor babie, will you?’ The poor fellow looked in her face with a look of agony and despair.

The scene drew tears from every eye in the room with the exception of the termagant whom I have already mentioned, who said, ‘What are ye a’ makin’ sic a wark about? let the babie get her greet out. I suppose she thinks there’s naebody ever parted with their men but her, wi’ her faintin’, and her airs, and her wark.’

‘Oh, you’re an oul hard-hearted devil,’ said Dennis, ‘an unfeeling oul hag, and the devil ’ill never get his due till he gets you;’—and he took her by the shoulders and pushed her out of the room. She would have turned on Dennis; but she had got a squeeze from him on a former occasion, and I daresay she did not like to run the risk of another.

The drawing was again commenced, and various were the expressions of feeling evinced by those concerned. The Irish women, in particular, were loud in their grief. It always appeared to me that the Irish either feel more acutely than the Scotch or English, or that they have less restraint on themselves in expressing it. The barrack, through the rest of that day, was one continued scene of lamentation.

I was particularly interested in the fate of Sandy and his wife. I wished to administer consolation; but what could I say? There was no comfort that I could give, unless leading her to hope that we would soon return. ‘Oh, no,’ said she, ‘when we part here, I am sure that we’ll never meet again in this world!’

We were to march the next morning early. The most of the single men were away drinking. I slept in the berth above Sandy and his wife. They never went to bed, but sat the whole night in their berth, with their only child between them, alternately embracing it and each other, and lamenting their cruel fortune. I never witnessed in my life such a heart-rending scene. The poor fellow tried to assume some firmness; but in vain; some feeling expression from her would throw him off his guard, and at last his grief became quite uncontrollable.

When the first bugle sounded, he got up and prepared his things. Here a new source of grief sprung up. In laying aside the articles which he intended to leave, and which they had used together, the idea seemed fixed in her mind, that they would never use them in that way again; and as she put them aside, she watered them with her tears. Her tea-pot, her cups, and every thing that they had used in common—all had their apostrophe of sorrow. He tried to persuade her to remain in the barrack, as we had six miles to travel to the place of embarkation; but she said she would take the last minute in his company that she could.

The regiment fell in, and marched off, amid the wailing of those who, having two or three children, could not accompany us to the place of embarkation. Many of the men had got so much intoxicated that they were scarcely able to walk, and the commanding officer was so displeased with their conduct, that in coming through St Helier’s, he would not allow the band to play.

When we arrived at the place where we were to embark, a most distressing scene took place, in the men parting with their wives. Some of them, indeed, it did not appear to affect much; others had got themselves nearly tipsy; but the most of them seemed to feel acutely. When Sandy’s wife came to take her last farewell, she lost all government of her grief. She clung to him with a despairing hold. ‘Oh, dinna, dinna leave me!’ she cried. The vessel was hauling out. One of the sergeants came to tell her that she would have to go ashore. ‘Oh, they’ll never be so hard-hearted as to part us!’ said she; and running aft to the quarter-deck, where the commanding officer was standing, she sunk down on her knees, with her child in her arms. ‘Oh! will you no let me gang wi’ my husband? Will you tear him frae his wife and his wean? He has nae frien’s but us—nor we ony but him—and oh! will ye mak’ us a’ frien’less? See my wee babie pleadin’ for us.’

The officer felt a painful struggle between his duty and his feelings; the tears came into his eyes. She eagerly caught at this as favourable to her cause, ‘Oh ay, I see you have a feeling heart—you’ll let me gang wi’ him. You have nae wife; but if you had, I am sure you wad think it unco hard to be torn frae her this way—and this wee darlin’.’

‘My good woman,’ said the officer, ‘I feel for you much; but my orders are peremptory, that no more than six women to each hundred men go with their husbands. You have had your chance as well as the other women; and although it is hard enough on you to be separated from your husband, yet there are many more in the same predicament; and it is totally out of my power to help it.’

‘Well, well,’ said she, rising from her knees, and straining her infant to her breast: ‘It’s a’ owre wi’ us, my puir babie; this day leaves us friendless on the wide world.’

‘God will be your friend,’ said I, as I took the child from her until she would get into the boat. Sandy had stood like a person bewildered all this time, without saying a word.

‘Farewell, then, a last farewell, then,’ said she to him, ‘Where’s my babie?’ I handed him to her—‘Give him a last kiss, Sandy.’ He pressed the infant to his bosom in silent agony, ‘Now, a’s owre; farewell Sandy, we’ll maybe meet in heaven;’ and she stepped into the boat with a wild despairing look. The vessel was now turning the pier, and she was almost out of our sight in an instant; but as we got the last glimpse of her, she uttered a shriek, the knell of a broken heart, which rings in my ears at this moment. Sandy rushed down below, and threw himself into one of the berths, in a state of feeling which defies description. Poor fellow, his wife’s forebodings were too true! What became of her I have never been able to learn.

Nothing occurred worthy of remark on our voyage from Jersey to Lisbon. When we made the mouth of the Tagus, we got a Portuguese pilot on board. He had scarcely reached the gang-way when he was surrounded by all the men on deck; for his appearance was grotesque in the extreme. He was about four feet and a half high, and had on a jacket and breeches of what would have puzzled a philosopher to tell the original; for patches of red, yellow, blue, &c., were mingled through the whole dress, without any regularity. A pair of red stockings, and an enormous cocked hat, completed his costume. His complexion was of the same hue as a well-smoked bacon ham; and the whole contour of his face bore a striking resemblance to the ape tribe. ‘Blessings on your purty face, my honey,’ said Dennis, as he eyed him narrowly, ‘you have made your escape from some showman. May I never sin, if I don’t think I have seen you tumbling on a rope at Donnybrook fair.’ Our hero passed on, taking no notice of the compliment Dennis had paid him, to take the helm from the seaman on duty; but the tar, giving him a contemptuous look, called out to the captain, ‘Will I give the helm to this here thing?’

‘Certainly,’ said the captain, laughing. The sailor, however, did not seem sure about him; and as he passed on to the forecastle, could not help throwing a doubtful look behind at his substitute. He proved to be a good pilot, however, and managed the vessel well.

We passed Fort St Julian, and sailed up the Tagus as far as Belem, where our pilot gave the order to ‘let go de ank.’ The attention of those on deck was soon drawn towards a number of people who were sitting in a row, beneath the walls of a large building, seemingly very busy at something. After watching their motions for some time, we discovered that they were picking the vermin off themselves! There was none of that modest pressing between the finger and thumb, for fear of being seen, which we may observe in our dirty and indigent neighbours at home. It was absolute open murder! in all its varieties; and truly they had their hands full of work; for although we looked at them for a length of time, the carnage still continued as fierce as ever. It appeared to me that a new breed sprung, Phoenix-like, from the remains of their predecessors. This is a biting sample of Portugal, thought I, turning away in disgust from the scene; but I soon got accustomed to it; for in Spain and Portugal, the latter particularly, the peocha seems quite at home, not confined to the poor alone; for I have seen the family of a rich fidalgo, male and female, assembled on the sunny side of the house, ‘sharp shooting’ publicly, without seeming to feel any shame.

So far from that, it appeared to be the most interesting of their forenoon amusements.

Next morning we disembarked and marched up to St Domingo convent, part of which had been converted into barracks. In the course of the day Dennis and I got into the town. We promised ourselves much from the view we had had from the river the preceding evening; but were miserably disappointed when we got into the streets; for mountains of filth were collected in them, so that we could scarcely pass; and the smell of oil and garlic issuing from the shops was quite sickening. The most of the streets were very narrow.

The population seemed composed of monks and friars, for we met them at every step either begging, or walking in procession with the sacrament (or host) to some sick person. On these occasions they were preceded by a bell, which warned the passengers of their approach; whenever it was heard, they were down on their knees in a moment, in the very middle of the mud, and continued praying and beating their breasts until it passed. Poor Dennis was sadly puzzled the first time he met one of these parties; he was a Catholic, and of course could not avoid following the example of the Christianos around him; but he had a great aversion to kneeling in the dirty streets. The procession was fast advancing, and he had been two or three times half down on his knees and up again; at last a lucky thought struck him—he snatched the hat out of the hand of a Portuguese who was kneeling before him, and deliberately placing it on the ground, kneeled down on it, and went through the ceremony with great gravity—thus saving both his conscience and his breeches. The fellow who owned the hat durst not move until the procession had passed; and then, without giving him time to speak, Dennis clapped the hat, dirty as it was, on the owner’s head, and walked off.

The fruit market was opposite to the convent gate; and it certainly was to us a novel and a pleasing sight. The finest fruits, which at home were rare and high in price, we found here as plenty and as cheap as gooseberries. Pine apples, peaches, and grapes, of the largest size and most exquisite flavour, with oranges, lemons, and pomegranates, were arranged on the standings, in the most tempting and tasteful manner. Dennis and I walked through amongst them with a strong desire of tasting them, yet fearful that our finances would not enable us to buy any. I ventured, however, to ask for the worth of a vintin (about three halfpence English) of oranges; after giving the woman the money, and pointing to the fruit, I held out my hand to receive them, but she beckoned me to give her my hat, and to our surprise, she nearly filled it.

The fragrant and delicious odour which perfumed the market place, and the sight of the beautiful fruit and flowers, made it a much more attractive place of resort, than the dirty streets filled with the abominable stench which issued from their cook-shops. My opinion of the interior of Lisbon was certainly very low; and I think, if a stranger wishes to see Lisbon, and leave it with any idea of its grandeur, he ought to contemplate it from the river, but never set his foot on shore, for he will then feel nothing but disgust.

CHAPTER VII.

We remained only seven days in Lisbon; on the evening of the seventh we were turned out, marched down to Belem, and embarked by torch light for Cadiz. I do not remember anything worthy of notice which took place on this voyage, only that it was tedious.

When we made the bay of Cadiz, we found a large fleet of British vessels there before us. The French had possession of all the surrounding country, with the exception of the Isle of Leon and Cadiz; and these were closely besieged. When we first arrived, we were not sure on which side of the bay we might be required to land; but we were served out with flints and ammunition, and our commanding officer issued a circular to the men on board the different transports, ordering us to hold ourselves in readiness for immediate action, and exhorting us to remember the honour of our country and regiment.

That evening, our light company, with those of the other regiments, forming a light brigade, under the command of Major-General the Hon. Sir William Stewart, landed and marched to the outpost at the town of Isla. Next day the remainder of the troops disembarked; and entering Cadiz, we occupied part of the bomb-proof barracks under the ramparts, where we remained with Lieutenant-General Graham, who was chief in command.

I could not say that our reception by the inhabitants, on landing, was very flattering. Here and there amongst the crowd, you could hear a ‘Viva Englese;’ but the greater number received us with a gloomy suspicious silence. Setting aside other causes, it was really not to be wondered at, that the inhabitants should feel little attachment to the English, when we consider that they had suffered so severely by Nelson and the British fleet, about four years before, and that the shattered remains of some of their vessels were still lying in the bay.

Cadiz was, in my opinion, a much cleaner town than Lisbon, and in point of situation, more picturesque. From the ramparts on the Atlantic side of the town, the view was very fine; to the left, we could see the African shore, with its mountains stretching out until their outline was lost in the distance. Before you the prospect was unconfined, and the eye was lost in the wide world of waters, unless when it was arrested by a passing sail, or brought nearer the town by the noise of the breakers lashing the dark sides of the rocks, which ran out into the sea, and here and there showed their heads above water. On the side of the town next the bay, the Rota, Bay of Bulls, with the town of Port St Mary’s, Porto Real, Isla, Checuelina, and Cape Trafalgar, brought the eye round to where it set out.

When we had anything to wash, we were obliged to go outside the walls to some of the cisterns, a short distance from the town. It was here I first learned to wash my own clothes. I was awkward enough when I began, but practice soon made me expert at it.

In one of these washing excursions, I happened to pass a chapel; and seeing people engaged at some ceremony in it, my curiosity prompted me to enter. A corpse lay on a bier, with the face uncovered, and a bunch of flowers were placed in its hands, which were joined together in a praying attitude. The priest was performing the service of the dead over it; near him stood two little boys, with silver censers waving in their hands, filled with burning incense. The whole service seemed to me impressive enough. After it was finished, the corpse was removed to the outside of the chapel, and deposited in a hole in the wall resembling an oven; it was then covered with quick lime; the mouth of the hole shut up with a stone, which fitted it; and the people retired.

As yet, none of the troops had been brought into action, with the exception of the light companies, who had some slight skirmishing at the outposts. The French had attempted nothing of any consequence. They were very busy, however, prosecuting the siege—building batteries in every direction. There was one battery, called Fort M ——. It lay on the French side, at the extremity of a point of land, stretching down from Porto Real into the bay, opposite to Puntallis. From this, had they manned it, they might have annoyed our shipping very much; and it was resolved that we should take possession of it.

Accordingly, one evening the three first men from each company of the regiment to which I belonged were turned out, in marching order, for that purpose. At the quay, we were joined by a detachment of artillery, and were conveyed across the bay in man-of-war boats. On our passage we were joined by a party of seamen and marines; who, with a captain-commandant, surgeon, two subalterns, one of whom acted as adjutant, a lieutenant of artillery, and a midshipman, made in all about one hundred and fifty men.

When we reached the fort, we used every precaution to avoid alarming the French if there had been any there; but it was quite unnecessary, for their picquet had retired, without firing a shot. After placing a picquet in front, we set to work, and got up three guns, which we had brought with us. This kept us busy enough until morning; when we got a better view of the isolated place we had taken possession of. The fort itself was about a hundred yards square; but it had been completely demolished on its sea face, by the seamen of our fleet when the French advanced to the siege, and the others were all more or less in ruins. The bomb-proofs were nearly all destroyed. In what remained there was not shelter for the half of our men; and by a rule of division, often practised in the army, that little was made less by the officers appropriating the half of it to themselves.

Day had not long dawned when the French gave us a salute from a small battery, in the village at Fort Lewis; but when we got our guns mounted, it was soon silenced. From that time we commenced with redoubled exertion to work at the battery—building up the parapets, and laying platforms for more guns. We were supplied with materials, viz., fascions, gabions, and sand-bags, from Cadiz.

Here we were wrought like slaves, I may say, without intermission; for our worthy adjutant, who aimed at being a rigid disciplinarian, and was a great amateur in drill, was determined that no hard labour, or want of convenience for cleaning our things, should tempt him to deviate from a clean parade and formal guard-mounting every morning, even although we had been out all night under the rain on picquet, or carrying sand-bags and digging trenches up to the knees in mud. All the varied forms of duty known in a militia regiment, with which he was best acquainted, were by him indispensable; and in a place where we had no convenience for keeping our things in order, not even shelter for them, this exactness was certainly, to say the least of it, unnecessarily teasing. We were also obliged to stand sentry on different parts of the battery, full dressed, where there was no earthly use for us, unless for show; and I could perceive no reason the commandant and he had for their conduct, unless that, feeling the novelty of their situation—in command of a fort—they wished to ape, with their handful of men, all the importance of leaders of an army.

We were driven from guard to working—working to picquet—picquet to working again, in a gin-horse round of the most intolerable fatigue; which we never could have borne for any length of time, exposed as we often were to sun and rain, in a climate like that of Cadiz. But, even with all this we had the mortification to find our best endeavours repaid with the most supercilious haughtiness, and the worst of usage. We were allowed little time to sleep; and that little often interrupted.

But let it not be imagined that our officers participated in all this fatigue; they know how to take care of themselves; and they could sit and drink wine in their bomb-proof at night, as comfortably as in a mess room at home. And it was a common amusement of the commandant, when he got warmed with it, to order the drum to beat to arms in the middle of the night—when the poor wretches who had perhaps just lost sense of their fatigue in sweet oblivion, would be roused up, and obliged to go to their several posts on the ramparts; and when permitted to go below to our berths, we would scarcely be lain down, when we were again roused to commence working. This was the usual routine the most of the time we were here.

It may be well to remark, however, (for the benefit of those officers who may wish to follow the example,) that the commandant had a most ingenious method of assembling his men quickly; he used to stand with his fist clenched, at the top of the ladder leading from the bomb-proof, ready to knock down the last man that came up; and as some one must necessarily be last, he of course was sure of the blow; and as he was a strong muscular man, it used to tell (as we military men term it) on the poor fellow’s head.

One man, I remember, who had suffered in this way, remonstrated, and threatened to complain to his colonel; but the answer was a second ‘knock down,’ and an order to confine him between two guns in an angle of the battery, where he was exposed to the inclemency of the weather for many days and nights without covering; and when his health was impaired by this usage, he was still kept in the fort, although it was the usual practice to send the sick to the general hospital in Cadiz. He was not allowed to leave the place until we all left it; and then it is probable if he had ventured to complain, he might have been flogged in addition to all he had suffered, for presuming to say anything against the Hero of M——.

We had now got up six guns and two mortars on the fort, which was all we could mount to have any effect. We were supported by a Spanish man-of-war and six or eight gun-boats; and with them we used to bombard the small village at Fort Lewis, and annoy the working parties coming down from Porto Real to build batteries. We often made great havoc amongst them, with spherical case-shot. One day in particular, I remember, we brought down an officer who was riding on a white horse at the head of his party, and we saw them carry him off in a litter from the place where he fell.

About this time a severe gale came on, by which a great number of vessels were stranded on the French side of the bay; most of them were abandoned by their crews, who got safe over to Cadiz; but one transport containing the flank companies and staff of a battalion of the fourth regiment, ran ashore near Port St Mary’s, and they were all taken prisoners. They had their colours with them, and I heard afterwards that they had put them under the coppers and burned them, rather than let them fall into the hands of the enemy. Many of these vessels were richly laden; and as they were sure ultimately to fall into the hands of the enemy, being also considered fair prizes when they ran ashore on an enemy’s coast, we procured a couple of boats, and succeeded in securing part of the cargo of those nearest us, which was principally silk, with some pipes of wine and salt provision.

The stranded vessels, that lay along the shore, were often visited by straggling parties of the French, who used to carry off heavy burdens of the cargo. This stimulated some of our men to follow their example; but there was great risk in the adventure. They could only go at night, and run all hazard of their absence being discovered; that, however, might be averted by the sergeants, who of course shared in the booty; but the marsh which they had to cross was very dangerous, the road uncertain, and they might have been taken by the enemy’s picquets; but notwithstanding these obstacles, there were many who, either out of a spirit of adventure, or a love of gain, despised them all, and were well repaid for their trouble by the valuable articles which they found.

Our party often fell in with the French stragglers, who were there on the same errand; but they were quite friendly, and when any wine or spirits were got in the vessels, they used to sit down and drink together, as sociably as if they had been comrades for years. What every man got was his own, and there was seldom any dissension.

One night I happened to be of the party. We had made our burdens, parted with our French friends, and left the vessels on our way to the fort. The party of the French had left it also. We had not proceeded far, when we missed one of our comrades; and fearing that some accident had befallen him, we returned, and near the vessel saw him struggling with some one. We hastened up to him; but before we reached the spot, the person with whom he was engaged fell to the ground with a groan. At that moment, we saw our comrade stoop, and tear something from him. ‘What is the matter?’ said one of our party. ‘Come away,’ said he, ‘and I’ll tell you as we go along;’ and he passed us on his way to the fort.

We were anxious to see who his antagonist was; and on raising him up, we found that he was one of the French party, who had been with us in the vessel. He had been stabbed in the left side with a Spanish knife, which still remained in the wound. One of the party withdrew it. The blood flowed out of the wound with great force. The poor Frenchman gave a deep groan—a convulsive quiver—and expired.

‘This is a horrid cold-blooded murder,’ said I. ‘Where is S——?’ At this moment we heard the noise of footsteps approaching, and thinking it might be the comrades of the Frenchman who had been barbarously assassinated, we left the place precipitately, our minds filled with horror at the savage deed.

On our way to the fort we overtook S——; but none of us spoke to him. He, however, strove to extenuate his conduct, by saying that he observed the Frenchman find a purse in a chest that he had broken open, and seeing him linger behind his party for the purpose of secreting it about his person, he went up to him, and asked a share of it. The man refusing this, a scuffle ensued, and he stabbed him in his own defence, the Frenchman having attempted to stab him. We knew this to be false; for the Frenchman had no weapon in his hand, or near him; and we had no doubt, from what we knew of S——’s character, that he had perpetrated the murder for the sake of the money, which was gold doubloons. He offered to share it with us; but not one of us would touch it; and from that time forward, he was shunned and detested by all who knew of the murder. He never prospered after. I even thought that his countenance acquired a demon-like expression, that rendered it repulsive; and we had not been long in Portugal, when he went to the rear and died in great misery. After that we never returned to the vessels.

The Spaniards had a number of hulks moored in the bay which Lord Nelson made for them, on board of which they kept their French prisoners, who, we understood, were very ill used, nearly starved, and huddled together in such a way that disease was the consequence. Many of them died daily. They were kept until sunset, and then thrown over board, and allowed to float about in the bay. Every tide threw some of them ashore, and the beach was continually studded here and there with them. When our men discovered any of them, they scraped a hole in the sand, and buried them; but they were totally unheeded by the Spaniards unless when they practised some barbarity on them—such as dashing large stones on their heads, or cutting and mutilating them in such a way that the very soul would sicken at the idea.

I was one night on picquet, and along with the sergeant reconnoitering the ground in front of the fort, as the French picquets were in the habit of coming close down on us when it was dark. We saw something white moving amongst the weeds near the shore, to the left of the battery; and we went down in that direction to see what it was; but in an instant we lost sight of it. When we came to the place where we first saw it, we found the body of a man extended on the ground. This was not an uncommon appearance; but as we had seen something moving when we were first attracted to the spot, I was induced to feel the body, to ascertain whether it was dead, and to my surprise, I found him warm, and assisted by the sergeant raised him up. It struck us that he had only fainted, and we rubbed him for some time with our hands. He at last began to recover, and his first action, when he came to himself, was to fall down on his knees at our feet, and cry ‘Misericordia.’[5] We did not understand what he said; but we asked him, in English, how he had come there. Whenever he heard us speak, he sprung to his feet, and seizing our hands, he cried ‘Vous etes Anglois—Grâce à bon Dieu!’[6]

We threw a great-coat over him, and took him into the fort, where, placing him before a fire, and giving him some bread and wine, the poor fellow soon recovered. When it was discovered that he had no clothes on, one man took off his shirt and put it on him, another gave him a pair of trousers, and he was soon comfortably clothed. He poured out his thanks in French, but he saw we did not understand the language. He tried the Spanish with like success. He attempted a mixture of both with as little effect; but when he pressed his hand on his heart, and the big drop gathered in his eye, he found by the sympathising tear which it excited, that no words were necessary to express the universal language of gratitude.

When he was perfectly recovered, we reported the affair to the commandant, and the artillery officer speaking the French language, he was questioned by him. In reply, he said he was a surgeon in the French service; that he had been taken prisoner and confined on board one of the prison ships; that that night he determined to make his escape, or perish in the attempt; and having lowered himself down from one of the gun ports, quite naked, he had swam a distance of two miles; but was so exhausted when he reached the shore, that he sank down insensible at the time we had first seen him; when he recovered, his first idea was that he had fallen into the hands of the Spaniards, who, he well knew, would have butchered him without mercy; but when he found by our language that we were English, he was overjoyed. He had saved nothing but a miniature of a female, which hung round his neck, and which he seemed to prize very much, for when he recovered, the first thing he did was to feel if it were still there, and raise it to his lips and kiss it.

He was kept until next day in the fort, when he was sent over to Cadiz. He seemed distracted at the idea of going there, lest he should be delivered over to the Spaniards; and although he was assured to the contrary, still he seemed to feel uneasy.

It was not many days, however, after that, when he was sent back, with orders that he should be escorted to our outposts at night, and left to join his countrymen. When night came, he took leave of the men in the fort with a kind of regret. I again happened to be of the party who escorted him. After leaving our picquet, the sergeant and I conducted him up the path-way leading direct from the fort, until we suspected that we were near the French picquet, and there we told him that we would be obliged to leave him. He pressed our hands in silence: his heart was too full to speak; but we could easily guess what were his emotions. Joy at the idea of again rejoining his countrymen, with a feeling of regret at parting with those to whom he considered he owed his life, were contending in his mind.

The night was dark, and we soon lost sight of him; but we lay down on the ground, and listened with anxious suspense, afraid that the French outpost sentry might fire upon him before he had time to explain, and he might thus lose his life on the very threshold of freedom; but we did not hear the sentinel challenge him, nor did we hear any shot fired. We had therefore every reason to believe he reached his countrymen in safety.

During the time we were here, an attack was meditated on the French positions, and a number of troops were landed on the fort for that purpose. A strong party of seamen was also landed at fort Catalina, who succeeded in storming it, and spiking the guns; but in consequence of some signals being thrown up by adherents of the French in Cadiz, they were alarmed, and the troops were obliged to return without effecting what had been originally intended.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] Mercy.

[6] Thank God you are English.

CHAPTER VIII.

We had now been in the fort about two months; and from the time that we had silenced the small battery that had opened on us, when we first gained possession of the place, the French had not molested us, although they occasionally fired shots at the boats passing up and down the bay. We were well aware, however, that this was only a deceitful calm before a storm; for they had been busy all this time building batteries both in front and to our right in the village I have already mentioned, although they were hidden from our view by the houses.

At last, when every thing was prepared, they commenced their operations one night by blowing up the houses which had hitherto masked the batteries. I was out on picquet at the time; and we perceived them moving round a large fire which they had kindled. We suspected that they designed to attack us, and our suspicions were soon verified; for in a short time after, they gave a salute of grape shot, which ploughed the earth on every side of us; but this was only a prelude. A volley of red-hot shot, at the Spanish man-of-war, succeeded, which set her on fire, and obliged her to slip her cable, and drop down the bay. A volley or two more of the same kind scattered our gun-boats; and we were then left to bear the brunt of the battle alone. Now it began in earnest. Five or six batteries, mounting in all about twenty guns, and eight or ten mortars, opened their tremendous mouths, vomiting forth death and destruction. The picquet was called in.

There was a number of spare fascions piled up on the sea face of the battery, amongst which, for want of room in the bomb-proof, we formed huts. In one of these I lodged. They had been set on fire by a shell that fell amongst them; and when I entered the fort, the Spanish labourers were busy throwing them into the sea. I ran to try to save my knapsack, with the little treasure which I had gained; but it was too late—hut and all had been tossed over. There was no help for it: I did not know how soon I might be thrown over also. I was called to my gun, and had no more time to think on the subject. They were now plying us so fast with shell, that I saw six or eight in the air over us at once.

Death now began to stalk about in the most dreadful form. The large shot were certain messengers where they struck. The first man killed was a sailor who belonged to the Temeraire seventy-four. The whole of his face was carried away. It was a horrid-looking wound. He was at the same gun with me. ‘Ah! what will we do with him?’ said I to a seaman next me.

‘Let him lie there,’ was the reply. ‘We have no time to look after dead men now.’

At that time I thought it a hardened expression; but this was my first engagement. Not so with the tar. He had been well used to them.

The French soon acquired a fatal precision with their shot, sending them in through our embrasures, killing and wounding men every volley. I was on the left of the gun, at the front wheel. We were running her up after loading. I had stooped to take a fresh purchase, a cannon ball whistled in through the embrasure, carried the forage cap off my head, and struck the man behind me on the breast, and he fell to rise no more.

The commandant was now moving from place to place, giving orders and exposing himself to every danger. No one could doubt that he was brave: had it been bravery, softened and blended with the finer feelings of humanity, he would have been a true hero; but——. Our artillery officer behaved like a gentleman, as he had always done; and our subaltern in a tolerable medium: the midshipman in the style of a brave, rough and ready seaman. But, alas, how had the mighty fallen!—our brave adjutant, whose blustering voice, and bullying important manner, had been always so remarkable, was now as quiet as a lamb. Seated in an angle of the battery, sheltered from the shot, no penitent on the cutty stool ever exhibited so rueful a countenance.

The carnage now became dreadful; the ramparts were strewed with the dead and wounded; and blood, brains, and mangled limbs, lay scattered in every direction: but our men’s spirits and enthusiasm seemed to rise with the danger. The artillery officer stood on the platform, and when he reported any of our shot taking effect, a cheer followed, and ‘At it again, my heroes!’ was the exclamation from every mouth. When any of our comrades fell, it excited no visible feeling but revenge. ‘Now for a retaliating shot!’ was the word; every nerve was strained to lay the gun with precision; and if it took effect, it was considered that full justice was done to their memory.

We had a traversing gun in the angle of the battery which had done great execution. The artillery sergeant commanded her; and they were plying her with great vigour. In the course of the day, however, as the man was returning the sponge after a shot, and the cartridge in the hand of another, ready to reload, a thirty-two pound shot from the French entered her muzzle, she rebounded, and struck the sergeant with her breach on the breast, and knocked him over insensible. The shot had entered so far that she was rendered useless, and abandoned.

The action was kept up the whole of that day, during which we lost the best and bravest of our men. Our guns had been well directed at first; but towards evening, the most of the artillery who had commanded them were either killed or wounded; and the direction of them was then taken by men who knew little about it. The consequence was that much ammunition was used to little purpose. The artillery soldier at the gun next to me was killed, and two men equally ambitious for what they considered the post of honour, quarrelled about it. From high words it came to blows; but the dispute was soon settled; for a shell, falling between them, burst, and quieted them for ever.

I could scarcely define my feelings during the action; but so far from feeling fear, when it first commenced, and the silent gloom of the night was broken by the rapid flash, and the reverberating thunder of the cannon, I felt a sensation something resembling delight; but it was of an awful kind—enthusiasm and sublimity, mixed with a sense of danger—something like what I have felt in a violent thunder storm.

The firing, on both sides, had been kept up without intermission from two o’clock in the morning; but as it now became dark, it was partially suspended. I then, for the first time, ventured to go below to the bomb-proof. The scene there was dismal—the wounded filled the whole place, and the doctor had not got through with the dressing of them. In this he was materially assisted from the commencement of the action by a female, (Mrs Reston,) whose heroism I have described in a subsequent volume. It is matter of surprise to many, that the courage she displayed, and the services she rendered on that occasion, should have been entirely overlooked by those who had the power of rewarding her, or that her claims on the country were not more warmly seconded by the officer who commanded in the fort.

Here let me pause in my narrative, to pay a tribute of respect to the memory of assistant-surgeon Bennet, who was with us during that trying period. To a fair knowledge of his profession, he added one of the kindest dispositions I ever knew any one possessed of; he was absolutely without one drop of gall in his composition; so much so, indeed, that some of the officers endeavoured to make him a butt for their raillery, but his native wit defeated their purpose, and turned against them their own weapons. Those who have been under his care will remember him with grateful feelings. But his career was brief; shortly after our arrival in Portugal, he caught infection from some of the sick whom he was attending, and died.

During the day I had little time to reflect on anything—all was noise and bustle; but now that I had time to look round, and saw the ramparts covered with the pale and disfigured corpses of those who, a few hours before, were rioting in the fulness of health and strength, and others writhing in agony, under the severe wounds they had received, I could not deny that I felt my heart sink within me, and sensations of a melancholy and solemn nature took place of those which had before excited my mind.

When daylight came in next morning, the firing again commenced as warmly as the preceding day; and the precision the French had attained with their shot was very remarkable. We had a flag-staff of the usual size, on which was hoisted the Spanish colours. They had cut it across with a cannon ball, it was repaired, and again replaced; but it was not five minutes up, when another shot brought it down again. This occurring four or five times successively, gave great offence to the sailors, who attributed all that we had suffered to fighting under the Spanish flag, and swore that if the union jack were up in its place, the French would not bring it down so easily.

‘There’s that bloody Spanish flag down again,’ said one of the tars.

‘Look ye, Jack! I have got our boat’s ensign here—let me go, and I’ll soon run it up.’

He went, and assisted in repairing the flag staff; but instead of again bending the Spanish flag to the halliards, he put the English in place of it.

A general huzza greeted its appearance. ‘Now, hang it! we’ll beat the French dogs,’ said the seamen; but the cheering attracted the notice of the commandant, and he ordered it to be hauled down again. Never was an order so reluctantly obeyed. In a few minutes, a shot cut through the flag staff. ‘There it goes down again—Oh, botheration;’ was the surly reply. ‘Let it lie there;’ and there it lay, for no one would meddle with it. ‘Better to fight without a flag at all, than under such a bloody treacherous flag as that,’ said an old sailor. ‘I never could bear it, unless when I saw it flying at the mast head of an enemy.’

By this time three of our guns were rendered unfit for service, and they had made great impression on our parapet, with a breach in the end of the bomb-proof. A corporal of our grenadier company had gone below to get some refreshment, and was raising a tin with some wine in it to his mouth, when a shot entered the breach, and striking some small arms that were placed against the wall, shivered them to pieces. One of the splinters entered his head, and he fell dead on the spot. The rest wounded several of the men beside him.

A shell fell about the same time at the magazine door. A blanket was the only partition between it and the powder. We were sure all was over,—that it was impossible but that the magazine would be blown up. We stood in awful suspense for the few seconds between its fall and bursting—it burst—and already we imagined ourselves in the air; but fortunately, it did not communicate with the powder. There were two artillery men in the magazine at the time, whose feelings could not be very enviable.

In the course of the morning, General Stewart came over from Cadiz to inspect the state of the fort, when it was found that it could not stand out much longer. A reinforcement of men from different regiments was sent over to assist us, in case of the enemy attempting to storm us in our disabled state, but we received little assistance from them.

One of our sergeants, who, from his complexion, was called the ‘Black Prince,’ had installed himself commissary; and on the pretence of preventing the men from getting drunk, he seated himself beside the cask, which contained our ration wine, and fulfilled his duty so faithfully that he would not even give the men their allowance, but gave it away very liberally to any of the strangers who could ‘tip him the blarney;’ and among hands ‘he did not forget himself.’ He got rather tipsy at last; and the men getting clamorous for their just allowance, to settle the dispute, he staved the cask, and spilt the wine about the place.

Let it be observed, however, that I do not blame the action, had his motive been to prevent the men getting intoxicated, (the best proof of which, would have been keeping sober himself;) but as the contrary was obviously the case, it could only be attributed to caprice, for he withheld the ration allowed from many of the men, while he distributed to others what they chose to ask.

The affair was scarcely worth mentioning, only that it will serve to show on what an uncertain basis a soldier’s fame rests; for he was extolled to the skies, and subsequently got a situation in the commissariat department for that action; while others, who had distinguished themselves by their valour and intrepid exertions, were passed by unnoticed.

It being found that we could not keep the place, boats were sent to convey us to Cadiz. Mines had been previously laid, and a major of engineers came over to superintend the operations for blowing up the fort; but he had not taken many paces on the battery, when he was struck by a cannon shot, and fell a lifeless corpse.

It is remarkable to observe the covetousness of some men, even in the midst of danger. When he fell, the epaulettes were torn off his shoulders, and the gold watch was taken out of his pocket. The watch was afterwards recovered, but not, I believe, until the chain and seals were disposed of.

The men were now busy gathering what things they had together, and moving down to the boats. Some of them had already sailed. I had now time to reflect on the almost naked situation in which I was left, for I had thrown off my great-coat at the commencement of the action, and some one had taken it away. I ran down to the bomb-proof, to try if I could find anything to put on, but I met an engineer officer at the end of the passage, with his sword drawn, who had been inspecting the train laid to the mine. He asked me if I wished to be blown up, and ordered me off instantly.

On coming up the ramparts, I found that all the men had left the fort, with the exception of three or four, and the commandant. He was watching the motions of a strong party of French who were evidently coming down to take the place. Our ammunition was expended, but he ordered all the loose powder, grape, and ball cartridge to be collected, and having stuffed three guns (all we had left fit for service) to the muzzle with them, we watched the enemy until within about two hundred yards of the battery, when they were fired into the very middle of their column, and laid the half of them prostrate on the earth; the rest wheeled to the right about and left us to embark at leisure.

A number of the men, who had been killed, were lying on the ramparts. Some of them of the same regiment to which I belonged. We resolved on giving them some sort of burial, as the last kind office we could perform. We gathered them into a temporary hut, which had been built of mud, and, throwing it down over them, ‘Sleep there, brave comrades!’ said we: ‘far distant, and ignorant of your fate, is the wife or mother who would have composed your mangled limbs.’ Hurried and rude was their burial, and a heart-felt sigh all their requiem, but it was more valuable than the ostentatious trappings of affected woe.