A Boy in the Peninsular War. Robert Blakeney
I had not been previously aware—namely, that in the light company of the 28th Regiment there was a complete and well-organised band of ventriloquists who could imitate any species of bird or animal so perfectly that it was scarcely possible to discover the difference between the imitation and the natural tone of the animal imitated. Soon after we contrived to get into some kind of a quarter, the men being in the same apartment with the officers owing to the crowd and confusion, a soldier named Savage, immediately on entering the room, began to crow like a cock, and then placed his ear close to the keyhole of a door leading into another apartment, which was locked. After remaining in this attentive position for some moments, he removed to another part of the room and repeated his crowing. I began to think that the man was drunk or insane, never before having perceived in him the slightest want of proper respect for his superiors. Upon my asking him what he meant by such extraordinary conduct in the presence of his officers, he with a smile replied, “I believe we have them, sir.” This seemingly unconnected reply confirmed me in the opinion I had formed of his mental derangement, the more particularly as his incoherent reply was instantly followed by another crow; this was answered apparently in the same voice, but somewhat fainter. Savage then jumped up, crying out, “Here they are!” and insisted upon having the door opened; and when this was reluctantly done by the inhabitants of the house, a fine cock followed by many hens came strutting into the room with all the pomp of a sultan attended by his many queens. The head of the polygamist, together with those of his superfluous wives, was soon severed from his body, notwithstanding the loud remonstrances of the former owners, who, failing in their entreaties that the harem should be spared, demanded remuneration; but whether the men paid for what they had taken like grovelling citizens, or offered political reasons as an apology like great monarchs, I now cannot call to mind. But however the affair may have been arranged, the act was venial, for had the fowls been spared by our men they must have fallen into the stomachs of our enemies next day; and it is not one of the least important duties of a retreating army to carry away or destroy anything which may be useful to their pursuers, however severely the inhabitants may suffer.
During the night I was awakened by the ventriloquists, who, with appropriate harmony, were loudly bleating, cackling, crowing, cooing, lowing—in fact, imitating every species of animal; so that at the moment I awoke I fancied myself in an extensive menagerie. Indeed, the powerful effect of their music on many occasions during the retreat came to my knowledge; and so judiciously did they exert their talents that animals of all descriptions came frisking to their feet, offering a practical elucidation of the powers attributed to Orpheus when round him danced the brutes.
MISERY OF SPANIARDS.
On the last day of 1808 we marched from Astorga with more headaches than full stomachs; and the light brigade having moved on the route to Vigo, the rearguard fell exclusively to the reserve during the remainder of the retreat. The distance we had to move on that day being short, we continued until late to destroy stores and such field equipments as, for want of animals, could not be carried away; and after eight or nine miles’ march we arrived in the evening at a small village called Cambarros. At this place our evil genius, the Spaniards, again crossed us, and the scenes at Astorga were partially renewed; but as only the sick and stragglers of the Spanish army were there, the contention was but little—in fact, their miserable and forlorn condition called forth compassion rather than other sentiments. Two or three cartloads of them being put down at an outhouse where I was on piquet with the light company, we took them in. Such misery I never beheld, half-naked, half-starved, and deprived of both medicine and medical attendance. We administered a little of our general cordial—rum; yet three or four of these wretches expired that night close to a large fire which we lit in the middle of the floor.
Our stay at Cambarros was but short, for scarcely had the men laid down to repose, which was much wanted in consequence of the manner in which they had passed the previous night, when some of our cavalry came galloping in, reporting that the enemy were advancing in force. We were immediately ordered to get under arms, and hurried to form outside the town on that part facing Bembibre. While we were forming a dragoon rode up, and an officer who being ill was in one of the light carts which attended the reserve, cried out, “Dragoon, what news?” “News, sir? The only news I have for you is that unless you step out like soldiers, and don’t wait to pick your steps like bucks in Bond Street of a Sunday with shoes and silk stockings, damn it! you’ll be all taken prisoners.” “Pray, who the devil are you?” came from the cart. “I am Lord Paget,” said the dragoon; “and pray, sir, may I ask who you are?” “I am Captain D——n, of the 28th Regiment, my lord.” “Come out of that cart directly,” said his lordship; “march with your men, sir, and keep up their spirits by showing them a good example.” The captain scrambled out of the cart rear, face foremost, and from slipping along the side of the cart and off the wheels, and from the sudden jerks which he made to regain his equilibrium, displayed all the ridiculous motions of a galvanised frog. Although he had previously suffered a good deal from both fatigue and illness, yet the circumstance altogether caused the effect desired by his lordship, for the whole regiment were highly diverted by the scene until we arrived at Bembibre, and it caused many a hearty laugh during the remainder of the retreat.
We arrived within a league of Bembibre at daybreak on the morning of January 1st, 1809, and were there halted at a difficult pass in the mountains to cut the road. It appeared that some of the leading divisions had already commenced this work; spades, pickaxes, and such tools were found on the spot. We had not continued long at this employment when we were ordered to desist, since Bembibre was turned by the Foncevadon road, which joined that on which we were, not far from Calcabellos, and so the work was considered useless. This order was received with the greatest joy; indeed, there was no duty which we would not more willingly perform than that of handling the pickaxe, and that too during a severe frost and after a long night march. We therefore joyfully moved on to Bembibre.
On approaching this village, we discovered Sir David Baird’s division, who had just left, and were proceeding on the road to Villa Franca. We now fully anticipated some repose, to which we thought ourselves entitled by our laborious occupation of destroying stores at Astorga the whole time we were there, and the long and severe night march which we had just terminated; but we were sadly disappointed. The leading columns, well aware of the value and necessity of vigilance, although it was shamefully neglected by themselves, left sufficient matter behind to prevent the reserve from sleeping too much; and when we entered the town of Bembibre and expected to stretch our wearied limbs, we were ordered to pile arms and clear all the houses of the stragglers left behind.
HORRORS OF BEMBIBRE.
The scenes here presented can only be faintly imagined from the most faithful description which even the ablest writer could pen; but little therefore can be expected from any attempt of mine to paint the scandal here presented by the British troops or the degrading scenes exhibited through their debauchery. Bembibre exhibited all the appearance of a place lately stormed and pillaged. Every door and window was broken, every lock and fastening forced. Rivers of wine ran through the houses and into the streets, where lay fantastic groups of soldiers (many of them with their firelocks broken), women, children, runaway Spaniards and muleteers, all apparently inanimate, except when here and there a leg or arm was seen to move, while the wine oozing from their lips and nostrils seemed the effect of gunshot wounds. Every floor contained the worshippers of Bacchus in all their different stages of devotion; some lay senseless, others staggered; there were those who prepared the libation by boring holes with their bayonets into the large wine vats, regardless of the quantity which flowed through the cellars and was consequently destroyed. The music was perfectly in character: savage roars announcing present hilarity were mingled with groans issuing from fevered lips disgorging the wine of yesterday; obscenity was public sport. But these scenes are too disgusting to be dwelt upon. We were employed the greatest part of the day (January 1st, 1809,) in turning or dragging the drunken stragglers out of the houses into the streets and sending as many forward as could be moved. Our occupation next morning was the same; yet little could be effected with men incapable of standing, much less of marching forward. At length the cavalry reporting the near approach of the enemy, and Sir John Moore dreading lest Napoleon’s columns should intersect our line of march by pushing along the Foncevadon road, which joined our road not many miles in front of us, the reserve were ordered forward, preceded by the cavalry, and