For several days after the storming, soldiers and sailors were to be seen strutting about the roads outside the town in masquerade—some in silks and satins—others as pedlars selling their plunder to the people who came from Passages to see the wreck of San Sebastian: the roads were like a fair; and the humour of the Portuguese and our sailors glossed over the horrors of the time with strange mirth. In general the sailors were habited in old fashioned silk gowns and petticoats, put on over their tarry jackets; while on a battered sail-cloth hat, Jack sported a Spanish veil. The garrison in the Castle held out a week, but at the end of that time surrendered: the number marched out was, I believe, 1,800.
From the fall of San Sebastian, until the invasion of France in the month following, nothing particular took place, and the army reposed in the luxuriant valleys of Navarre. Here both officers and men enjoyed themselves in quiet: they had plenty of provision—plenty of forage for thehorses—a profusion of fruit and excellent wine—the weather was delightful, and the country the most picturesque on earth. However, little more than a month passed over before the army crossed the Bidassoa, driving the enemy from their frontier, and our successful commander established his head quarters atSt. Jean de Luz. I had been quartered at Tafalia from a week after the siege until the fall of Pamplona, and that being the only fortress to impede the operations of the army—from its being occupied by the enemy—it is not unlikely that its fall was the signal for the invasion of France.
On the surrender of Pamplona, the French garrison were permitted to march out, with closed knapsacks. They were escorted by the Spaniards through Tolosa to Passages for embarkation as prisoners of war; and, unhappily for many of them, they found the difference between Spanish and British foes on that miserable occasion.
It was cold weather when the garrison marched out: they were disarmed of course. The French governor and several of the superior officers were allowed to ride their own horses, and sufferednothing more severe than mere insults from their escort, the Spaniards. Far different was it with the men: every species of brutality was practised against them short of open massacre. The road from Pamplona to Tolosa is one of the widest and best in Spain, not very inferior to any in Great Britain: it takes a course through valleys along the sides of an immense mountain for a considerable way, and, frequently, over patches of fertile country—the whole abounding in foliage. Occasional villages present themselves at a few miles distant from each other, and now and then a farm house or two opens upon the traveller’s view in some wild spot.
I was on my route from Tafalia, in company with a brother officer; and then returning to the front. We slept one night in a village within a mile and a half of Pamplona, as one of our halting places; and next day in passing the town we saw a considerable body of Spanish troops—principally cavalry—drawn up; and, on enquiry, learnt that they were waiting to receive the French garrison, which were then about to march out as prisoners of war. In a few moments the French appearedand were placed in column to proceed thus on their route to Tolosa. We marched with them all that day, conversing with the governor—a gentlemanly and pleasant officer—who expressed his fears of ill treatment for his men, regretting that it was not by the English that they were escorted. It came on to snow severely about four o’clock in the afternoon, and promised a most miserable night to the poor prisoners, as they had a full league farther to go before they could get under cover; and they were far less able to bear fatigue than the Spaniards who escorted them; for they had been half starved in the garrison—provisions having been exhausted:—the governor declared that they had all been subsisting for twelve days previous to surrender, on four ouncesof horse fleshper day to each man, and that the horses killed for that purpose were the private property of the officers.
We rode along with the column until dark, when we left it to take up our quarter for the night at a farm-house, which we saw on the left, in a valley, at the distance of about a quarter of a mile. Here we passed the time pleasantly, havingmet with hospitable people who accommodated us with what we wished. My friend had purchased a brace of woodcocks in the village where we slept on the previous night, and my servant was busy cooking them: while we sat at the fire along with the farmer, his wife and three children, enjoying ourselves with a glass of good Tafalia wine, about seven o’clock, a youth who was in the employ of the farmer, lifted the latch, and entered, covered with snow; his face was as white as his clothes, and he evidently laboured under extreme terror. His master demanded what was the matter—in the Basque language, which we did not understand, and which is the language of the country people in that quarter: the boy, in the most apparently incoherent manner, spoke for several minutes, shuddering as he spoke. We supposed that he had encountered a mountain ghost in full costume; but the master explained in Spanish the cause of his servant’s fright to be nothing etherial. He said that the boy had been returning from a neighbouring farmer’s house, and was crossing the main road in the snow, when he stumbled over something, and fell; it was quite dark; at first he thoughtit was aBorachio,10or a sack of corn that thus tripped him, and put down his hand to it. He felt it warm, and on closer examination found it to be a dead body quite naked, and bleeding warm blood from the throat and breast, with which the boy’s hands were covered. He ran towards a gap to get into the field which led him towards his master’s, and in climbing up, his foot slipped by occasion of the snow, and down he fell into the ditch upon another dead, naked, and bleeding body! At first I was at a loss to account for this extraordinary affair, but the Spaniard, who was a shrewd man, soon awakened me to the cause. “They are French,†said he;—“French prisoners killed by the soldiers of the escort, for their knapsacks and clothes.†A shudder of horror passed through the nerves of both my friend and myself. At first we thought of proceeding on after the column, and to remonstrate with the Spanish Commanding-officer; but a moment’s reflection showed us the uselessness as well as danger of such an undertaking: we therefore contentedourselves with condemning the dastard villany of the action, and in plans of preventing the like outrages for the remainder of the march.
The next morning we mounted our horses a little after daylight, and proceeded to the main road in order to pursue our route to Tolosa, and there the scene which opened upon us was one of the most heart-sinking nature: at least thirty bodies were scattered along the road, for the distance of about two miles; most of them stabbed in the breast, side, and abdomen—others with their throats cut; and some who had not died of their wounds were gasping in death, hastened by the extreme inclemency of the weather to which they had been exposed the whole of the night—and all completely naked! We stopped with one young man who could just speak a little; I put my canteen to his lips, and he swallowed a mouthful of brandy, which for a moment lighted up the expiring spark of life. The suffering victim told us that the Spanish soldiers stabbed him in the breast when it became quite dark. He said that happening to be on the flank of the column, and being a little tired and weak, he straggled out from it a moment, when oneof the Spaniards dragged him into the ditch and plunged his steel into his body; then took off his knapsack and clothes, leaving him naked as he was, exposed all night to the snow and sleet. We threw our blankets down, and lifted him upon them—the blood gushed out afresh from his side. We immediately commenced to carry him back to the house we had slept in the preceding night; but before we had gone many yards with the unhappy soldier, he died.
We lost no time in proceeding onwards to overtake the column, and we came up with it in about two hours. The poor jaded prisoners looked at us as if they thought we could protect them from their abominable persecutors, and many of them begged our interference, and corroborated what the dying soldier told us. We heard the same melancholy complaint from the French commandant and his officers. He said he remonstrated with the commanding-officer of the Spaniards, but was answered that the men should keep close in the column, and then they would not be exposed to the danger of being murdered! My friend and I immediately rode up to the Spanish officer incommand, and represented the horrid scene which was acted on the preceding night; but instead of a humane and soldier-like consideration of the report, he cooly observed thathedid not see them doing it, and that the prisoners must be more careful not to straggle. I asked him to investigate the matter, and concluded by hoping that the horrors of the night before would not be renewed that night. My friend added, that it was a disgrace to the name of a nation to murder their prisoners thus. He said he could not help it, and that these things must happen in spite of the officers. We plainly saw that those men, who from their rank should have been supposed to have known better, were indirectly as much of the base assassin as the wretches they commanded: however, I believe they were not theregulartroops of the line, but the militia of the province. God forbid that all the Spanish army were such as this sample! For the sake of human nature, I hope they were not. The Spaniards had certainly suffered much from the French invading army; but nothing should have operated so disgraceful a crime in them, as to murder the helpless prisonersentrusted to theirprotection. The British soldiers, with all their faults, never stained the name of their country with conduct like this: they have pilfered—they have plundered—they have rioted in drunkenness and debauchery; but they neverstruck a prostrate foe: they were the most formidable enemies to the French in Spain; but they were the first to whom the fallen of that nation looked to for protection—and not invain—except in onegrand instance* * * But in this, thank Heaven! theNation, although bearing the blame,unjustly bears it; forit was the act of its evil director, and wholly unsanctioned by the hearts of its people.
We obtained a sort of promise, however, from the Spanish officers, not again to allow such conduct as disgraced the preceding night; and having cautioned the French in the rear to keep close together, we went to our quarters in a little village, with some hopes that the murderers would not again go to their infernal work; but we were disappointed; for next morning the front room of the cottage in which we passed the night, was filled with Spanish soldiers at day-break, (for it happened to be a sort of wine-house,) and every oneof them had a knapsack or two which they took from the French on the preceding evening: and no doubt for every knapsack which we counted, there was a murdered prisoner. We were horror-struck when we beheld them, and spoke in very decided terms of the brutality of the soldiers; but they only replied by recommending the English officers to mind their own men, and let Spaniards do as they liked!—nay, they made no secret of their atrocity, but boasted to each other of the manner in which they selected the prisoners who carried the largest knapsacks, and of the celerity with which they detached them from their comrades and slaughtered them. These wretches held a sort of fair or market in front of this cottage, selling the clothes and contents of the plundered knapsacks to the peasants of the village.
This proved to be the last day of slaughter for the poor unhappy prisoners; for they arrived at Tolosa that evening by four o’clock, and their further march was only to Passages (one day’s march) where they were to embark. My friend and I, however, to guard against further outrage, reported the affair to the Spanish authorities atTolosa, who, although promising to effectually prevent a recurrence,excusedthe murderers by saying, “that they had not received a shilling pay for two years; and this,†said they, “is owing to these infernal French.†There would have been some reason in this, if the murdered had been the men who designed and moved the Spanish invasion; but these unhappy prisoners were as much the victims of it as the Spaniards themselves.
I now proceeded to my quarters atUrogne, beyond the Bidassoa, betweenFontarabiaandSt. Jean de Luz. From the appearance of the town, the armies must have had severe fighting there: the houses were all in ruins, and no inhabitants to be seen: here I remained until the advance of the army to its ultimate conquest at Toulouse, which began the winter’s campaign in France.—But, as the crossing of the Bidassoa, properly speaking, was the end of theLast Campaign in the Peninsula, I must with it conclude this sketch—on which I have already, perhaps, dwelt too long.
“Holloa! what is that, sentry?â€
“They are firing on the hills, sir.â€
Out ran Sergeant Dobson from the guard-house, and looked through the dark towards the point from which he supposed the muskets had been fired.
“They are at it, sure enough,†said he—“Pop!—there they go. Is that a house o’ fire?â€
“I think it is, sir,†replied the sentry.
The Sergeant now ran to a rising ground, behind the guard-house to satisfy himself, by taking an observation. It was a dark, cold, windynight, and the flames from a burning house upon a hill, about half a mile in front of the spot where the sergeant stood, spread a glare of red and white light upon the objects immediately around it, which had a sublime effect. The sergeant could plainly distinguish the figures of soldiers, between him and the flames, running until they disappeared in the darkness of the valley over which the flames waved; and he was now convinced that a desperate resistance must have been made to the party, that was sent to support the excise-officers, in taking possession of a private still, which had long been at work in the house now burning in sight of the sergeant.
The house where the illicit still produced its periodical flow of potyeen, was an old strong stone building, of three stories high, and partly in ruin. The lands upon which it was situated, and of which it had been once the manor-house, were “in chancery,†and the only inhabitants it possessed, were a sort of steward and his family, who received no pay for his services, except his house-room and firing, with leave to grow potatoes inthe garden, and feed a cow on the estate—sometimes, perhaps, a pig or two. The agent of the estate seldom visited the ruin, unless when he took a shooting excursion; and then he did not trouble himself much with the old steward’s means of living. To make up for all deficiencies in salary, the occupier of the house, in conjunction with others, set up “a bit of a still,†as he termed it, and supplied thereby a considerable part of the neighbouring people, with potyeen and broken heads for several years, under the very noses of the excise-officers, who were either too wise, or too blind to take notice of the matter. The rumour was not without foundation, which hinted that several mugs and canteens of the old steward’sbest, found their way into Ballycraggen guard-house. This, however, was only rumoured, and never happened to arrive at the ears of the officers then quartered in the town; for had that been the case, Corporal O’Callaghan, Private Mulligan, Jack Andrews, and even Sergeant M’Fadgen himself, would have got into a bit of a hobble, as sure as potyeen is good whiskey. But not a word more about that—let the officers find suchthings out—I’ll never “peach,†upon good soldiers. If they did take a drop while on guard, it was only to keep the frost out of their stomachs—(and as Mulligan says,) nobody ever saw them “a bit the worse o’ dthrink.â€
The burning of the house was going on rapidly—the flames encreasing in strength, and streaming along the hill, over high pines and thick bush wood. The whole of the guard were at the front of the guard-house, observing the progress of the fire, when the glistening of the firelocks with fixed bayonets caught their attention, rising from the valley below them; and, through the faint and red light, they could perceive they were some of their own regiment who approached.
The guard immediately got under arms, to receive them. The challenge was given—the watch word passed—and the party commanded by Ensign Morris, halted in front of the guard-house, and delivered to the sergeant of the guard (Dobson) two prisoners—one slightly wounded by a shot in the arm.
The Ensign gave orders that they should be kept in the guard-house until morning, and leftCorporal Callaghan with two men, to strengthen the guard: after which, he gave the word to his party, “Right face,â€â€”“March;†and proceeded to the head-quarters of the regiment.
The prisoners were two labourers who belonged to the still, and the only two of its defenders who were taken.
“Well, my gay fellows, you gave us a purty bit o’ business to-night—eh?†growled Corporal O’Callaghan, when all were seated in the guard-house. “Look at that,†continued he, taking off his cap, and showing them a hole made by a bullet; “look at that, ye spalpeens. Which o’ ye did that?â€
“Neither of us, plase your honour!†exclaimed both the prisoners; “we never fired a shot, at all, at all.â€
“That’s a lie, old chap,†replied one of the soldiers who had escorted them; “that’s a lie; for I’ll take my affadavy I saw your infernal face looking out of the window when the fire first broke out; and if I’m not very much mistaken, it was this musquet that pinked your arm when you were running up the hill.â€
“Whoeverdidpink my arm, as you call it, Iwish’d o’ Christ I had him on the top o’ Faudrick’s Hill,—he with his firelock, an’ I with my pitchfork; I’d make him know his Lord God from Tom Bell.†This was the reply of the wounded man, who became evidently agitated with rage as he concluded.
“Well, my boys,†observed Corporal Callaghan, “it’s all over now; you are prisoners, and one o’ you is wounded. The business is over, so say no more about it.â€
“Yes, yes,†said Sergeant Dobson, “say no more about it;—but, Corporal, tell us how the matter went.â€
“By my soul! Sergeant, we had a throublesome job, I assure you. You know Andrews’s quarthers. Well, I was down there, taking tay with his wife, when the Sergeant-major came running down, and orther’d me out with my squad immajetly. So I had my men out while you’d say ‘thrapstick;’ an’ Liftinent Morris, of our company, with Sergeant M’Fadgen, myself, and twenty-five men, march’d off in the dark, along with two excisemen, down the narrow lane which lades towards the windmill. The lane was rough an’ muddy, an’ it washorrid dark; but the excisemen had lantherns in their pockets, which they pull’d out as soon as we were out o’ the town. When we got about a mile on, we filed off into a narrow path, which ran up the side o’ the hill, upon which that house that’s burning stands, an’ followed the excisemen in single files, through bushes an’ briars, like goats—climbing an’ slipping—till we came to a sort of open space, undther another hill; an’ from this we could see a gleam o’ twilight in the sky, as if the moon was just washing her face, to pay us a visit. Here we were halted, an’ orther’d to keep a sthrict silence. The excisemen shut up their lantherns. Ensign Morris now stooped down, to catch a glimpse o’ the house in front between him an’ the twilight; an’ then both he and the excisemen went on—down the slope o’ the hill. It got a little bit lighter, an’ we could see that the big stone house (more like a castle) was situated between us and another hill on our left, in a wide sloping place, and surrounded with fir-threes. There was no light at all in the windows. ’Pon my sowl, when I looked about at the dark scene, as it was—we dthrawn up undther a steep rock, an’ the rootso’ the big threes out over our heads,—all of us as silent as stones—I couldn’t help thinking o’ the night we were dthrawn up on the advanced posts in the Pyrenees, Sergeant,—just half an hour before the attack. Well—in about ten minutes, Liftinent Morris an’ the excisemen returned. Misther Morris immajetly addthress’d us in a sort o’ whisper, ‘Tention!’ says he. “Now, men, you are about to be employed in a juty which may call upon every individual of you to use his judgment and discretion. You may be required to spill the blood of your countrymen; but it is in support o’ the laws, and you are bound to do it, if necessity calls upon you. These revenue officers are going to make a sazure of a private still in that house, an’ in case our assistance is wanted, we must give it at all hazards; but to those men who will be posted by themselves, I have particularly to remark that they are to allow none to pass them—but, at the same time, not to fire, unless undther the most urgent circumstances. To those men undther my own eye, I say observe my ordthers—our object is to avoid bloodshed, but, at the same time, support the revenue officersin doing their juty.†He then ordthered Sergeant M’Fadgen to post two men at the pass we had just come down; and this being done, three more were sent round to about fifty yards distance, an’ posted at different points, while four others were placed at each flank o’ the big house on the side o’ the hill—all ordthered to allow nobody to pass in or out; an’ not to move from their posts till further ordthers, unless obliged by force. Ensign Morris then marched the remaining twelve, and the Sergeant and myself, down the slope for about a hundthred yards, an’ halted us undther cover o’ the wail, close to the gate o’ the house.
“The excisemen now went softly into the yard o’ the house—for there was no gate—an’ in about five minutes they came out again, to say that there were at least eight or ten men in the house—they saw through a crack in the wall. I must tell ye that the excisemen said they had been in the house twice, but it was in the day time, an’ if they were to be d——d for it, they could not find either still or one o’ the men,—it was so sacretly done between ’em; so they came to-night from information they had received, that a gratequantity o’ potyeen was to be sent out about twelve o’clock; an’ we were to wait ’till they began to load their cars with the stuff.—‘The cars are all harnessed,’ says one o’ the Excisemen, coming out o’ the yard, ’an’ I hard a dale o’ voices inside—so they will soon come out.’
“Here we waited for a little time, when a light from the door stramed out across the road through the gateway, and the excisemen got on their hands an’ feet, an’ kept watching the fellows coming out o’ the house to load the stuff. We heard the cars dthrawing up before the door, and in about five minutes the excisemen got up, and said that they would creep inside o’ the gate, an’ round the wall to the door, so as to get into the house before any alarm was given; an’ that the word “Captain!†roared out by one o’ them, would be the signal for our party to advance an’ support them. So in they crept, like cats, while the men were loading the cars: and we were expecting the signal every instant, when we sees a fellow’s head poking out o’ the gate: at first he didn’t see us, but walked softly out (I suppose to see was the ground clear), when he turned round an’ spies us,an’ immajetly bawled out, as loud as he could, ‘Murther! Dinis, shut the door; here’s the sodgers!’ The signal was instantly given; we didn’t mind the fellow at the gate, but advanced at double quick, right into the yard—Ensign Morris at our head. The door was open—a woman held a light, an’ was pulling in a man, while the excisemen were both knocked down like cocks before our faces. We were dthrawn up in line about ten yards from the door, while Ensign Morris ran forward, undther one o’ the horses’ heads, calling out he would fire if they would not surrendther; but the men were all in, an’ the door slapped right into his face, just as he was grabbing howld o’ one o’ them. You know Misther Morris is a slapping able fellow, that ought to be a Captain long ago—before he left Spain. The excisemen got up—not much worse o’ the wear—an’ Misther Morris ordthered me to remove the cars an’ horses, which we did to one side o’ the yard. He then called to the men to aim at the door when they got the word, and desired the Excisemen to pull out their lantherns, one of which he took, an’threw the light on the door. “Now men:—ready—present—fire!†says he. Slap went a dozen bullets into the door. “Load!†was given, an’ the officer, with the Excisemen, went forward,—the men marched afther him,—ordthered to butt the door with their muskets; which they did: but neither the balls nor the butting had any effect whatever; for the door was as thick double oak as ever was; an’ well made too—one o’ the owld times.â€
The prisoners smiled with satisfaction, as the Corporal observed upon the door.
“Well,†continued O’Callaghan, “we were dthrawn up a little distance from the house again, an’ another volley was sent right at one o’ the windows o’ the first floor. In went the wooden shutthers in smithereens about the ground, an’ slap comes a shot out at us. “Load!â€â€”again—and again. Six men were ordthered to take post on our flank with the Sergeant, and the others with Misther Morris himself:—away went six bullets more into the same window, from the Sergeant’s party, while ours was ordthered to pop one byone, as Misther Morris directed. Another shot was now fired at us from the window, an’ knocked poor Hall head over heels.â€
“What! is Hall killed?†demanded the Serjeant and the men of the guard.
“‘Faith! poor fellow he is—or all as one; the ball enthered his breast, an’ he was taken away to the surgeon with very little hopes o’ life.â€
At this information of the Corporal’s there was a general murmur of regret.
O’Callaghan continued—“Misther Morris now says to the men, ‘Come—ready lads—an’ when the party on the other side fires, watch the window, while I throw the light right on it; which, when you see, fire at once—the whole of you.’ We then moved in the dark to six or eight paces farther out, an’ more in front. The smoke was now getting away—for a blast o’ wind just then came. In about a minuet or two, slap went the Serjeant’s party—a volley into the window. ‘Steady!’ says the Liftinent; ‘good aim lads’; an’ in less than a minuet he claps the light on the window. There was the fellow with a blundtherbush up to his shouldther, an’ he let fly just as we fired—the lightwas kept steady on him—I’m sure every man could see him. Rattle went the lead into him:—he jumped like a hopping ball up against the window top, an’ out fell his dead body across the ledge:—there he hung with his head an’ shoulders out. A most dthreadful cloud o’ smoke came now over the house, an’ almost stifled us; at which Misther Morris ordthered me to go round to the rear an’ see what was the matther. I went, an’ the sentheries there tould me the house was o’ fire—’faith! I soon saw it was; for the flames were bursting out o’ the windows; so I ran back to tell the Liftinent. We were all astonishment. What was to become o’ the men inside?
“There was no more firing from the party: the Serjeant was ordthered to remain at his post in front, with his six men, while Misther Morris an’ I ran round to the rear; but before we went, the flames came fleaking out of every window—even over the dead man that was lying stretched out over the ledge. It’s all up, thinks I, for they must ha’ spilt their potyeen, an’ set fire to it; otherwise the house could never be so suddenly in flames.
“Faith an’ you’re just right,†sneered the wounded prisoner; “We wasn’t a goin’ to let the d——d Exciseman taste a dthrop o’ it.â€
“By my sowl! ye’re nice boys. I wish ye had been out at Badajoz, an’ may be ye’d ha’ had enough o’ such business,†said Corporal O’Callaghan, and then resumed his narrative. “Well,†said he, “we got round as fast as possible to the rear o’ the house, an’ just as we were approaching it, we sees the senthries—three o’ them—running towards the hill to stop three or four fellows who were galloping up it like monkies, an’ calling out that they would fire; while six or eight fellows made a rush by a hedge close to us, down the hill like devils, an’ we afther them—officer an’ all. I’m a good runner—an’ by my sowl! I could not do much with them fellows; they were like Leberacawns—we had scarcely time to wink our eyes, when they were gone—hooh! off they were like birds.â€
“But didn’t Lieutenant Morris order you to fire, Corporal?†said Serjeant Dobson.
“Fire! not he. Why should he, Serjeant? You know what the Liftenant is,—he’ll notdthraw blood in such a case as that—the poor devils were running away. We couldn’t have much glory in killing one o’ them, I’m sure. One o’ the senthries fired though, an’ shot this nate-looking gentleman here getting up the hill, an’ made him prisoner; the other lad there fell right on his head and rowled down; so that he was also caught.â€
“And is the house burnt?†demanded the Serjeant.
“Burnt!†replied O’Callaghan, “’faith it is—an’ well burnt too. It’s all in a hape o’ ruins. An’ afther all, the Exciseman didn’t get the still.â€
“No, by J——s! they didn’t nor never will,†exclaimed the wounded prisoner with exultation.
“But what made you burn the house?†said Serjeant Dobson to the prisoner.
“I’ll say no more,†replied he; “it’s done now—an’ I’m not sorry; except for the brave fellow that lost his life.â€
At this moment, the Sentry at the guard-house door challenged; and in a few seconds LieutenantMorris with a magistrate of the town, and the gaoler, arrived. Handcuffs were placed upon the prisoner who was not wounded, and the Corporal with two men, were directed to take charge of the delinquents, and march them to gaol; which they did, accompanied by the Lieutenant, the magistrate, and the gaoler.
“O! Father, must I then confess?â€
“O! Father, must I then confess?â€
They say that “a frank confession is good for the soul,†but who ever said it was good for a militarybody? Even the confessors themselves, enthusiastic as they may be about the salvation of souls, through the means of contrition and atonement, show but little disposition to trouble the army, or expect that the army will ever trouble them by kneeling at their confessionals. However, the military in France are subject to the civil laws; and, as a holy order has been issued from the Court of Charles X., imposing the necessity of confession as a preparatory step to the celebration ofmarriage, the soldier who wishes to enter into the bonds of Hymen, must, like his civil brethren, confess his naughty doings to his pastor. Without a certificate of having duly done this, he must be contented with single cursedness.
A Colonel who fought for France in the days of her triumph—a pupil of that revolutionary school which gave its best moral lesson in its downfall—presented himself at the house of the Priest who held the sacerdotal command of the town in which themilitairewas quartered, and informed him that he was desirous of entering into the married state next day; adding, that he wished to give his reverence the preference in the performance of the ceremony.Monsieur le Prêtrebowed, and thanked the Colonel for the honour conferred upon him, and the hour was appointed for the marriage. The Colonel, not aware that anything more was officially required of him, than to present himself with his intendedcara esposa, before the altar on the following day, was about to take his leave, when the Priest informed him that he must confess before he could be eligible to the dignity of wearing the matrimonial collar.—Onlyfancy a tall, bony, mustachioed Colonel of French Infantry, about forty-five years of age—a sort of half devil, half republican,—with ear-rings and bald temples—a ruddy brown face, that spoke of many a hot sun and strong vintage—with an eye like Mars, and an air like Robin Hood:—only fancy such a man called upon by a Priest, to kneel down and confess his sins in an audible voice, that he might be qualified to enter into the holy state of marriage;—and then fancy his gaze of astonishment at the holy man’s summons! For such a rough personage as this was the Colonel;—a fellow who, during his military life, had little to do with priests, except to lay them under contribution, and knew no more about the merits of confession than he did about the Evidences of Christianity, or the Decalogue itself.
“Sacre!†replied the Colonel; “What’s the meaning of this? Confession! what have I to do with confession?â€
The Priest, who was a man as liberal as might be, consistent with his office, informed the Colonel that by a late law, no marriage could be celebrated in France between Catholics, unless theparties had first obtained a certificate of confession; but gave him to understand that he would make it easy to him.
“Eh bien!—very well, very well,†said the Colonel; “but what am I to do?â€
“Very little, very little. Merely sit down, and tell me what sins you have committed in your life-time.â€
“Parbleu!†replied the Colonel; “How am I to do that? I don’t know that I ever did any great harm.â€
“Well then,†returned the Priest, “merely speak to the best of your recollection.â€
Here he gave the Colonel his benediction.
“I never injured any one in my life—except, perhaps, running a few dozen Prussians and Spaniards through the body.—I have killed a few Englishmen too.â€
“Ce n’est rien!that’s nothing.â€
“I assisted in pillaging several towns, and burnt one or two villages.â€
“Ce n’est rien!that’s nothing at all.â€
“I have sometimes had an affair with the ladies.â€
“Oh, pour cela, ce n’est rien—ce n’est rien!All in the way of your profession. Did you ever kill a priest?â€
“No!—I—a—a—don’t think I everkilledone.â€
“Very well—very well! Did you ever assault a nun?â€
“O never,—no necessity! Always found the nuns very agreeable women.â€
“You never robbed a church, Colonel?â€
“We melted down the golden candlesticks, and removed a few of the pictures; but this was by our General’s orders.â€
“You did not rob anybody?â€
“Never—except the Spaniards and Portuguese.—O—yes, we did a little amongst the Prussians.â€
“Ah! that was, as I said before, merely in the way of your profession. Very good—very good, Colonel, I think that will do. Now I will give you absolution, and your certificate of purity.â€
The Colonel received the paper, and was about to depart, when the Priest informed him that there was something more to be done:—A smallfee was necessary. The Colonel cheerfully put his hand in his pocket, and presented the clergyman with two Napoleons, one of which his reverence returned, observing that he was amply remunerated for his trouble by the other. “Yet,†said he, “there is something more to be done: you must have a mass celebrated, to complete the marriage and render it legal.â€
“Parbleu!mass!†exclaimed the Colonel, “what is the use of mass to me?â€
He was again told that it was necessary, and he agreed to have it performed; “But,†said he, “what is the expense?â€
“You can have it done in a superior manner—full high-mass—for two hundred francs.â€
“Ah, mon Dieu!two hundred francs! what!—for a mass?â€
“Yes; but, Colonel, you can have it done so low as ten francs.â€
“Can I?†said the Colonel, “and is the ten franc-mass equally good in point of law, with that for two hundred?â€
“Yes, Colonel; but not so respectable.â€
“Sacre!never mind the respectability of thematter; I’l have ten francs worth of mass—that will do for me.â€
The marriage was accordingly celebrated next day in due form, the Colonel having purchased the confessor’s certificate and ten francs worth of mass; and he solemnly declared, on the day after his wedding, that he could not have felt more happy, even if he had purchased the highest priced mass in France.11
My consequence—my consequence—my consequence!Munden’sSir Anthony Absolute
My consequence—my consequence—my consequence!Munden’sSir Anthony Absolute
A certain little gentleman attached to the army of Lord Wellington, while on the march in Portugal, once took up his quarters in the best house he could find, and having seen his horses well put up in the rear of it, retired to the best apartment to indulge himself in a cup of coffee; which luxury, with many others, he was, from the nature of his situation, enabled to carry with him, while others, his superiors, were obliged to put up with what they could procureen passant.Scarcely had hisrapazdrawn off his boots and re-covered his feet with slippers, when it was announced to him, that an officer was below examining the stables, and had ordered his horses to be put up in them—that the officer’s baggage was already unloading at the door of the house—and that the officer himself had selected the quarters in preference to any other in the village.
The slippered possessor, in all the consequence of hisgrade, immediately determined that no man should turn him out of his quarters, unless he could establish fully a claim to a rank superior to his own—and that too pretty clearly; in which resolution he began to stride across the chamber with becoming dignity. At this moment the officer in question entered the apartment, and proceeded to inspect its conveniencies without observing the occupier, who with three formidable strides approached the intruder, and demanded what he wanted: which question was answered by the officer’s saying, that he wished to have the quarters in which he then stood.
“You shallnothave them, Sir,†replied the little gentleman; (he was about four feet fourinches in height; but a very respectable and dapper member of the army.) “You shall not have them, Sir—I am determined on that.â€
“Pray Sir,†demanded the stranger with astonishment, “may I be permitted to inquire what is yourrankin the army?â€
“Myrank, Sir,†replied the little disputant, considerably irritated; “myrank, Sir!â€â€”At this moment he put his two hands into his side pockets in a style that perfectly astonished the listener—“I am, Sir—since you must know my rank—I am, Sir,Mr. Lewis, Apothecary to the Forces!â€
“Indeed!†replied the stranger, “that rank, I presume, in taking quarters is equivalent to a Lieutenant’s?â€
“Yes, Sir, it is, Sir,†rejoined the Apothecary to the Forces; “and now, Sir, let me ask you, Sir, what isyourrank, Sir?â€
“The only difference between our respective ranks is this,†said the stranger, “that you are Apothecary to the Forces;—I amCommander-in-Chiefof the same forces; and now, Sir, I order you, to be out of these quarters in half an hour!â€
The tiny gentleman stared; and with the mostpolite and submissive bow, (when he had recovered from the consternation into which the explanation had thrown him,) pulled out his watch and said, “Half an hour?your lordship—half an hour?that’s very short notice indeed:—saythirty-fiveminutes, and it shall be done.â€
The Commander-in-Chief nodded assent, and laughing heartily, left the little gentleman to takehis own timein removing.
It is an even chanceThat bridegrooms, after they are fairlygroom’d,May retrograde a little in thedance.Byron.
It is an even chanceThat bridegrooms, after they are fairlygroom’d,May retrograde a little in thedance.Byron.
That “a cobler should stick to his last,†is a homely old saying, of infinite worth, were men to act upon the spirit which it inculcates; but, unfortunately, like many other wholesome things, it is too often rejected as unpalatable, if not neglected altogether. The danger of the infraction of this maxim, however, has been proved by men of every grade, from the highest to the lowest—from Cobler Buonaparte down to Cobler Cobbett—the one marchedto Russia, and lost the world by it; the other trudged to Windsor, and gained but a laugh for his pains. Ambition is at the bottom of all this: that passion which killed alike the Roman Cato and the London Daw. The one slew himself that he might not witness his rival’s success; the other died of grief because he could not bear to see hiswalkupon the stage usurped by an understrapper. Poor Daw had played for many years the fore leg of the elephant in Blue Beard withéclat—he was theoriginalleg; and it broke his heart to find himself thrown into the background, by being obliged to take thehind,12instead of his foremost character. But this is a digression; let us return to our adage—“A cobler should stick to his last,†and proceed to an illustration of it in an affair which happened at Lisbon, in 1813.
A Commissariat clerk was on duty in that city at this period, who possessed a handsome wife. With his pay and allowances, amounting to about 180l.a-year, he managed to live very comfortably, enjoying the society of his brethren, and appearing,in every respect, a gentleman. But, unfortunately for him, the British Ambassador, then at Lisbon, (Lord Charles Stuart,) according to custom, gave periodical balls; and what was still more unfortunate, these balls were open to every respectable member of the army who might choose to attend. Of this privilege the wife of the gentleman in question determined to avail herself, and prevailed on her husband to accompany her. Whether it required much persuasion to accomplish the consent of the latter, is not known; but certain it is, that they both attended the balls, and “turned out†in a style that would not have disgraced a Commissary-general. Besides the expensive circle of acquaintance into which this attendance at the Ambassador’s balls must necessarily have led amarriedman, another and greater evil soon and clearly manifested itself. The Hussar brigade had then just arrived at Lisbon, splendidly equipped; and, of course, its members figured as thelionsof the ball-room. Amongst them was a noble Marquis, a Captain, of elegant and insinuating manners, and remarkable for his gallantry in the field—of Venus; for he had not yet essayed in that ofMars,—and with the Commissariat gentleman’s wife the noble Captain danced. Without entering into a philosophical examination of the characters of women in general, let us assume, that few ladies, who know how to properly esteem the pleasures of dancing in public, could well have resisted the claims to admiration which a handsome Hussar, decorated with a title, and a pair of scarlet trowsers, all laced with gold, must have brought to his aid. The heroine of this page proved her taste, and admired the Marquis, as every lady possessing her susceptibility and her notions of thebeau ideal, must have done. It is natural to look favourably upon those who admire us. Admiration possesses extraordinary procreative powers,—it even reproduces itself. The Marquis and the Commissariat clerk’s wife became, on the first night of their dancing together, familiar acquaintances; nay, before the ball broke up, they were found to bebona fiderelations—absolute cousins-German, by the mother’s side! There is no doubt—theywerecousins: the Marquis first traced the consanguinity, the lady was delighted at the discovery, and the credulous husbandbelieved it! Many garrulouspeople, however, attempted to prove, that this cousinship was only got up, tocozenthe Commissary, between the noble dancer and the sympatheticdanseuse.13Be that as it may, both husband and wife felt highly honoured, as we have said, by the discovery; and the former invited the Marquis, most pressingly, to his quarters.
The noble relation became a frequent visitor, and the Commissary spoke of his “Cousin, the Marquis,†to all his acquaintances with exultation; nor was the lady backward in her civilities, for she entertained her guest at dinner—at tea—at supper—at all things, and at all times, within her power, in such a way, that thecousinswere scarcely ever out of each other’s society.
In about three weeks after the cousinship commenced, the Hussars were ordered up the country, to join the main body of the army, and the Marquis remained a few days behind, for the purpose of—what? Why, of making suitable arrangements to carry his faircousinwith him to theregiment, and away from the husband who had behaved so hospitably towardshim, and so indulgently toher!
The Marquis took her off to Santarem, where his regiment lay; but, to the everlasting credit of that regiment, (which, by the by, has been so roughly, and perhaps unjustly, handled by public opinion) the Marquis was not permitted to join; for the facts of thecozeninghad galloped faster than the noble Captain’s horses, and the officers set their faces against the affair. He was obliged to return to Lisbon, with the companion of his trip; when, after some fruitless endeavours to reconcile the disunited couple, he sent the lady to England, and thus patched up the honour of his name with his regiment.
The unhappy husband at first took the matter to heart; but soon overcame his feelings, and learned to despise both the wretched woman and her paramour.
It is but fair to mention, however, that the Marquis was not somuchto blame as the lady in this transaction: he laid no siege for years, nor even months, before the citadel—capitulation almostcame with the summons—the vanity of the woman was touched, and the spell awakened all her evil passions. Her husband was a man of good sense, (although in this instance he went “beyond his last;â€) he possessed a good person, agreeable manners, and an affectionate and sincere heart; yet this wife left him for an acquaintance of an hour! Blame is always readier to fall upon themanthan on the woman in affairs of this kind, and often very unjustly,—in this case decidedly so; for although the Marquis acted foolishly and rashly, intaking the wife away; yet the woman was not worth a thought who could be thus won. However, the only real sufferer, at present, is the unfortunate wife.