THE SUBALTERN.
CHAPTER I.
Itwas on a fine morning in May 1813 that the 85th Regiment of Light Infantry, in which I held a lieutenant's commission, began to muster on the parade-ground at Hythe. The order to prepare for immediate service in the Peninsula had reached us two days previously; and on the morning to which I allude, we were to commence our march for that purpose. The point of embarkation was Dover, a port only twelve miles distant from our cantonments, where a couple of transports, with a gun-brig as convoy, were waiting to receive us.
The short space of time which intervened between the arrival of the route and the eventful day which saw its directions carried into effect, was spent by myself and my brother officers in making the best preparations which circumstances wouldpermit for a campaign. Sundry little pieces of furniture, by the help of which we had contrived to render our barrack-rooms somewhat habitable, were sold for one-tenth of their value; a selection was made from our respective wardrobes of such articles of apparel as, being in a state of tolerable preservation, promised to continue for some time serviceable; canteens were hastily fitted up, and stored with tea, sugar, and other luxuries; cloaks were purchased by those who possessed them not, and put in a state of repair by those who did;—in a word, everything was done which men similarly circumstanced are apt to do, not forgetting the payment of debts or the inditing of farewell letters in due form to absent friends and relatives. Perhaps the reader may be curious to know with what stock of necessaries the generality of British officers were wont, in the stirring times of the old war, to be content. I will tell him how much I myself packed up in two small portmanteaus, so formed as to be an equal balance to each other when slung across the back of a mule; and as my kit was not remarkable either for its bulk or its tenuity, he will not greatly err if he accept it as a sort of criterion by which to judge of those of my comrades.
In one of these portmanteaus, then, I deposited a regimental jacket, with all its appendages of wings,lace, &c.; two pairs of grey trousers; sundry waistcoats, white, coloured, and flannel; a few changes of flannel drawers; half-a-dozen pairs of worsted stockings, and as many of cotton. In the other were six shirts, two or three cravats, a dressing-case competently filled, one undress pelisse, three pairs of boots, two pairs of shoes, with pocket-handkerchiefs, &c. &c., in proportion. Thus, though not encumbered by any useless quantity of apparel, I carried with me quite enough to load a mule, and to insure myself against the danger of falling short for at least a couple of years to come; and after providing these and all other necessary articles, I retained five-and-twenty pounds in my pocket. This sum, when converted into bullion, dwindled down, indeed, to £17, 18s.; for in those days we purchased dollars at the rate of 6s. apiece, and doubloons at five pounds; but even £17, 18s. was no bad reserve for a subaltern officer in a marching regiment, though it happened to be a crack one.
I was a great deal too busy, both in body and mind, to devote to sleep many of the hours of the night which preceded the day of our intended departure. My bodily labours, indeed, which consisted chiefly in packing my baggage, and bidding adieu to the few civilians with whom I had formed an acquaintance, came to a close two hours before midnight; but the body was no sooner at restthan the mind began to bestir itself. "So," said I, "to-morrow I commence my military career in earnest." Well, and had not this been my strong desire from the first moment that I saw my name in the 'Gazette'? Had it not been the most prominent petition in my daily prayers, for nearly twelve months past, not to be kept idling away my youth in the country towns of England, but to be sent, as speedily as possible, where I might have an opportunity of acquiring a practical knowledge of the profession which I had embraced? The case is even so. And without meaning to proclaim myself a fire-eater, I will venture to say, that no individual in the corps experienced greater satisfaction than I at the prospect before him. But there were other thoughts which obtruded themselves upon me that night, and they savoured a good deal of the melancholy.
I thought of home—of my father, my mother, and my sisters; I thought of the glorious mountains and fertile plains of my native country, and could not help asking myself the question, whether it was probable that I should ever behold them again. The chances were that I should not; and as my home had always been to me a scene of the purest and most perfect happiness—as I loved my relatives tenderly, and knew that I was tenderly beloved by them in return—it was impossible for menot to experience a pang of extreme bitterness at the idea that, in all human probability, I should see their faces no more.
On the other hand, curiosity, if I may call it by so feeble a term, was on full stretch respecting the future. Now at length I was about to learn what war really was; how hostile armies met, and battles were decided: and the resolutions which I consequently formed as to my own proceedings, the eagerness with which I longed for an opportunity to distinguish myself, and the restlessness of my imagination, which persisted in drawing the most ridiculous pictures of events which never were and never could be realised, created altogether such a fever in my brain as rendered abortive every attempt to sleep. I went to bed at ten o'clock, for the purpose of securing a good night's rest, and of being fresh and vigorous in the morning, but eleven, twelve, and one found me wide awake; nor could I have lain in a state of unconsciousness much above an hour when the sound of the bugle restored me to my senses.
At the first blast I sprang from my bed, and, drawing aside the curtain of my window, looked out. The day was just beginning to break; the parade-ground, into which I gazed, was as yet empty, only two or three figures, those of the trumpeters, who were puffing away with all theirmight, being discernible upon it; and not a sound could be distinguished except that which their puffing produced. The moon was shining brightly overhead; not a breath of air was astir; in short, it was just half-past three o'clock, and the time of parade was four. I dropped the curtain again, and addressed myself to my toilet.
Having completed this, I waited for the second summons, and then walked forth. Were I to live a hundred years I shall never forget that morning. Day had dawned—that is to say, the light of the moon was overpowered by the increasing brilliancy of the twilight. A thick haze, however, which rose from the low grounds, rendered objects even more indistinct and obscure than they had been half an hour previously. When I opened my door, therefore, though a confused hum of voices, a clattering of canteens, the tread of footsteps, and occasionally the clash of arms struck upon my ear, I could discern nothing. This did not last long. The rising sun gradually dispelled the fog, and, in a few moments, I beheld companies mustering in all form. Mingling in the ranks I could likewise distinguish the dress of women; and, as the noise of assembling gradually subsided into the stillness of order, the half-suppressed shriek, and the half-stifled sob, became more and more audible.
There are not many incidents in human life morestriking in themselves, or to him who has to deal with them for the first time more harrowing, than the departure of a regiment upon foreign service. By the customs of the army, only six women per company, who are chosen by lot out of the most highly respected of the whole band, are allowed to follow their husbands. The casting of lots is usually deferred till the evening previous to the departure of the corps, probably with the humane design of leaving to each woman, as long as it can be left, the enjoyment of that greatest of all earthly blessings, hope. But the consequence is, that a full sense of her forlorn condition coming all at once upon the wretched creature who is to be abandoned, produces, in many instances, a violence of grief, the display of which it is impossible to witness with any degree of indifference. Many were the agonising scenes of the kind which it was my fortune this day to witness; but there was one so peculiarly distressing, so much more affecting in all respects than the rest, that I am tempted to give a detailed account of it, even at the risk of being thought a writer of romance.
About three months previous to the day of embarkation, a batch of recruits had joined the regiment from Scotland. Among them was a remarkably fine young Highlander, a native, if I recollect right, of Balquhidder, called Duncan Stewart. Duncan was, in all respects, a good soldier; he was clean,sober, orderly, and well-behaved; but he seemed to be of a singularly melancholy temper; never mixing in the sports and amusements of his comrades, nor speaking except when he was obliged to speak. It so happened that the pay-sergeant of Duncan's company was likewise a Highlander; and Highlanders being of all classes persons the most national, he soon began to interest himself about the fate of the young recruit. At first Duncan shrank back even from his advances; but it is not natural for the human heart, especially in youth, to continue long indifferent to acts of kindness; so Duncan gradually permitted honest M'Intyre to insinuate himself into his good graces, and they became before long bosom friends.
When they had continued for some weeks on a footing of intimacy, Duncan did not scruple to make his friend, the sergeant, acquainted with the cause of his dejection. It was this:—
Duncan was the son of a Highland farmer, who, like many of his countrymen in the same locality, cultivated barley for the purpose of making whisky; in plain language, was a determined smuggler. Not far from the abode of Stewart dwelt an exciseman of the name of Young, who, being extremely active in the discharge of his duty, had, on various occasions, made seizure of his neighbour's kegs as they were on their march towards the low country. This wasan offence which the Highlander could not forgive; and there subsisted, in consequence, between the smuggler and the gauger, a degree of antipathy far surpassing anything of which it is easy for us to form a conception. It must, however, be confessed, that the feeling of hatred was all on one side. Stewart hated Young for presuming to interfere with his calling, and despised him because he had the misfortune to be born in the shire of Renfrew; whereas Young was disposed to behave civilly to his neighbour on every occasion except when whisky-casks happened to come in the way.
Gauger Young had an only and a very pretty daughter, with whom Duncan, as a matter of course, fell in love. The maiden returned his love, at which I am by no means surprised, for a handsomer or more manly-looking youth one would not desire to see; but alas! old Stewart would not hear of their union—commanding his son, under penalty of his heaviest malediction, not to think of her again. The authority of parents over their children, even after the latter have attained to manhood, is in Scotland very great; so Duncan would not dispute his father's will, and, finding all entreaty to alter it useless, he determined to sacrifice inclination to duty, and to meet his pretty Mary no more.
To this resolution he adhered for several days; but, to use his own words, "Gang where I would,and do what I liket, I aye saw her before me. I saw her ance, to tell her what my father had said; indeed we were baith gey sure how it would be, before I spak to him ava; and, oh! the look she gae me, M'Intyre; I ne'er forgot it, I never can forget it. It haunted me like a ghaist night and day."
The consequence of constantly beholding such a vision may easily be imagined. Duncan forgot his determination and his duty, and found himself, one evening, he scarce knew how, once more walking with Mary by the loch-side. This occurred again and again. The meetings were the more sweet because they were secret; and they ended as such stolen interviews generally do among persons of their station in life—Duncan was assured of becoming a father before he was a husband.
This, however, was not to be. Duncan was too tenderly attached to Mary to suffer disgrace to fall upon her, even though he should incur the threatened penalty of a father's curse; so he resolved, at all hazards, to make her his wife. The reader is, no doubt, aware, that marriages are much more easily contracted in Scotland than on the south side of the Tweed. An exchange of lines, as it is called—that is to say, a mutual agreement to live as man and wife, drawn up and signed by a young man and young woman—constitutes as indissoluble a unionin North Britain as if the marriage ceremony had been read or uttered by a clergyman; and to this method of uniting their destinies Duncan and Mary had recourse. They addressed a letter, the one to the other, in which he acknowledged her to be his wife, and she acknowledged him to be her husband; and, having made an exchange of the documents, they became, to all intents and purposes, a married couple.
Having thus gone in direct opposition to his father's will, Duncan was by no means easy in his own mind. He knew the unforgiving temper of the man with whom he had to deal; he knew likewise that his disobedience could not long be kept a secret, and the nearer the period approached which must compel a disclosure, the more anxious and uncomfortable he became. At length the time arrived when he must either acknowledge his marriage or leave Mary to infamy. It was the season of Doune Fair, and Duncan was intrusted with the care of a flock of sheep which were to be disposed of at that market. Having bid farewell to his wife, he set out, still carrying his secret with him, but determined to disclose it, by letter, as soon as he should reach Doune. His object in acting thus was, partly to escape the first burst of his father's anger, and partly with the hope that, having escaped it, he might be received at his return with forgiveness;but alas! the poor fellow had no opportunity of ascertaining the success of his scheme.
When he reached Doune, Duncan felt himself far too unhappy to attend to business. He therefore intrusted the sale of his sheep to a neighbour, and, sitting down in one of the public-houses, wrote that letter which had been the subject of his meditations ever since he left Balquhidder. Having completed this task, Duncan bravely determined to forget his sorrows for a while; for which purpose he swallowed a dose of whisky, and entered into conversation with the company about him, among whom were several soldiers—fine, merry, hearty fellows—who, with their corporal, were on the look-out for recruits. The leader of the party was a skilful man in his vocation; he admired the fine proportions of the youth before him, and determined to enlist him if he could. For this purpose more whisky was ordered—funny stories were told by him and his companions—Duncan was plied with dram after dram, till at last he became completely inebriated, and the shilling was put into his hand. No time was given him to recover from his surprise; for, long ere the effects of the liquor had evaporated, Duncan was on his way to Edinburgh. Here he was instantly embarked with a number of young men similarly circumstanced; and he actually reached headquarters withouthaving had an opportunity so much as to inform his relatives of his fate.
The sequel of Duncan's story is soon told: Having obtained permission from the commanding officer, he wrote to Scotland for his wife, who joyfully hastened to join him. Her father did what he could, indeed, to prevent this step—not from any ill-will towards his daughter, to whom he had behaved with great kindness in her distress, but because he knew how uncomfortable was the sort of life which she must lead as the wife of a private soldier. But Mary resisted every entreaty to remain apart from Duncan. She had been in a state of utter misery during the many days in which she was left in ignorance of his fate; and now that she knew where he was to be found, nothing should hinder her from following him. Though far advanced in pregnancy, she set out instantly for the south of England; and, having endured with patience all inconveniences attendant upon her want of experience as a traveller, she succeeded in reaching Hythe just one week previously to the embarkation of the regiment.
This ill-fated couple were hardly brought together when they were once more doomed to part. Poor Mary's name came up among the roll of those who should remain behind the regiment; and no language of mine can do justice to the scene that followed.I was not present when the women drew their tickets, but I was told by M'Intyre that when Mary unrolled the slip of paper, and read upon it the fatal words, "To be left," she looked as if heaven itself were incapable of adding one additional pang to her misery. Holding it with both hands, at the full stretch of her arms from her face, she gazed upon it for some minutes without speaking a word, and then crushing it between her palms, fell senseless into the arms of a woman who stood near.
That night was spent by Duncan and his wife exactly as it was to be supposed that it would be spent. They did not so much as lie down; but the moments sped on in spite of their watchfulness, and at last the bugle sounded. When I came upon the ground, I saw Duncan standing in his place. Mary was not near him; the wives of the few soldiers who were left behind to form a depot having kindly detained her in the barrack-room. But just before the column began to move, she rushed forth; and the scream which she uttered, as she flew towards Duncan, was heard throughout the whole of the ranks.—"Duncan, Duncan!" the poor thing cried, as she clung wildly round his neck; "Oh Duncan, Duncan Stewart, ye're no gawn to leave me again, and me sae near being a mother! Oh Sergeant M'Intyre, dinna tak him awa!—Oh sir, ye'll let me gang wi' him?" she added, turning to one of theofficers who stood by; "for the love of Heaven, if ye hae ony pity in ye, dinna separate us!"
Poor Duncan stood all this while in silence, leaning his forehead upon the muzzle of his firelock, and supporting his wretched wife upon his arm. He shed no tears—which is more than I can say for myself, or indeed for almost any private or officer upon the parade—his grief was evidently beyond them. "Ye may come as far as Dover at least," he at length said, in a sort of murmur; and the poor creature absolutely shrieked with delight at the reprieve.
The band now struck up, and the column began to move—the men shouting, partly to drown the cries of the women, and partly to express their own willingness to meet the enemy. Mary walked by the side of her husband; but she looked more like a moving corpse than a living creature. She was evidently suffering acutely, not only in mind but in body; indeed we had not proceeded above three miles on our journey before she was seized with the pains of labour. It would have been the height of barbarity to have hindered her unfortunate husband, under these circumstances, from halting to take care of her; so, having received his promise to join the regiment again before dark, we permitted him to fall out of the ranks. Fortunately a cottage stood at no great distance from the roadside, into which he and hisfriend M'Intyre removed her; and while there, I have reason to believe, she was received with great humanity, and treated with kindness; indeed the inhabitants of the cottage must have been devoid of everything human except the form, had they treated a young woman so situated otherwise than kindly.
A few hours' march brought the regiment, in high spirits and good order, into Dover. Every window was thronged, every doorway filled, in the streets through which we passed; and hearty and cordial were the expressions of goodwill with which their occupants greeted us. We answered these salutations with a ringing cheer, and proceeded onwards. Happily for us, the transports which were to carry us to the seat of war had been brought alongside the pier. There was no need, therefore, of boats for the conveyance to their berths either of persons or baggage; and as the men were fresh and all of them sober, the process of embarkation went on with perfect regularity and promptitude. The consequence was that by noon, or a little later, all whom duty did not detain on board of ship were free to dispose of themselves as they preferred. Hence, some to lay in sea-stock, others to amuse themselves,—the great bulk of the officers went on shore, and spent by groups, at one or other of the hotels, the last evening which not a few of them were ever destined to spend in England. Among others, I went ashore as soonas I had attended to the comforts of my division; but my mind was too full of the image of Mary to permit my entering with gusto into the various amusements of my friends. I preferred walking back in the direction of Hythe, with the hope of meeting M'Intyre, and ascertaining how the poor creature did. I walked, however, for some time, before any traveller made his appearance. At length, when the interest which I had felt in the fate of the young couple was beginning in some degree to moderate, and I was meditating a return to the inn, I saw two soldiers moving towards me. As they approached, I readily discovered that they were Duncan and his friend; so I waited for them. "Duncan Stewart," said I, "how is your wife?" The poor fellow did not answer, but, touching his cap, passed on. "How is his wife, M'Intyre?" said I to the sergeant, who stood still. The honest Scotchman burst into tears; and, as soon as he could command himself, he laconically answered, "She is at rest, sir." From this I guessed that she was dead; and, on more minute inquiry, I learned that it was even so; she died a few minutes after they removed her into the cottage, without having brought the child into the world. An attempt was made to save the infant, by performing the Cæsarean operation, but without effect; it hardly breathed at all.
Though the officer who commanded the depot wassent for, and volunteered to take the responsibility upon himself if Duncan wished to remain behind for the purpose of burying his wife, the poor fellow would not avail himself of the offer. All that he desired was an assurance from the officer that he would see his dear Mary decently interred; and, as soon as the promise was given, the young widower hastened to join his regiment. He scarcely spoke after; and he was one of the first who fell after the regiment landed in Spain.