A boy in the Peninsular War : $b the services, adventures and experiences of Robert BlakeneyBlakeney, Robert
History
A boy in the Peninsular War : $b the services, adventures and experiences of Robert Blakeney
Blakeney, Robert
Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Personal narratives, British
Soaked through with rain, not knowing where I was, I struck my
repeater, which I never failed to carry, and found that the army
would be in motion in little more than an hour and a half. I became
desperate; I resolved at all hazard to ascertain our true position.
With this determination I alighted, leaving my cloak on the saddle,
since it was too heavy to support from the quantity of rain it had
imbibed; my pistols I carried in my breast, to keep the locks dry. The
Spaniard I prevailed upon to remain behind, between thirty and forty
paces distant from the fire which burned in our front, with orders not
to move unless he should hear a shot fired, when he should take it for
certain that I was attacked; then he was to ride forward at full speed,
taking care not to leave my horse behind. All thus arranged, with
doubtful step I approached the fire. My preceding the dragoon arose
neither from personal bravado nor from want of full confidence in the
Spaniard, who, I felt convinced, would do his duty gallantly: in fact,
I had some difficulty in prevailing upon him to remain behind; and he
anxiously pleaded to accompany me, although he still felt offended
at being taken for a Portuguese-Irishman. My taking the lead was in
consequence of the haughty Castilian having been too proud to learn
any language but his own; and I happened to have had a tolerably good
acquaintance with the languages of the four nations whose troops were
in the field, English, French, Spanish and Portuguese. Silently and
cautiously I moved forward, until I arrived within a few yards of the
fire; then lying down flat on the ground, and forming a kind of funnel
with both hands close to the ground and laying my ear thereto, I now
plainly heard words which I joyfully discovered to be Portuguese.
Getting on my legs I approached the fire with confidence. A Portuguese
sentry, lowering his bayonet, demanded who I was; this being soon
explained, I holloaed out to Don Diego, the Spanish dragoon, who
instantly galloped forward with his sabre drawn, but not forgetting
my horse. Upon asking the Portuguese corporal, who commanded the
piquet, where the English were encamped, I was much astonished at his
replying, “Here.” I could discover no sign of an army or a camp, until
moving forward about forty yards in the direction which the corporal
indicated, I came upon the very spot upon which my own tent had been
pitched. Here I found Lieutenant Huddleston, of the company, lying
under the folds of the tent, which had been blown down. I asked the
cause of the darkness which reigned around and which was the chief
cause of my wandering for some hours close to the army without being
able to discover it. He told me that immediately after my departure
a general order was issued that not a light should be lit, except
one in the commissariat tent, and that only while they served out an
additional allowance of rum, granted in consequence of our long march
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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