Adventures of a Soldier, Written by Himself: Being the Memoirs of Edward Costello, K.S.F. Formerly a Non-Commissioned Officer in the Rifle Brigade, Late Captain in the British Legion, and Now One of the Wardens of the Tower of London; Comprising Narratives of the Campaigns in the Peninsula under the Duke of Wellington, and the Subsequent Civil Wars in Spain.Costello, Edward
History
Adventures of a Soldier, Written by Himself: Being the Memoirs of Edward Costello, K.S.F. Formerly a Non-Commissioned Officer in the Rifle Brigade, Late Captain in the British Legion, and Now One of the Wardens of the Tower of London; Comprising Narratives of the Campaigns in the Peninsula under the Duke of Wellington, and the Subsequent Civil Wars in Spain.
Costello, Edward
Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Personal narratives, British
One or two women in search of their husbands he particularly knew, and
knowing also their spouses, he replied to their inquiries in as exact an
imitation of their voices, as one could reasonably give a man credit
for. The result was, that the bottle was instantly handed into his
hiding-place. Josh took sundry deep gulps, while the duped woman
continued anxiously walking by the side of the wheels, wishing to heaven
that the daylight, or some other light, would enable her to enjoy the
sight of her better half. The _dénouement_ of the cheat came with the
return of the empty flask, and a sincere hope from Josh that her husband
would find enough liquor left—and not be wounded at all—at all.
The disappointment and rage of the woman only gave rise to a burst of
merriment, in which the wounded men joined heartily, and the
circumstance travelled forward, among her companions, and accompanied
the cart the whole of the way to Brussels.
The next morning I proceeded slowly onward, for my wound, as yet, had
not been dressed. I could not help remarking on my way through the
woods, droves of Belgians, and even English, with fires lighted, busily
cooking, having left their comrades in contest with the enemy, and
apparently nothing the matter with them.
On my arrival at Brussels, and going to my quarters, I found it so
crowded with Belgian officers and men (some of them quite free from
wounds), that I could get no reception. It was about six o’clock in the
evening of the 18th. I was entering the large square, and gazing on some
hundreds of wounded men who were there stretched out on straw, when an
alarm was given that the French were entering the city; in a moment all
was in an uproar; the inhabitants running in all directions, closing
their doors, and some Belgian troops in the square, in great confusion;
loading my rifle, I joined a party of the 81st regiment who remained on
duty here during the action. The alarm, however, was occasioned by the
appearance of about 1700 or 1800 French prisoners, under escort of some
of our dragoons.
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