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
General Crauford leaves for England—Sir William Erskine takes the
command—Mounseer Strauss—We enter Santarem—Scenes of horror—Mile
posts of the “grande armée”—Retaliations of the Portuguese—Two
upon one—Pombal—Smart work—German gallantry—Auction—A new
division—Redinha—An accident—Long Tom of Lincoln—The deserter—A
return of favours.
IN the month of February, General Crauford went to England on leave, and
the command of the light division, during his absence, devolved upon
Major-General Sir William Erskine.
On the night of the 5th of March we were suddenly ordered to fall in, as
intelligence had reached us that the French were evacuating Santarem.
This was soon ascertained to be the fact, and we immediately commenced
an advance, crossing the bridge in our front at three o’clock on the
morning of the 6th.
Ours being the senior captain of the regiment, the company, as was
usual, were in the advance, when some of the front files suddenly came
within a few yards of what appeared to be a French sentinel, leaning
against a wall that ran along from the bridge. One of our fellows fired,
but perceiving no movement made, we all rushed up, and discovered him to
be, what our money-changers at home have so great a horror of, “a man of
straw,” or a piece of sacking stuffed and accoutred. This afforded a fit
theme for joking, as we carried our “prisoner” with us until we came to
Santarem.
Our march was uninterrupted, and over a bold thickly wooded country,
much cut up, however, by the retreating enemy; about mid-day we entered
Santarem, where a sight of a most horrifying description offered itself.
The streets and houses presented a mass of desolation and filth, which,
in some degree, contaminated the air around, while to add to the
picture, numbers of half-starved looking Frenchmen were grouped about in
knots, and exhibiting the loathsome appearance of disease. The faces of
many of these poor fellows were dreadfully swollen and white. Our men
were moved to pity at the scene, and threw them biscuits as we passed
through the town.
Massena had not the means of conveyance for the whole of his sick, and
had been obliged to leave these to their fate. This, indeed, would have
been soon decided had the Portuguese first come up with them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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