Adventures with the Connaught Rangers, 1809-1814Grattan, William
History
Adventures with the Connaught Rangers, 1809-1814
Grattan, William
Great Britain. Army. Regiment of Foot, 88th (Connaught Rangers); Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Personal narratives
The first syllable uttered after this scene was, “And are we to be left
behind?” The interrogatory was scarcely put, when the word “Stand to
your arms!” answered it. The order was promptly obeyed, and a breathless
silence prevailed when our commanding officer, in a few words, announced
to us that Lord Wellington had directed our division to carry the grand
breach. The soldiers listened to the communication with silent
earnestness, and immediately began to disencumber themselves of their
knapsacks, which were placed in order by companies and a guard set over
them. Each man then began to arrange himself for the combat in such
manner as his fancy or the moment would admit of—some by lowering their
cartridge-boxes, others by turning theirs to the front in order that
they might the more conveniently make use of them; others unclasping
their stocks or opening their shirt-collars, and others oiling their
bayonets; and more taking leave of their wives and children. This last
was an affecting sight, but not so much so as might be expected, because
the women, from long habit, were accustomed to scenes of danger, and the
order for their husbands to march against the enemy was in their eyes
tantamount to a victory; and as the soldier seldom returned without
plunder of some sort, the painful suspense which his absence caused was
made up by the gaiety which his return was certain to be productive of;
or if, unfortunately, he happened to fall, his place was sure to be
supplied by some one of the company to which he belonged, so that the
women of our army had little cause of alarm on this head. The worst that
could happen to them was the chance of being in a state of widowhood for
a week.
It was by this time half-past six o’clock, the evening was piercingly
cold, and the frost was crisp on the grass; there was a keenness in the
air that braced our nerves at least as high as _concert pitch_. We stood
quietly to our arms, and told our companies off by files, sections, and
sub-divisions; the sergeants called over the rolls—not a man was absent.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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