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
Ill as I was, in common with many others, who, like myself, lay wounded,
and were unable to accompany our friends, I arose from my truss of straw
to take a parting look at the remnant of my regiment as it mustered on
the parade; but in place of upwards of seven hundred gallant soldiers,
and four-and-twenty officers, of the former there were not three
hundred, and of the latter but five! At any time, when in the full
enjoyment of health and vigour, this sad diminution would have affected
me; but in my then frame of mind it acted powerfully upon my nerves. I
asked myself, where are the rest? I suppose I spoke louder than I
intended; for my man, Dan Carsons, ran out of his tent to inquire “who I
was looking after?”—“Dan,” replied, “I am looking for the men that are
absent from parade; where are they?”—“Kilt, sir,” replied Dan, “and the
greater part of them buried at the fut of the ould castle forenent ye.”
“Their _bodies_ are there, Dan, but where are they themselves?” “Och,
Jasus!” cried Dan to his wife, “he’s out of his sinces! Nelly! run and
fetch the pig-skin of wine; you know how it sarved him last night when
he was raving.” Nelly brought the remnant of the Tinta de la Mancha, and
a few mouthfuls of it raised my spirits considerably, but the fever with
which I was attacked was increasing rapidly.
The drums of the division beat a ruffle; the officers took their
stations; the bands played; the soldiers cheered, and, in less than half
an hour, the spot which, since the 17th of the preceding month, had been
a scene of the greatest excitement, was now a lone and deserted waste,
having no other occupants than disabled or dying officers and soldiers,
or the corpses of those who had fallen in the strife. The contrast was
indeed great, and of that cast that made the most unreflecting think,
and the reflecting feel. The sound of the drums died away; the division
was no longer visible, except by the glittering of their firelocks; at
length we lost sight of even this, and we were left alone, like so many
outcasts, to make the best of our way to the hospitals in Badajoz.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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