Memoirs of the Late War, Vol 1 (of 2): Comprising the Personal Narrative of Captain Cooke, of the 43rd Regiment Light Infantry; the History of the Campaign of 1809 in Portugal, by the Earl of Munster; and a Narrative of the Campaign of 1814 in Holland, by Lieut. T. W. D. Moodie, H. P. 21st Fusileers — John Shaqi
Memoirs of the Late War, Vol 1 (of 2): Comprising the Personal Narrative of Captain Cooke, of the 43rd Regiment Light Infantry; the History of the Campaign of 1809 in Portugal, by the Earl of Munster; and a Narrative of the Campaign of 1814 in Holland, by Lieut. T. W. D. Moodie, H. P. 21st FusileersCooke, John Henry, Sir
History
Memoirs of the Late War, Vol 1 (of 2): Comprising the Personal Narrative of Captain Cooke, of the 43rd Regiment Light Infantry; the History of the Campaign of 1809 in Portugal, by the Earl of Munster; and a Narrative of the Campaign of 1814 in Holland, by Lieut. T. W. D. Moodie, H. P. 21st Fusileers
Cooke, John Henry, Sir
Europe -- History -- 1789-1815
At the expiration of a few hours' tossing, we anchored off a solitary
habitation, three sides of which were encompassed by a dreary marsh of
considerable extent, intersected with dykes. On landing, my companions
surveyed the surrounding prospect, casting significant looks towards
each other; and a half stifled laugh followed at my dejected amazement,
as I contemplated the prospect before me, wondering how the coming six
months were to be employed, or myself to be amused, in this swamp,
whitened by innumerable flocks of sea gulls. On entering the boat house
I sat down with little appetite to partake of some eggs and bacon, that
being the best fare to be procured. My companions made a hearty meal,
and, having swallowed a couple of tumblers of brandy and water, took
their departure with a fair wind, leaving me to make the best of my
way, over a pathless waste, in the direction of a small wooden building
rearing its chimnies just above an earth entrenchment decorated by four
heavy cannons mounted _en barbette_, and a bare pole in the centre by
way of a flag staff. The soldiers preceding me were a short way in
front. In vain I strained my eyes in search of a second habitation,
to cheer this monotonous scene; night was fast drawing to a close, and
the disagreeable Humber and its muddy banks disappearing from my view,
amidst a drizzling rain.
On entering the room allotted for my use, I seated myself on my baggage
in no very cheerful mood, waiting the delivery of coals and candles,
while my servant was busily employed mopping the floor. In the morning
the men were placed at the guns, armed with rammers and handspikes, to
learn to load, elevate, and traverse, so as to fire in case any French
ships might enter the river, to disturb the whalers anchored off Hull.
A printed board of orders nailed to the wall at the extremity of my
room shewed me the necessity of visiting another battery under my
charge (at stated periods) distant six miles up the river. I was
also informed that I had a horse at my service; but, when the animal
was brought forward, all hopes of a ride vanished, he proving lame
of a leg, very old, and his coat sticking up like the bristles of a
porcupine.
My instructions also specified that every Sunday the detachment was to
attend divine service, at a church situated inland on a gentle rise,
shrouded by trees, about two miles from the battery, which was to be
left in charge of a corporal's guard.
The sixth day happened to be the sabbath; the weather was propitious.
I therefore decorated myself in hopes of getting a glimpse of some
flowing drapery at the distant hamlet. On our arrival the bell
was tolling, and a few infirm individuals were creeping into the
old church. As the service had not begun, I squatted myself on a
hay-cock—for the grass of this church yard was turned to account, and,
as far as I could judge, was as fine a crop as any around.
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