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
Taking up fresh ground for the night, we descended in the morning the
precipitous banks of the river Agueda, leading to the remote village
of Martiago, nearly at the base of the Sierra de Gata. On the night
we entered it, a pack of famished wolves devoured a donkey, and tore
the hind quarters of a horse away. The poor animal was found in the
morning, having crawled from his ferocious pursuers into the middle of
the village for refuge, in that miserable condition.
Ciudad Rodrigo was to be reconnoitred. As convoys of stores and
provisions were expected from Salamanca, through the great forest, of
four days' march, between those places; and as Don Julien Sanches,
with his Guerillas, hovered about ready to cut off all small parties,
the French were under the necessity, with incalculable inconvenience,
to assemble their army, stretched over a great extent of country, to
keep the inhabitants under control, to protect their hospitals, levy
contributions, and to make perpetual countermarches in order to keep
open their line of communication.
On the 11th of August, before daylight, our division was bending its
course over ravines, and almost impassable pathways, to show front
during a reconnoissance made by Lord Wellington, who usually wore in
the field, at this period, a small low-crowned cocked hat, a blue
pelisse coat, and a Hussar sash.
The sun blazed forth as usual, (for not a drop of rain had fallen since
I had put my foot into the country), and biscuit and rum were served
out to refresh the exhausted soldiers; a humble refection which no one
would think of grudging to those who had been under arms for ten hours,
under a burning sun, and crowning the highest hills without a bush to
shelter them, or a drop of water to refresh their parched lips.
With my rum in one hand, making a shallow appearance at the bottom of a
soldier's tin, and my mouldy biscuit in the other, I beheld an officer
approach me, in the act of drawing from his bosom an old ragged black
silk neck-handkerchief worn out in the service, and now converted into
a pocket-handkerchief. He fumbled it over for a whole corner to apply
his nose to; and during this operation, his eyes were fixed on my tin.
After a variety of hems, coughings, and such like indications, he took
courage to beg that I would permit him to dip his dry biscuit into
my shallow allowance of rum, to moisten his lips: his request being
granted, and thanks returned for the given relief, he told me that,
in the hurry to grasp his share, he had unfortunately upset it on the
ground, and had the additional mortification to see it dry up in an
instant.
We were spread out rank entire within sight of the garrison, for the
governor to suppose our force stronger than it really was, so that he
might inform the Duke of Ragusa, and oblige him to bring up and deploy
his whole army, for the protection of his intended convoy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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