The Story of a Peninsular Veteran: Sergeant in the Forty-Third Light Infantry, during the Peninsular WarAnonymous
History
The Story of a Peninsular Veteran: Sergeant in the Forty-Third Light Infantry, during the Peninsular War
Anonymous
Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Personal narratives, British
The rain flowed after in streams discoloured with blood;
and of six thousand British soldiers who performed these
wonders, fifteen hundred unwounded men were all that
remained upon the fatal hill. The serious fighting had
endured only four hours; and in that space of time nearly
seven thousand of the allies and above eight thousand
of their antagonists were struck down. Three French
generals were wounded, two slain, and eight hundred
soldiers so badly hurt as to be left on the field. On Beresford’s
side, beside the loss of the British already named,
two thousand Spaniards and six hundred Germans and
150Portuguese were killed or wounded. The trophies of the
French were five hundred unwounded prisoners, a howitzer,
and several stand of colours; the British had nothing of
that sort to display; but the piles of carcases within their
lines told, with convincing eloquence, who were the conquerors;
and all the night the rain poured down, and the
rivers and hills and woods resounded with the groans of
dying men. On the 18th Soult retreated.
Towards winter I was charged with a mission to fetch
clothing from Lisbon for the use of the regiment. One
description of article was flannel shirts, of which I received
six hundred, for the approaching winter wear. On returning,
I met with an accident, which had nearly deprived
me of sight. One of our party, with consummate carelessness,
placed his powder-horn upon the table, fully charged,
and by some accident the whole quantity exploded; my
face was sadly scorched, but providentially the organs of
vision received no lasting injury. Our party consisted of
six or seven persons: of these, three were corporals, of
whom I was senior. Having to pass over several mountains
of vast height, our progress was necessarily slow.
One evening, having ascended the slope of a stupendous
hill, on which the snow was deep, we were unable to move
the cars on which the stores were carried. Having also
but an imperfect knowledge of the pass, we found ourselves
compelled to spend the night in that bleak and
desolate region. All the shelter we could procure was to
creep under the cars. Two of the men were soon after
seized with ague, and suffered extremely. The silence
which prevailed in this elevated region was singularly
impressive.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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