The Story of a Peninsular Veteran: Sergeant in the Forty-Third Light Infantry, during the Peninsular War — John Shaqi
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
Ours was a happy family. My father, though a plain
man, was excelled by few in attachment to his wife and
children. ‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast;’
and we flattered ourselves that futurity offered to our
notice lengthened years of comfort. But we soon found
that our hold on earthly happiness was fragile as the
spider’s thread. My father was taken ill and died. Even
now the procession of his funeral is pictured on my
memory. The gentleman already named as my father’s
employer had fallen upon evil days. His property passed
into other hands; and as the purchaser knew nothing of
our family, no one cared for the widow and her orphan
charge. A house with every needful convenience had
been built for us by the original proprietor. This we were
abruptly ordered to quit. Another king had arisen, who
knew not Joseph or his father’s house. We went away,
weeping at every step. I saw my mother’s tears, and to
this day her low wailing strikes my ear. But though destitute,
we were not forsaken; though in straits, we did
not perish; and by the blessing of Almighty Providence
upon the well-directed industry of my mother and my
elder brothers, we were sustained with food convenient.
The desolate condition of the moneyless and unprotected
widow was aggravated in no common degree by the
political commotion already adverted to. Persons unacquainted
with the approaching terrors of that era may
imagine that an obscure and uninfluential family like ours
had little to apprehend, that our poverty was protection
enough, and that those who had nothing to lose had
nothing to fear. Not so. The conflict then impending arose
10from the dark designs of men ‘cursed with a heart unknowing
how to yield,’ and who were bent on havoc and
rapine. Personal robbery might not be planned, but many
were ready for that and a great deal more. Heresy and
sedition were closely in league; the emissaries of each
were in ceaseless motion; and the ultimate design was to
burst forth from the unsuspected places of mischief, suddenly,
and wide wasting as the simoon of the desert, and
sweep with indiscriminating ire, from the abodes of their
peaceful countrymen, every vestige of existing government
and every temple devoted to the reformed religion,
as by law and right reason established. Perfect secrecy
on the part of the rebels was happily unattainable. Every
now and then circumstances and facts transpired, the tendency
of which could not be mistaken. Hair-brained but
hot-headed men became the self-elected orators of secluded
nocturnal assemblies. Liberty and equality and reason
versus religion, neat as imported from the French directory
at Paris, was the order of the day. Uproarious vociferation
took the place of argument; and though the
majority of these Hibernian gentry were as ignorant of
jurisprudence as the more modern destructionist, nothing
less than the dismemberment of the British empire, and the
establishment of a republic, formed probably on the model
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