by Jane Hoyle, UK
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Source: "A Soldier of the 71st - The Journal of a Soldier in the Peninsular War," the author probably being Thomas Howell of the 71st (Highland) Regiment of Foot, edited by Christopher Hibbert
Thomas found the early stages of military life very difficult on account of his upbringing.. He had difficulty in associating with common soldiers; their habits made him shudder. He feared an oath - they never spoke without one. He could not drink - they loved their liquor. They gamed - he knew nothing of such play and felt very isolated. The regimental bullies called him "Saucy Tom" or "the distressed methodist". His patience snapped when one of them slipped a dunce's cap on him without his knowledge. Enough was enough. He sent his opponent flying and had no further bother after that.
His first sight of blood was in South America. What bothered him was not so much the sight of the fallen, but of the birds of prey who were devouring the corpses which made him feel guilty. He almost wished that he had been among the slain. He must have remembered those birds of prey later on when he saw Spanish peasants looting the packs of the slain after the battle of Vimiero.
He was unimpressed with most South American women, "the most uncomely I ever beheld [with] broad noses, thick lips and . . . of very small stature." He tells us that they had long black hair, hard to the feel which they frizzled up in front in the most hideous manner while it hung down their backs below the waist. "When they dress," he wrote, "they stick in it feathers and flowers and walk about in all the pride of ugliness."
Despite this, he made friends with a girl called Maria who tried to convert him to catholicism. She introduced him to her priest who was disappointed when Thomas assured him that there were "muchos caminos al cielo" (many roads to heaven). He was later taken prisoner but the priest visited him daily, making one last attempt at conversion. Despite his lack of success these visits continued until Tom's release.
Portugal
His next campaign was in Portugal with Sir Arthur Wellesley where we see some of the less glamorous sides of military life - "We marched for 12 miles, up to the knees in sand which.caused us to be extremely thirsty," so much so that four of his colleagues died en route and were buried where they fell. They found all the villages through which they passed to be deserted by their inhabitants except for the old and destitute who were in no state to care what happened.
When Thomas and his colleagues reached the village of Alcobaca they found many wine stores there, ever a temptation to the military. One barrel contained not only red wine, but a dead, fully accoutred Frenchman, hopefully drunk when he fell to his death! Tom had another similar experience later on, which was why he preferred drinking white wine rather than red!
Shortly after this, he endured the retreat to La Corruña, where physical discomforts were not the only problem. A soldier's adrenalin only starts to flow when there is a chance of battle. The troops could not understand the reason for the retreat, especially as from time to time they successfully skrimished with the French. "While we ran, they pursued," Tom wrote. "If we advanced they retired. Never had we fought but with success; never were we attacked but we forced them to retire."
Many of Tom's colleagues lost all their natural activity and spirits, and became savage in their dispositions. Some were bitter, saying, "Let us all unite, whether our officers will or not, and annihilate these French cowards, and show our country it is not our fault that we run thus."
By the time Moore's army reached Astorga, a quarter of the men were without shoes. Hogmanay, even for a Scottish regiment, was a miserable affair. "No one wished each other a happy New Year. And each seemed to look upon his neighbour as an abridgement to his comfort. His looks seemed to say, 'One or other of the articles you wear would be of great use to me; [especially the shoes] …. If you were dead they would be mine'"
With hindsight, Tom was fairer to his officers than when actually marching with them. He admits that some suffered as much as their men. Even some, worth thousands of pounds a year, were seen to be wrapped in old blankets with their shoeless feet bound up. "There goes three thousand a year," said one soldier. "There goes the prodigal son on his return to his father, cured of his wanderings," said another. "In the midst of our sorrows [Tom wrote] there was a bitterness of spirit, a savageness of wit, that made a jest of its own miseries.
He returned to Lisbon in 1810 and did not like the city any more than on his first visit. The residents were filthy in their habits. He described the city as a dunghill, saying that it was not possible to walk the streets without getting dirty feet. Street cleaning was non existent, theb being left to the rain!
The 71st were at this time very short of food and there was great excitement when they found a storehouse, full of flour, dry fish, rice and sugar. Fires were kindled and every man became a cook. Sadly the bugle call to arms was sounded before the culinary efforts were complete and they all rushed off to battle stations with half-cooked scones in their knapsacks. Tom ate his enthusiastically "sweetly seasoned by hunger."
Initiative
Although the Duke made the commissary system work as well as any-one could, the soldiers often had to use their own initiative. Tom tells us about an incident which took place at Alba de Tormes. One of his colleagues returned to the mess to cook a nice piece of meat he had found near the hospital. When he had eaten most of it when one of the men who knew asked him what he thought he was eating. It turned out to be the arm of a man (without the hand). On learning of this the diner threw away what was left but defiantly appeared to show no remorse saying defiantly that the meat tasted very sweet 'and was never a bit worse.'
On another occasion, while most of the regiment were fording a river, the rest were scrounging flour from a mill nearby. Having got wind of what was afoot, the Colonel rode up and threw a handful of flour at each "miller" as they left the mill. While he rode up and down the lines looking for the miscreants, a live hen's head appeared from his coat pocket. The whole parade dissolved into laughter, and the 'millers' heard no more about their escapade.
Tom wryly describes his first plunder. He found a gold watch and silver crucifix inside the hat of a dead Frenchman but was cynical about their value as life in the army "was held by so uncertain a tenure." He would gladly have exchanged the watch (and presumably the crucifix too) for a good meal and a dry shirt.
On military matters, he did not care for French atrocities. "Murder and devastation marked their way; every house was a sepulchre, a cabin of horrors. . . . In a small town called Mafra, I saw twelve dead bodies lying in one house upon the floor! Every house contained traces of their wanton barbarity."
He comments on the difference in leadership style of the English and the French. The British officers (with the exception perhaps of flamboyant Robert Craufurd) were full of la phlegme anglaise. "After the first huzza, the British officers, restraining their men, were still as death. 'Steady, lads, steady,' is all you hear and that in an undertone." But with the French - they were ". . . . vociferating, each chaffing each other until they appear in a fury . . . shouting to the points of our bayonets."
Tom was becoming immune to the horrors of war. He was approached in Fuentes by an aggressive French dragoon and reckoned that his end was close because his piece was empty so he stabbed his assailant with his bayonet. The Frenchman struck out with his sword before falling, cutting the stock of Tom's musket in two. This was soon replaced, and he carried on as if nothing had happened.
Rain and Cold
Rain and cold weather made life difficult for the troops in the Peninsula. The 71st had at one stage to move over a ploughed field, so soft that their shoes were buried at each step. Nights were often full if discomfort but Tom made the best of a bad job. He would put his canteen on the ground, his knapsack above it and sat on his pile, his musket on his knees, ready to start up at the least alarm. Nights were very cold - in the morning he found it difficult to get moving, his legs being frozen from the knees downward. He was soaked through three nights out of five but was luckier than some of his colleagues who "took the fever".
After a mid-winter skirmish near Salamanca the 71st had, to spend the night outdoors in a square in case the French tried to attack them a second time. Tom tells how he managed to snatch some sleep, but on waking found his hair, formed into a club at the back of his head, frozen to the ground. When he tried to get up his limbs refused to support him and until his circulation returned to normal he suffered from excruciating pains all over his body. He was luckier than some of his colleagues who 'took the fever.'
The weather was very bad when they were crossing the Pyrenees. There was always snow or hail the size of nuts. The men put their knapsacks on their heads for protection. There was often a severe frost and high winds and they had no tents. Many were frost bitten, and some died at their posts. Tom was frequently awaken at night by the sobbing of some of the younger soldiers.
The weather was so bad that the 92nd , one of their sister regiments, (later known as the Gordon Highlanders) were issued with grey trousers, as it was reckoned that there would have been many fatalities among those wearing kilts!
Although Tom lived through many hard times, he occasionally struck lucky. He had a very good billet with a Spanish family in Bejar where he was treated as one of them. In return, when off duty, he passed his time in helping the children to read. The Spanish way of bringing them up seemed to very similar to the Scottish. His catholic hosts were surprised that a heretic could be so kind and helpful. The regiment passed the whole winter and spring there and integrated well with the locals taking part in bullfights and winning praise from the local women.
Tom saw the fandango being danced for the first time in his life which he described as 'barely decent'. The worst moment of his stay was one night when he was confronted by a large wolf while on duty. He dared not shoot lest he raise the alarm. Fortunately the relief guard turned up, and the wolf lost interest, disappearing into the night.
At the time of the battle of Vitoria the 71st had problems with drinking water. They had just engaged the French and were ordered to stay as they were until the bugle call told them to cease firing. They had only one spring as their water supply. One of the regiment called out that he would have a drink, 'Let the world go as it would,' so he stooped to do so. Unfortunately a ball pierced his head and he fell into the well discolouring the only available drinking water with his brains and blood. After this, despite their thirst, the troops could not bring themselves to drink from this spring.
By the time of the Battle of Vitoria, our "distressed methodist" had come a long way. He took the military adventures 'with the coolest indifference.' He even began to think that he must have a charmed life. He took everything as it came without a thought. If he was at ease with plenty, he was happy; if in the midst of the enemy's fire, or of the greatest privations, he was not concerned. He had been in so many changes of plenty and want, ease and danger, they had ceased to be anticipated either with joy or fear.
Respect Among Enemies
Despite wartime conditions, French and British soldiers on occasions treated each other with respect. When he reached Toulouse, Tom was struck by a spent shot on his groin. and was temporarily winded. 'God receive my soul,' he said, waiting for death. He was sick and tried drinking some water from his canteen but could taste nothing. He could see no blood, but the wound was very painful to the touch. Then two Frenchmen came up: the first made as if to attack him, but his companion held him back. 'Do not touch the good Scot,' he said. It turned out that Tom had saved him from being murdered by a Portuguese soldier at Sobral.
The friendly Frenchman gave Tom a pancake from his hat and moved on leaving him still lying on the ground. Another member of the French party stole his knapsack, but Tom recovered enough, painfully to rejoin his regiment at the next advance.
He survived Waterloo and after three months in Paris received his discharge. But he had saved nothing and needed government help to return to Edinburgh. He was horrified at the changes that had taken place in his home town and only managed to locate his mother by asking for her whereabouts at the local pub.
He completed his manuscript in May 1818 and sent it to a friend in the hope of getting it published. He could find no work, and in despair contemplated returning to South America to see Maria or to go back to Bejar where he had been so happy. The last we read of him is a sad little message: "I wish I was a soldier again." Army life had provided a world of experience that he would not otherwise have had. He was last seen as a road mender with a number of other poor labourers thrown out of general employment.
It is sad to think that poor Tom probably never knew of the publication of his memoirs. How pleased he would have been to know that they were reprinted nearly two hundred years later. Perhaps the greatest tribute to his literary efforts was from Professor Oman who described them as "a little book of extraordinary interest," which "stands out from all the rest for its literary merit." Praise indeed!
This article appears in MagWeb (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. |
Thomas Howell, well educated, was born of poor parents who hoped he would enter one of the 'learned professions' and become either a clergyman or a writer. He ignored their wishes, and became a soldier, using his considerable literary talent to good effect, producing a classic account of a soldier's view of life during the Napoleonic wars. Although it touches on some military matters its great charm is the moving and down-to-earth descriptions of the human side of war as seen by the rank and file.