Here we immediately became brigaded with the 43rd and 52nd regiments of Light Infantry, under the command of Major-General Crauford.
Arrival in Portugal—Crauford’s forced marches—Teetotalism with a vengeance—The effect of the opposite extreme—Spanish mode of keeping a man from stealing wine—False reports—Talavera—We arrive the day after the fight—A battle scene—Sir Arthur Wellesley—General Cuesta—Dough Boy Hill—The fever—I am taken ill—Elvas hospital—How to cure a fever—Convalescence—Burial scenes—Our Sextons—March to my regiment—The Germans—Pig-skins in danger, our own also—Captain Pakenham—Hanging matters—Two dozen of each—Not sham pain—German discipline.
ON the third day after our arrival at Santarem, we commenced a series of forced marches to join the main army under Sir Arthur Wellesley, at Talavera, then almost hourly expecting an engagement with the French corps commanded by Marshal Victor. Our men suffered dreadfully on the route, chiefly from excessive fatigue and the heat of the weather, it being the melting month of July. The brain fever soon commenced, making fearful ravages in our ranks, and many men dropped by the road-side and died. One day I saw two men of the 52nd, unable to bear their sufferings, actually put a period to their existence by shooting themselves.[2]
The greatest efforts possible were made by Major-General Crauford to arrive in time to join the Commander-in-chief, previously to a battle being fought. The excellent orders our brigadier issued for maintaining order and discipline on the line of march on this occasion, though exceedingly unpopular at first, have since become justly celebrated in the service. No man, on any pretext whatever, was allowed to fall out of the ranks without a pass from the officer of his company, and then only on indispensable occasions.
This pass, however, was not a complete security, for on the return of the stragglers to camp, the orderly sergeants were compelled to parade them before their regimental-surgeons, when, if pronounced as skulkers, they were instantly tried by a drum-head court martial, and punished accordingly; thus, frequently, when almost dying with thirst, we were obliged to pass springs of the finest water by the road-side untasted. But all this apparent severity, as we afterwards learnt, was considered as absolutely essential to the great purpose General Crauford had in view—dispatch. If the General found a man fall out without a pass, his plan was to take his ramrod and ride off. It was not unfrequently you might see him ride into camp with a dozen ramrods, when the adjutant of each regiment was ordered to find those that had no ramrods, each of which received two dozen lashes.