The Romance of Modern Sieges. Gilliat Edward

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СКАЧАТЬ Pollonia?”

      “Yes; but I didn’t choose to say so.”

      “Run, Pedro, run and tell those servants that there is plenty of room. Don’t you see, señora, that this is the best chance of preserving your house from pillage?”

      They returned – one a Prussian lad who spoke French very ill. The Captain’s hope that these fellow-lodgers would prove gentlemen lent him a feeling of security.

      Little Pedro was watching the motions of the two servants like a lynx.

      “Signore,” said he, “those two diavoli are prying about into every hole and corner.”

      On this Aaron was sent to dig up the watch and money and bring the wine upstairs.

      Soon after in came Pedro, strutting with a most consequential air.

      “The French Captain, signore,” said he.

      There followed him a fine, military-looking figure, armed cap-à-pie, and covered with martial dust. He advanced to the bedside with a quick step.

      “I have had the misfortune, sir, to lose a limb,” said Boothby, “and I claim your protection.”

      “My protection!” he replied, putting out his hand. “Command my devoted services! The name of an Englishman in distress is sufficient to call forth our tenderest attention.”

      The Captain was a good deal affected by the kindness of his manner. Kindness can never be thoroughly felt unless it be greatly wanted.

      He begged he would visit him sometimes, and he promised to bring a friend.

      Señora Pollonia was charmed with M. de la Platière, who, with his young friend Captain Simon, often came in for a chat.

      Alas! they had to go away after a few days’ stay, but de la Platière wrote his name in chalk on the door, in the hope that it might discourage any plunderers.

      One day Boothby was suddenly aroused by the appearance in his room of an officer whom he had seen before, but did not much like.

      “Eh, Capitaine, comment ça va-t-il? Ça va mieux! Ha! bon!”

      Then he explained that the blade of his sword was broken. “As prisoner of war,” he said, “you will have no use for a sword. Give me yours, and, if you will, keep mine. Where is yours?”

      “It stands,” said Boothby, “in yonder corner. Take it by all means.”

      “Je vous laisserai la mienne,” he said, and hurried off.

      Boothby wished his sword in the Frenchman’s gizzard, he was so rough and rude.

      One afternoon Pedro rushed in, excited, and said: “The General himself is below, sir!”

      “Bring him up, Pedro.”

      Quickly he ushered in an officer of about the age of five-and-thirty. He was splendidly dressed, of an elegant person, his face beaming with good nature and intelligence.

      He came up to the bed, and without waiting for the form of salutation, seated himself in a chair close to the pillow, and laying his hand on Boothby’s arm, he said, in a mild and agreeable voice:

      “Ne vous dérangez, mon ami! Solely I am here to see if I can possibly lighten a little the weight of your misfortune. Tell me, can I be useful to you? Have you everything you want?”

      For all these kind inquiries the Captain expressed his gratitude, and added, “I have really nothing to ask for, unless you could send me to England.”

      “Ah! if you were able to move, Captain, I could exchange you now; but by the time you will have gained strength to travel you will be at the disposal of the Major-General of the army.”

      That visit gave much comfort and hope.

      In the evening de la Platière and Simon returned with the news that Sir Arthur Wellesley had met with disasters.

      “Taisez-vous, mon cher,” said Simon. “It may have a bad effect on his spirits.”

      But he insisted on hearing all they knew, and while they were talking a French soldier walked calmly up into the room, and coming up to the foot of the bed, stood before his officers, astounded, petrified.

      When, after sternly eyeing him a while, they sharply demanded his business, his faculties returned, and he stammered out:

      “Mon Capitaine, I – I – I took it for a shop! I beg pardon.” And off he went in a hurry. But what would he have done if he had found the English officer alone?

      On October 1 Captain Boothby was allowed to go out on crutches. He says: “The sense of attracting general observation hurried me. The French soldiers who met me expressed surprise at seeing the success of an amputation which in the hands of their field surgeons was nearly always fatal. The Spaniards were most sympathizing. ‘What a pity!’ ‘So young, too!’ ‘Poor young Englishman!’ were pathetically passed along the street as he hobbled by.”

      In July, 1810, Captain Boothby was exchanged with a French prisoner and returned to his father and mother in England.

      This gives us the kindlier side of war; but there is another side.

      In the prison of Toro were some French soldiers kept by the Spaniards. Nothing could be worse than the cruelty under which these Frenchmen suffered. In their prison was a cell, with a window strongly barred, and covered by an iron shutter pierced with small holes. The dungeon was about 10 feet square and 5 feet high. At the furthest end was a block of stone for a seat, with an iron collar for the neck, fixed by a short chain in the wall. Another chain was passed round the body. The poor wretches were chained in one position all day, which often hurried them to a miserable death. Their food was a little bread and water.

      It is easy, however, to bear any amount of suffering when you know the time will soon come when you will be free.

      It is not so easy to bear a whole lifelong penalty for having dared to fight for one’s country. One would think that a national gratitude would rescue our wounded soldiers from a life of beggary or the workhouse. Yet after every war how many one-armed and one-legged soldiers or sailors are pitifully begging along our streets and roads!

      There is no animal so cruel as man. Corruptio optimi pessima.

      From a “Prisoner of France,” by Captain Boothby. By kind permission of Messrs. A. and C. Black and Miss Boothby.

      CHAPTER IV

      THE CAPTURE OF CIUDAD RODRIGO (1812)

      A night march – Waiting for scaling-ladders – The assault – Ladders break – Shells and grenades – A magazine explodes – Street fighting – Drink brings disorder and plunder – Great spoil.

      After Talavera Sir Arthur Wellesley became Lord Wellington; he was opposed by Soult, Marmont, and Masséna. On the 1st of January Wellington crossed the Agueda, and advanced to the assault of Ciudad Rodrigo, which had to be hurried on because Marmont was advancing to its relief. Fortunately, we have descriptions from more than one eyewitness of the siege. Ciudad Rodrigo is built on rising ground, on the right bank of the Agueda. The inner wall, 32 feet high, is without flanks, and has weak parapets and СКАЧАТЬ