Section 11

A Soldier of the 71st

GOES into winter quarters at Boho - Manners of the Spanish peasants - Adventure in a churchyard - Description of the Fandango - Departure from Boho.

In a few days we relieved the 50th, and marched into Boho; in which place we remained all winter, till until the month of May 1813, when the campaign commenced.

I got a most excellent billet; every thing was in plenty; fruit in abundance. I was regarded as a son of the family; partook with them at meals; and if any thing was better than another, my part was in it. I amused myself, when off duty, in teaching the children to read; for which my hosts thought they never could be grateful enough.

I have often thought the Spaniards resembled the Scots, in their manner of treating their children. How has my heart warmed, when I have seen the father, with his wife by his side, and the children round them, repeating the Lord's prayer and the 23d Psalm at evening before they went to bed! Once a week, the children were catechised. When I told them they did the same in Scotland, they looked at me with astonishment, and asked, "If heretics did so?" The priests often drew comparisons much to our disadvantage from the conduct of our men. They even said, every heretic in England was as bad as them.

One afternoon, I had walked into the churchyard; and, after having wandered through it, I lay down in the shade of the wall, near a grave that appeared to have been lately made. While lying thus, I heard a sob: I looked towards the place whence it came, and perceived a beautiful female kneeling beside a grave, devoutly counting her rosary, her tears falling fast upon the ground. I lay, afraid to move, lest the noise might disturb her. She remained for some time, absorbed in devotion, then rose from her knees, and taking a small jar of holy water, sprinkled the grave, and retired undisturbed by me. I mentioned the circumstance to no one; but, day after day, I was an unperceived witness of this scene. At length she saw me as she approached, and was retiring in haste. I came near her. She stood to let me pass. I said, "My presence shall give you no uneasiness: Adieu." "Stay," she said, "are you Don Galves' good soldier?" I replied, "I live with him." "Stay, you can feel for me; I have none to feel for, nor advise me. Blessed Virgin, be my friend!" She looked to heaven, her eyes beaming resignation and hope, the tears dropping on her bosom. I stretched out my hand to her; my eyes, I believe, were wet, I did not speak. "None," she said, mournfully, "can again have any hand: I gave it to Francisco." "‘Tis the hand of friendship." "I can have no friend but death - You do not pray for the dead; you cannot pray with me." I said, "I will listen to yours." She then began her usual prayers; then rose, and sprinkled the grave with holy water. I inquired, "Whose grave do you water?" "My mother's." "How long has she been dead?" "Five years." "Five years! have you done thus so long?" "Alas, no! my mother had been released; (1) but, five weeks ago, my mournful task again began; ‘tis for Francisco. Adieu," she sobbed, and retired with a hurried step. I dare not embellish lest this incident should not be credited; but I feel this a cold account of what passed. I have not taken away, neither have I added a word that did not pass between us. From Galves, I learnt that Francisco had fallen in a Guerilla party. It is the belief in Spain, that every drop of holy water sprinkled upon the grave, quenches a flame in purgatory.

We had passed the winter in an agreeable manner. We lived well: the inhabitants were on good terms with us: we had every thing in abundance; and amusements were not wanting. We had bull-fights, at which we used to exhibit our powers. Several of our men were hurt. Our horsemen were particularly good bull-fighters; and the women used to give them great praise. Often we had dancings in the evening; sometimes we got two or three of our band, and then we had dancing in style. Wine and mirth we never wanted: music was our great want.

The peasants used to dance to the sound of their rattles, consisting of two pieces of hard wood, which they meld between their fingers, and by shaking their hands, kept time, in the same manner as the boys in Edinburgh and other parts, play what they call "cockledum ditt." - They call them castanetts.

They have one dance which I never saw in any other place: they call it fandango. I can hardly say it is a dance, for it is scarcely decent. The dancers first run to each other, as if they are looking for one another; then the woman runs away, the man follows; next he runs, and she follows. This they do alternately, all the time using the most expressive gestures, until both seem overcome; when they retire, and another couple take their place. This dance had a great effect upon us; but the Spaniards saw it without being moved, and laughed at the quick breathing and amorous looks of our men.

The winter in Boho was the shortest I ever passed in Spain; yet we remained in that town until May 1813. The only disagreeable thing was, that the wolves, which were very numerous, used to visit us at our advanced posts, when on duty through the night.

One night, while on duty at the bridge, I thought I was to have fallen a prey to a very large wolf. My orders were to be on the alert, and if I heard the least sound, to place my ear upon the ground, to distinguish if it were the tread of men or of horses, and give the alarm. The night was starry, and a little cloudy, when, about half past one o'clock, I could distinguish the tread of an animal. I believed it to be a stray mule, or ass; but at length could distinguish a large wolf, a few yards from the bridge, in the middle of the road, looking full upon me. I levelled my piece, and stood; my eyes fixed on his: I durst not fire, lest I should miss him, and give a false alarm. I expected him every moment to spring upon me. We stood thus looking upon each other, until the tread of' the sergeant and guard to relieve me were heard; then the beast scampered off; and relieved me from my disagreeable situation.

May came at length, and we were obliged to leave our kind hosts. I never before felt regret at quitting a town in Spain. That morning we marched, the town was deserted by its inhabitants, who accompanied us a good way; girls weeping, and running into the ranks to be protected from their parents, and hanging upon their old acquaintances; parents tearing away and scolding their children; soldiers and inhabitants singing, or exchanging adieus. Almost every man had his handkerchief on the muzzle of his firelock. Don Galves' children, weeping, took leave of me. I never saw them again. May God bless them.

(1) From Purgatory

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