Tom Cringles Log | Page 8

neckerchief, while a gruff voice shouted in my
ear.
"Rendez vous, mon cher"
Resistance was useless. I was forcibly dragged up the bank, where both
musketry and cannon were still playing on the boats, which had,
however, by this time got a good offing. I soon knew they were safe by

the Torch opening a fire of round and grape on the head of the dike, a
contain proof that the boats had been accounted for. The French party
now ceased firing, and retreated by the edge of the inundation, keeping
the dike between them and the brig, all except the artillery, who had to
scamper off, running the gauntlet on the crest of the embankment until
they got beyond the range of the carronades. I was conveyed between
two grenadiers along the water's edge so long as the ship was firing; but
when that ceased, I was clapped on one of the limbers of the field--guns,
and strapped down to it between two of the artillerymen.
We rattled along, until we came up to the French bivouac, where, round
a large fire, kindled in what seemed to have been a farmyard, were
assembled about fifty or sixty French soldiers. Their arms were piled
under the low projecting roof of an outhouse, while the fire flickered
upon their dark figures, and glanced on their bright accoutrements, and
lit up the wall of the house that composed one side of the square. I was
immediately marched between a file of men into a small room, where
the commanding officer of the detachment was seated at a table, a
blazing wood fire roaring in the He was a genteel, slender, dark man,
with very large black mustaches, and fine sparkling black eyes, and had
apparently just dismounted, for the mud was fresh on his boots and
trowsers. The latter were blue, with a broad gold lace down the seam,
and fastened by a strap under his boot, from which projected a long
fixed spur, which to me was remarkable as an unusual dress for a Dire,
the British army being, at the time I write of, still in the age of breeches
and gaiters, or tall boots, long cues and pipeclay--that is, those troops
which I had seen at home, although I believe the great Duke had
already relaxed a number of these absurdities in Spain.
His single--breasted coat was buttoned up to his throat, and without an
inch of lace except on his crimson collar, which fitted close round his
neck, and was richly embroidered with gold acorns and oak leaves, as
were the crimson cuffs to his sleeves. He wore two immense and very
handsome gold epaulets.
"My good boy," said he, after the officer who had captured me had told
his story--"so your Government thinks the Emperor is retreating from
the Elbe?"
I was a tolerable French scholar as times went, and answered him as
well as I could.

"I have said nothing about that, sir; but, from your question, I presume
you command the rear--guard, Colonel?"
"How strong is your squadron on the river?" said he, parrying the
question.
"There is only one sloop of war, sir"--and I spoke the truth.
He looked at me, and smiled incredulously; and then continued "I don't
command the rear--guard, sir--but I waste time--are the boats ready?"
He was answered in the affirmative.
"Then set fire to the houses, and let off the rockets; they will see them
at Cuxhaven--men," fall in--march--and off we all trundled towards the
river again.
When we arrived there, we found ten Blankanese boats, two of them
very large, and fitted with sliding platforms. The four fieldpieces were
run on board, two into each; one hundred and fifty men embarked in
them and the other craft, which I found partly loaded with sacks of corn.
I was in one of the smallest boats with the colonel. When we were all
ready to shove off, "Lafont," he said, "are the men ready with their
couteaux?"
"They are, sir," replied the sergeant.
"Then cut the horses' throats--but no firing." A few bubbling groans,
and some heavy falls, and a struggling splash or two in the water,
showed that the poor artillery horses had been destroyed.
The wind was fair up the river, and away we bowled before it. It was
clear to me that the colonel commanding the post had overrated our
strength, and, under the belief that we had cut him off from Cuxhaven,
he had determined on falling back on Hamburgh.
When the morning broke, we were close to the beautiful bank below
Altona. The trees were beginning to assume the russet hue of autumn,
and the sun shone gaily on the pretty villas and bloomin Gartens on the
hill side, while here and there a Chinese pagoda, or