Historical Record of the Twelfth, or the Prince of Wales's Royal Regiment of Lancers by Richard Cannon

Author:Richard Cannon [Cannon, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Reference, General, Nonfiction, Historical, Fiction, Literary, Reference & Language, Classics, Fiction & Literature
ISBN: 4064066135317
Google: q7GxDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07B2RXX1S
Barnesnoble: B07B2RXX1S
Goodreads: 41887660
Publisher: Good Press
Published: 2019-12-19T05:00:00+00:00

"I was stationed with my regiment (about 300 strong) at the extreme of the left wing, and directed to act discretionally:—each of the armies was drawn up on a gentle declivity, a small valley lying between them.

"At one o'clock, observing, as I thought, unsteadiness in a column of French infantry, which was advancing with an irregular fire, I resolved to charge them. As we were descending in a gallop, we received from our own troops on the right, a fire much more destructive than theirs, they having begun long before it could take effect, and slackening as we drew nearer; when we were within fifty paces of them, they turned, and much execution was done among them, as we were followed by some Belgians, who had remarked our success. But we had no sooner passed through them, than we were attacked in our turn, before we could form, by about 300 Polish lancers, who had come down to their relief. The French artillery pouring in among us a heavy fire of grape-shot, which, however, killed three of their own for one of our men: in the mêlée, I was disabled almost instantly in both of my arms, and followed by a few of my men, who were presently cut down (no quarter being asked or given), I was carried on by my horse, till receiving a blow on my head from a sabre, I was thrown senseless on my face to the ground. Recovering, I raised myself a little to look round, when a lancer, passing by, exclaimed 'Tu n'es pas mort, coquin,' and struck his lance through my back; my head dropped, the blood gushed into my mouth, a difficulty of breathing came on, and I thought all was over.

"Not long afterwards a tirailleur came up to plunder me, threatening to take my life. I told him that he might search me, directing him to a small side-pocket, in which he found three dollars, being all I had; he unloosed my stock and tore open my waistcoat, then leaving me in a very uneasy posture; and was no sooner gone, than another came up for the same purpose; but assuring him I had been plundered already, he left me; when an officer, bringing on some troops, (to which probably the tirailleurs belonged,) and halting where I lay, stooped down and addressed me saying, he feared I was badly wounded: I replied that I was, and expressed a wish to be removed into the rear: he said it was against the order to remove even their own men, but that if they gained the day, as they probably would, (for he understood the Duke of Wellington was killed, and that six of our battalions had surrendered,) every attention in his power should be shown me. I complained of thirst, and he held his brandy-bottle to my lips, directing one of his men to lay me straight on my side, and place a knapsack under my head: he then passed on

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