Juggling faith and drinking: A soldier's life in 18th century

The doctor was kind. He was keen to keep the English “invalids” under his treatment for as long as possible, even after they were well enough.

And, when they finally left, generous Dr Vanderkemp presented each man with a Bible — earnestly encouraging them to read it and behave.

There were tears from both sides when the time came for them to part, as the prisoners were ordered aboard a small vessel from Antwerp to French Flanders and placed with about 900 other captors.

Each man was allowed half a loaf of bread per day and a halfpenny for tobacco as they prepared for a 500-mile march through France.

For seven months they remained at St Flour, where the bread allowance could be saved up and swapped for alcohol. Wine and brandy were plentiful, and the gang frequently got intoxicated.

“I drank to excess whenever I had opportunity,” admitted William. “In the end of seven months, an order came from the Convention of France for an exchange of prisoners to the amount of 5,000 men; for this purpose we set out on our march the beginning of January, 1796.”

A tedious 1,200-mile march through the French provinces was interrupted by the King of Prussia giving them a bit of cash and provisions. They stopped at a village where William bought liquor and slept for two nights. “When I came to my senses I found that the party had marched the preceding day and left me behind,” he recalled.

“I then felt much concern to be a day’s march behind and endeavoured to make the best of my way after my comrades but I was quite ignorant of the road they had taken.

“It was of no use to stay and I set off with but a faint hope of coming up with them.”

The party had halted at Bremen, Hanover, when he finally caught up. There, an English colonel had been appointed to supply clothing and ten days’ pay.

After a few days, they travelled to England, arriving at Yarmouth in April 1796, before the older soldiers — those who had been abroad — were told to go to Doncaster.

Despite initially believing this meant he would not see home, William was able to make it to Banbury for a while.

He said: “As might be supposed my mother was both surprised and rejoiced to see me after an absence of rather more than two years.

“But what added to her surprise and joy at seeing me was this; I have never written to her during my absence, but she had applied to the War Office, and I was returned as dead; so that she had no expectation of ever seeing me again in the world.

“When I myself went to the office to ascertain whether such a return had been made; the person to whom I applied, looking at the books, said ‘why young man you have been dead six months’.

“I could not help smiling at the strange blunder.”

Next, William was back to sea, heading out among 300 vessels from Portsmouth towards the Cape of Good Hope, South Africa, on August 9, 1796.

“Bad company, gambling and drinking was all I cared for,” he said.

“Wine was cheap and plentiful and every facility presented itself to indulge in that which was so congenial to my depraved heart.

“These two crimes, namely drinking and gambling, the men were particularly addicted to.

“Though if detected they were punished, they found the means of indulging in these sins.

“About 12 months after we had been at the cape, the balance of money due to the men was paid, and at this time five of the men were put into confinement for drunkenness.

“I also was intoxicated, and in addition to this offence I refused to go on duty. I was put into the guard room with the others and at 12 o’clock at night the officer came to arrange about our being sent off to the Regiment Guard House.”

Somehow, William was released. The other five were tried by a court martial and received 200 lashes each.

Two deserters — one belonging to the 86th and another the Scotch Brigade — were faced with the death penalty for desertion.

But William recalled how the general seemed inclined to pardon one of them.

“Two tickets were put into a hat,” he said. “On one of which was written ‘life’, on the other ‘death’.

“The anxiety of the poor men of course was great as one of them would certainly be shot in a few minutes.

“The town major held up the hat, and the first man that drew, drew the ticket of death. When he looked at it and saw his fate he jumped up a considerable height and exclaimed in anguish: ‘Lord, have mercy upon my soul.’”

Days before they left the cape, William was placed in the black hole for neglecting his parade duties. He was locked up with another man from his own company and a shoemaker, who said he had something on his mind.

This struggling stranger said: “As you came out of Yorkshire, you perhaps may have heard of the murder of the Pocklington Butcher? I and three more were coming from Pocklington Wake.

“We determined to stop and rob the first man we met with. We soon overtook the butcher and it was agreed to attack him.

“I being the weakest man was appointed to hold the horse, while the others rifled him. There was no intention to murder him, but he was a powerful man and greatly resisted, which induced us to put an end to his existence.”

The murder had been 13 years ago to the day, the shoemaker said, and he was no longer able to keep his dreadful secret.

William and his pal returned to regular duties the following morning. They did not report the crime they had been told, and the regiment was soon heading up the Red Sea.

The confessor went home, where he admitted his role in the crime and was hanged at the very spot where the murder had taken place, William said.

In September 1798, the regiment was sent to India, landing at Madras early the following year and heading for Bombay to keep an eye on Napoleon Bonaparte, who was expected to head that way from Egypt.

Going into town for alcohol was strictly prohibited — but tempting — and William was pressed into the perilous task at 10 or 11pm.

This happened several times, the last of which William described as falling asleep with his finger in the neck of the bottle after losing the cork.

Thankfully, his comrades stopped short of cutting off the offending digit and William awoke with his finger still in the bottle and the swelling going down. He was able to remove it without injury and, presumably, enjoy the rest of the liquor.

The regiment landed at a small and mostly barren island in the Bab-el-Mandeb, at the southern end of the Red Sea.

The heat was excessive. One officer described it as being a sheet of brown paper between there and hell. Forty of the 260 men died in about ten weeks.

“On this Island I got so completely drunk that I was insensible for 30 hours,” said William.

When they got to Aden, it was warned that the men were strictly prohibited from having sex with the women. One of the artillery ventured into a native’s house and was spotted fleeing by her husband. The next day, the husband came by with a long, sharp knife and severed the offender’s nose from his face.

When the regiment reached the Suez, they found that Bonaparte had escaped. They were ordered back towards Bombay as their spying services were no longer required.

“Leaving the coast of Mecca we met with an accident,” said William. “The ship struck upon a rock.

“A sail cloth was procured and tarred all over and nailed over the part where the stone was infixed, for had it fallen out, the ship must have inevitably sunk as the water would have found an entrance.

“In this manner we sailed and in 14 days reached Bombay. When the stone was taken out, it was weighed and found to be two ton in weight, it was exhibited in the docks as a curiosity.”

The regiment remained there through the monsoon season, which ran from June to October. The men saved money during this time — only to spend it on the best wine and rum they could find.

While at Bombay, William was on duty at a castle when he slept and dreamed of ending up in hell.

Amid the “fire and brimstone” the Devil appeared and said to William: “Now I have you at last!”

William wrote: “I had been drinking for many days before in an excessive degree which contributed to the dreadful state of my mind and conscience, somewhat awakened, sadly accused me.

“But alas even this was but a transient impression; though calculated to lead me to serious reflection upon my character, state and conduct, it was too much ‘like the morning cloud and early dew, it soon passed away’.

“I attempted to drown all these horrors in the intoxicating cup and sinful company and instead of going to the footstool of divine mercy, to implore forgiveness for the past and a new heart that I might avoid sin for the future I returned like the filthy dog to his vomit.”

While still in Bombay, William sat down while working sentinel duty, which meant he could be punished with up to 400 lashes. After being sentenced to 300, he lied — claiming his indiscretion to be the fault of a new pair of shoes hurting his feet — and was let off.

Around this time, some new recruits arrived from England and William befriended a lad called Joseph Lee, who had also lost his father at a young age.

Lee would often tell him off for his drinking and gambling. But William said: “His generosity and concern for my welfare heightened my regard for him, though I could not be persuaded to relinquish my vicious ways.”

Eventually, Lee distanced himself — fearing that hanging around with William would harm his chances of becoming a sergeant.

When the regiment were in India in 1811, the officers were keen to keep the men from money because liquor was so cheap.

Weekly clothes inspections were introduced because the men had taken to flogging their trousers, shoes and shirts for alcohol.

“I was addicted to drunkenness as usual and gambling was my delight,” said William, who was sentenced to 700 lashes when he fell foul of the clothes rule, only to get this reduced to 300 when he feigned illness.

In Bangalore, there was a mutiny.

The men tipped over the barracks yard kettles from which they obtained their liquor, in protest at not being allowed to take it away with them to drink. The officers wanted to limit them to drinking it there.

The commanding officer was alarmed. He ordered a piquet of 100 soldiers — ten from each company — to restore order.

He also stopped their liquor licence altogether for the day — which led to the men hatching a plan to seize the lot.

“The men had agreed that during this stir, they would keep sober and behave properly to the non-commissioned officers, but they broke through their own rule,” said William, who had been drinking for four or five days straight by this point.

The major saw them approach and quickly reported the matter to the governor. Commander-in-chief Sir T Hislop and General Hare were informed and arrived within days.

William had not tipped kettles, but he feared he might be implicated from his well-known thirst and reputation.

Fortunately for him, he was not among the 80 men confined in the guard house and garrison, 43 of whom were court martialled and two were eventually ordered to be shot.

A pair of coffins were made, the fateful day arrived, the solemn procession took place and one of the men was executed.

As the second was on his knees awaiting the same fate, William said, the brigade major galloped into the square waving a white handkerchief, having received a reprieve and the man would instead be transported for life — an alternative punishment which saw offenders sent to work in one of the colonies.

On returning to Britain again, William learned that his mother had died. He fell ill for 20 days, acknowledged that he should devote himself to sobriety and God... but within days was intoxicated.

He stayed for a few days with his old friend Lee in late 1819, and in the following spring he decided to walk from London to Banbury.

It would be a lengthy and important journey on foot, ending in the hometown William had not seen for 24 years. By Watford, he had changed his mind about walking and hired a coach.

For the first week or two back in Banbury, William behaved and went to church. The third weekend he spent in the pub.

Laura Gardiner (below), archives and local studies supervisor at Rotherham Archives, said: “William Nightingale’s fantastic memoir is one of the best things I’ve ever read.

“It’s part of our York and Lancaster collection. I don’t remember what made me get it out in the first place but we decided to start transcribing it, and everyone had a good laugh at it.

“I don’t know how much of it is true, but I think it’s my favourite thing we’ve got because it’s just crackers.

“If you want the memories of 24 years of service by a man who was constantly drunk, was a prisoner, believed dead as he passed out for 48 hours, who recalls mutinies, murders and infidelity on the regiment’s travels, then this is for you!”