Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Few indeed are there in the army who have not heard of Morris Quill; and fewer still are they who have known a better man, or a merrier companion. He was a medical officer of the 31st regiment--an Irishman, with one of the softest, soundest, and most gentlemanly brogues that ever eulogised a bottle of genuine port, or asked a favour from a wealthy widow’s lip. He was a fine portly, good-humoured looking, summer-faced son of Erin, with that sort of fun about him which, if it did not injure himself, carried no sting to the bosom of any body else, except when his wit was directed to the operation of crushing some impudent coxcomb; and then it left its penal effects with him who deserved them. He is now no more, poor fellow! He died at Cork a short time ago, and his _last march_ was attended by all the military (both half and full pay) in the city and its vicinity. His memory still lives; and so long as there shall be a gallant Peninsular hero to sit at a mess-table, the eccentricities and whims of Morris Quill can never be forgotten. The few which I recollect will be recognized as genuine by all those officers who served in the Duke of Wellington’s army. I knew him: I have known his friends: I have seen and heard of most of his drolleries; and from the many I select the few which follow.

For the purpose of creating hilarity, Morris would often affect the greatest simplicity of Irish manners when strangers were at the mess-table. He would on those occasions tell such anecdotes of himself, as were calculated to make him appear but little removed from barbarism; and this always afforded the highest degree of enjoyment to those who were by, most of whom knew that he was any thing but a barbarian. I was once present when he played off this whim in a most laughable way. There were several very prim and “_monstrous_” important gentlemen dining at the mess--perfect strangers to any thing like a joke, and equally so to Quill.

As soon as the bottle was fairly adrift, Morris seized an opportunity of gravely addressing the President. “Colonel,” said he, “I received a _letther_ to-day from my _ould_ mother in Kerry. Just read the direction on it. I’m sure ’tis plain enough, and yet it has been two months coming.” The letter was handed about the table, and the officers read aloud the address to the perfect astonishment of the visitors.

“_To Misther Docthor Morris Quill, Esquire. Along with Lord Wellington’s fighting army in France, or Spain, or Portingale, or maybe elsewhere, and the Western Indys. From his loving mother._”

The gravity with which he managed this piece of humour, excited the mirth of all his companions, at the expense of the strangers, who looked very contemptuously on Morris, when they saw this specimen of the family education. However, before they left the table, all was explained, and Quill reinstated in their good opinion.

Morris had served in a regiment before he joined the 31st; and one of his old brother-officers having met him in Dublin, shortly after the exchange, asked him why he did not stay with his old friends?--“Oh, I’ll tell you then,” replied Morris. “You see I have a brother in the 32d, and I wanted to be near him in the wars, so I changed into the 31st, which you know is as close as possible to his regiment.” At this time they happened to be two thousand miles asunder.

With all the apparent simplicity which Quill exhibited, he was as good a judge of politeness, and knew as well the difference between gentlemanlike familiarity and impertinent freedom, as any man in the army; which the following anecdote will in a great measure prove. He exchanged from the 31st, after having been a long time in the regiment, for no other purpose but to be attached to one about to go on actual service, in order that he might have a better chance of promotion. On joining, he had in his pocket letters from all those officers of his old corps who had happened to be acquainted with those of the one into which he exchanged; but he did not take the trouble to present a single one, lest they would suppose, as he said himself, that he wanted them to give him a dinner. In a few days after his joining, a very supercilious officer of the regiment, no less a personage than one of the majors, met him in the mess-room, _tête-à-tête_, and after a little conversation, put a very impertinent question to Morris. “Pray, Sir,” said he, “were not you a considerable time in the 31st?”

“Oh, yes, I was, ’faith.”

“It is a very good corps indeed--very good corps. I wonder you did not remain in it! Pray, what made you leave it, Sir?”

Morris hesitated a little, and then replied: “Why, ’faith, I don’t like to mention exactly the reason, Major.”

“God bless me! what was it?”

“Why, you see, Major, I know you are a gentleman every bit of you; and if you will solemnly pledge me your honour that you will never mention it to any body, I’ll tell you the whole affair.”

“’Pon my honour, I won’t. I pledge you my honour, I will not mention it.”

“’Pon your _honour_,” said Morris emphatically.

“’Pon my _honour_!” echoed the Major.

“Well, that’s enough,” observed Morris; “I’ll tell you all about it. But shut the door, Major.”--The Major obeyed and hurried back to his chair.--“Well, then, you see, when I was in the 31st, I owed a little money here and there; and I was bothered with duns--Oh! the 31st was a fine regiment; it was there we had plenty of credit wherever we went: more is the pity for me; because I just--one day that I was short of a little money”--(_whispering_)

“Well, Sir!” interrupted the Major.

“I--a--just--a--put a few of the mess-table spoons and silver forks into my pocket;--that’s all.”

“Indeed!” observed the Major, drawing back his chair.

“Yes, indeed,” continued Morris; “and a fellow there, dressed up in livery (they call him the mess-waiter), saw me do it, and stopped me before the officers;--so I was obliged to leave the regiment; for the colonel was a civil fellow, and let me off without a court-martial.”

“Indeed!--ho--hum----Good morning, Sir,” _politely_ replied the Major, and left the room.

Of course a thing of this kind was not suffered to lie hidden under a bushel half an hour by the Major. He proceeded instantly to the Colonel, and gravely laid open to him the alarming discovery. The Colonel lost not a moment in calling a meeting of the mess. The mess assembled (all excepting Morris, to whom the meeting was not made known, for obvious reasons), and the Major, in an energetic speech, informed the mess that he had heard the fact from Mr. Quill’s own lips, with that gentleman’s solemn injunction upon the Major to be secret. All were equally astonished and alarmed; each man put his hand instinctively to his fob; and a little attorney-faced captain despatched his servant to see if his trunks were all safe. The _mad dog_ had got amongst them, and there was but one opinion about his expulsion.

Morris was sent for forthwith:--the orderly-serjeant was despatched to tell him that the Colonel and the members of the mess were assembled, and that he was to attend immediately.

The _delinquent_ appeared without the least hesitation, and looking as pleasantly as ever. On being informed by the Colonel of the cause of the meeting, he paused, cast his eyes archly at the Major, and exclaimed, “Ah! Major, Major! so you have told on me, though you pledged your _honour_!” (_Not a word from the Major._) “Now, Colonel, the fact of the matter is this: I was asked a question by that gentleman, which, however he might have meant it, I could not receive but as a joke (a little too free, I must say), and so I--just answered him as the joke deserved. The Major, in a way I did not much relish, asked me, ‘_What was the reason I quitted the 31st?_’ and I gave him an answer. It was a question of an odd meaning, and so I gave him an odd reply.” (_A stare and a smile from all except the Major._) “Now,” continued Morris, pulling out a bundle of letters, “there’s a letter for you, Colonel; and one for you, Captain Smith; and for you, Captain Jones; and for you, Lieutenant Edwards:”--so on, until he delivered the bundle of introductions which he brought from his last regiment. The letters were read aloud, and better fun was never enjoyed in the mess-room, nor relished with greater zest before or since; even the Major

“Join’d in the laugh that almost made him sick;”

and Morris became the favourite of every officer in the regiment, always excepting the _honourable_ Major himself.

At one period of the Peninsular war, the army was several months in arrear of pay. Money was not to be got anywhere by the advanced troops, except in the class of Generals and higher officers. Morris Quill was, of course, one of those whose purses were empty--indeed there was not a dollar to be _caught_ in the regiment from right to left.

A general officer was passing with his staff (General Crawford, I believe) through the village in which Morris was quartered. As soon as he saw the General, he turned to a brother officer, and said, “By J----! I’ve a great mind to ask the General for a few dollars.”

“That you may do,” replied the officer; “but I’m sure you will not get them.”

“Will you bet me £5 I don’t?” returned Morris.

“I will bet you £5 you do not borrow £5 or 20 dollars from _him_.”

“Done. I’ll bet you a bill on the paymaster.”

“Done.”

“Done--and I’ll _dine_ with him too,” said Morris, as he started off on his poney. He trotted up to the General: taking off his hat in the most “official” manner,--“General,” said he, “I beg your pardon--I have to mention to you that my sick are without any _comforts_,[4]--they will be in a bad way if I cannot buy something for them; and I have no money at all.”

“Well, Mr. Quill, that is a very unfortunate thing. How much money will be enough for you?”

“Oh! about 20 dollars, Sir; and if you will lend that sum to me, I will give you an order on Cox and Greenwood for the money; which you can send over, and it will be just the same thing to you.”

“Very well, Mr. Quill. Come to my quarters, and you shall have the money.”

Morris jogged off with the General about two miles to his quarters; and during the time they were going, the General found him a very pleasant and humorous fellow. Morris, as he was receiving the money, mentioned something about the scarcity of provisions, and concluded by saying, “Faith, General, I don’t know when I had a dinner, or even saw the ghost of one: there is a very savoury smell here, I can perceive; but that is a _General_ thing, I suppose, in this quarter.”

The General without hesitation asked Morris to stay to dinner; and highly enjoyed his society during the evening.

It was eleven o’clock before he returned; when producing the cash, he convinced his friend and the other officers of his success; so they finished the night over a cigar and a bottle of ration grog.

Quill, during the whole time he served in the Peninsula, had a servant who was as whimsical and as humorous as himself. This servant, he used to say, was “the best caterer for a gentleman’s table in hard times, that ever came from Kerry.” And so he was; for Morris Quill had always a fowl or a sucking pig for dinner, when the rest of the officers (except those who dined with Morris) were obliged to be contented with a biscuit and a bit of hard beef. Indeed, so excellent a purveyor and cook was Dennis, that his master made it a practice to ask his friends to dine with him, without (_of himself_) knowing where the eatables were to come from. “Dennis,” he would say, “I am going to ask a couple of gentlemen to dine with me to-day--indeed I _have_ asked them already. What have you got?”

“Oh musha! Docthor Quill, I don’t know that I have any thing, barrin’ a shouldther o’ vale and a hen or two.”

(A shoulder of veal! and a brace of fowls! when they were starving!--no bad things.)--Or, perhaps, as it might happen, Dennis would say, “Faith! Masther, I havn’t a toothful in the place, barrin’ the rashions.”

“Well, Dennis, get what you can. Try, can you _buy_ any thing about the country?”

(_Buy_, indeed! and not a sixpence in the whole division!)

Morris and his friends would come to dinner at the usual hour, perfectly confident that Dennis had done his duty; and, perhaps, a good pair of fowls, or a piece of pickled pork, or a sucking pig, would welcome their longing appetites.

“Where did you buy these things, Dennis?” Quill would ask.

“O! plase your honour, up there above--over the hill--down there, at a farm-house yondther.”

“You’re _sure_ you _bought_ them, Dennis?”

“O yes; I ped for ’em, Sir--that is, I offered the money to the farmer; but he said, ‘Never mind, Dennis,’ says he, ‘it will do another time.’ So I mane to pay the next time I go.”

“Very well, very well, Dennis; so as you _paid_ for the provision, it’s all well; but take care the Provost doesn’t give you your _change_ one of these days.”

“Oh, never mind that, Sir; the Portuguese hereabouts all knows me very well, and wouldn’t mind if I never ped them a vintin.”

And they had a right to know Dennis,--at least their _live stock_ had; for there was scarcely a fowl, rabbit, pig, sheep, or calf in the country, that he had not paid his respects to. Dennis used to say, “We are here starvin’ and fightin’ for the Portuguese; so the laste they may do, is to give us our dinner, _at any rate_.”

The last anecdote of this singular character, which I recollect, is as follows:--

A very hot engagement had taken place, in which the 31st regiment had been hard at work. Quill had his instruments, &c. under a hedge in a valley; at a little distance from the hill which his regiment was endeavouring to take from the French. He stayed pretty near the corps, (for Morris was no flincher,) and one of his brother officers being wounded in the leg, he ran over to him to render what surgical assistance he could. It was necessary to have something from the medicine-chest, which was behind the hedge in the valley, and Morris started off like a hare, to fetch it. At this moment the regiment was suffering from grape-shot, and the Brigadier-General, who was coming at a gallop along a narrow lane, saw Quill running, inside a hedge, as fast as he could, away from the regiment, in the uniform of which he was; and, thinking it was some cowardly officer who feared the grape, the General cried out to him, “Where are you going, Sir?” To which Morris only replied, still running under the hedge, “By J----s! I won’t stay any longer there; it’s too hot.” The General again cried out to him, and ordered his aid-de-camp to follow, and march him back a prisoner; but Morris outran the aid-de-camp’s horse, and arrived before him at the hedge where his instruments were. When the latter saw who it was, he well nigh fell off his horse with laughing, as he galloped back to tell the General his mistake. Morris laughed heartily, too; and, indeed, he had the laugh all on his own side, as he returned with the medicaments for which he had gone, to assist his wounded brother officer, and with which he ran as fast _into_ the field as he had run _out_ of it.

MESS-TABLE CHAT.

No. III.

“To laugh with gibing boys, and stand the push
Of every beardless vain Comparative.”

SHAKSPEARE.

SCENE.--_The Depôt Mess-room at Winchester--a
tolerably large apartment, more airy than comfortable; neither
carpet nor curtains.--Dinner so so.--Wines of excellent_
MANUFACTURE.--_Company, consisting of fifteen officers,
(mostly youths) of different regiments, and of course in different
uniforms.--Attendants, three recruits in undress, (white
flannel,)--no band; but several dogs barking and scudding about the
lobby_.

_Ensign Newly._ By G--d, I never sat down to so d--d a dinner in my life; we get worse and worse every day: the fish smells infernally, and this hash is made of the hard mutton we had on table last Thursday. Simple, my boy, give us a _sample_ of that old cock turkey before you, if you can get a knife into him.

_Ensign Simple._ I can’t carve. (_In a whisper._) Captain Alder, will you cut the turkey? I never carved in my life.

_Capt. Alder._ Very well, Mr. Simple, I’ll try my skill. Hand that turkey this way, John.

[_One of the attendant recruits takes the dish of turkey, and in
making an unnecessary circuit of the table, flaps down upon his
face; the dish is smashed, and the turkey rolls to the far end of
the mess room, followed by streams of gravy and the regrets of the
company._]

_Ensign Newly._ O, curse you for a clodhopper! Run after the turkey, you rascal.

[_John runs and takes up the turkey, but drops it immediately._]

_Lieut. Short._ What do you drop the turkey for, Sir, eh?

_John._ (_Blowing his fingers._) It’s roasting hot, zur.

_Capt. Alder._ Send the mess-waiter here, and then go to your duty, Sir. You are not fit to be a scullion.

[_Exit John; and as he goes out, three pointer dogs and a terrier
run into the mess-room, and skurry about; one of them seizes on the
turkey, but finding it too hot for his palate, drops his prey, and
begins to bark loudly at it. The Mess-waiter and two attendants
arrive in time, and beat out the dogs, after some difficulty, owing
to the canine taste for gravy._]

_Lieut. Grub._ Well, d-- me, if this is not a pretty _mess_. I wish I was back with my old corps once more, in the wilds of Canada. I never saw a depôt mess yet that could manage a good servant.

_Capt. Alder._ Never! (_In a whisper._) Did you ever know it to manage _any thing_ good?

_Lieut. Short._ Mess-waiter! what follows this course?

_Mess-waiter._ Rabbits, and the cold beef, Sir.

_All._ The cold beef! The eternal cold beef!

_Mess-waiter._ Gentlemen, I assure you the market was so bad to-day, that we could only find that turkey; but the beef is very sweet and good yet.

_Ensign Newly._ Mind, that we have no hashed or deviled turkey this week.

[_looking significantly at the dirtied bird._]

_Mess-waiter._ Oh no Sir; we’ll eat this ourselves.

_Ensign Newly._ You will have fine sand sauce then.

[_Hash and harrico are now served out amongst the half-grumbling,
half-laughing mess, but a glass or two of wine restore matters a
little; the rabbits and beef are scarcely tasted, and dinner is
concluded on cheese and stale tarts._]

_Ensign Luby._ Send round the wine, Mr. President. I have just touched the cash to-day. Old dad has sent me a fifty, and I am determined to be comfortable.

_President._ Then I’ll send in your wine account to-morrow, my lad.

_Ensign Luby._ Ay, do, do--you’ll not find me like Mr. Trotter, who marched off yesterday without waiting for his.

_Several._ What! is Trotter off?

_President._ Yes: and in a very ungentlemanly way too. I knew he couldn’t stand the follies he gave way to--out every night until three, and never sober.

_Ensign Newly._ I think, Mr. President, as I am a member of the same corps to which Trotter belongs, you have shown no great proof of taste in mentioning his name so disrespectfully before me.

_President._ Mr. Newly, I speak of Mr. Trotter as I think he deserves: he _may_ be very honourable, but I think he outran his means, and thereby his honour also.

_Several voices (in confusion.)_ Certainly, d--d dishonourable conduct.

_Ensign Luby._ Come, lads, hear me: I know Trotter a little; he is a good young fellow; but somewhat too free with his cash; he does not know how to keep it, when he gets it from home. I do not like to see disputes here,--God knows we have enough of them: last night we were all made unpleasant by two gentlemen contending that one’s facings were handsomer than the other’s, and the day before we were thrown into confusion by an argument between two young gentlemen about superior rank and services--both not yet two months in the army. Come, I say--Trotter owes his wine-bill: and for the best of reasons--he had not money enough left to pay it out of seventy pounds sent by his father; because, you see, he played Hell and Tommy (as the phrase goes): so I’ll tell you what--I will _pay it myself_--ay, or any other friend’s wine-bill; for, as I said before, I touched a _fifty_ to-day.

_President._ If I am wrong, Gentlemen, I’ll appeal to the voice of the company.

_All._ No! no! It’s all right. Sit down--sit down.

_Ensign Luby._ Bring in the wine quicker, _you_ Glundy--dy’ hear, d--n ye!

_Glundy._ Yes, Sir.

(_Servant runs out._

_Voice without._ Yoix! there, my lads,--he--he--hip--yoix!--hark forward, my jolly dogs!--yo--io--io--io--io--hip!

(_Enter Ensign Buckskin._

_Ensign Buckskin._ How are you, my hearty Cocks!--how are you?

_All the Mess._ How are you? How do, Buck? How do?

_President._ Where the devil have you been? eh!

_Ensign Buckskin._ Been! In bed, to be sure--just got up--swallowed a basin of soup and a small glass of brandy. I was squeamish all the day; but now I’m to rights again. Waiter!--clean glass. Well, how are you, my boys?

(_Sits down._

_Ensign Newly._ How are _you_, after your last night’s work--eh?

_Ensign Buckskin._ Oh! by George, Sir, they have taken out a warrant against me.

_Ensign Newly._ For what?

_Ensign Buckskin._ For burning the old Constable’s nose. Jackson and Jones are off by coach for Fort Monkton, and so have escaped: unfortunate Jack Buckskin, as usual, comes in for a “good thing.” I shall be up before “his _Vorship_,” as the “_Coves_” call him; but d--n his eyes, I don’t care the rowel of an old spur about any infernal magistratical methodist in Winchester. Yoix! my lads! ye--he--hip--old Jack Buckskin against the d----l and all his _saints_.

[_An uproarious laugh from the company, which sets all the dogs
in the house barking, and Buckskin gives a regular “view halloo,”
accompanied by several of the mess._]

_President._ Well, tell us how the matter occurred. Didn’t you knock the watchman down first?

_Ensign Buckskin._ Not at all. Just hear me: Jackson and Jones, and Bob Jennings, the young clergyman--you know Bob--great favourite of the Cathedral big-wigs:--well, they and I were going quietly home about three o’clock this morning, a little merry, and just strolled into the church-yard to give little Fanny Giggleton a good-night serenade: her bed-room window, you know, looks into the church-yard. So we began singing “_Rest thee babe_” in full chorus, and finished by roaring “_Jolly companions every one_,” when the watchman came over to us and told us to go home. Jennings the clergyman was nearest to him, and bade him to go to the d----l. Charley seized his Reverence, and his Reverence seized him. I went up to the old guardian, and warned him off: he took no notice; so I caught him by the back of his collar with my left hand, and by the posterior portion of his _unspeakables_ with my right: Jennings held one arm, Jackson another, Jones before us--so on we “_run_” him out of the church-yard and up the watch-house stairs:--The watch-house, you know, is the ancient theatre, and is over the butchers’ shambles. Into it we bundled him--charged him before the night Constable with highly disorderly conduct, in disturbing gentlemen who were enjoying a song, and also with gross insolence. The Dogberry, of course, sided with the watchman. “What’s your name, Sir?” said he to me. “My name,” said I, “is Old Trumpetson, from the Cape.” He then began to write it down, “T. r. u. m. p. son, that’s it,--Trumpetson,--now I have it. Well, Mr. Trumpetson, you are one of the officers of the garrison; I know where to find you in the morning; and you Mr. Jenkins also.” My cane now happened to drop, and I took the candle off the table to look for it. The Constable stooped down also beside me--his red nose looked so tempting that I could not resist the joke--I bobbed the candle into his face; the light went out, and he roared lustily. All was now confusion: I seized a lantern and rattle--Jackson, Jones, and Jenkins ran down stairs--I after them, first locking the door outside upon the pair within; which I did in an instant. There we left them, and I suppose they neither got light nor liberty, until some of their brethren came to open the door. I know I shall meet with no mercy from old Muddlehead, the magistrate: he hates the military--and me more than all the rest.

_Ensign Luby._ Did you really burn the fellow’s nose?

_Ensign Buckskin._ Burn?--ay, that you may depend upon.

_Lieut. Short._ I saw him to-day in the barrack looking for the Commandant--his nose was in a small calico bag. [_a laugh._]

_Ensign Buckskin._ Well, they may all go to the d----l in a bunch. I’ll pay the fellow for his nose.

_Ensign Luby._ Ay, Jack, my boy, and if you want money--see here! it is at your service.

[_pulls out a handful of notes._

_Ensign Buckskin._ I don’t know that I shall run short yet; however, lend me ten: [_takes a note out of Luby’s hand_] thank you--all right, Luby; I’ll pay you, my boy.

_Ensign Luby._ Don’t mention it; I have this day received a remittance, as I said before, and any of my friends may share it as far as it will go. I have not been long in the army, but I know this--that good-fellowship is the soul of it.

_Capt. Alder._ I think you said this evening, that Trotter’s _fault_ was liberality.

_Ensign Luby._ Yes, yes--but liberality for ever! that I say.

[_A strong hiccup, together with certain rollings of the eye and
screwings of the lips, now gave evidence of Mr. Luby’s intellectual
state._

_Capt. Alder._ Well, gentlemen, I must be off. Will you go, Captain Bell?

_Capt Bell._ Yes.

_Capt. Saunders._ So will I.

[_The three Captains rise and withdraw._

_Ensign Luby._ Let them go: what do we want with Captains here? we are all jolly subs. now; so Buckskin give us a song.

_Ensign Simple._ I--think--I’ll--go--too. [_rises._

_Ensign Luby._ Ay, go and take your gruel.

_Ensign Simple._ I don’t know why you talk of _gruel_, Mr. Luby. I wish to go to bed early, and to rise betimes in the morning to my drill:

“Early to bed and early to rise,
Make a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

_Ensign Buckskin._ Well, no preaching! good-night--say your prayers, and tie your night-cap well on.

[_Ensign Simple now retires sulkily, accompanied by a laugh from
all the company._

_Ensign Luby._ That fellow is fitter for the pro--pro--profession of a--hic--linendraper, than the the--hic--trade of a soldier. Come, I’ll give you a song.

_Ensign Buckskin._ Bravo! song! song! Now I mean to _begin_ the evening.

[_Ensign Luby sings “The glasses sparkle on the board,” so
completely out of tune that nobody knows what to make of it; the
conclusion, however, is loudly applauded._

_Ensign Buckskin._--

“A very good song, and very well sung,

(_Chorus by all._)

Jolly companions every one.
We only live life to enjoy--
We only live life to enjoy--

How happy’s the soldier who lives on his pay,
And spends half-a-crown out of six-pence a day.

We are the boys for mirth and glee--
We are the boys for jollity.
And so we fell a drinking,
So we fell a drinking,
Drinking, drinking,
So we fell a drinking.

We shan’t go home till morning,
We shan’t go home till morning,
We shan’t go home till morning--
’Till daylight does appear.”

Ye--he--hip! Yoix! hark forward! stole away! e-oic!--e-oic!--e-oic!--hoo--oo--oo--hip!

_All the Mess._ Bravo! bravo! bravo!

[_Just as the song concludes, a servant enters and approaches the
table._

_Servant._ Plase your honor, Gintlemin, the Major sinds his compliments to yiz, an’ hopes that yiz won’t make such an uproar; becaise the Major’s lady, my misthress, has a great headache. I know, to my own knowledge, that she took physic this mornin’, an’ complained of a gripin’. (_A roar of laughter._) Oh, ’faith! I tell yiz no lies at all at all; for she’s as crass as two sticks to boot; which always shows she’s ill.

_Ensign Buckskin._ Ill-tempered you mean, Sir. Go along, and tell the Major that we shall _endeavour_ to moderate our mirth; and, d’ ye hear?--very sorry for the Major’s lady. (_Exit Servant._) What the d----l have ladies to do living in barracks, I say.

_Ensign Luby._ Right--hic--Barracks are only fit for single men--hic! Fire away, lads! who cares for the--hic--Major?

_Ensign Newby._ Or his wife either?

_Ensign Buckskin._ He’ll have us all to drill in the morning for this. So, my lads, let us drill _him_ a little now. Song--song!

[_A tremendous noise is heard, something like the rolling of bricks
or large stones down stairs._

_All the Mess._ Eh! what’s that?

_Ensign Buckskin._ It’s the Major. He has fallen down stairs. (_A similar noise is heard nearer the door._) Here he comes--now for a wigging. Don’t laugh for a dukedom.

_Voice (without)._ I’ll see who dared to serve me so--that I will.

[_The door opens, and Ensign Simple, half undressed, enters,
pushing before him a small donkey. A roar of laughter greets the
visitors._

_Ensign Simple._ You may laugh, Gentlemen, but I am determined to have satisfaction for this disgraceful conduct. (_Another roar of laughter._) It is no joke--it is a most disgraceful liberty to take with any one; and I will not suffer it. I neither offend nor meddle with any body, and I expect nobody will meddle with me.

_Lieut. Short._ What, in the name of all that’s beautiful! is the matter with you? Are you mad?

_Ensign Simple._ Mad! No, Sir; but I have been disgracefully treated. This donkey, Sir, has been brought up to my room, and tied fast in my bed, Sir;--the whole of my apartment, Sir, has been dirtied and disfigured by the brute. (_Shouts of laughter._) You are all concerned in this shameful trick. Why don’t you play upon those who deserve it? I never make free with any of you.

_Lieut. Short._ Perhaps that’s the reason they play tricks on you.

_Ensign Simple._ Then I am determined to put it down. I bore with former insults, but I will not with this. You took a leg of mutton and a pound of butter out of my cupboard last week, and put them between my sheets, along with the fender: this I took no notice of. But to put a creature like that into my bed, dirty as he is--I’ll never bear with it. I’ll write to my father to-morrow to come down and investigate the affair.

_Ensign Buckskin._ You must be a clever fellow, as well as a very presuming one, to fix the donkey-saddle on us. Who told you that _we_ did it?

_Ensign Simple._ I know it was some of you, if not all.

_Ensign Buckskin._ Come, ask the gentleman himself who tied him in the bed; he knows more about it than you do, a great jackass as he is.

_Ensign Luby._ (_to the Donkey._) Who tied you, Sir?--hic--eh?--He won’t answer.

_Ensign Simple._ I see you are all leagued against me, because I don’t squander my money amongst you; but I’ll have satisfaction--that I’m resolved on.

(_Ensign Luby, inattentive to the last observation, mounts the
donkey and rides him round the mess-table, while Buckskin gives a
tremendous view halloo! During the uproar, the Major-commanding
enters with his servant, frothing at the mouth with passion._

_Major._ Turn that donkey out directly. What _can_ all this mean? Mr. Short, I am surprised that _you_, who have been a member of a _regimental_ mess, should join in such disgraceful proceedings. Who brought this animal here?

_Several Voices._ Mr. Simple.

_Major._ Then, Mr. Simple, go to your room. Consider yourself in arrest.

_Ensign Simple._ I am not to blame, Major.

_Major._ Go to your room, Sir. I’ll not hear a word to-night; your conduct is disgraceful.

_Ensign Simple._ I am not the person.

_Major._ You brought the ass into the mess-room, Sir.

_Ensign Simple._ I found him in my bed, Sir, and covered with my bed-clothes: it is impossible that I can sleep in my room to-night, from the horrid state in which the animal has left it.

(_The Major’s ire could not bear up against this; he struggled
against an involuntary laugh, and had nearly overcome it, when a
certain motion of the animal, and a grotesque elevation of his tail
put an end to all his efforts to be severe; so he gave way to a
hearty fit of laughter, in which all but Simple joined._

_Major._ Take the cursed brute away, you Sir.

(_Pat the servant pulls the Donkey out of the room._

_Pat._ He’s a horrid headsthrong baste as ever I pult.

(_Exeunt Pat and Donkey, followed by the mess-waiter._

_Major._ I see how it is, Mr. Simple; there has been a trick played off at your expense. I am very sorry that folly should lead officers to such excesses, but I fear we can never remedy the evil. I am an old officer, gentlemen--I have been thirty years in the service, and as long as I can remember a depot-mess, it has been the same--all disjointed--one scene of disagreement constantly presents itself. A number of mere boys meet together, unacquainted wholly with the rules and habits of a regiment,--uncontrolled by the friendly opinions and directions of their own superior officers, and they give way to every species of folly. I do believe that the practice of sending Ensigns to depots is most injurious to the service. A youth is sent from school to a depot, where there is not perhaps one officer of his own regiment: little or no attention is paid to his conduct; he is neither advised nor restrained, at a time when he most requires it; and the consequences are, that every folly, if not vice, assails him, and he joins his regiment with an impression which even that excellent school finds difficult to remove--his health impaired, and his pocket exhausted. Gentlemen, I am giving you a friend’s opinion, and hope every one of you will use your exertions to check the follies which prevail but too much at this depot: and let me also assure you that the sooner you all join your respective regiments the better--each of you can use your private exertions to that effect, and I will use mine.

[_This address produced symptoms of sanity in the young officers;
they in the most cordial manner thanked the Major, who shook hands
with them all, and the party retired in the most unexpectedly
peaceable disposition._

* * * * *

The above sketch is not at all exaggerated: it is outlined for the benefit of young officers; and also in the hope that it may meet the eye of those of their superiors who may have it in their power to remedy the defect.

RECOLLECTIONS

OF THE

LAST CAMPAIGN IN THE PENINSULA.

Halt ye not for food or slumber,
View not ’vantage, count not number;
Jolly reapers, forward still!
Grow the crop on vale or hill.
Thick or scattered, stiff or lithe,
It shall down before the scythe.
Forward with your sickles bright,
Reap the harvest of the fight.

SCOTT.

After four years of indefatigable exertions--doubt and disaster--success and glory--sickness and privation--hope and delight--the British army began to prepare for the promising campaign of 1813, under a chief whose military talents had riveted the confidence alike of his soldiers, as the citizens of that empire, for whose weal--for whose glory--for whose existence as a mistress of the world, he had shared in all the privations and sufferings of his troops, and was ready still to endure even to death, or crown his country’s hopes with success in that mighty and awful strife which engaged her so long. The winter had passed, and the early spring of Portugal had brought to that country reinforcements, money, and equipments, the want of which had but too frequently impeded the success of our army in the Peninsula. Transports were continually floating up the sunny Tagus, with their red-cross flags waving from the masts--their decks covered with glittering accoutrements, and hearty soldiers: fresh detachments and fresh regiments were daily filing off the public squares of Lisbon, to join the grand army; while the eyes of the often disappointed Portuguese followed them with patriotic hope, and their hearts and tongues ejaculated wishes for their success. The road from Lisbon to Coimbra and Vizeu, which had so often withered under the wasteful tread of war, now glistened with groups of laughing soldiers and brightening prospects; even the ruined towns of Condexia and Pumbal lost their appearance of despair, and assumed a faint aspect of hope--such as the dying feel from leech’s promises. The inhabitants everywhere were kind, the season was propitious, and the soldiery seemed to have caught a spirit of confidence which reacted on the people; and if it did not entirely remove their doubts and fears, it tended considerably to advance their hopes of success, and to tranquillize their long-disturbed minds. The arrival of the Hussar brigade at Lisbon affected the Portuguese more than any of the other warlike preparations--it was a cordial to their feeble spirits. This brigade consisted of the 10th, 15th, and 18th Hussars; and certainly its appearance was sufficient to encourage them highly;--the genius of romantic chivalry never imagined a more warlike and beautiful body of horse--their perfect discipline--their splendid equipments--their health and spirits--the true British halo which seemed to glisten around them--all conspired to elevate the Lisbonians almost to a certainty of success in the approaching campaign.

At no period of the war was there more cause for strong hope in the Portuguese than at this time: all the fortresses in their frontier-towns were in our possession--those provinces of Spain which were the favourites of Soult’s army evacuated--Souchet just defeated by Sir John Murray in the South--and Buonaparte ably opposed by the Russians; but the Portuguese had been so often led astray by flattering prospects, that nothing short of entire success could wholly convince them that they were secure from the persecutions of the French.

On the 20th of April I found myself at Oporto, having marched from Coimbra for the purpose of joining the left, or third column of the army, under the command of Sir Thomas Graham; which was destined to enter Spain by _Tras os Montes_. This column consisted of the first, third, and fifth divisions, together with the first cavalry division. The second, or centre column, was under the immediate command of his Grace the Duke of Wellington; and consisted, I believe, of the fourth, sixth, seventh, and light divisions: this was to advance to Salamanca. The first, or right column of the army, under the command of Lord Hill, was to proceed along the Tagus toward Toledo. Thus all the forces under the command of the Duke of Wellington were divided into three powerful columns; and so disposed as to be available at several points of attack.--A finer army--better officered and better equipped, from the massy ponton to the tent peg, never took the field; and none ever acquitted themselves there more creditably.

In sketching what I remember of this memorable campaign, it cannot be expected that I should display the pen of the historian; if I did so, I must of necessity draw from other sources than my own observation and the narratives of my brother-soldiers: but to this I do not pretend; what I _recollect to have witnessed_, or have been told by eye-witnesses, is all I offer to my readers:--an individual on a campaign, as a narrator of what occurred before him, ought not--could not consistently, do more: this I will attempt, so far as I conceive the matter may be interesting; I will describe my humble share in the glories of the army, and note those things only which, in my progress with it, appeared to me not unworthy of remark: I will do so with truth; and if I omit occasionally the notice of some particulars of interest, familiar to the memory of some who served with me, it can only be from want of more acute recollection. I have no doubt forgotten many a town, and wood, and valley, and blue mountain, which lay on my way, and many a circumstance also; however, enough remains to afford my mind a vivid picture of that eventful march,--to me, highly interesting and delightful, notwithstanding the fatigues which frequently attended it; and I trust that what I do remember of it will not be uninteresting to my readers.

I will mention an incident which happened to me when I arrived at Oporto; and the motive I have in touching on so trifling an occurrence is, that an opinion as to the French influence in Portugal, even at that promising time, may be in some measure drawn from it. I arrived at Oporto about five o’clock in the evening, and received a billet upon a respectable house for myself, my servant, and two horses. The master of this house was a rich lawyer; and although I learnt that quarters were very indifferent in the town, yet the appearance of the house inspired me with the hope that I should be enabled to make a better report on this subject, as far as regarded myself.

The outward gates of the house were open, and I walked up a wide staircase: having knocked at a large door, I was admitted by a cross-looking woman, who in answer to my question of whether the gentleman of the house was at home, replied, with a shrug of the shoulders, “_Nao esta in caza_” (not within). I explained the nature of my visit, producing the paper which authorised it; and immediately the countenance of the dame wore the most vinegar aspect: “_Nao esta quartelia, Senhor, nada, nada, nada_” (no room, none, none.) This I knew must be false, from the size of the house, as well as from my knowledge of the disposition of many of the Portuguese to shift off the trouble of accommodating English officers. However, I was determined to act only through the authorities; for the Commander of the forces was very scrupulous upon this point, and justly so; for many officers during former campaigns had acted rather despotically in their quarters, and occasioned reports of such a nature as to call forth a general order upon the subject, the effects of which were sorely felt by those officers whose conduct was peaceable and conciliating. Consistent with the spirit of this order, I left the old Donna, telling my servant he was to remain, and returned to the Portuguese authorities, who gave me the billet. On describing my reception, one of them burst out into exclamations of rage, declaring that the person on whom I was billeted was a liar and a favourer of the French. “He had room enough in his house for _four_ French officers,” said he; “and if he does not find accommodation for you, Sir, in every way befitting a British officer, I will send him a dozen of Portuguese soldiers.” He then wrote a note to the lawyer, and requested me to take no excuse from him, but to order my servant to carry my luggage at once into the house. I pursued the directions given,--ordered my boy to unload and place my panniers, &c. in the house, and proceeded up stairs myself. The door was opened, and without ceremony I walked into the principal room of the house, where I discovered the lawyer in a fever of anxiety. He was a little smoke-dried man, of about fifty years of age, dressed in a spotted _robe de chambre_, and powdered in the highest style of professional ultraism. His fever increased to a paroxysm when he saw me in the heart of the garrison, for he never expected such a surprise; he reiterated the words of the old woman with a grin, (which he thought was a smile)--an attempt at polite denial--a widening of the mouth into a sort of imitation-smile, in which his little eyes took no part; in them could be seen the splenetic rage which would have burnt me into a cinder, if it had possessed the power. He declared that he could not accommodate me, nor any other officer; and had I been weak enough to parley with him civilly on the subject, his presumption would have increased more rapidly than it did; but I coolly threw myself down upon his splendid sofa, and desired him to read the note which I brought from the magistrates. He read it, and after a pause and a protracted shrug of the shoulders, muttered something of the great inconvenience he should be put to by having an officer billeted on him; but that he supposed he must put up with it; and begged that I would walk down to a room which he had below. I followed him; and after a tedious hour’s search for keys, he succeeded in opening an apartment, into which I followed him. Here, he said, he would put a bed on the floor,--the only bed he had; and that he would also send down two chairs and a table; hinting, at the same time, that Lord Wellington’s orders were that no other furniture was in any case to be supplied, except by the voluntary act of those on whom officers were quartered. An adequate idea of the apartment it is scarcely possible to give: it had been a sort of lumber-room, I suppose, for some centuries back--covered with cobwebs--damp, dirty, and dark--not an atom of any kind of moveable;--on the ground floor, too! and, contrasted with the superior accommodation given to officers by the Portuguese generally, it had the effect of exciting my indignation against the little lawyer to such a degree, that had it not been for the respect I bore for the orders of Lord Wellington, I believe I should have punished the insolent old rogue on the spot, by the application of my whip to his parchment skin. I paused a little; then took the key out of the door; and, nodding ironically to my _patrao_, I said, “_esta bon_”--“it will do very well.” I then went out, and ordered my servant to lead in both the horses:--there was scarcely a stable to be got in Oporto for love or money; and the thought struck me, that I could not only provide myself with a tolerable substitute for such accommodation, but punish the little hater of the English as he deserved.

The horses were brought into the apartment forthwith, to the astonishment, confusion, and intense mortification of the lawyer. Neither my servant nor myself could refrain from laughter at the picture. The little gentleman’s hands clasped in the fervency of his raging astonishment; his frame trembling with passion,--the old dame exclaiming loudly at the door, “Ai! Jesus, Maria, Joze!” and the animals (as all horses will after a journey,) relieving themselves by those actions, which in a parlour may seem out of place and highly laughable, but in a stable “quite correct.” The scene can only be imagined perfectly by those who saw it. The lawyer now lost all patience, and gave way to the most violent and unbounded rage. He called me “heretic Englishman,” and openly proclaimed his hatred of Great Britain and love of France; he stamped, raved, and ejaculated; but I coolly told him to walk out, or that I would lock him in with the horses, as I could not remain longer in my _stable_. He obeyed with a scowl and a curse; while I thanked him in the most _polite_ manner for the accommodation his house had afforded me, and went back to the magistrates, to whom I related the affair. Their enjoyment of the joke was little less than mine; they advised me to keep the room as a stable while I remained at Oporto (which I did), and gave me another billet for myself, upon a house opposite to the lawyer’s, where I received the most hospitable attention for the few days I remained in the town; and had the pleasure of nodding at old _parchment_ every morning as he went out of his house; which _civility_ he never thought proper to notice, except by a frown, peculiar to his Jacobinical countenance.

As nearly as I can recollect, it was on the twenty-third of May, that our column commenced its march from its cantonments. Illness, brought on by overheating myself in an excursion of pleasure up the Douro, prevented me from marching on the appointed day. By the desire of the medical officer, I remained behind--having been bled but more than one day I would not stay, and although still unwell, persisted in my intention of moving, and mounted for the road.

The weather was very hot when I set out; and having been advised by the surgeon not to fatigue myself, if possible, on the march, until I had perfectly recovered, I pursued my route at one day’s march behind the army, without attempting to gain on it; but had I been in perfect health, I could not have overtaken it, for my baggage horse could not have travelled more than about fifteen or twenty miles a day--the average distance of each march of the army; and this is quite enough, considering the wretched roads over which the animals had to go, together with the great heat of the climate.