Chapter VIII: Appendix (7)

The embarkation being completed, General Beresford came on board
at two o’clock in the morning, and when the fleet was collected it
sailed for Old England....

After taking the trouble to write this very long letter, my dear
B., shall you be able to get through it? I beg at any rate that
you will not destroy it, as it completes my Spanish Journal, and I
have no copy of this or any other narrative of that period of my
proceedings.--Your most affectionate brother,

CHARLES.

_Exercitûs Britannici dux præbio occisus_]

CORUNNA, 1808

ON THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O’er the grave where our hero was buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of the night,
The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeams’ misty light
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him,
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow,
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

PLYMOUTH DOCK, _January 28, 1809_.

EVER DEAREST FATHER--You will not be very sorry to hear of my
arrival in England in good health, but, on the other hand, I have
not a penny that I know of, nor a shirt nearer than Lisbon.

I shall come up to London without delay, find out where you are,
and endeavour to spend some time amongst you, to lay down my head,
and settle my affairs.

The man I looked up to as a god, and held in the most cordial
respect and affection, after devoting his life to the service of
his country, is praised by some and blamed by others.

I know the latter to be the ignorant, but consequently the most
talkative, and your catchpenny Generals come forward and tell you
how they could have done better. All this makes me sick, and cools
my military ardour. For can the utmost blindness of self-love
make me think I can ever equal the virtues or military worth of
Moore! And yet, as the result of his laborious services, a doubt
comes in every man’s mind whether he would now take upon himself
that General’s reputation. When dying, though perfectly sensible,
he had great difficulty at last to articulate. He said gently,
however, that he had endeavoured to serve his country diligently
and conscientiously, and he hoped it would be satisfied with what
he had done. His latest anxiety seemed to be for victory. “_Are
they beat? Are they beat?_” he repeatedly asked. He wished to send
some message to General Hope, who had succeeded him in the command.
“Hope, Hope,” he said at intervals, but could not articulate more.
His last words were, “Tell my mother.” He could no longer speak,
and expired. Was not this the death of a hero and a good man? God
bless you.--Your CHARLES.

The loss of men and money in Spain, I think, are amply compensated for by the acquisition of military fame, but the loss of Sir John Moore at such a time admits of no consolation.

BATH, _January 28, 1809_.

DEAREST MOTHER--The press on the road, the waters, etc., have made
me travel slower, but I set off for London to-morrow, whence you
shall hear from me.

We are three Engineers here together, one of whom is my friend
Lefebure, the pleasantest and right-thinkingest man in the world.
The people here show distinction to our rusty habits, particularly
the fair sex, who advance to converse with us, to the astonishment
of the well-dressed beaux.

I hope soon to embrace you and my Louisa, and all of you. God bless
you, dear people.

CHARLES.

On returning home after the glorious battle of Corunna, which terminated Moore’s celebrated retreat and his life together, I conceived a thorough dislike and hatred of the military service. My patron was dead, and as a reward for services which I thought inestimable, his memory was reviled by his ungrateful countrymen, and tarnished by crafty, self-interested politicians, who, willing to wound, but yet afraid to strike, took the most impalpable means of offending his sacred memory.

Afterwards Sir William Boothby, Bart.

_Father of Captain Charles Boothby, R.E._]

All this increased the disgust which the sight of military operations in a devoted country had excited in my mind.

Bilious with these thoughts, I took the sweet medicine of family endearments.

I did not expect a speedy summons to the wars, for the only theatre which seemed to offer us a part in the drama was just closed, and I therefore promised myself some months of sweet repose and enjoyment, as a change rendered most delightful by those fatigues and dangers which entitled me to welcome it without blushing.

The pictures which had been given me of my family’s distress between the beginning of those horrid accounts from Spain, and the hearing from me after the battle of Corunna made me shudder at the thought of renewing such frightful anxiety; for while delighting in my father’s affection for his children, I was always frightened at it. The violent expression of grief or the admission of immensurate apprehension in a female are less impressive because more consonant to her softer character; but when the safety of his children was concerned, my father lost this distinction. The masculine firmness and well-tempered equality of his mind no longer served him, and he, my mother, and my sister, equally giving way to their fears for me, vainly looked to each other for support. And what a task for my brother ... to be obliged to laugh at their fears while smothering his own!

Early in the month of March the whole village circle dined at my father’s house--Milnes, Lumley, Cleavers, etc.; happiness prevailed, and I was glad. After dinner my brother, opening the post-bag, drew out a large Government letter for me. My father’s eyes followed it across the table with infinite disquiet,[26] my mother’s with dismay, and Louisa paled a little. Under such eyes it was necessary to command my own countenance.

I told my father calmly that it was an order for foreign service.

Nothing could represent such an order to them in a flattering point of view. All their fears, all their anxieties were to be renewed, and perhaps in the end not to be so happily relieved. I therefore made no comments, but professed that the future now opened to me was flattering to my prospects, and I further added that I considered active service in Europe as a safeguard from the more distant and unhealthy colonies.

_John Hoppner._

RAFELA, WIFE OF SIR WILLIAM BOOTHBY, BART.

_Mother of Captain Charles Boothby, R.E._]

But in fact I was but ill satisfied with the summons, for the Austrian war was but vaguely rumoured, and nothing but the _éclat_ and spunk of some dashing and prompt expedition could make going abroad agreeable to me. My own regrets, however, I was once again obliged to smother, and my own tastes to kick downstairs that I might communicate some degree of consistency and firmness to my aching family, and in this task my brother was my second self.

The next day the whole party met again at the Lumleys’. It will appear strange when I say that we were in better spirits than I wished, for in spite of all I could say, they would not abandon the hope that some event or other would put off the expedition.

As the post time drew near, my father grew grave, and I could see he dreaded a final summons; and even as he dreaded, a large Government letter, like the one before, was put into my hand. I dare not look at my father. My mother, to be out of the way, ran upstairs.

When I had glanced over it, with what alacrity did I put into my father’s hand what I knew would quiet his old heart and illumine his benignant features. It was a simple counter order.

My mother and sister were not long before dancing with joy. It was an harmonious uproar, very delightful to see, and I joined in it with all my heart; to rejoice when they were rejoicing was too natural to my heart to be restrained.

The next day my brother and myself went to spend a night at Welbeck. On returning, the little party met us at the end of the village; they walked slow, and were sorrowful.

The counter order was annulled, and the order for foreign service in force.

For all that the world holds I would not retrace the bitterness of separation.

My brother drove me to Newark, but I was glad to get rid of him, glad when I had escaped my whole kindred, and was left at liberty to weep without adding to their tears.

To have the business of leave-taking over cheered my spirits. I once more felt free, and turned my thoughts upon my companions, those dear companions with whom for years I had been traversing the seas and the lands of Europe.

The passage to Lisbon was boisterous and disagreeable. We set sail on the 17th March 1809, sprang a leak, were run aboard of in the night, and expected to go down, and, in short, were forced to acknowledge that a transport is full of horror.

We landed at Lisbon on the 2nd April, and found it generally expected that Sir John Craddock would re-embark his army in a very few days. The force under his command was said to amount to 17,000, and Marshal Beresford with his Portuguese was called 25,000.

On the other hand, Soult had taken possession of Oporto with 13,000, or, according to some, 17,000. Victor was menacing the Alemtejo with 40,000, and another movable corps of 10,000 had shown itself in the neighbourhood of Ciudad Rodrigo.

Taking this rumoured state of things for granted, the re-embarkation of the army (to a man that knew the nature of Iberian troops) seemed at the first glance to be the most salutary measure that could be adopted.

LISBON, _2nd April 1809_.

MY DEAREST LOU--After a disagreeable voyage we arrived in the Tagus
to-day at two o’clock. I do not intend this for a letter, but to
take the first opportunity to tell you of my safe arrival.

The French have taken Oporto, and we are supposed to be in force on
the frontier.

I would make a bet that I see you again before the expiration of
the summer, for they dare not stay to come in contact with the
French army, at least I think so.

Nothing ever was more dead than this town. Oh, intolerably dead! No
news here.

I shall write longer by the next opportunity.

With every best spring of the heart to you all,

CHARLES.

LISBON AND THE TAGUS

To one who enters the Tagus in a fine season there is something inexpressibly captivating wherever he turns his eyes.

The magnificent rock or mountain, forming a gigantic portal to the mouth of the river, is remarkable for the richness and variety of colour, the grandeur of its size, and the wildness and taste of its form.

From this feature, towards Lisbon, towns, orange groves, forts, and palaces make every yard a picture, and as he approaches Lisbon the size and style of the buildings advance; the great convents, dazzling white, the activity of the great road, the grinning batteries, the fury of the bar, the whirling of the current, the antique richness and eminent shape of the Tower of Belim, and then the splendid burst of the city, with her thronged quays and mounting palaces, will long prevent the visitor from perceiving that the southern bank of the river has nothing but loftiness to recommend it.

A traveller who has seen Messina from the Straits immediately knows what is wanting to Lisbon, viewed from the Tagus.

Messina presents to his view all that can be beautiful in a superb city, embosomed in all that is luxuriant and romantic in Nature.

At the foot of her fair hills she occupies, with a splendid and uniform length of architecture, the margin of the sea, and is even better seen through the light fretwork of masts and rigging, upon which sailors of all nations and in all costumes busily twine their pliant forms, adding to her inanimate beauties an interesting display of wealth and commerce. The city is backed by hills, clothed with the most various and luxuriant vegetation; some are crowned by forts and covered with the brightest verdure, which Flora has enamelled with a lavish hand; others hang umbrageous woods or many-coloured thickets over their wild precipices. Upon the slopes of these hills, rising above each other in theatric pride and architectural magnificence, grand slashes of palace, convent, and church are nested in this beautiful bed of vegetable profusion.

On the other hand, the Italian mountains, which may be called the other bank of this azure river, display every imaginable charm to snatch his eyes from a successful rival. “Beautiful! thrice beautiful! incomparable Messina!” he exclaims. “Never did mine eyes behold, nor my imagination form, a scene whose laughing charms surpassed, or even equalled, thine.”

After this he looks upon Lisbon, towering upon her hills, a vast mass of splendid structures. All is building; a house-seller’s shop, a proud and pompous city stretching her sceptre over the red waves of the hasty Tagus.

“Queen of the river with the golden waves,” says the courteous traveller, “thy magnificent appearance excites my admiration. Permit me to tread upon thy spacious marts, to enter thy palaces, to contemplate and wonder at thy riches.”

He pushes for the shore, where disappointment awaits him, conducts him over all parts of the city, serves him at dinner and prepares his bed, reconducts him to his ship, and with him ascends the side, from whence he will no longer delight in those beauties which he knows to be deceptive.

The streets of Lisbon are generally good, and many of them fine; there are no mean houses, and the greater part are handsome and uniform in height and size. There are but few squares, and those are not remarkable.

The quays are very fine, and some noble streets give upon them through magnificent gates, particularly the Rua Aurta, or Street of the Jewellers and Gold-workers. This street, quite straight, broad, and handsomely built, begins at the principal square and issues through a superb gate upon the quay, where a colossal equestrian statue gives it an imposing termination.

But the shops of this street, though abounding in precious stones and precious metal, are extremely mean and exactly alike, each containing a little working equipage for the jeweller (at which he sits), and the window displays a few clumsy glazed boxes, in which his precious commodities are stored.

But as these shops, though mean, are the best, the buyer, being pressed for the want of a commodity, is obliged to hunt for it. The art of alluring money from the pocket of the passenger by a rich and astonishing display of merchandise which he does not want, carried to its height in London, seems in Lisbon to be totally unknown.

The private houses are, some of them, superbly built and richly furnished, but scarcely any of them are commodious, and there is nothing that can be called the environs of a capital.

A public garden, which, though sheltered and well kept, is small, formal, and uninteresting; and one theatre, which, though formerly supplied with the first Italian performers, would not be admired at a provincial town in England. The equipages, although of course diminished in number, absolutely surprise by their barbarity; a clumsy little body, seated upon two huge leathern straps, enormous wheels, and two noble mules, is the only thing to be seen in the shape of a carriage; and from the melancholy relics of the Court, which I had an opportunity of observing, I should doubt if it ever exhibited any elegance or splendour.

The streets are not only (even in this burning weather) covered with dry filth and squalid rags, but are lined with naked beggars and disgusting cripples, who bare and often augment their deformities and afflictions to arouse the dormant compassion of the rich.

But however laughable, it is really dreadful to walk in these streets by night, for your foot slides about in soft things, and the whizzing over head and the splash! splash! splash! that assails your ears make you expect to be covered with refuse every moment, for the city is not lighted at all--a circumstance which must have been formerly as favourable to assassination as it is now to these nightly discharges.

If in the night it is to the last degree shocking to walk the streets of Lisbon, it is not very agreeable during the day. The inequality of the ground fatigues, the importunity of the beggars plagues, and the filth of the streets offends you, while nothing remarkable to the right or left diverts the peevishness of disgust or rewards the diligence of curiosity. There are no hotels, nor inns, at least that can serve a decent man.

I cannot leave Lisbon without noticing the Aqueduct, which is one of the most stupendous and striking structures I ever beheld. It stretches right across a deep valley, and without attempting to recollect its dimensions or to speak accurately on the subject, the impression it has left with me is that a First-rate, with royals and studding-sails set, could pass through the principal arch without touching in any part. To stand under this arch is almost stupefying, and the gigantic size of the whole is well illustrated by some houses close to it.

RESIDENCE IN LISBON

_April 1809._--As my stay is remembered with indifference, it was not marked by any high degree of satisfaction. Although I did not pretend to form a deliberate opinion upon the affairs of the Peninsula, yet my involuntary belief was that there would be no campaign.

I considered Sir John Moore’s retreat as a lesson likely to teach caution to the British Government, and that they would not now venture to stake the flower of her army on the fate of Spain against the wishes of the nation, seeing that they could hardly answer for having done so when the popular voice was loud in their favour. I thought that unless the Spaniards themselves demonstrated that, in a military light, they could balance their enemies, and were capable in the line of operations of supporting their character as the main army, (which hitherto they had plainly shown they could not do), any further assistance of British troops would be firmly withheld.

The character of the Commander-in-Chief at that time confirmed me in this opinion respecting the intentions of the Government. Because he was not a man of known military talents, and it was likely enough that, since the employment of General Whitelock, Sir Henry Dalrymple, and Sir Harry Burrard, the favourite principle with our latter statesmen--“that experience and reputation are not required in a fully instructed General”--had been abandoned.

As I considered the kingdom of Portugal incapable of defence, except by an army nearly equal to the offensive one, so I felt assured that when the crisis of its fate arrived, a British army that sought to protect it would “stand alone.”

I was led to believe that so soon as a very superior French army should have leisure to move against Portugal, the British army would withdraw and resign her to a fate which it could not control.

As these ideas, however erroneous and indiscreet, possessed my mind, in spite of the warlike breathings of some that I conversed with, I could not help considering my return to England as neither improbable nor very remote, and instead, therefore, of bracing myself for the field, I considered how I might render the time I passed at Lisbon as agreeable as might be, in which pursuit I expected much assistance from some letters of recommendation of which I was the bearer.

The letters on which I most depended were given me by a dear friend and relation to an Englishman of the first rank and consequence in Lisbon, who was invested with a delegated power, and supreme in his particular department, and as this personage had his family at Lisbon, an introduction to him had a very promising aspect.

My other letter, given me by a military acquaintance, was to an Austrian Chevalier, also a person of consequence in Lisbon, residing there with his family.

I could not in reason expect any great things from being the bearer of a letter from a person with whom I had no particular intimacy, and of which I was not the particular object, but only mentioned as being so good as to take charge of the letter. I carried both on the same day.

The Austrian Chevalier was laid up with the gout. I left the letter and a card.

The Englishman was also laid up with the gout. I left a letter for himself and another for his lady, and with each a card, and having thus arranged my lines I returned.

The next morning I received a note from the Austrian, contrived with the most engaging and elegant politeness, the substance of which was, that the Chevalier, sensible of the honour I had done him in bringing him a letter from his friend and mine, trusted that I would dispense with the ceremony of visiting, in favour of an invalid, and allow him and his family to make an acquaintance from which they promised themselves great pleasure, and that, when he had made my acquaintance, he trusted he should be able to persuade me to give him the pleasure of my company as much as I could, and to be a frequent inmate in his house.

It was not long before I made a second visit, and though the Chevalier was still in bed, yet his daughters were so good as to receive me, and that in so agreeable and sincere a manner, accompanied by such an honest invitation from their father, that, very much pleased, I was resolved it should not be my fault if I did not reap the full advantages of such engaging conduct.

My story with respect to the Englishman is sooner told. The fate of my letters to him will perhaps never be known, as he took not the slightest notice of them or their carrier.

I was billeted in the house of an obliging Italian in the best street, where the Commander-in-Chief, the Engineer mess, and everything that it was desirable to be near to, were situated.

The mess was very bad, but the mates (as is almost always the case in the corps to which I have the pleasure to belong) were very good and entertaining. Burgos, Mortimer, and myself formed an indissoluble trio, from which union I cannot express the pride and pleasure I have derived for several years, and which I hope will last me through life.

Besides Burgos and Mortimer were several interesting characters which I shall have occasion to notice as I go along, and among others was little Archer, a friend of my boyhood; Captain Notpat, whom I scarcely knew; and Captain Packman, convivial, festive, and good-natured to a great degree, and several younger men. Our Chief, a man of indisputable worth and bland manners, used also to honour us with his society.

I had not dined here many days before my little friend Archer took me into his room and desired me to carry his defiance to Captain Notpat, who had offended him beyond reparation.

Before I inquired into particulars I reviled my little friend for being too warlike in this particular, as it was not the first nor the second time that I had known him in similar circumstances. He defended himself as well as he could, declared himself averse to duelling, and said he should be very glad if the Captain would act so as to let the affair end peaceably.

Upon this I declared myself very ready to act in quality of mediator if the affair would admit of adjustment, and he would promise to be ruled by my advice, but, at the same time, I declared my unvarying resolution not to interfere if matters took a hostile turn.

Fully master then of my friend’s story, and armed with full powers to treat, I knocked at the Captain’s door. He was not gone to bed, and seemed preparing for a field-day.

He received me involuntarily as his adversary’s second, and ceremoniously begged me to be seated.

My friend, I found, had stated the matter very fairly. The Captain had been provoked at table rather by a teasing manner than any tangible offence, and in revenge he had told my friend in broad terms that he asserted an untruth, and that he might consider the accusation in any light he pleased. Now, though the Captain is a man whose good qualities do sink his imperfections into insignificance, yet had he some certain simplicity or want of usage of the world unfitting his situation and line of life, and this laid him a little open to quizzing, a game at which my friend was not unskilled and much too apt; but fighting is not the way to oppose quizzing, and it appeared to me that in justice and fairness the Captain stood as the unprovoked assailant.

I represented with what force I could the melancholy consequences which might ensue, and which he must be sensible would be laid at his door. “You acknowledge,” said I, “that you gave an insult which you knew could not be passed over, but which you were determined should stop the provoking manner which my friend had for some time pointed at you? Is this the only way in which you can oppose the flippancy of a boy? You have given him an insult which obliges him to call you out, for unless you do away the insult, I will never advise him not to do what I would do myself; and have you turned over in your mind what may be the state of things to-morrow evening? The best that can happen to you, according to my opinion of your feelings, is to receive your adversary’s bullet; and in that case have you reflected upon what grounds you think yourself entitled to close the days of your parents in misery, and to cast a lasting grief upon all your relations? Perhaps to-morrow evening that youth against whom you have no enmity, with whom you have lived in friendship, and whom you know to be worthy, will be stretched in the ghastliness of a violent death, and weltering in the blood which you have lightly shed. What will be your feelings on looking at such a spectacle, the entire work of your own hands? It will not be his fault, for if he submits to an insult he will be despised, and he had better die; but by sending me to you he has opened the door to atonement, and I expect the proof of your courage and magnanimity will be to make it with candour, than which nothing is more noble or more suitable to the character of a gentleman and a man of honour.”

The Captain did my address the honour to open his eyes, and saw that it would be infinitely better to avoid an action. He wrote a candid note, to which my friend returned a friendly answer.

I was thanked by both parties, and retired at 2 o’clock A.M., extremely satisfied with myself to have gained so important and very difficult a victory, for my dispute with the Captain was much longer than boots it to set down.

* * * * *

On the 4th April a fleet of transports, having on board six regiments under the orders of General Hill, entered the Tagus, which force was landed on the 5th, and incorporated with the army of Portugal, and on the 6th the regiments of which it was composed marched by different routes to join the respective brigades to which Sir J. Craddock’s arrangements attached them.

The arrival of this force, and still more the rumoured appointment of Sir A. Wellesley to the command in Portugal, turned the train of my ideas; and soon after there followed the general cry of “Forward,” and an intimation to us that we had better mount ourselves as fast as possible.

Whether this bold determination were caused by the Austrian War (which was no longer uncertain), and extended to the liberation of Spain, or whether it were supposed that Soult had put himself into a _cul-de-sac_, and the campaign had no further object than to destroy him, I could not judge, because I was ignorant of the amount of the French force actually in Spain, and also ignorant of the nature and extent of the Spanish forces, with which in that country we must of necessity co-operate.

It was, however, pretty certain that knocks were toward, and so it behoved to provide myself with a thick doublet.

The rest of my residence in Lisbon, but a few days, was fully taken up in buying horses and in making travelling arrangements. I was so lucky as to get a wee mulette worth her weight in gold, and I called her Sukey.

When the French entered Oporto by storm, the most important capture they made was two British officers of engineers, Captain Goldfinch and Lieutenant Thompson (a boy). Now Captain Goldfinch left at Lisbon in charge of Captain Packman a fine red-brown stallion, a horse fiery in his gait, gentle in his curvets, soft in his manage, swift in his courses, and no mauler of leather. Thirty pounds was the price that had been paid for him, at which sum he was offered to me, upon condition that in case of the owner’s return it should be at his option to reclaim him. I snatched at this offer, for the horse if sold outright would have fetched half as much more. So far, so well, my charger and my baggager were excellent. I now only wanted a second charger, and the devil and Burgos advised me to buy an English mare that was worn to the bones, but might be got into condition and be worth double what was asked.

This was downright gambling, and I lost, as will appear in the sequel.

In the arrangements made by the chief engineer, Burgos and myself were attached to the right column, consisting of a brigade of Guards under General Harry Campbell, and a brigade of Infantry under General A. Campbell, who in the absence of General Sherbrooke commanded the column.

Now General Sherbrooke and General H. Campbell were Nottinghamshire friends, and therefore the Guards were likely to be forward; this, added to the society of Burgos as a campaigning chum, was the very arrangement for which I was disposed to intrigue. It had, however, taken place in consequence of changes in the distribution of the army, for Burgos had gone to another division under a former plan two days ago, but was now to receive orders to join me as soon as possible. Captain Notpat received sudden orders to go to Abrantes in pursuance of an application from the Marshal Beresford. Captain Packman was to move with the Chief, as well as my friend Mortimer, which, with a few others, formed the party _du génie_ moving with headquarters.

Now my servant’s name was Louis, and he was an Italian. Louis, when I picked him up, looked like a very decayed gentleman, his clothes having the cut gentle, but the thread bare, the assortment incongruous, and the articles ill-adapted to his shape. His Hessian boots came above his knees, and were partly obscured by the eaves of his nankeen pantaloons, that had been washed so often as would perhaps have made a Blackamoor white. The warp and the woof of a blue spotted waistcoat were disunited in the pockets and buttons, and his coat was made for a much larger man. His hat was broken in that part of the brim which meets the hand in salutations. His hair was sandy, lanky, long, and dishevelled. On a dirty shirt was displayed a large brooch, the _gage d’amour_ of some sentimental lass, for he had that sleek, effeminate, sodden, yet bearded visage often thought handsome in pictures by means of regular features, and known to be taking in reality among some of the opposite sex. He was about thirty, had a sepulchral voice, and seemed to have destroyed his constitution; yet was he a wit and an accomplished beau in his own circle, and very probably styled “the charming Louis.”

He got me my milk and eggs of a morning very carefully, but I saw that he was no Bernardo. When I consulted Louis on the line of march, he informed me with much respect that he was unable to walk from infirmity, and seeing me embarrassed about my mare’s sore back, he was so active and obliging as to seek out one who was willing to make a swap with me.

The beast offered in exchange was so rippish that I rejected him, and endeavoured to patch the matter by hiring a beast for Louis the next day, which was to be his care, and so all things were arranged for my departure.

I had taken leave of the Austrian Chevalier, and performed all due and accustomed rights, nor had I any regret at the thoughts of quitting this celebrated city. I write letters home.

LISBON, _Sunday, April 9_.

MY DEAREST MAMSEY--We have a report here that Sir Arthur Wellesley
is at hand. I have no expectation of any actual service against the
French, for their force in this part of the world is so superior to
ours (and will, I am convinced, continue so) that I have no doubt
of our quitting the country as soon as they turn their attention to
us.

But if unexpectedly they should, mistaking our force, or too
confident, advance towards us with an equal front, we shall drub
them well.

When I come to you again, which I guess will be before winter, I
shall stay a long, long time. I have been obliged to lay out an
immense sum on horses, which are immoderately dear.

I have managed so, however, as that I shall not lose much, in case
of being obliged to leave them behind. Ask Louisa if she would like
the prettiest little mulette that ever was?

You must not expect long letters, for I am very busy. And when
one’s mind is called aside by fifty things at once, one cannot
write a gossipy letter.

I have sent B. twenty pages about Spain, and he will send it to
you, if you desire. It will complete my journal.

I wrote to General Stewart as soon as I got here, and have a very
kind communicative letter from him in return. He is at no great
distance, and I think we may meet ere long.

General Sherbrooke, too, I have seen, who appears remarkably well.

I expect to quit Lisbon in a day or two.

Give my immense love to dear old Dad, etc., etc.----Yours, my
dearest Mamsey,

CHARLES.

DEPARTURE FROM LISBON

_April 16, 1809._--About the middle of the month of April I left the capital of Portugal. I was to bear-lead a party of artificers and some mules laden with intrenching tools, and among other _désagréments_ Mr. Louis came to me already thoroughly exhausted, and could not for love nor money procure a beast.

“Then walk,” said I.

“Pardon me,” said he, “’tis wholly out of my power.”

“Then stay behind,” returned I, chafed at his little control over difficulties.

“’Tis what I shall be reduced to,” answered he, with a fallen air, “if my master cannot mount me.”

“My good fellow,” then said I in another tone, “bring me the villain who offered me that misery in exchange for the mare.”

He immediately went off, and soon returned.

I was busied with other matters. I was predetermined on the exchange, which was instantly concluded, and gave the order for the march.

My charger bounded under me with a most curveted agility, which, added to a very martial neigh, would have made me as proud as Marshal Ney[27] himself had it not been that the spectacle of my other nag much dashed and diluted the spirit of my exultation. As for Louis he will certainly go to the devil, for there was not somehow room enough on his back whereon to strap my writing-case, for though it was made on purpose for a man’s back, Louis had hung it round his neck, and resembled a Jack that had stolen the locket of a giantess. This embarrassed and bruised his arms, which were both employed to tug at the first bridle he had ever laid hands upon, so that the jade, finding no encouragement to violate her own inclination, would go head foremost into a doorway, the upper part of which she found open, and being buffeted away by the indignant housewife, she would swiftly wheel round, to the infinite terror of Louis, and do the same thing by some other door on the opposite side of the street.

Waiting as I was, to see what sort of a figure my valet cut as he went along, and being confounded at the melancholy state of things--my writing-case banging his breast, and the studied awkwardness which he added to the villainy of the beast--I felt there was but one way to save myself from committing some egregious extravagance. So after assailing him with a deal of bad language and worse Italian, I galloped away, and giving a charge respecting the Italian to my good tall sergeant, resolved never to bestow on him another thought, and, very happy to have escaped, I walked my horse along the banks of the Tagus, giving full range to that cheery meditation inspired by youth and fine weather.

COUNTRY BETWEEN LISBON, VILLA FRANCA, AND THE TAGUS

_April 1809._--None of the roads leading into the town of Lisbon announce one’s approach to a great capital. They are universally paved, the sides of the road overhung with vines and trees, with awkward country houses, and now and then a tasteless palace.

The road from Cintra to Lisbon by Ociras is the best furnished, and more diversified by the contrivances of wealth than any by which I have approached that metropolis.

By the right bank of the Tagus to Santarem nothing is at all interesting until Sacavem. The banks of the Tagus are very tame here as to scenery, and at Sacavem, or a little above it, fenny islands of considerable breadth divide the river into two main streams, which begin about thirteen leagues from the mouth of the Tagus, and end about seven leagues.

I have never had any opportunity of examining the localities of this part of the river, but its banks are not formidable.

But to return to my ride on the road to Villa Franca, at which place I arrived in the afternoon.

The Juez de Fuéro happened to be reviewing his lands bordering the Tagus, and was up to his ears in vegetation. I sent to him, but in vain. He walked from one field to another very composedly, discussing the produce with some other land-learned man, and as my patience began to exhaust, Colonel Perponcher arrived on a very fine black horse.

The Colonel is a Dutchman who had long served the British, and when I first knew him commanded in the island of Gozo, in which were no other troops than a battalion of Dillon’s, which (when we met at Villa Franca) was still in the Mediterranean, whither he intended to proceed to resume the command.

“Well,” said I, “how do you get on, Colonel, with your brigade?”

“Wat brigaade? Wo tol you I av a brigaade?”

“I was told that you were appointed to the command of two battalions of Portuguese.”

“Well, if I was? You call two battalions brigaade? Pretty brigaade! Ha! ha! ha!”

“Why, some of our Brigadiers have no more than two regiments under them. What do you call a brigade?”

“Ah, that is de very thing, by----, with you. A General is nothing, because you av General for all the two regiments. Why, in the Austrian service! Ha! ha! Brigaade! You call that a brigaade?”

It was only now and then that the Colonel committed a little agreeable foreignness in speaking English; and as I knew him to be a gentlemanlike, well-informed man, and believed him to be an officer of great merit, I was not discouraged by his crustiness, the cause of which I determined to find out; and therefore letting the matter drop, I told him that if, as I supposed, he wanted the Juez de Fuéro, he must go to the river for him, as I had endeavoured to fish him out in vain.

“What,” said I, turning to his servant, “why don’t Sr. Juez come? Is he a Frenchman?”

Here Colonel Perponcher interrupted me with some warmth, and advised me to be more prudent. “These sort of things,” said he wisely, “won’t do with them, for ---- sake take care; you don’t know what you may do.”

I could no longer forbear laughing at the subtlety of his ill-humour, which vented itself in this manner under the appearance of _sagesse_, for he had too much discrimination not to perceive that my question was calculated to spur the judge to show by his alacrity in assisting Englishmen that he was not a Frenchman, the very name of which was plague, pestilence, and famine to a Portuguese. The Colonel, seeing that I really could not help laughing, began to smile himself, and proposed that we should lodge together, to which I readily assented. The Juez, having returned up to the breech in wholesome soil, gave us the billet we desired. On leaving him I observed that my charger was dead lame.

The death of a first cousin would in numerous instances be less distressing than the lameness of one’s best horse at the moment that his services are indispensable. We were conducted to a large house with fine stables, the groom of which knew perfectly well what ailed my horse, recommended fomentation of hot wine mixed with hog’s lard, honey, and cow dung, and assured me it would be of no consequence.

I eagerly believed what he said, because if I had not I should have been unhappy all the evening, and if the fellow lied, to-morrow morning would be time enough to grieve. “Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.” Our host was a wealthy Portuguese, and had some guests of his own nation already in his house, an elderly man with his son, a youth of sixteen, very tall, good-looking, and intelligent, also, what is extremely rare for a Portuguese, speaking French very well.

The master of the house offered us some biscuit and wine, which we declined. He then asked what we would take. “Some dinner,” we replied. “Aye,” said he, “but that can’t be ready till night. Won’t you take something first--a bit of water melon or some oranges?”

The idea of fooling away a lusty appetite upon marshmallows was equally repugnant to the habits of us both, and so we determined to wait, although I was perfectly up to the management of our host, which was by pulling his own ten o’clock supper a little way back towards nine, and giving our five o’clock dinner a most unfeeling stretch towards the same point to make both ends meet and unite in one meal. As I had been in this predicament some fifty or sixty times before, I summoned my patience and a natural capability I have for fasting, while the Colonel saw it grow dark with a mixture of surprise, hunger, and impatience. Poor Louis, who really believed that it was impossible for him to walk six tedious leagues, or twenty-four miles, arrived completely done, for he had not only surpassed his imagined powers, but had been obliged to bear his part in dragging and heaving that wretched animal that was to have carried him. I found I had been taken in, and determined to make the best of it, and with actual labour the beast was pushed into the stable, where it fell to at the manger with a beastly voracity.

One cause I found of Colonel Perponcher’s chagrin was the absence of snuff, and this I was fortunately able to supply, having a large box of Prince’s Mixture in my pocket.

We sat together some time talking of the Mediterranean, and of his brother, whom I had met at Gothenburg, and at last he discovered the main cause of his vexation and return to Lisbon nearly as follows:--“You must understand that in volunteering my services with the Portuguese army, and in determining to meet the very numerous and noisome vexations to which the situation exposed me (implicating my character with the conduct of raw recruits of strange nations and striving to reclaim and organise a mutinous rabble), it is natural to suppose that however well I might wish the righteous cause in which we are assisting these swarths, yet that I should look also for some personal advantage as the attendant of success.” And it was, I suppose, “just this personal advantage” which now seemed more than ever doubtful as time went on.

_May 14, 1809._--I heard this morning that Sir Arthur Wellesley has had an action with the enemy.

I was differently and very disagreeably employed, as I went up to Lamego with a British brigade, which was to countenance Beresford and his myrmidons. The enemy came before Lamego, intending, I suppose, to sack and destroy, but finding troops there, they retired. The country is exceedingly strong, and I hoped they would not defend it. It was not my wish to see the Portuguese in action. Let who will take the credit of serving with them, I will not. Accordingly I was very glad to find that the enemy had no intention to dispute the country, either having heard that Soult had been beat, or intending to reinforce him.

Having passed the Douro without halting at Lamego, we stopped at Peizo, and marched the next morning to Amarante.

When about two leagues from our destination it began to rain heavily as if to prepare us for the gloomy, wretched scene that awaited us.

We were thoroughly wet through (I having no baggage) when the beauteous Amarante burst upon our view, the fine-looking houses promising a comfortable rest. What was our aggravated disgust at finding that everything was sacked, burnt, and murdered, not a single house but was completely reduced to its shell wall. Here the venerable master of a mansion lay stretched on his back amid the black ruins of his peaceful habitation, and a ghastly wound disfigured his neck.... It was a horrid spectacle!! But I will not go on with the picture, it exceeds description, and swells one’s hatred to these ruthless and wanton destroyers.

This place, garrisoned by Portuguese troops under Sylvesan, resisted for two days the French under Loison, (the plague of Portugal), and so this inhuman monster thus revenged himself.

ABRANTES, _June 18, 1809_.

MY LOUISA--I heard that there had been blows, and wrote to tell you
I was out of harm’s way.

Nothing can be finer than the passage of the Douro, which in his
despatches Sir A. Wellesley makes too little of; in short, it is
plain he cannot write, for he did the same at Vimiera. However, he
is dashing and able, and if a fair game lies before him, he will
not, I hope, be able to cover the fame of his victories by clumsy
relations....

Captain Goldfinch of the Engineers, with a fine little Scotch boy
(a lieutenant), fell with Oporto into the hands of the French, and
made their escape in the late bustle. The respect (they say) which
all French who were at Corunna bear to the memory of Moore, and to
the English in general, is quite gratifying.

They recite a dispute between a French officer and several others,
the former maintaining that the English were victorious, the
others, not.

Our advocate read General Hope’s letter,[28] asking at every
sentence, “N’est-il pas vrai? N’est-il pas bien dit?” etc., etc.,
and when he came to the simile of General Wolfe’s death he made a
very elegant admiration of it.

I was attached to the brigade of General Tilson, who is my
friend, and it was with the Portuguese army. We went to Chaves,
and penetrated into Galicia. I took the place of an officer who
fell ill, otherwise I belong to the brigade of Guards under Harry
Campbell, whom I like greatly.

In addition to my mortification at being out of the way, the first
notification I had of General Paget’s arrival was accompanied by
the news of his having lost a limb, my sorrow for which wholly
defeated any attempt to rejoice at our successes. People who did
not know him talked a vast deal about the manner in which he bore
his sufferings. I say nothing of it, because I know him to be
perfect, and know upon what he leans.... It is a comfort to learn
that the loss is not likely to affect his constitution, as he is
said to recover wonderfully fast.

Devil a bit of nobleness have I about me, my dear Lou. I cannot
bear this infernal war, that has killed Moore and maimed Paget,
disputing about a country that---- But I won’t talk politics. If
Austria, though beaten and overrun, can entertain Buonaparte for a
season, perhaps Wellesley may do something for the Spaniards.

The French fight us very ill, whether from a want of hatred or
courage. If what had happened to Soult had happened to an English
general, he would have been disgraced for ever, for he was
shamefully surprised.

But England, although she has every right to expect worse generals
than France, is much more rigid with them in articles of skill and
judgment; for if she can by any means attribute a disaster to the
error of a general, she is not only savage but sanguinary. And this
makes very good generals and very brave men so vastly afraid of
responsibility, that when they assume command they appear cowardly
and indecisive....

Don’t let there be a shade of melancholy in your letters; it
disquiets me vastly. Why should you be melancholy? God is very good
to us, and we must not pine if we are not always all together as if
in heaven. Therefore write very comically about friends and home....

Eternal blessings crown my darling Lou, and guardian angels hover
over her.

CHARLES.

* * * * *

CORIA, _July 8, 1809_.

It is quite a relief, dearest Lou, to be transferred from the
filthy styes of the Portuguese to the clean houses of the
Spaniards. And as I am shaking off the dust contracted in Portugal,
so I am scraping my tongue of those odious inarticulate sounds
which compose their language, and gargling vinegar that my throat
may be capable of touching with the true Castilian burr the
energetic language of Spain.

Alas! I have lost one of my first comforts, a new blue, patent,
silver-mounted, morocco writing-case; all my letter-paper, pens,
ink, letters, secrets, verses, etc., etc.; also dear Lady N----’s
series of useless boxes--all lost by the rascal Pedro, Bernardo’s
opposite in everything. The devil take it, though I have lost it a
week ago, I cannot recover my temper.

Hitherto I pass my time very pleasantly. I have got a fine young
engineer to take care of, whom I row, all the time that he does not
sleep, about his vanity; not but that I acknowledge myself to be as
vain as he, but that I defy him to have found it out, unless I had
told him of it. He is coming into very fine order.

Poor Harry Campbell has been some time unwell, but I hope he is now
throwing it off.

General Sherbrooke, to whose division I belong, makes it very
pleasant to me. I dine with him mostly, and like him vastly. I
think of him very highly as a general. He thinks of Sir John Moore
just as I do.

To-morrow we go to Plaçentia, which is much larger than this very
pretty town.

Here there is an old castle and walls inhabited by cranes, which
interest me very much, perching on the house-tops and church
steeples, and cowering over the town.

That fellow there, I at first thought was standing upon the stalk
of a weather-cock, but I found by a spy-glass that they were his
own long legs, with his great feet happy upon the stone ball.

The air seems fresher here than in Portugal. Sweet F. E. wrote
me such a dear note in Mamsey’s letter. I wonder how she could
contrive to make it so pleasant and yet so proper. For me, I could
do no such thing. Were I to write to her warm, kind, affectionate
words, my heart would dictate fluently enough, but I am sure they
would not pass the school of decorum.