March to Santarem and Abrantes—Scenery and incidents at
Aronches—Junction with some other regiments—Military scene in
a wood—Anticipatory reflections on the fate of some of the
author's comrades—Quarters at Portalagre, Castello de Vida and
Marvao—Bridge of boats across the Tagus—Contiguous
scenery—Horrors of travelling for invalids in the Portuguese cars.
Our animals and baggage having joined us the next day, we took the road
towards Santarem, and about dusk reached the causeway leading up a
steep hill into the town, where the French, previously to their retreat
under Marshal the Prince of Essling[11], had thrown the dead from their
hospitals into the wells,—the idea of which caused such horrible
thoughts, that we could scarcely summon up sufficient resolution to
drink while at that place.
The excessive heat of the following day having somewhat subsided,
towards the cool of the evening we began our march, but, by some
unaccountable accident, took the wrong road for upwards of a league
before the mistake was found out. Retreading our steps, we at length
regained the identical spot from whence we had previously started
nearly three hours before; glancing my eye towards the battlements of
the town, a smile prophetic passed my countenance, that I should not
again behold its turrets. Turning our backs, and pursuing the right
road, we gaily tramped along toward Golegam; and, as the morning
dawned, I was loudly knocking for admittance at the door of a small
house, on the confines of the church-yard, that was strewed with skulls
which had been torn from the sepulchres and graves, in search of gold,
by the French soldiery.
After the usual halt we pursued our march through Punhete to Abrantes,
where two of us were nearly carried away amongst the quicksands, while
bathing in the river Tagus, and only reached the shore by making the
greatest efforts. Various individuals had been drowned at this place by
the current.
Having halted here one whole day, we crossed over the bridge of boats
to the southern province of the Alentejo, and entered Gaviao, where I
was billeted in a very poor house. At night I entered a recess, much
fatigued, and, upon quitting the mattrass in the morning, the bugs had
made such a feast on my right leg from the hip to the very sole of my
foot, so that I could scarcely walk, and was in a most dreadful state
of irritation.
Passing onwards in our march, on the ninth day, we ascended a high hill
on the summit of which stood Aronches, commanding an extensive prospect
over a diversified sandy country, intersected with forests, vineyards,
rocks, and small fields of Indian corn, and encompassed by dilapidated
walls formed of loose stones carelessly heaped one on another without
mortar. The streets of the town were narrow, and almost deserted, with
huge shapeless rocks at every few yards, rearing their heads, and
blocking up the way, whilst a solitary Portuguese was seen striking
an old battered guitar with all his fingers (as on a tambourine) and
hallooing forth some ditty loud enough to be heard in the distant
valleys. The heat of the day was quite overpowering, the firmament was
of heavenly blue, while the sun shone forth in full splendour, forcing
us to retire to some shady spot from its scorching rays, and to take
some repose after the fatigues of the march.
Towards the close of the evening we again stood on the ramparts to
inhale the cool and delicious air. The shades of night had scarcely
hidden the face of the country from our view, when the moon, rising in
all her grandeur, threw a pale light around, and tipped with silver
the battlements of those venerable towers built by the Moors, which
for centuries had endured, and had frowned defiance on the flitting
shadows of many generations, gliding by their grey walls unheeded
and forgotten. As we gazed in sweet contemplation on the surrounding
scenery, all nature seemed hushed, and the universe sunk into slumber,
when suddenly the bell of a monastery close at hand tolled loudly,
and in the gentle breeze, at intervals, we heard the solemn dirge
of a religious procession, which, by degrees, arose on the ear, and
gradually encreasing became louder, and swelled into such an awful
bass strain, as one might conceive to inspire reflection in the firm,
horrors in the nervous, and all the terrors of purgatory in the dying.
The long procession of monks passed us, wrapped in their sombre
drapery, as if they had emerged from the very bowels of the earth. The
scene was impressive. After we had retired, my slumbers were disturbed
by the horrors of the nightmare; and, when the merry rays of the sun
sparkled in at the windows the next morning, I felt as if delivered out
of some dungeon, longed for the camp, and hoped that, should fate cut
short my career, the sun and moon might alternately throw their rays
over my expiring body, rather than that I should die a lingering death,
surrounded by wax tapers and priest-craft, and then buried in satin
and gold, and finally extinguished by a basket of quick lime.
On the 20th of July we descended into the valley, and, at the edge of
a wood, awaited the coming of the division, from an advanced camp on
their way to Castello de Vida. Every eye was on the stretch, and in the
distance we descried a cloud of dust rolling towards us, the bright
sparkling rays of the sun-beams playing on the soldiers' breast plates,
when suddenly the leading regiment of the light division burst forth;
their bronzed countenances and light knapsacks, and their order of
march, all united to inspire a conviction that their early discipline
had not only been maintained amidst privations, battles and camps, but
had become matured by experience. They had traversed mountains, and
forded rivers; the grim and icy hand of death had grasped many in the
unhealthy marshes of the Alentejo, and with sure effect had scattered
balls amidst their ranks without distinction: yet the remainder of
these veterans were still bent onwards, to gather fresh laurels in
the rugged and uncertain paths of fortune. Seven regiments of light
infantry and riflemen defiled before us with their thread-bare jackets,
their brawny necks loosened from their stocks, their wide and patched
trowsers of various colours, and brown-barrelled arms slung over
their shoulders, or carelessly held in their hands, whilst a joyous
buzz ran through the cross-belted ranks, as their soldier-like faces
glanced towards us to greet many of their old comrades now about to
join in their arduous toils after a long separation. A cloud of dust
alone marked their further progress as they receded from our view.
Following in succession, we brought up the rear. At the expiration of
an hour's march, we entered a wood, formed column, called the roll,
and the whole division was then dismissed. The assembled multitude of
voices, the tearing and cutting down of branches of trees, crackling
of fires, rattling of canteens, shooting of bullocks through the
head, and the hurrying of parties of soldiers for rum and biscuit for
rations, the neighing of horses, braying asses and rampant mules, all
resounded throughout the forest, giving new life and merry echoes to
its most intimate recesses. Groups of officers stood in circles; every
countenance seemed decked in smiles, and a hearty welcome greeted us
from all hands.
Under the wide-spreading branches of a venerable cork-tree, decorated
with pack-saddles, accoutrements, and other military trappings, dinner
was served up and laid out on a pair of hampers, which served us
instead of a table. Beef, biscuit, tea, rum, and wine, composed our
fare, it being a usual custom to join breakfast and dinner, so as
to make one meal serve for the twenty-four hours, the troops merely
halting to cook and refresh themselves during the heat of the day.
A more happy meal, I can safely say, I never partook of; and with
infinite admiration did I regard the purple jackets and battered
epaulettes of my companions. Our small keg of wine being emptied, the
word passed to pack up and accoutre; and, in an incredibly short space
of time, the column re-formed. The "assembly" sounded (the signal of
march) threes, from the right of companies, the bands struck up, and at
the end of two hours' march, and towards nightfall, we entered another
wood. The same ceremony gone through as already described, the blankets
were spread out, the earth our bed, knapsacks our pillows, and the
overhanging trees our canopy; the busy hum of life no longer vibrated
through the bivouac, and thousands of soldiers slumbered and reposed
their weary limbs, lying scattered throughout the forest, or around the
dying embers of expiring fires. My companions insisted on stretching
themselves on each side of me, protesting that they ought to do thus,
as a protection against cold for the first two or three nights, since
a very heavy dew fell, so as almost to wet through the blankets,
notwithstanding the great heat of the weather by day. For some time I
was unable to close my eyes, owing to some insects flocking up my legs
in swarms, and creating much irritation.
Let us, for a moment, withdraw the veil of futurity, and make a few
anticipations. On my right tranquilly slumbers a youthful warrior of
sixteen years old, and on my left unconsciously sleeps the other, one
year older. Lieutenant E. Freer is doomed to undergo two more years
of the toils of war, to suffer sickness and privation, and, at the
sanguinary assault of Badajoz, to receive a severe wound in the upper
part of the thigh; and lastly, at the age of nineteen, while in the
Pyrenees, a ball passes through his right arm, and enters his side: he
staggers, utters three words, and falls a lifeless corpse amid those
dreary regions!
Lieutenant J. Considine, at the assault of Badajoz, receives a ball
through his body, and, stretched on the damp sod, enveloped in
darkness, bleeds inwardly. A light is held over his pale face, and
discovers the blood flowing from his mouth. Borne, however, to a place
of security, he recovers. The next year he is tormented by a malignant
fever, and afterwards, on the highest pinnacle of the Pyrenees, a ball
strikes him; his thigh-bone is broken near the hip: he cries for help.
I look down: he lies prostrate between my legs. The balls carry death
and destruction around: we are under the walls storming a fort, and
fighting hand to hand. Four soldiers attempt to carry him off, and,
not being aware of the place of his wound, hoist him up, and turn his
left foot outwards over his shoulder; by which means the thigh-bone is
completely broken asunder. His screams are dreadful, and two of the
soldiers fall dead, pierced with balls. The battle ended, he is carried
to a place of security, where he eventually recovers!—and he now
commands the 53d regiment.
Early the next morning we were again on the road. The martial music
struck up, and continued to play for a short distance: the word
passed to march at ease: conversation then commenced. The soldiers
lighted their pipes; and, before the sun had reached its meridian,
we filed into Portalegre. The streets were marked off, in the first
instance, for different corps; then the houses, again, subdivided
amongst officers and soldiers; the latter portioned off according to
the size of the different dwellings; the butt ends of the soldiers'
firelocks serving as knockers, to rouse the sulky inmates, who would
fain plead ignorance of the arrival of so many guests. It was by no
means an uncommon occurrence for owners of houses to try all kinds of
expedients, by absence, paltry excuses, or otherwise, to drive away
the tired officers in disgust, who presented billets of lodgement.
One day, an officer on the staff had patiently waited some time at
a door without being able to gain admittance, until at length the
_patron_ walked up from the street and feigned civility, making a
low bow, and saying to the officer, "_Senhor_, I have no key;" when
the officer returned his salute, coolly lifted up his long leg, and
applied it to the door with such force that it flew open at the first
blow—then turning to the astonished Portuguese, said "_Senhor, tiengo
bon chave_"[12], and at a slow march and with clanking sabre, took
possession of the house. From that day he was known by the appellation
of _Bon chave_ throughout the army.
Another division entered the town the same day. The army was composed
of eight divisions of infantry, besides cavalry and artillery; the
former force was known throughout the army by the following familiar
appellations: "the gentlemen's sons," "the surprisers," "the fighting
division," "the supporters," "the invisibles," "the never heard of,"
"the all-sorts," and "the division:" but, before the end of this most
sanguinary war, they all fought again and again, covering themselves
with fame and lasting glory.
The following day we proceeded to Castello de Vida, an ancient
fortified place within a league of Marvao. The first brigade entered
the town, and the second bivouacked in a grove without its walls. The
adjacent country presented a wild appearance; but more particularly the
latter town, which was perched on a rugged and stupendous mountain,
inaccessible on every side, save only one approach, and even that
impracticable for carriages, the road winding under the overhanging
shelving of rocks, others of which reared their rugged points in the
very middle of this (hardly to be so termed) pathway. A party of
us with difficulty ascended to this strange place, at a season of
the year when every particle of vegetation is parched and dried up.
The adjacent grey precipices presented a frightful wilderness,—the
hiding-place of innumerable wolves. The mind of the beholder on
surveying such a prospect became perplexed how so barren a spot, even
at the remotest period of antiquity, should have been fixed on for
any human habitation, far more for a fortification. Some cannon of
ancient construction were still on the ramparts, but few mounted,
and even the carriages of those mouldering to decay. Here and there
a few miserable Portuguese were observed basking in a sunny corner,
grouped and huddled together, and consisting of young and old women
with dark countenances, and still darker tresses, enveloped in shabby
blue cloth cloaks, and extracting _piochos_ from each other's heads;
that occupation being the greatest source of delight and amusement
amongst them. Their general food consisted of roasted chesnuts, washed
down with cold spring water—which caused their teeth to decay at a
very early age; and when they could procure a little dried fish, or
_sardines_, with black sour bread, they would consider it a point
of luxury. The extreme heat of the weather, and the exertions that
we had used to reach this spot, created excessive thirst; looking
round, therefore, in search of a house of entertainment, we espied a
leafless branch of a tree suspended over a doorway, which bespoke the
object of our search. On our entering and demanding wine, the corner
of a pig-skin was untied, out of which spouted the wine into a filthy
measure. It was strongly impregnated with the taste of the skin, about
milk warm, and exceedingly thick, owing to its having been recently
removed from a mule's back. These animals are usually loaded with
two dried pig-skins, sewed up and slung across a pack saddle for the
conveyance of wine from one place to the other—the muleteer being
astride in the middle, and, above all, singing a wild air, and beating
time with his heels against the bags.
Quitting this isolated place, and returning to our quarters, we
remained there two or three days, and then resumed our march towards
the northern frontier. The first night we halted in a wood near
Niza. The next morning, an hour before day light, we started; and,
while passing over the summit of a high hill, as the morning dawned,
we observed a thick mist overspreading an extensive valley. As the
sun rose, its refulgent light pierced through the white fog, which
resembled a beautiful floating sea, out of which peeped forth the
tops of hills covered with investing shrubs. As the rolling mist
passed away, so these apparent islands enlarged, until nothing of this
enchanting illusion remained, except a bare country covered with _gum
cistus_, (a small tree,) producing a most sickly smell, and the more
particularly to those with empty stomachs. After a fatiguing weary
march, half suffocated by heat, added to which our eyes, nose, and
mouth, were filled with sand, we descended the pass of Villa Velha,
where we observed a number of vultures perched on the pinnacles
of inaccessible rocks, as if watching our motions, or waiting in
anticipation of more devoted victims.
Crossing the Tagus by the bridge of boats, we bivouacked under the
agreeable shade of an olive grove. The surrounding scenery presented
every where a beautiful, romantic, and grand spectacle; the river
foamed over the rocks that had fallen into its dark stream from the
overhanging crags. The narrow road running at the base of the adjacent
mountains was filled with loose stones; woe, therefore, to the
sore-footed soldier who happened to stumble amongst them! Woe to the
sick or wounded to whose lot it fell to be placed in those Portuguese
cars, rudely constructed, with small solid wooden wheels, revolving on
an unoiled axletree, and causing an indescribable creeking noise to be
heard at a very considerable distance; sounds so horrible, that the
bigotted peasantry declare they frighten away the evil spirit of Old
Nick himself!
The jolting of these vehicles frequently tore off the plasters, and
ripped open anew the wounds of the suffering soldiers; nor was it
at all unusual to behold the sick, wounded, and dying, with pallid
countenances expressive of unheard-of agonies, while these engines of
torture, drawn by a pair of bullocks, with their heads thrust under a
shapeless piece of wood, (for the purpose of yoking them together,)
rolled on their heavy way. The conductor guided them with a long pole,
with a piece of pointed iron at the end of it, which he poked into the
beasts' necks, and directed them by such sort of "sharp practice."
[Footnote 11: Massena.]
[Footnote 12: A jargon mixture of the Portuguese, Spanish, and
French languages was frequently resorted to in our anxiety to make
ourselves understood by the natives, and when one word failed another
was substituted. An officer who had just entered the country was
most anxious to procure an egg, and having failed to make himself
understood, as a last resource, he cut a piece of _pipe-clay_ into the
shape of an egg, and was instantly supplied.]