_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.