_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.