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ADVENTURES WITH THE CONNAUGHT
RANGERS
[Illustration]
ADVENTURES WITH THE
CONNAUGHT RANGERS
1809–1814
BY
WILLIAM GRATTAN, ESQ.
LATE LIEUTENANT CONNAUGHT RANGERS
EDITED BY
CHARLES OMAN
FELLOW OF ALL SOULS' COLLEGE AND DEPUTY PROFESSOR OF MODERN HISTORY IN
THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
NEW EDITION, ILLUSTRATED
WITH A PREFACE, NOTES, AND MAPS
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
1902
_All rights reserved_
PREFACE
While engaged during the last ten years in the task of mastering the
original authorities of the history of the Napoleonic wars, I have had
to peruse many scores of diaries, autobiographies, and reminiscences of
the British military and naval officers who were engaged in the great
struggle. They vary, of course, in interest and importance, in literary
value, and in the power of vivid presentation of events. But they have
this in common, that they are almost all very difficult to procure. Very
few of them have been reprinted; indeed, I believe that the books of
Lord Dundonald, Sir John Kincaid, Gleig, John Shipp, and Colonel Mercer
are wellnigh the only ones which have passed through a second edition.
Yet there are many others which contain matter of the highest interest,
not only for the historical student but for every intelligent reader.
From these I have made a selection of ten or a dozen which seem to me
well worth republishing.
Among these is the present volume—the reminiscences of a subaltern of
the Connaught Rangers, the old 88th. William Grattan was one of the
well-known Dublin family of that name—a first-cousin of Thomas Colley
Grattan the novelist, and a distant kinsman of Henry Grattan the
statesman; he joined the regiment as ensign on July 6, 1809. He went out
to the 1st Battalion, and reached it on the Caya late in 1809; he served
with it till the spring of 1813, when he went home on leave, having
obtained his lieutenancy on April 12, 1812. Thus he was for more than
four years continuously with the colours, and saw Busaco, Fuentes
d’Oñoro, El Bodon, the storms of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, Salamanca,
and the disastrous retreat from Burgos. He was only off duty for a few
weeks in 1812, in consequence of a wound received at Badajoz. In the
ranks of the 3rd Division—the “Fighting Division” as he is proud to call
it—he saw a greater portion of the war than most of his contemporaries,
though he missed Vittoria and the invasion of France which followed.
Grattan as an author had two great merits. He had a very considerable
talent for describing battles--indeed some of his chapters would not
have disgraced the pen of William Napier. Of the many memoirs which I
have read, I think that his is on the whole the most graphic and
picturesque in giving the details of actual conflict. His accounts of
Fuentes D’Oñoro, Salamanca, and above all of the storm and sack of
Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, are admirable. The reader will find in them
precisely the touches that make the picture live. His second virtue is a
lively sense of humour. The Connaught Rangers were the most Irish of all
Irish regiments, and the “boys that took the world _aisy_,” as Grattan
calls them, were as strange a set to manage as ever tried an officer’s
temper. “I cannot bring myself to think them, as many did, a parcel of
devils,” writes Grattan; “neither will I by any manner of means try to
pass them off for so many saints” (pp. 128–129); but whether good or
bad, they were always amusing. For the exploits of Ody Brophy and Dan
Carsons, of Darby Rooney and Barney Mackguekin, I must refer the reader
to the book itself. Their doings, as recorded by the much-tried
commander of their company, explain clearly enough Sir Thomas Picton’s
addiction to drum-head court-martials, and Lord Wellington’s occasional
bursts of plain and drastic language.[1] But no one with any sense of
the ludicrous can profess any very lasting feeling of indignation
against these merry if unscrupulous rascals.
-----
Footnote 1:
See, for example, his remarks on the 88th to Sir James M’Grigor, on
page 259 of the latter’s autobiography.
-----
It is clearly from the domestic annals of the 88th that Charles Lever
drew the greater part of the good stories which made the fortune of
_Charles O’Malley_. The reader will find many of the characters of that
excellent romance appearing as actual historical personages in Grattan,
notably the eccentric surgeon Maurice Quill, whose fame was so great
throughout the British army that the novelist did not even take the
trouble to change his name. His colleague Dr. O’Reily was almost as
great an original. Many of the humours of Mickey Free seem to be drawn
directly from the doings of Grattan’s servant Dan Carsons. Comparing the
“real thing” with the work of fiction, one is driven to conclude that
much of what was regarded as rollicking invention on Lever’s part, was
only a photographic reproduction of anecdotes that he had heard from old
soldiers of the Connaught Rangers.
Military diaries are often disappointing from one of two causes. Either
the author slips into second-hand and second-rate narratives of parts of
the campaign which he did not himself witness—things which he had better
have left to the professed historian—or he fails to give us those small
traits of the daily life of the regiment which are needed to make us
realise the actualities of war. Grattan sometimes falls into the
first-named fault, but never into the latter. He seems to have had an
instinctive knowledge of what future generations would want to know
concerning the old Peninsular army—its trials in the matter of pay,
food, and clothing, its shifts and devices, its views of life and death.
If any one wishes to know why Sir Thomas Picton was unpopular, or what
the private and the subaltern thought about Lord Wellington, they will
find what they seek in these pages. Nowhere else have I seen the
psychology of the stormers of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz dealt with in
such a convincing fashion; let the reader note in particular pages 144–5
and 193–4.
I have to confess that in various parts of this reprint I have used the
Editor’s license to delete a certain amount of the author’s original
manuscript. Grattan had two besetting sins considered as a literary man.
The first was one to which I have already made allusion. Not
unfrequently he quitted his autobiographical narrative, and inserted
long paragraphs concerning parts of the war of which he had no personal
knowledge, _e.g._ about the movements of Hill’s corps in Estremadura, or
of the Spaniards in remote corners of the Peninsula. These, as is
natural, are often full of inaccuracies: sometimes (and this is a worse
fault) they turn out to be taken almost _verbatim_ from formal
histories, such as those of Colonel Jones and Lord Londonderry. In one
place I found thirty lines which were practically identical with a
passage in Napier. In all cases these relate to parts of the war which
did not come under Grattan’s own eyes: I have therefore ventured to omit
them.
Grattan’s other weakness was a tendency to fly off at a tangent in the
middle of a piece of interesting narrative, in order to controvert the
statements of writers with whom he disagreed. He had one special
foe—Robinson, the biographer of Sir Thomas Picton, on whom he wasted
many an objurgatory paragraph. These small controversial points, on
which he turns aside, break the thread of his discourse in the most
hopeless fashion, and are now of little interest. I have often, though
not always, thought it well to leave out such divagations. At the end of
the work, in a similar fashion, a long criticism on a certain speech of
the Duke of Wellington in the House of Lords has been omitted. It deals
with the story of the long-delayed issue of the war-medal for the
Peninsula. The whole point of Grattan’s remarks (caustic but well
justified in most respects) was removed when the medal was at last
actually distributed, a few months after he had made his complaint.
The present volume stops short at the end of the Peninsular war.
Grattan’s pen travelled farther. Encouraged by the success of his first
book, he issued two supplementary volumes: these are of very inferior
interest, being mainly concerned with the doings of the 88th in their
early campaigns, before the author had joined them. There is much about
Buenos Ayres, the Low Countries, and Talavera. The rest is composed of
amusing but very rambling reminiscences of garrison life in Canada in
1814, and in France in 1815–1816, and of character sketches of some of
Grattan’s contemporaries, such as the unfortunate Simon Fairfield,
concerning whom the reader will find certain information on pages 130–1
and 324 of this reprint. The whole of these two volumes consists of mere
_disjecta membra_, much inferior in interest to the first two which the
author had produced.
Grattan’s military service, which had begun in 1808, ended in 1817, in
consequence of the enormous reductions in the effective of the army
which were carried out after the evacuation of France began. His name
last appears among combatant officers in the army list for March 1817,
the month in which the 88th was reduced from two battalions to one, and
many of its officers placed upon half pay. But he lived for thirty years
longer, frequently descending into print in the _United Service
Journal_, to controvert those who seemed to him to undervalue the
services of the 88th or the old 3rd Division. In 1836 we find him
residing at New Abbey, Kilcullen, and issuing a _Vindication of the
Connaught Rangers_, which seemed so convincing to the officers of his
old regiment, that they presented him with a present of plate to the
value of 200 guineas “as a mark of their personal esteem and regard, and
also in token of their warm admiration of his triumphant vindication of
his gallant regiment from the attacks of the biographer [Robinson] of
the late Sir Thomas Picton.” In 1847 he published the two volumes from
which the present reprint is taken. In the following year he received
his long-deserved Peninsular Medal. His last appearance in print was the
publication of the two supplementary volumes of _Anecdotes and
Reminiscences_, mentioned above, in the spring of 1853.
C. OMAN.
OXFORD, _November 1902_.
THE OFFICERS OF THE 88TH
1809–14
Grattan’s Memoirs cannot be fully understood without a list of the
comrades whom he is perpetually mentioning in the narrative. I therefore
append the names of the officers of the 88th from the Army List of
1809–10. I have added to each of those who were killed or wounded during
the war a note specifying the casualty. No less than 49 of the 103 names
bear this addition!
_Colonel_
William Carr Beresford, Major-General, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
_Lieutenant-Colonels_
Alexander Wallace. John Taylor.
_Majors_
Richard Vandeleur, died at Campo Mayor, 5.11.09.
Daniel Colquhun.
John Silver, killed at Busaco, 27.9.10.
R. Barclay M‘Pherson.
_Captains_
Robert B. M‘Gregor.
Campbell Callendar.
John Dunne.
William C. Seton.
Barnaby Murphy, wounded at Badajoz, killed at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
Charles John Peshall, wounded at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
James P. Oates, wounded at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
William Adair M‘Dougall.
William Hogan, killed at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
Charles Tryon.
John Groffer.
Christopher Irwine, killed at Fuentes d'Oñoro, 5.5.11.
Joseph Thomson, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
Richard R. Browne, wounded at Busaco, died at Pinhel, 1810.
Peter Lindsay, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
H.G. Buller.
Walter W. Adair, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
Robert N. Nickle, wounded at Toulouse, 10.5.14.
Henry M‘Dermott, wounded at Vittoria, 21.6.13; killed at Orthez,
27.2.14.
George Henry Dansey, wounded at Busaco, 27.9.10.
J. Macdonald.
Robert Christie.
_Lieutenants_
Duncan Robertson, Adj.
George Bury.
John Bower Lewis.
Richard Bunworth.
William Flack, wounded at Ciudad Rodrigo, 19.1.12.
William Mackie.
James Flood, wounded at Vittoria, 21.6.13.
Richard Fitzpatrick, wounded at Vittoria 21.6.13; wounded at Orthez,
27.2.14.
Nathan Gregg.
Henry Johnson, killed at Busaco, 27.9.10.
John Smith, died at Salamanca, 1812.
Thomas North, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
John D. Hopwood.
Alexander Graham.
John Armstrong, wounded at Rodrigo, 19.1.12; wounded at Badajoz,
6.4.12.
John Stewart, wounded at Fuentes, wounded at Badajoz.
Robert Hackett, wounded at Fuentes, 5.5.11; died on return voyage.
George F. Faris.
Bartholomew Mahon.
Timothy Richard James.
William Nickle, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
Isaac Walker.
John Davern, wounded at Badajoz; wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
David Weir.
Ralph Mansfield, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
Pat. Heron Cockburn.
Leigh Heppenstal, killed at Foz d'Aronce, 15.3.11.
Edward Cotton, killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
Frederick Meade, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
Hercules Ellis.
Samuel M‘Alpine, wounded at Fuentes, 5.5.11; killed at Badajoz, 6.4.12.
George Johnson, wounded at Rodrigo, 19.1.12.
William Hodder.
William Whitelaw, wounded at Busaco, 27.9.10; killed at Badajoz,
6.4.12.
Peter Pegus.
Thomas J. Lloyd.
Jason Hassard.
Geoffrey K. Power.
_Ensigns_
Christian Hilliard.
John Graham.
Maurice O‘Connor.
Thomas Leonard, killed at Busaco, 27.9.10.
William Rutherford.
Simon Fairfield.
Parr Kingsmill, wounded at Salamanca, 22.7.12.
William Kingsmill, wounded at Rodrigo, 19.1.12.
Maurice Mahon.
William Devereux Jackson.
Joseph Owgan, wounded at Fuentes, 5.5.11.
John Fairfield.
William Grattan, wounded at Badajoz, 6.4.12; wounded at Salamanca,
22.7.12.
John Christian.
John M‘Gregor, died on landing at Portsmouth, invalided 1812.
George Hill.
The following additional officers joined the regiment, either as ensigns
or by exchange as lieutenants and captains from other corps, between
1810 and 1814.
T. Moriarty, killed at Orthez, 27.2.14.
John D‘Arcy.
L. Beresford, killed at Ciudad Rodrigo, 19.1.12.
Walter C. Poole, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
T. Rutledge, died at Lisan, 12.9.13.
Richard Holland, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
James Mitchell, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
Charles G. Stewart, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
D. M‘Intosh, wounded at Orthez, 27.2.14.
—— Gardiner.
Thomas Taylor.
Charles Crawford Peshall.
Samuel Fisher.
Oliver Mills.
Barnard Reynolds, killed at Orthez, 27.2.14.
John Atkin.
Albert W. Sanders, killed at Vittoria, 21.6.13.
James M‘Clintock.
George Bunbury.
William Smith.
James Wright.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
The Author leaves the depot at Chelmsford, and proceeds to Page 1
join his regiment in Portugal—The _Samaritan_—Arrival at
Lisbon—Measures adopted by General Junot—A night’s
rest—Portuguese barbers—Priest Fernando and Major
Murphy—March to Aldea Gallega—First sight of the Connaught
Rangers
CHAPTER II
Headquarters of the 88th Regiment—Its losses from Page 12
sickness—Unhealthy state of the country—The British army
leaves the Alemtejo—General Picton takes the command of
the 3rd Division—Remarks on the general’s conduct—His
apology to Colonel Wallace—The Connaught boy and the goat
CHAPTER III
Masséna’s invasion of Portugal—Fall of Ciudad Rodrigo and Page 23
Almeida—Craufurd’s fight on the Coa—Anecdote of Colonel
Charles Napier—The British retire to the position of
Busaco
CHAPTER IV
Battle of Busaco—Daring advance of the French—The Page 30
achievements of the 88th—Adventure of Captain
Seton—Alcobaça—Remarks on the battle
CHAPTER V
Occupation of the Lines of Torres Vedras—An army in Page 47
motley—An Irish interpreter—Death of the Marquis de la
Romana—Retreat of Masséna’s army from Portugal—Indulgence
of Lord Wellington—The amenities of a subaltern’s
existence
CHAPTER VI
Excesses and sufferings of the French during their Page 56
retreat—Combats of Foz d'Aronce and Sabugal—Battle of
Fuentes d'Oñoro—Sir E. Pakenham, Colonel Wallace, and the
88th Regiment
CHAPTER VII
State of the town of Fuentes d'Oñoro after the battle—The Page 70
wounded—Visit to an amputating hospital—General Brennier’s
escape from Almeida—Booty in the camp
CHAPTER VIII
Guerilla warfare; its true character—The 3rd Division Page 81
marches for the Alemtejo—Frenchmen and Irishmen on a
march—English regiments—Colonel Wallace—Severe
drilling—Maurice Quill and Dr. O‘Reily—Taking a rise
CHAPTER IX
Second siege of Badajoz—A _reconnoissance_—Death of Captain Page 91
Patten—Attacks on Fort San Christoval—Their failure—Causes
of their failure—Gallant conduct of Ensign Dyas, 51st
Regiment—His promotion by the Duke of York
CHAPTER X
We withdraw from Badajoz—Dislike of the British soldier for Page 103
siege-work—Affair of El Bodon—Gallant conduct of the 5th
and 77th Regiments—Narrow escape of the 88th from being
made prisoners—Picton’s conduct on the retreat to Guinaldo
CHAPTER XI
Retreat of the French army—Vultures on the field of Page 118
battle—The Light Division and private theatricals—Major
Leckie and the musician—Privations—The Connaught Rangers
and the sheep—Deficient kits—Darby Rooney and General
Mackinnon
CHAPTER XII
Officers and sergeants—Fairfield and his bad Page 128
habit—Regimental mechanism—Impolitic familiarity—3rd
Division at the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo—Lieutenant D‘Arcy
and Ody Brophy—The Irish pilot
CHAPTER XIII
Spanish village accommodation—The siege of Ciudad Page 139
Rodrigo—Picton’s address to the Connaught Rangers in front
of the breach—Lieutenant William Mackie and the forlorn
hope
CHAPTER XIV
Storm of Ciudad Rodrigo—Gallant conduct of three soldiers of Page 149
the 88th—Desperate struggle and capture of a gun—Combat
between Lieutenant Faris and the French grenadier—A
Connaught Ranger transformed into a sweep—Anecdote of
Captain Robert Hardyman of the 45th—Death of General
Mackinnon—Plunder of Ciudad Rodrigo—Excesses of the
soldiers
CHAPTER XV
Results of the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo—The town Page 167
revisited—Capture of deserters—Sale of the plunder—Army
rests in cantonments—An execution of deserters—A pardon
that came too late
CHAPTER XVI
Preparations against Badajoz—Description of this Page 175
fortress—Its investment—Line of circumvallation formed in
the night—Sortie of the garrison repulsed—Destructive fire
of the besieged—Dreadful explosion from a
shell—Indifference—Deaths of Captain Mulcaster and Major
Thompson
CHAPTER XVII
State of the enemy’s fort La Picurina from our fire—Attempt Page 187
to storm it—Desperate defence of the garrison—It is
carried by assault—Preparations for the grand
attack—Frightful difficulties of the enterprise—The attack
and defence—Slaughter of the besiegers—Badajoz taken
CHAPTER XVIII
The sacking of Badajoz—Neglect of the wounded—Spaniards and Page 207
their plunderers—Disgraceful occurrences—Calamities of
war—The author’s wound and uncomfortable couch—Extent of
plunder—An auction in the field—Neglect of the 88th by
General Picton
CHAPTER XIX
Departure from Badajoz—The wounded left to the protection of Page 218
Spanish soldiers—Subsequently removed to Elvas—The author
leaves Elvas to join the army—Spaniards and
Portuguese—Rodrigo revisited—A Spanish ball—Movements of
Marshal Marmont—Fall of the forts of Salamanca—Amicable
enemies
CHAPTER XX
State of the opposing armies previous to the battle of Page 232
Salamanca—Preliminary movements—The Duke of Ragusa's false
movement—Pakenham engaged with the enemy’s left—Defeats
the division under General Thomières—Reinforced, they
again advance to the attack—Their destruction by a brigade
of British cavalry—The Portuguese repulsed—Desperate
exertions of the French—Final charge of Clinton’s
division—Complete defeat of the French army
CHAPTER XXI
Importance of the battle of Salamanca—Anecdotes of the Page 255
88th—Gallantry of Captain Robert Nickle—Pursuit of the
defeated army of Marshal Marmont—French infantry in square
broken and destroyed by cavalry—March on Madrid—Frolics at
St. Ildefonso—Sudden attack of the French
Lancers—Disgraceful conduct of the Portuguese Dragoons
CHAPTER XXII
The British army approach Madrid—Enthusiastic Page 267
welcome—Preparations to carry by assault the fortress of
La China—It surrenders—Description of Madrid—The Puerto
del Sol—The Prado—Unsociability of English
officers—Seizure of a Spanish priest—Proved to be a spy in
the service of the enemy—His execution by the garrotte
CHAPTER XXIII
Arrests at Madrid—Advantages of speaking French—Seizure of Page 282
Don Saturio de Padilla by the police—The author effects
his liberation—A bull day at Madrid—Private
theatricals—French and English soldiers—Blowing up the
Retiro—Retreat from Madrid—A pig hunt
CHAPTER XXIV
Sufferings of the army on the retreat—Jokes of the Connaught Page 302
Rangers—Letter of Lord Wellington—The junior
officers—Costume of the author during the retreat—An
unusual enjoyment
CHAPTER XXV
End of the Burgos retreat—Cantonments in Portugal—Rest at Page 314
last—Shocking effects of excess in eating—The
neighbourhood of Moimento de Beira—Wolves—The author
employed to cater for his regiment on St. Patrick’s day—Is
attacked by wolves on his return—Measure for measure
CHAPTER XXVI
Ordered home—Priests carousing—San Carlos gambling-house at Page 322
Lisbon—Cocking the card—The author quits the
Peninsula—Adventures on the road—The author’s return to
Ireland
CHAPTER XXVII
Breaking up of the British Peninsular army at the abdication Page 330
of Napoleon—Separation of the soldiers' wives—The
elopement—Sad story of Thorp, the Drum-Major—Conclusion
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE 88TH FOOT (CONNAUGHT RANGERS) _Frontispiece_
MAP OF SPAIN AND PORTUGAL _To face page_ 1
LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR T. PICTON, G.C.B. ” ” 14
PLAN OF SIEGE OF CIUDAD RODRIGO ” ” 142
PLAN OF SIEGE OF BADAJOZ ” ” 178
SERGEANT AND PRIVATE IN WINTER MARCHING ORDER, 1813 ” ” 308
[Illustration: MAP OF SPAIN AND PORTUGAL.]
ADVENTURES
WITH THE
CONNAUGHT RANGERS
1809–1814
CHAPTER I
The Author leaves the depot at Chelmsford, and proceeds to join his
regiment in Portugal—The _Samaritan_—Arrival at Lisbon—Measures
adopted by General Junot—A night’s rest—Portuguese barbers—Priest
Fernando and Major Murphy—March to Aldea Gallega—First sight of the
Connaught Rangers.
On the 10th day of October 1809 I left the depot at Chelmsford, and
proceeded to Portsmouth for the purpose of joining the first battalion
of my regiment (the 88th) in Portugal.
The newspapers announced that a fleet of transport vessels would sail in
a few days from Portsmouth for Lisbon, and although I belonged to the
second battalion, at that period stationed at Gibraltar, I waived all
ceremony, and without asking or obtaining leave from the general in
command at Chelmsford (General Colburn), I took the first coach for
London, where I arrived that evening, and the next day reached
Portsmouth.
I waited upon Colonel Barlow, who commanded at Hilsea, and from him
received an order to be admitted on board a transport ship named the
_Samaritan_. No questions were asked as to my qualification for this
request, as it was much easier in those days to get out to Portugal than
return from it. I then requested of the Colonel that he would give me an
order for “embarkation money,” which I told him I understood was allowed
to officers on going to Portugal. He laughed at the demand, and treated
me with so little courtesy that I was glad to be rid of him.
I have said the name of the ship in which I was to make my first voyage
was the _Samaritan_. So it was. But it most certainly could not be
fairly called the _Good Samaritan_, for a more crazy old demirep of a
ship never floated on the water. She was one of those vessels sent out,
with many others at this period, to be ready to convey our army to
England in the event of any disaster occurring to it. On board of her
were ten or a dozen officers, who, like myself, had seen little of the
world. We had no soldiers on board, and an inadequate ship’s crew; but
those deficiencies were amply made up for by the abundance of rats which
infested the vessel, and which not only devoured a great portion of our
small supply of provisions, but nearly ourselves into the bargain. One
officer, ill from sea-sickness, was well-nigh losing half of his nose,
and another had the best part of his great toe eaten away. Providence,
however, at length decreed that we should soon be rid of these torments,
and on the 29th day of October the Rock of Lisbon presented itself to
our view.
It is difficult to convey to the eye, much less to the imagination of
those who have not seen it, a more imposing or beautiful sight than
Lisbon presents when seen from the deck of a vessel entering the Tagus;
its northern bank, upon which the city stands, sweeping with a gentle
curve along the extent of the city, shows to great advantage the vast
pile of buildings, including palaces, convents, and private dwellings,
standing like a huge amphitheatre before the view of the spectator; the
splendid gardens and orange groves, the former abounding with every
species of botanical plant, while the latter, furnishing the eye with a
moving mass of gold, presents a _coup d'œil_ which may be felt or
conceived, but which cannot be described.
Our vessel had scarcely reached the river when a pilot boat came
alongside of us, and for the first time I had an opportunity of looking
at the natives of Portugal. I confess I was inexpressibly disgusted; the
squalid appearance of those half-amphibious animals, their complexion,
their famished looks, and their voracious entreaties for salt pork, gave
me but a so-so opinion of the patriots I had heard of and read of with
so much delight and enthusiasm. Their bare throats, not even with muscle
to recommend them, their dark eyes portraying more of the assassin than
the patriot, and their teeth, white no doubt in comparison with their
dark hides, was sufficient to stamp them in my eyes as the most
ill-looking set of cut-throats I had ever beheld. Their costume, too, is
anything but striking, except strikingly ugly. Short _demi_ petticoat
trousers of white linen, a red sash, and their arms and legs naked, give
them the appearance of a race of bad bred North American Indians.
On landing at Lisbon, your foot once upon _terra firma_—
The cloud-cap’d towers,
The gorgeous palaces—
and the fine gardens all vanish, not into _thin_ air, but into the most
infernal pestiferous atmosphere that ever unfortunate traveller was
compelled to inhale. Here is a hideous change from what the first view
led you to expect. It is, indeed, “love at first sight.”
You are scarcely established in the first street, when you behold a
group of wretches occupied in picking vermin from each other; while,
sitting beside them, cross-legged, holding a distaff and spindle in her
left hand, and fanning her _fogareioro_ with her right, is a woman who
sells chestnuts to any one whose stomach is strong enough to commence
the process of mastication in so filthy a neighbourhood.
The appearance of everything in Lisbon is so novel to an Englishman,
that he is at a loss what most to fix his attention upon. But the number
of beggars and the packs of half-famished dogs which infest the streets
are in themselves sufficient to afford food for the mind, if not for
either the beggars or the dogs. The latter crowd the streets after
nightfall and voraciously devour the filth which is indiscriminately
thrown from the different windows, and it is a dangerous service to
encounter a pack of those famished creatures.
In every country there are customs known,
Which they preserve exclusively their own;
The Portuguese, by some odd whim infected,
Have Cloacina’s temple quite rejected.
The French general, Junot, whatever his other faults might be, did a
good thing in ridding Lisbon of this nuisance. On the fourth day after
his arrival he ordered all dogs found in the streets after nightfall to
be shot; and the proprietor of every door before which was found any
dirt, after a certain hour in the morning, he caused to pay a fine
according to the quantity found in front of his premises. But Junot had
been too long driven from Lisbon to have his orders respected at the
period I write of, and we were in consequence subjected to the annoyance
of being poisoned by the accumulated filth, or to the danger of being
devoured by the herds of dogs who seemed to consider these windfalls as
their particular perquisite.
The beggars, offensive as they were, were less so than the dogs, because
in Portugal, as in most countries professing the Roman Catholic
religion, the giving of alms is considered an imperative duty; and
according to their means, all persons supply the wants of the poor. From
the gates of the convents, and from the kitchens of the higher classes,
food is daily distributed to a vast number of mendicants, and those
persons actually conceive they have a right to such donations; long
habit has in fact sanctioned this right, and secure of the means to
support their existence, they flock daily to their respective stations,
awaiting the summons which calls them to the portal to receive the
pittance intended for them. Thus it is that strangers suffer less
inconvenience from this description of persons than they otherwise
would, for the laziness of these wretches is so great, that although
they will not hesitate to beg alms from a passing stranger, they will
barely move from their recumbent posture to receive it, much less offer
thanks for it.
Satisfied with my first evening’s excursion, I returned to the hotel
where we had bespoken our dinner and beds. The former was excellent;
good fish, for which Lisbon is proverbial, _ragoûts_, and game, all well
served up, gave us a _goût_ for our wine. We discussed the merits of
divers bottles, and it was late ere we retired to our chamber,—I was
going to say place of rest—but never was word more misplaced, had I made
use of it. Since the hour of my recollection, up to the moment that I
write these lines, I never passed such a night. From the time I lay
down, in hopes of rest, until the dawning of morning, I never, for five
minutes at a time, closed my eyes. Bugs and fleas attacked me with a
relentless fury, and when I arose in the fair daylight, to consult my
looking-glass, I had scarcely a feature recognisable. I was not,
however, singular, for all my companions had shared the same fate. But
it was absolutely necessary, before we attempted to perambulate the
streets, that something should be done to render our appearance less
horrible. We accordingly summoned the landlord with the view of
ascertaining the name of some medical person who could administer to our
wants; but he laughed at the idea of calling in surgical aid for so
trifling a matter, which he said, and I believe him, was an everyday
occurrence at his hotel. He recommended to us a man, as he was pleased
to say, “well skilled in such cases,” and one who had made a comfortable
competency by his close residence to the hotel we occupied. The person
who could have doubted the latter part of our host’s harangue must have
indeed been casuistical, because the number of patients which, to our
own ears, not our sight, for sight we had none, fell to him in one
night, was a sufficient guarantee that his yearly practice must be
something out of the common.
The person thus described, and almost as soon introduced, was no other
than the far-famed Jozé Almeida Alcantaro de Castreballos, half-brother
to the celebrated Louiranna well known in Lisbon. A man, who as he
himself jocosely said, had taken many a British officer by the nose. He
was, in fact, neither more nor less than a common barber, who gained a
livelihood by shaving, bleeding, and physicking his customers.
The Portuguese barbers are like those of other countries, great
retailers of scandal, and amply stocked with a fund of amusing
conversation. They know everything, or seem to know everything, which,
to nine-tenths of those they meet, is the same thing! This fellow told
us all the news of the day, and added to it a thousand inventions, which
his own fertile imagination supplied. He described the retreat of
Wellington from Talavera as one caused by the want of the Portuguese
army to co-operate with him: and if his account was to be given credit
to, the whole world put together did not contain such an army as that of
Portugal. He said that General Peacock, who commanded in Lisbon,
invented stories every day, and that no intelligence from the army ought
to be considered sterling, except what emanated from his (the barber’s)
shop. But then, said he, shrugging up his shoulders, and in broken
English. “It is not one very uncommon ting, to see one Peacock spreading
a tail!” He laughed at his pun, and so did we; but I have since heard
that the merit of it did not belong to him.
“But, gentlemen,” resumed the barber, “I come here as a professional
man, not as a wit, though for that matter I am as much one as the
other—but to the point, gentlemen! you seem to have suffered, and I am
the man, able, ready, and willing to serve you. Look here,” said he,
holding up a white jar, having a superscription on the outside to the
following effect: “_bixas boas_” (good leeches): “I am none of your
quacks, that come _unprepared_! I do not want to write a prescription
that will cost my customers a mint of money! Well did I know what you
stood in need of when you sent for your humble servant. Within the last
ten days, that is to say, since the arrival of the fleet of transports
from Portsmouth, I have given employment to one thousand leeches in this
very house. This hotel has made my fortune, and now, with the blessing
of God and the Virgin Mary, I’ll add to the number, already made use of,
one hundred more, on the faces of those to whom I have the honour of
addressing myself.”
There was so much truth and sound sense in what the barber said, that we
all submitted to the operation of leeching, which was of material
service to us. Old Wright of the 28th, already, from a wound, blind of
one eye, now began to peep a little with the other, and it was amusing
enough to those who could see it, to witness the coquetting between him
and the barber. Indeed it would be difficult to say which of them was
most pleased—he who received his sight, or he who was the means of
restoring it. Quantities of cloths, steeped in warm water, were applied
to our faces, and the crimson hue with which every basin was tinctured
showed but too plainly that the “_bixas boas_” of the barber Jozé, were
of the right sort. We kept our rooms the entire day, ate a moderate and
light dinner, and at an early hour retired to our chambers, not without
some misgivings of another night-attack. But the barber assured us there
was no danger; and whether it was that the vermin, which nearly devoured
us on the preceding night, had gorged themselves, or that the
applications which Jozé Almeida had administered to our wounded faces
was of that nature to give them a nausea towards us, I know not, but, be
this as it may, we enjoyed, unmolested, a comfortable night’s repose,
and in the morning our features had resumed their original shape and
appearance.
We were seated at breakfast when the barber again made his appearance.
He congratulated us upon our recovery, received his fee, which was
extremely moderate, and took his leave. I have not since seen him, or is
it likely I ever shall. In 1809 he was approximating to his sixtieth
year; now thirty-seven years added to sixty would make him rather an
elderly person. However, should he be still alive, and able to fulfil
the functions of his calling as well as he did when I met with him, I
recommend him to all those who may visit Lisbon and require his aid; on
the other hand, should he be no longer in the land of the living, I have
paid his memory a just tribute—but not more than he deserved.
At twelve o’clock I took a calash and reported myself to Major Murphy of
the 88th, who commanded at Belem. By him I was received with great
kindness, and asked to dine with him at six o’clock. I returned to our
hotel, where I found my companions awaiting my arrival. Although not
perfectly restored to their good looks, they agreed to accompany me in a
stroll through the town, which was a different quarter from that we had
before explored. It was more obscure, and overstocked with beggars of
every grade.
At six o’clock I arrived at Major Murphy’s quarters at Belem, where were
several officers of the depôt. Just as we were about to enter the
dining-room a note was handed to Murphy from the celebrated priest
Fernando: he was an intimate friend of Murphy, and called the 88th his
own regiment, because when that corps landed in Lisbon it was quartered
in the convent of which Fernando was the head. Nothing could exceed his
kindness and hospitality, and, being the principal of the Inquisition,
he was a man of great authority. His note was in these words:—
“Priest Fernando will cum dis day in boat to dine with Mr. Major
Murphy.”
He was as good as his word, for the note had been scarcely read aloud by
Murphy when Fernando made his appearance. He was a remarkably handsome
man, about forty years of age; full of gaiety and spirits, a great
talker, a prodigious feeder, and a tremendous drinker. So soon as I was
introduced to him he took out a book from his pocket which he opened and
handed to me, requesting that I would write down my name in it. This
book contained the name of every officer in the first battalion, and
according as any died, or were either killed or wounded in action, it
was regularly noted after his name. His conduct was of the most
disinterested kind, and one of his first questions invariably was—“Did
we want money?” It was late before we broke up, and next day an order
was issued, directing us to be in readiness to march to join the army on
the day but one following.
It did not require many hours' preparation to complete our arrangements,
as there were several experienced officers to accompany the detachment,
and they not only brought their own animals and provisions, but aided us
by their advice in the purchase of ours. At the appointed hour all was
in readiness, and the detachment, consisting of fifteen officers and two
hundred and twenty men, composed of different regiments, marched from
Belem, and embarked on the quay in boats which were prepared to carry us
to Aldea Gallega. A short sail soon brought us across the Tagus, and
towards evening we disembarked and took up our quarters at Aldea for the
night. Our route, which was made by easy marches, was uninterrupted by
any circumstance worthy of notice. We passed through the different towns
of the Alemtejo, in each of which we were hospitably received by the
inhabitants; not so on our arrival at Badajoz, the headquarters of Lord
Wellington. Nothing could exceed the dogged rudeness of the Spaniards;
and it was with difficulty we could obtain anything even for money.
Civility was not to be purchased on any terms, and one of the detachment
was killed in a fracas with some drunken muleteers. Next morning we left
this inhospitable town, and each party took their respective routes,
with the view of rejoining their regiments. Mine, the 88th, was
stationed at Monforte, distant one march from Badajoz, and here, for the
first time, I saw the “Connaught Rangers.”