Occupation of the Lines of Torres Vedras—An army in 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.
The astonishment of the French general was great when he beheld the
reception prepared for him; and his friend the Duke d'Abrantes must have
been lowered in his estimation not a little, because it is well known
that, contrary to the advice of several able officers, Masséna was
overruled by Junot, who assured him those heights could be easily
carried.
After numerous _reconnoissances_, the French Marshal came to the
resolution of renouncing any hope of success from an assault; and his
army formed a line blockade, with its right at Otta, its centre at
Alenquer, and its left at Villa Franca. But it must have been a matter
of deep regret to him to have learned, when too late, that by this
useless advance of his, he exposed upwards of three thousand of his
wounded from the battle of Busaco, left at Coimbra, to be massacred by
the Portuguese militia and peasantry.
For the space of a month the French army remained inactive in their
wretched cantonments, their supply of provisions growing every day more
scanty; their horses, reduced to the necessity of subsisting on the vine
twigs, died by hundreds; and the soldiers, pining from disease, became
discontented and discouraged. In consequence, the desertions increased
with their increasing wants, and it appeared very evident that matters
could not long continue in the state they had assumed at the beginning
of November.
Although our situation was, in every respect, better than that of the
enemy, we were far from comfortable. Our huts, from want of any good
materials to construct them, were but a weak defence against the heavy
rains which fell at this time. We had no straw to serve for thatch, and
the heath which we were obliged to use as a substitute, though it looked
well enough when in full leaf and blossom, and was a delightful shelter
in fine weather, became a wretched protection against the torrents that
soon after inundated us. The inside of our habitation presented an
appearance as varied as it was uncomfortable; at one end might be seen a
couple of officers, with their cloaks thrown about them, snoring on a
truss of straw, while over their heads hung their blankets, which served
as a kind of inner wall, and for a time stopped the flood that deluged
the parts of the hut not so defended; but this, by degrees, becoming
completely saturated with rain, not only lost its original appearance,
but what was worse, its original usefulness; for the water, dripping
down from the edges, gradually made its way towards the centre of the
blanket, and thus, by degrees, it assumed a shape not unlike the
parachute of a balloon. Finally the whole, being overpowered with its
own weight, and either giving way at the point or bottom, or breaking
its hold from the twigs which feebly held it at top, overwhelmed those
it was intended to protect, and in the space of a minute more
effectually drenched them than the heaviest fall of rain would have
accomplished in several hours. In another corner lay some one else, who,
for want of a better, substituted a sheet or an old tablecloth as a
temporary defence; but this was even more disastrous than the blanket,
for from the nature of its texture, and the imperfect manner in which it
was from necessity pitched, it made but a poor stand; it soon performed
the functions of a filtering machine, and with equal effect, though less
force, was to the full as unserviceable as the blanket. Others, more
stout and convivial, sat up smoking cigars and drinking brandy punch,
waiting for the signal to proceed to our alarm-post, a duty which the
army performed every morning two hours before day. This was by no means
a pleasant task; scrambling up a hill of mud and standing shivering for
a couple of hours in the dark and wet was exceedingly uncomfortable, but
I don’t remember to have heard one single murmur; we all saw the
necessity of such a line of conduct, and we obeyed it with cheerfulness.
On the 14th of November Masséna broke up his camp, and on that night his
army was in full march upon Santarem; ours made a corresponding
movement, and the headquarters were on the 18th established at Cartaxo.
It was the general opinion in the army that a battle in the
neighbourhood of Santarem would be the result of those manœuvres, and
this opinion was strengthened by Lord Wellington making a
_reconnoissance_ on the 19th; but although those expectations were
disappointed, the situation of the troops was much improved, and their
comforts increased. Our division occupied the town of Torres Vedras,
while the other corps were in the villages of Alenquer, Azambujo, and
Alcoentre. The French army foraged the country between Santarem and the
river Zezere. Santarem was much strengthened, and the two armies were
thus circumstanced at the end of November 1810.
Our fatigues being for a time at an end, we occupied ourselves in such
pursuits as each of us fancied. We had no unnecessary drilling, nor were
we tormented with that greatest of all _bores_ to an officer at any
time, but particularly on service, uniformity of dress. The consequence
was that every duty was performed with cheerfulness; the army was in the
highest state of discipline; and those gentlemen who had, or fancied
they had, a taste for leading the fashion, had now a fine opportunity of
bringing their talents into play.
With such latitude it is not to be wondered at that our appearance was
not _quite_ as uniform as some general officers would approve of; but
Lord Wellington was a most indulgent commander; he never harassed us
with reviews, or petty annoyances, which so far from promoting
discipline, or doing good in any way, have a contrary effect. A
corporal’s guard frequently did the duty at headquarters; and every
officer who chose to purchase a horse might ride on a march. Provided we
brought our men into the field well appointed, and with sixty rounds of
good ammunition each, he never looked to see whether their trousers were
black, blue, or grey; and as to ourselves, we might be rigged out in all
the colours of the rainbow if we fancied it. The consequence was, that
scarcely any two officers were dressed alike! Some with grey braided
coats, others with brown; some again liked blue; while many from choice,
or perhaps necessity, stuck to the “old red rag.” Overalls, of all
things, were in vogue, and the comical appearance of a number of
infantry officers loaded with leather bottoms to their pantaloons, and
huge chains suspended from the side buttons, like a parcel of troopers,
was amusing enough. Quantities of hair, a regular brutus, a pair of
mustachios, and screw brass spurs, were essential to a first-rate
_Count_, for so were our dandies designated. The “cut-down” hat, exactly
a span in height, was another _rage_; this burlesque on a _chapeau_ was
usually out-topped by some extraordinary-looking feather; while, again,
others wore their hats without any feather at all—and indeed this was
the most rational thing they did. In the paroxysm of a wish to be
singularly singular, a friend of mine shaved all the hair off the crown
of his head, and _he_ was decidedly the most _outré_-looking man amongst
us, and consequently the happiest. I myself had a hankering to be a
_Count_, and had I half as much money to spare as time, I should not
have been outdone by any man in the army, so I hit upon the expedient of
cutting my hat down a couple of inches lower than any one else: _this_ I
thought would be better than nothing. Lieutenant Heppenstal, of the 88th
Regiment, was nearly falling a sacrifice to the richness of his dress.
He belonged to the light troops of our army at the battle of Busaco, and
was warmly engaged with the advance of the enemy. He was a man of the
most determined bravery and gigantic strength, and more than once became
personally engaged with the French riflemen. At one time, carried away
by his daring impetuosity, he pursued his success so far as to be nearly
mixed with the enemy; a number of Portuguese Caçadores, coming up at
this moment, mistook him for a French general officer, and attempted to
make him a prisoner; a scuffle ensued, in which he lost the skirts of
his frockcoat; and it was not until an explanation took place that he
was enabled to join his regiment in this laughable trim—his beautiful
gold-tagged frock being converted into a regular spencer.
Poor Heppenstal! It was his first appearance under fire, and it was not
difficult for those who witnessed his too gallant _début_ to foresee
that his career of glory would be short. He carried a rifle, and his
unerring aim brought down many a man on the morning I am speaking of;
but he did not long survive the praises so justly bestowed on him, and
it will soon be my painful duty to record his death.
Dress, however, with its attractions, by no means engrossed all our
thoughts; some were fond of shooting, and those whose tastes lay that
way had plenty of sport, as the country abounded in game; others took to
horse-racing, and here was a fine opportunity for the lovers of the turf
and of dress to display their knowledge in both. Jockeys, adorned with
all colours, were to be seen on the course, and the harlequin-like
appearance of these equestrians was far from unpleasing. Some of the
races were admirably contested, and afforded us as much gratification as
those of Epsom and Doncaster do to the visitants of those receptacles of
rank and fashion.
We had great inconvenience in making ourselves understood by our
Portuguese allies, and a laughable circumstance of this sort took place
between a friend of mine and a shoemaker, in the village of Rio Mayor.
He left his boots, his only pair, to be mended, and understood they were
to be put in serviceable condition for a _crusado novo_, less than three
shillings of our money. Next day, on entering the shop, the man made two
or three efforts to make the officer comprehend how well the work had
been done; but it was all to no purpose, for my friend, not
understanding one word of what was said, conceived the fellow wanted to
impose a higher price upon him, and got into a violent rage. An Irish
soldier, belonging to the 88th Regiment, of the name of Larracy, a
shoemaker, who had been working for the Portuguese, a common indulgence
allowed to the tradesmen of the army, came up to his officer and thus
accosted him.
“Ah! your honour, I see you can’t talk to him, but _lave_ him to me;
I’ve been working in his shop these three weeks, and, saving your
presence, there isn’t a bigger rascal in all Ireland; but I can _spake_
as well as himself now, and I’m up to his ways.”
Larracy thus became interpreter and _mediator_, and it would be
difficult to say in which character he best acquitted himself.
Possessing no knowledge whatever of the language, notwithstanding his
repeated assurances that he could talk it _nately_, he brought that
happy talent for invention, for which the Irish most undeniably stand
unrivalled, into play. Seizing one of the boots, he approached his
employer, and suiting the word to the action, addressed him in the
following words:—
“Si, senhor! Quanto the munnee, for the solee, the heelee, and the
nailee?”
The astonishment portrayed in the countenance of the Portuguese baffles
all description; he surveyed Larracy from head to foot, and with much
gravity of manner replied, “_En nào entendo-o que vós me
dizeis._”[8]—“And sure I’m telling him so,” rejoined Larracy. “What does
the fellow say?” demanded my friend. “What does he say?—What does he
say, is it? He says he put a fine pair of welts to your boots, sir (and
it’s true for him!); and that your honour will have to give him a dollar
[_about two shillings more than was demanded by the Portuguese!_], but
just only _lave_ him to me, and give _me_ the dollar, and if I don’t
_bate_ him down in the price, never believe a word that I’ll tell your
honour again; and I’ll carry home your boots for you, and bring you the
account in _rotation_ (by which he meant in writing), and the change of
the dollar.”—“Oh! never mind, you are an honest fellow, Larracy, and
keep the change for your trouble; but you may tell your employer it is
the last job he shall ever do for me.”—“Och! sure I told your honour he
was a blackguard,” grinned Larracy, escorting his officer to the door,
and putting the dollar in his pocket.
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Footnote 8:
“I do not understand a word you are saying to me.”
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While in the other parts of the Peninsula much activity prevailed, with
us all was quiet; and although the season was advancing towards spring,
there was no appearance of our commencing the offensive, and conjectures
innumerable were the consequence. Promotion, that great planet whose
influence more or less affected us all, was perpetually on the tapis.
There were some among us of a desponding cast; they would say, “Have we
not lost Almeida, Rodrigo, and now, though last not least, Badajoz? And
should we be obliged to evacuate the Peninsula, good-bye to promotion.”
Others there were who held a different opinion, and, resting their hopes
on some fortunate “turn-up,” expected ere long to have the enviable
title of captain attached to their name. To this class I belonged, and
as it was the most numerous in the army, it was in consequence the most
clamorous on this head.
The life of a subaltern, in what Miss Mac-Tab would call a marching
regiment, where many of us, and I myself for one, had little except our
pay, is a perpetual scene of irritating calculation from the 24th of one
month to the 24th of the next. No matter under what circumstances, or in
what quarter of the globe the subaltern is placed, his _first_ thought
points towards that powerful magnet the _twenty-fourth_—his _next_ to
promotion.
The 24th has scarcely passed when the same routine is pursued, every
hour increasing in interest according to the immediate wants of the
calculator; and time rolls on, either rapidly or slowly, in the exact
ratio with the strength or weakness of his purse. The moment he receives
his pay he discharges his bills, and by the time he has got about
half-way into the first week of the next month, he has little occasion
for a knowledge of Cocker to enable him to calculate his money.
The period generally reckoned on by a subaltern to get his company, in a
good fighting regiment—that is to say, one that had the good luck to be
in the thick and thin of what was going on, for all regiments fight
alike for that matter—was from five to six years. The “extra shilling”
was rarely heard of, and never thought of but with disgust.[9]
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Footnote 9:
The extra shilling was given to lieutenants who had served in that
rank seven years or more, and had not obtained a company.
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