Retreat of the French army—Vultures on the field of 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.
The Duke of Ragusa and the Count Dorsenne employed themselves the whole
of the day (the 26th of September) in reconnoitring the ground we
occupied, and everything announced that a battle would be fought the
next day (which, had it taken place, would have been the anniversary of
the battle of Busaco, gained by us the preceding year), but Lord
Wellington observing a considerable body of troops moving upon his left,
apparently with the intention of turning it, withdrew from his
entrenched camp in the course of the night to the neighbourhood of
Alfayates, leaving the 4th Division, commanded by General Cole, at
Aldea-de-Ponte.
At break of day on the 27th the French army were in motion, but their
surprise seemed great on finding our lines unoccupied. Marmont pushed
his advance upon the village of Aldea-de-Ponte, and a gallant affair for
our 4th Division took place there. The two regiments of Fusileers[19]
particularly distinguished themselves, and repulsed the enemy at the
point of the bayonet. Night put an end to this affair, which cost us a
couple of hundred men, and nearly double that number fell on the side of
the French.
-----
Footnote 19:
The 7th and 23rd Royal Welsh.
-----
The enemy being but ill supplied with provisions, and the country in
which they now were (Portugal) being quite unsuited to their operations,
as well as unable to supply their wants, the French Marshal, having
provisioned Rodrigo, which was the object sought for when he formed his
junction with the army of the north, resolved upon retracing his steps,
which he did on the following day, the 28th.
Lord Wellington issued a most flattering order to the troops engaged on
the 25th, and so delighted was he with the conduct of the 5th and 77th
that he held them up as an example to the army. On the 29th we went into
cantonments, our division occupying Aldea-de-Ponte; and until our
arrival there, I had no idea the loss of men and horses on the 27th had
been so great. The ground was thickly covered with both, and immense
numbers of vultures had already established themselves in the
neighbourhood. These birds, the sure harbinger of a disputed field,
crowded around us in vast flocks: whether this was owing to the lateness
of the season, or to a scantiness in the supply of their accustomed
food, I know not; but the voracity of these birds, and consequently
their boldness, was beyond anything I had ever before witnessed. In many
instances they would throw off their ordinary wariness, and strut before
the carcase they were devouring, as if they supposed we were about to
dispute their pretensions to it; but it is astonishing what birds of
this description will do when really pressed by hunger.
Fuente-Guinaldo was occupied by our Light Division, who made that town
agreeable both to themselves and also to their brothers in arms, not
only by their hospitality, but by the attraction of their theatrical
performances, which were got up in a style quite astonishing,
considering the place and the difficulties which they must have found in
supplying themselves with suitable costume; but the Light Division had
an _esprit de corps_ among them, whether in the field or quarters, that
must be seen to be understood. Their _dramatis personæ_ were admirable,
and Captain Kent of the Rifles, by his great abilities, rendered every
performance in which he took a part doubly attractive. The 3rd Division,
although unable to cope with the Light in this species of amusement, got
up races, which, though inferior to those of the former year at Torres
Vedras, were far from bad; amongst the jockeys was one, an officer in
the Portuguese service, who, though an excellent horseman, was, without
exception, the ugliest man in the division, or perhaps in the army.
Major Leckie of the 45th took the greatest dislike to him on this
account, and gave him the name of “Ugly Mug”—by which cognomen he was
after known.
Just as the horses were about to start for a tolerably heavy stake, I
went up to Leckie, who was one of the most knowing men on our turf.
“Well, Leckie,” said I, “who’s the winning jockey to-day?”—“Why look,”
replied he, “I’ve laid it on thick myself upon Wilde’s horse,
Albuquerque, and tortured as I am with this infernal attack of gout (to
which he was a great martyr), I have hobbled out to witness the race;
but, my dear fellow, I don’t care one rush who wins, provided _Mug_
loses.” However, _Mug_ won his race easily, and poor Leckie went home
quite out of sorts. Whether from the effect of his favourite horse
losing, or “Mug’s” winning, or that the exertion was too much for him, I
know not, but upon his return to Aldea-de-Ponte, he was seized with a
violent attack of gout; towards midnight he was a little more composed,
and had just sunk into a gentle slumber, when he was awoke by a young
Ensign who had lately joined, and who occupied an apartment in the house
where Leckie was quartered. This officer played a little on the violin,
and had a very good voice; he began to practise both, and commenced
singing the little air in _Paul and Virginia_ of
Tell her I love her while the clouds drop rain,
Or while there’s water in the pathless main;
but whether from being imperfect in the song, or that those particular
lines struck his fancy, he never got beyond them. Leckie became very
fidgety—every scrape of the violin touched his heart, but in a far
different manner from that in which it seemed to affect the performer; a
quarter of an hour passed on, and the same lines were repeated; at last
the accompaniment grew fainter and fainter, until it died away
altogether.
Leckie became composed: “Well!” exclaimed he, “that young fellow is at
rest for the night, and so I hope shall I be,” and he was beginning to
settle himself in a more easy posture when the same sounds reassailed
him. This was too bad! He sprang out of bed, the perspiration rolling in
large drops down his forehead; he rushed to the door of the Ensign’s
apartment, which he forced at one push, and in a second was standing
before the astonished musician in his shirt. The fatal words, “Tell her
I love her,” had just been uttered, and he was preparing to add, “while
the clouds drop rain,” when Leckie exclaimed, “By God, sir, I’ll tell
her anything you wish, if you’ll only allow me to sleep for half an
hour.” It would be impossible to convey an idea of the confusion of the
young man upon finding his commanding officer before him at such a time
and upon such an occasion; he made a thousand apologies, and poor
Leckie, who was one of the pleasantest fellows in the world, in spite of
his pain, could not avoid laughing at the occurrence, which amused him
to the hour of his death.
Matters being in the state I have described in the month of October
1811, and as there was no likelihood of any active operations taking
place, we began to make ourselves as comfortable as the wretched village
of Aldea-de-Ponte would admit of. Any person acquainted with a
Portuguese cottage will readily acknowledge that a good chimney is not
its forte; we therefore turned all the skill our masons possessed to the
construction of fire-places that would not smoke, and it required all
their knowledge in the arcana of their profession to succeed even in
part. However, they did succeed, partially, I must admit; but it was
easy to satisfy us, and we made up for the badness of our fire-places by
stocking them abundantly with wood, of which article there was no
lack,—but we had barely sufficient straw to keep our horses and mules
alive, much less afford ourselves a bed. In the entire village, I
believe, there were not a dozen mattresses. Provisions were but ill
supplied us, and we were reduced to subsist upon half allowance of bad
biscuit. As to money, we had scarcely a sou; for although there was
plenty of specie in Lisbon for our use, the want of animals to convey it
to the army left us as ill off as if there had not been a dollar in the
chest of the Paymaster-General. So that between smoky houses, no beds,
little to eat, and less money, we were in anything but what might be
termed “good winter-quarters.”
This state of privation was sadly annoying to the soldiers, and the men
of my corps, or, as I am more in the habit of calling them, “the boys,”
were much perplexed as to what they would do. Several desertions had
taken place in the army, but our fellows did not like that
at-all-at-all. “Why, then, by my sowl,” said Owen Mackguekin, of the
Grenadiers, “I think Misther Strahan, the commissary, is grately to
blame to keep us poor boys without mate to ate, when those _pizanos_
have plenty of good sheep and goats; and sure if they’d ate them
themselves, a man wouldn’t say anything; but they’ll neither ate them,
nor give us lave to do so, and sure a’tanny rate, _baccallâo_ and
_azete_[20] is good enough for them.” I need scarcely remark that an
argument so full of sound sense was not likely to be thrown away upon
the hearers of Owen Mackguekin. From this moment our fellows determined
to be their own commissaries.
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Footnote 20:
Salt fish and vinegar.
-----
For some weeks there had been a general defalcation amongst the
different neighbouring flocks, and the Portuguese shepherds, confounded
to know what had become of them, armed themselves, and kept watch with a
degree of vigilance that they were heretofore unaccustomed to. Wolves,
they remarked, were not sufficiently numerous in that part of the
country to effect such havoc, even in the depth of winter; but, said
they, it is impossible at this early stage of the season that it could
be them; and they were right, for it would be difficult to point out one
regiment that did not take something in the shape of tithe from the
sheep-holders.
One night in November, 1811, three of the “boys” walked out of their
quarters with nothing at all—but their bayonets; Mackguekin headed them.
The sheep-fold they assailed was defended by five armed Portuguese; but
what did the “boys” care for that? After nearly sending the unfortunate
men to the other world, they very deliberately tied their arms and legs
together “to keep them aisy,” as they afterwards said, and then
performing the same office to three sheep, they left their owners to
look after the remainder.
As may be supposed, this affair made a great noise. The Provost-Marshal
was directed to search, with the utmost care, the quarters and premises
of all the regiments; but the fellow instinctively, I believe, turned
towards those of my corps; and here, I am sorry to confess, he found
that which he wanted, namely, the three sheep, part of them in a
camp-kettle on the fire, and the remainder in an outhouse. This was
enough. The three men were identified by the Portuguese, tried, flogged,
and had to pay for the sheep, which (the worst of it!) they had not the
pleasure of even tasting. But this example by no means put a stop to the
evil. The sheep-folds were plundered, the shepherds pummelled, and our
fellows flogged without mercy. General Picton at length issued orders,
directing the rolls of the regiment to be called over by an officer of
each company at different periods during the night, and by this measure
the evil was remedied. But we did not get credit for even this. That
pleasantest of all pleasant fellows, Bob Hardyman of the 45th, used to
say, in jest, that instead of the officers going round the quarters, we
entrusted the duty to a sergeant; and, according to Bob’s account, the
manner of his performing the duty was as follows:—
Arrived at the door, he gave a gentle tap, when voices from within
called out, “Who’s there?”
_Ser._ “It’s me, boys!”
_Sol._ “And who are you?”
_Ser._ “Why then, blur 'an ouns, boys, don’t yees know my voice?”
_Sol._ “Och! and to be sure we do now.”
_Ser._ “Well, boys, yees know what I’me come about.”
_Sol._ “Sure we do, sergeant.”
_Ser._ “Well, boys, are yees all within?”
_Sol._ “Within, is it! to be sure we are; why, where else would we be?”
_Ser._ “That’s right, boys! but boys, take care, are yees all in bed?”
_Sol._ “In bed! sure we are, and all asleep too!!”
_Ser._ “Och! that’s right, honies, it’s myself that’s proud to find yees
grown so regular!”
And having thus performed his duty, he wished them good-night. But poor
Bob Hardyman was one of those sort of fellows that could say a thing
(and make you laugh at it too, although at your own expense) that if
another person attempted, he would get his teeth knocked down his
throat; he verified a saying in his own county (Galway), that one man in
that country might steal a horse with impunity, when another darn’t look
over the hedge where he was grazing.
At Aldea-de-Ponte, the headquarters of our division, all was quiet; and
although our allowance of provisions was scanty, and our supply of money
scarcely sufficient to procure us salt and rice for our soup, the
division, nevertheless, was in high order; we had a good deal of drill,
and regular examinations of the men’s kits—a very necessary precaution
with all regiments, and with my corps as well as another. At an
inspection of this kind by General Mackinnon he found fault—and
deservedly so, I must confess—with the scanty manner in which some of
the men of my company were supplied. The General was too much the
gentleman to row, or call names, but it was clear from his manner that
he was far from satisfied with the wardrobe displayed by these fellows;
indeed, if he was, it would have been easy to please him! At last coming
to a “boy” of the name of Darby Rooney, whose knapsack was what a
Frenchman would term _vide_, or, to speak more intelligibly, one that
contained nothing whatever but his watch-coat, a piece of pipe-clay and
button-brush! he seemed thunderstruck, as well he might, for I believe
“he ne’er had looked upon its like before”!
With more asperity of manner than I ever observed him to make use
of, he asked “Darby” to whose squad he belonged. Darby Rooney
understood about as much English as enabled him to get over a parade
tolerably, but a conversation such as the General was about to hold
with him was beyond his capacity, and he began to feel a little
confused at the prospect of a _tête-à-tête_ with his General:
“Squidha—squodha—cad-dershe-vourneen?”[21] said he, turning to the
orderly-sergeant, Pat Gafney, who did not himself speak the English
language quite as correctly as Lindley Murray. “Whist, ye
Bostoon,”[22] said Gafney, “and don’t make a baste of yourself
before the General.”—“Why,” said General Mackinnon, “I believe he
don’t understand me.”—“No, sir,” replied Gafney, “he don’t know what
your honour manes.”
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Footnote 21:
“What does he say, honey?”
Footnote 22:
“Hold your tongue, you booby.”
-----
The General passed on, taking it for granted that the man had never
heard of a squad, and making some gentlemanlike observations on the
utility of such partitions of a company, expressed himself satisfied
with the fine appearance of the regiment, and our inspection ended with
credit to us, this solitary instance excepted. This was, however,
enough. Ill-nature and scandal seldom lack arguments. They are ever
ready to take a hint, and it is unnecessary that a report should be as
true as the gospel to form a foundation for their belief of it. An hour
had not elapsed when the entire division were made acquainted (through
some of our friends!) with the story. Groups of officers might be seen
together (God forgive them!) laughing at our expense. “Well!” cried one,
“did you hear what happened with the Connaughts to-day?”—“No,” replied a
second, “but I’ll bet twenty dollars I guess; another sheep or goat
found in their quarters?”—“No. But when General Mackinnon inspected them
just now, there was not one man in the regiment who knew what a squad
was!”—“I would have sworn it,” replied a third. An old crone of a major
now joined the group, and shaking his head said, “Ah! they are a sad
set!” Poor idiot! The 88th was a more really _efficient_ regiment than
almost any _two_ corps in the 3rd Division.