End of the Burgos retreat—Cantonments in Portugal—Rest at 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.
Dan Carsons' prognostication, which closed the last chapter, was not
fulfilled, although a retreat on Portugal was necessary.
Once clear of the Spanish frontier we arrived, by easy marches, at the
different towns and villages appointed for our occupation, while the
French army retraced their steps, and, it is to be presumed, followed
the course we had taken, though not exactly the same route.
The village of Leomil was the one allotted to the 88th, and was also the
headquarters of Sir John Keane (the General of brigade) and his staff.
This town, distant about five leagues from the city of Lamego, and two
from Moimento de Beira, was by no means a bad resting-place for men who
had for so many days, and in such inclement weather, inhabited no town,
or slept, if sleep it could be called, under any covering except their
tattered uniforms; but the transition was too sudden, and it is not
difficult for the reader to see what the consequence was. An abundant
supply of money, a great plenty of wine, meat, and poultry were things
not to be lightly treated by a parcel of men in a state of nakedness and
starvation. In a word, all were bought up greedily, and as greedily
devoured. But the frames of the soldiers had undergone a great change;
their stomachs were much weakened by the bad diet they had heretofore
tasted, and the disordered state of their bowels was such, that in five
cases out of six the soldiers were attacked with some complaint or
other. The officers suffered little, because they had a greater command
over themselves; but I knew an instance of a man of the company I
commanded (his name was Travers) eating, for one week, independent of
his rations, the head of an ox daily!
Reader, do not laugh at this. It is a true but melancholy picture, not a
laughable one, of what a half-starved man will do when opportunity
favours. The result, as might have been foreseen, was fatal. A violent
inflammation of the bowels took place, and the poor fellow died in the
most excruciating agonies. No remedy of our doctors could relieve him;
they did all they could, but in vain.
The country in the neighbourhood of Leomil, and between that town and
Moimento de Beira, is in the highest degree grand; it moreover abounded
in game, and officers who were fond of their gun, or of coursing, had
ample opportunities of enjoying both. There was, however, one drawback,
which was an unpleasant one, and that was the vast number of wolves that
infested the mountains. These fierce animals were so terrific when
pressed by hunger, that in one instance they seized the head of a sheep
which was in a house, having made their way under the door. The owner,
hearing the cries of the animal, rushed to its assistance, and, catching
hold of the hind legs, dragged it back, but the head and a part of the
neck were carried away by the wolves. Another instance of their ferocity
soon after occurred. A young child, who had wandered into the street of
a small village earlier than usual, was carried off and devoured by
these animals. But this in no way damped the ardour of our sportsmen.
With a double-barrelled gun on his shoulder no one feared danger, though
he might guard against it; and I never knew an instance of any one being
attacked by a wolf, although we saw many in our sporting excursions.
Our cantonments by this time, the first week in February, had undergone
so great a change for the better, that they might be really termed
comfortable. From the time we were first settled in our present quarters
we established an evening club, which was superintended by Misthress
O‘Neil, who was by this time re-established in health. We wished to have
a regular mess, but that was not possible, as the difficulty and expense
of purchasing materials would have been too great; so we were
necessitated to content ourselves with our evening club, which was a
source of great amusement and conviviality. It brought us together each
evening after our requisite duties to the soldiers had been gone
through; and we had no sort of gambling: whist, our favourite game, was
always played at a low rate, and each night was wound up by a supper of
such materials as could be procured. Our commanding officer, Major
Macgregor, gave up his best room for our use, and, all things
considered, our club was most comfortable, and tended to keep up that
feeling of harmony and action for which the “Connaught Rangers” were so
remarkable during the Peninsular War. In 1809, after the battle of
Talavera, the 88th, while quartered at Campo Mayor, established a mess.
This circumstance, trifling as it may appear, was nevertheless attended
with a good deal of trouble and a heavy expense. I do not remember that
any other regiment in the army did the same. In 1812, after the battle
of Salamanca, the 88th established a splendid mess, for which the
officers paid a high rate. During both these periods the 88th was
commanded by Colonel Alexander Wallace, whose name I have repeatedly
mentioned in these pages for his distinguished conduct. Now the object
of all this must be clear to any military man: it had but one object,
and one only—the keeping up a gentlemanly and social feeling amongst the
corps; and when, as has been seen, such feelings did exist, will any man
give credit to the calumnies that have been attempted to be fastened
upon the “Connaught Rangers” by the biographer of the late Sir Thomas
Picton?
Sir John Keane was to dine with the regiment on St. Patrick’s day. Even
at this early period I was their caterer, although in a far different
way from that in which I am now employed: then I catered for their
stomachs—their _faim_; now I cater for their honour—their _fame_! At an
early hour on the 15th of March, mounted on a good mule, with fifty
dollars in my pocket, I left my regiment on the route to the city of
Vizeu, with a _carte blanche_ to do the best I could in the purchase of
provisions. I was followed by my man Dan, who had for his assistant, or
coadjutor, as he styled him, my batman, Jack Green, as handy a “boy” as
ever “listed” in the ranks of the “Connaught Rangers.” The mule they
took charge of was little inferior to the one I rode, but their pace was
of necessity slower, as he was encumbered not only with a pair of
panniers, destined to carry the prog for our St. Patrick’s dinner, but
also with the weight of Dan and Jack, who arranged themselves in the
best manner they could astride his back. Vizeu is five leagues from
Leomil, but, as I knew the country tolerably well, I struck out of the
high road, and, crossing the mountains, reached the town some hours
before my servants.
Vizeu is a good town, one of the best in Portugal, and the shops are
abundantly supplied with such commodities as would suit the taste of a
general buyer. Brazil sugar, nearly as white as snow, green tea at a
cheap price, cloths of every description, and a rich assortment of
Braganza shawls, so much prized in England, were severally named to us
as we passed the different shops; but Dan, who was, or at least made
himself, spokesman on the occasion, shrugged up his shoulders and
replied to each, “No, señor, me no care the chocolate, nor the suggera,
nor the shawla; me care the peché.”
We soon reached the market-place. There I found an abundance of what I
most wished for—fish. I purchased a number of fine mullet, some hens and
fowls, and a variety of other matters which I thought requisite to
garnish our table the following day, and I despatched my two trusty
servants on their route some hours before I departed myself.
Being mounted on a superb mule I did not mind much what road I took, but
struck across the mountains above Leomil, bordering on Moimento de
Beira. Before I reached the passes I so well knew it became dark, and I
lost my way. On reaching a small village I was informed by the peasants
that I was still two leagues from Leomil, had a bad and difficult
country to traverse before I could reach the road, and that the
mountains were infested with wolves. I was aware that the latter part of
their report was but too true; and when they told me the name of their
village, near which I had shot before, I was convinced that my knowledge
of the country by night was not quite as perfect as in broad day. The
peasants endeavoured to make me remain where I was for the night; but
notwithstanding their offers of hospitality, I preferred taking my
chance with the wolves to the certainty of being half devoured by fleas,
a commodity with which, I well knew, their houses were amply stocked. I
therefore determined to proceed, as I was anxious to reach home; and I
had no great fear of an attack, as I was well mounted, with a case of
pistols in my holsters, and my sabre at my side. I left the reins loose
on the neck of my mule, who, with wonderful sagacity, made her way
through the different passes. We had nearly reached the high road
without meeting any obstacle, save the different glens we were obliged
to pass, when all of a sudden the mule became alarmed, and bounding to
the right and left, made it difficult for me to keep my saddle. The
distant cry of wolves soon, however, explained the cause of her
uneasiness; and although I pressed on at as rapid a pace as the nature
of the country would admit of, I found that the pack were palpably
gaining on me.
I was within a few yards of the high road when three ringleaders of the
pack came close to me. Two of them attacked my mule behind, while the
other made a spring at her throat, and the remainder were coming rapidly
into the field of battle, for so in fact it was. I discharged one of my
pistols at the foremost, but whether I wounded him or no I cannot say;
for, to speak candidly, I looked with more anxiety to secure a safe
retreat than the honour of a splendid victory; and I can affirm, without
the slightest qualm of conscience, that mine on this night was never
surpassed—in rapidity, at least—in either ancient or modern times.
Moreau was celebrated for his retreat through the Black
Forest—Wellington for his to the lines of Torres Vedras—but what was the
disparity of numbers in either case to what I had to contend against?
Neither of those great men had more than three to one opposed to him,
while I had—if I may judge from the howling of the reserve, and the
daring of the advance—fifteen to two! for my mule must have _her_ share
in the exploit, because had it not been for her I firmly believe I
should have never had an opportunity of relating what took place on the
night I speak of. In a word, never was mortal man nearer being devoured.
The rest of the story is easily told. At length I reached the high road
leading to Leomil. I gave my mule a touch of the rowels of my spurs,
which might have been dispensed with, for she, poor thing, was to the
full as anxious as myself to quicken our pace. In less than half an hour
I reached the headquarters of the “Connaught Rangers,” and no man, I
will venture to say, ever rejoined his corps with greater pleasure than
I did mine on that occasion.
The hour for dinner at length arrived, and the dinner was a good one;
and I say it was such, although I was the person who provided it. The
fish was excellent, the fowl of the best quality, and to any one who has
ever had the good fortune to taste a Lamego ham, it would be but
superfluous to descant on the merits of so delicious a morsel. For the
beef and mutton I can’t say much, but the wine was of the best quality.
I had taken particular care on this essential point, and went to a
convent where my friend Graham, with his Portuguese regiment, were
quartered, and, through his interest, prevailed on the priests to send
us some of their own best. In saying this I need not say more in praise
of the wine, as it is well known those gentlemen never kept, for their
own use, one drop of any wine that was not of the best quality.
The dinner went off well, the attendance was good, and we were all as
happy as any corps could wish to be; but our doctor, O‘Reily, being a
little “Bacchi plenus,” mistook the veranda for the door, walked out of
it and fell, uninjured, about fifteen feet! The spot in which he
happened to fall, fortunately, was a soft one, and he himself, being a
little moist, escaped as by a miracle, without any mishap. Next morning
I examined the spot, and was struck with astonishment at the exactness
of the impression his features had left. Had he sat to have his likeness
taken, and undergone the troublesome process of having his face daubed
over with paste, it could not have been more perfect, and thus in a
second of time, without any trouble to himself, he performed what would
have cost him a full half-hour at least, with a great deal of annoyance
into the bargain, had he regularly allowed a sculptor to take his bust.
He had no doubt taken his wine without measure, and it is clear that the
wine, or the effects of it, had taken his “measure,” and made him
“measure” his length on the heap of mud upon which he fortunately fell,
and it was in this instance “measure for measure.”
Major Macgregor, who commanded the 88th up to this period, now left us
on leave, and was succeeded in the command by one of the most
gentlemanlike officers and best soldiers in the British army—Captain
Robert Nickle. Sir John Keane, as I have before said, commanded the
brigade, Sir Edward Pakenham the division; and from the period of our
arriving at our quarters at Leomil, until our leaving it on our advance
towards Vittoria, we had not one single syllable of annoyance with
either our Brigadier or Major-General, nor do I believe we had as much
as one court-martial in the battalion—and this embraced a period of more
than six months.