Ordered home—Priests carousing—San Carlos gambling-house at
Lisbon—Cocking the card—The author quits the Peninsula—Adventures on
the road—The author’s return to Ireland.
To those who have never seen service, or been present with the
Peninsular army for a series of years, it would be rather a difficult
task to make them comprehend the feelings of an officer upon active
service, when ordered home. There are many, no doubt, who would say it
was a lucky “turn up”; but there are many, I know, who would have a
contrary opinion. Years of hard fighting, fatigues, and privations, that
we now wonder at, had, nevertheless, a charm that, in one way or
another, bound us together, though it severed some; and, all things
considered, I am of opinion that our days in the Peninsula were amongst
the happiest of our lives.
It was with feelings of regret that I was now on the eve of quitting the
first battalion of the Connaught Rangers, but, before doing so, I
resolved to spend a few days with my old friend and companion, Captain
Graham. He was attached to the 21st Portuguese Regiment, quartered in a
large convent half-way between Leomil and Lamosa; and here, for the
first time, I had a full specimen of the manners and habits of the
priesthood of Portugal. I had, it is true, met them occasionally before,
and always found them pleasant, agreeable companions; but I had little
idea of the depraved state they lived in until I became, in a manner, an
inmate of the convent where my friend was quartered.
Dinner was about to be announced when some five or six priests entered,
each carrying under his arm a small pig-skin of wine. They were all
merry, gay lads, and looked as if they had—which I have no doubt
of—tasted the contents of their _fardeau_. All were agreeable men; they
talked upon all subjects; but the fair sex “had the call.” My friend
asked where the others were who had promised to come. He was told they
were on duty; but what that “duty” was, I could not exactly define. Be
this as it may, dinner was scarcely over when three monks entered the
apartment. One, who seemed to be the provider, was loaded with an
enormous pig-skin of wine, which he carried on his back; and, so soon as
the door was flung open, he, with some difficulty, placed it in a
corner, and then, with his two companions, joined our festive board.
Now, at the time I am speaking of, I was a very young lad. I had,
nevertheless, seen something of the world; I had mixed in society, high
and low; I had read books—some of them moral, some the contrary; but in
all that I had ever seen, read, or heard of, I never could suppose that,
amongst any set of men—much less priests—so great a scene of
blackguardism could be amalgamated together as I witnessed on this
night. Their songs and talk were as indecent as can be imagined. The
fellows were so pleasant that, if you could forget they were priests, it
would have been well enough; but it is disgraceful to see men in this
calling adopt the manners and habits of the most profligate, by which
means they not only disgrace themselves, but the religion they profess.
I took leave of my old regiment, and, with two hundred and sixty-five
dollars in my pocket, bent my way towards Lisbon. My old friend D‘Arcy
accompanied me, and my man, Dan Carsons, took charge of our
baggage-mule, which carried our kits. This, indeed, was a sort of
sinecure to him; for, to say the truth, we were not overstocked with
many extras. Little occurred worthy of notice until we reached Lisbon,
and there we met with our companion, Simon Fairfield, so well known to
the army.[37] Maurice Quill was also there, and as they were both, like
ourselves, waiting for a passage home by the first fleet that was to
leave the Tagus for England, we thought we could not do better than
“club” together.
-----
Footnote 37:
Fairfield was better known in the army by his Christian name, and was
almost invariably called “Sim,” or, as Joe Kelly called him, “Simmy.”
He ended very badly, in abject misery caused by his own vices and
thriftlessness, without a coat to his back or a roof to his head.
-----
It was a rare circumstance to meet two such characters, and our time
passed away agreeably in learning those anecdotes which have been told
of both. Much has been related of Quill, but Fairfield was immeasurably
his superior on some points. In the first place, he sang beautifully,
while Maurice could not sing at all; and if Quill possessed that
extraordinary humour, which it is so well known he did, poor Simon
Fairfield was an overmatch for him as a punster.
Our stay in Lisbon was but short, as, in a few days after our arrival,
the fleet was in readiness to sail for Portsmouth. But, short as our
sojourn was, it was of sufficient length to nearly empty our purses.
That sink of profligacy and nest of sharpers, the San Carlos
gambling-house, was the constant resort of all the idlers in Lisbon;
and, in a few days, I and my friends were completely eased of all our
loose cash. But we had one resource left, in the shape of a horse each,
which was the same thing as ready money, and we determined to try our
luck once more at the gambling table. Accordingly, the horses were sent
to the fair, were sold, and brought a “fair” price. Mine fetched one
hundred and twenty-five dollars. Those belonging to Hill, D‘Arcy, and
Adair, all of my corps, were also disposed of at a “fair” value. Poor
“_Fair_”field had no horse or mule. He had an old jackass—his companion
for years—which brought to the general fund only fifteen dollars. A sort
of council of war was now held as to the line of operations we should
follow, and it was unanimously agreed that D‘Arcy, being a good judge of
the game, should be the purse-bearer, and play according to his own
judgment to any amount he might think proper, for the profit or loss of
the entire party.
Matters were so far arranged, and we were ready and panting with anxiety
to have another trial with the bankers of the San Carlos tables, when
Hill, a young man of sound sense, hinted that, to prevent any mistake,
and not to leave all on the “hazard of the die,” we should deposit a
certain number of dollars each for the purchase of our sea-stock. This
hint was so replete with _rationality_ that we all acquiesced, and
fifteen dollars “_par tête_” was regularly pouched by Hill, who was
understood to be our caterer. He laid in a capital stock of wine,
brandy, fowls, and meat—and, so far, all went on right. The wine and
brandy he purchased from the far-famed Signor Cavizoli; but, if he paid
high for them, they were of excellent quality.
Meanwhile D‘Arcy, who conducted his department in the capacity of
Chancellor of the Exchequer, was regular in his attendance at the
gaming-table. He marked with much circumspection the gains and losses of
the numbers on his cards, for and against the banker; but his caution
was of no avail. In the first night’s play one hundred dollars had been
scooped from him by the Portuguese banker, leaving a surplus of about
seventy-five more at his disposal. As this was our last stake, and as
the fleet was to sail the following day (I wish it had sailed ten days
sooner), we all went to San Carlos to witness the luck of D‘Arcy. Before
him lay seventy-five dollars, and before him sat the banker, ready and
willing to relieve him of their weight. For the first half-hour he
played with some success, but afterwards the tide of luck was against
him. Not one of the party interfered _pro_ or _con_. Again he made a
rally, and, like, a ship at sea who has weathered the storm and begins
to right herself, he went on, as it were, sailing before the wind. But,
in a moment of exultation, and having, as he thought, calculated to a
nicety the certainty of success, he staked the entire of our
stock-in-trade on the turn of the card. He was right—the card turned up
in his favour, and he was a winner of three hundred dollars and upwards.
I looked on quietly, and expected to see him take the money or double
the card (which means “double or quit”), thereby insuring his stake at
the worst, or doubling it in the event of success. What, then, was our
astonishment and dismay when we saw him “cock” the card, and heard him,
in a loud tone, addressing the dealer of the pack in the single
monosyllable, “Cock.” Now, the meaning of the word “cock,” and “cocking”
the card, that is to say, turning up one of the corners of it, implies
that you will have, if you gain, three times the stake on the table,
but, if you lose, you lose all. So it was with D‘Arcy; the wrong card
turned up, and we, one and all, turned out, went home to our beds,
sailed for Portsmouth next day, and I never wagered a shilling at a
gaming-table since. Perhaps it was the best “turn up” I ever had.
Our passage home was pleasant and short. No incident worth relating
occurred; and, in twelve days after we left Lisbon, we found ourselves
off Spithead. The number of Jews which crowded the vessel was
astonishing. They all sought for gold, but amongst us it was a scarce
commodity. One solitary guinea was all I possessed, and I believe I
could say as much as any of my companions. For this guinea I received,
from a Jew, thirty shillings; and it was then that I really began to
lament the loss of my “specie” in Lisbon. It was, however, of no use to
repine. We had, after a good deal of peril, arrived once more on our
native shore. We saw ourselves, on landing, hailed by our own people,
and, though last, not least, had an order on the agent for seven months'
pay! We were all splendidly dressed, with braided coats, handsome forage
caps, rich velvet waistcoats, appended to which were a profusion of
large silver Spanish buttons—some wore gold ones—and our pantaloons bore
the weight of as much embroidery as, poor Fairfield once said, would
furnish a good sideboard of plate! Thanks to the old German tailor in
Lisbon (I forget his name) for this. If he charged high, he gave
everything of the best quality; but, as we landed, and saw the garrison
of Portsmouth in their white breeches and black gaiters, and their
officers in red coats, long boots, and white shoulder belts, we must
have appeared to them, as they did to us, like men who formed a part of
an army of different nations.
We took coach the morning after our landing for London. After a few days
spent there in sight-seeing and amusements, I set out to visit my family
in Ireland. I took my place on the top of the Liverpool coach, and, with
a light heart, viewed the beautiful country we passed over. The contrast
it presented to that which I had but a few weeks before left was great
indeed, and I felt a pride when I reflected that I, humble as I was, was
one of those who had fought and bled not only for my country’s honour,
but my country’s safety.
My servant, Dan Carsons, sat behind, and kept all the outside passengers
near him, either in astonishment at the tales he recounted as to what he
had seen, or in roars of laughter at some of his adventures, which he
told without any scrupulous qualms as to whether they were true or not.
He had made himself so agreeable to those behind that, at the first
stage, where we changed horses, some of the front passengers requested
he would take his place with them; but there was no vacant seat, and no
one seemed disposed to resign his place, so I thought the best plan was
for me to go behind, which, I said, I preferred to the front; and my man
Dan was installed beside the driver. The laughter in front was, if
possible, louder than it had been before in the rear, while Dan was
recounting his Peninsular reminiscences.
We reached Liverpool without any adventure, and next day sailed for
Dublin. In those days which I write of we did not use steam, and a
three-day passage from Liverpool to Dublin was quite a common thing, and
it was the practice then to lay in a sea stock for a voyage of four or
five days. This was a matter of easy accomplishment, and, having laid in
a fair supply of edibles, etc., we set sail, and on the third day
arrived in Dublin. After remaining in the capital one day, I parted from
my old companion, D‘Arcy, and took the first coach for the Kildare road,
while D‘Arcy brought himself to an anchor in the Ennis mail. Our leave
of absence was for three months, and, before the expiration of that
time, the second battalion of the regiment was expected in Ireland, so
we did not calculate on a long separation, nor were we mistaken.
It would be tedious and uninteresting to give any minute detail of my
reception amongst my family and friends. Those sort of adventures read
well in novels, but I do not think my readers will be displeased with me
for leaving them out. As a matter of course all my acquaintances got
round me, and I had to recount all my four years' adventures in the
Peninsula; and, while I was so employed in the drawing-room, my man Dan
fulfilled his part in the kitchen, and, I have little doubt, did much
more justice to the matter than I did.
When my leave expired, I took leave of my friends and joined the second
battalion, which was stationed at Fermoy. The army of the Peninsula had
by this time, the spring of 1814, established itself within the French
frontier, and reinforcements were in readiness to be sent from Cork to
join their companions in the south of France, but, as will be seen in
the next chapter, there was no need of this augmentation of force.