April 1809.—None of the roads leading into the town of Lisbon announce one’s approach to a great capital. They are universally paved, the sides of the road overhung with vines and trees, with awkward country houses, and now and then a tasteless palace.
The road from Cintra to Lisbon by Ociras is the best furnished, and more diversified by the contrivances of wealth than any by which I have approached that metropolis.
By the right bank of the Tagus to Santarem nothing is at all interesting until Sacavem. The banks of the Tagus are very tame here as to scenery, and at Sacavem, or a little above it, fenny islands of considerable breadth divide the river into two main streams, which begin about thirteen leagues from the mouth of the Tagus, and end about seven leagues.
I have never had any opportunity of examining the localities of this part of the river, but its banks are not formidable.
But to return to my ride on the road to Villa Franca, at which place I arrived in the afternoon.
The Juez de Fuéro happened to be reviewing his lands bordering the Tagus, and was up to his ears in vegetation. I sent to him, but in vain. He walked from one field to another very composedly, discussing the produce with some other land-learned man, and as my patience began to exhaust, Colonel Perponcher arrived on a very fine black horse.
The Colonel is a Dutchman who had long served the British, and when I first knew him commanded in the island of Gozo, in which were no other troops than a battalion of Dillon’s, which (when we met at Villa Franca) was still in the Mediterranean, whither he intended to proceed to resume the command.
“Well,” said I, “how do you get on, Colonel, with your brigade?”
“Wat brigaade? Wo tol you I av a brigaade?”
“I was told that you were appointed to the command of two battalions of Portuguese.”