Portugal, at that period, presented a picture of sadness and desolation which it is sickening to think of—its churches spoliated, its villages fired, and its towns depopulated.
It was no uncommon sight, on entering a cottage, to see in one apartment some individuals of the same family dying of want, some perishing under the brutal treatment of their oppressors, and some (preferring death to dishonour) lying butchered upon their own hearths.
These were scenes which no Briton could behold without raising his voice in thanksgiving to the Author of all good, that the home of his childhood had been preserved from such fearful visitations; and yet how melancholy it is to reflect that even in that cherished home there should be many self-styled patriots, who not only grumble at, but would deny their country's pittance to those who devoted the best part of their lives, sacrificed their health, and cheerfully scattered their limbs in rolling the tide of battle from its door.
I lament it feelingly but not selfishly, for as far as I am individually concerned, my country and I are quits. I passed through the fiery ordeal of these bloody times and came out scatheless. While I parted from its service on the score of expediency, it is to me a source of pride to reflect (may I be pardoned the expression) that we parted with mutual regret. That she may never again require a re-union with such an humble individual as myself may heaven in its infinite mercy forfend; but if she does, I am happy in the feeling that I have still health and strength, and a heart and soul devoted to her cause.
Massena's retreat having again called the sword from its scabbard, where it had slumbered for months, it was long ere it had another opportunity of running to rust through idleness, seeing that it was not only in daily communication with the heads of the enemy's corps in the course of their return through Portugal, but wherever else these same heads were visible, and for a year and a half from that date they were rarely out of sight.
On the 9th, we came up with their rear-guard on a table land near Pombal. We had no force with which to make any serious attack upon it, so that it was a day's dragooning, "all cry and little wool." We had one company mixed among them from day-light until dark, but they came back to us without a scratch.
On the morning of the 11th, finding that the enemy had withdrawn from the scene of the former day's skirmish, we moved in pursuit towards the town, which they still occupied as an advanced post. Two of our companies, with some Caçadores and a squadron of the royal dragoons, made a dash into it, driving the enemy out, and along with a number of prisoners captured the baggage of young Soult.
I know not whether young Soult was the son of old Soult or only the son of his father; all I know is, that by the letters found in his portmanteau, he was the colonel of that name.
His baggage, I remember, was mounted on a stately white horse with a Roman nose and a rat tail, which last I believe is rather an unusual appendage to a horse of that colour, but he was a waggish looking fellow, and probably had shaken all the hairs out of his tail in laughing at the contents of the portmanteau of which he was the bearer.