FOOTNOTES:
[7] I do not know whether the sergeant exaggerated or not; but, in justice to the service, I must remark that such stratagems are neither authorised nor resorted to at present.
CHAPTER X.
We had been about seven months in Cadiz, when the regiment to which I belonged was again embarked; and after a passage of eleven days landed at Lisbon. We remained there two or three days, making preparation for our advance; and were then conveyed in boats up the Tagus to Villa Franca, on our way to join the grand army under the command of Lord Wellington. From Villa Franca we marched to the convent of Alcantara, situated in a bleak moor; it had been wholly deserted by the monks, and the interior of it completely destroyed. From that we moved to Rio Mayor, where we were for the first time quartered on the inhabitants; they seemed comparatively settled and happy to those of other places, where the troops had more frequently passed. The site of this village was beautiful—the river, from which it took its name, glided past it in silent majesty, skirted with rows of large trees; between which could be seen the sloping fields of maize, interspersed with vineyards, where the bunches of large purple-coloured grapes were peeping forth, half hid by the green foliage with which they were surrounded, tempting, as it were, the passenger to try how deliciously they tasted; and some of our men could not resist the temptation, although they were forbidden fruit. There was something about this village so calm and serene, combined with the simple scenery around, which forcibly brought back to my imagination the Sabbath in a country village on the banks of the Clyde. I almost considered myself at home; and when I left it a day after, I felt grieved, as if leaving a place with which I had been long acquainted.
After halting one day here, we proceeded on the main road as far as Cavallos. Here we received information, from men going to the rear sick, that our army was retreating, after having fought an action at Busaco. This intelligence was soon confirmed by cars coming in with the wounded—those who had suffered slightly were walking, while others, whose wounds were more severe, were either sitting or lying on the cars, which from their construction were ill calculated for conveying sick and wounded men. They were about five feet long, and two and a-half broad; but instead of being boarded at the sides, there were stakes placed in holes about eighteen inches apart; the wheels were about two feet in diameter, rather octagonal than round; and as they were not girt with iron, it was quite a common thing to have a piece broken out of the circumference, and of course every time the wheel turned, the whole car was violently shaken. This was drawn by a pair of oxen, yoked by the head. A peasant, with a long stick and a sharp nail in the end of it, walked before them, and every now and then run his goad into their shoulders to hasten their pace. This generally produced an awkward zig-zag trot for a few yards, when the jolting occasioned by the inequality of the wheels, caused the most excruciating torture to the poor fellows who were in them, and forced them to groan with agony. In this manner, exposed to the inclemency of the weather, and going at the rate of two miles an hour, they had to travel to Lisbon, a distance of forty or fifty miles, before they reached an hospital. The wounded continued to pass during the remaining part of the day, and throughout the whole night.
The continual creaking of their wheels was intolerable. I know of nothing in this country I can liken it to, unless the grating of an iron door on rusty hinges, but it was still worse than that. The Portuguese never put any grease on their wheels; for they think the noise of them frightens away the devil. The consequence is, that the axletree often takes fire with the friction, and burns completely through. I never after could bear the noise of those cars. The hideous grating sound was always associated in my mind with the pallid faces and piercing groans of the wounded whom we that day saw passing.
Next morning we got orders to march across the country to Alcobaco, where we were to join the third division of the army, commanded by General Picton. This was a beautiful little village, with a very large convent in it, occupied by Bernardine monks—one of the richest orders in Portugal. It was built by Alphonso the First, to fulfil a vow made by him after the taking of Santarem from the Moors, and for its support he endowed it with all the land within view of its walls, which was not a little, for the prospect was extensive.
When we entered the village, we found it empty of inhabitants; for they had fled with precipitation when they heard that our army was retreating, leaving every thing behind them, but what money or jewels they could carry about their persons. We were quartered in one of the passages of the convent. The monks had all left it, with the exception of a few who remained to superintend the removal of some of their precious articles.
I forget how many hundred monks there were cells for in the convent; but an idea of its size may be formed, when it is known that a whole division of the army, consisting of not less than five thousand men, were lodged in the galleries alone, without filling them. Attached to it was a spacious chapel, the whole inside of which was decorated in the most superb style; the walls covered with valuable paintings, and in it a magnificent organ.
In the convent was the library, which contained a selection of many thousand volumes, with philosophical apparatus.