Having halted here one whole day, we crossed over the bridge of boats to the southern province of the Alentejo, and entered Gaviao, where I was billeted in a very poor house. At night I entered a recess, much fatigued, and, upon quitting the mattrass in the morning, the bugs had made such a feast on my right leg from the hip to the very sole of my foot, so that I could scarcely walk, and was in a most dreadful state of irritation.
Passing onwards in our march, on the ninth day, we ascended a high hill on the summit of which stood Aronches, commanding an extensive prospect over a diversified sandy country, intersected with forests, vineyards, rocks, and small fields of Indian corn, and encompassed by dilapidated walls formed of loose stones carelessly heaped one on another without mortar. The streets of the town were narrow, and almost deserted, with huge shapeless rocks at every few yards, rearing their heads, and blocking up the way, whilst a solitary Portuguese was seen striking an old battered guitar with all his fingers (as on a tambourine) and hallooing forth some ditty loud enough to be heard in the distant valleys. The heat of the day was quite overpowering, the firmament was of heavenly blue, while the sun shone forth in full splendour, forcing us to retire to some shady spot from its scorching rays, and to take some repose after the fatigues of the march.
Towards the close of the evening we again stood on the ramparts to inhale the cool and delicious air. The shades of night had scarcely hidden the face of the country from our view, when the moon, rising in all her grandeur, threw a pale light around, and tipped with silver the battlements of those venerable towers built by the Moors, which for centuries had endured, and had frowned defiance on the flitting shadows of many generations, gliding by their grey walls unheeded and forgotten. As we gazed in sweet contemplation on the surrounding scenery, all nature seemed hushed, and the universe sunk into slumber, when suddenly the bell of a monastery close at hand tolled loudly, and in the gentle breeze, at intervals, we heard the solemn dirge of a religious procession, which, by degrees, arose on the ear, and gradually encreasing became louder, and swelled into such an awful bass strain, as one might conceive to inspire reflection in the firm, horrors in the nervous, and all the terrors of purgatory in the dying. The long procession of monks passed us, wrapped in their sombre drapery, as if they had emerged from the very bowels of the earth. The scene was impressive. After we had retired, my slumbers were disturbed by the horrors of the nightmare; and, when the merry rays of the sun sparkled in at the windows the next morning, I felt as if delivered out of some dungeon, longed for the camp, and hoped that, should fate cut short my career, the sun and moon might alternately throw their rays over my expiring body, rather than that I should die a lingering death, surrounded by wax tapers and priest-craft, and then buried in satin and gold, and finally extinguished by a basket of quick lime.
On the 20th of July we descended into the valley, and, at the edge of a wood, awaited the coming of the division, from an advanced camp on their way to Castello de Vida. Every eye was on the stretch, and in the distance we descried a cloud of dust rolling towards us, the bright sparkling rays of the sun-beams playing on the soldiers' breast plates, when suddenly the leading regiment of the light division burst forth; their bronzed countenances and light knapsacks, and their order of march, all united to inspire a conviction that their early discipline had not only been maintained amidst privations, battles and camps, but had become matured by experience. They had traversed mountains, and forded rivers; the grim and icy hand of death had grasped many in the unhealthy marshes of the Alentejo, and with sure effect had scattered balls amidst their ranks without distinction: yet the remainder of these veterans were still bent onwards, to gather fresh laurels in the rugged and uncertain paths of fortune. Seven regiments of light infantry and riflemen defiled before us with their thread-bare jackets, their brawny necks loosened from their stocks, their wide and patched trowsers of various colours, and brown-barrelled arms slung over their shoulders, or carelessly held in their hands, whilst a joyous buzz ran through the cross-belted ranks, as their soldier-like faces glanced towards us to greet many of their old comrades now about to join in their arduous toils after a long separation. A cloud of dust alone marked their further progress as they receded from our view. Following in succession, we brought up the rear. At the expiration of an hour's march, we entered a wood, formed column, called the roll, and the whole division was then dismissed. The assembled multitude of voices, the tearing and cutting down of branches of trees, crackling of fires, rattling of canteens, shooting of bullocks through the head, and the hurrying of parties of soldiers for rum and biscuit for rations, the neighing of horses, braying asses and rampant mules, all resounded throughout the forest, giving new life and merry echoes to its most intimate recesses. Groups of officers stood in circles; every countenance seemed decked in smiles, and a hearty welcome greeted us from all hands.
Under the wide-spreading branches of a venerable cork-tree, decorated with pack-saddles, accoutrements, and other military trappings, dinner was served up and laid out on a pair of hampers, which served us instead of a table. Beef, biscuit, tea, rum, and wine, composed our fare, it being a usual custom to join breakfast and dinner, so as to make one meal serve for the twenty-four hours, the troops merely halting to cook and refresh themselves during the heat of the day. A more happy meal, I can safely say, I never partook of; and with infinite admiration did I regard the purple jackets and battered epaulettes of my companions. Our small keg of wine being emptied, the word passed to pack up and accoutre; and, in an incredibly short space of time, the column re-formed. The "assembly" sounded (the signal of march) threes, from the right of companies, the bands struck up, and at the end of two hours' march, and towards nightfall, we entered another wood. The same ceremony gone through as already described, the blankets were spread out, the earth our bed, knapsacks our pillows, and the overhanging trees our canopy; the busy hum of life no longer vibrated through the bivouac, and thousands of soldiers slumbered and reposed their weary limbs, lying scattered throughout the forest, or around the dying embers of expiring fires. My companions insisted on stretching themselves on each side of me, protesting that they ought to do thus, as a protection against cold for the first two or three nights, since a very heavy dew fell, so as almost to wet through the blankets, notwithstanding the great heat of the weather by day. For some time I was unable to close my eyes, owing to some insects flocking up my legs in swarms, and creating much irritation.
Let us, for a moment, withdraw the veil of futurity, and make a few anticipations. On my right tranquilly slumbers a youthful warrior of sixteen years old, and on my left unconsciously sleeps the other, one year older. Lieutenant E. Freer is doomed to undergo two more years of the toils of war, to suffer sickness and privation, and, at the sanguinary assault of Badajoz, to receive a severe wound in the upper part of the thigh; and lastly, at the age of nineteen, while in the Pyrenees, a ball passes through his right arm, and enters his side: he staggers, utters three words, and falls a lifeless corpse amid those dreary regions!
Lieutenant J. Considine, at the assault of Badajoz, receives a ball through his body, and, stretched on the damp sod, enveloped in darkness, bleeds inwardly. A light is held over his pale face, and discovers the blood flowing from his mouth. Borne, however, to a place of security, he recovers. The next year he is tormented by a malignant fever, and afterwards, on the highest pinnacle of the Pyrenees, a ball strikes him; his thigh-bone is broken near the hip: he cries for help. I look down: he lies prostrate between my legs. The balls carry death and destruction around: we are under the walls storming a fort, and fighting hand to hand. Four soldiers attempt to carry him off, and, not being aware of the place of his wound, hoist him up, and turn his left foot outwards over his shoulder; by which means the thigh-bone is completely broken asunder. His screams are dreadful, and two of the soldiers fall dead, pierced with balls. The battle ended, he is carried to a place of security, where he eventually recovers!—and he now commands the 53d regiment.
Early the next morning we were again on the road. The martial music struck up, and continued to play for a short distance: the word passed to march at ease: conversation then commenced. The soldiers lighted their pipes; and, before the sun had reached its meridian, we filed into Portalegre. The streets were marked off, in the first instance, for different corps; then the houses, again, subdivided amongst officers and soldiers; the latter portioned off according to the size of the different dwellings; the butt ends of the soldiers' firelocks serving as knockers, to rouse the sulky inmates, who would fain plead ignorance of the arrival of so many guests. It was by no means an uncommon occurrence for owners of houses to try all kinds of expedients, by absence, paltry excuses, or otherwise, to drive away the tired officers in disgust, who presented billets of lodgement. One day, an officer on the staff had patiently waited some time at a door without being able to gain admittance, until at length the patron walked up from the street and feigned civility, making a low bow, and saying to the officer, "Senhor, I have no key;" when the officer returned his salute, coolly lifted up his long leg, and applied it to the door with such force that it flew open at the first blow—then turning to the astonished Portuguese, said "Senhor, tiengo bon chave"[12], and at a slow march and with clanking sabre, took possession of the house. From that day he was known by the appellation of Bon chave throughout the army.
Another division entered the town the same day. The army was composed of eight divisions of infantry, besides cavalry and artillery; the former force was known throughout the army by the following familiar appellations: "the gentlemen's sons," "the surprisers," "the fighting division," "the supporters," "the invisibles," "the never heard of," "the all-sorts," and "the division:" but, before the end of this most sanguinary war, they all fought again and again, covering themselves with fame and lasting glory.