I am very sorry you had not received the letters I wrote from this in answer to that you wrote in company from Hendon, which I answered, each individually. I wrote also to my father and Emily in December, which letters I hope you have since received, and I only did not write from Porto, as I intended, from really not having time hardly to sleep or eat, what between duty and grand ceremonies and rejoicings. Nothing can have been more honourable or flattering to the Marshal than his reception in that City, and indeed in every place we have been in throughout the country, and he deserves it for his unremitted exertions, and Herculean labour. There exists not a more honourable firm man or a more zealous Patriot. His failings are mere foibles of a temper naturally warm and hasty, and great zeal to have everything right, without much patience. Those who accuse him of severity are either those who have felt it because they deserved it, their friends, or people wilfully ignorant of the state in which he found the army. And of how much he has foreborne, as to myself, I declare I do not know one instance of severity, and [do know] numberless ones of his mercy, and goodness of heart, where others would have been less lenient. You see I insensibly fall into politics, or the shop, so called, but one naturally writes about what one’s mind is constantly occupied with, and as the subject is not uninteresting I hope you will not be angry at my writing to a lady on such grave matters as Politics and Tactics, or rather more properly speaking, on public concerns.
I was three days at Arouca with dear Clara, who is a most amiable sensible woman. Her manners and sense are really quite astonishing for one so constantly secluded from the world. She was quite well. We put the convent in a terrible fuss by the Marshal’s arrival to breakfast there, on his way to Vizeu. It was very kind of him to go to pay her a visit, and he was very much pleased with her.
I have got an order from the Nuncio to remove her where I please, in case of danger, but it is not quite what I wanted, and I shall try to get a more general one, and bring her to Lisbon, when necessary, where my friends the Louriçals will be glad to receive her. The Marchioness has just lost her sister the Duchess of Laffões, and has the care and guardianship of the young Duchess and her sister, nieces to the Prince, a dismal prospect for her, poor thing, in the present state of public affairs, but notwithstanding she will not allow me to place Clara anywhere else, and she cannot be with more amiable charming people. Adieu, as I write to Tom and know that he will see this letter, and you his, shall say no more, but beg you will give kindest love to my dear father, with thanks for his letter, from your sincerely affectionate Son,
Wm. Warre.
Lisbon, Feb. 17, 1810.
My Dear Father,
I avail myself of Frank Van Zeller’s going to England to thank you for your very kind attention in sending me the books by John Croft, and it was odd that I had, not half an hour before, finished the translation into Portuguese of that on Light Infantry, when yours arrived. It is, however, not less welcome, as coming from you, and shall supply the place of the old one in our marches.
The great coat having brought a letter enclosed in it addressed to the Marshal, it is a doubt whether it is for him or for me. It came directed to me, and the letter enclosed is very equivocal. At all events it does not fit me and does him, and therefore he shall keep it, and if it is intended for me, he can send for one in its place that will fit me. This sort of great coat, however, is of little use on horseback, as it does not cover the knees. And as we can carry but little weight on our horses and but very little baggage, a cloak lined with any warm but light stuff is much better, as we oftener want a cloak to sleep in than to keep out the rain, and I have latterly practised riding with an oil skin cape over my great coat, and not minding the rain, so long as I have anything dry to wrap myself up in, or sleep in, when we arrive. Indeed my cloth coat gets so soon wet, is so heavy when filled with water, and takes so many days drying, that I never carry it with me, in order to save both myself and horse, and I find that we get as used to being wet, and mind it as little, as we do many other very disagreeable things.
Croft tells me you said something to him about a bear skin, which you would send me, but I feel equally obliged by your affectionate intention, and do not wish you to put yourself to the unnecessary expense, as I have already a very good one, a former present from Tom, and which I recovered after poor King’s death at Talavera.