CHAPTER XXV
End of the Burgos retreat—Cantonments in Portugal—Rest at last—Shocking effects of excess in eating—The neighbourhood of Moimento de Beira—Wolves—The author employed to cater for his regiment on St. Patrick’s day—Is attacked by wolves on his return—Measure for measure.
Dan Carsons' prognostication, which closed the last chapter, was not fulfilled, although a retreat on Portugal was necessary.
Once clear of the Spanish frontier we arrived, by easy marches, at the different towns and villages appointed for our occupation, while the French army retraced their steps, and, it is to be presumed, followed the course we had taken, though not exactly the same route.
The village of Leomil was the one allotted to the 88th, and was also the headquarters of Sir John Keane (the General of brigade) and his staff. This town, distant about five leagues from the city of Lamego, and two from Moimento de Beira, was by no means a bad resting-place for men who had for so many days, and in such inclement weather, inhabited no town, or slept, if sleep it could be called, under any covering except their tattered uniforms; but the transition was too sudden, and it is not difficult for the reader to see what the consequence was. An abundant supply of money, a great plenty of wine, meat, and poultry were things not to be lightly treated by a parcel of men in a state of nakedness and starvation. In a word, all were bought up greedily, and as greedily devoured. But the frames of the soldiers had undergone a great change; their stomachs were much weakened by the bad diet they had heretofore tasted, and the disordered state of their bowels was such, that in five cases out of six the soldiers were attacked with some complaint or other. The officers suffered little, because they had a greater command over themselves; but I knew an instance of a man of the company I commanded (his name was Travers) eating, for one week, independent of his rations, the head of an ox daily!
Reader, do not laugh at this. It is a true but melancholy picture, not a laughable one, of what a half-starved man will do when opportunity favours. The result, as might have been foreseen, was fatal. A violent inflammation of the bowels took place, and the poor fellow died in the most excruciating agonies. No remedy of our doctors could relieve him; they did all they could, but in vain.
The country in the neighbourhood of Leomil, and between that town and Moimento de Beira, is in the highest degree grand; it moreover abounded in game, and officers who were fond of their gun, or of coursing, had ample opportunities of enjoying both. There was, however, one drawback, which was an unpleasant one, and that was the vast number of wolves that infested the mountains. These fierce animals were so terrific when pressed by hunger, that in one instance they seized the head of a sheep which was in a house, having made their way under the door. The owner, hearing the cries of the animal, rushed to its assistance, and, catching hold of the hind legs, dragged it back, but the head and a part of the neck were carried away by the wolves. Another instance of their ferocity soon after occurred. A young child, who had wandered into the street of a small village earlier than usual, was carried off and devoured by these animals. But this in no way damped the ardour of our sportsmen. With a double-barrelled gun on his shoulder no one feared danger, though he might guard against it; and I never knew an instance of any one being attacked by a wolf, although we saw many in our sporting excursions.
Our cantonments by this time, the first week in February, had undergone so great a change for the better, that they might be really termed comfortable. From the time we were first settled in our present quarters we established an evening club, which was superintended by Misthress O‘Neil, who was by this time re-established in health. We wished to have a regular mess, but that was not possible, as the difficulty and expense of purchasing materials would have been too great; so we were necessitated to content ourselves with our evening club, which was a source of great amusement and conviviality. It brought us together each evening after our requisite duties to the soldiers had been gone through; and we had no sort of gambling: whist, our favourite game, was always played at a low rate, and each night was wound up by a supper of such materials as could be procured. Our commanding officer, Major Macgregor, gave up his best room for our use, and, all things considered, our club was most comfortable, and tended to keep up that feeling of harmony and action for which the “Connaught Rangers” were so remarkable during the Peninsular War. In 1809, after the battle of Talavera, the 88th, while quartered at Campo Mayor, established a mess. This circumstance, trifling as it may appear, was nevertheless attended with a good deal of trouble and a heavy expense. I do not remember that any other regiment in the army did the same. In 1812, after the battle of Salamanca, the 88th established a splendid mess, for which the officers paid a high rate. During both these periods the 88th was commanded by Colonel Alexander Wallace, whose name I have repeatedly mentioned in these pages for his distinguished conduct. Now the object of all this must be clear to any military man: it had but one object, and one only—the keeping up a gentlemanly and social feeling amongst the corps; and when, as has been seen, such feelings did exist, will any man give credit to the calumnies that have been attempted to be fastened upon the “Connaught Rangers” by the biographer of the late Sir Thomas Picton?
Sir John Keane was to dine with the regiment on St. Patrick’s day. Even at this early period I was their caterer, although in a far different way from that in which I am now employed: then I catered for their stomachs—their faim; now I cater for their honour—their fame! At an early hour on the 15th of March, mounted on a good mule, with fifty dollars in my pocket, I left my regiment on the route to the city of Vizeu, with a carte blanche to do the best I could in the purchase of provisions. I was followed by my man Dan, who had for his assistant, or coadjutor, as he styled him, my batman, Jack Green, as handy a “boy” as ever “listed” in the ranks of the “Connaught Rangers.” The mule they took charge of was little inferior to the one I rode, but their pace was of necessity slower, as he was encumbered not only with a pair of panniers, destined to carry the prog for our St. Patrick’s dinner, but also with the weight of Dan and Jack, who arranged themselves in the best manner they could astride his back. Vizeu is five leagues from Leomil, but, as I knew the country tolerably well, I struck out of the high road, and, crossing the mountains, reached the town some hours before my servants.
Vizeu is a good town, one of the best in Portugal, and the shops are abundantly supplied with such commodities as would suit the taste of a general buyer. Brazil sugar, nearly as white as snow, green tea at a cheap price, cloths of every description, and a rich assortment of Braganza shawls, so much prized in England, were severally named to us as we passed the different shops; but Dan, who was, or at least made himself, spokesman on the occasion, shrugged up his shoulders and replied to each, “No, señor, me no care the chocolate, nor the suggera, nor the shawla; me care the peché.”