Meanwhile D‘Arcy, who conducted his department in the capacity of Chancellor of the Exchequer, was regular in his attendance at the gaming-table. He marked with much circumspection the gains and losses of the numbers on his cards, for and against the banker; but his caution was of no avail. In the first night’s play one hundred dollars had been scooped from him by the Portuguese banker, leaving a surplus of about seventy-five more at his disposal. As this was our last stake, and as the fleet was to sail the following day (I wish it had sailed ten days sooner), we all went to San Carlos to witness the luck of D‘Arcy. Before him lay seventy-five dollars, and before him sat the banker, ready and willing to relieve him of their weight. For the first half-hour he played with some success, but afterwards the tide of luck was against him. Not one of the party interfered pro or con. Again he made a rally, and, like, a ship at sea who has weathered the storm and begins to right herself, he went on, as it were, sailing before the wind. But, in a moment of exultation, and having, as he thought, calculated to a nicety the certainty of success, he staked the entire of our stock-in-trade on the turn of the card. He was right—the card turned up in his favour, and he was a winner of three hundred dollars and upwards. I looked on quietly, and expected to see him take the money or double the card (which means “double or quit”), thereby insuring his stake at the worst, or doubling it in the event of success. What, then, was our astonishment and dismay when we saw him “cock” the card, and heard him, in a loud tone, addressing the dealer of the pack in the single monosyllable, “Cock.” Now, the meaning of the word “cock,” and “cocking” the card, that is to say, turning up one of the corners of it, implies that you will have, if you gain, three times the stake on the table, but, if you lose, you lose all. So it was with D‘Arcy; the wrong card turned up, and we, one and all, turned out, went home to our beds, sailed for Portsmouth next day, and I never wagered a shilling at a gaming-table since. Perhaps it was the best “turn up” I ever had.
Our passage home was pleasant and short. No incident worth relating occurred; and, in twelve days after we left Lisbon, we found ourselves off Spithead. The number of Jews which crowded the vessel was astonishing. They all sought for gold, but amongst us it was a scarce commodity. One solitary guinea was all I possessed, and I believe I could say as much as any of my companions. For this guinea I received, from a Jew, thirty shillings; and it was then that I really began to lament the loss of my “specie” in Lisbon. It was, however, of no use to repine. We had, after a good deal of peril, arrived once more on our native shore. We saw ourselves, on landing, hailed by our own people, and, though last, not least, had an order on the agent for seven months' pay! We were all splendidly dressed, with braided coats, handsome forage caps, rich velvet waistcoats, appended to which were a profusion of large silver Spanish buttons—some wore gold ones—and our pantaloons bore the weight of as much embroidery as, poor Fairfield once said, would furnish a good sideboard of plate! Thanks to the old German tailor in Lisbon (I forget his name) for this. If he charged high, he gave everything of the best quality; but, as we landed, and saw the garrison of Portsmouth in their white breeches and black gaiters, and their officers in red coats, long boots, and white shoulder belts, we must have appeared to them, as they did to us, like men who formed a part of an army of different nations.
We took coach the morning after our landing for London. After a few days spent there in sight-seeing and amusements, I set out to visit my family in Ireland. I took my place on the top of the Liverpool coach, and, with a light heart, viewed the beautiful country we passed over. The contrast it presented to that which I had but a few weeks before left was great indeed, and I felt a pride when I reflected that I, humble as I was, was one of those who had fought and bled not only for my country’s honour, but my country’s safety.
My servant, Dan Carsons, sat behind, and kept all the outside passengers near him, either in astonishment at the tales he recounted as to what he had seen, or in roars of laughter at some of his adventures, which he told without any scrupulous qualms as to whether they were true or not. He had made himself so agreeable to those behind that, at the first stage, where we changed horses, some of the front passengers requested he would take his place with them; but there was no vacant seat, and no one seemed disposed to resign his place, so I thought the best plan was for me to go behind, which, I said, I preferred to the front; and my man Dan was installed beside the driver. The laughter in front was, if possible, louder than it had been before in the rear, while Dan was recounting his Peninsular reminiscences.
We reached Liverpool without any adventure, and next day sailed for Dublin. In those days which I write of we did not use steam, and a three-day passage from Liverpool to Dublin was quite a common thing, and it was the practice then to lay in a sea stock for a voyage of four or five days. This was a matter of easy accomplishment, and, having laid in a fair supply of edibles, etc., we set sail, and on the third day arrived in Dublin. After remaining in the capital one day, I parted from my old companion, D‘Arcy, and took the first coach for the Kildare road, while D‘Arcy brought himself to an anchor in the Ennis mail. Our leave of absence was for three months, and, before the expiration of that time, the second battalion of the regiment was expected in Ireland, so we did not calculate on a long separation, nor were we mistaken.
It would be tedious and uninteresting to give any minute detail of my reception amongst my family and friends. Those sort of adventures read well in novels, but I do not think my readers will be displeased with me for leaving them out. As a matter of course all my acquaintances got round me, and I had to recount all my four years' adventures in the Peninsula; and, while I was so employed in the drawing-room, my man Dan fulfilled his part in the kitchen, and, I have little doubt, did much more justice to the matter than I did.
When my leave expired, I took leave of my friends and joined the second battalion, which was stationed at Fermoy. The army of the Peninsula had by this time, the spring of 1814, established itself within the French frontier, and reinforcements were in readiness to be sent from Cork to join their companions in the south of France, but, as will be seen in the next chapter, there was no need of this augmentation of force.
CHAPTER XXVII
Breaking up of the British Peninsular army at the abdication of Napoleon—Separation of the soldiers' wives—The elopement—Sad story of Thorp, the Drum-Major—Conclusion.
After six years of terrible war, the army of the Peninsula at length found a stop put to its victorious career, and the inhabitants of the city of Toulouse were the last who heard a hostile shot fired against their countrymen. From the commencement of this wonderful struggle, in August 1808, to April 1814, more battles had been fought (all of them won) than England could boast of for nearly a century; and the triumphant march of the army of Wellington was uninterrupted by one defeat, until the subjection of their brave opponents was complete, which forbade further hostile advance upon the French territory.