RECOLLECTIONS
OF THE
LAST CAMPAIGN IN THE PENINSULA.

Halt ye not for food or slumber,
View not ’vantage, count not number;
Jolly reapers, forward still!
Grow the crop on vale or hill.
Thick or scattered, stiff or lithe,
It shall down before the scythe.
Forward with your sickles bright,
Reap the harvest of the fight.
SCOTT.

After four years of indefatigable exertions—doubt and disaster—success and glory—sickness and privation—hope and delight—the British army began to prepare for the promising campaign of 1813, under a chief whose military talents had riveted the confidence alike of his soldiers, as the citizens of that empire, for whose weal—for whose glory—for whose existence as a mistress of the world, he had shared in all the privations and sufferings of his troops, and was ready still to endure even to death, or crown his country’s hopes with success in that mighty and awful strife which engaged her so long. The winter had passed, and the early spring of Portugal had brought to that country reinforcements, money, and equipments, the want of which had but too frequently impeded the success of our army in the Peninsula. Transports were continually floating up the sunny Tagus, with their red-cross flags waving from the masts—their decks covered with glittering accoutrements, and hearty soldiers: fresh detachments and fresh regiments were daily filing off the public squares of Lisbon, to join the grand army; while the eyes of the often disappointed Portuguese followed them with patriotic hope, and their hearts and tongues ejaculated wishes for their success. The road from Lisbon to Coimbra and Vizeu, which had so often withered under the wasteful tread of war, now glistened with groups of laughing soldiers and brightening prospects; even the ruined towns of Condexia and Pumbal lost their appearance of despair, and assumed a faint aspect of hope—such as the dying feel from leech’s promises. The inhabitants everywhere were kind, the season was propitious, and the soldiery seemed to have caught a spirit of confidence which reacted on the people; and if it did not entirely remove their doubts and fears, it tended considerably to advance their hopes of success, and to tranquillize their long-disturbed minds. The arrival of the Hussar brigade at Lisbon affected the Portuguese more than any of the other warlike preparations—it was a cordial to their feeble spirits. This brigade consisted of the 10th, 15th, and 18th Hussars; and certainly its appearance was sufficient to encourage them highly;—the genius of romantic chivalry never imagined a more warlike and beautiful body of horse—their perfect discipline—their splendid equipments—their health and spirits—the true British halo which seemed to glisten around them—all conspired to elevate the Lisbonians almost to a certainty of success in the approaching campaign.

At no period of the war was there more cause for strong hope in the Portuguese than at this time: all the fortresses in their frontier-towns were in our possession—those provinces of Spain which were the favourites of Soult’s army evacuated—Souchet just defeated by Sir John Murray in the South—and Buonaparte ably opposed by the Russians; but the Portuguese had been so often led astray by flattering prospects, that nothing short of entire success could wholly convince them that they were secure from the persecutions of the French.

On the 20th of April I found myself at Oporto, having marched from Coimbra for the purpose of joining the left, or third column of the army, under the command of Sir Thomas Graham; which was destined to enter Spain by Tras os Montes. This column consisted of the first, third, and fifth divisions, together with the first cavalry division. The second, or centre column, was under the immediate command of his Grace the Duke of Wellington; and consisted, I believe, of the fourth, sixth, seventh, and light divisions: this was to advance to Salamanca. The first, or right column of the army, under the command of Lord Hill, was to proceed along the Tagus toward Toledo. Thus all the forces under the command of the Duke of Wellington were divided into three powerful columns; and so disposed as to be available at several points of attack.—A finer army—better officered and better equipped, from the massy ponton to the tent peg, never took the field; and none ever acquitted themselves there more creditably.

In sketching what I remember of this memorable campaign, it cannot be expected that I should display the pen of the historian; if I did so, I must of necessity draw from other sources than my own observation and the narratives of my brother-soldiers: but to this I do not pretend; what I recollect to have witnessed, or have been told by eye-witnesses, is all I offer to my readers:—an individual on a campaign, as a narrator of what occurred before him, ought not—could not consistently, do more: this I will attempt, so far as I conceive the matter may be interesting; I will describe my humble share in the glories of the army, and note those things only which, in my progress with it, appeared to me not unworthy of remark: I will do so with truth; and if I omit occasionally the notice of some particulars of interest, familiar to the memory of some who served with me, it can only be from want of more acute recollection. I have no doubt forgotten many a town, and wood, and valley, and blue mountain, which lay on my way, and many a circumstance also; however, enough remains to afford my mind a vivid picture of that eventful march,—to me, highly interesting and delightful, notwithstanding the fatigues which frequently attended it; and I trust that what I do remember of it will not be uninteresting to my readers.

I will mention an incident which happened to me when I arrived at Oporto; and the motive I have in touching on so trifling an occurrence is, that an opinion as to the French influence in Portugal, even at that promising time, may be in some measure drawn from it. I arrived at Oporto about five o’clock in the evening, and received a billet upon a respectable house for myself, my servant, and two horses. The master of this house was a rich lawyer; and although I learnt that quarters were very indifferent in the town, yet the appearance of the house inspired me with the hope that I should be enabled to make a better report on this subject, as far as regarded myself.

The outward gates of the house were open, and I walked up a wide staircase: having knocked at a large door, I was admitted by a cross-looking woman, who in answer to my question of whether the gentleman of the house was at home, replied, with a shrug of the shoulders, “Nao esta in caza” (not within). I explained the nature of my visit, producing the paper which authorised it; and immediately the countenance of the dame wore the most vinegar aspect: “Nao esta quartelia, Senhor, nada, nada, nada” (no room, none, none.) This I knew must be false, from the size of the house, as well as from my knowledge of the disposition of many of the Portuguese to shift off the trouble of accommodating English officers. However, I was determined to act only through the authorities; for the Commander of the forces was very scrupulous upon this point, and justly so; for many officers during former campaigns had acted rather despotically in their quarters, and occasioned reports of such a nature as to call forth a general order upon the subject, the effects of which were sorely felt by those officers whose conduct was peaceable and conciliating. Consistent with the spirit of this order, I left the old Donna, telling my servant he was to remain, and returned to the Portuguese authorities, who gave me the billet. On describing my reception, one of them burst out into exclamations of rage, declaring that the person on whom I was billeted was a liar and a favourer of the French. “He had room enough in his house for four French officers,” said he; “and if he does not find accommodation for you, Sir, in every way befitting a British officer, I will send him a dozen of Portuguese soldiers.” He then wrote a note to the lawyer, and requested me to take no excuse from him, but to order my servant to carry my luggage at once into the house. I pursued the directions given,—ordered my boy to unload and place my panniers, &c. in the house, and proceeded up stairs myself. The door was opened, and without ceremony I walked into the principal room of the house, where I discovered the lawyer in a fever of anxiety. He was a little smoke-dried man, of about fifty years of age, dressed in a spotted robe de chambre, and powdered in the highest style of professional ultraism. His fever increased to a paroxysm when he saw me in the heart of the garrison, for he never expected such a surprise; he reiterated the words of the old woman with a grin, (which he thought was a smile)—an attempt at polite denial—a widening of the mouth into a sort of imitation-smile, in which his little eyes took no part; in them could be seen the splenetic rage which would have burnt me into a cinder, if it had possessed the power. He declared that he could not accommodate me, nor any other officer; and had I been weak enough to parley with him civilly on the subject, his presumption would have increased more rapidly than it did; but I coolly threw myself down upon his splendid sofa, and desired him to read the note which I brought from the magistrates. He read it, and after a pause and a protracted shrug of the shoulders, muttered something of the great inconvenience he should be put to by having an officer billeted on him; but that he supposed he must put up with it; and begged that I would walk down to a room which he had below. I followed him; and after a tedious hour’s search for keys, he succeeded in opening an apartment, into which I followed him. Here, he said, he would put a bed on the floor,—the only bed he had; and that he would also send down two chairs and a table; hinting, at the same time, that Lord Wellington’s orders were that no other furniture was in any case to be supplied, except by the voluntary act of those on whom officers were quartered. An adequate idea of the apartment it is scarcely possible to give: it had been a sort of lumber-room, I suppose, for some centuries back—covered with cobwebs—damp, dirty, and dark—not an atom of any kind of moveable;—on the ground floor, too! and, contrasted with the superior accommodation given to officers by the Portuguese generally, it had the effect of exciting my indignation against the little lawyer to such a degree, that had it not been for the respect I bore for the orders of Lord Wellington, I believe I should have punished the insolent old rogue on the spot, by the application of my whip to his parchment skin. I paused a little; then took the key out of the door; and, nodding ironically to my patrao, I said, “esta bon”—“it will do very well.” I then went out, and ordered my servant to lead in both the horses:—there was scarcely a stable to be got in Oporto for love or money; and the thought struck me, that I could not only provide myself with a tolerable substitute for such accommodation, but punish the little hater of the English as he deserved.

The horses were brought into the apartment forthwith, to the astonishment, confusion, and intense mortification of the lawyer. Neither my servant nor myself could refrain from laughter at the picture. The little gentleman’s hands clasped in the fervency of his raging astonishment; his frame trembling with passion,—the old dame exclaiming loudly at the door, “Ai! Jesus, Maria, Joze!” and the animals (as all horses will after a journey,) relieving themselves by those actions, which in a parlour may seem out of place and highly laughable, but in a stable “quite correct.” The scene can only be imagined perfectly by those who saw it. The lawyer now lost all patience, and gave way to the most violent and unbounded rage. He called me “heretic Englishman,” and openly proclaimed his hatred of Great Britain and love of France; he stamped, raved, and ejaculated; but I coolly told him to walk out, or that I would lock him in with the horses, as I could not remain longer in my stable. He obeyed with a scowl and a curse; while I thanked him in the most polite manner for the accommodation his house had afforded me, and went back to the magistrates, to whom I related the affair. Their enjoyment of the joke was little less than mine; they advised me to keep the room as a stable while I remained at Oporto (which I did), and gave me another billet for myself, upon a house opposite to the lawyer’s, where I received the most hospitable attention for the few days I remained in the town; and had the pleasure of nodding at old parchment every morning as he went out of his house; which civility he never thought proper to notice, except by a frown, peculiar to his Jacobinical countenance.

As nearly as I can recollect, it was on the twenty-third of May, that our column commenced its march from its cantonments. Illness, brought on by overheating myself in an excursion of pleasure up the Douro, prevented me from marching on the appointed day. By the desire of the medical officer, I remained behind—having been bled but more than one day I would not stay, and although still unwell, persisted in my intention of moving, and mounted for the road.