Retreat of the French army—Vultures on the field of battle—The Light Division and private theatricals—Major Leckie and the musician—Privations—The Connaught Rangers and the sheep—Deficient kits—Darby Rooney and General Mackinnon.

The Duke of Ragusa and the Count Dorsenne employed themselves the whole of the day (the 26th of September) in reconnoitring the ground we occupied, and everything announced that a battle would be fought the next day (which, had it taken place, would have been the anniversary of the battle of Busaco, gained by us the preceding year), but Lord Wellington observing a considerable body of troops moving upon his left, apparently with the intention of turning it, withdrew from his entrenched camp in the course of the night to the neighbourhood of Alfayates, leaving the 4th Division, commanded by General Cole, at Aldea-de-Ponte.

At break of day on the 27th the French army were in motion, but their surprise seemed great on finding our lines unoccupied. Marmont pushed his advance upon the village of Aldea-de-Ponte, and a gallant affair for our 4th Division took place there. The two regiments of Fusileers^[19] particularly distinguished themselves, and repulsed the enemy at the point of the bayonet. Night put an end to this affair, which cost us a couple of hundred men, and nearly double that number fell on the side of the French.

The enemy being but ill supplied with provisions, and the country in which they now were (Portugal) being quite unsuited to their operations, as well as unable to supply their wants, the French Marshal, having provisioned Rodrigo, which was the object sought for when he formed his junction with the army of the north, resolved upon retracing his steps, which he did on the following day, the 28th.

Lord Wellington issued a most flattering order to the troops engaged on the 25th, and so delighted was he with the conduct of the 5th and 77th that he held them up as an example to the army. On the 29th we went into cantonments, our division occupying Aldea-de-Ponte; and until our arrival there, I had no idea the loss of men and horses on the 27th had been so great. The ground was thickly covered with both, and immense numbers of vultures had already established themselves in the neighbourhood. These birds, the sure harbinger of a disputed field, crowded around us in vast flocks: whether this was owing to the lateness of the season, or to a scantiness in the supply of their accustomed food, I know not; but the voracity of these birds, and consequently their boldness, was beyond anything I had ever before witnessed. In many instances they would throw off their ordinary wariness, and strut before the carcase they were devouring, as if they supposed we were about to dispute their pretensions to it; but it is astonishing what birds of this description will do when really pressed by hunger.

Fuente-Guinaldo was occupied by our Light Division, who made that town agreeable both to themselves and also to their brothers in arms, not only by their hospitality, but by the attraction of their theatrical performances, which were got up in a style quite astonishing, considering the place and the difficulties which they must have found in supplying themselves with suitable costume; but the Light Division had an esprit de corps among them, whether in the field or quarters, that must be seen to be understood. Their dramatis personÆ were admirable, and Captain Kent of the Rifles, by his great abilities, rendered every performance in which he took a part doubly attractive. The 3rd Division, although unable to cope with the Light in this species of amusement, got up races, which, though inferior to those of the former year at Torres Vedras, were far from bad; amongst the jockeys was one, an officer in the Portuguese service, who, though an excellent horseman, was, without exception, the ugliest man in the division, or perhaps in the army. Major Leckie of the 45th took the greatest dislike to him on this account, and gave him the name of “Ugly Mug”—by which cognomen he was after known.

Just as the horses were about to start for a tolerably heavy stake, I went up to Leckie, who was one of the most knowing men on our turf. “Well, Leckie,” said I, “who’s the winning jockey to-day?”—“Why look,” replied he, “I’ve laid it on thick myself upon Wilde’s horse, Albuquerque, and tortured as I am with this infernal attack of gout (to which he was a great martyr), I have hobbled out to witness the race; but, my dear fellow, I don’t care one rush who wins, provided Mug loses.” However, Mug won his race easily, and poor Leckie went home quite out of sorts. Whether from the effect of his favourite horse losing, or “Mug’s” winning, or that the exertion was too much for him, I know not, but upon his return to Aldea-de-Ponte, he was seized with a violent attack of gout; towards midnight he was a little more composed, and had just sunk into a gentle slumber, when he was awoke by a young Ensign who had lately joined, and who occupied an apartment in the house where Leckie was quartered. This officer played a little on the violin, and had a very good voice; he began to practise both, and commenced singing the little air in Paul and Virginia of

but whether from being imperfect in the song, or that those particular lines struck his fancy, he never got beyond them. Leckie became very fidgety—every scrape of the violin touched his heart, but in a far different manner from that in which it seemed to affect the performer; a quarter of an hour passed on, and the same lines were repeated; at last the accompaniment grew fainter and fainter, until it died away altogether.

Leckie became composed: “Well!” exclaimed he, “that young fellow is at rest for the night, and so I hope shall I be,” and he was beginning to settle himself in a more easy posture when the same sounds reassailed him. This was too bad! He sprang out of bed, the perspiration rolling in large drops down his forehead; he rushed to the door of the Ensign’s apartment, which he forced at one push, and in a second was standing before the astonished musician in his shirt. The fatal words, “Tell her I love her,” had just been uttered, and he was preparing to add, “while the clouds drop rain,” when Leckie exclaimed, “By God, sir, I’ll tell her anything you wish, if you’ll only allow me to sleep for half an hour.” It would be impossible to convey an idea of the confusion of the young man upon finding his commanding officer before him at such a time and upon such an occasion; he made a thousand apologies, and poor Leckie, who was one of the pleasantest fellows in the world, in spite of his pain, could not avoid laughing at the occurrence, which amused him to the hour of his death.

Matters being in the state I have described in the month of October 1811, and as there was no likelihood of any active operations taking place, we began to make ourselves as comfortable as the wretched village of Aldea-de-Ponte would admit of. Any person acquainted with a Portuguese cottage will readily acknowledge that a good chimney is not its forte; we therefore turned all the skill our masons possessed to the construction of fire-places that would not smoke, and it required all their knowledge in the arcana of their profession to succeed even in part. However, they did succeed, partially, I must admit; but it was easy to satisfy us, and we made up for the badness of our fire-places by stocking them abundantly with wood, of which article there was no lack,—but we had barely sufficient straw to keep our horses and mules alive, much less afford ourselves a bed. In the entire village, I believe, there were not a dozen mattresses. Provisions were but ill supplied us, and we were reduced to subsist upon half allowance of bad biscuit. As to money, we had scarcely a sou; for although there was plenty of specie in Lisbon for our use, the want of animals to convey it to the army left us as ill off as if there had not been a dollar in the chest of the Paymaster-General. So that between smoky houses, no beds, little to eat, and less money, we were in anything but what might be termed “good winter-quarters.”

This state of privation was sadly annoying to the soldiers, and the men of my corps, or, as I am more in the habit of calling them, “the boys,” were much perplexed as to what they would do. Several desertions had taken place in the army, but our fellows did not like that at-all-at-all. “Why, then, by my sowl,” said Owen Mackguekin, of the Grenadiers, “I think Misther Strahan, the commissary, is grately to blame to keep us poor boys without mate to ate, when those pizanos have plenty of good sheep and goats; and sure if they’d ate them themselves, a man wouldn’t say anything; but they’ll neither ate them, nor give us lave to do so, and sure a’tanny rate, baccallÂo and azete^[20] is good enough for them.” I need scarcely remark that an argument so full of sound sense was not likely to be thrown away upon the hearers of Owen Mackguekin. From this moment our fellows determined to be their own commissaries.

For some weeks there had been a general defalcation amongst the different neighbouring flocks, and the Portuguese shepherds, confounded to know what had become of them, armed themselves, and kept watch with a degree of vigilance that they were heretofore unaccustomed to. Wolves, they remarked, were not sufficiently numerous in that part of the country to effect such havoc, even in the depth of winter; but, said they, it is impossible at this early stage of the season that it could be them; and they were right, for it would be difficult to point out one regiment that did not take something in the shape of tithe from the sheep-holders.

One night in November, 1811, three of the “boys” walked out of their quarters with nothing at all—but their bayonets; Mackguekin headed them. The sheep-fold they assailed was defended by five armed Portuguese; but what did the “boys” care for that? After nearly sending the unfortunate men to the other world, they very deliberately tied their arms and legs together “to keep them aisy,” as they afterwards said, and then performing the same office to three sheep, they left their owners to look after the remainder.

As may be supposed, this affair made a great noise. The Provost-Marshal was directed to search, with the utmost care, the quarters and premises of all the regiments; but the fellow instinctively, I believe, turned towards those of my corps; and here, I am sorry to confess, he found that which he wanted, namely, the three sheep, part of them in a camp-kettle on the fire, and the remainder in an outhouse. This was enough. The three men were identified by the Portuguese, tried, flogged, and had to pay for the sheep, which (the worst of it!) they had not the pleasure of even tasting. But this example by no means put a stop to the evil. The sheep-folds were plundered, the shepherds pummelled, and our fellows flogged without mercy. General Picton at length issued orders, directing the rolls of the regiment to be called over by an officer of each company at different periods during the night, and by this measure the evil was remedied. But we did not get credit for even this. That pleasantest of all pleasant fellows, Bob Hardyman of the 45th, used to say, in jest, that instead of the officers going round the quarters, we entrusted the duty to a sergeant; and, according to Bob’s account, the manner of his performing the duty was as follows:—

Arrived at the door, he gave a gentle tap, when voices from within called out, “Who’s there?”

Ser. “It’s me, boys!”

Sol. “And who are you?”

Ser. “Why then, blur 'an ouns, boys, don’t yees know my voice?”

Sol. “Och! and to be sure we do now.”

Ser. “Well, boys, yees know what I’me come about.”

Sol. “Sure we do, sergeant.”

Ser. “Well, boys, are yees all within?”

Sol. “Within, is it! to be sure we are; why, where else would we be?”

Ser. “That’s right, boys! but boys, take care, are yees all in bed?”

Sol. “In bed! sure we are, and all asleep too!!”

Ser. “Och! that’s right, honies, it’s myself that’s proud to find yees grown so regular!”

And having thus performed his duty, he wished them good-night. But poor Bob Hardyman was one of those sort of fellows that could say a thing (and make you laugh at it too, although at your own expense) that if another person attempted, he would get his teeth knocked down his throat; he verified a saying in his own county (Galway), that one man in that country might steal a horse with impunity, when another darn’t look over the hedge where he was grazing.

At Aldea-de-Ponte, the headquarters of our division, all was quiet; and although our allowance of provisions was scanty, and our supply of money scarcely sufficient to procure us salt and rice for our soup, the division, nevertheless, was in high order; we had a good deal of drill, and regular examinations of the men’s kits—a very necessary precaution with all regiments, and with my corps as well as another. At an inspection of this kind by General Mackinnon he found fault—and deservedly so, I must confess—with the scanty manner in which some of the men of my company were supplied. The General was too much the gentleman to row, or call names, but it was clear from his manner that he was far from satisfied with the wardrobe displayed by these fellows; indeed, if he was, it would have been easy to please him! At last coming to a “boy” of the name of Darby Rooney, whose knapsack was what a Frenchman would term vide, or, to speak more intelligibly, one that contained nothing whatever but his watch-coat, a piece of pipe-clay and button-brush! he seemed thunderstruck, as well he might, for I believe “he ne’er had looked upon its like before”!

With more asperity of manner than I ever observed him to make use of, he asked “Darby” to whose squad he belonged. Darby Rooney understood about as much English as enabled him to get over a parade tolerably, but a conversation such as the General was about to hold with him was beyond his capacity, and he began to feel a little confused at the prospect of a tÊte-À-tÊte with his General: “Squidha—squodha—cad-dershe-vourneen?”^[21] said he, turning to the orderly-sergeant, Pat Gafney, who did not himself speak the English language quite as correctly as Lindley Murray. “Whist, ye Bostoon,”^[22] said Gafney, “and don’t make a baste of yourself before the General.”—“Why,” said General Mackinnon, “I believe he don’t understand me.”—“No, sir,” replied Gafney, “he don’t know what your honour manes.”

The General passed on, taking it for granted that the man had never heard of a squad, and making some gentlemanlike observations on the utility of such partitions of a company, expressed himself satisfied with the fine appearance of the regiment, and our inspection ended with credit to us, this solitary instance excepted. This was, however, enough. Ill-nature and scandal seldom lack arguments. They are ever ready to take a hint, and it is unnecessary that a report should be as true as the gospel to form a foundation for their belief of it. An hour had not elapsed when the entire division were made acquainted (through some of our friends!) with the story. Groups of officers might be seen together (God forgive them!) laughing at our expense. “Well!” cried one, “did you hear what happened with the Connaughts to-day?”—“No,” replied a second, “but I’ll bet twenty dollars I guess; another sheep or goat found in their quarters?”—“No. But when General Mackinnon inspected them just now, there was not one man in the regiment who knew what a squad was!”—“I would have sworn it,” replied a third. An old crone of a major now joined the group, and shaking his head said, “Ah! they are a sad set!” Poor idiot! The 88th was a more really efficient regiment than almost any two corps in the 3rd Division.