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.”

We soon reached the market-place. There I found an abundance of what I most wished for—fish. I purchased a number of fine mullet, some hens and fowls, and a variety of other matters which I thought requisite to garnish our table the following day, and I despatched my two trusty servants on their route some hours before I departed myself.

Being mounted on a superb mule I did not mind much what road I took, but struck across the mountains above Leomil, bordering on Moimento de Beira. Before I reached the passes I so well knew it became dark, and I lost my way. On reaching a small village I was informed by the peasants that I was still two leagues from Leomil, had a bad and difficult country to traverse before I could reach the road, and that the mountains were infested with wolves. I was aware that the latter part of their report was but too true; and when they told me the name of their village, near which I had shot before, I was convinced that my knowledge of the country by night was not quite as perfect as in broad day. The peasants endeavoured to make me remain where I was for the night; but notwithstanding their offers of hospitality, I preferred taking my chance with the wolves to the certainty of being half devoured by fleas, a commodity with which, I well knew, their houses were amply stocked. I therefore determined to proceed, as I was anxious to reach home; and I had no great fear of an attack, as I was well mounted, with a case of pistols in my holsters, and my sabre at my side. I left the reins loose on the neck of my mule, who, with wonderful sagacity, made her way through the different passes. We had nearly reached the high road without meeting any obstacle, save the different glens we were obliged to pass, when all of a sudden the mule became alarmed, and bounding to the right and left, made it difficult for me to keep my saddle. The distant cry of wolves soon, however, explained the cause of her uneasiness; and although I pressed on at as rapid a pace as the nature of the country would admit of, I found that the pack were palpably gaining on me.

I was within a few yards of the high road when three ringleaders of the pack came close to me. Two of them attacked my mule behind, while the other made a spring at her throat, and the remainder were coming rapidly into the field of battle, for so in fact it was. I discharged one of my pistols at the foremost, but whether I wounded him or no I cannot say; for, to speak candidly, I looked with more anxiety to secure a safe retreat than the honour of a splendid victory; and I can affirm, without the slightest qualm of conscience, that mine on this night was never surpassed—in rapidity, at least—in either ancient or modern times. Moreau was celebrated for his retreat through the Black Forest—Wellington for his to the lines of Torres Vedras—but what was the disparity of numbers in either case to what I had to contend against? Neither of those great men had more than three to one opposed to him, while I had—if I may judge from the howling of the reserve, and the daring of the advance—fifteen to two! for my mule must have her share in the exploit, because had it not been for her I firmly believe I should have never had an opportunity of relating what took place on the night I speak of. In a word, never was mortal man nearer being devoured.

The rest of the story is easily told. At length I reached the high road leading to Leomil. I gave my mule a touch of the rowels of my spurs, which might have been dispensed with, for she, poor thing, was to the full as anxious as myself to quicken our pace. In less than half an hour I reached the headquarters of the “Connaught Rangers,” and no man, I will venture to say, ever rejoined his corps with greater pleasure than I did mine on that occasion.

The hour for dinner at length arrived, and the dinner was a good one; and I say it was such, although I was the person who provided it. The fish was excellent, the fowl of the best quality, and to any one who has ever had the good fortune to taste a Lamego ham, it would be but superfluous to descant on the merits of so delicious a morsel. For the beef and mutton I can’t say much, but the wine was of the best quality. I had taken particular care on this essential point, and went to a convent where my friend Graham, with his Portuguese regiment, were quartered, and, through his interest, prevailed on the priests to send us some of their own best. In saying this I need not say more in praise of the wine, as it is well known those gentlemen never kept, for their own use, one drop of any wine that was not of the best quality.

The dinner went off well, the attendance was good, and we were all as happy as any corps could wish to be; but our doctor, O‘Reily, being a little “Bacchi plenus,” mistook the veranda for the door, walked out of it and fell, uninjured, about fifteen feet! The spot in which he happened to fall, fortunately, was a soft one, and he himself, being a little moist, escaped as by a miracle, without any mishap. Next morning I examined the spot, and was struck with astonishment at the exactness of the impression his features had left. Had he sat to have his likeness taken, and undergone the troublesome process of having his face daubed over with paste, it could not have been more perfect, and thus in a second of time, without any trouble to himself, he performed what would have cost him a full half-hour at least, with a great deal of annoyance into the bargain, had he regularly allowed a sculptor to take his bust. He had no doubt taken his wine without measure, and it is clear that the wine, or the effects of it, had taken his “measure,” and made him “measure” his length on the heap of mud upon which he fortunately fell, and it was in this instance “measure for measure.”

Major Macgregor, who commanded the 88th up to this period, now left us on leave, and was succeeded in the command by one of the most gentlemanlike officers and best soldiers in the British army—Captain Robert Nickle. Sir John Keane, as I have before said, commanded the brigade, Sir Edward Pakenham the division; and from the period of our arriving at our quarters at Leomil, until our leaving it on our advance towards Vittoria, we had not one single syllable of annoyance with either our Brigadier or Major-General, nor do I believe we had as much as one court-martial in the battalion—and this embraced a period of more than six months.