Ordered home—Priests carousing—San Carlos gambling-house at Lisbon—Cocking the card—The author quits the Peninsula—Adventures on the road—The author’s return to Ireland.

To those who have never seen service, or been present with the Peninsular army for a series of years, it would be rather a difficult task to make them comprehend the feelings of an officer upon active service, when ordered home. There are many, no doubt, who would say it was a lucky “turn up”; but there are many, I know, who would have a contrary opinion. Years of hard fighting, fatigues, and privations, that we now wonder at, had, nevertheless, a charm that, in one way or another, bound us together, though it severed some; and, all things considered, I am of opinion that our days in the Peninsula were amongst the happiest of our lives.

It was with feelings of regret that I was now on the eve of quitting the first battalion of the Connaught Rangers, but, before doing so, I resolved to spend a few days with my old friend and companion, Captain Graham. He was attached to the 21st Portuguese Regiment, quartered in a large convent half-way between Leomil and Lamosa; and here, for the first time, I had a full specimen of the manners and habits of the priesthood of Portugal. I had, it is true, met them occasionally before, and always found them pleasant, agreeable companions; but I had little idea of the depraved state they lived in until I became, in a manner, an inmate of the convent where my friend was quartered.

Dinner was about to be announced when some five or six priests entered, each carrying under his arm a small pig-skin of wine. They were all merry, gay lads, and looked as if they had—which I have no doubt of—tasted the contents of their fardeau. All were agreeable men; they talked upon all subjects; but the fair sex “had the call.” My friend asked where the others were who had promised to come. He was told they were on duty; but what that “duty” was, I could not exactly define. Be this as it may, dinner was scarcely over when three monks entered the apartment. One, who seemed to be the provider, was loaded with an enormous pig-skin of wine, which he carried on his back; and, so soon as the door was flung open, he, with some difficulty, placed it in a corner, and then, with his two companions, joined our festive board.

Now, at the time I am speaking of, I was a very young lad. I had, nevertheless, seen something of the world; I had mixed in society, high and low; I had read books—some of them moral, some the contrary; but in all that I had ever seen, read, or heard of, I never could suppose that, amongst any set of men—much less priests—so great a scene of blackguardism could be amalgamated together as I witnessed on this night. Their songs and talk were as indecent as can be imagined. The fellows were so pleasant that, if you could forget they were priests, it would have been well enough; but it is disgraceful to see men in this calling adopt the manners and habits of the most profligate, by which means they not only disgrace themselves, but the religion they profess.

I took leave of my old regiment, and, with two hundred and sixty-five dollars in my pocket, bent my way towards Lisbon. My old friend D‘Arcy accompanied me, and my man, Dan Carsons, took charge of our baggage-mule, which carried our kits. This, indeed, was a sort of sinecure to him; for, to say the truth, we were not overstocked with many extras. Little occurred worthy of notice until we reached Lisbon, and there we met with our companion, Simon Fairfield, so well known to the army.^[37] Maurice Quill was also there, and as they were both, like ourselves, waiting for a passage home by the first fleet that was to leave the Tagus for England, we thought we could not do better than “club” together.

It was a rare circumstance to meet two such characters, and our time passed away agreeably in learning those anecdotes which have been told of both. Much has been related of Quill, but Fairfield was immeasurably his superior on some points. In the first place, he sang beautifully, while Maurice could not sing at all; and if Quill possessed that extraordinary humour, which it is so well known he did, poor Simon Fairfield was an overmatch for him as a punster.

Our stay in Lisbon was but short, as, in a few days after our arrival, the fleet was in readiness to sail for Portsmouth. But, short as our sojourn was, it was of sufficient length to nearly empty our purses. That sink of profligacy and nest of sharpers, the San Carlos gambling-house, was the constant resort of all the idlers in Lisbon; and, in a few days, I and my friends were completely eased of all our loose cash. But we had one resource left, in the shape of a horse each, which was the same thing as ready money, and we determined to try our luck once more at the gambling table. Accordingly, the horses were sent to the fair, were sold, and brought a “fair” price. Mine fetched one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Those belonging to Hill, D‘Arcy, and Adair, all of my corps, were also disposed of at a “fair” value. Poor “Fair”field had no horse or mule. He had an old jackass—his companion for years—which brought to the general fund only fifteen dollars. A sort of council of war was now held as to the line of operations we should follow, and it was unanimously agreed that D‘Arcy, being a good judge of the game, should be the purse-bearer, and play according to his own judgment to any amount he might think proper, for the profit or loss of the entire party.

Matters were so far arranged, and we were ready and panting with anxiety to have another trial with the bankers of the San Carlos tables, when Hill, a young man of sound sense, hinted that, to prevent any mistake, and not to leave all on the “hazard of the die,” we should deposit a certain number of dollars each for the purchase of our sea-stock. This hint was so replete with rationality that we all acquiesced, and fifteen dollars “par tÊte” was regularly pouched by Hill, who was understood to be our caterer. He laid in a capital stock of wine, brandy, fowls, and meat—and, so far, all went on right. The wine and brandy he purchased from the far-famed Signor Cavizoli; but, if he paid high for them, they were of excellent quality.

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.