Thus time beguil’d in social chat was past, When John reflected he’d not broke his Fast. When from the Road a narrow path he took, And gain’d a Rocky Bank, hard by a Brook. For now friend Sol had his meridian got— John felt uneasy, ’twas so scorching hot. With eager look a survey round he made, To take advantage of some friendly Shade. Alas! no friendly Bough would interpose A shadow large enough to screen his nose, So, near the spot at which his Dobbins drank, He crept beneath the shelving of the Bank; Whilst Teague, regardless of the Sultry ray, Unpack’d the load, and let the Dobbins stray: Then spread the Breakfast, which, to John’s relief, Proved a good store of Biscuit, Ham, and Beef. John, now refresh’d, still closer in did creep, With Brandy quench’d his thirst, and fell asleep. Teague hearing now his Master snore profound, With great composure squatted on the ground; Then with the Brandy filled the largest Cup— ‘Here’s to good luck!’ said he, then drank it up. Again replenish’d, down again it goes,— ‘And that’s,’ said Teague, ‘in honour of my Nose.’ Another filled, Teague thought it mighty clever, Though last, not least, ’twas ‘Ireland for ever.’ Then cast a look around, to see all right, Fell on his back, and wish’d himself good Night. When now the Sun had three parts clear’d his Course, Teague started up, and look’d for Mule and Horse; Pack’d up and loaded, and with gentle stroke, Touching his Master’s shoulder, he awoke; ‘’Tis time to March, Sir, and more cool the weather.’ John was content, so off they went together; Reach’d Gallega that night; Punhete next day. Poor John knock’d up, began to curse the Way. ‘Such Bl—st—d Roads will make a Fellow crazy!’ ‘O plase you, Sir,’ said Teague, ‘do just be asy; ‘By Ja—s ’tis a turnpike, let me tell ye, ‘To what you’ll meet with at that Villa Velhe.’ John interrupted Teague in his Oration, To know, was not Abrantes the next Station? ‘Faith, and it is,’ said Teague, ‘there is no doubt; ‘Is it not mintioned in your Honour’s Route?’ ‘O! D——n the Route,’ said John; ‘I want to know, ‘I’m so curst tired, how far we have to go!’ Abrantes Castle now came full in sight, Much to John’s consolation and delight. A T——r was its Juiz; as folk say, If not belied, and in the Frenchman’s pay, A Brutish Coxcomb—rough, and most uncivil, Who slily wish’d our Army at the Devil; On all occasions, it was his delight, On British Officers to vent his spite; Kept John, with Teague and Baggage, at his Door, Kicking their heels for full three hours and more. John fumed and fretted—but ’twas all in vain; Till tired to death, his Billet did obtain. But such a filthy, loathsome, beastly Hut Mud walls, Mud floor, besmear’d with Slime & Smut! ‘O L—d!’ says John, ‘pray how shall I contrive, ‘In this D——n’d hole, to keep myself alive?’ A half-starved Taylor, vamping up old breeches, Cried, ‘Viva, Senhor!’ and pursu’d his stitches. ‘Viver!’ said John, ‘O G—d confound your “viver,” ‘This horrid place will put me in a Fever.’ Then with Grimaces, Sighs, and Groans, and Shrugs, Explor’d this den of Lice, and Fleas, and Bugs. It is a fact well known, the Portuguese Cherish voluptuously both Lice and Fleas; Some Bramin-like, are influenc’d by Piety, But mostly for Amusement, and Society; For Females oft in parties will carouse, Scratching each other’s Heads, t’ entrap a Louse, Whilst on their skins, the Fleas will Skip, & Scramble, And wanton Lice through all their ringlets ramble. Not that these Gamesome Merriments we find, As in some Countries, to the Poor confin’d; Here does their influence undisputed Reign, From Courtly Nobles, to the humble Swain. But to resume, poor John, as it was late, Sadly submitted to his wretched fate; Rejected Food, on Canteens stretch’d he lay, And sullen watch’d for the returning Day. Teague fed his Animals, then took his Dose, And soon resign’d himself to his repose. Restless poor John now pass’d the tedious Night, Each minute starting from a greedy Bite; With outstretch’d neck, his eyes he cast aloof, Reliev’d at length by Day-light through the Roof, Set Teague to work, and so without delay, Saddled his Dobbins, and went on his way. Now eagerly he sniffed the fragrant Gale, The Tagus crossed, and travell’d in the Dale. Govina, Niza, now left in their Rear, When Dobbin stopped, and bristled up with fear. ‘God rot the beast!’ says John in some amaze, Rose in his stirrups, and did round him gaze: A sight beheld, that gave his nerves a shock, A mangled human Body on the Rock. Transfix’d, he stared with horror and affright, And roared to hasten Teague with all his might. Teague unconcerned, with shrug of nonchalance, Said, ‘O, by Ja—s! you’ll ne’er get to France! ‘He’s a Frenchman, Master, that lies sprawling, ‘The Wolves have given him a pretty mauling.’ ‘What, Teague,’ said John, who felt another dread, ‘Is’t Wolves that have upon this Carcase fed?’ Again with horror did around him peer; ‘Won’t they attack us, Teague?’ they must be near. ‘Attack,’ says Teague, ‘your honour need not fright; ‘If we were dead, and Travelling here, they might.’ John tired, and anxious, now began to grumble, The cursed, rugged Road, made Dobbin stumble; Some sad mishap his senses now forebodes, When Teague exclaims, ‘These are the Now from a Cliff they view’d a Gulph below, Where Tagus sternly midst the Rocks did flow, A narrow path they follow’d, jam’d with stones, John, Dobbin led, and trembled for his bones: Scrambling, & straggling, step from Ridge to Ridge; At length, the danger passed, they reach’d the Bridge. Now on their Route we find them each day gaining, But, wearied out, poor Johnny ceas’d complaining; Grown used to suffer Insolence and Pillage In every beastly town and dirty Village; To see Religion made the tool of Knaves; To crush morality, and nourish Slaves. As now to Salamanca near John drew, Pleas’d that to Portugal he’d bid adieu, Was told to hasten—there might be a Fight, The Hostile foes were in each other’s sight: With British ardour thrilling thro’ each vein; Urged by an impulse nothing could restrain. John’s soul was meek, but he felt in truth With all the bashful modesty of Youth; From his blest native Soil he did inherit A bold, determined mind, and active spirit; Nought could his zealous energy oppose, He’d join his Reg’ment, and he’d face its Foes— Boldly push’d on to share in the Attack, And found the brave King’s Own in Bivouac. All here to John appear’d both strange, and new, He knew not what to say, nor what to do; Which way to turn, nor whom he should accost,— Poor John amidst the motley Crew was lost. Here groupes of Soldiers, in light converse stood, Some he saw cooking, others fetching Wood. And here, and there, were seen a huddled heap, In spite of scorching Sun, all fast asleep. And now a crowd of Officers he sees, On Rocky fragments sitting at their ease. John went to seek the Officer Commanding: An Officer replied, ‘Sir, there he’s standing.’ John now with modesty reveal’d his Name, Told him the Rank he held, and how he came. Introduced to his Colonel. The Officer his aid now friendly lent him, Proposing to the Colonel to present him. To this John readily gave his assent, And arm in arm they sociably went. Arriv’d, the Officer first stepped before, ‘This, Sir, is Ensign Newcome, of our Corps.’ ‘I’m very glad to see you, Mr. Newcome; ‘’Tis charming weather: pray from whence do you come?’ ‘Uncommon hot, Sir! but I push’d my Cattle, ‘In hopes I should in time be for the Battle.’ ‘O! you’re in famous time, you need not fear: ‘But you must send your Baggage to the Rear.’ ‘The Devil!’ quoth John, ‘this is a queer beginning, ‘So sweating Hot, and not a change of Linen.’ And then in modest accents did intreat, He might reserve his Canteens and his Meat. ‘By no means, Sir, just now, we Sons of Mars, ‘Are glad to live on Brandy and Segars. ‘In anxious times like these, it is our plan, ‘To satisfy our hunger as we can; ‘The Ground our Bed, where we contented lie, ‘Nought interposes ’twixt us and the Sky. ‘We first must drub yon Saucy Vapouring Elves, ‘Then get our Baggage, and enjoy ourselves.’ John listen’d, scrap’d, and bow’d, and then retir’d: (Not that the Colonel’s speech he much admir’d.) ‘Come,’ said his Friend, ‘cheer up, & don’t be glum. ‘I’ve got a Biscuit, and a little Rum.’ ‘No, no,’ said John, ‘I’ll from my Canteens borrow, ‘We’ll feast to-day, altho’ we starve to-morrow. ‘Then hand out, Teague, whatever is to spare, ‘And let us all the Prog amongst us share.’ Now see him careless stretch’d upon the ground, Viewing with silent wonder all around. His brother Officers so oddly drest, Their ragged Jacket, and their purple Vest; Reg’mental Great Coats, batter’d, bare, and old; And Forage Caps that once were blue, and gold. Shirts of whose proper colour were no trace. Mustachios, Whiskers, that disguised their face. Yet all was lively, frolicsome, and gay, Full of their laughter—full of fun and play. And now John’s Hams and Tongues were all paraded, And by his hungry Friends were soon invaded; The flowing Cup they to each other bandy, They ate his Prog, and drank up all his Brandy. In course of conversation there arose A question, as to number of their Foes. One said there’s Twenty Thousand; others swore There were, they thought, at least as many more: As many more at least they would maintain— Look at their Columns stretching o’er the Plain. John started up, astonish’d to descry The Hostile Army just below them lie. ‘O bless my heart!’ said John, ‘what lots of Foes, ‘They’re scattered all about as thick as Crows.’ He view’d them with a keen, astonish’d eye, Felt rather queer to find they were so nigh. But snugly kept his thoughts within his breast, Fearful they’d turn his ignorance to jest. Now evening closed, and cast a silent gloom; ‘Come,’ says his friend, ‘lay down, we’ll make you room: ‘Here take this Blanket, and beneath you spread, ‘And here’s a Stone, as Pillow for your Head.’ John thankfully conformed to his advice, And, like the rest, was snoring in a trice. Now the bold Leader of each Hostile Band, Manoeuvred for the ’vantage of the Land. At length great Wellington, with his Allies, Completely took the Frenchmen by surprize,— Boldly descended in the midst of Day, Attack’d the French as they supinely lay; His Light troops skirmishing, began the Battle, Then thundering Cannon thro’ the Ranks did rattle. Divisions to Divisions then oppose, But British valour soon overwhelm’d its Foes. Then burst the Cavalry with heroic speed, Charging their Squares, and every where succeed. Beat at all points, the dastard Frenchmen yield, Trust all to flight, and scamper from the Field. Thus the brave British, German, Portuguese, Fought, Conquer’d, Triumph’d at th’ Arepiles; And I, to deck my story, fain would sing, How all the Salamanca Bells did ring; How Peasants unconcerned, th’ ensuing Day, Plough’d thro’ the honour’d soil where Heroes lay. But no—content I’ll to my story keep, And so return to John I left asleep; Who, wrapt in slumber, care forgetting, lies, The Long roll Beat—he started, rubb’d his eyes. ‘Why, what’s the matter?—surely it is dark.’ ‘Aye,’ says his friend, ‘we rise before the Lark. ‘Our Orders are to fall in every Morn, ‘And stand to Arms an hour before the Dawn; ‘Come, rouse my honest Fellow, don’t be slack, ‘At break of day the Frenchmen may attack.’ John rose, but grumbled out, ‘If I’d been told, ‘They’d start me up thus shivering in the Cold; ‘To go Campaigning, I would ne’er been led. ‘But stuck to my own Corps, and Feather-Bed.’ The Adjutant did now friend Johnny fix, To Captain Bull’s division, Number Six; In Captain Buckett’s company, when ‘Lo!’ Says John, ‘I think I Captain Buckett know; ‘His uncle’s Tub the Brewer, I’ve no doubt,— ‘Old Buckett lives in Faringdon Without.’ Soon recogniz’d—the Morn began to break; His Captain begg’d he’d half a biscuit take: ‘Eat it, my boy, and mind what I shall say, ‘I’m sure we shall have pepp’ring work to Day; ‘And drink this Rum, for I’m apt to think ‘We shall have more to do than eat and drink.’ And he was right; in truth they soon did hear— A sort of busy Hum came from the Rear. An Order from the General, to say, ‘The Column was to move without delay.’ John to his Captain stuck, but was perplex’d To think of what the deuce was coming next. Now for three hours they March’d with steady pace, Till they descended to the Mountain’s base. The Column halted—stood in close Array; The Light Troops forward push’d to feel the way. The Muskets’ prittle prattle soon commences, Along the Front, from Ditches, Walls, and Fences. Now, ’scaping from a distant patch of Smoke, Shells from the Frenchmen’s Mortars round them broke. And now their Field-Guns at the Column aiming, Shot, after Shot, in peals of thunder coming. Smells powder for the first time. When John this skirmishing did first behold, He thought the Little Light bobs desperate bold. But when stray Bullets whistled by his Ear, John rather shrunk—but ’twas not done through fear; ’Twas his first trial, he could not disguise A natural impulse, taken by surprise. Now Bullets, Balls, and Shells around them flew, As to th’ embattled Foe they nearer drew. Now to its Right the Column did incline,— Gain’d its Position, forming into Line; With slow, but bold, intrepid pace, advance Amidst the Vollies of the Troops of France. The Battle soon with death-like fury rag’d. John’s mind, his Eye, his every thought engag’d. Around him Slaughter dwelt with ruthless Blow, And Heroes’ blood did in sad torrents flow, When Johnny suddenly receiv’d command, He in his Captain’s place should take his stand. Struck by the fragments of a Broken Shell, Fighting his country’s cause, the Hero fell. Undaunted, undismayed, our gallant John Took the Command, and bravely led them on. And now by British valour close assail’d (For British valour every where prevail’d), Three piercing shouts their Hostile Bands invade, When desperately the British charge was made. O’erthrown, disorder’d, down their arms they threw, Whilst British Victors every where pursue. Thousands lay drench’d in gore upon the plain, Thousands led Captive in the Conqueror’s train. The Battle o’er, the foe now put to flight, Chac’d by the Victors till the close of night. The Gallant Bands to neighbouring heights retire, In groupes collected, nestle round the Fire; The conflicts of the day by turns relate,— Count o’er the slaughtered, and lament their fate. Stretch’d on the ground, they lay in sound repose, Nor rous’d from slumber, till the Sun arose. With melancholy zeal John bent his way To seek the spot where his brave Captain lay— Fain would I stop, but truth I must impart, And spread a gloom o’er every British heart; As slow his searching eye survey’d the ground, Bestrew’d with Mangled Carcases around, He saw, when speechless, horror-struck he stood, The naked Body weltering in its Blood. ‘Alas!’ says John, with indignation heated, ‘Is this the way a gallant Hero’s treated?’ And now the Body to the earth he gave, And with a friendly tear bedew’d the Grave. When Johnny did a Letter home Indite, To tell his mother all about the Fight. Johnny writes an account of the Action to his Mother, which afterwards appears in the Star. ‘Dear Mother, ‘In few words I will contrive ‘To let you know that I am safe alive. ‘I know, dear Mother, it will give you joy— ‘The Colonel said, I was a gallant Boy. ‘But truly, Mother, my poor pen can’t tell ‘How we were Pepper’d by the Shots and Shell. ‘Poor Buckett too, you know, old Buckett’s son, ‘Was kill’d, and fell before we made them run. ‘And now, dear Mother, I’m sure for joy you’ll cry, ‘To know who led his Soldiers to the charge? but I. ‘Our glorious General too, he lives as hard ‘As any Ticket Porter in our Ward. ‘But I’ve no time, though much I have to say, ‘We’re order’d to March off without delay. ‘I don’t know where to give you my direction, ‘So give my loving Father my affection. ‘We shall have Peace, and then go home again, ‘So I most dutifully do remain, ‘J.N.’ Half Rations. The Rations now arriv’d, each took his share, And eagerly devour’d the scanty Fare; And scanty Fare it was, consisting chief Of flinty Biscuit, tough, and stinking Beef, Tho’ Teague’s report at first made John look glum— ‘’Tis only half allowance, and no Rum.’ ‘O Damn those Commissaries! what a disaster, ‘They’ve brought us down, you see, to Lath & Plaster. ‘But, “Vive la guerre,” ’tis useless to repine.’ So on they March, and in the pursuit join. Now rapidly they on the vanquish’d prest, Snatching at intervals a hasty rest. Day after Day, and frequently all Night, They speed to check the Frenchmen in their flight: When luckily for John, an order came To Halt—for John was wearied, & poor Dobbin lame. Close to Medina now their Stations took, Amidst the standing Barley, near a Brook. Knock’d up was John, his spirits quite forsook him, So to his Hospital the Doctor took him. ‘Come cheer, my friend; come rally and be gay;— ‘I’ve got some Lads to Dine with me to-day.’ John fain would rally, but was sick at heart; Though at the dinner tried to play his part. ‘Come,’ says the Doctor, ‘here’s Rum and Segars; ‘This is the way we carry on our Wars. ‘Here, smoke, my boy, I know ’twill do you good; ‘And try this Country wine, ’twill cool your Blood.’ John smoked, & drank, & drank, & smoked again, But nought upon his Stomach would remain. His head turn’d round—he tried to gain the door, But miss’d his mark, and sp—d upon the floor. ‘O Ja—s,’ says a lively Irish Blade, ‘I ne’er before saw such a grand Cascade.’ Holding his Nose, exclaim’d a chubbly Lad, ‘Give me some Rum, or I shall be as bad.’ ‘True,’ says a third, and winking as he spoke, ‘Though well he stood the Fire, he can’t the Smoke.’ ‘Aye,’ says the Doctor, sagely, ‘it a fact is, ‘Tobacco fumes corrode for want of practice; ‘Coming in contact with the ‘Sickness produce, and sometimes Dysentery.’ ‘Aye,’ says another, cramming up his Snuff, ‘One at a time, the Cascade’s quite enough.’ ‘Come, Newcome,’ says the Doctor, ‘once more try; ‘Of this you’ll get the better bye and bye.’ But now against the wall, John held his head, And drawling out, ‘Ah, no! I’m almost dead.’ So, on a Blanket stretch’d, in wretched plight, And, parch’d with fever, groan’d away the Night. Learning to Smoke and drink Grog. Poor Johnny on the sick List. Next morn the Doctor came, his Friend to seek, And found poor Johnny, feverish, and weak. ‘Ah! Sir,’ says John, ‘it is to me quite clear, ‘That I’m a dead man, if they keep me here.’ The Doctor felt his Pulse, and gave a shrug; The Constitution could not stand the Tug. ‘Your health, poor Newcome, does so bad appear, ‘That I shall send you straightways to the Rear. ‘To Salamanca first, and when you’re there, ‘You will be ordered Home for change of Air. ‘The Board of Surgeons will, I’m well assur’d, ‘At once decide that here you can’t be cured.’ Going Sick to the Rear. Next Morn, by times, John in a cart was laid, Follow’d by Teague, and to the Rear convey’d; Dragg’d in the midst of Donkies, Mules, and Carts, With sick, and wounded, Johnny now departs,— Expos’d to jolting Roads, to Dust, and Heat— Expos’d for hours, in some vile Road or Street; The livelong Day, no comfort, food, or rest, Waking all Night, by sad disease opprest: Around him anguish speaks in languid tones, And wounded Heroes, stifling in their groans. But from such dismal scenes I must refrain,— The dreadfull retrospect gives only pain, As ’tis my wish, in this my humble measure, To give my gentle Reader only pleasure; Tho’ in this story of one Vent’rous Youth, I give the truth, and nothing but the truth. At length to Salamanca John was taken, His mind afflicted; frame and body shaken. And once more Housed, in temporary dose, His worn-out, wearied Carcase sought repose, The Surgeons found, as Dissolution border’d, That he to England must straightways be order’d. By easy journies, (tho’ estrang’d from ease), He once more travell’d in the land of Fleas. Onward was dragg’d o’er many a weary League, His only comfort left was honest Teague. Silent and sad he lay, and scarcely spoke, But ‘Oh Patron, oh! sparum, sparum poke. ‘Oh, mind the Rascal, Teague, don’t let him spill me; ‘The horrid Brute I’m sure’s resolv’d to kill me.’ And, now when many a tedious Day had past, Half-dead at Lisbon, he arriv’d at last. His piteous case was now by Teague convey’d, And in due form before the General laid. A Fleet of Transports in the Tagus lay, And was to Sail for England the next day. The General kindly sent poor Johnny word— A Birth was order’d; he might go on Board; With kind indulgence, and which did him honour, Permission gave that he might take O’Connor. Teague’s honest joy now kindled in his heart, When from his Master he was not to part. ‘He’d been his Friend, his Nurse, his Consolation; ‘No braver Lad,’ says Teague, ‘lives in the Nation; ‘I’ll get him snug on Board, and then I think, ‘I’ll to my Friends, and to take a hearty drink.’ Now John by Teague was safely stow’d on Board, And Teague got staggering drunk to keep his word. Next morn by times, to Johnny’s great surprize, Teague had a broken Nose, and two Black Eyes. Teague thought by some excuse to make amends— ‘I tuck a Drink, your Honour, with some Friends.’ ‘With Friends,’ said John, ‘no, Teague, you mean your Foes; ‘The Devil’s in’t, if Friends would break your Nose.’ ‘Ah no, your Honour,’ says Teague, ‘’twas Friends for sartin— ‘We drank like Friends, but had a fight at parting.’ ‘O! aye,’ said John, ‘you Paddies like a joke, ‘So friendly-like, you took a parting Stroke.’ Blue Peter hoisted, and the Wind was fair; John much refresh’d inhal’d the saline air. Stretch’d on the Deck, he oft did take his Station, His empty stomach offer’d no oblation: His wand’ring thoughts would retrospective cast, Dwelling on all the Scenes that he had pass’d; And fancy oft would pleasurably roam To his lov’d Parents, and his happy Home. Now passing Ushant from the Bay of Biscay, ‘Don’t I,’ said Teague, ‘smell Ireland & Whiskey?’ ‘Why, Teague,’ said John, ‘I think we’re drawing near ‘The coast of Ireland, that is called Cape Clear. ‘Here, take the Spy-Glass—look with all your might.’ ‘I see’t, by Ja—s, ’tis Clear out of sight.’ As to the Northward now the Wind did veer, They trimm’d the Sails, and up the Channel steer; Smoothly they ran, and, by the Convoy led, They shortly cast their Anchor at Spithead. Tho’ weak was John, and trembled at each joint, He took a Boat, and landed at the point; Popp’d Teague and Baggage in a Chaise and Four, And quickly travell’d to his Father’s Door. The honest Grocer was in daily use, When he had din’d, to take a quiet snooze; Whilst his good Dame, whose anxious mind was fill’d With dread her dearest Johnny might be kill’d, Sat pensively, lamenting her sad case— In burst her Son, and flew to her embrace: She sigh’d, she sobb’d, and press’d him to her breast, And all the Mother’s fondest love exprest. The honest Grocer, waking in amaze, Rubbing his eyes, did on our Hero gaze,— ‘Why dang it now, do my old eyes tell true? ‘Is it my boy,—dear Johnny, is it you? ‘When did you come? how got you leave, my Boy? ‘Zounds! I’m so glad, I can’t contain my joy!’ John now explain’d how England he did reach; Th’ enraptur’d Parents hung upon his speech. His anxious Mother sadly now survey’d The alteration that disease had made; Saw his pale look, his sunk, and languid Eye, Then gently said (with a Maternal sigh), ‘I see you’re ill, my Son, with pain, and grief: ‘What shall we do to give our John relief?’ ‘Ah, Dame! your slops and stuffs I see no good in— ‘Give him a belly-full of beef and pudding; ‘The Boy’s half-starv’d—o’drat that cursed Spain: ‘Thank God! my child’s come back alive again.’ Johnny safe returned to his Mama. Our John ’tween Dad and Mother took a Chair, And now more tranquil grew the happy pair; Related what he’d seen, and how he felt When first in action he the powder smelt: Then prattled on until old Dad was yawning— When tucked up by Mamma, he slept till morning. And now strange thoughts pervaded Johnny’s brain,— He’d seen enough of Fighting, and of Spain; So, after dinner, with his honest Sire, With good old Port, and near a blazing Fire, ‘I think,’ says John, ‘Campaigning is no joke ‘With us poor Subs, it only ends in smoke: ‘For my own part, I’ve got a sort of notion, ‘That I, by other means, may get Promotion.’ ‘How’s that?’ says Dad, ‘dear Johnny don’t be rash.’ ‘Father, I mean by interest, or by Cash.’ ‘O aye, my Son, aye, now I think I take you— ‘If Cash will do’t, I’ll soon a Colonel make you.’ ‘True, Sir,’ says John; ‘when the Gazette I read, ‘There’s many by that way I see succeed.’ ‘If that’s your way,’ again replies the Dad, ‘I’ll soon promote you, never fear my lad. ‘I’ll tell you what, dear John, since off you ran, ‘A Banker I’m become, and Alderman: ‘And what’s still better, as you will agree, ‘I represent the City, an M.P.’ ‘An M.P., dear Dad—that’s devilish well, ‘Then I can now Campaign it in Pall Mall.’ ‘Campaign at Carlton House—is’t that you say ‘Aye, aye, dear Dad, you take me—that’s the way. ‘Who gets Promotion now? tell me who hears? ‘Do the poor Subs who’ve fought so many Years? ‘A Captain, now and then, may make a shift ‘By some odd accident to get a lift. ‘I know a man ‘He bravely twice a Storming party led; ‘And Volunteer’d both times—now here’s the rub, ‘The gallant fellow still remains a Sub.’ ‘That’s cruel hard, my boy, there is no doubt, ‘Enough to break a heart, tho’ e’er so stout; ‘But never mind, I’ve Cash at my Command.’ ‘They’ve touch’d it somewhere. Eh! you understand.’ ‘If that’s your Plan, gadzooks! I’ll bet a wager ‘I soon shall see you Captain! aye! and Major.’ END OF PART II FOOTNOTESWith respect to the article of dress, the contents of a very small Portmanteau was all that could be taken, and, if an Officer wore out, or lost his Regimental Jacket, his great Coat was the substitute. As for waistcoats, they were as fancy directed, but generally black, blue, or green, of either silk or velvet. An enormous pair of Mustachios and Whiskers were frequently seen to protrude from the delicate countenances of some of our Bond Street Beaux. The Portuguese driver perfectly resembles the English wagoner; except that the one is obstinate from stupidity, the other from insolence. The fact is, that had his Royal Highness, the I shall take the liberty to relate an anecdote which is of so recent a date, that a reference may be had to it without difficulty. Attached to Lord Wellington’s dispatches, relative to the victory of Vittoria, it pleased the higher powers to subjoin the names of certain Officers, with the promotion honourably granted to them, of course, and in consonance with the recommendation of the noble chiefs—so many Majors to be Lieutenant-Colonels, so many Captains to be Majors. Before I allude to this particular circumstance, and one which gives validity to the above ‘general observations,’ I beg to be understood, that in being obliged to bring forward this case as one in point, the Officer alluded to is universally esteemed; he is not only active, but intelligent: he stands high in the estimation of his superiors, for a knowledge of the duties of his profession, as well as zeal, and courage, in their performance. This gentleman’s name was not introduced in the above promotion at the Tail of the dispatch. Some time afterwards we saw it in the Gazette, but in another class of name for the Brevet of Lieutenant-Colonel, and bearing date (I think on account of the action) the same day, videlicet, that of the 21stJune. But we now observe this Officer’s name with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, his Commission bearing date the 2nd of June, by which he has been promoted; over whom? He, a young Major, over Lieutenant-Colonel O’Toole. I have not the honour to be acquainted with that gentleman, but it is generally known that he has been in every action of the last three campaigns. He has been promoted from a Company, to a Majority, and Lieutenant-Colonelcy for his meritorious conduct; in the last instance, for his gallantry at the Battle of Vittoria. The Hussar Brigade came out in 1813; and all, I believe, that was ever known of their gallantry, was a little affair of cavalry on the 2nd of June, detailed to Lord Wellington in a flourishing letter from Colonel Grant. SEQUEL |
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