Part 5

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.

The weather was very hot when I set out; and having been advised by the surgeon not to fatigue myself, if possible, on the march, until I had perfectly recovered, I pursued my route at one day’s march behind the army, without attempting to gain on it; but had I been in perfect health, I could not have overtaken it, for my baggage horse could not have travelled more than about fifteen or twenty miles a day--the average distance of each march of the army; and this is quite enough, considering the wretched roads over which the animals had to go, together with the great heat of the climate.

I proceeded in the track of the army, by _Amarante, illa Real_, _Mirandella_, and _Oitero_ the frontier town, without beholding a military uniform, and just as if I had been travelling for amusement. The inhabitants of the considerable towns were hospitable and cheerful: from all of those to whom I spoke, I heard the highest encomiums on the army which had but the day before delighted them with its grand appearance. The villages in the province of _Tras os Montes_ presented but little of the power or of the will to afford hospitality to the stranger; many of the houses were shut up and deserted, while those which were inhabited were stripped of almost every accommodation. This arose from the fear which the poor of that province entertained of a passing army, whether friends or foes--they had retired on the approach of ours, as they were often in the habit of doing from the French, and had not returned when I passed. As a proof of the feelings they entertained for the safety of their provisions, &c., I will mention a circumstance in which I was concerned. I had taken possession of a cottage, in a miserable village, between Villa Real and Mirandella; it was inhabited by an old woman, her married daughter, and two little boys: they received me with great civility. I, as usual on the march, enquired whether any sort of provisions in the village could be purchased; and was told that I could not--all was gone--they had been destroyed by the French. I asked if I could not find a fowl, or a few eggs? No, all was gone;--“_nada, nada, nada_.” I therefore ordered my servant to prepare some chocolate and cold beef, on which I was about to sit down to dine, when I heard a cock crow as if under ground;--the countenances of my hostess and her daughter changed. “Very odd!” thought I:--the cock crowed again:--the greatest confusion was evident in the old woman’s face--she bustled about--threw down a stool--slapped the door, and made every kind of noise possible; but the cock crowed a third time; when my servant, who was a droll Portuguese, without further ceremony addressed the old woman, pointing at the same time to a huge old chest which stood on one side of the room, “_La esta o gallo, Senhora_,” (there is the cock) said he; and then removed a small chest from the top of the large one--opened the lid; when out flew the tell-tale bird, followed by seven of his hens, delighted, no doubt, as much with his release as their mistress was mortified. I, however, relieved the old lady’s embarrassment, by putting a couple of _crucadas novas_ (about four and sixpence) upon the table: the sight of the money settled the business, and she, without hesitation, gave me two of her prisoners--fine fat hens--assuring me that she had lost many by the soldiers; and fearing another loss from me, she had determined to pack up her poultry in the chest: many had bought fowls from her before, but forgot to pay for them. I passed a pleasant evening and night at this poor cottage, and the whole family gave us a loud “_Viva os Inglezas!_” at parting next morning.

The country through which I passed was highly picturesque--it was beautiful to look at, but most tiresome to travel over: in general the roads are more like craggy beds of rivers than passages constructed for communication and the benefits of commerce. I remember that the very morning I left the old woman’s cot, it was no more than eight o’clock when I came in sight of the town at which I was to halt. I was on the top of a mountain: beneath me was a river, winding through a fertile valley, on the opposite side of which stood another mountain, apparently not a mile from me; and at the base of the latter was the town, the bells of which I could hear ringing; yet it was five o’clock in the afternoon before I entered it, although I never halted--so intricate and difficult was the winding and steep road I had to pass over. Having mentioned this, I am reminded of a circumstance that occurred as soon as I entered the town, which gave a melancholy proof of the besotted slavery in which the minds of the Portuguese peasantry are held by their clergy. An alarm had been given; the bells were all set in furious motion; every body was running through the streets towards one place. I left my servant with the horses, and proceeded along with the scattered crowd. Every face was woe-begone--as though some dire calamity, such as fire or earthquake, had occurred. The numbers of the people increased as I advanced. We arrived at the principal church: I pushed my way into it, and there the most piteous lamentations assailed my ears. The church was filled with people--all on their knees; tears were streaming down the old people’s cheeks, and the crowd beating their breasts in sorrow. The cause of this mourning was _not_ an earthquake, though it _was_ a conflagration. However, it was neither the church nor the priest that was burnt; but the doll-dressed figure of the Virgin Mary, which had caught fire from the carelessness of the church-clerk, in allowing a lighted candle that he held to touch her holy petticoat!--the satin had blazed; but the flames were soon extinguished, and the damage done was happily confined to the melting of one of her ladyship’s wax fingers, scorching her left cheek, discolouring several tinsel ornaments, and seriously injuring the outer-petticoat. For this the town was thrown into confusion, and the streams of its grief let forth! What crowned the farce, was a young, ignorant-looking priest haranguing the mob upon the calamity; pointing with apparent intensity of sorrow at the burnt hand; kissing it and imploring his dupes to join him in his grief; no doubt with a view that they should join him afterwards in raising funds for _re-dressing_ the Virgin. Such is the deplorable ignorance of the people of a fine country! Yet there is a strong party in Europe, who seek to shut out from them the glorious rays of a liberal constitution, and therefore every chance of enlightenment! But, thank Heaven! there are others who will spread the light amongst them:--the torch of British Liberty now burns over their heads; and they keep their eyes on it, in spite of the “holy” and hateful fogs that are ever rising around them.

I entered Spain from Oitero. In crossing from the one country to the other a thin wood intervenes, and for six or seven miles through it, neither house nor hut is to be seen: it is level ground, and covered with brush-wood. A few goats and their herdsman were all the living things I saw while crossing it: not a bird flew over me.

At the first village which I entered in Spain, I met with some British soldiers (detached) with a commissariat officer, who informed me that the centre column of the main army had entered Salamanca, headed by Lord Wellington, and that the French were retreating everywhere, without making any opposition. Next day I pushed on in hopes of overtaking the troops belonging to my division, and now the country forming a fine level, I was enabled to increase my speed. At length I could descry the wide and sweeping track of the advancing armies--in the abstract, melancholy to contemplate! The country was chiefly covered with a luxuriant crop of corn, over which the immense column of the army passed, with its baggage, artillery, and cattle:--the traces of the cavalry--of the infantry--and of the cannon, could be distinctly and plainly distinguished from each other; and although their road was through the high and firm corn, the pressure upon it was so great that nothing but clay could be seen, except at the verges of the tracks, where the broken and trampled wheat was less over-trodden. Then there was as much cut down for forage as destroyed by feet; the mark of the rough sickle of the commissaries, the dragoons, and the muleteers, were in patches all around, disfiguring the beautiful waving ocean of yellowing corn--_ocean_ indeed--nothing can give so just an idea of its expansion: the corn in that country, does not grow in fields enclosed like our English, but over the whole face of the land, making one wide plain of vegetation, sprinkled at various distances with little villages, which look like heaps of red tiles to the distant eye of the observer: I have counted not less than twenty-two villages within one circular view. Such was the country, nearly all the way to Palencia.

On the third day after I entered Spain, I overtook the rear of the column--I think it was the fourth division--and continued to march with it. Here I had an opportunity of seeing the Portuguese troops in a large body; and they afforded me subject for delightful reflection. I could not help thinking what different beings they appeared, and under what different circumstances they were placed, from their state and prospects about three years before, when I first saw them in the field, a short time after the battle of Busaco: _then_ a more wretched-looking set of creatures never were beheld--the predatory Arabs were not worse clothed, worse disciplined, or worse fed; there was neither uniformity in dress, nor equipment for comfort--threatened by a rapacious enemy, then in the heart of their hapless country--harassed by partial defeat--their only hope resting on their handful of gallant defenders, the British soldiers:--how different did they appear _now_!--orderly, cheerful, healthy, well disciplined, well armed; their polished accoutrements glistening in the sun; their utensils for comfort all neatly packed upon their backs; tents on their mules; provisions with their commissary: not shut up in a niche of their plundered country, menaced and insulted, but proudly marching towards the heart of Spain--of France (as it turned out)--their hated invaders in their turn flying before their regenerated ranks; the British by their side, and leading them on after the bloody and successful struggles of three years. Oh! it was a sight that could not be seen and reflected upon, without a bounding of the heart! And their cheers, as their clean blue columns passed through the Spanish towns, spoke to the slave’s breast, a magic tongue. Proud indeed may those feel, whose indefatigable exertions brought the soldiers of Portugal to the pitch of perfection in which they then were, and grateful may be that nation to protecting England for those mighty services. “Liberty!” was the cry through the ranks, and “Liberty!” was the cry from the crowd, as they passed through the towns of Portugal and Spain. Their songs were embued with their sentiments of patriotism; and they sung them often as they went: their musicians cheered and nourished this feeling, and their national air “_Vencer ou morir_,”[5] as sung by a number of them, when they encamped on the frontier of France, with the French in their front, preparing for battle, was, from its patriotic sentiments and martial yet melancholy music, one of the most soul-stirring anthems that ever flowed from the patriot’s heart:--PORTOGALLO, the composer of it, may fairly claim a portion of the laurels which were gained by his countrymen in every action fought after it became popular. I have heard it boldly played in the teeth of the enemy by the Portuguese bands; and I marked the countenances of the listeners with delight: it made all Portuguese hearts pant for the fight, and swell with revenge for the injuries of their trampled country; and as the voices joined the music, “_Vencer ou morir_” was not sung without _meaning_.

I have written English words to the air, and perhaps they may not be unacceptable here:--

PORTUGUESE NATIONAL SONG.

I.

The tyrant smote our country-- Arise! arise! revenge the blow: His ranks are there--prepare--prepare To meet the hated foe. Oh! blessed sun of Freedom, O’er the fight shine high, shine high! For we’ll conquer--we’ll conquer-- We’ll conquer--or we’ll die.

II.

Pure blood our fathers gave us, And pure still through our veins it runs; Far better lose the last drop here, Than taint it for our sons. Oh! spirits of our heroes, In the fight be nigh, be nigh! For we’ll conquer--we’ll conquer-- We’ll conquer--or we’ll die.

III.

The axe will strike the oak down, The lightning will the tower lay low; But nations smote by tyranny, Grow stronger every blow. Revenge, revenge in the battle, To the heart and sword be nigh!-- Oh! we’ll conquer--we’ll conquer-- We’ll conquer--or we’ll die.