Part 16

I eagerly believed what he said, because if I had not I should have been unhappy all the evening, and if the fellow lied, to-morrow morning would be time enough to grieve. “Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.” Our host was a wealthy Portuguese, and had some guests of his own nation already in his house, an elderly man with his son, a youth of sixteen, very tall, good-looking, and intelligent, also, what is extremely rare for a Portuguese, speaking French very well.

The master of the house offered us some biscuit and wine, which we declined. He then asked what we would take. “Some dinner,” we replied. “Aye,” said he, “but that can’t be ready till night. Won’t you take something first--a bit of water melon or some oranges?”

The idea of fooling away a lusty appetite upon marshmallows was equally repugnant to the habits of us both, and so we determined to wait, although I was perfectly up to the management of our host, which was by pulling his own ten o’clock supper a little way back towards nine, and giving our five o’clock dinner a most unfeeling stretch towards the same point to make both ends meet and unite in one meal. As I had been in this predicament some fifty or sixty times before, I summoned my patience and a natural capability I have for fasting, while the Colonel saw it grow dark with a mixture of surprise, hunger, and impatience. Poor Louis, who really believed that it was impossible for him to walk six tedious leagues, or twenty-four miles, arrived completely done, for he had not only surpassed his imagined powers, but had been obliged to bear his part in dragging and heaving that wretched animal that was to have carried him. I found I had been taken in, and determined to make the best of it, and with actual labour the beast was pushed into the stable, where it fell to at the manger with a beastly voracity.

One cause I found of Colonel Perponcher’s chagrin was the absence of snuff, and this I was fortunately able to supply, having a large box of Prince’s Mixture in my pocket.

We sat together some time talking of the Mediterranean, and of his brother, whom I had met at Gothenburg, and at last he discovered the main cause of his vexation and return to Lisbon nearly as follows:--“You must understand that in volunteering my services with the Portuguese army, and in determining to meet the very numerous and noisome vexations to which the situation exposed me (implicating my character with the conduct of raw recruits of strange nations and striving to reclaim and organise a mutinous rabble), it is natural to suppose that however well I might wish the righteous cause in which we are assisting these swarths, yet that I should look also for some personal advantage as the attendant of success.” And it was, I suppose, “just this personal advantage” which now seemed more than ever doubtful as time went on.

_May 14, 1809._--I heard this morning that Sir Arthur Wellesley has had an action with the enemy.

I was differently and very disagreeably employed, as I went up to Lamego with a British brigade, which was to countenance Beresford and his myrmidons. The enemy came before Lamego, intending, I suppose, to sack and destroy, but finding troops there, they retired. The country is exceedingly strong, and I hoped they would not defend it. It was not my wish to see the Portuguese in action. Let who will take the credit of serving with them, I will not. Accordingly I was very glad to find that the enemy had no intention to dispute the country, either having heard that Soult had been beat, or intending to reinforce him.

Having passed the Douro without halting at Lamego, we stopped at Peizo, and marched the next morning to Amarante.

When about two leagues from our destination it began to rain heavily as if to prepare us for the gloomy, wretched scene that awaited us.

We were thoroughly wet through (I having no baggage) when the beauteous Amarante burst upon our view, the fine-looking houses promising a comfortable rest. What was our aggravated disgust at finding that everything was sacked, burnt, and murdered, not a single house but was completely reduced to its shell wall. Here the venerable master of a mansion lay stretched on his back amid the black ruins of his peaceful habitation, and a ghastly wound disfigured his neck.... It was a horrid spectacle!! But I will not go on with the picture, it exceeds description, and swells one’s hatred to these ruthless and wanton destroyers.

This place, garrisoned by Portuguese troops under Sylvesan, resisted for two days the French under Loison, (the plague of Portugal), and so this inhuman monster thus revenged himself.

ABRANTES, _June 18, 1809_.

MY LOUISA--I heard that there had been blows, and wrote to tell you I was out of harm’s way.

Nothing can be finer than the passage of the Douro, which in his despatches Sir A. Wellesley makes too little of; in short, it is plain he cannot write, for he did the same at Vimiera. However, he is dashing and able, and if a fair game lies before him, he will not, I hope, be able to cover the fame of his victories by clumsy relations....

Captain Goldfinch of the Engineers, with a fine little Scotch boy (a lieutenant), fell with Oporto into the hands of the French, and made their escape in the late bustle. The respect (they say) which all French who were at Corunna bear to the memory of Moore, and to the English in general, is quite gratifying.

They recite a dispute between a French officer and several others, the former maintaining that the English were victorious, the others, not.

Our advocate read General Hope’s letter,[28] asking at every sentence, “N’est-il pas vrai? N’est-il pas bien dit?” etc., etc., and when he came to the simile of General Wolfe’s death he made a very elegant admiration of it.

I was attached to the brigade of General Tilson, who is my friend, and it was with the Portuguese army. We went to Chaves, and penetrated into Galicia. I took the place of an officer who fell ill, otherwise I belong to the brigade of Guards under Harry Campbell, whom I like greatly.

In addition to my mortification at being out of the way, the first notification I had of General Paget’s arrival was accompanied by the news of his having lost a limb, my sorrow for which wholly defeated any attempt to rejoice at our successes. People who did not know him talked a vast deal about the manner in which he bore his sufferings. I say nothing of it, because I know him to be perfect, and know upon what he leans.... It is a comfort to learn that the loss is not likely to affect his constitution, as he is said to recover wonderfully fast.

Devil a bit of nobleness have I about me, my dear Lou. I cannot bear this infernal war, that has killed Moore and maimed Paget, disputing about a country that---- But I won’t talk politics. If Austria, though beaten and overrun, can entertain Buonaparte for a season, perhaps Wellesley may do something for the Spaniards.

The French fight us very ill, whether from a want of hatred or courage. If what had happened to Soult had happened to an English general, he would have been disgraced for ever, for he was shamefully surprised.

But England, although she has every right to expect worse generals than France, is much more rigid with them in articles of skill and judgment; for if she can by any means attribute a disaster to the error of a general, she is not only savage but sanguinary. And this makes very good generals and very brave men so vastly afraid of responsibility, that when they assume command they appear cowardly and indecisive....

Don’t let there be a shade of melancholy in your letters; it disquiets me vastly. Why should you be melancholy? God is very good to us, and we must not pine if we are not always all together as if in heaven. Therefore write very comically about friends and home....

Eternal blessings crown my darling Lou, and guardian angels hover over her.

CHARLES.

* * * * *

CORIA, _July 8, 1809_.

It is quite a relief, dearest Lou, to be transferred from the filthy styes of the Portuguese to the clean houses of the Spaniards. And as I am shaking off the dust contracted in Portugal, so I am scraping my tongue of those odious inarticulate sounds which compose their language, and gargling vinegar that my throat may be capable of touching with the true Castilian burr the energetic language of Spain.

Alas! I have lost one of my first comforts, a new blue, patent, silver-mounted, morocco writing-case; all my letter-paper, pens, ink, letters, secrets, verses, etc., etc.; also dear Lady N----’s series of useless boxes--all lost by the rascal Pedro, Bernardo’s opposite in everything. The devil take it, though I have lost it a week ago, I cannot recover my temper.

Hitherto I pass my time very pleasantly. I have got a fine young engineer to take care of, whom I row, all the time that he does not sleep, about his vanity; not but that I acknowledge myself to be as vain as he, but that I defy him to have found it out, unless I had told him of it. He is coming into very fine order.

Poor Harry Campbell has been some time unwell, but I hope he is now throwing it off.

General Sherbrooke, to whose division I belong, makes it very pleasant to me. I dine with him mostly, and like him vastly. I think of him very highly as a general. He thinks of Sir John Moore just as I do.

To-morrow we go to Plaçentia, which is much larger than this very pretty town.

Here there is an old castle and walls inhabited by cranes, which interest me very much, perching on the house-tops and church steeples, and cowering over the town.

That fellow there, I at first thought was standing upon the stalk of a weather-cock, but I found by a spy-glass that they were his own long legs, with his great feet happy upon the stone ball.

The air seems fresher here than in Portugal. Sweet F. E. wrote me such a dear note in Mamsey’s letter. I wonder how she could contrive to make it so pleasant and yet so proper. For me, I could do no such thing. Were I to write to her warm, kind, affectionate words, my heart would dictate fluently enough, but I am sure they would not pass the school of decorum.

The mistress would say, “You must scratch out there ‘dearest F.’ Lop away this ‘love’ and that ‘love’”; and so word by word I should see my poor letter robbed of all its graces, looking like a tobacconist’s with “Humble servant to command” at the bottom.

What if I should not fill this sheet! It is very big, and I have to give my letter to General Sherbrooke in a quarter of an hour, and you see I write very close.

My poor chum has just lost a horse, which, though I put on outward signs of condolence, I am not sorry for. As to being bridled, he never could think of such a thing. He would always go when he liked it, and where also. He would look very stupid, to entice the unwary behind him; and then, with both feet and all his might, lunge out, as much as to say, “D---- thee, I have thee now.” In the same manner he would most innocently pretend to come and rub his head upon you in a dawdling, sleepy sort of way, and then get your leg or arm in his jaws and try as hard as he could to crack it. For these and many other pretty accomplishments

His master loved him dearly, And mourns him now sincerely, While I say, “Poor thing” merely, But feel at heart quite cheerly. We’ll go as fast, or nearly, Without, as with him, clearly.

Now to take my leave, and remain, as ever, your

CHARLES.

* * * * *

CASTEL BRANCO, _July 1809_.

I received dear Mamsey’s letter, by which my mind was relieved respecting her anxiety.

The moment I heard there was fighting I wrote, but feared you would not get my letter in time enough to be spared that cruel suspense.

It will at least be some time before you need begin to think of being anxious again.

The French, it is understood, are retiring very fast, and will probably not dispute anything south of the Ebro. A long march is before us ... we only know as far as Placentia. I miss my poor Bernardo very much, and would give anything to meet with him again, which I think I may do, if we go towards Madrid.

This fine battle of the Danube has cheered us again, perhaps ere you receive this you will know how fallaciously; but I will hope that you are in possession of recent victories for which we are yet to Huzza![29]

APPENDIX

BETWEEN ST. EUFEMIA AND MONTE LEONE, _July 6, 1806_.

MY DEAREST FATHER--In the first place I give you joy of a most complete victory gained by a body of English troops over a French force very superior in number, another proof that the extraordinary bravery of our countrymen is not solely to be attributed to salt provisions and sea air. This army had been reviled as fugitive in consequence of the wise retreat of Sir J. Craig from Naples.

General Regnier, the old calumniator of British troops, had threatened a speedy invasion of Sicily.

It was generally believed that the Calabrians, a ferocious race, held the French in abhorrence, and Sir J. Stuart’s plan, as far as I have been able to make out, was to raise the country--arm it--and then give the people a lesson in the art of war by beating the French. It was presumed that the effect of this would be to render the country uninhabitable to the French, and finally to deliver the territory from the general scourge of continental tranquillity.

Sir John left Messina on the night of the 30th of June, in pursuance of his object, which was then unknown.

At about midnight of the 1st of July the transports were collected in the Bay of St. Eufemia. Orders were then given for the landing at two o’clock. It was not expected that there was any enemy at hand, but upon the Light Infantry running forward, a firing commenced, which continued in bush-fighting the greater part of the morning, the enemy consisting of about three hundred Poles, scattered about in a very thick brushwood, they retiring and the Light Infantry pursuing.... They ran at the enemy like lions, and the event of the day was--about twenty of the enemy wounded (some badly), two officers, and about one hundred prisoners.

We had only one man wounded.

The army then took a position, one flank upon the town of Nicastro, and the other below the village of Eufemia. Until the 2nd, the reports concerning the enemy were various.... On the 2nd the enemy was discovered on the heights above the plain of Maida. He exhibited lights at night, and it was reported that he intended battle. In the course of the next day some information was obtained, and the enemy then was supposed to consist of between two and three thousand men. On the night of the 3rd the order of march was given to commence at two o’clock.

The enemy still continuing his lights, some time after daylight it was suspected that he had withdrawn. His position, however, was at right angles with the beach, and so far from it as to admit of operations on his left flank, which was weak from the nature of the ground. This the enemy could not avoid, from our being masters of the water, upon which was Sir Sidney Smith with a line-of-battle ship and three frigates. The British marched with their flanks in line and centre in column, the right flank on the sea, the left exposed, so that in the approach the corresponding flank of each force was exposed to the operations of the other. The Frenchman, seeing his left threatened, changed his position with admirable order, and formed on the Englishman’s left, on which the French cavalry charged. The 20th regiment, having just landed, immediately advanced in support of this flank to meet the cavalry with fixed bayonets, which forced them to retire, the Artillery playing upon their retreat. The French Light Infantry now charged ours, which advanced to meet it. The two regiments were point to point, when at this anxious moment the enemy to a man fled in the utmost confusion, we pursuing. The slaughter of this regiment was dreadful. Other regiments now charged and volleyed, as is usual in battles, and, as I hope will always be the case, the victory fell on us, the enemy flying with the utmost precipitation, and we having no cavalry, he escaped. The slaughter on the side of the French was immense and almost incredible when compared to ours. In killed, wounded, and taken, it has been estimated at 3000, while ours exactly amounts to so many hundreds. If I were a Frenchman I would tell you what I think of the British troops, but the modesty of an Englishman imposes silence when the merits of his countrymen are the subject. Fighting appears their delight, and they seek the enemy with the ardour of sportsmen; let him, however, drop his arms, and he is safe; let him be wounded, he is pitied and assisted--in short, upon my honour, I think the lion and the lamb are here most strikingly united.

I could recite several interesting anecdotes, such as battles generally give rise to, but I am much hurried. We only lost one officer and forty men killed. The officer’s servant had one leg shattered and the other badly wounded, yet his own misery he did not think of. “But my poor master was killed,” said he. “I hope, however, the day was ours. Well, then, I die content.” “Here” (said a Highlander) “is this ---- brute that has been firing at me and wounded me in so many places.” “Water! water!” cried the wretch. The Highlander revenged himself immediately with his canteen!

A general officer was among the prisoners, severely wounded, and the Commander-in-Chief was also severely wounded. The French force, from returns taken, is considered to have amounted to upwards of 7,000; ours was 4,500, so that considering the vast superiority and other circumstances in favour of the enemy, the victory was as brilliant as one could wish.... An extraordinary coincidence with respect to the armies was observed. General Sir J. Stuart was opposed to General Regnier, a man of acknowledged military eminence, who had called Sir John _a man of no talents_. The two Light Infantries were immediately opposed, as were two regiments of Watteville in the different services. Our Highland Regiment was opposed to their 42nd (to cover embarkation), our 31st to theirs.

After having advanced some miles after the enemy our army marched back to the position it had left in the morning. The action began at half-past eight and the firing ceased at 11 on the 4th of July. On the 5th the army marched to this place near the sea, and about a mile from the field of battle.

I am now sitting on the ground sheltered by a round tent.... I write this on my hat. Adieu, my dearest father.--Your ever affectionate and dutiful son,

C. BOOTHBY.

_July 6, 1806._

* * * * *

MONTE LEONE, _July 11, 1806_.

MY EVER DEAREST MOTHER-- ... The day after I wrote you an account of the battle we advanced some miles beyond the field towards the Adriatic, just under the town of Maida. The enemy had retired to Catanzaro, and it was generally expected that we should seek another battle before he could reinforce himself. It was judged, however, that the coming up with him was precarious, and the advantage of the chance of beating him still more--not adequate to the inconvenience of harassing the victors this burning weather, which reasoning was probably strengthened by the risk of any junction having been formed between two parties of the enemy’s force. No prejudgment would have given victory to five thousand men against eight, supposed to be the best troops in the world, fully prepared for the enterprise against them, having all the local advantages and local knowledge, commanded by a General of the greatest reputation, and particularly for manœuvring skill.

Our General went into the field under the idea that the force he was to attack was between two and three thousand men.

The fatal error of the French General was that, obstinately blind to experience, he despised his enemy--an enemy which the battles of Egypt should have taught him to consider at least equal to himself. He had suffered prejudice to mislead him until his slaughtered and flying troops and the severe personal wound forced open his eyes; but he opened them too late. In defiance of the general principle to avoid an invading enemy until you have involved him in a country of which he is ignorant, and from your own knowledge are certain to destroy him, General Regnier descended from the advantages of his position to fight front to front in the plain.

With the battle of the 21st of March before his eyes, he tells his troops that those very Egyptian regiments cannot stand the bayonet. The deluded Frenchmen charge with confidence, and, expecting to pursue hares, are met by lions.

The same error which has been so fatal to so many Generals was fatal to Menon, and was deservedly still more fatal to Regnier; for Menon could not know us, and Regnier would not.

But I stray from the point.

After staying a day under Maida the troops marched to Monte Leone, and there the General missed his baggage, which did not turn up until yesterday, when the General’s cook gave a very good account of himself. The inhabitants of the country were to be deceived as to the intentions of the retrograde movement, and consequently what conversation could be gleaned from the General’s table tended to an advance to Catanzaro. The troops marched backwards at two in the morning, but the baggage, with a guard of thirty men, not being properly attended to, was not quite so alert, but marched about an hour later towards the enemy, whose outposts (taking this little force for our advanced guard) retired and gave intelligence of the approach of the English army, which, corresponding with the report of our intentions, the enemy left Catanzaro to thirty men commanded by a cook, and retreated with precipitation to the borders of the Adriatic. The quick cook, smelling the rat, squeezed himself into the General’s coat and personated the General, until, finding himself neither attacked by the French nor joined by the English, he could retire without disgrace and seek the true situation of his allies.

The design of the march through Calabria was to seize the enemy’s garrisons and stores all the way to Reggio, which is just opposite Messina. This has already been done, as Reggio has been taken by a party from Messina, so that we now expect to embark from Pizzo, which lies just before this place. But _nothing you know is certain_.

In taking possession of the stores we have seen innumerable papers. One letter from Regnier[30] says, “When I have been with the English I shall come to you. They are only 12,000. I shall very soon finish with them.” Somewhere else he says he will take good care that we shall not reach our shipping again. Indeed everything betrays a most ridiculous confidence, arising not only from the consciousness of great merit (which was just), but from a most unreasonable contempt of an enemy which had before shown itself superior. Every prisoner whom I have heard speak upon the subject acknowledges to have been deceived, and condemns the order to charge an unbroken regiment. The French soldiers are generally remarkably fine men.