CHAPTER VI.
About the beginning of May, we got the route for Aberdeen. On the march I have nothing interesting to take notice of, unless the kindness which we experienced from the people where we were billeted on the road, particularly after we crossed the Firth of Forth.
We arrived in Aberdeen, after a march of ten days, where we had better barracks, and cheaper provisions than in Dunbar; but the barracks being too small, a number of our men were billeted in the town, and not being in the mess when pay-day came, it was a common thing for many of them to spend what they had to support them in drink; and some of them were so infatuated as to sell even their allowance of bread for the same purpose. They were then obliged (to use their own phraseology) to ‘Box Harry,’ until the next pay-day; and some of them carried this system to such a length, that it was found necessary to bring them into barracks, to prevent them from starving themselves.
If I may be allowed to draw a conclusion from what I have seen, the men’s morals are no way improved by being lodged out of barracks; for, while here, the principal employment of many of them when off duty was drinking, and associating with common women; and I think, if anything tends to depreciate the character of the soldier in the eyes of his countrymen, in civil life, more than another, it is this habit of associating publicly with such characters. This total disregardof even the appearance of decency, conveys an idea to the mind that he must be thelowest of the low. But many of them seem to be proud of such company; and it is quite a common thing to meet them on the streets arm in arm.
This debasement of feeling and character, I imagine, arises from the system of discipline pursued by many commanding officers, which teaches the soldier to believe that he is a mere piece of machinery in the hands of his superiors, to be moved only as they please without any accordance of his own reason or judgment, and that he has no merit in his own actions, independent of this moving power. Such a belief has naturally the effect of making a man so little in his own eyes, that he feels he cannot sink lower, let him keep what company he may.
But let soldiers be taught that they have a character to uphold; give them to understand that they are made of the same materials as those who command them, capable of feeling sentiments of generosity and honour; let officers evince by their conduct that they believe that the men they command have feelings as well as themselves, (although it would be a hard task to make some of them think so;) let them be encouraged to improve their minds, and there will soon be a change for the better in the army—one honourable to all concerned.
The doctrine which teaches that men are most easily governed when ignorant, is, I believe, now nearly exploded; and I can say from my own experience, and also safely appeal to all unprejudiced individuals of the army, whether they have not found men having some intellectual cultivation the best soldiers.
We had been about three months in Aberdeen, when we received orders to hold ourselves in readiness to sail for Jersey; and four transports having arrived for us, we prepared to embark.
This was a busy scene. We had been on good terms with the townspeople, and many of them attended us to the pier. As we marched down, the old womenstood in rows, exclaiming,—‘Peer things! they are gaun awa’ to the slauchter.’ While the boys were ranked up, marching before our band, with as much importance as if they considered themselves heroes; and no doubt, the fine music, and the sight of the soldiers marching to it, gave them high ideas of a military life; and perhaps, was the incipient cause of their enlisting at a future period. Indeed, I must confess that when I heard the crowd cheering, and our music playing before us, I felt at least a foot higher, and strutted with as much dignity as if I had been a general. I almost felt proud at that moment that I was a soldier.
Once embarked, however, and fairly out to sea, my enthusiasm soon evaporated. Stowed like any other part of a cargo, with only eighteen inches allowed for each man to lie on, we had scarcely room to move. The most of the men became sea-sick, and it was almost impossible to be below without becoming so. The women particularly suffered much; being crammed in indiscriminately amongst the men, and no arrangement made for their comfort.
No incident of any consequence took place on this voyage, with the exception of a severe gale of wind, which forced us to run into Dungeness; but it soon abated, and proceeding on our voyage, we made the island of Jersey, and disembarked at St Oban’s harbour; from thence we marched through St Helier’s to the Russian barracks near Groville.
All kinds of liquor, tea, sugar, and fruit, were here uncommonly cheap; but bread was dear, and what we had served out as rations was quite black and soft, something in consistence like clay. Brandy was only a shilling a bottle; wine, two shillings; cyder, three-halfpence a quart; and tobacco, fifteen pence a pound.
The jovial drinking fellows amongst us thought this another paradise—a heaven on earth; and many of them laid the foundation of complaints here which they never got rid of.
It was during the time we were here that the jubilee(on his late Majesty’s entering the fiftieth year of his reign) was celebrated. We were marched to the sands between St Helier’s and St Oban’s, where the whole of the military on the island were assembled. We were served out with eighteen rounds of blank cartridge per man, and thefeu-de-joiewas fired from right to left, and again taken up by the right, thus keeping up a constant fire until it was all expended. The artillery, with the various batteries, and shipping in the harbour, joined in the firing; and altogether formed an imposing scene.
When we arrived at our barracks, we got a day’s pay in advance, and, with great injunctions not to get drunk and riotous, we were allowed to go and make ourselves merry until tattoo-beating. Dennis and I resolved to hold the occasion like the others, although he said he did not admire this way of ‘treating us to our own.’
We went to one of the usual drinking-houses; but it was full, up to the door; volumes of tobacco smoke issued from every opening; and the noise of swearing and singing was completely deafening.
We were obliged to go farther off to get a house to sit down in. At last we found a place of that description, and went in. After a glass or two, we became quite jovial; and Dennis insisted that our host and his wife should sit down along with us. He was a Frenchman and spoke little English; but Dennis did not mind that, and there soon commenced a most barbarous jargon—Dennis laying off a long story, of which, I am sure, the poor man did not understand a syllable. Yet he went on, still saying at the end of every sentence, ‘You take me now?’—‘You persave me now, don’t you?’ While our host, whose patience seemed pretty well taxed, would shrug up his shoulders with a smile, and looking at his wife, who seemed to understand what was said nearly as well as himself, he would give a nod and say,
‘Oui, monsieur—yees, sare,’
Dennis having got tired of talking, asked the landlordif he could sing. This completely puzzled the Frenchman. At last, after every method had been tried in vain to make him comprehend, Dennis said, ‘You do this,’ and opening his mouth, he howled out a line of an Irish song. The Frenchman, seemingly frightened with the noise that Dennis had made, started to his feet and exclaimed,
‘Me no chanter.’
‘Och! the devil’s in ye, for a liar, Parly-vu. But no matter, I’ll give you a song—a true Irish song, my jewel,’ and he commenced with the ‘Sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.’ He had got as far as ‘An Irishman all in his glory was there,’ quivering and spinning out the last line of the verse to a prodigious length, when a rap came to the door, and the voice of the sergeant of the picquet, asking if there were any soldiers in the house, put an unpleasant end to his melody. Previous to this, however, Dennis had taken up a spade handle, to represent the shillelah, and it was with difficulty that I prevented him from bringing it down on the sergeant’s head.
We were then escorted to the guard-house, for being out after tattoo, which we found so full that we could scarcely get admittance. Dennis cried and sung by turns, until he fell fast asleep. I was so stupified with the drink I had taken, that I scarcely knew how I felt. Next morning, however, we were released along with all the others who had been confined the preceding evening.
We had been about three months in Jersey when the order came for our embarkation for Portugal; but only six women to every hundred men were allowed to accompany us. As there were, however, a great many more than that number, it was ordered that they should draw lots, to see who should remain. The women of the company to which I belonged were assembled in the pay-sergeant’s room for that purpose. The men of the company had gathered round them, to see the result, with various degrees of interest depicted in their countenances. The proportionate number oftickets were made with ‘to go’ or ‘not to go’ written on them. They were then placed in a hat, and the women were called by their seniority to draw their tickets. I looked round me before they began. It was an interesting scene. The sergeant stood in the middle with a hat in his hand, the women around him, with their hearts palpitating, and anxiety and suspense in every countenance. Here and there you would see the head of a married man pushed forward, from amongst the crowd, in the attitude of intense anxiety and attention.
The first woman called, was the sergeant’s wife—she drew ‘not to go.’ It seemed to give little concern to any one, but herself and her husband. She was not very well liked in the company. The next was a corporal’s wife—she drew ‘to go.’ This was received by all with nearly as much apathy as the first. She was little beloved either.
The next was an old hand, a most outrageous virago, who thought nothing of giving her husband a knock down when he offended her, and who used to make great disturbance about the fire in the cooking way. Every one uttered their wishes audibly that she would lose: and her husband, if we could judge from his countenance, seemed to wish so too. She boldly plunged her hand into the hat, and drew out a ticket; and opening it, she held it up triumphantly, and displayed ‘to go.’ ‘Hurra,’ said she, ‘old Meg will go yet, and live to scald more of you about the fireside.’ A general murmur of disappointment ran through the whole.
‘Hang the old wretch!’ said some of them, ‘she has the devil’s luck and her own.’
The next in turn was the wife of a young man, who was much respected in the company for his steadiness and good behaviour. She was remarkable for her affection for her husband, and beloved by the whole company for her modest and obliging disposition. She advanced with a palpitating heart and trembling hand, to decide on (what was to her, I believe) her futurehappiness or misery. Every one prayed for her success. Trembling between fear and hope she drew out one of the tickets, and attempted to open it: but her hand shook so that she could not do it. She handed it to one of the men to open.—When he opened it, his countenance fell, and he hesitated to say what it was. She cried out to him, in a tone of agony, ‘Tell me, for God’s sake, what it is.’
‘Not to go,’ said he in a compassionate tone of voice.
‘Oh, God, help me! O Sandy!’ she exclaimed, and sunk lifeless in the arms of her husband, who had sprung forward to her assistance, and in whose face was now depicted every variety of wretchedness. The drawing was interrupted, and she was carried by her husband to his berth, where he hung over her in frantic agony. By the assistance of those around her, she was soon recovered from her swoon; but she awoke only to a sense of her misery. The first thing she did was to look round for her husband, when she perceived him she seized his hand, and held it, as if she was afraid that he was going to leave her. ‘O, Sandy, you’ll no leave me and your poor babie, will you?’ The poor fellow looked in her face with a look of agony and despair.
The scene drew tears from every eye in the room with the exception of the termagant whom I have already mentioned, who said, ‘What are ye a’ makin’ sic a wark about? let the babie get her greet out. I suppose she thinks there’s naebody ever parted with their men but her, wi’ her faintin’, and her airs, and her wark.’
‘Oh, you’re an oul hard-hearted devil,’ said Dennis, ‘an unfeeling oul hag, and the devil ’ill never get his due till he gets you;’—and he took her by the shoulders and pushed her out of the room. She would have turned on Dennis; but she had got a squeeze from him on a former occasion, and I daresay she did not like to run the risk of another.
The drawing was again commenced, and various were the expressions of feeling evinced by those concerned.The Irish women, in particular, were loud in their grief. It always appeared to me that the Irish either feel more acutely than the Scotch or English, or that they have less restraint on themselves in expressing it. The barrack, through the rest of that day, was one continued scene of lamentation.
I was particularly interested in the fate of Sandy and his wife. I wished to administer consolation; but what could I say? There was no comfort that I could give, unless leading her to hope that we would soon return. ‘Oh, no,’ said she, ‘when we part here, I am sure that we’ll never meet again in this world!’
We were to march the next morning early. The most of the single men were away drinking. I slept in the berth above Sandy and his wife. They never went to bed, but sat the whole night in their berth, with their only child between them, alternately embracing it and each other, and lamenting their cruel fortune. I never witnessed in my life such a heart-rending scene. The poor fellow tried to assume some firmness; but in vain; some feeling expression from her would throw him off his guard, and at last his grief became quite uncontrollable.
When the first bugle sounded, he got up and prepared his things. Here a new source of grief sprung up. In laying aside the articles which he intended to leave, and which they had used together, the idea seemed fixed in her mind, that they would never use them in that way again; and as she put them aside, she watered them with her tears. Her tea-pot, her cups, and every thing that they had used in common—all had their apostrophe of sorrow. He tried to persuade her to remain in the barrack, as we had six miles to travel to the place of embarkation; but she said she would take the last minute in his company that she could.
The regiment fell in, and marched off, amid the wailing of those who, having two or three children, could not accompany us to the place of embarkation. Many of the men had got so much intoxicated thatthey were scarcely able to walk, and the commanding officer was so displeased with their conduct, that in coming through St Helier’s, he would not allow the band to play.
When we arrived at the place where we were to embark, a most distressing scene took place, in the men parting with their wives. Some of them, indeed, it did not appear to affect much; others had got themselves nearly tipsy; but the most of them seemed to feel acutely. When Sandy’s wife came to take her last farewell, she lost all government of her grief. She clung to him with a despairing hold. ‘Oh, dinna, dinna leave me!’ she cried. The vessel was hauling out. One of the sergeants came to tell her that she would have to go ashore. ‘Oh, they’ll never be so hard-hearted as to part us!’ said she; and running aft to the quarter-deck, where the commanding officer was standing, she sunk down on her knees, with her child in her arms. ‘Oh! will you no let me gang wi’ my husband? Will you tear him frae his wife and his wean? He has nae frien’s but us—nor we ony but him—and oh! will ye mak’ us a’ frien’less? See my wee babie pleadin’ for us.’
The officer felt a painful struggle between his duty and his feelings; the tears came into his eyes. She eagerly caught at this as favourable to her cause, ‘Oh ay, I see you have a feeling heart—you’ll let me gang wi’ him. You have nae wife; but if you had, I am sure you wad think it unco hard to be torn frae her this way—and this wee darlin’.’
‘My good woman,’ said the officer, ‘I feel for you much; but my orders are peremptory, that no more than six women to each hundred men go with their husbands. You have had your chance as well as the other women; and although it is hard enough on you to be separated from your husband, yet there are many more in the same predicament; and it is totally out of my power to help it.’
‘Well, well,’ said she, rising from her knees, and straining her infant to her breast: ‘It’s a’ owre wi’ us,my puir babie; this day leaves us friendless on the wide world.’
‘God will be your friend,’ said I, as I took the child from her until she would get into the boat. Sandy had stood like a person bewildered all this time, without saying a word.
‘Farewell, then, a last farewell, then,’ said she to him, ‘Where’s my babie?’ I handed him to her—‘Give him a last kiss, Sandy.’ He pressed the infant to his bosom in silent agony, ‘Now, a’s owre; farewell Sandy, we’ll maybe meet in heaven;’ and she stepped into the boat with a wild despairing look. The vessel was now turning the pier, and she was almost out of our sight in an instant; but as we got the last glimpse of her, she uttered a shriek, the knell of a broken heart, which rings in my ears at this moment. Sandy rushed down below, and threw himself into one of the berths, in a state of feeling which defies description. Poor fellow, his wife’s forebodings were too true! What became of her I have never been able to learn.
Nothing occurred worthy of remark on our voyage from Jersey to Lisbon. When we made the mouth of the Tagus, we got a Portuguese pilot on board. He had scarcely reached the gang-way when he was surrounded by all the men on deck; for his appearance was grotesque in the extreme. He was about four feet and a half high, and had on a jacket and breeches of what would have puzzled a philosopher to tell the original; for patches of red, yellow, blue, &c., were mingled through the whole dress, without any regularity. A pair of red stockings, and an enormous cocked hat, completed his costume. His complexion was of the same hue as a well-smoked bacon ham; and the whole contour of his face bore a striking resemblance to the ape tribe. ‘Blessings on your purty face, my honey,’ said Dennis, as he eyed him narrowly, ‘you have made your escape from some showman. May I never sin, if I don’t think I have seen you tumbling on a rope at Donnybrook fair.’ Our hero passed on, taking nonotice of the compliment Dennis had paid him, to take the helm from the seaman on duty; but the tar, giving him a contemptuous look, called out to the captain, ‘Will I give the helm to this herething?’
‘Certainly,’ said the captain, laughing. The sailor, however, did not seem sure about him; and as he passed on to the forecastle, could not help throwing a doubtful look behind at hissubstitute. He proved to be a good pilot, however, and managed the vessel well.
We passed Fort St Julian, and sailed up the Tagus as far as Belem, where our pilot gave the order to ‘let go de ank.’ The attention of those on deck was soon drawn towards a number of people who were sitting in a row, beneath the walls of a large building, seemingly very busy at something. After watching their motions for some time, we discovered that they were picking the vermin off themselves! There was none of thatmodest pressingbetween the finger and thumb, for fear of being seen, which we may observe in our dirty and indigent neighbours at home. It was absolute open murder! in all its varieties; and truly they had their hands full of work; for although we looked at them for a length of time, the carnage still continued as fierce as ever. It appeared to me that a new breed sprung, Phoenix-like, from the remains of their predecessors. This is abitingsample of Portugal, thought I, turning away in disgust from the scene; but I soon got accustomed to it; for in Spain and Portugal, the latter particularly, thepeochaseems quite at home, not confined to the poor alone; for I have seen the family of a rich fidalgo, male and female, assembled on the sunny side of the house, ‘sharp shooting’ publicly, without seeming to feel any shame.
So far from that, it appeared to be the most interesting of their forenoon amusements.
Next morning we disembarked and marched up to St Domingo convent, part of which had been converted into barracks. In the course of the day Dennis and I got into the town. We promised ourselves muchfrom the view we had had from the river the preceding evening; but were miserably disappointed when we got into the streets; for mountains of filth were collected in them, so that we could scarcely pass; and the smell of oil and garlic issuing from the shops was quite sickening. The most of the streets were very narrow.
The population seemed composed of monks and friars, for we met them at every step either begging, or walking in procession with the sacrament (or host) to some sick person. On these occasions they were preceded by a bell, which warned the passengers of their approach; whenever it was heard, they were down on their knees in a moment, in the very middle of the mud, and continued praying and beating their breasts until it passed. Poor Dennis was sadly puzzled the first time he met one of these parties; he was a Catholic, and of course could not avoid following the example of theChristianosaround him; but he had a great aversion to kneeling in the dirty streets. The procession was fast advancing, and he had been two or three times half down on his knees and up again; at last a lucky thought struck him—he snatched the hat out of the hand of a Portuguese who was kneeling before him, and deliberately placing it on the ground, kneeled down on it, and went through the ceremony with great gravity—thus saving both his conscience and his breeches. The fellow who owned the hat durst not move until the procession had passed; and then, without giving him time to speak, Dennis clapped the hat, dirty as it was, on the owner’s head, and walked off.
The fruit market was opposite to the convent gate; and it certainly was to us a novel and a pleasing sight. The finest fruits, which at home were rare and high in price, we found here as plenty and as cheap as gooseberries. Pine apples, peaches, and grapes, of the largest size and most exquisite flavour, with oranges, lemons, and pomegranates, were arranged on the standings, in the most tempting and tasteful manner.Dennis and I walked through amongst them with a strong desire of tasting them, yet fearful that our finances would not enable us to buy any. I ventured, however, to ask for the worth of a vintin (about three halfpence English) of oranges; after giving the woman the money, and pointing to the fruit, I held out my hand to receive them, but she beckoned me to give her my hat, and to our surprise, she nearly filled it.
The fragrant and delicious odour which perfumed the market place, and the sight of the beautiful fruit and flowers, made it a much more attractive place of resort, than the dirty streets filled with the abominable stench which issued from their cook-shops. My opinion of the interior of Lisbon was certainly very low; and I think, if a stranger wishes to see Lisbon, and leave it with any idea of its grandeur, he ought to contemplate it from the river, but never set his foot on shore, for he will then feel nothing but disgust.