Thus ended the matter, and I never knew or heard that Picton ever again made use of a harsh expression towards the regiment; indeed his biographer says that he often gave them “unqualified praise.” Perhaps he did, but for nearly four years that Picton commanded the 3rd Division, not one officer of the 88th was ever promoted through his recommendation, though it is well known in the army that many deserved it. Shortly after this period a laughable circumstance took place between Picton and a soldier of the 88th, which put the General in great good-humour, and he often repeated the story as a good joke. He was riding out one day, accompanied by his aide-de-camp, near the river Coa, when he saw, on the opposite bank of the river, a man of the Connaught Rangers with a huge goat on his back. We had received but scanty rations for some days previously, and such a windfall as the old goat was not to be neglected. I am not prepared to state whether it was the cries of the animal, or the stench of his hide—for the wind was from that point—attracted Picton to the spot; howbeit, there he was. It would be difficult to say, with truth, whether the General was most angry or hungry, but he seemed, in either case, resolved not only to capture the goat, but also the “boy.” That he would have done the one or the other, perhaps both, there can be little doubt, had it not been that a stream, whose banks had been the theatre of other scenes of contest, separated the parties. This stream was the Coa, and although its different fordable points were well known to Picton, his _vis-a-vis_ neighbour was by no means ignorant of some of the passes; and as the General had not time to consult his chart, and find out the nearest “ford,” nor inclination to plunge into the river, he made a furious, but quite an ineffectual, attack of words against the “Connaught boy.” “Pray, sir,” said, or rather roared Picton, addressing the soldier, “what have you got there?” _Sol._ “A thieving puckawn, sir.” _Pic._ “A _what_?” _Sol._ “A goat, sir. In Ireland we call a buck-goat a puckawn. I found the poor baste sthraying, and he looks as if he was as hungry as myself.” _Pic._ “What are you going to do with him, sir?” _Sol._ “_Do_ with him, is it? To bring him with me, to be sure! Do you think I’d lave him here to starve?” _Pic._ “Ah! you villain, you are at your old tricks, are you? I know you, though you don’t think it!” _Sol._ “And I know you, sir, and the 'boys of Connaught' know you too, and I’d be sorry to do anything that would be displaising to your honour; and, sure, iv you’d only let me, I’d send your sarvent a leg iv him to dhress for your dinner, for by my sowl your honour looks could and angry—hungry I mane.”