Great Britain. Army. Regiment of Foot, 95th; Kincaid, J. (John), 1787-1862; Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Personal narratives, British
Scotchmen are generally famed for the size of their noses, and I know
not whether it is that on service they get too much crammed with snuff
and gunpowder, or from what other cause, but certain it is that they do
not prove themselves such useful appendages to the countenance there
as they do in their own country, in scenting out whatever seemeth good
unto the wearer, for I remember one day, while waging war against the
snipes on the flooded banks of the Rio Maior, in passing by the rear
of a large country house which was occupied by the commander-in-chief
of the cavalry, (Sir Stapleton Cotton,) I was quite horrified to find
myself all at once amidst the ruins of at least twenty dozen of sheep's
heads, unskinned and unsinged, to the utter disgrace of about two
thousand highland noses belonging to the forty-second and seventy-ninth
regiments, which had, all the while of their accumulation, been lodged
within a mile, and not over and above well provided with that national
standing dish.
I will venture to say, that had such a deposit been made any evening on
the North Inch of Perth in the days of their great grandfathers, there
would have been an instinctive gathering of all the clans between the
Tay and Cairngorum before day-light next morning.
CHAP. VII.
"Blood and destruction shall be so in use,
And dreadful objects so familiar,
That mothers shall but smile when they behold
Their infants quartered with the hands of war."
The month of March, eighteen hundred and eleven, showed the successful
workings of Lord Wellington's admirable arrangements. The hitherto
victorious French army, which, under their "spoilt child of fortune,"
had advanced to certain conquest, were now obliged to bundle up their
traps and march back again, leaving nearly half their numbers to fatten
the land which they had beggared. They had fallen, too, on nameless
ground, in sickness and in want, and without a shot, by which their
friends and relatives might otherwise have proudly pointed to the
graves they filled.
Portugal, at that period, presented a picture of sadness and desolation
which it is sickening to think of--its churches spoliated, its villages
fired, and its towns depopulated.
It was no uncommon sight, on entering a cottage, to see in one
apartment some individuals of the same family dying of want, some
perishing under the brutal treatment of their oppressors, and some
(preferring death to dishonour) lying butchered upon their own hearths.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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