Half Rations.

The Rations now arriv'd, each took his share,

And eagerly devour'd the scanty Fare;

And scanty Fare it was, consisting chief

Of flinty Biscuit, tough, and stinking Beef,

Tho’ Teague's report at first made John look glum —

‘'Tis only half allowance, and no Rum.’

‘ O Damn those Commissaries! what a disaster,

‘ They've brought us down, you see, to Lath & Plaster.

‘ But, “Vive la guerre,”‘ tis useless to repine.’

So on they March, and in the pursuit join.

Now rapidly they on the vanquish'd prest,

Snatching at intervals a hasty rest.

Day after Day, and frequently all Night,

They speed to check the Frenchmen in their flight:

When luckily for John, an order came

To Halt — for John was wearied, & poor Dobbin lame.

Close to Medina now their Stations took,

Amidst the standing Barley, near a Brook.

Knock'd up was John, his spirits quite forsook him,

So to his Hospital the Doctor took him.

‘ Come cheer, my friend; come rally and be gay;—

‘ I've got some Lads to Dine with me to-day.’

John fain would rally, but was sick at heart;

Though at the dinner tried to play his part.

‘ Come,’ says the Doctor,‘ here's Rum and Segars;

‘ This is the way we carry on our Wars.

‘ Here, smoke, my boy, I know‘ twill do you good;

‘ And try this Country wine,‘ twill cool your Blood.’

John smoked, & drank, & drank, & smoked again,

But nought upon his Stomach would remain.

His head turn'd round — he tried to gain the door,

But miss'd his mark, and sp — d upon the floor.

‘ O Ja — s,’ says a lively Irish Blade,

‘ I ne'er before saw such a grand Cascade.’

Holding his Nose, exclaim'd a chubbly Lad,

‘ Give me some Rum, or I shall be as bad.’

‘ True,’ says a third, and winking as he spoke,

‘ Though well he stood the Fire, he can n't the Smoke.’

‘ Aye,’ says the Doctor, sagely,‘ it a fact is,

‘ Tobacco fumes corrode for want of practice;

‘ Coming in contact with the Mesentery,

‘ Sickness produce, and sometimes Dysentery.’

‘ Aye,’ says another, cramming up his Snuff,

‘ One at a time, the Cascade's quite enough.’

‘ Come, Newcome,’ says the Doctor,‘ once more try;

‘ Of this you'll get the better bye and bye.’

But now against the wall, John held his head,

And drawling out,‘ Ah, no! I'm almost dead.’

So, on a Blanket stretch'd, in wretched plight,

And, parch'd with fever, groan'd away the Night.

Next morn the Doctor came, his Friend to seek,

And found poor Johnny, feverish, and weak.

‘ Ah! Sir,’ says John,‘ it is to me quite clear,

‘ That I'm a dead man, if they keep me here.’

The Doctor felt his Pulse, and gave a shrug;

The Constitution could not stand the Tug.

‘ Your health, poor Newcome, does so bad appear,

‘ That I shall send you straightways to the Rear.

‘ To Salamanca first, and when you're there,

‘ You will be ordered Home for change of Air.

‘ The Board of Surgeons will, I'm well assur'd,

‘ At once decide that here you can n't be cured.’

Next Morn, by times, John in a cart was laid,

Follow'd by Teague, and to the Rear convey'd;

Dragg'd in the midst of Donkies, Mules, and Carts,

With sick, and wounded, Johnny now departs,—

Expos'd to jolting Roads, to Dust, and Heat —

Expos'd for hours, in some vile Road or Street;

The livelong Day, no comfort, food, or rest,

Waking all Night, by sad disease opprest:

Around him anguish speaks in languid tones,

And wounded Heroes, stifling in their groans.

But from such dismal scenes I must refrain,—

The dreadfull retrospect gives only pain,

As‘ tis my wish, in this my humble measure,

To give my gentle Reader only pleasure;

Tho’ in this story of one Vent'rous Youth,

I give the truth, and nothing but the truth.

At length to Salamanca John was taken,

His mind afflicted; frame and body shaken.

And once more Housed, in temporary dose,

His worn-out, wearied Carcase sought repose,

The Surgeons found, as Dissolution border'd,

That he to England must straightways be order'd.

By easy journies, ( tho’ estrang'd from ease ),

He once more travell'd in the land of Fleas.

Onward was dragg'd o'er many a weary League,

His only comfort left was honest Teague.

Silent and sad he lay, and scarcely spoke,

But‘ Oh Patron, oh! sparum, sparum poke.

‘ Oh, mind the Rascal, Teague, do n't let him spill me;

‘ The horrid Brute I'm sure's resolv'd to kill me.’

And, now when many a tedious Day had past,

Half-dead at Lisbon, he arriv'd at last.

His piteous case was now by Teague convey'd,

And in due form before the General laid.

A Fleet of Transports in the Tagus lay,

And was to Sail for England the next day.

The General kindly sent poor Johnny word —

A Birth was order'd; he might go on Board;

With kind indulgence, and which did him honour,

Permission gave that he might take O'Connor.

Teague's honest joy now kindled in his heart,

When from his Master he was not to part.

‘ He'd been his Friend, his Nurse, his Consolation;

‘ No braver Lad,’ says Teague,‘ lives in the Nation;

‘ I'll get him snug on Board, and then I think,

‘ I'll to my Friends, and to take a hearty drink.’

Now John by Teague was safely stow'd on Board,

And Teague got staggering drunk to keep his word.

Next morn by times, to Johnny's great surprize,

Teague had a broken Nose, and two Black Eyes.

Teague thought by some excuse to make amends —

‘ I tuck a Drink, your Honour, with some Friends.’

‘ With Friends,’ said John,‘ no, Teague, you mean your Foes;

‘ The Devil's i n't, if Friends would break your Nose.’

‘ Ah no, your Honour,’ says Teague,‘'twas Friends for sartin —

‘ We drank like Friends, but had a fight at parting.’

‘ O! aye,’ said John,‘ you Paddies like a joke,

‘ So friendly-like, you took a parting Stroke.’

Blue Peter hoisted, and the Wind was fair;

John much refresh'd inhal'd the saline air.

Stretch'd on the Deck, he oft did take his Station,

His empty stomach offer'd no oblation:

His wand'ring thoughts would retrospective cast,

Dwelling on all the Scenes that he had pass'd;

And fancy oft would pleasurably roam

To his lov'd Parents, and his happy Home.

Now passing Ushant from the Bay of Biscay,

‘ Do n't I,’ said Teague,‘ smell Ireland & Whiskey?’

‘ Why, Teague,’ said John,‘ I think we're drawing near

‘ The coast of Ireland, that is called Cape Clear.

‘ Here, take the Spy-Glass — look with all your might.’

‘ I see't, by Ja — s,‘ tis Clear out of sight.’

As to the Northward now the Wind did veer,

They trimm'd the Sails, and up the Channel steer;

Smoothly they ran, and, by the Convoy led,

They shortly cast their Anchor at Spithead.

Tho’ weak was John, and trembled at each joint,

He took a Boat, and landed at the point;

Popp'd Teague and Baggage in a Chaise and Four,

And quickly travell'd to his Father's Door.

The honest Grocer was in daily use,

When he had din'd, to take a quiet snooze;

Whilst his good Dame, whose anxious mind was fill'd

With dread her dearest Johnny might be kill'd,

Sat pensively, lamenting her sad case —

In burst her Son, and flew to her embrace:

She sigh'd, she sobb'd, and press'd him to her breast,

And all the Mother's fondest love exprest.

The honest Grocer, waking in amaze,

Rubbing his eyes, did on our Hero gaze,—

‘ Why dang it now, do my old eyes tell true?

‘ Is it my boy,— dear Johnny, is it you?

‘ When did you come? how got you leave, my Boy?

‘ Zounds! I'm so glad, I can n't contain my joy!’

John now explain'd how England he did reach;

Th’ enraptur'd Parents hung upon his speech.

His anxious Mother sadly now survey'd

The alteration that disease had made;

Saw his pale look, his sunk, and languid Eye,

Then gently said ( with a Maternal sigh ),

‘ I see you're ill, my Son, with pain, and grief:

‘ What shall we do to give our John relief?’

‘ Ah, Dame! your slops and stuffs I see no good in —

‘ Give him a belly-full of beef and pudding;

‘ The Boy's half-starv'd — o'drat that cursed Spain:

‘ Thank God! my child's come back alive again.’

Our John‘ tween Dad and Mother took a Chair,

And now more tranquil grew the happy pair;

Related what he'd seen, and how he felt

When first in action he the powder smelt:

Then prattled on until old Dad was yawning —

When tucked up by Mamma, he slept till morning.

And now strange thoughts pervaded Johnny's brain,—

He'd seen enough of Fighting, and of Spain;

So, after dinner, with his honest Sire,

With good old Port, and near a blazing Fire,

‘ I think,’ says John,‘ Campaigning is no joke

‘ With us poor Subs, it only ends in smoke:

‘ For my own part, I've got a sort of notion,

‘ That I, by other means, may get Promotion.’

‘ How's that?’ says Dad,‘ dear Johnny do n't be rash.’

‘ Father, I mean by interest, or by Cash.’

‘ O aye, my Son, aye, now I think I take you —

‘ If Cash will do't, I'll soon a Colonel make you.’

‘ True, Sir,’ says John;‘ when the Gazette I read,

‘ There's many by that way I see succeed.’

‘ If that's your way,’ again replies the Dad,

‘ I'll soon promote you, never fear my lad.

‘ I'll tell you what, dear John, since off you ran,

‘ A Banker I'm become, and Alderman:

‘ And what's still better, as you will agree,

‘ I represent the City, an M. P.’

‘ An M. P., dear Dad — that's devilish well,

‘ Then I can now Campaign it in Pall Mall.’

‘ Campaign at Carlton House — is't that you say?’

‘ Aye, aye, dear Dad, you take me — that's the way.

‘ Who gets Promotion now? tell me who hears?

‘ Do the poor Subs who've fought so many Years?

‘ A Captain, now and then, may make a shift

‘ By some odd accident to get a lift.

‘ I know a manof whom‘ tis truly said

‘ He bravely twice a Storming party led;

‘ And Volunteer'd both times — now here's the rub,

‘ + The gallant fellow still remains a Sub +.’

‘ That's cruel hard, my boy, there is no doubt,

‘ Enough to break a heart, tho’ e'er so stout;

‘ But never mind, + I've Cash at my Command +.’

‘ They've touch'd it somewhere. Eh! you understand.’

‘ If that's your Plan, gadzooks! I'll bet a wager

‘ I soon shall see you Captain! aye! and Major.’