The Sun.
London, England, 1852-11-18 00:00:00

HIS ARRIVAL IN PORTUGAL.

r uta land,hrepe nt
ea veterans
nne
:draw. ntuhh: triumphal march Caesar,
f from In 1808, only a few months after his successful enter-
prise against Copenhagen, Sir Arthur Wellesley com-
menced that. series of renowned exploits which has as-
sociated his name as a symbol of imperishable glory with
the prolonged and memorable wars in the Spanish
it came to pass that troops were
lPaenndiendsualta.thisHl7riod in Portugal, the world knows as
familiarly as any other of the grand events connected
with the wonderful days of the imperial reign of Napo-
leon. England at last discovered in the Peninsula an
csohftinithheeat great army which had carried the
aat might
uo perceptiblehop e t o
disadvantage competea las t uponwith
mheretoforeity t
o cityin one
throughoutuninter -
oozing out perpetually in a golden stream that from
energiest ies o f
otfh eG_rEuropeaneat Britain—besides
Continent.
time Hitherto
tfni mttnhhece: principal
modernrtichi okeu countries
soldiers of the Allied Sovereigns—
had been almost wholly restricted to her contests on
the ocean. And those contests had closed for
another half century at least at Trafalgar. Ho-
ratio Nelson, " the darling hero of England, " had
yielded up his life in that terrible storm of
glory and death, in which, while perishing him-
self in the struggle, he had struck down, as with a de-
luge of thunderbolts, the pride of France upon the seas
for an entire generation. All that the British Govern-
ment could do then—for it was eaten into its very vitals
with a fierce and inextinguishable hatred against Napo-
leon—was to send shiploads of soldiers at intervals, now
to Quiberon Bay and cow to Ferrol, now to the Helder
and now to St. Domicgo, The Cabinet of St. James's
could only thus feebly and intermittently appease its lust
of battle with the extraordinary Conqueror then over-
shadowing the world with his colossal dominion—the
Hero-Adventurer whom the rulers of England hated
with an immortal hatred, if only for all those diadems he
had squandered upon bis family, or for all those majestic
titles which had been lavished upon himself as Emperor
of the French, as Icing of Italy, as Protector of the
Confederation of the Rhine, and as Mediator of Switzer-
land. The British Government could only watch the
sequence of his astonishing victories, and—while they,
nurtured the Hydra of Coalition with their enor-
mous subsidies, increased and increased as each head
was lopped off by the trenchant sword of Napoleon
—wait for their opportunity. And at length the oppor-
tunity came in earnest. Petty expeditions were no
adventured upon. Spam aenod. Portugalco-operation.
atiouwere
The
pearmel lo mellowed
floorngaervastto
insurrectionary
ed—a grand one was to be
ripe. And Sir Arthur Wellesley was the one selected
t. o shake it out of the branches. To Lord Castlereagh
is due the honour of that ever-memorable choice. It
was his sagacity that recognized in the " Sepoy-
General," who had won the pitched battle of Assaye,
and effected the capitulation of Copenhagen, a fit com-
petitor for the Marshals of Napoleon, and the future
conqueror of the Peninsula. Remembering this circum-
stance, we could not but recognize the other day a
graceful tribute to the Past, in the conference of the
Garter, left vacant by the death of our illustrious Cap-
tain, upon the brother of the statesman who may be
said to have first appreciated his genius as a military
commander, upon the brother of Viscount Castlereagh—
himself an old companion in arms of the late Duke,
when he served under him as Sir Charles Stewart, now
the veteran Marquis of Londonderry.
We all remember, of course, the ridiculous manner in
which Lord Castlereagh's selection of Sir Arthur Wel-
lesley to the command of the army dispatched into
Portugal was rendered for a while in a great measure
ineffective—namely, by compelling him to surrender his
authority to Sir Harry Burrard, who was in like manner
obliged to yield up his position as chief to Sir Hew
Dalrymple. Overshadowed by the prospect of these
preposterous but inevitable interruptions to his scheme

of a campaign, Wellesley landed his troops in the
August of 1808 in Mondago Bay, situated immediately
between Oporto and Lisbon. When starting on the
9th of August upon his first march in the Peninsula,
Sir Arthur found himself at the head (for the
time being) of nearly 13,000 British soldiers.
Nevertheless, with these, on the 17th of August, he over-
came 5,000 French under Laborde on the heights of
Rolica, and on the 21st entirely defeated Junot with
14,000 men at Vimeira. By this time, however, Sir
Harry Burrard had arrived, and Sir Arthur Wellesley
being displaced, was prevented by his superior officer
from following up his successes. No wonder when he
saw the enemy allowed thus comfortably to retreat upon
Torres Vedras,—no wonder, indeed, that Wellesley,
turning to his staff, remarked, with a shrug of the
shoulders, " Well then, gentlemen, we may go now
and shoot red-legged partridges !" Consummate talents
were compelled for a time to make way before the
pompous strut of mediocrity. Naturally enough our
great Captain—seeing himself displaced by Sir Harry
Burrard, and Sir Harry Buriard in his turn displaced
by Sir Hew Dalrymple—returned to England, anxious
no doubt to forget his disappointed hopes of victory in
the duties of his Secretaryship and the debates of Par-
liament.