Part 7

We were now in a mountainous country, and consequently the army, which had been all united on the march after crossing the Esla, was obliged to separate, and move by various roads to one point. In a day or two we found that the French were about to give up their running, and try their fortune by a stand. We were halted on the 20th of June, about four or five miles from Vittoria, and our columns closed in from various directions: we were told by several peasants that the French, under the command of Joseph Buonaparte and Marshal Jourdain, were between us and Vittoria; and when we saw the Duke of Wellington pass along the road close to us, with several of his generals, we suspected we should not long lie idle: we knew his Grace was going to the front to reconnoitre. I never saw him look better in my life; the march had improved his health, and success had brightened his looks in such a manner, that I fancied he felt confident of beating the enemy in “off hand” style at the first brush. I observed the several Portuguese battalions pass, as fresh for work as if they had not marched two miles; and in several Spanish corps which crossed us to the left under the command of Colonel Longa, I saw physical strength, although neither equipment nor high spirits. Our own troops looked as well as ever they did--the sun-browned and laughing faces of Johns, Pats, and Sawneys, gave assurance that they were highly disposed to enjoy “a bit of diversion.”

During the 20th the men refreshed themselves with change of linen, &c. in the best way they could, and enjoyed the evening of that day as happily as if they were reposing after a hunting excursion; every shade had its group, and the country afforded the most picturesque situations for bivouacking. My dinner was spread upon a green spot beneath an overhanging bank, covered with thick foliage, which shut out the hot sun; a clear stream rippling beneath; and here six of us enjoyed an evening’s chat as comfortably as if we were on the banks of one of the Cumberland lakes. We expected to be engaged next day, and the allusions which this expectation brought forth, although calculated to stir up some thoughts of home and friends, did not abate that cheerfulness which the scene present diffused. Our mortal enemy, old Death, was spoken of occasionally, but it was with a smile; no more was thought about him than about Marshal Jourdain or the ex-king Joe.

The night closed around, and the thousands lay down to sleep upon the turf; some by large fires, some beneath the cover of temporary huts, and some with nothing over them but their blankets, and the universal coverlid--beneath which many were to lie the following night for ever without waking! The weather was mild and delightful--the sky was beautiful, and many eyes were employed in gazing on it, and picturing over its blue breast the sweet scenes of home--the faces of those friends then far away! That was the hour for thinking; and I have no doubt it was so spent by thousands of the soldiers before they sunk into sleep.

On the morning of the 21st, we commenced our march early, and in two hours we came to an open country, on the right of which was a ridge of hills; about a mile distant on the left, a gradual descent of even land to a village about two miles off; far in the front--perhaps at three miles’ distance--were the spires of Vittoria to be seen rising to our view as we advanced; while about half a mile in our front we could spy the Frenchmen’s huts, and they themselves running to arms as if we had surprised them:--indeed this _was_ the case; for their cooking utensils were on their fires when our advanced troops trod over their ground. Columns of French were now to be seen moving about in the distance, and columns of our own men were every moment emerging from cover. The Staff was everywhere to be seen galloping to and fro--brigades of artillery and regiments of cavalry taking up their ground; and in about twenty minutes a column of Spaniards, led by General Murillo, moved out from the right of our line--Hill’s divisions--up towards the heights, and commenced firing upon the enemy stationed there: these hills are called the heights of La Puebla, and here rested the enemy’s left. The Spaniards, we could see, made good their ground on the hills; but reinforcements of French troops advanced against them, and Lord Hill ordered out two regiments of British troops to support the Spaniards, led by the Hon. Colonel Cadogan of the 71st. Now began the fight, and every moment increased it. The red coats were met by increased numbers of the blue, and the firing became incessant; the Spaniards poured in their balls in good style on the advancing French, who attemped to overwhelm with numbers their small force; but Lord Hill detached column after column to the attack: we could only distinguish the men as a body, but could not see the individuals; however, the colour of the coats sufficiently marked out friend from foe, and the _reds_ were evidently “doing the business.” The 71st had fired and stood the fire a considerable time, but could not mount the hill effectually (as I have heard from an officer then present): at this time their commander, the Hon. Colonel Cadogan received a ball in the groin: he fell, and was immediately surrounded by some of his men, and lifted up by them in order to be removed to the rear: the 71st was then about to apply to their old friend the bayonet--ready for the charge: their Colonel lay in the arms of two soldiers, the balls showering from the hills--“Stop! stop!” said he, “don’t take me away until I see my men charge!” It was done, and gallantly--up hill too: the Colonel cheered as well as his failing voice would allow, and his last moments were blessed with the smile of victory. The hills were very soon taken, and the enemy driven in.

The artillery now thundered from both sides; and down to the left we could see General Graham’s wing advancing against a distant village there. This was the part of the army to which I belonged; and now, for the first time since the march began, had an opportunity of gaining my division. The centre of the army, with which I then stood, now advanced to cross the Zadora, a small river--for Lord Hill _had_ crossed it soon after he gained the heights; firing was everywhere along the line, before me and on both sides; the French stood bravely and poured in their musketry; their cannon was not a moment silent, unless stormed and taken by our men. I saw a couple of field pieces attacked by a regiment of Portuguese, and they astonished me with their courage and activity--they leaped over the guns like madmen, although blazing in their teeth, and captured them gallantly.

Having now seen where my station ought to be, I determined to proceed to it, and without a moment’s delay galloped to the left, in the rear of the line, just as the troops crossed the river; and I arrived at the village attacked by Sir T. Graham (Gamarra Mayor) just as the bridge was carried. Three pieces of artillery fortified this bridge; but notwithstanding this, as well as a powerful force of infantry for its defence, our troops overcame all; but not without considerable loss. At this place, both the Colonels of the 59th (Weare and Fane) fell, while gallantly leading their men to the bridge.

It was now about half-past two or three o’clock in the afternoon, and no artillery but ours was to be heard; retreating columns and broken crowds were to be seen at various distances, to the extent of about half a mile in breadth, while our men were pursuing. Our dragoons advanced upon their rear--the infantry after them; but from the difficulty of the ground, the cavalry could not finish so completely as was to be wished, what the infantry had begun. The artillery followed up, and cannonaded the flying in their best style; and it was clear that victory was our own at every point.

We marched on to Vittoria without firing a shot; and on the left of the town I had the pleasure of seeing the whole baggage, treasure, &c. of the enemy, in the hands of our troops. It was now getting late in the evening; the whole army continued the pursuit; but too much was done during the day to expect that the troops could advance much beyond Vittoria; they did, however, a couple of leagues, when they halted; and thus the scattered French escaped farther punishment. I was sent on duty to the town of Vittoria, and there passed the night.

The scene which presented itself in the town that evening may be easily imagined:--prisoners--wounded--drunken Spaniards--stray horses and mules running to and fro--broken carriages--dead and dying--the inhabitants panic-struck--the rear of our light dragoons galloping through the town--fires in the streets--drunken plunderers rolling about--the groan and the laugh and the imprecation--all mingled! Such was Vittoria after the battle. To increase the confusion, an explosion took place, which shook every house and spread consternation around: none could imagine the cause. I at first supposed treachery from the Spaniards, but a moment’s consideration removed this suspicion. In a short time our Provost and his assistants informed us of the nature of this explosion. The 18th Dragoons, and many stragglers of infantry, had remained to help themselves to dubloons from a French military chest, which fell into our hands near the town, and plunder raged for two or three hours; our soldiers would not _take_ silver--nothing but gold would _pass_ with them; the former they left to the Spaniards, for it was absolutely a “_drug in the market_.” About ten o’clock it became dark, and amongst the crowd of waggons, many, containing the treasure, might escape; therefore a number of Spanish peasants, muleteers, &c. procured candles, and went in search of farther golden discoveries, in order to open an _opposition mine_ for themselves, as the _English_ showed such monopoly in their _companies_. In the prosecution of this _speculation_, one of them happened to thrust his candle into a powder waggon, while his coadjutors were surrounding it, waiting for the _report_ upon its merits; the _mine_ sprung, and hurled the _company_ into the air: many were blown to atoms, and those who escaped immediate death, I saw next day--they were as black as Africans, their heads and faces swollen, and their eyes closed up: poor creatures, they presented a pitiable sight! very few of them recovered. Had these men been satisfied with humble silver, and not have run after _mining speculations_, they would have done better; but such folly is not confined to ignorant peasants--the great metropolis of London has furnished us with examples of far greater avarice and folly in the pursuit of _gold mines_.

The only _wholesale dealer_ in the plunder of the French military chest who essayed his talents at Vittoria, was a commissariat _officer_: he very coolly ordered one of his muleteers to load eight or nine mules with boxes of dubloons, and dispatched him with a letter of consignment to Lisbon; where, had the treasure arrived, the commissary’s fortune would have been made. But it was otherwise ordained; for the muleteer, in going back through Spain, boasted at a _posado_ that he had immense treasure in his charge. An Alcaldi was present drinking; and from the circumstances of the mules being without a military escort, yet admitted to contain specie, suspicion arose. He continued to drink with the muleteer, and the latter, in his careless cups, dropped the letter which the commissary had given him to deliver to his correspondent at Lisbon. The Alcaldi withdrew; opened the letter--and with the help of the curate of the village, who knew a little English, discovered that the treasure was not sent by any authority. In consequence of this, he seized the whole--mules, muleteer, and all. The result was, that the gold was sent back, and the commissary thought it right to run away, without waiting for farther enquiry. Thus ended _his_ speculation: but speculation at best is _only_ speculation--except in this case; for here it lost a _letter_, and therefore was clearly--_peculation_.

The day after the battle, I, in company with another, rode out to view the ground where the armies had so recently contended. It was strewed with dead and wounded, accoutrements and arms; a great part of the latter broken. At those points where obstinate fighting took place, the ground was covered with bodies: a great number of wounded, both French, English, and Portuguese, lay along the road, groaning and craving water. The village of _Gamarra Mayor_ was shattered with heavy shot, and the bridge covered with dead, as well as its arches choked up with bodies and accoutrements. We returned by the main road, to where the centre of the army was engaged. Here were the French huts, and their broken provisions, half cooked, lying about; this was a level interspersed with little hillocks and brushwood: we were then surrounded with dead and wounded; several cars were employed in collecting the latter. A few straggling peasants could be seen at a distance, watching an opportunity for plunder--there was a dreadful silence over the scene. A poor Irishwoman ran up to one of the surgeons near us, and with tears in her eyes, asked where was the hospital of the 82nd regiment--I think it was the 82nd--she wrung her hands, and said that the men told her she would find her husband wounded; and she had travelled back for the purpose. The surgeon told her that the only hospital on the field was in a cottage, to which he pointed; but informed her that all the wounded would be conveyed to Vittoria. The half-frantic woman proceeded towards the cottage, over the bodies which lay in her way, and had not gone more than about fifty yards, when she fell on her face, and uttered the most bitter cries. We hastened to her--she was embracing the body of a sergeant, a fine tall fellow, who lay on his face. “Oh! it’s my husband--it’s my husband!” said she; “and he is dead and cold.” One of the men turned the body on his face; the sergeant had been shot in the neck, and his ankle was shattered. The lamentations of the woman were of the most heart-rending kind, but not loud. She continued to sit by her lifeless husband, gazing on his pale countenance, and moving her head and body to and fro, in the most bitter agony of woe:--she talked to the dead in the most affectionate language--of her orphans--of her home--and of their former happiness. After a considerable time, by persuasion, we got her upon one of the cars with the wounded, and placed the body of her husband beside her; this we did, because she expressed a wish to have it buried by a clergyman. She thanked us more by looks than words, and the melancholy load proceeded slowly to Vittoria.

In our way back to the town, my companion’s attention was attracted by a dead Portuguese; he raised up the body, and asked me to look through it--I _did_ absolutely look _through_ it. A cannon-ball had passed into the breast and out at the back--and so rapid must have been its transit, from its forming such a clear aperture--in circumference about twelve inches--that the man must have been close to the cannon’s mouth when he was shot--it spoke volumes for the courage of the troops.

The hospital at Vittoria that evening presented a sad spectacle; not only was part of it filled with wounded, but the streets all round it--about two thousand men, including those of the French with those of the Allies. Owing to the rapid, and perhaps unexpected, advance of the army, there were only three surgeons to attend to this vast number of wounded, for the first two days after the battle; and, from the same reason, no provisions were to be had for them for a week! The Commissariat had not provided for the exigency, and the small portion of bread that could be purchased was sold at three shillings per pound. From these casualties, I often thought since, that in cases of expected general actions, if one half of both medical and commissariat staff were under orders to remain on the field until relieved, instead of following their respective divisions, it would obviate such privations. However, there is every excuse in this case, considering the unexpected rapidity of the advance. No fault whatever can be laid to either of the departments in this instance: it was wholly owing to advancing to such distance beyond Vittoria, as required too long a time to retrace.

In going through the hospital, I saw in one room not less than thirty Hussars--of the 10th and 15th, I think--all wounded by lances; and one of them had nineteen wounds in his body:--the surgeon had already amputated his left arm. One of the men described the way in which so many of their brigade became wounded. He said, that in charging the rear of the enemy as they were retreating, the horses had to leap up a bank, nearly breast high, to make good the level above. At this moment, a body of Polish Lancers, headed by a General, dashed in upon them, the General crying out, in broken English, “_Come on! I care not for your fine Hussar brigade._” They fought for a considerable time, and although ultimately the Lancers retired and left the ground to the Hussars, yet the latter lost many killed and wounded. “That man,” said the Hussar, “who lies there with the loss of his arm and so dreadfully wounded, fought a dozen Lancers, all at him at once, and settled some of them; at last he fell, and the Lancers were about to kill him, when the General cried out to take him to the rear, for he was a brave fellow. The skirmish continued, and the General cut that man there across the nose, in fighting singly with him--but he killed the General after all.”

I turned and saw a young Hussar, with a gash across his nose, and he confirmed what his comrade said. The man who had the nineteen wounds, I have since heard, recovered: he seemed much to regret the fate of the General who saved his life. I saw this brave officer’s body buried the next day in the principal church in Vittoria.

In passing through another part of the hospital, I perceived a Portuguese female lying on the ground upon straw, in the midst of numbers of wounded men. I enquired of her, was she wounded. She pointed to her breast, and showed me where the bullet had passed. I asked her how she received the shot, and was horror-struck when the dying woman informed me that it was her _marido_,--her own husband,--who shot her just as the action was commencing--she said he deliberately put the muzzle of his gun to her breast and fired! This may be false; I hope it is, for the sake of humanity:--it might be that the woman was plundering the dead; and perhaps killing the wounded, when some of the latter shot her. However, be the fact as it may, it was thus she told her story. She was in great pain, and I should think did not live much longer.

Colonels Weare and Fane, who fell so gloriously, were buried behind this hospital:--but I have dwelt upon this circumstance at another part of the work.

The people of Vittoria were very far from enthusiastic in favour of the English, although they behaved with apparent gratitude; but this may be accounted for by the yet uncertainty which prevailed, as to our ultimate power of driving the French out of Spain. Bull-fights and balls took place, and the new constitution was read and honoured; but there was a want of warmth in the people, quite incompatible with true patriotism:--on the whole, it was supposed that Vittoria was not unfavourable to foreign tyranny.

A few days after the battle, the 6th division of the army passed through Vittoria, on their march to join the main body of the army. This division, from having been often employed on detached service, acquired the name of the “_Flying Invisibles_,” by the rest of the army. They were certainly not at the battle; but it was not their fault, for they were left three days’ march in the rear, to protect the transport of the stores, &c. The men presented a motley appearance; they had not received a supply of clothing as had been expected, and the consequence was that scarcely any red cloth was to be seen amongst their jackets, so patched were they with that of every other colour. Many had no shoes, and altogether they excited commiseration; but the men themselves were as hearty and as healthy as any soldiers in the army.

While I remained at Vittoria, I learned that an attempt to storm St. Sebastian had been made by the allied armies, and had failed: it was also stated that the Spaniards of the fortress were the most active in defending the breach. Little fighting, I believe, took place in front, except at Roncesvalles and the pass of Maya--the gates of the French territory; and here, I believe, there was an effectual attack made by the French against our troops--at least so far successful, that the latter were obliged to retire a little, after having fought gallantly. A considerable number of men wounded in this affair were sent back to Vittoria.

I was now ordered to the front, and after a few days’ marches through a most delightful and tranquil country, arrived at a village near Pamplona, called Bastania. Here were quartered two heavy Dragoon regiments--all the cavalry, indeed, were near; for it was a wide open country, and consequently fit for the operations of Dragoons. In the centre was the fortified town of Pamplona, within a mile of which we durst not approach. The Pyrenees were about half a mile in front of Bastania, and the cavalry were placed here in case the enemy should succeed in forcing their way down to the plain for the relief of the citadel, in which 1,200 French were shut up:--had they done so, the horse could have acted with great effect upon them. This was in the latter end of July; and I believe the Duke of Wellington had closed the army in from the right, and intended to push on with his whole force to France. The Spaniards he had placed to invest Pamplona.