Officers writing from the seat of war seldom told the whole bare tale; possibly they had the feeling that their letters were overhauled in transit, or they may have been disinclined to mention incidents which their friends at home, knowing nothing of war or of human weakness under trying circumstances, would regard as outrages. But these things left unsaid came out afterwards, and what Major Rice thought that his brother (to whom the above letter was written) would not understand was the extraordinary incident which took place at the very commencement of the retreat from Burgos. Arriving late in camp, after a heavy day of marching, near the town of Duenas, between Burgos and Valladolid, the men heard that the wine-vaults were full of the recent vintage, and with one accord they broke loose and sacked the vaults. "Some of them were found dead, literally drowned in wine, it having overflowed in the cellars and suffocated the poor wretches who were too drunk to escape. Next morning, at daybreak, when we stood to our arms to recommence the march, the scene was one, perhaps, without parallel in the annals of military history; for I scarcely exaggerate when I say that, with the exception of the officers, the whole army was drunk." Thus wrote Ensign Mainwaring of the 51st, and Napier bears him out in saying that at one time "twelve thousand men were in a state of helpless inebriety." Fortunately the rearguard was well away from the neighbourhood of the wine, though, as the historian points out, there was at the moment little to fear from the enemy, "since the French drunkards were even more numerous than those of the British army." Small wonder that the major thought that his civilian brother would not understand such things. He himself realised, as probably did Wellington also, that fatigue had produced so great a craving for drink as to drive the men mad. To punish twelve thousand men equally implicated was, of course, out of the question, and fortunately there was no further opportunity of obtaining drink during the retreat. The incident, however, showed the temper of the troops, and, though many bore their hardships with extraordinary fortitude, and though all fought valiantly when called upon to do so, there is no disguising the fact that the discipline of the army as a whole was bad.
The woman who, Major Rice says, was killed by the first shot at the Valladolid bridge, was the wife of a soldier of the regiment, and at the moment when the unfortunate shot struck her she was sitting by the side of her husband, eating her breakfast in fancied shelter. One wonders what the women of those days were made of, for numbers of them accompanied the army throughout the Peninsular War, and shared all the trials and troubles of their husbands. Numerous are the stories told of the heroism of these women, but why they were permitted to take the field is never made clear. With every regiment there marched several of them; children were born to them on the line of march; they died of fatigue; they saw their husbands killed in action, and sometimes they married again, while still on active service. Green, in his 'Vicissitudes,' mentions the case of a regimental woman (of the 68th) who married no fewer than four husbands during the war, each one dying or being killed almost before her eyes. One marvels at the indomitable courage possessed by these women of a century ago; and there were officers' wives who at times were present with the army, one notable case being that of Mrs Dalbiac, who, throughout the battle of Salamanca, seated on her horse, and often exposed to the enemy's fire, calmly watched her husband's performances in the fight. Nor was this courage restricted to British women, for every one knows the romantic story of the young Spanish lady who became the wife of Major (afterwards Sir Harry) Smith, after Badajoz, and thenceforward followed the fortunes of her husband in bivouac and camp until the end of the war.[73]
The army remained in the Tordesillas camp only a day after Major Rice despatched the above letter, when it marched to Salamanca, and there, on the 10th November, it was joined by Hill's force from Madrid. It will be remembered that when Wellington marched north on the 1st September, he left two divisions (under Hill) in occupation of the Spanish capital. After a while the armies of Soult and King Joseph began to display considerable activity, and towards the end of October were reported to be marching on Madrid in overwhelming strength. Whether Hill could have held his own is doubtful; perhaps, fortunately, he was not required to make the attempt, even if he had any intention of doing so, for Wellington, so soon as he had decided on withdrawing from before Burgos, ordered Hill to abandon Madrid and join him, if possible, by way of the Guadarama Pass. On the last day of October, therefore, Hill, having blown up the Retiro and destroyed the stores in Madrid, retreated by the Guadarama, and was never seriously pressed by the French.
The united army then marched out of Salamanca on the way to Ciudad Rodrigo, and during the following week the rearguard was almost continuously at bay. The main body plodded on, generally in pelting rain, always on muddy roads, short of food, and otherwise distressed beyond measure. As on the retreat to Corunna, the soldiers grew sullen for want of a battle, and at length the sight of vast herds of swine in the forests proved too much for them. They wanted food, and here it was at hand; so they quitted the ranks by hundreds to shoot the pigs, until Wellington, hearing the heavy firing, thought that the enemy was pushing an attack. For a time the army was at the mercy of the French, had they but known it; but order was presently restored, though not before two of the marauders had been hanged, by Wellington's command, as an example to the rest, and not before two thousand British stragglers had been captured by the enemy.
At San Muños the 51st came in for a sharp skirmish, and had Captain McCabe killed and eight men wounded; at the passage of the Huebra, the Light Division, covering the rear, had some heavy fighting, for the enemy's pursuit was vigorous, and his artillery fire often heavy. Stragglers were cut off, and a good deal of baggage was captured, but at length the troops saw the friendly walls of Ciudad Rodrigo, and knew that their troubles were at an end. The retreat had lasted for nearly a month; the weather throughout was inclement; the sick and wounded suffered severely; the whole army was hungry as well as footsore; and consequently the bulk of the men were out of hand, and even insubordinate. The pig-raiding prevailed up to the last day's march, for no punishment could stop it; and had the retreat continued a little longer, Wellington's army must have suffered some terrible disaster.
Once back on their old ground, and supplied with ample provisions from Rodrigo, the men's spirits were restored, and getting into dry quarters in the villages surrounding the fortress, the soldiers settled down for the winter, and put the weary retreat out of their minds. They were worn out; for almost a year they had marched continuously, and fought frequently; they had placed to their credit the capture of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, the victory at Salamanca, the triumphant entry into Madrid, and numerous minor successes. Only the retreat from Burgos tarnished their laurels; for when their losses, during this last phase of the year's operations, came to be reckoned up, they were found to be heavy. Including the siege of Burgos, Wellington's army suffered to the extent of some nine thousand men, not counting a vast number of officers and soldiers subsequently invalided from the effects of the unfortunate retreat.
Major Rice, probably to his own astonishment, succeeded in struggling on to the end of the year's campaigning, and then, having seen his regiment settled in tolerable comfort in cantonments, was forced to give in. He was immediately invalided home, and his brother, who had received his Tordesillas letter only on the 26th December, was no little surprised at the arrival, on the 15th January (1813), of the following hurriedly written note, bearing the Falmouth post-mark:—
"You will be surprised, but I trust agreeably, that I am landed on British ground. I made my escape with some difficulty, though honourably, from the Favourite Peninsula. I ventured my carcass in the packet as the safest conveyance, but it was like to have proved most woeful. Never did I, nor probably ever shall I, suffer such distress. Dreadful weather, and all but lost by bad reckoning on the part of the marine tribe. We got on the breakers off Ushant—blowing a gale of wind; nothing but a miracle saved us from a watery grave. I never felt till then Danger—in its most pitiable state. I've been in contact with my friend Death often, and rather familiar, but he appeared at that moment more grim than usual. I will recount my manifold adventures when we meet, which I hope will be in a few days. I touch on my way at Morshead's and my friend Kelly's near Launceston. You shall hear on what day I can be with you.