The bridge of Carrion was to be forced at daylight, and a subsequent battle was fully expected and ardently desired by all ranks of the army, from Sir John Moore to the junior drummer—at least so I believe, and spite of the severe frost and night cold, with snow upon the ground, the spirits of the troops beat high; they enjoyed the night march, for they thought that at last they had caught this “Duke of Damnation,” whom they believed they had been running after from the neighbourhood of Lisbon. No men, they think, did ever go so fast, for they never saw anything of them, and almost despaired of coming up with them.
The Reserve had moved about four miles when an officer met General Paget, and the division was marched back to Grajal, its former cantonment. This is all I know. I suppose the enemy was found to have bolted, and that it will not do for us to play with them in the middle of this continent.
I therefore think that we shall get away as soon as we can. I think our Chief very wise, very brave, and very disinterested.—God bless you,
Charles.
December 24, Sunday.—March to headquarters at Mayorga. Make a sketch. A dragoon officer of the 10th begs to be let into our billet. I cannot say no. His horse kicks Lutgins’, who rows me like blazes for letting the dragoon in.
December 27.—Ammunition waggons without number, and the tag, rag, and bobtail of all the other divisions here fall to the convoy of General Paget, a tremendous string, which makes the Reserve a baggage guard. He executes this with patience, mastery, and accomplishment. Guns being posted so as to rake the road.
We get no billets at Benavente, but Lutgins perseveres and gets an excellent one, and Lord Paget and Colonel V. dine with us.
December 28.—At ten o’clock Lutgins and I, sitting at breakfast, hear a row in the streets. Ask what is the matter. “Turn out, sir, directly! The French are in the town.” Oh what confusion, what screaming and hooting and running and shoving and splashing and dashing! My sword, spurs, and sash mislaid. Olla! Mount my horse and ride to General Paget’s quarters. Find him just sallying forth. He at once takes up his ground and gets his people under arms. False alarm. Nobody knows the cause of the row, but the people of the house had fled in despair. Unhappy people! Such are the miseries of war, that the unoffending inhabitants, despoiled of the sanctity of their homes, find every social tie jagged to the root, and then enters cold, desponding indifference.
Ride to the bridge, where preparations are making to destroy the same. A very wet, cold night. I am sent with a message to Sir John Moore, and ride back again through devilish rain and numbing wind. A party of the enemy’s cavalry come to reconnoitre this operation, and exchange a few shots with our pickets. All the people having withdrawn, the houses on the other side the bridge and piles of timber are set on fire, and make a most superb and interesting appearance in spite of the inclemency of the night; the mounting blaze, bursting through the crackling roofs, glares sunlike upon the opposite promontories and sub-current waters. The teeth of the cursed saws refuse to do their duties, and hours are spent in sawing the woodwork. I leave the business at 5 A.M.