January 4.—A Spanish ensign endeavours to turn me out of my quarters. I turn him out instead.
The inhabitants of Otero send to beg the Spanish soldiers may protect them from the plunder of Colonel P.’s stragglers. I write to Colonel P. to apprise him of this.
Mr. Murray, Com. G., arrives.
Commissaries, officers and soldiers, mules and devilment arrive all day. Spies return.
January 5.—Mr. Murray departs. Conceiving my commission to be performed, I determine to start for the army to-morrow, and the Governor writes to Marquis Romano and encloses my despatch to Sir John. A Colonel of Spanish Artillery arrives with the cadets of Segovia in charge. Poor little fellows! he is to take them to Corunna.
Don Alonzo Gonzalis tells the people that the English are going to embark. They do not believe it. “What,” says he, “if the English have not so many men as the French that follow them, would you have the poor English stay and be destroyed?” “God forbid.” In the evening I go to the Governor’s, and find round the brazier many Spanish officers, principally Artillery. They talk of the destruction of the bridge of Benavente, and speak theoretically of the line of least resistance, etc., and I am asked if we do not carry with us some new and extraordinary machine of destruction. I cannot make out what they mean for a long time, so they send for the officer who had seen it.
He describes to the wondering circle a terrible machine, in which I recognise the wheel car! Then have we, is it true, an invention for carrying musketry to the distance of round shot? It was incredible. Describe shrapnel shells. A little black fellow starts up and swears it is no new invention. He is scouted and silenced. Take my leave.
January 6, Friday.—Start for Villarviejo. Freezes hard, and the ground is a sheet of ice. As the sun gets up, however, it thaws.
Pass numerous villages, and at three leagues encounter the first Portilia, where the road goes over a high mountain, which is sometimes impassable, and at this time bad and dangerous, not so much on account of the quantity of snow, but because the road, undermined by the run of waters in a thaw, becomes like the worst of rabbit warrens. And besides this, the beaten path is so narrow that two mules meeting could not keep it, and the one that leaves it flounders half buried in the snow. Pass the other Portilia, not in so bad a state, at six leagues, and reach Villarviejo, on the other side, at seven leagues. The general and busy run of waters, as if to their appointed stations, calls forcibly to my mind the description given by Milton of the assemblage of waters at the great command to let dry land appear.
Scenery wild and very high.