Having reached the edge of the woods, Reille ordered the bulk of his troops to push on hard, by the two parallel roads which traverse them, keeping Fririon’s brigade in hand as a fighting rearguard. The rather disordered columns were emerging on the east side of the woods, and streaming into and past the village of Zurbano, when the leading squadrons of the 12th and 16th Light Dragoons came in upon them. These squadrons had avoided entangling themselves in the trees till the French rearguard had passed on, but prepared to charge the moment they got into open ground, though the main body of the brigade had not come up. They found opposed to them a regiment of Boyer’s dragoons, supported by another of hussars, which they charged but did not break[601]. But on the coming up of the rear squadrons, the attack was renewed with success. The French cavalry gave way, but only to clear the front of the 36th Line of Fririon’s brigade, which was in square outside Zurbano. The British light dragoons swept down on the square, but were completely repulsed by its steady fire. This gained time for the rest of Reille’s troops to make off, and the pursuit slackened. But the bulk of the French went off in such haste that they abandoned four guns of Lamartinière’s artillery, and took away with them only the remaining two—the sole pieces that escaped that day of the immense train of Joseph’s three armies. Some hundreds of stragglers were taken, but no single unit of the retiring force was cut off or captured whole. Reille wisely kept his army, so long as was possible, on the side-paths by Arbulo and Oreytia, before debouching into the main Salvatierra road, which was seething over with the wrecks of the other armies and the convoys. Hence he succeeded in escaping the utter confusion into which the rest fell, and, finally, when he turned into the main track, was able to constitute himself a rearguard to the whole. Graham’s pursuit of him seems to have been slow and cautious—no troops indeed ever came near the retreating columns except the two light dragoon regiments, the Caçador battalions of Pack and Bradford, and some of Longa’s skirmishers, who (as Reille mentions) followed him along the hills on his left, shooting down into the retreating masses, but not attempting to break in. The 5th Division appears to have followed not much farther than the open ground beyond the woods of Zurbano, where it halted and encamped after eight o’clock in some bean-fields. Nor does it seem that the 1st Division got more than a league or so beyond the Zadorra[602]. The Caçadores and cavalry, however, did not halt till they reached El Burgo, four or five miles farther on.
The scene was very different on the other side of Vittoria, where D’Erlon’s army was pushing its way, in utter disorder, through the fields and by-paths over which the Parks and convoy were trying in vain to get off, and Gazan’s (farther to the south) was making a dash over ground of the most tiresome sort. For in the rugged tract east of Esquivel and Armentia such paths as there were mostly ran in the wrong direction—north and south instead of east and west—and it was necessary to disregard them and to strike across country. Six successive ravines lay in the way—marshy bottoms in which ran trifling brooks descending toward the Zadorra—and several woods on the ridges between the ravines. Hill’s and Cole’s skirmishers were pressing in the rear, and above, on the heights of Puebla, Morillo’s and Cameron’s troops could be seen hurrying along with the intention of getting ahead of the retreating masses. The confusion growing worse every moment—for companies and battalions each struck out for the easiest line of retreat without regard for their neighbours—Gazan gave orders to abandon all the artillery, which was getting embogged, battery after battery, in the ravines, and gave leave for every unit to shift for itself—general sauve-qui-peut. The horses were unhitched from the guns and caissons, many of the infantry threw off their packs, and the army went off broadcast, some in the direction of Metauco and Arbulo, others by village paths more to the south. The general stream finally flowed into the Salvatierra road, where it was covered by the Army of Portugal, which was making a much more orderly retreat[603]. English eye-witnesses of this part of the battle complain bitterly that no horsemen ever came up to assist the wearied 2nd Division infantry in the pursuit, and maintain that thousands of prisoners might have been taken by a few squadrons[604]. But all the cavalry seems to have been directed on Vittoria by the high road, and save Grant’s hussar brigade none of it came into action. This is sufficiently proved by its casualty lists—in R. Hill’s, Ponsonby’s, Long’s, Victor Alten’s, and Fane’s brigades that day the total losses were one man killed and eleven wounded! Only Anson’s Light Dragoons in Graham’s corps and Grant’s regiments in the centre got into the fighting at all. The rugged ground, it is true, was unfavourable for cavalry action in regular order, but it was almost as unfavourable for disordered infantry escaping over ravines and ditches. Something was wrong here in the general direction of the mounted arm—perhaps it suffered from the want of a responsible cavalry leader—the brigadiers dared not act for themselves, and Bock (the senior cavalry officer) was not only short-sighted in the extreme, but absent from the main battle all day in Graham’s corps. One cannot but suspect that Wellington’s thunderings in previous years, against reckless cavalry action, were always present in the minds of colonels and brigadiers who had a chance before them. And possibly, in the end, there was more gained by the avoidance of mistakes of rashness than lost by the missing of opportunities, if we take the war as a whole. But at Vittoria it would most certainly appear that the great mass of British cavalry might as well have been on the other side of the Ebro for all the good that it accomplished.
It only remains to speak of the chaos in the fields and roads east of Vittoria. When the general débâcle began King Joseph and Jourdan took their post on a low hill half a mile east of the town, and endeavoured to organize the departure of the Park and convoys—a hopeless task, for the roads were blocked, and no one listened to orders. It was in vain that aides-de-camp and orderlies were sent in all directions. Presently a flood of fugitives were driven in upon the staff, by the approach of British cavalry in full career. These were Grant’s 10th and 18th Hussars, who had turned the town on its left, and galloped down on the prey before them. Joseph had only with him the two squadrons of his Lancers of the Guard, which had been acting as head-quarters escort all day. It would appear that the Guard Hussars came up to join them about this time. At any rate, these two small regiments made a valiant attempt to hold off the hussars—they were of course beaten, being hopelessly outnumbered[605]. The King and staff had to fly as best they could, and were much scattered, galloping over fields and marshy ravines, mixed with military and civil fugitives of all sorts. Some of the British hussars followed the throng, taking a good many prisoners by the way: more, it is to be feared, stopped behind to gather the not too creditable first-fruits of victory, by plundering the royal carriages, which lay behind the scene of their charge. The French stragglers had already shown them the way.
Wellington, on reaching Vittoria, set Robert Hill’s brigade of the Household Cavalry to guard the town from plunder, and sent on the rest of the horse, and the infantry as they came up, in pursuit of the enemy. The French, however, had by now a good start, and troops in order cannot keep up with troops in disorder, who have got rid of their impedimenta, and scattered themselves. The country, moreover, was unfavourable for cavalry, as has been said above, and the infantry divisions were tired out. The chase ended five miles beyond Vittoria—the enemy, when last seen, being still on the run, with no formed rearguard except on the side road where the Army of Portugal was retreating.
If the prisoners were fewer than might have been expected, the material captured was such as no European army had ever laid hands on before, since Alexander’s Macedonians plundered the camp of the Persian king after the battle of Issus. The military trophies compared well even with those of Leipzig and Waterloo—151 guns, 415 caissons, 100 artillery waggons. Probably no other army ever left all its artillery save two solitary pieces in the enemy’s hands[606]. There was but one flag captured, and that was only the standard of a battalion of the 100th Line which had been reduced in May, and had not been actually borne in the battle[607]. The baton of Jourdan, as Marshal of the Empire, was an interesting souvenir, which delighted the Prince Regent when it arrived in London[608], but only bore witness to the fact that his personal baggage, like that of his King, had been captured. A few thousand extra prisoners—the total taken was only about 2,000—would have been more acceptable tokens of victory.
But non-military spoil was enormous—almost incredible. It represented the exploitation of Spain for six long years by its conquerors. ‘To the accumulated plunder of Andalusia were added the collections made by the other French armies—the personal baggage of the King—fourgons having inscribed on them in large letters “Domaine extérieur de S.M. l’Empereur”—the military chest containing the millions recently received from France for the payment of the Army, and not yet distributed—jewels, pictures, embroidery, silks, all manner of things costly and portable had been assiduously transported thus far. Removed from their frames and rolled up carefully, were the finest Italian pictures from the royal collections of Madrid: they were found in the “imperials” of Joseph’s own carriages. All this mixed with cannon, overturned coaches, broken-down waggons, forsaken tumbrils, wounded soldiers, French and Spanish civilians, women and children, dead horses and mules, absolutely covered the face of the country, extending over the surface of a flat containing many hundred acres[609].’ The miserable crowd was guessed by an eye-witness to have numbered nearly 20,000 persons. Spanish and French camp-followers and military stragglers had already started plunder—on them supervened English and Portuguese civil and military vultures of the same sort—servants and muleteers by the thousand, bad soldiers by the hundred: for while the good men marched on, the bad ones melted out of the ranks and flew to the spoil, evading the officers who tried to urge them on. In such a chaos evasion was easy. Nor were the commissioned ranks altogether without their unobtrusive seekers after gain—as witness the subjoined narrative by one whom a companion in a contemporary letter describes as a ‘graceless youth.’
‘As L. and I rode out of Vittoria, we came to the camp in less than a mile. On the left-hand side of the road was a heap of ransacked waggons already broken up and dismantled. There arose a shout from a number of persons among the waggons, and we found that they had discovered one yet unopened. We cantered up and found some men using all possible force to break open three iron clasps secured with padlocks. On the side of the fourgon was painted “Le Lieutenant-Général Villatte.” The hasps gave way, and a shout followed. The whole surface of the waggon was packed with church plate, mixed with bags of dollars. A man who thrust his arm down said that the bottom was full of loose dollars and boxes. L. and I were the only ones on horseback, and pushed close to the waggon. He swung out a large chalice, and buckling it to his holster-strap cantered off. As the people were crowding to lay hold of the plate, I noted a mahogany box about eighteen inches by two feet, with brass clasps. I picked out four men, told them that the box was the real thing, and if they would fetch it out we would see what it held. They caught the idea: the box was very heavy. I led the way through the standing corn, six or seven feet high, to a small shed, where we put it down and tried to get it open. After several devices had failed, two men found a large stone, and, lifting it as high as they could, dropped it on the box. It withstood several blows, but at length gave way. Gold doubloons and smaller pieces filled the whole box, in which were mixed some bags with trinkets. Just then an Ordnance store-keeper came up, and said there was no time to count shares: he would go round and give a handfull in turn to each. He first poured a double handfull into my holster. The second round was a smaller handfull. By this time I was reflecting that I was the only officer present, and in rather an awkward position. I said they might have the rest of my share,—there was first a look of surprise, and then a burst of laughter, and I trotted away. I rode eight or ten miles to the bivouack and found the officers in an ancient church—housed à la Cromwell. On the 23rd, before we left our quarters, I and —— went up into the belfry, and counted out the gold—the doubloons alone made nearly £400. I remitted £250 to my father, and purchased another horse with part of the balance[610].’
General Villatte, no doubt, had special facilities in Andalusia—but every fourgon and carriage contained something that had been worth carrying off. The amount of hard cash discovered was almost incredible. Men and officers who had been self-respecting enough to avoid the unseemly rush at the waggons, had wonderful bargains at a sort of impromptu fair or auction which was held among the débris of the convoy that night. Good mules were going for three guineas—horses for ten. Every one wished to get rid of the heavy duros and five-franc pieces, which constituted the greater part of the plunder; six and eight dollars respectively were offered and taken for a gold twenty-franc piece or a guinea. ‘The camp was turned into a fair—it was lighted up, the cars, &c., made into stands, upon which the things taken were exposed for sale. Many soldiers, to add to the absurdity of the scene, dressed themselves up in uniforms found in the chests. All the Portuguese boys belonging to some divisions are dressed in the uniforms of French officers—many of generals[611].’
Wellington had hoped to secure the five million francs of the French subsidy which had just arrived at Vittoria before the battle. His expectations were deceived; only one-twentieth of the sum was recovered, though an inquisitorial search was made a few days later in suspected quarters. One regiment, which had notoriously prospered, was made to stack its knapsacks on the 23rd, and they were gone through in detail by an assistant provost-marshal—but little was found: the men had stowed away their gains in belts and secret pockets; or deposited them with quartermasters and commissaries who were known to be honest and silent.
The only feature in this discreditable scene that gives the historian some satisfaction is to know that there was no mishandling of prisoners—not even of prominent Spanish traitors. The only person recorded to have been killed in the chaos was M. Thiébault, the King’s treasurer, who fought to defend his private strong-box containing 100,000 dollars, and got shot[612]. The women were particularly well treated—the Countess Gazan, wife of the Commander of the Army of the South, was sent by Wellington’s orders in her own carriage to join her husband—a courtesy acknowledged by several French diarists[613]. The same leave was given later to many others, and the Commander-in-Chief wrote to the Spanish Ministry to beg that no vengeance might be taken on the captured afrancesados, and seems to have secured his end in the main.