After getting my little necessaries packed, and on board, accompanied by my servant, I embarked for Santander. I must leave it to the reader to imagine my feelings when on the deck of the ‘James Watt’ steamer, as it weighed anchor, and carefully made head out of the harbour. Little did I anticipate how great a change was to be presented before me: the horrors of Vittoria sank into insignificance before those of the convent to which I was on my way.
In the course of thirty-six hours we reached our destination, over a distance of about one hundred miles. I landed immediately, and proceeded to report myself to the Commandant, Colonel Arbuthnot’s quarters, from whom I received orders to go instantly and take charge of the convent of Carbon.
The convent of Carbon is situated at the extremity of a bleak morass, about four miles from Santander, and presents one of the most gloomy aspects imaginable. It is a large square building, enclosing an extensive court and colonnade, and has much the appearance of what it really now was—a great gaol. The ground around it is almost impassable for a dry foot, particularly in damp weather. Napoleon, during his stay in the neighbourhood, made it once his resting-place for a night, and reviewed his army on some of the adjacent grounds. The monks who had then, and up till very lately occupied it, were scattered about in the neighbouring hamlets, and were depending on small pensions granted them for their losses by the Spanish Government, and on the charity of the peasantry. The convent had long been a depôt for the auxiliaries, and a sort of magazine for stores, ammunition, &c. The Commandant was generally some field-officer, whose power was almost despotic, and particularly secure from complaint, as Colonel Arbuthnot seldom if ever visited it.
On my arrival, the first thing that caught my attention was a number of Spanish sentries posted round the different entrances and inside. On entering I beheld a miserable-looking group, seemingly belonging to the Legion. Anxious to see the Commandant whom I was to relieve, I found him in bed, in almost the last stage of fever; his name was Deacon, Captain of the 1st regiment; he had formerly been a Lieutenant in the British Marines. There were also, besides, several officers convalescent, and a number of men disabled through wounds, &c. But the major part of the inmates were composed of the 6th and 8th Scotch, to the number of two hundred and fifty—being the men who had laid down their arms at San Sebastian. The officer appointed to officiate during the Commandant’s illness, was the Quarter-master of the depôt, and one who might be well compared to a land-shark.
I had scarcely left the sick Captain’s quarters, when one of the Rifles placed in my hand a small bit of paper written on with a pencil, and begging me to call at the guard-house and see their condition. I followed him immediately, and was proceeding to open the door, when an effluvium of the most fetid description obliged me to retire outside the building. I gave instant orders for the prisoners to come out, and fall in before me; and out came thirty-six of the most cadaverous-looking objects man ever beheld. The room from which they thronged, and their misery-stricken haggard forms and countenances, would have well typified the horrors of the Hole of Calcutta. It had been formerly used as a stable by the monks: the only window was now blocked up by the miserable beings to keep out the northern blast.
Here, upon inquiry, I was informed they had been placed on nothing more or less than a speculation of the Quarter-master’s, who taking advantage of an order issued by Colonel Arbuthnot “to deprive all prisoners of their meat and wine,” had confined these invalids (for that they really were), and was in the habit of occasionally sending the proceeds and selling them at Santander: of this I afterwards found every proof. I, of course, immediately released the whole, ordering them to their rooms; and the next morning gave directions for every one to fall in, prisoners as well as invalids. It would be impossible to portray a faithful picture of the miserable creatures before me. They stood like beings just come out of the grave: their eyes sunk in their heads, and their countenances, with want, filth, and the confinement, hardly recognizable. Scarcely a dozen of them had even jackets or shirts, and not one either shoes or stockings, and many were covered only with a ragged rug. Their daily allowance had been a pound and a half of black bread, and water ad libitum; and if they strayed beyond the boundaries to get a little maize or Indian corn to eke out their miserable pittance, they had, perhaps, a leaden bullet from the Spanish sentry, to digest, for their temerity.
But in this there was but little difference between the prisoners and the invalids, excepting in the rations, the latter having meat and wine; but even thus they were but little better off—the meat being most unfairly dealt out to them, and the wine measured in a tin, out of which it escaped as through a cullender. This utensil, from its antique appearance, seemed to have been one of those used by the fifty daughters of Danaus, who could not have been better provided.
After a few days, and as soon as I got a little settled, I determined on searching into the cause; and, as a first step, on an opportunity offering, ordered the Quarter-master under an arrest, which he refused to answer, but taking horse, rode off to Santander. I had been influenced to this by perceiving one day a quarter of beef and other things, waiting in a cart at the gate to be sent to town. On my asking him about them, I was answered that they were surplus provisions, sent by the Depôt Commissary, and he was sending them back; but guessing the true cause, I did as above.
I, however, as quickly procured one of the Lancers’ horses and set off after him, and succeeded in bringing him to a court of inquiry some short time after. I had innumerable witnesses, and amongst them his own sergeant and the sergeant-major. But the court was either inefficient or something worse; so that the affair was bolstered up, and he escaped to resume his old tricks—which, however I counteracted as much as lay in my power. But he was a cunning fellow; and if bribery could have gained me, he certainly tried it on, for never was a table better provided than mine and the officers who messed with me.
But I had my eye on him, like an old soldier’s on a fugleman, and watched his every movement.