The enemy, baffled in their views on Salamanca, slowly retreated, our army following until we arrived near Rueda. Here our light troops had a smart brush with their rear-guard, which ended in the capture of some few French prisoners. I remember seeing on this occasion a party of the Rifles bringing in a very fine-looking man, a French sergeant, who seemed inconsolable at his capture. He actually shed tears as he lamented the circumstance. The following day, however, to his infinite joy, he was exchanged for a sergeant of our cavalry, who also had been made prisoner a few days before.
After this skirmish, our regiment advanced to the neighbourhood of Rueda, where we occupied a hill, completely covered with vines, and close to the town. The country thereabouts abounded in grapes, from which an immense quantity of wine was annually made. The places used for the making of wine in this part of Spain are of a very singular description. They are all subterranean, and of immense extent, sometimes undermining many acres of ground. Over these are chimneys constructed to admit the air and light. The vats, into which the juice of the grape is pressed, are in proportion to the size of the vaults, and would entirely put to shame the same description of receptacle used for beer by Barclay and Perkins.
Our fellows, ever alive to the value of good liquor, notwithstanding the French had well ransacked the “wine-houses,” used frequently to find something to reward them for their search in these cellars. Our way of proceeding was to let one or two of our men down the above-mentioned chimneys by means of a rope. I shall never forget the terror I experienced in one of these adventures. Three or four comrades and myself one evening assembled over the chimney of one of these wine-vaults, and it was proposed that one of us should descend to bring up some wine. This was no comfortable task, as the proprietors frequently watched below, and would scarcely hesitate to greet an intruder with his cuchillo or long knife. After some deliberation, and plenty of peeping, it was at last decided that I should take the first chance; a rope accordingly was obtained from one of the muleteers, and being secured round my waist with a number of canteens, which clinked enough to awake almost the dead, I was gradually lowered.
The vaults were generally as deep as a three-storied house, and before I got half way down, I was left dangling in the air, the canteens chinkling as if with the intention of hailing a knife the moment I arrived into the lower region; at last I touched the ground. The place was so dark that I could scarcely see a couple of yards before me, and was obliged to grope my way for the vats; at length one of the tins, that formed a kind of breast-work for my approach, came in contact with something, and putting my hand forward, I placed it upon the cold clammy face of a corpse. My whole blood tingled, the canteens responded, and at a glance I perceived, from the red wings (for whether or not, I could see now) that it was a French soldier, exhibiting most frightful gashes, evidently inflicted by the same kind of weapon, which I at every turn, was expecting.
The canteens clattered awfully, for I confess I shook with terror, having no weapon to defend myself, and every instant looking for the arm of some concealed assassins, who probably were watching my movements. Afraid to call out, I instantly tugged at the rope (the signal to pull up), an answer from above expressed a doubt of the canteens being filled so soon, and damned my eyes and limbs for me, but this only made me shake the rope more violently, until, to my great satisfaction, I found myself again dangling, and ascending. My comrades seeing me really come forth with hollow tins, and blowing with agitation, burst into roars of laughter.
I related my adventure, but this only increased it, until their mirth rallying us all, one, however, more daring than the rest, loaded his rifle, and with an oath, suffered himself to be lowered, and shortly returned, bringing up the canteens filled with excellent wine.
After remaining here for some time, we left Rueda at twelve o’clock at night on the 16th, the enemy, who had concentrated their forces at Tordesillas, being on the advance. The following morning the sun rose unclouded, presenting distinctly to the view the two armies moving in parallel lines along a ridge of low hills, separated only by the intervening valley and a river fordable in most places. The French columns appeared in such beautiful order, as to call forth the plaudits of even our own men. Skirmishing, however, was soon commenced between some of the cavalry and light troops.
One or two companies of our Rifles, seconded by a troop of the 14th Dragoons, were soon partially engaged with about a corresponding number of the enemy, who would occasionally dash through the little river, and attempt to take up a position to annoy our skirmishers. Our riflemen, in particular, were highly delighted with several little cavalry brushes that occurred this day between our dragoons and the French. One instance of gallantry on the part of a French dragoon, which fell under the eyes of most of us, was particularly exciting: in a kind of half charge that had been made by about a section of French and English cavalry, one of the Frenchmen had dashed alone through some of our dragoons. His own party having retired, there seemed every prospect of his being instantly killed or taken prisoner, and, indeed, most of us thought, as there were at least a dozen of our 14th Dragoons between him and his section, that he would surrender. Not so, however, thought the gallant Frenchman, but wheeling round, he gently trotted his horse for about twenty yards, when he gave spurs to his steed, and after several hand-to-hand conflicts with our dragoons in passing, he actually succeeded in reaching his party, I believe unhurt, and attended by the cheers of our own men, who were not insensible, at any time, to the intrepidity even of an enemy.
Another incident occurred also, which, as an appropriate companion to the foregoing, I will relate. Indeed, in gratitude, perhaps, I ought to do so, as I was a gainer on the occasion by a new pair of trowsers. A man of the 14th Dragoons, named Pratt, a fine strapping young fellow, and a townsman of my own, brought in a French dragoon on his horse prisoner. The Frenchman had lost his helmet, and displayed a severe cut on his cheek. Poor fellow! he seemed exceedingly chop-fallen, and declared with much vehemence to Lieutenant Gardiner of our company, who spoke excellent French, that the Englishman could not have taken him had he possessed a better horse. This Mr. Gardiner repeated to Pratt, who answered, “Then by Jasus, Sir, tell him if he had the best horse in France, I would bring him prisoner, if he stood to fight me.” The words caused roars of laughter from all but the prisoner, who affectionately patting the goaded and smoking steed, exclaimed, “My poor beast has not had his saddle off for the last week.” And such, indeed, appeared to have been the case, as, on the saddle being removed, prior to the sale of the poor horse, a part of the flesh that had become a sore, came away with the saddle-cloth. The animal in this condition was sold to Lieutenant Gardiner for five dollars. Pratt, on opening the valise of the unfortunate prisoner (who with folded arms looked on with a mournful eye), came upon a pair of trowsers which he threw to me as a gift that was exceedingly welcome, as my own were worn to rags.
The following day, after some slight skirmishes with the advance of the enemy, we retreated upon Salamanca. As few occurrences of any interest took place after this, for some days, beyond the manœuvring of the two armies, interesting only to the tactician, and which so many professional men have done ample justice to, I will at once proceed to the battle; in which, however, I must remark, the Rifles were less engaged than in any other action fought during the war: for which reason I shall have but little to state upon the subject.