In the midst of my retrospections, General Reid, together with my Colonel, rode up to ask some questions about this celebrated battle, which they were aware I had been present at, but seeing my discomposed state of mind, they most kindly declined making inquiries. Between the sorrow I felt for those brave companions, who had fallen on every side of me, and the inward pride that burnt in my bosom, as one of those who had assisted in that ever-memorable contest, I could not compose my fluttering and overwhelming feeling; but this agitated state was broken in upon by one of the men of my company, who coming up to me said:
“You cannot conceive, Sir, how queer I feel at the sight of this town; for there, Sir, I was born (pointing to Vittoria): my poor father was dangerously wounded, and while my mother, who so many a time told me the tale, attended to him in the hospital, she took to her bed and brought me into the world.”
I inquired to what regiment his father had belonged; he informed me the 45th. He seemed much affected as well as myself; I slipped him a trifle to drink to his father’s memory. Poor fellow! he came to keep his sire company, and to fatten the Spanish soil with his own remains, as he died in about a month after his arrival in “his birth-place.”
We halted for an hour about three miles from the city; we were joined by a number of Spanish troops, both infantry and cavalry, who had marched out to meet us; as soon as the chief part of the Legion had come up, we proceeded to march into the town, with Spanish bands at our head, playing their national airs. The inhabitants had placed over the gates an illuminated globe and festoons of laurels &c.; on the former was an inscription in variegated lamps,
“To the brave and generous English
Who fight for the liberty of Nations.”
The windows were crowded with old and young, with beauty and deformity, some perhaps from curiosity, some to welcome, but most of them waving handkerchiefs, shouting vivas and giving other demonstrations of what we supposed to be a universal welcome—to thousands a welcome to their last home. Banners were hoisted from tower and steeple, and bells jingled in every one of them, and as the darkness set in, the whole town was illuminated, and a display of fireworks in the Plaza finished the evening. But alas! how soon the Spaniards changed their tune; we had not been three weeks in this sepulchre of the unfortunate Legion, before they wished us, General and all, at the devil.
I was billeted, as luck would have it, on an old Colonel who formerly belonged to the Spanish service and who had fought under the Duke of Wellington. He had for some years retired on half pay, and as he was very proficient in the French language and I also had some knowledge of it, we made the time pass very agreeably, entertaining each other with anecdotes of our respective services.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Vittoria as it then was—A bad wind that blows nobody any good—Rifles rather comfortable at first—Severe weather—Morning scenes and cries in Vittoria—The flogging system—Men not starved—A comparison of facts—Hospitals get crammed with sick—Singular economy—The old Colonel’s two sons—The Chapelgorris decimated by order of Espartero—The Rifles march to Matuca—The whole Legion assemble at Matuca—Cordova engaged—A Carlist village—A confession—A night retreat—Colonel’s anxiety—Arlaban—Change of looks both in the men and the inhabitants—March to Trevina—Sharp winter of 1835.