These tyrannical proceedings, as might be expected, had a most lamentable effect on the officers of the Legion; placed as it were between two extremes, the loss of pay and rations, as well as the most cruel despotism of their superior officers, the most daring schemes were consequently projected, and officers as well as men went over to the Carlists. This may not be unaptly illustrated by the following relation, which I received within a few days of our quitting Vittoria for San Sebastian.
Passing one day through the Plaza, accompanied by my old friend the Spanish Colonel, we observed a number of Carlist prisoners brought in by some of our English Lancers; they had expected death in retaliation for their cruelty on our men, and were profuse in expressions of gratitude for the very different treatment they had experienced at the hands of the British. One in particular my old friend seemed to bear some recollection of, and entered into a very interesting conversation on the accidents of the contending parties. He was a cadet of the Guards of Alava, one of the smartest regiments in the Carlist service, and appeared to be an exceedingly intelligent young fellow, and well versed in English and French. After some chat with the Colonel, he addressed me, saying with what I thought rather a satirical smirk on his countenance, “You may remember an officer of yours deserting to us during the stay of the Legion about Trevina.” I said I had some recollection of a Lieutenant of the 1st regiment, named Wilkinson, who did leave us at the period mentioned. “Then,” continued he, “I was the first person whom he met with after crossing our lines, and who caused his introduction to Muralo, prime minister of Don Carlos, to whom he related the cause of his desertion, the circumstance of his having been dismissed from the Legion, without a court-martial, or any court of inquiry being allowed him to justify himself; and there and then proposed a scheme to seize on the person of General Evans, on the road between Trevina and Vittoria, which he was in the habit of passing with a very small escort. ‘I will,’ said he, ‘if allowed twenty dragoons, at the hazard of my own life, bring in my late General dead or alive.’ The simple and earnest manner of your officer took great effect on Muralo, who seemed inclined to the proposed scheme, and the English officer was dismissed, with orders to attend the next day; the Minister observing, as we left the room, he must not take the life of the General, but bring him alive if possible.
“The day following, at the time appointed, your officer, who never seemed to lose sight of his object, again attended on the Minister, and pressed his plan of revenge. He was questioned on the number and state of the Legion, and the character of its chief. ‘Pray, Sir,’ asked Muralo, ‘what opinion is General Evans held in, in England?’ ‘Why, Sir,’ he replied, ‘as to that, he bears the character of most British officers—great courage and personal daring; but as he never commanded a company in action, he is thought incapable of conducting any great enterprise.’ ‘They tell me,’ continued the Minister, ‘that your Legion is dying by companies, through negligence and cruel treatment;’ and with this your officer was dismissed to attend the next day for instructions. The following morning, however, was designed to crush all the deserter’s hopes, as the affair changed altogether. ‘We have considered the affair over again,’ said Muralo, ‘and have resolved not to act in it. The Queen Regent of Spain can afford to lose five men to our one, and from the accounts of the proceedings of this General of yours, they will be of more service to us than a victory; and I fear were he supplanted, some more efficient officer might be put in his stead. Besides, if the English press accounts be correct, his Excellency appears to be a man too honest to be suspected, and too incapable to act conclusively. ‘This,’ said the cadet, as I thought smilingly, ‘was related the next day to the King, who laughed heartily at the sagacity of his minister.’”
On our return to Vittoria, and when on the point of leaving, the inhabitants gave a grand ball to the officers of the Legion; and a piece, entitled “Des Circonstances,” was got up at the theatre; at the same time, in honour of the English, another, entitled “Charles the First,” in which that monarch was made a second Don Carlos, and the English who dethroned and beheaded him, were compared to the noble Spaniards then fighting against the tyranny of the Spanish Charles.
While the French Legion were at Vittoria, they also were honoured with a fête; the piece selected to flatter their national pride was a spectacle representing the life of Napoleon, from his first campaign in Italy to his death. But the part he acted in Spain was entirely omitted. Yet Sir Hudson Lowe was not forgotten, nor were allusions wanting to the cruel conduct of the British Government towards the Man of the Rock.
I could not help contrasting the healthy and spirited appearance of the French soldiers to that of the unfortunate English. But the privations the latter had endured, and still were suffering, through neglect, and the continued lash of those in command of them, actually had pinched out that noble spirit which I ever found the British soldier to possess. Indeed, I have wondered since that the slightest subordination was kept, under the system of cruelty pursued towards them. Any, or the least dereliction of duty, even the forgetting to touch the hat to a passing officer, was commonly followed by the cats; while the distant bearing of most of the commanding officers prevented the soldiers’ complaints being heard: the total disregard also of the latter to the billets and personal comforts of their men—and in many cases, tyrannical ejections from quarters, where they interfered in the least with those petty despots, had totally alienated the man from the officer.
But with the “Foreign Legion,” composed, as it was, of men of all nations, everything went pleasantly, and officers and men were so alive to each other’s welfare, that it extended its secret services even to the unfortunate British Auxiliaries. Many and many were the instances in which the miserable Legionite, stretched in liquor on the street, has been dragged by them to concealment, to screen him from the lash of the Provost. In truth, this sympathy was found among the Spaniards, also, who constantly witnessing the cruelty, had become quite alive to the risk the delinquents daily incurred.
A day or two following that on which Cordova withdrew from the positions about Arlaban, and from between the British and Foreign Legion, who were posted to the right and left of the Spaniards, an occurrence took place which will illustrate the sympathy that existed between the officers of the French Legion and their soldiers. It will be remembered, that in consequence of the above movement, many officers of the French resigned, and Cordova, for the first time, was stigmatised as a traitor. The two Legions withdrew from their advance posts, and a recrimination followed between the Foreign and Spanish Generals.
At about twelve o’clock in the day, a crowd of French soldiers had collected around the doorway of the house next to that in which I was billeted. Being able to speak French, I inquired the cause of the assemblage, when I was informed that some French Colonel had resigned, and was going back to France, and the men had come to bid him farewell. In a short time the Colonel, who seemed to be an elderly man, made his appearance, and the air resounded with acclamations. The old soldiers flocked around him, and a thousand eyes watched his every look; many strove to get forward to shake hands with him, and several did; the veteran seemed much affected. After a little desultory conversation with one and the other, he, at length, made a move to depart, saying, as he waved his hand, “Adieu, mes enfants—soyez heureux,” &c., which latter words I almost lost in the farewells that followed from the soldiers: “Adieu, mon Colonel!” said some, “Adieu, notre père!” exclaimed others, and indeed, every one seemed to have some expression of regret suited to the kindness received by them.
The old man could scarcely suppress his emotion, but turning aside, passed his fore-finger and thumb across his eyes to check the anguish that visibly filled them; suddenly he turned his horse’s head up the road, and after clearing the crowd, galloped off towards the gates. In a moment all was gloom, and the soldiers stood watching his retiring form as it swiftly disappeared in the length and turning of the streets, and then in gentle murmurings retired to their quarters.