His faithful friend, Edmund Mulcaster, hardly ever left his bedside. General Sherbrooke came to see him often, and evinced the most earnest anxiety for his welfare. They wrote to his friends for him, and to his mother. This last he signed himself.
In the night of the 30th, by the perseverance of Mulcaster, he managed to retain some mulled wine, strongly spiced, and in the morning took two eggs from the same welcome hand. This was the “turn.” The unfavourable symptoms began to subside, and the flowing stream of life began to fill by degrees its almost deserted channels.
On the 2nd of August some officers, entering his room, said that information had been received of Soult’s arrival at Placentia, and that General Wellesley intended to head back and engage him.
“If the French come while we are away, Boothby,” said Goldfinch, “you must cry out, ‘Capitaine anglais,’ and you will be treated well.”
On the 3rd of August his friends all came to take leave of him. It was a blank, rugged moment. Mr. Higgins, the senior surgeon, was left behind to tend the wounded.
The mass of the people of England is hasty, and often unjust, in its judgment of military events. They will condemn a General as rash when he advances, or revile him as a coward when he retreats. News of the battle of Talavera had been announced by the trumpet of victory. The people of England expected the emancipation of Spain. Now were they cast down when told that the victors had been obliged to retire and leave their wounded to the mercy of a vanquished enemy.
If Lord Wellington knew the strength and condition of the force under Soult, it would be hard to justify his conduct in facing back. In Spain, however, it was impossible to get correct information. The Spaniards are deaf to bad news and idiotically credulous to all reports that flatter their hopes. Thus the rashness of Lord Wellington in placing himself between two armies, Soult and Ney, the least of whom was equal to himself, may be palliated.
The repulse and flight of the French after the Battle of Talavera restored confidence to the fugitive townsfolk. They left the mountains and re-entered Talavera. The house was again filled with old and young, who strove to wait on the Captain. But soon the evacuation of the town by the British awoke their fears; but with thankfulness let us record that a British officer, wounded and mutilated, was to the women of the house too sacred an object to be abandoned.
The citizens of Talavera had clung to the hope that at least their countrymen would stay and protect them; but on the 4th, seeing them also file under their windows in a long, receding array, they came to the Captain—those near his house—beating their breasts and tearing their hair, and demanded of him if he knew what was to become of them.