My own patron was a half-starved apothecary without medicines or drugs. He offered to dress a fowl for me, but was very willing instead to sell me one for twice its value, for dinner the next day.
23rd.—We moved again to Boulognes, about sixteen miles, rather a long march, and in part bad road, though in general the roads all over this part of France are very much superior to ours in England; compared with our best roads, they are very superior to any in the distant counties, and to many of our main and best roads, even in the neighbourhood of London. The light, third, fourth, and sixth divisions of cavalry, and about eight thousand Spaniards, all move with this column, and we reach of course by mid-day, when all is in motion, with the artillery and baggage, about ten miles. The second division and cavalry follow the French. At St. Gaudens the 13th Dragoons came up with the French rear cavalry, formed just outside the town, charged, broke them, drove them pell-mell through the town on their reverse beyond it. There they re-formed; the 13th charged again; then the French ran, with the 13th after them, for two miles. The result is said to be a hundred and twenty prisoners and horses, besides killed.
From Boulognes we to-day marched to this place—Isle en Dodon. The majority of the people here seem to be friends of Bonaparte, and the assistant maire in particular, with whom I had much conversation; for he gave Doctor Hume and me a joint billet at the empty house where he gave out the billets, and no stable at all. As I was obliged to have him in the room so long, I determined to work him a little for treating us so ill.
The maire of Boulognes ran away at first. At night he came back and went to Lord Wellington, who showed him his proclamations and regulations, &c. The maire said he had taken the oath to Bonaparte, and would not act. “Very well,” said Lord Wellington, “then the people must choose another; but now you have taken your line, I must take mine, and send you over the Garonne into the French lines.” He gave orders accordingly, to Colonel S——. The maire ran away, and could not be found. Colonel S—— took up the father, to march him off until the son appeared. This brought him out; he remonstrated with Lord Wellington, said he was one of the first men of the country, and should be ruined by this. Lord Wellington said, “He should have thought of that sooner, and he must go;” and to this place he came to-day a prisoner.
We have just received orders to march to Samatan to-morrow. All here have a notion that Suchet’s forces join Soult near here; that is, have done so, or are to do so; but we are a little in the dark, and the ignorance of the French about everything is astonishing: they seem quite stupified. But Bonaparte has many friends still, and the reports in the French papers, though upon the whole good, are not decisive. The armistice seems to have gone off from the arrangements about Italy. We are living, like the rest of the armies and the French, by requisitions; but we hitherto pay in money, which others do not. We consume everything, however, like locusts.
Lord Wellington popped between Colonel G—— and me as we were discussing the allied battles this morning, and suddenly took a part, to my great astonishment, in our conversation.
On leaving Tarbes a party of civilians went round by Bagnières to see the baths, the rooms, &c., a sort of Spa, about twelve miles round, and where no troops had been; not an Englishman there, but they were told they would be well received, and so they were indeed. The maire addressed them; the people were in crowds, so that it required force to enable them to pass. The National Guard turned out and presented arms to them: it was like Lord Wellington’s entry into Zamora, they say, such an outcry! such a display! A ball was proposed, but as there was a French garrison about six miles off, and no allied troops near, the party declined staying, and went off highly pleased with their excursion. This is very odd, for on the road we go, all is stupefaction and indifference. I should have enjoyed this, but am obliged to be very prudent now, after my late escape. Adieu again.
The schoolmaster, or prêtre, at Boulognes had written a long poem entitled “Mon Rêve,” a prophecy nearly of everything which has taken place, and containing much in honour of Lord Wellington. He said he had long had it concealed, and volunteered spouting it out to us, to his own great satisfaction, and it really was not bad.
CHAPTER XXV.
Difficulties of the March—Failure of the Bridge of Boats—The Garonne—Excesses of Murillo’s Corps—Bad News—Exchange of Prisoners—Arrival before Toulouse—A Prisoner of War—Anecdote of Wellington.