The 14th.—We had last night a little firing, but I believe it was only the Spaniards. The latter and the French fire at each other at every opportunity, and when neighbours, are never at peace. Our sentries and the French, on the contrary, are within one hundred yards of each other, and are relieved regularly without the least molestation on either side. This is the way. Unless an attack is to be made, what is gained by killing a poor sentry? Our new brigade is not yet at Passages, although expected for this fortnight. Some reinforcements have, however, come up, and the brigade of Guards, which were left behind, have, by easy marches from Oporto, now joined us—about fifteen hundred out of the three thousand who came out at that unlucky time last year. The French have also reinforcements, and must in honour do something if the two places hold out. The French gentleman who came over to us near Pamplona fourteen days since, dined at Lord Wellington’s yesterday, and talked away. He seems clever, and, like every Frenchman, professed to know everything—the secret history of everybody and of every event. He calls Bonaparte un tigre, &c. I cannot say that I like him much, and would not trust him; but I am not much afraid of Lord Wellington doing so. Lord Wellington told him the following fact, concerning the exchange of prisoners in this country. He said that Massena once agreed to exchange three hussar officers and one hundred and twenty men, rank for rank, and when he had got his own three officers and the men, sent back only twenty soldiers, and the rest countrymen and Portuguese militiamen, and three officers of militia scarcely embodied. Lord Wellington vowed never to trust his honour again, and in every proposal always excepts Massena. Indeed he said he was so little inclined now from experience to trust any of them, that a short time since, when an exchange was proposed, he said, “Yes; but first name the officers and men you offer, and their regiments, ages, &c., and then I will treat, but I will not have Spanish peasants for French soldiers.” To this they sent no answer.
Lord Wellington also tells them, that until our travellers, civilians, &c., who were detained are released, he can never listen to non-combatant pleas. All must be exchanged; but he is very liberal. He also said Soult once complained that six of our officers had escaped from their guard near Oporto, on that retreat, and had committed a breach of honour; but that he (Lord Wellington) having inquired into it, found they were placed in confinement under a guard, and their parole not relied upon, and that they had got the better of their guard. Lord Wellington, therefore, told the Marshal that the parole being abandoned by the imprisonment, the point of honour was gone; and that there were two ways of prisoners and their guards separating, and that he believed the guard had run away from their prisoners, not the prisoners from their guard. To this also he had no answer.
Lord Wellington also talked of Grant’s case, who lately got away from Paris. Lord Wellington had advised him not to give his parole in Spain, and had provided persons to rescue him in several places on the march to France. They offered this to Grant in consequence, but the offer was from honour declined, as the parole had been given and acted upon. The moment he was in France the French placed him under a guard, and at Bayonne he got away from them and went to Paris, remained there nine months, and got to England at last. Lord Wellington yesterday was excessively stiff and sore, but in high spirits. He seems to have a notion that the Continent will make a peace, and leave us and the Spaniards in the lurch, and I believe this prevents any very forward movements here on his part, for the French would then soon come down upon us with decidedly superior numbers; and if we had quite passed these mountains a hasty retreat back through them would not be a very easy or agreeable manœuvre.
I rode last night to Bera or Vera, where our outposts are in the valley. The French pickets are in two houses on the hills opposite, a few hundred yards up. Several of the houses about there are destroyed, gutted, and burnt, and most of them deserted. It was only a month ago a pretty little town. Longa had also, since we were here last, burnt two neat farms on the road, and knocked off the parapet of the bridge, and dug a trench across it, for the purpose of annoying the French. We have headed nearly all the green Indian corn in this valley for the horses; it is cut short off, half way, leaving the fruit below; and this is said not to do much harm to the corn. But then we cannot eat our cake and have it also. There will be no dry forage for the animals in autumn and winter. The little wheat straw about these valleys is nearly all eaten already, and much of the wheat and Indian corn itself has been either destroyed or taken by the irregularity of the thousand muleteers around us, in spite of their being occasionally flogged when caught in doing so. The inhabitants will, I fear, be half starved in the winter, unless they migrate, which many will, no doubt, and we must be supplied from other parts if we stay near here. Spain in general will, however, have been released from the supply of, nominally, two hundred thousand French; and as we drove them away before harvest time, most of this will be in the market somewhere, except what has been destroyed on our immediate line of march. Much has been of course trodden down, and from the want of forage and corn our horses have been obliged to take the ripe wheat and eat it—straw, grain, and all—to serve both purposes. This is dangerous food, and if drink is given carelessly, often kills the animal; but otherwise it answers well.
We understand here that it was not until three days after the news of the battle of Vittoria arrived that any one durst inform Bonaparte of it. This last battle will very probably be almost entirely concealed from him. As we are now both in statu quo as to place, this may perhaps be managed: though the enemy are about fifteen thousand men minus to what they were before the attack at Maya began. From intercepted letters we find that, in reports even to each other, the French lie considerably, or at least misrepresent, for the good of the service, and this will present a good opportunity, as Bonaparte is so far off.
In this little town, or rather village, there are about twelve priests at least, walking about in their shovel hats. These hats would astonish the most orthodox bishop’s chaplain in England, and our coalheaver’s hat is nothing to them. The only fine cloth in the shops here is black, you may guess for whose use.
The estate which the Spanish Government has given to the Marquis of Wellington is, I understand, a very desirable one; and the best proof that it is so, is that it was one which the Prince of Peace had given to himself, and doubtless he chose the best he could find. It is nominally thirty thousand dollars a-year, a castle, I understand, and about a league from Granada, in a fine country.[5] Lord Wellington seems very much pleased with it. He says that he hopes the house is a good one, as he should not like to have to build, and that he hears there is hunting, coursing, fishing, and everything near it. There was a fine wood, but I fear the Prince of Peace cut most of that down. General O’Lalor, who is in a bad state of health, is to have the government of Granada, and will superintend this estate for Lord Wellington. The latter had got the papers concerning it before him when I called a few days since, and said, “This relates to the estate they have given me.”
The 15th.—I have been very ill all night and this morning, but am now rather better, and the doctor tells me I am saved a fever by this bilious attack. We are all most anxious for news from the North, for all must depend in the end upon that, at least in a great measure. Next to General Frost, I think, our General has done the most for the common cause. General Villa Alba, the Spanish Inspector of Cavalry, dined at head-quarters to-day. He is a queer-looking creature, anything but a General in appearance, and much less a cavalry officer. I know, however, nothing of his real character. We now feel the effects of our work through these valleys; for we cannot ride a few miles without the alternate smells of dead horses, dead mules, and dead men. Bonaparte’s birthday has passed over very quietly, except a tremendous triple salvo of all the St. Sebastian’s guns and mortars upon our poor fellows in the trenches at daylight. The garrison are amazingly pert, from their success hitherto; but we have some hopes they will soon want water. Adieu.
The 16th.—Much the same to-day, the attack continuing all night. Cannot think what it is in this country that affects us. The thermometer has never in the shade, in my room, been beyond 72° in this part of Spain. General Sir T. Picton is attacked again with a violent bowel complaint, and is fallen to the rear. He would be a great loss, for he is one of the best here. Lord Wellington, the other day, said, “Why, even General Picton did so-and-so the other day,” as if surprised that he should not have acted quite right.
Our soldiers are quite unaccountable; all is going on right, and they are just now quiet and well fed, yet desertion, and even of British, to the enemy, was scarcely ever more frequent. It was not surprising that one hundred and forty of the Chasseurs Britanniques went off when we were falling back to Pamplona, and, as they thought, probably to Portugal; but that the English soldier should desert, is astonishing and unaccountable. Three went off from pickets together the other night, towards the French, and were all caught, and are to be tried. Several must be hung for this. Two new regiments have at last arrived. I wish the French would come fairly on now, if at all, but every one talks of a general peace. Adieu.