To-day every one was in motion here two hours before daylight; and part of the cavalry passed through here at five o’clock. I got up, and had all packed ready by daylight, and found that every one was gone to see the glorious attack—even the doctors and the two parsons: so I determined to venture up to the top of La Rhüne in the way General Cole recommended. The day was beautiful. I passed the camp of the latter in my way up, and should have heard there of any check. I then pursued my way, and staid on the top from about eight until two, hearing and seeing fire and smoke all the way along the hills from St. Jean de Luz to near St. Jean Pied de Port. The whole was visible at once; and I could see the men even with the naked eye, by the glitter of their arms, for a considerable way. The French redoubts crowned the tops of all their positions with deep ditches; and they had full shelter in woods and houses; but our men slowly beat them on and on, from place to place, forcing their way until all the right of the position seemed ours. Two redoubts on the hill below me I saw abandoned shamefully, when our men got round them. A large star fort on the top took more time. The men from the others tried to make for it, but failed; though mostly got off on our side. Those in the fort I left surrounded by our men, who ran up in four or five directions to within about fifty yards or less, firing as they ran; and then bobbed all down for shelter until all were ready. They lay in this way nearly an hour. When satisfied that the men shut up must be prisoners (as I hear they were) I returned home.
On the ridge of hills all along the right, the rows of huts set on fire added not a little to the scene. By whom they were burnt I know not. The cannon roared away in the mountains. On the hill, amongst others, I met Lord E. Somerset, the Cavalry General, gone up to look out, with Colonel Vivian and Mr. Heaphy. He was there before me, when the fighting was nearer, and declares that he saw one English soldier bayonet two French officers who attacked him when advanced from the others—first one and then the other. I hope that our loss has not been severe, considering what the position was.
I believe we were to have moved to Sarré; but General Giron has taken seventy houses there for his staff; and the rest are full of wounded. From what I have heard, our officers think themselves well out of the scrape. The left of our army towards St. Jean de Luz was refused;—that is, the French were not pressed there much, in hopes of forming the right so rapidly as to cut off a good lot on the left. That will not probably be the case, but that they must move off to-night to a new position, and not having such another line of works, the French must stand to-morrow if attacked openly on the hills, or run for it. I have seen no one yet, so only give you my own views, which may be probably very wide of the Gazette. It was a terrible fag for my new mare, and at top cool, and no room to walk about: I have in consequence a new fidget, in her refusing her food. The troops will devour all the forage in front, and I do not know how we shall get on at all. Adieu.
Head-Quarters, St. Fé, November 12th, 1813.—At seven, yesterday morning, we received orders to march; all the baggage to assemble at Sarré, and wait there for orders. We did so; and on our way crossed the first French redoubts and positions, and began to see our wounded and the stripped dead lying about as usual. So starved and weak were many of the animals, and so clayey and deep the roads, that the scene had almost the appearance of a retreat, except that we passed all the wounded and prisoners going to the rear, instead of marching with them. The Spanish oxen were so starved, and thin, and weak, that during the first league I counted probably about eleven lying down to die, whilst every now and then a sergeant with his pike, or a soldier gave them a stab, half out of humanity, and half to see the effect, and from a sort of love of mischief. Then there were ten or fifteen poor women belonging to the baggage of the division lamenting over their dying donkeys and mules, whilst others were brutally beating some to death, because they would not go farther. In every direction baggage was falling off, and the whole formed a glorious scene of confusion. Near Sarré I was caught in a violent storm, but got to a house for shelter before I was wet, and there stood in the doorway of a deserted house, with three dead bodies on the ground close by me; one certainly that of an officer, from his clean skin, neatly-shaven beard and whiskers, and from every remnant of his dress having been worth stealing. The other two were Spaniards.
The Spaniards behaved tolerably in the field, but not like the fourth and the light division. In plundering and mischief, however, they excelled them. I found them, on passing, breaking and plundering one of the best houses in Sarré. Our own people are grown expert hands at this, and Lord Wellington threatens hanging, and, I believe, has hung a few, but in vain. The people in general have fled, and the Spaniards come in to carry off pots, pans, dishes, chairs, tables, &c., to refurnish their own houses. At Sarré, I found the civil departments were to stop there, and the military to come on to this place. My baggage had gone by in part before I knew this; and besides that, nowhere could a house be found by me. The Spaniards were in possession, and firing, plunder, and confusion, were all around; I determined, therefore, to come on here, and take my chance.
You will advise me to keep well in the rear for safety; but the most knowing ones (in which opinion I agree) consider the rear as the most unsafe place of any. All the vagabonds, plunderers, and rascals—followers of the army—stick to the rear, and look about to do mischief as soon as all the troops are passed. Besides which, it is not clear here that the peasants, who all fly, may not return, and knock a few on the head, though at present they seem terrified and excessively alarmed. I found no quarters for me here; but at a little village close by, where there were only the Commissary-general and a few of his department, I took possession of a deserted house, which had been ransacked, and cleaned it out a little in one place. Finding abundance of food left for my horses for two or three nights, I thought myself well off, though I was somewhat alarmed at having possession of the last inhabited house on that road, lest any straggling attack should be made, or the owners should come back in the night. There was, however, no alternative. All the immediately useful part of my baggage was behind, and never arrived at all, having been turned out of the road by a Spanish division. Unluckily my neighbours were nearly in the same state. Sir Robert Kennedy had barely enough for his own eating, and went to bed leaving his servants to do the best they could.
H—— had nothing, his baggage not having arrived. Mr. H——n had one half-loaf, and that served us all. Mr. M——, the storekeeper, had got some mutton for Lord Wellington to-day, and he spared us a little bit each; so I got one mutton chop, which was very lucky.
Between four and five, Henry went to inquire about marching, and, finding no orders, we remained quiet. About seven or eight, he found my two stray mules, and I got a loaf of bread and some potted butter out of my stock, and made my contribution to the party, which was very acceptable. I have since been down to head-quarters to know what is going on; but can learn nothing except that we are ready now to cross the Nive, and are prepared for that step; particulars I can hear none, for only the clergyman, the doctors, and a straggling civilian, with the provost guard, are to be seen.
I returned, therefore, to my deserted, desolate home. In my way I found one of the owners of a house here who had been shot through the thigh by a Portuguese; I got him to an hospital to be dressed, in the church, where French, English, and all were lying to wait their turn, with now and then a dead man. As soon as they are dressed, they are packed off to the rear on mules, &c. So we go on!
The famous French bulletin has now been seen. Some say Bonaparte is at Paris, and some think that he will come here. Others have a notion that the people beyond Bayonne are ready to join us, if we proceed on. I fear, however, the runaways will not encourage this much with their exasperated stories of our conduct in their villages. To-day is a very fine day again, and will, I hope, assist our operations much. It is said that when our officers went up to the men in the star fort, to call upon them to surrender, the Colonel commanding said, like the governor of Pamplona, “Yes, on the terms of parole, not to serve for a year and a day.” “No, no,” says the Englishman; “prisonnier.” “Eh bien, donc je ne me rends pas,” says the Frenchman. “But you must and shall, or you will all be murdered,” says the Englishman, and then turned away. Upon which the Colonel very sulkily returned and consented; and when his soldiers began to rejoice, and to quiz the ré papé, and say, dancing about, that it was time it should all end, he was most indignantly sulky, and has remained so ever since, complaining of being sent off to England as a prisoner.