Head-Quarters, St. Jean de Luz, December 15th, 1813, Wednesday.—We are now all returned to our civil business again, and I have just been to the Adjutant-general and Lord Wellington, as usual, to congratulate them on their safety, at the same time to make my reports, and receive fresh instructions.
All the reports confirm the account that the French got a severe beating on our right the day before yesterday, and that our loss was not that day so severe in comparison with the other affair on our left. Our present position is close round the French and Bayonne, in a semicircle from the sea to the Adour. The advanced posts being from the front of Biaritz and Anglet, on the sea on our left, and so through Arcamgues, Arrauntz, on the Nive, the centre, where our boat-bridge is, and then through Monguerre, Petit, and Vieux, to La Home, on the Adour, on our extreme right. Some alarm us by a report that head-quarters are to be moved in consequence to Ustaritz, as being on the Nive, and more central, and near the bridges. We all, however, hope otherwise. Some Spaniards are come on now also, and more cavalry are ordered up. Our abode here has quite spoiled us for the wretched places we must crowd into at Ustaritz, down in a muddy hole, with the roads almost impassable around it.
Unless you have a good map, you will find but few of the places mentioned by me, and yet I have omitted two or three in the circle.
[The places were all found in old maps by Robert, a French geographer.]
I must go to work to draw charges, so adieu.
There is a most eloquent French, or, rather, Basque witness here, who has been robbed, and whom I am keeping here to give evidence. He pays me daily visits, and acts over the scene in question, and several others, in very high style. The Basques are as proud as our Welsh of their antiquity, and when asked if they are French say, “Oh, que non Basque.” He tried to insinuate himself into my favour, by reminding me that this country was once all English, and that the inhabitants had still the memory of that, and favourable feelings accordingly.
Sir John Hope was, including his dress, touched in seven places, besides a shot in his horse, and through his large hat. The skin wound, though slight, is the only wound that gives him pain. Lord Wellington blames him for exposing himself; with what face I know not.
Head-Quarters, St. Jean de Luz, December 16th, 1813.—Though you will have heard from me by the detained mail, which went yesterday, you will expect something by the next, so I begin my work in time; concluding that it will go Sunday as usual again. I have just heard that the packet which went from hence the 22nd, with our letters to the 21st of November, was found deserted at sea, and letters, &c., supposed to be taken, or most likely sunk. I sent you two long letters by that packet, with a plan of my house here, and sketch of it, and the largest proportion of prize Spanish maps, taken at Vittoria; begging you to keep them, and those that come after, safely. It was in that letter that I told you of my narrow escape at St. Fé from being shot through the head by a dragoon whilst I was writing. The ball went between my pen and my nose, and where my head had been two seconds before: one cheek was spattered by the door splinters, and the other by the wall plaster where the ball struck.
We have just got a most alarming report, as far as comfort is concerned, namely, that we are to move to a little dirty village, called Arrauntz, on the Nive, worse almost than Frenada, with the exception of one good house, where roads are impassable—almost up to the knees in mud. I believe this was certainly determined, but Colonel Campbell told me just now he believed the order was deferred; I hope so most sincerely, for we are here rather in a state of civilization and comfort.
I dined yesterday at head-quarters, and who should I meet but Count de Gazan’s ci-devant aide-de-camp, a fine gentleman-like young man, with whom I dined at Count Gazan’s house at that time, Lord Wellington’s now. He was then very civil to us. We dined yesterday in his ci-devant apartment. He was about to join Marshal Victor in the north, as his aide-de-camp, when I last saw him; but being promoted to a chef-de-battalion, this induced him to stop and take the command. It answers to our Lieutenant-colonel; and he commanded a battalion against General Hill in the last attack. Finding his men running away too fast, he kept in the rear to encourage them, and give them confidence; stayed there too long, and, in a word, was caught and taken prisoner. He is a tall, stout, good-looking man of twenty-eight, and speaks English well, having been in England some time before for education.