On the 24th, we were again engaged in pressing their rear the greater part of the day; and, ultimately, in giving them the last kick, under the walls of Pampeluna, where we had the glory of capturing their last gun, which literally sent them into France without a single piece of ordnance.
Our battalion occupied, that night, a large, well-furnished, but uninhabited chateau, a short distance from Pampeluna.
We got under arms early on the morning of the 25th; and, passing by a mountain-path, to the left of Pampeluna, within range of the guns, though they did not fire at us, circled the town, until we reached the village of Villalba, where we halted for the night. Since I joined that army, I had never, up to that period, been master of any thing in the shape of a bed; and, though I did not despise a bundle of straw, when it could conveniently be had, yet my boat-cloak and blanket were more generally to be seen, spread out for my reception on the bare earth. But, in proceeding to turn into them, as usual, this evening, I was not a little astonished to find, in their stead, a comfortable mattress, with a suitable supply of linen, blankets, and pillows; in short, the very identical bedding on which I had slept, the night before, in the chateau, three leagues off, and which my rascal of an Irishman had bundled altogether on the back of my mule, without giving me the slightest hint of his intentions. On my taking him to task about it, and telling him that he would certainly be hanged, all that he said in reply was, "by J—s, they had more than a hundred beds in that house, and not a single soul to sleep in them." I was very much annoyed, at the time, that there was no possibility of returning them to their rightful owner, as, independent of its being nothing short of a regular robbery, I really looked upon them as a very unnecessary encumbrance; but being forced, in some measure, to indulge in their comforts, I was not long in changing my mind; and was, ultimately, not very sorry that the possibility of restoration never did occur.[Back to Contents]
CHAP. XV.
March to intercept Clausel. Tafalla. Olite. The dark End of a Night March to Casada. Clausel's Escape. Sanguessa. My Tent struck. Return to Villalba. Weighty Considerations on Females. St. Esteban. A Severe Dance. Position at Bera. Soult's Advance, and Battle of the Pyrenees. His Defeat and subsequent Actions. A Morning's Ride.
June 26th, 1813.—Our division fell in this morning, at daylight, and, marching out of Villalba, circled round the southern side of Pampeluna, until we reached the great road leading to Tafalla, where we found ourselves united with the third and fourth divisions, and a large body of cavalry; the whole under the immediate command of Lord Wellington, proceeded southward, with a view to intercept General Clausel, who, with a strong division of the French army, had been at Logrona, on the day of the battle of Vittoria, and was now endeavouring to pass into the Pyrenees by our right. We marched until sun set, and halted for the night in a wood.
On the morning of the 27th we were again in motion, and passing through a country abounding in fruits, and all manner of delightful prospects; and through the handsome town of Tafalla, where we were enthusiastically cheered by the beauteous occupants of the numerous balconies overhanging the streets. We halted, for the night, in an olive-grove, a short distance from Olite.
At daylight next morning we passed through the town of Olite, and continued our route until we began to enter among the mountains, about midday, when we halted two hours, to enable the men to cook, and again resumed our march. Darkness overtook us, while struggling through a narrow rugged road, which wound its way along the bank of the Arragon; and we did not reach our destination, at Casada, until near midnight, where, amid torrents of rain, and in the darkness of the night, we could find nothing but ploughed fields on which to repose our weary limbs, nor could we find a particle of fuel to illuminate the cheerless scene.
Breathed there a man of soul so dead,
Who would not to himself have said,
This is—a confounded comfortless dwelling.
Dear Sir Walter,—pray excuse the Casadians, from your curse entailed on home haters, for if any one of them ever succeeds in getting beyond the mountain, by the road which I traversed, he ought to be anathematized if ever he seek his home again.