Three weeks elapsed—the painful effects occasioned by the contusion gradually subsided, and within a month I was perfectly convalescent. As to Peter Crotty, his disabled member was speedily restored—and, at the end of a fortnight, he could have danced the pater-o-pee. One thing occasioned some surprise. Lord ‘Wellington, in the excitement of his victory, forgot to make personal inquiries after his old partner’s state of health,—and although his hospitality embraced the elite of his prisoners, and even the captured ladies were guests at his table during his brief sojourn at Vittoria, by some unaccountable oversight, a cover for Peter Crotty was forgotten—and if an invitation had been sent him for a quiet rubber at head quarters, unfortunately, it never reached its destination. Crotty, however, ascribed this apparent forgetfulness to its true cause—a press of business—and on one occasion, when we nearly ran against his lordship in the street, Peter bolted round the corner, feeling, very properly, that greetings in the market-place consumed valuable time, and between old friends were quite unnecessary.
The subsequent operations after the victory of the 21st of June, though not very important in themselves, proved the forerunners of great events. Soult came from Germany, by Napoleon’s order, to assume the chief command and rally the beaten armies. Joseph Buonaparte’s royal puppetism ended, and he retired into France—and Wellington followed up his victory by advancing to the Pyrenees, blockading Pampeluna, and regularly investing San Sebastian.
At Vittoria the mixed character of which an army is composed, was strikingly exhibited. Never, in the history of modern warfare, did defeat tempt the cupidity of the soldier with more extensive or more valuable booty,—and, to use the words of the historian, “the fighting troops marched upon gold and silver without stooping to pick it up.” But to others, the display of wealth was too trying for their moral endurance to withstand—the onward step of victory was stayed for filthy plunder, and, to the eternal disgrace of the delinquents, it was known that some officers, forgetting caste and honour, shared in “the disgraceful gain.” The evil consequences were so mischievous, as in some degree to paralyse the subsequent operations, and rob Vittoria of what would have otherwise been its grand results. The soldiers, instead of preparing food, and resting themselves after the battle, dispersed in the night to plunder, and were so fatigued, that when the rain came on next day, they were incapable of marching, and the allied army had more stragglers than the beaten one. Eighteen days after the Victory, twelve thousand five hundred men, chiefly British, were absent, most of them marauding in the mountains. *
* Wellington Despatches.
No wonder, then, that the promptest means were used to thin the hospitals of the sick and wounded, and forward the convalescent to their regiments. Peter Crotty had been declared “ready for action and with some fifty privates and non-commissioned officers pronounced food for gunpowder” again. I determined to keep him company,—and on the morning of the 18th of July, we quitted Vittoria, a month after we had entered it, and took the route to rejoin the fourth division in the Pyrenees. We reached Leyra on the 22d, and then learned that San Sebastian had been sufficiently battered to warrant an assault—and, as it was generally believed, the attempt would be made next day.
Here was a noble opening for young ambition. Within a sharp ride of a beleaguered city—and it, too, on the very point of being carried by assault! Why, my father was a very prophet—and the glorious contingency he had only regarded with the eye of hope, was absolutely thrown by fortune in my way. I was also a free agent—and while Peter Crotty, “a man under authority,” of necessity, headed towards the mountains with “his charge of foot,” I had only to turn to the sea—and if I pleased, gain laurels in the breach, or there get “a quietus.” I consulted the fosterer—and he at once declared that it would not only be shameful but sinful, to let slip an opportunity of the kind, “for the Lord only knew when such luck would fall in our way again!”
Peter Crotty was taken into the number of our counsellors—and he confirmed Mark Antony’s reasoning to the very letter—accompanied by a long jeremiade at being prohibited by duty from engaging in an agreeable excursion. He, Peter, would never forget Badajoz—Lord! what fun there was after it—he did not particularise the fun that was at it, nor detail the pleasant accompaniments of men being blown up by the company. He, Peter, had been wounded, and resided afterwards at a widow’s house—a friendlier little woman he never met with,—she was better to him than a bad step-mother—they went regularly to mass—and he, Peter, was happy as the day was long. Indeed, he had great doubts about the propriety of marrying her at once—but her husband, not having “gone to glory,” but to Mexico, although he had not written for six months, still the devil, meaning the husband aforesaid—might be alive after all.—“Oh! blessed Mary 1 what fun you’ll have!” concluded Peter. “You may rob a church, murder a bishop, and bad luck to the inquiry, good nor bad, afterwards.”
Pleasure thus unexpectedly presented, and accompanied with such brilliant advantages, was not to be declined; and as I had recovered my lost horse, and procured a stout mule for the fosterer, we took the road to glory—namely, the cross one running through Gozueta to San Sebastian.
The defeat at Vittoria rendered the maintenance of this ancient fortress an object of great importance to the French. Hitherto the place had been greatly neglected, and even a part of its artillery removed. Instant orders, however, were issued by Joseph Buonaparte to restore the works, replace the guns, and render it, as far as possible, defensible. A garrison under General Key was hastily thrown in—and that of Gueteria, after blowing up that place, reinforced it—stores and provisions were sent by sea from France—whither, also, an enormous influx of Spanish and French refugees, who had sought safety in the city, were directed to repair—and with a brave garrison—and better still—a determined governor, San Sebastian prepared, by a vigorous and, as it was expected, a successful defence, to emulate those of Rodrigo, Badajoz, and Burgos, which had conferred so much honour on their respective commandants.
The investing army, amounting to about ten thousand men, was composed chiefly of the fifth division, and two Portuguese brigades,—General Graham commanded in chief—General Oswald en second—and Colonel Dickson directed the siege artillery, amounting to forty pieces of different descriptions, but all of heavy calibre.