[143] Marshal Beresford was furiously attacked by one of these desperadoes, who, under the influence of brandy, were riding recklessly about the field, and doing an infinity of mischief. The marshal seized the lancer’s spear, unhorsed him by sheer strength, and his orderly dragoon despatched him by a coup de sabre.
[144] Napier.
[145] “Fields far on the rear of the allies were strewed with the bodies of Polish lancers who had penetrated singly beyond the contending parties. These desperadoes galloped about in all directions, spearing the wounded men and their defenceless supporters.”—Jones’s History.
[146] “The wounded of both armies were brought in promiscuously, and many of them laid in the streets and in the squares, till shelter could be allotted them; even for this inevitable necessity no order having been taken by the Spanish authorities. It is worthy of notice, that a greater proportion recovered of those who were left a night upon the field than of such as were earlier housed; and this is explained by the effect of free air in preventing fever.”
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The following is a graphic but faithful description of a military hospital after a battle:—
“In the yard of a quinta, or nobleman’s house, I looked through the grating and saw about 200 wounded soldiers waiting to have their limbs amputated, while others were arriving every moment. It would be difficult to convey an idea of the frightful appearance of these men; they had been wounded on the 5th, and this was the 7th; their limbs were swollen to an enormous size, and the smell from the gun-shot wounds was dreadful. Some were sitting upright against a wall, under the shade of a number of chestnut-trees, and, as many of them were wounded in the head as well as in limbs, the ghastly countenances of those poor fellows presented a dismal sight. The streams of gore which had trickled down their cheeks were quite hardened with the sun, and gave their faces a glazed and copper-coloured hue; their eyes were sunk and fixed; and what between the effects of the sun, of exhaustion, and despair, they resembled more a group of bronze figures than any thing human. There they sat, silent and statue-like, waiting for their turn to be carried to the amputating tables. At the other side of the yard lay several whose state was too hopeless for them to sit up; a feeble cry from them occasionally, to those who were passing, for a drink of water, was all they uttered.
“A little farther on, in an inner court, were the surgeons. They were stripped to their shirts and bloody. Curiosity led me forward: a number of doors, placed on barrels, served as temporary tables, and on these lay the different subjects upon whom the surgeons were operating; to the right and left were arms and legs, flung here and there without distinction, and the ground was dyed with blood.”
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“In an inner room was a young officer shot through the head,—his was a hopeless case. He was quite delirious, and obliged to be held down by two men; his strength was astonishing, and more than once, while I remained, he succeeded in escaping from the grasp of his attendants. The Scotch officer’s servant soon after came in, and stooping down inquired of his master how he felt, but received no reply; he had half-turned on his face; the man took hold of his master’s hand—it was still warm, but the pulse had ceased—he was dead.”—Reminiscences of a Subaltern.