The march of the British army continued without interruption. Those divisions which followed the enemy were enthusiastically welcomed as they passed through the different towns and villages on the Valladolid road; the inhabitants met us in vast numbers with a supply of wine, fruit, bread, and vegetables, which were all bought up by the soldiers. Arrived at Valladolid, and finding himself as far as ever from being able to overtake the army of Marmont, Lord Wellington made a full stop. Giving the troops one day’s rest for the purpose of allowing the stragglers to come up, he, on the 1st of August, turned off abruptly towards the grand Madrid road; while Hill, with the second corps, reached Zafra.

Marmont being thus disposed of for the present, and Lord Wellington having formed the resolution of marching to the Spanish capital, every road leading to it was occupied, and thronged by cavalry, infantry, and artillery, baggage and commissariat mules, stores of all descriptions, the reserve park guns, and the followers of the camp, such as sutlers, Portuguese servants, and women who followed the soldiers. These, when assembled together, formed one vast mass of between sixty thousand and seventy thousand souls. The sight was an imposing one; the weather was beautifully fine, and the advance of the army as it moved onward towards the capital was one scene of uninterrupted rejoicing. Never was the general feeling in Spain so much in favour of the British nation, the British army, and the Hero who commanded it, as on the present occasion. The news of the great victory gained by the British army only a few days before, under the walls of Salamanca, which was witnessed by thousands upon thousands of Spaniards, was spread afar; and the different routes which the army traversed were crowded almost to suffocation by the Spanish people, who vied with each other to gain a passing view of the men who had so distinguished themselves, and to supply them with every assistance in their power. Every face was cheerful; and at the termination of each day’s march, our bivouacs, or the villages we occupied, were crowded with Spanish girls and young men, who either brought wine, lemonade, or fruit; the evening was wound up by boleros and fandangos; and, in short, our march to Madrid more resembled a triumphal procession—which, in point of fact, it really was—than the ordinary advance of an army prepared for battle.

Meanwhile King Joseph hastily endeavoured to make arrangements to stop the torrent which threatened his capital. He had advanced upon Blasco Sancho on the 25th of July; but there, hearing of the fate that had befallen his favourite general at Salamanca, he retraced his steps, and gaining the passes of the Guadarama, retired towards the palace of the Escurial. He collected all the disposable force that could be taken from the capital; but his army, chiefly composed of Juramentados (Spaniards that entered into King Joseph’s service), counted not quite fifteen thousand bayonets and sabres—a force as to number, without taking into account its morale, not of that formidableness very likely to disconcert the grand designs of Lord Wellington. In short, the army continued its march towards the Spanish capital without molestation. On the 6th of August the headquarters were at Cuellar; on the 7th, at the ancient town of Segovia, so celebrated in Spanish romance; and on the 8th the divisions destined to march upon Madrid were concentrated at St. Ildefonso.

St. Ildefonso is beautifully situated. The magnificent waterworks, the elegant taste with which the gardens and pleasure-grounds are laid out, and the vast concourse of people who thronged them on the day of our arrival, gave to it the appearance, in our eyes at least, of the most enchanting spot on the face of the globe. At each of the principal walks, bands of music played inspiring airs; and at half-past six in the evening the waterworks were in full play. These works, situated at the base of a lofty blue mountain, cast up water to an immense height; and one in particular seemed to us to be much superior to anything we afterwards witnessed at either Versailles or St. Cloud. To me it certainly seems so; but I, in common with many others, may be wrong; for, in truth, we were so charmed with the novelty of the scene we then witnessed, and the vast contrast it presented to the scenes we had for such a length of time not only witnessed, but taken an active part in, that all due allowance ought to be made—if we are wrong—for our prepossession in favour of this spot.

At eight o’clock Lord Wellington, surrounded by a number of generals of different nations, a splendid staff, and many grandees of Spain, entered the gardens. All the bands, at one and the same moment, played “See the Conquering Hero comes,” the singers joined in chorus, and the vast multitude rent the air with acclamations. The females, disregarding all form or etiquette, broke through the crowd to get a nearer view of his Lordship, and many embraced him as he passed down the different alleys of the gardens. The groups of singers continued to sing; this was succeeded by bolero-dancing, fandango-dancing, and waltzing; and all was wound up by one of the most intoxicating and delightful nights of pleasure that we had ever witnessed, and, if I mistake not greatly, that was ever acted on the same spot. It was late before we retired to rest—and indeed we had need of repose: our minds as well as bodies required it; and when the shrill note of the bugle the following morning (for that matter it was the same morning) aroused us from our sleep, all that had passed seemed but as a dream.

The causeway leading to Madrid is broad and well arranged; as we reached each league-stone we counted with anxiety the distance we had yet to pace ere we arrived at the capital of Spain. The mountains which overhang the Guadarama passes are bold and lofty; these passes, easy of defence, and requiring but a small force, were abandoned without a musket-shot being fired for their protection; and, in fine, on the 11th, Lord Wellington was near the village of Majadahonda, distant but one march from the capital. Thirty thousand infantry were encamped half a league in its rear; the different brigades of horse and artillery attached to the infantry were at hand—in short, all was in readiness; but the advanced guard of cavalry, unfortunately entrusted to the brigade of Portuguese of D‘Urban, was in front of all. Behind them, at the distance of a mile, were the two regiments of heavy German horse, while the splendid troop of horse artillery, commanded by Captain Macdonald, was ready to support D‘Urban.

The greatest part of the day had passed over without any event taking place between the advanced posts; some slight skirmishing between the enemy’s lancers and D‘Urban’s cavalry left matters as they were at the commencement. The army was preparing its arrangements for the night’s repose and the march of the following day, when the thunder of Macdonald’s artillery aroused us in an instant from our occupations. It was soon manifest that the enemy’s advance had attacked the Portuguese cavalry; and the vast cloud of dust that came rolling onward towards the village, where the German horse were placed in reserve, told but too plainly that the Portuguese were routed, and the Germans about to be cut off. The infantry betook themselves to their arms, and in a few moments the entire were in readiness to march to the scene of action—for so in fact it was. The Portuguese dragoons fled at the first onset, without waiting to exchange one sabre-cut with the French; and so rapid was their flight—for they rode through the village where the reserve of Germans were posted to support them—that not more than half of the Germans were mounted. Many men thus fell before they could defend themselves, and their Colonel was cut down while in the act of shaving himself; but his brave soldiers, forming themselves together in the best manner the time would admit of, closed with drawn sabres upon the French lancers, which turned the stream, broke the mad fury of the attack, and drove back the lancers in confusion.

Up to this time the combat was one scene of desperation. An irregular and furious crowd might be seen mixed together, fighting without order or regularity, and from the confusion that prevailed it was not possible to see distinctly to which side the victory belonged; but at a distance, far from the scene of action, the burnished helmets of the Portuguese troopers were distinguishable as they fled from the post they had deserted, and from their brave companions, the Germans, whom they left to be massacred. The din of arms, the clashing of swords, and the thunder of the cannon, mingled with shouts from every side, completed the confusion. In the hurry of the moment some tents belonging to the 74th Regiment took fire, the flames soon communicated with those of the next regiment, and the camp was enveloped with smoke; but this was soon overcome; and by the time we approached near the point in dispute, the French cavalry had been driven off the field, but not before many of the Germans had fallen. Two guns of Macdonald’s brigade had also been taken; and upon the whole, it was one of the most disgraceful and unlooked-for events that had taken place during the campaign. To be beaten at any time was bad enough, but to be beaten by a handful of lancers, on the eve of our entering Madrid, almost in view of the city, was worse than all. But what caused our defeat—our disgrace—under the eyes of the people of Madrid? The placing undue reliance on the Portuguese troops.

CHAPTER XXII

The British army approach Madrid—Enthusiastic welcome—Preparations to carry by assault the fortress of La China—It surrenders—Description of Madrid—The Puerto del Sol—The Prado—Unsociability of English officers—Seizure of a Spanish priest—Proved to be a spy in the service of the enemy—His execution by the garrotte.