I remained an hour behind the division, to refresh my horses—they having been nearly knocked up; and it was at this place I perceived the first effects of fatigue in some of the soldiers. The army had, for the preceding march, pressed onwards more rapidly than before, and the weather had become very hot; several men, therefore, lagged behind, and I met eight or ten of them sitting by the side of the river—some only severely blistered on the feet from walking, but others extremely ill. There was no depôt nearer than Valladolid—about ninety miles distant; for the army’s advance was so rapid and so unexpected, that no time could be allowed for considerations of this kind; and the soldiers, if left behind, would have fared but miserably indeed—particularly those who were ill there. I, without hesitation, laid an embargo upon a sort of cart, which was drawn by two horses, and which happened, fortunately, to be near; in this vehicle I directed the men to place themselves and their kits, which they had unbuckled from their backs, and dispatched them to continue their march. I also desired the men not to permit the carter to return until they overtook their division. “All is fair in war,” says the unamiable adage: it was a hard case for the Castilian carter, but for the poor disabled soldiers it would have been a still harder; and I thought I could not do better, under the circumstances, than to oblige the peasant, who seemed well-fed and hearty, to do “the state some service,” whether he was so disposed or not.
Our march was now ten times more a march of pleasure than it had been before we crossed the Ebro, although it did not long hold that character: there was soon something for the army to do besides to admire the scenery, sing songs, and smoke cigars. Each day’s march was concluded about twelve or one o’clock, and the men encamped or bivouacked usually on some open glade, near or in a small wood; or perhaps in a valley by a river: here they unbent from the toils of the morning, and escaped the meridian heat of the sun, within their tents, or beneath the thick foliage with which nature so profusely stocked the country. A considerable distance right and left of the road, where the army encamped each day, was changed from the silence in which it had so long dwelt, to the hum and bustle of a populated city. The first thing done, on arriving at the ground for encampment, was to cook:—rations were served out; wood, water, and fire, made ready: and while the meat was boiling—or broiling, more frequently, upon a wooden spit—the men would sit together in groups on the grass, and chat. After dinner, they employed themselves for a short time in washing both themselves and their linen in the neighbouring streams—cleaning their arms, clothes, &c., and then a pipe and a cup of grog prepared the way for a sweet and sound sleep on the turf.
A description of the manner in which I have seen bullocks slaughtered on the march, may not be uninteresting. We had our own butchers,—men from the ranks; but, in general, the oxen were slaughtered by Spaniards or Portuguese: and, in my mind, their mode of depriving a bullock of life is by far the most expeditious; it certainly gives little, if any, torture to the animal. They, having tied a noose about the horns of the beast, drew the end of it round a tree, and secured the head close to it; then instantly pushed a sharp-pointed knife down between the back of the skull and the first vertebræ of the neck: this was no sooner done than the animal was dead: the veins of the neck were then opened, and the blood flowed.
In the division with which I marched, the Spanish butcher adopted a singular mode of securing the bullock destined for slaughter; he had trained a huge mastiff to be his assistant, and thus they operated:—the butcher held his dog by a chain, and having let loose one of the drove of oxen, took the chain off the mastiff, and gave him the word; the dog ran instantly to the bullock; seized him by the nose in his teeth; and, without the least noise, held him forcibly down: the butcher then plunged the knife in, and the animal rolled lifeless. All this was done in less than half a minute. The first place at which I witnessed this dog at his calling, was at Villa Diego; and no sooner were the veins of the neck opened, than several Spanish old women, with pans in their hands, squabbled about catching the blood: the greatest vixen succeeded in obtaining it; and I learnt that it was to be used as food for her family. It is said that the poor of Connaught eat the blood of oxen; if so, may not the practice have been brought over by the Spaniards, from whom the inhabitants of that province claim extraction?
We were now in a mountainous country, and consequently the army, which had been all united on the march after crossing the Esla, was obliged to separate, and move by various roads to one point. In a day or two we found that the French were about to give up their running, and try their fortune by a stand. We were halted on the 20th of June, about four or five miles from Vittoria, and our columns closed in from various directions: we were told by several peasants that the French, under the command of Joseph Buonaparte and Marshal Jourdain, were between us and Vittoria; and when we saw the Duke of Wellington pass along the road close to us, with several of his generals, we suspected we should not long lie idle: we knew his Grace was going to the front to reconnoitre. I never saw him look better in my life; the march had improved his health, and success had brightened his looks in such a manner, that I fancied he felt confident of beating the enemy in “off hand” style at the first brush. I observed the several Portuguese battalions pass, as fresh for work as if they had not marched two miles; and in several Spanish corps which crossed us to the left under the command of Colonel Longa, I saw physical strength, although neither equipment nor high spirits. Our own troops looked as well as ever they did—the sun-browned and laughing faces of Johns, Pats, and Sawneys, gave assurance that they were highly disposed to enjoy “a bit of diversion.”
During the 20th the men refreshed themselves with change of linen, &c. in the best way they could, and enjoyed the evening of that day as happily as if they were reposing after a hunting excursion; every shade had its group, and the country afforded the most picturesque situations for bivouacking. My dinner was spread upon a green spot beneath an overhanging bank, covered with thick foliage, which shut out the hot sun; a clear stream rippling beneath; and here six of us enjoyed an evening’s chat as comfortably as if we were on the banks of one of the Cumberland lakes. We expected to be engaged next day, and the allusions which this expectation brought forth, although calculated to stir up some thoughts of home and friends, did not abate that cheerfulness which the scene present diffused. Our mortal enemy, old Death, was spoken of occasionally, but it was with a smile; no more was thought about him than about Marshal Jourdain or the ex-king Joe.
The night closed around, and the thousands lay down to sleep upon the turf; some by large fires, some beneath the cover of temporary huts, and some with nothing over them but their blankets, and the universal coverlid—beneath which many were to lie the following night for ever without waking! The weather was mild and delightful—the sky was beautiful, and many eyes were employed in gazing on it, and picturing over its blue breast the sweet scenes of home—the faces of those friends then far away! That was the hour for thinking; and I have no doubt it was so spent by thousands of the soldiers before they sunk into sleep.
On the morning of the 21st, we commenced our march early, and in two hours we came to an open country, on the right of which was a ridge of hills; about a mile distant on the left, a gradual descent of even land to a village about two miles off; far in the front—perhaps at three miles’ distance—were the spires of Vittoria to be seen rising to our view as we advanced; while about half a mile in our front we could spy the Frenchmen’s huts, and they themselves running to arms as if we had surprised them:—indeed this was the case; for their cooking utensils were on their fires when our advanced troops trod over their ground. Columns of French were now to be seen moving about in the distance, and columns of our own men were every moment emerging from cover. The Staff was everywhere to be seen galloping to and fro—brigades of artillery and regiments of cavalry taking up their ground; and in about twenty minutes a column of Spaniards, led by General Murillo, moved out from the right of our line—Hill’s divisions—up towards the heights, and commenced firing upon the enemy stationed there: these hills are called the heights of La Puebla, and here rested the enemy’s left. The Spaniards, we could see, made good their ground on the hills; but reinforcements of French troops advanced against them, and Lord Hill ordered out two regiments of British troops to support the Spaniards, led by the Hon. Colonel Cadogan of the 71st. Now began the fight, and every moment increased it. The red coats were met by increased numbers of the blue, and the firing became incessant; the Spaniards poured in their balls in good style on the advancing French, who attemped to overwhelm with numbers their small force; but Lord Hill detached column after column to the attack: we could only distinguish the men as a body, but could not see the individuals; however, the colour of the coats sufficiently marked out friend from foe, and the reds were evidently “doing the business.” The 71st had fired and stood the fire a considerable time, but could not mount the hill effectually (as I have heard from an officer then present): at this time their commander, the Hon. Colonel Cadogan received a ball in the groin: he fell, and was immediately surrounded by some of his men, and lifted up by them in order to be removed to the rear: the 71st was then about to apply to their old friend the bayonet—ready for the charge: their Colonel lay in the arms of two soldiers, the balls showering from the hills—“Stop! stop!” said he, “don’t take me away until I see my men charge!” It was done, and gallantly—up hill too: the Colonel cheered as well as his failing voice would allow, and his last moments were blessed with the smile of victory. The hills were very soon taken, and the enemy driven in.
The artillery now thundered from both sides; and down to the left we could see General Graham’s wing advancing against a distant village there. This was the part of the army to which I belonged; and now, for the first time since the march began, had an opportunity of gaining my division. The centre of the army, with which I then stood, now advanced to cross the Zadora, a small river—for Lord Hill had crossed it soon after he gained the heights; firing was everywhere along the line, before me and on both sides; the French stood bravely and poured in their musketry; their cannon was not a moment silent, unless stormed and taken by our men. I saw a couple of field pieces attacked by a regiment of Portuguese, and they astonished me with their courage and activity—they leaped over the guns like madmen, although blazing in their teeth, and captured them gallantly.
Having now seen where my station ought to be, I determined to proceed to it, and without a moment’s delay galloped to the left, in the rear of the line, just as the troops crossed the river; and I arrived at the village attacked by Sir T. Graham (Gamarra Mayor) just as the bridge was carried. Three pieces of artillery fortified this bridge; but notwithstanding this, as well as a powerful force of infantry for its defence, our troops overcame all; but not without considerable loss. At this place, both the Colonels of the 59th (Weare and Fane) fell, while gallantly leading their men to the bridge.