Colonels Weare and Fane, who fell so gloriously, were buried behind this hospital:—but I have dwelt upon this circumstance at another part of the work.
The people of Vittoria were very far from enthusiastic in favour of the English, although they behaved with apparent gratitude; but this may be accounted for by the yet uncertainty which prevailed, as to our ultimate power of driving the French out of Spain. Bull-fights and balls took place, and the new constitution was read and honoured; but there was a want of warmth in the people, quite incompatible with true patriotism:—on the whole, it was supposed that Vittoria was not unfavourable to foreign tyranny.
A few days after the battle, the 6th division of the army passed through Vittoria, on their march to join the main body of the army. This division, from having been often employed on detached service, acquired the name of the “Flying Invisibles,” by the rest of the army. They were certainly not at the battle; but it was not their fault, for they were left three days’ march in the rear, to protect the transport of the stores, &c. The men presented a motley appearance; they had not received a supply of clothing as had been expected, and the consequence was that scarcely any red cloth was to be seen amongst their jackets, so patched were they with that of every other colour. Many had no shoes, and altogether they excited commiseration; but the men themselves were as hearty and as healthy as any soldiers in the army.
While I remained at Vittoria, I learned that an attempt to storm St. Sebastian had been made by the allied armies, and had failed: it was also stated that the Spaniards of the fortress were the most active in defending the breach. Little fighting, I believe, took place in front, except at Roncesvalles and the pass of Maya—the gates of the French territory; and here, I believe, there was an effectual attack made by the French against our troops—at least so far successful, that the latter were obliged to retire a little, after having fought gallantly. A considerable number of men wounded in this affair were sent back to Vittoria.
I was now ordered to the front, and after a few days’ marches through a most delightful and tranquil country, arrived at a village near Pamplona, called Bastania. Here were quartered two heavy Dragoon regiments—all the cavalry, indeed, were near; for it was a wide open country, and consequently fit for the operations of Dragoons. In the centre was the fortified town of Pamplona, within a mile of which we durst not approach. The Pyrenees were about half a mile in front of Bastania, and the cavalry were placed here in case the enemy should succeed in forcing their way down to the plain for the relief of the citadel, in which 1,200 French were shut up:—had they done so, the horse could have acted with great effect upon them. This was in the latter end of July; and I believe the Duke of Wellington had closed the army in from the right, and intended to push on with his whole force to France. The Spaniards he had placed to invest Pamplona.
I slept at Bastania the night I arrived: there were not more than a dozen houses in the village, and all filled with dragoons. Into one of those I went, and found the ground-floor covered thickly with straw, upon which the soldiers—about thirty in all—were lying. They immediately made room for me:—my servant slept with my horses in an out-house. I was fatigued; and so, without any other refreshment than a cup of commissariat grog, lay down and slept happily until the trumpeter sounded “Boots and Saddles:” this was at two o’clock in the morning, and I had been asleep about three hours. The men were soon out and horsed—so was I. The baggage of the dragoons all packed and mounted—every thing ready for “a breeze.” The morning was dark, and for the time of year, rather chilly: I could not see to a great distance, but within my view passed several troops of heavy dragoons proceeding towards the foot of the mountains. There was scarcely any sound but that from the motion of the horses—the men spoke but little, and were yet half asleep. I moved towards the main road, in order to come up with my division, which was in front; but I soon found that it would be unsafe to proceed, on account of a fog which arose, completely obscuring every thing around. In consequence of this I dismounted; took off my saddle; put it on the ground; and directing my servant to stake the horses to their tethers, lay down with my head resting on it. I can assure my readers, that a saddle is no bad substitute for a pillow when the ground is the bed. The spot I selected was soft, though not dry; it was in a furrow of a ploughed field. I was rolled in my blanket, and for an hour never enjoyed a sounder sleep: but I did not find the waking quite so pleasant; for it had rained heavily during my enjoyment, and I felt myself nearly covered by the watery bed of the furrow: however, I shook off my blanket—saddled, and mounted. It was daylight, but not yet sunrise: as I proceeded towards the mountains, I could see to my right, over the distant plain, several bodies of horse evidently stationed to be ready in case the enemy forced their way down—the town of Pamplona on my left in the centre of the plain—the tricolore flying, and occasional guns—I suppose signals—firing. The Pyrenees were capped in grey mist, and therefore I could not discern any of our infantry upon them; but I knew they were in their position there, and had fought the two preceding days in defence of it.
In my way I passed through the bivouac of the Spanish army which blockaded Pamplona, and there beheld a most sublime spectacle—it was the celebration of their religious rites, the mass, in the open air, close to a ruined house. It was now sunrise, and the hour with the circumstances of the time, gave the uncovered and kneeling soldiery a most interesting appearance. The priest was a bald and reverend looking man, and his sacerdotal robes made him look like a patriarch. I stopped in a reverie of admiration—out of which, however, I was roused in a few minutes by the sound of distant firing on the heights; so I left the Spaniards to their prayers, and galloped on towards where there was something going on, which to me was far more interesting.
In about ten minutes more I was upon the mountain where our division was drawn up: they had not yet fired a shot, nor seen a Frenchman, but expected every moment to be engaged. The scene of action here, is to be imagined by the reader placing himself ideally on the top of a bold hill, or moderately sized mountain; in front, and on each side, are similar hills or mountains—some smaller—some greater; far in the front the higher Pyrenees; and, behind, the wide plain, on which stands Pamplona. Over this scene let him then throw the most picturesque foliage—a village or two in the distant valleys—the ground spread with heath and furze: thus he will have the view of where the gallant battle of the Pyrenees was gained, after four days of terrible contest. The fight here was very different from a fight on a plain: in this it was a continual attempt on the part of Soult, with all the force he could collect, to pass the hills, for the relief of Pamplona, and as continual a resistance on the part of the allies—hill after hill was attacked and defended with the most heroic energy on both sides. But our people performed a still more glorious and prodigious task; for not only did they defend their own position, but attacked Soult’s, which was stronger than their’s; and thus for the second time during the campaign, made a wreck of the French army!
Soult was determined to pass to Pamplona if possible; he therefore brought all his power to the point: even his unfledged conscripts were not excused—boys of fifteen, in white undress, unable to use the bayonet; these he posted where they could pull their triggers without being exposed to a charge from our steel, while his veterans were employed in more dangerous situations. Before the attack, Soult in person appeared amongst them at the front, pointed towards the invested town, and offered every man a certain reward in cash, as soon as they passed the few hills before them, and relieved their blockaded countrymen. All this could not suffice; and the best General of France, with a powerful army, could not push over a quarter of a mile of ground, while the British defended it! nor although aware of the Duke of Wellington’s intention of invasion, could they keep him from pursuing them across their own frontiers! On this battle depended the fate of the Peninsula—perhaps of Europe:—the trust fell into worthy hands, and they did their duty.
In about half an hour after I joined the division, a hill in front and on our right, defended by Portuguese, was attacked; the latter received the French with a volley, and then, shouting, advanced down the hill with the bayonet: a cheer from our men involuntarily burst out, and the French rolled and ran, pursued about a hundred yards. The hill was of great importance to us, and very desirable to the enemy: this was the first attack upon it, and having failed, reinforcements were preparing to accomplish its conquest:—we could see several columns of the enemy moving down from another mountain towards it; but this was provided for by our chief, who reinforced the gallant Portuguese by the 48th British regiment, and a regiment of Spaniards. Here then was the hardest fighting for two days—the 27th and 28th; attacks were repeatedly made upon this point, in the most able manner by the French, and as often defeated. Soult and Wellington were both placed within sight of each other, upon the tops of hills, anxiously observing this terrible strife at various times; and the anxiety of the former could be seen plainly in all his attitudes. During this time several other points were assailed, gained and lost: it was up hill at one moment, and down the next; and considering that those hills were so steep at some places, that I was nearly breathless in mounting one, besides a hot sun blazing over us, it is to be wondered how such prodigies of valour were accomplished. I do not know why, but certain it is, that our men usually did more execution when charging up a hill than down; there seemed to be a greater energy about them in overcoming their difficulties, and perhaps a desire of revenge for the advantage their enemy seemed to take of them in firing down at them as they advanced. As an instance of this, I will mention the following fact:—When our troops were passing the Bidassoa, the firing from a bold height on the French bank of the river galled them very much; the water was up to the middle of their bodies, and the men were obliged to hold their muskets over their heads to keep them dry: many fell; others, wounded, continued to cross the ford; the hill in front was to be mounted and taken by those troops in the water, and a strong force was defending it. The men became outrageous as they looked up at the muskets of their enemies pointed at them; and frequent oaths and imprecations plainly showed that they would seek satisfaction when they crossed the river.—“Oh! by J——! we’ll give it to you by and by, you French beggars. D——your eyes, we’ll sarve you out,” &c. &c. Such expressions as these were heard from every man, and when arrived on the other side of the river, scarcely a moment passed till they were up on the heights—stabbing, butting, and flinging over the rocks the bodies of their enemies. The height was gained, and on the top of it they gave three cheers, which made Fontarabia ring. But—to the narrative.