Carlist cavalry pickets, which had been pushed up to within half a
league of Artajona, halted and took position to the right of the
high-road between that town and Mendigorria. The ground thus occupied is
level, and opposite to nearly the centre of a line of low hills, which,
after running for some distance parallel to the Arga, recedes at either
extremity, thus forming the flattened arc of a circle, of which the
river is the chord. Between the hills, which are inconsiderable and of
gradual slope, and the river, runs the high-road from Puente de la Reyna
to Larraga; and in rear of their more southerly portion, known as La
Corona, opposite to the place where the road from Artajona passes
through a dip or break in their continuity, are the town and bridge of
Mendigorria. Upon these hills the Carlists, who had passed the night in
the last-named town, now formed themselves, their main body upon the
eastern slope, their reserves upon the western or reverse side. They
were still bringing their masses into position, when the Christino right
came upon the ground, and for awhile, although the distance between the
hostile forces was not great, no shot was fired on either side. By and
by, however, the dark figures of the Carlist guerillas were seen racing
down the hills, the Christino skirmishers advanced to meet them, and
soon a sharp irregular fire of musketry, and the cloud of smoke which
spread over the middle ground between the armies, announced that the
fight, or at least the prelude to it, had begun. This desultory sort of
contest was of short duration. Several Carlist battalions moved forward,
a gallant attack was made on the Christino position, and as gallantly
repelled: commanded by a brave and skilful officer, and favoured by a
judicious choice of ground, the Queen's troops, although opposed to
vastly superior numbers, and without their cavalry, which had remained
with the reserve, repulsed repeated assaults, and held their own without
serious loss, until, towards ten o'clock, the heads of columns of the
centre of the army, under the commander-in-chief himself, made their
appearance from the direction of Artajona. Almost at the same time, the
left wing, with Espartero at its head, arrived from Larraga, where it
had slept. Some little manoeuvring took place, and then the whole
Christino army appeared formed up, Cordova on either side of the
high-road, Espartero on his left, nearer to the Arga, Gurrea on his
right. By a rather singular arrangement, the whole force of cavalry,
under General Lopez, was left in reserve, considerably in rear of the
left wing, and at a full mile and a half from the centre; with the
exception of one squadron, which, as well as his habitual escort, had
accompanied General Cordova. That squadron was commanded by Luis
Herrera.
A stranger who, on the morning referred to, should, for the first time,
have walked through the ranks of the Carlist army, would have found much
that was curious and interesting to note. The whole disposable military
force of what the Christinos called the Faction, was there assembled,
and a motley crew it appeared. Had stout hearts and strong arms been as
rare in their ranks as uniformity of garb and equipment, the struggle
would hardly have been prolonged for four years after the date we write
of. But it would be difficult to find in any part of Europe, perhaps of
the world, men of more hardy frame, and better calculated to make good
soldiers, than those composing many of the Carlist battalions. Amongst
them the Navarrese and Guipuzcoans were pre-eminent; sinewy,
broad-chested, narrow-flanked fellows, of prodigious activity and
capacity for enduring fatigue. The Guipuzcoans especially, in their
short grey frocks and red trousers, their necks bare, the shirt-collar
turned back over their shoulders, with their bronzed faces and wiry
mustaches, leathern belts, containing cartridges, buckled tightly round
their waists, and long bright-barrelled muskets in their hands, were the
very _beau-ideal_ of grenadiers. Beside these, the Biscayans and some of
the Castilians, undersized and unsoldierly-looking, showed to much
disadvantage. Other battalions were composed in great part of Christino
prisoners, who, having had the choice given them between death and
service under Don Carlos, had chosen the latter, but who now seemed to
have little stomach for a fight against their former friends. The whole
of the Carlist cavalry, even then not very numerous, was also there. The
grim-visaged priest Merino, ever the stanchest partisan of absolutism,
bestrode his famous black horse, and headed a body of lancers as fierce
and wild-looking as himself; Pascual Real, the dashing major of
Ferdinand's guard, who in former days, when he took his afternoon ride
in the Madrid prado, drew all eyes upon him by the elegance of his
horsemanship, marshalled the Alavese hussars; and, in a third place,
some squadrons of Navarrese, who had left the fat pastures of the valley
of Echauri to be present at the expected fight, were ranged under the
orders of the young and gallant Manolin.
But whoever had the opportunity of observing the Carlist army on that
day and a month previously, saw a mighty difference in the spirit
pervading it. He who had been its soul, whose prestige gave confidence
to the soldier, and whose acknowledged superiority of talent prevented
rivalry amongst the chiefs, was now no more; his death had been followed
by a reverse, the only really serious one the Carlists had yet
encountered, and dissension was already springing up amongst the
followers of the Pretender. Intrigue was at work, rival interests were
brought into play; there was no longer amongst the officers that unity
of purpose which alone could have given the cause a chance of success;
nor amongst the men that unbounded confidence in their leader, which on
so many occasions had rendered them invincible. The spring of '35 had
been a season of triumph for the Carlists; the summer was to be one of
disasters.
Subsequent events sufficiently proved that Cordova was not the man to
command an army. Diplomacy was his forte; and he might also, as a
general, claim some merit for combinations in the cabinet. It was during
his command that the plan was formed for enclosing the Carlists within
certain fortified limits, in hopes that they would exhaust the resources
of the country, and with a view to preserve other provinces from the
contagion of Carlism.[3] Great credit was given him for this scheme,
which was carried out after many severe fights, and at great expense of
life; but neither of the advantages expected from it was ever realized.
In the field, Cordova was not efficient; he lacked resource and
promptitude; and the command of a division was the very utmost to which
his military talents entitled him to aspire. As before mentioned,
however, his confidence and pretensions were unbounded, his partisans
numerous, and the event of this day's fight was such as greatly to
increase the former, and raise the admiration of the latter.
It was eleven o'clock before the two armies were drawn up opposite to
each other in order of battle, and even then neither party seemed
inclined immediately to assume the offensive. Clouds of skirmishers were
thrown out along the whole line, bodies of troops advanced to support
them, the artillery began to thunder, but still a fight was for a short
time avoided, and, like wary chess-players at the commencement of a
game, the two generals contented themselves with manoeuvres.
Presently, however, from the Carlist centre a column of cavalry
advanced, and forming front, charged a regiment of the royal guard, the
foremost of Cordova's division. The guards were broken, and suffered
considerably; those who escaped the sabres and lances of the horsemen
being driven back, some to the centre and some upon the left wing. The
cavalry seemed, for a moment, disposed to push their advantage; but the
steady fire with which they were received by several squares of
infantry, thinned their ranks, and, in their turn, they retreated in
disorder. They had scarcely rejoined the main body when the advance was
sounded along the whole Christino line, and the army moved forward to a
general charge. At first the Carlists stood firm, and opened a
tremendous fire upon the advancing line, but the gaps that it caused
were speedily filled up; the Christinos poured in one deadly volley,
gave a fierce cheer, and rushed on with the bayonet. The Carlists
wavered, their whole army staggered to and fro; first companies, then
battalions disbanded themselves, and pressed in confusion to the rear,
and at last the entire line gave way; and the numerous host, seized with
a panic, commenced a hasty and tumultuous retreat. The reserves on the
opposite side of the hill were broken by the stream of fugitives that
came pouring down upon them; the cavalry, who endeavoured to make a
stand, were thrown into disorder, and pushed out of their ranks in the
same manner. In vain did the Carlist officers exert themselves to
restore order--imploring, threatening, even cutting at the soldiers with
their swords. Here and there a battalion or two were prevailed upon to
turn against the foe; but such isolated efforts could do little to
restore the fortune of the day. The triumphant tide of the Christinos
rolled ever forwards; the plunging fire of their artillery carried
destruction into the ranks of the discomfited Carlists; the rattling
volleys of small-arms, the clash of bayonets, the exulting shouts of the
victors, the cries of anguish of the wounded, mingled in deafening
discord. Amidst this confusion, a whole battalion of Carlists, the third
of Castile, formed originally of Christino prisoners, finding
themselves about to be charged by a battalion of the guard, reversed
their muskets, and shouting "Viva Isabel!" ranged themselves under the
banners to which they had formerly belonged, taking with them as
prisoners such of their officers as did not choose to follow their
example. Generals Villareal and Sagastibelza, two of the bravest and
most respected of the Carlist leaders, were severely wounded whilst
striving to restore order, and inspire their broken troops with fresh
courage. Many other officers of rank fell dead upon the field while
similarly engaged; the panic was universal, and the day irretrievably
lost.
"The cavalry! the cavalry!" exclaimed a young man, who now pressed
forward into the _melee_. He wore a long, loose civilian's coat, a small
oilskin-covered forage cap, and had for his sole military insignia an
embroidered sword-belt, sustaining the gilt scabbard of the sabre that
flashed in his hand. His countenance was pale and rather sickly-looking,
his complexion fairer than is usual amongst Spaniards; a large silk
cravat was rolled round his neck, and reached nearly to his ears,
concealing, it was said, the ravages of disease. His charger was of
surpassing beauty; a plumed and glittering staff rode around him; behind
came a numerous escort.
"The cavalry! the cavalry!" repeated Cordova, for he it was. "Where is
Lopez and the cavalry?"
But, save his own escort and Herrera's squadron, no cavalry was
forthcoming. Lopez remained unpardonably inactive, for want of orders,
as he afterwards said; but, under the circumstances, this was hardly an
extenuation. The position of the Carlists had been, in the first
instance, from the nature of the ground, scarcely attackable by horse,
at least with any prospect of advantage; but now the want of that arm
was great and obvious. Cordova's conduct in leaving his squadrons so far
in the rear, seems, at any rate, inexplicable. It was by unaccountable
blunders of this sort, that he and others of the Christino generals drew
upon themselves imputations of lukewarmness, and even of treachery.
An aide-de-camp galloped up to Herrera, whose squadron had been
stationed with the reserve of the centre. His horse, an
Isabella-coloured Andalusian, with silver mane and tail, of the kind
called in Spain _Perla_, was soaked with sweat and grey with foam. The
rider was a very young man, with large fiery black eyes, thin and
martially-expressive features, and a small mustache shading his upper
lip. He was a marquis, of one of the noblest families in Spain. He
seemed half mad with excitement.
"Forward with your squadron!" shouted he, as soon as he came within
earshot. The word was welcome to Herrera.
"Left wheel! forward! gallop!"
And, with the aide-de-camp at his side, he led his squadron along the
road to Mendigorria, which intersects the hills whence the Carlists were
now being driven. They had nearly reached the level ground on the other
side, when they came in sight of several companies of infantry, who made
a desperate stand. Their colonel, a Navarrese of almost gigantic
stature--his sword, which had been broken in the middle, clutched firmly
in his hand, his face streaming with blood from a slash across the
forehead, his left arm hanging by his side, disabled by a severe
wound--stood in front of his men, who had just repulsed the attack of
some Christino infantry. On perceiving the cavalry, however, they showed
symptoms of wavering.
"Steady!" roared the colonel, knitting his bleeding brow. "The first man
who moves dies by my hand!"
In spite of the menace, two or three men ventured to steal away, and
endeavoured to leave the road unobserved. The colonel sprang like a
tiger upon one of them.
"_Cobarde! muera!_" cried the frantic Carlist, cleaving the offender to
the eyes with the fragment of his sword. The terrible example had its
effect; the men stood firm for a moment, and opened a well-aimed fire on
the advancing cavalry.
"_Jesus Cristo!_" exclaimed the young aide-de-camp. Herrera looked at
him. His features were convulsed with pain. One more name which he
uttered--it was that of a woman--reached Herrera's ears, and then he
fell from his saddle to the earth; and the dragoons, unable to turn
aside, trampled him under foot. There was no time for reflection.
"Forward! forward!" was the cry, and the horsemen entered the smoke. On
the right of the Carlists, in front, stood their dauntless colonel,
waving his broken sabre, and shouting defiance. Firm as a rock he
awaited the cavalry. Struck by his gallantry, Herrera wished to spare
his life.
"_Rinde te!_" he cried; "yield!"
"_Jode te!_" was the coarse but energetic reply of the Carlist, as he
dealt a blow which Herrera with difficulty parried. At the same moment a
lance-thrust overthrew him. There were a few shouts of rage, a few cries
for mercy; here and there a bayonet grated against a sabre, but there
was scarcely a check in the speed; such of the infantry as stood to
receive the charge were ridden over, and Herrera and his squadron swept
onwards towards the bridge of Mendigorria.
Now it was that the Carlists felt the consequences of that enormous
blunder in the choice of a position, which, either through ignorance or
over confidence, their generals had committed. With the Arga flowing
immediately in their rear, not only was there no chance of rallying
them, but their retreat was greatly embarrassed. One portion of the
broken troops made for the bridge, and thronged over it in the wildest
confusion, choking up the avenue by their numbers; others rushed to the
fords higher up the stream, and dashing into the water, some of them,
ignorant of the shallow places, were drowned in the attempt to cross.
Had the Christino cavalry been on the field when the rout began, the
loss of the vanquished would have been prodigious; as it was, it was
very severe. The Christino soldiery, burning to revenge former defeats,
and having themselves suffered considerably at the commencement of the
fight, were eager in the pursuit, and gave little quarter. In less than
two hours from the beginning of the action, the country beyond the Arga
was covered with fugitives, flying for their lives towards the mountains
of Estella. Narrow were the escapes of many upon that day. Don Carlos
had been praying during the action in the church at Mendigorria; and so
sudden was the overthrow of his army, that he himself was at one time in
danger of being taken. A Christino officer, according to a story current
at the time, had come up with him, and actually stretched out his hand
to grasp his collar, when a bullet struck him from his saddle.
Dashing over the bridge, Herrera and his squadron spurred in pursuit.
Their horses were fresh, and they soon found themselves amongst the
foremost, when suddenly a body of cavalry, which, although retiring,
kept together and exerted itself to cover the retreat, faced about, and
showed a disposition to wait their arrival. The Carlists were superior
in numbers, but that Herrera neither saw nor cared for; and, rejoicing
at the prospect of opposition to overcome, he waved his sword and
cheered on his men. At exactly the same moment the hostile squadrons
entered the opposite sides of a large field, and thundered along to the
encounter, pounding the dry clods beneath their horses' hoofs, and
raising a cloud of dust through which the lance-points sparkled in the
sunlight, whilst above it the fierce excited features of the men were
dimly visible. Nearer they came, and nearer; a shout, a crash, one or
two shrill cries of anguish--a score of men and horses rolled upon the
ground, the others passed through each other's ranks, and then again
turning, commenced a furious hand-to-hand contest. The leader of the
Carlists, a dark-browed, powerful man, singled out Herrera for a fierce
attack. The fight, however, lasted but a few moments, and was yet
undecided when the Christino infantry came up. A few of the surviving
Carlists fled, but the majority, including their colonel, were
surrounded and made prisoners. They were sent to the rear with an
escort, and the chase was continued.
It was nightfall before the pursuit entirely ceased, and some hours
later before Herrera and his dragoons, who, in the flush of victory,
forgot fatigue, arrived at Puente de la Reyna, where, and at
Mendigorria, the Christino army took up their quarters. Sending the
squadron to their stables, Herrera, without giving himself the trouble
to demand a billet, repaired to an inn, where he was fortunate enough to
obtain a bed--no easy matter in the crowded state of the town. The day
had been so busy, that he had had little time to reflect further on the
intelligence brought by Paco, of whom he had heard nothing since the
morning. And now, so harassed and exhausted was he by the exertions and
excitement of the day, that even anxious thoughts were insufficient to
deprive him of the deep and refreshing slumber of which he stood in such
great need.
The morning sun shone brightly through the half-closed shutters of his
apartment, when Herrera was awakened by the entrance of Paco. In the
street without he heard a great noise and bustle; and, fearful of having
slept too long, he sprang from his bed and began hastily to dress.
Without saying a word, Paco threw open the window and beckoned to him.
He hastened to look out. In front of the inn was an open _plaza_, now
crowded with men and horses. A large body of troops were drawn up under
arms, officers were assembled in groups, discussing the victory of the
preceding day; and in the centre of the square, surrounded by a strong
guard, stood several hundred Carlist prisoners. On one side of these
were collected the captured horses both of men and officers, for the
most part just as they had been taken, saddled and bridled, and their
coats caked with dry sweat. Paco drew Herrera's attention to a man in
officer's uniform, who stood, with folded arms and surly dogged looks,
in the front rank of the prisoners. His eyes were fixed upon the ground,
and he only occasionally raised them to cast vindictive glances at a
party of officers of the Christino guards, who stood at a short distance
in his front, and who seemed to observe him with some curiosity.
"You see yonder colonel?" said Paco to Herrera. "Do you know him?"
"Not I," replied Herrera. "Yet, now I look again--yes. He is one of my
prisoners of yesterday. He commanded a body of cavalry which charged
us."
"Likely, likely," said Paco. "Do you know his name?"
"How should I?" answered Herrera.
"I will tell it you. It is Baltasar de Villabuena."
Herrera uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Impossible!" said he.
"Certain; I have seen him too often to mistake him."
Herrera made no reply. His hasty toilet finished, he bade Paco remain
where he was, and descended to the street. He approached the group of
guardsmen already mentioned.
"Your next move, gentlemen?" said he, after the usual salutation.
"To Pampeluna with the prisoners," was the reply. "A reconnoissance _en
force_ has gone out, but it may go far, I expect, before meeting with a
Carlist. They are completely broken, and at this moment I doubt if there
is one within a day's march."
"Yes," said another officer, "they are far enough off, if still running.
Caremba! what legs the fellows have! We caught a few, though, yesterday
afternoon, in spite of their powdering along. Old acquaintances, too,
some of them," he added.
"Indeed!" said Herrera.
"Yes; fellows who have served and marched side by side with us. Look
there, for instance; do you see that sullen, black-looking dog squinting
at us with such a friendly expression?"
"Who is he?" enquired Herrera.
"Baltasar de Villabuena, an old captain of our's before the war. He
resigned when Zumalacarregui took the field, and joined the Carlists,
and it seems they've made him a colonel. A surly, ill-conditioned cur he
always was, or we should not be standing here without a word of kindness
or consolation to offer him."
To the surprise of the guardsmen, Herrera, before the officer had done
speaking, walked up to the prisoner in question.
"Colonel Villabuena?" said he, slightly touching his cap.
"That is my name," replied the prisoner, sullenly.
"We met yesterday, I believe," said Herrera, with cold politeness. "If I
am not mistaken, you commanded the squadron which charged mine in the
early part of the retreat."
Baltasar nodded assent.
"Is your horse amongst those yonder?" continued Herrera.
"It is," replied Baltasar, who, without comprehending the drift of these
questions, began to entertain hopes that his rank and former comradeship
with many officers of the Christino army were about to obtain him an
indulgence rarely accorded, during that war, to prisoners of any
grade--the captured Carlists being looked upon by their adversaries
rather as rebels and malefactors than as prisoners of war, and treated
accordingly. He imagined that his horse was about to be restored to him,
and that he would be allowed to ride to Pampeluna.
"Yonder bay stallion," said he, "with a black sheepskin on the saddle,
is mine."
Herrera approached the officer commanding the guard over the prisoner,
spoke a few words to him, and returned to Baltasar.
"You will please to accompany me," said he.
Baltasar complied, and captive and captor advanced to the horses.
"This is mine," said Colonel Villabuena, laying his hand upon the neck
of a powerful bay charger.
Without saying another word, Herrera raised the sheepskin covering the
holsters, and withdrew from them a brace of pistols, which he carefully
examined. They were handsomely mounted, long-barrelled, with a small
smooth bore, and their buts were inlaid with a silver plate, upon which
a coronet and the initials E. de V. were engraved.
"These pistols, I presume, are also yours?"
"They are so," was the answer.
"You will observe, sir," continued Herrera, showing the pistols to the
officer on guard, who had followed him, "that I have taken these pistols
from the holsters of this officer, Colonel Baltasar de Villabuena, who
acknowledges them to be his. Look at them well; you may have to
recognise them on a future day. I shall forthwith explain to the
general-in-chief my motives for taking possession of them."
The officer received the pistols, examined them carefully, and returned
them to Herrera. Baltasar looked on with a perplexed and uneasy air.
Just then the brigadier, who was to command the column proceeding to
Pampeluna, rode into the plaza. The drums beat, and the troops stood to
their arms.
"Return to your place," said Herrera, sternly, to the prisoner. "We
shall shortly meet again."
And whilst Baltasar, alike disappointed and astonished at the strange
conduct of the Christino officer, resumed his place in the captive
ranks, Herrera betook himself to the quarters of the commander-in-chief.
This time Torres made no difficulty about introducing his friend into
the general's apartment. Cordova was lying at length upon a sofa in a
large cool room, a cigar in his mouth, a quantity of despatches on a
table beside him, two or three aides-de-camp and secretaries writing in
an adjoining chamber. He received Herrera kindly, complimented him on
his conduct in the preceding day's fight, and informed him that
particular mention had been made of him in his despatch to Madrid. After
an interview of some duration, Herrera left the house, with leave of
absence for a fortnight, signed by Cordova himself, in his pocket.
Proceeding to the barracks, he made over the squadron to his second in
command; and then mounting his horse, attended by Paco, and followed by
half a dozen dragoons, he took the road to the Ebro.