Fall of Pamplona—Deterioration of the Army—Duke of York’s
Orders—Orders of Merit—Church Service—Capture of French
Redoubts—March of the Army—Incidents of Foreign Service—Frequency of
Desertion—Wellington and the Lawyers.
Head-quarters, Vera, Nov. 5, 1813.
MY DEAR M——,
Here we are still, but rather nearer a move than when I wrote last.
Between business and my chum ——, who is still here with me, I could
never spare a moment to write. Even now, at three o’clock, I have been
five or six hours at work.
The weather has improved, however, these last two days, and now tends
to frost. Anything is better than the incessant wet we have here, up
to that part of the army at Roncesvalles; perpetual torrents from the
north-west, almost night and day, so that the roads have been nearly
impassable. At Roncesvalles they have had snow in the valley fourteen
inches deep. So close as in the valley of Baztan, at Elisondo, it has
been as rainy as here. We have now cold, thick, November, London, foggy
mornings, until nearly eleven o’clock forenoon, and then a clear fine
day, but not yet absolute frost. Thermometer about 36° or 37°. Meadows
all swampy. On the whole, however, the snow gentlemen have had much the
best of it, though a little uneasy as to their supplies just now, from
the fear of snow stoppages.
Pamplona has at last fallen, as you will have learnt by the last mail,
for I believe Lord Wellington kept the packet on purpose back two days.
The garrison, four thousand two hundred, it is said, are to embark
to-day at Passages if possible, at least as soon as they can be got
ready. Don Carlos made them submit to his terms, as we hear, _in toto_.
They were even compelled to give up the Juramentudas, besides the
fortification artillery. Report says fifty-seven field guns have been
found there. This shows us the danger we escaped by Lord Wellington’s
presence of mind, and the bravery of our men on the 28th of July last.
Had the French got a league further, they would have found this fine
field train all ready, and a reinforcement of near five thousand men
in the garrison. No one can tell how this might have changed matters.
We have still eighteen guns here, with the horses living on leaves,
fern, and corn, but ready to play upon a new star-work the French are
every day making more of, on a hill close to La Rhüne, which they still
occupy near Sarré. I think these guns will surprise them a little. At
present, I conclude, from general report, that we are only waiting for
the rains to run down and the roads to dry a little; and if the weather
of these last two days continue, every one says that we shall soon make
a push on.
Our men have had a miserable time of it lately; and when uncomfortable
and idle, I am sorry to say, they always make work for me. We hear of
daily losses, plunder, &c., and the Spaniards perform their part well
in this respect. General O’Lalor yesterday found his secretary had
run away, down towards Madrid, with nearly two thousand dollars, for
he trusted him with everything. Last time I dined at head-quarters
Lord Wellington got into a long conversation with me for nearly two
hours about the poor-laws, and the assize of bread, about the Catholic
question, the state of Ireland, &c., just as if he had nothing else
upon his mind. In many points we agreed very well, particularly as
to what would be necessary to be done in Ireland—if anything; but
he thinks nothing should be done at all. He is still alarmed at the
separation spirit which he thinks exists there, and the remains of a
Jacobin feeling in the lower classes in England.
_6th November._—Poor —— must pass an uncomfortable time with me here,
and yet I suffer much more from having him, and he is little aware how
inconvenient he is to me.
To-day, 6th November, I received three letters from England. I see
there is a magnificent order of the Duke of York about parcels to
the army, up to a ton weight, being forwarded to officers by the
Commissariat. A few parcels would make the Commissary stare a little,
when, with nearly twelve thousand mules, we can scarcely be supplied
with bread and corn, and not with forage. You seem to know so little
about the real state of things here in England, that I think the
General, who came half way up from Lisbon to review, and then gave it
up, should be employed to explain the difficulties in the duties of
office. The Commissary-general says that it will take him an entire new
office, which he must write home for, to keep the accounts which this
new plan will require.
Our troops at Roncesvalles have been terribly off; some of the guns
are buried in the snow there; some Spaniards, as well as English,
have perished by the cold, and one picket was obliged to be dug out.
I hear that they are now moving away, and that an attack by that pass
must be abandoned; but we shall soon know for certain if this dry
weather lasts. Our great men were all in the front, peeping to-day into
France from the mountains which surround this hollow. Our army-post
to one division, with the dragoon carrying it, was caught two days
since,—picked up, probably, as I was; he had got a little out of his
way, somehow. I hope no letters of importance were caught; but it was
provoking. The French, it is said, sent back one letter to General
Oswald, opened, and said that the rest were all immaterial; however,
they did not return them. The aide-de-camp of the late governor of
Pamplona has been here for the last two days, Monsieur Pomade, a
gentleman-like man; he says when the Vittoria army arrived at Pamplona
on June the 24th, the garrison was three thousand strong, and the
place provisioned for one hundred days complete, but that that army,
_en passant_, gave them a thousand more effective men and five hundred
sick. This caused them to give in sooner than they otherwise should. He
says that they never expected their present fate, but that they knew
nothing, and never had any communication whatever with France or Soult;
that they sent out several times, but never got any one in. This is
more than we can say at St. Sebastian, and does Don Carlos some credit.
The new crosses for the victories are very handsome—the medals so
so—and the former will look strange with a whole row of clasps, which
I suppose Lord Wellington must have now, for he has already two, up
to Salamanca, in addition to the cross. I think the thing is either
too general, or not enough so—a selection of distinguished men, of all
ranks, would be better than a general distribution to all of certain
ranks and situations. It now shows little more than that a man had a
certain rank in such a battle, and not that he performed anything more
than his neighbours. A selection might have descended with advantage
even to the privates. Of course many grumble, and are disappointed that
others have more marks and clasps than they have; that, however, would
always be the case.
_Sunday, the 6th._—Post-day for ordinary men—to-morrow for Lord
Wellington; so I proceed. For the first time these fourteen months I
have to-day been to a military church; I found that the service was
in-doors, and ventured, but was much reproached by my doctor. We were
in the newly-repaired large public town room, which has just been made
water and wind tight, as well as all the rooms round about it, for an
hospital, and will soon, it is to be feared, be filled with wounded.
So we go on clearing away one set of hobblers, and destroying houses
on both sides, then repairing and cleaning for the new set we are
about to make; and then clearing off again, and so on! This town is
just now clear of all the old wounded; and the large room was washed,
Dr. M’Gregor told me (though I should not have discovered it), for
those soon expected. I believe he wished not a little that we had gone
somewhere else to pray, and not made a dirt in his department. The
service was short, plainly read, but tolerably well; the sermon homely
and familiar, but good for the troops, I think, and very fair and
useful to any one. Lord Wellington was there, with his attendants, a
few officers, and our new staff corps.
On my return home, lo, and behold! I found —— very alert, waiting for
breakfast, as he had orders to march on to the front in half an hour,
and in less than that time, before breakfast was over, I saw Lord
Wellington and his suite all off on horseback to the front, to peep
again. It is not likely, however, anything can be done until to-morrow
at soonest, and it will be stiff work if the French do their duty as
they ought.
I now suspect that the packet will be kept until the result of what
is about to be done is known, unless there is another ship ready. My
letter must, however, go to-day; but I will try and send a line off, if
possible, by the same conveyance as the despatches. As I must not go
and peep, for fear of being picked up again and carried off further
next time, my communications will be dull and uninteresting now. A move
was becoming very necessary, for sickness had just commenced, and in
the mountains on the right horses were dying fast. If we can but beat
them well, we have a chance of some quiet quarter. Merely beating them
back, in my opinion, will not do for us; and if the French defend their
new works with as much steadiness as they have shown activity in making
them, you will have a long _Gazette_. We all think that their _morale_
is much shaken, and that the old soldiers will not stand now; if so,
the young ones will not hold out long, though it was observed that they
fought best on late occasions.
——, the last thing before he left, was at me again, about procuring his
brother to be made a Captain in the Navy by Lord Wellington’s interest,
though it might be thought I had sufficiently put him aside the first
time, as I have no humbug in these matters. It now became necessary
to refuse him in direct terms, assuring him that Lord Wellington had
continually said to me, “I never interfere with the Navy, when I can
help it, in any way; I let them have all their rights, that I may keep
all mine; and as I do not wish them to meddle with me, I never meddle
with them.” I should never have thought of asking Lord Wellington for
anything now except upon public grounds, such as repaying the Bayonne
banker, &c., as it is not my doctrine that because a man has done you
one favour you are, therefore, to ask him to do you another.
_Twelve o’clock._—Six more guns are now rumbling by through this place
to go up the pass. B——’s have been off some time; six more will, I
hear, be soon up, and these eighteen are all to be collected to play
upon the French new work, where they had yesterday got about twelve
together. It is feared that we must begin from the ground at too great
a distance, thirteen hundred yards, but I hope closer quarters will be
come to soon, for in my opinion the French succeed best at cannonading
and sharp-shooting, and we at the hand-to-hand work.
_Two o’clock._—The mail is said to go as usual, so I must close
directly, but I have no doubt the packet will be kept, as every one
says publicly that the attack is to take place to-morrow morning.
General Cole has just told me to go up to the top of La Rhüne, where I
must be safe, and must see everything. I shall not go, however, unless
I find all the quiet steady ones do the same, for though you may see
all, and if knowing, may be down again in time, yet mistakes may be
made by the unknowing, and I shall remain quietly here.
_Head-Quarters, Vera, November 9th, 1813._—I have this moment received
your packet of the 26th ult., with all the kind enclosures from aunts,
cousins, &c. The attack never took place on Monday the 8th, as I told
you in my last; the roads, from the wet, being so bad that I believe
the army could not be collected in time. To-morrow, however, is now
said to be the day, as the two last days have continued fine and mild,
the wind south, and the thermometer up at 52° again. It now looks
like rain, but is fine, and holds up as yet, with a wind south and
south-west; whilst all the rain came with a cold north-west wind. It
will not do, therefore, to make use of English weather-wisdom here.
Your English mail is thought nothing of. A _Gazette_ of the 25th had
got here first, and forestalled it; and we have to-day much greater
news from the French side, which is believed by every one here, and by
the French army as we are told; namely, that Bonaparte is beaten back
to the Rhine, with the loss of three divisions cut off by blowing up a
bridge too soon, &c.; one General taken, and one drowned, &c. This puts
our party in spirits for to-morrow, and will, I hope, damp the French
if believed by them, as the deserters report it to be.
The Portuguese are most anxious to enter France, and are in high
spirits; the grave ones, however, expect a great number of broken
heads, unless the French turn tail shamefully. You ask me about Baron
de Trenqueléon, and whether I thought of him whilst I was a prisoner.
I certainly did at Mont de Marsan, and found that I was within thirty
miles of him; and an emigrant there advised me to apply to go over to
see him, but I thought it might do us both harm, and, therefore, never
said a word upon the subject to any one. Major D—— had serious thoughts
of going as my servant with the baggage to look about; but it would
have been a dangerous experiment.
_The 10th November._—I dined with Lord Wellington last night, and staid
there till near ten. He was all gaiety and spirits; and only said on
leaving the room, “Remember! at four in the morning.” Monsieur Pomade,
the aide-de-camp to the governor of Pamplona, was there, and I sat
next to him and had some conversation with him. He had been told that
operations were going on, and that that was the reason he could not be
sent in yet to the French. To show what he expected to be the result,
he told me (when I begged him to tell the banker at Bayonne that all
his letters had been sent safely) that except from necessity and orders
he should avoid Bayonne, as he was not ready yet to be shut up again in
another town.
To-day every one was in motion here two hours before daylight; and
part of the cavalry passed through here at five o’clock. I got up, and
had all packed ready by daylight, and found that every one was gone
to see the glorious attack—even the doctors and the two parsons: so I
determined to venture up to the top of La Rhüne in the way General Cole
recommended. The day was beautiful. I passed the camp of the latter in
my way up, and should have heard there of any check. I then pursued
my way, and staid on the top from about eight until two, hearing and
seeing fire and smoke all the way along the hills from St. Jean de
Luz to near St. Jean Pied de Port. The whole was visible at once; and
I could see the men even with the naked eye, by the glitter of their
arms, for a considerable way. The French redoubts crowned the tops of
all their positions with deep ditches; and they had full shelter in
woods and houses; but our men slowly beat them on and on, from place
to place, forcing their way until all the right of the position seemed
ours. Two redoubts on the hill below me I saw abandoned shamefully,
when our men got round them. A large star fort on the top took more
time. The men from the others tried to make for it, but failed; though
mostly got off on our side. Those in the fort I left surrounded by our
men, who ran up in four or five directions to within about fifty yards
or less, firing as they ran; and then bobbed all down for shelter until
all were ready. They lay in this way nearly an hour. When satisfied
that the men shut up must be prisoners (as I hear they were) I returned
home.
On the ridge of hills all along the right, the rows of huts set on
fire added not a little to the scene. By whom they were burnt I know
not. The cannon roared away in the mountains. On the hill, amongst
others, I met Lord E. Somerset, the Cavalry General, gone up to look
out, with Colonel Vivian and Mr. Heaphy. He was there before me, when
the fighting was nearer, and declares that he saw one English soldier
bayonet two French officers who attacked him when advanced from the
others—first one and then the other. I hope that our loss has not been
severe, considering what the position was.
I believe we were to have moved to Sarré; but General Giron has taken
seventy houses there for his staff; and the rest are full of wounded.
From what I have heard, our officers think themselves well out of the
scrape. The left of our army towards St. Jean de Luz was refused;—that
is, the French were not pressed there much, in hopes of forming the
right so rapidly as to cut off a good lot on the left. That will not
probably be the case, but that they must move off to-night to a new
position, and not having such another line of works, the French must
stand to-morrow if attacked openly on the hills, or run for it. I have
seen no one yet, so only give you my own views, which may be probably
very wide of the _Gazette_. It was a terrible fag for my new mare, and
at top cool, and no room to walk about: I have in consequence a new
fidget, in her refusing her food. The troops will devour all the forage
in front, and I do not know how we shall get on at all. Adieu.
_Head-Quarters, St. Fé, November 12th, 1813._—At seven, yesterday
morning, we received orders to march; all the baggage to assemble at
Sarré, and wait there for orders. We did so; and on our way crossed
the first French redoubts and positions, and began to see our wounded
and the stripped dead lying about as usual. So starved and weak were
many of the animals, and so clayey and deep the roads, that the scene
had almost the appearance of a retreat, except that we passed all the
wounded and prisoners going to the rear, instead of marching with them.
The Spanish oxen were so starved, and thin, and weak, that during the
first league I counted probably about eleven lying down to die, whilst
every now and then a sergeant with his pike, or a soldier gave them
a stab, half out of humanity, and half to see the effect, and from a
sort of love of mischief. Then there were ten or fifteen poor women
belonging to the baggage of the division lamenting over their dying
donkeys and mules, whilst others were brutally beating some to death,
because they would not go farther. In every direction baggage was
falling off, and the whole formed a glorious scene of confusion. Near
Sarré I was caught in a violent storm, but got to a house for shelter
before I was wet, and there stood in the doorway of a deserted house,
with three dead bodies on the ground close by me; one certainly that of
an officer, from his clean skin, neatly-shaven beard and whiskers, and
from every remnant of his dress having been worth stealing. The other
two were Spaniards.
The Spaniards behaved tolerably in the field, but not like the fourth
and the light division. In plundering and mischief, however, they
excelled them. I found them, on passing, breaking and plundering one
of the best houses in Sarré. Our own people are grown expert hands at
this, and Lord Wellington threatens hanging, and, I believe, has hung
a few, but in vain. The people in general have fled, and the Spaniards
come in to carry off pots, pans, dishes, chairs, tables, &c., to
refurnish their own houses. At Sarré, I found the civil departments
were to stop there, and the military to come on to this place. My
baggage had gone by in part before I knew this; and besides that,
nowhere could a house be found by me. The Spaniards were in possession,
and firing, plunder, and confusion, were all around; I determined,
therefore, to come on here, and take my chance.
You will advise me to keep well in the rear for safety; but the
most knowing ones (in which opinion I agree) consider the rear as
the most unsafe place of any. All the vagabonds, plunderers, and
rascals—followers of the army—stick to the rear, and look about to do
mischief as soon as all the troops are passed. Besides which, it is not
clear here that the peasants, who all fly, may not return, and knock a
few on the head, though at present they seem terrified and excessively
alarmed. I found no quarters for me here; but at a little village
close by, where there were only the Commissary-general and a few of
his department, I took possession of a deserted house, which had been
ransacked, and cleaned it out a little in one place. Finding abundance
of food left for my horses for two or three nights, I thought myself
well off, though I was somewhat alarmed at having possession of the
last inhabited house on that road, lest any straggling attack should be
made, or the owners should come back in the night. There was, however,
no alternative. All the immediately useful part of my baggage was
behind, and never arrived at all, having been turned out of the road
by a Spanish division. Unluckily my neighbours were nearly in the same
state. Sir Robert Kennedy had barely enough for his own eating, and
went to bed leaving his servants to do the best they could.
H—— had nothing, his baggage not having arrived. Mr. H——n had one
half-loaf, and that served us all. Mr. M——, the storekeeper, had got
some mutton for Lord Wellington to-day, and he spared us a little bit
each; so I got one mutton chop, which was very lucky.
Between four and five, Henry went to inquire about marching, and,
finding no orders, we remained quiet. About seven or eight, he found
my two stray mules, and I got a loaf of bread and some potted butter
out of my stock, and made my contribution to the party, which was very
acceptable. I have since been down to head-quarters to know what is
going on; but can learn nothing except that we are ready now to cross
the Nive, and are prepared for that step; particulars I can hear none,
for only the clergyman, the doctors, and a straggling civilian, with
the provost guard, are to be seen.
I returned, therefore, to my deserted, desolate home. In my way I found
one of the owners of a house here who had been shot through the thigh
by a Portuguese; I got him to an hospital to be dressed, in the church,
where French, English, and all were lying to wait their turn, with now
and then a dead man. As soon as they are dressed, they are packed off
to the rear on mules, &c. So we go on!
The famous French bulletin has now been seen. Some say Bonaparte is
at Paris, and some think that he will come here. Others have a notion
that the people beyond Bayonne are ready to join us, if we proceed
on. I fear, however, the runaways will not encourage this much with
their exasperated stories of our conduct in their villages. To-day is
a very fine day again, and will, I hope, assist our operations much.
It is said that when our officers went up to the men in the star fort,
to call upon them to surrender, the Colonel commanding said, like the
governor of Pamplona, “Yes, on the terms of parole, not to serve for a
year and a day.” “No, no,” says the Englishman; “_prisonnier_.” “_Eh
bien, donc je ne me rends pas_,” says the Frenchman. “But you must
and shall, or you will all be murdered,” says the Englishman, and
then turned away. Upon which the Colonel very sulkily returned and
consented; and when his soldiers began to rejoice, and to quiz the _ré
papé_, and say, dancing about, that it was time it should all end, he
was most indignantly sulky, and has remained so ever since, complaining
of being sent off to England as a prisoner.
I have now under my window a characteristic scene. A short Portuguese
lad, bloated out with ration beef, with an old French helmet on, a
great red grenadier’s feather, and an old French uniform jacket and
pantaloons, with a dragoon broadsword, cutting down cabbages and apples
in the garden for his brother Portuguese, who has his apron ready to
receive them, whilst a dirty, brown, snuff-coloured Spaniard is looking
about on the other side with an old French musket trying to shoot
something eatable.
The mixture of the silence of a deserted village with the occasional
riotous noise of muleteers and stragglers, Portuguese and Spaniards,
as well as a few swearing English, is striking; but to a person not
actively engaged in what is going on, by which all minor considerations
vanish in the dangers and anxiety of the scene, there is a sameness of
misery and starvation, of wounds and of death, which, when the novelty
of the scene is over, becomes very unpleasant, especially without any
rational companion to talk to on what is passing. This appears to be
the house of a curé, for there are the remains of many comforts, and of
some books, chiefly religious, some crosses, &c.
I just now met a man who spoke English tolerably, and French well, but
would address me in Spanish, to say the people were plundering all the
flour at the only mill in the place which was at work, and he requested
a guard and wanted the Commandant. I luckily noticed by his feather
the Superintendent of the provost guard entering a house opposite, and
procured him a guard directly. So that one can be of some use without
meddling much.
I have just now had a Spaniard at my door to inquire how he could
get back safe to Spain, as he had wandered here alone, and dared not
return, and had nothing to eat. I have sent him off with a small bit of
bread and a shilling, and advised him to go and remain near the provost
guard, and keep with the first escort of prisoners which sets out for
Spain.
Nearly all the houses about me are empty, and I do not much like my
situation, but it is just now like that of a wife—for better, for
worse; so I must submit. I do not think we have a hundred men within
three miles, and not one soldier within half a mile, only commissaries
and young doctors, and a stray shot is fired every three or four
minutes. My own muleteers I have just stopped.
_November 13th._—Here I am still in my solitary abode. It has rained
all night, and the roads are running watercourses, which will, it
is to be feared, impede our progress. All, it is said, however, is
going on well. I have not seen a creature, or been out; only sent to
the Commissary-general, my neighbour, to ascertain whether we are not
to march, lest I should be left behind here. Several of the elderly
owners of houses have returned, but mine has not. Lord Wellington
has ordered what forage can be regularly used, and collected, to be
paid for punctually, and I understand has determined to send back at
least a part of the Spaniards, on account of their abominable conduct,
Longa’s people in particular. I am not surprised at it, but it spoils
all our plans. We were admitted quietly into St. Jean de Luz, and the
inhabitants remained there. The mayor offered to exert himself to
get what he could collected, to supply the troops regularly; and Sir
John Hope flogged the two first men he caught taking some wine—this
instantly; so I hope that town will be preserved.
We can never do well, if we go on driving all the population before
us. The few old people left here, and who are coming in, speak only
Basconee and a little Gascon, and no French. There is no making them
understand anything.
To-day would have been dreadful in the mountains, so we have at least
that reflection to comfort ourselves with. I send enclosed Lord
Wellington’s letter to me and Count Gazan’s. Pray keep the former, as I
shall always value it.
_4 o’clock, afternoon, November 13th._—It has been raining so
incessantly ever since morning, that I have not stirred from my hole,
and have, therefore, seen no one. I understand that all the grandees
were to have gone to the front at five this morning, but from the state
of the weather, they have all stopped at home—not for the fear of a
wetting themselves, but most likely from the impossibility of getting
through the country, and across rivers, when in such a state. It is
only wonderful how our men got on, as they did up the hills on the
12th. It was as much as I could do with my horse singly on a slippery
clay, either so hard that a horse could not stand on it, or so deep
that he was up to his knees, between the hard places. We are now,
however, nearly out of the Pyrenees, and I hope the roads will mend,
but from what I saw of the high road, this is doubtful.
_November 14th._—Still here at St. Fé, so the place is called in an
excellent old French map. Still rain, and nothing new, except that the
French have been well frightened, and mean, we are told, to quit the
new position they have taken, with their left on Bayonne, as soon as it
is attacked; that is, as soon I conclude as the roads will permit us to
move. The communications here are almost as bad as in Spain, and from
hence to St. Jean de Luz almost impassable. The Marquis of Worcester, I
have just heard, goes to-day in an hour.
_Head-Quarters, St. Jean de Luz, November 24th, 1813._—Having a little
leisure, I begin my weekly journal. The weather continues beautiful,
and I generally get my hour’s walk, and my hour’s ride daily. A brig
from Dartmouth sold off an immense stock of good English moulds
yesterday, in the morning, at 2_s._ 6_d._ a pound, by order from
head-quarters, and about five tons of potatoes, besides quantities of
porter, ale, beef, cheese, &c. The scramble of officers on board to see
and buy would have astonished you not a little. We have also some good
white wine.
Since our move from the mountains our men are all behaving much better:
they were becoming very bad; and desertion, even from the English to
the French, was frequent. The temptation of the old gentleman in the
high mountains was too much for the men. It has now almost ceased.
I hope, therefore, when we are a little quiet, and my arrears are
cleared off, that I shall have much less to do. The reports here now
are that Bonaparte’s aide-de-camp is at Bayonne, and that he himself is
expected. If so we may probably have some work to do here again, unless
he has been obliged merely to show himself here to convince his army
that he is still alive and well.
We had a little affair yesterday. Some of the light division were
ordered to drive in the French pickets in one place where they were too
forward, and our men being too zealous, pushed too far. In trying to
prevent this, a fine officer of the 43rd was taken, and a lieutenant
badly wounded, and some men lost. The only annoyance I suffer at
present in my quarters arises from the multiplicity of inhabitants,
namely, three old women, seven children, three dogs, two cats, and a
fair allowance of fleas, whom this late fine weather has revived. We
have lately had an arrival at Passages of a hundred and fifty oxen
from Ireland for the army, and are promised the same supply weekly.
This will do something; but our consumption is, I believe, about a
thousand a week. Our forage in this nook of France is as bare as in
the neighbouring parts of Spain; every field is eaten close down, and
all straw of corn and maize consumed. I sent twelve miles for straw
yesterday, and the mules have returned to-day empty. I mean now to try
bruised furze, to mix with their Indian corn, so as to hold out until
some more hay shall reach us from England.
_November 25th._—I have just heard that about two thousand of the
inhabitants returned here last night, but Soult would not suffer them
to carry much with them.
_November 26th._—There was no time for more yesterday, and to-day I
have nothing to add. I have still not heard anything from you later
than the 3rd, but we have papers here to the 13th. I cannot understand
how this has occurred. Through France we have news still later, and
have heard of the surrender of Davoust’s corps at Hamburg, on terms of
not serving for a year and a day. It is to be hoped that the terms may
be kept. I had a droll _malheur_ again to-day. Riding my pony into the
sea, into about six inches water, to wash his legs, a wave came, the
sand gave way, and he sunk up to his middle, so that my legs were up
to the calf in sand. I jumped off, and went over his head to run out,
fearing that he could not rise. We thus both got safely out. The poor
pony much more frightened than I was.
I conclude that everything goes on well, for Lord Wellington and his
gentlemen were out to-day with the hounds. He told me that I kept him
up reading Courts-martial until twelve o’clock at night or one in the
morning; and this every night. I hope, however, that this will not
last long. The Prince of Orange has got a complaint in his eyes, but
I believe only a cold, and he seems better. Nearly all our great men
except Lord Wellington have been ill.
Send me some law news, and good, for Lord Wellington expects me to
tell him who all the new judges are to be, &c., and is very fond
of discussing legal subjects. At first I was generally right in my
speculations: but I have now no means of knowing how things are going
on unless you keep up my credit; it must not be, however, by loose
reports.
I have a poor young Commissary, B——, under charges, who has, I think,
been very ill used by a Spanish alcalde. I fought his battle with Lord
Wellington to-day to get him released from arrest. He is very well
spoken of, and said to support his two sisters. Can he be a brother of
the Miss B——’s whom you know? I detected the Spanish General F—— in
a little bit of a fib on this subject. His excuse for not answering
my letter for eight days was, that it had been delayed in the post. I
complained, and his receipt for the letter was produced the day after
it was sent—this on the back of the cover.
_Sunday, November 29th._—Still no news, and no accounts from England.
We are all anxiety. I have just returned from church at the drum-head,
on the sands by the sea. Two brigades of guards present in their best,
and white trousers, &c., and Lord Wellington and his staff here. It was
rather cold work. The weather is beginning to change again, I fear, for
rain, just as the roads were becoming passable. You have no conception
how soon fifteen thousand sharp-footed heavy-laden mules in rain, cut
up a road in this country, even when at first tolerably good. We have
been amused with Cobbett’s attributing all Bonaparte’s misfortunes
to his being grafted into the old stock. If he can now manage well
he may, I think, still get his little king Pepin graft to thrive in
France, and beat Mr. Knight and our gardeners. The true cause of all
is, however, that the _morale_ of the people of Europe is changed. It
was France, army and people, against mere armies and bad governments,
whilst all the people in Europe were indifferent at the least. This is
now reversed; and it is now a mere French army against every people and
army; and Frenchmen at least quite indifferent.