The Spanish Bride

5

Although the division had been ordered to fall in by ten o’clock, they did not, after all, march until noon. There was much to be done to clear up the inevitable confusion resultant upon such a victory. The wounded had to be established in Vittoria; the dead had to be decently buried; and every regiment suspected of plunder was made to line up its kitbags for inspection.

His lordship, whose plans to encircle and annihilate King Joseph’s army had miscarried, owing partly to Graham’s failure to push home a vigorous attack from the north, and partly to Dalhousie’s dilatoriness, was in the vilest of tempers. Yet although over fifty thousand Frenchmen had managed to escape from the field, every one but two of their cannons had fallen into his lordship’s hands, and not even Salamanca had been such a smashing victory. The King had fled, and his army was straggling after him, all the divisions but Reille’s in a state of disastrous disorder; and their objective was France, where only the King could think himself safe. But none of this made his lordship better-tempered. A large preponderance of his devoted troops had spent the night following the battle not in getting much-needed rest and food, but in searching the ground for plunder. The twinkling of many lanterns had made the stubble-fields beyond Vittoria look like a fair-ground, and naturally all the cases of wine had been disposed of, so that a number of good soldiers, when the order to fall-in was blared out on the trumpets, were sleeping the sleep of the totally drunk in ditches and under hedges. Some waggish (souls, finding the uniforms of French officers amongst the I baggage, had dressed themselves up in these, a jest not exactly calculated to appeal to their Commander-in-chief’s sense of humour. But worse than these excesses was the disappearance of the greater part of King Joseph’s treasure. Though priceless pictures, cut from their frames and rolled up in special containers, were to be found stowed away in the royal coaches, or spilled out of burst chests; though silks and brocades were packed layer upon layer in strong boxes; and silver chalices, candlesticks, and pieces of gold plate were dragged out from under carriage-seats; though more than a hundred and fifty pieces of cannon had been captured, an Eagle, a stand of colours, and no less a trophy than Marshal Jourdan’s baton (which his lordship sent off to the Prince Regent, with his humble duty); only one-twentieth of the money sent from Paris came into his lordship’s custody. ‘The soldiers of the army have got among them about a million sterling in money,’ wrote his lordship bitterly, to Earl Bathurst. The search through the kit-bags failed to discover the missing treasure. His lordship said that the battle had totally annihilated all order and discipline. The rank-and-file were composed of the scum of the earth; the non-commissioned officers were as bad; and none of the officers performed any of their duties. ‘It is really a disgrace to have anything to say to such men as some of our soldiers are,’ wrote his lordship, but, happily, for Earl Bathurst’s private consumption only.

But however much treasure his lordship’s troops had plundered, and however many bottles of wine they had drunk, none offered the least violence to any of the distracted French or Spanish civilians, who had been abandoned by the flying army. There were many women and children amongst these, some of the children were quite lost, and wailing dismally for their mothers. They were comforted by being fed on all the most unsuitable foods found amongst the French baggage-train; and the Comtesse de Gazan’s little boy, not apparently at all dismayed by the loss of his parent, was actually adopted by one soft-hearted soldier. He was later discovered, and returned, protesting loudly, to his mother, who had, to do her justice, signified her complete willingness to relinquish him to his new protector. When the division, which led the centre column, began their march along the Pampeluna road, their progress, like that of the rest of the army was slow. The soldiers were tired, and they had been gorging themselves on roast mutton, having captured some flocks of the enemy’s sheep, and killed :and eaten them. Nearly every man’s haversack was found to be weighed down with pilfered flour, and large joints of fresh-lolled mutton, and when this booty was thrown away, which it soon was, the brigades were able to march a little faster. Ahead of the infantry, Victor Allen’s horse were harrying the French rear-guard, and rounding up the stragglers. His lordship complained that his men were so fagged-out that he had no fresh troops to send forward to cut off the ragged retreat, but there were a great many Colonels who would have hotly refuted this accusation, had they known of it The number of prisoners taken during the battle had been ridiculously small: a fault, said the infantry, to be laid at the cavalry’s door.

The weather was appalling. Thunder rolled incessantly, and the rain came down in torrents, turning the causeway in some places into a swamp through which the swearing troops had to wade knee-deep. A steep climb, and a sharp descent through a defile led to Salvatierra, where all roads met, and the right and left columns were obliged to join the centre column. Ahead, the mountains of Navarre seemed to bar the way.

There was a change in the order of the march during the afternoon, his lordship, on his Quartermaster-General’s advice, directing Graham, with the greater part of his force, to march north, towards the great Bayonne chaussee, cut during the battle by Longa’s Spanish troops. Finding and diverting Graham’s men on an afternoon of drenching rain and low mists was no easy task; there was a good deal of confusion; and some of the advanced cavalry did not receive the orders until nightfall. Wellington’s temper, said his Staff, was getting worse. He was snapping at everyone, and before the day ended he had found a scapegoat. Through the damp bivouacs that evening, an incredible piece of news flew from camp-fire to camp-fire: his lordship had placed Norman Ramsay, his most brilliant artillery-officer, under arrest, for having misunderstood an order given to him by his lordship in person. No one, from private to General, who had seen Ramsay burst through the mass of the French infantry at Fuentes de Ofioro, at the head of his battery, could hear such news unmoved. The army forgot its grievances in indignation. Nothing else was talked of, and the epithets used to describe his lordship were anything but flattering. Anson, to whose brigade Ramsay was attached, represented to his lordship what splendid work he had performed on the previous day, at Vittoria; quite a number of senior officers took their courage in their hands, and interceded for him; but his lordship was implacable. The discipline of the whole army was lax, and he meant to make an example of Captain Ramsay.