The Emperor, warned of this movement, ordered me to push forward a strong reconnaissance in the rear of the enemy towards Toro, by way of Avila, and to return to give him all the information possible as to the movements of the English forces.
I started on December 19. Hitherto it had been very hot, quite like summer; but now the weather suddenly became cold. The ground was covered with snow, and it was with difficulty that I crossed the Guadarrama mountains, along which two of our cavalry divisions, that under Coulaincourt and Laboussaye’s dragoons, were posted in echelon. The latter general gave me eighteen hundred dragoons, and at their head I marched upon Fontiveres, where I arrived without noise at midnight. I let the horses rest for an hour, surrounding my camp with vedettes, to guard against being surprised and denounced by the Spaniards, who were so clever in reporting our numbers, after which I started at a brisk trot to go and surround Palacios, where the road between Salamanca and Madrid branches off, and where I hoped to surprise a few detachments of the enemy, make them prisoners, and get some news. We arrived at Palacios a little before daybreak, in a heavy fall of snow, which helped us to hide our approach.
After posting my guards round Palacios, and in the plaza mayor of that town, and ordering them to keep perfect silence, I went to the house of the Alcalde, who had been woke by the noise made by our horses, though it was deadened by the snow. He was just hurrying out in alarm when I arrived, and I prevented him from leaving the house. He at once asked me to whom he had the honour of speaking, and, profiting by his uncertainty, I replied in Spanish, ‘What, don’t you know your own friends?’ At these words he beamed with joy, and exclaimed, ‘Ah, you are English?’ I gave him a sign to speak low, whispering, ‘Hush! hush! the French are not far off; they are pursuing us. Ever since we left Madrid we have been trying to rejoin the English army, which we expected to find here. Just show me in which direction it is.’
He answered immediately: ‘The rearguard, under General Ward, were here yesterday with the Hamilton division, but have now left for Medina; they were following the Commander-in-Chief, General Moore, who is marching to-day on Valladolid, with the Fraser, Spencer, and Beresford divisions, to support the Marquis de la Romana. But you must make haste to be off, for a body of French cavalry some 1,800 strong arrived at Fontiveres at midnight, and may be here any minute.’
‘My dear Alcalde,’ I said, ‘I congratulate you on being so well informed, and am very much obliged to you for giving me all these details, which I shall certainly turn to account at once. But every instant is precious. Tell me how many men Ward and Hamilton had with them.’ At this question he hesitated, and interrupting me, he said, ‘Wait a minute; I had an express messenger from head quarters here this very night, who saw everything; he will be able to tell you all about it better than I can.’ The rascal of an Alcalde wanted to get away from me into the street, to make sure whether we really were English; but I insisted on his sending his servant for the messenger, instead of going himself. The servant went off, and the Alcalde and I had hardly exchanged half a dozen words before the messenger hurried in, trembling with excitement, and nearly dead with terror at having found the town occupied by troops, whom he took to be French. The Alcalde, however, directly he saw him, called out, ‘These gentlemen are English.’ The messenger, seeing my scarlet trousers and shako, also took me for an Englishman, and in his joy and relief he kissed my hands and answered all my questions, describing to me very clearly the positions of Generals Baird and Hill, the number of horses, of guns, and of battalions, the direction he had seen them take, &c., winding up by saying that their skilful manśuvring would lead to the French getting a tremendous thrashing.
During this conversation the Colonel of dragoons who had accompanied me was warming himself at the brasero without speaking at all, but now he undid his overcoat to shake the snow from it, and the Alcalde caught sight of the Cross of the Legion of Honour on his breast. He went up to the Colonel, touched the cross, and said to me, ‘Pero, Señor Oficial, esta cruz no es Inglesa!’ (But, Sir Officer, that cross is not English!) I replied, ‘Yes, yes, it is; damn it! it is a cross of the order established in honour of the battle of Aboukir, won by Nelson; don't you see that the ribbon is the colour of the British flag?’
This answer did not seem to satisfy him, and approaching the messenger, he whispered in his ear, ‘Creo que son Franceses!’ (I believe they are French!) I heard, and as naturally as I could I placed myself between them and tried to divert their attention. But the messenger began to stammer in his speech, and the Alcalde, getting more and more uneasy, presently exclaimed in a low voice, ‘Son Franceses!’ (They are French!) Then, dropping all disguise, I shouted, ‘Yes, we are French! and now I will force you to finish telling me the rest of what I have learnt by stratagem.’ The messenger was really only a wretched spy in the pay of the English, a poor half-starved creature, more like a tipstaff than anything, with a pinched and shrivelled skin, looking as if he had had nothing but garlic to eat for months. His feet, shod only with sandals of grey thread, his thin legs cased in laced gaiters, his scanty leather breeches open at the knee, his wide drooping sash disguising the leanness of his body, his brown vest all too short, the red handkerchief twisted into a rope and worn on his head, which it left bare at the top, his shaven scalp and long matted hair, his heavy eyebrows almost meeting in his terror, his glittering eyes and gleaming teeth, combined to make up a grotesque and grovelling appearance, such as provokes the rope or the bastinado. His gestures of terror betrayed clearly enough what he expected. He flung himself at my feet and begged for mercy. I made him get up; it was my business to turn him to account, not to ill-treat him, but his brains were in such a muddle with his fright that I could get no more out of him, and the Alcalde, who was also in a great fright, now evaded my questions.
Meanwhile my guards had arrested General Don José Valdes and a few stragglers who were trying to escape from Palacios, where they had slept, and they were now brought to me as prisoners. I interrogated them each separately, and though their answers were evasive enough I managed to make sure that I was behind the English army, which was gathering up all its strength to attack our right wing. I recognised the necessity of alarming the enemy as promptly as possible, and in the presence of my prisoners I ordered the Alcalde to have provisions prepared for 20,000 men and forage for 4,000 horses, who would arrive in the course of the day, and of whom we were the advance guard. I had no desire to encumber myself with prisoners, so I now released my captives, allowing them to continue their route, and just before they left I repeated my orders to the Alcalde to see about the provisions for our army as quickly as possible. I then told my Colonel not to remain behind for more than a few hours after me to rest his horses, but to rejoin his division as soon as possible. I exchanged my weary posthorse for the fresh mount I had taken from General Valdes, ordered a young guide, who thought I was English, to get on to the messenger’s horse, and started at a gallop by the shortest route to rejoin the Emperor.
I was not without anxiety in thus crossing without escort a hostile country where in the last few days Colonel Mirabeau, Captain Menard, and two or three other officers engaged in various missions had been assassinated. But full of confidence in the fact that my costume was deceptive, and that I could speak six foreign languages fluently, I thought of nothing but how best to serve the French cause, and this gave me the presence of mind, energy, and nerve which carried me safely through my enterprise. My chief difficulty was in getting the postillions at the posthouses to give me relays of horses quickly enough for me to get off before the crowds which everywhere collected on my arrival were strong enough to stop me. Never before, perhaps, had the horrible English oath done better service than it did on this journey of mine. The liberal use of gold and of the magic words ‘Damn it!’ won me success beyond my hopes. For all that, I was delayed by a rather serious contretemps some ten or twelve leagues from Palacios. It was late in the day, and the night was evidently going to be pitch dark, when my guide found he no longer knew the way. There were no relays of horses to be had in the village we were approaching, and there was nothing for it but for me to go to the Alcalde, who was also the innkeeper, and ask him to help me. I made my request in English as if I were an English officer, but before answering he looked me well over with an anxious expression, finally observing, ‘We have no horses here, and you are French. If I let you leave now, you will probably be murdered by the peasants of this village. You had better not come in here, where there are a lot of fellows who will combine against you; but if you like to go up to a room I will show you, I'll bring you some food and you can rest in security. I will also give your horses some oats, and find you a guide.’
What was I to do? It seemed as dangerous to stop as to go on. If only it were a clear night, if only I knew the way, if only f could tell our bearings . . . The songs I could hear from the adjoining rooms were not calculated to reassure me, for the patriotic national hymn was being shouted out, ‘Vivir in cadenas, mejor es morir’ (Better to die than to live in chains). On the other hand, the offer of the Alcalde seemed genuine enough, and without hesitating long I said to him, ‘If you look at me you will see that I am able to sell my life dearly; but your honest face inspires me with confidence, and I will trust you.’ A few minutes after I had reached my room, my host brought me some first-rate Spanish bread, some fish seasoned with red pepper, and some rancio from the Peñas valley. I tossed off a few bumpers, stretched myself out on my bed of straw with my sword beside me, pondered a bit on the importance of my mission, and commending myself to God, I slept the deep sleep of a man exhausted with fatigue.
At three in the morning I saw a ray of light stream through the keyhole, and heard my door opened gently. It was the Alcalde, who, seeing me sitting up on the alert, made me a sign to be silent, and coming up to me said: ‘All is ready.’ He at first refused to take payment, but in the end accepted a gold piece, led me to my horses, told the new guide he had procured to take good care of the English officer, held my stirrup as I mounted, and shook me cordially by the hand with the air of a man who knows he has done a good action, finally dismissing me with hearty Spanish words of farewell, ‘Vaya Usted con Dios!’ (God be with you!)
About noon I had crossed San Vicente, and reached Valdea amongst the mountains. The priest of the village and a few peasants were in the street when I was changing horses, and overwhelmed me with questions whilst my horse was being saddled. I gave myself out as an Englishman, the bearer of a flag of truce commissioned to arrange for an exchange of prisoners. This account was accepted in good faith till the priest, who was a sharp fellow and more suspicious than the peasants, walked round me, and noticing a golden eagle on my sabretache he said, pointing at it, ‘Señor, las aguilas non son reales (Sir, eagles are not royal). Why do you wear that eagle if you are English?’ ‘It is the sabre of a French officer I took prisoner,’ I answered, drawing out the blade; ‘look what good steel it is, although it was not made at Toledo!’ As I brandished it, laughing and boasting of my prowess with the aim of keeping inquisitive folk at a distance, my horses were led up ready, and I mounted, glad enough to get away from the priest, who knew too much about the difference between Imperial and Royal armorial bearings. The noise I heard behind me as I rode off showed me that I had had a narrow escape. A terrible storm hindered me still farther in my journey, and I did not reach the town of San Raphael at the foot of the Guadarrama mountains till midnight.
On December 2, during my absence, the Emperor had heard from the reports of his Marshals of the bold advance of the English on our right flank. He at once went to Madrid, and at the head of the troops of the centre he was advancing to cut off the retreat of the enemy. I found the whole of the Imperial Guard at San Raphael. The storm had been so terrible on the mountain that many men and horses had been swept over precipices, where they had perished. The Grenadiers, exhausted with fatigue, were sleeping on the frozen ground covered with masses of snow and ice beside their fires, which were all but extinguished by the rain and hail, which were still falling. Some 10,000 men without any shelter at all were gathered about the chapel and one or two little huts near by, belonging to the officiating priest of San Raphael, which was a great resort of pilgrims, and where the Emperor had been compelled to halt to rally his troops, dispersed and delayed by the storm. I dismounted at the door of the chapel, and was taken at once to the Emperor, who was standing up studying some maps.
‘Ah! there you are!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was uneasy about you. Have you brought rue good news?’ I told him all the details I had been able to collect as to the movements of Generals Moore and De la Romaña, and my report, combined with the accounts brought by others, confirmed him in his intention of pressing on his march to surprise the English. He made me tell him the subterfuge by means of which I had got all my information, and managed to return to him safe and sound. He laughed like a child when I described the fright I had given the Alcalde, the express messenger, and the prisoners of Palacios, and after asking a great many questions about the state of the road and the nature of the district I had traversed, he laid aside the gracious, fascinating manner natural to him, and resuming the Imperial gravity he said in a tone of command, ‘That will do; go and rest.’
Rest! That was anything but easy. There was not a square foot of shelter from the rain not already invaded by sleepers piled one on top of the other, so I went to the door of the chapel, and amongst the snoring soldiers I took my stand by one of the fires which was still smouldering, and as I stood there gazing sadly into the embers, which threw out but little heat, and watched them being quenched by the rain, I mused on our dreams of happiness, which, like our camp fires, had been so bright at first, but were equally fleeting. Feeling very low-spirited, I had just tightened my sash to dull the pangs of hunger, when I felt a touch from behind me, and something was forced into my hands. I turned sharply round and found Josserand, the Emperor’s steward, at my elbow, who had come to cheer me up. ‘Hush! hush!’ he whispered. ‘Take this, sent to you by the Emperor; but don't let any one see it, because he can’t do as much for every one.’ I was much too polite to refuse some supper. I begged Josserand to thank the Emperor for thinking of me when he had such weighty affairs on his mind, and the good fellow smuggled into my hands a flask of Bordeaux wine with some bread and a bit of pâté de foie gras made from some luckless goose or duck of Toulouse or Strasburg, I'm sure I don't know which, but anyhow the Emperor’s gift was exceedingly good eating. I turned my back on the fire, the light from which might have betrayed me and made others jealous. I no longer saw the embers which had suggested such melancholy reflections, and as I did full justice to the present sent to me by his Majesty my confidence in Providence returned, I once more believed in an ever generous Power ready to forgive our ingratitude, and I was ashamed that I had ever doubted it.
An hour later, and long before daybreak, the signal to start was given in silence, passed from one to the other without sound of drum or trumpet. Each man as he rose shivering with cold broke and shook off the ice with which he was covered, and went to mount his horse or take his place in the ranks, and the column resumed its march. The rain still poured down, and the roads were all but impassable; we had met with no such mud anywhere else but in Poland and Champagne. The terrible state of the roads greatly retarded our march. The enemy, having just heard of the departure of the Emperor from Madrid, had hastily abandoned the plan of attack and commenced the retreat on Coruña. But for the delays the English army would have been caught between two fires, and it would have been very difficult for it to escape destruction. On the 25th we were at Tardesillas on the Douro, where we greatly harassed the English rearguard, and on the 26th our advanced guard crossed the Esla torrent and entered Benavente. It was a pretty fine night, and the water having temporarily subsided our cavalry were able to ford the river, but we were scarcely over when the rain began again.
The English vedettes retired at our approach, and just as we were charging into Benavente in pursuit of them several squadrons of the enemy came into action, presenting a bold front so as to give other squadrons time to turn us and cut off our retreat. Lefebvre-Desnouettes was at the head of the Chasseurs of the Imperial Guard, and emboldened by the tried courage of the troops he commanded, he did not pay enough attention to this manśuvre of the enemy, and draw back soon enough, so that the English hemmed us in all round in our retreat. Lefebvre-Desnouettes was taken prisoner with a hundred of his men, whilst I was one of the few who escaped back to the stream, which had meanwhile become so greatly swollen that it could only be crossed by swimming. I was a good swimmer, and I did not hesitate to make my horse plunge in, dropping the reins and clinging on only by his mane. The whirling and rushing of the water made me quite giddy, and when I got to the other side I was chilled to the bone, and very much surprised to find myself still alive. A few Chasseurs were drowned, but about a hundred escaped as I did from being cut or shot down, taken prisoners, or swept away in the water. But, alas! what strange quarters and painful experiences awaited me in the village to which I went to rejoin head quarters, and try and find somewhere to rest with a fire to dry my clothes! The houses were deserted by their inhabitants, but crowded with the troops prevented from crossing by the swelling of the torrent. Every shelter was full of men and horses, and I had a long struggle, worse than any I had had with the English, before I could get the privileged Imperial Guard to let me have a corner where I could place my beloved horses under cover from the rain. In the rapid movements of a war such as that we were engaged in, the care of our horses was of vital importance, for on them victory often depended.
When I got to the but which formed the head quarters, I found spread out an abundant repast such as the care of the Chief of the Staff usually managed to secure for the aides-de-camp. Still very wet but warmed up a little by a good meal, I set off to try and find an unoccupied corner in which I could stretch my weary limbs and get a nap. I found one at last, a humble place enough, where the master of the house had plucked his plump gallinas or fowls. I put a plank over a pile of blood-stained feathers and down, rolled myself up in my cloak, and lying down on my rather rickety couch I was already happily wrapt in a deep sleep when the door of my retreat was suddenly knocked in. Startled by the noise I sat up, thus throwing too much weight on the middle of my perch; I broke it and tumbled into the feathers, which rose up in clouds about me. The intruder was one of the two brothers Stoffel, who had quite recently left the Spanish service and joined our head quarters as interpreters. As much bothered with the rain as I was, but not quite so inured to hardship, he too was trying to find a dry corner to rest in, and, candle in hand, thinking only of his own comfort, he took no notice of the unhappy wretch flung by his entrance into a heap of stinking feathers, and I, enraged at finding my hopes of a sleep destroyed by the breaking of my plank, shouted out angrily, ‘What do you want?’ My appearance and position doubtless led the intruder to suppose that I was of the lowest rank, for he answered brusquely enough, ‘I want a bed.’ ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘you see there are none here, and you have made me destroy my only chance of a sleep.’ Seeing him still insensible to my sufferings, I jumped up, exclaiming, ‘Sir, when people see a French officer they take their hats off.’ Whether he understood or not he kept his head covered, and in my rage at his indifference I flung his hat on to the stairs, and gave him a push in the same direction. I then picked the door up, intending to shut it on him, but he stumbled away shouting at me with a strong German accent, ‘Fous êtes un prutal!’ (You're a brute!) and disappeared. Left alone in the dark I had great difficulty in rearranging my bed, but by hook or by crook I managed to fix it up, and was soon asleep again, my happy dreams undisturbed by fear of the consequences the untoward incident might have.
The next day the army resumed its march on Benavente, which had been hastily abandoned by the English, who were afraid of being surrounded there. A melancholy sight, which upset us all very much, met our eyes when we entered the town. The English horses were less accustomed to the fatigues and privations of war than ours, and a very great many of them had been wounded in the legs or on the withers, so that they were unable to follow the army. Unwilling to abandon them to the enemy, who might have nursed their back to health and used them, their masters had barbarously hamstrung them, and the appearance of five or six hundred beautiful creatures thus mutilated moved us almost to tears. Even the Spanish were indignant at this cruelty, and, disposed as they were to look on their allies as heathens, they came to the conclusion that the poor horses had been mutilated in this way as a sacrifice to idols.
The Emperor entered Astorga on January 1, 1809, after gloriously winding up the year 1808 by the successes his armies had everywhere achieved, throwing into disorder the whole English army, which was hastily retreating towards Coruña. Marshal Soult received instructions to pursue hotly and drive the enemy into the sea, and the Emperor and his suite halted a few days at Astorga to direct the various operations.
The new year’s gift I was to receive on January 2 was not at all in harmony with the rejoicing of the first day of the year. I was on duty and alone in the ante-room at head quarters, when M. Stoffel, the elder brother of the officer of that naive who had tumbled me into the feathers a few days before, carne in and said to me very politely, ‘Until recently, sir, the foreign officers on the staff had every reason to congratulate themselves on the courtesy and consideration shown to them by you; you never treated them with the haughty disdain of some of your brother officers, who, proud of their titles, often gave us cause of complaint, and it is with regret that I learn that you have lately taken to sharing their want of respect for us.’ ‘I know what you mean,’ I answered. ‘You are speaking on behalf of your brother.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and as foreigners, whose courage is not yet proved, we cannot allow the incident to pass over without demanding satisfaction.’ ‘As you refer to proving your courage, I am afraid the excuses I could offer to your brother would not satisfy him. I am on duty till noon: but at one o’clock I shall be at your service. My brother, who is returning from Lisbon, will be here then with his regiment, and we will have a family council.’ ‘That will suit us, sir,’ was the reply. ‘I will return at one o’clock,’ and he took his leave.
‘What a bother!’ I said to myself. ‘I, who detest the stupid prejudice which makes it impossible to avoid a duel, am now dragged into one myself. The fear of appearing a coward really is a piece of culpable pusillanimity, and it is a proof rather of want of courage than of the reverse not to dare to express one’s aversion to risking one’s life in a single combat when there are plenty of other opportunities of proving one’s valour in presence of a thousand dangers. Might not a duel deprive my country of two of its best defenders? Does a duel make a skilful rogue and bully respectable? Or is an honest fellow who falls beneath the sword of a swashbuckler contemptible?’ Such were the questions I put to myself, and it struck me that it really would be a good thing to look upon the two parties to a duel as mentally afflicted, one because he was fool enough to insult the other, and the other because the insult has inflicted on him a mental injury. This state of things once admitted, the seconds, who are able to judge of the cause of quarrel calmly and dispassionately, should be bound in honour, and by certain rules to be agreed upon, to effect a reconciliation in every case. Society and civilisation would doubtless gain greatly by the abolition of the barbarous custom of rushing to a duel to atone for one offence by committing a yet greater one, resulting often in the death of the innocent party. I was still musing on this weakness of humanity when at the hour appointed M. Stoffel reappeared.
In spite of myself I was really as much under the tyranny of the point of honour as any one, and I gaily accompanied M. Stoffel to the place where I expected to find my brother with his regiment. But, alas! on his return from Portugal he had been ordered elsewhere with his corps, and I was unable to find him. ‘It doesn’t matter, however,’ I said to M. Stoffel; ‘you must be second for both of us, and I have full confidence in myself.’ We found his brother awaiting us outside the ramparts. Snow had been falling heavily for the last two days, and it lay on the ground more than four inches deep, so that there was not a clear space suitable for our trial of skill. Seeking about we re-entered the town by a breach where traces of the assault could still be seen, and finally fixed on a spot rather freer from snow in the vaults of a hospital which had been broken open by the same cannonade which had thrown down the walls. Several dead bodies completely stripped lay upon the flagstones awaiting burial, and here and there the blood-stained ground was strewn with quantities of grain. Tired of hunting for a suitable place, we dragged a few of the horrible witnesses out of our way, and swept a space clear of rubbish with some bundles of faggots which were ready to our hands. In thus removing the blood and grain covering the stories we uncovered several inscriptions marking the resting places of the dead, and I confess that my heart sank a little when I came upon my own names, Ludovico Francisco. But I soon conquered the qualms which I attributed rather to disgust than fear; we stripped before crossing swords, the elder brother, sole spectator of the scene, holding our clothes, which would have been soiled if they had been laid on the ground.
I was in no mood to brook further delay, and I made a vigorous attack upon my adversary, who prudently withdrew before me, awaiting his chance of taking me off my guard; but I gave him no time for that, and he had retreated some ten paces when I drove him against the wall, and seizing his right arm with my left hand I held the point of my sabre at his breast. Our faces nearly touched. I felt none of the ferocious courage which would have enabled nee to drive my blade home in the body of one who had done nothing to offend me, but as I had to beware of a surprise I sprang back and resumed my guard.1 A second time my adversary was pinned against the wall in the gloomiest part of the vault and threatened in the same manner. Still unwilling to kill him, I said, ‘Must I?’ His eyes glared at me menacingly, but terror prevented him from answering. I could not make up my mind to sacrifice him, and feeling a little doubtful of the brother, who was behind me, I sprang back to my original position, and wiping my sabre, my hands, and my face, all splashed with our blood, I said, ‘That is enough for the present; but if you are not satisfied yet we can meet again,’ and I left them. It was not till long afterwards that I learnt of what service my frank audacity had been to me, for my adversary turned out to be a very noted fencer. We neither of us received any but slight wounds, but we were both a good deal scratched. The affair lasted so short a time that we were both able to appear an hour later at the review, held by the Emperor, of the Lorson and Laborde divisions, which had just joined us at Astorga. No one even noticed our disfigurement.
1 This was an infringement of the etiquette of duelling forbidding the seizing of the adversary’s sword arm. – Trans.
That same day one of my friends, General Franceschi, a very clever sculptor, who had been with me in the Compagnie des Arts and had now risen to the rank of Major-General, had a brilliant affair with the troops under the Marquis de la Romaña, by whom the army under Marshal Soult had been surrounded, General Franceschi took 1,500 prisoners at Mansilla.
The English endeavoured to hold Prieras and Villafranca, but were dislodged by General Merle on January 3. During the six preceding days 10,000 Spanish and more than 1,500 English had been taken prisoners. In the last affair we lost a very interesting man, one of the flower of the army on account of his fine figure, his courteous bearing, and his chivalrous courage. He bore the distinguished name of Colbert, to which his conduct added fresh lustre. In advancing through the outposts with our skirmishers to attack the enemy, he received a ball in the forehead. The gallant young general was deeply regretted; he left behind him a widow, a son, and two brothers. Madame de Colbert was the daughter of the Comte de Canclaux, a general of engineers, to whom I had been under great obligations in previous campaigns.
When we entered Villafranca, we again met with the horrible spectacle of some 500 fine horses which had been brutally murdered.
On January 15, after having seen their powder magazines blown up, accidently or of a purpose, at Coruña, the English gave us battle outside that town. The embarkation of the wounded had already commenced, and they were probably anxious to cover that difficult operation.
Taking advantage of the heights of Elvina, their position was favourable, but Marshal Soult’s attack was so vigorous that they lost all their guns, some 3,000 men, their commander-in-chief, Sir John Moore, an admirable leader, whose loss was deeply regretted in England, and many generals, including Lord Crawford, Sir David Baird, Lord Stanhope, and others who fell in the terrible struggle. On the 16th the town of Coruña was bombarded, and whilst the beach outside was covered with all that was left of the British army, struggling to reach the ships, the flames and smoke of the burning houses rose up from different quarters of the town, an explosion of some magazine of powder occurring every now and then. From the heights on which we were placed we looked down upon a scene of indescribable confusion on the seashore, greater even than that in some invaded anthill. At last when the day broke on January 17 the British ships, all sails set, gradually receded from view on the horizon, bound for England, and carrying with them the melancholy remnant of the English army.1
1 In this thoroughly French account of the battle of Coruña
there is no hint of the fact that Sir John Moore’s little force of 14,000
men beat Marshal Soult at the head of 20,000 French. – Trans.
The magistrates of Coruña now succeeded in bringing about a capitulation, and two days later Marshal Soult entered the town. In addition to many abandoned guns, the French found 500 English horses still living and unhurt, which it had not been possible to embark. Perhaps the fact that their owners were weary of cruelty had saved their lives.
The Emperor, taking it for granted that the enemy, who were flying in disorder before the troops he had sent in pursuit with orders to completely destroy them, would not be able to rally or attempt any offensive movement, left Astorga on January 5, to return by way of Benavente to Valladolid, where he intended to await the end of the campaign. In passing through Tordesillas he lodged in what was once the old palace of the Moorish kings, but had been transformed into a convent of Benedictine nuns. He asked to be presented to the Abbess, a woman of great energy and ability, then in her eightieth year, and overwhelmed her with courtesy, granting her everything she asked, showering generous gifts on the community and raising the greatest enthusiasm for himself amongst the sixty nuns of the convent, who had been told but a month before that he was a regular cannibal.
On January 7 at Valladolid the Emperor was anxious to express his gratitude to certain Benedictine nuns who had saved the lives of several soldiers when they were being hunted through the streets by a rabble covered with the blood of the French they had murdered. The nuns, in the true spirit of Christianity and hospitality, had reserved for the French the right of sanctuary at the altars of the churches, and in thus snatching away their victims had roused the fury of the populace against themselves. The Emperor with Marshal Berthier and their respective staffs went to the Benedictine convent to thank the nuns in person, and to offer to grant them anything they wished.
This sort of thing, taken with our victories, did much to cheer us all, and if only the Emperor had not been discredited by the greed of some of his generals, his own generous heart would have helped him more than all his armies to win over the Spanish to his cause.
The news of the embarkation of the English at Coruña and of their complete disappearance from Spain reached the Emperor at Valladolid, and leaving his orders with the army, he set out for Paris. Before he left, however, Marshal Berthier took me to him, as he wished to give me a duplicate of the order he had sent to Marshal Lannes. The Marshal was appointed commander-in-chief of the army besieging Saragossa,1 and I now received instructions to tell him to press on that operation by every means in his power. I was also to take part in the siege as an engineer officer, and I was placed under the orders of one of the Emperor’s aides-de-camp, General Lacoste, commander of the siege train. The shortest route being impracticable, I went by way of Burgos, where my old friends had returned to their quarters. I crossed the Ebro at Miranda, and skirted along the left bank of that river as far as Tudela, where I found the Marshal, who had been detained there for some time by a slight indisposition. I gave him the news from the army, and went on, arriving outside Saragossa a few days before he did. There, beneath the olive trees and in view of the belfries of the town, I began an altogether new kind of life, as adventurous as that of the past, for I was now one of the besiegers in the extraordinary siege I am about to describe.
1 Thus superseding General Junot, Duke of Abrantes. See next chapter. – Trans.