These words were written after the Peninsular War and after Waterloo, and scores of Wellington's officers wrote of their chief in a similar strain. But in earlier Peninsular days, before the regimental officers and the men had discovered their commander's greatness, they had no great confidence in him, and they were wont to grumble at his orders and to criticise his actions. Many of his earlier subordinate generals, although quite ignorant of war, saw something wrong in everything that Wellington did, and their removal to a less active sphere in England gave these detractors the opportunity of spreading calumnies about the only capable head which the army then possessed. Wellington, however, survived all this and much more, and as the war went on, the voice of the army changed, until, in the end, there were few officers conceited enough to venture to doubt the wisdom of his plans, and few of the rank and file who had not absolute faith in everything that he did. He established among both officers and men a reputation for infallibility, and he convinced them of his instinctive genius for war. That he lacked the ability to gain their affections was nothing to them, and it is certain that, in spite of those who maintain that popularity with the troops is essential to military genius, if any of his Peninsular or Waterloo veterans were alive to-day, they would still hold Wellington to be the greatest of British generals, even though they might admit that he was a hard master, and one who never forgot and seldom forgave.

Long after he had fought his last battle—even to the end of his days, Wellington upheld his harsh code of punishment, and he resisted strenuously, with all the weight of his opinion, every attempt to diminish flogging in the army in times of peace. Not until twelve years after his death was this put an end to, and not until 1882 was flogging on active service finally swept away by the Army Discipline Act. Old and tried officers held views similar to those of the great Duke,—by the lash alone could the discipline of the army be maintained; and no greater supporter of corporal punishment can be found than that high-minded leader of men, Sir William Napier, the historian of the Peninsular War. He was a man acknowledged to have been beloved—even worshipped by all ranks, as the epitome of all that was just and sympathetic, a man who wrote of British soldiers, as a class, as the most noble of men; yet, in 1846, he put all his vast powers of reasoning into a letter to 'The Times', in order to inveigh against what he considered the sentimental spirit of modern times which desired the abolition, or reduction, of flogging in the army. He firmly believed in the lash for certain offences as a deterrent of crime, and no one knew and understood the British soldier of his time better than did Sir William Napier. We can only conclude, therefore, that the times have changed, and the men with them; for thirty years' immunity from the lash has resulted in no harm to the British army.

CHAPTER X.
SALAMANCA AND MADRID.

In June 1812 Wellington was ready to attack Marmont, whose army he had now succeeded in isolating. By destroying the bridge at Almaraz the commander-in-chief had made it practically impossible for Drouet and Soult to reinforce Marmont; King Joseph's army was out of hand, and not likely to take the field; and the only other French army of any importance was kept busy in the neighbourhood of Corunna, where small bodies of British troops were landed from time to time to harass the Frenchmen. Marmont was at this time near Salamanca, where he had strong fortifications, and it was known that he intended to hold first the line of the Tormes river, and then, if forced to retire, the line of the Douro.

On the 13th June, Wellington's army, consisting of nearly forty thousand British and Portuguese troops, advanced to the Tormes, and on the 17th was in front of Salamanca, from which the French withdrew without offering battle, though they left some eight hundred men in occupation of the forts. Major Rice wrote, on the 18th June, from Camp, left bank of the Tormes, half a mile from Salamanca—

But the Frenchmen were not "pounded out of their dens" as quickly as the Major had hoped, for the forts held out for another week or more, during which time Marmont made every endeavour to drive the British away and relieve the garrisons. The 51st were engaged almost daily in assisting to frustrate Marmont's designs, though they came in for no serious fighting until the 22nd. On that morning the regiment came off twenty-four hours' outpost duty, but no sooner was the brigade bivouac reached than an order was received to advance. Moving forward for about a mile, the brigade deployed into line, and then continued the advance up the slope of a hill, beyond the crest of which nothing could be seen. That the enemy was at hand, however, was soon made evident, as musket shots were heard, and a few stray bullets passed over the men's heads. Presently balls came over the hill in showers, and some, grazing the hill slope, began to make havoc in the ranks. But the 51st and 68th, now aware that the enemy was within measurable distance, moved steadily forward, unable to fire since no mark was visible, and intent only on closing with the foe. At length the hill was surmounted, when, not ten yards away, the assailants saw the line of Frenchmen, and, with a wild cheer, dashed in. Yet they were too late; the enemy's advanced post had played its part, and, breaking, the men who composed it fled to the village, about one hundred yards away, where a large force, lying concealed, immediately opened fire and checked the British advance. The gallant brigade had carried out its orders and cleared the hill, so falling back a few yards it sheltered itself behind the crest, until the enemy's fire slackened and then ceased. It had been a brisk skirmish, and the 51st had suffered a good deal as they advanced up the hill, Captain Smellie and some twenty men having been wounded, and two or three men killed. A week afterwards, Major Rice, in a short note, dated Between Toro and Salamanca, 30th June 1812, described the affair—

John Green,[72] who, as a private of the 68th, was present on this occasion, refers to the fight in the following words: "The 51st Regiment suffered considerably, having several killed and wounded. Major Rice's horse was shot from under him. Some men belonging to the Chasseurs Britanniques skinned the horse, and sold the flesh to their own men and to the Portuguese at three vints, or four-pence halfpenny per lb."

Major Rice had been unfortunate in his horses. One, it will be remembered, broke away and deserted to the enemy at Badajoz. The second was fated to be eaten by the allied troops. Probably the owner considered the end of his second horse no more dreadful than that of the first; and it is to be hoped that Government compensated him for the loss of his two chargers, though it is not probable that any such generosity was shown to the British officer, who, at that time, was even required to provide at his own expense beasts of burden to carry his baggage in the field.

Five days after these events the Salamanca forts fell, and Marmont beat a retreat towards Valladolid. Wellington followed leisurely, keeping touch with the enemy's rearguard, and engaging it slightly at the bridge of Tordesillas on the 2nd July. But neither side yet felt inclined to give battle; and the British were by no means hopeful that their labours were going to be rewarded with a fight. Major Rice certainly took a gloomy view of the future when he wrote, on the 6th July, from Camp near Medina del Campo—

Marmont was now reinforced by Bonet's division, and, with this addition to his strength, the French general was able to turn on Wellington and force him to retire. Though at times Marmont pressed his adversary hard, day succeeded day without any decided advantage being gained by either side. Throughout the 19th, 20th, and 21st July, the hostile armies manœuvred in presence of each other, at the end of which time both armies had passed to the left bank of the Tormes river. On the 22nd, Marmont, by rapidly extending his left, attempted to cut Wellington's communications with Portugal, but the wide extension proved his ruin, for the British commander saw the opportunity for which he had been waiting so long, and immediately seized it. He hurled one division against the French left with such vigour as to roll it back in complete disorder, and, simultaneously, with two other divisions he assailed the centre with like results. Then bethinking himself of making victory doubly sure, he despatched the Light Division post-haste to the Huerta ford, in the hope of barring the passage of the Tormes to the disorganised masses of the enemy. This movement, however, failed, as the French crossed higher up stream, and made good their escape towards the Douro.

Such, briefly, was the battle of Salamanca, in which Marmont was severely wounded and twelve thousand Frenchmen placed hors de combat, while the Allies suffered a lost of six thousand.

The pursuit was taken up at once, and Clausel, who had succeeded Marmont in command of the French army, collected his forces and withdrew rapidly to Valladolid, which place, however, he was obliged to evacuate on Wellington's arrival near the town on the 30th July. Deciding to profit to the full by his almost unexpected success, the latter then turned south and marched straight for the Spanish capital. King Joseph fled, and on the 12th August the victorious Allies entered Madrid amidst the acclamations of the populace.

Major Rice found no time to write of these events, but one of the subalterns of the 51st thus describes the entry into Madrid: "The next day, the 12th August, the anniversary of the Prince Regent's birthday, we entered the capital of Spain, and never in my life did I witness such a scene. No quiet John Bull can conceive the enthusiasm the people of Madrid displayed on that day. If we had been angels instead of men, we could not have been better received. Our division was the first British one that entered, and our regiment, being the head of the column, had the good fortune to lead. The crowds gathered round us so quickly that we could scarce move on; they seemed frantic with joy; every balcony, every window was filled with beautiful women, who showered down flowers upon our heads as we passed, and the air was rent with acclamations of 'Long live the brave scarlet fellows (colorados), our deliverers!' 'George for ever!' 'Wellington, the brave Wellington, for ever!' But when Wellington himself came, no language can describe their feelings or enthusiasm. They fell on their knees to kiss the ground his horse's hoofs had pressed, and they deemed themselves fortunate if they could only touch his clothes. Never shall I forget our entrance."

The French still held the Retiro, a fortified post in the centre of the city, and on the following evening, while the officers of the 51st were preparing to go to a ball given by the citizens to Wellington and his officers, orders were received for the regiment and the 68th to invest the place forthwith. Some few shots were exchanged with the French sentries that night, but a cordon was drawn rapidly round the Retiro, and next morning, when the fort was on the point of being stormed, the garrison surrendered—amongst the captures on this occasion being, strange to relate, the eagle of the 51st French Regiment, which, with others, was sent to England and eventually deposited in Chelsea Hospital. And there were some of the British 51st who regarded this eagle in the light of a phœnix rising from the ashes of the colours burned on the eve of the battle of Fuentes d'Onor.

Madrid now gave itself up to gaiety—balls, bull-fights, illuminations, and fêtes of every description, and a week later the 51st marched to the Escorial, where it was quartered until the 1st September. On that day Wellington, leaving two divisions under General Hill at Madrid, took the remainder of his army with him and marched north, for the purpose of driving back the enemy from the Douro to Burgos. "Our march," says Ensign Mainwaring of the 51st, "though rapid, was by no means disagreeable; for traversing a rich wine-country, our route lay through vast plains covered with vineyards, and at this season, autumn, just before the vintage, the vines were laden with clusters of ripe grapes, tempting to the appetite and beautiful to the eye. In this manner we travelled on, without anything occurring worthy of note till we came within sight of the castle of Burgos, and we began to anticipate, not with much pleasure, all the inglorious toils and arduous and fatiguing business of a siege—the most disagreeable military duty a soldier has on service, digging and delving in dust and dirt like ploughmen, to shelter ourselves, ere morning's dawn, from shot and shell whizzing about our ears at each moment, killing or mutilating our next neighbour. No excitement, as in a general action, by the immediate prospect of getting at the foe, your only hope that you may get through your twenty-four hours in the trenches unscathed, back to your bivouac, to eat, drink, and sleep till your turn in the batteries comes round again, varied by the storm of an outwork or a sortie of the enemy, to either of which occurrences the soldier looks forward as something to enliven and break in upon the routine of his daily labours."

Clausel had withdrawn slowly from the Douro as Wellington advanced, and on the 18th September passed through Burgos, leaving a garrison of eighteen hundred men in the castle. To invest and reduce this Wellington set to work immediately, twelve thousand men being detailed for the siege and twenty thousand for the covering force. So strong, however, was the castle, and so determined the garrison, that after an investment of thirty-three days, during which time five separate assaults were delivered and repulsed, and several desperate sallies of the garrison were met and beaten back, Wellington was obliged to abandon the enterprise and raise the siege, when he learned, in the middle of October, that Clausel, having received a reinforcement of twelve thousand fresh troops from France, was marching down upon him with some forty-four thousand men. During these operations the 51st, with the remainder of the 7th Division, formed part of the covering army, watching the country between Burgos and Vittoria, and spending some days near the village of Monasterio, but never called upon to do more than check reconnaissances pushed out by the enemy.

On the 21st October began the memorable retreat from Burgos—a retreat which proved almost as arduous as that to Corunna, nearly four years before. The weather was generally severe, and the enemy pressed the pursuit vigorously, ever engaging the cavalry of the rearguard and sometimes making captures. The rivers were in flood and seldom passable save at the bridges, facts which gave the advantage to Wellington, whose engineers, now adept at mines and explosions, blew up each bridge as it was crossed, and thus from time to time checked the French onslaught. In this way, by the 26th October, Wellington was behind the Pisuerga river, with the mined bridge at Cabezon between him and the enemy, and thence he despatched parties to secure the bridges in his rear—viz., at Tudela and Tordesillas on the Douro, and at Valladolid and Simancas on the Pisuerga. The 7th Division was employed in holding the three last-named bridges, the 51st being responsible for that at Valladolid. The French came on swiftly, and leaving a division in front of Wellington's main body, threw out their right and swept down on the post held by the 51st. Opening from the high ground on the opposite bank with cannon and musketry, the enemy soon rendered the bridge untenable; but the company of the 51st defending it, even after the lieutenant in command had been borne to the rear with his right arm shattered, gallantly held on until the mine was ready. Then, having lost three men killed and fourteen wounded, the company withdrew rapidly as the bridge was blown up. The bridge at Simancas, being similarly menaced, was also destroyed, as was that at Tordesillas, on the 28th, by a party of the Brunswick Oels Corps detached for the purpose. But the destruction of the latter bridge was of little avail, for it was followed by an act of daring gallantry on the part of the French, perhaps without parallel in the history of war. Riding up to the broken bridge, the Frenchmen, annoyed at finding it impassable, hesitated for a moment, but then, dismounting, they set to work to form a small raft, upon which they placed their arms and clothes. Napier tells the story of what followed, and it is worth repeating. "Sixty officers and non-commissioned officers," he says, "then plunged into the water with their swords between their teeth, swimming, and pushing the raft before them. Under the protection of a cannonade they thus crossed this great river, though it was in full and strong water and the weather very cold, and having reached the other side, naked as they were, stormed the tower, whereupon the Brunswickers, amazed at the action, abandoned their ground, leaving the gallant Frenchmen masters of the passage."

The French restored the bridge as quickly as possible, but in the meanwhile Wellington had withdrawn to the left bank of the Douro by the Tudela bridge and by the Puente de Douro, and on the 30th October he marched towards Tordesillas in such strength as to prevent the enemy making use of the bridge which they had so nobly won. On this very spot Major Rice wrote his last letter of the year:—

Officers writing from the seat of war seldom told the whole bare tale; possibly they had the feeling that their letters were overhauled in transit, or they may have been disinclined to mention incidents which their friends at home, knowing nothing of war or of human weakness under trying circumstances, would regard as outrages. But these things left unsaid came out afterwards, and what Major Rice thought that his brother (to whom the above letter was written) would not understand was the extraordinary incident which took place at the very commencement of the retreat from Burgos. Arriving late in camp, after a heavy day of marching, near the town of Duenas, between Burgos and Valladolid, the men heard that the wine-vaults were full of the recent vintage, and with one accord they broke loose and sacked the vaults. "Some of them were found dead, literally drowned in wine, it having overflowed in the cellars and suffocated the poor wretches who were too drunk to escape. Next morning, at daybreak, when we stood to our arms to recommence the march, the scene was one, perhaps, without parallel in the annals of military history; for I scarcely exaggerate when I say that, with the exception of the officers, the whole army was drunk." Thus wrote Ensign Mainwaring of the 51st, and Napier bears him out in saying that at one time "twelve thousand men were in a state of helpless inebriety." Fortunately the rearguard was well away from the neighbourhood of the wine, though, as the historian points out, there was at the moment little to fear from the enemy, "since the French drunkards were even more numerous than those of the British army." Small wonder that the major thought that his civilian brother would not understand such things. He himself realised, as probably did Wellington also, that fatigue had produced so great a craving for drink as to drive the men mad. To punish twelve thousand men equally implicated was, of course, out of the question, and fortunately there was no further opportunity of obtaining drink during the retreat. The incident, however, showed the temper of the troops, and, though many bore their hardships with extraordinary fortitude, and though all fought valiantly when called upon to do so, there is no disguising the fact that the discipline of the army as a whole was bad.

The woman who, Major Rice says, was killed by the first shot at the Valladolid bridge, was the wife of a soldier of the regiment, and at the moment when the unfortunate shot struck her she was sitting by the side of her husband, eating her breakfast in fancied shelter. One wonders what the women of those days were made of, for numbers of them accompanied the army throughout the Peninsular War, and shared all the trials and troubles of their husbands. Numerous are the stories told of the heroism of these women, but why they were permitted to take the field is never made clear. With every regiment there marched several of them; children were born to them on the line of march; they died of fatigue; they saw their husbands killed in action, and sometimes they married again, while still on active service. Green, in his 'Vicissitudes,' mentions the case of a regimental woman (of the 68th) who married no fewer than four husbands during the war, each one dying or being killed almost before her eyes. One marvels at the indomitable courage possessed by these women of a century ago; and there were officers' wives who at times were present with the army, one notable case being that of Mrs Dalbiac, who, throughout the battle of Salamanca, seated on her horse, and often exposed to the enemy's fire, calmly watched her husband's performances in the fight. Nor was this courage restricted to British women, for every one knows the romantic story of the young Spanish lady who became the wife of Major (afterwards Sir Harry) Smith, after Badajoz, and thenceforward followed the fortunes of her husband in bivouac and camp until the end of the war.[73]

The army remained in the Tordesillas camp only a day after Major Rice despatched the above letter, when it marched to Salamanca, and there, on the 10th November, it was joined by Hill's force from Madrid. It will be remembered that when Wellington marched north on the 1st September, he left two divisions (under Hill) in occupation of the Spanish capital. After a while the armies of Soult and King Joseph began to display considerable activity, and towards the end of October were reported to be marching on Madrid in overwhelming strength. Whether Hill could have held his own is doubtful; perhaps, fortunately, he was not required to make the attempt, even if he had any intention of doing so, for Wellington, so soon as he had decided on withdrawing from before Burgos, ordered Hill to abandon Madrid and join him, if possible, by way of the Guadarama Pass. On the last day of October, therefore, Hill, having blown up the Retiro and destroyed the stores in Madrid, retreated by the Guadarama, and was never seriously pressed by the French.

The united army then marched out of Salamanca on the way to Ciudad Rodrigo, and during the following week the rearguard was almost continuously at bay. The main body plodded on, generally in pelting rain, always on muddy roads, short of food, and otherwise distressed beyond measure. As on the retreat to Corunna, the soldiers grew sullen for want of a battle, and at length the sight of vast herds of swine in the forests proved too much for them. They wanted food, and here it was at hand; so they quitted the ranks by hundreds to shoot the pigs, until Wellington, hearing the heavy firing, thought that the enemy was pushing an attack. For a time the army was at the mercy of the French, had they but known it; but order was presently restored, though not before two of the marauders had been hanged, by Wellington's command, as an example to the rest, and not before two thousand British stragglers had been captured by the enemy.

At San Muños the 51st came in for a sharp skirmish, and had Captain McCabe killed and eight men wounded; at the passage of the Huebra, the Light Division, covering the rear, had some heavy fighting, for the enemy's pursuit was vigorous, and his artillery fire often heavy. Stragglers were cut off, and a good deal of baggage was captured, but at length the troops saw the friendly walls of Ciudad Rodrigo, and knew that their troubles were at an end. The retreat had lasted for nearly a month; the weather throughout was inclement; the sick and wounded suffered severely; the whole army was hungry as well as footsore; and consequently the bulk of the men were out of hand, and even insubordinate. The pig-raiding prevailed up to the last day's march, for no punishment could stop it; and had the retreat continued a little longer, Wellington's army must have suffered some terrible disaster.

Once back on their old ground, and supplied with ample provisions from Rodrigo, the men's spirits were restored, and getting into dry quarters in the villages surrounding the fortress, the soldiers settled down for the winter, and put the weary retreat out of their minds. They were worn out; for almost a year they had marched continuously, and fought frequently; they had placed to their credit the capture of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, the victory at Salamanca, the triumphant entry into Madrid, and numerous minor successes. Only the retreat from Burgos tarnished their laurels; for when their losses, during this last phase of the year's operations, came to be reckoned up, they were found to be heavy. Including the siege of Burgos, Wellington's army suffered to the extent of some nine thousand men, not counting a vast number of officers and soldiers subsequently invalided from the effects of the unfortunate retreat.

Major Rice, probably to his own astonishment, succeeded in struggling on to the end of the year's campaigning, and then, having seen his regiment settled in tolerable comfort in cantonments, was forced to give in. He was immediately invalided home, and his brother, who had received his Tordesillas letter only on the 26th December, was no little surprised at the arrival, on the 15th January (1813), of the following hurriedly written note, bearing the Falmouth post-mark:—

Such was the home-coming of one of many gallant men, who, broken down by the hardships which they had endured while fighting for the honour and glory of their country, arrived to find their stay-at-home fellow-countrymen playing the part of arm-chair critics, and decrying Wellington's great work. These critics forgot the splendid victories which the Commander-in-Chief had won, and the fame which he had been building up for England, and they remembered only what had happened latest—the retreat from Burgos, which they regarded, seemingly with joy, as a disaster to British arms. Yet is it ever so.

CHAPTER XI.
DRIVING THE FRENCH OUT OF SPAIN, 1813.

Major Rice was not fit to take the field again for some months; Colonel Mitchell was also invalided early in the year; and the junior major (Major Roberts), therefore, had the good fortune to command the 51st during the early part of the campaign of 1813. The winter had been spent pleasantly enough in cantonments, the officers hunting, shooting, and holding race meetings; and although sickness, resulting from the hardships of the past year, was prevalent amongst the troops for some time, the long rest completely restored the health of the army.

In the early spring Wellington began to get his divisions into fighting form for the coming campaign. The retreat from Burgos showed him the necessity of paying attention to discipline, in order to get the men in hand again; exercise was also required to enable them to cope with the physical exertions to which he knew they would shortly be subjected; and so, from February to April, regiments paraded almost daily for brigade and divisional manœuvres, and were constantly reviewed by their generals, as well as by the Commander-in-Chief. By the middle of May all was ready for the great forward movement, which, within a few weeks, resulted in driving the enemy to the Pyrenees, and, before the end of the year, into France.

At first sight it seems extraordinary that such great success should have been in store for the Allies, only recently suffering from what can but be regarded as a somewhat ignominious handling by the enemy, for it was all that they could do to hold their own against him during the retreat to Ciudad Rodrigo. The winter, however, had brought about a change in the situation, and the complexion of affairs was entirely altered, not only in the Peninsula itself, but also in other parts of Europe. Napoleon had met with disaster in Russia, and, for the time being, the retreat from Moscow had hipped him, yet with no crushing effect. He required a leaven of seasoned troops wherewith to stiffen his vast army of hastily-raised recruits, and he therefore drew away from the Peninsula thousands of his best officers and men. With joy Wellington became aware of these events, and he realised that at last his opportunity had come. The Spanish and Portuguese Governments rose to the occasion, and Wellington was given the supreme command of the allied troops, numbering in all parts of the Peninsula some 200,000 men (including the British). But for his immediate operations he could not reckon on more than 90,000; while the French still had in Spain 230,000, of whom, however, only 120,000, with 100 guns, were available to meet the Allies on the northern line of invasion. "Yet this," says Napier, "was a great power, of one nation, one spirit, one discipline"—as opposed to the heterogeneous force of the three nations. Had Napoleon been in personal command of his army in Spain, Wellington's task would have been no light one, for the Emperor grasped the situation even from afar, and instructed his brother Joseph accordingly, enjoining on him to act promptly and to concentrate every available man in the north.

El Rey Joseph, however, was not the man for the work; he preferred being a king to being a commander-in-chief; he quarrelled with his generals; he was slow and vacillating; and he failed signally, so much so that when Wellington opened the campaign Joseph's army was still scattered. All this was much to Wellington's advantage, and furthermore, he had the comfortable feeling that, advancing with his left practically in touch with the sea, the command of which his fleet held, he could shift his base as occasion demanded, and thus avoid the necessity of maintaining a lengthy line of communications as his army moved forward. In May 1813, therefore, when Wellington had matured his plans, he felt confident that he held Joseph Bonaparte in the hollow of his hand; and he made certain that there should be no loophole for failure. Ordering Graham, with 40,000 men, to push through the Portuguese province of Tras os Montes to the Esla river, and thence outflank the French line on the Douro, Wellington himself, with 30,000, intended to march direct on Valladolid, where King Joseph had his headquarters, and force the enemy back from the Douro. That accomplished, and General Castaños with 20,000 Galicians having joined, a new front was to be formed, when the 90,000 Allies were to make a general advance and, assailing the French all along the line, drive them to the Pyrenees.

The 51st, in the 1st Brigade of the 7th Division (General Lord Dalhousie), marched from its cantonments on the 14th May, with Sir Thomas Graham's force, to the north-west. On the 18th it crossed the Douro, near Villa Nova, but not without difficulty, the crossing being effected in boats, and occupying twelve hours. Thence the direction of the march was north-east, across the country lying in the bend of the river, and on the 20th Miranda de Douro was reached. After a halt of five days, the 7th Division moved on to the Esla river, and encamped on its banks from the 27th to the 30th May. Wellington now came across to see how Graham was progressing, and after a careful reconnaissance of the Esla, he ordered the troops to cross by a ford at daybreak on the 31st; but, since the enemy was known to be in some strength on the opposite bank, it was decided to push a covering party of all arms across the river during the dark hours of the night. This party consisted of the hussar brigade, some artillery, the 51st, and 400 Brunswick light infantry, and at 1 A.M. on the 31st they moved down to the river. Here the water was found to be deeper and the current more rapid than had been anticipated, an unexpected spate having come down during the previous few hours, but it was all-important that the covering force should cross to the other side before daybreak. Accordingly, the infantry were instructed to hold on to the stirrup-leathers of the hussars, and the passage began. For a time the greatest confusion occurred; the rush of the water caused the horses to plunge and rear; several soldiers were swept off their feet, lost their hold of the stirrup-leathers, and were drowned. The bulk of the party, however, reached the opposite bank in safety, though with their ammunition saturated, shortly after dawn, and found, to their relief, that the enemy had hastily withdrawn, leaving only a cavalry piquet of forty men to watch the ford. The Frenchmen retired before the advancing hussars, who pursued at top speed, and after a sharp skirmish captured nearly all of them.

On the 1st June the 51st marched to Toro, and on the following day pitched camp on its old ground at Tordesillas. Here Wellington reviewed the 6th and 7th Divisions, and having been joined by the Galicians, was now ready, with his 90,000 men and 100 guns, for the great forward movement, which he set going on the 4th June. King Joseph, unable to obtain the reinforcements which he had called up, thought first of making a stand at Burgos, then withdrew to Pancorbo, and subsequently to Vittoria. Wellington, following swiftly, gave him no breathing space, but pressing on his flanks on all occasions, forced him to give way. Yet the king still regarded the retirement of his army as merely a temporary expedient, and fully believed that as soon as his reinforcements should join him he could turn the tables on his adversary. But he was ignorant alike of Wellington's strength and of the fact that the Allies' base had been transferred from Lisbon to the ports of the Biscay coast.

The Ebro was crossed on the 16th June, and on the 20th the 51st, little thinking that the morrow would bring forth a decisive battle, was within a march of Vittoria. Wellington knew that King Joseph intended to take up a position to cover the place, which, with its vast accumulation of war material and stores, besides a convoy of treasure recently arrived from France for the payment of the troops, could not readily be abandoned. And Wellington was confident of a great victory.

Vittoria stood—as indeed it stands to-day—compactly built on an eminence, rising up at the end of a plain, or rather basin, some ten miles long by eight miles broad. To the north of the town the river Zadorra flows east and west for some miles, until, on approaching the Morillas range, it takes a sudden bend, almost at right angles, to the south. Then, through the Pass of Pueblas, it finds its way to the Ebro. Parallel to the main course of the Zadorra, and at a distance of some three miles to the north, runs a range of hills; on the opposite bank, and five miles to its south, is another parallel range; while the western edge of the basin consists of the Morillas mountains, pierced at one point—namely, the Pueblas defile.

It was behind this latter range that Wellington, on the 20th June, had assembled his army. The French defending Vittoria were holding the line of the Zadorra, intending to bar its passage at all points. Seven bridges spanned the river, which, though narrow, was deep, and in most parts flowed between precipitous banks. Reille's corps, forming the right of the French line, was posted to the north of the town, with orders to hold the two bridges at Gamara Mayor and Ariaga; Maransin's brigade, on the extreme left, occupied the southern range of hills, with the object of guarding that flank and preventing the passage of the Pueblas defile; while the centre of the enemy's line of battle extended along the Hermandad ridge. Midway between this ridge and the Morillas mountains flowed the Zadorra, with four bridges at no great distance apart. Wellington's plan was soon formed. Graham, with twenty thousand men, was ordered to march to the flank and attack Reille; Hill, with another twenty thousand, was to force the passage of the Pueblas defile, push back Maransin, and seize the bridge of Nanclares. To the remainder of the army, under the great commander himself, was allotted the task of pouring over the Morillas mountains on to the four bridges which lay below, and of assaulting the enemy's centre.

Dawn of the 21st June was ushered in by showers of rain and steamy heat. Hill moved forward to attack Maransin, and met with considerable opposition; but he succeeded in gaining the heights, in passing his division through the Pueblas defile, and in seizing the village of Subijana de Alava. Meanwhile Graham had moved wide away to the left, and the troops of Wellington's main attack had crossed the Morillas mountains and were nearing the bridges over the Zadorra—namely, from left to right, Mendoza, Tres Puentes, Villodas, and Nanclares. All this had taken time, and it was past noon before the 51st, in the 1st Brigade of the 7th Division, moved forward for the general assault on the enemy's centre. Picton was in chief command of this (the left) portion of the attack, and moved the 3rd and 7th Division rapidly down to the Mendoza bridge, the passage of which was contested by the enemy's cavalry and infantry, aided by his artillery. The British had, however, already gained a footing on the left bank of the river, as, finding that Tres Puentes was unguarded, Wellington had hurried across it Kempt's brigade of the Light Division and some hussars. This cleared the way for Picton, for the riflemen of Kempt's brigade made a spirited attack on the enemy opposite the Mendoza bridge, which was immediately crossed by a brigade of the 3rd Division, the remainder of that division and the 7th Division fording the river a little higher up.

The fighting now became severe, as the Frenchmen held tenaciously to their position on the Hermandad ridge, and raked the assailants with artillery fire from the village of Margarita, until the 52nd Light Infantry coming up, charged the enemy out of the village. The 3rd and Light Divisions then pressed southwards and carried the village of Ariñez, from which the defenders rapidly withdrew. Thence the victorious Allies swept east, and followed the French, now ordered to retire upon Vittoria. Hill had worked his way forward on the right; the far-distant sounds of Graham's attack on the left could be distinctly heard through the din of battle; and Wellington knew that all was going well.

At this juncture King Joseph began to realise the situation; that his flanks were in imminent danger, and that his centre, still six miles in front of Vittoria, ran the risk of being cut off and annihilated; so, unwillingly, he ordered a retirement. And his men, magnificent soldiers that they were, gave an object-lesson in the art of defending and retiring from successive positions. The six miles of country over which the ensuing running fight took place was undulating, rough, and broken; and the enemy, knowing each ridge, hillock, and fold in the ground, made every use of such knowledge, so that resistance was constant. Successive positions were taken up, and defended with gun and musket, until their defence seemed hopeless; and each position abandoned told its tale of destruction—of dead and wounded Frenchmen, and of captured guns. Hour after hour the battle raged, and at about six o'clock in the evening the enemy made his last stand on a low ridge, barely a mile from Vittoria, refusing to acknowledge even then that he was beaten. Here stood eighty guns, pouring grape and round shot on the assailants, while amongst the guns and on their flanks the infantry used their muskets with deadly effect. For the moment the Allies were unable to face the storm, and the French general, noticing the recoil of the 3rd Division, and under the impression that he was fighting a rearguard action, commenced to withdraw the troops on his left flank. But the 4th Division, observing the movement, rushed headlong on the retiring body, and carried the position.

Then, and not till then, did King Joseph, watching events from the town, understand that the day was lost. Up till that moment he had imagined his centre to be impregnable, his left flank to be secure, and Reille still holding his ground on the right. Yet there were few of the inhabitants of Vittoria so sanguine as the king, and early in the afternoon the roads running east from the town were already blocked with carriages, carts, and fugitives on foot. Then, when the centre gave way, panic prevailed; the king ordered the guns to take the road to Salvatierra; the allied cavalry swept through and round Vittoria, and the infantry followed with all speed.

Vittoria, not fortified in any way, was evacuated; but Reille still maintained his position, which he now found to be most dangerous. Desperate fighting had been going on all day in this part of the field; Graham's men stormed the two bridges, and carried them, but only to be driven from them again, and kept at bay by Reille's guns and infantry soldiers. A deadlock ensued; neither side could make headway. Then Reille suddenly became aware of the fact that Wellington's troops were pouring between his rear and the town, and that the victorious cavalry were threatening to destroy him. In the nick of time he saw the danger, skilfully disposed his troops, and with great gallantry fought his way to Metauco, on the Salvatierra road, where he attempted to form a rearguard to the fugitive French army. Darkness alone saved him, for the Allies, flushed with victory, pursued until they could no longer distinguish friend from foe.

In this long battle, fought in the heat of a Spanish summer, almost six thousand officers and men fell on each side; but the rout of the enemy was complete, and the French army in the Peninsula had never experienced a more crushing defeat. All their guns, their depôts of stores and ammunition, their treasure chest, their wagons, their records, and in fact everything that they possessed, fell into the hands of the victors; and the army that fled was a disorganised rabble, having nothing but the clothes on their backs and the muskets in their hands.

The 51st, which had been in the thick of the fight all through, losing some forty-five officers and men, bivouacked that night two miles from Vittoria, and on the following day joined in the pursuit of the enemy towards Pampeluna. The Frenchmen were well on the run, and a rapid pursuit would probably have resulted in their complete dispersal, and in Wellington's immediate invasion of France. But a rapid pursuit was found to be impossible, for the reason that, as so often had been the case before, victory had proved too much for the Allies. "The night of the battle," wrote Wellington, "instead of being passed in getting rest and food to prepare the soldiers for pursuit the following day, was passed by them in looking for plunder. The consequence was that they were incapable of marching in pursuit of the enemy and were totally knocked up." Two days later, he stated that no fewer than eight thousand British soldiers were absent, and scattered all over the country marauding, and that the majority of those who remained with their regiments were under the influence of drink, so that "when marches of over twelve miles were attempted, the line of route was crowded with stragglers and men seeking admittance to hospital."

In spite of all this, Wellington started, on the morning of the 22nd June, with six divisions and the light cavalry, for Salvatierra, and on the 25th reached Pampeluna, which he immediately blockaded. After much marching about during the following few weeks, in the endeavour to clear the whole country of the enemy, the 51st assisted in driving the fugitives out of the valley of the Bastan, and then followed towards the Pyrenees, taking up a position at Echallar. During the last week of July and the first week of August the regiment came in for some sharp fighting, more especially on the heights above Ostiz, where it suffered the loss of thirty men, and again at the pass of Dona Maria. From that time until the end of August the 7th Division was occupied in watching the passes of Echallar and Zagaramurdi; but on the 30th it received sudden orders to strike tents and march to the bridge of Lesaca, for the purpose of covering the operations now in active progress against San Sebastian.

Previous to this, Marshal Soult, who had relieved King Joseph in supreme command of the French army in the Pyrenees, had reorganised his forces, and, towards the end of July, had made a bold but unsuccessful attempt to relieve the garrison of Pampeluna, being very severely handled in withdrawing to the Pyrenees, and it was in his overthrow that the 51st assisted at Ostiz, Dona Maria, and elsewhere, as mentioned above. The French marshal then took up a line of defence along the right bank of the Bidassoa, from its mouth up-stream to the village of Vera (situated at the point where the river bends almost at right angles), and onwards across the foothills and ridges of the Pyrenees to St Jean Pied de Port. In the meantime, Wellington, having disposed his troops so as to watch Soult all along the line, proceeded with the siege of San Sebastian, the great fortress standing on the sea-coast, some fifteen miles (as the crow flies) from Vera. The place was strong, well-provisioned and well-garrisoned, and Wellington was insufficiently equipped to reduce it quickly; moreover, Soult's activity necessitated the employment of large bodies of the allied army at a distance from the fortress. So much, in fact, was this the case that, towards the end of July, Wellington was obliged to utilise the services of so many of the besieging troops elsewhere that he found it necessary to convert the siege into a simple blockade. When, however, he had got rid of all these difficulties, and when Soult had been forced back, Wellington found it possible to renew the siege of San Sebastian. The heavy guns and other siege necessaries, for which he had waited for so long, having arrived from England in the middle of August, the British commander returned to the charge with all the determination for which he was ever noted. For ten days the great guns battered the walls, during which period the besiegers suffered severely from the fire of the enemy's artillery, and were constantly called upon to repel with the bayonet the sallies of the garrison. To the men in the trenches it seemed as if the capture of the place was still far off, but Wellington thought otherwise, and on the 30th August he issued orders for the assault to take place a little before noon next day, at the same time instructing the troops covering the siege to be prepared to frustrate any attempt by Soult to interfere with the operations. It was for that purpose that the 51st was despatched with all haste to the Lesaca bridge, and thence sent forward, with the rest of Inglis's brigade, to support a Portuguese brigade on the slopes of the Peña de Haya (known to the French as Mount Aya, or Les Trois Couronnes).

The 31st August was a busy day, not only at San Sebastian itself, but also with the covering troops, for, as Wellington had anticipated, Soult made a strenuous effort to interrupt the siege. The country lying within the bend of the Bidassoa, between Vera and San Sebastian, was wild and mountainous, with few roads; and within that bend the covering troops were in position facing approximately east. Three bridges spanned the river—Behobia, close to its mouth, Vera, a little above that village, and Lesaca, some three miles higher up stream. These, therefore, were the principal permanent crossings available for an attack on the Allies' position from the east, except that the Behobia bridge was broken and required to be repaired. The river also, when low, could be forded at two or three points between Vera and Behobia; and since Soult possessed a pontoon train, he could throw bridges across the river at other points. Thus the Bidassoa, in its lower course, presented but a slight obstacle to an advance, though its passage might cause delay.

Soult's design was to pass some forty thousand across the river at two different points, each body fighting its way through the mountains until Oyarzun was reached, when, the whole force having concentrated, a fresh advance was to be made towards San Sebastian, some six miles distant. Wellington had foreseen all this, and had made his dispositions accordingly, watching the lower crossings from the heights of San Marcial, and the fords and bridges about Vera from the Peña de Haya—both strong and commanding positions.

Before daylight, Reille, with eighteen thousand men, forded the river near Behobia, and attacked the Spanish force posted about San Marcial. Wellington himself arrived on the scene at the critical moment, and so inspired were the Spaniards by his presence and exhortations that they fought with the greatest valour, and succeeded in repulsing the attack—even to driving the French into the river. While this was in progress, Clausel, with twenty thousand Frenchmen, crossed by the fords near Vera and assailed the slopes of the Peña de Haya, held by the 9th Portuguese Brigade, supported by General Inglis's brigade, with which was the 51st, now commanded by Colonel Mitchell. Here the French were too strong for the defenders, who, resisting gallantly, were forced back up the slopes until they reached the 4th Division, at the foundry of San Antonio. The fight which ensued was long and bickering, and it was not until two in the afternoon that Clausel's skirmishers reached San Antonio. Meanwhile Wellington directed a portion of the Light Division from Santa Barbara across the Upper Bidassoa, to move by the Lesaca bridge, and, taking some Spanish troops with them, to reinforce Inglis. Clausel observing these movements, and fearing for the safety of his left flank and rear, halted his force and sent to Soult for orders.

The 51st lost heavily in its retirement up the slopes to San Antonio, having one officer killed and eleven officers wounded, and upwards of seventy men killed or wounded. Nor was it possible for the regiment, when forced back out of San Antonio, to take all their wounded with them, and in connection with this the following appears in the records of the 51st: "Some of the wounded had to be left behind, and they, falling into the hands of the French, discovered that the regiment with which they had been engaged was the French 51st. Pointing to the common number, the English soldiers were then received by their captors rather as distressed comrades than prisoners. Their wants were immediately attended to, their wounds dressed, and every article of their personal property carefully preserved for them. In the morning the French commenced their retreat, and left their grateful prisoners to be reclaimed by their regiment, which listened with joy to the universal story of the kindness they had experienced. 'This is the real chivalry of modern warfare, and robs it of half its horrors.'" At the time probably neither regiment knew, or remembered, that just a year before they had been in conflict at the Retiro, in Madrid, when the eagle of the French 51st had been captured. But this meeting of the British 51st with the French 51st is not without parallel in the annals of the Peninsular War, for there are other instances of the freemasonry of regimental numbers. In the 'Historical Records of the 43rd Light Infantry,' the following incident is related: "In the evening (December 12, 1813), on calling the roll of the regiment, a dozen men were reported missing, whereupon Colonel Napier despatched an officer with a sergeant and patrol in quest. The men were found in a small house filled with apples, on most amicable terms with about as many French soldiers—oddly enough, belonging to the Imperial 43rd. The same object, that of securing the tempting fruit, had impelled both parties to the spot, and all had gone on the apple raid unarmed. The French, on observing that the English bore '43' on their breastplates, examined them attentively, cordially shook hands, and expressed much pleasure in the accidental rencontre, asking many questions as to rations and allowances; and assured them that if they would accompany them to a post a little way off they would give them some first-rate brandy. Upon the appearance of the officer, the Frenchmen, believing themselves prisoners, brought forth the whole of their spoil as a peace-offering: but he merely pointed to the door, whence they effected their escape, while the English truants, with crammed haversacks, were escorted back to their quarters."

In those days the British soldier gloried in the number of his regiment, and doubtless the French soldier did so also. Under such circumstances one can easily understand that the number should have become a bond of union, even between men who when on duty were ready to bayonet one another. There is no doubt that, apart from such entente cordiale incidents as the above, the power of the regimental number was great; the traditions of the regiment were built up round its number, and when, in 1881, a civilian Secretary of State for War thought fit to substitute county titles for the old numbers, he introduced the most unpopular army reform ever devised by a War Minister. In the eyes of a civilian it may have been a small matter, but it was a bid to destroy the esprit de corps of half the army. That it did not seriously affect regiments was due to the fact that they steered a middle course, styling themselves officially by their new county titles, and unofficially retaining their ancient numbers.

But to return to the events of the 30th August 1813: while Clausel awaited Soult's orders at San Antonio, Reille had renewed the attack on San Marcial. For some hours the Spaniards continued to hold their own, but it is doubtful if they could have done so much longer, when fortunately the elements came to their aid. At about 3 P.M. there fell on the combatants one of the most violent storms ever experienced even in these lofty mountains, and the tempest of wind and rain raged for two or three hours, pinning the assailants to the ground and making further progress absolutely impossible. As darkness came on Reille succeeded in withdrawing his force across the river, but Clausel, who had now been ordered by Soult to retire from San Antonio, was less fortunate, for although he himself with two brigades succeeded in fording the Bidassoa near Vera, his lieutenant, General Vandermaesen, with the remainder of the troops, was cut off by the rising waters. His sole prospect of escape from this perilous situation was by forcing the passage of the guarded bridge a little above Vera, and this, during the dark and stormy night, he was successful in doing, though at the cost of his own life, and with the loss of nearly three hundred of his men. Soult's attempt, therefore, to interrupt the operations against San Sebastian had proved a dismal failure, and while the covering force had been employed in thus holding the French in check, the great fortress had fallen, after an assault as desperate and as bloody as that which had won Badajoz in the previous year.

But Wellington had now cleared up the situation, for, save the garrison of the castle within San Sebastian, which held out for a few days longer, and that of Pampeluna, which was kept locked up until its capitulation in November, no Frenchmen (other than those of Suchet's corps in Catalonia) tarried beyond the Spanish slopes of the Pyrenees. It remained for the Allies to drive them through the mountains into France, and there was still heavy fighting in front of them.