The loss of my company in the late action—Apprehensions about my leg—Medal and pewter—A candidate for Knighthood—Captain Plunkett—His death, &c.—A Rifleman assassinated—Fire eaters—Sketch of San Sebastian—Lord John Hay’s battery—Ramble towards Passages—Something serious—Awkward squads—Singular decline of Spanish Bigotry—A Sectarian alarmed.

I had scarcely finished writing my letter, when word came that the Legion had taken possession of the enemy’s works, and compelled the Carlists to retire. The loss sustained by my company in the action, was one sergeant, one corporal, and six privates wounded. As soon as the news was made known, the bells were set ringing, and the guns fired from the castle and walls in honour of the victory; at night the town was illuminated, with other demonstrations of joy by the inhabitants.

For several days I felt great apprehension about my leg, as it had swollen to almost double its natural size, and had changed to a livid colour, while the nails of the toes fell off. I was now on the eve of fifty, and although in excellent spirits, doubted my constitution being strong enough to undergo amputation. But from evil we sometimes derive good; it proved so in my case. This being my sixth confinement through gun-shot wounds, I had acquired some skill in the art of healing. My doctor, I found, knew but little in such cases: his theory was obliged to give way to my experience; and as the knowledge of a disease is half its cure, I practised on myself. By this means, and strict attention to diet, &c., I was enabled, in the short space of two months, not only to leave my bed, but move about on crutches.

The doctor, while dressing me one morning, told me to keep as quiet as possible, as the nature of my wound required care, the ball passing near the main artery; that if anything like a hemorrhage took place, I was instantly to send to him. Some few nights after this, when turning to reach a glass of water from the table near the bedside, I felt a gush from the wound in that part where the ball had passed. At first I took no notice, but feeling something warmer than usual in my bed, I gently raised my head, and throwing the clothes aside, I saw by the lamp that I was saturated with blood.

I knew from my former campaigns, as well as the hint given by the doctor, that if the artery was not instantly tied, I must bleed to death. It was now about two in the morning, not a creature near me, my servant sleeping in the lower part of the house; to attempt to rise and leave my room to call assistance, such exertion would cause the blood to flow more copiously; to remain still, I must expect nothing but death in a few minutes. What was I to do?—placing my thumb firmly on the hole to stop the blood, while with the other hand I struck the table, and called lustily for assistance, but to no purpose, as no one heard me; my fate seemed inevitable if the hemorrhage continued. In this state of suspense I remained for some time; by degrees a film came over my sight; I felt the vital part of my system so low, and nature became so exhausted, that my head fell on the pillow, and all sense left me. How long I remained in this state I know not, but on coming round again, the morning dawn had just appeared, that gave sufficient light to enable me to see my situation. To my great joy the bleeding had ceased, except by drops. Still afraid to use exertion I remained quiet, the thumb still pressed on the wound; however, I did not remain long in this misery: hearing some one moving along the passage, I called out, when the old patrone made her appearance, and on seeing me covered with blood, rushed out screaming that the Captain had cut his throat, which aroused the whole house, among the rest my servant, whom I instantly sent for Dr. Greenwood. This gentleman, on examining the wound, observed a piece of cloth sticking out of the orifice, which he instantly drew out, and found it to be a piece of my green trowsers which the ball had left behind in passing through my knee. He begged me not to be alarmed, as it was one of the smaller arteries whence the quantity of blood had flowed.

This trial gave me to understand that, although the soldier can cheerfully meet death in the field beside his comrades, he is a coward in the dark when alone.

For their conduct on the 5th of May the men were honoured with pewter medals, in imitation of those of Waterloo. A despatch was also sent from Madrid, conferring the order of St. Ferdinand on those officers who had most distinguished themselves, amongst whom I was named as one. But the honour of the thing was almost lost in the indiscriminate manner in which it was distributed. Numbers procured the distinction without the least claim to either skill or courage, and caused a deal of dissatisfaction amongst the really deserving officers, as the following humorous facts will sufficiently show.

There were three captains billeted in the same house as myself, and amongst them a Captain ——, who, on the morning of the fight, left the field and took to his bed. The doctor, on visiting him, under the idea that he really was wounded, could discover, however, neither the least scratch, nor even bruise. This got wind, and naturally enough caused a stir amongst his brother officers, and the Captain was obliged to resign. But he had formerly been in the service of Don Pedro, and found a friend and powerful advocate in the person of his old chieftain, through whose interest he regained his captaincy, and, to the surprise and indignation of the chief part of the officers, actually in a few days attained a majority, and had the order of San Fernando conferred on him. Two officers of the Rifles also bought the same honour, at the price of a dozen of champagne. But this last was through the then acting Commander of the regiment.

The Spanish Government, with their profusion of honours and pewter, also paid the officers their arrears up to the month of March, 1836, in bills on Colonel Carbonel, in London, at the time payable on delivery; the last and only payment ever made during the service—the officers having been obliged to manage on their field-allowance.

About this time we were joined by a number of convalescents from Vittoria, consisting of officers and men. My old friend, Captain Plunkett, came with them. This veteran soldier, who had formerly served in the 60th Rifles, and was now on half-pay, by an apathy generally evinced to those of the British service, found himself spurned and deserted by the chief part of the officers of our regiment, who were, as before stated, almost entirely composed of Pedroites. He was, at this period, very poor, and was constantly seen in the market-place, selling his necessaries to procure the little requisites of an invalid. But through want and neglect he at last got a relapse, and took to his bed. In this extremity all he had was disposed of. But for my accidentally noticing his servant selling his first, and now the last, resource of a soldier, his sword! he might have died unnoticed. I hobbled, however, as well as I could, to his quarters, and was only in time to witness his expiring agonies. Poor Plunkett, strange to say, was the creditor of the Spanish Government to the amount of one hundred and fifty pounds though he died actually through want.

The gloom consequent on this, however, was not permitted long to settle. Our leisure moments in San Sebastian were ever pregnant with incident, and one scarcely occurred ere some new event monopolised the attention. I had proceeded but a short distance from my deceased friend’s quarters, when my glance was directed to a crowd of the Rifles clustered in confusion round a door-way. Another victim! A poor fellow named Graham, through mistake, had entered an apartment where a woman lay in bed. On perceiving him she screamed out, and before the man could retire, her husband, alarmed by her cry, met him on the stairs, and without any parley, the Spaniard plunged a knife into his body. The unfortunate Rifleman lay weltering in his blood, and died a short time after. The assassin was never sought after, nor any means, either civil or military, taken to bring him to an account. He walked at large in the sunlight, and plainly exhibited to us how little was to be expected from the sympathies or vigilance of our officers.

There is little interesting at this period of my career, excepting the casual scenes that came under my observation during my strolls. Full opportunity was now presented me to remark on the changes that had worked themselves on the manners, customs, and prejudices of the inhabitants, and the ridiculous and extreme folly of the fire-eaters of the Legion. I was now more a spectator than an actor, and claim, of course, the proverbial superiority.

Sometimes at morn, or early towards the evening, I amused myself in strolling about the walks of the neighbourhood. San Sebastian is rather pleasantly situated. To the left, as you approach this fort-crowned peninsula, the Urumea winds its course over some of the prettiest valley scenes I ever beheld. Its banks now exposed to the view the different positions and batteries of the conflicting parties. A little to the extreme in the same direction, and separated by a rising ground, some four miles across, is Passages, a town somewhat resembling Dartmouth, with this difference, that its port is formed by an inlet of the sea, and not by a river. To the right of the Urumea, and divided from it by a natural and narrow neck of land, the Bay of San Sebastian forms its oval basin, of navigable depth, with a point of land studded with a light-house, forming one boundary to the entrance, which is protected and completed by the steep, and castle on the other. A small island lies between them both, and on this Lord John Hay had raised a battery of cannon. My quarters were contiguous to the breech made by Wellington in 1813—now distinguished only by the new appearance of the rebuilt wall. It was curious to notice, as I limped about, the little squads of duellists scattered here and there, and particularly towards the evening. “Twelve paces” were all the “go,” and they sometimes proved a dangerous distance; for many of the combatants were seriously wounded. These were lamentable proofs of the heterogeneous character of the officers of the Legion; for during the whole of my career in our own service, I never knew of but one duel, which proved fatal to one of the principals.

These singularities in the Legion were never much to the taste or approbation of the Spaniards; they naturally, however other changes might have influenced them, still clung to their old dislike of fighting, and rather looked upon us as so many powder-barrels, or rather monkeys, than as partaking in their own peculiar imperfections. But that spirit of bigotry which had formerly possessed the prejudices of the Spanish people had almost entirely vanished before the stride of improvement. This was most probably owing to the introduction of the foreign disputants during the last thirty-five years! Scarcely a monk was to be found at this time, though the monasteries held their old situation. Even the lovely dark-eyed nuns had forsaken their cloisters, and seemed to breathe a new life under the more enlightened state; as regarded religious enthusiasm, I was astonished at its decrease. On one occasion, among several others, I especially noticed it. This was evident on the festival of Corpus Christi; the streets through which the procession wound were certainly hung with what a zealot might call the richest tapestry, but in which I could acknowledge scarcely anything but old carpets, women’s dresses, and old bed counterpanes, &c. Triumphal arches were also erected, and the procession was attended, as usual, by the civil and military authorities, and by detachments from the different regiments of the garrison with their bands preceding them: the priests and canons also thickly followed after them. As they passed where several British officers and myself stood gazing amid a crowd of the inhabitants, I took off my hat, but except two or three old women, who went on their knees, not one of the natives followed the example, or even showed the slightest respect. This dereliction at one time, in Spain, would not have escaped severe penance. Indeed, under the Duke of Wellington, the guards always turned out, and British soldiers were compelled to salute the Host as it passed.

But in my strictures on the old Spanish intolerance, let me not forget a little circumstance reflecting a taint of the same nature, even from our own toleration-loving countrymen. “Let me alone, and I will let you alone,” is too quiet a doctrine for even sectarians: and the two great contending parties on such weighty matters can scarcely allow themselves breathing time, ere the bone of contention which they had laid aside, is again seized on by these little ones. The truth of this was brought very forcibly to my mind some few days after the festival, when on a visit to the cathedral of San Sebastian. I was amusing myself with staring at the paintings, &c., when my attention was diverted to a tall, gaunt-looking British marine, (the marines were doing duty with the Legion at this time), who entered one of the portals, as I thought, on the same errand as myself; turning himself about two or three times, and casting sundry contemptuous glances at the different images and embellishments, his eye chanced to alight on the person of an old official in a kneeling posture between two females, absorbed in prayer. The marine’s eye brightened with indescribable expression. Taking off his cap, which till then he had neglected to do, and wiping down his long carroty wiry hair, over a low retiring forehead, which reminded me of Mawworm’s in the play, he suddenly darted to the back of the priest:

“Hypocrite,” he shouted, suddenly interrupting them, while he pointed to the crucifix before which they knelt; “What do you expect by praying to those bits of timber? Hath not the Lord said, ‘Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image,’ &c.” He was continuing, when the trio, as if electrified by the foreign accent, instantly started up, screaming out, and crossing themselves, “Que, que quiere usted?” (What do you want? what do you want?)

“Eh!” said he again, motioning them to the crucifix. “Don’t you know the second commandment, ‘Thou shalt not bow down to them.’” The old man, terrified, immediately appealed to me for protection. I ordered the marine instantly to leave, and would have given him in charge of the guard, had I not discovered it was his over zeal and not drunkenness, as I at first imagined, agitated him so; luckily for the methodist, there were only a few in the chapel, as had it been in the time of service, the congregation would certainly have made a martyr of him.