The British army approach Madrid—Enthusiastic welcome—Preparations to carry by assault the fortress of La China—It surrenders—Description of Madrid—The Puerto del Sol—The Prado—Unsociability of English officers—Seizure of a Spanish priest—Proved to be a spy in the service of the enemy—His execution by the garrotte.

Order having been at length restored, and the French pushed back again to their former ground, the German horse took the advance, and the night passed over quietly; but in the disgraceful encounter, which I have related in my last chapter, two guns of Macdonald’s troop, which were upset during the clamour, fell for a time into the enemy’s hands.

As we passed over the ground which had been the object of dispute the preceding evening, we beheld many of the brave Germans lying dead and naked. Every wound was in the breast, and at the skirts of the village lay the two captured guns; their carriages were broken, and they could not in consequence be removed; the French had set fire to the wheels, which were still smoking.

In less than two hours we reached the heights which command Madrid; the soldiers ran forward to catch a glimpse of the countless steeples that were distinguishable through the haze, and their joy was at its height when they beheld a city that had cost them so much toil and hard fighting to gain the possession of. Ten thousand voices, at one and the same moment, vociferated “Madrid! Madrid!” The enthusiasm of the army was still further increased by the thousands upon thousands of Spaniards that came from the town to accompany us in our entry; for miles leading to the capital the roads were crowded, almost to suffocation, by people of all ranks, who seemed to be actuated by one simultaneous burst of patriotism, and it was with difficulty that the march was conducted with that order which we were in the habit of observing. The nearer we approached the city the greater was the difficulty of getting on, for the people forced themselves into the midst of our ranks, and joined hand in hand with the soldiers. Wine was offered and accepted, though not to the extent the Spaniards wished, but the soldiers were too well-disciplined, and felt too proud of the station they held in the estimation of the people, and in the estimation of themselves, to allow anything bordering on excess to follow the latitude they thus had. There was nothing like intoxication, not the slightest irregularity, and the appearance of the officers, almost all of whom were mounted, and the respect with which they were accosted by the soldiers when occasion required it, was so strongly contrasted with the loose discipline of the French army, to say nothing of the bands of half-naked creatures that composed the army of their own nation, that it may be fairly said no troops ever entered any capital with all the requisites necessary to ensure them a cordial as well as a respectful reception, as the British army did on the present occasion.

At length we entered that part of the town near which the palace stands, but the obstacles which impeded our march, great as they were before, now became tenfold greater. Nothing could stop the populace, which at this period nearly embraced all that Madrid contained, from mixing themselves amongst us. The officers were nearly forced from their horses in the embraces of the females, and some there were who actually lost their seats, if not their hearts. Old or young, ugly or well-looking, shared the same fate; and one in particular, an old friend of my own, and a remarkably plain-looking personage, was nearly suffocated in the embraces of half a dozen fair Castilians. When he recovered himself and was able to speak, he turned to me and said, “How infernally fond these Madrid women must be of kissing, when they have nearly hugged to death such an ill-looking fellow as me.” I would mention his name, but as he is still alive he might not like the joke second-hand. We soon reached the Convent of St. Domingo, near the Plaza Mayor, which was destined for our quarters, and for a time took leave of these people who had so cordially welcomed us to their capital. The soldiers, thus quartered, were left to arrange their barracks; while the officers, who were billeted in those parts of the city adjoining the barrack, proceeded to occupy the houses allotted to them, and to partake of the hospitality of their patrons.

Evening had scarcely closed when every house was illuminated. The vast glare of light which the huge wax candles and torches, placed outside each balcony, threw out, so completely lighted the town, that night seemed to be converted into day, and the whole population of Madrid might be said to fill the streets. Nothing could exceed the popular feeling in favour of the British, and although the ancient palace of the Retiro was garrisoned by two thousand five hundred French troops, with a park of artillery at its disposal, sufficient to batter down the city, the gaiety was continued as if no enemy was within several leagues of the place. The illuminations lasted for three nights, during which not the slightest irregularity or misunderstanding took place.

On the morning of the 13th of August, the General commanding the fortress of La China having refused to give it up, orders were given to carry it by storm. The 3rd, or “fighting division,” as ours was called, was selected by Lord Wellington for this duty. At eight o’clock in the morning all the ladders were in readiness, and the division, commanded by Sir Edward Pakenham, defiled under the walls of the botanic gardens. The sappers had succeeded in opening several breaches in the wall, and the fire of the riflemen in the interior of the gardens announced that the attack of the outposts had commenced. One hundred thousand people of all ranks, ages, and sex crowded the streets, houses, and house-tops to witness the contest. No sooner was the first gun fired, which was the signal for attack, than an universal shout was raised by this vast multitude of spectators, and it would be very difficult indeed, if not quite impossible, to describe this animated scene. The soldiers, infected by the example thus set them, cheered in turn, and it was several minutes before any word of command could be heard from the Babel-like tumult that prevailed. Little or no orders were given—they were unnecessary. The men were directed to carry the fort at the bayonet’s point, and this was all that was said or that was necessary to be said. The troops were then put in motion, and this was the signal for another burst of enthusiasm from the Spaniards, several of whom joined our ranks. The vivas now became so tremendous that nothing else could be heard, and the leading platoons had made some progress through the shrubberies before the order to halt was known; owing to this a few men were killed and wounded, and those old and tried soldiers lost their lives or were disabled in a mere bagatelle, for the French general commanding in the fort displayed the white flag in token of submission the moment he saw the 3rd Division in movement towards the Retiro.

The fall of this place was of vast importance to us. In it was found a large supply of provisions, as well as one hundred and eighty-nine pieces of cannon, including a complete battering train. There was likewise a great quantity of powder and ball, and some clothing, as likewise twenty thousand stand of arms. The garrison, consisting of three thousand veteran soldiers, were made prisoners and sent to Lisbon, and the fort was converted into a state prison for disaffected or suspected Spaniards.

Thus ended our operations for the present, and we had leisure to make our observations upon Madrid, and avail ourselves of the hospitality of such of our patrons as were disposed to show us attention.

Madrid stands in a flat uninteresting country, devoid of scenery; fields of tillage encompass the city up to the mud wall that surrounds it, and the rivulet that meanders round it is in summer so insignificant as to be barely able to supply the few baths on its banks with a sufficiency of water; nevertheless this side of the town, which is next the Grand Park, and the regal cottage called Casa del Campo, is far from uninteresting, and as the Park, which abounds with game of all sorts, was open to the British officers, we had abundance of sport when we wished to avail ourselves of it. The streets are wide, and the principal ones, generally speaking, clean, but the part of the town possessing the greatest interest is the great street called Puerto del Sol. Some centuries ago it was the eastern gate of the town, but as the city became enlarged from time to time, it is now, like the University College of Dublin, in the heart of the metropolis, instead of at the verge of it. Half a dozen or so of the principal streets empty, in a manner, their population into this gangway, where the Exchange is held, and all public business carried on, so that any one desirous of hearing the news of the day, the price of the funds, or any other topic discussed, has but to station himself here and his curiosity will be satisfied, as almost the entire of the population of Madrid pass and repass under his eye during the day. Merchants, dealers, higglers, charcoal venders, fellows with lemonade on their backs, girls with pannellas of water incessantly crying out “Quien quiere agua?” all congregate to this focus, where everything is to be known.

Next to the Puerto del Sol must be placed the Prado or public walk, which is decidedly the most agreeable lounge that Madrid can boast of; but as the promenade never commences before five in the evening, while, on the contrary, the bustle of the Puerto lasts during the forenoon, it must have from me the precedence though not the preference. By five o’clock, as I before said, the walk begins to be frequented, the great heat having by this time subsided, and the siesta over. At seven it is crowded almost to suffocation, and groups of singers with guitars slung across their shoulders enliven the scene. At each side of the walk are tables at which sit groups of people enjoying the scene, but you rarely see men and women seated at the same table; indeed, it would seem as if the men totally shunned the company of the fairer sex, and engrossed themselves more with the news of the day than the gaiety of the Prado. Much has been said of the jealousy of the Spaniards, and in England it is a generally received opinion that they are a jealous race, but I never found them such—quite the contrary. In Madrid a married woman may go to any house she pleases, or where and with whom she wishes. They might have been a different people when Spanish romances and Spanish plays—old ones, I mean—were written, but if the manners and habits of the people were then truly narrated, I can with truth say that no nation in the world has undergone a more wholesome, thorough, and radical reform than Spain.

In some instances we experienced much hospitality from the people, but those occurrences were rare; for the Spaniards are naturally a lofty and distant people, and most unquestionably our officers did not endeavour by any act on their part to do away with this reserve, and in fact after a sojourn of nearly three months in the Spanish capital they knew nearly as little of its inhabitants as they did of the citizens of Pekin. This is a fatal error, and I fear one that it will be difficult to counteract, for it is not easy to correct national habits and national prejudices; but if the officers of the British army were to reflect upon the effect their conduct must have on the people of a different nation, and if they could be made to understand how different, how far different, their reception in foreign countries would be if they unbent themselves a little, and conformed themselves to the modes of those nations amongst whom they were sent by their sovereign, they would at once come to the resolution of changing their tone, and they would by so doing get themselves not only respected and regarded, but the British nation as much beloved as it is respected.

While we thus continued to pass our time in gaiety and idleness, other divisions of the army had moved onwards towards Burgos, which was strongly held by a chosen garrison under the command of an experienced and skilful general of the name of Dubreton. Meanwhile we continued at Madrid, and either enjoying the amusement of the theatres, the luxuries of the hotel called El Fuente d'Oro, the hospitality of the good citizens, or the gay but noisy scenes at the Calle de Baimos, we passed our time as agreeably as men could do, considering the scanty amount of pay which was issued to us; for from the difficulty of getting a supply of animals sufficient to bring up specie from Lisbon, where there was an abundance, the army was at this period five months in arrear of pay, and except for the commissaries and some paymasters who cashed our bills (at seven shillings the dollar!) many of us would have been in a sad plight. Those who were enabled to raise money at this enormous percentage got on well enough, but others, who were limited in their resources, were obliged, per force, to be lookers-on at all that was passing.

An event was now about to take place that engrossed much of the conversation of all Madrid, and created amongst the army no little curiosity. It was the condemnation to death, by the garrotte, of a Spanish priest named Diego Lopez. This ill-fated man, it appears, had been, for some time previously to his arrest, in the pay of King Joseph; he acted as a spy, and gave circumstantial information of all that was passing in our army. Accurately acquainted with his proceedings, the police agents narrowly watched his motions. For some days he had been missing from his lodgings in the Calle de Barrio Nuevo. No inquiry was made after him by the police, they being too conversant in their calling to raise any suspicion in his breast by a step that they knew would be abortive; but his return was eagerly looked for, carefully watched, and his apprehension made more certain. At length he did return.

It was midnight when he reached the barrier at the Toledo gate, where a police agent was stationed. He was asked but few questions and was allowed to pass, and mounted as he was on a jaded horse, fatigued by a long journey, it was not difficult for the agent to keep near enough to him to track him unobserved to his dwelling. The trampling of his horse was soon recognised by an old woman who kept watch for his return. A light was placed at the window as a beacon that all was safe within, and he was about to dismount when he was seized by three police agents who hurried him away to the bureau of the director, while another entered his house for the purpose of seizing his papers. He underwent an immediate examination, but nothing could be elicited from him to criminate himself, and no papers, excepting commonplace ones, were found at his lodgings. He was then stripped of his clothes, and another suit given him in their stead. Every part of his dress was examined, the linings carefully parted, his clothes in fact cut into shreds, when at last, after a scrutiny of an hour, was found, folded up in a button, covered with cloth, which corresponded with the rest, a note from King Joseph to some person in Madrid, briefly detailing the information he had received from Lopez, and asking his advice as to the plans to be pursued.

No more was required, or indeed necessary, to confirm his guilt, and the next day he was, by the orders of Don Carlos de EspaÑa, Governor of Madrid, hurried before a military tribunal summoned together to try him. The only evidence brought forward against him was the concealed note; and nothing could induce him to betray the name of his confederate. The trial was, therefore, of but short duration, and when called upon by the president to make his defence, he calmly stood forward, and looking his judges full in the face, prepared to address them.

Every eye was fixed upon him, and it would be difficult to look upon a man of a more imposing figure. In stature he was about five feet eleven inches, and his make was in proportion to his height; his lank black hair lay flat on his forehead, and hung behind over the cape of his coat in loose but neglected masses; his face bore the marks of care, and his fine dark eye was sunk and wan—he was, in short, the outline of a once fine, but now broken-down man. Having wiped away the drops of sweat that covered his forehead, caused by the heat of the weather, the crowded state of the court, and, no doubt, the agitation of his mind, he spoke as follows:—

“It is now something more than two years since I first attached myself to the service of His Majesty King Joseph: during that period I have served him faithfully, and with the utmost diligence. I have rendered him some service, and he will be, I doubt not, sorry when he learns my fate. I have said that I served His Majesty faithfully: the expression is too weak—I but lived for him; and the only regret I feel in now laying down my life, while endeavouring to promote his interests, is, that I have not been able to succeed in this, my last mission, which is the only one I ever failed in. Gentlemen, I have done.” He then bowed to the court, and resumed his former place.

During the delivery of this short but impressive speech the court and spectators were silent. When it was concluded, a buzz of admiration and pity burst forth from almost every person present, and there were many who would, if they dared, have expressed their sentiments more fully, but the strong guard which occupied the hall was sufficient to maintain order; and though no lives were lost, many arrests took place. When order was restored, the chief of police conducted the prisoner, under a strong escort, back to his dungeon; and the court being cleared, the president asked the opinion of the members as to the guilt of Lopez. They were unanimous—indeed there could be but one opinion, and by that his life became the forfeit. The sentence pronounced against him was, that he should suffer death by strangulation on the following day at two o’clock; and the Plaza Mayor, or Great Square, where a vast market is daily held, was the spot decided upon as most fitting for the execution.

It was thought necessary to augment some of the British Guards in the neighbourhood of the Plaza; and the barrack occupied by the 88th being close to it, I, as the next subaltern for duty, was ordered to repair there to take charge of thirty soldiers, lest any rioting should take place during the night. It was five o’clock in the afternoon when I reached the square on my way to the barrack. It was already much crowded with people of all classes; some led by curiosity to see if any, and what, preparations had been made towards erecting the platform upon which the garrotte was to be fixed; others bargaining for and cheapening seats either at the windows of the shopkeepers, or on the tops of the market stalls; others calling out a sort of programme of the offences, etc., for which Lopez was to suffer; and, though last not least in the list, a host of beggars, who assailed the bystanders with entreaties for charity in the name of the soul about to depart!

The arrival of several carts carrying planks for the formation of the platform, the presence of a large body of police, and the appearance of the workmen entering the square, dissipated anything like apprehension of a disappointment. This circumstance, or announcement, had an instant and powerful effect on the price of seats—the same as the intelligence of a great victory would have on the funds in London. “Omnium was above par,” and “much business was effected.” Every person seemed pleased with the bargain he had made, and I myself was among the number. I paid, by way of deposit, half a dollar to ensure my place, the remaining half to be handed down the following morning. All being settled, so far as related to myself, I left the square to look after my guard. I found all quiet in the quarters of our barrack, and towards nightfall I again returned to the Plaza. It was quite deserted except by the workmen, who were busily employed in marking out and completing the rude platform for the scaffold, in which they had made considerable progress. Its height from the ground was about four feet; the square or area was fourteen by twenty; and from the quantity of materials, and their grossness, it might be supposed that it was meant to sustain, at one and the same moment, half the population of Madrid. But it yet wanted that terrible instrument of death—the iron clasp—to complete its structure.

It was three o’clock before I lay down to rest, but I slept little. The din of hammers and the creaking of waggons put sleep out of the question. I took up a volume of Gil Blas and attempted to read and laugh, but in vain: I could do neither the one nor the other—the garrotte was still in perspective, and nothing could banish it from my thoughts. At length the stillness which prevailed terribly told that all was prepared, and I went once more to the spot. I found it deserted by the workmen, who had done their part, and these preparations now wanted nothing to complete them but the presence of the man who was to die by the pressure of the clasp, which hung from a beam of wood placed in the centre of the platform.

I have before described the height and dimensions of this platform; at each side of it was a flight of four steps—one for the criminal, the other for the two executioners. In the centre was a beam, to which was attached a chair or stool; through the beam a clasp was introduced, and behind was a screw, or sort of vice, which at one turn crushes the neck. Having so far satisfied my curiosity, I once more returned to my post, and waited with impatience for the coming of the hour destined for the arrival of the priest. So early as ten o’clock the square was thronged with Spanish troops, and the platform upon which the scaffold stood surrounded by a strong guard. Vast multitudes already began to congregate towards the spot, in order to take possession of the places they had paid for, or to secure those which would give them an opportunity of witnessing the execution. All business was at a standstill, and every idea, except that connected with the coming event, seemed to be extinct. By mid-day the square, the market-sheds in its centre, and the houses which formed it, were filled nearly to suffocation; and the other streets leading from the prison to the Plaza were thronged with people of all ranks. At length the shouts raised in the streets nearest the prison announced the removal of the criminal, and the huzzas from that quarter were rapidly taken up as they passed onward towards the square: they increased by degrees, and, like a vast torrent which is formed by tributary streams, each stream contributed its quota to the current, until at length it reached the vast vortex, the Plaza Mayor. At this place the shouts were so deafening that for some minutes it was impossible to ask a question, much less hear one. At length the head of the cavalcade was in sight, and a death-like silence followed the tumult that had preceded it. The soldiers stationed in the square, as also those that surrounded the platform, resumed their firelocks; the words “Las armas a l’ombro” was quickly obeyed, and the entire procession was soon within the precincts of the Plaza.

The convict, Lopez, dressed in black, with a loose cloak covering his shoulders, was on horseback, attended by two priests, also mounted, one at each side of him. He wore a hat of large dimensions turned up in the front, and his demeanour was the same as at his trial—firm, collected, and calm. Arrived at the foot of the scaffold he dismounted with ease, and throwing a rapid glance, first at the vast crowd and then at the garrotte itself, he ascended the flight of steps leading to it. The two priests followed but did not speak to him, his wish being that they should not. He then, without flurry or agitation, took off his hat and cloak, and handed them to the assistant executioner, to whom he said something. He wished to address the people, but was prevented by the officer commanding the Spanish troops. He bowed obedience, and instantly took his seat upon the stool under the clasp. His arms were then bound with cords, and the iron collar passed through the stake and placed upon his throat. This scene had a strong effect upon the multitude: the quiet but determined self-possession of the man, his extraordinary resolution, devoid of any bravado, was enough to check any indecent ebullition of patriotism; but the sight of that terrible collar seemed to awaken feelings, and to call forth that sympathy which, a few moments before, was nowhere to be found. Women who, to their shame be it told, waved their handkerchiefs with joy upon his arrival at the scaffold, now might be seen covering their eyes to hide from their view the horrid sight, or to wipe away the tears that traced their cheeks.

All was now in readiness: the executioner stood behind, holding the screw with both hands; at each side was a confessor, and behind one was the assistant executioner, with a square piece of cloth in his hand; one of the priests read from a book, while the other held the hand of Lopez. This ceremony occupied but a few moments; and when the priest had finished reading he stooped down to kiss the cheek of the ill-fated Lopez. He then closed the book; the man behind him threw the cloth over the culprit’s face; the executioner turned the screw—and Lopez was dead! The two priests hurried down the steps, and, in their confusion and fright, ran headlong under the horses of the cavalry which were posted round the scaffold. One of them, a corpulent man—as indeed most priests are—was dreadfully lacerated, but the other escaped uninjured.

During the entire of this scene the vast crowd preserved the most profound silence; but the sight they had just witnessed was succeeded by another of a more disgusting nature. The assistant executioner removed the cloth from the face of the dead man: it was perfectly black; the eyeballs were forced from their sockets; the throat was pressed quite flat, and the mouth, with the tongue hanging down on the chin, was dragged under the right ear.

The troops then defiled out of the square, the multitude dispersed, and by six o’clock in the evening not more than twenty persons were near the scaffold upon which the dead priest was still bound. The body was at length put into a cart, the platform was removed, and the spot which so short a time before was the theatre of this tragedy now bore no evidence of the horrid scene that had been acted upon it.