I remember one day, while sitting smoking a cigar at my quarters at Vittoria, the Colonel’s wife rushed into the room, and throwing her arms around my neck in tears and in the most heart-rending tone, cried, “Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” and almost fainted. At this moment her husband, the old Colonel, entered, with looks and attitude baffling all description; he approached near me, while his wife still hung on my neck. He stood silent and motionless; at one moment despair depicted in his face, the next his eyes glistened with apparent transports of joy, although the tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks. I was transfixed to my chair (while the old lady still remained crying on my shoulder), wondering what could be the cause of this strange visit. But, with the reader’s permission, I will unravel the mystery. Some time previously, the Chapelgorris—in which regiment the Colonel’s two sons had volunteered—had taken a Carlist village, named La Bastide, and in driving the enemy out, a priest, who was flying with the Carlists, was shot. On the Chapelgorris returning to the village, they plundered the church, and drank wine out of the chalice. This was made known to the government of Madrid; and it was falsely added, that the priest had been murdered in the church, with a view to spoliation. Espartero, the commander of this division, was accordingly written to, and censured for having suffered such an outrage.
The means he adopted to justify himself was cold, deliberate butchery. Although at the time this supposed sacrilege was committed, Espartero called them his noble, brave Chapelgorris, on this day—the 12th of December—the bravest of Spanish soldiers, whose pride it was to fight by the side of the English, were doomed to have their laurels plucked from their brows, and that enthusiastic and loyal spirit broken for ever. The whole of the Chapelgorris were marched a few miles on the Miranda road; and, without the slightest notice of what was intended, they were ordered to ascend a rising ground. Here they found a large body of infantry and cavalry, which had preceded them from Vittoria, all drawn up. When they had ascended the hill, they were ordered to pile arms, and marched to some distance. The cavalry then rode between the Chapelgorris and their arms, when, for the first time, the poor fellows had some idea of what was intended. Espartero, who commanded in person at this scene, then ordered lots to be cast, and every tenth man was set apart from the rest. These ten were shot in the presence of their unarmed comrades. The Colonel’s two sons were ever known to stand side by side in the ranks, but on this morning one of their comrades had taken his position between the two brothers, and this poor fellow, being the tenth man, fell by the ruthless and murderous command of Espartero. When my old host, the Colonel, and his wife, heard of this providential escape of their sons, their joy occasioned the sudden entrance and extravagant conduct of the poor old Colonel and his lady, who came to impart the tidings to me, but were too overpowered by their feelings to give them utterance. “But the most horrid part of this butchery was,” said the old veteran, who by this time was a little collected, “that the men were not despatched at one volley, but individually, four men firing at each victim, who was placed beside his dead comrades, until the tragic scene was finished.”