Charles Louis Constant, Count of Agoult (1790-1875), recalls his experiences set during the battle which is considered ‘the Waterloo of the Peninsula’. He was a captain serving in the 4th Dragoon Regiment.
Our ‘fortunes’ in Spain were becoming more critical by the day. Reason had long been warning to withdraw behind the Ebro (river). Napoleon was determined that his brother should remain in Madrid while he was master of northern Europe. From genius to madness is a short step. Either intoxicated by absolute power or prematurely weakened, it is certain that the Emperor was no longer General Bonaparte. Not heeding any advice, no longer calculating his forces and the resistance he encountered with his eagle eye, he believed that for his service men had to be made of iron and live without any food. From the banks of the Vistula or the Ebro, he wanted to lead the armies of Italy and Spain at the same time, stripping them of all the troops and their best generals he could.
It was in this context that he recalled Marshal Soult, so valuable to the Army of Spain and who could perhaps have avoided the disaster of Vitoria. The French troops remaining in the Peninsula would have formed an imposing and battle-hardened army if they had been united under one skilful leader, but these different army corps formed five separate units that had no ties with each other.
First of all, there were the French and Spanish troops in Madrid under the orders of Marshal Jourdan, followed by our army corps which, on Soult’s departure, had been placed under the orders of General Gazan, a brave and experienced man of war. In Catalonia and Aragon, Marshal Suchet who, combining wisdom with military genius, maintained order and true prosperity in these magnificent provinces. His large and perfectly maintained army was correctly paid with the resources of the country, whereas in the other army corps eighteen months’ pay was due. Sometimes officers were paid a month’s pay and troops a fortnight’s, but this was rare. Finally, Generals Clauzel and Foy and their divisions were at the sides of Bilbao and Logrono.
Such was the state of affairs when King Joseph and Jourdan finally realised that they had to leave Madrid and hasten to Navarre. But it was no longer possible. King Joseph joined up with our army near Burgos. He had few troops with him, though a huge crowd of employees, courtiers, high officials and Spanish families who had attached themselves to his service had followed him. These ‘afrancesados’, as they were called, were loathed by the Spaniards and fled, taking with them whatever they could to escape certain death. These families, who were completely stripped two or three days later, had with them a prodigious number of luxury carriages, wagons and carts, not to mention all the court carriages and an artillery park with over a hundred guns. Such was the convoy that marched through the city of Vitoria all day on 19 June and was positioned to the right of the main road.
It was undoubtedly a mistake to expose this enormous quantity of baggage in this manner, but it could not be moved as there was reason to believe that an English division was occupying Mondragon or Tolosa. The entire army, together with the cavalry, took up position near the main road and the Zadorra river, on a large plain intersected by ditches.
Orders were sent to Generals Clauzel and Foy to rush to Vitoria. They were expected all day on the 20th (of June), a day that would have been so important to move the tremendous amount of luggage! The countryside was in insurrection, and no orders reached these two generals. However, the town could not be abandoned, for if one or both of these two divisions arrived there after the army had departed, they would have been sacrificed. As a result, the day of the 20th was lost. On the 21st, withdrawing with all the baggage was no longer possible. The battle had to be fought under the worst possible conditions.
What does an army’s destiny depend on! If we had been under the command of a skilful leader with absolute authority, the chaos at Vitoria could easily have been avoided. Unfortunately, Marshal Jourdan was old and ill, and King Joseph was completely useless. Nevertheless, the both of them showed up on horseback on the morning of that fateful day. The results are well known.
Our brave infantry bore the full brunt of the fighting. The death of General Sarrut, killed at the head of his division, caused some hesitation. The other divisions, lacking orders, acted without unity. As for the cavalry, it was only deployed at the moment of retreat and to provide support. We were forgotten in front of the enemy, and we wondered why our thirty magnificent squadrons were not ordered to charge to allow the infantry time to recover. On a knoll opposite us appeared two or three English officers on horseback; they examined the position, then disappeared for a moment and returned. It was the English light artillery. We could see the commander signalling with his large feathered hat for the artillerymen to arrive and position their guns on the hill. All this happened as quickly as the galloping of horses. We knew what this meant. A moment later, cannonballs were carrying off men and horses. We formed a close mass, and if we had been left there, it would have soon brought about the end of our cavalry.
Why were we not allowed to capture this artillery? No one knows. Undoubtedly, it was already too late. In the end, our withdrawal began at a walking pace, without a single dragoon thinking of moving any faster. However, there was nothing pleasant about the accompanying barrage of cannonballs. From time to time, horses and men were knocked over. A dragoon beside me had his musket shattered. I heard the noise but couldn’t tell if the man had been hit. Our well-ordered retreat contained the English cavalry, and our infantry were also able to withdraw without being troubled. It was a lost battle.
A line of dragoons was skirmishing and held up the enemy. I was amongst them with several of my comrades. An infantryman was calmly loading his musket in our midst, and I urged him to withdraw. ‘I want to fire one more time’, he said, and took aim. I didn’t want to leave this brave soldier behind and I waited a moment. Meanwhile, however, five or six English hussars approached us and closed in on me. An officer from the regiment then stood beside me. I could tell that he was well-intentioned. One of these ditches, wider than the others, halted King Joseph, and a quartermaster of the regiment came to his aid.
The enemy, still advancing, finally overran the park where the court carriages, those of the most prominent families who were fleeing, and also of the artillery, were gathered. Deplorable acts of vengeance then took place. Old men and women fell victim to the hatred of their compatriots. The English officers put an end to these atrocities, unworthy of civilised people. However, everything was pillaged, including King Joseph’s sceptre, crown and diamonds.
The regiment’s modest caisson, like the others, remained in enemy hands, however the quartermaster had time to entrust his secretaries and a few dragoons with the gold and silver. The treasury was thus salvaged.
The colonel had employed a little Spaniard. The quartermaster, not knowing where to turn, spotted him by the caisson, called him over, stuffed a small bag full of fourpences under his bonnet and said to him: ‘Take this to the colonel’. This represented Mr. Bouquerot’s treasury. This child was just a stone’s throw away from his family. All he had to do was stay there, and the gold was his. He began to make his way through the scenes of murder and pillage. By the merest chance, he reached the colonel, took off his cap, handed him the gold and said: ‘Señor colonel, I’m going home’. What was particular about this disastrous battle was that, perhaps for the first time, soldiers from both armies were seen looting and plundering carriages together instead of fighting each other! That was already progress!
The hours of that day seemed endless; by the evening, the regiment had been reduced by half. We sat around a fire where a dragoon brought a chair for the colonel. The men returned individually, saying they had lost their way. A lost battle is somewhat like a uprising; the officers speak less forcefully; the soldiers respond more freely; there reigns a sort of equality. Colonel Bouquenot, however, had a touching remark to say: ‘There you have it’, he said, ‘the 4th Dragoon Regiment!’ It seemed to me I could hear an old Trojan say: ‘Fuimus Troes … ‘. (1)
(1) A verse drama attributed to Jasper Fisher (1639) about Julius Caesar’s invasion of Britain in 55 BC. The title derives from a line in Virgil’s Aeneid: ‘Fuimus Troes, fuit Ilium et ingens / gloria Teucrorum’ (We were Trojans, this was Ilium and the mighty glory of the Teucrians). The play’s title, ‘We were Trojans’, refers to the legend that both the Britons and the Romans were descended from the survivors of ancient Troy.
Ordinary officers, like myself, found their canteen; mules went everywhere. We therefore found enough to eat for ourselves and our horses. The dragoons also had some provisions. I sat down at the colonel’s fire for my meal, which didn’t take long. Poor desperate Spaniards were arriving all the time. They were already considered emigrants. We gladly offered them our bread and wine. Several ladies, whose bearing, dress and white satin shoes suggested that they were people of the highest social order, also halted at our bivouac, not knowing what to do, having nothing left, not even a sense of personal security. They exchanged a few words, then, consumed by anxiety, moved away.
The brave General Gazan also came to rest for a moment on our chairs. He was terribly worried. The Countess Gazan, with everything that belonged to her, her carriage harnessed to piebald horses, her wagons, her horses, everything had fallen into the hands of the enemy. The next day, however, he was fortunate enough to witness the return of Madame Gazan, who Wellington had escorted back to her husband in her carriage accompanied by an English officer.
The night, one of those clear and beautiful Spanish nights, finally made me consider resting, and I fell asleep in the midst of so much misfortune and after such disasters, like a man exempt from all responsibility. An instinct of selfishness also warned us at that moment that, with the battle of Vitoria being lost, it was the end of our time in Spain and that the wind from the Pyrenees would (now) blow across France. Officers and soldiers, we probably all thought the same thing.
Many dragoons hid precious ounces of Castilian gold in their belts; others carried quantities of these small gold chains known as ‘Toledo chains’. Everyone wanted to keep what they had. What’s more, the war had been going on for so long! Without admitting it, everyone was resigned to the disaster at Vitoria, which dealt such a heavy blow to Napoleon’s fortunes.
We heard no more of King Joseph or Jourdan, and after a few days we welcomed back our old acquaintance, (Marshal) Jean de Dieu Soult, who returned to defend our borders and reorganise the somewhat worn-out army. With the main road to Bayonne intercepted, all that remained for the fleeing army and Spanish families was the road to Pamplona. Many dragoons had rejoined the regiment during the night …
Source : Colonel comte Charles d’Agoult – Mémoires, Mercure de France, 2001, pp. 150-154.
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