Seven Years' Campaigning In The Peninsula And The Netherlands; From 1808 To 1815.—Vol. II by Sir Richard D. Henegan

Author:Sir Richard D. Henegan [Henegan, Sir Richard D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History, Military, Napoleonic Wars, Europe, France, Spain & Portugal, Great Britain, General
ISBN: 9781782890119
Google: iGpvCwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Pickle Partners Publishing
Published: 2013-02-25T04:58:02+00:00

CHAPTER XX.

Friendly Patroles—Plundering Spaniards—The Padre of Vera—Sequel to the story of Agnese and Friar Antonio—Marauding habits of Murillo's Division— Attack on the Convent of St. Cecilia—Horrible outrage on the nuns, and conflagration of the building.

During the lull of hostilities after the battle of the Nive, our advanced posts, and those of the enemy were within short distances of each other, without either party suffering the smallest annoyance from the proximity. Sentries were relieved, and patroles went their prescribed rounds, frequently exchanging courtesies and kindly words.

Not so with the Spaniards. Murillo's troops, encouraged by himself to look on France as the land of promise, on which might be wreaked the full debt of vengeance owed by Spain, made frequent inroads across the frontier, plundering the inhabitants and committing the most wanton atrocities on the defenceless. Lord Wellington's judicious proclamation was treated with disregard by all the Spanish Generals, Mina himself being nothing backward in exciting his troops to rapine and plunder. The Basque provinces were in arms to repel the aggressive violence, and Soult ably took advantage of this emanation of indignation to excite them to a mountain warfare that would have aided, in no small measure, his own views.

A few days before the termination of this eventful year, I was surprized by a visit from my former host, the Padre of Vera. I had often thought of him, and not less frequently on the scene I had witnessed in his mountain home, on the night before we parted. The good man was sadly changed, and his once tranquil countenance wore an anxious, excited expression, that strongly reminded me of his sister.

Glad of the opportunity of requiting some into the knowledge of some of the atrocities that had been committed by Murillo's troops; atrocities that were never even heard of at the headquarters of Lord Wellington, and that could only find issue to the light of day through such channels as that which brought them to my knowledge.

It was long before I could bring myself to ask tidings of Agnese, and even then, before there was time for an answer, the name of the Friar Antonio escaped my lips in the same breath. The Padre looked up, as if surprised to hear from me the combination of those names, and a flush of crimson dye overspread his usually pallid countenance. “Name him not,” he passionately exclaimed, as, for a moment the incensed feelings of frail mortality rose with resistless force above the habitual subjection of the spirit. “Name him not, the accursed!” With this vehement injective seemed to have exhaled, in some degree, the poor Padre's ebullition of wrath, and crossing himself with lowly reverence, he effected the mastery of his feelings sufficiently to acquaint me with the following circumstances.

After the battle of the Nive, Murillo's Spanish division was placed in cantonments on the mountain heights. Under the pretence of scanty provisions, these lawless marauders invaded the surrounding villages, committing murders, and other revolting crimes on the defenceless people who inhabited those secluded regions.

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