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PDF The Law of Attraction: The Power of Thought To Manifest Your Best Life 1st Edition William Walker Atkinson Download

Thought

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Table of Contents

About the Author

Copyright Page

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INTRODUCTION

There is a good chance you have already heard of the concept “The
Law of Attraction”—it’s been featured in bestselling books, popular
television shows, countless talks, classes, and more. That concept—
that we can use our minds to help bring forth that which we want—is
now very widely taught, including in the mainstream.
But have you ever wondered where we got the term “The Law of
Attraction”? Or how we first came to know about it?

THE LAW OF ATTRACTION AND COMMON SENSE


Let’s take a quick step back before I answer those questions. Simply
put, the Law of Attraction is the idea that our thoughts create (or help to
create) our reality, and that by changing our thoughts, we change our
life experience. To take this one step further, there are two main levels
of concept.
First is the common-sense level—if you think positive thoughts and
adopt a positive outlook it makes sense that you will have a more
positive life experience. And the reverse is also true—if you habitually
think negative thoughts and adopt a negative outlook, you’ll probably
have a more negative life experience.
In other words, what we choose to focus on becomes an indicator of
the experience we have.
For instance, two similar people who have similar events happen to
them can have very different experiences of that event based on their
outlook (as well as other factors, of course). As a very broad, general
example, let’s say these two people were both let go from their jobs.
The negative-thinking person can see this as confirmation that life never
works out for them, or that their boss was toxic and had it in for them, or
that they were never appreciated, or even turn to fear of how they are
going to pay rent, etc. Those may all be true. The positive-thinking
person can see this as a sign of a new beginning, they should do
something different with their life, a signal to pursue a different path, or
perhaps even a valuable learning lesson in improving their work
performance in future jobs. Those may also all be true.
If both of those can be true, it would follow that our positivity or
negativity can be a major factor in what we attract to us.
Popular psychology will tell us that the way we experience our life is
often largely determined by how we frame the experiences we have in
life. Neither the optimist nor pessimist is wrong, it’s just a different way
of viewing what happens to us. And common sense would also suggest
—at least to me—that the more we see what happens to us in a positive
way, as much as possible at least, that we’ll probably open ourselves up
to more positive experiences along the way. When we are open and
positive, we tend to see more possibilities, and have more inclination to
pursue those possibilities. Of course, reframing our thoughts and
experiences can be more difficult than we realize, but the effort is
usually worth it.

THE NEW THOUGHT PHILOSOPHY


The second level of this thinking has a more deeply spiritual and
philosophical basis. Around the end of the nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries, a philosophy known as New Thought began to gain
popularity. New Thought grew out of the Transcendentalist movement,
as well as a few other schools of thought, and became known under a
number of names, such as “Mental Science.” Early teachers began to
create organizations and churches that espoused this philosophy,
including Charles and Myrtle Fillmore (the Unity movement) and Ernest
Holmes (the Institute of Religious Science, which has gone through
several name changes, most recently as Centers for Spiritual Living).
There were New Thought seminaries, publishers, magazines, and
correspondence courses. The movement was heavily influenced by
women and by the social issues of the time, including abolition and child
labor.
New Thought teaches a number of tenets, one of which is the idea
of what Ernest Holmes called The One Mind, or Atkinson in this book
calls The Absolute. This is the idea that there are not two powers in the
Universe—God and Satan, good and evil, heaven and hell—but rather
there is one creative power that has created all life. The ideas of duality
are our own invention and states of mind that we experience here on
earth. This power—be it called God, Life, Spirit, the Universe, Power,
etc.—has created all life, including the life of you and of me.
New Thought teaches that when one realizes they are created in the
image of this Power, they then can realize they are one with the Power
that created them (made in Its image). And then they can realize that
the creative process of this Power is available to them through the use
of their thoughts. Most New Thought teachers will teach (in their own
language) that “thoughts are things,” that thoughts have creative power.
New Thought endeavors to teach people how to use their mind
creatively to improve their life experience. This can mean to experience
more love, peace, joy, etc., or to experience greater abundance of
finances, ideas, creativity, etc. Because we are made from Spirit, we
are “divine heirs” of the infinite power and abundance of Spirit.
(Since this is just an introduction to The Law of Attraction and not a
book about the history and ideas of New Thought, I’ve given you only a
very quick overview and generalization of this New Thought concept—
just a taste—though the philosophy has much more to offer. To learn
more about the philosophy itself, you can read classic New Thought
books such as The Science of Mind by Ernest Holmes, The Edinburgh
Lectures by Thomas Troward, or The Game of Life and How to Play It
by Florence Scovel Shinn, to name just a few.)

“THE LAW OF ATTRACTION” EMERGES


It was in these early teachings that the phrase “the law of attraction”
was first used, at least in printed materials. Early New Thought teachers
Prentice Mulford and Ralph Waldo Trine both use the phrase “the law of
attraction” in their writings. Many other early teachers wrote about it
without calling it “the law of attraction” specifically. So this concept was
in the zeitgeist of the time.
In 1906, Atkinson published a book titled, Thought Vibration or the
Law of Attraction in the Thought World. As far as I can tell, William
Walker Atkinson was the first teacher/author to use the term “the Law of
Attraction” in a book title and as the basic concept for an entire book.
That is the book you are now holding, though with the simplified title
The Law of Attraction. Many others after Atkinson went on to use the
phrase and concept of the Law of Attraction, and the concept gained
considerable attention in the early 2000s, a century after Atkinson’s
book, with authors such as Rhonda Byrne (The Secret) and Wayne
Dyer (You See It When You Believe It).

KEYS CONCEPTS IN THIS BOOK


You’ll see as you read the book that there are several themes that
Atkinson stresses. Here are just a few:

Magnetizing yourself—learning the process to move to the


vibration where you are attracting what you want
The Absolute—Atkinson often uses this phrase to refer to the
Higher Power, God, the Universe, the Creator, the One Mind, or
whatever else you might call it
Will and Will Power—will is what you want, and will power is
consistently taking actions toward what you want, even when it’s
difficult to do so
Strong Desire—Atkinson is clear that you must intensely love the
thing you want in order to become an attractor of that thing
(whether it is a quality, like peace or love, or an experience, like a
new job or relationship, or a thing, like a home or car)
Conscious and subconscious mind—Atkinson uses these terms
similarly to the way we think of them today—the conscious mind
is the mind we think with, and the subconscious mind is the place
where our memories and preferences and experiences are all
stored, and it is creative
Auto-suggestion—using specific thoughts deliberately to plant
those seeds into our creative subconscious mind, to help become
magnetized and thus reach our goal
Singular focus on the goal—Atkinson tells us it is more effective
to put our energy toward one main goal, rather than to dissipate
our energy toward several goals

A BIT ABOUT THE BOOK


Let me mention a few thoughts about this book. First, I truly wish I had
been Atkinson’s editor for The Law of Attraction. The self-help
movement that we are familiar with in our present time wasn’t the same
as it was when Atkinson wrote this book. Today most self-help books
have some similar structures—each chapter is a main idea that builds
on the previous one, and chapters might have exercises or practices,
often at the end of the chapter. Some are even workbooks, where there
is space to write in answers to questions the author poses. On the other
hand, I’ve read many early self-help books from the late 1800s and
early 1900s, and they tend to not be as structured. That isn’t to say this
book doesn’t have a structure—it does—it’s just not as linear as most
books today, and it can be a bit stream of consciousness at times. If I
had been his editor, I would have streamlined the book, added some
chapters with practical suggestions and more stories from the author’s
life (and those of his students), and have the author add practical
suggestions in each chapter.
But the book is a product of its time. Atkinson’s voice in the book is
of a straight-talking mentor—not as a guru, as he is quick to point out.
He wants to tell it like it is, at least from his point of view. Although that
means it doesn’t quite follow the same structure of today’s self-help
books, it also has a certain charm that comes from the time period it’s
written in. It’s a bit more formal than today’s self-help books tend to be,
and also bolder in its announcements and ideas. Perhaps today’s
writers see more nuances in both their ideas and audiences than writers
in the past, I’m not sure.
Atkinson also repeats a number of his ideas over and over. Again, a
modern editor would have helped streamline this. On the other hand, I
find the repetition can be helpful to make sure the ideas he repeats sink
in. Sometimes—at least for me, and I’m assuming I’m not alone—I need
an idea to be repeated so that I can not only grasp its meaning, but also
its importance.
You’ll notice that we are referring to this book as revised for the
twenty-first century. What this means is that I went through the text and
made changes that will help modern readers. Those changes are
mainly in the areas of capitalization, outdated terms, and adding a few
explanatory words/phrases here and there. None of the revisions
changed any meaning the author intended, and none of the changes
were substantive. This was merely to do some “nips and tucks” here
and there, so that the text’s ideas weren’t obscured for the reader
because of outdated wordage or grammar. But it’s important to point out
that you are reading Atkinson’s book—his full book—with just a few
adjustments for the modern reader.

WHO WAS WILLIAM WALKER ATKINSON?


Note: I’ve written about Atkinson before, most recently in the
introduction to a collection of Atkinson books called The Secrets of Mind
Power. The section below is adapted from that introduction.
William Walker Atkinson might be the most famous and influential
inspirational writer you have never heard of. I say that because
Atkinson at one time was extremely popular, but somehow while his
ideas have continued to flourish, his name has been largely forgotten.
With one exception (which I’ll mention later), his books are difficult to
find, relegated to print-on-demand status. It is my hope that this volume
will bring some of Atkinson’s most potent and timeless ideas to many
new readers. He deserves a wide readership. Atkinson was a lawyer,
author, publisher, editor, and speaker. Born in Baltimore in 1862,
Atkinson married Margaret Foster Black, had two children, became a
lawyer, and moved to Chicago. That last sentence sums up years of his
life in just a few words, but there is much about Atkinson that we do not
know. What we do know, mostly through his articles and writings, is that
at one point his life took a difficult turn. He suffered a physical and
emotion breakdown, as well as financial ruin. It was then that he found
books on mental healing. Chicago at that time was a hot spot for the
fast-growing New Thought philosophy, the philosophy based on
transcendentalism as well as mesmerism and mental science. He
studied with two of New Thought’s most formidable and influential
leaders, Helen Wilmans and Emma Curtis Hopkins. His mind, body, and
finances were all healed using the ideas from New Thought. He began
writing articles about his experiences and about the metaphysical ideas
that he now embraced. And shortly after that, he began writing books.
He also began working with several New Thought magazines, including
New Thought magazine, Advanced Thought, and eventually Nautilus
magazine, which was founded and headed by early New Thought
publisher Elizabeth Towne.
Eventually he began to publish books through his own publishing
companies, the Yogi Publication Society and Advance Thought
Publishing Company. Here’s where his story gets interesting, at least to
me. Atkinson was incredibly prolific, and he wrote many books about his
main interests, which included mental science, New Thought, psychic
studies, numerology, the occult, natural health and wellness, and also
Eastern philosophy, especially Hinduism, which he had become
interested in. During his lifetime, he wrote well over a hundred books,
which is a remarkable achievement.
However, instead of just publishing them all under his own name, he
evidently created a series of pseudonyms, each with a different
emphasis. For example, the books under his own name dealt with
mental sciences, the occult, divination, and spiritual success. His books
with Eastern and Hindu influences were written under the name Swami
Ramacharaka. He also published under the names Swami Bhakta
Vishita and Swami Panchadasi, and these were largely about
clairvoyance, psychic thought, and life after death. Under his
pseudonym Theron Q. Dumont, he focused on mental power, self-
improvement, self-confidence, memory, and concentration. The health
and wellness titles were published under the name of Theodore
Sheldon, and the esoteric studies, such as Rosicrucianism, were
published with the name Magus Incognito. There were other
pseudonyms as well.
Notice that I said he evidently published books with pseudonyms.
He never revealed one way or another if he authored those, and in fact
even created elaborate stories of who some of these “authors” were.
However, there doesn’t seem to be evidence of these “other” authors
actually existing. Not to mention, those books all had the same “feel” as
the books published under his own name. It is now widely accepted that
he was the author of the books under these pseudonyms. His most
famous pseudonym was “the Three Initiates,” who authored a book that
claimed to be of authentic Hermetic wisdom, called The Kybalion. This
book ended up being his bestseller, the book that he is best known for
today, though most readers of the book don’t know that the name of the
author is actually William Walker Atkinson. There is some question as to
the authorship, whether he wrote the book by himself, or with others, or
even at all, but careful study of The Kybalion reveals that there is a vast
probability that Atkinson was the sole author of the book. (The Kybalion
is available as a part of the Essential Wisdom Library series from St.
Martin’s Essentials, with a foreword by me as well).
While his pseudonyms are fascinating, the books he wrote under his
own name are equally fascinating. Many of his other ideas are now
commonplace as well, and some are still ahead of their time. This book
showcases a man with a brilliant mind and charismatic personality.
Although the language is of the times when he wrote them, his ideas
are timely and practical and valuable. You can tell as you read this book
that he truly wants to help the reader improve their life. He writes in a
motivational, personal style, totally graspable and applicable for the
modern reader.
Yes, some of the stories or examples are dated, but the ideas
behind those examples transcend the time he wrote them. After all,
Atkinson would be the first to tell us that he didn’t invent these ideas, he
only wrote about them in a way that made them understandable. His
confidence in and love of the ideas in his books burst forth form every
paragraph. Reading his book is more than instructional, it is joyful. In
Atkinson’s later years, he become involved in the International New
Thought Alliance, and in fact was their president at one point. He ran
his publishing businesses, remained an active lawyer, popular speaker,
and influential New Thought teacher. He died in 1932, just shy of his
seventieth birthday. His publishing company continued to publish his
books for decades, but otherwise he left behind no organization or
“center” that taught his principles and ideas.
Perhaps that is why his name isn’t well known in this time. His books
didn’t have an author or organization to keep them fresh in the minds of
readers. However, as you read any of his books, you’ll begin to see his
ideas, from these books written more than a century ago, in today’s
current bestsellers. Whenever I notice it, I pause and smile, knowing
that Atkinson’s influence is still being felt today.

IT’S YOUR TURN


It’s your turn to discover Atkinson and his book The Law of Attraction.
You have somehow attracted the book to you, so my guess is that there
is something in this book that will be impactful for you. Read through it,
try to grasp the idea of what he is saying, and then work to apply those
ideas to your own life.
We are all ultimately the author of our own experience, and I hope
that this author, William Walker Atkinson, inspires you to write a glorious
future, one where you attract great experiences and success.

—Joel Fotinos
PREFACE

In December 1901, William Walker Atkinson, in assuming the editorship


of the popular magazine New Thought, introduced himself to the
readers of that periodical in a memorable article. That article contained
a clear, ringing, forceful statement of his individual creed, that which
nothing can afford a deeper insight into the character and inner self of
the man whose name appears as author of this book. It is the
crystallized expression of the world-principles, the truths, which his
writings seek to illuminate, and in my opinion should be read by every
student of his works, as the key to the philosophy he teaches.
For this reason there has been attached to this, his latest book,
under the title “My Working Creed,” the most vital of the fundamental
beliefs enunciated by Mr. Atkinson in that famous introductory
statement of 1901. None can read the recurring, ringing “I BELIEVE” of
this author, without feeling an answering thrill of exaltation and power.
To those who read this book I would say, imbue yourself thoroughly with
the broad and beautiful spirit of those few preliminary paragraphs that
you may pass on understandingly to the perusal of the teachings which
follow.
Those who have an opportunity to refer to the article, which was
included in “New Thought Annual for 1902” (published by The New
Thought Publishing Co.), from which this Creed is taken, should do so.
It tells of the work, the material success, followed by over-strain,
physical and mental breakdown and financial disaster, which marked
the earlier years of William Walker Atkinson. It shows how he came to
know what he now holds to be the Truth, and how, in his own life, he
has demonstrated its value. For from mental and physical wreck and
financial ruin, he wrought through its principles, perfect health, mental
vigor, and material prosperity.
Mr. Atkinson, during the many years of his connection with the
magazine, New Thought, built for himself an enduring place in the
hearts of its readers. For four years his literary work was confined to its
pages (including in addition, three books for its publishers), and article
after article of wonderful strength and vital force flowed from his pen.
During this time several series of “lessons” appeared, under varying
titles, in regard to the application of the Law of Attraction in the Thought
World, lessons which created a sensation and exerted a wonderful
influence upon the lives of those who applied their principles. They were
written in Mr. Atkinson’s own sparkling, intimate style, teeming with
thought, force, energy, fire, but shorn of all atmosphere of the study, all
attempt at “fine writing,” polished periods or dignified metaphor, and all
affectation or assumption of superior learning. One of Mr. Atkinson’s
cardinal principles is “Stand on your own feet,” and he denounces any
attempt to read infallibility into his writings. For this reason we have
again prefaced the present work with a “Foreword” in which he seeks to
instill into all students of New Thought, whether as expressed in his
writings or in those of others, the quality of self-dependence. A reading
of this Foreword will give the student a clear idea of the attitude of mind
in which Mr. Atkinson thinks this and all other individual interpretations
of life should be approached.
With “My Working Creed” and the “Foreword” as guides, the present
reader should enter upon The Law of Attraction, the book proper, in a
spirit calculated to extract the greatest possible value.
The Law of Attraction embraces two series of the vital lessons
mentioned above, with some additional articles by Mr. Atkinson
following out the same line of teaching. The order of the lessons has
been somewhat changed in the combination; and for further continuity
and clearness, new lesson titles in the form of chapter headings have
been selected. The publishers have preferred to retain the familiar
unstudied style of the lessons, as originally written, rather than to
subject the articles to the literary revision by the author, which usually
precedes publication in book form. They contend that Mr. Atkinson’s
mightiest influence, his greatest strength and power, lies in his simple,
straightforward, and at times even colloquial language—the kind which
Other documents randomly have
different content
It only remains to speak of the chaos in the fields and roads east
of Vittoria. When the general débâcle began King Joseph and
Jourdan took their post on a low hill half a mile east of the town, and
endeavoured to organize the departure of the Park and convoys—a
hopeless task, for the roads were blocked, and no one listened to
orders. It was in vain that aides-de-camp and orderlies were sent in
all directions. Presently a flood of fugitives were driven in upon the
staff, by the approach of British cavalry in full career. These were
Grant’s 10th and 18th Hussars, who had turned the town on its left,
and galloped down on the prey before them. Joseph had only with
him the two squadrons of his Lancers of the Guard, which had been
acting as head-quarters escort all day. It would appear that the
Guard Hussars came up to join them about this time. At any rate,
these two small regiments made a valiant attempt to hold off the
hussars—they were of course beaten, being hopelessly
outnumbered[605]. The King and staff had to fly as best they could,
and were much scattered, galloping over fields and marshy ravines,
mixed with military and civil fugitives of all sorts. Some of the British
hussars followed the throng, taking a good many prisoners by the
way: more, it is to be feared, stopped behind to gather the not too
creditable first-fruits of victory, by plundering the royal carriages,
which lay behind the scene of their charge. The French stragglers
had already shown them the way.
Wellington, on reaching Vittoria, set Robert Hill’s brigade of the
Household Cavalry to guard the town from plunder, and sent on the
rest of the horse, and the infantry as they came up, in pursuit of the
enemy. The French, however, had by now a good start, and troops in
order cannot keep up with troops in disorder, who have got rid of
their impedimenta, and scattered themselves. The country,
moreover, was unfavourable for cavalry, as has been said above,
and the infantry divisions were tired out. The chase ended five miles
beyond Vittoria—the enemy, when last seen, being still on the run,
with no formed rearguard except on the side road where the Army of
Portugal was retreating.
If the prisoners were fewer than might have been expected, the
material captured was such as no European army had ever laid
hands on before, since Alexander’s Macedonians plundered the
camp of the Persian king after the battle of Issus. The military
trophies compared well even with those of Leipzig and Waterloo—
151 guns, 415 caissons, 100 artillery waggons. Probably no other
army ever left all its artillery save two solitary pieces in the enemy’s
hands[606]. There was but one flag captured, and that was only the
standard of a battalion of the 100th Line which had been reduced in
May, and had not been actually borne in the battle[607]. The baton of
Jourdan, as Marshal of the Empire, was an interesting souvenir,
which delighted the Prince Regent when it arrived in London[608], but
only bore witness to the fact that his personal baggage, like that of
his King, had been captured. A few thousand extra prisoners—the
total taken was only about 2,000—would have been more
acceptable tokens of victory.
But non-military spoil was enormous—almost incredible. It
represented the exploitation of Spain for six long years by its
conquerors. ‘To the accumulated plunder of Andalusia were added
the collections made by the other French armies—the personal
baggage of the King—fourgons having inscribed on them in large
letters “Domaine extérieur de S.M. l’Empereur”—the military chest
containing the millions recently received from France for the
payment of the Army, and not yet distributed—jewels, pictures,
embroidery, silks, all manner of things costly and portable had been
assiduously transported thus far. Removed from their frames and
rolled up carefully, were the finest Italian pictures from the royal
collections of Madrid: they were found in the “imperials” of Joseph’s
own carriages. All this mixed with cannon, overturned coaches,
broken-down waggons, forsaken tumbrils, wounded soldiers, French
and Spanish civilians, women and children, dead horses and mules,
absolutely covered the face of the country, extending over the
surface of a flat containing many hundred acres[609].’ The miserable
crowd was guessed by an eye-witness to have numbered nearly
20,000 persons. Spanish and French camp-followers and military
stragglers had already started plunder—on them supervened English
and Portuguese civil and military vultures of the same sort—servants
and muleteers by the thousand, bad soldiers by the hundred: for
while the good men marched on, the bad ones melted out of the
ranks and flew to the spoil, evading the officers who tried to urge
them on. In such a chaos evasion was easy. Nor were the
commissioned ranks altogether without their unobtrusive seekers
after gain—as witness the subjoined narrative by one whom a
companion in a contemporary letter describes as a ‘graceless youth.’
‘As L. and I rode out of Vittoria, we came to the camp in less than
a mile. On the left-hand side of the road was a heap of ransacked
waggons already broken up and dismantled. There arose a shout
from a number of persons among the waggons, and we found that
they had discovered one yet unopened. We cantered up and found
some men using all possible force to break open three iron clasps
secured with padlocks. On the side of the fourgon was painted “Le
Lieutenant-Général Villatte.” The hasps gave way, and a shout
followed. The whole surface of the waggon was packed with church
plate, mixed with bags of dollars. A man who thrust his arm down
said that the bottom was full of loose dollars and boxes. L. and I
were the only ones on horseback, and pushed close to the waggon.
He swung out a large chalice, and buckling it to his holster-strap
cantered off. As the people were crowding to lay hold of the plate, I
noted a mahogany box about eighteen inches by two feet, with brass
clasps. I picked out four men, told them that the box was the real
thing, and if they would fetch it out we would see what it held. They
caught the idea: the box was very heavy. I led the way through the
standing corn, six or seven feet high, to a small shed, where we put
it down and tried to get it open. After several devices had failed, two
men found a large stone, and, lifting it as high as they could,
dropped it on the box. It withstood several blows, but at length gave
way. Gold doubloons and smaller pieces filled the whole box, in
which were mixed some bags with trinkets. Just then an Ordnance
store-keeper came up, and said there was no time to count shares:
he would go round and give a handfull in turn to each. He first
poured a double handfull into my holster. The second round was a
smaller handfull. By this time I was reflecting that I was the only
officer present, and in rather an awkward position. I said they might
have the rest of my share,—there was first a look of surprise, and
then a burst of laughter, and I trotted away. I rode eight or ten miles
to the bivouack and found the officers in an ancient church—housed
à la Cromwell. On the 23rd, before we left our quarters, I and ——
went up into the belfry, and counted out the gold—the doubloons
alone made nearly £400. I remitted £250 to my father, and
purchased another horse with part of the balance[610].’
General Villatte, no doubt, had special facilities in Andalusia—but
every fourgon and carriage contained something that had been
worth carrying off. The amount of hard cash discovered was almost
incredible. Men and officers who had been self-respecting enough to
avoid the unseemly rush at the waggons, had wonderful bargains at
a sort of impromptu fair or auction which was held among the débris
of the convoy that night. Good mules were going for three guineas—
horses for ten. Every one wished to get rid of the heavy duros and
five-franc pieces, which constituted the greater part of the plunder;
six and eight dollars respectively were offered and taken for a gold
twenty-franc piece or a guinea. ‘The camp was turned into a fair—it
was lighted up, the cars, &c., made into stands, upon which the
things taken were exposed for sale. Many soldiers, to add to the
absurdity of the scene, dressed themselves up in uniforms found in
the chests. All the Portuguese boys belonging to some divisions are
dressed in the uniforms of French officers—many of generals[611].’
Wellington had hoped to secure the five million francs of the
French subsidy which had just arrived at Vittoria before the battle.
His expectations were deceived; only one-twentieth of the sum was
recovered, though an inquisitorial search was made a few days later
in suspected quarters. One regiment, which had notoriously
prospered, was made to stack its knapsacks on the 23rd, and they
were gone through in detail by an assistant provost-marshal—but
little was found: the men had stowed away their gains in belts and
secret pockets; or deposited them with quartermasters and
commissaries who were known to be honest and silent.
The only feature in this discreditable scene that gives the
historian some satisfaction is to know that there was no mishandling
of prisoners—not even of prominent Spanish traitors. The only
person recorded to have been killed in the chaos was M. Thiébault,
the King’s treasurer, who fought to defend his private strong-box
containing 100,000 dollars, and got shot[612]. The women were
particularly well treated—the Countess Gazan, wife of the
Commander of the Army of the South, was sent by Wellington’s
orders in her own carriage to join her husband—a courtesy
acknowledged by several French diarists[613]. The same leave was
given later to many others, and the Commander-in-Chief wrote to the
Spanish Ministry to beg that no vengeance might be taken on the
captured afrancesados, and seems to have secured his end in the
main.
The French loss in the battle, according to the definitive report
made from the head-quarters of the three armies after they had got
back into France, was 42 officers and 716 men killed, 226 officers
and 4,210 men wounded, and 23 officers and 2,825 prisoners or
missing—a total of 8,091. It is known that of the ‘missing’ some
hundreds were stragglers who rejoined later, and some other
hundreds dead men, who had not got into the list of killed. The total
number of prisoners did not really exceed 2,000. But on the other
hand the official returns are incomplete, not giving any figures for the
artillery or train of the Armies of Portugal and the Centre, or for the
Royal Guards (which lost 11 officers and therefore probably 150 to
200 men), or for the General Staff (which had 35 casualties), or for
the stray troops of the Army of the North present in the battle.
Probably the real total, therefore, was very much about the 8,000
men given by the official return.
The Allied casualties were just over 5,000—of whom 3,672 were
British, 921 Portuguese, and 552 Spaniards. A glance at the table in
the Appendix will show how unequally they were distributed. Seven-
tenths of the whole loss fell on the 2nd and 3rd Divisions, with
Grant’s brigade of the 7th, Robinson’s of the 5th, and Stubbs’s
Portuguese in the 4th. These troops furnished over 3,500 of the total
loss of 5,158. The 1st Division (54 casualties), the British brigades of
the 4th Division (125 casualties), Hay’s and Spry’s brigades of the
5th (200 casualties), Barnes’ and Lecor’s of the 7th (no
casualties[614]), the Light Division (132 casualties), Silveira’s Division
(10 casualties), the cavalry (155 casualties) had no losses of
importance. The 266 men marked as missing were all either dead or
absent marauding, save 40 of the 71st whom the French took
prisoners to Pampeluna. The Spanish loss of 14 officers and 524
men was entirely in Morillo’s and Longa’s Divisions, and much
heavier among the Estremadurans, who fought so well on the
heights of La Puebla, than among the Cantabrians who skirmished
all day at Durana. Giron’s Galicians were never engaged, having
only arrived in the rear of Graham’s column just as the fighting north
of the Zadorra was over. They encamped round Arriaga at the end of
the day.
That the battle of Vittoria was the crowning-point of a very brilliant
strategic campaign is obvious. That in tactical detail it was not by any
means so brilliant an example of what Wellington and his army could
accomplish, is equally obvious. Was the General’s plan to blame? or
was a well-framed scheme wrecked by the faults of subordinates? It
is always a dangerous matter to criticize Wellington’s arrangements
—so much seems clear to the historian that could not possibly have
been known to the soldier on the morning of June 21st. It is obvious
to us now that there was a fair chance not only of beating the French
army, and of cutting off its retreat on Bayonne, but of surrounding
and destroying at least a considerable portion of it. Wellington’s
orders are always extremely reticent in stating his final aims, and
give a list of things to be done by each division, rather than a general
appreciation of what he intends the army to accomplish. But reading
his directions to Graham, Hill, and Dalhousie, and looking at the way
on which they work out on the map, and the allocation of forces in
each column, it would seem that in view of the distribution of the
French troops on the afternoon of June 20th, he planned a complete
encircling scheme, which should not only accomplish what he
actually did accomplish, but much more. Graham, with his 20,000
men, must have been intended not only to force the line of the
Zadorra and cut the Royal Road, but to fall upon the rear of the
whole French army, which on the afternoon of the 20th had been
seen to have a most inadequate flank-guard towards the north-east.
Hill’s 20,000 men were not, as Jourdan thought, the only main
attack, nor as Gazan (equally in error) thought, a mere
demonstration. They were intended to make an encircling movement
to the south, as strong as Graham’s similar movement to the north.
But obviously both the flanking columns, Hill’s far more than
Graham’s, were in danger of being repulsed, if the French could turn
large unemployed reserves upon them. Wherefore the central
attacks, by the 4th and Light Divisions on the Nanclares side, and by
the 3rd and 7th Divisions on the Mendoza side, were necessary in
order to contain any troops which Jourdan might have sent off to
overwhelm Hill or Graham.
And here comes the weak point of the whole scheme—all the
movements had to be made through defiles and over rough country:
Hill had to debouch from the narrow pass of Puebla, Graham had a
long mountain road from Murguia, and, worst of all, Dalhousie, with
the 3rd and 7th Divisions, had to cross the watershed of a very
considerable mountain by mere peasants’ tracks. Only the column
which marched from the Bayas to Nanclares had decent going on a
second-rate road. There was, therefore, a considerable danger that
some part of the complicated scheme might miscarry. And any
failure at one point imperilled the whole, since the Nanclares column
was not to act till Hill was well forward, and the Mendoza column
was ordered to get into touch with the troops to its right, and regulate
its movements by them; while Graham, still farther off, was also to
guide himself by what was going on upon his right, to correct himself
with the Mendoza column, and only to attack on the Bilbao road
when it should be seen that an attack would be obviously useful to
the main advance.
Hill discharged his part of the scheme to admiration, as he
always did anything committed to him, and took up the attention of
the main part of the Army of the South. But the central and left
attacks did not proceed as Wellington had desired. Graham got to
his destined position within the time allotted to him, but when he had
reached it, was slow and unenterprising in his action. He was
seeking for Dalhousie’s column, with which he had been directed to
co-ordinate his operations: he sent out cavalry scouts and Bradford’s
Portuguese to his right, but could find nothing. This, I think, explains
but does not wholly excuse his caution at noon. But it neither
explains nor excuses at all his tactics after he had received, at two
o’clock, Wellington’s orders telling him to press the enemy hard, and
make his power felt. With his two British divisions, the Portuguese of
Pack and Bradford, and two cavalry brigades, he only made a
genuine attack at one point, and did not put into serious action (as
the casualty lists show) more than four battalions—those used at
Gamarra Mayor. The whole left column was contained by little more
than half of its number of French troops. Graham says in his
dispatch to Wellington that ‘in face of such force as the enemy
showed it was evidently impossible to push a column across the river
by Gamarra bridge.’ He does not explain his inactivity at other points,
except by mentioning that the enemy had ‘at least two divisions in
reserve on strong ground behind the river[615].’ There was really only
one brigade in reserve, and so far from being compelled to attack at
Gamarra only, Graham had besides Arriaga bridge on the main road,
two other bridges open to assault (those of Goveo and Yurre),
besides at least one and probably three fords. All these more
southern passages were watched by cavalry only, without infantry or
guns. It is clear that Graham could have got across the Zadorra
somewhere, if he had tried. Very probably his quiescence was due to
his failing eyesight, which had been noticed very clearly by those
about him during this campaign[616]. The only part of his corps which
did really useful work was Longa’s Spanish division, which at least
cut the Bayonne road at the proper place and time.
But if Graham’s tactics cannot be praised, Lord Dalhousie was
even more responsible for the imperfect consequence of the victory.
Why Wellington put this fussy and occasionally disobedient officer in
charge of the left-centre column, instead of Picton, passes
understanding. The non-arrival of the 7th Division, which was to lead
the attack, was due to incompetent work by him or his staff. He says
in his dispatch that he was delayed by several accidents to his
artillery (Cairnes’s battery). But from his own narrative we see that
the guns got up almost as soon as his leading infantry brigade
(Grant’s), while his two rear brigades (Barnes and Le Cor) never
reached the front in time to fire a shot. What really happened was
that for want of staff guidance, for which the divisional commander
was responsible, these troops did not take the path assigned to
them, and went right over, instead of skirting, the summit of Monte
Arrato, making an apparently short (and precipitous) cut, which
turned out to be a very long one[617]. So when Dalhousie did arrive,
with one brigade and his guns, Picton had long been waiting by Las
Guetas in a state of justifiable irritation. Finally, Dalhousie (lacking
the greater part of his division) did not attack till he got peremptory
orders to do so from the Commander-in-Chief. Hence the extreme
delay, which caused grave risk to Hill’s wing, so long engaged
without support. It is fair to add that the delay had one good effect—
since it led Jourdan to think that his right was not going to be
attacked, and therefore to send off Villatte’s and Cassagne’s
divisions to the far left. If Dalhousie had advanced an hour earlier,
these divisions would have been near enough to support Leval. But
this is no justification for the late arrival and long hesitations of the
commander of the 7th Division. Undoubtedly a part of the
responsibility devolves on Wellington himself, for putting an untried
officer in charge of a crucial part of the day’s operations, when he
had in Picton an old and experienced tactician ready to hand.
The strategical plan was so good that minor faults of execution
could not mar its general success. Yet it must be remembered that, if
all had worked out with minute accuracy, the French army would
have been destroyed, instead of merely losing its artillery and train.
And the fact that 55,000 men escaped to France, even if in sorry
condition, made the later campaign of the Pyrenees possible. There
would have been no combats of Maya and Roncesvalles, no battles
of Sorauren and St. Marcial, if the eight French divisions present at
Vittoria had been annihilated, instead of being driven in disorder on
to an eccentric line of retreat.
SECTION XXXVII
EXPULSION OF THE FRENCH FROM
SPAIN

CHAPTER I
THE PURSUIT OF CLAUSEL

At ten o’clock on the morning of June 22nd Wellington moved


out from Vittoria in pursuit of the French. Touch with them had been
lost on the preceding night, as the divisions which had fought the
battle had ceased to move on after dark, and had settled into
bivouacs four or five miles beyond the city. The enemy, on the other
hand, had continued his flight in the darkness, till sheer exhaustion
compelled each man to throw himself down where he was, all order
having been lost in most units, and only Reille’s rearguard of the
Army of Portugal having kept its ranks. About midnight the majority
had run to a standstill, and the hills along the Salvatierra road began
to be covered with thousands of little fires, round which small groups
were cooking the scanty rations that they had saved in their
haversacks. ‘The impromptu illumination had a very pretty effect: if
the enemy had seen it he might have thought that we had rallied and
were in order. But it was only next morning that the regiments began
to coalesce, and reorganization was not complete till we got back to
France. Generals were seeking their divisions, colonels their
regiments, officers their companies. They found them later—but one
thing was never found again—the crown of Spain, fallen for ever
from the brow on which it was not to be replaced[618].’ King Joseph
himself, pushing on ahead of the rout, reached Salvatierra, sixteen
miles from the field, before he dismounted, and shared a meagre
and melancholy supper with D’Erlon and two ministers, the Irish-
Spaniard O’Farrill and the Frenchman Miot de Melito. To them
entered later Jourdan, who had been separated from the rest of the
staff in the flight. He flung himself down to the table, saying, ‘Well,
gentlemen, they would have a battle, and it is a lost battle,’ after
which no one said anything more. This was the old marshal’s
reflection on the generals who, all through the retreat, had been
urging that it was shameful to evacuate Spain without risking a
general action. After three hours’ halt, sleep for some, but the
wakefulness of exhaustion for others, the King’s party got to horse at
dawn, and rode on toward Pampeluna, the army straggling behind
them. It was a miserable rainy day with occasional thunderstorms:
every one, from Joseph to the meanest camp-follower, was in the
same state of mental and physical exhaustion. But the one thing
which should have finished the whole game was wanting—there was
practically no pursuit.
Of Wellington’s nine brigades of cavalry only two, those of Grant
and Anson, had been seriously engaged on the 21st, and had
suffered appreciable losses. The other seven were intact, and had
not been in action. It is obvious that they could not have been used
to effect in the darkness of the night, and over rough ground and an
unknown track. But why an early pursuit at dawn was not taken in
hand it is difficult to make out. Even the same promptness which had
been shown after Salamanca, and which had been rewarded by the
lucky gleanings of Garcia Hernandez, was wanting on this occasion.
There was no excuse for the late start of the cavalry, and in
consequence it rode as far as Salvatierra without picking up more
than a few wounded stragglers and worn-out horses and mules. The
French had gone off at dawn, and were many miles ahead.
The infantry followed slowly; not only were the men tired by the
late marches and their legitimate exertions in the battle, but many
thousands had spent the hours of darkness in a surreptitious visit to
the field of the convoy, and had come back to the regimental bivouac
with plunder of all kinds bought at the cost of a sleepless night. Many
had not come back at all, but were lying drunk or snoring among the
débris of the French camps. Wellington wrote in high wrath to
Bathurst, the Minister for War: ‘We started with the army in the
highest order, and up to the day of the battle nothing could get on
better. But that event has (as usual)[619] annihilated all discipline. The
soldiers of the army have got among them about a million sterling in
money, with the exception of about 100,000 dollars, which were got
for the military chest. They are incapable of marching in pursuit of
the enemy, and are totally knocked up. Rain has come and
increased the fatigue, and I am quite sure that we have now out of
the ranks double the amount of our loss in the battle, and that we
have more stragglers in the pursuit than the enemy have, and never
in one day make more than an ordinary march. This is the
consequence of the state of discipline in the British army. We may
gain the greatest victories, but we shall do no good till we so far alter
our system as to force all ranks to do their duty. The new regiments
are as usual worst of all. The —— are a disgrace to the name of
soldier, in action as elsewhere: I shall take their horses from them,
and send the men back to England, if I cannot get the better of them
in any other manner[620].’
This, of course, is one of Wellington’s periodical explosions of
general indiscriminating rage against the army which, as he
confessed on other occasions, had brought him out of many a
dangerous scrape by its sheer hard fighting. He went on a few days
later with language that can hardly be forgiven: ‘We have in the
Service the scum of the earth as common soldiers, and of late years
have been doing everything in our power, both by law and by
publication, to relax the discipline by which alone such men can be
kept in order. The officers of the lower ranks will not perform the duty
required from them to keep the soldiers in order. The non-
commissioned officers are (as I have repeatedly stated) as bad as
the men. It is really a disgrace to have anything to say to such men
as some of our soldiers are[621].’ The Commander-in-Chief’s own
panacea was more shooting, and much more flogging. All this
language is comprehensible in a moment of irritation, but was cruelly
unjust to many corps which kept their discipline intact, never
straggled, and needed no cat-o’-nine-tails: there were battalions
where the lash was unknown for months at a time. But Wellington
usually ignored the moral side of things: he seldom spoke to his men
about honour or patriotism or esprit de corps, and long years
afterwards officially informed a Royal Commission on the Army that
‘he had no idea of any great effect being produced on British soldiers
by anything but the immediate fear of corporal punishment.’ It is sad
to find such mentality in a man of strict honour and high military
genius. On this particular occasion he, no doubt, did well to be
angry: but were there no regiments which could have marched at
dawn to keep up the pursuit? Undoubtedly there were many:
Ponsonby’s heavy dragoons had ridden through the chaos of
plunder without a man leaving the ranks, and had bivouacked five
miles to the front of Vittoria. There were several infantry brigades
which had been so far to the left or the right in the action that they
never came near the temptation, and only remembered the night of
the 21st as one of short commons and hard lying[622]. Perhaps the
sight of the disgraceful confusion in and about Vittoria gave the
Commander-in-Chief an exaggerated impression of the general
condition of the army. And undoubtedly he had an absorbing night’s
task before him, when he sat down to work out the entire recasting of
his operations which the victory had made necessary.
His main design, as expressed in the order for the 22nd, was to
send Giron and Longa into Biscay by the great Bayonne chaussée,
to pursue Maucune’s convoy and to cut off, if possible, Foy and the
garrison of Bilbao, while the Anglo-Portuguese army marched in
pursuit of the French main army on Pampeluna. Clausel had been
heard of in the direction of Logroño; a zealous and patriotic
innkeeper had ridden 40 miles on the night of the 20th to report to
Wellington the position of the head of his column; and it was the
knowledge that he was more than a full day’s march from Vittoria
which had enabled the arrangements for the battle to be made with
complete security against any intervention on his part[623]. But,
though it was most probable that he would have heard of the
disaster to the King’s army, and have turned back to Pampeluna or
Saragossa, there was a chance that the news might not have
reached him. If so, he could be at Vittoria by the afternoon of the
22nd, and his appearance there might prove very tiresome, as the
British hospitals and the whole spoil of the battle would have been at
his mercy. Wherefore Wellington, who somewhat underrated
Clausel’s strength[624], left behind at Vittoria the 5th Division and R.
Hill’s cavalry brigade to guard the place: the 6th Division was due to
arrive at noon, or not much later, from Medina de Pomar, so that
12,000 men would be available if the possible but improbable event
of a raid on Vittoria should come to pass.
These precautions having been taken, the army marched off at
ten o’clock, in three columns, the ‘Centre Column’ of previous days
with head-quarters and the bulk of the cavalry sticking to the main
Salvatierra-Pampeluna road, while Hill and Graham kept to side-
tracks[625], which were available so long as the march lay in the plain
of Vittoria, but converged on Salvatierra, where the watershed
comes, and the mountains of Navarre block the way. Here all the
roads met, and there was a steep rise and a defile, before the head-
waters of the Araquil, the main river of north-western Navarre, were
reached.
That afternoon Wellington’s quartermaster-general, George
Murray—about the only man who ever dared to make a suggestion
to his chief—asked him whether it might not be worth while to send a
detachment northward, by the mountain road which goes from
Salvatierra to Villafranca on the great Bayonne chaussée. For Giron
and Longa might have been detained by the French forts at the
defile of Salinas, at Mondragon and elsewhere, and so have failed to
get forward in their pursuit of Maucune’s convoy and the Bilbao
garrison. But a force sent across the hills from Salvatierra would cut
in to the chaussée behind the fortified posts; and, if the convoy were
moving slowly, might catch it as it passed through Villafranca, or at
any rate intercept other stray bodies of French troops[626]. Wellington
approved the idea at once, and ordered Graham to take the greater
part of his own column—the 1st Division, Pack’s, and Bradford’s
Portuguese, and Anson’s cavalry brigade,—to leave the pursuit of
the King’s army, and to march to co-operate with the Spanish troops
who had already been detached to press the retreat of the French
garrisons of Biscay. The road Salvatierra-Villafranca turned out
practicable for all arms, but very trying both to cavalry and artillery,
its first stage being a long uphill pull, over a road of the most stony
kind—on the watershed at the Puerto de San Adrian it was taken
through a tunnel cut in the solid rock. The diversion of Graham’s
column being an afterthought—the orders for it were only issued at 3
p.m.—there was some delay in finding the troops in an afternoon of
blinding rain, and turning them on to the new direction. The general
himself, as his dispatch shows, was not reached by Wellington’s
orders till next morning[627]. Only the light brigade of the German
Legion got well forward on the 22nd,—the rest of the 1st Division
and Bradford’s Portuguese hardly got started. Anson’s Light
Dragoons and Pack’s Portuguese, like Graham himself, never
received their orders at all that night, having pushed on beyond
Salvatierra for two leagues or more, where the officers sent in search
of them failed to catch them up. They had actually gone forward
some miles farther towards Navarre, on the morning of the 23rd,
before they were found and set right. This caused a tiresome
counter-march of some miles to get back to Salvatierra and the
cross-roads. Wellington was much vexed with the bad staff-work, but
vented his wrath, unfortunately, not on his own aides-de-camp but on
a meritorious officer whom they had failed to find or warn. Captain
Norman Ramsay, the hero of the ‘artillery charge’ at Fuentes de
Oñoro[628], was attached with his battery to Anson’s cavalry brigade.
He was still moving eastward, on the night of the 22nd, when the
Commander-in-Chief chanced to come upon him. Wellington at once
ordered him to halt, billet his men in a neighbouring village, and wait
for new directions. According to Ramsay’s version of the words
used, they were that ‘if there were any orders for the troop in the
course of the night, he would send them[629].’ But Wellington was
under the impression that the phrase used was that Ramsay was not
to move until he had direct orders from Head-Quarters as to his
route. Next morning about 6 a.m. an assistant quartermaster-general
(Captain Campbell) came to the village, and asked Ramsay if he had
yet received his directions. On hearing that he had not, the staff-
officer told him to follow Anson’s brigade, who (as Ramsay
supposed) were still moving eastward; for no hint of the change of
route had been given him on the previous night. The battery was
started off again on the road towards Pampeluna, and its
commander rode on ahead to seek for the cavalry to whom he was
attached. At this moment Wellington came up, expressed high wrath
at finding the guns on the move in the wrong direction, and asked for
Ramsay, who was not forthcoming for some time. Whereupon the
angry general ordered him to be put under arrest for flagrant
disobedience, and spoke of trying him by court martial. His version of
the offence was that ‘Captain Ramsay disobeyed a positive order
given him verbally by me, in expectation of a circumstance which
occurred, namely that he might receive orders, from someone else to
move as I did not wish him to move[630].’ It is easy to see how the
vagueness in the wording of the order, or even a misconception of
the stress laid upon one of its clauses, brought about Ramsay’s
mistake. He understood that he was to halt till he got orders, and
took Campbell’s message to be the orders meant. It is pretty clear
from Wellington’s own language that Ramsay was not warned that
he might receive orders not directly proceeding from G.H.Q., which
he was to disregard entirely. Explanation of that kind would not have
been in the Wellingtonian manner.
The unfortunate battery-commander, who had done splendid
service on the 21st, and had a brilliant record behind him, gained the
sympathy of the whole army, and such senior officers as dared
continued to make intercession for his pardon. After keeping him for
some weeks under arrest, Wellington resolved not to try him, and to
send him back to his battery. But he was cut out of the reward which
he had earned at Vittoria, and did not receive the brevet advance in
rank or the decorations given to the other battery-commanders, so
that he practically lost ground in comparison with his equals and fell
to the bottom of the list. This was a deadly blow to Ramsay, who was
sensitive and full of professional pride: he kept silence—not so his
comrades, who filed the incident as another flagrant example of
Wellington’s dislike for and injustice to the artillery arm[631]. He fell,
still only a battery-commander, at Waterloo.
The result of the miscarriage of orders on the night of the 22nd
and the morning of the 23rd was that Graham’s turning column was
late in its movement. The general himself was one of the last to get
the new direction—the cavalry which should have been at the head
of the march was at its tail. The German Light Battalions were very
far ahead of all the other units, and had to hold back in order to let
the rest come up. Hence the attack on Villafranca was not delivered
on the evening of the 23rd, as it might have been, but on the
afternoon of the 24th, and in the intervening twenty-four hours the
greater part of the French troops whom Graham might have cut off
filed through Villafranca on their way to Tolosa and the frontier, and
only a flank-guard was brought to action. Of this more in its proper
place.
The rest of the troops under Wellington’s immediate eye, the
‘Centre Column’ and Hill’s corps, pursued their way on the 23rd
along the Salvatierra-Pampeluna road—only Victor Alten’s hussars
got in touch with the tail of King Joseph’s fugitive host, which was
moving at a great pace and had a long start. There was now a
proper rearguard—Cassagne’s division of the Army of the Centre,
which had lost only 250 men at Vittoria, and had been more shaken
than hurt, having replaced the much-tried Army of Portugal as the
covering force. King Joseph halted for some hours at Yrurzun, and
there gave orders for Reille to diverge from the main line of retreat,
and to take his two divisions, a cavalry brigade, and all the teams of
his lost artillery by the route of Santesteban and the valley of the
Bastan, back to the French frontier on the lower Bidassoa[632].
Finding himself so feebly pursued, he had jumped to the conclusion
that Wellington might have marched with the bulk of his force on the
great chaussée, making directly for Irun and Bayonne. There being
nothing to stop him save the scattered detachments under Foy, an
invasion of France was possible. Hence Reille was directed to join
Foy in haste, and cover the line of the Bidassoa. Thus Graham and
Reille were now moving parallel to each other, both in a direct
northerly direction, but separated by many a mile of impracticable
mountains. The Armies of the South and Centre continued their
retreat on Pampeluna.
Meanwhile Wellington on the morning of the 23rd received some
important news from Vittoria. The unexpected had happened:
Clausel having failed to hear of the King’s defeat—as chance would
have it—was marching on the city by the Trevino road. Pakenham
had already arrived there, but the 5th Division had gone forward to
join the tail of Graham’s column on being relieved by the 6th, nothing
having yet been heard of the French till midday. The force on the
spot, therefore, was rather weak, if Clausel had meant mischief. But
he did not, and was becoming aware of the danger of his own
position. He had heard on the 20th, when he was in march along the
Ebro from Logroño on Haro, that the King had evacuated Miranda
that day, and was drawing back to Vittoria. It was obviously
dangerous to seek to join him by the road near the river, and Clausel
on the 21st, the day of the battle, was trying to recover touch with the
main army by taking the route La Guardia-Trevino. This détour
removed him out of striking distance during all the critical hours. By
some strange chance he neither met any of the King’s aides-de-
camp, who were hunting for him on all sides, nor fell in with any of
the fugitives from the routed army either on the night of the 21st nor
on the morning of the 22nd. He resumed his march from La Guardia,
and reached Trevino in the afternoon. There he heard from
afrancesados the news that there had been a disastrous battle on
the previous day, but could get no details. He therefore detached
some squadrons to explore along the mountain road from Trevino to
Vittoria—they made their way as far as the crest of the heights of
Puebla, above Berostigueta, driving in first some Spanish irregulars,
and then picquets of British cavalry; from the watershed they could
see allied troops getting into order, but not their numbers.
Pakenham, on being warned by the guerrilleros, had occupied
Vittoria town with two Portuguese battalions, drawn up the rest of his
troops for a fight, and sent to warn Oswald and the 5th Division, as
well as Giron’s Spaniards, who had not gone many miles yet, that
trouble was at hand. Both of these forces halted and prepared to turn
back.
But on hearing the report of his horsemen Clausel had no thought
of a raid on Vittoria: his only idea was to get out of danger, and rejoin
the main army as quickly as possible. That Joseph and Jourdan had
been beaten, he was now aware; but details were wanting: he did
not know whether the rout had been complete, or whether the King’s
army was capable of rallying and making head at Pampeluna. If he
had understood that all the artillery had been lost, and that a retreat
into France was imminent, he might probably have given up the idea
of a junction, and have set out in haste to retire on Saragossa, by
way of the main road down the Ebro by Logroño and Tudela. But not
knowing this, his first plan was to march for Salvatierra by the
mountainous road which goes from Viana on the Ebro to the upper
valley of the Ega. On the 23rd he marched from Trevino to Viana, on
the 24th he started out from that place and went 20 miles as far as
Santa Cruz de Campero, where he heard that Mina and all his bands
were on his flank, and that an English column was coming down
upon him from Salvatierra. The latter rumour was false, but induced
Clausel to abandon any idea of taking a short cut to join the King. It
would seem also that he had picked up some news as to the
crushing effect of Vittoria on the French army, and knew that it must
have fallen back on Pampeluna. He hurriedly retraced his steps,
picked up the garrison of Logroño and set out to move on
Pampeluna by the Mendavia-Puente la Reyna road late on the 25th.
His vanguard had got as far as Sesma when he heard that Mina had
dropped down from Estella to Lerin, blocking this road also. It might
have been possible to attack and beat him, but renewed reports that
the British were also approaching disturbed Clausel, and he swerved
back to the Ebro by cross-roads and crossed it at Lodosa on the
26th.
This move, which placed him on the high road from Logroño to
Saragossa, implied the abandonment of all hope of reaching
Pampeluna and joining the King. He had resolved to fall back on
Aragon and seek refuge with Suchet’s troops in that direction. But he
had lost much time in his counter-marches, and was on the 27th in
greater danger than he knew, since Wellington was now coming
down from the north, in the hope of heading him off and cutting his
line of retreat. And if Clausel had lost as much time in the next five
days as he had in the last, his position would have been most
desperate, for Wellington had ascertained his whereabouts, and was
marching upon him in great strength, with a good hope of
intercepting him, if he were still adhering to his original plan of
making for Pampeluna and rejoining the King.
The idea that Clausel might be caught and destroyed had come
to the British general’s mind on the 26th, when he had reached the
environs of Pampeluna, and had made sure that the whole of King
Joseph’s armies were well on the road for France. The pursuit had
been little more fruitful on the 24th-25th than it had been on the
22nd-23rd. But at least closer contact had been secured with the
enemy: on the afternoon of the 24th the leading British troops had
brought D’Erlon’s rearguard to action at the passage of the Araquil,
in front of the cross-roads at Yrurzun. This combat, in which the 1st
German Hussars, the 1st and 3rd battalions of the 95th, and Ross’s
battery were engaged against Darmagnac’s division of the Army of
the Centre[633] cost the enemy about 100 casualties[634], and one of
the only two guns which he had brought off from Vittoria. It was a
running fight, in which the rearguard all the way from Yrurzun to
Berrioplano was being turned and driven in. But no large captures
were made.
While this skirmish was in progress, on the afternoon of the 24th,
the main body of the French army was already on the march past
Pampeluna towards France. The troops were not allowed to enter
the fortress, where only the King, his General Staff, and his courtiers
lodged on the night of the 24th. It was feared that the famished
soldiery might plunder the stores if they got access to them, so they
were taken round by suburban roads, which did not pass through the
city. Gazan with the Army of the South started on the evening of the
24th, taking the route by Zubiri and the Pass of Roncesvalles to St.
Jean-Pied-de-Port. D’Erlon set out nine hours later, at dawn on the
25th, using the better road by the Col de Velate and the Pass of
Maya, which took him to the Bastan, whither Reille had gone before
him. But while the Army of Portugal passed on to the lower
Bidassoa, the Army of the Centre was ordered to halt in the Bastan
and hold its ground if possible.
Only three or four hours after D’Erlon’s column had left the
suburbs of Pampeluna the first English vedettes showed themselves
on the Salvatierra road. These came from Victor Alten’s light cavalry;
they coasted round the city on the south, and picqueted the Puente
la Reyna and Tafalla roads, by either of which Clausel might
conceivably be on the move to join the King. But no trace of the
French could be found, save that of the retiring rearguard of the
Army of the Centre. Of British infantry only the Light Division
appeared in front of the fortress, on the side of Berrioplano, though
the 4th and Grant’s hussars were close behind it. Picton and
Dalhousie with the 3rd and 7th Divisions were still farther back on
the Salvatierra road, and Hill’s whole corps was told to halt until their

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