SWABEY DIARY. 413 
The battle of Talavera was fought on 28th July, 1809. The allies 
under Lieut.-General Sir A. Wellesley and General Cuesta, 
the French under King Joseph Bonaparte. 
“The victory of Talavera was in reality won by the British troops 
which did not number more than 22,000 men of all ranks. 
The Spaniards, nearly equal in number, were worse than 
useless, as thousands of them fled without attempting to 
fight, and spread the news of defeat miles and miles in the 
rear. The victory, dearly gained by the loss of 6000 of our 
men killed and wounded, was due to the courage of our own 
troops, those of Cuesta, which stood their ground, contribut- 
ing but little to the result. But now came the report that 
Soult was in force in the allied rear, and that the French, 
somewhat reinforced were preparing to again advance. 
Wellesley decided to divide his army and give the choice to 
Cuesta of remaining to defend Talavera or move against 
Soult. He chose the former, and promised, if defeated, to 
rescue the wounded who were crowded there. Wellesley 
marched in search of Soult. Hardly had he left when news 
arrived that Cuesta, afraid to fight, had deserted his position 
and followed the British, leaving 2000 wounded to the mercy 
of the advancing enemy. Happily they had fallen into the 
hands of a brave and good man. Victor on reaching Talavera 
forced the Spaniards to receive the Hnglish and French 
wounded in their houses in equal numbers, and to attend to 
the English first.””—“ Wellington” by Lathom Browne, p. 
23. Casualties, French 7389, English 54.23, Spanish 1200. 
27th September.—What shall I, the enemy of Spanish sentiment, 
and, though not a hopeless actor in the war for Spanish independence, 
yet totally without trust in Spanish patriotism, say, when [ found in 
passing through a village in a populous and highly cultivated country, 
where we halted for the sake of water, the people coming out en masse 
to greet us not only with vivas, but with pitchers of wine and baskets 
of grapes, the old in tears and the young mad with exultation. 
From this village I was sent dreading the conflict I was to undergo 
from similar civilities, to mark the cantonments at our destination, 
Domingo Perez, but I had not expected to be stifled by the embraces 
of old, young, fair, ugly, man, woman, and child, and to be nearly torn 
in pieces by every pair of respectable people who were ready to fight 
for the honour of haying me in their houses. The bells rang, the 
authorities went out to meet the troop, and gratitude, a word I never 
yet heard sally from the nasty proud habitation of a Spanish mouth, 
was, they said, the universal debt they werecometo pay. The Alcalde, 
never before accustomed to English soldiers, immediately asked when 
I would have the meat killed and the rations prepared ; a fair indication 
of what might be done in districts never oppressed by troops moving 
without a commissariat. We contented ourselves with three days’ corn, 
wine, and bread, with a promise of more to-morrow. After these 
things were arranged I hoped to have been allowed to be quiet, but 
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