“_Nazareth, 1799._--I am just returned from the Cave of the Annunciation, where, secretly and alone, I have been returning thanks to the Almighty for our late wonderful success. Well may we exclaim, ‘the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.’--W. S. S.” CHAPTER III THE WOUNDED CAPTAIN IN TALAVERA (1809) Talavera between two fires--Captain Boothby wounded--Brought into Talavera--The fear of the citizens--The surgeons’ delay--Operations without chloroform--The English retire--French troops arrive--Plunder--French officers kind, and protect Boothby--A private bent on loot beats a hasty retreat. Captain Boothby, of the Royal Engineers, left behind him a diary of his experiences in Spain during part of the Peninsular War in 1809. It will help us to understand how much suffering war inflicts, and how much pain we have been saved by the inventions of modern science. He tells us he had been provided with quarters in Talavera, at the house of Donna Pollonia di Monton, a venerable dame. She was the only person left in the house, the rest having fled to the mountains in fear lest the French should come and sack the city; for in the streets those who remained were shouting in their panic, “The French have taken the suburbs!” or “The British General is in full retreat!” or “O Dios! los Ingleses nos abandonan!” (“O God! the English are deserting us!”). The fact was that Wellesley was not sure if he could hold his ground at Talavera. Captain Boothby went out one morning towards the enemy’s position; he was brought back in the evening on a bier by four men, his leg shattered by a musket-ball. The old lady threw up her hands when she saw him return. “What!” she exclaimed, while the tears ran down her cheeks. “Can this be the same? This he whose cheeks in the morning were glowing with health? Blessed Virgin, see how white they are now!” She made haste to prepare a bed. “Oh, what luxury to be laid upon it, after the hours of pain and anxiety, almost hopeless, I had undergone! The surgeon, Mr. Bell, cut off my boot, and having examined the wound, said: “‘Sir, I fear there is no chance of saving your leg, and the amputation must be above the knee.’ “He said the operation could not be performed until the morning, and went back to the hospital. “I passed a night of excruciating pain. My groans were faint, because my body was exhausted with the three hours’ stumbling about in the woods. Daylight was ushered in by a roar of cannon so loud, so continuous, that I hardly conceived the wars of all the earth could produce such a wild and illimitable din. Every shot seemed to shake the house with increasing violence, and poor Donna Pollonia rushed in crying: “‘They are firing the town!’ “‘No, no,’ said I; ‘don’t be frightened. Why should they fire the town? Don’t you perceive that the firing is becoming more distant?’”