Guts and Blackpowder

Letter

To my dearest and most precious wife.

Today, Lieutenant Jean has informed us that we will leave the city garrisons. Apparently, his majesty's troops have been stuck in the southern cities, and now, taking advantage of the situation, Napoleon and his generals will try to invade the last great empire that opposes them. I couldn't find out much more, they announced the march yesterday and they gave us a really short period of time to prepare our luggage. The lieutenant is very worried, so he checks on us often, the appropriate word would be "harass". Everything so that we accelerate the pace. The soldiers of the battalion have a lot of respect for him, he is one of the few French officers who knows some Spanish, and he is beloved by my comrades. The rest of the regiment has taken the sudden news badly, however, every time I look at the other sections I can't help but see a certain enthusiasm. The last enemy! "Moscow in sight!" some say. There is still a long way to go there. The enthusiasm of the men masks the little sleep the troops had yesterday.

The stay in the city was really good. The francs they gave us, even if they were few, were enough for me; some of the officers received several Golden Louis, something I still can't explain. The local population is very reserved, always attentive to their business, and without having much contact with the occupants. They love me, because I am from this land. Every time I pass by the chocolate shop in the main square they serve me an extra portion. It makes me feel bad, and of course, I overpay. Every day until then has been a constant, relentless battle against boredom. We play cards every day, Fernando has already been beaten several times and he is accumulating a lot of debt. I just hope the French forgive it. If it's sunny, taking a walk in the mountains helps, although I've seen it all, the roads are full of sleeping soldiers, some of them drunk. Lieutenant Colonel Zola already warned the troops that alcohol would be greatly regulated. You imagine, darling, that that is not the case, and every day you have to turn a blind eye. During these months I have been assigned the same positions, where I spend most of the day. There we are two, sometimes three men guarding the position, from any attack, because the guerrillas do not dare to assault a fortified position. It would be complete suicide. I spend my days reading the Bible that Father García lent me. We attend mass every time we can at the church of San Vicente. Sadly, it is always full, and in many cases we are content with the sermon given by the chaplain of the regiment in the castle of la Mota. He is French, and he gives the sermon to us in French, I hope that one day they will realize that those of us who attend that mass are Castellanos. Many French people, because of these very republican ideas, have turned their backs on God. Some Basques have continued down that path, especially in this city. Thank God there are still very loyal people. The rations they give us are sufficient, nothing out of this world, you can imagine, but they are appreciated. In some of the battles the men had to take frozen potatoes from the field, and boil boils to supplement it. I just hope that's not my destiny.

I'll give you more news as soon as I can. There is still a long way to go before any confrontation and I hope you will give me permission to go with you to Bordeaux. You should be safe in that city. I told my uncle that I would send him part of the salary they give me, it is not much, to tell the truth they are very poor amounts. But they will be enough to pay for the bread. I miss your presence very much, my most precious love, I hope to return alive to be able to kiss you once again. I eagerly await a response.

All my eternal love to you.

God be with you.

Carlos Jiménez de los Santos.

06/12/1811