tore out of the concealment, gathered up the retiring pickets, and
rushed upon the Chasseurs. There was slashing and shouting and riding
down, and the French squadrons returned through the fords again at full
gallop, leaving fifty-five killed and wounded, and seventy prisoners.
They re-formed on their own side, and for a moment it was thought they
would charge us, but a couple of guns put them to the right-about, and
their leader remained in our hands.
Private Levi Grisdale, of the 10th, saw him riding for the river, in a
green frock, with a hat and feather, and, spurring after him, dodged a
pistol-ball and cut him over the left cheek.
Grisdale was promoted, although the 3rd Germans claimed that a private
of theirs, named Bergmann, had taken the general; but the uniforms
of the two regiments were very similar then, both being in blue with
yellow facings and white braid, and it is difficult to distinguish
things accurately in the hurry of a combat.
Desnouettes lived at Malvern and Cheltenham, where he made many
friends, until May, 1812, when, breaking his parole, he escaped to
France, only to be taken again at Waterloo, where Grisdale also fought
as a sergeant, and the unlucky general was eventually drowned off the
Irish coast in 1822.
At Benevente the 3rd Hussars alone lost forty-six men and twenty-two
horses, with forty-seven more wounded; but we had checked the Guard
and shown our teeth; and when the night winds were howling among the
porcelain friezes and broken porphyry columns of the old castle on the
hill, we withdrew cautiously in a thick fog and continued our retreat.
Captain Darby and seventeen privates of the 10th died of fatigue during
the march to Bembibre, and they shot sixty horses that could go no
farther.
Deep snow lay on the ground, rutted and trampled by the passage of
the guns and bullock carts; this had frozen like iron, and then been
concealed by another snowstorm, so that men and horses stumbled and
lamed themselves at every stride.
One officer lost a boot among the ruts on Christmas morning, and
marched all day without it!
Every regiment had received a new blanket per man and a hundred and
fifty new soles and heels, but the execrable roads quickly wore out the
leather.
Astorga was found to be full of miserable Spanish soldiers, who had
eaten up most of the stores, and whose condition was summed up in their
own words: “Very hungry--very sick--very dry!”
[Illustration:
BATTLE OF
CORUNNA.
JAN. 16, 1809.]
A number of women and children followed the army, and their sufferings
were truly terrible. Soldiers began to fall out, unable to keep up
with the columns, and the rear-guard passed scores of poor wretches
frozen to death in the snow, while at Bembibre, where there were
large wine-vaults, discipline began to relax its hold, and shameful
drunkenness stained the hitherto excellent record of the troops.
Meanwhile, Napoleon made the most strenuous efforts to overtake us.
He insisted on marching from Benevente to Astorga in one short winter
day, a distance of thirty odd miles, under an icy rain, the infantry
being obliged to strip five or six times and scramble through the
streams, holding their clothing and ammunition above the water.
So exhausted was his army that three veteran grenadiers of the Old
Guard blew out their brains, unable to go on, and knowing that the
sullen peasants in their sheepskin _capas_ would murder them if
they lagged behind.
Napoleon was much affected, but he still pushed forward, and late at
night, drenched to the skin, and attended only by Lannes, the staff,
and a hundred Chasseurs, he dashed into Astorga. Had Paget, who was
only six miles off, learned this, he might have swooped down with the
Hussars and changed the future fate of Europe by capturing the Emperor
himself. Napoleon had marched two hundred miles in ten days with 50,000
troops in the depth of winter, but for all his haste, we had eluded him
and gained the mountains, and at Astorga the Emperor handed the reins
to Soult, reviewed his legions, and returned to Valladolid, leaving the
Marshal Duke of Dalmatia to drive us into the sea.
The features of the retreat now underwent a change: our columns began
to ascend into a wild and dreary region, the road winding along the
mountain sides halfway between the summits and the rushing water in the
valleys below.
Here and there a solitary cottage showed its slate roof; at intervals
the weary leagues were marked on stone pillars by the way; the droning
hum of the axles of the bullock carts could be heard for a great
distance, and slanting rain beat on the tired stragglers, whose numbers
were by this time terribly increased.
Bembibre, when the Reserve entered it on New Year’s Day, was full
of drunken soldiers from Baird’s divisions; officers and men grew
careless, and thought only of themselves, and it was found necessary to
flog and hang to restore some semblance of order, with an active enemy
on our very heels.
The light troops had marched for Vigo, whither Sir John Moore intended
to follow, but at Orense a message overtook them, bidding them send the
transports round to Corunna, and Captain Heisse, after a hard gallop
through the snow, was just in time to despatch the vessels before an
unfavourable wind set dead into the harbour mouth.
At Calcabellos, while Lord Edward Paget was haranguing the Reserve on
the subject of the growing insubordination, two plunderers were caught
in the act. The troops were instantly formed in hollow square round a
tree to witness their execution, when a hussar dashed in with news that
the enemy were upon us.
“I don’t care if the entire French cavalry are here,” roared the
general; “I’ll hang these scoundrels!”
They were lifted in the arms of the provost-marshal’s men, the ropes
were adjusted, and in another moment they would have dangled in
mid-air, when a second hussar came up, and carbine shots rang out from
the 3rd Germans at the bridge.
[Illustration: “A HUSSAR DASHED IN WITH THE NEWS THAT THE
ENEMY WERE UPON US!” (_p._ 356).]
“Soldiers,” cried Lord Edward, “if I pardon these men will you
promise better behaviour for the future?”
“Yes,” was the unanimous reply.
“Say it again!”
“Yes, yes!” from a thousand throats.
“A third time!”
It was done with a cheer, the men were released, and the troops went
off at the double towards the firing.
Colbert attacked us there with a large body of cavalry, and our
Rifles, posted in a vineyard, emptied a score of saddles as the French
dragoons and light horse tore up the road to the bridge-head. Colbert
was not only a splendid soldier, but a good man, in an army where,
unfortunately, virtue was at a low ebb, and two days before, at the
review, Napoleon had said to him, “General, you have proved in Egypt,
Italy, and Germany that you are one of my bravest warriors: you shall
soon receive the reward due to your brilliant successes.”
“Make haste, sire,” replied Colbert, “for, while I am not yet thirty, I
feel that I am already old.”
At Calcabellos, an Irishman of the 95th, named Tom Plunkett, ran out
and threw himself on his back in the snow. Passing the sling of his
rifle over his foot, he sighted and fired, and Colbert fell from his
horse. Jumping up Plunkett cast about and reloaded, firing again and
killing the aide-de-camp who had rushed to his general’s assistance,
after which the lucky marksman rejoined his comrades in safety (only
to be discharged some years afterwards, without promotion, a victim to
drink, that curse of our Peninsular armies).
Wherever the danger was pressing, Sir John Moore was to be
found--nothing could exceed his personal exertions on the retreat.
At Villa Franca, romantically situated in a deep valley, with the
pointed turrets of a Dominican convent rising against a background of
bare hills, and where the ferocious Duke of Alva once had a castle,
the army committed great disorders, and Sir John had a man shot in the
market-place as a warning to the others.
Although we checked the enemy wherever the rear-guard faced about, the
march had not been resumed long when their horsemen were again riding
among the stragglers, cutting them down without mercy--man, woman, and
child!
The 28th, with its brown calfskin knapsacks, taken from the French
stores in Egypt, toiled over the snow, and the handsomest man of the
Grenadier company, named McGee, fell lame and dropped behind, his
comrades carrying his pack and musket for him, but two French troopers
came up, and, unarmed as he was, slashed him to pieces almost in sight
of his company.
Misery and disorder increased; the cavalry were sent on ahead, with
the exception of a part of the 3rd Hussars, and the rear-guard fought
every yard of the way until they reached Lugo, where Sir John drew up
in order of battle, and discipline was again restored.
All day, in the drenching rain, we waited for the French to attack, but
Soult was too wary; and at night, leaving the fires burning, the army
continued its retreat, gaining several hours’ start before the enemy
became aware of it.
The pay-waggons, heavily laden with silver dollars, were abandoned, as
the oxen were quite used up, and Lieutenant Bennet stood with a drawn
pistol and orders to shoot any soldier who lingered there.
Hugo, of the 3rd Hussars, gave an equal proportion to each man of his
detachment, and it was carried in their corn-sacks to Corunna and
delivered to the Commissariat; but the rest--£25,000 worth--was pitched
over into the valley, the barrels breaking on the rocks and sending a
silver cascade far down beyond the reach of the marching army.
The stragglers crowded round and fought for the money spilled on the
road, one woman--wife of Sergeant Maloney, of the 52nd--making her
fortune for life; but, stepping from the boat on to a transport at
Corunna, she slipped, and the weight of the stolen treasure took her to
the bottom of the harbour, never to rise again!
While the miserable wretches were scrambling in the snow, the enemy
came up and slaughtered without mercy, stopping in their turn to gather
up the spoil, and giving us a little breathing-time.
Farther on we met some Spanish troops discharging their muskets
briskly, as though skirmishing, and it was feared that the French
had intercepted us, but on getting closer we were told that the
contemptible riff-raff were “_only firing to warm their hands_!”
At Lugo Sir John Moore had issued an order in which he said: “It is
evident that the enemy will not fight this army, notwithstanding the
superiority of his numbers, but will endeavour to harass and tease it
on its march.... The army has now eleven leagues to march; the soldiers
must make an exertion to complete them. The rear-guard cannot stop, and
those that fall behind must take their fate!”
Many of the troops were now barefooted, and all were more or less in
rags. Far too many camp-followers had been allowed to accompany us, and
all were starving in a wild and sterile country, where a yellow fowl
was often the only result of a plundered cottage.
The 28th found nothing at Villa Franca but one piece of salt pork,
which Major Browne tied to his holsters--to lose it in the night-march
to Herrerias.
The same officer, on embarking, exchanged his horse for a pig, but in
the confusion the major was shipped on board one transport and the pig
on to another!
Small wonder that the “Slashers,” on finding some Spaniards frozen to
death among the _débris_ of two bread-waggons, moved the corpses
to hunt ravenously for the crusts among which they were lying!
At length it was the custom to stop all stragglers and take from them a
proportion of the food they carried, and by that means they collected
sufficient to serve out a ration to every man of the rear-guard!
At Nogales--where the country reminds one of Glencoe--a private who
had been sent on ahead found a quantity of potatoes, which he boiled,
and as the 28th filed past the house he distributed three or four to
officer and man alike, without distinction; and at the same place some
officers of the “Slashers” went into a cottage where there was a fire,
and where they stripped to dry their clothes.
A Spanish general was sleeping snugly in an inner room, well wrapped in
furs, and his two aides-de-camp were standing by the fire.
One of the “Slashers” laid his valuable watch down, and, returning from
the door, where he had been directing some stragglers, found that one
of the aides-de-camp had walked off with it!
“I cannot be held responsible for all the people about me,” was the
grumpy remark of the Spanish general. What could be expected from an
army whose officers were thieves?
The last halt was made at Betanzos, and while the rear-guard covered
the partial destruction of the bridge there, the army marched in column
to Corunna, only to find the Atlantic roaring on the rocks, but not a
sail in sight!
The French were in great force at Betanzos, and furious at our
continued escape. One sergeant charged _alone_ in advance of his
squadron, to the centre of the bridge, but a private of the 28th, named
Thomas Savage, stepped out and shot him, securing his cloak before the
others came up.
The Engineers bungled the bridge, and blew up one of their officers
with it, while we had to fall back on Corunna before it was properly
destroyed.
Fine weather now dried our rags. On the 11th January the Guards were
quartered in the town, the Reserve near St. Lucia, and the other
regiments posted in strong positions. Vast stores were meanwhile
destroyed in Corunna, and two hundred and ninety horses of the German
Legion shot in the arsenal square at St. Lucia, amid the tears of the
brave troopers.
The 12th proved damp and foggy, and no trace of the fleet could be
seen. The French still held back, our officers exchanging pot-shots
with them until Paget put a stop to it; and on the 13th a terrific
explosion from 4,000 powder-barrels caused something very like a panic
in both armies. Corunna was shaken, its windows smashed, and a rain of
white ashes fell for a considerable time.
At last, on the afternoon of the 14th, the transports hove in sight,
and as soon as they were anchored we began to embark the wounded and
the guns, the cavalry being ordered to ship thirty horses per regiment
and shoot the rest as there was not time to get them on board with a
heavy sea running. The 15th Hussars brought four hundred to Corunna,
and landed in England with thirty-one! The 10th--the Prince of Wales’s
particular regiment, and the first in our service to wear the showy
Hungarian dress, which its hussar troop had adopted in 1803 and the
entire corps two years later--began the campaign with six hundred
handsome chargers and took thirty home again.
The greatest confusion took place among the camp-followers, but by
degrees the embarkation proceeded, our gallant tars going in some cases
two days without food in their noble efforts to help us.
There was a little skirmishing, but no very decided movement, until the
16th--in fact, French officers were seen picking up shells on the sands
at low water within range of our muskets--but at last the infantry
alone remained on shore, and the 28th, among others, was ordered to
fall in at two o’clock on the 16th to march down to the boats.
Scarcely had they mustered when, a violent cannonade being opened
upon us, and a forward movement being observed, they went off at the
double towards the enemy again. They had done eighty miles in the last
twelve days, standing several nights under arms in the snow; they had
repulsed the French seven times, and the 28th alone had lost more than
two hundred men; yet, when the battle of Corunna began, the Reserve had
fewer men missing than any other division!
[Illustration: CORUNNA.]
Some of the generals wished Moore to come to terms with Soult, but
nothing was farther from the brave Scotchman’s thoughts.
Circumstances had compelled us to retreat, but it was no part of a
British soldier’s training to shirk a battle at the last moment;
consequently, the low hills behind Elvina were soon echoing to the
rattle of musketry as our black-gaitered infantry opened fire on the
French columns.
There was little or no manœuvring during the engagement: Soult advanced
in three masses, driving our pickets out of the village of Elvina.
Baird, of Seringapatam fame, held the right of our line, Sir John Hope
formed the centre and left with his division, while Paget and Fraser
were in reserve before Corunna: 14,500 men in all, facing 20,000.
Sir John Moore sent the 50th and 42nd to retake Elvina, which was
rendered formidable by sunken lanes and stone walls, but after a brave
scrimmage which lasted half an hour, the French were driven out and the
Guards advanced to take up the position originally occupied by the two
regiments.
The Black Watch having exhausted their cartridges fell back, thinking
the Guards were marching to support them, and the enemy returned in
force and entered the village again.
Sir John rode up to the 42nd, and learning that their ammunition
was expended, said, “You have still your bayonets, my brave
Highlanders--remember Egypt!” and with a yell the Black Watch rushed
forward once more.
While Sir John Moore was watching the struggle, a round shot struck
him on the left breast and dashed him out of the saddle; but without a
groan, he sat up, resting on his arm and for a moment gazed intently at
the Highlanders driving the French steadily back.
Then, as a happy look came into his handsome face, the staff crowded
round him and saw the shocking state of his wound. The shoulder was
completely shattered, and the left arm hung by a piece of skin; the
ribs over the heart were broken and bared of flesh, while the muscles
of the breast were torn into shreds and strips, among which the hilt of
his sword had got entangled.
“I had rather it should go out of the field with me,” said the dying
hero, as Hardinge made an attempt to disengage it.
Men of the 42nd and Guards carried him tenderly in a blanket, taking an
hour to reach Corunna, the general frequently making them halt and turn
him round.
Like Wolfe at Quebec, his anxiety was for the success of the army, and
like Wolfe his last moments were cheered by the knowledge that we had
beaten the French.
Soult had fallen back, General Baird was badly wounded, and Hope
carried out Sir John’s original plans for the embarkation.
“I hope the people of England will be satisfied,” said the dying
man. “I hope my dear country will do me justice. Oh, Anderson!” he
whispered to his friend, “you will see my friends at home; tell them
everything--my mother----” then he broke down.
He was believed to be devotedly attached to Lady Hester Stanhope,
eldest daughter of the third Earl Stanhope, famous alike for his
eccentricity and his study of the electric fluid; and Moore’s last
recorded words were in remembrance of her, addressed to her brother,
his aide-de-camp.
[Illustration: DEATH OF SIR JOHN MOORE.]
He passed away very quietly in his forty-eighth year, and England lost
one of her most chivalrous soldiers.
His burial, in the citadel at night by some men of the 9th, has been
described in a poem which does immortal honour to the Irish clergyman
who penned it, and the gallant enemy flew the tricolour halfmast
high on the citadel and fired a salute over his grave, Marshal Soult
afterwards erecting a tomb to his memory.
Our loss at Corunna was 800, the French, from their own accounts, 3,000.
Six cannon, 3-pounders, sent on without Sir John’s orders, had been
abandoned during the retreat, and nearly 4,000 men left their bones
to whiten the plains of Leon and the rugged roads of Gallicia; but
the retreat won praise from Wellington and Napoleon alike, and not a
regimental colour remained in the enemy’s hands.
The 95th was the last regiment to enter Corunna, the 23rd the last to
leave it.
Great confusion existed on board the vessels, and an attempt to
transfer the men to their respective ships was prevented by the enemy
opening fire from St. Lucia. The cables were cut, and the three hundred
transports put to sea on the 17th, convoyed by several men-of-war, the
old _Victory_ amongst them, and after cruising about in the offing
for two days, they put helm up for England, where the army landed in a
wretched condition.
All the clothing of the Rifles was burned behind Hythe barracks, in a
state that spoke volumes for the misery undergone.
The _Smallbridge_ went ashore near Ushant, and over two hundred of
the German Legion were drowned. Then the newspapers began to raise a
disgraceful outcry against the whole expedition, and the good name of
Sir John Moore was placed under a cloud by men whose information was
false, and whose opinion was of no more value than a spent cartridge.
We have learned the true state of things since then, and ample justice
has been rendered to Moore’s noble character in the subsequent
histories of that glorious period.
The last survivor of Corunna, Thomas Palmer, of the 23rd, died at the
great age of a _hundred_, and was buried at Weston-super-Mare,
with full military honours, in April, 1889--_eighty years_ after
his chief was laid to rest “with his martial cloak around him.”
[Illustration: THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.
“We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeams’ misty light,
And the lanterns dimly burning.”
REV. CHARLES WOLFE.]
[Illustration:
NAVARINO
BY HERBERT RUSSELL]
The immediate causes which led to the battle of Navarin, or Navarino,
are of a romantic and dramatic character. On the 6th of July, 1826--the
Greeks having risen in revolt against the oppression of the Turks
in 1820--a treaty had been signed in London on the part of Great
Britain, France, and Russia, having for its object the pacification
of the Levant by intervention between Turkey and Greece. Through the
indiscretion of some unknown official the treaty found its way to the
_Times_, which published it in its issue of July 12th, 1826--six
days after its signature. It thus became fully known to all concerned
before the official instructions which it rendered necessary could be
delivered. As a result, Sir Edward Codrington, the British admiral in
the Mediterranean, found himself in a situation of perplexity, and was
directed to consult with the French and Russian admirals, and arrange a
plan of action with them.
The instructions of the three admirals in question definitely required
an armistice between Turkey and Greece, and limited the period for its
acceptance to one month. If the result of negotiations should be--as
was, of course, anticipated--acceptance by Greece and rejection by
Turkey, the admirals were instructed to enter into friendly relations
with the former country, and unite their fleets to prevent all Turkish
or Egyptian reinforcements or warlike stores from being transported
for employment against the Greeks. Each of the allied admirals had
particular instructions to take care, if possible, that any measures
they might adopt in restraining the Ottoman navy should not wear the
aspect of open hostilities. They were directed to endeavour to carry
their arguments rather by a display of force than by the employment of
it. This, briefly, is a review of the situation whose climax was the
battle of Navarino.
Sir Edward Codrington, the British admiral in the Levant, as we
have already said, found himself in a situation of perplexity on
the publication of the treaty. The French squadron was at Milo, and
the Russians had not yet arrived. But with that instant resolution
which has always been such a fine characteristic of the British naval
officer’s spirit, Sir Edward determined to take the initiative, and
with three sail of the line he placed himself before Hydra to oppose,
“when all other means are exhausted, by cannon shot” the whole of the
Turkish and Egyptian fleet. The “general order,” which he issued to all
his captains on September 8th, 1827, well illustrates the policy which
the English commander-in-chief resolved to adopt.