THE COMBAT OF LUGO.
"New clamours and new clangours now arise,
The sound of trumpets mixed with fighting cries,
With frenzy seized, I run to meet th' alarms,
Resolved on death, resolved to die in arms.
But first to gather friends, with them t' oppose,
If fortune favoured, and repel the foes--
Spurred by my courage--by my country fired,
With sense of honour and revenge inspired!"
_Æneis_ ii.
"Whatever may be their misery," says General Napier, "soldiers will
always be found clean at a review and ready at a fight." The order
to take up a position and form line of battle in front of Lugo had
scarcely been issued, when a change came over the bearing, aspect,
and emotions of the men. Pale, weary, and exhausted though they
were, vigour and discipline were restored to the ranks, with
confidence and valour!
The stragglers came hurrying in to rejoin the regiments, that they
might share in the battle which was to give them vengeance for the
past, or, it might be, a last relief for the future. Three fresh
battalions, left by Sir David Baird in his advance to Astorga, had
joined Sir John Moore in rear of Villa Franca, and thus, at Lugo, he
found himself at the head of nineteen thousand hardy and well-tried
men.
Moore's generous kindness to Quentin on this occasion served
completely to obliterate the affair of the preceding evening. He
soon procured him a horse, and pleased with the modest bearing, the
grateful and earnest desire to serve and deserve, with the enthusiasm
of the young subaltern, he presented him with the sword of General
Colbert, a French officer, (said to be of Scottish descent,) who had
been shot by a rifleman of the 95th at Cazabelos, on the 3rd of
January.
"Take this sabre," said he, "and preserve it alike as the present of
a friend and the weapon of one of France's bravest soldiers. The
hilt is plain enough; and as for the blade, let the enemy be the best
judges of _that_. Follow me now to the lines."
That sabre Quentin resolved to treasure, even as he treasured the
ring of Flora Warrender.
Grey day was breaking now, and at that dread time when the troops
were forming, and the morning gun pealed from the old walls of
Lugo--the early hour of a chill winter morning--he knew that she who
loved him so well, all unconscious of his danger, the beloved of his
heart, was lying calmly in her bed at home, asleep, perhaps with a
smile upon her lips, while he was here, far away, face to face and
front to front with Death!
He rode forth with Stanhope, Burrard, Hardinge, Grahame of Lynedoch
(the future hero of Barossa), and others of Moore's brilliant staff,
his young heart beating high with pride and joy, as well it might
with such companions and on such an auspicious day.
"On this ground, gentlemen, unless the enemy advance in great
strength," said Moore, "I shall only be too happy to meet them."
As Quentin passed the 25th moving into position in close column of
subdivisions, many a hand grasped his in hearty greeting, and many a
cap was waved, for the eyes of the whole corps were on him.
"'Tis well," said Moore; "I like that spirit much! They seem proud
of you, Kennedy, as one of their corps. Pass the orders, gentlemen,
to the generals of division and brigade to prepare for action."
The staff separated at a gallop.
"Off with the hammer-stalls," was now the command; "uncase
colours--examine flints, priming, and ammunition."
About mid-day, after standing for some hours under arms with their
colours flying and exposed to a keen and biting wind, the British saw
the dark masses of the French appear. There was no sun shining; thus
no burnished steel flashed from amid their sombre ranks, which
numbered seventeen thousand infantry and four thousand horse, with
fifty guns; and now, all soaked with a drenching rain overnight, they
were deploying into line, while many other columns were pouring
forward in their rear.
Moore's right, chiefly composed of the Guards, was posted on flat and
open ground, flanked by a bend of the Minho. His centre was among
vineyards and low stone walls. His left was somewhat thrown back,
resting on the mountains and supported by cavalry.
It was his intention to engage deeply with his right and centre and
bear the enemy on, before he closed up with the left wing, in which
he placed the flower of his troops, including the Highland Regiments,
hoping thus to bring on a decisive battle, and have the French so
handled by the bayonet that he might continue the remainder of the
retreat unmolested.
Further hope than this, alas! he had none.
As the French deployed along the mountain ridge in front of Lugo,
they could not see distinctly either the strength or position of the
British; so Soult advanced with four field guns and some squadrons of
horse under Colonel Lallemand, to feel the way and throw a few shot
at the vineyard walls on speculation.
"Bah! M. le Maréchal," said Colonel Lallemand, confidently; "they
are all fled, those pestilent English, or 'tis only a rear-guard we
have here."
"I suspect, M. le Colonel, you will find something more than a
rear-guard," replied Soult, as fifteen white puffs of smoke rose up
from the low walls in front, and a dozen or so round cannon-shot came
crashing among their gun-carriages, dismounting two twelve-pounders
and smashing the wheel of a third.
On this Soult drew back his squadrons and made a feint on the right,
while sending a strong column and five guns against the left, where
these fresh regiments were posted.
Coming on with wild halloos, and not a few of them chanting the
"Carmagnole," the French drove in the line of skirmishers, when
Moore, followed now only by Quentin Kennedy, all the rest of his
staff being elsewhere, came galloping along and called upon the left
to "advance."
They were now fairly under fire and fast closing up. How different
from such work in the present day! Now we may open a destructive
fusillade at a thousand yards rifle-range, and so fire on for hours;
then, after coming within range with Brown Bess, scarcely three
rounds would be fired, before British and foreign pluck were tested
by the bayonet.
Perceiving that the skirmishers of the Borderers were also falling
back before a peppery cloud of little voltigeurs in light green.
"Mr. Kennedy," said Moore, "ride to the Honourable Colonel
Crawford--tell him to advance at once in line; I will lead on the
regiments here."
Quentin, who was tolerably well mounted, dashed up to where Cosmo,
cold and stern as ever, sat on his horse at the head of the regiment.
"Colonel Crawford," said he, with a profound salute, "it is Sir John
Moore's order that you advance with the bayonet--the whole left wing
is to be thrown forward."
Cosmo's eyes flashed and dilated with anger at having to take an
order from Quentin; he frowned and lingered.
"Did you hear me, Colonel Crawford--that your battalion is to charge?"
"Orders, and from _you_?" said Cosmo, grinding his teeth.
"From Sir John Moore," urged Quentin, breathlessly.
Now there is at times a wild impulse which seizes the heart of man
and will make him set, it may be, the fate of all his future--it may
be life itself, upon the issue of a single chance; and such a daring
impulse now fired the soul of Quentin.
"Twenty-fifth," he exclaimed, brandishing his sabre, "you are to
advance--prepare to charge."
"Dare you give orders here?" cried Cosmo, hoarse with passion, and
scarcely knowing what he said; "I follow none--let all who dare
follow me. Rohallion leads, but follows none."
"Come on then _together_."
"Forward--double quick--charge!" they cried together with their
horses neck and neck rushing onward, while the battalion, with a loud
hurrah, fell upon the enemy, bayoneting the skirmishers and closing
on the main body.
"Bravo, Kennedy!" cried old Middleton, waving his rusty sabre; "I
wish Dick Warriston was here to see you to-day. It's a proud man
he'd be, for dearly he loved you, lad. Whoop! here we are right on
the top of the vagabonds," he added, as the front rank of a
sallow-visaged, grimly-bearded, grey-coated French column broke in
disorder and gave way before the furious advance of the Borderers,
whose two field officers were at that moment unhorsed.
Middleton's charger received a ball in its counter and he had a
narrow escape from another, which buried itself in a great old silver
hunting-watch which he wore in his fob, and was known as the
"regimental clock." Quentin perceived him scrambling up, however,
unhurt, just as he had hurried to the assistance of Cosmo, who, some
twenty yards in front of the corps, had been knocked from his saddle
in the mêlée by two Frenchmen, who had their muskets withdrawn,
bayonets fixed, and butts upwards, to pin him to the earth on which
he lay helpless.
Dashing spurs into his horse, Quentin rushed upon one, and rode him
right down, at the same moment burying his sabre in the body of the
other. The first voltigeur was only stunned; but the second fell,
wallowing in blood.
Quentin dragged Cosmo up, and assisted him to remount.
"I thank Heaven, sir," said he; "I was just in time to save your
life."
"From any other hands than yours it had been welcome," said he,
haughtily; "however, I thank you. Sound, bugler, to halt, and
re-form on the colours!"
As Quentin rode away, the proud consciousness in his heart, that he
had returned great good for great evil, gave place to another. He
saw the second Frenchman rolling in blood on the ground, and
clutching the grass in his agony. Then a sensation of deadly
sickness came over his destroyer's heart--a sensation that he could
neither analyse nor describe. So he spurred madly toward the extreme
left, where Sir John Moore by accident found himself in front of his
old regiment, the 51st, in which he had served as ensign.
With a voice and face alike expressive of animation, he waved his
cocked-hat and called upon them as his old comrades to advance to the
charge. At that moment the light company of the 76th set the
example, and the whole left wing rushed furiously on the French with
the bayonet. There was a dreadful yell and shock; scores of men
tumbled over each other, many never to rise again; the butt-end was
freely used, and in a minute or less, the French attack was routed,
leaving four hundred dead, dotting all the slope. In the front rank
of the 51st, Brigade-Major David Roberts engaged a French officer
hand to hand and slew him; but the major's sword-arm was shattered by
two bullets fired by two French soldiers, who were instantly
bayoneted by an Irishman of the 51st, named Connor. He killed a few
more, while his hand was in, for which he was promoted on the spot.
After this Soult made no further attack, and thus it became apparent
to Moore, that the wary and skilful old veteran was only waiting
until Laborde's division, which was in the rear, should come up,
together with a portion of the sixth corps, which was marching by the
way of Val des Orres.
All the next day the two armies remained embattled in sight of each
other, almost without firing a shot--Soult waiting and Moore
watching--the foe coming on hourly in fresh force, till "the darkness
fell, and with it the English general's hope to engage his enemy on
equal terms."
Quentin spent the evening of that anxious day in the bivouac of his
old friends the Borderers, who were sharing as usual the contents of
their havresacks and canteens, and congratulating each other on
escapes, for save a few contusions none had been hit, and none were
absent save Monkton, who was stationed with a picquet of twenty men
at the bend of the Minho. Before and after an action, there is an
effect that remains for a time on the minds and manner of both
officers and men. The former show more kindness and suavity to the
latter, and generally the latter to each other. There is more
kindness, less silly banter, more quietness and seriousness, and the
oath is seldom heard, even on the tongue of a fool. It may be, that
all have felt eternity nearer them than usual, and yet in time of
war, the soldier is face to face with it daily.
Large fires were lighted all along the British line, and in their
glare, the piles of arms were seen to flash and glitter, while for
warmth, the weary soldiers lay beside them in close ranks on the damp
earth.
"A plucky thing that was of yours to-day, Kennedy," said Middleton,
"sabreing the voltigeur and remounting the colonel. You left _me_,
your old friend, to shift for myself, however."
"I saw you were in no danger, major," said Quentin, with some
confusion; "and being independent now of Crawford, I wished--I
wished----"
"To heap ashes on his head; I fear I am not generous enough to have
acted as you did, and marred a step in the regiment."
"A shot grazed my cap _here_," said a captain named Drummond;
"another inch, and there had been a company vacant."
"I wonder what the devil Moore is loitering here for?" asked some one.
"Kennedy's on the staff now; he ought to know the secrets of the
bureau," said Colville.
"Has anything oozed out, Quentin?" asked Askerne.
"He can tell us that we'll attack the French position about daybreak,
before Loison, Laborde, or Ney can join," said Colyear, laughing.
"Ney is at Villa Franca," added Captain Winton, a grave and
thoughtful officer (who fought a duel at Merida). "I suspect Moore
remains here, in expectation of being attacked _before_ these
reinforcements come up."
"Now would be the time to fall back in the night towards Vigo, and
take up a position to cover the embarkation," said Askerne.
"Right, Rowland," responded Quentin; "we are only able to fight one
battle, and desperation will make us do so well. And it is not meant
that after winning a battle we should enter Castile again with a
handful of jaded men, and not an ally to aid us between Corunna and
the ridges of the Sierra Morena. I heard Moore himself say this."
"Who comes here?" they heard a sentinel challenge at a distance.
"What comes here would be more grammatical, my friend," replied a
dolorous voice which they knew, as four soldiers appeared, half
supporting and half carrying an officer.
"What is all that?" asked Middleton.
"The mangled remains of William Monkton, esquire, lieutenant, 25th
Foot," replied that personage, as the soldiers laid him on the turf
near the watchfire.
"What is the matter, Willie? are you wounded?" asked Askerne, putting
a canteen of grog to the sufferer's mouth.
"I should think so! a devil of a runaway horse from the enemy's
lines came smash over me. I say, Doctor Salts-and-senna," he added
to the assistant surgeon, who had joined the group; "I am not past
your skill, I hope?"
"Why, Monkton, you haven't even a bone broken," said the doctor, half
angrily, as he rapidly felt him all over; "you are sadly bruised,
though, and will have to ride, if we continue the retreat."
At that moment Hardinge galloped up to Cosmo, who was sitting on a
fallen tree, cloaked and alone, near his horse, for his officers
seldom cared to join him, or he to join them.
"Colonel Crawford," said he, hurriedly, but loud enough to be heard
by all, "the whole line is to fall instantly back towards Corunna by
a forced night march. All the fires are to be kept brightly burning
to deceive the enemy, and all movements will be made left about, to
prevent the clashing of the pouches being heard. Move in silence, as
we must completely mask our retreat. Mr. Kennedy, you will be so
good as take these orders without delay along the line, and desire
the 51st, the 76th, and the cavalry of the left flank, to fall back
and be off, without sound of bugle. Thirty-five miles in our rear,
the bridge of Betanzos is being undermined; that point once passed,
and the bridge blown up, we shall be safe!"
It was indeed time to fall back. Soult's first reinforcements had
come up in overwhelming force, and in the stores of Lugo there was
not bread for _one_ more day's subsistence. The troops were exhorted
by Moore to keep order and "to make a great exertion, which he
trusted would be the _last_ required of them."
At ten o'clock the march began.
In rear of the position the country was encumbered by intricate lanes
and stone walls; but officers who had examined all the avenues were
selected to guide the columns, and just as a dreadful storm of wind
and rain, mixed with icy sleet, burst forth upon that devoted army,
the rearward march began, and when the dull January morning stole
slowly in, save a few wretched, barefooted, and worn-out stragglers,
nothing remained of the British position in front of Lugo but the
drenched and soddened dead bodies of those who had fallen in the
conflict, and the smouldering ashes of the long line of watch-fires,
that extended from the mountains towards the bend of the Minho.