THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA.
"Marked you yon moving mass, the dark array
Of yon deep column wind its sullen way?
Low o'er its barded brow, the plumed boast,
Glittering and gay, of France's wayward host,
With gallant bearing wings its venturous flight,
Cowers o'er its kindred bands, and waves them to the fight."
LORD GRENVILLE.
The army was now rid of every incumbrance, and all was prepared for
the withdrawal of the fighting men as soon as darkness should again
set in, and four o'clock in the afternoon of the 16th was the time
fixed by Moore for doing so; but lo! at two o'clock on that anxious
day a messenger came from Sir John Hope to state that the whole
French army, then in position on the heights above Corunna, was
getting under arms--that a general movement was taking place along
the entire line, twenty thousand strong!
"Stand to your arms--unpile, unpile!" was the cry from right to left.
Long ere this, the whole British army had been in position.
Sir David Baird held the right with his division, while Sir John
Hope's was formed across the main road, with its left towards the
Mero river; but the whole of this combined line was exposed to, and
almost enfiladed by, a brigade of French guns posted on the rocks
above the little village of Elvina.
Fraser's division remained before the gates of Corunna to watch the
coast road, and be prepared to advance on any point.
But all the advantage, in strength of position, of horse, foot, and
artillery, was in favour of the enemy. The only cavalry in the field
with Moore were _forty_ troopers of the 15th Hussars, under the
command of a lieutenant named Knight.
Opposed to Hope and Baird's slender line were the heavy divisions of
Delaborde, Merle, and Merniet, while the cavalry of the French left,
under De Lahausaye, Lorge, Franceschi, Ribeaupierre, and others, were
thrown forward, almost in echelon and in heavy columns, along the
whole British right, hemming them in between the Mero and the harbour
of Corunna, and menacing even the rear so far as San Cristoval, a
mile beyond Sir David Baird, whom, however, Fraser and Lord Paget
covered.
Joy sparkled in Moore's eyes as he rode along the line at the head of
his staff, and to Colonel Graham of Balgowan he expressed his regret
that "the lateness of the hour and the shortness of the evening would
prevent them from profiting by the victory which he confidently
anticipated."
The afternoon was dull and sunless; grey clouds covered all the
louring sky; the sea towards the offing looked black and stormy, and
the ramparts of Corunna, washed by the white waves from the west,
seemed hard, sombre, and gloomy; but the British were in high spirits
and full of hope at the prospect of giving a graceful and a glorious
close to this inauspicious campaign.
Through Moore's telescope, which he lent him, Quentin swept the
French lines. He could see the masses of the Old Guard in their tall
grenadier caps, grey great-coats and enormous scarlet epaulettes;
then the ordinary infantry of the line, in their short-waisted blue
coatees and wide scarlet trousers, advancing in three dense columns
along the heights towards the British position. He could see the
guns being unlimbered and prepared for service on the ridge of rock
that covered the flank of the infantry; and he could also see the
cavalry of the left; the cuirassiers of Lahausaye in helmets and
corslets of brass, with flowing scarlet plumes and straight swords of
great length; the chasseurs of Lorge and Ribeaupierre, in light
green, with their horse-hair plumes all floating like a sea of red
and white; then the picturesque column of Franceschi, in which were a
corps of Polish lancers, with all their tricoloured bannerols
fluttering; and some of the Mamelukes of the Imperial Guard, with
white turbans and crosses of gold, all brandishing their crooked
sabres and loading the heavy air with uncouth and tumultuous cries.
On the other hand were the cool and silent British infantry; steady
and still they stood in their solid ranks, their arms loaded, primed,
and "ordered," the bayonets fixed and colours flying; and no sound
was heard along all their line, save when the pipers of the Black
Watch, the 92nd, or some other Scottish regiment, played loud, in
defiance of the advancing foe, some historical or traditionary air of
the clan or tribe from whence its name was taken or its ranks were
filled.
To the 42nd, with the 4th and 50th, was entrusted the defence of the
extreme right, the weakest point of the line, and on _their
maintenance of which_ the safety and honour of the army rested.
As Quentin passed his old battalion in Hope's division on the road
that led from Aris to Corunna, he saluted Cosmo, but received no
response. Grim as Ajax, the Master was advancing with his eyes fixed
on the enemy and his left hand clutching his gathered reins. At that
moment perhaps, he thought less of the horrid dream of
yesternight--for a dream he assuredly deemed it--than of the ruinous
bonds, the crushing mortgages, the post-obits, and secret loans at
fifty and sixty per cent., that a French bullet might that day close,
together with his own existence, and he actually felt a species of
grim satisfaction that thereby the crew of money-lenders would be
outwitted.
"This is a day that will live in history, major," said Quentin, as he
passed jolly old Middleton, in rear of the corps, trotting his
barrel-bellied cob, an animal of grave and solemn deportment.
"Likely enough, lad," replied the other; "but I've seen too many of
these historical days now, and I would sell cheaply alike my share in
them, with the chance of being honourably mentioned by some future
Hume or Smollett."
"So, Monkton, you've recovered your Lugo mishap."
"Quite, Kennedy," replied that individual, whom he overtook marching
on the left flank of his company; "never felt jollier in my
life--breakfasted about twelve to-day with Middleton and Colville on
mulled claret dashed with old brandy. So we are going to engage at
last! Well, I hope we shall polish off old Johnny Soult, and get on
board betimes--then ho, for Old England!"
"There, gentlemen, is the first gun!" exclaimed Rowland Askerne, with
his eyes full of animation, as he pointed with his sword to a
field-piece that flashed on the rocks above Elvina. Then a 12-pound
shot hummed harmlessly through the air along the whole line of
Baird's division.
"Tyrol, tra la, la lira!" sang the reckless Monkton; "this begins the
game in earnest!"
"At such a time how can you be so thoughtless, Willie?" said Askerne,
with some asperity; and now, from the great French battery on the
rocks, the shot and shell fell thick and fast upon the British line,
while, led by the Duke of Dalmatia in person, the three solid columns
of Delaborde, Neale, and Merniet, descended with yells to the
assault, tricolours waving, swords flashing, and eagles brandished.
A cloud of skirmishers preceded them, and the white puffs of smoke
that spirted from among the underwood, the low dykes, hedgerows and
laurel bushes, marked where they nestled and took quiet "pot shots"
at the old 95th, and other British sharp-shooters, who fell back in
disorder, as the light six-pounders failed to protect them against
the French heavy guns, which swept Moore's line to the centre, with
round shot, grape, and canister.
From his master in the art of war, Sir Ralph Abercrombie, Moore had
learned that the presence of a commander is always most useful near
that point at which the greatest struggle is likely to occur; thus he
remained near Lord Bentinck's brigade, and close to the 42nd, on the
extreme right, and there Quentin and his staff accompanied him.
The French left carried the village of Elvina, and dividing into two
great masses, one poured on against Baird's front, and the other
assailed his right under cover of their gun battery, while their
right assailed Hope at the pretty hamlet of Palavia Abaxo. And now
the roar and carnage of the battle became general all over the field;
men were falling fast on every side, "and human lives were lavished
everywhere;" Baird's left arm was shattered by a grape-shot, and he
was taken from the front to have it amputated; Middleton was struck
about the same time, in the left side.
Lifting his cocked-hat, and bowing almost to his holsters, while a
cloud of hair-powder flew about his head, this fine old soldier said,
faintly, to the Master of Rohallion--
"I am wounded, colonel, and have the honour to request you will order
another officer to take command of the left." He then ambled away on
his old nag towards Corunna.
"Close in, men--fill up the gaps," was the incessant cry of the
officers and sergeants; "close up the rear ranks--close up!" and
cheerily they did so, those brave hearts and true.
As it was, the sparks of the flints, the burning of priming (many of
the muskets being bushed with brass), caused many of the front rank
men to have their cheeks bleeding by splinters or scorched by powder;
but these were constant occurrences before the days of percussion
locks and caps.
The fire of the enemy was terrible, and all who were not wounded had
narrow escapes. Quentin had no less than three during the first
hour; a ball struck one of his holster pipes, another tore through
his havresack, smashing his ration biscuits, and a third perforated
his shako, and had he been an inch taller, he had been a dead man.
The first tightening of the heart relaxed--the first wild thrill of
anxiety over, and Quentin felt as cool as the oldest veteran there.
The light field guns as they retired from Elvina came tearing past
with blood and human hair upon their wheels and on the hoofs of their
galloping horses, showing the carnage through which they had passed;
but they were again unlimbered and brought into action to check the
dragoons of Lorge, who menaced the right with pistol and sabre.
Sir John, who, with eagle eye, had been watching the movements of the
enemy through the openings in the white smoke which rolled along the
slopes and filled all the hollows, observed that no more infantry
were coming on than those which outflanked the right of Baird's
division, now commanded by his successor.
"Kennedy," said he to Quentin, whose coolness delighted and even
amused him, "ride to my friend Paget, and order him to wheel to the
right of the French advance, to menace and attack their gun battery.
Stanhope, spur on to Fraser and order him to support Paget."
While his aides rode off with these orders, he threw back the 4th
Regiment in person, and opened a heavy fire on the French, now
pouring along the valley on his right, while the old "Half Hundred"
and the Black Watch confronted those who were breaking through Elvina.
"Well done, 50th--well done, my majors!" he exclaimed to two
favourite officers who led the corps; but in the deadly struggle that
ensued, one, Major Charles Napier, was taken prisoner, and the other,
the Honourable Major Stanhope, was mortally wounded.
Strewed with killed and wounded, the field was now a veritable hell
upon earth, all along the lines in the valley and on the hills.
The boom of the heavy guns from the rock pealed solemnly on the ear,
and their bright red flashes came luridly out of the dusky vapour
where the haze of a winter eve and the smoke of battle mingled.
Then there was the shrill scream of the shells as they soared aloft,
describing fiery arcs through the cold grey sky, seeming to streak it
with light; and there was the _whirr_ or deep _hum_ of the cannon
shot as they tore along the corpse-strewn ground, or through the
empty air.
After delivering his orders to Lord Paget, Quentin turned his horse
to the right and pursued the Aris road in rear of Hope's division,
rushing at full speed over a great cork tree which the cannon shot
had cut down; but he reined up for a moment near the flank of the
Borderers.
Issuing from Palavia Abaxo, a corps of Delaborde's came furiously on
with a savage yell, their bayonets fixed and tricolours flying
defiantly, though torn by grape and musketry.
They were grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, and their long grey coats
seemed black and sombre amid the smoke. Twice those men, the heroes
of Austerlitz and Marengo, wavered, though never ceasing to pour in
their fire; for the resolute aspect of the Borderers--calm and
voiceless, but determined--seemed to arrest them, so the human surge
paused in its onward roll.
Then it was that the Master of Rohallion, though cold-blooded, or
animated chiefly by that selfish cosmopolitanism which is so peculiar
to the Scottish aristocracy, felt something of his father's gallant
spirit swell up in his heart.
"The 50th and the Highlanders are carrying all before them on the
right," cried he, raising himself in his stirrups and brandishing his
sword, "come on, 25th, let them see that we on the left are brother
Scotsmen, as well as British soldiers--follow me--_charge_!"
And now, with a loud hurrah and like a living wall, while the pipes
rung shrill and high, the regiment rushed headlong on the foe, and
plunging into the mass with the bayonet, hurled it back in ruin and
bloody disorder beyond the village.
In this charge poor Rowland Askerne fell dead with a ball in his
heart; Colville perished under five bayonet wounds; Colyear had the
staff of the king's colour broken in his hand, and many others fell
killed and wounded; but Cosmo, as if his life was a charmed one, yet
escaped unhurt, and re-formed the corps in splendid order close to
the village of Palavia Abaxo.
Quentin, who had only checked his horse to witness his old comrades
make this most glorious charge, galloped on towards the right, where
he found the foe still pressing forward, and Moore, sword in hand, at
the head of the 42nd, most of whose pouches were now empty.
"My brave Highlanders!" the general exclaimed, "you have still your
bayonets--_remember Egypt_!"
With a wild cheer, their plumes and tartans waving amid the smoke,
the Celts rushed on and drove the French back in disorder upon Elvina.
A few minutes after this, just as Quentin dismounted to breathe his
horse, and just as Captain (afterwards General and Viscount) Hardinge
came forward to report that the Guards were advancing to support
Bentinck's brigade, a round shot from the enemy's battery on those
fatal rocks passed through them.
By the velocity of the ball, the mere force of the air, Quentin was
knocked down, breathless and panting. When he staggered up, he found
the general lying near him, and a startled group gathering round them.
_The same ball_ had mortally wounded Sir John Moore, by shattering
his left breast and shoulder. Hurled from his saddle, he now lay on
his back, bleeding and dying!