THE RETREAT TO CORUNNA.
Hiding the gunpowder--False alarm--A halt--The Advance countermanded,
and the Retreat commenced.
At Sahagun we fell in with the army under command of Sir John Moore.
I forget how many thousand men there were; but they were lying in and
around the town when we arrived. The Rifles marched to an old convent,
some two miles from Sahagun, where we were quartered, together with a
part of the 15th Hussars, some of the Welsh fusileers and straggling
bodies of men belonging to various other regiments; all seeming on the
_qui vive_, and expecting the French to fall in with them every hour.
As our small and way-worn party came to a halt before the walls of the
convent, the men from these different regiments came swarming out to
greet us, loudly cheering us as they rushed up and seized our hands.
The difference in appearance between ourselves and these new comers was
indeed (just then) very great. _They_ looked fresh, from good quarters,
and good rations. Their clothes and accoutrements were comparatively
new and clean, and their cheeks ruddy with the glow of health and
strength; whilst our men, on the contrary, were gaunt-looking,
way-worn, and ragged; our faces burnt almost to the hue of an Asiatic's
by the sun; our accoutrements rent and torn; and many without even
shoes to their feet. However, we had some work in us yet; and perhaps
were in better condition for it than our more fresh-looking comrades.
And now our butchers tucked up their sleeves, and quickly set to work,
slaughtering oxen and sheep, which we found within the convent walls;
whilst others of our men, lighting fires in the open air upon the snow,
commenced cooking the fragments, which were cut up, and distributing
to them; so that very soon after our arrival, we were more sumptuously
regaled than we had been for many days.
After this meal we were ordered into the convent, and, with knapsacks
on our backs, and arms in our hands, threw ourselves down to rest upon
the floor of a long passage. Overcome with hard toil, and long miles,
our wearied men were soon buried in a deep and heavy sleep. In the
middle of the night I remember, as well as if the sounds were at this
moment in my ear, that my name was called out many times without my
being completely awakened by the summons. The repeated call seemed
mixed up with some circumstance in my dreams; and it was not until
the noise awoke some of the men lying nearer to the entrance of the
passage, and they took up the cry, that I was effectually aroused.
From weariness, and the weight of my knapsack, and the quantity of
implements I carried, I was at first quite unable to gain my legs; but
when I did so, I found that Quarter-master Surtees was the person who
was thus disturbing my rest.
"Come, be quick there, Harris!" said he, as I picked my way by the
light of the candle he held in his hand; "look amongst the men, and
rouse up all the shoemakers you have in the four companies. I have a
job for them, which must be done instantly."
With some little trouble, and not a few curses from them, as I stirred
them up with the butt of my rifle, I succeeded in waking several of
our snoring handicrafts; and the quarter-master bidding us instantly
follow him, led the way to the very top of the convent stairs.
Passing then into a ruinous-looking apartment, along which we walked
upon the rafters, there being no flooring, he stopped when he arrived
at its further extremity. Here he proceeded to call our attention to
a quantity of barrels of gunpowder lying beside a large heap of raw
bullock's hides.
"Now, Harris," said he, "keep your eyes open, and mind what you are
about here. General Craufurd orders you instantly to set to work, and
sew up every one of these barrels in the hides lying before you. You
are to sew the skins with the hair outwards, and be quick about it, for
the General swears that if the job is not finished in half-an-hour he
will hang you."
The latter part of this order was anything but pleasant; and whether
the General ever really gave it, I never had an opportunity of
ascertaining. I only know that I give the words as they were given
me; and, well knowing the stuff Craufurd was made of, I received the
candle from the hands of Surtees, and bidding the men get needles and
waxed thread from their knapsacks, as the quarter-master withdrew, I
instantly prepared to set about the job.
I often think of that night's work as I sit strapping away in my
little shop in Richmond Street, Soho. It was a curious scene to
look at, and the task neither very easy nor safe. The Riflemen were
wearied, unwilling, and out of temper; and it was as much as I could
do to get them to assist me. Moreover, they were so reckless, that
they seemed rather to wish to blow the convent into the air than to
get on with their work. One moment the candle was dropped, and nearly
extinguished; the next they lost their implements between the rafters
of the floor, flaring the light about amongst the barrels; and wishing,
as I remonstrated with them, that the powder might ignite, and blow
me, themselves, and the General to ----. Such were the Riflemen of
the Peninsular War,--daring, gallant, reckless fellows. I had a hard
task to get the work safely finished; but, at length, between coaxing
and bullying these dare-devils, I managed to do so, and together we
returned down the convent stairs; and, finding Surtees awaiting us in
the passage below, he reported to General Craufurd that his order had
been obeyed. After which we were permitted again to lie down, and sleep
till the bugle awoke us next morning.
We remained in the convent part of the next day, and towards evening
received orders to leave all our women and baggage behind, and advance
towards the enemy. Our four companies accordingly were quickly upon
the move, and before long we came up with the remainder of the Rifle
corps, which had recently arrived from England with Sir John Moore. As
these men saw us coming up they halted for the moment, and gave us one
hearty cheer, allowing our four companies to pass to the front, as the
post of honour, calling us "The heroes of Portugal." As we passed to
the front, we returned their cheer with pride. Our worn appearance and
sun-burnt look gave us the advantage over our comrades, we thought, and
we marched in the van of the vanguard.
War is a sad blunter of the feelings of men. We felt eager to be at
it again. Nay, I am afraid we longed for blood as the cheer of our
comrades sounded in our ears; and yet, amidst all this, softer feelings
occasionally filled the breasts of those gallant fellows, even whilst
they were thirsting for a sight of the enemy. Some of the men near me
suddenly recollected, as they saw the snow lying thickly in our path,
that this was Christmas eve. The recollection soon spread amongst the
men; and many talked of home, and scenes upon that night in other
days, in Old England, shedding tears as they spoke of the relatives and
friends never to be seen by them again.
As the night approached we became less talkative. The increasing
weariness of our limbs kept our tongues quieter, and we were many of
us half asleep as we walked, when suddenly a shout arose in front that
the French were upon us. In an instant every man was on the alert,
and we were rushing forward, in extended order, to oppose them. It
proved a false alarm; but it nearly cost me a broken bone or two. The
honourable Captain Pakenham (now Sir Hercules Pakenham), on the first
sound of the enemy being in sight, made a dash to get to the front, at
the same moment I myself was scrambling up a bank on the road side. In
the darkness and hurry, the mule the captain was mounted on bore me to
the ground, and, getting his fore-feet fast fixed somehow between my
neck and my pack, we were fairly hampered for some moments. The captain
swore, the mule floundered, and I bellowed with alarm lest the animal
should dig his feet into my back, and quite disable me. At length,
however, the captain succeeded in getting clear, and spurred over the
bank, as I rolled back into the road. It might be somewhere about two
o'clock in the morning that our advance into Spain was, for that time,
checked, and the retreat to Corunna might be said to commence. General
Craufurd was in command of the brigade, and riding in front, when I
observed a dragoon come spurring furiously along the road to meet us.
He delivered a letter to the General, who turned round in his saddle
the moment he had read a few lines, and thundered out the word "to
halt!" A few minutes more, and we were all turned to the right-about,
and retracing our steps of the night before;--the contents of that
epistle serving to furnish our men with many a surmise during the
retrograde movement. When we again neared Sahagun, I remember seeing
the wives and children of the men come rushing into the ranks, and
embracing the husbands and fathers they expected never to see again.
The entire Rifle corps entered the same convent we had before been
quartered in; but this time we remained enranked in its apartments
and passages, no man being allowed to quit his arms or lie down. We
stood leaning upon the muzzles of our Rifles, and dozed as we stood.
After remaining thus for about an hour, we were then ordered out of
the convent, and the word was again given to march. There was a sort
of thaw on this day, and the rain fell fast. As we passed the walls
of the convent, I observed our General (Craufurd) as he sat upon his
horse, looking at us on the march, and remarked the peculiar sternness
of his features: he did not like to see us going rearwards at all; and
many of us judged there must be something wrong, by his severe look and
scowling eye.
"Keep your ranks there, men!" he said, spurring his horse towards some
Riflemen who were avoiding a small rivulet. "Keep your ranks and move
on,--_no straggling_ from the main body."
We pushed on all that day without halting; and I recollect the first
thing that struck us as somewhat odd, was our passing one of the
commissariat waggons, overturned and stuck fast in the mud, and which
was abandoned without an effort to save any of its contents. A serjeant
of the 92nd Highlanders, just about this time, fell dead with fatigue,
and no one stopped, as we passed, to offer him any assistance. Night
came down upon us, without our having tasted food, or halted--I speak
for myself, and those around me--and all night long we continued this
dreadful march. Men began to look into each other's faces, and ask the
question "Are we ever to be halted again?" and many of the weaker sort
were now seen to stagger, make a few desperate efforts, and then fall,
perhaps to rise no more. Most of us had devoured all we carried in our
haversacks, and endeavoured to catch up anything we could snatch from
hut or cottage in our route. Many, even at this period, would have
straggled from the ranks, and perished, had not Craufurd held them
together with a firm rein. One such bold and stern commander in the
East, during a memorable disaster, and that devoted army had reached
its refuge unbroken! Thus we staggered on, night and day, for about
four days, before we discovered the reason of this continued forced
march. The discovery was made to our company by a good tempered, jolly
fellow, named Patrick Mc Lauchlan. He inquired of an officer, marching
directly in his front, the destination intended.
"By J----s! Musther Hills," I heard him say, "where the d---l is this
you're taking us to?"
"To England, Mc Lauchlan," returned the officer, with a melancholy
smile upon his face, as he gave the answer,--"_if we can get there_."
"More luck and grace to you," said Mc Lauchlan; "and it's that you're
maning, is it?"
This Mc Lauchlan was a good specimen of a thorough Irish soldier.
Nothing could disturb his good-humour and high spirits; and even during
a part of this dreadful march, he had ever some piece of Irish humour
upon his tongue's end, whilst he staggered under the weight of his
pack. He would in all probability have been amongst the few who did
reach England; but, during the march, he was attacked with the racking
pains of acute rheumatism, and frequently fell to the ground screaming
with agony. On such occasions, his companions would do that for him
which they omitted to perform towards others. They many times halted,
heaved him up, and assisted him forwards. Sir Dudley Hill, too, was
greatly interested for Mc Lauchlan, trying to cheer him on, whilst the
men could scarcely refrain from laughter at the extraordinary things he
gave utterance to whilst racked with pain, and staggering with fatigue.
At length, however, Mc Lauchlan fell one dark night, as we hurried
through the streets of a village, and we could not again raise him.
"It's no use, Harris," I heard him say, in a faint voice, "I can do no
more."
Next morning, when day broke, he was no longer seen in the ranks, and
as I never saw him again, I conclude he quickly perished.