The principal street, of vast width, seems to have one extremity in the
ocean, and the other lost in the ascent of the stupendous mountain,
whose fiery summit it seems to approach with an avenue of temples and
palaces.
What an effect have place and scene upon the sensitive spirits of
youth! At Taormina I felt abandoned and cast out from the beauties of
the civilised world, whereas here in beautiful Catania I felt as if
everything were my own, and that the sky was bright, the sea blue, the
mountain awful, and the city splendid--all for me; and in good and
grateful part did I accept of it.
No king could be happier than I, when, having seen my horse comfortably
served, I ascended into the best parlour of the Golden Lion, and
with my eyes upon the noble buildings of the square, sat down to a
well-cooked dinner and a flask of the rich white wine of Etna. After
dinner, leaving this fair city with regret, I pursued my journey
towards Augusta. On this side the mountain throws a mantle of sloping
woods, and becomes more and more level and in the nature of open
pasture as it approaches the deep and rapid Giarreta, which we pass
in a ferry, and over which few Sicilians would believe it possible to
construct a bridge.[4]
Augusta enjoys the advantages of Mediterranean sea and sky, but, _au
reste_, not Hartlepool nor Skegness are less indebted to soil or
surface. The town, though regular, is meanly built, and occupies a
peninsula fortified towards the land.
The bay, however, is of noble extent, and by its firm anchorage and
easy access affords a fine rendezvous for large fleets employed in
these seas. Here Lord Nelson watered previous to the battle of the
Nile. I slept in the large convent of the Augustines, close to the
seaside, where the prior and monks assured me it was their greatest
pride to have entertained the great Nelson within their walls, of whose
glory they were perfectly enamoured.
The cheerful urbanity and comforting welcome of these good Augustines
made me forget the Capuchins of Taormina, and I must say in all the
many convents in which I have taken up my quarters I never experienced
but that one unpleasant reception.
The Governor of Augusta, on whom I necessarily waited with my
credentials, was very polite, spoke of Captain Lefebure in the style
sublime, and finding I must start in the morning for Syracuse, insisted
that I should come that evening to his conversazione.
A good many people of both sexes and the higher officers of his
garrison were assembled to stare at the Giovane Inglese, and for an
hour or two it answered my purpose very well. I had no objection to be
looked at, but liked looking at others still better, always taking a
greater interest in people than in lifeless things.
I slept comfortably at the convent, and was on horseback early in the
morning.
The ride to Syracuse is not particularly interesting along the shores
of the Bay of Augusta, and after ascending the promontory which bounds
the bay to the south, the road no longer finds accommodation by the
seaside, but makes its way more deviously over hill and dell until
it approaches the obverse side of that dilated rock which shelters
Syracuse and its harbour from the blustering north. Upon an extended
table of this ridge lie the ruins of the ancient city of Syracuse, and
as the road ascends, the naked rock is tracked in deep ruts by the
carriages which trafficked with the ancient Syracusans, just as ruts
are deeply worn in the more frequented streets of Pompeii.
The present town and harbour of Syracuse, with its lovely vale
stretching far into the west, are finely seen from the heights over
which you approach it.
The peninsula on which the town stands divides the harbour into two
compartments.
The grand harbour to the south and west is one of the most beautiful in
the world. The other is of little importance except in a military point
of view.
The fortifications, houses, and churches of Syracuse are all formed of
the beautiful stone[5] of which its great northern screen consists,
and in consequence of these vast quarries and excavations, ancient
and modern, nothing can be more abruptly broken and scarped than the
environs of this fortress.
The land front is finely and elaborately executed with magnificent
gateways; the town is dense and unequal; the cathedral an ancient
temple (I believe of Minerva), whose Christian front acts as a garish
mask to its ancient heathen sides.
I presently found my friend Lefebure, who received me with joy, and
after giving me some account of his proceedings, took me to the good
old Governor. “I know not whom this Governor takes me for,” said
Lefebure, “but he really overwhelms me with honours; his coach is
always dodging me wherever I go, and when I consent to take a little
tour into the country, he mounts upon the box, with all the decorations
of his rank and symbols of his power, and drives me himself. I am half
dead with the variety and quantity he makes me eat, and bewildered with
the daily company of barons and princes, baronesses and princesses,
with their dark eyes and soft accents, so articulate and intelligible,
and yet to which I dare hardly attempt to reply.”
“Well,” I replied, “this does not sound to me so distressing as you
represent. I am glad I am come to your relief. This noble governor
shall stuff _me_ now with good things and drive _me_ in his coach, and
_I_ will now listen to the soft accents of the dark-eyed Principessas,
and expose myself to their smiles at my blundering answers. So _have_
with you, Lefebure; take me to the Governor; we shall be in time for
his dinner.”
“Oh,” he rejoined, “don’t distress yourself. We are both engaged
already to dine with him to meet a hundred people. But it will be taken
well if I present you to him first.” So away we went. The Governor,
a good, solicitous old soul, was of course charmed with the Bravo
Giovinetto, and offered everything within and without his power both to
me and to Lefebure.
The number of the people at dinner could only, I think, be exceeded by
the number of the dishes, and when I found the order of proceeding,
I no longer wondered at the surfeit complained of by the temperate
Lefebure, for the Governor, having relaxed his girdle and tied a napkin
under his chin, surrounded by laughing beauties ready to applaud every
word he spoke and every morsel he distributed, sent in succession for
every dish, and having divided it absolutely and unsparingly into
portions, it was carried round, and if any one failed to taste, the
wail and lament of apprehended sickness was raised around him, and some
sweet princess with bewitching eyes loaded his plate with her own fair
hands.
I am not aware that English people can quite realise the ease and
good-humour and incessant but not unpolished mirth with which this
great dinner from beginning to end was accomplished. And but for that,
I hardly believe the economy of man would be able to dispose of such
sudden and copious supplies as were then thrown into his system.
Well it was the Governor, after dinner, took us in his carriage to show
us his points of vantage without the town, for to walk would have been
very inconvenient!
The worthy Governor of Syracuse was not the only person prodigal of
attention and kindness to the two English officers.
There then lived upon a beautiful farm in the midst of the vale an
English gentleman of considerable genius and learning, whose energy of
character and acuteness of judgment, and the application of English
skill to a Sicilian soil, had given him a very powerful ascendency over
the population within his reach. Equally a master of the language, from
the Tuscan tongue to the dissonant jargon of the Sicilian peasant, his
tall, athletic, but not ungraceful figure, and his intelligent and
finely-featured head made him no ill representative, among foreigners,
of the personal predominance of an Englishman.
I had met him at Valetta, where he had opened an acquaintance with me
by accusing me of some resemblance to Lady Hamilton. He immediately
remembered the circumstance, and perhaps even so slight a thread acted
as a bond of old acquaintance. Yet there is a stronger bond than that
which draws one to a countryman in a foreign land.
My Anglo-Sicilian friend showed Lefebure and me how truly he felt this
by the unbounded kindness and grateful hospitality he extended to
us, and his handsome, noble-hearted wife received us with a smile of
welcome that was redolent of home.
Our fare was studiously English, and to our delighted eyes appeared the
effect of magic.
There was the burnished brown of the small fillet of veal, the small
smoked ham, cauliflower, potatoes, and melted butter; the household
loaf of barm-raised bread as white as snow; the ample slice of
fresh-churned butter, not lard of goat’s milk, but yellow butter,
from the breathy cow. And then the bubbling and loud-hissing urn, the
presiding lady, plates of real bread-and-butter, and genuine tea,
attempered with thick cream!
No one untried in travel can imagine with how keen a zest a robust
English appetite returns to these wholesome and ordinary provisions of
his country in lands where he has no hope of meeting with them.
On our return to Messina we simply retraced our steps, and met with
nothing remarkable, so I give no account of our journey of 120 miles.
* * * * *
It was about the second week in May when Lefebure and I arrived at
Messina, and on the 25th of that month our force received a valuable
acquisition by the arrival of the 78th Regiment of Highlanders, a
beautiful regiment, 900 strong, whose picturesque national dress made
a great impression upon the Sicilians, though the women, indeed,
seemed to think it due to modesty to say the dress was very ugly. “La
Baronessa” also maintained “It was an ugly dress, and a very curious
dress, and a very curious thing that such a dress should be approved of
in England, which she thought was a cold country.” The arrival of this
regiment gave us the more satisfaction, as rumours were afloat that Sir
John Stuart would take advantage of his interregnum to do some dashing
thing.
A great sensation was created by the resolute defence which the old
Prince of Hesse Philipstahl continued to make at Gaeta.
Our Gilespie had been sent to his assistance, and was well qualified
by his knowledge of the language, his military science, and his daring
constancy of character both to assist the brave Prince in his defence,
and to give true information and sagacious comments to the British
general.
Sir Sidney Smith, the naval Commander-in-Chief, came to Messina
immediately from the scene of action. He had brought with him a plan
of Gaeta and of the French approaches, which he wished to have copied,
and being well acquainted with the commanding engineer, requested his
assistance for that purpose. Our Commandant brought the plan to me to
copy, and said, “When you’ve finished the plan, Boothby, you will like
an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the hero of Acre. You will
admire him of all things, but be sure when you see him, he will take
you to Acre.”
Accordingly I copied the plan with my best skill and despatch, and
then carried it on board. I had to wait a considerable time. At length
I was summoned into the Admiral’s presence. He held the plan in his
hand, and good-humouredly said, “So, sir, you are the young officer
who has had the goodness to copy this for me. Well now, sir, just look
here. They pretend to tell me that this place is indefensible--_me_,
who know pretty well what determined hearts can do behind very simple
barriers--who have seen a handful of men behind the angle of a wall
bid defiance to the bravest troops led on by the first general in the
world--I mean Mr. Bonaparte at Acre. Tally-ho! said I.”
I was really in pain lest a smile should be detected on my features,
which would have seemed to belie my sincere admiration for the gallant
spirit in whose presence I stood, and that anxiety gave me an air of
deeper attention to the inferences of strength and capability of Gaeta
which he drew from the defence of Acre.
And it is well known that the brave old Prince of Hesse fully justified
these inferences by the spirit and duration of his resistance.
The gallant Sir Sidney then repaired to the Court of Palermo, into
which the defence of Gaeta and the mountain spirit of the Calabrese
were infusing vain hopes, vain aims, and inordinate desires.
Old Ferdinand, who had entrusted Sir John Stuart with the defence of
the east coast of Sicily from Milazzo to Cape Passaro, now invested
Sir Sidney Smith with viceregal power by land and sea in the territory
of Naples, and the whole persuasive power of the Court, and I suppose
of the chivalrous viceroy, was then addressed to excite the British
general to hazardous enterprise, but probably the natural ambition of
his own brave breast was the strongest advocate.
The floating viceroy adroitly disarmed any jealousy which his powers
might have excited in the breast of the land commander by saying,
“This appointment would have been more suitable for you, but I made no
difficulty about it, thinking it a great object that _one_ of us should
have it, and the whole powers of the commission are quite as much at
your disposal as if your name had been placed in it instead of mine.”
The phrase ran, “How nicely Sir Sidney had got himself made viceroy,”
but I can easily believe, remembering their worship of Nelson, that
it was a much easier thing for the King and Queen to give such a
commission to a renowned naval officer, whom they might view as
Nelson’s successor, than to a British general.
Sir John Stuart, however, had too much sense to care a straw about it.
He saw here an opportunity of glory, and however circumstances might
fail of their promise, he saw at all events a justification of the
hazard, and he was no more to be daunted by the sense of responsibility
than of danger.
I was in great terror lest I should not be included in this
heart-stirring expedition, but I was soon put out of suspense.
All the arrangements being complete and the fleet ready to sail, Sir
John Stuart, in order to gain the advance of it, drove with one A.D.C.
in his barouche to the point of Faro, and then embarked in a ship of
war on the evening of the 30th of June 1806. We were watching him from
our quarters opposite when he stepped into his barouche. Never man,
I thought, seemed better pleased with what he was about, or looked
more to personate the spirit of enterprise. A nice military figure, he
jumped gaily into his carriage, laughing with his aide-de-camp, and
nodding kindly, drolly, and significantly to the vivaing Messinese,
who, notwithstanding the profoundest secrecy, had a pretty good guess
what he was after, drove rapidly off.
_June 30._--We then embarked when the fleet was already getting under
way.
No happiness is greater to a young soldier than the high expectation
attending an expedition of this kind. The great things he looks forward
to are close at hand; there is no prospect of protracted toil and
uncertain pursuit, but in the full vigour and freshness of his strength
he moves quietly and swiftly to his object on the silent waters,
expecting every moment to fall like a thunderbolt on the astonished
foe. Several hours during this interesting night, big with expectation
and imagining the eventful future, did I walk the deck, contrasting the
present fair heaven, refreshing sea, and noiseless vessels with the
dire principles of destruction and slaughter within them. Wistfully
I looked toward the bold outline of the Italian shore, on which the
condensing fleet was bearing with unflagging wing, and wondered how
soon the hour of action and of glory could begin.
About midnight on the 30th June we came to an anchor in the Bay of St.
Eufemia, and an order was immediately passed through the fleet that the
troops should land at two in the morning.
A heavy surf upon an open beach made this operation difficult, but
it was effected without loss and without opposition. A vast plain
with much cover of brushwood extended from the beach to the receding
mountains.
It began to be believed that no enemy was near, but upon the Light
Infantry running forward a firing commenced, which continued in a sort
of bush-fight the greater part of the morning. The enemy consisted
of about 300 Polish sharpshooters scattered about in a very thick
brushwood. They did their duty well, retiring as we advanced. No
fox-hunters after a long frost could appear to enjoy their sport more
keenly than our soldiers as they ran at the enemy with shouts and cries
of delight. The event of the day was some 20 of the enemy wounded, 2
officers and 100 men taken prisoners. We had only one man wounded.
The army now took up a position on the high ground in advance of the
place of landing, one flank upon the town of Nicastro, the other
below the village of St. Eufemia, whilst at the same time it was
thought prudent to throw up an entrenchment on the beach, under cover
of which an embarkation might be effected, should the pressure of
superior numbers or unforeseen disasters render a retreat to our ships
desirable. Sir John Stuart expressed surprise at the celerity with
which this service was performed.
During the whole of this long day, and part of the next, the reports
concerning the enemy were various. One prisoner (a Gascon) answered
gaily to the question of number, “Oh, a trifle; some 27,000 or 30,000.”
But towards evening on the 2nd of July it was discovered that an
enemy’s force had occupied the heights overlooking the plains of
Maida. The lights of the enemy exhibited at night extended along a
considerable front, and a rumour prevailed that he intended battle.
On the 3rd some information was obtained of the strength of the enemy,
and it was rated so low as between 2000 and 3000. At night the order of
march was given to commence at two o’clock, our General being probably
anxious to come to blows before the enemy should have collected his
full strength; but whilst the order of march was forming, an important
reinforcement of several thousand (as we have since learned) arrived in
the enemy’s lines.
If this reinforcement had not arrived, the opposing forces would have
been nearly equal. As it was, Sir John Stuart, at daybreak on the 4th
of July, with about 4000 men, found himself in presence of 7500 of the
best troops of France.
To my eternal regret, I was not present at the battle. My mind was in
a state of curiosity and high expectation, and when I received the
order to remain behind, though aware of its necessity and justice, my
disappointment was childish and excessive.
An entrenchment which we had thrown up on the beach required still
to be completed, and our Chief was very anxious to strengthen it by
an inundation, for which the mouth of a small rivulet offered great
facilities. He felt it necessary to entrust an officer with the
execution of his intentions, and as junior officer (in that spirit of
perfect fairness with which he always treats us) he selected me, and
sent me strict orders not to leave the spot until duly relieved. There
was a high square tower at a short distance from our entrenchment,
which was occupied by four companies of Watteville’s regiment under
Major Fischer, who had remained to protect the point of debarkation.
By the time some sound of cannon announced the approaching conflict of
the two armies, my inundation wanted little of completion, and my men
were well under the observance of this tower.
From hence, therefore, with the veteran Major Fischer, I saw the
general movements of the battle, near enough to be filled with the most
terrible interest, to see the masses descend from the heights, tracked
by smoke and fire, to see opposing bodies approaching to collision, and
by the rapidity of motion to distinguish horse from foot, and where
approaching columns had been lost to sight, to recognise their conflict
from the sudden smoke of the volleys. But though near enough for this,
I was too distant to pretend to give the description of an eye-witness,
not indeed being able to distinguish one regiment from another, or
indeed the enemy from ourselves, except from the direction in which
each was moving.
What anxious moments did we pass, near enough to see where the battle
raged, but not in what way it was decided. However, it was more like
victory than defeat, we thought, as no runaways came to spread bad
tidings, and the whole system of sights and sounds seemed rather more
distant than more near.
At length I descried a brother-officer riding alone towards us. I flew
to meet him.
“Well, Theso, you have been fighting all morning. What have you done?
We are half dead with anxiety.”
“Oh,” said the good-natured fellow, “would you had been with us! Never
was anything more complete. They are all but destroyed.”
“Now, God be praised!” said I, running to seize Theso’s hand. “God
Almighty be praised! This is grand news indeed.”
“I came to tell you,” said he, “that you need stay no longer here. We
don’t think of entrenchments now.”
“Then I may ride to the field, where I can better understand all you
have been doing.”
So saying I mounted my horse, Theso giving some directions as to the
right track, and away I cantered.
This might have been a scene harrowing to the last degree, for I might
have found it full of suffering I had no power to mitigate, and have
paid dearly in agony of mind for the gratification of a natural and
overwhelming curiosity. But the noble compassion and prompt activity of
the victors, aided by our generous sailors, had already removed from
the field, without distinction of friend or foe, all who stood in need
of the offices of humanity.
Still it was a field of battle smoking with recent carnage, peopled
with prostrate warriors distorted with the death agony, harnessed for
battle in gay colours, feathers, and gold, but stained and bathed in
their own life-blood, having on that gory bed suddenly closed all the
sanguine, joyous hopes of life.
A sight so disfigured, what heart of rock could long dry-eyed behold!
The events of the battle were in some sort told by the mute and
motionless, but sad and appalling forms with which the ground was
covered; all indeed were still and silent, but all bore the attitude of
struggle, of fearful flight, or eager chase.
A picture of a battle represents but one instant; no figure can move,
yet all seems stirring and tumultuous.
So, in some sort, is the actual field of glory. The chieftain’s hand is
lifted to strike; his lips have not closed since the shout of victory
or mandate of battle has passed through them. The passions, too, in the
midst of death remain strongly impressed upon each warrior’s features.
The daring courage, the bitterness of anger or revenge, and the
thrilling agony of mortal pain--all speak distinctly in the countenance
of the dead.
The route of the flying enemy was thickly tracked through the
straggling course of the shallow Amato and up the heights beyond by
slaughtered bodies of the 1st Regiment of French Light Infantry, which
had ventured to charge ours with the bayonet. All lay in one direction,
in the attitude of headlong desperate flight.
I forget the number of this regiment buried on the field, but a
skeleton of it only could have escaped.
Amid all the disfigurements of wounds and scenes of human agony,
nothing so powerfully inclined my heart to pity and compassion as the
letters which lay near each unburied soldier, representing the last
remains of the affections and softer feelings, as the body represented
his warlike powers. Many of these, in female characters, were expressed
with all the tender beauties of the French tongue, and, with an absence
of reserve taught by the Revolution, showed by their intenseness of
feeling how bitterly living hearts were to be grieved with the tidings
of the scene before me.
No one can tell from description how wretched is the feeling, when
standing over the body of a youthful soldier, to read in a fair female
hand such expressions as these:--
“Oh, preserve thy life! Venture not too much for the sake of thy
poor Adèle, who has never ceased to deplore thy absence, but who will
think the first moment of thy return an ample compensation for all her
sufferings.”
_Return!_ shall that prostrate blood-stained figure ever return to the
poor Adèle? The beauty of youth indeed has not yet left him, but by
to-morrow the form even of humanity will be gone! Many of the letters
were from all degrees of kindred--mother, wife, sister, daughter. It
was impossible to read unmoved.
Poor Harry Paulet was dreadfully wounded in the thigh, and our
Commandant had a beautiful horse killed under him.
* * * * *
Having been unable to be actually present at the battle of Maida, I
write the following account from subsequent observation and inquiry,
by which I satisfied my natural thirst to know all the events of this
memorable day.