THE RETREAT ON CORUNNA
(1808-1809)
Wail loudly, ye women, your coronach doleful,
Lament him, ye pipers, tread solemn and slow.
_Old Highland Lament._
During the years that the Highland regiments were on home service many
eventful things took place. By the Peace of Amiens, England had
surrendered almost all her conquests to Napoleon. She had promised to
give up Malta and various places in the Mediterranean; she retained no
territory in Africa. In the West Indies, which had cost the British army
so many lives, she owned only Trinidad. She had also relinquished the
claims of the Bourbons, which she had formerly supported, and she—no
matter how grudgingly—recognised the authority of the Emperor. But it
was obvious to everybody that the renewal of hostilities was only a
question of time. Napoleon—just as much as the Kaiser at a later
date—had set his heart on the downfall of England. His spies were
everywhere, his network of information was immense, and he was
determined, if he could not overwhelm her in arms, to strangle her in
trade. He plotted to cause trouble in India—and here again it would seem
unnecessary to provide a parallel. He attempted to reconquer Egypt. It
therefore seemed politic to England, since bloodshed was inevitable, to
enter upon a conflict before Napoleon was supreme upon the Continent,
and by refusing to leave Malta (according to the agreement of Amiens),
war broke out again in May 1803.
For the next two years our country was fated to fight France
single-handed, and, until the battle of Trafalgar ensured our supremacy
upon the sea, there was above everything else one scheme very close to
the heart of Napoleon, and that the invasion of England. An army of at
least 150,000 men was assembled at Boulogne, while, for their transport
many hundreds of flat-bottomed boats were built, and just as the German
fleet watched every opportunity to emerge and hold, even for a short
time, the Channel and the North Sea, so the ships of Napoleon rode at
anchor in the French ports, ever ready to dart out should the
opportunity arise. Once the control of the Channel was gained they would
be able to protect the transport of soldiers to English shores. It is
interesting to see what our forefathers did to counteract this danger.
All along the coast they built little watch-towers—many of which can
still be seen—called Martello Towers. These were manned by small parties
of soldiers, and provided with artillery. The Thames was fortified, and
great bodies of volunteers were enrolled for the defence of the coast.
Hardly a man but was in uniform, and the thoughts of every Briton were
devoted to the safety of our country. Fortunately the British Navy shut
the French ships within their own ports. Cornwallis, with a portion of
the English fleet, locked up a French squadron at Brest. Nelson, with
another detachment, enclosed the enemy at Toulon, whilst two other
English admirals kept close watch at other points of danger.
In those days, when sailing ships could ill withstand stormy weather,
but when, on the other hand, the dangers of submarines and mines did not
exist, the vigil was not only wearisome, but also critical; for it must
be remembered that if a great storm had swept the Channel, the coast of
England might in a few hours have been left open to the invader.
So the weeks passed on, and it was borne in upon Napoleon that he would
never gain the cliffs of Kent. He was the last man to waste his time
with vain regrets, and postponing the humiliation of England he gave the
order for his troops to march into Germany. But we were far from
humiliation, for on October 21, 1805, was celebrated the crushing naval
victory of Trafalgar.
Too often has victory been bought with a great national loss, and just
as the conquest of Quebec brought with it the pathetic end of Wolfe, the
success in Egypt the loss of Sir Ralph Abercromby, Corunna the tragedy
of Sir John Moore, so this glorious victory carried with it that
greatest of all calamities, the death of Nelson. But Trafalgar was the
last supreme event in the naval struggle between Napoleon and England;
henceforth he must confine his conquests and his hopes to the army and
the Continent.
In the same year as Trafalgar was fought and won, and Austria, Russia,
and England were again united in a coalition, Napoleon gained the
victory of Ulm, and very shortly afterwards was again triumphant at
Austerlitz. Before the end of 1805 Austria, never very reliable at such
times, appealed for peace. The Coalition was staggering under one blow
after another. Well might Pitt, on his death-bed at the beginning of
1806, breathe out his despairing spirit with the words, “My country, how
I leave my country!”
The grasp that Napoleon was laying about the kingdoms of Europe was
strengthened from year to year. He made his brother Joseph King of
Naples, his brother Louis ruler of Holland, and Jerome King of
Westphalia. In 1807 he came to terms with the Czar of Russia, forcing
him to agree, together with Portugal, Sweden, and Denmark, to a
coalition against England. And in the meantime he started what has been
called his Continental System—an attempt to beat England to her knees by
destroying her commerce. He forbade, in other words, the importation of
English trade into any country over which he had established his
control. In this way one port after another shut its doors to English
ships. By this means it seemed likely that England, growing less
wealthy, would be weakened, and in course of time—and he had many years
of promise before him—he would finally force her to capitulate at his
own terms. Unfortunately for Napoleon’s schemes, a blockade is useless
unless it is universal. It was therefore essential to conquer those
remaining countries that were not prepared to surrender their trade with
Great Britain.
Principally owing to this policy the Spanish War broke out, a war that
was to add not merely to the prestige of the British arms, but to the
ultimate undermining of French supremacy.
It is with the Peninsular War that we shall be immediately interested,
but it is necessary, before following out its story, to realise the
infinite importance that lay in its success. Times of stress have a way
of providing their own remedy, and even while the British nation,
mourning the death of Nelson, was thinking how dark the future looked,
Arthur Wellesley, future Duke of Wellington, was waiting for the hour of
his destiny to strike.
In Spain, Napoleon, having compelled the king to abdicate, had placed
the power in the hands of his brother Joseph, formerly king of Naples.
This arrogant action irritated the Spanish nation to the point of
insurrection. England, swift to seize such a chance, despatched a fleet
and an army to assist the rebels, and Wellesley, who had already made
his name in India, was placed in command of the British troops.
Acting with his amazing rapidity, Napoleon hastened to Spain, pouring
his victorious armies to the very outskirts of Madrid. It seemed for a
moment as though the cause of Spain was already lost. There was no force
strong enough to challenge Napoleon. But there was a man with the genius
to outwit him. That was Sir John Moore. With him were the Black Watch,
the Gordons, and the Camerons, under the command of Sir John Hope. Moore
attempted to unite his forces with those of Sir David Baird, but,
failing to effect this, he resolved upon the desperate expedient of
threatening Napoleon’s lines of communication and enticing him from his
advance.
The French general Soult was near a place called Saldana, where, after
some deliberation, Moore decided that it would be unwise to attack him,
as he had apparently received large reinforcements. Napoleon was
marching inland from Madrid with 40,000 infantry and cavalry, while
other French generals with their divisions were on the move towards the
north of Spain. For Moore to take the offensive would have been madness.
To retreat and go on retreating was a stroke of military genius.
It must not be thought that this retreat was entirely uneventful; indeed
it was lit up by some of the most daring and brilliant actions in our
history. Hot upon the trail of the British rearguard came the advance
guard of the French army, but on no single occasion did our soldiers
suffer a reverse. And yet it was a hazardous undertaking.
Moore’s army was in hourly peril. He realised only too well that “it
must glide along the edge of a precipice; must cross a gulf on a rotten
plank; but he also knew the martial quality of his soldiers, felt the
pulsation of his own genius, and, the object being worthy the deed, he
dared essay it even against Napoleon.” The pursuit by Napoleon was only
less wonderful than the retreat of Moore. It was the heart of winter and
the hills were choked with snow, yet Napoleon drove his forces over the
mountain peaks and transported 50,000 men from Madrid to Astorga in a
shorter period of time than would have taken a traveller to cover the
same distance. At Astorga the French Emperor halted to read despatches,
new come from the French capital. Napier tells us that when he received
the despatches he dismounted from his horse, and ordering a fire to be
lighted, threw himself down beside it. The snow was falling and it was
bitterly cold, but he remained calm and unaffected, reading words that
were to send him post-haste to Paris. News had come that Austria was
again in arms against France. Leaving Soult and Ney with 60,000 men,
Napoleon took to horse, and, accompanied by his Imperial Guard, made off
at a gallop towards the Pyrenees, and so to Paris. It was left to Soult
to continue the pursuit of Moore, and learn a lesson in war from the
English general. In that immortal retreat the English forces lost not
one gun, nor allowed their rearguard to be routed.
At the same time we must not under-estimate the tragic character of the
march, nor the superb endurance of the soldiers, especially the
Highlanders. Dr. Fitchett has, in his _Fights for the Flag_, printed
portions of the memoirs of an English soldier who took part in the
Peninsular campaign, and this man—Harris by name—throws sidelights of
vivid colour upon incidental experiences. “A sergeant of the 92nd
Highlanders,” he records, “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, 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.... ‘Where
are you taking us to?’ the Rifleman asked his officer. ‘To England,’ was
the answer, ‘if we get there!’ At that ‘the men began to murmur at not
being permitted to turn and stand at bay, cursing the French and
swearing they would rather die ten thousand deaths with their rifles in
their hands in opposition, than endure the present toil.’”
It is our purpose in this book to follow the fortunes of the Highland
regiments, but that in itself would make a distorted picture if we were
not prepared to remember that other regiments bore as gallant a share
during the various campaigns. Amongst these regiments the Rifles took a
particularly glorious part in the Peninsular, and especially in the
retreat to Corunna. They were commanded by General Craufurd, of whom
Harris has written: “The Rifles being always at his heels, he seemed to
think them his familiars. If he stopped his horse, and halted to deliver
one of his stern reprimands, you would see half a dozen lean, unshaven,
shoeless, and savage Riflemen, standing for the moment leaning upon
their weapons, and scowling up in his face as he scolded; and when he
dashed the spurs into his reeking horse, they would throw up their
rifles upon their shoulders and hobble after him again.”
Few generals have ever enjoyed the confidence and respect that Moore
inspired in the hearts of his men. His influence upon the officers under
him was so exceptional that hardly one who came under his spell but
lived to achieve distinction in the years to come.
At last Moore with his ragged army entered Corunna, and the retreat was
accomplished. Now had the ships been at anchor, as they should have
been, the army could have embarked without further delay, and when the
French came up might have been in safety. But as there was no sign of
the transports, Moore decided to fortify the town and prepare to resist
an attack. On the 14th of January several transports were sighted, and
immediately the sick, the cavalry, and part of the artillery were placed
on board. On the 16th the situation became very critical, and an assault
was imminent. The division of General Hope held the left of the British
line of battle, and included, amongst others, the Gordon Highlanders,
while on the right, under General Baird, were the Black Watch, and to
the right again, under Sir David Baird, were the Cameron Highlanders.
The enemy opened the attack, and under the direction of their artillery
advanced in four columns, reserving a fifth in support. General Moore,
approaching the Black Watch, cried out, “Highlanders, remember Egypt!”
Visions of Alexandria sprang up in the minds of the Highlanders, and
under the inspiration of such words they advanced at a run, and flung
back the French at the point of the bayonet. Meanwhile Paget’s
counter-attack was launched.
After this spirited encounter the 42nd began to retire, discovering that
their ammunition threatened to give out, at which Moore addressed them
again, crying, “My brave 42nd, join your comrades; ammunition is coming,
and you have your bayonets.” Immediately after this a ball struck the
British general, bringing him to the ground. For a time he supported
himself, still regarding with an intense expression the engagement in
which the Highlanders were taking so remarkable a part. Captain Hardinge
leapt from his horse and came to his assistance, but observing that he
was distressed about the action, reassured him that the Black Watch were
advancing, upon which he was immediately cheered up.
Captain Hardinge has given an account of this event. “The violence of
the shock,” he wrote, “threw him off his horse on his back. Not a muscle
of his face altered, nor did a sigh betray the least sensation of pain.
I dismounted, and taking his hand, he pressed me forcibly, casting his
eyes very anxiously towards the 42nd Regiment which was hotly engaged,
and his countenance expressed satisfaction when I informed him that the
regiment was advancing. Assisted by a soldier of the 42nd, he was
removed a few yards behind the shelter of a wall. He consented to be
taken to the rear, and was put into a blanket for that purpose.... He
was borne by six soldiers of the 42nd and Guardsmen, my sash supporting
him in an easy manner. I caught at the hope that I might be mistaken in
my fear that the wound was mortal, and I remarked that I trusted that
when the surgeon had dressed his wound he might recover. He turned his
head, and looking steadfastly at the wound for a few moments, said, ‘No,
Hardinge, I feel that to be impossible.’”
In this sad fashion, borne by a sergeant of the Black Watch and two
files of Highlanders, Sir John Moore was carried into Corunna.
Throughout the journey he persisted on stopping at intervals in order to
learn how the action proceeded, expressing his satisfaction when the
noise of firing appeared to be dying away in the distance as an
indication that the French were in retreat.
“Thus ended,” writes Napier so finely, “the career of Sir John Moore, a
man whose uncommon capacity was sustained by the purest virtue, and
governed by a disinterested patriotism more in keeping with the
primitive than the luxurious age of a great nation. His tall, graceful
person, his dark searching eyes, strongly defined forehead, and
singularly expressive mouth indicated a noble disposition and a refined
understanding. The lofty sentiments of honour habitual to his mind,
adorned by a subtle playful wit, gave him in conversation an ascendancy
that he always preserved by the decisive vigour of his actions. He
maintained the right with a vehemence bordering upon fierceness, and
every important transaction in which he was engaged increased his
reputation for talent, and confirmed his character as a stern enemy to
vice, a steadfast friend to merit, a just and faithful servant of his
country. The honest loved him, the dishonest feared him; for while he
lived he scorned and spurned the base, who, with characteristic
propriety, spurned at him when he was dead.”
After this melancholy event there was nothing further to prevent the
army embarking in their transports and sailing for England. One
division, in which the Black Watch was included, landed at Portsmouth,
and the other at Plymouth.
Throughout the campaign the Highland regiments, particularly the Black
Watch and the Camerons, were never more worthy of the growing reputation
of the Highland soldiers—a reputation that was to shine still brighter
at Fuentes de Onoro, Quatre Bras, and Waterloo.