by Griff Hosker
“Good fellow and I see what you mean about Betzanos. How far is it to Corunna?”
“Just twelve miles but I have to report there are only four transports in the harbour as yet. The Admiral expected them at any time.”
He put his hand on my back, “Tell me more but tell me when we are inside. I am chilled to the bone. And I wish to be away from prying ears. Morale is not high.”
The inn keeper, at my behest, had built up the fire and it felt quite cosy. It became even more so when Stanhope and Secretary Colborne joined us. Sir John rubbed his hands and then turned his back to the fire. Well Matthews if the ships are not ready can we defend against the French? We have outrun ‘em but they will catch us up of that I am certain.”
The innkeeper had brought in some bread, wine and cheese for us. I broke the bread into two lumps. I placed the bottle of wine behind the two lumps of bread. “The port is here and the road has to cross these two hills. The first one is higher but the second, the one closer to Corunna, the Monte Mero, is the easiest to protect. The river means you cannot be outflanked on that side. I think we can hold them and it is less than two miles to the port.”
“Good, you have done well. If God and the Duke of Dalmatia allow we may yet pull off this miracle and embark the army.”
He poured us all a glass of wine. “Here’s to my little band. You have all done remarkably well.”
We nodded and drank the rough red wine. “And now Major Matthews I have one more task for you and the redoubtable Sergeant Sharp. I wish you to ascertain the numbers of Soult’s advance guard and, if you can, the number of his guns.”
“Yes sir.”
“But if you cannot then return without risk to yourself. If I have to fight him without knowing numbers then so be it.”
“I will do my best sir.”
Once outside I gave half of the apples I had bought to Sharp. “We had better feed up the horses, we are going out again.”
Sharp was sanguine about the whole thing. “Well sir we shan’t have to do this much more.”
“No but we had better load up now. We know not when we will be able to do so again.” I loaded my two pistols, carbine and rifle. The rifle was so handy that I knew we had to get one for Sharp. It could keep an enemy at bay. We rode through the army. The ones we passed were the stragglers. We saw the last of the women and the children. There were just a handful now and I hoped that my squadron had found Baby Martin and the Macgregors.
One limping private of the 82nd held up his hand and leaned on his musket. “How much farther sir, I am almost done in.”
“Less than a mile to Betzanos and shelter. Then just twelve miles and we shall all be on ships for England.”
He shook his head, “I’d rather fight the Frogs sir. Why doesn’t the General fight them? We can beat them!”
“I know you can but Sir John knows we cannot win this campaign. Do not worry we shall come back. Keep up your spirits.”
We offered encouragement to the stragglers as we made our way through them. Then there was a gap and we met the reserve division. Sir Edward had halted them and was talking to the two Generals, Anstruther and Disney. “Ah Matthews, are the ships here yet?”
“Not enough for the whole army but we are promised them.”
He nodded philosophically. “And you?”
“Sir John wishes to now the dispositions of the enemy and their numbers.”
“I could tell him that, my dear fellow; far too many of them. It’s the guns you see. They seem to have an inexhaustible supply of them.”
“That is what he needs to know my lord. If you could mention to your chaps that I will be out there, I would appreciate it. I don’t fancy a musket ball between the eyes from one of our own fellows.”
“I will pass the word but they all seem to know you. You have become a bit of a legend, Matthews; the ghost who vanishes behind the lines.”
“Just so long we don’t become real ghosts.” I heard the pop of muskets ahead. “It seems the French are probing again, my lord. We will see if we can sneak behind their lines.”
To the north of the road there were thick woods. I knew that further away was the river. It meant we had a chance to climb through the woods and be able to spy down upon them. In normal circumstances the woods would have been filled with light infantry but they were pressing hard after General Paget. I hoped that the woods be empty. It was our only chance.
The slippery snow made the going treacherous but I felt more confident that we would not trip over French vedettes. We climbed, twisting and turning through the trees which soon soaked us through. The sound of the muskets was fading as we headed further up the slope. We had travelled about half a mile or so when we came upon a clearing. We halted. We both knew better than to move into the open without first ensuring that we were unseen. Sharp pointed, “Look sir, we have a good view down the road from here.”
He was right. Although the visibility was not the best we were able to see the blue snake of men marching from the east. I took out the telescope I had acquired and scanned the column. I could see that, while they were mainly light infantry there were grenadiers and fusiliers amongst them. I looked ahead and saw three batteries of eight pounders. That was the answer the General was seeking. I moved the telescope to view the rear of the column and I saw there the Dragoons and Chasseurs. It was fortunate that the battlefield would not suit cavalry. I was about to put the telescope away when Sharp shouted a warning. ”Sir, Hussars!”
At the other side of the clearing, some one hundred and fifty yards away were six Hussars. They saw us and urged their mounts up the slope. “Carbine, Sharp!”
I took out the rifle and sighted on the lead rider. The gun bucked as I fired. One of the Hussars fell clutching his shoulder. I took out my carbine and fired at the same time as Sharp. Sharp’s shot threw a second Hussar from his horse while mine hit a horse which threw its rider to the ground. Drawing our pistols we both fired and another rider fell. “At them!”
There were only two unwounded troopers and we had the slope in our favour. We galloped towards them. I holstered my pistol and drew my sword. The French sabre had not changed since I had been in the Chasseurs. It was a slashing weapon. It worked best in a melee but in a sword fight my longer straighter blade had the edge. The keen hussar leaned forward in his saddle as he aimed his horse at me. I pulled my arm back and, as he slashed across I stabbed him in the chest. I kept my arm stiff. Had I had a blunt lump of iron he would have been knocked from the saddle. As it was he was dead when the blade pierced his chest and struck his heart. He was thrown from the saddle. I wheeled Killer around and he responded magnificently. It was a sergeant who was fighting Sharp and the Frenchman was having the better of it. War is, despite what poets say, not honourable and I brought my sword around to sever his spine and almost slice him in two. I carried on up the hill. “Let’s get out of here, Sharp!”
I had no doubt that there would be pursuit but I wanted the luxury of a head start. We did not return the way we had come. I headed directly over the hill and down to the Mandeo River. We followed it down. It was a steep slope and a jumble of rocks. It would slow any pursuit. After a mile and with no sound of anyone following us, I headed south and we climbed to reach the tiny village of Armea. There was a track of sorts and eventually we came out on the Betzanos road. We managed to enter the town unseen.
Sir Edward was surprised when we walked into the inn being used by the staff. “How did you get by my guards? I left word that I wanted to be notified when you were seen.”
“Then you might want to place some sentries along the road to Armea. We came that way and saw no uniforms neither blue nor red.”
He waved over an aide and rattled off his orders.
Sir John said, “Well?”
“There are at least three batteries of eight pounders and there are regular as well as light infantry.”
“Then he will seek battle.”
“They were still a couple of miles from the ou
tskirts. If will probably be the morning before he reaches us.”
Sir John seemed almost distracted. “We will embark all but three guns and the last of the cavalry when we reach Corunna. If Major Matthews is correct then we can hold Soult with just infantry and three guns.”
As I retired for the night I reflected that there was a great deal of pressure on me. Sir John was making decisions based purely on my views.
Chapter 24
When we reached Corunna the transport had yet to arrive. The unpleasant weather we had endured had driven the fleet out to sea. Luckily there were shoes, weapons, ammunition and most important of all, hot food. The camp followers were sent to the harbour to board the transports which were already there. Sir John embarked all but a handful of light guns. When they had been kitted out and fed General Hope and General Baird led their men to the Monte Mero where they dug in on the slope facing the French. During the night of the 12th of January the only bridge over the Mero was destroyed and we had one secure flank. If Soult was wily enough he could attempt to turn our right flank. To do so he would have to best the two battalions of Guards who were our right bastion. Along with the Light Brigade the Guards’ discipline had been superb during the retreat. They were the steadiest troops we had.
I rode Killer down to the harbour when the transports began to arrive on the morning of the 13th. Boats ferried out the wounded and the cavalrymen. Only horses which were fit were to be embarked. I watched as one trooper from the 15th bade farewell to his horse and was rowed out to the transport. There were tears in his eyes. I could understand his feelings. Amazingly the horse jumped into the water and tried to swim out to the ship. It was a mark of the bond between horse and rider. I, for one, would not have left Badger behind. I was just grateful that the cavalry had departed some days earlier.
We now had a much smaller army. Six thousand men had fallen or been lost during the retreat. The wounded, the cavalry and the artillery had all left for England but the ones who remained were all keen to finally get to grips with the Duke of Damnation. All the frustration of the last month had come to a head. These soldiers would not slip away into the night; they would fight for the general who had brought them from a seeming trap to the edge of a miracle. I felt quite proud to have been part of it. There was no glory but there had been a bond between soldiers and officers which was rare to see. That had been down to Lieutenant-General Sir John Moore. He had not had the victories of Sir Arthur but, in my view, he had achieved far more. I was hopeful that when he returned to Portugal he would make a real difference.
The loading of the ships seemed to take as long as the unloading had all those months ago at Montego Bay. We could not load the whole army so long as Soult still threatened us. There was no need for a scouting expedition. We could see the French as they brought up regiment after regiment; gun after gun. We had nowhere to go and Soult was in no hurry. He wanted a victory having chased us all the way across Galicia.
Sir John was in good spirits on the 16th of January 1809. We went to visit with Sir Edward first. Sir Edward had the reserve; it was made up of the rearguard regiments who remained. They had been the steadiest of troops during the retreat and the ones who had borne the brunt of the fighting. “Sir Edward, I know not when the attack will start but I wish you and your fellows to take advantage. Attack when you deem it appropriate. I trust your judgement.”
“Thank you Sir John. We will not let you down.”
As we rode to join Generals Hope and Baird Lieutenant-General Moore said to me, “I want you and your sergeant to ginger up any of the regiments who look to be in trouble.”
“Me, Sir John?”
He laughed, “You and Sharp are the ghosts of Galicia. That is the name the chaps have given you. There are all sorts of ludicrous stories about you dining with Soult; stealing Bonaparte’s horse and the like. All nonsense, of course, but the rank and file believe it. You are a good luck charm and I will make a covenant with the devil himself to escape this trap.”
“Very well, Sir John.”
We reached the crest of the ridge. The other aides dismounted and set up the table with the maps. Sir John took the telescope from Lieutenant Stanhope and surveyed the scene. “Well Baird, they are about to come on and if I am not mistaken it seems that your division is their target.”
Sir John Baird had the exposed right flank. “Then they shall have to endure the fire of the Foot Guards and they have been itching to have a go at the Frogs!” He saluted, “I shall see that they get a warm reception.”
There were three French columns heading towards our lines. Voltigeurs, swarming like insects, flitted before them and the eight pounders began to fire at our defences. The Voltigeurs were, however, facing the company of rifles we had retained and were struggling. The sound of the drums and the shouts of, ‘En Avant! Tue!’ filled the air. The British waited stoically. Such noise and bravado might make other soldiers quake but the red coats were made of sterner stuff and they waited for the blue columns to reach them.
The sheer weight of numbers began to throw some of the picquets back. Not so the Guards who stood steadfastly. “Come with me gentlemen, let us ginger them up eh? We have watched for long enough.”
I drew my carbine and nodded to Sharp to do the same as we descended to the point of the attack. The French had almost gained the village of Elvina. As soon as the men saw the general there was a huge cheer. “Come on my fine fellows; let us be about these Frenchmen eh?”
There was a second cheer and the line surged forward. I saw a Voltigeur raise his musket to shoot at the general. I had my carbine up and I fired in an instant. It was a lucky shot for it took the man in the head and flung him down the slope.
Sir John Moore nodded approvingly, “Fine shot Matthews. You must come hunting with me when we are back in England. You have the eye for it.”
The French also had their eye in and cannon balls began to whizz around us. I saw one of the West Kent private’s as a ball took off his head. Suddenly Sir John’s horse began to rear and, as he was controlling it, a second ball took the leg from another fusilier. He began to roll in the mud screaming and clutching at his stump. I could see that some of the other West Kent men were looking nervously towards the French. With his horse under control Sir John said, “This is nothing, my lads. Keep your ranks. Take that man away. My good fellow, don’t make such a noise; we must bear these things better.”
Miraculously the man stopped shouting and the line steadied. Such was the effect of Sir John Moore. The King’s Own were in danger of being encircled. “Matthews, go and order the 42nd to re align to the right.”
“Sir.”
I rode down to the Highlanders. “Who is in command here?”
A captain stepped forward. “I am, Major, the colonel and the major have been taken to the dressing station.”
“Very well. 42nd dress your ranks!” The lines became straighter. “Sergeant Major I want the whole line to support the King’s Own.”
“Yes sir.”
With remarkable calmness and efficiency the whole line turned by thirty degrees.
“Open fire!”
The rippling volleys began to strike the side of the French column which found itself facing not only the King’s Own but the Highlanders too.
A French Voltigeur officer, not more than twenty yards away aimed a pistol at me. I did two things at once: I drew my pistol and I moved my head. The ball scored a line through the fur of my helmet. I raised the pistol and shot the man dead. The 42nd cheered and a voice shouted, “Another victim of the Ghost of Galicia!”
“Carry on, captain.”
“Thank you, Major.”
I rejoined Sir John. He patted me on the back, “That is exactly how it should be done.”
I nodded. As I had ridden back I had seen the transports still being loaded and the troops watching from their decks. They had a grandstand view of proceedings.
Sir John rubbed his hands as the 42nd and the 50th began to retake the villag
e; driving the French down the slope. The 4th began to edge into the village too. Suddenly the 42nd, probably thinking they had been relieved, began to pull back. “Come along gentlemen. Let us straighten the line.” We reached the 42nd which were falling back. “My brave 42nd, rejoin your comrades.”
They all about faced and rejoined the battle. It was at that moment when I heard the bugles and trumpets as Sir Edward chose his moment well and launched the attack with his rearguard.
“Bravely done Paget!” shouted Sir John as they marched towards the enemy. They say that it is darkest before the dawn. I am afraid that the darkness came after the dawn. General Baird came to report that the attack on the right flank had been repulsed when he was thrown from his horse. His right arm hung in tatters. He had been hit by grapeshot. “Take the general to the rear!” Aides quickly helped the barely conscious general back to the surgeon.
There was another crack and this time it was Sir John Moore who was thrown from his horse. I dismounted. Suddenly I felt myself being thrown to the ground as another cannon ball struck. I was fortunate. The ball struck Killer who died instantly. Had I not dismounted I would have been dead along with him. His shattered body lay bleeding on that mountain in Galicia. I struggled to my feet, aided by Sharp. Stanhope knelt by his uncle.
“Get a surgeon now!”
I knelt on the other side of Sir John. He looked to be at peace and he smiled. I looked for the wound. He had been struck by grapeshot and his uniform had been driven into his shattered shoulder. His left arm was attached merely by a piece of skin. His ribs had been smashed and stuck out at angles and his chest muscles had been torn by the impact.
The surgeon reached us within moments. He took one look and muttered, “Hopeless.”
Sir John heard and just nodded his head. I turned to the aides, “Get a blanket and we will take him away from the battle.”
Surprisingly enough he seemed at peace and was watching the 42nd as they drove the French from Elvina. The aides brought the blanket and we eased the battered and broken general on to it. As he was being lifted on to it the hilt of his sword jammed into the open wound. Lieutenant Stanhope began to unbuckle the offending object.