Every Man Will Do His Duty

by Dean King

  As SOON AS SIR JOHN MOORE heard of Napoleon’s march from Madrid, in the direction of Galicia, to which quarter it had been the English general’s sole object to allure his enemy, he gave orders for the retreat to commence. This was at the beginning of the last week in December, 1808; and as it was then proposed that the troops should fall back upon Vigo, the transports were sent to that port from Corunna, as I have before mentioned. The convoy were afterwards joined at Vigo by a squadron of line-of-battle ships, under Sir Samuel Hood, to render the embarkation more secure.

  On the 5th of January, 1809, however, Sir John Moore, who was then at Herrerias, received from his engineers such reports of the unfitness of Vigo as a place of embarkation, that he changed his line of retreat, and directed his march upon Corunna. Orders to this effect were sent ahead to Sir David Baird, the second in command, from Sir John Moore, who, it appears, “constantly directed the movements of the rear-guard himself.”1 These orders, after reaching Sir David, were forwarded by the hands of a private dragoon, who got drunk and lost them on their way to General Fraser, who had already proceeded some distance on the road to Vigo. This trivial incident cost many lives and was the cause of much delay.2 I know not who had charge of the original despatches sent to the admiral at Vigo; but they never came to hand. Several precious days were thus lost, before we knew that the ships would be again required at Corunna. At length, on the 9th of January, a memorandum from the commander-in-chief—a duplicate or triplicate it might be, for aught we knew—written on a drum-head, apparently in the rain, but clear, soldier-like, and to the purpose, was put into Sir Samuel Hood’s hands, by an officer, half dead with fatigue and anxiety, who had found his way, on horseback, from the British head-quarters to Vigo, across the wild mountains of Galicia.

  The wind blew dead in from the south, and so hard that not one of the transports could be moved. The brief despatch from the army, however, was scarcely half read through, before the signal “to weigh” was made from the Barfleur; and in less than half-an-hour the men-of-war were under sail, and working out to sea, under close-reefed topsails and courses. I think they all got out; and when once round the point, the wind being fair to Corunna, away they dashed, with a flowing sheet, to tell we were coming after them, as fast as we could, with our flock of three hundred transports.

  On the 11th of January the wind lulled a little, and, by dint of whip and spur, we got our immense fleet fairly under weigh. By good fortune, too, we were enabled to work out of the Bay of Vigo, and afterwards to carry the wind with us all the way to Corunna, where we arrived on the morning of the 15th of January, surrounded by upwards of two hundred and fifty sail of ships. On the previous evening, the 14th of January, many of the fastest-sailing vessels of the convoy had entered the harbour of Corunna, where the squadron of men-of-war under Sir Samuel Hood had already arrived. The dismounted cavalry, the sick, some of the horses, and fifty-two pieces of artillery, were embarked during the night.

  I have often since heard officers who were then with the army, in position along the ridge, just above where the battle was fought, describe the feelings with which they turned round to look at the ships crowding into the harbour, under all sail, right before the wind. The sight gave fresh spirits and confidence to the soldiers, of which, poor fellows, they stood in some need; for on their first arrival at Corunna, on the 11th of January, not a single ship had made her appearance.

  “As the troops approached Corunna,” says General Napier, “the general’s looks were directed towards the harbour; an open expanse of water painfully convinced him that to fortune at least he was no way beholden. Contrary winds detained the fleet at Vigo; and the last consuming exertion made by the army was thus rendered fruitless.

  “The men,” he continues, “were now put into quarters, and their leader awaited the progress of events. Three divisions occupied the town and suburbs; the reserve was posted with its left at El Burgo, and its right on the road of St. Jago de Compostella. For twelve days these hardy soldiers had covered the retreat, during which time they had traversed eighty miles of road in two marches, passed several nights under arms in the snow on the mountains, were seven times engaged with the enemy; and they now assembled at the outposts, having fewer men missing from their ranks (including those who had fallen in battle) than any other division in the army; an admirable instance of the value of good discipline, and a manifest proof of the malignant injustice with which Sir John Moore has been accused of precipitating his retreat beyond the measure of human strength.”3

  In the mean time, the enemy, treading closely on the heels of the English army, though not much less grievously fatigued, came gradually up, and, on the very day we arrived in the bay, “occupied the great ridge enclosing the British position, placing their right on the intersection of the roads leading from St. Jago and Betanzos, and their left upon a rocky eminence which overlooked both lines.”4

  Had the transports arrived a few days sooner, the whole army might have been embarked with perfect ease and safety, and thus all the objects of Sir John Moore’s operations would have been accomplished. His force was decidedly too small, considering the ruined state of the Spanish troops, and other circumstances in the political history of the country, to hold out any reasonable hope of coping with the grand army of Napoleon, now directed expressly against the British. Had the admiral at Vigo received Sir John Moore’s first despatch in proper time, the transports and the line-of-battle ships might undoubtedly have reached Corunna soon enough to have taken the troops on board without the loss of a single man. With a force thus unbroken, a series of ulterior operations contemplated by Sir John Moore might then have been put in execution.

  “The English general,” says General Napier, “had hoped that by a quick retreat he might reach his ships unmolested, embark, and carrying his army from the narrow corner in which it was cooped, to the southern provinces, establish there a good base of operations, and renew the war under more favourable circumstances. It was by this combination of a fleet and army that the greatest assistance could be given to Spain, and the strength of England become most formidable. A few days of sailing might carry the troops to Cadiz; but six weeks’ constant marching would not bring the French army from Galicia to that neighbourhood. The southern provinces had scarcely seen an enemy: they were rich and fertile; and there also was the seat of government. Sir John Moore reckoned thus, and resolved to fall down to the coast, and embark with as little loss or delay as might be.”5

  It affords a mortifying, but an instructive lesson to recollect, that this plan, so admirable in itself, and so very nearly being accomplished, was in all probability frustrated, not by any great political or military event, but by the accidental interruption of the messengers sent across the country. If the general’s despatches about the removal of the fleet had arrived a few days sooner, the lives of so many brave men who died at Corunna, including their great chief, might all have been spared, while their strength and valour might afterwards have been employed on more substantial objects than fighting for the mere maintenance of the ground on which they stood.

  In consequence of this delay, a battle appears to have become indispensable, or nearly so, to the safety of the army “The late arrival of the transports, the increasing force of the enemy, and the disadvantageous nature of the ground, augmented the difficulty and danger of the embarkation so much, that several general officers proposed to the commander-in-chief that he should negotiate for leave to retire to the ships upon terms. There was little chance of such a proposal being agreed to by the enemy, and there was no reason to try. The army had suffered, but not from defeat; its situation was dangerous, but far from desperate; and the general would not consent to remove the stamp of energy and prudence which marked his retreat, by a negotiation which would have given an appearance of timidity and indecision to his previous operations, as opposite to their real character as light is to darkness. His high spirit and clear judgment revolted at the idea, and he rejected the degrading advice w
ithout hesitation.”6

  As we sailed into the harbour of Corunna, on the morning of the 15th of January, we distinctly made out with our glasses the two lines of troops; for although the ridge upon which the English were posted lay nearer to the sea, it was of such inconsiderable height, compared with that occupied by the French, that we could discover the army of the enemy mustering thick along the sky-line, and overlooking ours in a very ominous and threatening manner. Towards evening there occurred some skirmishing of a trivial nature on the right of our line, part of which we distinguished from the mast-heads of the frigate.

  Several horsemen were now seen galloping up the bank which faced us till they reached the crown of the ridge, and then darting out of sight on the other side, where, from the quick firing of artillery, there appeared to be some smart work going on. By-and-bye, also, we discovered a cloud of smoke curling high into the air above both ranges of hills, just beyond the spot where the cavalry had been lost sight of. We, of course, busied ourselves in vain surmises as to what was passing in the valley beyond the ridge; for we naturally expected that a general action would spring out of this brush. To our great disappointment, however, the firing gradually subsided; and our only chance, as we then believed, of seeing a land-fight was gone.

  These were the first shots we had heard fired in anger, as it is technically called, during the campaign; but the scene had likewise another and very strong interest for us, from its being placed in such contrast with all we had been seeing and hearing for the two previous months. Here, at Corunna, instead of listening to a set of boastful Spaniards, fighting with the air and vapouring from morning till night about their own prowess, we beheld the actual tug of war between Greek and Greek. The master-spirits of the earth were at last met, hand to hand, to fight it out. Nor could I help looking back to the solitude and tranquillity of the ground before me when I had last seen it. Now it was covered thickly with armed men; but only a few weeks before I had rambled over these ridges, accompanied by a single Spanish peasant, whose whole conversation turned on the facility with which his countrymen could thrust all these French out of the country. During a long morning’s walk we had met only half-a-dozen people; and little did I then expect to see the time when an army of some twenty thousand British troops should hardly be able to maintain their own against these very invaders, whom it was the fashion to hold so cheap.

  When the night fell, a double row of fires along the summits of the two hills pointed out, in a very striking manner, the position of the rival hosts; and although the distance was too great for us actually to hear the “hum of either army,” the imagination was set finely to work to conjecture what thoughts were passing in the breast of each. The night proved very dark; and as fresh fuel was piled on the fires, they became obscured for a moment, or rose into a sudden blaze on being stirred up by the groups of soldiers, whom we saw, or fancied we saw, standing between us and the light. These gigantic figures might probably be the men stationed to feed the flames; for we may well suppose the great body of the troops on both sides were but too glad to have a full night’s repose. Our soldiers, indeed, had been amply supplied, since reaching the coast, with new shoes, greatcoats, and many other articles of dress, from the stores at Corunna; and were thus in a better condition than their enemies to profit by this interval of rest—to so many on both sides, the last they enjoyed on earth. Some of these exhausted warriors, we may suppose, dreamed of the next day’s battle; for it was probably apparent to the officers, and to the experienced amongst the men, that Soult, with whom they had already joined in many a severe fight, would never allow his old antagonists to embark in peace and quiet. It is said that people, on the eve of an action, generally dream they are killed. I have no experience to offer on the point; for, though I witnessed the furious contest of next day, I had no expectation at that time of being able to leave the ship. In fact, I did not sleep at all, being employed nearly the whole night in the ship’s boats, embarking what are called the encumbrances of the army, consisting of the remainder of the baggage which the retreat had left them, some wounded and sick men, and a few guns and horses. In this curious assembly I observed several women, who, strange to say, had gone through the whole campaign, unbroken in spirit, and apparently not much fatigued. They even talked as if they had done no great things. We were much amused likewise by seeing an officer’s servant with a huge violoncello under his charge, which he told us had accompanied his master all through the country from Lisbon.

  It will easily be supposed that our curiosity to have a sight of the ground, and to talk with the soldiers on the field, was very great. We had small hopes, however, of being allowed to leave the ship at such a time; and I can never cease to feel grateful for the kindness of the captain, who allowed Mr. Oughton the purser, and myself, to go on shore. We were personally acquainted with several of the officers in the army, whom we hoped to find on the ground; but could scarcely believe in the reality of our good fortune till we had fairly left the boat, and pushed our way through the town (which was in a shocking state of disorder), and found ourselves on the great Madrid road, which cut across the positions of both armies nearly at right angles.

  As the morning turned out fine, the whole scene looked highly picturesque, and, though painful in many respects, it possessed an uncommon degree of interest. I need hardly mention that there was none of the show and flourish of a review to be seen here; for the soldiers lay scattered about, wearied and dispirited, ragged in their dress, and many of them sickly, or rather broken down in appearance, by the fatigues of this celebrated retreat. Most of their chins had been untouched by a razor for some days, perhaps weeks, while their hands and faces, being rather less familiar with soap and water than with the smoke of their muskets and the charcoal of their cooking fires, gave evidence enough of the want of comforts to which the army had been so long exposed. The muskets of the troops stood in pyramids piled along the ridge amongst the men stretched out on the ground fast asleep—not in any very precise order, but keeping within a few yards of one another on the summit line of the position. I observed many of these hardy fellows lying on their backs, with their hands under their heads, and faces half covered by what remained of a hat, becoming still more deeply tanned in the sun. Many, however, were sitting on the grass, or on the loose blocks of granite strewed over the ground, and gazing every now and then in silence, with very wistful eyes towards the ships.

  Along the whole line of troops, however, I observed only one or two of the officers asleep. Generally speaking, they collected themselves into little knots, looking about them, but seldom speaking. In fact, one of the things which struck me most was the profound, almost melancholy silence that prevailed amongst so many thousands of men. As our spirits were not weighed down by any of the depressing causes which affected these gentlemen, we talked away merrily to the officers; but, in most cases, were disappointed to find so little animation among them. We forgot how differently from our own their lives had lately been spent. For our parts, we had been amusing ourselves in ease and in comfort, doing everything we could to fill our imaginations with visions of Spanish patriotism, national sacrifices, and individual exertion, without having actually seen or heard anything to show how frothy all this was. The army, on the other hand, had been marching, fighting, and starving, almost without intermission, since the day on which they landed, two months before. The Spaniards, their nominal allies, had gone off to the right-about at the first charge of French bayonets. The whole country through which the English troops had retreated proved the very reverse of friendly; the season also being rigorous, the labours of the soldiers became hopeless, severe, and incessant. Was it, therefore, surprising that what is called enthusiasm became at length an article hardly to be found at all in the English camp?

  Our morning’s excursion commenced nearly at the left of the British position, in the midst of Sir John Hope’s division; then, turning to the right-hand, we threaded our way amongst the sleeping soldiers, piled muskets, and cam
p equipage, along the whole line, till the ridge upon which the army was in position gradually lost itself in the valley, just opposite a high rocky knoll, forming the extreme left of the ground similarly occupied by the French. The 95th, the well-known Rifle corps, were stationed hereabouts; and I was happy to meet an old friend alive and merry amongst the officers of this regiment. These gentlemen appeared in greater spirits than most of the others with whom we had conversed. We were surprised, indeed, to find them laughing heartily; and, upon asking the cause of their mirth, were shown a good-sized pig, which the regimental cooks were busily cutting up for a dinner ordered to be got ready in a few minutes. It seems this unfortunate grunter had been disturbed by the French pickets near the village of Elvina, just in front of the spot where the 95th were stationed. He had made good his retreat, as he thought, but fell right upon our friends the sharp-shooters, who in a trice charged and despatched him with their swords and bayonets. These merry soldiers, delighted with their good luck, pressed us much to stay and partake of their windfall; but we wished to retrace our steps along a part of the line, so as to gain the road to Corunna and return on board before sunset, as we had been ordered.

  On asking them what chance there was of our seeing a battle, the officers shrugged their shoulders and said they had already had quite enough of that work. There could be no earthly advantage gained, they added, even by victory; while a reverse must inevitably be a very serious, perhaps desperate affair, at this stage of the campaign. “They had but one wish, which was to get snugly on board the ships and be carried off from such a rascally country and such a dastardly, procrastinating, pompous set of useless allies as the Spaniards.”