Part 14

Had the French not been so severely cowed and beaten as they were, and had come on to the attack at dawn, Beresford with 1500 men would have held that line while the embarkation was completing, and probably at night have withdrawn to the citadel, protecting that and his own embarkation with a small portion of his force. Then these last would have rushed to the boats in waiting, jumped in, and trusted to the gates and ditches to keep out the enemy until they had shoved off from the shore.

But the impressive lesson the French had received rendered these operations unnecessary; and had not General Hope determined by doing things with the leisure he could command, to do them completely, the whole fleet might have been out at sea on the 17th before a Frenchman had ventured to show his nose.

But it was resolved to embark the sick and wounded, to bury General Moore, and therefore to keep the 1500 men upon the line until evening.

I went with Squire (a friend of mine in the Engineers) walking about the line, and at about seven o’clock we fell in with General Hope, and accompanied him all over the peninsula behind the walls of Corunna. He spoke with much satisfaction of the result of the battle. The troops, he said, had been withdrawn without the knowledge or suspicion of the enemy, deceived by their remaining fires.

At about ten o’clock, I think, a few Frenchmen appeared slinking into the houses near the walls of Corunna, and the Spaniards, acting up to the magnitude of their hatred to every Frenchman, banged at each individual with a 32-pounder. They were sharpshooting this way all day long, though at first we could not conceive the cause of such a heavy cannonade.

General Hope asked us to breakfast with him. “Squire, Boothby, will you come and have some chocolate?” were not unacceptable words. I have loved and admired this quiet, modest, superior being ever since I have known him.

I believe the Spaniards were entirely aware of our determination to embark, yet their enthusiastic blaze in the good cause continued to increase. “They would die in the ruins of their walls.” It even pervaded the women, who all day long were seen with cartridges and wads upon their heads for the service of the batteries.

They were jealous of our interference on the walls, which they wished to defend themselves, so that orders were given to our people not to appear on the walls, the portion destined for their defence being posted behind the ramparts, which were covered with all sorts and both sexes of Spaniards.

Everybody commanded, everybody fired, everybody hallooed, everybody ordered silence, everybody forbade the fire, everybody thought musketry best, and everybody cannon. In short, you have no notion of the loud misrule which prevailed.

However gratifying to us the display of such a spirit might be, or however beneficial to cover and complete our retreat, I believe a scrupulous care was had neither to promote nor increase it.

It was a spontaneous burst, coming up itself, and impossible to be checked--so much unexpected by us that arrangements were made for the last party to spike all the guns in the place. And while we could not but admire the honesty of their zeal, we lamented that it might increase the calamities of the capture, but this, I am happy to find, has not been the case.

It is said that the Governor candidly acknowledged that he should not attempt to stand a siege in so defective a place, but promised that as long as his walls gave protection to an Englishman or an English ship, he would never surrender.

The ground now in possession of the French would enable them to cannonade the shipping which still remained in the harbour as thick as a wood, although for the most part filled with troops.

The General had urged this point with Sir S. Hood, who urged it strongly to the Admiral, De Courcy. It is said that the transports did get the order to proceed to sea the moment they had received their complement of troops.

If so, they, with a degree of idiotic disobedience not unusual nor incompatible with the character of masters of transports, took no heed.

Certain it is that we in the town were rather longing to see a French battery open upon them, which we thought would make them get under way with a signal and beneficial expedition.

But the fact was that we did not despise them half enough, nor know of what extreme cowardice and rascality they were capable.

General Hope determined to be the last man on shore, and desired to have some Engineers remain with him, in which number I was. But at about two o’clock, when the General found that no preparations were making against our line, and that the enemy contented himself with preparing a battery on the top of the height overlooking the shipping, he expressed a wish that we all should embark, as at dusk the boats would be so much occupied that we might find it difficult to get off.

We therefore proceeded together in search of a bit of victuals into the inner town, induced the people to unlock a high tavern, and sat down to a plate of cabbage soup.

It was while thus employed that the French battery opened upon the shipping. It consisted of two field-pieces, which the fears of the French had situated in such a manner as to be as little hurtful as possible.

Instead of going to the top of the hill, had they ventured down to an old stone fort (which we had abandoned) with their guns _à fleur d’eau_, they would probably have hulled some ship or other every shot, but their plunging fire could only touch one spot, and if that spot were not a ship, the ball went innocuously to the bottom.

But the end which the caution of the enemy would not permit him to attain was effectually given to him by the cowardice of the masters of the transports. The wind was blowing very strong, and the first shot from the enemy was the signal for them to cut their cables. Thus, being all adrift at once, it is only wonderful that more did not strike upon the leeward rocks. Seven, I believe, struck, three were got off, and four, after being cleared, were burnt by us, and beautifully lighted the last of the embarkation. The transports that were got off had been previously abandoned by the masters.

A midshipman of the _Barfleur_ told me that on going alongside of a transport on the rocks, the master threw his trunk into the boat, jumped in after it, and then, before a single soldier was out, he cried, “Shove off, or she’ll bilge.” He was knocked backwards by a sailor.

We got on board a man-of-war’s boat, which put me on board the _Barfleur_ to get something I had left there. I was invited to go home in her, which I gladly accepted.

The embarkation being completed, General Beresford came on board at two o’clock in the morning, and when the fleet was collected it sailed for Old England....

After taking the trouble to write this very long letter, my dear B., shall you be able to get through it? I beg at any rate that you will not destroy it, as it completes my Spanish Journal, and I have no copy of this or any other narrative of that period of my proceedings.--Your most affectionate brother,

CHARLES.

CORUNNA, 1808

ON THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O’er the grave where our hero was buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of the night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeams’ misty light And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow, But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

PLYMOUTH DOCK, _January 28, 1809_.

EVER DEAREST FATHER--You will not be very sorry to hear of my arrival in England in good health, but, on the other hand, I have not a penny that I know of, nor a shirt nearer than Lisbon.

I shall come up to London without delay, find out where you are, and endeavour to spend some time amongst you, to lay down my head, and settle my affairs.

The man I looked up to as a god, and held in the most cordial respect and affection, after devoting his life to the service of his country, is praised by some and blamed by others.

I know the latter to be the ignorant, but consequently the most talkative, and your catchpenny Generals come forward and tell you how they could have done better. All this makes me sick, and cools my military ardour. For can the utmost blindness of self-love make me think I can ever equal the virtues or military worth of Moore! And yet, as the result of his laborious services, a doubt comes in every man’s mind whether he would now take upon himself that General’s reputation. When dying, though perfectly sensible, he had great difficulty at last to articulate. He said gently, however, that he had endeavoured to serve his country diligently and conscientiously, and he hoped it would be satisfied with what he had done. His latest anxiety seemed to be for victory. “_Are they beat? Are they beat?_” he repeatedly asked. He wished to send some message to General Hope, who had succeeded him in the command. “Hope, Hope,” he said at intervals, but could not articulate more. His last words were, “Tell my mother.” He could no longer speak, and expired. Was not this the death of a hero and a good man? God bless you.--Your CHARLES.

The loss of men and money in Spain, I think, are amply compensated for by the acquisition of military fame, but the loss of Sir John Moore at such a time admits of no consolation.

BATH, _January 28, 1809_.

DEAREST MOTHER--The press on the road, the waters, etc., have made me travel slower, but I set off for London to-morrow, whence you shall hear from me.

We are three Engineers here together, one of whom is my friend Lefebure, the pleasantest and right-thinkingest man in the world. The people here show distinction to our rusty habits, particularly the fair sex, who advance to converse with us, to the astonishment of the well-dressed beaux.

I hope soon to embrace you and my Louisa, and all of you. God bless you, dear people.

CHARLES.

On returning home after the glorious battle of Corunna, which terminated Moore’s celebrated retreat and his life together, I conceived a thorough dislike and hatred of the military service. My patron was dead, and as a reward for services which I thought inestimable, his memory was reviled by his ungrateful countrymen, and tarnished by crafty, self-interested politicians, who, willing to wound, but yet afraid to strike, took the most impalpable means of offending his sacred memory.

All this increased the disgust which the sight of military operations in a devoted country had excited in my mind.

Bilious with these thoughts, I took the sweet medicine of family endearments.

I did not expect a speedy summons to the wars, for the only theatre which seemed to offer us a part in the drama was just closed, and I therefore promised myself some months of sweet repose and enjoyment, as a change rendered most delightful by those fatigues and dangers which entitled me to welcome it without blushing.

The pictures which had been given me of my family’s distress between the beginning of those horrid accounts from Spain, and the hearing from me after the battle of Corunna made me shudder at the thought of renewing such frightful anxiety; for while delighting in my father’s affection for his children, I was always frightened at it. The violent expression of grief or the admission of immensurate apprehension in a female are less impressive because more consonant to her softer character; but when the safety of his children was concerned, my father lost this distinction. The masculine firmness and well-tempered equality of his mind no longer served him, and he, my mother, and my sister, equally giving way to their fears for me, vainly looked to each other for support. And what a task for my brother ... to be obliged to laugh at their fears while smothering his own!

Early in the month of March the whole village circle dined at my father’s house--Milnes, Lumley, Cleavers, etc.; happiness prevailed, and I was glad. After dinner my brother, opening the post-bag, drew out a large Government letter for me. My father’s eyes followed it across the table with infinite disquiet,[26] my mother’s with dismay, and Louisa paled a little. Under such eyes it was necessary to command my own countenance.

I told my father calmly that it was an order for foreign service.

Nothing could represent such an order to them in a flattering point of view. All their fears, all their anxieties were to be renewed, and perhaps in the end not to be so happily relieved. I therefore made no comments, but professed that the future now opened to me was flattering to my prospects, and I further added that I considered active service in Europe as a safeguard from the more distant and unhealthy colonies.

But in fact I was but ill satisfied with the summons, for the Austrian war was but vaguely rumoured, and nothing but the _éclat_ and spunk of some dashing and prompt expedition could make going abroad agreeable to me. My own regrets, however, I was once again obliged to smother, and my own tastes to kick downstairs that I might communicate some degree of consistency and firmness to my aching family, and in this task my brother was my second self.

The next day the whole party met again at the Lumleys’. It will appear strange when I say that we were in better spirits than I wished, for in spite of all I could say, they would not abandon the hope that some event or other would put off the expedition.

As the post time drew near, my father grew grave, and I could see he dreaded a final summons; and even as he dreaded, a large Government letter, like the one before, was put into my hand. I dare not look at my father. My mother, to be out of the way, ran upstairs.

When I had glanced over it, with what alacrity did I put into my father’s hand what I knew would quiet his old heart and illumine his benignant features. It was a simple counter order.

My mother and sister were not long before dancing with joy. It was an harmonious uproar, very delightful to see, and I joined in it with all my heart; to rejoice when they were rejoicing was too natural to my heart to be restrained.

The next day my brother and myself went to spend a night at Welbeck. On returning, the little party met us at the end of the village; they walked slow, and were sorrowful.

The counter order was annulled, and the order for foreign service in force.

For all that the world holds I would not retrace the bitterness of separation.

My brother drove me to Newark, but I was glad to get rid of him, glad when I had escaped my whole kindred, and was left at liberty to weep without adding to their tears.

To have the business of leave-taking over cheered my spirits. I once more felt free, and turned my thoughts upon my companions, those dear companions with whom for years I had been traversing the seas and the lands of Europe.

The passage to Lisbon was boisterous and disagreeable. We set sail on the 17th March 1809, sprang a leak, were run aboard of in the night, and expected to go down, and, in short, were forced to acknowledge that a transport is full of horror.

We landed at Lisbon on the 2nd April, and found it generally expected that Sir John Craddock would re-embark his army in a very few days. The force under his command was said to amount to 17,000, and Marshal Beresford with his Portuguese was called 25,000.

On the other hand, Soult had taken possession of Oporto with 13,000, or, according to some, 17,000. Victor was menacing the Alemtejo with 40,000, and another movable corps of 10,000 had shown itself in the neighbourhood of Ciudad Rodrigo.

Taking this rumoured state of things for granted, the re-embarkation of the army (to a man that knew the nature of Iberian troops) seemed at the first glance to be the most salutary measure that could be adopted.

LISBON, _2nd April 1809_.

MY DEAREST LOU--After a disagreeable voyage we arrived in the Tagus to-day at two o’clock. I do not intend this for a letter, but to take the first opportunity to tell you of my safe arrival.

The French have taken Oporto, and we are supposed to be in force on the frontier.

I would make a bet that I see you again before the expiration of the summer, for they dare not stay to come in contact with the French army, at least I think so.

Nothing ever was more dead than this town. Oh, intolerably dead! No news here.

I shall write longer by the next opportunity.

With every best spring of the heart to you all,

CHARLES.

LISBON AND THE TAGUS

To one who enters the Tagus in a fine season there is something inexpressibly captivating wherever he turns his eyes.

The magnificent rock or mountain, forming a gigantic portal to the mouth of the river, is remarkable for the richness and variety of colour, the grandeur of its size, and the wildness and taste of its form.

From this feature, towards Lisbon, towns, orange groves, forts, and palaces make every yard a picture, and as he approaches Lisbon the size and style of the buildings advance; the great convents, dazzling white, the activity of the great road, the grinning batteries, the fury of the bar, the whirling of the current, the antique richness and eminent shape of the Tower of Belim, and then the splendid burst of the city, with her thronged quays and mounting palaces, will long prevent the visitor from perceiving that the southern bank of the river has nothing but loftiness to recommend it.

A traveller who has seen Messina from the Straits immediately knows what is wanting to Lisbon, viewed from the Tagus.

Messina presents to his view all that can be beautiful in a superb city, embosomed in all that is luxuriant and romantic in Nature.

At the foot of her fair hills she occupies, with a splendid and uniform length of architecture, the margin of the sea, and is even better seen through the light fretwork of masts and rigging, upon which sailors of all nations and in all costumes busily twine their pliant forms, adding to her inanimate beauties an interesting display of wealth and commerce. The city is backed by hills, clothed with the most various and luxuriant vegetation; some are crowned by forts and covered with the brightest verdure, which Flora has enamelled with a lavish hand; others hang umbrageous woods or many-coloured thickets over their wild precipices. Upon the slopes of these hills, rising above each other in theatric pride and architectural magnificence, grand slashes of palace, convent, and church are nested in this beautiful bed of vegetable profusion.

On the other hand, the Italian mountains, which may be called the other bank of this azure river, display every imaginable charm to snatch his eyes from a successful rival. “Beautiful! thrice beautiful! incomparable Messina!” he exclaims. “Never did mine eyes behold, nor my imagination form, a scene whose laughing charms surpassed, or even equalled, thine.”

After this he looks upon Lisbon, towering upon her hills, a vast mass of splendid structures. All is building; a house-seller’s shop, a proud and pompous city stretching her sceptre over the red waves of the hasty Tagus.

“Queen of the river with the golden waves,” says the courteous traveller, “thy magnificent appearance excites my admiration. Permit me to tread upon thy spacious marts, to enter thy palaces, to contemplate and wonder at thy riches.”

He pushes for the shore, where disappointment awaits him, conducts him over all parts of the city, serves him at dinner and prepares his bed, reconducts him to his ship, and with him ascends the side, from whence he will no longer delight in those beauties which he knows to be deceptive.

The streets of Lisbon are generally good, and many of them fine; there are no mean houses, and the greater part are handsome and uniform in height and size. There are but few squares, and those are not remarkable.

The quays are very fine, and some noble streets give upon them through magnificent gates, particularly the Rua Aurta, or Street of the Jewellers and Gold-workers. This street, quite straight, broad, and handsomely built, begins at the principal square and issues through a superb gate upon the quay, where a colossal equestrian statue gives it an imposing termination.

But the shops of this street, though abounding in precious stones and precious metal, are extremely mean and exactly alike, each containing a little working equipage for the jeweller (at which he sits), and the window displays a few clumsy glazed boxes, in which his precious commodities are stored.

But as these shops, though mean, are the best, the buyer, being pressed for the want of a commodity, is obliged to hunt for it. The art of alluring money from the pocket of the passenger by a rich and astonishing display of merchandise which he does not want, carried to its height in London, seems in Lisbon to be totally unknown.

The private houses are, some of them, superbly built and richly furnished, but scarcely any of them are commodious, and there is nothing that can be called the environs of a capital.

A public garden, which, though sheltered and well kept, is small, formal, and uninteresting; and one theatre, which, though formerly supplied with the first Italian performers, would not be admired at a provincial town in England. The equipages, although of course diminished in number, absolutely surprise by their barbarity; a clumsy little body, seated upon two huge leathern straps, enormous wheels, and two noble mules, is the only thing to be seen in the shape of a carriage; and from the melancholy relics of the Court, which I had an opportunity of observing, I should doubt if it ever exhibited any elegance or splendour.

The streets are not only (even in this burning weather) covered with dry filth and squalid rags, but are lined with naked beggars and disgusting cripples, who bare and often augment their deformities and afflictions to arouse the dormant compassion of the rich.

But however laughable, it is really dreadful to walk in these streets by night, for your foot slides about in soft things, and the whizzing over head and the splash! splash! splash! that assails your ears make you expect to be covered with refuse every moment, for the city is not lighted at all--a circumstance which must have been formerly as favourable to assassination as it is now to these nightly discharges.

If in the night it is to the last degree shocking to walk the streets of Lisbon, it is not very agreeable during the day. The inequality of the ground fatigues, the importunity of the beggars plagues, and the filth of the streets offends you, while nothing remarkable to the right or left diverts the peevishness of disgust or rewards the diligence of curiosity. There are no hotels, nor inns, at least that can serve a decent man.