Part 5

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.

BATTLE OF MAIDA

_July 4, 1806._--The position of the enemy was at right angles with the trend of the beach, and so distant from it as to admit of operations between the sea and his left flank, which was weak from the nature of the ground, an inconvenience the enemy could not avoid from our being masters of the water, upon which was Sir Sidney Smith with a line-of-battle ship and three frigates. The British marched with extended flanks and a heavy column in the centre, the right flank covered by the sea, the left flank exposed, so that during the approach of the English the left flank of each army was more particularly exposed to the operations of the other.

General Regnier, thinking with some reason that the impetus of assault has much influence over the fate of battles, determined not to wait for our attack. He descended from his position, crossing the river Amato, which bathed its foot, and rushed upon the daring foe that was advancing to attack him.

It happened that the Light Infantry Corps, under Colonel Kempt, in advance of our right, was opposed to the Premier Regiment de L’Infanterie Légère, one of the most distinguished regiments in Napoleon’s service. After these two regiments had exchanged some well-directed volleys, the French corps rushed forward at the _pas de charge_, their commander exclaiming furiously as they advanced, “Ne tirez pas! ne tirez pas! À la bayonnette! à la bayonnette!”[6]

“_Steady, Light Infantry!_” shouted Kempt. “_Wait for the word!_ Let them come close, let them come close! Now _fire_! _Charge bayonets! March!_”

All this passed in a moment, but duly as ordered each deed was done. When the French were very near they received a murderous volley from their steadfast-hearted opponents, who then, as one man, rushed forward to the charge. Just as that thing, which it is said has never happened, viz. the equal shock of opposing lines of troops, seemed inevitable, just as the two regiments seemed in the very act of contact, the French Light Infantry, as one man, turned round and fled. They were driven across the river and up the heights, and a horrible slaughter took place of this beautiful regiment, which was almost totally destroyed.

Other regiments now volleyed and charged, as is usual in battles, and the enemy’s left being totally routed, Regnier redoubled his efforts to make an impression with his right, but with no better success. Neither cavalry nor infantry could make the smallest impression in front.

The cavalry now made a rapid movement to turn our left flank, which was unprotected; but at this critical moment the 20th Regiment, which had just landed, led by the gallant Colonel Ross, advanced in such a manner, and so skilfully availing itself of the advantages of cover which the ground afforded, that the cavalry were compelled to go to the right-about under a galling fire.

The victory was now decided, the enemy flying with the utmost precipitation. But as we had no cavalry, he was enabled, with those regiments which had less entirely committed themselves, to preserve some order in his retreat.

The slaughter on the side of the enemy was immense, indeed hardly credible when compared to the smallness of our loss. In killed, wounded, and taken, the French loss has been estimated at more than 3000, while our total loss exactly amounts to as many hundreds, our killed amounting to 40 privates and 1 officer, while 700 Frenchmen were buried on the field. A French general (Compère), severely wounded, is amongst the prisoners. He led the enemy on to the charge with an _acharnement_ that seemed like individual hate, and on being taken he rode with his shattered arm through our ranks, menacing with the action of his other arm, and cursing and swearing with the most voluble bitterness.

Another prisoner said, “Ma foi! they told us the English were fish that could only fight by sea, and knew nothing of the matter by land.”

An officer asked him “What he thought now?”

“Oh, now,” said he, “it’s quite another thing.”

Surely this must be considered a brilliant victory when the disparity of numbers is taken into account, and it is the more gratifying to us because Regnier stands so high in reputation, and also because one of these French fellows had formerly spoken very slightingly of the talents of our gallant little General.

After having advanced some miles in pursuit of the enemy, our army resumed the position of the morning.

The action began at half-past eight, and the firing ceased at eleven on the 4th of July.

_July 5._--The army after so severe an exertion formed a sort of camp of rest about a mile from the field of battle, and near the sea, so as to have an easy communication with the fleet.[7]

Tents were established for the convenience of the officers, and all the wounded were comfortably accommodated on board, while whatever could contribute to the comfort of the troops was brought to them on shore.

After a short refreshment of this kind, the army advanced to Maida, and there took possession of some French stores.

Having increased its distance from the sea, all the comforts of camp equipage were abandoned, and we now bivouacked in the open fields, and shared in all respects the fare of the private soldiers. Our mess of raw meat was delivered to us in the same proportion as theirs; our camp kettle hung gipsy-like over a fire of sticks, and each officer’s cloak and blanket spread upon the ground served him for a bed and his valise for a pillow, where he lay with his sword by his side and his spurs on his heels, while his horse was picketed close at hand. In the morning I went to some rivulet or spring with shaving tackle and brush in my pocket, and sat down beside it, to lather and brush and scrape uncomfortably enough.

This was a fine climate and a fine season, and that mode of lodging on the bare ground had nothing in it really formidable to youthful strength and spirits, but I never thought it agreeable; and by far the worst night I spent was one in which we had all endeavoured to be a little more comfortable by making huts of branches of trees, and beds of the new-cut corn. An unhandy Sicilian, who acted as my squire of the body, had undertaken to make “my Excellency” a superb “camera frondosa.” Nothing could be worse. A few ill-arranged and ill-supported branches to shade my head only, and over these a loose thatch of wheat. I had made my own bed of golden flax, but he assured me this generated a malaria, and made me change it for bearded wheat. I no sooner lay down than every bearded ear, as if endued with life and motion, began to work itself into my pantaloons, which for coolness were of the dark blue Sicilian web silk, then worn by all our officers. Soon the discomfort this occasioned was increased by the changeful night.

My Dominico, the unhandy, had made the mouth of my little canopy to face the seaward wind, which now blew rudely upon me, drifting in all insects of nocturnal wing, especially the large, cold, chaffy locusts, with which the country was so covered that your horse kicked them up like dust under his feet. Awkward, ill-guided creatures, as big as one’s thumb, that when they got upon one did not know how to get away again.

My under-lip, like that of all the officers, was almost cleft in two by the effect of sun and night air, so that to laugh or smile brought tears into one’s eyes, and every time the wind dashed a locust against my face I gave myself a slap on the chops that stung my poor lip to distraction. Then it began to rain like the deuce, and soon giving weight to the wheat at top, the branches could no longer support it, so down it all came, wet bearded corn, branches and insects, all at once on my face.

I was extremely glad when this memorable night was over, and ere earliest dawn the signal for awaking sounded through the leafy roofs under which the army had that night reposed. At two o’clock I was busy in preparing my horse for his march, caring little now for the ill construction of my hut or all the disasters of the night.

The enemy, who had advanced to meet us from the south, having immediately after the battle retreated northwards to Catanzaro, instead of attempting to cover the country whence he came, it was plain that he no longer thought of defending Lower Calabria, which province with its garrisons he thus abandoned to his victorious adversary. Sir John Stuart was strongly minded to pursue these extraordinary advantages, and with his small unassisted army (for there was no indication of a national rising) to drive the French still further to the north, and increase the extent of his footing in the kingdom of Naples. There was certainly more gallantry than prudence about this idea; for when the interests which depend on this little army are considered, the importance of the Island of Sicily at this moment, and our trifling numbers for territorial occupation, there can be no doubt that those about the General, who prevailed with him to be satisfied with the conquest of the province[8] almost touching this important island, with whose safety he was entrusted, did better service by their counsels than they could at that time have rendered by their swords.

Of this number, I believe, was his Quartermaster-General, a young man of great acquirement and high military promise; and certainly not the least influential of them was our own Commandant[9] of the Royal Engineers, whose vigorous and strong professional opinion certainly had great influence, for the Quartermaster-General in reference to it used these emphatic words, “It has succeeded.” It was in conformity with the decision produced by these counsels that the Headquarters had moved to Monte Leone, and the General was now disposed to content himself with placing the province of Lower Calabria upon such a footing of military occupation as would delay its reoccupation even by a very superior force, and ensure to us for a considerable time both shores of the Straits of Messina.