Chapter IV: A Memorable Retreat

Harris found a new commander-in-chief in Sir John Moore, and it was his fortune to share in the sufferings and glory of the immortal retreat to Corunna. Moore has never yet come to his true inheritance of fame as a commander. The great figure of Wellington hides him almost from human memory. Yet no British general, perhaps, ever conceived and executed a more audacious stroke of soldiership than did Moore when he made his famous stroke at Napoleon's communication, and spoiled the whole plans of that master-spirit in war for the conquest of Southern Spain, and brought him and his far-scattered columns hurrying up to the north-west angle of the Peninsula.

Napoleon had assumed in person the command of the French armies in Spain, and had 300,000 veterans under his eagles. He had shattered the Spanish armies, was in possession of the Spanish capital, and was on the point of marching to overwhelm the rich provinces as yet unravaged by war to the south. Moore, with 24,000 men under his command, resolved to strike boldly at Napoleon's communications, and so arrest the southward march of all the French columns. When, in this manner, he had paralysed the strategy of the French, Moore calculated he could outmarch all the converging columns rushing to destroy him, and escape. But he was accepting a terrific risk.

Moore's generalship, though it was followed by the tragedy of the retreat to Corunna, and his own death in the battle at that place, was perfectly successful. He wrecked Napoleon's strategy, and yet escaped his counter-stroke. He secured a breathing-space for the Spanish nation. He arrested and brought to a close Napoleon's personal career in that country. He made possible Wellington's great Peninsular campaigns. It is one of the examples of the irony of history that to Moore, one of the greatest soldiers England has produced, success brought no adequate fame, and it cost him his own life.

The second battalion of the Rifles, to which Harris belonged, joined Moore's forces at Sahagun, and the great retreat began almost immediately afterwards. On December 24 Moore turned his columns westward for their march to his sea-base at Corunna. It was a march of some 220 miles, through rugged mountainous country, with the French hanging on his rear or pushing past his flank, while the bitter tempests of the winter in Northern Spain blackened the skies above the toiling troops, and scourged them almost incessantly with snow and sleet and rain. At Astorga, Moore divided his army, and part, under Craufurd, took the road to Vigo. The Rifles formed part of Craufurd's force, and Harris's account thus sheds light on what is the least known branch of the famous retreat.

The retreat lasted in all eighteen days, and some 4000 men fell from the ranks, slain by mere hardship and exposure, during that comparatively brief period; yet the retreating British did not lose a flag or a gun in the retreat, and when they turned to bay at Corunna they proved that neither their discipline nor their fighting power had been in the least impaired by their sufferings. Harris's account is really a bit of very fine descriptive writing, though its charm lies in its simplicity and its unconscious realism. It must be remembered that when the second battalion of the Rifles joined Moore's forces at Sahagun they were worn out with long marches, and the fame of Roliça and Vimiero lay upon them. Moore's forces had up to that time seen no fighting, and still carried in face and uniform something of the freshness of barrack life:--

"At Sahagun we fell in with the army under command of Sir John Moore.
I forget how many thousand men there were; but they were lying in
and around the town when we arrived. The Rifles marched to an old
convent, some two miles from Sahagun, where we were quartered,
together with a part of the 15th Hussars, some of the Welsh
Fusiliers, and straggling bodies of men belonging to various other
regiments, all seeming on the _qui vive_, and expecting the French to
fall in with them every hour. As our small and wayworn party came to
a halt before the walls of the convent, the men from these different
regiments came swarming out to greet us, loudly cheering us as they
rushed up and seized our hands. The difference in appearance between
ourselves and these new-comers was indeed (just then) very great.
They looked fresh from good quarters and good rations. Their clothes
and accoutrements were comparatively new and clean, and their cheeks
ruddy with the glow of health and strength; whilst our men, on the
contrary, were gaunt-looking, wayworn, and ragged; our faces burnt
almost to the hue of an Asiatic's by the sun, our accoutrements rent
and torn, and many without even shoes to their feet. However, we had
some work in us yet, and perhaps were in better condition for it than
our more fresh-looking comrades."

Harris describes how, just before the retreat began, he was summoned at midnight to undertake, on somewhat alarming conditions, a very practical bit of preparation for the march:--

"In the middle of the night I remember, as well as if the sounds were
at this moment in my ear, that my name was called out many times
without my being completely awakened by the summons. From weariness
and the weight of my knapsack and the quantity of implements I
carried, I was at first quite unable to gain my legs; but when I did
so I found that Quarter-master Surtees was the person who was thus
disturbing my rest.

"'Come, be quick there, Harris!' he said, as I picked my way by the
light of the candle he held in his hand; 'look amongst the men, and
rouse up all the shoemakers you have in the four companies. I have a
job for them which must be done instantly.'

"With some little trouble, and not a few curses from them as I
stirred them up with the butt of my rifle, I succeeded in waking
several of our snoring handicrafts; and the quarter-master bidding
us instantly follow him, led the way to the very top of the convent
stairs. Passing then into a ruinous-looking apartment, along which
we walked upon the rafters, there being no flooring, he stopped when
he arrived at its farther extremity. Here he proceeded to call our
attention to a quantity of barrels of gunpowder lying beside a large
heap of raw bullocks' hides. 'Now, Harris,' said he, 'keep your eyes
open, and mind what you are about here. General Craufurd orders you
instantly to set to work and sew up every one of these barrels in
the hides lying before you. You are to sew the skins with the hair
outwards, and be quick about it, for the general swears that if the
job is not finished in half-an-hour he will hang you.'

"The latter part of this order was anything but pleasant, and whether
the general ever really gave it I never had an opportunity of
ascertaining. Well knowing the stuff Craufurd was made of, I received
the candle from the hands of Surtees, and bidding the men get
needles and waxed thread from their knapsacks, as the quarter-master
withdrew, I instantly prepared to set about the job.

"I often think of that night's work as I sit strapping away in my
little shop in Richmond Street, Soho. It was a curious scene to
look at, and the task neither very easy nor safe. The Riflemen were
wearied, unwilling, and out of temper; and it was as much as I could
do to get them to assist me. Moreover, they were so reckless that
they seemed rather to wish to blow the convent into the air than
to get on with their work. One moment the candle was dropped and
nearly extinguished; the next they lost their implements between
the rafters of the floor, flaring the light about amongst the
barrels, and wishing, as I remonstrated with them, that the powder
might ignite and blow me, themselves, and the general to ----. Such
were the Riflemen of the Peninsular War--daring, gallant, reckless
fellows. I had a hard task to get the work safely finished; but at
length between coaxing and bullying these dare-devils I managed
to do so, and together we returned down the convent stairs; and,
finding Surtees awaiting us in the passage below, he reported to
General Craufurd that his order had been obeyed. After which we were
permitted again to lie down and sleep till the bugle awoke us next
morning."

The exact moment when the advance for the purpose of falling on Soult was exchanged for retreat at speed before Napoleon's fiercely converging columns to the sea-coast is dramatically marked in Harris's "Recollections." From the first, it will be noted, the retreat was pushed with the utmost sternness and energy, and at the cost of great suffering to the men. Moore had daringly advanced till his scanty columns were almost caught by the overwhelming forces of the French closing upon him; and to escape destruction the British had to tax their own strength and energy to the utmost:--

"General Craufurd was in command of the brigade, and riding in front,
when I observed a dragoon come spurring furiously along the road to
meet us. He delivered a letter to the general, who turned round in
his saddle the moment he had read a few lines, and thundered out
the word 'to halt!' A few minutes more and we were all turned to
the right-about, and retracing our steps of the night before--the
contents of that epistle serving to furnish our men with many a
surmise during the retrograde movement. When we again neared Sahagun,
I remember seeing the wives and children of the men come rushing into
the ranks, and embracing the husbands and fathers they expected never
to see again.

"The entire Rifle corps entered the same convent we had before been
quartered in; but this time we remained enranked in its apartments
and passages, no man being allowed to quit his arms or lie down. We
stood leaning upon the muzzles of our rifles, and dozed as we stood.
After remaining thus for about an hour, we were then ordered out of
the convent, and the word was again given to march. There was a sort
of thaw on this day, and the rain fell fast. As we passed the walls
of the convent, I observed our general (Craufurd) as he sat upon
his horse, looking at us on the march, and remarked the peculiar
sternness of his features; he did not like to see us going rearwards
at all, and many of us judged there must be something wrong, by his
severe look and scowling eye.

"'Keep your ranks there, men!' he said, spurring his horse towards
some Riflemen who were avoiding a small rivulet. 'Keep your ranks and
move on--no straggling from the main body.'

"We pushed on all that day without halting; and I recollect the
first thing that struck us as somewhat odd was our passing one of
the commissariat waggons, overturned and stuck fast in the mud, and
which was abandoned without an effort to save any of its contents.
A sergeant of the 92nd Highlanders, 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--I speak for myself and those around me--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. Many, even at this period, would have straggled from the ranks
and perished had not Craufurd held them together with a firm rein.
One such bold and stern commander in the East, during a memorable
disaster, and that devoted army had reached its refuge unbroken!
Thus we staggered on night and day for about four days, before we
discovered the reason of this continued forced march. The discovery
was made to our company by a good-tempered, jolly fellow, named
Patrick McLauchlan. He inquired of an officer marching directly in
his front, the destination intended.

"'By J--s! Musther Hills,' I heard him say, 'where the d--l is this
you're taking us to?'

"'To England, McLauchlan,' returned the officer, with a melancholy
smile upon his face as he gave the answer--'if we can get there.'"

The Rifles formed part of the rearguard, and to the hardships and sufferings common to the whole retreating force was added, in their case, the strain of constant engagement with the enemy. As a matter of fact, this served as a tonic to the men. It preserved their discipline. It gave them what they felt to be a delightful distraction from the monotony of splashing wet, hungry and faint, along muddy roads. They forgot the blinding rain, the eddying snowflakes, the pinch of hunger, as they turned a score of times in the day at bay and drove back with the roll of their volleys the pursuing French cavalry. Here are some pictures of how a British rearguard bears itself in adverse circumstances:--

"The information McLauchlan obtained from Lieutenant Hill quickly
spread amongst us, and we now began to see more clearly the horrors
of our situation, and the men 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. We were in the rear at this
time, and following that part of the army which made for Vigo, whilst
the other portion of the British, being on the main road to Corunna,
were at this moment closely pursued and harassed by the enemy, as I
should judge from the continued thunder of their cannon and rattle
of their musketry. Craufurd seemed to sniff the sound of battle
from afar with peculiar feelings. He halted us for a few minutes
occasionally, when the distant clamour became more distinct, and his
face turned towards the sound, and seemed to light up and become
less stern. It was then, indeed, that every poor fellow clutched his
weapon more firmly and wished for a sight of the enemy.

"Before long they had their wish: the enemy's cavalry were on our
skirts that night; and as we rushed out of a small village, the name
of which I cannot now recollect, we turned to bay. Behind broken-down
carts and tumbrils, huge trunks of trees, and everything we could
scrape together, the Rifles lay and blazed away at the advancing
cavalry.

"We passed the night thus engaged, holding our own as well as we
could. Towards morning we moved down towards a small bridge, still
followed by the enemy, whom, however, we had sharply galled, and
obliged to be more wary in their efforts. The rain was pouring down
in torrents on this morning, I recollect, and we remained many hours
with our arms ported, standing in this manner, and staring the French
cavalry in the face, the water actually running out of the muzzles of
our rifles. I do not recollect seeing a single regiment of infantry
amongst the French force on this day; it seemed to me a tremendous
body of cavalry--some said nine or ten thousand strong--commanded, as
I heard, by General Lefebvre.

"Whilst we stood thus, face to face, I remember the horsemen of the
enemy sat watching us very intently, as if waiting for a favourable
moment to dash upon us like beasts of prey; and every now and then
their trumpets would ring out a lively strain of music as if to
encourage them. As the night drew on, our cavalry moved a little
to the front, together with several field-pieces, and succeeded in
crossing the bridge; after which we also advanced and threw ourselves
into some hilly ground on either side the road; whilst the 43rd and
52nd lay behind some carts, trunks of trees, and other materials with
which they had formed a barrier.

"General Craufurd was standing behind this barricade, when he
ordered the Rifles to push still farther in front, and conceal
themselves amongst the hills on either side. A man named Higgins was
my front-rank man at this moment. 'Harris,' he said, 'let you and I
gain the very top of the mountain, and look out what those French
thieves are at on the other side.'

"My feet were sore and bleeding, and the sinews of my legs ached as
if they would burst, but I resolved to accompany him. In our wearied
state the task was not easy, but, by the aid of Higgins, a tall and
powerful fellow, I managed to reach the top of the mountain, where we
placed ourselves in a sort of gully or ditch, and looked over to the
enemy's side, concealing ourselves by lying flat in the ditch as we
did so. Thus, in favourable situations, like cats watching for their
prey, were the rest of the Rifles lying perdu upon the hills that
night. The mountain we found was neither so steep nor so precipitous
on the enemy's side. The ascent, on the contrary, was so easy that
one or two of the videttes of the French cavalry were prowling about
very near where we lay. As we had received orders not to make more
noise than we could help, not even to speak to each other, except in
whispers, although one of these horsemen approached close to where I
lay, I forbore to fire upon him.

"At length he stopped so near me that I saw it was almost impossible
he could avoid discovering that the Rifles were in such close
proximity to his person. He gazed cautiously along the ridge, took
off his helmet, and wiped his face, as he appeared to meditate
upon the propriety of crossing the ditch in which we lay, when
suddenly our eyes met, and in an instant he plucked a pistol from
his holster, fired it in my face, and, wheeling his horse, plunged
down the hillside. For the moment I thought I was hit, as the ball
grazed my neck, and stuck fast in my knapsack, where I found it,
when, many days afterwards, I unpacked my kit on shipboard. About
a quarter of an hour after this, as we still lay in the gully, I
heard some person clambering up behind us, and, upon turning quickly
round, I found it was General Craufurd. The general was wrapped in
his greatcoat, and, like ourselves, had been for many hours drenched
to the skin, for the rain was coming down furiously. He carried in
his hand a canteen full of rum and a small cup, with which he was
occasionally endeavouring to refresh some of the men. He offered me a
drink as he passed, and then proceeded onwards along the ridge. After
he had emptied his canteen, he came past us again, and himself gave
us instructions as to our future proceedings.

"'When all is ready, Riflemen,' said he, 'you will immediately get
the word, and pass over the bridge. Be careful, and mind what you are
about.'

"Accordingly, a short time after he had left us, we were ordered to
descend the mountain side in single file, and having gained the road,
were quickly upon the bridge. Meanwhile the Staff Corps had been hard
at work mining the very centre of the structure, which was filled
with gunpowder, a narrow plank being all the aid we had by which to
pass over. For my own part, I was now so utterly helpless that I
felt as if all was nearly up with me, and that, if I could steady
myself so as to reach the farther end of the plank, it would be all I
should be able to accomplish. However, we managed all of us to reach
the other side in safety, when, almost immediately afterwards, the
bridge blew up with a tremendous report, and a house at its extremity
burst into flames. What with the concussion of the explosion and the
tremulous state of my limbs, I was thrown to the ground, and lay
flat upon my face for some time, almost in a state of insensibility.
After a while I somewhat recovered; but it was not without extreme
difficulty, and many times falling again, that I succeeded in
regaining the column.

"Soon after I had done so, we reached Benevento, and immediately took
refuge in a convent. Already three parts of it were filled with
other troops, among which were mingled the 10th Hussars, the German
Legion, and the 15th Dragoons; the horses of these regiments standing
as close as they could stand, with the men dismounted between each
horse, the animals' heads to the walls of the building, and all in
readiness to turn out on the instant. Liquor was handed to us by the
Dragoons, but having had nothing for some time to eat, many of our
men became sick instead of receiving any benefit from it.

"Before we had been in the convent as long a time as I have been
describing our arrival, every man of us was down on the floor, and
well nigh asleep; and before we had slept half-an-hour, we were again
aroused from our slumbers by the clatter of the horses, the clash of
the men's sabres, and their shouts for us to clear the way.

"'The enemy! The enemy!' I heard shouted out.

"'Clear the way, Rifles! Up, boys, and clear the way!'

"In short, the Dragoons hardly gave us time to rise before they were
leading their horses amongst us, and getting out of the convent as
fast as they could scamper, whilst we ourselves were not long in
following their example. As we did so, we discovered that the French
cavalry, having found the bridge blown up, had dashed into the stream
and succeeded in crossing. Our cavalry, however, quickly formed, and
charged them in gallant style.

"The shock of that encounter was tremendous to look upon, and we
stood for some time enranked watching the combatants. The horsemen
had it all to themselves; our Dragoons fought like tigers, and,
although greatly over-matched, drove the enemy back like a torrent,
and forced them again into the river. A private of the 10th
Hussars--his name, I think, was Franklin--dashed into the stream
after their general (Lefebvre), assailed him, sword in hand, in the
water, captured, and brought him a prisoner on shore again. If I
remember rightly, Franklin, or whatever else was his name, was made
a sergeant on the spot. The French general was delivered into our
custody on that occasion, and we cheered the men heartily as we
received him.

"After the enemy had received this check from our cavalry, and which
considerably damped their ardour, making them a trifle more shy of
us for a while, we pushed onwards on our painful march. I remember
marching close beside the French general during some part of this
day, and observing his chapfallen and dejected look as he rode along
in the midst of the green jackets."

In spite of all his own sufferings, Harris was still able to note, with an unconsciously artistic eye, the scenes--wild, tragic, and picturesque--which the retreat afforded:--

"Being constantly in rear of the main body, the scenes of distress
and misery I witnessed were dreadful to contemplate, particularly
amongst the women and children, who were lagging and falling behind,
their husbands and fathers being in the main body in our front.
We came to the edge of a deep ravine, the descent so steep and
precipitous, that it was impossible to keep our feet in getting
down, and we were sometimes obliged to sit and slide along on our
backs; whilst before us rose a ridge of mountains quite as steep and
difficult of ascent. There was, however, no pause in our exertion,
but, slinging our rifles round our necks, down the hill we went;
whilst mules with the baggage on their backs, wearied and urged
beyond their strength, were seen rolling from top to bottom, many of
them breaking their necks with the fall, and the baggage crushed,
smashed, and abandoned.

"I remember as I descended this hill remarking the extraordinary
sight afforded by the thousands of our redcoats, who were creeping
like snails, and toiling up the ascent before us, their muskets slung
round their necks, and clambering with both hands as they hauled
themselves up. As soon as we ourselves had gained the ascent we were
halted for a few minutes, in order to give us breath for another
effort, and then onwards we moved again.

"It is impossible for me to keep any account of time in this
description, as I never exactly knew how many days and nights we
marched; but I well know we kept on for many successive days and
nights without rest, or much in the way of food. The long day found
us still pushing on, and the night caused us no halt.

"We pushed on still cursing the enemy for not again showing
themselves, that we might revenge some of our present miseries upon
their heads.

"'Why don't they come on like men,' they cried, 'whilst we've
strength left in us to fight them?'

"We were now upon the mountains; the night was bitter cold, and the
snow falling fast. As day broke, I remember hearing Lieutenant Hill
say to another officer (who, by the way, afterwards sank down and
died), 'This is New Year's Day; and I think if we live to see another
we shall not easily forget it.'

"The mountains were now becoming more wild-looking and steep as we
proceeded, whilst those few huts we occasionally passed seemed so
utterly forlorn and wretched-looking, it appeared quite a wonder
how human beings could live in so desolate a home. After the snow
commenced the hills became so slippery (being in many parts covered
with ice), that several of our men frequently slipped and fell, and
being unable to rise, gave themselves up to despair and died. There
was now no endeavour to assist one another after a fall; it was every
one for himself, and God for us all!

"The enemy, I should think, were at this time frequently close upon
our trail; and I thought at times I heard their trumpets come down
the wind as we marched. Towards the dusk of the evening of this day
I remember passing a man and woman lying clasped in each other's
arms, and dying in the snow. I knew them both, but it was impossible
to help them. They belonged to the Rifles and were man and wife. The
man's name was Joseph Sitdown. During this retreat, as he had not
been in good health previously, himself and wife had been allowed to
get on in the best way they could in the front. They had, however,
now given in, and the last we ever saw of poor Sitdown and his wife
was on that night lying perishing in each other's arms in the snow.

"Many trivial things which happened during the retreat to Corunna,
and which on any other occasion might have entirely passed from my
memory, have been, as it were, branded into my remembrance, and I
recollect the most trifling incidents which occurred from day to
day during that march. I remember, amongst other matters, that we
were joined, if I may so term it, by a young recruit, when such an
addition was anything but wished for during the disasters of the
hour. One of the men's wives (who was struggling forward in the
ranks with us, presenting a ghastly picture of illness, misery, and
fatigue), being very large in the family-way, towards evening stepped
from amongst the crowd and laid herself down amidst the snow, a
little out of the main road. Her husband remained with her; and I
heard one or two hasty observations amongst our men that they had
taken possession of their last resting-place. The enemy were, indeed,
not far behind at this time, the night was coming down, and their
chance seemed in truth but a bad one.

"To remain behind the column of march in such weather was to perish,
and we accordingly soon forgot all about them. To my surprise,
however, I some little time afterwards (being myself then in the rear
of our party) again saw the woman. She was hurrying with her husband
after us, and in her arms she carried the babe she had just given
birth to. Her husband and herself between them managed to carry that
infant to the end of the retreat, where we embarked. God tempers the
wind, it is said, to the shorn lamb, and many years afterwards I saw
that boy a strong and healthy lad. The woman's name was M'Guire,
a sturdy and hardy Irishwoman; and lucky was it for herself and
babe that she was so, as that night of cold and sleet was in itself
sufficient to try the constitution of most females. I lost sight of
her, I recollect, on this night when the darkness came upon us, but
with the dawn, to my surprise she was still amongst us."