Chapter Eighteen.
The Storming of the Redoubt, and the Attack on Bastia.
As the afternoon wore on the wind grew light, and by eight bells it had so far died away that it was practically valueless to the boats which were to convey the naval brigade to the shore. The admiral, however, would not allow the men to row, being anxious that they should reach the scene of action fresh and vigorous; at the last moment, therefore, one of the lieutenants belonging to the “Victory” was sent onboard the “Requin”—or the “Shark,” as she was now almost universally called—with orders to get under weigh and tow the flotilla down to the cove.
At the same time our signal was made, in obedience to which we went through the fleet and took on board Lord Hood, Sir Hyde Parker, Vice-Admiral Hotham, Captain Purvis of the “Princess Royal,” Commodore Linzee, Captain Elphinstone of the “Robust,” Captain Nelson of the “Agamemnon,” and some half a dozen other officers who were going on shore to witness the attack.
By the time that we had embarked all our passengers, the “Shark” was under weigh and dodging about, waiting for the boats, which were alongside their respective ships, taking in their proper complement of men.
When all was ready, the boats shoved off and pulled for the brig, which was by this time hove-to in readiness for taking them in tow. Admiral Hood himself marshalled the boats in the order which he wished them to take; and two stout hawsers being passed out of the brig’s stern-ports, the boats were lashed to them in two divisions, larboard and starboard; and when everything was arranged to the satisfaction of our chief, he gave the order for the brig to fill, and away we went.
It took us an hour and a half to reach the cove, the wind being so light; and in order to remain in company, the little “Mouette’s” canvas had to be reduced to a close-reefed mainsail and small jib, under which we were still able to sail round the flotilla occasionally, in order that Lord Hood might see that all was right.
It was just growing dusk when the boats, having cast off from the towing hawsers, pulled into the cove and grounded on its steep shingly beach. We anchored the “Mouette” about a cable’s length from the beach, landed our passengers, and watched them fairly out of sight on the San Fiorenzo road, when Bob and I leaped into our dinghy and were pulled ashore. The naval brigade was by this time in motion; and, hurrying forward, we soon found ourselves alongside the “Juno’s” contingent, under the command of the second lieutenant, whose Irish blood was already up, and who greeted our appearance with a rollicking joke, which would in almost any other man have been unbecoming the dignity of his rank. But “Paddy” Flinn—or Micky Flinn, as he was indifferently called by his friends—had a subtle knack of behaving in an undignified manner, without jeopardising the respect due to him; for, let his vagaries take what form they would, he never by any chance descended to the committal of a mean, cowardly, or ungentlemanly act.
The camp of the land forces was pitched at a distance of about two miles from the beach; and the march was accomplished in about three-quarters of an hour, our tars beguiling the way with jokes and yarns of the most outrageous and improbable character. The strictest discipline was always maintained on board ship; but on land-expeditions, which would admit of it, a little more freedom was tacitly permitted.
When we reached the point of rendezvous, we found the troops who were to share with us the honours of the night already on the ground, and waiting. The guns of the Cliff Battery were still thundering away far above us; and the redoubt was replying with apparently undiminished vigour.
The place of rendezvous was a sort of ravine, situated about midway between the two opposing batteries; the ground being masked from the redoubt by one of the precipitous sides of the ravine. At the farther end, the precipice gradually merged into a steep slope, from the summit of which rose the hill upon which the redoubt stood; and up these two steep slopes the storming-party had to go.
By the time that all was ready, night had completely set in. Contrary to our hopes, it was exquisitely fine, not a single shred of cloud obscuring the deep blue vault of heaven. The wind had died away to the faintest zephyr, and the dew was falling so copiously that it promised soon to wet us to the skin. At a signal, made by the waving of a lantern, the guns of the Cliff Battery above us suddenly became mute, as though the artillerymen had given up for the night; and a calm and tranquil silence ensued, broken only by the gentle rustle of the fitful breeze through the foliage of some firs which were dotted here and there along the precipitous sides of the ravine, the chirping of insects, the occasional twitter of a sleeping bird, or a low murmur here and there in the serried ranks of armed men which stood awaiting the order to rush forth to death or victory. The stars flooded the scene with their subdued and mellow radiance, and, but for the occasional gleam of a naked weapon, everything was suggestive of restfulness and peace.
It had been hoped that we should be able to take the garrison of the redoubt at least partially by surprise; but the fineness and silence of the night rendered this impossible; as soon, therefore, as everything was ready, the party moved forward toward the farther end of the ravine, the soldiers leading the way, in accordance with the proviso of Major-General Dundas, who refused to co-operate with the naval brigade upon any other terms. It took us but a few minutes to reach the end of the ravine; and directly we were clear and had reached a point where the first slope became practicable, we were led up it at an easy pace, and halted just beneath its brow—and consequently under cover—in order that all hands might recover their wind in readiness for the rush up the second slope to the redoubt.
I was not, at that period of my life, particularly susceptible to serious thought or grave reflections; but as I stood on that steep hill-side in the hush and solemn beauty of the starlit night, and looked upon that band of silent men, every one of them with the pulses of life beating quick and strong within him, his frame aglow with health, and every nerve quivering with intense excitement, the awful thought flashed through my brain that, with many of them, a few brief seconds only stood between them and eternity. I wondered to how many of them had the same idea presented itself; and then came the question, “Does God ever in His infinite mercy, in such supreme moments as this, inspire similar reflections in the minds of the doomed ones, in order that they may not be hurried into His presence wholly unprepared?” It might be so, I thought; and if that were the case, was it not probable that, coming to me at such a time, they foreshadowed my own doom, and warned me to prepare for it while still I had an opportunity? Five minutes hence, perhaps, and Time would be, for me, no more. The signal to advance—the breathless rush—the flash and roar of artillery, a sickening crash, a hideous whirl, in which all nature becomes blotted out, and then—The Great White Throne.
Was that what lay before me? The oppressive excitement under which I had been labouring passed away; tears of emotion welled up into my eyes, and my heart went up to God in a brief, silent, fervent prayer for mercy and forgiveness; that if I were about to die I might be pardoned for Christ’s sake and received into everlasting life. For a minute or two the fear of death—or rather, of the eternity beyond death—had been upon me; but with the conclusion of my hurried prayer the mantle of fear fell from my shoulders, and a blessed peace—“the peace of God, which passeth all understanding,” as I reverently believed—took its place. I was supported by a consciousness, or perhaps it was only a belief, that whatever happened I was safe; and from that moment my only anxiety was to faithfully do my duty.
At length, sufficient time having been allowed for the men to completely recover their breath and brace themselves for the final rush up the hill to the redoubt, the word was given, and we dashed over the brow of the slope and charged up the steep ascent; and at the same instant the artillerymen in the Cliff Battery—who had been keenly watching our movements—reopened with a terrific fire upon the devoted redoubt.
Our men gave a single ringing, soul-stirring cheer, as they sprang into view, and then were silent, the exertion of pressing up that steep acclivity leaving them no breath to waste in profitless noise. The distance to be traversed was not more than 200 yards—no great matter upon level ground—but the hill rose so abruptly that, after the first fifty yards, our pace was reduced to something between a walk and a climb. The French, too, had evidently expected and been on the watch for us; for we had hardly advanced twenty paces before the parapet of the redoubt blazed out above us in a long line of fire; a storm of round shot and grape swept down upon us; great ghastly gaps were mown out of our ranks, a hideous chorus of shrieks and groans rose above the thundering roar of the artillery, and long lines of dead and dying men marked the path of the pitiless shot. The calmness and stillness of night gave place to a horrible discord of deafening sounds; the earth beneath our feet shook and vibrated with the ceaseless discharge of heavy guns; the baleful glare of portfires and fireballs flung down the hill by the enemy to enable them more clearly to ascertain our position, and the incessant flash of the cannon, cast a fierce, unearthly light upon the scene. Again, again, and again came the hissing storm of iron, each time with more deadly effect; the ground before and around us was ploughed and gashed by the rushing shot; our men were swept away before it like withered leaves before a hurricane; the death-cries of cherished comrades continually pierced the ear; the storming-party was melting away like snow beneath the scorching breath of that fiery tempest; and still the remnant struggled on.
At length that fearful breathless climb was nearly over. We were so near the redoubt that the muzzles of the guns could no longer be depressed sufficiently for the shot to take effect; the artillerymen, therefore, left their cannon and joined the grenadiers in throwing down hand-grenades upon us, or in pouring in a ceaseless musketry-fire. The guns in the Cliff Battery also became silent, in dread of striking friends as well as foes. A few yards more, and we were close enough to distinguish the stern, bronzed features of the defenders clustering thick in the breach to bar our entrance, the musketry flashes gleaming on their glistening eyeballs, and flickering on their levelled bayonet-points. My recent runs on shore, and the exercise of climbing up and down the Cliff rock seemed to have given me an advantage over the rest; for there was by this time no one in front of me. Two individuals there were, however, close at hand, in one of whom I recognised the skipper, the other being Major-General Dundas. They were evidently racing for the breach, and the skipper was getting the worst of it, being thoroughly blown. We were all three pretty evenly in line, but the soldier had chosen his road with the greater judgment. At last the skipper, too exhausted to keep upright any longer, put his sword between his teeth and went down on his hands and knees. I saw at once the nature of the rivalry, it was a struggle which should reach the breach first, the army or the navy; and I knew Captain Hood would rather lose a hundred pounds than be beaten.
Like them, I was dreadfully exhausted, the fatigue I experienced being so great that it amounted to positive pain; the muscles of my legs in particular ached and quivered violently with the exertions I had been making. Still, I was not nearly so bad as the other two, being decidedly strong and vigorous for my age, and I determined that the skipper should be gratified if it lay in my power; so I scrambled to his side and held out my hand to him shouting,—
“Let me give you a tow, sir; and we’ll be in before the red-coat yet.”
He grasped my hand without a word, rose to his feet, and together we strained and pressed upward. A couple of yards still lay between us and the hedge of bayonets which guarded the breach. The bullets flew about us thick as hail; one passing through my hat, another shredding away half the bullion from the skipper’s starboard epaulette, two more actually passing through my jacket and razing the skin; yet by a miracle we escaped unwounded.
One more desperate effort, and we staggered up the loose débris and into the breach, a clear yard ahead of our rival; and then, shoulder to shoulder, we stood and tried to recover our breath as best we could, defending ourselves meanwhile from the innumerable cuts and thrusts which were aimed at us. The next to arrive was, of course, Major-General Dundas; then came Mr Flinn, closely followed by the captain of the “Juno’s” main-top; then five or six soldiers; and, thus strengthened, we pressed forward, foot by foot, the Frenchmen obstinately contesting every inch of the way, until we had fairly penetrated to the interior of the redoubt, when—a path being thus cleared for those who came behind—the relics of the storming-party surged in and rushed upon the enemy with such resistless impetuosity that some of the garrison threw down their arms and surrendered; while the rest broke and fled in direst confusion.
A feeble cheer announced our success, which was immediately answered by a ringing “three times three—and one cheer more, for the storming-party,” from the occupants of the Cliff Battery away aloft in the cool night-air.
Poor little Bobby Summers came panting in with the ruck, after all was over; and the first use he made of his breath, after he had recovered it sufficiently to speak, was to abuse me in unmeasured terms for what he was pleased to term my “meanness,” in leaving him to struggle up the hill unaided.
All hands remained on shore that night, to make everything secure, and to guard against the possibility of an attempt to retake the redoubt; the storming-party being quickly reinforced by a strong detachment from the camp, which had been held in readiness to march in as soon as the redoubt should be carried.
Then came the sickening task of collecting the dead and wounded, arranging the former for burial, and attending to the wants of the latter and making them as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. But I will not go into the details of this accompaniment to the “pomp and circumstance of war,” lest I should unnecessarily harrow the feelings of my readers; suffice it to say that our task was not accomplished until long after sun-rise; while that of the naval and military surgeons of course lasted for weeks.
The fall of the Convention Redoubt left the town of San Fiorenzo at our mercy, and accordingly, when next day our troops marched into the town, it was found that the French had evacuated it, and had retired to Bastia.
This, the most important town in the island, and, at the period of my story, also the most strongly fortified—whatever it may be at the present day—is about six miles from San Fiorenzo; and is situated on the eastern or opposite side of the long narrow peninsula which forms the northern extremity of Corsica. It was against it that, in Lord Hood’s opinion, our next operations ought to be directed.
His views, however, and those of Major-General Dundas were widely divergent as to the practicability of the proposed scheme; the latter being of opinion that we had neither strength nor means sufficient to effect the reduction of so strongly fortified a place as Bastia; while Lord Hood, on the other hand, was sanguine of success. This difference of opinion between the heads of the forces led to a protracted and vexatious delay, during which we of the fleet busied ourselves successfully in raising the French thirty-eight-gun frigate, “Minerve,” which her crew had sunk in San Fiorenzo harbour. This ship was afterwards added to our navy under the name of the “San Fiorenzo.”
I must not omit to mention that, a few days after the taking of the Convention Redoubt, Captain Hood publicly thanked me, on the “Juno’s” quarter-deck, for the assistance I had rendered him on that memorable night; and the story also reaching the admiral’s ears, I had the gratification of being warmly commended by that great chief, as well as of finding that my name had been prominently mentioned in his despatches home. Several other officers also thanked me for supporting the reputation of the navy, Captain Nelson being especially eulogistic—for him—on the subject. So that, altogether, I received a far greater share of credit than it seemed to me so simple a matter merited.
At length, meeting after meeting having taken place between Lord Hood and Major-General Dundas, without those officers being able to agree upon the question of investing Bastia, something very like a rupture took place; the admiral declaring that so confident was he of success, that, since General Dundas would not co-operate with him, he would undertake alone the task of reducing the place with the seamen and marines belonging to the fleet.
This resolution once arrived at, Lord Hood forthwith set about the work of carrying it out with his accustomed energy. An old twenty-eight-gun frigate, called the “Proselyte,” was specially fitted up as a floating battery, and, with the rest of the fleet, taken round to Bastia roads. The marines were then landed, and, aided by a strong contingent of bluejackets, who were placed under the command of Captain Horatio Nelson, at once set to work to throw up a chain of sod batteries, completely investing the town on the land side.
So much precious time had been wasted in discussing the pros and cons of this matter, that, notwithstanding our utmost exertions, it was not until the second week of April, 1794, that our batteries were finished, the guns mounted, and everything ready for the projected attack. The evening of the 10th, however, saw our preparations completed; and on the morning of the 11th the “Proselyte” was moved inshore and moored in a convenient position for battering the seaward defences of the town.
The attack immediately afterwards commenced; the “Proselyte” and the shore batteries opening fire simultaneously. The French replied with the utmost spirit, their guns being admirably served, especially those which played upon the “Proselyte;” and it soon became evident that that unfortunate craft was getting decidedly the worst of it. She was the only ship engaged, the admiral having early come to the conclusion that it would be madness to expose his fleet, unprotected, to the fire of the heavy metal mounted in the French defences; we therefore—the few of us, that is, who were not detailed for duty on shore—had nothing to do for the time being but watch the fun.
The action had been in progress but a short time, when we observed that the “Proselyte” was swinging round; and on looking at her more attentively, with the aid of our telescopes, we discovered that some of her moorings had been shot away. Her remaining cables soon brought her up again; but not until she had drifted into a frightfully exposed position. The fire of the French batteries was immediately concentrated upon the devoted craft with increased energy; and presently little jets of greyish smoke, issuing here and there from her sides, showed that the enemy was effectively firing red-hot shot.
About ten minutes afterwards a little string of balls was seen soaring aloft to her mast-head. The balls burst apart, and four signal flags fluttered in the breeze.
I raised my telescope to my eye and read out the numbers to Mr Annesley, who was busy turning over the leaves of the signal-book.
He ran his finger hastily along the column of figures, and read out to the skipper, who was looking over his shoulder,—
“Ship on fire—send assistance.”
“Now, Mr Chester, keep your eye on the admiral, and see what he says,” remarked the skipper.
As he spoke I saw a signal going aloft on board the “Victory,” and managed to get it into the field of my telescope just as the flags burst abroad at the mast-head.
I read out the numbers again.
“All right; I know what that means, without turning up the numbers,” said the skipper quickly. “It means, ‘Send away boats to ship in distress.’ So have the goodness to pipe away the pinnace and first and second cutters, if you please, Mr Annesley.”
In another moment the boatswain’s shrill pipe was sounding throughout the ship; the boats, which were hanging at the boom, were brought alongside, manned, placed in charge of a midshipman to each boat, and despatched with all speed to the assistance of the unlucky “Proselyte,” from which, by this time, dense clouds of dark smoke were issuing.
Meanwhile the boats from the rest of the fleet were also pushing off with the same object as ourselves; and an exciting race ensued. We were among the last to arrive alongside, having had a longer distance to pull than any of the other boats; and when we reached the doomed craft, the flames were bursting out through her ports, roaring fiercely up through her hatchways, and soaring aloft by means of her rigging like fiery serpents. Some of her guns were already nearly red-hot. Part of her main-deck had fallen in; and her main and mizzen-masts were so far burnt through at the foot that they threatened momentarily to fall.
Although the flames were blazing so fiercely, and had obtained such a complete hold upon the ship that the magazine was expected to explode at any moment, and although the enemy, taking full advantage of the disaster, was concentrating a terrific fire upon that part of the ship where her crew were mustered, awaiting their turn to go down over the side into the boats which were waiting to receive them, there was not a trace of hurry or confusion. Commander Serocold, who had been given the command of the unfortunate craft, stood on the rail and personally directed the process of trans-shipping; sending down first the injured, then the younger and rawer portion of the crew, then the veterans—the sturdy old bronzed and weather-beaten salts, whose nerves were thoroughly proof against the worst terrors of battle, fire, or flood,—next the officers, and finally, when he was quite satisfied that no living being but himself remained on board, he raised his uniform cap as if in salute, slipped down the side, and gave the order to “give way.”
“Stretch out to your work, lads,” he exclaimed, as the oars dashed into the water; “throw your whole hearts into it; the fire must be close to the magazine, and—”
A terrific concussion, a dull heavy roar, and the poor old “Proselyte” was rent to pieces, as a broad sheet of flame flashed up from her hull skyward. A wall of water some five feet high leapt up just under our stern, and immediately afterwards curled over upon us, completely swamping the boat. Fragments of planks and beams, heavy bolts, spars, and other wreckage whizzed through the air all around us; and one of the guns, still mounted on its carriage, and with its shattered tackles streaming in the air, was hurled outwards and fell into the water with a tremendous splash, within six feet of where we were all left struggling in the water. Then a great cloud of black smoke shot up into the air; and the blackened remains of the hull, collapsing amidships, sank out of sight, creating a great seething whirl, which dragged us all helplessly into its vortex, and sucked us ruthlessly down, down deep into the darkening bosom of the ocean.
Stunned, and almost insensible from the violence of the shock, I still had presence of mind left to close my nostrils with the fingers of one hand, and to hold my breath, as I was helplessly whirled hither and thither; and at last, just as my powers of endurance had reached the point of exhaustion, I rose again to the surface, and beheld once more the welcome sight of the bright sunlight flashing upon the dancing billows.
The water all round me was thickly strewn with wreckage; and a few pieces were still falling here and there, showing the height to which the fragments had been projected. A dozen or so of human heads appeared on the surface of the water at no great distance from me; and others were momentarily popping up above the waves; the owners, one and all, immediately striking out, more or less scientifically, for the nearest floating object.
Looking round me, I soon had the satisfaction of discovering the gallant commander of the ill-fated “Proselyte,” clinging to the keel of our boat, which was floating bottom-up at no great distance from me. Seeing that all hands appeared pretty well able to take care of themselves, I at once struck out and joined him.
“Ah! Mr Chester,” he exclaimed, as I ranged alongside, “glad to see that you have weathered it so well. It was a very narrow squeak; and we have come out of it a good deal better than I dared expect. I have been trying to count heads, and I make out thirty-eight, all told; how many men had you with you?”
“Twelve,” I answered.
“Twelve?” he repeated, “then that brings us out all right, for I counted twenty-four of my people as they passed down into the boat, and I make twenty-five, which, with you and your dozen, brings up the complement. Here come the boats to pick us up. I have no doubt the explosion has frightened all the sharks within a dozen miles of us, and started them off to seaward under a heavy press of sail; otherwise I should not feel quite so easy in my mind about those poor fellows. Some of them are clinging to very small pieces of wreckage, and would have no chance if attacked.”
I remarked that I thought there was not very much danger; an opinion which soon received singular confirmation; for while we were still speaking, immense numbers of fish of all sizes and descriptions, some killed, and others merely stunned by the violence of the explosion, floated up to the surface; and shortly afterwards, when the boats had picked us all up, and we were pulling out toward the fleet, we fell in with an enormous shark, floating helplessly on his back, in an apparently paralysed condition. A running bowline was promptly slipped over his tail and drawn taut; and he was triumphantly and unresistingly towed alongside the “Victory,” and hoisted inboard.