With feelings such as these, with a gradual increase of sufferings, we struggled onwards. Towards the close of this journey, my mind became unfit for any minute observation. I only marked what I myself was forced to encounter. How I was sustained, I am unable to conceive. My life was misery. Hunger, cold, and fatigue, had deprived death of all its horrors. My present sufferings I felt; what death was I could only guess. “I will endure every thing in the hope of living to smooth the closing years of my mother’s life, and atone for my unkindness. Merciful God! support me.” These ejaculations were always the close of my melancholy musing, after which I felt a new invigoration, though many times my reflections were broken short by scenes of horror that came in my way. One, in particular, I found, after I came home, had been much talked of. After we had gained the summit of Monte del Castro, and were descending, I was roused by a crowd of soldiers. My curiosity prompted me to go to it; I knew it must be no common occurrence that could attract their sympathy. Judge of the feelings which I want words to express. In the centre lay a woman, young and lovely, though cold in death, and a child, apparently about six or seven months old, attempting to draw support from the breast of its dead mother. Tears filled every eye, but no one had the power to aid; while we stood around, gazing on the interesting object, then on each other,—none offered to speak, each heart was so full. At length one of General Moore’s staff-officers came up, and desired the infant to be given to him. He rolled it in his cloak, amidst the blessings of every spectator. Never shall I efface the benevolence of his look from my heart, when he said, “Unfortunate infant, you will be my future care.” From the few remaining waggons we had been able to bring with us, women and children, who had hitherto sustained, without perishing, all our aggravated sufferings, were every now and then laid out upon the snow frozen to death. An old tattered blanket, or some other piece of garment, was all the burial that was given them; the soldiers who perished lay uncovered, until the next fall of snow, or heavy drift, concealed their bodies.
Amidst scenes like these, we arrived at Lugo. Here we were to have obtained two days’ rest, but fate was not yet weary of enjoying our miseries. On our arrival, I tried all in my power to find a place for Donald: The best I could find was a bake-house. He lay down in one of the baking-troughs: I put a sack over him. In two minutes the steam began to rise out of the trough in a continued cloud; he fell asleep, and I went in search of some refreshment. I was not half an hour away when I returned with a little bread; he was still asleep, and as dry as a bone: I was wet as mire. I felt inclined more than once to wake him; I did not, but lay down on a sack, and fell asleep. I awoke before him, quite dry. There were three or four more lying down on the floor beside me, asleep. My haversack had been rifled while I slept, and my little store of bread was gone. It was vain to complain—I had no resource; cautiously I examined those around me asleep, but found nothing. Again I sallied forth; and, to my great joy, I saw a soldier lying unable to rise, he was so drunk. His haversack seemed pretty full: I went to him, and found in it a large piece of beef, and some bread. I scrupled not to appropriate them to myself. I hastened back to Donald, and we had a good meal together. I felt stronger, and Donald was in better spirits. The bridges between Villa Franca and Lugo had been imperfectly destroyed. The French made their appearance on the 5th of January, and took up a position opposite to our rear guard; a small valley only dividing them from it. This night we remained standing in the fields until day broke, our arms piled. The sky was one continued expanse of stars; not a cloud to be seen, and the frost was most intense. Words fail me to express what we suffered from the most dreadful cold. We alternately went to the calm side of each other, to be sheltered from the wind. In this manner, when day at length broke upon us, we had retrograded over two fields from the spot where we had piled our arms. Many had lain down through the night overcome by sleep, from which the last trumpet, only, will awaken them.
On the 6th, the enemy attacked our out-posts; but were received by our fatigued and famished soldiers with as much bravery as if they had passed the night in comfortable barracks: they repulsed the French in every assault. The sound of the battle roused our drooping hearts—“Revenge or death,” said my comrades, a savage joy glistening in their eyes. But the day closed without any attack farther on either side. On the 7th they came upon us again, and were more quickly repulsed than on the day before. From the first moment of the attack, and as long as the French were before us, discipline was restored, and the officers were as punctually obeyed as if we had been on parade at home. We felt not our sufferings; so anxious were we to end them by a victory which we were certain of obtaining. But Soult seemed to know our spirits better than our own commanders; and, after these two last samples, kept a respectful distance. We stood to our arms until the evening, the enemy in front, amidst snow, rain, and storms. Fires were then lighted, and we commenced our retreat after dark.
Before our reserve left Lugo, general orders were issued, warning and exhorting us to keep order, and march together; but, alas! how could men observe order amidst such sufferings? or men, whose feet were naked and sore, keep up with men, who, being more fortunate, had better shoes and stronger constitutions? The officers, in many points, suffered as much as the men. I have seen officers of the guards, and others, worth thousands, with pieces of old blankets wrapt round their feet and legs, the men pointing at them with a malicious satisfaction, saying, “There goes three thousand a-year;” or, “There goes the prodigal son on his return to his father, cured of his wanderings.” Even in the midst of all our sorrows, there was a bitterness of spirit, a savageness of wit, that made a jest of its own miseries. The great fault of our soldiers, at this time, was an inordinate desire for spirits of any kind. They sacrificed their life and safety for drink, in many ways; for they lay down intoxicated upon the snow, and slept the sleep of death; or, staggering behind, were overtaken and cut down by the merciless French soldiers: the most favourable event was to be taken prisoners. So great was their propensity to drown their misery in liquor, that we were often exposed to cold and rain for a whole night, in order that we might be kept from the wine stores of a neighbouring town. Why should I detain the reader longer on our march?—every day of which was like the day that was past, save in our inability to contend with our hardships.
We arrived at Corunna on the 11th January, 1809. How shall I describe my sensations at the first sight of the ocean? I felt all my former despondency drop from my mind. My galled feet trode lighter on the icy road. Every face near me seemed to brighten up. Britain and the Sea are two words which cannot be disunited. The sea and home appeared one and the same. We were not cast down at there being no transports or ships of war there. They had been ordered to Vigo, but they were hourly expected. On the 13th, the French made their appearance on the opposite side of the river Mero. They took up a position near a village, called Perillo, on the left flank, and occupied the houses along the river. We could perceive their numbers hourly increasing. On the 14th, they commenced a cannonade on our position; but our artillery soon forced them to withdraw their guns, and fall back. On this day, our friends the tars made their appearance, and all was bustle, preparing for embarkation. The whole artillery was embarked, save seven six-pounders and one howitzer, which were placed in line, and four Spanish guns, which were kept as a reserve. Our position was such, that we could not use many guns. The sick and dismounted cavalry were sent on board with all expedition. I supported my friend Donald, who was now very weak, and almost blind. On my return to the camp, I witnessed a most moving scene. The beach was covered with dead horses, and resounded with the reports of the pistols that were carrying this havoc amongst them. The animals, as if warned by the dead bodies of their fellows, appeared frantic, neighed and screamed in the most frightful manner. Many broke loose and galloped alongst the beach, with their manes erect, and their mouths wide open.
Our preparations continued until the 16th, when every thing was completed; and we were to begin our embarkation at four o’clock. About mid-day, we were all under arms, when intelligence arrived that the French were advancing. We soon perceived them pouring down upon our right wing: our advanced picquets had commenced firing. The right had a bad position, yet if we lost it, our ruin was inevitable. Lord William Bentinck’s brigade, composed of the 4th, 42d, and 50th, had the honour of sustaining it against every effort of the French, although the latter had every advantage in numbers and artillery. They commenced a heavy fire, from eleven great guns, placed in a most favourable manner on the hill. Two strong columns advanced on the right wing, the one along the road, the other skirting its edges; a third advanced on the centre; a fourth approached slowly on the left; while a fifth remained half way down the hill, in the same direction, to take advantage of the first favourable moment. It was at this time that Sir David Baird had his arm shattered. The space between the two lines was much intercepted by stone walls and hedges. It was perceived by Sir John Moore, as the two lines closed, that the French extended a considerable way beyond the right flank of the British, and a strong body of them were seen advancing up the valley. To turn it, one-half of the fourth was ordered to fall back, and form an obtuse angle with the other half. This was done as correctly as could be wished, and a severe flanking fire commenced upon the advancing French. The 50th, after climbing over an enclosure, got right in front of the French, charged, and drove them out of the village Elvina. In this charge, they lost Major Napier, who was wounded and made prisoner. Major Stanhope was mortally wounded. Sir John was at the head of every charge. Every thing was done under his own eye. “Remember Egypt!” said he, and the 42d drove all before them, as the gallant 50th had done. The Guards were ordered to their support. Their ammunition being all spent through some mistake, they were falling back: “Ammunition is coming, you have your bayonets,” said Sir John. This was enough; onwards they rushed, overturning every thing. The enemy kept up their hottest fire upon the spot where they were. It was at this moment Sir John received his death wound. He was borne off the field by six soldiers of the 42d, and the Guards. We now advanced to the support of the right, led by Lord Paget. Colonel Beckwith, with the rifle corps, pushed all before him, and nearly took one of their cannon; but a very superior column forced him to retire. Lord Paget, however, repulsed this column, and dispersed every thing before him: when the left wing of the French being quite exposed, they withdrew and attacked our centre, under Mannington and Leith; but this position being good, they were easily repulsed. They likewise failed in every attempt on our left. A body of them had got possession of a village on the road to Betanzos, and continued to fire under cover of it, till dislodged by Lieutenant-Colonel Nicolls.—Shortly after this, night put a period to the battle of Corunna. At ten o’clock, General Hope ordered the army to march off the field by brigades, leaving strong picquets to guard the embarkation. I remained in the rear guard, commanded by Major General Beresford, occupying the lines in front of Corunna. We had made great fires, and a few of the freshest of our men were left to keep them up, and run round them to deceive the enemy. At dawn there was little to embark, save the rear-guard, and the reserve, commanded by Major-General Hill, who had occupied a promontory behind Corunna. We were scarcely arrived on the beach, ere the French began to fire upon the transports in the harbour, from the heights of St. Lucia. Then all became a scene of confusion. Several of the masters of the transports cut their cables. Four of the transports ran ashore. Not having time to get them off, we were forced to burn them. The ships of war soon silenced the French guns, and we saw no more of them. There was no regularity in our taking the boats. The transport that I got to, had part of seven regiments on board.
The Spaniards are a courageous people: the women waved their handkerchiefs to us from the rocks, whilst the men manned the batteries against the French, to cover our embarkation. Unmindful of themselves, they braved a superior enemy to assist a friend who was unable to afford them further relief,—whom they had no prospect of ever seeing again.
Secure within the wooden walls, bad as our condition was, I felt comparatively happy in being so fortunate as to be on board the same vessel with Donald. In relieving his wants, I felt less my own, and was less teased by the wit and ribaldry of my fellow-sufferers; who, now that they were regularly served with provisions, and exempt from the fatigues of marching and the miseries of cold, were as happy in their rags and full bellies as any men in England.
For two days after we came on board, I felt the most severe pains through my whole body: the change was so great from the extreme cold of the winter nights, which we had passed almost without covering, to the suffocating heat of a crowded transport. This was not the most disagreeable part: vermin began to abound; we had not been without them in our march, but now we had dozens for one we had then. In vain we killed them, they appeared to increase from the ragged and dirty clothes, of which we had no means of freeing ourselves. Complaint was vain. Many were worse than myself; I had escaped without a wound, and, thank God! though I had not a shirt upon my back, I had my health, after the two first days, as well as ever I had it.
On the morning of the tenth day after our embarkation, I was condoling with Donald, who was now quite blind. “I will never be a soldier again, O Thomas! I will be nothing but Donald the blind man. Had I been killed,—if you had left me to die in Spain,—it would have been far better to have lain still in a wreath of snow, than be, all my life, a blind beggar, a burden on my friends. Oh! if it would please God to take my life from me!"—“Land a-head! Old England once again!” was called from mouth to mouth. Donald burst into tears: “I shall never see Scotland again; it is me that is the poor dark man!” A hundred ideas rushed upon my mind, and overcame me. Donald clasped me to his breast: our tears flowed uninterrupted.