The half-ruined citadel, built by Charles V., was occupied by a French garrison. It was blockaded by a brigade of British commanded by Colonel Macleod, and the Free Corps of Santugo, on the land side; while the Amphion frigate, with a squadron of Sicilian gun-boats, cut off all supplies, succour, and communication from seaward. The French were reduced to great straits at the time of my arrival, and were daily expected to capitulate. General Regnier—who, since the battle of Maida, had endeavoured to maintain his ground between the citadel and Catanzaro (one of the finest towns in the province)—made suddenly a precipitate retreat towards Tarento; abandoning his soldiers in Crotona to their fate.
At Tarento, he was attacked by the chiefs of the Masse and the brigands, who compelled him to retire after losing seven hundred men. The Marchese di Monteleone narrowly escaped being taken prisoner while leading on a desperate charge at the head of a "handful" of cavalry. To his bravery and exertions when commanding the rear-guard, Buonaparte attributed solely the effective retreat of his shattered forces through these wild and savage provinces. The discomfited general retreated along the shore of the Adriatic with the utmost rapidity; passing through Melissa, Gariati Nuova, and Rossana, until he reached the northern frontier of Calabria Citra: then, turning like a hunted stag on his pursuers, he stood once more at bay; and, with the remnant of his force, took up a position at Cassano. There he entrenched himself, and awaited the formation of a junction with Massena, the Prince of Rivoli,—"the child of victory," and of devastation,—who was advancing at the head of an army flushed with success. Gaeta, after a brave defence for three months, had been surrendered to Massena's division by Prince William of Hesse Philipstadt.
On my approaching Crotona, the red gleams that flashed across the darkened sky, and the deep booming sounds that broke with sullen reverberations the silence of a calm evening, announced that an interchange of heavy shot was taking place between the besiegers and the citadel. The loud report of the frigate's 42-pounders could easily be distinguished from the lighter artillery of the gun-boats and the curricle guns, which formed the only battering train Macleod had with him. From an eminence, I had a perfect view of the whole plan of operations. The noble frigate—whose lofty masts, well squared yards, sparkling top-light, and swelling sides, were reflected in the dark blue water—had been hauled close in shore, for the purpose of battering the citadel; but now, as the darkness was fast descending, her boats were towing her beyond range, and she came to anchor out of gun-shot in the Gulf of Tarento.
From the moment the first parallel was laid down, the siege had been pushed strenuously. On the land side, a line of circumvallation, consisting of a good breastwork and ditch, had been drawn around the fortress, to defend its besiegers from the incessant fire of the citadel. The daring and determination of this gallant little garrison drew forth the admiration of all; save the revengeful Calabrians, who panted for its surrender with a blood-thirstiness increased by resistance. The garrison was commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel de Bourmont: it had numbered only a thousand at the time of Regnier's retreat, and was now greatly reduced by the casualties of war. One night, sallying forth at the head of two hundred grenadiers, and passing through a line of counter-approach, De Bourmont completely scoured that part of the trenches occupied by the Calabrians, under Visconte Santugo. The exasperation of these Calabrians, and their thirst for deadly retribution, are inconceivable. On their crucifixes, on their daggers, and on the bodies of the slain, they solemnly vowed vengeance on the garrison when it capitulated; and only our bayonets restrained their cruelty.
The streets of Crotona appeared empty, and the town almost deserted; the spent cannon-shot and shell splinters, against which my horse continually struck his hoofs, sufficiently informed me of the reason. Many houses had been unroofed by the bomb batteries, or reduced to ruins by the cannonade; very few remained inhabited, and those only which were at a distance from the fire of the batteries. The French works were mounted with forty pieces of the heaviest ordnance.
I found Macleod among the parallels, where he was on the alert day and night, superintending the relief and defence of the trenches. His uniform was completely concealed by a rough great-coat, above which he wore a tartan plaid to protect him from the dew; that falls heavily by night in this warm climate, and always in proportion to the intensity of the heat of noon-day. An undress bonnet, a dirk, and basket-hilted sword completed his equipment. He read by torch-light the laconic letter of his friend the general; who, however, had enclosed documents of a more official nature for Captain Hoste, R.N., commanding the Amphion. The note ran thus:—
"DEAR PETER,
"If Crotona does not surrender in twenty-four hours after Dundas arrives, take the d—ned place by storm. Yours ever,
"J.S."
"Extinguish the torch, or there will be a vacancy in the Buffs to-morrow!" said Macleod to the soldier who held the hissing and flaring link. At that moment a thirty-two pound shot came whizzing along and buried itself in the breastwork, covering us with dust and clay. "A narrow escape!" continued the colonel; "these favours are exchanged liberally here. The podesta will order you a billet somewhere for the night; but come to me in the morning: my quarters are in the Strada Larga. I must send you to De Bourmont, as none of my fellows know any language save that spoken north of the Brig of Perth. By dawn, we will have the citadel summoned in due form by sound of trumpet. Meantime, adieu!"