CHAPTER XXII.
THE SIEGE OF SCYLLA.
My mind was a prey to the utmost anxiety, when I beheld the overwhelming masses which Regnier was pouring forward on the last solitary hold of Ferdinand, cut off by the stormy Strait of Messina from all Sicilian succour. A strong brigade of cavalry, the 23rd Light Infantry, the 1st, 62nd, and 101st Regiments of the French line, together with a powerful battering train, formed his force; but as each corps consisted of three battalions, he mustered more than 6,000 foot alone. The "handful" of the British 62nd, amounting now to only 200 file, were to encounter them: but proud of my corps, and feeling all the glorious ardour of my profession glowing within me—relying on the indomitable English spirit of my soldiers, and the great natural strength of the position we occupied—I did not despair of at least protracting a siege; which, when the great disparity of numbers is remembered, must be deemed as glorious a deed of arms as our military annals exhibit.
On the morning of the 11th February, five 24-pounders, five 18-pounders, four mortars, and innumerable field-pieces, opened a tremendous cannonade on the keep and upper works of Scylla, to demolish our cover and bury us with our guns under the ruins. This battering continued daily, without a moment's cessation, until the 14th; when, covered by it, the French sappeurs and artillerists formed two other breaching batteries, at two hundred yards distance from our bastions: notwithstanding the appalling slaughter made among them by our shells bursting, and grape-shot and musketry showering around, with deadly effect. Though the whole of Regnier's infantry remained under cover during these operations, the execution done on those who worked at the breaching batteries must have been fearful: they were so close and so numerous. My own brave little band was becoming thin from the fire from the heights: every cannon-shot which struck the stone walls was rendered, in effect, as dangerous as a shell, by the heavy splinters it cast on every side; and I foresaw that the castle of Ruffo—mouldering with the lapse of years, and shaken by the storms and earthquakes of centuries—would soon sink before the overwhelming tempest of iron balls which Regnier hurled against it from every point: his gunners stopping only until their cannon became cool enough to renew the attack. We had expected great assistance from our flotilla of gun-boats; which, by keeping close in shore, might have cannonaded the enemy's position, and shelled their approaches; but a storm of wind and rain, which continued without cessation or lull from the time the attack began until it was ended, rendered an approach to Scylla impossible: the sea was dashing against it in mountains of misty foam, and on its walls of rock would have cast a line-of-battle ship like a cork.
The roar of the musketry and the perpetual booming of the adverse battery guns, produced a tremendous effect; awakening all the echoes of the fathomless caves of Scylla in the splintered cliffs and Mont Jaci; and after being tossed from peak to peak of the Milia Hills, with ten thousand reverberations all varying, the reports died away in the distant sky—only to be succeeded by others. The dense volumes of smoke that rose from the French batteries, were forced upwards and downwards by the stormy wind, and rolled away over land and sea, twisted into a thousand fantastic shapes; mingling on one side with the mist of the valleys, on the other with the foam of the ocean. The continual rolling of the French brass drums, the clamour of their artillerymen, and the wild hallooing of their infantry, added to the roar of the conflict above and that of the surge below, increased the effect of a scene which had as many beauties as terrors.
The night of the 14th was unusually dark and stormy; and on visiting Bianca in her dreary vault (which, by being below the basement of the keep, was the only safe place in the castle) she told me, with a pale cheek and faltering tongue, that often, of late, she had been disturbed by sounds rising from the earth below her. I endeavoured to laugh away her fears: but, on listening, I heard distinctly the peculiar noise of hammers and shovels; which convinced me that the French sappers were at work somewhere, and that the hollows of the rock had enabled them to penetrate far under the foundations of the castle. On examination, we found that for three nights they had been lodging a mine, during the noise and gloom of the storm, and had excavated two chambers; one under our principal bastion, the other under the keep, connecting them by a saucisson led through a gallery cut in the solid rock: the effect of such an explosion would have ended the siege at once, and blown to atoms the vault appropriated to Bianca and her servant. My mind shrank, with horror, from contemplating the frightful death she had so narrowly escaped. Next night the train would, undoubtedly, have been fired; and the inner chamber was pierced within three feet of her bed! * * * * * *
Desiring Lascelles to prepare a counter-mine in case of our failure, I slipped out by the barriers, accompanied by Santugo and twelve volunteers. Favoured by the darkness of the night, the howling of the stormy wind, and dashing of the "angry surge," we stole safely to the scene of operations, and with charged bayonets fell upon a brigade of sappeurs—as the French style a party of eight private-artificers, under the command of a non-commissioned officer. They were all as merry as crickets, talking and laughing whilst working in their shirt sleeves.
They defended themselves bravely with their swords; but, as we possessed the mouth of the excavation, all retreat was cut off. The corporal, a strong athletic fellow, beat down Santugo's guard with a shovel, and striking him to the earth with the same homely weapon, broke through us, plunged down the rocks and escaped; but the whole of his party were bayoneted, and after utterly ruining and destroying the mine, we retreated within our gates without losing a man, or firing a shot. The exasperation of the proud Santugo at the rough knock down he received from the corporal is quite indescribable.
Next day the enemy pushed forward still closer to the walls: led by my old acquaintance De Bourmont, the 101st regiment had the temerity to advance round an angle of the rocks to the water's edge, for the purpose of destroying the sea staircase—our last, our only means of retreat. A cry burst from my soldiers: we brought every musket to bear upon that point, and depressed our cannon by wedges and hand-spikes: section after section of the enemy were swept into the sea, and they were therefore compelled to abandon the attempt; leaving half their number piled up on the rocky shore, killed or wounded, or drowned by falling from the narrow path, where many of the dead and dying were drenched and swept away every instant by the sea.
As the mist rolled up from the mountains, we saw the shattered remains of the regiment—a dark mass in grey great-coats, with the tops of their glazed caps and bayonet-blades glancing in the sun—retiring, double quick, beyond the eminence, which, to a certain extent, sheltered Regnier's infantry from our missiles: but their retreat was galled by them, and a line of prostrate bodies marked their route.