BEFORE CORUNA
[The town, harbour, and hills at the back are viewed from an
aerial point to the north, over the lighthouse known as the
Tower of Hercules, rising at the extremity of the tongue of
land on which La Coruna stands, the open ocean being in the
spectator’s rear.
In the foreground the most prominent feature is the walled old
town, with its white towers and houses, shaping itself aloft
over the harbour. The new town, and its painted fronts, show
bright below, even on this cloudy winter afternoon. Further
off, behind the harbour—now crowded with British transports
of all sizes—is a series of low broken hills, intersected by
hedges and stone walls.
A mile behind these low inner hills is beheld a rocky chain of
outer and loftier heights that completely command the former.
Nothing behind them is seen but grey sky.
DUMB SHOW
On the inner hills aforesaid the little English army—a pathetic
fourteen thousand of foot only—is just deploying into line: HOPE’S
division is on the left, BAIRD’S to the right. PAGET with the
reserve is in the hollow to the left behind them; and FRASER’S
division still further back shapes out on a slight rise to the right.
This harassed force now appears as if composed of quite other than
the men observed in the Retreat insubordinately straggling along
like vagabonds. Yet they are the same men, suddenly stiffened and
grown amenable to discipline by the satisfaction of standing to the
enemy at last. They resemble a double palisade of red stakes, the
only gaps being those that the melancholy necessity of scant numbers
entails here and there.
Over the heads of these red men is beheld on the outer hills the
twenty thousand French that have been pushed along the road at the
heels of the English by SOULT. They have an ominous superiority,
both in position and in their abundance of cavalry and artillery,
over the slender lines of English foot. The left of this background,
facing HOPE, is made up of DELABORDE’S and MERLE’S divisions, while
in a deadly arc round BAIRD, from whom they are divided only by the
village of Elvina, are placed MERMET’S division, LAHOUSSAYE’S and
LORGE’S dragoons, FRANCESCHI’S cavalry, and, highest up of all, a
formidable battery of eleven great guns that rake the whole British
line.
It is now getting on for two o’clock, and a stir of activity has
lately been noticed along the French front. Three columns are
discerned descending from their position, the first towards the
division of SIR DAVID BAIRD, the weakest point in the English line,
the next towards the centre, the third towards the left. A heavy
cannonade from the battery supports this advance.
The clash ensues, the English being swept down in swathes by the
enemy’s artillery. The opponents meet face to face at the village
in the valley between them, and the fight there grows furious.
SIR JOHN MOORE is seen galloping to the front under the gloomy sky.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
I seem to vision in San Carlos’ garden,
That rises salient in the upper town,
His name, and date, and doing, set within
A filmy outline like a monument,
Which yet is but the insubstantial air.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
Read visions as conjectures; not as more.
When MOORE arrives at the front, FRASER and PAGET move to the right,
where the English are most sorely pressed. A grape-shot strikes
off BAIRD’S arm. There is a little confusion, and he is borne to
the rear; while MAJOR NAPIER disappears, a prisoner.
Intelligence of these misfortunes is brought to SIR JOHN MOORE.
He goes further forward, and precedes in person the Forty-second
regiment and a battalion of the Guards who, with fixed bayonets,
bear the enemy back, MOORE’S gestures in cheering them being
notably energetic. Pursuers, pursued, and SIR JOHN himself pass
out of sight behind the hill. Dumb Show ends.
[The point of vision descends to the immediate rear of the
English position. The early January evening has begun to spread
its shades, and shouts of dismay are heard from behind the hill
over which MOORE and the advancing lines have vanished.
Straggling soldiers cross in the gloom.]
FIRST STRAGGLER
He’s struck by a cannon-ball, that I know; but he’s not killed,
that I pray God A’mighty.
SECOND STRAGGLER
Better he were. His shoulder is knocked to a bag of splinters.
As Sir David was wownded, Sir John was anxious that the right
should not give way, and went forward to keep it firm.
FIRST STRAGGLER
He didn’t keep YOU firm, howsomever.
SECOND STRAGGLER
Nor you, for that matter.
FIRST STRAGGLER
Well, ’twas a serious place for a man with no priming-horn, and
a character to lose, so I judged it best to fall to the rear by
lying down. A man can’t fight by the regulations without his
priming-horn, and I am none of your slovenly anyhow fighters.