The War for All the Oceans

by Roy Adkins

  When the exhausted troops finally reached Vigo on 12 January, they were completely at the end of their strength, as Harris graphically recorded:As we proceeded down the hill [to Vigo] we now met with the first symptoms of good feeling from the inhabitants, it was our fortune to experience during our retreat. A number of old women stood on either side of the road, and occasionally handed us fragments of bread as we passed them. It was on this day, and whilst I looked anxiously upon the English shipping in the distance, that I first began to find my eyesight failing, and it appeared to me that I was fast growing blind . . . As it was, when I did manage to gain the sea-shore, it was only by the aid of my rifle that I could stand, and my eyes were now so dim and heavy that with difficulty I made out a boat which seemed the last that had put off. Fearful of being left half blind in the lurch, I took off my cap, and placed it on the muzzle of my rifle as a signal, for I was totally unable to call out . . . making one more effort, I walked into the water, and a sailor stretching his body over the gunwale, seized me as if I had been an infant, and hauled me on board. His words were characteristic of the English sailor, I thought. ‘Hollo there, you lazy lubber!’ he said, as he grasped hold of me, ‘who the hell do you think is to stay humbugging all day for such a fellow as you?’64

  The sailors then rowed Harris to the waiting transport ship47:The boat, I found, was crowded with our exhausted men, who lay helplessly at the bottom, the heavy sea every moment drenching them to the skin. Assoon as we reached the vessel’s side, the sailors immediately aided us to get on board, which in our exhausted state was not a very easy matter, as they were obliged to place ropes in our hands, and heave us up by setting their shoulders under us, and hoisting away as if they had been pushing bales of goods on board . . . It was not very many minutes after I was on board, for I lay where the sailors had first placed me after dragging me through the porthole, ere I was sound asleep.65

  The tattered remnants of the other section of the British army staggered into Corunna on 11 January, only to find that there were no transports waiting. The man in charge of the navy ships and transports off the west coast of Spain was Sir Samuel Hood, now a rear-admiral, but a message only reached him two days before with the news that Moore had changed his mind and was heading for Corunna rather than Vigo. In Corunna at that time was Henry Crabb Robinson, a thirty-three-year-old journalist who had been sent by the editor of The Times to write about the British campaign in Spain, making him the very first war correspondent. His report for 11 January, published some days later, accurately summed up the situation:In the course of this day, the whole English army has either entered within, or planted itself before the walls of this town. The French army will not fail to be quick in the pursuit; and as the transports which were so anxiously expected from Vigo, are still out of sight, and, according to the state of the wind, not likely soon to make their appearance, this spot will most probably become the scene of a furious and bloody contest. At the same time, it is not probable that the conflict will instantly begin. Hitherto, the enemy has but a small quantity of infantry in the field; his cavalry, which does not exceed 5000, may be at no great distance from this place; and on this side [of] Lugo, there may be 8000 infantry . . . It is, therefore, unlikely that any serious attack will be made upon the town for some time, perhaps not till our troops manifest an intention to embark: because, incapable as we are of receiving supplies, except those which the transports from Vigo may bring with them, our worst foe may ultimately be hunger.66

  In the following days the army began to destroy supplies and equipment that were to be abandoned, including a large quantity of gunpowder, as Robert Blakeney, a young officer with the 28th Regiment, recalled:On this morning [the 14th] a large quantity of powder sent for the use of the Spaniards was destroyed, to prevent its falling into the hands of the enemy. The casks were piled up in a large and lesser magazine, built together upon a hill about three miles from the town. The smaller one blew up with a terrible noise, which startled us all; but scarcely had we attempted to account for the occurrence, when, the train igniting the larger one, the crash was dreadful. A panic seized all; the earth was agitated for miles, and almost every window in Corunna was shattered. This was the largest explosion of powder which had ever taken place in Europe - four thousand barrels. On this evening the long-expected transports hove in sight, and soon entered the harbour of Corunna. Preparations for embarkation immediately commenced.67

  The transports, over two hundred in number, had been delayed by gale-force winds blowing against them, and they reached Corunna on the same day that the French came within sight of the town. Lieutenant Basil Hall of the frigate Endymion accompanied the vessels from Vigo: ‘The wind blew dead in from the south, and so hard, that not one of the transports could be moved . . . On the 11th of January, the wind lulled a little, and, by dint of whip and spur, we got our immense fleet fairly under weigh . . . we arrived [at Corunna] on the morning of the 15th of January, surrounded by upwards of two hundred and fifty sail of ships.’68 Lieutenant Hall many years later wrote that ‘I have often since heard officers who were then with the army, in position along the ridge . . . describe the feelings with which they turned round to look at the ships crowding into the harbour, under all sail, right before the wind.’69 Napoleon had returned to Paris after the British had given him the slip at Astorga, and the French were now led by Marshal Nicolas Jean de Dieu Soult, who decided to pause, allowing his men to rest while the stragglers caught up with the main French army. This gave Moore a breathing space, and embarkation of the British continued unopposed over the next two days.

  Unexpectedly delayed in his departure, Robinson wrote his last report to The Times from Corunna on the night of the 15th:Yesterday evening, the fleet of transports which had been dispersed in their passage from Vigo, began to enter the harbour, and the hearts of thousands were relieved by the prospect of deliverance. I beheld this evening the beautiful Bay covered with our vessels, both armed and mercantile, and I should have thought the noble three-deckers, which stood on the outside of the harbour, a proud spectacle, if I could have forgotten the inglorious service they were called to perform. In the meantime the stairs which led to the water were thronged with boats, in which were embarking the British cavalry. The English soldiery appeared to have taken possession of all public places, while the inhabitants looked on with mortification and sorrow . . . I proceeded to the quay; and the scattered lights from the numerous shipping would have been a gay scene, but for the long waving line of light which we saw and knew the enemy had kindled above. During the whole of the day there have been skirmishes between French and English, at less than a league’s distance, in small bodies: much firing, but little execution. To-morrow there is no doubt that our embarkation will proceed, and the enemy will probably be prudent enough to witness this without interfering, until a large proportion of our force is thus rendered useless.70

  Among the troops still on shore at Corunna was Thomas Howell of the 71st Highlanders, who recorded the final hours before the French took over the town, including the destruction of equipment and thousands of horses and draught animals: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 . . . 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. 71

>   As the French advanced, the rearguard action, known later as the Battle of Corunna, was commanded personally by Moore, as Howell recalled: ‘Sir John was at the head of every charge . . . and the 42d drove all before them . . . 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.’72 Lieutenant Hall and the purser of the Endymion had been allowed ashore and witnessed the entire battle. An army colonel standing close to them commented, ‘Well, gentlemen, I don’t know how you get on at sea, but I certainly never saw on land a hotter fire than this.’73

  The British held the French off until darkness put a stop to the fighting - though the embarkation continued. Howell, one of the last to leave, recorded the final phase of retreat: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. . . . 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, [and] whom they had no prospect of ever seeing again.74

  Another soldier from Howell’s regiment was in a transport that nearly ran aground, as he later recounted:Daylight coming on, the French opened a heavy fire of shot and shells upon the transports, from some batteries on the heights and this unexpected salute terrified the transport captains so much, that several of them gave orders to cut their cables, without first taking the necessary precaution to brace their yards. Five vessels, in consequence of this, ran ashore in the greatest disorder. The foolish master of our vessel, seized with the same consternation, (a shell having burst at the stern, filling the whole ship with smoke), was hastening to follow the rash example the others had set, in cutting the cable, when we thought proper to prevent him. An officer of the 38th regiment, who seemed to have some nautical skill, then took the command, ordering the sails to be all set first, and afterwards that the cable should be cut. Although the balls were whizzing through the rigging now and then, the officer’s orders were obeyed with great promptitude and coolness, and we were soon running out to sea in fine style; not, however, without having the satisfaction of seeing a British seventy-four come in, and silence with a single broadside the battery which had annoyed us so much.75

  Despite the last-minute confusion, the evacuation was a resounding success for the British Navy. Around twenty-six thousand experienced troops, the core of the British army in the field, along with wives and children, were snatched from the Iberian Peninsula. Their loss would have been a catastrophe for Britain, and in that context the evacuation was as important as the later evacuation of a British army from the beaches of Dunkirk in 1940. Rear-Admiral Hood was the hero of the hour, receiving official thanks from Parliament. For the soldiers, though, there was still a gruelling and stormy journey by sea to be endured, through the Bay of Biscay. This was described by Rifleman Harris, who had fallen asleep as soon as he was safe on board at Vigo:It was only the terrible noise and bustle on board consequent upon a gale having sprung up, that at length awoke me. The wind increased as the night came on, and soon we had to experience all the horrors of a storm at sea. The pumps were set to work; the sails were torn to shreds; the coppers were over-set; and we appeared in a fair way, I thought, of going to the bottom. Meanwhile, the pumps were kept at work night and day incessantly till they were choked; and the gale growing worse and worse, all the soldiery were ordered below, and the hatches closed; soon after which the vessel turned over on one side, and lay a helpless log upon the water. In this situation an officer was placed over us, with his sword drawn in one hand, and a lantern in the other, in order to keep us on the side which was uppermost, so as to give the vessel a chance of righting herself in the roaring tide. The officer’s task was not an easy one, as the heaving waves frequently sent us sprawling from the part we clung to, over to the lowermost part of the hold, where he stood, and he was obliged every minute to drive us back. We remained in this painful situation for, I should think, five or six hours, expecting every instant to be our last, when, to our great joy, the sea suddenly grew calm, the wind abated, the vessel righted herself, and we were once more released from our prison, having tasted nothing in the shape of food for at least forty-eight hours.76

  The storm had scattered some of the transports, which made their way to many different ports as best they could. Only two transport vessels were wrecked, off the Cornish coast, with the loss of nearly three hundred men. Sailing from Corunna, rather than Vigo, Howell had a better journey, but still far from comfortable: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 [each] 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 I ever had it. On the morning of the tenth day after our embarkation . . . ‘Land ahead! Old England once again!’ was called from mouth to mouth . . . We anchored that same day at Plymouth, but were not allowed to land: Our Colonel kept us on board until we got new clothing. Upon our landing, the people came round us, showing all manner of kindness, carrying the lame and leading the blind. We were received into every house as if we had been their own relations. How proud did I feel to belong to such a people!77

  The appearance throughout southern England of troops in such a state was shocking to the inhabitants. A few days after Howell’s ship arrived, The Times published an eyewitness report from Plymouth:A telegraphic order was received this day for the transports, with the troops on board, to proceed round to Spithead, where I understand near 200 sail have already arrived, and which is to be the general rendezvous of the whole. The weather having moderated, early this morning, the landing of the sick and wounded of our brave army proceeded with great alacrity; and considerable numbers were brought on shore, and conveyed to the hospitals. Their situation and wretched appearance were truly pitiable. Several were brought on shore dead; and some have died in the streets within the last three days, on their way to the hospitals. It is impossible for me to portray the confusion and distress which has prevailed here the whole week - women searching through the fleet for their husbands and relatives - officers and men looking after their wives, children and comrades. Nor can our loss be in any degree ascertained till a general muster takes place, and correct returns of the respective corpses are given in. I have, however, learnt, from several intelligent officers who were present in the last engagement, that our loss in killed, wounded, prisoners, and those who expired by fatigue, and the want of proper food, does not fall short of 9 or 10,000 men.78

  Those who survived made the most of it, as Robert Blakeney of the 28th Regiment wryly recorded:Our appearance on landing was very unseemly, owing principally to the hurry attending our embarkation at Corunna, which took place in the dark and in the presence of an enemy. Scarcely a regiment got on board the vessel which contained their baggage; and the consequence was, that on quitting our
ships we presented an appearance of much dirt and misery. The men were ragged, displaying torn garments of all colours; and the people of England, accustomed to witness the high order and unparalleled cleanliness of their national troops, for which they are renowned throughout Europe, and never having seen an army after the termination of a hard campaign, were horror-struck, and persuaded themselves that some dreadful calamity must have occurred. Their consternation was artfully wrought up to the highest pitch by the wily old soldiers, who, fully aware of the advantage to be gained by this state of general excitement and further to work on the feelings, recited in pathetic strain the most frightful accounts of their sufferings and hardships.79