Julian Stockwin - The Iberian Flame - Thomas Kydd 20

Two days later, patrolling vedettes warned of the first enemy – from the direction of Soult’s advance. For the moment Bonaparte’s horde was not in sight.

The defenders on the heights were stood to and the first shock of contact was made.

Marshal Soult took his time in reconnoitre and seemed to come to the same conclusion as Moore – that Elviña was the key to Corunna.

Quickly he took position on the heights opposite and brought up his guns, which began ranging out towards Elviña. They had little effect, only six-pounder field guns against solid walls and rocky bastions, but for the French it was as much a question of time as for their opponents. Soult threw in his forward troops in a massive attack up the slopes towards the little village.

So close did they press the assault that the British could hear the shouts of officers and sergeants: ‘ En avant! Tue! Tue! ’ But they were met at the crest by riflemen and grenadiers in a furious hand-to-hand fight that ended only with a withdrawal to enable the French artillery to open fire again.

If these were only Soult’s forward troops, it needed little imagination to realise what would be their fate if the entire advancing army went against them.

But in a single hour the situation was transformed.

From around the promontory came a shining vision – first a graceful frigate, then dozens, scores, hundreds of transports in glorious array, one by one taking their place in the harbour off the old town.

In a delirium of cheering, Moore’s men hailed the navy that had come as their salvation.

Kydd felt a wash of release course through him when Corunna Bay opened up and he saw on the foreshore, the quays, even the flanks of hills, an uncountable number of men. General Moore had taken his word and made for Corunna instead.

Giddy with relief, he ordered away his boat. He was met by the army and on horseback taken up Monte Mero to the commander-in-chief.

‘Well met, sir!’ were Moore’s first words. ‘As now we may get on with the business.’ His handshake was crisp and sincere.

‘My apologies, sir, for the lateness as due to contrary winds—’

‘I do understand, Sir Thomas, being as I have my naval adviser,’ he said sharply. ‘Shall we?’

It didn’t take long. Moore’s known order of battle had been translated by Kydd and his staff to individual and specific berths in a ship, both men and guns. As directed by the army, when each was released they would muster on the quayside and be taken out to their assigned transport by a vast flotilla of ship’s boats, lighters and anything that floated.

Back aboard Tyger Rowan reported to Kydd. ‘Sir. My party safe. No casualties.’

The lad was changed almost beyond recognition, thin, rangy and, in some way, nobler in his bearing.

‘Well done, Rowan,’ managed Kydd, touched by the transformation. ‘And I’ll wager you’ve seen enough to keep the midshipmen’s berth tolerably entertained for a year or more to come.’

‘Enough to know the meaning of duty, Sir Thomas,’ he said quietly.

Chapter 76

The evacuation got under way.

With sailors’ muscles burning after pulling at the oars for hours on end, men were taken off in their hundreds, watched by an enemy helpless to intervene. This was what it was to have mastery of the seas.

On flat lighters, field guns made their way out to the specialist ships with heavy lifting gear, while at one point the whole anchorage was shaken by a massive concussion as powder and munitions were detonated to deny them to the enemy.

Doggedly it went on, now thousands safe in the ships and ready to leave, her precious army preserved for England. Would it continue so?

Kydd could see the drifting dun-coloured clouds of gun-smoke around the heights of Monte Mero and knew that he owed his uninterrupted rescue mission to the heroes locked in close-quarter battle on those heights. If they faltered, Soult would be upon them and the ordered retreat would turn into a murderous rout.

Hour after hour the ships loaded with more exhausted, filthy, worn and stare-eyed soldiers, too dazed to make much of their deliverance. But this was a gallant and successful undertaking that would be talked of for ever – if the final act was carried through successfully.

On Monte Mero some thousands were holding back Soult. How could they safely disengage and extricate themselves with the French poised to occupy their positions as soon as they’d left, ready to rain down fire as they boarded their ships?

That afternoon General Beresford was given the post of honour: his brigade to remain to the last as rearguard for the evacuation. Carefully selecting his ground while he could, he laid down a last line across the neck of the promontory in front of Corunna’s walls.

It didn’t go unnoticed by the French, who threw themselves at the defenders of Elviña in a fury of frustration. The crescendo of fighting swelled in the afternoon and on into the night, when it petered out in anticipation of an even harder-fought clash in the morning.

But in the darkness another scene was unfolding: the British were stealthily pulling out of their hard-fought positions.

Cunningly keeping their forward picquets in place, camp fires burning bright and all the apparatus of defence alive, the soldiers in their thousands scrabbled down the hill in the darkness, heading for the quays and their embarking.

It was essential to keep up the pace – at daybreak Soult’s men would uncover the ruse. But as first light began stealing in there were still many huddled on the quayside waiting for a boat.

Guns appeared along the skyline and opened up on the anchored fleet. At the same time French troops poured down the foothills and towards the city walls; but Beresford was ready for them and brought them to a standstill in a fierce engagement.

Chapter 77

As the last of the troops were embarked Kydd gave the signal to prepare for sea.

However, he had no intention of leaving Beresford, and as the ships began slipping out to sea Tyger remained, firing up at the gun positions in Elviña. All attention was on her – and Beresford’s brigade, under cover of fire from the city walls, vanished inside. They lost no time in racing to the opposite side of the promontory to the harbour, to a curving, rock-strewn beach – where boats were waiting to take them to their transport out of sight of the Elviña position.

‘Cease fire,’ Kydd ordered. ‘The straggler patrol is in?’

‘Aye, sir,’ Brice reported. This had been a last rounding up of the quayside and town, to be sure none remained on enemy soil.

‘And I’m to say we have a guest, Sir Thomas.’

It was Packwood.

‘I needed to satisfy myself there’s none of our brave fellows left,’ he croaked. ‘And beg that I might take passage back to England with you, sir.’

He was in a shocking condition, sunken eyes, weariness to a near-mortal degree and in threadbare uniform.

‘My dear fellow, and so you shall!’ Kydd answered immediately. ‘You know my cabin. If you bear with me, I shall be with you presently.’

He gave orders that saw Tyger under weigh and making out to sea, out of Corunna, the last sail of all – to join with the homeward-bound armada of shipping. After a final lingering glance at the receding shore, overhung with smoke and now in the possession of Napoleon Bonaparte, he went below, waves of fatigue after a night without rest threatening to unman him.

Packwood was slumped in a chair, an untouched whisky by his side. He pulled himself upright when Kydd entered and gave a rueful smile. ‘The peace, the order, indeed a haven of tranquillity,’ he allowed softly, then, playing with his glass, murmured, ‘I do confess I have my reasons for desiring passage in Tyger. ’