The Story of a Peninsular Veteran: Sergeant in the Forty-Third Light Infantry, during the Peninsular WarAnonymous
History
The Story of a Peninsular Veteran: Sergeant in the Forty-Third Light Infantry, during the Peninsular War
Anonymous
Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Personal narratives, British
63As the troops approached Corunna, many an anxious
look was directed towards the harbour. Nothing was to be
discovered but the wide waste of water. The painful truth
became evident, that contrary winds had detained at Vigo
the fleet on board of whose ships the forces sought to embark;
so that after one of the severest and most prolonged
tests to which human endurance could be submitted, and
the consuming exertions, pushed on through storm and
tempest, of many wearisome days, the whole was rendered
nugatory by an event over which human foresight or
power had no control; and the point to which they had
fought their way, instead of presenting the means of effectual
retreat, became a cul de sac, or place leading nowhere. The
men were immediately put into quarters, and their leader
awaited the progress of events. Three divisions occupied
the town and suburbs; the reserve was posted with its
left at the village of El Burgo, and its right on the road of
St. Jago de Compostella. For twelve days these hardy
soldiers had covered the retreat, during which time they
had traversed eighty miles of road in two marches, passed
several nights under arms in the snow of the mountains,
were seven times engaged with the enemy; and they now
assembled at the outposts, having fewer men missing from
the ranks than any other division of the army. The bridge
of El Burgo was immediately destroyed, and an engineer
was sent to blow up that of Combria, situated a few miles
up the Mero river. This officer was mortified at the former
failures, and so anxious to perform his duty in an
effectual manner, that he remained too near the mine, and
was killed by the explosion. This was followed by the
destruction of an immense quantity of combustible material.
Three miles from the town four thousand barrels of
powder were piled in a magazine built on a hill; a smaller
quantity collected in another storehouse was at some distance
from the first: to prevent these magazines from falling into
the hands of the enemy, they were both fired on the 13th.
The inferior one blew up with a terrible noise, and shook
the houses in the town; but when the train reached the
great store, there ensued a crash like the bursting forth of
a volcano—the earth trembled for miles, the rocks were
torn from their bases, and the agitated waters rolled the
vessels as in a storm. A vast column of smoke and dust,
shooting out fiery sparks from its sides, arose perpendicularly
and slowly to a great height, and then a shower of stones,
and fragments of all kinds bursting out of it with a roaring
sound, killed several persons who remained too near the
spot. A stillness, interrupted only by the lashing of the
waves on the shore, succeeded, and the business of the war
went on.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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