Between the mid-part of January, 1809, when the forces of Sir John Moore were evacuated from Corunna, and the latter part of April, when Sir Arthur Wellesley landed at Lisbon, the troops of Napoleon could do practically as they pleased in the Iberian Peninsula. Some Spanish forces, it is true, were in arms, but for the most part Spain was in a state of subjugation. The only assistance the British Government could afford for the time being to its Spanish allies was to instruct the units of the Royal Navy cruising off the coasts of Spain to co-operate whenever possible with the guerrillas who maintained the fight against Bonaparte.
It was Napoleon’s system to have his troops occupying conquered territory live off the country. The collection of provisions had been reduced to a masterpiece of efficiency and economy. Instead of sending large bodies of troops to scour the countryside, the commanders of the French garrisons would send out very weak detachments of perhaps no more than three men. If these were interfered with in any way by the populace or if any community was so unwise as to decline to furnish the required produce, the garrison commander would immediately dispatch to the scene such forces as he calculated to be sufficient to make a flaming, bloody shambles of it. By this method extensive territories could be held in subjugation by relatively small bodies of troops, at least for a time. In the end the system was a failure, as the hatred of the French which was engendered by it resulted, eventually, in irresistible popular uprisings of whole nations.
On the shore of Finisterre Bay stood the fishing village of Corcubion, a place of such scant importance that it was not on the military maps furnished to the British cruisers off the coast. The village had several times been obliged to send provisions to the Napoleonic garrison at Santiago de Campostella, and had done so without open resistance although with very bad grace. When another demand was levied on them the exasperated people could endure no more; they chased the French cavalrymen out of town and prepared for the retribution they knew would come.
The local Junta—mayor and council— commenced organizing an army from among the villagers and the peasants of the surrounding countryside. In short order some 3,000 “troops” were enrolled and set to drilling under the chief command of the local padre, Don Pedro Lapido, who had as his lieutenant general an old soldier named Camano. The “army” encamped a few miles out of town, at Bernun.
Knowing that the captains of British men-of-war had orders to aid in such enterprises, the Junta sent out a small vessel to bring such a craft to the support of Corcubion. Off Cape Finisterre the envoys found the Endymion frigate, whose captain readily agreed to become the active ally of the Junta. Although he himself was not particularly enthusiastic, his officers were half wild with joy at the prospect of sharing the lot of the Spanish irregulars, whose cause in those days was regarded in the same romantic light as was later that of the Greek patriots. All hands turned to with a will, piling muskets, cutlasses, boarding pikes, and hatchets on deck, making up ball cartridges and ripping up the signal flags to make colors for the new Spanish regiments. At this very moment Wellesley’s transports were off Portugal.
The Endymion received a tremendous ovation when she came to anchor outside the tiny port. Almost the entire population of Corcubion swarmed out in boats to board the frigate and shower her crew with hugs and kisses. The occupation of their country had deprived the poor people of their accustomed luxuries, and the gift of a great supply of ship’s tobacco was greeted with as much joy as were the arms furnished them. One of the lieutenants noted in his journal that many of the Spaniards, instead of stuffing the leaf into pipes or rolling them into cigars, shredded the tobacco and smoked it in little paper cylinders—it seems that the invention of the cigarette considerably antedates the period to which most authorities ascribe it.
When the British officers went out to inspect the “troops” and to turn over the ship’s scanty supply of weapons they found the irregulars as self-confident and vainglorious as they were ineffective. The great majority of them were armed with such scythes and other ex-agricultural weapons as we are wont to associate with pictures of the French Revolution. But not a man among them, from the reverend commander in chief down, seemed to have the slightest doubt but what they would drive the French back across the Pyrenees.
The frigate’s captain placed his second lieutenant, Charles Thruston, who had some experience in guerrilla warfare and who knew the Spanish language, in direct charge of operations ashore. The more this capable officer came to see of his allies the less confidence he had in their capabilities. The Spaniards listened politely to his suggestions and advice but in not a single instance did they deign to act upon them. Even the most elementary precautions for the security of the “army” they simply would not take. For intelligence of the enemy’s movements the Junta relied entirely on popular rumor, and when it was learned from this source that the French had withdrawn their outposts into Santiago this was construed to indicate that the foe was getting ready to decamp. To Mr. Thruston the French concentration—of which he was informed by agents he had been obliged to hire out of his own pocket —meant quite another thing, and he feared the worst.
A couple of days after the arrival of the Endymion she was joined by H.M.S. Loire, laden with thousands of muskets and other military supplies for the insurgents. The Loire had been sent out with instructions to find and support some likely group of Spanish patriots, and when she sighted the frigate lying inshore she deduced the nature of her occupation and stood in to join forces. The Loire's cargo was sufficient to provide every man in the Junta’s militia with a Brown Bess musket, bayonet, cartridge box, etc. But as more recruits were constantly pouring in it was decided to unload the Loire at once and send her off home for a fresh supply, her original cargo being stored for the night in a warehouse. It was expected that the “army” would march in the next morning to draw its new equipment.
Now, military history is replete with blunders of many kinds, but it is doubtful if there can be found anywhere in the agelong story of war anything that can be compared with the stupidity, the imbecility of the needless, purposeless, futile order that the Junta issued that night, whereby the entire force of upward of 3,000 militia was moved from Bernun to a place 20 miles farther from Corcubion. The men were still practically unarmed—the newly landed weapons were left behind!
Imagine the consternation of the British officers when they landed next morning and learned of this asinine move. They might have suspected treachery to the cause had they not been well convinced of the patriotism and sincerity of the imbecile Junta. The situation was very bad indeed. The French were reported on the march, and now the militia was gone from its camp covering the town and harbor, leaving them wide open to attack, and so far away that it would be impossible for them to return in time for the waiting arms. All that the British could do was to utilize some of the arms in fitting out improvised gunboats—manned to a considerable extent by Spanish seamen who had fought against their present allies at Trafalgar.
A leading principle of stagecraft is to intensify final tragedy by preliminary comedy, for the sake of contrast. No Broadway producer, no Hollywood scenarist could have improved on the drama of Corcubion, which now changes from comedy to the grimmest tragedy. The Frenchmen marching from Santiago had but a single purpose in mind, to make of Corcubion an example from which all Galicia would profit. They were experts. They arrived at dawn.
The French infantry and cavalry easily sidestepped the ridiculous militia, and surrounded the town before their presence was discovered by the unfortunate townsfolk. When the soldiers burst into the village from three sides, shooting and slashing, those who could made their way to the water front where they flung themselves into every available boat, including those sent from the Endymion for their rescue. Scores were slain by bullet or saber; most of those who died of sword wounds were later noted to have been slashed across the hands or arms, indicating that they had been cut down while begging for mercy.
The improvised gunboats did what they could to hold the foe in check, but had in the end to withdraw. The frigate herself was too far in the offing to use her battery. The marauders systematically fired the town, and officers of the Endymion, observing with their glasses the capers of the French about the burning warehouse, fervently hoped that scores would be slain when the powder stored in it—and of which the invaders were evidently unaware—blew up. It never did, although the burning roof timbers actually fell in upon the powder casks, some of which were later found to be charred nearly through!
Meanwhile, what of the militia? The evening before the attack Lieutenant Thruston had been sent off to the new camp, to save the situation if possible. On his way he met with French scouting parties but eluded them and carried the alarm to Lapido’s headquarters. The brave padre and his loyal assistants immediately called to arms—the boastful militia, who had scorned all Frenchmen when none were in the vicinity, now vanished in such numbers that only about forty fell in for the forced march to their endangered home town.
However, before they reached the heights overlooking Corcubion a number of other patriots succeeded in rallying their courage, so that a force of upward of 400 musketeers was at Mr. Thruston’s disposal when they topped the crests. From this vantage point they saw that the French, about half a mile away in the flaming ruins of the town, were taking their ease after their exertions of the night and morning. The three leaders of the militia decided on an immediate bayonet charge, and after strictly cautioning their men against firing their muskets before they closed with cold steel, they sent the milita down the slope amid shouts of “Viva!”
As might have been expected of undisciplined troops, the Corcubion irregulars came of their own accord to a halt far beyond gunshot of the enemy and opened a brisk but totally ineffective fire. The fusillade made not the slightest impression on the French veterans, who continued quietly to eat their breakfasts and groom their mounts. This they of course did for the moral effect on the militia, and the upshot was that when the French did form up and start to advance toward the irregulars the latter fled instantly in every direction, leaving their fuming leaders to follow as best they could.
Captain Basil Hall, R.N., who was a junior officer of the Endymion and who took part in the events in and around Corcubion, in his account of the campaign states that during their return march the French wantonly destroyed several innocent villages along the route, murdering no less than five parish priests.
About a week after the first appearance of the French there came rumors of a second attack on Corcubion, this time with the support of artillery. This was most serious for the Endymion, whose captain had, after the first raid, been induced by the frantic civic leaders to warp his vessel into the inner harbor where her guns could cover the town. At the same time, of course, they could not be elevated to command the heights, and it was obvious that if the French chose to mount their own guns there the frigate would be at their mercy. The French had, as a matter of fact, determined on this very thing, and the new attack was aimed not so much at the insurgent village as at the capture or destruction of His Majesty’s cruiser. The assault was admirably planned in every detail, and the approach march was carried out so skilfully that the force of 3,000 infantry and artillery appeared in Corcubion without having been detected by the scouts that the British captain had posted.
The first warning that the Endymion had was a cannon ball that whistled over her quarter-deck. This was the signal for the sudden bursting into view of large bodies of French infantry, scurrying to occupy the rocks commanding the narrow harbor entrance. Other bodies of infantry at the double and galloping batteries of field artillery sped to seize other strategic posts. The screen of gunboats lying between the ship and the town was soon forced out of position.
By great good fortune the wind, which had been unfavorable for the frigate’s working out of the harbor at the time the French expedition set out—which is the reason it selected that particular time— had changed to a fair wind before the foe arrived. By dint of smart seamanship the anchor was slipped and the frigate got past the narrows before these could be occupied.
The British officers were convinced that they would never have been able to escape had it not been for the impetuosity of an artillery officer who could not resist opening fire, and thus giving warning of the attack, before the heavy guns which were being sent up the heights were in position. Their plunging fire, which could not have been replied to, would in all probability have been fatal to the Endymion.
Their prize having got away, the French revenged themselves on the luckless town. The few buildings that had escaped the first conflagration were burned down now, as were the pitiful temporary roofs which the citizens who had survived the massacre had built over their ruined dwellings. As for the people themselves, all had made good their escape before the invaders could turn their attention to objects of such secondary interest.
The French having departed a second time, the frigate returned to her original anchorage offshore and did all in her power to relieve the distress of the poor people of the community. A price having been set on the head of every member of the Junta, the mayor, the councilmen and their families—about 30 persons in all—were embarked on the Endymion. The vessel remained until she had only five days’ provisions left on board, at which time she had no choice but to set sail for England.
The story of French occupation of Spain shows that the more ferocious a conquering army may be, the fiercer the flames of hatred in the hearts of the subject people and the quicker the arrival of the day of retribution. Present-day conquerors will some day relearn the lesson that cost Napoleon the Peninsula.