CHAPTER XXXIII.
A WARRIOR TAKING HIS REST.
The rapid fall of darkness made it difficult to pursue the enemy, who at every point had been worsted. General Hope, knowing that large reinforcements might be expected to arrive soon in the French camp, decided to carry out Sir John Moore’s plan of immediate embarkation.
At ten o’clock that night the march began, brigade after brigade leaving the field of battle and silently going on board one transport after another. So complete had been all previous arrangements that, by morning light, almost the whole British Army was on board.
Meanwhile, anxious consultation had taken place as to what should be done with the beloved remains of the Commander. Colonel Anderson settled the question by stating that Moore had often told him his wish—“if he ever fell in battle, to be buried where he had fallen.” It was decided that a grave should be dug on the rampart of the Coruña citadel.
At midnight the body was reverently borne into the citadel by Colonel Graham, Major Colbourne and the Aides-de-camp. For a few hours it lay in Colonel Graham’s room.
In the early morning firing was heard. It was then determined not to put off the funeral any longer, lest a fresh attack should be impending and the officers be compelled to hasten away before paying the last honours to their Chief.
Somewhat strangely, it fell to Roy Baron to be present at this mournful ceremony.
It so happened that, in the early morning, Roy was sent by the Colonel of his Regiment with a message to one of the Aides-de-camp; and as he arrived on the spot just when the funeral was about to begin, he was allowed to be one of the party in attendance.
Not at dead of night, but at eight o’clock in the chill morning of a January day, and in the grave prepared by his own men, Sir John Moore was laid. No coffin could be procured. The body had not been undressed. He wore still the General’s uniform in which he had fought his last battle, and—
“He lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.”
That same cloak, in which but a few days earlier he had visited Roy in the little hut,—had laid his kind hand upon the boy’s arm,—had spoken never-to-be-forgotten words of praise,—had smiled upon him——
Roy dared not let himself think of all this. Burning blinding tears forced their way to his eyes—and not to his only—as he gazed his last upon that perfect face in its pale sublime repose.
Moore was carried by the “Officers of the Family,” who would allow no other hands to do for him these last sad services. The Burial Service was read by the Chaplain. And what was in the hearts of them all has been told, in words that cannot be improved upon, by that noble elegy, which is Moore’s best monument.
“Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow,
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head,
And we far away on the billow.
Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone,
And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him;
But little he’ll reck, if they’ll let him sleep on,
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock struck the hour for retiring,
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory,
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone with his glory.”[1]
For every man in the Army had lost a friend that day; and many a one felt with passionate grief that the world, without John Moore in it, would be for him a changed world thenceforward.
Hard things were spoken of him after he was gone, and upbraidings, indeed, were uttered—not by his brave foe, who honoured Moore, and wished to raise a stone to his memory—but by an ungrateful section of his own countrymen, because, forsooth, with an Army of only twenty-three thousand men he had not met and crushed two hundred thousand. We know better now! In the cold clear light of history, such fogs are driven away.
Yet, even in these later days, have we made enough of the name of John Moore? Have we thought enough of the man of whom Napoleon in the zenith of his fame could declare that he was the only General left fit to contend with himself, and against whose twenty-three thousand men he counted it needful to bring in a fierce rush over eighty thousand, failing even then in his purpose? Have we thought enough of the man under whom the future Wellington wished nothing better than to serve?—and about whose “towering fame” the sober historian of the Peninsular War wrote in terms of unstinted praise? Have we thought enough of the man who, while the bravest of the brave, was also the most blameless and the most beloved of men, against whom Detraction had no word to utter, save that he stood up almost too strenuously for his country’s honour, and that he did not accomplish impossibilities?
If not, it is surely time that his countrymen should begin to “do him justice!”
But for that fatal cannon-ball—who can say?—would Wellington have become the foremost man in Europe, or would he have been second to Moore? It might have been Moore, not Wellington, who turned the tide of Napoleon’s success.[2] It was Moore who stemmed that tide, with his spirited countermarch and splendid retreat, drawing the Enemy after him, until he stood at bay upon the coast, and hurled back the onset of the flower of Buonaparte’s Army.
Of Moore’s personal valour, of his indomitable courage, of his desperate enthusiasm, no voice was ever heard in question. To his consummate generalship, his mingled audacity and calculation, this marvellous Retreat bore ample witness, but for many years it was not rightly understood by the mass of his own countrymen. Napoleon, Soult and Ney gauged him far more truly than did the average Englishman of his day. Not even against the future Wellington would Napoleon have poured such an overwhelming force as he launched against Moore.
(To be continued.)
[OUR LILY GARDEN.]
PRACTICAL AIDS TO THE CULTURE OF LILIES.
By CHARLES PETERS.
What garden is complete without the good old tiger-lily? Other lilies are finer and more graceful, no doubt, but the old-fashioned tiger-lily will always hold its own in the struggle for popularity.
Although we call it an old-fashioned flower, it has not been grown in England for so very long, being unknown before this century. It made a bit of a stir, too, when it first blossomed in England. And no wonder that it did, when we see what a grand sight a bed of these lilies really is.
Lilium Tigrinum is a native of China, but it has long been cultivated in Japan, and it is from the latter country that we obtain most of our foreign bulbs.
A curious fact, which we have frequently noticed in connection with this lily, is that the size of the annual portion of the plant seems to bear no relation to the size of the bulb. In most lilies large bulbs produce fine plants, though we have seen that this is by no means always the case. But with L. Tigrinum the shoot apparently bears no relation whatever to the size of the bulb. If planted in very good soil, all the bulbs of L. Tigrinum seem to do equally well; whereas in an unsuitable soil all seem to fare equally poorly.
The bulbs are heavy and white, with the scales very dense and closely packed.
In growth this lily resembles L. Auratum in some respects, and the members of the Isolirion group in others. The leaves are very green and glossy, and are present in larger numbers than is commonly the case with lilies.
L. Tigrinum is one of the two lilies which constantly bear bulblets in the axils of their leaves. We have seen that under certain circumstances several of the other lilies produce these aërial bulblets, but the tiger-lily invariably does so. The bulblets are deep glossy purple in colour, and are often produced in great numbers. If planted as soon as they are ripe, they will grow freely and produce flowering spikes in their second or third year.
Everyone knows the blossom of the tiger-lily. The pyramidal shape of the inflorescence, with its nodding bell-like blossoms, irresistibly suggests a Chinese pagoda, and when looking at the plant one can almost feel that it hails from China.
The segments of the blossoms of the tiger-lily are much re-curved, their tips touching their points of origin. The colour of this lily, reddish orange, is very different from that of any that we have already described, but as we shall see later, it is a very common colour among the lilies. In the type of the tiger-lily the colour is a very fine orange, and the spots, which are very numerous, are deep purple.
The tiger-lily often bears seed in this country if the bulblets are removed. As, however, seed is the least satisfactory mode of propagating lilies, it is far better to utilise the bulblets for this purpose.
Individually, the tiger-lily is a fine plant, but its full effect is only to be obtained by growing it in great clumps. A bed of tiger-lilies is a grand sight, and it blossoms in September and October, a time when showy plants are not very numerous.
There are several varieties of the tiger-lily. That which is most commonly grown is called splendens, because it is very floriferous, and the flowers are of large size, fine colour, and are thickly spotted.
Another variety, called Fortunei, is also very fine. It grows to the height of six feet, and the stem and buds are covered with white silky down. The flowers are very numerous, often exceeding thirty in number. They are large, less reflexed than in the type, and only sparingly spotted with large spots.
The tiger is the second lily we have met with of which there is a double-flowered variety. There are only four double lilies, and none of them possesses the elegance of the single form. The old double tiger-lily is very full and is interesting, though far inferior in beauty to the type.
There is little to be said about the cultivation of the tiger-lily. It is perfectly hardy and will grow anywhere. It prefers a rich soil, and in poor or damp spots it often degenerates.
There is a lily which resembles the tiger-lily so closely that very few people could distinguish between them unless they were placed side by side. And yet most writers on the subject have separated this lily from the tiger-lily and placed it among the Martagon group, a group of lilies differing extremely from the one which we are now considering.
The lily which we refer to is called Lilium Maximowiczii or Pseudo-Tigrinum. It resembles the tiger-lily very closely, but is not so sturdy in growth, and the flowers are smaller and poorer than those of the tiger-lily. There are several named varieties known.
Another lily of the same class is Lilium Leichtlini, the exact counterpart of the last species, only differing from it in the colour of its flowers, which are lemon yellow instead of orange. It is thickly spotted with small mahogany spots and streaks. It is a very desirable lily because of its uncommon colour, and it is not by any means difficult to grow.
Both L. Maximowiczii and L. Leichtlini require a moist peaty soil. Plenty of peat, plenty of sand, plenty of water and very little direct sunshine, are the keystones of the successful cultivation of these lilies.
At an auction last year we gave seven and sixpence for two very small bulbs of Lilium Henryi, a lily which has only lately been introduced, but one which is fast rising into prominence from its curious colour, its bold growth and its hardiness.
Lilium Henryi is usually called the “orange Speciosum,” but in it we can see far more resemblance to the tiger-lily than we can to L. Speciosum. It seems to connect the L. Tigrinum and L. Speciosum. Its growth, its leaves, its flower buds and its habits suggest a close resemblance to the tiger-lily. But the raised tubercles and spines of the blossom recall L. Speciosum. The shape of the blossom is nearer to that of L. Tigrinum than it is to L. Speciosum, and the colour is totally different from either.
Dr. Henry’s lily blossoms late in September, or in the beginning of October. Fine examples grow six to eight feet high and produce sixteen to forty blossoms. The flowers are bright orange without spots.
Our two specimens failed to reach the height of eighteen inches, but both produced blossoms—one a solitary one, the other a pair. This is all that can be expected from bulbs at three and ninepence a-piece. We expect to do much better this year.
The hardiness of this lily is unquestionable, and it needs no special cultivation.
This lily is a native of China and is at present extremely scarce. Unless you are prepared to give ten shillings for a single bulb it is not worth while to grow it. If the bulbs ever get to be as cheap as a shilling or eighteenpence each, it will be well worth growing, but at ten shillings a bulb! It is monstrous to pay such a sum for a lily which at its best is only of inferior beauty.
The lilies which we have considered so far are all remarkable for the elegance of their forms and the striking colours of their flowers. If the reader has dreamed that all lilies are equally beautiful, or, at all events, that all are of great beauty and elegance, we are sorry to have to awaken him to the sad reality that there are many lilies which are not beautiful in colour and which are extremely inelegant in form.
The next group of lilies, Isolirion, contains many species, in all of which the flowers are erect and the segments little if at all reflexed. They are of low growth, and the blossoms are mostly orange in colour.
This group of lilies contains many old garden favourites which, though they possess but little individual beauty, are yet pleasing in the flower bed from the brightness and size of their blossoms, and for the early period at which they flower.
There is a great sameness about the members of the group Isolirion, and as there are many garden varieties of most of the species, some of which are possibly hybrids, it is a most difficult task to separate the various species from one another.
We associate the lily with elegance. What, then, should we imagine Lilium Elegans, the elegant lily to be like? And what is the reality? A low-growing clumsy stalk bearing two or three top-heavy enormous blossoms sticking bolt upright, chiefly of crude colours! As inelegant a plant as it is possible to conceive, having about as much right to the title of elegans as has the hippopotamus! Where did this lily get its name from? It has another title, Lilium Thunbergianum, or Thunberg’s lily. Which of these names shall we use? Which is the less objectionable? The name which records the chief characteristic which the plant lacks, or that concocted of a Latinised version of the name of a human being? Formerly this lily was called Lilium Lancifolium, or the lance-leafed lily, a name which, though it might be equally well applied to nearly every known species of lily, is yet better than either of its modern names. But we cannot use this name, for florists will persist in applying the name Lancifolium to L. Speciosum.
L. Elegans grows about a foot high, and each stem bears from one to four blossoms. The blossoms are very large, very inelegant, and short-lived. But they make up to a certain extent in colour what they lack in form.
There are innumerable varieties of L. Elegans, differing chiefly in the colour of the flowers. Some of the colours are very fine, others are harsh and crude.
We append a table of the colours of the best known varieties. An asterisk is placed before the most desirable forms.
L. Elegans produces both a double and a semi-double variety. We should have thought that a “semi-double” flower was the same as a single one. But it is not so. A semi-double equals a one-and-a-half blossom! That is, a double corolla of which the inner part is abortive.
Lilium Croceum. The old orange lily resembles Lilium Elegans, but it grows taller, and produces a far larger number of blossoms. This is the finest of the upright orange lilies. The blossoms are large and reddish-orange in colour, spotted with black. The plant grows to about three feet high, and is very showy.
In Ireland this lily is the national emblem of the Orangemen; and when travelling in that country you can tell, so we have been assured, the political opinion of the owner of a house by observing what lilies he grows in his garden. The Orangemen are said to grow none but the orange lily, while the rest of the population cultivate only the Madonna lily (L. Candidum).
A variety of L. Croceum named Chauixi is of a bright yellow colour, and is finer than the type.
This lily is found wild in various parts of Central Europe. It has been in cultivation for centuries; but lately it has almost lost its place as a garden lily, having been discarded in favour of some of the varieties of L. Davuricum, which are much cheaper, but nothing like so fine.
The term L. Umbellatum is applied to certain varieties and possibly hybrids of L. Croceum and L. Davuricum.
A very similar species is Lilium Davuricum, a native of Siberia. The wild plant rarely bears more than two blossoms on each stem; but in cultivation flower-spikes of twenty or more blossoms are not uncommon.
L. Davuricum is frequently grown in gardens. There is a large number of named varieties of this lily, but all the forms are very similar, and in no way deserve separate names. The plant grows to about four feet high, and produces from four to thirty flowers of a dirty orange colour.
Lilium Bulbiferum very much resembles the lilies we have just mentioned, but it may be at once distinguished from any other Isolirion by the bulblets which are formed in the axils of the leaves. These bulblets are large and purple in colour. Not very uncommonly bulblets form in the axils of the leaves of L. Davuricum or L. Elegans; but when they do, they are small and green.
The blossoms of L. Bulbiferum are like those of L. Davuricum on a smaller scale. The same upright position, the same poorness of form, and the same dirty orange colour, which is so persistent among the members of the group Isolirion, are present in both. But the blossoms of L. Bulbiferum are distinctly smaller than are those of L. Davuricum.
If the lilies we have just described are not particularly remarkable for beauty, they are, nevertheless, very desirable subjects for the flower garden. They are showy, extremely hardy, flower in early June, when showy flowers are rare, and readily increase when once established. L. Elegans looks best planted in rows and borders, its low growth suiting it admirably for such treatment.
These lilies will grow anywhere, in any soil. A little peat and sand should be mixed with the soil in which these lilies are planted.
Although they will grow well enough in pots, these lilies are quite worthless for pot culture.
One of the best of the Isolirion group of lilies is Lilium Batemanniae. This plant resembles L. Elegans in some particulars, but its blossoms are quite distinct. They are of a rich unspotted apricot colour. The perianth is more reflexed than is commonly the case in this group. It flowers in the late summer. It should be grown in a good peaty soil.
Lilium Wallacei, a very similar species, has the flowers of a rich apricot, densely spotted with black. The bulbs of this species are very small. It requires similar treatment to the last.
Lilium Philadelphicum is an American species, and has a rhizomotose bulb. The stem produces a single blossom, dirty orange colour spotted with black and yellow. It requires a wet, very peaty soil.
Another American species is Lilium Catesbaei, a very curious and interesting plant. The bulb is unlike that of any other lily except L. Avenaceum. It somewhat resembles a fir-cone. This plant grows to the height of about a foot. It produces a single blossom, about five inches across. The segments are curiously curved and curled. Its colour is reddish orange and yellow. It should be grown in a peaty soil, but it is a somewhat tender species, and is not really suitable for outdoor culture in this country.
We have hurried through this group of lilies because the species are not remarkable either for form or for colour. They are certainly inferior to any other of the genus lilium.
| Variety. | Colour of Flower. | Other Peculiarities. | |
| Type | Dirty orange, spotted. | .. | .. |
| *Van Houttei | Deep red, spotted black. | The best of the red varieties. | |
| *Horsmanni | Deep red, spotted black. | Very rare and difficult to obtain. | |
| *Aurantiacum Verum | Pale terra-cotta, very slightly spotted. | Best of terra-cotta varieties. | |
| Robustum | Dirty orange, spotted. | Very early. Stem covered with down. | |
| *Atro-Sanguineum | Very deep red, slightly spotted. | Fine variety. | |
| *Prince of Orange | Terra-cotta, slightly spotted. | Inferior to Aurantiacum Verum. | |
| Wilsoni | Lemon-yellow, spotted. | .. | .. |
| *Alice Wilson | Clear lemon-yellow. | Very curious. The best of the yellow varieties. | |
| Bicolor | Orange. | A poor form. | |
| Brevifolium | Dirty orange, spotted. | A poor form. | |
| *Incomparabilis | Deep red, spotted. | Inferior to the other deep red varieties, but bearing larger blossoms. | |
[THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.]
By ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object in Life,” etc.