"Everybody else wants to know precisely the same. Blake and Romana haven't proved 'emselves good for much. Question now is—what of Castanos?"
This question was pressing heavily on Sir John Moore. Though as yet he did not and could not know the enormous size of the French Army then within the borders of Spain, he did know that it certainly more than trebled the small British force under his own control. Working side by side with fifty thousand or more good Spanish soldiers, he might hope to do much. But if those fifty thousand should prove themselves of no more use than a bundle of rotten sticks, Salamanca was no place for his little Army.
Sir John was a systematically early riser. Next morning, as usual, he was up between three and four o'clock. He lighted the fire with his own hands, after his habit, from a lamp kept burning in his room; and before turning to business, he wrote a confidential letter to one of his brothers. As a Commander he was exceedingly reserved, seldom revealing what he knew or what he intended to do, sooner than was necessary. It might be that a craving for sympathy had come over him, in the weight of his lonely responsibilities. Whatever he said would be safe with his own people.
"Upon entering Spain," he wrote, "I have found affairs in a very different state from what I expected, or from what they are thought to be in England. I am in a scrape, from which God knows how I am to extricate myself. But instead of Salamanca, this Army should have been assembled at Seville." And, at the close of a full and clear statement of affairs, he continued: "I understand all is fear and confusion at Madrid. Tell James it is difficult to judge at a distance. The Spaniards have not shown themselves a wise or a provident people. Their wisdom is not a wisdom of action; but still they are a fine people; a character of their own quite distinct from other nations; and much might have been done with them. Perhaps they may rouse again. Pray for me that I may make right decisions; if I make bad ones, it will not be for want of consideration. I sleep little. It is now only five in the morning, and I have concluded, since I got up, this long letter."
The whole letter was very patient and calm; and especially touching were those simple words—"Pray for me!"—from a man so intensely reticent on religious subjects as Sir John. If words were needed to show what he was, beside the plain utterance of such a character and such a life as his, these alone would serve to make it abundantly clear that silence on his part meant neither lack of thought nor lack of feeling.
Two days later came the news that Castanos had been routed by the French. It was evident that the so-called "retirement" of the other Spanish generals had been, in each case, a complete defeat.
Moore's little force now stood alone, in the heart of what had become practically an enemy's country. The order went forth—given with what pain and reluctance those knew who knew Moore—to prepare for retreat. Yet still he held on, delaying day after day. He would not take the actual step until it had become a necessity.
[CHAPTER XXXV]
MOORE'S BOLD VENTURE
"THEY say so!" observed Jack.