He managed to start a letter to Molly, in readiness for the first chance of getting it off. A thought had come to him that if—if something should happen, which might happen to him as to any other soldier, she would be glad that he had written once more to his twin. So he set to work when a spare half-hour could be found.
"Janʸ 1, 1809."
"MY DEAR MOLLY,—Jack thinks I may be able soon to send a letter on with despatches from Headquarters, and I wᵈ fain have one ready. So ends the old year—truly an eventful year to me—and so begins the new year. Jack and Bob and I keep well. There is much that I cᵈ tell you, but have not time. An event which took place two or three days ago may, however, be of interest to you."
"We of the Reserve marched at daybreak for La Banessa, and Paget, as usual, brought up the rear. That's Lord Paget, by the bye, who commands the cavalry of the rearguard, not Brigadier-General Paget, who commands the whole Reserve. At nine o'clock the enemy was seen to be examining a ford near to the bridge across the Esla, which had been blown up; and the next thing, six hundred of Napoleon's Imperial Guard came over."
"Only a small body of the British piquet was there to oppose 'em, and they held on gallantly, but were forced back inch by inch, fighting hard. The English and French squadrons charged one another by turns; and when our men were joined by a few of the 3rd Dragoons, they all went at the enemy with such Desperate Valour as to break through their front squadron, and to be surrounded by the French. Nothing daunted, they charged back as fiercely, and broke through again, and so got 'emselves quick out of that scrape."
"Then they rallied and formed up anew, and made another charge, supported by the 10th Hussars. The French bolted before ever they cᵈ get up with 'em, and fled through the river, hard pressed by our brave fellows. A lot of prisoners were taken, and among 'em is Marshal Lefébre Desnouettes, Duke of Dantzic—I say, doesn't Boney love dukes!—commander of the Imperial Guard. Pretty big haul, that!"
"No question but the French fought with great valour, as was to be expected. General Lefébre says this same Guard at Austerlitz sent thirty thousand Russians flying. They didn't send our dragoons flying yesterday, though. 'Twas just about the other way."
"And now for what you and Polly will like best to hear."
"Lefébre was awfully down in the mouth at being taken prisoner, and at his men being beaten back. He counts himself a ruined man, for, says he, 'Buonaparte never forgives the unfortunate.' Sir John was all kindness to the poor chap. Lefébre had a slight wound in the head; and the first thing that Sir John did was not only to try his best to comfort him, but to send for water, and with his own hands to wash the wound! Can't you picture the way it was done? Wasn't it like Moore?"
"Well, and it so happened that Jack was in luck, having been asked to dine at the General's. So he came in for a scene which, I shᵈ conjecture, has scarce been matched since the days of the Black Prince."
"Just before they took their seats, Sir John turned to the French General, who had appeared in a blazing uniform, and asked him, was there anything he wanted? And Lefébre said never a word, but looked down to where his sword ought to have been, that was taken away by the private who made him surrender. Then he looked up at Sir John in a meaning way."
"In one instant Moore had unbuckled his own sword—'twas a fine Eastern scimitar—and had given it to Lefébre. I wish you cᵈ have heard Jack and Captain Napier describe it all—the graceful way in which the thing was done, and, beyond everything, the wonderful look of kindness and 'soldier-like sympathy' on Sir John's face. Napier tried to describe it to me, and finished off with 'It was perfectly beautiful! But when does Moore ever do anything that is not perfect?'"
"Take good heed, mind you, that no word of this goes beyond yourselves, and above all on no account risk that it shᵈ find its way into print. For yourselves 'tis a tale worth remembering of one who is the very Flower of Chivalry in modern days."
"George Napier is, as Polly knows, Jack's friend, aide-de-camp to Sir John, and brother to Major Charles Napier of the 50th, and to William Napier of the 43rd."
[CHAPTER XXXVII]
A VISIT FROM MOORE BY NIGHT
ON January the 5th, at Constantino, much fighting took place, and in the evening a heavy trouble fell upon Roy and Bob.
Jack was missing!
All searching failed to show where he was; all inquiries were without result.
Among the sick and wounded went Roy and Bob together, and they went in vain. On the field amid the slain, accompanied by Jack's friend, George Napier, they hunted long in the moonlight, but with no success. As they turned up face after face of those who had fallen, finding not Jack's familiar features, a low-breathed "Thank God!" again and again escaped Roy. The only explanation seemed to be that Jack had been taken prisoner.
At Lugo the whole army was halted. The march thither had been very severe, through deep mud and pelting rain, with great fatigue and suffering. Collision here again came about between the English and the French; and Moore in person led his troops, sending the enemy flying, and handling them as they fled in a manner not to be quickly forgotten.
Then, during a two days' pause, he challenged the French to battle; and hardly was his intention known before the British Army presented, as by magic, a totally changed look. Stragglers came hurrying in; the ranks were filled up; and weary, footsore, shoeless, half-starved men were one and all in the highest spirits, eager for a fight.