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? ¹ It was Moore who stemmed that tide, with his spirited counter-march 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 Napoleon's army.
¹ These sentences were written before Lord Wolseley's speech at Dumfries, in 1898, in which he was reported as having said—"There could be little doubt in the minds of most soldiers who knew what Moore did, that, had he not been killed at the Battle of Coruña, he would have been the great Commander who led the Peninsular War; and it was quite possible that that great man, whom they all worshipped, the Duke of Wellington, would not have been heard of. He did not say that to depreciate the services of the Duke of Wellington, who had been a rock of strength to this country. But, possibly, had Sir John Moore lived, his name would have been blazoned on the scroll of fame as the man who won the great battle which crushed Napoleon's power at Waterloo."
Of Moore's personal valour, of his indomitable courage, of his intense patriotism, 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 understood by the mass of the English people. Napoleon, Soult, and Ney gauged him far more truly than did the average Englishman of his day.
[CHAPTER XLI]
AT VERDUN ONCE MORE
As a heavy stone falling into a pond sends waves circling outward to a distance, so the death of Sir John Moore sent many a wave of sorrow to the hearts of men, north and south, east and west.
One such wave slowly found its way to the distant town of Verdun, where still languished the détenus taken captive in 1803, together with many prisoners of war on parole sent thither.
News in those days travelled with deliberation, and prisoners travelled with greater deliberation still. But a day arrived, though not till many weeks after the Battle of Coruña, when Jack Keene found himself within the ramparts of Verdun.
It was early spring, and he carried his right arm in a sling. When he moved, too, a distinct limp might be seen. He had just been to report himself at the citadel, and he now stood outside, meditating on his next move.