Sir John Moore’s first appearance produced sentiments in the beholder not remote from reverence. His tall, manly and perfect form attracted general admiration, while his brilliant and penetrating eye denoted profound observation, and proclaimed the determined soldier and able general. His words, voice and bearing realised all you had ever imagined of a perfect and highly polished gentleman endowed with every talent necessary to form the statesman or warrior. His features were formed to command the attention of man and make the deepest impression on the female heart. His memory, as I have been told by old officers who knew him well, was extraordinary, yet amiably defective; and what was once said of a great warrior might be justly applied to him—that he recollected everything save the injuries done to himself. Few have ever been gifted with more personal or mental charms than Sir John Moore; yet the perfection with which he was sent forth was far outshone by the glory that attended his progress and recall.
Having but slightly touched on the circumstances attending the fall of this great man, I will repeat that after entirely approving the movement of the 4th Regiment in retiring their right wing, and feeling satisfied as to what would take place in the valley, Sir John Moore made straight for the village of Elvina, where the fight continued to be most bloody and most obstinately maintained. It had been repeatedly taken and retaken at the point of the bayonet. Just as the Commander of the forces arrived, the 50th Regiment, who were formed on the left of the village, commanded by Major Napier, and seconded by Major Stanhope, made a most desperate charge through the village; but Napier’s impetuosity carrying him forward through some stone walls beyond the village, he was desperately wounded, and fell into the hands of the enemy; and Major Stanhope was killed. The general cheered the regiment during this charge, crying out, “Bravo, 50th, and my two brave majors!” Then perceiving the enemy coming forward to renew the struggle, he ordered up a battalion of the guards, directing at the same time that the two regiments already engaged should be supplied anew with ammunition. The 50th continued firm; but the 42nd, mistaking this as an order to go to the rear for ammunition, began to retire. Seeing this, the general rode up to the regiment, exclaiming: “My brave 42nd, if you have gallantly fired away all your ammunition, you have still your bayonets—more efficient. Recollect Egypt! Think on Scotland! Come on, my gallant countrymen!” Thus directing the willing 42nd to meet the renewed attack on Elvina, he had the satisfaction to hear that the guards were coming up; and, pleased with the progress of the 42nd, he proudly sat erect on his war-steed, calmly casting a satisfied glance at the raging war around. It was at this moment that he was struck to the ground by a cannon-ball, which laid open the breast of as upright and gallant a soldier as ever freely surrendered life in maintaining the honour and glory of his king and country. He soon arose to a sitting position, his eyes kindling with their usual brilliancy when informed that the enemy were victoriously repulsed at all points.
At this period the battle raged in its utmost fury; and an active general movement was taking place from right to left of both lines, the enemy retiring, the British pressing forward; and now Sir David Baird also was knocked down, receiving the wound for which he subsequently suffered the amputation of his arm.
On placing Sir John Moore in the blanket in which he was borne to the rear, the hilt of his sword got into the wound; and as they tried to take it away, he declined having it moved, saying, “It may as well remain where it is, for, like the Spartan with his shield, the Briton should be taken out of the field with his sword.” The wound was of the most dreadful nature; the shoulder was shattered, the arm scarcely attached to the body, the ribs over his heart smashed and laid bare.
Thus was Sir John Moore carried to the rear. As he proceeded, perceiving from the direction of the firing that our troops were advancing, he exclaimed, “I hope the people of England will be satisfied.” On being taken to his house in Corunna, he again enquired about the battle, and being assured that the enemy were beaten at all points, exclaimed: “It is great satisfaction to me to know that the French are beaten. I hope my country will do me justice.” Whether this well-founded hope was realised or not let the just and generous determine. He now enquired about the safety of several officers, those of his staff in particular; and he recommended several for promotion whom he considered deserving. This exertion caused a failing in his strength; but on regaining it in a slight degree, addressing his old friend Colonel Anderson, he asked if Paget was in the room. Upon being answered in the negative, he desired to be remembered to him, saying, “He is a fine fellow; ’tis General Paget, I mean.” This was a noble testimonial to that gallant officer’s high character, rendered sacred by the peculiar circumstances in which it was called forth; and it strongly marked the martial spirit and high mind of the dying hero, who, with his body writhing in torture, the veil of eternity fast clouding his vision and his lips quivering in the convulsive spasms of death, sighed forth his last words in admiration of the brave.
DEATH OF SIR JOHN MOORE.
The battle of Corunna terminated at the same moment that the British commander expired. He was buried in the citadel. As the enemy’s last guns were firing his remains were lowered into the grave by his staff, simply wrapped in his military cloak. No external mark of mourning was displayed; the grief could not be withdrawn from the heart.
Thus, like a staunch general of the empire, Sir John Moore terminated his splendid career in maintaining its honour and crushing its foes. Yet his last act was peculiarly devoted to his own Scotland: it was cheering on the Royal Highlanders to a victorious charge. How Scotland has shown her recognition of the gallant and patriotic deed, or her admiration of the splendid career of the brightest ornament whom she ever sent forth on the glorious theatre of war, I have never been told.