“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, 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 broke 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 Lefebre 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 Lefebre 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. Lefebre was awfully down in the mouth at being taken prisoner, and his men being beaten. He counts himself a ruined man, for, says he, ‘Buonaparte never forgives the unfortunate.’ Sir John was all kindness to the poor chap. Lefebre had a slight wound in the head, and the first thing that Sir John did was, not only to try 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 should conjecture, has perhaps been scarce matched since the days of the Black Prince. Just before they all took their seats, Sir John turned to the French General, and asked him—was there anything he wanted? And Lefebre 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 a moment Sir John unbuckled his own sword—’twas a fine Eastern scimitar—and gave it to Lefebre. I wish you could have heard Jack and Captain Napier tell 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!’[1]
“Take good care, 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. This George Napier is, as Polly knows, Jack’s friend, brother to Major Charles Napier of the 50th, and to William Napier of the 43rd—a brave trio.”
The letter begun thus waited unfinished for some days. Roy’s time was occupied otherwise than in penmanship.
Advices by this date received from the coast decided Moore to shape his course, with the bulk of his Army, for Coruña, where he expected to find the British transports waiting.
At Nogales, on the road to Constantino, occurred the one instance of treasure to any large extent having to be abandoned. A sharp action took place between the English rear-guard and the French advance-guard; and the rear-guard coming on found upon the hillside two guns broken down, and two carts heavily laden with casks full of dollars, to the value, it was afterwards said, of twenty-five thousand pounds. The bullocks by which both the carts and the guns had been drawn thus far were utterly exhausted, quite unable to go any farther.