Like greyhounds from the leash, in response to those beloved tones, they leaped to the charge, carrying everything before them. Moore, in his passionate ardour, actually charged with them, and he told the men that he was “well pleased” with their conduct. Baird, the second in command, leading his Division, had his arm shattered with grape-shot, and was carried from the field.
Before Moore appeared, the officers and men of the 50th Regiment—ordered to advance with the 42nd—had been eagerly looking out for him, realising that this would be the crux of the English position, and feeling one and all that “under him they could not be beaten!” that, if only Moore were present, victory was absolutely secure. “Where is he? Where is the General?” was heard in eager murmurs along the line.
As they asked the question, he came, bearing down upon them at headlong speed on his cream-coloured charger, a fiery animal, with flying black mane and tail tossed in the breeze. The force with which Moore reined in flung him forward almost upon the horse’s neck, while his head was thrown back, and he examined the enemy with a gaze of such extraordinary and searching intensity, that Charles Napier, in after years, seeking to describe the scene, could find no language with which he might fitly describe that look.
Without a word Moore then galloped off; but he soon returned; and hereabouts it was that, as he was speaking to Major Napier, a round shot from the heavy French guns on the height struck the ground between them. Both horses swerved sharply, but Moore instantly urged his back to the same spot, asking calmly if Napier were hurt, and receiving a quiet, “No, sir.”
Then, as he watched the spirited charge of the 50th regiment, led by Napier and Stanhope, he exclaimed—
“Well done, Fiftieth! Well done, my Majors!”
The French were rapidly driven out of Elvina, with heavy loss, both regiments pursuing them beyond the village, into ground much broken by stone walls. By this time the English were without supports, and the French, having received strong reinforcements, rallied and turned upon them with fresh fury. Napier got too far in advance of his men, received five wounds, and was taken prisoner; and Stanhope was killed.
Moore, grappling anew with the danger, hurried up a battalion of the Guards to reinforce the 50th, which was being slowly forced back, and the 42nd, which had come to an end of its powder and shot. He galloped to the latter regiment, and again his voice rang out with inspiring energy—
“My brave 42nd, join your comrades! The ammunition is coming! And you have your bayonets still!”
That was enough. The 42nd had believed itself about to be relieved by the coming Guards; but armed or unarmed the men would have gone anywhere for Moore. Once again, without ammunition, yet undaunted with fierce impetuosity, they dashed against the foe.