By AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the Dower House,” etc.
CHAPTER XXXII.
MOORE’S LAST VICTORY.
In an instant Sir John Moore half raised himself, gazing still with concentrated earnestness, as if nothing had happened, towards the Highland regiment now hotly engaged. Not a sigh was heard. Not a muscle in his face quivered.
Hardinge had sprung down, and Moore’s right hand grasped his firmly. When Hardinge, seeing his anxiety as to the 42nd, exclaimed, “They are advancing!” a flash of joy lighted up Moore’s features.
Then Colonel Graham hurried to the spot. So placid and unchanged was the General’s look that for a moment he hoped it might be no more than an accidental fall from the horse. The next moment he saw—and he rode off at full speed for a surgeon.
It was an awful wound. Almost the whole left shoulder was carried away; the arm was all but separated from the body; the ribs over that intrepid heart were broken; the flesh and muscles were fearfully torn and mangled. Hardinge made an attempt with his sash to check the rush of blood; but with so extensive an injury little could be done.
Sir John was then gently lifted upon a blanket, and all the while he still intently watched the struggle, as if his own state were a matter of very secondary importance.
For a moment his attention was recalled from the front. His sword became entangled, as the soldiers moved him, and the hilt went into the wound. Captain Hardinge began to unbuckle it, but he was at once checked, Moore saying in his usual voice, with calm distinctness—
“It is as well as it is. I had rather it should go out of the field with me.”