The severity of a wound like Sir John Moore’s, precluded, from the first moment it was received, all hope of his surviving beyond an hour or two. The arm was torn nearly from the shoulder, and the collar-bone partially carried away; but, notwithstanding the desperate hemorrhage that ensued, the sufferer preserved his recollection, and remained in mental possession to the last.
He was carried from the field in a blanket by six soldiers, who evinced their sympathy by tears; and when a spring waggon came up, and it was proposed that Sir John should be transferred to it, the poor fellows respectfully objected, “as they would keep step, and carry him more easily.” Their wishes were attended to—and the dying general was conveyed slowly to his quarters in the town, occasionally stopping the bearers to look back upon the field, whenever an increasing fire arrested his attention. All hope was over—he lingered for a little, talking feebly, but collectedly, to those around, and dividing his last thoughts apparently, between his country and his kindred. The kindliness of his disposition was in death remarkable. Turning to an aid-de-camp, he desired to be remembered to his sister—and feebly pressing Colonel Anderson’s hand, his head dropped back, and he died without a struggle.
As a wish had been expressed by the departed, that he should be laid in the field on which he fell, the rampart of the citadel was happily chosen for his “resting place.” A working party of the 9th turned up the earth—and at midnight, wrapped in a cloak and blanket, his uncoffined remains were interred by the officers of his staff—the burial-service was read by torch-light,—earth fell on kindred clay,—the grave was filled,—and, in the poet’s words, “They left him alone with his glory.”[69]
The benefits derived to an army from the example of a distinguished commander, do not terminate at his death; his virtues live in the recollections of his associates, and his fame remains the strongest incentive to great and glorious actions.[70] In Sir John Moore this was pointedly true; for in public and private life none was more amiable—none, certainly, more exemplary. But, speaking professionally, one is at this day, astonished at the different estimates then formed of his qualifications as a general. Nearly forty years have elapsed, and time best determines the abilities of men—popular clamour, whether favourable or unfriendly, loses its temporary influence—and the merits or defects of departed greatness can, at an after period, be dispassionately examined and adjudged.
Sir T. Lawrence.
H. Cook.
John Moore
In every private relation, Sir John Moore’s character was perfect—and his professional career had always been distinguished. Of no man had higher hopes been formed—and hence, probably, more was expected by his country, than either his means or his talents could effect. By one party he was unjustly censured—by another injudiciously praised; and in this ferment of opinion, it is difficult to say whether his military reputation was most endangered by the obloquy of his enemies or the over-praise of his friends.
Sir John Moore was a brave, high-minded, and accomplished soldier; understood the details of his profession, and laboured assiduously[71] to carry them into operation. He was an excellent commander en second,—but he never could handle masses of men, like Napoleon or Wellington—grapple with difficulties when they unexpectedly occurred—and, when apparently on the verge of defeat, change, by his own resources, the fortunes of a field, and turn an unpromising morning into an evening of victory. For this he was constitutionally unfitted. He laboured under an excessive sensibility that embarrassed his decisions. A fever of the mind, which robs the judgment of its energy, was frequently apparent; and sentiments and language will be found in every portion of his correspondence,[72] which, while they indicate an amiable disposition, are sadly out of keeping with that stern sufficiency of thought, that should mark the unhesitating character of a commander. Moore wanted confidence in himself; he was afraid of responsibility; he underrated the qualities of his own troops, and greatly overrated those of his adversary. Yet, let justice be done. He acted under circumstances at once difficult and trying; and he was harassed in being made, in some degree, dependent upon the opinions of others. Lord Londonderry, who does ample justice to the memory of Moore, says, “The British army has produced some abler men; and many, in point of military talent, were and are quite his equals; but it cannot, and perhaps never could, boast of one more beloved, not by his personal friends alone, but by every individual that served under him.”