Chapter XXXVII: A Visit From Moore by Night

ON January the 5th, at Constantino, much fighting took place, and in the evening a heavy trouble fell upon Roy and Bob.

Jack was missing!

All searching failed to show where he was; all inquiries were without result.

Among the sick and wounded went Roy and Bob together, and they went in vain. On the field amid the slain, accompanied by Jack's friend, George Napier, they hunted long in the moonlight, but with no success. As they turned up face after face of those who had fallen, finding not Jack's familiar features, a low-breathed "Thank God!" again and again escaped Roy. The only explanation seemed to be that Jack had been taken prisoner.

At Lugo the whole army was halted. The march thither had been very severe, through deep mud and pelting rain, with great fatigue and suffering. Collision here again came about between the English and the French; and Moore in person led his troops, sending the enemy flying, and handling them as they fled in a manner not to be quickly forgotten.

Then, during a two days' pause, he challenged the French to battle; and hardly was his intention known before the British Army presented, as by magic, a totally changed look. Stragglers came hurrying in; the ranks were filled up; and weary, footsore, shoeless, half-starved men were one and all in the highest spirits, eager for a fight.

But though the English were by this time reduced to only nineteen thousand—three thousand having gone by another route to Vigo, and many having fallen out by the way—yet Soult with his far superior numbers did not respond. Lack of provisions made it impossible for Moore to delay longer; and however willing he was to fight, he would not himself force a battle.

While in the neighbourhood of Lugo, Roy found time to add a few words to his unfinished letter:—

"Jan. 7th, near Lugo.—We had a sharp brush with the enemy; and I am sorely put about, for Jack has vanished. When last I set eyes on him he was well in advance of his company, waving his sword, and shouting to us to come on. And come on we did, and put the enemy to rout. Jack may have fallen into their hands. Bob and I, with Napier, searched in every direction, both among those who were wounded and those that had been killed. But, thank God! Jack was not among them. He must, therefore, surely be prisoner. This sheet I will not send off, even should opportunity occur, until I can know more as to Jack. I would not awake Polly's fears for nought; and it may be that he will even yet turn up, unharmed."

Roy wrote these words by the light of a small lamp, lying flat upon the ground, in a small hut which he and Bob occupied while at Lugo. Some slight movement, as of one coming in, made him glance up with a spring of hope. It might be only Bob, but he still thought first of Jack.

A tall cloaked figure quietly entered. Roy leaped to his feet as if he had had an electric shock, his bewildered gaze encountering the last face that he would at that moment have expected to see. It was a face pale, tried, and stern, with the dark steadfast eyes which never yet had flinched before life's battles. They did not flinch now, meeting this heaviest of all trials to one of Moore's temperament—having to retire before his Country's foes.

The last three years had brought sharp discipline to John Moore. Strain had followed strain, disappointment had followed disappointment; while through all his dauntless courage had never failed, his unconquerable spirit had risen superior to every opposition. But the sufferings of his men upon this march went to his very heart; and the partial loss of discipline, in a force of which he had been so justly proud, cut him to the quick. Despite the worst, he was not calm only, but serene. Yet now and again, as at this moment, a shadow of deep though fleeting sadness would fall upon him. Something in that face appealed keenly to the young Ensign's sympathies.

Then, in a flash, dread seized upon Roy. What might this call portend? Moore could rebuke his subordinates scathingly, crushingly, when necessity arose. Roy felt that death would be far preferable to any words of stern reproof from those lips. But he was distinctly not conscious of having failed in his duty. Could it perhaps mean—ill news of Jack?

Sir John glanced round before speaking.

"Not too luxurious quarters, Baron!" he remarked, and his smile lacked its usual brilliance.

"Good enough, sir," responded Roy, with the prompt cheerfulness which from the first had marked him out in Moore's eyes. "If only Captain Keene—"

"Ay. You are anxious about him!"

"Yes, sir; I've been able to find out nothing."

"So Napier tells me. As I was passing this way, I have looked in to set your mind at rest. He is prisoner."

Roy drew one hasty breath. Till that moment he had not realised how heavily the fear had weighed upon him of other than imprisonment. To know that Jack was still in the land of the living meant much. Jack had been very good to Roy.

"Two French prisoners brought in this afternoon have told us about him. His leg was wounded, and his right arm broken, and when helpless he was taken. Already, they say, he has been sent some distance beyond their lines."

"Thank you, sir," gratefully. "I'm glad to know. It might have been worse."

"You are writing home, perhaps? Make light of his wounds. I hope he is not in any danger."

"Yes, sir. I am writing to my sister—ready for a chance of sending it."

Moore stood for a few seconds lost in deep thought. Then, glancing up, he met the concerned gaze of Roy's frank grey eyes. Not frank only, not concerned only, but full of unmistakable boyish adoration. In response Moore's hand was laid upon Roy's arm, with one of those quick gestures of overflowing kindness which went far to enthral the hearts of those about him.

"I hear no report of you but what is good. Keep on as you have begun. You are treading worthily in Ivor's steps."

Roy's power of speech failed him, with something which went far beyond any ordinary joy. This—from Moore himself! Despite Jack's misfortunes, Roy's world grew instantly radiant.

Moore smiled again at the boy's look, yet he sighed. There were some in his force, and not young fellows only, of whom he could not have spoken in such terms,—some who gave the rein to bitter discontent at having to retreat, and who did not do their utmost to preserve discipline. But they were not in the Reserve.

"We may hear of Keene again before long. Give your letter to Napier, and it shall go with the first despatches that are sent on."

Then he was gone. Roy, after seeing him off, returned to his former position, and wrote for Molly's delight those priceless words, which never in after life could be forgotten by him. If only Denham might have known what Moore thought of "his friend Roy!"

One more brief entry was made in the same letter before it could be sent off:—

"Jan. 10, Betanzos.—We came hither by a night-march from Lugo, thus evading the French, who would seem to have been somewhat awed by Sir John's fearless defiance of 'em at Lugo. For some hours our rearguard was not harassed as usual, and the enemy's advanced guard did not get up with us till twenty-four hours or more after our start. Since we left our camp-fires burning, they doubtless did not know till dawn that we had given them the slip. It may be, too, that after what had passed they were in no such vast hurry to follow."

The day after Roy had written these words Coruña was reached.

As they drew near to the coast, Moore, quitting his post with the Reserve, went forward, passing regiment after regiment, and anxiously scanning the distant sea for the transports which he hoped to find awaiting him.

But they were not there.

During the greater part of a fortnight he had been incessantly at work, conducting this most arduous retreat, bringing his Army through dangers and difficulties innumerable. Perpetual fighting had been the order of the day. Yet not once had the regiments of the Reserve, either horse or foot, been beaten; not once had the rearguard quailed.

Seventy or eighty thousand soldiers, trained veterans of Napoleon, at first under Napoleon himself, and then under two of his most experienced commanders, had striven hard to overtake Moore, to outflank him, to cut off his little force of twenty-three thousand men; but they had been baffled.

More than two hundred and fifty miles of rough country had been traversed in bleakest wintry weather; and the Army reached Coruña, somewhat lessened in numbers, it is true, yet absolutely unbroken.

Baggage had had to be abandoned or destroyed for lack of means to convey it further, and a few small cannon had had to be left behind for that same reason. But not one single British gun had been captured in fight; not one single standard or military trophy of any kind had been taken.