Part 15

If so be they are dead, ye may as well drop 'em over the tail-board. 'Tis no use straining the horses unnecessary.

[Waggons halt. Two of the wounded who have just died are taken out, laid down by the roadside, and some muddy snow scraped over them. Exeunt waggons and sergeant.

An interval. More English troops pass on horses, mostly shoeless and foundered.

Enter SIR JOHN MOORE and officers. MOORE appears on the pale evening light as a handsome man, far on in the forties, the orbits of his dark eyes showing marks of deep anxiety. He is talking to some of his staff with vehement emphasis and gesture. They cross the scene and go on out of sight, and the squashing of their horses' hoofs in the snowy mud dies away.]

FIFTH DESERTER [incoherently in his sleep]

Poise fawlocks--open pans--right hands to pouch--handle ca'tridge-- bring it--quick motion-bite top well off--prime--shut pans--cast about--load---

FIRST DESERTER [throwing a shoe at the sleeper]

Shut up that! D'ye think you are a 'cruity in the awkward squad still?

SECOND DESERTER

I don't know what he thinks, but I know what I feel! Would that I were at home in England again, where there's old-fashioned tipple, and a proper God A'mighty instead of this eternal 'Ooman and baby; --ay, at home a-leaning against old Bristol Bridge, and no questions asked, and the winter sun slanting friendly over Baldwin Street as 'a used to do! 'Tis my very belief, though I have lost all sure reckoning, that if I were there, and in good health, 'twould be New Year's day about now. What it is over here I don't know. Ay, to- night we should be a-setting in the tap of the “Adam and Eve”-- lifting up the tune of “The Light o' the Moon.” 'Twer a romantical thing enough. 'A used to go som'at like this [he sings in a nasal tone]:--

“O I thought it had been day, And I stole from here away; But it proved to be the light o' the moon!”

[Retreat continues, with infantry in good order. Hearing the singing, one of the officers looks around, and detaching a patrol enters the ruined house with the file of men, the body of soldiers marching on. The inmates of the cellar bury themselves in the straw. The officer peers about, and seeing no one prods the straw with his sword.

VOICES [under the straw]

Oh! Hell! Stop it! We'll come out! Mercy! Quarter!

[The lurkers are uncovered.]

OFFICER

If you are well enough to sing bawdy songs, you are well enough to march. So out of it--or you'll be shot, here and now!

SEVERAL

You may shoot us, captain, or the French may shoot us, or the devil may take us; we don't care which! Only we can't stir. Pity the women, captain, but do what you will with us!

[The searchers pass over the wounded, and stir out those capable of marching, both men and women, so far as they discover them. They are pricked on by the patrol. Exeunt patrol and deserters in its charge.

Those who remain look stolidly at the highway. The English Rear- guard of cavalry crosses the scene and passes out. An interval. It grows dusk.]

SPIRIT IRONIC

Quaint poesy, and real romance of war!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Mock on, Shade, if thou wilt! But others find Poesy ever lurk where pit-pats poor mankind!

[The scene is cloaked in darkness.]

## SCENE II

THE SAME

[It is nearly midnight. The fugitives who remain in the cellar having slept off the effects of the wine, are awakened by a new tramping of cavalry, which becomes more and more persistent. It is the French, who now fill the road. The advance-guard having passed by, DELABORDE'S division, LORGE'S division, MERLE'S division, and others, successively cross the gloom.

Presently come the outlines of the Imperial Guard, and then, with a start, those in hiding realize their situation, and are wide awake. NAPOLEON enters with his staff. He has just been overtaken by a courier, and orders those round him to halt.]

NAPOLEON

Let there a fire be lit: Ay, here and now. The lines within these letters brook no pause In mastering their purport.

[Some of the French approach the ruined house and, appropriating what wood is still left there, heap it by the roadside and set it alight. A mixed rain and snow falls, and the sputtering flames throw a glare all round.]

SECOND DESERTER [under his voice]

We be shot corpses! Ay, faith, we be! Why didn't I stick to England, and true doxology, and leave foreign doxies and their wine alone!... Mate, can ye squeeze another shardful from the cask there, for I feel my time is come!... O that I had but the barrel of that firelock I throwed away, and that wasted powder to prime and load! This bullet I chaw to squench my hunger would do the rest!... Yes, I could pick him off now!

FIRST DESERTER

You lie low with your picking off, or he may pick off you! Thank God the babies are gone. Maybe we shan't be noticed, if we've but the courage to do nothing, and keep hid.

[NAPOLEON dismounts, approaches the fire, and looks around.]

NAPOLEON

Another of their dead horses here, I see.

OFFICER

Yes, sire. We have counted eighteen hundred odd From Benavente hither, pistoled thus. Some we'd to finish for them: headlong haste Spared them no time for mercy to their brutes. One-half their cavalry now tramps afoot.

NAPOLEON

And what's the tale of waggons we've picked up?

OFFICER

Spanish and all abandoned, some four hundred; Of magazines and firelocks, full ten load; And stragglers and their girls a numerous crew.

NAPOLEON

Ay, devil--plenty those! Licentious ones These English, as all canting peoples are.-- And prisoners?

OFFICER

Seven hundred English, sire; Spaniards five thousand more.

NAPOLEON

'Tis not amiss. To keep the new year up they run away! [He soliloquizes as he begins tearing open the dispatches.] Nor Pitt nor Fox displayed such blundering As glares in this campaign! It is, indeed, Enlarging Folly to Foolhardiness To combat France by land! But how expect Aught that can claim the name of government From Canning, Castlereagh, and Perceval, Caballers all--poor sorry politicians-- To whom has fallen the luck of reaping in The harvestings of Pitt's bold husbandry.

[He unfolds a dispatch, and looks for something to sit on. A cloak is thrown over a log, and he settles to reading by the firelight. The others stand round. The light, crossed by the snow-flakes, flickers on his unhealthy face and stoutening figure. He sinks into the rigidity of profound thought, till his features lour.]

So this is their reply! They have done with me! Britain declines negotiating further-- Flouts France and Russia indiscriminately. “Since one dethrones and keeps as prisoners The most legitimate kings”--that means myself-- “The other suffers their unworthy treatment For sordid interests”--that's for Alexander!... And what is Georgy made to say besides?-- “Pacific overtures to us are wiles Woven to unnerve the generous nations round Lately escaped the galling yoke of France, Or waiting so to do. Such, then, being seen, These tentatives must be regarded now As finally forgone; and crimson war Be faced to its fell worst, unflinchingly.” --The devil take their lecture! What am I, That England should return such insolence?

[He jumps up, furious, and walks to and fro beside the fire. By and by cooling he sits down again.]

Now as to hostile signs in Austria.... [He breaks another seal and reads.] Ah,--swords to cross with her some day in spring! Thinking me cornered over here in Spain She speaks without disguise, the covert pact 'Twixt her and England owning now quite frankly, Careless how works its knowledge upon me. She, England, Germany: well--I can front them! That there is no sufficient force of French Between the Elbe and Rhine to prostrate her, Let new and terrible experience Soon disillude her of! Yea; she may arm: The opportunity she late let slip Will not subserve her now!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Has he no heart-hints that this Austrian court, Whereon his mood takes mould so masterful, Is rearing naively in its nursery-room A future wife for him?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Thou dost but guess it, And how should his heart know?

NAPOLEON [opening and reading another dispatch]

Now eastward. Ohe!-- The Orient likewise looms full somberly.... The Turk declines pacifically to yield What I have promised Alexander. Ah!... As for Constantinople being his prize I'll see him frozen first. His flight's too high! And showing that I think so makes him cool. [Rises.] Is Soult the Duke Dalmatia yet at hand?

OFFICER

He has arrived along the Leon road Just now, your Majesty; and only waits The close of your perusals.

[Enter SOULT, who is greeted by NAPOLEON.]

FIRST DESERTER

Good Lord deliver us from all great men, and take me back again to humble life! That's Marshal Soult the Duke of Dalmatia!

SECOND DESERTER

The Duke of Damnation for our poor rear, by the look on't!

FIRST DESERTER

Yes--he'll make 'em rub their poor rears before he has done with 'em! But we must overtake 'em to-morrow by a cross-cut, please God!

NAPOLEON [pointing to the dispatches]

Here's matter enough for me, Duke, and to spare. The ominous contents are like the threats The ancient prophets dealt rebellious Judah! Austria we soon shall have upon our hands, And England still is fierce for fighting on,-- Strange humour in a concord-loving land! So now I must to Paris straight away-- At least, to Valladolid; so as to stand More apt for couriers than I do out here In this far western corner, and to mark The veerings of these new developments, And blow a counter-breeze....

Then, too, there's Lannes, still sweating at the siege Of sullen Zaragoza as 'twere hell. Him I must further counsel how to close His twice too tedious battery.--You, then, Soult-- Ney is not yet, I gather, quite come up?

SOULT

He's near, sire, on the Benavente road; But some hours to the rear I reckon, still.

NAPOLEON [pointing to the dispatches]

Him I'll direct to come to your support In this pursuit and harassment of Moore Wherein you take my place. You'll follow up And chase the flying English to the sea. Bear hard on them, the bayonet at their loins. With Merle's and Mermet's corps just gone ahead, And Delaborde's, and Heudelet's here at hand. While Lorge's and Lahoussaye's picked dragoons Will follow, and Franceschi's cavalry. To Ney I am writing, in case of need, He will support with Marchand and Mathieu.-- Your total thus of seventy thousand odd, Ten thousand horse, and cannon to five score, Should near annihilate this British force, And carve a triumph large in history. [He bends over the fire and makes some notes rapidly.] I move into Astorga; then turn back, [Though only in my person do I turn] And leave to you the destinies of Spain.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

More turning may be here than he design. In this small, sudden, swift turn backward, he Suggests one turning from his apogee!

[The characters disperse, the fire sinks, and snowflakes and darkness blot out all.]

## SCENE III

BEFORE CORUNA

[The town, harbour, and hills at the back are viewed from an aerial point to the north, over the lighthouse known as the Tower of Hercules, rising at the extremity of the tongue of land on which La Coruna stands, the open ocean being in the spectator's rear.

In the foreground the most prominent feature is the walled old town, with its white towers and houses, shaping itself aloft over the harbour. The new town, and its painted fronts, show bright below, even on this cloudy winter afternoon. Further off, behind the harbour--now crowded with British transports of all sizes--is a series of low broken hills, intersected by hedges and stone walls.

A mile behind these low inner hills is beheld a rocky chain of outer and loftier heights that completely command the former. Nothing behind them is seen but grey sky.

DUMB SHOW

On the inner hills aforesaid the little English army--a pathetic fourteen thousand of foot only--is just deploying into line: HOPE'S division is on the left, BAIRD'S to the right. PAGET with the reserve is in the hollow to the left behind them; and FRASER'S division still further back shapes out on a slight rise to the right.

This harassed force now appears as if composed of quite other than the men observed in the Retreat insubordinately straggling along like vagabonds. Yet they are the same men, suddenly stiffened and grown amenable to discipline by the satisfaction of standing to the enemy at last. They resemble a double palisade of red stakes, the only gaps being those that the melancholy necessity of scant numbers entails here and there.

Over the heads of these red men is beheld on the outer hills the twenty thousand French that have been pushed along the road at the heels of the English by SOULT. They have an ominous superiority, both in position and in their abundance of cavalry and artillery, over the slender lines of English foot. The left of this background, facing HOPE, is made up of DELABORDE'S and MERLE'S divisions, while in a deadly arc round BAIRD, from whom they are divided only by the village of Elvina, are placed MERMET'S division, LAHOUSSAYE'S and LORGE'S dragoons, FRANCESCHI'S cavalry, and, highest up of all, a formidable battery of eleven great guns that rake the whole British line.

It is now getting on for two o'clock, and a stir of activity has lately been noticed along the French front. Three columns are discerned descending from their position, the first towards the division of SIR DAVID BAIRD, the weakest point in the English line, the next towards the centre, the third towards the left. A heavy cannonade from the battery supports this advance.

The clash ensues, the English being swept down in swathes by the enemy's artillery. The opponents meet face to face at the village in the valley between them, and the fight there grows furious.

SIR JOHN MOORE is seen galloping to the front under the gloomy sky.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I seem to vision in San Carlos' garden, That rises salient in the upper town, His name, and date, and doing, set within A filmy outline like a monument, Which yet is but the insubstantial air.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Read visions as conjectures; not as more.

When MOORE arrives at the front, FRASER and PAGET move to the right, where the English are most sorely pressed. A grape-shot strikes off BAIRD'S arm. There is a little confusion, and he is borne to the rear; while MAJOR NAPIER disappears, a prisoner.

Intelligence of these misfortunes is brought to SIR JOHN MOORE. He goes further forward, and precedes in person the Forty-second regiment and a battalion of the Guards who, with fixed bayonets, bear the enemy back, MOORE'S gestures in cheering them being notably energetic. Pursuers, pursued, and SIR JOHN himself pass out of sight behind the hill. Dumb Show ends.

[The point of vision descends to the immediate rear of the English position. The early January evening has begun to spread its shades, and shouts of dismay are heard from behind the hill over which MOORE and the advancing lines have vanished.

Straggling soldiers cross in the gloom.]

FIRST STRAGGLER

He's struck by a cannon-ball, that I know; but he's not killed, that I pray God A'mighty.

SECOND STRAGGLER

Better he were. His shoulder is knocked to a bag of splinters. As Sir David was wownded, Sir John was anxious that the right should not give way, and went forward to keep it firm.

FIRST STRAGGLER

He didn't keep YOU firm, howsomever.

SECOND STRAGGLER

Nor you, for that matter.

FIRST STRAGGLER

Well, 'twas a serious place for a man with no priming-horn, and a character to lose, so I judged it best to fall to the rear by lying down. A man can't fight by the regulations without his priming-horn, and I am none of your slovenly anyhow fighters.

SECOND STRAGGLER

'Nation, having dropped my flit-pouch, I was the same. If you'd had your priming-horn, and I my flints, mind ye, we should have been there now? Then, forty-whory, that we are not is the fault o' Government for not supplying new ones from the reserve!

FIRST STRAGGLER

What did he say as he led us on?

SECOND STRAGGLER

“Forty-second, remember Egypt!” I heard it with my own ears. Yes, that was his strict testament.

FIRST STRAGGLER

“Remember Egypt.” Ay, and I do, for I was there!... Upon my salvation, here's for back again, whether or no!

SECOND STRAGGLER

But here. “Forty-second, remember Egypt,” he said in the very eye of that French battery playing through us. And the next omen was that he was struck off his horse, and fell on his back to the ground. I remembered Egypt, and what had just happened too, so thorough well that I remembered the way over this wall!--Captain Hardinge, who was close to him, jumped off his horse, and he and one in the ranks lifted him, and are now bringing him along.

FIRST STRAGGLER

Nevertheless, here's for back again, come what will. Remember Egypt! Hurrah!

[Exit First straggler. Second straggler ponders, then suddenly follows First. Enter COLONEL ANDERSON and others hastily.]

AN OFFICER

Now fetch a blanker. He must be carried in.

[Shouts heard.]

COLONEL ANDERSON

That means we are gaining ground! Had fate but left This last blow undecreed, the hour had shone A star amid these girdling days of gloom!

[Exit. Enter in the obscurity six soldiers of the Forty-second bearing MOORE on their joined hands. CAPTAIN HARDINGE walks beside and steadies him. He is temporarily laid down in the shelter of a wall, his left shoulder being pounded away, the arm dangling by a shred of flesh.

Enter COLONEL GRAHAM and CAPTAIN WOODFORD.]

GRAHAM

The wound is more than serious, Woodford, far. Ride for a surgeon--one of those, perhaps, Who tend Sir David Baird? [Exit Captain Woodford.] His blood throbs forth so fast, that I have dark fears He'll drain to death ere anything can be done!

HARDINGE

I'll try to staunch it--since no skill's in call.

[He takes off his sash and endeavours to bind the wound with it. MOORE smiles and shakes his head.]

There's not much checking it! Then rent's too gross. A dozen lives could pass that thoroughfare!

[Enter a soldier with a blanket. They lift MOORE into it. During the operation the pommel of his sword, which he still wears, is accidentally thrust into the wound.]

I'll loose the sword--it bruises you, Sir John.

[He begins to unbuckle it.]

MOORE

No. Let it be! One hurt more matters not. I wish it to go off the field with me.

HARDINGE

I like the sound of that. It augurs well For your much-hoped recovery.

MOORE [looking sadly at his wound]

Hardinge, no: Nature is nonplussed there! My shoulder's gone, And this left side laid open to my lungs. There's but a brief breath now for me, at most.... Could you--move me along--that I may glimpse Still how the battle's going?

HARDINGE

Ay, Sir John-- A few yard higher up, where we can see.

[He is borne in the blanket a little way onward, and lifted so that he can view the valley and the action.]

MOORE [brightly]

They seem to be advancing. Yes, it is so!

[Enter SIR JOHN HOPE.]

Ah, Hope!--I am doing badly here enough; But they are doing rarely well out there. [Presses HOPE'S hand.] Don't leave! my speech may flag with this fierce pain, But you can talk to me.--Are the French checked?

HOPE

My dear friend, they are borne back steadily.

MOORE [his voice weakening]

I hope England--will be satisfied-- I hope my native land--will do me justice!... I shall be blamed for sending Craufurd off Along the Orense road. But had I not, Bonaparte would have headed us that way....

HOPE

O would that Soult had but accepted battle By Lugo town! We should have crushed him there.

MOORE

Yes... yes.--But it has never been my lot To owe much to good luck; nor was it then. Good fortune has been mine, but [bitterly] mostly so By the exhaustion of all shapes of bad!... Well, this does not become a dying man; And others have been chastened more than I By Him who holds us in His hollowed hand!...

I grieve for Zaragoza, if, as said, The siege goes sorely with her, which it must. I heard when at Dahagun that late day That she was holding out heroically. But I must leave such now.--You'll see my friends As early as you can? Tell them the whole; Say to my mother.... [His voice fails.] Hope, Hope, I have so much to charge you with, But weakness clams my tongue!... If I must die Without a word with Stanhope, ask him, Hope, To--name me to his sister. You may know Of what there was between us?... Is Colonel Graham well, and all my aides? My will I have made--it is in Colborne's charge With other papers.

HOPE

He's now coming up.

[Enter MAJOR COLBORNE, principal aide-de-camp.]

MOORE

Are the French beaten, Colborne, or repulsed? Alas! you see what they have done too me!

COLBORNE

I do, Sir John: I am more than sad thereat! In brief time now the surgeon will be here. The French retreat--pushed from Elvina far.

MOORE

That's good! Is Paget anywhere about?

COLBORNE

He's at the front, Sir John.

MOORE

Remembrance to him!

[Enter two surgeons.]

Ah, doctors,--you can scarcely mend up me.-- And yet I feel so tough--I have feverish fears My dying will waste a long and tedious while; But not too long, I hope!

SURGEONS [after a hasty examination]

You must be borne In to your lodgings instantly, Sir John. Please strive to stand the motion--if you can; They will keep step, and bear you steadily.

MOORE

Anything.... Surely fainter ebbs that fire?

COLBORNE

Yes: we must be advancing everywhere: Colbert their General, too, they have lost, I learn.

[They lift him by stretching their sashes under the blanket, and begin moving off. A light waggon enters.]

MOORE

Who's in that waggon?

HARDINGE

Colonel Wynch, Sir John. He's wounded, but he urges you to take it.

MOORE

No. I will not. This suits.... Don't come with me; There's more for you to do out here as yet. [Cheerful shouts.] A-ha! 'Tis THIS way I have wished to die!

[Exeunt slowly in the twilight MOORE, bearers, surgeons, etc., towards Coruna. The scene darkens.]

## SCENE IV

CORUNA. NEAR THE RAMPARTS

[It is just before dawn on the following morning, objects being still indistinct. The features of the elevated enclosure of San Carlos can be recognized in dim outline, and also those of the Old Town of Coruna around, though scarcely a lamp is shining. The numerous transports in the harbour beneath have still their riding-lights burning.

In a nook of the town walls a lantern glimmers. Some English soldiers of the Ninth regiment are hastily digging a grave there with extemporized tools.]

A VOICE [from the gloom some distance off]

“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”