years would not diminish the authority of what he said. For its accuracy and judgement he had no doubt.
Shot flew close as he made his report, but neither he nor Hope noticed. One of the ADCs urged his general to retire to a little cover, but the suggestion brought only a dismissive response, so intent was he on hearing of the battle on the other flank. Hervey gave his opinion of the effect of the main battery, how it made the village of Elvina hot work for the pickets, yet how Sir John Moore evidently considered it necessary to hold, since he had ordered the Fiftieth to reinforce there.
‘Just so,’ said the general, nodding. ‘I saw it yesterday. If the French take it then they’ll break the line.’
‘And Sir John Moore has inclined the right-flank battalion to meet the move which threatens from the left of the French line, sir. He has sent for General Paget’s division to come onto that flank from Oza, and also for General Fraser’s division to come up from Corunna to the Heights of Santa Margarita beyond.’
He watched as General Hope took from his pocket a large folded handkerchief, but which he then saw was a sketch of the dispositions made on two-foot square of bed linen. The general studied it a while and then looked to his front. With nothing between the French and Corunna on this flank but his own division, now that Paget’s and Fraser’s were moving to the right, he had better reinforce Pedralonga, the village just in advance of General Hill’s brigade, his left-most. ‘Very well. I have it. You may go now.’
Hervey saluted and reined about.
‘What is your name, sir?’ snapped the general, as if a sudden afterthought.
‘Hervey, sir. Sixth Light Dragoons.’
‘An admirable report, Mr Hervey. Capital.’
Hervey saluted again, and struck off fast for the other side of the line.
As he came back up to Sir John Moore’s vantage point from the rear, just behind Bentinck’s brigade, he took out his watch; it was a little after three o’clock. He observed the second hand closely to see if it moved with regularity, for he had a sense both of time flying and standing still. He wondered if it were the usual in battle, the loss of sense and time; and how difficult it must be for a general to judge his moment faithfully.
But as he broached the hill he pulled up sharp, horrified. The forward slope was strewn with dead, highlanders and Fiftieth alike, the smoke so thick he could hardly see what lay beyond. But he could just make out red coats the other side of Elvina. He could not see if they moved, however. The noise was so great he could feel it: the explosive roar of the main battery, here and there a British gun answering, the rattle of musketry, the shouting, and the screams.
But there was Colonel Long with Sir John Moore and the rest of the staff, exactly where he had left them. The Forty-second and the Fiftieth were no longer formed in line, however, and Sir John’s fixed gaze showed that their fate in Elvina must be a desperate one. Hervey reported himself present to his colonel, and then closed on the remaining ADC. At any minute he expected to be sent galloping again, for the French were piling their weight on the village like stones on a press, and there was another regiment of infantry coming down the slopes further to the right. The 4th King’s Own would soon be in action, and he wondered when he would see the Sixth come to their support. General Edward Paget would be bound to send up his cavalry first.
Half an hour passed, and he did not gallop. But it seemed less, for still he could not see the Sixth, and it would surely not take them as long as that to come up . . .
He turned back and peered through the smoke towards Elvina again. Unremitting cannonade and musketry: how was it that the village held?
He had his answer at once. It was not holding. He saw high-landers beginning to stream out from ruins, back up the slope towards them.
The army commander became battalion officer again: with the divisional commander carried from the field, and Bentinck with the King’s Own on the right flank, there was no other course.
‘Hold hard there, Forty-second!’
‘We’ve nay more powder or ball, sir!’ they called.
Sir John Moore turned his cream gelding sideways as if to block their retreat. ‘My brave Forty-second, if you’ve fired your ammunition, you’ve still your bayonets. Recollect Egypt! Think on Scotland! Come on, my gallant countrymen!’
Hervey’s mouth near fell open as the highlanders began turning about.
Sir John Moore smiled grimly and raised his hat to them. Then he reined about and trotted back to the top of the hill.
‘Have the Guards come up, Thomas.’
Colonel Graham turned to Colonel Long. ‘Your galloper again, I think.’
Long nodded. ‘Galloper!’
Hervey touched Fox’s flanks with his spurs. The mare almost leapt to Colonel Long’s side.
‘Have General Warde bring up his brigade, Mr Hurley.’
‘Yes, sir. Where is the brigade, Colonel?’
Colonel Long glared at him angrily. ‘The Guards! Where they were damned well posted!’ And then he realized that a cornet sent that morning from the rear would have not the scarcest idea. ‘Behind us, Hurley. A furlong or so,’ he added, in a friendlier tone.
Stung nevertheless, Hervey put Fox into a flat gallop. Somehow they managed their fences, though any number could have tumbled them, and he was there in less than a minute.
It was his first occasion to approach His Majesty’s Guards, let alone address any of their officers, and he could not but think it ironic, as he pulled up in front of the little mounted group of the staff, that his first words should be to Major-General Henry Warde, their brigadier.
‘Sir,’ he began, saluting. ‘Sir John Moore’s compliments, and would you be so good as to bring up your brigade at once, sir, please.’ Even as he spoke he could not help but notice how immaculate were the uniforms before him. And when he managed to steal a glance left and right, to the two battalions of the First, he had the impression of a review rather than a battle.
General Warde smiled kindly. ‘Thank you, Cornet. My compliments to Sir John Moore. We shall be with him directly.’
Hervey waited to see if the general had any questions of him, but there were none. When the Guards were called up it was for one of two reasons only: to stem the tide or to counter-attack. The detail mattered little. ‘With your leave, then, sir?’
The general nodded, and smiled again.
Hervey saluted, turned Fox as ceremonially as he could and trotted away a respectful distance before putting her back into a gallop, though this time in hand.
‘The order is delivered, Colonel,’ he reported.
Colonel Long nodded. ‘Capital.’
Colonel Graham looked across. ‘How long do you suppose they’ll take?’
Hervey had not considered it. The ground was broken but not excessively; they could not double, though, and keep order. ‘Ten minutes, I think, Colonel. Perhaps a little more.’
‘Ten minutes?’ Colonel Graham sounded disappointed.
‘It will do well enough, Thomas,’ said Sir John, with an eye to his telescope once more. ‘If Bentinck’s fellows do their work properly in there.’
Colonel Long, who was scanning the flank, lowered his spyglass. ‘Edward Paget’s coming at any rate, Sir John.’
Hervey spun round, but even with the naked eye he could see the Sixth did not lead them.
‘And not a moment too soon, I believe,’ said Sir John Moore, sparing them but a glance. ‘See how that French column comes round.’
Hervey turned back to the general, and in that instant saw him pitched from the saddle and onto his back at the feet of Colonel Graham’s horse.
He sprang from his mare at once, but Graham and Captain Henry Hardinge were there first. He thought Sir John must be unhurt, for he made no murmur.
‘Fetch a surgeon,’ called Graham, looking aghast at the sight of the shoulder.
Two ADCs sped off. Hervey wondered if he ought to go too, but Colonel Long bid him stay.
He came as close as he thought right; he could not approach the army commander without leave.
Sir John Moore tried to raise himself on his good arm.
