"I call it a shame," he remarked, gazing moodily up the valley to the dark masses on the heights, "that we should scuttle away without even the chance of a slap at 'em. Of course they'll come on as soon as they see our backs, and of course there'll be another fight. Of course there will. But where shall we be?--shut up with rats and cockroaches and shellbacks, and wishing we was at the bottom o' the sea. We've been doin' the worst of the work--there ain't no arguin' as to that--why couldn't they let us see it out?--that's what I want to know."
At this moment the order is given to march; the men shoulder their rifles and sullenly tramp down the valley in the direction of the harbour. For weeks they have been straining all their energies to reach the coast; now, when a few minutes' march will place them beyond the reach of their enemies, and ensure complete immunity from the insufferable horrors that have dogged their footsteps during the retreat, their bearing is that of savage resentment.
Suddenly the dull boom of artillery is heard far up the valley; the division, as if at the word of command, comes to an instant halt, and the men's faces clear as if by magic. Surely this must mean a fight after all; they are to have their long-wished-for chance of coming to grips with the enemy. While they are thus waiting, anxious expectancy on every face, an aide-de-camp from the commander-in-chief dashes up at full speed.
"There is a general movement, sir," he says, addressing General Paget, "all along the enemy's line. An engagement appears to be imminent. The commander-in-chief desires that you will return to the position you have just left."
Never a general's voice rang out more thrillingly than when Paget gave the order to countermarch. Never was an order received with more joy by officers and men. In a few minutes the Reserve had regained its old position around the little village of Oza. There the eager troops awaited, with what patience they might, the lurid moment that was to compensate them for all their past sufferings and humiliations. This moment was some time in coming, but it came at last.
The brunt of the attack fell, as Moore had expected, upon Baird's division. The guns from the opposite heights, completely outranging the British artillery, played upon Baird's front, and from the vantage-ground of the rocky eminence on his flank raked it from right to left. Under cover of this artillery fire a great French column, preceded by a swarm of skirmishers, swept down the hill, drove in the British pickets, cleared the village of Elvina of a company of the 50th, and advanced up the slope held by Bentinck's brigade. A portion of the column at the same time detached itself from the main body and moved round the right of the British position with the object of taking it in flank. Moore instantly seized the opportunity. Hurling the 42nd and 50th regiments of Bentinck's brigade at the French front attack, and driving home the charge with the help of Warde's two battalions of Guards, he swung round the 4th Regiment on Bentinck's right to meet the flanking column, and ordered up Paget from behind the hill to take this force in its turn in flank.