It was nearly dark when they reached his lodgings in Coruña. Colonel Anderson, his devoted friend and comrade during twenty-one years past, met the mournful cavalcade, and was speechless with distress. This was the third time that he had seen Moore carried wounded from a field of battle; and it was the last. Moore pressed his hand tightly. “Anderson, don’t leave me!” he murmured. Then, as his faithful French servant, François, appeared, in blank horror, with falling tears, he smiled. “_Mon ami_, this is nothing,” he said. The surgeons examined the wound, only to find that no hope of recovery existed. By this time the agony had become so overwhelming that Moore could hardly speak, and his face was deathly pale. Yet, after a while, he so far mastered the torture as to utter one sentence and then another at intervals. “Anderson, you know that I have always wished to die in this way,” came first. And, as the officers of his staff appeared, one by one, he put the same question to each—“Are the French beaten?” Next, with unconscious pathos, read now in the light of after-misrepresentations— “_I hope the people of England will be satisfied. I hope my country will do me justice!_” Now there was the thought of his own relatives. “Anderson—you will see my friends as soon as you can. Tell them—everything. Say to my mother——” For the first time self-control failed. His voice broke, and his features were strongly agitated. The love between that son and that mother had been of no common kind. He was utterly unable to speak what he wished, and he turned to another subject. “Hope—Hope—I have much to say to him—but—cannot get it out? Are Colonel Graham[2] and all my Aides-de-camp safe?” Anderson hastily signed to others not to tell him that one of the latter had been dangerously wounded, knowing well the strong affection which existed between Moore and his whole staff. The question was evaded. He then mentioned that he had made his will, and had in it remembered his servants. “Colbourne has my will—and all my papers,” he said. And when Major Colbourne[3] came in, Moore greeted him with exceeding kindness, turning then to Sir John Hope, to say with difficulty, “Hope, go to the Duke of York, and say he ought to give Colbourne a regiment.” Upon Anderson too he urged the same. He asked again, “Were the French beaten?” In every direction, he was told. “It’s a great satisfaction for me to know we have beaten the French,” he remarked. “Is Paget in the room?” Colonel Anderson, who throughout remained close by his side, supporting him as he lay, replied in the negative. “Remember me to him. It is General Paget I mean. He is a fine fellow.” A little later came the words, “I feel myself so strong—I fear I shall be long dying. It is great uneasiness—it is great pain.”