Our next day's march brought us to Vitry le Francois, a walled town, built of wood. Here we crossed the Marne; the cavalry by a ford, the infantry and artillery by boats and floats; and here a singular episode occurred.
As the soldiers of the seventh battalion of Camp-Marechal Hepburn's regiment of Scots were crossing, a boat full of them overturned; a musketeer, in the confusion and dismay of the moment, grasped a woman who sat next him, believing she was his wife, and swam ashore with her. On reaching the bank, he turned joyfully to embrace her; when, lo! he found that he had saved the wife of another, and left his own, with her babe, to perish in the river, which swept most of these unfortunates away, to drown among the boats and barges, mud and slime, below the ford. The poor soldier, in the first impulse of his grief and despair, threw himself into the stream again, and being heavily armed and accoutred, sank like a stone, though the Laird of Tushielaw, one of our cuirassiers, made a brave attempt to save him.
We were now in Lorraine—the country of the enemy, and our troops began to plunder in every direction; yet we saw little fighting for some days. As for the plunder, it was the fashion of war in France.
'A little legitimate contribution,' the Chevalier Livingstone called it; 'M. le Cardinal would have us to pay for everything here, as we would in the Rue St. Honoré!'
On entering Toul, which until 1550 had been a free city of the German empire, the hundred cuirassiers were the advanced guard of the army; and here I was detailed as one of a foraging-party under the old Marechal de Logis. As the people treated us scurvily, we foraged with such enthusiasm, that with cocked pistols we ransacked bureaux and boxes, as well as barns and pantries; and some of our men realised a very pretty sum. The aspect of our Marechal de Logis, dark, weather-beaten, scaled all over in an old suit of James V.'s time, and whiskered like a seahorse, made the poor Lorrainers yield up the best of everything in the name of king Louis.
'Always take plunder and provender when they are to be had,' was his maxim; 'for in war, we know not when an evil day may come. By Jove, sirs! when I was besieged in Ulm, with old Velt-Marechal Ruthven, I ate more rats than any old tom-cat; for provisions were short, and the wine being bad, it always flew to my head; because it is an empty place, and clear of brain, you young fellows may think; but your own will be light enough when you have soldiered as long as old Patrick Gordon. Forward, my foragers!—hack and manger and spare not!'
On leaving the fertile valley, where the quaint old city of Toul clusters by the bank of the blue Moselle, surrounded by a chain of hills, that are covered to their summits by teeming vineyards, green foliage, and fertility—on leaving it, we took the road direct to Strasbourg and the Rhine, every night engirding our camp and cantonments with strong out-picquets, as we drew nearer the vicinity of the foe.
On the 16th of March, we passed close to the strongly-fortified city of Nanci, the crooked and narrow, quaint and dark streets of which stand in the centre of a beautiful plain; and we Scots thought it worth a month's pay to see old Ramsay's regiment, five thousand strong, marching through its thoroughfares in column, with all their drums and fifes making them echo to the 'East Neuk o' Fife,' the liveliest of all our quick-steps.
We had now marched two hundred and thirty miles from Paris.
The French out-picquet, on the road to our front, alarmed the whole army one night, by firing at a mysterious object which hovered before them in the dark. A party of M. de Brissac's dragoons were ordered out to patrol; but as they always required a long time to grease and blacken their boots and mustachios, Dundrennan, Home, Livingstone, and I galloped forward to ascertain the cause of alarm; and discovered an old cow, riddled with bullets, lying on the roadway. By this time the whole army were under arms, thinking the Imperialists were upon us; and there was no small amount of laughter and grumbling at those young soldiers—vieilles mustaches—who caused such a disturbance. The cow we gave to our fourrier-major, and her collops were all simmering in the camp-kettles, long before our trumpets blewà chevalagain.
As it neither suited our service, nor the policy of the time, to be absent from church, we were marched to the great cathedral, where we saw mass celebrated with great pomp and ceremony. Many of our reformed Scots shrugged their shoulders, and knitted their brows; but the Marquis de Gordon, who came of a Catholic house, whispered to me,—
'Is it not a sad thing, M. Blane—sad to me, at least—to see a hundred gentlemen of the Scottish Guard mere idle spectators here—strangers before that altar, for which so many of their fathers bent the knee in peace, and laid down their lives in war?'
'My mother's house were Lollards of Kyle,' said I.
Vic, with its old ruined castle of the twelfth century; the marshy plain of Marsal; the little town of Dieuse, and the sedgy banks of the Sielle, were all rapidly passed, without a shot being exchanged; and now we approached the land of strong castles and barrier-towns, as we entered Alsace, a German circle of the Upper Rhine, which was not ceded to France until 1648, prior to which year it belonged to the house of Swabia, who were styled Dukes of Alsace. Here, at a village in which we were quartered, I first tasted that vintage, peculiar to the province, named the stroh, or straw wine; and here we found, that which proved much less pleasant, the bravest of Duke Charles's troops, combined with some of the chosen and hardy lanzknechts of the Empire, garrisoning all the fortresses that lay between us and the far-famed Rhine.
Cardinal de Lavalette, who commanded us, was a son of the famous Duc d'Epernon, and was particularly an adherent and friend of Cardinal Richelieu. With Sir John Hepburn, he had under his baton, another Camp-Marechal, the Viscount de Turenne, whose military genius and brilliant valour rendered him almost the equal of that great cavalier whom a cannon-shot at the siege of Zaberne was to send prematurely to his grave.
The general of the Imperialists was Mathias Count Gallas, a native of Trent, whose reputation and long career of severe and successful service, rendered him a formidable antagonist to the young Cardinal, whose army was to act in conjunction with the Swedes under the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, and to add Alsace to the new conquests of France, whose frontier Richelieu had sworn should be the Rhine.
Though Count Gallas had been guilty of great cruelty in Saxony, the brilliance of his achievements in Bohemia, the skill with which he invested Lauff, and pushed the siege of Mantua, and the greatness of mind he displayed in releasing old Count Thurn, because he would not see a brave enemy perish on the scaffold, together with his fine order of battle at Nordlingen, had gained him such a reputation, that the veteran General Leganez, exclaimed,
'The best officer in the world might learn something from Gallas!'
His head-quarters were now at Worms, from whence he sent out strong detachments to ravage all the country and capture the places still held by the Swedes, before they could be joined by their new allies the French. He stormed Keizar-Loutar; invested Deux-Ponts; and after forcing Count Mansfeldt's lines before Mentz, threw supplies into the city, and thus stood matters when our army halted on the frontier of Alsace.
Having heard from our spies that a thousand of Gallas' cavalry horses were at grass in a verdant hollow near Ingwieler, a little town on the Motter, a tributary of the Rhine, I conceived the idea of decoying, and bringing them all to Lavalette's head-quarters. Full of ardour and enthusiasm, I burned for an opportunity to distinguish myself; and accustomed as I had been to border picqueering and foraging, it seemed an expedition adapted to my skill and capacity. Sir Quentin Home and Lord Dundrennan (they were a pair of inseparables), Raynold Cheyne of Dundargle, the Chevalier, Tushielaw, and another spirit equally reckless, insisted on accompanying me; and on obtaining permission from the Marquis our captain, and from Camp-Marechal Hepburn, we prepared at once to put our scheme in force—quietly and deliberately as we would have done in other days to cross the English frontier, and drive home the fatted beeves of the western wardenrie.
'War is full of rules for practice Mr. Blane,' said the Marquis, as he gave me leave; 'yet it is without any fixed principle; so in this bold stratagem, I trust entirely to your perspicacity, your discernment, and bravery.'
I bowed, and with a beating heart hurried to my tent. I was most anxious that this attempt should be successful, for the eyes of all in the camp were on us, and on me in particular. Our rendezvous was the tent of the Marquis.
'I shall be punctual,' said Cheyne, when I explained my plans.
'Thanks, Raynold, and you Viscount, and Home?'
'We will be punctual as night or death,' said the wild Laird of Redden with his grim smile as we separated.
By my direction seven suits of clothes like those worn by the Croats of Gallas were procured for us. Under their tight jackets we wore our back and breast plates. We invested our nether-persons in wide red pantaloons, which ended in ankle-boots; we put on thick fur caps, and arming ourselves with crooked sabres, daggers, and six pairs of loaded pistols each, (two in the holsters and four in the girdle,) after practising to whoop and to scream, we found ourselves turned into very respectable Croats of whom the Ban himself might have been proud. We chose active little horses, and after meeting at the tent of the Marquis, departed from the camp at sunset, followed, about a mile in our rear, by fifty of the light horse, who were led by the young Marquis de Toneins, and were to cover our retreat, and if necessary aid the attempt.
A ride of some miles brought us to a valley overshadowed by steep black mountains. The darkness had set in, and a waning moon, diminished to a crescent, peeped coldly above the shoulder of a rocky hill, pale, sharp, and keen. Over this grassy hollow, which was less than a mile in extent, we could see the chargers to the number of a thousand, at least, quietly at grass; and just as the troop of light horse concealed themselves in a thicket, a fire was seen to flash and burn brightly on the brow of the rocky hill. This marked the post of the Imperialist guard who had charge of the steeds in the valley.
Scattered among them we could distinguish a number of the enemy's dragoons in foraging dress.
Riding furiously with short stirrups, and in that wild and tumultuous fashion peculiar to the Croatian troopers, we succeeded in deceiving and passing two advanced sentinels; and on making a circuit of the little valley, we got between the scattered horses and the guard which protected them.
'Now, gentlemen, now is our time to drive the prey!' said I, in a loud whisper.
'Hah, Viscount,' cried Home, whose eyes flashed with excitement, ''tis a touch of the old times this!'
'True, Sir Quentin,' added young Scott of Tushielaw; 'and in gude faith, sirs, I could almost fancy this hollow a scroggy glen on the southern slope of the Cheviots; yonder gorge, by which we have come, the Pass of Carter-bar; and all these Austrian nags, a herd of well-fed English kye.'
'Hush, sirs,' said I; 'be wary, be wary, and remember my directions.'
'Of course,' said Dundrennan; 'I never trust horses or women, as both are apt to grow skittish on occasions; so wary we must be.'
'Let us scatter now,' said I; 'and when I fire a pistol, dash on and drive the prey.'
'Bravo!'
'Hurrah!'
'Vivat Rex!' were the exclamations of my six reckless comrades, all of whom were well acquainted with what they had to do, and drew off about twenty yards from each other. The moment I fired my pistol, an immediate commotion took place among the horses; all those that were lying on the ground sprang to their feet; and all that were grazing lifted their heads, pricked up their ears, and prepared to flyfromthe direction in which the sound came.
Now with loud shouts, firing all our pistols (we could give forty-two shots amongst us), and brandishing our crooked sabres, we rode furiously to the right and left in a half circle, but always advancing however, and driving before us the startled herd of horses, which all rushed tumultuously like a living flood, with their heads and hind legs in the air, towards the lower end of the valley, the route we wished them to pursue. Thus, in a moment, the whole mass were in motion, and we rode along with them, decoying and driving them on, treading down and trampling under hoof the few dismounted men whom we had seen scattered among them; some of these we pistolled or sabred as we spurred furiously forward, alternately leading or driving, and hallooing madly; for to us it seemed the wildest of sport, smiting with the flat, or pricking with the point of our sabres any nag that seemed disposed to loiter, or not to follow the leader, for Tushielaw rode in front, guiding all the fugitives towards our camp.
The Imperial Guard at the upper end of the valley were bewildered, and fired recklessly into the dark; while an Austrian sentinel, who placed himself right in the centre of our path, with his cocked musket nearly shot Lord Dundrennan, who by one stroke clove his Spanish beaver, with the iron calotte which he wore under it, and slew him in a moment.
The whole stratagem and seizure were most successful; and without receiving a scar among us, we decoyed the entire herd of horses into the narrow gorge between the mountains. Sir Quentin Home was in extasy at the success of our scheme; and his aspect in the Croatian dress was peculiarly wild as he came furiously up to my side. He had the reins of his bridle in his teeth, together with his dagger; and guiding his horse by both knees, levelled in each hand a cocked pistol.
The chevalier kept his ramrod in his teeth, to reload his pistols more rapidly; and now when we drew up for this purpose, and to recover breath, we were fully two miles from the valley of Ingweiler. Now the light horse of M. de Toneins wheeled up from the thicket, and assisted us to hem the horses more completely into a narrow way between hedges and walls, where, after half-an-hour's anxious delay, the whole suffered themselves to be taken without difficulty, and we threw over their heads the bridoons and stall-collars or halters with which we were amply provided. These were afterwards buckled together, linking all the horses into little troops; and these riderless ranks were each led by a trooper in the centre.
In an incredibly short space of time all were ready, not a horse was lost; and we departed at full speed for the camp. This affair was rather disastrous for the enemy; for among the horses at grass were several which belonged to a foraging party. These, by the alarm or example of others, broke from their picquets, threw down both riders and trusses, and, by this, more than fifty men were trampled under foot, as we afterwards read in theGallobelgicus.
The whole decoy was ably and skilfully managed; but we had just effected our retreat in time, for the Austrian cuirassier regiments of Goetz and Gordon, with six pieces of cannon, despatched by Count Gallas, had almost overtaken us when we reached our camp on the frontier of Alsace. But this was not the only service I had the honour to perform before we advanced further into that province.
Hearing that the enemy had stored up a quantity of provisions at Phalsbourg, a little town that lies at the foot of a mountain on the borders of Lorraine, and gives a title to a principality, I offered, if twenty of Brissac's dragoons were lent to me, to make a dash at the provender, of which my comrades of the Guard were rather short. This I also accomplished, and, at the sword's point, procured them fifteen waggons of dry and green forage; so that we once more had the Marechal de Logis' allowance of twenty pounds of hay, ten pounds of oats, and five pounds of straw per diem for each cuirassier.
Moreover, in this night's onfall, we spiked two brass field-pieces, blew up the tumbrils, slew seven of the Emperor's own regiment of Pelardiers, and partly burned the town.
These two exploits procured me the special notice of the Duke de Lavalette, and of one whose admiration I valued much more—my countryman, the great Sir John Hepburn of Athelstaneford, on whom the eyes of all France and Sweden were turning, as being in all probability the successor of his late master, Gustavus Adolphus, in the arduous struggle with the Empire; a hope in which they were doomed to be fatally disappointed by his premature death.
He offered me a lieutenancy in his regiment; but, being urged by Dundrennan, and flattered by the Marquis our captain, I thanked him, and begged leave to remain with my comrades of the Guard.
We came in sight of Bitche on the morning of the 25th March, which was still in that year (1634),New Year's-dayin England; though the governments of Scotland and of France altered that festival to the 1st of January in 1599, during the reigns of James VI. and Charles IX.
We were with the advanced guard of cavalry, which consisted of the dragoons of Marshal Brissac and the light horse of the Guard, two hundred Navarrese chevaliers, the pride of Henry the Great; and as the Marquis de Gordon, who commanded the whole, understood that a strong force lay in Bitche, he halted, reconnoitred, and bivouacked as the night had set in and our main body had not yet come up.
We slept overnight in our cloaks, under a chill dew, at the heads of our horses, which remained fully accoutred, unbitted, and ready for action at a moment's notice—a fortunate precaution; for with the first pale streak of dawn, when all were weary, cold, and shivering, I was roused by the bracing cry of—
'Aux armes! à cheval!' andto horse!blew all our trumpets, while the long roll of the 'Scottish march,' beaten sharply on the drum, rang along the far-extended lines of Hepburn, Lesly, and Ramsay. And now a body of imperial cavalry, the old-whiskered reitres, and German lanzknechts of the Empire, accoutred in black iron and buff leather, with lance, arquebuse, and espadone, appeared in dark masses and in solid squadron, about a thousand strong, on the narrow road that lay direct to Bitche.
The latter, a little town on the Alsatian frontier, which gave the title of count to a gentleman of the house of Lorraine, stands upon a rock, and was deemed impregnable. Beyond it rose the sombre masses of the Vosges mountains, around the peaks of which the morning mist was wreathing and curling upward—golden, white, and purple in the rising sun; and on the highest towers of the old and dun-coloured citadel waved the white flag, bearing the black eagle of the Empire, and the yellow banner with the three blue wings of Lorraine.
As the artillery had not yet come up, the cavalry were to open a passage for the infantry through these Imperialists; and to us was reserved the honour of attacking the enemy's cavalry if our comrades failed, for it has been a maxim in war since the days of Julius Cæsar to keep the best troops in reserve.
With loud shouts of 'Navarre! Navarre!' the glittering light horse of the Guard swept forward to the attack, in two heavy squadrons of fifty chevaliers abreast, with the royal standard, three fleur-de-lis or in a fieldazure, advanced above their bright helmets, their swords uplifted, and their white ostrich plumes streaming behind them. There was a lowering of lances along the German line; a flashing of pistols; a fierce shock, and rolling of men and horses upon the green turf or dusty road; and, with a shout of rage and defiance, the chevaliers of Navarre recoiled before the enemy, leaving thirty of their number dead or writhing on the ground, while the heavy dragoons of Brissac, led by Roger de St. Lacy, the gallant Duc de Bellegarde, advanced by double troops in dense order from a trot to full speed, and with the oldcri de guerre—
'Montjoie and St. Denis for France!' as all their brandished sword-blades flashed against the morning sun.
A dreadful conflict took place, for Brissac's dragoons were heavy men, accustomed to fight on foot or on horseback; and in the melée we beheld with fierce impatience how helmets were cloven, buff coats pierced and shred, while heads and weapons, men, standards, and horses swayed or went down into that armed and living sea which struggled in the mountain gorge—went down to rise no more!
Bellegarde was wounded by a splendidly-accoutred young imperial colonel, who wore a coat of steel lined with scarlet velvet, with crimson hose, a black plume in his helmet, and the eagle on his breast; and who, throughout this conflict, on which the morning sun shone with unclouded brilliance, was conspicuous alike by the glitter of his equipment and the rashness of his courage. Yells, shrieks, groans, the clashing of swords and the sharp ringing report of pistols echoed between the hills. Men were crawling out from the press covered with bruises, blood, and dust; wounded horses were hopping about on three legs, and others, in the throes of death, rolled madly from side to side, kicking furiously all who came near them. This roused all our fire; and, with something like a shout of fierce joy and anger mingled, we saw the dark dragoons of Marshal Brissac give way at last before the solid German ranks.
'Now, gentlemen,it is our turn!' exclaimed (he handsome young Marquis—the heir of Huntly—as he brandished his sword, and his dark eyes flashed with the fire of his nature, while he spurred to the front with a glove in his helmet—the gift of Lady Anne Campbell, of Argyle, whom he afterwards married. 'Montjoie and Saint Denis! France—France and Scotland, for ever! trot—gallop—comrades—les Gardes Ecossais, follow me—CHARGE!'
Every lip was set; every cheek was flushed; every eye was sparkling as I gazed along the ranks of the chosen hundred cuirassiers, when the voice of our leader and the shrill twang of the trumpet bade us move, and when the contagious ardour ran from man to man and heart to heart along that Scottish line—Scottish in name and blood, and heart and soul—second to none in pride of race and chivalry.
On, on we progressed from a trot to a gallop, and the ranks grew denser, holster to holster and boot to boot, as the horses closed upon each other; and like a stream of lightning, the hundred guardsmen poured forward in all their brilliant trappings, with uplifted swords and St. Andrew's cross waving on the wind, as Sir Archibald Douglas, of Heriotmuir, held it aloft in his stirrup. On, on we went, and though they were eight to one, the dark ranks of the reitres and lancers quailed and wavered before us!
Headlong we rode at them, and plunged into the vapour made by the smoke of firearms mingled with the morning mist. This murky cloud seemed full of helmeted heads, of gauntleted hands, the bright points of levelled pikes, of brandished swords, and waving standards; while the air was laden with cries, tumultuous sounds, and the heavy odour of gunpowder.
Now—now we are within arm's length of them—
There was a mighty shock as rearing horses and shrieking men went down on all sides of us, but we burst right through the heart of the foe, breaking their close array of horses' heads and cuirassed breasts; the dead and the dying marking our track as on right and left we hewed them down.
Raynold Cheyne, Scott of Tushielaw, Dundrennan, and the Chevalier, were all fighting like the peers of Charlemagne, and each performed many acts of heroism. The Master of St. Monance, son of James Sandilands, Lord Abercrombie of Abercrombie, was struck on the breast by a shell, while riding next me. It was thrown from the citadel, and in exploding, blew his jaw off, but, singular to say, injured no one else. He gave a strange, half-smothered cry as his horse turned and fled; he was dragged by the stirrup down a steep ravine, and we never saw him more.
Dagobert bore me bravely; but, bewildered by the fury of our advance and the concussion of the encounter, I knew not for a moment where I was, whether on earth on in upper air, so great was the din around me, until a sharp ringing blow on my helmet recalled my energies with all the instinct of self-preservation, and I found myself thrust somewhat out of the press, and opposed hand to hand to the young colonel—he in steel and scarlet velvet—whose valour we had observed for some time, and in whom I now recognised my Parisian acquaintance of the Place de la Grève, of the Château d'Amtoise, and latterly the abbé of the tavern at Sezanne—Monseigneur the Prince of Vaudemont—the son and heir of Lorraine!
For a moment my confusion nearly destroyed me.
'Ha!' he exclaimed, thrusting at me furiously; 'welcome to this meeting, M. Blane. Mordieu! you have kept your appointment well; now I am no longer M. l'Abbé of the tavern, but a reitre who will skewer you on his sword like a pigeon on a spit.'
'Your present guise becomes you better than the garb of a spy,' said I, dealing him a blow which cleft a gilded passguard off his cuirass.
'Tudieu, my fine fellow! I find that I must kill you, then—here is cold steel for a hot heart! Lorraine, Lorraine, and down with the Fleur-de-lis!' he exclaimed, pressing fiercely on me; but the war-cry brought so many other horsemen and swords into the melée, that we almost immediately, and perhaps fortunately, separated.
Our veteran Marechal de Logis was fighting valiantly in the front rank to capture a standard, the bearer of which, a richly accoutred cavalier, struck the sword from his hand, and was about to slay the fine old man, when I drove up his blade, and dashed Dagobert almost on his hind legs between them. The Imperialist was a finished swordsman; but perceiving that he was weary, I resolved to force his guard. He could barely cover himself on the side opposed to me, so pressing forward I struck the fort of my sword furiously on his blade, and thus succeeded in giving him a cut on the right shoulder; and while taking care to receive his sword, as it came forward, on the cross-bar of my hilt, I ran him through the body, and wrenched away the standard. The blood poured over my glove and pommel as he fell from his saddle, and there was an end of my poor Lorrainer, for the time at least.
He was the Count de Bitche, colonel of petardiers under Duke Charles—the same infamous Count who had abducted and strangled the beautiful Countess of Lutzelstein, so I have no reason to deplore very much, that my lunge through his Lordship's ribs proved so successful.
The standard I had taken bore the three wings of Lorraine, and was borne by the Prince of Vaudemont's horse.
'Arthur Blane,' said the old Marechal de Logis, 'I thank you for that timely succour and good service. I am getting old now; a man, like a drum-head, cannot last for ever—both wear out in time; but I have seen a day when no man in Europe could have stricken a sword from Patrick Gordon's hand.'
The veteran had provided himself with another weapon, and was spurring on once more; but now, the rout of the enemy's cavalry was general, and they fled at full speed, goading and goring their horses' flanks, as they retired past Bitche, towards the stronger citadel of La Mothe, which lay some miles distant.
For two miles we—the cuirassiers of the Scottish Guard—together with the Navarrese light horse, and the dragoons of Brissac, followed them, killing and capturing at every step of the way, though the valiant young Prince of Vaudemont made no less than nine attempts to rally them and to repulse us.
'Well, my Lord Dundrennan,' said the Marquis, as they galloped side by side; 'how felt you in your first charge to-day?'
'A glorious disregard alike of death and fear!' was the proud reply; 'and I am sure that such was the feeling of us all.'
The rout of so superior a body of horse was entirely attributed, by the Duc de Lavalette, to the skill and fury with which we advanced; for cavalry when charging, should always trot gently for about a hundred paces, and thereafter increase their speed until they attain a full and furious gallop, closing to the croup when within twenty paces of the enemy; but such was the celerity with which our hundred cuirassiers advanced, that we charged fully two thousand paces, boot to boot, without breaking; and it may fairly be admitted, that when horsemen have achieved this point of perfection they would ride through a stone rampart—they are fit for anything.
The field, or rather the roadway where this skirmish took place, was strewed with dead and wounded. After the former were stripped and the baggage plundered, one could get any article of attire for a twentieth part of its value.
A Parmese dagger, for a franc.
A velvet coat laced with gold, for five francs.
A sword, a hat and feathers, for a pot of stroh wine.
Our petardiers blew up the barrier gates of Bitche, which were feebly defended by the town guard and a few old soldiers armed with partizans. The castle was stormed by the light horse, who were dismounted for that service; and who, in their anxiety to wipe out the disgrace of their late repulse, acted with great cruelty, 'sparing,' as the Marquis de Toneins told us, 'none but the ugly and the poor.' We blew up the magazines, spiked the guns, and set the town on fire; and as the old song says,
'When churches and houses blazed all in a flame,Withtan-ta-ra-ra, away we all came!'
'In the poor Master of St. Monance we have lost a gallant comrade,' said I, as we began our march the next morning.
'He fell in battle, Blanerne,' said the Marquis; 'well—a Scottish gentleman—a cadet of the house of Calder—has nothing more to ask.'
After receiving the sacrament and twenty rounds of ball cartridge, we advanced towards La Mothe, the operations before which were full of chivalrous little episodes.
Like Bitche, La Mothe, in the bailiewick of Bassignie, had the reputation of being impregnable, as it crowned the crest of a mountain of hard rock, which overlooked all the neighbouring eminences. A tributary of the Maese flowed at its foot. The town had but one gate, which was strongly fortified and guarded by flankers, mounted with brass cannon. It was filled with troops, who, like the inhabitants, were faithful to the Duke of Lorraine; and his Bailiff of Bassignie, the Chevalier Raoul d'Ische, commanded them with vigour and resolution, in which he was ably seconded by the Prince of Vaudemont, who had now joined him with all his fugitive cavalry. Thus we anticipated great trouble in convincing these Lorrainers that their native country should become the property of king Louis.
That no time might be lost in reducing the place, as the army of Count Gallas was only one hundred and fifty miles distant, Camp-Marechal Hepburn, to whom the siege was intrusted, enclosed the town and mountain on all sides. He formed seven batteries of thirty guns against it, and laid five mines under the walls; but our chief difficulty was a low bastion which lay before the entrance. It was mounted by twenty heavy guns, and swept the whole ascent for nearly a mile. This formidable barrier was named, after the Duke's daughter, the Bastion de Louise. It worked us infinite mischief, and though intrenched before it, with all the skill of the great trench-master the Chevalier Antoine de Ville, the Scottish infantry of Ramsay and Lesly suffered severely, losing in killed and wounded nearly fifty men daily.
The wetness of the season increased our discomfort in our tents, and the sharp cold midnight rain that poured and pattered on the canvas walls often penetrated them, while the vibration of the tent pole and straining of the cordage made one dream at times of being at sea, and often at night, when asleep and muffled in my cloak, I saw, in fancy, the black and rocky Rinns of Galloway—my native coast—rise before me, with the wild waves of the western sea dashing on their flinty brows.
The operations before La Mothe were of a very harassing description. While the Cardinal de Lavalette continued his march towards the Rhine, Hepburn, with the Marquis, the Viscomtes of Turenne and Arpajou, the Colonels Lesly and Ramsay, pressed on the siege, which the indefatigable Chevalier d'Ische protracted for nearly five months, until besiegers and besieged were alike weary and exasperated. Vast numbers of our men were buried under earthen banks and parapets by the exploding mines, the bursting of bombs, and by the cannonading; while our trenches were nightly scoured by pike and arquebuse, for the Chevalier and the Prince were reckless and courageous to a fault.
The Marquis de Toneins, a youth who had seen more battles and sieges than he could count years—the idol of Anne of Austria's maids of honour—made our sixth attempt to storm the Bastion de Louise; but was repulsed with unusual slaughter, and lost nearly all his men by their being hurled over the rocks into the river below. De Toneins was wounded by the Prince of Vaudemont, who had singled him out during the assault; and when he was borne bleeding into my tent, the remarkable conversation I had overheard at Sezanne, concerning the divorced Duchess de Charost, recurred to me; when de Toneins fell wounded, Raoul d'Ische tried hard to despatch him by a pike-thrust.
Turenne, the young Marquis's rival alike in love and war, next day made the seventh assault on the same bastion, with the same success, though ably seconded by the Chevalier Ramsay, Knight of St. Lazarus, with his company of the regiment of Hepburn.
During these disastrous attacks, we, with the other cavalry, were employed in scouring the whole province of Alsace, of which we had taken full possession in the name of Louis XIII., who required only La Mothe and one or two other places to complete his conquest. The firing was incessant. Cannon, mortars, and bombardes, muskets and arquebuses, environed the walls the livelong day with fire and smoke; and our fellows returned the compliment with the same amiable inventions; and in bulwark, trench, and battery, familiarity with danger soon bred contempt alike for shot and shell. But the fire maintained from the Bastion de Louise, from daybreak to sunset, was the most terrible and destructive that we had to encounter; and the extinction of this battery, before we could reach the gate (our only avenue to the town) was imperative.
I conceived the idea of achieving this, by nailing up the cannon; and having spoken of it, in the hearing of several officers, one night, as we sat under the shelter of a haystack, drinking stroh wine out of cups and jars, my observations reached the ears of Sir John Hepburn, who sent for me, and with one of his quiet smiles which rather piqued me, he said,
'What is this I hear, Mr. Blane—you have conceived a project to silence that devil of a bastion which is so destructive to us?'
I bowed, and he continued with the same smile.
'I am glad to hear of it, for, by Jove! if we stay here another month, our horses' bones will stand through their skins, like the ribs of a gridiron, as we have foraged and eaten up the whole of Alsace! And now for the project?'
I reddened with vexation and confusion, for my words were heedlessly spoken, though seriously conveyed by some meddling gabbler; and as I stood before this well-tried soldier, who had fought in the Scoto-Bohemian bands at Fleura, commanded an army on the Vistula, stormed Frankfort and Marienbourg, and who had led the final charge of the Scots brigades at Leipzig, I trembled to be deemed by him an empty boaster, and so replied—
'It is true, Sir John, that some such idea has occurred to me.'
'But this Chevalier d'Ische has boasted that never a Scot shall show his moustache within pistol-shot of him.'
'I have been nearer to him twice than I am now to you, Sir John; and he has had good reason to remember my vicinity.'
'Ah! And where were these meetings?'
'First, in the Place de la Grève, where I passed my rapier fairly through him.'
'And secondly?'
'At Sezanne; but I am bound in honour not to say how.'
'But your project?' said Hepburn, stroking his moustache.
'Since my name has been mentioned in connection with this affair,' said I, with a bitterness which I had some trouble in concealing, 'I will undertake to destroy yonder battery, or perish in the attempt.
'You will!' he exclaimed with joy.
'To the brave all things are possible.'
'Turenne, de Toneins, Arpajou, Ramsay, and I, all consider ourselves pretty brave fellows; yet you see, my boy, we have all failed in turn.'
'But your example has given me double courage.'
'I thank you, Blane. 'Tis spoken like your father's son! But how many men do you require?'
'None.'
'None!' he reiterated.
'I shall go alone on this hazardous enterprise.'
'And you dare hope to achieve this—to spike these obnoxious guns?'
'Yes; I hope to do anything I make up my mind to, from foraying a hen-roost to firing a city.'
'Bravo, my boy! you should have been with me in Poland and Bavaria!'
With a heart full of hope, ardour, and anxiety, I left his presence to ponder over my undertaking, and on reflection, the desperation of it crushed and appalled me. It seemed as if I had suddenly made up my mind to perish—to sacrifice life and existence for a bubble, when even, with all the chances and mischances of war, I might have many years to live, and much to achieve—and though mentioned last, not thought of least, the restoration of my ruined house and humbled family to their ancient name and fame at home.
'Blane, when compared with this project of yours, the ideas of Don Quixote were superlative wisdom!' said the Marquis of Gordon gloomily, when I rejoined the Garde du Corps.
'But my honour is pledged.'
'True,' he replied; 'and the honour of the Garde du Corps Ecossais too, my dear fellow, for the eyes of the whole army will be on you now. But, doubtless, you have some fair maid of Galloway at home, whose heart will leap when she hears of this; or perhaps some pretty one in gay Paris, who, whether you fall or succeed, will read with joy the triumph of your bravery in the "Mercure Française."'
'Alas, no! Marquis—neither in France nor at home in the dear land I never more may see, have I one to weep for me.'
'Tudieu! that's odd.'
'None,' I added sadly, 'except—'
'Ah! there is an exception!'
I sighed—but I thought only of the Countess for an instant—and then of the golden-haired Nicola.
'Strange!' I muttered, 'that even in this hour of perplexity and anxiety that girl's face comes before me!'
My resolutions were soon formed. At sunset I crept as close as I dared to the bastion, and with a telescope examined it from every point; but the bourgeoisie who manned it soon discovered me; a salute was fired in honour of my appearance; the bullets of their arquebuses fell thick around me in a shower as I crept back, and escaped to mature my plans and perhaps to—pray.
Dundrennan, Sir Quentin Home, the Chevalier Livingstone, and other gallant gentlemen of the troop were anxious to share with me the honour of this perilous enterprise; but, aware of the danger—the almost certain death—to be incurred, I peremptorily declined all assistance, and resolved to achieve the deed alone, or pay the penalty of my own folly.
The firing languished as usual after sunset, and before nightfall had completely ceased. I clasped on my cuirass and gorget, buttoning over them the doublet of a Lorrainer who had been killed last night in the trenches. It was of dark cloth, faced and trimmed with the colours of duke Charles. I put on a light helmet, stuck four pistols in my girdle, and leaving my sword, took only a dagger. I had a light ladder, ten feet long; a rope, a hammer, and a pocketful of spike nails; and with this apparatus, when the miners were at work, and the out-guards or covering parties sleeping in their blankets, capôtes, or rocquelaures, I issued from the camp, and leaving all behind, advanced on my solitary and desperate enterprise towards the Bastion de Louise.
Frequently I paused to listen; but no sound came from the town, the ramparts and church spire of which—for it had but one—towered above me in the dark and moonless sky, across which the clouds were hurrying in black and broken masses.
As I crept on my mission, strange thoughts of home and of other timeswouldforce themselves vividly upon me; and I remembered the green breezy braes, and the grassy dells, where the mountain runnel brawled under the broad-leaved water docks or the purple heather, and bright yellow broom, where as a boy I had played among the lambs, and gathered the white daisy and the golden buttercup, or watched the white smoke curling from the huge hall chimney of my father's old grey tower. To-night I might be slain—slain far, far away; and I thought of the quiet green grave where my father and mother slept so peacefully side to side in the old kirkyard at Glenkens, and a wild, deep wish rose from my heart to my lips that I was at rest beside them, and away from the selfish hurry of life and all the horror of war!
Anon came hope of success, and prouder thoughts arose within me, and grasping my dagger, I continued to creep stealthily forward.
Rearward, I heard the grating sound of the shovel and pickaxe in the trenches, as the sappers of the Chevalier de Ville replaced the gabions, or batted down the earthen banks, which the cannonade of the past day had disturbed. Perhaps a lantern might throw out a momentary gleam; but even momentary was too much; for then a lurid flash would break from the citadel, lighting all the sky with instantaneous redness, and a ball would whiz over my head towards the miner's lamp; or a shell would curve high in air, distinctly traceable, as it soared from the mouth of the mortar and sunk downward to its destination, by the fuse that flamed upward through its touch-hole, and now the terrible Bastion de Louise arose before me in massive strength, with its row of twenty brass guns frowning en-barbette, over the slope of the rampart.
Anxiety and shame filled my heart on finding that the bastion was full of men; sentinels, too, were on the parapet, as their outline, with helmet and arquebuse, were distinctly visible. For me to proceed was impossible, as the least sound might draw a volley towards the spot where I was lurking; but to return to the camp, merely to report that I had failed, and that my attempt, however rash and gallant, had proved a mere bravado, was more than I could think of, or endure with patience.
Creeping on, I came close to a stockade, which rose at the angle of forty-five degrees to the height of five feet in front of the ditch before the bastion, some shrubs and bushes grew at its base, and among these I lay close; so close, indeed, that I heard the words of command given, as the Lorrainers marched into the town, and, to my inexpressible relief, left none in the bastion, save the four sentinels. Four men were more easily to be met than four hundred; but even by this reckoning how was I to dispose of them? To pistol them all in succession was next to an impossibility, situated as I was; moreover, the discharge of a single shot would suffice to rouse the whole town, and man the walls from flank to flank in five minutes.
The darkness had increased, and fortunately for me the night bore every indication of becoming a stormy one. A high wind swept the side of the mountain; the river hurried over its bed of rocks with a hoarse brawl towards the Maese; and the gusty blasts, as they came in fierce and fitful squalls, piled the clouds in black and inky masses above La Mothe, the black outline of which—tower, spire, and rampart—stood forth black and sharply, at times as broad glares of sheet lightning flashed across the sky, seeming to whiten the summits of the distant hills, and to tip with fire the dewy leaves of the shrubs that covered all the rocky ground; and now, to my joy, came a broad, blinding, and united torrent of rain, falling slowly but surely, as if it would last for hours.
The frightful and oppressive stench of the partially-buried slain that lay before the stockade was not the least of my troubles; for in some of the places I had crept over, the men of Ramsay and of Hepburn were interred only a foot deep; and where the rain had washed away the soil, their toes and fingers, and more horrible still, their white skulls and ghastly teeth, were visible among the soft mould and sprouting grass!
I crept through a small aperture formed by some chance bullet in the stockade, and drawing my ladder after me reached the edge of the fosse that engirt the bastion; and now I could perceive that the dark figures of the four sentinels had disappeared; they had withdrawn to their stone turrets, one of which terminated each angle of the ravelin.
Still crawling serpentwise, I dropped my ladder into the fosse, (which on my side was only twelve feet deep,) and descending crossed it, over splinters of fallen masonry and exploded shells. Placing the ladder against the sloping face of the bastion, which was sixteen feet in height, I easily reached the stone cordon that girdled it, and from thence, all wet and slippery though it was, by the drenching rain, I swung myself up to the cope; but not daring to cross it erect, I crept inwards, keeping close alongside the nearest cannon, and at length stoodwithinthe parapet of the dreaded Bastion de Louise!
My heart leaped within me!
The rain was still pouring downward or aslant as the gusts blew it; not a sentinel was visible; each was in his box, or stone turret, within a pistol shot of me, but the bellowing wind, and the rain that smoked along the parapet, and bubbled in the gorged gutters, concealed every sound, and with my spike nails and hammer (the face of which I had carefully covered with thick leather to preclude the faintest sound ofclinking) I proceeded at once to remove the leaden aprons from the touch-holes, and to complete my dangerous task, by crawling from gun to gun, and keeping my figure as much as possible below the upper line of the parapet—a precaution almost needless, as the darkness was so great.
I had spiked four culverins, when suddenly a light flashed along the wet and shining pavement, and two dark figures drew near me. My pulses stood still—but relinquishing my hammer for a pistol, with the resolution to sell my poor life dearly and desperately, I shrank close under a gun-carriage and layen perdu, while two officers, cloaked and helmeted, evidently making a nightly round, passed within a yard of me, responding to the challenges of the various sentinels. One was undoubtedly the Prince of Vaudemont; and the other, who bore the lantern, I discovered in a moment to be my acquaintance the Chevalier d'Ische.
'So M. le Governeur, you will only let him have this place as a pile of ruins,' said the Prince as they passed; but I did not hear the reply.
'Good,' said the Prince again, 'but the vivres—'
'O—the rats are good—the cats most excellent—we have no want of provision,' responded the gay Chevalier, and as they turned the angle of the works and disappeared, despite the rain and discomfort of the night, I heard him singing his invariable song—
'O vive le fils d'Harlette!Normands,Vive le fils d'Harlette!'
I resumed my task, and in less than five minutes, by twenty blows of my heavy hammer, had driven twenty spike nails home to the head, firmly and securely, in the vents of as many pieces of cannon, unheard and unseen; though I expected every instant to hear a shout, or receive a shot from the dark recesses of the angle-turrets. Had the night been fine or fair, this feat had never been accomplished; but I should have perished in attempting it. I now descended the parapet, and from the projecting cordon reached my ladder, recrossed the fosse, and on ascending the opposite side, left my means of ascent, together with my hammer, as a legacy to the enemy. The stockade was easily surmounted from the inside, and half blinded by the pouring rain and by the excitement of my own feelings, I rushed over the half-buried dead, and back towards the trenches to report that the Bastion de Louise had been deprived of its teeth.
As the reward of my enterprise, I narrowly escaped being shot by my friends. On hurrying towards our lines, a voice cryingqui va là?from the angle of a trench, and the rattle of a musket made me pause; but being breathless by my race down hill, I was unable to speak. I had stumbled upon a trench guard of the young Marquis de Tonein's regiment.
'Qui va là?' shouted the sentinel again. 'Stand, monsieur, and deliver the parole.'
'Saint Louis.'
'Bon—good,' he replied, shouldering his musket.
'The countersign, if you please?' said I.
'Paris.'
'Thank you, friend musketeer.'
'Saint Louis et Paris. Bon! a thousand thanks, Monsieur Ecossais. A rash fellow would have fired at once on any man rushing thus from the enemy's lines. And now, brave comrade, what of the Bastion de Louise?'
'It is fangless now.'
'Mordieu! you have accomplished your task. O monsieur, that I were you! we shall dance a cotillon there in the morning.'
All blackened, muddy, and drenched, I hurried to the quarters of Sir John Hepburn, whom I found ensconced in the lower story of a ruined windmill, with the Viscounts Dundrennan, de Turenne, and Arpajou; the Marquis de Toneins; and Colonels Ramsay and Lesly, some sleeping, some smoking and drinking Rhenish and stroh wine by the light of a stable lantern; and to them I reported my success. The tall and stately Hepburn embraced me, all soiled as I was. He made me drain his cup filled with wine, and taking from his own breast the cross of St. Lazare, said—
'Wear this for me; and be assured, Arthur Blane, that on my recommendation king Louis will more than confirm the gift. I here proclaim you the premier cuirassier of the Scottish guard!'
The first man who invented the plan of nailing up cannon, by driving an iron spike into the touch-hole, was Caspar Vimercalus, a soldier of Bremen, who thus destroyed the artillery of Sigismund Malatesta. There have been many contrivances suggested to force out nails that were thus inserted, but none have been found of general use.
Next morning, before daybreak, preparations were made to capture the disarmed bastion, and to effect a lodgment under the walls and town gates.
The rain and wind had passed away, and the keen, bright stars were looking out of the blue sky; but there was no moon, and half-an-hour before dawn, three hundred chosen men of the Scottish regiments of Hepburn, Ramsay, and Lesly—one hundred from each—mustered in front of their wet tents, to storm the Bastion de Louise. They were all volunteers, lightly accoutred, and supplied each with thechardon de fer, or crampiron, which was strapped over the shoe by means of a buckle. Previous to this invention, stormers used to take one shoe off, to prevent them from slipping on a rampart.
The Vicomtes de Turenne and Arpajou, neither of whom had completed his twenty-third year, and Sir John Hepburn, led the assault. With them were twenty dismounted cuirassiers of the Scottish guard, of whom I was one, armed with partizans, and carrying daggers and pistols in our girdles.
'Forward, gentlemen, quickly and in silence,' said Sir John, as we marched to the front, and began the ascent of the mountain; 'to-night we shall sup in La Mothe, and drink to the fair maids of old Scotland in the best Burgundy of Duke Charles.'
Followed by a strong covering column, under Colonel Ramsay, we left the trenches in our rear, and almost without a sound advanced over the wet and slippery ground I had so lately traversed twice, until we were within musket-shot of the walls, when the unfortunate explosion of an arquebuse, as a soldier stumbled and fell, gave an alarm, and in a moment after, we heard the drums beating in La Mothe; curving and sparkling, the rockets hissed aloft in fiery circles as the walls were manned and the Lorrainers stood by their guns in the Bastion de Louise, and opened, at random, a fire of small arms upon us.
A brilliant flash, with a deep, hoarse, booming sound, from the town barrier, made me stoop instinctively, as a cannon shot passed over my head, and tore to pieces a poor pikeman in my rear. It struck him right in the breast; a portion of his body hit Lord Dundrennan with such force that he could scarcely breathe for some minutes after; but on we hurried with all speed, anxious to come to blows at a shorter distance.
The coolness of the brilliant Marquis de Gordon, as we advanced, was somewhat amusing. Drawing off his gauntlet, he said to a captain of Ramsay's corps—
'Forbes, I'll trouble you for a pinch of snuff.'
The captain was about to comply, when a second flash broke from the town rampart, and a ball cut him in two.
'Zounds!' said the Marquis, 'M. le Vicomte Arpajou, I shall trouble you, for poor friend and his box have gone together. Comrade,' he added, to a man who fell with a shriek, as his left leg was shattered by a musket-shot, 'why are you making such an outcry? it will not cure you; but here is my silk scarf, 'tis at your service as a bandage.'
'Bravo, comrades and gentlemen!' exclaimed Sir John Hepburn, brandishing his sword; 'here we are at the foot of the glacis!'
Over it, the arquebuses à croc were pouring death and havock among us; but the destruction of their cannon had evidently dismayed the Lorrainers, and deprived them of all confidence. Still their fire was so steady and severe, directed as it was by the dawn which was breaking behind us, and clearly defined our figures, that we wavered now at the edge of the fosse, after surmounting and destroying the stockade by axes, hammers, and crowbars, and there was an unmistakeable reluctance to advance, while the stormers fell fast on every hand, and we heard the tumultuous cheers of Ramsay's covering column, which was pressing on our rear.
Hepburn held aloft his purse.
'Forward, comrades!' he cried; 'a thousand francs to the first with me in the bastion.'
Not a man among us stirred; he grew deathly pale, but still continued to brandish his sword, while the bullets sawed all the turf about him.
'Come on, sirs—my old Scots musketeers and gentlemen of the guard—Dundrennan, Douglas, Blane, and Bruce, follow me!'
'Hepburn, you have insulted us all by this offer of money,' said the Marquis of Gordon.
'My cross of Mont Carmel, in the King's name then,'
he replied, with a flushing cheek, as he tore it from his breast and flung it into the fosse.*
* An incident almost similar occurred with the Irish Brigade at Havannah.
'Hurrah!' burst from every tongue.
'Montjoie St. Denis!' cried Turenne.
'France—France and Scotland for ever!' added the Vicomte Arpajou.
And with wild shouts that rent the air of the calm morning sky, we rushed into the fosse, and planting our echelles against the bastion, ascended, fighting hand-to-hand, and firing our pistols into the faces of the foe, as we grappled for life and death on the summit, and forced a passage in, with the loss of eighty brave Scottish soldiers.
Sir John was the first man on the rampart; the second, and consequently the winner of the cross of Mont Carmel, was one of his own private musketeers, a poor gentleman from the braes of Angus, who rose to be count and general of cavalry in the French army.
The Lorrainers were driven furiously back; but a savage conflict ensued with them between the bastion and the town-gate; and there, in the cold gray light of the morning, were Scottish musketeers and German pikemen, chevaliers in brilliant plate-armour, gentlemen of our Garde du Corps, and those of Lorraine, with the lean and famished bourgeoisie of the town, in their black and battered harness, all mingled in one wild melée of whirling swords and clubbed muskets, as they closed up round the tall figure of Hepburn on one side, and the fierce and energetic Raoul d'Ische on the other.
Side by side two of our cuirassiers had almost hewed a passage to the shattered barrier, the archway of which was encumbered by paths of dead and dying, and behind these the musketeers and pistoleers were nestling, and plying fast their shot.
These two were young Sir Robert Bruce of Blairhall, and old Sir Archibald Douglas of Heriotmuir, who had lost his helmet, and whose silver tresses were glittering in the dewy air.
'You have the precedence here by age,' said Blairhall, saluting him with his bloody rapier; 'my brave friend, lead on!'
'Nay,' said Sir Archibald, lowering also his blade, 'do thou advance, my brave boy; where a Bruce leads, a Douglas may be proud tofollow!'
Fatal courtesy! It was scarcely exchanged, ere the first was run through by a pike, and a gigantic bourgeois brained the latter by the ampoulette of his clubbed musket. The poor old baronet's brains flew over me, but I pistolled his destroyer, who fell prone into that gory puddle where the two bravest gentlemen of the Garde du Corps Ecossais were lying side by side.
In a moment afterwards I found myself opposed to the Chevalier d'Ische, hand-to-hand, and so closely, that our weapons were engaged up to the very hilt, and being encumbered by a wounded man, who grasped my right leg in his death agony, I received a severe cut on the right cheek.
'Ah, thou diabolical Scot! at last I have thee!' said the Chevalier, grinding his teeth.
'Beware, Chevalier, beware!' said I, infuriated by the sight of my own blood; 'I have sworn to write my name on your skin with a good Scottish dagger!'
'And yet, dog, 'tis to my worthless sister you owe your frippery!—yea, life itself!' he added, with a terrible glance.
'True, true; let us pass—let us part!' said I, feeling sudden compunction, and standing only on my defence.
'In a moment I shall kill you—adieu! do you call that fencing? no lover could be a greater fool than you!—Ah, queen of heaven!—I am gone!' he exclaimed, and tossed his sword into the air. As he threw up his hands, the blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell on his face. A ball, fired by Lord Dundrennan at another person, had pierced his chest, and slain him!
On his fall all resistance ceased; and thus, after considerable loss, at seven o'clock on the morning of the 25th July, 1635, the Scottish general of Louis XIII. hoisted the French standard on the ramparts of La Mothe.
Sir Robert Bruce of Blairhall, and Sir Archibald Douglas of Heriotmuir, with other gallant gentlemen, French and Scottish, who were slain in this assault, we buried with all honour and solemnity in the church of La Mothe. I found the body of the silver-haired Sir Archibald lying close to the barrier gate, surrounded by piles of dead men. Near his hand lay a broadsword he would never grasp again. It was an old family weapon, and on its blade was engraved, 'Att Floddenfield and Pinkycleuch.' I also found the Chevalier d'Ische. As he lay dead within the Bastion de Louise, how difficult of recognition through that hideous mask of powder, blood, and dust, were the handsome features of the young and reckless Bailiff of Bassignie! I thought of the gay and beautiful Clara—she whose miniature by Poussin I still wore at my neck—and my soul grew sad, as the pikemen of Arpajou bore him away to his hastily-made grave.
Our trumpets soundedà cheval, 'to horse;' for all the cavalry were now to advance in pursuit of the Prince of Vaudemont, who had effected his escape towards the Maese; and loud and shrill they rang between the mountain peaks, where so many lay that never more would rise until the trumpet of the archangel wakes that wooded valley with its final blast.
I had my foot in the stirrup of Dagobert, and was in the act of mounting to advance with the cuirassiers, when the Laird of Tushielaw summoned me to the presence of the Camp-Marechal Hepburn, whom I found at the house of the defunct Governor of La Mothe, and seated in a splendid apartment, the tapestry of which represented the victories of Charles VII. over the English.
The Marquis of Gordon, Vicomtes Turenne and Arpajou, with other glittering nobles and chevaliers, were lounging about, speaking of the recent assault, drinking the Burgundy of poor Raoul d'Ische, and making considerable noise and merriment.
'This capture is quite equal to a victory in the field,' said Turenne.
'All Paris will speak of it for three days at least,' added Arpajou.
'Three days,' said Hepburn, folding a letter which he had just concluded; 'only three days you think, M. le Vicomte?'
'Peste! that is a long time for Parisians to talk of one thing, believe me, Camp-Marechal,' said our captain the Marquis; 'but here is my friend Mr. Blane.'
'I know of none so worthy to carry my despatch to Paris as you Mr. Blane,' said Sir John; 'and you will convey it to the feet of king Louis, with the standard which you captured so valiantly at Bitche. Be prepared to leave this in an hour!'
'Paris—ah! Mon Dieu, how I envy you!' said de Toneins and several others.
I bowed, and retired to make my brief preparations for a journey that was not without great danger, as the way for miles to our rear, through Alsace and Lorraine, lay through the country of the enemy.
The moment it became known in Hepburn's camp that I was to ride for Paris, letters for all the fair dames of that intriguing capital were poured upon me, until I flatly refused to take more. Dundrennan, the Chevalier Livingstone, and I know not how many others, gave me billets for Mademoiselle Ninon de l'Enclos. The Marquis of Gordon gave me one for Clara d'Amboise; Arpajou gave me one for Madame de Bouillon; Turenne gave me another for the lovely Mademoiselle de Chevreuse; and, among many others, the young Marquis de Toneins, though wounded, and in love with the divorced Duchess of Charost, gave me a little pink-scented billet, which I was to deliver personally to Mademoiselle de l'Orme. In short, there was a perplexing obliquity of morality, and oblivion of all marriage and family ties in this precious post-bag of mine, that was quite Parisian, and suited to the French taste of the age; for every one seemed to be in love with his friend's wife; and thus laden, with Hepburn's despatch concealed in the lining of my cuirass, I bade adieu to my gallant comrades, who resumed their march towards the Rhine, while I turned the head of Dagobert regretfully towards Paris the beautiful—Paris, the city of perdition.
'Take care of Mademoiselle de l'Orme,' was the parting advice of the Marquis of Gordon; 'lest she wile you to love her.'
'And what then, Marquis?' said I, gaily.
'She will break your heart, and fling it to the devil, as she has broken and flung those of others.'
'Farewell—I shall be wary, believe me.'
'Adieu'—and I galloped off.
I traversed all the land of Lorraine, and never drew bridle save when I could not, without destroying my fine Spanish barb, press him further, or faster.
On passing the borders of Champagne, I proceeded more at my leisure, and after a pleasant journey of about thirty miles per day, found myself one evening, in the beginning of August, trotting down the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, towards the old familiar masses of the magnificent Louvre, with all the buzz, bustle, chatter, gaiety, dust, and sunshine of Paris around me; and once more I saw its spires glooming in the twilight of azure and gold.
His Majesty was hunting at his country castle of Versailles (it was only a castle then), and would not return for a week; thus, after halting for refreshment and repose at my old hotel, theGolden Fleur-de-lis, in the Rue d'Ecosse, where Maître Pierre Omelette was still extant in all his glory and amplitude of night-cap and white apron, I flung all the frivolous billets with which I was intrusted into the box of the Hotel des Postes—all save those for Mademoiselle de l'Orme, whom I was anxious to see, and hiring a fresh horse, departed next day for the royal hunting-seat, without making any detour towards the château d'Amboise, though I looked wistfully at its shining vanes, and steep slated turrets as they rose above the coppice with a cloud of pigeons wheeling round them; but I rode rapidly on, feeling piqued, because the handsome and gay Marquis of Gordon had written to Clara, and had given me the letter to carry. Moreover I dreaded to meet her natural grief for her brother's death, and resolved seriously to consider the expedience of my visit,afterthe delivery of my despatch.
At this time, when the imperial general had nearly made himself master of all the bailiwick of Vaudevrange, and encamped his army between the Save and the Wilde, that he might more effectually succour the Duke of Lorraine; and when France and her allies were most unsuccessful in Italy, where the Duke of Parma was stripped of his territories by the encroaching Spaniards, notwithstanding all the valiant efforts of the French troops under the Marechal Duc de Crecqui, couriers or officers bearing despatches were ever anxiously waited for at the Louvre and Versailles, and by no one more than Richelieu, who had precipitated France into this war with the German empire.
In a short time I approached Versailles, a small village on a rising ground, about twelve miles westward from Paris, and entered the avenue which led to the country palace or hunting castle built by Louis XIII. It is an edifice entirely of brick, coped with stone, crowned by balustrades and sculptured trophies, busts, and vases. All the statues, eighty in number, are antiques of white marble, and stand on carved corbeilles between the windows. In the centre is a balcony supported by eight Doric columns of richly-veined marble. Under this balcony stood a gentleman of the Scottish Guard, one of the twenty-four archers, on duty with his arquebuse, talking to some young nobles and Gray Mousquetaires, who were lounging about the grand entrance, and making it seem quite gay, with their slashed pourpoints and plumed hats.
Little hills that teem with game surround this quaint old hunting castle, on which, since those days, Louis XIV. has engrafted one of the most magnificent palaces in the world.
Just as I dismounted, and gave the reins of my horse to a groom in the royal livery, a vehement blowing of horns, accompanied by the yelling and barking of dogs, the tramp of horses, and cracking of whips, approached, and I beheld the King ride up, surrounded by a gay and joyous but travel-stained band of hunters—the four dukes, who were gentlemen of his chamber, the grand huntsman, the grand faucormier, a pack of hounds, and a host of grooms and keepers. They all came up by that stately path of ancient elms, the rows of which are twenty fathoms wide, and which lead from the old brick castle towards Paris.
I begged M. de Brissac, a gentleman of the Duc de Bouillon, and formerly a captain in St. Lacy's dragoons, who was riding beside the King, to mention that a courier had arrived from the army; and my request—or the words of it—spread like wildfire.
'A courier from the army?' said one.
'Which army—we have five in the field?' asked a second.
'The army of the Rhine,' replied a third.
'From Italy, I believe,' said M. de Brissac.
'Ah!' exclaimed the Duc de St. Simon; 'from the Marechal Duc de Crecqui?'
'Has he taken Parma from the Spaniards?'
'Yes—of course. Parbleu! 'tis glorious.'
'Parma is taken. Vive le Marechal Duc de Crecqui!'
Thus, amid confused shouts and blowing of horns, I found myself standing uncovered beside the stirrup of the timid and querulous king, who was in the act of opening a long despatch, which had just been handed to him by another officer, who, as De Brissac told me, had just arrived from the Duc de Rohan; and in this officer, who had preceded me by three minutes, I recognized my countryman the young Earl of Irvine, a colonel of foot. He looked pale, thin, and emaciated, for his right hand had been shot off.
'My brave M. Irvine,' said the King, 'what reward must yours be?'
'Permission to serve your Majesty with my left hand, since the right is lying at the foot of the Alps.'
'Thou art a valiant Scot!' exclaimed the King, opening the despatch.'
But his countenance grew dark as he read on, for the letter detailed, in the gentlest manner, an undeniable defeat; and every lip was hushed and every eye bent on him while he made himself master of its contents.