At the bridge of Westminster, which had been built about ten years before, I bade them adieu, and with something like a sigh of regret, departed in search of some humble hostelry wherein to pass the night.
This brief meeting—the whole episode in all its details interested me deeply. Those women so highly bred, so delicately nurtured, so richly dressed, so gentle and winning in manner, were so different from those whom I was now compelled to meet, in camp and barracks, at the canteen and sutler's tent, that for the first time my heart repined at the prospect before me.
"Pshaw!" said I, "let me think of this no more." But near a lamp I reined up to examine the lady's card, and searched my pockets in vain. I had lost it!
"It matters little," thought I; "and yet, withal, I should like to have known their names." And amid the roar and bustle of the lighted streets of London, I still seemed to hear the merry laugh and gentle voice of the fair-haired girl whose hand I had so recently held in mine.
All the adventures of the preceding night appeared but a dream, when early next morning—at least so early as I could hope to find any high officials at their office—I rode through the crowded streets of London, and delivered the despatch of Commodore Howe at the Admiralty.
"Immediate" being written on the envelope, I had to remain in a waiting-room for more than an hour, after which the answer was entrusted to me, addressed, "On H.M. Service," to Commodore Howe. As I afterwards learned from the public prints, this document, among other instructions, empowered him to avail himself of "the services and information of the two French deserters named on the margin—Theophile Damien and Benoit Bossoit."
I consigned it to my sabretasche, remounted, and quitted London at a quick pace about two p.m.
On leaving the greater thoroughfares behind, when traversing the suburbs I easily lost my way, and at a tavern, near which a number of fellows in their shirtsleeves were playing skittles, I drew up to inquire the way to Portsmouth.
I questioned one who was seated at the door smoking; he was a man with a very sullen and forbidding expression of face, who had his left hand thrust into the breast of his vest. He wore a shabby snuff-coloured suit with large steel buttons; his legs were incased in long riding-boots spotted with mud, and I perceived the brass butts of a pair of pistols, peeping from his square flapped side pockets.
I was somewhat surprised when this sinister-looking stranger, after giving me a long and ferocious stare, started from his seat, uttered a deep imprecation, and entered the house. I then called to the skittle players, and repeated my question to them.
On this they simultaneously abandoned their game, and gathered about me.
"The Portsmouth road lies straight before you," said one; "be you going to France, my lad?"
On my replying in the affirmative, they gave a simultaneous cheer, and, amid cries of "Old England for ever!" and "Down with the Johnny Crapauds!" I had to drink with them all, and they continued to wave their hats as long as I was in sight, while galloping along the road they had indicated.
Being anxious to reach Portsmouth and to rejoin, I rode at a hard trot; the road was good, the country open and level. Two mounted persons appeared at times behind me; but I continued to keep in advance of them. Some association of ideas made me think of the sulky fellow I had seen at the tavern door, and of the two highwaymen of the preceding night; but after a time I perceived that one of the riders was a lady, and that both were coming along at a rasping pace, as if determined not to be distanced and left behind by me.
I had taken the Epsom road, thus a ten miles' ride brought me to Ewell, near which, in a pleasant green lane, where the plum and apple trees that bordered the way intertwined their branches overhead—one of those quiet, dewy, and shady green lanes that are so peculiarly English, where the bees hum, and the gossamer webs are spun—I drew bridle to breathe my horse.
I now heard the sound of hoofs coming rapidly along the road, and in a minute after, there swept past me the fair traveller I had seen, and some yards behind her rode a man in livery. They were both admirably mounted on blood horses. Her ample skirt, her long fair hair, and the ostrich plume in her hat streamed behind her. I could see with a glance that she had her horse well in hand, though it flew almost at racing speed, causing mine to rear and strain upon the bit, as she passed me with a merry ringing laugh of delight, and with a flourish of her whip, so much as to say, "A challenge—we have distanced you at last!"
This I was not slow in understanding, and feeling somewhat piqued, put spurs to my nag, and dashed off in pursuit by the highway that led to Epsom.
Twice I saw her looking back, which her valet, though a good horseman, scarcely dared to do; and each time she plied her little riding-switch with no very sparing hand, and like a girl of spirit.
Copsewood in full foliage, thatched cottages half buried among ivy, hops and flowers, ripe corn fields, and red brick houses, seemed to fly past, and in a very short space we found ourselves traversing Banstead Downs. I gained on them fast, for my horse had been thoroughly breathed. I soon passed the livery servant, and a few more bounds brought me neck and neck with his mistress, who turned to me laughingly, a flush—the genuine flush of youth, pleasure, and exercise glowing in her soft cheek—and simultaneously we pulled in our horses on recognising each other.
She was the charming blonde I had met on Wandsworth Common—the heroine of my last night's adventure!
My cavalry cloak was rolled and strapped to my saddlebow; and I thought there could be no mistaking my private's uniform now, and indeed, her countenance changed very perceptibly as she said, half breathlessly—
"Good morning, my friend. So I have actually been running away from the person to whose courage mamma and I owe so much!"
"It would almost seem so," said I, bowing.
"Believe me, sir, I knew not that it was you," she resumed, colouring deeply, and casting down her eyes (how fair her soft loveliness looked by day!). "I saw but a horseman before me, and could not resist the temptation of passing him."
"Nor could I resist the desire of accepting your very palpable challenge," I replied, just as the valet came up, fearfully blown, and in his crimsoned face I recognised the features of the valiant Mr. John Trot.
"But I was not altogether trying a race with you," said the young lady, still blushing deeply, and beginning to move her horse away; "I was riding fast to overtake mamma, who is in yonder carriage. She is come to drink the waters of Ashted Spa, and I doubt not will be glad to tender you once again her thanks."
With these words, and with an air that seemed to say, "This interview, or this mistake, has lasted long enough," she bowed and urged her horse towards the carriage, which was standing about fifty paces distant on the high road, and from a window of which I saw a lady observing us.
The young girl's figure showed to perfection on horseback, and her riding-habit, which was of light green cloth, trimmed with narrow gold braid, suited well her blonde beauty and golden-coloured hair. She wore a broad black beaver hat, from which a single ostrich feather drooped gracefully on her left shoulder. Loosened by the roughness of the gallop, her soft hair flowed over her neck in silky ripples—I know no more fitting term—of light golden brown, that glittered in the sunshine. Her riding-gauntlets were of yellow leather, and her hands, as they grasped the reins and riding-switch, seemed small, compact, and beautifully formed.
"I thought we had lost you, madcap!" said her mamma, with annoyance in her tone and manner; "what caused you to gallop thus along the Downs, as if riding a race?"
"I was running something very like it, certainly, mamma; but do you not see that we have been overtaken by—the—the gentleman who saved us from robbery last night?"
"I am hastening back to Portsmouth, madam," said I, with a profound salute. "In my ignorance of the country I have taken the road to Epsom instead of that which leads to Cobham, and to this mistake I owe the good fortune of meeting with you again."
"You had not time, probably, to visit us before leaving town this morning?" said she.
"I had the mischance, madam, to lose your card."
At that moment, a man of sinister aspect, and shabbily attired, but with holsters at his saddle, looked fixedly at us, as he rode slowly past, on a bald-faced bay horse.
Hislefthand was bound up by a red handkerchief, and, consequently, he held the reins of his bridle with theright. He glared at me, with a glance of such undisguised ferocity, that I had not a doubt he was the wounded rascal of last night's adventure—the same man, he of the snuff-coloured suit and steel buttons, whom I had seen with the skittle players in the suburbs of London.
Was he dogging me?
If so, 'twere well to be prepared. All this flashed upon my mind with the usual rapidity of thought; but I was too much interested by my new friends to attend to him then, and, ere our interview was over, he had disappeared upon the way to Guildford—the roadI was to pursue.
"Zounds! I must look out," thought I, "or there may be a blank in Lindsay's muster-roll to-morrow."
"It is, indeed, singular that we should meet again, and so soon, too!" said the elder lady, who, notwithstanding the silver tinge amid her auburn hair, still bore unmistakable traces of a beautiful person; "your regiment is, I think, a Horse Grenadier one?"
"Yes, madam."
"The Guards?"
"No—it is the Scots Greys, or Second Dragoons—yet we boast ourselves 'Second to None.'"
"A proud vaunt," said she, smiling at my manner.
She was silent for a few moments, during which I was conscious that her daughter was observing me with some interest. As our officers did not then wear epaulettes, but simply a silver aiguilette, her next observation was an awkward one for me.
"You are a captain, I hope?" said she, smiling.
"Nay—I am too young," I replied, with a hesitating manner and a glowing cheek.
"Yet Wolfe, whom I once knew, was a colonel at twenty. Then you are a cornet?"
I felt the blood rushing to my temples—yet wherefore should I have blushed "for honest poverty?"
"Curiosity is the privilege of our sex," said the young lady, coming to my rescue; "thus mamma is most anxious to know to whose bravery we owed our safety."
"Madam, I have not the honour to be more than a private trooper," said I, with a bearing of pride that had something stern in it.
Mamma did not lose her presence of mind, though the colour in her daughter's cheeks grew deeper, but replied—
"All, indeed! I believed you by your bearing to be an officer." She drew her head within the carriage.
"I thank you, madam; I was not always what I am to-day," said I, sadly.
"And now, my good fellow, if you will favour me with your name, Colonel Preston shall be duly informed, by letter, of your courage."
There was another pause, during which I shortened my reins, and was turning my horse, when the winning voice of her daughter, which had a singularly sweet chord in it, arrested me, as she said—
"You belong, you state, to the Greys?"
"Yes."
"Do you know a soldier named Gauntlet—Basil Gauntlet?"
It was nowmyturn to feel confusion and extreme surprise.
"Yes; but how has he the honour, the happiness to be known to you?" I inquired, with growing astonishment, while gazing into her clear, bright eyes.
"I have an interest—have we notbothan interest in him, mamma?" said she, with confusion.
"You—in a poor unfriended trooper?" I exclaimed.
"He is from our neighbourhood—that is all," replied the young lady, with a hesitating manner.
I scanned her face in vain; its soft expression and lovely features, her hair of golden-brown, her eyes of dark blue-grey—eyes full of faith, of truth and merriment withal, were quite unknown to me, and my heart beat quicker while my bewilderment increased, as she said—
"We have heard that this ill-starred lad has become wild, rakish, bad, incorrigible and ugly."
"Ugly? Come, I am sorry you say so," said I, with something of pique.
"Why?" asked the mamma, raising her eyebrows and eyeglass.
"Gauntlet and I are alike as twin brothers could be, and I don't like to hear him reviled."
"Ah, indeed," said she, glancing at me leisurely through her eyeglass. Then, as thoughts of Jack Charters' countess, and the scrapeshehad lured him into occurred to me, I resolved to become reserved; but could not help inquiring—
"Permit me, ladies, to ask how poor Gauntlet is so fortunate as to interest you?"
"We are namesakes—that is all," replied the elder lady, rather coldly.
"Namesakes!" echoed I; but at that moment, as the arms on the panel of the carriage door caught my eye—a shieldargentcharged with a gauntletgules—a new light broke upon me. Anger—sudden, fierce, and glowing anger—was my next impulse, and, turning to the fair rider, I stammered, but my voice almost failed me, "You are—you are——"
"The granddaughter of Sir Basil Gauntlet, of Netherwood," said she, with haughty surprise.
I was silenced and confounded! This lovely girl whom I had twice met so singularly and so abruptly, was my cousin Aurora, the new usurper of my patrimony—one whom I had schooled myself to hate and in my soul revile; and this elder lady, so noble, so courtly, and still so handsome, was the mother of my late fox-hunting cousin Tony—my aunt by marriage—she who doubtless believed me to be—if she ever thought of me at all—the outcast, runaway, and worthless wretch my unnatural grandfather had sought to make me.
Pride and a just sense of indignation swelled up within me, and I sat on my horse, silent, irresolute, and stern. Aurora and her mother knew little of the stormy, the fierce conflict of nameless emotions that raged in my heart.
"Adieu, soldier," said the mamma, "with a thousand thanks for the service so bravely and politely rendered. If you will not give us your name, at least do me the favour of accepting this," she added, drawing forth her—-purse.
I uttered a scornful laugh, and reining back my horse, said—
"Nay, nay, ladies, though impoverished and humbled, I cannot submit quietly to the degradation of being offered money."
"This is most singular!"
"How is mamma to reward you?" asked the young lady, with something of surprise and, as I thought, pleasure in her tone. It might be that I flattered myself.
"By permitting you to give, and me to accept—" said I, taking a lace handkerchief from her hand, for I was always a lover of effect, and resolved to produce one now—"of this trifle as a remembrance——"
"Of what?" she asked, blushing to the temples; "a remembrance of what?"
"That Basil Gauntlet has been of some service to Aurora, the beautiful cousin who has done him a grievous wrong in unwittingly depriving him of his heritage and birthright. Three days, now, may find me on the seas for France; so adieu, aunt and cousin, adieu for evermore!"
Then I cut short this remarkable interview by spurring my horse with such energy that he made a wild bound, and sprang away at a dashing pace along the road to Guildford.
Impulse had made me take Aurora's handkerchief, and impulse now made me regret having done so.
Pride resumed its sway, and thus, while riding furiously along the road, I never turned once to look behind me.
As I rode on, anger, pride, a keen sense of the foul injustice with which my family had treated me, and of the false position in which they had placed me with the world, prompted me with a desire to cast Aurora's handkerchief to the wind; but the knowledge that she was an unwitting participator in the act by which my grandfather had transferred my heritage to her late brother, Tony; the memory of her kind manner, the gentle expression of her eye; together with certain high-flown ideas I had gathered from novels, tales of chivalry, and other romantic lore, prompted me to retain it. Edged with lace, it was of the finest cambric, and "Aurora," marked by her own hand, no doubt, appeared on one of its corners.
It was strange, but certainly not unpleasing, that she should think of and ask for me, whom she had never seen; and the tones of her winning voice yet lingered in my ear. My mind soared into airy regions, and became filled with tumultuous and undefined thoughts, for I was a famous architect of castles in the air.
"Ah, that I had the lamp of Aladdin, or even his ring, for ten minutes!" I exclaimed.
Aurora—who was well named so, with her pure complexion and golden hair—was the only living relative who had ever bestowed a thought upon me, so I placed the relic of her in my breast, and rode on, little foreseeing that on a future day that handkerchief would prove the means of saving my life.
On reaching Guildford, I repaired at once to the inn, where, on entering the stable, I remember well how my noble grey welcomed me by neighing, by licking my hand, and rubbing his forehead against me, when I greeted him as an old friend.
In the next stall there was a bald-faced nag with eyes askance, surveying us over the trevice boards, and his aspect seemed familiar to me.
The Red Lion at Guildford was one of those huge, misshapen, queer old galleried houses which still survive the Tudor days in many parts of England. It had acute wooden gables, with stacks of clustered chimneys that started up in picturesque confusion. The walls were plastered and whitewashed, and had varnished beams of ancient oak, in some instances richly and grotesquely carved, placed in them horizontally, perpendicularly, and diagonally. On the side which faced the stable-yard there opened a triple row of bedroom galleries, having twisted balustrades; and all this quaint superstructure rose from an arcade composed of octagonal stone pillars and ponderous beams of good old English oak elaborately carved. Gigs, chaises, covered carts, and red four-wheeled waggons, occupied the sheds around the yard; and the sound of hoofs and the rattle of stall collars evinced that the stables were well filled.
When I arrived night was closing in, and a bright red light streamed cheerily through the windows of the bar into the outer darkness as I entered by the porch, which had a flight of steps down, instead of up to the door, for so old was the edifice that the soil had gradually accumulated far above its original basement.
I am thus particular in describing the house, in consequence of a startling incident which occurred during the few hours I sojourned there.
I inquired of the ostler to whom the bald-faced nag belonged, and he replied to a gentleman who had retired to bed, weary with a long journey.
The host of the Red Lion was so patriotic that he insisted upon having me to sup with him, and he would make no charge for my own or horse's entertainment. He drank deeply, and anon was soon borne away to bed by the ostler and waiter, while shouting vociferously, "Britons, strike home!" and "Down with the Johnny Crapauds!"
After this, I retired immediately, being anxious to reflect a little over the passages of the day, to sleep, and if possible to depart by daybreak.
As the waiter, candle in hand, was conducting me along one of the bedroom galleries, which I have described as overlooking the stable-yard, a dark figure appeared to hover at the further end; and there from amid the shadow a human face seemed to peer out as if observing us.
The hour was late, and the place in all its features strange to me. I stepped towards this eavesdropper, but he or she immediately disappeared.
If ghosts there were in Guildford, the upper regions of the quaint old tumble-down Red Lion seemed to be the very place in which one might take up its quarters, but other thoughts than of ghosts were in my head, so I inquired where the rider, or proprietor of the bald-faced nag was located.
"In number six," replied the waiter.
"On this gallery?"
"Yes, sir."
"And mine?"
"Is number twelve—the oak room. His is at yonder end."
"'Twas there the figure disappeared."
"Figure? Well, there ain't no ghosts or ghostesses either in the Red Lion that ever I heard of, and I have been here both man and boy these many years."
"How is this traveller dressed?" I continued.
"In brown broadcloth, I think, master."
"With a rusty old cocked hat?"
"Yes, bound with black galloon."
"Is his left hand wounded?"
"Don't know," replied the waiter, yawning, "for he keeps it always in his weskit pocket."
My suspicions now amounted to certainty. He was my acquaintance of Wandsworth Common—the highwayman, beyond a doubt. We were certainly in too close proximity, but the landlord of the inn was too tipsy to be referred to, and I had no desire to be detained upon the morrow, charged as I was with important papers for the commodore at Portsmouth, thus I made no more remarks, but took the candle, entered my room, and shut the door.
The apartment was entirely pannelled with dark wainscot, hence its aspect was quaint and gloomy; the furniture was uncomfortably antique, for this being one of the upper and cheaper lodgings of the Red Lion, the whole appurtenances were the oldest in the house, having gradually retired from story to story, till their last service was to be spent in the attics.
The fireplace was wide, lined with blue Dutch tiles, and had a little old-fashioned basket grate, set upon square blocks of stone.
From the latticed window I could see the Wye winding under the bridge, the dark arches of which were clearly reflected in its starlit current beneath.
Two strong bolts secured my door, so there was no danger of being surprised by my friend in the snuff-coloured suit through that avenue. I threw off my belts and uniform, and slipped into a bed that felt cold, damp, and old, for the moths flew out of the russet-coloured canopy and hangings, to flutter about the candle end, the light of which expired just at the moment when I had no further use for it.
I felt feverish, wakeful, and full of many thoughts. Then there were strange sounds in this old house rather calculated to banish sleep; the night wind moaned in the wide chimneys: rats scampered about behind the decaying wainscot, scattering fragments of lime in their career. It might be fancy, but twice some one seemed to lift the latch of my door softly as if attempting to open it.
Ere sleep began to weigh my eyelids down, I had mentally rehearsed over and over again the two unexpected interviews with my cousin Aurora; and again I repented having condescended to take her handkerchief even in a spirit of gallantry.
It was very cavalier-like no doubt—very romantic and all that; but in my heart I linked her and her mother with those who had outraged and wronged me, and pride dictated that I should have left them in ignorance of who I was, and then have ridden off on my lonely way. However, now the deed was done, and regret was unavailing.
Would they—Aurora and her stately mother—triumph over the temporary, alas! it might be permanent, obscurity and humility of my position? There are human hearts wicked enough to feel such triumph, for many persons hate those whom they wrong; but Aurora's gentle voice and tone of sympathy when addressing me removed the supposition that she could be guilty of this.
I had met with so little kindness in the world that the circumstance of her remembering even my existence impressed me deeply.
These two interviews dwelt long in my memory. I was now excluded from the society of polished and educated women: indeed, from the force of that evil destiny to which I had been abandoned, I had hitherto seen little of either; thus the charm of my cousin's manner and the beauty of her person filled my heart with new aspirations, and a keener desire to assume my place in society; but at present the die was cast, and to France must I go as a private dragoon.
My half-drowsy ruminations had been frequently disturbed by sounds too strange to escape my observation. At last they impelled me to sit up in bed, to listen and to look around me.
The room was dark as a tomb, save where through the fantastic iron tracery of the antique window I could see the clouds, like masses of black crape, float past the twinkling stars.
On the wind, which came down the old chimney, there were borne sounds like sobs and sighs—like fierce mutterings and groans that became deep, hollow, and agonizing; and they seemed to be emitted from the wall immediately above the fireplace.
My ears tingled and drops of perspiration started to my forehead, for I must confess that, at the moment, I was weak enough to fear the supernatural, until there came the decidedly earthly sound of a huge piece of plaster falling heavily into the empty grate.
After a time the noises entirely ceased and I was about to drop asleep, when a hoarse and despairing cry, as of some one being strangled close to my bed, rang through the panelled chamber, and brought me again to a sitting position, with all my pulses quickened to the utmost by apprehension and the vague sense of sudden alarm.
"This can no longer be borne!" I exclaimed.
Starting from bed I drew my sword, and unbolting my door issued forth into the gallery which overlooked the stable-yard.
The night, or rather the morning-air, was mild and balmy; the wind had died away, and all was calm and still. I heard the clock of the Guildhall strike the hour of two. No other sound stirred the air; and as noises at that still hour are so deceptive—though there was something in that hoarse cry which impressed me with horror—a dread of ridicule, or of being the victim of some piece of waggery, prevented me from summoning the domestics of the inn; so once more I bolted the door, put my sword at the head of the bed, and therein ensconcing myself, soon fell sound asleep.
The next day was rather far advanced when I woke up and started from bed, on instantly remembering that I must be gone without delay.
During a hasty breakfast I could not refrain from speaking to the landlord of the noises which had disturbed me so much in my chamber.
"Was the wind high or stormy last night?" I began.
"No; the weather was rather calm," said he, with his mouth full, for he was making a hearty, old-fashioned breakfast of sliced beef, and nut-brown, home-brewed ale.
"Were any persons quarrelling or fighting hereabout?"
"When?"
"Why, all night; till two in the morning at least."
"I heard not a sound—the house was perfectly quiet." This statement the waiter, ostler, and landlady hastened to corroborate.
"Then," said I, "by Jove your inn is haunted."
"Take care what you say, my good fellow," replied the landlord, becoming angry; "for lookee, my house has as good a reputation as any in the county of Surrey, so none of your tricks, soldier."
"Then the devil was in my chimney all last night, say what you will," I responded with equal, if not greater, irritation.
On hearing this the landlord's colour changed visibly. He went immediately to my room, accompanied by a servant, who soon returned making a great outcry, and stating that a man had been found wedged in the chimney, that by looking up with a lighted candle, his heels could be seen dangling some five feet or more above the mantelpiece.
On hearing these tidings, the whole household became excited, and crowded to the apartment I had so lately quitted.
On looking up I could see, amid the obscurity of the chimney, the feet of a man, but they were beyond our reach. Workmen were soon procured; the panelling was removed; then the bricks were taken out, a breach made, and in something less than an hour, the dead body of a man was exhumed, all begrimed and covered with soot and lime.
He had evidently died of suffocation, having reached a portion of the chimney where he could neither descend further nor work his way up again, and had there miserably perished; being literally choked by the soot and lime, of which he had inhaled such quantities in his fruitless struggles and painful gaspings, that his foam-covered mouth and bloodshot eyes were quite filled with them.
His left hand was found to have been recently mutilated; his right still grasped a sharp clasp knife, which was doubtless intended formybehoof, as an examination proved the body to be that of the traveller who had occupied No. 6, in the upper gallery—the figure I had detected, watching in the gloom, when retiring to rest.
As some housebreaking implements were found in his pocket, the landlord averred that he had been in search of the strong-box and plate-room; but I had my own idea of his too probable errand, and thus the terrible sounds which had so long disturbed me, and that last hoarse cry of despair and death, were completely accounted for.
Fearing that I might be detained until a coroner's inquest had been held, concerning the death of this highwayman and would-be assassin, while all the inn people, guests, and servants, were fall of dismay by the discovery, I saddled my grey, and set forth for my destination at a spanking pace which soon left Guildford far behind.
Before the evening gun had boomed from Southsea Castle I had reached Portsmouth, delivered my despatches and reported myself at head-quarters.
I was heartily welcomed by Charters and Kirkton, who had been sent by Colonel Preston to join Lindsay's light troop. I rejoiced at this, having sorely missed their society and companionship.
My few hours of freedom and romance—for there was something of romance in Aurora possessing my fortune, and I only her handkerchief—were now at an end, and again I was simply Basil Gauntlet the private dragoon.
By the last day of May, all the troops destined for the hostile expedition were embarked on board of the ships of war and transports. In all there were thirteen thousand fighting men, with sixty pieces of cannon, and fifty mortars.
The embarkation of our horses was an object of peculiar care, and General Elliot, with Captain Lindsay, of ours, superintended this duty in person—for on the manner in which it is performed, depends all the chance of cavalry being employed with success in the field after landing.
They were conveyed on board the various ships, after a short march of exercise, and when perfectlycool. On the first night after embarkation, each received a mash mixed with some nitre, and bran was supplied to every trooper, as the chief portion of his horse's daily ration.
Every day each dragoon had to wash with care the hoofs and fetlocks of his horse, and to sponge its face, eyes and nostrils with cold water. We had ample wind sails rigged up for air, and spare slings and bands all ready in case of illness or accident, but, fortunately, neither occurred among the nags of our troop at least.
At daybreak, on the first of June, a gun from the commodore gave the signalfor sea; and in less than ten minutes every vessel had her anchor apeak or atrip, and her head sails filled, and soon after, with nine hearty cheers, the whole armament, consisting of twenty-four ships of war, and one hundred and forty transports, cutters and tenders, stood out into the channel, and a glorious sight they presented.
TheEssex, a sixty-four gun-ship, commanded by our commodore, the Honourable Richard (afterwards Earl) Howe, led the van, and closely in her wake followed theBrilliantof thirty-six guns, commanded by Captain Hyde Parker, who was afterwards knighted for his services off the coast of America.
As theEssexbore across Sandown Bay, I have been told that the French deserter, Theophile Damien, assisted with his own hands to steer the ship, as if in token of the good service he meant to perform for us in future.
There was a pretty stiff breeze on this morning, and I had a dread of sea sickness, as the vessel rolled heavily, her main-deck being encumbered by stores; but the novelty of the scene and of the situation, together with the activity of the seamen, as they swarmed up aloft and lay out upon the yards, occupied all my attention for a time; and to our tars of after years, the Jacks of Anson and of Howe, in their little low cocked hats, Dutch-cut pea-jackets, petticoat trousers, and brass-buckled shoes, would present a very unusual spectacle. Certainly their costume was scarcely fitted for sending down the topgallant yards, or lying out on the man-rope to close-reef topsails in a gale of wind; but they were true tars, nevertheless.
Ere long the breeze, which had favoured us so much that the shores of England had lessened astern, veered somewhat ahead; the weather became stormy and wet, and I was glad to keep below, and share the stall of my horse. While Kirkton, Charters, and others, who had been frequently at sea before, sat out upon the booms to leeward, and smoked to fill up the time.
In their mirth and cheerfulness, they formed a contrast to the unfortunate seasick troopers, who were all huddled away in groups, seeking shelter under the lee of anything that offered itself, and who remained there in discomfort and misery, till the drum beat for all but the watch to go below and turn in.
Next day I came on deck about dawn, and joined Charters, who was one of the morning watch, and here I may mention, that when on boardship, troops are divided into three watches, and must take their share of all deck duty with the seamen. A subaltern officer has charge of each watch, and there are also, when the numbers embarked will permit it, a captain and subaltern of the day.
"Gauntlet, my lad, you look pale," said Charters, as he trod to and fro to keep himself warm; for though the month was June, the air upon the morning sea was cold, and the chill spray came flying in showers over the weather cat-heads, as theBrilliantsped upon her course, like all the fleet which covered the open channel, close hauled; "the morning watch is a devilish cold one, and we have no chance here of getting a hair of the dog—eh?" added my friend, laughing.
"What land is that?" I asked, with chattering teeth, while clutching the rigging with one hand, and pointing southward with the other.
"The land of France—that is Cape La Hogue," replied Charters.
"Ay," growled an old quartermaster; "yonder is the fort, with the flag flying."
The old tar's eyes must have been better than mine, which could discern neither fort nor flag; but I muffled my trooper's cloak about me, and set myself to watch the hostile shore.
The outline of the land looked dim and low, and like a dark cloud, as it rose from the grey morning sea, which was all of a dusky tint and flecked with masses of foam. The whole aspect of the fleet was gloomy and cheerless now; the decks and canvas were wet and dripping with the rain of the past night, and with the spray of the waves, for there was a heavy sea running in the channel; but anon the sun began to rise through successive bars or streaks of purple and saffron cloud; then the long lines of waves rolled after each other glittering in light. The canvas aloft became whiter; the hulls of the vessels shone and became instinct with life, as the red port lids were triced up, the snowy hammocks placed in their nettings, and the scarlet coats crowded on the decks; drums and bugles were heard from time to time, warnings for parade, orders or messing, as the swift fleet flew on at the rate of eight knots per hour, and now and then, by a signal from the commodore, the best sailers were ordered to cast a tow-line to the more slow, especially our deeply laden storeships.
On the evening of the 3rd of June we came to anchor, between Sark and Jersey, for what reason I know not. In the night we had a hurricane; one transport lost a mast, another lost her bowsprit, and a third, crowded with foot soldiers, was totally lost by running foul of a sunken rock. The boats of theBrilliantwere piped away with great celerity, and all the troops were saved before the wreck went to pieces; but I shall never forget that horrible night—the darkness of the atmosphere, the bellowing of the wind and the roaring of the sea, while the frigate leaped, plunged and strained on her cables, like a restive horse; and then, amid all this, the danger and excitement caused by the sinking of the transport amid the obscurity of that stormy midnight sea, and the loss of life that might have ensued but for the skill and bravery of our seamen.
Jersey is so surrounded by reefs of sunken rock, that it was a miracle no more of our armament perished on this occasion.
On the morning of the 5th, the commodore signalled to weigh anchor and pursue our course.
The whole fleet ran with a fair breeze along the coast of Normandy, and so close were we in shore, that the houses, farms, and even the inhabitants could be seen distinctly without the aid of glasses. At one place we saw a column of French Infantry on the march, with all their bayonets glittering in the sunshine; at another, where the land opened near Sainte Soule, a regiment of dragoons riding at full gallop in the direction we were pursuing.
"Tom, we shall be under fire to-morrow," said Charters, thoughtfully, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe into the palm of his left hand and scattered them to leeward.
"All the better," replied Kirkton, "the see-saw of home service has sickened me."
"And me too," added I, "and I long for some keen excitement."
"Excitement," replied Charters, "then you are likely to have it with a vengeance, my boy! Think of thirteen thousand men invading France!"
By two o'clock p.m. we came to anchor in Cancalle Bay, on the coast of Brittany, nine miles eastward of St. Malo. TheBrilliantlay not far from the famous rock of Cancalle, so celebrated for its oysters, the fishing of which forms one of the chief sources of local wealth.
Commodore Howe, it would appear, had now questioned narrowly the two French deserters, Theophile Damien and Benoit Bossoit, whom I had been the humble means of introducing to his notice, and discovering that they were profoundly ignorant of the whole locality, he began to suspect both their veracity and intentions, and therefore ordered them to be made close prisoners, while, accompanied by the Duke of Marlborough, Colonel Watson our quarter-master-general, and Thierry the pilot, he went in theGrace, an armed cutter, to reconnoitre the Bay.
The information of two pretended deserters, as to the position and strength of batteries, and so forth, having proved perfectly erroneous, on his return the commodore ordered the Frenchmen to be searched; and then, on papers detailing the number and object of our armament being found upon them both, he forthwith ordered them to be put to death in the most summary manner.
Posted as sentinel on the poop of theBrilliant, I was in ignorance of all this, and was treading to and fro carbine in hand, with my eyes fixed on the rough and wooded shore of Brittany, when Captain Lindsay came on deck, harnessed in full regimentals with sword and gorget on.
"Well, Gauntlet," said he, "your two Frenchmen have, unfortunately, proved to be impostors and spies, after all."
"Spies!" I reiterated, with some dismay.
"Yes; of the most dangerous kind."
"And what is to be done with them, sir?"
"That which the laws of war direct—ah! look yonder!"
He pointed to theEssex, the ship of the commodore, and a thrill of horror ran through me, on beholding two human forms run up simultaneously by the neck, to the arms of the foreyard, where they dangled for a minute in mid-air; but they were not meant to be hanged, as each had a cold thirty-two pound shot at his heels.
This must have been a pleasant spectacle for Thierry the pilot, who was also a Frenchman, and consequently a traitor.
A gun was fired from the bow of theEssex; solemnly the echoes of the sea and shore replied, and ere the last had died away, both culprits had vanished under the waves, whose ripples closed over them and left no trace behind. Then, as the pale and fierce dark face of Damien came in memory before me, I turned to my leader and said—
"Captain Lindsay, the fate of Damien forms a terrible sequel to the story of his brother."
"That story was falsehood—all," replied the captain; "he was no relation whatever of the famous would-be regicide, who was a peasant of Artois. The name of the spy was Theophile Hautois, not Damiens, and he never was a privateersman, nor served under Thurot, but was a forester of Brittany, and, as some suppose, a robber among the Menez Mountains. His whole narrative, so far as he was concerned, proves an artful forgery, and, like his companion, he was a fully accredited spy of the French authorities, employed to obtain information which his lips can never render them now."
The boom of a second cannon now pealed across the Bay.
"The commodore has fired another gun and hoisted a signal," said an officer close by.
The signal midshipman raised his telescope to the bunting which we saw fluttering at the mainmast-head of theEssex.
"What is it now—what says the order?" asked several, with the impatience and curiosity natural enough at such a time.
"All ships having flat-bottomed boats and landing-stages,to hoist them out!" replied the middy, with a kindling eye.
"Bravo," added Captain Lindsay; "that seems like work! Ere long we shall have to look to our spurleathers and spatterdashes."
It was very singular that though our armament had been visible off the coasts of Normandy and Brittany for four days, no preparations were made anywhere to oppose us. A strong French fleet lay in the harbour of Brest, but was there blocked up by the squadrons of Lord Anson and Sir E. Hawke, so it might as well have been in the Yellow Sea.
Just as the commodore's last signal concerning the boats was hoisted, two troops of French cavalry, and a regiment of infantry, appeared on the heights above the Bay of Cancalle, where we saw their appointments and weapons glittering; but after a time they fell back and disappeared inland.
The flat-bottomed boats were soon launched, and the grenadier companies of eleven regiments rendezvoused on board of them, around theEssex, the headquarter ship.
The commodore now shifted his broad pennant on board theSuccess, a frigate of twenty-two guns, which got under weigh, and stood close inshore to silence a battery of onlythreeguns, which had begun to fire across the bay.
These were the first hostile shots I had heard; and I must own that they caused my pulses to quicken, and created an undefined anxiety in my heart; yet I had already stood fire, when so narrowly escaping Abraham Clod's gun on the roof of old Wylie's stable, and that adventure made me smile when I thought of it then.
Those three cannons—two 24's and one 12-pounder—were all we had as yet to oppose, and they were in position at the landing-place of the fisher-town or village of Cancalle, which consisted of a group of picturesque little houses, situated at the base of a green hill that overhangs the sea.
The French cannoniers who handled them were brave fellows, for they killed several men on board theSuccess, nor were they silenced, and the beach swept of the inhabitants, till the commodore's ship, together with theRose,Flamborough, andDiligence, opened their broadsides to the land, and filled the whole bay with smoke, making every rock and mountain echo to the reverberations of a cannonade that lasted till seven in the evening, for we had a dread of masked batteries among the shrubberies and hedgerows near the shore.
Under cover of this fire, the flat-bottomed boats, with three battalions of the Guards, and eleven grenadier companies of the Line, commanded by Lord George Sackville (son of Lionel, Duke of Dorset) and General Dury, rowed inwards, and landed on the beach in safety.
Those ships which contained the cavalry and artillery were now ordered to draw closer inshore. Our horses were slung over into the flat-bottomed boats alongside—each trooper, fully accoutred, standing in the wooden stall by his charger's head. It was about eleven at night before the light troop of the Greys, in four large flat barges, put off for the harbour, towards which we were slowly towed by the boats of theBrilliant.
The night was a lovely one. High sailed the moon in heaven, with clouds of fleecy whiteness flying past her silver disc. The beach and the blue sea were light as if at noonday, and on the far expanse of yellow sand, in that secluded cove, where the aged oak and lime trees spread their summer foliage on the ripples—sand so soft, so smooth and golden that one could only think of nymphs or fairies disporting in fantastic dances there—we were disembarking Horse, Foot, and Artillery, with loaded arms and lighted matches, in all the grim array of war.
Slowly the huge boats, with their freight of Cavalry crept inshore. Streaming from behind the dark mountains, the moonlight fell in long and tremulous lines of silver sheen, in which our weapons and the trappings of man and horse glittered gaily, and the whole scene was picturesque and impressive.
Each after each, the lights that whilome twinkled in the little town went out, as we supposed the people were taking to flight, and soon obscurity veiled it all, save where one or two tapers seemed to indicate a sick room, or a student's vigil—if, indeed, at such a time, one could be philosopher enough to study.
Our Foot, already formed in quarter distance columns, after their colours were uncased, their flints and priming inspected, were silent and still; thus, save the occasional neigh of our horses, as they snuffed the land, with necks outstretched and nostrils quivering, there was no sound along the bay, but the murmur of the rising tide, when it chafed on the steep Rock of Cancalle.
Beside me stood Jack Charters, tall, erect, and soldier like. One hand grasped his horse's bridle, the other rested in the steel basket hilt of his long broad sword. With a keen, bright eye, and a proud smile on his lip, he was looking at the shore, where—like myself—he hoped to regain by bravery and courage the position he had lost by his own youthful folly and the injustice of others.
At last we were alongside the rough pier of Cancalle, and some of Kingsley's Grenadiers, who were ordered to assist in getting the Cavalry and Artillery disembarked, ran the landing stages on board for our horses. The first of ours, onterra firma, mounted, and sword in hand, was our gallant leader, Captain Frank Lindsay.
"Quick, my lads—get on shore and join the captain," said Charters, who, although a corporal now, could not forget the authority he had once wielded; "he is a man to stand by, for true it is that a good officer to lead makes a good soldier to follow."
"Ay, ay," added Kirkton, as he, too, leaped joyously into his saddle, and made his horse curvet, while he sung:—
"'Tis he, you, or I,Cold, hot, wet, or dry,We're always bound to follow, boys,And scorn to fly."
"Fall in, my lads—fall in as you come ashore—and take up your dressing by the standard," cried Captain Lindsay.
A seaman, a good-natured fellow, was assisting me with my horse across the landing stage, when there was a whizzing sound, and a shot that came, no one knew from where, shattered his right elbow. He uttered a groan, and would have fallen between the boat and pier, had not Sergeant Duff, of the Greys, caught him in his arms.
"Never mind, mates," said he, cheerfully; "tie up the stump, some one—I'm in for a pension at Chatham Chest, boys!"
I remember that my first emotion was a selfish thankfulness that the shot had not struckme.
So strong was the ground by nature, in the neighbourhood of our landing, that two thousand determined men might have cut to pieces ten times their number from behind the thick hedgerows, the houses and the rocks; yet we encountered not the slightest opposition, save from the little battery already mentioned.
By the noon of the 6th of July, everything belonging to our small army—its whole material of war—was ashore, and we encamped on an eminence which was crowned by a picturesque old windmill.
It overlooked Cancalle, from whence the people—all hard-featured, ungainly, and squalid-looking Bretons—had now entirely fled, leaving their houses to the mercy of our soldiers and sailors, who pillaged them of everything they could find or destroy.
On the night of the 6th, with twenty other Scots Greys, I was detailed for out-picket; and under a Captain Wilmot Brook, of the 11th Light Dragoons, with twenty men of that regiment, all supplied with one meal of cooked food for ourselves and forage for our horses, we rode two miles to the front, on the road that leads from Cancalle to St. Malo. There the captain chose a position for his picket, and threw out a line of videttes, whose orders were to keep a sharp look-out, on peril of their lives; to fire their carbines on the approach of any armed party, but to permit all persons who came singly, bearing provisions for sale, to pass to their rear, without exacting a fee for their passage—to observe well the country in their front, and to communicate whatever they saw that seemed hostile or suspicious, by signal or otherwise, to each other, and at once to the officer in command of the outpost.
These orders were rhymed rapidly over to me about nightfall, and I was left for a two hours' vigil, in a gloomy hollow way between two hills, about eight hundred yards in front of the mainbody of the picket. This was myfirstresponsible duty, and it so nearly ended in bringing me to a disgraceful and violent death, that the narration of that night's adventure deserves a chapter to itself.
To a young soldier few duties or situations are more trying than the post of advanced sentinel by night, in a strange place and foreign country, in time of war and danger—all the more so, perhaps, if the said soldier be a Scotsman, imbued with some of those superstitions, which few of his countrymen are without.
"Keep your ears and eyes open, young man," said Captain Brook as he left me. "Remember that you are not now a sentry at the gate of a home-barrack, which no one thinks of attacking, but that you are an advanced vidette, on whose vigilance and acuteness depend the safety of the picket, the honour of the army, and hence, perhaps, of the nation itself."
"Does he deem me stupid, or what?" thought I, with some pique, as he rode off, accompanied by Sergeant Duff of ours, and I was left alone—alone to my own reflections.
The moon which shone so brightly last night was now hidden by masses of cloud, yet a few stray beams lighted the landscape at a distance. In the immediate foreground, and around me, all was sunk in darkness and obscurity; but after my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I could make out the form of the two rugged eminences or hills which overhung my post, and the pathway that wound from thence into the defile between them.
Beyond that defile I could see the distant country, lighted at times, as I have said, by the fitful gleams of the moon.
All was still and I heard only the champing of my horse upon his powerful military bit, as I sat with the butt of my carbine planted on my right thigh, gazing steadily at the darkened pass in my front.
The time passed slowly.
Twice I threw the reins across my left arm, and twice cocked and levelled my carbine, for on each occasion figures seemed to enter the pass, some on horseback and others on foot; but the next moment showed them to be only fashioned by my overheated fancy, out of the long weeds and nettles that waved to and fro on the night wind between me and the faint moonlight beyond.
On each of these occasions I made a narrow escape; to have fired my carbine would have drawn the whole line of pickets to the front, and brought the entire army under arms; but then to give afalsealarm is a crime to be punished, though not quite so severely as to omit an alarm when necessary; so my position was sufficiently perplexing.
Silence, night, and loneliness induced reverie, and from the present and from the future, memory carried me back to the past—that period which possessed so little that was bright for me.
But a few months before, how little could I have imagined, or anticipated, that I should become a soldier and be situated as I was then—a lonely sentinel amid the mountains of Brittany! I thought with some growing repugnance of war, its cruelties and stern necessities—the precipitate execution of the two unfortunate spies, and the mangled corpses of the slain seamen, whom I had seen flung like lumber from the lower deck ports of theSuccess, after she engaged the battery in the Bay of Cancalle, and a shudder came over me, for I was young to such work as this.
I thought of the green mountains of my native land—that lovely Borderland, and its chain of hills that rise from sea to sea, between the sister kingdoms, with their fertile glens where herd and hirsel grazed in peace; where the brown eagle had his eyry in the grey rocks, and the black raven soared high in mid-air or came swooping down when the silvery salmon, or the spotted trout leaped up from the plashing linn—the land where every cairn and wood, tower and tree, had some wild or warlike legend of the past.
Old Netherwood, too, with the lazy rooks that cawed among its oaks, or roosted on the creaking vanes of its time-worn turrets. Then I turned away my thoughts in anger to the secluded Border village, where I had been so long a drudge, yea a very slave; but with the memory of old Nathan's inky desk, came a pleasant vision of the pretty little Ruth—Ruth whom I had well-nigh forgotten.
Was Ruth unmarried still? Did she ever think of me? I could almost laugh at my first love already, for to this heresy will the mind come at times, and in barracks I had reached it already.
And then Aurora—my gay and dashing cousin Aurora—the fair usurper of all that was mine, did she ever think of me, and our race on Banstead Downs? And so, soaring away into the realms of fancy, I forgot all about the pass in my front and the picket in my rear, till the sudden and confused explosion of some twenty carbines about a hundred yards distant, on my right, all flashing redly through the darkness, gave me a start, a shock, as if struck by lightning; and before I had time to think or act, there came the rush of many hoofs, and then a party of French Hussars, all fleetly mounted, swept past me from the rear, and fled towards the pass, pursued by our picket, which was led by Captain Brook in person! My horse reared wildly as they all passed me, and for about ten minutes I remained irresolute and ignorant what to do, until the captain with the main body of the picket all safe and untouched, but breathless and highly excited, came back at a hand gallop.
Now, for the first time I discovered that during my luckless reverie a party of French light horse, commanded, it afterwards appeared, by the Chevalier de Boisguiller, an officer of dashing bravery, had crept past me at the distance of fifty yards or so, and unmolested and unchallenged, had actually ridden so close to Brook's picket, that they were first discovered by their sabres glittering in the light of the watchfire, near which the captain was seated.
Brook's face was crimson, and his voice hoarse with rage and passion when he accosted me, and in a minute more I found myself dismounted, disarmed, and standing a prisoner before him, a dragoon being on each side of me with his carbine loaded.
The captain was a handsome and soldierlike man, somewhere about forty-five years of age, and the blue uniform of the 11th Light Dragoons, faced and lapelled with buff to the waist, and richly laced with gold, became him well. His features, though naturally of a grave and mild cast, were now stern, and his eyes sparkled with anger. I could see all this by the light of a torch, held by one of the 11th, and I could perceive also that my comrades of the Greys regarded me with aught but pleasant faces, as I had involved the honour of the corps by my negligence.
"So—so—s'death, you are a fine fellow to act as a vidette!" began the captain, with scorn and wrath in his tone; "thanks to you, we have had an alert with a vengeance! You are now aware, that while asleep you have permitted a body of the enemy's cavalry to pass your post—a body which, if strong enough, would have cut this picket to pieces."
"Under favour, sir, I was not asleep," said I, firmly.
"Zounds, sirrah, it matters little! But do you know what the 'Articles of War' say concerning conduct such as yours?"
I was silent.
"Shall I tell you?" asked the captain, earnestly, and in a lower tone.
"If you please."
"They state that any officer or soldier who shall shamefully abandon any fortress,post or guard, committed to his charge, or who shall be found sleeping on his post, whether upon the land or the sea, shall suffer DEATH, or such other punishment as a court martial may award."
I was so completely stunned by all this as to be incapable of speech; but Duff of ours, a kind and grey-haired old sergeant, said—
"Captain Brook, the lad is a good lad, and a steady one; we have few better in the Greys—"
"Then I am very sorry for the Greys!"
"I do hope, sir," continued the sergeant, "that his life, at least, may not be forfeited?"
"My life!" I exclaimed, mechanically.
"Yes, that may be forfeited, and I disgraced!" said Captain Brook, bitterly. "I have commanded many a post, but never one that was surprised before. To-morrow I shall hand you over to the guard of the provost marshal. What is your name, fellow?"
"Basil Gauntlet."
On hearing this, he started and became so visibly affected, that the soldiers of the picket who crowded round us holding their horses by the bridle, glanced at each other with inquiry and surprise. Brook surveyed me keenly for a moment, and then a sorrowful frown seemed to deepen on his features.
"Was your father ever in the service?" he asked, abruptly.
"He was an officer of Granby's Dragoons."
Then a malignant light sparkled in the eyes of Captain Brook, and he struck his spurred heel into the turf.
"Was my father your friend?" I asked, with hesitation.
"Friend!" he reiterated, bitterly; "no—no—not my friend. But your mother, what of her?" he added, in an altered voice.
"She is in her grave," I replied, with faltering accent; "else, perhaps, I had not stood before you thus to-night, a private soldier and a prisoner."
After a pause—
"My God!" said Brook, in a low voice, as he took off his helmet and passed a hand across his flushed brow. Then seeming to recollect himself, he said, "Fall back, sergeant; and fall back, men—picket your horses, and lie down if you please till daybreak, when the outpickets are called in. Leave the prisoner with me. Gauntlet," he continued, after we were somewhat alone, "step with me this way. I shall do all in my power to serve you, and to be your friend."
"Sir, you astonish me," I exclaimed; "how am I so fortunate?"
"I will tell you a secret, boy—a secret long buried in my heart," he continued, in a voice that grew soft and kind; "your father and I were rivals—rivals for the love of the same girl, long, long years ago; but he was the successful wooer—I the discarded one! She was your mother, boy, and now, for her sacred memory, and the memory, too, of that early love, which brightened for a time the first days of my soldiering, I will save you, my poor lad, if I can. Nay more, I have some interest at head-quarters, and will serve you as if you had been my own son, and this will I do forhersake."
The voice of Captain Brook trembled, and I bowed low, for I could not speak.
"You know what the rules of the service prescribe," he resumed, "in such a case as yours?"
"You have already told me, sir."
"Death!"
"Yes."
"Yet, you shall not die, and your future promotion shall be my peculiar care. Comrades," cried he, to the men of the picket, "in Basil Gauntlet I have discovered the son of an early and dear friend. He is but a young soldier—a mere boy, and I would save him if I can."
"You may command us, sir," said Sergeant Duff.
"We will do anything for you, Captain Brook," added the men of the 11th, with enthusiasm.
"I do not mean to report his dereliction of duty—so give me your words that you will be silent in the matter."
"We swear it, sir!" they exclaimed, with energy, and that honest pledge was never broken.
"Now, Basil Gauntlet," said Captain Brook, as he gave me back my sword, and grasped my hand, while speaking rapidly and energetically; "you, doubtless, have your father's courage and spirit of honour. These are hereditary, and old Sir Basil could notwill them awayas he did the acres of Netherwood, the family pictures, and the silver spoons. Be a man, and a brave one, as your father was—I knew him well and hated him—God rest him now, for all that. To-morrow, I shall see that you are taken out of the ranks; for, to-night, I can but share with you the contents of my canteen."
An aide-de-camp now came galloping from Cancalle to inquire the meaning of the firing. Some explanation, I know not what, was made, and so ended this remarkable episode, which had a gloomy sequel on the morrow, when all the bright future, which the sudden friendship of Captain Brook had opened to me, was rapidly overcast.
About noon the poor man was killed by a shot from a French sharpshooter, as we were advancing through a thick wood. Dr. Lancelot Probe of ours was speedily at hand, but my new friend was gone for ever, and I was one of those who assisted to wrap his remains in a horse rug, and to inter them by the wayside, as we marched towards St. Malo.
During the 7th of June the whole force (save one regiment, which was left at Cancalle to cover our re-embarkation, if necessary) marched towards St. Malo, through a rough and woody country. A dense mist from the ocean enveloped the scenery for some miles inland, and through this we were advancing when Captain Brook was killed. The soil seemed barren, with black sheep grazing among the rocks and boulders; old and ruinous bridges lay across deep swamps and rugged watercourses, that rushed towards the sea. Without molestation we passed several quaint, old manor houses, girdled by weedy fosses and moss-grown oaks—and some whose embattledporte cocherand grated casements opened to long and shady avenues of sycamore trees.
Ere long, we came to more open parts of the country, covered with pink heath and spotted with yellow flowers; in others, with fields, snow white with the bloom of buckwheat. In these flat places rose here and there, exactly as in Scotland, great battle stones of the Druids or the Celtic Bretons, that stood grim, grey, erect, solemn and silent; and so a march of nine miles through scenery such as this brought us in sight of St. Malo.
The men of our troop were so much occupied in scouring the district through which the infantry advanced, covering both flanks, reconnoitring and so forth, that it was not until sunset when our small army encamped at the village of St. Servand, two miles from St. Malo, that I had an opportunity of relating to my two chief friends, Tom Kirkton and Jack Charters, the strange adventure of the preceding night.
They listened to me with astonishment, as we sat by the foot of a large tree under which our horses were stabled (if I may use such a term), and where we were regaling ourselves with ration biscuits and the contents of a gallon keg of French wine, of which Charters had become proprietor on the march.
Around us the whole force, horse, foot, and artillery, were busy cooking or preparing for the bivouac of the night. Countless little fires, lighted beside trees, hedges, and low walls, glared and reddened in the evening wind, and when the dusk set in, they shed a wavering gleam on the piles of arms that stood in long ranks, on the white bell-tents and the red-coated groups that loitered near. The whole scene was picturesque, lively, and striking, and in the distance lay the town and fortress of St. Malo, quaint and worn by time and the misty storms that came from the open sea.
Its harbour is one of the best seaports in France, but is extremely difficult of access. The town is small, gloomy, and dull, but populous and wealthy, and crowns a rock which the sea encompasses twice daily—thus St. Malo is alternately insular and peninsular, as the tide ebbs, flows, and churns in foam against its fetid rocks, whereon the russet-brown seaweed rots in the sunshine; and far around it lies a barrier of sharp white reefs, the foe of many a ship ere beacons were invented.
It was guarded by a strong castle, flanked by great towers, on the battlements of which the last light of the setting sun yet lingered with a fiery gleam. The town had usually a good garrison; but His Grace the Duke of Marlborough had now learned that there were not quite five hundred troops in the whole of this neglected province of Brittany, which, though forming a portion of the kingdom of France, had long been under its hereditary dukes, and was now governed by a States General, with provincial privileges of its own.*
* It continued so until the Revolution in 1792.
For ages so separate had its interests been from those of France, that James III. of Scotland was requested by Charles VIII. to send thither a body of troops to capture and annex Brittany to his northern kingdom but the Scottish parliament declined to sanction the subjugation of a free people; so this strange scheme was abandoned.
A strong wall surrounded St. Malo, and every night twelve dogs of great size and ferocity were led round it by a soldier of the city watch, that their barking might give notice if brigands or an enemy approached.
The last ray of sunlight soon faded upward from the cathedral spire of St. Vincent, and the shades of twilight were already casting into obscurity the rocky basement of the whole city and its weedy reefs amid the chafing sea, when in a lonely part of our camp by St. Servand my two comrades and I reclined on the turf beside our accoutred horses, and drank the contents of the wine-keg, using one horn—for we possessed but one—fraternally by turns.