[*] I will never go with him."Holloa, Alister! Is that you, my man?""Yes," replied Macdonald, springing up the rocks to where Ronald sat, and leaping to his side with the activity of a deer; "but you nearly made an end of me a dozen times. Every minute you sent a large rock sousing down the ravine upon my very path. Did you not hear me shout? Why, man, you have but half the ear of a Highland forester! I hope I am in time for the marquess's arrival?""Yes; but what a devilish long time you have been! Madame the baroness and her squire were certainly in no hurry to reach the rock of Maya.""Why no; to tell you the truth," replied Macdonald, laughing as heartily as his lack of breath would permit him, "we consulted our own convenience and pleasure, and it has been the most agreeable night, or rather morning, march since I first saw the spires of Lisbon.""So I suppose. But did you escape the French sentries?""How would I have been here else, Ronald? They are posted at the foot of the rock of Maya, and must have been blind, if they did not see me. I led the young lady within a hundred yards of them, and there bade her tenderly adieu.""She thanked you, of course?""By so delightful a salute, that I began to persuade her to return with me; but she placed her little hand upon my mouth, and, as the novels say, vanished from my sight,—in other words crossed the enemy's lines: so now, I suppose, she is in the arms of monsieur the baron, or as he would be more appropriately styled, Jock Law, laird of the Clapperknowes. What a pity 'tis that so sweet a girl should be the wife of that gruff old humbug! Hah! there go the pipes!""Wellington has come!"The out-picquets rejoined their several brigades, which in a few minutes were in motion, and marched from Elizondo with their bands playing, and entered among the mountains towards that part of Maya where General Gazan's corps were in position. In the forenoon they came in sight of the enemy, when Sir Rowland Hill halted, and Wellington, attended by a single aide-de-camp, rode forward to reconnoitre. Ronald Stuart had now for the first time an opportunity of particularly observing that great leader, of whom the world then heard, and were yet to hear, so much.He was mounted on a slight but stout crop-tailed horse, without trappings; a pair of plain holsters were at his saddle-bow, and a short sabre hung from his belt. The exceeding plainness of his attire—a coarse blue cloak, and weather-beaten cocked-hat, totally destitute of ornament—contrasted strongly with the richly laced jacket and pelisse of his aide, an officer of the 10th Hussars, that regiment of exquisite celebrity. Wellington gave a keen but hasty glance along the ranks of the bronzed Highlanders as he rode past, and then bent his sharp eyes on the heights where the dark columns of French infantry appeared in position, their long lines of serried arms glancing as usual in the sun. For about three minutes the marquess carefully made a reconnoissance of the foe through his telescope, and then issued his orders."Sir William!" said he.General Stuart, a fine old soldier, with hair white as snow, a bronzed visage, and a purple coat adorned with a black aigulet, rode up, and touched his coarse cocked-hat of glazed leather."With the second brigade you will cross the Bidassoa, by the pathway leading from Elizondo, and ascending the mountains, turn the enemy's right. You will carry the rock of Maya at the point of the bayonet.""It shall be done, my lord," replied Stuart confidently, as he drove spurs into his horse and galloped back to the second brigade; while Sir Rowland with the marquess ascended to an eminence, to observe the operations and success of this movement. While Stuart with his troops moved off and disappeared among the rocks and orchards of Elizondo, the other brigades remained under arms, and found, with considerable chagrin, that their part of the game was not yet come. After remaining for some time—an hour perhaps, watching attentively the French lines, the sound of distant firing, and the appearance of smoke curling along the hill sides, announced that the gallant Stuart had commenced the attack. Every ear and every eye were all attention. The fire became closer and more rapid; a cheer was heard, and in ten minutes the whole second brigade, consisting of the brave "Old Buffs," the 31st, the 57th, and 66th English regiments, were seen rushing up the hill under a close and destructive shower of shot, which they heeded less than if it had been a shower of rain, although it thinned their numbers deplorably. Forward they went with the bayonet, and the right wing of the French melted away before them.The position was turned, and the cheers of the victors were echoed by their comrades below, whose blood was fiercely roused by the sound of the conflict."They have done well," said Wellington. "Forward! the light troops."The command was obeyed with promptitude. The 6th Caçadores, the 71st Highlanders, and all the light companies moved off double quick, and the ravines among the hills rang with the clank of accoutrements and the tramp of their feet. These auxiliaries scrambled directly up the face of the hill, and the 50th regiment, moving to the front, opened a deadly fire on Gazan's left, while his troops were making ineffectual attempts to recover the heights on their right.Exposed thus to a fire on their flanks, and galled in front by a cloud of sharp-shooters, who were scattered among the rocks and bushes,—bolting up every instant to fire, and then ducking down to reload, the French began to retreat down the hills towards France, but slowly, and keeping up their fire with gallant yet singular determination.The coolness displayed by the light infantry in this skirmish was truly astonishing. To them it appeared like ordinary shooting,—a mere amusement. The Highlanders and the caçadores were seen scampering hither and thither, leaping from rock to rock, firing and kneeling, or throwing themselves flat on the earth, laughing and jesting in a manner, which none but those that have been eye-witnesses of such an affair can imagine. Even the deep groan, the sudden shriek of anguish, as some comrade when struck by a French bullet tossed aside his musquet and heavily fell prone on the earth, wallowing in his blood, did not cool or restrain them; and thus they continued to advance for several miles, strewing the ground with dead, and peppering the retiring foe from every available point.Gazan threw out a body of chasseurs to cover the retreat of his forces down the mountains, and with them an irregular fight was maintained the whole day. Night scarcely put an end to the contest, and allowed the jaded French to find a shelter in their own country. The night was excessively dark, and yet the firing continued for nearly two hours after the gloom had fairly set in, and only ceased when friends became confounded with foes. Seaton narrowly escaped being bayoneted by two of his own favourite light-bobs. Several of the French went the wrong way in the dark, and, falling among the British, were captured and sent to the rear. The effect of the midnight firing was peculiarly fine, in such a wide wilderness as the Pyrenees. Several thousand musquets flashing incessantly through the gloom, and wakening the myriad echoes of the mountains and gorges, presented a very singular sight, the pleasure of viewing which was considerably lessened by the continual whistling of shot; until the bugles on both sides called in the stragglers, and the British, giving one hearty cheer of triumph and defiance, withdrew to their main body.The lines of the latter were now established along the heights of Maya. The whole of the mountains were enveloped in a dense fog; a tremendous storm of rain succeeded, but the troops, the unhappy out-picquets excepted, were snug under canvas. But there were exposed the hundreds of killed and wounded, who could neither be sought nor attended to then, and who lay scattered over miles of contested ground, under all the fury of the pitiless elements. For the dead it mattered not; but many of the wounded expired during the raging of the storm, which accelerated their end.Seated in his tent, on the sloping sides of which the rain was rushing down, Stuart wrote letters for Inchavon-house and Lochisla. He found their composition no easy task, as the candle, which was stuck in a bottle, flickered in the wind, and sputtered with the rain-drops which oozed through the canvas sides of his bell-shaped covering. He held out hopes of his speedy return,—but he had often done so before; for every new victory was deemed by the troops a precursor of peace, and of return to their native homes. * * * *Having now gained the important heights of Maya, Lord Wellington retired to join another part of his army. The celebrated pass was left to the care of Fassifern with the first brigade, which encamped on the very summit of the hills, where the high road from the fertile vale of El Bastan descends to France.The second brigade was posted in a valley to the right, and the Portuguese of the Condé d'Amarante occupied a mountain in front of the hamlet of Erraza, where a brigade of the same nation was quartered, under the command of Colonel Ashworth. The 82nd (Prince of Wales's Volunteers) occupied another part of the hills, about two miles off; and to these troops was left the defence of the pass of Maya, for which they were to fight to the last gasp,—orders which, when the time came, were faithfully and nobly performed.CHAPTER VIII.PASS OF MAYA.—PYRENEES."Again the kelpie nichered loud,And gloated o'er his prey;And the victims in the mountain pass,Like tigers, stood at bay;The first fire thinned the Scottish ranks—Childe Sinclair hit the ground,And as his life-blood oozed away,He moaned—"Massacre of Kringellan:—Vedder.A month elapsed without the sound of a shot being heard, and the troops at the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles lay quietly encamped and unmolested amidst the fine scenery of the Pyrenees. The weather was now remarkably agreeable, and the officers procured plenty of wine from Elizondo and other Navarese towns in their rear, and they were beginning to be as comfortable as it is possible for troops to be under canvas. But a cloud was gathering in the valleys of Gascony below them.The great victory at Vittoria, and the important events which followed it, had not failed deeply to interest and concern Napoleon, to rouse his wrath and to wound his pride. That object, for which he had shed so much French blood, was now completely wrested from his grasp, and France herself remained in imminent peril while the armies of the conqueror hovered on the mountains which overlooked her territories. Fresh conscriptions were levied, and again France, in her folly, poured forth another army, which directed its march to the Pyrenees, to fight the battles of the insatiable Buonaparte. Soult was recalled from Germany to place himself at its head, as the "Lieutenant of the Emperor." Joining the French army on the 13th of July, 1813, he commenced re-organizing and preparing for a second invasion of Spain, with an energy and activity which restored the confidence and roused, as usual, the arrogance of the French troops, who commenced their march with the intention of driving the allies beyond the Ebro, and celebrating the birth-day of the great Emperor at Vittoria.At that time Lord Wellington's responsibilities and difficulties were not of a slight nature, having to cover the siege of two strong fortresses and defend the wide space between them, which compelled him to extend and weaken his line. His skill was evinced in the distribution of his army, which he posted in the best manner likely to defend effectually the passes of the Pyrenees, and to cover the investments of San Sebastian and Pampeluna.To effect the relief of the latter was the first grand object of the Duke of Dalmatia. From St. Jean Pied-de-Port, on the morning of Sunday the 25th July, he marched thirty-five thousand men against the troops of General Byng occupying the pass of Roncesvalles, which post they completely turned in the afternoon, after a most desperate conflict, from which the general and Sir Lowry Cole, who had moved up to his support, were compelled to retire.On the same day General Drouet led thirteen thousand men against the right of Hill's position,—Cameron's command at the Maya pass, which he had orders to force, as the Highlander had to defend it,—at all hazards. At the time the attack was made no movement was expected, yet Drouet found the British not altogether unprepared for such an event. It was a beautiful Sunday, and the heat, even on the summits of the Pyrenees, was intense. As it was not supposed that the enemy were near, the tents were all standing, just as they had been for a month before; and the camp and baggage-mules were miles away down on the Spanish side, whither they were usually taken for grass.Stuart on that morning had wandered from the encampment to some distance, where he was enjoying the appearance of solitude, so like that of his "Highland home," which reigned far and wide around him. The vast hills rose on every side, heaving their green summits to the sky. A death-like stillness prevailed, save when now and then broken by the scream of a wild bird, the hollow flap of a partridge's wing, or the faint and far-off tinkle of a mountain rill murmuring through some solitary gorge, leaping from rock to rock as it descended to the bright plains of Gascony or Bearn. For nearly an hour he had wandered about there, when his solitary reveries were broken by the sound of a distant shot, the echoes of which rang among the splintered rocks and grassy peaks, recalling him at once to the present; and he hurried away to the camp, where the brigade was getting under arms, the soldiers mustering with their usual rapidity and coolness, without betraying the least surprise or confusion. From an out-picquet the word had been passed that the French "were in motion in front," and the fixing of fresh flints, snapping of locks, unrolling and examining of ammunition, gave token of every preparation being made to receive them with all due honour. Nearly an hour elapsed, and no more was seen or heard of the foe. All began to suppose it a false alarm, and many of the officers went forward to the outposts to reconnoitre."Where are the enemy now, Armstrong?" asked Cameron of an officer of the 71st, commanding the picquet which had given the alarm. "In which direction did you see them?""Directly north, and far down on the French side," replied the other, pointing with his sword. "We distinctly saw a strong party pass yon defile between the mountains: the glitter of their arms was apparent to us all.""I'm afraid their feet were cloven," observed Seaton. "I see nothing but a herd of cattle crossing the defile you speak of.""Horned nowte, just black short-legged Argyleshires," said Dugald, who, as usual, was close to Cameron's skirts. "I see them plain aneuch mysel, sirs; but the loons may be amang the hills for a' that." A loud laugh arose at the old man's observations."Well, gentlemen," said Armstrong, while his cheek reddened with anger, and he cast a furious glance on Dugald Mhor, "you are all at liberty to think as you please; but I tell you that there are cattle among the hills carrying bayonets on their horns, and that such is the fact, some here may learn to their cost, ere long.""What fire the borderer displays," said Ronald, as Armstrong left the group abruptly; "and here is Alister his sub, quite fierce likewise about the matter.""Search round," chimed in Campbell, in the same tone of jest; "search about, and probably we shall find the pig-skin at the bottom of which they saw the enemy. I remember once in Egypt, that old Ludovick Lisle—""What mean you, gentlemen?" said Macdonald, angrily; "do you take us for fools? I believe we have seen the enemy often enough to know them.""Halt, Macdonald; you take our jests far too seriously," said Stuart. "If you saw the French, where are they now?""In front!" was the tart reply."They have been so, down in Gascony, for this month past.""By all eternity! 'tis something new for me to have assertions doubted thus," replied Macdonald, considerably ruffled, yet loath to have high words with his old friend; and adding, "I will make no further explanations," he turned and left them, following Armstrong, who was reconnoitring intently through a telescope. While Stuart's cheek grew red with anger at the contemptuous manner in which Macdonald took leave of him, his sleeve was plucked by old Dugald Cameron."Dinna speak to him juist the noo," whispered that aged retainer solemnly; "his birse is up, and it is an ill thing to warsle wi' a Macdonald at sic a time. Dinna gloom wi' het faces at ane anither, for I tell you one will no behauld the ither lang, sae turn not the back o' your hand upon him; he may be mixed wi' the mools ere the hills grow dark wi' the gloaming, or redden again in the morning sun.""What do you mean, Dugald?" asked Stuart, surprised at the Highlander's manner."Sir, I am farer seen than maist folk, and so was my faither before me. Baith loud and lang did you and Macdonald laugh ower your wine in the cornel's tent last nicht, and every laugh o the puir lad gaed to my heart. I kent by its hollow ringing he wasfey.""Fey?" replied the other, respect for Dugald's white haffets, alone restraining a violent inclination to laugh; "fey, Dugald? How?""Loud laughter, I mean laughter such as his, aye portends sudden death. Ony cailloch that ever wore a mutch, or ony giglet o' a lassie that ever wore a snood, will tell ye the same thing, sir. Sae dinna girn at or be thrawn gebbit wi' young Inchkenneth, for he'll no be lang amang us. Mony heads will there be on the heather ere the sun gaes doon." Dugald moved off, leaving Stuart considerably surprised at his superstition. At that moment Alister rushed towards them, with his bonnet in his hand."Look ye now, gentlemen," he exclaimed, tossing his long feathers in the direction of the winding way which led to France, "what call you these?"Even while he spoke a dense column of French infantry appeared in the defile between the mountains, and a cloud of others, battalion after battalion, with their tri-colours fluttering in the breeze, advanced in succession, until thirteen thousand bayonets were gleaming in the light of the noonday sun. It was the whole of General Drouet's division."There is nae heather here, but I thocht and I said there would be mony a head on the green swaird ere the hills grew mirk in the gloaming," muttered Dugald ominously, as he viewed the advance of the French with kindling eyes. With the first blast of the bugle the troops were again under arms, and marched to the front of the pass to stem the approaching torrent; and, resolute as the soldiers were, they knew that the attempt to keep their position against such an overwhelming power was vain, unless Lord Wellington, who was distant at San Sebastian, could by some means succour them. But obedience is thefirstduty of the soldier, and their orders were to defend the passes and fight to the last,—orders never yet mistaken by British troops.The out-picquets first opened their fire upon the advancing masses, and although seconded by a body of light troops, were forced of course to give way. The 28th and 39th regiments, from Wilson's brigade, moved off to support the picquets on the right. With courage and resolution unparalleled these corps sustained the onset of their opponents, whose tremendous fire however compelled them to waver and recoil. The 34th or Cumberland regiment, with the 50th, came to their assistance. These last, forming a junction, rushed upon the French while exposed to the deadly fire of their extended front, and with unexampled intrepidity charged them with the bayonet, giving a check to their progress up the mountains. The French returned the charge, but at the same time made a flank movement, which their great numbers enabled them to do easily, to surround and cut off their rash assailants, who were at once placed in a critical position.It was at that moment that Cameron brought up his Highlanders, and restored confidence to the regiments which had been falling into confusion. It is impossible to describe the scene which the Maya heights presented at that time. The deafening roar of the musquetry,—the driving clouds of smoke,—the tumultuous yells of the French, who were fierce, wild, and eager to wash away in British blood the disgraces of Vittoria, almost confounded those who were then for the first time under fire. The advancing enemy continued to shout more like savages than European soldiers, but their tremendous shower of shot was fast mowing down the little band which so gallantly endeavoured to resist them. Like a hail-shower the heavy leaden bullets were falling everywhere, and tearing up the turf even after they had passed through the bodies of the soldiers,—so close had the contending parties now come together.The British had stood firm without flinching an inch; but the French, who were now fighting in a great disorganized mob, had continued to advance, by the rear men pushing on thefront, until within thirty paces of the British line; and at so short a distance it may easily be supposed that the shot on both sides told with fearful effect, especially among the dense masses of the French, before whom, in five minutes, arose a pile of their own dead and wounded like a breast-work. Beyond this ghastly line they would not advance an inch, nor could they be prevailed upon to do so even by the most strenuous exertions of their officers, who, whenever the smoke cleared away a little, were observed brandishing their sabres, waving their colours and eagles, and enthusiastically crying, "Vive la France! Vive l'Empereur! Vive la Gloire!" But their soldiers heeded them not, and continued to load and fire with the utmostsang froid, but would not be led to the charge.The brave 71st Highland Light Infantry, after fighting with their usual obstinacy and intrepidity, had been compelled to give way, by which three Portuguese pieces of cannon fell into the possession of the French. To recapture these, a desperate attempt was made by Lieutenant Armstrong, who, at the head of eight private soldiers, as brave and as rash as himself, rushed furiously on the enemy. With his sword in one hand and his bonnet in the other, the gallant Borderer was seen amidst the smoke leading them on; but all perished under the leaden shower, within a few feet of the French bayonets. After being reduced to half its number of officers and men, this fine regiment began to retire in disorder. The 34th and 50th were in the same perilous predicament, owing to the front and flank movements of the enemy, when Fassifern with his Highlanders entered the bloody arena. As the battalion moved in open column of companies, along the hill-top from the camp towards the pass, Cameron addressed a few words to them, exhorting them to fight to the last man, and maintain the ancient fame of the north. He reminded them that they were not fighting merely for the defence of Spain, but of those homes where their kindred dwelt. His voice became drowned in the din of the conflict which rolled along the face of the hills, and Stuart heard only the concluding part of his address, and part of it was in Gaelic. "Highlanders! we shall have a bloody sabbath here to-day; but we go forth to shed our blood that the sabbath-bells may ring in peace at home, in those green straths and wooded glens where many a Scottish heart is praying for us at this hour." The sound of the pipes, as the piper on the flank of each company struck up "On wi' the Tartan," was the only reply. What a gush of indescribable feeling came through every breast, when the blast of the pipe was heard at such a moment! Every eye lighted up, and every cheek flushed: the effect of the sound of that strange instrument on the sons of Caledonia is well known."In halls of joy and in scenes of mourning it has prevailed,—it has animated her warriors in battle, and welcomed them back after their toils to the homes of their love and the hills of their nativity. Its strains were the first sounded in the ears of infancy, and they are the last to be forgotten in the wanderings of age. Even Highlanders will allow that it is not the gentlest of instruments; but when far from their mountain-homes, what sounds, however melodious, could thrill their hearts like one burst of their own wild native pipe? The feelings which other instruments awaken are general and undefined, because they talk alike to Frenchmen, Spaniards, Germans, and Highlanders, for they are common to all; but the bag-pipe is sacred to Scotland, and speaks a language which Scotsmen only feel. It talks to them of home and allthe past, and brings before them, on the burning shores of India, the wild hills and oft-frequented streams of Caledonia,—the friends that are thinking of them, and the sweethearts and wives that are weeping for them there. And need it be told here to how many fields of danger and victory its proud strains have led? There is not a battle that is honourable to Britain in which its war-blast has not sounded; when every other instrument has been hushed by the confusion and carnage of the scene, it has been borne into the thick of the battle, and far in the advance its bleeding but devoted bearer, sinking to the earth, has sounded at once encouragement to his countrymen—and his own coronach!"[*][*] Preface to Macdonald's "Ancient Martial Music of Scotland."Ranald-dhu with his comrades strove to call up the "fierce native daring" of the Highlanders, who continued to move quickly forward. The balls now began to hiss and tear up the turf around them, now and then striking down some poor fellow, who was left rolling on the ground in agony."The battalion will form line on the grenadiers," cried Fassifem,—"double quick!" The movement was performed with the rapidity and precision of a home-review. As the covering-serjeant of the light company took up the ground of alignement, holding his long pike aloft, a shot struck him in the head, passing through his right eye, and he fell dead. The line formed across his body, and the word of command from Seaton, "Light company; halt,—front,—dress!" had scarcely been heard on the left, before the orderly bugler, who stood by Cameron's side, sounded to fire, and the hoarse brayingpiobrachdnow rang along the line.The first volley of the Highlanders gave a temporary check to the enemy, and enabled the 34th and "old Half-hundred" to reform in order. The French line was now, as I have said, within thirty paces, and every lineament and feature of their dark and sallow faces could be distinctly seen at so short a distance. They were now in the midst of all the uproar, the smoke, the blood, the danger, the mingling of hideous groans and cries,—in short, the hell upon earth of a hot engagement, in which both parties became so heated by the slaughter around them, that all the softer passions were forgotten, and they longed, with a tiger-like feeling, to bury their blades in each other's hearts.Ronald felt his pulses thickening, the blood tingling in his ears, for the sound of the musquetry had deafened them to every thing else, and his heart rebounded within his bosom until he could almost hear it beat; but it was with feelings the reverse of fear,—a wish to leap headlong among the enemy, to cut them down with his sword as he would whinbushes, and to revenge the slaughter the terrible fire of so dense a column was making among his gallant and devoted regiment. So thick was the smoke become, that he could scarcely see the third file from him, and only at times it cleared up a little. What was then revealed, served only to infuriate him the more. The Highlanders were lying in heaps across and across each other,—piled up just as they fell; while their comrades fought above them, firing and reloading with all the rapidity in their power, until struck by a shot, and down they fell to perish unnoticed and unknown. Almost every shot killed; for the distance was short, and the wounds were hideous and ghastly, the blood spouting forth from the orifice as if through a syringe.Now and then Ronald felt his heart momentarily recoil within him when he beheld some poor soldier, while in the full possession of life and energy, toss aside his firelock, and fall suddenly backwards across some heap of corpses—stricken dead. But a battle-field is no place for sympathy, and the feeling lasted but for an instant."Shall we never get the word to charge?" cried Seaton fiercely. "O Stuart! this is indeed infernal work,—to be mauled thus, and within a few feet of their muzzles.""A charge would be madness, and our utter destruction. A single regiment against thirteen columns of Frenchmen—""We possess the pass, though. Poor Macivar is on the turf, and Macdonuil is shot through the heart. Hah! see to the left: the 50th are giving way—God! I am struck!" He sunk to the earth, with the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils. A shot had pierced his breast, beating in with it a part of the silver breast-plate, and in great agony he rolled over several times, grasping and tearing the turf with fruitless efforts to regain his feet."Never mind me, light bobs, but stand by Cameron to the last. Hurrah!" Convulsively he strove to raise himself up; but another bullet passed through his neck, and a deadly paleness overspread his countenance. He gave his claymore one last flourish, he cast a glance of fury and despair towards the enemy, and expired. Scarcely a minute had elapsed since he was struck, and now he was dead!"Poor Seaton!" muttered Ronald, and turned away. He had now the command of the light company; the other lieutenant lay bleeding to death a few yards off, and in the intervals of pain crying fruitlessly for water. One soldier, who had been struck by a shot across the bridge of the nose, became blind, and rushed frantickly among the enemy, to perish under their bayonets. Another, who had his lower jaw carried off, presented a horrible spectacle as he lay on the ground, vomiting up blood through his open throat, and lolling out his exposed and swollen tongue.[*][*] This man lived for many years afterwards, having the loss supplied by a mask, through which soups were induced by a pipe for his sustenance. For pension he received the sum of nine-pence per day."Ninety-second! Prepare to charge!" cried Cameron, animated to fury by this deadly slaughter of his regiment. "Gordon Highlanders! prepare to charge," he repeated, as he galloped along the broken line with eyes flashing fire, while he waved his bonnet aloft. "Close up,—keep together; shoulder to shoulder, Highland men,—charge!" Ronald alone heard him, and repeated the rash order; but their voices were unheard amidst the din of the conflict. At that moment the smoke cleared a little away, and in front Ronald perceived a French grenadier sling his musquet, and advancing a few paces before his friends, stoop down to rifle an officer of the 71st regiment, who was lying dead between the lines."Iverach, mark that plundering rascal," said Stuart; "aim steadily."Evan fired and missed."That was not like a man from the braes of Strathonan!" said his master angrily. "Fire, Ian Macdonald; you are one of the best shots in the company.""My father shot theDamh mhor a Vonaliatoon in Padenoch,[*] and I was aye thouchten to pe a petterer marksman than him," replied the young Highlander coolly, as he levelled his piece and fired. The Frenchman fell forward, beat the earth with his heels for a moment, and then lay motionless.[*] A famous white stag, shot in Badenoch in 1807. It was believed by the Highlanders to be more than 200 years old."He's toon, sir: I have pitten a flea in his lug," replied the marksman, as he bit another cartridge.For two hours this desperate and unequal conflict was maintained. The other regiments had given way in disorder, and the Highlanders began to waver, after the loss of their gallant colonel, who had retired severely wounded. Nearly all the officers were dead or dying on the ground, while others were endeavouring to find their way to some place where they could get their wounds dressed. Two alone were left with the regiment,—Ronald and another lieutenant, who, being senior, had the command, and finding that the battalion was reduced to less than a company, ordered it to retire towards the pass of Maya, having lost in two hours five-and-twenty officers, and three hundred rank and file. The other regiments were cut up in nearly the same manner, but none had lost so many officers. Stuart carried the king's colour, and a serjeant the regimental—all the ensigns being killed or wounded. Poor Alister Macdonald was left on the field among the former. A shot had passed through his head, and he died without a groan. His friend Ronald was considerably startled when he saw him lying dead. The prediction of Dugald Mhor flashed upon his mind, and he looked round for that singular old Highlander; but he was away with Fassifern, on the road for the village of Irun.The whole of the British forces were now in retreat before the overwhelming power of the enemy, column after column of whom continued to press forward. The defenders of the pass retired on the rock of Maya, abandoning their camp and baggage to the French. On retreating through the pass, Major Campbell, whose horse had been as usual shot under him, and who had first left the field owing to a severe wound, headed a few Highlanders, who scrambled like squirrels up the face of a precipitous crag, from the summit of which they kept up a hot fire upon the French troops, not only holding them decidedly in check and giving their friends time to retire, but revenging the previous slaughter in front of the pass. Here it may be worth mentioning that Major Campbell lost his celebrated cudgel, which, in the enthusiasm of the moment he sent flying among the foe, and unhorsed a mounted officer. He gave them also much weightier proofs of his good-will. Just as the flank of a column of French grenadiers reached the base of the crag occupied by the Highlanders, a tremendous fragment of rock, urged forward by the powerful hands of the major, came thundering down among them,—rolling through the dense mass of men with irresistible force and fury, making a perfect but terrible lane, and doing as much mischief as a dozen bomb-shells. Every man below held his breath for a moment, and then cries of rage and fury burst from the whole division of Drouet; while the Scots, pouring upon them a parting salute of shot and stones, descended from the other side of the rock, and rejoined their comrades in double-quick time. Under the orders of General Stuart the whole retired to the rock of Maya, those in the rear maintaining an irregular skirmish with the French; who, on perceiving this rearward movement, filled the air with cries of "Long live the great Emperor! Long live beautiful France!" mingled with shouts,—absolute yells of triumph and exultation.Thoroughly enraged and disheartened, the British continued to retire, yet anxiously expecting that succours from Lord Wellington would arrive in time to enable them to face about, and beat Soult before nightfall. As the little band of Highlanders descended straggling from the hills, Stuart saw a lady (the wife of an officer of the 50th) on horseback, and in a miserable situation. Her horse had stuck fast above the saddle-girths in a deep morass, and she was too much terrified and bewildered to leave it. The balls of the sharp-shooters were whistling past her every second, and she cried imploringly on the retreating Highlanders to yield her some assistance; but it was impossible, and she fell into the hands of the French. Her husband was lying dead, with his sword in his hand, in the gorge of the fatal pass. On the brigade of Sir Edward Barnes coming up from the rear, a new and sanguinary conflict took place; but the enemy were defeated, and the pass regained.That night the shattered remains of the Gordon Highlanders bivouacked near Barrueta. The consternation of the inhabitants in the mountain villages, when the heights were abandoned and the French again advancing, cannot be easily described. From Barrueta, Elizondo, Maya, and Huarte, men, women, and children were seen pouring forth during the night and descending the mountain paths by torch-light, bearing along, with infinite toil, their sick and infirm relatives, their bedding, furniture, &c., to save them from the remorseless invaders, who, they too well knew would give all to the flames that was "too hot or too heavy" to carry off.So eager were the French soldiers for plunder, that their searches were conducted upon a regular system. When a town was entered, every piece of furniture was broken, every plank raised to see whether any thing was hidden or buried, and the hammer and small saw, carried by every man in his havresack, assisted greatly this unsoldier-like work. It is said, that in Germany the vaults of the churches, the very graves in the church-yards were searched; and the brutality with which they treated those unfortunate Spaniards, male and female, who fell into their power, cannot be described. Therefore it is not be wondered at that the Pyrenean mountaineers fled at their approach, as from a legion of devils.The roads were likewise crowded with wounded officers and soldiers, pouring down from the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles. Those who were able to move, were ordered to retire to Vittoria, which had already been converted into a vast hospital, and crowded to excess with the wounded of the great battle; and the miseries these unfortunates suffered, travelling without baggage or money in a strange country, weary, sick, and wounded, for a distance of one hundred miles during a hot season, are utterly inconceivable. Many wounds mortified, and became incurable; hundreds of men perished by the way-side of starvation and loss of blood, or reached Vittoria only to expire in the streets. Every medical officer had from ninety to a hundred patients on his list, and many lives were lost from the want of proper attendance.The astounding intelligence that the Duke of Dalmatia had forced the Pyrenean passes, reached Lord Wellington at night, and promptly as usual he took means to concentrate his army, providing at the same time for the siege of San Sebastian, and the blockade of Pampeluna. The right wing was in full retreat from the mountains when he directed it to halt, and soon arrived himself to direct measures for covering Pampeluna, within a few miles of which Soult, eager for its relief, had now arrived. The discomfited troops from Maya were ordered to march on the position before Pampeluna, and moved accordingly from Barrueta on Tuesday the 27th. A melancholy spectacle the parade of the Gordon Highlanders presented on that morning! The colours, which had been shot almost to rags, were cased, and carried by non-commissioned officers; two young lieutenants had the command, and as the solitary piper, Ranald Macdonuildhu, blew the 'gathering,' he watched with a stern and louring visage the few survivors of the late conflict, as they paraded on the hill-side, falling one by one into their places. Here were five men of the grenadiers, twenty men of another company, ten of a third, two of a fourth, and many others were totally annihilated, neither officer nor private being present. The Serjeant-major, with his arm in a sling, presented a list of the casualties to Lieutenant Logan, who commanded,—Logan of that Ilk, as he was named by the mess."Where is Captain Mac Ivor?""Killed, sir. I saw him lying dead, close by Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Macdonald.""Where is Captain Bevan?""He retired, sir, with his arm shattered near the elbow, and expired at the moment Dr. Stuart attempted to remove the limb at the shoulder-socket.""Where is Gordon?""Severely wounded, and gone to the rear.""Grant?""Shot through the side.""Macpherson and Macdonald,—Ranald Macdonuil, I mean?""Missing, sir." And so on—killed, wounded, and missing, was the answer to every question."God help us, sir!" said the worthy non-commissioned officer, as he raised his hand to his bonnet and turned away with a glistening eye, "but it's a heart-breaking thing to see the regiment cut up in this way."The band was annihilated, and with a single drum and bagpipe the little party moved off, just as the morning sun rose above that deadly pass, where so many a gallant heart had grown cold, and ceased to beat for ever.CHAPTER IX.THE BLOCK-HOUSE. MINA.Hill's division from the Pyrenees arrived at Pampeluna in time to share the fighting which ensued when Soult endeavoured to dislodge the allies on the 28th, but was repulsed with immense loss. Along the heights of Huarte the contest was very severe, and the bravery of the British was equalled only by that of their enemies. Every regiment charged with the bayonet; and the Highlanders,—ever at home at close quarters, more than once. Both armies remained quiet during the 29th; but Wellington, having completed all his arrangements, attacked the left and centre of Soult's forces next morning, and defeated them with great slaughter. Upon this discomfiture, the marshal's only object was to secure a safe retreat into France. After a fruitless attempt to turn Sir Rowland Hill's position at La Zarza, and fighting until compelled to cease firing by night coming on, they abandoned their ground under the favouring shadow of the darkness, and on the morrow were discovered in full retreat for France by the pass of Donna Maria. The allies "followed them up" in hot pursuit, fighting and capturing at every yard of the way, and on the 1st of August again took possession of those hard-contested passes, while the French retired into their own country completely thrashed, but certainly not to their hearts' content. With the exception of a slight bayonet-wound in a charge at La Zarza, Ronald Stuart had escaped with a whole skin during all these hard conflicts, known generally as the battles of the Pyrenees. But how much the regiment had suffered may be inferred from the fact, that of the thousand men who had landed in Spain under its colours, about eighty only were in the ranks.The aspect of the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles, when re-occupied, was at once revolting and humiliating. The corses of friends and foes lay yet unburied there; but the death-hunters, the guerillas, and those ferocious banditti who infested every part of Spain, had been there at work; and most of the bodies were lying naked as when they came into the world. Ronald found Captain Mac Ivor in this condition, with his broad-sword so glued and encrusted with gore to his stiffened fingers, that it could not be removed, and so was buried with him. For many days the soldiers were busied in burying the dead. Deep holes were dug, wherein friends and foes were interred together,—thrown in just as they were found; and when the pit was brim full, the earth was heaped over it. These mounds of death,—fragments of uniform, tatters of tartan and plumage, shakoes and grenadier-caps, scattered about in thousands where the troops were encamped, served very disagreeably to remind them of what might be their own fate on some future day. With the exception of his sash and epaulets, ring and watch, &c., the body of poor Alister lay untouched, and Stuart was deeply moved, at least as much as a hard-hearted campaigner could well be, at the sight of his once merry and brave young comrade's remains. His claymore was grasped in one hand, and his bonnet in the other. The death-shot had passed through his brain, and he had fallen in the act of cheering on his men. His dark locks were damp with the midnight dew, and a formidable frown contracted his fine bold forehead. He had lain for seven days uninterred, and Ronald prepared to commit his body to the earth. It was rolled in a blanket, while Evan dug a pit three feet deep and six long, in which the corse was deposited."Puir Maister Macdonald!" said Evan, as he smoothed down the green sods. "He was a leal true Scotsman and a gallant gentleman: lang it may be ere we see his maik again. He was a gude officer, and well was he loed by every ane."The other officers were all placed in one grave by the Highlanders, who, according to the ancient Scottish custom, piled a large cairn of loose stones over it. It was situated on the left of the road leading from Maya to France, and probably is yet to be seen. So great was the slaughter among the officers, that Stuart, although a very junior lieutenant, obtained a company, and succeeded his friend Seaton in command of the "light bobs." While the troops lay encamped on the Pyrenees, the different corps were soon made up to their proper strength by the return of convalescents from Vittoria, and the arrival of recruits from the depôts or second battalions at home. In about two months the Highlanders began once more to assume the appearance of a regiment; and Fassifern, and other officers who had been wounded in the fatal action of the 25th July, rejoined as soon as their scars were closed.Along the chain of heights, strong redoubts and block-houses were placed at intervals. The last were composed of horizontal logs, loop-holed for musquetry, and occupied by strong picquets, who were continually on the alert, in case Marshal Soult might again pay them some sudden visit from Gascony. One night in October, Ronald Stuart with his company were on duty in one of these blockhouses, when a sudden attack was made on the position by the enemy. There had been a great fall of snow, and the intense cold by which it was accompanied added greatly to the discomfort of the troops encamped on these bleak and lofty mountains, with no other shelter against the inclemencies of the weather, day and night, than canvas tents. The hills and valleys were completely covered to the depth of several feet, and many sentinels were lost, or found dreadfully frost-bitten when dug out. A path had been made from the Maya camp to the block-house which Stuart was to occupy; and as his company marched along the slippery and winding roadway, they often saw Spanish peasants or guerillas lying dead with shovels near them, showing that they perished with the intensity of the cold whilst engaged on some working or fatigue-party. In some places a frozen grisly head, or shrunken hand, clenched and withered, appeared above the smooth white surface of the snow. Had the view around the block-house been in Greenland or Newfoundland, it could not have presented a more dreary aspect. The whole of the Pyrenean chain, and the plains of Bearn and Gascony below, were clad in the same white livery. The sky was of the purest, deepest, and coldest blue, showing the most distant summits of the Pyrenean chain, the white peaks of which rose in long perspective beyond each other in an infinity of outlines. The dense smoke from the camp fires was curling up from amidst the dingy-coloured tents, where now and then the beat of a drum rang out sharply into the clear and frosty air.Although the cold was intense, and the legs of the Highlanders were as red as their jackets, the sun was shining brightly, and the whole surface of the earth and the atmosphere were sparkling and glittering in his radiance. With their musquets slung and a piper playing before them, the light company trod merrily up the ascent, many of them singing aloud to the notes of the pipe and the tramp of their feet, which sounded dull and hollow on the hard and frozen path. A captain of the 34th regiment, whom with his company they relieved, left Stuart a flask of brandy, for which he and his two subs (Chisholm and Evan Macpherson) were very thankful, and they found it a considerable acquisition during a winter day and night in a log-house, where the wind went in and out at a hundred chinks and crannies. The picquet-house was internally one large apartment, in the centre of which the soldiers piled their arms, and huddled close together on the ground for mutual heat, and to avoid the cold blast which blew through the numerous open loop-holes in the four walls of the edifice.Towards night, a soldier of the 66th regiment, muffled up in his grey great-coat, came toiling up the steep ascent from the valley below, bringing to Stuart a letter, which had arrived from Lisbon in the packet for his corps. An officer of the 66th, who was intimate with Ronald, had despatched it to him forthwith, and he knew in an instant, by the hand-writing and the crest on the seal, that it came from Alice Lisle. Giving the Englishman a glass of brandy, he desired him to lose no time in regaining his quarters, in case of a snow-storm setting in before nightfall.If any thing would serve to buoy up one's spirits amid all the miseries of campaigning and the dangers of daily warfare, such letters as those of Alice Lisle certainly must have had that effect. After expressing her delight for Stuart's success and safety in a manner and delicacy of style peculiarly her own, she continued thus:—"And so you are really now a captain, and knight of a military order? O Heaven! I can scarcely believe it, even when your name appears in the army list. How short a time has elapsed since you used to harry the nests of the eagle and owl at Tullyisla, among the dark nooks of the old castle, and gather flowers and berries with Louis and me in Strathonan! You well know, dear Ronald, that no one rejoices more than Alice Lisle at your rapid promotion, but indeed I think it very horrid to owe one's advancement to the death of one's friends, and I see that a sad alteration has taken place among the officers of the Gordon Highlanders since the battle of the Pyrenees. The joy I now feel in the knowledge of your—alas! only temporary—safety and good fortune, will scarcely counterbalance the agony of mind I experienced when the news of Vittoria arrived, and your name appeared in the list of wounded. Papa concealed the papers from me for some days, but I heard of it from my foster-sister, Jessie Cavers, and until your letters, dated from the "Maya Camp" reached us, my anxiety and perturbation of spirit are quite indescribable. What was thought of your danger by the people up the glen at Lochisla I really know not, but the whole country side was in an uproar in honour of the victory. The banner was displayed from the tower, a huge bonfire blazed on the summit of Craigonan, and the two old cannon on the bartizan were kept booming away the live-long night, greatly to the terror of all the old ladies within ten miles, who supposed that Buonaparte in person had come up the Tay, and landed a host of be-whiskered grenadiers on the Inches of Perth. The noise of the cannon alarmed others, too. The militia, the fencibles, and the volunteers got under arms; many of the chiefs north of this began to muster their people, and the whole country was in a state of commotion. Your father gave a dinner to his kin and tenantry, and dancing, drinking, and piping were kept up, I believe, in the old hall until the morning sun shone down the glen upon them."Rolled up in his cloak, Ronald sat sipping his brandy and water, while by the light of a streaming candle he conned over the letter, so much absorbed in its contents as to forget every thing around him, until the report of a musquet, fired by the sentinel outside the block-house, caused him to start and leap to his feet as if he had received an electric shock."The French, and in this frosty night!" exclaimed Macpherson, leaping up from the ground, on which he had been fast asleep. "Now the devil confound them! they might have chosen daylight for their visit. Come, Stuart, leave your love-letter,—it can scarcely be any thing else, as you have been reading it all night,—leave it, and attend to your command, or Wellington will be issuing such another order anent love-letters as he gave us about the wild-pigs at Alba.""We receive more reprehensions than rewards from head-quarters, certainly. But where are the French? Among the hills?""Close by, man!""In force, too!" added Chisholm, a smart little sub, who had been watching them from a loop-hole. "There will be heads broken in ten minutes.""I believe you, my boy," answered Evan Macpherson, (a tall fellow, with thick black curly hair and a keen dark eye,) as he adjusted his sword-belt. "They are in force enough to put us all to our mettle.""Stand to your arms, men!" said Ronald; but the order was needless, every man being at his post. "Be bold of heart, my lads!" he added, as he watched the advancing enemy. "We shall soon be succoured.""Not likely," said Macpherson bluntly, "with all due deference to you, Stuart. Mina, the guerilla chief, with his followers, is far down the mountains, and General Walker's brigade is scarcely within gun-shot; so we may fight till daylight without aid.""Or till doomsday," retorted Stuart, "if the logs hold together, and the ammunition lasts. Blow, Macvurich," said he to the piper; "give us 'Roderick Mhic Alpain Dubh,' and blow till the logs shake around us."The night was clear, the moon shone brightly, and from their loop-holes they saw the French advancing in considerable force,—probably two thousand strong. Their dark figures, enveloped in loose great coats, were seen distinctly dotting the pure white covering of the mountain-side, up the slippery ascent of which they were toiling with infinite labour."They are advancing in extended order," observed Stuart, "for fear of our sending them a cannon-shot, probably.""Which shows they know nothing about our position.""Certes," said Chisholm, "they are no economists of their persons, to advance upon us over such open ground. They are chasseurs, probably. The moon shines brightly, yet no appointments glitter about them.""Soult is a most indefatigable fool," said Stuart. "He causes his soldiers to fight needlessly. Poor fellows! they must obey their orders; but what benefit is gained, even if this solitary picquet is cut off? The actions at the Pyrenees and before Pampeluna might have taught the 'Lieutenant of the Emperor' a little experience.""I dare say," said Macpherson, "they are within range now.""Well, then, we will enjoy some shooting with them," replied his captain. "Line the loop-holes,—aim steadily; every bullet is worth its weight in gold to-night. They are twenty to one, but care not for that! Help is at hand.""Get into yer places, lads," said Serjeant Duncan Macrone, "and mind ye ta level low, and gie them ta cauld kail o' Vittoria het again. Got pless us; but this nicht is cauld eneuch ta freeze ta fery Ness."The discharge of forty musquets almost shook the frail block-house to pieces; and while those soldiers who had fired withdrew to reload, forty others took their places; and thus a rapid and constant fire was maintained against the enemy, blazing around the redoubt and flashing incessantly from every loop-hole. The summit of the hill was enveloped in clouds of smoke streaked with red fire, and the echoes of the musquetry sounded like peals of thunder, booming through the clear atmosphere and echoing among the surrounding peaks. Deadly execution was done among the advancing foe, whose killed and wounded were seen lying prostrate on the frozen snow, and marking the route up the hill by a series of black spots. Nevertheless, although their numbers were diminishing at every step, the main body continued to advance with unabated ardour, formed in a wide half-circle at extended order, returning as well as they could the fire of their adversaries, upon whose place of concealment their shot came every instant, tearing away huge splinters or sinking deep into the stockade with a dull heavy sound; but only a single bullet, during a hot contest of two hours, entered the block-house. It passed through a loophole, and wounded a Highlander named Allan Warristoun in the neck, passing through his leather stock, and he sunk on the ground bleeding profusely; but Chisholm attempted to stanch the blood, by dressing the wound as well as circumstances would permit. This was the only casualty that occurred during that night's skirmish, but terrible execution was done among the enemy. They were kept completely at bay, until they became wearied and disheartened by the slaughter made among them. The light-company being excellent marksmen, every shot they fired told fatally on the assailants, at whom they could aim unseen with the utmost coolness and precision. After enduring that sort of work for nearly two hours, they retired with the utmost expedition on perceiving a strong body of Spanish guerillas advancing up the mountains from the village of Roncesvalles. A little further off was seen the brigade of General Walker, which the noise of the firing had summoned to arms; but their appearance was needless, as the conflict was over."Here comes Mina,—the king of Navarre!" exclaimed Stuart, as the great mob of guerillas came rushing up the mountains with shouts of "Viva Ferdinand! Long live Spain!" &c. "Cease firing, lads, and let the French retreat. Poor devils! we have mauled them sadly. They are lying as thick as blackberries on the hill-side." In less than half an hour the French had disappeared, and the block-house was surrounded by the bold guerillas, their appetite for blood and plunder having been keenly whetted by the report of the musquetry."Let those who have watches and any loose pesetas in their purses, look well to them," said Chisholm, laughing. "Here come the honest soldiers of General Mina, who is said to be often a little upon thepicarohimself.""The licht-fingered loon will be waur than ony warlock, gin he gets his neive into mysporran molloch!" said Iverach, clasping the fox's mouth of his Highland purse."Or mine," said Sergeant Macrone. "Ta will pe gettin' plenty cauld iron, but no a prass podle frae me, Got tam!""The bonnets! the bonnets! Gude guide us, look at the blue bonnets!" exclaimed the Highlanders, astonished at the head-dress of the Biscayan guerillas, who wore flat blue caps, like those of the Scottish peasantry. Daylight had now dawned, and withdrawing the barricading from the door of the picquet-house, Stuart issued forth amidst the guerillas, who were busy stripping the French; and long practice had rendered their fingers so nimble, that in ten minutes the numerous bodies lying strewed around the position were, like those at Maya, denuded of every article of clothing. Many of the wounded were also stripped, and perished miserably on the frozen snow. Like all the Spanish peasantry, the guerillas were stout and handsome men, from Guipuscoa, Alava, and Biscaya. Nearly all wore thezammarra, or jacket of black sheep-skin, knee breeches, andabarcas, or shoes of hog-skin tied to the feet like sandals. All wore the broad Basque cap, and were armed to the teeth with musquets, pistols, pikes, poniards, and offensive weapons of every kind, which, with their huge whiskers and moustaches, gave them the appearance of a desperate horde of bandits. Their language, theLingua Bascongado, orBascuence, as the Spaniards name it, sounded strange to the ear of Ronald, who had been accustomed to the pure and sonorous language of the Castiles. That of the Basques, according to their own account, existed before the building of the tower of Babel, and was brought into Spain by Jubal,—an assertion somewhat difficult to prove.Coming from amidst his plundering followers, the celebrated Mina advanced towards Ronald Stuart. His dress was in no way different from that of his followers, save that a pair of gay French epaulets adorned his sheep-skin jacket, and a black ostrich feather floated from the band of his sombrero over his left shoulder. Pasted upon his shoulder-belt was a picture of the Virgin Mary, and a golden image of the same personage hung round his neck. He was accoutred with sword and dagger, and carried a short carbine in his hand, the ammunition for which was in a cartouch-box on his left side, balanced on his right by a copper bugle for summoning his followers. He had a fine open countenance, of a very mild and prepossessing expression, quite different from what Stuart expected to find in the leader of many thousand guerillas.The following description (taken from a journal of the period of which I write) will best illustrate his character to the reader. "Espoz y Mina was at this time between twenty and thirty years old, and his frame, both of body and mind, had received the stamp which the circumstances of his country required. When he lies down at night it is always with his pistols in his girdle; and on the few nights that he ever passes under a roof, the door is well secured. Two hours' sleep is sufficient for him. When his shirt is dirty, he goes to the nearest house, and changes it with the owner for a clean one. He makes his own powder in a cave among the mountains, and has his hospital in a mountain village, which the French have repeatedly attempted to surprise, but always unsuccessfully, for the hearts of the whole country are with Mina. He receives intelligence of every movement of the enemy, and on the first tidings of danger the villagers carry the sick and wounded upon litters on their shoulders into the fastnesses, where they remain in perfect security till the baffled enemy retires. The alcaldes of every village, when they are ordered by the French to make any requisition, must instantly inform Mina; if they fail in this duty, he goes himself in the night, seizes them in their beds, and shoots them."Although not above five-and-twenty, the hard service he had seen, in this irregular mode of warfare, made him seem much older. Mina was the idol of the Spanish people, who styled him the king of Navarre, and extolled his deeds beyond those of the Cid, or the most famous knights of Spanish chivalry and romance. Mina was a true patriot, and the Hoffer of the Spaniards. Although his guerillas were well drilled, and consisted of ten or twelve battalions, which he ruled with a rod of iron, he never restrained them from plundering the French. On his approach, Ronald raised his bonnet in greeting the great guerilla chief, for though he was originally but a humble farmer of Pampeluna, yet Francisco Mina had the heart of a hero, and was brave as a lion."Senor Capitan," said he, bowing profoundly, after the most approved Spanish manner, "we have been somewhat late in coming to your rescue; but the fire of your soldiers has told superbly, and the baseladroneslie here pretty thick. The old proverb should be changed to—"the more French, the more gain for us."[*] However, I never put my own hands to a man after he is dead: the plunder I leave to my followers,—'tis all their pay, poor fellows! and Our Lady del Pilar knows that they earn it hard."
[*] I will never go with him.
"Holloa, Alister! Is that you, my man?"
"Yes," replied Macdonald, springing up the rocks to where Ronald sat, and leaping to his side with the activity of a deer; "but you nearly made an end of me a dozen times. Every minute you sent a large rock sousing down the ravine upon my very path. Did you not hear me shout? Why, man, you have but half the ear of a Highland forester! I hope I am in time for the marquess's arrival?"
"Yes; but what a devilish long time you have been! Madame the baroness and her squire were certainly in no hurry to reach the rock of Maya."
"Why no; to tell you the truth," replied Macdonald, laughing as heartily as his lack of breath would permit him, "we consulted our own convenience and pleasure, and it has been the most agreeable night, or rather morning, march since I first saw the spires of Lisbon."
"So I suppose. But did you escape the French sentries?"
"How would I have been here else, Ronald? They are posted at the foot of the rock of Maya, and must have been blind, if they did not see me. I led the young lady within a hundred yards of them, and there bade her tenderly adieu."
"She thanked you, of course?"
"By so delightful a salute, that I began to persuade her to return with me; but she placed her little hand upon my mouth, and, as the novels say, vanished from my sight,—in other words crossed the enemy's lines: so now, I suppose, she is in the arms of monsieur the baron, or as he would be more appropriately styled, Jock Law, laird of the Clapperknowes. What a pity 'tis that so sweet a girl should be the wife of that gruff old humbug! Hah! there go the pipes!"
"Wellington has come!"
The out-picquets rejoined their several brigades, which in a few minutes were in motion, and marched from Elizondo with their bands playing, and entered among the mountains towards that part of Maya where General Gazan's corps were in position. In the forenoon they came in sight of the enemy, when Sir Rowland Hill halted, and Wellington, attended by a single aide-de-camp, rode forward to reconnoitre. Ronald Stuart had now for the first time an opportunity of particularly observing that great leader, of whom the world then heard, and were yet to hear, so much.
He was mounted on a slight but stout crop-tailed horse, without trappings; a pair of plain holsters were at his saddle-bow, and a short sabre hung from his belt. The exceeding plainness of his attire—a coarse blue cloak, and weather-beaten cocked-hat, totally destitute of ornament—contrasted strongly with the richly laced jacket and pelisse of his aide, an officer of the 10th Hussars, that regiment of exquisite celebrity. Wellington gave a keen but hasty glance along the ranks of the bronzed Highlanders as he rode past, and then bent his sharp eyes on the heights where the dark columns of French infantry appeared in position, their long lines of serried arms glancing as usual in the sun. For about three minutes the marquess carefully made a reconnoissance of the foe through his telescope, and then issued his orders.
"Sir William!" said he.
General Stuart, a fine old soldier, with hair white as snow, a bronzed visage, and a purple coat adorned with a black aigulet, rode up, and touched his coarse cocked-hat of glazed leather.
"With the second brigade you will cross the Bidassoa, by the pathway leading from Elizondo, and ascending the mountains, turn the enemy's right. You will carry the rock of Maya at the point of the bayonet."
"It shall be done, my lord," replied Stuart confidently, as he drove spurs into his horse and galloped back to the second brigade; while Sir Rowland with the marquess ascended to an eminence, to observe the operations and success of this movement. While Stuart with his troops moved off and disappeared among the rocks and orchards of Elizondo, the other brigades remained under arms, and found, with considerable chagrin, that their part of the game was not yet come. After remaining for some time—an hour perhaps, watching attentively the French lines, the sound of distant firing, and the appearance of smoke curling along the hill sides, announced that the gallant Stuart had commenced the attack. Every ear and every eye were all attention. The fire became closer and more rapid; a cheer was heard, and in ten minutes the whole second brigade, consisting of the brave "Old Buffs," the 31st, the 57th, and 66th English regiments, were seen rushing up the hill under a close and destructive shower of shot, which they heeded less than if it had been a shower of rain, although it thinned their numbers deplorably. Forward they went with the bayonet, and the right wing of the French melted away before them.
The position was turned, and the cheers of the victors were echoed by their comrades below, whose blood was fiercely roused by the sound of the conflict.
"They have done well," said Wellington. "Forward! the light troops."
The command was obeyed with promptitude. The 6th Caçadores, the 71st Highlanders, and all the light companies moved off double quick, and the ravines among the hills rang with the clank of accoutrements and the tramp of their feet. These auxiliaries scrambled directly up the face of the hill, and the 50th regiment, moving to the front, opened a deadly fire on Gazan's left, while his troops were making ineffectual attempts to recover the heights on their right.
Exposed thus to a fire on their flanks, and galled in front by a cloud of sharp-shooters, who were scattered among the rocks and bushes,—bolting up every instant to fire, and then ducking down to reload, the French began to retreat down the hills towards France, but slowly, and keeping up their fire with gallant yet singular determination.
The coolness displayed by the light infantry in this skirmish was truly astonishing. To them it appeared like ordinary shooting,—a mere amusement. The Highlanders and the caçadores were seen scampering hither and thither, leaping from rock to rock, firing and kneeling, or throwing themselves flat on the earth, laughing and jesting in a manner, which none but those that have been eye-witnesses of such an affair can imagine. Even the deep groan, the sudden shriek of anguish, as some comrade when struck by a French bullet tossed aside his musquet and heavily fell prone on the earth, wallowing in his blood, did not cool or restrain them; and thus they continued to advance for several miles, strewing the ground with dead, and peppering the retiring foe from every available point.
Gazan threw out a body of chasseurs to cover the retreat of his forces down the mountains, and with them an irregular fight was maintained the whole day. Night scarcely put an end to the contest, and allowed the jaded French to find a shelter in their own country. The night was excessively dark, and yet the firing continued for nearly two hours after the gloom had fairly set in, and only ceased when friends became confounded with foes. Seaton narrowly escaped being bayoneted by two of his own favourite light-bobs. Several of the French went the wrong way in the dark, and, falling among the British, were captured and sent to the rear. The effect of the midnight firing was peculiarly fine, in such a wide wilderness as the Pyrenees. Several thousand musquets flashing incessantly through the gloom, and wakening the myriad echoes of the mountains and gorges, presented a very singular sight, the pleasure of viewing which was considerably lessened by the continual whistling of shot; until the bugles on both sides called in the stragglers, and the British, giving one hearty cheer of triumph and defiance, withdrew to their main body.
The lines of the latter were now established along the heights of Maya. The whole of the mountains were enveloped in a dense fog; a tremendous storm of rain succeeded, but the troops, the unhappy out-picquets excepted, were snug under canvas. But there were exposed the hundreds of killed and wounded, who could neither be sought nor attended to then, and who lay scattered over miles of contested ground, under all the fury of the pitiless elements. For the dead it mattered not; but many of the wounded expired during the raging of the storm, which accelerated their end.
Seated in his tent, on the sloping sides of which the rain was rushing down, Stuart wrote letters for Inchavon-house and Lochisla. He found their composition no easy task, as the candle, which was stuck in a bottle, flickered in the wind, and sputtered with the rain-drops which oozed through the canvas sides of his bell-shaped covering. He held out hopes of his speedy return,—but he had often done so before; for every new victory was deemed by the troops a precursor of peace, and of return to their native homes. * * * *
Having now gained the important heights of Maya, Lord Wellington retired to join another part of his army. The celebrated pass was left to the care of Fassifern with the first brigade, which encamped on the very summit of the hills, where the high road from the fertile vale of El Bastan descends to France.
The second brigade was posted in a valley to the right, and the Portuguese of the Condé d'Amarante occupied a mountain in front of the hamlet of Erraza, where a brigade of the same nation was quartered, under the command of Colonel Ashworth. The 82nd (Prince of Wales's Volunteers) occupied another part of the hills, about two miles off; and to these troops was left the defence of the pass of Maya, for which they were to fight to the last gasp,—orders which, when the time came, were faithfully and nobly performed.
CHAPTER VIII.
PASS OF MAYA.—PYRENEES.
"Again the kelpie nichered loud,And gloated o'er his prey;And the victims in the mountain pass,Like tigers, stood at bay;The first fire thinned the Scottish ranks—Childe Sinclair hit the ground,And as his life-blood oozed away,He moaned—"Massacre of Kringellan:—Vedder.
"Again the kelpie nichered loud,And gloated o'er his prey;And the victims in the mountain pass,Like tigers, stood at bay;The first fire thinned the Scottish ranks—Childe Sinclair hit the ground,And as his life-blood oozed away,He moaned—"Massacre of Kringellan:—Vedder.
"Again the kelpie nichered loud,
And gloated o'er his prey;
And gloated o'er his prey;
And the victims in the mountain pass,
Like tigers, stood at bay;
Like tigers, stood at bay;
The first fire thinned the Scottish ranks—
Childe Sinclair hit the ground,
Childe Sinclair hit the ground,
And as his life-blood oozed away,
He moaned—"Massacre of Kringellan:—Vedder.
He moaned—"
Massacre of Kringellan:—Vedder.
Massacre of Kringellan:—Vedder.
A month elapsed without the sound of a shot being heard, and the troops at the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles lay quietly encamped and unmolested amidst the fine scenery of the Pyrenees. The weather was now remarkably agreeable, and the officers procured plenty of wine from Elizondo and other Navarese towns in their rear, and they were beginning to be as comfortable as it is possible for troops to be under canvas. But a cloud was gathering in the valleys of Gascony below them.
The great victory at Vittoria, and the important events which followed it, had not failed deeply to interest and concern Napoleon, to rouse his wrath and to wound his pride. That object, for which he had shed so much French blood, was now completely wrested from his grasp, and France herself remained in imminent peril while the armies of the conqueror hovered on the mountains which overlooked her territories. Fresh conscriptions were levied, and again France, in her folly, poured forth another army, which directed its march to the Pyrenees, to fight the battles of the insatiable Buonaparte. Soult was recalled from Germany to place himself at its head, as the "Lieutenant of the Emperor." Joining the French army on the 13th of July, 1813, he commenced re-organizing and preparing for a second invasion of Spain, with an energy and activity which restored the confidence and roused, as usual, the arrogance of the French troops, who commenced their march with the intention of driving the allies beyond the Ebro, and celebrating the birth-day of the great Emperor at Vittoria.
At that time Lord Wellington's responsibilities and difficulties were not of a slight nature, having to cover the siege of two strong fortresses and defend the wide space between them, which compelled him to extend and weaken his line. His skill was evinced in the distribution of his army, which he posted in the best manner likely to defend effectually the passes of the Pyrenees, and to cover the investments of San Sebastian and Pampeluna.
To effect the relief of the latter was the first grand object of the Duke of Dalmatia. From St. Jean Pied-de-Port, on the morning of Sunday the 25th July, he marched thirty-five thousand men against the troops of General Byng occupying the pass of Roncesvalles, which post they completely turned in the afternoon, after a most desperate conflict, from which the general and Sir Lowry Cole, who had moved up to his support, were compelled to retire.
On the same day General Drouet led thirteen thousand men against the right of Hill's position,—Cameron's command at the Maya pass, which he had orders to force, as the Highlander had to defend it,—at all hazards. At the time the attack was made no movement was expected, yet Drouet found the British not altogether unprepared for such an event. It was a beautiful Sunday, and the heat, even on the summits of the Pyrenees, was intense. As it was not supposed that the enemy were near, the tents were all standing, just as they had been for a month before; and the camp and baggage-mules were miles away down on the Spanish side, whither they were usually taken for grass.
Stuart on that morning had wandered from the encampment to some distance, where he was enjoying the appearance of solitude, so like that of his "Highland home," which reigned far and wide around him. The vast hills rose on every side, heaving their green summits to the sky. A death-like stillness prevailed, save when now and then broken by the scream of a wild bird, the hollow flap of a partridge's wing, or the faint and far-off tinkle of a mountain rill murmuring through some solitary gorge, leaping from rock to rock as it descended to the bright plains of Gascony or Bearn. For nearly an hour he had wandered about there, when his solitary reveries were broken by the sound of a distant shot, the echoes of which rang among the splintered rocks and grassy peaks, recalling him at once to the present; and he hurried away to the camp, where the brigade was getting under arms, the soldiers mustering with their usual rapidity and coolness, without betraying the least surprise or confusion. From an out-picquet the word had been passed that the French "were in motion in front," and the fixing of fresh flints, snapping of locks, unrolling and examining of ammunition, gave token of every preparation being made to receive them with all due honour. Nearly an hour elapsed, and no more was seen or heard of the foe. All began to suppose it a false alarm, and many of the officers went forward to the outposts to reconnoitre.
"Where are the enemy now, Armstrong?" asked Cameron of an officer of the 71st, commanding the picquet which had given the alarm. "In which direction did you see them?"
"Directly north, and far down on the French side," replied the other, pointing with his sword. "We distinctly saw a strong party pass yon defile between the mountains: the glitter of their arms was apparent to us all."
"I'm afraid their feet were cloven," observed Seaton. "I see nothing but a herd of cattle crossing the defile you speak of."
"Horned nowte, just black short-legged Argyleshires," said Dugald, who, as usual, was close to Cameron's skirts. "I see them plain aneuch mysel, sirs; but the loons may be amang the hills for a' that." A loud laugh arose at the old man's observations.
"Well, gentlemen," said Armstrong, while his cheek reddened with anger, and he cast a furious glance on Dugald Mhor, "you are all at liberty to think as you please; but I tell you that there are cattle among the hills carrying bayonets on their horns, and that such is the fact, some here may learn to their cost, ere long."
"What fire the borderer displays," said Ronald, as Armstrong left the group abruptly; "and here is Alister his sub, quite fierce likewise about the matter."
"Search round," chimed in Campbell, in the same tone of jest; "search about, and probably we shall find the pig-skin at the bottom of which they saw the enemy. I remember once in Egypt, that old Ludovick Lisle—"
"What mean you, gentlemen?" said Macdonald, angrily; "do you take us for fools? I believe we have seen the enemy often enough to know them."
"Halt, Macdonald; you take our jests far too seriously," said Stuart. "If you saw the French, where are they now?"
"In front!" was the tart reply.
"They have been so, down in Gascony, for this month past."
"By all eternity! 'tis something new for me to have assertions doubted thus," replied Macdonald, considerably ruffled, yet loath to have high words with his old friend; and adding, "I will make no further explanations," he turned and left them, following Armstrong, who was reconnoitring intently through a telescope. While Stuart's cheek grew red with anger at the contemptuous manner in which Macdonald took leave of him, his sleeve was plucked by old Dugald Cameron.
"Dinna speak to him juist the noo," whispered that aged retainer solemnly; "his birse is up, and it is an ill thing to warsle wi' a Macdonald at sic a time. Dinna gloom wi' het faces at ane anither, for I tell you one will no behauld the ither lang, sae turn not the back o' your hand upon him; he may be mixed wi' the mools ere the hills grow dark wi' the gloaming, or redden again in the morning sun."
"What do you mean, Dugald?" asked Stuart, surprised at the Highlander's manner.
"Sir, I am farer seen than maist folk, and so was my faither before me. Baith loud and lang did you and Macdonald laugh ower your wine in the cornel's tent last nicht, and every laugh o the puir lad gaed to my heart. I kent by its hollow ringing he wasfey."
"Fey?" replied the other, respect for Dugald's white haffets, alone restraining a violent inclination to laugh; "fey, Dugald? How?"
"Loud laughter, I mean laughter such as his, aye portends sudden death. Ony cailloch that ever wore a mutch, or ony giglet o' a lassie that ever wore a snood, will tell ye the same thing, sir. Sae dinna girn at or be thrawn gebbit wi' young Inchkenneth, for he'll no be lang amang us. Mony heads will there be on the heather ere the sun gaes doon." Dugald moved off, leaving Stuart considerably surprised at his superstition. At that moment Alister rushed towards them, with his bonnet in his hand.
"Look ye now, gentlemen," he exclaimed, tossing his long feathers in the direction of the winding way which led to France, "what call you these?"
Even while he spoke a dense column of French infantry appeared in the defile between the mountains, and a cloud of others, battalion after battalion, with their tri-colours fluttering in the breeze, advanced in succession, until thirteen thousand bayonets were gleaming in the light of the noonday sun. It was the whole of General Drouet's division.
"There is nae heather here, but I thocht and I said there would be mony a head on the green swaird ere the hills grew mirk in the gloaming," muttered Dugald ominously, as he viewed the advance of the French with kindling eyes. With the first blast of the bugle the troops were again under arms, and marched to the front of the pass to stem the approaching torrent; and, resolute as the soldiers were, they knew that the attempt to keep their position against such an overwhelming power was vain, unless Lord Wellington, who was distant at San Sebastian, could by some means succour them. But obedience is thefirstduty of the soldier, and their orders were to defend the passes and fight to the last,—orders never yet mistaken by British troops.
The out-picquets first opened their fire upon the advancing masses, and although seconded by a body of light troops, were forced of course to give way. The 28th and 39th regiments, from Wilson's brigade, moved off to support the picquets on the right. With courage and resolution unparalleled these corps sustained the onset of their opponents, whose tremendous fire however compelled them to waver and recoil. The 34th or Cumberland regiment, with the 50th, came to their assistance. These last, forming a junction, rushed upon the French while exposed to the deadly fire of their extended front, and with unexampled intrepidity charged them with the bayonet, giving a check to their progress up the mountains. The French returned the charge, but at the same time made a flank movement, which their great numbers enabled them to do easily, to surround and cut off their rash assailants, who were at once placed in a critical position.
It was at that moment that Cameron brought up his Highlanders, and restored confidence to the regiments which had been falling into confusion. It is impossible to describe the scene which the Maya heights presented at that time. The deafening roar of the musquetry,—the driving clouds of smoke,—the tumultuous yells of the French, who were fierce, wild, and eager to wash away in British blood the disgraces of Vittoria, almost confounded those who were then for the first time under fire. The advancing enemy continued to shout more like savages than European soldiers, but their tremendous shower of shot was fast mowing down the little band which so gallantly endeavoured to resist them. Like a hail-shower the heavy leaden bullets were falling everywhere, and tearing up the turf even after they had passed through the bodies of the soldiers,—so close had the contending parties now come together.
The British had stood firm without flinching an inch; but the French, who were now fighting in a great disorganized mob, had continued to advance, by the rear men pushing on thefront, until within thirty paces of the British line; and at so short a distance it may easily be supposed that the shot on both sides told with fearful effect, especially among the dense masses of the French, before whom, in five minutes, arose a pile of their own dead and wounded like a breast-work. Beyond this ghastly line they would not advance an inch, nor could they be prevailed upon to do so even by the most strenuous exertions of their officers, who, whenever the smoke cleared away a little, were observed brandishing their sabres, waving their colours and eagles, and enthusiastically crying, "Vive la France! Vive l'Empereur! Vive la Gloire!" But their soldiers heeded them not, and continued to load and fire with the utmostsang froid, but would not be led to the charge.
The brave 71st Highland Light Infantry, after fighting with their usual obstinacy and intrepidity, had been compelled to give way, by which three Portuguese pieces of cannon fell into the possession of the French. To recapture these, a desperate attempt was made by Lieutenant Armstrong, who, at the head of eight private soldiers, as brave and as rash as himself, rushed furiously on the enemy. With his sword in one hand and his bonnet in the other, the gallant Borderer was seen amidst the smoke leading them on; but all perished under the leaden shower, within a few feet of the French bayonets. After being reduced to half its number of officers and men, this fine regiment began to retire in disorder. The 34th and 50th were in the same perilous predicament, owing to the front and flank movements of the enemy, when Fassifern with his Highlanders entered the bloody arena. As the battalion moved in open column of companies, along the hill-top from the camp towards the pass, Cameron addressed a few words to them, exhorting them to fight to the last man, and maintain the ancient fame of the north. He reminded them that they were not fighting merely for the defence of Spain, but of those homes where their kindred dwelt. His voice became drowned in the din of the conflict which rolled along the face of the hills, and Stuart heard only the concluding part of his address, and part of it was in Gaelic. "Highlanders! we shall have a bloody sabbath here to-day; but we go forth to shed our blood that the sabbath-bells may ring in peace at home, in those green straths and wooded glens where many a Scottish heart is praying for us at this hour." The sound of the pipes, as the piper on the flank of each company struck up "On wi' the Tartan," was the only reply. What a gush of indescribable feeling came through every breast, when the blast of the pipe was heard at such a moment! Every eye lighted up, and every cheek flushed: the effect of the sound of that strange instrument on the sons of Caledonia is well known.
"In halls of joy and in scenes of mourning it has prevailed,—it has animated her warriors in battle, and welcomed them back after their toils to the homes of their love and the hills of their nativity. Its strains were the first sounded in the ears of infancy, and they are the last to be forgotten in the wanderings of age. Even Highlanders will allow that it is not the gentlest of instruments; but when far from their mountain-homes, what sounds, however melodious, could thrill their hearts like one burst of their own wild native pipe? The feelings which other instruments awaken are general and undefined, because they talk alike to Frenchmen, Spaniards, Germans, and Highlanders, for they are common to all; but the bag-pipe is sacred to Scotland, and speaks a language which Scotsmen only feel. It talks to them of home and allthe past, and brings before them, on the burning shores of India, the wild hills and oft-frequented streams of Caledonia,—the friends that are thinking of them, and the sweethearts and wives that are weeping for them there. And need it be told here to how many fields of danger and victory its proud strains have led? There is not a battle that is honourable to Britain in which its war-blast has not sounded; when every other instrument has been hushed by the confusion and carnage of the scene, it has been borne into the thick of the battle, and far in the advance its bleeding but devoted bearer, sinking to the earth, has sounded at once encouragement to his countrymen—and his own coronach!"[*]
[*] Preface to Macdonald's "Ancient Martial Music of Scotland."
Ranald-dhu with his comrades strove to call up the "fierce native daring" of the Highlanders, who continued to move quickly forward. The balls now began to hiss and tear up the turf around them, now and then striking down some poor fellow, who was left rolling on the ground in agony.
"The battalion will form line on the grenadiers," cried Fassifem,—"double quick!" The movement was performed with the rapidity and precision of a home-review. As the covering-serjeant of the light company took up the ground of alignement, holding his long pike aloft, a shot struck him in the head, passing through his right eye, and he fell dead. The line formed across his body, and the word of command from Seaton, "Light company; halt,—front,—dress!" had scarcely been heard on the left, before the orderly bugler, who stood by Cameron's side, sounded to fire, and the hoarse brayingpiobrachdnow rang along the line.
The first volley of the Highlanders gave a temporary check to the enemy, and enabled the 34th and "old Half-hundred" to reform in order. The French line was now, as I have said, within thirty paces, and every lineament and feature of their dark and sallow faces could be distinctly seen at so short a distance. They were now in the midst of all the uproar, the smoke, the blood, the danger, the mingling of hideous groans and cries,—in short, the hell upon earth of a hot engagement, in which both parties became so heated by the slaughter around them, that all the softer passions were forgotten, and they longed, with a tiger-like feeling, to bury their blades in each other's hearts.
Ronald felt his pulses thickening, the blood tingling in his ears, for the sound of the musquetry had deafened them to every thing else, and his heart rebounded within his bosom until he could almost hear it beat; but it was with feelings the reverse of fear,—a wish to leap headlong among the enemy, to cut them down with his sword as he would whinbushes, and to revenge the slaughter the terrible fire of so dense a column was making among his gallant and devoted regiment. So thick was the smoke become, that he could scarcely see the third file from him, and only at times it cleared up a little. What was then revealed, served only to infuriate him the more. The Highlanders were lying in heaps across and across each other,—piled up just as they fell; while their comrades fought above them, firing and reloading with all the rapidity in their power, until struck by a shot, and down they fell to perish unnoticed and unknown. Almost every shot killed; for the distance was short, and the wounds were hideous and ghastly, the blood spouting forth from the orifice as if through a syringe.
Now and then Ronald felt his heart momentarily recoil within him when he beheld some poor soldier, while in the full possession of life and energy, toss aside his firelock, and fall suddenly backwards across some heap of corpses—stricken dead. But a battle-field is no place for sympathy, and the feeling lasted but for an instant.
"Shall we never get the word to charge?" cried Seaton fiercely. "O Stuart! this is indeed infernal work,—to be mauled thus, and within a few feet of their muzzles."
"A charge would be madness, and our utter destruction. A single regiment against thirteen columns of Frenchmen—"
"We possess the pass, though. Poor Macivar is on the turf, and Macdonuil is shot through the heart. Hah! see to the left: the 50th are giving way—God! I am struck!" He sunk to the earth, with the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils. A shot had pierced his breast, beating in with it a part of the silver breast-plate, and in great agony he rolled over several times, grasping and tearing the turf with fruitless efforts to regain his feet.
"Never mind me, light bobs, but stand by Cameron to the last. Hurrah!" Convulsively he strove to raise himself up; but another bullet passed through his neck, and a deadly paleness overspread his countenance. He gave his claymore one last flourish, he cast a glance of fury and despair towards the enemy, and expired. Scarcely a minute had elapsed since he was struck, and now he was dead!
"Poor Seaton!" muttered Ronald, and turned away. He had now the command of the light company; the other lieutenant lay bleeding to death a few yards off, and in the intervals of pain crying fruitlessly for water. One soldier, who had been struck by a shot across the bridge of the nose, became blind, and rushed frantickly among the enemy, to perish under their bayonets. Another, who had his lower jaw carried off, presented a horrible spectacle as he lay on the ground, vomiting up blood through his open throat, and lolling out his exposed and swollen tongue.[*]
[*] This man lived for many years afterwards, having the loss supplied by a mask, through which soups were induced by a pipe for his sustenance. For pension he received the sum of nine-pence per day.
"Ninety-second! Prepare to charge!" cried Cameron, animated to fury by this deadly slaughter of his regiment. "Gordon Highlanders! prepare to charge," he repeated, as he galloped along the broken line with eyes flashing fire, while he waved his bonnet aloft. "Close up,—keep together; shoulder to shoulder, Highland men,—charge!" Ronald alone heard him, and repeated the rash order; but their voices were unheard amidst the din of the conflict. At that moment the smoke cleared a little away, and in front Ronald perceived a French grenadier sling his musquet, and advancing a few paces before his friends, stoop down to rifle an officer of the 71st regiment, who was lying dead between the lines.
"Iverach, mark that plundering rascal," said Stuart; "aim steadily."
Evan fired and missed.
"That was not like a man from the braes of Strathonan!" said his master angrily. "Fire, Ian Macdonald; you are one of the best shots in the company."
"My father shot theDamh mhor a Vonaliatoon in Padenoch,[*] and I was aye thouchten to pe a petterer marksman than him," replied the young Highlander coolly, as he levelled his piece and fired. The Frenchman fell forward, beat the earth with his heels for a moment, and then lay motionless.
[*] A famous white stag, shot in Badenoch in 1807. It was believed by the Highlanders to be more than 200 years old.
"He's toon, sir: I have pitten a flea in his lug," replied the marksman, as he bit another cartridge.
For two hours this desperate and unequal conflict was maintained. The other regiments had given way in disorder, and the Highlanders began to waver, after the loss of their gallant colonel, who had retired severely wounded. Nearly all the officers were dead or dying on the ground, while others were endeavouring to find their way to some place where they could get their wounds dressed. Two alone were left with the regiment,—Ronald and another lieutenant, who, being senior, had the command, and finding that the battalion was reduced to less than a company, ordered it to retire towards the pass of Maya, having lost in two hours five-and-twenty officers, and three hundred rank and file. The other regiments were cut up in nearly the same manner, but none had lost so many officers. Stuart carried the king's colour, and a serjeant the regimental—all the ensigns being killed or wounded. Poor Alister Macdonald was left on the field among the former. A shot had passed through his head, and he died without a groan. His friend Ronald was considerably startled when he saw him lying dead. The prediction of Dugald Mhor flashed upon his mind, and he looked round for that singular old Highlander; but he was away with Fassifern, on the road for the village of Irun.
The whole of the British forces were now in retreat before the overwhelming power of the enemy, column after column of whom continued to press forward. The defenders of the pass retired on the rock of Maya, abandoning their camp and baggage to the French. On retreating through the pass, Major Campbell, whose horse had been as usual shot under him, and who had first left the field owing to a severe wound, headed a few Highlanders, who scrambled like squirrels up the face of a precipitous crag, from the summit of which they kept up a hot fire upon the French troops, not only holding them decidedly in check and giving their friends time to retire, but revenging the previous slaughter in front of the pass. Here it may be worth mentioning that Major Campbell lost his celebrated cudgel, which, in the enthusiasm of the moment he sent flying among the foe, and unhorsed a mounted officer. He gave them also much weightier proofs of his good-will. Just as the flank of a column of French grenadiers reached the base of the crag occupied by the Highlanders, a tremendous fragment of rock, urged forward by the powerful hands of the major, came thundering down among them,—rolling through the dense mass of men with irresistible force and fury, making a perfect but terrible lane, and doing as much mischief as a dozen bomb-shells. Every man below held his breath for a moment, and then cries of rage and fury burst from the whole division of Drouet; while the Scots, pouring upon them a parting salute of shot and stones, descended from the other side of the rock, and rejoined their comrades in double-quick time. Under the orders of General Stuart the whole retired to the rock of Maya, those in the rear maintaining an irregular skirmish with the French; who, on perceiving this rearward movement, filled the air with cries of "Long live the great Emperor! Long live beautiful France!" mingled with shouts,—absolute yells of triumph and exultation.
Thoroughly enraged and disheartened, the British continued to retire, yet anxiously expecting that succours from Lord Wellington would arrive in time to enable them to face about, and beat Soult before nightfall. As the little band of Highlanders descended straggling from the hills, Stuart saw a lady (the wife of an officer of the 50th) on horseback, and in a miserable situation. Her horse had stuck fast above the saddle-girths in a deep morass, and she was too much terrified and bewildered to leave it. The balls of the sharp-shooters were whistling past her every second, and she cried imploringly on the retreating Highlanders to yield her some assistance; but it was impossible, and she fell into the hands of the French. Her husband was lying dead, with his sword in his hand, in the gorge of the fatal pass. On the brigade of Sir Edward Barnes coming up from the rear, a new and sanguinary conflict took place; but the enemy were defeated, and the pass regained.
That night the shattered remains of the Gordon Highlanders bivouacked near Barrueta. The consternation of the inhabitants in the mountain villages, when the heights were abandoned and the French again advancing, cannot be easily described. From Barrueta, Elizondo, Maya, and Huarte, men, women, and children were seen pouring forth during the night and descending the mountain paths by torch-light, bearing along, with infinite toil, their sick and infirm relatives, their bedding, furniture, &c., to save them from the remorseless invaders, who, they too well knew would give all to the flames that was "too hot or too heavy" to carry off.
So eager were the French soldiers for plunder, that their searches were conducted upon a regular system. When a town was entered, every piece of furniture was broken, every plank raised to see whether any thing was hidden or buried, and the hammer and small saw, carried by every man in his havresack, assisted greatly this unsoldier-like work. It is said, that in Germany the vaults of the churches, the very graves in the church-yards were searched; and the brutality with which they treated those unfortunate Spaniards, male and female, who fell into their power, cannot be described. Therefore it is not be wondered at that the Pyrenean mountaineers fled at their approach, as from a legion of devils.
The roads were likewise crowded with wounded officers and soldiers, pouring down from the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles. Those who were able to move, were ordered to retire to Vittoria, which had already been converted into a vast hospital, and crowded to excess with the wounded of the great battle; and the miseries these unfortunates suffered, travelling without baggage or money in a strange country, weary, sick, and wounded, for a distance of one hundred miles during a hot season, are utterly inconceivable. Many wounds mortified, and became incurable; hundreds of men perished by the way-side of starvation and loss of blood, or reached Vittoria only to expire in the streets. Every medical officer had from ninety to a hundred patients on his list, and many lives were lost from the want of proper attendance.
The astounding intelligence that the Duke of Dalmatia had forced the Pyrenean passes, reached Lord Wellington at night, and promptly as usual he took means to concentrate his army, providing at the same time for the siege of San Sebastian, and the blockade of Pampeluna. The right wing was in full retreat from the mountains when he directed it to halt, and soon arrived himself to direct measures for covering Pampeluna, within a few miles of which Soult, eager for its relief, had now arrived. The discomfited troops from Maya were ordered to march on the position before Pampeluna, and moved accordingly from Barrueta on Tuesday the 27th. A melancholy spectacle the parade of the Gordon Highlanders presented on that morning! The colours, which had been shot almost to rags, were cased, and carried by non-commissioned officers; two young lieutenants had the command, and as the solitary piper, Ranald Macdonuildhu, blew the 'gathering,' he watched with a stern and louring visage the few survivors of the late conflict, as they paraded on the hill-side, falling one by one into their places. Here were five men of the grenadiers, twenty men of another company, ten of a third, two of a fourth, and many others were totally annihilated, neither officer nor private being present. The Serjeant-major, with his arm in a sling, presented a list of the casualties to Lieutenant Logan, who commanded,—Logan of that Ilk, as he was named by the mess.
"Where is Captain Mac Ivor?"
"Killed, sir. I saw him lying dead, close by Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Macdonald."
"Where is Captain Bevan?"
"He retired, sir, with his arm shattered near the elbow, and expired at the moment Dr. Stuart attempted to remove the limb at the shoulder-socket."
"Where is Gordon?"
"Severely wounded, and gone to the rear."
"Grant?"
"Shot through the side."
"Macpherson and Macdonald,—Ranald Macdonuil, I mean?"
"Missing, sir." And so on—killed, wounded, and missing, was the answer to every question.
"God help us, sir!" said the worthy non-commissioned officer, as he raised his hand to his bonnet and turned away with a glistening eye, "but it's a heart-breaking thing to see the regiment cut up in this way."
The band was annihilated, and with a single drum and bagpipe the little party moved off, just as the morning sun rose above that deadly pass, where so many a gallant heart had grown cold, and ceased to beat for ever.
CHAPTER IX.
THE BLOCK-HOUSE. MINA.
Hill's division from the Pyrenees arrived at Pampeluna in time to share the fighting which ensued when Soult endeavoured to dislodge the allies on the 28th, but was repulsed with immense loss. Along the heights of Huarte the contest was very severe, and the bravery of the British was equalled only by that of their enemies. Every regiment charged with the bayonet; and the Highlanders,—ever at home at close quarters, more than once. Both armies remained quiet during the 29th; but Wellington, having completed all his arrangements, attacked the left and centre of Soult's forces next morning, and defeated them with great slaughter. Upon this discomfiture, the marshal's only object was to secure a safe retreat into France. After a fruitless attempt to turn Sir Rowland Hill's position at La Zarza, and fighting until compelled to cease firing by night coming on, they abandoned their ground under the favouring shadow of the darkness, and on the morrow were discovered in full retreat for France by the pass of Donna Maria. The allies "followed them up" in hot pursuit, fighting and capturing at every yard of the way, and on the 1st of August again took possession of those hard-contested passes, while the French retired into their own country completely thrashed, but certainly not to their hearts' content. With the exception of a slight bayonet-wound in a charge at La Zarza, Ronald Stuart had escaped with a whole skin during all these hard conflicts, known generally as the battles of the Pyrenees. But how much the regiment had suffered may be inferred from the fact, that of the thousand men who had landed in Spain under its colours, about eighty only were in the ranks.
The aspect of the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles, when re-occupied, was at once revolting and humiliating. The corses of friends and foes lay yet unburied there; but the death-hunters, the guerillas, and those ferocious banditti who infested every part of Spain, had been there at work; and most of the bodies were lying naked as when they came into the world. Ronald found Captain Mac Ivor in this condition, with his broad-sword so glued and encrusted with gore to his stiffened fingers, that it could not be removed, and so was buried with him. For many days the soldiers were busied in burying the dead. Deep holes were dug, wherein friends and foes were interred together,—thrown in just as they were found; and when the pit was brim full, the earth was heaped over it. These mounds of death,—fragments of uniform, tatters of tartan and plumage, shakoes and grenadier-caps, scattered about in thousands where the troops were encamped, served very disagreeably to remind them of what might be their own fate on some future day. With the exception of his sash and epaulets, ring and watch, &c., the body of poor Alister lay untouched, and Stuart was deeply moved, at least as much as a hard-hearted campaigner could well be, at the sight of his once merry and brave young comrade's remains. His claymore was grasped in one hand, and his bonnet in the other. The death-shot had passed through his brain, and he had fallen in the act of cheering on his men. His dark locks were damp with the midnight dew, and a formidable frown contracted his fine bold forehead. He had lain for seven days uninterred, and Ronald prepared to commit his body to the earth. It was rolled in a blanket, while Evan dug a pit three feet deep and six long, in which the corse was deposited.
"Puir Maister Macdonald!" said Evan, as he smoothed down the green sods. "He was a leal true Scotsman and a gallant gentleman: lang it may be ere we see his maik again. He was a gude officer, and well was he loed by every ane."
The other officers were all placed in one grave by the Highlanders, who, according to the ancient Scottish custom, piled a large cairn of loose stones over it. It was situated on the left of the road leading from Maya to France, and probably is yet to be seen. So great was the slaughter among the officers, that Stuart, although a very junior lieutenant, obtained a company, and succeeded his friend Seaton in command of the "light bobs." While the troops lay encamped on the Pyrenees, the different corps were soon made up to their proper strength by the return of convalescents from Vittoria, and the arrival of recruits from the depôts or second battalions at home. In about two months the Highlanders began once more to assume the appearance of a regiment; and Fassifern, and other officers who had been wounded in the fatal action of the 25th July, rejoined as soon as their scars were closed.
Along the chain of heights, strong redoubts and block-houses were placed at intervals. The last were composed of horizontal logs, loop-holed for musquetry, and occupied by strong picquets, who were continually on the alert, in case Marshal Soult might again pay them some sudden visit from Gascony. One night in October, Ronald Stuart with his company were on duty in one of these blockhouses, when a sudden attack was made on the position by the enemy. There had been a great fall of snow, and the intense cold by which it was accompanied added greatly to the discomfort of the troops encamped on these bleak and lofty mountains, with no other shelter against the inclemencies of the weather, day and night, than canvas tents. The hills and valleys were completely covered to the depth of several feet, and many sentinels were lost, or found dreadfully frost-bitten when dug out. A path had been made from the Maya camp to the block-house which Stuart was to occupy; and as his company marched along the slippery and winding roadway, they often saw Spanish peasants or guerillas lying dead with shovels near them, showing that they perished with the intensity of the cold whilst engaged on some working or fatigue-party. In some places a frozen grisly head, or shrunken hand, clenched and withered, appeared above the smooth white surface of the snow. Had the view around the block-house been in Greenland or Newfoundland, it could not have presented a more dreary aspect. The whole of the Pyrenean chain, and the plains of Bearn and Gascony below, were clad in the same white livery. The sky was of the purest, deepest, and coldest blue, showing the most distant summits of the Pyrenean chain, the white peaks of which rose in long perspective beyond each other in an infinity of outlines. The dense smoke from the camp fires was curling up from amidst the dingy-coloured tents, where now and then the beat of a drum rang out sharply into the clear and frosty air.
Although the cold was intense, and the legs of the Highlanders were as red as their jackets, the sun was shining brightly, and the whole surface of the earth and the atmosphere were sparkling and glittering in his radiance. With their musquets slung and a piper playing before them, the light company trod merrily up the ascent, many of them singing aloud to the notes of the pipe and the tramp of their feet, which sounded dull and hollow on the hard and frozen path. A captain of the 34th regiment, whom with his company they relieved, left Stuart a flask of brandy, for which he and his two subs (Chisholm and Evan Macpherson) were very thankful, and they found it a considerable acquisition during a winter day and night in a log-house, where the wind went in and out at a hundred chinks and crannies. The picquet-house was internally one large apartment, in the centre of which the soldiers piled their arms, and huddled close together on the ground for mutual heat, and to avoid the cold blast which blew through the numerous open loop-holes in the four walls of the edifice.
Towards night, a soldier of the 66th regiment, muffled up in his grey great-coat, came toiling up the steep ascent from the valley below, bringing to Stuart a letter, which had arrived from Lisbon in the packet for his corps. An officer of the 66th, who was intimate with Ronald, had despatched it to him forthwith, and he knew in an instant, by the hand-writing and the crest on the seal, that it came from Alice Lisle. Giving the Englishman a glass of brandy, he desired him to lose no time in regaining his quarters, in case of a snow-storm setting in before nightfall.
If any thing would serve to buoy up one's spirits amid all the miseries of campaigning and the dangers of daily warfare, such letters as those of Alice Lisle certainly must have had that effect. After expressing her delight for Stuart's success and safety in a manner and delicacy of style peculiarly her own, she continued thus:—
"And so you are really now a captain, and knight of a military order? O Heaven! I can scarcely believe it, even when your name appears in the army list. How short a time has elapsed since you used to harry the nests of the eagle and owl at Tullyisla, among the dark nooks of the old castle, and gather flowers and berries with Louis and me in Strathonan! You well know, dear Ronald, that no one rejoices more than Alice Lisle at your rapid promotion, but indeed I think it very horrid to owe one's advancement to the death of one's friends, and I see that a sad alteration has taken place among the officers of the Gordon Highlanders since the battle of the Pyrenees. The joy I now feel in the knowledge of your—alas! only temporary—safety and good fortune, will scarcely counterbalance the agony of mind I experienced when the news of Vittoria arrived, and your name appeared in the list of wounded. Papa concealed the papers from me for some days, but I heard of it from my foster-sister, Jessie Cavers, and until your letters, dated from the "Maya Camp" reached us, my anxiety and perturbation of spirit are quite indescribable. What was thought of your danger by the people up the glen at Lochisla I really know not, but the whole country side was in an uproar in honour of the victory. The banner was displayed from the tower, a huge bonfire blazed on the summit of Craigonan, and the two old cannon on the bartizan were kept booming away the live-long night, greatly to the terror of all the old ladies within ten miles, who supposed that Buonaparte in person had come up the Tay, and landed a host of be-whiskered grenadiers on the Inches of Perth. The noise of the cannon alarmed others, too. The militia, the fencibles, and the volunteers got under arms; many of the chiefs north of this began to muster their people, and the whole country was in a state of commotion. Your father gave a dinner to his kin and tenantry, and dancing, drinking, and piping were kept up, I believe, in the old hall until the morning sun shone down the glen upon them."
Rolled up in his cloak, Ronald sat sipping his brandy and water, while by the light of a streaming candle he conned over the letter, so much absorbed in its contents as to forget every thing around him, until the report of a musquet, fired by the sentinel outside the block-house, caused him to start and leap to his feet as if he had received an electric shock.
"The French, and in this frosty night!" exclaimed Macpherson, leaping up from the ground, on which he had been fast asleep. "Now the devil confound them! they might have chosen daylight for their visit. Come, Stuart, leave your love-letter,—it can scarcely be any thing else, as you have been reading it all night,—leave it, and attend to your command, or Wellington will be issuing such another order anent love-letters as he gave us about the wild-pigs at Alba."
"We receive more reprehensions than rewards from head-quarters, certainly. But where are the French? Among the hills?"
"Close by, man!"
"In force, too!" added Chisholm, a smart little sub, who had been watching them from a loop-hole. "There will be heads broken in ten minutes."
"I believe you, my boy," answered Evan Macpherson, (a tall fellow, with thick black curly hair and a keen dark eye,) as he adjusted his sword-belt. "They are in force enough to put us all to our mettle."
"Stand to your arms, men!" said Ronald; but the order was needless, every man being at his post. "Be bold of heart, my lads!" he added, as he watched the advancing enemy. "We shall soon be succoured."
"Not likely," said Macpherson bluntly, "with all due deference to you, Stuart. Mina, the guerilla chief, with his followers, is far down the mountains, and General Walker's brigade is scarcely within gun-shot; so we may fight till daylight without aid."
"Or till doomsday," retorted Stuart, "if the logs hold together, and the ammunition lasts. Blow, Macvurich," said he to the piper; "give us 'Roderick Mhic Alpain Dubh,' and blow till the logs shake around us."
The night was clear, the moon shone brightly, and from their loop-holes they saw the French advancing in considerable force,—probably two thousand strong. Their dark figures, enveloped in loose great coats, were seen distinctly dotting the pure white covering of the mountain-side, up the slippery ascent of which they were toiling with infinite labour.
"They are advancing in extended order," observed Stuart, "for fear of our sending them a cannon-shot, probably."
"Which shows they know nothing about our position."
"Certes," said Chisholm, "they are no economists of their persons, to advance upon us over such open ground. They are chasseurs, probably. The moon shines brightly, yet no appointments glitter about them."
"Soult is a most indefatigable fool," said Stuart. "He causes his soldiers to fight needlessly. Poor fellows! they must obey their orders; but what benefit is gained, even if this solitary picquet is cut off? The actions at the Pyrenees and before Pampeluna might have taught the 'Lieutenant of the Emperor' a little experience."
"I dare say," said Macpherson, "they are within range now."
"Well, then, we will enjoy some shooting with them," replied his captain. "Line the loop-holes,—aim steadily; every bullet is worth its weight in gold to-night. They are twenty to one, but care not for that! Help is at hand."
"Get into yer places, lads," said Serjeant Duncan Macrone, "and mind ye ta level low, and gie them ta cauld kail o' Vittoria het again. Got pless us; but this nicht is cauld eneuch ta freeze ta fery Ness."
The discharge of forty musquets almost shook the frail block-house to pieces; and while those soldiers who had fired withdrew to reload, forty others took their places; and thus a rapid and constant fire was maintained against the enemy, blazing around the redoubt and flashing incessantly from every loop-hole. The summit of the hill was enveloped in clouds of smoke streaked with red fire, and the echoes of the musquetry sounded like peals of thunder, booming through the clear atmosphere and echoing among the surrounding peaks. Deadly execution was done among the advancing foe, whose killed and wounded were seen lying prostrate on the frozen snow, and marking the route up the hill by a series of black spots. Nevertheless, although their numbers were diminishing at every step, the main body continued to advance with unabated ardour, formed in a wide half-circle at extended order, returning as well as they could the fire of their adversaries, upon whose place of concealment their shot came every instant, tearing away huge splinters or sinking deep into the stockade with a dull heavy sound; but only a single bullet, during a hot contest of two hours, entered the block-house. It passed through a loophole, and wounded a Highlander named Allan Warristoun in the neck, passing through his leather stock, and he sunk on the ground bleeding profusely; but Chisholm attempted to stanch the blood, by dressing the wound as well as circumstances would permit. This was the only casualty that occurred during that night's skirmish, but terrible execution was done among the enemy. They were kept completely at bay, until they became wearied and disheartened by the slaughter made among them. The light-company being excellent marksmen, every shot they fired told fatally on the assailants, at whom they could aim unseen with the utmost coolness and precision. After enduring that sort of work for nearly two hours, they retired with the utmost expedition on perceiving a strong body of Spanish guerillas advancing up the mountains from the village of Roncesvalles. A little further off was seen the brigade of General Walker, which the noise of the firing had summoned to arms; but their appearance was needless, as the conflict was over.
"Here comes Mina,—the king of Navarre!" exclaimed Stuart, as the great mob of guerillas came rushing up the mountains with shouts of "Viva Ferdinand! Long live Spain!" &c. "Cease firing, lads, and let the French retreat. Poor devils! we have mauled them sadly. They are lying as thick as blackberries on the hill-side." In less than half an hour the French had disappeared, and the block-house was surrounded by the bold guerillas, their appetite for blood and plunder having been keenly whetted by the report of the musquetry.
"Let those who have watches and any loose pesetas in their purses, look well to them," said Chisholm, laughing. "Here come the honest soldiers of General Mina, who is said to be often a little upon thepicarohimself."
"The licht-fingered loon will be waur than ony warlock, gin he gets his neive into mysporran molloch!" said Iverach, clasping the fox's mouth of his Highland purse.
"Or mine," said Sergeant Macrone. "Ta will pe gettin' plenty cauld iron, but no a prass podle frae me, Got tam!"
"The bonnets! the bonnets! Gude guide us, look at the blue bonnets!" exclaimed the Highlanders, astonished at the head-dress of the Biscayan guerillas, who wore flat blue caps, like those of the Scottish peasantry. Daylight had now dawned, and withdrawing the barricading from the door of the picquet-house, Stuart issued forth amidst the guerillas, who were busy stripping the French; and long practice had rendered their fingers so nimble, that in ten minutes the numerous bodies lying strewed around the position were, like those at Maya, denuded of every article of clothing. Many of the wounded were also stripped, and perished miserably on the frozen snow. Like all the Spanish peasantry, the guerillas were stout and handsome men, from Guipuscoa, Alava, and Biscaya. Nearly all wore thezammarra, or jacket of black sheep-skin, knee breeches, andabarcas, or shoes of hog-skin tied to the feet like sandals. All wore the broad Basque cap, and were armed to the teeth with musquets, pistols, pikes, poniards, and offensive weapons of every kind, which, with their huge whiskers and moustaches, gave them the appearance of a desperate horde of bandits. Their language, theLingua Bascongado, orBascuence, as the Spaniards name it, sounded strange to the ear of Ronald, who had been accustomed to the pure and sonorous language of the Castiles. That of the Basques, according to their own account, existed before the building of the tower of Babel, and was brought into Spain by Jubal,—an assertion somewhat difficult to prove.
Coming from amidst his plundering followers, the celebrated Mina advanced towards Ronald Stuart. His dress was in no way different from that of his followers, save that a pair of gay French epaulets adorned his sheep-skin jacket, and a black ostrich feather floated from the band of his sombrero over his left shoulder. Pasted upon his shoulder-belt was a picture of the Virgin Mary, and a golden image of the same personage hung round his neck. He was accoutred with sword and dagger, and carried a short carbine in his hand, the ammunition for which was in a cartouch-box on his left side, balanced on his right by a copper bugle for summoning his followers. He had a fine open countenance, of a very mild and prepossessing expression, quite different from what Stuart expected to find in the leader of many thousand guerillas.
The following description (taken from a journal of the period of which I write) will best illustrate his character to the reader. "Espoz y Mina was at this time between twenty and thirty years old, and his frame, both of body and mind, had received the stamp which the circumstances of his country required. When he lies down at night it is always with his pistols in his girdle; and on the few nights that he ever passes under a roof, the door is well secured. Two hours' sleep is sufficient for him. When his shirt is dirty, he goes to the nearest house, and changes it with the owner for a clean one. He makes his own powder in a cave among the mountains, and has his hospital in a mountain village, which the French have repeatedly attempted to surprise, but always unsuccessfully, for the hearts of the whole country are with Mina. He receives intelligence of every movement of the enemy, and on the first tidings of danger the villagers carry the sick and wounded upon litters on their shoulders into the fastnesses, where they remain in perfect security till the baffled enemy retires. The alcaldes of every village, when they are ordered by the French to make any requisition, must instantly inform Mina; if they fail in this duty, he goes himself in the night, seizes them in their beds, and shoots them."
Although not above five-and-twenty, the hard service he had seen, in this irregular mode of warfare, made him seem much older. Mina was the idol of the Spanish people, who styled him the king of Navarre, and extolled his deeds beyond those of the Cid, or the most famous knights of Spanish chivalry and romance. Mina was a true patriot, and the Hoffer of the Spaniards. Although his guerillas were well drilled, and consisted of ten or twelve battalions, which he ruled with a rod of iron, he never restrained them from plundering the French. On his approach, Ronald raised his bonnet in greeting the great guerilla chief, for though he was originally but a humble farmer of Pampeluna, yet Francisco Mina had the heart of a hero, and was brave as a lion.
"Senor Capitan," said he, bowing profoundly, after the most approved Spanish manner, "we have been somewhat late in coming to your rescue; but the fire of your soldiers has told superbly, and the baseladroneslie here pretty thick. The old proverb should be changed to—"the more French, the more gain for us."[*] However, I never put my own hands to a man after he is dead: the plunder I leave to my followers,—'tis all their pay, poor fellows! and Our Lady del Pilar knows that they earn it hard."