If I began my career as a soldier at one of the gloomiest periods of our
Peninsular struggle, I certainly was soon destined to witness one of the
most brilliant achievements of our arms in the opening of the campaign
of 1813.
On the 22nd of May the march began--that forward movement, for the hour
of whose coming many a heart had throbbed, and many a bosom beat high.
From Ciudad Rodrigo to the frontier our way led through the scenes of
former glory; and if the veterans of the army exulted at once again
beholding the battlefields where victory had crowned their arms, the
new soldiers glowed with ambition to emulate their fame. As for myself,
short as the period had been since I quitted England, I felt that my
character had undergone a very great change; the wandering fancies of
the boy had sobered down into the more fixed, determined passions of the
man. The more I thought of the inglorious indolence of my former life,
the stronger was now my desire to deserve a higher reputation than
that of a mere lounger about a court, the military accompaniment of a
pageant. Happily for me, I knew not at the time how few opportunities
for distinction are afforded by the humble position of a subaltern; how
seldom occasions arise where, amid the mass around him, his name can win
praise or honour. I knew not this; and my reverie by day, my dream by
night, presented but one image--that of some bold, successful deed, by
which I should be honourably known and proudly mentioned, or my death be
that of a brave soldier in the field of glory.
It may be remembered by my reader that in the celebrated march by which
Wellington opened that campaign whose result was the expulsion of the
French armies from the Peninsula, the British left, under the command
of Graham, was always in advance of the main body. Their route traversed
the wild and dreary passes of the Tras-os-Montes, a vast expanse of
country, with scarcely a road to be met with, and but few inhabitants;
the solitary glens and gloomy valleys, whose echoes had waked to no
other sounds save those of the wild heron or the eagle, were now to
resound with the thundering roll of artillery waggons, the clanking
crash of cavalry columns, or the monotonous din of the infantry
battalions, as from sunrise to sunset they poured along--now scaling the
rugged height of some bold mountain, now disappearing among the wooded
depths of some dark ravine.
Owing to a temporary appointment on the staff, I was continually passing
and repassing between this portion of the army and the force under the
immediate command of Lord Wellington. Starting at daybreak, I have set
off alone through these wild untravelled tracts, where mountains rose in
solemn grandeur, their dark sides wooded with the gloomy cork-tree, or
rent by some hissing torrent whose splash was the only sound that broke
the universal silence--now dashing on with speed across the grassy
plain, now toiling along on foot, the bridle on my arm--I have seen the
sun go down and never heard a human voice, nor seen the footsteps of a
fellow-man; and yet what charms had those lonely hours for me, and what
a crowd of blissful thoughts and happy images they yet bring back to
me! The dark glen, the frowning precipice, the clear rivulet gurgling on
amid the mossy stones, the long and tangled weeds that hung in festoons
down some rocky cliff, through whose fissured sides the water fell in
heavy drops into a little basin at its foot--all spoke to me of the
happiest hours of my life, when, loved and loving, I wandered on the
livelong day. How often, as the day was falling, have I sat down to rest
beneath some tall beech, gazing on the glorious expanse of mountain and
valley, hill and plain, and winding river--all beneath me; and how, as
I looked, have my thoughts wandered away from those to many a far-off
mile; and then what doubts and hopes would crowd upon met Was I
forgotten? Had time and distance wiped away all memory of me? Was I as
one she had never seen, or was she still to me as when we parted? In
such moments as these how often have I recurred to our last meeting at
the holy well--and still, I own it, some vague feeling of superstition
has spoken hope to my heart, when reason alone had bid me despair.
It was at the close of a sultry day--the first of June; I shall not
readily forget it--that, overcome by fatigue, I threw myself down
beneath the shelter of a grove of acacias, and, tethering my horse with
his bridle, fell into one of my accustomed reveries. The heat of the
day, the drowsy hum of the summer insects, the very monotonous champ of
my horse, feeding beside me--all conspired to make me sleepy, and I fell
into a heavy slumber. My dreams, like my last-waking thoughts, were
of home; but, strangely enough, the scenes through which I had been
travelling, the officers with whom I was intimate, the wild guerilla
chiefs who from time to time crossed my path or shared my bivouac, were
mixed up with objects and persons many a mile away, making that odd and
incongruous collection which we so often experience in sleep. A kind of
low, unbroken sound, like the tramp of cavalry over grass, awoke me;
but still, such was my drowsiness that I was again about to relapse into
sleep, when the sound of a manly voice, singing at the foot of the rock
beneath me, fully aroused me. I started up, and, peeping cautiously
over the head of the cliff, beheld to my surprise and terror a party of
French soldiers stretched upon the greensward around a fire. It was the
first time I had ever seen the imperial troops, and notwithstanding
the danger of my position, I felt a most unaccountable longing to creep
nearer and watch their proceedings. The sounds I had heard at first
became at this moment more audible; and on looking down the glen I
perceived a party of about twenty dragoons cantering up the valley.
They were dressed in the uniform of the Chasseur Légers, and in
their light-blue jackets and silvered helmets had a most striking and
picturesque effect.
[Illustration: 3-092]
My astonishment at their appearance was not diminished by the figure who
rode gaily along at their head. She was a young and pretty-looking girl,
dressed in a blue frock and jean trousers; a light foraging-cap, with
the number of the regiment worked in silver on the front, and a small
canteen suspended from one shoulder by a black belt completed her
equipment. Her hair, of a glossy black, was braided richly at either
side of her face, and a couple of bows of light blue attested a degree
of coquetry the rest of her costume gave no evidence of. She rode _en
cavalier_; and the easy attitude in which she sat, and her steady hand
on the bridle, denoted that the regimental riding-school had contributed
to her accomplishments. I had heard before of the Vivandières of the
French army, but was in nowise prepared for the really pretty figure and
costume I now beheld.
As the riding-party approached, the others sprang to their feet,
and drawing up in line performed a mock salute, which the young lady
returned with perfect gravity; and then, carelessly throwing her bridle
to the one nearest, she dismounted. In a few moments the horses were
picketed; the packs were scattered about the grass; cooking utensils,
provisions, and wine were distributed; and, amid a perfect din of
merry voices and laughter, the preparations for dinner were commenced.
Mademoiselle's part, on the whole, amused me not a little. Not engaging
in any of the various occupations about her, she seated herself on a
pile of cavalry cloaks at a little distance from the rest, and taking
out a much-worn and well-thumbed-looking volume from the pocket of her
coat, she began to read to herself with the most perfect unconcern
of all that was going on about her. Meanwhile the operations of the
_cuisine_ were conducted with a despatch and dexterity that only French
soldiers ever attain to; and, shall I confess it, the rich odour that
steamed upwards from the well-seasoned _potage_, the savoury smell of
the roast kid, albeit partaking of onions, and the brown breasts of
certain _poulets_ made me wish heartily that for half an hour or so I
could have changed my allegiance, converted myself into a _soldat de la
garde_, and led Mademoiselle in to dinner.
At length the party beneath had arranged their meal upon the grass;
and the corporal, with an air of no inconsiderable pretension, took
Mademoiselle's hand to conduct her to the place of honour at the head of
the feast--calling out as he did, 'Place, Messieurs, place pour Madame
la Duchesse de--de----'
'N'importe quoi,' said another; 'the Emperor has many a battle to win
yet, and many a kingdom and a duchy to give away. As for myself, I count
upon the _bâton_ of a marshal before the campaign closes.'
'Have done, I beg you, with such folly, and help me to some of that
_salmi_,' said the lady, with a much more practical look about her than
her expression a few moments before denoted.
The feast now progressed with all the clatter which little ceremony,
hearty appetites, and good-fellowship produce. The wine went round
freely, and the _qui propos_, if I might judge from their mirth, were
not wanting; for I could but catch here and there a stray word or so of
the conversation.
All this time my own position was far from agreeable. Independent of
the fact of being a spectator of a good dinner and a jolly party while
famishing with hunger and thirst, my chance of escape depended either
on the party moving forward, or being so insensible from the effects of
their carouse that I might steal away unobserved. While I balanced with
myself which of these alternatives was more likely, an accident decided
the question. My horse, who up to this moment was grazing close beside
me, hearing one of the troop-horses neigh in the valley beneath, pricked
up his ears, plunged upwards, broke the bridle with which I had fastened
him, and cantered gaily down into the midst of the picketed animals. In
an instant every man sprang to his legs; some rushed to their holsters
and drew forth their pistols; others caught up their sabres from the
grass; and the young lady herself tightened her girth and sprang into
her saddle with the alacrity of one accustomed to moments of danger. All
was silence now for a couple of minutes, except the slight noise of the
troopers engaged in bridling their horses and fixing on their packs,
when a loud voice called out, '_Voilà!_; and the same instant every eye
in the party was directed to my shako, which hung on a branch of a tree
above me, and which up to this moment I had forgotten. Before I could
determine on any line of escape, three of the number had rushed up
the rock, and with drawn sabres commanded me to surrender myself their
prisoner. There was no choice; I flung down my sword with an air of
sulky resignation, and complied. My despatches, of which they soon
rifled me, sufficiently explained the cause of my journey, and allayed
any apprehensions they might have felt as to a surprise party. A few
brief questions were all they put to me; and then, conducting me down
the cliff to the scene of their bivouac, they proceeded to examine my
holsters and the flaps of my saddle for any papers which I might have
concealed in these places.
'Eh, bien! mon colonel,' said the leader of the party, as he drew
himself up before me, and carried his hand to his cap in a salute as
respectful and orderly as though I were his officer, 'what say you to a
little supper ere we move forward?'
'There's the bill of fare.' said another, laughing, as he pointed to the
remnant of roast fowls and stewed kid that covered the grass.
I was too young a soldier to comport myself at the moment with that
philosophic resignation to circumstances which the changeful fortunes of
war so forcibly instil, and I merely answered by a brief refusal, while
half unconsciously I threw my eyes around to see if no chance of escape
presented itself.
'No, no,' cried the corporal, who at once read my look and its meaning;
'don't try _that_, or you reduce me to the extremity of trying _this_,'
patting, as he spoke, the butt of his carbine with an air of easy
determination there was no mistaking.
'Let me rather recommend Monsieur le Capitaine to try this,' said the
Vivandière, who, unperceived by me, was all this while grilling the half
of a _poulet_ over the embers.
There was something in the kindness of the act, coupled as it was with
an air of graceful courtesy, that touched me; so, smothering all my
regretful thoughts at my mishap, I summoned up my best bow and my best
French to acknowledge the civility, and the moment after was seated on
the grass beside Mademoiselle Annette, discussing my supper with the
appetite of a man whose sorrows were far inferior to his hunger.
As the moon rose, the party, who evidently had been waiting for some
others they expected, made preparations for continuing their journey,
the first of which consisted in changing the corporal's pack and
equipments to the back of my English thoroughbred, his own meagre
and raw-boned quadruped being destined for me. Up to this instant the
thought of escape had never left my mind. I knew I could calculate on
the speed of my horse; I had had some trials of his endurance, and the
only thing was to obtain such a start as might carry me out of bullet
range at once, and all was safe. Now this last hope deserted me, as I
beheld the miserable hack to which I was condemned; and yet, poignant
as this feeling was--shall I confess it?--it was inferior in its pain
to the sensation I experienced as I saw the rude French soldier, with
clumsy jack-boots and heavy hand, curvetting about upon my mettlesome
charger, and exhibiting his paces for the amusement of his companions.
The order was now given to mount, and I took my place in the middle
file--the dragoons on either side of me having unslung their carbines,
and given me laughingly to understand that I was to be made a riddle of
if I attempted an escape.
The long months of captivity that followed have, somehow, I cannot at
all explain why, left no such deep impression on my mind as the simple
events of that night. I remember it still like a thing of yesterday. We
travelled along the crest of a mountain, the valley lying in deep, dark
shadow beneath; the moon shone brightly out upon the grey granite
rocks beside us; our pace was sometimes pushed to a fast trot, and then
relaxed to a walk, the better, as it appeared to me, to indulge the
conversational tastes of my escort than for any other reason. Their
spirits never flagged for a moment; some jest or story was ever going
forward--some anecdote of the campaign, or some love adventure, of which
the narrator was the hero, commented on by all in turn with a degree
of sharp wit and ready repartee that greatly surprised me. In all
these narratives Mademoiselle played a prominent part, being invariably
referred to for any explanation which the difficulties of female
character seemed to require, her opinion on such points being always
regarded as conclusive. At times, too, they would break forth into some
rude hussar song, some regular specimen of camp lyric poetry, each verse
being sung by a different individual, and chorussed by the whole party
in common. I have said that these trifling details have left a deep
impression behind them. Stranger still, one of those wild strains haunts
my memory yet; and strikingly illustrative as it is, not only of those
songs in general but of that peculiar mixture of levity and pathos, of
reckless heartlessness and deep feeling so eminently French, I cannot
help giving it to my reader. It represents the last love-letter of a
soldier to his mistress, and runs thus:--
LE DERNIER ADIEU DU SOLDAT
I
'Rose, l'intention d'la présente
Est de t' informer d'ma santé.
L'armée française est triomphante,
Et moi j'ai l'bras gauche emporté.
Nous avons eu d'grands avantages;
La mitraille m'a brisé les os,
Nous avons pris arm's et baggages;
Pour ma part j'ai deux bals dans l'dos.
II
'J' suis à l'hôpital d'où je pense
Partir bientôt pour chez les morts.
J' t'envois dix francs qu' celui qui me panse
M'a donnés pour avoir mon corps.
Je me suis dit puisq'il faut que je file,
Et que ma Rose perd son épouseur,
Ça fait que je mourrai plus tranquille
D'savoir que j'lui laiss' ma valeur.
III
'Lorsque j'ai quitté ma vieil l'mère,
Elle s'expirait sensiblement;
A rarrivée d'ma lettre j'espère
Qu'ell' sera morte entièrement;
Car si la pauvre femme est guérite
Elle est si bonne qu'elle est dans le cas
De s' faire mourir de mort subite
A la nouvelle de mon trépas.
IV
'Je te recommand' bien, ma p'tit' Rose,
Mon bon chien; ne l'abandonn' pas;
Surtout ne lui dis pas la chose
Qui fait qu'il ne me reverra pas--
Lui qu' je suis sûr se fait une fête
De me voir rev'nir caporal;
Il va pleurer comme une bête,
En apprenant mon sort fatal.
V
'Quoiqu' ça c'est quelqu' chose qui m'enrage
D'être fait mourir loin du pays--
Au moins quand on meurt au village,
On peut dire bonsoir aux amis,
On a sa place derrière l'église
On a son nom sur un' croix de bois,
Et puis on espèr' qu' la payse
Viendra pour prière quelque fois.
VI
'Adieu, Rose I adieu! du courage!
A nous r'voir il n' faut plus songer;
Car au régiment où je m'engage
On ne vous accorde pas de congé.
Via tout qui tourne =! j' n'y vois goutte!
Ah, c'est fini! j' sens que j' m'en vas;
J' viens de recevoir ma feuill' de route;
Adieu t Rose, adieu! n' m'oubli' pas.'
Fatigue and weariness, that seemed never to weigh upon my companions,
more than once pressed heavily on me. As I awoke from a short and
fitful slumber the same song continued; for having begun it, somehow it
appeared to possess such a charm for them they could not cease singing,
and the
'Adieu! Rose, adieu! n' m'oubli' pas,'
kept ringing through my ears till daybreak.