A MESSAGE FROM THE ENEMY.
"'Tis true, unruffled and serene I've met
The common accidents of life, but here
Such an unlooked-for storm of ills falls on me
It beats down all my strength--I cannot bear it."
ADDISON.
This was not the first occasion on which Quentin had enacted the part
of sentinel; but never had he done so with the knowledge that the
enemy was before him, and perhaps at that moment closer than he had
any idea of, among the mist that obscured the landscape.
All was quiet in front and rear; save the drip of the last night's
rain from an over-charged leaf, or the croaking of the bull-frogs in
a marsh close by, not a sound broke the stillness.
The dull grey winter morning stole slowly in; the distant mountain
peaks of the Guadarama grew red, but all else remained opaque and
dim, save the jagged summits of that lofty _sierra_--a Spanish word
very descriptive of a range of conical hills, being evidently (as we
are informed by a letter of the dominie) derived from _serra_, the
Latin word for a saw.
On the slope of a hill, at a little distance from where Quentin
stood, was a gibbet, a strong post about twenty feet high, having two
horizontal beams crosswise on its summit, and from these four arms
there hung four robbers, each by the neck, and their long black hair
waved over their faces as they swung slowly to and fro in the morning
wind, with the ravens wheeling around them, and perching on the arms
of the gibbet.
The bull-frogs in the marsh croaked vigorously, and like every other
place in Spain, even this fetid swamp had its legend; for here it was
that the Cid, Rodrigo de Bivar, when proceeding at the head of twenty
young and brave hidalgoes, on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint
James at Compostella, saw an aged and half-naked leper in the midst
of the slough. Leaping from his horse, Rodrigo dragged the poor man
forth, and to the wrath and disgust of his mail-shirted companions,
seated him on his own charger, Babieca; thereafter he set him at
table with them, and finally, in the extremity of his humility and
Christian charity, shared his bed with him. In the night the
cavalier awoke, and beheld the leper standing on a cloud above his
bed, midway between the floor and ceiling, surrounded by a blaze of
light and clad in white and shining robes; and ere he vanished he
informed the Cid that he was Saint Lazarus, who had taken the form of
a leper to test his charity, which was so commendable that God had
granted he should prosper in all things, but chiefly in his wars
against the infidel dogs who were troubling all Spain.
As the mists drew upward, Quentin could see about half a mile distant
in front, a line of French cavalry videttes, each sitting motionless
in his saddle, and both horse and rider looking like one huge and
mis-shapen figure, as the scarlet cloak of the latter was spread over
the crupper of his charger behind him.
While gazing steadily and with deep interest at the enemy, he was
somewhat surprised to see two French dragoons suddenly ride from
their own lines straight along the road towards his post.
That they were deserters--his first idea--was impossible, as they
rode leisurely and were not fired on by their picquets. By their
light green uniforms and brass helmets with flowing plumes he soon
saw that they were Chasseurs à Cheval, and that one, who rode a few
paces in front of the other, was an officer, with a white
handkerchief tied as an extempore flag of truce to the point of his
sabre.
Monkton, and the main body of the picquet, were rather beyond hail,
and for a minute Quentin was irresolute what to do; but before he
could decide upon anything, the officer came fairly up to him, and
checking his horse on the bit, said in tolerable English--
"Monsieur le soldat, we have come hither on an errand of mercy. An
old and valued officer of our corps is sinking under the fatigue of
last night and the suffering incident to an old wound, so we have
ridden over to see if there is not at least one brave and generous
man among you, who will give us a mouthful of eau-de-vie or any other
spirit to keep him alive; for though our surgeons order this,
_sangdieu_, we haven't a drop in the whole brigade."
The interchange of many civilities, wine, biscuits, tobacco, and
newspapers, frequently took place between our outposts and the French
during the Peninsular wars. To such a length was this eventually
carried, that they frequently went over to smoke at each other's
watchfires; but a very stringent order of the Duke of Wellington put
a stop to these visits.
Before the speaker had concluded his singular request, Quentin had
time to recognise in him the French lieutenant whom he had so
signally befriended at Herreruela.
"Monsieur de Ribeaupierre," said he, "don't you remember me?"
"_Parbleu!_ yes--this is fortunate, my friend," said the other,
grasping Quentin's hand; "I am glad to see you again, but not with
the musket still--what! no promotion yet?"
"I am still but a volunteer."
"Ah--you should serve the emperor!"
"And then, we have not yet fought a battle."
"Had you not fallen back so rapidly on our advance from Valladolid
and Tordesillas, we should have had the pleasure of capturing and
escorting you all to France."
"Thanks for your good intentions."
"I still hope to see them carried out," said Ribeaupierre, laughing;
"but here come some of your people," he added, waving his
handkerchief, as Monkton, who had witnessed this interview, came
hurrying forward, with his sergeant, and a section of the picquet
with bayonets fixed.
Quentin rapidly acquainted Monkton with the object of the Frenchman's
visit, adding--
"He is Ribeaupierre, the French officer of whom I told you--son of
the brigadier of the same name."
"Ah--indeed; then I have much pleasure in meeting him," said Monkton,
as he and the officer saluted each other very courteously.
On inquiry being made, it was discovered that the sergeant of the
picquet, Ewen Donaldson, alone had any brandy, so he readily poured
the contents of his canteen into the flask of Ribeaupierre, who,
after thanking him profusely, handed it to his orderly, saying--
"Paul, mon camarade, away with this for our patient; use your spurs,
and I shall follow."
The dragoon galloped away. Ribeauperre offered a five-franc piece to
Donaldson, who being a gruff Scotsman, declined it so bluffly that
the young officer coloured to the peak of his helmet.
"You will join me in a cigar then, mon camarade?" said he, politely
proffering his open cigar case. Then saluting Monkton again, he
said, "Excuse me, monsieur l'officier, if, before returning, I speak
a word or two in your presence with the friend to whom I owe my
life--whom my good mother remembers every night in her prayers, for I
told her of our adventures near Valencia."
"Your mother, monsieur? Is it possible that she is with the army at
this season?"
"She is with the emperor's court at Madrid, and hopes to see you all
set sail from Lisbon. By the way," added Ribeaupierre, with a smile
of waggery, "your lively Spanish friend, Donna Isidora, will be quite
consoled when I tell her that I have seen you--alive and well too!
She thinks of you with remorse and tears, as one whom she had
poisoned in mistake, she says. How came all that to pass? We sent a
patrol to search the Villa de Maciera for you, but no trace of you
could be found."
"Is she still in your hands?" asked Quentin, with an expression of
interest.
"Yes, monsieur," replied the other, caressing his moustache.
"A prisoner?"
"_Peste_! What an idea!"
"I trust you--you have treated her well and kindly?"
"She shall answer for herself, some time hence."
"A prisoner! Poor Isidora! She will be quite inconsolable."
"Inconsolable? Mom ami, you forget in whose charming society she is!
We fellows of the 24th Chasseurs are unrivalled in conversational
powers and the general art of pleasing. She spoke of you very
often--thought you a very nice fellow--but so quiet--so _triste_!"
Quentin was glad that Monkton, whom he did not wish to hear all this,
had gradually gone beyond earshot.
"And she--she----" he was beginning with emotions of annoyance and
mortification.
"Be assured that she became quite consoled among the 24th, and now,
as Madame Jules de Marbœuf, (for my comrade Jules took her off my
hands), she has learned to think that we Frenchmen are not such bad
fellows, after all."
"This is indeed news!" exclaimed Quentin; "Isidora married--married,
and to a Frenchman!"
"Ah--la belle tigresse is quite tamed now; but _I_ must begone.
_Ouf--peste--tonnerre de Dieu!_ what a night we have had, monsieur,"
he added to Monkton, who again approached. "I have been so soaked
that I felt as if the rain was filtering through the marrow of my
bones. If you effect your junction with M. le Général Moore, I
suppose we shall have the little variety of a general action."
"It is extremely probable," replied Monkton, smiling at the French
officer's free and easy manner.
"That will indeed be gay--we are so anxious to measure swords with
your cavalry. Do you know that General Foy, in one of his
despatches, attributes your accidental victories----"
"_Accidental?_"
"That is the word, my friends----"
"For Roleia and Vimiera--eh?"
"Yes, for anything you like--Trafalgar and the Nile, if you please."
"Well, and Foy attributes them----"
"To two great elements you Anglais possess."
"Powder and pluck?"
"No--rum and ros-bif--ha, ha! _Au revoir_--we shall meet again," and
putting spurs to his horse, Ribeaupierre, keeping his white
handkerchief still displayed, rode across to his own lines, turning,
however, repeatedly to kiss his hand, as his horse caracoled along.
Relieved from his post, Quentin rejoined the main body of the picquet
in the grove of trees, where he remained apart from the men and full
of thought; for though his self-esteem was somewhat piqued on
learning that Isidora had so easily forgot him, he was greatly
pleased to hear of her safety, and hoped that the circumstance, when
known, would relieve him from the hostility of Baltasar and his
ragamuffins, of whom he not unnaturally had a constant dread. These
ideas were mingled with something of amusement--that the
brother-in-law of Baltasar, the most ferocious of Spanish patriots,
should be a Frenchman!
Just as the picquets rejoined their regiments, prior to the whole
division moving from Avila, Rowland Askerne called Quentin aside,
and, with a face expressive of extreme concern, said--
"I wish to speak particularly with you, Quentin--there is evidently
something most unpleasant on the tapis."
"Regarding what--or who?"
"You, my friend."
"Me--how--in what way?" asked Quentin.
"Baltasar de Saldos, the guerilla, who has been so long in the rear,
wounded, has now joined the division, and has been at the quarters of
Sir John Hope in the Bishop's palace."
"Surely, that matters nothing to me," said Quentin, with growing
anger and alarm.
"Listen. I was in the street, speaking with the colonel, when the
general, who was bowing out the formidable guerilla, beckoned him,
and on their meeting I heard him say--
"'The information just given me, Colonel Crawford, by the guerilla,
fully corroborates the character you gave me at Portalegre of that
young fellow--what is his name?'
"'Kennedy.'
"'Ah, yes; you remember?'
"'Yes, Sir John,' replied the colonel, turning rather pale, I
thought, as he glanced towards me.
"'But I have spoken with Major Middleton of yours, and unlike you, he
gives him the very highest character. How am I to reconcile these
discrepancies?'
"Crawford then mumbled I know not what; but it was something about a
previous knowledge of you--of old contumacy and insolence unknown to
others; then I turned away, as it was alike impossible and improper
to listen."
These tidings filled Quentin's breast with rage, alarm, and intense
mortification. Here was a secret enmity against which there was no
contending, bringing with it accusations of which he knew neither the
nature nor the name.
One moment he felt inclined to rush into the presence of the general,
and boldly demand to know of what his hostile colonel had accused
him; and then there was De Saldos too! But in approaching Sir John
Hope, he remembered that the proper mode could only be in writing,
the letter being transmitted by the captain of the company to which
he was attached, under cover to Cosmo, his particular enemy (who
might then forward it with such comments as he chose), for such is
the rule and etiquette of the service.
Before he could resolve on what was to be done, while fretting and
chafing in his billet, and just as the bugles were sounding the
warning for the march, the old sergeant-major, Norman Calder,
entered, accompanied by two soldiers of the light company, with their
bayonets fixed.
The faces of his three visitors expressed considerable compunction,
for our young volunteer, as we have said elsewhere, was a favourite
with the whole corps.
"Mr. Kennedy," said Calder, "I have come on a sorrowful errand to
you; but I only obey the orders given to me by my superior officers."
"And these orders are, sir?" demanded Quentin, furiously.
"To disarm you and march you a close prisoner with the quarter-guard."
"For what reason?" asked Quentin, in a faint voice.
"I dinna ken, sir--I have only Colonel Crawford's orders."
"Of what am I accused?"
"That is more than I can say, sir; but if you are innocent you have
nothing to fear. Take courage and set a stout heart to a steep brae,
as we say at home, and you may turn the flanks of fortune yet," added
the worthy old non-commissioned officer, patting Quentin on the
shoulder, for he saw that this open and public, and most unmerited
humiliation before the entire division, cut him to the soul, and
crushed all his spirit for the time.
* * * * *
The division marched about sunrise, and Quentin, instead of being as
usual with the grenadiers of the gallant Borderers, enjoying the
society of Askerne and other officers, found himself trudging with
the quarter-guard, a special prisoner, and kept apart from all others
under a small escort, that marched on each side of him with muskets
loaded and bayonets fixed; for not being a commissioned officer,
there could be no other arrest for him than a close one.
And thus, with a heavy--heavy heart, full almost to bursting with
mortification and grief, ignorant of the accusations against him and
of what was to be his fate, he marched with the division towards the
ancient city of Alva on the Tormes, which they entered on the evening
of the 4th December, and there, as they were to halt for seven days,
Quentin was informed by Lieutenant Buckle that he was to be tried by
a general court-martial.
He felt that all, indeed, was over with him now!