watch his operations "in the heart of the French army," and from
among its soldiers to glean whether they really had an intention of
succouring the garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo--a desperate duty, which,
like many others, our hero undertook without delay or doubt.
Thus, on an evening in February, Grant found himself on a solitary
mountain of Leon, overlooking the vast plain of Salamanca, on the
numerous spires and towers of which the light of eve was fading,
while the gilded vanes of the cathedral shone like stars in the deep
blue sky that was darkening as the sun set behind the hills; and one
of those hot dry days peculiar to the province gave place to a dewy
twilight, when the Tormes, which rises among the mountains of
Salamanca, and washes the base of the triple bill on which the city
stands, grew white and pale, as it wandered through plains dotted by
herds of Merino sheep, but destitute of trees, until it vanished on
its course towards the Douro, on the frontiers of Portugal.
Exhausted by a long ride from Lord Wellington's head-quarters, and by
numerous efforts he had made to repass the cordon of picquets and
patrols by which the French--now on his track--had environed him,
Grant lay buried in deep sleep, under the shade of some olive-trees,
with a brace of pistols in his belt, his claymore by his side, and
his head resting in the lap of a beautiful Spanish peasant girl,
Juanna, the sister of his faithful Leon, a warm-hearted, brave, and
affectionate being, who, like her brother, had attached herself to
the favourite scouting officer of Wellington, and, full of admiration
for his adventurous spirit, handsome figure, and winning manner,
loved him with all the ardour, romance, and depth of which a Spanish
girl of eighteen is capable.
Juanna de Leon and her brother Domingo were the children of a wealthy
farmer and vine-dresser, who dwelt on the mountainous range known as
the Puerto del Pico, which lies southward of Salamanca; but the vines
had been destroyed, the _granja_ burned, and the poor old
agriculturist was bayonetted on his hearthstone by some Voltigeurs of
Marmont, under a Lieutenant Armand, when on a foraging expedition.
Thus Juanna and her brother were alike homeless and kinless.
The girl was beautiful. Youth lent to her somewhat olive-tinted
cheek a ruddy glow that enhanced the dusky splendour of her Spanish
eyes; her lashes were long; her mouth small, and like a cherry; her
chin dimpled; her hands were faultless, as were her ankles, which
were cased in prettily embroidered red stockings, and gilt zapatas.
With all these attractions she had a thousand winning ways, such as
only a girl of Leon can possess. Close by lay the guitar and
castanets with which she played and sung her weary lover to sleep.
Her brother was handsome, athletic, and resolute, in eye and bearing;
but since the destruction of their house, he had become rather fierce
and morose, as hatred of the invading French and a thirst for
vengeance were ever uppermost in his mind. He had relinquished the
vine-bill for the musket; his yellow sash bristled with pistols and
daggers; and with heaven for his roof, and his brown Spanish mantle
for a couch, he had betaken himself to the mountains, where he shot
without mercy every straggling Frenchman who came within reach of his
terrible aim.
While Grant slept, the tinkling of the vesper bells was borne across
the valley, the sunlight died away over the mountains, and the
winding Tormes, that shone like the coils of a vast snake, faded from
the plain. The Spanish girl stooped and kissed her toil-worn lover's
cheek, and bent her keen dark eyes upon the mountain path by which
she seemed to expect a visitor.
One arm was thrown around the curly head of the sleeper, and her
fingers told her beads as she prayed over him; but her prayers were
_not_ for herself.
Innocent and single-hearted Juanna!
Suddenly there was a sound of footsteps, and a handsome young
Spaniard, wearing a brown capa gathered over his arm, shouldering a
long musket to which a leather sling was attached, and having his
coal black hair gathered behind in a red silk net, sprang up the
rocks towards the olive-grove, and approached Juanna and the sleeper.
The new comer was her brother.
"Domingo, your tidings?" she asked, breathlessly.
"They are evil; so wake your Senor Capitano without delay."
"I am awake," said Grant, rising at the sound of his voice. "Thanks,
dearest Juanna; have I been so cruel as to keep you here in the cold
dew--and watching me, too?"
"Caro mio!"
"It _was_ cruel of me; but I have been so weary that nature was quite
overcome. And now, Domingo, my _bueno camarado_, for your tidings?"
"I would speak first of the Marshal Marmont."
"And then?"
"Of yourself, senor."
"Bravo! let us have the Marshal first, by all means."
"I have been down the valley, and across the plain, almost to the
gates of Salamanca," said the young paisano, leaning on his musket,
and surveying, first, his sister with tender interest, and then,
Grant with a dubious and anxious expression, for he loved him too,
but trembled for the sequel to the stranger's passion for the
beautiful Juanna. "I have been round the vicinity of the city from
Monte Rubio and Villares to the bridge of Santa Marta on the Tormes--"
"And you have learned?' said Grant, impetuously.
"That scaling-ladders have been prepared in great numbers, for I saw
them. Vast quantities of provision and ammunition on mules have been
brought from the Pyrenees, and Marmont is sending
everything--ladders, powder, and bread--towards--"
"Not Ciudad Rodrigo and Almieda."
"Si, senor."
"The devil! You are sure of this?"
"I counted twenty scaling-ladders, each five feet wide, and reckoned
forty mules, each bearing fourteen casks of ball cartridges."
"Good--I thank you, Domingo," said Grant, taking paper from a
pocket-book, and making a hasty note or memorandum for Lord
Wellington.
"Ay--Dios mi terra!" said Juanna, with a soft sigh, as she dropped
her head upon Grant's shoulder, and Domingo kissed her brow.
"Now, where is Manrico el Barbado?" asked the captain, as he securely
gummed the secret note.
"Within call," said Domingo, giving a shrill whistle.
A sound like the whirr of a partridge replied, and then a strong and
ferocious-looking peasant, bare legged, and bare necked, with an
enormous black beard (whence came his soubriquet of _el Barbado_),
sprang up the rocks and made a profound salute to Grant, who was
beloved and adored by all the guerillas, banditti, and wild spirits
whom the French had unhoused and driven to the mountains; and among
these his name was a proverb for all that was gallant, reckless, and
chivalresque.
"Is your mule in good condition, Manrico?"
"He was never better, senor."
"Then ride with _this_ to Lord Wellington; spare neither whip nor
spur, and he will repay you handsomely."
"And how about yourself, senor?"
"Say to his lordship that I will rejoin him as early and as I best
may."
The Spanish scout concealed the note in _his beard_ with great
ingenuity, and knowing well that he could thus pass the French lines
with confidence, and defy all search, he departed on his journey to
the British head-quarters; and the information thus received from
Grant enabled the leader of the allies to take such measures as
completely to outflank Marmont, and baffle his attempts upon Almieda
and the city of Rodrigo.
"So much for my friend Marmont," said Grant, "and now, Domingo, for
_myself_."
"Read this," said Domingo, handing to him a document; "I stabbed the
French sentinel at the bridge of Santa Marta, and tore this paper
from the guard-house door."
It proved to be a copy of a General Order, addressed by Marmont to
the colonels of the French regiments, "saying" (to quote General
Napier) "that the notorious Grant, being within the circle of their
cantonments, the soldiers were to use their utmost exertions to
secure him; for which purpose guards were also to be placed, as it
were, in a circle round the army."
"Caro mio, read this to me," whispered Juanna.
He translated it, and terror filled the dilating eyes of the Spanish
girl; her breath came thick and fast, and she crept closer to the
breast of her lover, who smiled and kissed her cheek to reassure her.
"Have you closely examined all the country?" he asked Domingo.
"I have, senor."
"Well?"
"There is but _one_ way back to Lord Wellington's head-quarters."
"And that is--"
"At the ford of Huerta on the Tormes."
"Six miles below Salamanca?"
"Yes."
"I will cross the ford, then."
"But a French battalion occupies the town."
"I care not if ten battalions occupied it--_I must even ride the ford
as I find it_; 'tis a saying in my country, Domingo, where I hope our
dear Juanna will one day smile with me, when we talk of sunny Spain
and these wild adventures."
"No--no--you will never leave Spain," said Juanna, with a merry
smile. "Your poor Spanish girl could never go to the land of the
Inglesos, where the sun shines but once in a year--not once every
day, as it does here in beautiful Leon: but say no more of this, or I
shall sing _Ya no quiero amores_," &c., and, taking up her guitar,
she sang with a winning drollery of expression which made her piquant
loveliness a thousand times more striking:--
"My love no more to England--to England now shall roam,
For I have a better, fonder love--a truer love at home!
If I should visit England,
I hope to find them true;
For a love like mine deserves a wreath!
Green and immortal too!
But, O! they are proud, those English dames, to all who thither
roam,
And I have a better, dearer love--a truer love at home!"
"You have _me_, Juanna--dearest Juanna!" exclaimed Grant, tenderly,
as he kissed her.
"And now for Huerta," said Domingo, slapping the butt of his musket
impatiently; "the moon be above the Pico del Puerto in half an
hour--vaya--let us begone."
Grant placed Juanna on the saddle of his horse, a fine, fleet, and
active jennet presented to him by Lord Wellington, and led it by the
bridle, while Domingo slung his musket, and followed thoughtfully
behind, as they descended the hill with the intention of seeking the
banks of the Tormes; but making a wide detour towards the ford. The
moon was shining on the river when they came in sight of Huerta, a
small village, through which passes the road from Salamanca to
Madrid. A red glow at times shot from its tile works, showing the
outlines of the flat-roofed cottages, and wavering on the
olive-groves that overhung the river, which was here crossed by the
ford. While Grant and Juanna remained concealed in a thicket of
orange-trees in sight of Huerta, Domingo, whose godfather was a
tile-burner in the town, went forward to reconnoitre and make
inquiries; and in less than twenty minutes he returned with a gloomy
brow and excited eye.
"Well, Domingo, what news?" asked Grant, on whose shoulder the head
of Juanna was drooping, for she was nearly overcome by sleep and
fatigue.
"I have still evil news, Senor."
"Indeed."
"The French battalion occupies Huerta, and the main street is full of
soldiers. Guards are placed at each end, and cavalry videttes are
posted in a line along the river, patrolling constantly backwards and
forwards, for the space of three hundred yards, and two of these
videttes meet always _at the ford_, consequently, be assured, they
know that you are on _this_ side of the Tormes."
"The deuce!" muttered Grant, biting his lips. "M. le Maréchal
Marmont is determined to take me this time, I fear; but I _will_
cross the ford, Domingo, in the face of the enemy too! Better die a
soldier's death under their fire, than fall alive into their hands."
"A soldier's death, and a sudden one, is sure to follow, Senor
Capitano," added Domingo, gloomily, and poor Grant was not without
anxiety for the issue. He thought of Juanna, and some recollection
of the ignominious fate of the gallant Major André, when found beyond
the American lines, under similar circumstances, may have flashed
upon his memory.
"Do not weep, Juanna," said he to the Spanish girl, who strove to
dissuade him from attempting the ford; "your tears only distress and
unman me, when all my courage is wanted."
"Caro mio, if you love me, stay, for you cannot deceive me as to the
peril--it is great--and if taken, what mercy can you expect from
Marshal Marmont?"
"But I will _never_ be taken, alive at least," responded the
Highlander, with a fierce and sorrowful embrace; "'tis better to die
than be taken, and perhaps have the uniform I wear--the uniform of
the old Black Watch--disgraced by a death at the hands of a provost
marshal."
The young Spanish girl caught the fiery enthusiasm of her lover, and
nerved herself for the struggle, and for their consequent separation;
but Domingo had once more to examine the ground and so many points
were to be considered, that day began to brighten on the Pico del
Puerto and the Sierras of Gredos and Gata, before Grant mounted his
horse; and by that time, the French drums had beaten _reveille_, and
the whole battalion was under arms at its alarm-post, a greensward
behind the tile-works. Juanna and her lover parted with promises of
mutual regard and remembrance until they met again.
"When will it be--oh, when will it be?" she moaned.
"In God's appointed time--quando Dios sera servido," replied Grant.
"Farewell, Juanna mio, a thousand kisses and adieux to you."
"Bueno--away!" said Domingo, taking Grant's horse by the
bridle--"away before day is quite broken!"
As they hurried off, Juanna threw herself on her knees in the
thicket, and prayed to God and Madonna for her lover. She covered
her beautiful head with that thick mantle usually worn by the women
of Leon, to shut out every sound; but lo! there came a loud, yet
distinct shout from the river's bank, and then a confused discharge
of firearms that rang sharply in the clear morning air.
"O Madonna mia!" exclaimed the Spanish girl, and with a shriek she
threw herself upon her face among the grass.
Meanwhile Grant had proceeded in rear of the tile-works, close by
where the French regiment was paraded in close column at quarter
distance, and so near was he, that he could hear the sergeants of
companies calling the roll; but a group of peasants assembled by
Domingo, remained around his horse, with their broad sombreros and
brown cloaks, to conceal it from the French, along _whose front_ he
had to pass to reach the ford. From the gable of a cottage, he had a
full view of the latter--the Tormes brawling over its bed of rocks
and pebbles, with the open plain that lay beyond, and the two French
videttes, helmeted and cloaked, with carbine on thigh, patrolling to
and fro, to the distance of three hundred yards apart, but meeting at
the ford.
"Their figures seem dark and indistinct, in the starry light of the
morning," said Grant.
"But we know them to be dragoons," said Domingo.
"Si, senores," added the brother of Manrico el Barbado; "from this
you may perceive that their helmets and horses are afrancesado."
"Frenchified--yes; now when I whistle, let go my horse's head, and do
you, my good friends in front, withdraw to give me space, for now the
videttes are about to part, and I must make at dash at it!"
At the moment when the patrols were separated to their fullest
extent, and each was one hundred and fifty yards from the ford, Grant
dashed spurs into his horse, and with his sword in his teeth and a
cocked pistol in each hand, crossed the river by three furious bounds
of his horse. Receiving without damage the fire of both carbines, he
replied with his pistols, giving each of the dragoons a flying-shot
to the rear, but without injuring either of them. There was an
instantaneous and keen pursuit; but he completely baffled it by his
great knowledge of the country, and reached a cork-wood in safety,
where he was soon joined by Domingo de Leon, who, being attired as a
peasant, and unknown to the French, was permitted to pass their lines
unquestioned.
Marmont's rage on Grant's escape was great; the sentinels at the ford
were severely punished, and the officer commanding the regiment in
Huerta was deprived of his cross of the Legion of Honour. Grant was
not satisfied with the extent of his observations, for he became
desirous of furnishing Lord Wellington with still further
intelligence.
From the conversations of French officers whom he had overheard, he
made ample notes, and proved that means to storm Ciudad Rodrigo were
prepared; but he was resolved to judge for himself of the direction
in which Marmont meant to move, and also to see his whole division on
the line of march. For this purpose he daringly concealed himself
among some coppice on the brow of a hill near the secluded village of
Tamames, which is celebrated for its mineral springs, and lies
thirty-two miles south-west of Salamanca. There he sat, note-book in
hand, with Leon, smoking a cigar, and lounging on the grass, while
his jennet, unbitted, was quietly grazing close by, and the whole of
Marmont's brilliant division, cuirassiers, lancers, infantry,
artillery, and voltigeurs defiled with drums beating, tricolours
waving, ana eagles glittering through the pass below; and Grant's
skilful eye counted every cannon and reckoned over every horse and
man, with a correctness which astonished even Lord Wellington. The
moment the rear-guard had passed, he mounted, and although in his
uniform, rode boldly into the village of Tamames, where he found all
the scaling ladders left behind. With tidings of this fact, and the
strength of Marmont's army, he at once despatched a letter to
Wellington, by Manrico el Barbado, who, as before, concealed it under
his nether-jaw; and this letter, which informed the allies that the
preparations to storm Rodrigo were, after all, a pompous _feint_,
allayed their leader's fear for that fortress, and to Marmont's
inexpressible annoyance, enabled him to turn attention to other
quarters.
Fearless, indefatigable, and undeterred by the dangers he had
undergone, Grant _preceded_ Marmont (when that officer passed the
Coa) and resolved to discover whether his march would be by the duchy
of Guarda upon Coimbra, the land of Olives; or by the small frontier
town of Sabugal, upon Castello Branco, which stands upon the Lira, a
tributary of the Tagus, and still displays the ruins of the Roman
Albicastrum from which it takes its name.
Castello Branco is a good military position; but to reach it, a
descent was necessary from one of those lofty sierras that run along
the frontier of Portuguese Estramadura, and are jagged by bare and
sunburned rocks, or dotted by stunted laurel bushes. From thence, he
traversed a pass, at the lower end of which stands the town of
Penamacor in the province of Beira, thirty-six miles north-east of
Castello Branco. There, our adventurous Highlander, accompanied by
Manrico el Barbado and the faithful Domingo de Leon, concealed
himself in a thicket of dwarf-oaks; and there a very remarkable
adventure occurred to him, while waiting the approach of the French,
whose advanced guard he hourly expected to see in the dark mountain
pass below. Their horses were beside them.
Wrapped in their cloaks, the captain and his two Spanish comrades,
after a supper of broiled eggs--_huevoa estrallodoa_--sat by a fire
of leaves and withered branches, and after sharing a bottle of vino
de Alicant, composed themselves to sleep--a state of oblivion soon
obtained by the two sturdy paisanos; but Grant remained unusually
restless, thoughtful and awake. His mind was full of other times and
past events--of distant scenes and old familiar faces. He thought of
his home, of the regiment, and of Joanna, whom he had left at Huerta;
and as the red sunset deepened into night upon that lofty mass of
rock which is washed by the Eljas and crowned by the picturesque
houses, the strong fortifications, and the three churches of
Penamacor, the light and shadow blended into one, and darkness came
broadly and steadily on; then a strange and mysterious sensation of
sadness stole over him--a solemn melancholy which he strove in vain
to account for and dispel.
At last, when about to drop asleep, about ten o'clock, he started up,
for a broad blaze of light illumined all the citadel of Penamacor.
He saw its solid ramparts and the sharp spires of its three churches
standing in black and bold relief against the unwonted glow that
filled the sky above the city; he heard the clanging of an
alarm-bell, the hum of voices, and the tread of feet, as two vast and
dark columns of infantry debouched from the pass and began to descend
the mountains towards the bridge of the Eljas.
"The enemy--the enemy!" ne exclaimed. "Up, up, Domingo--Manrico,
awake!"
Roused by his voice they sprang to his side; but lo! at that moment,
the fight faded away from the citadel; the sounds of the alarm-bell,
the hum of distant voices, and tread of marching feet died away; the
columns vanished, and the hollow way from the pass to the river was
lonely and silent as before, in the clear light of the star-studded
sky!
Of all these alarming sights and sounds, Manrico and Domingo had seen
and heard nothing!
"It was a dream!" said Grant, as he threw himself on the sward in
alarm and perplexity, while his heart beat wildly and strangely--and
for the remainder of that night sleep never closed his eyes. The
three wanderers passed the whole of the next day lurking in the oak
woods that overhang the pass of Penamacor, and Domingo, who, after
sunset, ventured into the town for some provisions for supper,
returned to say that no lights had been burned, and no alarm had been
given last night, as _no_ fear was entertained of the approach of
Marmont.
Night again drew on, and the three companions were all alike watchful
and awake.
The hour of ten began to toll from the bells of Penamacor. At the
first stroke Grant felt a nervous sensation thrill over his whole
body, while the same solemn melancholy of the same time last night
again weighed down his heart.
At the tenth stroke, lo! a brilliant light flashed across the sky.
It shot upward from the citadel of Penamacor! Again, as before, the
crenelated battlements and the sharp spires of the three churches
stood darkly out from the blaze, which was streaked by the ascent of
hissing rockets; again the alarm-bell sent its iron clangour on the
wind, but mingled with the boom of cannon; again came the hum of
voices, and again two dark and shadowy columns debouched from the
black jaws of the mountain gorge and descended towards the bridge of
the Eljas; but this time there came horse and artillery; the uplifted
lances and the fixed bayonets gleamed back the starlight, while the
rumble of the shot-laden tumbrils rang in the echoing valley.
"Madre de Dios! the enemy!" exclaimed the two Spaniards, starting to
their muskets.
"What! do you, too, see all this?" exclaimed Grant, wildly, as he
smote his forehead; for now he had begun to distrust the evidence of
his own senses, and a horror that these mysterious visions, known in
Scotland as _the second sight_, were about to haunt him, made his
head reel.
"See them--yes, senor, plain as if 'twas day," said Domingo.
"O! senor capitano, 'tis the French--the French! the ladrones los
perros!" exclaimed Manrico, rashly firing his musket at three or four
soldiers, whose outline, with shako and knapsack, appeared on a
little ridge close by. Four muskets, discharged at random, replied,
and in a moment the three scouts found themselves fighting hand to
hand with a mob of active little French voltigeurs.
The latter recognised the Highland uniform of Grant, and finding him
with two Spaniards, knew him at once to be the famous scouting
officer, for whose arrest, dead or alive, Marmont had offered such a
princely reward, and uttering loud shouts, they pressed upon him with
bayonets fixed, and muskets clubbed.
Strong, active, and fearless, he hewed them down with his claymore on
all sides. He shot two with his pistols, and then hurled the empty
weapons at the heads of others, and, with Leon, succeeded in mounting
and galloping off; but Manrico was beaten down, and left insensible
on the mountain side.