LA CHAPELLE.
When the drums were beating in every ship, previous to our landing,
there occurred a singular circumstance.
An officer of ours, Lieutenant Bruce, was in his cabin ill with
fever, and in the highest state of delirium; but, inspired by the
unusual commotion about him, and by the long roll of the drum, that
reverberated between the echoing decks, he sprang from his cot,
dressed and armed himself, and to the astonishment of all appeared
with his company. This exertion Dr. Splints averred saved his life,
by carrying off the fever; but left him weak as a child.
No cheering was permitted, and in silence and with rapidity the boats
in succession glided under the shadow of the lofty land, and entered
Caise des Navires, a small bay having a strip of level beach, that
was screened by thick woods from the occupants of certain batteries
which had been erected at Point Negro, between it and Fort Royal.
Outside, the stars were shining with all their Indian brilliancy on
the sea.
A deep, voiceless, and solemn silence lay over everything; the sky,
where crapelike clouds were floating--the heaving sea, and the wooded
shore. We heard only the drip of the water as it fell from the
blades of the feathered oars, and the clatter of the latter in the
rowlocks, as we glided into the dark bay, gazing keenly the while at
the impending rocks, and striving to pierce the gloom which shrouded
them, as we expected every instant to see the red flash of a
field-piece, and the water torn up, or a boat dashed to atoms by a
round shot; but we landed unmolested, and formed by companies as
quietly as if in a barrack-yard at home.
The company of the gallant Kinlochmoidart was the first of ours
ashore. In the next boat were forty of our company, with Captain
Glendonwyn, Lieutenant Haystone, and Second-Lieutenant Bruce, who
carried the King's colour; the Master of Glenluce bore the other.
We, being all Scotsmen, gave the latter his title, though it was
never recognized by Government, having been granted in 1791 by the
Cardinal Duke of York, at Frascati, for the services of his family to
the House of Stewart.
The water ran with a gentle ripple into the bay; the air was laden by
the fragrance of a thousand aromatic plants and trees and flowers, in
full bloom and luxuriance, with the dank dew distilling from their
pendant leaves, that had been palpitating and shrivelling during the
past day under a hot and cloudless sun. Now, as we mustered fast,
the cry of the scared pigeon began to wake the silence of the night,
as it rose at times from the groves of the mahot-trees (the bark of
which is manufactured into ropes), and our men were turning over and
tossing aside the lazy tortoises that crawled upon the white sand.
The battalions were soon formed. We were without guides--in the
dark, and in a strange land; we knew not what were the intentions of
our brigadier, Colonel Sir Charles Gordon, who now took the command,
and still less did we know how soon we might be engaged; but he did
not keep us long in suspense. During the day, having seen by his
telescope, from the crosstrees of the _Asia_, a 64-gun ship, that a
body of French troops occupied the great road to Fort Royale and the
heights above Caise des Navires, he resolved to move towards the
higher mountains and turn their flank. Trusting to his own
observations and reconnaissances made from the seaward, he rode at
our head when the march began, and after pursuing for some time the
course of the river which flows into the bay, and the banks of which
were bordered by groves of bananas and Indian figs, and in the
steeper places by wild coffee and tobacco plants, we attained more
open ground, and toiling on in heavy marching order, reached the
first base of the Pitons du Carbet, from whence we could see the
sails of the fleet our home upon the waters, glimmering white and
ghostlike in the pale starlight.
I was sergeant of the advanced guard.
Sir Charles, a sharp-eyed and grey-haired old soldier, rode near me,
and I must own to experiencing an excitement of the keenest
description, as we advanced in silence along the narrow path that led
to the mountains, where we hoped to attack the enemy.
Across this path I remember seeing a narrow black line, which curled,
rose, fell, and then passed away.
"Look out!" said the general; "that was a snake."
The solemn palms were drooping and motionless. Against the sky,
about seventeen miles distant, the red summit of a volcano was
glowing and emitting gleams of sulphurous light, such as one may see
at times from the cone of a furnace. In these gleams, when looking
back, I could see the bayonets of our columns glittering as they
poured along the mountain-side.
Ere long, night began to give place to morning. A single star shone
long and brilliantly amid the azure vault above us. Then rays of
golden light began to play upon the sky, which, like the sea, became
gradually purple and saffron, as the dawn of morn drew near.
Now some wild hogs started from a thicket of mangroves and passed us
grunting and squeaking.
"Halt--look out--step short!" said several officers, while Harry
Smith the aide-de-camp daringly made a dash forward to reconnoitre,
as this indicated men being in our vicinity; but these proved to be
only a few runaway negroes, who fled at our approach.
As day began to break, the tops of the stupendous Pitons became grey,
then green, for they were shrouded in broad-leaved foliage; then red
and fiery, as the sun arose, and darkness, like a crape screen,
receded down their sides into the valleys below, where the rivers
Lezarde and du Petit Bresil flowed through the fertile savannahs to
the sea. We saw the sea itself, rolling like a sheet of rippling
light towards the shore as we gained the heights, and then a cheer
burst from the men of the advanced guard.
The enemy were in sight!
About a mile distant, at a place named La Chapelle, we saw several
regiments of the French line drawn up in order of battle, with
fieldpieces on their flanks. The morning sun was shining full upon
them. Being clad in dark uniforms, they had a sombre aspect, but we
saw their bayonets and steel ramrods flashing in the light as they
loaded to receive us. We now halted till the regiment came up. It
was the leading column of Gordon's brigade, and an emotion of pride
glowed within me at the splendid and service-like aspect of these
thousand Scotsmen in their red coats and high black bearskin caps,
all unwearied by their night-march up the mountains, with the old
white cross of St. Andrew waving in the early breeze of morn above
them, when the young and gallant earl, their leader, gave the order
to form open column of companies, and from thence to deploy into line
double-quick as the French were unlimbering and wheeling round their
artillery. There was a flash in front, and then a humming sound in
the air overhead as a twelve-pound shot passed us and tore up the
turf in our rear.
Another came! The direction was better, but not for us, as it struck
on the head a poor fellow in our company named Graham, and killed him
on the spot. He fell, and the line passed on, leaving him in the
rear. There was a suffocating tightness in my throat and breast as I
looked back.
Poor Graham was lying as still as death could make him, "with his
back to the field and his feet to the foe." His bearskin cap had
fallen off, and his yet nervous fingers grasped his undischarged
musket. Where were now his pride of youth, or _esprit de
corps_?--his obedience to discipline and to orders? He, who a moment
before had been a living man, an ardent soldier, full of health and
high spirit--he whose thoughts in that dread time had been,
perchance, where mine were, at his mother's lonely hearth and home,
in Scotland, far away, was now a shattered corpse, and left unburied
on a foreign shore. A soldier fell out of the ranks and lingered for
a moment beside him.
"Who are you?" asked Lord Kildonan as he rode past.
"Sandy Graham's comrade, my lord," replied the man, while a tear
stood in his eye, and he placed a broad plantain leaf over the
disfigured features of the slain; "he had a sough in his heart that
he would die in Martinique, and so has it e'en come to pass."
This was the first man I had seen killed on service, and his fall
made a deep impression upon me.
The battalions of the 43rd Light Infantry, the Grenadiers, and the
Scots Fusiliers being now formed in line, advanced rapidly towards
the foe. On our right a body of seamen and marines from the _Asia_
and _Adder_, led by Captain Rogers, of the navy, outstripped us in
their eagerness to make a dash at the French cannon which bowled away
in security, until we came within range of musket-shot, and opened a
deadly fire upon them. The foe returned this with equal spirit, as
the orders of the officer in command were to protect the trunk road,
and prevent us, if possible, from falling down on Fort Royal on one
hand, or assisting General Dundas, who was then crossing the island
to assail St. Pierre, on the other.
In those days we were inspired by a deep-rooted contempt for and
rancorous aversion of the French people; nor were they much behind us
in cherishing the same silly sentiments; thus both nations were
animated by a political and religious hatred, which the
newspapers--anonymous antagonists at all times--left nothing undone
to fan and confirm. In the times of Pitt and Fox none could foresee
the days of Sebastopol, or the field of Inkermann, when the English
Guardsman, the kilted Highlander, and the French Zouave, would rush
side by side as comrades in the charge.
Many brave officers and men of ours were now falling fast, as the
French fired rapidly, and maintained the while an incessant whooping
and yelling, amid which we could distinguish some of the popular
cries of the period.
"Vive la République! Vive les sans cullottes! A bas les tyrans! A
bas les Bourbons! Vive la France, le diable, et la gloire!"
As the clouds of white smoke that rolled along their line were blown
aside by the morning wind, we could see their excited ranks, clad in
the blue uniform of the Republic, with large red worsted epaulettes,
cocked hats worn crosswise, and garnished with tall red feathers,
their long black hair untied and floating down their backs, their
wild and fierce faces embrowned by a tropical sun, their moustaches
matted thick by the powder of the cartridges they had bitten.
Amid them, on horseback, was a dark and sallow officer of
considerable stature. In an instant I recognized him to be the
Colonel de Rouvigny. The name of Eulalie was on my lips--and my
heart glowed with a desire for vengeance, for now I had been too long
under fire, and seen too many fall, and too much blood and death and
agony, to feel the least compunction or mercy.
He wore a tricoloured scarf, and was brandishing his sabre to
encourage his men. I marked him well, primed my musket afresh, and
raising it carefully to my shoulder, was taking a deliberate aim at
his head, when I was struck to the earth by a ball in the chest. I
knew not at the time that it was a half-spent ball, or that my buff
belt had protected me from vital injury, but with the confused--the
stunning sense of _being hit_, I staggered on my hands and knees,
over killed and wounded men, to the rear.
"God--I am shot!" was my only exclamation as I gasped for breath, and
placed a hand upon the contused place, while all my thoughts fled
_home_--my mother and sister--their voices, their faces--and my past
life, in all its most trivial incidents flashed like a vision before
me!
"Only a spent ball, Ellis," said Tom Telfer cheerfully. "You'll be
all right in a minute--hold up, like a man."
"Here, my lad, take a pull at my canteen," said a marine of the
_Asia_, who was hastening forward; "you'll find something in it
better than sangaree."
He held the little wooden barrel to my lips, and a draught of
brandy-and-water revived me.
"Now, I knew that would make you well, sergeant."
Some memories of his face and voice now came before me.
"Jack--Jack Joyce," said I, "don't you know me?"
"Not I, sergeant, but we meet so many on sea and land--in ship and
garrison."
"I am Oliver Ellis, who was with you on board the _Tartar_ tender."
"What! you--little Oliver, whom I helped to slip his moorings and run
from the _Tartar_ cutter, when we were off the Sandridge light!"
"The same," said I.
"Give me your hand," exclaimed the warm-hearted fellow, "who could
have expected this!--what odd things do happen in the sarvice to be
sure! But we have no time for talking here--for the shot are sowing
all the turf about us as thick as peas--we'll have a yarn when we
beat these fellows and halt."
I now resumed my musket--having given my pike to form a
stretcher--and hastened forward; but was too late to share in the
brilliant charge, by which, at the point of the bayonet, Lord
Kildonan with the Scots Fusiliers, and Colonel Myres with the 43rd,
drove back the foe in disorder and precipitation, from their position
at La Chapelle, while their cannon were all taken by the seamen and
marines of the _Asia_ and _Adder_.
Our column then reformed, and over the most difficult, steep, and
rocky ground, under a hot morning sun, we followed the fugitives
beyond the heights of Berne, leaving the plateau in our rear dotted
by long lines of killed and wounded, in blue and red uniforms,--but
the number of the former greatly preponderated.