Produced by Al Haines.
*THE ROMANCE OF WAR:*
OR,
THE HIGHLANDERS
IN FRANCE AND BELGIUM.
A SEQUEL TO
THE HIGHLANDERS IN SPAIN.
BY
JAMES GRANT, ESQ.
_Late 62nd Regiment._
"In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
From the heath-covered mountains of Scotia we come;
Our loud-sounding pipe breathes the true martial strain,
And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain."
_Lt.-Gen. Erskine._
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1847.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY MAURICE AND CO., HOWFORD BUILDINGS,
FENCHURCH STREET.
*CONTENTS*
Chapter
I. Toulouse
II. Adventures
III. The Lady of Elizondo
IV. Cifuentes
V. Home
VI. The Torre de Los Frayles
VII. Spanish Law
VIII. An Acquaintance, and "Old England on the Lee"
IX. Flanders
X. Cameron of Fassifern
XI. The 17th June, 1815
XII. The 18th of June
XIII. The Sister of Charity
XIV. France
XV. The Chateau de Marielle
XVI. Paris, De Mesmai, and the Hotel de Clugny
XVII. A Catastrophe
XVIII. The Homeward March
XIX. Edinburgh
XX. Lochisla
XXI. Alice
XXII. News from Afar
XXIII. Conclusion
*PREFACE.*
Numerous inquiries having been made for the conclusion of "The Romance
of War," it is now presented to the Public, whom the Author has to thank
for the favourable reception given to the first three volumes of his
Work.
In following out the adventures of the Highlanders, he has been obliged
to lead them through the often-described field of Waterloo. But the
reader will perceive that he has touched on the subject briefly; and,
avoiding all general history, has confined himself, as much as possible,
to the movements of Sir Dennis Pack's brigade.
Notwithstanding that so many able military narratives have of late years
issued from the press, the Author believes that the present work is _the
first_ which has been almost exclusively dedicated to the adventures of
a Highland regiment during the last war; the survivors of which he has
to congratulate on their prospect of obtaining the long-withheld, but
well-deserved, _medal_.
Few--few indeed of the old corps are now alive; yet these all remember,
with equal pride and sorrow,
"How, upon bloody Quatre Bras,
Brave CAMERON heard the wild hurra
Of conquest as he fell;"
and, lest any reader may suppose that in these volumes the national
enthusiasm of the Highlanders has been over-drawn, I shall state one
striking incident which occurred at Waterloo.
On the advance of a heavy column of French infantry to attack La Haye
Sainte, a number of the Highlanders sang the stirring verses of "Bruce's
Address to his Army," which, at such a time, had a most powerful effect
on their comrades; and long may such sentiments animate their
representatives, as they are the best incentives to heroism, and to
honest emulation!
EDINBURGH,
_June_ 1847.
*THE ROMANCE OF WAR*
*CHAPTER I.*
*TOULOUSE.*
"One crowded hour of glorious life,
Is worth an age without a name!"
The long and bloody war of the Peninsula had now been brought to a final
close, and the troops looked forward with impatience to the day of
embarkation for their homes. The presence of the allied army was no
longer necessary in France; but the British forces yet lingered about
the Garonne, expecting the long-wished and long-looked for route for
Britain. The Gordon Highlanders were quartered at Muret, a small town
on the banks of the Garonne, and a few miles from Toulouse. One evening,
while the mess were discussing, over their wine, the everlasting theme
of the probable chances of the corps being ordered to Scotland, the
sound of galloping hoofs and the clank of accoutrements were heard in
the street of the village. A serjeant of the First Dragoons, with the
foam-bells hanging on his horse's bridle, reined up at the door of the
inn where the officers of the Highlanders had established a temporary
mess-house. Old Dugald Cameron was standing at the door, displaying his
buirdly person to a group of staring villagers, with whom he was
attempting to converse in a singular mixture of broad northern Scots,
Spanish, and French, all of which his hearers found not very
intelligible.
The horseman dashed up to the door with the splendid air of the true
English dragoon, and with an importance which caused the villagers to
shrink back. Inquiring for Colonel Cameron, he handed to Dugald two
long official packets; and after draining a deep hornful of liquor which
the Celt brought him, he wheeled his charger round, and rode slowly
away.
"Letters frae the toon o' Toulouse, sir," said Dugald, as, with his flat
bonnet under his arm, and smoothing down his white hair, he advanced to
Fassifern's elbow, and laid the despatches before him; after which he
retired a few paces, and waited to hear the contents, in which he
considered he had as much interest as any one present. The clamour and
laughter of the mess-room were instantly hushed, and every face grew
grave, from the ample visage of Campbell, who was seated on the
colonel's right hand, down to the fair-cheeked ensigns, (or Johny
Newcomes,) who always ensconced themselves at the foot of the table, to
be as far away as possible from the colonel and seniors.
"Fill your glasses, gentlemen," said Cameron, as he broke the seal of
the first despatch; "fill a bumper, and drink 'to a fair wind.' My life
on't 'tis the route, and we shall soon have Old England on our lee!"
"Praise Heaven 'tis come at last!" said Campbell, filling up his glass
with bright sparkling sherry. "I never hailed it with greater joy, even
in Egypt. But what says Sir Arthur--the marquis, I mean?"
"'Tis the route!" replied Cameron, draining his glass. "To-morrow, at
daybreak, we march for Toulouse."
"Hurrah!" said the major. "We shall have the purple heather under our
brogues in a week more. Hoigh! Here's to the Highlandmen, shoulder to
shoulder!" Every glass was reversed, while a round of applause shook
the room.
"We embark on the Garonne," continued Cameron, consulting the document.
"Flat-bottomed boats will convey us down the river, and we shall sail in
transports for Cork."
"Hech! how, sirs! Cork?" exclaimed Campbell, in a tone of
disappointment. "_Demonios!_ as the dons say; and are we not going home
to our own country,--to the land of the bannock and bonnet?"
"Ireland is our destination. A famous place to soldier in, as I know
from experience, major."
"I love poor Paddy well enough," said Campbell: "who is there that would
not, that has seen a charge of the Connaught Rangers, or the 87th?
Regular devils they are for righting. But we were sent home to braid
Scotland after Egypt; and we saw service there, gentlemen. Old Ludovick
Lisle, and Cameron there, could tell you that. But the other paper,
colonel; what is it about?"
"A despatch for General the Conde Penne Villamur, at Elizondo. It is to
be forwarded instantly by the first officer for duty: who is he?"
"Stuart," said the adjutant.
"The deuce take your memory!" said Stuart testily, as this announcement
fell like a thunderbolt upon him; "you seem to have the roster all by
heart. Colonel, is it possible that I am really to travel nearly a
hundred miles, and to cross those abominable Pyrenees again, after
fighting my way to Toulouse?"
"Without doubt," replied Fassifern, drily. "You will have the pleasure
of seeing Spain once more, and again paying your respects to the
gazelle-eyed senoritas and pompous senores."
"I would readily dispense with these pleasures. But might not Wellington
have sent an aide or a dragoon with this despatch?"
"_He_ seems not to think so. There is no help, Ronald, my man. You
would not throw your duty on another. Obedience is the first--You know
the adage: 'tis enough. You can rejoin us at Toulouse, where we embark
in eight days from this."
"Eight days?"
"Make good use of your nag; you will require one, of course. Campbell
will lend you his spare charger 'Egypt,' as he styles it."
"With the utmost pleasure," said the major, filling up his glass. "But
look well to him by the way, for he is an especial good piece of
horse-flesh as ever was foaled, or any man found for nothing on that
memorable day of June, on the plains of Vittoria. But when I remember
the airing you took with my steed at Almarez, I cannot lend you Egypt
without entertaining some secret fears of never beholding him again."
"Have no fears for Egypt, major," said Ronald, laughing. "I will
restore him without turning a hair of his glossy coat."
"Then, Stuart, you must march forthwith," said Cameron; "the marquis's
despatch must be carried onward without delay. You must reach St.
Gaudens by sunrise."
Dugald was despatched to desire Jock Pentland, the major's bat-man, to
caparison Egypt; and mean while Stuart hurried to his billet, where he
hastily selected a few necessaries for his journey, and packed them in a
horse valise. In case of accidents, he indited a hasty letter for
Lochisla; but, for reasons which will be given in another chapter, it
never reached those for whom it was destined.
To his servant, Allan Warristoun, poor Evan's successor, he abandoned
the care of his baggage, desiring him to have it all in readiness
against the hour of march on the morrow. He belted his sword and dirk
tightly to his waist, and examined the holsters, to see if the pistols
were freshly flinted and in good order; after which he examined his
ammunition, well knowing that the more lead bullets and the less loose
cash he had about him, the better for travelling on such unsafe ground
as the Lower Pyrenees. He remembered that the whole of these waste
places were infested by hordes of lawless banditti, composed of all the
rascal crew of Spain,--guerillas, whose trade was at at end, broken or
deserted soldiers, unfrocked monks, fugitive _presidiarios_ or convicts,
bravoes, _valientes_, and vagabonds of every kind, with which the long
war, the absence of order and law, together with the loose state of
Spanish morals, had peopled every part of the country. While the
remembrance of these gentlemen passed through his mind, Stuart again
examined his arms and horse-equipage carefully, and mounting, rode forth
along the dark, straggling street of Muret. From the mess-room window
there was handed to him a parting bumper of sherry, which he drank in
his saddle.
"Good-bye, Lisle!" said he, waving his hand; "bid Virginia adieu for me.
And now good-bye, lads; good-bye to ye all;" and, striking spurs into
Egypt, he galloped off.
"He is a fine fellow, and keeps his seat as well as any cavalier of the
_Prado_ at Madrid," said the major, watching Stuart's retreating figure
as long as he could see it by the star-light. "He is a fine fellow; and
I wish he was safe back again among us. He has a long and a perilous
path before him, over these d--d Pyrenees; and ten to one he never
returns again from among those black-browed and uncanny dons. We all
know Spanish ingratitude, sirs!" The worthy major knew not how
prophetically he spoke.
Next morning the regiment marched to Toulouse and remained eight days,
awaiting the arrival of the boats and other small craft to convey them
down the Garonne, which becomes navigable at a short distance from the
city.
The eight days passed away, and Ronald Stuart did not return. The
eventful day arrived,--the day of embarkation for home, and the regiment
paraded on the river side without him. The officers glanced darkly at
each other, and the colonel shook his head sorrowfully, as if he deemed
that all was not right; and a murmured curse on the Spaniards was
muttered among the soldiers. The whole regiment, from Fassifern down to
the youngest drum-boy, regretted his absence, which gave room for so
many disagreeable constructions and surmises. Other corps were parading
at the same time, and in the stir, bustle, and confusion of embarking
men and horses, baggage, women, and children, his absence was forgotten
for a time. The cheers of the soldiers and the din of various bands
were heard everywhere. The time was one of high excitement, and joy
shone on every bronzed face as boat after boat got under way, and, with
its freight, moved slowly down the Garonne,--"the silvery Garonne," the
windings of which soon hid the bridge, the spires, the grey old
university, and the beautiful forests of Toulouse.
*CHAPTER II.*
*ADVENTURES.*
---------- "Turn thy horse;
Death besets thy onward track.
Come no further,--quickly back!"
_Aikin's Poems_, 1791.
Stuart departed from Muret in no pleasant mood, having a conviction that
he was the most unfortunate fellow in the army; because, when any
disagreeable duty was to be performed, by some strange fatality the lot
always fell upon him. But his displeasure evaporated as the distance
between Muret and himself increased. It was a clear and beautiful
night. Millions of sparklers studded the firmament, and, although no
moon was visible, the scenery around was distinctly discernible. Afar
off lay Toulouse, the direction of which was marked only by the hazy
halo of light around it, arising from amidst the bosky forests, which
extend over nearly a hundred thousand acres of ground.
Before him spread a clear and open country, over which his horse was now
carrying him at a rapid pace. It was midnight before the lights of
Muret vanished behind him. The road became more lonely, and no sound
broke upon the silence of the way, save the clang of Egypt's hoofs,
ringing with a sharp iron sound on the hard-trodden road.
After riding nearly twenty miles, he found himself becoming tired and
drowsy; and dismounting, he led his horse into a copse by the road-side,
where, fastening the bridle to a tree, he lay down on the dewy sward,
and, placing his claymore under his head, fell fast asleep. Before
sunrise he was again in his saddle, and, without breaking his fast,
reached the town of Saint Gaudens, on the Garonne, forty-four miles from
Toulouse. Unwilling to waste farther the strength of the noble animal
which had borne him so far, and with such speed, he halted at Saint
Gaudens for twelve hours, and again set forward on the direct road for
the province of Beam.
The well-known chain of the Pyrenees, the scene of so many a recent
contest, began to rise before him, and as he proceeded, every object
which met his view became more familiar.
On nearing the Pass of Roncesvalles, he reached the block-house which
his light company had garrisoned and defended so stoutly. It was now
falling into ruin, and the skeletons of the French were lying around it,
with the rank dog-grass sprouting among their mouldering bones. A
ghastly sight!--but many such occurred as he journeyed among the
mountains. Near the block-house he fell in with an encampment of
_gitanos_, or gipsies, a people whose ferocity is equalled only by their
cunning and roguery. They were at dinner, and bade him welcome to the
feast, which consisted of broiled rabbits, olives, rice, and _bacalao_,
with wine--stolen of course--to wash it down. He took his share of the
viands seated by a fire, around which the ragged wayfarers crowded, male
and female; but he was very well pleased when he took his departure from
these singular people, who would not accept of a single maravedi for his
entertainment.
Near midnight he arrived at the village of Roncesvalles, which consists
of one straggling street, closed by an arched gateway at each end. The
barriers were shut, and no admittance was given. He thundered loudly,
first at one gate and then at the other; but he was unheard or uncared
for by the drowsy porters, who occupied the houses above the arches. He
therefore prepared to pass the night in the open air, which, although
nothing new to a campaigner, was sufficiently provoking on that
occasion, especially as a shower was beginning to descend, and sheet
lightning, red and flaming, shot at times across the distant sky,
revealing the peaks of the mountains, and the moaning voice of the wind
announced a tempestuous night. Wishing the warders of Roncesvalles in a
hotter climate than Spain, he looked about for some place of shelter,
and perceived, not far off, a solitary little chapel, or oratory, which
was revealed by the pale altar-lights twinkling through its tinted
windows and open doorway.
In this rude edifice he resolved to take shelter, rather than pass the
night in the open air; and just as he gained its arched porch, the
storm, which had long been threatening, burst forth with sudden and
appalling fury. The wind howled in the pass, and swept over the
mountains like a tornado, and with a terrible sound, as if, in the words
of a Gaelic bard, the spirits of the storm were shrieking to each other.
The forked lightning shot athwart the sky, cleaving the masses of cloud,
and the rattling rain thundered furiously on the chapel roof and
windows, as if to beat the little fabric to the earth. His horse was
startled by the uproar of the elements, and snorted, grew restive, and
shot fire from his prominent eyes as the passing gleams illuminated the
porch, within which Stuart had stabled him by fastening the bridle to
the figure of an old saint or apostle that presided over a stone font,
from which the old troop-horse soon sucked up the holy water. Ronald
wrapped a cloak round him, and flung himself on the stone pavement of
the chapel, to rest his aching limbs, which were beginning to stiffen
with so long a journey on horseback.
The building was totally destitute of ornament, and its rude
construction gave evidence of its great antiquity. There were several
shrines around it, with wax tapers flickering before them, revealing the
strange little monsters in wood or stone which represented certain
saints. In front of one of these knelt a stout, but wild-looking
Spanish peasant, devoutly praying and telling over his chaplet. The
entrance of Stuart caused him hurriedly to start,--to snatch his
broad-leaved hat from the floor, to grasp the haft of his dagger, and
glance round him with frowning brow and eyes gleaming with apprehension.
But on perceiving the uniform of the intruder, his dark features relaxed
into a smile; he bowed his head politely, and resumed his orisons, which
Stuart never interrupted, although they lasted for a weary hour. There
was something very grotesque in the aspect of one particular image,
which appeared to be thrust unceremoniously into a dark niche, where no
taper burned; from which Ronald inferred that the saint had no
worshippers, or was not a favourite in the neighbourhood of
Roncesvalles. The appearance of the image was calculated to excite
laughter and derision, rather than piety or awe. It resembled the
figure of Johnny Wilkes or Guy Fawkes, rather than a grim and ghostly
saint. The effigy was upwards of six feet high, and had a painted mask,
well be-whiskered, and surmounted by a cocked hat. It was arrayed in
leather breeches and jack-boots, a blue uniform coat, and tarnished
epaulets. A sash encircled its waist, and in it were stuck a pair of
pistols and a sabre. Its _tout ensemble_ was quite ludicrous, as it
stood erect in the gloomy niche of the solemn little chapel, and was
seen by the "dim religious light" of distant tapers.
With the hilt of his broad-sword under his head for a pillow, Stuart lay
on the pavement, and viewed this singular apparition with considerable
amusement; and if he restrained a violent inclination to laugh, it was
only from a reluctance to offend the peasant, who was praying before an
image which, by its long robe and bunch of rusty keys, seemed meant for
a representation of San Pedro.
From the devotee, who, when his prayers were ended, seated himself by
his side, Stuart learned that the strange image represented St. Anthony
of Portugal, one of those redoubtable seven champions whose "history"
has made such a noise in the world from time immemorial.
Notwithstanding the mist which ignorance, superstition, and priestcraft
had cast over his mind, the sturdy _paisano_ laughed till the chapel
rang again at the appearance of the Portuguese patron, and acquainted
Stuart with some pleasant facts, which accounted for the military garb
of the saint. By virtue of a decree in that behalf on the part of his
Holiness, St. Anthony was, in 1706, formally _enlisted_ into the
Portuguese army; and in the same year received the rank of captain,--so
rapid was his promotion. His image was always clad in successive
uniforms as he was hurried through the different grades, until he
reached the rank of Marshal-general of the armies of Portugal and
Algarve,--a post which, I believe, he yet holds, with a pension of one
hundred and fifty ducats per annum, which every year is punctually
deposited, in a splendid purse, in the Chapel-Royal, by the Portuguese
sovereign. Awful was the wrath, and terrible were the denunciations and
holy indignation, when a cannon-ball carried off the head and cocked hat
of the unfortunate image, which had been placed in an open carriage on
one occasion, when _commanding_ the Portuguese army in battle.
The image in the chapel at Roncesvalles had been placed there by the
soldiers of the conde d'Amarante's brigade, the conde himself furnishing
the saint with some of his cast uniform; but, since the departure of the
Portuguese, the shrine had been totally deserted, as no true Spaniard
would bend his knee to a Lusitanian saint. Such was the account given
by the peasant, and it illustrates rather oddly the religious feelings
of the Portuguese. After sharing together the contents of a flask of
brandy, with which Ronald had learned to provide himself, they composed
themselves to sleep. The peasant, who had also been shut out of
Roncesvalles, drew his broad _sombrero_ over his dusky visage, and,
wrapping his brown mantle around him, laid his head against the base of
a column, and fell fast asleep. Those suspicions which a long
intercourse with Spaniards had taught Stuart to entertain of every
casual acquaintance, kept him for some time from sleep. He narrowly
watched his olive-cheeked companion, and it was not until, from his hard
breathing, he was sure he slept, that he too resigned himself to the
drowsy deity. He awoke about sunrise, and found that his companion had
departed. A sudden misgiving shot across his mind, and he sprang to the
porch to look for his horse, which stood there, fair and sleek, as he
left him on the preceding evening. He took him by the bridle, and
advanced towards Roncesvalles.
The storm, and all traces of it, had passed away. The sky was clear and
sunny, and the distant mountains mingled with its azure. The air was
laden with rich perfume from little shrubs, of which I know not the
name, but which flourish everywhere over the Peninsula; and every bush
and blade of grass glittered like silver with the moisture which bedewed
them. The gates of Roncesvalles stood open, and, passing through one of
the archways, Ronald asked the first person he met whether there was an
inn, cafe, _taberna_, or any house of entertainment, where he could
procure refreshment for himself and horse, but was informed that the
wretched mountain-village could boast of none. The man to whom he spoke
was a miserably-clad peasant, and, like most Spanish villagers, appeared
to belong to no trade or profession. He was returning from the public
fountain with water, which he carried on his head, in a huge brown jug.
He seemed both surprised and pleased to be accosted by a British
officer, and said that if the noble _caballero_ would honour him by
coming to his house, he would do his best to provide refreshment. This
offer Stuart at once accepted, and placing a dollar in the hand of the
_aguadore_, desired him to lead the way. After seeing his horse fed and
watered, and after discussing breakfast, which consisted of a miserable
mess of milk, peas, goats'-flesh, and roasted _castanos_, he mounted,
and again went forth on his mission, glad to leave Roncesvalles far
behind him. He expected to reach Elizondo before night; but soon found
that his horse had become so jaded and worn out, that the hope was vain.
The pace of the animal had become languid and slow; his eyes had lost
their fire, and his neck and ears began to droop.
That he might advance faster, Stuart was fain to lead him by the bridle
up the steep and winding tracks by which his journey lay. Once only
Egypt showed some signs of his former spirit. In a narrow dell between
two hills, in a rugged gorge like the bed of a departed river, an iron
howitzer and a few shells lay rusting and half sunk in the earth: close
by lay the skeletons of a man and a horse, adding sadly to the effect of
the naked and silent wilderness around. At the sudden sight of these
ghastly objects lying among the weeds and long grass, the steed snorted,
shyed, and then sprung away at a speed which soon left the dell, and
what it contained, miles behind.
As he rode through a solitary place, Stuart was startled on perceiving a
party of men, to the number of fifteen or twenty, all well armed and on
horseback, rising as it seemed from the earth, or appearing suddenly
above the surface successively, as spectres rise through the stage. The
fellows were all gaily attired in gaudy jackets, red sashes, and
high-crowned hats; but the appearance of their arms, a long Spanish gun
slung over the back, a cutlass, and double brace of pistols, together
with various packages of goods with which their horses were laden, gave
them the aspect of a band of robbers. Stuart thought of the gang of
Captain Rolando, as he saw them appearing from the bowels of the earth,
within about twenty paces of where he stopped his horse. He next
thought of his own safety, and had drawn forth his pistols, when one of
the strangers perceiving him, waved his hat, crying, "_Amigos, senor,
amigos!_" and, to put a bold face on the matter, Ronald rode straight
towards him. They proved to be a party of _contrabandistas_, travelling
to Vittoria with a store of chocolate, soap, butter, cigars, &c., which
they had been purchasing in France. A sort of hatchway, or trap-door,
of turf was laid over the mouth of the cavern from which they arose;
after which they set off at full speed for Errazu.
Ronald was very well pleased to see them depart, as _contrabandistas_
are, at best, but indifferent characters, although few travellers are
more welcome at Spanish inns, where they may generally be seen at the
door, or in the yard, recounting to their laughing auditors strange
tales of adventures which they had encountered in the course of their
roving and romantic life; and, as they are always gaily attired, they
are generally favourites with the peasant-girls on the different roads
they frequent. Their cavern, which Ronald felt a strong wish to
explore, was probably some deserted mine, or one of those subterranean
abodes dug by the Spaniards in the days of the Moors, and now
appropriated by these land-smugglers as a place for holding their wares.
Had Ronald worn any other garb than that of a British officer, the
contraband gentry might, by an ounce bullet, have secured for ever his
silence regarding their retreat, but they well knew that it mattered not
to him: so, after an interchange of a few civilities and cigars, they
rode off at a gallop, without once looking behind them.
As he proceeded on his way, the scenery became more interesting, the
landscape being interspersed with all that can render it beautiful. A
ruined chapel towered on a green eminence above a tufted grove, through
which swept a brawling mountain torrent, spanned by a pointed arch;
while a cascade appeared below, where the stream, grappling and jarring
with the rocks that interrupted its course, rushed in a sheet of foam to
a cleft in the earth many feet beneath. Around were groves of the
olive-tree, with its soft green leaves and bright yellow flowers; and
beyond was Errazu, with its vine-covered cottages, its larger mansions
of brick and plaster, with heavy-tiled roofs and broad projecting eaves,
its great old monastery and its church spire, the vane of which was
gleaming in the light of the setting sun. As he was travelling on duty,
Stuart was entitled to billets; he therefore set about procuring one.
The alcalde was at confession, and the _escrivano_, to whom he applied,
gave him orders for a quarter in the house of a solitary widow lady,
who, with her daughter, resided in a lonely house at the end of the
town.
Considering their circumstances, this was the last house upon which a
billet should have been given; but the escrivano had a piece of revenge
to gratify. The old lady was a widow of a syndic,--a magistrate chosen
by the people, like the Roman tribunes,--who, during his whole life, had
been at feud with him, and the escrivano hoped that Stuart's being
billeted there would give rise to some pleasant piece of scandal, for
the benefit of the gossiping old maids and duennas of Errazu.
The appearance of the widow's mansion did not prepossess Ronald much in
its favour. The French had not left Errazu unscathed on their retreat
through it; and, like many others, the domicile of Donna Aminta della
Ronda showed signs of their vindictive feeling. One half had suffered
from fire, and was in ruins; but two apartments were yet habitable, and
into one of these Stuart was shown by an aged and saffron-coloured
female domestic, to whom he presented the billet-order, by which he was
entitled to occupy the best room and best bed in the house. The chamber,
which was paved with tiles, was on the ground-floor; the window was
glazed, but the walls were in a deplorable state of dilapidation; and
many choice pieces of French wit appeared scribbled on various parts of
the plaster. Among other things was a copy of verses addressed to Donna
Aminta, written in rather indelicate French, and signed "M. de Mesmai,
10th Cuirassiers, or Devil's Own," which informed Stuart that his former
acquaintance had once occupied that apartment.
Two antique chairs, high-backed and richly carved, a massive oak table,
and a brass candlestick, composed the furniture. A chamber, containing
an old-fashioned bed, with crimson feathers and hangings, opened out of
this apartment, with which it communicated by means of an arch, from
which the French had torn the door, probably for fuel. But this snug
couch did not appear destined for Stuart, as the old domestic laid a
paillasse upon the tiled floor for his use; and placing wine, cigars,
and a light upon the table, laid the poker and shovel crosswise, and
withdrew, leaving him to his own reflections.
He was somewhat displeased at not being received by the ladies in
person, especially as the escrivano had informed him, with a sly look,
that the youngest possessed considerable attractions; but, consoling
himself with the wine and cigars, he resolved to care not a jot about
their discourtesy. After he had amused himself by thoroughly inspecting
every nook and corner of the room, and grown weary of conning over the
"History of the famous Preacher, Friar Gerund de Campazas," which he
found when ransacking the bed-closet, he began to think of retiring to
rest. He debated with himself for a moment which berth to take
possession of, because by his billet he was entitled to the best bed the
house contained; and the four-post and paillasse seemed the very
antipodes of each other. But his doubts were resolved at once by the
sudden entrance of the ladies, who sailed into the room with their long
trains and flowing veils, and bowing, coldly bid him "_Buena noche,
senor!_" as they retired to their bed-room. Ye gods! a bed-room
destitute of door, and a foreign _oficial_ to sleep in the next room!
Stuart was puzzled, dumb-foundered in fact, and his Scottish modesty was
quite shocked. But, lighting another cigar, he affected to read very
attentively "Friar Gerund de Campazas," and wondered how all this was to
end; while the ladies, favoured by the gloom of the chamber, undressed
and betook themselves to their couch, around which they drew the dark
and massive folds of the drapery. Ronald laid down the book, and stared
about him. There was something very peculiar in the affair, and it
outdid the most singular Spanish stories he had ever heard related, even
at the mess.
The elder lady had nothing very enchanting about her, certainly; but
Ronald's keen eye had observed that the young donna had a melting black
Spanish eye, a cherry lip, and white hand. He thought of these things
and glanced furtively towards the mysterious closet, where the black
outline of the couch, surmounted by its plumage, seemed like that of a
hearse or mausoleum. Not a sound came from it after Donna Aminta had
mumbled her _ave_; but the trampling of heavy feet arrested Stuart's
attention; the door opened, and two tall and muscular Spaniards entered.
One wore a broad hat, with a sprig of romero stuck in the band of it, as
a guard against evil spirits and danger. The other wore a long cap of
yellow cotton. They were shirtless and shoeless, and their ragged
cotton breeches and _zamarra_ jackets displayed, through various holes,
their dark and swarthy skin, giving them a wild and savage appearance,
which their brown bull-like necks and ferocious visages, fringed with
masses of dark hair, did not belie. As usual, each was girt about the
middle by a yellow sash; but, stuck in it, each had a dagger and brace
of pistols. They were beetle-browed and most cut-throat looking
fellows. At first sight Ronald knew them to be _valientes_,--villains
whose poniards are ever at the service of any base employer who pays
well. He started up on their entering and drew his sword an inch or so
from the sheath. The fellows smiled grimly at the demonstration; upon
which, he inquired sternly the reason of their intrusion, and why thus
armed?
"Donna Aminta can best answer your questions," answered one fellow with
surly impudence, as they swaggered into the bed-chamber. With his hand
on his claymore Ronald strode towards them.
"Stand, senor cavalier!" said the one who had spoken; "stand! We seek
not to quarrel with you; but life is sweet, and if we are set upon--
You understand us: the good lady shall see that we are worthy of our
wages. We mount guard on her chamber: cross this line," added he,
drawing one on the tiles with his poniard; "cross this line, and, _Santo
demonio!_ we will whet our daggers on your backbone."
Insolent as this reply was, Stuart resolved to put up with the affront
rather than come to blows with two desperadoes, whose fire-arms gave
them such advantage. He deeply regretted that he had left his loaded
pistols in the holsters of the saddle, and remembering that he was
alone, and among jealous strangers, he thought that a brawl would be
well avoided. The bravoes seated themselves on the floor within the
ladies' chamber, and remained perfectly quiet, without stirring or
speaking; but their fierce dark eyes seemed to be watching the stranger
keenly. Ronald retired to his paillasse, and laid his drawn dirk and
claymore beside him, ready to grasp them on the least alarm. He
remained watching the intruders by the light of the candle, until it
flickered down in the socket and expired, leaving the place involved in
deep gloom. The silence of the chamber was broken only by the real or
pretended snoring of these modern Cids, who had so suddenly become the
guardians of the ladies' bower. When he first committed himself to his
miserable couch, Ronald had determined to lie awake; but, growing weary
of listening and watching in the dark, he dropped insensibly asleep, and
did not awaken until the morning was far advanced. The instant sleep
departed from his eyelids, the remembrance of last night flashed upon
his memory. He rose and looked about him. The bravoes had withdrawn;
the ladies also were gone, and the couch was tenantless. Sheathing his
weapons, he drained the wine-jar; and snatching up his bonnet, he
departed from the house unseen by its inmates, whom he bequeathed to the
devil for their discourtesy.
Fetching his horse from the stable of the _escrivano_, where he had left
it overnight, he again resumed his journey, feeling heartily tired of
Spain, and wishing himself again at Toulouse, where his comrades were
awaiting the order to embark.
*CHAPTER III.*
*THE LADY OF ELIZONDO.*
"A love devoid of guile and sin;
A love for ever kind and pure,--
A love to suffer and endure;
Unalterably firm and great,
Amid the angry storms of fate;
For ever young, for ever new,
For ever passionate and true."
_The Salamandrine._
A ride of a few leagues brought Stuart to Elizondo. On entering the
market-place, two Spanish soldiers, placed as sentinels before the door
of a large mansion-house, attracted his attention. He was informed that
it was the residence of the Conde Penne Villamur. It stood at the
corner of the old marketplace, to which one of its fronts looked; the
other faced the _Puerta del Sol_, where the superior classes of the
inhabitants met to promenade and converse, between ten and twelve in the
forenoon.
He dismounted, and, ascending a splendid staircase, was ushered into a
handsome apartment, the lofty ceiling of which was covered with antique
carving and gilding. As usual in Spanish houses, the furniture was very
antique, and the chairs and hangings were of damask cloth. The conde, a
grim old fellow, whose grey wiry moustaches were turned up to the tops
of his ears, lay back in an easy chair, with his legs stretched out
lazily at full length under the table, upon which stood wine-decanters,
and fruit, &c. &c. A young lady, either his wife or daughter, sat in
that part of the room where the floor was raised, as if for a throne,
about a foot above the rest. She sat working at a new mantilla, which
she was embroidering on a frame. Her feet were placed on the wooden
rail of a _brasero_ or pan filled with charcoal, which rendered the
atmosphere of the room very unpleasant to one unaccustomed to such an
uncomfortable contrivance. When Stuart entered, the senora merely
bowed, and continued her work, blushing as young ladies generally do
when a handsome young officer appears unexpectedly. The count snatched
from his face the handkerchief which during his siesta had covered it,
and bowed twice or thrice with the most formal gravity of an old
Castilian, stooping until the bullion epaulets of his brown regimentals
became reversed. Stuart delivered the despatch with which he had ridden
so far, wondering what it might contain. The conde handed him a chair,
and a glass of Malaga; after which he begged pardon, and proceeded to
con over the papers, without communicating their contents. But in
consequence of the complacent smile which overspread and unbent his grim
features, Ronald supposed that the envelope contained only some
complimentary address to the Spanish forces. And he was right in his
conjecture, as, six months afterwards, he had the pleasure, or rather
displeasure, of perusing it in a number of the _Gaceta de la Regencia_.
"_Diavolo!_" thought he, as he bowed to _la senora_, and emptied his
glass; "have I ridden from the Garonne to the Pyrenees with a paper full
of staff-office nonsense!"
Villamur read over the document two or three times, often begging pardon
for the liberty he took; and after inquiring about the health of Lord
Wellington, and discussing the probabilities of having a continuance of
fine weather, as if he kept a score of barometers and thermometers, he
ended by a few other common-place observations, and covering up his face
with his handkerchief, began to relapse insensibly into the dozing and
dreamy state from which Stuart had roused him. Irritated at treatment
so different from what he expected, and which an officer of the most
trusty ally of Spain deserved, Ronald at once rose, and bowing haughtily
to the lady, withdrew; the conde coolly permitting him to do so, saying,
that Micer Bartolme, the alcalde, who kept the faro-table opposite,
would give him an order for a billet.
"Confound his Spanish pride, his insolence, presumption, and
ingratitude!" thought Stuart, bitterly. "'Tis a pretty display of
hospitality this,--to one who has looked on the slaughter of Vittoria,
of Orthes, and Toulouse! But my duty is over, thank Heaven! and
to-morrow my horse's tail will be turned on this most grateful soil of
Spain."
Micer Bartolme expressed much joy at the sight of the red coat, and
would have invited the wearer to remain in his own house, probably for
the purpose of fleecing him at faro; but it so happened that, at the
moment, he was not exactly master of his own premises. His good lady
had just brought him a son and heir, ten minutes before Ronald's
arrival, and the mansion had been taken violent possession of by all the
female gossips, wise women, and duennas of Elizondo, by whom the worthy
alcalde was treated as a mere intruder, being pushed, ordered, and
browbeaten, until he was fain to quit the field and take up his quarters
with his neighbour, an escrivano. An order for a billet was therefore
given on the mansion of a cavalier, who bore the sounding name of Don
Alvarado de Castellon de la Plana, so styled from the place of his
birth, the 'castle on the plain,' an old Moorish town of Valencia.
He received Ronald with all due courtesy, and directed servants to look
after the wants of his jaded horse. He was a dissipated but
handsome-looking man, about thirty years of age. He wore his hair in
long flowing locks, and two short black tufts curled on his upper lip.
In its cut, his dress closely resembled that of an English gentleman;
but his surtout of green cloth was braided with gold lace, adorned with
a profusion of jingling bell-buttons, and girt about the waist by a
broad belt, which was clasped by a large buckle, and sustained a short
ivory-hilted and silver-sheathed stiletto. A broad shirt-collar, edged
with jagged lace, spread over his shoulder, and when his high-flapped
Spanish hat was withdrawn, a broad and noble forehead was displayed; but
there was an expression in its contracted lines, which told of a heart
stern, proud, and daring. His dark eyebrows were habitually knit, and
formed a continued but curved line above his nose; and there was a
certain bold and boisterous swagger in his demeanour, which Ronald
supposed he had acquired while serving as a cavalier of fortune in the
guerilla band of the ferocious Don Julian Sanchez.
In every thing the reverse of him appeared his wife, a lady so gentle,
so timid, that she scarcely ever raised her soft dark eyes when Ronald
addressed her. She was very pale; her soft cheek was whiter than her
hand, and contrasted strongly with the hue of her ringlets; and in her
beautiful but evidently withering features, there was such an expression
of heart-broken sadness, that she at once won all the sympathy and
compassion which Stuart's gallant heart was capable of yielding. Her
husband, for some reasons known only to himself, treated her with a
marked coldness and even harshness, which he cared not to conceal, even
before their military guest.
The poor timid woman seemed to shrink within herself whenever she found
the keen stern eye of Alvarado turned upon her. Often during the
evening repast, which had been hastily prepared for Ronald, and with
which, in consequence of the host's behaviour, he was disgusted,--often
did he feel inclined to smite him on the mouth, for the unkind things
which he addressed to his drooping wife.
In truth, they were a singular couple as it had ever been his fortune to
meet with. Although there was no duenna about the establishment, thus
affording a rare example of love and fidelity in the lady, yet her
husband seemed to take a strange and most unmanly pleasure in mortifying
her, and endeavouring to render her contemptible in the estimation of
the stranger. The latter, although he felt very uncomfortable, affected
not to be conscious of Alvarado's conduct, and conversed with ease on
various topics, and generally of the long war which had been so
successfully terminated. When the meal was ended, Donna Ximena bowed,
and faltering out "_Addios, senores! buena noche!_" withdrew, leaving
her ungracious husband and his guest over their wine.
Over his flasks of rich _Ciudad Real_ the don grew animated, and
retailed many anecdotes of scenes he had witnessed, and adventures in
which he had borne a part, while serving with Don Julian Sanchez. Some
of these stories he would have done well to have suppressed, as they
would have baffled even the imagination of the most bloody-minded
romancer to conceive. But a revengeful and hot-brained Spaniard
surpasses every other man in cruelty. He said that, like the parents of
Julian Sanchez, his father, mother, and sister had been murdered by the
French, and on their graves he had sworn by cross and dagger to revenge
them; and terribly had he kept his formidable vow. During the whole of
the war of independence, he had never yielded quarter or mercy, but put
the wounded and captives to that death which he said their atrocities
deserved. He boasted that his stiletto had drunk the blood of a hundred
hearts, and in support of many avowals of instances of particular
ferocity, he cited the _Gaceta de Valencia_, in the columns of which, he
said, his deeds and patriotism had all been duly extolled. Disgusted
with his host, and the strange tenour of his conversation, Ronald soon
withdrew to rest, pleading as an excuse for so doing, his desire to
commence his journey to Toulouse early on the morrow, which he must
needs do, if he would be in time for the embarkation of his regiment.
The furniture and ornaments of his sleeping apartment were richer and
more beautiful than he could have expected them to be on the southern
side of the Pyrenees; but the plunder of Gascon chateaux, when guerilla
bands made occasional descents to the North, served to replenish many of
the mansions that had been ravaged and ruined by the troops of France
when retreating. The bed-hangings were of white satin, fringed with
silver; the chairs were covered with crimson velvet, and yet bore on the
back the gilded coat-armorial of some French family. A splendid clock,
covered by a glass, ticked upon an antique mantel-piece of carved cedar;
and several gloomy portraits of severe-looking old cavaliers, in the
slashed doublets, high ruffs, and peaked beards worn in Spain a hundred
years before, hung around the walls. The tall casemented windows came
down to the tiles of the floor, and through the half-open hangings were
seen the bright stars, the blue sky, the long dark vistas of the tiled
roofs, and the church-spire of Elizondo.
On the table stood a showy Parisian lamp, surmounted by the Eagle of the
emperor, which spread its gilt wings over a rose-coloured glass globe,
from which a soft light was diffused through the apartment. Throwing
himself into an easy chair with a most _nonchalant_ manner, Stuart made
a careless survey of the place.
"Well, Ronald Stuart; truly this is a snug billet!" he soliloquized, as
he placed his feet on the rail of the charcoal _brasero_, which
smouldered and glowed on the hearth. "Rich in the plunder of France,
'tis as splendid a billet as Campbell's could have been, when quartered
in the harem of Alexandria. But assuredly this Alvarado de--de
Castellon de la Plana is, by his own account, one of the most savage
rascals unhung in Spain; and yet I am his guest, and am to sleep beneath
his roof for this night. And then Donna Ximena,--by Jove! was that
gentle creature mine, how I would love and cherish her! Her rogue of a
husband deserves to be flogged, and pickled afterward!"
His eye fell on the timepiece, the hour-hand of which pointed to eleven,
and he began to think of retiring. Unbuckling his weapons, he laid them
on a chair at the bed-side, to be at hand in case of any alarm; and
then, with the caution of an old soldier, he turned to examine the means
of securing the door, which was furnished with a strong but rude iron
bolt, which he shot into its place.
Two persons, whom for some time past he had heard conversing in an
adjoining room, now suddenly raised their voices.
"It shall be so. I tell you, Senor Don Alvarado--"
"Peace! Would you awaken the cavalier in the next room?"