under the meridian sun like polished metal; and, when standing erect on
the roof or upper deck of the barge, he could see it for miles winding
away through the country, which on every side was verdant and flat, like
a vast bowling-green. The monotony of the scenery struck Stuart the more
forcibly, because, as a Highlander, he could not help drawing
comparisons between it and the tremendous hills, the solemn valleys, and
the majestic rivers of his native Scotland. At times, a few
bulbous-shaped boors, in steeple-crowned hats, or fur caps, and enormous
breeches, appeared on the canal bank, singly or in groups, smoking their
long pipes, and staring hard with their great lack-lustre eyes on the
passing boat, the slow motion of which they would watch for miles,
standing on the same spot, immovable as a milestone. Very plump and
very red-cheeked country girls, wearing short petticoats, and making an
unusual display of legs, which were more substantial than elegant,
appeared tripping along the banks, bearing jars of milk or butter on
their heads, where they were poised with miraculous exactness. Sometimes
a party of these rustic fair ones passed in a gaudily-painted cart or
waggon, all laughing and talking merrily,--their noisy vivacity forming
a strange contrast with the sulky demeanour of the silent and phlegmatic
boor, who sat smoking and driving on the tram of the car, keeping his
seat there with the same lurching motion that a bag of oats would have
done. There is little disposition in Dutch or German blood to be
gallant or cavalier-like.
Afar in the distance, where the landscape stretched away as level as the
sea, were seen great squares of light green or bright yellow, showing
where lay the fields of golden corn and other grain, waving, ripe and
tall, everywhere ready for the sickle. In some places appeared a
cluster of pretty little cottages, their walls white as alabaster and
roofed with bright yellow thatch, embosomed among a grove of light
willow trees, from the midst of which arose the tall and slender church
spire, surmounted by a clumsy vane, around which flew scores of cawing
rooks, fluttering and contesting for footing on the gilded weathercock.
Sometimes the canal barge passed through the very midst of a farm and
close to the mansion, with its deep, thatched roof, having walls of
glaring white or yellow, and gaudy red or blue streaks six inches broad
painted round each door and window,--the brass knocker on the green
door, the burnished windows, the gilt vanes, and painted walls, all
gleaming in the light of the sun. Contrasting with the rural dwelling,
the parterres before it, the stack-yard behind, the ducks, the geese,
the pigs, and the children in the yard, or among the reeds by the canal
bank, appeared, perhaps close by a vessel of two hundred tons or so,
laid up in ordinary, or high and dry in the farm-yard, with hens
roosting beside her keel. In some places these craft lay in small docks
having a flood-gate, with their top-masts struck, their rigging and
spars all dismantled, and stowed away below or on deck. Most of the
Dutch and Belgian farmers are also ship-owners; and by means of those
great and beautiful canals, which like veins intersect the whole
country, they bring their craft to their farm-yards, perhaps fifty or
eighty miles inland, and there keep them during the winter. They can
thus the more readily load or provision them with their own farm
produce, before they are again sent to sea.
As Ronald was totally ignorant of Dutch, and knew very little of French,
he could neither converse with the boatmen nor the dull Flemish boors
who happened to be passengers; and he passed his time monotonously
enough, yawning over a few London newspapers, or watching every
_schuytje_ sculled along by its "twenty-breeched" boatmen.
In the evening, he arrived at the busy and opulent, but smoky town of
Bruges; and hence, passing the night at an hotel, and rising next
morning with the lark, he proceeded to Ghent, that city of bustle and
bridges. On landing at one of the quays, he was surprised to observe a
French soldier on sentry, walking briskly about before his box. When
passing, monsieur came smartly to 'his front,' and presented arms. In
traversing the streets, he met many French officers in undress, all of
whom politely touched their caps on passing. They all wore their swords
and belts, and were to be seen promenading every where, singly or in
parties, in the streets, on the bridges, on the quays, or flirting with
the girls who kept the booths and fancy warehouses in the great square.
At the portal of a large and handsome mansion a British soldier of the
line, and a Frenchman in the uniform of the garde-du-corps, were on duty
together as sentinels. It was the residence of Louis XVIII., who, on
the landing of Buonaparte, had accepted the asylum offered him by the
King of the Netherlands, and now resided in Ghent, spending his time
like some plodding citizen, when he should have been in the field aiding
his allies, and heading the few soldiers of France who still remained
true to him. A British guard was mounted at his residence, in addition
to the garde-du-corps; and the officers dined every day at the royal
table.
Of the French army, about seven hundred officers and a thousand soldiers
remained staunch to Louis, when the whole of their comrades joined
Napoleon _en masse_. The privates were are all quartered at Alost, but
the officers he kept near his own person.
Warlike preparations were manifest every where around Ghent. Nearly
eight thousand men were employed in repairing the ancient fortifications
and raising new, digging ditches, mounting cannon, erecting bulwarks,
forts, and gates; for rumours of the coming strife, and of this invasion
of Flanders by Buonaparte and his furious Frenchmen, were compelling the
drowsy people to lay aside their phlegm, and show some courage, energy,
and activity.
In the evening Ronald was roused by the ringing of the church bells, as
for an alarm. A commotion and noise arose in the city, as if the people
of Ghent had suddenly cast off their apathy, and set all their tongues
to work. Above the increasing din he heard the officers and soldiers of
the garde-du-corps crying _Vive le Roi! Vive Louis!_ in that true
turn-coat style, for which the French had become so notorious.
Conceiving it to be some unlooked-for attack, he clasped on his belt,
and repaired to a neighbouring _table d'hote_, where a French officer
informed him that the uproar was caused by the arrival of a courier,
bearing intelligence that the entire French army was in motion, and
headed by the Emperor,--while he spoke, a flush crossed his cheek,
betraying the enthusiasm he could not conceal,--led by their Emperor,
had crossed the Sambre, and were marching on Charleroi.
Anxious to join his regiment before hostilities began, and being
heartily tired of the slow and chilly mode of travelling by canal
barges, Stuart purchased a horse at Ghent, as no Belgian would lend one
for hire. It was a poor-looking hack, and he paid for it thrice its
real value. Leaving his baggage to be sent after him, he set off on the
spur for Brussels, among whose plodding citizens the advance of the
French had stricken a terror beyond description. But two alternatives
were before them in case of Wellington's defeat,--flight, or to remain
and encounter, sack and slaughter; for well they knew that Napoleon
would fearfully avenge the abandonment of his standard.
Ronald departed from Ghent at day-break, and halted for breakfast at
Alost. He repaired to an hotel, where his uniform procured him every
attention, but there was consternation pre-eminently visible in every
Belgian face. Here he was informed that the first corps of the Prussian
army, posted at Charleroi under the command of General Zeithen, had been
attacked, and, after a sharp contest, compelled to retreat towards
Fleurs. Notwithstanding their fears, the people boasted much of the
Belgian troops, and declared that, when the strife was fairly begun,
they would do wonders.
"Ah, why should we fear?" they repeated continually. "Lord Wellington
has the Belgians with him."
Having been misdirected and sent far out of his way by one of the
terrified natives, it was dark before the young soldier arrived at
Brussels, where confusion, fear, and uproar reigned supreme. He was
permitted to pass the fortifications and barriers only, after a great
deal of troublesome altercation with the Belgic and German sentries and
guards, who scrupled to admit an armed man without the parole. After
entering, he found his poor horse in a state of the utmost exhaustion.
He had ridden nearly forty miles that day, and stood greatly in need of
refreshment himself; but he was determined to travel on without halting,
and to join the regiment at all risk and expense. He went straight to
an hotel, and hired another horse, leaving twice its value, together
with the Bucephalus he had purchased at Ghent, which was to be restored
him on his return--when that should take place.
The French army were still pressing impetuously forward. Marshal Ney,
in command of the left, had proceeded along the road for Brussels, and
attacking the Prince of Saxe Weimar, drove him back from Frasnes to the
famous position named _Les Quatre Bras_; while Napoleon, with his own
immediate command, the right and centre, followed the retreating
Prussians towards Brie and Sombref.
At half-past three on that morning (the 16th June), the British had
marched out of Brussels towards the enemy. Fear was impressed on every
heart and visible on every face after their departure.
The bells were tolling mournfully, and many persons were lamenting in
the streets as if the day of universal doom was at hand. The churches
were lighted for night service when Stuart entered the city. From the
tall Gothic windows of the church of St. Gudule, vivid flakes of
variously-tinted light streamed on the groups of anxious and gossiping
citizens, who were assembled in knots and crowds in the great Sablon
square, or on the magnificent flight of steps ascending to the doorway,
through which streams of radiance, and strains of choral music, came
gushing into the streets below. The bells in the two great towers were
booming away in concert with others, and flinging their deep hollow
tones to the midnight wind. Business of every kind was suspended; the
shops were shut; and the paunchy magistrates were all in the _Hotel de
Ville_, assembled in solemn conclave, consulting, not about the best
means of defence, but the best mode,--to use a homely phrase,--"of
cutting their stick," and without beat of drum.
*CHAPTER X.*
*CAMERON OF FASSIFERN.*
"Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking;
Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking."
_Lady of the Lake._
As soon as the military traveller presented himself before the cathedral
of St. Gudule, the lustre streaming from the sixteen illuminated chapels
of which filled the surrounding streets with a light rivalling that of
day, a dense crowd gathered around him, barring his passage on every
side, and clamorously demanding, "What news from the army?"
It was with the utmost difficulty that he could make these terrified
cits understand he was bound for the field, and wished to know which way
the British troops had marched. His only reply from them was, "The
French--the French are coming on!" Fear had besotted them. He told
them they would serve Belgium better by getting arms and joining her
allies, than by thronging the streets like frightened sheep. This was
answered by a groan, and the feeble cry of "_vivat!_"
Cursing them for cowards, in his impatience to get on he spurred his
horse upon the crowd, and drove them back. By their increasing number,
an officer of the Brunswick-Oels corps, who was riding down the street
at full speed, was likewise stopped; and having a little knowledge of
the English language, he learned Ronald's dilemma, and invited him to be
his companion, as he was following the route of the army. They galloped
through the Namur gate, and in five minutes Bruxelles, with its lights
and din, fear and uproar, was far behind them. They were pressing at
full speed along the road leading to the then obscure village of
Waterloo. It wound through the dark forest of Soignies; the oak, the
ash, and the elm were in full foliage, and, for many miles of the way,
their deep shadows rendered the road as dreary as can be conceived.
The speed at which the travellers rode completely marred any attempt at
conversation, and the only sounds which broke the silence were their
horses' hoofs echoing in the green glades around them. When at intervals
the moonlight streamed between the clouds and the trees, Ronald turned
to survey his companion, whose singular equipment added greatly to the
gloomy effect produced by the dark forest, which stretched around them
for many miles in every direction.
The cavalry officer belonged to the Brunswick troops, who, with their
duke, had made a vow to wear mourning until the death of their late
prince and leader should be avenged. His horse, his harness, his
accoutrements and uniform, were all of the deepest black, and a
horse-hair plume of the same sable hue floated above the plate of his
schako, which was ornamented by a large silver skull and cross-bones,
similar to the badge worn by our 17th Lancers. A death's-head was
grinning on his sabre-tasche, on his holsters, his horse's forehead and
breastplate, and the same grim badge looked out of every button on his
coat. He was rather stately in figure for a German, and a tall and
sombre-looking fellow, with large dark eyes, lank moustaches, and a
solemn visage. His _tout ensemble_ rendered him altogether as ghastly
and melancholy a companion, as the most morbid or romantic mind could
wish to ride with through a gloomy wood at midnight, with strange paths
and darkness behind, and a battle-field in front.
After riding for about six miles in silence, a muttered ejaculation from
both announced their observation of a flash which illuminated the sky.
It was "the red artillery," and every instant other flashes shot vividly
athwart the firmament, like sheet lightning; and soon afterwards the
sound of firing was heard, but faint and distant. It was a dropping
fire, and caused, probably, by some encounter of stragglers or outposts.
At day-break, on approaching the village of Waterloo, they met a horse
and cart, driven along the road at a rapid trot by a country boor, clad
in a leathern cap and blue frock, having his shoes and garters adorned
with gigantic rosettes of yellow and red tape. His car contained the
bloody remains of the brave Duke of Brunswick, who at four in the
evening had been mortally wounded, when heroically charging at the head
of his cavalry in front of Les Quatre Bras. The hay-cart of a Flemish
clod-pole was now his funeral bier. The bottom was covered with the red
stream, forced by the rough motion of the car from the wound, which,
being in the breast, was distinctly visible, and a heavy mass of
coagulated blood was plastered around the starred bosom and laced lapels
of the uniform coat. An escort of Black Brunswickers, sorrowing,
sullen, and war-worn, surrounded it with their fixed bayonets. The boor
cracked his whip and whistled to his horse, replacing his pipe
philosophically, and apparently not caring a straw whether it was the
corse of a chivalric prince or a bag of Dutch turf that his conveyance
contained.
Ronald reined up his horse, and touched his bonnet in salute to the
Brunswick escort; but the rage and sorrow of the cavalry officer, on
beholding the lifeless body of his sovereign and leader, were such as
his companion never beheld before. He muttered deep oaths and bitter
execrations in German, and holding aloft his sabre, he swore that he
would revenge him or perish. At least from his actions Stuart
interpreted his language thus. He jerked his heavy sabre into its steel
scabbard, and touching his cap as a parting salute, drove spurs into his
horse and, dashing along the forest pathway, disappeared. Ronald
followed him for a little way, but finding that he was careering forward
like a madman, abandoned the idea of attempting to overtake him.
Daylight was increasing rapidly, but he felt that dreamy and drowsy
sensation which is always caused by want of sleep for an entire night.
He endeavoured to shake off these feelings of weariness and oppression,
for every thing around announced that he was approaching the arena of a
deadly and terrible conflict. His heart beat louder and his pulses
quickened as he advanced. Dense clouds of smoke, from the contest of
the preceding evening, yet mingled with the morning mist, overhung the
position of Quatre Bras, and, pressed down by the heavy atmosphere,
rolled over the level surface of the country. At every step he found a
dead or a dying man, and crowds of wounded stragglers, officers,
rank-and-file, on horse and on foot, were pouring along in pain and
misery to Brussels, bedewing every part of the road with the dark
crimson which trickled from their undressed wounds. These were all
sufferers in the fierce contest at Quatre Bras on the preceding evening.
The village of Waterloo was deserted by its inhabitants, for, like a
pestilence, war spread desolation with death in its path, and the
fearful Flemings had fled, scared by the roar of the distant artillery.
The wounded were unable to give any account of the engagement, save that
Brunswick was slain, and the British had not yet lost the day. He was
informed that his regiment was in the ninth brigade of infantry,
commanded by Major-general Sir Dennis Pack; and that he would find them,
with their kilted comrades the 42nd, and 44th English regiment,
somewhere near the farm of Les Quatre Bras, bivouacked in a corn-field.
The speaker was an officer of the 1st regiment, or Royal Scots. He was
severely wounded on the head and arm, and was making his way to Brussels
on foot, bleeding and in great agony, as his scars had no other bandages
than two hastily adjusted handkerchiefs. He leant for support on the
arm of a soldier of the 44th, who was also suffering from a wound. The
Royal Scot begged of Stuart to lend him a few shillings, adding that he
had spent all his money at Brussels, and would be totally destitute when
he returned thither, as he had not a farthing to procure even a mouthful
of food.
Stuart gave him a few guineas, nearly all the loose change in his purse,
but rendered a greater service in lending his horse, which could be of
no further use to himself, as he was now close to the arena of
operations. The officer mounted with many thanks, and promised to
return the animal to the head-quarters of the Highlanders,--a promise
which he did not live to fulfil; and the steed probably became the prey
of some greedy boor of Soignies. By his accent he knew the officer to
be his countryman, and he looked back for a short time, watching him as
his horse, led by the honest Yorkshireman of the 44th, threaded its way
among the straggling crowd that covered the road.
There was an indescribable something in the face of this officer which
seemed like part of a long forgotten dream, that some casual incident
may suddenly call to remembrance. He surely had never seen him before,
and yet his voice and features seemed like those of an old friend, and
he felt well pleased with himself for the attention he had shown him.
He inquired his name among the wounded soldiers of the Royals.
"He's Ensign Menteith of ours, sir," said one, saluting with the only
hand that war had left him.
"We've many Menteiths," said another, who lay by the road-side. "Cluny
is his Christian name, sir."
It was, then, his cousin, the son of Sir Colquhoun Menteith, that he had
so singularly encountered and befriended. They had not met for eighteen
years, since they were little children, and now beheld each other, for
the last time, on the field of Waterloo. He was about to turn and make
himself known, but Menteith had proceeded so far, that his figure was
lost amid the crowd which accompanied him; but he hoped to meet him
again,--a hope which was never realized, for he expired by the wayside,
close to the entrance of the forest of Soignies. Feeling his heart
saddened and softened by a thousand recollections of his childhood,
which this interview had awakened, Ronald turned his face towards Quatre
Bras, taking a solitary path among some thickets, to avoid the
disagreeable sights of human pain and misery which he encountered on
every yard of the main road.
The morning was hazy, and every where dense clouds of vapour were
curling upward from the earth, exhaled by the heat of the sun, which, as
the day advanced, became intense, while the air was oppressive and
sultry; but a great change came over the face of nature about twelve
o'clock at noon.
While passing through the copsewood which bordered the highway beyond
the village of Waterloo, Ronald heard the wail of a bagpipe, arising up
from the woodlands, and wildly floating through the still air of the
summer morning. He stopped and listened breathlessly, while the stirred
blood within him mounted to his cheek. The last time he heard that
instrument, it was awakening the echoes in the woods of Toulouse. But
the strain was different now. It was played sadly and slowly, with all
the feeling of which its wild reeds are capable; and the air was an
ancient dirge from the Isle of the Mist--_Oran au Aiog_, or 'the Song of
Death,' and Stuart's breast became filled with soft melancholy, and with
wonder to hear this solemn measure of the Highland isles played in such
a place, and at such a time. The cause was soon revealed.
On suddenly turning a point of the road, which was lined on each side by
thick thorns and tall poplars, he beheld AEneas or Angus Macvurich, a
piper of the 92nd, stalking, with the slow and stately air peculiar to
his profession, before a rudely-formed waggon, in which lay a wounded
officer, over whom a cloak was cast to defend him from the fierce rays
of the sun. Stuart, the assistant-surgeon, rode behind, and beside it
came old Dugald Mhor Cameron, with his head bare and his silver tresses
floating on the wind, while he hid his face in the end of his tartan
plaid. A Highland soldier led by the bridle the horse which drew the
vehicle,--a rough country car of the clumsiest construction, and a
wretched jolting conveyance it must have been for a man enduring the
agony of a complicated gun-shot wound. Anxiety and woe were depicted in
every face of the advancing group, and the Highlander who led the horse
turned round every moment to look upon the sufferer in the car.
Ronald knew all the sad truth at once. On his meeting it, the cavalcade
halted, the lament ceased, and a murmur of greeting arose from the
Highlanders,--all except old Dugald, who stared at him with eyes of
wonder and vacancy.
It was the colonel, brave Cameron, whom they were bearing away,--as many
of his ancestors had been borne, from his last battle-field to his long
home. He was not dead, but lay motionless on his back, pale and bloody,
with his sword (rolled up in a plaid for a pillow) placed under his
head. His eyes were closed, his cheeks were sunken and ghastly, and the
thick curls of his brown hair were dabbled with blood and soiled with
clay. Notwithstanding his familiarity with scenes of blood, Ronald
could not help shrinking on beholding the leader whom he loved so
dearly, and whom so many brave men had followed, stretched thus
helplessly, with the hand of the grim king upon him.
"Stuart, this is a sorrowful meeting," said Ronald in a low voice, as he
pressed the hand of his old friend the _medico_. "Our good and gallant
colonel--"
"Aich! ay,--the cornel--the cornel--the cornel," muttered Dugald in a
whimpering voice. He seemed besotted with grief. "I kent, this time
yesterday, that it was to happen ere the nicht fell. The lift was blue,
and the sun was bricht; but a wreath descended on my auld een, and a red
cloud was before me wherever I turned,--aboon me when I looked up, and
below me when I looked doon; and I kent that death was near my heart,
for the power of the _taisch_ was upon me. Aich! ay! Lie you there,
John Cameron? Few there were like you,--few indeed!" And the old man
bowed down his wrinkled face between his bare knees, and wept bitterly.
"Poor Fassifern!" whispered the surgeon; "he will never draw sword
again."
"Is he mortally wounded?" asked Ronald, in the same low tone.
"Yes. Ere noon he will have departed to a better place. But in this
world he has been amply avenged."
This was spoken in a hasty whisper. The doctor's breast was too full of
regret to have much room for astonishment at his suddenly meeting his
brother-officer, but he inquired from whence he had now come.