SHIRAZ.
The landing-place was Bushire, a well-frequented town, with a
harbour, on a long and sandy peninsula, one hundred and twenty miles
westward of Shiraz, and in storms or high tides it is completely
surrounded by water.
The vessels of the expedition came to anchor in the roads, under the
protection of the isle of Karrack, as ships drawing above eighteen
feet of water cannot enter the harbour. The town, which is
triangular in form, is defended by a mud-wall on the land side, armed
with cannon. Gillian, as, with Colin, he stood apart from the rest,
comparing notes, could see that it occupied a slight eminence,
shelving gently down on each side, and that though mean in reality,
it presented rather a handsome appearance to the seaward.
Its streets were narrow; the principal mansions were flat-roofed and
terraced, while the minor dwellings were merely unroofed enclosures
formed of reeds; and not a dome or minaret rose to break the monotony
of the view, which was terminated in the distance by the
ever-snow-capped mountains of Ardshir.
The boats were hoisted out, and cavalry, infantry, and artillery,
with all their baggage and stores, began the work of disembarkation
together. As the troops were crowding towards the gangway and side
ladder of the _Indus_, Gillian saw pretty Mrs. Hartley descending it
among the first who went. On this occasion she nodded smilingly to
him, and said, while her eyes shone with a peculiar brightness of
expression, which was, indeed, her own,
"I shall send your sketch of the island to mamma, as a souvenir of
our voyage together in the _Indus_."
He touched the sling of his rifle in salute, and the fair bright
English face passed away from him for the time.
Gillian had now become completely accustomed to his knapsack and
accoutrements, for MacAra had frequently held deck parades in heavy
marching order. At first his shoulders had ached, and were black as
if bruised, and his arms were so stiff that he had to ask his comrade
to put off or on his plumed bonnet; now all these seemed as a part of
himself, though on the first day's march he felt his heart thumping
painfully at his ribs, over which the tight breast-strap was buckled.
In other ships alongside the _Indus_, the pipers of the regiment
could be heard playing "Seaforth's Gathering," the same wild air
that, in the warlike days of old, had many a time and oft summoned
the MacKenzies to Tullochard, when the bale-fire of war smoked on its
lofty summit.
In Bushire, MacAra "handed over" his detachment to the commanding
officer, and Gillian with his comrade were pleased to find themselves
placed together in company of the former.
Bushire was taken almost without opposition, the Persian troops in
the place taking to flight ere the cavalry of the expedition could
get their horses on shore; and on the 3rd of February the inland
march began.
As the Highlanders moved off with the first division, the pipers,
accompanied by all the brass drums, struck up "High Alisdair."
"That is the march of King Alexander, who gave to the MacKenzies the
stag's head that is now on your sporran," said Colin; "the same
Alexander who hunted in Kintail, and was killed at Kinghorn."
For, strange as it may sound to English ears, our Scottish regiments
often muster, march and charge at times, to airs, perhaps, a thousand
years old--the oldest and grandest of all being the march of
_Gillichroisd_, or the "Follower of Christ."
Gillian was but a small unit in Outram's army--a nameless
private--true! yet, when he thought that the soil he trod was Persia,
the land of that Cyrus who conquered Lydia, turned the current of the
mighty Euphrates, and slew Belshazzar; the land of the Selucidæ, and
many other warlike dynasties, high and great thoughts rose within
him; and when he heard the trumpets of cavalry, and the bands of the
other regiments filling the morning air with martial music--the
native infantry clad in silver grey, faced with white, the Bombay
rifles in green, the picturesque battalion of Beloochees; and more
than all, while he looked along the still more picturesque column of
the 78th on the march, with the black waving plumes and graceful
tartans, and thought of all the past and of the scenes in which those
kilts and bonnets had so often led the way to death, but never to
disaster or defeat, there swelled up in his heart a glow of
passionate triumph, which, though difficult to describe, is second to
none that Heaven implants in the human heart.
The chief, that pet phrase for the colonel, now common to all our
line regiments, who have caught it up from the Highland corps, rode
at the head of the column. He was a worthy cadet of "the princely
House of Hamilton," as Scott has it, and was yet to win for himself a
glorious name in the terrible wars of India.
"A braver or a better man is not in the British army," said Captain
MacAra to Gillian, whose superior bearing he had frequently remarked;
"if Hamilton has one fault, it is too great an eagerness for battle;
and many a time, on our long and dusty marches in Central India, I
have seen him marching on foot, while the knapsacks of the failing
and the weary were slung on the back of his horse; so Lamond, you may
well be proud to serve under him."
An open plain, some forty miles in extent, lies between the mud-wall
of Bushire and the chain of snow-clad mountains separating it from
Shiraz. On this plain nothing was visible but occasional clumps of
palm-trees, though in the gardens, three miles distant from the town,
pomegranates, oranges, and aloes grew in luxuriance together.
During the first two days' march our troops encountered some of those
unpleasant incidents peculiar to a tropical climate. Tempests of
wind swept across the advancing columns, bearing with them mighty
clouds of fine white, whirling dust, which penetrated not only the
ears, eyes, and nostrils of the soldiers, but seemed to force its way
through the very pores of the skin.
"I'd give a month's pay for a good glass of beer," said Colin
MacKenzie, as he looked ruefully at his feather-bonnet, and shook its
black plumage which the dust had turned to white; and thirsty indeed
were they all; for though the heat was moderate, the dust was
stifling, all the more so, when kicked up by so many thousand
marching feet. They were literally enveloped in it, as in a dense
and blinding cloud, amid which, at times, the columns seemed like
masses of shadowy spectres.
The sun set in dun and dusky-looking clouds when Sir James Outram
ordered the troops to halt and bivouac, but in the order of march.
It was in an open and comfortless place; but each battalion piled
arms by companies, date-trees were hewn down, dry branches collected,
and fires were lighted. Round these the officers and men sat or lay
in groups, cloaked or great-coated, and strove to make themselves as
comfortable as circumstances would permit. This was on the 4th of
February, and all were full of hope that on the morrow they would
thrash the Persians, who were said to be in position, and in some
strength, about nine miles distant.
After supping on a single ration biscuit, and a draft of cold water
from his canteen, Gillian reclined upon his knapsack, and, as usual,
began to indulge in reverie. Far away from the singular scene around
him, where the glare of the watch-fires produced a Rembrandtish
effect of strong red light and deep shadow on the groups of soldiers,
the kilted Highlanders, the dark sepoys in their blue great-coats,
the wild Belochees in their scarlet turbans and Asiatic costume, the
piles of glittering arms, with all their bright bayonets fixed, and
the distant figures of the cavalry videttes thrown out in the
direction of the enemy--far away from that Persian bivouac and the
snowy hills of Shiraz, his mind sped home--home to Dove, back to that
bright eve of sunshine when they first acknowledged their love for
each other, and that bitter eve of gloom and sorrow when they parted,
it would seem, for ever.
How wondrously changed were all his surroundings now! He should
never, never see her more, even as the wife of another.
He strove to thrust aside such thoughts, and to listen to the
heedless banter and the songs with which his comrades strove to while
away the time; and merrily many of them sang, though, for all they
could foresee, that night might be their last in the land of the
living.
And now Colin struck up an old ditty--a reaper lassie's song--he had
learned from his mother, and sung it to that air which is still used
as the march of the 55th, or old Stirlingshire.
"To win my love in glances soft, the woodland laddie came;
He vowed he'd ever be sincere, when thus he told his flame:
'The moon is bright, my winsome lass, as bright as moon can be,
To the woodland come, my lassie dear--to the greenwood come wi' me.'
"My lad wi' love was sae distressed, I could na' say him nay,
My lip he pressed, my hand caressed, as we gaed owre the brae:
'My soldier-lad, thou'rt brave and braw, and blythe as blythe can be,
And I to yonder fair greenwood, will gang my lad wi' thee.'
"Our bridal day has come to pass; such joy was never seen,
For I am called the greenwood lass--the soldier-laddie's queen!
I bless the day, sae fresh and fair, I tauld my mind sae free--
And went to yonder gude green wood, my soldier lad wi' thee."
The last line of each verse was chorused, and in this homely ditty,
which woke the echoes of the date groves of Shiraz, none joined more
heartily than an old staff colonel, who had reined up his horse near
the company of MacAra, and with kindly interest expressed in his
war-worn, grey, but handsome face, was looking at the Highlanders.
"The general's orders are, that we march at daybreak," said he to
Captain MacAra; "where can I find Colonel Hamilton?"
"At the head of the column," replied the captain.
"Come here, young man," said the Colonel to Gillian, as he
dismounted; "hold my horse for a few minutes."
Gillian started to his feet mechanically, but the expression of his
face was rendered fully apparent in the light of the fire that blazed
close by them. On seeing the angry and haughty flush that suffused
his features, the old field-officer glanced at him inquiringly and
curiously; but ere Gillian could take the reins, MacKenzie started
forward and said:
"Allow me, Lamond--I understand cattle better than you."
"Thanks," muttered Gillian, as he wearily resumed his place on the
sod; "I thought I had got over all this sort of thing, and must
school myself, in time, to do so."
In a few minutes the old Colonel returned, and sprang on his horse,
and waving his hand, exclaimed, as he rode off:
"To-morrow we may be face to face with the Persians, so '_Clanna nan
Gael anguillan achele!_'"
From this cry--the favourite toast, meaning "Clansmen, shoulder to
shoulder," they learned that he was a countryman of their own.
Weary with the long and dusty day's march, Gillian strove to sleep;
but in addition to the strangeness of the place, and his general
surroundings, there was the sensation of still being at sea, and on
board the _Indus_; he had yet "the roll of the ship," thus the ground
on which he lay seemed to heave beneath him, to rise, fall, and
oscillate.
At last he dropped into a kind of dull waking doze, and not till rain
began to fall was he aware that, in addition to his grey great-coat,
he was covered by that of Colin Mackenzie, who had spread it over him.
"I cannot permit this," he exclaimed, starting up.
"You've not been used to this kind of work, Lamond," said the other;
"many a night, when stalking deer or driving cattle, I have slept on
the slopes of Tullochard with only my plaid about me."
"You are a good, kind fellow, Colin!"
"I have known misfortune, so have you--I can see that with half an
eye."
And now the rain began to fall as surely it had never fallen since
the flood. Long, long did our Persian army remember that dreadful
thunderstorm in the plain of Shiraz; mingled with hail, the rain came
down in blinding torrents, drenching to the skin officers and men,
for all were alike tentless and shelterless, while from the snow-clad
hills there came an icy wind that rendered their sufferings all the
greater; but nothing could daunt the ardour of such troops,
especially when led by such a general as Outram--"Old Jamie Outram,"
as they loved to call him.
The infantry drums beat, and the cavalry trumpets blew "boot and
saddle," though the troopers were booted and the horses saddled (as
they had been throughout that wretched night), when the grey dawn of
the 5th of February stole into that wet and desolate bivouac, and the
brigades stood to their arms. All loaded muskets were discharged in
the air and reloaded, to preclude any missing fire when the march to
the front was resumed, after each man had breakfasted on a pulpy
biscuit, the rain having soaked everything in their haversacks.
Riding by her husband's side, among the staff of the 1st Division,
Gillian saw the pretty Mrs. Hartley well-mounted, pass to the front,
caracoling her horse, and laughing merrily, sitting square in her
saddle, patting the neck of her horse as he arched it, in impatience
of her tiny but restraining hand. Where or how she had passed the
night he knew not; but her bright auburn hair was coiled smoothly
under her smartly-veiled hat, and her well-fitting habit was as fresh
as if she had only come out of "the Row." Despite Captain Hartley's
wish, she would not remain with other ladies on board the _Indus_,
but insisted on accompanying him into the field--an affectionate
obstinacy which was yet to cost them both dear.
About midday the bugles of the advanced guard sounded a halt, and
then every eye brightened, and every heart beat high with
expectation, as a murmur ran along the columns that "the enemy were
in front;" and ere long the Persians, in grey-looking masses, were
seen in possession of a strongly-intrenched position, where ever and
anon the steel of their bayonets and swords flashed out as the
occasional gleams of a watery sun fell on them.
"The brigades will deploy from column into line," was now the order
of Outram, whose firm dark face, with lip compressed, and thick
grizzled moustache, seemed to glow with ardour, as his staff galloped
hither and thither to the leaders of brigades and regiments; but
barely was the order of battle complete, when, to the intense
annoyance of all, the Persian masses seemed to break, and then, by
the wavering and uncertain gleaming of their arms, it was evident
that they were in full retreat, and without firing a shot!
"Forward, the cavalry!" was then Outram's order.
Cheerily the trumpets rang out, and unsheathing their swords as they
galloped off, the Horse of Brigadier Housen swept forward in hot
pursuit. He narrowly escaped a ball which pierced his saddle; but
many of the Persians were cut down on every hand, and the military
Governor of Bras-joon, a dark and fierce-looking man, wearing a dark
fur cap and plume, a blue frock and large epaulettes, was made
prisoner.
On the 7th of February the march was resumed, yet the Persians still
avoided all collision with our troops, who could see them, but at a
vast distance, still continuing their retreat into the dark defiles
and woody fastnesses of the snow-capped mountains that overlook the
plain of Shiraz.
In that open spot--open save where a few scattered date-palms grew,
the army again halted and bivouacked for the night. Arms were piled,
fires lighted, and the out-pickets posted in the direction of the
mountains.
Gillian was on duty as an advanced sentinel, and as the darkness was
closing, he stood, as in duty bound, with arms "ordered," and his
eyes fixed on the distance, where a range of red sparkling dots along
the mountain slopes indicated the watch-fires of the Persians. Weary
with the toil of the past day's march he would gladly have slept; but
now he had to keep himself most keenly awake and alive to all about
him for the single hour he was posted, such being the period when
sentinels are in front of an enemy. The sound of horses' hoofs made
him spring to attention and challenge, and he found himself face to
face with the old staff-colonel, whom he had often observed hanging
about the flanks of the Highlanders when on the march.
"You are a young soldier for this sort of work," said the veteran,
checking his horse, and looking kindly at Gillian's pale face; "but
you know your duty, I presume?"
"Yes, sir; to observe the enemy closely, to communicate by signal
with the picquet, and with the sentinels on my right and left."
"Exactly. You seem a good style of young man--a smart fellow, too!
I should like much to have you for my permanent orderly."
Gillian was silent, but he coloured deeply.
"This would remove you from much of the discomfort, and even the
perils of the service," urged the other.
"For those very reasons, permit me to decline, sir."
"My lad," said the Colonel, after a little pause, "you seem to have
belonged to another sphere than the ranks?"
"I did, sir."
"Your family----"
"Are all in their graves, in India."
"Your father," continued the old man, kindly.
"Was a soldier, like myself."
"His rank--you may tell me that?"
"A colonel in the Bengal army; he was killed in action. Please say
nothing of this to any one, and let us cease the subject. It is not
what we choose that we do in this world; but what Fate chooses for
us."
"Most true, my lad, your secret is your own, keep it. Good night."
"Good night, sir," replied Gillian, as the old officer, with
something of hauteur in his bearing, rode off.
"Orderly!" said Gillian, with great irritation, when his post was
"relieved;" "that d--d old fellow seems to have an inclination to
insult me, Colin!"
"Nay, you misjudge him; how can you think so?" replied MacKenzie; "he
looks like a kind old man; but, of course, he views you only as--as--"
"What?"
"A private soldier, like myself."
"True; and now for a snooze on mother earth."
The night was one of intense darkness; not a star was visible
overhead; it was very still, too, and no sound broke the silence save
the occasional neigh of a charger, or the voice of a distant sentinel
challenging a passer near his post, and Gillian soon dropped into a
sound sleep--yet not so sound as to prevent him dreaming, and for the
first time, these many months, of Dove Gainswood.
A strange but vivid sense of the reality of her presence was
impressed upon him. Her face, with all its sweetness of expression,
its pale and delicate beauty, seemed bending close to his, and as she
whispered to him there was tender quivering in her cherry lips that
was peculiarly her own. Her voice came distinctly to his ear as she
sang the last lines of "Wild Joanna,"
"When half asleep, I'm reading,
Some amorous lyric rare,
Lean softly down and kiss me,
From the bosom of the air!
"Thus come, my wild Joanna!
For well I know 'twill be,
If ever soul come back again,
Thy soul will come to me!"
Her lips seemed about to touch his, when he started and awoke, to be
haunted, bewildered, and half-terrified by the dream and its import,
as there flashed upon his memory her farewell words in the garden:
"If I die, Gillian, I will come to you like the wild Joanna of my
song"; but he had little more time to think of it, for, at that
moment, the whole bivouacked army was startled by a volley of
musketry flashing redly out of the gloom, together with the roar of
two pieces of cannon in its rear.
Many men fell killed and wounded; bullets struck and overturned the
piles of arms to which the soldiers mechanically rushed; thousands of
voices rang clamourously on the night air; chargers plunged; drums
were beaten, trumpets, bugles, and bagpipes blown; and for more than
half an hour the whole force became involved in a most singular and
utterly indescribable skirmishing fire with an unseen foe, for the
night, we have said, was so gloomy that the darkness seemed opaque.
Vociferously yelling and blowing their trumpets, the Persian cavalry
galloped about, cutting down stragglers, and MacKenzie caught by the
throat a Persian bugler who was actually mingling in the ranks of the
Highlanders, and blowing with might and main our British bugle calls,
"incline to the right," "incline to the left," and "cease firing," to
increase the general confusion and "the _fighting devil_ which lurks
in the heart of every man."
The shrill yelling, the hoarse shouting and bugling ceased after a
time, and satisfied with the _alerte_ they had given us, the Persians
withdrew into the gloom and mist, leaving the British under arms,
their hearts throbbing wildly with rage and excitement, and the
bivouac strewed with killed and wounded, officers, soldiers,
camp-followers, and baggage animals.
Dawn spread over the plain and on Outram's now marshalled host, and
with it spread the startling intelligence that Mrs. Hartley--the
pretty little woman who was daily seen riding by her husband's side
among the staff--had been carried off by the Persian cavalry, and the
grief and terror of the unfortunate captain were pitiable to behold.
Gillian was deeply concerned by the intelligence, for, though far
removed from him, he had somehow learned to look upon her as a friend.