A NIGHT ON THE AZAVA.
Massena was now recalled, and Marmont, having assumed the command of
the French, army, retired towards Salamanca, while our troops went into
cantonments upon the Aguada. A period of inaction succeeded to our previous
life of bustle and excitement, and the whole interest of the campaign was
now centred in Beresford’s army, exposed to Soult in Estramadura.
On the 15th Lord Wellington set out for that province, having already
directed a strong force to march upon Badajos.
“Well, O’Malley,” said Crawfurd, as he returned from bidding Lord
Wellington good-by, “your business is all right; the commander-in-chief has
signed my recommendation, and you will get your troop.”
While I continued to express my grateful acknowledgments for his kindness,
the general, apparently inattentive to all I was saying, paced the room
with hurried steps, stopping every now and then to glance at a large map of
Spain which covered one wall of the apartment, while he muttered to himself
some broken and disjointed sentences.
“Eight leagues--too weak in cavalry--with the left upon Fuenta Grenaldo--a
strong position. O’Malley, you’ll take a troop of dragoons and patrol the
country towards Castro; you’ll reconnoitre the position the Sixth Corps
occupies, but avoid any collision with the enemy’s pickets, keeping the
Azava between you and them. Take rations for three days.”
“When shall I set out, sir?”
“Now!” was the reply.
Knowing with what pleasure the hardy veteran recognized anything like
alacrity and despatch, I resolved to gratify him; and before half an hour
had elapsed, was ready with my troop to receive his final orders.
“Well done, boy!” said he, as he came to the door of the hut, “you’ve lost
no time. I don’t believe I have any further instructions to give you; to
ascertain as far as possible the probable movement of the enemy is my
object, that’s all.” As he spoke this, he waved his hand, and wishing me
“Good-by,” walked leisurely back into the house. I saw that his mind was
occupied by other thoughts; and although I desired to obtain some more
accurate information for my guidance, knowing his dislike to questions, I
merely returned his salute, and set forth upon my journey.
The morning was beautiful; the sun had risen about an hour, and the earth,
refreshed by the heavy dew of the night, was breathing forth all its
luxuriant fragrance. The river which flowed beside us was clear as crystal,
showing beneath its eddying current the shining, pebbly bed, while upon
the surface, the water-lilies floated or sank as the motion of the stream
inclined. The tall cork-trees spread their shadows about us, and the richly
plumed birds hopped from branch to branch awaking the echoes with their
notes.
It is but seldom that the heart of man is thoroughly attuned to the
circumstances of the scenery around him. How often do we need a struggle
with ourselves to enjoy the rich and beautiful landscape which lies smiling
in its freshness before us! How frequently do the blue sky and the calm air
look down upon the heart darkened and shadowed with affliction! And how
often have we felt the discrepancy between the lowering look of winter and
the glad sunshine of our hearts! The harmony of the world without with our
thoughts within is one of the purest, as it is one of the greatest, sources
of happiness. Our hopes and our ambitions lose their selfish character when
we feel that fortune smiles upon us from all around, and the flattery which
speaks to our hearts from the bright stars and the blue sky, the peaked
mountain or the humble flower, is greater in its mute eloquence than all
the tongue of man can tell us.
This feeling did I experience in all its fulness as I ruminated upon my
bettered fortunes, and felt within myself that secret instinct that tells
of happiness to come. In such moods of mind my thoughts strayed ever
homewards, and I could not help confessing how little were all my successes
in my eyes, did I not-hope for the day when I should pour forth my tale of
war and battle-field to the ears of those who loved me.
I resolved to write home at once to my uncle. I longed to tell him each
incident of my career, and my heart glowed as I thought over the broken
and disjointed sentences which every cotter around would whisper of my
fortunes, far prouder as they would be in the humble deeds of one they
knew, than in the proudest triumphs of a nation’s glory.
Indeed, Mike himself gave the current to my thoughts. After riding beside
me for some time in silence, he remarked,--
“And isn’t it Father Rush will be proud when he sees your honor’s a
captain; to think of the little boy that he used to take before him on the
ould gray mare for a ride down the avenue,--to think of him being a real
captain, six feet two without his boots, and galloping over the French as
if they were lurchers! Peggy Mahon, that nursed you, will be the proud
woman the day she hears it; and there won’t be a soldier sober in his
quarters that night in Portumna barracks! ‘Pon my soul, there’s not a thing
with a red coat on it, if it was even a scarecrow to frighten the birds
from the barley, that won’t be treated with respect when they hear of the
news.”
The country through which we travelled was marked at every step by the
traces of a retreating army: the fields of rich corn lay flattened beneath
the tramp of cavalry, or the wheels of the baggage-wagons; the roads, cut
up and nearly impassable, were studded here and there with marks which
indicated a bivouac. At the same time, everything around bore a very
different aspect from what we had observed in Portugal; there, the
vindictive cruelty of the French soldiery had been seen in full sway: the
ruined château, the burned villages, the desecrated altars, the murdered
peasantry,--all attested the revengeful spirit of a beaten and baffled
enemy. No sooner, however, had they crossed the frontiers, than, as if by
magic, their character became totally changed. Discipline and obedience
succeeded to recklessness and pillage; and instead of treating the natives
with, inhumanity and cruelty, in all their intercourse with the Spaniards
the French behaved with moderation and even kindness. Paying for
everything, obtaining their billets peaceably and quietly, marching with
order and regularity, they advanced into the heart of the country, showing,
by the most irrefragable proof, the astonishing evidences of a discipline
which, by a word, could convert the lawless irregularities of a ruffian
soldiery into the orderly habits and obedient conduct of a highly-organized
army.
As we neared the Azava, the tracks of the retiring enemy became gradually
less perceptible, and the country, uninjured by the march, extended for
miles around us in all the richness and abundance of a favored climate. The
tall corn, waving its yellow gold, reflected like a sea the clouds that
moved slowly above it. The wild gentian and the laurel grew thickly around,
and the cattle stood basking in the clear streams, while some listless
peasant lounged upon the bank beside them. Strange as all these evidences
of peace and tranquillity were, so near to the devastating track of a
mighty army, yet I have more than once witnessed the fact, and remarked
how, but a short distance from the line of our hurried march, the country
lay untouched and uninjured; and though the clank of arms and the dull roll
of the artillery may have struck upon the ear of the far-off dweller in his
native valley, he listened as he would have done to the passing thunder as
it crashed above him; and when the bright sky and pure air succeeded to
the lowering atmosphere and the darkening storm, he looked forth upon his
smiling fields and happy home, while he muttered to his heart a prayer of
thanksgiving that the scourge was passed.
We bivouacked upon the bank of the river, a truly Salvator Rosa scene;
the rocks, towering high above us, were fissured by the channel of many a
trickling stream, seeking, in its zigzag current, the bright river below.
The dark pine-tree and the oak mingled their foliage with the graceful
cedar, which spread its fan-like branches about us. Through the thick shade
some occasional glimpses of a starry sky could yet be seen, and a faint
yellow streak upon the silent river told that the queen of night was there.
When I had eaten my frugal supper, I wandered forth alone upon the bank
of the stream, now standing to watch its bold sweeps as it traversed the
lonely valley before me, now turning to catch a passing glance at our
red watch-fires and the hardy features which sat around. The hoarse and
careless laugh, the deep-toned voice of some old campaigner holding forth
his tale of flood and field, were the only sounds I heard; and gradually I
strolled beyond the reach of even these. The path beside the river, which
seemed scarped from the rock, was barely sufficient for the passage of
one man, a rude balustrade of wood being the only defence against the
precipice, which, from a height of full thirty feet, looked down upon the
stream. Here and there some broad gleam of moonlight would fall upon the
opposite bank, which, unlike the one I occupied, stretched out into rich
meadow and pasturage, broken by occasional clumps of ilex and beech. River
scenery has been ever a passion with me. I can glory in the bold and broken
outline of a mighty mountain; I can gaze with delighted eyes upon the
boundless seas, and know not whether to like it more in all the mighty
outpouring of its wrath, when the white waves lift their heads to heaven
and break themselves in foam upon the rocky beach, or in the calm beauty of
its broad and mirrored surface, in which the bright world of sun and sky
are seen full many a fathom deep. But far before these, I love the happy
and tranquil beauty of some bright river, tracing its winding current
through valley and through plain, now spreading into some calm and waveless
lake, now narrowing to an eddying stream with mossy rocks and waving trees
darkening over it. There’s not a hut, however lowly, where the net of the
fisherman is stretched upon the sward, around whose hearth I do not picture
before me the faces of happy toil and humble contentment, while, from the
ruined tower upon the crag, methinks I hear the ancient sounds of wassail
and of welcome; and though the keep be fissured and the curtain fallen, and
though for banner there “waves some tall wall-flower,” I can people its
crumbling walls with images of the past; and the merry laugh of the warder,
and the clanking tread of the mailed warrior, are as palpably before me as
the tangled lichen that now trails from its battlements.
As I wandered on, I reached the little rustic stair which led downward from
the path to the river’s side; and on examining farther, perceived that at
this place the stream was fordable; a huge flat rock, filling up a great
part of the river’s bed, occupied the middle, on either side of which the
current ran with increased force.
Bent upon exploring, I descended the cliff, and was preparing to cross,
when my attention was attracted by the twinkle of a fire at some distance
from me, on the opposite side; the flame rose and fell in fitful flashes,
as though some hand were ministering to it at the moment. As it was
impossible, from the silence on every side, that it could proceed from a
bivouac of the enemy, I resolved on approaching it, and examining it for
myself. I knew that the shepherds in remote districts were accustomed thus
to pass the summer nights, with no other covering save the blue vault above
them. It was not impossible, too, that it might prove a Guerilla party, who
frequently, in small numbers, hang upon the rear of a retreating army. Thus
conjecturing, I crossed the stream, and quickening my pace, walked forward
in the direction of the blaze. For a moment a projecting rock obstructed my
progress; and while I was devising some means of proceeding farther, the
sound of voices near me arrested my attention. I listened, and what was my
astonishment to hear that they spoke in French. I now crept cautiously to
the verge of the rock and looked over; the moon was streaming in its full
brilliancy upon a little shelving strand beside the stream, and here I
now beheld the figure of a French officer. He was habited in the undress
uniform of a _chasseur á cheval_, but wore no arms; indeed his occupation
at the moment was anything but a warlike one, he being leisurely employed
in collecting some flasks of champagne which apparently had been left to
cool within the stream.
“_Eh bien, Alphonse!_” said a voice in the direction of the fire, “what are
you delaying for?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” said the other; “but, _par Dieu!_ I can only find
five of our bottles; one seems to have been carried away by the stream.”
“No matter,” replied the other, “we are but three of us, and one is, or
should be, on the sick list.”
The only answer to this was the muttered chorus of a French drinking-song,
interrupted at intervals by an imprecation upon the missing flask. It
chanced, at this moment, that a slight clinking noise attracted me, and on
looking down, I perceived at the foot of the rock the prize he sought for.
It had been, as he conceived, carried away by an eddy of the stream and was
borne, as a true prisoner-of-war, within my grasp. I avow that from this
moment my interest in the scene became considerably heightened; such a waif
as a bottle of champagne was not to be despised in circumstances like mine;
and I watched with anxious eyes every gesture of the impatient Frenchman,
and alternately vibrated between hope and fear, as he neared or receded
from the missing flask.
“Let it go to the devil,” shouted his companion, once more. “Jacques has
lost all patience with you.”
“Be it so, then,” said the other, as he prepared to take up his burden. At
this instant I made a slight effort so to change my position as to obtain
a view of the rest of the party. The branch by which I supported myself,
however, gave way beneath my grasp with a loud crash. I lost my footing,
and slipping downward from the rock, came plump into the stream below. The
noise, the splash, and more than all, the sudden appearance of a man beside
him, astounded the Frenchman, who almost let fall his pannier, and thus we
stood confronting each other for at least a couple of minutes in silence. A
hearty burst of laughter from both parties terminated this awkward moment,
while the Frenchman, with the readiness of his country, was the first to
open the negotiation.
“_Sacré Dieu!_” said he, “what can you be doing here? You’re English,
without doubt.”
“Even so,” said I; “but that is the very question I was about to ask you;
what are you doing here?”
“_Eh bien_,” replied the other, gayly, “you shall be answered in all
frankness. Our captain was wounded in the action of the 8th, and we heard
had been carried up the country by some peasants. As the army fell back, we
obtained permission to go in search of him. For two days all was fruitless;
the peasantry fled at our approach; and although we captured some of our
stolen property--among other things, the contents of this basket--yet we
never came upon the track of our comrade till this evening. A good-hearted
shepherd had taken him to his hut, and treated him with every kindness,
but no sooner did he hear the gallop of our horses and the clank of our
equipments, than, fearing himself to be made a prisoner, he fled up the
mountains, leaving our friend behind him; _voilà notre histoire_. Here we
are, three in all, one of us with a deep sabre-cut in his shoulder. If you
are the stronger party, we are, I suppose, your prisoners; if not--”
What was to have followed I know not, for at this moment his companion, who
had finally lost all patience, came suddenly to the spot.
“A prisoner,” cried he, placing a heavy hand upon my shoulder, while with
the other he held his drawn sword pointed towards my breast.
To draw a pistol from my bosom was the work of a second; and while gently
turning the point of his weapon away, I coolly said,--
“Not so fast, my friend, not so fast! The game is in my hands, not yours. I
have only to pull this trigger, and my dragoons are upon you; whatever fate
befall me, yours is certain.”
A half-scornful laugh betrayed the incredulity of him I addressed, while
the other, apparently anxious to relieve the awkwardness of the moment,
suddenly broke in with,--
“He is right, Auguste, and you are wrong; we are in his power; that is,”
added he, smiling, “if he believes there is any triumph in capturing such
_pauvres diables_ as ourselves.”
The features of him he addressed suddenly lost their scornful expression,
and sheathing his sword with an air of almost melodramatic solemnity,
he gravely pulled up his mustaches, and after a pause of a few seconds,
solemnly ejaculated a malediction upon his fortune.
“_C’est toujours ainsi_,” said he, with a bitterness that only a Frenchman
can convey when cursing his destiny. “_Soyez bon enfant_, and see what will
come of it. Only be good-natured, only be kind, and if you haven’t bad luck
at the end of it, it’s only because fortune has a heavier stroke in reserve
for you hereafter.”
I could not help smiling at the Frenchman’s philosophy, which, assuming
as a good augury, he gayly said, “So, then, you’ll not make us prisoners.
Isn’t it so?”
“Prisoners,” said the other, “nothing of the kind. Come and sup with us;
I’ll venture to say our larder is as well stocked as your own; in any case
an omelette, a cold chicken, and a glass of champagne are not bad things in
our circumstances.”
I could not help laughing outright at the strangeness of the proposal.
“I fear I must decline,” said I; “you seem to forget I am placed here to
watch, not to join you.”
“_A la bonne heure_,” cried the younger of the two; “do both. Come along;
_soyez bon camarade_; you are always near your own people, so don’t refuse
us.”
In proportion as I declined, they both became more pressing in their
entreaties, and at last, I began to dread lest my refusal might seem to
proceed from some fear as to the good faith of the invitation, and I never
felt so awkwardly placed as when one plumply pressed me by saying,--
“_Mais pourquoi pas, mon cher?_”
I stammered out something about duty and discipline, when they both
interrupted me by a long burst of laughter.
“Come, come!” said they; “in an hour--in half an hour, if you will--you
shall be back with your own people. We’ve had plenty of fighting latterly,
and we are likely to have enough in future; we know something of each other
by this time in the field; let us see how we get on in the bivouac!”
Resolving not to be outdone in generosity, I replied at once, “Here goes,
then!”
Five minutes afterwards I found myself seated at their bivouac fire. The
captain, who was the oldest of the party, was a fine soldier-like fellow of
some forty years old; he had served in the Imperial Guard through all the
campaigns of Italy and Austria, and abounded in anecdotes of the French
army. From him I learned many of those characteristic traits which so
eminently distinguish the imperial troops, and saw how completely their
bravest and boldest feats of arms depended upon the personal valor of him
who led them on. From the daring enterprise of Napoleon at Lodi to the
conduct of the lowest corporal in the _grande armée_, the picture presents
nothing but a series of brilliant and splendid chivalry; while, at the same
time, the warlike character of the nation is displayed by that instinctive
appreciation of courage and daring which teaches them to follow their
officers to the very cannon’s mouth.
“It was at Elchingen,” said the captain, “you should have seen them. The
regiment in which I was a lieutenant was ordered to form close column, and
charge through a narrow ravine to carry a brigade of guns, which, by a
flanking fire, were devastating our troops. Before we could reach the
causeway, we were obliged to pass an open plain in which the ground dipped
for about a hundred yards; the column moved on, and though it descended one
hill, not a man ever mounted the opposite one. A very avalanche of balls
swept the entire valley; and yet amidst the thunder and the smoke, the red
glare of the artillery, and the carnage around them, our grenadiers marched
firmly up. At last, Marshal Ney sent an aide-de-camp with orders to the
troops to lie flat down, and in this position the artillery played over
us for above half an hour. The Austrians gradually slackened, and finally
discontinued their fire; this was the moment to resume the attack. I crept
cautiously to my knees and looked about. One word brought my men around me;
but I found to my horror that of a battalion who came into action fourteen
hundred strong, not five hundred remained; and that I myself, a mere
lieutenant, was now the senior officer of the regiment. Our gallant colonel
lay dead beside my feet. At this instant a thought struck me. I remembered
a habit he possessed in moments of difficulty and danger, of placing in his
shako a small red plume which he commonly carried in his belt. I searched
for it, and found it. As I held it aloft, a maddening cheer burst around
me, while from out the line each officer sprang madly forward, and rushed
to the head of the column. It was no longer a march. With a loud cry of
vengeance, the mass rushed forward, the men trying to outstrip their
officers, and come first in contact with the foe. Like tigers on the
spring, they fell upon the enemy, who, crushed, overwhelmed, and massacred,
lay in slaughtered heaps around the cannon. The cavalry of the Guard came
thundering on behind us; a whole division followed; and three thousand five
hundred prisoners, and fourteen pieces of artillery were captured.
“I sat upon the carriage of a gun, my face begrimed with powder, and my
uniform blackened and blood-stained. The whole thing appeared like some
shocking dream. I felt a hand upon my shoulder, while a rough voice called
in my ear, ‘_Capitaine du soixante-neuvième, tu es mon frère!_’
“It was Ney who spoke. This,” added the brave captain, his eyes filling as
he said the words,--“this is the sabre he gave me.”
I know not why I have narrated this anecdote; it has little in itself, but
somehow, to me it brings back in all its fulness the recollection of that
night.
There was something so strongly characteristic of the old Napoleonist
in the tone of his narrative that I listened throughout with breathless
attention. I began to feel too, for the first time, what a powerful arm
in war the Emperor had created by fostering the spirit of individual
enterprise. The field thus opened to fame and distinction left no bounds
to the ambition of any. The humble conscript, as he tore himself from the
embraces of his mother, wiped his tearful eyes to see before him in the
distance the bâton of a marshal. The bold soldier who stormed a battery
felt his heart beat more proudly and more securely beneath the cordon of
the Legion than behind a cuirass of steel; and to a people in whom the
sense of duty alone would seem cold, barren, and inglorious, he had
substituted a highly-wrought chivalrous enthusiasm; and by the _prestige_
of his own name, the proud memory of his battles, and the glory of those
mighty tournaments at which all Europe were the spectators, he had
converted a nation into an army.
By a silent and instinctive compact we appeared to avoid those topics of
the campaign in which the honor of our respective arms was interested; and
once, when, by mere accident, the youngest of the party adverted to Fuentes
d’Onoro, the old captain adroitly turned the current of the conversation by
saying, “Come, Alphonse, let’s have a song.”
“Yes,” said the other. “_Les Pas de Charge_.”
“No, no,” said the captain; “if I am to have a choice, let it be that
little Breton song you gave us on the Danube.”
“So be it then,” said Alphonse. “Here goes!”
I have endeavored to convey, by a translation, the words he sang; but I
feel conscious how totally their feeling and simplicity are lost when
deprived of their own _patois_, and the wild but touching melody that
accompanied them.
THE BRETON HOME.
When the battle is o’er, and the sounds of fight
Have closed with the closing day,
How happy around the watch-fire’s light
To chat the long hours away;
To chat the long hours away, my boy,
And talk of the days to come,
Or a better still and a purer joy,
To think of our far-off home.
How many a cheek will then grow pale,
That never felt a tear!
And many a stalwart heart will quail,
That never quailed in fear!
And the breast that like some mighty rock
Amidst the foaming sea
Bore high against the battle’s shock
Now heaves like infancy.
And those who knew each other not
Their hands together steal,
Each thinks of some long hallowed spot,
And all like brothers feel:
Such holy thoughts to all are given;
The lowliest has his part;
The love of home, like love of heaven,
Is woven in our heart.
There was a pause as he concluded, each sank in his own reflections. How
long we should have thus remained, I know not; but we were speedily aroused
from our reveries by the tramp of horses near us. We listened, and could
plainly detect in their rude voices and coarse laughter the approach of a
body of Guerillas. We looked from one to the other in silence and in fear.
Nothing could be more unfortunate should we be discovered. Upon this point
we were left little time to deliberate; for with a loud cheer, four Spanish
horsemen galloped up to the spot, their carbines in the rest. The Frenchmen
sprang to their feet, and seized their sabres, bent upon making a resolute
resistance. As for me, my determination was at once taken. Remaining
quietly seated upon the grass, I stirred not for a moment, but addressing
him who appeared to be the chief of the Guerillas, said, in Spanish:--
“These are my prisoners; I am a British officer of dragoons, and my party
is yonder.”
This evidently unexpected declaration seemed to surprise them, and they
conferred for a few moments together. Meanwhile they were joined by two
others, in one of whom we could recognize, by his costume, the real leader
of the party.
“I am captain in the light dragoons,” said I, repeating my declaration.
“_Morte de Dios!_” replied he; “it is false; you are a spy!”
The word was repeated from lip to lip by his party, and I saw, in their
lowering looks and darkened features, that the moment was a critical one
for me.
“Down with your arms!” cried he, turning to the Frenchmen. “Surrender
yourselves our prisoners; I’ll not bid ye twice!”
The Frenchmen turned upon me an inquiring look, as though to say that upon
me now their hopes entirely reposed.
“Do as he bids you,” said I; while at the same moment I sprang to my legs,
and gave a loud, shrill whistle, the last echo of which had not died away
in the distance ere it was replied to.
[Illustration: THE TABLES TURNED.]
“Make no resistance now,” said I to the Frenchmen; “our safety depends on
this.”
While this was passing two of the Spaniards had dismounted, and detaching a
coil of rope which hung from their saddle-peak, were proceeding to tie the
prisoners wrist to wrist; the others, with their carbines to the shoulder,
covered us man by man, the chief of the party having singled out me as his
peculiar prey.
“The fate of Mascarenhas might have taught you better,” said he, “than to
play this game.” And then added with a grim smile, “But we’ll see if an
Englishman will not make as good a carbonado as a Portuguese!”
This cruel speech made my blood run cold, for I knew well to what he
alluded. I was at Lisbon at the time it happened, but the melancholy fate
of Julian Mascarenhas, the Portuguese spy, had reached me there. He was
burned to death at Torres Vedras!
The Spaniard’s triumph over my terror was short-lived, indeed, for scarcely
had the words fallen from his lips, when a party of the Fourteenth,
dashing through the river at a gallop, came riding up. The attitude of the
Guerillas, as they sat with presented arms, was sufficient for my fellows
who needed not the exhortation of him who rode foremost of the party:--
“Ride them down, boys! Tumble them over! Flatten their broad beavers, the
infernal thieves!”
“Whoop!” shouted Mike, as he rode at the chief with the force of a
catapult. Down went the Spaniard, horse and all; and before he could
disentangle himself, Mike was upon him, his knee pressed upon his neck.
“Isn’t it enough for ye to pillage the whole country without robbing the
king’s throops!” cried he, as he held him fast to the earth with one hand,
while he presented a loaded pistol to his face.
By this time the scene around me was sufficiently ludicrous. Such of the
Guerillas as had not been thrown by force from their saddles, had slid
peaceably down, and depositing their arms upon the ground, dropped upon
their knees in a semicircle around us, and amidst the hoarse laughter of
the troopers, and the irrepressible merriment of the Frenchmen, rose up the
muttered prayers of the miserable Spaniards, who believed that now their
last hour was come.
“_Madre de Dios_, indeed!” cried Mike, imitating the tone of a repentant
old sinner in a patched mantle; “it’s much the blessed Virgin thinks of
the like o’ ye, thieves and rogues as ye are; it a’most puts me beyond my
senses to see ye there crossing yourselves like _rale_ Christians.”
If I could not help indulging myself in this retributive cruelty towards
the chief, and leaving him to the tender mercies of Mike, I ordered the
others to rise and form in line before me. Affecting to occupy myself
entirely with them, I withdrew the attention of all from the French
officers, who remained quiet spectators of the scene around them.
“_Point de façons_, gentlemen,” said I, in a whisper. “Get to your horses
and away! Now’s your time. Good-by!”
A warm grasp of the hand from each was the only reply, and I turned once
more to my discomforted friends the Guerillas.
“There, Mike, let the poor devil rise. I confess appearances were strong
against me just now.”
“Well, Captain, are you convinced by this time that I was not deceiving
you?”
The Guerilla muttered some words of apology between his teeth, and while he
shook the dust from his cloak, and arranged the broken feather of his
hat, cast a look of scowling and indignant meaning upon Mike, whose rough
treatment he had evidently not forgiven.
“Don’t be looking at me that way, you black thief! or I’ll--”
“Hold there!” said I; “no more of this. Come, gentlemen, we must be
friends. If I mistake not, we’ve got something like refreshment at our
bivouac. In any case you’ll partake of our watch-fire till morning.”
They gladly accepted our invitation, and ere half an hour elapsed Mike’s
performance in the part of host had completely erased every unpleasant
impression his first appearance gave rise to; and as for myself, when I did
sleep at last, the confused mixture of Spanish and Irish airs which issued
from the thicket beside me, proved that a most intimate alliance had grown
up between the parties.