THE RAMPART.
While such were the scenes passing around me, of my own part in them, I
absolutely knew nothing; for until the moment that the glancing bayonets
of the light division came rushing on the foe, and the loud, long cheer of
victory burst above us, I felt like one in a trance. Then I leaned against
an angle of the rampart, overpowered and exhausted; a bayonet wound, which
some soldier of our own ranks had given me when mounting the breach, pained
me somewhat; my uniform was actually torn to rags; my head bare; of my
sword, the hilt and four inches of the blade alone remained, while my left
hand firmly grasped the rammer of a cannon, but why or wherefore I could
not even guess. As thus I stood, the unceasing tide of soldiery pressed on;
fresh divisions came pouring in, eager for plunder, and thirsting for the
spoil. The dead and the dying were alike trampled beneath the feet of that
remorseless mass, who, actuated by vengeance and by rapine, sprang fiercely
up the breach.
Weak and exhausted, faint from my wound, and overcome by my exertions, I
sank among the crumbling ruin. The loud shouts which rose from the town,
mingled with cries and screams, told the work of pillage was begun; while
still a dropping musketry could be heard on the distant rampart, where even
yet the French made resistance. At last even this was hushed, but to it
succeeded the far more horrifying sounds of rapine and of murder; the
forked flames of burning houses rose here and there amidst the black
darkness of the night; and through the crackling of the timbers, and the
falling crash of roofs, the heart-rending shriek of women rent the very
air. Officers pressed forward, but in vain were their efforts to restrain
their men; the savage cruelty of the moment knew no bounds of restraint.
More than one gallant fellow perished in his fruitless endeavor to enforce
obedience; and the most awful denunciations were now uttered against those
before whom, at any other time, they dared not mutter.
Thus passed the long night, far more terrible to me than all the dangers of
the storm itself, with all its death and destruction dealing around it. I
know not if I slept: if so, the horrors on every side were pictured in my
dreams; and when the gray dawn was breaking, the cries from the doomed city
were still ringing in my ears. Close around me the scene was still
and silent; the wounded had been removed during the night, but the
thickly-packed dead lay side by side where they fell. It was a fearful
sight to see them as, blood-stained and naked (for already the
camp-followers had stripped the bodies), they covered the entire breach.
From the rampart to the ditch, the ranks lay where they had stood in life.
A faint phosphoric flame flickered above their ghastly corpses, making even
death still more horrible. I was gazing steadfastly, with all that stupid
intensity which imperfect senses and exhausted faculties possess, when the
sound of voices near aroused me.
“Bring him along,--this way, Bob. Over the breach with the scoundrel, into
the fosse.”
“He shall die no soldier’s death, by Heaven!” cried another and a deeper
voice, “if I lay his skull open with my axe.”
“Oh, mercy, mercy! as you hope for--”
“Traitor! don’t dare to mutter here!” As the last words were spoken, four
infantry soldiers, reeling from drunkenness, dragged forward a pale and
haggard wretch, whose limbs trailed behind him like those of palsy, his
uniform was that of a French chasseur, but his voice bespoke him English.
“Kneel down there, and die like a man! You were one once!”
“Not so, Bill, never. Fix bayonets, boys! That’s right! Now take the word
from me.”
“Oh, forgive me! for the love of Heaven, forgive me!” screamed the voice of
the victim; but his last accents ended in a death-cry, for as he spoke, the
bayonets flashed for an instant in the air, and the next were plunged into
his body. Twice I had essayed to speak, but my voice, hoarse from shouting,
came not; and I could but look upon this terrible murder with staring eyes
and burning brain. At last speech came, as if wrested by the very excess of
my agony, and I muttered aloud, “O God!” The words were not well-spoken,
when the muskets were brought to the shoulders, and reeking with the blood
of the murdered man, their savage faces scowled at me as I lay.
A short and heart-felt prayer burst from my lips, and I was still. The
leader of the party called out, “Be steady, and together. One, two! Ground
arms, boys! Ground arms!” roared he, in a voice of thunder; “it’s the
captain himself!” Down went the muskets with a crash; while, springing
towards me, the fellows caught me in their arms, and with one jerk mounted
me upon their shoulders, the cheer that accompanied the sudden movement
seeming like the yell of maniacs. “Ha, ha, ha! we have him now!” sang their
wild voices, as, with blood-stained hands and infuriated features, they
bore me down the rampart. My sensations of disgust and repugnance to the
party seemed at once to have evidenced themselves, for the corporal,
turning abruptly round, called out,--
“Don’t _pity_ him, Captain; the scoundrel was a deserter; he escaped from
the picket two nights ago, and gave information of all our plans to the
enemy.”
“Ay,” cried another, “and what’s worse, he fired through an embrasure near
the breach, for two hours, upon his own regiment. It was there we found
him. This way, lads.”
So saying, they turned short from the walls, and dashed down a dark
and narrow lane into the town. My struggles to get free were perfectly
ineffectual, and to my entreaties they were totally indifferent.
In this way, therefore, we made our entrance into the Plaza, where some
hundred soldiers, of different regiments, were bivouacked. A shout of
recognition welcomed the fellows as they came; while suddenly a party of
Eighty-eighth men, springing from the ground, rushed forward with drawn
bayonets, calling out, “Give him up this minute, or, by the Father of
Moses, we’ll make short work of ye!”
The order was made by men who seemed well disposed to execute it; and I was
accordingly grounded with a shock and a rapidity that savored much more
of ready compliance than any respect for my individual comfort. A roar of
laughter rang through the motley mass, and every powder-stained face around
me seemed convulsed with merriment. As I sat passively upon the ground,
looking ruefully about, whether my gestures or my words heightened the
absurdity of my appearance, it is hard to say; but certainly the laughter
increased at each moment, and the drunken wretches danced round me in
ecstasy.
“Where is your major? Major O’Shaughnessy, lads?” said I.
“He’s in the church, with the general, your honor,” said the sergeant of
the regiment, upon whom the mention of his officer’s name seemed at once
to have a sobering influence. Assisting me to rise (for I was weak as a
child), he led me through the dense crowd, who, such is the influence of
example, now formed into line, and as well as their state permitted, gave
me a military salute as I passed. “Follow me, sir,” said the sergeant;
“this little dark street to the left will take us to the private door of
the chapel.”
“Wherefore are they there, Sergeant?”
“There’s a general of division mortally wounded.”
“You did not hear his name?”
“No, sir. All I know is, he was one of the storming party at the lesser
breach.”
A cold, sickening shudder came over me; I durst not ask farther, but
pressed on with anxious steps towards the chapel.
“There, sir, yonder, where you see the light. That’s the door.”
So saying, the sergeant stopped suddenly, and placed his hand to his cap. I
saw at once that he was sufficiently aware of his condition not to desire
to appear before his officers; so, hurriedly thanking him, I walked
forward.
“Halt, there! and give the countersign,” cried a sentinel, who with fixed
bayonet stood before the door.
“I am an officer,” said I, endeavoring to pass in.
“Stand bock, stand bock!” said the harsh voice of the Highlander, for such
he was.
“Is Major O’Shaughnessy in the church?”
“I dinna ken,” was the short, rough answer.
“Who is the officer so badly wounded?”
“I dinna ken,” repeated he, as gruffly as before; while he added, in a
louder key, “Stand bock, I tell ye, man! Dinna ye see the staff coming?”
I turned round hastily, and at the same instant several officers, who
apparently from precaution had dismounted at the end of the street, were
seen approaching. They came hurriedly forward, but without speaking. He
who was in advance of the party wore a short, blue cape over an undress
uniform. The rest were in full regimentals. I had scarcely time to throw a
passing glance upon him, when the officer I have mentioned as coming first
called out in a stern voice,--
“Who are you, sir?”
I started at the sounds; it was not the first time those accents had been
heard by me.
“Captain O’Malley, Fourteenth Light Dragoons.”
“What brings you here, sir? Your regiment is at Caya.”
“I have been employed as acting aide-de-camp to General Crawfurd,” said I,
hesitatingly.
“Is that your staff uniform?” said he, as with compressed brow and stern
look he fixed his eyes upon my coat. Before I had time to reply, or,
indeed, before I well knew how to do so, a gruff voice from behind called
out,--
“Damn me! if that ain’t the fellow that led the stormers through a broken
embrasure! I say, my lord, that’s the yeoman I was telling you of. Is it
not so, sir?” continued he, turning towards me.
“Yes, sir. I led a party of the Eighty-eight at the breach.”
“And devilish well you did it, too!” added Picton, for it was he who
recognized me. “I saw him, my lord, spring down from the parapet upon a
French gunner, and break his sword as he cleft his helmet in two. Yes, yes;
I shall not forget in a hurry how you laid about you with the rammer of the
gun! By Jove! that’s it he has in his hand!”
While Picton ran thus hurriedly on, Lord Wellington’s calm but stern
features never changed their expression. The looks of those around were
bent upon me with interest and even admiration; but his evinced nothing of
either.
Reverting at once to my absence from my post, he asked me,--
“Did you obtain leave for a particular service, sir?”
“No, my lord. It was simply from an accidental circumstance that--”
“Then, report yourself at your quarters as under arrest.”
“But, my lord--” said Picton. Lord Wellington waited not for the
explanation, but walked firmly forward, and strode into the church. The
staff followed in silence, Picton turning one look of kindness on me as he
went, as though to say, “I’ll not forget you.”
“The devil take it,” cried I, as I found myself once more alone, “but
I’m unlucky! What would turn out with other men the very basis of their
fortune, is ever with me the source of ill-luck.”
It was evident, from Picton’s account, that I had distinguished myself
in the breach; and yet nothing was more clear than that my conduct had
displeased the commander-in-chief. Picturing him ever to my mind’s eye as
the _beau idéal_ of a military leader, by some fatality of fortune I was
continually incurring his displeasure, for whose praise I would have
risked my life. “And this confounded costume--What, in the name of every
absurdity, could have ever persuaded me to put it on. What signifies it,
though a man should cover himself with glory, if in the end he is to be
laughed at? Well, well, it matters not much, now my soldiering’s over! And
yet I could have wished that the last act of my campaigning had brought
with it pleasanter recollections.”
As thus I ruminated, the click of the soldier’s musket near aroused me:
Picton was passing out. A shade of gloom and depression was visible upon
his features, and his lip trembled as he muttered some sentences to
himself.
“Ha! Captain--I forget the name. Yes, Captain O’Malley; you are released
from arrest. General Crawfurd has spoken very well of you, and Lord
Wellington has heard the circumstances of your case.”
“Is it General Crawfurd, then, that is wounded, sir?” said I, eagerly.
Picton paused for a moment, while, with an effort, he controlled his
features into their stern and impassive expression, then added hurriedly
and almost harshly:--
Yes, sir; badly wounded through the arm and in the lung. He mentioned you
to the notice of the commander-in-chief, and your application for leave is
granted. In fact, you are to have the distinguished honor of carrying back
despatches. There, now; you had better join your brigade.”
“Could I not see my general once more? It may be for the last time.”
“No, sir!” sternly replied Picton. “Lord Wellington believes you under
arrest. It is as well he should suppose you obeyed his orders.”
There was a tone of sarcasm in these words that prevented my reply; and
muttering my gratitude for his well-timed and kindly interference in my
behalf, I bowed deeply and turned away.
“I say, sir!” said Picton, as he returned towards the church, “should
anything befall,--that is, if, unfortunately, circumstances should make you
in want and desirous of a staff appointment, remember that you are known to
General Picton.”
Downcast and depressed by the news of my poor general, I wended my way with
slow and uncertain steps towards the rampart. A clear, cold, wintry sky and
a sharp, bracing air made my wound, slight as it was, more painful, and
I endeavored to reach the reserves, where I knew the hospital-staff had
established, for the present, their quarters. I had not gone far when, from
a marauding party, I learned that my man Mike was in search of me through
the plain. A report of my death had reached him, and the poor fellow was
half distracted.
Longing anxiously to allay his fears on my account, which I well knew
might lead him into any act of folly or insanity, I pressed forward;
besides--shall I confess it?--amidst the manifold thoughts of sorrow and
affliction which weighed me down, I could not divest myself of the feeling
that so long as I wore my present absurd costume, I could be nothing but an
object of laughter and ridicule to all who met me.
I had not long to look for my worthy follower, for I soon beheld him
cantering about the plain. A loud shout brought him beside me; and
truly the poor fellow’s delight was great and sincere. With a thousand
protestations of his satisfaction, and reiterated assurances of what he
would not have done to the French prisoners if anything had happened me, we
took our way together towards the camp.