"And again behind our lines at Cassano--disguised as a monk?" he added,
with a keen glance.
"Thrown upon that coast by shipwreck, I gladly adopted any disguise
until I could escape."
"Our whole army heard of you, and understood you had been employed as a
spy by the Count of Maida; consequently Massena was enraged at your
escape. Ah! the old Tambour--he is a rough dog! However, monsieur, _I_
do not believe that one who could fight so gallantly at Maida, would
stoop to act a dishonourable part."
"Yet, will monsieur be so good as explain," said another officer, "how
we find him here; without the lines drawn round Scylla, to the garrison
of which he says he belongs--and why in the garb of a Calabrian?"
Indignant at the suspicious nature of these queries, and unused to the
humiliating situation of a prisoner, I replied briefly and haughtily;
relating how I had missed the boat--a story which none of them seemed to
believe. A whisper ran round, and the offensive term "_espion_" brought
the blood rushing to my cheek.
"Monsieur le general," said I, with a sternness of manner which secured
their respect, "will, I trust--in memory of that day at Maida--be so
generous as to send me, on parole, to Messina, where I may treat about
an exchange; by doing so, he will confer a lasting obligation, which the
fortune of war may soon put it in my power to repay."
"I deeply regret that to General Regnier I must refer you--he alone can
grant your request. As we move instantly on Scylla, you must be
transmitted to head-quarters without delay, and under escort.
Appearances are much against you; but I trust matters will be cleared
up. Chataillion," said he to his aide, "help the gentleman to wine and
a cigar, while I write a rough outline of this affair to monsieur le
general."
Commanding my feelings and features, I drank a glass or two of wine,
while the general, taking pen and ink from his sabretache, wrote a hasty
note to Regnier.
"Chataillion," said he, while folding it, "order a corporal and a file
of lances."
The vicomte went up to the first regiment of the brigade, and returned
with the escort.
"In the charge of these soldiers, you must be sent to Seminara, where I
trust your parole will be accepted in consequence of this note: though
monsieur le general and monseigneur le marechal are far from being well
disposed towards you; especially for the last affair with the voltigeurs
of the 23rd. Ah! Regnier's son Philip was shot at Bagnara--poor boy!
Adieu! May we meet under more agreeable circumstances;" and giving the
letter to the corporal, Compere sprang into his saddle, and left me. His
aide-de-camp, the Vicomte de Chataillion, seeing how deeply I was cast
down, expressed regret at having been my capturer. "But monsieur will
perceive," said he, with a most insinuating smile, "that I was only
doing my duty. You cannot travel on foot with a mounted escort--it
would be dishonourable; and as I have a spare horse, you are welcome to
it: on reaching Seminara, or even the frontiers, you can return it with
the corporal.--Adieu!" And we parted.
The frontier! distraction! I could scarcely thank the young Frenchman:
but memory yet recalls his gallant presence and commanding features--one
of the true old noblesse. How different he was from Pepe, Regnier,
Massena, and many others; whom the madness and crimes of the Revolution
had raised to place and power, from the dregs of the French people.
With a little ostentation, the lancers loaded their pistols before me,
and in five minutes I was _en route_ for Seminara, with a file on each
side and the corporal riding behind. I often looked back: Compere's
brigade were riding in sections towards the hills, with all their lance
heads and bright accoutrements glittering in the sun; while the fanfare
of the trumpets, the clash of the cymbals, and the roll of the
kettle-drums, rang in the woods of Palmi. They were moving towards
Scylla, and my heart swelled when I thought of my helplessness and of
poor Bianca; the hope of Regnier accepting my parole alone sustained me:
but that hope was doomed to be cruelly disappointed.
By the way we passed many ghastly objects, which announced the
commencement of that savage war of extermination which General Manhes
afterwards prosecuted in the Calabrias. Many armed peasantry had been
shot like beasts of prey, wherever the French fell in with them; and
their bodies hung on the trees we passed under, while their grisly heads
were stuck on poles by the roadside. Some were in iron cages, and,
reduced to bare skulls, grinned through the rusty ribs like spectres
through barred helmets; while the birds of prey, screaming and flapping
their wings over them, increased the gloomy effect such objects must
necessarily have upon one's spirits.
The morning was balmy and beautiful, the sun hot and bright, the sky
cloudless and of the palest azure; light fleecy vapour floated along the
distant horizon, where the sea lay gleaming in green and azure: but
never had I a more unpleasant ride than that from Compere's bivouac. I
often looked round me, in the desperate hope that a sudden attack of
robbers or loyal paesani would set me free; though warned by the
corporal that on the least appearance of an attempt at rescue he would
shoot me dead. But Regnier had effectually cleared and scoured the
country, and we passed no living being, save an old Basilian pilgrim,
travelling barefooted, perhaps on his way to the Eternal City; and once,
in the distance, a solitary bandit on the look-out, perched on the
summit of a rock like a lonely heron. The bells of the mountain goats,
the hum of the bee or the flap of the wild bird's wing, and the dull
tramp of our horses on the grassy way, alone broke the silence. My
escort were solemn and taciturn Poles, who never addressed a word either
to me or to each other; so my gloomy cogitations were uninterrupted till
we entered Seminara, when the scene changed.
The town was crowded with soldiers, and all the populace had fled:
cavalry, infantry, artillery, sappeurs, voltigeurs, and military
artizans, thronged on every hand; shirts and belts were drying at every
window, and the air was thickened by pipe clay and tobacco-smoke, while
the sound of drums, bugles, and trumpets mingled with shouts and
laughter, rang through the whole place--noise and uproar reigning on all
sides. The great Greek abbey and cathedral were littered with straw for
cavalry horses; the principal street was blocked up by waggons,
caissons, tumbrils, pontoons, mortars, and the whole of that immense
battering train concentrated for the especial behoof of my brave little
band at Scylla: whither it would be conveyed the moment the roads were
completed.
A strong guard of grenadiers stationed before the best house in the
town, announced it to be the quarters of the general. They belonged to
the 62nd of the French line. In front of the mansion stood thirty
pieces of beautiful brass cannon: the same which the French threw into
the sea on abandoning Scylla, when, in the year following, the British
beleaguered it under Lieutenant-Colonel Smith, 27th regiment. I was
ushered by the corporal into the general's presence, and found him just
finishing breakfast: he had pushed away his last cup of chocolate,
placed his foot on the braciere, and was composing himself to resume
reading the _Moniteur_, while his servant, a grenadier in blue uniform,
with rough iron-grey moustaches cleared the table. On the wall hung a
bombastic bulletin of Napoleon, dated 27th December, 1806:--
"The Neapolitan dynasty has ceased to reign! its existence is
incompatible with the repose of Europe and the honour of our crown.
Soldiers, march! and _if_ they will await your attack, drive into the
sea those feeble battalions _of the tyrants of the ocean_--lose no time
in making all Italy subject to my arms!"
Probably the _Moniteur_ contained some unpleasant account of our
brilliant success in other parts of the world; for the temper of the
general was soured, and he regarded me with a most vinegar-like aspect,
when the corporal ushered me in. I bowed coldly; he answered only by a
stern glance, spread his hands behind his coat tails, and leaned against
the mantel-piece.
"Ouf! a prisoner of war," said he, and scanning me at intervals, while
reading the letter of Compere.
"Your name and rank?"
"Dundas, captain of the 62nd regiment of the line, and commandant of the
castle of Scylla, for his Majesty Ferdinand IV."
"Ouf! the very man we wanted! You were caught on the shore near Palmi?"
"Yes, when left there by the boat of the _Electra_ frigate, and merely
meaning to make a reconnoissance, (until daybreak enabled us to put to
sea) I penetrated"--
"A deuced lame story! Bah! you were merely making a reconnoissance at
Canne too, I suppose? Ha! ha! well, we will cure you of that propensity
for the future."
"I request to be liberated on my parole."
"A spy on parole! Ouf!"
"Scoundrel!" I exclaimed, losing all temper, "I am a gentleman--a
British officer."
"Sacre coquin! men of honour do not prowl in the rear of an enemy's
chain de quartiers in disguise: where is your uniform?"