affected, having received all the accomplishments that it was in the
power of their slighted and brow-beaten governess, the daughter of a
good but unfortunate family, to impart to them. They gave parties that
Ronald might show off the uniform of the Gordon Highlanders, and played
and sung to him in their best style; while he drew many comparisons
between them and the Alice whose miniature he wore in his bosom, by
which they lost immensely; and while listening to their confused foreign
airs and songs, he thought how much sweeter and more musical were the
tones of Alice Lisle, when she sung "The Birks of Invermay," or any
other melody of the mountains, making his heart vibrate to her words.
But even in the Castle of Edinburgh Ronald had recently made a friend,
whose society, in spite of military and Highland gallantry, he preferred
to that of the daughters of Macquirk.
Among the French captives within the stockade, he had frequently
observed a young officer who remained apart from the rest, the deep
dejection and abstraction of whose air gained him the readily excited
sympathy of the young Highlander. He was a tall, handsome, well-shaped
young man, with regular features, dark eyes, and a heavy black moustache
on his upper lip. He wore the uniform of Napoleon's famous Imperial
Guards; but the once gay epaulette and lace were much worn and faded. He
wore a long scarlet forage-cap, adorned with a band, a tassel falling
over his right shoulder. The gold cross of the Legion of Honour dangling
at his breast showed that he had seen service, and distinguished
himself.
He had more than once observed the peculiar look with which Ronald
Stuart had eyed him; and on one occasion, with the politeness of his
nation, he gracefully touched his cap. The Scotsman bowed, and beckoned
him to a retired part of the palisado.
"Can you speak our language, sir?" asked he.
"Oh, yes, Monsieur officier," replied the Frenchman; "I have learned it
in the prison."
"I regret much to see you, an officer, placed here among the common rank
and file. How has such an event come to pass? Can I in any way assist
you?"
"Monsieur, I thank you; you are very good, but it is not possible,"
stammered the Frenchman in confusion, his sun-burned cheek reddening
while he spoke. "_Croix Dieu!_ yours are the first words of true
kindness that I have heard since I left my own home, in our pleasant
France. O monsieur, I could almost weep! I am degraded among my
fellow-soldiers, my _freres d'armes_. I have broken my parole of
honour, and am placed among the private men; confined within this
palisado by day, and these dark vaults by night,"--pointing to the
ancient dungeons which lie along the south side of the rocks, and are
the most antique part of the fortress. These gloomy places were the
allotted quarters of the French prisoners in Edinburgh.
"I have been placed here in consequence of a desperate attempt I made to
escape from the depot (Greenlaw,[*] I think it is named,) at the foot of
these high mountains. I perceive you pity me, monsieur, and indeed I am
very miserable."
[*] A village near Edinburgh, where barracks were constructed in 1810
for some thousands of French prisoners. The buildings are now quite
deserted, and no trace remains of their former inhabitants, except a
monument, with an appropriate inscription, erected by the proprietor of
Valley-Field-mill over the remains of 300 French soldiers, interred in
the most beautiful part of the grounds.
"I dare swear the penance of captivity is great; but 'tis the fortune of
war, and may be my own chance very soon."
"Ah, monsieur!" said the Frenchman despondingly, "to me it is as death.
But 'tis not the _mal-du-pays_, the home-sickness, so common among the
Switzers and you Scots, that preys upon my heart. Did you know my story,
and all that afflicts me, your surprise at the dejection in which I
appear sunk, would cease. I endure much misery here: our prison
allowance is scant, my uniform is all gone to rags, and I have not
wherewith to procure other clothing. We are debarred from many
comforts--" The blood rose to the temples of the speaker, who suddenly
ceased on perceiving that Ronald had drawn forth his purse. He could
ill spare the money, but he pressed it upon the Frenchman, by whom after
much hesitation the gift was accepted.
"It was not my intention to have excited your charity," said he; "but I
take the purse as a gift from one brother soldier to another, and will
share it among my poor comrades. Though our nations be at war, _freres
d'armes_ we all are, monsieur; and should it ever be in his power, by
Heaven and St. Louis! Victor d'Estouville will requite your kindness. If
by the fortune, or rather misfortune, of war, you ever become a prisoner
in my native country, you will find that the memory of _la Garde
Ecossaise_ and your brave nation, which our old kings loved so long and
well, and the sufferings of the fair Marie, are not yet forgotten in _la
belle France_."
"I trust my destiny will never lead me to a captivity in France, or
elsewhere. But keep a stout heart: the next cartel that brings an
exchange of prisoners, may set you free."
"_Mon Dieu_! I know not what may have happened at home before that
comes to pass. Monsieur, you have become my friend, and have therefore
a right to my confidence; my story shall be related to you as briefly as
possible. My name is d'Estouville. I am descended from one of the best
families in France, of which my ancestors were peers, and possessed
large estates in the province of Normandy,--a name which finds an echo,
methinks, in your sister kingdom. By the late revolution, in which my
father lost his life, all our lands were swept from us, with the
exception of a small cottage in the neighbourhood of Henriqueville,
situated in the fertile valley where the thick woods and beautiful
vineyards lie intermingled along the banks of the winding Seine; and to
this spot my poor mother with her fatherless children retired. Ah,
monsieur! 'twas a charming little place: methinks I see it now, the
low-roofed cottage, with the vines and roses growing round its roof and
chimneys, and in at the little lattices that glistened in the
sunshine,--every green lane and clump of shadowy trees, and every silver
rill around it.
"Living by our own industry, we were happy enough; my brother and myself
increased in strength and manliness, as my sisters did in beauty; and
the sweetness of my noble mother's temper, together with the quiet and
unassuming tenour of our lives, rendered us the favourites of all the
inhabitants of the valley of Lillebonne.
"Monsieur, I loved a fair girl in our neighbourhood, a near relation of
my own,--Diane de Montmichel, a beautiful brunette, with dark hair and
sparkling eyes. Oh! could we but see Diane now!
"_Mon Dieu_! The very day on which I was to have wedded her was fixed,
and the future seemed full of every happiness; but the great Emperor
wanted men to fight his battles, and by one conscription the whole youth
of the valley of Lillebonne were drawn away. My brother and myself were
among them. Ah, monsieur! Napoleon thinks not of the agony of French
mothers, and the bitter tears that are wept for every conscription.
Britain recruits her armies with thousands of free volunteers, who tread
by their own free will the path of honour. France--but we will not talk
of this. Our poor peasant boys were torn from their cottages and
vineyards, from the arms of their parents and friends; we felt our
hearts swelling within us, but to resist was to die. O monsieur! what
must have been the thoughts of my high-minded mother, when she beheld
her sons--the sons of a noble peer of old France--drawn from her roof to
carry the musquet as private soldiers--"
"And Diane de Montmichel?--"
"In a few months I found myself fighting the battles of the great
Emperor as a soldier of his Imperial Guard, the flower of _la belle
France_. In our first engagement with the enemy my brave brother
fell--poor Henri! But why should I regret him? He fell gaining fame for
France, and died nobly with the eagle on his breast, and the folds of
the tricolour waving over him. Since then I have distinguished myself,
was promoted, and received from the hand of Napoleon this gold cross,
which had once hung on his own proud breast. I received it amidst the
dead and the dying, on a field where the hot blood of brave men had been
poured forth as water. From that moment I was more than ever his
devoted soldier. He had kindled in my breast the fire of martial
ambition, which softer love had caused to slumber. I now looked forward
joyously to quick promotion, and my return to poor Diane and my mother's
vine-covered cot in happy Lillebonne. But my hopes were doomed to be
blasted. I was taken prisoner in an unlucky charge, and transmitted
with some thousand more to this country.
"O monsieur! not even the pledge of my most sacred honour as a gentleman
and soldier could bind me while love and ambition filled my heart. I
mourned the monotonous life of a military prisoner, and fled from the
depot at Greenlaw; but I was retaken a day after, and sent to this
strong fortress, where for three long and weary years I have been
confined among the common file. O monsieur!--Diane--my mother--my
sisters! what sad changes may not have happened among them in that
time?"
He covered his face for a moment with his hand to hide his emotion.
"Adieu, monsieur! Should we ever meet where it is in my power to return
your kindness, you will find that I can be grateful, and remember that
in his distress you regarded Victor d'Estouville, not as a Frenchman and
an enemy, but as a brother _officier_ under misfortunes."
He ceased, and bowing low, retired from the palisado to mingle among the
prisoners.
Since his arrival in the capital, Ronald had received many letters from
home, but none from Alice Lisle; he was deterred from writing to her,
fearing that his letters might fall into other hands than her own, and
he grew sad as the day of embarkation drew near and he heard not from
the fair girl, whose little miniature afforded him a pleasing object for
contemplation in his melancholy moods.
On the morning after the arrival of the route, Ronald was awakened from
sleep about day-break by the sound of the bagpipe, which in his dreaming
ear carried him home: he almost fancied himself at Lochisla, and that
old Iverach was piping to the morning sun, when other sounds caused him
to start. He sprang up, and looked from the lofty old window into the
gloomy court of the castle. Ronald Macdonuil-dhu, the piper, was
blowing forth the regimental gathering, the wild notes of which were
startling the echoes of the ancient fortress and rousing the soldiers,
who were thronging forth in heavy marching order, as the military term
is,--completely accoutred.
"Come, Stuart, my boy, turn up!" cried Alister Macdonald, a brother
ensign, who entered the room unceremoniously, "you will be late; we
march in ten minutes, and then good-by to the crowded ball-rooms and
fair girls of Edinburgh."
"I had no idea the morning was so far advanced," replied Ronald,
dressing himself as fast as possible. "There goes the roll of the drum
now; why--they are falling in."
"The deuce! I must go, or our hot-headed commander, the major, may
forget that I am a kinsman from the Isle of the Mist. This morning he
is as cross as a bear with a sore head, and expends his ill-humour on
the acting adjutant, who in turn expends his on the men. There is the
sound of Black Ronald's pipe again; I must be off," and he left the
apartment.
"Come, Evan, bustle about, and get me harnessed! Push this belt under my
epaulette, bring me my sword and bonnet; be quick, will you?" cried
Ronald to his follower, who, accoutred for the march with his heavy
knapsack on his back, entered the room. "You will look after the
baggage. Where are the trunks, and other _et caetera_?"
"A' on the road to Leith twa hoors syne."
"What, in the dark?"
"Ay, maister, just in the dark. Three muckle carts, piled like towers,
wi' kists and wives an' weans on the tap, an' pans and camp-kettles
jingling frae ilka neuk and corner,--an' unco like flitten' as ever I
saw."
With Evan's assistance his master was garbed and armed. On descending
to the castle square, he found the detachment, to the number of three
hundred men, formed in line, motionless and silent. Ronald was
particularly struck with the martial and service-like appearance of the
Highlanders, by the combination which their costume exhibits of the
"garb of old Gaul" with the rich uniform of Great Britain. The plumed
bonnets, drooping gracefully over the right shoulder, the dark tartan,
the hairy purses, the glittering appointments, and long line of muscular
bare knees, together with the gloomy and antique buildings of the
fortress, formed a scene at once wild and picturesque; but Ronald had
little time for surveying it.
There is something peculiarly gallant and warlike in the dashing
appearance of our Highland soldiers, which brings to the mind the
recollections of those days when the swords of our ancestors swept
before them the martial legions of Rome,--imperial Rome, whose arms had
laid prostrate the powers of half a world,--of the later deeds of
Bannockburn, and many other battles,--the remembrance of our ancient
kings and regal independence,--all "the stirring memory of a thousand
years," raising a flush of proud and tumultuous feelings in the breast
of every Scotsman who beholds in these troops the brave representatives
of his country; troops who, in every clime under the sun, have
maintained untarnished her ancient glory and her name. So thought
Ronald, and he was proud to consider himself one of them, as he drew his
sword and took his place in the ranks.
The rattling bayonets were fixed, and flashed in the morning sun, as the
muskets were shouldered and "sloped," the line broke into sections, and
moving off to the stirring sound of the fife and drum, began to descend
the steep and winding way to the gate of the fortress.
The idea of departing for foreign service had something elevating and
exciting in it, which pleased the minds of all, but roused to the utmost
the romantic spirit of Ronald Stuart, whose ear was pleased with the
tread of the marching feet and sharp roll of the drums resounding in the
hollow archway; as was his eye, with the waving feathers and glittering
weapons of the head of the little column, as they descended the pathway
towards the city.
As they passed through the latter towards Leith, the streets were almost
empty, none being abroad at that early hour, save here and there, within
the ancient royalty, an old city guardsman, armed with his Lochaber axe;
but the head of many a drowsy citizen in his nightcap appeared at the
windows, from which many an eye gazed with that interest which the
embarkation of troops for the seat of war always called forth; for many
were marching there who were doomed to leave their bones in the distant
soil of the Frank or Spaniard. Many relatives and friends of the
soldiers accompanied their march, and Ronald was witness of many a
painful parting between those who might never meet again.
"O my bairn! my puir deluded bairn!" exclaimed an aged woman wildly, as
she rushed into the ranks with her grey hairs falling over her face, and
with streaming eyes, clasped a son round the neck; "O lang, lang will it
be till I see ye again; and oh, when you are far awa frae bonnie
Glencorse, wha will tend ye as your auld forsaken mither has dune? she
that has toiled, and watched ower, and prayed for ye, since ye first saw
the licht. O Archy, my doo, speak; let me hear your voice for the last
time!"
"God be wi' ye, mither! O leave me! or my heart will burst in twa,"
sobbed the poor fellow, while some of his more thoughtless comrades
endeavoured by jests and ill-timed merriment to raise his drooping
spirits; and many a hearty but sorrowful "Gude by," and "Fareweel," was
interchanged on all sides as they passed along. The sun was high in the
sky when they halted on the beach at Leith, and above a thick morning
mist, which rested on the face of the water, Ronald saw the lofty taper
spars and smart rigging of the large transport, which lay out in the
stream, with her white canvas hanging loose, and "blue peter" flying at
the foremast-head.
As boat after boat, with its freight of armed men, was pulled off
towards the vessel, shouts loud and long arose from the sailors and
idlers on the pier and quays; and stirring were the cheers in reply
which arose from the boats and floated along the surface of the river,
as the Highlanders waved their bonnets in farewell to those they left
behind. Certainly, like many others, Ronald did not feel at his ease
when on board the vessel, and he became confused with the tramp of feet,
the bustle, the rattle of arms, the loud chaunt of the sailors weighing
anchor, the clash of the windlass pals, the pulling, hauling, ordering
and swearing on all sides,--sights and sounds to him alike new and
wonderful. The smell of tar, grease, bilge-water, tobacco, and a
hundred other disagreeable odours, assailed him, and he felt by
anticipation the pleasures of sea-sickness.
As soon as the anchor swung suspended at the bow, the yards were braced
sharp up, the canvas filled, and the ripple which arose at the bow
announced the vessel under way. She slowly passed the light-house which
terminates the old stone pier, and rounding the strong Martello tower,
moved down the glassy waters of the broad and noble Forth.
The officers were grouped together on the poop, and their soldiers lined
the side of the vessel, gazing on the city towering above the morning
mist, which was rolling heavily and slowly along the bases of the hills
in huge white volumes. The frowning and precipitous front of the bold
craigs of Salisbury,--the still greater elevation of Arthur's lofty
cone,--the black and venerable fortress,--the tall spires and houses of
the city,--the romantic hills of Braid,--the wooded summit of
Corstorphine, and the undulating line of the gigantic Pentlands, were
all objects which riveted their attention; and many a brave man was
there whose heart swelled within him, while he gazed, for the last time
perhaps, on the green mountains and ancient capital of Caledonia.
*CHAPTER VI.*
*FOREIGN SERVICE.*
"Who had followed, stout and stern,
Through the battle's rout and reel,
Storm of shot and hedge of steel,
The gallant grandson of Lochiel,
Valiant _Fassifern_."
_Scott_.
A month or two more found Ronald with his comrades, after being landed
at Lisbon, pursuing their route through Portugal to join their regiment,
then campaigning in Estremadura with the division of Sir Rowland Hill.
Every where the ravages of the ruthless French were visible as they
marched onwards. At Santarem, Punhete, Abrantes, and many other places,
they viewed with surprise and pity the pale features of the starving
inhabitants, the fire-blackened walls, the roofless streets or utterly
deserted villages, from which every thing had been carried off or given
to destruction by the French in their retreat. Ancient churches and
stately convents had been turned into stables, where cavalry horses and
baggage-mules chewed their wretched forage of chopped straw, and reposed
on the lettered stones, beneath which slept the proud cavaliers and
brave Hidalgos of old Lusitania.
When they looked on these scenes of desolation, and considered the
desecration of every thing whether sacred or profane, their hearts grew
sick within them; and they thought of the happy isle which they had left
behind, where such horrors are unknown--unknown to the mercantile
citizens, who grudge so much the miserable pittance received by the poor
soldier.
In their route through these places they were welcomed by no sign of
merriment, no joyful cheering, from those whom they had come to free
from the iron grasp of Buonaparte; they were greeted with no welcome
save the sepulchral tolling of some cathedral or chapel bell,--the
waving of white kerchiefs or veils from the grated lattice of some
convent which had escaped the ravagers, when their walls rung to the
sound of the drum and war pipe,--the muttered benison of some old
_Padre_, as he viewed with surprise the bare knees, the wild and martial
garb, of the men of Albyn, and the gigantic proportions of the officer
who commanded them. Major Campbell was a handsome Highlander, of a most
muscular make and herculean form. His dark hair was becoming grizzled,
for he was nearly fifty years of age, and his nutbrown cheek had been
tanned by the sun and storm in many a varied clime. From the strength
of his arm and the length of his sword (a real Andrea Ferrara,[*] with
the maker's name on the blade) he was a most uncomfortable antagonist at
close quarters, as many of the French and others had found to their
cost; but Campbell never drew his Andrea unless when he found himself
pressed, but made use of a short oak stick furnished with a heavy knob
at the end, which he had cut in one of the wild forests of Argyleshire,
and always retained and carried with him, as a relic and memorial of his
native mountains.
[*] These swords are often worn by the officers of our Highland corps,
the old blades being polished and set in new regimental basket-hilts.
It was towards the end of a chilly day in the spring of 1812, that the
major's detachment halted in the ancient city of Albuquerque, where they
spent their first night in Spain. This old frontier town is situated in
the slope of the Sierra de Montanches, a ridge of mountains in
Estremadura. By a miracle, or little short of it, it had escaped better
than other places the ravages of the French, who had left the roofs on
all the houses, which were, however, gutted of every thing of value. In
general the outrages of Napoleon's troops were less flagrant in Spain
than in Portugal, from a wish to conciliate the former, and render them,
as of old, friends and allies. Owing to the eminence on which the city
is situated, its streets are much cleaner than those of Spanish towns
generally, where the thoroughfares are cleared of the mud and filth that
encumber them by the rain, which in Albuquerque, when it falls heavily,
sweeps every thing down the causewayed slopes to the bed of the
Guadiana, which flows past the foot of the city. An ancient castle, as
old probably as the days of Roderick "the last of the Goths," stands
upon the summit of a rock above the town; and around its base are the
streets, ill paved, dark, and narrow,--well fitted for Spanish deeds of
assassination and robbery. By an order from the _alcalde_, the
Highlanders were billeted upon different houses, and Ronald Stuart and
Major Campbell were both quartered in the same mansion, the _patron_ of
which, Senor Narvaez Cifuentes (as he styled himself), kept a shop for
retailing the country wine. Many goodly pigskins filled with it were
ranged upon the rickety shelves of his store, from the ruinous rafters
of which hung some thousands of tempting bunches of dried grapes, and
many of these fell kindly down at Campbell's feet when the old house
shook with his heavy tread.
The patron, in appearance, was not quite what one should wish a host to
be, especially in a strange country. His stature was low, his face was
so swarthy as to resemble that of a negro in darkness; his moustaches
were thick, fierce, and black, mingling with the matted hair of his huge
bullet-head. He wore a long stiletto (openly) in the yellow worsted sash
which encircled his waist, and the haft of a knife appeared within the
breast of his doublet, or sort of vest with sleeves, which was, like the
rest of his attire, in a very dilapidated condition; and altogether, the
Senor Narvaez Cifuentes displayed more of the bravo or bandit, than the
saint in his appearance.
He was, nevertheless, a rattling jolly sort of fellow, especially for a
Spaniard; he sung songs and staves without number to entertain his
guests, who scarcely comprehended a word of them; and to show his
loyalty, emptied many a horn to the health of Ferdinand VII., to the
freedom of Spain, and to the eternal confusion of the French,
compelling, with rough and unceremonious hospitality, Stuart and the
major to do so likewise, until they had well nigh each imbibed the
contents of a pigskin,--the common vessel for containing wine in Spain,
where neither bottles nor flasks are used, but the simple invention of a
pigskin, sewn up with the hair inside, which, when full, looks not
unlike the bag of the Scottish piper, from its black, bloated, and
greasy appearance.
Almost reeling with the effects of their potations, they were shown by
the patron to their chamber, where their bedding consisted only of a
blanket and mattress.