astonished sentry, and grasping him by the hand.
*CHAPTER XVII.*
*A MEETING.*
"Our fathers contended in war; but we meet together at the feast. Our
swords are turned on the foe of our land: he melts before us on the
field. Let the days of our fathers be forgot, hero of Mossy
Strumon."--_Ossian_.
Around the ample fire, on which a succession of billets and crackling
branches were continually heaped, were grouped some seventy or eighty
soldiers--Gordon Highlanders, as was evident from their yellow facings,
and the stripes of their tartan. The fairness of their complexions and
the bright colour of their untarnished uniform served likewise to show
that they had but recently arrived from Great Britain. Some lay fast
asleep between the piles or bells of arms, while others crowded round
the fire conversing in that low voice, and behaving in that restrained
manner, which the presence of an officer always imposes on British
soldiers.
The officer himself sat close by the watch-fire, which shone brightly on
his new epaulets and other gay appointments. His plumed bonnet lay
beside him on the turf, and his fair curly hair glistened in the flame,
which revealed the handsome and delicate but rosy features of a very
young man--one perhaps not much above seventeen years of age. He was
laughing and conversing with the soldiers near him in that easy manner
which at once shows the frankness of the gentleman and soldier, and
which is duly appreciated by those in the ranks, although it tends in no
way to lessen the respect due to the epaulet. A black pig-skin lay near
him, from which he was regaling himself, allowing also some of the
soldiers to squeeze the liquor into their wooden canteens.
On Ronald Stuart's approach, the sudden apparition of an officer in the
uniform of their own regiment, coming they knew not whence, created no
small surprise in the little bivouac; and the sudden murmur and
commotion which arose among them, caused the young officer to turn his
head and look around him.
"Ronald--Ronald Stuart!" he exclaimed in well-known accents, as he
sprang lightly from the green turf, his eyes sparkling with surprise and
joy; "how have you come so unexpectedly upon us?"
"Ah, Louis, my old friend! and you have really joined us, to follow the
pipe and the drum?" replied Stuart, grasping his hand, and longing to
embrace him as he would have done a brother; but the presence of so many
restrained him, and he contented himself with gazing fondly on the face
of his early friend, and tracing in his fine features the resemblance he
bore to his sister. The expression was the same, but the eyes and hair
of Alice Lisle were dark; the eyes of Louis were light blue, and his
hair was fair,--of that soft tint between yellow and auburn. His
features, of course, possessed not that exquisite feminine delicacy
which appeared in the fair face of Alice, but yet the family likeness
was striking, and pleasing for Ronald Stuart to contemplate and
recognise.
"He has her very accent and voice," thought he. "Well, Louis! and how
are all at home among the mountains? Does old Benmore keep his head in
the mist as usual?"
"All were well when I left in January last, and I dare say the red deer
and muirfowl keep jubilee in our absence, for sad havock we used to make
among them."
The soldiers, to allow them the freedom of conversation, respectfully
fell back, and clustered round Evan Iverach, who, after he had paid his
rustic compliments "to his auld friend Maister Lisle, frae the
Inch-house," began to regale his gaping countrymen with an exaggerated
narrative of his late adventures in Spain, and many a "Hoigh! Oich!
Eigh!" and other Scottish interjections of wonder, he called forth as he
proceeded.
After a hearty draught from the borachio-skin, many were the questions
asked and answers given about home and absent friends; and Ronald's
account of his rencontres and adventures with Cifuentes, certainly did
not impress Louis Lisle with a very high opinion of the state of society
and civilization generally in Spain.
"This must be a strange country," observed he, "when fellows can rove
about plundering and rieving, as Rob Roy and the Serjeant Mhor used to
do in our grandfathers' days. And the villains from whom you have
suffered so much are still lurking in that dark forest of cork trees?"
"Yes; their fastness is in the heart of it. If the rules of the service
sanctioned such a proceeding, I would with this party of ours surround
the wood, hunt out the rascals from their lair, and put every one of
them to death."
"But Lord Wellington--"
"Would make it a general court-martial affair. But there is a time for
every thing, and this Spanish robber and I may meet again."
"Spain appears a wretched country to campaign in?"
"Truly it is so."
"I liked Lisbon pretty well; and found much amusement in frequenting the
assembly-room, the Italian opera-house, the theatre, and circus for the
bull-fights."
"Faith! I saw none of these things, Louis; my purse is scarcely so deep
as yours. And the public promenades, you visited them doubtless?"
"The trees and shrubbery are beautifully arranged; but I cannot admire
the ladies of Lisbon, they are so little, so meagre and tawny."
"You will like Spain better. Hand me the pigskin, if you please."
"I have not been very favourably impressed by what I have seen of it.
The roads on our route are all but impassable,--mere sheep-tracks in
some places; and the posadas are the most wretched to be imagined."
"Rather different from the snug 'Old George' at Perth, with its portly
landlord, bowing waiters, and smiling hostess."
"Rather so; and tiresome indeed I found the march thus far,--the towns
in ruins, and between them immense desert tracts, where neither a house,
a human being, nor a vestige of cultivation was to be seen."
"But it was a useless order to march your detachment thus far to the
westward, when the division is retreating. You could have joined at
Portalagre."
"I am aware of it; but to march and join the regiment without delay were
the orders given me by the commandant at Portalagre. By my route, this
day's march should have ended at Merida; but a muleteer, to my no small
surprise, informed us of its being in possession of the French; and
having no one to consult, I felt at a loss how to act, and halted here."
"'Twas rash of the surly old commandant to send so young and
inexperienced an officer in charge of a detachment through a foreign
country; but those fellows on the staff, who skulk in the rear, have
never the true interest of the service at heart."
"And Sir Rowland Hill is retiring on the Portuguese frontier?"
"_En route_, I believe, for Ciudad Rodrigo, where Lord Wellington means
to give battle to Marmont. The troops are marching from all points to
join him, and we may soon have the glory of being actors in a general
engagement."
"Well; and this place Merida--"
"Is possessed by three or four troops of French lancers: I saw them
enter last night. You have acted most prudently in halting here, as a
skirmish with so numerous a party was well avoided. But we shall
probably have the pleasure of seeing them prisoners of war, when our
people come up in the course of to-morrow. I shall make a tour round
the sentries in a few minutes, and see that they are on the alert, and
then retire to roost under that laurel bush: I feel quite worn out with
my last night's affair."
"You must act for yourself now, Stuart. Should any thing occur, you of
course take command of the party," replied Louis drily, and in a tone
totally different from that of his late observations.
"Ay, Louis; I am a senior sub, you know," said Ronald, colouring at the
other's tone.
"What sort of man is Cameron of Fassifern?" asked Louis abruptly, after
a long pause.
"A true soldier every inch; and a prouder Highlander never drew a
sword."
"Fierce and haughty, is he not?"
"Yes, but a perfect gentleman withal. You will find the most of ours
very fine fellows,--young men of birth and blood, fire and animation;
and you will be charmed with the appearance of the regiment. 'Tis
indeed a splendid corps."
Another long and perplexing pause ensued, while an expression of doubt
and perturbation began to cloud the faces of both. Need I say that
Alice,--Alice Lisle, of whom neither had yet spoken, was the cause?
Although until now he had disguised it, Lisle's indignation was bitterly
aroused to find that Ronald conversed on a variety of topics with an air
of lightness, and asked a thousand questions about friends at home in
Perthshire, yet that never once had the name of Alice passed his lips.
His pride was roused, and consequently he determined not to be the first
to speak of his sister, and the anger which was swelling in his heart
caused him to assume a distant and haughty behaviour towards his friend,
who considered it but a confirmation of the report which he had seen in
the _Edinburgh Journal_; and _his_ mountain pride and indignant feelings
were likewise roused, making him, in turn, display a cold distance of
manner to one whom he had ever regarded as his earliest and dearest,
almost only friend and companion,--as his very brother.
And this was the happy meeting to which both had so ardently looked
forward as a source of pleasure for some time past!
* * * * *
"Truly," thought Ronald, "my father's old-fashioned prejudices were not
without a cause; these Lisles of Inchavon are not endued with either the
sentiments of affection or honour."
"Poor Alice!" thought Lisle, at the same moment; "how have her fond and
misplaced affections been trifled with! Scarcely has this heartless
Highlander (full of his mountain pride and bombast) parted with her,
before she is forgotten as utterly as if she did not exist."
However, they kept these thoughts to themselves, and continued to nurse
their minds into a state of hot indignation against each other,
indignation mingled with feelings of disappointment and sorrow,
especially on the part of Louis Lisle.
He had produced from his havresack the remains of his last day's
rations,--a few hard biscuits and some cold meat, on which Ronald,
although he had fasted so long, merely made a show of regaling himself:
he felt little inclination to eat, but often applied himself to the
wine-skin. After a long and confusing sort of pause, during which both
had severely taxed their imaginations for somewhat to converse about,
"I have heard," observed Ronald, "that your father is again suing for
the long dormant peerage,--the title of Lord Lysle."
"Yes, it is the case. How heard you of it?"
"By a letter from Lochisla. I drink to Sir Allan's health! I have not
seen him since the day I pulled him out of the deep linn at Corrieavon.
I wish him every chance of success!"
"There is little doubt but we shall carry our point during this session
of Parliament: my father's descent in a direct line from the last lord
is now clear beyond a doubt or quibble. He is certain to gain the day."
"I am sure I shall be most happy--"
"The Earl of Hyndford," continued Louis, in the same cold manner, "is my
father's most particular friend, and has some interest with the law
lords. He is on the ministerial side, and---- But what is the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing. Is there any more wine in the skin? I feel very
faint after my late fatigue, surely," muttered Stuart, making a
tremendous mental effort to appear calm. But the name of Hyndford had
caused his heart to leap as it were to his very lips, which quivered as
a nervous spasm twitched them, while his forehead grew livid and pale.
"Ronald, what on earth is the matter?" asked Louis kindly, perceiving
the changes of his countenance. "Are you turning faint, or ill?"
"Ill,--sick at heart," replied Stuart, scarcely knowing what he said,
while he eagerly longed to ask a question--a single question, which he
dreaded to hear answered; but the fierce native pride of his race came
to his aid, and the inclination was repressed.
"For what shall I condescend to mention her name?" thought he. "To ask
in a trembling tone after one who has forsaken me thus, becomes me not.
Faithless Alice! neither farewell word, token, or letter has she sent
me; but--but I will be calm!" and he placed his hand upon the little
miniature, which at that moment he imagined was pressing like a load
upon his heart.
"Good Heaven, Stuart! you are certainly very unwell," said Louis
anxiously, his indignant feelings giving way to concern. "What can I do
for you?"
"Oh! 'tis nothing. It is past--a spasm--the wound I received at
Merida."
"Are you still troubled by it?"
"No; that is--I mean--"
He was relieved from his embarrassment by an exclamation of surprise and
intense disgust from Lisle, who suddenly leaped up from the green turf
on which they were seated.
"It is a skull!" he exclaimed, turning something round and white out of
the sod with his foot.
"A skull?"
"Yes; I knew not what it was. I felt something round and smooth lying
half sunk in the earth, and my hand rested on it for some time. How does
it come to lie here?"
"No uncommon affair in Spain. It is the head of one of those poor
fellows I told you of. I saw him killed here the day Long's brigade of
horse drove the French advanced picquet into the cork wood."
"What! did you not bury them?"'
"No, we had no time. The wolves came at night, and saved us the
trouble."
"And this is dying in the bed of glory!"
"So romancers tell us."
"Ay, Stuart, 'tis all very fine to read of honour and glory. The
charge, the encounter, and the victory in a novel--"
"When seated in a well-curtained and softly carpeted room, with your
feet encased in morocco slippers, and a huge fire roaring up the
chimney; but here it is a very different matter."
"Nevertheless, 'tis a gay thing to be a soldier," said Louis, eyeing his
shining epaulet askance.
"It is indeed! I have felt some delicious moments of gratified pride
since I first donned the red coat,--moments in which I would scarcely
have exchanged my claymore for a crown. But this ghastly death's head
had better be removed. Probably the poor boy it belonged to, for he was
scarcely any thing else, had his own bright dreams of glory and military
renown, and left his sunny vineyards, with hopes that one day he should
exchange the goat-skin pack for the baton of a marshal of France. If he
had such visions, where are they all now? But let it be taken away.
Evan, dig a hole with your bayonet, and bury it deep under the turf."
This temporary excitement over, the two friends again relapsed into
their dry and unfriendly distance of manner.
"Give me another cup from the borachio-skin; I will drink to Sir Allan's
health before I compose myself to rest for the night," said Ronald,
anxious to put an end to it by retiring.
"Drink and replenish again,--you are most welcome; but you will excuse
me, Stuart, if I reply somewhat coldly to your many expressions of
regard for my family," replied Louis, assuming a haughtiness of manner
which it was impossible to pass over.
"How so? What mean you?" asked Ronald hurriedly, his blood mounting to
his very temples while he tossed the wine-horn from him.
"To me it appears very singular," began the other in a determined tone,
"indeed most unaccountable, that you have never yet inquired for or
mentioned one, whom I had every reason, until to-night, to believe to be
very dear to you, and ever uppermost in your thoughts."
"You mean," faltered Ronald--
"My sister, Alice,--Miss Lisle," said Louis, giving vent to his
long-concealed passion and spleen. "What am I to understand by this
singularity of conduct, at once so cruel, so dishonourable, and--"
"Halt, sir! Stay--beware what you utter!" replied Ronald fiercely, in
turn.
"As her brother, I demand an immediate explanation!" cried the other,
starting from the ground, while he grew pale with anger.
"By heavens! you shall have none."
"None! Do you then--"
"Speak lower, sir. I am not accustomed to be addressed in this
imperious way. Fassifern himself would not dare to speak to me thus.
Restrain your manner, or the soldiers will observe it."
"By the gods!" said the other, in a tone of fierce irony, "I little
thought to find that one of the Stuarts of Lochisla,--a family, a house,
that have ever prided themselves on their notions of honour and noble
feeling,--would behave thus to a gentle and too confiding girl. But I
will arrange this matter at another time."
"And Lord Hyndford?"
Louis changed colour evidently.
"How, Mr. Lisle,--how can you thus get into heroics with me," said
Ronald, observing it, "and in so bad a cause?"
"Cause, sir! Your conduct is at once unbecoming either a soldier or a
gentleman," exclaimed the bold boy stoutly, "and a stern reckoning must
be rendered at another time!"
Ronald smiled scornfully, while his eyes flashed, and his trembling
fingers involuntarily sought the basket-hilt of his sword; but he passed
his hand over his hot throbbing forehead, and subduing his emotions,
turned haughtily upon his heel and withdrew.
And thus ended his first interview with the brother of Alice, after
their long separation.
* * * * *
Seeking a solitary part of the bivouac, he laid himself under the
shelter of a bush, and yielding to the excessive fatigue that oppressed
him, fell into a deep sleep, which was destined to be of very short
duration. Meanwhile Louis Lisle, unable to enjoy the slumber which
sealed the eyelids of the surrounding soldiers, sat listlessly by the
flaring fire, watching its red crackling embers for hours, while his
young heart was so filled with sorrow, indignation, and disappointment
at what he considered the altered behaviour of Ronald Stuart, that he
could have wept like a child but for very shame. At last, overcome by
the wine, of which he had drunk deeply to drown thought, and by the heat
of the blazing faggots, he stretched himself upon the turf and dropped
asleep, to dream of his happy home and the fair sister he loved so
dearly.
About an hour before day-break, a time when the chill feeling of the
atmosphere increases in Spain, Ronald was roused from his heavy slumber
by some one shaking his arm.
"Another shot! Keep up your fire, Pedro!" he muttered, not knowing
where he was. "Hollo! what is the matter?" he cried, as the glare of
the fire, flashing on the epaulets of Lewis, recalled his wandering
ideas.
"Mr. Stuart, troops are in motion on the plain to the eastward. I
considered it my duty to acquaint you," replied the other, and withdrew.
"They are either our own people, or some French party thrown forward
from Merida. Stand to your arms, there. Men! rouse, rouse! Piper,
blow the gathering. Mr. Lisle, get the men under arms,--let them fix
bayonets and load: I will be with you immediately."
Moving in the direction of the advanced sentry who had given the alarm,
he distinctly heard the rapid tramp of horse approaching towards them
along the beaten track,--it deserved not the name of road, from Merida.
"Cavalry!" thought he, drawing his sword. "Now then for a solid square:
I will not surrender to Dombrouski, without a show of fight, even should
he come with all his lancers at his back, in their panoply of brass and
steel." At that instant the cavalry halted; but the darkness was so
great, that he could not discern any trace of them save their sabres,
which glittered in the light of the watch-fire.
"Teevils and glaumories!" shouted the advanced sentinel, a bluff Gael
from the forest of Athole, as he 'ported,' his musquet. "Wha's
tat,--wha gaes there?"
"What the devil does he say? The challenge was German, Wyndham," said a
distant voice.
"Low Dutch, decidedly," replied another with a reckless laugh. "Perhaps
they are some of the _chasseurs Britanniques_."
"What would bring them here? Some of the cacadores, probably."
"Who goes there? What troops are these?" cried Ronald.
"Holloa! all right. A reconnoitring party thrown out from the advanced
guard of the second division. What are you?"
"A detachment for the first brigade."
"Scots?"
"Gordon Highlanders."
"Captain Wyndham took you for the drowsy Germans," said the officer,
riding forward. "All is right, then; we belong to the 9th Light
Dragoons, and General Long sent us forward to discover what the fire on
the plain meant. We took you for some of the enemy, a party of whom we
captured at Merida a few hours ago. Lord knows how they came there! I
am sure old Sir Rowland does not."
"Then it seems the division is on a forced march?"
"Ay, the devil take it! It knocks up our cattle confoundedly," answered
Wyndham. "The whole column will be here in an hour; but I must retire,
and report to Long. Adieu. Party! threes about; forward,--trot!" and
away they went.
Scarcely had five minutes elapsed, when the advanced guard, consisting
of part of the 9th and 13th Light Dragoons, with the 2nd Hussars of the
King's German Legion, came up at an easy trot. Fierce-looking fellows
were these last,--wearing blue uniforms, large, heavy cocked-hats,
leather jack-boots, and enormous moustaches. The appearance of the
brigade of horse, as they passed, was at once striking, martial, and
picturesque. The red glow of the blazing fire glittered on the polished
harness of man and horse, and the bright blades of the crooked sabres.
They certainly had not the showy and ballroom appearance of cavalry on
home service, yet they were the more military and soldier-like.
Continual exposure to all weathers had bronzed their cheeks, and turned
the once gay scarlet coat from its original hue to purple or black, and
the bright epaulets to little more than dusky wire. The canvas
havresack and round wooden canteen hung at their backs, and the coarse
yellow blanket, strapped behind the saddle of officer and private, did
not diminish the effect of the scene. When the morning was further
advanced, and the banks of rolling vapour, which for some time rested on
the face of the plain, rose into the air, Ronald found the baggage of
the division close upon the spot occupied by the detachment which he now
commanded. A strange medley the train presented. Horses, mules, and
asses laden with trunks, portmanteaus, bags, soldiers' wives and
children, tents and tent-poles, bedding and camp utensils; and here and
there rode a few officers' wives on horseback, attired in close warm
riding-habits. The whole of the long straggling array was surrounded by
a guard with fixed bayonets, under the command of a field-officer, who
spurred his horse at a gallop towards the party of Highlanders.
Stuart advanced to meet him. It was impossible to mistake the gigantic
figure which bestrode the panting horse, the forest of ostrich plumes
waving in his bonnet, or the stout oak staff which he flourished about.
"Egypt for ever!" cried the major, reining in his horse, which shook the
sod beneath its hoofs. "Holloa, Stuart my boy, is it really you? Glad
to see you sound wind and limb again. We thought the French had carried
you off. Who are these with you?"
"The draft just come up from Lisbon. Allow me to introduce Mr. Lisle of
ours. Major Campbell," said Ronald, presenting Louis, with a stiff
formality which stung the younger ensign to the heart.
"Lisle? Ah! glad to see you. Welcome to this diabolical country! We
had a capital fellow of your name with us in Egypt. Many strange
adventures he and I had at Grand Cairo. He left us after our return
home; some relation of yours, perhaps?"
"My uncle; he is a younger brother of my father's," answered Louis,
colouring slightly with pleasure.
"Ah, indeed! a devilish fine fellow he was; but perhaps he is changed by
matrimony, which always spoils a true soldier, and cuts up the _esprit
de corps_ which we Highland troops have imbibed so strongly. I heard
that he had married an English heiress, and now commands some foreign
battalion in our service up the Mediterranean."
"The Greek Light Infantry."