Produced by Al Haines.
*THE ROMANCE OF WAR:*
OR,
THE HIGHLANDERS IN SPAIN
BY
JAMES GRANT, ESQ.
_Late 62nd Regiment._
"In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
From the heath-covered mountains of Scotia we come;
Our loud-sounding pipe breathes the true martial strain,
And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain."
_Lt.-Gen. Erskine._
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1846.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY MAURICE AND CO., HOWFORD BUILDINGS,
FENCHURCH STREET.
*CONTENTS*
Chapter
I. Castello Branco
II. The Major's Story
III. Another Night at Merida
IV. The Out-picquet
V. The Flag of Truce
VI. Almarez
VII. D'Estouville
VIII. Catalina
IX. The Matador
X. El Convento de Santa Cruz
XI. A Single Combat
XII. The Curate's Story
XIII. An Arrest
XIV. De Mesmai
XV. The Heights of Albuera. The Cross of Santiago
XVI. The March to Toledo
*THE ROMANCE OF WAR.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*CASTELLO BRANCO.*
"Yet since thou wilt an idle tale of mine,
Take one which scarcely is of worth enough
To give or to withhold. Our time creeps on;
Fancy grows colder, as the silvery hair
Tells the advancing winter of our life:
But if it be of worth enough to please,
That worth it owes to her who set the task;
If otherwise, the fault rests with the author."
_Macduff's Cross.--Prelude._
"Well, Ronald, my _bon camarado_, and so you are really here, and in
safety?" said Macdonald as he came up at the head of his sub-division.
"Quite well now, I perceive. You received my letter from your servant,
of course?"
"Yes. I have a thousand strange adventures to tell you of; but I will
reserve them for the halt, which I suppose will be at the castle of
Zagala. But meanwhile, let me hear the regimental news."
"Defer that till the halt also,--talking is dry work. A few rank and
file were knocked on the head at Fuente del Maistre; but the officers,
you may see, are all present. We feared you were on your route for
France, when we heard that Dombrouski's dragoons were in Merida."
"A daring deed it was, for a handful of men to advance thus."
"Daring indeed!"
"But then they were Poles,--and the Poles are no common troops. Sad
work, however, they have made at Merida. Every shop and house in the
Plaza has been gutted and destroyed."
"More shame to the citizens! A city containing five or six thousand
inhabitants, should have made some resistance to so small a party."
"Ay; but the cits here are not like what our Scottish burghers were two
centuries ago,--grasping axe and spear readily at the slightest alarm.
By Sir Rowland's orders, Thiele, the German engineer, blew up the Roman
bridge, to prevent D'Erlon from pressing upon part of the 13th, who form
the rear-guard."
"'Twas a pity to destroy so perfect a relic of antiquity."
"It was dire necessity."
"Did you see any thing of our friends in the Calle de Guadiana,--the
house at the corner of the Plaza?"
"Ah! Donna Catalina's residence? Blushing again! Why, no; it was
dark, and I was so fatigued when we marched through the market-place,
that I could not see the house, and Fassifern is so strict that it is
impossible to leave the ranks. But I could observe that nearly all the
houses above the piazzas are in ruins. However, we have captured nearly
every man of the ravagers. A glorious-looking old fellow their
commander is,--a French _chef-de-bataillon_,--Monsieur le Baron de
Clappourknuis, as he styles himself."
"Clappourknuis? That has a Scottish sort of sound."
"The name is purely Scottish. I had a long conversation with him an
hour since. He is grandson of the famous John Law of Laurieston, and
brother of the French general, the great Marquis of Laurieston.[*] He
takes his title of Clappourknuis from some little knowes, which stand
between the old castle of Laurieston and the Frith of Forth. What joy
and enthusiasm he displayed at sight of our regiment, and the 71st!
'_Ah, mon ami!_' he exclaimed, holding up his hands. 'Braave
Scots,--very superb troupes!' he added, in his broken English, and the
soldiers gave him a hearty cheer. He is a true Frenchman of the old
school, and has a peculiar veneration for Scotland, which is only
equalled by his bitter hatred for England; and all my arguments were
lost in endeavouring to prove to him that we are one people,--one nation
now. There is one of the 71st, a relation of the Laurieston family: I
must introduce him to the baron, who seems to have a great affection for
all who come from the land of his fathers.--A handsome young man,
apparently, this Louis Lisle, our new sub."
[*] To the political or historical reader, the names of the marquis and
his brother will be familiar. The house of Laurieston stands within
four miles from Edinburgh, on the south bank of the Forth.
"Very agreeable you'll find him, I dare say," replied Ronald, colouring
slightly.
"A smart fellow he is, and will please Fassifern. His harness is mighty
gay and glossy just now, but a night's bivouacking--by the by, he is
from Perthshire, is he not?"
"Ay, the mountainous part of the country,--my own native place. He
comes of good family, and we are old acquaintance."
"Yet you seem to behave very drily to him: why you have not spoken to
him since the corps came up."
"I have my reasons. A few words with him last night--I will tell you
afterwards," said Ronald in confusion.
"Pshaw, Stuart! You should not dishearten a young sub, who has just
joined, by this sort of behaviour. Nothing disgusts one who has
recently left his home with the service, so much as coldness on the part
of those that he considered his friends. I shall see it made up--"
"I beg, Macdonald, you will not interfere in this matter," was Ronald's
answer, with a vehemence that surprised his friend. "I am aware how I
ought to behave to Mr. Lisle: we must be on distant terms--for the
present at least."
"You are the best judge, of course," said Macdonald, with some
confusion. "I merely meant for the best what I said. I dislike discord
among brother officers."
"I am aware that your intentions were good,--they always are so,
Alister; but change the subject. How did you like Almendralejo?"
"Not well: a dull place it is, and the dons are very quarrelsome."
"Ay, I remember your letter mentioning two brawls with the inhabitants."
"Your servant, Mr. Iverach, and that rogue Mackie, of your own company,
were the heroes of one."
"I should be glad to hear the story now. My servant has often mentioned
it, when I had neither time nor inclination to listen."
"There is an old _abogado_ at Almendralejo," answered Macdonald, "a
fierce old fellow he is, with bristling moustaches twisted up to his
very ears, and eyes like those of a hawk,--the Senor Sancho de los
Garcionadas the people there call him for shortness, but he has a name
as long as a Welsh pedigree. This lawyer dwells, of course, in one of
the best houses in the town, and on him Iverach and Angus Mackie were
billeted. He has a daughter, whom I have seen on the Prado, a
fine-looking girl, with regular features, Spanish eyes, and Spanish
ankles,--quite bewitching, in fact; and although she has not Donna
Catalina's stately and splendid appearance, yet she is plump as a
partridge, and rosy, pretty, and merry as can be imagined. Her beauty
completely vanquished the heart of Mackie, on whom she had cast
favourable glances, for he is what Campbell calls one of the duchess's
picked men, (a strapping Blair-Athole man, from the mountain of Bein
Meadhonaidh).
"A very agreeable correspondence ensued between them, but how they
managed I cannot tell, as neither knew a word of the other's language,
and Angus speaks more Gaelic than English; so I suppose they conversed
by the eyes instead of the mouth.
"There is a French writer who exclaims, 'Ah! what eloquence is so
powerful as the language of two charming eyes!'[*] and very probably
Master Angus (whom I now see trudging away yonder with his knapsack on)
found this to be the case. At last the _abogado_ began to suspect what
was going on, and his blood boiled up at the idea that the Scottish
private soldier should have the presumption to address his daughter, and
the treacherous old fox hatched a very nice, but very cowardly, plan for
cutting off poor Mackie.
[*] The author of the "Memoirs of Madame de Maintenon."
"The Senora Maria he put securely under lock and key, and despatched a
message to her cavalier that she would expect him that evening after
vespers, sending at the same time a stout ladder of ropes, with which he
was to scale her window. The plan succeeded to admiration. The savage
old attorney and some five or six kinsmen, muffled and masked, lurked in
a dark place, grasping their knives and crucifixes,--for a Spaniard
never thinks he can commit a murder comfortably without having his
crucifix about him: if it contains a piece of the true cross, so much
the better. Mackie came to the rendezvous, but attended by his comrade
Iverach, and both had luckily brought their side arms with them.
Scarcely had the unsuspecting gallant placed his foot on the first step
of the ladder, when the concealed assassins rushed upon him, dagger in
hand, from their ambush. The Highlanders drew and fought manfully with
their bayonets, ran two through the body, and after receiving a few cuts
in return, put the rest to flight; and so the matter ended for the
night. But a terrible row was made about it next day. Cameron's
quarters were besieged by all the alcaldes, alguazils with their
halberts, abogados, and other rogues in the town, headed by the
corregidor, demanding revenge. Fassifern made a short matter of it with
them, and desired the guard to drive them out. I know not how it might
ultimately have ended, if the route for Villa Franca had not arrived
just then, and put a stop to the affair by our sudden march. But since
that occurrence I understand Mackie has not been the same sort of man he
was,--always grave, absorbed, and thoughtful. I fear he will give us
the slip, and desert. The old lawyer's daughter seems to have bewitched
him. He has more than once asked leave to return to Almendralejo,
although he knows that it is now in possession of the enemy, and that
his death is certain, should he be seen there again."
During the five days of the weary forced march across the Spanish
frontier to the town of Portalagre (which signifies the 'happy port') in
Portugal, the same distance of manner and reciprocal coolness, which we
have described in a preceding chapter, subsisted between Ronald Stuart
and young Lisle; and although secretly both longed to come to some
satisfactory, and if possible a friendly explanation, their Scottish
pride and stubbornness forbad them both alike to make the first advances
towards a reconciliation. Louis had written to his sister, but had said
nothing of Ronald, further than that he was well, &c.
At Niza, Ronald parted with Pedro Gomez, who had accompanied him thus
far, but whom he now despatched to join his troop in a neighbouring
province, giving him in charge a long letter to Don Alvaro. The morning
the first brigade entered Niza, they found the greedy inhabitants, on
their approach, busily employed in pulling their half-ripe oranges,
shaking them down from the trees and carrying them off in baskets with
the utmost expedition, lest some of those soldiers,--soldiers who were
shedding their blood to rescue the Peninsula from the iron grasp of
Napoleon! should have plucked a few in passing under the groves.
That night a part of the Highland regiment were quartered in the
convent[*] of San Miguel, and great was the surprise of the reverend
Padre Jose, and the rest of the worthy brotherhood, to find themselves
addressed in pure Latin by private soldiers, who could not speak either
Spanish or Portuguese. But to those who know the cheapness of education
at our Scottish village schools, this will excite little or no wonder.
[*] Convent is a term applied indiscriminately, in Spain, to houses
occupied by either monks or nuns.
Next day the troops entered Castello Branco, a fortified place, situated
on the face of a rugged mountain a couple of leagues north of the river
Tajo, or Tagus, a city of great importance in bygone days. Its streets
are narrow, close, and dirty, like those of all Portuguese towns, where
the refuse of the household lies piled up in front of the street-door,
where lean and ravenous dogs, ragged mendicants, and starving gitanas
contest the possession of the well-picked bones and fragments of melons
and pumpkins, that lie mouldering and rotting, breeding flies and vermin
innumerable under the influence of a burning sun. Water is conveyed to
the houses, or _flats_, as in ancient Edinburgh and Paris, by means of
barrels carried on the backs of men from the public fountains. The
streets are totally destitute of paving, lamps, or police; and by night
the passenger, unless he goes well armed, is exposed to attacks of
masked footpads, or annoyed by the bands of hungry dogs which prowl in
hundreds about the streets of every Portuguese town, howling and yelping
for food until one dies, when immediately it becomes a prey to the rest.
Major Campbell and Stuart, with some of the officers, were seated in one
of the best rooms of their billet,--the most comfortable posada the
place possessed, and truly the peninsular inns are like no others that I
know of. As they were in the days of Miguel Cervantes, so are they
still; in every thing Spain and Portugal are four hundred years behind
Great Britain in the march of civilization.
In a posada, the lower story, which is always entered by a large round
archway, is kept for the accommodation of carriages and cattle. It is
generally one large apartment, like a barn in size, the whole length and
breadth of the building floored with gravel, and staked at distances
with posts, to which the cattle of travellers are tied and receive their
feed of chopped straw, or of Indian corn which has become too rotten and
mouldy for the use of human beings. The whole fabric is generally
ruinous, no repairs being ever given; the furniture is always old,
rotten, and decayed,--the chairs, beds, &c. being but nests for myriads
of insects, which render guests sufficiently uncomfortable. _Sabanas
limpitas_ (clean sheets) are a luxury seldom to be had; and provisions,
a thing scarcely to be thought of in a Spanish inn. However, as Senor
Raphael's posada was at some distance from the actual seat of war, it
was hoped that his premises would be better victualled, and he was
summoned by the stentorian voice of Campbell, the house being destitute
of bells.
"Well, Senor de Casa," said the major, as he stretched himself along
half-a-dozen hard-seated chairs to rest, "what have you in the larder?
Any thing better than _castanas quemadas_ and cold water?--_agua
hermoisissima de la fuente_, as they say here?"
"_Si, si_, noble caballero," replied the patron, as he stood with his
ample beaver in his left hand, bowing low at every word, and laying his
right upon his heart.
"Ah! Well, then, have you any beef or mutton,--roasted, boiled, or
cooked in any way?"
"No, _senor officiale; no hay_."
"Any fish? You are near the Tajo."
"_Si, baccallao_."
"Pho! hombre! What, have you nothing else? Any fowl?"
"_No hay_."
"Any fruit?"
"_No hay._"
"_Diavolo_! Senor Raphael," cried Campbell angrily, after receiving the
same reply to a dozen things he asked for; "what on earth have you got,
then?"
"_Huevos y tocino, senor mio_."
"Could you not have said so at once, hombre? Ham and eggs,--excellent!
could we but have barley-meal bannocks and whisky toddy with them; but
here one might as well look for nectar and the cakes that Homer feeds
his gods with. Any Malaga or sherry?'
"Both, senor, in abundance."
"Your casa seems well supplied for a peninsular one,--_pan y cebollas_,
cursed onions and bread, with bitter aquardiente, being generally the
best fare they have to offer travellers, however hungry. But _presto!_
Senor Raphael; look sharp, and get us our provender, for saving a
handful or so of rotten _castanas_, the devil a morsel have we tasted
since we left Niza yesterday. And, d'ye hear, as you value the
reputation of your casa, put not a drop of your poisonous garlic among
the viands! Talking of garlic," he added, after Raphael had withdrawn,
"I was almost suffocated with the fumes of it to-day, when we passed to
the leeward of my namesake's Portuguese cavalry."
As the evening was very fine, they experienced no inconvenience from the
two unglazed apertures where windows ought to have been, through which
the soft wind blew freely upon them. The apartment commanded a view of
an extensive plain, through which wound the distant Tagus, like a thread
of gold among the fertile fields and inclosures of every varying tint of
green and brown. _Golden_ is the term applied to the Tajo, and such it
really appeared, while the saffron glow of the western sky was reflected
on its current, as it wound sweeping along through ample vineyards,
groves of orange and olive-trees, varied here and there by a patch of
rising corn. Far down the plain, and around the base of the hill of
Castello Branco, the red fires, marking the posts of the out-lying
picquets, were seen at equal distances dotting the landscape; and their
white curling smoke arose through the green foliage, or from the open
corn-field, in tall spiral columns, melting away on the calm evening
sky. Now and then the vesper-song from the little chapel of San
Sebastian, half way down the mountain, came floating towards them,
swelling loud and high at one moment, and almost dying away the next.
Here and there, upon the pathway leading to it, stood a Portuguese
peasant with his head uncovered, listening with superstitious devotion
to the sounds coming from the little edifice, the gilded spire and
gothic windows of which were glittering in the light of the setting sun.
"A glorious view," observed Ronald, after he had surveyed it for some
time in silence; "it reminds me of one I have seen at home, where the
blue Tay winds past the green carse of Gowrie. That hill yonder, covered
with orange-trees to its summit, might almost pass for the hill of
Kinnoul with its woods of birch and pine, and those stony fragments for
the ruined tower of Balthayock."
"Truly the scene is beautiful; but its serenity might better suit an
English taste than ours," replied Macdonald. "For my own part, I love
better the wild Hebrides, with the foaming sea roaring between their
shores, than so quiet a scene as this."
"Hear the western islesman!" said an officer, laughing. "He is never at
home but among sterile rocks and boiling breakers."
"You are but southland bred, Captain Bevan," answered Macdonald gravely,
"and therefore cannot appreciate my taste."
"The view--though I am too tired to look at it--is, I dare say, better
than any I ever saw when I was with Sir Ralph in Egypt, where the
scenery is very fine."
"The sandy deserts excepted," observed Bevan. "Many a day, marching
together, we have cursed them, Campbell?"
"Of course. But where is that young fellow, Lisle? I intended to have
had him here to-night, for the purpose of wetting his commission in
Senor Raphael's sherry."
"He is at Chisholm's billet, I believe. They have become close friends
of late," replied another officer, who had not spoken before.
"So I have observed, Kennedy; he is the nephew of an old Egyptian
campaigner, and I love the lad as if he was a kinsman of my own. But
here come the 'vivres!' Smoking-hot and tempting, faith! especially to
fellows so sharply set as we are. Senor Raphael deserves a pillar like
Pompey's erected in his honour, as the best casa-keeper between Lisbon
and Carthagena."
While the talkative major ran on thus, the 'maritornes' of the
establishment brought in the supper, or dinner, on a broad wooden tray,
and arrayed it on the rough table--cloth there was none--to the best
advantage, flanking the covers with several leathern flasks of sherry,
brown glazed jugs of rich oily Malaga, and round loaves of bread from
the Spanish frontier.
"Now, this is what I consider being comfortable," observed the major, as
he stowed his gigantic limbs under the table, and gazed on the dishes
with the eager eye of a hungry man who had tasted nothing for
twenty-four hours.
"We have been lucky in receiving a billet here, and are much indebted to
the worshipful alcalde," said Bevan, interrupting a silence which
nothing had broken for some time, except the clatter of plates and
knives. "A little more of the ham, major."
"And huevos?--With pleasure. But eat away, gentlemen; be quite at home,
and make the most of a meal when you can get one. I'll trouble you for
that round loaf, Kennedy."
"Splendid bread, the Spanish."
"I have seen whiter in Egypt, when I used to visit the house of Capitan
Mohammed Djedda, at Alexandria--"
"A visit nearly cost you your life there once, major."
"You remember it, Bevan; so do I, faith, nor am I likely to forget it.
But it is too soon for a story yet; otherwise I would tell the affair to
the young subs. Help yourself plentifully, Stuart. Lord knows when we
may get such another meal; so store well for to-morrow's march."
"I am hungry enough to eat an ostrich, bones and all, I do believe,"
said Kennedy. "And in truth, this fare is the most delicious I have
seen since I first landed at the Castle of Belem, some eighteen months
ago."
"Simple fare it is, indeed," replied the major. "'Tis very well: the
Senor Raphael's tocino is excellent, being cured probably for his own
use; but his eggs are not so fresh as I used to get from my own roosts
at Craigfianteoch, near Inverary."
"A deuced hard name your estate has, major. A little more ham, if you
please."
"Few can pronounce it so well as myself, Bevan.
Craig'fi'anteoch,--_that_ is the proper accent."
"Meaning the rock of the house of Fingal, when translated?" observed
Ronald.
"Right, Stuart, my boy; the rock of the king of Selma."
"It has been long in your family, I suppose."
"Since the year 400. You may laugh, Bevan, being but a Lowlander, yet
it is not the less true. Since the days of the old Dabriadic kings, when
the great clan Campbell, the race of Diarmid, first became lords of
Argyle," replied the major with conscious pride, as he pushed away his
plate and stretched himself back in his chair,--"Ardgile, or Argathelia,
as it was then called. My fathers are descended in a direct line from
Diarmid, the first lord of Lochow."
"A long and noble pedigree, certainly," observed Macdonald with a proud
smile, becoming interested in the conversation. "It out-herods mine,
though I come of the line of Donald, the lord of the Western Isles."
"Come, come, gentlemen, never mind descents: none can trace further up
than Adam. Let us broach some of these sherry bottles," said Bevan
impatiently. "Pedigrees are too frequently a subject for discussion at
Highland messes, and were introduced often enough at ours, when we had
one. Yesterday at Niza, at the _scuttle_ there, which we called a
dinner, the colonel and old Macdonald nearly came to loggerheads about
the comparative antiquity of the Camerons of Fassifern and Locheil."
"D--n all pedigrees!" cried Kennedy, uncorking the sherry. "I am not
indebted to my forbears the value of a herring-scale!"
"These are matters only for pipers and seanachies to discuss," said
Ronald, affecting a carelessness which he was very far from feeling.
Few indeed cherished with a truer feeling of Highland satisfaction the
idea that he came of a royal and long-descended line. "Let the subject
be dropped, gentlemen. Fill your glasses: let us drink to the downfall
of Ciudad Rodrigo!'
"Well said, Stuart," echoed Kennedy; "push the Malaga this way."
"I'll drink it with all my heart," said the major, filling up his glass;
"let it be a bumper, a brimming bumper, gentlemen,--the downfall of
Ciudad Rodrigo!"
"Pretty fair sherry this, major."
"But it has all the greasy taste of the confounded pig-skin."
"Why the deuce don't the lazy dogs learn to blow decent glass bottles?"
"Try the Malaga. Fill up, and drink to the hearts we have left behind
us!"
"Right, Macdonald,--an old Scottish toast," answered Campbell, emptying
his horn. "But for Ciudad Rodrigo, I almost wish that the place may
hold out until we encounter old Marmont, and thrash his legions to our
hearts' content, eh! Bevan?"
"A few days' march will bring us close on Lord Wellington's
head-quarters; and should the place not capitulate by that time, we
shall probably act Vimiera over again, in the neighbourhood of Ciudad
Rodrigo."
"I shall be very happy to see something of the kind," observed Ronald.
"I have been six months in the peninsula, and have scarcely heard the
whiz of a French bullet yet."
"Should we come within a league of Marmont, your longing for lead will
probably be gratified--as we used to say in Egypt, especially should he
attempt to raise the siege. But drink, lads; talking makes one very
thirsty."
"I am heartily tired of our long forced-marches by night and day, and
was very glad when, from the frontiers of Portugal, I looked back and
saw the wide plains of Spanish Estremadura left so far behind."
"Many a weary march we have had there, Alister."
"And many more we shall have again."
"Never despond," said Bevan. "With honour and the enemy in our front--"
"As we used to say in Egypt,--Both be ----! Carajo! I'll thank you for
the sherry."
"But the troops of the Count d'Erlon--"
"Are arrant cowards, I think. They have fled before the glitter of our
arms when three leagues off: the very flaunt of our colours is quite
enough for them, and they are off double quick!"
"The soldiers of _la belle_ France behaved otherwise in Egypt, when I
was there with gallant old Sir Ralph. But we shall come up with them
sometime, and be revenged for the trouble they have given us in dancing
after them between Portalagre and Fuente del Maistre."
"That was a brilliant affair," said Macdonald, "and you unluckily missed
it, Stuart."
"Ay; but I hope Marshal Marmont will make me amends next week; and if
ever Senor Narvaez comes within my reach--"
"Or mine, by heavens! he shall be made a mummy of!"
"You could scarcely reduce him to any thing more disagreeable, Alister.
I saw some in Egypt a devilish deal closer than I relished," said
Campbell, filling his glass as if preparing for a story, while a smile
passed over the features of his companions, who began to dread one of
those long narratives which were readily introduced at all times, but
especially when wine was to be had, and the evening was far advanced.
The smile, however, was unseen, as the dusk had increased so much, that
the gloomy apartment was almost involved in darkness. But without, the
evening sky was so clear, so blue and spangled, the air so cool and
balmy, and the perfume wafted on the soft breeze from the fertile plain
below so odoriferous, that they would scarce have exchanged the ruinous
chamber of the posada in which they were seated for the most snug
parlour in the most comfortable English inn, with its sea-coal fire
blazing through the bright steel bars, the soft hearth-rug in front, the
rich carpet around, and the fox-hunts framed on the wall.
"Mummies, indeed!" continued the field-officer; "I almost shiver at the
name!"
"How so, major?" asked Ronald. "What! a British grenadier like you,
that would not duck his head to a forty-six pound shot?"
"Why, man! I would scorn to duck to a shot from auld Mons Meg herself;
but then a mummy, and in the dark, is another affair altogether. I care
nothing about cutting a man down to the breeks, and did so at Corunna,
in Egypt, and in Holland, more than once; but I am not over fond of dead
corpses, to tell you the truth, and very few Highlandmen you'll find
that are. Have I never before told you of my adventure with the
mummies, and the _tulzie_ that Fassifern and I had at Alexandria?"
"No,--never!"
"Bevan knows all about it."
"He was in Egypt 'with Sir Ralph,' you know. It must be something new to
us, major."
"I'll tell you the story; meantime light cigars and fill your glasses,
for talking is but dry work, and there's sherry enough here,--not to
mention the Malaga, to last us till _reveille_, even if we drink as hard
as the king's German Legion."
His companions resigned themselves to their fate, three of them consoled
by the idea that it was one of the major's stories they had never heard
before. Cigars were promptly lighted, and the red points, glowing
strangely in the dark, were the beacons which dimly showed each where
the others sat.
"Drink, gentlemen; fill your glasses, fill away, lads. However, I must
tell you the affair as briefly as possible. I am field-officer for the
day, and have to visit the quarter-guards and cursed out-picquets in the
plain below: but I will go the rounds at ten, and desire them to mark me
at two in the morning. They are all our own fellows, and will behave
like Trojans, if I wish them."
"Well, Campbell, the story."
After a few short pulls at the cigar, and long ones at his wine-cup, the
major commenced the story, which is given in the following chapter, and
as near the original as I can from recollection repeat it.
*CHAPTER II.*
*THE MAJOR'S STORY.*
"Who has not heard, where Egypt's realms are named,
What monster gods her frantic sons have framed?
Here ibis gorg'd with well-grown serpents, there
The crocodile commands religious fear."
_Juvenal_, sat. xv.
"We are a fine regiment as any in the line; but I almost think we were a
finer corps when we landed in Egypt in 1801. We had been embodied among
the clan of Gordon just six years before, and there was scarcely a man
in the ranks above five-and-twenty years of age,--all fiery young
Highlanders, raised among the men of Blair-Athol, Braemar, Strathdu,
Garioch, Strathbogie, and the duke's own people, the 'gay and the
gallant,' as they were styled in the olden time.
"There is a story current that the corps was raised in consequence of
some wager between the Duchess of Gordon and the Prince of Wales, about
who would muster a regiment in least time; and certainly, her grace got
the start of his royal highness.
"The duchess (here's to her health,--a splendid woman she is!)
superintended the recruiting department in famous style,--one worthy
Camilla herself! With a drum and fife,--oftener with a score of pipers
strutting before her,--cockades flaunting and claymores gleaming, I have
seen her parading through the Highland fairs and cattle-trysts,
recruiting for the 'Gordon Highlanders;' and a hearty kiss on the cheek
she gave to every man who took from her own white hand the shilling in
King George's name.
"Hundreds of picked mountaineers--regular dirk and claymore men--she
brought us; and presented the battalion with their colours at Aberdeen,
where we were fully mustered and equipped. Trotting her horse, she came
along the line, wearing a red regimental jacket with yellow facings, and
a Highland bonnet with an eagle's wing in it: a hearty cheer we gave her
as she came prancing along with the staff. I attracted her attention
first, for I was senior sub of the grenadiers, and the grenadiers were
always _her_ favourites. I would tell you what she said to me, too,
about the length of my legs, but it ill becomes a man to repeat
compliments.
"Right proud I was of old Scotland and the corps, while I looked along
the serried line when we drew up our battle-front on the sandy beach of
the bay of Aboukir. Splendid they appeared,--the glaring sun shining on
their plaids and plumes, and lines of burnished arms. Gallant is the
garb of old Gaul, thought I, and who would not be a soldier? Yes, I
felt the true _esprit du corps_ burning within me at the sight of our
Scottish blades, and equally proud, as a Briton, at the appearance of
other corps, English or Irish, as they mustered on the beach beneath St.
George's cross[*] or the harp of old Erin. The tri-colours and bayonets
of France were in our front, and the moment was a proud one indeed, as
we advanced towards them animated by the hearty British cheers from our
men-of-war in the bay. All know the battle of Alexandria. We drove the
soldiers of Buonaparte before us 'like chaff before the wind;' but the
victory cost us dear: many a bold heart dyed the hot sand with its
gallant blood, and among them our countryman, noble old Abercrombie.
[*] St. George's red cross is the distinguishing badge of every English
regiment.
"Poor Sir Ralph! When struck by the death-shot, I saw him reel in his
saddle, his silver hair and faded uniform dabbled with his blood. His
last words are yet ringing in my ears, as, waving his three-cocked hat,
he fell from his horse,--
"'Give them the bayonet, my boys! Forward, Highlanders! Remember the
hearts and the hills we have left behind us!'
"Here's his memory in Malaga, though I would rather drink it in Islay or
Glenlivet. We did give them the bayonet, and the pike too, in a style
that would have done your hearts good to have seen. It was a glorious
victory,--Vimiera, the other day, was nothing to it,--and well worth
losing blood for. That night we hoisted the union on the old Arab
towers of Aboukir, and Lord Hutchinson took command of the army. On the
18th September, 1801, we placed Alexandria in the power of the Turks.
Our wounded we stowed away in the mosques and empty houses; our troops
were quartered on the inhabitants, or placed under canvas without the
city walls, and we found ourselves while there tolerably comfortable,
excepting the annoyance we suffered from insects and the enervating
heat, which was like that of a furnace; but the _kamsin_, or 'hot wind
of the desert,' one must experience to know what it really is.
"When it begins to blow, the air feels perpetually like a blast rushing
from a hot fire, and the atmosphere undergoes a change sufficient to
strike even the heart of a lion with terror. The louring-sky becomes
dark with clouds of a bloody hue, and the sun, shorn of its rays and its
glory, seems to float among them like a round ball of glowing purple,
while the whole air becomes dense and dusty, rendering respiration out
of doors almost an impossibility. Although during the reign of the
terrible _kamsin_ the sun was scarcely visible, the water in the public
fountains grew hot; our musquet barrels and steel weapons, the wood,
marble, iron, and every thing, felt warm and burning. When the awful
blast is discovered afar off, coming sweeping from the arid deserts of
Lybia and Arabia, the inhabitants of cities fly to their dwellings for
refuge, and shut themselves up closely; the wandering Arab in the silent
wilderness hollows a pit in the sand wherein to hide himself; and the
unfortunate traveller, when surprised on the way-side, throws himself on
the earth, with his face towards Mecca, while he covers his mouth and
nostrils with the lawn of his turban, or the skirt of his robe: the very
camel buries its head in the sand till the fearful blast is over. Hand
me the sherry, Kennedy; the very remembrance of the _kamsin_ makes me
thirsty.
"Cameron--I mean Fassifern--and I lived together in the same tent, which
was pitched without the city, in a spot where enormous ruins incrusted
with saltpetre were piled on every side. I well remember drawing back
the triangular door of the tent, and looking cautiously forth when the
wind had passed. Here and there I saw the prostrate corpses of some
Turks and Egyptians, who had been suffocated by inhaling the hot sandy
air. They presented a terrible spectacle, certainly. They were swelled
enormously, turned to a pale blue colour; and there they lay, rapidly
festering and decomposing in the heat of the sun, although they had been
alive and well that morning.
"By it I nearly lost Jock Pentland, my servant. I discovered the poor
chield lying, half dead, at the base of Cleopatra's needle, and had him
looked to in time to save his life. Many of our men were dangerously
affected by it; but when it passed away, all was right again,--and I
remember how pleased Fassifern and I were, when, for the first time
after the _kamsin_, we sallied forth on our daily visit to our friend
Mohammed Djedda, a Turkish captain, with whom we had become acquainted
in the course of garrison-duty, and who had a very handsome house of his
own within the walls of Alexandria.
"Cameron and I had become close comrades, then being only a couple of
jovial subs. He was senior, and has got in advance of me; but since he
has obtained command of the corps he keeps us all at the staff's end,
and acts the Highland chief on too extended a scale. Yet Jock (we
called him Jock then, for shortness, but it would be mutiny to do so
now,) is a fine fellow, and a brave officer, and I pledge him heartily
in Senor Raphael's sherry.
"To a stranger the appearance of Alexandria is certainly striking. The
gigantic ruins of a people whose power has passed away, overtop the
terraced roofs of the moderns. The embattled towers, the shining domes,
the tall and slender minarets rise on every side among groves of the
graceful palm and spreading fig-tree, intermingled with the sad remains
of the years that are gone, the crumbling temple, the prostrate pillar,
and the mouldering archway! Friezes and pedestals, rich with carving
and hieroglyphics, lie piled in shapeless masses, covered with moss and
corroded with saltpetre, meeting the view on every side, and striking
the stranger with veneration and awe, while his heart is filled with
sadness and sublimity. The ruins of these vast palaces which the great
genius of Dinocrates designed, and which the immense wealth of Alexander
erected, are now the dwelling-place of the owl and the jackal, the
serpent, the asp, and the scorpion. The inhabitants of the modern city
are indeed strange-looking beings, with brown faces, bushy black beards,
and wearing large turbans of linen on their bald pates. Their dress
appears like a shapeless gown of divers colours, enveloping them from
chin to heel; a cimetar and poniard in the sash, slippers on the feet,
and a pipe six feet long in the hand, completes their costume. Their
women are muffled up to the eyes, which are the only parts of them
visible; and then the shaggy camels and hideous asses with which every
thoroughfare is crowded--"
"Well, major, but the mummies; you have not told us of them yet," said
Ronald, becoming impatient.
"I am coming to the point," replied the major, not in the least
displeased at the interruption, abrupt though it was; "but you must
permit me to tell a story in my own rambling way. To continue,--
"The redoubtable captain, Mohammed Djedda, had become a very great
friend of ours; we used to visit him daily, in the cool part of the
evening, pretending that we came to enjoy a pipe of opium with him,
under the huge _nopal_ or cochineal tree which flourished before his
door. He knew no English, I very little Turkish, and Cameron none at
all; consequently our conversation was never very spirited or
interesting, and we have sat, for four consecutive hours, pulling
assiduously, or pretending to do so, at our long pipes, without uttering
a syllable, staring hard at each other the while with a gravity truly
oriental, until we scarcely knew whether our heads or heels were
uppermost. We took great credit to ourselves for never laughing
outright at the strange figure of the Capitan Djedda, as he sat opposite
to us, squatted on a rich carpet, and garbed in his silken vest, gown,
wide cotton pantaloons, and heavy turban, looking like Blue Beard in the
story-book. You may wonder what pleasure we found in this sort of work,
but the secret was this: Mohammed was one of the most fashionable old
bucks in the Turkish service, and of course could not do without four
wives,--no Turk of any pretensions to rank being without that number.
These he kept in most excellent order and constant attendance upon his
own lazy person, although he had a score of wretched slaves,--poor
barefooted devils, who wore nought to hide their brown skins but a blue
shirt, girt about their waist with a leather belt, and a red kerchief
twisted round their crowns.
"But Mohammed's veiled and draperied spouses were the gentlest creatures
I ever beheld, and not in the least jealous, because he entertained for
them all the same degree of cool contempt; and often he told us, that
'women were mere animals, without souls, and only good for breeding
children and mischief.' One brought his pipe and lit it, a second
spread his carpet under the nopal, a third arranged his turban, and a
fourth put on his slippers; but he would scorn to thank any with a
glance, and kept his round eyes obstinately fixed on the ground, as
became a Turk and superior being. This strange old gentleman had two
daughters; perfect angels they were,--seraphs or houri. We could not
see their faces, all of which, with the exception of the eyes, were
concealed by an abominable cloth veil, which it was almost incurring
death to remove before such an infidel as me. But their eyes! By
heavens such were never beheld, not even in the land of sunny eyes--so
large and black, so liquid and sparkling! No other parts were visible
except their hands and ankles, which were bare and white, small and
beautiful enough to turn the heads of a whole regiment. The expression
of their lustrous eyes, the goddess-like outline of their thinly clad
forms, made Cameron and me imagine their faces to be possessed of that
sublime degree of dazzling beauty which it is seldom the lot of mortals
to--"
"Excellent, major," exclaimed Alister; "of all your Egyptian stories,
this is the best. Then it was the daughters you went to see?"
"To be sure it was! and for the pleasure of beholding them, endured
every evening the staring and smoking with their ferocious old dog of a
papa, who, could he have divined what the two giaours were after, would
soon have employed some of his followers to deprive us of our heads. I
am sure, by the pleased and melting expression of their eyes, that the
girls knew what we came about, and we would certainly have opened a
correspondence with them by some means, could we have done so; but as
they were kept almost continually under lock and key, we never found an
opportunity to see them alone, and letters--if we could have written
them--would have been useless, as they could neither read nor write a
word of any known language, their education being entirely confined to
dancing, singing, and playing on the _'o-od_, a kind of guitar used in
Egypt: it is a plano-convex affair, which you may often see introduced
in eastern views and paintings.
"Well, as I related before, on the evening after the blowing of the
_kamsin_, Fassifern and I departed on our daily visit, eagerly hoping
that we might have an opportunity to see Zela and Azri, the two
daughters, alone, as we marched the next day _en route_ for that great
city of the genii and the fairies, Grand Cairo, and might never again be
at Alexandria. We were confoundedly smitten, I assure you, though we
have often laughed at it since. We were as much in love as two very
romantic young subalterns could be, and very earnest--hoping, fearing,
trembling, and all that--we were in the matter."
"Well, major, and which was your flame?"
"Zela was mine. They named her, 'the White Rose of Sidrah;' which
means, I believe, 'the wonderful tree of Mahomet's paradise.' But to
continue:
"On approaching the house, we found it all deserted and silent. The
carpet and pipe lay under the shadow of the umbrageous nopal, but the
grave and portly Mohammed Djedda was not there. The house and garden
likewise were tenantless, and after wandering for some time among its
maze of flower-beds and little groves, where the apricot, the
pomegranate, date-palm, custard-apple, and fig-tree, flourished
luxuriantly, we were met by one of Mohammed's half-naked slaves, who
informed us--me at least, as I alone knew a little of his guttural
language,--that the Capitan Djedda, his four wives, his slaves, and all
his household, were gone to the great mosque, to return thanks for the
passing away of the _kamsin_.
"As we were very much overcome by the heat of the atmosphere, we were
about to enter the cool marble vestibule of the mansion, when the airy
figures of the young ladies, in their floating drapery, appeared at an
upper window.
"'Now or never, Colin!' said Fassifern. 'The young ladies are upstairs
and the house is empty; we will pay them a visit now in safety.'
"'And what if old Blue Beard returns in the mean time with all his
Mamelukes?'
"'Then there is nothing for it but cutting our way out and escaping. We
march to-morrow, and the affair would be forgotten in the hurry of our
departure. But is not death the penalty of being found in the chambers
of Turkish women?'
"'So I have heard,' said I, shrugging my shoulders; 'but old Mohammed
will scarcely try experiments in the art of decapitation while our own
troops are so near. Yonder are the sentinels of the 42nd, among the
ruins of the Roman tower, almost within hail.'
"'Which is the way, Colin?' asked he, as we wandered about the
vestibule, among columns and pedestals surmounted by splendid vases
filled with gorgeous flowers.
"'Up this staircase, I think.'
"'But what the devil am I to say when we meet them? I know not a word
of the language.'
"'Tush! never mind that, Jock: do as I do,' said I, as we ascended the
white marble steps leading to the upper story, and passed through
several apartments, the very appearance of which made me long to become
Mohammed's son-in-law; but I can assure you, that never until that
moment had I thought seriously of making the 'White Rose of Sidrah' Mrs.
Colin Campbell of Craigfianteoch. The chambers through which we passed
were singular, and gorgeously rich beyond conception; realizing all
those ideas of oriental magnificence which are so well described in the
'Thousand and One Nights.' The walls, floors, and columns were of
polished marble, pure and spotless as snow; and then there were arches
hung, and pillars wreathed, with festoons and garlands of dewy and
freshly gathered flowers. Globes of crystal, vases of the purest
alabaster, Persian carpets, hangings of damask and silk, girt with cords
and tassels of gold, appeared on every side, and in many of the
apartments bubbled up fountains of bright and sparkling water, diffusing
a cool and delightful feeling through the close atmosphere of the
mansion.
"The tinkling sound of the _'o-od_, or Egyptian lute, attracted us
towards the kiosk which contained the fair objects who had led us on the
adventure. We raised the heavy folds of a glossy damask curtain, and
found ourselves, for the first time, in their presence unobserved by
others.
"The two graceful creatures, who were as usual closely veiled, sprang
from the ottomans on which they were seated, and came hastily towards
us, exclaiming in surprise mingled with fear and pleasure, '_Ma sha
Allah! Ya mobareh, ya Allah!_' and a score of such phrases as the
tumult of their minds caused them to utter.
"'Salam alai hom,' said Fassifern, meaning 'good morrow,' which was all
the progress he had made in the oriental languages, and we doffed our
bonnets, making a salaam in the most graceful manner.
"'Colin, tell them to take off their confounded veils,' whispered
Cameron.
"I asked them to do so in the most high-flown style imaginable, but they
screamed out another volley of exclamations, and fled away to the
further corner of the apartment, yet came again towards us timidly,
while I felt my heart beating audibly as I surveyed the soft expression
of pleasure that beamed in their orient eyes. They were evidently
delighted at the novelty of our visit, though their pleasure was tinged
with a dash of dread when they thought of their father's return, and the
boundless fury of a Turkish vengeance. Zela placed her little white
hands on my epaulets, and looking steadfastly at me through the round
holes in her veil, burst into a merry shout of laughter.
"'Beautiful Zela,' said I, as I threw my arm around her, 'White Rose of
Sidrah, at what do you laugh?'
"'You have no beard!' said she, laughing louder. 'Where is the bushy
hair which hangs from the chin of a man?'