Campbell, wrapping his mantle around his gigantic figure, which the
Spaniard surveyed with a stare of surprise. "I regret you have not all
invitations; but be as much at home here as you can, and be careful how
you trust yourselves within any of Senor Raphael's couches.
Peninsular--pardon, conde!--I mean Portuguese posadas are none of the
most cleanly; and if you would wish to avoid being afflicted with
_sarna_ for twelve months to come, it would be quite as safe and
pleasant to repose on the floor."
"The sarna! major," exclaimed Stuart; "what does that mean?"
"We give a less classical name for it at home in the land o' cakes,"
said Campbell, as he descended the stair, making the place shake with
his heavy tread; "but you will discover to your cost what it means, if
you are rash enough to sleep between the sheets of any bed in the
posadas of this country."
Don Balthazzar returned next morning to rejoin Lord Wellington's staff
at Ciudad Rodrigo.
His despatches contained an order to Sir Rowland Hill to return into
Spanish Estremadura, the retreat of Marshal Marmont rendering the
presence of the second division unnecessary in Portugal. Many were
sadly disappointed when this order was read next morning in the hollow
squares of regiments,--all having been in high spirits, and filled with
enthusiasm at the prospect of a brush with the enemy before the expected
capitulation of the celebrated fortress; but there was no help for
it,--obedience being the first duty of a soldier. On the march towards
Merida again, they consoled themselves with the hope that the Marshal
Duke of Dalmatia, General Drouet, or some of the commanders in their
front, would make them amends by showing fight. The British army had
now been supplied with tents sent out to them from Britain; and they had
the prospect of encamping with what they considered tolerable comfort
during the summer campaign, and not lying, like the beasts of the field,
without a shelter from the inclemency of the weather.
The same degree of coldness and hauteur was yet maintained between
Ronald and Louis Lisle, who never addressed each other but when
compelled by military duty to do so; and only then in the most distant
terms, and studied style of politeness. The quarrel which had ensued on
their first meeting was yet rankling in the hearts of both, and their
fiery Scottish pride was fast subduing the secret feeling of friendship
which still lurked in the breast of each.
The weather had become very warm, and the soldiers suffered excessively
from the burning heat of the sun and the extreme scarcity of water, when
traversing the wild and arid plains of Estremadura. Their rations were
of such an indifferent quality, and so very scant, as barely to sustain
life; and Ronald Stuart, although a stout young Highlander, felt often
so much exhausted, that his heavy broad-sword nearly dropped more than
once from his hand.
If such was his situation, what must that have been of the poor private
soldiers, laden as they were with their heavy arms, ammunition, and
accoutrements,--knapsack, great coat, blanket, haversack, and
canteen,--a load weighing nearly eighty pounds! Day after day they
marched forward in the face of the scorching sun,--hot, fierce, and
glaring, hanging above them in the blue and cloudless vault, withering
the grass beneath their feet, and causing the earth to gape and crack as
if all inanimate nature were athirst for rain and moisture. Every
breath of air they inhaled seemed hot and suffocating, like the fiery
blast which gushes from an oven when the door is opened.
More than once on the march had Ronald relieved Louis by carrying his
heavy standard, when he was almost sinking with exhaustion; but the want
of water was the chief misery endured. The supply with which they filled
their wooden canteens at the public fountains of Albuquerque, Zagala,
and La Nava, became during the march heated and tainted, sickly to the
taste and unrefreshing.
Now and then, when a spring was passed on the line of march, the
soldiers, unrestrained by discipline, crowded eagerly and wildly about
it, striving furiously, almost at drawn bayonets, for the first
canteen-full, until the place became a clay puddle, and further
contention was useless.
"O for ae sough o' the cauler breeze that blaws ower the braes o'
Strathonan!" Evan would often exclaim, as he wiped away the perspiration
which streamed from under his bonnet; "or a single mouthfu' o' the Isla,
where it rins sae cauld and deep at Corrie-avon, or the foaming swirl at
the linn o' Avondhu, for my tongue is amaist burnt to a cinder. Gude
guide us, Maister Ronald, this is awfu'."
"O'ds man, Iverach, if I was again on the bonnie Ochil or Lomond hills,"
said a Lowlander, "de'il ding me gin I wad gie ower driving sheep and
stots to follow the drum."
"Or staun to pe shoot at for twa pawbees ta hoor,--teevil tak' it!"
added a Gordon from Garioch.
"Hear to the greedy kite!" exclaimed the Lowlander. "An Aberdonian is
the chield to reckon on the bawbees."
"Teevil and his tam pe on you and yours!" cried the Gordon angrily.
"Oich, oich! it's well kent that a Fife-man would rake hell for a bodle,
and skin--"
The commanding voice of Colonel Cameron, exclaiming, "Silence, there,
number four company! silence on the march!" put an instant end to the
controversy.
"Hot work this, Stuart, very. Beats Egypt almost," Campbell would say,
as he rode past at times.
Various were the emotions which agitated Ronald's breast, when he beheld
before him the windings of the Guadiana and the well-known city of
Merida, which was again in possession of the French. The jealous
feeling with which he regarded Alice Lisle caused him to look forward
with almost unalloyed pleasure to the expected meeting with his winning
and beautiful patrona; and it was with a secret sensation of
satisfaction--of triumph perhaps, of which, however, he almost felt
ashamed, that he had witnessed the proud blood mantling in the cheek of
young Louis, when he (Ronald) was rallied by Alister, Kennedy, and
others, about his residence at Merida, and the favour he had found with
Donna Catalina.
At the fountain where Stuart had been regaled by the muleteers, a fierce
struggle ensued among the soldiers for a mouthful of water. The French
troops had maliciously destroyed the pipe and basin; the water, in
consequence, gushed across the pathway, where the current had now worn a
channel. Although the whole of General Long's brigade of cavalry had
passed through it, rendering it a thick and muddy puddle, yet so intense
was the thirst of the soldiers that an angry scramble ensued around it
to fill canteens, or obtain a mouthful to moisten their tongues, which
were swollen, and clove to their palates. By dint of the most strenuous
exertions, Evan Iverach had supplied his master's canteen with the sandy
liquid, neglecting to fill his own, although, poor fellow, he was
perishing with thirst. Ronald had placed it to his lips, but found the
water so much saturated with sand, that it was impossible almost to
taste it. He was replacing the spigot in the little barrel, when the
exclamation of--
"My God! I shall certainly faint with exhaustion. Soldiers, I will give
a guinea for a drop of water,--only a single drop," pronounced in a
remarkably soft and musical English accent, arrested his attention; and
on looking up, he perceived a young lady, attired in a fashionable
riding-habit and hat, pressing her graceful Andalusian horse among the
Highlanders, who were crushing and jostling around the mutilated
fountain. The wind blew up her lace veil, discovering a quantity of
fair silky curls falling around a face which was very pretty and
delicate, but thin, apparently from the fatigue and privations which
were making many a stout soldier gaunt and bony. Many who had filled
their vessels at the fountain, held them towards her; but she gratefully
took Ronald's, thanking him by a smile from the finest blue eyes in the
world.
"I am afraid it is impossible you can drink it," said he, as he held her
bridle, "it is so thick with clay and animalculae."
"It is very bad, certainly; but yet better than nothing," replied the
lady, as she drank of it, quenching her burning thirst eagerly. "Ah,
dear sir! I regret to deprive you of it; but accept my kindest thanks
in return. My name is Mrs. Evelyn; Mr. Evelyn of the 9th Light Dragoons
will return you a thousand thanks for your kindness to me. But I must
ride fast, if I would see him again before they attack Merida; and so,
sir, good morning!"
She struck her Andalusian with her little riding-rod, and bowing
gracefully, galloped along the line of the infantry column towards where
the horse-brigade were forming, previously to attacking seven hundred
foot, which, with a strong party of steel-clad cuirassiers, occupied the
city. Every eye was turned on the young lady as she flew along the line
of march, with her long fair ringlets, her lace veil, and the skirt of
her riding-habit waving wide and free about her.
"God's blessing on her bonnie face!"
"Her een are as blue and bricht as the vera lift aboon!" exclaimed the
soldiers, charmed with her beauty and grace.
"What a happy fellow Evelyn is to possess so fine a girl," said Captain
Bevan.
"How famously she manages that Andalusian horse!"
"Had Evelyn been a wise man, he would have left her at home in Kent. He
has a splendid property there,--a regular old baronial hall, with its
mullioned windows and rookery, surrounded by lawns and fields, where
myriads of flies buzz about the ears of the gigantic plough-horses in
the warm weather. How foolish to bring a delicate English lady from her
luxurious home, to undergo the ten thousand miseries incident to
campaigning!"
"But what on earth can have brought her up from the rear just now, when
her husband's corps are about to drive the enemy from their position?"
"There goes Long!" said Campbell, exultingly flourishing his stick.
"Keep up your hearts, my boys! It will be our turn, in a few minutes,
to give them a specimen of what we learned when in Egypt with Sir
Ralph."
It was Sir Rowland Hill's earnest desire to capture this small party of
the enemy; for which purpose the cavalry were ordered to ford the
Guadiana at some distance below the ruined bridge, to out-flank them,
and, if possible, to cut off their retreat. The French battalion of
infantry, dressed in blue uniform with white trowsers, (rather unusual,
the French troops being generally very dirty in their persons when on
service,) were seen in position on the opposite side of the river, drawn
up in front of some orange plantations, while their squadron of
cuirassiers occupied the avenues of the city, where their brass casques,
steel corslets, and long straight swords were seen flashing in the
noon-day sun. While the rest of the division halted, the first brigade,
consisting of the 50th and 71st Highland Light Infantry, 92nd
Highlanders, and Captain Blacier's German Rifle company, commanded by
Major-general Howard, were ordered to advance with all speed upon the
town; while the 9th and 13th English Light Cavalry, and king's German
Hussars, boldly plunging into the Guadiana, swam their horses across the
stream under a fire from the carbines of the cuirassiers, who, on
finding their flank thus turned, fired one regular volley, which
unhorsed for ever many of Long's brigade, and then fled at full speed.
At the same time the battalion of infantry disappeared, without firing a
shot, among the groves in their rear.
"Forward! double quick!" was the word; and, with their rustling colours
bending forward on the breeze, the first brigade pressed onward at their
utmost speed down the descent towards the city, and through its deserted
streets, making their echoes ring to the clank of accoutrements, and the
rapid and rushing tread of many feet. The ultimate escape of the enemy
was favoured by the delay caused in providing planks to cross the
blown-up arch of the Roman bridge. Rafters and flooring were, without
ceremony, torn from some neighbouring houses, thrown hurriedly across
the gap, and onward again swept the impatient infantry, eager to come up
with, to encounter, and capture this little band, which had so adroitly
eluded them. But for that evening they saw them no more; and after a
fruitless pursuit for some miles, returned to Merida wearied and
fatigued, when the shadows of night had begun to darken the sky and
scenery.
Followed by ours, the enemy's cavalry had retired at a gallop along the
level road to Almendralejo; often they turned on the way to shout "_Vive
l'Empereur!_" to brandish their swords, or fire a shot, which now and
then stretched a British dragoon rolling in the dust. As the first
brigade were returning towards Merida, a mournful episode in my
narrative came under their observation,--one which calls forth all the
best feelings of the soldier, when the wild excitement of the hour of
conflict has passed away. Near one of those rude wooden crosses so
common by the way-side in Spain, placed to mark a spot where murder has
been committed, lay an English troop-horse in the agonies of death; the
froth and blood, oozing from its quivering nostrils, rolled around in a
puddle, while kicking faintly with its hoofs, it made deep indentations
in the smooth grassy turf. Beside it lay the rider, with his glittering
accoutrements scattered all about. His foot was entangled in the
stirrup, by which he appeared to have been dragged a long way, as his
uniform was torn to pieces, and his body was soiled with clay and dust.
A carbine-shot had passed through his brain, and he was lying stark and
stiff; his smart chako had rolled away, and the features of a dashing
English dragoon,--the once gay Evelyn, were exposed to view. Beside the
corse, weeping in speechless sorrow and agony, sat his wife,--the same
interesting young lady who had that morning drank from Ronald's canteen
at the fountain. Her face was ashy pale,--pale even as that of her dead
soldier,--and she seemed quite unconscious of the approach of the
Highlanders, who could not be restrained from making an involuntary
halt. Her hat and veil had fallen off, permitting her fair curls to
stream over her neck and shoulders: she uttered no sound of woe or
lamentation, but sat with her husband's head resting on her lap, gazing
on his face with a wild and terrible expression, while her little white
hands were bedabbled with the blood which clotted his curly hair. From
Merida she had seen him unhorsed, and dragged away in the stirrup by his
frightened steed, which had also been wounded. With shrieks and
outcries she had tracked him by the blood for two miles from the town,
until the exhausted charger sunk down to die, and she found her husband
thus.
Colonel Cameron, on approaching, sprang from his horse, and raised her
from the ground, entreating her to return to Merida, as night was
approaching; and to be left in so desolate a place, was unsafe and
unadvisable. But she protested against being separated from the corpse
of her husband; and, as it was impossible to leave her there, Cameron
gave orders to carry Mr. Evelyn's remains to Merida. A temporary bier
was made in the usual manner, by fastening a blanket to two regimental
pikes: in this the dead officer was placed, and borne off by two stout
Highlanders. Mrs. Evelyn mounted her Andalusian, which Evan Iverach had
adroitly captured while it was grazing quietly at some distance, and
Cameron, riding beside her, gallantly held her bridle rein as they
proceeded towards the city. It was totally dark when the brigade,
forming close column of regiments, halted in the now desolate Plaza.
The soldiers were instantly dismissed to their several billets.
That which Ronald had received was upon the hovel of a poor potter,
residing near the convent of San Juan; but instead of going thither, he
made straight towards the house of the old prior de Villa Franca, at the
corner of the Calle de Guadiana, earnestly hoping, as he wended on his
way, that it had escaped the heartless ravages he saw on every side of
him.
"I will show this fiery Master Lisle of ours that I have more than one
string to my bow, as well as the fickle Alice," he muttered aloud, and
in a tone of gaiety which I must own he did not entirely feel.
That morning the mails had been brought up from Lisbon, and both Louis
and himself had received letters from home; and Ronald concluded that
there was still no letter from Alice, as Louis had, as usual, not
addressed him during all that day. Old Mr. Stuart's letter was far from
being a satisfactory one to his son.
"Inchavon," said he, in one part of it, "has now taken upon him the
title of Lord Lysle, and has gained a great landed property in the
Lothians. As these people rise, we old families seem to sink. All my
affairs are becoming more inextricably involved: the rot has destroyed
all my sheep at Strathonan, and a murrain has broken out among our black
Argyleshires. The most of the tenants have failed to pay their rents;
the farm towns of Tilly-whumle and Blaw-wearie were burned last
week,--fifteen hundred pounds of a dead loss; and the damned Edinburgh
lawyers are multiplying their insolent threats, their captions and
homings, for my debts there; and all here at home is going to wreck,
ruin, and the devil! I trust that you keep the _Hon._ Louis Lisle at a
due distance: I know you will, for my sake. Folk, hereabout, say his
sister is to be married to Lord Hyndford, during some part of the next
month."
The last sentence Ronald repeated more than once through his clenched
teeth, as he stumbled forward over the rough pavement of the
market-place. As he looked around him, his heart sickened at the utter
silence and desolation which reigned every where: not a single light
visible, save that of the silver moon and twinkling stars.
As he approached the well-known mansion where he had spent so many
delightful hours, the gaunt appearance of the gable, the roofless walls,
the fallen balconies, the shattered casements, informed him at once that
"the glory had departed."
The house had been completely gutted by fire, and Ronald, while he gazed
around him, recalled the old tales of Sir Ian Mhor's days, when the
savage cohorts of Cumberland (Cumberland the bloody and the merciless)
were let loose over the Scottish highlands. In the garden, the
flowerbeds were trampled down and destroyed,--the shrubbery laid
waste,--the marble fountain was in ruins, and the water rushing like a
mountain-torrent through Catalina's favourite walk. The utmost labour
had been expended to ruin and destroy every thing, Don Alvaro's rank and
bravery having rendered him particularly odious to the soldiers of the
usurper, Joseph Buonaparte. Fragments of gilded chairs, hangings, and
books were tossing about in all directions. Some of the latter Ronald
took up, and saw by the light of the moon that they had belonged to
Catalina's little library, (books are a scarce commodity in Spain,) and
were her most favourite authors. There was the romance of "Amadis de
Gaul," written by that good and valiant knight, Vasco de Loberia, "Lopez
de Ruedas," "Armelina," "Eusenia," "Los Enganados," all separate works,
and other dramas and pastorals. But one richly bound little book,
printed at Salamanca, the "Vidas de los Santos," upon which her own hand
had written her name, he kept as a remembrance--he scarcely required
one,--and bestowing a hearty malediction on the French, against whom he
now felt the bitterest personal enmity, he left the place with an
anxious and heavy heart, intending to question the first Espanol he
should meet as to the fate of the family of Villa Franca. He
encountered several in the streets, but none could give him the least
information; and as he was weary with the fatigues of the day, he
retired to his billet at the house of the potter. On the way thither, a
ray of light shining through a low barred window, and the wailing as of
one in deep distress, attracted his attention. On looking in he
perceived the lady-like and graceful figure of Mrs. Evelyn bending over
a table, on which, muffled up in a cavalry cloak, lay the cold remains
of him she loved with her whole heart. A wearied dragoon, booted and
accoutred, lay asleep in one corner; in another were grouped some Irish
soldiers' wives, smoking and sipping aquardiente, while they listened in
silence to the sorrowful moanings of the young lady, and the lowly
muttered yet earnest prayer which a poor Cistertian padre, almost worn
out with years and privation, offered up for the soul of the deceased,
around whose bier he had placed several candles, which he had
consecrated by lighting them at the shrine of San Juan. The chamber was
ruinous and desolate, without either fire or furniture. It was in sooth
a sad and strange situation for the poor girl, whose fair head rested on
the bosom of the slain; and Ronald, as he turned away, thought of what
her gay and fashionable friends at home would have said could they have
seen her then,--bowed down in absorbing sorrow, without a friend to
comfort her, and surrounded by squalid misery and desolation.
* * * * *
About day-break next morning Evelyn was buried hastily in a grassy spot
among the ruins of the castle of Merida,--the alcalde having piously
objected to the burial of a _heretic_ in consecrated ground. Without
other shroud but his tattered and bloody uniform,--without other coffin
than his large military cloak,--he was lowered into the hastily made
tomb. The chaplain of the brigade performed the burial service, and he
was hurriedly covered up. A volley of carbines from his troop, and the
sobs of his young widow as she stood by, leaning on the arm of
Fassifern, were the last requiem of the English dragoon.
*CHAPTER IV.*
*THE OUT-PICQUET.*
"Then she is still alive:--
My lovely Lucrece in a Roman camp,
Midst hostile Tarquins! Would she had been slain!"
_Fate of Capua: a Tragedy._
The _patron_ of Ronald's billet could not give him any information about
Donna Catalina, or any of the inmates of her mansion,--the hotel de
Villa Franca, as the citizens named it. He knew that it had been
occupied by the French, whose commanding officer quartered himself upon
it as the best house in the place, and that his soldiers had burnt it
when they saw that they should be compelled to abandon Merida, on the
second advance of the British. From the first occupation of the town by
the enemy, none of the Villa Franca family had been seen. This was all
the information he could obtain, and Ronald was led to conclude that
Catalina and her cousin had escaped, and might be at Majorga, or some
other town on the Spanish frontiers.
The poor patron was a potter by trade, and made brown earthenware crocks
and jars, which he retailed through Estremadura in panniers slung on the
back of a mule; but he earned barely sufficient to support his wife and
family. Nevertheless, to show their loyalty to King Ferdinand, and
their gratitude to his allies, the _patrona_ had, by dint of much
exertion, procured for Ronald on the morning of his departure what was
considered in Spain a tolerable breakfast.
On the wooden table was placed a large crock full of boiled pork and
peas, opposite to which stood a jar of goat's milk, plates of eggs,
dried raisins, and white bread,--even coffee was on the table; a display
altogether of viands that raised the wonder and increased the appetites
of the six hungry children who crowded round the board, holding up their
little brown hands with many exclamations of wonder, and cries to their
_madre_ and _padre_ to help them; but their parents were intent on doing
the honours of the table to the noble caballero.