to his old acquaintance, who with his back against the colour-staff,
surrounded by corpses and scattered fascines, stood on his guard, with
his proud dark eyes flashing fire under his grenadier cap. He was
resolute apparently to die, but never to surrender to force.
"Halt! keep back, soldiers!" said Stuart, striking down a ridge of
threatening pikes and bayonets. "He will surrender to me. Yield,
gallant D'Estouville! you may now do so without a shadow of dishonour."
But he seemed to have forgotten the speaker, as he only replied by a
blow and a thrust.
"He is a gallant fellow!" said Fassifern, tossing the bridle of his
horse to an orderly, and making his way through the press. "Save him,
if possible, Stuart! _Monsieur, rends votre epee, vos armes?_"
"_Monsieur_, permit me to retain my sword, and I will surrender; 'tis
but _le droit de la guerre?_"
"Certainly, sir, if it is your wish."
"_Croix Dieu_! Cursed fortune! So soon again to be a captive! Surely,
I was born under some evil star!'
"_Monsieur,_" replied Cameron, "you have behaved most nobly in this
affair. The glory of the vanquished is scarcely less than that of the
victors." The Frenchman was subdued by the well-timed flattery, and
laying his hand upon his breast, answered by a bow.
"_Mon ami_, to you I render myself. _C'est un aimable roue_," said
D'Estouville, laying his hand familiarly on Ronald's epaulet while
sheathing his sword; "I become a prisoner without shame. The great
Emperor might yield himself without dishonour to you, my old friend; and
in truth I would rather surrender to a descendant of the ancient friends
of France than to your southern neighbours, for with them a sea of blood
will never quench our enmity. _Croix Dieu!_ what is this? The base
cowards in Ragusa have cut off the retreat of my soldiers! Ah! false
Monsieur de Mesmai, the Emperor shall hear of this. _Diable!_"
A proud and peculiar smile shot over his features as the soldiers pulled
down the tri-colour, and bore it off as a trophy from the bastion. He
folded his arms, and leaning against the flagstaff, surveyed the ebbing
conflict apparently with the utmost coolness and perfect nonchalance;
but the quivering of his moustached lip showed the workings of his
heart, though he endeavoured to conceal them.
With many a cry of "_Faites bonne guerre, messieurs les Ecossais!
Quartier--quartier! Les lois de la guerre, messieurs._" The
discomfited enemy clamorously demanded to be taken as prisoners of war,
as the firing had now ceased every where; and they often called aloud on
"_les Ecossais_," probably from seeing that the majority of their
conquerors wore the kilt and trews of tartan.
"_Soldats, vos armes a terre_," cried the crestfallen D'Estouville over
the parapet of the bastion; and, as one man, the shattered remains of
the gallant garrison grounded their arms, while a strong party of the
Gordon Highlanders, with fixed bayonets, surrounded them as a guard.
*CHAPTER VIII.*
*CATALINA.*
"I proclaim,
Through all the silent streets Creuesa's name:
Creuesa still I call: at length she hears,
And sudden through the shades of night appears."
_AEneis, book_ 2.
It was now clear daylight, and over heaps of dead and wounded which were
stretched around, lying across each other, as Evan said, 'like herrins
in a keg,' Ronald went in search of Catalina through the buildings
composing the barracks, which were arranged in the form of a square. At
every turn his passage was encumbered by the miserable victims of the
morning's carnage, mostly French, as the majority of the British killed
and wounded fell in the _avant-fosse_. Here lay the war-worn and
grey-haired grenadier of the Guard, seamed with the scars of Austerlitz
and Jena, blowing the bells of froth and blood from his quivering lip,
and scowling defiance with his glazing eye at the passer. Beside or
across him lay the muscular Highlander, his bare legs drenched in gore,
casting looks of imploring helplessness, craving "Maister Stuart, for
the love o' the heevin aboon them, to bring the wee'st drop of water, or
send some ane to stanch their bluid." Here lay one Frenchman with his
skull shot away and brains scattered about,--another cut in two by a
round shot, and scores, otherwise torn to pieces by Campbell's terrible
volley from the platform, lying in long lines, which marked the lane
made by the course and radius of each discharge of grape, and the whole
place swam with blood and brains--a horrible puddle, like the floor of a
slaughter-house.
All this was as nothing to witnessing the frightful agonies of the
wretched wounded and dying, goaded with the most excruciating pain,
choking in their blood,--their limbs quivering in extremity of torture,
while they shrieked the eternal cry of "water!" and shrieked in vain.
Ronald pressed forward almost without heeding them,--war for a time
sears and hardens the heart in no common degree, even against the utmost
accumulation of human wretchedness; but he certainly was rather appalled
at the appearance of a soldier of the 50th foot, who had crawled away
into a corner to die unseen. A musquet-shot had passed through his
neck, in its way injuring the root of the tongue, which was hanging from
his mouth, swollen, livid, and blue like that of a cow, presenting a
hideous and disgusting sight, from which young Stuart, although his
fiery heart was beating with the tumult of the late fray, and his red
blade dripped with the signs of it, turned away in horror. Little know
our peaceful and plodding citizens at home of the miseries of war!
In search of Donna Catalina, Ronald wandered every where through the
deserted and confused quarters of the enemy, but she was no where to be
found; and he was about to cross the river and search the tower of
Ragusa, or question D'Estouville, when drums beating in the square
called him to the parade of the regiment.
It was now a beautiful morning, and the rising sun shed its lustre on
the ridges of the Lina and windings of the bright Tagus. At their base,
in the pure bosom of the glassy river, the trees and vineyards, cottages
and ruined bridge of Almarez, the bastions of fort Napoleon and black
tower of Ragusa, were reflected downwards as clearly as if in some huge
mirror. Above them the morning mist from the cork woods and the smoke
of fire-arms from the forts, mingling together and ascending in volumes,
melted away on the thin breezy air. Long and loud blew pipe and bugle,
mustering the troops in the square of the _tete-du-pont_; but many who
had marched to them merrily yesterday, lay stark and stiff now, and
heard their blast no more. The military store-houses of the enemy had
been broken open and given over to pillage, and skins of wine, bottles
of rum, and kegs of French brandy were to be had for the broaching.
Barrels were staved, and hams, rounds of beef, etc. were tossed by the
soldiers from one to another, and borne aloft in triumph on the points
of bloody bayonets, and every man filled his havresack with such
provisions as he could lay his hands on.
When this scene of tumult and disorder was ended, the capturers of the
fort Napoleon were mustered in the barrack-square, to receive the thanks
of General Hill for the steadiness and dashing gallantry of their
conduct throughout the assault. The soldiers burned to give the fine
old fellow three hearty cheers, but discipline withheld them.
Addressing himself to Ronald in particular, he thanked him for the
dauntless manner in which, on Captain Stuart's fall, he had led the
assault. While the general spoke, Ronald felt his heart glowing with the
most unalloyed delight, and the reward of being thus publicly thanked
before his comrades, was sufficient for the dangers he had dared and
overcome. "How proud," thought he, "will the people at the old tower of
Lochisla be, when they hear of this day's work! And Alice Lisle--surely
she--"
Here the soft and plaintive voice of one well known to him broke the
chain of his thoughts.
"_O Senor Don Ronald! O por amor de Dios!_" exclaimed Catalina with
sudden joy, "for the love of the holy Virgin protect me!"
"For the love of yourself, rather, fair Catalina," said he, advancing
from the flank of his company to where he saw her kneeling on the ground
between the close ranks of German rifles, who beheld her distress with
sullen apathy. How beautiful she looked then! Her white hands were
clasped in an agony of terror, and her long glossy hair rolled in
dishevelled ringlets about her fine neck and shoulders. He raised her
from the ground.
"Catalina," said he, "I cannot leave my post to see you from the fort;
but do me the favour to take my arm,--and pray do not be so agitated.
There is no danger now."
"O no,--with you I am safe," she replied with a delightful smile of
entire confidence, which caused a thrill to pass through Ronald's heart
as she placed her arm in his. "_O amigo mio!_ what a terrible morning
this has been! How terrified I have felt since the roar of the cannon
roused me from bed. And you have escaped! Praise be to the Virgin for
it! she heard my prayers. Ah! how I trembled for you, when I saw from a
loop-hole the black plumes of your regiment."
Ronald pressed the little hand which lay on his arm, but he knew not
what to say. A tremor of softness and joy filled his heart, causing him
to turn with disgust from the objects of bloodshed and strife that lay
every where around, and his eyes rested on the donna's radiant features
with a pleasure which he had never known till then. How agreeable it was
to hear the frank girl talking in this way!
"_O santa Maria!_" she exclaimed with a shudder, after a pause, "I can
scarcely look around me, so many fearful sights present themselves
everywhere to my eye,--sights of which we knew nothing at happy Merida,
before the false Napoleon crossed the Pyrenees."
"With God's help, and our good steel, Catalina, we will drive his
legions back again,--or into the sea at Bayonne; and then again at
Merida the fandango, the bolero and waltz--"
"_Amigo mio_, senor! you speak as might become the Cid Rodrigo; but
although your hand may be as stout, and your sword as long as his, why
be so rash? How you leaped over the parapet, among the horrid bayonets
of the French--"
"You saw me, then," said Ronald with delight. "And trembled for you."
"How fortunate I am to have your good wishes! I dare say you are very
happy at being freed from this place?"
"O very--very! But surely it was not on my account that all this
frightful work has been made. Perhaps you have heard how I was carried
off from Merida?"
"Yes; and I cannot express the uneasiness the relation gave me."
"A French officer, a Major D'Estouville, carried me off across his
saddle a captive maiden, by force, as any fierce Moor of Grenada would
have done long ago. I have been since a prisoner here."
"Well, but this D'Estouville--"
"Such a gay cavalier he is! But I was very tired of him, and longed to
be at pleasant Merida with its sunny Prado and orange groves, instead of
this dull, guarded fort, with its bulwarks and ditches, cannon and
gates. I was much annoyed by Monsieur D'Estouville's speeches and
protestations; but 'tis all at an end now, and I trust he has escaped,
though I wish not to see his face again. Do you know if he is safe?"
"I saved his life but an hour since," replied Ronald, the pique which he
felt at her first observations disappearing. "But I do not see him
among the prisoners," he added, examining the sullen and disarmed band
as they marched past out of the fort, surrounded by their armed escort
commanded by Louis Lisle, from whose cheek the blood was trickling from
a sabre wound, which he heeded not.
The officers on parole uncovered their heads on passing the young lady,
who now, when her terror was over, began naturally to feel abashed and
confused to find herself leaning on an officer's arm on a military
parade, exposed to the gaze of several regiments.
"Oh, I trust he has escaped; 'twere a thousand pities if so sprightly a
soldado should be injured."
"On my word, if you take so great an interest in this rash Frenchman, I
shall feel quite jealous."
"You have no reason, senor. I tell you I never wish to see his face
again, though it is a very handsome one," responded the donna with an
air of pique, while a purple blush crossed her features. "Holy Mary,
would I had my veil here! To be thus gazed at--"
"Here comes one may give us some information. Macdonald, where is the
French commandant,--D'Estouville; the young man with the bear-skin cap
and crimson feather?"
"With his fathers, I believe, poor fellow. He was a gallant soldier as
ever drew sword," replied Alister, who at that moment came past and paid
his respects to Donna Catalina, whom he was not a little surprised to
see amidst the ranks of the Highlanders leaning on Ronald's arm, while
her long beautiful tresses streamed about like those of some wood-nymph
or goddess.
"I rejoice to see you in safety, senora. I heard of your being in the
hands of the enemy,--indeed it made so deep an impression on my _bon
camarade_, that he could not keep it a secret. Faith, Stuart," he added
in a whisper, "you have picked up something more precious than a skin of
Malaga, or a keg of French _eau de vie_."
"Stay, Alister," replied the other, with an air of displeasure; "a truce
to raillery. I am sorry to see you wounded."
"A few inches of skin ripped up,--a mere nothing," said Macdonald, whose
arm was slung in his sash. "I received it from the bayonet of a fine
old grenadier, whom Angus Mackie has sent to his long home."
"Well, but the commandant--"
"Poor fellow! I am sorry for his fate,--he seemed so gallant and
reckless."
"The devil, man! what has happened?"
"Have you not heard?"
"No: he yielded himself to me, with permission to retain his sword."
"Better had he tossed it into the Tagus! Scarcely had you left him, when
up came that fiery borderer Armstrong, of the 71st, (at least I have
heard that it was Armstrong,) demanding his sword, not being aware of
the terms on which he had rendered himself prisoner. The Frenchman,
D'Estouville I think you call him, either could not or would not
comprehend him; and Armstrong, by a single stroke of his sword, cleft
his skull through the thick grenadier cap."
An exclamation of rage and impatience broke from Ronald, and of pity
from Catalina, who clasped her hands and raised her dark melancholy eyes
to heaven, while he cast an angry and searching glance along the ranks
of the Highland Light Infantry.
"Sir Rowland Hill," continued Alister, "regrets this unfortunate
circumstance very much, and has sent him off in a bullock-car to Merida,
in charge of a French medical officer liberated on his parole. But I
must bid you adieu, as our company is ordered to assist Thiele, the
German engineer, to destroy the tower and bastions of Ragusa. Heaven
knows how we shall accomplish it:--it looks as massive as the old pile
of Maoial in the western isles."
"What is that villanous priest about?" said Ronald when Macdonald had
withdrawn, and he saw their guide, with the grey cassock bedaubed with
blood, busying himself about the prostrate dead and wounded. "Surely he
is not plundering. Prick him with your bayonet, Macpherson, and drive
him off."
"O no, senor, Heaven forbid!" said the young lady hurriedly. "He must
be confessing, or endeavouring to convert some, before they die and are
lost for ever."
"Scarcely, Catalina," replied Ronald, seeing they were men of the 71st.
"These are true Presbyterians, from a place called Glasgow in my
country, and would as soon hearken to the devil as a Roman Catholic
priest."
"How good must be the priest who endeavours to gain the dying soldier
from the hot grasp of _Satanas_!" said the lady, not comprehending him.
"Call him, Don Ronald; I have not confessed since I left Merida."
"What sins can you have to confess, Catalina? Besides, I do not like
this fellow. But since you look so imploringly, and desire it so much,
I will bring him to you. But let him beware. Ho! reverend _gobernador!
Senor padre_ of the _Convento de todos Santos_, let alone the havresacks
of dead men, and come hither."
The priest, starting from his occupation, crossed his hands upon his
breast, and came stalking slowly towards them, with his head enveloped
in his cope, and his cross and rosary dangling before him.
Catalina, wearied with excess of agitation and the want of sleep, was
anxious to procure a female attendant, and to be sent to the village of
Almarez, from which she hoped to find some means of travelling to the
residence of her cousin and sister, Donna Inesella. And as Ronald's
duties at that time required his being alone, he sent her off on Major
Campbell's horse, accompanied by the priest and Evan Iverach, whom he
desired to see her safe in the best house of the village, and to remain
with her until he could come in the evening. Immediately on means being
procured to convey the suffering wounded to the rear in blankets,
bullock-carts, hurdles of branches, crossed pikes, etc., the forts were
ordered by Sir Rowland Hill to be completely destroyed. Eighteen pieces
of cannon were spiked and cast into the Tagus. The dead British and
French, friend and foe, the victors and the vanquished, found one common
grave. About four hundred corses were tossed into the
_avant-fosse_--arms, accoutrements, and every thing, for burial, and a
horrible pile they formed, lying heaped over each other like fish in a
net. The heavy stone parapets, the _revetement_ and earthen works were
thrown over on them, for the double purpose of covering them up and to
dismantle the place. Gates, palisades, and bridges were destroyed, and
barracks and store-houses given to the flames, consuming in one
universal blaze of destruction every thing that could not be carried
off.
Ragusa was destroyed by the German artillery, who lodged a quantity of
powder in the vaults of the tower, to demolish it effectually by
explosion. Lieutenant Thiele, a German officer of engineers, having
fired the train, and found that the powder in the vaults did not
explode, entered the chamber where it lay, to ascertain the reason. At
that instant it blew up, carrying the unfortunate man into the air,
amidst a cloud of dust and stones.
From battlement to foundation the massive stone tower, burst and rent,
tottered for an instant, and then sunk like a house of cards, but with a
mighty crash, which shook the frail cottages of the adjacent village. A
shower of stones and mortar was scattered in every direction, and the
mangled corse of Thiele fell into the river many yards off, and sunk to
the bottom unheeded and uncared for.
Such was the storming of Almarez, which took place on the 18th May,
1812; and for the capture of which Sir Rowland, afterwards Lord Hill,
received the title of Baron Almarez of the Tagus.
As soon as the laborious work of destruction was completed, the troops
were marched from the ruined forts, with their colours flying and drums
beating; and ascending the hills of the Lina to the distance of about
half a league, bivouacked on their grassy sides. As they retired,
Ronald looked back to the place where so many had found a tomb, and
where, but for another destiny, he might have found his. Under the
mounds made by the levelled ramparts lay the mangled remains of men, who
but a few hours before were in life, and in the full enjoyment of health
and spirits. A cloud of dust and smoke yet hung over the ruins, between
which the glassy Tagus was flowing still and clear, with its surface
glowing in the full splendour of the meridian sun,--flowing onwards as
it had done a thousand years before, and as it will do a thousand after
those who fought and died at Almarez are forgotten!
Leaving the bivouac on the mountain-side, where fires were lighting and
preparations making to regale on what had been found in the stores of
the enemy, Ronald, immediately on arms being 'piled,' returned to the
village, which he found almost deserted by the population, who were
rummaging and searching about the ruins of the forts for whatever they
could lay their hands on, heedless of the lamentations made by the
widows of some of the slain, who hovered near the uncouth tomb of their
husbands.
At the door of a dilapidated cottage, the walls and roof of which
appeared to be held together solely by the thick masses of vine and wild
roses clambering about them, Ronald found Evan busied in cleaning his
musquet and harness, which were, of course, soiled with the morning's
strife, and chanting the while his favourite "Keek into the draw-well,"
&c., to drown the monotonous Ave-Maria of an old blind village matron,
who was telling over her rosary while she sat on a turf by the door,
warming herself in the rays of the bright sun.
He entered softly the desolate earth-floored apartment in which Donna
Catalina was awaiting his return. In one corner, with his hands as
usual meekly crossed over his bosom, stood the burly and disagreeable
figure of the priest,--disagreeable because there was a sort of mystery
attached to him, which the shapeless appearance of his garments, and the
custom of wearing a cowl instead of a scull-cap or shovel-hat, tended
not a little to increase; and Ronald, as a Scotsman and thorough
Presbyterian, was naturally not over-fond of any one connected with
"The Palp, that pagan fu' o' pride,"
and consequently he bestowed on the apparently unconscious padre a stern
look of scrutiny and distrust. At a little square opening, that served
the purpose of a window, and around which the clustering grapes and
roses formed a rural curtain, Catalina was seated with her soft pale
cheek resting on her hand, which was almost hidden among the heavy
curls, the hue of which contrasted with its whiteness. Her dark eyes
were intently fixed on the green mountains of the Lina, where the
British bivouac was visible. The scabbard of Stuart's claymore jarring
on the tiles of the floor, roused her from her reverie, and a rich blush
suffused her face, from her temples to her dimpled chin, as she advanced
towards him in her usual confiding and frank manner, and passed her arm
through his.
"The reverend father will perhaps retire, and keep the old patrona at
the door company in her devotions," said Ronald after some conversation
and the monk immediately withdrew.
"_Ah! senor mio_," said Catalina in a gentle tone of deprecation, "why
do you treat the poor priest so haughtily?"
"I do not like him, Catalina--on my honour I do not; and I believe there
is no love lost between us. I could have sworn I saw the cross hilt of
a dagger glitter under the cope of his cassock, as he withdrew just
now."
"His crucifix, perhaps."
"He told me he carried a dagger, when I confronted him in the wood of
Jarciejo."
"Well, 'tis very probable he bears it in these sad times for protection;
he can scarcely gain any from cross or cope now. He says he is Father
Jerome, of the convent of All Saints at Merida. I think I have heard his
voice before: he has not shown his face, as he says a vow compels him to
conceal it. But indeed you _must_ be respectful to him. The noblest
hidalgos and cavaliers in my country respect the poorest Franciscan."
"The meanest clown in mine, Catalina, cares not a rush for the Pope and
all his cardinals."
"_Madre-Maria_! I will not listen to you," said she, placing her hand
on his mouth. "You must not talk thus; 'tis very sinful. But, alas!
you know not the sin of it. Ah! senor, if you love me," she added,
blushing deeply, "if you love me as you have said you do, speak not so
again."
"Love you, Catalina!" replied the young man, intoxicated with the
tenderness of the expression, while he drew her towards him.
"Oh, stay,--what--who is that?" said the lady hurriedly, as the room
became suddenly darkened.
"'Tis only that cursed priest."
"Surely it was a British officer; his epaulets glittered among the vine
leaves."
"Was I to find the padre eaves-dropping, his cassock would scarcely save
him from a good caning."
"Alas! that would be most foul sacrilege. But speaking of him, reminds
me of a plan we had formed just before you came in. I mean to put
myself under his escort, and to travel to Truxillo, where the alcalde,
or my mother's brother, Don Gonzago de Conquesta, will find me a proper
escort to Idanha-a-Velha, where you say my cousin Inesella resides."
"And think you I will entrust you the length of Truxillo with this
dubious character,--a priest with a poniard in his robe?"