seemed also to pervade the provinces, which appeared suddenly in a state
of insurrection, the people of France seeming to consider their
allegiance to Louis XVI. at an end. The spirit of dissatisfaction had
spread to the troops. Those in garrison at Besancon laid down their
arms, and abandoned the citadel to the bourgeois; who, on becoming thus
suddenly armed, assumed the _cockade de la liberte_, and wearing this
republican badge, committed the most frightful outrages. No dwelling,
sacred or profane, escaped sack and pillage; no age, or rank, or sex did
we spare, executing indiscriminately, by the musquet and sabre, all who
opposed us. Burning for vengeance against the family of De Mesmai, I
had associated myself with and become a leader among the republicans.
We ruined the city of Besancon, giving its public buildings, its
schools, and university to the flames. Alas, monsieur! deeply at this
hour do I repent me of the part I bore in these desperate outrages. We
compelled the proud nobles to acknowledge that they had lost their
privileges, and we burned to the ground their office of records in the
city. We sacked and utterly levelled the rich abbey of the
Citeaux,--that place made so famous by the animadversions of Voltaire.
The young and beautiful Princess de Baufremont, and the Baroness
d'Andelion, who dwelt there, owed their escape from our fury to the
interposition of Heaven and the chivalric gallantry of Louis
Chateaufleur, who with two of the _Gens d'armes Ecossois_ cut his way
through us, sword in hand, and carried the noble demoiselles off on
horseback. Flushed with success, excitement, ferocity, and the wines
found in the vaults of the rich old abbey, we became absolutely frantic,
and some, imbruing their hands in each other's blood, slew their
comrades; while others daubed themselves with gore or black paint, to
make themselves more hideous. Eager for more plunder and devastation,
we cried out to, or rather commanded, our leader, the ungrateful Pierre
Raoul, to lead us against the stately old chateau of Quinsay, that its
aristocratic guests might be given up to our vengeance. With the dawn
De Mesmai was roused from his bed by the beating of drums, the braying
of horns, discharge of fire-arms, the yells, the howls, the shrieks of
the frenzied rabble, mingled with shouts of '_Vive la nation! Vive la
liberte_! Perish the name of God and the king! Freedom to France!
Long live Monsieur Belzebub!' and a hundred other mad and impious cries.
The gay lord of Quinsay, and his comrades of Choiseul's horse, beheld,
to their no small terror, the gardens, the orchards and parks in
possession of a desperate mob, armed with bayonets, musquets, pikes,
scythes, and every weapon they could lay their hands on--iron rails and
fences where nothing else could be procured. All were full of wine and
frenzy: many were only half dressed, blackened with smoke and dust, and
besmeared with blood, presenting a frightful troop of hideous faces,
distorted by the worst and wildest of human passions.
"You may imagine the surprise of Pierre Raoul and his worthies, when, at
the gate of the chateau, we were met by Monsieur Maurice and his gay
companions, bowing and smiling, gracefully waving their hats, while they
greeted us with cries of 'Long live the nation! Long live the sovereign
people! _Vive le diable!_' We were astonished, and greeted them with
the most tremendous yells, while a hundred black and dirty hands wrung
theirs in burlesque friendship. The whole band were formally invited to
a repast, served up in the hall of the chateau, from which De Mesmai had
hurriedly torn down all the banners and armorial bearings of his house,
substituting in their place an immense tri-coloured cockade, that was
fastened to the back of the chair of state, in which the insolent Pierre
Raoul installed his ungainly figure. Many now strode about, daring and
unrestrained intruders into the very hall where they had often stood as
humble dependants, trembling and abashed in the presence of De Mesmai,
who had been, in the neighbourhood of Besancon, a much greater man than
Louis XVI. was at Paris or Versailles. At the hastily prepared feast
with which he entertained us, we ate and drank of every thing, gorging
ourselves like savages as we were. The richest and most expensive wines
in the cellars of the chateau were flowing at our orders like water.
Pipes and puncheons were brought up by dozens and madly staved, until
the floor swam with crimson, purple, and yellow liquor, to the imminent
danger of those who lay upon it in a state of exhaustion or
intoxication. 'Wine! wine!' was the cry, and the contents of well-sealed
flasks of Lachrymae Christi and Coteroti were poured down our plebeian
throats like the commonest beverage. We ordered all sorts of things,
beating and insulting the unoffending servants of the chateau until they
fled from us; and the noise and uproar in the hall, crowded as it was to
suffocation with armed and intoxicated madmen, became stunning and
appalling.
"A hundred times I had resolved, by a single thrust of my pike, to
sacrifice De Mesmai to the shade of Justine; but the hourly massacres I
saw committed by my barbarous comrades had glutted my longings for
vengeance, and when I remembered that De Mesmai was the father of
Justine's little girl, my fierce resolution relented. As often as I
raised my hand to stab him to the heart, my soul died within me,--and he
escaped. Very great however was our surprise at the condescension of
this once proud noble, and the gay chevaliers his companions; and while
doing the honours of the table, we subjected them to a thousand
mortifications and gross insults. We tore the lace and facings from
their uniform; transferred their epaulets from their shoulders to those
of Pierre Raoul and our leaders; tossed wine in their faces, and fully
tried their patience to the utmost limits of mortal endurance; but dire
and unheard-of was the vengeance they were meditating!
"While we were thus rioting in the ancient hall, chosen servants of De
Mesmai were placing barrels of gunpowder in the vaults immediately
beneath it. When all was prepared, our host withdrew, and one by one
his guests followed him, and left the chateau unperceived.
"The train was fired,[*] and the mine sprung. Never shall I forget the
expression I read in the faces of the republicans at that moment,--the
last of their existence!
[*] For an account of this affair, see any French paper or Journal for
July 1789.
"We heard beneath our feet an appalling roar--a noise as if the globe
was splitting asunder. All looked aghast, and I cried aloud on that God
to help me, whose existence I had denied a moment before; but the
unfortunate wretches around me had scarcely time either for prayer or
blasphemy. The pavement heaved beneath their feet; the massive walls
trembled and sunk inwards; the stone-arched roof descended thundering on
their devoted heads,--all was darkness, chaos, and indescribable horror!
Of a thousand men who crowded the place, not one escaped save myself:
all were buried in the ruins,--the masonry of a whole wing of the
chateau covered them. Yes, monsieur, I alone escaped that terrible
explosion. By Heaven's grace, rather than my own deserts, I happened at
the instant to be standing in the recess of an oriel window and was
blown into the garden, where, when my senses returned, I found myself
lying safe and whole on my favourite tulip-bed.
"De Mesmai and his friends had fled to some place at a distance, where
they took shipping for Britain. Messieurs the bourgeois were
exasperated to madness at the explosion of Quinsay. They rose _en masse_
in arms, and the noble old chateau was razed almost to the foundation,
and all the castles in the neighbourhood of Besancon shared the same
fate. The populace were even under less restraint than before, and
committed excesses, inconceivable to those who beheld them not, under
the banner and sacred name of _liberty_. The National Assembly offered a
reward for De Mesmai's head; but he was safe in London, and the British
government refused to give him up. Afterwards, when Louis was no more,
and the silver lilies of old France were trodden as it were to the
earth, De Mesmai made his peace with his countrymen by some means, and
fought as a private soldier in the battles of the Republic. He
distinguished himself, and has now, in this noon-day of French heroism,
risen to the rank of a captain of cavalry under the Corsican
usurper,--this self-made emperor, who usurps the crown and sceptre of a
better race,--a race now exiled, and finding a refuge in the capital of
Scotland. Napoleon has restored to De Mesmai his estate of Quinsay, and
as he is a favourite both with the court and army, he may yet become a
marshal of the Empire.
"Of myself, I have little more to say, monsieur. Taking with me my
grand-daughter, the little Maria, I abandoned Besancon, the scene of
such tumult and disorder, and wandered I know not why, or how, across
the Pyrenees into Spain, where, as I had received a good education in my
youth, I was admitted as a brother into the order of _los Capuchinos_,
at Truxillo, and soon afterwards received the situation of curate
here,--at this peaceful little hamlet, Villa Macia, where, for fifteen
years past, I have dwelt in retirement and happiness. Although the
memory of my wife and unfortunate daughter is not effaced, time has, in
a great measure, softened the pangs I feel when thoughts of them occur
to my mind.
"I now consider myself a happy and contented old man. My parishioners,
my books, and the fair young girl my grand-child, have been the
companions of my increasing years. But I am soon to be deprived of my
merry and volatile Maria. A very noble cavalier of Truxillo, Don
Gonzago de Conquesta, has not disdained to sue for and obtain the
promise of her hand. They will soon be wedded, and I am to perform the
happy ceremony.
"This is all my tale, monsieur, in elucidation of the singular scene you
saw acted here this evening. I trust I have not wearied you in this
sketch of my life: although a humble one, it has been full of sorrows.
I never thought again to have recalled them so fully to my mind; but the
unexpected appearance of their author under my roof, has rolled back the
tide of years to the hour in which we first met,--I knew the fine and
noble features of his race the moment he laid aside his helmet. But I
will not detain you longer from rest, monsieur. Take another cup of
this simple wine, and permit me to bid you, as we say here in Spain,
_Buenos noches_,--Good night."
*CHAPTER XIII.*
*AN ARREST.*
"Guerre et pitie ne s'accordent pas ensemble."
_French Military Proverb._
The next morning by day-break Ronald and his prisoner quitted Villa
Macia.
The young Scot was disgusted with the levity and carelessness with
which, at their departure, De Mesmai treated the tears and sorrow of his
daughter, and the pious admonitions of the reverend _cura_.
"Body o' the Pope!" said he, as they cantered under the shade of the
cork trees which lined the road, "what a rare blockhead has become
monsieur my old gardener, now curate of Villa Macia. How D'Erlon and
his aiguletted staff would laugh, if they knew I had become quite a
family man! I am always apprehensive that some of my wild pranks will
come unluckily to light, as this affair of poor Justine Rosat's has
done; but I am too old a soldier to be put to the blush. Blush! I have
no blood to spare,--the bleeding of twenty years' campaigning has cured
me of that. How the poor girl wept! What the deuce! surely she did not
expect me to take her with me? Captain Maurice de Mesmai, of Monsieur
le Compte d'Erlon's staff, with a family! _Corboeuf!_ the idea is most
excellent! 'Tis well Victor d'Estouville and our first major, Louis
Chateaufleur, know nothing of this; otherwise they would quiz me out of
the service. However, I commend my daughter to the long visaged and
noble cavalier Don--Don,--what the devil is his name?--Gonzago de
Conquesta; and vow, if he makes not a good husband, affectionate father,
and displays not all the good qualities you will find graven on every
great man's tomb-stone, I will crop his ears,--I will, by the name of
the bomb! Ho, ho! now when I remember it, what a long roll-call
Monsieur le Cure made of my early scrapes, last night. I listened to him
through a chink in the partition. _Tete-dieu!_ how impertinent the old
dog was. I own to you I was on the point of cutting short his
exceedingly rude harangue a dozen times."
De Mesmai kept talking thus for an hour at a time, without heeding the
interruptions of Ronald, who did not hesitate to acquaint him freely
with the opinion he entertained of his feelings and sentiments, at which
the other only laughed in his usual loud and boisterous manner.
At San Pedro they were received into the house of the alcalde, who
showed them every attention and civility. But there an unlucky brawl
ensued. De Mesmai, probably to spend the time, paid such close
attention to the _patrona_, a plump, rosy, and good-natured-like matron,
that the worthy alcalde, her lord and master, started up from the
supper-table in a sudden fit of jealousy and rage, and would have
stabbed the cuirassier with a poniard, which he suddenly unsheathed from
his boot,--a place of concealment often used for such a weapon in Spain.
Ronald's timely interference quelled this dangerous brawl, and mollified
the fierce merchant,--for the alcalde was a retailer of Cordovan
leather; and Stuart was very glad when he had his troublesome companion
once more out on the highway, where his pride and petulance had less
opportunities of rousing the ire of the fiery Spaniards.
Near Medellin, a town twenty miles east of Merida, their horses suddenly
became dead lame; and Ronald, who was chafed to fury at the delay caused
by this accident, lost much more time, as he could not abandon the
major's horse, and it could proceed but slowly. Next day, the ninth of
his absence, he beheld before him the massive amphitheatre, the gothic
spires and well-known bridge of the old Roman city, which was associated
with so many sad and tender reminiscences of Catalina, a thousand
recollections of whom came crowding into his mind, plunging him into
melancholy, from which De Mesmai vainly endeavoured to rouse him by an
animated description of the follies and the gaiety of Paris, and
biographical sketches of the reigning beauties, with all of whom he was,
by his own account, a decided favourite.
It was dark when they reached the bridge, on the centre of which, where
the blown-up arch was crossed by wooden planks, they saw two Highland
sentinels pacing at their post, the flutter of their plaids and waving
folds of their kilts giving to them the appearance of a couple of those
ancient Romans who had often kept watch and ward upon the same spot. On
hearing the sound of the approaching hoofs they came to their front, and
one challenged, in the familiar voice of Evan Iverach, "Stand! Who goes
there?'
"_Ronald an deigh nam fiann_," (the last of his race,) answered Stuart
in Gaelic, almost laughing.
The two astonished Highlanders set up a loud skraigh, which startled the
very leaves of the olives on the other side of the Guadiana, and ringing
under the arches of the bridge, died away in the winding rocks of the
river.
"Who is the officer on guard here?" asked Ronald, after Evan's
extravagant joy at his sudden appearance had somewhat subsided.
"Mr. Macdonald, sir."
"Which? We have six or seven."
"Lieutenant Ronald Macdonuil, sir. The guard-house is close by the
first barricade ye'll find cast across the croon o' the causeway, just
inside the yetts o' the toon."
Promising to satisfy to-morrow the eager and affectionate inquiries of
Evan, who hung on at his plaid very unceremoniously, Stuart, with his
prisoner, crossed the bridge; and entering the city gate, found
Macdonuil's guard under arms, having been startled by the holloa of the
two sentinels.
"Where are the colonel's quarters?" asked Ronald of the officer on duty,
when congratulations had ceased.
"Next door to the town-house; you will easily know it,--a large building
with a portico. But I would advise you to defer reporting your arrival
until to-morrow."
"Why so, Macdonuil? The sooner, so much the better, surely."
"But Cameron is sure, from the direction in which Campbell said you left
Almarez, that you were not in the hands of the enemy; and he is
strangely enraged at your singular absence."
"Singular? How! have I not explained to you--"
"Oh, perfectly: I am quite satisfied. But, my dear Stuart, Cameron is
such a fiery sort of fellow, that he will not be so easily pleased,
notwithstanding your having captured this French officer. You must
prepare yourself for something disagreeable, as he is determined to put
you under arrest; and it will not put him in a better humour to report
your return just now, almost at midnight."
"You are right, Macdonuil. But what shall I do for a billet? Twelve
o'clock,--there is the bell-clock of the corporation-house striking."
"We have established a temporary mess-room, and you had better go to it;
our fellows are all there still, I have little doubt,--they are never in
a hurry to break up. You know the Calle de Guadiana--"
"Lying between the river and the Plaza?"
"Yes. Pass down there, wheel to your left, and you will come to the
chapter-house of the San Juan convent, where our temporary mess-house is
established."
"But I shall probably find Fassifern there: and if any thing
disagreeable--"
"There is no danger. I saw him at sun-set return to his billet in the
Calle de Santa Clara, accompanied by his faithful esquire and orderly,
Dugald Mhor; so he is without doubt housed for the night."
Ronald followed Macdonuil's directions, accompanied by De Mesmai, who
had been so often in Merida that he knew the streets as well as an
inhabitant could have known them. On reaching the foot of the street of
the Guadiana, the lights shining through the tall traceried windows of
the chapter-house, together with the unseemly sounds of midnight
roistering and merriment which issued from it, informed them that this
was the place they sought.
"Here we dismount," said Stuart; and alighting, they tied their bridles
to the necks of two stone saints, whose weather-beaten heads had for six
hundred years sustained the weight of a canopy over the gothic doorway.
Before entering, Ronald gave a glance through a window, between the
thick stone mullions of which he took a survey of the company. The
gloomy old chapter-house was but indifferently lighted by a dozen yellow
old commissariat candles stuck on the heads and hands of corbelled
saints and angels, shedding a dull and uncertain light on the table,
which was composed of a few rough boards nailed together. Around this
rude contrivance sat about thirty officers in the Highland uniform,
occupying the high-backed oaken chairs which erst were used by the holy
fathers of San Juan, when assembled in solemn conclave. Ronald saw that
nearly all his brother-officers were present, as few were on guard, and
there was not one married man among them.
The general equipage of the table was different from that of a
home-service mess, and contrasted strongly with the rich uniforms of the
carousers, who were drinking Spanish wine from horns, tin canteens,
glasses, and all sorts of vessels fit for the purpose that could be
procured.
"_Corboeuf!_" exclaimed De Mesmai, "what a jovial song,--more merry than
musical, though. I have a dozen minds to strike up the Marseillois
hymn."
"Stay,--hearken a moment."
They were singing a well-known Scottish song,[*] and one which had
become so popular at the mess, that it always followed the standing
toast of "Here's to the Highlandmen, shoulder to shoulder!" and was
chorused in a most methodical manner. By the noisy accompaniments of
glasses clanked upon the table, and heels upon the floor, it was evident
the company were pretty mellow. Some of the windows being open for the
admittance of cool air, the bold chorus, chanted by thirty voices,
rolled out into the still night air, and echoed among the deserted
streets:
[*] "Donald Macdonald:" a song composed in 1803 by the Ettrick Shepherd,
to the tune of "Wooed, and married, and a'."
"Sword, and buckler, and a',
Buckler, and sword, and a';
For George we'll encounter the devil,
Wi' sword, and buckler, and a'."
Now Campbell's loud sonorous voice, chanting alone, awoke the echoes of
the place:
"The Gordon is gude in a hurry;
And Campbell is steel to the bane;
And Grant, and Mackenzie, and Murray,
And Cameron, will hurkle to nane.
The Stuart is sturdy and wannel,
And sae is Macleod and Mackay;
And I, their gude brither, Macdonald,
Sall never be last in the fray."
"Chorus again, gentlemen,"--(and the thirty struck in):
"Brogues, and brochan, and a',
Brochan, and brogues, and a';
And up wi' the bonnie blue bonnet,
The kilt, the feather, and a'."
As the chorus died away in the aisles and cloisters of the adjacent
church, the door was thrown open, and Ronald, leading his French friend,
entered. All eyes were turned instantly towards them.
"Stuart! Stuart! Ronald Stuart!" cried twenty voices: but the light
glittering on De Mesmai's helmet and breast-plate startled some so much,
that their first impulse was to seize their weapons, and many a dirk and
claymore were grasped in the expectation of seeing the room filled with
Frenchmen. Those members of the company who were sober enough, rose
from the table to welcome their newly found friend; but Louis Lisle,
taking his sword and bonnet from a stone saint who had them in keeping,
abruptly withdrew.
"Introduce me, Monsieur Stuart," said the cuirassier, with a proud
smile, "or by the bomb! we will have each other by the throat. Do your
comrades thus welcome strangers, by baring sword and dagger?"
Ronald could scarcely get a word spoken as his brother-officers crowded
round him, and a truly Scottish shaking of hands ensued; while a hundred
questions were asked him by the sober in English,--by the less so in
their more natural Gaelic, about his absence, and returning thus
accompanied. It was impossible at that time to relate any particulars,
so he determined on deferring all explanations until another time.
Though angry at the conduct of Lisle, he was nevertheless much gratified
by the friendly reception he met with from the other officers; but as he
had no heart to partake in their carousal, he withdrew soon after (to
the disappointment of all) with Alister Macdonald to his billet, until
another could be procured from an alcalde. De Mesmai remained at the
table, and soon established himself as the lion of the company, and
although he spoke always in Spanish, or very imperfect English, he
became a general favourite, and kept the mess in roars of laughter.
Military topics were studiously avoided, but he talked in his usual
style incessantly about duels and girls, brawls and debauches, strange
adventures and French military frolics, until the morning drums beating
reveille through the streets, warned the jovial party to separate; but I
believe more than half of them took their repose on the pavement of the
chapter-house, which had never before been the scene of such carousing.
Next morning Stuart completed his toilet hurriedly, with the intention
of waiting on the colonel.
"Prepare yourself for something disagreeable, Ronald," said Macdonald,
who was leaning over a window which looked out on the principal street
leading from the Plaza to the river. "Claude A----, the adjutant, is
coming here under the piazzas. He wears his sash and gorget, and I have
no doubt Cameron has sent him to pay you a visit."
"I expected such; yet _the chief_ is somewhat hurried."
"Take care how you style him so: I was nearly put under arrest for it at
San Pedro. Come in!" cried Alister, as a smart knock was heard at the
room-door.
"Sorry to spoil your breakfast, Stuart, by this early visit," said the
adjutant, entering; "but Cameron has sent me for your sword, and desires
me to say that you must consider yourself under arrest, until you can
state satisfactorily in writing your reasons for absenting yourself for
these nine days past without leave. He is in a towering passion; all
the blood of Lochiel seems to be bubbling up in him, because you did not
report yourself last night. I never before saw his eyes glare as they
do this morning."
"Pshaw! Claude, you--"
"A fact, upon my honour. But do not be alarmed; he is too well pleased
with your conduct at Almarez to carry this affair to extremities. I
believe, but for that night's work, he would bring you to a
court-martial instanter."
"The deuce he would! Do you think so, A----?"
"Of course. You know Cameron; there is not a stricter fellow in the
service,--a regular martinet. But you had better take your pen, and
endeavour to satisfy him by a sheet of foolscap. 'Tis well you left us
so soon last night, as you will require a clear head this morning. Mine
aches as if it would fall in pieces; but I mean to call at the
wine-house, (you know the saying,) 'to take a hair of the dog that bit
me.'"
"A very strange fellow, the French cuirassier, Claude?" observed
Macdonald.