"Further," pursued Mr. Urquhart, "I repeat what I told you, sir. He
_may_, while profiting by it have been unaware of the cheat. At the
moment I thought it impossible; but I am willing to believe--"
"_You_ are willing!" I broke in. "And pray, sir, what about me, his
Colonel, and the rest of his brother officers? Have you the coolness
to suggest--"
But the full question was never put, and in this world it will never
be answered. A bugle call, distant but clear, cut my sentence in
half. It came from the direction of the Place d'Armes. A second bugle
echoed, it from the height of the Montagne du Parc, and within a
minute its note was taken up and answered across the darkness from
quarter after quarter.
We looked at one another in silence. "Business," said my brother at
length, curtly and quietly.
Already the rooms above us were astir. I heard windows thrown open,
voices calling questions, feet running.
"Yes," said I, "it is business at length, and for the while this
inquiry must end. Captain Murray, look to your company. You,
Major, see that the lads tumble out quick to the alarm-post. One
moment!"--and Captain Murray halted with his hand on the door--"It is
understood that for the present no word of to-night's affair passes
our lips." I turned to Mr. Mackenzie and answered the question I read
in the lad's eyes. "Yes, sir; for the present I take off your arrest.
Get your sword. It shall be your good fortune to answer the enemy
before answering me."
To my amazement Mr. Urquhart interposed. He was, if possible, paler
and more deeply agitated than before. "Sir, I entreat you not to allow
Mr. Mackenzie to go. I have reasons--I was mistaken just now--"
"Mistaken, sir?"
"Not in what I saw. I refused to fight him--under a mistake. I
thought--"
But I cut his stammering short. "As for you," I said, "the most
charitable construction I can put on your behaviour is to believe you
mad. For the present you, too, are free to go and do your duty. Now
leave me. Business presses, and I am sick and angry at the sight of
you."
It was just two in the morning when I reached the alarm-post. Brussels
by this time was full of the rolling of drums and screaming of pipes;
and the regiment formed up in darkness rendered tenfold more confusing
by a mob of citizens, some wildly excited, others paralysed by terror,
and all intractable. We had, moreover, no small trouble to disengage
from our ranks the wives and families who had most unwisely followed
many officers abroad, and now clung to their dear ones bidding them
farewell. To end this most distressing scene I had in some instances
to use a roughness which it still afflicts me to remember. Yet in
actual time it was soon overhand dawn scarcely breaking when the
Morays with the other regiments of Pack's brigade filed out of the
park and fell into stride on the road which leads southward to
Charleroi.
In this record it would be immaterial to describe either our march or
the since-famous engagement which terminated it. Very early we began
to hear the sound of heavy guns far ahead and to make guesses at their
distance; but it was close upon two in the afternoon before we reached
the high ground above Quatre Bras, and saw the battle spread below
us like a picture. The Prince of Orange had been fighting his ground
stubbornly since seven in the morning. Ney's superior artillery and
far superior cavalry had forced him back, it is true; but he still
covered the cross-roads which were the key of his defence, and his
position remained sound, though it was fast becoming critical. Just as
we arrived, the French, who had already mastered the farm of Piermont,
on the left of the Charleroi road, began to push their skirmishers
into a thicket below it and commanding the road running east to Namur.
Indeed, for a short space they had this road at their mercy, and the
chance within grasp of doubling up our left by means of it.
This happened, I say, just as we arrived; and Wellington, who had
reached Quatre Bras a short while ahead of us (having fetched a
circuit from Brussels through Ligny, where he paused to inspect
Field-Marshal Blücher's dispositions for battle), at once saw the
danger, and detached one of our regiments, the 95th Rifles, to drive
back the tirailleurs from the thicket; which, albeit scarcely breathed
after their march, they did with a will, and so regained the Allies'
hold upon the Namur road. The rest of us meanwhile defiled down this
same road, formed line in front of it, and under a brisk cannonade
from the French heights waited for the next move.
It was not long in coming. Ney, finding that our artillery made poor
play against his, prepared to launch a column against us. Warned by a
cloud of skirmishers, our light companies leapt forward, chose their
shelter, and began a very pretty exchange of musketry. But this was
preliminary work only, and soon the head of a large French column
appeared on the slope to our right, driving the Brunswickers slowly
before it. It descended a little way, and suddenly broke into three or
four columns of attack. The mischief no sooner threatened than Picton
came galloping along our line and roaring that our division would
advance and engage with all speed. For a raw regiment like the Morays
this was no light test; but, supported by a veteran regiment on either
hand, they bore it admirably. Dropping the Gordons to protect the road
in case of mishap, the two brigades swung forward in the prettiest
style, their skirmishers running in and forming on either flank as
they advanced. Then for a while the work was hot; but, as will always
happen when column is boldly met by line, the French quickly had
enough of our enveloping fire, and wavered. A short charge with the
bayonet finished it, and drove them in confusion up the slope: nor had
I an easy task to resume a hold on my youngsters and restrain them
from pursuing too far. The brush had been sharp, but I had the
satisfaction of knowing that the Morays had behaved well. They also
knew it, and fell to jesting in high good-humour as General Pack
withdrew the brigade from the ground of its exploit and posted us in
line with the 42nd and 44th regiments on the left of the main road to
Charleroi.
To the right of the Charleroi road, and some way in advance of our
position, the Brunswickers were holding ground as best they could
under a hot and accurate artillery fire. Except for this, the battle
had come to a lull, when a second mass of the enemy began to move down
the slopes: a battalion in line heading two columns of infantry direct
upon the Brunswickers, while squadron after squadron of lancers
crowded down along the road into which by weight of numbers they must
be driven. The Duke of Brunswick, perceiving his peril, headed a
charge of his lancers upon the advancing infantry, but without the
least effect. His horsemen broke. He rode back and called on his
infantry to retire in good order. They also broke, and in the attempt
to rally them he fell mortally wounded.
The line taken by these flying Brunswickers would have brought them
diagonally across the Charleroi road into our arms, had not the French
lancers seized this moment to charge straight down it in a body. They
encountered, and the indiscriminate mass was hurled on to us, choking
and overflowing the causeway. In a minute we were swamped--the two
Highland regiments and the 44th bending against a sheer weight of
Trench horsemen. So suddenly came the shock that the 42nd had no
time to form square, until two companies were cut off and well-nigh
destroyed; _then_ that noble regiment formed around the horsemen who
could boast of having broken it, and left not one to bear back the
tale. The 44th behaved more cleverly, but not more intrepidly: it did
not attempt to form square, but faced its rear rank round and gave the
Frenchmen a volley; before they could checks their impetus the front
rank poured in a second; and the light company, which had held its
fire, delivered a third, breaking the crowd in two, and driving the
hinder-part back in disorder and up the Charleroi road. But already
the fore-part had fallen upon the Morays, fortunately the last of the
three regiments to receive the shock. Though most fortunate, they had
least experience, and were consequently slow in answering my shout.
A wedge of lancers broke through us as we formed around the two
standards, and I saw Mr. Urquhart with the King's colours hurled back
in the rush. The pole fell with him, after swaying within a yard of a
French lancer, who thrust out an arm to grasp it. And with that I
saw Mackenzie divide the rush and stand--it may have been for five
seconds--erect, with his foot upon the standard. Then three lancers
pierced him, and he fell. But the lateral pressure of their own
troopers broke the wedge which the French had pushed into us. Their
leading squadrons were pressed down the road and afterwards accounted
for by the Gordons. Of the seven-and-twenty assailants around whom the
Morays now closed, not one survived.
Towards nightfall, as Ney weakened and the Allies were reinforced, our
troops pushed forward and recaptured every important position taken
by the French that morning. The Morays, with the rest of Picton's
division, bivouacked for the night in and around the farmstead of
Gemiancourt.
So obstinately had the field been contested that darkness fell before
the wounded could be collected with any thoroughness; and the comfort
of the men around many a camp-fire was disturbed by groans (often
quite near at hand) of some poor comrade or enemy lying helpless and
undiscovered, or exerting his shattered limbs to crawl towards the
blaze. And these interruptions at length became so distressing to the
Morays, that two or three officers sought me and demanded leave to
form a fatigue party of volunteers and explore the hedges and thickets
with lanterns. Among them was Mr. Urquhart: and having readily given
leave and accompanied them some little way on their search, I was
bidding them good-night and good-speed when I found him standing at my
elbow.
"May I have a word with you, Colonel?" he asked.
His voice was low and serious. Of course I knew what subject filled
his thoughts. "Is it worth while, sir?" I answered. "I have lost
to-day a brave lad for whom I had a great affection. For him the
account is closed; but not for those who liked him and are still
concerned in his good name. If you have anything further against him,
or if you have any confession to make, I warn you that this is a bad
moment to choose."
"I have only to ask," said he, "that you will grant me the first
convenient hour for explaining; and to remind you that when I besought
you not to send him into action to-day, I had no time to give you
reasons."
"This is extraordinary talk, sir. I am not used to command the Morays
under advice from my subalterns. And in this instance I had reasons
for not even listening to you." He was silent. "Moreover," I
continued, "you may as well know, though I am under no obligation
to tell you, that I do most certainly not regret having given that
permission to one who justified it by a signal service to his king and
country."
"But would you have sent him _knowing_ that he must die? Colonel," he
went on rapidly, before I could interrupt, "I beseech you to listen. I
knew he had only a few hours to live. I saw his wraith last night.
It stood behind his shoulder in the room when in Captain Murray's
presence he challenged me to fight him. You are a Highlander, sir: you
may be sceptical about the second sight; but at least you must have
heard many claim it. I swear positively that I saw Mr. Mackenzie's
wraith last night, and for that reason, and no other, tried to defer
the meeting. To fight him, knowing he must die, seemed to me as bad
as murder. Afterwards, when the alarm sounded and you took off his
arrest, I knew that his fate must overtake him--that my refusal had
done no good. I tried to interfere again, and you would not hear.
Naturally you would not hear; and very likely, if you had, his fate
would have found him in some other way. That is what I try to believe.
I hope it is not selfish, sir; but the doubt tortures me."
"Mr. Urquhart," I asked, "is this the only occasion on which you have
possessed the second sight, or had reason to think so?"
"No, sir."
"Was it the first or only time last night you believed you were
granted it?"
"It was the _second_ time last night," he said steadily.
We had been walking back to my bivouac fire, and in the light of it I
turned and said: "I will hear your story at the first opportunity. I
will not promise to believe, but I will hear and weigh it. Go now and
join the others in their search."
He saluted, and strode away into the darkness. The opportunity I
promised him never came. At eleven o'clock next morning we began our
withdrawal, and within twenty-four hours the battle of Waterloo
had begun. In one of the most heroic feats of that day--the famous
resistance of Pack's brigade--Mr. Urquhart was among the first to
fall.