voice. A tempest of wind tore through the cavern, hurling him violently
to the earth. The trees of the forest without were shaken as if by a
tempest; the Spey thundered louder over a neighbouring cascade, and the
roar of its falling waters was mingled with the shrieks of the river
kelpie. My father sprung up, and instinctively stood upon his guard,
but an oppressive feeling of horror took possession of his mind; a cold
perspiration bedewed his forehead; his lips were parched and his mouth
clammy; he could hear his heart throbbing audibly, while he strained his
eyes till they almost started from the sockets, as he endeavoured to
pierce the gloom. At that moment he would have faced a whole brigade of
red-coats to have been free from that terrible cavern, but he had gone
too far to recede, and he gathered courage from despair.
"He heard the clank of steel, and the tread of heavy feet sounded as if
afar off, in hollow and vaulted places. Something like the fold of a
damp plaid or shroud was waved across his face, and the memory of the
_lham-dearg_ again rushed terribly and vividly upon his mind.
"Expectation and horror wound him to a pitch of madness: he held aloft
his target, and even while his hair bristled under his bonnet, and the
marrow of his bones seemed turning to ice, he defied the spirit to
battle.
"'Bloody hand of Glenmore! spirit of darkness! spirit of hell! come
forth? Here a true man, a Cameron, defies you!'
"While the words were falling from his lips the awful figure stood
before him, arrayed as an ancient warrior of the hills, and a halo of
lambent fire playing around his form rendered him terribly distinct
amidst the surrounding darkness. My father's brain boiled and whirled
while he looked upon him, and his heart grew sick and palsied with fear:
he knew that he was in the presence of an infernal spirit.
Notwithstanding his terror, he recognised the white-haired warrior from
whose hand he had received the dirk, and whom he had followed with taunt
and defiance through the wood; but a superhuman courage armed his heart
and nerved his hand, and calling aloud on heaven and Saint Colm of lona
to aid him, he rushed forward to the encounter. The face of the spectre
was changed from what he had first seen it: it was distorted and
terrible with rage, and his eyes glared like stars of fire. My father
saw the blade of the _lham-dearg_ descending like a flash of lightning,
yet he shrunk not; he felt it ringing upon his target, but he sunk with
the mighty force of the blow, and a whirlwind seemed again to rush
through the cavern, and bear him along with it, dashing him senseless to
the earth.
"When consciousness returned, the morning sun was shining gaily in the
wide blue vault, the dewy pines of Rothiemurchus were glistening in the
light, and afar off rose the huge sides of the blue Cairngorm. The
eagle was boldly winging away from his eyrie among the shores of
Loch-avon, and soaring aloft on the balmy air; the mountain Spey was
rushing as usual through the corries and chasms of the pine-clad glen,
from which the white mists and foam of its course were curling in the
bright sun, above the dark fir trees of the vast Highland forest.
"My father rose; he stretched his stiffened limbs and looked cautiously
around him, but neither spectre nor red soldier was in sight. Behind
him yawned the arched mouth of the black cavern: he shuddered as he
looked upon its gloomy depth, and turning away, plunged into the forest
in hopes that some loyal tenant or forester of the laird of Grant would
yield him somewhat to save him from perishing of want."
"Then, Dugald, this terrible encounter turns out to have been only a
dream after all," said Stuart.
"Nothing more," remarked Fassifern.
"It was nae dream, sirs," said Dugald, forgetting his Gaelic, and
resuming the Lowland dialect, "it was indeed nae dream; and as proof
positive, he found his target cloven like a nut-shell by the stroke of
the spirit's blade--what nae mortal sword could hae dune; for it was
covered wi' four barkened bull-hides, and with three hundred brass
studs,--and yet it was cloven in twa, and his arm felt the wecht o' the
unco' cloure for mony a day after."
"A very foolish story, Dugald," said the colonel. "But you have
forgotten to tell us that your father had emptied a capacious
hunting-flask of fiery mountain whisky before he entered the cavern; and
probably a fall on the rocks might account for the cloven targe."
"Sir, ye never tried to account for it in that way before," replied the
old man indignantly; "bethink ye, when at hame, how ye wadna put your
nose outside the door-stane after dark, for fear o' encountering
_lham-dearg_. Ye were but a callant then, to be sure; but even now, wi'
a' your bravery,--and I ken that, like a' o' your name, you've a lion's
heart in the field, on the water ye tremble like an aspen leaf, and a'
for fear o' the kelpie. But as for my faither's adventure, ye ken the
hail country-side rang, and yet rings, wi' the story."
"Your father, Dugald, was always seeing things such as no other man ever
saw, I believe."
"I ken he was farer seen than maist folk; but mair than he hae viewed
the fightin' spectre o' Glenmore, but nae man ever cam aff sae easy frae
a tulzie wi' him. Four o' Rothiemurchus' gillies ance foucht a battle
wi' him near Loch-morlach, and never ane o' them survived the scuds his
claymore gied them."
"Well; and the dirk--"
"My faither wore till his dying day,--and I shall wear till mine, in
memory of that adventure. It's no different frae other men's,--a sharp
blade wi' a buckhorn hilt, ye see; but he micht sink it to the guard in
an aiken tree, and it ne'er would bend or break. But, as I said before,
my faither was farer seen than ither folk, and he ance had a mair solemn
and eerie adventure wi' a wraith,--ay, sirs, _his ain wraith_, than the
ane I hae now related.
"He joined me when I was wi' the Prince and Lochiel, biding in
concealment amang the wild shores of Loch-Archaig, at Kilmallie. The
Prince of Wales lived in our puir hut on the top of Tor-a-muilt, frae
whar we had a look-out for mony a mile, and richt gude need there was!
The hail country was swarming wi' red-coats and blood-thirsty
mercenaries, under the Prince of Hesse. Ochone! ochone-aree! Had you
seen the gallant Prince Charles as I saw him then! O sirs! the vera
thocht o't maddens me. He had neither shirt, shoe, nor hose on; he had
been wandering for six weeks in the Corrie-nan-gaul of Knovdart,
bare-footed, dressed in an auld tartan coat and _filleadh-beg_, wi' a
lang beard hanging frae his chin. He carried a musquet, dirk, pistol,
and horn; and but for his famished and wae-begane face, lookit mair like
some wild reiver o' the isles, than the son o' braid Scotland's king.
"We were a' in the same plight, and ever since the dool-day o' Culloden
had lived in caves and forests, like the beasts o' the field. My father
found us out in our hiding-place--a feat which baffled the followers of
Cumberland, to whom no true Scotsman would betray us,--even although
thirty thousand pounds were offered for the prince, dead or alive! My
father fell on his knees, and sair he wept to see the son o' his king a
wandering outcast and outlaw, amang his ain Highland hills. He tauld us
o' his encounter wi' the _lham-dearg_, but the prince laughed heartily,
just as he used to do at Holyrood, and wadna believe a word o't. Aweel,
sirs, we wandered lang about Archaig and Glenpean, stealing for the
prince's support the few sheep which escaped Cumberland's order to
destroy every living thing in the country. Mony, mony were the miseries
and calamities he suffered until the month of September, when he
embarked at Moidart on board o' the Ballona, a Nantz ship o' thirty-twa
guns, broucht for him by the loyal Colonel Warren. Lochiel, Glengarry,
Borodale, and a hundred common men, including my faither and mysel,
followed them into banishment.
"In France the prince, wha indeed never, while ae plack rubbit on
anither, forgot auld friends, got Lochiel command of one of the
regiments composed of Scots and Irish refugees, wha served the French
king. As in duty bound, we followed Lochiel, and became soldiers of his
battalion, which soon became so famous,--the Royal Scots regiment. We
were wi' the army under the Mareschal Saxe, whan the French defeated oor
auld enemy the bluidy Duke of Cumberland at Laffeldt, in June 1747, and
compelled the British troops to retire in disorder. Wi' a' the memory
o' the past, o' our prince's wrangs, and the awfu' butcherie o' Culloden
glowing in their minds, the Royal Scots fought wi' richt gude will
against the scarlet ranks o' the British, and unco' slaughter we made
amang them wi' bayonet and claymore, when they were compelled to flee,
and retire in disorder on the toon or village o' Val.
"On the evening o' the battle day my father stude on duty as an advanced
sentinel frae the French picquets; placed by the Mareschal Saxe in the
direction o' Maestricht, where the British army lay. It was just aboot
the gloaming, the clouds were gathering in the lift and darkening the
flat, level, I may say meeserable landscape; and my faither, puir man,
strade sorrowfully to and fro on his lanely post, sighing sairly as he
thocht on mony a braw and brave comrade and clansman then lying cauld
and stiff on the plain o' Val, and ower wham nae coronach could be sung,
or cairn raised in the land o' the stranger. He thocht too o' his
humble sheiling at hame, on the Wedders-hill, and compared the view frae
it wi' the 'Lawlands o' Holland,' wi' the dull marshy flats, the yellow
canals, and slaw-moving barges, the windmills, and smoky toons about
Laffeldt. Different indeed was the scenery frae that around the lanely
auld thack cottage at hame, where the blue Loch-Archaig rolled to the
base o' the dark an' towering mountains, covered wi' the siller birch or
black pines to their vera tap.
"Puir man! melancholy and sad he grew, but his surprise was aroused when
he saw a Hieland soldier, wearing a garb the vera counterpart o' his
ain, walking slowly, at a few yards distance, as if likewise on sentry.
My faither stoppit to observe him, and the stranger stoppit also; and
the outline o' his form was distinctly seen, as he stude wi' his back to
the west, whare the sky was a' crimson and gowd wi' the last flush o'
the day that had passed awa'. My faither challenged twice aloud, but gat
nae response; and his birse beginning to rise, he made a motion as if
handling his musquet, biting his cartridge, and a' that, ye ken. The
stranger did sae likewise, imitating his motions exactly as his shadow
on the wa' or reflection in a looking-glass wad hae dune. A queer and
eerie sensation passed over my father on behauldin' this, and a souching
cam ower his heart when he bethoucht him that a' wasna richt. Yet
boldly he gaed towards the figure, and step to step as he took them,
mimicking ilka motion, the ither advanced also, until my faither made an
involuntary stop, and it did sae too.
"At that moment a feeling o' awfu' and immeasurable horror entered the
soul o' my faither, when he viewed in the face and figure o' the
stranger an exact counterpart o' himsel'--every lineament o' his face,
every check in his tartan, were the same--the same his arms and badges.
Then did he ken that he beheld his wraith, and that the hour of his
departure was at hand.[*] As the expression o' his face became
distorted wi' terror and awe, the features o' the wraith or bogle
underwent the same change, and his ain een seemed glaring back upon
himsel wi' affricht. He rushed madly forward wi' his charged bayonet,
but the form melted into thin air, and disappeared.
[*] A species of second sight is believed in by the Highlanders, which
is supposed to be a forerunner of death. An apparition haunts them, or
appears at times, resembling themselves in every respect. The legendary
stories of such appearances are innumerable, indeed, over the whole of
Scotland.
"He tauld his comrades o' the sicht he had seen upon the muir, and every
true Gael believed him, and knew that his hours were numbered then, and
that his time amang them would be short. Yet his heart never trembled,
and he went forth to battle the next day wi' a spirit that never
flinched, and a hand that never failed, till the death-shot struck him.
Sairly his story was jeered by the Lawland loons and men frae south o'
Dunkeld; but next day, at the vera return o' the hour in whilk the
wraith appeared, he was shot dead in the attack upon the British post at
Mount Saint Peter, when the Mareschal Saxe was endeavouring to drive
Cumberland beyond Maestricht. Ochone! mony a brave and leal Scot's heart
grew cauld that nicht, sirs,--my father's amang the lave. I rowed him
up in his plaid, and buried him wi' my ain hands, howking his grave at
the side o' the road between Saint Peter's and the Scheld. The live-lang
nicht I wroucht in piling a cairn aboon him, that the feet o' the
stranger micht no tread ower the place o' his repose.
"Now, sirs, that the things I hae tauld unto ye this nicht are true, and
a' happened just as I hae described, I firmly believe; and that some men
are doomed to behauld strange sights and unwarldly visions, nae body
will deny."
"I decidedly do, Dugald," said Cameron; "but your father, Evan of
Tor-a-muilt must have been seeing double when he saw the wraith,--no
disparagement to him when I say so, for I have heard that he was as
brave a man as ever belted on a broad-sword. But rations of Nantz were
more plentiful under the Marshal Saxe than with Lord Wellington's
troops, and doubtless Evan Cameron never went on guard without a good
allowance."
"Deevil a bit, sir," replied the old man testily. "Ye maun ken there was
fechtin' and marchin' enough and to spare, but neither pay nor plunder
could be gottin under King Louis. In the year after the battle o'
Laffeldt, our chief, the gude and the gallant Lochiel, died o' a broken
heart, I'm free to say, for the thocht o' being an exile for life
weighed heavy on his soul. Sair I sorrowed for him, and so did a' the
Royal Scots regiment, for there wasna ane that wadna hae laid doon his
life for Lochiel. After seeing him laid in a foreign grave, I cam awa'
cannily hame, to live amang my ain folk by bonnie Loch-Archaig, when the
dool and dirdum o' the 'forty-five' was a' passed awa' and blawn ower."
*CHAPTER VI.*
*A BATTLE.*
"Let blusterin' Suchet crously crack,
Let Joseph rin the coward's track,
Let Jourdan wish the baton back
He left upon _Vittoria_.
If e'er they meet their worthy king,
Let them dance roun' him in a ring,
And some Scottish piper play the spring
He blew them at _Vittoria_.
Peace to the spirits of the brave,
Let a' their trophies for them wave,
And green be our Cadogan's grave
Upon thy field, _Vittoria_."
_Scottish Song._
In the long interval of time during which Lord Wellington's army
remained cantoned on the Spanish frontier, no hostilities took place
saving General Foy's fruitless attack upon Bejar, and the defeat of the
French under General Frimont in the vale of Sedano, near Burgos. During
the winter, supplies of every kind,--pay in some instances
excepted,--arrived from Britain, to refit the army and enable it to take
the field, which it did in an efficient state in the month of May, 1813.
During the long residence of the Gordon Highlanders in the valley of
Banos, they had become quite domesticated among its inhabitants; and it
was a daily occurrence to see them assisting in household
matters,--working with the men in the gardens and vineyards, or carrying
about in their arms the little children of the patrona on whom they were
quartered; and before the battalion departed, the venerable _cura_, had
wedded, for weal or woe, several of the olive-cheeked maidens of the
valley to men who wore the garb of old Gaul.
On the 13th of May the corps marched from Banos, and the entire
population of the secluded vale accompanied them to the end of the pass,
and watched them until the notes of the war-pipes died away in the wind,
and the last bayonet gave a farewell flash in the sun-light as the
rear-guard descended the mountains towards the plain of Bejar, where Sir
Rowland Hill mustered and reviewed the gathering brigades of his
division.
The troops presented a very different appearance now from the way-worn,
ragged, and shoeless band which, in the close of the last year, had
retired from Burgos. Fresh drafts of hale and plump British recruits
had filled up the vacancies caused by wounds, starvation, and disease;
and a few months in quarters had restored the survivors to health and
strength: the new clothing had completely renovated their appearance,
and all were in high spirits, and eager again to behold their old
acquaintances, Messieurs the French. Sir Rowland complimented Fassifern
on the appearance of his Highlanders, who cocked their plumes more gaily
now than ever, as they marched past to "the garb of old Gaul." Truly,
new scarlet jackets, Paisley tartan, and bonnets from "skull-cleeding
Kilmarnock," had wrought a wonderful change upon their ranks.
Although the Duke of Dalmatia and many battalions of French had been
ordered into Germany, Buonaparte's army in Spain still mustered 160,000
strong. King Joseph, at the head of 70,000 men, kept his head-quarters
at Madrid; the rest were scattered through the eastern provinces, under
Suchet and other commanders. It was determined by the British and
Spanish governments to make one grand and determined effort to drive the
French across the Pyrenees, on again taking the field against them. An
efficient train of pontoons was fitted out to assist in crossing those
deep and rapid rivers by which Spain is so much intersected. Every thing
which would tend to the comfort of troops on service had been provided;
and the army in the end of May, as I have before stated, commenced
offensive measures against the enemy.
Lord Wellington, with the light division, moved on Salamanca; Sir Thomas
Graham crossed the Douro, with orders to move on Braganza, Zamora, and
Tras-os-montes, and to form a junction with the allies at Valladolid;
while Sir Rowland Hill, from Estremadura, was to march on the same point
by Alba de Tormes. By these movements the allies turned that position
on the Douro which the French generals had resolved to defend; and so
rapid was their march, that General Villatte, who occupied Salamanca
with three thousand men, had barely time to effect a retreat, with the
loss of two hundred, and a few pieces of artillery. The able
Wellington, after placing the right and centre divisions in cantonments
between the Douro and Tormes, joined Sir Thomas Graham, whose troops,
after encountering many difficulties in crossing rivers, ravines, and
mountains, over which they had to drag their heavy artillery and
pontoons, took up a position on the left, in communication with the
Spanish army of Galicia under General Castanos.
The French, who were utterly unprepared for these rapid movements,
retired precipitately, destroying in their retreat the bridges at Toro
and Zamora; and the combined army now directed its march in triumph on
Valladolid, one of the finest cities of Old Castile, and one which might
be styled a city of convents, as it contains no fewer than seventy,--one
of them the palace of Philip IV. Crossing Escueva, the allies continued
to press impetuously forward, and the enemy to retire unresistingly
before them. Joseph abandoned Madrid, concentrated the French legions
around the castle of Burgos, which he blew up on the 13th of June, and
with his whole force retired under the cloud of night towards the Ebro,
the passage of which his generals made every preparation to defend. But
again he and they were signally baffled by the skill, talent, and
penetration of Wellington, who moving his troops by the San Andero road,
crossed the river near its source at Puente de Arenas and San Martino, a
measure which so disconcerted the plans of Joseph and Marshal Jourdan,
that they were again compelled to retreat, and the allied army continued
its march to Vittoria.
On the 20th of June the second division encamped on the plain of Puebla,
near Vittoria. The first brigade was then commanded by the Hon. William
Stuart (a brother of the Earl of Galloway) a true and gallant soldier of
the old school, whose valuable services received no requital from his
country.
The time had now arrived when Joseph was compelled to make a final and
determined stand in defence of the crown he had usurped, or behold it
torn ingloriously from his brow, and on the very ground where Edward the
Black Prince, on the 3rd of April, 1367, totally defeated another
intruder on the Spanish soil--Henry the Bastard, and restored Don Pedro
to the crown of Castile.[*] The time was likewise arrived when the
legions of France, whose movements since the commencement of the
campaign had been a series of retreats, should make a decisive effort to
renew their fading laurels, or by being driven disgracefully across the
Pyrenees, lose for ever that hard-earned fame which they won under the
banners of the great Emperor.
[*] This battle was fought at Navarete, a village on the Zadorra, near
Vittoria. See the Chronicles of Sir John Froissart.
Early on the morning of the 21st of June the allies were in motion; Sir
William Stuart's brigade moved in front of the second division, which
marched along the high road to Vittoria. The morning was beautiful, the
earth was fresh with dew, and the merry larks were soaring aloft over
bright yellow fields, which were soon to be drenched with blood. The
sky was clear, blue, and cloudless, and the shining current of the
Zadorra flowed among thickets and fields of ripe waving corn, which
often afforded concealment to the light troops during the action.
Violets, cowslips, and a thousand little flowers which flourish so
plentifully by the way-sides in Spain, were blooming gaudily in the
fresh dew; the brown partridge was whirring about, and ever and anon a
fleet rabbit shot past as the troops moved into the corn-fields,
treading and destroying the hopes and support of many a poor husbandman.
Afar off, their hues mellowed by the distance, rose the bold and lofty
ridges of the Pyrenees and other sierras, the outlines of which appeared
distinctly against the pure blue beyond. Save the near tread of feet,
or the distant blast of a bugle, no other sounds were borne on the
morning wind but the bleating of sheep and goats, or a matin-bell
tinkling in some solitary hermitage, calling its superstitious inmates
to prayer for the success of the friends of Spain.
To the British it was known that the enemy were in position in front,
and every heart beat high, and every fibre was thrilling with
excitement, as the columns moved towards the plains in front of the town
of Vittoria. Moving in close column of companies, the Highlanders
marched through a field of ripened corn, which nearly overtopped the
plumes of their bonnets. The other corps of the division followed and
then halted for a time, during which the crop, which was all ready for
the sickle, was soon trodden to mire. But 'necessity has no law.' The
flints were examined, the colours uncased, and the drummers were
provided with temporary litters, formed of pikes and blankets, for
bearing off the wounded officers.
Fassifern's eyes kindled up with that bright and peculiar expression
which they ever had when he became excited.
"Highlanders!" cried he, as the regiment again moved forward, "in a few
minutes we shall be engaged with the enemy; but I need not exhort you to
do your duty, for in that you have never yet failed. Keep the strictest
silence on the march, but you may shout till the mountains ring again
when the pipes blow to the charge."
"Fu' surely and brawly well set up a skraigh then, lads!" said his
equerry, Dugald Mhor, who was the only man who dared to reply. "But
it's an unco' thing for Hielandmen to keep their tongues still, whan the
bonnie sheen o' steel is glintin' in their een. Troth, lads, we'll gie
a roar that will mak' Buonaparte himsel shake in his shoon, if he be
within hearin'."
The soldiers began to cheer and laugh, while Dugald waved his bonnet,
but the voice of the colonel arrested them.