drawn stuck close to the flanks of his horse; "silence! You always
create some uproar in the ranks by your odd observations. I am ever
apprehensive that you will thrust yourself needlessly into danger; and
indeed it would relieve me of much anxiety, if you would remain in the
rear. You know well, Dugald, how much I would regret it, should any
thing happen to you during the engagement to-day."
"That depends just upon yoursel, sir: whar ye lead, I will follow,"
replied the old man, whom the world would not have tempted to separate
himself from Cameron, who had often insisted on many occasions that
Dugald should not peril himself by coming under fire. These were
injunctions which the obstinate old vassal valued not a rush; and so in
these good-natured altercations the master was always overcome by the
man, who seemed to regard fighting rather as a sport or a pleasant
source of excitement, just as one would view a fox or stag-hunt.
While Major Campbell was boring Ronald Stuart with a painfully accurate
account of the battle of Alexandria, and the position of the French
forces on that memorable occasion, the legions of Joseph Buonaparte
appeared in sight. As each regiment quitted the path among the
corn-fields and entered upon the plain before Vittoria, they came in
view of the whole battle-array of the enemy, occupying a strong position
covering each of the three great roads, which at Vittoria concentrate in
the road to Bayonne. The long lines of dark infantry appeared perfectly
motionless, but their burnished arms were shining like silver in the
sun; the tri-colours of the legions were fluttering in the breeze, and
many of their bands struck-up the gay _Ca ira_ and _Marseillois_ hymn on
the approach of the allies.
The right flank of Joseph's army extended northward from Vittoria,
across the stream of the Zadorra, and rested on the hills above the
villages of Gamarra Mayor and Abechuco, covered there by strong
redoubts. Between the right and centre was a thick cork wood, into
which were thrown many corps of infantry to keep open the line of
communication. The right centre rested on a height which commanded the
vale of the Zadorra, and which was strengthened by nearly one hundred
pieces of artillery. Their left and centre occupied the bold ridges
above the village of Subijana de Alava, with a _corps de reserve_ posted
at Gomecha, and a brigade thrown forward on the lofty and rocky
mountains of Puebla to protect their centre, which might have been
outflanked by the main road where it crosses the Zadorra. Joseph
Buonaparte in person commanded the whole, having Marshal Jourdan acting
under him as lieutenant-general. The armies were pretty well matched,
each mustering from 70,000 to 75,000 men, the French having the
advantage in occupying a strong position, which every means had been
taken to strengthen.
Each regiment of Hill's division, on its debouching from the Vittoria
road, formed line from close column, and advanced in that order towards
the enemy. To the latter the view of the allied army at that hour must
have presented a grand and imposing spectacle; so many dense masses
moving successively into the plain, and deploying into line by companies
obliquely, with all the steadiness and regularity of a review; the
bright barrels and bayonets of upwards of 70,000 musquets shining in the
rays of the morning sun; the silken standards of many colours,--red,
buff, white, blue, and yellow, waving over them; the bright scarlet
uniforms, relieved by the varied green of the landscape; and then the
many warlike sounds increased the effect of the scene. The neighing of
cavalry horses, the roll of tumbrils and gun-carriages, the distant yet
distinct word of command,--the mingling music of many bands, the
trumpets of the horse, the bugles of the riflemen, and the hoarse
wailing war-pipe of the Highland regiments, ever and anon swelled upon
the breeze, pealing among the heights of Puebla, and dying away among
the windings in the vale of Zadorra.
The prospect before them must have been one of no ordinary interest to
the martial legions of France. At the moment that the distant bells of
the convent of Santa Clara de Alava struck a quarter to ten, the
memorable battle of Vittoria began.
"There go the Spaniards,--the soldiers of old Murillo!" exclaimed
Seaton, as a loud and continued discharge of musquetry rang among the
ridges of Puebla. The sound caused every heart to bound, for the day
was big with the fate of many!
"Murillo and the Conde d'Amarante have attacked the left of the French,"
said Cameron, watching the operations through his telescope; "but they
will be compelled to retire unless succoured, and that promptly, too!
The heights are becoming covered with smoke---- By heavens! they are
giving way."
At that moment an aide-de-camp dashed up to the brigade, with Sir
Rowland's order for the 71st regiment to advance, and sustain the attack
on the heights, in concert with the light companies of the division,
while the Highlanders and 50th regiment were to support them in turn.
"Now then, Stuart!" said Seaton, giving Ronald an unceremonious slap on
the shoulder, "see if another gold cross is to be won upon Puebla. We
shall be under fire in five minutes,--forward, light bobs! Forward
double-quick!" Away they went in high spirits to the assistance of old
Murillo, whose troops were already wavering, under the steady fire of
the French. The roar of cannon and musquetry had now become general
along the lines, and was absolutely astounding. War on a great scale is
a grand, yet a terrible thing. The whole valley of the Zadorra,--the
fortified heights of Gomecha on the enemy's right, those of Puebla on
their left, the dark woodlands between, the corn-fields, the hedges, and
all the grassy plain below, were enveloped in smoke, streaked with
continual flashes of fire. In the villages every hut had become a
fortress, loop-holed and barricaded, every wall of cabbage-garden and
vineyard a breastwork, for possession of which armed men contested
desperately, hand to hand, and point to point.
The Honourable Colonel Cadogan commanded the 71st, and other companies,
which moved up the heights to the assistance of the Spaniards on the
extreme of the British right. Forming line on the hillside, they
advanced with a determination and impetuosity truly admirable towards
the enemy, whose close and deadly fire was thinning their numbers
rapidly.
"Now, soldiers! upon them like fury! Forward, charge!" cried Cadogan,
dashing spurs into his horse's sides. A loud hurrah was the reply, and
simultaneously they pushed forward with the bayonet, and rushing like a
torrent through clouds of smoke and sweeping volleys of shot, fell
headlong upon the enemy, and all was for a time hewing with the sword
and butt, or stabbing with bayonet and pike. A severe and bloody
struggle ensued, but the French were driven tumultuously from the
heights, after suffering immense loss, and having their commanding
officer captured.
Ronald, who was then engaged in a charge for the first time, became
bewildered,--almost stunned with the whirl, the din, and the wild uproar
around him. The excitement of the soldiers had been raised to the utmost
pitch, and they became, as it were, intoxicated with the danger, smoke,
noise, blood, and death which surrounded them.
Impetuously they continued to press forward upon the foe with all the
fury of uncurbed steeds, and the conflict was renewed, foot to foot,
breast to breast, bayonet to bayonet, and with eyes of fire men glared
at each other above their crossed weapons. When rushing forward with his
company, at the moment they mingled with the enemy, Stuart
encountered--or I should rather say, when half-blinded with smoke ran
violently against a French officer, a cut from whose sabre he parried
with his dirk, while, at the moment, he passed his sword through his
shoulder, hurling monsieur to the earth with the force of the thrust.
At that instant he was stunned and laid prostrate by a blow on the back
part of the head, dealt from behind by the butt-end of a firelock, or
truncheon of a pike. Vainly he strove to regain his feet, but reeled
senseless on the sod, and the last sounds he heard were the triumphant
cheers of the British, drowning the feebler cry of _Vive l'Empereur!_
from their antagonists. Almost at the same moment the brave Colonel
Cadogan fell from his horse, writhing on the grass with the agony of a
mortal wound. A yell burst from his regiment, the Highland Light
Infantry, as they beheld him fall; an echoing shout broke from their
companions, and redoubling their efforts with the bayonet, after
frightful carnage, they obliged the enemy to retire precipitately down
the mountains. Their left was thus completely routed and in disorder,
and the British flag waved triumphantly on the bloody summits of Puebla.
Encouraged by this good fortune, Sir Rowland Hill ordered his second and
third brigades to attack the heights of Subijana de Alava, which were
gallantly carried after a severe and stern conflict. King Joseph,
alarmed at the loss of these important positions, directed his left wing
to fall back for the defence of Vittoria, and Sir Rowland, pressing
forward with his usual vigour, followed up this retreating movement.
Cole and Picton attacked their centre, and after a spirited resistance
the whole chain of heights was abandoned, and the French army began to
retire, but in admirable order, on Vittoria. General Graham dislodged
the enemy from the hills above Abechuco, and his countryman General
Robertson, without permitting his troops to fire a shot, but solely
acting with the bayonet, drove them from Gamarra Mayor after great
slaughter, and sustaining during the advance a tremendous fire of cannon
and musquetry. Towards evening Graham's division was pushed forward
across the Zadorra, and ordered to secure the road leading to Bayonne.
By that time Lord Wellington's centre had penetrated to Vittoria, and
the enemy's right wing had totally given way. All was now lost, and the
greatest confusion ensued among the foe. The court equipage of King
Joseph, the baggage, the artillery, and the military chest of his army
were all captured. Those columns retreating on the road to Bayonne were
driven like herds of sheep back upon that which leads to Pampeluna, and
then the French army became one vast mob, a disorganized and fugitive
rabble. Joseph, owing his safety to the swiftness of his horse,
abandoned the wreck of his troops and fled towards Pampeluna, hotly
pursued by Captain Wyndham with a squadron of the 10th Hussars. In this
great victory the loss of the allied army amounted to 5,000, and that of
the French to 6,000 or upwards, and the defeat of the survivors was
attended by every accompaniment of disgrace. A thousand prisoners were
captured by the allies, and of the two solitary guns, of all his immense
train, which Joseph succeeded in taking off, _one_ alone reached
Pampeluna, the other being taken next day.
Lord Wellington deserves the highest admiration for the excellence of
his dispositions and manoeuvres during the whole of that brilliant
campaign, and most decisive victory. Every arrangement, every movement
of the French generals had been completely baffled and disconcerted by
his superior skill and military talents. In four weeks, he had driven
them from Madrid to Vittoria, turning their strong positions on the
Douro and Ebro, and at last compelling Joseph and Jourdan to show fight
at a point where their army was utterly destroyed.
The battle had almost been fought and won while Ronald Stuart lay
senseless among the heaps of killed and wounded on the hills of Puebla.
The French, after being repulsed from the latter, detached a legion,
7,000 strong, to recover them, which movement being perceived by General
Stewart, he despatched Fassifern with his Highlanders to the assistance
of the troops already there. The regiment moved quickly to the front,
and after inconceivable exertions gained the summit by clambering up the
steepest part of the mountains, a feat perhaps only to have been
performed by Scots or Switzers. They soon reached the spot where the
desperate charge had been made. Cadogan lay there drenched in his
blood, and the carnage around him showed how fierce had been the
conflict.
"Our light company men are lying thick here," said Fassifern, as he
looked sternly around him.
"Here is Stuart," exclaimed Bevan. "Poor fellow, this is his last
field!" The regiment passed in open column, double-quick, beyond the
place where Ronald lay to all appearance, what his brother officers
thought him to be, dead. Close by him lay Torriano, a lieutenant of the
71st, severely wounded, but there was no time to look at them. The
Highlanders moved onward to the assistance of their friends the 50th and
Highland Light Infantry, who were severely handled by the enemy on the
other side of the heights. There the carnage was appalling in some
parts, where the ranks of friend and foe had fallen across each other in
piles. Smoke and bright flashing steel were seen every where, and the
echoes of the musquetry reverberated among the deep ravines and grassy
summits of La Puebla. The overwhelming legion were still advancing; they
had out-flanked the 71st, and cut off its communication with the 50th;
and the superiority of the French numerical force was compelling these
brave regiments to waver, when the cheers of their Highland comrades
rang among the mountains, as they descended to their assistance. As
Cadogan had fallen, the command of the troops devolved on Fassifern,
and, acting under his orders, the three battalions compelled the legion
to retire in disgrace and disorder.
Three other attacks did they make in succession, and with greater
strength, but the attempts were vain. The first brigade were resolved
to hold Puebla or perish, and Cameron continually drove them back. As
the Highlanders said, "their hearts werna stoot eneuch for sae stey a
brae," and the proud Frenchmen were compelled to abandon all hopes of
regaining the important position.
Ronald lay long insensible where he fell, and when life returned the
first sounds which saluted his ears were the distant roar of the
musquetry, and all the confused din of a great battle, which the breeze
bore up from the plains to the mountains where he lay. From loss of
blood and the stunning effects of the blow, he was long unable to rise
or even to speak; but his ear was intensely awake to every sound around
him, and he eagerly longed to know how the tide of battle was turning in
the valley below. The aching and smarting pain in his head was
excessive. He placed his hand behind, and withdrew it covered with
blood, and closing his eyes, again sunk backwards on the gory turf.
Although his ears were invaded by the distressing cries and hoarse
groans of agony from the wounded around him, his heart wandered to that
Highland home where his very soul seemed to be garnered up; and in that
terrible moment he would have given the universe, were it his, for a
single glance at the heather hills and the wild woods around the old
grey tower of Lochisla. He thought of his white-haired sire, and of
what would be his sufferings and feelings should his only son perish in
the land of the stranger. Alice, too,--but the thought of her inspired
him with new life and spirit. He rose and unclasped her miniature,
which was clotted and covered with his blood: he restored it to his
breast, and looked about him. As the noise of the battle still
continued without abatement, and he heard the shouts and battle-cry of
the French mingled with the cheers of the British at times, he asked a
French soldier who sat near him, shot through the leg, if he knew how
the day had gone. He answered, without a moment's hesitation, that the
troops of the great Emperor had outflanked, beaten, and cut to pieces
those of Wellington, who was on the road to Lisbon, flying as fast as
his horse could carry him. Although Ronald put little dependance on
this information, he resolved to satisfy himself. The Frenchman kindly
bound up his head, and gave him a little brandy from his canteen; for
which the Scotsman gave him his earnest thanks, being quite unable to
yield more solid remuneration, not having seen a day's pay for six
months. Making use of his sword as a support, he got upon his feet, and
all things seemed to swim around him as he staggered forward.
Cadogan had been carried off by two soldiers of his own regiment, but
his horse was lying dead upon a wounded Highlander, who had long
struggled to free himself from its oppressive weight, and now called
aloud to Ronald, who was unable to yield him the slightest assistance.
As he passed slowly onwards to that part of the heights whence he
expected to have a view of the whole battle-field, he beheld the officer
whom he had encountered lying dead, pierced with a score of bayonet
wounds. A soldier of the light company lay dead across him, with his
face literally dashed to pieces by a blow from the butt-end of a
musquet, and so much was he disfigured that it was impossible to
recognise him. Close by a piper of the 71st lay dead, with his pipe
under his arm: his blood had formed a black pool around him of more than
a yard square. Hundreds were lying everywhere in the same condition,
but further details would only prove tiresome or revolting.
With much difficulty, Stuart gained the extremity of the ridge, and the
whole soul-stirring display of the field of Vittoria burst at once upon
his gaze, extending over a space of ground fully six miles in length.
Truly, thicker than leaves in autumn, the bodies of men were strewed
along the whole length of the hostile armies. The warm light of the
setting sun was beaming on the mountain tops, but its lustre had long
since faded on the sylvan vale of the Zadorra, where the shadows of
evening were setting on the pale faces of the dead and the dying. The
plains of Vittoria, too, were growing dark, but at the first view Ronald
was enabled to perceive, and his heart beat proudly while he did so,
that the allies had conquered, and the boastful story of the Gaul was
false.
Afar off he beheld dense clouds of dust rolling along the roads which
led to Pampeluna and Bayonne. There the glistening arms were flashing
in the light of the western sky, as the brigades of British cavalry
swept on like whirlwinds, charging and driving before them, _sabre a la
main_, the confused masses of French infantry, who, when their position
was abandoned, retired hurriedly towards the main roads for France. He
saw his own division far down the plain, driving a column like a herd of
sheep along the banks of the river towards Vittoria; beyond which they
pursued them, until the smoke of the conflict and the dust which marked
its route were hidden by the cloud of night.
But long before this he had begun to descend the hills, and weak and
wearied as he was, he found it no easy task to scramble among the furze,
briars, and brambles with which their sides were covered. At the foot of
them he found many men of his own regiment lying dead. These had been
slain by the fire of a few field-pieces, which the French had brought to
bear upon them while moving towards Puebla. The moon broke forth when
he reached the banks of the Zadorra, which he forded, the water rising
up to his waist. This drenching added greatly to his misery, as the
night was cold and chilly; but he walked onward as rapidly as he could,
with the hope of reaching Subijana de Alava, Vittoria, or any place
where he might hope to get his wound dressed, after which he trusted
that he should be able to rejoin the regiment without delay. But losing
his way, he wandered across the field, where the bodies of men and
horses, dead or yet rolling about, broken waggons, dismounted or
abandoned cannon, encumbered him at every step.
No shrieks now saluted his ears as he passed over the plain; but
groans--deep and harrowing groans of agony, and half-muttered cries for
water or pious ejaculations were heard on every side, while the ghastly
and distorted faces, the glazed and upturned eyes, the black and bloody
wounds of the dead appeared horrible, as the pale light of the moon fell
on them. The vast field, although so many thousand men lay prostrate
upon it, was, comparatively speaking, still; and to Ronald there seemed
something sad and awful in the silence which succeeded the ear-deafening
roar of the battle which had rung there the live-long day. Many a
strong hand was stretched there powerless, and many a gallant heart,
which had beat high with hope and bravery in the morning, lay there cold
enough at night.
Little think the good folk at home,--those who for days would be haunted
by the memory of some sudden death, which possibly they had witnessed in
the streets,--little do these good people imagine, or perhaps care, for
the mighty amount of misery accumulated on a single battle-field, and
the woe it may carry into many a happy home and domestic circle. But the
agony of dying men, and the tears of women, are alike forgotten and
unheeded when forts fire, cities illuminate, balls are given, and mails
sweep along, decorated with flags and laurels, in honour of a
victory......
Eager to leave the field behind him, Stuart hurried forward as well as
he was able, until, stumbling over a dead cavalry horse, he fell
violently to the earth, and his wound bursting out afresh, the light
faded from his eyes, and he lay in a sort of stupor across the corse of
a French soldier, in whose breast a twelve-pound shot was buried. While
lying there he became tortured with an intense thirst, which he found it
impossible to alleviate, until a drizzling rain began to descend, and
after exercising his patience, he caught enough in the hollow of his
hand to moisten his parched lips.
The sound of voices close by recalled him to himself fully, and he found
that he was in imminent danger. A file of Portuguese soldiers
approached, bearing a lantern to assist them in effectually plundering
the dead. The knapsacks of soldiers were ripped open, and the contents
carefully scanned; and the epaulets, lace, stars, &c. were torn away
from the uniforms of the officers. Stuart's blood boiled up within him
to behold brother-soldiers, men in arms, engaged in an occupation so
truly despicable; but well aware of the danger incurred by encountering
or threatening people so unscrupulous as death-hunters[*] he only
grasped the hilt of his dirk, and lay perfectly still until they had
passed by, which they luckily did without observing him.
[*] Death-hunters,--a name given by soldiers to those who follow armies
to strip the dead after a battle.
Scarcely were they gone when another wretch appeared, bent on the same
disgraceful errand. He was either a robber or guerilla, and carried on
the hollow of his left arm a musquet, from which dangled a long leather
sling. A pewter crucifix glittered on the band of his broad-leaved hat,
and the polished brass hilts of the double daggers and pistols in his
sash gleamed in the light of the moon, which at that moment shone forth
with peculiar brilliancy. A new pair of large epaulets, which Stuart had
put on a few days before, attracted this worthy's attention, and he came
straight towards the wearer to possess himself of them.
What were the feelings of the young Highlander to behold in the robber
the abhorred Narvaez Cifuentes, the destroyer of the noble and beautiful
Catalina! An electric shock seemed to pass over every fibre, and again
his heart beat violently. He grasped tighter the thistle-hilt of his
short weapon, and watched with an eagle eye the motions of the robber.
Narvaez knew him the moment their eyes met, and uttering a short but
emphatic oath, he sprung forward and leaped upon Ronald with his whole
weight, and pressing a knee upon each arm, perfectly incapacitated him
from making any defence, especially in his weak and wounded state.
"How now, my gay _senor soldado_!" said Narvaez with a chuckling laugh,
after they had glared at each other in silence for a few seconds.
"Methinks we have met at last, under circumstances somewhat
disadvantageous to your safety."
Ronald's only reply was a frantic attempt to free himself from the iron
grasp of the other.