salt off the end of a ramrod, and washed down with a canteen-full of
that rich cider, for the production of which the district around
Elizondo is so famous, after listening to the merry bells of the town
which were ringing in honour of the British, and after watching until he
grew weary the varying effects of light and shade, as the red blaze of a
dozen picquet-fires glared on the beetling crags, deep seams and gorges,
or green sides of the hills, he found it almost impossible to resist the
invasion of sleep. Even the miniature of his dark-haired Alice failed
to enliven him, and he envied the privates of his party, who, having
neither command nor responsibility, slept soundly by the fire, with
their knapsacks beneath their heads and their arms piled beside them.
On consulting his watch to see how the time went, he found that it was
midnight, and that an hour had elapsed since his last visit. As it was
necessary to be attended by some one, he awoke Evan,[*] and desiring him
to take his arms, moved towards his sentinels, whom he had considerable
trouble in discovering, as the night was intensely dark. All was right,
every soldier was on the alert, and Ronald was returning with his
follower through the winding and rocky path towards the fire, which
served as a beacon to guide them to their post, and which they beheld
glimmering through the gloom some hundred yards off, when a piercing cry
rang through the still air, at a short distance from the place where
they were.
[*] An officer's servant is always on duty with his master.
"Hey, sir!" exclaimed Evan, beginning to unbuckle his pouch; "what can
that be, in sic a wild place as this?"
"A woman's voice, I think."
"It cam frae the hill on the left o' the road,--I'm sure o't. Hech! it
was an unco' cry."
"Follow me," said his master, beginning quickly to ascend the hill.
"Hech, sir! dinna venture up the bank till we hear something mair," said
Evan cautiously, following promptly nevertheless. "My certie! we kenna
what folk may bide amang the holmes and howes hereabout. At hame I have
heard tell o' sic cries ringing at this time, between the nicht and
morning, and they were ay for ill, and never for gude. Sae be advised,
sir, and wait awee."
"Evan!" said Stuart angrily, "are you afraid of men?"
"Ye ken I am no, sir!" replied the Highlandman sharply. "I would scorn
to turn heel on sax o' the best that ever trod on heather. Mair would,
may be, be venturesome."
"Of bogles, then,--or spunkies, or what?" The soldier was silent.
"Campaigning might have taught you to laugh at such ideas, Evan."
"Gang on, sir," replied the other sturdily; "if auld Mahoud, wi' horns,
hoof, and blazin' een sat on the brae head, I'll follow ye; but auld
Dugald the cornel's man tauld me an unco' story ca'd the _lham-dearg_,
that gars me scunner at my ain shadow after nicht-fa'." Again the cry
rang loud and shrilly, and many others followed in succession.
"There is no mistake now," cried Ronald, rushing up the hill towards a
light, which was seen twinkling through the darkness. "It is the voice
of a woman,--and she cries for help." Scrambling forward, among rocks
and stunted trees, a few moments brought them in front of a hut of the
rudest and humblest construction. The light shone through the open hole
which served for a window, and from this structure the cries, which had
now died away, had certainly proceeded. Before he entered, Ronald
reconnoitred the interior through the loop-hole. Two shepherds, arrayed
in the coarse clothing made of the undyed wool of the mountain sheep,
sat smoking cigars and drinking at a rough wooden table, while they
coolly surveyed a very singular scene. A young and very handsome woman,
a lady evidently by her form and air, although her dress was torn and
soiled, her white silk bonnet hanging in fritters, her hair dishevelled,
and her feet almost bare, struggling wildly with, and exerting every
energy to oppose, the brutality of--whom? Cifuentes! the diabolical
Narvaez Cifuentes, who, like a bird of ill omen, seemed doomed to cross
the path of Ronald Stuart wherever he went,--and even there, on the
borders of France. He appeared the same ferocious dog as ever, with his
matted hair and scrub-beard; but his aspect was now rendered hideous by
a large scar on the cheek and chin, caused probably by the random shot
which Lord Dalhousie had bestowed upon him at Vittoria. His musquet,
sabre, and pistols lay upon the table. His stiletto he held to the
white neck of the sinking girl, and swore by every saint in the calendar
that he would plunge it in her heart, if she did not cease her cries.
Overcome with terror and exhaustion, she sunk upon her knees before him,
when Evan, applying his foot to the door, dashed it in, and Stuart,
rushing forward, grasped Narvaez by the throat, hurled him to the earth
before, in his own defence, he could strike a blow with his weapon,
which Evan wrested adroitly from his hand, and saying, with a grin, that
"it wad mak' a brave skene-dhu for his faither the piper," stuck it into
his right garter. Fiercely did Cifuentes struggle with his athletic
assailant, who, although he planted a foot on his throat, delayed, with
a mistaken humanity, to bury his claymore in his heart,--a display of
mercy Ronald had reason afterwards to repent most bitterly.
The two herds started to their feet on beholding this unexpected
conflict, and the lady, in the extremity of her terror, flung her arms
around Stuart, and, grasping him convulsively, completely impeded his
motions. Of this circumstance his adversary did not fail to take the
utmost advantage. After several fruitless efforts, he escaped from
Ronald's powerful grasp, and, eluding the bayonet of Evan, who charged
him breast-high, rushed from the cottage, and disappeared in the
darkness with the speed of a hare. Ronald's fury was now turned against
the villanous shepherds, whom, in the extremity of his anger, he
threatened to put to death; upon which they quitted their dwelling, and
made a hasty retreat. While Evan stood sentinel at the door, his master
endeavoured to calm and pacify the young lady, whom he found to be
French--very pretty, and very attractive. No sooner had her terror
subsided, than she returned him thanks and praises with such volubility
in French and English, that Ronald became almost abashed, and with some
reserve inquired her name?
"The Baroness de Clappourknuis."
"Oh, indeed! And how alone in such a place as this?"
"Ah! monsieur, you need scarcely ask. When the royal carriages were
captured, on the road to Bayonne, I was one of the few who effected an
escape from them. Oh, pity me! _monsieur officier_, and do not deliver
me up to be sent a prisoner to England."
"Madame, what would you have me to do?"
"Oh, any thing you please,--that is, monsieur, conceal me but for a day
or so. General Gazan's troops are not far off, and my husband the baron
is with them. I may find means to rejoin him safely. I am sure you
will not treat me cruelly--your look is so gentle. But we Frenchwomen
have quite a terrible idea of you British soldiers, and my fears have
carried me thus far from the fatal plains of Vittoria. Ah! good sir, you
may imagine, but I can never describe the terrors, the miseries, the
horror I have undergone while wandering so great a distance, alone and
unprotected, among these barbarous Spaniards. And, _O mon Dieu!_ when I
had almost gained the shelter of Gazan's lines, I fell into the power of
that fearful creature, from whose savage treatment you have so bravely
rescued me."
"Where did you meet with him, madame?"
"Wandering in the pass of Lanz,--for I was compelled to seek the most
unfrequented paths. Clad in the habit of some of the _religieux_ of this
country, he met me. I had nothing to fear from one who wore the garb of
peace. I confided in him: he offered to become my guide, and led me
hither. You know the rest. Ah, monsieur! complete your kindness, I
beseech you, and see me in safety to the French outposts!"
"What you ask of me, madame, I cannot perform, and I say so with regret.
'Tis three miles from this to the enemy's position. I cannot escort you
myself, being on a particular duty, and I have not the means of sending
you thither; yet, believe me, for the sake of poor D'Estouville's first
love I would do much."
This was said in a tone of feeling, slightly mingled with reproach, and
the colour of the lady came and went while she gazed on Ronald with a
look of considerable surprise.
"Monsieur," said she, after a pause, "did you know Major d'Estouville?"
"Intimately, although a Frenchman and an enemy. I beheld him die."
"At Merida?" Her lip quivered.
"Yes, madame."
"Poor Victor!" said the baroness thoughtfully.
"The last words he uttered were your name,--Diane de Montmichel. He
expired in great agony, on a bed of straw, stretched on the cold
pavement of an ancient chapel."
"_Merci_! Ah, monsieur! do not, do not tell me any more of this!" said
she, covering her face with her hands,--which, I may observe, were very
small and beautifully formed,--and beginning to weep and sob. "I dare
not think of Victor now,--now when the wedded wife of another! To do so
would be a sin, even although he is dead."
"D'Estouville told me his story. He loved you very truly, madame."
"I know that. You will certainly think me very cruel in deserting him,
but Heaven knows I did not do so wilfully; I was not entirely to blame.
At Lillebonne we understood that he had been killed; and long I wept and
sorrowed for him, and protested that, until death, I would remain
unwedded for his sake. Monsieur le Baron made proposals for my hand,
and it was given him by my parent even before my consent was obtained.
Terror, sorrow, and domestic persecution did the rest, and I became the
bride of the new suitor, who indeed loves me very dearly, and I have
every reason to be grateful to him. A coronet is a gay and attractive
thing; yet think not, monsieur, that I have forgotten poor Victor,
though I struggle with my heart to teach it the duty it owes the baron.
One cannot have two loves for one heart," she added, sobbing and
blushing.
"Well, madame," said Stuart, anxious to end her embarrassment, "some
arrangement must be made. First, let us leave this place."
"_Eh bien!_" said the lady joyfully; and beginning to bustle about, she
put her dilapidated dress in some order. "But," added she, shrugging
her shoulders, "for where, monsieur?"
"With your permission, madame, to my picquet at the foot of the hill, in
the first place," replied Stuart, consulting his watch. "I have been
absent nearly an hour. Hah! there will be the devil to pay should I be
missed."
"Ay will there, sir," said Evan, who had leaned his chin upon the muzzle
of his piece, and 'glowered' with considerable surprise during the
sudden and animated conversation which his master had carried on so
glibly with the strange lady. "I hae been keepin' my lug to the wind,
to hearken if ony soonds cam up the brae, but there has been naething
asteer as yet. Ye hae nae been missed; but, gude save us, sir, let's
awa before waur comes o't! Fassifern 'the chief' himsel's on duty; and
whan he gangs the round, a bonnie kick up there will be gin ye're no at
your post; and ye ken the cornel is waur than the deil to warsle wi'."
Stuart knew that this was good and sound advice, however homely its
delivery; and he prepared to rejoin his picquet, before Cameron, who was
field-officer on duty, might visit it.
By pinning up here and there, tucking up one thing and letting out
another, the lady wrought away rapidly with her neat and nimble little
hands, working as only a Frenchwoman could have done, and in three
minutes, her travel-stained and disordered attire was nicely and very
passably arranged. Ronald offered his assistance, but the lady dispensed
with it, thanking him with a smile, and saying he "could not be a very
adroit _femme de chambre_." The glossy locks were smoothly placed over
her white forehead, and the crushed bonnet had almost resumed its true
Parisian shape. Its draggled feathers were cast aside, but the rich
white veil she disposed gracefully over the front; and, looking at
Stuart with a glance of mingled archness, coquetry, and timidity,
observed that she was "attired somewhat more _a la mode_," and took his
proffered arm.
"Ah, monsieur!" said she, "once more I intreat you, do not deliver me up
as a prisoner to be sent to England,--that horrid place!"
"Not if I can help it,--I pledge you my word of honour. In transferring
you to the French lines, I incur considerable risk; but as the distance
is so short, I will see if it can possibly be done before day breaks."
He threw his ample cloak around her, and giving strict injunctions to
Evan not to acquaint his comrades who the lady was, began to descend the
hill as quickly as the trembling steps of the latter would permit along
such a dark and rugged path. Before leaving the hut, Evan took care to
break and destroy all the offensive weapons it contained, saying as he
did so, "that fules and bairns shuldna hae chappin' sticks." He
proposed to set the hut in a "bleeze," to light their way down the hill,
but his master at once objected. The darkness renewed the terrors of
the young lady.
"Is the way long, monsieur?" asked she in a faltering tone.
"O no,--quite near. You see the picquet-fire yonder. Ah, madame! how
fortunate I am in having come so opportunely to your rescue."
"Oh! I shall never forget you in my prayers,--never, monsieur."
"But why are you trembling so much? Surely you are not afraid of me?"
"O no! your behaviour is too cavalier-like and gentle for that; and we
have become quite like very old friends in half-an-hour's time."
"Do you fear the darkness, then?"
"_Mon dieu_! Ah! the darkness is nothing new to me. Alas!" replied
she, shrugging her shoulders, "since the field of Vittoria I have passed
every night in dark and lonely places; and I wonder now how one so
timid, and so delicately nurtured has not sunk under all the fears and
privations I have undergone for some days and nights past." The lady
started. At that moment the voice of a sentinel was heard to give the
usual challenge.
"Who comes, there?"
"Rounds!" answered the bold voice of Fassifern, and the tramp of his
horse's hoofs rang on the roadway between the mountains.
"Stand, rounds!" replied the sentry, porting his musquet, and so on;
with the usual ceremony, the parole and countersign were given and
received.
"Excuse me, madame, but for a minute," said Stuart. "I am just in time;
an instant later, and I should have been missed." Leaving the side of
the trembling lady he bustled about, and got his picquet under arms.
On the departure of Fassifern, whose movements the baroness had watched
with no ordinary feelings of caution and fear, Evan was despatched for
Macdonald, whom he found enjoying himself with some other officers at a
wine-house in Elizondo. He came promptly enough, and was not a little
surprised when Ronald requested as a favour, that he would escort a
young lady to within sight of the French lines, explaining at the same
time, in as few words as possible, her story and the nature of her
situation.
Alister at once accepted the honour of being her convoy. "But," said
he, looking into the gloom which surrounded them, "the route is
confoundedly dreary across the mountains to the rock of Maya,--Gazan's
post."
"I am perfectly aware of it," replied Stuart, with an air of pique.
"'Tis impossible the baroness can go alone, and gallantry requires us to
set Wellington's orders at defiance for once, and not deliver her up. I
would have escorted her myself, but cannot leave my picquet."
"Monsieur," said the baroness, "I am indeed sorry to trouble you; but
surely you do not complain of the duty--"
"Oh, no! impossible, madame," exclaimed Alister, the blood mounting to
his handsome features at the idea, while, gracefully raising his bonnet,
he observed her fair face by the red light of the fire. "But will you
entrust yourself to the guidance of one who is entirely a stranger,
through a road so dark and dangerous?"
"I have no alternative, alas!" said she, bending her bright eyes into
the gloom, as if she strove to pierce the depths beyond. She shuddered.
"'Tis very dark, indeed, messieurs. I have no alternative but to go, or
to remain and be sent a captive to Britain. Monsieur, I will go with
you. I will depend on the untarnished honour of a British officer, that
I shall be conveyed in safety to Gazan's sentinels at the rock of Maya."
"Madame, you do me an honour never to be forgotten," answered Macdonald,
with a bow profound enough for any "puffing senor" of Old Castile, while
the lady took his arm.
"Lend me your dirk, Stuart. I left mine at the wine _caza_," said
Alister, adjusting his belt and putting his basket-hilt free of plaid,
sash, tassels, &c. "It is as well to be prepared for any sudden attack,
and the baroness must be my warrant that I am not made a prisoner of by
some of Gazan's scouts or sharp-shooters. So then, good-by, Stuart; I
will come brattling up the brae in an hour or so."
The lady kissed her hand to Stuart and departed with Macdonald, feeling
a confidence and assurance of safety which probably no British lady
would have felt, if entrusted to the charge of a foreigner under the
same peculiar circumstances.
"And this is Diane de Montmichel, the false love of poor Victor
d'Estouville," thought Ronald, as her light figure disappeared in the
darkness. "Well, I believe, if all the tales his friend De Mesmai told
me were true, one cannot look for much faith in French women!"
For Macdonald's return he waited with considerable anxiety, which
increased when the time by which he expected him passed away without his
appearing, and day began to dawn on the Maya heights. He could not help
dreading that Alister had not been wary enough, and had been captured by
the French advanced sentinels. If so, the escape of the baroness would
come to light, and he feared the Marquess of Wellington would make a
deuced unpleasant row about it. He also remembered Narvaez Cifuentes,
whom for some time he had forgotten, and supposed that his friend might
have fatally encountered this savage bandit and some of his companions.
The morning had now dawned, but the valleys between Elizondo and the
rock of Maya, and even the summits of the Lower Pyrenees, were still
almost involved in darkness. Shaking the dew from their booming wings,
the eagles were soaring through the blue sky from their eyries among the
cliffs, and the morning breeze, as it swept along the mountain sides,
bore with it the delightful perfume of the aromatic plants and little
shrubs which flourish so plentifully in all waste places throughout
Spain. From the dying embers of the picquet-fire a puff of smoke curled
now and then on the pure air, but scarcely a sound woke the echoes of
the place, save the proud and steady tread of the sentries as they
strode to and fro on their posts.
Beyond the advanced chain of the latter, Ronald wandered far in search
of Macdonald, and to await his return seated himself upon a fragment of
rock, and watched attentively the long valley which lay between him and
the Lower or French Pyrenees, varying this employment, by holloaing to
the eagles as he used to do at home, or by hurling stones at the glossy
black ravens as they screamed aloud, flapped their wings, and from the
rocks of the surrounding wilderness stared at him as an intruder upon
their solitude. The voice of some one singing a Gaelic song,--
"_Cha teid mis a chaoidh_,"[*]
caused him to spring to his feet.
[*] I will never go with him.
"Holloa, Alister! Is that you, my man?"
"Yes," replied Macdonald, springing up the rocks to where Ronald sat,
and leaping to his side with the activity of a deer; "but you nearly
made an end of me a dozen times. Every minute you sent a large rock
sousing down the ravine upon my very path. Did you not hear me shout?
Why, man, you have but half the ear of a Highland forester! I hope I am
in time for the marquess's arrival?"
"Yes; but what a devilish long time you have been! Madame the baroness
and her squire were certainly in no hurry to reach the rock of Maya."
"Why no; to tell you the truth," replied Macdonald, laughing as heartily
as his lack of breath would permit him, "we consulted our own
convenience and pleasure, and it has been the most agreeable night, or
rather morning, march since I first saw the spires of Lisbon."
"So I suppose. But did you escape the French sentries?"
"How would I have been here else, Ronald? They are posted at the foot of
the rock of Maya, and must have been blind, if they did not see me. I
led the young lady within a hundred yards of them, and there bade her
tenderly adieu."
"She thanked you, of course?"
"By so delightful a salute, that I began to persuade her to return with
me; but she placed her little hand upon my mouth, and, as the novels
say, vanished from my sight,--in other words crossed the enemy's lines:
so now, I suppose, she is in the arms of monsieur the baron, or as he
would be more appropriately styled, Jock Law, laird of the
Clapperknowes. What a pity 'tis that so sweet a girl should be the wife
of that gruff old humbug! Hah! there go the pipes!"
"Wellington has come!"
The out-picquets rejoined their several brigades, which in a few minutes
were in motion, and marched from Elizondo with their bands playing, and
entered among the mountains towards that part of Maya where General
Gazan's corps were in position. In the forenoon they came in sight of
the enemy, when Sir Rowland Hill halted, and Wellington, attended by a
single aide-de-camp, rode forward to reconnoitre. Ronald Stuart had now
for the first time an opportunity of particularly observing that great
leader, of whom the world then heard, and were yet to hear, so much.
He was mounted on a slight but stout crop-tailed horse, without
trappings; a pair of plain holsters were at his saddle-bow, and a short
sabre hung from his belt. The exceeding plainness of his attire--a
coarse blue cloak, and weather-beaten cocked-hat, totally destitute of
ornament--contrasted strongly with the richly laced jacket and pelisse
of his aide, an officer of the 10th Hussars, that regiment of exquisite
celebrity. Wellington gave a keen but hasty glance along the ranks of
the bronzed Highlanders as he rode past, and then bent his sharp eyes on
the heights where the dark columns of French infantry appeared in
position, their long lines of serried arms glancing as usual in the sun.
For about three minutes the marquess carefully made a reconnoissance of
the foe through his telescope, and then issued his orders.
"Sir William!" said he.
General Stuart, a fine old soldier, with hair white as snow, a bronzed
visage, and a purple coat adorned with a black aigulet, rode up, and
touched his coarse cocked-hat of glazed leather.
"With the second brigade you will cross the Bidassoa, by the pathway
leading from Elizondo, and ascending the mountains, turn the enemy's
right. You will carry the rock of Maya at the point of the bayonet."
"It shall be done, my lord," replied Stuart confidently, as he drove
spurs into his horse and galloped back to the second brigade; while Sir
Rowland with the marquess ascended to an eminence, to observe the
operations and success of this movement. While Stuart with his troops
moved off and disappeared among the rocks and orchards of Elizondo, the
other brigades remained under arms, and found, with considerable
chagrin, that their part of the game was not yet come. After remaining
for some time--an hour perhaps, watching attentively the French lines,
the sound of distant firing, and the appearance of smoke curling along
the hill sides, announced that the gallant Stuart had commenced the
attack. Every ear and every eye were all attention. The fire became
closer and more rapid; a cheer was heard, and in ten minutes the whole
second brigade, consisting of the brave "Old Buffs," the 31st, the 57th,
and 66th English regiments, were seen rushing up the hill under a close
and destructive shower of shot, which they heeded less than if it had
been a shower of rain, although it thinned their numbers deplorably.
Forward they went with the bayonet, and the right wing of the French
melted away before them.
The position was turned, and the cheers of the victors were echoed by
their comrades below, whose blood was fiercely roused by the sound of
the conflict.
"They have done well," said Wellington. "Forward! the light troops."