Macdonuil is shot through the heart. Hah! see to the left: the 50th are
giving way--God! I am struck!" He sunk to the earth, with the blood
gushing from his mouth and nostrils. A shot had pierced his breast,
beating in with it a part of the silver breast-plate, and in great agony
he rolled over several times, grasping and tearing the turf with
fruitless efforts to regain his feet.
"Never mind me, light bobs, but stand by Cameron to the last. Hurrah!"
Convulsively he strove to raise himself up; but another bullet passed
through his neck, and a deadly paleness overspread his countenance. He
gave his claymore one last flourish, he cast a glance of fury and
despair towards the enemy, and expired. Scarcely a minute had elapsed
since he was struck, and now he was dead!
"Poor Seaton!" muttered Ronald, and turned away. He had now the command
of the light company; the other lieutenant lay bleeding to death a few
yards off, and in the intervals of pain crying fruitlessly for water.
One soldier, who had been struck by a shot across the bridge of the
nose, became blind, and rushed frantickly among the enemy, to perish
under their bayonets. Another, who had his lower jaw carried off,
presented a horrible spectacle as he lay on the ground, vomiting up
blood through his open throat, and lolling out his exposed and swollen
tongue.[*]
[*] This man lived for many years afterwards, having the loss supplied
by a mask, through which soups were induced by a pipe for his
sustenance. For pension he received the sum of nine-pence per day.
"Ninety-second! Prepare to charge!" cried Cameron, animated to fury by
this deadly slaughter of his regiment. "Gordon Highlanders! prepare to
charge," he repeated, as he galloped along the broken line with eyes
flashing fire, while he waved his bonnet aloft. "Close up,--keep
together; shoulder to shoulder, Highland men,--charge!" Ronald alone
heard him, and repeated the rash order; but their voices were unheard
amidst the din of the conflict. At that moment the smoke cleared a
little away, and in front Ronald perceived a French grenadier sling his
musquet, and advancing a few paces before his friends, stoop down to
rifle an officer of the 71st regiment, who was lying dead between the
lines.
"Iverach, mark that plundering rascal," said Stuart; "aim steadily."
Evan fired and missed.
"That was not like a man from the braes of Strathonan!" said his master
angrily. "Fire, Ian Macdonald; you are one of the best shots in the
company."
"My father shot the _Damh mhor a Vonalia_ toon in Padenoch,[*] and I was
aye thouchten to pe a petterer marksman than him," replied the young
Highlander coolly, as he levelled his piece and fired. The Frenchman
fell forward, beat the earth with his heels for a moment, and then lay
motionless.
[*] A famous white stag, shot in Badenoch in 1807. It was believed by
the Highlanders to be more than 200 years old.
"He's toon, sir: I have pitten a flea in his lug," replied the marksman,
as he bit another cartridge.
For two hours this desperate and unequal conflict was maintained. The
other regiments had given way in disorder, and the Highlanders began to
waver, after the loss of their gallant colonel, who had retired severely
wounded. Nearly all the officers were dead or dying on the ground,
while others were endeavouring to find their way to some place where
they could get their wounds dressed. Two alone were left with the
regiment,--Ronald and another lieutenant, who, being senior, had the
command, and finding that the battalion was reduced to less than a
company, ordered it to retire towards the pass of Maya, having lost in
two hours five-and-twenty officers, and three hundred rank and file.
The other regiments were cut up in nearly the same manner, but none had
lost so many officers. Stuart carried the king's colour, and a serjeant
the regimental--all the ensigns being killed or wounded. Poor Alister
Macdonald was left on the field among the former. A shot had passed
through his head, and he died without a groan. His friend Ronald was
considerably startled when he saw him lying dead. The prediction of
Dugald Mhor flashed upon his mind, and he looked round for that singular
old Highlander; but he was away with Fassifern, on the road for the
village of Irun.
The whole of the British forces were now in retreat before the
overwhelming power of the enemy, column after column of whom continued
to press forward. The defenders of the pass retired on the rock of
Maya, abandoning their camp and baggage to the French. On retreating
through the pass, Major Campbell, whose horse had been as usual shot
under him, and who had first left the field owing to a severe wound,
headed a few Highlanders, who scrambled like squirrels up the face of a
precipitous crag, from the summit of which they kept up a hot fire upon
the French troops, not only holding them decidedly in check and giving
their friends time to retire, but revenging the previous slaughter in
front of the pass. Here it may be worth mentioning that Major Campbell
lost his celebrated cudgel, which, in the enthusiasm of the moment he
sent flying among the foe, and unhorsed a mounted officer. He gave them
also much weightier proofs of his good-will. Just as the flank of a
column of French grenadiers reached the base of the crag occupied by the
Highlanders, a tremendous fragment of rock, urged forward by the
powerful hands of the major, came thundering down among them,--rolling
through the dense mass of men with irresistible force and fury, making a
perfect but terrible lane, and doing as much mischief as a dozen
bomb-shells. Every man below held his breath for a moment, and then
cries of rage and fury burst from the whole division of Drouet; while
the Scots, pouring upon them a parting salute of shot and stones,
descended from the other side of the rock, and rejoined their comrades
in double-quick time. Under the orders of General Stuart the whole
retired to the rock of Maya, those in the rear maintaining an irregular
skirmish with the French; who, on perceiving this rearward movement,
filled the air with cries of "Long live the great Emperor! Long live
beautiful France!" mingled with shouts,--absolute yells of triumph and
exultation.
Thoroughly enraged and disheartened, the British continued to retire,
yet anxiously expecting that succours from Lord Wellington would arrive
in time to enable them to face about, and beat Soult before nightfall.
As the little band of Highlanders descended straggling from the hills,
Stuart saw a lady (the wife of an officer of the 50th) on horseback, and
in a miserable situation. Her horse had stuck fast above the
saddle-girths in a deep morass, and she was too much terrified and
bewildered to leave it. The balls of the sharp-shooters were whistling
past her every second, and she cried imploringly on the retreating
Highlanders to yield her some assistance; but it was impossible, and she
fell into the hands of the French. Her husband was lying dead, with his
sword in his hand, in the gorge of the fatal pass. On the brigade of
Sir Edward Barnes coming up from the rear, a new and sanguinary conflict
took place; but the enemy were defeated, and the pass regained.
That night the shattered remains of the Gordon Highlanders bivouacked
near Barrueta. The consternation of the inhabitants in the mountain
villages, when the heights were abandoned and the French again
advancing, cannot be easily described. From Barrueta, Elizondo, Maya,
and Huarte, men, women, and children were seen pouring forth during the
night and descending the mountain paths by torch-light, bearing along,
with infinite toil, their sick and infirm relatives, their bedding,
furniture, &c., to save them from the remorseless invaders, who, they
too well knew would give all to the flames that was "too hot or too
heavy" to carry off.
So eager were the French soldiers for plunder, that their searches were
conducted upon a regular system. When a town was entered, every piece
of furniture was broken, every plank raised to see whether any thing was
hidden or buried, and the hammer and small saw, carried by every man in
his havresack, assisted greatly this unsoldier-like work. It is said,
that in Germany the vaults of the churches, the very graves in the
church-yards were searched; and the brutality with which they treated
those unfortunate Spaniards, male and female, who fell into their power,
cannot be described. Therefore it is not be wondered at that the
Pyrenean mountaineers fled at their approach, as from a legion of
devils.
The roads were likewise crowded with wounded officers and soldiers,
pouring down from the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles. Those who were
able to move, were ordered to retire to Vittoria, which had already been
converted into a vast hospital, and crowded to excess with the wounded
of the great battle; and the miseries these unfortunates suffered,
travelling without baggage or money in a strange country, weary, sick,
and wounded, for a distance of one hundred miles during a hot season,
are utterly inconceivable. Many wounds mortified, and became incurable;
hundreds of men perished by the way-side of starvation and loss of
blood, or reached Vittoria only to expire in the streets. Every medical
officer had from ninety to a hundred patients on his list, and many
lives were lost from the want of proper attendance.
The astounding intelligence that the Duke of Dalmatia had forced the
Pyrenean passes, reached Lord Wellington at night, and promptly as usual
he took means to concentrate his army, providing at the same time for
the siege of San Sebastian, and the blockade of Pampeluna. The right
wing was in full retreat from the mountains when he directed it to halt,
and soon arrived himself to direct measures for covering Pampeluna,
within a few miles of which Soult, eager for its relief, had now
arrived. The discomfited troops from Maya were ordered to march on the
position before Pampeluna, and moved accordingly from Barrueta on
Tuesday the 27th. A melancholy spectacle the parade of the Gordon
Highlanders presented on that morning! The colours, which had been shot
almost to rags, were cased, and carried by non-commissioned officers;
two young lieutenants had the command, and as the solitary piper, Ranald
Macdonuildhu, blew the 'gathering,' he watched with a stern and louring
visage the few survivors of the late conflict, as they paraded on the
hill-side, falling one by one into their places. Here were five men of
the grenadiers, twenty men of another company, ten of a third, two of a
fourth, and many others were totally annihilated, neither officer nor
private being present. The Serjeant-major, with his arm in a sling,
presented a list of the casualties to Lieutenant Logan, who
commanded,--Logan of that Ilk, as he was named by the mess.
"Where is Captain Mac Ivor?"
"Killed, sir. I saw him lying dead, close by Mr. Kennedy and Mr.
Macdonald."
"Where is Captain Bevan?"
"He retired, sir, with his arm shattered near the elbow, and expired at
the moment Dr. Stuart attempted to remove the limb at the
shoulder-socket."
"Where is Gordon?"
"Severely wounded, and gone to the rear."
"Grant?"
"Shot through the side."
"Macpherson and Macdonald,--Ranald Macdonuil, I mean?"
"Missing, sir." And so on--killed, wounded, and missing, was the answer
to every question.
"God help us, sir!" said the worthy non-commissioned officer, as he
raised his hand to his bonnet and turned away with a glistening eye,
"but it's a heart-breaking thing to see the regiment cut up in this
way."
The band was annihilated, and with a single drum and bagpipe the little
party moved off, just as the morning sun rose above that deadly pass,
where so many a gallant heart had grown cold, and ceased to beat for
ever.
*CHAPTER IX.*
*THE BLOCK-HOUSE. MINA.*
Hill's division from the Pyrenees arrived at Pampeluna in time to share
the fighting which ensued when Soult endeavoured to dislodge the allies
on the 28th, but was repulsed with immense loss. Along the heights of
Huarte the contest was very severe, and the bravery of the British was
equalled only by that of their enemies. Every regiment charged with the
bayonet; and the Highlanders,--ever at home at close quarters, more than
once. Both armies remained quiet during the 29th; but Wellington, having
completed all his arrangements, attacked the left and centre of Soult's
forces next morning, and defeated them with great slaughter. Upon this
discomfiture, the marshal's only object was to secure a safe retreat
into France. After a fruitless attempt to turn Sir Rowland Hill's
position at La Zarza, and fighting until compelled to cease firing by
night coming on, they abandoned their ground under the favouring shadow
of the darkness, and on the morrow were discovered in full retreat for
France by the pass of Donna Maria. The allies "followed them up" in hot
pursuit, fighting and capturing at every yard of the way, and on the 1st
of August again took possession of those hard-contested passes, while
the French retired into their own country completely thrashed, but
certainly not to their hearts' content. With the exception of a slight
bayonet-wound in a charge at La Zarza, Ronald Stuart had escaped with a
whole skin during all these hard conflicts, known generally as the
battles of the Pyrenees. But how much the regiment had suffered may be
inferred from the fact, that of the thousand men who had landed in Spain
under its colours, about eighty only were in the ranks.
The aspect of the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles, when re-occupied, was
at once revolting and humiliating. The corses of friends and foes lay
yet unburied there; but the death-hunters, the guerillas, and those
ferocious banditti who infested every part of Spain, had been there at
work; and most of the bodies were lying naked as when they came into the
world. Ronald found Captain Mac Ivor in this condition, with his
broad-sword so glued and encrusted with gore to his stiffened fingers,
that it could not be removed, and so was buried with him. For many days
the soldiers were busied in burying the dead. Deep holes were dug,
wherein friends and foes were interred together,--thrown in just as they
were found; and when the pit was brim full, the earth was heaped over
it. These mounds of death,--fragments of uniform, tatters of tartan and
plumage, shakoes and grenadier-caps, scattered about in thousands where
the troops were encamped, served very disagreeably to remind them of
what might be their own fate on some future day. With the exception of
his sash and epaulets, ring and watch, &c., the body of poor Alister lay
untouched, and Stuart was deeply moved, at least as much as a
hard-hearted campaigner could well be, at the sight of his once merry
and brave young comrade's remains. His claymore was grasped in one
hand, and his bonnet in the other. The death-shot had passed through
his brain, and he had fallen in the act of cheering on his men. His
dark locks were damp with the midnight dew, and a formidable frown
contracted his fine bold forehead. He had lain for seven days
uninterred, and Ronald prepared to commit his body to the earth. It was
rolled in a blanket, while Evan dug a pit three feet deep and six long,
in which the corse was deposited.
"Puir Maister Macdonald!" said Evan, as he smoothed down the green sods.
"He was a leal true Scotsman and a gallant gentleman: lang it may be ere
we see his maik again. He was a gude officer, and well was he loed by
every ane."
The other officers were all placed in one grave by the Highlanders, who,
according to the ancient Scottish custom, piled a large cairn of loose
stones over it. It was situated on the left of the road leading from
Maya to France, and probably is yet to be seen. So great was the
slaughter among the officers, that Stuart, although a very junior
lieutenant, obtained a company, and succeeded his friend Seaton in
command of the "light bobs." While the troops lay encamped on the
Pyrenees, the different corps were soon made up to their proper strength
by the return of convalescents from Vittoria, and the arrival of
recruits from the depots or second battalions at home. In about two
months the Highlanders began once more to assume the appearance of a
regiment; and Fassifern, and other officers who had been wounded in the
fatal action of the 25th July, rejoined as soon as their scars were
closed.
Along the chain of heights, strong redoubts and block-houses were placed
at intervals. The last were composed of horizontal logs, loop-holed for
musquetry, and occupied by strong picquets, who were continually on the
alert, in case Marshal Soult might again pay them some sudden visit from
Gascony. One night in October, Ronald Stuart with his company were on
duty in one of these blockhouses, when a sudden attack was made on the
position by the enemy. There had been a great fall of snow, and the
intense cold by which it was accompanied added greatly to the discomfort
of the troops encamped on these bleak and lofty mountains, with no other
shelter against the inclemencies of the weather, day and night, than
canvas tents. The hills and valleys were completely covered to the
depth of several feet, and many sentinels were lost, or found dreadfully
frost-bitten when dug out. A path had been made from the Maya camp to
the block-house which Stuart was to occupy; and as his company marched
along the slippery and winding roadway, they often saw Spanish peasants
or guerillas lying dead with shovels near them, showing that they
perished with the intensity of the cold whilst engaged on some working
or fatigue-party. In some places a frozen grisly head, or shrunken hand,
clenched and withered, appeared above the smooth white surface of the
snow. Had the view around the block-house been in Greenland or
Newfoundland, it could not have presented a more dreary aspect. The
whole of the Pyrenean chain, and the plains of Bearn and Gascony below,
were clad in the same white livery. The sky was of the purest, deepest,
and coldest blue, showing the most distant summits of the Pyrenean
chain, the white peaks of which rose in long perspective beyond each
other in an infinity of outlines. The dense smoke from the camp fires
was curling up from amidst the dingy-coloured tents, where now and then
the beat of a drum rang out sharply into the clear and frosty air.
Although the cold was intense, and the legs of the Highlanders were as
red as their jackets, the sun was shining brightly, and the whole
surface of the earth and the atmosphere were sparkling and glittering in
his radiance. With their musquets slung and a piper playing before
them, the light company trod merrily up the ascent, many of them singing
aloud to the notes of the pipe and the tramp of their feet, which
sounded dull and hollow on the hard and frozen path. A captain of the
34th regiment, whom with his company they relieved, left Stuart a flask
of brandy, for which he and his two subs (Chisholm and Evan Macpherson)
were very thankful, and they found it a considerable acquisition during
a winter day and night in a log-house, where the wind went in and out at
a hundred chinks and crannies. The picquet-house was internally one
large apartment, in the centre of which the soldiers piled their arms,
and huddled close together on the ground for mutual heat, and to avoid
the cold blast which blew through the numerous open loop-holes in the
four walls of the edifice.
Towards night, a soldier of the 66th regiment, muffled up in his grey
great-coat, came toiling up the steep ascent from the valley below,
bringing to Stuart a letter, which had arrived from Lisbon in the packet
for his corps. An officer of the 66th, who was intimate with Ronald,
had despatched it to him forthwith, and he knew in an instant, by the
hand-writing and the crest on the seal, that it came from Alice Lisle.
Giving the Englishman a glass of brandy, he desired him to lose no time
in regaining his quarters, in case of a snow-storm setting in before
nightfall.
If any thing would serve to buoy up one's spirits amid all the miseries
of campaigning and the dangers of daily warfare, such letters as those
of Alice Lisle certainly must have had that effect. After expressing
her delight for Stuart's success and safety in a manner and delicacy of
style peculiarly her own, she continued thus:--
"And so you are really now a captain, and knight of a military order? O
Heaven! I can scarcely believe it, even when your name appears in the
army list. How short a time has elapsed since you used to harry the
nests of the eagle and owl at Tullyisla, among the dark nooks of the old
castle, and gather flowers and berries with Louis and me in Strathonan!
You well know, dear Ronald, that no one rejoices more than Alice Lisle
at your rapid promotion, but indeed I think it very horrid to owe one's
advancement to the death of one's friends, and I see that a sad
alteration has taken place among the officers of the Gordon Highlanders
since the battle of the Pyrenees. The joy I now feel in the knowledge
of your--alas! only temporary--safety and good fortune, will scarcely
counterbalance the agony of mind I experienced when the news of Vittoria
arrived, and your name appeared in the list of wounded. Papa concealed
the papers from me for some days, but I heard of it from my
foster-sister, Jessie Cavers, and until your letters, dated from the
"Maya Camp" reached us, my anxiety and perturbation of spirit are quite
indescribable. What was thought of your danger by the people up the
glen at Lochisla I really know not, but the whole country side was in an
uproar in honour of the victory. The banner was displayed from the
tower, a huge bonfire blazed on the summit of Craigonan, and the two old
cannon on the bartizan were kept booming away the live-long night,
greatly to the terror of all the old ladies within ten miles, who
supposed that Buonaparte in person had come up the Tay, and landed a
host of be-whiskered grenadiers on the Inches of Perth. The noise of the
cannon alarmed others, too. The militia, the fencibles, and the
volunteers got under arms; many of the chiefs north of this began to
muster their people, and the whole country was in a state of commotion.
Your father gave a dinner to his kin and tenantry, and dancing,
drinking, and piping were kept up, I believe, in the old hall until the
morning sun shone down the glen upon them."
Rolled up in his cloak, Ronald sat sipping his brandy and water, while
by the light of a streaming candle he conned over the letter, so much
absorbed in its contents as to forget every thing around him, until the
report of a musquet, fired by the sentinel outside the block-house,
caused him to start and leap to his feet as if he had received an
electric shock.
"The French, and in this frosty night!" exclaimed Macpherson, leaping up
from the ground, on which he had been fast asleep. "Now the devil
confound them! they might have chosen daylight for their visit. Come,
Stuart, leave your love-letter,--it can scarcely be any thing else, as
you have been reading it all night,--leave it, and attend to your
command, or Wellington will be issuing such another order anent
love-letters as he gave us about the wild-pigs at Alba."
"We receive more reprehensions than rewards from head-quarters,
certainly. But where are the French? Among the hills?"
"Close by, man!"
"In force, too!" added Chisholm, a smart little sub, who had been
watching them from a loop-hole. "There will be heads broken in ten
minutes."
"I believe you, my boy," answered Evan Macpherson, (a tall fellow, with
thick black curly hair and a keen dark eye,) as he adjusted his
sword-belt. "They are in force enough to put us all to our mettle."
"Stand to your arms, men!" said Ronald; but the order was needless,
every man being at his post. "Be bold of heart, my lads!" he added, as
he watched the advancing enemy. "We shall soon be succoured."
"Not likely," said Macpherson bluntly, "with all due deference to you,
Stuart. Mina, the guerilla chief, with his followers, is far down the
mountains, and General Walker's brigade is scarcely within gun-shot; so
we may fight till daylight without aid."