ammunition lasts. Blow, Macvurich," said he to the piper; "give us
'_Roderick Mhic Alpain Dubh_,' and blow till the logs shake around us."
The night was clear, the moon shone brightly, and from their loop-holes
they saw the French advancing in considerable force,--probably two
thousand strong. Their dark figures, enveloped in loose great coats,
were seen distinctly dotting the pure white covering of the
mountain-side, up the slippery ascent of which they were toiling with
infinite labour.
"They are advancing in extended order," observed Stuart, "for fear of
our sending them a cannon-shot, probably."
"Which shows they know nothing about our position."
"Certes," said Chisholm, "they are no economists of their persons, to
advance upon us over such open ground. They are chasseurs, probably.
The moon shines brightly, yet no appointments glitter about them."
"Soult is a most indefatigable fool," said Stuart. "He causes his
soldiers to fight needlessly. Poor fellows! they must obey their
orders; but what benefit is gained, even if this solitary picquet is cut
off? The actions at the Pyrenees and before Pampeluna might have taught
the 'Lieutenant of the Emperor' a little experience."
"I dare say," said Macpherson, "they are within range now."
"Well, then, we will enjoy some shooting with them," replied his
captain. "Line the loop-holes,--aim steadily; every bullet is worth its
weight in gold to-night. They are twenty to one, but care not for that!
Help is at hand."
"Get into yer places, lads," said Serjeant Duncan Macrone, "and mind ye
ta level low, and gie them ta cauld kail o' Vittoria het again. Got
pless us; but this nicht is cauld eneuch ta freeze ta fery Ness."
The discharge of forty musquets almost shook the frail block-house to
pieces; and while those soldiers who had fired withdrew to reload, forty
others took their places; and thus a rapid and constant fire was
maintained against the enemy, blazing around the redoubt and flashing
incessantly from every loop-hole. The summit of the hill was enveloped
in clouds of smoke streaked with red fire, and the echoes of the
musquetry sounded like peals of thunder, booming through the clear
atmosphere and echoing among the surrounding peaks. Deadly execution
was done among the advancing foe, whose killed and wounded were seen
lying prostrate on the frozen snow, and marking the route up the hill by
a series of black spots. Nevertheless, although their numbers were
diminishing at every step, the main body continued to advance with
unabated ardour, formed in a wide half-circle at extended order,
returning as well as they could the fire of their adversaries, upon
whose place of concealment their shot came every instant, tearing away
huge splinters or sinking deep into the stockade with a dull heavy
sound; but only a single bullet, during a hot contest of two hours,
entered the block-house. It passed through a loophole, and wounded a
Highlander named Allan Warristoun in the neck, passing through his
leather stock, and he sunk on the ground bleeding profusely; but
Chisholm attempted to stanch the blood, by dressing the wound as well as
circumstances would permit. This was the only casualty that occurred
during that night's skirmish, but terrible execution was done among the
enemy. They were kept completely at bay, until they became wearied and
disheartened by the slaughter made among them. The light-company being
excellent marksmen, every shot they fired told fatally on the
assailants, at whom they could aim unseen with the utmost coolness and
precision. After enduring that sort of work for nearly two hours, they
retired with the utmost expedition on perceiving a strong body of
Spanish guerillas advancing up the mountains from the village of
Roncesvalles. A little further off was seen the brigade of General
Walker, which the noise of the firing had summoned to arms; but their
appearance was needless, as the conflict was over.
"Here comes Mina,--the king of Navarre!" exclaimed Stuart, as the great
mob of guerillas came rushing up the mountains with shouts of "_Viva
Ferdinand_! Long live Spain!" &c. "Cease firing, lads, and let the
French retreat. Poor devils! we have mauled them sadly. They are lying
as thick as blackberries on the hill-side." In less than half an hour
the French had disappeared, and the block-house was surrounded by the
bold guerillas, their appetite for blood and plunder having been keenly
whetted by the report of the musquetry.
"Let those who have watches and any loose pesetas in their purses, look
well to them," said Chisholm, laughing. "Here come the honest soldiers
of General Mina, who is said to be often a little upon the _picaro_
himself."
"The licht-fingered loon will be waur than ony warlock, gin he gets his
neive into my _sporran molloch_!" said Iverach, clasping the fox's mouth
of his Highland purse.
"Or mine," said Sergeant Macrone. "Ta will pe gettin' plenty cauld
iron, but no a prass podle frae me, Got tam!"
"The bonnets! the bonnets! Gude guide us, look at the blue bonnets!"
exclaimed the Highlanders, astonished at the head-dress of the Biscayan
guerillas, who wore flat blue caps, like those of the Scottish
peasantry. Daylight had now dawned, and withdrawing the barricading
from the door of the picquet-house, Stuart issued forth amidst the
guerillas, who were busy stripping the French; and long practice had
rendered their fingers so nimble, that in ten minutes the numerous
bodies lying strewed around the position were, like those at Maya,
denuded of every article of clothing. Many of the wounded were also
stripped, and perished miserably on the frozen snow. Like all the
Spanish peasantry, the guerillas were stout and handsome men, from
Guipuscoa, Alava, and Biscaya. Nearly all wore the _zammarra_, or jacket
of black sheep-skin, knee breeches, and _abarcas_, or shoes of hog-skin
tied to the feet like sandals. All wore the broad Basque cap, and were
armed to the teeth with musquets, pistols, pikes, poniards, and
offensive weapons of every kind, which, with their huge whiskers and
moustaches, gave them the appearance of a desperate horde of bandits.
Their language, the _Lingua Bascongado_, or _Bascuence_, as the
Spaniards name it, sounded strange to the ear of Ronald, who had been
accustomed to the pure and sonorous language of the Castiles. That of
the Basques, according to their own account, existed before the building
of the tower of Babel, and was brought into Spain by Jubal,--an
assertion somewhat difficult to prove.
Coming from amidst his plundering followers, the celebrated Mina
advanced towards Ronald Stuart. His dress was in no way different from
that of his followers, save that a pair of gay French epaulets adorned
his sheep-skin jacket, and a black ostrich feather floated from the band
of his sombrero over his left shoulder. Pasted upon his shoulder-belt
was a picture of the Virgin Mary, and a golden image of the same
personage hung round his neck. He was accoutred with sword and dagger,
and carried a short carbine in his hand, the ammunition for which was in
a cartouch-box on his left side, balanced on his right by a copper bugle
for summoning his followers. He had a fine open countenance, of a very
mild and prepossessing expression, quite different from what Stuart
expected to find in the leader of many thousand guerillas.
The following description (taken from a journal of the period of which I
write) will best illustrate his character to the reader. "Espoz y Mina
was at this time between twenty and thirty years old, and his frame,
both of body and mind, had received the stamp which the circumstances of
his country required. When he lies down at night it is always with his
pistols in his girdle; and on the few nights that he ever passes under a
roof, the door is well secured. Two hours' sleep is sufficient for him.
When his shirt is dirty, he goes to the nearest house, and changes it
with the owner for a clean one. He makes his own powder in a cave among
the mountains, and has his hospital in a mountain village, which the
French have repeatedly attempted to surprise, but always unsuccessfully,
for the hearts of the whole country are with Mina. He receives
intelligence of every movement of the enemy, and on the first tidings of
danger the villagers carry the sick and wounded upon litters on their
shoulders into the fastnesses, where they remain in perfect security
till the baffled enemy retires. The alcaldes of every village, when
they are ordered by the French to make any requisition, must instantly
inform Mina; if they fail in this duty, he goes himself in the night,
seizes them in their beds, and shoots them."
Although not above five-and-twenty, the hard service he had seen, in
this irregular mode of warfare, made him seem much older. Mina was the
idol of the Spanish people, who styled him the king of Navarre, and
extolled his deeds beyond those of the Cid, or the most famous knights
of Spanish chivalry and romance. Mina was a true patriot, and the
Hoffer of the Spaniards. Although his guerillas were well drilled, and
consisted of ten or twelve battalions, which he ruled with a rod of
iron, he never restrained them from plundering the French. On his
approach, Ronald raised his bonnet in greeting the great guerilla chief,
for though he was originally but a humble farmer of Pampeluna, yet
Francisco Mina had the heart of a hero, and was brave as a lion.
"_Senor Capitan_," said he, bowing profoundly, after the most approved
Spanish manner, "we have been somewhat late in coming to your rescue;
but the fire of your soldiers has told superbly, and the base _ladrones_
lie here pretty thick. The old proverb should be changed to--"the more
French, the more gain for us."[*] However, I never put my own hands to
a man after he is dead: the plunder I leave to my followers,--'tis all
their pay, poor fellows! and Our Lady del Pilar knows that they earn it
hard."
[*] A very old Spanish proverb, still universally current in Spain,
says, "The more Moors, the more gain."
"A mode of payment I very little admire," said Stuart with a smile.
"But I trust, Senor Francisco, that your people will see them buried
after this unharnessing is over?"
"_Satanas_ seize us if we bury a hair of their heads!" exclaimed the
guerilla vehemently. "Pho! Senor Cavalier, you forget yourself. They
are only Frenchmen; and what say the priests every day,--'Love all
mankind _but_ Frenchmen, who are the spawn of hell!' They lie under the
ban of his holiness the Pope, and with this excuse three hundred
unfrocked friars serve in my band,--and brave fellows they are as ever
grasped hilt! But as for the soldiers of the Corsican tyrant, they may
feast the wolves of the mountains or the birds of the air, for aught
that Mina cares about the matter."
He now unslung a huge leathern flask of _aguardiente_ from his sash, and
after giving Stuart and his subs each a draught, he handed the rest to
Sergeant Macrone, to distribute among the light company. Macrone gave
his best bow and carried off the flask, with many a wish that "Got might
pless her honour's ainsel, and gie her lots o' ta sneeshin and ta gude
Ferintosh!" To the good wishes of Macrone, Mina replied only by a
stare, without comprehending a syllable. He next gave some cigars to
each of the officers, saying, at the same time, it was no compliment to
present them with what cost him nothing, one of his guerillas having
found them in a Frenchman's havresack.
"But they are prime cigars, senores, and from the manufactory at
Guadalaxara, in Mexico," said he, lighting one adroitly by means of
flashing powder in the pan of one of his pistols. "Excellent!"
continued he, puffing away with an air of satisfaction, which would have
driven the royal author of the 'Counter-blaste' to his wit's-end.
"Excellent indeed, _par Diez_! And I ought to be a judge, senores,
having smoked some hundred thousands in my time, and though but a poor
peasant who dug the earth and planted cabbages at Pampeluna, I am
descended in a direct line from the noble cavalier Don Hernandez de
Toledo, who in 1559 introduced the famous leaf into Europe, from the
province of Tabaca in San Domingo."
"Truly, Senor Espoz y Mina, your worthy ancestor deserves the gratitude
of his countrymen," said Chisholm, in a tone of raillery. "He contrived
a very agreeable amusement for them. From day-dawn till sunset they do
little else than draw smoke into their mouths, and watch it curling out
again."
Mina fixed his keen dark eye with a glance of displeasure upon
Chisholm's good-natured countenance, but made no reply to him.
"Juan de la Roca!" cried he, in a voice like thunder, while he struck
his foot impatiently on the frozen snow.
"Senor?" answered a childish voice; and a tall Spanish boy about sixteen
years of age stood before him. This mere child fought in the band of
Mina.
He was esteemed the bravest among them and always led their advanced
guard, and his name had been blazoned forth in all the _Gacetas_ of the
country.
"Bring the spy before us."
The boy, Juan de la Roca, who was armed like his comrades with pistols
and carbine, dragged forward a peasant, whose arms were bound with cords
behind him. The poor wretch trembled violently when the proud stern eye
of Mina fell upon him.
"This is a notorious spy, senores," said he, "whom we captured on our
way up the mountains. Now, _Senor Picaro_, what have you to say that you
should not die?"
The spy never raised his eyes, and maintained a dogged silence.
"Brand him, Juan!" exclaimed Mina. "Place the mark of Cain upon his
forehead, that every true Spaniard may shun, abhor, and shrink from
him!"
The young savage, whom practice had rendered expert at the operation,
unsheathed his dagger, and cut off the ear of the captive, from whom a
deep imprecation escaped. Juan then thrust into the picquet-fire in the
block-house, an iron brand, just such as those used for marking barrels,
&c. It bore the words "VIVA MINA!" in letters half an inch square.
Four powerful guerillas grasped the head of the spy, holding him so that
it was impossible he could move. When the brand was red-hot La Roca
pressed it upon his brow, the flesh of which was roasted and scorched,
under the terrible operation, in a moment. The miserable being writhed
and shrieked in agony. He burst from his torturers, and buried his face
in the snow; then starting up with the yell of a fiend, he rushed down
the mountains like a madman, and disappeared.
"Now, senores," said Mina, "I have inflicted upon him a punishment worse
than death, because these marks can never be effaced. I mark every
traitor thus, that my countrymen may know and despise them. Those who
are thus branded are ashamed to look a Spaniard in the face, and, being
compelled to dwell in solitary places, are often found dead of want
among the mountains. But I must now make my adieus, and return to
Roncesvalles, where my five thousand followers are to be reviewed to-day
by Lord Wellington and General Morillo."
He blew a blast on his horn to collect his people, and taking farewell
of the _Capitan de Cazadores_ (as he named Stuart), withdrew in the
direction of the famous pass of Roncesvalles, leaving the bodies of the
French lying stripped to the skin amidst the snow. As soon as they had
departed, Stuart ordered out the light company with shovels, to entomb
the bodies; but so deep was the snow, that temporary graves in its frail
substance only could be given, as there was not time to dig down to
reach the earth. Many were found on the point of death, the intense cold
finishing what the bullet had begun, and their grave-diggers had to
await, shovel in hand, the moment of dissolution; after which they
buried, and heaped the snow hurriedly over them. But a thaw came a
short time before the position on the heights was abandoned, and the
remains of the unfortunates were again exposed, and at a time when no
interment could be given them, as the British forces were on the march
to invade the "sacred territory" of _la belle France_.
The success of Sir Thomas Graham at San Sebastian, which he boldly won
by storm on the 31st of August, the fall of Pampeluna, which on the 31st
of October surrendered to Don Carlos de Espana, and the successful
passage of the Bidassoa, infused the highest ardour into the heart of
every soldier in the allied army, and every regiment longed to unfurl
its triumphant banners to the winds of France. Although the French
maintained their ancient renown in arms by fighting to the last, yet
they were driven from all their intrenched camps on the Lower Pyrenees,
and combating every rood of ground, retired on the 16th of November to
the left bank of the Nive, and there encamped, after blowing up the
bridge to prevent the British crossing the river, which at that time was
swollen to thrice its usual size by the melting of the snow on the
hills, and by a long continuance of rain.
The allies encamped on the Spanish side of the river, and hostilities
ceased for a time. The Gordon Highlanders occupied the French village
of Cambo, in the department of the Lower Pyrenees, and close to the
river Nive. Its inhabitants had all fled on the advance of the allies,
crossing to the left bank with the retiring forces of their emperor.
The camps and bivouacs of the French lay close to those of their
enemies, divided only by the narrow space of the river, and the sentries
on each side were but ten or fifteen yards distant from each other.
From dawn until sunset the French Serjeants were heard continually
drilling their squads of conscripts, twenty thousand of whom Buonaparte
had dragged away from their quiet homes, and marched to the Nive to be
drilled in the view of that veteran army, which had driven the flower of
the soldiers of France from one end of the Peninsula to the other. Day
after day the French non-commissioned officers were seen, cane in hand,
getting the poor peasant-boys into some state of discipline. The
British used to crowd to the river's edge to view the novel sight of
French regiments on their parade, and beholding them go through the
_maniement des armes_, or manual exercise, with all the minuteness
common to the French,--the adjutant giving, after every word of command,
the continual cautions, "_un, deux, trois, quatre!_"
At one part where the river was very narrow, a soldier of the 3rd Buffs,
when on sentry one day, found himself immediately opposite to a French
grenadier, placed on the same duty on the left bank of the river. The
Gaul was a rough-whiskered fellow, wearing the usual service-like great
coat, red epaulets, and high fur cap of the Imperial Guard. The
sentinels had been staring steadily at each other for some time, and the
Buff who had begun to imagine the face of the Frenchman was not unknown
to him, was considerably astonished to hear him ask the question,--
"Well, Tom, old fellow! How are the dirty old Buffs coming on?" This
rogue was a comrade of his own, who, a year or two before had deserted
to the enemy, and had the cool impudence to hail his old friend thus
from the French side of the Nive.
On the evening of the 8th of November, the weather being remarkably
fine, the French officers sent their bands to the river-side to play for
the entertainment of the British, and many courtesies were interchanged;
flasks of wine and bunches of fruit were tossed over by the French, who,
avoiding military topics, conversed with soldier-like frankness on other
subjects. Ronald took the opportunity to inquire after his old
acquaintance, Captain de Mesmai, and was informed that his regiment, the
10th Cuirassiers, was stationed at St. Jean de Luz, near Bayonne. A
young officer of _chasseurs a cheval_ said he hoped the British passed
their time pleasantly amid the gaieties of Cambo, and with the fair
dames of that beautiful city. Stuart replied in the same tone of
raillery, that the French ladies had all retired with their countrymen,
at the sight of the scarlet coats; an answer which evidently piqued
monsieur.
In exchange for some London newspapers, containing the despatches of
Lord Wellington, detailing the victory of Vittoria, an old major,
wearing a dozen medals on his breast, threw across the river a bundle of
Parisian _Moniteurs_, containing the false and very contradictory
despatches of King Joseph on the same affair. Some Spanish Journals,
the _Gaceta de la Regencia_, and the _Gaceta de Valencia_, they refused
to receive, and politely returned. Between deadly enemies, intercourse
such as this renders war at once noble and chivalric. By it the heart
of the sternest soldier becomes again humanized, and the barbarities
incident to his profession are lessened and mitigated.
On the same evening a remarkable circumstance occurred, about a mile
above Cambo. A French guard were about to kill a bullock for their
rations; but the animal broke loose, and plunging into the stream, swam
to the British side, and fell among a picquet of the Gordon Highlanders,
commanded by Chisholm; by them it was instantly shot, flayed, and cut
up, and all were rejoicing in expectation of a savoury meal, when a
French soldier, with a white handkerchief displayed on the point of his
sword, forded the river; advancing to the picquet, he craved in the name
of his comrades, that the flesh might be divided, adding that surely
_les Ecossois_ would not deprive brothers of the sword of the only meal
chance had given them for two days. It was impossible to refuse. Two
other soldiers arrived, and they were sent back laden with half the
carcase, and their canteens filled with wine, for which the poor fellows
seemed very grateful; and one returned, presenting the thanks and
compliments of their officer to Chisholm for his kindness.[*] The
officers of each army spent the evening in conversing across the river,
laughing and jesting like old friends; and when it grew dark, with many
adieus they parted,--to meet on the next morning with their swords in
their hands.
[*] An occurrence almost the same as here stated happened with the same
regiment at the lines of Torres Vedras, in 1810.
*CHAPTER X.*
*THE CHATELET.*
"They sought her baith by bower and ha';
The ladye was not seen!
She's ower the border, and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean!"
_Scott._
I must now present the reader with a change of scene, or at least of
adventures, in describing those of Louis Lisle; who, after having been
severely wounded in the arm by the sword of De Mesmai, was carried off a
prisoner from the skirmish of Fuente Duenna. With a few hundred other
captives, gleaned up on different occasions, he had been confined within
the strong fortress of Pampeluna until the French army retired beyond
it, when, with his comrades in misfortune, he was sent into France and
placed in a solitary strong-hold on the left bank of the Nive, a few
miles from the village of Cambo. This was a gloomy old feudal fortress,
the property of the Duke of Alba de T----, who has already figured in
preceding chapters. It consisted of a high square keep, a few flanking
towers, and a high wall, embattled along the top; and every means had
been taken to strengthen the place by stockades, loop-holes, cannon, &c.
The garrison consisted of two or three companies of the 105th French
regiment of the line. Louis, who had been heartily tired of his
residence in Pampeluna, was but little pleased when he beheld the gloomy
chateau, as the body of prisoners, with an escort of French lancers,
marched up the ascent leading to it.