at the Nive on the morning of the 9th of December, an hour before
day-break the allied army got under arms, in high spirits and glee at
the prospect of fighting monsieur on his own ground, and prosecuting
their victorious career still farther into France. But as it is not my
purpose to give an account of that brilliant affair, I will confine
myself to the adventures of our friends. In Stuart's quarter, or
billet, a miserable and half-ruined cottage, the officers who were to be
under his command on a certain duty, sat smoking cigars and carousing on
the common wine of the country, until the signal "to arms" was given.
The party consisted of his own subs,--of Blacier and a Spanish captain,
Castronuno, a tall and sombre cavalier, lank, lean, and bony, and who
might very well have passed for the knight of La Mancha. Their supper
consisted of tough ration _carne_ (beef), broiled over the fire on
ramrods, and eaten without salt,--an article which was always so scarce,
that a _duro_ would have been given for a tea-spoonful. This poor fare
Blacier improved by swallowing an ample mess of chopped cabbage and
vinegar, and by puffing assiduously at his meerschaum. After having
stuffed himself until belt and button strained almost to starting, he
deposited in his havresack a quantity of spare bread and meat for his
breakfast. Castronuno, who had been observing his gluttony with quiet
wonder, recommended him to eat his breakfast then, as it would save
trouble on the morrow. This advice Stuart enforced by adding, that he
might be knocked on the head before day broke, and perhaps all his good
provender would go to swell some other man's paunch.
"_Mein Gott!_" groaned the German, "vat you say is right. I veel eat
vile I can. _Hagel! mein Herr_, you hab gibben de soond advice." And
he commenced a fresh attack on the viands, and quickly transferred them
from the havresack to his distended stomach. He had scarcely finished,
and let out four holes in his sword-belt, before the sharp Celtic visage
of Serjeant Macrone was seen peering through the clouds of
tobacco-smoke, as he informed Stuart, "Tat ta lads were a' standin' to
their airms on the plain-stanes."
It was then an hour before day-break, and the sky was dark and gloomy.
Stuart noiselessly paraded his troops,--the "light-bobs," Blacier's
riflemen, and Castronuno's Spaniards, and moved up the banks of the
stream to execute the duty assigned to him. This was to carry by storm
the castle of the Nive, that the troops in its immediate neighbourhood
might be enabled to cross by the ford, the passage of which was swept by
the guns of the fortress. The day preceding the projected assault,
Ronald and Blacier made a reconnoissance of the place, and found that
there was no other method but to ford the river below the neighbouring
cascade and carrying the outer defences by storm, trusting to Heaven and
their own hands for the rest, as the tall keep might be defended against
musquetry for an age, unless a piece of cannon was brought to bear upon
it.
At the time mentioned, an hour before dawn, the whole of the troops in
and about Cambo were under arms, and the signal to cross was to be the
storming of the chateau. The companies destined to effect this
dangerous piece of service, marched up the bank of the Nive a few miles,
and favoured by the intense darkness, halted immediately opposite to the
scene of action among some olive-trees, which were, however, bare and
leafless. There a consultation was held, and it was determined to
proceed forthwith. All appeared still within the chateau. The sentries
on the bastions and palisades were seen passing and repassing the
embrasures, but the noise of their tread was drowned in the rush of the
cascade, which poured furiously over a ledge of rock a few yards above
the fort and plunged into a deep chasm, from which a constant cloud of
spray arose. Desiring Evan Bean Iverach to keep close by his side,
Ronald, with a section of twelve picked Highlanders carrying three stout
ladders, led the way. Under the command of Evan Macpherson, the rest of
the company followed close upon his heels, with their bayonets pointing
forward, and every man's hand on the lock of his musquet. Old Blacier,
who was as brave as a lion notwithstanding all his oddities, prepared to
mount the works by escalade a little further up the stream, where his
riflemen were in imminent danger of being drenched by the spray of the
waterfall. Two companies of the 18th Spanish corps of the line were to
form a reserve, under the command of Don Alfonso de Castronuno.
"Now then, lads," said Ronald, while his heart leaped and his breath
came thick and close, for the moment was an exciting one, "keep up your
locks from the stream, and look well to your priming,--though we must
trust most to butt and bayonet."
"_Qui va la?_" challenged a sentinel.
"You'll soon find that out, my boy," cried Stuart, brandishing his
sword. "Forward! Gordon Highlanders. Hurrah!"
"_Demeurez la!_" cried the Gaul in dismay, while he fired his piece in
concert with three or four others. A Highlander fell in the stream
wounded, and was sucked into the linn, where he perished instantly. His
comrades let fly a rattling volley, and pressed boldly forward. The
water rose nearly to their waists, but the Celts had an advantage over
their comrades in trowsers. Raising the thick tartan folds of their
kilts, they crossed the river, keeping all their clothing, the hose
excepted, perfectly dry.
The Nive, at the place where they crossed, was several yards wide, and
the current, on the surface of which some pieces of thin ice floated,
was intensely cold; but the hardy Highlanders pressed onward, grasping
each other by the hand, and crossed safely, but not without several
unlooked-for delays. The bed of the river was pebbly, slippery as
glass, and full of holes, which caused them to stumble every moment, and
a scaling-ladder was nearly carried away by the stream. The rocks were
steep and precipitous, rising to the height of several yards abruptly
from the water. The ladders were planted among the pebbles, and when
one point of the rock was gained, they had to draw them up before they
could reach another, and so arrive at the foot of the sloping bastion
which was now bristling with bayonets. By the time the escalade
approached the outworks, every soldier in the chateau was at his post,
and the cannon had begun to belch their iron contents, which, however,
passed harmlessly over the heads of the assailants. The fierce northern
blood of the latter was now roused in good earnest, and their natural
courage seemed only to receive a fresh stimulus from the din of war
around them.
Accustomed from infancy to climb like squirrels, the Scotsmen clambered
up the rocks, grasping weeds and tufts of grass,--finding assistance and
support where other men would have found none; and in less space of time
than I take to record it, they were all at the base of the bastion.
"Up and on! Forward, my brave Highland hearts!" cried Ronald Stuart,
springing recklessly up the perilous ladder, waving his sword and
feeling in his mind the wild--almost mad, sensations of chivalry and
desperation, which no man can imagine save one who has led a forlorn
hope. "Death or glory! Hurrah! the place is our own!" At that moment
a twenty-four pounder was run through the embrasure and discharged above
his head. It was so close, that the air of the passing ball almost
stunned him; he felt the hot glow of the red fire on his cheek, and the
deadly missile whistled over his bonnet, and boomed away into the
darkness. Several fire-balls were tossed over the works by the French.
These burned with astonishing brilliancy and splendour wherever they
alighted,--even in the middle of water, where they roared, sputtered and
hissed like devils, but would not be quenched until they burned
completely away.
Those which fell upon the rocks, served to reveal the storming-party to
the deadly aim of the defenders, and at the same time added to the
singularity, the picturesque horror of the scene, by the alternate
glares of red, blue, and green light which they shed upon the castled
rock, the bristling bastions, the rushing river, the gleaming arms, and
the bronzed features of men, whose hearts the excitement of the moment
had turned to iron. Unluckily, the first ladder planted against the
breast-work broke, and the men fell heavily down.
Enraged at this discomfiture, Stuart leaped up the rocks again, though
drenched with water,--but blows had been already interchanged. A second
ladder had been planted by Macpherson, who leaped into an embrasure at
the very moment a cannon was discharged through it, and he narrowly
escaped being blown to pieces. With charged bayonets the resolute
Highlanders poured in after him in that headlong manner which was never
yet withstood, and a fierce conflict ensued, foot to foot, and hand to
hand. From their lack of muscular power, the French are ever at
disadvantage in such strife; and although many of the assailants were
forced over the parapet and slain, the outworks were entirely captured
in a few minutes. The Germans under old Blacier, who led them on with
his sabre in one hand and his meerschaum in the other, effected an
entrance at one angle, while the Spanish officer commanding the reserve
bravely carried another, finding it impossible to restrain his soldiers,
whose triumphant shout of "_Santiago y Espana! Viva!_" struck the
French with dismay. Finding themselves attacked successfully on three
points, they became distracted, and were driven tumultuously from
bastion and palisade; after which their own cannon were wheeled round on
them. Nevertheless they fought with the chivalrous courage of old
France. The top of the keep was lined with chasseurs, who madly
continued to pour down an indiscriminate fire of musquetry on friends
and foes, and the barbican was full of blood and corpses in five
minutes. Brilliant fire-balls were also cast over, and the glare thrown
by them on the bloody earth, the flashing weapons and powder-blackened
visages of the combatants, produced an effect never to be forgotten by a
beholder.
Poor Blacier, who had been shot through the lungs at the moment he
entered the court, hurled his sabre among the enemy and crawled away
into a corner, where he smoked composedly as he bled to death,--or at
least appeared to smoke. The Gascon major of the 105th was encountered
by Alfonso de Castronuno, who at the second blow laid him dead at his
feet, but almost at the same moment the Spaniard himself expired: a shot
had passed through his heart. Remembering Louis Lisle, and animated by
a bitter hatred against all who wore the same garb, the duke, with his
cloak rolled round his left arm and accoutred with sword and dagger,
leaped among the Highlanders, calling on the French to follow; but no
man obeyed. He would have been instantly bayoneted but for Ronald, who
was the first man he encountered, and who ordered the soldiers to leave
them hand to hand. In avoiding the duke's stiletto, Stuart stumbled
over the corse of Castronuno, and would have been instantly dispatched,
but for the crossed bayonets of a dozen soldiers.
"Save him!" cried Stuart. "Macpherson! Evan Bean! take him alive."
"Haud!" cried Iverach sternly. "Stand, ye black son o' the devil!
Back--back; or my bayonet's through ye in a twinkling." But the furious
Spaniard spat upon him in the bitterness of his fury, and the next
moment his blood was reeking on Evan's weapon. He fell prone to the
earth, and even while he lay choking in blood he continued to curse and
spit at the conquerors, until the Spaniards destroyed him by trampling
him to death. The moment he fell the French surrendered, after being
hemmed into a corner, and finding it impossible to maintain the conflict
longer. On both sides the slaughter was very great, and upwards of two
hundred lay killed in the court or barbican. The chasseurs on the top
of the keep did not yield, until threatened that the place would be
blown up; on which they laid down their arms, and joined the other
prisoners, who formed a sullen band, ranked in a corner and guarded by
the Spaniards, for whom they showed their scorn and contempt so openly,
that three or four were killed.
Many of the captives were mere boys, poor conscripts, who only a month
before had been compelled to resign the shovel for the musquet; and some
were the old and high-spirited soldiers of the Emperor,--stern fellows,
with bronzed and scarred cheeks, rough moustaches, and mouths black with
the cartridges they had bitten. They looked around them with an air of
haughty pride, defiance, and nonchalance, which only a Frenchman can
assume under such circumstances. When daylight dawned, Blacier was
found lying dead. When last seen alive, he was sitting philosophically
watching the pool formed by his blood; and thus he expired with his pipe
in his mouth, an inveterate smoker to the last.
"Keep order among the prisoners!" cried Stuart, on the occasion of a
brawl ensuing between them and the Spaniards. "Your fellows must
restrain their national animosity,--just now, at least," added he
firmly, to the Spanish lieutenant commanding the escort.
"_Bueno!_ but how am I to do it? See you, senor," said the Spaniard,
"how the Frenchmen spit upon and upbraid them, as if they were so many
Moors or Portuguese? _Virgin del Pilar_! I would hew them down to
ribbons, but for the contrary order of senor the great _Capitan
General_,--the Duke of Vittoria."[*]
[*] Wellington's Spanish title.
"Stay, senor," said Stuart; "one should treat with generosity a
conquered enemy."
"On my honour, _capitan_," replied the other, "old Cuesta would have had
them all swimming down the Nive, had he commanded here."
"Holloa, Stuart!" cried Macpherson; "come this way! Here is another
uproar. Never mind the prisoners; one might as well sing psalms to a
dead horse, as speak of generosity to a Spaniard."
Their attention was arrested by the report of a musquet; and hurrying to
where the sound came from, they found several Highlanders engaged in
beating down the door of a turret. This operation Iverach shortened, by
applying his musquet and blowing the lock to pieces,--a perilous exploit
for the inmate, who narrowly escaped being shot through the body. Evan
next applied his shoulder to the shattered barrier, and burst it open.
"Maister Lisle o' the Inch-house! Hurrah! How happy I am to see you.
Od, this dings a'! he exclaimed in breathless astonishment, as Lisle
issued from his place of confinement.
"Ha! Louis," cried Stuart, grasping his hand in wonder. "Is it
possible that they treat you in this unworthy manner, caging you up in a
place like a dog-kennel? I thought you were enjoying yourself on parole
in France?"
"No, faith! I have been locked up like a jailbird in Pampeluna, and
other infernal places, ever since that unlucky affair at Fuente Duenna;
and yet, after all, I do not regret it."
"Indeed!"
"Why, you have yet to learn. But where is Virginia,--Virginia de Alba?"
"How on earth should I know, Louis? 'Tis an odd question; but her
father's blood, the fierce old villain! is yet red on Evan's bayonet."
"What is this you tell me?" said Lisle frowning. "Was the duke slain?"
"He fell in the assault," replied Macpherson, "and thus escaped the axe,
the _garrote_, or a volley through the back,--all of which he so well
merited."
"Stay, Macpherson!" interrupted Lisle, so angrily that the other was
indignant. "I will not hear him spoken of thus. He has gone to his
last account,--so rail against him no more. Truly, he deserves little
pity from me, for I have suffered much at his hands; but that you will
all know another time. Virginia! Virginia! for Heaven's sake tell me
something about her!"
"I never heard aught of the lady since we were last at Aranjuez; but I
hope the _ci-devant_ abbess is well, notwithstanding the demerits of her
fierce and treacherous father. Your hand again, Louis! My dear fellow,
I congratulate you on your freedom. All are well at Inchavon, and--but
mean time duty must be attended to." And, ignorant of the cause of
Lisle's deep anxiety, he turned away, crying, "Holloa, Macrone! Where
is that confounded old humbug loitering? In the spirit-store, likely.
Ah! get the company under arms, and let the piper blow the gathering."
"I trust in Heaven that the tower yet contains her!" exclaimed Lisle.
"I will find her, or be guilty of some desperate thing. Follow me,
Evan, and some of you, my true old comrades! The keep is full of
Spaniards and Germans, who are wont to be unscrupulous enough, when
heated by the fury of an assault. Forward, Highlanders! We will
ransack the prison-house, and a score of dollars shall be his who finds
the lady!"
He snatched up the sword from the dead hand of Castronuno, and, followed
by a few soldiers, rushed up the stairs of the keep, and sought at once
the boudoir or apartment of Virginia, whom he found in the act of
surrendering her bracelets and rings to a _cazadore_, who had terrified
her to extremity by his oaths and menaces. The Spaniard was a powerful
Asturian, but Louis grasped him by his black cross-belts, and hurled him
down stairs like an infant, for rage supplied him with unusual strength,
Virginia clasped him in her arms, and hung weeping and sobbing bitterly;
while Ronald Stuart and his lieutenant--Evan Macpherson, who had
followed Louis up stairs, stood for a few moments at the door, unwilling
to intrude upon them.
As she hung thus drooping on Lisle's breast, although less gaily attired
than when at the Aranjuez ball, Virginia yet looked surpassingly
beautiful. She had no veil or comb, and the massive braids of her
dark-brown hair hung free and loose over her pale cheek and delicate
blue-veined neck, of which rather more than usual was displayed, in
consequence of the disorder of her dress. Her attendant had been
preparing her for bed at the moment the assault took place; and want of
sleep, together with the terror and anxiety under which she had been
labouring, rendered her paler than usual. Tears were rolling fast from
the long lashes which shaded her light hazel eyes, but they only made
her more bewitching.
An exclamation of surprise, which Ronald found it impossible to
restrain, caused her to start and blush deeply, for her arms, feet, and
ankles were bare, and her graceful attire was all in disorder: but she
threw her veil and mantilla instantly around her.
"There are none here but friends, Virginia," said Louis, to reassure
her; and he introduced her to Ronald and Macpherson as "the Honourable
Mrs. Lisle."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Stuart. "How fortunate--how happy! I have
a thousand pardons to ask, Louis, for treating your anxiety so lightly.
Allow me to congratulate you--"
"And me too, Lisle, old fellow!" added Macpherson. "I wish you all joy,
but I cannot pay my respects to the donna, because my Spanish, which is
none of the best, always turns into Gaelic, and never comes glibly to my
tongue until after sunset."
"O senores!" said the lady, "such a night of horrors this has been! I
heard all the dreadful conflict above, beneath, and around me,--and,
Holy Mother Mary! I shall never forget it. I looked but once from my
window, and the scene of the night assault will never be effaced from my
remembrance. O 'tis a fearful thing to see men fighting for death and
life, and destroying each other like wild beasts or demons! But where
is the duke? Have not you seen him, senor cavaliers? Oh, search for my
father, and bring him instantly to me, that I may be assured of his
safety."
"Alas! senora," answered Stuart, "I regret--I fear we cannot gratify you
in this matter--"
"Holy Virgin!" she faltered. "_Caballero_, you mean not to tell me that
my father is no more,--that your _soldados_ have slain him?" She spoke
in a voice of exquisite tenderness, and laid her fair hand on Ronald's
arm, grasping it tightly, and he gazed on her with some confusion. Her
bright eyes were full of fire, and seemed to search his heart for an
answer, while her half-parted lips displayed a fair set of brilliant
teeth. "_Noble Oficial!_ tell me if my father lives," she added,
bursting into tears.
"I fear the duke has escaped," replied Ronald, unwilling to afflict her
by revealing the truth; for, notwithstanding the duke's sternness and
severity, she had always tenderly loved him. "He must have escaped,
senora, as I have not seen him since the place was stormed. He must
have fled."
"No, cavalier. My father would perish rather than fly," said the young
lady indignantly. "He comes of a race whose blood has fallen on a
thousand fields, but never from the veins of a coward."
"Pardon, _gracios senora_; I meant not to say that he had fled, but only
retreated," said Stuart. "But pray excuse me for a moment, as my
presence is required below." He retired with the intention of ordering
the body of the ignoble duke to be looked after, that it might not shock
the eyes of his daughter; but the soldiers of Alfonso de Castronuno had
before-hand disposed of it in a summary manner. In the intensity of
their hatred, they tied a few cannon-shot to the body and tossed it into
the chasm at the bottom of the cascade, where it could never be found
again. The troops engaged in the capture of the chateau remained there
for the ensuing day, during the whole of which firing was heard along
the line of the Nive. With their usual success the allies crossed the
river in triumph, and drove the troops of Soult before them pell-mell.
After his horse had been shot under him, Fassifern fought on foot, and
four times led his victorious Highlanders on to the charge, sword in
hand, and four times successively the stubborn masses of the enemy gave
way before them. But the Celtic impetuosity was not to be resisted.
Their black plumes were seen dashing on through bayonets, blood, and
smoke, as they hurled the columns of the French before them as clouds
are driven by the gale. Every regiment distinguished itself, and many
charged desperately with the bayonet.
Even old Dugald Mhor, animated by the gallant example of his master,
forgot his white hairs and failing powers, and distinguished himself by
his prowess, and by the address with which he unhorsed and captured a
French staff-officer.
But as this volume is drawing to a close, the historical part of it must
be abridged as much as possible.
On the 27th of February, 1814, the allies gained the battle of Orthez, a
victory which was succeeded by the passages of the Adour and Garonne,
and by the most signal defeat of the Duke of Dalmatia before Toulouse,
on Easter Sunday, the 10th of April.
Many of the British regiments suffered severely. The gallant 61st were
reduced to scarcely fifty men, I believe; and the Gordon Highlanders
were also roughly handled by the enemy. Stuart was wounded, and he lost
many of the friends who survived the fatal battles of the Pyrenees, and
among them was Evan Iverach, the faithful and affectionate young fellow
who had become a soldier for his sake, abandoning his home, his
sweetheart, and his aged father, and who had followed and served him
with the love of a younger brother, the respect of a vassal, and the
disinterested devotion of a Highlander.
The light companies had been thrown forward as skirmishers, and Stuart's
fell into a sort of ambush formed by the enemy, who poured a destructive
fire upon them. Lieutenant Evan Macpherson was killed, and a ball
passed through the breast of Iverach, which laid him prostrate on the
turf. He had previously been wounded in the left knee, but he had
refused to retire from the field, protesting that he would fight while
he had breath left in his body. Thrown into disorder by this unexpected
volley, the company retired, and Ronald, as he staggered about confused
by the concussion of a rifle-ball which grazed his left temple, heard
the deep moans of pain which were uttered by poor Iverach. Regardless
of the French fire he rushed forward, and raising him in his arms, bore
him off in the face of the foe, who suspended their firing on witnessing
the action, which gained Ronald the love and esteem of every soldier who
beheld it. Two Highlanders soon relieved him of his burden, and carried
Iverach, who was enduring great agony, to a place which was secure from
the bullets of the enemy's riflemen. He was laid at the back of a stone
wall, which formed the boundary of a meadow or field. The first thing
he cried for was water; and Stuart, filling his canteen in a muddy
ditch, the only place from which he could procure it, held it to the hot
quivering lips of the sufferer, who, after he had drunk greedily,
expressed much more concern to behold blood trickling from Ronald's
temple, than for the probable issue of his own wound. Whenever he
spoke, he was almost suffocated with his own blood; and ceasing the
attempt, he leaned his head against the wall, and while tears trickled
over his face, gazed with an eye of intense affection upon his master,
who knelt down beside him, and as gently as a mother would have done,
unclasped his accoutrements and opened his coat, that he might breathe
more freely.