THE ROUTE--WE SAIL.
'The _route_--the _route_ has come!' What a commotion that momentous
announcement makes in the little world of a barrack, as it passes
from mouth to mouth--from the commanding officer to the adjutant, and
from that indefatigable vizier to the sergeant-major--from mouth to
mouth, and room to room!
This important document, fresh under the seal of the
Adjutant-General's office at Edinburgh, stated in usual form, that
'it was Her Majesty's pleasure that one field officer, two captains,
four subalterns, six sergeants, three pipers, and two hundred rank
and file of the --th regiment of Highlanders be held in readiness to
march at such a time, as may be judged expedient, from the castle of
Dumbarton, and to embark on board such tonnage as may be provided for
their reception, and conveyance _to Constantinople_.'
The field-officer was our rough and bearded Major Duncan Catanagh,
K.H.; the captains were Mac Pherson and Logan; the subalterns,
Lieutenants Rigg and Johnstone, with two ensigns--viz., Jack Belton
and myself.
The _Vestal_, formerly a donkey-frigate of twenty-six guns, but now,
cut, lengthened, and fitted with a screw-propeller, and
transmogrified into a troop-ship, lay off Dumbarton, with her
top-sails loose and blue-peter at the fore-mast head.
We embarked next day. I remember how much I was impressed by the
service-like aspect of our chosen two hundred, who were to join our
first battalion--all with their bonnets cased in oil-skins; their
white gaiters on; their great-coats rolled on the top of their packs;
their haversacks and wooden canteens slung above their accoutrements,
as they paraded in the grey light of the early morning, when the sun
was yet below the hills, and when the shrill 'gathering,' woke the
echoes of dark and shadowy Dumbarton.
On the roll being called, one of our men, Lance-corporal Donald Roy,
was reported to be absent.
'Absent,' reiterated the adjutant; 'devilish odd--were not all the
men of this detachment confined to barracks immediately on the route
arriving?
'Yes, sir--but Donald is not here.'
Under his moustache, the adjutant muttered something that sounded
very much like an oath.
'This looks ill,' said he, reddening with anger; 'a fellow bolts on
the eve of embarking for foreign service! The sergeant of the main
guard and the sentries at the gate must be accountable for this.'
'Nay, I alone am answerable,' said Major Catanagh; 'Donald comes from
my native glen on the west bank of Loch Lomond; and late on the night
the route arrived, he came to me and said, "Major, _you_ know me
well--you have known me since we were boys, and can trust me. My
mother died when we were fighting on the banks of the Indus, and she
is buried in the auld kirkyard of Luss; get me leave for a night,
that I may cross the hills to say one prayer at her grave before we
go, and I swear by the God that hears me to be at Dumbarton gate
before you march--ay before the pipes play reveille."'
'And you obtained leave for him from the colonel?'
'Yes.'
'Reveille was blown long since,' said the adjutant, with an
incredulous smile, 'and Donald has not yet appeared. Sergeant Mac
Ildhui, mark him _absent_ in the Report.'
The kind major reddened in turn, for our adjutant was a Lowlander,
and did not believe in Highlanders; but Catanagh was a Celt, and
better knew the missing man.
'I will answer for him,' said he; 'Donald will be back in time, I
warrant him--where are his musket, pack, and accoutrements.'
'They are carried by his comrades.'
The hour for marching drew near; already the boats of the _Vestal_
awaited us; but there was no appearance of Donald Roy, so the 'next
man for duty,' was ordered to prepare to take his place.
The women had been balloted for at the drum-head; the two fortunate
wives who were to accompany us were clinging in joy to their
husbands' necks. The unfortunates who had drawn _blanks_ were
filling the barrack square with noisy lamentations. Adieux had been
said, and hands shaken. Then the little column broke into sections
of threes, and with the whole band of the battalion in our front,
playing 'Lochaber no more,' and accompanied by our comrades'
cheering, we left the ancient castle of Dumbarton just as the sun
rose, and marched towards the landing-place.
As we proceeded to the bank of the river, a soldier, pale and
breathless, dashed into our ranks, raised his hand to his bonnet, and
cried aloud,--
'Major Catanagh--I am here!'
'Donald Roy!' exclaimed the soldiers with satisfaction, for this man
was a favourite with all, and moreover was a famous sword-player and
tosser of the caber.
'I knew that you would return, Donald,' said the major, with an
approving smile.
'I have travelled day and night, running like a deer, Major
Catanagh,' replied the soldier in a rapid whisper; 'I have had twelve
miles to go, and as many to return; but I am young and active, and
the ardour of grief bore me up, for I was determined to see the grave
of my mother before I left my native place, perhaps for ever; and may
heaven bless you, major, for the trust you have put in me. I am
poor--but I never deceived any one. Oh, major, I have seen the woods
of Cameron, the rocks of Ross-dhu, and the wilds of Rowardennan,
places that you and I know well--but may never look upon again.'
'We shall, Donald--please God, we shall both see them again,' said
Catanagh, with kindling eyes.
With kindly interest I looked on this pale and weary soldier, who
spoke in my native Gaelic; but I had soon other thoughts in my heart,
and in the ardour and excitement of embarking for foreign service and
the seat of war, with the brattle of the drum and the blare of the
brass band playing a stirring Scottish quick-step; the tread of
marching feet, and the gleam of fixed bayonets round me, I was soon
beyond the reach of tender or soft impressions.
The steam continued to roar at times through the safety-valve; the
band continued to play, and our comrades to cheer, as our detachment
went off in boat-loads to the _Vestal_, which was rapidly getting up
all her horse-power. Her white canvas hung loose aloft, and her
decks were crowded by groups of the sombre rifles below; but until I
stood upon her poop and looked round me, I could scarcely realise the
truth of my position, or that all this new phase of life, so strange
to me, was not a dream.
The sun came up in his glory from the morning sea; the blue waters
rolled around us in light, and curled their crested waves before the
soft west wind. The huge dark shadows of Balclutha's double Dun fell
far along the azure bosom of the Clyde, when the steamer's anchor was
apeak, and the propeller began to dash the water into foam astern,
making a sweep of nearly twenty feet at each impetuous turn, and
objects on the beach began to lessen, change or pass each other, and
we stood in groups looking at the fading mountains few of us might
ever see again.
Summer had passed away with all its bloom and verdure; no longer
laden with rosy blossoms,
'Fruitful Clydesdale's apple bowers
Were mellowing in the moon;'
the peach and the nectarine had glowed there in clusters and been
gathered, and now the woods of leafy green were being tinged by
russet brown and golden yellow.
On leaving the mouth of the Clyde, we found the water rough; the wind
blew keenly and chopped about; thus the _Vestal_ pitched and lurched
heavily off Ailsa Craig, amid the mist and spray. This somewhat
damped the military pride of the youngsters, and as the motion
increased when we entered the North Channel, the very idea of
breakfast or dinner excited a qualmy horror within me; and the jokes
of Catanagh, Mac Pherson, and other older soldiers, failed to rouse
my spirit either to fun or anger--in short I was sick, miserably
sick, and would gladly have exchanged my hopes of a marshal's baton
and a tomb in Westminster for a safe footing on the nearest point of
land.
On, on we sped, and ere long a faint white line at the horizon marked
where the chalky brows of the Land's-end faded into the evening sea,
and we bade 'a long good night to old England.'
We had on board six companies of the Rifle Brigade--all jolly
fellows; and on recovering our 'sea legs,' we found the hours pass
delightfully.
The _Vestal_ was commanded by John Crank, an old, fiery, passionate
and red-faced naval lieutenant, who had served under Nelson as a
middy, and lost his 'starboard toplight, when boarding the _Holy
Joe_,' as he irreverently named the _San Josef_.
The proportion of tonnage for troops in a transport is two tons per
soldier; but on board our old donkey _Vestal_, the Highlanders were
stowed away with only eighteen inches per man for sleeping-room; and
as the weather grew warm on our approaching the Mediterranean, they
suffered great discomfort--and the poor women were crammed away among
the rank and file, unheeded and uncared for by all but their husbands.
I was subaltern of the watch, on the morning we anchored off
Gibraltar, where we remained for four and twenty hours, waiting for
despatches direct from London. As soon as they arrived, the mail was
transferred on board the _Vestal_; the steam was again got up, and
long before evening, the giant peak, the tremendous rock-built
batteries of Gibel-al-taric--the rock of the old Moorish wars--faded
into the blue waters as we bore on towards that land of death and
battle, suffering and disaster, where Britannia was exchanging her
ancient oak leaves and laurels for the funeral cypress and the
baleful yew.