appreciated, Guise, with the least possible delay, set out for
Compiègne, which, since the recent disasters of the French arms,
was a frontier town. Those disasters, he felt, could be effectually
repaired only by a brilliant feat of arms, at once useful to the
state, and flattering to the national pride. Upon such a one he
resolved. Calais, now upwards of two centuries in possession of
the English, to the great humiliation of France, was the object
of destined attack. Skilled in the stratagems of war, the Duke
contrived, by a series of able manoeuvres, to avert suspicion of his
real design, until, on the 1st January 1558, he suddenly appeared
before the ramparts of Calais. The siege that ensued has been often
narrated. It terminated, after an obstinate resistance, in the
capitulation of the garrison, which had scarcely been executed, when
an English fleet appeared off the port, bearing succours that came
too late. The triumph excited indescribable astonishment and joy
throughout France. It was a splendid revenge for the defeat of St
Quintin, and produced a marked change in the sentiments of several
foreign potentates, who believed that reverse to have prostrated the
French power for some time to come. The Grand Signior offered the
co-operation of his fleet, and the German princes hastened, with
redoubled good-will, the levies that had been demanded of them. Pope
Paul IV., when congratulating the French ambassador, pronounced the
highest eulogiums on Guise, and declared the conquest of Calais
preferable to that of half England. At court, the partisans of the
Constable were in dismay, and tried to lessen the merit of the
victor by attributing its success to the adoption of a plan sketched
by Coligny. But even if this were true, the merit of the execution
was all the Duke's own. Upon the heels of this triumph, quickly
followed the capture of Guines and the evacuation by the English of
the castle of Hames, their last possession in the county of Oye. "In
less than a month," says M. de Bouillé, "Francis of Lorraine had
accomplished the patriotic but difficult enterprise so often and
fruitlessly attempted during two centuries, and had cancelled the
old proverb applied in France, in those days, to generals of slight
merit, of whom it was derisively said, 'He will never drive the
English out of France.'"
Henry II., accompanied by the Dauphin, the Cardinals of Lorraine and
Guise, and several nobles of the court, made a journey to Calais,
which he entered with great pomp. The object of this expedition was
to sustain the courage and zeal of the troops, who endured much
fatigue and hardship, in that inclement season and in the midst
of the marshes. The King also wished to testify his gratitude to
his lieutenant-general, showing him great confidence, referring to
him all who requested audience on business, and presenting him,
in the most flattering terms, with a house in Calais. The Duke
returned with Henry to Paris, where great feasts and rejoicings
were held in his honour, and, on occasion of the Dauphin's marriage
with Mary Queen of Scots, which shortly followed, Guise filled, in
the absence of Montmorency, the office of grand-master, which he
long had coveted. Concurrently, however, with this great apparent
favour, Henry was secretly uneasy at the power and pretensions of
the family of Guise, and maintained a constant and confidential
correspondence with their inveterate enemy the Constable de
Montmorency. On the other hand the Guises were on their guard,
labouring to countermine and defeat the intrigues levelled against
them. Urged on by his brother, and feeling that, in their position,
if they did not advance they must recede, the Duke directed all
his efforts to an effectual concentration in his own hands of the
entire military power of the kingdom. Should he fail in this, he at
least was resolved to leave none in those of his rivals. By this
time the progress of the Reformed religion in France had attracted
great attention. It was an abomination in the eyes of Henry; and of
this the Duke and Cardinal took advantage to work the downfall of
d'Andelot, brother of Coligny, and colonel-general of the French
infantry, the only military commander who at that moment caused
them any uneasiness. Accused of heresy, and summoned before the
King, who received him kindly, and, expecting he would so reply as
to disconcert his enemies, "commanded him to declare, in presence
of all the court, his belief with respect to the holy sacrifice of
mass; d'Andelot proudly replied that his gratitude for the King's
favours doubtless rendered entire devotedness incumbent upon him,
but that his soul belonged to God alone; that, enlightened by
the torch of Scripture, he approved the doctrines of Calvin, and
considered mass a horrible profanation and an abominable invention
of man." Furious at what he deemed a blasphemy, the King, who
was at supper, snatched a basin from the table and hurled it at
d'Andelot; but it struck the Dauphin. He was then tempted, says
one of his historians, to pierce the offender with his sword, but
finally contented himself with sending him to prison, and the post
of colonel-general was bestowed upon Montluc, an ex-page of Guise's
grandfather, and a devoted partisan of the house of Lorraine. This
brave Gascon officer at first scrupled to accept it, for he feared
to incur the hatred of the Colignys and the Constable. Wily and
wary, like most of his countrymen, he declared himself willing to
serve as a private soldier under the Duke, but modestly declined the
command offered him. The King insisting, he alleged a dysentery,
as rendering him incapable of the needful activity. This and other
objections being overruled, he took possession of his important
command, and speedily proved himself worthy to hold it--notably at
the siege of Thionville on the Moselle. This fortress, one of the
strongest the Imperialists owned, was defended by Jean de Caderebbe,
a brave gentleman of Brabant, at the head of three thousand picked
men. The Dukes of Guise and Nevers, and Marshal Strozzi, were the
leaders of the besieging army; Montluc joined them on the eve of
the opening of the batteries, and did excellent service. On the
fifteenth day of the siege, Guise was in the trenches, talking
to Strozzi, on whose shoulder his hand rested, when the Marshal
was struck by an arquebuse ball, a little above the heart. On
feeling himself hit, "_Ah! tête Dieu, Monsieur_," exclaimed this
brave and able general, "the King loses to-day a good servant,
and your Excellency also." He did himself no more than justice.
Guise was deeply affected, but, repressing his emotion, he tried
to fix Strozzi's thoughts on religion. The veteran's death was
less exemplary than his life; he died in profession of unbelief;
and Guise, much scandalised, but perhaps doubly furious at the
thought that the soul as well as the body of his old comrade had
perished by the sudden manner of his death, prosecuted the siege
with fresh ardour, eager for revenge, and suppressing for the
moment, as far as he was able, the disastrous news, which could not
but produce a most unfavourable impression. Valiantly seconded by
Montluc and Vieilleville, on the 22d June, two days after Strozzi's
death, he received the capitulation of the garrison. His triumph
was well earned. Besides the exhibition, throughout the siege, of
the genius and inventive resource that constitute a general of
the highest order, he had toiled and exposed himself like a mere
subaltern, constantly under fire, personally superintending the
pioneers and artillerymen, and rarely sleeping; so that it was no
wonder (considering he had not had a single night's rest during the
operations against Thionville) that on the 1st July, when preparing
for the siege of the rich little town of Arlon, he complained of
being very drowsy, and left Montluc to invest the place--himself
retiring to bed in a cottage, and giving orders to let him sleep
till he awoke of himself. "It is very quick work," he observed,
crossing himself, when he was the next day informed, in reply to
his inquiry whether the batteries had opened fire, that Montluc had
surprised and taken the place in the night.
Whilst Guise was thus not only rendering great services himself, but
bringing forward leaders whose exploits honoured the French arms,
in other quarters affairs went less favourably for France. Near
Dunkirk, Marshal Thermes was beaten and taken prisoner, and Guise,
whose frequent lot it was to repair the blunders or misfortunes
of less capable generals, marched to Picardy; on the frontier of
which province, at a grand review passed by Henry II., the Duke's
son and successor, Henry, Prince of Joinville, then but eight years
old, appeared for the first time in public, with his cousin, the
Count of St Vallier, son of the Duke d'Aumale. Accompanied by their
preceptors and some other gentlemen, and mounted on ponies, they
rode through the ranks, until they reached the troops commanded
by Montluc. "_Cà, çà_, my little princes," exclaimed that brave
captain, "dismount; for I was brought up in the house of which you
are issue, which is the house of Lorraine, where I was page, and
I will be the first to put arms in your hands." The two cousins
dismounted, and Montluc, taking off the little silken _robons_
that covered their shoulders, placed a pike in the hand of each of
them. "I hope," he said, "that God will give you grace to resemble
your fathers, and that I shall have brought you good fortune by
being the first to invest you with arms. To me they have hitherto
been favourable. May God render you as brave as you are handsome,
and sons of very good and generous fathers." After this species of
martial baptism, the two children, conducted by Montluc, passed
along the front of the troops, objects of the admiration and good
wishes of men and officers. A few months later, one of them was
dead; the other, heir to most of the great qualities, whether good
or bad, that distinguished his race, lived to prosecute, and at one
time almost to realise, the most ambitious designs his father and
grandfather had conceived. The fair-haired boy of the review at
Pierrepont, was the stern _Balafré_ of the wars of the League.
The spring of the year 1559 found the Guises in marked disfavour
with the King. The great services of the Duke, the capture of
Calais and Thionville, and the many other feats of arms by which he
had reduced the power of the enemy, at moments when it was about
to be fatal to France, were insufficient to counterbalance the
alarm felt by Henry II. at his and the Cardinal's influence and
ambition. The star of the Constable was in the ascendant. Chiefly
by his intervention, a disadvantageous peace was concluded, and,
at his request, d'Andelot was recalled to court. Montmorency and
Coligny triumphed. The efforts of the Protestants combined with
court intrigues to ruin the credit of the house of Lorraine. The
two brothers were attacked on all sides, and in every manner:
epigram and satire furiously assailed them, and they were denounced
as aspiring, one to the tiara, the other to the crown of France.
However doubtful--or at least remote from maturity--these projects
were, they were yet sufficiently probable for their denunciation to
produce the desired effect on the mind of Henry, already writhing
impatiently under the domination of the Guises, against whom he was
further prejudiced by his mistress, the Duchess de Valentinois,
(Diane de Poitiers,) still influential, in spite of her threescore
winters. Never had circumstances been so menacing to the fortunes of
the Guises; and perhaps it was only the subtle and temporising line
of conduct they adopted in this critical conjuncture, that saved
them from utter disgrace and downfall. Things had been but a short
time in this state, and already, from the skilful manoeuvres of the
Cardinal, their side of the balance acquired an upward inclination,
when the whole aspect of affairs was changed by the death of Henry
II. With the reign of his feeble successor, there commenced for the
restless princes of Lorraine a new epoch of power and renown.
MY PENINSULAR MEDAL.
BY AN OLD PENINSULAR.
PART VIII.--CHAPTER XIX.
Now for the fight. On the morning of the battle of Toulouse we left
Grenade. It was known amongst us that the battle was coming off; and
we started in the expectation of passing the night either in the
city itself, or in its immediate vicinity. We ascended towards the
city by the left bank of the Garonne, but reached a pontoon bridge,
which enabled us to cross to the right bank, where the main body of
our troops was posted. The fight had commenced. We heard the firing
as we advanced; and while we approached the scene of action, it
became gradually louder and more distinct. Immediately in the rear
of the British lines we halted, not knowing the ground, and withdrew
from the road into a field which was close at hand, in order that
our numerous party might not prove an obstacle to passing troops,
ammunition, or artillery. Our forces held the low ground, and
closed, in a sort of semicircle, around the heights occupied by the
French. As it so happened that I was not only at this battle, but
in it, I here beg leave to relate the circumstances which led to my
finding myself in a position where, as a civilian, I was so little
wanted, and so much out of my ordinary sphere of duty.
Sancho did it all. We were sitting upon our nags, speculating upon
the fight, and seeing all that could be seen, till we began to
think we knew something of what was going on. At this moment rode
up from the rear, coming across the fields, an old officer of rank,
a major-general, well known at headquarters, without aide-de-camp,
orderly, or any kind of attendant. He inquired eagerly, "Where are
the troops?--Where are the troops?" We pointed forward; little
was visible but trees. He looked rather at a loss, but turned his
horse's head in the direction we had indicated. That villain Sancho,
seeing another horse go on, snorted, and pulled at the bridle. He
was tired of standing still. I, ever indulgent to Sancho, followed
the old general, and soon overtook him. "I believe I know the
position of the troops, sir. Will you give me leave to show you?"
"Thank you, sir, thank you," said he; "I shall really be much
obliged."
We rode on till we reached a British regiment, drawn up in line.
With renewed acknowledgments he then took his leave. The air was
musical above our heads with whistling and humming missiles. I was
now fairly upon the ground, and didn't like to go back.
There was a lull in the fight. The spectacle was singular. Some
firing was kept up on both sides, but not sufficient to obscure
the view of the French position, which rose immediately in front,
a bare range of hills, crowned by their redoubts. The atmosphere
was bright; and though the skirmishers on the declivity were
discoverable only by small white jets of smoke, as they fired from
time to time, every movement of the enemy on the summit, with the
sky for its background, was perfectly visible. I noticed a single
horseman, probably an aide-de-camp bearing orders, as distinct
and diminutive as if seen through the wrong end of a telescope.
You might perceive the very action of his horse, that laborious
up-and-down gallop of the French manége, which throws away so much
of the animal's strength, and sacrifices speed without securing
elegance.
The combat, at this moment, was renewed, and our troops went to
work in earnest. The Spanish army ascended the hill to assault the
enemy's redoubts. This movement, at first, had all the regularity
of a review. But the redoubts opened their fire; as the Spaniards
moved up, the smoke rolled down; and, when the wind swept it away,
their broken bands were seen in precipitate retreat, followed by a
large body of the French, who swarmed out from their intrenchments.
Instantly, and just in front of me, our artillery opened upon the
pursuing foe. The round-shot plumped into their columns, knocking
up clods as high as a house; and the enemy, not relishing this
salutation, hastily fell back to their former position. Sancho
now became a dreadful plague. He had for some time been getting
unquiet, and, with the continual firing, he grew worse and worse. I
believe this was his first battle, as it was mine. Not content with
a little extra restiveness at every fresh discharge of artillery,
he had worked himself into a state of chronic excitement, and, at
intervals, attempted to bolt. It was clear I must get rid of Sancho,
or see no more of the fight; so I deposited him in a stable, under
care of a cottager, in the adjoining village.
Still moving towards the left, along the base of the hill, I reached
a part of the British position, where a number of our troops were
waiting to storm the heights, when the flank movement against the
enemy's right, which was his weakest point, should be sufficiently
advanced. All at once I plumped upon "Cousin Tom," whom I had not
met since he embarked, three years before, a raw subaltern, at
Portsmouth. There he now stood, as large as life, rough and ugly,
at the head of his regiment, a regular "Old Peninsular;" and on him
had devolved the duty, as he gave me to understand, of "taking those
fellows up the hill." This service, I thought, would have fallen
to some officer of higher rank; but Tom explained. The regiment
having been reduced, either by losses or detachment, its numbers in
the field were small, and he, being the senior officer present, of
course had to "carry them up." "Come," said he, "we are going to
take a look at those monsieurs above there; you may as well go with
us."
The proposal was coolly made, so I took it coolly. "With all my
heart," said I. "You know what is the feeling towards an amateur.
If he makes an ass of himself, he's laughed at; and if he gets hit,
they only say, it serves him right. If it's of any use, I'll go with
pleasure."
"Use?" said Tom; "the greatest use. Why, I want to ask you twenty
questions about friends in England. Besides, you know, if I am
knocked over, you can pick me up."
"Very well, then; and you can do the same for me."
"No, no," said cousin Tom; "I don't promise that. Got my men to
attend to. If I am hit, you must take care of me. If you are hit,
you must take care of yoursel----Oh, that's the signal. Come along."
Away we went, up the hill.
Rank and file--double-quick time--a capital pace for opening the
chest. Tom took it easy, trotting on at a steady pace, and assailing
me with a running fire of questions; while the row that had already
commenced above prevented my returning categorical replies. "Is
your father at sea now?"--Bang! from one of the big guns in the
French batteries right over our heads. "Got any brandy?"--A shout
from a thousand throats, in the rush and shock of a charge with
bayonets. "Had breakfast this morning?"--Pop! pop! pop! a running
fire of musketry. Pop! pop! pop! "Got any cigars?"--Bang! bang! the
big guns at it again. "When did you hear from your mother?" A new
sound, less loud and sudden, but, from its peculiarity, distinct
amidst the din; a spiteful, whirling, whizzing noise, ten thousand
skyrockets combined in one; not, though, like the skyrocket, first
loud, then less audible--quite the contrary. Commencing with a
faint and distant hiss, it grew louder and louder, came singing on,
nearer and nearer, till a shell dropped a few yards in front of our
column! The hiss was now an angry roar, like the blowing off of
steam. There lay the bottled demon, full in our path, threatening
instant destruction, and daring us to advance. Our column halted.
"Hurra! my lads," cried Cousin Tom, waving his sword. "Come along,
old Five-and-threepennies. Push by it at once, before it _spreads_."
The game old Five-and-threepennies gave a shout--rushed forward--got
by in time; each yelping and capering as he passed the fizzing foe.
Bang went the shell. For a few seconds I was stone deaf. Never felt
such an odd sensation. Not the deafness, but the return of hearing.
First, perfect silence in the midst of the turmoil--then the crack!
crack! bang! bang! as if you had suddenly flung open a door. Not a
man of us was hurt. "Got an English paper?" said Tom.
"I've got some intelligence for you, old chap, not in this morning's
_Times_. Just look up there, in front."
The view in front was striking and picturesque. Right above us,
dimly visible through the smoke, on the verge of the platform or
table-land which we were mounting to assault, appeared a regiment
of French infantry, enough of them to eat us up, advancing upon
us with an irregular fire, and led on by their colonel. He rode a
showy horse; and, hat in hand, waved them on, while his white hairs
streamed in the wind, and his whole bearing announced the brave old
soldier. "We must form line," said Tom. It was done forthwith, with
steadiness, order, and rapidity. "Make ready--present--fire." Crack!
went all the muskets together. I saw the gallant old colonel, with
outspread arms, tumbling from his horse.--"Charge!" We rushed upon
the foe; but, when the smoke had cleared away, found no foe to fight
withal. Nothing was visible, save their knapsacks in the distance,
poppling up and down in the smoke, as they scampered off. We still
continued advancing in pursuit, and now were fairly in for it, half
choked with dust and sulphur. If it be asked, how far I personally
contributed to the triumphs of that glorious day, I beg leave to
answer:--Unquestionably my arm performed prodigies of valour; of
that there neither is, nor can be, the shadow of a doubt. But as I
should have felt it extremely difficult to give a distinct account
of my exploits if questioned on the day, why, of course you won't
expect it now, after the lapse of six-and-thirty years. Suffice it
to say, we made good our footing on the platform, drove the enemy
from their position, occupied it ourselves, took possession of
their redoubts, and formed, with the rest of the British forces,
on the summit of the heights. The day was our own. But there was
one unfortunate circumstance to damp our exultation; Cousin Tom was
missing. A sergeant now informed me he was wounded, and had gone to
the rear.
CHAPTER XX. AND LAST.
As victory had crowned our efforts, and my valuable services were
now no longer required, I determined to look for Cousin Tom, and
walked down the hill for that purpose. At its base, I entered a long
thicket or shrubbery. There, amongst the trees, I found several
wounded men, whom their comrades were removing off the ground.
No one could give me the information that I sought; no one knew
anything of Cousin Tom. Saw a sergeant sitting on a bank, who, I
soon discovered, was also wounded. He knew no such officer; had seen
no one answering the description. "What's your injury, sergeant?"
"A musket-ball in my ankle, sir."
"Well, but hadn't I better help you to a place of shelter?"
"Much obliged to you, sir; but I couldn't walk, even with your
support. I'd rather wait till my turn comes to be carried, if you've
no objections, sir. Much obliged to you, equally all the same, sir."
"As you please. Can I render you any assistance? What can I do for
you?"
"If you'd have the kindness, sir, perhaps you'd be so good and take
off my gaiter. I can't take it off myself, sir, though I've tried;
it does hurt me so when I stoop forward. I'm afraid the bleeding
will spoil it, sir; and then I shall be forced to take out a new
pair."
Having performed this office, and administered a little brandy both
topically and constitutionally, I once more ascended the hill,
thinking it possible Cousin Tom might be somewhere nearer the scene
of action. I inquired and looked in every direction, but without
success. Where are you, Cousin Tom? This time my steps brought me
into one of the redoubts, which had been carried by our troops.
When I entered, there were not a dozen men in it. Sunset was near,
and everything over for the day. Yet just at that moment, for what
reason I know not, perhaps for a freak, the enemy thought fit to
open upon this all but unoccupied post, from their own lines nearer
the city, with a heavy fire of shot and shell. Bang went a shell,
knocking up bushels of earth and mire. Plump came a round-shot,
into the mud parapet of the redoubt. It was no use moving; one
place was as hot as another. So we had nothing to do for it but to
stand still and exchange grins till the pelting was over. I then
took my leave for the evening. The day indeed was drawing to a
close as I descended the hill; and happily I succeeded in reaching
the village, and finding the cottage where Sancho had been left in
charge, just after it became pitch-dark. A cheering light streamed
through the cottage window; and, on entering, I found comfortably
seated by the blazing hearth a veterinary surgeon, who was there in
charge of wounded horses. He very civilly informed me there were
two good beds, so all was right with respect to accommodation;
and, more civilly still, invited me to partake of his supper,
which was boiling on the fire. Not having eaten a morsel since my
early breakfast at Grenade, and having just discovered that I was
enormously hungry, I accepted the invitation with glee, took my
seat, and cast many a glance at the boiling, bubbling, and steaming
kettle. Presently the contents were turned out into a large,
old-fashioned tureen, and displayed to my eager gaze a compound of
various materials, the chief of which were a fowl, and--what d'ye
think?--a pig's heart. Supper excellent. Bed ditto.