THE ROMANCE OF WAR, VOLUME 1 (continued 2)

In their route through these places they were welcomed by no sign of merriment, no joyful cheering, from those whom they had come to free from the iron grasp of Buonaparte; they were greeted with no welcome save the sepulchral tolling of some cathedral or chapel bell,—the waving of white kerchiefs or veils from the grated lattice of some convent which had escaped the ravagers, when their walls rung to the sound of the drum and war pipe,—the muttered benison of some old Padre, as he viewed with surprise the bare knees, the wild and martial garb, of the men of Albyn, and the gigantic proportions of the officer who commanded them. Major Campbell was a handsome Highlander, of a most muscular make and herculean form. His dark hair was becoming grizzled, for he was nearly fifty years of age, and his nutbrown cheek had been tanned by the sun and storm in many a varied clime. From the strength of his arm and the length of his sword (a real Andrea Ferrara,[*] with the maker's name on the blade) he was a most uncomfortable antagonist at close quarters, as many of the French and others had found to their cost; but Campbell never drew his Andrea unless when he found himself pressed, but made use of a short oak stick furnished with a heavy knob at the end, which he had cut in one of the wild forests of Argyleshire, and always retained and carried with him, as a relic and memorial of his native mountains.

[*] These swords are often worn by the officers of our Highland corps, the old blades being polished and set in new regimental basket-hilts.

It was towards the end of a chilly day in the spring of 1812, that the major's detachment halted in the ancient city of Albuquerque, where they spent their first night in Spain. This old frontier town is situated in the slope of the Sierra de Montanches, a ridge of mountains in Estremadura. By a miracle, or little short of it, it had escaped better than other places the ravages of the French, who had left the roofs on all the houses, which were, however, gutted of every thing of value. In general the outrages of Napoleon's troops were less flagrant in Spain than in Portugal, from a wish to conciliate the former, and render them, as of old, friends and allies. Owing to the eminence on which the city is situated, its streets are much cleaner than those of Spanish towns generally, where the thoroughfares are cleared of the mud and filth that encumber them by the rain, which in Albuquerque, when it falls heavily, sweeps every thing down the causewayed slopes to the bed of the Guadiana, which flows past the foot of the city. An ancient castle, as old probably as the days of Roderick "the last of the Goths," stands upon the summit of a rock above the town; and around its base are the streets, ill paved, dark, and narrow,—well fitted for Spanish deeds of assassination and robbery. By an order from the alcalde, the Highlanders were billeted upon different houses, and Ronald Stuart and Major Campbell were both quartered in the same mansion, the patron of which, Senor Narvaez Cifuentes (as he styled himself), kept a shop for retailing the country wine. Many goodly pigskins filled with it were ranged upon the rickety shelves of his store, from the ruinous rafters of which hung some thousands of tempting bunches of dried grapes, and many of these fell kindly down at Campbell's feet when the old house shook with his heavy tread.

The patron, in appearance, was not quite what one should wish a host to be, especially in a strange country. His stature was low, his face was so swarthy as to resemble that of a negro in darkness; his moustaches were thick, fierce, and black, mingling with the matted hair of his huge bullet-head. He wore a long stiletto (openly) in the yellow worsted sash which encircled his waist, and the haft of a knife appeared within the breast of his doublet, or sort of vest with sleeves, which was, like the rest of his attire, in a very dilapidated condition; and altogether, the Senor Narvaez Cifuentes displayed more of the bravo or bandit, than the saint in his appearance.

He was, nevertheless, a rattling jolly sort of fellow, especially for a Spaniard; he sung songs and staves without number to entertain his guests, who scarcely comprehended a word of them; and to show his loyalty, emptied many a horn to the health of Ferdinand VII., to the freedom of Spain, and to the eternal confusion of the French, compelling, with rough and unceremonious hospitality, Stuart and the major to do so likewise, until they had well nigh each imbibed the contents of a pigskin,—the common vessel for containing wine in Spain, where neither bottles nor flasks are used, but the simple invention of a pigskin, sewn up with the hair inside, which, when full, looks not unlike the bag of the Scottish piper, from its black, bloated, and greasy appearance.

Almost reeling with the effects of their potations, they were shown by the patron to their chamber, where their bedding consisted only of a blanket and mattress.

"What the mischief is the meaning of this, Senor Patron, Mr. Narvaez, or what is your title?" stammered the major, holding the flickering candle over the miserable couch; "'tis all over blood. What does it mean? We soldados are not so fond of slaughter as to relish a bed of this sort." This strange exclamation recalled Ronald's wandering senses, and on surveying their humble pallet, he beheld it stained with blood, which, though hard and dry, appeared to have been recently shed, and in no small quantity.

"Campbell, here has been some foul work," said he, instinctively laying his hand on his basket hilt. "Make the fellow explain."

"Holloa, Mr. Cifuentes; tell us all about it, or I'll beat the pipe-clay out of your tattered doublet, and that without parley," vociferated the inebriated major, flourishing his short cudgel over the head of their host.

"Dios mio, senors! Ha! ha! what a noise you make about a few red spots; 'tis French Malaga," replied the other, laughing heartily, as if something tickled his fancy exceedingly. "But I will tell you the tale as it happened, as you appear so anxious about it. The last time the French were in Albuquerque, I had four of their officers billeted upon me by our dog of an alcalde. They were merry and handsome young sparks of the chasseurs, and I plied them well with the contents of half-a-dozen pigskins, until they could scarcely stand, and then led them here for their repose; and they all four slept upon this very pallet. In the night-time I and two other comrades, guerillas of Don Salvador de Zagala's band, stole softly in upon them, and plunged our stilettoes into their hearts:[*] they died easily, being overcome with wine, and the fatigue of a long march, and our strokes were deadly and sure. Carrying off all their chattels, we hid for some days in the forest of Albuquerque until the enemy had retired, when I returned, and was surprised to find my caza but little the worse. The carrion, which we had tossed into the street in our flight, had been carried away, and buried by Dombrouski's corps with military honours.

[*] This piece of cruelty is no fiction, but actually happened as related here.

"So now, senors, you see I am a true patriot,—a loyal Spaniard, and that you have nothing to suspect me for. All Albuquerque knows the story of the four chasseurs, and praise me for the deed. I will turn up the mattress to hide the marks, and you will repose in all comfort upon it." As all this was related in Spanish, but little of it was understood by Ronald, who, however, comprehended enough to make him regard with detestation and horror the man who coolly confessed that he had slain four helpless fellow-beings in cold blood, and exulted in the narration of the deed with the feeling of one who had acted a most meritorious part. The satisfaction of the patriotic patron seemed considerably damped by the expression which he saw depicted in the features of his hearers.

"I do not believe you: this cannot be true," said they, at one and the same time.

"Madre de Dios! I call the mother of God to witness that it is. Why, senor, the men were only Frenchmen, and you would have taken their lives yourselves."

"In the open field, when equally armed; but we should not have stolen upon them in the night, and butchered them in their sleep, as you say you did. And you shall die for it, you base Spanish dog!" cried Ronald furiously, as he unsheathed his sword.

"Hold, Stuart, my lad!" cried the major, who was perfectly sobered by this time; "it is beneath a soldier and gentleman to draw on so vile a scoundrel as this: I will deal with him otherwise. Look ye, Senor Narvaez," said Campbell, turning to the Spaniard, who had started back at the sight of Ronald's glittering blade, and eyed them both with a savage scowl, while his hand grasped the hilt of his poniard. "You had better betake yourself again to your friends in the forest of Albuquerque, and get clear of the city by morning, or I may have interest enough with the corregidor or alcalde to have you hanged like a scarecrow by the neck. So retire now, fellow, at once, and leave us."

"Demonios!" cried he, grinding his teeth; "am I not master of my own house? Carajo, senor——"

The rest was cut short by the summary mode of ejectment put in force by the major. Seizing him by the throat, he dragged him to the door, and in spite of all his struggles,—for the Spaniard, though a stout ruffian, was not a match for the gigantic Highlander,—hurled him to the lower landing-place of the old wooden stair, and tossing the mattress after him, shut and bolted the door.

"I can scarcely believe the tale to be true which this fellow has told us," observed Ronald, as they composed themselves to rest upon the hard boards, with no other covering than their gay regimentals.

"I entertain no doubt of its truth. He called to witness one, whom a Spaniard names only on most solemn occasions. But we must seek some sleep: 'tis two in the morning by my watch, and we march in three hours. The boards are confoundedly hard, and I am too sleepy to prick for a soft place. Diavolo! what a time we have wasted with that tattered vagabond! But good night, Stuart; we will talk this matter over on the march to-morrow."

Campbell stretched his bulky form on the boards, with his cudgel and long claymore beside him, and turning his face to the wall was soon in a deep slumber, as a certain noise proceeding from his nostrils indicated. But it was not so with the younger soldier, who courted in vain the influence of the drowsy god whose power had overwhelmed the senses of his comrade.

The fumes of the unusual quantity of wine which he had taken, were mounting into Ronald's head, and he lay watching the pale light of the stars through the latticed windows. Frightful faces, which he traced in the stains on the discoloured wall, seemed to peer through the gloom upon him, and every rumbling sound that echoed through the old mansion caused him to start, grip his sword and look about, for the vivid idea of the poor chasseurs who had been assassinated, in that very chamber, haunted him continually, causing him to shudder. When he thought, also, that he had spent the night in carousal with a murderous bravo, he resolved to be more circumspect in what company he would trust his person, in future, while in Spain.

From a sleep into which he had sunk, he was soon awakened by the warning pipe for the march, which passed close beneath the window, and then grew fainter in sound as Macdonuil-dhu strode on, arousing his comrades from their billets, and the wild notes died away in the dark and narrow streets of the city. The major sprang up at the well-known sound, and Ronald, although wearied and unrefreshed, prepared to follow him.

"Confound this fashion of Lord Wellington's! this marching always an hour before day-break," muttered Campbell. "The morning is so chilly and cold, that my very teeth chatter, and——the devil! my canteen is empty," he added, shaking the little wooden barrel which went by that name, and one of which every officer and soldier on service carried slung in a shoulder-belt. "If you have nought in yours, Stuart, we must leave the house of the honourable Senor Narvaez Cifuentes without our doch-an-dhoris,[*] as we say at home in poor old Scotland, where men may sleep quietly at night, without fear of getting a dirk put into their wame. Shake your canteen, my boy! Is there a shot in the locker?"

[*] Gaelic, meaning stirrup-cup.

Luckily for the thirsty commander, Ronald's last day's allowance of ration rum was untouched, and they now quaffed it between them to the regimental toast,—"Here's to the Highlandmen, shoulder to shoulder!" a sentiment well known among the Scottish mountaineers as a true military toast.

They now proceeded down stairs, where they found their patron seated in his wine-store, surrounded by the well-filled skins; he sat beside a rickety old table, on which he leaned with the clumsy and careless air that so well became his appearance; his chin rested on his hand, and his tangled black hair fell over his face, but from between the locks he eyed them with a gaze of intense ferocity as they entered. Campbell sternly shook his stick over his head, and tossing towards him a few reals for their last night's entertainment, passed with Ronald into the street, where the soldiers were under arms.

On leaving behind the town of Albuquerque, the sound of distant firing in front warned them of their nearer approach to the place of their destination, and the scene of actual hostilities. As they advanced, the sharp but scattered reports of musketry, and now and then the deeper boom of a field-piece, came floating towards them on the breeze which swept along the level places; but an eminence, upon which the ancient castle of Zagala is situated, obstructed their view of the hostile operations, and they pressed eagerly forward to gain the height, full of excitement and glee.

"Welcome to Spain!" cried an officer of the 13th Light Dragoons, who came galloping up from the rear, and reined in his jaded charger by the side of the marching Highlanders for a few minutes. "There is brave sport going on in front; press forward, my boys, and you may be in at the death, as we used to say at home in old Kent."

"What is going on in advance?" asked the major. "Are ours engaged?"

"I have little doubt that they are: Cameron never lags behind, you know. I was left in the rear at Albuquerque on duty, and am now hurrying forward to join the 13th, who belong to Long's cavalry brigade. They are now driving a party of plundering French out of La Nava: you will have a view of the whole affair when you gain the top of the hill. But I must not delay here: adieu!" and dashing the spurs into his horse, he disappeared behind the ruinous castle.

"Forward, men! double quick. Let us gain the head of the brae," cried Campbell, urging forward with cudgel and spur a miserable Rosinante, which he had procured at Lisbon.

Carrying their muskets at the long trail, the Highlanders advanced with that quick trot so habitual to the Scottish mountaineers, which soon brought them beneath the grass-grown battlements and mouldering towers of Zagala, from the eminence of which they now had an extensive view to the southward.

The horizon extended to about six or eight leagues, and all within that ample circle was waste and barren land, where the plough had been unknown for an age, and where nought seemed to flourish but weeds and little laurel-bushes. There was no trace of habitation around the plain, but far off appeared the deserted village of La Nava, near a leafless cork wood, the bare boughs presenting but a poor back ground to roofless walls and solitary rafters. There was something chilling in so dreary a prospect, but most of the plains in the same province present a similar aspect, because in no part of Spain is agriculture more neglected than in Estremadura. It was early in the spring of the year, and traces of vegetation were becoming visible; the wood near La Nava was, as I have said, bare and leafless, but a few stunted shrubs by the way-side gave signs of budding. The ruddy sun was setting in the west behind the lofty Sierra de Montanches, the dark ridges of which rose behind the high city and castled rock of Albuquerque: the sky in every direction was of a clear cold blue, save around the sun, where large masses of gold and purple clouds seemed resting on the curved outline of the mountains, over which and through every opening the rays fell aslant, and were reflected by the arms of the troops who occupied the level plain, over which shone the long line of its setting splendour. From the height of Zagala they beheld the operations in front.

A party of five hundred French infantry were rapidly retreating towards the cork wood, exposed to the continual fire of two twelve-pound field-pieces and the charges of the cavalry brigade under General Long, who took every opportunity of breaking among the little band through the gaps formed by the cannon shot, which made complete lanes through their compact mass. The French retired with admirable coolness and bravery, keeping up a hot and rapid fire from four sides on the cavalry, who often charged them at full speed, brandishing their sabres, but were forced to recoil; and no sooner was a gap made in a face of a solid square by the fall of a file, than it was instantly filled by another. And thus leaving behind them a line of killed and wounded, they continued their retreat towards Merida, where their main body lay, disputing every foot of ground with desperate courage until they reached the cork wood, which being unfavourable for the movements of the cavalry, the latter were obliged to retire with considerable loss.

"Hurrah!" cried Campbell, flourishing his stick; "I have not seen this sort of work for this year and more. You see, Stuart, that a solid square of bold infantry may laugh at a charge of horse, who must recoil from their bayonets like water from a rock. There are the 9th and 13th Light Dragoons and the fire of the French seems to have cooled their chivalry a little, and shown them that a sabre is as nothing against brown Bess, with a bayonet on her muzzle. They are retiring towards us, after doing, however, all that brave hearts could do. Poor fellows! many of them are lying rolling about wounded and in agony, or already dead, near the skirts of that confounded copse by which the frog-eaters have escaped. But where are ours? I do not see Howard's brigade."

"Yonder they are, major," replied Ronald, "halted on the level place behind the ruined village. I see the bonnets of the Highlanders, and the colours."

"Ay, I see them now. Yonder they are, sure enough; and the old Half-hundred, and the 71st, the light bobs, with the tartan trews and hummel bonnets, all as spruce as ever, bivouacked comfortably on the bare earth as of old. We shall have the pleasure of passing the night without even a tent to keep the dew off us. Carajo! as the Spaniard says; you will now taste the delights of soldiering in good earnest, as I did first in Egypt with old Sir Ralph Abercrombie."

"We are seen by them. I hear the sound of the pipes, and they are waving their bonnets in welcome," said Alister Macdonald.

"Blow up your bags, Macdonuil-dhu, and let them hear the bray of the drones," cried Campbell, whacking the sides of his nag to urge her onward. "Push forward, brave lads! we will be with Fassifern and our comrades in a few minutes more."

Skirting the miserable village of La Nava, they soon arrived at the ground over which the advanced picquet of the enemy had retired. Two dead bodies attracted the eye of Ronald as he passed over them, and being the first men he had ever seen slain, and in so revolting a manner, they made an impression on his mind which was not easily effaced. They were young and good-looking men, and the same cannon-shot had mowed them both down. A complete hole was made in the body of one, and his entrails were scattered about; the legs of the other were carried away, and lay a few yards off, with a ball near them half buried in the turf. Their grenadier caps, each adorned with a brass eagle and red plume, had fallen off, and the frightful distortion of their livid features, with the wild glare of their white and glassy eyes, struck Ronald with a feeling of horror and compassion, which it was long ere he could forget.

"Queer work this!" said the major, coolly looking at them over his horsed flank, "and you don't seem to admire it much, Stuart; but you are a young soldier yet, and will get used to it by and by. Nothing hardens either the heart or the hide so much as a campaign or two. I learned that in Egypt."

"Puir callants! what would their mothers think, were they to see their bairns as they lie here noo?" soliloquized Evan, looking after them ruefully.

"It would be an awfu' sicht for them, or ony o' the peaceable folk at name," replied another soldier. "But what can these twa queer chields wi' the muckle brimmed hats be wanting wi' them?"

"The Spanish dogs! Would to Heaven I might be allowed to shoot them dead," vociferated Campbell, making a motion with his hand towards the bear-skin covering of his holsters. "The scoundrels! they are come to rob and strip the dead."

Two Spanish peasants had approached the bodies, about which they exercised their hands so busily, that they soon plundered them of knapsacks, accoutrements, uniform, and every thing, leaving the mutilated bodies stripped to the skin and exposed on the plain, while they made off towards La Nava with their spoil. A few minutes' more marching brought the major's detachment to the spot where the brigade of General Howard was halted on a piece of waste moorland, where the three corps had piled their arms, and were making such preparations for bivouacking for the night as could be made by men who had neither tent to cover them, nor couch to repose on but the bare and cold earth.

No tents at that time, or for long afterwards, were served out by the British government to our troops in Spain, and their privations and misery were of course greatly increased by the want of proper means of encamping. The men were lying about in all directions, worn out and exhausted with the load they had carried and the fatigue of a long march; and the officers were reposing among them without ceremony. Apart from them all, on the right of the line, Colonel Cameron of Fassifern stood holding his caparisoned horse by the bridle, as was his usual custom, aloof alike from his officers and soldiers. He was a proud and strict commander, who kept the former "at the staff's end," as the military saying is, behaving to them in a manner at once haughty, cold, and distant; and yet withal he was a good officer, a brave soldier, and beloved by his regiment, which would have stood by him to the last man. He was a well-made figure, above the middle height; his features were handsome, and his hair was fair and curly. There was ever a proud and fiery sort of light in his dark blue eyes, which when he was excited were wont to sparkle and flash with peculiar brilliancy,—an expression which never failed to produce its due effect upon beholders. To him the major reported his arrival, and introduced the officers one by one.

He eyed Ronald Stuart, of whom he had heard previously, with a keen Highland glance, and asked some questions about his family and his father.

"I have often heard of the Stuarts of Lochisla," said he, "but have never had the pleasure of seeing one till now. Sir John Stuart of the Tower saved the life and honour of my grandfather Lochiel, at the risk of his own, on the bloody field of Culloden. I am happy to have the descendant of so brave a man an officer of the Gordon Highlanders."

"Ensign Macdonald, colonel," said the major, presenting Alister.

"Macdonald? Ah!" said Cameron, bowing, "your family is not unknown to me. I have had letters from Glengarry, and all the Macdonalds of the Isles, respecting you;" and thus he went on, as there was scarcely an officer introduced to him whose family was not well known in the North. After some little conversation, Ronald withdrew to where the officers were grouped around the bulky figure of Campbell, asking a hundred questions about the news from home, &c.

There was scarcely an officer or private of the new comers but was met and greeted by some kinsman or old friend, whose canteen of ration rum, or Lisbon wine, was at his service; and loud were the shouts of laughter and merriment that arose on all sides. Eager and earnest were the inquiries about village homes and paternal hearths in "the land of the mountain and the flood," and to many a Jean, Jessy, and Tibby, were the wooden canteens drained to their dregs; but although the fun "grew fast and furious" amongst many, there were some whose hearts grew sad at the intelligence which their comrades brought, of some grey head, which they loved and revered, being laid in the dust in some old and well-remembered kirk-yard; or of a faithless Jenny, who preferred a lover at home to one far away in Spain.

As the shades of night darkened over the plain of La Nava, the sounds died away; and stretching their bare legs on the dewy earth, the hardy Highlanders reposed between the pyramids of firelocks and bayonets that glittered in the red glare of the watch-fires, lighted at certain distances throughout the bivouac, which became quiet for the night, after strong picquets had been posted in the direction of Merida, where fifteen hundred French under the command of General Dombrouski (a Pole in Buonaparte's service) were quartered. Rolled up in a cloak and blanket, Ronald laid himself down like the rest, with the basket-hilt of his claymore for a pillow and clay for his bed; but to sleep in a situation so new and uncomfortable was almost impossible, and he often raised his head to view the strange scene around him.

The ruddy blaze of the fires was cast upon the worn uniform, faded tartan, and sun-burned knees and faces of the soldiers, giving a strong light and shade, which increased the picturesque and romantic appearance of the bivouac. The arms of the sentries flashed in the light, as they paced slowly to and fro on their posts; and farther off were seen the motionless forms of the cavalry videttes, appearing like black equestrian statues in the distance, standing perfectly still, with their long dark cloaks flowing over their horses' flanks; but as the night grew darker, and the light of the watchfires waned, these distant objects could be no longer discerned.

The bright stars were twinkling in the dark blue sky, and among them a red planet in the west, (the Ton-thena of Ossian,) which Ronald used to watch for hours at midnight from the battlements of the tower at Lochisla, while listening to the ancient tales of war or woe related by Donald Iverach.

He thought sadly of his home, and of poor Alice Lisle. He gazed upon her miniature until the flickering light of the fire failed him, and then dropped into an uneasy slumber, from which he was startled more than once by the deep howling of wild dogs, or other animals, from that part of the plain where the dead bodies of the slain lay uninterred.

CHAPTER VII.

MERIDA.

"All was prepared—the fire, the sword, the men

To wield them in their terrible array.

The army, like a lion from his den,

March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay—

A human hydra, issuing from its pen

To breathe destruction on its winding way,

Whose heads were heroes, which, cut off in vain,

Immediately in others grew again."

Don Juan, canto viii.

Towards morning a storm of rain and wind arose, and none but those who have experienced it can imagine the manifold miseries of a tentless bivouac on such an occasion. Howling dismally among the trees of the cork wood, the cold wind swept over the desert plain, and the sleety rain descended in torrents, drenching the unsheltered soldiers to the skin, and extinguishing their fires; as the cold increased towards day-break, they cursed the order which had halted them in so exposed and dreary a spot, to which even the cork wood or ruins of La Nava would have been preferable.

It became fair about day-break, and Ronald, unable to remain longer on the ground, where the water was actually forming in puddles around him, arose; and so wet was the soil, that the impression made by the weight of his body was almost immediately filled with water. His limbs were so benumbed and stiff that he could scarcely move, and his clothing was drenched through the blanket and cloak in which he had been muffled up. The soldiers, worn out with the fatigues of the preceding day, lay still until the last moment for rest, and slept in ranks close together for warmth, with their muskets under their great coats, and their knapsacks beneath their heads for pillows. Here and there, apart from the rest, one might be seen with his miserable wife and two or three little children huddled close beside him, all nestling under the solitary blanket, (provided by government for each man,) from which the steam arose in a column, owing to the heat of their bodies acting on the rain-soaked covering. The distant sentinels and cavalry videttes were standing motionless and silent at intervals along the plain, where banks of white mist were rolling slowly in the yellow lustre of the morning sun, the rising light of which was gilding the summits of the mountains above Albuquerque. All was misery and unutterable discomfort. Ronald wrung the water from the feathers of his bonnet, and kept himself in motion to dry his regimentals and underclothing, which stuck close to his skin. He now perceived that, in addition to his blanket, Evan had during the storm cast over him his own great-coat, standing out the misery of the night in his thin uniform. When he met Ronald's eye, he was shivering with cold, exhaustion, and want of sleep.

"O Evan! my faithful but foolish fellow, what is this you have done? Did you really strip yourself for me, and pass the night thus exposed?" exclaimed Ronald, his heart overflowing with tumultuous feelings at the kindness of his humble follower and old friend.

"I thocht ye would be cauld, sir," replied Evan, his teeth chattering while he spoke, "and my heart bled to see ye lying there like a beast o' the field on the dreary muir, in siccan a miserable and eerie nicht. For me it mattered naething,—for neither my name nor bluid are gentle. I'm the son of your father's vassal, and, Maister Ronald, I did but my duty,—what my puir auld faither would hae wished me to do."

"See that you never again subject yourself to such a privation on my account; and Heaven knows, Evan, I will not forget your kindness," said Ronald, laying his hand familiarly on the tufted wing which adorned Iverach's shoulder. "You appear to be perishing with cold, and my canteen is empty. See if your comrade, Angus Mackie, or any one, will give you a drop of something to warm you. Where is the colonel? I do not see him."

"Lying yonder, on the bieldy side of his horse."

"And Mr. Macdonald—"

"Is sleeping by the bieldy side of the major, and a burn of water rinnin round them. Och, sirs! it's awfu' wark this for gentlemen's sons."

"Rouse, Alister!" said Ronald, stirring him with his sword; "we shall get under arms immediately. I see, through the mist yonder, that Howard is preparing to mount." He shaded the rays of the sun from his eyes with his hand, and perceived at some distance the brigadier, with his tall cocked-hat and large military cloak, examining the girths of his saddle and the holsters, while he despatched the brigade-major to the officers commanding regiments. The long roll of several drums, sounding dull and muffled with the rain, immediately followed, rousing the bivouac; and the troops "stood to their arms," preparatory to moving off, all draggled and wet, and with empty stomachs, in the direction of the enemy, who were to be driven from Merida at the point of the bayonet.

The women and camp-followers were sent off to the rear, where the baggage-mules were halted on the La Nava road; the wet cloaks and blankets were rolled up for the march, the officers slinging theirs in their sashes of crimson silk, while those of the soldiers were strapped to their knapsacks.

"Uncase the colours, gentlemen. Examine your flints," cried Cameron, touching his bonnet to the officers, as he rode along the front of the line.

In a few minutes the troops moved off in close column, with the light cavalry on their flanks; and making a circuit about the plain, advanced upon Merida, skirting the cork wood through which the French had retired on the preceding evening. Ronald scanned the plain with an earnest eye in search of the two dead men, the slaughter of whom had haunted his mind during the whole of the last night; and the reader may conceive the disgust which he and others experienced, when, on the spot where they had fallen, the scattered bones of two skeletons were discovered, red and raw as they had been left by wild animals, which had been busy upon them the live-long night. Yesterday they were active young soldiers, animated probably with spirit, courage, and many a noble sentiment,—to-day they were bare skeletons, left to bleach unburied on the plain, as the troops had no time to inter them. The old campaigners faced them with comparative indifference; but there was altogether something rather appalling to so young a soldier as Ronald in the lesson of war and mortality before him, and gloomy feelings, which he endeavoured to shake off, took possession of his mind. But it was not a time to appear depressed when there was a chance of hearing shot whizzing in an hour or so more, and his spirits rose as the six regimental pipers, with their major Macdonuil-dhu in their front, struck up a well-known Scottish quick-step, and all pressed forward in hopes of driving the enemy from their post, and obtaining a meal there.

During a march of several miles they saw but little of the boasted fruitfulness of Spain. The soil appeared rich enough in some parts, but it lay untended and untilled, for the roll of the drum and the glitter of arms had scared away the husbandman and vine-dresser, making the once peaceful peasantry either prowling plunderers, or fierce and savage guerillas, turning the plough-share into a sword, and a fertile country into a neglected wilderness.

As the wood of La Nava lessened in the rear, the city of Merida, situated on a high hill, around the base of which the Guadiana wandered amid groves of cork-wood, laurel, and olive, presented itself to view. Merida, one of the most ancient cities in Spain, was once the capital of a province of the same name, and numerous are the remains of Roman and Gothic grandeur which are preserved within the circle of its mouldering fortifications.

Dombrouski, a brave soldier of fortune in the service of France, commanded the enemy, and he had put the town in the best possible state of defence by raising a few redoubts on the granite hill beside the city. He barricadoed the streets with the furniture of the citizens, and all that the soldiers could lay hands on for the purpose; the suburban houses and walls were loop-holed, and the Pole was determined to defend his post, if a force came against it for which he deemed himself a match; but when the waving colours and polished arms of Sir Howland Hill's division, sixteen thousand strong, appeared descending the gentle slope towards the city, he saw the folly of his resolution, and prepared to abandon his position. On the nearer approach of the British, they beheld the corps of Dombrouski formed outside the town, preparatory to moving off by the ancient Roman bridge, the lofty arches of which span the deep waters of the Guadiana. On a front movement being made among our cavalry, the French, not wishing to feel the steel of those who had so lately gained the battle of Arroya-del-Molino, retreated double quick, without firing a shot; and in a short time the glitter of their appointments and the flashing tops of their glazed shakoes disappeared among the olive-groves and broken ground in the direction of the town of Almendralejo, where a strong party lay, commanded by the Count D'Erlon. The division halted, and bivouacked about Merida, to which those inhabitants who had fled during its occupation by Dombrouski returned: the streets were filled with acclamations of welcome to the British, and the bells rang merrily from the steeples of the churches and convents. A small ration was now served out to the half-famished soldiers, and thousands of fires were lit in every direction; while all the camp-kettles and pans were put in requisition for cooking, and the axes, saws, and bill-hooks of the pioneers made devastation among the underwood and wild groves to procure fuel.

The miserable ration consisted of a few ounces of flour and flesh, given to each man alike, without distinction. The flesh was that of ill-fed, jaded, and wearied bullocks, which had become too old for agricultural labour, driven up rapidly after the army. Those given to each regiment were instantly shot through the head, flayed, and in a twinkling served out in the allotted quantities, which were placed warm in the camp-kettles to boil, almost before the circulation of the blood, or the vibration of the fibres had ceased.

This was the usual way in which the military rations were served out in Spain,—killed and eaten when the animals were in a state of fever from long and hasty journeys, tough and hard as bend leather, in consequence of age, ill-feeding, and want of proper cooking.

More lucky than thousands of their comrades, who pursued their culinary operations in the open air, Ronald and Alister Macdonald obtained possession of a deserted shed or house in the suburbs, where Evan Iverach, casting aside his accoutrements, began to prepare in the best manner he could the poor meal, for which, however, the appetites of all were sufficiently sharpened, for they had not broken their fast since they quitted Albuquerque.

The wretched apartment had neither windows nor shutters to boast of; and the arms of leafless vines straggled in at the apertures, through which, now and then, the swarthy face of a passing Spaniard appeared, looking in with evident curiosity. Strong black rafters crossed by red tiles, the joints of which admitted the daylight, composed the roof; the floor was earth pounded hard by means of a pavier's rammer, or some such instrument. As the room had no fire-place, Evan made one by means of two stones placed in the centre of the floor; between them was kindled a fire with one of the doors, which Ronald had torn down, and hewn in pieces with his sword.

The smoke filled the place, and rolled in volumes out at every aperture. A large stone and Evan's knapsack set on end composed their furniture, and, seated thus, they set about the discussion of their meal, which when cooked was but a sorry mess, being merely the tough flesh boiled with the flour, without the aid of a single vegetable,—tasteless and insipid; but hunger is said to be "the best sauce," and they dispatched it with infinite relish. Each had produced his knife, fork, and spoon from his havresack, a strong bag of coarse linen, in which provisions are carried on service, and their dinner-set was complete.

"Hech me, sirs! I would rather sup sourcrowdy at the ingle neuk o' auld Lochisla, than chow sic fushionless trash as this," said Evan with strong contempt, as he sat squatted on the floor, taking his share of the provision out of a camp-kettle lid, and scarcely seen amid the smoke. "It micht pass muster wi' a puir chield like me; but I trow it's no for sic as you, Maister Ronald, or you, Maister Macdonald, or ony gentleman o' that ilk."

"It is confounded stuff, certainly," replied Alister, laughing at the young Highlander's quaint mode of expression; "the flesh is as tough as a buff belt, and the old bull it belonged to has seen hard service, no doubt, in his day. But I wish that we had a drop of the purple Lisbon wine to wash it down with, eh, Ronald?"

"We are better off than our Portuguese comrades, however bad our present fare; they, poor fellows, have only received a few ounces of wheat each man."

"And an unco chappin' they are making by the water-side, sir, ilka man pounding his wheat between twa stanes, into something to mak' bannocks wi'. Puir black-avised deevils! I pity them muckle," observed Evan, who, from many circumstances combined, presumed to break the laws of military etiquette, and mingle in the conversation. "It's an unco thing to march far wi' an empty wame and fecht fasting. It makes my very heart loup like a laverock, when I think o' the braw Scots' brochan and kail, that the miserable folk here ken naething aboot. O, it's a puir hole this Spain, I think, either to fecht or forage in."

"If you grumble thus, Evan, I shall be led to suppose you will make but a poor soldier. We have seen little of Spain yet; the best part of the country and the summer are still before us, and let us hope that this is the worst. But there is little pleasure in abiding in this wretched sheiling, where we are almost choked and blinded with smoke. Let us find out some wine-house, where we can get something to gargle our throats with. Come, Macdonald, we shall be smoked like deer's hams, if we sit here longer. There are the ruins of the Roman amphitheatre, and other things in this city of Merida, which I would wish to see, and our time is short; we march again in the morning, as you know."

On passing down the principal street, their attention was attracted by the ruins of a noble triumphal arch, (a relic of the Roman power,) under which lay mouldering fragments of the rich cornice and marble statues that had fallen from above. Near the arch stood two tall Corinthian columns upwards of forty feet in height, the last remnants of some magnificent temple.

The houses were lofty, and decorated with heavy entablatures, pilasters, and ornaments of stucco or plaster, some of them richly gilt, and many had broad balconies of stone or iron projecting over the pavement. On some of them appeared dark-haired and dark-eyed Senoritas, wearing the long sweeping veil and graceful black mantilla, of which so much has been said by romancers, surveying with smiles of wonder and pleasure, the strange scene of so many foreign uniforms crowding the streets, and waving their fans and handkerchiefs, crying to the British officers who passed them, "Viva! la valiante Inglesa! viva!"

"What beautiful eyes, and splendid figures these girls have!" said Macdonald rapturously, doffing his bonnet to a group of fair ones, whose attention their Highland garb had attracted. "By Heaven! we have no such eyes at home. How they flash under their long lashes! I never beheld such glossy curls as those that stream from under their veils."

"I have, Alister," was Ronald's brief reply.

"Ay, in her whose miniature you wear under the fold of your shoulder-belt: I saw it for an instant the other day at Albuquerque. Nay, nay, man, you need not colour or look so cross; I shall not tell any of our fellows, and we have no mess here to try your fiery temper by jokes and quizzing. But keep it in a more secure place; should it be seen by Grant or Bevan, or any of them, it may become the source of continual jesting."

"Those who dare to jest with me on such a subject, may find it dangerous work," said Ronald coldly and haughtily. "But here is the place we have been looking for,—the Caza de Vino."

A bunch of gilded grapes, suspended over the door of a low flat-roofed building, announced it to be the shop of a retailer of wine. The door-way was crowded by British, Portuguese, and German officers, who were pressing their way in and out, intermixed with a few cigar-smoking citizens, wearing broad sombreros and the eternal long Spanish cloak, enveloping their whole form in a manner not ungraceful, but in the style of mysterious gentry on the stage, rendering it impossible to discover their rank in society; in fact, all the Spaniards they beheld were exactly like one another. All smoked cigars with the same air of immovable gravity; all wore the same sombre attire, and strode under the piazzas of the Plaza with the same haughty swagger. To stroll about smoking by day, and to sit listlessly at night muffled in their mantles, with their feet resting on a pan of hot charcoal while they sipped their sour wine, appeared to be their only employment.

Ronald and his friend made their way into a spacious oblong apartment, fitted up in the plainest manner with rough deal seats and tables, at which sat many of the officers of the second division,—the red, or rather purple coats of the British, the blue of the Portuguese, the green of the German Rifles, and the brown of a few Spaniards, being intermingled. Several olive-cheeked young girls, with their long black hair streaming unbound, wearing short petticoats, large bustles, and high-heeled shoes, were continually tripping about, and serving the country wine in all kinds of vessels, from which it was rapidly transferred to the throats of the thirsty carousers; and a strange din of several languages and many sonorous voices, shook the rafters of the place.

"A devil of a den this! Let us quit it as soon as possible," said Macdonald, draining his horn of dark liquor.

"As soon as you please. I am almost stifled with the fumes of garlick from the Portuguese, and tobacco from the Germans. Look at old Blacier of the 60th Rifles, how quietly he sits in that corner, filling the whole place with the smoke of his long pipe."

"Looking as grave as his Serene mightiness of Hesse Humbug. But I do not see any of ours here?"

"There's Campbell, sitting beside Armstrong of the 71st; doubtless he is fighting some battle in Egypt over again. He speaks so earnestly, that he is not aware of our presence,—and yonder is Chisholm."

"Stuart," exclaimed Alister, abruptly, "who can that strange fellow be who seems to scrutinize you so narrowly. See, behind the chair of Blacier, in the dark recess of the doorway."

Ronald looked in the direction pointed out, and beheld the fierce serpent-like eyes of a well-known face fixed on him with a settled stare.

"It is the rascal Narvaez," whispered Ronald, making a stride towards the place; but the worthy, pulling his sombrero over his face, pressed through the crowd, gained the door, and disappeared.

"Pshaw! let him go," said Alister, holding Ronald back by his silk sash. "You surely would not follow him? You are neither an alcalde or an alguazil, and you need not care how many he sends to the shades. He eyes you with a look that bodes you no good, and the revengeful disposition of these swarthy gentlemen is well known. I would advise you to be on your guard; perhaps he is dogging you for your squabble at Albuquerque."

"If ever I meet the vagabond on a hill side," replied Ronald angrily, "I will teach him to model his face differently, when he dares to look at me."

"Ay; but 'tis not decently on the hill side that disputes are settled here. A stab in the dark, or a shot from behind a hedge ends matters, and all is over," answered Macdonald, as they issued into the street, after settling with the patron. "And now, before it is quite dark, let us take a view of the amphitheatre. I see its ruins above the flat-roofed houses at the end of the street yonder, and a bold outline it rears against the clear sky of the evening."

CHAPTER VIII.

AN ADVENTURE.

"The troops exulting sat in order round,

And beaming fires illumin'd all the ground:

A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild,

And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field.

Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,

Whose umber'd arms by fits thick flashes send;

Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn,

And ardent warriors wait the rising morn."

Iliad, book viii.

It was almost dusk when they entered the vast and gloomy ruins of the amphitheatre, the appearance of which was rendered doubly impressive by the sombre light in which it was viewed. The broad arena, where once the bold gladiator contended for honour, or the wretched malefactor for his life, straining every desperate energy in battle with the fiercest animals of the wilderness, was now overgrown with grass, as were also the wide circles of seats rising from it; and from the arcades of arches, from the mouldered cornices, the shattered columns, and empty niches, waved weeds and nettles, showing how vain was the pride of the founder and the architect, and telling that time was too powerful for the mightiest work of human hands,—that man's labours, like himself, are perishable.

In some places great masses of masonry had fallen down, where the clamps of iron and brass had mouldered away, and ponderous architraves and fragments of friezes, bearing ornaments and Roman inscriptions, were lying in the centre of the arena, half buried in the soil. All was silence and ruinous desolation now in the place where once the beautiful, the brave, and the noble, had witnessed and applauded soul-stirring deeds of martial prowess, manly strength, and unequalled cruelty and ferocity. Its vast arcades and empty galleries rang no more with the flourish of the trumpet, the clash of cymbals, the shout which greeted the triumphant victor in the lists, the yell or the dying groan of his vanquished opponent.

From the grass-covered arena, around which appeared the dark dens where lions, tigers, and other savage animals had been confined, Ronald and his friend clambered up the stone seats, which rose one above another like a flight of broad steps, until they gained the uppermost corridor or gallery, which ran round the whole fabric on the outside. From this eminence they obtained a view of the scenery below and around them. Night had now set in, and darkness reigned in the streets of Merida. Towering above the low roofs appeared the other remains of Roman greatness,—the noble arch which had rung so often to the tread of their martial legions, and the shattered temple where marble gods had received the fervent adoration of idolaters.

A thousand watch-fires cast their lurid glare on the silent waters of the Guadiana, on the dark groves of olive overhanging its glassy surface, on the lofty outline of the Roman bridge, and on the black buildings of the adjacent town, from the bivouac of Sir Rowland's division. The piles of burnished arms glittered in the light, which was reflected by the bayonets of the sentries at the river side, and by the sabres of the far-off cavalry videttes, and of the advanced picquets on its opposite side, keeping watch and ward on the road to Almendralejo. A low hum of many mingled voices rose from the place where the soldiers lay, mingled with the occasional neigh of a horse, the sharper sound of the cavalry trumpet turning out the picquets, or the roll of a distant infantry drum recalling stragglers echoing among the granite crags, and dying away in the thickets by the water side; and nearer rang the more discordant noise of laughter and reckless military merriment from the wine-house in the neighbouring street.

"Yonder is the evening star glimmering above the summit of the dark mountain to the southward of us," observed Ronald in a low tone; "it rises twinkling just as I have seen it rising above the noble Benmore in Perthshire; and while I view its well-known appearance my heart fills with strange emotions. I can almost fancy myself at home in the Highlands,—at home in my father's house."

"I am animated by similar feelings," replied Macdonald in the same subdued voice. "Many that love us dearly may at this moment be watching it, and thinking of us. Many a summer gloaming, in my dismal moods, I have watched it rising amid the white breakers, and shining above the ruined spire of Iona, while the empty arches of the cathedral were illumined with the red flush of the setting sun. Ah, Stuart! I know these places well: my father dwells in Inch-kenneth, in the wild and surf-beaten western isles. It is a sweet little place the Inch, with dark foliage hanging from the tall rocks over the boiling ocean. These ruins around us are all very well in their way, but I would not give the Runic cross and the Culdee's cell, which cover the graves of my ancestors, even for all the ruins of Rome! But let us not begin to muse thus: I shall become too melancholy to feel agreeable. We must retrace our steps to the bivouac, for both fighting and hard marching are before us in the morning, over the hills yonder," said he, pointing in the direction of Almendralejo, where a faint crimson streak illumined the dark sky, caused probably by the watch-fires of D'Erlon's troops.

"What! do you think of returning to the den where we cooked our splendid repast?"

"We should be eaten up by rats and the Spanish musquitoes before morning; better the bivouac where our comrades stretch their bare legs on the cold sod. Fassifern would ill like us seeking even the shelter of a kennel, while he sleeps as usual under the heels of his horse, with the pommel of his saddle for a pillow."

"You speak of a kennel; I assure you, Macdonald, that last night I envied the old barrel in which our household dog at Lochisla takes his repose in the barbican. But we shall lose ourselves here, the streets are so dark and strange." As he spoke they had quitted the ruins of the amphitheatre, and entered a dark and silent street leading towards the Plaza. It was empty, and its stillness was broken only by the ripple of the Guadiana, chafing against the stone quay at one end, past which its broad and rapid current flowed unceasingly.

"Have Sir Rowland and his staff quarters in Merida?"

"I have not heard that they have. But hush! we have something here that savours of romance," replied Macdonald, as they heard the notes of a guitar sounding as if struck by a bold and firm hand; and immediately (the prelude being over) a fine, clear, and manly voice sung a song, which being in Spanish, was not understood by his listeners, excepting the burden which he repeated at the end of every verse:—

"Yo acuerdo de te, querida,—

Adios! adios!"

"What cavaliero is this?" whispered Macdonald. "I thought that these days of serenading had passed away, even in Spain."

"I know him: it is Alvaro de Villa Franca, a captain of the Spanish cavalry. I see the tall outline of his figure now, and I well know his helmet with the red horse-hair on its crest."

"Keep under the shadow of the houses, Stuart; perhaps he may sing again. But he surely hears us; he is looking round."

The form of the Spanish officer, the outline of his high helmet, and his large bullion epaulettes were now distinctly visible. When his song ceased, a window above opened, a light flashed through the shutters, and a lady appeared on the iron balcony; she clapped her hands and the dragoon drew near, when a conversation, carried on in low and earnest tones, ensued. The don had placed his hand on the lower part of the balcony, preparatory to swinging himself up, when a noise in the street caused the lady to start away, and close the shutters of the window with the utmost precipitation.

"Caramba!" cried the Spaniard, fiercely turning round and endeavouring to pierce the darkness which enveloped the stradi: but nothing could be discovered. After a vain attempt again to obtain a hearing from the lady, he took his guitar under his arm, and proceeded leisurely down the street on the darkest side, as if to elude observation, still humming the burden of his ditty, "Adios, querida,"[*] while his heavy spurs and long steel scabbard clattered in accompaniment. The two British officers had turned to pursue their way towards the Plaza, when a cry of "Diavolo! Ah, perros—ladrones! Carajo!" burst from the Spaniard, followed immediately by a clashing of steel blades, the noise of which drew Ronald and Alister hastily to the spot. Here they found Don Alvaro, with his back to the wall, contending fiercely with his single weapon against six armed men, from whose swords and poniards he made the fire fly at every stroke he dealt, keeping them at bay with admirable courage and skill.

[*] Farewell, love.

"One, two, three—six to one! the rascally cowards! Draw, Alister,—draw and strike in," cried Ronald, unsheathing his sword, an example which his companion was not slow in following, and all three were soon engaged, two to one, against the assailants of Alvaro, who were surprised at this unexpected attack, and fought with double desperation to escape. The whole of Ronald's long-nourished love of tumult, his fiery spirit and inherent fierceness broke forth in this martial fray, and indeed he was put to his mettle. No fewer than three of the ruffians fell upon him pell mell, cutting and thrusting with their long blades, while they watched every opportunity to use the sharper stilettoes which armed their left hands. Ronald's regimental gorget saved him from one deadly thrust at his throat, and the thick folds of his plaid, where they crossed the iron plate of his left epaulette-strap, saved him from more than one downright blow. Sweeping his long claymore round him, with both his hands clenched in its basket hilt, he fought with the utmost energy, but only on the defensive, and was compelled to retire backwards step by step towards the quay of the Guadiana, where he must have been inevitably drowned or slain, but for the timely interference of a fourth sword, which mingling its strokes with theirs, struck the three Spanish blades to shivers. Two of the fellows immediately fled, and plunging into the river swam to the opposite bank; the third would have followed, but Ronald, grasping him by the throat, adroitly struck the poniard from his hand, and pinning him to the earth, placed his foot upon his neck. At the same moment Alister Macdonald passed his long claymore through the body of the fourth, who fell shrieking—"Santa Maria! O Dios! O Dios!" and almost instantly expired. The other two, who had been driven far off by the Spanish officer, now fled, and the brawl was ended.

"Hot work this, gentlemen," said Campbell, in his usual jocular tone. It was his sword which had intervened so opportunely between Ronald and destruction. "The fray has been bravely fought and gallantly finished. You have drawn your sword to-night for the first time, Stuart, and proved yourself a lad of the proper stuff. Keep your foot tight upon that growling scoundrel, and if he dares to stir, pin him to the pavement. This affair beats hollow my brawl at Grand Cairo, when we were in Egypt with Sir Ralph. By the by, what did the fray begin about?"

"I am sure I cannot say," replied Ronald, panting with his late exertion; "but for your prompt assistance, major, it might have ended otherwise. Alister, I am glad you have disposed of your opponent in so secure a manner,—yet his horrid death-cry rings strangely in my ears." A grim smile curled the handsome features of Macdonald, who wiped his sword in his tartan plaid, and jerked it into the sheath in silence.

"Senores—officiales, I thank you for the good service you have rendered me to-night," said the Spanish officer in good English, while he made a low obeisance, "and am happy that you have all escaped unharmed; but we must dispose of this remaining villain. Be pleased to stand aside, senor, that I may run him through the heart. A fair thrust from the blade of a noble cavaliero is too good a death for such a fellow."

"Sir, I should be sorry to thwart you in your pleasure, but have a little patience, pray," replied the major, laughing at the coolness of the don's request, and parrying with his stick a thrust made at the bravo, who lay prostrate under Ronald's foot. "As this fellow's skin is whole, he may be inclined to let you know his employer, or what all this row began about."

"Right, senor; I had forgotten that. Dog!" cried Don Alvaro, fiercely dashing his guitar into a thousand fragments on the head of the bravo, "tell me who employed your rascal hands against my person! You will not answer? Well, we must prove what materials your skin is made of. By Santiago! I will have it flayed off you with a red-hot sabre, if you do not confess! The tortures of the Inquisition will be as nothing to what I will inflict on your miserable body, if you are stubborn. Aid me, noble senors, in taking this wretch to the Convento de San Juan de Merida, in the Plaza: my troop is quartered there. 'Tis but a pistol-shot from here."

It was impossible to refuse. Don Alvaro tied tightly with his silk sash the hands of the captive, who was dragged without ceremony from street to street, to the entrance of a narrow dark alley leading to the convent of Saint John, the front of which looked towards the Plaza.

"Quien vive?" challenged the Spanish trooper on sentry with his carbine in the Gothic porch.

"España," returned the don, as they passed into the gloomy body of the building, in the vast extent of which their footsteps awoke a thousand echoes.

"Ho! there, saryentos y soldados!" cried Alvaro. "Pedro Gomez, a light—a light! Rouse,—do you hear me?"

A strange bustle immediately rose around them, and a sargento appeared bearing a lamp, the light of which revealed his brown uniform, and browner features. They found themselves in the chapel of the convent, and the red glare of the blazing lamp was cast on its fluted columns, groined arches, and Gothic ornaments, giving a wild and romantic appearance to the scene, which was heightened by the presence of Don Alvaro's troop. About sixty fine Spanish steeds, with flowing tails and manes, stood ranged on each side of the nave of the building, saddled and bridled, bearing the carbines, holsters, and valises of their riders, who, muffled in their long brown cloaks, with their swords and helmets beside them, were sleeping among the horse-litter, or looking up surprised at the interruption. Every man lay beside his horse, and their tall lances were reared against the shafted pillars, from which military accoutrements, curry-combs, horse-brushes, &c. were suspended from the necks of angels and other effigies that adorned them.

"Pedro Gomez, raise the light," said Alvaro, "and let us see the face of this fellow, who to-night raised his hand against the life of your captain."

"Dios mio!" cried Pedro, placing the lamp within an inch of the prisoner's nose.

"The villain Narvaez, by heavens!" exclaimed Ronald, recoiling at the expression of indescribable hatred and ferocity legible in the ruffian's countenance, while his eyes shone with the sparkle of a demon's as the sullen glare of the lamp fell on their black balls.

"How d'ye do, Senor Cifuentes? Speak up, man. You are the very prince of rascals!" said the major, giving him a prod in the stomach with his stick.

"What!" exclaimed Macdonald, scrutinizing him with disgust and curiosity, "is this the fellow you told us about? the keeper of the wine-house at Albuquerque?"

"Ay, the same," answered Ronald; "a wretch who slew in cold blood the French officers. But he shall not escape us now."

"If I should, you shall live to repent it,—you shall, by the holy mother of God!" said the bold ruffian with a scornful smile.

A few words made Don Alvaro acquainted with the story of Narvaez.

"Fellow!" said he sternly, "I might almost forgive you the slaughter of the four Frenchmen,—I wish, however, that it had been done less treacherously; but for this attempt on my own life you shall hang, and that instantly, by San Juan of Merida! as a warning to all low-born knaves to beware ere they draw their weapons on a noble hidalgo. Diego de la Zarza, Pedro Gomez! bring hither a horse-halter, some of you," cried he to the astonished troopers who crowded round. "Run this fellow up to the roof. Santos! do you hear?"

He had scarcely spoken before Pedro Gomez cast his horse's halter over the neck of a gigantic stone angel, whose extended wings, carved on a corbelled stone, supported one of the oak beams of the roof, and prepared with ready hands a noose with a slip-knot to encircle the neck of Narvaez, who beheld these summary preparations with considerable trepidation; and he would soon have swung a corse, but for the interference of the three British officers, who, natives of a clime where the passions are less violent than in Spain, revolted at the idea of so sudden an execution.

"Stay, Don Alvaro, and put off his exit until to-morrow," said Campbell. "I do not admire such quick dispatch, although I have seen a Turk's head fly off like a thistle's top, when I was in Egypt with Sir Ralph."

"It would be losing time in the morning, as we march by day-break," replied the Don; "but worthless as the villain is, I may alter my decree if he gives me the name of his base employer."

"The husband of her whom you serenaded this night in the Calle de San Juan," answered Narvaez in a guttural tone.

"What! the guerilla chief, Don Salvador Xavier de Zagala?" cried Alvaro furiously, his eyes flashing tire. "Base coward! ignoble hidalgo! But my sword shall reach him ere long, if he is to be found on this side of the Pyrenees,—it shall, by the bones of the Cid! Your five rascal comrades were guerillas of his band, thought I knew the scarlet caps of the vagabonds."

"Noble cavalier! do not forget your promise," said Narvaez supplicatingly. "What is now your decree?"

"That you shall be shot in the morning instead of being hanged to-night! Sargento Gomez, see this carried into execution punctually, before the trumpets sound 'to horse,' as you value your life."

With all the indifference that he assumed at first, Cifuentes was a coward at heart, and piteous were the entreaties he made for mercy, and the promises he gave of reformation for the future, if the cavalier would spare his life; but they were unheeded. The dragoons thrust him into a narrow dormitory adjoining the chapel, and a sentinel, with his carbine loaded, was placed at the door.

"Send for the Padre, Alvarez; and let him make his peace with Heaven."

"Noble senor, it will be difficult to find the reverend Padre in his sober senses at this hour," replied Gomez.

"You are right, Pedro; he has no longer the Holy Inquisition, of terrible memory, to scare him from his cups. This fellow may die easily enough, without the help of Latin. Should he make the slightest attempt to escape, remember, Diego de la Zarza, to shoot him dead without fail. And now, senors, let us retire and leave my troopers to repose, as we must be all in our saddles at crow of the cock."

"What will be done with the fellow who lies dead in the street?" asked Ronald, as they stumbled down the dark alley leading from the convent.

"What could we do with him, senor?" replied the don with surprise. "The carcase will be found in the morning, and the finder will bury it for the sake of the clothes, perhaps. To find a man stabbed in the street is no marvellous matter in our Spanish towns. You saw how little notice the clash of our swords attracted: scarcely a window opened, and no person approached. We take these affairs coolly here, senor."

"So it seems, Don Alvaro," said the major. "But there is the clock of the town-house striking the hour of eleven, and we have a weary route before us in the morning; so the sooner we seek some place to roost in the better. I left Colonel Cameron and the rest of ours preparing for repose, under the bieldy side of a granite craig,—but I fear you don't understand me,—at the confounded bivouac yonder; and the sooner we join them, the longer rest we shall have."

"You shall have no bivouacking to-night, senors. One gets quite enough of it in these times; and when a good billet comes in the way, it should be accepted. I reside in Merida; my family mansion is at the corner of the Plaza: you shall pass the night with me there. My sister, Donna Catalina, will be most happy to entertain the preservers of her brother,—three cavaliers who draw their swords for the freedom of Spain."

"Certainly, Don Alvaro, we should be sorry to slight your offer," said the major. "A comfortable quarter is a scarce matter in Spain just now; and if Donna Catalina will not be incommoded by three soldados billeting themselves upon her mansion without notice, we are very much at your service. When I was in Egypt in 1801, I remember an adventure just such as—"

"Take care of the curb, major," cried Ronald as the bulky field-officer tripped against the side of the pavement.

"Just such as this. We were quartered at—"

"Grand Cairo," interrupted Ronald ruthlessly, for he disliked the repetition of long stories, which was a failing of the worthy major's, who lugged in Egypt and Sir Ralph Abercrombie on all occasions. "Ay, I remember the story, and a capital one it is! But here is Don Alvaro's house."

As he spoke, they halted before a large mansion, ornamented with lofty columns and broad balconies, upon which the tall windows opened: through the curtains bright rays of light streamed into the dark street. Alvaro applied his hand to the large knocker hanging on the entrance door, which appeared more like the portal of a prison than that of an hidalgo's residence, being low, arched, and studded with iron nails.

"Quien es?" said a voice within.

"Gente de paz!" replied Alvaro, while the light from the passage flashed through a little panel which was drawn aside, and through which they were cautiously scrutinized.

The door was immediately opened by an aged and wrinkled female servant, whose bright black eyes contrasted strangely with her skin, which was shrivelled and yellow as an old drum-head. Old Dame Agnes, lamp in hand, led them along a passage, up a broad wooden staircase, and into a noble and spacious apartment, which displayed the usual combination of elegance and discomfort, so common in the houses of Spanish nobles. The ceiling presented beautifully painted panels, and a gorgeous cornice of gilt stucco, supported by pilasters of the Corinthian order; while the floor from which they rose was composed of large square red tiles. Four large casements looked towards the Plaza; they were glazed with glass,—a luxury in Spain, but their shutters were rough deal boards, which were barely concealed by the rich white curtains overhanging them: the furniture was oak,—massive, clumsy, and old as the days of Don Quixote. Upon the panels of the ceiling, the bases of the pillars, and other places, appeared the blazonry of coats armorial, displaying the alliances of the family of Villa Franca.

On the table, beside a guitar, castanets, music books, &c., stood a large silver candelabrum, bearing four tall candles, the flames of which flickered in the currents of air flowing through many a chink and cranny, as if to remind the three British officers that it was at home only that true comfort was to be found. Heat was diffused through the room by means of a pan of glowing charcoal placed in the centre of the floor, and a lady, who sat with her feet resting upon it in the Spanish manner, rose at their entrance.

CHAPTER IX.

DONNA CATALINA.

"Down from her head the long fair tresses flow,

And sport with lovely negligence below.

The waving ribands, which her buskins tie,

Her snowy skin with waving purple dye;

As crimson veils, in palaces displayed,

To the white marble lend a blushing shade."

Ovid's Metamorphoses.

As she stood erect, her velvet mantilla fell from her white shoulders, displaying a round and exquisitely moulded form, tall and full, yet light and graceful. The noble contour of her head, and the delicate outline of her features, were shown by the removal of her black lace veil, which she threw back, permitting it to hang sweeping down behind, giving her that stately and dignified air so common to the Spanish ladies, but of which our own are so deficient, owing, probably, to the extreme stiffness of their head-dress. Her skin was fair, exceedingly so for a Spaniard; but the glossy curls of the deepest black falling on her neck, rendered it yet more so by contrast. Her crimson lips and the fine form of her nostrils, her white transparent brow and full dark eyes, shining with inexpressible brilliance, struck the three Scots mute with surprise,—almost with awe. So showy a beauty had not met their gaze since their departure from Edinburgh, and even Ronald, while keeping his hand within the breast of his coat upon the miniature of Alice, felt his heart beneath it strangely moved at the sight of the fair Spaniard.

"Don Alvaro, I think you might have spent with me the only night you have been in Merida for this year past," said the young lady, pouting prettily.

"Nay, my dear Catalina, you must not receive us thus," replied her brother in Spanish, her knowledge of English being very slight. "Allow me to introduce three British officers, to whom I am indebted for the preservation of my life, which six bravoes, employed by old Salvador de Zagala put in imminent peril to-night."

"Ah! you have been at your old affair,—you have been visiting the Calle de San Juan. How often have I warned you! Well, and the bravoes?"

"One has been sent to purgatory to-night, and another shall be sent somewhere else by daybreak." On Catalina hearing the story, she thanked, in broken English, but in a voice of thrilling earnestness, the three wearied soldados, who had seated themselves on the large old-fashioned chairs, the crimson leather and gilding of which showed them to be the work of the previous century.

"You must excuse, senors," said Catalina, "the very poor fare I have to present you with. The French ladrones carried off almost every thing with them this morning, and Merida will not soon forget their visit."

"Our fare, thanks to the lazy commissariat department, has been so hard of late, that almost any thing will pass muster with us," replied Ronald; "but here are dishes enough for a whole troop." While he spoke, the oak table was laid in a twinkling with a variety of covers; of which they could scarcely taste any, owing to the garlic and olive oil with which the Spaniards, as well as the Portuguese, always season and cook up their victuals.

"You do not seem to relish the pigeon, senor mio," said Donna Catalina to the major, who was making wry faces at every mouthful he took. "Try the piece of cold roasted meat on the cover near you."

"I thank you," answered Campbell, helping himself largely. "It would be excellent to my taste, was it not for the olive oil and spices, not used in our country, with which it is seasoned."

A hash and ragout were likewise attempted, but in vain; the garlic with which they were dressed rendered it impossible for the three strangers to taste them, but it was equally impossible to be displeased: the polite apologies and regrets of the cavalier, and the condescending sweetness of his beautiful sister, made ample amends. But the three hungry Scots were very well pleased to see the first course replaced by the second, which consisted of white Spanish bread of the purest flour, dried grapes, and several large crystal jugs of the purple country wine, sherry, and Malaga.

"You British are rather more fastidious than our Portuguese friends and allies," said Alvaro laughing. "The last time the 6th Caçadores lay quartered here, they left not a single cat uneaten,—a loss still remembered with peculiar animosity by the housewives of Merida. The Portuguese are not over nice in any thing, certainly, and we have a proverb among us, 'that a bad Spaniard makes a good Portuguese.'"

"Sir, when I am sharp-set, I am not very apt to be particular myself," replied Campbell. "When I was in Egypt with Sir Ralph, on one occasion I ate a very juicy steak cut from a horse's flank, and fried in a camp-kettle lid. We were starving for want of rations, senor; and, I dare say, even the holy camel on its way to Mecca, had it passed our route, would have been gobbled up, hump and all."

Ronald, who had hitherto sat almost silent, began to dread a long Egyptian story from the major; but this fear was removed by Don Alvaro's filling up his horn, and drinking to the health of Lord Wellington and the British forces,—the deliverers of Spain and Ferdinand the Seventh.

After this complimentary toast had been duly honoured, "A bumper, gentlemen!" exclaimed the major; "fill up your glasses—regular brimmers, and they must be drunk off with true Highland honours. A la libertad de España! hurrah!" and, springing up erect with native agility, the three Scots, placing their left feet on their seats and their right on the table, (a movement which considerably surprised the grave don and his sister, who trembled for her crimson chairs), they flourished their glasses aloft, and drank to the toast with what are called Highland honours.

"Viva! viva!" cried the cavalier, in applause of the sentiment, though rather puzzled at the mode of proclaiming it.

They drank to their fair hostess, and to all sorts of gallant and martial toasts; and, as the wine-horns were filled and emptied again and again, they grew more merry, the national gravity of the don disappearing gradually as their conviviality increased. He laughed and sung with the frankness of a soldier, and trolled forth more than once the "Song of five hundred Horse," a Spanish military carol. At Ronald's request, Catalina took her guitar from the back of her chair where it hung, and, without requiring the entreaties necessary to obtain the same favour from a British lady, the frank girl sung with a coquettish air, which peculiarly became her, "My Mother wants no Soldiers here," a song well known in Spain at the time our troops were campaigning there.

"She seems bent on making a conquest of you, Alister," whispered Ronald.

"Of yourself, rather," retorted the other coldly. Indeed Macdonald had said but little all night; his mind was continually wandering to the recent fray, and the remembrance that he had for the first time slain a fellow-being,—a reflection which troubled him very little, truly, a few weeks afterwards, when he had become used to that sort of work. "Of yourself rather, Stuart. Her eyes are ever on you, and—"

"Hush! she hears us," replied the other hurriedly, his cheek reddening, yet more with mental shame than anger. "O Alice Lisle!" thought he, "this Spaniard, beautiful as she is, cannot surely be teaching me to forget you so soon. Her eyes are blacker than those of Alice, certainly, but they are less soft and feminine,—less gentle in expression; yet—" Here he was interrupted by the loud and sonorous voice of Campbell, who, at the request of Catalina, was commencing a song.

Ronald was rapidly becoming so confused with the effects of the wine he had taken, that he knew not whether it was Alice Lisle or Donna Catalina who sat beside him; but having a vague idea that it was some beautiful female, before the major's song was ended he was making downright love, which the lady took in very good humour.

Campbell's song, the

"Piobracht au Donuil-dhu,"

although it roused the hearts of his countrymen by its martial and forcible language, was listened to with a grave and pleasant smile by Don Alvaro, who of course comprehended not one word of the ditty, which in his ears sounded as a most barbarous jargon, and might have been a Moorish battle song for aught that he knew to the contrary.

The retiring of Donna Catalina did not put an end to the carousal; and, as they had to leave Merida an hour before day-break, they betook themselves to rest, (after every jug of wine had been discussed,) on the chairs, as it was useless to go to bed for an hour or two only. The short time they passed in slumber flew quickly, and they were soon roused by the din of the flying-artillery guns, as they swept over the causewayed streets, driven at a hard trot towards the bridge of Merida.

"Caramba! Rouse, senors," cried Alvaro, who was the first to awake.

"Carajo! Ay, there go the field-pieces: old Rowland's in his saddle already," muttered the major, scrambling up from the floor on which he had rolled in the night time, and placing his large bonnet on the wrong way, permitting the long feathers to stream down his back. "Rouse, gentlemen! Up and be doing, sirs, or we shall be missed from our posts. Old Mahoud take the rule for marching before day-break! Sir Ralph never made us do so in Egypt, and we gained laurels there, gentlemen—I say we did. This infernal bonnet! 'tis always falling off."

"I wish to Heaven I could sleep an hour longer!" said Ronald. "I have scarcely had three hours' sleep this week past."

"Our brigade never sleep, gentlemen," cried Campbell, who was still a little inebriated, "never! We march all night, and fight all day: we used to reverse the matter in Egypt. But what have we here? Peter Forbes—or what is your name, what's the matter? Are Dombrouski's dragoons among ye?"

"Ave Maria! O Dios mio! O Senor Don Alvaro!" cried Sargento Pedro Gomez, appearing at the entrance of the room with a lamp in his hand; "we have had the devil among us last night!"

"How so, fellow? What has happened?"

"The bravo has escaped—"

"How! Diavolo, escaped?"

"Ay, noble senor, and carried off the carbine of poor Diego de la Zarza, whom we found lying within the chamber with his throat cut from ear to ear."

The cavalier ground his teeth with absolute fury, while his olive cheek grew black with rising passion.

"Santos! Santissimus!" cried he; "would to San Juan, and all the calendar, I had hanged him last night! My brave Diego—but he must have slept; if so, he deserves his fate. Well, there is no help for this matter; we will give Narvaez Cifuentes a short prayer and a long stab the next time we meet, and that without delay. But we must be off; the cavalry advance-guard, and part of the artillery, have already passed. Let the trompetero sound 'to horse;' and hasten, Pedro, and get the troop into their saddles. Though we belong to the division of Murillo, we will cross the bridge with you to-day, senors, and strike a blow for honour. Viva Eapaña y buena Esperanza! 'Tis a better war-shout than the Vive l'Empereur of the followers of the perfidious Buonaparte."

"There are the drums of our brigade," said Ronald Stuart; "and should we be missed by Fassifern, the excellency of Don Alvaro's purple Malaga and sherry, or even the smiles of Donna Catalina herself, would form but a poor excuse for lingering. Hark! the generale."

"You improve in the art of gallantry," observed Macdonald; "you could not have turned such fine speeches the morning we halted in the Black Horse-square, at Lisbon. But I regret that we must march without bidding adieu to our fair patrona."

"Forward, cavaliers; Catalina will excuse our departing without bidding her farewell. Down the stair-case to the left, senors," cried Alvaro. "Pedro Gomez, knave,—light the way!" and they pressed forward into the street, feeling the chill air of the morning blow strangely on their faces, while their heads swam with the fumes of the wine taken so lately.

"It will be long ere I forget the night we spent in Merida," said Macdonald.

"And long ere I do so, truly," replied Stuart, casting his eyes vacantly over the dark windows of the mansion of Villa Franca.

"Ah!—Donna Catalina; are you looking for her?"

"Such strange scenes of fray and other matters! Had such a row occurred at home, all Britain would have rung with it, from Dover to Cape Wrath; but here it is as nothing."

"Hark! what is that, Stuart?"

"A cry,—by Heaven, a most appalling one!" A loud shriek arose from amid the darkness in which the Plaza was involved. They hastened to that part of the square from whence it appeared to issue, and found that the conflict in which they had borne so conspicuous a part was not the only outrage committed that night in Merida. They discovered a young Portuguese lad, the private servant of Lieutenant-colonel Macdonald of the Gordon Highlanders, lying dead under the piazzas, stabbed to the heart with a long stiletto or knife, and the assassin was never discovered.

For some hours the dark streets of the city rang to the measured tramp of marching soldiers, the clatter of accoutrements, the clang of hoofs, and the rumble of heavy wheels, as artillery, cavalry, and infantry moved rapidly forward; but by sunrise the whole division had crossed the bridge, and on the opposite side of the river pursued their route towards Almendralejo.

"Colonel Cameron!" cried old W——, the brigade-major, cantering up to the head of the column; "Major-general Howard requests that you will increase your front. It is Sir Rowland's order."

"Form sub-divisions!" cried Fassifern, in the loud and manly tone of authority which so well became him. "Rear sections, left oblique—double quick!" The order was obeyed along the whole column by each regiment in succession. Their fine brass bands filled the air with martial music, causing every heart to vibrate to the sharp sound of the soul-stirring trumpet, the cymbals, and trombone. The horses shook their manes,—their riders sat more erect; the waving colours were flung forward on the breeze above the steel ridges of glittering bayonets, and the brave hearts of those who marched beneath them grew light and animated at the prospect of a brush with the enemy. Their starving condition, their faded uniform, the discomfort of the last night's bivouac, were forgotten,—all was military, gay and exciting to the utmost, filling every bosom with the pride of the profession and the fervent "glow of chivalry." Sir Rowland Hill, with his staff, viewed from a little eminence the whole length of the column of that division of the army under his command, as they passed, and a pleasing smile animated the benevolent features of the bluff old general, when he beheld the willingness with which the foot-sore and almost shoe-less soldiers pressed forward, although they had endured all that could render troops, less persevering and disciplined, less hardy and less brave, mutinous.

Toilsome forced marches—shelterless bivouacs, starvation, receiving no provisions sometimes for three consecutive days,—no clothing, and almost ever in arrears of pay—on one occasion for six months,—nothing but the hope of a change, and the redoubtable spirit which animated them, could have supported the British soldiers under the accumulation of miseries suffered by them in the Peninsula,—miseries which were lessened to the French troops, by their living at free quarters wherever they went.

These things, however, were forgotten for the present time, and with others Ronald Stuart felt all the ardour which the display before him and the fineness of the morning were calculated to inspire. The bright sun shone from an unclouded sky, filling the clear blue vault with warmth; the birds were chirping and hopping merrily among the dewy branches of the olive thickets and dark laurel bushes overhanging the broad path, the deep dingles on each side of which echoed to the notes of the sounding music.

Ronald looked back to the flat-roofed mansions and Roman ruins of Merida, on the grey walls of which, casting bold shadows, streamed the full splendour of the morning sun. The cavalry rearguard were slowly crossing the ancient bridge, and with the red coats came the brown uniform of Spain: it was the troop of Don Alvaro advancing, with their polished helmets and tall lances flashing in the sun, and finding a sparkling reflection in the deep blue current of the Guadiana below.

Ronald carried for the first time the regimental colour, which bore evident marks of service, being pierced in many places by musket-shot. It was a laborious affair to sustain, especially during a breeze, being large, and of rich yellow silk, fringed round with bullion. The sphinx,—the badge of Egypt, (the pride of the major's heart,) surrounded by a wreath of the brave old thistle, and the honourable mottoes 'Egmont-op-Zee,' 'Mandora,' and 'Bergen-op-Zoom,'[*] all sewn, as usual, by fair hands, and done in massive gold embroidery, appeared in the centre of the standard, which the Duchess of Gordon had presented to the clan-regiment of her son.

[*] Such, with many additions, are still the badges of the Gordon Highlanders. For the information of unmilitary readers I may state, that every corps has two colours,—a king's and regimental; the first carried by the senior, and the latter by the junior ensign.

"Stuart, I see you are casting longing looks back to Merida," said Alister in his usual jesting manner, as he marched by Ronald's side with the gaudy king's colour sloped on his shoulder. "There is some attraction in our rear, I perceive; you are ever looking that way."

"Ay, yonder comes Don Alvaro and his troop of lances; how gallant they appear! But they are almost hidden in the dust raised by the rear of the column."

"Look above the colours of the 71st, and you will see the roof which contains the fair Catalina; it was for that you were searching so narrowly. I can read your thoughts, you see, without being a conjuror. Stuart, my boy, you are very green in these matters, otherwise you would not blush as scarlet as your coat, which, by the by, is rapidly becoming purple."

"What stuff you talk, Macdonald! What is Catalina to me?"

"Pshaw! now you need not bristle up so fiercely. Were you not making downright love to her last night? And the don himself would have seen it, but had drunk too much Malaga."

"Impossible, Alister! You must dream, or this is some of your usual nonsense. I have no recollection of speaking to Donna Catalina otherwise than I would have done to any lady,—and Campbell heard me."

"The major had over much sherry under his belt, and made too much noise about Egypt,—the pyramids,—Pompey's pillar,—the battle of Alexandria, and Heaven knows all what, to hear any one speaking but himself. We spent the night in glorious style, however; but the taste of that horrible garlic——Heavens above! what is this?"

Alister's sudden exclamation was not given without sufficient reason.

A carbine flashed from among the dark evergreens which overhung the road, and Ronald Stuart, staggering backwards, fell prostrate and bleeding at the feet of his comrades, from whom burst a wild shout of rage and surprise; but the strictness of British discipline prevented any man from moving in search of the assassin.

"Hell's fury!" cried Colonel Cameron, spurring his horse to the spot, while his eyes shot fire. "Search the bushes; forward, men! Do not fire, in case of alarming the rear of the column; but fix bayonets,—slay, hew, and cut to pieces whoever you find."

With mingled curses and shouts a hundred Highlanders dashed through the thicket; but their heavy knapsacks and the tall plumes of their bonnets impeded their movements in piercing the twisted and tangled branches of the thickly-leaved laurels. They searched the grove through and through, beating the bushes in every direction; but no trace of the assassin was found, save a broad-brimmed sombrero bearing the figure of the Virgin stamped in pewter, fastened to the band encircling it, which Alister Macdonald found near a gigantic laurel bush, in the midst of the umbrageous branches of which its owner lurked unseen.

"It is the hat of Cifuentes,—the vagabond of our last night's adventure," said Alister, hewing a passage through the bushes with his sword, and regaining the regiment.

"I would you had brought his head rather. O that it was within the reach of my trusty stick! I would scorn to wet Andrea with his base blood." A frown of rage contracted the broad brow of Campbell while he spoke, holding in one hand a steel Highland pistol, which he had drawn from his holsters for the purpose of executing dire vengeance had opportunity offered.