THE ROMANCE OF WAR, VOLUME 3 (continued 2)

In this dilemma the bustle and commotion were increased by the arrival of a pompous old alcalde, who dwelt opposite, and Senor Rubio, the notary, with six alguazils, who were for arresting Ronald on the instant; but, laying his hand on the hilt of his dirk, he vowed to run through the heart the first who laid a finger upon him; upon which the limbs of the law, recoiling, began to handle the locks of their heavy trabucos, and more blood would probably have been shed had not the alcalde interfered.

This magistrate, whose person and authority the duke had always treated with contempt, was very glad to have opportunity of affronting him; and assuming as much consequence as he could, he administered an oath to Ronald in the Spanish manner, by swearing him across his sword and dirk, and then desiring him to relate what he knew of this matter,—and word for word his relation was committed to writing by the keen-eyed and sharp-visaged little notary. Englishmen might have doubted the relation; but in Spain the words of an honourable cavalier are not to be questioned, and the account proving satisfactory to the alcalde, in so far as concerned Ronald Stuart, he was permitted to retire; while Senor Rubio, and the six men with blunderbusses, were sent off in pursuit of the condé, whom they discovered on his knees before the very shrine he had made the subject of his jests an hour before. Three days afterwards he was tried by a general court-martial, composed of Spanish officers,—the General de Costa being president. Every man supposed his death to be certain; but he was, strange to say, acquitted. Yet life was no boon to poor Truxillo, who, being continually haunted by the miserable death of his brother, became reckless of existence, and by throwing himself madly in the way of danger, endeavoured to perish in expiation of the crime he had committed in the blindness of his rage and jealousy.

This occurrence appeared for the present to be a death-blow to the hopes of Louis Lisle. On the following day the duke quitted Aranjuez with his family, retiring suddenly no one knew whither. He was so much enraged against Olivia, who indeed was not to blame, that he threatened to disgrace her for ever, by incarcerating her in the Monasterio de los Arrepentidas[*] of Seville, but the tears and entreaties of Donna Virginia made him change his intention: the sisters were separated, and for ever. Olivia was sent off to Galicia, and confined in a solitary convent among the wild ridges of the Sierra de Mondonedo, where, if living, she probably still resides.

[*] A place of confinement for ladies who misbehave.

CHAPTER III.

THE SKIRMISH OF FUENTE DUENNA. THE LEAGUER OF ALBA DE TORMES.

"Comrades, should it please high Heaven

That we see Castile once more,—

Though we now go forth as outcasts,

Sad, dishonoured, homeless, poor,—

We'll return with glory laden,

And the spoilings of the Moor."

The Cid.

About the middle of October the legions of Marshals Jourdan and Soult, having formed a junction, advanced, under the command of the latter, fifty thousand strong, from Valencia on Madrid, and in a short time arrived within a few leagues of Aranjuez. Combining his forces with those of Generals Elio and Freire, and with the Spaniards of Don Carlos de Espagna, Sir Rowland Hill, at the head of forty thousand well-tried soldiers, moved to meet them, commencing his march from Aranjuez on the 23rd of October. Many a sorrowful farewell was said that morning, and many a bright eye grew dim as the retiring sound of the British drums died away among the windings of the Tagus. Crossing the latter, immediately below the walls of the palace, the division marched to Colmenare de Orijo, a town of Toledo. Here different brigades were posted at the several fords of the Tagus, by which Soult's infantry might attempt to pass. That at Fuente Duenna fell to the lot of the first brigade. On the second day after their bivouacking there, a party of the enemy's cavalry were seen approaching the river, either to cross or reconnoitre. The light company of the Gordon Highlanders, and Captain Blacier's company of the German rifles, were ordered to receive them at the ford. Unluckily for himself, Lisle accompanied "the light bobs" on this occasion as a volunteer, in place of an officer who was sick. Seaton commanded the whole, and he placed the companies in ambush among some laurel-bushes, willows, and long reeds which grew by the water-side, overlooking the place where the dragoons must cross if such was their intention. The Highlanders knelt down on the right knee, but the Germans, who were posted among the reeds, lay flat on the ground, and levelled their short rifles over the glazed tops of their shakoes, which they placed before them. All were ready to let fly a volley among the unsuspecting Frenchmen, who came forward at a gallop with their carbines unslung. The party consisted of nearly eighty heavy dragoons. An officer of cuirassiers and two others in staff uniform accompanied them. They drew their bridles at the brink of the river, and from his place of concealment Stuart recognised his friend De Mesmai in the cuirassier; and in one of the staff officers Monsieur Law, the Baron de Clappourknuis, in the other their late host at Aranjuez, the Duke of Alba de T——.

"Stuart," whispered Lisle, "is it possible, that the officer without the epaulets is really the duke?"

"Without doubt 'tis he."

"How base and treacherous!"

"He will receive the reward of his treason instantly. It has always been whispered that he was false to King Ferdinand and his allies. A base wretch! to join the invaders of Spain when so many brave men are struggling with heart and hand to free her from the grasp of the Buonapartes. Evan, bring that officer down. Mark him when the word is given to fire."

"Were he as fause as Menteith, an ounce o' cauld leed will settle him," replied Evan, blowing some loose powder from his lock. "I'll tak' him canny, and wing him aucht inches below the oxter,—that's just in the belt."

"No, no, for God's sake!" whispered Louis to Stuart. "He is the father of Virginia de Alba, and were he as false as Judas that would save him."

"Hush!" whispered Seaton, in the same low tone; "they are conversing, and I should be glad to hear the news from Valencia."

"Monsieur le Duc will perhaps be so good as to inform us whereabouts this infernal bridge of Fuente Duenna lies?" said De Mesmai.

"Ah!" chimed in the baron, in Spanish, "this is the place marked by the marshal in his map."

"The bridge lies lower down the river," replied the duke; "but there is a ford in this neighbourhood, which I will have the honour to show you, senores."

"Do so, in the devil's name!" replied De Mesmai hastily, while he surveyed the duke with an expression on his dark face which showed how much he despised such an auxiliary, notwithstanding his rank. "We have ridden quite far enough to see this ford, and when you have shown it to the baron, I will condescend to thank you."

"De Mesmai!" said the baron, holding up his hand warningly.

"Bah! Monsieur le Baron,—I comprehend; the British may look for a visit in the morning, which will yield them more danger than delight. With your permission, Monsieur Law, after reconnoitring this ford we will retire as soon as possible, because I little like riding here in such open ground. These bushes opposite might contain a thousand riflemen, or some of your bare-legged brethren, than whom I would rather face the devil. I have provided a white stake to drive into the ground, which will mark the ford for Lamorciere's chasseurs, who lead the way in our attack on Hill's troops to-night."

"Colonel Lamorciere shall be welcome," said Seaton, as De Mesmai moved his horse along the bank of the river, chanting gaily an old rondeau beginning with,—

"Pauvres Anglais!

Vous n'avez que de l'arrogance,

Pauvres Anglais" &c. &c.

At that moment the Highland bugle-boy, who knelt by Beaton's side, sounded "fire!"

The bugle of the Germans answered on the left, and a deadly volley, which enveloped the whole place in smoke, was poured upon the French, nearly one half of whom fell from their saddles. Horses were seen galloping off in all directions, dragging their riders by the stirrup, or leaving them dead or dying on the ground. The traitor dashed his spurs into his horse's flanks and fled at full gallop, followed by the baron. But not so De Mesmai, whom this unexpected volley had filled with the utmost astonishment and ferocity, although it struck a temporary panic into the dragoons.

"Revenge! mes camarades. Follow me,—charge! By the name of the bomb! I will cleave to the gorget the first dastard who attempts to fly. Vive l'Empereur! Forward—charge!"

Animated by his example they crossed the ford at a gallop, dashing the water right and left; and forcing their horses up to the bank, even while exposed to a hot fire, they fell furiously with hoof and blade among the scattered Highlanders. It was a piece of unexampled daring for a few dragoons to cross a river thus, under a hot fire from concealed musquetry.

"Vive l'Empereur! No quarter to the Germans!" shouted De Mesmai, leaping his horse over the underwood.

"Form square!" cried the deep and manly voice of Seaton. "Rally—rally! Quick, Highlanders, or you will be cut to pieces! Close to the centre, Germans and all; blow 'the assembly,' bugler! Hurrah, my lads! Shoulder to shoulder, Highlandmen! and give them the bayonet." With the speed of thought a rallying square was formed. Blacier's Germans and the Highlanders mingled, the long cross-hilted daggers of the former acting efficiently as bayonets when fixed to the muzzles of their rifles. Ronald, while dressing, as it is technically termed, one of the faces of the square, narrowly escaped a cut aimed at him by a dragoon, who was instantly shot by Angus Mackie, a private next to him; and Seaton had the feathers of his bonnet sheered away by a stroke from De Mesmai's sword. But the cavalry seldom came within a pike's length of them; the stunted brushwood, the broken nature of the ground, and the prostrate men and horses encumbered their advance, while the steady fire of the little square disheartened and disconcerted them. After two brave attempts to break the band of infantry, De Mesmai was compelled to recross the ford, leaving sixty dragoons killed or wounded behind him. Notwithstanding the hasty nature of their retreat, the twenty who retired with him cut down and carried off several of the straggling riflemen, dragging them across their holster-flaps by main strength of arm. Some of these they were soon compelled to drop, when galled in retreat by the fire of the victorious light infantry, who again lined the bank, and kept blazing away so long as they were within range.

"Well done 60th!" exclaimed Seaton, as he mustered the companies together. "'Tis hard to say whether the green jackets or the tartan kilts have distinguished themselves most this morning. Lamorciere's chasseurs will have need of other guides than the dragoons, if they visit the ford to-night."

"Ech! Capitan Seetun, ve hab gibben dem der teufels braden for breakfast,—ech, ech!" replied Blacier, cramming a quantity of tobacco into the bowl of a huge pipe, which he had pulled from the mouth of a Serjeant and transferred to his own. "Someting more betterer dan wahr-sagen vill show dem de foord dis nicht,—de dragoons scarcely vill."

"No; I believe not, Blacier, my old boy! I shall recommend you to the notice of Sir Rowland in my account of this affair. You have long deserved the brevet."

"Der teufel hole dich! I tink so. Much obleege—much obleege to you."

The Germans had suffered a little in this skirmish, several having been sabred by the French; but only two Highlanders were killed, and these by carbine shots. Every where around the ground was strewed with helmets, holsters, sabres, carbines, and the bodies of men and of horses, rolling about in agony, or lying motionless and still in death. Sometimes a head, a boot and spur, or a gauntletted hand rose above the clear current of the Tagus, and then sunk for ever, as some wounded straggler was swept down by the stream. All the arms and accoutrements lying scattered about were, in conformity with the usual practice, dashed to pieces and completely destroyed by the victors.

"We have escaped easily in this affair," said Seaton, as he mustered his light company, "only a file of men killed; it might have been otherwise, had we formed square less promptly. You have done well, my gallant green feathers; you will get an extra ration of grog for this morning's work!" The Highlanders responded by a cheer.

"The Germans have lost many; they lie pretty thick by the water-side."

"Owing to their own want of alacrity in answering the bugle-call. Many of them have their heads cloven down, even through the thick shako."

"This will teach the survivors to be smarter in future. But where is Lisle?"

"Stuart, by all that is sacred he has fallen into the hands of the enemy!"

"He was close beside me at the moment the bugle sounded to form square, and I have not seen him since."

"I am afraid, sir, Mr. Lisle is either killed or taen awa' prisoner," said Serjeant Macrone, whose bare knee was streaming with blood, which he endeavoured to stanch by a piece of tartan rent from a plaid.

"I saw him stagger under the stroke of a sabre at the moment the dragoons broke frae the bushes amang us," observed another serjeant, advancing his pike.

"And has any man seen him since?" asked Stuart of the company breathlessly. Angus Mackie and several others replied that they had, but their statements differed so much, that it was impossible to come to any conclusion. One declared he had seen him killed "by a cloure on the croon, and that he never moved after it;" another stated that he slew the dragoon who wounded him, but all agreed that he had never gained the shelter of the rallying square. Evan Iverach declared, that "as sure as death he saw puir Maister Lisle grippit by the craigie, and dragged awa' by the officer of the cuirassiers." This last statement appeared the most probable, as no traces of poor Louis could be discovered on the ground save his sword and bonnet; and Stuart had a dim recollection of seeing a red uniform among the few prisoners whom De Mesmai's dragoons succeeded in carrying off amid the smoke and confusion.

From Villa Corrijos Ronald next day wrote to Alice, giving an account of her brother's capture in the skirmish at Fuente Duenna; and while he deplored the event, he said not a word of his fears that he was desperately wounded. He had very little doubt that he must have been so, otherwise De Mesmai, strong and muscular as he was, would have found it no easy task to carry off Louis in the singular manner he did.

Sir Rowland Hill, on discovering that King Joseph and Marshal Soult were manoeuvring to outflank him, prepared instantly to frustrate their intentions, and give them battle. Making forced marches by day and night at the head of the British, Spanish, and Portuguese troops he had collected together, he skilfully took up a strong position in front of Aranjuez, intending there to await the arrival of the enemy.

The troops passed the Puento Largo at midnight. A detachment of miners were making preparations to blow it up, and their red lights, burning under the ancient arches and twinkling on the sluggish waters of the Jacama, presented a singular appearance as the regiments marched above them towards the hills, where the position was taken before day-break. But no battle ensued. A despatch arrived from the Marquess of Wellington, saying that he had been forced temporarily to abandon the siege of Burgos, and order an immediate retreat into winter-quarters in Leon and Estremadura,—a sad and most unlooked-for reverse of fortune to the army, who had driven the enemy before them into Valencia and the northern provinces. Marching through the wide and fertile plains, in the midst of which rises Madrid, the second division commenced its retreat in obedience to this order. Passing close by the walls or earthen defences of the Spanish capital, they bivouacked at the distance of a league from it. There was no time to pitch tents, and the troops lay on the ground without them, exposed to all the misery of a most tempestuous night of wind and rain. Next night they were more comfortably lodged in the village and spacious palace of the Escurial. Ronald's light company were quartered in the royal chapel, a building which contains the tombs of all the Spanish monarchs, from Charles the Fifth down to the present age. Crossing the Guadarama, or sandy river, at a village of the same name, the great mountain was ascended, through which lies the famous Guadarama Pass, and from which an extensive view of the surrounding country is obtained.

The mountains were growing dark as the setting sun, enveloped in dun clouds, sank far behind them, and the effect of the scenery was considerably heightened by the march of so many thousand men,—cavalry, infantry, and artillery, up the winding pathway among the silent and solitary defiles, disappearing, section after section, with colours waving and arms glittering, down the deep pass of the Guadarama. Afar off on the plains of Madrid, leagues in their rear, clouds of dust rolling along the green landscape, marked where the pursuing squadrons and battalions of Soult followed the route of Sir Rowland with precision and rapidity.

On the 8th November, to cover the retreat of the whole army, and to stay Soult's advance, the first brigade was ordered to defend, to the last extremity, the town of Alba de Tormes, near the eastern borders of the ancient kingdom of Leon; a forlorn sort of duty, when it is remembered that so small a band were to oppose the concentrated French army, 90,000 strong, I believe. On being reinforced by General Hamilton's Portuguese brigade, and two companies of Spaniards under the Condé de Truxillo, every means were taken to render the place as strong as possible by erecting trenches and barricading the streets,—almost useless precautions, as the town, which lies low, is commanded by two adjacent heights. Its appearance, when the brigade entered it, was indeed miserable and desolate, having been completely deserted by the inhabitants, into whose hearts the retreat of the British and the advance of the French had stricken terror.

The soldiers had tasted nothing for thirty-six hours, and although drenched with rain, and wearied by a hard and forced march, had to remain under arms around the old and ruinous Moorish wall of Alba, during a very chill November night. About dawn, as no enemy had yet appeared, after guards had been posted, the troops were dismissed to take up their quarters in the dreary and empty houses, where every thing had been carried off or destroyed by the inhabitants before their flight. The drizzling rain which had fallen during the night had drenched them to the skin, but a dry article of clothing was not to be had, as the baggage was far away on the road to the rear. However, doors and shutters were torn down from the houses, and blazing fires kindled on the tiled floors, around which officers and soldiers crowded together without ceremony. Another day of starvation was before them,—untold gold could not have produced an ounce of flour in Alba. At night, by the great exertions of the commissary, some horse-beans were procured, and a handful given to every man; but early next morning some muleteers arrived from Corde Villar, bringing a few small bags of flour, which were received with wild demonstrations of thankfulness and joy by the starving brigade.

Every man who could bake was set to work, and the ovens were speedily filled with tommies, as the poor fellows designated their loaves, and expectant crowds, with eager eyes and hollow cheeks, stood waiting around the bake-house doors.

The hot and smoking bread was scarcely brought forth for equal distribution before the bugles sounded, and the distant reports of carbines announced that the enemy were coming on; and the picquet of the 9th light dragoons, posted in front of the town, had begun to retire before the heavy cavalry of Soult. "Stand to your arms!" was now the cry on all sides, and a scramble and uproar ensued among the soldiers at the ovens. The hot loaves were torn to pieces in handfuls and scattered about, and many who had fasted for eight-and-forty hours, (the repast of horse-beans excepted,) received nothing, while too much fell to the share of others.

Ronald was unfortunately among the former, as it was impossible for an officer to struggle for a mouthful of food among the men, and until that day he never knew what it was to experience the utmost extremity of hunger. But there was no help for it then; and venting a hearty malediction on the Duke of Dalmatia, he joined the light company, which lined a part of the Moorish wall facing the direction in which the enemy were momently expected to appear. The trenches, barricades, and other hastily-erected works were manned, and two hundred of the Highland light infantry were placed in the ancient castle of Alba, a lofty round tower built by the Moors. The rest of the troops, not engaged in lining the walls, occupied those streets which would protect them from the view and fire of the enemy; and General Howard ordered a part of the regiment of sappers to undermine the bridge over the Tormes, which at Alba is both deep and rapid, to the end that it might be blown up, to cut off the pursuit of the enemy when the British were compelled to abandon the town. The light dragoons, retiring through Alba, halted on the other side of the river to await the event, and immediately afterwards Soult's advance came in sight.

A company of infantry, the head of a column, appeared between the two hills which overlook Alba. They were beyond the range of musquetry, and halting there, they ordered arms and stood at ease. Shortly afterwards a staff-officer, wearing a glazed cocked-hat and green uniform, and mounted on a spotless white steed, descended at a trot towards the town, and with the most perfect coolness walked his horse slowly before the wall, which was lined by the 50th and Highlanders, riding within fifty yards of their musquets, a distance at which, had they fired, he must undoubtedly have been slain.

"A devilish cool fellow!" said Seaton. "He jogs easily along, looking every moment as if he expected a shot was coming to spoil his impertinent reconnoitring."

A murmur and cries of "Tak him doon! tak him doon! Gie him his kail through the reek," arose among the Highlanders, who began to look to their flints and priming.

"Weel would I like to gie that chield's pride a fa'!" said Angus Mackie, cocking his musquet. "The blind hauf hunder' surely ha'na seen him. Dearsake, Captain Seaton! just say the word,—will I fire?"

"Why,—I know no objection," said Seaton, looking inquiringly towards Cameron, who was standing on foot near an angle of the trench, with old Dugald Mhor beside him holding his charger by the bridle. "Colonel, some of my fellows are anxious to fire; shall I permit them? I have some deadly shots in the light company. Monsieur's reconnoissance will end the instant Angus fires upon him."

"Shame on you, Highlanders!" exclaimed Cameron, his eyes beginning to sparkle as usual when he was excited. "Would you fire on a solitary individual, who cannot return you a shot? He is a brave soldier although a rash one, and I will never permit such a deed to be done. Keep steady, men; you will have firing enough in a short time."

The light company were abashed, and the life of the Frenchman was saved,—a piece of generous clemency which Cameron soon had reason to repent. The staff-officer, continuing at the same deliberate pace, ascended one of the heights, where he was joined by an orderly on foot, who by his directions was seen to place eleven stones, equi-distant, around the summit. Descending past the head of the infantry column in the valley, he ascended the other eminence, and there the same movements were performed; after which they disappeared to the rear.

That French officer, who so narrowly escaped death, was MARSHAL SOULT,—the great Duke of Dalmatia himself, as one of his own despatches, which a few days afterwards fell into the hands of our troops, sufficiently testified.

Scarcely had he withdrawn, before twenty-two pieces of artillery, each drawn by four horses, ascended the heights at full gallop, and took their ground at the several marks which Marshal Soult had laid. In an instant the gunners leaped from their seats; the guns were wheeled round, with their yawning muzzles pointed to Alba; the horses were untraced, the limbers cast off, and with the speed of thought the cannoniers, all stout fellows, wearing high grenadier caps, grey great-coats with large red epaulets, were seen hard at work with sponge and rammer, charging home the cannon. Their active figures were seen more distinctly by the yellow light shed across the sky by the morning sun, the rays of which shone merrily on the glistening Tormes, the brown autumnal woods, the mouldering walls and desolate streets of Alba, where soon the work of death was to begin.

"Well, colonel," said Seaton, "what think you of this gay preparation? We shall have sixteen-pounders and long nines flying like hailstones in a minute more. You will scarcely rejoice at allowing the white steed to carry off its rider with a whole skin."

Cameron bit his lips, and his fiery eyes flashed; but he made no reply.

"Hech!" muttered an old Highlander; "it's a true sayin' at hame—Glum folk are no easy guided. Ta cornel's been makin' a fule o' hersel the day before the morn; hoomch!"

"Keep close under your walls and trenches, lads," cried Campbell, who was watching the heights through a telescope levelled across the saddle of his horse. "Keep close; but never duck down when a ball comes: as old Sir Ralph used to say, 'it looks d—ned unsoldierlike.' Here comes a shot."

A flash, and a wreath of white smoke, announced the first cannon-ball, which, striking the wall of a house, brought a mass of masonry tumbling into the street. Whiz came a second, and a third, and a fourth,—all in quick succession. The French cannonade commenced then in good earnest, and continued incessantly from ten in the morning until five in the afternoon,—firing thirteen hundred round of shot and shell, and perhaps to so hot a discharge of cannon so small a body of troops, in such a defenceless place, were never subjected before. Without the least intermission it continued for seven hours, and even then the enemy only ceased to cool their guns, and await the completion of a plan formed by Soult for surrounding and completely cutting off the defenders of Alba. It was a miracle that every man in the place was not destroyed; but the enemy chiefly expended their shot on a large empty convent, which they supposed to be full of soldiers, and in consequence levelled it to the foundations.

One sixteen-pounder came whizzing amongst the light company, and, striking the breast-work of loose earth, buried Seaton and a section of men under it; and a hearty laugh arose from the regiment, as they scrambled out of the trench, shaking off the soil and turf which had covered them up.

Although shot were crashing, shells bursting, and houses falling incessantly for seven consecutive hours, only about fifty Highlanders were killed. The loss of the other corps I have never ascertained, but the streets were every where strewed with the dead. Many of the wounds were beyond conception frightful, being all by cannon-shot or bomb-splinters, tearing absolutely to pieces those they struck, and shearing off legs and arms like withered reeds. Macildhui, a Serjeant, was killed as Ronald was delivering some orders to him. His head was carried away like an egg-shell, and his brains were spattered over the pavement. Night was closing, and the enemy's guns were still in position on the heights, from which another iron dose was expected in the morning, when an aide-de-camp from Salamanca, covered from plume to spur with dust, dashed into the town at full gallop, and informed General Howard that 3,000 French cavalry had forded the Tormes some miles above Alba, that his position was turned, and that the Marquess of Wellington desired he would abandon the town without a moment's delay, otherwise the first brigade were lost men. The order was instantly given to decamp, and the place was quitted double-quick, the troops moving through those streets which concealed their movements from Soult, and forming in close columns on the other side of the Tormes to be in readiness for the cavalry, should they make their appearance. To deceive the French marshal, the sentries were kept on the walls until the last moment; and Stuart, with ten light-company men, was sent to "bring them off."

"Farewell, senor!' cried Truxillo, waving his sabre to Ronald over the battlements of the ancient Moorish tower, which he had volunteered to defend to the last with his two companies of Castilians, to cover the retreat of Howard's and Hamilton's brigade.

"Adieu, gallant condé!" answered Ronald, as he passed beneath the walls with his party. It was the last time he ever beheld him. By the sound of his silver whistle he collected the Highland sentinels from all points. These, with Major-general Howard, Wemyss, the brigade-major, and Ronald himself, were the last men who quitted the ruins of Alba. The mounted officers rode at a trot, and the heavily laden infantry followed double-quick, with their musquets at the trail. The moment the bridge was cleared the sappers sprung the mine: a roar like that of thunder shook the current of the Tormes, and a cloud of dust and stones rose into the air. Ronald, who was severely bruised by the falling fragments, cast a glance behind as he hurried along. The bridge was a mass of ruins. The Spanish flag was waving from the round tower of Alba, which was now enveloped in smoke, and flashes of musquetry broke from it on all sides as the forlorn band of the condé opened a sharp fire from the rampart and loopholes upon a dense and dark column of French infantry, which was seen descending rapidly towards the town, with tri-colours flying, and brass drums beating in that peculiar manner by which the French regulate the quick step. After a desperate resistance, Truxillo and his Castilians were captured; but the sound of the firing was long heard by the brigade as it retreated in squares along the road for Ciudad Rodrigo, thus completely frustrating Soult's design to enclose and cut them off by his cavalry, who appeared in about half an hour, and met with so desperate a resistance that they were compelled to retire with immense loss.

That night the brigade halted on the skirts of a cork wood, five leagues distant from Alba de Tormes. The half-leafless branches afforded but a poor protection from the rain, which continued to pour without cessation until day-break, when the weary march was recommenced.

It was indeed a night of misery! Although worn out with fatigue and hunger, it was impossible to sleep on the wet ground, on which the rushing rain was descending in drops larger than peas; and almost equally impossible to stand, after what had been endured for some days past,—marching from dawn till sunset laden with seventy-five pounds weight, and fasting for six-and-thirty, or eight-and-forty consecutive hours. Cursing themselves and their fate, many of the soldiers were so disheartened at the retreat, and the miseries they had undergone since they left Aranjuez, that they were often heard aloud "wishing to Heaven their brains had been blown out in Alba!"

Ronald, being sent on out-picquet, lost even the slight shelter afforded by the wood; but the soldiers had lighted prodigious fires, upon which even the power of the rain was lost; and seated by one, he passed a sleepless night, listening to the rain-drops sputtering in the flames, and to the hoarse croaking of frogs in a neighbouring marsh. During the night it was discovered that the wood was the lair of wild pigs, and a regular hunt ensued; by which means scores were shot during the glimpses of moonlight. As fast as they were killed they were quartered, and served out to the men, who crowded round the fires, broiling them on their bayonets and long steel ramrods. Major Campbell, who was a keen sportsman, and had been accustomed to shoot by moonlight at home, exerted himself so well, that with his own hand he shot five, and brought them to the bivouac, where he threw them among the soldiers. The out-picquets had been puzzled to comprehend the meaning of the firing within the wood, and Ronald was agreeably surprised by his servant bringing him a slice of wild pork, famously fried in a camp-kettle lid, and with it a berengena (a fruit of the cucumber genus) which he had found in the wood and reserved for his master, although almost perishing for want of nourishment himself. But the instances of Evan's fidelity are innumerable.

The contents of the camp-kettle were shared between master and man, without ceremony, and without the absence of salt or other seasoning being perceived.

For this affair of pig-shooting in the cork wood, the commander-in-chief took the opportunity to tell the army, in a general order, that they had degenerated into "a lawless banditti," and that, without having suffered the least privation, they were in a state of mutiny and disorder. This taunting and bitter address is still remembered with peculiar annoyance by the few survivors of that brave army.

But, to return to the unhappy and unlooked-for retreat from Burgos, privations the troops did suffer, (and I say so, in defiance of that general order,) and privations such as soldiers never endured before or since. Continuing their rapid retreat across the frontier, on the evening of the 19th of November, the first brigade entered the miserable village of Robledo, in Leon; and as the soldiers halted and formed line in the street, pale, exhausted, wayworn, famished, and absolutely in rags,—shirtless, shoeless, and penniless, they seemed more like an assemblage of gaunt spectres than British men. Ronald's shirt had not been changed for ten days, nor had his beard been shaven for the same period. His shoes were completely worn away, and his bare feet had been cut and wounded by the flinty ground, while his uniform hung in fritters about him. Every officer was in the same predicament.

The military chest was empty, the stores exhausted. The cavalry and artillery horses perished in scores for want of forage; and during the whole retreat from Alba de Tormes to Robledo, the soldiers had fared on scanty rations of tough beef, horse-beans, acorns and castanos picked up by the way-side; or now and then, when the commissary could procure it, a few handfuls of wheat served out to each officer and private—unground. On reaching their winter-quarters thousands of soldiers died of sheer exhaustion, or were invalided and sent home, to become burdens to their friends, parishes, or themselves, for the remainder of their lives.

CHAPTER IV.

ANGUS MACKIE.

"The bud comes back to summer,

And the blossom to the tree;

But I win back—oh, never!

To my ain countrie.

I'm leal to the high heaven,

Which will be leal to me;

And there I'll meet ye a' sune,

Frae my ain countrie."

Scottish Song.

In the beginning of the next month the Highlanders were marched across the Sierra de Gate to the ancient city of Coria, in Estremadura, where they were to remain until they had recovered from their late fatigues, and received recruits, clothing, supplies, and arrears of pay from Lisbon. While on the march across the sierra, Evan's comrade, Angus Mackie, a soldier of whom I have made frequent mention, deserted from the light company, and, singularly enough, was discovered to have gone off in the direction of the enemy,—a circumstance which exasperated the whole regiment against him. But the true reason of poor Mackie's disappearance soon afterwards came to light.

On the second day after their arrival at Coria, the mail bags were brought from the rear, and Ronald, who was on guard with twenty Highlanders at one of the four gates of the city, was much annoyed at being unable to inquire if any letters had come for him, and he passed the whole day in a disagreeable state of expectation and excitement. In the evening the guards were relieved, and he hurried to his billet, which was situated in one of the narrow and gloomy streets leading from the market-place towards the cathedral. At the door he was met by Evan, who informed him that "twa letters frae hame were awaiting him in his room. Major Campbell had left them there some time before."

"Foolish! Why did you not bring them to the guard-house?"

"But alake, sir! there isna ane for me," said Evan, without minding the question. "My faither micht hae sent me ae screed, and I houp that naething waur than the broon coo—(as he ay ca'd the yill), or a wee drap ower muckle o' the barley bree, have keepit him fraed."

"A light, Evan! a light! this place is very dark," cried Ronald to his retainer, who had followed him up stairs to hear what news the letter contained.

"Twa candles, sir," said he, as he lighted them. "Twa, nae less. By the alcalde's order, the auld patron body has to furnish ye wi' twa,—which maks ye 'as braw as the Laird o' Grant.' Ye mind the auld saying, I daur say?"

Ronald snatched the letters, and beheld with joy and delight that one was from Alice,—the other from his father.

"Poor Louis!" muttered he aloud; "how much I wish that he was here!" Ronald was absolutely trembling with joy as he opened the letter and prepared to read it.

He drew his chair close to the table, and raised the snuffers to trim the candles; when, lo! the lights were both blown out, and the snuffers flew from his hand with a loud report.

"Gude guide us!" exclaimed Evan, astonished at being so suddenly involved in darkness; but a hearty malediction escaped Ronald, who was chafed and infuriated with the delay this unexpected circumstance caused.

"Light them again," cried he. "Did you say that Major Campbell had been waiting for me in this room?"

"Ay, sir, a gay gude while,"

"Pshaw! this is some trick of his: he has put a pinch of powder in the snuffers. His practical joke has been somewhat mis-timed. Get me fresh lights." Although Ronald laughed heartily at this occurrence afterwards, he was greatly enraged by it at the time, and an age seemed to elapse before Evan brought him the candles again. Love-letters are interesting to those only for whom they are designed, and it is not my intention to give Miss Lisle's letter at length; but the reader, if concerned about the matter, may be assured that its contents were in every way just what Ronald could have wished them,—save in one part. She expressed her joy to hear that Louis was a prisoner, saying that he was "safer in France than fighting in Spain," and that she almost wished that Ronald himself might be captured likewise, to keep him out of harm's way.

"Evan, Jessie Cavers begs again to be remembered to you," said Ronald to his expectant follower, as he closed the letter.

"Does she really, noo? The dear lassie!" cried he, snapping his fingers, while his eyes glistened with delight; and he commenced a sort of strathspey round the table. "My ain bonnie blithesome Jessie! Mony a gloaming I have spent wi' her among the sauch-tree woods o' Inchavon, and the haughs o' the Isla. Deil tak the wars and campaigning! How blithely would I gie this unco land o' teuch beef and rotten nuts, hard fechtin and wearysome marching, for auld Scotland, sae brave and sae bonnie, wi' its green grassy glens and high heather hills, its lochs and its woods! Ochone! Oh, Maister Ronald! gin we once mair saw Benmore, and fand the smell o' oor ain peat reek, I dinna think we would be in a hurry to leave hame again. And then Miss Lisle o' the big ha' house would be your ain, and my bonnie doo Jessie mine! I have written to her three times, and deil a scrap o' a letter has she sent me. She writes weil aneugh, thanks to the auld dominie at the schule o' Latheronweel. But what does the laird say? Are a' weil at oor ain ingle-neuck?"

"All, Heaven be thanked!" replied Ronald, glancing rapidly over the pages of his father's letter; "but leave me just now, Evan, and see who that is knocking in the piazzas below. I will detail the news from the glen afterwards."

His father's letter, although it contained many expressions of pride, praise, and exultation for Ronald's conduct at Almarez, was written much in the same style as his others usually were: every thing was looking gloomy at home; the flocks and hirsels were perishing on the mountains, and the tenants in the glen had failed in their rents. "But they are our people," continued the old gentleman, "and I cannot drive them forth from the sheilings where they were born, and from the glen where the purple heather blooms so bonnily above the graves of their fathers. I cannot savagely expatriate, as other proprietors are doing daily, the descendants of those true and loyal vassals, who stood by our ancestors in danger and death during many a soul-stirring time in the years that are gone. No! I have more honour, compassion, and generosity. Poverty is their misfortune, not their crime. Heaven knows how little a space of time remains for me to be over them, as all my affairs are inextricably involved, and in a few months that letter of cautionary, granted in an evil hour to protect that rascal Macquirk, becomes due. God alone knows where I can raise the money. £8,000 will scarcely pay it, and I believe I will have to lay it down every stiver, as Macquirk has retreated to the sanctuary of Holyrood-house for protection from his creditors. Last month I was down in Edinburgh, endeavouring to procure the needful on a bond,—but in vain. Lochisla is too deeply involved already. Curse on the hour in which an honourable Highland gentleman of birth and family has to sue at and succumb to a narrow-hearted and blood-sucking attorney! a wretch that will make a beggar of any man who is simple enough to trust him, or become entangled in the meshes of the profession, which, like a true old Highlander, I regard with proper hatred and contempt. D—n them all! I say, heartily; and all tax-gatherers, messengers at arms, and excisemen likewise! Some of the last kind of intruders carried off Alpin Oig's still from Coir nan Taischatrin, and a great noise was made in Perth about it. Three came up the glen with a warrant for his apprehension; but I hid him in the old dungeon under the hall, where I would advise them not to try and look for him, if they wish to keep their bones whole. It was a great insult to seize the still, but I am powerless now, and can only think with a sigh of the time when my father hung two of them on the dule tree at the tower gate,—and no man dared to say, What dost thou? It was the day before he marched for Glenfinnan, and the unfortunate gaugers were left to feed the eagles and corbies of Benmore. Scotland was Scotland then! Dirk and claymore! was the cry when a Highland gentleman was insulted. I saw, by the papers, that young Inchavon has been taken prisoner. Well, I dare say you will not miss him much. His sister's arts have completely failed to entrap the Earl of Hyndford. He took his departure suddenly for Edinburgh last month, leaving Miss Alice to fly her hawks at lesser game."

Ronald had scarcely finished the perusal of this disheartening letter, when Evan entered hastily. "Oh, sir," said he, "I have an unco' tale to tell ye aboot my comrade Angus,—puir cheild."

"How! has he been robbed by picaros,—slain by guerillas, or what?"

"O, waur than a' that."

"He deserted in the direction of the enemy; I was sorry to hear of it. He was always a favourite of mine and of Seaton's. Did he reach the French lines?"

"Eh, no, sir! Captain Blacier's riflemen fell in wi' him amang the hills, and there has been an unco' tulzie. But weel do I ken for what puir Angus deserted. It wasna the French he was awa to join; he was off for Almendralejo, sir."

"Almendralejo! Stay; I remember a story now. Surely it was not his attachment to some girl there which led him to commit so rash an act?"

"Just naething else. O Maister Ronald, ye ken weel what an unco' thing love is."

"I have seen the girl,—Maria Garcionados."

"Ay, sir,—a bonnie lassie, wi' een like slaes, cheeks redder than rowans, and skin like the drifted snaw; but she has been a dooms unlucky jo for Angus. I'll tell ye the haill story. Ye maun ken, sir, that mony months gane past, when we were quartered in Almendralejo, Angus fell over the lugs in love wi' this braw gilpie, whan we were billeted in her ain house. Ye heard frae Mr. Macdonald o' the toosle we had wi' her cuisins, and unco' auld Turk o' a faither. Hech! it was a teugh job, wi' sharp skenes and bayonets, and a' that. Weel, sir; syne the day Angus first tint sicht o' that lassie, he has never been the same rattling, roaring kind o' chield he was; but ay wae and dowie, soughing and sighing till it was gruesome to hear him. Yesterday, or the day before it, when coming ower the hills,—ye mind the bit clachan we stoppit at for a night's rest?"

"Los Cazas de Don Gomez?"

"Ay, sir, just sae,—a deevil o' a lang nebbit name! At a wine-house there Angus and I forgathered wi' a muleteer loon frae Almendralejo,—Lazaro Gomez, he ca'd himsel. Ye'll may be mind o' him?"

"Perfectly; but be quick with your story."

"Aweel, sir, the mule-driver gied us a' the news and clashin frae aboot Merida and ither places, and amang ither things tauld Angus that auld Sancho Garcionados,—or el Picaro, as the Spaniards ay ca' a lawyer, was gaun to compel the lassie, whether she wad or no, to marry a rich alcalde. Od, sir! I never saw a face change as puir Mackie's did, while the carrier callant chatted awa wi' us in his broken English, never kennin' the while that ilka word was fa'in' like scaudin' lead into the heart b' puir Angus. He came to me that nicht at tatto beat, and said he could thole this life no anither minute, and that—come weal, come wae, he would gang off for Almendralejo, and save the lassie or dee wi' her. I did a' I could to pacify him, but he minded me nae mair than the wind whistlin' ower the muir. He came to me whan I was on sentry at the toon end. His een were glistening, his face was white, like that o' something no cannie, and his gartered knees were chaffing thegither. I grew eerie to look at him, for the nicht was dark and gloomy, and the wind came soughing doon frae the hills wi' a sound like the moan o' a deid man. Ae starnie was glintin on the hill-tap, and I saw the reflection o'd in the rinnin water,[*] which passes the toon wa's. Angus stretched his hands towards the bit starnie, and said it was shinin' ower Almendralejo then,—and may be, his ain true love was lookin' at it; and that it hung like a lamp in the mirky, lift to guide him to whar she bided.

[*] The Alagona river, which passes Coria.

"'Hoots, havers!' said I, 'ye'll sune get ower'd; and may be that gomeral mule-driver's story o' auld Sancho's dochter was a' a lee,—every word o't. Gang hame to your bed, my man, and ye'll be better the morn.'

"But he just gied an unco' sough, and wrung my loof, gaed doon the brae, and left me. Next morning Serjeant Macrone reported him absent frae parade, and then I kent that he had taen to the hills and was awa'. The black een o' that Spanish lass hae cuisten' a glamourie ower him waur than witchcraft. Amang the hills he fell in wi' Captain Blacier's company o' the 60th, some o' wha spiered the gate he was gaun? Angus couldna or wadna tell, and a fray o' some kind ensued atween him and the German loons: in the middle o't, Angus drew his bayonet on auld Blacier, for which he now lies in airns in ane o' the square toors o' Coria."

"O the fool! Attempted to stab Blacier, did he?"

"Ay, an vera nigh stickit him i' the wame. Puir Angus! he ay hated thae thrawn gebbit Hanoverian dogs, as he ca'd them; for his faither, like yer ain, had been out in the forty-five,—wi' the Prince sae bauld and braw."

"The unfortunate madman! he will surely die. It is death, by the articles of war, to draw weapon upon an officer."

"So Serjeant Macrone says; but alake! Maister Ronald, I houp it will no come to that. Blacier is only a German, ye ken," said Evan, while his eyes began to glisten. "Surely the Cornel, Captain Seaton, or may be yoursel, will get him ower it. Angus and me hae ever been cronies and brithers syne the first day we met at La Nava, and I would be unco' laith to lose him noo. Ye ken hoo dowie ye were yoursel for mony a lang day after brave Maister Louis fell into the claws o' thae taid-eating loons, and no a' Maister Macdonald's jokes or merriment could rouse ye."

"Prepare yourself for the worst, Evan. Your poor friend will certainly die, if this crime is proved against him." * * * *

Stuart was one of the members of the general court-martial ordered to try this case, in which desertion was coupled with a flagrant act of insubordination. The court met in the palace of the bishop, as there was not another house in Coria containing an apartment fit for the purpose,—the town being very inconsiderable, having only about fifteen hundred inhabitants, although strongly defended by walls, towers, gates, and a very singular fortress, the ascent to which is by a flight of upwards of a hundred steps. From this strong-hold Mackie was brought before the court which was to decide his doom.

The room in which it met, was gloomy and old, and the dim light from four mullioned windows fell uncertainly on the war-worn uniforms and well-bronzed faces of the officers seated around the table, on which lay paper, pens and ink, a bible, and the articles of war. The president, the Hon. Colonel Cadogan of the Highland Light Infantry, sat at the head; the judge-advocate, an officer of cavalry, stood at the foot of the table to read the charges,—the members taking their places according to their rank; the seniors on Cadogan's right, the juniors on his left. After the court had been sworn, by the president holding forth the bible, and every officer laying his hand upon it and swearing "duly to administer justice according to the rules and articles now in force for the better government of his Majesty's forces, without partiality, favour, or affection," the proceedings commenced. Pale, dejected, and apparently cast down to the lowest depths of mental misery, the unfortunate young Highlander stood before the military tribunal. His red coat, threadbare and patched with divers colours, his frittered tartans, and a deep scar on one of his sun-burnt knees, another on his cheek, gained at Corunna,—all bore witness for him of the service he had seen, but which was little cared for there, as all had served alike. Tall and erect he stood before them, glancing from one to another in a firm but respectful manner. One by one the evidences against him were examined, and he found no fault with what any man said of him. Seaton and Serjeant Duncan Macrone stated the time when his absence was first discovered, and the former spoke highly of his general character and conduct, and acquainted the court that his life had been twice saved by the prisoner,—first at the battle of Fuentes de Honore, in May 1811; and again at Arroya del Molino in the November of the same year, when he was encountered by two aides-de-camp of the Prince d'Aremberg during the action. Honest old Blacier, although the most aggrieved party, was unwilling to be the means of depriving the Highlander of existence, and taking his pipe from his mouth, gave his evidence with marked backwardness; he concluded by saying, "Dat he believed de henckers knecht vas under de influence ob de pig-skins, or der teufel, or zauberei, vich means de vitshcraft, and I vould not hab it on my conscience dat I occasioned a young man's being shot and sent to der teufel for showing a bare blade ven his bloodt vas up; and I hope de coort' vill recommendt him to de tender mercy ob Lord Vellington, so dat he may be shaved."

"Your wishes, with those of Captain Seaton, shall have due consideration with the court, Captain Blacier," replied the president; and the rifleman withdrew, puffing vehemently with his long pipe. When called upon to make his defence, the prisoner had little to say. He knew that any attempts to extenuate his double crime would be perfectly unavailing, and his knowledge of the rules of the service led him to anticipate his doom. Yet his keen grey eye never quailed or grew less bright, and his voice never faltered while he addressed the court in the following manner:—

"Weel do I ken, sirs, that I have been acting wrang,—unco' wrang. I hae been guilty, in sae far that I abandoned my quarters, and was awa amang the hills; but I deny solemnly, and may I be haulden mansworn, if ever I ettled to desert, or gae ower to the enemy's colours. I was clean wud, and kenned na' at the time whar I was danderin' to. I tell your honours the truth, and I would scorn to affirm it wi' an aith, because I never tauld a lee in a' my days, and hae nae need to fib or flaw noo. But, sirs, I think there isna ane in this room that wadna hae dune as I did that nicht, when I kent that I was on the brink o' losing for ever and ay the winsome lass to whom I had plighted heart and troth; and I will affirm, gentlemen, that neither the danger or disgrace o' haeing it imputed to me that I abandoned my standard, could keep me frae trying to save her frae sic a tyrannical and avaricious auld carle as her faither. It has been said, in the 'crime,' that I was gaun the gate to the enemy's lines. Ablins I was, and ablins I wasna, for I was wading through a sea o' desperation,—I was dumbfounded and gane gyte that nicht, and it was a' after I had bent the bicker a gay gude while, as my comrade Evan Iverach has tauld unto ye.

"O sirs! I hope that ye will neither flog nor degrade me; but let me dee the death my crime is said to merit. Let me dee noo,—noo that I hae broucht sorrow and wae, sorrow and disgrace to my honest faither's fireside; for though he is but a puir auld cottar body at Braemar, it will bring his bald head to the grave if he hears I hae come to the halberts,[*]—it would be sic an awfu' disgrace! the haill kintra-side wad ring wi't. Let me rather die, sirs: I say again,—a hundred times I hae faced death, and I can easily face him ance mair. But it is whan I think o' my faither and mother at hame amang the heather hills,—struggling wi' eild and wi' poortith,—the ane herdin' sheep in bonnie Glenclunaidh amang the lang yellow broom, and the ither spinnin' hard at the ingle-neuk, whar I hae sae aften toddled at her knee,—'tis whan I think o' them that I am ready to orp and greet, and that my stout heart fails me,—a heart, sirs, that never failed on mony a bluidy day. I hae nae mair to say, your honours, but just that I humbly thank ye for hearing me sae lang, and that I wad as sune dee as live."

[*] The triangles: three pikes were used in those days.

This address, which was delivered with considerable vehemence and gesture, and spoken in a very northern and provincial dialect, was very little understood by those members of the court who were not Scotsmen; and Ronald Stuart, whose heart yearned with a truly Scottish love towards his countryman, explained to them the substance of what Mackie had said. He was found guilty of the seventh and eleventh articles in the second section of the articles of war; viz. desertion,—aggravated by an intention to join the enemy, and drawing, or offering to draw, upon "a superior officer." He was sent back to the fortress of Coria, and the proceedings and sentence of the court were despatched to head-quarters, with strong recommendations to mercy from Colonel Cadogan, and from Fassifern: but many months elapsed before an answer was returned, and during all that time the poor Highlander pined in the noisome vaults of the castle or fort of Coria. But of him, more anon.

In consequence of the approach of the French under General Foy, the first brigade moved from Coria while the sentence of the unfortunate Mackie remained unknown,—every member of a court-martial being sworn to solemn secrecy. The 50th regiment occupied Bejar, so famous for its mineral wells, and some sharp fighting ensued in its neighbourhood; but Foy's troops were completely routed with great loss. The Highlanders occupied the beautiful village of Banos, which lies secluded in a deep and narrow valley between Leon and Estremadura, surrounded on every side by abrupt precipitous mountains, which are covered to their rugged summits by the richest foliage; but amid their caverns, fastnesses, and dingles lurk herds of wolves, the wildness and ferocity of which keep the inhabitants in a continual state of terror and alarm; and so daring had these savage animals become, that it was necessary to keep large fires burning at night around the village, to scare them from the posts of the sentinels.

Soon after the regiment arrived at Banos, the sentence of Angus Mackie was ordered to be put in execution, having been approved of by the proper authorities. On the retreat from Burgos some symptoms of insubordination had appeared among the other brigades, when the soldiers became maddened by the miseries they underwent; an officer of "the buffs" had been shot by a soldier of that regiment. In other corps discipline seemed almost set at nought, and it was determined that an example should be made. The private of the 3rd regiment was hanged, and Angus Mackie, who, although far less criminal, had been convicted of desertion and insubordination, was sentenced to be shot to death in presence of his comrades, who among themselves deeply pitied and deplored that so gallant a lad should suffer so severe a sentence for his exaggerated crime. No charge of injustice could be laid to the account of the court which tried him, the "finding" of its members having been regulated by the stern but necessary articles of the Mutiny Act. Many months had passed away since his trial; the first excitement of the affair had died away, and during all that time he had been confined in the dreary fort of Coria,—a sufficient punishment alone for the crime he had committed.

This unhappy affair cast a gloom over the whole regiment,—a gloom which was apparent in every face, as the unwilling Highlanders paraded in the valley of Banos to witness his execution.

It was in the month of May 1813; the evening was a still and beautiful one. The sun was verging towards the west, and his crimson rays streamed through the deep dark dell, upon the vine-clad cottages and sylvan amphitheatre of Banos. Concentrated in that narrow and gloomy glen, where the immense mountains rose on every side to the height of many hundred feet, and where crags and rocks shot up in cones and fantastic spires, almost excluding the light of day from the little huts at the bottom of the dell, were the seventeen infantry regiments of the second division, together with the cavalry, drawn up on the steep faces of the hills, so that the rear ranks might overlook the front. The paisanos of the secluded village, awe-struck at the unusual scene, and the sight of so many thousand steel weapons glittering amid such dense masses of foreign soldiers, forsook their cottages and clustered together on the summit of a steep rock, to behold the fatal event. The troops formed three faces of a hollow square; the rock upon which the peasants were congregated occupied the vacant space. A spot of velvet turf, the village-green, stretched to the foot of it, and there was dug a grave,—a grave for the yet living man; the wet damp earth heaped up on one side of it, the rolls of turf and a rough deal coffin lay on the other. Near these stood the base-drum of the Gordon Highlanders; a bible and a prayer-book lay open upon its head.

The Highlanders formed the inner faces of the square.

All was solemn silence and expectation; not a whisper was heard through all that dense array; not a sound smote the ear save the rustle of the summer foliage, as the evening wind stirred the tall chesnuts or rich green cork-trees which nodded from the black precipices. The general, the staff and field-officers were all on horseback, but remained motionless. At last it was known that the doomed man was approaching, and the arms of the escort that conducted him were seen flashing in the sunlight, as they descended from the hill tops by the winding pathway which led to the bottom of the valley. Sir Rowland Hill touched his hat to an aide-de-camp, who then passed among the troops at a hand gallop, whispering to each commanding-officer; the words of command to fix bayonets and shoulder arms were immediately given, and before the varying tones of the different colonels died away, the prisoner appeared amid the square surrounded by his escort, under charge of the provost-marshal. His own corps, I have said, was in front, and he moved slowly along the silent ranks with downcast eyes towards the spot where his grave and coffin lay displayed. He drew near the former, and cast a glance into its gloomy depth and, shuddering, turned his back upon it, muttering: "I would just be sax and twenty the morn. Sax and twenty! oh, it's an unco thing to dee sae young. O my faither—my mither!" he groaned aloud; "farewell to you—to auld Scotland, and a' I hae loed sae lang and weel! It will be a sair trial to my kinsfolk in Glenclunaidh, when they see my name on the kirk doors o' Braemar—as ane that has dee'd wi' disgrace on his broo."[*]

[*] By the military regulations, the names of soldiers who behave meritoriously, or misbehave themselves grossly, are affixed to the church-doors of the parish in which they were born. In Highland regiments the threat of informing friends at home of a soldier's misconduct was sufficient to keep him in order for the time to come.

He was clad in his white undress-jacket and kilt, and stood bareheaded, with his bonnet in his hand. He was pale and emaciated with long confinement, but his bearing was firm and as soldier-like as ever. His eyes seemed unusually bright, and at times a red flush crossed his otherwise deadly pale cheek. There were two aged monks from the San Ferdinando convent of Candeleria present, but the Highlander refused to hear or communicate with them. Yet the honest friars were determined not to abandon him in his last hour, and withdrawing to a little distance, they placed a crucifix against a fragment of rock and prayed earnestly, with true catholic fervour, to that all-wise Power above, before which the soul of one they deemed a heretic was so soon to appear.

There was no chaplain present with the troops; but the prisoner was attended by the venerable Dugald-Mhor, who walked slowly beside him bare-headed, with his bonnet under his arm. He read portions of the Scripture from an old dog-eared bible, which he produced from his sporran molloch; and the low solemn tones in which he read could be distinctly heard by all, so very still was the place; and as the hand of the village-clock approached the hour at which the soldier was to die, a deeper sadness fell upon the hearts of the beholders, who, although long accustomed to all the heart-harrowing scenes of war, had never before witnessed a death in so solemn and peculiar a manner.

Mackie and his attendant sung together the hymn—

"The hour of my departure's come," &c.

and when it was concluded, the hand of the clock on the alcalde's house wanted but five minutes of the hour. The soldier cast a hasty glance towards it, and, falling upon his knees, covered his face with his hands and burst out into an agony of prayer, from which he was only aroused by the seven strokes of the last hour he would ever hear on earth striking from the dull-toned bell.

His last moment was come!

When the sound ceased, Cameron of Fassifern and his field-officers dismounted from their horses, which were led away, and the provost-marshal drew up a section of twelve soldiers opposite where the prisoner yet knelt on the turf.

Many of his comrades now took their last farewell of him; and Evan Iverach, to whom he had given seven pounds, saved from his pay while prisoner at Coria, to send to his parents at Braemar, retired to his place in the ranks with tearless eyes, because Evan had a mistaken idea, that to have shown signs of deep emotion would have been unmanly. But that night, in his billet, honest Evan wept like a woman for the loss of his comrade and friend. During the bandaging of Mackie's eyes, Fassifern took off his bonnet, and kneeling down, commanded his regiment to do so likewise. As one man the Highlanders bent their bare knees to the sod, joining, as they did so, in the solemn psalm which Dugald and the prisoner had begun to sing. It was a sad and mournful Scottish air, one which every Scotsman present had been accustomed to hear sung in their village kirks or fathers' cottages in boyhood. It softened and subdued their hearts, carrying back their recollections to their childhood, and to years that had passed away into eternity. Many heard it chanted then for the first time since their native hills had faded from their sight, and as the strain died away through the deep and narrow vale of Banos, it found an echo in every breast.

Dugald closed his bible, and, placing a handkerchief in the hand of the prisoner, withdrew, and covering his wrinkled face with his bonnet, knelt down also. Now came the duty of the provost-marshal, whose unwilling detachment consisted of twelve picked men, of disorderly character, on whom, as a punishment, fell the lot of slaying their comrade.

With his eyes blindfolded, the unfortunate Highlander knelt down between his coffin and his grave, and, without quivering once, dropped his handkerchief.

"Section!" cried the provost-marshal, "'ready—present—fire!" The words followed each other in rapid succession, and the echoes of the death-shot were reverberated like thunder among the hills around. A shriek burst from the females of the village. Red blood was seen to spout forth from many a wound in the form of the prisoner; he sprung convulsively upwards, and then fell backward dead on the damp gravel, which was so soon to cover him.

The hearts of all began to beat more freely; but at that moment the red sun sank behind the darkening hills, and a deeper gloom enveloped Banos, the effect of which was not lost on the minds of the beholders.

All was over now! The corse lay stretched on the ground, and the smoke of the musquetry was curling around the grave which yawned beside it. Cameron sprung on his horse, and his voice was the first to break the oppressive silence. The shrill pipes sounded, and the rattling drums beat merrily in the re-echoing vale, as corps after corps marched past the spot where the body of Mackie, though breathless, lay yet bleeding, and moved up the winding pathway towards the pass of Banos, whence by different routes they marched to their cantonments in the villages and camps among the mountains. When all had passed away, the pioneers placed the dead man in his coffin, and covered him hurriedly up; the sods were carefully deposited over and beaten down with the shovel, and the grave of the man who had been living but ten minutes before, presented now the same appearance as the resting-place of one who had been many years entombed. The weeds and the long grass waved over it.

The village paisanos placed a rough wooden cross above it, to prevent, as they said, "the heretic from haunting the resting-place of his bones;" and near this rude emblem was placed a vine, which Evan Iverach tended daily—clearing its root of weeds and encumbrances, watching and pruning the stem, and long before the regiment left Banos he had twined it around and hidden the limbs of the cross; and when the Highlanders marched from the valley, as they wound through a deep defile among the mountains Evan's farewell look was cast to the place where the vine-covered cross marked the grave of his comrade.

CHAPTER V.

AN ADVENTURE. A HIGHLAND LEGEND.

"And such a phantom, too, 'tis said,

With Highland broad-sword, targe and plaid,

And fingers red with gore,

Is seen in Rothiemurchus glade."

Marmion.

Before the regiment left Banos to take the field again, Ronald had an unlooked-for adventure with a fierce denizen of the neighbouring mountains, which nearly cost him his life.

There was a certain part of the hills, from which the valley of Banos strongly resembled his native place, Strathonan, but on a much smaller scale; and thither Stuart was in the habit of repairing almost daily, to indulge freely in those long reveries so usual to a Highlander, and enjoy the beauty of the prospect which bore so near a resemblance to his home. A slight effort of the imagination made it at once Strathonan, near the source of that celebrated trout-stream, the Isla; but the sound of the guitar and castanets came on the wind instead of the war-pipe of Albyn, and destroyed the illusion. There were neither bucks nor roes bounding over the mountain-slope; and instead of the plaided shepherd or agile huntsman starting from the copsewood, a lazy yet handsome Spanish peasant appeared at times, sauntering slowly along, clad in his short brown jacket tied round the waist by a broad yellow scarf, leather gaiters bound with red thongs, a cigar in his mouth, a staff in his hand, and a stiletto in his girdle. Often did a figure wearing this romantic dress, or enveloped in a huge brown mantle, appear on the solitary pathways of the hills. Far down below, on the village green, instead of the lively strathspey or martial gilliechallium,[*] the graceful fandango or bolero was danced by the athletic paisanos and olive-cheeked girls of the valley.

[*] Sword dance.

His patron had often warned him of the danger which he incurred, by wandering so far among mountains so much infested by wolves; but Stuart always considered himself safe enough, as he never went without his sword and dirk. His host acquainted him with many wonderful tales of men having been killed and devoured by them among the wild places; and said that, within his recollection, nearly twenty children had been carried off from the very heart of the village.

"Senor," said he, on one occasion, "you can know little of the nature of the wolf, as perhaps there are none now in your country; but they have the cunning of the fox, together with the strength and ferocity of the tiger. On entering the village in the evening, he moves about with careful and stealthy paces; and when he seizes on a child, grasps it by the throat so as to prevent it giving a single cry, and bears it away to the recesses among the hills. I have known of a lad of fourteen being carried off thus. A man belonging to the village, a brave guerilla of Mina's band, was attacked one evening in the pass of Banos by a band of wolves. He slew three with his rifle and poniard, but the others tore him to fragments. This brought the attention of senores the alcaldes of the valley[*] to the matter, and they offered a reward of eighty reals, or four duros, for each wolf's head brought to their houses, and forthwith war was proclaimed against these fierce inhabitants of the sierras.

[*] Banos is divided into two districts, each ruled by its own alcalde; the northern part of the village lies in Leon, and the southern in Estremadura.

"A dozen hides and heads were brought in weekly, and we continued this dangerous sport until the British entered the valley, when firing in the neighbourhood could no longer be continued. Since we acted upon the offensive, the wolves have become more shy and never enter the vale, but it is death to encounter the herds on their own ground; therefore I would pray you, senor, if you value your own safety, never to wander about as you are pleased to do."

Ronald thanked the worthy vine-dresser for his advice and good-wishes, but laughed at his fears about the wolves, and told him that while he was armed with his sword, he considered himself secure against any such antagonists; and so continued to ramble about as usual.

One evening, while he was surveying the valley from his old post when the sun was setting, he became overpowered with the heat of the atmosphere and the fatigue of a long walk, and fell fast asleep beside a rude wooden cross, erected to mark the spot where the only abogado who ever appeared in Banos had been poniarded by his first client for unfair dealing. How long Stuart slept there he had no idea, but while dreaming that he had that worthy clerk to the royal signet, Mr. Macquirk, among the mountains of Banos, even close to the abogado's cross, and was about to take summary vengeance upon him for the manner in which he had bamboozled and swindled the old gentleman at Lochisla, he was awakened in a very disagreeable manner by something grasping him roughly by the throat. With the rapidity of light all the stories he had heard of the wolves flashed upon his memory. He was fully awake in an instant, and found himself grappling and struggling savagely with one of those terrible animals, by moonlight, on a solitary hillside many miles away from the village, where the watch-fires of the guard-houses could be seen twinkling afar off at the bottom of the deep valley, like red stars. His brass gorget and the massive lace, on the collar of the coat, together with a stout military stock, had saved his neck from the fangs of the gigantic wolf, which, by straining every energy of strength and courage, or rather desperation, he grasped with a ferocity almost equal to its own, and retaining his hold, threw upon the turf beside him. Its struggles were terrible, and his hands, which encircled its tough and brawny throat, were torn by its claws; yet he never relaxed his iron clutch until the breath and strength of his antagonist began to fail, and then putting his right hand to his side for his Highland dirk, he remembered with rage and anguish that it was left behind at his billet. The moment was indeed a critical one. Two other wolves were approaching the spot cautiously, and Stuart, remembering how often he had heard of their overpowering man by numbers, considered himself for ever lost. It was like some horrible dream, and his heart became filled with an agony of horror and alarm which it had never known before.

"Heaven help me now!" gasped he. "Ah! had I only my dirk, or even a skene-dhu, they would be welcome." He cried aloud for aid, but the cries were feeble, as his tongue was swollen and clove to his palate with the keenness of his terror; and ere the echoes of his last shout died away, he was struggling with the others, and was endeavouring to elude their fangs by rolling over and over, and fighting fiercely with hands and feet. Scarcely had the two wolves come to the aid of their half-burked comrade, ere Stuart imagined that other sounds than the echoes of his cry reverberated through the wilderness. It was—what? the halloo of a true Highland huntsman!

"Hoigh! Diaoul! what's a' this?" cried Dugald Mhor Cameron, plunging headlong among them, with a long dirk gleaming in his right hand and a skene-dhu in his left. One wolf fled, another was pierced thrice to the vitals by Dugald's dirk, and rolled away for several yards, tearing up the earth in rage and agony, until it was finally destroyed by the sharp black knife being drawn across its thick throat by Dugald, who handled it well, being an adroit deer-stalker. The other savage, which had been so gallantly grasped by Ronald, he dispatched by repeated stabs of the dirk, which he drove home to the hilt, sending eighteen inches of cold iron into the body at every stroke. While this passed, poor Stuart, exhausted and overcome, sank backward on the turf, just as Fassifern rode up with his claymore drawn.

"I trust we have not been too late," he cried earnestly, as he leapt from his horse, which had been snorting and shying aside from the scene of the fray. "I am sure, Dugald, we answered to his first cry. He is one of ours; an officer too,—Stuart, by heavens!"

"But for Dugald's prompt and gallant succour, all would have been over with me by this time, colonel," said Ronald, as with difficulty he staggered up from the turf, which was plentifully besprinkled with the blood of his enemies.

"Are you hurt in any way?" was the eager inquiry of both.

"My hands are torn a little; but my sash and coat are all rent to fritters."

"How opportunely Dugald came to save you!"

"Opportune, indeed! I will never be able to repay him for this night's work."

"Ochone! Mr. Stuart," replied the old man, who was cleaning his weapons in his plaid, "dinna say a word about thanks; keep a' them for the kernel there."

"I was coming over the mountains from Candeleria," said Fassifern, "where I have been president of a court-martial. Your cries alarmed us within a few yards of this old cross, and my horse began to snort and rear, refusing to advance a step; but trusty Dugald went headlong on, and with his short weapons, I see, has done you right good service. 'Tis well the matter is no worse, and had the wolves not given you so severe a mauling, Stuart," added the colonel with a smile, as he put his foot in his stirrup, "I should have sent Claude for your sword again. You know you should never be without your arms, or forget the order against strolling more than two miles from camp or quarters. By my word, these were no ordinary foes to contend with, these wolves; they are larger than Highland shelties, and their skins will be a prize for the paisanos in the morning, for Dugald is, of course, too proud to take fee or reward from the alcaldes."

"I have escaped their maws by a miracle," said Stuart, yet gasping with the excitement of the fierce struggle.

"By nae miracle at all, sir," said old Dugald, "by nae miracle; but just by the help o' a teuch auld carle's hand and the bit cauld iron; and I assure your honours, I wad rather face a thoosand rampaugin wolves, than ae kelpie, habgoblin, wraith, spunkie, sheeted ghaist, deadlicht, broonie, or ony ither scrap o' deevildom sae common at name in the Hielands. Hoich, sirs! it was indeed nae sma' matter to cut the weasens o' thae awfu' monsters o' wolves; but," said he, holding aloft his long Highland dagger, which flashed back the rays of the moon, "but that is a blade that has rung on the target o' the lham-dearg; and after that, what could a bold hand not do wi' it?"

"On the target of who?" asked Ronald.

"The lham-dearg, sir."

"The words are Gaelic; but who is he?"

"A spirit wi' a bloody hand, that haunts at the mirk hour the wood o' Glenmore, in the Grants' country."

"What has this to do with your dirk?" said Stuart, who became interested in every thing which looked like a northern legend.

"Pooh!" said Cameron; "'tis an old ghost story, and not one of Dugald's prime ones. But he is as prosy with his legends, as Colin Campbell is about Egypt and Ralph Abercrombie."

"He doesna believe it noo," muttered Dugald, shaking his white hairs sorrowfully; "but when he was a bairn at hame in Fassifern-house, I hae made his vera lugs tingle wi' fear at the name o' the lham-dearg, and he used to grane and greet for a licht that he micht see to sleep, as he said; and in thae days he wadna hae gane into a dark place, to be made king o' the braw Highlands frae Castle Grant to Lochaber. But noo wars and campaigning hae learned him to scoff at a' thae matters, though his faither, the laird, (gude guide him!) a man as auld as mysel, believes every word o' them. I daursay, he doesna believe noo that deidlichts burn on the piper's grave in the auld kirk-yaird at hame; or that spunkies and fairies bide in the glen o' Auchnacarry, kelpies in Loch-Archaig, or that the daoine shie haunt the dark holes, cairns, round rings, and unco' places o' the Corrie-nan-gaul in Knoydart, where I mysel hae seen them dancing tulloch-gorm in the bonnie moonlicht."

"Certainly not, Dugald. What I believed when a child, will scarcely pass now for truth; and I believe you never saw any thing unearthly until Ferintosh had swelled your belt to bursting. Come, Dugald, acknowledge this to be true," said Cameron, laughing.

"May be ye'll no believe in the red-cap, that haunts the auld tower at Archaig; and may be no in the vera taisch?" said the old servitor in a voice approaching to a groan at the other's apostasy. "Ochone, may be no! although I mysel saw bluid on his hand, and tauld him o' it the day before the shot struck him there at the battle of Arroya del Molino."

"Dugald," said the colonel, "I will not argue with you about the second sight, because I know you have some pretensions to the character of a taischatr. You certainly have me at vantage there, and your prediction about the shot at Arroya came true; and exactly twenty-four hours after you said my hand dropped blood, a musquet-shot passed through it. A very singular coincidence indeed."

"It was nane," replied the old Gael firmly, "it was nane; and I saw the shot before it came, because there was a wreath before my een, and a' the power o' the taisch was in me."

"Well, Stuart, what think you of the second sight?"

Ronald was loath to express his disbelief in this superstition, which found a disciple in the colonel, and so hesitated to reply.

"I see you are too true a Highlander to disbelieve in its existence, and yet you are reluctant to acknowledge the truth," said Fassifern laughing, while he mistook the other's meaning. "But let us reach Banos, and over some of the bottled sherry which I lately got from Lisbon we will discuss these matters, and hear Dugald's story of the spirit of Glenmore, which if you are at all superstitious might have too much effect if related by him in Gaelic by moonlight, and on a lonely hill-side."

This proposal was at once accepted, and they began to descend the narrow and winding pathway which led from the rugged summits of the sierra towards the village. Dugald advanced in front, leading the horse of Cameron, who followed behind with Stuart. The latter thanked his stars for escaping from his late encounter so easily, having only sustained a few severe scratches and bruises. While enjoying some of the colonel's pure bottled sherry, a rarity in Spain, where the wine is ever kept in greasy hog-skins, Ronald soon forgot his disagreeable adventure at the abogado's cross. Dugald who, in consideration of his venerable age and relationship to Fassifern (being a fortieth cousin or so), was seated at the table, partook of the wine, and to wile away the time related in Gaelic the Highland legend he had referred to. Many readers may consider it a foolish, perhaps an intrusive tale altogether; but had they heard it far away from home, in a hut at Banos, related in expressive and poetical Gaelic by such a reverend and warrior-looking old man as Dugald Cameron, it would have had a very different effect from what it can ever produce when related in plain and unvarnished English, stripped of all the Ossianic description and style in which Ronald Stuart first heard it.

The Lham-Dearg

"My story commences at the close of the fatal,—ay, sirs, I may say the most deplorable battle of Culloden; a battle which laid prostrate, for ever the hopes of a gallant prince, the cause of an illustrious house, and the energies of a brave and loyal people, and proved that right may contend in vain against might, and that justice must sometimes yield to the overwhelming majority of brute force. I was then but a wild Highland boy of fifteen, and followed the clan-regiment of the noble Lochiel, upon whom I attended as a sort of page, to carry his target and scabbard on the march. My brave old father, too, was in the battle; and being, in consequence of his relationship to the chief, a front rank man, he greatly distinguished himself in that desperate but unavailing charge we made on the troops of the Elector, after foolishly enduring a cannonade which miserably thinned our numbers. Ah, sirs! had we at first rushed on them with the broad-sword, as was ever our wont, another race would have filled the throne at this hour; but when we did charge, Cumberland's two lines were swept before our long blades like winnowed chaff upon the gale. Even then the day seemed ours, when the fire of the third compelled us to recoil. Ochone! let me think of it no more, for I grow wild at times when the memory of these days swells up in my withered heart, and the dangers, the glory, and the chivalry of the 'forty-five' are all remembered with mingled pride and sorrow. I was but a child then, and yet on that bloody day I shot dead several of Barrel's regiment, while the Camerons were among them, hewing them down like willow-wands with axe and claymore.

"In the rout which followed, I fled away with our wounded chieftain, and gained a place of safety among the hills; but my father was taken captive by the Campbells from the west country, and so he was one of the few who escaped the death decreed to all by the bloody mandates of the German duke, whose memory will be abhorred and execrated while grass grows and water runs in the land of the Gael.

"It is of my father's adventures I have now principally to speak.

"He was disarmed and manacled by the false sons of Diarmed, and from amidst them he beheld the merciless red-coats slaying, murdering in cold blood the helpless and unresisting wounded by spontoon and bayonet, by the sword and volleys of musquetry; while the relentless Cumberland rode about the muir of Drummossie with his staff, treading down the hearts of better and braver men than ever will come of his tribe.

"The sun set that night on a field of blood, and one of woe and desolation to the Highlanders.

"Those wretched prisoners, whom the blood-glutted soldiers were too weary to slaughter, were, to the number of four hundred and forty men, enclosed in a hollow square, surrounded by the regiments of Barrel, Wolfe, and Bligh, who hemmed them in with fixed bayonets, and subjected them to every taunt and insult that national hatred, the meanest malice and cowardice when most triumphant, could suggest. Amongst other brave and unfortunate clansmen my father listened to them; his bosom swelled with rage and agony, and he longed to burst his bonds and leap like a tiger headlong upon them. But he was powerless, unarmed, and ironed, rather like some base malefactor than a gentle-blooded duinhe-wassel of the clan Cameron. The cutting taunts of Bligh's soldiers roused at last even the ire of Colonel Campbell of the Argyleshire men, and his blood became fired at the gross abuse lavished upon his countrymen. Stepping forward with his sword drawn, he sternly commanded them to be silent, and said that he would wager his commission against a crown-piece, that any Highlander there would meet in equal arms, and vanquish the best man present that wore a scarlet coat.

"'Ha! do you say so, sir?' cried the duke, who with his staff was in the centre of the square.

"'May it please your highness, I do most assuredly,' said Campbell, raising his bonnet; 'and I long to see the matter put to the test, to cure these southron gentry of their unwarrantable insolence. By my faith, they seem to forget the good use they made of their heels at Preston and Falkirk!'

"'And you will stand to your wager, colonel?'

"'My commission to a crown-piece.'

"'Done!' said the duke. 'Your bet is a fatal one, as you will find to your cost, ere many minutes pass away. Your very words savour of Jacobitism and treason; and your commission shall certainly be lost, if your rebel beats not a champion of my choosing. My friend, Major Von Thunderbotham, of Bligh's, may consider your command as his already.'

"'By Heaven! your highness, no dog of a Hessian that ever wore a head, shall command the men of Macallummore's race!' replied Campbell bluntly, and regardless of the consequences.

"A gigantic dragoon of Cobham's horse offered himself readily as the duke's champion; and on his colonel bearing testimony of his strength, activity, and expertness with his weapon, he was accepted. In his broken English, the ungenerous duke now addressed the prisoners in a style at once savage and insulting, offering freedom to any one of them who, in an encounter with the broad-sword, could foil the trooper. The words had scarcely fallen from his lips, before my father strode forward and claimed the combat.

"'Strike well, Cameron, for the honour of the Highlands!' said Campbell, as my father flung aside his fetters as he would have done a coil of adders.

"'Had you and others of your race struck for the right this day, the Prince would not have been a fugitive in the land of his fathers!' replied the other with an indignant scowl.

"'Oich! you are somewhat insolent for a cock laird or upstart gilly,' said the abashed Campbell. 'But remember that freedom is before you if you conquer; and if not, the hemp is grown—ay, man, and twisted too,—that will hang you like a dog from the walls of Carlisle some day to come.'

"'Better a thousand times to die on the scaffold with the white cockade on my brow, than eat the bread of a foreign oppressor and usurper,' replied my father heedlessly. 'But am I to encounter the sidier roy with my hands, after the base manner of his people?"

"'No: take my claymore,' answered Campbell; 'its temper and metal are matchless. Luno of Lochlin never forged a better: and if you are brave as you are impudent, I have no fears for you.'

"'But a dirk; what shall I do for a dirk?'

"'Take mine, Evan of Tor-a-muilt,' said an aged Highlander stepping forward, wearing red tartans and the bramble-berry badge in his bonnet. He placed a dirk,—this very weapon with which I slew the wolves to-night,—in the hand of my father, who started back with awe at the sight of the giver. The Highlanders around shrunk back likewise. His height was superhuman; his hair was white as snow, and a beard of the same hue descended to the square buckle at his girdle. His eyes had that keen and bright expression in them which seemed to harrow up the soul, and read the inmost thoughts of those he looked upon. In his bonnet he still wore that badge which all others had discarded for safety,—the white rose of the Stuarts.

"'Strike well, Cameron, and you will have your revenge,' said he, waving his bonnet as he added, 'God bless King James the Eighth, and send death to the Elector of Hanover!'

"'Shoot him! bayonet him! Forward!' cried Cumberland in a tempest of fury, and with the hoarse accents of rage. 'Blow out the brains of the insolent rebel!'

"But the aged speaker of the treason had disappeared, and although the prisoners were narrowly searched twice over, he could no where be found, and the fury of the duke was boundless. What became of the old man, no one knew. He disappeared suddenly from amidst them; but whether he sunk into the earth or melted into thin air, remains yet a mystery; but the Highlanders were filled with terrors, and every man drew his plaid closer around him, and shrunk from the touch of his neighbour. After threatening the English trooper with the lash and triangles if he did not vanquish his opponent, he commanded the combat to begin without further delay. The dragoon cast aside his leather gloves, and drawing his long blade, stood upon the defensive. My father belted his plaid tighter about him, drew his bonnet over his brow, and rushed, in the northern fashion, headlong on his adversary, who was compelled to retire backwards, acting only on the defensive. Burning with hatred and fury, my father pressed forward, heedless of the weapon of the soldier, in whose broad breast he buried the dirk of the mysterious Highlander, and then gathering all his force for one mighty effort with the claymore, he clove the unfortunate dragoon down to the neck, cutting even the folds of his white cravat.