.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 54918
   :PG.Title: The Romance of War, Volume 1 (of 3)
   :PG.Released: 2017-06-15
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: James Grant
   :DC.Title: The Romance of War, Volume 1 (of 3)
              or, The Highlanders in Spain
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1846
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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THE ROMANCE OF WAR, VOLUME 1
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      THE ROMANCE OF WAR:

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      OR,

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      THE HIGHLANDERS IN SPAIN

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      BY

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      JAMES GRANT, ESQ.

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      *Late 62nd Regiment.*

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      "In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
      From the heath-covered mountains of Scotia we come;
      Our loud-sounding pipe breathes the true martial strain,
      And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain."
      \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ *Lt.-Gen. Erskine.*

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      IN THREE VOLUMES.

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      VOL. I.

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      LONDON:
      HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
      GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
      1846.

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      LONDON:
      PRINTED BY MAURICE AND CO., HOWFORD BUILDINGS,
      FENCHURCH STREET.

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   PREFACE.

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Notwithstanding the numerous volumes
which have been given to the public relative to
the glorious operations of the British Army, for
rescuing Portugal and Spain from the grasp of the
invader, the Author of this work flatters himself
that it will not be found deficient in novelty or
interest.  He acknowledges that, according to
precedent, scenes and incidents have been introduced
into it which are purely imaginary, and whether
he ought to apologize for these, or to make a merit
of them, he must leave his readers to decide,
according to their individual tastes and predilections.

It will need no great sagacity to discriminate
between this portion and the veritable historical
and military details, the result of the experience of
one,[\*] who had the honour of serving in that
gallant corps to which these volumes more especially
relate, during the whole of its brilliant course of
service in the Peninsula, and who participated in
all the proud feelings which arose when
contemplating the triumphant career of an army, whose
deeds and victories are unsurpassed in the annals
of war.

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[\*] A near relation of the author.

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Most of the military operations, and many of
the characters, will be familiar to the survivors of
the second division, and brother-officers will
recognise many old associates in the convivialities of
the mess-table, and in the perils of the battle-field.
The names of others belong to history, and with
them the political or military reader will be already
acquainted.

It is impossible for a writer to speak of his own
productions, without exposing himself to imputations
of either egotism or affected modesty; the
Author therefore will merely add, that he trusts
that most readers may discover something to
attract in these volumes, which depict from the
life the stirring events and all the romance of
warfare, with the various lights and shades of military
service, the principal characters being members of
one of those brave regiments, which, from their
striking garb, national feelings, romantic sentiments,
and *esprit de corps*, are essentially different
from the generality of our troops of the line.

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EDINBURGH,

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*Nov.* 1846.

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   CONTENTS

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   Chapter

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I.  `Introductory`_
II.  `Interviews`_
III.  `A True Highlander`_
IV.  `The Departure`_
V.  `Edinburgh Castle`_
VI.  `Foreign Service`_
VII.  `Merida`_
VIII.  `An Adventure`_
IX.  `Donna Catalina`_
X.  `Flirtation`_
XI.  `Alice Lisle.—News from Home`_
XII.  `The Condé`_
XIII.  `The Duel`_
XIV.  `Muleteers`_
XV.  `The Banditti`_
XVI.  `A Siege`_
XVII.  `A Meeting`_





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.. _`INTRODUCTORY`:

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   THE ROMANCE OF WAR.

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   CHAPTER I.

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   INTRODUCTORY.

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..

   |  "Still linger in our northern clime
   |  Some remnants of the good old time;
   |  And still within our valleys here
   |  We hold the kindred title dear;
   |  Even though perchance its far-fetched claim,
   |  To Southron ear, sounds empty name;
   |  For course of blood, our proverbs deem,
   |  Is warmer than the mountain stream."
   |                                  *Marmion*, canto vi.

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In the Highlands of Perthshire a deadly feud had
existed, from time immemorial, between the Lisles of
Inchavon and the Stuarts of Lochisla.  In the days
when the arm of the law was weak, the proprietors
had often headed their kinsmen and followers in
encounters with the sword, and for the last time during
the memorable civil war of 1745-6.  But between
the heads of the families, towards the latter end of
the last century, (the period when our tale
commences,) although the era of feudal ideas and
outrages had passed away, the spirit of transmitted
hatred, proud rivalry and revenge, lurked behind,
and a feeling of most cordial enmity existed between
Stuart and Lisle, who were ever engaged in vexatious
law-suits on the most frivolous pretences, and
constantly endeavouring to cross each other's interests
and intentions,—quarrelling at public meetings,—voting
on opposite sides,—prosecuting for trespasses,
and opposing each other every where, "as if the
world was not wide enough for them both;" and on
one occasion a duel would have ensued but for the
timely interference of the sheriff.

Sir Allan Lisle of Inchavon, a man of a quiet and
most benevolent disposition, was heartily tired of the
trouble given him by the petty jealousy of his
neighbour Stuart, a proud and irritable Highlander, who
would never stoop to reconciliation with a family
whom his father (a grim *duinhe-wassal* of the old
school) had ever declared to him were the hereditary
foes of his race.  The reader may consider it
singular that such antiquated prejudices should exist so
lately as the end of the last century; but it must be
remembered that the march of intellect has not made
such strides in the north country as it has done in
the Lowlands, and many of the inhabitants of
Perthshire will recognise a character well known to them,
under the name of Mr. Stuart.

It must also be remembered, that he was the son
of a man who had beheld the standard of the Stuarts
unfurled in Glenfinan, and had exercised despotic
power over his own vassals when the feudal system
existed in its full force, before the act of the British
parliament abolished the feudal jurisdictions throughout
Scotland, and absolved the unwilling Highlanders
from allegiance to their chiefs.

Sir Allan Lisle (who was M.P. for a neighbouring
county) was in every respect a man of superior
attainments to Stuart,—being a scholar, the master of
many modern accomplishments, and having made
the grand tour.  To save himself further annoyance,
he would gladly have extended the right hand of
fellowship to his stubborn neighbour, but pride
forbade him to make the first advances.

The residence of this intractable Gael was a
square tower, overgrown with masses of ivy, and
bearing outwardly, and almost inwardly, the same
appearance as when James the Fifth visited it once
when on a hunting excursion.  The walls were
enormously thick; the grated windows were small and
irregular; a corbelled battlement surmounted the
top, from the stone bartizan of which the standard
of the owner was, on great days, hoisted with much
formality by Donald Iverach, the old piper, or Evan
his son, two important personages in the household
of the little tower.

This primitive fortalice was perched upon a
projecting craig, which overhung the loch of Isla, a
small but beautiful sheet of water, having in its
centre an islet with the ruins of a chapel.  The
light-green birch and black sepulchral pine, flourishing
wild and thickly, grew close to the edge of the loch,
and cast their dark shadows upon its generally
unruffled surface.  Around, the hills rose lofty,
precipitous, and abrupt from the margin of the lake;
some were covered with foliage to the summit, and
others, bare and bleak, covered only with the whin
bush or purple heather, where the red roe and the
black cock roved wild and free; while, dimly seen
in the distance, rose the misty crest of Benmore,
(nearly four thousand feet above the level of the
sea,) the highest mountain, save one, in Perthshire.

A little *clachan*, or hamlet, consisting of about
twenty green thatched cottages clustered together,
with kail-yards behind, occupied the foot of the ascent
leading to the tower; these were inhabited by the
tenants, farm-servants, and herdsmen of Stuart.  The
graceful garb of the Gael was almost uniformly worn
by the men; and the old wives, who in fine weather
sat spinning on the turf-seats at the doors, wore the
simple *mutch* and the varied tartan of their name.
The wife of this Highland castellan had long been
dead, as were their children excepting one son,
who was almost the only near kinsman that Stuart
had left.

Ronald was a handsome youth, with a proud dark
eye, a haughty lip, and a bold and fearless
heart,—possessing all those feelings which render the
Scottish Highlander a being of a more elevated and
romantic cast than his Lowland neighbours.  He
was well aware of the groundless animosity which
his father nourished against Sir Allan Lisle; but as
in the course of his lonely rambles, fishing, shooting,
or hunting, he often when a boy encountered the
younger members of the Inchavon family, and as he
found them agreeable companions and playmates, he
was far from sharing in the feelings of his prejudiced
father.  He found Sir Allan's son, Lewis Lisle, an
obliging and active youth, a perfect sportsman, who
could wing a bird with a single ball, and who knew
every corrie and chasm through which the wandering
Isla flowed, and the deep pools where the
best trout were always to be found.

In Alice Lisle Ronald found a pretty and agreeable
playmate in youth, but a still more agreeable
companion for a solitary ramble as they advanced
in years; and he discovered in her splendid dark
eyes and glossy black hair charms which he beheld
not at home in his father's mountain tower.

During childhood, when the days passed swiftly
and happily, the brother and sister, of a milder
mood than Ronald Stuart, admired the activity with
which he was wont to climb the highest craigs and
trees, swinging himself, with the dexterity of a
squirrel, from branch to branch, or rock to rock,
seeking the nests of the eagle or raven, or flowers
that grew in the clefts of Craigonan, to deck the
dark curls of Alice.  Still more were they charmed
with the peculiarity of his disposition, which was
deeply tinged with the gloomy and romantic,—a
sentiment which exists in the bosom of every
Highlander, imparted by the scenery amidst which he
dwells, the lonely hills and silent shores of his lochs,
pathless and solitary heaths, where cairns and
moss-covered stones mark the tombs of departed warriors,
pine-covered hills, frowning rocks, and solitary
defiles,—all fraught with traditions of the past, or tales
of mysterious beings who abide in them.  These
cause the Gaelic mountaineer to be a sadder and
more thoughtful man than the dwellers in the low
country, who inhabit scenes less grand and majestic.

In the merry laugh and the gentle voice of Alice,
Ronald found a charm to wean him from the tower of
Lochisla, and the hours which he spent in her society,
or in watching the windows of her father's house,
were supposed to be spent in search of the black
cock and the fleet roes of Benmore; and many a
satirical observation he endured, in consequence of
bringing home an empty game-bag, after a whole
day's absence with his gun.

Ronald enjoyed but little society at the tower.
His father, in consequence of the death of his wife
and younger children, and owing to many severe
losses which he had sustained in the course of his
long series of litigations, had become a moody and
silent man, spending his days either in reading, or in
solitary rides and rambles.  His voice, which, when
he did speak, was authoritative enough and loud,
was seldom heard in the old tower, where the
predominant sounds were the grunting tones of Janet,
the aged housekeeper, who quarrelled continually
with Donald Iverach, the piper, whenever the latter
could find time, from his almost constant occupations
of piping and drinking, to enjoy a skirmish with her.

As years crept on, the friendship between the
young people strengthened, and in the breasts of
Alice and Ronald Stuart became a deeper and a
more absorbing feeling, binding them "heart to
heart and mind to mind," and each became all the
world unto the other.  To them there was
something pleasing and even romantic in the strange
secrecy they were necessitated to use; believing
that, should their intercourse ever come to the ears
of their parents, effectual means would be taken to
put a stop to it.





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.. _`INTERVIEWS`:

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   CHAPTER II.


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   INTERVIEWS.

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..

   |  "And must I leave my native isle—
   |  Fair friendship's eye—affection's smile—
   |  The mountain sport—the angler's wile—
   |    The birch and weeping willow, O!
   |  The Highland glen—the healthy gale—
   |  The gloaming glee—the evening tale—
   |  And must I leave my native vale,
   |  And brave the boisterous billow, O!"
   |                            *Hogg's Forest Minstrel.*

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"Alice! my own fair Alice! my hard destiny
ordains that I must leave you," was the sorrowful
exclamation of Ronald one evening, as he joined
Alice at their usual place of meeting, a solitary spot
on the banks of the Isla, where the willow and alder
bush, overhanging the steep rocks, swept the dark
surface of the stream.

"Leave me!  O Ronald, what can you mean?"
was the trembling reply of the fair girl, as she put
her arm through his, and gazed anxiously on the
troubled countenance of her lover.

"That I must go—far from you and the bonnie
banks of the Isla.  Yes, Alice; but it is only for a
short time, I trust.  Of the embarrassed state of my
father's affairs, by his long law-suits and other
matters, I have acquainted you already, and it has
now become necessary for me to choose some
profession.  My choice has been the army: what other
could one, possessing the true spirit of a Highland
gentleman, follow?"

"O Ronald!  I ever feared our happiness was too
great to last long.  Ah! you must not leave me."

"Alice," replied the young Highlander, his cheek
flushing while he spoke, "our best and bravest men
are going forth in thousands to meet the enemies of
our country, drenching in their blood the fatal
Peninsula; and can I remain behind, when so many of
my name and kindred have fallen in the service of
the king?  Never has the honour of Scotland been
tarnished by the few who have returned, nor lost by
those who have fallen, in every clime, where the
British standard has been unfurled against an enemy.
An ensigncy has been promised me—and in a Highland
regiment, wearing the garb, inheriting the spirit
of the Gael, and commanded by a grandson of the
great Lochiel; and I cannot shrink when my father
bids me go, although my heart should almost burst
at leaving you behind, my own—own Alice!" and
he pressed to his bosom the agitated girl, who
seemed startled at the vehemence with which he
had spoken.

"But hold, Alice," he added, on perceiving tears
trembling on her dark eyelashes; "you must not
give way thus.  I will return, and all will yet be well.
Only imagine what happiness will then be ours,
should the families be on good terms, and I, perhaps,
Sir Ronald Stewart, and knight of I know not how
many orders?"

"Ah, Ronald! but think of how many have left
their happy homes with hearts beating high with
hope and pride, and left them never to return.  Did
not the three sons of your cousin of Strathonan leave
their bones on the red sands of Egypt? and many
more can I name.  Ah! how I tremble to think of
the scenes that poor soldiers must behold,—scenes
of which I cannot form even the slightest conception."

"These are sad forebodings," replied the young
man, smiling tenderly, "and from the lips of one less
young and less beautiful than yourself, might have
been considered as omens of mischance.  I trust,
however, that I, who have so often shot the swiftest red
roes in Strathisla, slept whole nights on the frozen
heather, and know so well the use of the target and
claymore, (thanks to old Iverach,) shall make no
bad soldier or campaigner, and endure the hardships
incident to a military life infinitely better than the
fine gentlemen of the Lowland cities.  The proud
Cameron who is to command me will, I am sure,
be my friend; he will not forget that his grandsire's
life was saved by mine at Culloden, and he will
regard me with the love of the olden time, for the
sake of those that are dead and gone.  Oh, Alice!  I
could view the bright prospect which is before me
with tumultuous joy, but for the sorrow of leaving
you, my white-haired father, and the bonnie braes
and deep corries of Isla.  But if with Heaven's aid
I escape, promise, Alice, that when I return you will
be mine,—mine by a dearer title than ever I could
call you heretofore."

"Ronald—dearest Ronald!  I will love you as I
have ever done," she said in a soft yet energetic tone;
"and I feel a secret voice within me which tells that
the happy anticipations of the past will—will yet be
accomplished."  The girl laid her blushing cheek on
the shoulder of the young man, and her dark thick
curls, becoming free from the little cap or bonnet
which had confined them, fell over his breast in
disorder.

At that exciting moment of passion and mental
tumult, Ronald's eye met a human countenance
observing them sternly from among the leaves of
the trees that flourished near them.  The foliage was
suddenly pushed aside, and Sir Allan Lisle appeared,
scanning the young offenders with a stern glance of
displeasure and surprise.  He was a tall thin man, in
the prime of life, with a fine countenance expressive
of mildness and benevolence.  He wore his hair
thickly powdered, and tied in a queue behind.  He
carried a heavy hunting-whip in his hand, which he
grasped ominously as he turned his keen eye alternately
from the young man to his trembling daughter,
who, leaning against a tree, covered her face with her
handkerchief and sobbed hysterically.  Ronald Stuart
stood erect, and returned Sir Allan's glance as firmly
and as proudly as he could, but he felt some trouble
in maintaining his self-possession.  His smart blue
bonnet had fallen off, fully revealing his
strongly-marked and handsome features, where Sir Allan read
at once that he was a bold youth, with whom proud
looks and hard words would little avail.

"How now, sir!" said he at length.  "What am
I to understand by all this?  Speak, young gentleman,"
he added, perceiving that Ronald was puzzled,
"answer me truly: as the father of this imprudent
girl, I am entitled to a reply."

Ronald was about to stammer forth something.

"You are, I believe, the son of Stuart of Lochisla?"
interrupted Sir Allan sternly, "who is far
from being a friend to me or mine.  How long is
it since you have known my daughter? and what
am I to understand from the scene you have acted
here?"

"That I love Miss Lisle with the utmost tenderness
that one being is capable of entertaining for
another," replied Ronald, his face suffusing with a
crimson glow at the earnest confession.  "Sir Allan,
if you have seen what passed just now, you will
perceive that I treat her with that respect and delicacy
which the beauties of her mind and person deserve."

"This is indeed all very fine, sir! and very
romantic too; but rather unexpected—upon my
honour rather so," replied the baronet sarcastically,
as he drew the arm of the weeping Alice through his.
"But pray, Master Stuart, how long has this
clandestine matter been carried on? how long have you
been acquainted?"

"From our earliest childhood, sir,—indeed I tell
you truly,—from the days in which we used to gather
wild flowers and berries together as little children.
We have been ever together; a day has scarcely
elapsed without our seeing each other, and there is
not a dingle of the woods, a dark corrie of the Isla,
or a spot on the braes of Strathonan, where we have
not wandered hand in hand, since the days when
Alice was a laughing little girl with flaxen curls
until now, when she is become tall, beautiful, and
almost a woman, with ringlets as black as the wing
of the muircock.  But your son Lewis will tell all
these things better than I can, as I am rather
confused just now, Sir Allan."

"'Tis very odd this matter has been concealed from
me so long," said the other, softened by the earnest
tone of the young man, who felt how much depended
upon the issue of the present unlooked-for interview;
"and if my ears have not deceived me, I think I
heard you offer marriage to my foolish daughter on
your return from somewhere?"

"It is very true, sir," replied the young man
modestly.

"And pray, young sir! what are your pretensions
to the hand of Miss Lisle?"

"Sir!" ejaculated Ronald, his cheek flushing and
his eye sparkling at the angry inquiry of the other.

"I ask you, Mr Stuart, what are they?  Your
father I know to be an almost ruined man, whose
estates are deeply dipped and overwhelmed by
bonds, mortgages, and what not.  He has moreover
been a deadly enemy to me, and has most
unwarrantably——"

"Oh, pray, papa! dear papa!" urged the young
lady imploringly.

"Sir Allan Lisle," cried Ronald with a stern tone,
while his heart beat tumultuously, "Lowland
lawyers and unlooked-for misfortunes are, I know,
completing our ruin, and the pen and parchment have
made more inroads upon us than ever your ancestors
could have done with all Perthshire at their back;
but, truly, it ill becomes a gentleman of birth and
breeding to speak thus slightingly of an old and
honourable Highland family.  If my father, inheriting
as he does ancient prejudices, has been hostile
to your interests, I, Sir Allan, never have been so;
and the time was once, when a Lisle dared not have
spoken thus tauntingly to a Stuart of the house of
Lochisla."

Sir Allan admired the proud and indignant air
with which the youth spoke; but he wished to
humble him if possible, and deemed that irony was
a better weapon than anger to meet the fiery young
Highlander with.  He gave a sort of tragi-comic
start, and was about to make some sarcastic reply,
when his foot caught the root of a tree; he reeled
backward, and fell over the rocky bank into the
Isla, which formed a deep, dark, and noiseless pool
below.

A loud and startling cry burst from Alice, as her
father suddenly disappeared from her side.

"Save him, save him, Ronald!  Oh, Ronald! if
you love me, save my father!" she cried in accents
at once soul-stirring and imploring, while she threw
herself upon her knees, and, not daring to look
upon the stream, covered her eyes with her hands,
calling alternately upon Heaven and her lover, in
tones which defy the power of language to describe,
to save her father.

"Dearest Alice, calm yourself; be pacified,—he
shall not perish," cried Ronald, whose presence of
mind had never once forsaken him, as he cast aside
his bonnet and short sporting coat, and gazed over
the bank upon the rapid river running between two
abrupt walls of rock, against the dark sides of which
the spray and foam raised by Sir Allan's struggles
was dashed.  The latter was beating the water
fruitlessly in the centre of the pool, where it was
deep and the current strong; yet he made no outcry,
as if unwilling to add to the distress which he
knew his daughter already experienced.

He bestowed one look of terror and agony on Ronald,
who instantly sprang off the precipitous rock,
and swimming round him, strongly and vigorously
in wide circles, caught him warily by the hair, and
holding his head above the surface of the stream,
swam down the current to a spot where the bank
was less steep, and with some exertion landed him
safely on the green turf, where he lay long
speechless; while Alice wrung her hands, and wept in an
ecstasy of terror, embracing her father and his
preserver by turns.  The latter, who was nothing the
worse for his ducking, put on his bonnet and upper
garment with perfect *sang froid*; but it was some
time before Sir Allan recovered himself so far as to
be able to thank his preserver, who poured down his
throat as he lay prostrate the contents of a metal
hunting-flask, which he generally carried about with
him filled with the best brandy, procured, by means
unknown, duty free at Lochisla.

Shortly and emphatically did Sir Allan thank
Ronald for the aid he had rendered, as he must
inevitably have perished, being unable to swim, and
having to contend with a strong current, which
would soon have carried him over the high cascade
of Corrie-avon.  Ronald inwardly blessed the
accident which had rendered Sir Allan so much his
debtor, and wrought such a happy change of
sentiment in his favour.  He accompanied Alice and her
father to one of the gate-lodges of Inchavon, and
there resisting an earnest invitation to the house, he
returned with all speed home, not ill pleased with
the issue of the day's adventures.





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.. _`A TRUE HIGHLANDER`:

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   CHAPTER III.


.. class:: center medium bold

   A TRUE HIGHLANDER.

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..

   |  "Not much his new ally he loved,
   |  Yet when he saw what hap had proved,
   |    He greeted him right heartilie;
   |  He would not waken old debate,
   |  For he was void of rancorous hate,
   |  Though rude, and scant of courtesy."
   |                            *The Last Minstrel*, canto v.

.. vspace:: 2

One fine forenoon, a few days after the occurrences
related in the last chapter, a horseman appeared
riding along the narrow uneven road leading by the
banks of Lochisla towards the tower.  It was Sir
Allan Lisle, who came along at a slow trot, managing
his nag with the ease and grace of a perfect rider,
never making use of either whip or spur, but often
drawing in his rein to indulge the pleasure and
curiosity with which he beheld (though accustomed
to the splendid scenery of Perthshire) this secluded
spot, which he had never seen before,—the black
and solitary tower, the dark blue waveless loch,
and the wild scenery by which it was surrounded.

As he advanced up the ascent towards the tower,
his horse began to snort, shake its mane, and grow
restive, as its ears were saluted by a noise to which
they were unaccustomed.

Donald Iverach, the old piper of the family, (which
office his ancestors had held since the days of
Robert the Second, according to his own account,) was
pacing with a stately air to and fro before the door
of the fortalice, with the expanded bag of the piob
mhor under his arm, blowing from its long chaunter
and three huge drones "a tempest of dissonance;"
while he measured with regular strides the length of
the barbican or court, at one end of which stood
a large stoup of whisky, (placed on the end of a
cask,) to which he applied himself at every turn
of his promenade to wet his whistle.

The piper, though of low stature, was of a powerful,
athletic, and sinewy form, and although nearly
sixty, was as fresh as when only sixteen; his face
was rough and purple, from drinking and exposure
to the weather; his huge red whiskers curled round
beneath his chin and grew up to his eyes, which
twinkled and glittered beneath their shaggy brows;
a smart blue bonnet set jauntily, very much over the
right eye, gave him a knowing look, and his knees,
"which had never known covering from the day of
his birth," where exposed by the kilt were hairy
and rough as the hide of the roe-buck; his plaid
waved behind, and a richly mounted dirk, eighteen
inches long, hanging on his right side, completed
his attire.

Great was the surprise of the Celt when, on turning
in his march, he suddenly beheld Sir Allan Lisle,
whom he had not seen since the last year, when by
the laird's orders he had endeavoured, by the
overwhelming noise of his pipe, to drown a speech which
the baronet was addressing to the electors of the
county.  But what earthly errand, thought Donald,
could bring a Lisle up Strathisla, where one of the
race had not been seen since the father of the present
Sir Allan had beleagured the tower in 1746 with a
party of the Scottish Fusileers.  The chaunter fell
from the hand of the astonished piper, and the wind
in the bag of his instrument escaped with an appalling
groan.

"My good friend, I am glad you have ceased at
last," said Sir Allan; "I expected every moment that
my horse would have thrown me.  This fortress of
yours will be secure against cavalry while you are in
it, I dare swear."

"I dinna ken, sir," replied the piper, touching
his bonnet haughtily; "but when pare-leggit gillies
and red coats tried it in the troublesome times,
they aye gat the tead man's share o' the deep loch
below."

"Is your master—is Lochisla at home?"

"His honour the laird is within," replied Iverach,
as Sir Allan dismounted and desired him to hold his
horse.

"Lochisla's piper will hold nae man's bridle-rein,
his honour's excepted," said the indignant
Highlander; "put a common gillie may do tat.  Holloa!
Alpin Oig Stuart!  Dugald!  Evan! come an' hold ta
shentleman's praw sheltie," shouted he, making the
old barbican ring.

"One will do, I dare say," said Sir Allan, smiling
as he resigned his nag to Evan, Iverach's son, a
powerful young mountaineer, who appeared at his
father's shout.

Preceded by Donald, Sir Allan ascended the winding
staircase of the tower, and was ushered into the
hall, or principal apartment it contained, the roof of
which was a stone arch.  At one side yawned a large
fire-place, on the mouldered lintel of which appeared
the crest and badge-flower of the Stuarts,—a thistle,
and underneath was the family motto, "*Omne solum
forti patria*."  At each end of the chamber was a
window of moderate size, with a stone mullion in
the form of a cross; one commanded a view of the
loch and neighbouring forests of birch and pine, and
the other the distant outline of the high Benmore.
The walls were adorned with apparatus for hunting,
fishing, shooting, and sylvan trophies, intermixed
with targets, claymores, Lochaber axes, old muskets,
matchlocks, &c.

The furniture was of oak, or old and black
mahogany, massive and much dilapidated, presenting a
very different appearance to that in the splendid
modern drawing-room at Inchavon.  A few old
portraits hung on the blackened walls, and one in
particular, that of a stern old Highlander, whose white
beard flowed over his belted plaid, seemed to scowl
on Sir Allan, who felt considerably embarrassed
when he unexpectedly found himself in the habitation
of one, whom he could not consider otherwise
than as his foe.

While awaiting the appearance of the proprietor,
whom the piper was gone to inform of the visit, Sir
Allan's eye often wandered to the portrait above the
fire-place, and he remembered that it was the
likeness of the father of the present Stuart, who at the
battle of Falkirk had unhorsed, by a stroke of his
broadsword, his (Sir Allan's) father, then an officer
in the army of General Hawley.  While Sir Allan
mused over the tales he had heard of the grim Ian
Mhor of Lochisla, the door opened, and Mr. Stuart
entered.

Erect in person, stately in step, and graceful in
deportment, strong and athletic of form, he appeared
in every respect the genuine Highland gentleman.
He was upwards of sixty, but his eye was clear,
keen, and bright, and his weather-beaten cheek and
expansive forehead were naturally tinged with a
ruddy tint, which was increased to a flush by the
excitement caused at this unlooked-for visit.

Unlike his servants, who wore the red tartan of
their race, he was attired in the usual dress of a
country gentleman, and wore his silver locks thickly
and unnecessarily powdered, and clubbed in a thick
queue behind.

The natural politeness and hospitable feeling of a
Highlander had banished every trace of displeasure
from his bold and unwrinkled brow, and he grasped
Sir Allan's hand with a frankness at which the latter
was surprised, as was old Janet the housekeeper,
who saw through the keyhole what passed, though
she was unable, in consequence of her deafness, to
hear what was said.

"Be seated, Sir Allan," said Mr. Stuart, bowing
politely, though he felt his stiffness and hauteur
rising within him, and endeavoured to smother it.
"To what am I indebted for the honour of this
visit? which, I must have the candour to acknowledge, is
most unexpected."

"Lochisla," replied the other, addressing him in
the Scottish manner by the name of his property,
"to the gallantry of your brave boy, Ronald, but
for whose exertions I should at this moment have
been sleeping at the bottom of the Linn at Corrie-avon.
I have deemed it incumbent upon me to visit
Lochisla, to return my earnest thanks personally for
the signal service he has rendered to me, and I
regret that the terms on which you—on which we
have lived, render, in your estimation, my visit
rather an honour than a pleasure."

A shade crossed the brow of the Highlander, but
on hearing the particulars he congratulated Sir Allan
on his escape in a distant and polite manner, while
the twinkle of his bright eyes showed how much
satisfaction he enjoyed at the brave conduct of his
son.  While Sir Allan was relating the story,
Mr. Stuart placed near him a large silver liqueur frame,
containing six cut-glass bottles, the variously
coloured contents of which sparkled behind their
silver labels.

"Come, Sir Allan, fill your glass, and drink to my
boy's health: one does not experience so narrow an
escape often, now-a-days at least.  Come, sir, fill
your glass,—there is sherry, brandy, port, and the
purer dew of the hills; choose which you please."

"You Stuarts of Lochisla have long borne a
name for hospitality, but it is rather early to taste
strong waters,—'tis not meridian yet."

"Our hospitality was greater in the olden time
than it is now; but it is not often that this old hall
has within it one of the Lisles of the Inch, and you
must positively drink with me," answered his host,
compelling him to fill his glass from the decanter of
purple port.

"Our visits have been fewer, and less friendly,
than I trust they will be for the future.  Your health
Lochisla," he added, sipping his wine.  "'Tis sixty
years and more, I think, since my father came up the
Strath with his followers, when—"

"We will not talk of these matters, Sir Allan,"
exclaimed Stuart, on whose features was gathering a
stern expression which Sir Allan saw not, as he sat
with his face to a window and looked through his
glass with one eye closed, watching a crumb of the
bee's wing floating on the bright liquor.  "They are
the last I would wish to think of when you are my
guest."

"Pardon me, I had no wish to offend; we have
ever been as strangers to each other, although our
acres march.  I have had every desire to live on
amicable terms with you, Mr. Stuart; but you have
ever been prejudiced against me, and truly without
a cause."

"I am one of the few who inherit the feelings of
a bygone age.  But, Sir Allan Lisle, let us not, I
intreat you, refer to the past," coldly replied the old
Highlander, to whom two parts of his guest's last
speech were displeasing.  The recurrence to the past
terms on which they had lived, brought to his mind
more than one case of litigation in which Sir Allan
had come off victorious; the other was being
addressed as *Mr. Stuart*, a title by which he was
never known among his own people.  The polite
and affable manner of his visitor had tended to
diminish his prejudices during the last five minutes,
but Sir Allan's blundering observations recalled to
the mind of the old *duinhe-wassal* the bitter
feelings which he inherited from his father, and his
high forehead became flushed and contracted.

"It appears very unaccountable," said he, after
the uncomfortable pause which had ensued, "that
my son has never, during the past days, mentioned
the circumstance of the happy manner in which he
drew you from the Corrie-avon."

"To that," replied the other laughing, "a story
is appended, a very romantic one indeed, part of
which I suppressed in my relation; nothing less, in
fact, than a love-affair, to which, as I have conceived
a friendship for the brave boy to whom I owe a life,
I drink every success," (draining his glass); "but
this must be treated of more gravely at a future
interview."

"Sir Allan, I understand you not; but if Ronald
has formed any attachment in this neighbourhood,
he must learn to forget it, as he will soon leave
Lochisla.  Some cottage girl, I suppose: these
attachments are common enough among the mountains."

"You mistake me: the young lady is one every
way his equal, and they have known each other
from their childhood.  But I will leave the hero to
tell his own tale, which will sound better from the
lips of a handsome Highland youth, than those of a
plain grey-haired old fellow, like myself."

"I like your frankness," said Stuart, softened by
the praise bestowed on his son by his old adversary,
whose hand he shook, "and will requite it, Sir
Allan.  When Ronald comes down the glen, I will
talk with him over this matter, which I confess
troubles me a little at heart, as I never supposed he
would have kept an attachment of his secret from
me, his only parent now, and one that has loved him
so dearly as I have done.  But I must be gentle with
him, as he is about to leave me soon, poor boy."

"Ah! for the army,—so I have heard: our
boys will follow nothing else now-a-days.  I fear
my own springald, Lewis, is casting wistful thoughts
that way.  But should you wish it, I may do much
in Ronald's favour: I have some little interest with
those in power in London, and——"

"I thank you, but it needs not to be so.  Huntly
has promised me that Ronald shall not be forgotten
when a vacancy occurs in the "Gordon Highlanders,"
a regiment raised among his own people and kindred;
and the Marquis, whose interest is great with the
Duke of York, will not forget his word—his pledged
word to a Highland gentleman."

On Sir Allan's departure, Stuart, from one of the
hall windows, watched his retiring figure as he rode
rapidly down the glen, and disappeared among the
birchen foliage which overhung and shrouded the
winding pathway.  A sour smile curled his lip; he
felt old prejudices rising strongly in his breast, and
he turned his eye on the faded portrait of his father,
and thought of the time when he had sat as a little
child upon his knee, and heard the family of Lisle
mentioned with all the bitterness of Highland
rancour, and been told a thousand times of the days
when Colonel Lisle had carried fire and sword
through all Lochisla, besieging the little tower for
days, until its inmates were perishing for want.  In
the tide of feeling which these reflections called
forth, the late amiable interview was forgotten; and
he only remembered Sir Allan as the foe of his race,
and the victor in many a keenly contested case in
the Parliament house, the place where the Court of
Session sit at Edinburgh.

A bustle in the narrow staircase recalled him to
himself: the door was thrown open, and Ronald
entered, gun in hand, from the hill, flushed and
excited with the nature of the sport.  Two tall
Highlanders strode behind, bearing on their shoulders a
stout pole, from which was suspended by the heels
a gigantic deer, whose branching antlers trailed on
the floor, which was sprinkled with spots of blood
falling from its dilated nostrils and a death-wound
in its neck, which had been gashed across by the
skene-dhu of a Highlander.  A number of red-eyed
dogs accompanied them, displaying in their forms
the long and muscular limbs, voluminous chest, and
rough wiry coat of the old Scottish hound,—a noble
animal, once common in the Lowlands, but now to
be found only in the north, where the deer wander
free over immense stretches of waste moorland or
forest, as they did of old.

"A brave beast he is," said Ronald exultingly, as
he cast aside his bonnet and gun.  "At the head of
the loch I fired, and wounded him here in the neck:
we traced him by the blood for two miles down
the Isla, where he flew through thicket and brake
with the speed of an arrow; but the gallant dogs
Odin and Carril fastened upon him, and drew him
down when about to take the water, near the
march-stone of the Lisles.  'Twas luckily done: had he
once gained the grounds of Inchavon, our prize would
have been lost."

"Ronald," replied his father coldly, "we will
hear all this matter afterwards."  Then turning to
the gillies, "Dugald Stuart, and you Alpin Oig," said
he, "carry away this quarry to the housekeeper, and
desire her to fill your queghs for you.  I have had
a visit from Sir Allan Lisle," resumed Stuart, when
the Highlanders had obeyed his order and retired.
"Hah! you change countenance already: this has
been a mysterious matter.  He has been here to
return thanks for your pulling him out of Isla, where
he was nearly drowned, poor man, a day or two
since,—a circumstance which you seem to have
thought too worthless to mention to me.  But there
is another matter, on which I might at least have
been consulted," he added, watching steadily the
changes in the countenance of the young man, whose
heart fluttered with excitement.  "You have formed
an attachment to some girl in the neighbourhood,
which has reached the ears of this Allan Lisle
although it never came to mine, and the intercourse
has continued for years although I have been
ignorant of it.  Ronald, my boy, who is the girl?  As
your father, I have at least a right to inquire her
name and family."

"Do pray excuse me," faltered the other, playing
nervously with his bonnet; "I am too much embarrassed
at present to reply,—some other time.  Ah! your
anger would but increase, I fear, were you to know."

"It does increase!  Surely she is not a daughter
of that grim churl Corrieoich up the glen yonder?
I have seen his tawdry kimmers at the county ball.
I can scarcely think this flame of yours is a child of
his.  You remember the squabble I had with him
about firing on his people, who were dragging the
loch with nets under the very tower windows.  By
Heaven! is she a daughter of his?" cried his
father in the loud and imperative tone so natural to
a Highlander.  "Answer me, I command you, Ronald Stuart!"

"She is not, I pledge you my word," replied the
young man gently.

"Ronald!" exclaimed the old gentleman, a dark
flush gathering on his cheek, "she must be some
mean and contemptible object, otherwise you would
not shrink from the mention of her name, was it
gentle and noble, in this coward way."

"Coward I never was," replied Ronald bitterly.
"I may shrink before my own father, when I would
scorn to quail before the angry eye of any other man
who lives and breathes.  Nor do I blush to own the
name of—of this lady.  She is Alice, the daughter
of Sir Allan Lisle, of Inchavon.  Ah, sir!  I fear I
have applied a match to a mine; but I must await
the explosion."

Ronald had indeed lighted a mine.  A terrible
expression flashed in the eyes of the old Highlander,
and gathered upon his formidable brow.

"Ronald!  Ronald! for this duplicity I was
unprepared," he exclaimed in emphatic Gaelic, with a
tone of the bitterest reproach.  "Have you dared to
address yourself to a daughter of that man?  Look
up, degenerate boy!" he added, grasping Ronald's
arm with fierce energy, while he spoke with stern
distinctness.  "Look upon the portrait of old Ian Mhor,
your brave grand sire, and imagine what he would
have thought of this.  The Lisles of Inchavon!  *Dhia
gledh sinn*!  I have not forgotten their last hostile
attempt sixty-five years since, in 1746, when Colonel
Lisle, the father of this Sir Allan, besieged our tower
with his whole battalion.  I was a mere infant then;
but I well remember how the muskets of the fusileers
flashed daily and nightly from rock and copse-wood,
and from the dark loopholes of the tower,
where the brave retainers of Lochisla defended my
father's stronghold with the desperate courage of
outlawed and ruined men,—ruined and outlawed in
a noble cause!  These days of death and siege I
have not forgotten, nor the pale cheek of the mother
at whose breast I hung seeking nourishment, while
she was perishing for want of food.  Nor have I
forgotten the gallows-tree—God be gracious unto
me!—raised by the insolent soldiery on the brae-head
to hang our people when they surrendered; and, had
they ever yielded, they would have swung every
man of them, and have been food for the raven and
hoodiecraw.  And this paternal tower would have
been now ruined and roofless, forming a lair for the
fox and the owl, but for the friendship of our
kinsman Seafield, who wrung a respite and reprieve from
the unwilling hand of the merciless German duke.

"Oh, Ronald Stuart! remember these things, and
recall some traces of the spirit of Ian Mhor, whose
name and blood you inherit.  He was a stern old
man, and a proud one, possessing the spirit of the
days that are gone,—days when the bold son of the
hills redressed his wrongs with his own right hand,
and held his lands, not by possession of a sheepskin,
but by the broad blade of his good claymore."

He paused a moment, passed his hand across his
glowing brow, and thus continued in a tone of
sterner import, and more high-flown Gaelic.

"Listen to me, O Ronald!  Hearken to a father
who has loved, and watched, and tended you as
never father did a son.  Think no more of
Inchavon's daughter!  Promise me to spurn her from
your remembrance, or never more shall you find a
home in the dwelling-place of our fathers: you
shall be as a stranger to my heart, and your name
be known in Lochisla no more.  I will cast you off
as a withered branch, and leave our ancient patrimony
to the hereditary chieftain of our race.  Pledge
me your word, or, Ronald, I pronounce you for ever
lost!"

During this long and energetic harangue, which
was delivered in the sonorous voice which Mr. Stuart
always assumed with his Gaelic, various had been
the contending emotions in the bosom of Ronald.
Love and pride, indignation and filial respect,
agitated him by turns; and when his father ceased, he
took up his bonnet with an air of pride and grief.

"Sir—sir—O my father!" said he, while his pale
lip quivered, and a tear glittered in his dark eye,
"you will be spared any further trouble on my
account.  I will go; leave Lochisla to the Stuarts
of Appin, or whom you may please.  I will seek my
fortune elsewhere, and show you truly that 'a brave
man makes every soil his country.'"

As he turned to leave the apartment, the stern
aspect of his father's features relaxed, and he
surveyed him with a wistful look.

"Stay, Ronald," he exclaimed; "I have been
hasty.  You would not desert me thus in my old
age, and leave me with anger on your brow?  Let
not our pride overcome our natural affection.  I will
speak of this matter again, and——"


Here he was interrupted by Donald Iverach, who
entered respectfully, bonnet in hand, bearing two
long official-looking letters, which he handed to
Mr. Stuart, who started on perceiving "*On his Majesty's
service*" (an unusual notice to him) printed on the
upper corner of each.

"Hoigh!" said the piper, "your honour's clory
disna get twa sic muckle letters ilka day.  The auld
doited cailloch tat keeps the post-house down at the
clachan of Strathfillan, sent a gilly trotting up the
water-side wi' them, as fast as his houghs could
pring him."

Their contents became speedily known.  The first
was a letter from the Horse Guards, informing
Mr. Stuart that his son was appointed to an ensigncy in
the 92nd regiment, or Gordon Highlanders,
commanded by the Marquis of Huntly.  The second was
to Ronald himself, signed by the adjutant-general,
directing him with all speed to join a detachment,
which was shortly to leave the depot in the Castle
of Edinburgh for the seat of war.

Pride and pleasure at the new and varied prospect
before him were the first emotions of Ronald's
mind; sorrow and regret at thoughts of parting so
suddenly, perhaps for ever, from all that was dear
to him, succeeded them.

"Hoigh! hui-uigh!" cried old Iverach, capering
with Highland agility on hearing the letters read.
"Hui-uigh!" he exclaimed, making the weapons
clatter on the wall with his wild and startling shout,
while he tossed his bonnet up to the vaulted roof;
"and so braw Maister Ronald is going to the
clorious wars, to shoot the French loons like the
muircocks o' Strathisla, or the bonnie red roes o'
Benmore!  Hoigh!  Got tam! auld Iverach's son sall
gang too, and follow the laird's, as my ain faither
and mony a braw shentleman did auld Sir Ian Mhor
to the muster o' Glenfinan.  And when promotion is
in the way, braw Maister Ronald will no forget puir
Evan Iverach, the son of his faither's piper, that
follows him for love to the far-awa' land.  And when
the pipers blaw the onset, neither o' them will forget
the bonnie banks of Lochisla, and the true hearts
they have left behind them there.  And when the
onset is nigh, let them shout the war-cry of their
race: my prave prothers cried it on the ramparts of
Ticonderago,[\*] where the auld plack watch were
mown doon like grass, in a land far peyond the isles,
where the sun sets in the west."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] In that sanguinary affair the 42nd Highlanders, or old
Black-Watch, lost 43 officers,
commissioned and non-commissioned, and
had 603 privates killed and wounded; and "to many a heart and
home in the Highlands did this disastrous though glorious
intelligence bring desolation and mourning."

.. vspace:: 2

As this enthusiastic retainer left the apartment to
communicate the news to the rest of the household,
old Mr. Stuart turned to gaze on his son.

The arrival of these letters had caused a vast
change in their feelings within the last five minutes;
all traces of discord had vanished, and the softest
feelings of our nature remained behind.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE DEPARTURE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IV.


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE DEPARTURE.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "Farewell, farewell, a last adieu!
   |    Adieu, ye hills and dales so sweet;
   |  Adieu, ye gurgling rills, for you
   |    And I again may never meet!
   |  Sweet lovely scene, with charms replete!
   |    Backward my longing eyes I turn,
   |  Leave your stupendous rocks with woe,
   |    To yonder cloud-capped town I go,
   |  Ah! never to return."
   |                              *Colin Maclaurin.*

.. vspace:: 2

Sorrow for the sudden departure of Ronald was
the prevailing sentiment in the tower of Lochisla,
which old Janet the housekeeper caused to re-echo
with her ceaseless lamentations, poured forth either
in broken broad Scotch, or in her more poetical and
descriptive Gaelic, for the going forth of the bold
boy whom she had watched over and nursed from
childhood with the tenderness of a mother.

His father felt deeply the pang of parting with
the only child that death had left him; but he pent
his feelings within his own proud bosom, and showed
them but little.  He said nothing more of Alice Lisle,
unwilling to sour the few remaining hours they had
to spend together by harsh injunctions or disagreeable
topics, deeming that Ronald in the busy scenes
which were before him in his military career would
be taught to forget the boyish attachment of his
early days.  It is thus that old men ever reckon,
forgetting that the first impressions which the
young heart receives are ever the strongest and
most lasting.

He directed with cool firmness the arrangements
for his son's early departure, and save now and
then a quivering of the lip or a deep sigh, no other
emotion was visible.  He felt keenly, nor would
he ever have parted with Ronald, notwithstanding
the eagerness of the youth to join the army, but for
the entanglement of his private affairs, which
rendered it absolutely necessary that his son should
be independent of his shattered patrimony, and the
proud and martial disposition of both their minds
made arms the only profession to be chosen.

It was close upon the time of his departure ere
Ronald could make an arrangement to obtain an
interview with Alice Lisle.  He despatched by Evan,
the son of Iverach, a note to Alice, requesting her
to meet and bid him adieu, in the lawn in front
of Inchavon-house, on the evening of the second
day, referring her to the bearer for a recapitulation
of the events which had taken place.

The young Highlander, who was to accompany
Ronald to the regiment as a servant and follower,
was as shrewd and acute as a love-messenger
required to be, and succeeded, after considerable
trouble and delay, in delivering the billet into the
fair hands of the young lady herself, who, although
she neither shrieked or fainted, nor expired
altogether, like a heroine of romance, was nevertheless
overwhelmed with the intelligence, which Evan
related to her as gently as he could; and after
promising to attend to the note without fail, she
retired to her own chamber, and gave way to the
deepest anguish.

At last arrived the important day which was to
behold Ronald launched from his peaceful
Highland home into the stormy scenes of a life which
was new to him.  Evan Iverach had been sent
off in the morning with the baggage to the hamlet
of Strathisla, where the stage-coach for Perth was
to take up his young master.

Sorrowful indeed was the parting between the
old piper and his son Evan Bean, (*i.e.* fair-haired
Evan,) and they were but little comforted by the
assurance of the old crone Janet, who desired them
to "greet weel, as their weird was read, and they
would never meet mair."

Ronald was seated with his father at breakfast in
the hall or dining-room of the tower.  The table
was covered with viands of every kind, exhibiting
all the profuseness of a true Scottish breakfast,—tea,
coffee, cold venison, cheese, oaten bannocks,
&c., &c., &c., and a large silver-mouthed bottle,
containing most potent usquebaugh, distilled for
the laird's own use by Alpin Oig Stuart in one of
the dark and dangerous chasms on the banks of
the Isla, a spot unknown to the exciseman, a
personage much dreaded and abhorred in all Highland
districts.

The old cailloch, Janet, was in attendance, weeping
and muttering to herself.  Iverach was without
the tower, making the yard ring to the spirit-stirring
notes of—

   |  "We'll awa to Shirramuir,
   |  An' haud the whigs in order;"

and he strode to and fro, blowing furiously, as if
to keep up the failing spirit of his tough old heart.

Mr. Stuart said little, but took his morning meal
as usual.  Now and then he bit his nether lip, his
eye glistened, and his brow was knit, to disguise the
painful emotions that filled his heart.

Ronald ate but little and sat totally silent, gazing
with swimming eyes, while his heart swelled almost
to bursting, on the lofty hills and dark pine woods,
which, perchance, he might never more behold;
and the sad certainty that slowly passing years
would elapse ere he again stood by his paternal
hearth, or beheld his father's face,—if, indeed, he
was ever to behold it again,—raised within him
emotions of the deepest sadness.

"Alas!" thought he, "how many years may roll
away before I again look on all I have loved so
long; and what dismal changes may not have taken
place in that time!"

"Hui-uigh!  Ochon—ochanari!" cried the old
woman, unable to restrain herself longer, as she
sunk upon a settle in the recess of the hall window.
"He is going forth to the far awa land of the stranger,
where the hoodiecraw and fox pyke the banes of
the dead brave; but he winna return to us, as the
eagle's brood return to their eyrie among the black
cliffs o' bonnie Craigonan."

"He shall! old woman.  What mean you by
these disheartening observations in so sad an hour
as this?" said the old gentleman sternly, roused by
that prophetic tone which never falls without effect
on the ear of a Scottish Highlander.

"Dinna speak sae to me, laird.  God sain me!  I
read that in his bonnie black een which tells me
that they shall never again look on mine."

"Hoigh! prutt, trutt," said Iverach, whom her
cry had summoned to the spot, "the auld teevil
of a cailloch will pe casting doon Maister Ronald's
heart when it should pe at the stoutest.  Huisht,
Janet, and no be bedeviling us with visions and
glaumorie just the noo."

"Donald Iverach, I tell you he shall never more
behold those whom he looks on this day: I tell you
so, and I never spoke in vain," cried the old sybil
in Gaelic with a shrill voice.  "When the brave
sons of my bosom perished with their leader at
Corunna, did I not know of their fall the hour it
happened?  The secret feeling, which a tongue
cannot describe, informed me that they were no more.
Yes; I heard the wild wind howl their death-song,
as it swept down the pass of Craigonan, and I viewed
their shapeless spirits floating in the black mist that
clung round the tower of Lochisla on the night the
field of Corunna was stricken, for many were the
men of our race who perished there: the dead-bell
sung to me the live-long night, and our caillochs
and maidens were sighing and sad,—but I alone
knew why."

"Peace! bird of ill omen," replied the piper in
the same language, overawed by the force of her
words.  "*Dhia gledh sinn!* will you break the
proud spirit of a *duinhe wassal* of the house of
Lochisla, when about to gird the claymore and
leave the roof-tree of his fathers?"

"Come, come; we have had enough of this," said
Mr. Stuart.  "Retire, Janet, and do not by your
unseemly grief disturb the last hours that my son
and I shall spend together."

"A wreath, and 'tis not for nought, is coming
across my auld een," she replied, pressing her
withered hands upon her wrinkled brow.  "Sorrow and
woe are before us all.  I have seen it in many a dark
dream at midnicht, and heard it in the croak of the
nicht-bird, as it screamed from its eyrie in
Coirnan-Taischatrin,[\*] where the wee men and women
dance their rings in the bonnie moonlicht.  Greet
and be woefu', my braw bairn, for we shall never
behold ye mair.  Ochon—ochon!" and pressing
Ronald to her breast, this faithful old dependant
rushed from the hall.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] The cave of the seers.

.. vspace:: 2

"Grief has distracted the poor old creature," said
Mr. Stuart, making a strong effort to control the
emotions which swelled his own bosom, while Ronald
no longer concealed his, but covering his face
with his hands, wept freely, and the piper began to
blubber and sob in company.

"Hoigh! oigh!  Got tam! it's joost naething but
fairies' spells and glaumorie that's ever and aye in
auld Janet's mouth.  She craiks and croaks like the
howlets in the auld chapel-isle, till it's gruesome to
hear her.  But dinna mind her, Maister Ronald; I'll
blaw up the bags, and cheer your heart wi' the
'gathering' on the bonnie *piob mhor*."  The piper
retired to the yard, where the cotters and many a
shepherd from the adjacent hills were assembled to
behold Ronald depart, and bid him farewell.

Ronald's father, the good old man, although his
heart was wrung and oppressed by the dismal forebodings
of his retainer, did all that he possibly could
to raise the drooping spirits of his son, by holding
out hopes of quick promotion and a speedy return
home; but Ronald wept like a youth as he was, and
answered only by his tears.

"Oh, Ronald, my boy!" groaned the old man;
"it is in an hour such as this that I most feel the
loss of her whose fair head has long, long been under
the grassy turf which covers her fair-haired little
ones in the old church-yard yonder.  The sun is now
shining through the window of the ruined chapel,
and I see the pine which marks their graves
tossing its branches in the light."  He looked fixedly
across the loch at the islet, the grassy surface of
which was almost covered with grey tomb-stones,
beneath which slept the retainers of his ancestors,
who themselves rested among the Gothic ruins of
the little edifice, which their piety had endowed
and founded to St. John, the patron saint of Perth.

The day sped fast away, and the hour came in
which Ronald was compelled to depart, if he would
be in time for the Perth stage, which passed through
Strathisla.  His father accompanied him to the gate
of the tower, where he embraced and blessed him.
He then turned to depart, after shaking the hard
hand of many an honest mountaineer.

"May Got's plessing and all goot attend ye!
Maister Ronald," blubbered old Iverach, who was
with difficulty prevented from piping before him
down the glen; "and dinna forget to befriend puir
Evan Bean, that follows ye for love."

A sorrowful farewell in emphatic Gaelic was
muttered through the court as Ronald, breaking from
among them, rushed down the steep descent, as if
anxious to end the painful scene.  His father gazed
wistfully after, as if his very soul seemed to follow
his steps.  Ronald looked back but once, and then
dashed on as fast as his strength could carry him;
but that look he never, never forgot.

The old man had reverently taken off his hat,
allowing his silver hair to stream in the wind, and
with eyes upturned to heaven was fervently
ejaculating,—"Oh, God! that nearest me, be a father
unto my poor boy, and protect him in the hour of
danger!"

It was the last time that Ronald beheld the face
of his father, and deeply was the memory of its
expression impressed upon his heart.  Not daring
again to turn his head, he hurried along the mountain
path, until he came to a turn of the glen which
would hide the much-loved spot for ever.  Here he
turned and looked back: his father was no longer
visible, but there stood the well-known tower rising
above the rich copse-land, with the grey smoke from
its huge kitchen chimney curling over the battlements
in the evening wind, which brought to his
ear the wail of Iverach's bagpipe.  The smooth
surface of the loch shone with purple and gold in
the light of the setting sun, the rays of which fell
obliquely as its flaming orb appeared to rest on the
huge dark mountains of the western Highlands.

"Ah! never shall I behold a scene like this in
the land to which I go," thought Ronald, as he cast
one eager glance over it all; and then, entering the
deep rocky gorge, through which the road wound,
hurried towards the romantic hamlet of Strathisla,
the green mossy roofs and curling smoke of which
he saw through the tufts of birch and pine a short
distance before him.

It was dusk before he reached the cluster of
primitive cottages, at the door of one of which,
dignified by the name of "the coach-office," stood Evan
with the baggage, impatiently awaiting the appearance
of his master, as the time for the arrival of the
coach was close at hand.  Telling him hastily that
he would meet the vehicle on the road near
Inchavonpark, he passed forward to keep his promise to
Alice.  A few minutes' walk brought him to the
boundary wall of Sir Allan's property; vaulting
lightly over, he found himself among the thickets of
shrubs which were planted here and there about
the smooth grassy lawn, in the centre of which
appeared Inchavon-house, a handsome modern structure;
the lofty walls and portico of fine Corinthian
columns, surmounted by a small dome, all shone
in the light of the summer moon, by which he
saw the glimmer of a white dress advancing hastily
towards him.

At that instant the sound of the coach, as it came
rattling and rumbling down a neighbouring hill,
struck his ear, and his heart died within him, as he
knew it would be there almost immediately.

"Alice!" he exclaimed, as he threw one arm
passionately around her.

"Ronald, O Ronald!" was all the weeping girl
could articulate, as she clung to him tremblingly.

"Remember me when I am gone!  Love me as
you do now when I shall be far, far away from
you, Alice!"

"Ah, how could I ever forget you!"

At that moment the unwelcome vehicle drew up
on the road.

"Stuart—Ronald, my old comrade," cried the frank
though faltering voice of Lewis Lisle, who appeared
at that moment; "give me your hand, my boy.  You
surely would not go without seeing me?"

Ronald pressed the hand of Lewis, who threw
over his neck a chain, at which hung a miniature of
his sister.

"Alas!" muttered Ronald, "I have nothing to
give as a keepsake in return!  Ay, this ring,—'tis a
very old one, but it was my mother's; wear it for
my sake, Alice."  To kiss her pale cheek, place her
in the arms of Lewis, to cross the park and leap the
wall, were to the young Highlander the work of a
moment,—and he vanished from their side.

"Come alang, sir!  We canna be keepit here the
haill nicht," bawled the driver crossly as Ronald
appeared upon the road, where the white steam was
curling from the four panting horses in the moonlight,
which revealed Evan, seated with the goods and
chattels of himself and master among the muffled-up
passengers who loaded the coach-top.

"Inside, sir?" said the guard from behind the
shawl which muffled his weather-beaten face as he
held open the door.  Ronald, scarcely knowing what
he did, stepped in, and the door closed with a bang
which made the driver rock on his seat.  "A' richt,
Jamie; drive on!" cried the guard, vaulting into the
dickey; and in a few minutes more the noise of
wheels and hoofs had died away from the ears of
poor Alice and her brother, who listened with
beating hearts to the retiring sound.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`EDINBURGH CASTLE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V.


.. class:: center medium bold

   EDINBURGH CASTLE.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "But tender thoughts maun now be hushed,
   |    When danger calls I must obey;
   |  The transport waits us on the coast,
   |    And the morn I will be far away."
   |                              *Tannahill*.

.. vspace:: 2

The young Highlander, who had never beheld a
larger city than Perth, was greatly struck with the
splendid and picturesque appearance of Edinburgh.
The long lines of densely crowded streets, the antique
and lofty houses, the spires, the towers, the enormous
bridges spanning deep ravines, the long dark alleys,
crooks, nooks, and corners of the old town, with its
commanding castle; and then the new, with its
innumerable and splendid shops, filled with rich and
costly stuffs, the smoke, noise, and confusion of the
great thoroughfares and promenades contrasted with
the sombre and gloomy grandeur of the Canongate
and Holyrood, were all strange sights to one who
from infancy had been accustomed to "the eagle
and the rock, the mountain and the cataract, the
blue-bell, the heather, and the long yellow broom,
the Highland pipe, the hill-climbing warrior, and
the humbler shepherd in the garb of old Gaul."

From the castle he viewed with surprise and delight
the vast amphitheatre which surrounds the city.
To the westward Corstorphine, covered to the summit
with the richest foliage, Craiglockart, Blackford, the
ridges of Braid and Pentland, the Calton, the craigs
of Salisbury and Arthur's seat, encircling the city on
all sides except the north, where the noble Frith of
Forth—the Bodoria of the Romans,—the most beautiful
stream in Scotland, perhaps in Britain, wound
along the yellow sands.

Far beyond were seen the Lomonds of Fife, the
capes of Crail and Elie, the broad bays and
indentures of the German Ocean, and the islets of the
Forth, the banks of which are studded with villages,
castles, churches, and rich woodland.  As he entered
the fortress he was particularly struck with the
gloomy and aged appearance of its embattled buildings
and lofty frowning batteries, where the black
cannon peeped grimly through antique embrasures.
It was a place particularly interesting to Ronald,
(as it is to every true Scotsman,) who thought of the
prominent part it bore in the annals of his country,—of
the many sieges it had sustained, and the many
celebrated persons who had lived and died within
the walls, which held the crown and insignia of a
race whose name and power had passed away from
the land they had ruled and loved so long.

Kilted sentinels, wearing the plumed bonnet, tasselled
*sporan* or purse, and the dark tartan, striped
with yellow, of the Gordon Highlanders, appeared at
the different bastions as he passed the drawbridge,
entered through many a strong gate studded with
iron, and the black old arch where the two
portcullises of massive metal hang suspended.

Ronald, for the first time since he left home, found
himself confounded and abashed when he was
received by the haughty staff-officer in the cold and
stiff manner which these gentlemen assume to
regimental officers.  Here he *reported* himself, as the
phrase is, and presented the letters of the
adjutant-general.  It was in a gloomy apartment of the old
palace, and the very place in which the once beautiful
Mary of Guise breathed her last.  Its furniture
consisted of two chairs and a hardwood table covered
with books, army lists, papers and dockets of letters:
boards of general orders, a couple of swords, and
forage-caps hung upon the wall.  A drum stood in
one corner, and an unseemly cast-iron coal-box
bearing the mystic letters "B.O." stood in another.  A
decanter of port and a wine-glass, which appeared on
the mantel shelf, showed that the occupant of the
office knew the secret of making himself comfortable.

Considerably damped in spirit, by the dry and
unsoldierlike reception he had experienced, Ronald next
sought the quarters of the officer who commanded the
detachment of his own regiment.  On quitting the
citadel, he passed the place where the French
prisoners of war were confined.  It was a small
piece of ground, enclosed by a strong palisado,
over which the poor fellows displayed for sale those
ornaments and toys which the ingenuity of their
nation enabled them to make.  Little ships,
toothpicks, bodkins, dominoes, boxes, &c. were
manufactured by them from the bones of their scanty
allowance of ration meat, and offered for sale to the
soldiers of the garrison, or visitors from the city who
chanced to pass the place of their confinement.

They appeared to be generally very merry, and
were dressed in the peculiar uniform of the prison;
but here and there might be observed an officer,
who, having broken his parole of honour, was now
degraded by being placed among the rank and file.
Ronald was but a young soldier, and consequently
pitied them; he thought of what his own feelings
would be were he a prisoner in a foreign land, with
the bayonets of guards glittering at every turn; but
there seemed to be none there who yearned for
home or hearts they had left behind them, save one,
and of him we will speak hereafter.  The reception
Ronald met with from the officers of his own corps,
tended much to revive his drooping spirits, which
were, for some time, sadly depressed by the remembrance
of Lochisla, and the affectionate friends he
had left behind him there.

Among the officers were young men who, like
himself, had recently left their homes in the distant
north, and a unison of feeling existed in their minds;
but, generally, they were merry thoughtless fellows,
and the vivacity of their conversation, the frolics in
which they were ever engaged, and the bustle of the
garrison, were capital antidotes against care.  But
the tear often started to the eye of Stuart as he
beheld the far-off peak of Ben Lomond, fifty miles
distant from the window of his room,—his rank as a
subaltern entitling him only to one, and he thought
of the romantic hills of Perthshire, or of the lonely
hearth where his grey-haired sire mourned for his
absence.  But little time was allowed him to muse
thus.  Parades in the castle, the promenades, theatres,
the gay blaze of ball-rooms in the city, crowded
with beautiful and fashionable girls and glittering
uniforms, left him little time for reflection; and the
day of embarkation for the Peninsula, the seat of
war, to which all men's thoughts—and women's too,
were turned, insensibly drew nigh.

Evan Iverach had been enlisted in his master's
company, and under the hands of a regimental tailor,
and the tuition of the drill sergeant, was rapidly
becoming a smart soldier, while he still remained
an attached servant to his master.

The latter, soon after his arrival in the capital,
had visited his father's agent, Mr. Æneas Macquirk,
a writer to the signet, who had long transacted the
business and fleeced the pocket of the old laird
in the most approved legal manner.  This worthy,
having lately procured the old gentleman's signature
to a document which was ultimately to be his ruin,
was therefore disposed to treat Ronald drily enough,
having made the most of his father; and he would
never have been invited to the snug front-door-house,
with the carpeted staircase, comfortable dining
and airy drawing-room in the new town, but
for the vanity of Mrs. and the Misses Macquirk,
who thought that the rich uniform of the young
officer as a visitor gave their house a gay and
fashionable air.

Quite the reverse of the good old "clerks to the
signet" who once dwelt in the dark closes of the
old city, Macquirk was one of the many contemptible
fellows whose only talent is chicanery, and
who fatten and thrive on that unfortunate love of
litigation which possesses the people of Scotland.
Mean and servile to the rich, he was equally
purse-proud and overbearing to the poor, to whom he was
a savage and remorseless creditor.  Many were the
unfortunate citizens who cursed the hour in which
they first knew this man, who feathered his nest by
the law, better than ever his father had done by the
honester trade of mending shoes in the West Bow.

Mrs. Macquirk was a vulgar-looking woman, most
unbecomingly fat; her money had procured her a
husband, and she was as proud as could be expected,
considering that she had first seen the light
in the low purlieus of the Kraimes, and now found
herself mistress of one of the handsomest houses in
Edinburgh.

The young ladies were more agreeable, being
rather good-looking but very affected, having
received all the accomplishments that it was in the
power of their slighted and brow-beaten governess,
the daughter of a good but unfortunate family, to
impart to them.  They gave parties that Ronald
might show off the uniform of the Gordon
Highlanders, and played and sung to him in their best
style; while he drew many comparisons between
them and the Alice whose miniature he wore in his
bosom, by which they lost immensely; and while
listening to their confused foreign airs and songs, he
thought how much sweeter and more musical were
the tones of Alice Lisle, when she sung "The Birks
of Invermay," or any other melody of the mountains,
making his heart vibrate to her words.  But even
in the Castle of Edinburgh Ronald had recently
made a friend, whose society, in spite of military
and Highland gallantry, he preferred to that of the
daughters of Macquirk.

Among the French captives within the stockade,
he had frequently observed a young officer who
remained apart from the rest, the deep dejection and
abstraction of whose air gained him the readily
excited sympathy of the young Highlander.  He was
a tall, handsome, well-shaped young man, with
regular features, dark eyes, and a heavy black
moustache on his upper lip.  He wore the uniform of
Napoleon's famous Imperial Guards; but the once
gay epaulette and lace were much worn and faded.
He wore a long scarlet forage-cap, adorned with
a band, a tassel falling over his right shoulder.
The gold cross of the Legion of Honour dangling at
his breast showed that he had seen service, and
distinguished himself.

He had more than once observed the peculiar look
with which Ronald Stuart had eyed him; and on
one occasion, with the politeness of his nation, he
gracefully touched his cap.  The Scotsman bowed,
and beckoned him to a retired part of the palisado.

"Can you speak our language, sir?" asked he.

"Oh, yes, Monsieur officier," replied the
Frenchman; "I have learned it in the prison."

"I regret much to see you, an officer, placed
here among the common rank and file.  How has
such an event come to pass?  Can I in any way
assist you?"

"Monsieur, I thank you; you are very good, but
it is not possible," stammered the Frenchman in
confusion, his sun-burned cheek reddening while he
spoke.  "*Croix Dieu!* yours are the first words of
true kindness that I have heard since I left my own
home, in our pleasant France.  O monsieur, I could
almost weep!  I am degraded among my fellow-soldiers,
my *frères d'armes*.  I have broken my parole
of honour, and am placed among the private men;
confined within this palisado by day, and these
dark vaults by night,"—pointing to the ancient
dungeons which lie along the south side of the rocks,
and are the most antique part of the fortress.  These
gloomy places were the allotted quarters of the
French prisoners in Edinburgh.

"I have been placed here in consequence of a
desperate attempt I made to escape from the depot
(Greenlaw,[\*] I think it is named,) at the foot of these
high mountains.  I perceive you pity me, monsieur,
and indeed I am very miserable."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] A village near Edinburgh, where barracks were constructed
in 1810 for some thousands of French prisoners.  The buildings
are now quite deserted, and no trace remains of their former
inhabitants, except a monument, with an appropriate inscription,
erected by the proprietor of Valley-Field-mill over the remains
of 300 French soldiers, interred in the most beautiful part of the
grounds.

.. vspace:: 2

"I dare swear the penance of captivity is great;
but 'tis the fortune of war, and may be my own
chance very soon."

"Ah, monsieur!" said the Frenchman despondingly,
"to me it is as death.  But 'tis not the
*mal-du-pays*, the home-sickness, so common among the
Switzers and you Scots, that preys upon my heart.
Did you know my story, and all that afflicts me,
your surprise at the dejection in which I appear
sunk, would cease.  I endure much misery here: our
prison allowance is scant, my uniform is all gone to
rags, and I have not wherewith to procure other
clothing.  We are debarred from many comforts—"  The
blood rose to the temples of the speaker, who
suddenly ceased on perceiving that Ronald had
drawn forth his purse.  He could ill spare the
money, but he pressed it upon the Frenchman, by
whom after much hesitation the gift was accepted.

"It was not my intention to have excited your
charity," said he; "but I take the purse as a gift
from one brother soldier to another, and will share it
among my poor comrades.  Though our nations be
at war, *frères d'armes* we all are, monsieur; and
should it ever be in his power, by Heaven and St. Louis!
Victor d'Estouville will requite your kindness.
If by the fortune, or rather misfortune, of war, you
ever become a prisoner in my native country, you will
find that the memory of *la Garde Ecossaise* and your
brave nation, which our old kings loved so long and
well, and the sufferings of the fair Marie, are not
yet forgotten in *la belle France*."

"I trust my destiny will never lead me to a
captivity in France, or elsewhere.  But keep a stout
heart: the next cartel that brings an exchange of
prisoners, may set you free."

"*Mon Dieu*!  I know not what may have happened
at home before that comes to pass.  Monsieur,
you have become my friend, and have therefore a
right to my confidence; my story shall be related to
you as briefly as possible.  My name is d'Estouville.
I am descended from one of the best families in
France, of which my ancestors were peers, and
possessed large estates in the province of Normandy,—a
name which finds an echo, methinks, in your sister
kingdom.  By the late revolution, in which my father
lost his life, all our lands were swept from us, with
the exception of a small cottage in the neighbourhood
of Henriqueville, situated in the fertile valley where
the thick woods and beautiful vineyards lie
intermingled along the banks of the winding Seine; and
to this spot my poor mother with her fatherless
children retired.  Ah, monsieur! 'twas a charming little
place: methinks I see it now, the low-roofed cottage,
with the vines and roses growing round its roof and
chimneys, and in at the little lattices that glistened
in the sunshine,—every green lane and clump of
shadowy trees, and every silver rill around it.

"Living by our own industry, we were happy
enough; my brother and myself increased in strength
and manliness, as my sisters did in beauty; and the
sweetness of my noble mother's temper, together
with the quiet and unassuming tenour of our lives,
rendered us the favourites of all the inhabitants of
the valley of Lillebonne.

"Monsieur, I loved a fair girl in our neighbourhood,
a near relation of my own,—Diane de Montmichel,
a beautiful brunette, with dark hair and
sparkling eyes.  Oh! could we but see Diane now!

"*Mon Dieu*!  The very day on which I was to
have wedded her was fixed, and the future seemed
full of every happiness; but the great Emperor
wanted men to fight his battles, and by one conscription
the whole youth of the valley of Lillebonne were
drawn away.  My brother and myself were among
them.  Ah, monsieur!  Napoleon thinks not of the
agony of French mothers, and the bitter tears that
are wept for every conscription.  Britain recruits her
armies with thousands of free volunteers, who tread
by their own free will the path of honour.  France—but
we will not talk of this.  Our poor peasant boys
were torn from their cottages and vineyards, from the
arms of their parents and friends; we felt our hearts
swelling within us, but to resist was to die.  O
monsieur! what must have been the thoughts of my
high-minded mother, when she beheld her sons—the
sons of a noble peer of old France—drawn from her
roof to carry the musquet as private soldiers—"

"And Diane de Montmichel?—"

"In a few months I found myself fighting the
battles of the great Emperor as a soldier of his
Imperial Guard, the flower of *la belle France*.  In our
first engagement with the enemy my brave brother
fell—poor Henri!  But why should I regret him?
He fell gaining fame for France, and died nobly with
the eagle on his breast, and the folds of the tricolour
waving over him.  Since then I have distinguished
myself, was promoted, and received from the hand
of Napoleon this gold cross, which had once hung on
his own proud breast.  I received it amidst the dead
and the dying, on a field where the hot blood of
brave men had been poured forth as water.  From
that moment I was more than ever his devoted
soldier.  He had kindled in my breast the fire of
martial ambition, which softer love had caused to
slumber.  I now looked forward joyously to quick
promotion, and my return to poor Diane and my
mother's vine-covered cot in happy Lillebonne.  But
my hopes were doomed to be blasted.  I was taken
prisoner in an unlucky charge, and transmitted with
some thousand more to this country.

"O monsieur! not even the pledge of my most
sacred honour as a gentleman and soldier could
bind me while love and ambition filled my heart.  I
mourned the monotonous life of a military prisoner,
and fled from the depot at Greenlaw; but I was
retaken a day after, and sent to this strong fortress,
where for three long and weary years I have been
confined among the common file.  O
monsieur!—Diane—my mother—my sisters! what sad changes
may not have happened among them in that time?"

He covered his face for a moment with his hand to
hide his emotion.

"Adieu, monsieur!  Should we ever meet where it
is in my power to return your kindness, you will find
that I can be grateful, and remember that in his
distress you regarded Victor d'Estouville, not as a
Frenchman and an enemy, but as a brother *officier*
under misfortunes."

He ceased, and bowing low, retired from the
palisado to mingle among the prisoners.

Since his arrival in the capital, Ronald had received
many letters from home, but none from Alice Lisle;
he was deterred from writing to her, fearing that his
letters might fall into other hands than her own, and
he grew sad as the day of embarkation drew near
and he heard not from the fair girl, whose little
miniature afforded him a pleasing object for
contemplation in his melancholy moods.

On the morning after the arrival of the route,
Ronald was awakened from sleep about day-break
by the sound of the bagpipe, which in his dreaming
ear carried him home: he almost fancied himself at
Lochisla, and that old Iverach was piping to the
morning sun, when other sounds caused him to start.
He sprang up, and looked from the lofty old window
into the gloomy court of the castle.  Ronald
Macdonuil-dhu, the piper, was blowing forth the
regimental gathering, the wild notes of which were
startling the echoes of the ancient fortress and rousing
the soldiers, who were thronging forth in heavy
marching order, as the military term is,—completely
accoutred.

"Come, Stuart, my boy, turn up!" cried Alister
Macdonald, a brother ensign, who entered the room
unceremoniously, "you will be late; we march in
ten minutes, and then good-by to the crowded
ball-rooms and fair girls of Edinburgh."

"I had no idea the morning was so far advanced,"
replied Ronald, dressing himself as fast as possible.
"There goes the roll of the drum now; why—they
are falling in."

"The deuce!  I must go, or our hot-headed
commander, the major, may forget that I am a kinsman
from the Isle of the Mist.  This morning he is as
cross as a bear with a sore head, and expends his
ill-humour on the acting adjutant, who in turn
expends his on the men.  There is the sound of
Black Ronald's pipe again; I must be off," and he
left the apartment.

"Come, Evan, bustle about, and get me harnessed!
Push this belt under my epaulette, bring me
my sword and bonnet; be quick, will you?" cried
Ronald to his follower, who, accoutred for the march
with his heavy knapsack on his back, entered the
room.  "You will look after the baggage.  Where
are the trunks, and other *et cætera*?"

"A' on the road to Leith twa hoors syne."

"What, in the dark?"

"Ay, maister, just in the dark.  Three muckle
carts, piled like towers, wi' kists and wives an'
weans on the tap, an' pans and camp-kettles jingling
frae ilka neuk and corner,—an' unco like flitten' as
ever I saw."

With Evan's assistance his master was garbed
and armed.  On descending to the castle square, he
found the detachment, to the number of three
hundred men, formed in line, motionless and silent.
Ronald was particularly struck with the martial and
service-like appearance of the Highlanders, by the
combination which their costume exhibits of the
"garb of old Gaul" with the rich uniform of Great
Britain.  The plumed bonnets, drooping gracefully
over the right shoulder, the dark tartan, the hairy
purses, the glittering appointments, and long line of
muscular bare knees, together with the gloomy and
antique buildings of the fortress, formed a scene at
once wild and picturesque; but Ronald had little
time for surveying it.

There is something peculiarly gallant and warlike
in the dashing appearance of our Highland soldiers,
which brings to the mind the recollections of those
days when the swords of our ancestors swept before
them the martial legions of Rome,—imperial Rome,
whose arms had laid prostrate the powers of half a
world,—of the later deeds of Bannockburn, and many
other battles,—the remembrance of our ancient kings
and regal independence,—all "the stirring memory
of a thousand years," raising a flush of proud and
tumultuous feelings in the breast of every Scotsman
who beholds in these troops the brave representatives
of his country; troops who, in every clime under the
sun, have maintained untarnished her ancient glory
and her name.  So thought Ronald, and he was
proud to consider himself one of them, as he drew
his sword and took his place in the ranks.

The rattling bayonets were fixed, and flashed in
the morning sun, as the muskets were shouldered
and "sloped," the line broke into sections, and
moving off to the stirring sound of the fife and
drum, began to descend the steep and winding way
to the gate of the fortress.

The idea of departing for foreign service had
something elevating and exciting in it, which pleased the
minds of all, but roused to the utmost the romantic
spirit of Ronald Stuart, whose ear was pleased with
the tread of the marching feet and sharp roll of the
drums resounding in the hollow archway; as was
his eye, with the waving feathers and glittering
weapons of the head of the little column, as they
descended the pathway towards the city.

As they passed through the latter towards Leith,
the streets were almost empty, none being abroad at
that early hour, save here and there, within the
ancient royalty, an old city guardsman, armed with his
Lochaber axe; but the head of many a drowsy
citizen in his nightcap appeared at the windows,
from which many an eye gazed with that interest
which the embarkation of troops for the seat of war
always called forth; for many were marching there
who were doomed to leave their bones in the distant
soil of the Frank or Spaniard.  Many relatives and
friends of the soldiers accompanied their march, and
Ronald was witness of many a painful parting
between those who might never meet again.

"O my bairn! my puir deluded bairn!" exclaimed
an aged woman wildly, as she rushed into the
ranks with her grey hairs falling over her face, and
with streaming eyes, clasped a son round the neck;
"O lang, lang will it be till I see ye again; and
oh, when you are far awa frae bonnie Glencorse,
wha will tend ye as your auld forsaken mither has
dune? she that has toiled, and watched ower, and
prayed for ye, since ye first saw the licht.  O
Archy, my doo, speak; let me hear your voice for
the last time!"

"God be wi' ye, mither!  O leave me! or my
heart will burst in twa," sobbed the poor fellow,
while some of his more thoughtless comrades
endeavoured by jests and ill-timed merriment to raise
his drooping spirits; and many a hearty but
sorrowful "Gude by," and "Fareweel," was interchanged
on all sides as they passed along.  The sun was
high in the sky when they halted on the beach at
Leith, and above a thick morning mist, which rested
on the face of the water, Ronald saw the lofty taper
spars and smart rigging of the large transport, which
lay out in the stream, with her white canvas hanging
loose, and "blue peter" flying at the foremast-head.

As boat after boat, with its freight of armed men,
was pulled off towards the vessel, shouts loud and
long arose from the sailors and idlers on the pier
and quays; and stirring were the cheers in reply
which arose from the boats and floated along the
surface of the river, as the Highlanders waved their
bonnets in farewell to those they left behind.
Certainly, like many others, Ronald did not feel at his
ease when on board the vessel, and he became
confused with the tramp of feet, the bustle, the rattle
of arms, the loud chaunt of the sailors weighing
anchor, the clash of the windlass pals, the pulling,
hauling, ordering and swearing on all sides,—sights
and sounds to him alike new and wonderful.  The
smell of tar, grease, bilge-water, tobacco, and a
hundred other disagreeable odours, assailed him,
and he felt by anticipation the pleasures of
sea-sickness.

As soon as the anchor swung suspended at the
bow, the yards were braced sharp up, the canvas
filled, and the ripple which arose at the bow
announced the vessel under way.  She slowly passed
the light-house which terminates the old stone pier,
and rounding the strong Martello tower, moved down
the glassy waters of the broad and noble Forth.

The officers were grouped together on the poop,
and their soldiers lined the side of the vessel, gazing
on the city towering above the morning mist, which
was rolling heavily and slowly along the bases of
the hills in huge white volumes.  The frowning and
precipitous front of the bold craigs of Salisbury,—the
still greater elevation of Arthur's lofty cone,—the
black and venerable fortress,—the tall spires
and houses of the city,—the romantic hills of
Braid,—the wooded summit of Corstorphine, and the
undulating line of the gigantic Pentlands, were all
objects which riveted their attention; and many a
brave man was there whose heart swelled within
him, while he gazed, for the last time perhaps, on the
green mountains and ancient capital of Caledonia.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`FOREIGN SERVICE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI.


.. class:: center medium bold

   FOREIGN SERVICE.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "Who had followed, stout and stern,
   |  Through the battle's rout and reel,
   |  Storm of shot and hedge of steel,
   |  The gallant grandson of Lochiel,
   |      Valiant *Fassifern*."
   |                            *Scott*.

.. vspace:: 2

A month or two more found Ronald with his
comrades, after being landed at Lisbon, pursuing
their route through Portugal to join their regiment,
then campaigning in Estremadura with the division
of Sir Rowland Hill.

Every where the ravages of the ruthless French
were visible as they marched onwards.  At Santarem,
Punhete, Abrantes, and many other places,
they viewed with surprise and pity the pale features
of the starving inhabitants, the fire-blackened walls,
the roofless streets or utterly deserted villages, from
which every thing had been carried off or given to
destruction by the French in their retreat.  Ancient
churches and stately convents had been turned into
stables, where cavalry horses and baggage-mules
chewed their wretched forage of chopped straw,
and reposed on the lettered stones, beneath which
slept the proud cavaliers and brave Hidalgos of old
Lusitania.

When they looked on these scenes of desolation,
and considered the desecration of every thing
whether sacred or profane, their hearts grew sick
within them; and they thought of the happy isle
which they had left behind, where such horrors are
unknown—unknown to the mercantile citizens, who
grudge so much the miserable pittance received by
the poor soldier.

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

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.. class:: noindent small

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

.. vspace:: 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.. class:: noindent small

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

.. vspace:: 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] Gaelic, meaning stirrup-cup.

.. vspace:: 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`MERIDA`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VII.


.. class:: center medium bold

   MERIDA.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "All was prepared—the fire, the sword, the men
   |    To wield them in their terrible array.
   |  The army, like a lion from his den,
   |    March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay—
   |  A human hydra, issuing from its pen
   |    To breathe destruction on its winding way,
   |  Whose heads were heroes, which, cut off in vain,
   |    Immediately in others grew again."
   |                                    *Don Juan*, canto viii.

.. vspace:: 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And Mr. Macdonald—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`AN ADVENTURE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VIII.


.. class:: center medium bold

   AN ADVENTURE.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "The troops exulting sat in order round,
   |  And beaming fires illumin'd all the ground:
   |  A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild,
   |  And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field.
   |  Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,
   |  Whose umber'd arms by fits thick flashes send;
   |  Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn,
   |  And ardent warriors wait the rising morn."
   |                                    *Iliad*, book viii.

.. vspace:: 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   |  "Yo acuerdo de te, querida,—
   |            Adios! adios!"
   |

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

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

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

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

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

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] Farewell, love.

.. vspace:: 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"*Quien es?*" said a voice within.

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

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

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





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`DONNA CATALINA`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IX.


.. class:: center medium bold

   DONNA CATALINA.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "Down from her head the long fair tresses flow,
   |  And sport with lovely negligence below.
   |  The waving ribands, which her buskins tie,
   |  Her snowy skin with waving purple dye;
   |  As crimson veils, in palaces displayed,
   |  To the white marble lend a blushing shade."
   |                                  *Ovid's Metamorphoses*.

.. vspace:: 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Campbell's song, the

   |  "Piobracht au Donuil-dhu,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How so, fellow?  What has happened?"

"The bravo has escaped—"

"How!  Diavolo, escaped?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hark! what is that, Stuart?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

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

.. vspace:: 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"By all the powers above!" cried Alister, with
fierce and stern energy, "if ever this accursed
Spaniard crosses my path, I will make his head
fly from his shoulders as I would a thistle from
its stalk! nor shall all the corregidors and
alcaldes in Spain prevent me.  But how is Stuart?
Poor fellow!  he looks very pale.  Has he lost
much blood?"

Ronald, supported on the arm of Evan Iverach,
stood erect within a circle formed by the officers
who crowded round, while one of the regimental
surgeons examined his left arm, which had been
wounded by the shot.

"O gude sake! be gentle wi' him, doctor!"
said honest Evan in great anguish, as he observed
Ronald to wince under the hands of the medical
officer; "be as gentle wi' him as possible.  You
doctor folk are unco rough ever and aye: dinna
forget that he is your namesake, and kinsman
forbye, though ye canna find out the exact degree."

"I hope, Doctor Stuart, the wound is not a
very bad one?" said Cameron, dismounting from
his horse and approaching the circle.  "I augur
ill from the expression of concern which your
countenance wears."

"The shot has passed completely through,
colonel, breaking the bone in its passage; but
as the fracture is not compound, it will soon join
after setting.  I hope that none of the red coat, or
any other foreign body, is lodged in the wound."

"Oh, if it should be a poisoned ball!" groaned
poor Evan in great misery at the idea, while
Doctor Stuart removed the sleeve of the coat, and
Ronald endeavoured to conceal the miniature of
Alice Lisle, which was nearly revealed by the
disarrangement of his uniform.  "Oh, if it should be
a poisoned ball!" he repeated.

"Some of our very best chields have been slain
wi' them before now,—especially at the battle of
Arroya-del-Molino," observed his comrade Angus
Mackie, with a solemn shake of his head.

"Oh, that I had only been at his side!  It
micht have hit me in his stead!"

"Silence, men!  You chatter nonsense," said
Cameron sternly.  "And what think you now,
doctor?"

"That as Mr. Stuart is young, and of a full
habit, I must bleed him immediately."

"Stuff!  My good fellow, he has lost blood
enough already."

"*I* am the best judge of that, Colonel Cameron,"
replied Esculapius haughtily; "delay is
fraught with danger.  Holloa, there! where's the
hospital attendant?  Serjeant Maconush, undo the
service-case and bring me the pasteboard splints,
the twelve-tailed bandage, and other et cæteras:
I will set the bone."

"It is impossible, Doctor Stuart," interposed
Cameron.  "Your intentions are all very good;
but your clansman must return to Merida, where
I sincerely hope he will be properly attended to.
We have no time to await your operations just
now, for which I am truly sorry, as Ensign Stuart
will be well aware."

"Do not mind me, colonel," replied Ronald,
whose teeth were clenched with the agony he
endured.  "I will return, as you say, and shall
doubtless find a medical attendant.  I hear the
rear regiments are clamorous at this stoppage in
their front, and yonder is Sir Rowland himself,
advancing to discover the cause."  He spoke
with difficulty, and at intervals; the new and
painful sensation of a broken limb, together with
rage swelling his heart at the manner in which
he had received it, made his utterance low and
indistinct.  Among the group around him he
recognised Don Alvaro, who had galloped
from the rear to discover the meaning of the
confusion.

"*Senor coronel*," said he to Cameron, raising
his hand to the peak of his helmet, "let him be
taken to my house in Merida, where he will be
properly attended to.  Pedro Gomez,"—turning to
his orderly serjeant,—"dismount.  Give this
cavalier your horse, and attend him yourself to my
residence in the Calle de Guadiana, and desire
Donna Catalina to have his wound looked after.
You will remain with him until it is healed."

Pedro sprung lightly from his saddle, into which
Ronald was with some difficulty installed.

"I thank you, senor," said Cameron, touching
his bonnet, "and am glad this disagreeable matter
is so satisfactorily arranged; the alcalde might
have ordered him but an indifferent billet.  Good
bye, my dear fellow, Stuart; I trust we shall see
you soon again, and with a whole skin.  Mr. Grant,
take the colours.  Gentlemen, fall in; get into
your places, men—into your ranks.  Forward!"  He
delivered his orders with firm rapidity, and
being a strict martinet who was not to be trifled
with, they were instantly obeyed, and the
commotion was hushed.  The troops were too much
accustomed to wounds and slaughter to care
about the hurt received by Ronald, but it was
the sudden and concealed shot which had raised
their surprise and indignation.

Evan Iverach alone delayed executing the orders
of Cameron, and entreated that he might be
permitted to attend his wounded master to the
rear.

"My good fellow, it cannot be," replied the
colonel, pleased with the genuine concern
manifested by Ronald's honest follower; "the enemy
are before us, and I cannot spare a man.  Nay,
now, you need not entreat; fall into your place
at once, sir."

"Oh! if you please, sir, dinna speak sae sternly.
Did ye but ken—"

"Into your place this instant, sir! or I will
have you stripped of your accoutrements, and sent
prisoner to the quarter-guard," exclaimed
Cameron sternly, his eyes beginning to sparkle.  To
say more was useless, and shouldering his
musquet with a heavy heart, Evan took his place in
the ranks, and moved forward with the rest; but
he cast many an anxious look to the rear,
watching the retiring figure of Ronald as he sat on
the troop-horse, which was led by Pedro Gomez
towards the bridge of Merida.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`FLIRTATION`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER X.


.. class:: center medium bold

   FLIRTATION.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "Oh! the sunny peaches glow,
   |    And the grapes in clusters blush;
   |  And the cooling silver streams
   |    From their sylvan fountains rush.
   |  There is music in the grove,
   |    And there's fragrance on the gale;
   |  But there's nought so dear to me,
   |    As my own Highland vale."
   |                            *Vedder's Poems.*

.. vspace:: 2

Ronald experienced most intense pain,
together with a cold, benumbed feeling in the
fractured limb; but it was as nothing in comparison
to the mental torture which he endured, or the
indignant and fierce thoughts that animated his
heart.  He entertained a deep and concentrated
hatred of the wretch who, aiming thus maliciously
and savagely at his life, had in so daring a
manner inflicted a wound by which he might
ultimately lose his arm, and which, for the present,
disabled him from accompanying his comrades,
who were rapidly following up the retreating foe,
and eager to engage.

As his regiment belonged to the first brigade of
the division, it consequently marched in front, or
near the head of the column, and in his return to
Merida he had to pass nearly 16,000 men; and
the bitterness of his feelings was increased at the
idea that every man there would probably share
the honour of an engagement, of which his
mutilated state forbade him to be a participator.
Solemn and deep were the inward vows he took, to
seek dire vengeance for this morning's work on
Narvaez Cifuentes, if ever he again confronted
him; and his only fear was, that he might never
meet with him more.

From the bridge of Merida he cast a farewell
look after his comrades, but nought could he see,
save a long and dense cloud of dust, through
which the glitter of polished steel and the
waving fold of a standard appeared at times, as the
extended length of the marching column wound
its way up the gentle eminence, above which
appeared the top of the spire of Almendralejo,
several leagues distant.

By Pedro Gomez he was conducted to the
stately mansion of Don Alvaro, and delivered
over to the tender care of Donna Catalina, whose
softest sympathies were awakened when the young
officer was brought back to her scarcely able to
speak, and his gay uniform covered with blood,
for he had lost a great quantity, owing to the
hasty manner in which his namesake the surgeon
had bound up the wound.  Add to this, that he
was a handsome youth,—a soldier who had come
to fight for Spain, and had but yesternight rescued
her brother from death: the young lady's interest,
gratitude, and pity were all enlisted in his favour.
Her large dark eyes sparkled with mingled
sorrow and pleasure when she beheld him,—sorrow
at the pain he suffered, and pleasure at the
happiness of being his nurse and enjoying his society
in a mansion of which she was absolute mistress,
and where there was no old maiden aunt or
duenna to be a spy upon her, or overruler of her
movements; and as for the scandal of Merida,
or quizzing of her female companions, she was
resolved not to care a straw,—she was above the
reach of either.  Her uncle, the Prior of San
Juan, resided in the mansion, but the worthy old
padre was so enlarged in circumference by ease
and good living, and so crippled by the gout, that
he never moved further than from his bed to the
well-bolstered chair in which he sat all day, and
from the chair back to bed again, and no one
ever entered his room save old Dame Agnes,
(already mentioned,) who alone seemed to possess
the power of pleasing him; consequently he was
never seen by the other inhabitants of the house,
any more than if he did not exist.

We will pass over the account of the
bone-setting by the Padre Mendizabal, the famous
medical practitioner in Merida, who nearly drove
Ronald mad by an oration on different sorts of
fractures, simple and compound, and the different
treatment requisite for the cure of various gun-shot
wounds, before his arm was splinted and bandaged
up.  Weak and exhausted from the loss of blood,
and his head buzzing with Mendizabal's discourse,
right glad was Ronald when he found himself in
a comfortable and splendid couch,—Catalina's
own, which she had resigned for his use as the
best in the house,—with its curtains drawn round
for the night; and he forgot, in a dreamy and
uneasy slumber, the exciting passages of the last few
days, the danger of his wound, and the sunny eyes
of the donna.

The tolling bells of a neighbouring steeple
awakened him early next morning, and brought
his mind back to the world, and a long chain of
disagreeable thoughts.

There is scarcely any thing which makes one
feel so much from home, as the sound of a strange
church bell; and the deep and hollow ding-dong
which rung from the gothic steeple of San Juan,
was very different from the merry rattle of the
well-known kirk bell at Lochisla.  Ronald thought
of that village bell, and the noble peasantry
whom it was wont to call to prayer, and the association
brought a gush of fond, and sad recollections
into his mind.  He felt himself, as it were,
deserted in a strange country,—among a people
of whose language he knew almost nothing; he
looked round him, and his apartment appeared
strange and foreign,—every object it presented
was new and peculiar to his eye.  He thought of
Scotland—of HOME,—home with all its ten thousand
dear and deeply impressed associations, until
he wept like a child, and his mind became a prey
to most profound and intense dejection,—suffering
from the home-sickness, an acuteness and agony
of feeling, which only those can know who have
been so unhappy as to experience this amiable
feeling; one which exists all-powerfully in the
hearts of the Scots, who, although great travellers
and wanderers from home, ever turn their
thoughts, fondly and sadly, to the lofty
mountains, the green forests, and the rushing rivers
which they first beheld when young, and to the
grassy sod that covers the dust of their warrior
ancestors, and which they wish to cover their
own, when they follow them "to the land of the leal."

The feverish state of his body had communicated
itself to his mind, and for several days and
nights, in the solitude of his chamber, he brooded
over the memory of his native place, enduring the
acuteness of the nostalgia in no small degree;
and even the fair Catalina, with her songs, her
guitar, and her castanets, failed to enliven him, at
least for a time; his whole pleasure—and a
gloomy pleasure it was—being to brood over the
memory of his far-off home.  The dreams that
haunted the broken slumbers which the pain of
his wound permitted him to snatch, served but to
increase the disorder; and often, from a pleasing
vision of his paternal tower with its mountain
loch and pathless pine forests, of his white-haired
sire as he last beheld him, or of Alice Lisle
smiling and beautiful, with her bright eyes and
curling tresses, twining her arms endearingly
round him, and laying her soft cheek to his, he
was awakened by some confounded circumstance,
which again brought on him the painful and
soul-absorbing lethargy which weighed down every
faculty, rendering him careless of every present
object save the miniature of Alice.  The paleness
of his complexion, and the intense sadness of his
eye, puzzled his medical attendant, Doctor
Mendizabal, but neither to him nor to Donna Catalina,
who used the most bewitching entreaties, would
the forlorn young soldier confess the cause of his
dejection,—concealment of the mental feelings
from others beins; a concomitant of the disease.
So each formed their own opinions.  Mendizabal
concluded it to be loss of blood; and the lady,
after consulting her cousin and companion,
Inesella de Truxillo, supposed that he must
unquestionably be in love,—what else could render so
handsome an *officiale* so very sad?

This conclusion gave him additional interest
with her; and certes, Alice Lisle would little have
admired the attendance upon Ronald's sick couch
of a rival, and one so dangerously beautiful; but
her fears might have decreased, had she seen how
incessantly, during the days he was confined to
his bed, he gazed upon the little miniature which
Louis Lisle had given as a parting gift.
Concealing it from the view of others, he watched it
with untiring eyes, until, in the fervency of his
fancy, the features seemed to become animated
and expanded,—the sparkling eyes to fill with
light and tenderness,—the pale cheek to flush,
and the dark curls which fell around it to wave,—the
coral lips to smile; while he almost imagined
that he heard the soft murmurs of her voice
mingling with the gurgle of the Isla and the
rustle of the foliage on the banks, where they were
wont to play and gambol in infancy.

In a few days, however, his mental and bodily
languor disappeared, and when, by the surgeon's
advice, he left his sick chamber, his usual
lightness of heart returned rapidly, and he was soon
able to promenade under the piazzas of the Plaza
with Catalina during the fine sunny evenings;
and although the miniature was not less admired
than formerly, the fair original would have
trembled could she have witnessed all the nursing
which Ronald received from his beautiful patrona,
and heard all the soft things which were uttered.

As his strength increased their strolls were
extended, and the young ladies of Merida smiled at
each other, and shook their heads significantly, as
the graceful donna, attired in her veil and
mantilla, swept through the great stradi, flirting her
little fan, with the foreign *officiale* in the plumed
bonnet and rich scarlet uniform.  His fair patrona
showed him all the remains of Roman magnificence
in Merida, and Ronald, who, like most of
his countrymen, was an enthusiastic admirer of
the gloomy and antique, explored every cranny
and nook of the immense ruins of the once-important
castle; surveying with a sad feeling the pillared
halls which once had rung to the sound of
the trumpet and the clashing harness of Spanish
chivalry, but where now the ivy hung down from
the roofless wall, and the long grass grew between
the squares of the tessellated pavement.  Time
had reduced it to little more than a heap of
shattered stones, but it was as ancient, probably, as
the days of the Goths, during whose dominion a
strong garrison lay at Merida.

The large amphitheatre, of which the citizens
are so proud, formed another attraction, and its
circular galleries were the scene of many an
evening; walk with Catalina and her cousin
Inesella of Truxillo, a very gay and very beautiful
girl, with whom a great deal of laughing and
flirting ensued in clambering up the steep stone
seats, and rambling through its maze of arcades,
arched passages, projecting galleries, and the long
dark dens opening on the arena.

The Roman baths of Diana, a subterranean edifice
of an oval form, containing ranges of dressing
chambers, and a large stone bathing-basin filled
with pure water, formed another object of
interest; and many were the pleasant strolls they
enjoyed along the grassy banks of the Guadiana
and by the summit of a high hill, (the name of
which I have forgotten,) in the shade of the broad
trellis where the vines were bursting into leaf,
and in every green lane and embowered walk
about Merida, even to the hermitage of San
Bartolomi,[\*] where a white-bearded anchorite showed
them the boiling-hot spring of Alange.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] A place three leagues eastward of Merida.

.. vspace:: 2

During this intercourse, Ronald rapidly
improved in his Spanish; and who would not have
done so under the tuition of such fair
instructresses?  He found it

   |  "—pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue
   |    By female lips and eyes—that is, I mean
   |  When both the teacher and the taught are young,
   |    As was the case, at least, where I have been;
   |  They smile so when one's right, and when one's wrong
   |    They smile still more; and then there intervene
   |  Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss:—
   |    I learn'd the little that I know by this."
   |

More than one week had slipped away, and
Ronald had nearly recovered from his wound,
though still obliged to keep his arm slung in a
scarf.  In the garden at the back of the mansion,
he was seated by Catalina's side one evening on
the steps of a splendid fountain, where four brazen
deities spouted the crystal liquid from their
capacious throats into a broad basin of black marble,
from which, by some subterraneous passage, it
was carried to the Guadiana.  The spring was
now advanced, and the delightful climate of Spain
was fast arraying nature, and bringing her forth
in all her glory.  From the fountain, broad
gravelled walks, thickly edged with myrtle, branched
off in every direction, and between them were beds
where the crimson geranium, the gigantic rose
bushes, the pale lilac blossom, and a thousand
other garden flowers, which it would be useless to
mention, were budding in the heat of the vernal
sun by day, and in the soft moist dews by night.
Around and above them the graceful willow, the
tufted accacia, the stately palm, the orange-tree
with its singularly beautiful leaves, and numerous
other shrubs, were spreading into foliage, which
appeared to increase daily in richness of tint and
variety; and beautiful vistas, winding walks, and
umbrageous bowers were formed among them
with all the art and nicety of Spanish landscape
gardening.

The young Highlander and Catalina were seated
on the margin of the fountain, as I have already
said.  They conversed but little.  The donna
busied herself with the strings of her guitar, and
Ronald watched in silence the nimble motions of
her white hands as she tied and untied, screwed
and unscrewed the strings and pegs, and struck
the chords to ascertain the true tone.  Strange
and conflicting thoughts flitted through his mind
while he gazed upon his beautiful companion.  He
was aware how dangerous to his peace her
presence was, and he almost longed for, yet dreaded
the coming time, when he should be obliged to
return to his regiment.  To Alice Lisle he felt that
he was bound by every tie that early intimacy,
love, and honour could twine around
him,—honour! how could he think of so cold a word?
and while he did so, he blushed that he could
find room in his heart for the image of another.

"Catalina is very beautiful—decidedly so,"
thought he, while he viewed the curve of her
white neck, and the outline of her superb bust.
"Her face is one of surpassing loveliness, and her
eyes—but Alice is equally bewitching, although
perhaps a less showy beauty.  Alice is very
gentle and winning, so lady-like, and we have known
each other so long,—it is impossible I can forget
her.  Why, then, have I been trifling with one
whose presence is so dangerous to my peace?
Yes! if I would preserve a whole heart and my
allegiance to Alice, I must fly from you, Catalina."

While he reasoned thus with himself, Catalina
raised her dark and laughing eyes to his, while
she struck the chords of her instrument, and sang
a few words of a very beautiful Spanish air.  So
melodious was her tone, so graceful her manner,
so winning the expression of eye, who can wonder
that Ronald's resolution melted like snow in
the sunshine, and that he felt himself vanquished?
Poor Alice!  With an air of tenderness and
embarrassment he took the little hand of the donna
within his own.  She read in his eye the thoughts
which passed through his mind; she cast down
her long jetty lashes, while a rich bloom suffused
her soft cheek.  Ronald was about to murmur
forth something—in fact he knew not what, when
a loud knocking at the outer gate of the mansion,
and the sound of a well-known voice, aroused him.

"Unbar the yett—this instant! ye auld doited
gomeral!  I will see my maister in spite o' ye,"
cried Evan impatiently, while Agnes delayed
unbarring the door to so boisterous a visitor.

"*Caramba, senor!  Quien es?*" she repeated.

"Gude wife, I speak nae language but my ain;
so ye needna waste your wind by speirin'
questions that I canna answer."

At Ronald's desire the old housekeeper undid
the door, which was well secured by many a bar
and lock, and he immediately saw the waving
plumes of Evan's bonnet dancing above the
shrubbery, as he came hastily towards the fountain,
with his musquet at the long trail, and his
uniform and accoutrements covered with the dust
of a long day's march.  His joy was unbounded
on seeing his master, and rapid and quick were
the earnest inquiries he made, without waiting for
answers, concerning his wound, and how he had
been treated "by the unco folk he had been left to
bide amang,—begging the bonnie leddy's pardon."

Catalina bowed,—although she knew not a
word that he said; but by the natural politeness
and expression of the soldier's look, she knew
that he referred to her.

"Now then, Evan, that I have answered all
your inquiries, be pleased to stand steady, and
moderate yourself so far as to reply to mine," said
Ronald kindly, far from feeling annoyed at his
appearance at a juncture so peculiarly awkward
and tender.  "How come you here just now? and
how alone?"

"I got leave frae the colonel, after an unco
dunning, to come here and attend you, for I
thocht you would feel yersel unco queer, left
alane among the black-avised folk, that canna
speak a decent tongue.  But here, sir, is a letter
and a newspaper, sent you by Maister
Macdonald."  Evan, after fumbling among the ration
biscuits, shoe-brushes, and other matters which
crammed his havresack, produced them.  "Just
as I cam awa' frae the place whar' the regiment
lay, in dreary strath—a place like Corrie-oich for
a' the world—seventy miles frae this, I heard that
the order had come to retire to the rear—"

"Upon Merida?"

"I canna say, sir, because the very moment
that Cameron gied me leave, and Maister
Macdonald gied me his letter, I set off, and have
travelled nicht and day, without stopping, except
may be just for an hour, to sleep by the road side
or to get a mouthfu o' meat,—trash sic as ane
wadna gie to puir auld Hector the watch-dog at
hame, at auld Lochisla.  O it was a far and a
weary gait; but I was sae anxious to see ye, sir,
that I have trod it out in twa days, in heavy
marching order as ye see me, and I am like to
dee wi' sheer fatigue."

"You are a faithful fellow, Evan; but I fear,
by your love for me, you may work mischief to
yourself.  Here comes Dame Agnes,—to her care
I must consign you.  She was a kind attendant to
me when I much wanted one."

"God bless ye for that, gude wife!" cried
Iverach, catching her in his arms and kissing her
withered cheek; a piece of gallantry which she
owed more to Evan's native drollery and his
present state of excitement, than any admiration
of her person.

"I believe there is some gaucy kimmer at
home, who would not like this distribution of
favour, Evan," said Ronald; while Catalina
clapped her hands and laughed heartily at the old
dame, who, although very well pleased at the
compliment, affected great indignation, and
arranged her velvet hood with a mighty air.

"It's just quiet friendship for the auld
body,—naething else, sir.  Even puir wee Jessie Cavers
wadna hae been angry, had she been present and
seen me."

"Cavers—Jessie Cavers!  I heard that name
before, surely?"

"It's very like ye may, sir," replied the young
Highlander, a flush crossing his cheek.  "She is
Miss Alice Lisle's maid,—a servant lassie at the
Inch-house."

"O—a girl at Inchavon?  I thought the name
was familiar to me," faltered Ronald, reddening
in turn.  "But you had better retire, and tell the
military news to Pedro Gomez, whom I see waiting
you impatiently yonder."

Reserving the newspaper for another time,
Ronald, with the donna's permission, opened
Macdonald's letter.

"This billet is from the army," said she,
familiarly placing her arm through the young
officer's and drawing close to his side, while she
caused his heart to thrill at her touch.  "Ah! tell
me if there is any news of my brother Alvaro
in it?"

"I will read it aloud, translating those parts
you do not understand.  It is dated from Villa
Franca:—[\*]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] The date of poor Macdonald's letter is now obliterated,
and I have forgotten what it was,—about the month of March
(1812), I think.

.. vspace:: 2

"DEAR STUART,

.. vspace:: 1

"Fassifern and the rest of ours are anxious to
know how you are, after that wound you received
so villanously, and from which I hope you are
almost recovered by this time.  Send us word by
the first messenger from Merida to the front.
Remember me particularly to the fair Catalina,
and I assure you that your quarters at present
in her splendid mansion, are very different from
mine here,—in a wretched hut, where the rain
comes in at the roof, and the wind at a thousand
crannies.  You may congratulate us, my old
comrade, on the easy victories we obtain over
Messieurs the French, who have been driven
from Almendralejo, and all the places adjacent,
with little loss on our part.  I now write you
from a village, out of which our brigade drove
them a few days ago.  How much you would
have admired the gallantry of our Spanish friend
Don Alvaro, who accompanied us in this affair.
On our approaching the enemy, they retired without
firing a shot at first, and his troop of lancers,
who were halted on the road leading to Los
Santos, charged them at full gallop, shouting
*Viva Ferdinand!  España!  España y buena Esperanza!*"

"Noble Alvaro! my brave brother!" interrupted
Catalina, her eyes sparkling with delight.  "I will
always love this *officiale* for what he says.
Oh! that Inesella was here!  She is betrothed to Alvaro,
senor, and would have been wedded long since,
but for a quarrel they had about Donna Ermina,
the wife of old Salvador, the guerilla chief."

"It was a noble sight," continued the letter,
"to see the tall lances levelled to the rest, the
steel helmets flashing in the sun, and to hear the
clang of the rapid hoofs, as the Spaniards rushed
down the brae and broke upon the enemy with
the force of a whirlwind, a thunderbolt, or any
thing else you may suppose.  Campbell protested
it equalled the charge of the Mamelukes, when
*he* 'was in Egypt with Sir Ralph.'  Alvaro has
now gone off to join Murillo, where he hopes to
meet Don Salvador de Zagala, whom he vows to
impale alive.  He left me but an hour ago, and
desires me in my letter to send a kiss to his
sister.  This, I dare swear, you will be most
happy to deliver."

Ronald faltered, and turned his eye on Catalina,
who blushed deeply.  It was impossible to resist
the temptation; her face was very close to his,
and he pressed his lips upon her burning cheek.

"Read on, *senor mio*," she said, disengaging
herself with exquisite grace; "perhaps there may
be more about Alvaro?"

Ronald glanced his eye over the next paragraph,
and passed it over in silence and confusion.

"A little flirtation en passant, you know, will
not injure your allegiance to the fair ladye whose
miniature—but you may burn my letter without
reading further, should I write much on that
subject.  Angus Mackie, a private of your company,
was the other night engaged in a regular brawl
with the natives of Almendralejo,—some love affair
with the daughter of an old *abogado* (lawyer).
I refer you for the particulars to the bearer, who
was engaged in it.  We had another row at
Almendralejo the day we entered it.  Some Spaniard,
by way of insult, ran his dagger into the bag of
Ranald Dhu's pipe, and so great was the wrath
of the 'Son of the Mist,' that he dirked him on
the spot; and although the fellow is not dead, he
is declared by Doctor Stuart to be 'in a
doubtful state.'

"I have sent you an Edinburgh paper, (a month
or two old,) wherein you will see by the 'Gazette'
that a Louis Lisle has been appointed to us, *vice*
poor Oliphant Cassilis, killed in the battle of
Arroya.  There are people of the name in
Perthshire; perhaps you may know something of this
Lisle."

The blood rushed into Ronald's face, and a
mixed feeling of pleasure and shame to meet the
brother of Alice filled his mind.  He read on—

"I was just about to conclude this long letter,
when some strange news arrived.  Ciudad Rodrigo
has been invested, and it is supposed must
capitulate soon.  Our division has been ordered
by Lord Wellington to retire into Portugal
forthwith; the 'gathering' is at this moment ringing
through the streets of Villa Franca, and the corps
is getting under arms.—Adieu, &c.

.. vspace:: 1

ALISTER MACDONALD."

.. vspace:: 1

"P.S.—L. Lisle is at Lisbon, bringing up a
detachment for ours,—a hundred rank and file.
I do not know what route we take for Portugal;
but you had better endeavour to join us on the
way."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ALICE LISLE.—NEWS FROM HOME`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XI.


.. class:: center medium bold

   ALICE LISLE.—NEWS FROM HOME.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "As you are beauteous, were you half so true,
   |  Here could I live, and love, and die for only you.
   |  Now I to fighting fields am sent afar,
   |  And strive in winter camps with toils of war;
   |  While you, alas, that I should find it so!—"
   |                                  *Virgil*, Pastoral x.

.. vspace:: 2

Within the chamber which he occupied Ronald
sat late that night, musing on what was to be
done, and what course was now to be steered.
He saw that it was absolutely necessary that he
should proceed instantly to rejoin,—a measure
which the healed state of his wound rendered
imperative.  "The division is retreating," thought
he, "and the Count D'Erlon will without doubt
push forward immediately and regain possession
of Merida, and I must inevitably be taken
prisoner.  I will join Sir Rowland as he passes
through; the troops must pass here *en route* for
Portugal.  How dangerous to my own quiet is my
acquaintance with Catalina, and how foolishly
have I been tampering with her affections and
with my own heart!  Good heavens!  I have
acted very wrong in awakening in her a sentiment
towards me, which my plighted troth to Alice
and my own natural sense of honour forbid me
to cherish or return.  And Catalina loves me; her
blushes, her downcast eyes, and her sweet
confusion have betrayed it more than once.  'Tis
very agreeable to feel one's self beloved, and by
so fair a girl, for Catalina is very beautiful; but I
must fly from her, and break those magic spells
which are linking our hearts together.  To-morrow—no,
the day after, I will leave Merida, and
join the division as soon as I hear by what route
it is retiring."

Louis Lisle, too, the brother of Alice, was now
an officer in the same corps, and his bold spirit
would instantly lead him to seek vengeance for
any false or dishonourable part acted towards his
sister.  "Poor Louis! he is the first friend I ever
had; and how will so delicate a boy, one so
tenderly nurtured, endure the many miseries of
campaigning here?  A single night such as that we
spent in the bivouac of La Nava, would
unquestionably be his death."

Here his cogitations were interrupted by the
voice of Evan, who was carousing in the room
below with Gomez, (having spent the night together
over their cups, although neither understood
a word of the other's language), singing loud and
boisterously,—

   |  "Keek into the draw-well,
   |    My Jo Janet;
   |  And there ye'll see yer bonnie sell,
   |    My Jo Janet."

a performance which drew many 'vivas!' from
his brother-soldier.  Roused from the reverie into
which he had fallen, Ronald's eye fell on the
newspaper sent him by Macdonald, and he now
took it up, thinking to find something in it to
direct the current of his thoughts; and somewhat
he found with a vengeance!  Better would it have
been if he had never thought of it at all.  It was an
*Edinburgh Journal*, dated several weeks back, and
appeared to have passed through the hands of the
whole division, it was so worn and frittered.  After
scanning over the 'Gazette,' to which he had
turned first "with true military instinct," his eye
next fell upon one of those pieces of trash styled
'fashionable news,'  It was headed—


"MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE.—We understand
that the gallant Earl of Hyndford is about to lead
to the hymeneal altar the beautiful and accomplished
daughter of Sir Allan Lisle, Bart., M. P. for
——.  The happy event is to take place in a
few weeks at Inchavon-house, (Perthshire,) the
family seat of the venerable and much respected
baronet."


The room swam around him, and the light faded
for a moment from his eye, while the hot blood
gushed back tumultuously through the pulses of
his heart; but clinching his teeth firmly, and
mustering all his scattered energies, he read it
over once more, while mingled sorrow and fury
contracted and convulsed the muscles of his
handsome features.  There was no doubting the
purport of the torturing intelligence, and Catalina
was forgotten in the fierce excitement of the
moment.  "O Alice!  Alice!" he said, bitterly and
aloud, "could I ever have expected this of you?
'Tis but a few months since we parted, and she is
false already.  I am, indeed, soon forgotten!"

He crushed the paper up, and thrusting it into
the charcoal pan on the hearth, it was consumed
in an instant.  "Hyndford—Carmichael, Earl of
Hyndford!  Ay; the glitter of the coronet has
more charms for her eye than a subaltern's epaulet;
but I would not be my father's son, should
I think more of her after this.  I will learn to
forget her, as she has forgotten me,—and this too
shall perish!"  He took the miniature from his
neck, and was about to crush it beneath his heel;
but when the well-known features met his eye,
his fierce resolution melted away: he averted his
head, and replaced it in his bosom, while a sad
and subdued feeling took possession of his heart.

"I cannot destroy," thought he, "what has
been so long a solace, and an object almost of
worship to me.  Even were she the bride of another,
as perhaps she is at this very hour, I would
yet wear and bear it for her sake, in memory of
the days that are passed away and the thoughts
I had nourished for years—ay, for years,—since
the days we gathered the wild rose and the
heather-bell on the bonnie braes I now almost wish
never to behold again."

For the first hour or two, he felt as if every cord
that bound him to happiness and existence was
severed and broken, and an acute feeling of mental
agony swelled his breast almost to bursting.  His
Highland pride came, however, to his aid, and
roused within him feelings equally bitter, though
perhaps less distressing; and starting up, he
strode hastily about the apartment, and emptied
more than once a large horn of Malaga, from a
pig-skin which lay on a side-table near him,
drinking deeply to drown care, and allay the wild
tumult of his thoughts.  But the wine was as
water, and he quaffed it without effect.

The baseness of her desertion grew every
moment more vivid; and how openly must she have
renounced him, when even the public journals
had become aware of her intended alliance, which
must have been a measure of her own free will, as
her father Sir Allan would never control her
affections, and the age of forced marriages was passed
away, or existed only in the pages of romance.
Love and jealousy, sorrow, pride, and a feeling of
helplessness at the great distance which separated
him from Britain, passed rapidly through his
mind; and during the mental agony and tumult
of the first few hours, he forgot Catalina and the
honourable struggles he had made with himself
to withstand the witchery of her beauty, until the
recollection of it rushed fully upon him, raising
him in his own estimation, and lessening the
fickle Alice in an equal degree.

He hastily threw open his baggage-trunk, and
producing writing materials, commenced a letter,
in which he meant to upbraid her bitterly, and take
a haughty and sad farewell of her for ever.  But so
great was his agitation, so fast did his ideas crowd
upon each other, and so much were they mingled
together and confused, that he wrote only rhapsodies
in incoherent sentences, and sheet after sheet
was filled, torn up, and committed to the flames;
until at last it flashed upon his mind that there
were no means at present of transmitting a letter,
and he abandoned the attempt altogether.  Whenever
he thought of Catalina, he felt more consoled
for the loss of Alice; but yet the deep-rooted
affection, the cherished sentiment of years which
he felt for her, was a very different feeling from
the temporary admiration with which the Spanish
lady had impressed him; but ideas of a prouder,
and perhaps more healing kind, came to his aid.

"I tread the path which leads to the greatest
of all earthly honours,—even the passage to the
throne lies through the tented field; and although
I look not for that, the ambitious Alice may yet
repent having slighted the love of Ronald Stuart
of Lochisla.  We know not what fate may have
in store, or what the great lottery of life may cast
up for me.  Alice! oh, how false, how fickle, and
how heartless!  Like twin tendrils of the same
tree, like little birds in the same nest, we grew
unto each other,—our love increasing with our
size and years; and yet, after all the tender
sentiments we have exchanged and the happiness we
have enjoyed, she has thus cruelly abandoned
me, preferring the glitter of a title to the love of
a brave and honest heart!  But let her go; she
will hear of me yet," he said almost aloud, while
his sparkling eye fell on his claymore, which lay
upon the table, "for this is the land where
honour and fame are within the grasp of a reckless
and daring soldier, for reckless of life and limb
will I be from this hour.  But I may fall
unhonoured and unknown, as thousands have
already done, as thousands more shall do; yet
Alice, though perhaps she may drop a tear for
me, will never be upbraided with the sight of
my tomb!"

Long and silently he continued brooding over
the cursed intelligence, which every moment grew,
in his fancy, more like some vision of a disturbed
slumber, or some horrible enigma; and the hour
of twelve tolled from the belfry of San Juan, yet
he thought not of rest.  He had grown careless
of all external objects, and sat with his brow
leaning on his hand, absorbed in his own
heart-corroding fancies.  His lamp sunk down in the
socket and expired,—the stars and the pale moon,
sailing apparently through clouds of gauze,
glimmered through the tall casement into the gloomy
chamber, and poor Ronald still sat there, revolving
and re-revolving the matter in his mind, which
became a prey, by turns, to the very opposite
sentiments of love and sorrow, pride, revenge,
indignation, and ambition.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



He awoke suddenly, and found that he had
been asleep in his chair.  The bright light of the
morning sun was streaming between the dark
hangings of the lofty windows, and the tolling bells
of the neighbouring churches reminded him that
it was Sunday.  The instant he awoke, the aching
memories of the past night rushed upon his mind;
but he thought of the matter with a little more
composure, and the presence of Donna Catalina,
all blushes, smiles, and beauty, when the morning
was further advanced, contributed very considerably
to the re-establishment of his serenity, but
her keen eye observed that he was ill at ease.
His usual vivacity was gone; he appeared much
abstracted, seldom speaking except of his
departure, and in a tone of more than usual regret.
They had previously arranged to visit the church
of San Juan on that day, that Ronald might see
high Mass performed, and hear the sub-prior,
whom the citizens considered a miracle of learning
and piety, preach.

Catalina retired to don her walking attire, while
Ronald, from the balcony, gazed listlessly into
the street, scarcely observing what was passing
there.  Peasantry from the neighbourhood were
crowding in, attired in dresses at once graceful
and picturesque; the men wearing, some the close
vest, the broad sombrero, knee-breeches, and large
mantle, while others were without it in a loose
jacket, with a sash of ample size and gaudy
colours tied round their waists, and having on
their heads long slouched caps.  Many—almost
all—wore knives displayed somewhere about their
person, and all had a peculiar swagger in their
walk, which seemed not ungraceful.  Bright-eyed
women in their black hoods or mantillas,—priests
in their dark robes of sack-cloth, their waists
encircled with a knotted cord,—graceful peasant
girls, their short bunchy petticoats displaying the
most splendid ankles in the world,—sturdy
muleteers with their long whips,—and market-women
from the south bearing loads of butter, milk, and
fruit on their heads, were crowding the street
and thronging about the dark piazzas in every
direction, and a loud gabble of tongues in Spanish
was heard on all sides.  Clouds of smoke arose
from cigars, as every man had one in his mouth;
and here and there, under some of the piazzas,
might be seen a few muleteers and olive-cheeked
girls, dancing a fandango or bolero about the door
of a wine-house to the sound of the guitar, the
tambarine, and the castanets.

"How very different is all this from the sober
gravity which marks our Scottish sabbath-day!"
thought Ronald, as he glanced languidly around
the Plaza.  Notwithstanding the mental excitement
under which he laboured, the chain of ideas
recalled to his memory a few lines of a poem he
had once read, and which he now repeated to
himself,—

   |  "O Scotland! much I love thy tranquil dales;
   |  But most on Sabbath eve, when low the sun
   |  Slants through the upland copse, 'tis my delight,
   |  Wandering and stopping oft to hear the song
   |  Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs;
   |  Or when the simple service ends, to hear
   |  The lifted latch, and mark the grey-haired man,
   |  The father and the priest, walk forth alone
   |  Into his garden plat or little field,
   |  To commune with his God in secret prayer."[\*]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] "The Sabbath: a Poem.".  Second Edition.  Blackwood,
Edinburgh, 1805.

.. vspace:: 2

This was one of the many passages in it, which
were impressed upon his memory, and he remembered,
with peculiar bitterness of feeling, that it
was with Alice Lisle he had first perused the
pages of that now forgotten poem, seated by her
side in one of the green birchen glades through
which the Isla flowed towards the Tay.

The heavy clang of a charger's hoofs broke in
upon his reverie, and raising his eyes, he saw an
officer of the light cavalry ride furiously into the
Plaza, with his uniform covered with dust, and
his horse and accoutrements dripping with white
foam.  Casting a rapid glance around him, he
spurred at once beneath the balcony over which
Ronald leaned, knowing him to be a British officer
from his uniform.

He checked his horse by the curb-stone of the
pavement.

"Evelyn—Lieutenant Evelyn, 13th Light Dragoons,"
said he, introducing himself.  "Mr. Stuart,
I presume?"

"Yes,—Stuart, of the 92nd Regiment," replied
Ronald bowing.  "I believe I have had the
pleasure of seeing you before?"

"Ay, near La Nava, the evening we drove in
Dombrouski's advanced picquet."

"I now remember.  But what word from the front?"

"Oh! the old story,—a countermarch.
Campaigning is like a game at chess: we have been
ordered to retire into Portugal, and the second
division will be in full retreat by this time.  I
suppose they will come down the other bank of
the Guadiana."

"This movement, likely, has some relation to
the recent investment of Ciudad Rodrigo.  You
will, of course, have heard of that?"

"Our works are carried within a very short
distance of theirs.  It is said that Marshal
Marmont imagines it will hold out for several weeks
yet; before which time he will give Lord Wellington
battle, and attempt its relief.  His lordship
appears to be preparing, as troops from all
quarters are concentrating under his command; so
that, should Ciudad Rodrigo not soon capitulate,
we may expect a battle with Marmont in a few
days."

"Of course it must fall; Marmont will never
attempt its relief.  But will you not dismount and
refresh yourself?  You appear to have ridden far."

"I regret that it is impossible to dismount; I
have tarried too long already.  I am carrying
despatches from Sir Rowland Hill to the rear, and
I must be far beyond Albuquerque before night.
My orders were to ride without drawing bridle;
but my nag is failing already.  Just before I left
Fuente del Maistre, an orderly dragoon brought
up the mail-bags from Lisbon; and a Major
Campbell of yours, an immensely big man, but a
soldier-like fellow, who insisted that he had seen
me in Egypt, although I never was there, gave
me a letter for you, that I might deliver it, on
my route, at Merida."

"I thank you," replied Ronald in a scarcely
articulate voice, while his fluttering; heart became
a prey to alternate hopes and fears.

"I trust it will contain good news for you,"
said the horseman, unbuckling his sabre-tache.
"Our letters here are like angels' visits, 'few and
far between,' the post delivery being less regular
than within sight of St. Paul's.  By the by, how
is that wound you received the morning we
marched from this?  I heard something of the
story, and would be glad to hear it all, had I
time; but there are so many hard knocks going
now, that one cares little about them.  Your arm
is still in the sling, I see."

"I mean to discard it to-day.  I am quite
recovered now, and am about to rejoin
immediately.  But the letter?"

"Ay, here it is," replied Evelyn, raising
himself in his stirrups, and handing the letter to
Ronald, who received it by stooping over the
balcony, and knew at once the large round family
seal, and the hand-writing of his father.

"Alice, Alice!  Evelyn, is there not another?"
he groaned aloud in the bitterness of his spirit.

"Another?" laughed the cavalry officer, who
heard him but imperfectly.  "No, by Jupiter! and
I am sorry the one you have received does
not seem to be in the small running-hand of a
fair lady; but it may contain what makes ample
amends, you know,—a remittance from the old
gentleman through Gordon, your paymaster, who
is as jolly a fellow as ever broached a pipe or a
pig-skin of wine.  Ah! 'tis well when the old boy
bleeds liberally.  But now, so ho! for the road
again!  I would advise you to look out sharply
while here.  D'Erlon, the moment he becomes
aware of our temporary retreat, will throw
forward some of his cavalry, and regain the places
he has lost.  The low grounds by the river-side
afford great advantages for a concealed movement,
and you run a risk of being taken prisoner:
the idea struck me as I entered the town a few
minutes ago."

"How far is the division from this?" asked
Ronald, impatiently awaiting the other's departure,
that he might peruse the letter; "a day's
march, think you?"

"Three, perhaps; Fuente del Maistre is a long
way off.  Remember that you must be careful
what kind of guide you employ, should you
require one in rejoining.  And now, adieu."

"Adieu!" echoed Ronald.  The other gave his
horse the spur, let his reins drop, and was round
the corner of the Plaza, out of sight in an instant.

Feeling all that trembling eagerness and
indescribable delight which the arrival of a
first letter from home, after a long absence,
infuses into the heart, Ronald tore it open, but
for some minutes was baffled in his attempts to
read by an envious mist or film, which seemed
to intercept his sight and prevented him from
proceeding further than the date, which was
upwards of a month back.  The letter ran thus,
and the ideas and style of the good old
gentleman were observable in every line of it:

.. vspace:: 2

*Lochisla, February* 28*th*, 1812.

.. vspace:: 1

"MY DEAR BOY,

.. vspace:: 1

"I received your letters dated from Lisbon and
Portalagre in due course, and cannot find words
to express how overjoyed I was to understand by
them that you were well, and did not feel the
fatigue of long marches.  Ronald, my son, may
God protect you!  You are very dear to me
indeed,—dearer even than the little ones that sleep
in the old kirk-yard.  I can scarce get on further,
for the salt and hot tears are filling my eyes, and
it is no common emotion which makes a stern old
man, like me, weep.  We are living much in the
old way here at the tower, with the exception that
your absence has made a sad blank in the little
establishment.  My dear boy, I am very lonely
now, and it is grievous when a man feels himself
so in his old age.  Your gentle mother, and her
four little boys, are with the angels in heaven;
the green grass covers their sunny ringlets, and
you alone were spared me, but only to be exposed
to the dangers of a soldier's life,—dangers which
make my heart shrink within me for your safety.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 1



"How very quiet is all around me at the
moment I am writing!  The bright evening sun is
streaming through the mullions of the old hall
window on the hearth, where you used to play
when a little child, and your two old companions,
Carril and Odin, are stretched upon the rug; they
often whine, and look sadly in my face, or at
your bonnet and gun in the corner, as if they still
missed you.  The noble hounds!  I believe that
although six months have elapsed since you were
here, they have not forgotten you.  The wind
scarcely stirs the thickets about the tower, and all
is very calm and still,—all save the beating of my
own anxious heart, and its pulsations are audible.

All our friends and dependants here desire to
be remembered to you and to Evan Iverach; and
I am assured danger will never visit you, if the
prayers of brave and honest hearts can avert it;
for the people at the clachan, and in all the glen,
pray for you nightly and daily, particularly old
Donald.  He does not pipe about so much as he
used to do, but pays more attention than ever
he did to the whisky kegs in Janet's pantry.
Poor man!  I forgive his melancholy; like me, he
mourns the absence of an only son.

"Corrie-oich and I have quarrelled again,
about a fight which took place at the last fair,
between his herdsman and Alpin Oig.  I would
fain harry the lair of the old fox, and give his
turreted house to the flames, as my father did in
1746.  I would teach his fellows to beware how
they spoke to a servant or follower of mine.

"I am likely to have a row with Inchavon
also.  He has trespassed more than once on
our marches in his shooting excursions, in which
he is always accompanied now by the Earl of
Hyndford, who, it is said, is to be married to
Miss Lisle, an old flame of yours, whom I trust
you have forgotten by this time, as she has
undoubtedly done you.

"Inchavon's son has received a pair of colours
in your regiment, and has left Perthshire to join;
you will, of course, keep him at a due distance,
and as you value my paternal love, make neither
a friend nor companion of him.  Forget not the
words your gallant old grandfather used, after
cutting down Colonel Lisle at Falkirk: 'Never
trust a Lisle of Inchavon, until your blade is
through his body.'

"Sir Allan has revived his old claim to the
lands and vacant peerage of Lysle, and Hyndford,
who is one of our representative peers, is using
all his interest for him in the upper house.  Let
him fish for any rank he pleases; our blood, my
boy, is nobler than his own.  We have been
Stuarts of Lochisla since the days of our royal
ancestor Robert the Second, and I seek no other
title.

"By the by, that scoundrel Æneas Macquirk,
the W.S. in Edinburgh, some time ago procured
my name, as cautioner for a very large sum, to
a deed connected with some cursed insurance
business, of which I knew nothing.  I fear the
fellow is tottering in his circumstances; and
should he fail, I will be utterly ruined, and the
old tower, which has often defied an armed host,
will, perhaps, be surrendered to some despicable
Lowland creditor.  To a Highlander, who knows
nothing of legal chicanery, what a curse those
harpies of the law are!  Remember me to John
Cameron of Fassifern, your colonel; he is a brave
and good officer, and a true Highland gentleman.
Be attentive to your duties, and never shrink
from——  But I need not say that; I know that you
will do what man dare do, and will never disgrace
the house you spring from, or the gallant regiment
to which you belong.  Good by to you, my boy! let
me hear from you soon and often; and that
He, whose presence is everywhere, may ever bless
and protect you, will be always the earnest prayer
of your desolate old father,

.. vspace:: 1

"IAN STUART."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE CONDÉ`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XII.


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE CONDÉ.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "The anthem rang; for on the heavenward air
   |  '*Gloria in excelsis*' swept along,
   |  From voices soft and forms divinely fair,
   |  While the lone echoes did the notes prolong,
   |  Swelling the numbers of the sweet angelic song."
   |                  *Scenes among the Mountains*, canto i.

.. vspace:: 2

So much was Ronald engrossed in the perusal
of this letter, which so fully displays the eccentric
manners of his father, that it was not until he
had withdrawn his eyes from its pages that he
became aware of the presence of Catalina, who
stood by his side, veiled and robed in her velvet
mantilla for church.

"You have received a letter from your home?
I trust—I hope—there is nothing in it to cause
you sorrow.  Why do you sigh so very sadly?"
said she, in a tone of thrilling tenderness.

"Indeed I cannot say that its contents are
calculated to instil any other sentiments than
sorrow," replied Ronald, depositing it in his breast;
"and I fear, Catalina, that the last day I shall
pass with—with you, will be a very unhappy one."

"The last day!" she repeated sorrowfully.
"And are you still resolved on going so soon?"

"My arm, you perceive, is perfectly well now,"
replied the officer, tossing away the sling in which
it hung; "and it is indispensable, if I would save
my honour from disagreeable surmises, that I
rejoin my regiment.  Dearest Catalina! a hundred
other circumstances, of which you are ignorant,
compel me to leave you,—to leave you perchance
for ever."  While he spoke, a passionate flush
gathered on his cheek, and passing his arm around
the waist of the yielding girl, he drew her gently
towards him; yet even the feeling of delight which
he experienced at that moment, mingled with a
sensation of anger at the faithlessness of Alice
Lisle.  To revenge himself, he pressed his lips a
second time to the soft and burning cheek of the
beautiful Spaniard, and felt his blood fly like
lightning through his veins, while he watched the
long lashes which modestly shaded the brilliance
of her eyes, and read the smile of pleasure and
inexpressible sweetness that played around her
finely formed mouth.

A step was heard on the staircase.

"*Santa Maria!  Senor mio, el senor Gobernador*;
my uncle the prior!" she whispered, starting
from Ronald's encircling arm.  "Oh, 'tis only
my gossiping cousin," she added with a smile, as
Inesella de Truxillo swept into the apartment,
with a long lace veil reaching from her stately
head nearly to her feet, enveloping her tall and
dashing figure.

"Pho!  I fear I have interrupted some very
gallant and tender scene.  How very unlucky!
Catalina, *mi queredo*, how you blush!  Your veil
and long glossy ringlets are all sadly disordered.
Indeed, senor, you have quite turned the poor
girl's head, and I fear we shall have some
unhappy brawl, should my brother the Condé de
Truxillo hear of it.  He is one of Catalina's most
passionate admirers, and we expect him here
shortly."

"Inesella, I thought you were my uncle the
prior," faltered Catalina, blushing with confusion.

"Our uncle, the padre?" cried the gay girl
with a loud laugh.  "*O madre de Dios!* do my
little feet, which our citizens of Merida admire so
much, make so great a noise as your old
gobernador's? besides, he never leaves his room.  *Mi
queredo*, you compliment me!  But you must
remember that I am considered the best waltzer in
Madrid, and the cavaliers there pretend to be very
excellent judges.  My poor cousin, you are very
much abashed; allow me to arrange your curls.
But you should not be flirting here with a young
*officiale* instead of being at mass, and
*el Gobernador* should give you a sermon for doing so.
But the bells have ceased to toll, and we shall be
late; 'tis fully five minutes' walk from here to the
porch of San Juan's church.  So let us begone at
once, and use our joint endeavours to make you,
senor, a convert to the true faith."

Ronald replied only by an unmeaning smile;
and taking his sword and bonnet, prepared to
accompany the young ladies.  They were followed
by Evan Iverach and Pedro Gomez, carrying
camp-stools for their accommodation, the church
(as usual in Spain) not being fitted up with pews;
so that all who do not provide themselves with
seats, are obliged to remain either on their feet or
on their knees.

An indescribable emotion of deep religious
veneration, inspiration almost of holy awe, filled
the agitated mind of the young Highlander with
sensations which he had never before experienced,
when, for the first time in his life, he found himself
beneath the groined roof and gigantic arches of
the Roman Catholic cathedral, while all its
thousand hollow echoes were replying to the notes of
the sublime organ, the bold trumpet-tones of
which shook the very pavement and grave stones
beneath his feet.  The appearance of the church,
being so very different from what he had ever
beheld before, made also a deep impression on
his mind: the tall traceried windows, filled with
gorgeously stained glass,—the strong variations of
light and shadow which they caused,—the long
lines of shafted columns, and the domed roof
which sprung from their foliaged capitals,—the
perfumes of the lavender flowers which, arising
from smoking censers, filled the air,—the dark and
gloomy altar-piece, with the altar itself bearing
a gigantic crucifix of gilt work and enormous
candlesticks of silver, the pale lights twinkling
around it,—the floating drapery of the officiating
priests,—the sonorous prayers uttered in an
unknown language, and the fervent responses of the
swarthy congregation, together with "the pealing
organ" and the melodious song of the young
choristers,—all these combined, entranced and
elevated the enthusiastic soul of the young
Highlander, raising it from the grossness and
bitterness of earth almost, as it were, to heaven,
so grand and impressive, in form and ceremony,
is the religious service of the Church of Rome, as
it exists on the continent in all its ancient glory.

Poor Evan, who had never heard any other
religious music than the humble Presbyterian psalm
in Lochisla kirk, was for some time struck with
a feeling of such awe, that he scarcely dared to
lift his eyes, lest he should encounter the
formidable gaze of some spirit or divinity standing on
the altar; and the wonderful sound of the music
caused his bold heart to shrink, although he could
have heard, without his courage failing, the roar
of a thousand pieces of cannon.  However, when
the music ceased, and he had recovered his usual
self-possession, the native prejudices and inherent
sourness of the true Presbyterian assumed its
ascendency in his mind.

"O sir, is this no an unco kirk?" he whispered
from behind.  "Gude guide us! never will I
trust myself within the yett o' ane mair.  Just
look, sir, at that puir papist Pedro, how he
yammers, and counts his string o' yellow beads ower
and ower again.  O'd, sir, this ding's a'!  And look
at the pictures, the images, and a' that: it's just
a temptin' o' Providence to trust oursels inside
o' this nest o' papistry, idolatry, and deevildom.
Hech me, sir, what would the auld men and caillochs
in the clachan o' Lochisla think or say if
they kenned we were here?  And what would our
decent body o' a minister, auld maister Mucklewhame,
think o' that chield's awfu' blatter o' lang
nebbit words?"

Ronald had often motioned him to be silent,
and he now ceased as the sub-prior, a black-browed
priest of the order of St. Francis of Assisi,
ascended barefooted, the marble steps which led
to the lofty pulpit.  He was attired in the garb of
his order, a grey gown and cowl of woollen stuff,
girt about his middle with a knotted cord of
discipline.  His chaplet hung at his girdle, and his
cowl, falling over his neck, displayed his swarthy
features, coal-black hair, and shaven scalp.  At
the same time, Ronald encountered the smiling
glances which the keen bright eyes of the ladies
bestowed on him, as they watched from time to
time the impression made upon him by the
solemnity of their church service.  The sermon of
the Franciscan was filled more with politics and
invectives against the French and their emperor,
than religious matters, dwelling emphatically on
the singular addition made by the priests to the
Spanish Catechism at that time,—"to love all
mankind, excepting Frenchmen, of whom it was
their duty to kill as many as possible."[\*]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] See "Memoirs of the War in Spain, from 1808 to 1814; by
Marshal Suchet, Duke d'Albufera."

.. vspace:: 2

"Well, Evan, what think you of the discourse?"
said Ronald, in the low voice in which the groups
clustered round the columns generally conversed.
"I dare say the Spanish sounds very singular to
your ear."

"Ay, sir; it puts me in mind o' an auld saying
o' my faither the piper.  'A soo may whussle, but
its mouth is no made for't.'  O'd, sir, I wadna gie
the bonnie wee kirk at Lochisla, wi' its grassy
grave-yard, whar we used to play on the sabbath
mornings, for a' the kirks in Spain, forbye—"

"Hush!"  At that moment the priest had raised
his voice while denouncing a curse upon all
heretics; and his keen expressive eye fell, perhaps
unconsciously, on Ronald, whose cheek reddened
with momentary anger.

Evan's reply, and his native Scottish accent,
caused Ronald to indulge in the same train of
ideas.  He acknowledged in his own heart, that
notwithstanding the gorgeous display before him,
he would prefer the humble and earnest, the simple
and unassuming service in the old village kirk at
home,—the quiet sermon of the white-haired
minister, and the slowly sung psalm, raised with all
the true fervour, the holy and sober feeling which
animate a Scottish congregation, and recall the
soul-stirring emotions which inspired those who
bled at Bothwell, at Pentland, and Drumclog.
He thought of Alice, too; and eagerly did he
long for the arrival of her brother Louis, that
the cause of her heartless desertion might be
explained.

The cry of "*Viva la Religion y España!  Muera
Buonaparte!*" from the preacher, echoed by the
deep tone of a thousand Spanish tongues, awoke
him from his reverie, and he took prisoner within
his own the white hand of Catalina, who was playing
with the silk tassels of his sash, unconscious
of what she was doing.

"Senor," said she blushing, and withdrawing it,
"you seem very melancholy."

"I have, indeed, much reason to be so.  How
can I appear otherwise, when the hours we shall
spend together are so few?"  But she may forget
me as soon as Alice has done, thought he, and his
heart swelled at the idea.  The donna made no
immediate reply, and Ronald was surprised to
perceive her colour change from white to the
deepest crimson, and then become deadly pale
again, while her dark eyes flashed with peculiar
brilliancy and light.

"Senor, the original of this is probably the
cause of your sadness," she said, in a tremulous
voice, while she held up her rival's miniature,
which had fallen from the lapelle of Ronald's
uniform, and hung at the full extent of the chain.
"She is very beautiful.  If this is her miniature,
she must be a queen among women; and you love
her very much, doubtless," she added in a cold
and sorrowful tone which sunk deeply into the
heart of Ronald as he hastily concealed the object
of her emotion.

"May I ask who she is, senor?"

"A very dear friend, or rather one who was such."

"She is dead, then,—or perhaps it is a portrait
of a sister."

"I never had one," replied the young man
colouring with confusion, while he taxed his
imagination to find a reply in vain.  Happily for him
he was relieved from his dilemma by an exclamation
from Donna Inesella, who had hitherto sat
silent, and had, or affected to have, been gazing
intently at the preacher.

"Holy Virgin!" she earnestly whispered.  "See,
Catalina, yonder is my brother the condé,
leaning against the third column from Pizarro's
monument."

"Here at church—the Condé de Truxillo here?"
replied her cousin, becoming pale and agitated.

"Would to Heaven and San Juan that Balthazzar
was any where else than here at this moment!
Somewhat disagreeable will certainly come of it.
Oh, senor!  I tremble for you."

"For me, Donna Inesella!  Sure you mean not
what you say.  I have a hand to protect myself
with, and care not a straw for any condé or
cavalier in Spain."

"True, senor.  I meant not to offend, but my
brother Balthazzar is so fiery——Ah! he sees us
now."

Ronald looked in the direction pointed out,
and saw a handsome Spanish officer in a dashing
staff-uniform, wearing massive epaulets and aigulets
of silver, and a score of military orders of
knighthood, stars, badges, ribands, medals, and
crosses on his breast, leaning listlessly against
a pillar of the church, holding in one hand his
cocked-hat, which was adorned with a large plume
of red and yellow feathers, while the other rested
on the hilt of a very long and straight Toledo.
With a careless sort of glance he cast his eye
along the aisle, as if he had been watching them
ever since their first entrance; but on perceiving
himself observed, he came hastily towards them.
A frown for a moment crossed his fine forehead;
but the next a soft smile replaced it, and he
stroked the coal-black moustache which curled
on his upper lip, forming a contrast in hue with
his remarkably white teeth below.

To his sister and cousin he paid his compliments
in a graceful and polite, yet distant manner,

"Balthazzar, this is the British officer of whom
I told you in my last letter," whispered Inesella,
introducing Ronald; "the same who saved Alvaro
de Villa Franca's life when——"

"I have heard all the story; so spare me a
repetition of it," replied he, waving his hand and
coldly bowing to Ronald, at whose presence he
felt a displeasure which, certes, he took very
little pains to conceal.

"But tell me, Balthazzar, what has brought
you here so unexpectedly? and why do you frown
in so unbecoming a manner?"

"Faith, Inesella! you are exceedingly impolite;
but to be angry with you is useless.  I am
carrying despatches from my colonel, the Condé
Penne Villamur, to Don Carlos d'España, and I
must leave Merida in a few hours, or less.  But
how is it that my fair cousin Catalina has not
one smile of welcome to bestow on me, though
six months have elapsed since I was last at
Merida?"

"Indeed, Balthazzar, I am most happy to see
you; but *el senor padre* would little like my
laughing in church, you know."

"*El senor padre?* pho!  But where is that most
prudent of brothers Don Alvaro now?  I heard
that he had run his captain through the body,
and so got command of his troop."

"'Twas a base falsehood circulated by old Don
Salvador, whose guerillas were supposed to have
done the deed; but Alvaro has joined the Spanish
army under Murillo, cousin condé."

"He is a thoughtless brother, truly," replied
the condé, glancing at Ronald, "to go off thus,
leaving you under the care of my uncle the prior,
who is nearly as useless now as a piece of spiked
ordnance.  A young lady without guidance——But
you look as if about to speak, senor."

"Don Salvador de Zagala," observed Ronald,
whom the condé had never addressed until now,
"is also with Murillo; and there may be some
dangerous brawl between Alvaro and him, should
they meet."

"*O Dios mio*!  Santa Maria forbid," exclaimed
the young ladies together.

"It would be more prudent in Alvaro, senor,
to allow the guerilla chief to go in peace, and
without molestation.  He suffered the wrong, and
was in the right to resent it.  My cousin Alvaro,
although an accomplished soldier, is no match
for old Salvador, who in the use of the sword and
pistol has scarcely his equal in Spain; besides,
Murillo is a fine old fellow, and he takes most
summary vengeance upon any noble cavalier who
seeks the free privilege of the duello in the camp.
I presume, senor, you are at Merida on some duty?
I believe you will find it very agreeable,—much
more so than hard fighting and long marches."

"No, condé; I have been here for the recovery
of a wound, received from a Spanish hand
in a manner at once base and dishonourable,"
replied Ronald, his brows contracting at the
sarcastic tone used by the Spanish officer; "a wound in
the arm which is barely healed, and it is scarcely
an hour since I relinquished the scarf in which
it hung."

"Then, senor, I think that the sooner you rejoin
your brave regiment, the better for your fair
fame.  A gallant soldado who values his honour,
would scarcely permit a scratch to detain him
from the field."

"A scratch!  How now, condé! what am I to
understand by this premeditated rudeness?" said
Ronald furiously and aloud, his cheek flushing,
and his eye sparkling with anger.  "What mean
you, senor?"

"Merely what I have said, *senor officiale*,"
replied Don Balthazzar in the same provoking tone
of sarcastic coldness, "But be pleased to moderate
your transports for another and more fitting
time.  It would ill become a noble cavalier, like
me, to brawl at church or in the presence of ladies.
But you shall hear from me again, senor;" and
bestowing a vindictive glance at Ronald, and a
cold bow on his cousin and sister, he pressed
through the crowd, and left the church.

"Holy Virgin!  Inesella, O Dios!  I dreaded
that this would come to pass the moment I saw
Balthazzar here," whispered Catalina in great
agitation.  "He is so fierce and untractable, that he
never visits Merida without fighting a duel with
some one.  But you, *senor mio*, surely you will
not lay to heart what he has said to you?"

"Calm yourself, Catalina.  I know not what to
think; but certainly his behaviour to me is very
unaccountable.  Have no apprehension on my
account; as I said before, I care not for any
cavalier in Spain, and Heaven knows there are
plenty of them."

"Pho!  Catalina," said her thoughtless cousin;
"heed not Balthazzar's angry looks, though,
indeed, he can be fierce enough when he pleases.
He will probably depart immediately with his
despatches: he said he had but a short time
to tarry."

"Pray Heaven that may be so!"

"And then Don Ronald and he will perhaps
never meet again."

"Let us leave the church.  O Inesella! how
my heart flutters."

"Indeed, my sweet cousin, your eyes have been
the cause of more than one duel already, as the
notches on Balthazzar's sword can testify; and you
have great reason to feel sorrow and disquiet."

"I hear the hoofs of a horse; 'tis galloping
through the Plaza."

"It must be his, Catalina: thanks to our Lady of
the Rock, he is gone!  They may meet no more."

The ladies were, however, both mistaken.
Scarcely had Ronald escorted them home, before
Evan placed in his hand a note, addressed to
"El Noble Caballero, Don Ronaldo Stuart, 92nd
Regimiento, Calle de Guadiana."

In spite of the many vexations which annoyed
him, Ronald well nigh laughed on seeing this
strange and imperfect address.  "This is some
trick of Alister's," thought he, as he tore open the
billet, the contents of which undeceived him.

.. vspace:: 2

"SENOR,

.. vspace:: 1

"When the clock of the Casa del Ayuntamiento
strikes the hour of two, I shall be awaiting
you in the thicket behind the ruins of the
castle of Merida.  You will not fail to come well
armed.  BALTHAZZAR DE TRUXILLO."

.. vspace:: 2

Anger and surprise were Ronald's first
emotions on perusing this unlooked-for challenge,
which he considered an additional aggression;
and having already been grossly insulted, he
deeply regretted that he had not "stolen a
march" on the condé, by sending him the hostile
message first.

"The devil!" muttered he; "this will be a
pretty winding-up of matters, to be shot by this
vindictive Spaniard!  But, every thing considered,
my life is scarcely worth having: certes, a
challenge could not have come at a better time, when
my heart is filled with misanthropy, gall, and
bitterness, and my feelings deadened by the news
I have received within these twenty-four hours.
Perhaps Alice may weep when she reads of my
death in the 'Gazette,'—so and so to be ensign,
*vice* Stuart, deceased.  Sorrow or death—come
what may, my heart is strung for it all."  A sour
smile crossed his features, and he glanced at the
clock of the corporation-house: it wanted but a
quarter of two.

"I shall be late," said he, buckling on his
sword.  "What shall I do in this cursed dilemma?
I have neither a friend to accompany me, nor
pistols to use; and the condé may object to so
formidable a weapon as the broad-sword.  Would
to God Macdonald, Chisholm, or any of ours,
were here!  Evan," said he, turning to his servant,
who had watched his excitement, and heard his
half-muttered speeches with considerable concern
and surprise.  "Evan!"

"O'd, sir, ye needna speak sae loud: I'm just
behint ye.  What's yer wull, sir?"

"I have received a challenge to fight that
Spanish officer you saw at church, and you must
accompany me as second.  It will be prudent to
come armed, as some of these Spaniards are
treacherous hounds, and the condé may be no
better than his neighbours.  Get your musquet
and accoutrements, and follow me to the ruinous
castle at the end of the town; but do not alarm
the young ladies, who I see are walking in the
garden below."

"A duel! to fecht a duel?  Gude guide us,
sir, that's unco sudden," replied Evan, turning
pale with concern.  "And are ye really gaun?"

"Going, Iverach! can you ask me such a question?"

"And your sair arm scarcely weel yet!—it will
never do.  O'd, sir, let me gang in your place,
and my name's no Evan Iverach if I dinna gie
that saucy-looking chield his kail through the
reek."

"Obey me instantly,—the time is nearly up;
follow me at once, without further trifling.  I
should regret to speak harshly, Iverach, as this,
perhaps, is the last day we may ever spend
together.  I have a great regard for you, Evan; we
have been friends since we were little children,
and I always forget the distance which birth and
the rules of the service place between us in
consequence."

"O sir!  O'd, sir—"

"Should I fall," said Ronald, speaking in a
rapid though faltering tone; "should I fall, you
will find some papers and other matters in my
baggage, which I wish transmitted home to Lochisla;
and these I desire you will deliver either to
Major Campbell or Mr. Macdonald."

"Sir, sir—O Maister Ronald! my very heart
is bursting to hear ye rin on in that gait," replied
Evan, beginning to shed tears, which he strove
in vain to conceal.  "I would—I would wi'
pleasure gang in your place, face this chield mysel,
and gie him what he deserves.  Dinna think the
waur o' me, sir, because I greet like a bairn.  I
would face hand to hand ony mortal man without
quailing; but my spirit flees clean awa', when
danger draws nigh you."

"Stay, Evan, my dear old play-fellow; hold,
for Heaven's sake!  You will quite unman me.
I am indeed deeply sensible of the regard you
bear me, and have not forgotten the kind act you
performed in our wretched bivouac at La Nava.
But dry your tears: your fathers did not weep
when they followed mine to battle."

"Ye are richt, sir," replied Evan, recovering
his self-possession as his pride was roused; "but
my faither wadna be ashamed to yammer himsel,
if he kenned that danger was nigh you.  May be
at this hour they ken it at Lochisla: auld Janet
sees things farther off than ither folk.  Ye'll no
forget she has the gift o' the second-sicht."

"Listen!  If any thing should happen to me,
you will find attached to this chain a miniature of
Miss Lisle,—Miss Lisle of Inchavon," continued
his master in a tremulous voice.  "Tell Mr. Macdonald
it is my particular desire that it be restored
to her, or her brother Louis, who will shortly be
with the regiment.  I trust in Heaven you will
see this done.  And for my father—my poor
father!  you will find in my largest trunk——But
I will tell you the rest by the way: it is useless
addressing you while you are in this agitated
state.  Keep up your heart, Evan, like a man
and a Highlander!"

"Sir, if ye should fa'," replied Evan, in a tone
of assumed firmness, "a' that ye tell me most
religiously will I obey,—ay, obey as I would the
commands o' a voice frae Heaven itself,—that is,
if I can survive you, which I dinna think possible.
O hoo could I ever face the puir auld laird at
hame, and tell o' what had come ower ye in this
unco place?"  The honest fellow pressed his
master's hands between his own, while he
endeavoured to subdue his sorrow and dread.

"But for what do I greet, sir?" said he, placing
his regimental bonnet jauntily on one side of his
head.  "A Scotchman is as gude as a Spaniard,
and better, may be.  Ye were aye a deadly shot on
the muirs, and may settle this chield, as ye have
dune mony a bonnie fallow-deer, by an ounce o'
lead in the wame."

At that moment the bell of the Casa del
Ayuntamiento tolled the hour of two.

"Time is up, by heavens!" exclaimed Ronald
passionately; "and this cursed count has
obtained a triumph over me: he will be first on the
ground!"  He cast a hasty glance at the graceful
figure of Catalina, as she leant on the margin of
the fountain conversing with Donna Inesella.
Evan hastily examined the lock of his musquet,
and they sallied forth in silence.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE DUEL`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIII.


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE DUEL.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "It has a strange, quick jar upon the ear,
   |    That cocking of a pistol, when you know
   |  A moment more will bring the sight to bear
   |    Upon your person,—twelve yards off, or so;
   |  A gentlemanly distance, not too near,
   |    If you have got a former friend for foe.
   |  But after being fired at once or twice,
   |  The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice."
   |                              *Don Juan*, canto iv.

.. vspace:: 2

Passing rapidly through the Plaza, and down
the great street which leads towards the Guadiana,
they ascended the eminence on the outside of the
city, where the remains of the mouldering fortress
stand.  It was a solitary spot, surrounded by
thickets of bushes and tall weeping willows.
There was little chance of an interruption in such
a place, especially at an hour when the streets
were almost deserted, while the lazy Spaniards
were enjoying their siesta.  Within one of the
square courts, round which rose the mossy
fragments of shattered towers, they found the Condé
de Truxillo holding his charger by the bridle, and
conversing with the Spanish doctor, Mendizabal,
whose case of instruments was displayed on a
large mass of fallen masonry near.

The condé seemed to be impatiently awaiting
Ronald's appearance.

"Senor!" said he haughtily, "you have been
in no hurry to attend my summons.  I believe I
mentioned in the church of San Juan that I was
hastening with despatches to Don Carlos
d'España, and consequently had no time to lose in
Merida."

"I am but a few minutes beyond the appointed
time, condé; and you must be aware that the
notice I received was very sudden."

"As sudden as unwelcome, perhaps."

"Senor! your observations are contemptible,
and your blood alone can wipe out your repeated
insolence," was Ronald's fierce reply.  "Condé,
your life only can atone for such conduct; and by
the heavens above, we part not this day until the
sword is dyed with the blood of one or both of us."

"This is mighty gay!  Your language promises
bold deeds, senor," replied the other ironically.

"For what have I received this hostile message
from you, condé? from you, whom I have never
wronged?"

"When I acquaint you, senor," replied the
Spaniard, his olive cheek glowing for an instant;
"when I acquaint you that Catalina de Villa
Franca is my betrothed wife, I have, perhaps,
sufficiently answered that question."

"Donna Catalina is no more to me than any
other lady in Spain," said Ronald, colouring in
turn, for he knew the assertion to be false.

"Enough!" replied the condé fiercely.  "I did
not come here to chatter, senor,—my time is too
short for that.  You have brought pistols, of
course?"

"I have no weapon but my sword; and I am
perfect master of it."

"We will prove that in good time.  I, however,
am better provided."  He took from his holsters
a very handsome pair of long horse-pistols.
"Choose one, senor; and here are ball-cartridges
enough to last us till sunset, which you are
scarcely like to see, if my hand is as steady as
it usually is."

Ronald replied only by a scornful smile, and
they proceeded each to load.

"Now, then," said Truxillo, "we are all ready, I
suppose.  I will retire to the ruinous wall, and
you will please to stand where you are.  'Tis a
very convenient distance.  But what mean you by
bringing an armed soldier with you here?" he
exclaimed, his attention being attracted to Evan
by the latter, in the excitement of the moment,
loosening his bayonet in the sheath.

"He is a private soldier of my own regiment.
I had no other friend in Merida to accompany me."

"Friend?  A brave soldier requires none to assist
him in defence of his honour.  You must know,
senor, that a Spanish cavalier, in an affair of this
sort, seeks no other ally than a sharp blade and
sure eye: however, desire your fellow to retire,
that there may be no treachery.  We draw lots
for the first shot, I presume?"

"Agreed, condé," answered Ronald, whose
Highland blood was all on fire, and whose anger
had been gradually increasing at the cavalier's
insolent demeanour and assumed tone of superiority,
until he longed with a fierce eagerness to
chastise him by the infliction of some severe
bodily injury,—if not totally to deprive him of
life.  Lots were drawn by Doctor Mendizabal,
and the *first* shot fell to the condé.  An expression
of triumphant malice glittered in his large
dark eyes; he smiled sourly, showing his white
teeth, and retreated close to the ruinous wall,
where he planted himself about sixteen paces off,
and examined with the most scrupulous accuracy
the flint, priming, and muzzle of his pistol.

With the other in his right hand, Ronald stood
erect, awaiting the condé's fire.

I must own, that when he heard the click of the
lock, his heart for a moment failed him at the
prospect of so sudden a death, and the fear of
falling unrevenged: it was the feeling of a moment
only,—the next he was all stern eagerness to be
fired at, and to fire in his turn, should he
survive.  With clasped hands and starting eyes Evan
watched the heart-stirring affair, stoutly resolving,
should his master fall, to avenge him by driving
his bayonet through the heart of Don Balthazzar.

"*Cuidado; senor officiale*," cried the condé
triumphantly; "Don Alvaro's imprudence is likely
to cost you dear.  By our Lady of the Rock your
life is forfeited.  I am the most deadly shot in all
Castile; but yet I would spare you on one
condition,—that you swear by a soldier's sacred word
of honour, never again to come into the presence
of Donna Catalina."

"What right have you to dictate terms so degrading?
Never, proud Spaniard! while I live,
will I make such a promise."

"Then die!" cried the other furiously.  He
raised his pistol: his eye glanced over the sight
for a second,—he fired, and the surrounding ruins
rang with the sharp report.  Ronald's pulses beat
more freely as the hissing shot whistled through
his Highland bonnet, sending one of the long
black feathers which adorned it floating away on
the evening breeze.

"Praise be to the Lord in Heaven! ye have
escaped," said Evan, fervently.  "But it's your
turn now, sir: level low, and if the muzzle rises
ye'll be sure to wing him like ony muir-cock; and
mony a gude thousand we've bagged thegither
in Strathonan, and mony mair we'll bag gin we
get ower this awfu' adventure."

"*Dios y Demonios!* some demon of hell has
turned aside my hand.  I have shot at a score,
and never yet swerved in my aim," cried the
condé in a hoarse tone of anger and surprise, when
as the smoke cleared off he beheld his antagonist
still standing erect before him.  "No! by Santiago,
I never missed before.  You have stood my
discharge bravely, senor cavalier; but my courage
is not less than your own.  Fire!" he cried,
laying his hand upon his heart.

"Noo, Maister Ronald,—noo, sir!  O be calm;
may be ye'll never hae sic anither chance.  This
chield look's unco saucy; but mind ye the auld
proverb, "Ilka cock craws crouse on its ain
middenstead."  Its most awfu' wark this for a
Sabbath evening; but oh, sir! level low; mark the
buckle o' his waist-belt, and if the piece throws
high, like the ither, the braw dies at his
button-holes stand a bad chance."  Evan spoke in an
anxious and hurried tone, while he eyed the
condé with no slight feeling of hatred and
animosity.  Ronald levelled his pistol at the tall and
finely formed figure of his brave opponent, who
surveyed him steadily, without a muscle of his
noble features changing.

"I can never thus coldly shoot so fine a fellow,"
thought the generous Highlander, and fired
his weapon in the air.  An exclamation of sorrow
from Evan, and another of angry surprise from
the Spaniard, followed the report.

"Santos Santissimos! what mean you by this?
Am I unworthy of being fired at?  You have most
grossly insulted me by this action, senor; and you
ought to have considered the very great honour
I did you, in becoming personally your antagonist."

"How!  Don Balthazzar; honour?—"

"Certainly.  Save myself, perhaps, no cavalier
of noble lineage, or a long transmitted name,
would have condescended to contend thus openly
in arms with a stranger, whose birth and blood
are both obscure.  No, senor! a dagger-thrust
from a dark corner would have put an end to our
rivalry.  But think not to escape; for, by our
Lady of the Rock in Leon,[\*] we part not this day,
until the sod smokes with the blood of one or
other of us,—so defend yourself!"  He unsheathed
his long cavalry sword, and rushed so suddenly
upon Ronald, that the latter had barely time to
draw and parry his impetuous onset.  So fierce
was his stroke, that the arm of the Highlander
tingled to the very shoulder when their keen
blades clashed together; and so much was he
infuriated at this unlooked-for assault, that for
some moments he struck blindly and at random,
whirling his heavy claymore round his head like
a willow wand, and having many narrow escapes
from the sharp-pointed blade of the Spaniard, who
retained his temper and presence of mind
admirably.  Ronald soon found the necessity of being
cool likewise, and using art as well as courage.
In the fashion of the Highland swordsman, he
placed forward his right foot with a long stride,
presenting it as a tempting object for a blow, while
he narrowly watched the eye of his adversary,
who instantly dealt a sweeping stroke at the
defenceless limb, which the young Gael withdrew
with the rapidity of light, bestowing at the same
time a blow on the condé, which broke the shell
of his Toledo and wounded his right hand
severely.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[\*] A much-frequented image of the Virgin Mary, on a
mountain called the rock of France, between the city of
Salamanca and Rodrigo, in Leon.
It stood there, or still stands in
a building, which is, I believe, a monastery of Dominican
friars.

.. vspace:: 2

He dropped his shattered weapon.

"Claymore for ever!" shouted Evan, triumphantly
capering about, snapping his fingers,
whooping and hallooing in a truly Highland style,
so overjoyed was he to see his master victorious.
"Claymore for ever and aye! bonnily dune,—bravely
dune.  Sir, Wallace himsel couldna hae
matched him better.  It was my puir auld faither
learned ye that trick, Maister Ronald; and God
be thanked it's a' ower noo, and that your skin
is a haill ane."

The discomfited cavalier bestowed on him a
proud look, at once withering and disdainful.

"Noble senor," said he, turning to Ronald, "you
have this day vanquished one of the most accomplished
of King Ferdinand's cavalry officers,—in
fact, senor, I am one of the best swordsmen in
all the ten provinces of Spain; and to disarm me
thus, is no small feat for so young a soldier, and
I honour you for it.  Catalina de Villa Franca
must be—but strike!  Fortune has placed my
life a second time at your absolute disposal; take
it, for I swear, by every saint on our monkish
muster-rolls, I will have no ignominious terms
dictated to me, even though disarmed and at your
mercy.  So strike the blow that will free you
from me for ever."

"Never! gallant condé.  This quarrel was your
own seeking, and I forgive you for it freely, and
for the many insults you have offered me."

"*Senor officiale*, you are too generous: no
cavalier or rival in Spain would lose the chance
you cast away so carelessly."

"Evan, hand this gentleman his sword?  And
now, condé, we must look to your wound: I trust
it is not a severe one?"

"Pho! 'tis a mere scratch."

"Yet it bleeds much."

"*Carajo!* it does,—more than I wish it to do.
But, senor, I have received so many wounds in
different ways, and have bled so much, that I
marvel I have any blood left in me at all."

"I regret that the cut is so severe," said
Ronald, as the condé held up his hand, from which
the blood streamed freely.

"Pho! senor; to express regret, though it may
appear very generous, is folly.  A few minutes since
we would with pleasure have passed our blades
through each other's hearts,—but that feeling is
past now.  Ho!  Mendizabal.  Rogue! why do
you tarry?  Bind up this quickly, and let me
be gone.  I have lost much time already, and
Carlos d'España will scarcely get the despatches
within the appointed time."  The wound was tied
up hastily, so impatient was Don Balthazzar to
be gone; and a strange excitement and irritability
possessed him now, instead of his former coolness
and self-possession.

The moment it was over, he sharply scrutinized
his saddle-girths and harness-buckles; after which
he vaulted with the grace of a true horseman upon
the back of his noble Spanish charger, which had
stood by unmoved during the conflict between its
rider and Ronald Stuart.

"Senor," said the condé to the latter in a low
but emphatic voice, "our quarrel is ended
amicably for the present; but perhaps we may meet
again.  Do not think that a cavalier of old Castile
will thus easily resign to another so fair a prize as
Catalina de Villa Franca.  No, senor; I must live
for her, or learn to die for Spain."

He dashed the sharp rowels into his horse's
flanks, tearing the very skin; and forcing the
animal to leap a ruined wall, fully six feet high, he
vanished from their sight, and rode madly and
recklessly towards the centre street of the city.
A few minutes more, and they beheld his glittering
accoutrements flashing in the evening sun, as he
plunged forward at the same furious speed beyond
the walls of the city, and disappeared over the
eminences in the direction of Albuquerque.

"He is a gallant fellow," thought Ronald, who
watched him until he disappeared; "and a noble
example he has given me.  To him I have almost
unwittingly acted that part, which now Hyndford
acts to me.  But for Truxillo,—I have nothing to
regret; I have acted honourably towards him, and
in my own heart I thank God that this quarrel is
ended amicably, and with so little damage."

An interruption now occurred to Evan's expressions
of joy for the safety of his master, who,
although most interested in the fortunate issue of
the duel, cared indeed least about it.  For his
attendance, Doctor Mendizabal had received from
Ronald a *doblon*, or *onza*, a coin worth about
£3. 10s. English; and as it was the first time in
his life that he had ever received so great a fee,
his thanks, his protestations, and the sweeps he
made with his sombrero were innumerable; and
he had just taken his departure, when Sargento
Gomez scrambled hurriedly over the ruinous walls,
and leaping into the sort of court where they
stood, advanced towards Ronald with a Spanish
military salute.

"Noble senor," said he breathlessly, "I have
been in search of you over the whole of Merida—"

"My life on't, anither fechtin' job!" ejaculated
Evan, who saw Pedro was highly excited,
although he knew not a word he uttered.  "Got
wi 't, Gomez, in some decent tongue a body can
comprehend."

"A muleteer has within this hour arrived from
Fuente del Maistre, and says he saw a party of
French cavalry advancing down this side of the
Guadiana.  Donna Catalina wishes to see you
immediately.  You must fly, senor, if you would
escape being made prisoner."

"French cavalry!  How can it be possible?
Yet Evelyn of the 13th said something about it,
which I have forgotten.  Can the veracity of your
informant be relied on?"

"He is true to death, senor!  He is my own
brother, Lazaro Gomez of Merida, and an honester
muleteer will not be found on the road between
Madrid and Alcantara,—and that is one of many
leagues in length.  He has had the honour to be
employed more than once by my Lord Wellington,
as a spy upon Marshals Soult and Marmont."

"A recommendation, truly!  Are the enemy in
force?"

"He said two or three troops, senor,—Dombrouski's
lancers."

"Sir Rowland Hill is retiring on Merida.  Did
your brother Lazaro see any sign of his troops?"

"No, senor."

"'Tis very unaccountable how they have
outflanked our division in this manner."

"Senor, they must have advanced by some
secret way pointed out by some of those traitorous
banditti which infest every sierra and wood
just now.  These fellows would hang their mother
for a maravedi; so 'tis no wonder they are often
false to Spain."

"These lancers must inevitably be captured by
Sir Rowland's advanced guard, which cannot be
far off now."

"True, senor; but you may either be killed or
taken captive before the British come up,—and
so may I, as a Spanish soldier.  We must retire
westwards to Albuquerque.  But come, senor;
Donna Catalina—"

"Yonder they come, by heavens!" cried
Ronald, as a cloud of dust and the glitter of
accoutrements appeared about two or three miles
off, advancing rapidly towards Merida by the
river side.  "We shall have to retire without
delay; but I must first bid the ladies adieu.  Get
your harness, Pedro; and though there are but
three of us, we will not surrender, even to them,
without firing a shot."

"Viva!" cried the Spaniard, tossing his red
forage-cap into the air, and leaping up to catch
it again.  "Viva, noble senor!  I will follow
you to death, even as I would the noble cavalier
who commands my troop, or King Ferdinand the
Seventh himself."

Descending from the ruins of the fortress, they
entered the city, where all was terror, confusion,
and dismay at the unexpected appearance of the
enemy, whose numbers were exaggerated, and
declared to be the whole of Marshal Ney's division,
and which, according to report, had utterly
annihilated the British under Sir Rowland Hill.
Most of the inhabitants were taking to flight,
laden with their bedding and clothing,—matters
which a Spaniard ranks among his most valuable
goods and chattels.  Hundreds of men, bearing
burdens of every sort, were pressing towards the
western gate, followed by women, whose lamentations
were mingled with many a bitter "*carajo*"
against the invaders of their soil.  Among others
appeared Doctor Mendizabal, carrying a carbine
in one hand, while with the other he led by the
bridle a stout mule, on which were seated his wife
and two children.  Others led mules and donkeys
laden with all kinds of household stuff, and a
dense press ensued among the crowd about the
city gate, and loud curses of anger and impatience
were uttered on all sides at the delay in front,
the intense pressure from the continually increasing
mass behind permitting but few to get out
at a time.

At length a passage was made through the
dense column by the arrival of an important
personage,—the corregidor, or chief magistrate
of the city, surrounded by several alguazils in
broad-leaved sombreros, wearing the livery of the
city, and armed with long halberts, or Spanish
blunderbusses with brass bell-mouths.  The
corregidor was a grave old hidalgo, wearing a large
military cocked-hat and long moustaches twisted
up to his ears; he was muffled in a large brown
cloak, and smoked his cigar, while he surveyed
with an unmoved eye the crowd, where almost
every face wore the expression of terror, rage,
impatience, and dismay.  However, all fell back
on the right and left, as his old-fashioned coach,
with its emblazoned coats armorial, and drawn
by a single mule, advanced towards the gate.
Mounted on another mule rode a livery servant,
wearing a red feather in his sombrero, a stiletto
in his sash, and armed with an enormous whip,
which was never a moment idle, being continually
at work either among the people to make them
give way, or on his cattle to make them increase
their speed, and place as great a distance as
possible between himself and the dreaded legions of
France.  This servant rode alongside of the mule
which drew the vehicle, leading it by the bridle,
the usual custom in Spain, and one which is truly
very awkward and unsightly.

At the gate of the garden Ronald was met by
the young ladies, who both advanced hastily
towards him, exclaiming, "O Don Ronald! have
you heard—"

"They are in sight—"

"*O Madre de Dios!* you will be either killed,
or taken a prisoner over the Pyrenees to France."

"To escape either of these fates, I must bid
you instantly adieu, senoritas,—unless you will
consent to retire with me from Merida, which will
scarcely be a safe place for you while the French
are in it.  The advancing party are some of
Dombrouski's Polish lancers, who are not famous for
their sentiments either of chivalry or gentle
courtesy.  They are rough dogs, I understand; and
in gallantry, are far inferior to the brave cavalry
of France."

"Oh, they are sad fellows, these lancers, and
wear frightful whiskers; but we do not fear them,
senor," replied Inesella in her usual laughing tone.
"You must know that the Condé d'Erlon, who is
one of my many most humble and devoted admirers,
gave me a written protection the last time
he was here, and all soldiers who march under the
tri-colour of France, must respect and obey it;
therefore we do not fear them—quite the reverse.
Some of the French are very gay cavaliers, and I
knew a very handsome chasseur——  But, pho! poor
fellow! he was assassinated with some others
at Albuquerque."

"Then, Donna Inesella, you fear not to remain.
And will your letter protect your cousin?"

"O yes, senor, it protects all who are with me;
but of course you—"

"Must depart at once."

"Exactly, senor; old D'Erlon's letter will not
protect you, who are his enemy."

"Then, senoritas, now for flight," replied
Ronald, tightening his sash and belt.  "I must
abandon my baggage to your charge.  The citizens
are nearly all off *en route* for the north and
west, and all the church bells are tolling dismally.
But I trust Sir Rowland Hill's advanced guard
will be here by to-morrow, and if so, our cavalry
under General Long will soon capture this handful
of lancers."

"They appear, however, to have scared away
my fiery brother, the condé; he galloped furiously
down the street a few minutes since, nearly riding
over a poor old padre, (protect, us Heaven!) and
left the town, without even bidding us adieu,
although Catalina called to him from the street
balcony."

"Alas!  Inesella," said Catalina, "your prattle
will detain him here too long, and every moment
is fraught with danger."

"Holy Virgin, I hope not!  Do not compromise
your safety by tarrying longer here,
senor.  Take the road for the forest of La Nava,
and Pedro Gomez will direct you.  The Mother
of God keep her holy hand over you, brave
cavalier! for we may never meet again."

"Farewell! *senor mio*.  We have been very
happy in Merida," said Catalina, in a voice of
assumed firmness, and presenting her white hand,
while her lip quivered and her cheek turned very
pale.  At that moment the distant sound of a
cavalry trumpet was borne towards them on the
passing breeze.

"Come awa, sir; we maunna bide a minute
mair,—it's just a temptin' o' Providence," urged
Evan, examining his flint as he stood at the
garden gate with Pedro Gomez, who was armed
with his carbine, and had donned his helmet and
accoutrements.

"Gude by to ye, leddies," added the Highlander,
touching his bonnet; "and mony thoosand
thanks to ye for your kindness to my maister in
this unco hole o' a place."

"Keep this for my sake, fair Catalina, and
think of me sometimes, when I am far away from
you," said Ronald, casting his tartan plaid over
her white shoulders as a parting gift; and kissing
her pale brow, and her cousin's hand, he retired
hastily from the garden, followed by the soldiers.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`MULETEERS`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIV.


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   MULETEERS.

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..

   |  "I dare do all that may become a man;
   |  Who dares do more, is none."
   |                            *Macbeth.*

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The red sun was setting amidst a sea of light
floating clouds, which displayed a thousand
blending shades of purple, saffron, and gold,
shedding the same warm hues on the scenery
around Merida, tinging every object of the
beautiful landscape, through which, meandering
between dark green groves of the orange and olive,
wound the slowly rolling and broad-bosomed
Guadiana, seeming like a flood of lucid gold, in
which the objects on its sides were reflected
downwards, the changing sky above and the black
round arches of the noble bridge all appearing
inverted in the bosom of the stream, as on the
surface of a polished mirror.

The dark shadows of the neighbouring mountain
were falling across the plain and the city,
rendering yet darker the gloomy and antique
streets, where all was still confusion and dismay,
and from which the chant of the ecclesiastics, and
the deep ding-dong of the tolling bells were borne
on the wind towards them, mingled with the
shouts of the advancing cavalry, who came on in
a clamorous style truly French.  Suddenly the
dark mass emerged from among the trees which
had concealed their approach, and galloped across
the bridge some hundred in number, with accoutrements
glittering, plumes waving, and their tri-coloured
penons fluttering from the heads of their
lofty lances.

"Now, then," exclaimed Ronald, as the last
file disappeared from the bridge, "we must strain
every nerve to gain the wood of La Nava.  A
party of these lancers may be sent forward to scour
the roads, and we are very far from safe yet."

"Courage, senor: 'tis but a couple of leagues
or so from hence, and I am well assured that no
patrol will they send out while there is a single
wine-house unsacked in Merida."

"Cast away your knapsack, Evan: you will get
another when we rejoin.  It is an encumbrance to
you, so toss it away.  Let us but gain the shelter
of the wood, and we will there await, in safety,
the arrival of our own troops, as they pass *en
route* for Portugal."

Evan took his knapsack by the straps, and cast
it into a deep pool by the way side, saying it was
better "A' should gang that gate, than fa' into
the hands o' uncanny folk."

About eight miles from Merida they met Lazaro
Gomez, the brother of Pedro, and a party of
muleteers of Catalonia, halted at a fountain which
babbled through an iron pipe fixed into the rock,
from which the water gushed, and fell into a little
pebbled basin.  Near it stood an ancient stone
cross, marking the tomb of one of Don Alvaro's
ancestors, who reposed here in unconsecrated
ground.  In the course of centuries it had sunk
deep into the earth; but on the upper part yet
appeared the time-worn and half-obliterated
inscription:—

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   AQUI YACE.

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   EL NOBLE CABELLERO D. JUAN DE VILLA FRANCA,
   .... MUERTOS .... BATALLA ANO D. 1128.
   RUEGUEN A DIOS FOR EL!

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This fountain and ancient tomb had been the
object of many an evening ride with Catalina, who
related the history of Don Juan, a romance which
I may give to the public at some future time.
Ronald paid but little attention, to either the cross
or brook, but advanced towards the jovial
muleteers, who were smoking paper cigars of their
own manufacture,—laughing, singing, and drinking
aguardiente to wash down their repast of
bread, onions, and bacallao—oil and lettuce, which
was spread on the sward by the side of the
fountain; around which, cropping the herbage,
wandered their mules, from whose harness jingled a
thousand little tinkling bells.  On the approach of
the British officer, the frank fellows sprung to
their feet with one accord, and held their brimming
horns towards him, while he was greeted with
many 'vivas' and sweeps of their sombreros.

"Senor cavalier, I am glad you have escaped
our enemies by means of the intelligence I brought
to Merida," said Lazaro Gomez, the master-muleteer;
a short thick-set fellow, with a round bullet-head
and good-humoured face, containing that
roguish sort of expression which is always given
by artists to the features of Sancho Panza.  He
was tanned to the colour of mahogany by continual
exposure to the sun, and his chin displayed
a short stunted black beard, and slovenly
ill-trimmed moustache.

"I am much obliged to you indeed, Master
Lazaro; and I would that it was in my power to
reward you."

"Mention not reward, I beg of you, senor cavalier,"
replied Lazaro, making another sweep with
his sombrero.  Ronald answered by a grave bow.
He had become too much accustomed to the
appellation of 'cavalier' and the pompous politeness
of the Spaniards even to smile when he was
addressed in a style that would pass better with the
renowned Cid,—Rodrigo of Bivar, than Ronald
Stuart of the Gordon Highlanders.

"But you must condescend to drink with us,
senor," said a muleteer.  "My horn is filled with
the best aquardiente."

"Viva el Rey!" said Ronald, in a complimentary
tone, as he emptied the cup.

"Viva el Rey!" cried the others, draining their
liquor to the dregs.

"Evan," observed Ronald, "you will relish this
beverage; 'tis somewhat like our own mountain
dew at home."

"It smells o' the peat reek, sir," said Evan,
snuffing with his nose over the horn which Lazaro
had given him.  "Sour water, I declare! perfect
fushionless water," said the young Highlandman,
after he had drunk it all off, however.  "Meeserable
trash!  O'd, sir, I wadna gie a gill stoup fu'
o' what Alpin Gig used to brew wi' the sma' still
in the hole at Coir-nan Taischatrin, for a loch fu'
o' this agyerdent, as ye ca' it."

"How is this, Lazaro?" asked Pedro, observing
that Evan disliked the liquor.  "Have you nothing
else but muddy aquardiente to offer to honest
soldiers?  Come, my jovial brother, broach us one
of those bloated pig-skins, which are piled on the
backs of your mules there?"

"Our Lady del Pilar! a modest request,"
replied Lazaro.  "Why, brother Pedro, bethink
you.  I cannot touch the burdens of my cattle,—they
are the property of others.  Could I broach
a skin, our best would be at the service of the
noble cavalier.  And as for our aquardiente, I
avouch, by the head of his Holiness! that better
never came out of Catalonia."

"I may pretend to be a judge," said the
soldier, "as I have drunk some thousand flasks of
it; and avouch, in return, 'tis muddy as the Tajo
in a shower, and only fit for a Portuguese or a
dog to drink!"

"Never mind, Lazaro; your aquardiente is most
excellent," observed Ronald, seating himself by
the gushing fountain, and partaking of the bread
and bacallao, or dried cod-fish, which composed
their simple fare.  "Your mules seem heavily
laden: how far do you mean to travel to-night?"

"As far as the first posada on the road to
Majorga."

"What do your cattle carry in these large
packages?"

"Oh! senor, many things; principally flour, rice,
corn, pulse, and wine and oil in skins.  These
commodities we have brought from the centre of
Catalonia and Arragon, and are carrying to the
frontiers of Portugal to sell among the British troops.
We hope to find a good market at the camp
before Ciudad Rodrigo, in the kingdom of Leon."

"Catalonia and Arragon, did you say?  How!
These provinces are in possession of the French
troops!"

"True, senor; but we muleteers have ways of
our own, by which we evade the out-picquets and
foraging parties of the enemy."

"Such as——"

"Travelling fast all night, and concealing
ourselves closely all day,—and a hundred other
modes.  Senor, we would evade Satan himself,
did he lay snares for us.  We muleteers are
cunning fellows!"

"You speak truly," observed Pedro.  "A Spanish
muleteer is a strange being, and one that is
as wily and active as a serpent; but they are
happy fellows, I assure you, senor, and like no
other men that I know of.  A muleteer makes his
home every where, because he is for ever wandering
over all wide Spain.  Cracking his whip and
his joke, he travels with a light heart over our
long dusty plains, and through the deep passes of
the lofty hills and sierras, singing merrily to the
jingle of his mules' bells, stopping only to smack
his wine-horn or the lips of the peasant girls, whom
he loves almost as well as his mules,—only almost,
senor, because he loves his mules better than
himself.  He gives them fine names; he scolds,
talks, kisses, and sings to them, to cheer them by
the way; and at the posada or the bivouac he
provides for their wants before he looks after his own.
Caramba! were I not a soldier, I would certainly
become a jolly muleteer.  He is a droll fellow
indeed,—soft-hearted and hard-headed, but alway
honest, and true as the sun, senor."

"You have made a most excellent panegyric
upon them, Pedro," remarked Ronald, when the
soldier had stopped to take breath, and the shout
of laughter which his observations called forth
from the muleteers had subsided.

"Our Lady del Pilar! good, good!  Well said,
Pedro; you deserve another horn for that," cried
the master-muleteer.  "But if it please you, draw
some distinction between us and the muleteers of
Valencia, who are none of the best,—in fact the
veriest rogues in all Spain.  They would cheat the
holy Virgin herself, were she to traffic with them.
But talking of rogues, senor, if you would travel
with us to Majorga, we should be proud of the
honour of your company, and in truth you may
find some advantage in ours."

"Why so, Master Lazaro?"

"The ruinous chapel of Santa Lucia, in the
cork forest yonder, has become the haunt of some
deperadoes for this week past,—fellows who are
very unscrupulous whom they attack or encounter,
and with us, who are all stout and honest men,
and well armed to boot,"—every man had a
trabuco or blunderbuss with a brass bell-muzzle slung
across his back,—"you will be in greater safety.
Our escort is not to be despised in these perilous
times."

"I thank you for your offer and advice; but as
I mean to await in this neighbourhood the arrival
of our troops, it would not suit me to travel so far
westward as Majorga, and so I care not to take
my chance of encountering the thieves in the wood
yonder.  My Highland follower will, of course,
stand by me; and Pedro will, I suppose, likewise."

"May I be blasted by a curse if I do not,
senor!"  The muleteers clapped their hands in
applause.

"Are the rogues numerous?" asked Ronald.

"Three or four, senor; but stoutly armed
desperadoes, and led by a regular demon, long well
known as a frontier guerilla, whose only delight
was slaughter and war to the knife!  A fellow
that could eat fire, as the proverb says, and upon
whom lead and steel were alike ineffectual."

"We will put him to the test, if he crosses our
path.  I never heard of a hide yet, unless covered
by steel, that was proof against the point of a
claymore.  Three or four, did you say?  We are
but three; but then we are soldiers, you know,
and are alone worth a dozen such as these fellows
you speak of.  But what has caused a gallant
guerilla to turn robber?"

"Why, senor, 'tis a long story; and we had it
yesterday from a poor muleteer of Codeciera,
whom the villains rifled of his mules and every
maravedi in his pouch,—the devil confound them
for it!"

"Well, and this guerilla——"

"Kept a wine-house in Albuquerque; but for
some attempt to assassinate the famous cavalier
Don Alvaro de Villa Franca, his goods were
confiscated to King Ferdinand by the corregidor's
order.  On finding himself a penniless outlaw, he
took his musket and dagger, and turned bandit—keeping
himself in the desert places of the forest
of Albuquerque and the Sierra de Montanches for
some weeks past.  Now he has begun to collect
followers, and has stationed himself in the wood
of La Nava, rendering its neighbourhood any
thing but a safe one."

"Go on, Lazaro," said Ronald eagerly; "his
name is—"

"Narvaez Cifuentes,—a fellow I never much
liked, although I have emptied some thousand
horns at his casa.  But what is the matter, noble
senor; surely I have not offended you?"

Ronald's eyes sparkled with stern delight, and
true Highland fury swelled within his breast at
the intelligence that Cifuentes was so near; and
his wild reckless spirit and love of adventure
made him instantly resolve to search the wood
and confront his hated enemy, at all risks and
hazards.

"Evan—Evan! the daring wretch who attempted
to assassinate me is lurking among the
dingles of the wood yonder.  I will seek him out
and take vengeance on him, or perish.  He has
but three armed villains with him: you will, of
course, follow me?"

"Sir!  I wadna be my faither's son, if I didna
follow whare'er ye led the way," replied Evan
testily.  "The venture's no' what I would just
like; folk shouldna tempt danger or Providence,
but follow ye I will as long as I can draw
breath; and, troth, I would amaist gie up my
hope o' salvation, to hae but a chance at the
infernal riever wi' my firelock!"

To Pedro and the muleteer, who were surprised
at his sudden excitement, Ronald related all he
knew of Cifuentes; and during the narrative he
was interrupted by many an indignant "*carajo*"
and malediction on the wine-seller.  When he
had finished, the muleteers declared, with one
voice, that if they had not their mules to attend
to they would have followed into the wood and
assisted him to attack the haunt of the robbers
among the ruins, and to kill or capture his enemy;
but Pedro, animated by the natural daring of a
Spaniard, and as a soldier of Spain considering it
his duty to follow Ronald as an officer of the
allies, he at once volunteered frankly to attend
him in his rash undertaking.

The evening had begun to deepen into the
darker shadows of night, and the pale evening
star, twinkling amidst the blushing blaze of the
western sky, had risen above the wood of La
Nava, when the sturdy muleteers, collecting their
beasts of burden, moved off with much noise,
jollity, and cracking of whips in the direction of the
place where they meant to pass the night,—an
inn on the road to Majorga.  Ronald Stuart bade
them farewell, and receiving many honest wishes
for success, parted from them; and, followed by
his two soldiers, left the fountain, making straight
for the cork forest, the dark foliage of which lay
involved in "a brown horror" before them.

It was a clear and beautiful moonlight night
when they reached the skirts of the wood, whence,
on looking back, they beheld a red light, which
spread over the sky, rising in the direction of
Merida, telling that the French were at their old
work,—pillage and ruthless devastation.  Stuart
trembled for the safety of the fair friends he had
left behind, and earnestly trusted that the Count
d'Erlon's letter would protect them from insult
or outrage.

"Braw wark at Merida this bonnie nicht, sir,"
observed Evan, giving a last look to the rear ere
they plunged into the recesses of the forest.  "My
certie! the very lift seems a' in a low, the clouds
are red wi' streaks o' fire,—and here's Pedro, puir
gomeril! he is like to gang clean daft at the
sicht o't."

"You would not be in a very pleasant humour
yourself, Evan, were you to see the clachan of
Strathfillan, or the 'fair city' of Perth, blazing by
the hands of invaders; and Jessie Cavers,
perhaps—ay, even your Jessie, carried off like a
stricken deer across the saddle-bow of a French
dragoon."

"Sic waefu' things will never happen at hame
in auld Scotland, God be praised for't! never, sir,
while oor men are made o' the stuff they are; the
broad-sword has bent, but it has not yet broken!
But it's unco droll to hear how Pedro, puir chield,
havers to himsel."

Unaware of how he was listened to, Pedro
Gomez ground his teeth with ill-concealed rage,
while he invoked the curses of San Juan, San
Geronimo, and a hundred others, not forgetting
our Holy Lady of Majorga, on the enemy.  This
vituperation appeared to give him a deal of
comfort; and thus consoling himself, he led them on
towards the ruins of Santa Lucia by a pathway,
with which he was well acquainted.  It was so
narrow that only one could pass at a time, and so
much intersected, crossed, and barred by brambles,
bushes, and foliage, that they had infinite
trouble in proceeding at all.  It led them into a
deeper and denser part of the forest, the dewy
branches of which were now in full foliage; the
waving leaves were glittering in a thousand hues
and shades of green as the pale moonbeams fell
on them, streaming in a gush of silver light on
the glistening grass or down the dark dingles as
they pushed aside the heavy branches in their
progress, tearing the nets of silvery gauze which
many a busy spider was weaving from tree to
tree in the merry moonlight.

"For ony sake, Pedro, haud your wheesht,
man!" exclaimed the Scottish soldier impatiently;
"it's enough to mak' a body eerie to hear ye
growling and yammering that gate, in siccan a
dismal place as this.  O'd, sir, I never heard ony
ane blatter sic words, exceptin' the auld lawyer
body at Almendrelauchy, when Angus Mackie and
mysel had a fecht wi' him.  Would ye like to hear
that story, sir?" he added, turning to his master.

"No, not at present," was the reply; "we must
move in silence, else 'tis useless to move at all.
Look well to your flint and priming, and keep
your lock clear of bushes.  Should a musquet be
discharged it would alarm the thieves, on whom
I wish to steal unperceived, if possible."  Ronald
repeated these injunctions in the Spanish
language, as indeed he had to do most of his
observations, and they now advanced in perfect silence,
following the intricate windings of the narrow
track, which in former days had been a well-beaten
road to the sequestered chapel of the
forest, the fame of whose *relicario* drew, in
ancient times, scores of devout pilgrims at certain
seasons.  As the pathway was now more open,
Ronald took the lead.

It was certainly a rash and daring attempt to
enter thus a wood, every pass of which was
unknown to them, and at night, on such an errand,
to search for so formidable a desperado as
Narvaez Cifuentes,—a name which is yet a bugbear
to the children of Estremadura, and used by their
mothers to *frighten* them to sleep; more especially
as the number of his followers was doubtful,
and it was only certain that they would all be
equally desperate and ferocious as himself.  But
Ronald's bold blood was up, and his eagerness to
take vengeance upon him for the recent wound
that his hand had inflicted, and the pain and
suffering which that wound had caused, rendered
him blind to what might be the probable consequences.

Alice's desertion of him for a higher born and
more wealthy lover had rendered him careless of
life, prompt to encounter and utterly regardless of
any danger, which was proved by the cold insensibility
with which he conducted himself during his
duel with the condé.  That native spirit of daring
which exists in the bosom of every mountaineer,
and which he possessed in no slight degree,
likewise spurred him on; and thinking not of the rash
manner in which he was perilling his own life and
the lives of his friends, he continued to penetrate
resolutely into the most gloomy part of the wood.

"Eh! gude guide us! what is that, sir?"
exclaimed Iverach, charging his musquet breast
high, while he started back in dismay as some
huge animal arose from its lair, upon which they
had encroached, and dashing furiously past them,
swept through the forest glade like a tempest.

"What an awfu' like beast to meet in siccan
erne a place!"

"Many such have we shot at home on the
green braes of Strathonan and side of Benmore.
Is it possible that you knew not what it was?"

Evan was abashed, and trod on without replying,
while he was sadly incommoded by the rough
brambles and stunted bushes, which tore his bare
legs, where left uncovered by the tartan kilt and
gartered hose.

"Senor," said Pedro, "what a noble deer it was
that rushed past us just now!":

"Ay, faith! and a splendid mark for a single
ball at a range of forty yards or so; but I am
surprised to find it here in a cork forest."

"It must have come down from the Sierra de
Montanches, for there, and among the high
mountains of Guadalupe, many thousands of gallant
deer and the dark brown roe-buck rove about in
freedom."

Their attention was now attracted by a strange
noise, which seemed to approach them in front:
it was a series of sounds, in tone something
between the snorting growl of some wild animal and
the squeaking of young swine.  Ronald, who had
never heard such noises before, was very much
surprised, and kept his hand on the hilt of his
sword; but poor Evan's nerves were sadly discomposed,
and he felt every hair on his scalp bristling
under his bonnet, as the dismal remembrance of
the many awful beings who peopled the Coirnan
Taischatrin, and every thicket and corrie
about Lochisla, rushed upon his mind.  All the
stories he had heard of the dreadful water-horse
that dwelt in the castle loch, (and which his
father the piper beheld one clear moonlight night
floating on the surface of the placid water, as he
was returning from a *dredgie*), of the little fairies
who lived under the green holms of Corrie-avon,
and the yet more terrible white woman who
haunted the black muir of Strathonan and howled
to the wind the live-long night, all crowded
horribly upon his memory, and the perspiration burst
forth from every pore, as something like a legion
of flying devils swept tumultuously past them, and
plunging into the underwood disappeared, squeaking,
growling, and tearing the bushes to fragments
in their wild career.

"Pedro!  What are all these, in the devil's
name!" cried Ronald, starting back and half
unsheathing his weapon.

"Only a herd of wild swine, senor," replied
Pedro with a laugh.  "*Demonios!* one fellow has
given a stroke with his tusk in passing, which I
little like."

"'Twas only a drove of wild pigs," said Ronald.
"Cheer up, Evan; surely you were not frightened?
Yet you seem very pale in the moonlight."

"Frightened, said ye, sir?" replied, or rather
asked, Evan indignantly, but feeling considerably
re-assured the while; "frightened! the deil a bit,
sir.  But I never got sic a start in a' my born days
syne the nicht the howlet gied me a flaff wi' its
wing, when we took Maister Macquirk ower to
the ruins on the Kirk-inch.  Ye'll mind o'd, sir:
he was living wi' the auld laird for a day or twa
at the tower, and we rowed him ower the loch in
the boat, to gie a look o' the bonnie ruins in the
moonlicht."

"Macquirk!" reiterated Ronald, the name recalling
a disagreeable passage in his father's letter.

"Ay, sir, Maister Macquirk,—a pleasant
smooth-spoken gentleman, as a' Edinburgh writer-folk
are.  Eh!  God be wi' us, sir! what's this
noo?  Mair wild pigs, I declare!" cried he in
considerable trepidation.

"Pshaw! Evan.  Your father, old Donald,
has made a complete old wife of you, by his
horrible legends and stories."

"It's no for me, sir, to——  But it's just a
temptin' o' Providence to be—"

"Hush! 'tis only the barking of dogs.  Tread
softly, and keep close under the darkest shadows
of the foliage."

"There is a man yonder, senor,—evidently a
sentinel," whispered Pedro in a low voice.

"Where?" asked Ronald, as they halted.

"About thirty paces off."

"Under the dark tree?"

"Ay, senor,—the moon shines full upon him."

"Keep close in the gloom: he sees us now, I
think."

The figure of a man armed with a long musquet
appeared clearly, as the bright radiance of
the moon streamed down the narrow path, glittering
on the butts of his pistols and hilt of the
poniard stuck in the worsted sash which was
twisted round his waist.  He wore a long slouched
cap, which hung down his back, and various
tassels, ribbons, and gewgaws of gold lace that
adorned his short velvet jacket glimmered in the
moonlight.

"*Quien vive?*" challenged he, like a Spanish
sentinel, while he stooped his ear towards the
ground, listening intensely for a few seconds.  He
appeared to have heard something.  It was
Evan's feet rustling among the last year's leaves.
The robber stood erect, and cocked his musquet
while he looked forward into the gloom, a
passing cloud having obscured the face of the moon.

"*Carajo!  Quien vive?  Amigos ó enemigos?*"
he repeated, the sonorous tones of his voice
reechoing in the dingles of the wood, and arousing
the fierce growling of some dogs near at hand.

"This is one of the villains, senor, bedecked in
all his ill-gotten finery."

"We must dispatch him," answered Ronald
in a fierce whisper, his natural impetuosity
becoming roused; "we must rid ourselves of him,
but how?"

"Quietly, senor,—leave him to me.  Every man
lost to the enemy is one gained to us,—so says
Murillo, and he—"

"Pshaw! never mind Murillo.  This fellow
must be settled warily, if we would steal upon
the rest.  What would you advise?  He certainly
hears us, and should he fire in this direction, one
of us may be knocked on the head.  I will rush
on him, and disarm or cut him down in a twinkling."

"Nay, noble senor; his outcry would be as
mischievous as the discharge of his musquet:
the ruins of the chapel are close at hand,
remember.  Leave him to me," was Pedro's answer,
while he coolly displayed the blade of a long
Spanish knife, which flashed as he drew it, and,
gliding from Ronald's side, advanced softly
towards the brigand under the shadow of the trees.

The challenge of the bandit again sounded
through the lonely wood.

"*Cuidado, amigos mios; cuidado?*" he added
in a voice of taunt and warning, but evidently
while he was uncertain whether or not any one
had approached his post.  He drew his thumbnail
cautiously across the sharp edge of his flint,
he raised his musquet to his shoulder, and was
about to fire in the direction of the place where
Ronald and Evan stood concealed.  Another
second would perhaps have sealed the fate of one
of them, when the stiletto of the dragoon glittered
near him in the pale moonlight,—a heavy
blow was given, and a deep groan succeeded: the
robber fell dying upon the sward, while his
musquet only flashed in the pan, and fell rattling
from his grasp without doing damage.  Ronald
rushed towards the spot, and found the bloodthirsty
sargento wiping his deadly weapon with
scrupulous accuracy, while he kept his foot upon
the yet warm, though breathless corpse of the
man he had destroyed.  The light of the moon
fell with a cold and ghastly lustre on the pale
and rigid, yet very fine features of the dead man,
becoming contracted and fierce with the recent
death-struggle.  His white and up-turned eyes
shone with a terrible glare, as the moon-beams
fell on them, and altogether there was something
sad and appalling in the sudden manner in which
this desperado had been hurled into eternity,
with all his unrepented and manifold sins upon
his head.

"Awfu' work this, sir!" said Evan with a shudder,
while he surveyed the stark and bold features
of the slain, around whom a black pool formed by
his blood lay increasing.  "A dour-looking chield
he is, wi' a gloom on his brow that would suit
Rob Roy himsel."

"I would to Heaven, Gomez," observed the
equally excited Stuart, "you had found some
other mode of silencing him than this; there is
somewhat in it at which I revolt."

The Spaniard laughed grimly.

"Senor," said he, "the man was only a robber;
and when old Murillo gets hold of such, he hangs
them by scores at a time, and I have seen a stout
beech bending under a load of such devil's fruit.
Pho! senor, it matters not.  We are now close
upon the ruins of the chapel, and the villains who
harbour there have some formidable allies,—mastiff
dogs.  I hear them growling, and I assure you,
senor, that a demon may be as easily dealt with
as a Spanish hound.  You will require all your
resolution and energy to—"

"I do not mean to relinquish the search, after
having proceeded so far," replied Ronald, interrupting
the Spaniard, at whose tone he felt a little
piqued.  "I assure you, Sargento Gomez, 'tis not
the sight of a little blood that will make the
heart of a Scottish Highlander fail."

"I meant not to offend, senor; but let us
proceed.  The ruins of Santa Lucia are some twenty
yards from this."

"Forward, then,—lead on!"

Ronald in passing possessed himself of the
dead man's loaded musquet and well-filled pouch
of ball cartridges, an acquisition on which he had
soon reason to congratulate himself.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE BANDITTI`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XV.


.. class:: center medium bold

   THE BANDITTI.

.. vspace:: 2

..

   |  "'Tis na' for nought, bauld Duncan cried,
   |    Sic shoutings on the wind:
   |  Then up he started frae his seat,
   |    A thrang of spears behind.
   |
   |  Haste, haste, my valiant hearts, he said,
   |    Anes mair to follow me:
   |  "We'll meet these shouters by the burn,—
   |    I guess wha they may be."
   |                            *Duncan: a Fragment.*

.. vspace:: 2

Treading softly and warily, they came to an
opening in the wood, and found themselves close
upon the ruins of the ancient structure.  It
occupied the summit of a grassy mound, which sloped
down on all sides, and where the mouldered
remains of some ancient crosses and tomb-stones lay
half sunk and buried among the long rank grass.
The chapel had almost disappeared; little
remained save the crypt; and at intervals, amid a
heap of shattered stones, arose tall ornamented
buttresses (surviving the intermediate walls), their
summits glimmering in the moonlight, which
streamed through loop-holes and yawning rents
in the massive masonry, showing the weeds and
grass which waved in every nook and corner,
flourishing around the prostrate effigies of
departed warriors, whose monumental busts lay
stretched like rigid corses under their ruined
canopies.

"The auld kirk o' Inchisla just ower again!"
exclaimed Evan, as he surveyed the heaps of
prostrate pillars and crumbled arches with
feelings of awe and veneration.

"Santos! will you be silent?" asked Pedro,
in a fierce whisper in Spanish.

"I dinna ken what ye say, mon; ye are waur
than an Aberdonian."

"Keep silence, Evan!" said Ronald; "we are
close upon their lair now."

A ray of light, streaming through a cross-formed
loop-hole, drew them towards it; and on
looking in, they beheld the assembled conclave
of the worthies they were in search of, but found
them more numerous than Lazaro Gomez had
given them to believe.  In the crypt, or lower
vaults of the chapel, stood upwards of twenty—perhaps
thirty, black-browed and swarthy desperadoes,
clustered around the marble pedestal of a
tomb, upon which were displayed a great quantity
of coin, jewelry, and various articles of value, all
glittering in the streaming blaze of a huge oil
lamp placed amid them.  Most of the fellows
were attired in embroidered jackets, adorned with
rich military lace torn from the uniforms of the
dead, laced hose, and high-crowned sombreros
adorned with feathers, or long cloth head-dresses
resembling a night-cap.  Some, however, were in
absolute rags; none appeared to have been shaven
for a month at least, and had their ferocious faces
covered with masses of black glossy hair,—probably
as a disguise, to be removed as occasion
required.  All carried pistols and poniards in
their sashes or waist-belts, and most of them
were armed with military carbines, musquets, and
accoutrements, French and English, thousands of
which were in these days to be found on every
battle-field, and to be had for the trouble of
taking them away.  Trunks, portmanteaus, mails,
and innumerable articles of plunder lay piled in
various corners.

Fastened by strong cords to the pillars which
supported the groined roof of the crypt, appeared
five or six fierce Spanish mastiff dogs, animals of
a reddish colour generally, larger and stronger
than British greyhounds.  They seemed aware of
the approach of strangers: every moment they
made the hollow vaults ring with their hoarse
yells, while they rolled about their fierce red
eyes, and shook the snow-white foam from their
jet-black muzzles as they strained and strove,
almost strangling themselves in the attempt, to
snap the cords which bound them to the stone
columns.

"Senor, we must retire, if it please you,"
whispered Pedro; "it would be worse than Moorish
rashness if three of us were to encounter thirty
such devils.  And then the dogs—"

"I fear we must abandon the attempt," replied
the officer in a voice of stern regret.  "Discretion
is the better part of valour, and Narvaez and I
may meet again; but now—"

"It is just a temptin' o' Providence, sir," said
Evan, "to bide here, wi' sic a nest o' born deils
below us.  What an awfu' looking gallows rogue
the chield is that counts oot the siller!"

The light fell fully upon the robber's face as
Evan spoke.

"It is,—it is the very villain who fired at me
near Merida," muttered Ronald almost aloud, in
a tone of uncontrollable passion, and feeling
scarcely able to restrain himself from shooting
Cifuentes dead upon the spot; but he repressed
the fierce sentiments of intense hatred, indignation,
and horror which he entertained for him,
and paused even when his hand was on the lock
of the musquet which he carried.

"Whelp!" exclaimed one furiously to Narvaez,
"think you I will thus tamely submit to be
defrauded of my share in this matter?  Remember,
you are not at your old work of dealing out sour
wine at Albuquerque!  The rings I took from
the image of our Lady at Majorga were alone
worth two hundred *duros*."

"*Pesetas*, you mean, Julian Diaz,—*pesetas*;
they were copper trash."

"I say *duros*; they were pure and beaten gold,
embossed richly.  Methinks I should best know:
I have prayed at that shrine some hundred times
ere—"  He paused and grew pale.

"Bethink you, Julian, of my last night's work,
and—"

"Bah!  The stabbing of an old *abogado*."

"Old?  Perdition seize him! he fought fiercely
for his ill-gotten gold.  I broke the blade of a
choice knife on the bones that cover his hard
heart.  But silence, Diaz, my pet!  Though we
may eat flesh in Lent, and rifle our Lady of
Majorga, we would scorn to cheat each other.
Honour among—among—"

"Thieves!  End the adage at once, driveller,"
cried he whom they named Julian Diaz, a
wild-looking fellow, with a broken nose and a
frightful squint.  "Honour," he added impatiently,
"sounds strangely indeed in such a rogue's mouth
as thine, Narvaez,—the broken keeper of a wine
casa."

"Why not?" cried a third.  "Every man, from
the king and the soldier down to the lowest
*abogado*, swears now by his word of honour; and
why may not we?"

"Agreed, agreed.  Go on, *diavolo!* go on with
the distribution," cried the others impatiently.

"Fiend take these dogs! what do they growl
at?  Some one surely approaches."

"Impossible," answered Diaz.  "Lazarillo is
watching the only approach, and all is right; so
count on, Narvaez."

"Where was I?  Ay—three hundred and ninety-eight,
three hundred and ninety-nine, four hundred
*reals*," continued Narvaez, counting the money,
"are one hundred *pesetas*; now, we are thirty
in number, including Lazarillo—"

"But the necklace and rings which I took
from the old lawyer's daughter?" interrupted the
avaricious Julian.

"San Jago of Compostella wither your accursed
tongue!" exclaimed Cifuentes, grasping fiercely
the hilt of his poniard; "how often am I to lose
count by your interruptions?  Allow me to deal
to each man his share, and then preach, as of old,
until you are weary.  When you left your cloister
at San Juan, you should have left there your
monkish greed with your beads and cowl.  One
hundred pesetas, then, is—is—twenty duros," &c.
&c.; and so on he continued to reckon and count,
while his brother desperadoes watched round in
silence, with louring looks of eagerness, ferocity,
and avarice, their hard-featured countenances
appearing like those of demons, as the yellow lustre
of the lamp fell on their harsh outlines.

"Let us retire now, while we may do so in
safety," whispered Ronald.  "But how now,
Pedro! what is the matter with you?" he asked,
on observing that the face of the Spaniard was
pale, fierce, and betrayed symptoms of deep
excitement.

"Ah! *senor officiale*," he replied in a scarcely
audible voice, "Julian Diaz, the wretch who was
this moment disputing with the master rogue,
has done me more wrong than even his life can
atone for."

"How—how so?  Speak low and quickly."

"Two years ago I was about to be wedded to
a girl of Merida, Isobel Zuares,—a fair creature,
senor, and of good birth, for her grandfather had
been an alcalde.  The very evening before our
marriage, this fiend Julian Diaz, who was then a
monk in the Convento de San Juan, sacrilegiously
conceived a passion for her at the confessional,
and bore her that night by force to the forest of
Albuquerque.  *Dios!  O Dios!* senor, I never
again beheld her,—never again in life at least:
poor Isobel!"  He paused a moment, and the
quivering muscles of his face, which appeared pale
as that of a spectre in the moonlight, showed the
inward agony of his soul.

"Well, Pedro, and this Diaz—"

"Since that day has been a robber and outlaw:
as such he has eluded my search.  But now—"  He
cocked and raised his carbine.

"For Heaven's sake—for our own sakes, beware
what you do, Gomez!  We must retreat rather
than attack.  Our lives would pay for our
rashness in encountering so many."

"God be wi' us!  Would ye be temptin' Providence
by firing on sic a nest o' caterans?" said
Evan angrily, as he dragged Pedro from the wall
towards the gloomy dingle.  "Come awa, ye
desperate loon.  If ye haud your life at a bawbee
only, I haud mine dearer than a' the goud in the
hill o' Keir; and there lies the ransom o' seven
crowned kings."

"*Diavolo*!  I will not be restrained," cried the
dragoon fiercely, disengaging himself from the
grasp of the Highlander.  "I will revenge Isobel
Zuares, or die!"  He rushed to the loop-hole, and
fired at the group of bandits.  Julian Diaz, shot
through the heart, fell dead among his terrified
comrades.

"Follow me, senors!  I know every pass and
thicket of the wood, and will easily elude their
pursuit," exclaimed Pedro, dashing into the
bushes, and threading his way at random through
the maze of dark thickets and entangled underwood.
The two mountaineers, acting on the first
impulse of the moment, also sought safety by
retiring, and followed Pedro with ease and rapidity
through every obstacle, having been accustomed
from their boyhood to thread the dense pine
forests of the Scottish highlands.

Onward they hurried at random, pressing aside
the heavy bushes and branches, getting themselves
bruised and torn by sharp brambles and hard
stumps; but wounds and contusions were unfelt
or unheeded in the excitement of the moment, as
they pressed forward regardless of immediate
consequences.  Ronald was boiling with inward
rage and vexation to find himself retiring thus
from wretches whom he so heartily hated and
despised, and more than once he almost resolved
to stand and fight against them to the death; but
his discretion overruled his desperate resolution,
pointing out that flight and deferring his revenge
till another time would be the most prudent
course to pursue; but that a future time would
ever be, seemed at present very doubtful.  Fiercely
in pursuit, following their path with scrupulous
precision, came the outlaws, eager for plunder and
revenge.  These savage desperadoes had, however,
been distanced by some hundred yards; but
their shouts, outcries, and the tread of their feet
were distinctly heard as they pursued with the
speed and accuracy of men accustomed to the
ground, and to the irregular warfare of guerillas.

Now and then the gloom of the dark wood was
illumined by a lurid flash, as a random shot was
fired in the direction of the fugitives, who more
than once had narrow escapes from being killed
or wounded; the latter was to be dreaded, as it
would have ensured, perhaps, a death of torture
from the poniards of the bandits.  A part of the
forest was now gained where the trees grew
thinner and the ground was more open; but their
path was embarrassed by piled masses of rocks,
roots and stumps of decayed trees, entwined
bushes, fallen cork-trees, deep gorges and holes,
and here and there the stony bed of some bubbling
brook.  Nevertheless they still kept their
pursuers at the same distance, and trod on quickly
and in silence.

The moon, which had been obscured for some
time, now broke forth and lighted the wild scenery
with the pale splendour of its silvery light.

"These wretches are undoubtedly gaining upon
us," said Ronald, pausing a moment to listen and
draw breath.  "Your ill-timed rashness, Pedro,
will certainly cost us our lives."

"For my own I care not; but I regret that
yours, noble senor, or that of my gallant comrade,
should be placed in such deadly peril by me."

"It was a temptin' o' Providence to attack sic
a gang," observed Evan, who had begun to
comprehend Spanish a little.  "O'd, sir! gin we had
but ten o' our ain braw fellows here, we would
soon gar them ca' a halt."

"Yes; oh! had we but so many of the Gordon
Highlanders here, I would soon give these
vagabonds fight,—thirty of them though there be."

"Twenty-eight, senor; my hand has struck
two from the muster-roll," said Pedro, ducking
his head to avoid a shot which whistled past.

"There they are now.  How it stings me to
the heart's core to fly thus before such a
despicable crew!"

As the moon shone forth again, their pursuers
were distinctly seen behind, bounding over rocks
and leaping through bushes, clearing every
impediment with the activity of roes, while the wild
yells, maledictions, and blasphemy with which
they startled the far echoes of the lonely forest,
imparted to the scene a singular and exciting, but
certainly terrible effect.  Some becoming weary,
or missing the track, their numbers were now
diminished to about a score, and shot upon shot
they sent after the three fugitives, the glitter of
whose polished appointments they could plainly
discern in the moonlight.

"Fire on them! take a cool and deliberate aim,
that every shot may take down its man!" cried
Ronald, in a voice which had become hoarse with
passion and fatigue; while, by way of example,
he levelled the musquet of the dead robber over
a fragment of rock, and let fly its contents at
the nearest pursuer, who fell with a shriek that
started the wild birds in the farthest recesses
of the wood, and gave a temporary check to the
ardour of the banditti, who still followed them
closely but more warily,—firing at them from
behind rocks and bushes, maintaining a running
skirmish which, notwithstanding the danger, had
something very exciting in it, and pleased
Ronald's bold and fiery disposition better than the
unresisting manner of their previous flight.

"Our Lady of Majorga, assist us!" cried Pedro
in a voice of dismay.  "We are lost now, senor:
the fiends have brought up the dogs to their
assistance."

"Pause not a second, but fire and reload;
we have steel and lead for the dogs, as well as
for their less noble masters.  Excellent! that shot
told well, Evan."

"Ay, sir, the fallow is kicking up his shoon
like a red-rae.  I see his legs in the moonlicht
dangling ower the cairn o' stanes," replied the
other, coolly trailing his piece, and ramming
another charge hard home.  "But o'd, sir, look at
thae awfu' black tykes, louping ower scaur and
bush, bank and brae like fairies, or sic-like
awsome things.  Sleuth-dugs, I declare! the born
deevils!"

"*Demonios! senors*.  I tell you we are lost,"
said Pedro, in a tone of anger and impatience.
"You know not the unmatched ferocity of our
Spanish mastiffs.  They are yet far off; but
should they reach us, all the rotten bones in the
relicario of San Juan would not save us, if we
had them here."

"Take courage, sargento!  I place more reliance
upon a strong hand and a bold heart, than
all the relicarios in Spain: but, certes, these are
most devilish antagonists."

Leaping over every intervening obstacle with
incredible speed, onward came the six mastiff
dogs, yelling and growling as if Pandemonium
had broken loose.  Clearing rock and bush at a
bound, on they came, their glossy skins and starting
eyes shining and gleaming in the light, which
showed distinctly one that had outstripped its
comrades.  Its growls were deep and hoarse; the
snow-white foam was dropping on the grass and
leaves from its red open mouth, as it came careering
forward with the fearlessness, ferocity, and
determination of some diabolical spirit.

"For this one I will reserve my fire," said
Stuart, knowing himself to be a deadly shot;
"meanwhile blaze away, and aim steadily, brave
hearts!"

"A minute more and it will be upon us; one
must certainly become its victim," replied Pedro:
"that victim must be me, if my poniard fails to
dispatch it.  My rashness brought this about, and
I am ready to pay the penalty."

"Pshaw! never despond.  Mark that fellow
with the red cap."

"He is down, senor," replied the other coolly,
as he shot the man dead.  "I can die content.
I have gained vengeance on Julian Diaz, and I
should have been no true Spaniard had I not
revenged myself."

"I will hold you but *medio Español*, if you
talk thus.  Courage, good Pedro!  I will rid us
of this pursuer,—my aim is deadly."

"Could we but escape this one, our safety
would be secured.  On the other side of this
stream is a cavern, the mouth of which is
concealed and overgrown with wild vines; but I know
it well, as I do every foot of ground hereabout.
Let us but gain it, and we can remain there in
safety until some assistance arrives.  We are now
close on the road that leads from La Nava to
Albuquerque."

They found themselves on the brink of a rushing
torrent, which, hurrying down from the summits
of the Sierra de Montanches, swept over its
rugged channel towards the Guadiana, seeking the
most unfrequented and solitary gorges and defiles
to wander through.

"Let us jump into the burn, sir," cried Evan
eagerly.  "Let us jump in, and gang up the water
a wee bit, and the sleuth hounds will sune tyne
the scent.  My faither, the piper, aye telled that
was the only way to get rid o' evil speerits and
sic-like, to put a rinnin water between them and
yoursel."

"Right, Evan! we are almost safe.  Plunge in:
follow me!" cried Ronald, springing into the
stream, which rose to his waist: the others
followed.  Keeping close under some weeping willows,
that thickly overhung the water, they eluded the
search of the ferocious dog, which at that instant
gave a yell of disappointment as it shook the
foam from its chaps, and stood panting and growling
on the bank above them.  It next ran fiercely
to and fro, snorting and snuffing the air, and
tearing up huge pieces of turf with its sharp fangs, as
if to discover the lost prey.

"We must cross and gain the cavern now,
senor, while the rogues are so far in our rear,"
said Pedro Gomez, after they had advanced up
the bed of the current a little way, treading with
difficulty on the slippery pebbles.  "I know the
path, *senor officiale*; follow me promptly, if you
please,—now is the critical time to elude them
altogether."  Pedro sprang with agility up the
steep bank; Ronald followed, but poor Evan,
encumbered by his wet tartan kilt, which in the
hurry he had neglected to lift in the Highland
manner, stumbled in the centre of the rushing
torrent, and at the moment he fell backwards the
fierce quadruped sprung upon him from the bank
above with a wild yell, and seizing him by the
thick folds of his filledh-beg, drew him under
water.  He was so much disconcerted at finding
himself grasped by the terrible foe, that he was
only able to utter a faint cry when the stream
closed over him; but yet he struggled fiercely
with his growling antagonist.

"God, he is lost!" exclaimed Ronald, when
on looking back he beheld the danger of his
faithful follower.  Half swimming, he hurried to the
spot, with his broad-sword shortened in his hand,
and grasping the dog by the throat, plunged the
sharp weapon twice through its body.  Its teeth
relaxed the hold of Evan's tartan, and the
quivering carcase floated bleeding down the stream;
while the rescued Highlander, propping himself
with his musquet, (which luckily he had never
relinquished,) sprang up the bank, where he shook
himself like a water-dog, the wet streaming from
his bonnet and every part of his dress.

"*Viva!* noble cavalier; gallantly done!  Follow
me, this is the cavern," exclaimed Pedro;
and rushing up a steep ascent, they followed his
example in plunging at once through a thicket
of dark green bushes, and found themselves in a
gloomy hole, the extent or height of which it was
impossible to discover, being involved in utter
darkness.  The densely thick foliage around the
entrance formed a complete exclusion to the
light of the moon, which now revealed a dozen or
more of their pursuers on the opposite bank of
the stream, about which they hunted in every
direction for some trace of those they had
pursued, and urged on their dogs, which, now
completely at fault, ran up and down scenting among
the willow trees and shelving rocks, mingling
their hoarse baying with the loud and bitter
curses of the banditti.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A SIEGE`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVI.


.. class:: center medium bold

   A SIEGE.

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..

   |  "Fore-doomed is every felon Scot,
   |    Who stains our native land.
   |        \* \* \* \*
   |  In ambush, near this darksome stream,
   |    Five hundred rifles lay;
   |  The water-kelpie stroaked his beard,
   |    And nichered for his prey."
   |                                *Daniel Vedder.*

.. vspace:: 2

"They must be somewhere hereabout," cried
Cifuentes with a horrible oath, speaking at
intervals, while he panted with exhaustion and
fatigue.  "But where in the name of Beelzebub
can they have concealed themselves?"

"They crossed the stream, I can swear," replied
one fellow while he loaded his musquet.  "I saw
them descend the bank with my own eyes."

"You could scarcely see them well with another
man's, Puerco Vadija; but there is no trace
of them on the opposite bank.  One of the dogs is
missing, too."

"There it lies, floating among the rocks and
foam yonder," replied a third ruffian.

"Dead?"

"Ay, dead as Judas."

"*Demonios*!  How can these cursed fiends have
escaped us?"

"Fiends they appear to be, certainly.  They
were but three in number, and a hundred shots
have missed them, while they have slain some of
our best men."

"By all the might of hell!" exclaimed Narvaez,
in a voice of bitter rage, "they shall not escape
us, if we once more gain sight of them.  To the
gay bravo with the large black feathers I bear
a hatred, that every drop of blood in his
coward heart only can quench.  To think that they
should escape us scathless, after having slain so
many!"

"Poor Julian Diaz!" said Vadija.  "A more
jolly monk was not in Estremadura, where there
are well nigh six thousand of the cord and cowl."

"*Dios!* it maddens me!"

"And then the brave Lazarillo de Xeres de los
Cavalleros—"

"How, Vadija! what of him?"

"I found him lying dead in the pathway,
stabbed twice in the heart."

"*Hombres*!  Close round me, comrades; we
must fall on some plan to seek vengeance.  It
is evident they have not crossed the stream,—we
must have seen them had they done so; therefore
they must be close at hand, and—"  The rest was
lost in the clamour of the others, who clustered
round Cifuentes, each delivering his opinion, and
holding forth obstinately against those of his
brother rogues, many more of whom were coming
straggling up from the rear, panting and almost
breathless with exertion.  Meanwhile the three
fugitives had thrown themselves, wet as they
were, upon the damp floor of the cavern, happy
to find rest and time to breathe with some
regularity and composure.

From behind their screen of thick foliage
Ronald heard all that passed, and watched with
increasing interest the picturesque appearance of
the bandits, whom he could plainly discern in the
radiant moonlight, that shed its clear cold lustre
through the dark blue vault, where myriads of
stars were twinkling.  Meanwhile Iverach, who
had quite recovered from the dismay caused by
his recent immersion, was busily employed drying
his wetted musquet, and preparing for action by
fixing a new flint and reloading, rejoicing to find
that his thick leather pouch had kept his ball
cartridges perfectly dry.

"Thanks to Santa Maria, we are safe, senors,"
said Pedro; "they can never discover this cavern,
which is so admirably adapted for concealment.
It was in ancient days the retreat of a holy hermit,
who was drowned one dark night in the river
below,—but that came of eating flesh upon a
Friday, they say."

"I wish we had gone to Majorga with your
brother Lazaro; this cursed adventure would
then have been avoided.  This hole is very damp,
and cold as the grave."

"But then it is so secure, senor; and we can defend
it to the last, and sell our lives dearly, should
they attack us."  Before Ronald could reply,

"Bah!  Lope Ordonez," cried Narvaez, "how
should they know of this concealed cavern which
you say is up yonder?  Are they not British? and
two of them belong to those savages that go
with their limbs bare."

"The same guide that led them to the ruins of
Santa Lucia, might show them the cavern."

"Right, Ordonez.  I thought not that there
was so much wit in that empty calabash of thine."

"They have a Spaniard with them," said he
whom they named Vadija; "I saw the moon
reflected on his steel helmet."

"A dragoon!  Had he a plume of red horsehair?"

"He had; but I think he has left the half or
whole of it among the bushes in his flight."

"*Caramba!* then 'tis either Don Alvaro, or one
of his rascally troop!  I shall have revenge for
the night they made me spend in the Convento de
San Juan at Merida.  We will search this cavern,
and take a true Spanish vengeance on whoever we
find there.  Look well to your knives and flints,
comrades."

"I perceive," said Ordonez, "some alteration
has taken place among the vines which conceal
the entrance.  They are all broken and trodden
down; I can swear they were not so this morning."

"Then there it is they are concealed.  Tie up
the dogs; bind them to the trees; cross the
stream.  Let whoever thirsts for vengeance,
follow me!  let whoever is concealed there tremble,
for their hour is come!" said Narvaez, concluding
with one of those frightful Spanish maledictions
with which their conversation was so freely
interspersed.  The reader may suppose with what
feelings of excitement and desperation the three
weary fugitives beheld their remorseless pursuers
boldly cross the stream to storm their hiding-place.
But perhaps Cifuentes and his followers
would have advanced less courageously, had they
been perfectly assured that those of whom they
were in search were really so close at hand.

"Thank Heaven, and our own caution, the
ammunition is dry," said Ronald; "and the sixty
rounds we have among us will last until to-morrow,
if we are sparing and aim well.  Let us fire
on them as they cross the stream; 'tis neck or
nothing with us now.  See that you make sure of
your men: I will aim at Cifuentes,—the scoundrel
with the long feather and high-crowned hat."

The three musquets at once flashed from the
dark cavern, the distant recesses of which echoed
to the loud report, while the sudden light filled
its windings and craggy nooks, illuminating them
for an instant as a flash of lightning would have
done.  Three of the banditti fell splashing in the
middle of the stream, which bore them off from
the reach of their comrades, whom this unlooked-for
volley had stricken with dismay.  Ronald
missed Narvaez, owing to a sudden motion of
the latter; but severely wounded Puerco Vadija,
who was behind him.  Evan and Pedro had both
killed their men.

The wild shrieks and outcries of the drowning
robber, re-echoing among the windings of the
stream, so greatly appalled and terrified his
brother rogues, that, instead of advancing to the
assault, they re-crossed the stream, fled up the
bank, and ensconced themselves behind the rocks
and trees, seeking shelter from the deadly aim of
their concealed enemies, and abandoning Vadija
to his fate; but his last drowning cry, as it came
sweeping towards them on the night-wind, found
an echo in the heart of his slayer.  From behind
the covers where they had posted themselves, a
sharp fire was maintained on both sides for some
hours, without any damage being done.  However,
the three soldados had the best of it in this
bush-fighting sort of warfare, as they could aim
steadily at a head, or a leg, or an arm, the
moment it appeared in view, without exposing
themselves in the slightest degree; while their
opponents took for their object of attack the large
dark cluster of vines which concealed the
cavern's mouth, and leaden bullets innumerable
came whistling through the intertwined foliage,
and were flattened against the rocks, or sunk
with a loud bang into the soft green turf near its
entrance.  But Ronald and his friends escaped
most miraculously, while the shot hissed often
within an inch of their ears, causing a peculiarly
unpleasant and tingling sensation within them,
which must be experienced to be comprehended
properly.

"*Dios mio*, senors! my cartridges are nearly
expended.  I have but six left," cried the
dragoon, shaking the little cartridge-box which hung
at his shoulder-belt.

"Heavens!  I have fired my last shot,"
exclaimed Stuart in reply, when, on putting his
hand into Lazarillo's canvas pouch, he found it
empty.  "We can never hold out till some relief
comes.  Evan, how stands your pouch?"

"Four charges, sir; deil a ane mair.  We maun
defend this hole by the cauld airn when a' are
gane."

"Stay,—cease firing.  Reserve the ten rounds,
to be used only in case of some pressing extremity,"
said Ronald, first in English, and then in
Spanish.

"Exactly, senor; ten rounds are the lives of
ten men.  Should the ladrones advance again, we
will not fire until we are well assured our fire
will prove effective."

"They are more numerous now than before,"
observed the officer, pushing aside the vines to
view their foes.  "There are a dozen more
high-crowned sombreros among them; I see them
plainly above the rocks."

"*Santos*!  O senor, allow me to fire," asked
Pedro, slapping impatiently the butt of his
carbine.  "See yonder fellow behind the chesnut;
his whole body is visible.  Do allow me, noble
senor; 'tis a fair chance."

"Hold, my fiery sargento! we must be sparing
of what is left us——  The devil!  Draw back,
man, or you will certainly be shot."

At that moment six musquets flashed from
concealed places, and some of the balls grazed
the cone of Pedro's steel helmet, which the
waning light of the moon had revealed to them.

It soon became apparent to the bandits that
the ammunition of their antagonists was expended;
and their courage and insolence rose
accordingly.  They showed their whole figures at
times, and fired with greater rapidity than before,
shouting,—

"*Mueran los heregos!  Muera, borrachos! perros! ladrones!*"
and many a loud and deep *carajo*,
together with innumerable other Spanish
epithets and maledictions.

"Thank Heaven, day begins to break!" observed
Pedro Gomez, as a pale light in the east
began to replace that of the faded moon.

"We shall then get rid of these bawling rascals;
they will scarcely dare to besiege us in
open daylight."

"I have my doubts as to what course they
may pursue, senor."

"How, Pedro?"

"Indeed, senor, in the present disorganized
state of the country, our Spanish robbers are
bold enough to do any thing.  Throughout the
whole land they are numerous as the leaves of
the forest, and keep up lines of regular
communication between one place and another.  We
may thank the French invasion for such a state
of things."

"Why are such bands permitted to exist?"

"Exist, senor!  Can shaven monks or lazy
alcaldes subdue them?"'

"No; but armed soldiers may."

"Lord Wellington does not meddle with them,
as they never assault his troops; and old Murillo's
soldiers have always work enough on hand,
without making war on the banditti."

"But how do these fellows come to be so
numerous?  Ah, curse that ball! a narrow
escape!"

"Senor, war compels our peasantry to become
fierce and roving guerillas: from the guerilla to
the bandit is an easy transition."

"I may rejoice that at home, in my own
country, we have nothing of that kind to experience.
'Tis perfect day-light now: the thieves
are still on the watch.  I would they had retired,
as I feel very much exhausted by fatigue and
want of sleep."

The two soldiers felt in the same predicament,
and the reader may imagine the comfort of being
drenched by fording the deep stream, and then
being obliged to pass the night in a damp cavern
without sleep or rest, after the stirring events,
exhaustion, and fatigue of the day, and the
exposure to the bullets of some twenty desperadoes
for an entire night.  Evan was seized with a cold
shivering, like a fit of the ague, and began to drop
asleep in spite of his strenuous efforts to keep
himself awake.

Pedro produced his crucifix, and began to
mutter his morning orisons, mingling with them
sundry invectives against the ladrones, and
wishes for a cup of aquardiente to stimulate him to
fresh exertion.  The fire of the besiegers had
now ceased, and they contented themselves with
watching the spot as they sat among the rocks
smoking paper cigars, and fixing new flints to
their pieces; while coarse jokes were mingled
with the growls and curses of three or four that
lay bleeding under the shelter of a large block of
granite rock, but untended and uncared for by
their comrades, who had half-stripped three others
of their dead, now tossed under the willow trees
to be out of view,—the features of the slain being
too unpleasant an object for them to contemplate.

"The sun has risen," said Ronald, as its bright
beams darted through openings in the vines.  "I
will reconnoitre round about, and perhaps I may
discover some sign of our troops, if I can see the
road which leads to Merida."  He received no
answer.  The mumble-jumble of Pedro's paternoster,
and a prolonged snore from Iverach, informed
him that his companions in peril were not
inclined for conversation.  Laying aside his bonnet,
he crept close to the mouth of the cave, and
putting back the foliage softly, cast a careful and
keen glance around him.  Their besiegers on the
opposite bank of the stream were still stationed
as I have described them, and appeared evidently
determined to revenge the fall of their comrades
by starving their slayers into a capitulation.
Behind them, and to the right rose the umbrageous
foliage of the cork wood, intermingled with lofty
chesnuts, stretching away in long vistas until lost
in gloom and obscurity.  On the left the trees
were more scattered, and between the trunks he
beheld the wide plain extending away in the
direction of Merida, its broad and level extent
bounded by a blue undulating ridge of far-off
mountains, the line of which lay low down in the
distance, and formed the boundary of the horizon.
The warm lustre of the morning sun was shed
joyously on the wide expanse, calling into life a
thousand birds and insects, and causing the wild
flowers to raise their dewy heads, and shake the
moisture from their opening petals.

But throughout all the wide prospect which the
lofty situation of their retreat enabled him to
command, not one human being appeared,—no
succour was in sight.  O how he longed to behold
the glitter of arms, the flash of burnished steel,
through the dusty cloud which announces afar
off the march of armed men!  And his heart beat
with redoubled velocity while he gazed upon the
band of contemptible yet dreaded ruffians, whom
they had kept at bay the live-long night.

The report of a musquet, the whiz and crack
of a ball, as it was flattened against the hard
granite walls of the cavern, made him suddenly
withdraw his head; and the loud shout of savage
derision and laughter which arose from those
below caused his blood to boil tumultuously, and
his heart to swell with anger and impatience.  He
soon found himself becoming a prey to weariness
and exhaustion, owing to the fatigue, excitement,
and want of sleep which he had endured during
the last twenty-four hours, and it was with the
utmost difficulty he refrained from following
Evan's example, and falling into slumber.  Often
did Pedro Gomez recommend him earnestly to do
so, reminding him how much might yet have to
be endured, and promising to keep faithful watch
and ward; but Ronald dared not trust him, fearing
that he too might be overcome with drowsiness,
and leave them at the mercy of the bandits.
Towards noon, to their inexpressible satisfaction,
the besiegers began to draw off by degrees, as if
wearied of the affair, and retired into the wood,
leaving the ford of the river free.

"*Hio!* our Lady del Pilar!" cried Pedro,
exultingly.  "*Viva!* senor; they have abandoned their
post.  Should we get off scathless, I vow most
solemnly to visit the shrine of our Lady of
Majorga, and present her with three days' pay, and
a new hat of the best kind that Badajoz or Zafra
can produce."[\*]

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[\*] Great manufactories of hats are carried on in these towns.

.. vspace:: 2

"And should we not get off scathless, Pedro?"
said Ronald merrily, as he rose from the ground
and stretched his limbs.

"Then not a maravedi shall she get from
Sargento Gomez,—no, *diavolo*!"

Ronald laughed aloud at the Spaniard's ideas
of religious gratitude, and aroused his servant,
who started up with agility, grasping his musquet,
all alive in an instant to the recollection of their
situation.

"Gracious me, sir!  I daur say I have slept.  On
sic an occasion as this to tempt Providence wi'—"

"Never mind, Evan, my honest man; all is
right now."

"But the reiving loons—"

"Have abandoned their post and fled.  We
have nothing to do now but to march off, and
make the best of our way to some safe place.
Had we accepted the offer of the honest muleteer,
we should have escaped a most disagreeable
night; but as the play says, 'All is well that
ends well.'"

"But dinna be ower rash, sir," said Evan
cautiously, as he looked through the screen of vines,
and surveyed the ground with a sharp glance.
"Be weel assured that the caterans are gane for
gude and a'," he added, grasping his master's
belt as he was about to descend.

"Gone?  I tell you they are so undoubtedly,"
replied Ronald, testily.  "You see there is no
trace of them now, and we had better depart
from our uncomfortable billet without further
delay."

"I beg your pardon, sir; but just bide a
wee—bide a wee.  What ca' ye that?"

While he spoke the head of a man rose slowly
above one of the masses of granite overhanging
the forest river, evidently watching their place
of concealment.  The instant it appeared, Evan
levelled and fired his musquet, and the black
scowling visage of Narvaez Cifuentes withdrew
immediately.

"The scoundrels are only in ambush," said
Ronald, in a fierce tone of disappointment.  "They
are watching us still!"

"I do not believe, senor," replied Pedro, "that
they would dare to hem us in thus, if the French
were not in Merida.  The corregidor and alguazils
of the city would have been upon them long ere
this time."

"I do not think so.  Few pass this deserted
place; and unless some of our troops, when
crossing the plain, are attracted towards us by the
sound of our arms, we have no other chance of
friendly succour."

"And if not, senor?"

"Then nothing is left us but to make one bold
dash for our liberty, or sell our lives as dearly as
possible.  Their design is evidently to starve us
out, the revengeful dogs!"

"The whole band are rising from their cover.
Santos! had we left this cavern, what a fate
would have been ours!  *Cuidado, senor!
Carojo!* keep back."

Scarcely had Pedro spoken, when the report of
twenty musquets awoke the echoes of the place,
and enveloped the bank, the stream, and the wood
in white volumes of curling smoke; and many of
the shot whistled into the cave, but luckily fell
on the rocks, against which they were flattened
as broad as crown pieces, leaving, wherever they
struck, a white round star marked upon the stone.
Shot after shot was fired at the place, but without
better success.  A sort of natural breast-work of
turf, running across the mouth of the den,
completely shielded the three fugitives from the
dangerous and well-directed fire of the outlaws, who
continued this system of distant warfare for
several hours, until towards evening they again
ceased entirely, but continued to watch, although
they did not dare to come to closer combat with
their opponents, the deadly accuracy of whose
aim was a sufficient cause to deter them from
attempting to carry the cavern by storm.

"The rogues are indeed very determined, senor,"
said Pedro.  "I hope we shall not have to spend
another night in this dismal place, cowering and
shivering like rats concealed in a drain."

"I trust not; but when it grows darker, we must
make one desperate attempt to cut away through
them, or perish.  I trust to a running fight for
setting us free of them."

"Our Lady of Succour! would that the hour
was come!  The holy father that dwelt here
must have liked a damp couch better than I do,
*demonio*!"

"Doubtless he cheered himself with many a
long horn of aquardiente, if they had it in those
days."

"Ay, senor, and the place was often enlivened
by the presence of the peasant girls of La Nava,
who came hither for confession.  They are droll
dogs, these solitary monks.  Many a strange story
is current of the white-bearded Padre of San
Bartolomi."

"What he who shows the sulphurous spring
of Alange?"

"Ay; he is as arrant a knave as we have on
this side the pass of Roncesvalles.  But the sun
is setting now, senor caballero: I see the trees
are casting long shadows across the plain towards
the eastward."

"Haud ye awee, Pedro.  As sure as I live, I
hear—I hear the skirlin o' a bag-pipe?"

"A pipe, Evan?" exclaimed Stuart, "a pipe?
I trust it is not imagination!  By all that's sacred
I hear it too!" he added, stooping his ear anxiously
to listen.  "'Tis playing—what is the air?"

"The 'Haughs o' Cromdale.'  O, sir!  I ken it
weel," replied the Highlander in a thick voice,
while his eyes began to glisten.

"*Senor officiale*," said Pedro, who had been
reconnoitring through the vine bushes, "there
are British troops moving on the plain,—red
uniforms at least."

"Highlanders!  Highlanders!" replied Ronald
exultingly, as he beheld a long way off a party of
kilted soldiers marching across the dusty plain.
The setting sun was shining on the polished
barrels of their sloped arms, which flashed and
gleamed between the trunks of the trees at every
step; even the ribbons fluttering from the drones
on the piper's shoulders could be discerned, and
the heart-stirring strain he was blowing came
floating towards them on the fitful wind.

"What troops are these? and where can they
have come from?  They march towards Merida,
and the French are there."

"What regiment they belang to, sir, I dinna
care: let that flea stick to the wa'.  But they
are some o' oor ain folk, that's certain.  I see the
braw feathered bonnet, the filledh-beg, and the
gartered hose.  O Maister Stuart! can we no fa' on
some plan to win their attention?  They are fast
leaving us behind; and it's an awfu' thocht to be
here, hunted in a hole like a yirded tod lowrie,
and yet to see the tartan waving in the sun, and
hear the wild skirl of the piob mhor.  O'd, sir! my
birse is getting up; I feel myself turning wild."

"Stay, Evan.  Unless you want a bullet to
make a button-hole in your skin, keep back!  A
man on horseback has met them;—they have
halted."

"'Tis a pity the knaves cannot see them, senor.
By the elevation of this place, we command a
farther view than the post which these rascals
occupy by the river-side."

"They must have heard the sound of the pipe
to which they marched."

"I do not think so; they would have fled
had they heard it.  Sound is said to ascend,
senor."

"True—"

"O'd, sir," interrupted Evan, who continued
to look through the vines in spite of one or two
shots which were fired at him, "I would fain
ken if thae chields are Gordon Highlanders or no.
I think they belang to the auld forty-twa: they
have some red feathers in their bonnets."

"Red feathers?  Not one; they are all black
and white,—I see them distinctly; but whether
they are the Ross-shire Buffs or any of ours, I
know not.  They are certainly not 42nd men;
their long feathers are all white."

"The gloaming's sae mirk and sae far advanced,
that I canna see very weel; and my een are
sair wi' being in the gloom o' this dismal den
sae lang."

"They are British troops; to what corps they
belong we need not care, as all are friends alike.
They have piled their arms.  Surely they mean
to bivouac there for the night.  I pray to Heaven
they may!"

"O sir! let us do something to let them ken
o' their friends that are here in tribulation and
jeopardy.  Fire twa or three shots, just to draw
them towards us."

"Not one.  We have but nine rounds left,—three
each; and as our lives depend upon them,
they must be reserved for a grand attempt as
soon as it is dark.  Besides, from the way the
wind blows, they would never hear the reports at
such a distance.  The clouds are fast gathering,
and I see with pleasure we shall have a very
black night.  We shall certainly escape them, if
we are courageous and discreet.  What think
you, Pedro Gomez?" he asked in Spanish.

"Of course, senor caballero.  And as you will
scarcely know the way after it is dark, if I have
the honour to be again your guide I will get you
off securely.  Should I be shot,—a fate which
our Lady of Succour avert!—you will find an
easy ford some hundred yards down the stream.
You may cross it fearlessly, and gain safely the
place where our friends are bivouacked so quietly
on the plain."

"We shall scarcely find the spot in the dark,
even with your aid, Pedro.  What marks the ford?"

"A stone cross, erected by the monks of San
Juan to guide travellers.  During a storm, one
of the brotherhood perished when crossing the
stream just below us here, and they marked the
shallow part by a stone, to avoid such accidents
in future."

"But think o' the sleuth-hounds, Maister
Ronald," said Evan, who had been listening
attentively to Pedro, and endeavouring to comprehend
his Spanish.  "I scunner at the very thocht o'
them, after the douking that ane gied me in the
burn below."

"We must take our chance of these infernals.
But be cool and firm: the time is coming when
we must have all our wits about us."

Their conversation had often been interrupted
by a stray bullet from the besiegers, who lounged
lazily on the opposite bank, smoking their cigars,
tearing hard American *bacallao* with their teeth,
and sucking the purple wine from a huge pig-skin,
which they had pierced in several places with
their knives, allowing it to stream on the green
sward with a heedless prodigality, which showed
how easily it had been come by.  This employment
they varied by venting curses at each other, and
at their obstinate opponents, at whom they now
and then sent a random shot; and on one
occasion a complete volley at Evan's bonnet, which,
by way of bravado, he had elevated to their view
on the point of his bayonet.  A storm of balls
whistled about it, and the young Gael laughed
heartily at the joke.

"Your bonnet is riddled," said Ronald, on
seeing the feathers nearly all shot away.

"Deil may care, sir! the king has mair bonnets
than this ane; and there's plenty ostrich
feathers whar thae cam frae," replied he, hoisting
it again through the vines; but the Spaniards did
not waste their ammunition upon it a second time.

The bivouac of their comrades, which they
watched with untiring eyes, and other distant
objects, faded gradually from their view as the
increasing darkness of night deepened around
them.  The sky grew black, as masses of dense
and heavy clouds drifted slowly across it; and
the cold Spanish dews began to descend
noiselessly (yet heavy and wetting as a shower of
rain) on the grass and leaves, which, as the wind
died away, hung motionless and still; and, save
the muttering voices of the outlaws, not a sound
broke the stillness of the lonely place but the
hoarse brawl of the mountain-torrent as it rushed
over its stony bed, from which the white foam
glimmered through the darkness.  Now and then,
afar off, a red streak shot through the parted
clouds, or a broad lurid flash of sheet-lightning
lit the edge of the horizon, showing distinctly the
curved outline of the distant hills and the tall
black trunks of the neighbouring trees: but no
sound of thunder followed these appearances.

"Senor," whispered Pedro, "the night is perfectly
dark,—just such as one would wish for on
such an occasion."

"Then now is our time to sally," was Ronald's
reply, as he grasped his musquet, and slung his
claymore on the brass hook of his shoulder-belt
that it might not impede him.  "Now or never:
follow me!"

He pushed softly aside the foliage, and issued
from the cavern.  They were enabled to see
objects with greater distinctness, owing to the
pitchy darkness they had endured in their
retreat, where it was so dense, that one could not
discern the face of the other.  Enabled thus to
see his way with greater accuracy, Ronald
descended the bank of the river in the direction of
the stone cross.  The others followed with hasty
and stealthy footsteps, and in a few minutes they
gained the rude column which marked the ford.

"We are safe, senor caballero!" exclaimed
Pedro, when they stood on the opposite side.
"Our Lady of Majorga shall get the three days'
pay, a hat of the best Zafra felt, and a pound of
wax candles to boot."

"You are liberal to her ladyship.  When are
your presents to be given?"

"The first time I pass her shrine," laughed
the other, "which may not be during the term of
my natural life."

"Yonder is the bivouac," said Ronald, as they
scrambled hurriedly up the embankment; "they
have lit a fire.  How very close upon us it
appears."

"The plain is so level, that distance deceives;
but they are fully a quarter of a mile from us
yet."

"Hurrah!" cried Evan, overjoyed to find himself
safe.  "Tak' that, ye ill-faured loons!" firing
his musquet in the direction of their foes.

"Fool!" exclaimed Ronald angrily; "how
have you dared to fire without my desiring you?"

Evan's deprecating reply was cut short by a
shout from their baffled enemies, who, firing their
pieces at random, rushed hurriedly towards the
ford, mingling their outcries with the yells of
their dogs.  But the unexpected appearance of
the large watch-fire blazing on the plain, and the
dusky forms of the soldiery crowding around it,
served completely to check their pursuit; and
with many a hoarse malediction and threat, after
firing a volley in the direction where they
supposed the fugitives to be, they retired with
precipitation into the fastnesses of the cork-wood.

"What a cursed adventure we have had!"
exclaimed the officer, throwing away the pouch
and musquet of Lazarillo de Xeres de los Cavalleros,
when they halted to draw breath for a few
seconds.  "Evan Iverach, you are a rash fellow:
by firing that useless shot we might all have lost
our lives.  It may also have alarmed the troops
yonder, and caused them to get under arms."

"O'd, sir, never mind; there's nae folk like
our ain folk," replied his follower, capering gaily
when the figures of their countrymen, clad in the
martial Scottish garb, became more distinct.  "O
how my heart loups at sicht o' the belted plaid,
the braw filledh-beg, and the bare legs o' our ain
douce chields."

"Wha gangs there?" shouted close by the
voice of an advanced sentry, the black outline of
whose bonnet and grey great-coat they saw looming
through the gloom.  "Wha gangs there?"

"Friend!" replied Ronald.

"Friends, friends,—hurrah!" cried his follower,
rushing upon the astonished sentry, and grasping
him by the hand.





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.. _`A MEETING`:

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   CHAPTER XVII.


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   A MEETING.

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"Our fathers contended in war; but we meet together at the
feast.  Our swords are turned on the foe of our land: he melts
before us on the field.  Let the days of our fathers be forgot,
hero of Mossy Strumon."—*Ossian*.

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Around the ample fire, on which a succession
of billets and crackling branches were continually
heaped, were grouped some seventy or eighty
soldiers—Gordon Highlanders, as was evident
from their yellow facings, and the stripes of their
tartan.  The fairness of their complexions and the
bright colour of their untarnished uniform served
likewise to show that they had but recently
arrived from Great Britain.  Some lay fast asleep
between the piles or bells of arms, while others
crowded round the fire conversing in that low
voice, and behaving in that restrained manner,
which the presence of an officer always imposes
on British soldiers.

The officer himself sat close by the watch-fire,
which shone brightly on his new epaulets and
other gay appointments.  His plumed bonnet lay
beside him on the turf, and his fair curly hair
glistened in the flame, which revealed the
handsome and delicate but rosy features of a very
young man—one perhaps not much above seventeen
years of age.  He was laughing and conversing
with the soldiers near him in that easy
manner which at once shows the frankness of the
gentleman and soldier, and which is duly
appreciated by those in the ranks, although it tends in
no way to lessen the respect due to the epaulet.
A black pig-skin lay near him, from which he
was regaling himself, allowing also some of the
soldiers to squeeze the liquor into their wooden
canteens.

On Ronald Stuart's approach, the sudden
apparition of an officer in the uniform of their own
regiment, coming they knew not whence, created
no small surprise in the little bivouac; and the
sudden murmur and commotion which arose
among them, caused the young officer to turn
his head and look around him.

"Ronald—Ronald Stuart!" he exclaimed in
well-known accents, as he sprang lightly from
the green turf, his eyes sparkling with surprise
and joy; "how have you come so unexpectedly
upon us?"

"Ah, Louis, my old friend! and you have
really joined us, to follow the pipe and the
drum?" replied Stuart, grasping his hand, and
longing to embrace him as he would have done a
brother; but the presence of so many restrained
him, and he contented himself with gazing fondly
on the face of his early friend, and tracing in his
fine features the resemblance he bore to his sister.
The expression was the same, but the eyes and
hair of Alice Lisle were dark; the eyes of Louis
were light blue, and his hair was fair,—of that soft
tint between yellow and auburn.  His features, of
course, possessed not that exquisite feminine
delicacy which appeared in the fair face of Alice, but
yet the family likeness was striking, and pleasing
for Ronald Stuart to contemplate and recognise.

"He has her very accent and voice," thought
he.  "Well, Louis! and how are all at home
among the mountains?  Does old Benmore keep
his head in the mist as usual?"

"All were well when I left in January last, and
I dare say the red deer and muirfowl keep jubilee
in our absence, for sad havock we used to make
among them."

The soldiers, to allow them the freedom of
conversation, respectfully fell back, and clustered
round Evan Iverach, who, after he had paid his
rustic compliments "to his auld friend Maister
Lisle, frae the Inch-house," began to regale his
gaping countrymen with an exaggerated narrative
of his late adventures in Spain, and many
a "Hoigh!  Oich!  Eigh!" and other Scottish
interjections of wonder, he called forth as he
proceeded.

After a hearty draught from the borachio-skin,
many were the questions asked and answers given
about home and absent friends; and Ronald's
account of his rencontres and adventures with
Cifuentes, certainly did not impress Louis Lisle
with a very high opinion of the state of society
and civilization generally in Spain.

"This must be a strange country," observed he,
"when fellows can rove about plundering and
rieving, as Rob Roy and the Serjeant Mhor used
to do in our grandfathers' days.  And the villains
from whom you have suffered so much are still
lurking in that dark forest of cork trees?"

"Yes; their fastness is in the heart of it.  If
the rules of the service sanctioned such a proceeding,
I would with this party of ours surround the
wood, hunt out the rascals from their lair, and put
every one of them to death."

"But Lord Wellington—"

"Would make it a general court-martial affair.
But there is a time for every thing, and this
Spanish robber and I may meet again."

"Spain appears a wretched country to campaign in?"

"Truly it is so."

"I liked Lisbon pretty well; and found much
amusement in frequenting the assembly-room,
the Italian opera-house, the theatre, and circus
for the bull-fights."

"Faith!  I saw none of these things, Louis; my
purse is scarcely so deep as yours.  And the
public promenades, you visited them doubtless?"

"The trees and shrubbery are beautifully arranged;
but I cannot admire the ladies of Lisbon,
they are so little, so meagre and tawny."

"You will like Spain better.  Hand me the pigskin,
if you please."

"I have not been very favourably impressed by
what I have seen of it.  The roads on our route
are all but impassable,—mere sheep-tracks in
some places; and the posadas are the most
wretched to be imagined."

"Rather different from the snug 'Old George'
at Perth, with its portly landlord, bowing waiters,
and smiling hostess."

"Rather so; and tiresome indeed I found the
march thus far,—the towns in ruins, and between
them immense desert tracts, where neither a
house, a human being, nor a vestige of
cultivation was to be seen."

"But it was a useless order to march your
detachment thus far to the westward, when the
division is retreating.  You could have joined at
Portalagre."

"I am aware of it; but to march and join the
regiment without delay were the orders given me
by the commandant at Portalagre.  By my route,
this day's march should have ended at Merida;
but a muleteer, to my no small surprise, informed
us of its being in possession of the French; and
having no one to consult, I felt at a loss how to
act, and halted here."

"'Twas rash of the surly old commandant to
send so young and inexperienced an officer in
charge of a detachment through a foreign country;
but those fellows on the staff, who skulk
in the rear, have never the true interest of the
service at heart."

"And Sir Rowland Hill is retiring on the
Portuguese frontier?"

"*En route*, I believe, for Ciudad Rodrigo, where
Lord Wellington means to give battle to Marmont.
The troops are marching from all points to join
him, and we may soon have the glory of being
actors in a general engagement."

"Well; and this place Merida—"

"Is possessed by three or four troops of French
lancers: I saw them enter last night.  You have
acted most prudently in halting here, as a
skirmish with so numerous a party was well avoided.
But we shall probably have the pleasure of seeing
them prisoners of war, when our people come up
in the course of to-morrow.  I shall make a tour
round the sentries in a few minutes, and see that
they are on the alert, and then retire to roost
under that laurel bush: I feel quite worn out
with my last night's affair."

"You must act for yourself now, Stuart.  Should
any thing occur, you of course take command of
the party," replied Louis drily, and in a tone
totally different from that of his late observations.

"Ay, Louis; I am a senior sub, you know," said
Ronald, colouring at the other's tone.

"What sort of man is Cameron of Fassifern?"
asked Louis abruptly, after a long pause.

"A true soldier every inch; and a prouder
Highlander never drew a sword."

"Fierce and haughty, is he not?"

"Yes, but a perfect gentleman withal.  You
will find the most of ours very fine fellows,—young
men of birth and blood, fire and animation;
and you will be charmed with the appearance of
the regiment.  'Tis indeed a splendid corps."

Another long and perplexing pause ensued,
while an expression of doubt and perturbation
began to cloud the faces of both.  Need I say
that Alice,—Alice Lisle, of whom neither had yet
spoken, was the cause?  Although until now he had
disguised it, Lisle's indignation was bitterly
aroused to find that Ronald conversed on a variety of
topics with an air of lightness, and asked a
thousand questions about friends at home in
Perthshire, yet that never once had the name of Alice
passed his lips.  His pride was roused, and
consequently he determined not to be the first to
speak of his sister, and the anger which was
swelling in his heart caused him to assume a
distant and haughty behaviour towards his friend,
who considered it but a confirmation of the report
which he had seen in the *Edinburgh Journal*;
and *his* mountain pride and indignant feelings
were likewise roused, making him, in turn, display
a cold distance of manner to one whom he had
ever regarded as his earliest and dearest, almost
only friend and companion,—as his very brother.

And this was the happy meeting to which both
had so ardently looked forward as a source of
pleasure for some time past!

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"Truly," thought Ronald, "my father's old-fashioned
prejudices were not without a cause;
these Lisles of Inchavon are not endued with
either the sentiments of affection or honour."

"Poor Alice!" thought Lisle, at the same
moment; "how have her fond and misplaced affections
been trifled with!  Scarcely has this heartless
Highlander (full of his mountain pride and
bombast) parted with her, before she is forgotten
as utterly as if she did not exist."

However, they kept these thoughts to themselves,
and continued to nurse their minds into
a state of hot indignation against each other,
indignation mingled with feelings of disappointment
and sorrow, especially on the part of Louis Lisle.

He had produced from his havresack the
remains of his last day's rations,—a few hard
biscuits and some cold meat, on which Ronald,
although he had fasted so long, merely made a
show of regaling himself: he felt little inclination
to eat, but often applied himself to the wine-skin.
After a long and confusing sort of pause, during
which both had severely taxed their imaginations
for somewhat to converse about,

"I have heard," observed Ronald, "that your
father is again suing for the long dormant
peerage,—the title of Lord Lysle."

"Yes, it is the case.  How heard you of it?"

"By a letter from Lochisla.  I drink to Sir
Allan's health!  I have not seen him since the
day I pulled him out of the deep linn at
Corrieavon.  I wish him every chance of success!"

"There is little doubt but we shall carry our
point during this session of Parliament: my father's
descent in a direct line from the last lord
is now clear beyond a doubt or quibble.  He is
certain to gain the day."

"I am sure I shall be most happy—"

"The Earl of Hyndford," continued Louis, in
the same cold manner, "is my father's most particular
friend, and has some interest with the law
lords.  He is on the ministerial side,
and——  But what is the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing.  Is there any more wine in
the skin?  I feel very faint after my late fatigue,
surely," muttered Stuart, making a tremendous
mental effort to appear calm.  But the name of
Hyndford had caused his heart to leap as it were
to his very lips, which quivered as a nervous
spasm twitched them, while his forehead grew
livid and pale.

"Ronald, what on earth is the matter?" asked
Louis kindly, perceiving the changes of his
countenance.  "Are you turning faint, or ill?"

"Ill,—sick at heart," replied Stuart, scarcely
knowing what he said, while he eagerly longed
to ask a question—a single question, which he
dreaded to hear answered; but the fierce native
pride of his race came to his aid, and the
inclination was repressed.

"For what shall I condescend to mention her
name?" thought he.  "To ask in a trembling
tone after one who has forsaken me thus, becomes
me not.  Faithless Alice! neither farewell
word, token, or letter has she sent me;
but—but I will be calm!" and he placed his hand
upon the little miniature, which at that moment
he imagined was pressing like a load upon his
heart.

"Good Heaven, Stuart! you are certainly very
unwell," said Louis anxiously, his indignant
feelings giving way to concern.  "What can I do for
you?"

"Oh! 'tis nothing.  It is past—a spasm—the
wound I received at Merida."

"Are you still troubled by it?"

"No; that is—I mean—"

He was relieved from his embarrassment by an
exclamation of surprise and intense disgust from
Lisle, who suddenly leaped up from the green
turf on which they were seated.

"It is a skull!" he exclaimed, turning something
round and white out of the sod with his
foot.

"A skull?"

"Yes; I knew not what it was.  I felt something
round and smooth lying half sunk in the
earth, and my hand rested on it for some time.
How does it come to lie here?"

"No uncommon affair in Spain.  It is the head
of one of those poor fellows I told you of.  I saw
him killed here the day Long's brigade of horse
drove the French advanced picquet into the cork
wood."

"What! did you not bury them?"'

"No, we had no time.  The wolves came at
night, and saved us the trouble."

"And this is dying in the bed of glory!"

"So romancers tell us."

"Ay, Stuart, 'tis all very fine to read of honour
and glory.  The charge, the encounter, and the
victory in a novel—"

"When seated in a well-curtained and softly
carpeted room, with your feet encased in morocco
slippers, and a huge fire roaring up the chimney;
but here it is a very different matter."

"Nevertheless, 'tis a gay thing to be a soldier,"
said Louis, eyeing his shining epaulet askance.

"It is indeed!  I have felt some delicious moments
of gratified pride since I first donned the
red coat,—moments in which I would scarcely
have exchanged my claymore for a crown.  But
this ghastly death's head had better be removed.
Probably the poor boy it belonged to, for he was
scarcely any thing else, had his own bright dreams
of glory and military renown, and left his sunny
vineyards, with hopes that one day he should
exchange the goat-skin pack for the baton of a
marshal of France.  If he had such visions, where
are they all now?  But let it be taken away.
Evan, dig a hole with your bayonet, and bury
it deep under the turf."

This temporary excitement over, the two friends
again relapsed into their dry and unfriendly
distance of manner.

"Give me another cup from the borachio-skin;
I will drink to Sir Allan's health before I
compose myself to rest for the night," said Ronald,
anxious to put an end to it by retiring.

"Drink and replenish again,—you are most
welcome; but you will excuse me, Stuart, if I
reply somewhat coldly to your many expressions
of regard for my family," replied Louis, assuming
a haughtiness of manner which it was impossible
to pass over.

"How so?  What mean you?" asked Ronald
hurriedly, his blood mounting to his very temples
while he tossed the wine-horn from him.

"To me it appears very singular," began the
other in a determined tone, "indeed most
unaccountable, that you have never yet inquired for
or mentioned one, whom I had every reason, until
to-night, to believe to be very dear to you, and
ever uppermost in your thoughts."

"You mean," faltered Ronald—

"My sister, Alice,—Miss Lisle," said Louis,
giving vent to his long-concealed passion and
spleen.  "What am I to understand by this
singularity of conduct, at once so cruel, so
dishonourable, and—"

"Halt, sir!  Stay—beware what you utter!"
replied Ronald fiercely, in turn.

"As her brother, I demand an immediate
explanation!" cried the other, starting from the
ground, while he grew pale with anger.

"By heavens! you shall have none."

"None!  Do you then—"

"Speak lower, sir.  I am not accustomed to be
addressed in this imperious way.  Fassifern
himself would not dare to speak to me thus.  Restrain
your manner, or the soldiers will observe it."

"By the gods!" said the other, in a tone of
fierce irony, "I little thought to find that one of
the Stuarts of Lochisla,—a family, a house, that
have ever prided themselves on their notions of
honour and noble feeling,—would behave thus to
a gentle and too confiding girl.  But I will arrange
this matter at another time."

"And Lord Hyndford?"

Louis changed colour evidently.

"How, Mr. Lisle,—how can you thus get into
heroics with me," said Ronald, observing it, "and
in so bad a cause?"

"Cause, sir!  Your conduct is at once unbecoming
either a soldier or a gentleman," exclaimed
the bold boy stoutly, "and a stern reckoning must
be rendered at another time!"

Ronald smiled scornfully, while his eyes flashed,
and his trembling fingers involuntarily sought
the basket-hilt of his sword; but he passed his
hand over his hot throbbing forehead, and
subduing his emotions, turned haughtily upon his
heel and withdrew.

And thus ended his first interview with the
brother of Alice, after their long separation.

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Seeking a solitary part of the bivouac, he laid
himself under the shelter of a bush, and yielding
to the excessive fatigue that oppressed him, fell
into a deep sleep, which was destined to be of very
short duration.  Meanwhile Louis Lisle, unable to
enjoy the slumber which sealed the eyelids of the
surrounding soldiers, sat listlessly by the flaring
fire, watching its red crackling embers for hours,
while his young heart was so filled with sorrow,
indignation, and disappointment at what he
considered the altered behaviour of Ronald Stuart,
that he could have wept like a child but for very
shame.  At last, overcome by the wine, of which
he had drunk deeply to drown thought, and by
the heat of the blazing faggots, he stretched
himself upon the turf and dropped asleep, to dream
of his happy home and the fair sister he loved
so dearly.

About an hour before day-break, a time when
the chill feeling of the atmosphere increases in
Spain, Ronald was roused from his heavy slumber
by some one shaking his arm.

"Another shot!  Keep up your fire, Pedro!" he
muttered, not knowing where he was.  "Hollo! what
is the matter?" he cried, as the glare of the
fire, flashing on the epaulets of Lewis, recalled his
wandering ideas.

"Mr. Stuart, troops are in motion on the plain
to the eastward.  I considered it my duty to
acquaint you," replied the other, and withdrew.

"They are either our own people, or some
French party thrown forward from Merida.  Stand
to your arms, there.  Men! rouse, rouse!  Piper,
blow the gathering.  Mr. Lisle, get the men under
arms,—let them fix bayonets and load: I will be
with you immediately."

Moving in the direction of the advanced sentry
who had given the alarm, he distinctly heard the
rapid tramp of horse approaching towards them
along the beaten track,—it deserved not the name
of road, from Merida.

"Cavalry!" thought he, drawing his sword.
"Now then for a solid square: I will not
surrender to Dombrouski, without a show of fight,
even should he come with all his lancers at his
back, in their panoply of brass and steel."  At
that instant the cavalry halted; but the darkness
was so great, that he could not discern any trace
of them save their sabres, which glittered in the
light of the watch-fire.

"Teevils and glaumories!" shouted the advanced
sentinel, a bluff Gael from the forest of
Athole, as he 'ported,' his musquet.  "Wha's
tat,—wha gaes there?"

"What the devil does he say?  The challenge
was German, Wyndham," said a distant voice.

"Low Dutch, decidedly," replied another with
a reckless laugh.  "Perhaps they are some of the
*chasseurs Britanniques*."

"What would bring them here?  Some of the
cacadores, probably."

"Who goes there?  What troops are these?"
cried Ronald.

"Holloa! all right.  A reconnoitring party
thrown out from the advanced guard of the second
division.  What are you?"

"A detachment for the first brigade."

"Scots?"

"Gordon Highlanders."

"Captain Wyndham took you for the drowsy
Germans," said the officer, riding forward.  "All
is right, then; we belong to the 9th Light
Dragoons, and General Long sent us forward to
discover what the fire on the plain meant.  We took
you for some of the enemy, a party of whom we
captured at Merida a few hours ago.  Lord knows
how they came there!  I am sure old Sir Rowland
does not."

"Then it seems the division is on a forced
march?"

"Ay, the devil take it!  It knocks up our
cattle confoundedly," answered Wyndham.  "The
whole column will be here in an hour; but I must
retire, and report to Long.  Adieu.  Party! threes
about; forward,—trot!" and away they went.

Scarcely had five minutes elapsed, when the
advanced guard, consisting of part of the 9th
and 13th Light Dragoons, with the 2nd Hussars
of the King's German Legion, came up at an
easy trot.  Fierce-looking fellows were these
last,—wearing blue uniforms, large, heavy cocked-hats,
leather jack-boots, and enormous moustaches.
The appearance of the brigade of horse, as they
passed, was at once striking, martial, and
picturesque.  The red glow of the blazing fire
glittered on the polished harness of man and horse,
and the bright blades of the crooked sabres.

They certainly had not the showy and ballroom
appearance of cavalry on home service, yet
they were the more military and soldier-like.
Continual exposure to all weathers had bronzed
their cheeks, and turned the once gay scarlet
coat from its original hue to purple or black, and
the bright epaulets to little more than dusky
wire.  The canvas havresack and round wooden
canteen hung at their backs, and the coarse yellow
blanket, strapped behind the saddle of officer and
private, did not diminish the effect of the scene.
When the morning was further advanced, and
the banks of rolling vapour, which for some time
rested on the face of the plain, rose into the air,
Ronald found the baggage of the division close
upon the spot occupied by the detachment which
he now commanded.  A strange medley the train
presented.  Horses, mules, and asses laden with
trunks, portmanteaus, bags, soldiers' wives and
children, tents and tent-poles, bedding and camp
utensils; and here and there rode a few officers'
wives on horseback, attired in close warm
riding-habits.  The whole of the long straggling array
was surrounded by a guard with fixed bayonets,
under the command of a field-officer, who spurred
his horse at a gallop towards the party of
Highlanders.

Stuart advanced to meet him.  It was impossible
to mistake the gigantic figure which bestrode
the panting horse, the forest of ostrich plumes
waving in his bonnet, or the stout oak staff which
he flourished about.

"Egypt for ever!" cried the major, reining in
his horse, which shook the sod beneath its hoofs.
"Holloa, Stuart my boy, is it really you?  Glad
to see you sound wind and limb again.  We
thought the French had carried you off.  Who
are these with you?"

"The draft just come up from Lisbon.  Allow
me to introduce Mr. Lisle of ours.  Major Campbell,"
said Ronald, presenting Louis, with a stiff
formality which stung the younger ensign to the
heart.

"Lisle?  Ah! glad to see you.  Welcome to
this diabolical country!  We had a capital fellow
of your name with us in Egypt.  Many strange
adventures he and I had at Grand Cairo.  He
left us after our return home; some relation of
yours, perhaps?"

"My uncle; he is a younger brother of my
father's," answered Louis, colouring slightly with
pleasure.

"Ah, indeed! a devilish fine fellow he was;
but perhaps he is changed by matrimony, which
always spoils a true soldier, and cuts up the
*esprit de corps* which we Highland troops have
imbibed so strongly.  I heard that he had married
an English heiress, and now commands some
foreign battalion in our service up the Mediterranean."

"The Greek Light Infantry."

"A splendid climate, their station.  Little drill
and duty,—wine to be had like water; and then
the white-bosomed Grecian girls, with their bare
ankles and black eyes!  Ah! it beats Egypt,
which is a very good place to live in, if one is
a sheikh or pacha.  And so you are really a
nephew of my old crony and bottle-companion,
Lodowick Lisle?  I remember his first joining us
at Aberdeen, when we were embodied in 1794.
A handsome fellow he was! standing six feet
three in his shoes; but I over-topped him by
four inches."

"I have often heard him mention your name—Colin
Campbell, at Inchavon, with terms of singular
affection and respect."

"Have you, really?  Honest Lodowick," replied
the major, his eyes glistening.  "Would
that I had something in my canteen to drink
his health with!  Did he ever tell you of our
march to Grand Cairo, when we were in Egypt
with Sir Ralph?"

"I do not remember."

"'Twas a most harassing affair, I assure you."

"Now for an Egyptian story," thought Ronald,
observing the major composing his vast
bulk more easily in his saddle.

"It was sad work, Mr. Lisle, marching over
dusty plains of burning sand; the scorching sun
glaring fiercely above us in a cloudless sky,
blistering and stripping the skin from our bare legs
and faces; while our parched throats were dry and
cracked, but not a drop of water could be found
to moisten them with in the accursed desert
through which we marched.  Our shoes were
worn out completely, and the hot rough sand
burned our feet to the bone; and I assure you we
were in a most miserable state when we halted
among the mosques and spires, the gaudy kiosks
and flowery gardens of Grand Cairo,—a place
which at a distance appears like a city of
candlesticks and inverted punch-bowls.  Old Wallace,
the quarter-master, (a queer old carle he was,)
was sent about to provide shoes for the corps,
who, by his exertions, were in a short time all
supplied with elegant pairs of Turkish slippers,
embroidered and laced, and turned up at the toes.
Droll-looking brogues they were, certainly, for the
Gordon Highlanders, in their gartered hose and
filleadh-begs; yet, certes, they were better than
nothing.  But I was not so lucky as the rest.
In all Grand Cairo there was not a pair of their
canoe-looking slippers to be found which would
suit me,—my foot, you see, is a size above a young
lady's.  And so I might have marched the next
day in my tartan hose, had not Osmin Djihoun,
a shoemaker, (whose shop occupied the very site
of the great temple of Serapis, which was
destroyed by Theophilus the patriarch,—as you,
having just come from school, will remember,—)
undertaken to produce me a pair of shoes by
next morning under terror of the bastinado and
bow-string, which the Sheik-el-Beled, or governor
of the city, threatened duly to administer if
he failed to do."

"Well, major; and your next day's march
passed over in comfort?" asked Ronald, who had
listened with impatience to this story.

"Comparatively so.  Another affair I could
tell you of, in which Ludowick Lisle bore a part.
It happened at the Diamond Isle.  The Diamond
Isle, you must know, is a place at the mouth of
the new port of Iskandrieh, as the Arabs call
the city of Alexander the Great.  Old Ludowick
and I——"

"The baggage has all passed, major.  You will
scarcely overtake your command by sunset, if you
wait to tell us *that* story; it is very long, but
nevertheless, very interesting.  I have heard it
some dozen times."

"A good story," replied Campbell composedly,
"cannot be told too often.  Therefore, the
Diamond Isle—"  But I will not insert here the worthy
major's story, which he obstinately related, and
with, all the tedious prolixity and feeling of entire
self-satisfaction that every old soldier displays
in the narration of some personal adventure.

"By the by, Stuart," said he, as he concluded,
"have you any thing in the pig-skin I see lying
near the fire yonder?"

"Not a drop; otherwise it should have been
offered long ago.  I am sorry 'tis empty; but not
expecting visitors, the last drain was squeezed out
last night."

"*Carajo*!  Well, Lisle, and how are all the
depot?  How's old Inverugie, and Rosse of
Beinderig,—the *Barba-Roxo*, as the dons used to call
him?"

"All well when I left."

"Glad to hear so,—jovial old Egyptians they
are; many a cask of Islay and true Ferintosh we
have drunk together, and, through God's help,
many more I hope to drink with them.  The very
idea of the smoking toddy—the lemons and
nutmeg, makes me confoundedly thirsty."

"Doubtless, major, you had a morning draught
at Merida?"

"The devil the drop, Stuart; but very nearly a
wame full of cold pewter,—and ounce balls are
hard to digest."

"How!  What occurred?"

"It was unluckily my turn to be field-officer of
the guard over this infernal baggage, which, as
we are retreating, moves of course in front of the
column.  We advanced as fast as possible to get
into Merida, hoping to halt there and refresh.  As
we approached the bridge, I was drawing pleasant
visions of the dark purple wine in the borachio
skins at the wine-sellers in the Plaza, and was
thinking of the long-gulping draught of the cool
Malmsey liquor I would enjoy there; when bang—whizz,
came a bullet from the carbine of a French
vidette, who appeared suddenly before us at the
bridge-end.  My belt-plate turned the shot, or
else there would be a majority vacant at this hour
in the Gordon Highlanders.  The same thing
happened to me once in Egypt, when I was there with
Sir Ralph.  I will tell you how it was."

"I would rather hear it at the halt, major, if it
be all the same to you," said Ronald, interrupting
the prosy field-officer without ceremony.  "Well,
and this vidette?  His shot—"

"Caused a devil of a commotion among my
motley command.  The ladies shrieked and galloped
off, the children cried in concert, the donkeys
and mules kicked and plunged, the drivers
lashed, and swore, and prayed, while the guard
began to fire.  I knew not what to do, when up
came the 9th and Germans, sword in hand,
sweeping on like wildfire; and entering the city,
after a little fighting and a great deal of
shouting and swearing, captured a hundred and fifty
French lancers, all in their shirts.  Their
quarter-guard alone escaped by swimming the Guadiana;
but their *chef d'escadre*, a French colonel, the
Baron Clappourknuis, was taken in his saddle.
You will see him when Sir Rowland comes up.
But I must ride hard now, and regain my straggling
command, which has left me far in the rear.
Adieu, lads, adieu!" and away he went at a
hand-gallop.

In a short time, the long line of dust which
appeared in sight announced the approach of the
division; and the bright steel points of standard-poles,
of pikes[\*] and bayonets, glanced "momentarily
to the sun" as they advanced across the
level plain.  About a quarter of a mile off,
moving forward on the right and left, appeared two
dark masses of armed horse—Colonel Campbell's
brigade of Portuguese cavalry, covering the flanks
of the infantry.  Eagerly did Stuart watch the
dark forest of waving feathers which distinguished
his own regiment, while he awaited their arrival
standing apart from Louis Lisle, who eyed him
with an expression of anger and disquiet.  Since
the departure of Campbell, neither had addressed
a word to the other, and both felt how exceedingly
irksome and disagreeable was this assumed
indifference, this appearance of hauteur and
coldness.

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[\*] Carried by Serjeants at that time, instead of the fusee
and bayonet now in use.

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   END OF VOL. \I.

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   LONDON:
   Maurice and Co., Howford buildings, Fenchurch-street.

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