Jack Hinton: The Guardsman

My astonishment at their appearance was not diminished by the figure who rode gaily along at their head. She was a young and pretty-looking girl, dressed in a blue frock and jean trousers; a light foraging-cap, with the number of the regiment worked in silver on the front, and a small canteen suspended from one shoulder by a black belt completed her equipment. Her hair, of a glossy black, was braided richly at either side of her face, and a couple of bows of light blue attested a degree of coquetry the rest of her costume gave no evidence of. She rode en cavalier; and the easy attitude in which she sat, and her steady hand on the bridle, denoted that the regimental riding-school had contributed to her accomplishments. I had heard before of the Vivandières of the French army, but was in nowise prepared for the really pretty figure and costume I now beheld.

As the riding-party approached, the others sprang to their feet, and drawing up in line performed a mock salute, which the young lady returned with perfect gravity; and then, carelessly throwing her bridle to the one nearest, she dismounted. In a few moments the horses were picketed; the packs were scattered about the grass; cooking utensils, provisions, and wine were distributed; and, amid a perfect din of merry voices and laughter, the preparations for dinner were commenced. Mademoiselle's part, on the whole, amused me not a little. Not engaging in any of the various occupations about her, she seated herself on a pile of cavalry cloaks at a little distance from the rest, and taking out a much-worn and well-thumbed-looking volume from the pocket of her coat, she began to read to herself with the most perfect unconcern of all that was going on about her. Meanwhile the operations of the cuisine were conducted with a despatch and dexterity that only French soldiers ever attain to; and, shall I confess it, the rich odour that steamed upwards from the well-seasoned potage, the savoury smell of the roast kid, albeit partaking of onions, and the brown breasts of certain poulets made me wish heartily that for half an hour or so I could have changed my allegiance, converted myself into a soldat de la garde, and led Mademoiselle in to dinner.

At length the party beneath had arranged their meal upon the grass; and the corporal, with an air of no inconsiderable pretension, took Mademoiselle's hand to conduct her to the place of honour at the head of the feast—calling out as he did, 'Place, Messieurs, place pour Madame la Duchesse de—de——'

'N'importe quoi,' said another; 'the Emperor has many a battle to win yet, and many a kingdom and a duchy to give away. As for myself, I count upon the bâton of a marshal before the campaign closes.'

'Have done, I beg you, with such folly, and help me to some of that salmi,' said the lady, with a much more practical look about her than her expression a few moments before denoted.

The feast now progressed with all the clatter which little ceremony, hearty appetites, and good-fellowship produce. The wine went round freely, and the qui propos, if I might judge from their mirth, were not wanting; for I could but catch here and there a stray word or so of the conversation.

All this time my own position was far from agreeable. Independent of the fact of being a spectator of a good dinner and a jolly party while famishing with hunger and thirst, my chance of escape depended either on the party moving forward, or being so insensible from the effects of their carouse that I might steal away unobserved. While I balanced with myself which of these alternatives was more likely, an accident decided the question. My horse, who up to this moment was grazing close beside me, hearing one of the troop-horses neigh in the valley beneath, pricked up his ears, plunged upwards, broke the bridle with which I had fastened him, and cantered gaily down into the midst of the picketed animals. In an instant every man sprang to his legs; some rushed to their holsters and drew forth their pistols; others caught up their sabres from the grass; and the young lady herself tightened her girth and sprang into her saddle with the alacrity of one accustomed to moments of danger. All was silence now for a couple of minutes, except the slight noise of the troopers engaged in bridling their horses and fixing on their packs, when a loud voice called out, 'Voilà!; and the same instant every eye in the party was directed to my shako, which hung on a branch of a tree above me, and which up to this moment I had forgotten. Before I could determine on any line of escape, three of the number had rushed up the rock, and with drawn sabres commanded me to surrender myself their prisoner. There was no choice; I flung down my sword with an air of sulky resignation, and complied. My despatches, of which they soon rifled me, sufficiently explained the cause of my journey, and allayed any apprehensions they might have felt as to a surprise party. A few brief questions were all they put to me; and then, conducting me down the cliff to the scene of their bivouac, they proceeded to examine my holsters and the flaps of my saddle for any papers which I might have concealed in these places.

'Eh, bien! mon colonel,' said the leader of the party, as he drew himself up before me, and carried his hand to his cap in a salute as respectful and orderly as though I were his officer, 'what say you to a little supper ere we move forward?'

'There's the bill of fare.' said another, laughing, as he pointed to the remnant of roast fowls and stewed kid that covered the grass.

I was too young a soldier to comport myself at the moment with that philosophic resignation to circumstances which the changeful fortunes of war so forcibly instil, and I merely answered by a brief refusal, while half unconsciously I threw my eyes around to see if no chance of escape presented itself.

'No, no,' cried the corporal, who at once read my look and its meaning; 'don't try that, or you reduce me to the extremity of trying this,' patting, as he spoke, the butt of his carbine with an air of easy determination there was no mistaking.

'Let me rather recommend Monsieur le Capitaine to try this,' said the Vivandière, who, unperceived by me, was all this while grilling the half of a poulet over the embers.

There was something in the kindness of the act, coupled as it was with an air of graceful courtesy, that touched me; so, smothering all my regretful thoughts at my mishap, I summoned up my best bow and my best French to acknowledge the civility, and the moment after was seated on the grass beside Mademoiselle Annette, discussing my supper with the appetite of a man whose sorrows were far inferior to his hunger.

As the moon rose, the party, who evidently had been waiting for some others they expected, made preparations for continuing their journey, the first of which consisted in changing the corporal's pack and equipments to the back of my English thoroughbred, his own meagre and raw-boned quadruped being destined for me. Up to this instant the thought of escape had never left my mind. I knew I could calculate on the speed of my horse; I had had some trials of his endurance, and the only thing was to obtain such a start as might carry me out of bullet range at once, and all was safe. Now this last hope deserted me, as I beheld the miserable hack to which I was condemned; and yet, poignant as this feeling was—shall I confess it?—it was inferior in its pain to the sensation I experienced as I saw the rude French soldier, with clumsy jack-boots and heavy hand, curvetting about upon my mettlesome charger, and exhibiting his paces for the amusement of his companions.

The order was now given to mount, and I took my place in the middle file—the dragoons on either side of me having unslung their carbines, and given me laughingly to understand that I was to be made a riddle of if I attempted an escape.

The long months of captivity that followed have, somehow, I cannot at all explain why, left no such deep impression on my mind as the simple events of that night. I remember it still like a thing of yesterday. We travelled along the crest of a mountain, the valley lying in deep, dark shadow beneath; the moon shone brightly out upon the grey granite rocks beside us; our pace was sometimes pushed to a fast trot, and then relaxed to a walk, the better, as it appeared to me, to indulge the conversational tastes of my escort than for any other reason. Their spirits never flagged for a moment; some jest or story was ever going forward—some anecdote of the campaign, or some love adventure, of which the narrator was the hero, commented on by all in turn with a degree of sharp wit and ready repartee that greatly surprised me. In all these narratives Mademoiselle played a prominent part, being invariably referred to for any explanation which the difficulties of female character seemed to require, her opinion on such points being always regarded as conclusive. At times, too, they would break forth into some rude hussar song, some regular specimen of camp lyric poetry, each verse being sung by a different individual, and chorussed by the whole party in common. I have said that these trifling details have left a deep impression behind them. Stranger still, one of those wild strains haunts my memory yet; and strikingly illustrative as it is, not only of those songs in general but of that peculiar mixture of levity and pathos, of reckless heartlessness and deep feeling so eminently French, I cannot help giving it to my reader. It represents the last love-letter of a soldier to his mistress, and runs thus:—

Fatigue and weariness, that seemed never to weigh upon my companions, more than once pressed heavily on me. As I awoke from a short and fitful slumber the same song continued; for having begun it, somehow it appeared to possess such a charm for them they could not cease singing, and the

kept ringing through my ears till daybreak.

CHAPTER LII. THE MARCH

Such, with little variety, was the history of each day and night of our march—the days usually passed in some place of security and concealment, while a reconnaissance would be made by some three or four of the party; and, as night fell, the route was continued.

One incident alone broke the monotony of the journey. On the fourth night we left the mountain and descended into a large open plain, taking for our guide the course of a river which seemed familiar to my companions. The night was dark; heavy masses of cloud concealed the moon, and not a star was visible; the atmosphere was close and oppressive, and there reigned around a kind of unnatural stillness, unbroken by the flow of the sluggish river which moved on beside us. Our pace had been a rapid one for some time; and contrary to their wont the dragoons neither indulged in their gay songs nor merry stories, but kept together with more of military precision than they had hitherto assumed. I conjectured from this that we were probably approaching the French lines; and on questioning the corporal, was told that such was the case.

A little after midnight we halted for a few moments to refresh the horses. Each man dismounted, and stood with his hand upon the bridle; and I could not but mark how the awful silence of the hour seemed to prey upon their spirits as they spoke together in low and broken whispers, as if fearful to interrupt the deep sleep of Nature. It was just then that every eye was directed to a bright star that burst out above the horizon, and seemed to expand gradually into a large mass of great brilliancy, and again to diminish to a mere speck—which it remained for some time, and then disappeared entirely. We continued gazing on the dark spot where this phenomenon had appeared, endeavouring by a hundred conjectures to explain it. Wearied at length with watching, we were about to continue our journey, when suddenly from the quarter from where the star had shone a rocket shot up into the dark sky and broke into ten thousand brilliant fragments, which seemed to hang suspended on high in the weight of the dense atmosphere. Another followed, and another; then, after a pause of some minutes, a blue rocket was seen to mount into the air, and explode with a report which even at the distance we stood was audible. Scarcely had its last fragments disappeared in the darkness when a low rumbling noise, like the booming of distant thunder, seemed to creep along the ground. Then came a rattling volley, as if of small-arms; and at last the whole horizon burst into a red glare, which forked up from earth to sky with a crash that seemed to shake the very ground beneath us. Masses of dark, misshapen rock sprang into the blazing sky; millions upon millions of sparks glittered through the air; and a cry, like the last expiring wail of a drowning crew, rose above all other sounds—and all was still. The flame was gone; the gloomy darkness had returned; not a sound was heard; but in that brief moment four hundred of the French army met their graves beneath the castle of Burgos, which in their hurried retreat they had blown up, without apprising the troops who were actually marching beneath its very walls.

Our route was now resumed in silence; even the levity of the French soldiers had received a check; and scarcely a word passed as we rode on through the gloomy darkness, anxiously looking for daybreak, to learn something of the country about us.

Towards sunrise we found ourselves at the entrance of a mountain pass traversed by the Ebro, which in some places almost filled the valley, and left merely a narrow path between its waters and the dark cliffs that frowned above. Here we proceeded—sometimes in single file; now tracing the signs of the retreating force which had just preceded us, now lost in astonishment at the prodigious strength of the position thus abandoned. But even these feelings gave way before a stronger one—our admiration of the exquisite beauty of the scenery. Glen after glen was seen opening as we advanced into this wide valley, each bearing its tributary stream to the mighty Ebro—the clear waters reflecting the broken crags, the waving foliage, and the bright verdure that beamed around, as orange-trees, laurels, and olives bent over the current, or shot up in taper spires towards the clear blue sky. How many a sheltered nook we passed, with an involuntary longing to rest and linger among scenes so full of romantic beauty! But already the din of the retreating column was borne towards us on the breeze, the heavy, monotonous roll of large guns and caissons; while now and then we thought we could catch the swell of martial music blending through the other sounds. But soon we came up with waggons carrying the wounded and sick, who, having joined by another road, had fallen to the rear of the march. From them we learned that the King of Spain, Joseph himself, was with the advanced guard, and that the destination of the forces was Vittoria, where a junction with the corps darmée of the other generals being effected, it was decided on giving battle to the Anglo-Spanish army.

As we advanced, our progress became slower and more difficult; close columns of infantry blocked up the road, or dense masses of cavalry, with several hundred led horses and baggage mules, prevented all chance of getting forward. Gradually, however, the valley widened, the mountain became less steep; and by evening we reached a large plain, closed towards the north-east by lofty mountains, which I learned were the Pyrenees, and beheld in the far distance the tall spires of the city of Vittoria. Several roads crossed the plain towards the city, all of which were now crowded with troops—some pressing on in the direction of the town, others taking up their position and throwing up hasty embankments and stockades. Meanwhile the loaded waggons, with the spoil of the rich convents and the royal treasure, were seen wending their slow way beneath the walls of Vittoria on the road to Bayonne, escorted by a strong cavalry force, whose bright helmets and breastplates pronounced them Cuirassiers de la Garde. The animation and excitement of the whole scene was truly intense, and as I rode along beside the corporal, I listened with eagerness to his account of the various regiments as they passed hither and thither and took up their positions on the wide plain.

'There, look yonder,' said he, 'where that dark mass is defiling beside the pine wood! See how they break into parties; watch them, how they scatter along the low bank beside the stream under shelter of the brushwood. There were eight hundred men in that battalion: where are they now? All concealed—they are the tirailleurs of the army; and see on that low mound above them where the flag is flying—the guns are about to occupy that height. I was right, you see; there they come, six, seven, eight pieces of heavy metal. Sacrebleu! that must be a place of some consequence.'

'What are the troops yonder with the red tufts in their caps, and scarlet trousers?'

'Ah, parbleu! your countrymen will soon know to their cost: they are the Infanterie de la Garde. There's not a man in the column you are looking at who is not decoré.'

'Look at this side, monsieur! See the Chasseurs à Cheval,' said Annette, putting her hand on my arm, while her bright eyes glanced proudly at the glittering column which advanced by a road near us—coming along at a sharp trot, their equipment clattering, their horses highly conditioned, and the splendid uniform of light blue and silver giving them a most martial air.

'Bah!' said the corporal contemptuously, 'these are the dragoons to my taste.' So saying, he pointed to a dark column of heavy cavalry, who led their horses slowly along by a narrow causeway; the long black horse-hair trailed from their dark helmets with something of a gloomy aspect, to which their flowing cloaks of deep blue added.

'The Cuirassiers de Milhauds. But look—look yonder! Tonnerre de ciel! see that!'

The object to which my attention was now directed was a park of artillery that covered the whole line of road from the Miranda pass to the very walls of Vittoria.

'Two hundred, at least,' exclaimed he, after counting some twenty or thirty of the foremost. 'Ventre bleu! what chance have you before the batteries of the Guard?'

As he spoke, the drums beat across the wide plain; a continuous dull roll murmured along the ground. It ceased; the trumpets brayed forth a call; a clanging crash followed, and I saw that the muskets were brought to the shoulder, as the bayonets glanced in the sun and the sharp sabres glittered along the squadrons. For a second or two all was still, and then the whole air was rent with a loud cry of 'Vive le Roi!' while a mounted party rode slowly from the left, and entering one of the gates of the city disappeared from our sight. Night was now beginning to fail, as we wended our way slowly along towards the walls of Vittoria—it being the corporal's intention to deliver his prisoner into the hands of the état major of Marshal Jourdan.

CHAPTER LIII. VITTORIA

What a contrast to the scene without the walls did the city of Vittoria present! Scarcely had we left behind us the measured tread of moving battalions, the dark columns of winding cavalry, when we entered streets brilliantly lighted. Gorgeous and showy equipages turned everywhere; music resounded on all sides; servants in splendid liveries made way for ladies in all the elegance of evening dress, enjoying the delicious coolness of a southern climate at sunset; groups of officers in full uniform chatted with their fair friends from the balconies of the large majestic houses; the sounds of gaiety and mirth were heard from every open lattice, and the chink of the castanet and the proud step of the fandango echoed around us.

Women, dressed in all the perfection of Parisian coquetry, loitered along the streets, wondering at the strange sights the Spanish city afforded—themselves scarcely less objects of wonder to the dark-eyed senoras, who, with close-drawn mantillas, peered cautiously around them to see the strangers. Young French officers swaggered boastfully about with the air of conquerors, while now and then some tall and swarthy Spaniard might be seen lowering with gloomy frown from under the broad shadow of his sombrero, as if doubting the evidence of his own senses at seeing his native city in the occupation of the usurper.

In the open plazas, too, the soldiers were picketed, and stood in parties around their fires, or lay stretched on the rich tapestries they had carried away as spoils from the southern provinces. Cups and goblets of the rarest handiwork and of the most costly materials were strewn about them. The vessels of the churches; the rich cloths of gold embroidery that had decorated the altars; pictures, the chefs-d'oeuvre of the first masters—all were there, in one confused heap, among baskets of fruit, wine-skins, ancient armour, and modern weapons. From time to time some brilliant staff would pass, usually accompanied by ladies, who seemed strangely mixed up with all the military display of the scene.

My guide, after conversing for a few moments with a sous-officier of his regiment, turned from the Plaza into a narrow street, the termination to which was formed by a large building now brilliantly lit up. As we approached, I perceived that two sentries were on guard at the narrow gate, and a large banner, with the imperial 'N' in the centre, waved heavily over the entrance. 'This is le quartier général, said the corporal, dropping his voice respectfully, as we drew near. At the same instant a young officer, whose long plume bespoke him as an aide-de-camp, pushed past us; but, turning hastily round, said something I could not catch to the corporal. 'Bien, mon lieutenant,' said the latter, carrying his hand to his shako. 'Follow me, monsieur,' said the officer, addressing me, and the next moment I found myself in a large and richly furnished room, when having motioned me to be seated, he left me.

My meditations, such as they were, were not suffered to be long, for in a few seconds the aide-de-camp made his appearance, and with a low bow requested me to accompany him.

'The general will receive you at once,' said he.

I eagerly asked his name.

'Le Général Oudinot.'

'Ah, the Marshal?'

'No; his brother. I perceive you are a young soldier; so let me give you a hint. Don't mind his manner; “c'est un brave homme” at bottom, but'—the loud burst of laughter from a room at the end of the corridor drowned the conclusion of his speech, and before I had time for another question the door opened, and I was introduced.

In a small but richly furnished chamber sat four officers round a table covered with a magnificent display of silver cups and plate, and upon which a dessert was spread, with flasks of French and Spanish wine, and a salver holding cigars; a book, apparently an orderly book, was before them, from which one of the party was reading as I came in. As the aide-de-camp announced me they all looked up, and the general, for I knew him at once, fixing his eyes steadily on me, desired me to approach.

As I obeyed his not very courteous order, I had time to perceive that the figure before me was that of a stout, square-built man of about fifty-five or sixty. His head was bald; his eyebrows, of a bushy grey, were large and meeting. A moustache of the same grizzly appearance shaded his lip, and served to conceal two projecting teeth, which, when he spoke, displayed themselves like boar's tusks, giving a peculiarly savage expression to his dark and swarthy countenance. The loose sleeve of his coat denoted that he had lost his left arm high up; but whenever excited, I could see that the short stump of the amputated limb jerked convulsively in a manner it was painful to look at.

'What, a deserter! a spy! Eh, what is it, Alphonse?'

The aide-de-camp, blushing, whispered some few words rapidly, and the general resumed—

'Ha! Be seated, monsieur.' The officers of the imperial army know how to treat their prisoners; though, pardieu, they can't teach their enemies the lesson! You have floating prisons, they tell me, in England, where my poor countrymen die of disease and starvation. Sacré Dieu! what cruelty!'

'You have been misinformed, General. The nation I belong to is uniformly humane to all whom chance of war has made its prisoners, and never forgets that the officers of an army are gentlemen.'

'Ha! what do you mean?' said he, becoming dark with passion, as he half rose from his seat; then, stopping suddenly short, he continued in a voice of suppressed anger, 'Where are your troops? What number of men has your Villainton got with him?'

'Of course,' said I, smiling, 'you do not expect me to answer such questions.'

'Do you refuse it?' said he, with a grim smile.

'I do distinctly refuse,' was my answer.

'What rank do you hold in your service?'

'I am but a subaltern.'

'Tenez!' said another of the party, who for some time past had been leisurely conning over the despatches which had been taken from me, 'You are called “capitaine” here, monsieur.'

'Ha! ha! What say you to that?' cried the general exultingly. 'Read it, Chamont.'

'“The despatches which Captain Airey will deliver——”

Is it not so?' said he, handing me the paper.

'Yes,' said I coolly; 'he is the senior aide-de-camp; but being employed on General Graham's staff, now occupied in the pursuit of your army——'

'Mille tonnerres! Young man, you have chosen an unsuitable place to cut your jokes!'

'Sa Majesté le Roi,' said an aide-de-camp, entering hastily, and throwing the door open to its full extent; and scarcely had the party time to rise when the Emperor's brother appeared.

Of the middle size, pale, and with a thoughtful, expressive countenance, Joseph Bonaparte's appearance was much in his favour. His forehead was lofty and expansive, his eye large and full, and the sweet smile which seemed the gift of every member of the family he possessed in perfection. After a few words with General Oudinot, whose rough manner and coarse bearing suffered no change by his presence, he turned towards me, and with much mildness of voice and courtesy of demeanour inquired if I were wounded. On hearing that I was not, he expressed a hope that my captivity would be of brief duration, as exchanges were already in progress. 'Meanwhile,' said he, 'you shall have as little to complain of as possible.'

As he concluded these few but to me most comforting words, I received a hint from the aide-de-camp to withdraw, which I did, into an adjoining room. The same aide-de-camp by whom I had hitherto been accompanied now joined me, and, slapping me familiarly on the shoulder, cried out—

'Eh, bien! I hope now you are satisfied. Joseph is a fine, generous fellow, and will take care not to forget his promise to you. Meanwhile, come and take a share of my supper.'

He opened a door in the wainscot as he spoke, and introduced me into a perfectly-fitted-up little boudoir, where a supper had been laid out for him. Another cover was soon provided for me, and in a few minutes we were seated at table, chatting away about the war and the opposing armies, as though instead of partisans we had merely been lookers-on at the great game before us. My companion, though but a year or two older than myself, held the grade of colonel, every step to which he won at the point of his sword; he was strikingly handsome, and his figure, though slight, powerfully knit. As the champagne passed back and forward between us, confidences became interchanged, and before midnight sounded I found my companion quite familiar with the name of Louisa Bellew, while to my equal astonishment I was on terms of perfect intimacy with a certain lovely marquise of the Chaussée d'Antin. The tinkle of a sharp bell suddenly called the aide-de-camp to his legs; so drinking off a large goblet of cold water, and taking up his chapeau, he left the room.

I now threw myself back into my chair, and, tossing off a bumper of champagne, began to reason myself into the belief that there were worse things even than imprisonment among the French. Flitting thoughts of the past, vague dreams of the future, confused images of the present, were all dancing through my brain, when the door again opened, and I heard my companion's footsteps behind me.

'Do you know, Alphonse,' said I, without turning in my chair, 'I have been seriously thinking of making my escape? It is quite clear that a battle is not far off; and, by Jove! if I only have the good fortune to meet with your chef d état major, that savage old Oudinot, I'll pledge myself to clear off scores with him.'

A half chuckle of laughter behind induced me to continue:—

'That old fellow certainly must have risen from the ranks—not a touch of breeding about him. I'm certain his Majesty rated him soundly for his treatment of me, when I came away. I saw his old moustaches bristling up; he knew he was in for it.'

A louder laugh than at first, but in somewhat of a different cadence, induced me to torn my head, when what was my horror to see before me, not my new friend the aide-de-camp, but General Oudinot himself, who all this time had been listening to my polite observations regarding his future welfare! There was a savage exultation in his look as his eye met mine, and for a second or two he seemed to enjoy my confusion too much to permit him to break silence. At last he said—

'Are you on parole, sir?'

'No,' I briefly replied, 'nor shall I be.'

'What, have I heard you aright? Do you refuse your parole?'

'Yes; I shall not pledge myself against attempting my escape the very first opportunity that offers.'

'Indeed,' said he slowly, 'indeed! What is to become of poor General Oudinot if such a casualty take place? But come, sir, I have his Majesty's orders to accept your parole; if you refuse it, you are then at my disposal. I have received no other instructions about you. Yes or no—I ask you for the last time.'

'No! distinctly no!'

'C'est bien; holla, garde! numéro dix et onze.'

Two soldiers of the grenadiers, with fixed bayonets, appeared at the door; a few hurried words were spoken, the only part of which I could catch was the word cachot I was at once ordered to rise; a soldier walked on either side of me, and I was in this way conducted through the city to the prison of the gendarmerie, where for the night I was to remain, with orders to forward me the next morning at daybreak, with some Spanish prisoners, on the road to Bayonne.

CHAPTER LIV. THE RETREAT

My cell, for such it was, although dignified with the appellation of chamber, looked out by a small window upon a narrow street, the opposite side to which was formed by the wall of a churchyard pertaining to a convent. As day broke, I eagerly took my place at the casement to watch what was going on without; but except some bareheaded figure of a monk gliding along between the dark yew avenues, or some female in deep mourning passing to her morning's devotions beside the grave of a relative, I could see nothing. A deep silence seemed to brood over the city, so lately the scene of festivity and mirth. Towards four o'clock, however, I could hear the distant roll of drums, which gradually extended from the extreme right to the left of the plain before the town; then I heard the heavy monotonous tramp of marching, broken occasionally by the clank of the brass bands of the cavalry, or the deep sullen thunder of the artillery waggons as they moved along over the paved roads. The sounds came gradually nearer; the trumpets too joined the clamour with the shrill reveille, and soon the streets towards the front of the prison re-echoed with the unceasing clatter of troops moving forward. I could hear the voices of the officers calling to the men to move up; heard more than once the names of particular regiments, as some distinguished corps were passing. The music of the bands was quick and inspiriting; and as some popular air was struck up, the men would break forth suddenly into the words, and the rough-voiced chorus rang through the narrow streets, and fell heavily on my own heart as I lay there a prisoner. Hour after hour did this continue, yet the silence behind remained as unbroken as ever; the lonely churchyard, with its dark walks and sad-looking trees, was still and deserted. By degrees the din in front diminished; regiments passed now only at intervals, and their pace, increased to a run, left no time for the bands; the cavalry, too, trotted rapidly by, and at last all was still as in the gloomy street before me.

It was now eight o'clock, and no summons had yet come to me, although I had heard myself the order for our marching on the Bayonne road by sunrise. The prison was still as the grave; not a step could I hear; not a bolt nor a hinge creaked. I looked to the window, but the strong iron grating that defended it left no prospect of escape; the door was even stronger, and there was no chimney. The thought occurred to me that the party had forgotten me, and had gone away with the other prisoners. This thought somehow had its consolation; but the notion of being left to starve came suddenly across me, and I hastened to the window to try and make myself known to some chance passer-by.

Just then the loud boom of a gun struck upon my ear; another followed, louder still; and then a long heavy crashing noise, which rose and fell as the wind bore it, told me that the work of death had begun. The sound of the large guns, which at first came only at intervals, now swelled into one loud continuous roar, that drowned all other noise. The strong frames of the windows shook, and the very ground beneath my feet seemed to tremble with the dreadful concussion of the artillery; sometimes the din would die away for a few seconds, and then, as the wind freshened, it would swell into a thunder so loud as to make me think the battle was close to where I stood. Hour after hour did this continue; and now, although the little street beside me was thronged with many an anxious group, I no longer thought of questioning them. My whole soul was wrapped up in the one thought—that of the dreadful engagement; and as I listened, my mind was carrying on with itself some fancied picture of the fight, with no other guide to my imaginings than the distant clangour of the battle. Now I thought that the French were advancing, that their battery of guns had opened; and I could imagine the dark mass that moved on, their tall shakos and black belts peering amidst the smoke that lay densely in the field. On they poured, thousand after thousand; ay, there goes the fusilade—the platoons are firing. But now they halt; the crash of fixing bayonets is heard; a cheer breaks forth; the cloud is rent; the thick smoke is severed as if by a lightning flash; the red-coats have dashed through at the charge; the enemy waits not; the line wavers and breaks; down come the cavalry, like an eagle on the swoop! But again the dread artillery opens; the French form beneath the lines, and the fight is renewed.

The fever of my mind was at its height. I paced my room with hurried steps, and springing to the narrow casement, held my ear to the wall to listen. Forgetting where I was, I called out as though at the head of my company, with the wild yell of the battle around me, and the foe before me.

Suddenly the crowd beneath the window broke; the crash of cavalry equipments resounded through the street, and the head of a squadron of cuirassiers came up at a trot, followed by a train of baggage-waggons, with six horses to each; the drivers whipped and spurred their cattle, and all betokened haste. From the strength of the guard and the appearance of the waggons, I conjectured that they were the treasures of the army—an opinion in which I was strengthened by the word 'Bayonne' chalked in large letters on a chest thrown on the top of a carriage. Some open waggons followed, in which the invalids of the army lay, a pale and sickly mass; their lack-lustre eyes gazed heavily around with a stupid wonder, like men musing in a dream. Even they, however, had arms given them, such was the dread of falling into the hands of the guerilla bands who infested the mountain passes, and who never gave quarter even to the wounded and the dying.

The long file at length passed, but only to make way for a still longer procession of Spanish prisoners, who, bound wrist to wrist, marched between two files of mounted gendarmes. The greater number of these were mountaineers, guerillas of the south, condemned to the galleys for life, their bronzed faces and stalwart figures a striking contrast to their pale and emaciated companions, the inhabitants of the towns, who could scarce drag their weary limbs along, and seemed at every step ready to sink between misery and privation. The ribald jests and coarse language of the soldiers were always addressed to these, there seeming to be a kind of respect for the bolder guerillas even in the hour of their captivity. The tramp of led horses, the roll of waggons, the cracking of whips, mingled with the oaths of muleteers and the fainter cries of the sick, now filled the air, and only occasionally did the loud cannonade rise above them. From every window faces appeared, turned with excited eagerness towards the dense crowds; and though I could perceive that inquiries as to the fate of the day were constantly made and answered, my ignorance of Spanish prevented my understanding what was said.

The noise in front of the prison, where the thoroughfare was wider and larger, far exceeded that around me; and at last I could hear the steps of persons marching overhead, and ascending and descending the stairs. Doors clapped and slammed on every side; when, suddenly, the door of my own cell was shaken violently, and a voice cried out in French, 'Try this; I passed twice without perceiving it.' The next moment the lock turned, and my room was filled with dragoons, their uniforms splashed and dirty, and evidently bearing the marks of a long and severe march.

'Are you the Guerilla Guiposcoa de Condeiga?' said one of the party, accosting me, as I stood wrapped up in my cloak.

'No; I am an English officer.'

'Show your epaulettes, then,' said another, who knew that Spanish officers never wore such.

I opened my cloak, when the sight of my red uniform at once satisfied them. At this instant a clamour of voices without was heard, and several persons called out, 'We have him! here he is!' The crowd around me rushed forth at the sound; and following among them I reached the street, now jammed up with horse and foot, waggons, tumbrels, and caissons—some endeavouring to hasten forward towards the road to Bayonne; others as eagerly turned towards the plain of Vittoria, where the deafening roll of artillery showed the fight was at its fiercest. The dragoons issued forth, dragging a man amongst them whose enormous stature and broad chest towered above the others, but who apparently made not the slightest resistance as they hurried him forward, shouting, as they went, 'A la grand' place!—à la place!'

It was the celebrated Guerilla Guiposcoa, who had distinguished himself by acts of heroic daring, and sometimes by savage cruelty towards the French, and who had fallen into their hands that morning. Anxious to catch a glance at one of whom I had heard so often, I pressed forward among the rest, and soon found myself in the motley crowd of soldiers and townspeople that hurried towards the Plaza.

Scarcely had I entered the square when the movement of the multitude was arrested, and a low whispering murmur succeeded to the deafening shouts of vengeance and loud cries of death I had heard before; then came the deep roll of a muffled drum. I made a strong effort to press forward, and at length reached the rear of a line of dismounted dragoons who stood leaning on their carbines, their eyes steadily bent on a figure some twenty paces in front. He was leisurely employed in divesting himself of some of his clothes, which, as he took off, he piled in a little heap beside him; his broad guerilla hat, his dark cloak, his sheep's-wool jacket slashed with gold, fell one by one from his hand, and his broad manly chest at last lay bare, heaving with manifest pride and emotion, as he turned his dark eyes calmly around him. Nothing was now heard in that vast crowd save when some low, broken sob of grief would burst from the close-drawn mantillas of the women, as they offered up their heartfelt prayers for the soul of the patriot.

A low parapet wall, surmounted by an iron railing, closed in this part of the Plaza, and separated it from a deep and rapid river that flowed beneath—a branch of the Ebro. Beyond, the wide plain of Vittoria stretched away towards the Pyrenees; and two leagues distant the scene of the battle was discernible, from the heavy mass of cloud that lowered overhead, and the deep booming of the guns that seemed to make the air tremulous.

The Spaniard turned his calm look towards the battlefield, and for an instant his dark eye flashed back upon his foes with an expression of triumphant daring, which seemed as it were to say, 'I am avenged already!' A cry of impatience burst from the crowd of soldiers, and the crash of their firelocks threatened that they would not wait longer for his blood. But the guerilla's manner changed at once, and holding up a small ebony crucifix before him, he seemed to ask a moment's respite for a short prayer.

The stillness showed his request was complied with; he turned his back towards the crowd, and placing the crucifix on the low parapet, he bent down on both his knees, and seemed lost in his devotions. As he rose I thought I could perceive that he threw a glance, rapid as lightning, over the wall towards the river that flowed beneath. He now turned fully round; and unfastening the girdle of many a gay colour that he wore round his waist, he threw it carelessly on his left arm; and then, baring his breast to the full, knelt slowly down, and with his arms wide apart called out in Spanish, 'Here is my life! come, take it!' The words were scarcely uttered, when the carbines clanked as they brought them to the shoulder; the sergeant of the company called out the words, 'Donnez!' a pause—'Feu!' The fusilade rang out, and as my eyes pierced the smoke I could see that the guerilla had fallen to the earth, his arms crossed upon his bosom.

A shriek wild and terrific burst from the crowd. The blue smoke slowly rose, and I perceived the French sergeant standing over the body of the guerilla, which lay covered with blood upon the turf. A kind of convulsive spasm seemed to twitch the limbs, upon which the Frenchman drew his sabre. The rattle of the steel scabbard rang through my heart; the bright weapon glanced as he raised it above his head. At the same instant the guerilla chief sprang to his legs; he tottered as he did so, for I could see that his left arm hung powerless at his side, but his right held a long poniard. He threw himself upon the Frenchman's bosom; a yell followed, and the same moment the guerilla sprang over the battlements, and with a loud splash dropped into the river beneath. The water had scarce covered his body, as the Frenchman fell a corpse upon the ground.

A perfect roar of madness and rage burst from the French soldiers, as, rushing to the parapet, a hundred balls swept the surface of the river; but the tall reeds of the bank had already concealed the bold guerilla, whose left arm had received the fire of the soldiers, who now saw the meaning of that quick movement by which he had thrown his girdle around it. The incident was but the work of a few brief moments; nor was there longer time to think on it, for suddenly a squadron of cavalry swept past at the full speed of their horses, calling out the words, 'Place there! Make way there in front! The ambulance! the ambulance!'

A low groan of horror rose around; the quick retreat of the wounded betokened that the battle was going against the French; the words 'beaten and retreat' reechoed through the crowd; and as the dark suspicion crept amid the moving mass, the first waggon of the wounded slowly turned the angle of the square, a white flag hanging above it. I caught but one glance of the sad convoy; but never shall I forget that spectacle of blood and agony. Torn and mangled, they lay an indiscriminate heap—their faces blackened with powder, their bodies shattered with wounds. High above the other sounds their piercing cries rent the air, with mingled blasphemies and insane ravings. Meanwhile the drivers seemed only anxious to get forward, as, deaf to every prayer and entreaty, they whipped their horses and called out to the crowd to make way.

Escape was now open; but where could I go? My uniform exposed me to immediate detection; should I endeavour to conceal myself, discovery would be my death. The vast tide of people that poured along the streets was a current too strong to stem, and I hesitated what course to follow. My doubts were soon resolved for me; an officer of General Oudinot's staff, who had seen me the previous night, rode up close to where I stood, and then turning to his orderly, spoke a few hurried words. The moment after, two heavy dragoons, in green uniform and brass helmets, came up, one at either side of me; without a second's delay one of them unfastened a coil of small rope that hung at his saddle-bow, which with the assistance of the other was passed over my right wrist and drawn tight. In this way, secured like a malefactor, I was ordered forward. In vain I remonstrated; in vain I told them I was a British officer; to no purpose did I reiterate that hitherto I had made no effort to escape. It is not in the hour of defeat that a Frenchman can behave either with humanity or justice. A volley of sacrés was the only answer I received, and nothing was left me but to yield.

Meanwhile the tumult and confusion of the town was increasing every minute. Heavy waggons inscribed in large letters, 'Domaine extérieure de sa Majesté l'Empereur,' containing the jewels and treasures of Madrid, passed by, drawn by eight and sometimes ten horses, and accompanied by strong cavalry detachments. Infantry regiments, blackened with smoke and gunpowder, newly arrived from the field, hurried past to take up positions on the Bayonne road to protect the retreat; then came the nearer din and crash of the artillery as the French army were falling back upon the town.

Scarcely had we issued from the walls of the city when the whole scene of flight and ruin was presented to our eyes. The country for miles round was one moving mass of fugitives; cannon, waggons, tumbrels, wounded soldiers, horsemen, and even splendid equipages were all mixed up together on the Pampeluna road, which lay to our right. The march was there intercepted by an overturned waggon; the horses were plunging, and the cries of wounded men could be heard even where we were. The fields at each side of the way were soon spread over by the crowd, eager to press on. Guns were now abandoned and thrown into ditches and ravines; the men broke their muskets, and threw the fragments on the roadside, and vast magazines of powder were exploded here and there through the plain.

But my attention was soon drawn to objects more immediately beside me. The Bayonne road, which we now reached, was the last hope of the retiring army. To maintain this line of retreat strong detachments of infantry, supported by heavy guns, were stationed at every eminence commanding the position; but the swooping torrent of the retreat had left little time for these to form, many of whom were borne along with the flying army. Discipline gave way on every side; the men sprang upon the waggons, refusing to march; the treasures were broken open and thrown upon the road. Frequently the baggage-guard interchanged shots and sabre-cuts with the infuriated soldiers, who only thought of escape; and the ladies, who but yesterday were the objects of every care and solicitude, were hurried along amid that rude multitude—some on foot, others glad to be allowed to take a place in the ambulance among the wounded, their dresses blood-stained and torn, adding to the horror and misery of the scene.

Such was the prospect before us. Behind, a dark mass hovered as if even yet withstanding the attack of the enemy, whose guns thundered clearer and clearer every moment. Still the long line of wounded came on—some in wide open carts, others stretched upon the gun-carriages, mangled and bleeding. Among these my attention was drawn to one whose head having fallen over the edge of the cart was endangered by every roll of the heavy wheel that grazed his very skull. There was a halt, and I seized the moment to assist the poor fellow as he lay thus in peril. His helmet had fallen back, and was merely retained by the brass chain beneath his chin; his temples were actually cleft open by a sabre-cut, and I could see that he had also received some shot-wounds in the side, where he pressed his hands, the blood welling up between the fingers. As I lifted the head to place it within the cart, the eyes opened and turned fully upon me. A faint smile of gratitude curled his lip; I bent over him, and to my horror recognised in the mangled and shattered form before me the gallant fellow with whom the very night before I had formed almost a friendship. The word 'cold,' muttered between his teeth, was the only answer I could catch as I called him by his name. The order to march rang out from the head of the convoy, and I had barely time to unfasten my cloak and throw it over him ere the waggon moved on. I never saw him after.

A squadron of cavalry now galloped past, reckless of all before them; the traces of their artillery were cut, and the men, mounting the horses, deserted the guns, and rode for their lives. In the midst of the flying mass a splendid equipage flew past, its six horses lashed to madness by the postillions; a straggling guard of honour galloped at either side, and a grand écuyer in scarlet, who rode in front, called out incessantly, 'Place, place, pour sa Majesté!' But all to no purpose; the road, blocked up by broken waggons, dense crowds of horse and foot, dead and dying, soon became impassable. An effort to pass a heavily-loaded waggon entangled the coach; the axle was caught by the huge waggon; the horses plunged when they felt the restraint, and the next moment the royal carriage was hurled over on its side, and fell with a crash into the ravine at the roadside. While the officers of his staff dismounted to rescue the fallen monarch, a ribald burst of laughter rose from the crowd, and a pioneer actually gave the butt of his carbine to assist the king as, covered with mud, he scrambled up the ditch. I had but an instant to look upon his pale countenance, which even since the night before seemed to have grown many years older, ere I was myself dragged forward among the crowd.

Darkness now added its horror to the scene of riot and confusion. The incessant cries of the fugitives told that the English cavalry were upon them; the artillery came closer and closer, and the black sky was traversed by many a line of fire, as the shells poured down upon the routed army. The English guns, regardless of roads, dashed down on the terrified masses, raining balls and howitzer-shells on every side. Already the cheers of my gallant countrymen were within my hearing, and amid all the misery and danger around me my heart rose proudly at the glorious victory they had gained.

Meanwhile my escort, whose feeling towards me became more brutal as their defeat was more perceptible, urged me forward with many an oath and imprecation. Leaving the main road, we took the fields, already crowded with the infantry. At last, as the charges of the English came closer, my escort seemed to hesitate upon being any longer burdened by me, and one, after interchanging some angry words with his companion, rode off, leaving me to the care of him who passed the cord round my wrist. For a second or two this fellow seemed to waver whether he might not dispose of me more briefly, and once he half withdrew his pistol from the holster, and turned round in his saddle to regard me more steadily. A better feeling, however, gained the mastery; the hope, too, of promotion, could he bring in an officer his prisoner, had doubtless its share in his decision. He ordered me to jump up behind him, and, dashing spurs into his troop-horse, rode forward.

I have, perhaps, lingered too long in my recollections of this eventful night; it was, however, the last striking incident which preceded a long captivity. On the third day of the retreat I was joined to a band of Spanish prisoners marching towards Bayonne. Of the glorious victory which rescued the Peninsula from the dominion of the French, and drove their beaten armies beyond the Pyrenees, or of the great current of events which followed the battle of Vittoria, I do not purpose to speak. Neither will I trouble my reader with a narrative of hardship and suffering; it is enough to mention that my refusal to give my parole subjected me in all cases to every indignity. Wearied out at length, however, I accepted this only chance of rendering life endurable; and on reaching Bayonne I gave my word not to attempt my escape, and was accordingly separated from my companions in misfortune, and once more treated as a gentleman.

The refusal to accept 'parole,' I learned afterwards, was invariably construed by the French authorities of the day into a direct avowal not only to attempt escape by any means that might present themselves, but was also deemed a rejection of the hospitality of the country, which placed the recusant beyond the pale of its courtesy. No sooner had I complied with this necessity—for such it was—than I experienced the greatest kindness and politeness in every quarter. Through every village in the south, the house of the most respectable inhabitant was always opened to me; and with a delicacy it would be difficult to match elsewhere, although the events of the Spanish war were the subjects of general interest wherever we passed, not a word was spoken nor a hint dropped before the 'prisoner' which could in the slightest degree offend his nationality or hurt his susceptibility as an enemy.

I shall now beg of my reader to pass over with me a long interval of time, during which my life presented nothing of interest or incident, and accompany me to the environs of St. Omer, where, in the commencement of the year 1814 I found myself domesticated as a prisoner of war on parole. During the long period that had elapsed since the battle of Vittoria, I had but once heard from home. Matters there were pretty much as I had left them. My father had removed to a colonial appointment, whence he transmitted the rich revenues of his office to my mother, whose habitual economy enabled her to dispense hospitality at Bath, much in the same kind of way as she had formerly done at London. My lovely cousin—in the full possession of her beauty and a large fortune—had refused some half-dozen brilliant proposals, and was reported to have an unswerving attachment to some near relative—which happy individual, my mother suggested, was myself. Of the Bellews, I learned from the newspapers that Sir Simon was dead; and Miss Bellew, having recovered most of the great estates of her family through the instrumentality of a clever attorney (whom I guessed to be my friend Paul), was now the great belle and fortune of Dublin. I had frequently written home, and once or twice to the Rooneys and the Major, but never received any answer; so that at last I began to think myself forgotten by every one, and dreamed away my life in a state almost of apathy—dead to the exciting events of the campaign, which, even in the seclusion where I lived, were from time to time reported. The brilliant march of our victorious troops through the Pyrenees and the south of France, Nivelle, Orthez, and Toulouse, I read of as people read of long past events. Life to me appeared to have run out; and my thoughts turned ever backward to the bright morning of my career in Ireland—my early burst of manhood, my first and only passion.

The old royalist seigneur upon whom I was billeted could evidently make nothing of the stolid indifference with which I heard him and his antiquated spouse discuss the glorious prospect of a restoration of the Bourbons: even the hope of liberty was dying away within me. One ever-present thought had damped all ardour and all ambition—I had done nothing as a soldier; my career had ended as it begun; and, while others had risen to fame and honour, my name had won nothing of distinction and repute. Instead of anxiously looking forward to a meeting with Louisa Bellew, I dreaded the very thoughts of it. My mother's fashionable morgue and indifference I should now feel as a sarcasm on my own failure; and as to my cousin Julia, the idea alone of her raillery was insufferable. The only plan I could devise for the future was, as soon as I should recover my liberty, to exchange into some regiment in the East Indies, and never to return to England.

It was, then, with some surprise and not much sympathy that I beheld my venerable host appear one morning at breakfast with a large white cockade in the breast of his frock-coat, and a huge white lily in a wineglass before him. His elated manner and joyous looks were all so many riddles to me; while the roll of drums in the peaceful little town, the ringing of bells, and the shouts of the inhabitants were all too much even for apathy like mine.

'What is the tintamarre about?' said I pettishly, as I saw the old gentleman fidget from the table to the window and then back again, rubbing his hands, admiring his cockade, and smelling at the lily, alternatively.

'Tintamarre!' said he indignantly, 'savez-vous, monsieur? Ce n'est pas le mot, celui-là. We are restored, sir! we have regained our rightful throne! we are no longer exiles!'

'Yes!' said the old lady, bursting into the room, and throwing herself into her husband's arms, and then into mine, in a rapture of enthusiasm—'yes, brave young man! to you and your victorious companions in arms we owe the happiness of this moment. We are restored!'

'Yes! restored! restored!' echoed the old gentleman, throwing open the window, and shouting as though he would have burst a blood-vessel; while the mob without, catching up the cry, yelled it louder than ever.

'These people must be all deranged,' thought I, unable to conjecture at the moment the reasons for such extravagant joy. Meanwhile, the room became crowded with townspeople in holiday costume, all wearing the white cockade, and exchanging with one another the warmest felicitations at the happy event.

I now soon learned that the Allies were in the possession of Paris, that Napoleon had abdicated, and the immediate return of Louis xviii. was already decided upon. The trumpets of a cavalry regiment on the march were soon added to the uproar without, accompanied by cries of 'The English! The brave English!' I rushed to the door, and to my astonishment beheld above the heads of the crowd the tall caps of a British dragoon regiment towering aloft. Their band struck up as they approached; and what a sensation did my heart experience as I heard the well-remembered air of 'Garryowen' resound through the little streets of a French village!

'An Irish regiment!' said I, half aloud.

The word was caught by a bystander, who immediately communicated it to the crowd, adding, by way of explanation, 'Les Irlandois! oui, ces sont les Cossaques d'Angleterre.'

I could not help laughing at the interpretation, when suddenly my own name was called out loudly by some person from the ranks. I started at the sound, and forcing my way through the crowd I looked eagerly on every side, my heart beating with anxiety lest some deception might have misled me.

'Hinton! Jack Hinton!' cried the voice again. At the head of the regiment rode three officers, whose looks were bent steadily on me, while they seemed to enjoy my surprise and confusion. The oldest of the party, who rode between the two others, was a large swarthy-looking man, with a long drooping moustache, at that time rarely worn by officers of our army. His left arm he wore in a sling; but his right was held in a certain easy, jaunty manner I could not soon forget. A burst of laughter broke from him at length, as he called out—' Come, Jack, you must remember me!' 'What!' cried I,' O'Grady! Is it possible?' 'Even so, my boy,' said he, as throwing his reins on his wrist he grasped my hand and shook it with all his heart. 'I knew you were here, and I exerted all my interest to get quartered near you. This is my regiment—eh?—not fellows to be ashamed of, Jack? But come along with us; we mustn't part company now.'

Amid the wildest cries of rejoicing and frantic demonstrations of gratitude from the crowd, the regiment moved on to the little square of the village. Here the billets were speedily arranged; the men betook themselves to their quarters, the officers broke into small parties, and O'Grady and myself retired to the inn, where, having dined tête-à-tête, we began the interchange of our various adventures since we parted.