Chapter VII: Part 7

"The train of my vain but happy thoughts was cruelly cut short by the apparition of a woman standing before me. Her appearance declared her to be sunk to the lowest ebb of misery and degraded destitution. She was tanned by exposure to the weather; bare-headed, bare-footed,--almost without covering, and bore in her arms a poor child, almost as wan and meagre as herself. _Ah, mon Dieu!_ how keenly at this distant time can my memory recall the agony of that terrible recognition. Oh, what a moment was that! Disguised as she was, I recognised her; but a mist overspread my vision, and I felt her fall into my open arms, although I could not for some minutes discern her.

"'My father! oh, my father!' said she. But, alas! her voice was not so sweet as of old.

"'Justine, I forgive you,' was my answer. 'Come again to my bosom: the past shall be forgotten.'

"She sunk down between my knees upon the earth, and lay motionless and still. Monsieur, I will not protract this intrusive story of my griefs. She was dead! she had expired at that moment--the kindness of my forgiveness had killed her! Unrequited love, unkindness, sorrow, shame, and misery had wrought their worst upon her,--she was destroyed! De Mesmai had taken her to Italy, and there, ruthlessly abandoning her for some new victim, she was left to find her way as she best could to Besancon, to place in my charge the infant to which she had given birth on the way. The child of De Mesmai is the Maria to whom he behaved so insolently to-night. Two days afterwards the poor polluted lily of Besancon was laid in her mother's grave; and as I strewed the fresh flowers on the green turf which covered her, I knelt down upon it and solemnly swore a vow,--a vow at once terrible and impious,--to seek revenge upon her destroyer!

"I joined one of those secret bands or societies then so numerous in France, composed of men who were desperate by their characters and fortunes, and the sworn enemies of kings and of nobility. I longed for desperate vengeance, and the hour for glutting it seemed at hand. A bloody standard was soon to wave over France, and destiny had pointed out that, like your own Stuarts, the Bourbons were a doomed race. The spirit of revolution and destruction was soon to sweep over my country, blighting and blasting it like the simoom of the African desert; and, eager as I was for vengeance on De Mesmai, I hailed the approaching tumult with joy, and entered into the wildest schemes of the most savage republicans and heaven-daring atheists. So eagerly did I attend the taverns of Besancon to hear the news from Paris, that the little innocent confided by Justine to my charge was quite neglected. My garden became a wilderness; I became sullen and morose, and forgot even to hang fresh flowers, as had been my custom daily, on the grave of Justine.

"About six months after her return, the once-dreary chateau was filled with sudden life and bustle. Monsieur Maurice had returned, bringing with him a number of wild and reckless fellows like himself. These were all officers of his own regiment, except one very sad dog, worse even than the rest, Monsieur Louis Chateaufleur, captain of the _Gens d'armes Ecossois_, or first troop of the French gendarmerie. Nothing was heard of now but feasting, drinking, and desperate gambling within the chateau; hunting, hawking, shooting, frolics, and outrages of every sort committed out of it. The guests of De Mesmai were some of the wildest _roues_ about Paris--and the mess of the Duc de Choiseul's regiment had produced many of them,--and a great commotion their appearance made in Besancon and the rural district of Quinsay. All the lamps in the former were sometimes broken in a single night, and the whole city involved in darkness; while these madcaps and their servants possessed themselves of the steeples, where they rang the alarum bells backwards, and rushed through the streets, crying 'Fire! murder! robbery and invasion!' until the peaceable citizens were scared out of their seven senses.

"Nor were their brawls and outrages confined to the night alone. The wig of Monsieur le Maire was dragged off and flung in his face, when he was passing through the Rue de l'Universite. Swords were drawn in the lobbies of the theatre every night, and the gens d'armes were always beaten and insulted. Monsieur Chateaufleur, of the _gens d'armes Ecossois_, as a crowning outrage, carried off by force to the chateau a young milliner or grisette of the Rue de Paradis; and the citizens of Besancon were enraged beyond what I can describe at the insolencies of these young aristocrats, who were at once struck with terror and dismay when news arrived of the revolution which had broken out in Paris, and of the bloody tumults which had ensued there. De Mesmai armed his servants, and the inhabitants of the chateau kept close within its walls.

"The same wild spirit of uproar and anarchy that prevailed at Paris seemed also to pervade the provinces, which appeared suddenly in a state of insurrection, the people of France seeming to consider their allegiance to Louis XVI. at an end. The spirit of dissatisfaction had spread to the troops. Those in garrison at Besancon laid down their arms, and abandoned the citadel to the bourgeois; who, on becoming thus suddenly armed, assumed the _cockade de la liberte_, and wearing this republican badge, committed the most frightful outrages. No dwelling, sacred or profane, escaped sack and pillage; no age, or rank, or sex did we spare, executing indiscriminately, by the musquet and sabre, all who opposed us. Burning for vengeance against the family of De Mesmai, I had associated myself with and become a leader among the republicans. We ruined the city of Besancon, giving its public buildings, its schools, and university to the flames. Alas, monsieur! deeply at this hour do I repent me of the part I bore in these desperate outrages. We compelled the proud nobles to acknowledge that they had lost their privileges, and we burned to the ground their office of records in the city. We sacked and utterly levelled the rich abbey of the Citeaux,--that place made so famous by the animadversions of Voltaire. The young and beautiful Princess de Baufremont, and the Baroness d'Andelion, who dwelt there, owed their escape from our fury to the interposition of Heaven and the chivalric gallantry of Louis Chateaufleur, who with two of the _Gens d'armes Ecossois_ cut his way through us, sword in hand, and carried the noble demoiselles off on horseback. Flushed with success, excitement, ferocity, and the wines found in the vaults of the rich old abbey, we became absolutely frantic, and some, imbruing their hands in each other's blood, slew their comrades; while others daubed themselves with gore or black paint, to make themselves more hideous. Eager for more plunder and devastation, we cried out to, or rather commanded, our leader, the ungrateful Pierre Raoul, to lead us against the stately old chateau of Quinsay, that its aristocratic guests might be given up to our vengeance. With the dawn De Mesmai was roused from his bed by the beating of drums, the braying of horns, discharge of fire-arms, the yells, the howls, the shrieks of the frenzied rabble, mingled with shouts of '_Vive la nation! Vive la liberte_! Perish the name of God and the king! Freedom to France! Long live Monsieur Belzebub!' and a hundred other mad and impious cries. The gay lord of Quinsay, and his comrades of Choiseul's horse, beheld, to their no small terror, the gardens, the orchards and parks in possession of a desperate mob, armed with bayonets, musquets, pikes, scythes, and every weapon they could lay their hands on--iron rails and fences where nothing else could be procured. All were full of wine and frenzy: many were only half dressed, blackened with smoke and dust, and besmeared with blood, presenting a frightful troop of hideous faces, distorted by the worst and wildest of human passions.

"You may imagine the surprise of Pierre Raoul and his worthies, when, at the gate of the chateau, we were met by Monsieur Maurice and his gay companions, bowing and smiling, gracefully waving their hats, while they greeted us with cries of 'Long live the nation! Long live the sovereign people! _Vive le diable!_' We were astonished, and greeted them with the most tremendous yells, while a hundred black and dirty hands wrung theirs in burlesque friendship. The whole band were formally invited to a repast, served up in the hall of the chateau, from which De Mesmai had hurriedly torn down all the banners and armorial bearings of his house, substituting in their place an immense tri-coloured cockade, that was fastened to the back of the chair of state, in which the insolent Pierre Raoul installed his ungainly figure. Many now strode about, daring and unrestrained intruders into the very hall where they had often stood as humble dependants, trembling and abashed in the presence of De Mesmai, who had been, in the neighbourhood of Besancon, a much greater man than Louis XVI. was at Paris or Versailles. At the hastily prepared feast with which he entertained us, we ate and drank of every thing, gorging ourselves like savages as we were. The richest and most expensive wines in the cellars of the chateau were flowing at our orders like water. Pipes and puncheons were brought up by dozens and madly staved, until the floor swam with crimson, purple, and yellow liquor, to the imminent danger of those who lay upon it in a state of exhaustion or intoxication. 'Wine! wine!' was the cry, and the contents of well-sealed flasks of Lachrymae Christi and Coteroti were poured down our plebeian throats like the commonest beverage. We ordered all sorts of things, beating and insulting the unoffending servants of the chateau until they fled from us; and the noise and uproar in the hall, crowded as it was to suffocation with armed and intoxicated madmen, became stunning and appalling.

"A hundred times I had resolved, by a single thrust of my pike, to sacrifice De Mesmai to the shade of Justine; but the hourly massacres I saw committed by my barbarous comrades had glutted my longings for vengeance, and when I remembered that De Mesmai was the father of Justine's little girl, my fierce resolution relented. As often as I raised my hand to stab him to the heart, my soul died within me,--and he escaped. Very great however was our surprise at the condescension of this once proud noble, and the gay chevaliers his companions; and while doing the honours of the table, we subjected them to a thousand mortifications and gross insults. We tore the lace and facings from their uniform; transferred their epaulets from their shoulders to those of Pierre Raoul and our leaders; tossed wine in their faces, and fully tried their patience to the utmost limits of mortal endurance; but dire and unheard-of was the vengeance they were meditating!

"While we were thus rioting in the ancient hall, chosen servants of De Mesmai were placing barrels of gunpowder in the vaults immediately beneath it. When all was prepared, our host withdrew, and one by one his guests followed him, and left the chateau unperceived.

"The train was fired,[*] and the mine sprung. Never shall I forget the expression I read in the faces of the republicans at that moment,--the last of their existence!

[*] For an account of this affair, see any French paper or Journal for July 1789.

"We heard beneath our feet an appalling roar--a noise as if the globe was splitting asunder. All looked aghast, and I cried aloud on that God to help me, whose existence I had denied a moment before; but the unfortunate wretches around me had scarcely time either for prayer or blasphemy. The pavement heaved beneath their feet; the massive walls trembled and sunk inwards; the stone-arched roof descended thundering on their devoted heads,--all was darkness, chaos, and indescribable horror! Of a thousand men who crowded the place, not one escaped save myself: all were buried in the ruins,--the masonry of a whole wing of the chateau covered them. Yes, monsieur, I alone escaped that terrible explosion. By Heaven's grace, rather than my own deserts, I happened at the instant to be standing in the recess of an oriel window and was blown into the garden, where, when my senses returned, I found myself lying safe and whole on my favourite tulip-bed.

"De Mesmai and his friends had fled to some place at a distance, where they took shipping for Britain. Messieurs the bourgeois were exasperated to madness at the explosion of Quinsay. They rose _en masse_ in arms, and the noble old chateau was razed almost to the foundation, and all the castles in the neighbourhood of Besancon shared the same fate. The populace were even under less restraint than before, and committed excesses, inconceivable to those who beheld them not, under the banner and sacred name of _liberty_. The National Assembly offered a reward for De Mesmai's head; but he was safe in London, and the British government refused to give him up. Afterwards, when Louis was no more, and the silver lilies of old France were trodden as it were to the earth, De Mesmai made his peace with his countrymen by some means, and fought as a private soldier in the battles of the Republic. He distinguished himself, and has now, in this noon-day of French heroism, risen to the rank of a captain of cavalry under the Corsican usurper,--this self-made emperor, who usurps the crown and sceptre of a better race,--a race now exiled, and finding a refuge in the capital of Scotland. Napoleon has restored to De Mesmai his estate of Quinsay, and as he is a favourite both with the court and army, he may yet become a marshal of the Empire.

"Of myself, I have little more to say, monsieur. Taking with me my grand-daughter, the little Maria, I abandoned Besancon, the scene of such tumult and disorder, and wandered I know not why, or how, across the Pyrenees into Spain, where, as I had received a good education in my youth, I was admitted as a brother into the order of _los Capuchinos_, at Truxillo, and soon afterwards received the situation of curate here,--at this peaceful little hamlet, Villa Macia, where, for fifteen years past, I have dwelt in retirement and happiness. Although the memory of my wife and unfortunate daughter is not effaced, time has, in a great measure, softened the pangs I feel when thoughts of them occur to my mind.

"I now consider myself a happy and contented old man. My parishioners, my books, and the fair young girl my grand-child, have been the companions of my increasing years. But I am soon to be deprived of my merry and volatile Maria. A very noble cavalier of Truxillo, Don Gonzago de Conquesta, has not disdained to sue for and obtain the promise of her hand. They will soon be wedded, and I am to perform the happy ceremony.

"This is all my tale, monsieur, in elucidation of the singular scene you saw acted here this evening. I trust I have not wearied you in this sketch of my life: although a humble one, it has been full of sorrows. I never thought again to have recalled them so fully to my mind; but the unexpected appearance of their author under my roof, has rolled back the tide of years to the hour in which we first met,--I knew the fine and noble features of his race the moment he laid aside his helmet. But I will not detain you longer from rest, monsieur. Take another cup of this simple wine, and permit me to bid you, as we say here in Spain, _Buenos noches_,--Good night."

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*AN ARREST.*

"Guerre et pitie ne s'accordent pas ensemble."
_French Military Proverb._

The next morning by day-break Ronald and his prisoner quitted Villa Macia.

The young Scot was disgusted with the levity and carelessness with which, at their departure, De Mesmai treated the tears and sorrow of his daughter, and the pious admonitions of the reverend _cura_.

"Body o' the Pope!" said he, as they cantered under the shade of the cork trees which lined the road, "what a rare blockhead has become monsieur my old gardener, now curate of Villa Macia. How D'Erlon and his aiguletted staff would laugh, if they knew I had become quite a family man! I am always apprehensive that some of my wild pranks will come unluckily to light, as this affair of poor Justine Rosat's has done; but I am too old a soldier to be put to the blush. Blush! I have no blood to spare,--the bleeding of twenty years' campaigning has cured me of that. How the poor girl wept! What the deuce! surely she did not expect me to take her with me? Captain Maurice de Mesmai, of Monsieur le Compte d'Erlon's staff, with a family! _Corboeuf!_ the idea is most excellent! 'Tis well Victor d'Estouville and our first major, Louis Chateaufleur, know nothing of this; otherwise they would quiz me out of the service. However, I commend my daughter to the long visaged and noble cavalier Don--Don,--what the devil is his name?--Gonzago de Conquesta; and vow, if he makes not a good husband, affectionate father, and displays not all the good qualities you will find graven on every great man's tomb-stone, I will crop his ears,--I will, by the name of the bomb! Ho, ho! now when I remember it, what a long roll-call Monsieur le Cure made of my early scrapes, last night. I listened to him through a chink in the partition. _Tete-dieu!_ how impertinent the old dog was. I own to you I was on the point of cutting short his exceedingly rude harangue a dozen times."

De Mesmai kept talking thus for an hour at a time, without heeding the interruptions of Ronald, who did not hesitate to acquaint him freely with the opinion he entertained of his feelings and sentiments, at which the other only laughed in his usual loud and boisterous manner.

At San Pedro they were received into the house of the alcalde, who showed them every attention and civility. But there an unlucky brawl ensued. De Mesmai, probably to spend the time, paid such close attention to the _patrona_, a plump, rosy, and good-natured-like matron, that the worthy alcalde, her lord and master, started up from the supper-table in a sudden fit of jealousy and rage, and would have stabbed the cuirassier with a poniard, which he suddenly unsheathed from his boot,--a place of concealment often used for such a weapon in Spain. Ronald's timely interference quelled this dangerous brawl, and mollified the fierce merchant,--for the alcalde was a retailer of Cordovan leather; and Stuart was very glad when he had his troublesome companion once more out on the highway, where his pride and petulance had less opportunities of rousing the ire of the fiery Spaniards.

Near Medellin, a town twenty miles east of Merida, their horses suddenly became dead lame; and Ronald, who was chafed to fury at the delay caused by this accident, lost much more time, as he could not abandon the major's horse, and it could proceed but slowly. Next day, the ninth of his absence, he beheld before him the massive amphitheatre, the gothic spires and well-known bridge of the old Roman city, which was associated with so many sad and tender reminiscences of Catalina, a thousand recollections of whom came crowding into his mind, plunging him into melancholy, from which De Mesmai vainly endeavoured to rouse him by an animated description of the follies and the gaiety of Paris, and biographical sketches of the reigning beauties, with all of whom he was, by his own account, a decided favourite.

It was dark when they reached the bridge, on the centre of which, where the blown-up arch was crossed by wooden planks, they saw two Highland sentinels pacing at their post, the flutter of their plaids and waving folds of their kilts giving to them the appearance of a couple of those ancient Romans who had often kept watch and ward upon the same spot. On hearing the sound of the approaching hoofs they came to their front, and one challenged, in the familiar voice of Evan Iverach, "Stand! Who goes there?'

"_Ronald an deigh nam fiann_," (the last of his race,) answered Stuart in Gaelic, almost laughing.

The two astonished Highlanders set up a loud skraigh, which startled the very leaves of the olives on the other side of the Guadiana, and ringing under the arches of the bridge, died away in the winding rocks of the river.

"Who is the officer on guard here?" asked Ronald, after Evan's extravagant joy at his sudden appearance had somewhat subsided.

"Mr. Macdonald, sir."

"Which? We have six or seven."

"Lieutenant Ronald Macdonuil, sir. The guard-house is close by the first barricade ye'll find cast across the croon o' the causeway, just inside the yetts o' the toon."

Promising to satisfy to-morrow the eager and affectionate inquiries of Evan, who hung on at his plaid very unceremoniously, Stuart, with his prisoner, crossed the bridge; and entering the city gate, found Macdonuil's guard under arms, having been startled by the holloa of the two sentinels.

"Where are the colonel's quarters?" asked Ronald of the officer on duty, when congratulations had ceased.

"Next door to the town-house; you will easily know it,--a large building with a portico. But I would advise you to defer reporting your arrival until to-morrow."

"Why so, Macdonuil? The sooner, so much the better, surely."

"But Cameron is sure, from the direction in which Campbell said you left Almarez, that you were not in the hands of the enemy; and he is strangely enraged at your singular absence."

"Singular? How! have I not explained to you--"

"Oh, perfectly: I am quite satisfied. But, my dear Stuart, Cameron is such a fiery sort of fellow, that he will not be so easily pleased, notwithstanding your having captured this French officer. You must prepare yourself for something disagreeable, as he is determined to put you under arrest; and it will not put him in a better humour to report your return just now, almost at midnight."

"You are right, Macdonuil. But what shall I do for a billet? Twelve o'clock,--there is the bell-clock of the corporation-house striking."

"We have established a temporary mess-room, and you had better go to it; our fellows are all there still, I have little doubt,--they are never in a hurry to break up. You know the Calle de Guadiana--"

"Lying between the river and the Plaza?"

"Yes. Pass down there, wheel to your left, and you will come to the chapter-house of the San Juan convent, where our temporary mess-house is established."

"But I shall probably find Fassifern there: and if any thing disagreeable--"

"There is no danger. I saw him at sun-set return to his billet in the Calle de Santa Clara, accompanied by his faithful esquire and orderly, Dugald Mhor; so he is without doubt housed for the night."

Ronald followed Macdonuil's directions, accompanied by De Mesmai, who had been so often in Merida that he knew the streets as well as an inhabitant could have known them. On reaching the foot of the street of the Guadiana, the lights shining through the tall traceried windows of the chapter-house, together with the unseemly sounds of midnight roistering and merriment which issued from it, informed them that this was the place they sought.

"Here we dismount," said Stuart; and alighting, they tied their bridles to the necks of two stone saints, whose weather-beaten heads had for six hundred years sustained the weight of a canopy over the gothic doorway. Before entering, Ronald gave a glance through a window, between the thick stone mullions of which he took a survey of the company. The gloomy old chapter-house was but indifferently lighted by a dozen yellow old commissariat candles stuck on the heads and hands of corbelled saints and angels, shedding a dull and uncertain light on the table, which was composed of a few rough boards nailed together. Around this rude contrivance sat about thirty officers in the Highland uniform, occupying the high-backed oaken chairs which erst were used by the holy fathers of San Juan, when assembled in solemn conclave. Ronald saw that nearly all his brother-officers were present, as few were on guard, and there was not one married man among them.

The general equipage of the table was different from that of a home-service mess, and contrasted strongly with the rich uniforms of the carousers, who were drinking Spanish wine from horns, tin canteens, glasses, and all sorts of vessels fit for the purpose that could be procured.

"_Corboeuf!_" exclaimed De Mesmai, "what a jovial song,--more merry than musical, though. I have a dozen minds to strike up the Marseillois hymn."

"Stay,--hearken a moment."

They were singing a well-known Scottish song,[*] and one which had become so popular at the mess, that it always followed the standing toast of "Here's to the Highlandmen, shoulder to shoulder!" and was chorused in a most methodical manner. By the noisy accompaniments of glasses clanked upon the table, and heels upon the floor, it was evident the company were pretty mellow. Some of the windows being open for the admittance of cool air, the bold chorus, chanted by thirty voices, rolled out into the still night air, and echoed among the deserted streets:

[*] "Donald Macdonald:" a song composed in 1803 by the Ettrick Shepherd, to the tune of "Wooed, and married, and a'."

"Sword, and buckler, and a',
Buckler, and sword, and a';
For George we'll encounter the devil,
Wi' sword, and buckler, and a'."

Now Campbell's loud sonorous voice, chanting alone, awoke the echoes of the place:

"The Gordon is gude in a hurry;
And Campbell is steel to the bane;
And Grant, and Mackenzie, and Murray,
And Cameron, will hurkle to nane.

The Stuart is sturdy and wannel,
And sae is Macleod and Mackay;
And I, their gude brither, Macdonald,
Sall never be last in the fray."

"Chorus again, gentlemen,"--(and the thirty struck in):

"Brogues, and brochan, and a',
Brochan, and brogues, and a';
And up wi' the bonnie blue bonnet,
The kilt, the feather, and a'."

As the chorus died away in the aisles and cloisters of the adjacent church, the door was thrown open, and Ronald, leading his French friend, entered. All eyes were turned instantly towards them.

"Stuart! Stuart! Ronald Stuart!" cried twenty voices: but the light glittering on De Mesmai's helmet and breast-plate startled some so much, that their first impulse was to seize their weapons, and many a dirk and claymore were grasped in the expectation of seeing the room filled with Frenchmen. Those members of the company who were sober enough, rose from the table to welcome their newly found friend; but Louis Lisle, taking his sword and bonnet from a stone saint who had them in keeping, abruptly withdrew.

"Introduce me, Monsieur Stuart," said the cuirassier, with a proud smile, "or by the bomb! we will have each other by the throat. Do your comrades thus welcome strangers, by baring sword and dagger?"

Ronald could scarcely get a word spoken as his brother-officers crowded round him, and a truly Scottish shaking of hands ensued; while a hundred questions were asked him by the sober in English,--by the less so in their more natural Gaelic, about his absence, and returning thus accompanied. It was impossible at that time to relate any particulars, so he determined on deferring all explanations until another time. Though angry at the conduct of Lisle, he was nevertheless much gratified by the friendly reception he met with from the other officers; but as he had no heart to partake in their carousal, he withdrew soon after (to the disappointment of all) with Alister Macdonald to his billet, until another could be procured from an alcalde. De Mesmai remained at the table, and soon established himself as the lion of the company, and although he spoke always in Spanish, or very imperfect English, he became a general favourite, and kept the mess in roars of laughter. Military topics were studiously avoided, but he talked in his usual style incessantly about duels and girls, brawls and debauches, strange adventures and French military frolics, until the morning drums beating reveille through the streets, warned the jovial party to separate; but I believe more than half of them took their repose on the pavement of the chapter-house, which had never before been the scene of such carousing.

Next morning Stuart completed his toilet hurriedly, with the intention of waiting on the colonel.

"Prepare yourself for something disagreeable, Ronald," said Macdonald, who was leaning over a window which looked out on the principal street leading from the Plaza to the river. "Claude A----, the adjutant, is coming here under the piazzas. He wears his sash and gorget, and I have no doubt Cameron has sent him to pay you a visit."

"I expected such; yet _the chief_ is somewhat hurried."

"Take care how you style him so: I was nearly put under arrest for it at San Pedro. Come in!" cried Alister, as a smart knock was heard at the room-door.

"Sorry to spoil your breakfast, Stuart, by this early visit," said the adjutant, entering; "but Cameron has sent me for your sword, and desires me to say that you must consider yourself under arrest, until you can state satisfactorily in writing your reasons for absenting yourself for these nine days past without leave. He is in a towering passion; all the blood of Lochiel seems to be bubbling up in him, because you did not report yourself last night. I never before saw his eyes glare as they do this morning."

"Pshaw! Claude, you--"

"A fact, upon my honour. But do not be alarmed; he is too well pleased with your conduct at Almarez to carry this affair to extremities. I believe, but for that night's work, he would bring you to a court-martial instanter."

"The deuce he would! Do you think so, A----?"

"Of course. You know Cameron; there is not a stricter fellow in the service,--a regular martinet. But you had better take your pen, and endeavour to satisfy him by a sheet of foolscap. 'Tis well you left us so soon last night, as you will require a clear head this morning. Mine aches as if it would fall in pieces; but I mean to call at the wine-house, (you know the saying,) 'to take a hair of the dog that bit me.'"

"A very strange fellow, the French cuirassier, Claude?" observed Macdonald.

"A hare-brained spark as ever I met with. He has played sad mischief with all ours. We shall not have one officer to each company on parade this morning. A dozen, I believe, are lying under the table with himself. Campbell, old Macdonald, and our most seasoned topers were put to their mettle by him. But give me your sword, Stuart; the colonel is waiting for it, but I trust will not keep it long. You must endeavour to make your peace with him as soon as possible, and not be under any fear of being put in Coventry by our mess: we know you too well to do that."

Ronald felt considerable chagrin as he beheld Claude A----, the adjutant, carry off his weapon and found himself under arrest, and in imminent danger of being arraigned before a general court-martial. He composed himself to indite, for the colonel's perusal, an account of his absence, which he found a very delicate and difficult matter, as he was unwilling that the mess should get hold of poor Catalina's name to make it a subject of ridicule, and quiz him about it, which he feared would be done unmercifully, if he took not some stern means to stop them.

Nearly a quire of paper was expended before he could get a despatch worded to his own and Macdonald's satisfaction,--one giving as brief and concise an account as possible of his adventures, and declaring that the reason of his sudden departure from Almarez was to free the sister of Don Alvaro, of Villa Franca, from Cifuentes the well-known bandit, who had accompanied the first brigade disguised as a priest. Evan was despatched with the letter to the colonel's quarters, while Stuart and Macdonald, accompanied by De Mesmai, went to visit D'Estouville,--the unfortunate commandant of fort Napoleon, who was dying of the wound he had received from the officer of the 71st.

An old chapel, situated near the baths of Diana, had been appropriated as an hospital for those wounded at the forts of Almarez. The design of some gothic architect when the art was in its infancy, it was a low dark building, with short clumsy columns, gloomy arches, enormously thick walls, and dismal little windows, between the thick mullions of which the grey day-light seemed to struggle to be seen. On the worn flight of steps ascending to the great door-way, lay a few dozen legs, arms, hands, and feet, which had been amputated and were lying there until the hospital orderlies were at leisure to inter them. During the last war, the reckless manner in which medical officers hewed off wounded limbs, without attempting to reduce a fracture, has been often reprehended. What a scene of multiplied human misery the interior of the chapel presented! The wounded soldiers, British and French, to the number of some hundreds, lay in ranks on the damp pavement, over which a little straw was thrown, as no bedding could be given them. Deep and hollow groans of acute agony and suffering sounded from many parts of the building, and the continual rustling of the straw announced the impatient restlessness of sickness and pain. Here lay the gallant and high-spirited conscript, brooding gloomily, and almost weeping, over those visions of glory, which the amputation of a leg had suddenly cut short; and there the stern grenadier of the Imperial guard lay coolly surveying his own blood as it trickled through the straw, and filled the carved letters of epitaphs on the pavement stones. Near him lay his conqueror, the British soldier, shorn of a limb, dejected and miserable, having nothing before him now but a "passport to beg," and the poor apology for a pension which grateful Britain bestows on her defenders, with the happy resource of starving in a parish workhouse. All were pale as death, and all disfigured by blood and bandages,--grisly, ghastly, unwashed, and unshaven. Often as they passed up the aisle, Stuart and Macdonald held the tin canteen to the parched lips of some wounded man, who drank greedily of the hot stale water it contained, and prayed them piteously to adjust his bandages, or by doing some little office to alleviate his pain. Some were dying, and lay convulsed among their straw, with the death-rattle sounding in their throat--expiring, unheeded and uncared for, without a friend to behold them or a hand to close their eyes; and as soon as they were cold, they were seized by the hospital orderlies,[*] and carried off for interment.

[*] Well-conducted soldiers, excused from duty to attend the sick.

A wretched combination of misery, pain, and sorrow the interior of that little chapel presented, and it made a deeper impression on Stuart and Alister than on De Mesmai, who was an older soldier, and had beheld, in twenty years' campaigning, too much bloodshed and agony to recoil at the sight of it there; but he loudly expressed his pleasure at beholding the attention paid to his countrymen. He saw that no distinction was made; the wounded of both nations received the same attendance from the medical officers and their orderlies; and more than one grenadier of _the Guard_ allowed his dark features to relax into a grim smile, as his red-coated attendants held up his head, to pour down his throat some dose of disagreeable stuff.

"Ha! Stewart," said Ronald, catching his namesake the assistant-surgeon by the belt as he was rushing past, with a saw in one hand and a long knife gleaming in the other.

"Don't detain me, pray. I have just clapped the tourniquet on that poor devil in the corner. I have to take his arm out of the socket, at the shoulder, too--a fearful operation: you'll hear his shrieks immediately. Sorry to hear you are under arrest. You will get through it though, doubtless,--being a favourite."

"Where is D'Estouville, the French major; and how is he?'

"Near his last gasp, poor man. You need not go to him now, as he is dying; and troubling him will not lengthen his life a second. I could do nothing more for him, and so have resigned him to his fate. I must attend to our own people, whose lives are of more consequence,--every man being worth exactly twenty pounds to government, as you will see in--I forget what page of the 'Mutiny Act.'"

"How can you jest in such a horrid den as this? You surgeons are strangely cool fellows, certainly. But D'Estouville--"

"Is lying yonder at the foot of that marble monument. Do not trouble him now; he will be dead in five minutes. Excuse me: I have to amputate a leg to prevent mortification, and its owner is growling and swearing at my delay."

Under a gothic canopy lay the marble effigy of a warrior of the days that are gone. It was the tomb of one of the Villa Franca family. He was represented in armour, and lying at full length, with his hands crossed on his bosom. The canopied recess had been made a receptacle for the caps and knapsacks of dead men, which were without ceremony piled above the figure of the Spanish cavalier. A tattered pennon, a rusty casque, and a time-worn sword, hung over the niche, where a marble tablet announced it to be the tomb of the noble knight Don Rodrigo de Villa Franca:--"_Muerto en una batalia con los Moros, a diez de Noviembre, del ano de mil y viente y siete._"[*]

[*] "Slain by the Moors in battle, the 10th November of the year 1027."

In front of this ancient tomb lay D'Estouville. Alas! how much ten days of pain and suffering had changed the gallant young Frenchman! He was stretched on a pile of bloody straw, stripped to his shirt and regimental trowsers. A large bandage, clotted and gory, encircled his head, and his once very handsome features were sadly changed; they were sunken and hollow, pale and emaciated to the last degree. He lay motionless, with his eyes closed; but his lips were parted, and he respired through his clenched teeth with difficulty. His head rested on a knapsack, placed under it by an honest Irishman of the 50th, who lay on his left smoking a short black pipe, while he surveyed, with a composed but rueful look, the stump of his right arm. On the other side lay a Gordon Highlander, quivering in the agonies of death: a shot had lodged in his breast, and he too had been given up as incurable by the medical officers. The agony he endured had brought on a delirium; he was chanting, in low and muttering tones, a sad and plaintive Gaelic dirge,--probably the death-song of his race; and as his voice sunk and died away, the bold spirit of the Son of the Mist seemed to pass with it.

"_Morbleu!_ poor Victor!" said De Mesmai. "Ah! messieurs,--surely he is not dead?"

At the sound of the French exclamation D'Estouville opened his eyes, and attempted in vain to raise his head; but a faint smile of recognition passed over his pale features as he beheld Ronald Stuart, and gazed on the well-known uniform of De Mesmai. "Poor fellow!" continued the latter, while a tear glistened in his eye, as he knelt down and took the hand of Victor; "he is evidently far gone. Many a merry bout we have had together at old Marcel's, and many a midnight frolic with the girls and gens d'armes in the Rue de la Conference; but these times have all passed now, and can never be again. Speak to me, my friend! How is your wound?"

"_Les malheurs de la guerre! Ah, De Mesmai, mon ami, les malheurs de la guerre!_" muttered the wounded man, and sunk backward on his miserable bed; then pointing to his head he added, "_A mon camarade--blessure--ou--ou--plaie mortelle!_"

"They have brought me here too, Victor, those cursed misfortunes of war; but my case is not so bad as yours. The helmet is a better defence than the grenadier cap against the straight-cutting blades of these fiery Scots. Cheer up, D'Estouville; while there is life, hope remains. You may yet lead the old Guard in the charge! the Eagles of the empire may yet flap their wings over you."

"Never," whispered Macdonald; "his race of existence is over. Why, then, inspire him with false hopes of living longer?'

"He is one of those fellows that are very hard to kill. I know Victor," whispered the other in reply; then continued as before, "The Emperor has marked you for his own,--the whole service say so, D'Estouville, and suppose that your promotion will be as rapid as ever was Soult's, Macdonald's, Bernadotte's, or any other marshal's of the empire. Remember these things, _mon ami_, and never think of death!"

"Death's cold hand is upon me. Ah! Maurice, how can I expect to conquer?"

"_Morbleu!_ by determining to live, and to earn honour and fame in spite of him. Courage, my friend."

"No, no, De Mesmai!" replied D'Estouville, with that sudden life and energy which often animates the dying when the moment of dissolution draws near, while his pale cheek flushed, and a light sparkled in his sunken eye. "Honour and glory--these are the dreams of every Frenchman, and they once were mine, my constant thoughts, never for a moment absent from my mind. The very visions of my sleep were full of the gloss and glitter of military parade: martial honour was the idol of my heart. As a gallant young conscript when I left my native home at Lillebonne, as the hardened grenadier, as the dashing subaltern of the Guard, as a wretched prisoner pining in Scotland, and again as a free and daring soldier,--these high hopes, this proud ambition, never left me for an instant,--buoying and bearing me up under all the toils of war and misfortune, until I found myself stretched on the pavement of this chapel, a dying captive! Honour has faded away from me, and the proud sentiments which caused my heart to swell, to bound with rapture at the sharp roll of the drum, now animate me no more. Never again will drum or bugle sound for me!"

"You speak very sorrowfully, in truth," replied De Mesmai; "but some droning monk has been putting these notions in your head. Take care you do not exhaust yourself, _mon ami_."

"Ah, Maurice! a thousand times I wish I had fallen sword in hand at Almarez, rather than lingered here, enduring for these past ten days the extremes of mental and bodily agony. Yet had I only received a moment's warning, I question much if that officer of the Scottish chasseurs could have cut me down so easily."

"No. In truth you were an excellent swordsman, Victor,--sharp of eye, and sure of hand."

"I trust, Maurice, you will not be long a prisoner. 'Twas a sad blank in my life, my captivity. Faith! _mon camarade_, I almost shiver at remembrance of the castle of Edinburgh. You will remember me to Louis Chateaufleur and the rest of your regiment; and do so particularly to my own, should you ever fall in with them on service." He spoke now with more difficulty, and at longer intervals. "Glory to France, and long life to the great Emperor! I trust he will think Major D'Estouville has done his duty. Almarez I defended to the last; and, Maurice, had you not cut the pontoon, we might have effected our retreat. The emperor would have saved four hundred soldiers of his noble old Guard."

"And your life, Victor."

"A mere bagatelle! I lay it down in his service."

"_Vive l'Empereur!_" cried some of his soldiers, who lay within hearing on their pallets of straw. The shout was taken up by many, and echoed through distant parts of the chapel. D'Estouville's eye flashed brightly; he waved his hand as he would have brandished his sword, and, exhausted with speaking, and the emotions which the gallant battle-cry aroused within him, he again sank backwards, and by the spasms which crossed his pallid features, they saw too surely that the moment of death was nigh. Again rousing himself from his lethargy, he beckoned to Ronald, who knelt down beside him.

"I would speak to you of Diane de Montmichel," he whispered, in tremulous and broken accents. "Her husband, Monsieur le Baron--de Clappourknuis--the letter I gave you at Truxillo; ah! _mon ami_, do you not understand me?"

"Indeed I do not, D'Estouville."

"The hand of the grim king of terrors is upon me; the sands of life are ebbing fast, and my voice will fail me soon. Monsieur le Baron--"

"Is released from the castle of Albuquerque, and has passed over to the French lines. Think not of these, D'Estouville."

"I--I would give you a message to Diane."

"Alas! how can I ever deliver it?"

"Find means, _croix Dieu!_" muttered he piteously. "Kneel closer to me. I depend on your honour, Monsieur Stuart. Diane--Diane--"

"What of her? Say--say, ere it be too late!"

But there was no reply. What the Frenchman would have said, expired on his lips, and he fell back speechless on the hard knapsack which formed his pillow.

He never spoke again; but in a few minutes died, and without a struggle.

*CHAPTER XIV.*

*DE MESMAI.*

"Ah, me! how mournful, wan, and slow,
With arms reversed, the soldiers come;
Dirge-sounding trumpets full of woe,
And, sad to hear, the muffled drum!"
_John Mayne._

The death-bed scene of poor D'Estouville, although it made on the witnesses of it a deep impression for the time, was easily passed over when the feelings are blunted and deadened by the continual excitement of campaigning. They had scarcely left the chapel or hospital, before the shade of sorrow which their faces had worn disappeared. Macdonald went away on some duty; Stuart's thoughts reverted to his arrest, and the disagreeable predicament in which he was placed; while De Mesmai began to talk in his usual light and careless style. He placed his scarlet forage-cap very much on one side, tightened his sash, arranging the tassels gracefully, and stuck his glass in his eye to ogle and scrutinize the females who passed.

"Poor Victor!" said he; "a merrier comrade or more gallant soldier than he was, there is not in the imperial service. Many a glorious evening we have had in Paris, flirting with the _jolies grisettes_ of the Rue des Trois Maries,--fighting with the gendarmerie, and amusing ourselves by frolicking with messieurs the good-natured bourgeois,--some dozen of whom we have ducked in the Seine. These days are all passed away, and poor Victor is gone to his long home. War leads to death or glory, and his fate to-day maybe ours to-morrow; so, then, what is the utility of being cast down? _Vive la joie!_ let us live and be merry while we can. Praised be our stars! here is a wine-house, where we can spend the evening in a jovial style, and scare away from our hearts the gloom cast upon them by the death of D'Estouville. _Diable! mon ami_; for what do you stare so at that old ruinous mansion?"

"'Tis the house of the Villa Franca family. I received great kindness from them, when I came to Merida for the first time."

"A picturesque ruin it makes, with its shattered capitals and empty windows. D'Estouville's grenadiers did all that. I have heard that he carried off a very pretty creature from this place, at least so Chateaufleur of ours told me. He had her at Almarez; but, like a cunning dog, kept her closely out of my sight, lest I might have procured her transfer to the tower of Ragusa, when I was left in temporary command. But we had plenty of girls there, by the Pope! We captured a score of plump young _paisanas_; but their skins were devilish brown, and their hands were all chapped with milking goats and cows. Here is the wine-house,--but, _morbleu!_ I have not one infernal sous to clink upon another!"

"I have, _mon camarade_," said Stuart, producing a purse containing forty duros, which he had borrowed from Major Campbell, to procure favour with whom he was obliged to endure two long stories about Egypt.

"_Sacre!_ forty duros? A lucky dog and a most gorgeous display,--'pon honour--really. Enter then, and we will drink a long glassful to the continuance of the war."

From the wine-house they adjourned to the Prado, where they strolled about under the shade of the rich orange-trees, or lounged on the wooden sofas. De Mesmai smoked a cigar, and kept up, to use a camp phrase, a running fire of words, and laughed heartily at his own jokes; while Ronald listened in silence, and surveyed with feelings of mortification the regiment on its evening parade, from which for the present he was excluded.

"Fine fellows, these bare-kneed Celts of yours, Monsieur Stuart," said De Mesmai, as he knocked the ashes from his cigar. "A goodly row of most captivating brown legs they have. How pretty the waving tartan seemed, as the corps wheeled from open column into line. They call forth the admiration of the ladies too,--the delightful creatures! Really, 'pon honour, I think they peep more at the Scottish plaids and plumes, than at this smart uniform and bright steel bourgoinette of mine. A gallant chevalier your colonel is. He gives his orders with that firm tone of authority which marks the true, the bold-hearted soldier, and one born to command. A _soldado_ of most goodly proportions is that long-legged field-officer, who last night bored me to death about Egypt, and his campaigns there. Body o' the Pope! look at that girl."

"Which?"

"With the black veil hung over the high comb. What a roguish black eye and most excessively attractive pair of ankles she has! I will speak to her. Ho! _ma princesse_--"

"Beware what you do, De Mesmai," interrupted Ronald hastily. "She is a lady, and one of rank evidently, by the lace embroidery on her stomacher and mantilla. Some officers of the 39th are with her, too."

"_Diable!_ so I now perceive; and one of your savage Scots chasseurs, I think."

"Savage!" repeated Stuart, dubious whether to laugh or frown. "He is an officer of the Highland Light Infantry,--that corps with the tartan trews, and bonnets without feathers. By Jove! 'tis Armstrong; the same officer who cut down poor D'Estouville at Almarez. He is flirting with this young lady, and recks no more of the deadly stroke he gave, than if he had killed a muircock. Let us move on. The Highlanders will march past this way, and I little like to be sitting here like an out-cast from them,--and without my sword too, by heavens!"

"A prisoner of war,--_diable! Me voila a votre service_. I will go with you wherever you please. But there are more girls congregated here, to see the troops on evening parade, than in any other part of this ruinous old city of Merida. In France they love, like the butterflies, to be in the sun; but here they promenade under the cold shades of the trees, or sail about beneath their gloomy damp piazzas. By the way, it has a most singularly picturesque effect, a tall graceful figure with a fluttering veil and floating mantilla gliding under these old arches; quite mysterious, in fact. Look, for instance, at that lovely creature with the auburn tresses. _Tete-dieu!_ how I long to wheel that girl round in a waltz. Ha! there is a _rouge-et-noir_ table not far from this, and a thought strikes me; I shall make my fortune to-night. Will you lend me a couple of these dazzling duros you showed me a short time ago?"

"Undoubtedly, and with pleasure."

"_Vive la joie_! Come along, then. There is a gaming-house in the Calle de Ferdinando, kept by some officers of the Portuguese cacadores. Come with me, and I will show you how to break their bank, and carry off their glorious piles of duros and dobloons."

"I never gamble," replied Ronald; "and by the rules of our service 'tis strictly forbidden to do so, either in camp or quarters."

"Bah! _mon camarade_. If I had you within sound of the bells of Notre Dame, I would soon learn you to forget your northern prejudices."