Chapter XXII: A Dangerous Boast

'In the poor Master of St. Monance we have lost a gallant comrade,' said I, as we began our march the next morning.

'He fell in battle, Blanerne,' said the Marquis; 'well--a Scottish gentleman--a cadet of the house of Calder--has nothing more to ask.'

After receiving the sacrament and twenty rounds of ball cartridge, we advanced towards La Mothe, the operations before which were full of chivalrous little episodes.

Like Bitche, La Mothe, in the bailiewick of Bassignie, had the reputation of being impregnable, as it crowned the crest of a mountain of hard rock, which overlooked all the neighbouring eminences. A tributary of the Maese flowed at its foot. The town had but one gate, which was strongly fortified and guarded by flankers, mounted with brass cannon. It was filled with troops, who, like the inhabitants, were faithful to the Duke of Lorraine; and his Bailiff of Bassignie, the Chevalier Raoul d'Ische, commanded them with vigour and resolution, in which he was ably seconded by the Prince of Vaudemont, who had now joined him with all his fugitive cavalry. Thus we anticipated great trouble in convincing these Lorrainers that their native country should become the property of king Louis.

That no time might be lost in reducing the place, as the army of Count Gallas was only one hundred and fifty miles distant, Camp-Marechal Hepburn, to whom the siege was intrusted, enclosed the town and mountain on all sides. He formed seven batteries of thirty guns against it, and laid five mines under the walls; but our chief difficulty was a low bastion which lay before the entrance. It was mounted by twenty heavy guns, and swept the whole ascent for nearly a mile. This formidable barrier was named, after the Duke's daughter, the Bastion de Louise. It worked us infinite mischief, and though intrenched before it, with all the skill of the great trench-master the Chevalier Antoine de Ville, the Scottish infantry of Ramsay and Lesly suffered severely, losing in killed and wounded nearly fifty men daily.

The wetness of the season increased our discomfort in our tents, and the sharp cold midnight rain that poured and pattered on the canvas walls often penetrated them, while the vibration of the tent pole and straining of the cordage made one dream at times of being at sea, and often at night, when asleep and muffled in my cloak, I saw, in fancy, the black and rocky Rinns of Galloway--my native coast--rise before me, with the wild waves of the western sea dashing on their flinty brows.

The operations before La Mothe were of a very harassing description. While the Cardinal de Lavalette continued his march towards the Rhine, Hepburn, with the Marquis, the Viscomtes of Turenne and Arpajou, the Colonels Lesly and Ramsay, pressed on the siege, which the indefatigable Chevalier d'Ische protracted for nearly five months, until besiegers and besieged were alike weary and exasperated. Vast numbers of our men were buried under earthen banks and parapets by the exploding mines, the bursting of bombs, and by the cannonading; while our trenches were nightly scoured by pike and arquebuse, for the Chevalier and the Prince were reckless and courageous to a fault.

The Marquis de Toneins, a youth who had seen more battles and sieges than he could count years--the idol of Anne of Austria's maids of honour--made our sixth attempt to storm the Bastion de Louise; but was repulsed with unusual slaughter, and lost nearly all his men by their being hurled over the rocks into the river below. De Toneins was wounded by the Prince of Vaudemont, who had singled him out during the assault; and when he was borne bleeding into my tent, the remarkable conversation I had overheard at Sezanne, concerning the divorced Duchess de Charost, recurred to me; when de Toneins fell wounded, Raoul d'Ische tried hard to despatch him by a pike-thrust.

Turenne, the young Marquis's rival alike in love and war, next day made the seventh assault on the same bastion, with the same success, though ably seconded by the Chevalier Ramsay, Knight of St. Lazarus, with his company of the regiment of Hepburn.

During these disastrous attacks, we, with the other cavalry, were employed in scouring the whole province of Alsace, of which we had taken full possession in the name of Louis XIII., who required only La Mothe and one or two other places to complete his conquest. The firing was incessant. Cannon, mortars, and bombardes, muskets and arquebuses, environed the walls the livelong day with fire and smoke; and our fellows returned the compliment with the same amiable inventions; and in bulwark, trench, and battery, familiarity with danger soon bred contempt alike for shot and shell. But the fire maintained from the Bastion de Louise, from daybreak to sunset, was the most terrible and destructive that we had to encounter; and the extinction of this battery, before we could reach the gate (our only avenue to the town) was imperative.

I conceived the idea of achieving this, by nailing up the cannon; and having spoken of it, in the hearing of several officers, one night, as we sat under the shelter of a haystack, drinking stroh wine out of cups and jars, my observations reached the ears of Sir John Hepburn, who sent for me, and with one of his quiet smiles which rather piqued me, he said,

'What is this I hear, Mr. Blane--you have conceived a project to silence that devil of a bastion which is so destructive to us?'

I bowed, and he continued with the same smile.

'I am glad to hear of it, for, by Jove! if we stay here another month, our horses' bones will stand through their skins, like the ribs of a gridiron, as we have foraged and eaten up the whole of Alsace! And now for the project?'

I reddened with vexation and confusion, for my words were heedlessly spoken, though seriously conveyed by some meddling gabbler; and as I stood before this well-tried soldier, who had fought in the Scoto-Bohemian bands at Fleura, commanded an army on the Vistula, stormed Frankfort and Marienbourg, and who had led the final charge of the Scots brigades at Leipzig, I trembled to be deemed by him an empty boaster, and so replied--

'It is true, Sir John, that some such idea has occurred to me.'

'But this Chevalier d'Ische has boasted that never a Scot shall show his moustache within pistol-shot of him.'

'I have been nearer to him twice than I am now to you, Sir John; and he has had good reason to remember my vicinity.'

'Ah! And where were these meetings?'

'First, in the Place de la Grève, where I passed my rapier fairly through him.'

'And secondly?'

'At Sezanne; but I am bound in honour not to say how.'

'But your project?' said Hepburn, stroking his moustache.

'Since my name has been mentioned in connection with this affair,' said I, with a bitterness which I had some trouble in concealing, 'I will undertake to destroy yonder battery, or perish in the attempt.

'You will!' he exclaimed with joy.

'To the brave all things are possible.'

'Turenne, de Toneins, Arpajou, Ramsay, and I, all consider ourselves pretty brave fellows; yet you see, my boy, we have all failed in turn.'

'But your example has given me double courage.'

'I thank you, Blane. 'Tis spoken like your father's son! But how many men do you require?'

'None.'

'None!' he reiterated.

'I shall go alone on this hazardous enterprise.'

'And you dare hope to achieve this--to spike these obnoxious guns?'

'Yes; I hope to do anything I make up my mind to, from foraying a hen-roost to firing a city.'

'Bravo, my boy! you should have been with me in Poland and Bavaria!'

With a heart full of hope, ardour, and anxiety, I left his presence to ponder over my undertaking, and on reflection, the desperation of it crushed and appalled me. It seemed as if I had suddenly made up my mind to perish--to sacrifice life and existence for a bubble, when even, with all the chances and mischances of war, I might have many years to live, and much to achieve--and though mentioned last, not thought of least, the restoration of my ruined house and humbled family to their ancient name and fame at home.

'Blane, when compared with this project of yours, the ideas of Don Quixote were superlative wisdom!' said the Marquis of Gordon gloomily, when I rejoined the Garde du Corps.

'But my honour is pledged.'

'True,' he replied; 'and the honour of the Garde du Corps Ecossais too, my dear fellow, for the eyes of the whole army will be on you now. But, doubtless, you have some fair maid of Galloway at home, whose heart will leap when she hears of this; or perhaps some pretty one in gay Paris, who, whether you fall or succeed, will read with joy the triumph of your bravery in the "Mercure Française."'

'Alas, no! Marquis--neither in France nor at home in the dear land I never more may see, have I one to weep for me.'

'Tudieu! that's odd.'

'None,' I added sadly, 'except--'

'Ah! there is an exception!'

I sighed--but I thought only of the Countess for an instant--and then of the golden-haired Nicola.

'Strange!' I muttered, 'that even in this hour of perplexity and anxiety that girl's face comes before me!'

My resolutions were soon formed. At sunset I crept as close as I dared to the bastion, and with a telescope examined it from every point; but the bourgeoisie who manned it soon discovered me; a salute was fired in honour of my appearance; the bullets of their arquebuses fell thick around me in a shower as I crept back, and escaped to mature my plans and perhaps to--pray.