Chapter II: Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[*] The cave of the seers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ah, how could I ever forget you!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

*CHAPTER V.*

*EDINBURGH CASTLE.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And Diane de Montmichel?--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What, in the dark?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*CHAPTER VI.*

*FOREIGN SERVICE.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"_Demonios!_" cried he, grinding his teeth; "am I not master of my own house? _Carajo, senor_----"

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

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

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