Chapter II: Part 2

"'Thou too shalt die!' growled the old barbarian, discharging his pistol at poor little Zela, who fell dead without a groan, with the purple blood streaming from her white bosom, which I saw heave its last convulsive throb around the death-shot. The thick muslin turban of Mohammed saved him from one tremendous blow which I dealt at his scowling visage, but he sunk to the earth beneath the weight of the claymore.

"'_Allah, il Allah!_ death to the soldiers of Isauri!'[*] yelled his infuriated followers, rushing madly on me, and in an instant I was vanquished: I received a terrible blow on the back of my head from the iron mace of a Mameluke. I remember no more than just seeing Cameron cut two down to the teeth, run a third through the brisket, leap the window, and escape.

[*] Jesus Christ.

"'Good by, Cameron; gallantly done!' cried I, as I sunk stunned and senseless by the lifeless corse of Zela.

"How long I lay insensible I know not; but when my faculties returned I found myself stretched upon the ground, which felt cold and damp, and in a place involved in the deepest and most impenetrable gloom. I found that the epaulets and lace had been torn from my coat, and an intense pain on the back of my head reminded me of the blow of the steel mace; and on raising my hand to the wound, I found my hair clotted and hardened with coagulated blood. Rats or some monstrous vermin running over me caused me to leap from the ground, and endeavour to discover where I was. This the darkness rendered impossible; but by the chill atmosphere of the place, the difficulty of respiration I experienced, and the hollow echoes of my feet, dying dismally away in distant cavities, I conjectured rightly that I was imprisoned in some subterranean vault. What the agony of my mind was when this idea became confirmed, you may better conceive than I describe. I recollected that the troops marched next day, and that unless Fassifern made some most strenuous attempt to discover and free me, I should be left at the mercy of the lawless Mohammed, either to be his perpetual captive in a dungeon, to be left to a slow lingering death by starvation, or a more expeditious one by some mode of torture, such as the most refined spirit of Eastern cruelty and barbarism could invent.

"In groping about, I soon came in contact with a stone wall, which I felt carefully all round, but no door or outlet could I discover. A succession of wooden boxes placed upright, sounding and hollow when I touched them, informed me at once of the truth,--that I was cast into one of those ancient catacombs which are so numerous under the city of Alexandria,--horrible caverns hollowed in the bowels of the earth, where the mummy-remains of the subjects of the Pharaohs, the Ptolemies, and others, out-standing the course of more than twenty centuries, lay swathed in their bandages and embalming! The blood rushed back upon my trembling heart, and every hair on my aching head seemed to bristle upon my scalp, as I staggered dizzily against the mouldy wall, knocking down half-a-dozen mummy-coffers, which fell heavily and hollowly upon the pavement.

"You may imagine what were my feelings when I reviewed my situation. I, a superstitious Highland boy, that used to shake in my brogues, like a dog in a wet sack, if I passed the kirk-yard of Inverary after night-fall, and never went into the dark but with my eyes closed tight for fear of seeing something 'uncanny,' when I found myself in this gloomy repository of the dead I was so confounded and terrified, that it was long before I recovered my self-possession so far as to cast a firm glance of scrutiny around me, and endeavour to discover some means of escape. I perceived with joy a faint ray of daylight streaming through a small aperture, which appeared nearly twenty feet above me.

"'Dawn has broken!' I exclaimed in sudden anguish; 'the troops must have marched! Cameron cannot have escaped Mohammed, or, oh, my God! surely he would not, without making an effort to save me, abandon me to perish here!'

"'Perish here!' repeated half-a-dozen dreary echoes. I looked around me in consternation. The sounds almost seemed to proceed from the red blubber-like lips of the frightful faces which I now perceived carved and painted on the outside of the upright mummy-coffers. They were the figures of the dead, and tinted with those imperishable colours with which the ancient Egyptians decorated the exterior of their temples. The large round eyes of these appalling effigies seemed to be staring hard at me from every dark corner, winking, goggling, and rolling; while their very mouths, capacious and red, expanded into a broad grin, methought, at my misery. Against the black wall they were ranked at equal distances, but here and there were some which had fallen to pieces, and lay upon the earth, exposing the decayed and mouldered corse standing stark, gaunt, and erect, swathed tightly in its cerements. Others had fallen down, and lay prostrate among little urns, containing, I suppose, the embalmed remains of the sacred ibis, the monkey, or other animals revered by the ancient idolaters. Enormous bats were sailing about, black scorpions, and many a huge bloated reptile, of which I knew not even the name, appearing as if formed alone for such a place, crawled about the coffins, or fell now and then with a heavy squabby sound from the wet slimy wall on the moist and watery pavement.

"By the grey light, straggling through what seemed a joint in the key-stone of an arch above, I was enabled to note these things, and I did so with wary and fearful glances, while my heart swelled almost to breaking when I thought of my blighted hopes, and that home which was far awa--the green mountains of Mull and of Morven, and the deep salt lochs of Argyle; and, dearer than all, the well-known hearth where I had sat at the knee of my mother, and heard her rehearse those wild traditions of hill and valley, which endeared them more to me.

"'Have the followers of the false Isauri departed?' asked the guttural voice of old Mohammed or some one above me; while the cranny over-head became darkened, and the trampling of feet, together with the clatter of weapons, became audible. 'Have the eaters of pork and drinkers of wine,--have the unclean dogs departed from the walls of Iskandrieh?' I listened in breathless suspense.

"'They have,' answered the yet more guttural voice of a Mameluke; 'they go towards the desert. May they perish in the sand, that the jackal and wolf may fatten and howl over their bones!'

"'Amen,--_Allah kebur_! Great is God, and Mahomet his holy Prophet!' replied the Capitan Djedda, while my heart died within me to hear that our people had departed from Alexandria. These were some of the ungrateful infidels for whom brave Sir Ralph, and so many gallant Britons, had reddened the arid sand with their blood!

"'Then bring ye up this follower of Isauri,' said Mohammed, 'and he will see whether his prophet, or all the dervishes and mollahs of his faith, can preserve him from the death I have sworn he shall die. Ere night, his carcass shall be food for the jackals; and while the unbeliever looks his last on the bright setting sun, Hadji Kioudh get ready the.....' What word he finished with I know not, but it was sufficient to strike terror to the inmost recesses of my heart. I well knew some terrible instrument of torture was named.

"What my emotions were I cannot describe, when I found death so near, and knew that I was powerless, defenceless, and unarmed, having no other weapon but my oaken staff, which, strange to say, I had never relinquished. I beheld the claw of an iron crow-bar inserted in the cranny which admitted light, for the purpose of raising the stone trap-door of the catacomb; and as the space opened, I saw, or imagined I saw, the weapons of Mohammed's followers flashing in the sun-light. My life never appeared so dear, or of such inestimable value, as at that moment, when I found myself about to lose it,--to be sacrificed like a poor mouse in a trap. I cast around a furious glance of eagerness and despair. A small round archway, which I had not before observed, met my eye; yawning and black it appeared in the gloom, and supported by clumsy short Egyptian pillars. I flew towards it, as novels say, animated by the most tumultuous hopes and fears, praying to Heaven that it might afford me some chance of escape from the cimetars of the savage Mahometans, who had already raised the trap stone, and lowered a long ladder into the vault.

"The passage was long but straight, and guided by a distant light, glimmering at the other end, I sped along it with the fleetness of a roebuck; receiving, as I went, many a hard knock from the bold carvings and knobby projections of the short dumpy pillars that formed a colonnade on each side. I heard the sabres and iron maces of the Mameluke warriors clatter, as successively five or six of them leaped into the vault, and set up the wild shout of "_Ya Allah!_" when they found that I was not there. By their not immediately searching the passage, I concluded that they were unacquainted with the geography of the place, and, in consequence of their having come from the strong glare of the sun, were unable to perceive the arch in the gloom of the cavern. They became terrified on finding that I was gone, and withdrew, scampering up the ladder with the utmost precipitation, attributing, I suppose, my escape to supernatural means.

"I kept myself close between the twisted columns, scarcely daring to breathe until they had withdrawn and all was quiet, when I again pursued my way towards the glimmering light, which was still in view, but at what distance before me I could form no idea. Sometimes it appeared close at hand, sometimes a mile off, dancing before me like a will o' the wisp. My progress was often embarrassed by prostrate columns, and oftener by heaps of fallen masonry. More than once I was nearly suffocated by the foul air of the damp vaults, or the dust and mortar among which I sometimes fell. But I struggled onward manfully, yet feeling a sort of sullen and reckless despair, putting up the while many a pious prayer and ejaculation, strangely mingled with many an earnest curse in Gaelic on Mohammed Djedda, and the architect who planned the labyrinth, though perhaps it might have been the great Gnidian Sostrates himself.[*] After toiling thus for some time until wearied and worn out, I found myself in the lower vault of one of those large round towers which are so numerous among the ancient and ruinous fortifications of Alexandria. A round and shattered aperture, about ten feet from the floor, admitted the pure breeze, which I inhaled greedily, while my eyes gloated on the clear blue sky; and I felt more exquisite delight in doing so, than even when gazing on the pure snowy bosom of the beautiful Zela, whom, to tell you the truth, I had almost forgotten during the quandary in which I found myself. The cry of '_Jedger Allah!_' shouted close beside the ruinous tower, informed me I was near the post of a Mussulman sentinel, and compelled me to act with greater caution. I heard the cry (which answers to our 'All's well') taken up by other sentinels at intervals, and die away among the windings of the walls.

[*] A famous architect, who lived in the reign of one of the Ptolemies.

"By the assistance of a large stone I was enabled to reach the aperture, through which I looked cautiously, to reconnoitre the ground. It was a glorious evening, and the dazzling blaze of the red sun, as it verged towards the west, was shed on the still, glassy sea, where the white sails of armed xebecs, galleys, and British ships of war were reflected downwards in the bosom of the ample harbour. Appearing in bold light or shadow, as the sun poured its strong lustre upon them, I saw the long lines of mouldering battlements,--the round domes, the taper spires and obelisks which rose above the embrasures, where the sabres and lances of the Turks gave back the light of the setting sun, whose farewell rays were beaming on the pillar of Diocletian and the grey old towers of Aboukir, from the summits of which were now waving the red colours of Mahomet. But the beauty of the scenery had no charms for the drowsy Moslem (whose cry I had heard, and whom I now perceived to be a cavalry vidette,) stationed under the cool shadow of a palm-grove close by. He was seated on a carpet, with his legs folded under him. His sabre and dagger lay near him, drawn, and he sat without moving a muscle, smoking with grave assiduity, and wearing his tall yellow _kouack_ very much over his right eye, which led me to suppose that he was a smart fellow among the Mamelukes--perceiving, to my great chagrin, that he was one of Mohammed's savage troop. His noble Arab horse, with its arching neck and glittering eyes, stood motionless beside him, its bridle trailing on the ground, while it gazed with a sagacious look on the columns of smoke, which at times curled upwards from the moustached mouth of its master, who was staring fixedly in an opposite direction to the city. I followed the point to which he turned his round glassy eye, and beheld, to my inexpressible joy, an English infantry regiment--Hutchinson's rearguard--halted under a grove of fig-trees, but alas! at a distance far beyond the reach of my call.

"I formed at once the resolution of confronting the sentinel, and endeavouring to escape. The moment was a precious one: the corps was evidently about to move off, and was forming in open column of companies, with their band in the centre.[*] While I was collecting all my scattered energies for one desperate and headlong effort, a loud uproar in the distant catacomb arrested me for a moment, and I heard the terrible voice of Mohammed Djedda, exclaiming--

'_Bareh Allah!_ we shall find him yet: the passage, slaves! the passage! By God and the holy Prophet, if the giaour escape, false dogs, ye shall die! Forward!'

[*] Regimental bands always marched in the centre in those days.

"A confused trampling of feet, a rush and clatter followed, and I sprang lightly through the aperture into the open air. Stealing softly towards the unconscious Mameluke, I wreathed my hand in the flowing mane of his Arab horse, and seizing the dangling bridle, vaulted into his wooden-box saddle; while he, raising the cry of '_Allah, il Allah!_' sprung up like a harlequin, and made a sweeping stroke at me with his sharp sabre. He was about to handle his long brass-barrelled carbine, when, unhooking the steel mace which hung at his saddle-bow, and discharging it full on his swarthy forehead, I stretched him motionless on the earth. At that instant Mohammed, sabre and lance in hand, rushed from the ruined tower at the head of his followers.

"'Hoich! God save the king,--hurrah!' cried I, giving them a shout of reckless laughter and derision, as I forced the fleet Arab steed onward, like an arrow shot from a bow,--madly compelling it to leap high masses of ruinous wall, blocks of marble and granite, all of which it cleared like a greyhound, and carried me in a minute among our own people, with whom I was safe, and under whose escort I soon rejoined the regiment, whom I found all assured of my death,--especially the senior ensign, Cameron, who had got off scot-free, having related the doleful story of my brains being knocked out by the Mameluke soldier of Mohammed Djedda, a complaint against whom was about to be lodged with the _Shaik-el-beled_ by Lord Hutchinson, commanding the troops.

"Well, this was my adventure among the mummies, and it was one that left a strong impression, you may be sure. How dry my throat is with talking! Pass the decanters--the sherry jugs, I mean, whoever has them beside him: 'tis now so dark, that I cannot see where they are."

*CHAPTER III.*

*ANOTHER NIGHT AT MERIDA.*

"The fire had resounded in the halls; and the voice of the people is heard no more....... Desolate is the dwelling of Moina: silence is in the house of her fathers."--_Ossian's Poems_.--Carthon.

The conversation which ensued on the close of the major's story, was interrupted by the clatter of a horse trotting along the causewayed street.

"That must be my batman, Jock Pentland, with my horse for the rounds," said Campbell impatiently. "I am sure I told the Lowland loon not to come till the bells of San Sebastian rang the hour of ten."

"It is a dragoon, I think; but the night is so dark I am not certain," said Ronald, as he drew back from the open window. "He has dismounted here."

At that moment the door opened, and the host appeared, bearing a long candle in his hand, flaring and sputtering in the currents of air, while he, bowing very low, introduced the Conde de Truxillo, who advanced towards them, making his long staff plume sweep the tiles of the floor at every bow he gave.

"Welcome, noble conde!" said Stuart, rising and introducing him to the rest.

"Ah, Don Ronald, are you here? I am indeed proud to see you."

"You come upon us most unexpectedly, conde."

"I have been in my saddle all day," replied the other, casting himself languidly into a chair, "and have this moment come from the quarters of Sir Rowland Hill, for whom I had despatches--"

"From Lord Wellington?"

"Yes, caballeros."

"And Ciudad Rodrigo?" cried they eagerly.

"Has fallen--"

"Fallen?"

"Two days ago."

"Hurrah! Well done Lord Wellington!" cried Bevan, draining his glass.

"The devil!" muttered Campbell; "then we shall have no fighting with Marmont."

"He has retreated to Salamanca," said the conde, "abandoning to its fate the fortress, which I saw the gallant _Inglesos_ carry by storm in the course of half-an-hour,--killing, wounding, and capturing three thousand of the enemy."

"Glorious news, Don Balthazzar," said Ronald. "But refresh yourself: here is sherry, and there Malaga, with cigars in abundance. After you have rested, we shall be glad to hear an account of the assault."

"I thank you, senor caballero," said the count, providing himself.

"What is our loss?" asked Campbell. "Have many _officiales y soldados_ fallen?'

"What the allies suffered I have never heard,--at least 'twas not known when I left for Castello Branco; but two brave general officers have been slain."

"Their names, conde?"

"Crawfurd and Mackinnon: one fell dead while I was speaking to him."

"Gallant fellows they were, and countrymen of our own, too!" said Campbell, gulping down his sherry with a dolorous sigh. "But 'tis the fortune of war: every bullet has its billet,--their fate to-day may be ours to-morrow."

During a long discussion which ensued upon the news brought by the conde, the latter had applied himself to the remnants of the tocino and huevos, with infinite relish.

"I wonder what the despatches for Sir Rowland may contain?" observed Captain Bevan, supposing that the conde might throw some light on the matter; but the hungry Espanol was too busy to hear him.

"Most likely an order to retrace our steps," replied Campbell. "I would wager my majority against a maravedi, that you will find it to be the case."

"Very probably. The devil! we are a mere corps of observation just now."

"It was not wont to be so with the second division," observed Kennedy.

"Never mind," replied Campbell; "it will be our turn in good time. I drink this horn to outmost noble selves, and---- Hah! there are the bells of San Sebastian. I must be off to visit these confounded picquets: my horse will be here immediately."

The major rose and buckled on Andrea, surveying with a sour look the long line of equi-distant fires which were glowing afar off,--marking the chain of out-posts, around the base of the mountain, and along the level plain.

"Here comes my batman, Jock," said he, looking into the street. "Pentland, my man; is that you?"

"Ay, sir!" replied a soldier, dressed in his white shell-jacket and kilt, as he rode a horse up to the door and dismounted.

"You are a punctual fellow. Desire Senor Raphael, the inn-keeper, to give you a canteen full of aquardiente. Are the holsters on, the pistols loaded, and fresh flinted?"

"A's richt, sir," replied the groom, raising his hand to his flat bonnet.

"I will see you again, lads, when we get under arms in the morning," said Campbell, enveloping himself in an immense blue cloak.

"How, major! Are you so fond of bivouacking, that you mean to sleep with the out-picquets?"

"Not quite, Alister; but I mean to finish the night at Fassifern's billet, and fight our battles and broils in Egypt over again for the entertainment of his host, a rich old canon, who is said to have in his cellars some of the best wine on this side the peak of Ossian."[*]

[*] A high peak of the Pyrennean mountains.

"Do not forget, senor, to make the reverend Padre's borachio-skins gush forth like a river," said the conde. "A priest would as soon part with his heart's blood, as his wine to a stranger."

"I am too old a soldier to require that advice, Balthazzar," said Campbell, wrapping his mantle around his gigantic figure, which the Spaniard surveyed with a stare of surprise. "I regret you have not all invitations; but be as much at home here as you can, and be careful how you trust yourselves within any of Senor Raphael's couches. Peninsular--pardon, conde!--I mean Portuguese posadas are none of the most cleanly; and if you would wish to avoid being afflicted with _sarna_ for twelve months to come, it would be quite as safe and pleasant to repose on the floor."

"The sarna! major," exclaimed Stuart; "what does that mean?"

"We give a less classical name for it at home in the land o' cakes," said Campbell, as he descended the stair, making the place shake with his heavy tread; "but you will discover to your cost what it means, if you are rash enough to sleep between the sheets of any bed in the posadas of this country."

Don Balthazzar returned next morning to rejoin Lord Wellington's staff at Ciudad Rodrigo.

His despatches contained an order to Sir Rowland Hill to return into Spanish Estremadura, the retreat of Marshal Marmont rendering the presence of the second division unnecessary in Portugal. Many were sadly disappointed when this order was read next morning in the hollow squares of regiments,--all having been in high spirits, and filled with enthusiasm at the prospect of a brush with the enemy before the expected capitulation of the celebrated fortress; but there was no help for it,--obedience being the first duty of a soldier. On the march towards Merida again, they consoled themselves with the hope that the Marshal Duke of Dalmatia, General Drouet, or some of the commanders in their front, would make them amends by showing fight. The British army had now been supplied with tents sent out to them from Britain; and they had the prospect of encamping with what they considered tolerable comfort during the summer campaign, and not lying, like the beasts of the field, without a shelter from the inclemency of the weather.

The same degree of coldness and hauteur was yet maintained between Ronald and Louis Lisle, who never addressed each other but when compelled by military duty to do so; and only then in the most distant terms, and studied style of politeness. The quarrel which had ensued on their first meeting was yet rankling in the hearts of both, and their fiery Scottish pride was fast subduing the secret feeling of friendship which still lurked in the breast of each.

The weather had become very warm, and the soldiers suffered excessively from the burning heat of the sun and the extreme scarcity of water, when traversing the wild and arid plains of Estremadura. Their rations were of such an indifferent quality, and so very scant, as barely to sustain life; and Ronald Stuart, although a stout young Highlander, felt often so much exhausted, that his heavy broad-sword nearly dropped more than once from his hand.

If such was his situation, what must that have been of the poor private soldiers, laden as they were with their heavy arms, ammunition, and accoutrements,--knapsack, great coat, blanket, haversack, and canteen,--a load weighing nearly eighty pounds! Day after day they marched forward in the face of the scorching sun,--hot, fierce, and glaring, hanging above them in the blue and cloudless vault, withering the grass beneath their feet, and causing the earth to gape and crack as if all inanimate nature were athirst for rain and moisture. Every breath of air they inhaled seemed hot and suffocating, like the fiery blast which gushes from an oven when the door is opened.

More than once on the march had Ronald relieved Louis by carrying his heavy standard, when he was almost sinking with exhaustion; but the want of water was the chief misery endured. The supply with which they filled their wooden canteens at the public fountains of Albuquerque, Zagala, and La Nava, became during the march heated and tainted, sickly to the taste and unrefreshing.

Now and then, when a spring was passed on the line of march, the soldiers, unrestrained by discipline, crowded eagerly and wildly about it, striving furiously, almost at drawn bayonets, for the first canteen-full, until the place became a clay puddle, and further contention was useless.

"O for ae sough o' the cauler breeze that blaws ower the braes o' Strathonan!" Evan would often exclaim, as he wiped away the perspiration which streamed from under his bonnet; "or a single mouthfu' o' the Isla, where it rins sae cauld and deep at Corrie-avon, or the foaming swirl at the linn o' Avondhu, for my tongue is amaist burnt to a cinder. Gude guide us, Maister Ronald, this is awfu'."

"O'ds man, Iverach, if I was again on the bonnie Ochil or Lomond hills," said a Lowlander, "de'il ding me gin I wad gie ower driving sheep and stots to follow the drum."

"Or staun to pe shoot at for twa pawbees ta hoor,--teevil tak' it!" added a Gordon from Garioch.

"Hear to the greedy kite!" exclaimed the Lowlander. "An Aberdonian is the chield to reckon on the bawbees."

"Teevil and his tam pe on you and yours!" cried the Gordon angrily. "Oich, oich! it's well kent that a Fife-man would rake hell for a bodle, and skin--"

The commanding voice of Colonel Cameron, exclaiming, "Silence, there, number four company! silence on the march!" put an instant end to the controversy.

"Hot work this, Stuart, very. Beats Egypt almost," Campbell would say, as he rode past at times.

Various were the emotions which agitated Ronald's breast, when he beheld before him the windings of the Guadiana and the well-known city of Merida, which was again in possession of the French. The jealous feeling with which he regarded Alice Lisle caused him to look forward with almost unalloyed pleasure to the expected meeting with his winning and beautiful patrona; and it was with a secret sensation of satisfaction--of triumph perhaps, of which, however, he almost felt ashamed, that he had witnessed the proud blood mantling in the cheek of young Louis, when he (Ronald) was rallied by Alister, Kennedy, and others, about his residence at Merida, and the favour he had found with Donna Catalina.

At the fountain where Stuart had been regaled by the muleteers, a fierce struggle ensued among the soldiers for a mouthful of water. The French troops had maliciously destroyed the pipe and basin; the water, in consequence, gushed across the pathway, where the current had now worn a channel. Although the whole of General Long's brigade of cavalry had passed through it, rendering it a thick and muddy puddle, yet so intense was the thirst of the soldiers that an angry scramble ensued around it to fill canteens, or obtain a mouthful to moisten their tongues, which were swollen, and clove to their palates. By dint of the most strenuous exertions, Evan Iverach had supplied his master's canteen with the sandy liquid, neglecting to fill his own, although, poor fellow, he was perishing with thirst. Ronald had placed it to his lips, but found the water so much saturated with sand, that it was impossible almost to taste it. He was replacing the spigot in the little barrel, when the exclamation of--

"My God! I shall certainly faint with exhaustion. Soldiers, I will give a guinea for a drop of water,--only a single drop," pronounced in a remarkably soft and musical English accent, arrested his attention; and on looking up, he perceived a young lady, attired in a fashionable riding-habit and hat, pressing her graceful Andalusian horse among the Highlanders, who were crushing and jostling around the mutilated fountain. The wind blew up her lace veil, discovering a quantity of fair silky curls falling around a face which was very pretty and delicate, but thin, apparently from the fatigue and privations which were making many a stout soldier gaunt and bony. Many who had filled their vessels at the fountain, held them towards her; but she gratefully took Ronald's, thanking him by a smile from the finest blue eyes in the world.

"I am afraid it is impossible you can drink it," said he, as he held her bridle, "it is so thick with clay and animalculae."

"It is very bad, certainly; but yet better than nothing," replied the lady, as she drank of it, quenching her burning thirst eagerly. "Ah, dear sir! I regret to deprive you of it; but accept my kindest thanks in return. My name is Mrs. Evelyn; Mr. Evelyn of the 9th Light Dragoons will return you a thousand thanks for your kindness to me. But I must ride fast, if I would see him again before they attack Merida; and so, sir, good morning!"

She struck her Andalusian with her little riding-rod, and bowing gracefully, galloped along the line of the infantry column towards where the horse-brigade were forming, previously to attacking seven hundred foot, which, with a strong party of steel-clad cuirassiers, occupied the city. Every eye was turned on the young lady as she flew along the line of march, with her long fair ringlets, her lace veil, and the skirt of her riding-habit waving wide and free about her.

"God's blessing on her bonnie face!"

"Her een are as blue and bricht as the vera lift aboon!" exclaimed the soldiers, charmed with her beauty and grace.

"What a happy fellow Evelyn is to possess so fine a girl," said Captain Bevan.

"How famously she manages that Andalusian horse!"

"Had Evelyn been a wise man, he would have left her at home in Kent. He has a splendid property there,--a regular old baronial hall, with its mullioned windows and rookery, surrounded by lawns and fields, where myriads of flies buzz about the ears of the gigantic plough-horses in the warm weather. How foolish to bring a delicate English lady from her luxurious home, to undergo the ten thousand miseries incident to campaigning!"

"But what on earth can have brought her up from the rear just now, when her husband's corps are about to drive the enemy from their position?"

"There goes Long!" said Campbell, exultingly flourishing his stick. "Keep up your hearts, my boys! It will be our turn, in a few minutes, to give them a specimen of what we learned when in Egypt with Sir Ralph."

It was Sir Rowland Hill's earnest desire to capture this small party of the enemy; for which purpose the cavalry were ordered to ford the Guadiana at some distance below the ruined bridge, to out-flank them, and, if possible, to cut off their retreat. The French battalion of infantry, dressed in blue uniform with white trowsers, (rather unusual, the French troops being generally very dirty in their persons when on service,) were seen in position on the opposite side of the river, drawn up in front of some orange plantations, while their squadron of cuirassiers occupied the avenues of the city, where their brass casques, steel corslets, and long straight swords were seen flashing in the noon-day sun. While the rest of the division halted, the first brigade, consisting of the 50th and 71st Highland Light Infantry, 92nd Highlanders, and Captain Blacier's German Rifle company, commanded by Major-general Howard, were ordered to advance with all speed upon the town; while the 9th and 13th English Light Cavalry, and king's German Hussars, boldly plunging into the Guadiana, swam their horses across the stream under a fire from the carbines of the cuirassiers, who, on finding their flank thus turned, fired one regular volley, which unhorsed for ever many of Long's brigade, and then fled at full speed. At the same time the battalion of infantry disappeared, without firing a shot, among the groves in their rear.

"Forward! double quick!" was the word; and, with their rustling colours bending forward on the breeze, the first brigade pressed onward at their utmost speed down the descent towards the city, and through its deserted streets, making their echoes ring to the clank of accoutrements, and the rapid and rushing tread of many feet. The ultimate escape of the enemy was favoured by the delay caused in providing planks to cross the blown-up arch of the Roman bridge. Rafters and flooring were, without ceremony, torn from some neighbouring houses, thrown hurriedly across the gap, and onward again swept the impatient infantry, eager to come up with, to encounter, and capture this little band, which had so adroitly eluded them. But for that evening they saw them no more; and after a fruitless pursuit for some miles, returned to Merida wearied and fatigued, when the shadows of night had begun to darken the sky and scenery.

Followed by ours, the enemy's cavalry had retired at a gallop along the level road to Almendralejo; often they turned on the way to shout "_Vive l'Empereur!_" to brandish their swords, or fire a shot, which now and then stretched a British dragoon rolling in the dust. As the first brigade were returning towards Merida, a mournful episode in my narrative came under their observation,--one which calls forth all the best feelings of the soldier, when the wild excitement of the hour of conflict has passed away. Near one of those rude wooden crosses so common by the way-side in Spain, placed to mark a spot where murder has been committed, lay an English troop-horse in the agonies of death; the froth and blood, oozing from its quivering nostrils, rolled around in a puddle, while kicking faintly with its hoofs, it made deep indentations in the smooth grassy turf. Beside it lay the rider, with his glittering accoutrements scattered all about. His foot was entangled in the stirrup, by which he appeared to have been dragged a long way, as his uniform was torn to pieces, and his body was soiled with clay and dust. A carbine-shot had passed through his brain, and he was lying stark and stiff; his smart chako had rolled away, and the features of a dashing English dragoon,--the once gay Evelyn, were exposed to view. Beside the corse, weeping in speechless sorrow and agony, sat his wife,--the same interesting young lady who had that morning drank from Ronald's canteen at the fountain. Her face was ashy pale,--pale even as that of her dead soldier,--and she seemed quite unconscious of the approach of the Highlanders, who could not be restrained from making an involuntary halt. Her hat and veil had fallen off, permitting her fair curls to stream over her neck and shoulders: she uttered no sound of woe or lamentation, but sat with her husband's head resting on her lap, gazing on his face with a wild and terrible expression, while her little white hands were bedabbled with the blood which clotted his curly hair. From Merida she had seen him unhorsed, and dragged away in the stirrup by his frightened steed, which had also been wounded. With shrieks and outcries she had tracked him by the blood for two miles from the town, until the exhausted charger sunk down to die, and she found her husband thus.

Colonel Cameron, on approaching, sprang from his horse, and raised her from the ground, entreating her to return to Merida, as night was approaching; and to be left in so desolate a place, was unsafe and unadvisable. But she protested against being separated from the corpse of her husband; and, as it was impossible to leave her there, Cameron gave orders to carry Mr. Evelyn's remains to Merida. A temporary bier was made in the usual manner, by fastening a blanket to two regimental pikes: in this the dead officer was placed, and borne off by two stout Highlanders. Mrs. Evelyn mounted her Andalusian, which Evan Iverach had adroitly captured while it was grazing quietly at some distance, and Cameron, riding beside her, gallantly held her bridle rein as they proceeded towards the city. It was totally dark when the brigade, forming close column of regiments, halted in the now desolate Plaza.

The soldiers were instantly dismissed to their several billets.

That which Ronald had received was upon the hovel of a poor potter, residing near the convent of San Juan; but instead of going thither, he made straight towards the house of the old prior de Villa Franca, at the corner of the Calle de Guadiana, earnestly hoping, as he wended on his way, that it had escaped the heartless ravages he saw on every side of him.

"I will show this fiery Master Lisle of ours that I have more than one string to my bow, as well as the fickle Alice," he muttered aloud, and in a tone of gaiety which I must own he did not entirely feel.

That morning the mails had been brought up from Lisbon, and both Louis and himself had received letters from home; and Ronald concluded that there was still no letter from Alice, as Louis had, as usual, not addressed him during all that day. Old Mr. Stuart's letter was far from being a satisfactory one to his son.

"Inchavon," said he, in one part of it, "has now taken upon him the title of Lord Lysle, and has gained a great landed property in the Lothians. As these people rise, we old families seem to sink. All my affairs are becoming more inextricably involved: the rot has destroyed all my sheep at Strathonan, and a murrain has broken out among our black Argyleshires. The most of the tenants have failed to pay their rents; the farm towns of Tilly-whumle and Blaw-wearie were burned last week,--fifteen hundred pounds of a dead loss; and the damned Edinburgh lawyers are multiplying their insolent threats, their captions and homings, for my debts there; and all here at home is going to wreck, ruin, and the devil! I trust that you keep the _Hon._ Louis Lisle at a due distance: I know you will, for my sake. Folk, hereabout, say his sister is to be married to Lord Hyndford, during some part of the next month."

The last sentence Ronald repeated more than once through his clenched teeth, as he stumbled forward over the rough pavement of the market-place. As he looked around him, his heart sickened at the utter silence and desolation which reigned every where: not a single light visible, save that of the silver moon and twinkling stars.

As he approached the well-known mansion where he had spent so many delightful hours, the gaunt appearance of the gable, the roofless walls, the fallen balconies, the shattered casements, informed him at once that "the glory had departed."

The house had been completely gutted by fire, and Ronald, while he gazed around him, recalled the old tales of Sir Ian Mhor's days, when the savage cohorts of Cumberland (Cumberland the bloody and the merciless) were let loose over the Scottish highlands. In the garden, the flowerbeds were trampled down and destroyed,--the shrubbery laid waste,--the marble fountain was in ruins, and the water rushing like a mountain-torrent through Catalina's favourite walk. The utmost labour had been expended to ruin and destroy every thing, Don Alvaro's rank and bravery having rendered him particularly odious to the soldiers of the usurper, Joseph Buonaparte. Fragments of gilded chairs, hangings, and books were tossing about in all directions. Some of the latter Ronald took up, and saw by the light of the moon that they had belonged to Catalina's little library, (books are a scarce commodity in Spain,) and were her most favourite authors. There was the romance of "Amadis de Gaul," written by that good and valiant knight, Vasco de Loberia, "Lopez de Ruedas," "Armelina," "Eusenia," "Los Enganados," all separate works, and other dramas and pastorals. But one richly bound little book, printed at Salamanca, the "Vidas de los Santos," upon which her own hand had written her name, he kept as a remembrance--he scarcely required one,--and bestowing a hearty malediction on the French, against whom he now felt the bitterest personal enmity, he left the place with an anxious and heavy heart, intending to question the first Espanol he should meet as to the fate of the family of Villa Franca. He encountered several in the streets, but none could give him the least information; and as he was weary with the fatigues of the day, he retired to his billet at the house of the potter. On the way thither, a ray of light shining through a low barred window, and the wailing as of one in deep distress, attracted his attention. On looking in he perceived the lady-like and graceful figure of Mrs. Evelyn bending over a table, on which, muffled up in a cavalry cloak, lay the cold remains of him she loved with her whole heart. A wearied dragoon, booted and accoutred, lay asleep in one corner; in another were grouped some Irish soldiers' wives, smoking and sipping aquardiente, while they listened in silence to the sorrowful moanings of the young lady, and the lowly muttered yet earnest prayer which a poor Cistertian padre, almost worn out with years and privation, offered up for the soul of the deceased, around whose bier he had placed several candles, which he had consecrated by lighting them at the shrine of San Juan. The chamber was ruinous and desolate, without either fire or furniture. It was in sooth a sad and strange situation for the poor girl, whose fair head rested on the bosom of the slain; and Ronald, as he turned away, thought of what her gay and fashionable friends at home would have said could they have seen her then,--bowed down in absorbing sorrow, without a friend to comfort her, and surrounded by squalid misery and desolation.

* * * * *

About day-break next morning Evelyn was buried hastily in a grassy spot among the ruins of the castle of Merida,--the alcalde having piously objected to the burial of a _heretic_ in consecrated ground. Without other shroud but his tattered and bloody uniform,--without other coffin than his large military cloak,--he was lowered into the hastily made tomb. The chaplain of the brigade performed the burial service, and he was hurriedly covered up. A volley of carbines from his troop, and the sobs of his young widow as she stood by, leaning on the arm of Fassifern, were the last requiem of the English dragoon.

*CHAPTER IV.*

*THE OUT-PICQUET.*

"Then she is still alive:--
My lovely Lucrece in a Roman camp,
Midst hostile Tarquins! Would she had been slain!"
_Fate of Capua: a Tragedy._

The _patron_ of Ronald's billet could not give him any information about Donna Catalina, or any of the inmates of her mansion,--the hotel de Villa Franca, as the citizens named it. He knew that it had been occupied by the French, whose commanding officer quartered himself upon it as the best house in the place, and that his soldiers had burnt it when they saw that they should be compelled to abandon Merida, on the second advance of the British. From the first occupation of the town by the enemy, none of the Villa Franca family had been seen. This was all the information he could obtain, and Ronald was led to conclude that Catalina and her cousin had escaped, and might be at Majorga, or some other town on the Spanish frontiers.

The poor patron was a potter by trade, and made brown earthenware crocks and jars, which he retailed through Estremadura in panniers slung on the back of a mule; but he earned barely sufficient to support his wife and family. Nevertheless, to show their loyalty to King Ferdinand, and their gratitude to his allies, the _patrona_ had, by dint of much exertion, procured for Ronald on the morning of his departure what was considered in Spain a tolerable breakfast.

On the wooden table was placed a large crock full of boiled pork and peas, opposite to which stood a jar of goat's milk, plates of eggs, dried raisins, and white bread,--even coffee was on the table; a display altogether of viands that raised the wonder and increased the appetites of the six hungry children who crowded round the board, holding up their little brown hands with many exclamations of wonder, and cries to their _madre_ and _padre_ to help them; but their parents were intent on doing the honours of the table to the noble caballero.

In one corner of the miserable apartment lay the glossy hide of an English horse. Ronald, by some particular spots, recognised it to be that of Eveleyn's charger, about the flaying of which the host had been employed since day-break, intending as he said to make it into caps and shoes for his children. The latter were all swarthy and active, but sadly disguised by rags and filth, which obscured the natural beauty of their Spanish faces and figures, excepting one little girl, about ten years of age, who appeared to be her mother's pet, and consequently was more neatly dressed. Ronald was often amused at the looks of wonder with which this little creature watched him while eating--keeping at a distance as if he was an ogre; but when she became more familiar, venturing to touch the black feathers of his bonnet and other parts of his glittering dress, though always keeping close to the short skirt of the madre's petticoat, as if she feared being eaten up, or carried off for some future meal, by the strange caballero, the richness of whose uniform filled the little boys with wonder and envy.

At last, by dint of much entreaty, she permitted herself to be drawn towards him. Raising up her radiant eyes, she took a copper crucifix from her bosom, and asked him if the people in his country wore a thing like that. On his telling her no, she broke away from his arm, and crying, "_O mi madre_,--the heretic! the devil!" hid her face in her mother's skirt; while the rest of the children shrunk around their father, grasping his legs for safety, and even _he_ seemed much discomposed. Not liking the idea of being regarded as a bugbear, Ronald, in the grey day-light, finished his breakfast as speedily as possible, and was hurried in doing so by the warning bugles for the march.

Ranald Dhu and his six pipers blowing the gathering, in concert with the drums of other corps beating the 'assembly,' in the Plaza, soon followed, and he left the house of the hospitable but superstitious potter, who would not accept a single maravedi for the entertainment he had given,--a circumstance which Ronald did not regret, his pecuniary affairs not being then in a very flourishing condition, as the troops were three months pay in arrear.

When the second division approached Almendralejo, they found that it had been abandoned by the enemy in the night. As on the march of the preceding day, the troops suffered greatly by thirst and the intense heat of the weather; and as the regiments passed through in succession, the inhabitants were employed for hours handing water through their barred windows[*] to the soldiers, while crowds in the streets were kept running to and fro from the fountains with all sorts of vessels, as if a general conflagration had taken place.

[*] The lower windows in Spain are all barred.

"_Viva Ferdinando! muera Napoleon!_" cried a soft voice from the balcony of a house near, the _Casa de Ayuntamiento_, the tall spire of which is visible for leagues around.

"Who can that handsome girl be,--she with the tight boddice and braided hair?" asked Stuart of Alister, as the corps halted, for the usual rest of five minutes, in front of the town-house.

"Handsome girl! How should I know, Ronald. Where?"

"Leaning over the antique stone balcony: she has tossed a chaplet among the men at the other flank of the company."

"And one fellow has placed it on the point of his bayonet. That is the Senora Maria I told you of."

"What! the daughter of the _abogado_?"

"The same. I used to meet her often at the Prado and at church, when we lay here. Her true knight, Angus Mackie, has obtained the wreath, I perceive."

"A handsome girl indeed! The flowers were intended for him, doubtless."

"And there is the _abogado_ himself," exclaimed Macdonald. "What the devil is the old fellow about?"

While they were speaking, a fierce-looking little Spaniard, with a bald head and large grey moustaches, wearing an old-fashioned doublet of black cloth slashed on the breast with red, rushed into the balcony, and grasping the young lady by the arm, drew her roughly into the house, dashing to the casement with such violence that several panes of glass were shattered,--a damage, which he was observed a minute afterwards to be inspecting with a rueful countenance, glass being an expensive article in Spain. He withdrew with a fierce aspect, as a loud laugh of derision arose from the companies of Highlanders in the street.

To describe the wearying marches performed by the troops under Sir Rowland Hill's command in that province of Spain, would be at once useless and uninteresting. Scouring the country of the enemy, they had many a march and counter-march between Merida, La Zarza, La Querena, Medellin, and Don Benito. From the last two the enemy were driven, but not without some fighting, especially at Don Benito. During that week often on the march, as they traversed the lofty sierras or level plains, they heard, mellowed by distance, the roar of the far artillery, which announced that the strong city of Badajoz had been besieged by Lord Wellington, by whose orders Sir Rowland's division advanced towards that place, to form the covering army.

On the evening when it was known the fortress would be stormed, while the greatest anxiety pervaded every breast for the success of the great attempt, Hill's division halted and encamped near the village of Lobon just about sunset. Making a corresponding movement to form a junction with the second division, Sir Thomas Graham, "the hero of Barossa," hovered with his troops in the direction of the heights of Albuera, ready to concentrate and repel together any attempt which the great Duke of Dalmatia with his legions might make to relieve the beleaguered garrison of General Phillipon at Badajoz, which was a few miles distant, in the rear of the hamlet of Lobon.

Although the troops encamped, all were in readiness to march at a moment's notice to sustain the besieging army, if they should fail in carrying the place. Scarcely had they halted, before the grand guards of cavalry were formed, and the out-picquets, to be furnished from the first brigade, paraded and despatched to their several posts where pointed out by the major of brigade.

With some other officers this exciting duty fell upon Ronald, who, with a picquet of twenty Highlanders, was directed to march to a given distance into the plain in front of Lobon, halt his party, and throw forward his chain of advanced sentries, extending them so that they could keep up the line of communication with those of other picquets on the right and left, and to double them, should the weather thicken during the night.

"By what shall I know where to halt the main body of my picquet, major?" asked Ronald, looking rather blankly towards the waste expanse of desert plain, which extends for more than seven leagues around Badajoz. "It is as level as the very sea: nothing bounds it but the distant heights of Albuera."