Produced by Al Haines.





                         *THE ROMANCE OF WAR:*

                                  OR,

                        THE HIGHLANDERS IN SPAIN


                                   BY

                           JAMES GRANT, ESQ.

                         _Late 62nd Regiment._



          "In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
          From the heath-covered mountains of Scotia we come;
        Our loud-sounding pipe breathes the true martial strain,
         And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain."
                          _Lt.-Gen. Erskine._



                           IN THREE VOLUMES.

                                VOL. I.



                                LONDON:
                       HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
                       GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
                                 1846.




                                LONDON:
             PRINTED BY MAURICE AND CO., HOWFORD BUILDINGS,
                           FENCHURCH STREET.




                               *PREFACE.*


Notwithstanding the numerous volumes which have been given to the public
relative to the glorious operations of the British Army, for rescuing
Portugal and Spain from the grasp of the invader, the Author of this
work flatters himself that it will not be found deficient in novelty or
interest.  He acknowledges that, according to precedent, scenes and
incidents have been introduced into it which are purely imaginary, and
whether he ought to apologize for these, or to make a merit of them, he
must leave his readers to decide, according to their individual tastes
and predilections.

It will need no great sagacity to discriminate between this portion and
the veritable historical and military details, the result of the
experience of one,[*] who had the honour of serving in that gallant
corps to which these volumes more especially relate, during the whole of
its brilliant course of service in the Peninsula, and who participated
in all the proud feelings which arose when contemplating the triumphant
career of an army, whose deeds and victories are unsurpassed in the
annals of war.


[*] A near relation of the author.


Most of the military operations, and many of the characters, will be
familiar to the survivors of the second division, and brother-officers
will recognise many old associates in the convivialities of the
mess-table, and in the perils of the battle-field. The names of others
belong to history, and with them the political or military reader will
be already acquainted.

It is impossible for a writer to speak of his own productions, without
exposing himself to imputations of either egotism or affected modesty;
the Author therefore will merely add, that he trusts that most readers
may discover something to attract in these volumes, which depict from
the life the stirring events and all the romance of warfare, with the
various lights and shades of military service, the principal characters
being members of one of those brave regiments, which, from their
striking garb, national feelings, romantic sentiments, and _esprit de
corps_, are essentially different from the generality of our troops of
the line.

EDINBURGH,

_Nov._ 1846.




                               *CONTENTS*

Chapter

      I. Introductory
     II. Interviews
    III. A True Highlander
     IV. The Departure
      V. Edinburgh Castle
     VI. Foreign Service
    VII. Merida
   VIII. An Adventure
     IX. Donna Catalina
      X. Flirtation
     XI. Alice Lisle.—News from Home
    XII. The Condé
   XIII. The Duel
    XIV. Muleteers
     XV. The Banditti
    XVI. A Siege
   XVII. A Meeting




                         *THE ROMANCE OF WAR.*



                              *CHAPTER I.*

                            *INTRODUCTORY.*

    "Still linger in our northern clime
    Some remnants of the good old time;
    And still within our valleys here
    We hold the kindred title dear;
    Even though perchance its far-fetched claim,
    To Southron ear, sounds empty name;
    For course of blood, our proverbs deem,
    Is warmer than the mountain stream."
      _Marmion_, canto vi.


In the Highlands of Perthshire a deadly feud had existed, from time
immemorial, between the Lisles of Inchavon and the Stuarts of Lochisla.
In the days when the arm of the law was weak, the proprietors had often
headed their kinsmen and followers in encounters with the sword, and for
the last time during the memorable civil war of 1745-6.  But between the
heads of the families, towards the latter end of the last century, (the
period when our tale commences,) although the era of feudal ideas and
outrages had passed away, the spirit of transmitted hatred, proud
rivalry and revenge, lurked behind, and a feeling of most cordial enmity
existed between Stuart and Lisle, who were ever engaged in vexatious
law-suits on the most frivolous pretences, and constantly endeavouring
to cross each other’s interests and intentions,—quarrelling at public
meetings,—voting on opposite sides,—prosecuting for trespasses, and
opposing each other every where, "as if the world was not wide enough
for them both;" and on one occasion a duel would have ensued but for the
timely interference of the sheriff.

Sir Allan Lisle of Inchavon, a man of a quiet and most benevolent
disposition, was heartily tired of the trouble given him by the petty
jealousy of his neighbour Stuart, a proud and irritable Highlander, who
would never stoop to reconciliation with a family whom his father (a
grim _duinhe-wassal_ of the old school) had ever declared to him were
the hereditary foes of his race.  The reader may consider it singular
that such antiquated prejudices should exist so lately as the end of the
last century; but it must be remembered that the march of intellect has
not made such strides in the north country as it has done in the
Lowlands, and many of the inhabitants of Perthshire will recognise a
character well known to them, under the name of Mr. Stuart.

It must also be remembered, that he was the son of a man who had beheld
the standard of the Stuarts unfurled in Glenfinan, and had exercised
despotic power over his own vassals when the feudal system existed in
its full force, before the act of the British parliament abolished the
feudal jurisdictions throughout Scotland, and absolved the unwilling
Highlanders from allegiance to their chiefs.

Sir Allan Lisle (who was M.P. for a neighbouring county) was in every
respect a man of superior attainments to Stuart,—being a scholar, the
master of many modern accomplishments, and having made the grand tour.
To save himself further annoyance, he would gladly have extended the
right hand of fellowship to his stubborn neighbour, but pride forbade
him to make the first advances.

The residence of this intractable Gael was a square tower, overgrown
with masses of ivy, and bearing outwardly, and almost inwardly, the same
appearance as when James the Fifth visited it once when on a hunting
excursion.  The walls were enormously thick; the grated windows were
small and irregular; a corbelled battlement surmounted the top, from the
stone bartizan of which the standard of the owner was, on great days,
hoisted with much formality by Donald Iverach, the old piper, or Evan
his son, two important personages in the household of the little tower.

This primitive fortalice was perched upon a projecting craig, which
overhung the loch of Isla, a small but beautiful sheet of water, having
in its centre an islet with the ruins of a chapel.  The light-green
birch and black sepulchral pine, flourishing wild and thickly, grew
close to the edge of the loch, and cast their dark shadows upon its
generally unruffled surface.  Around, the hills rose lofty, precipitous,
and abrupt from the margin of the lake; some were covered with foliage
to the summit, and others, bare and bleak, covered only with the whin
bush or purple heather, where the red roe and the black cock roved wild
and free; while, dimly seen in the distance, rose the misty crest of
Benmore, (nearly four thousand feet above the level of the sea,) the
highest mountain, save one, in Perthshire.

A little _clachan_, or hamlet, consisting of about twenty green thatched
cottages clustered together, with kail-yards behind, occupied the foot
of the ascent leading to the tower; these were inhabited by the tenants,
farm-servants, and herdsmen of Stuart.  The graceful garb of the Gael
was almost uniformly worn by the men; and the old wives, who in fine
weather sat spinning on the turf-seats at the doors, wore the simple
_mutch_ and the varied tartan of their name. The wife of this Highland
castellan had long been dead, as were their children excepting one son,
who was almost the only near kinsman that Stuart had left.

Ronald was a handsome youth, with a proud dark eye, a haughty lip, and a
bold and fearless heart,—possessing all those feelings which render the
Scottish Highlander a being of a more elevated and romantic cast than
his Lowland neighbours.  He was well aware of the groundless animosity
which his father nourished against Sir Allan Lisle; but as in the course
of his lonely rambles, fishing, shooting, or hunting, he often when a
boy encountered the younger members of the Inchavon family, and as he
found them agreeable companions and playmates, he was far from sharing
in the feelings of his prejudiced father.  He found Sir Allan’s son,
Lewis Lisle, an obliging and active youth, a perfect sportsman, who
could wing a bird with a single ball, and who knew every corrie and
chasm through which the wandering Isla flowed, and the deep pools where
the best trout were always to be found.

In Alice Lisle Ronald found a pretty and agreeable playmate in youth,
but a still more agreeable companion for a solitary ramble as they
advanced in years; and he discovered in her splendid dark eyes and
glossy black hair charms which he beheld not at home in his father’s
mountain tower.

During childhood, when the days passed swiftly and happily, the brother
and sister, of a milder mood than Ronald Stuart, admired the activity
with which he was wont to climb the highest craigs and trees, swinging
himself, with the dexterity of a squirrel, from branch to branch, or
rock to rock, seeking the nests of the eagle or raven, or flowers that
grew in the clefts of Craigonan, to deck the dark curls of Alice.  Still
more were they charmed with the peculiarity of his disposition, which
was deeply tinged with the gloomy and romantic,—a sentiment which exists
in the bosom of every Highlander, imparted by the scenery amidst which
he dwells, the lonely hills and silent shores of his lochs, pathless and
solitary heaths, where cairns and moss-covered stones mark the tombs of
departed warriors, pine-covered hills, frowning rocks, and solitary
defiles,—all fraught with traditions of the past, or tales of mysterious
beings who abide in them.  These cause the Gaelic mountaineer to be a
sadder and more thoughtful man than the dwellers in the low country, who
inhabit scenes less grand and majestic.

In the merry laugh and the gentle voice of Alice, Ronald found a charm
to wean him from the tower of Lochisla, and the hours which he spent in
her society, or in watching the windows of her father’s house, were
supposed to be spent in search of the black cock and the fleet roes of
Benmore; and many a satirical observation he endured, in consequence of
bringing home an empty game-bag, after a whole day’s absence with his
gun.

Ronald enjoyed but little society at the tower. His father, in
consequence of the death of his wife and younger children, and owing to
many severe losses which he had sustained in the course of his long
series of litigations, had become a moody and silent man, spending his
days either in reading, or in solitary rides and rambles.  His voice,
which, when he did speak, was authoritative enough and loud, was seldom
heard in the old tower, where the predominant sounds were the grunting
tones of Janet, the aged housekeeper, who quarrelled continually with
Donald Iverach, the piper, whenever the latter could find time, from his
almost constant occupations of piping and drinking, to enjoy a skirmish
with her.

As years crept on, the friendship between the young people strengthened,
and in the breasts of Alice and Ronald Stuart became a deeper and a more
absorbing feeling, binding them "heart to heart and mind to mind," and
each became all the world unto the other.  To them there was something
pleasing and even romantic in the strange secrecy they were necessitated
to use; believing that, should their intercourse ever come to the ears
of their parents, effectual means would be taken to put a stop to it.




                             *CHAPTER II.*

                             *INTERVIEWS.*


    "And must I leave my native isle—
    Fair friendship’s eye—affection’s smile—
    The mountain sport—the angler’s wile—
      The birch and weeping willow, O!
    The Highland glen—the healthy gale—
    The gloaming glee—the evening tale—
    And must I leave my native vale,
    And brave the boisterous billow, O!"
        _Hogg’s Forest Minstrel._


"Alice! my own fair Alice! my hard destiny ordains that I must leave
you," was the sorrowful exclamation of Ronald one evening, as he joined
Alice at their usual place of meeting, a solitary spot on the banks of
the Isla, where the willow and alder bush, overhanging the steep rocks,
swept the dark surface of the stream.

"Leave me!  O Ronald, what can you mean?" was the trembling reply of the
fair girl, as she put her arm through his, and gazed anxiously on the
troubled countenance of her lover.

"That I must go—far from you and the bonnie banks of the Isla.  Yes,
Alice; but it is only for a short time, I trust.  Of the embarrassed
state of my father’s affairs, by his long law-suits and other matters, I
have acquainted you already, and it has now become necessary for me to
choose some profession.  My choice has been the army: what other could
one, possessing the true spirit of a Highland gentleman, follow?"

"O Ronald!  I ever feared our happiness was too great to last long.  Ah!
you must not leave me."

"Alice," replied the young Highlander, his cheek flushing while he
spoke, "our best and bravest men are going forth in thousands to meet
the enemies of our country, drenching in their blood the fatal
Peninsula; and can I remain behind, when so many of my name and kindred
have fallen in the service of the king?  Never has the honour of
Scotland been tarnished by the few who have returned, nor lost by those
who have fallen, in every clime, where the British standard has been
unfurled against an enemy. An ensigncy has been promised me—and in a
Highland regiment, wearing the garb, inheriting the spirit of the Gael,
and commanded by a grandson of the great Lochiel; and I cannot shrink
when my father bids me go, although my heart should almost burst at
leaving you behind, my own—own Alice!" and he pressed to his bosom the
agitated girl, who seemed startled at the vehemence with which he had
spoken.

"But hold, Alice," he added, on perceiving tears trembling on her dark
eyelashes; "you must not give way thus.  I will return, and all will yet
be well. Only imagine what happiness will then be ours, should the
families be on good terms, and I, perhaps, Sir Ronald Stewart, and
knight of I know not how many orders?"

"Ah, Ronald! but think of how many have left their happy homes with
hearts beating high with hope and pride, and left them never to return.
Did not the three sons of your cousin of Strathonan leave their bones on
the red sands of Egypt? and many more can I name.  Ah! how I tremble to
think of the scenes that poor soldiers must behold,—scenes of which I
cannot form even the slightest conception."

"These are sad forebodings," replied the young man, smiling tenderly,
"and from the lips of one less young and less beautiful than yourself,
might have been considered as omens of mischance.  I trust, however,
that I, who have so often shot the swiftest red roes in Strathisla,
slept whole nights on the frozen heather, and know so well the use of
the target and claymore, (thanks to old Iverach,) shall make no bad
soldier or campaigner, and endure the hardships incident to a military
life infinitely better than the fine gentlemen of the Lowland cities.
The proud Cameron who is to command me will, I am sure, be my friend; he
will not forget that his grandsire’s life was saved by mine at Culloden,
and he will regard me with the love of the olden time, for the sake of
those that are dead and gone.  Oh, Alice!  I could view the bright
prospect which is before me with tumultuous joy, but for the sorrow of
leaving you, my white-haired father, and the bonnie braes and deep
corries of Isla.  But if with Heaven’s aid I escape, promise, Alice,
that when I return you will be mine,—mine by a dearer title than ever I
could call you heretofore."

"Ronald—dearest Ronald!  I will love you as I have ever done," she said
in a soft yet energetic tone; "and I feel a secret voice within me which
tells that the happy anticipations of the past will—will yet be
accomplished."  The girl laid her blushing cheek on the shoulder of the
young man, and her dark thick curls, becoming free from the little cap
or bonnet which had confined them, fell over his breast in disorder.

At that exciting moment of passion and mental tumult, Ronald’s eye met a
human countenance observing them sternly from among the leaves of the
trees that flourished near them.  The foliage was suddenly pushed aside,
and Sir Allan Lisle appeared, scanning the young offenders with a stern
glance of displeasure and surprise.  He was a tall thin man, in the
prime of life, with a fine countenance expressive of mildness and
benevolence.  He wore his hair thickly powdered, and tied in a queue
behind.  He carried a heavy hunting-whip in his hand, which he grasped
ominously as he turned his keen eye alternately from the young man to
his trembling daughter, who, leaning against a tree, covered her face
with her handkerchief and sobbed hysterically.  Ronald Stuart stood
erect, and returned Sir Allan’s glance as firmly and as proudly as he
could, but he felt some trouble in maintaining his self-possession.  His
smart blue bonnet had fallen off, fully revealing his strongly-marked
and handsome features, where Sir Allan read at once that he was a bold
youth, with whom proud looks and hard words would little avail.

"How now, sir!" said he at length.  "What am I to understand by all
this?  Speak, young gentleman," he added, perceiving that Ronald was
puzzled, "answer me truly: as the father of this imprudent girl, I am
entitled to a reply."

Ronald was about to stammer forth something.

"You are, I believe, the son of Stuart of Lochisla?" interrupted Sir
Allan sternly, "who is far from being a friend to me or mine.  How long
is it since you have known my daughter? and what am I to understand from
the scene you have acted here?"

"That I love Miss Lisle with the utmost tenderness that one being is
capable of entertaining for another," replied Ronald, his face suffusing
with a crimson glow at the earnest confession.  "Sir Allan, if you have
seen what passed just now, you will perceive that I treat her with that
respect and delicacy which the beauties of her mind and person deserve."

"This is indeed all very fine, sir! and very romantic too; but rather
unexpected—upon my honour rather so," replied the baronet sarcastically,
as he drew the arm of the weeping Alice through his. "But pray, Master
Stuart, how long has this clandestine matter been carried on? how long
have you been acquainted?"

"From our earliest childhood, sir,—indeed I tell you truly,—from the
days in which we used to gather wild flowers and berries together as
little children. We have been ever together; a day has scarcely elapsed
without our seeing each other, and there is not a dingle of the woods, a
dark corrie of the Isla, or a spot on the braes of Strathonan, where we
have not wandered hand in hand, since the days when Alice was a laughing
little girl with flaxen curls until now, when she is become tall,
beautiful, and almost a woman, with ringlets as black as the wing of the
muircock.  But your son Lewis will tell all these things better than I
can, as I am rather confused just now, Sir Allan."

"’Tis very odd this matter has been concealed from me so long," said the
other, softened by the earnest tone of the young man, who felt how much
depended upon the issue of the present unlooked-for interview; "and if
my ears have not deceived me, I think I heard you offer marriage to my
foolish daughter on your return from somewhere?"

"It is very true, sir," replied the young man modestly.

"And pray, young sir! what are your pretensions to the hand of Miss
Lisle?"

"Sir!" ejaculated Ronald, his cheek flushing and his eye sparkling at
the angry inquiry of the other.

"I ask you, Mr Stuart, what are they?  Your father I know to be an
almost ruined man, whose estates are deeply dipped and overwhelmed by
bonds, mortgages, and what not.  He has moreover been a deadly enemy to
me, and has most unwarrantably——"

"Oh, pray, papa! dear papa!" urged the young lady imploringly.

"Sir Allan Lisle," cried Ronald with a stern tone, while his heart beat
tumultuously, "Lowland lawyers and unlooked-for misfortunes are, I know,
completing our ruin, and the pen and parchment have made more inroads
upon us than ever your ancestors could have done with all Perthshire at
their back; but, truly, it ill becomes a gentleman of birth and breeding
to speak thus slightingly of an old and honourable Highland family.  If
my father, inheriting as he does ancient prejudices, has been hostile to
your interests, I, Sir Allan, never have been so; and the time was once,
when a Lisle dared not have spoken thus tauntingly to a Stuart of the
house of Lochisla."

Sir Allan admired the proud and indignant air with which the youth
spoke; but he wished to humble him if possible, and deemed that irony
was a better weapon than anger to meet the fiery young Highlander with.
He gave a sort of tragi-comic start, and was about to make some
sarcastic reply, when his foot caught the root of a tree; he reeled
backward, and fell over the rocky bank into the Isla, which formed a
deep, dark, and noiseless pool below.

A loud and startling cry burst from Alice, as her father suddenly
disappeared from her side.

"Save him, save him, Ronald!  Oh, Ronald! if you love me, save my
father!" she cried in accents at once soul-stirring and imploring, while
she threw herself upon her knees, and, not daring to look upon the
stream, covered her eyes with her hands, calling alternately upon Heaven
and her lover, in tones which defy the power of language to describe, to
save her father.

"Dearest Alice, calm yourself; be pacified,—he shall not perish," cried
Ronald, whose presence of mind had never once forsaken him, as he cast
aside his bonnet and short sporting coat, and gazed over the bank upon
the rapid river running between two abrupt walls of rock, against the
dark sides of which the spray and foam raised by Sir Allan’s struggles
was dashed.  The latter was beating the water fruitlessly in the centre
of the pool, where it was deep and the current strong; yet he made no
outcry, as if unwilling to add to the distress which he knew his
daughter already experienced.

He bestowed one look of terror and agony on Ronald, who instantly sprang
off the precipitous rock, and swimming round him, strongly and
vigorously in wide circles, caught him warily by the hair, and holding
his head above the surface of the stream, swam down the current to a
spot where the bank was less steep, and with some exertion landed him
safely on the green turf, where he lay long speechless; while Alice
wrung her hands, and wept in an ecstasy of terror, embracing her father
and his preserver by turns.  The latter, who was nothing the worse for
his ducking, put on his bonnet and upper garment with perfect _sang
froid_; but it was some time before Sir Allan recovered himself so far
as to be able to thank his preserver, who poured down his throat as he
lay prostrate the contents of a metal hunting-flask, which he generally
carried about with him filled with the best brandy, procured, by means
unknown, duty free at Lochisla.

Shortly and emphatically did Sir Allan thank Ronald for the aid he had
rendered, as he must inevitably have perished, being unable to swim, and
having to contend with a strong current, which would soon have carried
him over the high cascade of Corrie-avon.  Ronald inwardly blessed the
accident which had rendered Sir Allan so much his debtor, and wrought
such a happy change of sentiment in his favour.  He accompanied Alice
and her father to one of the gate-lodges of Inchavon, and there
resisting an earnest invitation to the house, he returned with all speed
home, not ill pleased with the issue of the day’s adventures.




                             *CHAPTER III.*

                          *A TRUE HIGHLANDER.*


    "Not much his new ally he loved,
    Yet when he saw what hap had proved,
      He greeted him right heartilie;
    He would not waken old debate,
    For he was void of rancorous hate,
    Though rude, and scant of courtesy."
        _The Last Minstrel_, canto v.


One fine forenoon, a few days after the occurrences related in the last
chapter, a horseman appeared riding along the narrow uneven road leading
by the banks of Lochisla towards the tower.  It was Sir Allan Lisle, who
came along at a slow trot, managing his nag with the ease and grace of a
perfect rider, never making use of either whip or spur, but often
drawing in his rein to indulge the pleasure and curiosity with which he
beheld (though accustomed to the splendid scenery of Perthshire) this
secluded spot, which he had never seen before,—the black and solitary
tower, the dark blue waveless loch, and the wild scenery by which it was
surrounded.

As he advanced up the ascent towards the tower, his horse began to
snort, shake its mane, and grow restive, as its ears were saluted by a
noise to which they were unaccustomed.

Donald Iverach, the old piper of the family, (which office his ancestors
had held since the days of Robert the Second, according to his own
account,) was pacing with a stately air to and fro before the door of
the fortalice, with the expanded bag of the piob mhor under his arm,
blowing from its long chaunter and three huge drones "a tempest of
dissonance;" while he measured with regular strides the length of the
barbican or court, at one end of which stood a large stoup of whisky,
(placed on the end of a cask,) to which he applied himself at every turn
of his promenade to wet his whistle.

The piper, though of low stature, was of a powerful, athletic, and
sinewy form, and although nearly sixty, was as fresh as when only
sixteen; his face was rough and purple, from drinking and exposure to
the weather; his huge red whiskers curled round beneath his chin and
grew up to his eyes, which twinkled and glittered beneath their shaggy
brows; a smart blue bonnet set jauntily, very much over the right eye,
gave him a knowing look, and his knees, "which had never known covering
from the day of his birth," where exposed by the kilt were hairy and
rough as the hide of the roe-buck; his plaid waved behind, and a richly
mounted dirk, eighteen inches long, hanging on his right side, completed
his attire.

Great was the surprise of the Celt when, on turning in his march, he
suddenly beheld Sir Allan Lisle, whom he had not seen since the last
year, when by the laird’s orders he had endeavoured, by the overwhelming
noise of his pipe, to drown a speech which the baronet was addressing to
the electors of the county.  But what earthly errand, thought Donald,
could bring a Lisle up Strathisla, where one of the race had not been
seen since the father of the present Sir Allan had beleagured the tower
in 1746 with a party of the Scottish Fusileers.  The chaunter fell from
the hand of the astonished piper, and the wind in the bag of his
instrument escaped with an appalling groan.

"My good friend, I am glad you have ceased at last," said Sir Allan; "I
expected every moment that my horse would have thrown me.  This fortress
of yours will be secure against cavalry while you are in it, I dare
swear."

"I dinna ken, sir," replied the piper, touching his bonnet haughtily;
"but when pare-leggit gillies and red coats tried it in the troublesome
times, they aye gat the tead man’s share o’ the deep loch below."

"Is your master—is Lochisla at home?"

"His honour the laird is within," replied Iverach, as Sir Allan
dismounted and desired him to hold his horse.

"Lochisla’s piper will hold nae man’s bridle-rein, his honour’s
excepted," said the indignant Highlander; "put a common gillie may do
tat.  Holloa! Alpin Oig Stuart!  Dugald!  Evan! come an’ hold ta
shentleman’s praw sheltie," shouted he, making the old barbican ring.

"One will do, I dare say," said Sir Allan, smiling as he resigned his
nag to Evan, Iverach’s son, a powerful young mountaineer, who appeared
at his father’s shout.

Preceded by Donald, Sir Allan ascended the winding staircase of the
tower, and was ushered into the hall, or principal apartment it
contained, the roof of which was a stone arch.  At one side yawned a
large fire-place, on the mouldered lintel of which appeared the crest
and badge-flower of the Stuarts,—a thistle, and underneath was the
family motto, "_Omne solum forti patria_."  At each end of the chamber
was a window of moderate size, with a stone mullion in the form of a
cross; one commanded a view of the loch and neighbouring forests of
birch and pine, and the other the distant outline of the high Benmore.
The walls were adorned with apparatus for hunting, fishing, shooting,
and sylvan trophies, intermixed with targets, claymores, Lochaber axes,
old muskets, matchlocks, &c.

The furniture was of oak, or old and black mahogany, massive and much
dilapidated, presenting a very different appearance to that in the
splendid modern drawing-room at Inchavon.  A few old portraits hung on
the blackened walls, and one in particular, that of a stern old
Highlander, whose white beard flowed over his belted plaid, seemed to
scowl on Sir Allan, who felt considerably embarrassed when he
unexpectedly found himself in the habitation of one, whom he could not
consider otherwise than as his foe.

While awaiting the appearance of the proprietor, whom the piper was gone
to inform of the visit, Sir Allan’s eye often wandered to the portrait
above the fire-place, and he remembered that it was the likeness of the
father of the present Stuart, who at the battle of Falkirk had unhorsed,
by a stroke of his broadsword, his (Sir Allan’s) father, then an officer
in the army of General Hawley.  While Sir Allan mused over the tales he
had heard of the grim Ian Mhor of Lochisla, the door opened, and Mr.
Stuart entered.

Erect in person, stately in step, and graceful in deportment, strong and
athletic of form, he appeared in every respect the genuine Highland
gentleman. He was upwards of sixty, but his eye was clear, keen, and
bright, and his weather-beaten cheek and expansive forehead were
naturally tinged with a ruddy tint, which was increased to a flush by
the excitement caused at this unlooked-for visit.

Unlike his servants, who wore the red tartan of their race, he was
attired in the usual dress of a country gentleman, and wore his silver
locks thickly and unnecessarily powdered, and clubbed in a thick queue
behind.

The natural politeness and hospitable feeling of a Highlander had
banished every trace of displeasure from his bold and unwrinkled brow,
and he grasped Sir Allan’s hand with a frankness at which the latter was
surprised, as was old Janet the housekeeper, who saw through the keyhole
what passed, though she was unable, in consequence of her deafness, to
hear what was said.

"Be seated, Sir Allan," said Mr. Stuart, bowing politely, though he felt
his stiffness and hauteur rising within him, and endeavoured to smother
it. "To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit? which, I must
have the candour to acknowledge, is most unexpected."

"Lochisla," replied the other, addressing him in the Scottish manner by
the name of his property, "to the gallantry of your brave boy, Ronald,
but for whose exertions I should at this moment have been sleeping at
the bottom of the Linn at Corrie-avon. I have deemed it incumbent upon
me to visit Lochisla, to return my earnest thanks personally for the
signal service he has rendered to me, and I regret that the terms on
which you—on which we have lived, render, in your estimation, my visit
rather an honour than a pleasure."

A shade crossed the brow of the Highlander, but on hearing the
particulars he congratulated Sir Allan on his escape in a distant and
polite manner, while the twinkle of his bright eyes showed how much
satisfaction he enjoyed at the brave conduct of his son.  While Sir
Allan was relating the story, Mr. Stuart placed near him a large silver
liqueur frame, containing six cut-glass bottles, the variously coloured
contents of which sparkled behind their silver labels.

"Come, Sir Allan, fill your glass, and drink to my boy’s health: one
does not experience so narrow an escape often, now-a-days at least.
Come, sir, fill your glass,—there is sherry, brandy, port, and the purer
dew of the hills; choose which you please."

"You Stuarts of Lochisla have long borne a name for hospitality, but it
is rather early to taste strong waters,—’tis not meridian yet."

"Our hospitality was greater in the olden time than it is now; but it is
not often that this old hall has within it one of the Lisles of the
Inch, and you must positively drink with me," answered his host,
compelling him to fill his glass from the decanter of purple port.

"Our visits have been fewer, and less friendly, than I trust they will
be for the future.  Your health Lochisla," he added, sipping his wine.
"’Tis sixty years and more, I think, since my father came up the Strath
with his followers, when—"

"We will not talk of these matters, Sir Allan," exclaimed Stuart, on
whose features was gathering a stern expression which Sir Allan saw not,
as he sat with his face to a window and looked through his glass with
one eye closed, watching a crumb of the bee’s wing floating on the
bright liquor.  "They are the last I would wish to think of when you are
my guest."

"Pardon me, I had no wish to offend; we have ever been as strangers to
each other, although our acres march.  I have had every desire to live
on amicable terms with you, Mr. Stuart; but you have ever been
prejudiced against me, and truly without a cause."

"I am one of the few who inherit the feelings of a bygone age.  But, Sir
Allan Lisle, let us not, I intreat you, refer to the past," coldly
replied the old Highlander, to whom two parts of his guest’s last speech
were displeasing.  The recurrence to the past terms on which they had
lived, brought to his mind more than one case of litigation in which Sir
Allan had come off victorious; the other was being addressed as _Mr.
Stuart_, a title by which he was never known among his own people.  The
polite and affable manner of his visitor had tended to diminish his
prejudices during the last five minutes, but Sir Allan’s blundering
observations recalled to the mind of the old _duinhe-wassal_ the bitter
feelings which he inherited from his father, and his high forehead
became flushed and contracted.

"It appears very unaccountable," said he, after the uncomfortable pause
which had ensued, "that my son has never, during the past days,
mentioned the circumstance of the happy manner in which he drew you from
the Corrie-avon."

"To that," replied the other laughing, "a story is appended, a very
romantic one indeed, part of which I suppressed in my relation; nothing
less, in fact, than a love-affair, to which, as I have conceived a
friendship for the brave boy to whom I owe a life, I drink every
success," (draining his glass); "but this must be treated of more
gravely at a future interview."

"Sir Allan, I understand you not; but if Ronald has formed any
attachment in this neighbourhood, he must learn to forget it, as he will
soon leave Lochisla.  Some cottage girl, I suppose: these attachments
are common enough among the mountains."

"You mistake me: the young lady is one every way his equal, and they
have known each other from their childhood.  But I will leave the hero
to tell his own tale, which will sound better from the lips of a
handsome Highland youth, than those of a plain grey-haired old fellow,
like myself."

"I like your frankness," said Stuart, softened by the praise bestowed on
his son by his old adversary, whose hand he shook, "and will requite it,
Sir Allan.  When Ronald comes down the glen, I will talk with him over
this matter, which I confess troubles me a little at heart, as I never
supposed he would have kept an attachment of his secret from me, his
only parent now, and one that has loved him so dearly as I have done.
But I must be gentle with him, as he is about to leave me soon, poor
boy."

"Ah! for the army,—so I have heard: our boys will follow nothing else
now-a-days.  I fear my own springald, Lewis, is casting wistful thoughts
that way.  But should you wish it, I may do much in Ronald’s favour: I
have some little interest with those in power in London, and——"

"I thank you, but it needs not to be so.  Huntly has promised me that
Ronald shall not be forgotten when a vacancy occurs in the "Gordon
Highlanders," a regiment raised among his own people and kindred; and
the Marquis, whose interest is great with the Duke of York, will not
forget his word—his pledged word to a Highland gentleman."

On Sir Allan’s departure, Stuart, from one of the hall windows, watched
his retiring figure as he rode rapidly down the glen, and disappeared
among the birchen foliage which overhung and shrouded the winding
pathway.  A sour smile curled his lip; he felt old prejudices rising
strongly in his breast, and he turned his eye on the faded portrait of
his father, and thought of the time when he had sat as a little child
upon his knee, and heard the family of Lisle mentioned with all the
bitterness of Highland rancour, and been told a thousand times of the
days when Colonel Lisle had carried fire and sword through all Lochisla,
besieging the little tower for days, until its inmates were perishing
for want.  In the tide of feeling which these reflections called forth,
the late amiable interview was forgotten; and he only remembered Sir
Allan as the foe of his race, and the victor in many a keenly contested
case in the Parliament house, the place where the Court of Session sit
at Edinburgh.

A bustle in the narrow staircase recalled him to himself: the door was
thrown open, and Ronald entered, gun in hand, from the hill, flushed and
excited with the nature of the sport.  Two tall Highlanders strode
behind, bearing on their shoulders a stout pole, from which was
suspended by the heels a gigantic deer, whose branching antlers trailed
on the floor, which was sprinkled with spots of blood falling from its
dilated nostrils and a death-wound in its neck, which had been gashed
across by the skene-dhu of a Highlander.  A number of red-eyed dogs
accompanied them, displaying in their forms the long and muscular limbs,
voluminous chest, and rough wiry coat of the old Scottish hound,—a noble
animal, once common in the Lowlands, but now to be found only in the
north, where the deer wander free over immense stretches of waste
moorland or forest, as they did of old.

"A brave beast he is," said Ronald exultingly, as he cast aside his
bonnet and gun.  "At the head of the loch I fired, and wounded him here
in the neck: we traced him by the blood for two miles down the Isla,
where he flew through thicket and brake with the speed of an arrow; but
the gallant dogs Odin and Carril fastened upon him, and drew him down
when about to take the water, near the march-stone of the Lisles.  ’Twas
luckily done: had he once gained the grounds of Inchavon, our prize
would have been lost."

"Ronald," replied his father coldly, "we will hear all this matter
afterwards."  Then turning to the gillies, "Dugald Stuart, and you Alpin
Oig," said he, "carry away this quarry to the housekeeper, and desire
her to fill your queghs for you.  I have had a visit from Sir Allan
Lisle," resumed Stuart, when the Highlanders had obeyed his order and
retired. "Hah! you change countenance already: this has been a
mysterious matter.  He has been here to return thanks for your pulling
him out of Isla, where he was nearly drowned, poor man, a day or two
since,—a circumstance which you seem to have thought too worthless to
mention to me.  But there is another matter, on which I might at least
have been consulted," he added, watching steadily the changes in the
countenance of the young man, whose heart fluttered with excitement.
"You have formed an attachment to some girl in the neighbourhood, which
has reached the ears of this Allan Lisle although it never came to mine,
and the intercourse has continued for years although I have been
ignorant of it.  Ronald, my boy, who is the girl?  As your father, I
have at least a right to inquire her name and family."

"Do pray excuse me," faltered the other, playing nervously with his
bonnet; "I am too much embarrassed at present to reply,—some other time.
Ah! your anger would but increase, I fear, were you to know."

"It does increase!  Surely she is not a daughter of that grim churl
Corrieoich up the glen yonder? I have seen his tawdry kimmers at the
county ball. I can scarcely think this flame of yours is a child of his.
You remember the squabble I had with him about firing on his people, who
were dragging the loch with nets under the very tower windows.  By
Heaven! is she a daughter of his?" cried his father in the loud and
imperative tone so natural to a Highlander.  "Answer me, I command you,
Ronald Stuart!"

"She is not, I pledge you my word," replied the young man gently.

"Ronald!" exclaimed the old gentleman, a dark flush gathering on his
cheek, "she must be some mean and contemptible object, otherwise you
would not shrink from the mention of her name, was it gentle and noble,
in this coward way."

"Coward I never was," replied Ronald bitterly. "I may shrink before my
own father, when I would scorn to quail before the angry eye of any
other man who lives and breathes.  Nor do I blush to own the name of—of
this lady.  She is Alice, the daughter of Sir Allan Lisle, of Inchavon.
Ah, sir!  I fear I have applied a match to a mine; but I must await the
explosion."

Ronald had indeed lighted a mine.  A terrible expression flashed in the
eyes of the old Highlander, and gathered upon his formidable brow.

"Ronald!  Ronald! for this duplicity I was unprepared," he exclaimed in
emphatic Gaelic, with a tone of the bitterest reproach.  "Have you dared
to address yourself to a daughter of that man?  Look up, degenerate
boy!" he added, grasping Ronald’s arm with fierce energy, while he spoke
with stern distinctness.  "Look upon the portrait of old Ian Mhor, your
brave grand sire, and imagine what he would have thought of this.  The
Lisles of Inchavon!  _Dhia gledh sinn_!  I have not forgotten their last
hostile attempt sixty-five years since, in 1746, when Colonel Lisle, the
father of this Sir Allan, besieged our tower with his whole battalion.
I was a mere infant then; but I well remember how the muskets of the
fusileers flashed daily and nightly from rock and copse-wood, and from
the dark loopholes of the tower, where the brave retainers of Lochisla
defended my father’s stronghold with the desperate courage of outlawed
and ruined men,—ruined and outlawed in a noble cause!  These days of
death and siege I have not forgotten, nor the pale cheek of the mother
at whose breast I hung seeking nourishment, while she was perishing for
want of food.  Nor have I forgotten the gallows-tree—God be gracious
unto me!—raised by the insolent soldiery on the brae-head to hang our
people when they surrendered; and, had they ever yielded, they would
have swung every man of them, and have been food for the raven and
hoodiecraw.  And this paternal tower would have been now ruined and
roofless, forming a lair for the fox and the owl, but for the friendship
of our kinsman Seafield, who wrung a respite and reprieve from the
unwilling hand of the merciless German duke.

"Oh, Ronald Stuart! remember these things, and recall some traces of the
spirit of Ian Mhor, whose name and blood you inherit.  He was a stern
old man, and a proud one, possessing the spirit of the days that are
gone,—days when the bold son of the hills redressed his wrongs with his
own right hand, and held his lands, not by possession of a sheepskin,
but by the broad blade of his good claymore."

He paused a moment, passed his hand across his glowing brow, and thus
continued in a tone of sterner import, and more high-flown Gaelic.

"Listen to me, O Ronald!  Hearken to a father who has loved, and
watched, and tended you as never father did a son.  Think no more of
Inchavon’s daughter!  Promise me to spurn her from your remembrance, or
never more shall you find a home in the dwelling-place of our fathers:
you shall be as a stranger to my heart, and your name be known in
Lochisla no more.  I will cast you off as a withered branch, and leave
our ancient patrimony to the hereditary chieftain of our race.  Pledge
me your word, or, Ronald, I pronounce you for ever lost!"

During this long and energetic harangue, which was delivered in the
sonorous voice which Mr. Stuart always assumed with his Gaelic, various
had been the contending emotions in the bosom of Ronald. Love and pride,
indignation and filial respect, agitated him by turns; and when his
father ceased, he took up his bonnet with an air of pride and grief.

"Sir—sir—O my father!" said he, while his pale lip quivered, and a tear
glittered in his dark eye, "you will be spared any further trouble on my
account.  I will go; leave Lochisla to the Stuarts of Appin, or whom you
may please.  I will seek my fortune elsewhere, and show you truly that
’a brave man makes every soil his country.’"

As he turned to leave the apartment, the stern aspect of his father’s
features relaxed, and he surveyed him with a wistful look.

"Stay, Ronald," he exclaimed; "I have been hasty.  You would not desert
me thus in my old age, and leave me with anger on your brow?  Let not
our pride overcome our natural affection.  I will speak of this matter
again, and——"

Here he was interrupted by Donald Iverach, who entered respectfully,
bonnet in hand, bearing two long official-looking letters, which he
handed to Mr. Stuart, who started on perceiving "_On his Majesty’s
service_" (an unusual notice to him) printed on the upper corner of
each.

"Hoigh!" said the piper, "your honour’s clory disna get twa sic muckle
letters ilka day.  The auld doited cailloch tat keeps the post-house
down at the clachan of Strathfillan, sent a gilly trotting up the
water-side wi’ them, as fast as his houghs could pring him."

Their contents became speedily known.  The first was a letter from the
Horse Guards, informing Mr. Stuart that his son was appointed to an
ensigncy in the 92nd regiment, or Gordon Highlanders, commanded by the
Marquis of Huntly.  The second was to Ronald himself, signed by the
adjutant-general, directing him with all speed to join a detachment,
which was shortly to leave the depot in the Castle of Edinburgh for the
seat of war.

Pride and pleasure at the new and varied prospect before him were the
first emotions of Ronald’s mind; sorrow and regret at thoughts of
parting so suddenly, perhaps for ever, from all that was dear to him,
succeeded them.

"Hoigh! hui-uigh!" cried old Iverach, capering with Highland agility on
hearing the letters read. "Hui-uigh!" he exclaimed, making the weapons
clatter on the wall with his wild and startling shout, while he tossed
his bonnet up to the vaulted roof; "and so braw Maister Ronald is going
to the clorious wars, to shoot the French loons like the muircocks o’
Strathisla, or the bonnie red roes o’ Benmore!  Hoigh!  Got tam! auld
Iverach’s son sall gang too, and follow the laird’s, as my ain faither
and mony a braw shentleman did auld Sir Ian Mhor to the muster o’
Glenfinan.  And when promotion is in the way, braw Maister Ronald will
no forget puir Evan Iverach, the son of his faither’s piper, that
follows him for love to the far-awa’ land.  And when the pipers blaw the
onset, neither o’ them will forget the bonnie banks of Lochisla, and the
true hearts they have left behind them there.  And when the onset is
nigh, let them shout the war-cry of their race: my prave prothers cried
it on the ramparts of Ticonderago,[*] where the auld plack watch were
mown doon like grass, in a land far peyond the isles, where the sun sets
in the west."


[*] In that sanguinary affair the 42nd Highlanders, or old Black-Watch,
lost 43 officers, commissioned and non-commissioned, and had 603
privates killed and wounded; and "to many a heart and home in the
Highlands did this disastrous though glorious intelligence bring
desolation and mourning."


As this enthusiastic retainer left the apartment to communicate the news
to the rest of the household, old Mr. Stuart turned to gaze on his son.

The arrival of these letters had caused a vast change in their feelings
within the last five minutes; all traces of discord had vanished, and
the softest feelings of our nature remained behind.




                             *CHAPTER IV.*

                            *THE DEPARTURE.*


    "Farewell, farewell, a last adieu!
      Adieu, ye hills and dales so sweet;
    Adieu, ye gurgling rills, for you
      And I again may never meet!
    Sweet lovely scene, with charms replete!
      Backward my longing eyes I turn,
    Leave your stupendous rocks with woe,
      To yonder cloud-capped town I go,
    Ah! never to return."
        _Colin Maclaurin._


Sorrow for the sudden departure of Ronald was the prevailing sentiment
in the tower of Lochisla, which old Janet the housekeeper caused to
re-echo with her ceaseless lamentations, poured forth either in broken
broad Scotch, or in her more poetical and descriptive Gaelic, for the
going forth of the bold boy whom she had watched over and nursed from
childhood with the tenderness of a mother.

His father felt deeply the pang of parting with the only child that
death had left him; but he pent his feelings within his own proud bosom,
and showed them but little.  He said nothing more of Alice Lisle,
unwilling to sour the few remaining hours they had to spend together by
harsh injunctions or disagreeable topics, deeming that Ronald in the
busy scenes which were before him in his military career would be taught
to forget the boyish attachment of his early days.  It is thus that old
men ever reckon, forgetting that the first impressions which the young
heart receives are ever the strongest and most lasting.

He directed with cool firmness the arrangements for his son’s early
departure, and save now and then a quivering of the lip or a deep sigh,
no other emotion was visible.  He felt keenly, nor would he ever have
parted with Ronald, notwithstanding the eagerness of the youth to join
the army, but for the entanglement of his private affairs, which
rendered it absolutely necessary that his son should be independent of
his shattered patrimony, and the proud and martial disposition of both
their minds made arms the only profession to be chosen.

It was close upon the time of his departure ere Ronald could make an
arrangement to obtain an interview with Alice Lisle.  He despatched by
Evan, the son of Iverach, a note to Alice, requesting her to meet and
bid him adieu, in the lawn in front of Inchavon-house, on the evening of
the second day, referring her to the bearer for a recapitulation of the
events which had taken place.

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. Æneas 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 _frères 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, _frères
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 cætera_?"

"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."

Campbell stretched his bulky form on the boards, with his cudgel and
long claymore beside him, and turning his face to the wall was soon in a
deep slumber, as a certain noise proceeding from his nostrils indicated.
But it was not so with the younger soldier, who courted in vain the
influence of the drowsy god whose power had overwhelmed the senses of
his comrade.

The fumes of the unusual quantity of wine which he had taken, were
mounting into Ronald’s head, and he lay watching the pale light of the
stars through the latticed windows.  Frightful faces, which he traced in
the stains on the discoloured wall, seemed to peer through the gloom
upon him, and every rumbling sound that echoed through the old mansion
caused him to start, grip his sword and look about, for the vivid idea
of the poor chasseurs who had been assassinated, in that very chamber,
haunted him continually, causing him to shudder. When he thought, also,
that he had spent the night in carousal with a murderous bravo, he
resolved to be more circumspect in what company he would trust his
person, in future, while in Spain.

From a sleep into which he had sunk, he was soon awakened by the warning
pipe for the march, which passed close beneath the window, and then grew
fainter in sound as Macdonuil-dhu strode on, arousing his comrades from
their billets, and the wild notes died away in the dark and narrow
streets of the city.  The major sprang up at the well-known sound, and
Ronald, although wearied and unrefreshed, prepared to follow him.

"Confound this fashion of Lord Wellington’s! this marching always an
hour before day-break," muttered Campbell.  "The morning is so chilly
and cold, that my very teeth chatter, and——the devil! my canteen is
empty," he added, shaking the little wooden barrel which went by that
name, and one of which every officer and soldier on service carried
slung in a shoulder-belt.  "If you have nought in yours, Stuart, we must
leave the house of the honourable Senor Narvaez Cifuentes without our
_doch-an-dhoris_,[*] as we say at home in poor old Scotland, where men
may sleep quietly at night, without fear of getting a dirk put into
their wame.  Shake your canteen, my boy!  Is there a shot in the
locker?"


[*] Gaelic, meaning stirrup-cup.


Luckily for the thirsty commander, Ronald’s last day’s allowance of
ration rum was untouched, and they now quaffed it between them to the
regimental toast,—"Here’s to the Highlandmen, shoulder to shoulder!" a
sentiment well known among the Scottish mountaineers as a true military
toast.

They now proceeded down stairs, where they found their patron seated in
his wine-store, surrounded by the well-filled skins; he sat beside a
rickety old table, on which he leaned with the clumsy and careless air
that so well became his appearance; his chin rested on his hand, and his
tangled black hair fell over his face, but from between the locks he
eyed them with a gaze of intense ferocity as they entered. Campbell
sternly shook his stick over his head, and tossing towards him a few
reals for their last night’s entertainment, passed with Ronald into the
street, where the soldiers were under arms.

On leaving behind the town of Albuquerque, the sound of distant firing
in front warned them of their nearer approach to the place of their
destination, and the scene of actual hostilities.  As they advanced, the
sharp but scattered reports of musketry, and now and then the deeper
boom of a field-piece, came floating towards them on the breeze which
swept along the level places; but an eminence, upon which the ancient
castle of Zagala is situated, obstructed their view of the hostile
operations, and they pressed eagerly forward to gain the height, full of
excitement and glee.

"Welcome to Spain!" cried an officer of the 13th Light Dragoons, who
came galloping up from the rear, and reined in his jaded charger by the
side of the marching Highlanders for a few minutes.  "There is brave
sport going on in front; press forward, my boys, and you may be in at
the death, as we used to say at home in old Kent."

"What is going on in advance?" asked the major. "Are ours engaged?"

"I have little doubt that they are: Cameron never lags behind, you know.
I was left in the rear at Albuquerque on duty, and am now hurrying
forward to join the 13th, who belong to Long’s cavalry brigade.  They
are now driving a party of plundering French out of La Nava: you will
have a view of the whole affair when you gain the top of the hill.  But
I must not delay here: adieu!" and dashing the spurs into his horse, he
disappeared behind the ruinous castle.

"Forward, men! double quick.  Let us gain the head of the brae," cried
Campbell, urging forward with cudgel and spur a miserable Rosinante,
which he had procured at Lisbon.

Carrying their muskets at the long trail, the Highlanders advanced with
that quick trot so habitual to the Scottish mountaineers, which soon
brought them beneath the grass-grown battlements and mouldering towers
of Zagala, from the eminence of which they now had an extensive view to
the southward.

The horizon extended to about six or eight leagues, and all within that
ample circle was waste and barren land, where the plough had been
unknown for an age, and where nought seemed to flourish but weeds and
little laurel-bushes.  There was no trace of habitation around the
plain, but far off appeared the deserted village of La Nava, near a
leafless cork wood, the bare boughs presenting but a poor back ground to
roofless walls and solitary rafters.  There was something chilling in so
dreary a prospect, but most of the plains in the same province present a
similar aspect, because in no part of Spain is agriculture more
neglected than in Estremadura.  It was early in the spring of the year,
and traces of vegetation were becoming visible; the wood near La Nava
was, as I have said, bare and leafless, but a few stunted shrubs by the
way-side gave signs of budding. The ruddy sun was setting in the west
behind the lofty Sierra de Montanches, the dark ridges of which rose
behind the high city and castled rock of Albuquerque: the sky in every
direction was of a clear cold blue, save around the sun, where large
masses of gold and purple clouds seemed resting on the curved outline of
the mountains, over which and through every opening the rays fell
aslant, and were reflected by the arms of the troops who occupied the
level plain, over which shone the long line of its setting splendour.
From the height of Zagala they beheld the operations in front.

A party of five hundred French infantry were rapidly retreating towards
the cork wood, exposed to the continual fire of two twelve-pound
field-pieces and the charges of the cavalry brigade under General Long,
who took every opportunity of breaking among the little band through the
gaps formed by the cannon shot, which made complete lanes through their
compact mass.  The French retired with admirable coolness and bravery,
keeping up a hot and rapid fire from four sides on the cavalry, who
often charged them at full speed, brandishing their sabres, but were
forced to recoil; and no sooner was a gap made in a face of a solid
square by the fall of a file, than it was instantly filled by another.
And thus leaving behind them a line of killed and wounded, they
continued their retreat towards Merida, where their main body lay,
disputing every foot of ground with desperate courage until they reached
the cork wood, which being unfavourable for the movements of the
cavalry, the latter were obliged to retire with considerable loss.

"Hurrah!" cried Campbell, flourishing his stick; "I have not seen this
sort of work for this year and more.  You see, Stuart, that a solid
square of bold infantry may laugh at a charge of horse, who must recoil
from their bayonets like water from a rock. There are the 9th and 13th
Light Dragoons and the fire of the French seems to have cooled their
chivalry a little, and shown them that a sabre is as nothing against
brown Bess, with a bayonet on her muzzle. They are retiring towards us,
after doing, however, all that brave hearts could do.  Poor fellows!
many of them are lying rolling about wounded and in agony, or already
dead, near the skirts of that confounded copse by which the frog-eaters
have escaped.  But where are _ours_?  I do not see Howard’s brigade."

"Yonder they are, major," replied Ronald, "halted on the level place
behind the ruined village.  I see the bonnets of the Highlanders, and
the colours."

"Ay, I see them now.  Yonder they are, sure enough; and the old
Half-hundred, and the 71st, the light bobs, with the tartan trews and
hummel bonnets, all as spruce as ever, bivouacked comfortably on the
bare earth as of old.  We shall have the pleasure of passing the night
without even a tent to keep the dew off us.  _Carajo!_ as the Spaniard
says; you will now taste the delights of soldiering in good earnest, as
I did first in Egypt with old Sir Ralph Abercrombie."

"We are seen by them.  I hear the sound of the pipes, and they are
waving their bonnets in welcome," said Alister Macdonald.

"Blow up your bags, Macdonuil-dhu, and let them hear the bray of the
drones," cried Campbell, whacking the sides of his nag to urge her
onward. "Push forward, brave lads! we will be with Fassifern and our
comrades in a few minutes more."

Skirting the miserable village of La Nava, they soon arrived at the
ground over which the advanced picquet of the enemy had retired.  Two
dead bodies attracted the eye of Ronald as he passed over them, and
being the first men he had ever seen slain, and in so revolting a
manner, they made an impression on his mind which was not easily
effaced.  They were young and good-looking men, and the same cannon-shot
had mowed them both down.  A complete hole was made in the body of one,
and his entrails were scattered about; the legs of the other were
carried away, and lay a few yards off, with a ball near them half buried
in the turf.  Their grenadier caps, each adorned with a brass eagle and
red plume, had fallen off, and the frightful distortion of their livid
features, with the wild glare of their white and glassy eyes, struck
Ronald with a feeling of horror and compassion, which it was long ere he
could forget.

"Queer work this!" said the major, coolly looking at them over his
horsed flank, "and you don’t seem to admire it much, Stuart; but you are
a young soldier yet, and will get used to it by and by.  Nothing hardens
either the heart or the hide so much as a campaign or two.  I learned
that in Egypt."

"Puir callants! what would their mothers think, were they to see their
bairns as they lie here noo?" soliloquized Evan, looking after them
ruefully.

"It would be an awfu’ sicht for them, or ony o’ the peaceable folk at
name," replied another soldier. "But what can these twa queer chields
wi’ the muckle brimmed hats be wanting wi’ them?"

"The Spanish dogs!  Would to Heaven I might be allowed to shoot them
dead," vociferated Campbell, making a motion with his hand towards the
bear-skin covering of his holsters.  "The scoundrels! they are come to
rob and strip the dead."

Two Spanish peasants had approached the bodies, about which they
exercised their hands so busily, that they soon plundered them of
knapsacks, accoutrements, uniform, and every thing, leaving the
mutilated bodies stripped to the skin and exposed on the plain, while
they made off towards La Nava with their spoil.  A few minutes’ more
marching brought the major’s detachment to the spot where the brigade of
General Howard was halted on a piece of waste moorland, where the three
corps had piled their arms, and were making such preparations for
bivouacking for the night as could be made by men who had neither tent
to cover them, nor couch to repose on but the bare and cold earth.

No tents at that time, or for long afterwards, were served out by the
British government to our troops in Spain, and their privations and
misery were of course greatly increased by the want of proper means of
encamping.  The men were lying about in all directions, worn out and
exhausted with the load they had carried and the fatigue of a long
march; and the officers were reposing among them without ceremony.
Apart from them all, on the right of the line, Colonel Cameron of
Fassifern stood holding his caparisoned horse by the bridle, as was his
usual custom, aloof alike from his officers and soldiers. He was a proud
and strict commander, who kept the former "at the staff’s end," as the
military saying is, behaving to them in a manner at once haughty, cold,
and distant; and yet withal he was a good officer, a brave soldier, and
beloved by his regiment, which would have stood by him to the last man.
He was a well-made figure, above the middle height; his features were
handsome, and his hair was fair and curly.  There was ever a proud and
fiery sort of light in his dark blue eyes, which when he was excited
were wont to sparkle and flash with peculiar brilliancy,—an expression
which never failed to produce its due effect upon beholders.  To him the
major reported his arrival, and introduced the officers one by one.

He eyed Ronald Stuart, of whom he had heard previously, with a keen
Highland glance, and asked some questions about his family and his
father.

"I have often heard of the Stuarts of Lochisla," said he, "but have
never had the pleasure of seeing one till now.  Sir John Stuart of the
Tower saved the life and honour of my grandfather Lochiel, at the risk
of his own, on the bloody field of Culloden.  I am happy to have the
descendant of so brave a man an officer of the Gordon Highlanders."

"Ensign Macdonald, colonel," said the major, presenting Alister.

"Macdonald?  Ah!" said Cameron, bowing, "your family is not unknown to
me.  I have had letters from Glengarry, and all the Macdonalds of the
Isles, respecting you;" and thus he went on, as there was scarcely an
officer introduced to him whose family was not well known in the North.
After some little conversation, Ronald withdrew to where the officers
were grouped around the bulky figure of Campbell, asking a hundred
questions about the news from home, &c.

There was scarcely an officer or private of the new comers but was met
and greeted by some kinsman or old friend, whose canteen of ration rum,
or Lisbon wine, was at his service; and loud were the shouts of laughter
and merriment that arose on all sides.  Eager and earnest were the
inquiries about village homes and paternal hearths in "the land of the
mountain and the flood," and to many a Jean, Jessy, and Tibby, were the
wooden canteens drained to their dregs; but although the fun "grew fast
and furious" amongst many, there were some whose hearts grew sad at the
intelligence which their comrades brought, of some grey head, which they
loved and revered, being laid in the dust in some old and
well-remembered kirk-yard; or of a faithless Jenny, who preferred a
lover at home to one far away in Spain.

As the shades of night darkened over the plain of La Nava, the sounds
died away; and stretching their bare legs on the dewy earth, the hardy
Highlanders reposed between the pyramids of firelocks and bayonets that
glittered in the red glare of the watch-fires, lighted at certain
distances throughout the bivouac, which became quiet for the night,
after strong picquets had been posted in the direction of Merida, where
fifteen hundred French under the command of General Dombrouski (a Pole
in Buonaparte’s service) were quartered.  Rolled up in a cloak and
blanket, Ronald laid himself down like the rest, with the basket-hilt of
his claymore for a pillow and clay for his bed; but to sleep in a
situation so new and uncomfortable was almost impossible, and he often
raised his head to view the strange scene around him.

The ruddy blaze of the fires was cast upon the worn uniform, faded
tartan, and sun-burned knees and faces of the soldiers, giving a strong
light and shade, which increased the picturesque and romantic appearance
of the bivouac.  The arms of the sentries flashed in the light, as they
paced slowly to and fro on their posts; and farther off were seen the
motionless forms of the cavalry videttes, appearing like black
equestrian statues in the distance, standing perfectly still, with their
long dark cloaks flowing over their horses’ flanks; but as the night
grew darker, and the light of the watchfires waned, these distant
objects could be no longer discerned.

The bright stars were twinkling in the dark blue sky, and among them a
red planet in the west, (the _Ton-thena_ of Ossian,) which Ronald used
to watch for hours at midnight from the battlements of the tower at
Lochisla, while listening to the ancient tales of war or woe related by
Donald Iverach.

He thought sadly of his home, and of poor Alice Lisle.  He gazed upon
her miniature until the flickering light of the fire failed him, and
then dropped into an uneasy slumber, from which he was startled more
than once by the deep howling of wild dogs, or other animals, from that
part of the plain where the dead bodies of the slain lay uninterred.




                             *CHAPTER VII.*

                               *MERIDA.*


    "All was prepared—the fire, the sword, the men
      To wield them in their terrible array.
    The army, like a lion from his den,
      March’d forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay—
    A human hydra, issuing from its pen
      To breathe destruction on its winding way,
    Whose heads were heroes, which, cut off in vain,
      Immediately in others grew again."
        _Don Juan_, canto viii.


Towards morning a storm of rain and wind arose, and none but those who
have experienced it can imagine the manifold miseries of a tentless
bivouac on such an occasion.  Howling dismally among the trees of the
cork wood, the cold wind swept over the desert plain, and the sleety
rain descended in torrents, drenching the unsheltered soldiers to the
skin, and extinguishing their fires; as the cold increased towards
day-break, they cursed the order which had halted them in so exposed and
dreary a spot, to which even the cork wood or ruins of La Nava would
have been preferable.

It became fair about day-break, and Ronald, unable to remain longer on
the ground, where the water was actually forming in puddles around him,
arose; and so wet was the soil, that the impression made by the weight
of his body was almost immediately filled with water.  His limbs were so
benumbed and stiff that he could scarcely move, and his clothing was
drenched through the blanket and cloak in which he had been muffled up.
The soldiers, worn out with the fatigues of the preceding day, lay still
until the last moment for rest, and slept in ranks close together for
warmth, with their muskets under their great coats, and their knapsacks
beneath their heads for pillows.  Here and there, apart from the rest,
one might be seen with his miserable wife and two or three little
children huddled close beside him, all nestling under the solitary
blanket, (provided by government for each man,) from which the steam
arose in a column, owing to the heat of their bodies acting on the
rain-soaked covering.  The distant sentinels and cavalry videttes were
standing motionless and silent at intervals along the plain, where banks
of white mist were rolling slowly in the yellow lustre of the morning
sun, the rising light of which was gilding the summits of the mountains
above Albuquerque. All was misery and unutterable discomfort. Ronald
wrung the water from the feathers of his bonnet, and kept himself in
motion to dry his regimentals and underclothing, which stuck close to
his skin.  He now perceived that, in addition to his blanket, Evan had
during the storm cast over him his own great-coat, standing out the
misery of the night in his thin uniform.  When he met Ronald’s eye, he
was shivering with cold, exhaustion, and want of sleep.

"O Evan! my faithful but foolish fellow, what is this you have done?
Did you really strip yourself for me, and pass the night thus exposed?"
exclaimed Ronald, his heart overflowing with tumultuous feelings at the
kindness of his humble follower and old friend.

"I thocht ye would be cauld, sir," replied Evan, his teeth chattering
while he spoke, "and my heart bled to see ye lying there like a beast o’
the field on the dreary muir, in siccan a miserable and eerie nicht.
For me it mattered naething,—for neither my name nor bluid are gentle.
I’m the son of your father’s vassal, and, Maister Ronald, I did but my
duty,—what my puir auld faither would hae wished me to do."

"See that you never again subject yourself to such a privation on my
account; and Heaven knows, Evan, I will not forget your kindness," said
Ronald, laying his hand familiarly on the tufted wing which adorned
Iverach’s shoulder. "You appear to be perishing with cold, and my
canteen is empty.  See if your comrade, Angus Mackie, or any one, will
give you a drop of something to warm you.  Where is the colonel?  I do
not see him."

"Lying yonder, on the bieldy side of his horse."

"And Mr. Macdonald—"

"Is sleeping by the bieldy side of the major, and a burn of water rinnin
round them.  Och, sirs! it’s awfu’ wark this for gentlemen’s sons."

"Rouse, Alister!" said Ronald, stirring him with his sword; "we shall
get under arms immediately.  I see, through the mist yonder, that Howard
is preparing to mount."  He shaded the rays of the sun from his eyes
with his hand, and perceived at some distance the brigadier, with his
tall cocked-hat and large military cloak, examining the girths of his
saddle and the holsters, while he despatched the brigade-major to the
officers commanding regiments.  The long roll of several drums, sounding
dull and muffled with the rain, immediately followed, rousing the
bivouac; and the troops "stood to their arms," preparatory to moving
off, all draggled and wet, and with empty stomachs, in the direction of
the enemy, who were to be driven from Merida at the point of the
bayonet.

The women and camp-followers were sent off to the rear, where the
baggage-mules were halted on the La Nava road; the wet cloaks and
blankets were rolled up for the march, the officers slinging theirs in
their sashes of crimson silk, while those of the soldiers were strapped
to their knapsacks.

"Uncase the colours, gentlemen.  Examine your flints," cried Cameron,
touching his bonnet to the officers, as he rode along the front of the
line.

In a few minutes the troops moved off in close column, with the light
cavalry on their flanks; and making a circuit about the plain, advanced
upon Merida, skirting the cork wood through which the French had retired
on the preceding evening.  Ronald scanned the plain with an earnest eye
in search of the two dead men, the slaughter of whom had haunted his
mind during the whole of the last night; and the reader may conceive the
disgust which he and others experienced, when, on the spot where they
had fallen, the scattered bones of two skeletons were discovered, red
and raw as they had been left by wild animals, which had been busy upon
them the live-long night.  Yesterday they were active young soldiers,
animated probably with spirit, courage, and many a noble
sentiment,—to-day they were bare skeletons, left to bleach unburied on
the plain, as the troops had no time to inter them.  The old campaigners
faced them with comparative indifference; but there was altogether
something rather appalling to so young a soldier as Ronald in the lesson
of war and mortality before him, and gloomy feelings, which he
endeavoured to shake off, took possession of his mind. But it was not a
time to appear depressed when there was a chance of hearing shot
whizzing in an hour or so more, and his spirits rose as the six
regimental pipers, with their major Macdonuil-dhu in their front, struck
up a well-known Scottish quick-step, and all pressed forward in hopes of
driving the enemy from their post, and obtaining a meal there.

During a march of several miles they saw but little of the boasted
fruitfulness of Spain.  The soil appeared rich enough in some parts, but
it lay untended and untilled, for the roll of the drum and the glitter
of arms had scared away the husbandman and vine-dresser, making the once
peaceful peasantry either prowling plunderers, or fierce and savage
guerillas, turning the plough-share into a sword, and a fertile country
into a neglected wilderness.

As the wood of La Nava lessened in the rear, the city of Merida,
situated on a high hill, around the base of which the Guadiana wandered
amid groves of cork-wood, laurel, and olive, presented itself to view.
Merida, one of the most ancient cities in Spain, was once the capital of
a province of the same name, and numerous are the remains of Roman and
Gothic grandeur which are preserved within the circle of its mouldering
fortifications.

Dombrouski, a brave soldier of fortune in the service of France,
commanded the enemy, and he had put the town in the best possible state
of defence by raising a few redoubts on the granite hill beside the
city.  He barricadoed the streets with the furniture of the citizens,
and all that the soldiers could lay hands on for the purpose; the
suburban houses and walls were loop-holed, and the Pole was determined
to defend his post, if a force came against it for which he deemed
himself a match; but when the waving colours and polished arms of Sir
Howland Hill’s division, sixteen thousand strong, appeared descending
the gentle slope towards the city, he saw the folly of his resolution,
and prepared to abandon his position. On the nearer approach of the
British, they beheld the corps of Dombrouski formed outside the town,
preparatory to moving off by the ancient Roman bridge, the lofty arches
of which span the deep waters of the Guadiana.  On a front movement
being made among our cavalry, the French, not wishing to feel the steel
of those who had so lately gained the battle of Arroya-del-Molino,
retreated double quick, without firing a shot; and in a short time the
glitter of their appointments and the flashing tops of their glazed
shakoes disappeared among the olive-groves and broken ground in the
direction of the town of Almendralejo, where a strong party lay,
commanded by the Count D’Erlon.  The division halted, and bivouacked
about Merida, to which those inhabitants who had fled during its
occupation by Dombrouski returned: the streets were filled with
acclamations of welcome to the British, and the bells rang merrily from
the steeples of the churches and convents.  A small ration was now
served out to the half-famished soldiers, and thousands of fires were
lit in every direction; while all the camp-kettles and pans were put in
requisition for cooking, and the axes, saws, and bill-hooks of the
pioneers made devastation among the underwood and wild groves to procure
fuel.

The miserable ration consisted of a few ounces of flour and flesh, given
to each man alike, without distinction.  The flesh was that of ill-fed,
jaded, and wearied bullocks, which had become too old for agricultural
labour, driven up rapidly after the army.  Those given to each regiment
were instantly shot through the head, flayed, and in a twinkling served
out in the allotted quantities, which were placed warm in the
camp-kettles to boil, almost before the circulation of the blood, or the
vibration of the fibres had ceased.

This was the usual way in which the military rations were served out in
Spain,—killed and eaten when the animals were in a state of fever from
long and hasty journeys, tough and hard as bend leather, in consequence
of age, ill-feeding, and want of proper cooking.

More lucky than thousands of their comrades, who pursued their culinary
operations in the open air, Ronald and Alister Macdonald obtained
possession of a deserted shed or house in the suburbs, where Evan
Iverach, casting aside his accoutrements, began to prepare in the best
manner he could the poor meal, for which, however, the appetites of all
were sufficiently sharpened, for they had not broken their fast since
they quitted Albuquerque.

The wretched apartment had neither windows nor shutters to boast of; and
the arms of leafless vines straggled in at the apertures, through which,
now and then, the swarthy face of a passing Spaniard appeared, looking
in with evident curiosity. Strong black rafters crossed by red tiles,
the joints of which admitted the daylight, composed the roof; the floor
was earth pounded hard by means of a pavier’s rammer, or some such
instrument.  As the room had no fire-place, Evan made one by means of
two stones placed in the centre of the floor; between them was kindled a
fire with one of the doors, which Ronald had torn down, and hewn in
pieces with his sword.

The smoke filled the place, and rolled in volumes out at every aperture.
A large stone and Evan’s knapsack set on end composed their furniture,
and, seated thus, they set about the discussion of their meal, which
when cooked was but a sorry mess, being merely the tough flesh boiled
with the flour, without the aid of a single vegetable,—tasteless and
insipid; but hunger is said to be "the best sauce," and they dispatched
it with infinite relish.  Each had produced his knife, fork, and spoon
from his havresack, a strong bag of coarse linen, in which provisions
are carried on service, and their dinner-set was complete.

"Hech me, sirs!  I would rather sup sourcrowdy at the ingle neuk o’ auld
Lochisla, than chow sic fushionless trash as this," said Evan with
strong contempt, as he sat squatted on the floor, taking his share of
the provision out of a camp-kettle lid, and scarcely seen amid the
smoke.  "It micht pass muster wi’ a puir chield like me; but I trow it’s
no for sic as you, Maister Ronald, or you, Maister Macdonald, or ony
gentleman o’ that ilk."

"It is confounded stuff, certainly," replied Alister, laughing at the
young Highlander’s quaint mode of expression; "the flesh is as tough as
a buff belt, and the old bull it belonged to has seen hard service, no
doubt, in his day.  But I wish that we had a drop of the purple Lisbon
wine to wash it down with, eh, Ronald?"

"We are better off than our Portuguese comrades, however bad our present
fare; they, poor fellows, have only received a few ounces of wheat each
man."

"And an unco chappin’ they are making by the water-side, sir, ilka man
pounding his wheat between twa stanes, into something to mak’ bannocks
wi’.  Puir black-avised deevils!  I pity them muckle," observed Evan,
who, from many circumstances combined, presumed to break the laws of
military etiquette, and mingle in the conversation.  "It’s an unco thing
to march far wi’ an empty wame and fecht fasting.  It makes my very
heart loup like a laverock, when I think o’ the braw Scots’ brochan and
kail, that the miserable folk here ken naething aboot.  O, it’s a puir
hole this Spain, I think, either to fecht or forage in."

"If you grumble thus, Evan, I shall be led to suppose you will make but
a poor soldier.  We have seen little of Spain yet; the best part of the
country and the summer are still before us, and let us hope that this is
the worst.  But there is little pleasure in abiding in this wretched
sheiling, where we are almost choked and blinded with smoke.  Let us
find out some wine-house, where we can get something to gargle our
throats with. Come, Macdonald, we shall be smoked like deer’s hams, if
we sit here longer.  There are the ruins of the Roman amphitheatre, and
other things in this city of Merida, which I would wish to see, and our
time is short; we march again in the morning, as you know."

On passing down the principal street, their attention was attracted by
the ruins of a noble triumphal arch, (a relic of the Roman power,) under
which lay mouldering fragments of the rich cornice and marble statues
that had fallen from above.  Near the arch stood two tall Corinthian
columns upwards of forty feet in height, the last remnants of some
magnificent temple.

The houses were lofty, and decorated with heavy entablatures, pilasters,
and ornaments of stucco or plaster, some of them richly gilt, and many
had broad balconies of stone or iron projecting over the pavement.  On
some of them appeared dark-haired and dark-eyed Senoritas, wearing the
long sweeping veil and graceful black mantilla, of which so much has
been said by romancers, surveying with smiles of wonder and pleasure,
the strange scene of so many foreign uniforms crowding the streets, and
waving their fans and handkerchiefs, crying to the British officers who
passed them, "_Viva! la valiante Inglesa! viva!_"

"What beautiful eyes, and splendid figures these girls have!" said
Macdonald rapturously, doffing his bonnet to a group of fair ones, whose
attention their Highland garb had attracted.  "By Heaven! we have no
such eyes at home.  How they flash under their long lashes!  I never
beheld such glossy curls as those that stream from under their veils."

"I have, Alister," was Ronald’s brief reply.

"Ay, in her whose miniature you wear under the fold of your
shoulder-belt: I saw it for an instant the other day at Albuquerque.
Nay, nay, man, you need not colour or look so cross; I shall not tell
any of our fellows, and we have no mess here to try your fiery temper by
jokes and quizzing.  But keep it in a more secure place; should it be
seen by Grant or Bevan, or any of them, it may become the source of
continual jesting."

"Those who dare to jest with me on such a subject, may find it dangerous
work," said Ronald coldly and haughtily.  "But here is the place we have
been looking for,—the _Caza de Vino_."

A bunch of gilded grapes, suspended over the door of a low flat-roofed
building, announced it to be the shop of a retailer of wine.  The
door-way was crowded by British, Portuguese, and German officers, who
were pressing their way in and out, intermixed with a few cigar-smoking
citizens, wearing broad sombreros and the eternal long Spanish cloak,
enveloping their whole form in a manner not ungraceful, but in the style
of mysterious gentry on the stage, rendering it impossible to discover
their rank in society; in fact, all the Spaniards they beheld were
exactly like one another.  All smoked cigars with the same air of
immovable gravity; all wore the same sombre attire, and strode under the
piazzas of the Plaza with the same haughty swagger.  To stroll about
smoking by day, and to sit listlessly at night muffled in their mantles,
with their feet resting on a pan of hot charcoal while they sipped their
sour wine, appeared to be their only employment.

Ronald and his friend made their way into a spacious oblong apartment,
fitted up in the plainest manner with rough deal seats and tables, at
which sat many of the officers of the second division,—the red, or
rather purple coats of the British, the blue of the Portuguese, the
green of the German Rifles, and the brown of a few Spaniards, being
intermingled.  Several olive-cheeked young girls, with their long black
hair streaming unbound, wearing short petticoats, large bustles, and
high-heeled shoes, were continually tripping about, and serving the
country wine in all kinds of vessels, from which it was rapidly
transferred to the throats of the thirsty carousers; and a strange din
of several languages and many sonorous voices, shook the rafters of the
place.

"A devil of a den this!  Let us quit it as soon as possible," said
Macdonald, draining his horn of dark liquor.

"As soon as you please.  I am almost stifled with the fumes of garlick
from the Portuguese, and tobacco from the Germans.  Look at old Blacier
of the 60th Rifles, how quietly he sits in that corner, filling the
whole place with the smoke of his long pipe."

"Looking as grave as his Serene mightiness of Hesse Humbug.  But I do
not see any of ours here?"

"There’s Campbell, sitting beside Armstrong of the 71st; doubtless he is
fighting some battle in Egypt over again.  He speaks so earnestly, that
he is not aware of our presence,—and yonder is Chisholm."

"Stuart," exclaimed Alister, abruptly, "who can that strange fellow be
who seems to scrutinize you so narrowly.  See, behind the chair of
Blacier, in the dark recess of the doorway."

Ronald looked in the direction pointed out, and beheld the fierce
serpent-like eyes of a well-known face fixed on him with a settled
stare.

"It is the rascal Narvaez," whispered Ronald, making a stride towards
the place; but the worthy, pulling his sombrero over his face, pressed
through the crowd, gained the door, and disappeared.

"Pshaw! let him go," said Alister, holding Ronald back by his silk sash.
"You surely would not follow him?  You are neither an alcalde or an
alguazil, and you need not care how many he sends to the shades.  He
eyes you with a look that bodes you no good, and the revengeful
disposition of these swarthy gentlemen is well known. I would advise you
to be on your guard; perhaps he is dogging you for your squabble at
Albuquerque."

"If ever I meet the vagabond on a hill side," replied Ronald angrily, "I
will teach him to model his face differently, when he dares to look at
me."

"Ay; but ’tis not decently on the hill side that disputes are settled
here.  A stab in the dark, or a shot from behind a hedge ends matters,
and all is over," answered Macdonald, as they issued into the street,
after settling with the _patron_.  "And now, before it is quite dark,
let us take a view of the amphitheatre.  I see its ruins above the
flat-roofed houses at the end of the street yonder, and a bold outline
it rears against the clear sky of the evening."




                            *CHAPTER VIII.*

                            *AN ADVENTURE.*


    "The troops exulting sat in order round,
    And beaming fires illumin’d all the ground:
    A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild,
    And shoot a shady lustre o’er the field.
    Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,
    Whose umber’d arms by fits thick flashes send;
    Loud neigh the coursers o’er their heaps of corn,
    And ardent warriors wait the rising morn."
      _Iliad_, book viii.


It was almost dusk when they entered the vast and gloomy ruins of the
amphitheatre, the appearance of which was rendered doubly impressive by
the sombre light in which it was viewed.  The broad arena, where once
the bold gladiator contended for honour, or the wretched malefactor for
his life, straining every desperate energy in battle with the fiercest
animals of the wilderness, was now overgrown with grass, as were also
the wide circles of seats rising from it; and from the arcades of
arches, from the mouldered cornices, the shattered columns, and empty
niches, waved weeds and nettles, showing how vain was the pride of the
founder and the architect, and telling that time was too powerful for
the mightiest work of human hands,—that man’s labours, like himself, are
perishable.

In some places great masses of masonry had fallen down, where the clamps
of iron and brass had mouldered away, and ponderous architraves and
fragments of friezes, bearing ornaments and Roman inscriptions, were
lying in the centre of the arena, half buried in the soil.  All was
silence and ruinous desolation now in the place where once the
beautiful, the brave, and the noble, had witnessed and applauded
soul-stirring deeds of martial prowess, manly strength, and unequalled
cruelty and ferocity.  Its vast arcades and empty galleries rang no more
with the flourish of the trumpet, the clash of cymbals, the shout which
greeted the triumphant victor in the lists, the yell or the dying groan
of his vanquished opponent.

From the grass-covered arena, around which appeared the dark dens where
lions, tigers, and other savage animals had been confined, Ronald and
his friend clambered up the stone seats, which rose one above another
like a flight of broad steps, until they gained the uppermost corridor
or gallery, which ran round the whole fabric on the outside.  From this
eminence they obtained a view of the scenery below and around them.
Night had now set in, and darkness reigned in the streets of Merida.
Towering above the low roofs appeared the other remains of Roman
greatness,—the noble arch which had rung so often to the tread of their
martial legions, and the shattered temple where marble gods had received
the fervent adoration of idolaters.

A thousand watch-fires cast their lurid glare on the silent waters of
the Guadiana, on the dark groves of olive overhanging its glassy
surface, on the lofty outline of the Roman bridge, and on the black
buildings of the adjacent town, from the bivouac of Sir Rowland’s
division.  The piles of burnished arms glittered in the light, which was
reflected by the bayonets of the sentries at the river side, and by the
sabres of the far-off cavalry videttes, and of the advanced picquets on
its opposite side, keeping watch and ward on the road to Almendralejo.
A low hum of many mingled voices rose from the place where the soldiers
lay, mingled with the occasional neigh of a horse, the sharper sound of
the cavalry trumpet turning out the picquets, or the roll of a distant
infantry drum recalling stragglers echoing among the granite crags, and
dying away in the thickets by the water side; and nearer rang the more
discordant noise of laughter and reckless military merriment from the
wine-house in the neighbouring street.

"Yonder is the evening star glimmering above the summit of the dark
mountain to the southward of us," observed Ronald in a low tone; "it
rises twinkling just as I have seen it rising above the noble Benmore in
Perthshire; and while I view its well-known appearance my heart fills
with strange emotions.  I can almost fancy myself at home in the
Highlands,—at home in my father’s house."

"I am animated by similar feelings," replied Macdonald in the same
subdued voice.  "Many that love us dearly may at this moment be watching
it, and thinking of us.  Many a summer gloaming, in my dismal moods, I
have watched it rising amid the white breakers, and shining above the
ruined spire of Iona, while the empty arches of the cathedral were
illumined with the red flush of the setting sun.  Ah, Stuart!  I know
these places well: my father dwells in Inch-kenneth, in the wild and
surf-beaten western isles.  It is a sweet little place the Inch, with
dark foliage hanging from the tall rocks over the boiling ocean. These
ruins around us are all very well in their way, but I would not give the
Runic cross and the Culdee’s cell, which cover the graves of my
ancestors, even for all the ruins of Rome!  But let us not begin to muse
thus: I shall become too melancholy to feel agreeable.  We must retrace
our steps to the bivouac, for both fighting and hard marching are before
us in the morning, over the hills yonder," said he, pointing in the
direction of Almendralejo, where a faint crimson streak illumined the
dark sky, caused probably by the watch-fires of D’Erlon’s troops.

"What! do you think of returning to the den where we cooked our splendid
repast?"

"We should be eaten up by rats and the Spanish musquitoes before
morning; better the bivouac where our comrades stretch their bare legs
on the cold sod.  Fassifern would ill like us seeking even the shelter
of a kennel, while he sleeps as usual under the heels of his horse, with
the pommel of his saddle for a pillow."

"You speak of a kennel; I assure you, Macdonald, that last night I
envied the old barrel in which our household dog at Lochisla takes his
repose in the barbican.  But we shall lose ourselves here, the streets
are so dark and strange."  As he spoke they had quitted the ruins of the
amphitheatre, and entered a dark and silent street leading towards the
Plaza.  It was empty, and its stillness was broken only by the ripple of
the Guadiana, chafing against the stone quay at one end, past which its
broad and rapid current flowed unceasingly.

"Have Sir Rowland and his staff quarters in Merida?"

"I have not heard that they have.  But hush! we have something here that
savours of romance," replied Macdonald, as they heard the notes of a
guitar sounding as if struck by a bold and firm hand; and immediately
(the prelude being over) a fine, clear, and manly voice sung a song,
which being in Spanish, was not understood by his listeners, excepting
the burden which he repeated at the end of every verse:—

    "Yo acuerdo de te, querida,—
      Adios! adios!"


"What cavaliero is this?" whispered Macdonald. "I thought that these
days of serenading had passed away, even in Spain."

"I know him: it is Alvaro de Villa Franca, a captain of the Spanish
cavalry.  I see the tall outline of his figure now, and I well know his
helmet with the red horse-hair on its crest."

"Keep under the shadow of the houses, Stuart; perhaps he may sing again.
But he surely hears us; he is looking round."

The form of the Spanish officer, the outline of his high helmet, and his
large bullion epaulettes were now distinctly visible.  When his song
ceased, a window above opened, a light flashed through the shutters, and
a lady appeared on the iron balcony; she clapped her hands and the
dragoon drew near, when a conversation, carried on in low and earnest
tones, ensued.  The don had placed his hand on the lower part of the
balcony, preparatory to swinging himself up, when a noise in the street
caused the lady to start away, and close the shutters of the window with
the utmost precipitation.

"_Caramba!_" cried the Spaniard, fiercely turning round and endeavouring
to pierce the darkness which enveloped the stradi: but nothing could be
discovered.  After a vain attempt again to obtain a hearing from the
lady, he took his guitar under his arm, and proceeded leisurely down the
street on the darkest side, as if to elude observation, still humming
the burden of his ditty, "Adios, querida,"[*] while his heavy spurs and
long steel scabbard clattered in accompaniment.  The two British
officers had turned to pursue their way towards the Plaza, when a cry of
"_Diavolo!  Ah, perros—ladrones!  Carajo!_" burst from the Spaniard,
followed immediately by a clashing of steel blades, the noise of which
drew Ronald and Alister hastily to the spot. Here they found Don Alvaro,
with his back to the wall, contending fiercely with his single weapon
against six armed men, from whose swords and poniards he made the fire
fly at every stroke he dealt, keeping them at bay with admirable courage
and skill.


[*] Farewell, love.


"One, two, three—six to one! the rascally cowards!  Draw, Alister,—draw
and strike in," cried Ronald, unsheathing his sword, an example which
his companion was not slow in following, and all three were soon
engaged, two to one, against the assailants of Alvaro, who were
surprised at this unexpected attack, and fought with double desperation
to escape.  The whole of Ronald’s long-nourished love of tumult, his
fiery spirit and inherent fierceness broke forth in this martial fray,
and indeed he was put to his mettle. No fewer than three of the ruffians
fell upon him pell mell, cutting and thrusting with their long blades,
while they watched every opportunity to use the sharper stilettoes which
armed their left hands.  Ronald’s regimental gorget saved him from one
deadly thrust at his throat, and the thick folds of his plaid, where
they crossed the iron plate of his left epaulette-strap, saved him from
more than one downright blow.  Sweeping his long claymore round him,
with both his hands clenched in its basket hilt, he fought with the
utmost energy, but only on the defensive, and was compelled to retire
backwards step by step towards the quay of the Guadiana, where he must
have been inevitably drowned or slain, but for the timely interference
of a fourth sword, which mingling its strokes with theirs, struck the
three Spanish blades to shivers.  Two of the fellows immediately fled,
and plunging into the river swam to the opposite bank; the third would
have followed, but Ronald, grasping him by the throat, adroitly struck
the poniard from his hand, and pinning him to the earth, placed his foot
upon his neck.  At the same moment Alister Macdonald passed his long
claymore through the body of the fourth, who fell shrieking—"_Santa
Maria! O Dios!  O Dios!_" and almost instantly expired. The other two,
who had been driven far off by the Spanish officer, now fled, and the
brawl was ended.

"Hot work this, gentlemen," said Campbell, in his usual jocular tone.
It was his sword which had intervened so opportunely between Ronald and
destruction.  "The fray has been bravely fought and gallantly finished.
You have drawn your sword to-night for the first time, Stuart, and
proved yourself a lad of the proper stuff.  Keep your foot tight upon
that growling scoundrel, and if he dares to stir, pin him to the
pavement. This affair beats hollow my brawl at Grand Cairo, when we were
in Egypt with Sir Ralph.  By the by, what did the fray begin about?"

"I am sure I cannot say," replied Ronald, panting with his late
exertion; "but for your prompt assistance, major, it might have ended
otherwise.  Alister, I am glad you have disposed of your opponent in so
secure a manner,—yet his horrid death-cry rings strangely in my ears."
A grim smile curled the handsome features of Macdonald, who wiped his
sword in his tartan plaid, and jerked it into the sheath in silence.

"_Senores—officiales_, I thank you for the good service you have
rendered me to-night," said the Spanish officer in good English, while
he made a low obeisance, "and am happy that you have all escaped
unharmed; but we must dispose of this remaining villain.  Be pleased to
stand aside, senor, that I may run him through the heart. A fair thrust
from the blade of a noble cavaliero is too good a death for such a
fellow."

"Sir, I should be sorry to thwart you in your pleasure, but have a
little patience, pray," replied the major, laughing at the coolness of
the don’s request, and parrying with his stick a thrust made at the
bravo, who lay prostrate under Ronald’s foot.  "As this fellow’s skin is
whole, he may be inclined to let you know his employer, or what all this
row began about."

"Right, senor; I had forgotten that.  Dog!" cried Don Alvaro, fiercely
dashing his guitar into a thousand fragments on the head of the bravo,
"tell me who employed your rascal hands against my person!  You will not
answer?  Well, we must prove what materials your skin is made of. By
Santiago!  I will have it flayed off you with a red-hot sabre, if you do
not confess!  The tortures of the Inquisition will be as nothing to what
I will inflict on your miserable body, if you are stubborn. Aid me,
noble senors, in taking this wretch to the Convento de San Juan de
Merida, in the Plaza: my troop is quartered there.  ’Tis but a
pistol-shot from here."

It was impossible to refuse.  Don Alvaro tied tightly with his silk sash
the hands of the captive, who was dragged without ceremony from street
to street, to the entrance of a narrow dark alley leading to the convent
of Saint John, the front of which looked towards the Plaza.

"_Quien vive?_" challenged the Spanish trooper on sentry with his
carbine in the Gothic porch.

"_España_," returned the don, as they passed into the gloomy body of the
building, in the vast extent of which their footsteps awoke a thousand
echoes.

"_Ho! there, saryentos y soldados!_" cried Alvaro.  "Pedro Gomez, a
light—a light! Rouse,—do you hear me?"

A strange bustle immediately rose around them, and a sargento appeared
bearing a lamp, the light of which revealed his brown uniform, and
browner features.  They found themselves in the chapel of the convent,
and the red glare of the blazing lamp was cast on its fluted columns,
groined arches, and Gothic ornaments, giving a wild and romantic
appearance to the scene, which was heightened by the presence of Don
Alvaro’s troop. About sixty fine Spanish steeds, with flowing tails and
manes, stood ranged on each side of the nave of the building, saddled
and bridled, bearing the carbines, holsters, and valises of their
riders, who, muffled in their long brown cloaks, with their swords and
helmets beside them, were sleeping among the horse-litter, or looking up
surprised at the interruption.  Every man lay beside his horse, and
their tall lances were reared against the shafted pillars, from which
military accoutrements, curry-combs, horse-brushes, &c. were suspended
from the necks of angels and other effigies that adorned them.

"Pedro Gomez, raise the light," said Alvaro, "and let us see the face of
this fellow, who to-night raised his hand against the life of your
captain."

"_Dios mio!_" cried Pedro, placing the lamp within an inch of the
prisoner’s nose.

"The villain Narvaez, by heavens!" exclaimed Ronald, recoiling at the
expression of indescribable hatred and ferocity legible in the ruffian’s
countenance, while his eyes shone with the sparkle of a demon’s as the
sullen glare of the lamp fell on their black balls.

"How d’ye do, Senor Cifuentes?  Speak up, man.  You are the very prince
of rascals!" said the major, giving him a prod in the stomach with his
stick.

"What!" exclaimed Macdonald, scrutinizing him with disgust and
curiosity, "is this the fellow you told us about? the keeper of the
wine-house at Albuquerque?"

"Ay, the same," answered Ronald; "a wretch who slew in cold blood the
French officers.  But he shall not escape us now."

"If I should, you shall live to repent it,—you shall, by the holy mother
of God!" said the bold ruffian with a scornful smile.

A few words made Don Alvaro acquainted with the story of Narvaez.

"Fellow!" said he sternly, "I might almost forgive you the slaughter of
the four Frenchmen,—I wish, however, that it had been done less
treacherously; but for this attempt on my own life you shall hang, and
that instantly, by San Juan of Merida! as a warning to all low-born
knaves to beware ere they draw their weapons on a noble hidalgo.  Diego
de la Zarza, Pedro Gomez! bring hither a horse-halter, some of you,"
cried he to the astonished troopers who crowded round.  "Run this fellow
up to the roof.  Santos! do you hear?"

He had scarcely spoken before Pedro Gomez cast his horse’s halter over
the neck of a gigantic stone angel, whose extended wings, carved on a
corbelled stone, supported one of the oak beams of the roof, and
prepared with ready hands a noose with a slip-knot to encircle the neck
of Narvaez, who beheld these summary preparations with considerable
trepidation; and he would soon have swung a corse, but for the
interference of the three British officers, who, natives of a clime
where the passions are less violent than in Spain, revolted at the idea
of so sudden an execution.

"Stay, Don Alvaro, and put off his exit until to-morrow," said Campbell.
"I do not admire such quick dispatch, although I have seen a Turk’s head
fly off like a thistle’s top, when I was in Egypt with Sir Ralph."

"It would be losing time in the morning, as we march by day-break,"
replied the Don; "but worthless as the villain is, I may alter my decree
if he gives me the name of his base employer."

"The husband of her whom you serenaded this night in the Calle de San
Juan," answered Narvaez in a guttural tone.

"What! the guerilla chief, Don Salvador Xavier de Zagala?" cried Alvaro
furiously, his eyes flashing tire.  "Base coward! ignoble hidalgo!  But
my sword shall reach him ere long, if he is to be found on this side of
the Pyrenees,—it shall, by the bones of the Cid!  Your five rascal
comrades were guerillas of his band, thought I knew the scarlet caps of
the vagabonds."

"Noble cavalier! do not forget your promise," said Narvaez
supplicatingly.  "What is now your decree?"

"That you shall be shot in the morning instead of being hanged to-night!
Sargento Gomez, see this carried into execution punctually, before the
trumpets sound ’to horse,’ as you value your life."

With all the indifference that he assumed at first, Cifuentes was a
coward at heart, and piteous were the entreaties he made for mercy, and
the promises he gave of reformation for the future, if the cavalier
would spare his life; but they were unheeded.  The dragoons thrust him
into a narrow dormitory adjoining the chapel, and a sentinel, with his
carbine loaded, was placed at the door.

"Send for the Padre, Alvarez; and let him make his peace with Heaven."

"Noble senor, it will be difficult to find the reverend Padre in his
sober senses at this hour," replied Gomez.

"You are right, Pedro; he has no longer the Holy Inquisition, of
terrible memory, to scare him from his cups.  This fellow may die easily
enough, without the help of Latin.  Should he make the slightest attempt
to escape, remember, Diego de la Zarza, to shoot him dead without fail.
And now, senors, let us retire and leave my troopers to repose, as we
must be all in our saddles at crow of the cock."

"What will be done with the fellow who lies dead in the street?" asked
Ronald, as they stumbled down the dark alley leading from the convent.

"What could we do with him, senor?" replied the don with surprise.  "The
carcase will be found in the morning, and the finder will bury it for
the sake of the clothes, perhaps.  To find a man stabbed in the street
is no marvellous matter in our Spanish towns.  You saw how little notice
the clash of our swords attracted: scarcely a window opened, and no
person approached.  We take these affairs coolly here, senor."

"So it seems, Don Alvaro," said the major. "But there is the clock of
the town-house striking the hour of eleven, and we have a weary route
before us in the morning; so the sooner we seek some place to roost in
the better.  I left Colonel Cameron and the rest of ours preparing for
repose, under the bieldy side of a granite craig,—but I fear you don’t
understand me,—at the confounded bivouac yonder; and the sooner we join
them, the longer rest we shall have."

"You shall have no bivouacking to-night, senors.  One gets quite enough
of it in these times; and when a good billet comes in the way, it should
be accepted.  I reside in Merida; my family mansion is at the corner of
the Plaza: you shall pass the night with me there.  My sister, Donna
Catalina, will be most happy to entertain the preservers of her
brother,—three cavaliers who draw their swords for the freedom of
Spain."

"Certainly, Don Alvaro, we should be sorry to slight your offer," said
the major.  "A comfortable quarter is a scarce matter in Spain just now;
and if Donna Catalina will not be incommoded by three soldados billeting
themselves upon her mansion without notice, we are very much at your
service.  When I was in Egypt in 1801, I remember an adventure just such
as—"

"Take care of the curb, major," cried Ronald as the bulky field-officer
tripped against the side of the pavement.

"Just such as this.  We were quartered at—"

"Grand Cairo," interrupted Ronald ruthlessly, for he disliked the
repetition of long stories, which was a failing of the worthy major’s,
who lugged in Egypt and Sir Ralph Abercrombie on all occasions.  "Ay, I
remember the story, and a capital one it is!  But here is Don Alvaro’s
house."

As he spoke, they halted before a large mansion, ornamented with lofty
columns and broad balconies, upon which the tall windows opened: through
the curtains bright rays of light streamed into the dark street.  Alvaro
applied his hand to the large knocker hanging on the entrance door,
which appeared more like the portal of a prison than that of an
hidalgo’s residence, being low, arched, and studded with iron nails.

"_Quien es?_" said a voice within.

"_Gente de paz!_" replied Alvaro, while the light from the passage
flashed through a little panel which was drawn aside, and through which
they were cautiously scrutinized.

The door was immediately opened by an aged and wrinkled female servant,
whose bright black eyes contrasted strangely with her skin, which was
shrivelled and yellow as an old drum-head. Old Dame Agnes, lamp in hand,
led them along a passage, up a broad wooden staircase, and into a noble
and spacious apartment, which displayed the usual combination of
elegance and discomfort, so common in the houses of Spanish nobles.  The
ceiling presented beautifully painted panels, and a gorgeous cornice of
gilt stucco, supported by pilasters of the Corinthian order; while the
floor from which they rose was composed of large square red tiles.  Four
large casements looked towards the Plaza; they were glazed with glass,—a
luxury in Spain, but their shutters were rough deal boards, which were
barely concealed by the rich white curtains overhanging them: the
furniture was oak,—massive, clumsy, and old as the days of Don Quixote.
Upon the panels of the ceiling, the bases of the pillars, and other
places, appeared the blazonry of coats armorial, displaying the
alliances of the family of Villa Franca.

On the table, beside a guitar, castanets, music books, &c., stood a
large silver candelabrum, bearing four tall candles, the flames of which
flickered in the currents of air flowing through many a chink and
cranny, as if to remind the three British officers that it was at home
only that true comfort was to be found.  Heat was diffused through the
room by means of a pan of glowing charcoal placed in the centre of the
floor, and a lady, who sat with her feet resting upon it in the Spanish
manner, rose at their entrance.




                             *CHAPTER IX.*

                           *DONNA CATALINA.*


    "Down from her head the long fair tresses flow,
    And sport with lovely negligence below.
    The waving ribands, which her buskins tie,
    Her snowy skin with waving purple dye;
    As crimson veils, in palaces displayed,
    To the white marble lend a blushing shade."
      _Ovid’s Metamorphoses_.


As she stood erect, her velvet mantilla fell from her white shoulders,
displaying a round and exquisitely moulded form, tall and full, yet
light and graceful.  The noble contour of her head, and the delicate
outline of her features, were shown by the removal of her black lace
veil, which she threw back, permitting it to hang sweeping down behind,
giving her that stately and dignified air so common to the Spanish
ladies, but of which our own are so deficient, owing, probably, to the
extreme stiffness of their head-dress. Her skin was fair, exceedingly so
for a Spaniard; but the glossy curls of the deepest black falling on her
neck, rendered it yet more so by contrast. Her crimson lips and the fine
form of her nostrils, her white transparent brow and full dark eyes,
shining with inexpressible brilliance, struck the three Scots mute with
surprise,—almost with awe. So showy a beauty had not met their gaze
since their departure from Edinburgh, and even Ronald, while keeping his
hand within the breast of his coat upon the miniature of Alice, felt his
heart beneath it strangely moved at the sight of the fair Spaniard.

"Don Alvaro, I think you might have spent with me the only night you
have been in Merida for this year past," said the young lady, pouting
prettily.

"Nay, my dear Catalina, you must not receive us thus," replied her
brother in Spanish, her knowledge of English being very slight.  "Allow
me to introduce three British officers, to whom I am indebted for the
preservation of my life, which six bravoes, employed by old Salvador de
Zagala put in imminent peril to-night."

"Ah! you have been at your old affair,—you have been visiting the Calle
de San Juan.  How often have I warned you!  Well, and the bravoes?"

"One has been sent to purgatory to-night, and another shall be sent
somewhere else by daybreak."  On Catalina hearing the story, she
thanked, in broken English, but in a voice of thrilling earnestness, the
three wearied soldados, who had seated themselves on the large
old-fashioned chairs, the crimson leather and gilding of which showed
them to be the work of the previous century.

"You must excuse, senors," said Catalina, "the very poor fare I have to
present you with. The French ladrones carried off almost every thing
with them this morning, and Merida will not soon forget their visit."

"Our fare, thanks to the lazy commissariat department, has been so hard
of late, that almost any thing will pass muster with us," replied
Ronald; "but here are dishes enough for a whole troop."  While he spoke,
the oak table was laid in a twinkling with a variety of covers; of which
they could scarcely taste any, owing to the garlic and olive oil with
which the Spaniards, as well as the Portuguese, always season and cook
up their victuals.

"You do not seem to relish the pigeon, senor mio," said Donna Catalina
to the major, who was making wry faces at every mouthful he took. "Try
the piece of cold roasted meat on the cover near you."

"I thank you," answered Campbell, helping himself largely.  "It would be
excellent to my taste, was it not for the olive oil and spices, not used
in our country, with which it is seasoned."

A hash and ragout were likewise attempted, but in vain; the garlic with
which they were dressed rendered it impossible for the three strangers
to taste them, but it was equally impossible to be displeased: the
polite apologies and regrets of the cavalier, and the condescending
sweetness of his beautiful sister, made ample amends.  But the three
hungry Scots were very well pleased to see the first course replaced by
the second, which consisted of white Spanish bread of the purest flour,
dried grapes, and several large crystal jugs of the purple country wine,
sherry, and Malaga.

"You British are rather more fastidious than our Portuguese friends and
allies," said Alvaro laughing.  "The last time the 6th Caçadores lay
quartered here, they left not a single cat uneaten,—a loss still
remembered with peculiar animosity by the housewives of Merida.  The
Portuguese are not over nice in any thing, certainly, and we have a
proverb among us, ’that a bad Spaniard makes a good Portuguese.’"

"Sir, when I am sharp-set, I am not very apt to be particular myself,"
replied Campbell.  "When I was in Egypt with Sir Ralph, on one occasion
I ate a very juicy steak cut from a horse’s flank, and fried in a
camp-kettle lid.  We were starving for want of rations, senor; and, I
dare say, even the holy camel on its way to Mecca, had it passed our
route, would have been gobbled up, hump and all."

Ronald, who had hitherto sat almost silent, began to dread a long
Egyptian story from the major; but this fear was removed by Don Alvaro’s
filling up his horn, and drinking to the health of Lord Wellington and
the British forces,—the deliverers of Spain and Ferdinand the Seventh.

After this complimentary toast had been duly honoured, "A bumper,
gentlemen!" exclaimed the major; "fill up your glasses—regular brimmers,
and they must be drunk off with true Highland honours.  _A la libertad
de España!_ hurrah!" and, springing up erect with native agility, the
three Scots, placing their left feet on their seats and their right on
the table, (a movement which considerably surprised the grave don and
his sister, who trembled for her crimson chairs), they flourished their
glasses aloft, and drank to the toast with what are called _Highland
honours_.

"_Viva! viva!_" cried the cavalier, in applause of the sentiment, though
rather puzzled at the mode of proclaiming it.

They drank to their fair hostess, and to all sorts of gallant and
martial toasts; and, as the wine-horns were filled and emptied again and
again, they grew more merry, the national gravity of the don
disappearing gradually as their conviviality increased.  He laughed and
sung with the frankness of a soldier, and trolled forth more than once
the "Song of five hundred Horse," a Spanish military carol.  At Ronald’s
request, Catalina took her guitar from the back of her chair where it
hung, and, without requiring the entreaties necessary to obtain the same
favour from a British lady, the frank girl sung with a coquettish air,
which peculiarly became her, "My Mother wants no Soldiers here," a song
well known in Spain at the time our troops were campaigning there.

"She seems bent on making a conquest of you, Alister," whispered Ronald.

"Of yourself, rather," retorted the other coldly.  Indeed Macdonald had
said but little all night; his mind was continually wandering to the
recent fray, and the remembrance that he had for the first time slain a
fellow-being,—a reflection which troubled him very little, truly, a few
weeks afterwards, when he had become used to that sort of work.  "Of
yourself rather, Stuart. Her eyes are ever on you, and—"

"Hush! she hears us," replied the other hurriedly, his cheek reddening,
yet more with mental shame than anger.  "O Alice Lisle!" thought he,
"this Spaniard, beautiful as she is, cannot surely be teaching me to
forget you so soon.  Her eyes are blacker than those of Alice,
certainly, but they are less soft and feminine,—less gentle in
expression; yet—"  Here he was interrupted by the loud and sonorous
voice of Campbell, who, at the request of Catalina, was commencing a
song.

Ronald was rapidly becoming so confused with the effects of the wine he
had taken, that he knew not whether it was Alice Lisle or Donna Catalina
who sat beside him; but having a vague idea that it was some beautiful
female, before the major’s song was ended he was making downright love,
which the lady took in very good humour.

Campbell’s song, the

    "Piobracht au Donuil-dhu,"

although it roused the hearts of his countrymen by its martial and
forcible language, was listened to with a grave and pleasant smile by
Don Alvaro, who of course comprehended not one word of the ditty, which
in his ears sounded as a most barbarous jargon, and might have been a
Moorish battle song for aught that he knew to the contrary.

The retiring of Donna Catalina did not put an end to the carousal; and,
as they had to leave Merida an hour before day-break, they betook
themselves to rest, (after every jug of wine had been discussed,) on the
chairs, as it was useless to go to bed for an hour or two only.  The
short time they passed in slumber flew quickly, and they were soon
roused by the din of the flying-artillery guns, as they swept over the
causewayed streets, driven at a hard trot towards the bridge of Merida.

"_Caramba_!  Rouse, senors," cried Alvaro, who was the first to awake.

"_Carajo_!  Ay, there go the field-pieces: old Rowland’s in his saddle
already," muttered the major, scrambling up from the floor on which he
had rolled in the night time, and placing his large bonnet on the wrong
way, permitting the long feathers to stream down his back.  "Rouse,
gentlemen!  Up and be doing, sirs, or we shall be missed from our posts.
Old Mahoud take the rule for marching before day-break!  Sir Ralph never
made us do so in Egypt, and we gained laurels there, gentlemen—I say we
did.  This infernal bonnet! ’tis always falling off."

"I wish to Heaven I could sleep an hour longer!" said Ronald.  "I have
scarcely had three hours’ sleep this week past."

"Our brigade never sleep, gentlemen," cried Campbell, who was still a
little inebriated, "never!  We march all night, and fight all day: we
used to reverse the matter in Egypt.  But what have we here?  Peter
Forbes—or what is your name, what’s the matter?  Are Dombrouski’s
dragoons among ye?"

"_Ave Maria!  O Dios mio!  O Senor Don Alvaro!_" cried Sargento Pedro
Gomez, appearing at the entrance of the room with a lamp in his hand;
"we have had the devil among us last night!"

"How so, fellow?  What has happened?"

"The bravo has escaped—"

"How!  Diavolo, escaped?"

"Ay, noble senor, and carried off the carbine of poor Diego de la Zarza,
whom we found lying within the chamber with his throat cut from ear to
ear."

The cavalier ground his teeth with absolute fury, while his olive cheek
grew black with rising passion.

"_Santos!  Santissimus!_" cried he; "would to San Juan, and all the
calendar, I had hanged him last night!  My brave Diego—but he must have
slept; if so, he deserves his fate.  Well, there is no help for this
matter; we will give Narvaez Cifuentes a short prayer and a long stab
the next time we meet, and that without delay.  But we must be off; the
cavalry advance-guard, and part of the artillery, have already passed.
Let the _trompetero_ sound ’to horse;’ and hasten, Pedro, and get the
troop into their saddles.  Though we belong to the division of Murillo,
we will cross the bridge with you to-day, senors, and strike a blow for
honour. _Viva Eapaña y buena Esperanza_!  ’Tis a better war-shout than
the _Vive l’Empereur_ of the followers of the perfidious Buonaparte."

"There are the drums of our brigade," said Ronald Stuart; "and should we
be missed by Fassifern, the excellency of Don Alvaro’s purple Malaga and
sherry, or even the smiles of Donna Catalina herself, would form but a
poor excuse for lingering.  Hark! the _generale_."

"You improve in the art of gallantry," observed Macdonald; "you could
not have turned such fine speeches the morning we halted in the Black
Horse-square, at Lisbon.  But I regret that we must march without
bidding adieu to our fair _patrona_."

"Forward, cavaliers; Catalina will excuse our departing without bidding
her farewell.  Down the stair-case to the left, senors," cried Alvaro.
"Pedro Gomez, knave,—light the way!" and they pressed forward into the
street, feeling the chill air of the morning blow strangely on their
faces, while their heads swam with the fumes of the wine taken so
lately.

"It will be long ere I forget the night we spent in Merida," said
Macdonald.

"And long ere I do so, truly," replied Stuart, casting his eyes vacantly
over the dark windows of the mansion of Villa Franca.

"Ah!—Donna Catalina; are you looking for her?"

"Such strange scenes of fray and other matters!  Had such a row occurred
at home, all Britain would have rung with it, from Dover to Cape Wrath;
but here it is as nothing."

"Hark! what is that, Stuart?"

"A cry,—by Heaven, a most appalling one!"  A loud shriek arose from amid
the darkness in which the Plaza was involved.  They hastened to that
part of the square from whence it appeared to issue, and found that the
conflict in which they had borne so conspicuous a part was not the only
outrage committed that night in Merida.  They discovered a young
Portuguese lad, the private servant of Lieutenant-colonel Macdonald of
the Gordon Highlanders, lying dead under the piazzas, stabbed to the
heart with a long stiletto or knife, and the assassin was never
discovered.

For some hours the dark streets of the city rang to the measured tramp
of marching soldiers, the clatter of accoutrements, the clang of hoofs,
and the rumble of heavy wheels, as artillery, cavalry, and infantry
moved rapidly forward; but by sunrise the whole division had crossed the
bridge, and on the opposite side of the river pursued their route
towards Almendralejo.

"Colonel Cameron!" cried old W——, the brigade-major, cantering up to the
head of the column; "Major-general Howard requests that you will
increase your front.  It is Sir Rowland’s order."

"Form sub-divisions!" cried Fassifern, in the loud and manly tone of
authority which so well became him.  "Rear sections, left oblique—double
quick!"  The order was obeyed along the whole column by each regiment in
succession.  Their fine brass bands filled the air with martial music,
causing every heart to vibrate to the sharp sound of the soul-stirring
trumpet, the cymbals, and trombone.  The horses shook their manes,—their
riders sat more erect; the waving colours were flung forward on the
breeze above the steel ridges of glittering bayonets, and the brave
hearts of those who marched beneath them grew light and animated at the
prospect of a brush with the enemy.  Their starving condition, their
faded uniform, the discomfort of the last night’s bivouac, were
forgotten,—all was military, gay and exciting to the utmost, filling
every bosom with the pride of the profession and the fervent "glow of
chivalry."  Sir Rowland Hill, with his staff, viewed from a little
eminence the whole length of the column of that division of the army
under his command, as they passed, and a pleasing smile animated the
benevolent features of the bluff old general, when he beheld the
willingness with which the foot-sore and almost shoe-less soldiers
pressed forward, although they had endured all that could render troops,
less persevering and disciplined, less hardy and less brave, mutinous.

Toilsome forced marches—shelterless bivouacs, starvation, receiving no
provisions sometimes for three consecutive days,—no clothing, and almost
ever in arrears of pay—on one occasion for six months,—nothing but the
hope of a change, and the redoubtable spirit which animated them, could
have supported the British soldiers under the accumulation of miseries
suffered by them in the Peninsula,—miseries which were lessened to the
French troops, by their living at free quarters wherever they went.

These things, however, were forgotten for the present time, and with
others Ronald Stuart felt all the ardour which the display before him
and the fineness of the morning were calculated to inspire.  The bright
sun shone from an unclouded sky, filling the clear blue vault with
warmth; the birds were chirping and hopping merrily among the dewy
branches of the olive thickets and dark laurel bushes overhanging the
broad path, the deep dingles on each side of which echoed to the notes
of the sounding music.

Ronald looked back to the flat-roofed mansions and Roman ruins of
Merida, on the grey walls of which, casting bold shadows, streamed the
full splendour of the morning sun.  The cavalry rearguard were slowly
crossing the ancient bridge, and with the red coats came the brown
uniform of Spain: it was the troop of Don Alvaro advancing, with their
polished helmets and tall lances flashing in the sun, and finding a
sparkling reflection in the deep blue current of the Guadiana below.

Ronald carried for the first time the regimental colour, which bore
evident marks of service, being pierced in many places by musket-shot.
It was a laborious affair to sustain, especially during a breeze, being
large, and of rich yellow silk, fringed round with bullion.  The
sphinx,—the badge of Egypt, (the pride of the major’s heart,) surrounded
by a wreath of the brave old thistle, and the honourable mottoes
’_Egmont-op-Zee_,’ ’_Mandora_,’ and ’_Bergen-op-Zoom_,’[*] all sewn, as
usual, by fair hands, and done in massive gold embroidery, appeared in
the centre of the standard, which the Duchess of Gordon had presented to
the clan-regiment of her son.


[*] Such, with many additions, are still the badges of the Gordon
Highlanders.  For the information of unmilitary readers I may state,
that every corps has two colours,—a king’s and regimental; the first
carried by the senior, and the latter by the junior ensign.


"Stuart, I see you are casting longing looks back to Merida," said
Alister in his usual jesting manner, as he marched by Ronald’s side with
the gaudy king’s colour sloped on his shoulder. "There is some
attraction in our rear, I perceive; you are ever looking that way."

"Ay, yonder comes Don Alvaro and his troop of lances; how gallant they
appear!  But they are almost hidden in the dust raised by the rear of
the column."

"Look above the colours of the 71st, and you will see the roof which
contains the fair Catalina; it was for that you were searching so
narrowly.  I can read your thoughts, you see, without being a conjuror.
Stuart, my boy, you are very green in these matters, otherwise you would
not blush as scarlet as your coat, which, by the by, is rapidly becoming
purple."

"What stuff you talk, Macdonald!  What is Catalina to me?"

"Pshaw! now you need not bristle up so fiercely.  Were you not making
downright love to her last night?  And the don himself would have seen
it, but had drunk too much Malaga."

"Impossible, Alister!  You must dream, or this is some of your usual
nonsense.  I have no recollection of speaking to Donna Catalina
otherwise than I would have done to any lady,—and Campbell heard me."

"The major had over much sherry under his belt, and made too much noise
about Egypt,—the pyramids,—Pompey’s pillar,—the battle of Alexandria,
and Heaven knows all what, to hear any one speaking but himself.  We
spent the night in glorious style, however; but the taste of that
horrible garlic——Heavens above! what is this?"

Alister’s sudden exclamation was not given without sufficient reason.

A carbine flashed from among the dark evergreens which overhung the
road, and Ronald Stuart, staggering backwards, fell prostrate and
bleeding at the feet of his comrades, from whom burst a wild shout of
rage and surprise; but the strictness of British discipline prevented
any man from moving in search of the assassin.

"Hell’s fury!" cried Colonel Cameron, spurring his horse to the spot,
while his eyes shot fire. "Search the bushes; forward, men!  Do not
fire, in case of alarming the rear of the column; but fix
bayonets,—slay, hew, and cut to pieces whoever you find."

With mingled curses and shouts a hundred Highlanders dashed through the
thicket; but their heavy knapsacks and the tall plumes of their bonnets
impeded their movements in piercing the twisted and tangled branches of
the thickly-leaved laurels.  They searched the grove through and
through, beating the bushes in every direction; but no trace of the
assassin was found, save a broad-brimmed _sombrero_ bearing the figure
of the Virgin stamped in pewter, fastened to the band encircling it,
which Alister Macdonald found near a gigantic laurel bush, in the midst
of the umbrageous branches of which its owner lurked unseen.

"It is the hat of Cifuentes,—the vagabond of our last night’s
adventure," said Alister, hewing a passage through the bushes with his
sword, and regaining the regiment.

"I would you had brought his head rather.  O that it was within the
reach of my trusty stick!  I would scorn to wet Andrea with his base
blood."  A frown of rage contracted the broad brow of Campbell while he
spoke, holding in one hand a steel Highland pistol, which he had drawn
from his holsters for the purpose of executing dire vengeance had
opportunity offered.

"By all the powers above!" cried Alister, with fierce and stern energy,
"if ever this accursed Spaniard crosses my path, I will make his head
fly from his shoulders as I would a thistle from its stalk! nor shall
all the corregidors and alcaldes in Spain prevent me.  But how is
Stuart? Poor fellow!  he looks very pale.  Has he lost much blood?"

Ronald, supported on the arm of Evan Iverach, stood erect within a
circle formed by the officers who crowded round, while one of the
regimental surgeons examined his left arm, which had been wounded by the
shot.

"O gude sake! be gentle wi’ him, doctor!" said honest Evan in great
anguish, as he observed Ronald to wince under the hands of the medical
officer; "be as gentle wi’ him as possible.  You doctor folk are unco
rough ever and aye: dinna forget that he is your namesake, and kinsman
forbye, though ye canna find out the exact degree."

"I hope, Doctor Stuart, the wound is not a very bad one?" said Cameron,
dismounting from his horse and approaching the circle.  "I augur ill
from the expression of concern which your countenance wears."

"The shot has passed completely through, colonel, breaking the bone in
its passage; but as the fracture is not compound, it will soon join
after setting.  I hope that none of the red coat, or any other foreign
body, is lodged in the wound."

"Oh, if it should be a poisoned ball!" groaned poor Evan in great misery
at the idea, while Doctor Stuart removed the sleeve of the coat, and
Ronald endeavoured to conceal the miniature of Alice Lisle, which was
nearly revealed by the disarrangement of his uniform.  "Oh, if it should
be a poisoned ball!" he repeated.

"Some of our very best chields have been slain wi’ them before
now,—especially at the battle of Arroya-del-Molino," observed his
comrade Angus Mackie, with a solemn shake of his head.

"Oh, that I had only been at his side!  It micht have hit me in his
stead!"

"Silence, men!  You chatter nonsense," said Cameron sternly.  "And what
think you now, doctor?"

"That as Mr. Stuart is young, and of a full habit, I must bleed him
immediately."

"Stuff!  My good fellow, he has lost blood enough already."

"_I_ am the best judge of that, Colonel Cameron," replied Esculapius
haughtily; "delay is fraught with danger.  Holloa, there! where’s the
hospital attendant?  Serjeant Maconush, undo the service-case and bring
me the pasteboard splints, the twelve-tailed bandage, and other et
cæteras: I will set the bone."

"It is impossible, Doctor Stuart," interposed Cameron.  "Your intentions
are all very good; but your clansman must return to Merida, where I
sincerely hope he will be properly attended to. We have no time to await
your operations just now, for which I am truly sorry, as Ensign Stuart
will be well aware."

"Do not mind me, colonel," replied Ronald, whose teeth were clenched
with the agony he endured.  "I will return, as you say, and shall
doubtless find a medical attendant.  I hear the rear regiments are
clamorous at this stoppage in their front, and yonder is Sir Rowland
himself, advancing to discover the cause."  He spoke with difficulty,
and at intervals; the new and painful sensation of a broken limb,
together with rage swelling his heart at the manner in which he had
received it, made his utterance low and indistinct.  Among the group
around him he recognised Don Alvaro, who had galloped from the rear to
discover the meaning of the confusion.

"_Senor coronel_," said he to Cameron, raising his hand to the peak of
his helmet, "let him be taken to my house in Merida, where he will be
properly attended to.  Pedro Gomez,"—turning to his orderly
serjeant,—"dismount.  Give this cavalier your horse, and attend him
yourself to my residence in the Calle de Guadiana, and desire Donna
Catalina to have his wound looked after. You will remain with him until
it is healed."

Pedro sprung lightly from his saddle, into which Ronald was with some
difficulty installed.

"I thank you, senor," said Cameron, touching his bonnet, "and am glad
this disagreeable matter is so satisfactorily arranged; the alcalde
might have ordered him but an indifferent billet.  Good bye, my dear
fellow, Stuart; I trust we shall see you soon again, and with a whole
skin.  Mr. Grant, take the colours.  Gentlemen, fall in; get into your
places, men—into your ranks.  Forward!"  He delivered his orders with
firm rapidity, and being a strict martinet who was not to be trifled
with, they were instantly obeyed, and the commotion was hushed.  The
troops were too much accustomed to wounds and slaughter to care about
the hurt received by Ronald, but it was the sudden and concealed shot
which had raised their surprise and indignation.

Evan Iverach alone delayed executing the orders of Cameron, and
entreated that he might be permitted to attend his wounded master to the
rear.

"My good fellow, it cannot be," replied the colonel, pleased with the
genuine concern manifested by Ronald’s honest follower; "the enemy are
before us, and I cannot spare a man.  Nay, now, you need not entreat;
fall into your place at once, sir."

"Oh! if you please, sir, dinna speak sae sternly. Did ye but ken—"

"Into your place this instant, sir! or I will have you stripped of your
accoutrements, and sent prisoner to the quarter-guard," exclaimed
Cameron sternly, his eyes beginning to sparkle.  To say more was
useless, and shouldering his musquet with a heavy heart, Evan took his
place in the ranks, and moved forward with the rest; but he cast many an
anxious look to the rear, watching the retiring figure of Ronald as he
sat on the troop-horse, which was led by Pedro Gomez towards the bridge
of Merida.




                              *CHAPTER X.*

                             *FLIRTATION.*


    "Oh! the sunny peaches glow,
      And the grapes in clusters blush;
    And the cooling silver streams
      From their sylvan fountains rush.
    There is music in the grove,
      And there’s fragrance on the gale;
    But there’s nought so dear to me,
      As my own Highland vale."
        _Vedder’s Poems._


Ronald experienced most intense pain, together with a cold, benumbed
feeling in the fractured limb; but it was as nothing in comparison to
the mental torture which he endured, or the indignant and fierce
thoughts that animated his heart.  He entertained a deep and
concentrated hatred of the wretch who, aiming thus maliciously and
savagely at his life, had in so daring a manner inflicted a wound by
which he might ultimately lose his arm, and which, for the present,
disabled him from accompanying his comrades, who were rapidly following
up the retreating foe, and eager to engage.

As his regiment belonged to the first brigade of the division, it
consequently marched in front, or near the head of the column, and in
his return to Merida he had to pass nearly 16,000 men; and the
bitterness of his feelings was increased at the idea that every man
there would probably share the honour of an engagement, of which his
mutilated state forbade him to be a participator. Solemn and deep were
the inward vows he took, to seek dire vengeance for this morning’s work
on Narvaez Cifuentes, if ever he again confronted him; and his only fear
was, that he might never meet with him more.

From the bridge of Merida he cast a farewell look after his comrades,
but nought could he see, save a long and dense cloud of dust, through
which the glitter of polished steel and the waving fold of a standard
appeared at times, as the extended length of the marching column wound
its way up the gentle eminence, above which appeared the top of the
spire of Almendralejo, several leagues distant.

By Pedro Gomez he was conducted to the stately mansion of Don Alvaro,
and delivered over to the tender care of Donna Catalina, whose softest
sympathies were awakened when the young officer was brought back to her
scarcely able to speak, and his gay uniform covered with blood, for he
had lost a great quantity, owing to the hasty manner in which his
namesake the surgeon had bound up the wound.  Add to this, that he was a
handsome youth,—a soldier who had come to fight for Spain, and had but
yesternight rescued her brother from death: the young lady’s interest,
gratitude, and pity were all enlisted in his favour. Her large dark eyes
sparkled with mingled sorrow and pleasure when she beheld him,—sorrow at
the pain he suffered, and pleasure at the happiness of being his nurse
and enjoying his society in a mansion of which she was absolute
mistress, and where there was no old maiden aunt or duenna to be a spy
upon her, or overruler of her movements; and as for the scandal of
Merida, or quizzing of her female companions, she was resolved not to
care a straw,—she was above the reach of either.  Her uncle, the Prior
of San Juan, resided in the mansion, but the worthy old padre was so
enlarged in circumference by ease and good living, and so crippled by
the gout, that he never moved further than from his bed to the
well-bolstered chair in which he sat all day, and from the chair back to
bed again, and no one ever entered his room save old Dame Agnes,
(already mentioned,) who alone seemed to possess the power of pleasing
him; consequently he was never seen by the other inhabitants of the
house, any more than if he did not exist.

We will pass over the account of the bone-setting by the Padre
Mendizabal, the famous medical practitioner in Merida, who nearly drove
Ronald mad by an oration on different sorts of fractures, simple and
compound, and the different treatment requisite for the cure of various
gun-shot wounds, before his arm was splinted and bandaged up.  Weak and
exhausted from the loss of blood, and his head buzzing with Mendizabal’s
discourse, right glad was Ronald when he found himself in a comfortable
and splendid couch,—Catalina’s own, which she had resigned for his use
as the best in the house,—with its curtains drawn round for the night;
and he forgot, in a dreamy and uneasy slumber, the exciting passages of
the last few days, the danger of his wound, and the sunny eyes of the
donna.

The tolling bells of a neighbouring steeple awakened him early next
morning, and brought his mind back to the world, and a long chain of
disagreeable thoughts.

There is scarcely any thing which makes one feel so much from home, as
the sound of a strange church bell; and the deep and hollow ding-dong
which rung from the gothic steeple of San Juan, was very different from
the merry rattle of the well-known kirk bell at Lochisla.  Ronald
thought of that village bell, and the noble peasantry whom it was wont
to call to prayer, and the association brought a gush of fond, and sad
recollections into his mind.  He felt himself, as it were, deserted in a
strange country,—among a people of whose language he knew almost
nothing; he looked round him, and his apartment appeared strange and
foreign,—every object it presented was new and peculiar to his eye.  He
thought of Scotland—of HOME,—home with all its ten thousand dear and
deeply impressed associations, until he wept like a child, and his mind
became a prey to most profound and intense dejection,—suffering from the
home-sickness, an acuteness and agony of feeling, which only those can
know who have been so unhappy as to experience this amiable feeling; one
which exists all-powerfully in the hearts of the Scots, who, although
great travellers and wanderers from home, ever turn their thoughts,
fondly and sadly, to the lofty mountains, the green forests, and the
rushing rivers which they first beheld when young, and to the grassy sod
that covers the dust of their warrior ancestors, and which they wish to
cover their own, when they follow them "to the land of the leal."

The feverish state of his body had communicated itself to his mind, and
for several days and nights, in the solitude of his chamber, he brooded
over the memory of his native place, enduring the acuteness of the
nostalgia in no small degree; and even the fair Catalina, with her
songs, her guitar, and her castanets, failed to enliven him, at least
for a time; his whole pleasure—and a gloomy pleasure it was—being to
brood over the memory of his far-off home.  The dreams that haunted the
broken slumbers which the pain of his wound permitted him to snatch,
served but to increase the disorder; and often, from a pleasing vision
of his paternal tower with its mountain loch and pathless pine forests,
of his white-haired sire as he last beheld him, or of Alice Lisle
smiling and beautiful, with her bright eyes and curling tresses, twining
her arms endearingly round him, and laying her soft cheek to his, he was
awakened by some confounded circumstance, which again brought on him the
painful and soul-absorbing lethargy which weighed down every faculty,
rendering him careless of every present object save the miniature of
Alice.  The paleness of his complexion, and the intense sadness of his
eye, puzzled his medical attendant, Doctor Mendizabal, but neither to
him nor to Donna Catalina, who used the most bewitching entreaties,
would the forlorn young soldier confess the cause of his
dejection,—concealment of the mental feelings from others beins; a
concomitant of the disease. So each formed their own opinions.
Mendizabal concluded it to be loss of blood; and the lady, after
consulting her cousin and companion, Inesella de Truxillo, supposed that
he must unquestionably be in love,—what else could render so handsome an
_officiale_ so very sad?

This conclusion gave him additional interest with her; and certes, Alice
Lisle would little have admired the attendance upon Ronald’s sick couch
of a rival, and one so dangerously beautiful; but her fears might have
decreased, had she seen how incessantly, during the days he was confined
to his bed, he gazed upon the little miniature which Louis Lisle had
given as a parting gift. Concealing it from the view of others, he
watched it with untiring eyes, until, in the fervency of his fancy, the
features seemed to become animated and expanded,—the sparkling eyes to
fill with light and tenderness,—the pale cheek to flush, and the dark
curls which fell around it to wave,—the coral lips to smile; while he
almost imagined that he heard the soft murmurs of her voice mingling
with the gurgle of the Isla and the rustle of the foliage on the banks,
where they were wont to play and gambol in infancy.

In a few days, however, his mental and bodily languor disappeared, and
when, by the surgeon’s advice, he left his sick chamber, his usual
lightness of heart returned rapidly, and he was soon able to promenade
under the piazzas of the Plaza with Catalina during the fine sunny
evenings; and although the miniature was not less admired than formerly,
the fair original would have trembled could she have witnessed all the
nursing which Ronald received from his beautiful patrona, and heard all
the soft things which were uttered.

As his strength increased their strolls were extended, and the young
ladies of Merida smiled at each other, and shook their heads
significantly, as the graceful donna, attired in her veil and mantilla,
swept through the great stradi, flirting her little fan, with the
foreign _officiale_ in the plumed bonnet and rich scarlet uniform.  His
fair patrona showed him all the remains of Roman magnificence in Merida,
and Ronald, who, like most of his countrymen, was an enthusiastic
admirer of the gloomy and antique, explored every cranny and nook of the
immense ruins of the once-important castle; surveying with a sad feeling
the pillared halls which once had rung to the sound of the trumpet and
the clashing harness of Spanish chivalry, but where now the ivy hung
down from the roofless wall, and the long grass grew between the squares
of the tessellated pavement.  Time had reduced it to little more than a
heap of shattered stones, but it was as ancient, probably, as the days
of the Goths, during whose dominion a strong garrison lay at Merida.

The large amphitheatre, of which the citizens are so proud, formed
another attraction, and its circular galleries were the scene of many an
evening; walk with Catalina and her cousin Inesella of Truxillo, a very
gay and very beautiful girl, with whom a great deal of laughing and
flirting ensued in clambering up the steep stone seats, and rambling
through its maze of arcades, arched passages, projecting galleries, and
the long dark dens opening on the arena.

The Roman baths of Diana, a subterranean edifice of an oval form,
containing ranges of dressing chambers, and a large stone bathing-basin
filled with pure water, formed another object of interest; and many were
the pleasant strolls they enjoyed along the grassy banks of the Guadiana
and by the summit of a high hill, (the name of which I have forgotten,)
in the shade of the broad trellis where the vines were bursting into
leaf, and in every green lane and embowered walk about Merida, even to
the hermitage of San Bartolomi,[*] where a white-bearded anchorite
showed them the boiling-hot spring of Alange.


[*] A place three leagues eastward of Merida.


During this intercourse, Ronald rapidly improved in his Spanish; and who
would not have done so under the tuition of such fair instructresses?
He found it

    "—pleasing to be school’d in a strange tongue
      By female lips and eyes—that is, I mean
    When both the teacher and the taught are young,
      As was the case, at least, where I have been;
    They smile so when one’s right, and when one’s wrong
      They smile still more; and then there intervene
    Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss:—
      I learn’d the little that I know by this."


More than one week had slipped away, and Ronald had nearly recovered
from his wound, though still obliged to keep his arm slung in a scarf.
In the garden at the back of the mansion, he was seated by Catalina’s
side one evening on the steps of a splendid fountain, where four brazen
deities spouted the crystal liquid from their capacious throats into a
broad basin of black marble, from which, by some subterraneous passage,
it was carried to the Guadiana.  The spring was now advanced, and the
delightful climate of Spain was fast arraying nature, and bringing her
forth in all her glory.  From the fountain, broad gravelled walks,
thickly edged with myrtle, branched off in every direction, and between
them were beds where the crimson geranium, the gigantic rose bushes, the
pale lilac blossom, and a thousand other garden flowers, which it would
be useless to mention, were budding in the heat of the vernal sun by
day, and in the soft moist dews by night. Around and above them the
graceful willow, the tufted accacia, the stately palm, the orange-tree
with its singularly beautiful leaves, and numerous other shrubs, were
spreading into foliage, which appeared to increase daily in richness of
tint and variety; and beautiful vistas, winding walks, and umbrageous
bowers were formed among them with all the art and nicety of Spanish
landscape gardening.

The young Highlander and Catalina were seated on the margin of the
fountain, as I have already said.  They conversed but little.  The donna
busied herself with the strings of her guitar, and Ronald watched in
silence the nimble motions of her white hands as she tied and untied,
screwed and unscrewed the strings and pegs, and struck the chords to
ascertain the true tone.  Strange and conflicting thoughts flitted
through his mind while he gazed upon his beautiful companion.  He was
aware how dangerous to his peace her presence was, and he almost longed
for, yet dreaded the coming time, when he should be obliged to return to
his regiment.  To Alice Lisle he felt that he was bound by every tie
that early intimacy, love, and honour could twine around him,—honour!
how could he think of so cold a word? and while he did so, he blushed
that he could find room in his heart for the image of another.

"Catalina is very beautiful—decidedly so," thought he, while he viewed
the curve of her white neck, and the outline of her superb bust. "Her
face is one of surpassing loveliness, and her eyes—but Alice is equally
bewitching, although perhaps a less showy beauty.  Alice is very gentle
and winning, so lady-like, and we have known each other so long,—it is
impossible I can forget her.  Why, then, have I been trifling with one
whose presence is so dangerous to my peace? Yes! if I would preserve a
whole heart and my allegiance to Alice, I must fly from you, Catalina."

While he reasoned thus with himself, Catalina raised her dark and
laughing eyes to his, while she struck the chords of her instrument, and
sang a few words of a very beautiful Spanish air.  So melodious was her
tone, so graceful her manner, so winning the expression of eye, who can
wonder that Ronald’s resolution melted like snow in the sunshine, and
that he felt himself vanquished? Poor Alice!  With an air of tenderness
and embarrassment he took the little hand of the donna within his own.
She read in his eye the thoughts which passed through his mind; she cast
down her long jetty lashes, while a rich bloom suffused her soft cheek.
Ronald was about to murmur forth something—in fact he knew not what,
when a loud knocking at the outer gate of the mansion, and the sound of
a well-known voice, aroused him.

"Unbar the yett—this instant! ye auld doited gomeral!  I will see my
maister in spite o’ ye," cried Evan impatiently, while Agnes delayed
unbarring the door to so boisterous a visitor.

"_Caramba, senor!  Quien es?_" she repeated.

"Gude wife, I speak nae language but my ain; so ye needna waste your
wind by speirin’ questions that I canna answer."

At Ronald’s desire the old housekeeper undid the door, which was well
secured by many a bar and lock, and he immediately saw the waving plumes
of Evan’s bonnet dancing above the shrubbery, as he came hastily towards
the fountain, with his musquet at the long trail, and his uniform and
accoutrements covered with the dust of a long day’s march.  His joy was
unbounded on seeing his master, and rapid and quick were the earnest
inquiries he made, without waiting for answers, concerning his wound,
and how he had been treated "by the unco folk he had been left to bide
amang,—begging the bonnie leddy’s pardon."

Catalina bowed,—although she knew not a word that he said; but by the
natural politeness and expression of the soldier’s look, she knew that
he referred to her.

"Now then, Evan, that I have answered all your inquiries, be pleased to
stand steady, and moderate yourself so far as to reply to mine," said
Ronald kindly, far from feeling annoyed at his appearance at a juncture
so peculiarly awkward and tender.  "How come you here just now? and how
alone?"

"I got leave frae the colonel, after an unco dunning, to come here and
attend you, for I thocht you would feel yersel unco queer, left alane
among the black-avised folk, that canna speak a decent tongue.  But
here, sir, is a letter and a newspaper, sent you by Maister Macdonald."
Evan, after fumbling among the ration biscuits, shoe-brushes, and other
matters which crammed his havresack, produced them.  "Just as I cam awa’
frae the place whar’ the regiment lay, in dreary strath—a place like
Corrie-oich for a’ the world—seventy miles frae this, I heard that the
order had come to retire to the rear—"

"Upon Merida?"

"I canna say, sir, because the very moment that Cameron gied me leave,
and Maister Macdonald gied me his letter, I set off, and have travelled
nicht and day, without stopping, except may be just for an hour, to
sleep by the road side or to get a mouthfu o’ meat,—trash sic as ane
wadna gie to puir auld Hector the watch-dog at hame, at auld Lochisla.
O it was a far and a weary gait; but I was sae anxious to see ye, sir,
that I have trod it out in twa days, in heavy marching order as ye see
me, and I am like to dee wi’ sheer fatigue."

"You are a faithful fellow, Evan; but I fear, by your love for me, you
may work mischief to yourself.  Here comes Dame Agnes,—to her care I
must consign you.  She was a kind attendant to me when I much wanted
one."

"God bless ye for that, gude wife!" cried Iverach, catching her in his
arms and kissing her withered cheek; a piece of gallantry which she owed
more to Evan’s native drollery and his present state of excitement, than
any admiration of her person.

"I believe there is some gaucy kimmer at home, who would not like this
distribution of favour, Evan," said Ronald; while Catalina clapped her
hands and laughed heartily at the old dame, who, although very well
pleased at the compliment, affected great indignation, and arranged her
velvet hood with a mighty air.

"It’s just quiet friendship for the auld body,—naething else, sir.  Even
puir wee Jessie Cavers wadna hae been angry, had she been present and
seen me."

"Cavers—Jessie Cavers!  I heard that name before, surely?"

"It’s very like ye may, sir," replied the young Highlander, a flush
crossing his cheek.  "She is Miss Alice Lisle’s maid,—a servant lassie
at the Inch-house."

"O—a girl at Inchavon?  I thought the name was familiar to me," faltered
Ronald, reddening in turn.  "But you had better retire, and tell the
military news to Pedro Gomez, whom I see waiting you impatiently
yonder."

Reserving the newspaper for another time, Ronald, with the donna’s
permission, opened Macdonald’s letter.

"This billet is from the army," said she, familiarly placing her arm
through the young officer’s and drawing close to his side, while she
caused his heart to thrill at her touch.  "Ah! tell me if there is any
news of my brother Alvaro in it?"

"I will read it aloud, translating those parts you do not understand.
It is dated from Villa Franca:—[*]


[*] The date of poor Macdonald’s letter is now obliterated, and I have
forgotten what it was,—about the month of March (1812), I think.


"DEAR STUART,

"Fassifern and the rest of ours are anxious to know how you are, after
that wound you received so villanously, and from which I hope you are
almost recovered by this time.  Send us word by the first messenger from
Merida to the front. Remember me particularly to the fair Catalina, and
I assure you that your quarters at present in her splendid mansion, are
very different from mine here,—in a wretched hut, where the rain comes
in at the roof, and the wind at a thousand crannies.  You may
congratulate us, my old comrade, on the easy victories we obtain over
Messieurs the French, who have been driven from Almendralejo, and all
the places adjacent, with little loss on our part.  I now write you from
a village, out of which our brigade drove them a few days ago.  How much
you would have admired the gallantry of our Spanish friend Don Alvaro,
who accompanied us in this affair. On our approaching the enemy, they
retired without firing a shot at first, and his troop of lancers, who
were halted on the road leading to Los Santos, charged them at full
gallop, shouting _Viva Ferdinand!  España!  España y buena Esperanza!_"

"Noble Alvaro! my brave brother!" interrupted Catalina, her eyes
sparkling with delight.  "I will always love this _officiale_ for what
he says. Oh! that Inesella was here!  She is betrothed to Alvaro, senor,
and would have been wedded long since, but for a quarrel they had about
Donna Ermina, the wife of old Salvador, the guerilla chief."

"It was a noble sight," continued the letter, "to see the tall lances
levelled to the rest, the steel helmets flashing in the sun, and to hear
the clang of the rapid hoofs, as the Spaniards rushed down the brae and
broke upon the enemy with the force of a whirlwind, a thunderbolt, or
any thing else you may suppose.  Campbell protested it equalled the
charge of the Mamelukes, when _he_ ’was in Egypt with Sir Ralph.’
Alvaro has now gone off to join Murillo, where he hopes to meet Don
Salvador de Zagala, whom he vows to impale alive.  He left me but an
hour ago, and desires me in my letter to send a kiss to his sister.
This, I dare swear, you will be most happy to deliver."

Ronald faltered, and turned his eye on Catalina, who blushed deeply.  It
was impossible to resist the temptation; her face was very close to his,
and he pressed his lips upon her burning cheek.

"Read on, _senor mio_," she said, disengaging herself with exquisite
grace; "perhaps there may be more about Alvaro?"

Ronald glanced his eye over the next paragraph, and passed it over in
silence and confusion.

"A little flirtation en passant, you know, will not injure your
allegiance to the fair ladye whose miniature—but you may burn my letter
without reading further, should I write much on that subject.  Angus
Mackie, a private of your company, was the other night engaged in a
regular brawl with the natives of Almendralejo,—some love affair with
the daughter of an old _abogado_ (lawyer). I refer you for the
particulars to the bearer, who was engaged in it.  We had another row at
Almendralejo the day we entered it.  Some Spaniard, by way of insult,
ran his dagger into the bag of Ranald Dhu’s pipe, and so great was the
wrath of the ’Son of the Mist,’ that he dirked him on the spot; and
although the fellow is not dead, he is declared by Doctor Stuart to be
’in a doubtful state.’

"I have sent you an Edinburgh paper, (a month or two old,) wherein you
will see by the ’Gazette’ that a Louis Lisle has been appointed to us,
_vice_ poor Oliphant Cassilis, killed in the battle of Arroya.  There
are people of the name in Perthshire; perhaps you may know something of
this Lisle."

The blood rushed into Ronald’s face, and a mixed feeling of pleasure and
shame to meet the brother of Alice filled his mind.  He read on—

"I was just about to conclude this long letter, when some strange news
arrived.  Ciudad Rodrigo has been invested, and it is supposed must
capitulate soon.  Our division has been ordered by Lord Wellington to
retire into Portugal forthwith; the ’gathering’ is at this moment
ringing through the streets of Villa Franca, and the corps is getting
under arms.—Adieu, &c.

ALISTER MACDONALD."

"P.S.—L. Lisle is at Lisbon, bringing up a detachment for ours,—a
hundred rank and file. I do not know what route we take for Portugal;
but you had better endeavour to join us on the way."




                             *CHAPTER XI.*

                     *ALICE LISLE.—NEWS FROM HOME.*


    "As you are beauteous, were you half so true,
    Here could I live, and love, and die for only you.
    Now I to fighting fields am sent afar,
    And strive in winter camps with toils of war;
    While you, alas, that I should find it so!—"
      _Virgil_, Pastoral x.


Within the chamber which he occupied Ronald sat late that night, musing
on what was to be done, and what course was now to be steered. He saw
that it was absolutely necessary that he should proceed instantly to
rejoin,—a measure which the healed state of his wound rendered
imperative.  "The division is retreating," thought he, "and the Count
D’Erlon will without doubt push forward immediately and regain
possession of Merida, and I must inevitably be taken prisoner.  I will
join Sir Rowland as he passes through; the troops must pass here _en
route_ for Portugal.  How dangerous to my own quiet is my acquaintance
with Catalina, and how foolishly have I been tampering with her
affections and with my own heart!  Good heavens!  I have acted very
wrong in awakening in her a sentiment towards me, which my plighted
troth to Alice and my own natural sense of honour forbid me to cherish
or return.  And Catalina loves me; her blushes, her downcast eyes, and
her sweet confusion have betrayed it more than once.  ’Tis very
agreeable to feel one’s self beloved, and by so fair a girl, for
Catalina is very beautiful; but I must fly from her, and break those
magic spells which are linking our hearts together.  To-morrow—no, the
day after, I will leave Merida, and join the division as soon as I hear
by what route it is retiring."

Louis Lisle, too, the brother of Alice, was now an officer in the same
corps, and his bold spirit would instantly lead him to seek vengeance
for any false or dishonourable part acted towards his sister.  "Poor
Louis! he is the first friend I ever had; and how will so delicate a
boy, one so tenderly nurtured, endure the many miseries of campaigning
here?  A single night such as that we spent in the bivouac of La Nava,
would unquestionably be his death."

Here his cogitations were interrupted by the voice of Evan, who was
carousing in the room below with Gomez, (having spent the night together
over their cups, although neither understood a word of the other’s
language), singing loud and boisterously,—

    "Keek into the draw-well,
      My Jo Janet;
    And there ye’ll see yer bonnie sell,
      My Jo Janet."

a performance which drew many ’vivas!’ from his brother-soldier.  Roused
from the reverie into which he had fallen, Ronald’s eye fell on the
newspaper sent him by Macdonald, and he now took it up, thinking to find
something in it to direct the current of his thoughts; and somewhat he
found with a vengeance!  Better would it have been if he had never
thought of it at all.  It was an _Edinburgh Journal_, dated several
weeks back, and appeared to have passed through the hands of the whole
division, it was so worn and frittered.  After scanning over the
’Gazette,’ to which he had turned first "with true military instinct,"
his eye next fell upon one of those pieces of trash styled ’fashionable
news,’  It was headed—

"MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE.—We understand that the gallant Earl of Hyndford
is about to lead to the hymeneal altar the beautiful and accomplished
daughter of Sir Allan Lisle, Bart., M. P. for ——.  The happy event is to
take place in a few weeks at Inchavon-house, (Perthshire,) the family
seat of the venerable and much respected baronet."

The room swam around him, and the light faded for a moment from his eye,
while the hot blood gushed back tumultuously through the pulses of his
heart; but clinching his teeth firmly, and mustering all his scattered
energies, he read it over once more, while mingled sorrow and fury
contracted and convulsed the muscles of his handsome features.  There
was no doubting the purport of the torturing intelligence, and Catalina
was forgotten in the fierce excitement of the moment.  "O Alice!
Alice!" he said, bitterly and aloud, "could I ever have expected this of
you? ’Tis but a few months since we parted, and she is false already.  I
am, indeed, soon forgotten!"

He crushed the paper up, and thrusting it into the charcoal pan on the
hearth, it was consumed in an instant.  "Hyndford—Carmichael, Earl of
Hyndford!  Ay; the glitter of the coronet has more charms for her eye
than a subaltern’s epaulet; but I would not be my father’s son, should I
think more of her after this.  I will learn to forget her, as she has
forgotten me,—and this too shall perish!"  He took the miniature from
his neck, and was about to crush it beneath his heel; but when the
well-known features met his eye, his fierce resolution melted away: he
averted his head, and replaced it in his bosom, while a sad and subdued
feeling took possession of his heart.

"I cannot destroy," thought he, "what has been so long a solace, and an
object almost of worship to me.  Even were she the bride of another, as
perhaps she is at this very hour, I would yet wear and bear it for her
sake, in memory of the days that are passed away and the thoughts I had
nourished for years—ay, for years,—since the days we gathered the wild
rose and the heather-bell on the bonnie braes I now almost wish never to
behold again."

For the first hour or two, he felt as if every cord that bound him to
happiness and existence was severed and broken, and an acute feeling of
mental agony swelled his breast almost to bursting.  His Highland pride
came, however, to his aid, and roused within him feelings equally
bitter, though perhaps less distressing; and starting up, he strode
hastily about the apartment, and emptied more than once a large horn of
Malaga, from a pig-skin which lay on a side-table near him, drinking
deeply to drown care, and allay the wild tumult of his thoughts.  But
the wine was as water, and he quaffed it without effect.

The baseness of her desertion grew every moment more vivid; and how
openly must she have renounced him, when even the public journals had
become aware of her intended alliance, which must have been a measure of
her own free will, as her father Sir Allan would never control her
affections, and the age of forced marriages was passed away, or existed
only in the pages of romance. Love and jealousy, sorrow, pride, and a
feeling of helplessness at the great distance which separated him from
Britain, passed rapidly through his mind; and during the mental agony
and tumult of the first few hours, he forgot Catalina and the honourable
struggles he had made with himself to withstand the witchery of her
beauty, until the recollection of it rushed fully upon him, raising him
in his own estimation, and lessening the fickle Alice in an equal
degree.

He hastily threw open his baggage-trunk, and producing writing
materials, commenced a letter, in which he meant to upbraid her
bitterly, and take a haughty and sad farewell of her for ever.  But so
great was his agitation, so fast did his ideas crowd upon each other,
and so much were they mingled together and confused, that he wrote only
rhapsodies in incoherent sentences, and sheet after sheet was filled,
torn up, and committed to the flames; until at last it flashed upon his
mind that there were no means at present of transmitting a letter, and
he abandoned the attempt altogether.  Whenever he thought of Catalina,
he felt more consoled for the loss of Alice; but yet the deep-rooted
affection, the cherished sentiment of years which he felt for her, was a
very different feeling from the temporary admiration with which the
Spanish lady had impressed him; but ideas of a prouder, and perhaps more
healing kind, came to his aid.

"I tread the path which leads to the greatest of all earthly
honours,—even the passage to the throne lies through the tented field;
and although I look not for that, the ambitious Alice may yet repent
having slighted the love of Ronald Stuart of Lochisla.  We know not what
fate may have in store, or what the great lottery of life may cast up
for me.  Alice! oh, how false, how fickle, and how heartless!  Like twin
tendrils of the same tree, like little birds in the same nest, we grew
unto each other,—our love increasing with our size and years; and yet,
after all the tender sentiments we have exchanged and the happiness we
have enjoyed, she has thus cruelly abandoned me, preferring the glitter
of a title to the love of a brave and honest heart!  But let her go; she
will hear of me yet," he said almost aloud, while his sparkling eye fell
on his claymore, which lay upon the table, "for this is the land where
honour and fame are within the grasp of a reckless and daring soldier,
for reckless of life and limb will I be from this hour.  But I may fall
unhonoured and unknown, as thousands have already done, as thousands
more shall do; yet Alice, though perhaps she may drop a tear for me,
will never be upbraided with the sight of my tomb!"

Long and silently he continued brooding over the cursed intelligence,
which every moment grew, in his fancy, more like some vision of a
disturbed slumber, or some horrible enigma; and the hour of twelve
tolled from the belfry of San Juan, yet he thought not of rest.  He had
grown careless of all external objects, and sat with his brow leaning on
his hand, absorbed in his own heart-corroding fancies.  His lamp sunk
down in the socket and expired,—the stars and the pale moon, sailing
apparently through clouds of gauze, glimmered through the tall casement
into the gloomy chamber, and poor Ronald still sat there, revolving and
re-revolving the matter in his mind, which became a prey, by turns, to
the very opposite sentiments of love and sorrow, pride, revenge,
indignation, and ambition.

                     *      *      *      *      *

He awoke suddenly, and found that he had been asleep in his chair.  The
bright light of the morning sun was streaming between the dark hangings
of the lofty windows, and the tolling bells of the neighbouring churches
reminded him that it was Sunday.  The instant he awoke, the aching
memories of the past night rushed upon his mind; but he thought of the
matter with a little more composure, and the presence of Donna Catalina,
all blushes, smiles, and beauty, when the morning was further advanced,
contributed very considerably to the re-establishment of his serenity,
but her keen eye observed that he was ill at ease. His usual vivacity
was gone; he appeared much abstracted, seldom speaking except of his
departure, and in a tone of more than usual regret. They had previously
arranged to visit the church of San Juan on that day, that Ronald might
see high Mass performed, and hear the sub-prior, whom the citizens
considered a miracle of learning and piety, preach.

Catalina retired to don her walking attire, while Ronald, from the
balcony, gazed listlessly into the street, scarcely observing what was
passing there.  Peasantry from the neighbourhood were crowding in,
attired in dresses at once graceful and picturesque; the men wearing,
some the close vest, the broad sombrero, knee-breeches, and large
mantle, while others were without it in a loose jacket, with a sash of
ample size and gaudy colours tied round their waists, and having on
their heads long slouched caps.  Many—almost all—wore knives displayed
somewhere about their person, and all had a peculiar swagger in their
walk, which seemed not ungraceful.  Bright-eyed women in their black
hoods or mantillas,—priests in their dark robes of sack-cloth, their
waists encircled with a knotted cord,—graceful peasant girls, their
short bunchy petticoats displaying the most splendid ankles in the
world,—sturdy muleteers with their long whips,—and market-women from the
south bearing loads of butter, milk, and fruit on their heads, were
crowding the street and thronging about the dark piazzas in every
direction, and a loud gabble of tongues in Spanish was heard on all
sides.  Clouds of smoke arose from cigars, as every man had one in his
mouth; and here and there, under some of the piazzas, might be seen a
few muleteers and olive-cheeked girls, dancing a fandango or bolero
about the door of a wine-house to the sound of the guitar, the
tambarine, and the castanets.

"How very different is all this from the sober gravity which marks our
Scottish sabbath-day!" thought Ronald, as he glanced languidly around
the Plaza.  Notwithstanding the mental excitement under which he
laboured, the chain of ideas recalled to his memory a few lines of a
poem he had once read, and which he now repeated to himself,—

    "O Scotland! much I love thy tranquil dales;
    But most on Sabbath eve, when low the sun
    Slants through the upland copse, ’tis my delight,
    Wandering and stopping oft to hear the song
    Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs;
    Or when the simple service ends, to hear
    The lifted latch, and mark the grey-haired man,
    The father and the priest, walk forth alone
    Into his garden plat or little field,
    To commune with his God in secret prayer."[*]


[*] "The Sabbath: a Poem.".  Second Edition.  Blackwood, Edinburgh,
1805.


This was one of the many passages in it, which were impressed upon his
memory, and he remembered, with peculiar bitterness of feeling, that it
was with Alice Lisle he had first perused the pages of that now
forgotten poem, seated by her side in one of the green birchen glades
through which the Isla flowed towards the Tay.

The heavy clang of a charger’s hoofs broke in upon his reverie, and
raising his eyes, he saw an officer of the light cavalry ride furiously
into the Plaza, with his uniform covered with dust, and his horse and
accoutrements dripping with white foam.  Casting a rapid glance around
him, he spurred at once beneath the balcony over which Ronald leaned,
knowing him to be a British officer from his uniform.

He checked his horse by the curb-stone of the pavement.

"Evelyn—Lieutenant Evelyn, 13th Light Dragoons," said he, introducing
himself.  "Mr. Stuart, I presume?"

"Yes,—Stuart, of the 92nd Regiment," replied Ronald bowing.  "I believe
I have had the pleasure of seeing you before?"

"Ay, near La Nava, the evening we drove in Dombrouski’s advanced
picquet."

"I now remember.  But what word from the front?"

"Oh! the old story,—a countermarch. Campaigning is like a game at chess:
we have been ordered to retire into Portugal, and the second division
will be in full retreat by this time.  I suppose they will come down the
other bank of the Guadiana."

"This movement, likely, has some relation to the recent investment of
Ciudad Rodrigo.  You will, of course, have heard of that?"

"Our works are carried within a very short distance of theirs.  It is
said that Marshal Marmont imagines it will hold out for several weeks
yet; before which time he will give Lord Wellington battle, and attempt
its relief.  His lordship appears to be preparing, as troops from all
quarters are concentrating under his command; so that, should Ciudad
Rodrigo not soon capitulate, we may expect a battle with Marmont in a
few days."

"Of course it must fall; Marmont will never attempt its relief.  But
will you not dismount and refresh yourself?  You appear to have ridden
far."

"I regret that it is impossible to dismount; I have tarried too long
already.  I am carrying despatches from Sir Rowland Hill to the rear,
and I must be far beyond Albuquerque before night. My orders were to
ride without drawing bridle; but my nag is failing already.  Just before
I left Fuente del Maistre, an orderly dragoon brought up the mail-bags
from Lisbon; and a Major Campbell of yours, an immensely big man, but a
soldier-like fellow, who insisted that he had seen me in Egypt, although
I never was there, gave me a letter for you, that I might deliver it, on
my route, at Merida."

"I thank you," replied Ronald in a scarcely articulate voice, while his
fluttering; heart became a prey to alternate hopes and fears.

"I trust it will contain good news for you," said the horseman,
unbuckling his sabre-tache. "Our letters here are like angels’ visits,
’few and far between,’ the post delivery being less regular than within
sight of St. Paul’s.  By the by, how is that wound you received the
morning we marched from this?  I heard something of the story, and would
be glad to hear it all, had I time; but there are so many hard knocks
going now, that one cares little about them.  Your arm is still in the
sling, I see."

"I mean to discard it to-day.  I am quite recovered now, and am about to
rejoin immediately.  But the letter?"

"Ay, here it is," replied Evelyn, raising himself in his stirrups, and
handing the letter to Ronald, who received it by stooping over the
balcony, and knew at once the large round family seal, and the
hand-writing of his father.

"Alice, Alice!  Evelyn, is there not another?" he groaned aloud in the
bitterness of his spirit.

"Another?" laughed the cavalry officer, who heard him but imperfectly.
"No, by Jupiter! and I am sorry the one you have received does not seem
to be in the small running-hand of a fair lady; but it may contain what
makes ample amends, you know,—a remittance from the old gentleman
through Gordon, your paymaster, who is as jolly a fellow as ever
broached a pipe or a pig-skin of wine.  Ah! ’tis well when the old boy
bleeds liberally.  But now, so ho! for the road again!  I would advise
you to look out sharply while here.  D’Erlon, the moment he becomes
aware of our temporary retreat, will throw forward some of his cavalry,
and regain the places he has lost.  The low grounds by the river-side
afford great advantages for a concealed movement, and you run a risk of
being taken prisoner: the idea struck me as I entered the town a few
minutes ago."

"How far is the division from this?" asked Ronald, impatiently awaiting
the other’s departure, that he might peruse the letter; "a day’s march,
think you?"

"Three, perhaps; Fuente del Maistre is a long way off.  Remember that
you must be careful what kind of guide you employ, should you require
one in rejoining.  And now, adieu."

"Adieu!" echoed Ronald.  The other gave his horse the spur, let his
reins drop, and was round the corner of the Plaza, out of sight in an
instant.

Feeling all that trembling eagerness and indescribable delight which the
arrival of a first letter from home, after a long absence, infuses into
the heart, Ronald tore it open, but for some minutes was baffled in his
attempts to read by an envious mist or film, which seemed to intercept
his sight and prevented him from proceeding further than the date, which
was upwards of a month back.  The letter ran thus, and the ideas and
style of the good old gentleman were observable in every line of it:


_Lochisla, February_ 28*th*, 1812.

"MY DEAR BOY,

"I received your letters dated from Lisbon and Portalagre in due course,
and cannot find words to express how overjoyed I was to understand by
them that you were well, and did not feel the fatigue of long marches.
Ronald, my son, may God protect you!  You are very dear to me
indeed,—dearer even than the little ones that sleep in the old
kirk-yard.  I can scarce get on further, for the salt and hot tears are
filling my eyes, and it is no common emotion which makes a stern old
man, like me, weep.  We are living much in the old way here at the
tower, with the exception that your absence has made a sad blank in the
little establishment.  My dear boy, I am very lonely now, and it is
grievous when a man feels himself so in his old age.  Your gentle
mother, and her four little boys, are with the angels in heaven; the
green grass covers their sunny ringlets, and you alone were spared me,
but only to be exposed to the dangers of a soldier’s life,—dangers which
make my heart shrink within me for your safety.

                     *      *      *      *      *

"How very quiet is all around me at the moment I am writing!  The bright
evening sun is streaming through the mullions of the old hall window on
the hearth, where you used to play when a little child, and your two old
companions, Carril and Odin, are stretched upon the rug; they often
whine, and look sadly in my face, or at your bonnet and gun in the
corner, as if they still missed you.  The noble hounds!  I believe that
although six months have elapsed since you were here, they have not
forgotten you.  The wind scarcely stirs the thickets about the tower,
and all is very calm and still,—all save the beating of my own anxious
heart, and its pulsations are audible.

All our friends and dependants here desire to be remembered to you and
to Evan Iverach; and I am assured danger will never visit you, if the
prayers of brave and honest hearts can avert it; for the people at the
clachan, and in all the glen, pray for you nightly and daily,
particularly old Donald.  He does not pipe about so much as he used to
do, but pays more attention than ever he did to the whisky kegs in
Janet’s pantry. Poor man!  I forgive his melancholy; like me, he mourns
the absence of an only son.

"Corrie-oich and I have quarrelled again, about a fight which took place
at the last fair, between his herdsman and Alpin Oig.  I would fain
harry the lair of the old fox, and give his turreted house to the
flames, as my father did in 1746.  I would teach his fellows to beware
how they spoke to a servant or follower of mine.

"I am likely to have a row with Inchavon also.  He has trespassed more
than once on our marches in his shooting excursions, in which he is
always accompanied now by the Earl of Hyndford, who, it is said, is to
be married to Miss Lisle, an old flame of yours, whom I trust you have
forgotten by this time, as she has undoubtedly done you.

"Inchavon’s son has received a pair of colours in your regiment, and has
left Perthshire to join; you will, of course, keep him at a due
distance, and as you value my paternal love, make neither a friend nor
companion of him.  Forget not the words your gallant old grandfather
used, after cutting down Colonel Lisle at Falkirk: ’Never trust a Lisle
of Inchavon, until your blade is through his body.’

"Sir Allan has revived his old claim to the lands and vacant peerage of
Lysle, and Hyndford, who is one of our representative peers, is using
all his interest for him in the upper house.  Let him fish for any rank
he pleases; our blood, my boy, is nobler than his own.  We have been
Stuarts of Lochisla since the days of our royal ancestor Robert the
Second, and I seek no other title.

"By the by, that scoundrel Æneas Macquirk, the W.S. in Edinburgh, some
time ago procured my name, as cautioner for a very large sum, to a deed
connected with some cursed insurance business, of which I knew nothing.
I fear the fellow is tottering in his circumstances; and should he fail,
I will be utterly ruined, and the old tower, which has often defied an
armed host, will, perhaps, be surrendered to some despicable Lowland
creditor.  To a Highlander, who knows nothing of legal chicanery, what a
curse those harpies of the law are!  Remember me to John Cameron of
Fassifern, your colonel; he is a brave and good officer, and a true
Highland gentleman. Be attentive to your duties, and never shrink from——
But I need not say that; I know that you will do what man dare do, and
will never disgrace the house you spring from, or the gallant regiment
to which you belong.  Good by to you, my boy! let me hear from you soon
and often; and that He, whose presence is everywhere, may ever bless and
protect you, will be always the earnest prayer of your desolate old
father,

"IAN STUART."




                             *CHAPTER XII.*

                              *THE CONDÉ.*


    "The anthem rang; for on the heavenward air
    ’_Gloria in excelsis_’ swept along,
    From voices soft and forms divinely fair,
    While the lone echoes did the notes prolong,
    Swelling the numbers of the sweet angelic song."
      _Scenes among the Mountains_, canto i.


So much was Ronald engrossed in the perusal of this letter, which so
fully displays the eccentric manners of his father, that it was not
until he had withdrawn his eyes from its pages that he became aware of
the presence of Catalina, who stood by his side, veiled and robed in her
velvet mantilla for church.

"You have received a letter from your home? I trust—I hope—there is
nothing in it to cause you sorrow.  Why do you sigh so very sadly?" said
she, in a tone of thrilling tenderness.

"Indeed I cannot say that its contents are calculated to instil any
other sentiments than sorrow," replied Ronald, depositing it in his
breast; "and I fear, Catalina, that the last day I shall pass with—with
you, will be a very unhappy one."

"The last day!" she repeated sorrowfully. "And are you still resolved on
going so soon?"

"My arm, you perceive, is perfectly well now," replied the officer,
tossing away the sling in which it hung; "and it is indispensable, if I
would save my honour from disagreeable surmises, that I rejoin my
regiment.  Dearest Catalina! a hundred other circumstances, of which you
are ignorant, compel me to leave you,—to leave you perchance for ever."
While he spoke, a passionate flush gathered on his cheek, and passing
his arm around the waist of the yielding girl, he drew her gently
towards him; yet even the feeling of delight which he experienced at
that moment, mingled with a sensation of anger at the faithlessness of
Alice Lisle.  To revenge himself, he pressed his lips a second time to
the soft and burning cheek of the beautiful Spaniard, and felt his blood
fly like lightning through his veins, while he watched the long lashes
which modestly shaded the brilliance of her eyes, and read the smile of
pleasure and inexpressible sweetness that played around her finely
formed mouth.

A step was heard on the staircase.

"_Santa Maria!  Senor mio, el senor Gobernador_; my uncle the prior!"
she whispered, starting from Ronald’s encircling arm.  "Oh, ’tis only my
gossiping cousin," she added with a smile, as Inesella de Truxillo swept
into the apartment, with a long lace veil reaching from her stately head
nearly to her feet, enveloping her tall and dashing figure.

"Pho!  I fear I have interrupted some very gallant and tender scene.
How very unlucky! Catalina, _mi queredo_, how you blush!  Your veil and
long glossy ringlets are all sadly disordered. Indeed, senor, you have
quite turned the poor girl’s head, and I fear we shall have some unhappy
brawl, should my brother the Condé de Truxillo hear of it.  He is one of
Catalina’s most passionate admirers, and we expect him here shortly."

"Inesella, I thought you were my uncle the prior," faltered Catalina,
blushing with confusion.

"Our uncle, the padre?" cried the gay girl with a loud laugh.  "_O madre
de Dios!_ do my little feet, which our citizens of Merida admire so
much, make so great a noise as your old gobernador’s? besides, he never
leaves his room.  _Mi queredo_, you compliment me!  But you must
remember that I am considered the best waltzer in Madrid, and the
cavaliers there pretend to be very excellent judges.  My poor cousin,
you are very much abashed; allow me to arrange your curls. But you
should not be flirting here with a young _officiale_ instead of being at
mass, and _el Gobernador_ should give you a sermon for doing so. But the
bells have ceased to toll, and we shall be late; ’tis fully five
minutes’ walk from here to the porch of San Juan’s church.  So let us
begone at once, and use our joint endeavours to make you, senor, a
convert to the true faith."

Ronald replied only by an unmeaning smile; and taking his sword and
bonnet, prepared to accompany the young ladies.  They were followed by
Evan Iverach and Pedro Gomez, carrying camp-stools for their
accommodation, the church (as usual in Spain) not being fitted up with
pews; so that all who do not provide themselves with seats, are obliged
to remain either on their feet or on their knees.

An indescribable emotion of deep religious veneration, inspiration
almost of holy awe, filled the agitated mind of the young Highlander
with sensations which he had never before experienced, when, for the
first time in his life, he found himself beneath the groined roof and
gigantic arches of the Roman Catholic cathedral, while all its thousand
hollow echoes were replying to the notes of the sublime organ, the bold
trumpet-tones of which shook the very pavement and grave stones beneath
his feet.  The appearance of the church, being so very different from
what he had ever beheld before, made also a deep impression on his mind:
the tall traceried windows, filled with gorgeously stained glass,—the
strong variations of light and shadow which they caused,—the long lines
of shafted columns, and the domed roof which sprung from their foliaged
capitals,—the perfumes of the lavender flowers which, arising from
smoking censers, filled the air,—the dark and gloomy altar-piece, with
the altar itself bearing a gigantic crucifix of gilt work and enormous
candlesticks of silver, the pale lights twinkling around it,—the
floating drapery of the officiating priests,—the sonorous prayers
uttered in an unknown language, and the fervent responses of the swarthy
congregation, together with "the pealing organ" and the melodious song
of the young choristers,—all these combined, entranced and elevated the
enthusiastic soul of the young Highlander, raising it from the grossness
and bitterness of earth almost, as it were, to heaven, so grand and
impressive, in form and ceremony, is the religious service of the Church
of Rome, as it exists on the continent in all its ancient glory.

Poor Evan, who had never heard any other religious music than the humble
Presbyterian psalm in Lochisla kirk, was for some time struck with a
feeling of such awe, that he scarcely dared to lift his eyes, lest he
should encounter the formidable gaze of some spirit or divinity standing
on the altar; and the wonderful sound of the music caused his bold heart
to shrink, although he could have heard, without his courage failing,
the roar of a thousand pieces of cannon.  However, when the music
ceased, and he had recovered his usual self-possession, the native
prejudices and inherent sourness of the true Presbyterian assumed its
ascendency in his mind.

"O sir, is this no an unco kirk?" he whispered from behind.  "Gude guide
us! never will I trust myself within the yett o’ ane mair.  Just look,
sir, at that puir papist Pedro, how he yammers, and counts his string o’
yellow beads ower and ower again.  O’d, sir, this ding’s a’!  And look
at the pictures, the images, and a’ that: it’s just a temptin’ o’
Providence to trust oursels inside o’ this nest o’ papistry, idolatry,
and deevildom. Hech me, sir, what would the auld men and caillochs in
the clachan o’ Lochisla think or say if they kenned we were here?  And
what would our decent body o’ a minister, auld maister Mucklewhame,
think o’ that chield’s awfu’ blatter o’ lang nebbit words?"

Ronald had often motioned him to be silent, and he now ceased as the
sub-prior, a black-browed priest of the order of St. Francis of Assisi,
ascended barefooted, the marble steps which led to the lofty pulpit.  He
was attired in the garb of his order, a grey gown and cowl of woollen
stuff, girt about his middle with a knotted cord of discipline.  His
chaplet hung at his girdle, and his cowl, falling over his neck,
displayed his swarthy features, coal-black hair, and shaven scalp.  At
the same time, Ronald encountered the smiling glances which the keen
bright eyes of the ladies bestowed on him, as they watched from time to
time the impression made upon him by the solemnity of their church
service.  The sermon of the Franciscan was filled more with politics and
invectives against the French and their emperor, than religious matters,
dwelling emphatically on the singular addition made by the priests to
the Spanish Catechism at that time,—"to love all mankind, excepting
Frenchmen, of whom it was their duty to kill as many as possible."[*]


[*] See "Memoirs of the War in Spain, from 1808 to 1814; by Marshal
Suchet, Duke d’Albufera."


"Well, Evan, what think you of the discourse?" said Ronald, in the low
voice in which the groups clustered round the columns generally
conversed. "I dare say the Spanish sounds very singular to your ear."

"Ay, sir; it puts me in mind o’ an auld saying o’ my faither the piper.
’A soo may whussle, but its mouth is no made for’t.’  O’d, sir, I wadna
gie the bonnie wee kirk at Lochisla, wi’ its grassy grave-yard, whar we
used to play on the sabbath mornings, for a’ the kirks in Spain,
forbye—"

"Hush!"  At that moment the priest had raised his voice while denouncing
a curse upon all heretics; and his keen expressive eye fell, perhaps
unconsciously, on Ronald, whose cheek reddened with momentary anger.

Evan’s reply, and his native Scottish accent, caused Ronald to indulge
in the same train of ideas.  He acknowledged in his own heart, that
notwithstanding the gorgeous display before him, he would prefer the
humble and earnest, the simple and unassuming service in the old village
kirk at home,—the quiet sermon of the white-haired minister, and the
slowly sung psalm, raised with all the true fervour, the holy and sober
feeling which animate a Scottish congregation, and recall the
soul-stirring emotions which inspired those who bled at Bothwell, at
Pentland, and Drumclog. He thought of Alice, too; and eagerly did he
long for the arrival of her brother Louis, that the cause of her
heartless desertion might be explained.

The cry of "_Viva la Religion y España!  Muera Buonaparte!_" from the
preacher, echoed by the deep tone of a thousand Spanish tongues, awoke
him from his reverie, and he took prisoner within his own the white hand
of Catalina, who was playing with the silk tassels of his sash,
unconscious of what she was doing.

"Senor," said she blushing, and withdrawing it, "you seem very
melancholy."

"I have, indeed, much reason to be so.  How can I appear otherwise, when
the hours we shall spend together are so few?"  But she may forget me as
soon as Alice has done, thought he, and his heart swelled at the idea.
The donna made no immediate reply, and Ronald was surprised to perceive
her colour change from white to the deepest crimson, and then become
deadly pale again, while her dark eyes flashed with peculiar brilliancy
and light.

"Senor, the original of this is probably the cause of your sadness," she
said, in a tremulous voice, while she held up her rival’s miniature,
which had fallen from the lapelle of Ronald’s uniform, and hung at the
full extent of the chain. "She is very beautiful.  If this is her
miniature, she must be a queen among women; and you love her very much,
doubtless," she added in a cold and sorrowful tone which sunk deeply
into the heart of Ronald as he hastily concealed the object of her
emotion.

"May I ask who she is, senor?"

"A very dear friend, or rather one who was such."

"She is dead, then,—or perhaps it is a portrait of a sister."

"I never had one," replied the young man colouring with confusion, while
he taxed his imagination to find a reply in vain.  Happily for him he
was relieved from his dilemma by an exclamation from Donna Inesella, who
had hitherto sat silent, and had, or affected to have, been gazing
intently at the preacher.

"Holy Virgin!" she earnestly whispered.  "See, Catalina, yonder is my
brother the condé, leaning against the third column from Pizarro’s
monument."

"Here at church—the Condé de Truxillo here?" replied her cousin,
becoming pale and agitated.

"Would to Heaven and San Juan that Balthazzar was any where else than
here at this moment! Somewhat disagreeable will certainly come of it.
Oh, senor!  I tremble for you."

"For me, Donna Inesella!  Sure you mean not what you say.  I have a hand
to protect myself with, and care not a straw for any condé or cavalier
in Spain."

"True, senor.  I meant not to offend, but my brother Balthazzar is so
fiery——Ah! he sees us now."

Ronald looked in the direction pointed out, and saw a handsome Spanish
officer in a dashing staff-uniform, wearing massive epaulets and
aigulets of silver, and a score of military orders of knighthood, stars,
badges, ribands, medals, and crosses on his breast, leaning listlessly
against a pillar of the church, holding in one hand his cocked-hat,
which was adorned with a large plume of red and yellow feathers, while
the other rested on the hilt of a very long and straight Toledo. With a
careless sort of glance he cast his eye along the aisle, as if he had
been watching them ever since their first entrance; but on perceiving
himself observed, he came hastily towards them. A frown for a moment
crossed his fine forehead; but the next a soft smile replaced it, and he
stroked the coal-black moustache which curled on his upper lip, forming
a contrast in hue with his remarkably white teeth below.

To his sister and cousin he paid his compliments in a graceful and
polite, yet distant manner,

"Balthazzar, this is the British officer of whom I told you in my last
letter," whispered Inesella, introducing Ronald; "the same who saved
Alvaro de Villa Franca’s life when——"

"I have heard all the story; so spare me a repetition of it," replied
he, waving his hand and coldly bowing to Ronald, at whose presence he
felt a displeasure which, certes, he took very little pains to conceal.

"But tell me, Balthazzar, what has brought you here so unexpectedly? and
why do you frown in so unbecoming a manner?"

"Faith, Inesella! you are exceedingly impolite; but to be angry with you
is useless.  I am carrying despatches from my colonel, the Condé Penne
Villamur, to Don Carlos d’España, and I must leave Merida in a few
hours, or less.  But how is it that my fair cousin Catalina has not one
smile of welcome to bestow on me, though six months have elapsed since I
was last at Merida?"

"Indeed, Balthazzar, I am most happy to see you; but _el senor padre_
would little like my laughing in church, you know."

"_El senor padre?_ pho!  But where is that most prudent of brothers Don
Alvaro now?  I heard that he had run his captain through the body, and
so got command of his troop."

"’Twas a base falsehood circulated by old Don Salvador, whose guerillas
were supposed to have done the deed; but Alvaro has joined the Spanish
army under Murillo, cousin condé."

"He is a thoughtless brother, truly," replied the condé, glancing at
Ronald, "to go off thus, leaving you under the care of my uncle the
prior, who is nearly as useless now as a piece of spiked ordnance.  A
young lady without guidance——But you look as if about to speak, senor."

"Don Salvador de Zagala," observed Ronald, whom the condé had never
addressed until now, "is also with Murillo; and there may be some
dangerous brawl between Alvaro and him, should they meet."

"_O Dios mio_!  Santa Maria forbid," exclaimed the young ladies
together.

"It would be more prudent in Alvaro, senor, to allow the guerilla chief
to go in peace, and without molestation.  He suffered the wrong, and was
in the right to resent it.  My cousin Alvaro, although an accomplished
soldier, is no match for old Salvador, who in the use of the sword and
pistol has scarcely his equal in Spain; besides, Murillo is a fine old
fellow, and he takes most summary vengeance upon any noble cavalier who
seeks the free privilege of the duello in the camp. I presume, senor,
you are at Merida on some duty? I believe you will find it very
agreeable,—much more so than hard fighting and long marches."

"No, condé; I have been here for the recovery of a wound, received from
a Spanish hand in a manner at once base and dishonourable," replied
Ronald, his brows contracting at the sarcastic tone used by the Spanish
officer; "a wound in the arm which is barely healed, and it is scarcely
an hour since I relinquished the scarf in which it hung."

"Then, senor, I think that the sooner you rejoin your brave regiment,
the better for your fair fame.  A gallant soldado who values his honour,
would scarcely permit a scratch to detain him from the field."

"A scratch!  How now, condé! what am I to understand by this
premeditated rudeness?" said Ronald furiously and aloud, his cheek
flushing, and his eye sparkling with anger.  "What mean you, senor?"

"Merely what I have said, _senor officiale_," replied Don Balthazzar in
the same provoking tone of sarcastic coldness, "But be pleased to
moderate your transports for another and more fitting time.  It would
ill become a noble cavalier, like me, to brawl at church or in the
presence of ladies. But you shall hear from me again, senor;" and
bestowing a vindictive glance at Ronald, and a cold bow on his cousin
and sister, he pressed through the crowd, and left the church.

"Holy Virgin!  Inesella, O Dios!  I dreaded that this would come to pass
the moment I saw Balthazzar here," whispered Catalina in great
agitation.  "He is so fierce and untractable, that he never visits
Merida without fighting a duel with some one.  But you, _senor mio_,
surely you will not lay to heart what he has said to you?"

"Calm yourself, Catalina.  I know not what to think; but certainly his
behaviour to me is very unaccountable.  Have no apprehension on my
account; as I said before, I care not for any cavalier in Spain, and
Heaven knows there are plenty of them."

"Pho!  Catalina," said her thoughtless cousin; "heed not Balthazzar’s
angry looks, though, indeed, he can be fierce enough when he pleases. He
will probably depart immediately with his despatches: he said he had but
a short time to tarry."

"Pray Heaven that may be so!"

"And then Don Ronald and he will perhaps never meet again."

"Let us leave the church.  O Inesella! how my heart flutters."

"Indeed, my sweet cousin, your eyes have been the cause of more than one
duel already, as the notches on Balthazzar’s sword can testify; and you
have great reason to feel sorrow and disquiet."

"I hear the hoofs of a horse; ’tis galloping through the Plaza."

"It must be his, Catalina: thanks to our Lady of the Rock, he is gone!
They may meet no more."

The ladies were, however, both mistaken. Scarcely had Ronald escorted
them home, before Evan placed in his hand a note, addressed to "El Noble
Caballero, Don Ronaldo Stuart, 92nd Regimiento, Calle de Guadiana."

In spite of the many vexations which annoyed him, Ronald well nigh
laughed on seeing this strange and imperfect address.  "This is some
trick of Alister’s," thought he, as he tore open the billet, the
contents of which undeceived him.


"SENOR,

"When the clock of the Casa del Ayuntamiento strikes the hour of two, I
shall be awaiting you in the thicket behind the ruins of the castle of
Merida.  You will not fail to come well armed.  BALTHAZZAR DE TRUXILLO."


Anger and surprise were Ronald’s first emotions on perusing this
unlooked-for challenge, which he considered an additional aggression;
and having already been grossly insulted, he deeply regretted that he
had not "stolen a march" on the condé, by sending him the hostile
message first.

"The devil!" muttered he; "this will be a pretty winding-up of matters,
to be shot by this vindictive Spaniard!  But, every thing considered, my
life is scarcely worth having: certes, a challenge could not have come
at a better time, when my heart is filled with misanthropy, gall, and
bitterness, and my feelings deadened by the news I have received within
these twenty-four hours. Perhaps Alice may weep when she reads of my
death in the ’Gazette,’—so and so to be ensign, _vice_ Stuart, deceased.
Sorrow or death—come what may, my heart is strung for it all."  A sour
smile crossed his features, and he glanced at the clock of the
corporation-house: it wanted but a quarter of two.

"I shall be late," said he, buckling on his sword.  "What shall I do in
this cursed dilemma? I have neither a friend to accompany me, nor
pistols to use; and the condé may object to so formidable a weapon as
the broad-sword.  Would to God Macdonald, Chisholm, or any of ours, were
here!  Evan," said he, turning to his servant, who had watched his
excitement, and heard his half-muttered speeches with considerable
concern and surprise.  "Evan!"

"O’d, sir, ye needna speak sae loud: I’m just behint ye.  What’s yer
wull, sir?"

"I have received a challenge to fight that Spanish officer you saw at
church, and you must accompany me as second.  It will be prudent to come
armed, as some of these Spaniards are treacherous hounds, and the condé
may be no better than his neighbours.  Get your musquet and
accoutrements, and follow me to the ruinous castle at the end of the
town; but do not alarm the young ladies, who I see are walking in the
garden below."

"A duel! to fecht a duel?  Gude guide us, sir, that’s unco sudden,"
replied Evan, turning pale with concern.  "And are ye really gaun?"

"Going, Iverach! can you ask me such a question?"

"And your sair arm scarcely weel yet!—it will never do.  O’d, sir, let
me gang in your place, and my name’s no Evan Iverach if I dinna gie that
saucy-looking chield his kail through the reek."

"Obey me instantly,—the time is nearly up; follow me at once, without
further trifling.  I should regret to speak harshly, Iverach, as this,
perhaps, is the last day we may ever spend together.  I have a great
regard for you, Evan; we have been friends since we were little
children, and I always forget the distance which birth and the rules of
the service place between us in consequence."

"O sir!  O’d, sir—"

"Should I fall," said Ronald, speaking in a rapid though faltering tone;
"should I fall, you will find some papers and other matters in my
baggage, which I wish transmitted home to Lochisla; and these I desire
you will deliver either to Major Campbell or Mr. Macdonald."

"Sir, sir—O Maister Ronald! my very heart is bursting to hear ye rin on
in that gait," replied Evan, beginning to shed tears, which he strove in
vain to conceal.  "I would—I would wi’ pleasure gang in your place, face
this chield mysel, and gie him what he deserves.  Dinna think the waur
o’ me, sir, because I greet like a bairn.  I would face hand to hand ony
mortal man without quailing; but my spirit flees clean awa’, when danger
draws nigh you."

"Stay, Evan, my dear old play-fellow; hold, for Heaven’s sake!  You will
quite unman me. I am indeed deeply sensible of the regard you bear me,
and have not forgotten the kind act you performed in our wretched
bivouac at La Nava. But dry your tears: your fathers did not weep when
they followed mine to battle."

"Ye are richt, sir," replied Evan, recovering his self-possession as his
pride was roused; "but my faither wadna be ashamed to yammer himsel, if
he kenned that danger was nigh you.  May be at this hour they ken it at
Lochisla: auld Janet sees things farther off than ither folk.  Ye’ll no
forget she has the gift o’ the second-sicht."

"Listen!  If any thing should happen to me, you will find attached to
this chain a miniature of Miss Lisle,—Miss Lisle of Inchavon," continued
his master in a tremulous voice.  "Tell Mr. Macdonald it is my
particular desire that it be restored to her, or her brother Louis, who
will shortly be with the regiment.  I trust in Heaven you will see this
done.  And for my father—my poor father!  you will find in my largest
trunk——But I will tell you the rest by the way: it is useless addressing
you while you are in this agitated state.  Keep up your heart, Evan,
like a man and a Highlander!"

"Sir, if ye should fa’," replied Evan, in a tone of assumed firmness,
"a’ that ye tell me most religiously will I obey,—ay, obey as I would
the commands o’ a voice frae Heaven itself,—that is, if I can survive
you, which I dinna think possible. O hoo could I ever face the puir auld
laird at hame, and tell o’ what had come ower ye in this unco place?"
The honest fellow pressed his master’s hands between his own, while he
endeavoured to subdue his sorrow and dread.

"But for what do I greet, sir?" said he, placing his regimental bonnet
jauntily on one side of his head.  "A Scotchman is as gude as a
Spaniard, and better, may be.  Ye were aye a deadly shot on the muirs,
and may settle this chield, as ye have dune mony a bonnie fallow-deer,
by an ounce o’ lead in the wame."

At that moment the bell of the Casa del Ayuntamiento tolled the hour of
two.

"Time is up, by heavens!" exclaimed Ronald passionately; "and this
cursed count has obtained a triumph over me: he will be first on the
ground!"  He cast a hasty glance at the graceful figure of Catalina, as
she leant on the margin of the fountain conversing with Donna Inesella.
Evan hastily examined the lock of his musquet, and they sallied forth in
silence.




                            *CHAPTER XIII.*

                              *THE DUEL.*


    "It has a strange, quick jar upon the ear,
      That cocking of a pistol, when you know
    A moment more will bring the sight to bear
      Upon your person,—twelve yards off, or so;
    A gentlemanly distance, not too near,
      If you have got a former friend for foe.
    But after being fired at once or twice,
    The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice."
        _Don Juan_, canto iv.


Passing rapidly through the Plaza, and down the great street which leads
towards the Guadiana, they ascended the eminence on the outside of the
city, where the remains of the mouldering fortress stand.  It was a
solitary spot, surrounded by thickets of bushes and tall weeping
willows. There was little chance of an interruption in such a place,
especially at an hour when the streets were almost deserted, while the
lazy Spaniards were enjoying their siesta.  Within one of the square
courts, round which rose the mossy fragments of shattered towers, they
found the Condé de Truxillo holding his charger by the bridle, and
conversing with the Spanish doctor, Mendizabal, whose case of
instruments was displayed on a large mass of fallen masonry near.

The condé seemed to be impatiently awaiting Ronald’s appearance.

"Senor!" said he haughtily, "you have been in no hurry to attend my
summons.  I believe I mentioned in the church of San Juan that I was
hastening with despatches to Don Carlos d’España, and consequently had
no time to lose in Merida."

"I am but a few minutes beyond the appointed time, condé; and you must
be aware that the notice I received was very sudden."

"As sudden as unwelcome, perhaps."

"Senor! your observations are contemptible, and your blood alone can
wipe out your repeated insolence," was Ronald’s fierce reply.  "Condé,
your life only can atone for such conduct; and by the heavens above, we
part not this day until the sword is dyed with the blood of one or both
of us."

"This is mighty gay!  Your language promises bold deeds, senor," replied
the other ironically.

"For what have I received this hostile message from you, condé? from
you, whom I have never wronged?"

"When I acquaint you, senor," replied the Spaniard, his olive cheek
glowing for an instant; "when I acquaint you that Catalina de Villa
Franca is my betrothed wife, I have, perhaps, sufficiently answered that
question."

"Donna Catalina is no more to me than any other lady in Spain," said
Ronald, colouring in turn, for he knew the assertion to be false.

"Enough!" replied the condé fiercely.  "I did not come here to chatter,
senor,—my time is too short for that.  You have brought pistols, of
course?"

"I have no weapon but my sword; and I am perfect master of it."

"We will prove that in good time.  I, however, am better provided."  He
took from his holsters a very handsome pair of long horse-pistols.
"Choose one, senor; and here are ball-cartridges enough to last us till
sunset, which you are scarcely like to see, if my hand is as steady as
it usually is."

Ronald replied only by a scornful smile, and they proceeded each to
load.

"Now, then," said Truxillo, "we are all ready, I suppose.  I will retire
to the ruinous wall, and you will please to stand where you are.  ’Tis a
very convenient distance.  But what mean you by bringing an armed
soldier with you here?" he exclaimed, his attention being attracted to
Evan by the latter, in the excitement of the moment, loosening his
bayonet in the sheath.

"He is a private soldier of my own regiment. I had no other friend in
Merida to accompany me."

"Friend?  A brave soldier requires none to assist him in defence of his
honour.  You must know, senor, that a Spanish cavalier, in an affair of
this sort, seeks no other ally than a sharp blade and sure eye: however,
desire your fellow to retire, that there may be no treachery.  We draw
lots for the first shot, I presume?"

"Agreed, condé," answered Ronald, whose Highland blood was all on fire,
and whose anger had been gradually increasing at the cavalier’s insolent
demeanour and assumed tone of superiority, until he longed with a fierce
eagerness to chastise him by the infliction of some severe bodily
injury,—if not totally to deprive him of life.  Lots were drawn by
Doctor Mendizabal, and the _first_ shot fell to the condé.  An
expression of triumphant malice glittered in his large dark eyes; he
smiled sourly, showing his white teeth, and retreated close to the
ruinous wall, where he planted himself about sixteen paces off, and
examined with the most scrupulous accuracy the flint, priming, and
muzzle of his pistol.

With the other in his right hand, Ronald stood erect, awaiting the
condé’s fire.

I must own, that when he heard the click of the lock, his heart for a
moment failed him at the prospect of so sudden a death, and the fear of
falling unrevenged: it was the feeling of a moment only,—the next he was
all stern eagerness to be fired at, and to fire in his turn, should he
survive.  With clasped hands and starting eyes Evan watched the
heart-stirring affair, stoutly resolving, should his master fall, to
avenge him by driving his bayonet through the heart of Don Balthazzar.

"_Cuidado; senor officiale_," cried the condé triumphantly; "Don
Alvaro’s imprudence is likely to cost you dear.  By our Lady of the Rock
your life is forfeited.  I am the most deadly shot in all Castile; but
yet I would spare you on one condition,—that you swear by a soldier’s
sacred word of honour, never again to come into the presence of Donna
Catalina."

"What right have you to dictate terms so degrading? Never, proud
Spaniard! while I live, will I make such a promise."

"Then die!" cried the other furiously.  He raised his pistol: his eye
glanced over the sight for a second,—he fired, and the surrounding ruins
rang with the sharp report.  Ronald’s pulses beat more freely as the
hissing shot whistled through his Highland bonnet, sending one of the
long black feathers which adorned it floating away on the evening
breeze.

"Praise be to the Lord in Heaven! ye have escaped," said Evan,
fervently.  "But it’s your turn now, sir: level low, and if the muzzle
rises ye’ll be sure to wing him like ony muir-cock; and mony a gude
thousand we’ve bagged thegither in Strathonan, and mony mair we’ll bag
gin we get ower this awfu’ adventure."

"_Dios y Demonios!_ some demon of hell has turned aside my hand.  I have
shot at a score, and never yet swerved in my aim," cried the condé in a
hoarse tone of anger and surprise, when as the smoke cleared off he
beheld his antagonist still standing erect before him.  "No! by
Santiago, I never missed before.  You have stood my discharge bravely,
senor cavalier; but my courage is not less than your own.  Fire!" he
cried, laying his hand upon his heart.

"Noo, Maister Ronald,—noo, sir!  O be calm; may be ye’ll never hae sic
anither chance.  This chield look’s unco saucy; but mind ye the auld
proverb, "Ilka cock craws crouse on its ain middenstead."  Its most
awfu’ wark this for a Sabbath evening; but oh, sir! level low; mark the
buckle o’ his waist-belt, and if the piece throws high, like the ither,
the braw dies at his button-holes stand a bad chance."  Evan spoke in an
anxious and hurried tone, while he eyed the condé with no slight feeling
of hatred and animosity.  Ronald levelled his pistol at the tall and
finely formed figure of his brave opponent, who surveyed him steadily,
without a muscle of his noble features changing.

"I can never thus coldly shoot so fine a fellow," thought the generous
Highlander, and fired his weapon in the air.  An exclamation of sorrow
from Evan, and another of angry surprise from the Spaniard, followed the
report.

"Santos Santissimos! what mean you by this? Am I unworthy of being fired
at?  You have most grossly insulted me by this action, senor; and you
ought to have considered the very great honour I did you, in becoming
personally your antagonist."

"How!  Don Balthazzar; honour?—"

"Certainly.  Save myself, perhaps, no cavalier of noble lineage, or a
long transmitted name, would have condescended to contend thus openly in
arms with a stranger, whose birth and blood are both obscure.  No,
senor! a dagger-thrust from a dark corner would have put an end to our
rivalry.  But think not to escape; for, by our Lady of the Rock in
Leon,[*] we part not this day, until the sod smokes with the blood of
one or other of us,—so defend yourself!"  He unsheathed his long cavalry
sword, and rushed so suddenly upon Ronald, that the latter had barely
time to draw and parry his impetuous onset.  So fierce was his stroke,
that the arm of the Highlander tingled to the very shoulder when their
keen blades clashed together; and so much was he infuriated at this
unlooked-for assault, that for some moments he struck blindly and at
random, whirling his heavy claymore round his head like a willow wand,
and having many narrow escapes from the sharp-pointed blade of the
Spaniard, who retained his temper and presence of mind admirably.
Ronald soon found the necessity of being cool likewise, and using art as
well as courage. In the fashion of the Highland swordsman, he placed
forward his right foot with a long stride, presenting it as a tempting
object for a blow, while he narrowly watched the eye of his adversary,
who instantly dealt a sweeping stroke at the defenceless limb, which the
young Gael withdrew with the rapidity of light, bestowing at the same
time a blow on the condé, which broke the shell of his Toledo and
wounded his right hand severely.


[*] A much-frequented image of the Virgin Mary, on a mountain called the
rock of France, between the city of Salamanca and Rodrigo, in Leon. It
stood there, or still stands in a building, which is, I believe, a
monastery of Dominican friars.


He dropped his shattered weapon.

"Claymore for ever!" shouted Evan, triumphantly capering about, snapping
his fingers, whooping and hallooing in a truly Highland style, so
overjoyed was he to see his master victorious. "Claymore for ever and
aye! bonnily dune,—bravely dune.  Sir, Wallace himsel couldna hae
matched him better.  It was my puir auld faither learned ye that trick,
Maister Ronald; and God be thanked it’s a’ ower noo, and that your skin
is a haill ane."

The discomfited cavalier bestowed on him a proud look, at once withering
and disdainful.

"Noble senor," said he, turning to Ronald, "you have this day vanquished
one of the most accomplished of King Ferdinand’s cavalry officers,—in
fact, senor, I am one of the best swordsmen in all the ten provinces of
Spain; and to disarm me thus, is no small feat for so young a soldier,
and I honour you for it.  Catalina de Villa Franca must be—but strike!
Fortune has placed my life a second time at your absolute disposal; take
it, for I swear, by every saint on our monkish muster-rolls, I will have
no ignominious terms dictated to me, even though disarmed and at your
mercy.  So strike the blow that will free you from me for ever."

"Never! gallant condé.  This quarrel was your own seeking, and I forgive
you for it freely, and for the many insults you have offered me."

"_Senor officiale_, you are too generous: no cavalier or rival in Spain
would lose the chance you cast away so carelessly."

"Evan, hand this gentleman his sword?  And now, condé, we must look to
your wound: I trust it is not a severe one?"

"Pho! ’tis a mere scratch."

"Yet it bleeds much."

"_Carajo!_ it does,—more than I wish it to do. But, senor, I have
received so many wounds in different ways, and have bled so much, that I
marvel I have any blood left in me at all."

"I regret that the cut is so severe," said Ronald, as the condé held up
his hand, from which the blood streamed freely.

"Pho! senor; to express regret, though it may appear very generous, is
folly.  A few minutes since we would with pleasure have passed our
blades through each other’s hearts,—but that feeling is past now.  Ho!
Mendizabal.  Rogue! why do you tarry?  Bind up this quickly, and let me
be gone.  I have lost much time already, and Carlos d’España will
scarcely get the despatches within the appointed time."  The wound was
tied up hastily, so impatient was Don Balthazzar to be gone; and a
strange excitement and irritability possessed him now, instead of his
former coolness and self-possession.

The moment it was over, he sharply scrutinized his saddle-girths and
harness-buckles; after which he vaulted with the grace of a true
horseman upon the back of his noble Spanish charger, which had stood by
unmoved during the conflict between its rider and Ronald Stuart.

"Senor," said the condé to the latter in a low but emphatic voice, "our
quarrel is ended amicably for the present; but perhaps we may meet
again.  Do not think that a cavalier of old Castile will thus easily
resign to another so fair a prize as Catalina de Villa Franca.  No,
senor; I must live for her, or learn to die for Spain."

He dashed the sharp rowels into his horse’s flanks, tearing the very
skin; and forcing the animal to leap a ruined wall, fully six feet high,
he vanished from their sight, and rode madly and recklessly towards the
centre street of the city. A few minutes more, and they beheld his
glittering accoutrements flashing in the evening sun, as he plunged
forward at the same furious speed beyond the walls of the city, and
disappeared over the eminences in the direction of Albuquerque.

"He is a gallant fellow," thought Ronald, who watched him until he
disappeared; "and a noble example he has given me.  To him I have almost
unwittingly acted that part, which now Hyndford acts to me.  But for
Truxillo,—I have nothing to regret; I have acted honourably towards him,
and in my own heart I thank God that this quarrel is ended amicably, and
with so little damage."

An interruption now occurred to Evan’s expressions of joy for the safety
of his master, who, although most interested in the fortunate issue of
the duel, cared indeed least about it.  For his attendance, Doctor
Mendizabal had received from Ronald a _doblon_, or _onza_, a coin worth
about £3. 10s. English; and as it was the first time in his life that he
had ever received so great a fee, his thanks, his protestations, and the
sweeps he made with his sombrero were innumerable; and he had just taken
his departure, when Sargento Gomez scrambled hurriedly over the ruinous
walls, and leaping into the sort of court where they stood, advanced
towards Ronald with a Spanish military salute.

"Noble senor," said he breathlessly, "I have been in search of you over
the whole of Merida—"

"My life on’t, anither fechtin’ job!" ejaculated Evan, who saw Pedro was
highly excited, although he knew not a word he uttered.  "Got wi ’t,
Gomez, in some decent tongue a body can comprehend."

"A muleteer has within this hour arrived from Fuente del Maistre, and
says he saw a party of French cavalry advancing down this side of the
Guadiana.  Donna Catalina wishes to see you immediately.  You must fly,
senor, if you would escape being made prisoner."

"French cavalry!  How can it be possible? Yet Evelyn of the 13th said
something about it, which I have forgotten.  Can the veracity of your
informant be relied on?"

"He is true to death, senor!  He is my own brother, Lazaro Gomez of
Merida, and an honester muleteer will not be found on the road between
Madrid and Alcantara,—and that is one of many leagues in length.  He has
had the honour to be employed more than once by my Lord Wellington, as a
spy upon Marshals Soult and Marmont."

"A recommendation, truly!  Are the enemy in force?"

"He said two or three troops, senor,—Dombrouski’s lancers."

"Sir Rowland Hill is retiring on Merida.  Did your brother Lazaro see
any sign of his troops?"

"No, senor."

"’Tis very unaccountable how they have outflanked our division in this
manner."

"Senor, they must have advanced by some secret way pointed out by some
of those traitorous banditti which infest every sierra and wood just
now.  These fellows would hang their mother for a maravedi; so ’tis no
wonder they are often false to Spain."

"These lancers must inevitably be captured by Sir Rowland’s advanced
guard, which cannot be far off now."

"True, senor; but you may either be killed or taken captive before the
British come up,—and so may I, as a Spanish soldier.  We must retire
westwards to Albuquerque.  But come, senor; Donna Catalina—"

"Yonder they come, by heavens!" cried Ronald, as a cloud of dust and the
glitter of accoutrements appeared about two or three miles off,
advancing rapidly towards Merida by the river side.  "We shall have to
retire without delay; but I must first bid the ladies adieu.  Get your
harness, Pedro; and though there are but three of us, we will not
surrender, even to them, without firing a shot."

"Viva!" cried the Spaniard, tossing his red forage-cap into the air, and
leaping up to catch it again.  "Viva, noble senor!  I will follow you to
death, even as I would the noble cavalier who commands my troop, or King
Ferdinand the Seventh himself."

Descending from the ruins of the fortress, they entered the city, where
all was terror, confusion, and dismay at the unexpected appearance of
the enemy, whose numbers were exaggerated, and declared to be the whole
of Marshal Ney’s division, and which, according to report, had utterly
annihilated the British under Sir Rowland Hill. Most of the inhabitants
were taking to flight, laden with their bedding and clothing,—matters
which a Spaniard ranks among his most valuable goods and chattels.
Hundreds of men, bearing burdens of every sort, were pressing towards
the western gate, followed by women, whose lamentations were mingled
with many a bitter "_carajo_" against the invaders of their soil.  Among
others appeared Doctor Mendizabal, carrying a carbine in one hand, while
with the other he led by the bridle a stout mule, on which were seated
his wife and two children.  Others led mules and donkeys laden with all
kinds of household stuff, and a dense press ensued among the crowd about
the city gate, and loud curses of anger and impatience were uttered on
all sides at the delay in front, the intense pressure from the
continually increasing mass behind permitting but few to get out at a
time.

At length a passage was made through the dense column by the arrival of
an important personage,—the corregidor, or chief magistrate of the city,
surrounded by several alguazils in broad-leaved sombreros, wearing the
livery of the city, and armed with long halberts, or Spanish
blunderbusses with brass bell-mouths.  The corregidor was a grave old
hidalgo, wearing a large military cocked-hat and long moustaches twisted
up to his ears; he was muffled in a large brown cloak, and smoked his
cigar, while he surveyed with an unmoved eye the crowd, where almost
every face wore the expression of terror, rage, impatience, and dismay.
However, all fell back on the right and left, as his old-fashioned
coach, with its emblazoned coats armorial, and drawn by a single mule,
advanced towards the gate. Mounted on another mule rode a livery
servant, wearing a red feather in his sombrero, a stiletto in his sash,
and armed with an enormous whip, which was never a moment idle, being
continually at work either among the people to make them give way, or on
his cattle to make them increase their speed, and place as great a
distance as possible between himself and the dreaded legions of France.
This servant rode alongside of the mule which drew the vehicle, leading
it by the bridle, the usual custom in Spain, and one which is truly very
awkward and unsightly.

At the gate of the garden Ronald was met by the young ladies, who both
advanced hastily towards him, exclaiming, "O Don Ronald! have you
heard—"

"They are in sight—"

"_O Madre de Dios!_ you will be either killed, or taken a prisoner over
the Pyrenees to France."

"To escape either of these fates, I must bid you instantly adieu,
senoritas,—unless you will consent to retire with me from Merida, which
will scarcely be a safe place for you while the French are in it.  The
advancing party are some of Dombrouski’s Polish lancers, who are not
famous for their sentiments either of chivalry or gentle courtesy.  They
are rough dogs, I understand; and in gallantry, are far inferior to the
brave cavalry of France."

"Oh, they are sad fellows, these lancers, and wear frightful whiskers;
but we do not fear them, senor," replied Inesella in her usual laughing
tone. "You must know that the Condé d’Erlon, who is one of my many most
humble and devoted admirers, gave me a written protection the last time
he was here, and all soldiers who march under the tri-colour of France,
must respect and obey it; therefore we do not fear them—quite the
reverse. Some of the French are very gay cavaliers, and I knew a very
handsome chasseur——  But, pho! poor fellow! he was assassinated with
some others at Albuquerque."

"Then, Donna Inesella, you fear not to remain. And will your letter
protect your cousin?"

"O yes, senor, it protects all who are with me; but of course you—"

"Must depart at once."

"Exactly, senor; old D’Erlon’s letter will not protect you, who are his
enemy."

"Then, senoritas, now for flight," replied Ronald, tightening his sash
and belt.  "I must abandon my baggage to your charge.  The citizens are
nearly all off _en route_ for the north and west, and all the church
bells are tolling dismally. But I trust Sir Rowland Hill’s advanced
guard will be here by to-morrow, and if so, our cavalry under General
Long will soon capture this handful of lancers."

"They appear, however, to have scared away my fiery brother, the condé;
he galloped furiously down the street a few minutes since, nearly riding
over a poor old padre, (protect, us Heaven!) and left the town, without
even bidding us adieu, although Catalina called to him from the street
balcony."

"Alas!  Inesella," said Catalina, "your prattle will detain him here too
long, and every moment is fraught with danger."

"Holy Virgin, I hope not!  Do not compromise your safety by tarrying
longer here, senor.  Take the road for the forest of La Nava, and Pedro
Gomez will direct you.  The Mother of God keep her holy hand over you,
brave cavalier! for we may never meet again."

"Farewell! _senor mio_.  We have been very happy in Merida," said
Catalina, in a voice of assumed firmness, and presenting her white hand,
while her lip quivered and her cheek turned very pale.  At that moment
the distant sound of a cavalry trumpet was borne towards them on the
passing breeze.

"Come awa, sir; we maunna bide a minute mair,—it’s just a temptin’ o’
Providence," urged Evan, examining his flint as he stood at the garden
gate with Pedro Gomez, who was armed with his carbine, and had donned
his helmet and accoutrements.

"Gude by to ye, leddies," added the Highlander, touching his bonnet;
"and mony thoosand thanks to ye for your kindness to my maister in this
unco hole o’ a place."

"Keep this for my sake, fair Catalina, and think of me sometimes, when I
am far away from you," said Ronald, casting his tartan plaid over her
white shoulders as a parting gift; and kissing her pale brow, and her
cousin’s hand, he retired hastily from the garden, followed by the
soldiers.




                             *CHAPTER XIV.*

                              *MULETEERS.*


    "I dare do all that may become a man;
    Who dares do more, is none."
      _Macbeth._


The red sun was setting amidst a sea of light floating clouds, which
displayed a thousand blending shades of purple, saffron, and gold,
shedding the same warm hues on the scenery around Merida, tinging every
object of the beautiful landscape, through which, meandering between
dark green groves of the orange and olive, wound the slowly rolling and
broad-bosomed Guadiana, seeming like a flood of lucid gold, in which the
objects on its sides were reflected downwards, the changing sky above
and the black round arches of the noble bridge all appearing inverted in
the bosom of the stream, as on the surface of a polished mirror.

The dark shadows of the neighbouring mountain were falling across the
plain and the city, rendering yet darker the gloomy and antique streets,
where all was still confusion and dismay, and from which the chant of
the ecclesiastics, and the deep ding-dong of the tolling bells were
borne on the wind towards them, mingled with the shouts of the advancing
cavalry, who came on in a clamorous style truly French.  Suddenly the
dark mass emerged from among the trees which had concealed their
approach, and galloped across the bridge some hundred in number, with
accoutrements glittering, plumes waving, and their tri-coloured penons
fluttering from the heads of their lofty lances.

"Now, then," exclaimed Ronald, as the last file disappeared from the
bridge, "we must strain every nerve to gain the wood of La Nava.  A
party of these lancers may be sent forward to scour the roads, and we
are very far from safe yet."

"Courage, senor: ’tis but a couple of leagues or so from hence, and I am
well assured that no patrol will they send out while there is a single
wine-house unsacked in Merida."

"Cast away your knapsack, Evan: you will get another when we rejoin.  It
is an encumbrance to you, so toss it away.  Let us but gain the shelter
of the wood, and we will there await, in safety, the arrival of our own
troops, as they pass _en route_ for Portugal."

Evan took his knapsack by the straps, and cast it into a deep pool by
the way side, saying it was better "A’ should gang that gate, than fa’
into the hands o’ uncanny folk."

About eight miles from Merida they met Lazaro Gomez, the brother of
Pedro, and a party of muleteers of Catalonia, halted at a fountain which
babbled through an iron pipe fixed into the rock, from which the water
gushed, and fell into a little pebbled basin.  Near it stood an ancient
stone cross, marking the tomb of one of Don Alvaro’s ancestors, who
reposed here in unconsecrated ground.  In the course of centuries it had
sunk deep into the earth; but on the upper part yet appeared the
time-worn and half-obliterated inscription:—

                               AQUI YACE.

              EL NOBLE CABELLERO D. JUAN DE VILLA FRANCA,
                 .... MUERTOS .... BATALLA ANO D. 1128.
                         RUEGUEN A DIOS FOR EL!


This fountain and ancient tomb had been the object of many an evening
ride with Catalina, who related the history of Don Juan, a romance which
I may give to the public at some future time. Ronald paid but little
attention, to either the cross or brook, but advanced towards the jovial
muleteers, who were smoking paper cigars of their own
manufacture,—laughing, singing, and drinking aguardiente to wash down
their repast of bread, onions, and bacallao—oil and lettuce, which was
spread on the sward by the side of the fountain; around which, cropping
the herbage, wandered their mules, from whose harness jingled a thousand
little tinkling bells.  On the approach of the British officer, the
frank fellows sprung to their feet with one accord, and held their
brimming horns towards him, while he was greeted with many ’vivas’ and
sweeps of their sombreros.

"Senor cavalier, I am glad you have escaped our enemies by means of the
intelligence I brought to Merida," said Lazaro Gomez, the
master-muleteer; a short thick-set fellow, with a round bullet-head and
good-humoured face, containing that roguish sort of expression which is
always given by artists to the features of Sancho Panza.  He was tanned
to the colour of mahogany by continual exposure to the sun, and his chin
displayed a short stunted black beard, and slovenly ill-trimmed
moustache.

"I am much obliged to you indeed, Master Lazaro; and I would that it was
in my power to reward you."

"Mention not reward, I beg of you, senor cavalier," replied Lazaro,
making another sweep with his sombrero.  Ronald answered by a grave bow.
He had become too much accustomed to the appellation of ’cavalier’ and
the pompous politeness of the Spaniards even to smile when he was
addressed in a style that would pass better with the renowned
Cid,—Rodrigo of Bivar, than Ronald Stuart of the Gordon Highlanders.

"But you must condescend to drink with us, senor," said a muleteer.  "My
horn is filled with the best aquardiente."

"Viva el Rey!" said Ronald, in a complimentary tone, as he emptied the
cup.

"Viva el Rey!" cried the others, draining their liquor to the dregs.

"Evan," observed Ronald, "you will relish this beverage; ’tis somewhat
like our own mountain dew at home."

"It smells o’ the peat reek, sir," said Evan, snuffing with his nose
over the horn which Lazaro had given him.  "Sour water, I declare!
perfect fushionless water," said the young Highlandman, after he had
drunk it all off, however.  "Meeserable trash!  O’d, sir, I wadna gie a
gill stoup fu’ o’ what Alpin Gig used to brew wi’ the sma’ still in the
hole at Coir-nan Taischatrin, for a loch fu’ o’ this agyerdent, as ye
ca’ it."

"How is this, Lazaro?" asked Pedro, observing that Evan disliked the
liquor.  "Have you nothing else but muddy aquardiente to offer to honest
soldiers?  Come, my jovial brother, broach us one of those bloated
pig-skins, which are piled on the backs of your mules there?"

"Our Lady del Pilar! a modest request," replied Lazaro.  "Why, brother
Pedro, bethink you.  I cannot touch the burdens of my cattle,—they are
the property of others.  Could I broach a skin, our best would be at the
service of the noble cavalier.  And as for our aquardiente, I avouch, by
the head of his Holiness! that better never came out of Catalonia."

"I may pretend to be a judge," said the soldier, "as I have drunk some
thousand flasks of it; and avouch, in return, ’tis muddy as the Tajo in
a shower, and only fit for a Portuguese or a dog to drink!"

"Never mind, Lazaro; your aquardiente is most excellent," observed
Ronald, seating himself by the gushing fountain, and partaking of the
bread and bacallao, or dried cod-fish, which composed their simple fare.
"Your mules seem heavily laden: how far do you mean to travel to-night?"

"As far as the first posada on the road to Majorga."

"What do your cattle carry in these large packages?"

"Oh! senor, many things; principally flour, rice, corn, pulse, and wine
and oil in skins.  These commodities we have brought from the centre of
Catalonia and Arragon, and are carrying to the frontiers of Portugal to
sell among the British troops. We hope to find a good market at the camp
before Ciudad Rodrigo, in the kingdom of Leon."

"Catalonia and Arragon, did you say?  How! These provinces are in
possession of the French troops!"

"True, senor; but we muleteers have ways of our own, by which we evade
the out-picquets and foraging parties of the enemy."

"Such as——"

"Travelling fast all night, and concealing ourselves closely all
day,—and a hundred other modes.  Senor, we would evade Satan himself,
did he lay snares for us.  We muleteers are cunning fellows!"

"You speak truly," observed Pedro.  "A Spanish muleteer is a strange
being, and one that is as wily and active as a serpent; but they are
happy fellows, I assure you, senor, and like no other men that I know
of.  A muleteer makes his home every where, because he is for ever
wandering over all wide Spain.  Cracking his whip and his joke, he
travels with a light heart over our long dusty plains, and through the
deep passes of the lofty hills and sierras, singing merrily to the
jingle of his mules’ bells, stopping only to smack his wine-horn or the
lips of the peasant girls, whom he loves almost as well as his
mules,—only almost, senor, because he loves his mules better than
himself.  He gives them fine names; he scolds, talks, kisses, and sings
to them, to cheer them by the way; and at the posada or the bivouac he
provides for their wants before he looks after his own. Caramba! were I
not a soldier, I would certainly become a jolly muleteer.  He is a droll
fellow indeed,—soft-hearted and hard-headed, but alway honest, and true
as the sun, senor."

"You have made a most excellent panegyric upon them, Pedro," remarked
Ronald, when the soldier had stopped to take breath, and the shout of
laughter which his observations called forth from the muleteers had
subsided.

"Our Lady del Pilar! good, good!  Well said, Pedro; you deserve another
horn for that," cried the master-muleteer.  "But if it please you, draw
some distinction between us and the muleteers of Valencia, who are none
of the best,—in fact the veriest rogues in all Spain.  They would cheat
the holy Virgin herself, were she to traffic with them. But talking of
rogues, senor, if you would travel with us to Majorga, we should be
proud of the honour of your company, and in truth you may find some
advantage in ours."

"Why so, Master Lazaro?"

"The ruinous chapel of Santa Lucia, in the cork forest yonder, has
become the haunt of some deperadoes for this week past,—fellows who are
very unscrupulous whom they attack or encounter, and with us, who are
all stout and honest men, and well armed to boot,"—every man had a
trabuco or blunderbuss with a brass bell-muzzle slung across his
back,—"you will be in greater safety. Our escort is not to be despised
in these perilous times."

"I thank you for your offer and advice; but as I mean to await in this
neighbourhood the arrival of our troops, it would not suit me to travel
so far westward as Majorga, and so I care not to take my chance of
encountering the thieves in the wood yonder.  My Highland follower will,
of course, stand by me; and Pedro will, I suppose, likewise."

"May I be blasted by a curse if I do not, senor!"  The muleteers clapped
their hands in applause.

"Are the rogues numerous?" asked Ronald.

"Three or four, senor; but stoutly armed desperadoes, and led by a
regular demon, long well known as a frontier guerilla, whose only
delight was slaughter and war to the knife!  A fellow that could eat
fire, as the proverb says, and upon whom lead and steel were alike
ineffectual."

"We will put him to the test, if he crosses our path.  I never heard of
a hide yet, unless covered by steel, that was proof against the point of
a claymore.  Three or four, did you say?  We are but three; but then we
are soldiers, you know, and are alone worth a dozen such as these
fellows you speak of.  But what has caused a gallant guerilla to turn
robber?"

"Why, senor, ’tis a long story; and we had it yesterday from a poor
muleteer of Codeciera, whom the villains rifled of his mules and every
maravedi in his pouch,—the devil confound them for it!"

"Well, and this guerilla——"

"Kept a wine-house in Albuquerque; but for some attempt to assassinate
the famous cavalier Don Alvaro de Villa Franca, his goods were
confiscated to King Ferdinand by the corregidor’s order.  On finding
himself a penniless outlaw, he took his musket and dagger, and turned
bandit—keeping himself in the desert places of the forest of Albuquerque
and the Sierra de Montanches for some weeks past.  Now he has begun to
collect followers, and has stationed himself in the wood of La Nava,
rendering its neighbourhood any thing but a safe one."

"Go on, Lazaro," said Ronald eagerly; "his name is—"

"Narvaez Cifuentes,—a fellow I never much liked, although I have emptied
some thousand horns at his casa.  But what is the matter, noble senor;
surely I have not offended you?"

Ronald’s eyes sparkled with stern delight, and true Highland fury
swelled within his breast at the intelligence that Cifuentes was so
near; and his wild reckless spirit and love of adventure made him
instantly resolve to search the wood and confront his hated enemy, at
all risks and hazards.

"Evan—Evan! the daring wretch who attempted to assassinate me is lurking
among the dingles of the wood yonder.  I will seek him out and take
vengeance on him, or perish.  He has but three armed villains with him:
you will, of course, follow me?"

"Sir!  I wadna be my faither’s son, if I didna follow whare’er ye led
the way," replied Evan testily.  "The venture’s no’ what I would just
like; folk shouldna tempt danger or Providence, but follow ye I will as
long as I can draw breath; and, troth, I would amaist gie up my hope o’
salvation, to hae but a chance at the infernal riever wi’ my firelock!"

To Pedro and the muleteer, who were surprised at his sudden excitement,
Ronald related all he knew of Cifuentes; and during the narrative he was
interrupted by many an indignant "_carajo_" and malediction on the
wine-seller.  When he had finished, the muleteers declared, with one
voice, that if they had not their mules to attend to they would have
followed into the wood and assisted him to attack the haunt of the
robbers among the ruins, and to kill or capture his enemy; but Pedro,
animated by the natural daring of a Spaniard, and as a soldier of Spain
considering it his duty to follow Ronald as an officer of the allies, he
at once volunteered frankly to attend him in his rash undertaking.

The evening had begun to deepen into the darker shadows of night, and
the pale evening star, twinkling amidst the blushing blaze of the
western sky, had risen above the wood of La Nava, when the sturdy
muleteers, collecting their beasts of burden, moved off with much noise,
jollity, and cracking of whips in the direction of the place where they
meant to pass the night,—an inn on the road to Majorga.  Ronald Stuart
bade them farewell, and receiving many honest wishes for success, parted
from them; and, followed by his two soldiers, left the fountain, making
straight for the cork forest, the dark foliage of which lay involved in
"a brown horror" before them.

It was a clear and beautiful moonlight night when they reached the
skirts of the wood, whence, on looking back, they beheld a red light,
which spread over the sky, rising in the direction of Merida, telling
that the French were at their old work,—pillage and ruthless
devastation.  Stuart trembled for the safety of the fair friends he had
left behind, and earnestly trusted that the Count d’Erlon’s letter would
protect them from insult or outrage.

"Braw wark at Merida this bonnie nicht, sir," observed Evan, giving a
last look to the rear ere they plunged into the recesses of the forest.
"My certie! the very lift seems a’ in a low, the clouds are red wi’
streaks o’ fire,—and here’s Pedro, puir gomeril! he is like to gang
clean daft at the sicht o’t."

"You would not be in a very pleasant humour yourself, Evan, were you to
see the clachan of Strathfillan, or the ’fair city’ of Perth, blazing by
the hands of invaders; and Jessie Cavers, perhaps—ay, even your Jessie,
carried off like a stricken deer across the saddle-bow of a French
dragoon."

"Sic waefu’ things will never happen at hame in auld Scotland, God be
praised for’t! never, sir, while oor men are made o’ the stuff they are;
the broad-sword has bent, but it has not yet broken! But it’s unco droll
to hear how Pedro, puir chield, havers to himsel."

Unaware of how he was listened to, Pedro Gomez ground his teeth with
ill-concealed rage, while he invoked the curses of San Juan, San
Geronimo, and a hundred others, not forgetting our Holy Lady of Majorga,
on the enemy.  This vituperation appeared to give him a deal of comfort;
and thus consoling himself, he led them on towards the ruins of Santa
Lucia by a pathway, with which he was well acquainted.  It was so narrow
that only one could pass at a time, and so much intersected, crossed,
and barred by brambles, bushes, and foliage, that they had infinite
trouble in proceeding at all.  It led them into a deeper and denser part
of the forest, the dewy branches of which were now in full foliage; the
waving leaves were glittering in a thousand hues and shades of green as
the pale moonbeams fell on them, streaming in a gush of silver light on
the glistening grass or down the dark dingles as they pushed aside the
heavy branches in their progress, tearing the nets of silvery gauze
which many a busy spider was weaving from tree to tree in the merry
moonlight.

"For ony sake, Pedro, haud your wheesht, man!" exclaimed the Scottish
soldier impatiently; "it’s enough to mak’ a body eerie to hear ye
growling and yammering that gate, in siccan a dismal place as this.
O’d, sir, I never heard ony ane blatter sic words, exceptin’ the auld
lawyer body at Almendrelauchy, when Angus Mackie and mysel had a fecht
wi’ him.  Would ye like to hear that story, sir?" he added, turning to
his master.

"No, not at present," was the reply; "we must move in silence, else ’tis
useless to move at all. Look well to your flint and priming, and keep
your lock clear of bushes.  Should a musquet be discharged it would
alarm the thieves, on whom I wish to steal unperceived, if possible."
Ronald repeated these injunctions in the Spanish language, as indeed he
had to do most of his observations, and they now advanced in perfect
silence, following the intricate windings of the narrow track, which in
former days had been a well-beaten road to the sequestered chapel of the
forest, the fame of whose _relicario_ drew, in ancient times, scores of
devout pilgrims at certain seasons.  As the pathway was now more open,
Ronald took the lead.

It was certainly a rash and daring attempt to enter thus a wood, every
pass of which was unknown to them, and at night, on such an errand, to
search for so formidable a desperado as Narvaez Cifuentes,—a name which
is yet a bugbear to the children of Estremadura, and used by their
mothers to _frighten_ them to sleep; more especially as the number of
his followers was doubtful, and it was only certain that they would all
be equally desperate and ferocious as himself.  But Ronald’s bold blood
was up, and his eagerness to take vengeance upon him for the recent
wound that his hand had inflicted, and the pain and suffering which that
wound had caused, rendered him blind to what might be the probable
consequences.

Alice’s desertion of him for a higher born and more wealthy lover had
rendered him careless of life, prompt to encounter and utterly
regardless of any danger, which was proved by the cold insensibility
with which he conducted himself during his duel with the condé.  That
native spirit of daring which exists in the bosom of every mountaineer,
and which he possessed in no slight degree, likewise spurred him on; and
thinking not of the rash manner in which he was perilling his own life
and the lives of his friends, he continued to penetrate resolutely into
the most gloomy part of the wood.

"Eh! gude guide us! what is that, sir?" exclaimed Iverach, charging his
musquet breast high, while he started back in dismay as some huge animal
arose from its lair, upon which they had encroached, and dashing
furiously past them, swept through the forest glade like a tempest.

"What an awfu’ like beast to meet in siccan erne a place!"

"Many such have we shot at home on the green braes of Strathonan and
side of Benmore. Is it possible that you knew not what it was?"

Evan was abashed, and trod on without replying, while he was sadly
incommoded by the rough brambles and stunted bushes, which tore his bare
legs, where left uncovered by the tartan kilt and gartered hose.

"Senor," said Pedro, "what a noble deer it was that rushed past us just
now!":

"Ay, faith! and a splendid mark for a single ball at a range of forty
yards or so; but I am surprised to find it here in a cork forest."

"It must have come down from the Sierra de Montanches, for there, and
among the high mountains of Guadalupe, many thousands of gallant deer
and the dark brown roe-buck rove about in freedom."

Their attention was now attracted by a strange noise, which seemed to
approach them in front: it was a series of sounds, in tone something
between the snorting growl of some wild animal and the squeaking of
young swine.  Ronald, who had never heard such noises before, was very
much surprised, and kept his hand on the hilt of his sword; but poor
Evan’s nerves were sadly discomposed, and he felt every hair on his
scalp bristling under his bonnet, as the dismal remembrance of the many
awful beings who peopled the Coirnan Taischatrin, and every thicket and
corrie about Lochisla, rushed upon his mind.  All the stories he had
heard of the dreadful water-horse that dwelt in the castle loch, (and
which his father the piper beheld one clear moonlight night floating on
the surface of the placid water, as he was returning from a _dredgie_),
of the little fairies who lived under the green holms of Corrie-avon,
and the yet more terrible white woman who haunted the black muir of
Strathonan and howled to the wind the live-long night, all crowded
horribly upon his memory, and the perspiration burst forth from every
pore, as something like a legion of flying devils swept tumultuously
past them, and plunging into the underwood disappeared, squeaking,
growling, and tearing the bushes to fragments in their wild career.

"Pedro!  What are all these, in the devil’s name!" cried Ronald,
starting back and half unsheathing his weapon.

"Only a herd of wild swine, senor," replied Pedro with a laugh.
"_Demonios!_ one fellow has given a stroke with his tusk in passing,
which I little like."

"’Twas only a drove of wild pigs," said Ronald. "Cheer up, Evan; surely
you were not frightened? Yet you seem very pale in the moonlight."

"Frightened, said ye, sir?" replied, or rather asked, Evan indignantly,
but feeling considerably re-assured the while; "frightened! the deil a
bit, sir.  But I never got sic a start in a’ my born days syne the nicht
the howlet gied me a flaff wi’ its wing, when we took Maister Macquirk
ower to the ruins on the Kirk-inch.  Ye’ll mind o’d, sir: he was living
wi’ the auld laird for a day or twa at the tower, and we rowed him ower
the loch in the boat, to gie a look o’ the bonnie ruins in the
moonlicht."

"Macquirk!" reiterated Ronald, the name recalling a disagreeable passage
in his father’s letter.

"Ay, sir, Maister Macquirk,—a pleasant smooth-spoken gentleman, as a’
Edinburgh writer-folk are.  Eh!  God be wi’ us, sir! what’s this noo?
Mair wild pigs, I declare!" cried he in considerable trepidation.

"Pshaw! Evan.  Your father, old Donald, has made a complete old wife of
you, by his horrible legends and stories."

"It’s no for me, sir, to——  But it’s just a temptin’ o’ Providence to
be—"

"Hush! ’tis only the barking of dogs.  Tread softly, and keep close
under the darkest shadows of the foliage."

"There is a man yonder, senor,—evidently a sentinel," whispered Pedro in
a low voice.

"Where?" asked Ronald, as they halted.

"About thirty paces off."

"Under the dark tree?"

"Ay, senor,—the moon shines full upon him."

"Keep close in the gloom: he sees us now, I think."

The figure of a man armed with a long musquet appeared clearly, as the
bright radiance of the moon streamed down the narrow path, glittering on
the butts of his pistols and hilt of the poniard stuck in the worsted
sash which was twisted round his waist.  He wore a long slouched cap,
which hung down his back, and various tassels, ribbons, and gewgaws of
gold lace that adorned his short velvet jacket glimmered in the
moonlight.

"_Quien vive?_" challenged he, like a Spanish sentinel, while he stooped
his ear towards the ground, listening intensely for a few seconds.  He
appeared to have heard something.  It was Evan’s feet rustling among the
last year’s leaves. The robber stood erect, and cocked his musquet while
he looked forward into the gloom, a passing cloud having obscured the
face of the moon.

"_Carajo!  Quien vive?  Amigos ó enemigos?_" he repeated, the sonorous
tones of his voice reechoing in the dingles of the wood, and arousing
the fierce growling of some dogs near at hand.

"This is one of the villains, senor, bedecked in all his ill-gotten
finery."

"We must dispatch him," answered Ronald in a fierce whisper, his natural
impetuosity becoming roused; "we must rid ourselves of him, but how?"

"Quietly, senor,—leave him to me.  Every man lost to the enemy is one
gained to us,—so says Murillo, and he—"

"Pshaw! never mind Murillo.  This fellow must be settled warily, if we
would steal upon the rest.  What would you advise?  He certainly hears
us, and should he fire in this direction, one of us may be knocked on
the head.  I will rush on him, and disarm or cut him down in a
twinkling."

"Nay, noble senor; his outcry would be as mischievous as the discharge
of his musquet: the ruins of the chapel are close at hand, remember.
Leave him to me," was Pedro’s answer, while he coolly displayed the
blade of a long Spanish knife, which flashed as he drew it, and, gliding
from Ronald’s side, advanced softly towards the brigand under the shadow
of the trees.

The challenge of the bandit again sounded through the lonely wood.

"_Cuidado, amigos mios; cuidado?_" he added in a voice of taunt and
warning, but evidently while he was uncertain whether or not any one had
approached his post.  He drew his thumbnail cautiously across the sharp
edge of his flint, he raised his musquet to his shoulder, and was about
to fire in the direction of the place where Ronald and Evan stood
concealed.  Another second would perhaps have sealed the fate of one of
them, when the stiletto of the dragoon glittered near him in the pale
moonlight,—a heavy blow was given, and a deep groan succeeded: the
robber fell dying upon the sward, while his musquet only flashed in the
pan, and fell rattling from his grasp without doing damage.  Ronald
rushed towards the spot, and found the bloodthirsty sargento wiping his
deadly weapon with scrupulous accuracy, while he kept his foot upon the
yet warm, though breathless corpse of the man he had destroyed.  The
light of the moon fell with a cold and ghastly lustre on the pale and
rigid, yet very fine features of the dead man, becoming contracted and
fierce with the recent death-struggle.  His white and up-turned eyes
shone with a terrible glare, as the moon-beams fell on them, and
altogether there was something sad and appalling in the sudden manner in
which this desperado had been hurled into eternity, with all his
unrepented and manifold sins upon his head.

"Awfu’ work this, sir!" said Evan with a shudder, while he surveyed the
stark and bold features of the slain, around whom a black pool formed by
his blood lay increasing.  "A dour-looking chield he is, wi’ a gloom on
his brow that would suit Rob Roy himsel."

"I would to Heaven, Gomez," observed the equally excited Stuart, "you
had found some other mode of silencing him than this; there is somewhat
in it at which I revolt."

The Spaniard laughed grimly.

"Senor," said he, "the man was only a robber; and when old Murillo gets
hold of such, he hangs them by scores at a time, and I have seen a stout
beech bending under a load of such devil’s fruit. Pho! senor, it matters
not.  We are now close upon the ruins of the chapel, and the villains
who harbour there have some formidable allies,—mastiff dogs.  I hear
them growling, and I assure you, senor, that a demon may be as easily
dealt with as a Spanish hound.  You will require all your resolution and
energy to—"

"I do not mean to relinquish the search, after having proceeded so far,"
replied Ronald, interrupting the Spaniard, at whose tone he felt a
little piqued.  "I assure you, Sargento Gomez, ’tis not the sight of a
little blood that will make the heart of a Scottish Highlander fail."

"I meant not to offend, senor; but let us proceed.  The ruins of Santa
Lucia are some twenty yards from this."

"Forward, then,—lead on!"

Ronald in passing possessed himself of the dead man’s loaded musquet and
well-filled pouch of ball cartridges, an acquisition on which he had
soon reason to congratulate himself.




                             *CHAPTER XV.*

                            *THE BANDITTI.*


    "’Tis na’ for nought, bauld Duncan cried,
      Sic shoutings on the wind:
    Then up he started frae his seat,
      A thrang of spears behind.

    Haste, haste, my valiant hearts, he said,
      Anes mair to follow me:
    "We’ll meet these shouters by the burn,—
      I guess wha they may be."
        _Duncan: a Fragment._


Treading softly and warily, they came to an opening in the wood, and
found themselves close upon the ruins of the ancient structure.  It
occupied the summit of a grassy mound, which sloped down on all sides,
and where the mouldered remains of some ancient crosses and tomb-stones
lay half sunk and buried among the long rank grass. The chapel had
almost disappeared; little remained save the crypt; and at intervals,
amid a heap of shattered stones, arose tall ornamented buttresses
(surviving the intermediate walls), their summits glimmering in the
moonlight, which streamed through loop-holes and yawning rents in the
massive masonry, showing the weeds and grass which waved in every nook
and corner, flourishing around the prostrate effigies of departed
warriors, whose monumental busts lay stretched like rigid corses under
their ruined canopies.

"The auld kirk o’ Inchisla just ower again!" exclaimed Evan, as he
surveyed the heaps of prostrate pillars and crumbled arches with
feelings of awe and veneration.

"Santos! will you be silent?" asked Pedro, in a fierce whisper in
Spanish.

"I dinna ken what ye say, mon; ye are waur than an Aberdonian."

"Keep silence, Evan!" said Ronald; "we are close upon their lair now."

A ray of light, streaming through a cross-formed loop-hole, drew them
towards it; and on looking in, they beheld the assembled conclave of the
worthies they were in search of, but found them more numerous than
Lazaro Gomez had given them to believe.  In the crypt, or lower vaults
of the chapel, stood upwards of twenty—perhaps thirty, black-browed and
swarthy desperadoes, clustered around the marble pedestal of a tomb,
upon which were displayed a great quantity of coin, jewelry, and various
articles of value, all glittering in the streaming blaze of a huge oil
lamp placed amid them.  Most of the fellows were attired in embroidered
jackets, adorned with rich military lace torn from the uniforms of the
dead, laced hose, and high-crowned sombreros adorned with feathers, or
long cloth head-dresses resembling a night-cap.  Some, however, were in
absolute rags; none appeared to have been shaven for a month at least,
and had their ferocious faces covered with masses of black glossy
hair,—probably as a disguise, to be removed as occasion required.  All
carried pistols and poniards in their sashes or waist-belts, and most of
them were armed with military carbines, musquets, and accoutrements,
French and English, thousands of which were in these days to be found on
every battle-field, and to be had for the trouble of taking them away.
Trunks, portmanteaus, mails, and innumerable articles of plunder lay
piled in various corners.

Fastened by strong cords to the pillars which supported the groined roof
of the crypt, appeared five or six fierce Spanish mastiff dogs, animals
of a reddish colour generally, larger and stronger than British
greyhounds.  They seemed aware of the approach of strangers: every
moment they made the hollow vaults ring with their hoarse yells, while
they rolled about their fierce red eyes, and shook the snow-white foam
from their jet-black muzzles as they strained and strove, almost
strangling themselves in the attempt, to snap the cords which bound them
to the stone columns.

"Senor, we must retire, if it please you," whispered Pedro; "it would be
worse than Moorish rashness if three of us were to encounter thirty such
devils.  And then the dogs—"

"I fear we must abandon the attempt," replied the officer in a voice of
stern regret.  "Discretion is the better part of valour, and Narvaez and
I may meet again; but now—"

"It is just a temptin’ o’ Providence, sir," said Evan, "to bide here,
wi’ sic a nest o’ born deils below us.  What an awfu’ looking gallows
rogue the chield is that counts oot the siller!"

The light fell fully upon the robber’s face as Evan spoke.

"It is,—it is the very villain who fired at me near Merida," muttered
Ronald almost aloud, in a tone of uncontrollable passion, and feeling
scarcely able to restrain himself from shooting Cifuentes dead upon the
spot; but he repressed the fierce sentiments of intense hatred,
indignation, and horror which he entertained for him, and paused even
when his hand was on the lock of the musquet which he carried.

"Whelp!" exclaimed one furiously to Narvaez, "think you I will thus
tamely submit to be defrauded of my share in this matter?  Remember, you
are not at your old work of dealing out sour wine at Albuquerque!  The
rings I took from the image of our Lady at Majorga were alone worth two
hundred _duros_."

"_Pesetas_, you mean, Julian Diaz,—_pesetas_; they were copper trash."

"I say _duros_; they were pure and beaten gold, embossed richly.
Methinks I should best know: I have prayed at that shrine some hundred
times ere—"  He paused and grew pale.

"Bethink you, Julian, of my last night’s work, and—"

"Bah!  The stabbing of an old _abogado_."

"Old?  Perdition seize him! he fought fiercely for his ill-gotten gold.
I broke the blade of a choice knife on the bones that cover his hard
heart.  But silence, Diaz, my pet!  Though we may eat flesh in Lent, and
rifle our Lady of Majorga, we would scorn to cheat each other. Honour
among—among—"

"Thieves!  End the adage at once, driveller," cried he whom they named
Julian Diaz, a wild-looking fellow, with a broken nose and a frightful
squint.  "Honour," he added impatiently, "sounds strangely indeed in
such a rogue’s mouth as thine, Narvaez,—the broken keeper of a wine
casa."

"Why not?" cried a third.  "Every man, from the king and the soldier
down to the lowest _abogado_, swears now by his word of honour; and why
may not we?"

"Agreed, agreed.  Go on, _diavolo!_ go on with the distribution," cried
the others impatiently.

"Fiend take these dogs! what do they growl at?  Some one surely
approaches."

"Impossible," answered Diaz.  "Lazarillo is watching the only approach,
and all is right; so count on, Narvaez."

"Where was I?  Ay—three hundred and ninety-eight, three hundred and
ninety-nine, four hundred _reals_," continued Narvaez, counting the
money, "are one hundred _pesetas_; now, we are thirty in number,
including Lazarillo—"

"But the necklace and rings which I took from the old lawyer’s
daughter?" interrupted the avaricious Julian.

"San Jago of Compostella wither your accursed tongue!" exclaimed
Cifuentes, grasping fiercely the hilt of his poniard; "how often am I to
lose count by your interruptions?  Allow me to deal to each man his
share, and then preach, as of old, until you are weary.  When you left
your cloister at San Juan, you should have left there your monkish greed
with your beads and cowl.  One hundred pesetas, then, is—is—twenty
duros," &c. &c.; and so on he continued to reckon and count, while his
brother desperadoes watched round in silence, with louring looks of
eagerness, ferocity, and avarice, their hard-featured countenances
appearing like those of demons, as the yellow lustre of the lamp fell on
their harsh outlines.

"Let us retire now, while we may do so in safety," whispered Ronald.
"But how now, Pedro! what is the matter with you?" he asked, on
observing that the face of the Spaniard was pale, fierce, and betrayed
symptoms of deep excitement.

"Ah! _senor officiale_," he replied in a scarcely audible voice, "Julian
Diaz, the wretch who was this moment disputing with the master rogue,
has done me more wrong than even his life can atone for."

"How—how so?  Speak low and quickly."

"Two years ago I was about to be wedded to a girl of Merida, Isobel
Zuares,—a fair creature, senor, and of good birth, for her grandfather
had been an alcalde.  The very evening before our marriage, this fiend
Julian Diaz, who was then a monk in the Convento de San Juan,
sacrilegiously conceived a passion for her at the confessional, and bore
her that night by force to the forest of Albuquerque.  _Dios!  O Dios!_
senor, I never again beheld her,—never again in life at least: poor
Isobel!"  He paused a moment, and the quivering muscles of his face,
which appeared pale as that of a spectre in the moonlight, showed the
inward agony of his soul.

"Well, Pedro, and this Diaz—"

"Since that day has been a robber and outlaw: as such he has eluded my
search.  But now—"  He cocked and raised his carbine.

"For Heaven’s sake—for our own sakes, beware what you do, Gomez!  We
must retreat rather than attack.  Our lives would pay for our rashness
in encountering so many."

"God be wi’ us!  Would ye be temptin’ Providence by firing on sic a nest
o’ caterans?" said Evan angrily, as he dragged Pedro from the wall
towards the gloomy dingle.  "Come awa, ye desperate loon.  If ye haud
your life at a bawbee only, I haud mine dearer than a’ the goud in the
hill o’ Keir; and there lies the ransom o’ seven crowned kings."

"_Diavolo_!  I will not be restrained," cried the dragoon fiercely,
disengaging himself from the grasp of the Highlander.  "I will revenge
Isobel Zuares, or die!"  He rushed to the loop-hole, and fired at the
group of bandits.  Julian Diaz, shot through the heart, fell dead among
his terrified comrades.

"Follow me, senors!  I know every pass and thicket of the wood, and will
easily elude their pursuit," exclaimed Pedro, dashing into the bushes,
and threading his way at random through the maze of dark thickets and
entangled underwood. The two mountaineers, acting on the first impulse
of the moment, also sought safety by retiring, and followed Pedro with
ease and rapidity through every obstacle, having been accustomed from
their boyhood to thread the dense pine forests of the Scottish
highlands.

Onward they hurried at random, pressing aside the heavy bushes and
branches, getting themselves bruised and torn by sharp brambles and hard
stumps; but wounds and contusions were unfelt or unheeded in the
excitement of the moment, as they pressed forward regardless of
immediate consequences.  Ronald was boiling with inward rage and
vexation to find himself retiring thus from wretches whom he so heartily
hated and despised, and more than once he almost resolved to stand and
fight against them to the death; but his discretion overruled his
desperate resolution, pointing out that flight and deferring his revenge
till another time would be the most prudent course to pursue; but that a
future time would ever be, seemed at present very doubtful.  Fiercely in
pursuit, following their path with scrupulous precision, came the
outlaws, eager for plunder and revenge.  These savage desperadoes had,
however, been distanced by some hundred yards; but their shouts,
outcries, and the tread of their feet were distinctly heard as they
pursued with the speed and accuracy of men accustomed to the ground, and
to the irregular warfare of guerillas.

Now and then the gloom of the dark wood was illumined by a lurid flash,
as a random shot was fired in the direction of the fugitives, who more
than once had narrow escapes from being killed or wounded; the latter
was to be dreaded, as it would have ensured, perhaps, a death of torture
from the poniards of the bandits.  A part of the forest was now gained
where the trees grew thinner and the ground was more open; but their
path was embarrassed by piled masses of rocks, roots and stumps of
decayed trees, entwined bushes, fallen cork-trees, deep gorges and
holes, and here and there the stony bed of some bubbling brook.
Nevertheless they still kept their pursuers at the same distance, and
trod on quickly and in silence.

The moon, which had been obscured for some time, now broke forth and
lighted the wild scenery with the pale splendour of its silvery light.

"These wretches are undoubtedly gaining upon us," said Ronald, pausing a
moment to listen and draw breath.  "Your ill-timed rashness, Pedro, will
certainly cost us our lives."

"For my own I care not; but I regret that yours, noble senor, or that of
my gallant comrade, should be placed in such deadly peril by me."

"It was a temptin’ o’ Providence to attack sic a gang," observed Evan,
who had begun to comprehend Spanish a little.  "O’d, sir! gin we had but
ten o’ our ain braw fellows here, we would soon gar them ca’ a halt."

"Yes; oh! had we but so many of the Gordon Highlanders here, I would
soon give these vagabonds fight,—thirty of them though there be."

"Twenty-eight, senor; my hand has struck two from the muster-roll," said
Pedro, ducking his head to avoid a shot which whistled past.

"There they are now.  How it stings me to the heart’s core to fly thus
before such a despicable crew!"

As the moon shone forth again, their pursuers were distinctly seen
behind, bounding over rocks and leaping through bushes, clearing every
impediment with the activity of roes, while the wild yells,
maledictions, and blasphemy with which they startled the far echoes of
the lonely forest, imparted to the scene a singular and exciting, but
certainly terrible effect.  Some becoming weary, or missing the track,
their numbers were now diminished to about a score, and shot upon shot
they sent after the three fugitives, the glitter of whose polished
appointments they could plainly discern in the moonlight.

"Fire on them! take a cool and deliberate aim, that every shot may take
down its man!" cried Ronald, in a voice which had become hoarse with
passion and fatigue; while, by way of example, he levelled the musquet
of the dead robber over a fragment of rock, and let fly its contents at
the nearest pursuer, who fell with a shriek that started the wild birds
in the farthest recesses of the wood, and gave a temporary check to the
ardour of the banditti, who still followed them closely but more
warily,—firing at them from behind rocks and bushes, maintaining a
running skirmish which, notwithstanding the danger, had something very
exciting in it, and pleased Ronald’s bold and fiery disposition better
than the unresisting manner of their previous flight.

"Our Lady of Majorga, assist us!" cried Pedro in a voice of dismay.  "We
are lost now, senor: the fiends have brought up the dogs to their
assistance."

"Pause not a second, but fire and reload; we have steel and lead for the
dogs, as well as for their less noble masters.  Excellent! that shot
told well, Evan."

"Ay, sir, the fallow is kicking up his shoon like a red-rae.  I see his
legs in the moonlicht dangling ower the cairn o’ stanes," replied the
other, coolly trailing his piece, and ramming another charge hard home.
"But o’d, sir, look at thae awfu’ black tykes, louping ower scaur and
bush, bank and brae like fairies, or sic-like awsome things.
Sleuth-dugs, I declare! the born deevils!"

"_Demonios! senors_.  I tell you we are lost," said Pedro, in a tone of
anger and impatience. "You know not the unmatched ferocity of our
Spanish mastiffs.  They are yet far off; but should they reach us, all
the rotten bones in the relicario of San Juan would not save us, if we
had them here."

"Take courage, sargento!  I place more reliance upon a strong hand and a
bold heart, than all the relicarios in Spain: but, certes, these are
most devilish antagonists."

Leaping over every intervening obstacle with incredible speed, onward
came the six mastiff dogs, yelling and growling as if Pandemonium had
broken loose.  Clearing rock and bush at a bound, on they came, their
glossy skins and starting eyes shining and gleaming in the light, which
showed distinctly one that had outstripped its comrades.  Its growls
were deep and hoarse; the snow-white foam was dropping on the grass and
leaves from its red open mouth, as it came careering forward with the
fearlessness, ferocity, and determination of some diabolical spirit.

"For this one I will reserve my fire," said Stuart, knowing himself to
be a deadly shot; "meanwhile blaze away, and aim steadily, brave
hearts!"

"A minute more and it will be upon us; one must certainly become its
victim," replied Pedro: "that victim must be me, if my poniard fails to
dispatch it.  My rashness brought this about, and I am ready to pay the
penalty."

"Pshaw! never despond.  Mark that fellow with the red cap."

"He is down, senor," replied the other coolly, as he shot the man dead.
"I can die content. I have gained vengeance on Julian Diaz, and I should
have been no true Spaniard had I not revenged myself."

"I will hold you but _medio Español_, if you talk thus.  Courage, good
Pedro!  I will rid us of this pursuer,—my aim is deadly."

"Could we but escape this one, our safety would be secured.  On the
other side of this stream is a cavern, the mouth of which is concealed
and overgrown with wild vines; but I know it well, as I do every foot of
ground hereabout. Let us but gain it, and we can remain there in safety
until some assistance arrives.  We are now close on the road that leads
from La Nava to Albuquerque."

They found themselves on the brink of a rushing torrent, which, hurrying
down from the summits of the Sierra de Montanches, swept over its rugged
channel towards the Guadiana, seeking the most unfrequented and solitary
gorges and defiles to wander through.

"Let us jump into the burn, sir," cried Evan eagerly.  "Let us jump in,
and gang up the water a wee bit, and the sleuth hounds will sune tyne
the scent.  My faither, the piper, aye telled that was the only way to
get rid o’ evil speerits and sic-like, to put a rinnin water between
them and yoursel."

"Right, Evan! we are almost safe.  Plunge in: follow me!" cried Ronald,
springing into the stream, which rose to his waist: the others followed.
Keeping close under some weeping willows, that thickly overhung the
water, they eluded the search of the ferocious dog, which at that
instant gave a yell of disappointment as it shook the foam from its
chaps, and stood panting and growling on the bank above them.  It next
ran fiercely to and fro, snorting and snuffing the air, and tearing up
huge pieces of turf with its sharp fangs, as if to discover the lost
prey.

"We must cross and gain the cavern now, senor, while the rogues are so
far in our rear," said Pedro Gomez, after they had advanced up the bed
of the current a little way, treading with difficulty on the slippery
pebbles.  "I know the path, _senor officiale_; follow me promptly, if
you please,—now is the critical time to elude them altogether."  Pedro
sprang with agility up the steep bank; Ronald followed, but poor Evan,
encumbered by his wet tartan kilt, which in the hurry he had neglected
to lift in the Highland manner, stumbled in the centre of the rushing
torrent, and at the moment he fell backwards the fierce quadruped sprung
upon him from the bank above with a wild yell, and seizing him by the
thick folds of his filledh-beg, drew him under water.  He was so much
disconcerted at finding himself grasped by the terrible foe, that he was
only able to utter a faint cry when the stream closed over him; but yet
he struggled fiercely with his growling antagonist.

"God, he is lost!" exclaimed Ronald, when on looking back he beheld the
danger of his faithful follower.  Half swimming, he hurried to the spot,
with his broad-sword shortened in his hand, and grasping the dog by the
throat, plunged the sharp weapon twice through its body.  Its teeth
relaxed the hold of Evan’s tartan, and the quivering carcase floated
bleeding down the stream; while the rescued Highlander, propping himself
with his musquet, (which luckily he had never relinquished,) sprang up
the bank, where he shook himself like a water-dog, the wet streaming
from his bonnet and every part of his dress.

"_Viva!_ noble cavalier; gallantly done!  Follow me, this is the
cavern," exclaimed Pedro; and rushing up a steep ascent, they followed
his example in plunging at once through a thicket of dark green bushes,
and found themselves in a gloomy hole, the extent or height of which it
was impossible to discover, being involved in utter darkness.  The
densely thick foliage around the entrance formed a complete exclusion to
the light of the moon, which now revealed a dozen or more of their
pursuers on the opposite bank of the stream, about which they hunted in
every direction for some trace of those they had pursued, and urged on
their dogs, which, now completely at fault, ran up and down scenting
among the willow trees and shelving rocks, mingling their hoarse baying
with the loud and bitter curses of the banditti.




                             *CHAPTER XVI.*

                               *A SIEGE.*


    "Fore-doomed is every felon Scot,
      Who stains our native land.
        * * * *
    In ambush, near this darksome stream,
      Five hundred rifles lay;
    The water-kelpie stroaked his beard,
      And nichered for his prey."
          _Daniel Vedder._


"They must be somewhere hereabout," cried Cifuentes with a horrible
oath, speaking at intervals, while he panted with exhaustion and
fatigue.  "But where in the name of Beelzebub can they have concealed
themselves?"

"They crossed the stream, I can swear," replied one fellow while he
loaded his musquet.  "I saw them descend the bank with my own eyes."

"You could scarcely see them well with another man’s, Puerco Vadija; but
there is no trace of them on the opposite bank.  One of the dogs is
missing, too."

"There it lies, floating among the rocks and foam yonder," replied a
third ruffian.

"Dead?"

"Ay, dead as Judas."

"_Demonios_!  How can these cursed fiends have escaped us?"

"Fiends they appear to be, certainly.  They were but three in number,
and a hundred shots have missed them, while they have slain some of our
best men."

"By all the might of hell!" exclaimed Narvaez, in a voice of bitter
rage, "they shall not escape us, if we once more gain sight of them.  To
the gay bravo with the large black feathers I bear a hatred, that every
drop of blood in his coward heart only can quench.  To think that they
should escape us scathless, after having slain so many!"

"Poor Julian Diaz!" said Vadija.  "A more jolly monk was not in
Estremadura, where there are well nigh six thousand of the cord and
cowl."

"_Dios!_ it maddens me!"

"And then the brave Lazarillo de Xeres de los Cavalleros—"

"How, Vadija! what of him?"

"I found him lying dead in the pathway, stabbed twice in the heart."

"_Hombres_!  Close round me, comrades; we must fall on some plan to seek
vengeance.  It is evident they have not crossed the stream,—we must have
seen them had they done so; therefore they must be close at hand, and—"
The rest was lost in the clamour of the others, who clustered round
Cifuentes, each delivering his opinion, and holding forth obstinately
against those of his brother rogues, many more of whom were coming
straggling up from the rear, panting and almost breathless with
exertion.  Meanwhile the three fugitives had thrown themselves, wet as
they were, upon the damp floor of the cavern, happy to find rest and
time to breathe with some regularity and composure.

From behind their screen of thick foliage Ronald heard all that passed,
and watched with increasing interest the picturesque appearance of the
bandits, whom he could plainly discern in the radiant moonlight, that
shed its clear cold lustre through the dark blue vault, where myriads of
stars were twinkling.  Meanwhile Iverach, who had quite recovered from
the dismay caused by his recent immersion, was busily employed drying
his wetted musquet, and preparing for action by fixing a new flint and
reloading, rejoicing to find that his thick leather pouch had kept his
ball cartridges perfectly dry.

"Thanks to Santa Maria, we are safe, senors," said Pedro; "they can
never discover this cavern, which is so admirably adapted for
concealment. It was in ancient days the retreat of a holy hermit, who
was drowned one dark night in the river below,—but that came of eating
flesh upon a Friday, they say."

"I wish we had gone to Majorga with your brother Lazaro; this cursed
adventure would then have been avoided.  This hole is very damp, and
cold as the grave."

"But then it is so secure, senor; and we can defend it to the last, and
sell our lives dearly, should they attack us."  Before Ronald could
reply,

"Bah!  Lope Ordonez," cried Narvaez, "how should they know of this
concealed cavern which you say is up yonder?  Are they not British? and
two of them belong to those savages that go with their limbs bare."

"The same guide that led them to the ruins of Santa Lucia, might show
them the cavern."

"Right, Ordonez.  I thought not that there was so much wit in that empty
calabash of thine."

"They have a Spaniard with them," said he whom they named Vadija; "I saw
the moon reflected on his steel helmet."

"A dragoon!  Had he a plume of red horsehair?"

"He had; but I think he has left the half or whole of it among the
bushes in his flight."

"_Caramba!_ then ’tis either Don Alvaro, or one of his rascally troop!
I shall have revenge for the night they made me spend in the Convento de
San Juan at Merida.  We will search this cavern, and take a true Spanish
vengeance on whoever we find there.  Look well to your knives and
flints, comrades."

"I perceive," said Ordonez, "some alteration has taken place among the
vines which conceal the entrance.  They are all broken and trodden down;
I can swear they were not so this morning."

"Then there it is they are concealed.  Tie up the dogs; bind them to the
trees; cross the stream.  Let whoever thirsts for vengeance, follow me!
let whoever is concealed there tremble, for their hour is come!" said
Narvaez, concluding with one of those frightful Spanish maledictions
with which their conversation was so freely interspersed.  The reader
may suppose with what feelings of excitement and desperation the three
weary fugitives beheld their remorseless pursuers boldly cross the
stream to storm their hiding-place. But perhaps Cifuentes and his
followers would have advanced less courageously, had they been perfectly
assured that those of whom they were in search were really so close at
hand.

"Thank Heaven, and our own caution, the ammunition is dry," said Ronald;
"and the sixty rounds we have among us will last until to-morrow, if we
are sparing and aim well.  Let us fire on them as they cross the stream;
’tis neck or nothing with us now.  See that you make sure of your men: I
will aim at Cifuentes,—the scoundrel with the long feather and
high-crowned hat."

The three musquets at once flashed from the dark cavern, the distant
recesses of which echoed to the loud report, while the sudden light
filled its windings and craggy nooks, illuminating them for an instant
as a flash of lightning would have done.  Three of the banditti fell
splashing in the middle of the stream, which bore them off from the
reach of their comrades, whom this unlooked-for volley had stricken with
dismay.  Ronald missed Narvaez, owing to a sudden motion of the latter;
but severely wounded Puerco Vadija, who was behind him.  Evan and Pedro
had both killed their men.

The wild shrieks and outcries of the drowning robber, re-echoing among
the windings of the stream, so greatly appalled and terrified his
brother rogues, that, instead of advancing to the assault, they
re-crossed the stream, fled up the bank, and ensconced themselves behind
the rocks and trees, seeking shelter from the deadly aim of their
concealed enemies, and abandoning Vadija to his fate; but his last
drowning cry, as it came sweeping towards them on the night-wind, found
an echo in the heart of his slayer.  From behind the covers where they
had posted themselves, a sharp fire was maintained on both sides for
some hours, without any damage being done.  However, the three soldados
had the best of it in this bush-fighting sort of warfare, as they could
aim steadily at a head, or a leg, or an arm, the moment it appeared in
view, without exposing themselves in the slightest degree; while their
opponents took for their object of attack the large dark cluster of
vines which concealed the cavern’s mouth, and leaden bullets innumerable
came whistling through the intertwined foliage, and were flattened
against the rocks, or sunk with a loud bang into the soft green turf
near its entrance.  But Ronald and his friends escaped most
miraculously, while the shot hissed often within an inch of their ears,
causing a peculiarly unpleasant and tingling sensation within them,
which must be experienced to be comprehended properly.

"_Dios mio_, senors! my cartridges are nearly expended.  I have but six
left," cried the dragoon, shaking the little cartridge-box which hung at
his shoulder-belt.

"Heavens!  I have fired my last shot," exclaimed Stuart in reply, when,
on putting his hand into Lazarillo’s canvas pouch, he found it empty.
"We can never hold out till some relief comes.  Evan, how stands your
pouch?"

"Four charges, sir; deil a ane mair.  We maun defend this hole by the
cauld airn when a’ are gane."

"Stay,—cease firing.  Reserve the ten rounds, to be used only in case of
some pressing extremity," said Ronald, first in English, and then in
Spanish.

"Exactly, senor; ten rounds are the lives of ten men.  Should the
ladrones advance again, we will not fire until we are well assured our
fire will prove effective."

"They are more numerous now than before," observed the officer, pushing
aside the vines to view their foes.  "There are a dozen more
high-crowned sombreros among them; I see them plainly above the rocks."

"_Santos_!  O senor, allow me to fire," asked Pedro, slapping
impatiently the butt of his carbine.  "See yonder fellow behind the
chesnut; his whole body is visible.  Do allow me, noble senor; ’tis a
fair chance."

"Hold, my fiery sargento! we must be sparing of what is left us——  The
devil!  Draw back, man, or you will certainly be shot."

At that moment six musquets flashed from concealed places, and some of
the balls grazed the cone of Pedro’s steel helmet, which the waning
light of the moon had revealed to them.

It soon became apparent to the bandits that the ammunition of their
antagonists was expended; and their courage and insolence rose
accordingly.  They showed their whole figures at times, and fired with
greater rapidity than before, shouting,—

"_Mueran los heregos!  Muera, borrachos! perros! ladrones!_" and many a
loud and deep _carajo_, together with innumerable other Spanish epithets
and maledictions.

"Thank Heaven, day begins to break!" observed Pedro Gomez, as a pale
light in the east began to replace that of the faded moon.

"We shall then get rid of these bawling rascals; they will scarcely dare
to besiege us in open daylight."

"I have my doubts as to what course they may pursue, senor."

"How, Pedro?"

"Indeed, senor, in the present disorganized state of the country, our
Spanish robbers are bold enough to do any thing.  Throughout the whole
land they are numerous as the leaves of the forest, and keep up lines of
regular communication between one place and another.  We may thank the
French invasion for such a state of things."

"Why are such bands permitted to exist?"

"Exist, senor!  Can shaven monks or lazy alcaldes subdue them?"’

"No; but armed soldiers may."

"Lord Wellington does not meddle with them, as they never assault his
troops; and old Murillo’s soldiers have always work enough on hand,
without making war on the banditti."

"But how do these fellows come to be so numerous?  Ah, curse that ball!
a narrow escape!"

"Senor, war compels our peasantry to become fierce and roving guerillas:
from the guerilla to the bandit is an easy transition."

"I may rejoice that at home, in my own country, we have nothing of that
kind to experience. ’Tis perfect day-light now: the thieves are still on
the watch.  I would they had retired, as I feel very much exhausted by
fatigue and want of sleep."

The two soldiers felt in the same predicament, and the reader may
imagine the comfort of being drenched by fording the deep stream, and
then being obliged to pass the night in a damp cavern without sleep or
rest, after the stirring events, exhaustion, and fatigue of the day, and
the exposure to the bullets of some twenty desperadoes for an entire
night.  Evan was seized with a cold shivering, like a fit of the ague,
and began to drop asleep in spite of his strenuous efforts to keep
himself awake.

Pedro produced his crucifix, and began to mutter his morning orisons,
mingling with them sundry invectives against the ladrones, and wishes
for a cup of aquardiente to stimulate him to fresh exertion.  The fire
of the besiegers had now ceased, and they contented themselves with
watching the spot as they sat among the rocks smoking paper cigars, and
fixing new flints to their pieces; while coarse jokes were mingled with
the growls and curses of three or four that lay bleeding under the
shelter of a large block of granite rock, but untended and uncared for
by their comrades, who had half-stripped three others of their dead, now
tossed under the willow trees to be out of view,—the features of the
slain being too unpleasant an object for them to contemplate.

"The sun has risen," said Ronald, as its bright beams darted through
openings in the vines.  "I will reconnoitre round about, and perhaps I
may discover some sign of our troops, if I can see the road which leads
to Merida."  He received no answer.  The mumble-jumble of Pedro’s
paternoster, and a prolonged snore from Iverach, informed him that his
companions in peril were not inclined for conversation.  Laying aside
his bonnet, he crept close to the mouth of the cave, and putting back
the foliage softly, cast a careful and keen glance around him.  Their
besiegers on the opposite bank of the stream were still stationed as I
have described them, and appeared evidently determined to revenge the
fall of their comrades by starving their slayers into a capitulation.
Behind them, and to the right rose the umbrageous foliage of the cork
wood, intermingled with lofty chesnuts, stretching away in long vistas
until lost in gloom and obscurity.  On the left the trees were more
scattered, and between the trunks he beheld the wide plain extending
away in the direction of Merida, its broad and level extent bounded by a
blue undulating ridge of far-off mountains, the line of which lay low
down in the distance, and formed the boundary of the horizon. The warm
lustre of the morning sun was shed joyously on the wide expanse, calling
into life a thousand birds and insects, and causing the wild flowers to
raise their dewy heads, and shake the moisture from their opening
petals.

But throughout all the wide prospect which the lofty situation of their
retreat enabled him to command, not one human being appeared,—no succour
was in sight.  O how he longed to behold the glitter of arms, the flash
of burnished steel, through the dusty cloud which announces afar off the
march of armed men!  And his heart beat with redoubled velocity while he
gazed upon the band of contemptible yet dreaded ruffians, whom they had
kept at bay the live-long night.

The report of a musquet, the whiz and crack of a ball, as it was
flattened against the hard granite walls of the cavern, made him
suddenly withdraw his head; and the loud shout of savage derision and
laughter which arose from those below caused his blood to boil
tumultuously, and his heart to swell with anger and impatience.  He soon
found himself becoming a prey to weariness and exhaustion, owing to the
fatigue, excitement, and want of sleep which he had endured during the
last twenty-four hours, and it was with the utmost difficulty he
refrained from following Evan’s example, and falling into slumber.
Often did Pedro Gomez recommend him earnestly to do so, reminding him
how much might yet have to be endured, and promising to keep faithful
watch and ward; but Ronald dared not trust him, fearing that he too
might be overcome with drowsiness, and leave them at the mercy of the
bandits. Towards noon, to their inexpressible satisfaction, the
besiegers began to draw off by degrees, as if wearied of the affair, and
retired into the wood, leaving the ford of the river free.

"_Hio!_ our Lady del Pilar!" cried Pedro, exultingly.  "_Viva!_ senor;
they have abandoned their post.  Should we get off scathless, I vow most
solemnly to visit the shrine of our Lady of Majorga, and present her
with three days’ pay, and a new hat of the best kind that Badajoz or
Zafra can produce."[*]


[*] Great manufactories of hats are carried on in these towns.


"And should we not get off scathless, Pedro?" said Ronald merrily, as he
rose from the ground and stretched his limbs.

"Then not a maravedi shall she get from Sargento Gomez,—no, _diavolo_!"

Ronald laughed aloud at the Spaniard’s ideas of religious gratitude, and
aroused his servant, who started up with agility, grasping his musquet,
all alive in an instant to the recollection of their situation.

"Gracious me, sir!  I daur say I have slept.  On sic an occasion as this
to tempt Providence wi’—"

"Never mind, Evan, my honest man; all is right now."

"But the reiving loons—"

"Have abandoned their post and fled.  We have nothing to do now but to
march off, and make the best of our way to some safe place. Had we
accepted the offer of the honest muleteer, we should have escaped a most
disagreeable night; but as the play says, ’All is well that ends well.’"

"But dinna be ower rash, sir," said Evan cautiously, as he looked
through the screen of vines, and surveyed the ground with a sharp
glance. "Be weel assured that the caterans are gane for gude and a’," he
added, grasping his master’s belt as he was about to descend.

"Gone?  I tell you they are so undoubtedly," replied Ronald, testily.
"You see there is no trace of them now, and we had better depart from
our uncomfortable billet without further delay."

"I beg your pardon, sir; but just bide a wee—bide a wee.  What ca’ ye
that?"

While he spoke the head of a man rose slowly above one of the masses of
granite overhanging the forest river, evidently watching their place of
concealment.  The instant it appeared, Evan levelled and fired his
musquet, and the black scowling visage of Narvaez Cifuentes withdrew
immediately.

"The scoundrels are only in ambush," said Ronald, in a fierce tone of
disappointment.  "They are watching us still!"

"I do not believe, senor," replied Pedro, "that they would dare to hem
us in thus, if the French were not in Merida.  The corregidor and
alguazils of the city would have been upon them long ere this time."

"I do not think so.  Few pass this deserted place; and unless some of
our troops, when crossing the plain, are attracted towards us by the
sound of our arms, we have no other chance of friendly succour."

"And if not, senor?"

"Then nothing is left us but to make one bold dash for our liberty, or
sell our lives as dearly as possible.  Their design is evidently to
starve us out, the revengeful dogs!"

"The whole band are rising from their cover. Santos! had we left this
cavern, what a fate would have been ours!  _Cuidado, senor! Carojo!_
keep back."

Scarcely had Pedro spoken, when the report of twenty musquets awoke the
echoes of the place, and enveloped the bank, the stream, and the wood in
white volumes of curling smoke; and many of the shot whistled into the
cave, but luckily fell on the rocks, against which they were flattened
as broad as crown pieces, leaving, wherever they struck, a white round
star marked upon the stone. Shot after shot was fired at the place, but
without better success.  A sort of natural breast-work of turf, running
across the mouth of the den, completely shielded the three fugitives
from the dangerous and well-directed fire of the outlaws, who continued
this system of distant warfare for several hours, until towards evening
they again ceased entirely, but continued to watch, although they did
not dare to come to closer combat with their opponents, the deadly
accuracy of whose aim was a sufficient cause to deter them from
attempting to carry the cavern by storm.

"The rogues are indeed very determined, senor," said Pedro.  "I hope we
shall not have to spend another night in this dismal place, cowering and
shivering like rats concealed in a drain."

"I trust not; but when it grows darker, we must make one desperate
attempt to cut away through them, or perish.  I trust to a running fight
for setting us free of them."

"Our Lady of Succour! would that the hour was come!  The holy father
that dwelt here must have liked a damp couch better than I do,
_demonio_!"

"Doubtless he cheered himself with many a long horn of aquardiente, if
they had it in those days."

"Ay, senor, and the place was often enlivened by the presence of the
peasant girls of La Nava, who came hither for confession.  They are
droll dogs, these solitary monks.  Many a strange story is current of
the white-bearded Padre of San Bartolomi."

"What he who shows the sulphurous spring of Alange?"

"Ay; he is as arrant a knave as we have on this side the pass of
Roncesvalles.  But the sun is setting now, senor caballero: I see the
trees are casting long shadows across the plain towards the eastward."

"Haud ye awee, Pedro.  As sure as I live, I hear—I hear the skirlin o’ a
bag-pipe?"

"A pipe, Evan?" exclaimed Stuart, "a pipe? I trust it is not
imagination!  By all that’s sacred I hear it too!" he added, stooping
his ear anxiously to listen.  "’Tis playing—what is the air?"

"The ’Haughs o’ Cromdale.’  O, sir!  I ken it weel," replied the
Highlander in a thick voice, while his eyes began to glisten.

"_Senor officiale_," said Pedro, who had been reconnoitring through the
vine bushes, "there are British troops moving on the plain,—red uniforms
at least."

"Highlanders!  Highlanders!" replied Ronald exultingly, as he beheld a
long way off a party of kilted soldiers marching across the dusty plain.
The setting sun was shining on the polished barrels of their sloped
arms, which flashed and gleamed between the trunks of the trees at every
step; even the ribbons fluttering from the drones on the piper’s
shoulders could be discerned, and the heart-stirring strain he was
blowing came floating towards them on the fitful wind.

"What troops are these? and where can they have come from?  They march
towards Merida, and the French are there."

"What regiment they belang to, sir, I dinna care: let that flea stick to
the wa’.  But they are some o’ oor ain folk, that’s certain.  I see the
braw feathered bonnet, the filledh-beg, and the gartered hose.  O
Maister Stuart! can we no fa’ on some plan to win their attention?  They
are fast leaving us behind; and it’s an awfu’ thocht to be here, hunted
in a hole like a yirded tod lowrie, and yet to see the tartan waving in
the sun, and hear the wild skirl of the piob mhor.  O’d, sir! my birse
is getting up; I feel myself turning wild."

"Stay, Evan.  Unless you want a bullet to make a button-hole in your
skin, keep back!  A man on horseback has met them;—they have halted."

"’Tis a pity the knaves cannot see them, senor. By the elevation of this
place, we command a farther view than the post which these rascals
occupy by the river-side."

"They must have heard the sound of the pipe to which they marched."

"I do not think so; they would have fled had they heard it.  Sound is
said to ascend, senor."

"True—"

"O’d, sir," interrupted Evan, who continued to look through the vines in
spite of one or two shots which were fired at him, "I would fain ken if
thae chields are Gordon Highlanders or no. I think they belang to the
auld forty-twa: they have some red feathers in their bonnets."

"Red feathers?  Not one; they are all black and white,—I see them
distinctly; but whether they are the Ross-shire Buffs or any of ours, I
know not.  They are certainly not 42nd men; their long feathers are all
white."

"The gloaming’s sae mirk and sae far advanced, that I canna see very
weel; and my een are sair wi’ being in the gloom o’ this dismal den sae
lang."

"They are British troops; to what corps they belong we need not care, as
all are friends alike. They have piled their arms.  Surely they mean to
bivouac there for the night.  I pray to Heaven they may!"

"O sir! let us do something to let them ken o’ their friends that are
here in tribulation and jeopardy.  Fire twa or three shots, just to draw
them towards us."

"Not one.  We have but nine rounds left,—three each; and as our lives
depend upon them, they must be reserved for a grand attempt as soon as
it is dark.  Besides, from the way the wind blows, they would never hear
the reports at such a distance.  The clouds are fast gathering, and I
see with pleasure we shall have a very black night.  We shall certainly
escape them, if we are courageous and discreet.  What think you, Pedro
Gomez?" he asked in Spanish.

"Of course, senor caballero.  And as you will scarcely know the way
after it is dark, if I have the honour to be again your guide I will get
you off securely.  Should I be shot,—a fate which our Lady of Succour
avert!—you will find an easy ford some hundred yards down the stream.
You may cross it fearlessly, and gain safely the place where our friends
are bivouacked so quietly on the plain."

"We shall scarcely find the spot in the dark, even with your aid, Pedro.
What marks the ford?"

"A stone cross, erected by the monks of San Juan to guide travellers.
During a storm, one of the brotherhood perished when crossing the stream
just below us here, and they marked the shallow part by a stone, to
avoid such accidents in future."

"But think o’ the sleuth-hounds, Maister Ronald," said Evan, who had
been listening attentively to Pedro, and endeavouring to comprehend his
Spanish.  "I scunner at the very thocht o’ them, after the douking that
ane gied me in the burn below."

"We must take our chance of these infernals. But be cool and firm: the
time is coming when we must have all our wits about us."

Their conversation had often been interrupted by a stray bullet from the
besiegers, who lounged lazily on the opposite bank, smoking their
cigars, tearing hard American _bacallao_ with their teeth, and sucking
the purple wine from a huge pig-skin, which they had pierced in several
places with their knives, allowing it to stream on the green sward with
a heedless prodigality, which showed how easily it had been come by.
This employment they varied by venting curses at each other, and at
their obstinate opponents, at whom they now and then sent a random shot;
and on one occasion a complete volley at Evan’s bonnet, which, by way of
bravado, he had elevated to their view on the point of his bayonet.  A
storm of balls whistled about it, and the young Gael laughed heartily at
the joke.

"Your bonnet is riddled," said Ronald, on seeing the feathers nearly all
shot away.

"Deil may care, sir! the king has mair bonnets than this ane; and
there’s plenty ostrich feathers whar thae cam frae," replied he,
hoisting it again through the vines; but the Spaniards did not waste
their ammunition upon it a second time.

The bivouac of their comrades, which they watched with untiring eyes,
and other distant objects, faded gradually from their view as the
increasing darkness of night deepened around them.  The sky grew black,
as masses of dense and heavy clouds drifted slowly across it; and the
cold Spanish dews began to descend noiselessly (yet heavy and wetting as
a shower of rain) on the grass and leaves, which, as the wind died away,
hung motionless and still; and, save the muttering voices of the
outlaws, not a sound broke the stillness of the lonely place but the
hoarse brawl of the mountain-torrent as it rushed over its stony bed,
from which the white foam glimmered through the darkness.  Now and then,
afar off, a red streak shot through the parted clouds, or a broad lurid
flash of sheet-lightning lit the edge of the horizon, showing distinctly
the curved outline of the distant hills and the tall black trunks of the
neighbouring trees: but no sound of thunder followed these appearances.

"Senor," whispered Pedro, "the night is perfectly dark,—just such as one
would wish for on such an occasion."

"Then now is our time to sally," was Ronald’s reply, as he grasped his
musquet, and slung his claymore on the brass hook of his shoulder-belt
that it might not impede him.  "Now or never: follow me!"

He pushed softly aside the foliage, and issued from the cavern.  They
were enabled to see objects with greater distinctness, owing to the
pitchy darkness they had endured in their retreat, where it was so
dense, that one could not discern the face of the other.  Enabled thus
to see his way with greater accuracy, Ronald descended the bank of the
river in the direction of the stone cross.  The others followed with
hasty and stealthy footsteps, and in a few minutes they gained the rude
column which marked the ford.

"We are safe, senor caballero!" exclaimed Pedro, when they stood on the
opposite side. "Our Lady of Majorga shall get the three days’ pay, a hat
of the best Zafra felt, and a pound of wax candles to boot."

"You are liberal to her ladyship.  When are your presents to be given?"

"The first time I pass her shrine," laughed the other, "which may not be
during the term of my natural life."

"Yonder is the bivouac," said Ronald, as they scrambled hurriedly up the
embankment; "they have lit a fire.  How very close upon us it appears."

"The plain is so level, that distance deceives; but they are fully a
quarter of a mile from us yet."

"Hurrah!" cried Evan, overjoyed to find himself safe.  "Tak’ that, ye
ill-faured loons!" firing his musquet in the direction of their foes.

"Fool!" exclaimed Ronald angrily; "how have you dared to fire without my
desiring you?"

Evan’s deprecating reply was cut short by a shout from their baffled
enemies, who, firing their pieces at random, rushed hurriedly towards
the ford, mingling their outcries with the yells of their dogs.  But the
unexpected appearance of the large watch-fire blazing on the plain, and
the dusky forms of the soldiery crowding around it, served completely to
check their pursuit; and with many a hoarse malediction and threat,
after firing a volley in the direction where they supposed the fugitives
to be, they retired with precipitation into the fastnesses of the
cork-wood.

"What a cursed adventure we have had!" exclaimed the officer, throwing
away the pouch and musquet of Lazarillo de Xeres de los Cavalleros, when
they halted to draw breath for a few seconds.  "Evan Iverach, you are a
rash fellow: by firing that useless shot we might all have lost our
lives.  It may also have alarmed the troops yonder, and caused them to
get under arms."

"O’d, sir, never mind; there’s nae folk like our ain folk," replied his
follower, capering gaily when the figures of their countrymen, clad in
the martial Scottish garb, became more distinct.  "O how my heart loups
at sicht o’ the belted plaid, the braw filledh-beg, and the bare legs o’
our ain douce chields."

"Wha gangs there?" shouted close by the voice of an advanced sentry, the
black outline of whose bonnet and grey great-coat they saw looming
through the gloom.  "Wha gangs there?"

"Friend!" replied Ronald.

"Friends, friends,—hurrah!" cried his follower, rushing upon the
astonished sentry, and grasping him by the hand.




                            *CHAPTER XVII.*

                              *A MEETING.*


"Our fathers contended in war; but we meet together at the feast.  Our
swords are turned on the foe of our land: he melts before us on the
field.  Let the days of our fathers be forgot, hero of Mossy
Strumon."—_Ossian_.


Around the ample fire, on which a succession of billets and crackling
branches were continually heaped, were grouped some seventy or eighty
soldiers—Gordon Highlanders, as was evident from their yellow facings,
and the stripes of their tartan.  The fairness of their complexions and
the bright colour of their untarnished uniform served likewise to show
that they had but recently arrived from Great Britain.  Some lay fast
asleep between the piles or bells of arms, while others crowded round
the fire conversing in that low voice, and behaving in that restrained
manner, which the presence of an officer always imposes on British
soldiers.

The officer himself sat close by the watch-fire, which shone brightly on
his new epaulets and other gay appointments.  His plumed bonnet lay
beside him on the turf, and his fair curly hair glistened in the flame,
which revealed the handsome and delicate but rosy features of a very
young man—one perhaps not much above seventeen years of age.  He was
laughing and conversing with the soldiers near him in that easy manner
which at once shows the frankness of the gentleman and soldier, and
which is duly appreciated by those in the ranks, although it tends in no
way to lessen the respect due to the epaulet. A black pig-skin lay near
him, from which he was regaling himself, allowing also some of the
soldiers to squeeze the liquor into their wooden canteens.

On Ronald Stuart’s approach, the sudden apparition of an officer in the
uniform of their own regiment, coming they knew not whence, created no
small surprise in the little bivouac; and the sudden murmur and
commotion which arose among them, caused the young officer to turn his
head and look around him.

"Ronald—Ronald Stuart!" he exclaimed in well-known accents, as he sprang
lightly from the green turf, his eyes sparkling with surprise and joy;
"how have you come so unexpectedly upon us?"

"Ah, Louis, my old friend! and you have really joined us, to follow the
pipe and the drum?" replied Stuart, grasping his hand, and longing to
embrace him as he would have done a brother; but the presence of so many
restrained him, and he contented himself with gazing fondly on the face
of his early friend, and tracing in his fine features the resemblance he
bore to his sister. The expression was the same, but the eyes and hair
of Alice Lisle were dark; the eyes of Louis were light blue, and his
hair was fair,—of that soft tint between yellow and auburn.  His
features, of course, possessed not that exquisite feminine delicacy
which appeared in the fair face of Alice, but yet the family likeness
was striking, and pleasing for Ronald Stuart to contemplate and
recognise.

"He has her very accent and voice," thought he.  "Well, Louis! and how
are all at home among the mountains?  Does old Benmore keep his head in
the mist as usual?"

"All were well when I left in January last, and I dare say the red deer
and muirfowl keep jubilee in our absence, for sad havock we used to make
among them."

The soldiers, to allow them the freedom of conversation, respectfully
fell back, and clustered round Evan Iverach, who, after he had paid his
rustic compliments "to his auld friend Maister Lisle, frae the
Inch-house," began to regale his gaping countrymen with an exaggerated
narrative of his late adventures in Spain, and many a "Hoigh!  Oich!
Eigh!" and other Scottish interjections of wonder, he called forth as he
proceeded.

After a hearty draught from the borachio-skin, many were the questions
asked and answers given about home and absent friends; and Ronald’s
account of his rencontres and adventures with Cifuentes, certainly did
not impress Louis Lisle with a very high opinion of the state of society
and civilization generally in Spain.

"This must be a strange country," observed he, "when fellows can rove
about plundering and rieving, as Rob Roy and the Serjeant Mhor used to
do in our grandfathers’ days.  And the villains from whom you have
suffered so much are still lurking in that dark forest of cork trees?"

"Yes; their fastness is in the heart of it.  If the rules of the service
sanctioned such a proceeding, I would with this party of ours surround
the wood, hunt out the rascals from their lair, and put every one of
them to death."

"But Lord Wellington—"

"Would make it a general court-martial affair. But there is a time for
every thing, and this Spanish robber and I may meet again."

"Spain appears a wretched country to campaign in?"

"Truly it is so."

"I liked Lisbon pretty well; and found much amusement in frequenting the
assembly-room, the Italian opera-house, the theatre, and circus for the
bull-fights."

"Faith!  I saw none of these things, Louis; my purse is scarcely so deep
as yours.  And the public promenades, you visited them doubtless?"

"The trees and shrubbery are beautifully arranged; but I cannot admire
the ladies of Lisbon, they are so little, so meagre and tawny."

"You will like Spain better.  Hand me the pigskin, if you please."

"I have not been very favourably impressed by what I have seen of it.
The roads on our route are all but impassable,—mere sheep-tracks in some
places; and the posadas are the most wretched to be imagined."

"Rather different from the snug ’Old George’ at Perth, with its portly
landlord, bowing waiters, and smiling hostess."

"Rather so; and tiresome indeed I found the march thus far,—the towns in
ruins, and between them immense desert tracts, where neither a house, a
human being, nor a vestige of cultivation was to be seen."

"But it was a useless order to march your detachment thus far to the
westward, when the division is retreating.  You could have joined at
Portalagre."

"I am aware of it; but to march and join the regiment without delay were
the orders given me by the commandant at Portalagre.  By my route, this
day’s march should have ended at Merida; but a muleteer, to my no small
surprise, informed us of its being in possession of the French; and
having no one to consult, I felt at a loss how to act, and halted here."

"’Twas rash of the surly old commandant to send so young and
inexperienced an officer in charge of a detachment through a foreign
country; but those fellows on the staff, who skulk in the rear, have
never the true interest of the service at heart."

"And Sir Rowland Hill is retiring on the Portuguese frontier?"

"_En route_, I believe, for Ciudad Rodrigo, where Lord Wellington means
to give battle to Marmont. The troops are marching from all points to
join him, and we may soon have the glory of being actors in a general
engagement."

"Well; and this place Merida—"

"Is possessed by three or four troops of French lancers: I saw them
enter last night.  You have acted most prudently in halting here, as a
skirmish with so numerous a party was well avoided. But we shall
probably have the pleasure of seeing them prisoners of war, when our
people come up in the course of to-morrow.  I shall make a tour round
the sentries in a few minutes, and see that they are on the alert, and
then retire to roost under that laurel bush: I feel quite worn out with
my last night’s affair."

"You must act for yourself now, Stuart.  Should any thing occur, you of
course take command of the party," replied Louis drily, and in a tone
totally different from that of his late observations.

"Ay, Louis; I am a senior sub, you know," said Ronald, colouring at the
other’s tone.

"What sort of man is Cameron of Fassifern?" asked Louis abruptly, after
a long pause.

"A true soldier every inch; and a prouder Highlander never drew a
sword."

"Fierce and haughty, is he not?"

"Yes, but a perfect gentleman withal.  You will find the most of ours
very fine fellows,—young men of birth and blood, fire and animation; and
you will be charmed with the appearance of the regiment.  ’Tis indeed a
splendid corps."

Another long and perplexing pause ensued, while an expression of doubt
and perturbation began to cloud the faces of both.  Need I say that
Alice,—Alice Lisle, of whom neither had yet spoken, was the cause?
Although until now he had disguised it, Lisle’s indignation was bitterly
aroused to find that Ronald conversed on a variety of topics with an air
of lightness, and asked a thousand questions about friends at home in
Perthshire, yet that never once had the name of Alice passed his lips.
His pride was roused, and consequently he determined not to be the first
to speak of his sister, and the anger which was swelling in his heart
caused him to assume a distant and haughty behaviour towards his friend,
who considered it but a confirmation of the report which he had seen in
the _Edinburgh Journal_; and _his_ mountain pride and indignant feelings
were likewise roused, making him, in turn, display a cold distance of
manner to one whom he had ever regarded as his earliest and dearest,
almost only friend and companion,—as his very brother.

And this was the happy meeting to which both had so ardently looked
forward as a source of pleasure for some time past!

                     *      *      *      *      *

"Truly," thought Ronald, "my father’s old-fashioned prejudices were not
without a cause; these Lisles of Inchavon are not endued with either the
sentiments of affection or honour."

"Poor Alice!" thought Lisle, at the same moment; "how have her fond and
misplaced affections been trifled with!  Scarcely has this heartless
Highlander (full of his mountain pride and bombast) parted with her,
before she is forgotten as utterly as if she did not exist."

However, they kept these thoughts to themselves, and continued to nurse
their minds into a state of hot indignation against each other,
indignation mingled with feelings of disappointment and sorrow,
especially on the part of Louis Lisle.

He had produced from his havresack the remains of his last day’s
rations,—a few hard biscuits and some cold meat, on which Ronald,
although he had fasted so long, merely made a show of regaling himself:
he felt little inclination to eat, but often applied himself to the
wine-skin. After a long and confusing sort of pause, during which both
had severely taxed their imaginations for somewhat to converse about,

"I have heard," observed Ronald, "that your father is again suing for
the long dormant peerage,—the title of Lord Lysle."

"Yes, it is the case.  How heard you of it?"

"By a letter from Lochisla.  I drink to Sir Allan’s health!  I have not
seen him since the day I pulled him out of the deep linn at Corrieavon.
I wish him every chance of success!"

"There is little doubt but we shall carry our point during this session
of Parliament: my father’s descent in a direct line from the last lord
is now clear beyond a doubt or quibble.  He is certain to gain the day."

"I am sure I shall be most happy—"

"The Earl of Hyndford," continued Louis, in the same cold manner, "is my
father’s most particular friend, and has some interest with the law
lords.  He is on the ministerial side, and——  But what is the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing.  Is there any more wine in the skin?  I feel very
faint after my late fatigue, surely," muttered Stuart, making a
tremendous mental effort to appear calm.  But the name of Hyndford had
caused his heart to leap as it were to his very lips, which quivered as
a nervous spasm twitched them, while his forehead grew livid and pale.

"Ronald, what on earth is the matter?" asked Louis kindly, perceiving
the changes of his countenance.  "Are you turning faint, or ill?"

"Ill,—sick at heart," replied Stuart, scarcely knowing what he said,
while he eagerly longed to ask a question—a single question, which he
dreaded to hear answered; but the fierce native pride of his race came
to his aid, and the inclination was repressed.

"For what shall I condescend to mention her name?" thought he.  "To ask
in a trembling tone after one who has forsaken me thus, becomes me not.
Faithless Alice! neither farewell word, token, or letter has she sent
me; but—but I will be calm!" and he placed his hand upon the little
miniature, which at that moment he imagined was pressing like a load
upon his heart.

"Good Heaven, Stuart! you are certainly very unwell," said Louis
anxiously, his indignant feelings giving way to concern.  "What can I do
for you?"

"Oh! ’tis nothing.  It is past—a spasm—the wound I received at Merida."

"Are you still troubled by it?"

"No; that is—I mean—"

He was relieved from his embarrassment by an exclamation of surprise and
intense disgust from Lisle, who suddenly leaped up from the green turf
on which they were seated.

"It is a skull!" he exclaimed, turning something round and white out of
the sod with his foot.

"A skull?"

"Yes; I knew not what it was.  I felt something round and smooth lying
half sunk in the earth, and my hand rested on it for some time. How does
it come to lie here?"

"No uncommon affair in Spain.  It is the head of one of those poor
fellows I told you of.  I saw him killed here the day Long’s brigade of
horse drove the French advanced picquet into the cork wood."

"What! did you not bury them?"’

"No, we had no time.  The wolves came at night, and saved us the
trouble."

"And this is dying in the bed of glory!"

"So romancers tell us."

"Ay, Stuart, ’tis all very fine to read of honour and glory.  The
charge, the encounter, and the victory in a novel—"

"When seated in a well-curtained and softly carpeted room, with your
feet encased in morocco slippers, and a huge fire roaring up the
chimney; but here it is a very different matter."

"Nevertheless, ’tis a gay thing to be a soldier," said Louis, eyeing his
shining epaulet askance.

"It is indeed!  I have felt some delicious moments of gratified pride
since I first donned the red coat,—moments in which I would scarcely
have exchanged my claymore for a crown.  But this ghastly death’s head
had better be removed. Probably the poor boy it belonged to, for he was
scarcely any thing else, had his own bright dreams of glory and military
renown, and left his sunny vineyards, with hopes that one day he should
exchange the goat-skin pack for the baton of a marshal of France.  If he
had such visions, where are they all now?  But let it be taken away.
Evan, dig a hole with your bayonet, and bury it deep under the turf."

This temporary excitement over, the two friends again relapsed into
their dry and unfriendly distance of manner.

"Give me another cup from the borachio-skin; I will drink to Sir Allan’s
health before I compose myself to rest for the night," said Ronald,
anxious to put an end to it by retiring.

"Drink and replenish again,—you are most welcome; but you will excuse
me, Stuart, if I reply somewhat coldly to your many expressions of
regard for my family," replied Louis, assuming a haughtiness of manner
which it was impossible to pass over.

"How so?  What mean you?" asked Ronald hurriedly, his blood mounting to
his very temples while he tossed the wine-horn from him.

"To me it appears very singular," began the other in a determined tone,
"indeed most unaccountable, that you have never yet inquired for or
mentioned one, whom I had every reason, until to-night, to believe to be
very dear to you, and ever uppermost in your thoughts."

"You mean," faltered Ronald—

"My sister, Alice,—Miss Lisle," said Louis, giving vent to his
long-concealed passion and spleen.  "What am I to understand by this
singularity of conduct, at once so cruel, so dishonourable, and—"

"Halt, sir!  Stay—beware what you utter!" replied Ronald fiercely, in
turn.

"As her brother, I demand an immediate explanation!" cried the other,
starting from the ground, while he grew pale with anger.

"By heavens! you shall have none."

"None!  Do you then—"

"Speak lower, sir.  I am not accustomed to be addressed in this
imperious way.  Fassifern himself would not dare to speak to me thus.
Restrain your manner, or the soldiers will observe it."

"By the gods!" said the other, in a tone of fierce irony, "I little
thought to find that one of the Stuarts of Lochisla,—a family, a house,
that have ever prided themselves on their notions of honour and noble
feeling,—would behave thus to a gentle and too confiding girl.  But I
will arrange this matter at another time."

"And Lord Hyndford?"

Louis changed colour evidently.

"How, Mr. Lisle,—how can you thus get into heroics with me," said
Ronald, observing it, "and in so bad a cause?"

"Cause, sir!  Your conduct is at once unbecoming either a soldier or a
gentleman," exclaimed the bold boy stoutly, "and a stern reckoning must
be rendered at another time!"

Ronald smiled scornfully, while his eyes flashed, and his trembling
fingers involuntarily sought the basket-hilt of his sword; but he passed
his hand over his hot throbbing forehead, and subduing his emotions,
turned haughtily upon his heel and withdrew.

And thus ended his first interview with the brother of Alice, after
their long separation.

                     *      *      *      *      *

Seeking a solitary part of the bivouac, he laid himself under the
shelter of a bush, and yielding to the excessive fatigue that oppressed
him, fell into a deep sleep, which was destined to be of very short
duration.  Meanwhile Louis Lisle, unable to enjoy the slumber which
sealed the eyelids of the surrounding soldiers, sat listlessly by the
flaring fire, watching its red crackling embers for hours, while his
young heart was so filled with sorrow, indignation, and disappointment
at what he considered the altered behaviour of Ronald Stuart, that he
could have wept like a child but for very shame.  At last, overcome by
the wine, of which he had drunk deeply to drown thought, and by the heat
of the blazing faggots, he stretched himself upon the turf and dropped
asleep, to dream of his happy home and the fair sister he loved so
dearly.

About an hour before day-break, a time when the chill feeling of the
atmosphere increases in Spain, Ronald was roused from his heavy slumber
by some one shaking his arm.

"Another shot!  Keep up your fire, Pedro!" he muttered, not knowing
where he was.  "Hollo! what is the matter?" he cried, as the glare of
the fire, flashing on the epaulets of Lewis, recalled his wandering
ideas.

"Mr. Stuart, troops are in motion on the plain to the eastward.  I
considered it my duty to acquaint you," replied the other, and withdrew.

"They are either our own people, or some French party thrown forward
from Merida.  Stand to your arms, there.  Men! rouse, rouse!  Piper,
blow the gathering.  Mr. Lisle, get the men under arms,—let them fix
bayonets and load: I will be with you immediately."

Moving in the direction of the advanced sentry who had given the alarm,
he distinctly heard the rapid tramp of horse approaching towards them
along the beaten track,—it deserved not the name of road, from Merida.

"Cavalry!" thought he, drawing his sword. "Now then for a solid square:
I will not surrender to Dombrouski, without a show of fight, even should
he come with all his lancers at his back, in their panoply of brass and
steel."  At that instant the cavalry halted; but the darkness was so
great, that he could not discern any trace of them save their sabres,
which glittered in the light of the watch-fire.

"Teevils and glaumories!" shouted the advanced sentinel, a bluff Gael
from the forest of Athole, as he ’ported,’ his musquet.  "Wha’s tat,—wha
gaes there?"

"What the devil does he say?  The challenge was German, Wyndham," said a
distant voice.

"Low Dutch, decidedly," replied another with a reckless laugh.  "Perhaps
they are some of the _chasseurs Britanniques_."

"What would bring them here?  Some of the cacadores, probably."

"Who goes there?  What troops are these?" cried Ronald.

"Holloa! all right.  A reconnoitring party thrown out from the advanced
guard of the second division.  What are you?"

"A detachment for the first brigade."

"Scots?"

"Gordon Highlanders."

"Captain Wyndham took you for the drowsy Germans," said the officer,
riding forward.  "All is right, then; we belong to the 9th Light
Dragoons, and General Long sent us forward to discover what the fire on
the plain meant.  We took you for some of the enemy, a party of whom we
captured at Merida a few hours ago.  Lord knows how they came there!  I
am sure old Sir Rowland does not."

"Then it seems the division is on a forced march?"

"Ay, the devil take it!  It knocks up our cattle confoundedly," answered
Wyndham.  "The whole column will be here in an hour; but I must retire,
and report to Long.  Adieu.  Party! threes about; forward,—trot!" and
away they went.

Scarcely had five minutes elapsed, when the advanced guard, consisting
of part of the 9th and 13th Light Dragoons, with the 2nd Hussars of the
King’s German Legion, came up at an easy trot.  Fierce-looking fellows
were these last,—wearing blue uniforms, large, heavy cocked-hats,
leather jack-boots, and enormous moustaches. The appearance of the
brigade of horse, as they passed, was at once striking, martial, and
picturesque.  The red glow of the blazing fire glittered on the polished
harness of man and horse, and the bright blades of the crooked sabres.

They certainly had not the showy and ballroom appearance of cavalry on
home service, yet they were the more military and soldier-like.
Continual exposure to all weathers had bronzed their cheeks, and turned
the once gay scarlet coat from its original hue to purple or black, and
the bright epaulets to little more than dusky wire.  The canvas
havresack and round wooden canteen hung at their backs, and the coarse
yellow blanket, strapped behind the saddle of officer and private, did
not diminish the effect of the scene. When the morning was further
advanced, and the banks of rolling vapour, which for some time rested on
the face of the plain, rose into the air, Ronald found the baggage of
the division close upon the spot occupied by the detachment which he now
commanded.  A strange medley the train presented.  Horses, mules, and
asses laden with trunks, portmanteaus, bags, soldiers’ wives and
children, tents and tent-poles, bedding and camp utensils; and here and
there rode a few officers’ wives on horseback, attired in close warm
riding-habits.  The whole of the long straggling array was surrounded by
a guard with fixed bayonets, under the command of a field-officer, who
spurred his horse at a gallop towards the party of Highlanders.

Stuart advanced to meet him.  It was impossible to mistake the gigantic
figure which bestrode the panting horse, the forest of ostrich plumes
waving in his bonnet, or the stout oak staff which he flourished about.

"Egypt for ever!" cried the major, reining in his horse, which shook the
sod beneath its hoofs. "Holloa, Stuart my boy, is it really you?  Glad
to see you sound wind and limb again.  We thought the French had carried
you off.  Who are these with you?"

"The draft just come up from Lisbon.  Allow me to introduce Mr. Lisle of
ours.  Major Campbell," said Ronald, presenting Louis, with a stiff
formality which stung the younger ensign to the heart.

"Lisle?  Ah! glad to see you.  Welcome to this diabolical country!  We
had a capital fellow of your name with us in Egypt.  Many strange
adventures he and I had at Grand Cairo.  He left us after our return
home; some relation of yours, perhaps?"

"My uncle; he is a younger brother of my father’s," answered Louis,
colouring slightly with pleasure.

"Ah, indeed! a devilish fine fellow he was; but perhaps he is changed by
matrimony, which always spoils a true soldier, and cuts up the _esprit
de corps_ which we Highland troops have imbibed so strongly.  I heard
that he had married an English heiress, and now commands some foreign
battalion in our service up the Mediterranean."

"The Greek Light Infantry."

"A splendid climate, their station.  Little drill and duty,—wine to be
had like water; and then the white-bosomed Grecian girls, with their
bare ankles and black eyes!  Ah! it beats Egypt, which is a very good
place to live in, if one is a sheikh or pacha.  And so you are really a
nephew of my old crony and bottle-companion, Lodowick Lisle?  I remember
his first joining us at Aberdeen, when we were embodied in 1794. A
handsome fellow he was! standing six feet three in his shoes; but I
over-topped him by four inches."

"I have often heard him mention your name—Colin Campbell, at Inchavon,
with terms of singular affection and respect."

"Have you, really?  Honest Lodowick," replied the major, his eyes
glistening.  "Would that I had something in my canteen to drink his
health with!  Did he ever tell you of our march to Grand Cairo, when we
were in Egypt with Sir Ralph?"

"I do not remember."

"’Twas a most harassing affair, I assure you."

"Now for an Egyptian story," thought Ronald, observing the major
composing his vast bulk more easily in his saddle.

"It was sad work, Mr. Lisle, marching over dusty plains of burning sand;
the scorching sun glaring fiercely above us in a cloudless sky,
blistering and stripping the skin from our bare legs and faces; while
our parched throats were dry and cracked, but not a drop of water could
be found to moisten them with in the accursed desert through which we
marched.  Our shoes were worn out completely, and the hot rough sand
burned our feet to the bone; and I assure you we were in a most
miserable state when we halted among the mosques and spires, the gaudy
kiosks and flowery gardens of Grand Cairo,—a place which at a distance
appears like a city of candlesticks and inverted punch-bowls.  Old
Wallace, the quarter-master, (a queer old carle he was,) was sent about
to provide shoes for the corps, who, by his exertions, were in a short
time all supplied with elegant pairs of Turkish slippers, embroidered
and laced, and turned up at the toes. Droll-looking brogues they were,
certainly, for the Gordon Highlanders, in their gartered hose and
filleadh-begs; yet, certes, they were better than nothing.  But I was
not so lucky as the rest. In all Grand Cairo there was not a pair of
their canoe-looking slippers to be found which would suit me,—my foot,
you see, is a size above a young lady’s.  And so I might have marched
the next day in my tartan hose, had not Osmin Djihoun, a shoemaker,
(whose shop occupied the very site of the great temple of Serapis, which
was destroyed by Theophilus the patriarch,—as you, having just come from
school, will remember,—) undertaken to produce me a pair of shoes by
next morning under terror of the bastinado and bow-string, which the
Sheik-el-Beled, or governor of the city, threatened duly to administer
if he failed to do."

"Well, major; and your next day’s march passed over in comfort?" asked
Ronald, who had listened with impatience to this story.

"Comparatively so.  Another affair I could tell you of, in which
Ludowick Lisle bore a part. It happened at the Diamond Isle.  The
Diamond Isle, you must know, is a place at the mouth of the new port of
Iskandrieh, as the Arabs call the city of Alexander the Great.  Old
Ludowick and I——"

"The baggage has all passed, major.  You will scarcely overtake your
command by sunset, if you wait to tell us _that_ story; it is very long,
but nevertheless, very interesting.  I have heard it some dozen times."

"A good story," replied Campbell composedly, "cannot be told too often.
Therefore, the Diamond Isle—"  But I will not insert here the worthy
major’s story, which he obstinately related, and with, all the tedious
prolixity and feeling of entire self-satisfaction that every old soldier
displays in the narration of some personal adventure.

"By the by, Stuart," said he, as he concluded, "have you any thing in
the pig-skin I see lying near the fire yonder?"

"Not a drop; otherwise it should have been offered long ago.  I am sorry
’tis empty; but not expecting visitors, the last drain was squeezed out
last night."

"_Carajo_!  Well, Lisle, and how are all the depot?  How’s old
Inverugie, and Rosse of Beinderig,—the _Barba-Roxo_, as the dons used to
call him?"

"All well when I left."

"Glad to hear so,—jovial old Egyptians they are; many a cask of Islay
and true Ferintosh we have drunk together, and, through God’s help, many
more I hope to drink with them.  The very idea of the smoking toddy—the
lemons and nutmeg, makes me confoundedly thirsty."

"Doubtless, major, you had a morning draught at Merida?"

"The devil the drop, Stuart; but very nearly a wame full of cold
pewter,—and ounce balls are hard to digest."

"How!  What occurred?"

"It was unluckily my turn to be field-officer of the guard over this
infernal baggage, which, as we are retreating, moves of course in front
of the column.  We advanced as fast as possible to get into Merida,
hoping to halt there and refresh.  As we approached the bridge, I was
drawing pleasant visions of the dark purple wine in the borachio skins
at the wine-sellers in the Plaza, and was thinking of the long-gulping
draught of the cool Malmsey liquor I would enjoy there; when bang—whizz,
came a bullet from the carbine of a French vidette, who appeared
suddenly before us at the bridge-end.  My belt-plate turned the shot, or
else there would be a majority vacant at this hour in the Gordon
Highlanders.  The same thing happened to me once in Egypt, when I was
there with Sir Ralph.  I will tell you how it was."

"I would rather hear it at the halt, major, if it be all the same to
you," said Ronald, interrupting the prosy field-officer without
ceremony.  "Well, and this vidette?  His shot—"

"Caused a devil of a commotion among my motley command.  The ladies
shrieked and galloped off, the children cried in concert, the donkeys
and mules kicked and plunged, the drivers lashed, and swore, and prayed,
while the guard began to fire.  I knew not what to do, when up came the
9th and Germans, sword in hand, sweeping on like wildfire; and entering
the city, after a little fighting and a great deal of shouting and
swearing, captured a hundred and fifty French lancers, all in their
shirts.  Their quarter-guard alone escaped by swimming the Guadiana; but
their _chef d’escadre_, a French colonel, the Baron Clappourknuis, was
taken in his saddle. You will see him when Sir Rowland comes up. But I
must ride hard now, and regain my straggling command, which has left me
far in the rear. Adieu, lads, adieu!" and away he went at a hand-gallop.

In a short time, the long line of dust which appeared in sight announced
the approach of the division; and the bright steel points of
standard-poles, of pikes[*] and bayonets, glanced "momentarily to the
sun" as they advanced across the level plain.  About a quarter of a mile
off, moving forward on the right and left, appeared two dark masses of
armed horse—Colonel Campbell’s brigade of Portuguese cavalry, covering
the flanks of the infantry.  Eagerly did Stuart watch the dark forest of
waving feathers which distinguished his own regiment, while he awaited
their arrival standing apart from Louis Lisle, who eyed him with an
expression of anger and disquiet.  Since the departure of Campbell,
neither had addressed a word to the other, and both felt how exceedingly
irksome and disagreeable was this assumed indifference, this appearance
of hauteur and coldness.


[*] Carried by Serjeants at that time, instead of the fusee and bayonet
now in use.



                             END OF VOL. I.



                                LONDON:
         Maurice and Co., Howford buildings, Fenchurch-street.