A NIGHT ON THE AZAVA.

Massena was now recalled, and Marmont, having assumed the command of the French, army, retired towards Salamanca, while our troops went into cantonments upon the Aguada. A period of inaction succeeded to our previous life of bustle and excitement, and the whole interest of the campaign was now centred in Beresford’s army, exposed to Soult in Estramadura.

On the 15th Lord Wellington set out for that province, having already directed a strong force to march upon Badajos.

“Well, O’Malley,” said Crawfurd, as he returned from bidding Lord Wellington good-by, “your business is all right; the commander-in-chief has signed my recommendation, and you will get your troop.”

While I continued to express my grateful acknowledgments for his kindness, the general, apparently inattentive to all I was saying, paced the room with hurried steps, stopping every now and then to glance at a large map of Spain which covered one wall of the apartment, while he muttered to himself some broken and disjointed sentences.

“Eight leagues—too weak in cavalry—with the left upon Fuenta Grenaldo—a strong position. O’Malley, you’ll take a troop of dragoons and patrol the country towards Castro; you’ll reconnoitre the position the Sixth Corps occupies, but avoid any collision with the enemy’s pickets, keeping the Azava between you and them. Take rations for three days.”

“When shall I set out, sir?”

“Now!” was the reply.

Knowing with what pleasure the hardy veteran recognized anything like alacrity and despatch, I resolved to gratify him; and before half an hour had elapsed, was ready with my troop to receive his final orders.

“Well done, boy!” said he, as he came to the door of the hut, “you’ve lost no time. I don’t believe I have any further instructions to give you; to ascertain as far as possible the probable movement of the enemy is my object, that’s all.” As he spoke this, he waved his hand, and wishing me “Good-by,” walked leisurely back into the house. I saw that his mind was occupied by other thoughts; and although I desired to obtain some more accurate information for my guidance, knowing his dislike to questions, I merely returned his salute, and set forth upon my journey.

The morning was beautiful; the sun had risen about an hour, and the earth, refreshed by the heavy dew of the night, was breathing forth all its luxuriant fragrance. The river which flowed beside us was clear as crystal, showing beneath its eddying current the shining, pebbly bed, while upon the surface, the water-lilies floated or sank as the motion of the stream inclined. The tall cork-trees spread their shadows about us, and the richly plumed birds hopped from branch to branch awaking the echoes with their notes.

It is but seldom that the heart of man is thoroughly attuned to the circumstances of the scenery around him. How often do we need a struggle with ourselves to enjoy the rich and beautiful landscape which lies smiling in its freshness before us! How frequently do the blue sky and the calm air look down upon the heart darkened and shadowed with affliction! And how often have we felt the discrepancy between the lowering look of winter and the glad sunshine of our hearts! The harmony of the world without with our thoughts within is one of the purest, as it is one of the greatest, sources of happiness. Our hopes and our ambitions lose their selfish character when we feel that fortune smiles upon us from all around, and the flattery which speaks to our hearts from the bright stars and the blue sky, the peaked mountain or the humble flower, is greater in its mute eloquence than all the tongue of man can tell us.

This feeling did I experience in all its fulness as I ruminated upon my bettered fortunes, and felt within myself that secret instinct that tells of happiness to come. In such moods of mind my thoughts strayed ever homewards, and I could not help confessing how little were all my successes in my eyes, did I not-hope for the day when I should pour forth my tale of war and battle-field to the ears of those who loved me.

I resolved to write home at once to my uncle. I longed to tell him each incident of my career, and my heart glowed as I thought over the broken and disjointed sentences which every cotter around would whisper of my fortunes, far prouder as they would be in the humble deeds of one they knew, than in the proudest triumphs of a nation’s glory.

Indeed, Mike himself gave the current to my thoughts. After riding beside me for some time in silence, he remarked,—

“And isn’t it Father Rush will be proud when he sees your honor’s a captain; to think of the little boy that he used to take before him on the ould gray mare for a ride down the avenue,—to think of him being a real captain, six feet two without his boots, and galloping over the French as if they were lurchers! Peggy Mahon, that nursed you, will be the proud woman the day she hears it; and there won’t be a soldier sober in his quarters that night in Portumna barracks! ‘Pon my soul, there’s not a thing with a red coat on it, if it was even a scarecrow to frighten the birds from the barley, that won’t be treated with respect when they hear of the news.”

The country through which we travelled was marked at every step by the traces of a retreating army: the fields of rich corn lay flattened beneath the tramp of cavalry, or the wheels of the baggage-wagons; the roads, cut up and nearly impassable, were studded here and there with marks which indicated a bivouac. At the same time, everything around bore a very different aspect from what we had observed in Portugal; there, the vindictive cruelty of the French soldiery had been seen in full sway: the ruined chÂteau, the burned villages, the desecrated altars, the murdered peasantry,—all attested the revengeful spirit of a beaten and baffled enemy. No sooner, however, had they crossed the frontiers, than, as if by magic, their character became totally changed. Discipline and obedience succeeded to recklessness and pillage; and instead of treating the natives with, inhumanity and cruelty, in all their intercourse with the Spaniards the French behaved with moderation and even kindness. Paying for everything, obtaining their billets peaceably and quietly, marching with order and regularity, they advanced into the heart of the country, showing, by the most irrefragable proof, the astonishing evidences of a discipline which, by a word, could convert the lawless irregularities of a ruffian soldiery into the orderly habits and obedient conduct of a highly-organized army.

As we neared the Azava, the tracks of the retiring enemy became gradually less perceptible, and the country, uninjured by the march, extended for miles around us in all the richness and abundance of a favored climate. The tall corn, waving its yellow gold, reflected like a sea the clouds that moved slowly above it. The wild gentian and the laurel grew thickly around, and the cattle stood basking in the clear streams, while some listless peasant lounged upon the bank beside them. Strange as all these evidences of peace and tranquillity were, so near to the devastating track of a mighty army, yet I have more than once witnessed the fact, and remarked how, but a short distance from the line of our hurried march, the country lay untouched and uninjured; and though the clank of arms and the dull roll of the artillery may have struck upon the ear of the far-off dweller in his native valley, he listened as he would have done to the passing thunder as it crashed above him; and when the bright sky and pure air succeeded to the lowering atmosphere and the darkening storm, he looked forth upon his smiling fields and happy home, while he muttered to his heart a prayer of thanksgiving that the scourge was passed.

We bivouacked upon the bank of the river, a truly Salvator Rosa scene; the rocks, towering high above us, were fissured by the channel of many a trickling stream, seeking, in its zigzag current, the bright river below. The dark pine-tree and the oak mingled their foliage with the graceful cedar, which spread its fan-like branches about us. Through the thick shade some occasional glimpses of a starry sky could yet be seen, and a faint yellow streak upon the silent river told that the queen of night was there.

When I had eaten my frugal supper, I wandered forth alone upon the bank of the stream, now standing to watch its bold sweeps as it traversed the lonely valley before me, now turning to catch a passing glance at our red watch-fires and the hardy features which sat around. The hoarse and careless laugh, the deep-toned voice of some old campaigner holding forth his tale of flood and field, were the only sounds I heard; and gradually I strolled beyond the reach of even these. The path beside the river, which seemed scarped from the rock, was barely sufficient for the passage of one man, a rude balustrade of wood being the only defence against the precipice, which, from a height of full thirty feet, looked down upon the stream. Here and there some broad gleam of moonlight would fall upon the opposite bank, which, unlike the one I occupied, stretched out into rich meadow and pasturage, broken by occasional clumps of ilex and beech. River scenery has been ever a passion with me. I can glory in the bold and broken outline of a mighty mountain; I can gaze with delighted eyes upon the boundless seas, and know not whether to like it more in all the mighty outpouring of its wrath, when the white waves lift their heads to heaven and break themselves in foam upon the rocky beach, or in the calm beauty of its broad and mirrored surface, in which the bright world of sun and sky are seen full many a fathom deep. But far before these, I love the happy and tranquil beauty of some bright river, tracing its winding current through valley and through plain, now spreading into some calm and waveless lake, now narrowing to an eddying stream with mossy rocks and waving trees darkening over it. There’s not a hut, however lowly, where the net of the fisherman is stretched upon the sward, around whose hearth I do not picture before me the faces of happy toil and humble contentment, while, from the ruined tower upon the crag, methinks I hear the ancient sounds of wassail and of welcome; and though the keep be fissured and the curtain fallen, and though for banner there “waves some tall wall-flower,” I can people its crumbling walls with images of the past; and the merry laugh of the warder, and the clanking tread of the mailed warrior, are as palpably before me as the tangled lichen that now trails from its battlements.

As I wandered on, I reached the little rustic stair which led downward from the path to the river’s side; and on examining farther, perceived that at this place the stream was fordable; a huge flat rock, filling up a great part of the river’s bed, occupied the middle, on either side of which the current ran with increased force.

Bent upon exploring, I descended the cliff, and was preparing to cross, when my attention was attracted by the twinkle of a fire at some distance from me, on the opposite side; the flame rose and fell in fitful flashes, as though some hand were ministering to it at the moment. As it was impossible, from the silence on every side, that it could proceed from a bivouac of the enemy, I resolved on approaching it, and examining it for myself. I knew that the shepherds in remote districts were accustomed thus to pass the summer nights, with no other covering save the blue vault above them. It was not impossible, too, that it might prove a Guerilla party, who frequently, in small numbers, hang upon the rear of a retreating army. Thus conjecturing, I crossed the stream, and quickening my pace, walked forward in the direction of the blaze. For a moment a projecting rock obstructed my progress; and while I was devising some means of proceeding farther, the sound of voices near me arrested my attention. I listened, and what was my astonishment to hear that they spoke in French. I now crept cautiously to the verge of the rock and looked over; the moon was streaming in its full brilliancy upon a little shelving strand beside the stream, and here I now beheld the figure of a French officer. He was habited in the undress uniform of a chasseur Á cheval, but wore no arms; indeed his occupation at the moment was anything but a warlike one, he being leisurely employed in collecting some flasks of champagne which apparently had been left to cool within the stream.

“Eh bien, Alphonse!” said a voice in the direction of the fire, “what are you delaying for?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” said the other; “but, par Dieu! I can only find five of our bottles; one seems to have been carried away by the stream.”

“No matter,” replied the other, “we are but three of us, and one is, or should be, on the sick list.”

The only answer to this was the muttered chorus of a French drinking-song, interrupted at intervals by an imprecation upon the missing flask. It chanced, at this moment, that a slight clinking noise attracted me, and on looking down, I perceived at the foot of the rock the prize he sought for. It had been, as he conceived, carried away by an eddy of the stream and was borne, as a true prisoner-of-war, within my grasp. I avow that from this moment my interest in the scene became considerably heightened; such a waif as a bottle of champagne was not to be despised in circumstances like mine; and I watched with anxious eyes every gesture of the impatient Frenchman, and alternately vibrated between hope and fear, as he neared or receded from the missing flask.

“Let it go to the devil,” shouted his companion, once more. “Jacques has lost all patience with you.”

“Be it so, then,” said the other, as he prepared to take up his burden. At this instant I made a slight effort so to change my position as to obtain a view of the rest of the party. The branch by which I supported myself, however, gave way beneath my grasp with a loud crash. I lost my footing, and slipping downward from the rock, came plump into the stream below. The noise, the splash, and more than all, the sudden appearance of a man beside him, astounded the Frenchman, who almost let fall his pannier, and thus we stood confronting each other for at least a couple of minutes in silence. A hearty burst of laughter from both parties terminated this awkward moment, while the Frenchman, with the readiness of his country, was the first to open the negotiation.

“SacrÉ Dieu!” said he, “what can you be doing here? You’re English, without doubt.”

“Even so,” said I; “but that is the very question I was about to ask you; what are you doing here?”

“Eh bien,” replied the other, gayly, “you shall be answered in all frankness. Our captain was wounded in the action of the 8th, and we heard had been carried up the country by some peasants. As the army fell back, we obtained permission to go in search of him. For two days all was fruitless; the peasantry fled at our approach; and although we captured some of our stolen property—among other things, the contents of this basket—yet we never came upon the track of our comrade till this evening. A good-hearted shepherd had taken him to his hut, and treated him with every kindness, but no sooner did he hear the gallop of our horses and the clank of our equipments, than, fearing himself to be made a prisoner, he fled up the mountains, leaving our friend behind him; voilÀ notre histoire. Here we are, three in all, one of us with a deep sabre-cut in his shoulder. If you are the stronger party, we are, I suppose, your prisoners; if not—”

What was to have followed I know not, for at this moment his companion, who had finally lost all patience, came suddenly to the spot.

“A prisoner,” cried he, placing a heavy hand upon my shoulder, while with the other he held his drawn sword pointed towards my breast.

To draw a pistol from my bosom was the work of a second; and while gently turning the point of his weapon away, I coolly said,—

“Not so fast, my friend, not so fast! The game is in my hands, not yours. I have only to pull this trigger, and my dragoons are upon you; whatever fate befall me, yours is certain.”

A half-scornful laugh betrayed the incredulity of him I addressed, while the other, apparently anxious to relieve the awkwardness of the moment, suddenly broke in with,—

“He is right, Auguste, and you are wrong; we are in his power; that is,” added he, smiling, “if he believes there is any triumph in capturing such pauvres diables as ourselves.”

The features of him he addressed suddenly lost their scornful expression, and sheathing his sword with an air of almost melodramatic solemnity, he gravely pulled up his mustaches, and after a pause of a few seconds, solemnly ejaculated a malediction upon his fortune.

“C’est toujours ainsi,” said he, with a bitterness that only a Frenchman can convey when cursing his destiny. “Soyez bon enfant, and see what will come of it. Only be good-natured, only be kind, and if you haven’t bad luck at the end of it, it’s only because fortune has a heavier stroke in reserve for you hereafter.”

I could not help smiling at the Frenchman’s philosophy, which, assuming as a good augury, he gayly said, “So, then, you’ll not make us prisoners. Isn’t it so?”

“Prisoners,” said the other, “nothing of the kind. Come and sup with us; I’ll venture to say our larder is as well stocked as your own; in any case an omelette, a cold chicken, and a glass of champagne are not bad things in our circumstances.”

I could not help laughing outright at the strangeness of the proposal. “I fear I must decline,” said I; “you seem to forget I am placed here to watch, not to join you.”

“A la bonne heure,” cried the younger of the two; “do both. Come along; soyez bon camarade; you are always near your own people, so don’t refuse us.”

In proportion as I declined, they both became more pressing in their entreaties, and at last, I began to dread lest my refusal might seem to proceed from some fear as to the good faith of the invitation, and I never felt so awkwardly placed as when one plumply pressed me by saying,—

“Mais pourquoi pas, mon cher?”

I stammered out something about duty and discipline, when they both interrupted me by a long burst of laughter.

“Come, come!” said they; “in an hour—in half an hour, if you will—you shall be back with your own people. We’ve had plenty of fighting latterly, and we are likely to have enough in future; we know something of each other by this time in the field; let us see how we get on in the bivouac!”

Resolving not to be outdone in generosity, I replied at once, “Here goes, then!”

Five minutes afterwards I found myself seated at their bivouac fire. The captain, who was the oldest of the party, was a fine soldier-like fellow of some forty years old; he had served in the Imperial Guard through all the campaigns of Italy and Austria, and abounded in anecdotes of the French army. From him I learned many of those characteristic traits which so eminently distinguish the imperial troops, and saw how completely their bravest and boldest feats of arms depended upon the personal valor of him who led them on. From the daring enterprise of Napoleon at Lodi to the conduct of the lowest corporal in the grande armÉe, the picture presents nothing but a series of brilliant and splendid chivalry; while, at the same time, the warlike character of the nation is displayed by that instinctive appreciation of courage and daring which teaches them to follow their officers to the very cannon’s mouth.

“It was at Elchingen,” said the captain, “you should have seen them. The regiment in which I was a lieutenant was ordered to form close column, and charge through a narrow ravine to carry a brigade of guns, which, by a flanking fire, were devastating our troops. Before we could reach the causeway, we were obliged to pass an open plain in which the ground dipped for about a hundred yards; the column moved on, and though it descended one hill, not a man ever mounted the opposite one. A very avalanche of balls swept the entire valley; and yet amidst the thunder and the smoke, the red glare of the artillery, and the carnage around them, our grenadiers marched firmly up. At last, Marshal Ney sent an aide-de-camp with orders to the troops to lie flat down, and in this position the artillery played over us for above half an hour. The Austrians gradually slackened, and finally discontinued their fire; this was the moment to resume the attack. I crept cautiously to my knees and looked about. One word brought my men around me; but I found to my horror that of a battalion who came into action fourteen hundred strong, not five hundred remained; and that I myself, a mere lieutenant, was now the senior officer of the regiment. Our gallant colonel lay dead beside my feet. At this instant a thought struck me. I remembered a habit he possessed in moments of difficulty and danger, of placing in his shako a small red plume which he commonly carried in his belt. I searched for it, and found it. As I held it aloft, a maddening cheer burst around me, while from out the line each officer sprang madly forward, and rushed to the head of the column. It was no longer a march. With a loud cry of vengeance, the mass rushed forward, the men trying to outstrip their officers, and come first in contact with the foe. Like tigers on the spring, they fell upon the enemy, who, crushed, overwhelmed, and massacred, lay in slaughtered heaps around the cannon. The cavalry of the Guard came thundering on behind us; a whole division followed; and three thousand five hundred prisoners, and fourteen pieces of artillery were captured.

“I sat upon the carriage of a gun, my face begrimed with powder, and my uniform blackened and blood-stained. The whole thing appeared like some shocking dream. I felt a hand upon my shoulder, while a rough voice called in my ear, ‘Capitaine du soixante-neuviÈme, tu es mon frÈre!’

“It was Ney who spoke. This,” added the brave captain, his eyes filling as he said the words,—“this is the sabre he gave me.”

I know not why I have narrated this anecdote; it has little in itself, but somehow, to me it brings back in all its fulness the recollection of that night.

There was something so strongly characteristic of the old Napoleonist in the tone of his narrative that I listened throughout with breathless attention. I began to feel too, for the first time, what a powerful arm in war the Emperor had created by fostering the spirit of individual enterprise. The field thus opened to fame and distinction left no bounds to the ambition of any. The humble conscript, as he tore himself from the embraces of his mother, wiped his tearful eyes to see before him in the distance the bÂton of a marshal. The bold soldier who stormed a battery felt his heart beat more proudly and more securely beneath the cordon of the Legion than behind a cuirass of steel; and to a people in whom the sense of duty alone would seem cold, barren, and inglorious, he had substituted a highly-wrought chivalrous enthusiasm; and by the prestige of his own name, the proud memory of his battles, and the glory of those mighty tournaments at which all Europe were the spectators, he had converted a nation into an army.

By a silent and instinctive compact we appeared to avoid those topics of the campaign in which the honor of our respective arms was interested; and once, when, by mere accident, the youngest of the party adverted to Fuentes d’Onoro, the old captain adroitly turned the current of the conversation by saying, “Come, Alphonse, let’s have a song.”

“Yes,” said the other. “Les Pas de Charge.”

“No, no,” said the captain; “if I am to have a choice, let it be that little Breton song you gave us on the Danube.”

“So be it then,” said Alphonse. “Here goes!”

I have endeavored to convey, by a translation, the words he sang; but I feel conscious how totally their feeling and simplicity are lost when deprived of their own patois, and the wild but touching melody that accompanied them.

There was a pause as he concluded, each sank in his own reflections. How long we should have thus remained, I know not; but we were speedily aroused from our reveries by the tramp of horses near us. We listened, and could plainly detect in their rude voices and coarse laughter the approach of a body of Guerillas. We looked from one to the other in silence and in fear. Nothing could be more unfortunate should we be discovered. Upon this point we were left little time to deliberate; for with a loud cheer, four Spanish horsemen galloped up to the spot, their carbines in the rest. The Frenchmen sprang to their feet, and seized their sabres, bent upon making a resolute resistance. As for me, my determination was at once taken. Remaining quietly seated upon the grass, I stirred not for a moment, but addressing him who appeared to be the chief of the Guerillas, said, in Spanish:—

“These are my prisoners; I am a British officer of dragoons, and my party is yonder.”

This evidently unexpected declaration seemed to surprise them, and they conferred for a few moments together. Meanwhile they were joined by two others, in one of whom we could recognize, by his costume, the real leader of the party.

“I am captain in the light dragoons,” said I, repeating my declaration.

“Morte de Dios!” replied he; “it is false; you are a spy!”

The word was repeated from lip to lip by his party, and I saw, in their lowering looks and darkened features, that the moment was a critical one for me.

“Down with your arms!” cried he, turning to the Frenchmen. “Surrender yourselves our prisoners; I’ll not bid ye twice!”

The Frenchmen turned upon me an inquiring look, as though to say that upon me now their hopes entirely reposed.

“Do as he bids you,” said I; while at the same moment I sprang to my legs, and gave a loud, shrill whistle, the last echo of which had not died away in the distance ere it was replied to.

“Make no resistance now,” said I to the Frenchmen; “our safety depends on this.”

While this was passing two of the Spaniards had dismounted, and detaching a coil of rope which hung from their saddle-peak, were proceeding to tie the prisoners wrist to wrist; the others, with their carbines to the shoulder, covered us man by man, the chief of the party having singled out me as his peculiar prey.

“The fate of Mascarenhas might have taught you better,” said he, “than to play this game.” And then added with a grim smile, “But we’ll see if an Englishman will not make as good a carbonado as a Portuguese!”

This cruel speech made my blood run cold, for I knew well to what he alluded. I was at Lisbon at the time it happened, but the melancholy fate of Julian Mascarenhas, the Portuguese spy, had reached me there. He was burned to death at Torres Vedras!

The Spaniard’s triumph over my terror was short-lived, indeed, for scarcely had the words fallen from his lips, when a party of the Fourteenth, dashing through the river at a gallop, came riding up. The attitude of the Guerillas, as they sat with presented arms, was sufficient for my fellows who needed not the exhortation of him who rode foremost of the party:—

“Ride them down, boys! Tumble them over! Flatten their broad beavers, the infernal thieves!”

“Whoop!” shouted Mike, as he rode at the chief with the force of a catapult. Down went the Spaniard, horse and all; and before he could disentangle himself, Mike was upon him, his knee pressed upon his neck.

“Isn’t it enough for ye to pillage the whole country without robbing the king’s throops!” cried he, as he held him fast to the earth with one hand, while he presented a loaded pistol to his face.

By this time the scene around me was sufficiently ludicrous. Such of the Guerillas as had not been thrown by force from their saddles, had slid peaceably down, and depositing their arms upon the ground, dropped upon their knees in a semicircle around us, and amidst the hoarse laughter of the troopers, and the irrepressible merriment of the Frenchmen, rose up the muttered prayers of the miserable Spaniards, who believed that now their last hour was come.

“Madre de Dios, indeed!” cried Mike, imitating the tone of a repentant old sinner in a patched mantle; “it’s much the blessed Virgin thinks of the like o’ ye, thieves and rogues as ye are; it a’most puts me beyond my senses to see ye there crossing yourselves like rale Christians.”

If I could not help indulging myself in this retributive cruelty towards the chief, and leaving him to the tender mercies of Mike, I ordered the others to rise and form in line before me. Affecting to occupy myself entirely with them, I withdrew the attention of all from the French officers, who remained quiet spectators of the scene around them.

“Point de faÇons, gentlemen,” said I, in a whisper. “Get to your horses and away! Now’s your time. Good-by!”

A warm grasp of the hand from each was the only reply, and I turned once more to my discomforted friends the Guerillas.

“There, Mike, let the poor devil rise. I confess appearances were strong against me just now.”

“Well, Captain, are you convinced by this time that I was not deceiving you?”

The Guerilla muttered some words of apology between his teeth, and while he shook the dust from his cloak, and arranged the broken feather of his hat, cast a look of scowling and indignant meaning upon Mike, whose rough treatment he had evidently not forgiven.

“Don’t be looking at me that way, you black thief! or I’ll—”

“Hold there!” said I; “no more of this. Come, gentlemen, we must be friends. If I mistake not, we’ve got something like refreshment at our bivouac. In any case you’ll partake of our watch-fire till morning.”

They gladly accepted our invitation, and ere half an hour elapsed Mike’s performance in the part of host had completely erased every unpleasant impression his first appearance gave rise to; and as for myself, when I did sleep at last, the confused mixture of Spanish and Irish airs which issued from the thicket beside me, proved that a most intimate alliance had grown up between the parties.