Soon after our army left Badajos, the remarkable and interesting adventures of Sir Colquhoun Grant, who was an officer in our army, attracted general attention; and, though I did not myself learn all the particulars I am about to relate until after my return from the continent, they are in themselves of so interesting a nature, and so closely connected with the success of our arms in the Peninsula, that I trust my readers will deem these reasons a sufficient excuse for their introduction here.

Intelligence had been brought to our commander that the army of Portugal, under Marmont, was concentrating on the Tormes, and that they were intending to attack the fortresses of Almeida and Ciudad. If this was indeed so, it was all-important that he should immediately march to their relief, as their garrisons and stores were far too weak to sustain an attack or stand a siege. But, as Wellington could not believe that the French general would take what seemed to him so imprudent a course, he suspected that this information was only a ruse to draw him from his position. It was absolutely necessary that he should know the truth. Among his troops was an officer named Colquhoun Grant. Gentlemanly and peculiarly attractive in his manners, bold even to the utmost daring, and yet with so much subtlety of genius, tempered with the wisest discretion, he seemed exactly fitted by nature for the dangerous and delicate office which our commander-in-chief intrusted to him, which was to watch Marmont’s proceedings, and, if possible, to learn his true intentions. He secured the services of a Spanish peasant, named Leon, whose own life it had been his good fortune to preserve in a skirmish, and whose only sister Grant had rescued from the guerillas, just as they were bearing her off. So grateful was poor Leon, that he esteemed himself only too happy in being allowed to share his master’s danger in this perilous enterprise. Having passed the Tormes in the night, as morning was breaking, he rode boldly up to the French camp, dressed in his own uniform and followed by his servant. In answer to the challenge of the sentinel on duty, he informed him that he was the bearer of a message to one of the principal officers of the French army, and was admitted without hesitation. The wife of this officer had accompanied her husband to Spain, and was in Badajos at the time of its surrender. During the excesses which followed, her house was entered by some ruffians, and she would have fallen a victim to their rage, had it not been for the timely interference of Grant, who rescued her from her assailants, and bore her to a place of comparative safety. As a small memento of her gratitude, when the army left, she wrote him a note expressing her heartfelt thanks, and accompanied it by a valuable ring. Armed with the note and ring, he proceeded at once to the tent of the officer, who gladly received him as the bearer of information from his wife, and invited him to share the hospitalities of the camp. Here he remained for three days, and, by his adroitness in conversation, obtained exact information as to Marmont’s object, and the preparation he had made, both of provisions and scaling-ladders. While there, each day a Spanish peasant made his appearance in the camp, laden with fruit for sale; and while Grant was apparently busy in purchasing, he conveyed to him notes of his information, which were immediately carried to Wellington. Just before the night sentinels had taken their posts on the third evening, while he was in earnest conversation with a number of the French officers, he heard the low signal of the peasant outside the tent. He succeeded in excusing his absence in such a manner as not to attract observation, and received the alarming intelligence that he was known to be in the French cantonments, and that a general order was even now circulating, giving a description of his person, and commanding the soldiers to use their utmost exertions to secure him. Guards had already been stationed in a circle round the army, and escape seemed impossible. Not a moment was to be lost. Leaving his horse with Leon, who was to meet him at Huerta at daybreak, he crept past the sleeping soldiers, and succeeded in reaching that village undiscovered. But it was now daybreak, and the outward circle of the guards was yet to be passed. Before him lay a deep river, fordable only at one point, and along which videttes were posted, constantly patrolling back and forward, meeting at the ford, while the whole battalion was engaged in the search. Yet these difficulties did not daunt him. Leon and Grant met at the house of a peasant, one of his agents, who had several of his friends, wrapped in their large Spanish cloaks, ready to assist him. They advanced towards the ford, one of them leading his horse, and the others spreading their cloaks, as if estimating their comparative width. Under this cover, he stole along down to the ford. Here, waiting until the sentinels had separated their utmost distance, which was three hundred yards, he boldly mounted his horse, and dashed into the river. They both fired, but without success, and, without stopping to reload, pursued him. A wood lay directly before him. This covert he reached in safety, and was soon hid in its recesses. Here his faithful Leon joined him, and all pursuit of both was baffled. Grant here ascertained that the French were preparing to storm Ciudad Rodrigo, or, at least, that they conversed freely of doing so. From this fact, he judged it might be only a mask of their real intentions. These, if possible, together with their numbers and the direction of their march, he wished to discover. He therefore concealed himself in the branches of a high tree, just where the road directs its course to the passes, and beneath which the whole army must proceed. Here he counted every battalion and gun, and found that their course was directed against Ciudad. When the last soldier was out of sight, he descended from the tree, and, entering the village they had just left, he discovered all the scaling-ladders securely stored. He immediately wrote to Wellington that he need have no fears for that fortress.

His next object was to discover whether Marmont was marching upon Castello Branco or Coimbra. To reach the former place, it was necessary to descend to the pass by a succession of ridges. He stationed himself on one of the lowest of these, thinking that the dwarf oaks, of which there was here a thick growth, would hide him; but, as the French officers were descending from the ridge above, they happened to spy him with their glasses, and despatched some dragoons in pursuit. Leon’s lynx eyes, always on the watch, soon perceived them, and, alarming his master, they rode forward a short distance, and then wheeled in another direction. But now the alarm had spread, and all over the wood the soldiers were engaged in eager search. Finding every pass beset by their enemies, they left their horses, and fled on foot through the thickest of the oaks. But these were not thick enough to veil them from the officers, on the higher ridges, who, by the waving of their hats, directed the chase. Efforts like these could not last long. Leon fell, exhausted, and Grant refused to yield to his entreaties to leave him. The enemy soon made their appearance, and, in despite of the earnest entreaties and prayers of Grant, they killed poor Leon, and carried Grant to Marmont’s tent. This general received him apparently with much kindness, and invited him to dinner. While seated at the table, he conversed freely with his prisoner, but closed by exacting from him a parole that he would not suffer himself to be released by the Partidas while passing through Spain. When Wellington discovered the capture of this faithful servant, he offered a reward of two thousand dollars to any one who would release him. Marmont then placed his prisoner under a strong escort, and sent him to France. He also sent with him a letter to the governor of Bayonne, designating him as a dangerous spy, and recommending the governor to send him, in irons, immediately to Paris. The gentlemanly conduct of Grant, during his journey, and his lion-hearted bravery, so won upon the esteem of one of the officers of his escort, that he acquainted him with the contents of the letter, before reaching Bayonne. It was the custom for the prisoners, on their arrival in this city, to wait on the authorities, and procure a passport to Verdun. His friend the officer succeeded in delaying the delivery of Marmont’s letter until these formalities had been attended to. Grant’s object then would be to rejoin his regiment in Spain; but he well knew that the search for him would be made in that direction. He, therefore, resolved to go to Paris, because he judged that if the governor of Bayonne did not succeed in recapturing him, he would, for his own security, suppress the letter, in hopes the matter would be no further thought of. He therefore went directly to the hotels, and, finding that General Souham was going there on his return from Spain, he boldly introduced himself, and requested permission to join his party. Now, Souham had often heard of Grant, and was extremely pleased to make his acquaintance, and of course yielded a ready assent to his proposal. On their way, he conversed freely with him about his adventures, little thinking that he was aiding him in one of the most skilful of them all. While passing through Orleans, he had the good fortune to meet an English agent, who gave him a recommendation to another secret agent in Paris, whose assistance would be of great use to him in effecting his final escape. When he arrived in Paris, he took his leave of Souham, and then went directly to the house of the Parisian agent. This gentleman received him with much kindness, and having ascertained that no inquiry had been set on foot about his escape, furnished him with a sum of money, and recommended to him to take rooms in a very public street, and to attend and be interested in the amusements of the city. He even appeared at the theatres, and frequented the coffee-houses, as his friend was connected with the police, and would give him seasonable warning, in case he should be suspected. Several weeks passed away in this manner, when it so happened that an American—one of his fellow-lodgers who was just preparing to return home—was taken suddenly ill, and died. The evening before his death, as Grant was sitting by his side, his passport was brought to him, and laid upon a table near. It occurred to Grant, that, in case of his death, he might possess himself of this passport without injury to any one, which he accordingly did, and proceeded at once with it, unquestioned, to the mouth of the Loire. He was delighted to find here a ship just ready to sail for America. He went on board and engaged his passage, and was told that the ship would sail by noon. An hour had not elapsed, however, when a despatch was received from Paris, informing the captain that important reasons existed why he should delay his journey. The captain, annoyed by this interference with his views, mentioned it to his passengers; and Grant, seeing at once that he was in danger, threw himself upon the captain’s mercy, by frankly explaining to him his real situation. This officer kindly entered at once into his plans, advising him to assume the character of a discontented sailor. Grant then dressed as a sailor, and, with forty dollars in money which the captain gave him for that purpose, went to the American consul, and deposited in his hands the money, as a pledge that he would prosecute the captain for ill treatment, when he should arrive in the States. In return for this, the consul furnished him with the certificate of a discharged sailor, which permitted him to pass from port to port, as if in search of a ship. He wandered about thus for some days, when one day he saw a boatman sitting idly in his boat, apparently with nothing to do. He accosted him, and, thinking that he might be moulded to his purpose, he offered him ten Napoleons, if he would row him to a small island which appeared in the distance, where English ships often stopped to take in water. The boatman agreed to do so that night. The evening was fair, and the boat made rapid progress. Already the island rose upon their view in the distance, and beyond it loomed up the dark masts of the English vessel which was the harbor of safety and happiness to Grant. Already he had deemed himself almost beyond the reach of danger, when suddenly he perceived that the course of his guide was altered. He demanded the reason of this, but no answer was returned. Drawing a knife from his pocket, he was about to enforce his demand, when suddenly two men sprang up from the bottom of the boat, where they had been concealed, and he saw that to struggle against his fate would be useless. Still, his courage did not desert him. He would yet be free. The dastardly boatman offered to proceed to the island, if more money was paid him; but Grant, when he had promised his ten Napoleons, had spent the last of his little stock, and the boatman, notwithstanding his breach of contract, demanded the whole. This demand, with great coolness and the utmost resolution, was refused by Grant. One Napoleon he should have, but no more. The boatman threatened to denounce him to the police; but Grant, always prepared, told him, if he did, that he would at once accuse him of aiding the escape of a prisoner of war, and would adduce the great price of his boat as the proof of his guilt. This menace was too powerful to be resisted, and Grant was allowed to depart unmolested. In a few days Grant engaged a fisherman, who, with his son, pursued his calling on the coast, to carry him to the island. The bargain was this time faithfully performed; but fortune seemed everywhere against him. There was not a ship at the island, and it was far too small for him to venture to try concealment there. His next course was to exchange clothes with the fisherman’s son, and take his place in the boat. Having spent some time in fishing, they gradually bore off to the south, where rumor said a large English ship-of-war was to be found. In a few hours they obtained a glimpse of her, and were steering that way, when a shot from a coast battery brought them to a full stop, and a boat full of soldiers put off to board them. Hope again died away in the heart of the adventurous traveller, at that dreaded sight; but he would not yet despair. The boat drew near, and the fisherman, poor and needy, had now an opportunity of enriching himself, by denouncing his passenger. But the old man was true to his trust. He assured the soldiers that Grant was his son; and, convinced of this, they only warned him not to go out of the reach of the guns of the battery, because the English vessel was on the coast. But the fisherman, having given all the fish he had caught to the soldiers, told them if he did not, his poor family would starve,—that this was their only dependence,—and assured them that he was so well acquainted with the coast that he could always escape the enemy. His prayers and presents prevailed, and he was desired to wait under the battery till night, and then depart; but, under pretence of arranging his escape from the English vessel, he made the soldiers point out her bearings so exactly, that when the darkness came, he lost not a moment in proceeding on board, and the intrepid Grant soon found himself once more in safety on her quarter-deck. The vessel soon sailed for England, and Grant was received in London with all the popularity which his arduous services demanded, and might now have obtained an honorable release from the toilsome service in which he had been engaged; but he was a true soldier at heart, and loved the toil and bustle of the camp, with all its hardships, far better than the ease and comfort of courts. He asked but one favor of his royal master, and this was to select a French officer, of equal rank, who should be sent back to his own country, that no doubt might remain of the propriety of his escape. This he received permission to do; and he visited one of the prisons, where the French were detained, for the purpose of making his selection. Judge what must have been his astonishment, when the first person he saw was the old fisherman who had so befriended him in his trouble! The recognition was mutual; and the old man, whose heart longed for the old familiar haunts of his childhood, out of sight of which he had never been before, felt once more the dawn of hope in his bosom, as he saw that face, so full of benevolence and kindness, bent on him in pitying sorrow. His story was soon told. He and his son, venturing on the pass which Grant had given him in return for his kindness, had ventured out to sea in too near proximity to an English vessel. The captain, totally unmindful of their papers, had sunk their little boat, their only property, and brought them away to inhabit an English prison, while his poor family was starving at home. The indignant Grant could scarcely listen to the conclusion of the tale. He immediately obtained their release, made them a present of a sum of money and a new boat, and saw them once more embarked for France, blessing the happy hour when they had shown such kindness to one so richly deserving of it. He then returned himself to the Peninsula, and, within four months from the time of his capture, he was again on the Tormes, watching the army of Marmont, and only mourning that poor Leon was no longer alive to accompany him.

Hoping that my readers will be interested in this long digression, I will return at once to my own story.

Before the victorious army of the allies left Badajos, Wellington determined to send a convoy to Brussels with the treasure and spoils found in that place. The regiments selected to form this convoy were the 28th, the 80th, and 87th and 43d. We were to leave Badajos, and pass through the northern part of Spain to Pampeluna, and through the romantic gorge of the Roncesvalles to St. Jean Pied de Port, in France, and from this place take the most direct course to Brussels. The day before our army was to leave for Beira was the day selected for our march. Our farewell words were soon spoken, and we were on our way. No event of consequence had marked our course until we were near Pampeluna. On the left of this place, near Roncesvalles, is the beautiful valley of Bastan, one of the most fertile and delightful valleys in Spain, and abounding in every species of plenty. From Pampeluna to Zabieta, the road passes over a gentle ascent. From Zabieta this ascent increases, and becomes extremely rough and fatiguing near the village of Borquette. From this village it begins to ascend very lofty mountains, but which are extremely fertile and well wooded. Immediately after passing Borquette, the road ascends a mountain, and then descends the same, when it enters upon the memorable plain of Roncesvalles, where happened that memorable defeat of Charlemagne, which has furnished so copious a theme for poetry and romance. As there are few who have not heard of this celebrated pass, perhaps the legend connected with it may not be uninteresting to my readers.

Several Moorish chiefs, in the north-western part of Spain, had implored the protection of this celebrated emperor, and invited him to accept their vassalage. He at once assembled an army, crossed the Pyrenees, penetrated as far as Saragossa, and received the submission of all the neighboring lords. News of threatened hostilities on the Rhenish frontiers caused him to hasten his march onward. Dividing his army into two bodies, he advanced, in person, at the head of the first division, leaving all the baggage with the rear guard, which comprised a strong force, and was commanded by some of the most renowned of his chieftains, among whom was Roland, the nephew of Charlemagne. Mounted on heavy horses, and loaded with a complete armor of iron, the soldiers pursued their march through the narrow passes of the Pyrenees, without suspecting the neighborhood of an enemy. The king himself, with his first division, passed from these intricate woods and narrow defiles unmolested; but when the rear body, following leisurely at a considerable distance, had reached this wild and lonely valley, the woods and rocks around them suddenly bristled into life, and they were attacked on all sides by the perfidious Gascons, whose light arms, swift arrows, and knowledge of the country, gave them every advantage over their opponents. In the first panic and confusion, the Franks were driven down to the bottom of the pass, embarrassed by their arms and baggage. The Gascons pressed them on every point, and slaughtered them like a herd of deer, singling them out with their arrows from above, and rolling down the rocks upon their heads. Never wanting in courage, they fought until the last moment, and died unconquered. Roland and his companions, the twelve peers of France, after innumerable deeds of valor, were slain with the rest; and the Gascons, satiated with carnage, and rich in plunder, dispersed among the mountains, leaving Charlemagne to seek fruitlessly for vengeance.

During the lapse of many centuries, tradition has hung about this famous spot, and the memory of Roland and his companions has been consecrated in a thousand shapes throughout the country. When we entered this famous pass, we could but recall the legends connected with it. The mountains rose high and towering to the skies on either side. Far up their rocky sides we could see mountain paths descending, while here and there a shelf would exist that might give a standing-place to a body of men. Huge crags seemed to bid defiance even to the fleet steps of the mountain goat, while deep caverns opened their mouths on every side, giving shelter to the hordes of banditti which always infest those regions. The stroke of Roland’s sword upon the rocks was pointed out to us by our guides; while, just beneath, we noticed patches of the beautiful little wild-flower of the Pyrenees, which is called the casque of Roland. I know of no fitter place for the assault which took place here; certainly none which could give the assailants a better advantage. But, ominous as the scenery appeared, we crossed this famous pass in safety, and emerged, with gladdened and lightened hearts, on the plain beyond, where rises the beautiful and venerable abbey of Roncesvalles, whose moss-clad walls, which have felt so heavily, and yet sustained so well, the hand of time, are covered with mementos of its famous hero. On the further side of this plain, the road, after passing over a small elevation, reaches the foot of that tremendous mountain, called Mount Altobiscar, which separates France from Spain. The ascent to this is very steep and laborious, and almost impassable for carriages. A ravine descends from this into French Navarre. Our party were leisurely descending into this ravine, hardly anticipating danger, when suddenly our advance guards were stopped by the report of a musket. The alarm was in a moment given, and our arms prepared. On the huge rocks which rose above us a body of men were seen descending, and in a moment they were upon us, preceding their arrival by rolling huge stones down from the mountain, which killed a number of our men. In a moment we had formed ourselves, as far as the position of the ground would admit, into two squares; and, as they drew near, we discharged our muskets into the midst. Nearly all the foremost fell; but their places were soon supplied by others, who came on with still more force. Their subtle chief was very active in the affray. Fortunately, we had gained a part of the ground where there was a wide shelf, which enabled us to meet the attack more in a body, while the road to it was narrow, and the ground rough. Consequently, they fell fast before our fire. A few minutes only the combat lasted, and yet, on our own side, a hundred men had fallen. Fifty were killed outright; and in several places men and horse had died simultaneously, and so suddenly, that, falling together on their sides, they appeared still alive,—the horse’s legs stretched out as in movement, the rider’s feet in the stirrups, his bridle in hand, the sword raised to strike, and the expression of the countenance undistorted, but with such a look of resolution and defiance as gave to it a ghastly and supernatural appearance. The loss of the assailants was still greater than ours. Seeing that it would be impossible to attain their object, which was, doubtless, to possess themselves of our baggage, they retired in good order; and, as we considered our charge too valuable to be left in such a spot, we did not attempt to pursue them.

No other incident of interest occurred in our route, and we found ourselves, on the 3d of June, in safety in Brussels. The next day we reported our arrival to the commanders there; and, on the 5th, our charge was delivered up, and we were inspected, and then ordered to join the garrison which was stationed in Brussels. Here I remained, only performing garrison duty, until that great battle which decided the fate of Europe, and sent the French emperor to his last and lonely home on the barren rock of St. Helena.