CHAPTER VI.
THE ADVANCE INTO SPAIN.
"Oh, life has many a varied tint,
Has many a bright and lovely hue,
Though care upon the brow may print
A sadder, darker colour too.
But hope still casts her rainbow wings
O'er many a scene of care and strife,
And gilds the hours round which she flings
The bright and varied tints of life."
CARPENTER.
Sir John Horn's division continued to march by the strong old frontier town of Elvas, which crowns a rocky hill not far from where the Guadiana sweeps south towards the sea.
"To-morrow," said Monkton, as he placed the glaring red cockade of Ferdinand VII. on his shako, "we shall be airing our most dulcet Spanish in Old Castile, learning to dance the bolero, to tilt up our legs in the fandango, and to twangle on the guitar."
"I fear, Dick, that Marshal Soult will cut out more serious work for us," said Major Middleton.
"Do we halt at Elvas?" asked some one, as the regiment approached the town.
"Yes, thank Heaven!" exclaimed Monkton.
"We have marched twenty miles to-day, and to-night I am going to the camp of the 28th."
"On duty?"
"No; but because they have fallen in with a cask of whisky."
"Whisky!" exclaimed several voices. "Whisky here?"
"The best Farintosh. It was taken from the wreck of a Scotch transport in Maciera Bay, and, may I never see morning, if I don't beg, borrow, or steal at least a canteenful. The Slashers won't refuse me, I am sure."
Next morning, a march of ten miles brought them in sight of the great castle of Badajoz—that place of terrible but immortal memory!
Flanked by the waters of the Rivollas and Guadiana, flowing between vineyards and olive groves, it towered in clear sharp outline against the pure blue sky, on cliffs three hundred feet in height, with all its grim batteries and tiers of cannon bristling, row on row; its eight great bastions, each standing forth with one angle bathed in strong yellow sunlight, and the other sunk in deep purple shadow; the rich gothic spires and countless pinnacles of its churches and convents, and the glittering casements of its white-walled mansions that clustered on its rocky steep, all shining in the warm glow, while, in the background, extended far away the long green wavy outline of the mountains of Toledo.
Kellerman and Victor had alike been foiled before it, as the Portuguese had been in the days of the Archduke John of Austria, and now the scarlet and yellow banners of King Ferdinand VII. were still waving triumphantly upon the towers of San Cristoval, San Roque, and the Forts of Picurina and Pardaleras. The united clangour of, perhaps, five hundred bells, mellowed by the distance, came merrily upon the morning breeze, a welcome to the British. Then a white puff of smoke from the highest battery of the grand old citadel announced the first gun of a royal salute. Another and another followed, flashing from the dark embrasures, while the pale wreaths curled upward and floated away, till the whole round of twenty-one pieces was complete; but, as the city was two miles distant, each report came faintly to the ear, and at an interval after the flash.
Ere long, the twenty-eight arches of the noble bridge of the Guadiana rang beneath the hoofs of our Light Dragoons, as the advanced guard began to cross, and, amid the clangour of bells in spire and campanile, and the "vivas" of the assembled thousands, the reiterated shouts of "Viva los Ingleses!" "Viva los Escotos!" the infantry found themselves defiling through the lower streets of Badajoz and entering Spain.
Eyes dark and bright sparkled with pleasure and welcome from many an open lattice, and many a fan and veil were waved, and many a white hand kissed to the passing troops, as, with colours waving and bayonets fixed, they passed under the gaily crowded balconies on their way to the Guadiana.
Escorted by a guard of glittering Spanish lancers, mounted on beautiful jennets, a quaint old coach, such as we only see depicted in fairy tales or pantomimes, came slowly rumbling forward on its carved and gilded wheels. It was gorgeous with burnished brasses and coats armorial, but was shaped like a gigantic apple pie, drawn by six sleek fat mules, that were almost hidden under their elaborate trappings; and each pair had a little lean dark postilion, in cocked-hat and epaulettes, floundering away in boots like water-buckets, while, at the doors on both sides, hung two tripod stools, as the means of ingress and egress.
But, in front of this remarkable conveyance, the advanced guard halted with carbine on thigh, the officers saluting and the trumpets sounding, while the general and staff approached bare-headed, with hat in hand, for in the recesses of this apple-pie were the most Reverend Padres en Dios, the Archbishop of Santiago, the Bishop Suffragan of Compostella, Senores the Captain-general, the Alcalde of Badajoz, and a great many more, in civic robes and military uniforms, with crosses and medals, and all of these persons clambered out of the interior, and descended on terra firma by means of the three-legged stools aforesaid, coach-steps being as yet unknown in the realms of his Most Catholic majesty.
"Well," said Monkton, "this turn-out beats all the buggies I ever saw. By Jove! it is like Noah's ark on wheels. Such a team it would be to 'tool' to Epsom with!"
We shall skip the long and solemn, the flattering and bombastic speeches made by the Spanish officials, and the curt but manly responses given by the British on this auspicious occasion. Suffice it to say that, after a brief halt, the division continued its route by easy marches. The green hill of Albuera—the scene of a glorious battle three years after—ere long became visible on the right flank; but the day passed without any tidings being heard of the guerillas of Don Baltasar de Saldos, a circumstance which, in the course of conversation with Buckle the adjutant, the Master of Rohallion contrived that Quentin should know. Naturally he felt anxious about the matter, and feared in his heart that perhaps he had personally something to do with the non-appearance of this famous partisan chief.
Twenty-four miles beyond Badajoz brought the division, with all the heavy artillery of the army, to Montijo, a little town of Estremadura, where a camp was formed for the night near the Guadiana.
As contrasted with "the Granary of Portugal," through which they had latterly passed, the barrenness of wasted and long-neglected Estremadura impressed all with poor ideas of Spain.
"The great Conde was right," said Warriston, as the little group of the other evening assembled again, in nearly a similar manner, to sup by their watchfire, which was lighted near a deserted pottery in a field where the Indian corn had grown and been reaped; "right indeed, when he said if you wish to know what actual want is, carry on a war in Spain!"
"And the comforts of a Peninsular tour like ours are in no way enhanced when one's exchequer is low," said Monkton.
"True, Willie, and there is a wonderful sympathy between the animal spirits and the breeches-pocket."
"And I, for one, can show 'a regular soldier's thigh,' my purse has long since collapsed."
"Line it with these, Monkton," said Quentin, slipping a half-dozen moidores into his hand.
"What are these?—moidores, by the gods of the Greeks! But thanks, my friend, I shall pay you at San Pedro, where I shall bring our paymaster to book. I could lavish a colonel's pay, if I had it, which is never likely to be the case, for we're a devilish slow regiment, Quentin."
"But some of our Highland corps are slower still," remarked an officer.
"I have known a fellow to be four years an ensign in one of them, and every month at least once under fire all the time," said Askerne.
"They never sell out or purchase in, and then there is no killing them by bullets, starvation, or fatigue."
"For the baggage guard to-morrow, Mr. Monkton," said old Sergeant-major Calder, approaching the group, who were lounging on the grass; "for the colours, Mr. Hardinge and Mr. Boyle."
He saluted and retired, while Monkton apostrophized the baggage guard in pretty round terms.
"I should like to have halted one night at Badajoz," said Colville; "there is a theatre there, and other means of spending money which smack of civilization. Conyers——"
"Who's he?"
"Conyers of the 10th Hussars, one of Hope's extra aides-de-camp, says there are some beautiful girls to be seen on the promenade of poplars, the Prado beside the river, in the evening, where they all go veiled, with fireflies strung in their hair, producing a very singular effect."
"I would rather be whispering soft nothings into their pretty ears and over their white shoulders than be bivouacking here," said Monkton.
"I believe you, my friend; but perhaps the knife of some devil of a lover or cortejo might give your whisperings a point you never expected," replied Askerne.
"Try a sip from my canteen," said Monkton; "it contains some of the stuff I got the other night at the camp of the 28th, and better you'll find it than the aguardiente of the Spanish Hottentots. Take a pull, Quentin, as a nightcap, and then turn in under that laurel bush and sleep if you can, under your own bays, till the bugle sounds the 'rouse.'"
Remembering the injunctions of the worthy Padre Florez, Quentin declined.
"Well, well, boy, as you please," said Monkton, slinging his canteen behind him; "but what the devil's that? Cavalry!"
"It is the staff—the general," exclaimed Askerne, as they all started to their feet, and proceeded to buckle on their swords, as Sir John Hope, with several mounted staff officers and commanders of corps, among whom was Colonel Cosmo Crawford, approached slowly, checking their horses, and talking with considerable animation, while their flowing scarlet and white plumes, their cocked-hats, aiguilettes, and orders, the holsters, and housings of their horses, were all visible in the glare of the watchfire, on which the servants and pioneers were heaping fresh branches for the night, and the occasional flashes of which brought out in strong light or threw into deep shadow the martial group, imparting a Rembrandtish tone to the horses and their riders.
"What is this you say, Conyers?" Sir John was heard to ask; "repeat it to Colonel Crawford of the 25th. You bring us——"
"Most serious intelligence, sir," replied Conyers, who wore the blue and scarlet of the 10th Hussars, and who seemed flushed and excited by a long ride. "I have just come on the spur from Badajoz, and there tidings have reached the Captain-general that yesterday the Spaniards, under Don Joachim Blake, were again completely discomfited at Espinosa, and that the Estremaduran army, which was beaten the day before at Gamonal, is demoralized or cut to pieces; and that the first, second, and fourth corps of the French army, seventy thousand strong, are free to act in any quarter."
"First, second, and fourth—these are the corps of Victor, Bessières, and Lefebre."
"Exactly, Sir John."
"If they march against us, the whole siege and field artillery of the army may be lost!" exclaimed Hope.
"Nor is this all, sir," continued the aide-de-camp, speaking rapidly and with growing excitement; "the movement made by the guerillas of Baltasar de Saldos towards the hill of Albuera, to cover our advance, has been anticipated!"
"Anticipated!"
"Yes, Sir John."
"How, how?" asked several voices.
"General de Ribeaupierre with his whole brigade, consisting of the 24th Chasseurs à Cheval, the Westphalian Light Horse, numbering five hundred and sixty sabres, and the Dragoons of Napoleon, five hundred strong, aided by Laborde's corps and some field guns, issued from Valencia de Alcantara, attacked the guerillas in a valley near San Vincente, and captured their five pieces of artillery, killing the Conde de Maciera, a captain of Lancers, who made three charges to retake them; so De Saldos informs the Captain-general at Badajoz, that there must be treachery somewhere."
"Treachery," reiterated the general, while Cosmo Crawford put his glass to his eye and glanced with a malicious smile towards the group where Quentin, with others, stood listening to all this with the deepest interest, for until the "Courier," or some English paper reached them, they were often ignorant for months of what was enacted in other parts of Spain.
"Don Baltasar is on the march, however, to join us," resumed Captain Conyers; "he has made a detour by the left bank of the Valverde, and by to-morrow evening hopes to make his report to you in person."
"I thank you, Captain Conyers," said the general; "come, gentlemen, this is not so bad after all! To-morrow night we halt at Merida."
"Had you not better despatch a message to De Saldos, saying so," suggested an officer.
"My horse is used up, sir," said Captain Conyers, smiling; "he has gone forty-five miles, on a feed of chopped whin, over the most infernal roads too!"
"There is that young volunteer of ours," said Cosmo; "he acquitted himself so well before, Sir John——"
"That we should give him an opportunity of doing so again," interrupted the lieutenant-general.
"A good idea!" muttered some of the staff.
"Mr. Kennedy," said Cosmo, beckoning forward the anxious listener; "a message saying where we shall halt to-morrow is to be despatched to the guerilla De Saldos; you will, of course, only be too happy to bear it?"
"I beg most respectfully to decline, sir," said Quentin, emphatically, and with growing anger.
"What the devil, sirrah?" Cosmo was beginning.
"Ha—indeed, and wherefore?" asked the general.
"I am scarcely able to keep up with the regiment, General Hope," replied Quentin; "I have been seriously ill, and am more fit for hospital than for duty."
The general knit his brows, and Cosmo dealt Quentin, through his eyeglass, a glance of cool scrutiny, that deepened into withering scorn or hate without alloy.
"Very well, we must send an orderly dragoon," said Sir John Hope, turning away.
"Take care, Mr. Kennedy," said Cosmo, "lest at a future time this refusal may be remembered against you to your disadvantage."
"Crawford doesn't like you, Quentin," said Askerne, after the staff rode away; "it is a great pity, for, though cold and haughty, he is a brave and good officer."
"Damme, don't scoff at the service, Askerne," said Monkton, with mock severity.
Poor Quentin had a heavy heart that night; we are not sure that he did not shed some bitter and unavailing tears, for the forebodings of coming evil banished sleep when he most needed it, and crushed the soul within him.
But his comrades as usual sat long by the watch-fire, passing the night with song, jest, and anecdote. They had neither care for the present nor fear for the future, and their jollity formed a strong contrast to his forlorn sadness.
"I think we should now turn in," said Monkton; "we march betimes to-morrow; to your tents, O Borderers! But what the deuce is that?"
"The générale," said Colville.
"Already!"
"Already, Monkton; and there sounds the gathering of the Gordons in the streets of Montijo."
"The nights are very short in the Penin-in-insula," said Monkton, scrambling up and making several attempts to buckle his belt.
"You'll have to sober yourself on the march, Willie," said Askerne, giving him a rough shake.
"By Jove! to have to fall in when one should go to sleep—to nod and drowse and dream while tramping on and on, your nose coming every minute down on the tin canteen or the knapsack of the man in front of you! It is miserable work; but what with contract powder that won't explode, ammunition shoes warranted not to last, diseased bullocks shot while at fever heat and eaten half raw, we are little likely to beat the French, either in fighting or marching."
"Unless, like them, we learn to hang an occasional commissary or contractor," said old Middleton, as he sprang with agility on his horse; and the regiment formed open column of companies in the dark, for daybreak was yet an hour distant.