Kitabı oku: «Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 1», sayfa 27
CHAPTER XLIV
THE BIVOUAC
When I contrasted the gay and lively tone of the conversation which ran on around our bivouac fire, with the dry monotony and prosaic tediousness of my first military dinner at Cork, I felt how much the spirit and adventure of a soldier’s life can impart of chivalrous enthusiasm to even the dullest and least susceptible. I saw even many who under common circumstances, would have possessed no interest nor excited any curiosity, but now, connected as they were with the great events occurring around them, absolutely became heroes; and it was with a strange, wild throbbing of excitement I listened to the details of movements and marches, whose objects I knew not, but in which the magical words, Corunna, Vimeira, were mixed up, and gave to the circumstances an interest of the highest character. How proud, too, I felt to be the companion-in-arms of such fellows! Here they sat, the tried and proved soldiers of a hundred fights, treating me as their brother and their equal. Who need wonder if I felt a sense of excited pleasure? Had I needed such a stimulant, that night beneath the cork-trees had been enough to arouse a passion for the army in my heart, and an irrepressible determination to seek for a soldier’s glory.
“Fourteenth!” called out a voice from the wood behind; and in a moment after, the aide-de-camp appeared with a mounted orderly.
“Colonel Merivale?” said he, touching his cap to the stalwart, soldier-like figure before him.
The colonel bowed.
“Sir Stapleton Cotton desires me to request that at an early hour to-morrow you will occupy the pass, and cover the march of the troops. It is his wish that all the reinforcements should arrive at Oporto by noon. I need scarcely add that we expect to be engaged with the enemy.”
These few words were spoken hurriedly, and again saluting our party, he turned his horse’s head and continued his way towards the rear.
“There’s news for you, Charley,” said Power, slapping me on the shoulder. “Lucy Dashwood or Westminster Abbey!”
“The regiment was never in finer condition, that’s certain,” said the colonel, “and most eager for a brush with the enemy.”
“How your old friend, the count, would have liked this work!” said Hixley. “Gallant fellow he was.”
“Come,” cried Power, “here’s a fresh bowl coming. Let’s drink the ladies, wherever they be; we most of us have some soft spot on that score.”
“Yes,” said the adjutant, singing, —
“Here’s to the maiden of blushing fifteen;
Here’s to the damsel that’s merry;
Here’s to the flaunting extravagant quean – ”
“And,” sang Power, interrupting, —
“Here’s to the ‘Widow of Derry.’”
“Come, come, Fred, no more quizzing on that score. It’s the only thing ever gives me a distaste to the service, – the souvenir of that adventure. When I reflect what I might have been, and think what I am; when I contrast a Brussels carpet with wet grass, silk hangings with a canvas tent, Sneyd’s claret with ration brandy, and Sir Arthur for a Commander-in-Chief vice Boggs, a widow – ”
“Stop there!” cried Hixley. “Without disparaging the fair widow, there’s nothing beats campaigning, after all. Eh, Fred?”
“And to prove it,” said the colonel, “Power will sing us a song.”
Power took his pencil from his pocket, and placing the back of a letter across his shako, commenced inditing his lyric, saying, as he did so, “I’m your man in five minutes. Just fill my glass in the mean time.”
“That fellow beats Dibdin hollow,” whispered the adjutant. “I’ll be hanged if he’ll not knock you off a song like lightning.”
“I understand,” said Hixley, “they have some intention at the Horse Guards of having all the general orders set to popular tunes, and sung at every mess in the service. You’ve heard that, I suppose, Sparks?”
“I confess I had not before.”
“It will certainly come very hard upon the subalterns,” continued Hixley, with much gravity. “They’ll have to brush up their sol mi fas. All the solos are to be their part.”
“What rhymes with slaughter?” said Power.
“Brandy-and-water,” said the adjutant.
“Now, then,” said Power, “are you all ready?”
“Ready.”
“You must chorus, mind; and mark me, take care you give the hip-hip-hurra well, as that’s the whole force of the chant. Take the time from me. Now for it. Air, ‘Garryowen,’ with spirit, but not too quick.
“Now that we’ve pledged each eye of blue,
And every maiden fair and true,
And our green island home, – to you
The ocean’s wave adorning,
Let’s give one Hip-hip-hip-hurra!
And, drink e’en to the coming day,
When, squadron square,
We’ll all be there,
To meet the French in the morning.
“May his bright laurels never fade,
Who leads our fighting fifth brigade,
Those lads so true in heart and blade,
And famed for danger scorning.
So join me in one Hip-hurra!
And drink e’en to the coming day,
When, squadron square,
We’ll all be there,
To meet the French in the morning.
“And when with years and honors crowned,
You sit some homeward hearth around,
And hear no more the stirring sound
That spoke the trumpet’s warning,
You’ll fill and drink, one Hip-hurra!
And pledge the memory of the day,
When, squadron square,
They all were there,
To meet the French in the morning.”
“Gloriously done, Fred!” cried Hixley. “If I ever get my deserts in this world, I’ll make you Laureate to the Forces, with a hogshead of your own native whiskey for every victory of the army.”
“A devilish good chant,” said Merivale, “but the air surpasses anything I ever heard, – thoroughly Irish, I take it.”
“Irish! upon my conscience, I believe you!” shouted O’Shaughnessy, with an energy of voice and manner that created a hearty laugh on all sides. “It’s few people ever mistook it for a Venetian melody. Hand over the punch, – the sherry, I mean. When I was in the Clare militia, we always went in to dinner to ‘Tatter Jack Walsh,’ a sweet air, and had ‘Garryowen’ for a quick-step. Ould M’Manus, when he got the regiment, wanted to change: he said, they were damned vulgar tunes, and wanted to have ‘Rule Britannia,’ or the ‘Hundredth Psalm;’ but we would not stand it; there would have been a mutiny in the corps.”
“The same fellow, wasn’t he, that you told the story of, the other evening, in Lisbon?” said I.
“The same. Well, what a character he was! As pompous and conceited a little fellow as ever you met with; and then, he was so bullied by his wife, he always came down to revenge it on the regiment. She was a fine, showy, vulgar woman, with a most cherishing affection for all the good things in this life, except her husband, whom she certainly held in due contempt. ‘Ye little crayture,’ she’d say to him with a sneer, ‘it ill becomes you to drink and sing, and be making a man of yourself. If you were like O’Shaughnessy there, six foot three in his stockings – ‘Well, well, it looks like boasting; but no matter. Here’s her health, anyway.”
“I knew you were tender in that quarter,” said Power, “I heard it when quartered in Limerick.”
“May be you heard, too, how I paid off Mac, when he came down on a visit to that county?”
“Never: let’s hear it now.”
“Ay, O’Shaughnessy, now’s your time; the fire’s a good one, the night fine, and liquor plenty.”
“I’m convanient,” said O’Shaughnessy, as depositing his enormous legs on each side of the burning fagots, and placing a bottle between his knees he began his story: —
“It was a cold rainy night in January, in the year ‘98, I took my place in the Limerick mail, to go down for a few days to the west country. As the waiter of the Hibernian came to the door with a lantern, I just caught a glimpse of the other insides; none of whom were known to me, except Colonel M’Manus, that I met once in a boarding-house in Molcsworth Street. I did not, at the time, think him a very agreeable companion; but when morning broke, and we began to pay our respects to each other in the coach, I leaned over, and said, ‘I hope you’re well, Colonel M’Manus,’ just by way of civility like. He didn’t hear me at first; so that I said it again, a little louder.
“I wish you saw the look he gave me; he drew himself up to the height of his cotton umbrella, put his chin inside his cravat, pursed up his dry, shrivelled lips, and with a voice he meant to be awful, replied: —
“‘You appear to have the advantage of me.’
“‘Upon my conscience, you’re right,’ said I, looking down at myself, and then over at him, at which the other travellers burst out a laughing, – ‘I think there’s few will dispute that point.’ When the laugh was over, I resumed, – for I was determined not to let him off so easily. ‘Sure I met you at Mrs. Cayle’s,’ said I; ‘and, by the same token, it was a Friday, I remember it well, – may be you didn’t pitch into the salt cod? I hope it didn’t disagree with you?’
“‘I beg to repeat, sir, that you are under a mistake,’ said he.
“‘May be so, indeed,’ said I. ‘May be you’re not Colonel M’Manus at all; may be you wasn’t in a passion for losing seven-and-sixpence at loo with Mrs. Moriarty; may be you didn’t break the lamp in the hall with your umbrella, pretending you touched it with your head, and wasn’t within three foot of it; may be Counsellor Brady wasn’t going to put you in the box of the Foundling Hospital, if you wouldn’t behave quietly in the streets – ’
“Well, with this the others laughed so heartily, that I could not go on; and the next stage the bold colonel got outside with the guard and never came in till we reached Limerick. I’ll never forget his face, as he got down at Swinburne’s Hotel. ‘Good-by, Colonel,’ said I; but he wouldn’t take the least notice of my politeness, but with a frown of utter defiance, he turned on his heel and walked away.
“‘I haven’t done with you yet,’ says I; and, faith, I kept my word.
“I hadn’t gone ten yards down the street, when I met my old friend Darby O’Grady.
“‘Shaugh, my boy,’ says he, – he called me that way for shortness, – ‘dine with me to-day at Mosey’s; a green goose and gooseberries; six to a minute.’
“‘Who have you?’ says I.
“‘Tom Keane and the Wallers, a counsellor or two, and one M’Manus, from Dublin.’
“‘The colonel?’
“‘The same,’ said he.
“‘I’m there, Darby!’ said I; ‘but mind, you never saw me before.’
“‘What?’ said he.
“‘You never set eyes on me before; mind that.’
“‘I understand,’ said Darby, with a wink; and we parted.
“I certainly was never very particular about dressing for dinner, but on this day I spent a considerable time at my toilet; and when I looked in my glass at its completion, was well satisfied that I had done myself justice. A waistcoat of brown rabbit-skin with flaps, a red worsted comforter round my neck, an old gray shooting-jacket with a brown patch on the arm, corduroys, and leather gaiters, with a tremendous oak cudgel in my hand, made me a most presentable figure for a dinner party.
“‘Will I do, Darby?’ says I, as he came into my room before dinner.
“‘If it’s for robbing the mail you are,’ says he, ‘nothing could be better. Your father wouldn’t know you!’
“‘Would I be the better of a wig?’
“‘Leave your hair alone,’ said he. ‘It’s painting the lily to alter it.’
“‘Well, God’s will be done,’ says I, ‘so come now.’
“Well, just as the clock struck six I saw the colonel coming out of his room, in a suit of most accurate sable, stockings, and pumps. Down-stairs he went, and I heard the waiter announce him.
“‘Now’s my time,’ thought I, as I followed slowly after.
“When I reached the door I heard several voices within, among which I recognized some ladies. Darby had not told me about them. ‘But no matter,’ said I; ‘it’s all as well;’ so I gave a gentle tap at the door with my knuckles.
“‘Come in,’ said Darby.
“I opened the door slowly, and putting in only my head and shoulders took a cautious look round the room.
“‘I beg pardon, gentlemen,’ said I, ‘but I was only looking for one Colonel M’Manus, and as he is not here – ’
“‘Pray walk in, sir,’ said O’Grady, with a polite bow. ‘Colonel M’Manus is here. There’s no intrusion whatever. I say, Colonel,’ said he turning round, ‘a gentleman here desires to – ’
“‘Never mind it now,’ said I, as I stepped cautiously into the room, ‘he’s going to dinner; another time will do just as well.’
“‘Pray come in!’
“‘I could not think of intruding – ’
“‘I must protest,’ said M’Manus, coloring up, ‘that I cannot understand this gentleman’s visit.’
“‘It is a little affair I have to settle with him,’ said I, with a fierce look that I saw produced its effect.
“‘Then perhaps you would do me the very great favor to join him at dinner,’ said O’Grady. ‘Any friend of Colonel M’Manus – ’
“‘You are really too good,’ said I; ‘but as an utter stranger – ’
“‘Never think of that for a moment. My friend’s friend, as the adage says.’
“‘Upon my conscience, a good saying,’ said I, ‘but you see there’s another difficulty. I’ve ordered a chop and potatoes up in No. 5.’
“‘Let that be no obstacle,’ said O’Grady. ‘The waiter shall put it in my bill; if you will only do me the pleasure.’
“‘You’re a trump,’ said I. ‘What’s your name?’
“‘O’Grady, at your service.’
“‘Any relation of the counsellor?’ said I. ‘They’re all one family, the O’Gradys. I’m Mr. O’Shaughnessy, from Ennis; won’t you introduce me to the ladies?’
“While the ceremony of presentation was going on I caught one glance at M’Manus, and had hard work not to roar out laughing. Such an expression of surprise, amazement, indignation, rage, and misery never was mixed up in one face before. Speak he could not; and I saw that, except for myself, he had neither eyes, ears, nor senses for anything around him. Just at this moment dinner was announced, and in we went. I never was in such spirits in my life; the trick upon M’Manus had succeeded perfectly; he believed in his heart that I had never met O’Grady in my life before, and that upon the faith of our friendship, I had received my invitation. As for me, I spared him but little. I kept up a running fire of droll stories, had the ladies in fits of laughing, made everlasting allusions to the colonel; and, in a word, ere the soup had disappeared, except himself, the company was entirely with me.
“‘O’Grady,’ said I, ‘forgive the freedom, but I feel as if we were old acquaintances.’
“‘As Colonel M’Manus’s friend,’ said he, ‘you can take no liberty here to which you are not perfectly welcome.’
“‘Just what I expected,’ said I. ‘Mac and I,’ – I wish you saw his face when I called him Mac, – ‘Mac and I were schoolfellows five-and-thirty years ago; though he forgets me, I don’t forget him, – to be sure it would be hard for me. I’m just thinking of the day Bishop Oulahan came over to visit the college. Mac was coming in at the door of the refectory as the bishop was going out. “Take off your caubeen, you young scoundrel, and kneel down for his reverence to bless you,” said one of the masters, giving his hat a blow at the same moment that sent it flying to the other end of the room, and with it, about twenty ripe pears that Mac had just stolen in the orchard, and had in his hat. I wish you only saw the bishop; and Mac himself, he was a picture. Well, well, you forget it all now, but I remember it as if it was only yesterday. Any champagne, Mr. O’Grady? I’m mighty dry.’
“‘Of course,’ said Darby. ‘Waiter, some champagne here.’
“‘Ah, it’s himself was the boy for every kind of fun and devilment, quiet and demure as he looks over there. Mac, your health. It’s not every day of the week we get champagne.’
“He laid down his knife and fork as I said this; his face and temples grew deep purple; his eyes started as if they would spring from his head; and he put both his hands to his forehead, as if trying to assure himself that it was not some horrid dream.
“‘A little slice more of the turkey,’ said I, ‘and then, O’Grady, I’ll try your hock. It’s a wine I’m mighty fond of, and so is Mac there. Oh, it’s seldom, to tell you the truth, it troubles us. There, fill up the glass; that’s it. Here now, Darby, – that’s your name, I think, – you’ll not think I’m taking a liberty in giving a toast? Here then, I’ll give M’Manus’s health, with all the honors; though it’s early yet, to be sure, but we’ll do it again, by-and-by, when the whiskey comes. Here’s M’Manus’s good health; and though his wife, they say, does not treat him well, and keeps him down – ’
“The roar of laughing that interrupted me here was produced by the expression of poor Mac’s face. He had started up from the table, and leaning with both his hands upon it, stared round upon the company like a maniac, – his mouth and eyes wide open, and his hair actually bristling with amazement. Thus he remained for a full minute, gasping like a fish in a landing-net. It seemed a hard struggle for him to believe he was not deranged. At last his eyes fell upon me; he uttered a deep groan, and with a voice tremulous with rage, thundered out, —
“‘The scoundrel! I never saw him before.’
“He rushed from the room, and gained the street. Before our roar of laughter was over he had secured post-horses, and was galloping towards Ennis at the top speed of his cattle.
“He exchanged at once into the line; but they say that he caught a glimpse of my name in the army list, and sold out the next morning; be that as it may, we never met since.”
I have related O’Shaughnessy’s story here, rather from the memory I have of how we all laughed at it at the time, than from any feeling as to its real desert; but when I think of the voice, look, accent, and gesture of the narrator, I can scarcely keep myself from again giving way to laughter.
CHAPTER XLV
THE DOURO
Never did the morning break more beautifully than on the 12th of May, 1809. Huge masses of fog-like vapor had succeeded to the starry, cloudless night, but one by one, they moved onwards towards the sea, disclosing as they passed long tracts of lovely country, bathed in a rich golden glow. The broad Douro, with its transparent current, shone out like a bright-colored ribbon, meandering through the deep garment of fairest green; the darkly shadowed mountains which closed the background loomed even larger than they were; while their summits were tipped with the yellow glory of the morning. The air was calm and still, and the very smoke that arose from the peasant’s cot labored as it ascended through the perfumed air, and save the ripple of the stream, all was silent as the grave.
The squadron of the 14th, with which I was, had diverged from the road beside the river, and to obtain a shorter path, had entered the skirts of a dark pine wood; our pace was a sharp one; an orderly had been already despatched to hasten our arrival, and we pressed on at a brisk trot. In less than an hour we reached the verge of the wood, and as we rode out upon the plain, what a spectacle met our eyes! Before us, in a narrow valley separated from the river by a low ridge, were picketed three cavalry regiments; their noiseless gestures and perfect stillness be-speaking at once that they were intended for a surprise party. Farther down the stream, and upon the opposite side, rose the massive towers and tall spires of Oporto, displaying from their summits the broad ensign of France; while far as the eye could reach, the broad dark masses of troops might be seen; the intervals between their columns glittering with the bright equipments of their cavalry, whose steel caps and lances were sparkling in the sun-beams. The bivouac fires were still smouldering, and marking where some part of the army had passed the night; for early as it was, it was evident that their position had been changed; and even now, the heavy masses of dark infantry might be seen moving from place to place, while the long line of the road to Vallonga was marked with a vast cloud of dust. The French drum and the light infantry bugle told, from time to time, that orders were passing among the troops; while the glittering uniform of a staff officer, as he galloped from the town, bespoke the note of preparation.
“Dismount! Steady; quietly, my lads,” said the colonel, as he alighted upon the grass. “Let the men have their breakfast.”
The little amphitheatre we occupied hid us entirely from all observation on the part of the enemy, but equally so excluded us from perceiving their movements. It may readily be supposed then, with what impatience we waited here, while the din and clangor of the French force, as they marched and countermarched so near us, were clearly audible. The orders were, however, strict that none should approach the bank of the river, and we lay anxiously awaiting the moment when this inactivity should cease. More than one orderly had arrived among us, bearing despatches from headquarters; but where our main body was, or what the nature of the orders, no one could guess. As for me, my excitement was at its height, and I could not speak for the very tension of my nerves. The officers stood in little groups of two and three, whispering anxiously together; but all I could collect was, that Soult had already begun his retreat upon Amarante, and that, with the broad stream of the Douro between us, he defied our pursuit.
“Well, Charley,” said Power, laying his arm upon my shoulder, “the French have given us the slip this time; they are already in march, and even if we dared force a passage in the face of such an enemy, it seems there is not a boat to be found. I have just seen Hammersley.”
“Indeed! Where is he?” said I.
“He’s gone back to Villa de Conde; he asked after you most particularly. Don’t blush, man; I’d rather back your chance than his, notwithstanding the long letter that Lucy sends him. Poor fellow, he has been badly wounded, but, it seems, declines going back to England.”
“Captain Power,” said an orderly, touching his cap, “General Murray desires to see you.”
Power hastened away, but returned in a few moments.
“I say, Charley, there’s something in the wind here. I have just been ordered to try where the stream is fordable. I’ve mentioned your name to the general, and I think you’ll be sent for soon. Good-by.”
I buckled on my sword, and looking to my girths, stood watching the groups around me; when suddenly a dragoon pulled his horse short up, and asked a man near me if Mr. O’Malley was there.
“Yes; I am he.”
“Orders from General Murray, sir,” said the man, and rode off at a canter.
I opened and saw that the despatch was addressed to Sir Arthur Wellesley, with the mere words, “With haste!” on the envelope.
Now, which way to turn I knew not; so springing into the saddle, I galloped to where Colonel Merivale was standing talking to the colonel of a heavy dragoon regiment.
“May I ask, sir, by which road I am to proceed with this despatch?”
“Along the river, sir,” said the heavy – , a large dark-browed man, with a most forbidding look. “You’ll soon see the troops; you’d better stir yourself, sir, or Sir Arthur is not very likely to be pleased with you.”
Without venturing a reply to what I felt a somewhat unnecessary taunt, I dashed spurs into my horse, and turned towards the river. I had not gained the bank above a minute, when the loud ringing of a rifle struck upon my ear; bang went another, and another. I hurried on, however, at the top of my speed, thinking only of my mission and its pressing haste. As I turned an angle of the stream, the vast column of the British came in sight, and scarcely had my eye rested upon them when my horse staggered forwards, plunged twice with his head nearly to the earth, and then, rearing madly up, fell backwards to the ground. Crushed and bruised as I felt by my fall, I was soon aroused to the necessity of exertion; for as I disengaged myself from the poor beast, I discovered he had been killed by a bullet in the counter; and scarcely had I recovered my legs when a shot struck my shako and grazed my temples. I quickly threw myself to the ground, and creeping on for some yards, reached at last some rising ground, from which I rolled gently downwards into a little declivity, sheltered by the bank from the French fire.
When I arrived at headquarters, I was dreadfully fatigued and heated; but resolving not to rest till I had delivered my despatches, I hastened towards the convent of La Sierra, where I was told the commander-in-chief was.
As I came into the court of the convent, filled with general officers and people of the staff, I was turning to ask how I should proceed, when Hixley caught my eye.
“Well, O’Malley, what brings you here?”
“Despatches from General Murray.”
“Indeed; oh, follow me.”
He hurried me rapidly through the buzzing crowd, and ascending a large gloomy stair, introduced me into a room, where about a dozen persons in uniform were writing at a long deal table.
“Captain Gordon,” said he, addressing one of them, “despatches requiring immediate attention have just been brought by this officer.”
Before the sentence was finished the door opened, and a short, slight man, in a gray undress coat, with a white cravat and a cocked hat, entered. The dead silence that ensued was not necessary to assure me that he was one in authority, – the look of command his bold, stern features presented; the sharp, piercing eye, the compressed lip, the impressive expression of the whole face, told plainly that he was one who held equally himself and others in mastery.
“Send General Sherbroke here,” said he to an aide-de-camp. “Let the light brigade march into position;” and then turning suddenly to me, “Whose despatches are these?”
“General Murray’s, sir.”
I needed no more than that look to assure me that this was he of whom I had heard so much, and of whom the world was still to hear so much more.
He opened them quickly, and glancing his eye across the contents, crushed the paper in his hand. Just as he did so, a spot of blood upon the envelope attracted his attention.
“How’s this, – are you wounded?”
“No, sir; my horse was killed – ”
“Very well, sir; join your brigade. But stay, I shall have orders for you. Well, Waters, what news?”
This question was addressed to an officer in a staff uniform, who entered at the moment, followed by the short and bulky figure of a monk, his shaven crown and large cassock strongly contrasting with the gorgeous glitter of the costumes around him.
“I say, who have we here?”
“The Prior of Amarante, sir,” replied Waters, “who has just come over. We have already, by his aid, secured three large barges – ”
“Let the artillery take up position in the convent at once,” said Sir Arthur, interrupting. “The boats will be brought round to the small creek beneath the orchard. You, sir,” turning to me, “will convey to General Murray – but you appear weak. You, Gordon, will desire Murray to effect a crossing at Avintas with the Germans and the 14th. Sherbroke’s division will occupy the Villa Nuova. What number of men can that seminary take?”
“From three to four hundred, sir. The padre mentions that all the vigilance of the enemy is limited to the river below the town.”
“I perceive it,” was the short reply of Sir Arthur, as placing his hands carelessly behind his back, he walked towards the window, and looked out upon the river.
All was still as death in the chamber; not a lip murmured. The feeling of respect for him in whose presence we were standing checked every thought of utterance; while the stupendous gravity of the events before us engrossed every mind and occupied every heart. I was standing near the window; the effect of my fall had stunned me for a time, but I was gradually recovering, and watched with a thrilling heart the scene before me. Great and absorbing as was my interest in what was passing without, it was nothing compared with what I felt as I looked at him upon whom our destiny was then hanging. I had ample time to scan his features and canvass their every lineament. Never before did I look upon such perfect impassibility; the cold, determined expression was crossed by no show of passion or impatience. All was rigid and motionless, and whatever might have been the workings of the spirit within, certainly no external sign betrayed them; and yet what a moment for him must that have been! Before him, separated by a deep and rapid river, lay the conquering legions of France, led on by one second alone to him whose very name had been the prestige of victory. Unprovided with every regular means of transport, in the broad glare of day, in open defiance of their serried ranks and thundering artillery, he dared the deed. What must have been his confidence in the soldiers he commanded! What must have been his reliance upon his own genius! As such thoughts rushed through my mind, the door opened and an officer entered hastily, and whispering a few words to Colonel Waters, left the room.
“One boat is already brought up to the crossing-place, and entirely concealed by the wall of the orchard.”
“Let the men cross,” was the brief reply.
No other word was spoken as, turning from the window, he closed his telescope, and followed by all the others, descended to the courtyard.
This simple order was enough; an officer with a company of the Buffs embarked, and thus began the passage of the Douro.
So engrossed was I in my vigilant observation of our leader, that I would gladly have remained at the convent, when I received an order to join my brigade, to which a detachment of artillery was already proceeding.
As I reached Avintas all was in motion. The cavalry was in readiness beside the river; but as yet no boats had been discovered, and such was the impatience of the men to cross, it was with difficulty they were prevented trying the passage by swimming, when suddenly Power appeared followed by several fishermen. Three or four small skiffs had been found, half sunk in mud, among the rushes, and with such frail assistance we commenced to cross.
“There will be something to write home to Galway soon, Charley, or I’m terribly mistaken,” said Fred, as he sprang into the boat beside me. “Was I not a true prophet when I told you ‘We’d meet the French in the morning?’”
“They’re at it already,” said Hixley, as a wreath of blue smoke floated across the stream below us, and the loud boom of a large gun resounded through the air.
Then came a deafening shout, followed by a rattling volley of small arms, gradually swelling into a hot sustained fire, through which the cannon pealed at intervals. Several large meadows lay along the river-side, where our brigade was drawn up as the detachments landed from the boats; and here, although nearly a league distant from the town, we now heard the din and crash of battle, which increased every moment. The cannonade from the Sierra convent, which at first was merely the fire of single guns, now thundered away in one long roll, amidst which the sounds of falling walls and crashing roofs were mingled. It was evident to us, from the continual fire kept up, that the landing had been effected; while the swelling tide of musketry told that fresh troops were momentarily coming up.
