Jack Hinton: The Guardsman

CHAPTER LIII. VITTORIA

What a contrast to the scene without the walls did the city of Vittoria present! Scarcely had we left behind us the measured tread of moving battalions, the dark columns of winding cavalry, when we entered streets brilliantly lighted. Gorgeous and showy equipages turned everywhere; music resounded on all sides; servants in splendid liveries made way for ladies in all the elegance of evening dress, enjoying the delicious coolness of a southern climate at sunset; groups of officers in full uniform chatted with their fair friends from the balconies of the large majestic houses; the sounds of gaiety and mirth were heard from every open lattice, and the chink of the castanet and the proud step of the fandango echoed around us.

Women, dressed in all the perfection of Parisian coquetry, loitered along the streets, wondering at the strange sights the Spanish city afforded – themselves scarcely less objects of wonder to the dark-eyed senoras, who, with close-drawn mantillas, peered cautiously around them to see the strangers. Young French officers swaggered boastfully about with the air of conquerors, while now and then some tall and swarthy Spaniard might be seen lowering with gloomy frown from under the broad shadow of his sombrero, as if doubting the evidence of his own senses at seeing his native city in the occupation of the usurper.

In the open plazas, too, the soldiers were picketed, and stood in parties around their fires, or lay stretched on the rich tapestries they had carried away as spoils from the southern provinces. Cups and goblets of the rarest handiwork and of the most costly materials were strewn about them. The vessels of the churches; the rich cloths of gold embroidery that had decorated the altars; pictures, the chefs-d’oeuvre of the first masters – all were there, in one confused heap, among baskets of fruit, wine-skins, ancient armour, and modern weapons. From time to time some brilliant staff would pass, usually accompanied by ladies, who seemed strangely mixed up with all the military display of the scene.

My guide, after conversing for a few moments with a sous-officier of his regiment, turned from the Plaza into a narrow street, the termination to which was formed by a large building now brilliantly lit up. As we approached, I perceived that two sentries were on guard at the narrow gate, and a large banner, with the imperial ‘N’ in the centre, waved heavily over the entrance. ‘This is le quartier général, said the corporal, dropping his voice respectfully, as we drew near. At the same instant a young officer, whose long plume bespoke him as an aide-de-camp, pushed past us; but, turning hastily round, said something I could not catch to the corporal. ‘Bien, mon lieutenant,’ said the latter, carrying his hand to his shako. ‘Follow me, monsieur,’ said the officer, addressing me, and the next moment I found myself in a large and richly furnished room, when having motioned me to be seated, he left me.

My meditations, such as they were, were not suffered to be long, for in a few seconds the aide-de-camp made his appearance, and with a low bow requested me to accompany him.

‘The general will receive you at once,’ said he.

I eagerly asked his name.

‘Le Général Oudinot.’

‘Ah, the Marshal?’

‘No; his brother. I perceive you are a young soldier; so let me give you a hint. Don’t mind his manner; “c’est un brave homme” at bottom, but’ – the loud burst of laughter from a room at the end of the corridor drowned the conclusion of his speech, and before I had time for another question the door opened, and I was introduced.

In a small but richly furnished chamber sat four officers round a table covered with a magnificent display of silver cups and plate, and upon which a dessert was spread, with flasks of French and Spanish wine, and a salver holding cigars; a book, apparently an orderly book, was before them, from which one of the party was reading as I came in. As the aide-de-camp announced me they all looked up, and the general, for I knew him at once, fixing his eyes steadily on me, desired me to approach.

As I obeyed his not very courteous order, I had time to perceive that the figure before me was that of a stout, square-built man of about fifty-five or sixty. His head was bald; his eyebrows, of a bushy grey, were large and meeting. A moustache of the same grizzly appearance shaded his lip, and served to conceal two projecting teeth, which, when he spoke, displayed themselves like boar’s tusks, giving a peculiarly savage expression to his dark and swarthy countenance. The loose sleeve of his coat denoted that he had lost his left arm high up; but whenever excited, I could see that the short stump of the amputated limb jerked convulsively in a manner it was painful to look at.

‘What, a deserter! a spy! Eh, what is it, Alphonse?’

The aide-de-camp, blushing, whispered some few words rapidly, and the general resumed —

‘Ha! Be seated, monsieur.’ The officers of the imperial army know how to treat their prisoners; though, pardieu, they can’t teach their enemies the lesson! You have floating prisons, they tell me, in England, where my poor countrymen die of disease and starvation. Sacré Dieu! what cruelty!’

‘You have been misinformed, General. The nation I belong to is uniformly humane to all whom chance of war has made its prisoners, and never forgets that the officers of an army are gentlemen.’

‘Ha! what do you mean?’ said he, becoming dark with passion, as he half rose from his seat; then, stopping suddenly short, he continued in a voice of suppressed anger, ‘Where are your troops? What number of men has your Villainton got with him?’

‘Of course,’ said I, smiling, ‘you do not expect me to answer such questions.’

‘Do you refuse it?’ said he, with a grim smile.

‘I do distinctly refuse,’ was my answer.

‘What rank do you hold in your service?’

‘I am but a subaltern.’

‘Tenez!’ said another of the party, who for some time past had been leisurely conning over the despatches which had been taken from me, ‘You are called “capitaine” here, monsieur.’

‘Ha! ha! What say you to that?’ cried the general exultingly. ‘Read it, Chamont.’

‘“The despatches which Captain Airey will deliver – ”

Is it not so?’ said he, handing me the paper.

‘Yes,’ said I coolly; ‘he is the senior aide-de-camp; but being employed on General Graham’s staff, now occupied in the pursuit of your army – ’

‘Mille tonnerres! Young man, you have chosen an unsuitable place to cut your jokes!’

‘Sa Majesté le Roi,’ said an aide-de-camp, entering hastily, and throwing the door open to its full extent; and scarcely had the party time to rise when the Emperor’s brother appeared.

Of the middle size, pale, and with a thoughtful, expressive countenance, Joseph Bonaparte’s appearance was much in his favour. His forehead was lofty and expansive, his eye large and full, and the sweet smile which seemed the gift of every member of the family he possessed in perfection. After a few words with General Oudinot, whose rough manner and coarse bearing suffered no change by his presence, he turned towards me, and with much mildness of voice and courtesy of demeanour inquired if I were wounded. On hearing that I was not, he expressed a hope that my captivity would be of brief duration, as exchanges were already in progress. ‘Meanwhile,’ said he, ‘you shall have as little to complain of as possible.’

As he concluded these few but to me most comforting words, I received a hint from the aide-de-camp to withdraw, which I did, into an adjoining room. The same aide-de-camp by whom I had hitherto been accompanied now joined me, and, slapping me familiarly on the shoulder, cried out —

‘Eh, bien! I hope now you are satisfied. Joseph is a fine, generous fellow, and will take care not to forget his promise to you. Meanwhile, come and take a share of my supper.’

He opened a door in the wainscot as he spoke, and introduced me into a perfectly-fitted-up little boudoir, where a supper had been laid out for him. Another cover was soon provided for me, and in a few minutes we were seated at table, chatting away about the war and the opposing armies, as though instead of partisans we had merely been lookers-on at the great game before us. My companion, though but a year or two older than myself, held the grade of colonel, every step to which he won at the point of his sword; he was strikingly handsome, and his figure, though slight, powerfully knit. As the champagne passed back and forward between us, confidences became interchanged, and before midnight sounded I found my companion quite familiar with the name of Louisa Bellew, while to my equal astonishment I was on terms of perfect intimacy with a certain lovely marquise of the Chaussée d’Antin. The tinkle of a sharp bell suddenly called the aide-de-camp to his legs; so drinking off a large goblet of cold water, and taking up his chapeau, he left the room.

I now threw myself back into my chair, and, tossing off a bumper of champagne, began to reason myself into the belief that there were worse things even than imprisonment among the French. Flitting thoughts of the past, vague dreams of the future, confused images of the present, were all dancing through my brain, when the door again opened, and I heard my companion’s footsteps behind me.

‘Do you know, Alphonse,’ said I, without turning in my chair, ‘I have been seriously thinking of making my escape? It is quite clear that a battle is not far off; and, by Jove! if I only have the good fortune to meet with your chef d état major, that savage old Oudinot, I’ll pledge myself to clear off scores with him.’

A half chuckle of laughter behind induced me to continue: —

‘That old fellow certainly must have risen from the ranks – not a touch of breeding about him. I’m certain his Majesty rated him soundly for his treatment of me, when I came away. I saw his old moustaches bristling up; he knew he was in for it.’

A louder laugh than at first, but in somewhat of a different cadence, induced me to torn my head, when what was my horror to see before me, not my new friend the aide-de-camp, but General Oudinot himself, who all this time had been listening to my polite observations regarding his future welfare! There was a savage exultation in his look as his eye met mine, and for a second or two he seemed to enjoy my confusion too much to permit him to break silence. At last he said —

‘Are you on parole, sir?’

‘No,’ I briefly replied, ‘nor shall I be.’

‘What, have I heard you aright? Do you refuse your parole?’

‘Yes; I shall not pledge myself against attempting my escape the very first opportunity that offers.’

‘Indeed,’ said he slowly, ‘indeed! What is to become of poor General Oudinot if such a casualty take place? But come, sir, I have his Majesty’s orders to accept your parole; if you refuse it, you are then at my disposal. I have received no other instructions about you. Yes or no – I ask you for the last time.’

‘No! distinctly no!’

‘C’est bien; holla, garde! numéro dix et onze.’

Two soldiers of the grenadiers, with fixed bayonets, appeared at the door; a few hurried words were spoken, the only part of which I could catch was the word cachot I was at once ordered to rise; a soldier walked on either side of me, and I was in this way conducted through the city to the prison of the gendarmerie, where for the night I was to remain, with orders to forward me the next morning at daybreak, with some Spanish prisoners, on the road to Bayonne.

CHAPTER LIV. THE RETREAT

My cell, for such it was, although dignified with the appellation of chamber, looked out by a small window upon a narrow street, the opposite side to which was formed by the wall of a churchyard pertaining to a convent. As day broke, I eagerly took my place at the casement to watch what was going on without; but except some bareheaded figure of a monk gliding along between the dark yew avenues, or some female in deep mourning passing to her morning’s devotions beside the grave of a relative, I could see nothing. A deep silence seemed to brood over the city, so lately the scene of festivity and mirth. Towards four o’clock, however, I could hear the distant roll of drums, which gradually extended from the extreme right to the left of the plain before the town; then I heard the heavy monotonous tramp of marching, broken occasionally by the clank of the brass bands of the cavalry, or the deep sullen thunder of the artillery waggons as they moved along over the paved roads. The sounds came gradually nearer; the trumpets too joined the clamour with the shrill reveille, and soon the streets towards the front of the prison re-echoed with the unceasing clatter of troops moving forward. I could hear the voices of the officers calling to the men to move up; heard more than once the names of particular regiments, as some distinguished corps were passing. The music of the bands was quick and inspiriting; and as some popular air was struck up, the men would break forth suddenly into the words, and the rough-voiced chorus rang through the narrow streets, and fell heavily on my own heart as I lay there a prisoner. Hour after hour did this continue, yet the silence behind remained as unbroken as ever; the lonely churchyard, with its dark walks and sad-looking trees, was still and deserted. By degrees the din in front diminished; regiments passed now only at intervals, and their pace, increased to a run, left no time for the bands; the cavalry, too, trotted rapidly by, and at last all was still as in the gloomy street before me.

It was now eight o’clock, and no summons had yet come to me, although I had heard myself the order for our marching on the Bayonne road by sunrise. The prison was still as the grave; not a step could I hear; not a bolt nor a hinge creaked. I looked to the window, but the strong iron grating that defended it left no prospect of escape; the door was even stronger, and there was no chimney. The thought occurred to me that the party had forgotten me, and had gone away with the other prisoners. This thought somehow had its consolation; but the notion of being left to starve came suddenly across me, and I hastened to the window to try and make myself known to some chance passer-by.

Just then the loud boom of a gun struck upon my ear; another followed, louder still; and then a long heavy crashing noise, which rose and fell as the wind bore it, told me that the work of death had begun. The sound of the large guns, which at first came only at intervals, now swelled into one loud continuous roar, that drowned all other noise. The strong frames of the windows shook, and the very ground beneath my feet seemed to tremble with the dreadful concussion of the artillery; sometimes the din would die away for a few seconds, and then, as the wind freshened, it would swell into a thunder so loud as to make me think the battle was close to where I stood. Hour after hour did this continue; and now, although the little street beside me was thronged with many an anxious group, I no longer thought of questioning them. My whole soul was wrapped up in the one thought – that of the dreadful engagement; and as I listened, my mind was carrying on with itself some fancied picture of the fight, with no other guide to my imaginings than the distant clangour of the battle. Now I thought that the French were advancing, that their battery of guns had opened; and I could imagine the dark mass that moved on, their tall shakos and black belts peering amidst the smoke that lay densely in the field. On they poured, thousand after thousand; ay, there goes the fusilade – the platoons are firing. But now they halt; the crash of fixing bayonets is heard; a cheer breaks forth; the cloud is rent; the thick smoke is severed as if by a lightning flash; the red-coats have dashed through at the charge; the enemy waits not; the line wavers and breaks; down come the cavalry, like an eagle on the swoop! But again the dread artillery opens; the French form beneath the lines, and the fight is renewed.

The fever of my mind was at its height. I paced my room with hurried steps, and springing to the narrow casement, held my ear to the wall to listen. Forgetting where I was, I called out as though at the head of my company, with the wild yell of the battle around me, and the foe before me.

Suddenly the crowd beneath the window broke; the crash of cavalry equipments resounded through the street, and the head of a squadron of cuirassiers came up at a trot, followed by a train of baggage-waggons, with six horses to each; the drivers whipped and spurred their cattle, and all betokened haste. From the strength of the guard and the appearance of the waggons, I conjectured that they were the treasures of the army – an opinion in which I was strengthened by the word ‘Bayonne’ chalked in large letters on a chest thrown on the top of a carriage. Some open waggons followed, in which the invalids of the army lay, a pale and sickly mass; their lack-lustre eyes gazed heavily around with a stupid wonder, like men musing in a dream. Even they, however, had arms given them, such was the dread of falling into the hands of the guerilla bands who infested the mountain passes, and who never gave quarter even to the wounded and the dying.

The long file at length passed, but only to make way for a still longer procession of Spanish prisoners, who, bound wrist to wrist, marched between two files of mounted gendarmes. The greater number of these were mountaineers, guerillas of the south, condemned to the galleys for life, their bronzed faces and stalwart figures a striking contrast to their pale and emaciated companions, the inhabitants of the towns, who could scarce drag their weary limbs along, and seemed at every step ready to sink between misery and privation. The ribald jests and coarse language of the soldiers were always addressed to these, there seeming to be a kind of respect for the bolder guerillas even in the hour of their captivity. The tramp of led horses, the roll of waggons, the cracking of whips, mingled with the oaths of muleteers and the fainter cries of the sick, now filled the air, and only occasionally did the loud cannonade rise above them. From every window faces appeared, turned with excited eagerness towards the dense crowds; and though I could perceive that inquiries as to the fate of the day were constantly made and answered, my ignorance of Spanish prevented my understanding what was said.

The noise in front of the prison, where the thoroughfare was wider and larger, far exceeded that around me; and at last I could hear the steps of persons marching overhead, and ascending and descending the stairs. Doors clapped and slammed on every side; when, suddenly, the door of my own cell was shaken violently, and a voice cried out in French, ‘Try this; I passed twice without perceiving it.’ The next moment the lock turned, and my room was filled with dragoons, their uniforms splashed and dirty, and evidently bearing the marks of a long and severe march.