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 Another Random Document on
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caused him to spring to his feet.

[*] I will never go with him.

"Holloa, Alister! Is that you, my man?"

"Yes," replied Macdonald, springing up the rocks to where
Ronald sat, and leaping to his side with the activity of a deer; "but
you nearly made an end of me a dozen times. Every minute you sent
a large rock sousing down the ravine upon my very path. Did you
not hear me shout? Why, man, you have but half the ear of a
Highland forester! I hope I am in time for the marquess's arrival?"
"Yes; but what a devilish long time you have been! Madame the
baroness and her squire were certainly in no hurry to reach the rock
of Maya."
"Why no; to tell you the truth," replied Macdonald, laughing as
heartily as his lack of breath would permit him, "we consulted our
own convenience and pleasure, and it has been the most agreeable
night, or rather morning, march since I first saw the spires of
Lisbon."
"So I suppose. But did you escape the French sentries?"
"How would I have been here else, Ronald? They are posted at
the foot of the rock of Maya, and must have been blind, if they did
not see me. I led the young lady within a hundred yards of them,
and there bade her tenderly adieu."
"She thanked you, of course?"
"By so delightful a salute, that I began to persuade her to return
with me; but she placed her little hand upon my mouth, and, as the
novels say, vanished from my sight,—in other words crossed the
enemy's lines: so now, I suppose, she is in the arms of monsieur the
baron, or as he would be more appropriately styled, Jock Law, laird
of the Clapperknowes. What a pity 'tis that so sweet a girl should be
the wife of that gruff old humbug! Hah! there go the pipes!"
"Wellington has come!"
The out-picquets rejoined their several brigades, which in a few
minutes were in motion, and marched from Elizondo with their
bands playing, and entered among the mountains towards that part
of Maya where General Gazan's corps were in position. In the
forenoon they came in sight of the enemy, when Sir Rowland Hill
halted, and Wellington, attended by a single aide-de-camp, rode
forward to reconnoitre. Ronald Stuart had now for the first time an
opportunity of particularly observing that great leader, of whom the
world then heard, and were yet to hear, so much.
He was mounted on a slight but stout crop-tailed horse, without
trappings; a pair of plain holsters were at his saddle-bow, and a
short sabre hung from his belt. The exceeding plainness of his attire
—a coarse blue cloak, and weather-beaten cocked-hat, totally
destitute of ornament—contrasted strongly with the richly laced
jacket and pelisse of his aide, an officer of the 10th Hussars, that
regiment of exquisite celebrity. Wellington gave a keen but hasty
glance along the ranks of the bronzed Highlanders as he rode past,
and then bent his sharp eyes on the heights where the dark columns
of French infantry appeared in position, their long lines of serried
arms glancing as usual in the sun. For about three minutes the
marquess carefully made a reconnoissance of the foe through his
telescope, and then issued his orders.
"Sir William!" said he.
 General Stuart, a fine old soldier, with hair white as snow, a
bronzed visage, and a purple coat adorned with a black aigulet, rode
up, and touched his coarse cocked-hat of glazed leather.
"With the second brigade you will cross the Bidassoa, by the
pathway leading from Elizondo, and ascending the mountains, turn
the enemy's right. You will carry the rock of Maya at the point of the
bayonet."
"It shall be done, my lord," replied Stuart confidently, as he
drove spurs into his horse and galloped back to the second brigade;
while Sir Rowland with the marquess ascended to an eminence, to
observe the operations and success of this movement. While Stuart
with his troops moved off and disappeared among the rocks and
orchards of Elizondo, the other brigades remained under arms, and
found, with considerable chagrin, that their part of the game was
not yet come. After remaining for some time—an hour perhaps,
watching attentively the French lines, the sound of distant firing, and
the appearance of smoke curling along the hill sides, announced that
the gallant Stuart had commenced the attack. Every ear and every
eye were all attention. The fire became closer and more rapid; a
cheer was heard, and in ten minutes the whole second brigade,
consisting of the brave "Old Buffs," the 31st, the 57th, and 66th
English regiments, were seen rushing up the hill under a close and
destructive shower of shot, which they heeded less than if it had
been a shower of rain, although it thinned their numbers deplorably.
Forward they went with the bayonet, and the right wing of the
French melted away before them.
The position was turned, and the cheers of the victors were
echoed by their comrades below, whose blood was fiercely roused
by the sound of the conflict.
"They have done well," said Wellington. "Forward! the light
troops."
The command was obeyed with promptitude. The 6th
Caçadores, the 71st Highlanders, and all the light companies moved
off double quick, and the ravines among the hills rang with the clank
of accoutrements and the tramp of their feet. These auxiliaries
scrambled directly up the face of the hill, and the 50th regiment,
moving to the front, opened a deadly fire on Gazan's left, while his
troops were making ineffectual attempts to recover the heights on
their right.
Exposed thus to a fire on their flanks, and galled in front by a
cloud of sharp-shooters, who were scattered among the rocks and
bushes,—bolting up every instant to fire, and then ducking down to
reload, the French began to retreat down the hills towards France,
but slowly, and keeping up their fire with gallant yet singular
determination.
The coolness displayed by the light infantry in this skirmish was
truly astonishing. To them it appeared like ordinary shooting,—a
mere amusement. The Highlanders and the caçadores were seen
scampering hither and thither, leaping from rock to rock, firing and
kneeling, or throwing themselves flat on the earth, laughing and
jesting in a manner, which none but those that have been eye-
witnesses of such an affair can imagine. Even the deep groan, the
sudden shriek of anguish, as some comrade when struck by a
French bullet tossed aside his musquet and heavily fell prone on the
earth, wallowing in his blood, did not cool or restrain them; and thus
they continued to advance for several miles, strewing the ground
with dead, and peppering the retiring foe from every available point.
Gazan threw out a body of chasseurs to cover the retreat of his
forces down the mountains, and with them an irregular fight was
maintained the whole day. Night scarcely put an end to the contest,
and allowed the jaded French to find a shelter in their own country.
The night was excessively dark, and yet the firing continued for
nearly two hours after the gloom had fairly set in, and only ceased
when friends became confounded with foes. Seaton narrowly
escaped being bayoneted by two of his own favourite light-bobs.
Several of the French went the wrong way in the dark, and, falling
among the British, were captured and sent to the rear. The effect of
the midnight firing was peculiarly fine, in such a wide wilderness as
the Pyrenees. Several thousand musquets flashing incessantly
through the gloom, and wakening the myriad echoes of the
mountains and gorges, presented a very singular sight, the pleasure
of viewing which was considerably lessened by the continual
whistling of shot; until the bugles on both sides called in the
stragglers, and the British, giving one hearty cheer of triumph and
defiance, withdrew to their main body.
The lines of the latter were now established along the heights of
Maya. The whole of the mountains were enveloped in a dense fog; a
tremendous storm of rain succeeded, but the troops, the unhappy
out-picquets excepted, were snug under canvas. But there were
exposed the hundreds of killed and wounded, who could neither be
sought nor attended to then, and who lay scattered over miles of
contested ground, under all the fury of the pitiless elements. For the
dead it mattered not; but many of the wounded expired during the
raging of the storm, which accelerated their end.
Seated in his tent, on the sloping sides of which the rain was
rushing down, Stuart wrote letters for Inchavon-house and Lochisla.
He found their composition no easy task, as the candle, which was
stuck in a bottle, flickered in the wind, and sputtered with the rain-
drops which oozed through the canvas sides of his bell-shaped
covering. He held out hopes of his speedy return,—but he had often
done so before; for every new victory was deemed by the troops a
precursor of peace, and of return to their native homes. * * * *
Having now gained the important heights of Maya, Lord
Wellington retired to join another part of his army. The celebrated
pass was left to the care of Fassifern with the first brigade, which
encamped on the very summit of the hills, where the high road from
the fertile vale of El Bastan descends to France.
The second brigade was posted in a valley to the right, and the
Portuguese of the Condé d'Amarante occupied a mountain in front of
the hamlet of Erraza, where a brigade of the same nation was
quartered, under the command of Colonel Ashworth. The 82nd
(Prince of Wales's Volunteers) occupied another part of the hills,
about two miles off; and to these troops was left the defence of the
pass of Maya, for which they were to fight to the last gasp,—orders
which, when the time came, were faithfully and nobly performed.

CHAPTER VIII.
PASS OF MAYA.—PYRENEES.
 "Again the kelpie nichered loud,
And gloated o'er his prey;
And the victims in the mountain pass,
Like tigers, stood at bay;

The first fire thinned the Scottish ranks—

Childe Sinclair hit the ground,
And as his life-blood oozed away,
He moaned—"
Massacre of Kringellan:—Vedder.

A month elapsed without the sound of a shot being heard, and the
troops at the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles lay quietly encamped
and unmolested amidst the fine scenery of the Pyrenees. The
weather was now remarkably agreeable, and the officers procured
plenty of wine from Elizondo and other Navarese towns in their rear,
and they were beginning to be as comfortable as it is possible for
troops to be under canvas. But a cloud was gathering in the valleys
of Gascony below them.
The great victory at Vittoria, and the important events which
followed it, had not failed deeply to interest and concern Napoleon,
to rouse his wrath and to wound his pride. That object, for which he
had shed so much French blood, was now completely wrested from
his grasp, and France herself remained in imminent peril while the
armies of the conqueror hovered on the mountains which overlooked
her territories. Fresh conscriptions were levied, and again France, in
her folly, poured forth another army, which directed its march to the
Pyrenees, to fight the battles of the insatiable Buonaparte. Soult was
recalled from Germany to place himself at its head, as the
"Lieutenant of the Emperor." Joining the French army on the 13th of
July, 1813, he commenced re-organizing and preparing for a second
invasion of Spain, with an energy and activity which restored the
confidence and roused, as usual, the arrogance of the French troops,
who commenced their march with the intention of driving the allies
beyond the Ebro, and celebrating the birth-day of the great Emperor
at Vittoria.
At that time Lord Wellington's responsibilities and difficulties
were not of a slight nature, having to cover the siege of two strong
fortresses and defend the wide space between them, which
compelled him to extend and weaken his line. His skill was evinced
in the distribution of his army, which he posted in the best manner
likely to defend effectually the passes of the Pyrenees, and to cover
the investments of San Sebastian and Pampeluna.
To effect the relief of the latter was the first grand object of the
Duke of Dalmatia. From St. Jean Pied-de-Port, on the morning of
Sunday the 25th July, he marched thirty-five thousand men against
the troops of General Byng occupying the pass of Roncesvalles,
which post they completely turned in the afternoon, after a most
desperate conflict, from which the general and Sir Lowry Cole, who
had moved up to his support, were compelled to retire.
On the same day General Drouet led thirteen thousand men
against the right of Hill's position,—Cameron's command at the Maya
pass, which he had orders to force, as the Highlander had to defend
it,—at all hazards. At the time the attack was made no movement
was expected, yet Drouet found the British not altogether
unprepared for such an event. It was a beautiful Sunday, and the
heat, even on the summits of the Pyrenees, was intense. As it was
not supposed that the enemy were near, the tents were all standing,
just as they had been for a month before; and the camp and
baggage-mules were miles away down on the Spanish side, whither
they were usually taken for grass.
Stuart on that morning had wandered from the encampment to
some distance, where he was enjoying the appearance of solitude,
so like that of his "Highland home," which reigned far and wide
around him. The vast hills rose on every side, heaving their green
summits to the sky. A death-like stillness prevailed, save when now
and then broken by the scream of a wild bird, the hollow flap of a
partridge's wing, or the faint and far-off tinkle of a mountain rill
murmuring through some solitary gorge, leaping from rock to rock
as it descended to the bright plains of Gascony or Bearn. For nearly
an hour he had wandered about there, when his solitary reveries
were broken by the sound of a distant shot, the echoes of which
rang among the splintered rocks and grassy peaks, recalling him at
once to the present; and he hurried away to the camp, where the
brigade was getting under arms, the soldiers mustering with their
usual rapidity and coolness, without betraying the least surprise or
confusion. From an out-picquet the word had been passed that the
French "were in motion in front," and the fixing of fresh flints,
snapping of locks, unrolling and examining of ammunition, gave
token of every preparation being made to receive them with all due
honour. Nearly an hour elapsed, and no more was seen or heard of
the foe. All began to suppose it a false alarm, and many of the
officers went forward to the outposts to reconnoitre.
"Where are the enemy now, Armstrong?" asked Cameron of an
officer of the 71st, commanding the picquet which had given the
alarm. "In which direction did you see them?"
"Directly north, and far down on the French side," replied the
other, pointing with his sword. "We distinctly saw a strong party pass
yon defile between the mountains: the glitter of their arms was
apparent to us all."
"I'm afraid their feet were cloven," observed Seaton. "I see
nothing but a herd of cattle crossing the defile you speak of."
"Horned nowte, just black short-legged Argyleshires," said
Dugald, who, as usual, was close to Cameron's skirts. "I see them
plain aneuch mysel, sirs; but the loons may be amang the hills for a'
that." A loud laugh arose at the old man's observations.
"Well, gentlemen," said Armstrong, while his cheek reddened
with anger, and he cast a furious glance on Dugald Mhor, "you are all
at liberty to think as you please; but I tell you that there are cattle
among the hills carrying bayonets on their horns, and that such is
the fact, some here may learn to their cost, ere long."
"What fire the borderer displays," said Ronald, as Armstrong left
the group abruptly; "and here is Alister his sub, quite fierce likewise
about the matter."
"Search round," chimed in Campbell, in the same tone of jest;
"search about, and probably we shall find the pig-skin at the bottom
of which they saw the enemy. I remember once in Egypt, that old
Ludovick Lisle—"
 "What mean you, gentlemen?" said Macdonald, angrily; "do you
take us for fools? I believe we have seen the enemy often enough to
know them."
"Halt, Macdonald; you take our jests far too seriously," said
Stuart. "If you saw the French, where are they now?"
"In front!" was the tart reply.
"They have been so, down in Gascony, for this month past."
"By all eternity! 'tis something new for me to have assertions
doubted thus," replied Macdonald, considerably ruffled, yet loath to
have high words with his old friend; and adding, "I will make no
further explanations," he turned and left them, following Armstrong,
who was reconnoitring intently through a telescope. While Stuart's
cheek grew red with anger at the contemptuous manner in which
Macdonald took leave of him, his sleeve was plucked by old Dugald
Cameron.
"Dinna speak to him juist the noo," whispered that aged
retainer solemnly; "his birse is up, and it is an ill thing to warsle wi' a
Macdonald at sic a time. Dinna gloom wi' het faces at ane anither,
for I tell you one will no behauld the ither lang, sae turn not the
back o' your hand upon him; he may be mixed wi' the mools ere the
hills grow dark wi' the gloaming, or redden again in the morning
sun."
"What do you mean, Dugald?" asked Stuart, surprised at the
Highlander's manner.
"Sir, I am farer seen than maist folk, and so was my faither
before me. Baith loud and lang did you and Macdonald laugh ower
your wine in the cornel's tent last nicht, and every laugh o the puir
lad gaed to my heart. I kent by its hollow ringing he was fey."
 "Fey?" replied the other, respect for Dugald's white haffets,
alone restraining a violent inclination to laugh; "fey, Dugald? How?"
"Loud laughter, I mean laughter such as his, aye portends
sudden death. Ony cailloch that ever wore a mutch, or ony giglet o'
a lassie that ever wore a snood, will tell ye the same thing, sir. Sae
dinna girn at or be thrawn gebbit wi' young Inchkenneth, for he'll no
be lang amang us. Mony heads will there be on the heather ere the
sun gaes doon." Dugald moved off, leaving Stuart considerably
surprised at his superstition. At that moment Alister rushed towards
them, with his bonnet in his hand.
"Look ye now, gentlemen," he exclaimed, tossing his long
feathers in the direction of the winding way which led to France,
"what call you these?"
Even while he spoke a dense column of French infantry
appeared in the defile between the mountains, and a cloud of
others, battalion after battalion, with their tri-colours fluttering in the
breeze, advanced in succession, until thirteen thousand bayonets
were gleaming in the light of the noonday sun. It was the whole of
General Drouet's division.
"There is nae heather here, but I thocht and I said there would
be mony a head on the green swaird ere the hills grew mirk in the
gloaming," muttered Dugald ominously, as he viewed the advance of
the French with kindling eyes. With the first blast of the bugle the
troops were again under arms, and marched to the front of the pass
to stem the approaching torrent; and, resolute as the soldiers were,
they knew that the attempt to keep their position against such an
overwhelming power was vain, unless Lord Wellington, who was
distant at San Sebastian, could by some means succour them. But
obedience is the first duty of the soldier, and their orders were to
defend the passes and fight to the last,—orders never yet mistaken
by British troops.
The out-picquets first opened their fire upon the advancing
masses, and although seconded by a body of light troops, were
forced of course to give way. The 28th and 39th regiments, from
Wilson's brigade, moved off to support the picquets on the right.
With courage and resolution unparalleled these corps sustained the
onset of their opponents, whose tremendous fire however compelled
them to waver and recoil. The 34th or Cumberland regiment, with
the 50th, came to their assistance. These last, forming a junction,
rushed upon the French while exposed to the deadly fire of their
extended front, and with unexampled intrepidity charged them with
the bayonet, giving a check to their progress up the mountains. The
French returned the charge, but at the same time made a flank
movement, which their great numbers enabled them to do easily, to
surround and cut off their rash assailants, who were at once placed
in a critical position.
It was at that moment that Cameron brought up his
Highlanders, and restored confidence to the regiments which had
been falling into confusion. It is impossible to describe the scene
which the Maya heights presented at that time. The deafening roar
of the musquetry,—the driving clouds of smoke,—the tumultuous
yells of the French, who were fierce, wild, and eager to wash away
in British blood the disgraces of Vittoria, almost confounded those
who were then for the first time under fire. The advancing enemy
continued to shout more like savages than European soldiers, but
their tremendous shower of shot was fast mowing down the little
band which so gallantly endeavoured to resist them. Like a hail-
shower the heavy leaden bullets were falling everywhere, and
tearing up the turf even after they had passed through the bodies of
the soldiers,—so close had the contending parties now come
together.
The British had stood firm without flinching an inch; but the
French, who were now fighting in a great disorganized mob, had
continued to advance, by the rear men pushing on the front, until
within thirty paces of the British line; and at so short a distance it
may easily be supposed that the shot on both sides told with fearful
effect, especially among the dense masses of the French, before
whom, in five minutes, arose a pile of their own dead and wounded
like a breast-work. Beyond this ghastly line they would not advance
an inch, nor could they be prevailed upon to do so even by the most
strenuous exertions of their officers, who, whenever the smoke
cleared away a little, were observed brandishing their sabres, waving
their colours and eagles, and enthusiastically crying, "Vive la France!
Vive l'Empereur! Vive la Gloire!" But their soldiers heeded them not,
and continued to load and fire with the utmost sang froid, but would
not be led to the charge.
The brave 71st Highland Light Infantry, after fighting with their
usual obstinacy and intrepidity, had been compelled to give way, by
which three Portuguese pieces of cannon fell into the possession of
the French. To recapture these, a desperate attempt was made by
Lieutenant Armstrong, who, at the head of eight private soldiers, as
brave and as rash as himself, rushed furiously on the enemy. With
his sword in one hand and his bonnet in the other, the gallant
Borderer was seen amidst the smoke leading them on; but all
perished under the leaden shower, within a few feet of the French
bayonets. After being reduced to half its number of officers and
men, this fine regiment began to retire in disorder. The 34th and
50th were in the same perilous predicament, owing to the front and
flank movements of the enemy, when Fassifern with his Highlanders
entered the bloody arena. As the battalion moved in open column of
companies, along the hill-top from the camp towards the pass,
Cameron addressed a few words to them, exhorting them to fight to
the last man, and maintain the ancient fame of the north. He
reminded them that they were not fighting merely for the defence of
Spain, but of those homes where their kindred dwelt. His voice
became drowned in the din of the conflict which rolled along the
face of the hills, and Stuart heard only the concluding part of his
address, and part of it was in Gaelic. "Highlanders! we shall have a
bloody sabbath here to-day; but we go forth to shed our blood that
the sabbath-bells may ring in peace at home, in those green straths
and wooded glens where many a Scottish heart is praying for us at
this hour." The sound of the pipes, as the piper on the flank of each
company struck up "On wi' the Tartan," was the only reply. What a
gush of indescribable feeling came through every breast, when the
blast of the pipe was heard at such a moment! Every eye lighted up,
and every cheek flushed: the effect of the sound of that strange
instrument on the sons of Caledonia is well known.
"In halls of joy and in scenes of mourning it has prevailed,—it
has animated her warriors in battle, and welcomed them back after
their toils to the homes of their love and the hills of their nativity. Its
strains were the first sounded in the ears of infancy, and they are
the last to be forgotten in the wanderings of age. Even Highlanders
will allow that it is not the gentlest of instruments; but when far
from their mountain-homes, what sounds, however melodious, could
thrill their hearts like one burst of their own wild native pipe? The
feelings which other instruments awaken are general and undefined,
because they talk alike to Frenchmen, Spaniards, Germans, and
Highlanders, for they are common to all; but the bag-pipe is sacred
to Scotland, and speaks a language which Scotsmen only feel. It
talks to them of home and all the past, and brings before them, on
the burning shores of India, the wild hills and oft-frequented streams
of Caledonia,—the friends that are thinking of them, and the
sweethearts and wives that are weeping for them there. And need it
be told here to how many fields of danger and victory its proud
strains have led? There is not a battle that is honourable to Britain in
which its war-blast has not sounded; when every other instrument
has been hushed by the confusion and carnage of the scene, it has
been borne into the thick of the battle, and far in the advance its
bleeding but devoted bearer, sinking to the earth, has sounded at
once encouragement to his countrymen—and his own coronach!"[*]

[*] Preface to Macdonald's "Ancient Martial Music of Scotland."

Ranald-dhu with his comrades strove to call up the "fierce native

daring" of the Highlanders, who continued to move quickly forward.
The balls now began to hiss and tear up the turf around them, now
and then striking down some poor fellow, who was left rolling on the
ground in agony.
"The battalion will form line on the grenadiers," cried Fassifem,
—"double quick!" The movement was performed with the rapidity
and precision of a home-review. As the covering-serjeant of the light
company took up the ground of alignement, holding his long pike
aloft, a shot struck him in the head, passing through his right eye,
and he fell dead. The line formed across his body, and the word of
command from Seaton, "Light company; halt,—front,—dress!" had
scarcely been heard on the left, before the orderly bugler, who stood
by Cameron's side, sounded to fire, and the hoarse braying
piobrachd now rang along the line.
The first volley of the Highlanders gave a temporary check to
the enemy, and enabled the 34th and "old Half-hundred" to reform
in order. The French line was now, as I have said, within thirty
paces, and every lineament and feature of their dark and sallow
faces could be distinctly seen at so short a distance. They were now
in the midst of all the uproar, the smoke, the blood, the danger, the
mingling of hideous groans and cries,—in short, the hell upon earth
of a hot engagement, in which both parties became so heated by
the slaughter around them, that all the softer passions were
forgotten, and they longed, with a tiger-like feeling, to bury their
blades in each other's hearts.
Ronald felt his pulses thickening, the blood tingling in his ears,
for the sound of the musquetry had deafened them to every thing
else, and his heart rebounded within his bosom until he could almost
hear it beat; but it was with feelings the reverse of fear,—a wish to
leap headlong among the enemy, to cut them down with his sword
as he would whinbushes, and to revenge the slaughter the terrible
fire of so dense a column was making among his gallant and
devoted regiment. So thick was the smoke become, that he could
scarcely see the third file from him, and only at times it cleared up a
little. What was then revealed, served only to infuriate him the more.
The Highlanders were lying in heaps across and across each other,—
piled up just as they fell; while their comrades fought above them,
firing and reloading with all the rapidity in their power, until struck by
a shot, and down they fell to perish unnoticed and unknown. Almost
every shot killed; for the distance was short, and the wounds were
hideous and ghastly, the blood spouting forth from the orifice as if
through a syringe.
Now and then Ronald felt his heart momentarily recoil within
him when he beheld some poor soldier, while in the full possession
of life and energy, toss aside his firelock, and fall suddenly
backwards across some heap of corpses—stricken dead. But a
battle-field is no place for sympathy, and the feeling lasted but for
an instant.
"Shall we never get the word to charge?" cried Seaton fiercely.
"O Stuart! this is indeed infernal work,—to be mauled thus, and
within a few feet of their muzzles."
"A charge would be madness, and our utter destruction. A
single regiment against thirteen columns of Frenchmen—"
"We possess the pass, though. Poor Macivar is on the turf, and
Macdonuil is shot through the heart. Hah! see to the left: the 50th
are giving way—God! I am struck!" He sunk to the earth, with the
blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils. A shot had pierced his
breast, beating in with it a part of the silver breast-plate, and in
great agony he rolled over several times, grasping and tearing the
turf with fruitless efforts to regain his feet.
"Never mind me, light bobs, but stand by Cameron to the last.
Hurrah!" Convulsively he strove to raise himself up; but another
bullet passed through his neck, and a deadly paleness overspread
his countenance. He gave his claymore one last flourish, he cast a
glance of fury and despair towards the enemy, and expired. Scarcely
a minute had elapsed since he was struck, and now he was dead!
"Poor Seaton!" muttered Ronald, and turned away. He had now
the command of the light company; the other lieutenant lay bleeding
to death a few yards off, and in the intervals of pain crying fruitlessly
for water. One soldier, who had been struck by a shot across the
bridge of the nose, became blind, and rushed frantickly among the
enemy, to perish under their bayonets. Another, who had his lower
jaw carried off, presented a horrible spectacle as he lay on the
ground, vomiting up blood through his open throat, and lolling out
his exposed and swollen tongue.[*]

[*] This man lived for many years afterwards, having the loss supplied by a mask,
through which soups were induced by a pipe for his sustenance. For pension he
received the sum of nine-pence per day.

"Ninety-second! Prepare to charge!" cried Cameron, animated to fury

by this deadly slaughter of his regiment. "Gordon Highlanders!
prepare to charge," he repeated, as he galloped along the broken
line with eyes flashing fire, while he waved his bonnet aloft. "Close
up,—keep together; shoulder to shoulder, Highland men,—charge!"
Ronald alone heard him, and repeated the rash order; but their
voices were unheard amidst the din of the conflict. At that moment
the smoke cleared a little away, and in front Ronald perceived a
French grenadier sling his musquet, and advancing a few paces
before his friends, stoop down to rifle an officer of the 71st
regiment, who was lying dead between the lines.
"Iverach, mark that plundering rascal," said Stuart; "aim
steadily."
Evan fired and missed.
"That was not like a man from the braes of Strathonan!" said his
master angrily. "Fire, Ian Macdonald; you are one of the best shots
in the company."
"My father shot the Damh mhor a Vonalia toon in Padenoch,[*]
and I was aye thouchten to pe a petterer marksman than him,"
replied the young Highlander coolly, as he levelled his piece and
fired. The Frenchman fell forward, beat the earth with his heels for a
moment, and then lay motionless.

[*] A famous white stag, shot in Badenoch in 1807. It was believed by the
Highlanders to be more than 200 years old.

"He's toon, sir: I have pitten a flea in his lug," replied the marksman,
as he bit another cartridge.
For two hours this desperate and unequal conflict was
maintained. The other regiments had given way in disorder, and the
Highlanders began to waver, after the loss of their gallant colonel,
who had retired severely wounded. Nearly all the officers were dead
or dying on the ground, while others were endeavouring to find their
way to some place where they could get their wounds dressed. Two
alone were left with the regiment,—Ronald and another lieutenant,
who, being senior, had the command, and finding that the battalion
was reduced to less than a company, ordered it to retire towards the
pass of Maya, having lost in two hours five-and-twenty officers, and
three hundred rank and file. The other regiments were cut up in
nearly the same manner, but none had lost so many officers. Stuart
carried the king's colour, and a serjeant the regimental—all the
ensigns being killed or wounded. Poor Alister Macdonald was left on
the field among the former. A shot had passed through his head, and
he died without a groan. His friend Ronald was considerably startled
when he saw him lying dead. The prediction of Dugald Mhor flashed
upon his mind, and he looked round for that singular old Highlander;
but he was away with Fassifern, on the road for the village of Irun.
The whole of the British forces were now in retreat before the
overwhelming power of the enemy, column after column of whom
continued to press forward. The defenders of the pass retired on the
rock of Maya, abandoning their camp and baggage to the French.
On retreating through the pass, Major Campbell, whose horse had
been as usual shot under him, and who had first left the field owing
to a severe wound, headed a few Highlanders, who scrambled like
squirrels up the face of a precipitous crag, from the summit of which
they kept up a hot fire upon the French troops, not only holding
them decidedly in check and giving their friends time to retire, but
revenging the previous slaughter in front of the pass. Here it may be
worth mentioning that Major Campbell lost his celebrated cudgel,
which, in the enthusiasm of the moment he sent flying among the
foe, and unhorsed a mounted officer. He gave them also much
weightier proofs of his good-will. Just as the flank of a column of
French grenadiers reached the base of the crag occupied by the
Highlanders, a tremendous fragment of rock, urged forward by the
powerful hands of the major, came thundering down among them,—
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