Jack Hinton: The Guardsman

‘J’ suis à l’hôpital d’où je pense
Partir bientôt pour chez les morts.
J’ t’envois dix francs qu’ celui qui me panse
M’a donnés pour avoir mon corps.
Je me suis dit puisq’il faut que je file,
Et que ma Rose perd son épouseur,
Ça fait que je mourrai plus tranquille
D’savoir que j’lui laiss’ ma valeur.

III

‘Lorsque j’ai quitté ma vieil l’mère,
Elle s’expirait sensiblement;
A rarrivée d’ma lettre j’espère
Qu’ell’ sera morte entièrement;
Car si la pauvre femme est guérite
Elle est si bonne qu’elle est dans le cas
De s’ faire mourir de mort subite
A la nouvelle de mon trépas.

IV

‘Je te recommand’ bien, ma p’tit’ Rose,
Mon bon chien; ne l’abandonn’ pas;
Surtout ne lui dis pas la chose
Qui fait qu’il ne me reverra pas —
Lui qu’ je suis sûr se fait une fête
De me voir rev’nir caporal;
Il va pleurer comme une bête,
En apprenant mon sort fatal.

V

‘Quoiqu’ ça c’est quelqu’ chose qui m’enrage
D‘être fait mourir loin du pays —
Au moins quand on meurt au village,
On peut dire bonsoir aux amis,
On a sa place derrière l‘église
On a son nom sur un’ croix de bois,
Et puis on espèr’ qu’ la payse
Viendra pour prière quelque fois.

VI

‘Adieu, Rose I adieu! du courage!
A nous r’voir il n’ faut plus songer;
Car au régiment où je m’engage
On ne vous accorde pas de congé.
Via tout qui tourne =! j’ n’y vois goutte!
Ah, c’est fini! j’ sens que j’ m’en vas;
J’ viens de recevoir ma feuill’ de route;
Adieu t Rose, adieu! n’ m’oubli’ pas.’

Fatigue and weariness, that seemed never to weigh upon my companions, more than once pressed heavily on me. As I awoke from a short and fitful slumber the same song continued; for having begun it, somehow it appeared to possess such a charm for them they could not cease singing, and the

‘Adieu! Rose, adieu! n’ m’oubli’ pas,’

kept ringing through my ears till daybreak.

CHAPTER LII. THE MARCH

Such, with little variety, was the history of each day and night of our march – the days usually passed in some place of security and concealment, while a reconnaissance would be made by some three or four of the party; and, as night fell, the route was continued.

One incident alone broke the monotony of the journey. On the fourth night we left the mountain and descended into a large open plain, taking for our guide the course of a river which seemed familiar to my companions. The night was dark; heavy masses of cloud concealed the moon, and not a star was visible; the atmosphere was close and oppressive, and there reigned around a kind of unnatural stillness, unbroken by the flow of the sluggish river which moved on beside us. Our pace had been a rapid one for some time; and contrary to their wont the dragoons neither indulged in their gay songs nor merry stories, but kept together with more of military precision than they had hitherto assumed. I conjectured from this that we were probably approaching the French lines; and on questioning the corporal, was told that such was the case.

A little after midnight we halted for a few moments to refresh the horses. Each man dismounted, and stood with his hand upon the bridle; and I could not but mark how the awful silence of the hour seemed to prey upon their spirits as they spoke together in low and broken whispers, as if fearful to interrupt the deep sleep of Nature. It was just then that every eye was directed to a bright star that burst out above the horizon, and seemed to expand gradually into a large mass of great brilliancy, and again to diminish to a mere speck – which it remained for some time, and then disappeared entirely. We continued gazing on the dark spot where this phenomenon had appeared, endeavouring by a hundred conjectures to explain it. Wearied at length with watching, we were about to continue our journey, when suddenly from the quarter from where the star had shone a rocket shot up into the dark sky and broke into ten thousand brilliant fragments, which seemed to hang suspended on high in the weight of the dense atmosphere. Another followed, and another; then, after a pause of some minutes, a blue rocket was seen to mount into the air, and explode with a report which even at the distance we stood was audible. Scarcely had its last fragments disappeared in the darkness when a low rumbling noise, like the booming of distant thunder, seemed to creep along the ground. Then came a rattling volley, as if of small-arms; and at last the whole horizon burst into a red glare, which forked up from earth to sky with a crash that seemed to shake the very ground beneath us. Masses of dark, misshapen rock sprang into the blazing sky; millions upon millions of sparks glittered through the air; and a cry, like the last expiring wail of a drowning crew, rose above all other sounds – and all was still. The flame was gone; the gloomy darkness had returned; not a sound was heard; but in that brief moment four hundred of the French army met their graves beneath the castle of Burgos, which in their hurried retreat they had blown up, without apprising the troops who were actually marching beneath its very walls.

Our route was now resumed in silence; even the levity of the French soldiers had received a check; and scarcely a word passed as we rode on through the gloomy darkness, anxiously looking for daybreak, to learn something of the country about us.

Towards sunrise we found ourselves at the entrance of a mountain pass traversed by the Ebro, which in some places almost filled the valley, and left merely a narrow path between its waters and the dark cliffs that frowned above. Here we proceeded – sometimes in single file; now tracing the signs of the retreating force which had just preceded us, now lost in astonishment at the prodigious strength of the position thus abandoned. But even these feelings gave way before a stronger one – our admiration of the exquisite beauty of the scenery. Glen after glen was seen opening as we advanced into this wide valley, each bearing its tributary stream to the mighty Ebro – the clear waters reflecting the broken crags, the waving foliage, and the bright verdure that beamed around, as orange-trees, laurels, and olives bent over the current, or shot up in taper spires towards the clear blue sky. How many a sheltered nook we passed, with an involuntary longing to rest and linger among scenes so full of romantic beauty! But already the din of the retreating column was borne towards us on the breeze, the heavy, monotonous roll of large guns and caissons; while now and then we thought we could catch the swell of martial music blending through the other sounds. But soon we came up with waggons carrying the wounded and sick, who, having joined by another road, had fallen to the rear of the march. From them we learned that the King of Spain, Joseph himself, was with the advanced guard, and that the destination of the forces was Vittoria, where a junction with the corps darmée of the other generals being effected, it was decided on giving battle to the Anglo-Spanish army.

As we advanced, our progress became slower and more difficult; close columns of infantry blocked up the road, or dense masses of cavalry, with several hundred led horses and baggage mules, prevented all chance of getting forward. Gradually, however, the valley widened, the mountain became less steep; and by evening we reached a large plain, closed towards the north-east by lofty mountains, which I learned were the Pyrenees, and beheld in the far distance the tall spires of the city of Vittoria. Several roads crossed the plain towards the city, all of which were now crowded with troops – some pressing on in the direction of the town, others taking up their position and throwing up hasty embankments and stockades. Meanwhile the loaded waggons, with the spoil of the rich convents and the royal treasure, were seen wending their slow way beneath the walls of Vittoria on the road to Bayonne, escorted by a strong cavalry force, whose bright helmets and breastplates pronounced them Cuirassiers de la Garde. The animation and excitement of the whole scene was truly intense, and as I rode along beside the corporal, I listened with eagerness to his account of the various regiments as they passed hither and thither and took up their positions on the wide plain.

‘There, look yonder,’ said he, ‘where that dark mass is defiling beside the pine wood! See how they break into parties; watch them, how they scatter along the low bank beside the stream under shelter of the brushwood. There were eight hundred men in that battalion: where are they now? All concealed – they are the tirailleurs of the army; and see on that low mound above them where the flag is flying – the guns are about to occupy that height. I was right, you see; there they come, six, seven, eight pieces of heavy metal. Sacrebleu! that must be a place of some consequence.’

‘What are the troops yonder with the red tufts in their caps, and scarlet trousers?’

‘Ah, parbleu! your countrymen will soon know to their cost: they are the Infanterie de la Garde. There’s not a man in the column you are looking at who is not decoré.’

‘Look at this side, monsieur! See the Chasseurs à Cheval,’ said Annette, putting her hand on my arm, while her bright eyes glanced proudly at the glittering column which advanced by a road near us – coming along at a sharp trot, their equipment clattering, their horses highly conditioned, and the splendid uniform of light blue and silver giving them a most martial air.

‘Bah!’ said the corporal contemptuously, ‘these are the dragoons to my taste.’ So saying, he pointed to a dark column of heavy cavalry, who led their horses slowly along by a narrow causeway; the long black horse-hair trailed from their dark helmets with something of a gloomy aspect, to which their flowing cloaks of deep blue added.

‘The Cuirassiers de Milhauds. But look – look yonder! Tonnerre de ciel! see that!’

The object to which my attention was now directed was a park of artillery that covered the whole line of road from the Miranda pass to the very walls of Vittoria.

‘Two hundred, at least,’ exclaimed he, after counting some twenty or thirty of the foremost. ‘Ventre bleu! what chance have you before the batteries of the Guard?’

As he spoke, the drums beat across the wide plain; a continuous dull roll murmured along the ground. It ceased; the trumpets brayed forth a call; a clanging crash followed, and I saw that the muskets were brought to the shoulder, as the bayonets glanced in the sun and the sharp sabres glittered along the squadrons. For a second or two all was still, and then the whole air was rent with a loud cry of ‘Vive le Roi!’ while a mounted party rode slowly from the left, and entering one of the gates of the city disappeared from our sight. Night was now beginning to fail, as we wended our way slowly along towards the walls of Vittoria – it being the corporal’s intention to deliver his prisoner into the hands of the état major of Marshal Jourdan.

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.