Читать книгу Adventures of an Aide-de-Camp (Historical Novel of Napoleonic Wars) - James Grant - Страница 12

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The remains of General Regnier's army were now in fall retreat for Crotona, a seaport of Naples; harassed and galled by the Highlanders, and by the Free corps under the Duca di Bagnara and Cavalier del Castagno. The brigands and a host of armed peasantry also hovered like storm-clouds on their skirts; and all who fell to the rear, under wounds or fatigue, perished by that favourite Italian weapon—the knife.

On rejoining the main body of our army, I found the general in the highest state of glee at the glorious success of the day: he was seated on horseback in the midst of the field, a holster-flap serving as his desk, writing a hurried despatch recounting our first regular brush with the enemy in Calabria. My arrival with the standard added a new and important paragraph to the general's missive. While he was complimenting and rallying me by turns, our interview was interrupted by cries of Frenchmen for succour, proceeding from a thicket close by. There I found six French officers, and the same number of soldiers, bound with cords to the trees, and surrounded by some of Santugo's free corps; who were hammering their flints and loading, with great deliberation, for the purpose of making targets of these unfortunates. Among the prisoners I recognised the gallant leader of the cavalry, whom I had encountered in the early part of the day. His arms were corded behind him round the trunk of an oak, and he was nearly blinded by the blood which flowed from a wound on his head, inflicted apparently by the butt of a musket, or the knob of a peasant's club.

"Save us, Monsieur Aide-de-camp!" cried he, in broken English; "these Italian ruffians know not the rules of nations, or the courtesy of war. Save us from such base poltroons! It is hard for brave men to die so helplessly."

"Giacomo—how now, rascal! Is this the way you mean to treat our prisoners?" I angrily asked of Santugo's follower, who seemed to be the officiating authority. "Unbind them instantly, and with these mule-headed rogues of yours, rejoin the free corps! But first, read to them the general's proclamation concerning the treatment of prisoners." As I severed the cords which bound the staff officer, the Calabrians vented their anger in loud murmurs.

"Eh, via! what would you do, signor?" asked Belloni, with an air of sulky surprise.

"Olà, damnazione!" growled the rest, as they grimly handled their knives, and closed round the Frenchmen; seemingly resolved that their prey should not escape. Poor fellows! it was an anxious moment for them. Taking from my sabretache a copy of Sir John's proclamation to the Calabrians, I read it aloud: it enjoined them to treat generously all captives who fell into their hands, and offered rewards for every one conducted by them in safety to the British camp—twenty ducats for an officer, and six for each private soldier. Immediately there arose a shout of "Il denaro—the money!" I cast the ducats (part of what I had won from Truffi the crookback) amongst them, with ill concealed impatience and scorn. The money was gathered up hurriedly, and the prisoners were unbound. Thus, for a hundred and fifty pieces of silver, I saved the lives of twelve human beings; who would have been butchered without remorse, but for my opportune arrival and intervention.

I led the reprieved men to Sir John Stuart, who was still intent on his despatch. Surrounded by whole hecatombs of slain and wounded—by sights and sounds replete with agony and horror—the old soldier continued to scribble on "for the information of his Royal Highness," with an expression and air of as perfect coolness, as if seated in the most comfortable drawing-room at home. A group of adjutants and orderlies stood round him, reporting the various casualties, and making up their lists of killed, wounded, and missing. They fell back on our approach.

I presented the prisoners, among whom were an aide-de-camp, the lieutenant-colonel of a Swiss battalion, and my brave antagonist; whom I discovered to be the famous General Compere. He had been unhorsed and disarmed by Captain Drumlugas, who gave him in charge of the free corps; from whose gentle wardship I had rescued him. The privates were poor Swiss conscripts, who had been marched from their native mountains to fight under the eagles of the Emperor. They were placed among the rest of our prisoners, who now numbered about a thousand: these were formed in a solid square, and surrounded by the Sicilian battalion, with two four-pounders loaded with cannister and grape, to keep the forlorn band in complete subjection.

As I accompanied General Compere in search of a surgeon to dress his wound, we passed a deep trench, or natural chasm of rock, in which about seven hundred French dead were being hastily interred; to prevent their bodies producing malaria, or being stripped and mutilated by the peasantry. A wing of les chasseurs Brittaniques, working with their jackets off, were performing the duty of sextons. Compere paused to observe them.

"Poor fellows!" said he, looking down on the heaped dead within that hideous catacomb. "This morning, how merrily they marched from Maida! How many a young and brave heart, that was then swelling with courage and ardour, is lying here—crushed, cold, and still!" His fine, bronzed face, clouded for a moment with the deepest dejection and mortification, while surveying the ghastly trench where his soldiers lay piled one on another, with arms, knapsacks, and harness, just as they were found; but his proud eye brightened as he turned towards the darkening hills, where the far-off clouds of dust, curling like smoke in the distance, marked the line of Regnier's quick retreat.

"Hah!" added he, gaily, "France yet swarms with brave soldiers; and Massena will soon show your haughty general that Naples is not to be won and lost on Maida only. He is 'the child of victory;' and fortune will soon smile again on the soldiers of the emperor. As for this day's field, about which they will doubtless make a great noise in England—poh! 'tis a mere battle of eggshells to what I have seen: even in Italy—this land of cowards! Had you been on the fields of Arcole and Lodi—had you seen our victorious legions sweep the Romans from the mountains of Imola—'twould have done your heart good. Faith! one who has captured Naples, fought in Apulia, invested Gaeta, and seen the corpses piled chin-deep in the redoubt of San Andero, must know what campaigning is! But allons! Monsieur; if it please you, let me get my poor broken head dressed." I hailed one of the medical staff (Dr. Macneisa of ours) who was passing near us, and in a few minutes Compere's wound was bathed and bandaged up, with a care and tenderness of which he seemed deeply sensible.

Macneisa had scarcely retired, when we were informed that the numerous prisoners had become refractory, and Sir John was about to give them a dose from the field-pieces; but Compere hastened to the spot, and by his presence reduced them to subjection. They were then formed in sections, and strongly escorted, preparatory to their march to the coast, where the boats of Sir Sydney's fleet were in waiting to embark them.

"En arriere—marche!" cried the crest-fallen Compere, half-forgetting that his authority was no more; and the dark, disarmed mass moved off towards the sea, encircled by a hedge of glittering bayonets. "Dieu vous benisse!" said the French general, raising his cocked hat; "Monsieur aide-de-camp, I shall never forget your kindness. Adieu—a thousand adieux!" And I saw him no more—at least, not as a prisoner.

On their retreat to Crotona, the French were closely followed by Macleod with the 78th, les chasseurs Brittaniques, and Santugo's free corps, with orders to attack them on every occasion, and to endeavour to dislodge them entirely from Calabria Ulteriore. As their route lay along the shore of the Adriatic, an excellent opportunity was afforded for an effectual co-operation with our squadron in that sea, commanded by Captain (afterwards Sir William) Hoste; who never neglected an opportunity of galling their left flank whenever it came within range. On their right a giant chain of mountains heaved upwards from the beach; and there the chiefs of the Masse, at the head of thousands panting for French blood, hovered in clouds, while Macleod pressed on their rear. For miles the shore was strewn with their killed and wounded. A position was hastily taken up at Catanzaro; but as hastily abandoned, before the overwhelming power of the Masse.

Our wounded were conveyed to St. Eufemio, where all the officers of the medical staff and fleet were in attendance on them daily. The solicitude of the sailors to be of use to us, and their anxiety to assist their wounded countrymen—the alacrity with which they brought supplies ashore—and the general tenderness and attention with which these rough tars treated their helpless brethren, elicited the highest encomiums from the general and the admiral; on board whose ship I had the honour to lodge the eagle (captured at Maida), which, with our despatches, was immediately transmitted to London in charge of Lieutenant Villiers of ours. Sir John wished me to have been the bearer; but, having cogent reasons for remaining in Calabria as long as possible, I contrived to excuse myself.

Our head-quarters were established at St. Eufemio; while Macleod, with three thousand men, laid siege to Crotona, and Hoste, with the Adriatic fleet of gun-boats, blockaded it by sea. Colonel Oswald was despatched to invest Scylla, with orders to storm the castle of Monteleone on his way. These were the only strongholds of importance possessed by Regnier in the lower province. Immediately on his retreat, the famous Capo-bandito Francatripa, with his ferocious horde issued from the forest of St. Eufemio, and carried by storm a battlemented and palisadoed house at the place called the Sauveria; where an unfortunate party of the 23d French light infantry, who formed its garrison, had been abandoned by Regnier in his flight. After a gallant resistance, the garrison were all cruelly massacred by these blood-thirsty patriots; even their little trumpeter, a boy only twelve years of age, perished beneath their poniards. Such a sample of Italian savagism called forth the indignation of our soldiers, who were well aware that by the courtesy of war the little band deserved very different treatment; but Francatripa excused himself on the plea that it was but a part of that cruel system of reprisals maintained on both sides.

When the embarkation of prisoners, the landing of cannon and stores, the billetting of sick and wounded, the burial of the dead, and all the bustle succeeding the battle were over, I thought of paying a visit to my friends at the villa d'Alfieri. There could not be a better time; the Visconte was at Crotona with his regiment, and I should have Bianca to myself.

My billet was at an inn of St. Eufemio, called "Il Concha d'Oro," from its sign, the Golden Shell. It was kept by a worthy bustling little Italian, Maestro Matteo Buzzone: who, in truth, was not ill named; his paunch being one of the first amplitude. I was enjoying a cigar and a decanter of iced Malvasia from the classic isles of Lipari, at an open lattice. Opposite, stood the house of the Signor Podesta, and I amused myself for some time by attempting to engage his daughter, a dark-eyed and red-cheeked damsel, in a flirtation: but my efforts were vain; though she appeared every moment at the window—watering flowers, arranging and disarranging the sunshade, bowing to a passer by, or what not.

The coolness of the evening induced me to think of a canter as far as the villa d'Alfieri. Summoning the groom, I desired him to saddle Cartouche; while, with rather more care than usual, I made my toilet: for I was about to pay my devoirs to the fair Bianca. In those days, when one was not on duty, the uniform coat was worn open, with the lappelles buttoned back, to show the facings barred with silver; the sash and swordbelt being worn under it, and over a white kerseymere waistcoat. White breeches, long jackboots reaching above the knee, and equipped with jangling spurs, a heavy sabre with a brass sheath, buff gloves, and a cocked hat with a drooping plume of scarlet and white feathers, completed the uniform of a British staff officer.

I was just setting forth, when the ill-omened visage of the general's orderly, an old and sunburnt serjeant of the 81st, appeared at the door: erect as a ramrod, he raised his hand to his bear-skin cap, and placed a despatch in my hand.

"Hallo, Pierce! what's fresh now?"

"Sir John's compliments, sir, and he requests you will make all speed with this before the night sets in."

"Now, by all the gods! 'tis mere slavery this staff work—I'll resign, and join the 62d at Syracuse!" I muttered, while tearing open the note accompanying the dispatch—an oblong document, addressed "O.H.M.S., To Lt.-Col. Macleod, Ross-shire Buffs, Crotona."

"Dear Dundas (ran the note), You will ride forthwith, and deliver the accompanying letter at Crotona. If it suits your taste, stay there to partake of the fighting; but bring me word the moment it capitulates. Yours, &c.,

"JOHN STUART, Maj.-Gen."

There was no course but to obey: yet I determined that my original purpose of visiting Bianca should not be interfered with. Thrusting the despatch into the sabretache, I buckled on my sabre, and in five minutes was en route, with all the worldly goods I possessed (at least in Calabria) strapped to the saddle before and behind me. In front were a pair of excellent pistols, newly oiled, flinted and loaded, and my blue cloak was rolled and buckled over the holsters; a valise was strapped behind me, containing a few changes of linen, and a fighting jacket: a handful of cigars and an Army List, a horse-picker and a cork-screw, with a copy of "The Eighteen Manoeuvres" (compiled by my namesake Sir David Dundas), completed my camp equipage; the whole of our heavy baggage having been left behind us in Sicily. The telescope—an appendage indispensable to a staff-officer—I carried in a pipe-clayed case, slung across my left shoulder.

Evening had almost given place to night when I arrived at the villa, and dismounted. Its ample façade was shrouded in gloom, and there were no signs of animation within; which was accounted for by the absence of Santugo, with all his dependents. I fastened my horse in the porch, for there was no one to receive it: the guard-room of the sbirri, or armed militia (which all the feudal nobles maintained until the French invasion), was empty, and the quadrangle deserted. In remote places on the mountains some residences were still garrisoned or protected by the sbirri; and the landholders, abetted by these armed followers in their hereditary and inveterate feuds, became the perpetrators of outrages and atrocities of every kind.

In the vestibule I met Annina, a girl of Capri, and Bianca's favourite attendant; who, on beholding me, uttered an exclamation of delight: this was a good omen. I enquired of course for the Viscontessa, and was informed that she was away to the prince's conversazione at Nicastro, accompanied by the old Major Gismondo; but the Signora Bianca was at home, and, taking my hand, the frank Italian girl bade me accompany her. With my clattering boots, buckskin gloves, and worn accoutrements, I was in fitter trim for the march than for a lady's boudoir: but though my scarlet uniform, its embroidery and silver epaulettes, were faded and dingy, still they were quite service-like; and the coat yet showed the stains of blood from the wound I had received at Cefalu, and the scratch in the skirmish near St. Eufemio.

Bianca was seated at a table, leaning her cheek upon her hand, intent on the sorrowful pages of "La Guiletta," her glossy curls clustering over her white arm, which the fashion of her country revealed to the dimpled elbow. The lamp by which she sat reading (a globe of light, upheld by a silver Atlas) shed its radiance full upon her eyes, which flashed brilliantly as she raised them on my entrance, with an expression in which surprise, confusion, and welcome were blended. Good omen the second! thought I. One is more apt to be egotistical when on the staff, than when doing duty as a mere regimental officer. The momentary flush which suffused her soft cheek and pale forehead, heightened her rare beauty; and at the moment when she arose, and threw back the rich masses of half-disordered curls with her white hand, her bust resplendent in the full glare of light, she seemed perfectly divine—in the language of her countrymen, a Bell'idolo.

Her constant companion, Luisa Gismondo, rising from an embroidery frame, received me with a smile of welcome: she, too, was an enchanting girl, though much shorter in stature than Bianca; and never did the light of a candelabrum shine on curls more glossy, lips more rosy, softer blue eyes, or a face more brilliantly fair than poor Luisa's.

"O joy!" exclaimed the girls together; "and so, signor, you have escaped the awful day at Maida?"

"Yes, ladies; and I hope to escape many more such days. I trust you will excuse this somewhat unseasonable visit, Signora Bianca," said I, slightly pressing her hand; "but being ordered off on the spur to Crotona, I have taken the liberty of visiting you, to be the bearer of any message or letters to Monsignore Luigi."

"How very kind of you, Signor Claude; but—but you do not proceed on the road to Crotona to-night?"

"I must, indeed, ride forward without delay; and believe me the general, kind-hearted though he be, would scarcely excuse my having made a detour, even to visit the Villa D'Alfieri."

"O, Signor Claude, consider the state of the country!" said she earnestly, as I seated myself at the other end of the sofa, evincing not the least hurry in the world.

"'Consider the nature of the service,' the general would reply; but I believe that the wildest bandit in Italy—not even Francatripa, or Frà Diavolo—would molest a British soldier."

"You, perhaps, trust them too far. But, indeed, our oppressed people are not quite so bad as the Parisian papers have represented them."

By this time the distance between us on the sofa was greatly diminished, and I was about to say something very pointed and gallant, when Annina entered with a tray of refreshments, which she placed on the ebony table before us. I saw a cunning smile twinkling in her black eyes as she watched us, while arranging the ices, the crystal goblets, and a superbly embossed caraffa of the wine of Gioja—a village of Calabria, famed for the excellence of its grapes. The Viscontessa was, as I have said, at Nicastro, where, I heartily hoped, she would continue to enjoy herself; not wishing my tête-a-tête with these two charming girls to be interrupted by her presence, or that of the Major.

"O, signor, tell us how you captured the standard at Maida?" asked Luisa.

Well aware how much such an encounter makes one shine in the estimation of women, I briefly related the whole affair; deriving considerable satisfaction from the expressions of horror, pity, and surprise, that flitted in succession across the fair faces of the listeners.

"And so you escaped unhurt!" exclaimed Bianca clasping her hands—with delight I was fain to suppose.

"Quite, signora: you observe my thick glove, and the curb rein—"

"And the bearer—the poor Frenchman!" said Luisa, fixing her blue eyes upon me.

"Escaped, I am now happy to say. Poor fellow! 'tis said he was Regnier's son."

"Phillipe Regnier! O my God!" murmured Luisa in a breathless voice.

"Luisa!" exclaimed Bianca, surveying her pale features with astonishment. The poor girl blushed deeply, and bent over her embroidery frame, adding, in a faltering voice, that she herself was soon to behold such scenes, and looked forward to them with horror.

"True, Luisa, dear," said Bianca, kissing her cheek, "You set out with your father for our army at Cassano to-morrow."

"To join the chiefs of the Masse?" I asked. Luisa Gismondo bowed, and the subject was abruptly changed. I saw that some secret was labouring in her breast; causing a dejection and confusion she could ill conceal.

But to proceed, briefly. The acquaintance that Bianca and I had formed in Sicily was fast ripening, and we became as intimate as cousins; and quite as harmless in our flirtation. Swiftly and happily passed that agreeable evening, in the course of which I discovered that the minds of these fair girls were no way inferior to the perfection of their persons. Their manners were animated and bewitching, their imaginations brilliant; each was mistress of music and drawing, and well read in the best works of Italian literature. We commented on the "Giuletta" of Captain Luigi da Porta—that brave cavalry officer, who wielded his pen in peace as well as he had done the sword in the wars of the league of Cambray and the campaigns of Gradiska; and from whose pathetic novel, Shakspeare derived the plot of his far-famed tragedy. We also dipped into the "Gierusalemme" of Tasso, and wooed the softer muse of Petrarch. Then Luisa seated herself at the piano, and with Bianca sang a beautiful duet from the "Antonio e Cleopatra," of the amorous Vittorio D'Alfieri; whose genius enriched and invigorated the literature of his country. Bianca showed me her portfolio, wherein I sketched the distant hills of Maida, as seen from the casement, shining in all the silvery blaze of an Italian moonlight: next came her collection of medals and bronzes; and her music, including the last new piece from Palermo. Her lap-dogs, parrot, and heaven knows what besides, were all separately admired; while the general, his dispatch, and the service were alike forgotten.

The boudoir was a charming little place; elegantly fitted up and decorated with every ornament that her own taste or her cousin's wealth could procure; and the cool sea-breeze wafted the aromatic perfumes of the garden through the open casements. The broad moon was shining on the glassy deep, and we heard the solemn hymn of the Sicilian fishermen, and the dipping of oars as they fell in measured time into the sparkling waters of the gulf.

The sullen toll from the clock turret in the quadrangle, warned me that it wanted but an hour of midnight. I started up as the forgotten dispatch rushed upon my remembrance.

"The deuce!" thought I; "now then to horse and away."

Bianca set before me in grim array all the dangers of travelling in so wild a country at midnight—the woods, the marshes, the wolves, the banditti; and begged me to remain at least until her aunt returned with some of the mounted servants. The fine eyes of the lovely and warm-hearted girl became almost suffused with tears, as she presented me with an Agnus Dei for Luigi. This was a piece of some unknown stuff cut in the form of a heart, which Fra Adriano had informed her had power to drive away evil spirits and calm storms, and tempests; having been consecrated by his holiness the Pope, who provides an ample supply of these sacred toys for distribution every seven years. Although at that moment I was on the point of leaving her, perhaps for ever, I could not forbear smiling at the credulous superstition or devout simplicity which induced her to entrust me, in such sincere good faith, with this gift for her cousin.

"Felicissima notte, Signorina Luisa, and happiest night to you, dearest Bianca!" said I on turning to leave them.

"I would give you such an amulet too," said Bianca, "but 'twere better not: you only scoff at these things, which your erring fathers have taught you to scorn."

"No, dear Bianca; believe me that any gift—"

"Hush now, Caro Claude!" said she, placing her pretty hand on my mouth; "I will not believe you."

In one short evening how had the enchanting manner, the gentle tones and sweet nature of this Italian girl endeared her to me! Until I rose unwillingly to depart, I knew not that the spell she had cast around me was so powerful. My hand trembled; and this sympathetic confusion was conveyed by its touch to Bianca; who blushed and cast down her eyes, while a roguish smile overspread the fair face of Luisa. A love affair makes rapid progress in the fervid clime of volcanoes and earthquakes, though the pathway is too often planted with poniards; and before parting, Bianca and I had formally exchanged rings. Respectfully pressing my lips to her hand and cheek, I resigned her, in tears, to the tender solace of Luisa Gismondo, and hastened from the apartment. I led forth poor Cartouche, who had spent the whole night in the dark porch shaking his ears and snorting with impatience, while the cold night dew gathered on his glossy coat and glittering harness.

My foot was in the stirrup, when the opening of a window above made me pause, and my fair friends appeared leaning over a balcony.

"Claude," said Bianca; "on the wild hills above Maida there dwells an aged hermit, to whom every year we have sent alms—madonna mia! he is very, very old! My aunt did so when she was a girl, and her mother had done so before her. Tell the good man that I remember him in my prayers, and ask his blessing for Bianca."

"And for me, too, signor," added Luisa.

"I shall not forget, ladies," said I, leaping into my saddle. "Adieu."

In ten minutes the Villa d'Alfieri was far behind, and I was galloping along the moonlit beach of St. Eufemio.