Arthur O'Leary: His Wanderings And Ponderings In Many Lands

by Charles James Lever

‘The cavalry detachment came up soon after; and guess my astonishment to learn that they had not seen the old man on the road, nor, although they narrowly watched the mountain, perceived any living thing near. I confess I could not dismiss a feeling of uncomfortable suspicion from my mind, and all the reflections I bestowed upon his age and decrepitude were very far from reassuring me. More than once I regretted not having brought him forward with us; but again the fact of having such a prisoner would have exposed me to ridicule at headquarters, if not to a heavy reprimand.

‘Full of these reflections, I gave the word to move forward. Our object was, if possible, to reach the opening of the Mittenwald before night, where I was informed that a small dismantled fort would afford a secure position if attacked by any mountain party. On comparing the route of the map, however, with the road, I discovered that the real distances were in many cases considerably greater than they were set down, and perceived that with all our efforts we could not hope to emerge from the ravine of the Schwartz-thal before the following day. This fact gave me much uneasiness; for I remembered having heard that as the glen approaches the Mittenwald, the pass is narrowed to a mere path, obstructed at every step by masses of fallen rock, while the mountains, more thickly covered with underwood, afford shelter for any party lying in ambush. Nothing could be more fatal than an attack in such a position, where a few determined men in front could arrest the march of a whole regiment; while from the close sides of the pass, a well-directed fire must sweep the ranks of those below. This gorge, which, narrowing to a mere portal, has been called the Mitten-Thor, was the scene of some fearful struggles between the French troops and the Tyrolese, and was always believed to be the most dangerous of all the passes of the Tyrol—every despatch to the headquarters of the army referring to the disasters that befell there, and suggesting plans for the occupation of the blockhouse near it, as a means of defence.

‘By the advice of my officers, one of whom was already acquainted with all the circumstances of the ground, I determined on halting at a part of the glen about two miles from the Mitten-Thor, where a slight widening of the valley afforded more space for movement if attacked; and here we arrived as evening was beginning to fall. It was a small oval spot between the mountains, through which a little stream ran, dividing it almost into equal portions, and crossed by a bridge of rude planks, to which a little path conducted, and led up the mountains. Scarcely were our watch-fires lighted when the moon rose, and although herself not visible to our eyes as we lay in the deep valley, a rich flood of silver light fell on one range of the mountains, marking out every cliff and crag with the distinctness of day. The opposite mountain, wrapped in deepest shadow, was one mass of undistinguishable blackness, and seemed to frown ominously and gloomily upon us. The men were wearied with a long march, and soon lay down to rest beside their fires; and save the low subdued hum of the little encampment, the valley was in perfect silence. On the bridge, from which the pass was visible for a good distance in both directions, I had placed a lookout sentry; and a chain of patrols was established around the bivouac.

‘These arrangements, which occupied me some time, being completed, I threw myself down beside my fire, and prepared for sleep. But somehow, though I had passed a day of fatigue and exertion, I could not slumber; every time I closed my eyes the vision of the old pilgrim was before me, and a vague, undefined feeling of apprehension hung over me. I tried to believe it was a mere fancy, attributable to the place, of whose terrors I had heard so much; but my mind dwelt on all the disasters of the Schwartz-thal, and banished every desire for repose.

As I lay there, thinking, my eyes were attracted by a little rocky point, about thirty feet above me on the mountain, on which the full splendour of the moonlight shone at intervals as the dark clouds drifted from before her; and a notion took me—why and how I never could explain to myself—to ascend the crag, and take a view down the valley. A few minutes after, and I was seated on the rock, from which I could survey the pass and the encampment stretched out beneath me. It was just such a scene as Salvator used to paint—the wild fantastic mountains, bristling with rude pines and fragments of granite; a rushing torrent, splashing and boiling beneath; a blazing watch-fire, and the armed group around it, their weapons glancing in the red light; while, to add to the mere picture, there came the monotonous hum of the soldier’s song as he walked to and fro upon his post.

‘I sat a long while gazing at this scene, many a pleasant thought of that bandit life we Germans feel such interest in, from Schiller’s play, passing through my mind, when I heard the rustling of leaves, and a crackling sound as of broken branches, issue from the mountain almost directly above me. There was not a breath of wind nor a leaf stirring, save there. I listened eagerly, and was almost certain I could hear the sound of voices talking in a low undertone. Cautiously stealing along, I began to descend the mountain, when, as I turned a projecting angle of the path, I saw the sentry on the bridge with his musket at his shoulder, taking a steady and deliberate aim at some object in the direction of the noise. While I looked, he fired; a crashing sound of the branches followed the report, and something like a cry, and as the echoes died away in the distance a heavy mass tumbled over the cliff, and fell from ledge to ledge till it rolled into the deep grass below. I had but time to perceive it was the corpse of a man fully armed, when the quick roll of the drum beat to arms. In an instant the men were formed; the cavalry standing beside their horses, and the officers crowding around me for orders. It was the discharge of the sentry’s musket had given the alarm; for, save himself, no one had seen anything.

‘Just then a wild unearthly cry of “Ha! ha!” rang out from one mountain and was answered from the other; while the sounds, increasing and multiplied by the echoes, floated hither and thither, as though ten thousand voices were shouting there. They ceased; all was still for a few seconds, and then a hailstorm of bullets tore through our ranks, and the valley rang again with the roar of musketry. Every cliff and crag, every tuft of brushwood, seemed to be occupied; while the incessant roll of the fire showed that our assailants were in great numbers. Resistance was vain; our enemy was unseen; our men were falling at each discharge; what was to be done? Nothing remained but to push forward to the Mittenwald, where, the valley opening into a plain, we should be able to defend ourselves against any irregular troops that might be brought against us. The order was given, and the men advanced in a run, the cavalry leading the way. Meanwhile the fire of the Tyrolese increased, and the fatal marksmen seldom missed a shot; two of our officers already lay dead, and three others dangerously wounded could scarce keep up with our party.

‘“The road is barricaded and intrenched,” cried the sergeant of the dragoons, galloping back to the main body in dismay.

‘A cry broke from the soldiers as they heard the sad tidings, while some springing from their ranks called out, “Forward, and to the storm!”

‘Rushing to the head of these brave fellows, I waved my cap, and cheered them on; the others followed, and we soon came in sight of the barrier, which was formed of large trees thrown crossways, and forming, by their massive trunks and interwoven branches, an obstacle far beyond our power to remove. To climb the stockade was our only chance, and on we rushed; but scarcely were we within half-musket-shot, when a volley met us directed point-blank. The leading files of the column went down like one man, and though others rushed eagerly forward, despair and desperation goading them, the murderous fire of the long rifles dealt death at every discharge; and we stood among the cumbered corpses of our fellow comrades. By this time we were attacked in rear as well as front; and now, all hope gone, it only remained to sell life as dearly as we could. One infuriated rush to break through the barricade had forced a kind of passage, through which, followed by a dozen others, I leaped, shouting to my men to follow. The cry of my triumph was, however, met by a wilder still, for the same instant a party of Tyrolese, armed with the two-handed sword of their country, came down upon us. The struggle was a brief and bloody one; man for man fell at either side, but overcome by numbers I saw my companions drop dead or wounded around me. As for myself, I clove the leader through the skull with one stroke. It was the last my arm ever dealt; the next instant it was severed from my body. I fell covered with blood, and my assailant jumped upon my body, and drawing a short knife from his belt was about to plunge it in my bosom, when a shout from a wounded Tyrolese at my side arrested the stroke, and I saw an uplifted arm stretched out as if to protect me. I have little memory after this. I heard—I think I hear still—the wild shouts and the death-cries of my comrades as they fell beneath the arm of their enemies. The slaughter was a dreadful one; of eight hundred and forty men, I alone survived that terrible night.