CHAPTER VI.
ALMAREZ.
"Hark! through the silence of the cold, dull night,
The hum of armies gathering rank on rank!
'Lo! dusky masses, steal in dubious light,
Along the 'leagured wall and bristling bank
Of the armed river——"
Don Juan, canto vii.
It was Sir Rowland Hill's intention, in order to keep his movements concealed from the enemy, to march his troops in the night, and halt them before dawn in the wood of Jarciejo, situate about half way between Almarez and Truxillo.
On the night of the intended departure from the latter place, Ronald sat late with the worthy descendant of Pizarro, Captain Don Gonzago, listening to his long stories about that "famous and noble cavalier General Liniers, and the campaigns of Buenos Ayres," until the shrill bugles at the hour of midnight sounded 'the assembly' through the echoing streets of the city. In ten minutes the whole of the troops destined to force the strong places of the French were under arms, and the snapping of flints, the ringing of steel ramrods, the tramp of cavalry and clash of artillery guns, travelling caissons and clattering tumbrils carrying the tools of sappers, miners, pioneers, &c., gave token of the coming strife.
Many a flickering light from opened casements streamed into the dark street on the bronzed visages and serried files of the passing troops, whom they greeted with many a viva! or hurrah!
Departing from the ancient house of Pizarro, Ronald hurried through the dark and strange streets towards the muster-place, and twice on his way thither was his path crossed by the priest mentioned in my last chapter; but the pale outline of his figure eluded his search,—the first time by disappearing under the black piazzas of the townhouse, and the second time in the deep gloomy shadow of the cloisters of San Jago de Compostella; and although Ronald eagerly longed to follow him, so much was he pressed for time that he found it impossible to do so.
Without the sound of drum or horn, they began their midnight march, descending from Truxillo towards the Almonte,—the soldiers carrying with them, in addition to their heavy accoutrements, axes, sledge-hammers, and iron levers, to beat down stockades and gates, and scaling-ladders to aid the assault; which cumbersome implements they bore forward by turns during the dreary night-march.
Oh, the indescribable annoyances and weariness of such a march! To feel one self overpowered with sleep, and yet be compelled to trudge on through long and unknown routes and tracts of country,—seeing with heavy and half-closed eyes the road passing by like a running stream, no sound breaking the monotonous tread of the marching feet,—to drop asleep for a moment, and be unpleasantly aroused by your nodding head coming in contact with the knapsack of a front file,—to trudge on, on, on, while every limb and fibre is overcome with lassitude, and having the comfortable assurance that many will be knocked on the head before day-break, while your friends at home are lying snugly in bed, not knowing or caring a jot about the matter.
Before dawn the detachments were secreted and bivouacked in the wood of Jarciejo, where they remained the whole day, keeping close within its recesses, as they were now in the immediate neighbourhood of the enemy, upon whose strongholds a night-attack was determined to be made. Before morning broke, Ronald had an opportunity of bringing to a parley the monk, who appeared to dog him in so mysterious and sinister a manner.