A proud and peculiar smile shot over his features as the soldiers pulled down the tri-colour, and bore it off as a trophy from the bastion. He folded his arms, and leaning against the flagstaff, surveyed the ebbing conflict apparently with the utmost coolness and perfect nonchalance; but the quivering of his moustached lip showed the workings of his heart, though he endeavoured to conceal them.
With many a cry of "Faites bonne guerre, messieurs les Ecossais! Quartier—quartier! Les lois de la guerre, messieurs." The discomfited enemy clamorously demanded to be taken as prisoners of war, as the firing had now ceased every where; and they often called aloud on "les Ecossais," probably from seeing that the majority of their conquerors wore the kilt and trews of tartan.
"Soldats, vos armes à terre," cried the crestfallen D'Estouville over the parapet of the bastion; and, as one man, the shattered remains of the gallant garrison grounded their arms, while a strong party of the Gordon Highlanders, with fixed bayonets, surrounded them as a guard.
CHAPTER VIII.
CATALINA.
"I proclaim,
Through all the silent streets Creüsa's name:
Creüsa still I call: at length she hears,
And sudden through the shades of night appears."
Æneis, book 2.
It was now clear daylight, and over heaps of dead and wounded which were stretched around, lying across each other, as Evan said, 'like herrins in a keg,' Ronald went in search of Catalina through the buildings composing the barracks, which were arranged in the form of a square. At every turn his passage was encumbered by the miserable victims of the morning's carnage, mostly French, as the majority of the British killed and wounded fell in the avant-fosse. Here lay the war-worn and grey-haired grenadier of the Guard, seamed with the scars of Austerlitz and Jena, blowing the bells of froth and blood from his quivering lip, and scowling defiance with his glazing eye at the passer. Beside or across him lay the muscular Highlander, his bare legs drenched in gore, casting looks of imploring helplessness, craving "Maister Stuart, for the love o' the heevin aboon them, to bring the wee'st drop of water, or send some ane to stanch their bluid." Here lay one Frenchman with his skull shot away and brains scattered about,—another cut in two by a round shot, and scores, otherwise torn to pieces by Campbell's terrible volley from the platform, lying in long lines, which marked the lane made by the course and radius of each discharge of grape, and the whole place swam with blood and brains—a horrible puddle, like the floor of a slaughter-house.
All this was as nothing to witnessing the frightful agonies of the wretched wounded and dying, goaded with the most excruciating pain, choking in their blood,—their limbs quivering in extremity of torture, while they shrieked the eternal cry of "water!" and shrieked in vain. Ronald pressed forward almost without heeding them,—war for a time sears and hardens the heart in no common degree, even against the utmost accumulation of human wretchedness; but he certainly was rather appalled at the appearance of a soldier of the 50th foot, who had crawled away into a corner to die unseen. A musquet-shot had passed through his neck, in its way injuring the root of the tongue, which was hanging from his mouth, swollen, livid, and blue like that of a cow, presenting a hideous and disgusting sight, from which young Stuart, although his fiery heart was beating with the tumult of the late fray, and his red blade dripped with the signs of it, turned away in horror. Little know our peaceful and plodding citizens at home of the miseries of war!
In search of Donna Catalina, Ronald wandered every where through the deserted and confused quarters of the enemy, but she was no where to be found; and he was about to cross the river and search the tower of Ragusa, or question D'Estouville, when drums beating in the square called him to the parade of the regiment.
It was now a beautiful morning, and the rising sun shed its lustre on the ridges of the Lina and windings of the bright Tagus. At their base, in the pure bosom of the glassy river, the trees and vineyards, cottages and ruined bridge of Almarez, the bastions of fort Napoleon and black tower of Ragusa, were reflected downwards as clearly as if in some huge mirror. Above them the morning mist from the cork woods and the smoke of fire-arms from the forts, mingling together and ascending in volumes, melted away on the thin breezy air. Long and loud blew pipe and bugle, mustering the troops in the square of the tête-du-pont; but many who had marched to them merrily yesterday, lay stark and stiff now, and heard their blast no more. The military store-houses of the enemy had been broken open and given over to pillage, and skins of wine, bottles of rum, and kegs of French brandy were to be had for the broaching. Barrels were staved, and hams, rounds of beef, etc. were tossed by the soldiers from one to another, and borne aloft in triumph on the points of bloody bayonets, and every man filled his havresack with such provisions as he could lay his hands on.