The mountains were growing dark as the setting sun, enveloped in dun clouds, sank far behind them, and the effect of the scenery was considerably heightened by the march of so many thousand men,—cavalry, infantry, and artillery, up the winding pathway among the silent and solitary defiles, disappearing, section after section, with colours waving and arms glittering, down the deep pass of the Guadarama. Afar off on the plains of Madrid, leagues in their rear, clouds of dust rolling along the green landscape, marked where the pursuing squadrons and battalions of Soult followed the route of Sir Rowland with precision and rapidity.
On the 8th November, to cover the retreat of the whole army, and to stay Soult's advance, the first brigade was ordered to defend, to the last extremity, the town of Alba de Tormes, near the eastern borders of the ancient kingdom of Leon; a forlorn sort of duty, when it is remembered that so small a band were to oppose the concentrated French army, 90,000 strong, I believe. On being reinforced by General Hamilton's Portuguese brigade, and two companies of Spaniards under the Condé de Truxillo, every means were taken to render the place as strong as possible by erecting trenches and barricading the streets,—almost useless precautions, as the town, which lies low, is commanded by two adjacent heights. Its appearance, when the brigade entered it, was indeed miserable and desolate, having been completely deserted by the inhabitants, into whose hearts the retreat of the British and the advance of the French had stricken terror.
The soldiers had tasted nothing for thirty-six hours, and although drenched with rain, and wearied by a hard and forced march, had to remain under arms around the old and ruinous Moorish wall of Alba, during a very chill November night. About dawn, as no enemy had yet appeared, after guards had been posted, the troops were dismissed to take up their quarters in the dreary and empty houses, where every thing had been carried off or destroyed by the inhabitants before their flight. The drizzling rain which had fallen during the night had drenched them to the skin, but a dry article of clothing was not to be had, as the baggage was far away on the road to the rear. However, doors and shutters were torn down from the houses, and blazing fires kindled on the tiled floors, around which officers and soldiers crowded together without ceremony. Another day of starvation was before them,—untold gold could not have produced an ounce of flour in Alba. At night, by the great exertions of the commissary, some horse-beans were procured, and a handful given to every man; but early next morning some muleteers arrived from Corde Villar, bringing a few small bags of flour, which were received with wild demonstrations of thankfulness and joy by the starving brigade.
Every man who could bake was set to work, and the ovens were speedily filled with tommies, as the poor fellows designated their loaves, and expectant crowds, with eager eyes and hollow cheeks, stood waiting around the bake-house doors.
The hot and smoking bread was scarcely brought forth for equal distribution before the bugles sounded, and the distant reports of carbines announced that the enemy were coming on; and the picquet of the 9th light dragoons, posted in front of the town, had begun to retire before the heavy cavalry of Soult. "Stand to your arms!" was now the cry on all sides, and a scramble and uproar ensued among the soldiers at the ovens. The hot loaves were torn to pieces in handfuls and scattered about, and many who had fasted for eight-and-forty hours, (the repast of horse-beans excepted,) received nothing, while too much fell to the share of others.
Ronald was unfortunately among the former, as it was impossible for an officer to struggle for a mouthful of food among the men, and until that day he never knew what it was to experience the utmost extremity of hunger. But there was no help for it then; and venting a hearty malediction on the Duke of Dalmatia, he joined the light company, which lined a part of the Moorish wall facing the direction in which the enemy were momently expected to appear. The trenches, barricades, and other hastily-erected works were manned, and two hundred of the Highland light infantry were placed in the ancient castle of Alba, a lofty round tower built by the Moors. The rest of the troops, not engaged in lining the walls, occupied those streets which would protect them from the view and fire of the enemy; and General Howard ordered a part of the regiment of sappers to undermine the bridge over the Tormes, which at Alba is both deep and rapid, to the end that it might be blown up, to cut off the pursuit of the enemy when the British were compelled to abandon the town. The light dragoons, retiring through Alba, halted on the other side of the river to await the event, and immediately afterwards Soult's advance came in sight.
A company of infantry, the head of a column, appeared between the two hills which overlook Alba. They were beyond the range of musquetry, and halting there, they ordered arms and stood at ease. Shortly afterwards a staff-officer, wearing a glazed cocked-hat and green uniform, and mounted on a spotless white steed, descended at a trot towards the town, and with the most perfect coolness walked his horse slowly before the wall, which was lined by the 50th and Highlanders, riding within fifty yards of their musquets, a distance at which, had they fired, he must undoubtedly have been slain.
"A devilish cool fellow!" said Seaton. "He jogs easily along, looking every moment as if he expected a shot was coming to spoil his impertinent reconnoitring."
A murmur and cries of "Tak him doon! tak him doon! Gie him his kail through the reek," arose among the Highlanders, who began to look to their flints and priming.
"Weel would I like to gie that chield's pride a fa'!" said Angus Mackie, cocking his musquet. "The blind hauf hunder' surely ha'na seen him. Dearsake, Captain Seaton! just say the word,—will I fire?"