"Look ye now, gentlemen," he exclaimed, tossing his long feathers in the direction of the winding way which led to France, "what call you these?"
Even while he spoke a dense column of French infantry appeared in the defile between the mountains, and a cloud of others, battalion after battalion, with their tri-colours fluttering in the breeze, advanced in succession, until thirteen thousand bayonets were gleaming in the light of the noonday sun. It was the whole of General Drouet's division.
"There is nae heather here, but I thocht and I said there would be mony a head on the green swaird ere the hills grew mirk in the gloaming," muttered Dugald ominously, as he viewed the advance of the French with kindling eyes. With the first blast of the bugle the troops were again under arms, and marched to the front of the pass to stem the approaching torrent; and, resolute as the soldiers were, they knew that the attempt to keep their position against such an overwhelming power was vain, unless Lord Wellington, who was distant at San Sebastian, could by some means succour them. But obedience is the first duty of the soldier, and their orders were to defend the passes and fight to the last,—orders never yet mistaken by British troops.
The out-picquets first opened their fire upon the advancing masses, and although seconded by a body of light troops, were forced of course to give way. The 28th and 39th regiments, from Wilson's brigade, moved off to support the picquets on the right. With courage and resolution unparalleled these corps sustained the onset of their opponents, whose tremendous fire however compelled them to waver and recoil. The 34th or Cumberland regiment, with the 50th, came to their assistance. These last, forming a junction, rushed upon the French while exposed to the deadly fire of their extended front, and with unexampled intrepidity charged them with the bayonet, giving a check to their progress up the mountains. The French returned the charge, but at the same time made a flank movement, which their great numbers enabled them to do easily, to surround and cut off their rash assailants, who were at once placed in a critical position.
It was at that moment that Cameron brought up his Highlanders, and restored confidence to the regiments which had been falling into confusion. It is impossible to describe the scene which the Maya heights presented at that time. The deafening roar of the musquetry,—the driving clouds of smoke,—the tumultuous yells of the French, who were fierce, wild, and eager to wash away in British blood the disgraces of Vittoria, almost confounded those who were then for the first time under fire. The advancing enemy continued to shout more like savages than European soldiers, but their tremendous shower of shot was fast mowing down the little band which so gallantly endeavoured to resist them. Like a hail-shower the heavy leaden bullets were falling everywhere, and tearing up the turf even after they had passed through the bodies of the soldiers,—so close had the contending parties now come together.
The British had stood firm without flinching an inch; but the French, who were now fighting in a great disorganized mob, had continued to advance, by the rear men pushing on the front, until within thirty paces of the British line; and at so short a distance it may easily be supposed that the shot on both sides told with fearful effect, especially among the dense masses of the French, before whom, in five minutes, arose a pile of their own dead and wounded like a breast-work. Beyond this ghastly line they would not advance an inch, nor could they be prevailed upon to do so even by the most strenuous exertions of their officers, who, whenever the smoke cleared away a little, were observed brandishing their sabres, waving their colours and eagles, and enthusiastically crying, "Vive la France! Vive l'Empereur! Vive la Gloire!" But their soldiers heeded them not, and continued to load and fire with the utmost sang froid, but would not be led to the charge.
The brave 71st Highland Light Infantry, after fighting with their usual obstinacy and intrepidity, had been compelled to give way, by which three Portuguese pieces of cannon fell into the possession of the French. To recapture these, a desperate attempt was made by Lieutenant Armstrong, who, at the head of eight private soldiers, as brave and as rash as himself, rushed furiously on the enemy. With his sword in one hand and his bonnet in the other, the gallant Borderer was seen amidst the smoke leading them on; but all perished under the leaden shower, within a few feet of the French bayonets. After being reduced to half its number of officers and men, this fine regiment began to retire in disorder. The 34th and 50th were in the same perilous predicament, owing to the front and flank movements of the enemy, when Fassifern with his Highlanders entered the bloody arena. As the battalion moved in open column of companies, along the hill-top from the camp towards the pass, Cameron addressed a few words to them, exhorting them to fight to the last man, and maintain the ancient fame of the north. He reminded them that they were not fighting merely for the defence of Spain, but of those homes where their kindred dwelt. His voice became drowned in the din of the conflict which rolled along the face of the hills, and Stuart heard only the concluding part of his address, and part of it was in Gaelic. "Highlanders! we shall have a bloody sabbath here to-day; but we go forth to shed our blood that the sabbath-bells may ring in peace at home, in those green straths and wooded glens where many a Scottish heart is praying for us at this hour." The sound of the pipes, as the piper on the flank of each company struck up "On wi' the Tartan," was the only reply. What a gush of indescribable feeling came through every breast, when the blast of the pipe was heard at such a moment! Every eye lighted up, and every cheek flushed: the effect of the sound of that strange instrument on the sons of Caledonia is well known.
"In halls of joy and in scenes of mourning it has prevailed,—it has animated her warriors in battle, and welcomed them back after their toils to the homes of their love and the hills of their nativity. Its strains were the first sounded in the ears of infancy, and they are the last to be forgotten in the wanderings of age. Even Highlanders will allow that it is not the gentlest of instruments; but when far from their mountain-homes, what sounds, however melodious, could thrill their hearts like one burst of their own wild native pipe? The feelings which other instruments awaken are general and undefined, because they talk alike to Frenchmen, Spaniards, Germans, and Highlanders, for they are common to all; but the bag-pipe is sacred to Scotland, and speaks a language which Scotsmen only feel. It talks to them of home and all the past, and brings before them, on the burning shores of India, the wild hills and oft-frequented streams of Caledonia,—the friends that are thinking of them, and the sweethearts and wives that are weeping for them there. And need it be told here to how many fields of danger and victory its proud strains have led? There is not a battle that is honourable to Britain in which its war-blast has not sounded; when every other instrument has been hushed by the confusion and carnage of the scene, it has been borne into the thick of the battle, and far in the advance its bleeding but devoted bearer, sinking to the earth, has sounded at once encouragement to his countrymen—and his own coronach!"[*]
[*] Preface to Macdonald's "Ancient Martial Music of Scotland."
Ranald-dhu with his comrades strove to call up the "fierce native daring" of the Highlanders, who continued to move quickly forward. The balls now began to hiss and tear up the turf around them, now and then striking down some poor fellow, who was left rolling on the ground in agony.