"Now, senores," said Mina, "I have inflicted upon him a punishment worse than death, because these marks can never be effaced. I mark every traitor thus, that my countrymen may know and despise them. Those who are thus branded are ashamed to look a Spaniard in the face, and, being compelled to dwell in solitary places, are often found dead of want among the mountains. But I must now make my adieus, and return to Roncesvalles, where my five thousand followers are to be reviewed to-day by Lord Wellington and General Morillo."
He blew a blast on his horn to collect his people, and taking farewell of the Capitan de Cazadores (as he named Stuart), withdrew in the direction of the famous pass of Roncesvalles, leaving the bodies of the French lying stripped to the skin amidst the snow. As soon as they had departed, Stuart ordered out the light company with shovels, to entomb the bodies; but so deep was the snow, that temporary graves in its frail substance only could be given, as there was not time to dig down to reach the earth. Many were found on the point of death, the intense cold finishing what the bullet had begun, and their grave-diggers had to await, shovel in hand, the moment of dissolution; after which they buried, and heaped the snow hurriedly over them. But a thaw came a short time before the position on the heights was abandoned, and the remains of the unfortunates were again exposed, and at a time when no interment could be given them, as the British forces were on the march to invade the "sacred territory" of la belle France.
The success of Sir Thomas Graham at San Sebastian, which he boldly won by storm on the 31st of August, the fall of Pampeluna, which on the 31st of October surrendered to Don Carlos de Espana, and the successful passage of the Bidassoa, infused the highest ardour into the heart of every soldier in the allied army, and every regiment longed to unfurl its triumphant banners to the winds of France. Although the French maintained their ancient renown in arms by fighting to the last, yet they were driven from all their intrenched camps on the Lower Pyrenees, and combating every rood of ground, retired on the 16th of November to the left bank of the Nive, and there encamped, after blowing up the bridge to prevent the British crossing the river, which at that time was swollen to thrice its usual size by the melting of the snow on the hills, and by a long continuance of rain.
The allies encamped on the Spanish side of the river, and hostilities ceased for a time. The Gordon Highlanders occupied the French village of Cambo, in the department of the Lower Pyrenees, and close to the river Nive. Its inhabitants had all fled on the advance of the allies, crossing to the left bank with the retiring forces of their emperor. The camps and bivouacs of the French lay close to those of their enemies, divided only by the narrow space of the river, and the sentries on each side were but ten or fifteen yards distant from each other. From dawn until sunset the French Serjeants were heard continually drilling their squads of conscripts, twenty thousand of whom Buonaparte had dragged away from their quiet homes, and marched to the Nive to be drilled in the view of that veteran army, which had driven the flower of the soldiers of France from one end of the Peninsula to the other. Day after day the French non-commissioned officers were seen, cane in hand, getting the poor peasant-boys into some state of discipline. The British used to crowd to the river's edge to view the novel sight of French regiments on their parade, and beholding them go through the maniement des armes, or manual exercise, with all the minuteness common to the French,—the adjutant giving, after every word of command, the continual cautions, "un, deux, trois, quatre!"
At one part where the river was very narrow, a soldier of the 3rd Buffs, when on sentry one day, found himself immediately opposite to a French grenadier, placed on the same duty on the left bank of the river. The Gaul was a rough-whiskered fellow, wearing the usual service-like great coat, red epaulets, and high fur cap of the Imperial Guard. The sentinels had been staring steadily at each other for some time, and the Buff who had begun to imagine the face of the Frenchman was not unknown to him, was considerably astonished to hear him ask the question,—
"Well, Tom, old fellow! How are the dirty old Buffs coming on?" This rogue was a comrade of his own, who, a year or two before had deserted to the enemy, and had the cool impudence to hail his old friend thus from the French side of the Nive.
On the evening of the 8th of November, the weather being remarkably fine, the French officers sent their bands to the river-side to play for the entertainment of the British, and many courtesies were interchanged; flasks of wine and bunches of fruit were tossed over by the French, who, avoiding military topics, conversed with soldier-like frankness on other subjects. Ronald took the opportunity to inquire after his old acquaintance, Captain de Mesmai, and was informed that his regiment, the 10th Cuirassiers, was stationed at St. Jean de Luz, near Bayonne. A young officer of chasseurs à cheval said he hoped the British passed their time pleasantly amid the gaieties of Cambo, and with the fair dames of that beautiful city. Stuart replied in the same tone of raillery, that the French ladies had all retired with their countrymen, at the sight of the scarlet coats; an answer which evidently piqued monsieur.
In exchange for some London newspapers, containing the despatches of Lord Wellington, detailing the victory of Vittoria, an old major, wearing a dozen medals on his breast, threw across the river a bundle of Parisian Moniteurs, containing the false and very contradictory despatches of King Joseph on the same affair. Some Spanish Journals, the Gaceta de la Regencia, and the Gaceta de Valencia, they refused to receive, and politely returned. Between deadly enemies, intercourse such as this renders war at once noble and chivalric. By it the heart of the sternest soldier becomes again humanized, and the barbarities incident to his profession are lessened and mitigated.
On the same evening a remarkable circumstance occurred, about a mile above Cambo. A French guard were about to kill a bullock for their rations; but the animal broke loose, and plunging into the stream, swam to the British side, and fell among a picquet of the Gordon Highlanders, commanded by Chisholm; by them it was instantly shot, flayed, and cut up, and all were rejoicing in expectation of a savoury meal, when a French soldier, with a white handkerchief displayed on the point of his sword, forded the river; advancing to the picquet, he craved in the name of his comrades, that the flesh might be divided, adding that surely les Ecossois would not deprive brothers of the sword of the only meal chance had given them for two days. It was impossible to refuse. Two other soldiers arrived, and they were sent back laden with half the carcase, and their canteens filled with wine, for which the poor fellows seemed very grateful; and one returned, presenting the thanks and compliments of their officer to Chisholm for his kindness.[*] The officers of each army spent the evening in conversing across the river, laughing and jesting like old friends; and when it grew dark, with many adieus they parted,—to meet on the next morning with their swords in their hands.
[*] An occurrence almost the same as here stated happened with the same regiment at the lines of Torres Vedras, in 1810.