The band struck up, and we marched back to Lerin.
THE WINE-SKIN.
Three days afterwards, on the 14th August, the legion made an unexpected incursion into the valley of the Bastan, a district full of strong positions, and formerly, for some time, the abiding place of the Pretender, of whose cause its inhabitants were enthusiastic partisans.
Moving with extreme rapidity, we swept, with small resistance, one village after another. On our approach, soldiers, peasants, women, and children, packed their beds upon jackasses, and fled with bag and baggage to concealment in the mountains. Towards noon, every sign of a foe having disappeared, we retired rapidly through the valley towards the Arga, and on this retreat some plundering occurred in the villages.
Arrived at Hostiz, I entered what appeared the best house in the village. The streets were strewn with clothes, linen, and other objects, dropped or thrown away by the fugitives. I met two soldiers carrying large red curtains of heavy rich silk; others had laden themselves with cheeses, others with honey or wine; one man had got a large crucifix. Half-naked women ran screaming through the streets. Eager for a draught of wine, for I was exhausted to faintness by the extreme heat and by the fatigue of a long rapid march, I hurried up the stairs. The house bore witness to utter wantonness of destruction. Every thing was broken and smashed; and hence I was not a little surprised to observe the good-humoured air with which a handsome young woman, standing in the roomy vestibule, distributed wine to a large party of our soldiers, who drank in greedy haste, laughing, singing, and extolling the charms of their Hebe.
"Hallo! my girl, a drink of wine, for heaven's sake!"
I had scarcely uttered the words when an adjacent door opened; and, with arms extended and dishevelled hair, Manuela rushed towards me.
"Give him none, Maria!" she cried; "and you," she added, seizing both my hands, "for God and the saints' sake, drink not a drop!"
At the words, her sister Maria dropped the mouth of the wine-skin, allowing the red liquor to gush over the floor, and disappeared. The drums beat to fall in and march. But now the soldiers, an instant before so joyous, sank down, one after the other, like poisoned flies, writhing and bemoaning themselves upon the stairs and in the passage. Manuela hung senseless upon my arm. I stooped to lay her gently on the ground, when a musket was fired not three paces behind me. I looked round. It was the Piedmontese, grinning horribly in mingled agony and exultation, as he doubled himself like a worm in the pangs of poison. But the wretch's aim had been too true. Her breast pierced by the bullet, Manuela fell dead beside the other victims.
How beautiful she was, even in death, whilst her left breast poured forth in a crimson stream the many sorrows she had sighed under! Poor Manuela! How pale was now your cheek! How different the last farewell kiss on your chill blue lips from that warm and thrilling one in Careta!