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Romance of War (or The Highlanders in Spain)
Chapter 41 - Pass of Maya - Pyrenees

A MONTH elapsed without the sound of a shot being heard, and the troops at the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles lay quietly encamped and unmolested amidst the fine scenery of the Pyrenees. The weather was now remarkably agreeable, and the officers procured plenty of wine from Elizondo and other Navarese towns in their rear, and they were beginning to be as comfortable as it is possible for troops to be under canvas. But a cloud was gathering in the valleys of Gascony below them.

The great victory at Vittoria, and the important events which followed it, had not failed deeply to interest and concern Napoleon, to rouse his wrath and to wound his pride. That object for which he had shed so much French blood was now completely wrested from his grasp, and France herself remained in imminent peril while the armies of the conqueror hovered on the mountains which overlooked their territories. Fresh conscriptions were levied, and again France, in her folly, poured forth another army, which directed its march to the Pyrenees, to fight the battles of the insatiable Buonaparte. Soult was recalled from Germany to place himself as its head, as the 'Lieutenant of the Emperor.' Joining the French army on the 13th of July, 1813, he commenced reorganizing and preparing for a second invasion of Spain, with an energy and activity which restored the confidence, and roused, as usual, the arrogance of the French troops, who commenced their march with the intention of driving the allies beyond the Ebro, and celebrating the birthday of the great Emperor at Vittoria.

At that time Lord Wellington's responsibilities and difficulties were not of a slight nature, having to cover the siege of two strong fortresses and defend the wide space between them, which compelled him to extend and weaken his line. His skill was evinced in the distribution of his army, which he posted in the best manner likely to defend effectually the passes of the Pyrenees, and to cover the investments of San Sebastian and Pampeluna.

To effect the relief of the latter was the first grand object of the Duke of Dalmatia. From St. Jean Pied-de-Port, on the morning of Sunday, the 25th July, he marched thirty-five thousand men against the troops of General Byng, occupying the pass of Roncesvalles, which post they completely turned in the afternoon, after a most desperate conflict, from which the general and Sir Lowry Cole, who had moved up to his support, were compelled to retire.

On the same day General Drouet led thirteen thousand men against the right of Hill's position,—Cameron's command at the Maya pass, which he had orders to force, as the Highlanders had to defend it,—at all hazards. At the time the attack was made, no movement was expected, yet Drouet found the British not altogether unprepared for such an event. It was a beautiful Sunday, and the heat, even on the summits of the Pyrenees, was intense. As it was not supposed that the enemy were near, the tents were all standing, just as they been for a month before ; and the camp and baggage-mules were miles away down on the Spanish side, whither they were usually taken for grass.

Stuart on that morning had wandered from the encampment to some distance, where he was enjoying the appearance of solitude, so like that of his ' Highland home,' which reigned far and wide around him. The vast hills rose on every side, heaving their green summits to the sky. A death-like stillness prevailed, save when now and then broken by the scream of a wild bird, the hollow flap of a partridge's wing, or the faint and far-off tinkle of a mountain rill murmuring through some solitary gorge, leaping from rock to rock as it descended to the bright plains of Gascony or Beam. For nearly an hour he had wandered about there, when his solitary reveries were broken by the sound of a distant shot, the echoes of which rang among the splintered rocks and grassy peaks, recalling him at once to the present; and he hurried away to the camp, where the brigade was getting under arms, the soldiers mustering with their usual rapidity and coolness, without betraying the least surprise or confusion. From an out-picket the word had been passed that the French ' were in motion in front,' and the fixing of fresh flints, snapping of locks, unrolling and examining of ammunition, gave token of every preparation being made to receive them with due honour. Nearly an hour elapsed, and no more was seen or heard of the foe. All began to suppose it a false alarm, and many of the officers went forward to the outposts to reconnoitre.

'Where are the enemy now, Armstrong?' asked Cameron of an officer of the 71st, commanding the picket which had given the alarm. 'In which direction did you see them?'

'Directly north, and far down on the French side,' replied the other, pointing with his sword; 'we distinctly saw a strong party pass yonder defile between the mountains: the glitter of their arms was apparent to us all.'

'I'm afraid their feet were cloven,' observed Seaton, 'I see nothing but a herd of cattle crossing the defile you speak of 'Horned nowte, just black short-legged Argyleshires,' said Dugald, who, as usual, was close to Cameron's skirts. 'I see them plain aneuch mysel, sirs; but the loons may be amang the hills for a' that.' A loud laugh arose at the old man's observations.

'Well, gentlemen,' said Armstrong, while his cheek reddened with anger, and he cast a furious glance on Dugald Mhor, 'you are all at liberty to think as you please ; but I tell you that there are cattle among the hills carrying bayonets on their horns, and that such is the fact some here may learn to their cost, ere long.'

What fire the Borderer displays!' said Ronald, as Armstrong left the group abruptly; 'and here is Alister, his sub, quite fierce likewise about the matter.'

'Search round,' chimed in Campbell, in the same tone of jest; 'search about, and probably we shall find the pigskin at the bottom of which they saw the enemy. I remember once in Egypt, that old Ludovick Lisle-----'

'What mean you, gentlemen? said Macdonald angrily: 'do you take us for fools? I believe we have seen the enemy often enough to know them.'

'Halt, Macdonald; you take our jests far too seriously,' said Stuart. 'If you saw the French, where are they now?'

'In front!' was the tart reply.

'They have been so, down in Gascony, for this month past.' 'By all eternity! 'tis something new for me to have assertions doubted thus,' replied Macdonald, considerably ruffled, yet loath to have high words with his old friend; and adding, 'I will make no further explanations,' he turned and left them, following Armstrong, who was reconnoitring intently through a telescope. While Stuart's cheek grew red with anger at the contemptuous manner in which Macdonald took leave of him, his sleeve was plucked by old Dugald Cameron.

'Dinna speak to him juist the noo,' whispered that aged retainer solemnly; 'his birse is up, and it is an ill thing to warsle wi' a Macdonald at sic a time. Dinna gloom wi' het faces at ane anither, for I tell you one will no behauld the ither lang, sae turn not the back o' your hand upon him; he may be mixed wi' the mools ere the hills grow dark wi' the gloaming, or redden again in the morning sun.'

'What do you mean, Dugald?' asked Stuart, surprised at the Highlander's manner.

'Sir, I am farer seen than maist folk, and so was my faither before me. Baith loud and lang did you and Macdonald laugh ower your wine in the cornel's tent last nicht, and every laugh o' the puir lad gaed to my heart. I kent by its hollow ringing he was fey.'

'Fey?' replied the other, respect for Dugald's white haffets alone restraining a violent inclination to laugh; 'fey, Dugald? How?

'Loud laughter, I mean laughter such as his, aye portends sudden death. Ony cailloch that ever wore a mutch, or ony giglet o' a lassie that ever wore a snood, will tell ye the same thing, sir. Sae dinna girn at or be thrawn gebbit wi' young Inchkenneth, for he'll no be lang amang us. Mony heads will there be on the heather ere the sun gaes doon.' Dugald moved off, leaving Stuart considerably surprised at his superstition. At that moment Alister rushed towards them, with his bonnet in his hand.

'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 tricolours 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 greenswaird 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-pickets 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 pickets 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 musketry,—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 breastwork. 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 bagpipe 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.

'The battalion will form line on the grenadiers,' cried Fassifern,— 'double quick!' The movement was performed with the rapidity and precision of a home-review. As the covering sergeant of the light company took up the ground of alignment, holding his long pike aloft, a shot struck him in the head, passing through his right eye, and he fell dead. The line formed across his body, and the word of command from Seaton, 'Light company! halt,—front, dress!' had scarcely been heard on the left, before the orderly bugler, who stood by Cameron's side, sounded to fire, and the hoarse braying piobrachd now rang along the line.

The first volley of the Highlanders gave a temporary check to the enemy, and enabled the 34th and 'old Half-hundred' to reform in order. The French line was now, as I have said, within thirty paces, and every lineament and feature of their dark and sallow faces could be distinctly seen at so short a distance. They were now in the midst of all the uproar, the smoke, the blood, the danger, the mingling of hideous groans and cries,—in short, the hell upon earth of a hot engagement, in which both parties became so heated by the slaughter around them that all the softer passions were forgotten, and they longed, with a tiger-like feeling, to bury their blades in each other's heart.

Ronald felt his pulses quickening, the blood tingling in his ears, for the sound of the musketry had deafened them to everything else, and his heart rebounded within his bosom until he could almost hear it beat; but it was with feelings the reverse of fear,—a wish to leap headlong among the enemy, to cut them down with his sword as he would whin-bushes, and to revenge the slaughter the terrible fire of so dense a column was making among his gallant and devoted regiment. So thick was the smoke become, that he could scarcely see the third file from him, and only at times it cleared up a little. What was then revealed served only to infuriate him the more. The Highlanders were lying in heaps across and across each other,—piled up just as they fell; while their comrades fought above them, firing and reloading with all the rapidity in their power until struck by a shot, and down they fell to perish unnoticed and unknown. Almost every shot killed ; for the distance was short, and the wounds were hideous and ghastly, the blood spouting forth from the orifice as if through a syringe.

Now and then Ronald felt his heart momentarily recoil within him when he beheld some poor soldier, while in the full possession of life and energy, toss aside his firelock, and fall suddenly backwards across some heap of corpses—stricken dead. But a battle-field is no. place for sympathy, and the feeling lasted but for an instant.

'Shall we never get the word to charge? cried Seaton fiercely. 'Oh, Stuart! this is indeed infernal work,—to be mauled thus, and within a few feet of their muzzles.'

A charge would be madness, and our utter destruction. A single regiment against thirteen columns of Frenchmen------'

'We possess the pass, though. Poor Macivar is on the turf, and Macdonuil is shot through the heart. Hah! see to the left: the 50th are giving way------God! I am struck!' He sunk to the earth, with the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils. A shot had pierced his breast, beating in with it a part of the silver breast-plate, and in great agony he rolled over several times, grasping and tearing the turf with fruitless efforts to regain his feet.

'Never mind me, light bobs, but stand by Cameron to the last Hurrah!' Convulsively he strove to raise himself up; but another bullet passed through his neck, and a deadly paleness overspread his countenance. He gave his claymore one last flourish, he cast a glance of fury and despair towards the enemy, and expired. Scarcely a minute had elapsed since he was struck, and now he was dead!

'Poor Seaton!' muttered Ronald, and turned away. He had now the command of the light company ; the other lieutenant lay bleeding to death a few yards off, and in the intervals of pain crying fruitlessly for water. One soldier, who had been struck by a shot across the bridge of the nose, became blind, and rushed frantically among the enemy, to perish under their bayonets. Another, who had his lower jaw carried off, presented a horrible spectacle as he lay on the ground, vomiting up blood through his open throat, and lolling out his exposed and swollen tongue.

'Ninety-second! prepare to charge!' cried Cameron, animated to fury by this deadly slaughter of his regiment. 'Gordon Highlanders! prepare to charge,' he repeated, as he galloped along the broken line with his eyes flashing fire, while he waved his bonnet aloft. 'Close up,— keep together; shoulder to shoulder, Highlandmen,—charge!' Ronald alone heard him, and repeated the rash order: but their voices were unheard amidst the din of the conflict. At that moment the smoke cleared a little away, and in front Ronald perceived a French grenadier sling his musket, and advancing a few paces before his friends, stoop down to rifle an officer of the 71st Regiment, who was lying dead between the lines.

'Iverach, mark that plundering rascal,' said Stuart; 'aim steadily.'

Evan fired, and missed.

'That was not like a man from the braes of Strathonan!' said his master angrily. 'Fire, Ian Macdonald; you are one of the best shots in the company.'

'My father shot the Damh mhor a Vonalia toon in Padenoch, and I was aye thouchten to be a petterer marksman than him,' replied the young Highlander coolly, as he levelled his piece and fired. The Frenchman fell forward, beat the earth with his heels for a moment, and then lay motionless.

'He's toon, sir: I have pitten a flea in his lug,' replied the marksman, as he bit another cartridge.

For two hours this desperate and unequal conflict was maintained. The other regiments had given way in disorder, and the Highlanders began to waver, after the loss of their gallant colonel, who had retired severely wounded. Nearly all the officers were dead or dying on the ground, while others were endeavouring to find their way to some place where they could get their wounds dressed. Two alone were left with the regiment,—Ronald and another lieutenant, who, being senior, had the command, and finding that the battalion was reduced to less than a company, ordered it to retire towards the pass of Maya, having lost in two hours five-and-twenty officers, and three hundred rank and file. The other regiments were cut up in nearly the same manner, but none had lost so many officers. Stuart carried the king's colour, and a sergeant the regimental—all the ensigns being killed or wounded. Poor Alister Macdonald was left on the field among the former. A shot had passed through his head, and he died without a groan. His friend Ronald was considerably startled when he saw him lying dead. The prediction of Dugald Mhor flashed upon his mind, and he looked round for that singular old Highlander; but he was away with Fassifern, on the road for the village of Irun.

The whole of the British forces were now in retreat before the overwhelming power of the enemy, column after column of whom continued to press forward. The defenders of the pass retired on the rock of Maya, abandoning their camp and baggage to the French. On retreating through the pass, Major Campbell, whose horse had been as usual shot under him, and who had first left the field, owing to a severe wound, headed a few Highlanders, who scrambled like squirrels up the face of a precipitous crag, from the summit of which they kept up a hot fire upon the French troops, not only holding them decidedly in check, and giving their friends time to retire, but revenging the previous slaughter in front of the pass. Here it may be worth mentioning that Major Campbell lost his celebrated cudgel, which, in the enthusiasm of the moment, he sent flying among the foe, and unhorsed a mounted officer. He gave them also much weightier proofs of his goodwill. Just as the flank of a column of French grenadiers reached the base of the crag occupied by the Highlanders, a tremendous fragment of rock, urged forward by the powerful hands of the major, came thundering down among them, rolling through the dense mass of men with irresistible force and fury, making a perfect but terrible lane, and doing as much mischief as a dozen bomb-shells. Every man below held his breath for a moment, and then cries of rage and fury burst from the whole division of Drouet; while the Scots, pouring upon them a parting salute of. shot and stones, descended from the other side of the rock, and rejoined their comrades in double-quick time. Under the orders of General Stuart, the whole retired to the rock of Maya, those in the rear maintaining an irregular skirmish with the French; who, on perceiving the rearward movement, filled the air with cries of 'Long live the great Emperor! Long live beautiful France !' mingled with shouts —absolute yells of triumph and exultation.

Thoroughly enraged and disheartened, the British continued to retire, yet anxiously expecting that succour from Lord Wellington would arrive in time to enable them to face about, and beat Soult before nightfall. As the little band of Highlanders descended straggling from the hills, Stuart saw a lady (the wife of an officer of the 50th) on horseback, and in a miserable situation. Her horse had stuck fast above the saddle-girths in a deep morass, and she was too much terrified and bewildered to leave it. The balls of the sharpshooters were whistling past her every second, and she cried imploringly to the retreating Highlanders to yield her some assistance ; but it was impossible, and she fell into the hands of the French. Her husband was lying dead, with his sword in his hand, in the gorge of the fatal pass. On the brigade of Sir Edward Barnes coming up from the rear, a new and sanguinary conflict took place; but the enemy were defeated, and the pass regained.

That night the shattered remains of the Gordon Highlanders bivouacked near Barrueta. The consternation of the inhabitants in the mountain villages, when the heights were abandoned, and the French again advancing, cannot be easily described. From Barrueta, Elizondo, Maya, and Huarte, men, women and children were seen pouring forth during the night, and descending the mountain paths by torchlight, bearing along, with infinite toil, their sick and infirm relatives, their bedding, furniture, etc., to save them from the remorseless invaders, who, they too well knew, would give all to the flames that was 'too hot or too heavy' to carry off.

So eager were the French soldiers for plunder, that their searches were conducted upon a regular system. When a town was entered, every piece of furniture was broken, every plank raised, to see whether anything was hidden or buried; and the hammer and small saw, carried by every man in his haversack, assisted greatly this unsoldierlike work. It is said that in Germany the vaults of the churches, the very graves in the churchyards, were searched; and the brutality with which they treated those unfortunate Spaniards, male and female, who fell into their power cannot be described. Therefore it is not to be wondered at that the Pyrenean mountaineers fled at their approach, as from a legion of devils.

The roads were likewise crowded with wounded officers and soldiers, pouring down from the passes of Maya and Roncesvalles. Those who were able to move were ordered to retire to Vittoria, which had already been converted into a vast hospital, and crowded to excess with the wounded of the great battle; and the miseries these unfortunates suffered, travelling without baggage or money in a strange country, weary, sick, and wounded, for a distance of one hundred miles during a hot season, are utterly inconceivable. Many wounds mortified, and became incurable; hundreds of men perished by the wayside of starvation and loss of blood, or reached Vittoria only to expire in the streets. Every medical officer had from ninety to a hundred patients on his lists, and many lives were lost from the want of proper attendance.

The astounding intelligence that the Duke of Dalmatia had forced the Pyrenean passes reached Lord Wellington at night, and promptly, as usual, he took means to concentrate his army, providing at the same time for the siege of San Sebastian and the blockade of Pampeluna. The right wing was full in retreat from the mountains when he directed it to halt, and soon arrived himself to direct measures for covering Pampeluna, within a few miles of which Soult, eager for its relief, had now arrived. The discomfited troops from Maya were ordered to march on the position before Pampeluna, and moved accordingly from Barrueta on Tuesday, the 27th. A melancholy spectacle the parade of the Gordon Highlanders presented on that morning! The colours, which had been shot almost to rags, were cased, and carried by non-commissioned officers; two young lieutenants had the command, and as the solitary piper, Ranald Macdonuildhu, blew the 'gathering,' he watched with a stern and louring visage the few survivors of the late conflict, as they paraded on the hillside, falling one by one into their places. Here were five men of the grenadiers, twenty men of another company, ten of a third, two of a fourth, and many others were totally annihilated, neither officer nor private being present. The sergeant-major, with his arm in a sling, presented a list of the casualties to Lieutenant Logan, who commanded,—Logan of that Ilk, as he was named by the mess.

'Where is Captain Maclvor?'

'Killed, sir. I saw him lying dead, close by Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Macdonald.'

'Where is Captain Bevan?

'He retired, sir, with his arm shattered near the elbow, and expired at the moment Dr. Stuart attempted to remove the limb at the shoulder-socket.'

'Where is Gordon?'

'Severely wounded and gone to the rear.'


'Shot through the side.'

'Macpherson and Macdonald,—Ranald Macdonuil, I mean?'

'Missing, sir.' And so on—killed, wounded, and missing, was the answer to every question.

'God help us, sir!' said the worthy non-commissioned officer, as he raised his hand to his bonnet and turned away with a glistening eye; 'but it's a heart-breaking thing to see the regiment cut up in this way.'

The band was annihilated, and with a single drum and bagpipe the little party moved off, just as the morning sun rose above that deadly pass, where so many a gallant heart had grown cold, and ceased to beat for ever.

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