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Phantom Regiment; or, Stories of "Ours"

<h3> CHAPTER II. THE GUARDA COSTA. </h3> During the two preceding months we had been daily expecting orders to embark for the Crimea, and this expectation formed almost our sole topic at mess; but days became weeks, and weeks became months, yet we heard no more of it than what passed among ourselves. Transports laden with troops—horse, foot, and artillery—touched daily at the Rock, and steamed on into the bright blue Mediterranean, with spirit-stirring cheers rising from their crowded decks. Regiments junior to ours were withdrawn from the Rock and dispatched to that scene of bravery and bloodshed, of mismanagement and disaster, towards which all our thoughts, our hopes, and hearts were turned; but the route never came for "Ours," and we grew decidedly peevish, and found the dull routine of duty among the endless batteries, bastions, curtains, magazines, and casemates of that mighty fortress which was so long boasted (before the days of steam) as the key of "the great French lake," sufficiently tedious; for we felt that we were merely playing at soldiers like militiamen, while our comrades of the line were engaged in desperate work, and played the great game of war, with the eyes of all the world upon them. One evening, about a week after the departure of the ladies, I was captain of the guard at the New Mole Fort, and Jack Slingsby was my subaltern. We had just finished the dinner which had been sent to us, hot and smoking, from the mess-house, in a conveyance for the purpose; the windows of the officers' guardroom were open, and with a box of contraband cigars, a few periodicals from the garrison library, a telescope to watch the passing ships, and a bottle or two of very choice mess claret, we were dozing the sunny evening of Andalusia very comfortably away. The last dispatches from the Crimea had been read and discussed by us; the last lists of killed, wounded, frozen, or missing in the trenches had been conned over for some familiar name, which brought vividly before us some fine fellow we should never see again; but whose sudden fate was the more interesting to us, because it soon might be our own. Whether it was the result of the good dinner, the good wine, the sultry atmosphere, or our own thoughts that oppressed us, I know not; but we sat long silent, and gazing at the varied scenery and glittering waters of the bay. My thoughts were still wandering after Paulina, and I was endeavouring to imagine what she might be about at that precise moment. Slingsby had lost a very heavy and very absurd bet, on an interesting race run at Grand Cairo between an Irish mare and an Arab horse belonging to Halim Pasha, when the former beat the latter "all to nothing," as Jack phrased it, and he had to hand over 500l. to Morton, our colonel, for booking on a horse which neither of them had ever seen. The same race was offered for the last two years against all England, for ten thousand sovereigns, and, as all the sporting world know, the challenge was not accepted. Blue-devilled by his loss, Jack Slingsby sipped his claret in silence and made wise resolutions which he never intended to keep, with moral reflections which he never could practise, and longed for the Crimea, insensible to the charms of this delightful climate, where, even in January, the narcissus-polyanthus hang in white clusters from the rocks; where the purple lavender flowers in large beds and parterres; where the palmetto spreads its fan-like foliage to the sun; where the gigantic aloe puts forth its leaves, and the prickly pear expands its ponderous bunches, while the wild tulip and the damascus-tree are in full blossom under the gloom of the solemn pine, or the lighter foliage of the cork-tree—and where all is verdure, fragrance, and joy! Yet, amid all this, Jack Slingsby, like the rest of "Ours," sighed for the frozen camp, the battered trenches, and the misery of Sebastopol. "So you have not got the better of your Spanish fancies, eh?" said he, for lack of something better to talk about; "the charming Paulina—that most rotund of elderly females, her mamma, and all that sort of thing?" "What leads you to think so?" I asked languidly, as I lay stretched at length on the Windsor chairs, watching the smoke which ascended from my lips to the ceiling. "It is quite plain, dear Don Ricardo." "You cannot mimic her, so don't attempt it, Jack; but how is it plain, eh?" "As clear as when the right is in front, the left is the pivot." "A technical reply." "Dick Ramble, my boy, you are quite sad about her, and there is no use in attempting to conceal it," continued Slingsby. "Not sad, exactly," said I, making an effort to look brave; "never was I fool enough to be sad about any woman yet; there are as good fish, &c., and as for the Spanish girl—try another Cuba, the box is beside you." "Thanks—about this Spanish girl?" "Fill your glass, and push across the decanter; has not that bottle been a little corked, think you?" "Perhaps—about this Spanish girl?" continued Jack doggedly. "Well, what the deuce about her?" "You were just on the point of remarking some thing." "Only that her eyes were very fine, were they not?" "Very, but I prefer blue— "'No fair fräulein nor dem——-' "For heaven's sake, Jack, don't begin that ever-lasting ditty!" said I, pettishly; "yes, Paulina's eyes were beautiful; they seemed, as the Spaniards say, to be in mourning for the murders they committed." "A stale compliment," was Jack's retort to my interruption of a song with which he had favoured the mess every night since we left Southampton, for a small amount of vocal talent will go a long way to charm a mess-table; "she murdered you, however, with very little compunction; but to think of the doctor's botanising with the mother being mistaken for love-making—was it not glorious, Dick?" "I have sometimes thought of a month's leave, just between musters," said I, without joining in Jack's boisterous laugh. "Leave! for what purpose?" "A ride into Spain—say, as far as Seville; what do you think of it?" "Seventy miles or more to help you to continue a flirtation begun in the casemates of Gibraltar. Thank you, Ramble; I would rather hold myself excused. I had a little adventure in Spain once before, and its devilish concomitants quite cured me of all taste for another; though if I had not lost this unlucky 500l. perhaps—" "Well, why the deuce did you not let Halim Pasha and his nag alone? What did their race matter to you?" "But lend me the telescope—what is that puff—a gun?" "It is a smuggler running right for the harbour, pursued by a Spanish guarda costa; bang! there goes another gun from the Don." "And right through the felucca's sail too!" "Hollo! they will be within gunshot of us ere long," said I, springing up: "and this will be work for us. Sentry, call the gunner of the guard." "Gunner of the guard!" reiterated the sentinel, who stood, bayonet in hand, under a sunshade, at the guard-house door. The solitary artilleryman, who was attached to my guard, appeared in an instant with his sword by his side, and a lintstock in his hand. "Get ready a gun," said I; "for there is a Spanish guarda costa in pursuit of a smuggler, and we must protect our friend." "An 18-pounder, or a 24, sir?" "Oh, give him a twenty-four, and take a file of the guard to assist you." While the smuggler, with her long sweeps out, and every stitch of canvas crowded on her long and tapering masts and whip-like yards, was straining every nerve to escape from the Spanish cruiser, which plied away with her bow guns, and bore after her close-hauled, and rushing through the shining waves till they seemed to smoke under her, it may be necessary to inform the reader that the manufacture and smuggling of tobacco and cigars at Gibraltar is a never-failing and never-ending source of angry discussion between the Governments of Spain and Britain; for, by the former, tobacco has long been reckoned a royal monopoly. Now, in Gibraltar, almost every second house is a cigar-shop, and more than two thousand men are daily employed in the manufacture of these articles of luxury, without which a Spaniard would be, as some one says. like a steamer without a funnel. Three-fourths of the British exports from Gibraltar to the three United Kingdoms are also smuggled, and to such an extent is the contraband trade carried, that the annual importation of tobacco into that fortified town, says Mr Porter, in his "Progress of the Nation," "amounts to from six millions to eight millions of pounds, nearly the whole of which is purchased by smugglers." The boats of the contrabandistas are generally rigged as feluccas, and painted black; they are built sharp as a pike-head, and carry a heavy brass gun, which, in harbour, is usually concealed under a pile of old boxes and casks, with a tarpaulin thrown over it, while in cases of emergency, various pistols, pikes, and cutlasses, make their appearance in the hands of the brown-visaged, black-bearded, red-sashed, and rather pictorial-looking ruffians, whose chief occupation is to sleep and lounge about their decks by day. To look out for these lads of the knife and pistol, the Government of Her Most Catholic Majesty maintains a number of fast-sailing revenue craft, called guarda costas, commanded by brave and vigilant officers. These are the abhorrence of the contrabandistas, whose operations are greatly facilitated on land by the concurrence of the corrupt Spanish officials; and those guarda costas, in their zeal, had, of late, been rash enough to pursue their prey into those waters which are under the jurisdiction of the Governor and Commander-in-Chief of Gibraltar; and in three instances had boarded them with pistol and cutlass, shot the crews, or driven them overboard, and thereafter cut the feluccas out from under the very guns of Her Britannic Majesty's fortress. This, however, was not to be tolerated again, and strict orders had been issued that every guarda costa who ventured into troubled waters should be fired on. John Bull is consistently absurd and unjust in all things, and, with all his boasted justice, is the most veritable bully in the world—except, perhaps, his thriving son Jonathan; he would no doubt cut his own smugglers out of any port in the world, and in the same moment would deny the poor Spaniards the right to do the same; for John is a man full of honour and liberality, or a man of neither, just as may suit his own particular purpose for the time; but to return,— On came the felucca in question, running straight for the anchorage, which was protected by the heavy guns of the New Mole Fort where we were on guard. and the parapet of which was lined by the soldiers, all eager to witness the result of that most exciting of all things, a chase—a struggle between a strong party and a weak one. On came the guarda costa in pursuit, plying her bow-chaser, cleaving asunder the clouds of white smoke which ever and anon it rolled ahead of her, and riding over the waves, then shining in all the rosy brilliance of a Spanish sunset, while astern waved the large ensign with the red and yellow horizontal bars of Castile and Leon. Suddenly the little felucca ran up British colours; a sharp patter rang over the water, and a wreath of smoke rose from her stern as the devil-may-care contrabandistas gave the cruiser a dose of small arms. Boom again! The don gave another shot from his brass gun, and this time an angry shout arose from our own vessels in the roadstead, for the ball had crossed the forefoot of a Newcastle collier. "Ramble, this will never do," said Slingsby; "that Spanish craft is too near by half—much nearer than our standing orders permit." "Now, gunner, is that 24-pounder ready?" said I. "All ready, sir." "Then bang at her." We all watched the shot with breathless interest, for to us, the whole affair was merely a race, a game of hazard, like any other. The sullen roar of the 24-pounder shook the solid parapet of the New Mole Fort, and pealed in repeated echoes round all the shore to the extremity of Rosia Bay; and as the cloud of light smoke curled away from before us, we saw the shot whipping the water far astern of the guarda costa, and a flush of annoyance spread over the honest face of the artilleryman; for, as all our eyes were bent upon his performance, he had been most anxious to excel, and this very anxiety had probably defeated its object. A muttered exclamation of impatience escaped him. "Run back the gun," said he to the guard. Back went the carronade, and home went the sponge, as he set his teeth, and, with hasty determination, proceeded to reload. "Quick, quick," said I; "for if she hauls her wind, gunner, there will barely be time to give another shot." "I'll toss you for it, Señor Capitano," said Slingsby; "bet you a bottle of champagne that I will hit the guarda costa." "Done," said I; "toss for the first fire." We tossed, and it fell to Jack. "Take care that you don't hit the felucca." "Miss the pigeon and hit the crow—eh, Dick?" he said, while, laughing, he applied his eye to the sites on the breech, and proceeded to adjust the screw, to the evident annoyance of the gunner, who, while he could not decline to relinquish his place to an officer, was piqued on being deprived of a chance of retrieving his name as a professional marksman; and now he stood by, with his match lighted, in the earnest hope, doubtless, that Jack Slingsby would send his shot as wide of the mark as possible. Cigar in mouth, Jack glanced coolly—almost carelessly—along the gun, and on covering his object, cried—"fire!" Again the lintstock fell on the touch-hole; again the gun-shot rolled along the echoing shore, and pealed away to seaward; a large white splinter was seen on the gunwale of the guarda costa; her sails shivered and flapped in the wind, as the ball struck her, and suddenly backing her mainyard, she lay to, heaving like a wounded seabird, on the long glassy ridges of the ground-swell, ere the burst of applause with which our soldiers greeted Slingsby had died away—for my friend Jack was one of their most favourite officers. "You did for her, there, sir," said the gunner, approvingly, as he rammed home the sponge. "Yes, but as you fired when she was much further off, remember that I have the less credit in hitting," replied Jack, as he gave the gunner a crown-piece to console him. By this time the felucca, with a shout of derision rising from her deck, ran into the harbour, ducking her colours thrice to us in salute, as she passed the New Mole Fort. I had not been looking for more than a minute through the spy-glass at the guarda costa, when I became assured that some one on board had been wounded severely, either by the shot or its splinters. The crew—all save the man at the wheel—were grouped amidships; many were kneeling on the deck, and, once or twice, clenched hands were fiercely shaken in menace towards the battery; then we saw a man borne carefully aft between several others. "Some one has evidently been killed or wounded desperately," said I, handing the glass to Slingsby. "Good Heaven! do you say so?" cried Jack; "well, it would seem so—poor fellow—you know, Ramble, I did not exactly anticipate such a thing—so it is—so it is! There is a man stretched on the deck!" he added, passing the telescope to our soldiers. "We have only obeyed a standing garrison order," said I; "and the responsibility thereof, if any, does not lie with us, but with those who issued it. Come back to the guard-room, Jack, and my servant shall go to the messman for that bottle of champagne you have won so well." "Oh! deuce take the champagne, and all that sort of thing," said Jack, looking still at the guarda costa. For a time an evident confusion and indecision, seemed to reign among her crew. She lay heaving and tossing, rising and falling on the long and ridgy rollers, with the setting sun glaring full upon her white mainsail, which lay flat to the mast; the light of day soon sank in the west, behind the upper peak of the rocky mountain, from which a myriad rays shot upward and played on the masses of floating cloud; the strait was still bathed in the amber glory of evening, and each glassy billow of the slow ground-swell as it rolled away from west to east, rose like a bank of gold from a plain of brilliant blue; and all the amphitheatre of the town, which stretches along the base of the rock, and rises gradually from the shore in the most delightful manner—mingling in picturesque confusion, the lofty and airy Spanish caza, with its flat roof, verandah, and sun-shaded windows, the close, compact English house, the solid rampart, and the flimsy wooden storehouse—all were bathed in the warmest tints, and every casement and window flung back the gleams of radiance, as if they had been illuminated by lamps of crimson and gold. Soon after the departed sun had shed its last ray on the bare scalp of the sugar-loaf, the crew of the guarda costa, as a protection probably, hoisted British colours, and crept past us into the harbour, and immediately on dropping her anchor, sent a boat ashore. We supposed that this visit could only be for the purpose of lodging a complaint against the officer in command at the New Mole Fort—to wit myself, a complaint which we knew would be unavailing: but we were mistaken; for my servant, on returning from the barracks with the bottle of champagne and other &c. requisite to enable Jack and me to pass the night on guard agreeably, brought us the unpleasant information that the shot had carried away both legs of the unfortunate Spanish lieutenant who commanded the guarda costa, and that doctor M'Leechy of "Ours" had at once gone off to the vessel to succour the patient, who—poor fellow!—had died under his hands. This catastrophe proved a great damper to us, and to Jack in particular, for he was one of the best-hearted fellows in the service; so we had more champagne brought from the mess-house, and we talked of the guarda costa and her poor lieutenant almost till the morning gun was fired; and the affair furnished me with a special paragraph for that "column of remarks" in the guard report which seldom contains memoranda of greater importance than a notice of "the cracked pane of glass, handed over by Captain O'Brien of the 88th;" or, "the poker, handed over, broken, by the last guard under Lieutenant Smith, of the Buffs," and so forth. In the morning we found that the guarda costa had sailed in the night, taking her dead commander with her; and long before the end of the week we had ceased even to speak of the circumstance at mess, and I forgot the affair as the image of Paulina came before me again, and thoughtless Jack Slingsby was as gay as ever. But I must mention, that on being relieved from guard at the New Mole Fort, I found waiting me, at my quarters, Pedro de Urquija, a well-known contrabandista, and king of the smugglers of Gibraltar, who gave me a profusion of thanks "for saving his little felucca, La Buena Fortuna, from that devil of a guarda costa," saying it was the closest run he had ever experienced in twenty years of arduous smuggling; and he insisted upon my acceptance of several boxes of prime Cubas and some dozen yards of magnificent lace, worked by the nuns of Cadiz and the poor sisters of Santa Theresa at Estrelo, and we parted the best friends in the world: but a heavy rod was in pickle for Jack and me; and the affair was destined to cost us more danger, trouble, and anxiety, than we could ever have calculated on risking. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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