My cell, for such it was, although dignified with the appellation of
chamber, looked out by a small window upon a narrow street, the opposite
side to which was formed by the wall of a churchyard pertaining to a
convent. As day broke, I eagerly took my place at the casement to watch
what was going on without; but except some bareheaded figure of a monk
gliding along between the dark yew avenues, or some female in deep
mourning passing to her morning's devotions beside the grave of a
relative, I could see nothing. A deep silence seemed to brood over the
city, so lately the scene of festivity and mirth. Towards four o'clock,
however, I could hear the distant roll of drums, which gradually
extended from the extreme right to the left of the plain before the
town; then I heard the heavy monotonous tramp of marching, broken
occasionally by the clank of the brass bands of the cavalry, or the deep
sullen thunder of the artillery waggons as they moved along over the
paved roads. The sounds came gradually nearer; the trumpets too joined
the clamour with the shrill reveille, and soon the streets towards
the front of the prison re-echoed with the unceasing clatter of troops
moving forward. I could hear the voices of the officers calling to the
men to move up; heard more than once the names of particular regiments,
as some distinguished corps were passing. The music of the bands was
quick and inspiriting; and as some popular air was struck up, the men
would break forth suddenly into the words, and the rough-voiced chorus
rang through the narrow streets, and fell heavily on my own heart as I
lay there a prisoner. Hour after hour did this continue, yet the silence
behind remained as unbroken as ever; the lonely churchyard, with its
dark walks and sad-looking trees, was still and deserted. By degrees
the din in front diminished; regiments passed now only at intervals, and
their pace, increased to a run, left no time for the bands; the cavalry,
too, trotted rapidly by, and at last all was still as in the gloomy
street before me.
It was now eight o'clock, and no summons had yet come to me, although
I had heard myself the order for our marching on the Bayonne road by
sunrise. The prison was still as the grave; not a step could I hear; not
a bolt nor a hinge creaked. I looked to the window, but the strong iron
grating that defended it left no prospect of escape; the door was even
stronger, and there was no chimney. The thought occurred to me that the
party had forgotten me, and had gone away with the other prisoners. This
thought somehow had its consolation; but the notion of being left to
starve came suddenly across me, and I hastened to the window to try and
make myself known to some chance passer-by.
Just then the loud boom of a gun struck upon my ear; another followed,
louder still; and then a long heavy crashing noise, which rose and fell
as the wind bore it, told me that the work of death had begun. The sound
of the large guns, which at first came only at intervals, now swelled
into one loud continuous roar, that drowned all other noise. The strong
frames of the windows shook, and the very ground beneath my feet seemed
to tremble with the dreadful concussion of the artillery; sometimes the
din would die away for a few seconds, and then, as the wind freshened,
it would swell into a thunder so loud as to make me think the battle
was close to where I stood. Hour after hour did this continue; and now,
although the little street beside me was thronged with many an anxious
group, I no longer thought of questioning them. My whole soul was
wrapped up in the one thought--that of the dreadful engagement; and as
I listened, my mind was carrying on with itself some fancied picture
of the fight, with no other guide to my imaginings than the distant
clangour of the battle. Now I thought that the French were advancing,
that their battery of guns had opened; and I could imagine the dark
mass that moved on, their tall shakos and black belts peering amidst
the smoke that lay densely in the field. On they poured, thousand after
thousand; ay, there goes the fusilade--the platoons are firing. But now
they halt; the crash of fixing bayonets is heard; a cheer breaks forth;
the cloud is rent; the thick smoke is severed as if by a lightning
flash; the red-coats have dashed through at the charge; the enemy waits
not; the line wavers and breaks; down come the cavalry, like an eagle on
the swoop! But again the dread artillery opens; the French form beneath
the lines, and the fight is renewed.
The fever of my mind was at its height. I paced my room with hurried
steps, and springing to the narrow casement, held my ear to the wall to
listen. Forgetting where I was, I called out as though at the head of my
company, with the wild yell of the battle around me, and the foe before
me.
Suddenly the crowd beneath the window broke; the crash of cavalry
equipments resounded through the street, and the head of a squadron of
cuirassiers came up at a trot, followed by a train of baggage-waggons,
with six horses to each; the drivers whipped and spurred their cattle,
and all betokened haste. From the strength of the guard and the
appearance of the waggons, I conjectured that they were the treasures of
the army--an opinion in which I was strengthened by the word 'Bayonne'
chalked in large letters on a chest thrown on the top of a carriage.
Some open waggons followed, in which the invalids of the army lay, a
pale and sickly mass; their lack-lustre eyes gazed heavily around with a
stupid wonder, like men musing in a dream. Even they, however, had arms
given them, such was the dread of falling into the hands of the guerilla
bands who infested the mountain passes, and who never gave quarter even
to the wounded and the dying.
The long file at length passed, but only to make way for a still longer
procession of Spanish prisoners, who, bound wrist to wrist, marched
between two files of mounted gendarmes. The greater number of these were
mountaineers, guerillas of the south, condemned to the galleys for life,
their bronzed faces and stalwart figures a striking contrast to their
pale and emaciated companions, the inhabitants of the towns, who could
scarce drag their weary limbs along, and seemed at every step ready to
sink between misery and privation. The ribald jests and coarse language
of the soldiers were always addressed to these, there seeming to be
a kind of respect for the bolder guerillas even in the hour of their
captivity. The tramp of led horses, the roll of waggons, the cracking of
whips, mingled with the oaths of muleteers and the fainter cries of the
sick, now filled the air, and only occasionally did the loud cannonade
rise above them. From every window faces appeared, turned with excited
eagerness towards the dense crowds; and though I could perceive that
inquiries as to the fate of the day were constantly made and answered,
my ignorance of Spanish prevented my understanding what was said.
The noise in front of the prison, where the thoroughfare was wider and
larger, far exceeded that around me; and at last I could hear the steps
of persons marching overhead, and ascending and descending the stairs.
Doors clapped and slammed on every side; when, suddenly, the door of
my own cell was shaken violently, and a voice cried out in French, 'Try
this; I passed twice without perceiving it.' The next moment the lock
turned, and my room was filled with dragoons, their uniforms splashed
and dirty, and evidently bearing the marks of a long and severe march.
'Are you the Guerilla Guiposcoa de Condeiga?' said one of the party,
accosting me, as I stood wrapped up in my cloak.
'No; I am an English officer.'
'Show your epaulettes, then,' said another, who knew that Spanish
officers never wore such.
I opened my cloak, when the sight of my red uniform at once satisfied
them. At this instant a clamour of voices without was heard, and several
persons called out, 'We have him! here he is!' The crowd around me
rushed forth at the sound; and following among them I reached the
street, now jammed up with horse and foot, waggons, tumbrels, and
caissons--some endeavouring to hasten forward towards the road to
Bayonne; others as eagerly turned towards the plain of Vittoria, where
the deafening roll of artillery showed the fight was at its fiercest.
The dragoons issued forth, dragging a man amongst them whose enormous
stature and broad chest towered above the others, but who apparently
made not the slightest resistance as they hurried him forward, shouting,
as they went, '_A la grand' place!--à la place!_'
It was the celebrated Guerilla Guiposcoa, who had distinguished himself
by acts of heroic daring, and sometimes by savage cruelty towards the
French, and who had fallen into their hands that morning. Anxious to
catch a glance at one of whom I had heard so often, I pressed forward
among the rest, and soon found myself in the motley crowd of soldiers
and townspeople that hurried towards the Plaza.
Scarcely had I entered the square when the movement of the multitude was
arrested, and a low whispering murmur succeeded to the deafening shouts
of vengeance and loud cries of death I had heard before; then came the
deep roll of a muffled drum. I made a strong effort to press forward,
and at length reached the rear of a line of dismounted dragoons who
stood leaning on their carbines, their eyes steadily bent on a figure
some twenty paces in front. He was leisurely employed in divesting
himself of some of his clothes, which, as he took off, he piled in a
little heap beside him; his broad guerilla hat, his dark cloak, his
sheep's-wool jacket slashed with gold, fell one by one from his hand,
and his broad manly chest at last lay bare, heaving with manifest pride
and emotion, as he turned his dark eyes calmly around him. Nothing was
now heard in that vast crowd save when some low, broken sob of grief
would burst from the close-drawn mantillas of the women, as they offered
up their heartfelt prayers for the soul of the patriot.
A low parapet wall, surmounted by an iron railing, closed in this part
of the Plaza, and separated it from a deep and rapid river that flowed
beneath--a branch of the Ebro. Beyond, the wide plain of Vittoria
stretched away towards the Pyrenees; and two leagues distant the scene
of the battle was discernible, from the heavy mass of cloud that lowered
overhead, and the deep booming of the guns that seemed to make the air
tremulous.
The Spaniard turned his calm look towards the battlefield, and for an
instant his dark eye flashed back upon his foes with an expression
of triumphant daring, which seemed as it were to say, 'I am avenged
already!' A cry of impatience burst from the crowd of soldiers, and the
crash of their firelocks threatened that they would not wait longer for
his blood. But the guerilla's manner changed at once, and holding up a
small ebony crucifix before him, he seemed to ask a moment's respite for
a short prayer.
The stillness showed his request was complied with; he turned his back
towards the crowd, and placing the crucifix on the low parapet, he bent
down on both his knees, and seemed lost in his devotions. As he rose
I thought I could perceive that he threw a glance, rapid as lightning,
over the wall towards the river that flowed beneath. He now turned fully
round; and unfastening the girdle of many a gay colour that he wore
round his waist, he threw it carelessly on his left arm; and then,
baring his breast to the full, knelt slowly down, and with his arms wide
apart called out in Spanish, 'Here is my life! come, take it!' The words
were scarcely uttered, when the carbines clanked as they brought them
to the shoulder; the sergeant of the company called out the words,
'_Donnez!_' a pause--'_Feu!_' The fusilade rang out, and as my eyes
pierced the smoke I could see that the guerilla had fallen to the earth,
his arms crossed upon his bosom.
A shriek wild and terrific burst from the crowd. The blue smoke slowly
rose, and I perceived the French sergeant standing over the body of
the guerilla, which lay covered with blood upon the turf. A kind of
convulsive spasm seemed to twitch the limbs, upon which the Frenchman
drew his sabre. The rattle of the steel scabbard rang through my heart;
the bright weapon glanced as he raised it above his head. At the same
instant the guerilla chief sprang to his legs; he tottered as he did so,
for I could see that his left arm hung powerless at his side, but his
right held a long poniard. He threw himself upon the Frenchman's bosom;
a yell followed, and the same moment the guerilla sprang over the
battlements, and with a loud splash dropped into the river beneath. The
water had scarce covered his body, as the Frenchman fell a corpse upon
the ground.
A perfect roar of madness and rage burst from the French soldiers, as,
rushing to the parapet, a hundred balls swept the surface of the river;
but the tall reeds of the bank had already concealed the bold guerilla,
whose left arm had received the fire of the soldiers, who now saw the
meaning of that quick movement by which he had thrown his girdle around
it. The incident was but the work of a few brief moments; nor was there
longer time to think on it, for suddenly a squadron of cavalry swept
past at the full speed of their horses, calling out the words, 'Place
there! Make way there in front! The ambulance! the ambulance!'
A low groan of horror rose around; the quick retreat of the wounded
betokened that the battle was going against the French; the words
'beaten and retreat' reechoed through the crowd; and as the dark
suspicion crept amid the moving mass, the first waggon of the wounded
slowly turned the angle of the square, a white flag hanging above it. I
caught but one glance of the sad convoy; but never shall I forget
that spectacle of blood and agony. Torn and mangled, they lay an
indiscriminate heap--their faces blackened with powder, their bodies
shattered with wounds. High above the other sounds their piercing cries
rent the air, with mingled blasphemies and insane ravings. Meanwhile the
drivers seemed only anxious to get forward, as, deaf to every prayer and
entreaty, they whipped their horses and called out to the crowd to make
way.
Escape was now open; but where could I go? My uniform exposed me to
immediate detection; should I endeavour to conceal myself, discovery
would be my death. The vast tide of people that poured along the streets
was a current too strong to stem, and I hesitated what course to follow.
My doubts were soon resolved for me; an officer of General Oudinot's
staff, who had seen me the previous night, rode up close to where I
stood, and then turning to his orderly, spoke a few hurried words. The
moment after, two heavy dragoons, in green uniform and brass helmets,
came up, one at either side of me; without a second's delay one of them
unfastened a coil of small rope that hung at his saddle-bow, which with
the assistance of the other was passed over my right wrist and drawn
tight. In this way, secured like a malefactor, I was ordered forward. In
vain I remonstrated; in vain I told them I was a British officer; to no
purpose did I reiterate that hitherto I had made no effort to escape.
It is not in the hour of defeat that a Frenchman can behave either
with humanity or justice. A volley of _sacrés_ was the only answer I
received, and nothing was left me but to yield.
Meanwhile the tumult and confusion of the town was increasing every
minute. Heavy waggons inscribed in large letters, 'Domaine extérieure de
sa Majesté l'Empereur,' containing the jewels and treasures of Madrid,
passed by, drawn by eight and sometimes ten horses, and accompanied by
strong cavalry detachments. Infantry regiments, blackened with smoke
and gunpowder, newly arrived from the field, hurried past to take up
positions on the Bayonne road to protect the retreat; then came the
nearer din and crash of the artillery as the French army were falling
back upon the town.
Scarcely had we issued from the walls of the city when the whole scene
of flight and ruin was presented to our eyes. The country for miles
round was one moving mass of fugitives; cannon, waggons, tumbrels,
wounded soldiers, horsemen, and even splendid equipages were all mixed
up together on the Pampeluna road, which lay to our right. The march was
there intercepted by an overturned waggon; the horses were plunging, and
the cries of wounded men could be heard even where we were. The fields
at each side of the way were soon spread over by the crowd, eager to
press on. Guns were now abandoned and thrown into ditches and ravines;
the men broke their muskets, and threw the fragments on the roadside,
and vast magazines of powder were exploded here and there through the
plain.
But my attention was soon drawn to objects more immediately beside
me. The Bayonne road, which we now reached, was the last hope of the
retiring army. To maintain this line of retreat strong detachments of
infantry, supported by heavy guns, were stationed at every eminence
commanding the position; but the swooping torrent of the retreat had
left little time for these to form, many of whom were borne along with
the flying army. Discipline gave way on every side; the men sprang
upon the waggons, refusing to march; the treasures were broken open and
thrown upon the road. Frequently the baggage-guard interchanged shots
and sabre-cuts with the infuriated soldiers, who only thought of escape;
and the ladies, who but yesterday were the objects of every care and
solicitude, were hurried along amid that rude multitude--some on foot,
others glad to be allowed to take a place in the ambulance among the
wounded, their dresses blood-stained and torn, adding to the horror and
misery of the scene.
Such was the prospect before us. Behind, a dark mass hovered as if even
yet withstanding the attack of the enemy, whose guns thundered clearer
and clearer every moment. Still the long line of wounded came on--some
in wide open carts, others stretched upon the gun-carriages, mangled and
bleeding. Among these my attention was drawn to one whose head having
fallen over the edge of the cart was endangered by every roll of the
heavy wheel that grazed his very skull. There was a halt, and I seized
the moment to assist the poor fellow as he lay thus in peril. His helmet
had fallen back, and was merely retained by the brass chain beneath his
chin; his temples were actually cleft open by a sabre-cut, and I could
see that he had also received some shot-wounds in the side, where he
pressed his hands, the blood welling up between the fingers. As I lifted
the head to place it within the cart, the eyes opened and turned fully
upon me. A faint smile of gratitude curled his lip; I bent over him, and
to my horror recognised in the mangled and shattered form before me the
gallant fellow with whom the very night before I had formed almost a
friendship. The word 'cold,' muttered between his teeth, was the only
answer I could catch as I called him by his name. The order to march
rang out from the head of the convoy, and I had barely time to unfasten
my cloak and throw it over him ere the waggon moved on. I never saw him
after.
A squadron of cavalry now galloped past, reckless of all before them;
the traces of their artillery were cut, and the men, mounting the
horses, deserted the guns, and rode for their lives. In the midst of
the flying mass a splendid equipage flew past, its six horses lashed
to madness by the postillions; a straggling guard of honour galloped at
either side, and a grand _écuyer_ in scarlet, who rode in front, called
out incessantly, 'Place, place, pour sa Majesté!' But all to no purpose;
the road, blocked up by broken waggons, dense crowds of horse and
foot, dead and dying, soon became impassable. An effort to pass a
heavily-loaded waggon entangled the coach; the axle was caught by the
huge waggon; the horses plunged when they felt the restraint, and the
next moment the royal carriage was hurled over on its side, and fell
with a crash into the ravine at the roadside. While the officers of
his staff dismounted to rescue the fallen monarch, a ribald burst of
laughter rose from the crowd, and a pioneer actually gave the butt of
his carbine to assist the king as, covered with mud, he scrambled up
the ditch. I had but an instant to look upon his pale countenance, which
even since the night before seemed to have grown many years older, ere I
was myself dragged forward among the crowd.
Darkness now added its horror to the scene of riot and confusion. The
incessant cries of the fugitives told that the English cavalry were
upon them; the artillery came closer and closer, and the black sky was
traversed by many a line of fire, as the shells poured down upon the
routed army. The English guns, regardless of roads, dashed down on
the terrified masses, raining balls and howitzer-shells on every side.
Already the cheers of my gallant countrymen were within my hearing, and
amid all the misery and danger around me my heart rose proudly at the
glorious victory they had gained.
Meanwhile my escort, whose feeling towards me became more brutal as
their defeat was more perceptible, urged me forward with many an oath
and imprecation. Leaving the main road, we took the fields, already
crowded with the infantry. At last, as the charges of the English came
closer, my escort seemed to hesitate upon being any longer burdened by
me, and one, after interchanging some angry words with his companion,
rode off, leaving me to the care of him who passed the cord round my
wrist. For a second or two this fellow seemed to waver whether he might
not dispose of me more briefly, and once he half withdrew his pistol
from the holster, and turned round in his saddle to regard me more
steadily. A better feeling, however, gained the mastery; the hope, too,
of promotion, could he bring in an officer his prisoner, had doubtless
its share in his decision. He ordered me to jump up behind him, and,
dashing spurs into his troop-horse, rode forward.
I have, perhaps, lingered too long in my recollections of this eventful
night; it was, however, the last striking incident which preceded a long
captivity. On the third day of the retreat I was joined to a band of
Spanish prisoners marching towards Bayonne. Of the glorious victory
which rescued the Peninsula from the dominion of the French, and drove
their beaten armies beyond the Pyrenees, or of the great current of
events which followed the battle of Vittoria, I do not purpose to
speak. Neither will I trouble my reader with a narrative of hardship
and suffering; it is enough to mention that my refusal to give my parole
subjected me in all cases to every indignity. Wearied out at length,
however, I accepted this only chance of rendering life endurable; and
on reaching Bayonne I gave my word not to attempt my escape, and was
accordingly separated from my companions in misfortune, and once more
treated as a gentleman.
The refusal to accept 'parole,' I learned afterwards, was invariably
construed by the French authorities of the day into a direct avowal not
only to attempt escape by any means that might present themselves, but
was also deemed a rejection of the hospitality of the country, which
placed the recusant beyond the pale of its courtesy. No sooner had I
complied with this necessity--for such it was--than I experienced the
greatest kindness and politeness in every quarter. Through every village
in the south, the house of the most respectable inhabitant was always
opened to me; and with a delicacy it would be difficult to match
elsewhere, although the events of the Spanish war were the subjects of
general interest wherever we passed, not a word was spoken nor a hint
dropped before the 'prisoner' which could in the slightest degree offend
his nationality or hurt his susceptibility as an enemy.
*****
I shall now beg of my reader to pass over with me a long interval of
time, during which my life presented nothing of interest or incident,
and accompany me to the environs of St. Omer, where, in the commencement
of the year 1814 I found myself domesticated as a prisoner of war on
parole. During the long period that had elapsed since the battle of
Vittoria, I had but once heard from home. Matters there were pretty much
as I had left them. My father had removed to a colonial appointment,
whence he transmitted the rich revenues of his office to my mother,
whose habitual economy enabled her to dispense hospitality at Bath, much
in the same kind of way as she had formerly done at London. My lovely
cousin--in the full possession of her beauty and a large fortune--had
refused some half-dozen brilliant proposals, and was reported to have an
unswerving attachment to some near relative--which happy individual,
my mother suggested, was myself. Of the Bellews, I learned from the
newspapers that Sir Simon was dead; and Miss Bellew, having recovered
most of the great estates of her family through the instrumentality of a
clever attorney (whom I guessed to be my friend Paul), was now the great
belle and fortune of Dublin. I had frequently written home, and once or
twice to the Rooneys and the Major, but never received any answer; so
that at last I began to think myself forgotten by every one, and dreamed
away my life in a state almost of apathy--dead to the exciting events of
the campaign, which, even in the seclusion where I lived, were from time
to time reported. The brilliant march of our victorious troops through
the Pyrenees and the south of France, Nivelle, Orthez, and Toulouse, I
read of as people read of long past events. Life to me appeared to have
run out; and my thoughts turned ever backward to the bright morning
of my career in Ireland--my early burst of manhood, my first and only
passion.
The old royalist seigneur upon whom I was billeted could evidently
make nothing of the stolid indifference with which I heard him and his
antiquated spouse discuss the glorious prospect of a restoration of
the Bourbons: even the hope of liberty was dying away within me. One
ever-present thought had damped all ardour and all ambition--I had done
nothing as a soldier; my career had ended as it begun; and, while others
had risen to fame and honour, _my_ name had won nothing of distinction
and repute. Instead of anxiously looking forward to a meeting
with Louisa Bellew, I dreaded the very thoughts of it. My mother's
fashionable _morgue_ and indifference I should now feel as a sarcasm
on my own failure; and as to my cousin Julia, the idea alone of her
raillery was insufferable. The only plan I could devise for the future
was, as soon as I should recover my liberty, to exchange into some
regiment in the East Indies, and never to return to England.
It was, then, with some surprise and not much sympathy that I beheld
my venerable host appear one morning at breakfast with a large white
cockade in the breast of his frock-coat, and a huge white lily in a
wineglass before him. His elated manner and joyous looks were all so
many riddles to me; while the roll of drums in the peaceful little town,
the ringing of bells, and the shouts of the inhabitants were all too
much even for apathy like mine.
'What is the _tintamarre_ about?' said I pettishly, as I saw the old
gentleman fidget from the table to the window and then back again,
rubbing his hands, admiring his cockade, and smelling at the lily,
alternatively.
'Tintamarre!' said he indignantly, 'savez-vous, monsieur? Ce n'est pas
le mot, celui-là. We are restored, sir! we have regained our rightful
throne! we are no longer exiles!'
'Yes!' said the old lady, bursting into the room, and throwing herself
into her husband's arms, and then into mine, in a rapture of
enthusiasm--'yes, brave young man! to you and your victorious companions
in arms we owe the happiness of this moment. We are restored!'
'Yes! restored! restored!' echoed the old gentleman, throwing open the
window, and shouting as though he would have burst a blood-vessel; while
the mob without, catching up the cry, yelled it louder than ever.
'These people must be all deranged,' thought I, unable to conjecture
at the moment the reasons for such extravagant joy. Meanwhile, the room
became crowded with townspeople in holiday costume, all wearing the
white cockade, and exchanging with one another the warmest felicitations
at the happy event.
I now soon learned that the Allies were in the possession of Paris, that
Napoleon had abdicated, and the immediate return of Louis xviii. was
already decided upon. The trumpets of a cavalry regiment on the march
were soon added to the uproar without, accompanied by cries of
'The English! The brave English!' I rushed to the door, and to my
astonishment beheld above the heads of the crowd the tall caps of a
British dragoon regiment towering aloft. Their band struck up as they
approached; and what a sensation did my heart experience as I heard the
well-remembered air of 'Garryowen' resound through the little streets of
a French village!
'An Irish regiment!' said I, half aloud.
The word was caught by a bystander, who immediately communicated it to
the crowd, adding, by way of explanation, 'Les Irlandois! oui, ces sont
les Cossaques d'Angleterre.'
I could not help laughing at the interpretation, when suddenly my own
name was called out loudly by some person from the ranks. I started
at the sound, and forcing my way through the crowd I looked eagerly on
every side, my heart beating with anxiety lest some deception might have
misled me.
'Hinton! Jack Hinton!' cried the voice again. At the head of the
regiment rode three officers, whose looks were bent steadily on me,
while they seemed to enjoy my surprise and confusion. The oldest of the
party, who rode between the two others, was a large swarthy-looking man,
with a long drooping moustache, at that time rarely worn by officers of
our army. His left arm he wore in a sling; but his right was held in a
certain easy, jaunty manner I could not soon forget. A burst of laughter
broke from him at length, as he called out--' Come, Jack, you must
remember me!' 'What!' cried I,' O'Grady! Is it possible?' 'Even so, my
boy,' said he, as throwing his reins on his wrist he grasped my hand and
shook it with all his heart. 'I knew you were here, and I exerted all
my interest to get quartered near you. This is my regiment--eh?--not
fellows to be ashamed of, Jack? But come along with us; we mustn't part
company now.'
Amid the wildest cries of rejoicing and frantic demonstrations of
gratitude from the crowd, the regiment moved on to the little square
of the village. Here the billets were speedily arranged; the men betook
themselves to their quarters, the officers broke into small parties,
and O'Grady and myself retired to the inn, where, having dined
_tête-à-tête_, we began the interchange of our various adventures since
we parted.