AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
“Mr. O’Malley,” said a voice, as my door opened, and an officer in undress
entered,--“Mr. O’Malley, I believe you received your appointment last night
on General Picton’s staff?”
I bowed in reply, as he resumed:--
“Sir Thomas desires you will proceed to Courtrai with these despatches in
all haste. I don’t know if you are well mounted, but I recommend you, in
any case, not to spare your cattle.”
So saying, he wished me a good-morning, and left me, in a state of no small
doubt and difficulty, to my own reflections. What the deuce was I to do?
I had no horse; I knew not where to find one. What uniform should I wear?
For, although appointed on the staff, I was not gazetted to any regiment
that I knew of, and hitherto had been wearing an undress frock and a
foraging cap; for I could not bring myself to appear as a civilian among
so many military acquaintances. No time was, however, to be lost; so I
proceeded to put on my old Fourteenth uniform, wondering whether my costume
might not cost me a reprimand in the very outset of my career. Meanwhile
I despatched Mike to see after a horse, caring little for the time, the
merits, or the price of the animal provided he served my present purpose.
In less than twenty minutes my worthy follower appeared beneath my window,
surrounded by a considerable mob, who seemed to take no small interest in
the proceedings.
“What the deuce is the matter?” cried I, as I opened the sash and looked
out.
“Mighty little’s the matter, your honor; it’s the savages, here,
that’s admiring my horsemanship,” said Mike, as he belabored a tall,
scraggy-looking mule with a stick which bore an uncommon resemblance to a
broom-handle.
“What do you mean to do with that beast?” said I. “You surely don’t expect
me to ride a mule to Courtrai?”
“Faith, and if you don’t, you are likely to walk the journey; for there
isn’t a horse to be had for love or money in the town; but I am told that
Mr. Marsden is coming up to-morrow with plenty, so that you may as well
take the journey out of the soft horns as spoil a better; and if he only
makes as good use of his fore-legs as he does of his hind ones, he’ll think
little of the road.”
[Illustration: MICKEY ASTONISHES THE NATIVES.]
A vicious lash out behind served in a moment to corroborate Mike’s
assertion, and to scatter the crowd on every side.
However indisposed to exhibit myself with such a turn-out, my time did not
admit of any delay; and so, arming myself with my despatches, and having
procured the necessary information as to the road, I set out from the Belle
Vue, amidst an ill-suppressed titter of merriment from the mob, which
nothing but fear of Mike and his broomstick prevented becoming a regular
shout of laughter.
It was near night-fall as, tired and weary of the road, I entered the
little village of Halle. All was silent and noiseless in the deserted
streets; nor a lamp threw its glare upon the pavement, nor even a solitary
candle flickered through the casement. Unlike a town, garrisoned by troops,
neither sentry nor outpost was to be met with; nothing gave evidence that
the place was held by a large body of men; and I could not help feeling
struck, as the footsteps of my mule were echoed along the causeway, with
the silence almost of desolation around me. By the creaking of a sign, as
it swung mournfully to and fro, I was directed to the door of the village
inn, where, dismounting, I knocked for some moments, but without success.
At length, when I had made an uproar sufficient to alarm the entire
village, the casement above the door slowly opened, and a head enveloped
in a huge cotton nightcap--so, at least, it appeared to me from the
size--protruded itself. After muttering a curse in about the most barbarous
French I ever heard, he asked me what I wanted there; to which I replied,
most nationally, by asking in return, where the British dragoons were
quartered.
“They have left for Nivelle this morning, to join some regiments of your
own country.”
“Ah! ah!” thought I, “he mistakes me for a Brunswicker;” to which, by
the uncertain light, my uniform gave me some resemblance. As it was now
impossible for me to proceed farther, I begged to ask where I could procure
accommodation for the night.
“At the burgomaster’s. Turn to your left at the end of this street, and
you will soon find it. They have got some English officers there, who, I
believe in my soul, never sleep.”
This was, at least, pleasant intelligence, and promised a better
termination to my journey than I had begun to hope for; so wishing my
friend a good-night, to which he willingly responded, I resumed my way
down the street. As he closed the window, once more leaving me to my own
reflections, I began to wonder within myself to what arm of the service
belonged these officers to whose convivial gifts he bore testimony. As I
turned the corner of the street, I soon discovered the correctness of his
information. A broad glare of light stretched across the entire pavement
from a large house with a clumsy stone portico before it. On coming nearer,
the sound of voices, the roar of laughter, the shouts of merriment that
issued forth, plainly bespoke that a jovial party were seated within.
The half-shutter which closed the lower part of the windows prevented my
obtaining a view of the proceedings; but having cautiously approached the
casement, I managed to creep on the window-sill and look into the room.
[Illustration: THE GENTLEMEN WHO NEVER SLEEP.]
There the scene was certainly a curious one. Around a large table sat a
party of some twenty persons, the singularity of whose appearance may
be conjectured when I mention that all those who appeared to be British
officers were dressed in the robes of the _échevins_ (or aldermen) of the
village; while some others, whose looks bespoke them as sturdy Flemings,
sported the cocked hats and cavalry helmets of their associates. He who
appeared the ruler of the feast sat with his back towards me, and wore, in
addition to the dress of burgomaster, a herald’s tabard, which gave him
something the air of a grotesque screen at its potations. A huge fire
blazed upon the ample hearth, before which were spread several staff
uniforms, whose drabbled and soaked appearance denoted the reason of the
party’s change of habiliments. Every imaginable species of drinking-vessel
figured upon the board, from the rich flagon of chased silver to the humble
_cruche_ we see in a Teniers picture. As well as I could hear, the language
of the company seemed to be French, or, at least, such an imitation of that
language as served as a species of neutral territory for both parties to
meet in.
He of the tabard spoke louder than the others, and although, from the
execrable endeavors he made to express himself in French, his natural voice
was much altered, there was yet something in his accents which seemed
perfectly familiar to me.
“Mosheer l’Abbey,” said he, placing his arm familiarly on the shoulder of
a portly personage, whose shaven crown strangely contrasted with a pair
of corked moustachios,--“Mosheer l’Abbey, nous sommes frères, et moi,
savez-vous, suis évèque,--‘pon my life it’s true; I might have been Bishop
of Saragossa, if I only consented to leave the Twenty-third. Je suis bong
Catholique. Lord bless you, if you saw how I loved the nunneries in Spain!
J’ai tres jolly souvenirs of those nunneries; a goodly company of little
silver saints; and this waistcoat you see--mong gilet--was a satin
petticoat of our Lady of Loretto.”
Need I say, that before this speech was concluded, I had recognized in the
speaker nobody but that inveterate old villain, Monsoon himself.
“Permettez, votre Excellence,” said a hale, jolly-looking personage on his
left, as he filled the major’s goblet with obsequious politeness.
“Bong engfong,” replied Monsoon, tapping him familiarly on the head.
“Burgomaster, you are a trump; and when I get my promotion, I’ll make
you prefect in a wine district. Pass the lush, and don’t look sleepy!
‘Drowsiness,’ says Solomon, ‘clothes a man in rags;’ and no man knew the
world better than Solomon. Don’t you be laughing, you raw boys. Never mind
them, Abbey; ils sont petits garçongs--fags from Eton and Harrow; better
judges of mutton broth than sherry negus.”
“I say, Major, you are forgetting this song you promised us.”
“Yes, yes,” said several voices together; “the song, Major! the song!”
“Time enough for that; we’re doing very well as it is. Upon my life,
though, they hold a deal of wine. I thought we’d have had them fit to
bargain with before ten, and see, it’s near midnight; and I must have my
forage accounts ready for the commissary-general by to-morrow morning.”
This speech having informed me the reason of the Major’s presence there,
I resolved to wait no longer a mere spectator of their proceedings; so
dismounting from my position, I commenced a vigorous attack upon the door.
It was some time before I was heard; but at length the door was opened, and
I was accosted by an Englishman, who, in a strange compound of French and
English, asked, “What the devil I meant by all that uproar?” Determining
to startle my old friend the major, I replied, that “I was aide-de-camp to
General Picton, and had come down on very unpleasant business.” By this
time the noise of the party within had completely subsided, and from a few
whispered sentences, and their thickened breathing, I perceived that they
were listening.
“May I ask, sir,” continued I, “if Major Monsoon is here?”
“Yes,” stammered out the ensign, for such he was.
“Sorry for it, for his sake,” said I; “but my orders are peremptory.”
A deep groan from within, and a muttered request to pass down the sherry,
nearly overcame my gravity; but I resumed:--
“If you will permit me, I will make the affair as short as possible. The
major, I presume, is here?”
So saying, I pushed forward into the room, where now a slight scuffling
noise and murmur of voices had succeeded silence. Brief as was the
interval of our colloquy, the scene within had, notwithstanding, undergone
considerable change. The English officers, hastily throwing off their
aldermanic robes, were busily arraying themselves in their uniforms, while
Monsoon himself, with a huge basin of water before him, was endeavoring to
wash the cork from his countenance in the corner of his tabard.
“Very hard upon me, all this; upon my life, so it is! Picton is always at
me, just as if we had not been school-fellows. The service is getting worse
every day. Regardez-moi, Curey, mong face est propre? Eh? There, thank you.
Good fellow the Curey is, but takes a deal of fluid. Oh, Burgomaster! I
fear it is all up with me! No more fun, no more jollification, no more
plunder--and how I did do it. Nothing like watching one’s little chances!
‘The poor is hated even by his neighbor.’ Oui, Curey, it is Solomon says
that, and they must have had a heavy poor-rate in his day to make him say
so. Another glass of sherry!”
By this time I approached the back of the chair, and slapping him heartily
on the shoulder, called out,--
“Major, old boy, how goes it?”
“Eh?--what--how!--who is this? It can’t be--egad, sure it is, though.
Charley! Charley O’Malley, you scapegrace, where have you been? When did
you join?”
“A week ago, Major. I could resist it no longer. I did my best to be a
country gentleman, and behave respectably, but the old temptation was too
strong for me. Fred Power and yourself, Major, had ruined my education; and
here I am once more among you.”
“And so Picton and the arrest and all that, was nothing but a joke?” said
the old fellow, rolling his wicked eyes with a most cunning expression.
“Nothing more, Major, set your heart at rest.”
“What a scamp you are,” said he, with another grin. “Il est mon fils--il
est mon fils, Curey,” presenting me, as he spoke, while the burgomaster, in
whose eyes the major seemed no inconsiderable personage, saluted me with
profound respect.
Turning at once towards this functionary, I explained that I was the
bearer of important despatches, and that my horse--I was ashamed to say my
mule--having fallen lame, I was unable to proceed.
“Can you procure me a remount, Monsieur?” said I, “for I must hasten on to
Courtrai.”
“In half an hour you shall be provided, as well as with a mounted guide for
the road. Le fils de son Excellence,” said he, with emphasis, bowing to the
major as he spoke; who, in his turn, repaid the courtesy with a still lower
obeisance.
“Sit down, Charley; here is a clean glass. I am delighted to see you, my
boy! They tell me you have got a capital estate and plenty of ready. Lord,
we so wanted you, as there’s scarcely a fellow with sixpence among us. Give
me the lad that can do a bit of paper at three months, and always be ready
for a renewal. You haven’t got a twenty-pound note?” This was said _sotto
voce_. “Never mind; ten will do. You can give me the remainder at Brussels.
Strange, is it not, I have not seen a bit of clean bank paper like this for
above a twelvemonth!” This was said as he thrust his hand into his pocket,
with one of those peculiar leers upon his countenance which, unfortunately,
betrayed more satisfaction at his success than gratitude for the service.
“You are looking fat--too fat, I think,” said he, scrutinizing me from head
to foot; “but the life we are leading just now will soon take that off. The
slave-trade is luxurious indolence compared to it. Post haste to Nivelle
one day; down to Ghent the next; forty miles over a paved road in a
hand-gallop, and an aide-de-camp with a watch in his hand at the end of it,
to report if you are ten minutes too late. And there is Wellington has his
eye everywhere. There is not a truss of hay served to the cavalry, nor a
pair of shoes half-soled in the regiment, that he don’t know of it. I’ve
got it over the knuckles already.”
“How so, Major? How was that?”
“Why, he ordered me to picket two squadrons of the Seventh, and a supper
was waiting. I didn’t like to leave my quarters, so I took up my telescope
and pitched upon a sweet little spot of ground on a hill; rather difficult
to get up, to be sure, but a beautiful view when you’re on it. ‘There is
your ground, Captain,’ said I, as I sent one of my people to mark the spot.
He did not like it much; however, he was obliged to go. And, would you
believe it?--so much for bad luck!--there turned out to be no water within
two miles of it--not a drop, Charley; and so, about eleven at night, the
two squadrons moved down into Grammont to wet their lips, and what is
worse, to report me to the commanding officer. And only think! They put me
under arrest because Providence did not make a river run up a mountain!”
Just as the major finished speaking, the distant clatter of horses’ feet
and the clank of cavalry was heard approaching. We all rushed eagerly to
the door; and scarcely had we done so, when a squadron of dragoons came
riding up the street at a fast trot.
“I say, good people,” cried the officer, in French, “where does the
burgomaster live here?”
“Fred Power, ‘pon my life!” shouted the major.
“Eh, Monsoon, that you? Give me a tumbler of wine, old boy; you are sure to
have some, and I am desperately blown.”
“Get down, Fred, get down! We have an old friend here.”
“Who the deuce d’ye mean?” said he, as throwing himself from the saddle he
strode into the room. “Charley O’Malley, by all that’s glorious!”
“Fred, my gallant fellow!” said I.
“It was but this morning, Charley, that I so wished for you here. The
French are advancing, my lad. They have crossed the frontier; Zeithen’s
corps have been attacked and driven in; Blucher is falling back upon Ligny;
and the campaign is opened. But I must press forward. The regiment is close
behind me, and we are ordered to push for Brussels in all haste.”
“Then these despatches,” said I, showing my packet, “‘tis unnecessary to
proceed with?”
“Quite so. Get into the saddle and come back with us.”
The burgomaster had kept his word with me; so mounted upon a strong
hackney, I set out with Power on the road to Brussels. I have had occasion
more than once to ask pardon of my reader for the prolixity of my
narrative, so I shall not trespass on him here by the detail of our
conversation as we jogged along. Of me and my adventures he already knows
enough--perhaps too much. My friend Power’s career, abounding as it did in
striking incidents, and all the light and shadow of a soldier’s life,
yet not bearing upon any of the characters I have presented to your
acquaintance, except in one instance,--of that only shall I speak.
“And the senhora, Fred; how goes your fortune in that quarter?”
“Gloriously, Charley! I am every day expecting the promotion in my regiment
which is to make her mine.”
“You have heard from her lately, then?”
“Heard from her! Why, man, she is in Brussels.”
“In Brussels?”
“To be sure. Don Emanuel is in high favor with the duke, and is now
commissary-general with the army; and the senhora is the _belle_ of the
Rue Royale, or at least, it’s a divided sovereignty between her and Lucy
Dashwood. And now, Charley, let me ask, what of her? There, there, don’t
blush, man. There is quite enough moonlight to show how tender you are in
that quarter.”
“Once for all, Fred, pray spare me on that subject. You have been far too
fortunate in your _affaire de coeur_, and I too much the reverse, to permit
much sympathy between us.”
“Do you not visit, then; or is it a cut between you?” “I have never met her
since the night of the masquerade of the villa--at least, to speak to--”
“Well, I must confess, you seem to manage your own affairs much worse than
your friends’; not but that in so doing you are exhibiting a very Irish
feature of your character. In any case, you will come to the ball? Inez
will be delighted to see you; and I have got over all my jealousy.”
“What ball? I never heard of it.”
“Never heard of it! Why, the Duchess of Richmond’s, of course. Pooh, pooh,
man! Not invited?--of course you are invited; the staff are never left out
on such occasions. You will find your card at your hotel on your return.”
“In any case, Fred--”
“I shall insist upon your going. I have no _arrière pensée_ about a
reconciliation with the Dashwoods, no subtle scheme, on my honor; but
simply I feel that you will never give yourself fair chances in the world,
by indulging your habit of shrinking from every embarrassment. Don’t be
offended, boy. I know you have pluck enough to storm a battery; I have seen
you under fire before now. What avails your courage in the field, if you
have not presence of mind in the drawing-room? Besides, everything else out
of the question, it is a breach of etiquette towards your chief to decline
such an invitation.”
“You think so?”
“Think so?--no; I am sure of it.”
“Then, as to uniform, Fred?”
“Oh, as to that, easily managed. And now I think of it, they have sent me
an unattached uniform, which you can have; but remember, my boy, if I put
you in my coat, I don’t want you to stand in my shoes. Don’t forget also
that I am your debtor in horseflesh, and fortunately able to repay you. I
have got such a charger; your own favorite color, dark chestnut, and
except one white leg, not a spot about him; can carry sixteen stone over a
five-foot fence, and as steady as a rock under fire.”
“But, Fred, how are you--”
“Oh, never mind me; I have six in my stable, and intend to share with you.
The fact is, I have been transferred from one staff to another for the last
six months, and four of my number are presents. Is Mike with you? Ah, glad
to hear it; you will never get on without that fellow. Besides, it is a
capital thing to have such a connecting link with one’s nationality. No
fear of your ever forgetting Ireland with Mr. Free in your company. You
are not aware that we have been correspondents. A fact, I assure you. Mike
wrote me two letters; and such letters they were! The last was a Jeremiad
over your decline and fall, with a very ominous picture of a certain Miss
Baby Blake.”
“Confound the rascal!”
“By Jove, though, Charley, you were coming it rather strong with Baby. Inez
saw the letter, and as well as she could decipher Mike’s hieroglyphics, saw
there was something in it; but the name Baby puzzled her immensely, and she
set the whole thing down to your great love of children. I don’t think that
Lucy quite agreed with her.”
“Did she tell it to Miss Dashwood?” I inquired, with fear and trembling.
“Oh, that she did; in fact, Inez never ceases talking of you to Lucy. But
come, lad, don’t look so grave. Let’s have another brush with the enemy;
capture a battery of their guns; carry off a French marshal or two; get the
Bath for your services, and be thanked in general orders,--and I will wager
all my _château en Espagne_ that everything goes well.”
Thus chatting away, sometimes over the past, of our former friends and
gay companions, of our days of storm and sunshine; sometimes indulging in
prospects for the future, we trotted along, and as the day was breaking,
mounted the ridge of low hills, from whence, at the distance of a couple of
leagues, the city of Brussels came into view.