not, of course, help peering over the bank to try and see what was
going on; but there was nothing to be made out, for now a tremendous
thunder-storm, which had been gathering all day, burst on us, and a
torrent of almost blinding rain came down, which obscured the view
even more than the smoke, while the crashing of the thunder and the
glare of the lightning could be heard and seen even above the roar and
flashing of the artillery. Once the mist lifted, and I saw for a minute
an attack on Box Hill, on the other side of the gap on our left. It was
like the scene at a theatre--a curtain of smoke all round and a clear
gap in the centre, with a sudden gleam of evening sunshine lighting it
up. The steep smooth slope of the hill was crowded with the dark-blue
figures of the enemy, whom I now saw for the first time--an irregular
outline in front, but very solid in rear: the whole body was moving
forward by fits and starts, the men firing and advancing, the officers
waving their swords, the columns closing up and gradually making way.
Our people were almost concealed by the bushes at the top, whence the
smoke and their fire could be seen proceeding: presently from these
bushes on the crest came out a red line, and dashed down the brow of
the hill, a flame of fire belching out from the front as it advanced.
The enemy hesitated, gave way, and finally ran back in a confused crowd
down the hill. Then the mist covered the scene, but the glimpse of
this splendid charge was inspiriting, and I hoped we should show the
same coolness when it came to our turn. It was about this time that
our skirmishers fell back, a good many wounded, some limping along by
themselves, others helped. The main body retired in very fair order,
halting to turn round and fire; we could see a mounted officer of the
Guards riding up and down encouraging them to be steady. Now came our
turn. For a few minutes we saw nothing, but a rattle of bullets came
through the rain and mist, mostly, however, passing over the bank.
We began to fire in reply, stepping up against the bank to fire, and
stooping down to load; but our brigade-major rode up with an order, and
the word was passed through the men to reserve our fire. In a very few
moments it must have been that, when ordered to stand up, we could see
the helmet-spikes and then the figures of the skirmishers as they came
on: a lot of them there appeared to be, five or six deep I should say,
but in loose order, each man stopping to aim and fire, and then coming
forward a little. Just then the brigadier clattered on horseback up
the lane. “Now then, gentlemen, give it them hot!” he cried; and fire
away we did, as fast as ever we were able. A perfect storm of bullets
seemed to be flying about us too, and I thought each moment must be the
last; escape seemed impossible, but I saw no one fall, for I was too
busy, and so were we all, to look to the right or left, but loaded and
fired as fast as we could. How long this went on I know not--it could
not have been long; neither side could have lasted many minutes under
such a fire, but it ended by the enemy gradually falling back, and as
soon as we saw this we raised a tremendous shout, and some of us jumped
up on the bank to give them our parting shots. Suddenly the order was
passed down the line to cease firing, and we soon discovered the cause;
a battalion of the Guards was charging obliquely across from our left
across our front. It was, I expect, their flank attack as much as our
fire which had turned back the enemy; and it was a splendid sight to
see their steady line as they advanced slowly across the smooth lawn
below us, firing as they went, but as steady as if on parade. We felt
a great elation at this moment; it seemed as if the battle was won.
Just then somebody called out to look to the wounded, and for the first
time I turned to glance down the rank along the lane. Then I saw that
we had not beaten back the attack without loss. Immediately before me
lay Bob Lawford of my office, dead on his back from a bullet through
his forehead, his hand still grasping his rifle. At every step was
some friend or acquaintance killed or wounded, and a few paces down
the lane I found Travers, sitting with his back against the bank. A
ball had gone through his lungs, and blood was coming from his mouth.
I was lifting him up, but the cry of agony he gave stopped me. I then
saw that this was not his only wound; his thigh was smashed by a bullet
(which must have hit him when standing on the bank), and the blood
streaming down mixed in a muddy puddle with the rainwater under him.
Still he could not be left here, so, lifting him up as well as I could,
I carried him through the gate which led out of the lane at the back
to where our camp hospital was in the rear. The movement must have
caused him awful agony, for I could not support the broken thigh, and
he could not restrain his groans, brave fellow though he was; but how
I carried him at all I cannot make out, for he was a much bigger man
than myself; but I had not gone far, one of a stream of our fellows,
all on the same errand, when a bandsman and Wood met me, bringing a
hurdle as a stretcher, and on this we placed him. Wood had just time to
tell me that he had got a cart down in the hollow, and would endeavour
to take off his master at once to Kingston, when a staff-officer rode
up to call us to the ranks. “You really must not straggle in this way,
gentlemen,” he said; “pray keep your ranks.” “But we can’t leave our
wounded to be trodden down and die,” cried one of our fellows. “Beat
off the enemy first, sir,” he replied. “Gentlemen, do, pray, join your
regiments, or we shall be a regular mob.” And no doubt he did not speak
too soon; for besides our fellows straggling to the rear, lots of
volunteers from the regiments in reserve were running forward to help,
till the whole ground was dotted with groups of men. I hastened back
to my post, but I had just time to notice that all the ground in our
rear was occupied by a thick mass of troops, much more numerous than in
the morning, and a column was moving down to the left of our line, to
the ground before held by the Guards. All this time, although musketry
had slackened, the artillery-fire seemed heavier than ever; the shells
screamed overhead or burst around; and I confess to feeling quite a
relief at getting back to the friendly shelter of the lane. Looking
over the bank, I noticed for the first time the frightful execution our
fire had created. The space in front was thickly strewed with dead and
badly wounded, and beyond the bodies of the fallen enemy could just be
seen--for it was now getting dusk--the bear-skins and red coats of our
own gallant Guards scattered over the slope, and marking the line of
their victorious advance. But hardly a minute could have passed in thus
looking over the field, when our brigade-major came moving up the lane
on foot (I suppose his horse had been shot), crying, “Stand to your
arms, volunteers! they’re coming on again;” and we found ourselves
a second time engaged in a hot musketry-fire. How long it went on I
cannot now remember, but we could distinguish clearly the thick line
of skirmishers, about sixty paces off and mounted officers among
them; and we seemed to be keeping them well in check, for they were
quite exposed to our fire, while we were protected nearly up to our
shoulders, when--I know not how--I became sensible that something had
gone wrong. “We are taken in flank!” called out some one; and looking
along the left, sure enough there were dark figures jumping over
the bank into the lane and firing up along our line. The volunteers
in reserve, who had come down to take the place of the Guards, must
have given way at this point; the enemy’s skirmishers had got through
our line, and turned our left flank. How the next move came about I
cannot recollect, or whether it was without orders, but in a short
time we found ourselves out of the lane, and drawn up in a straggling
line about thirty yards in rear of it--at our end, that is, the other
flank had fallen back a good deal more--and the enemy were lining the
hedge, and numbers of them passing over and forming up on our side.
Beyond our left a confused mass were retreating, firing as they went,
followed by the advancing line of the enemy. We stood in this way for
a short space, firing at random as fast as we could. Our colonel and
major must have been shot, for there was no one to give an order, when
somebody on horseback called out from behind--I think it must have
been the brigadier--“Now, then, volunteers! give a British cheer,
and go at them--charge!” and, with a shout, we rushed at the enemy.
Some of them ran, some stopped to meet us, and for a moment it was a
real hand-to-hand fight. I felt a sharp sting in my leg, as I drove
my bayonet right through the man in front of me. I confess I shut my
eyes, for I just got a glimpse of the poor wretch as he fell back, his
eyes starting out of his head, and, savage though we were, the sight
was almost too horrible to look at. But the struggle was over in a
second, and we had cleared the ground again right up to the rear hedge
of the lane. Had we gone on, I believe we might have recovered the lane
too, but we were now all out of order; there was no one to say what
to do; the enemy began to line the hedge and open fire, and they were
streaming past our left; and how it came about I know not, but we found
ourselves falling back towards our right rear, scarce any semblance
of a line remaining, and the volunteers who had given way on our left
mixed up with us, and adding to the confusion. It was now nearly dark.
On the slopes which we were retreating to was a large mass of reserves
drawn up in columns. Some of the leading files of these, mistaking us
for the enemy, began firing at us; our fellows, crying out to them to
stop, ran towards their ranks, and in a few moments the whole slope of
the hill became a scene of confusion that I cannot attempt to describe,
regiments and detachments mixed up in hopeless disorder. Most of us,
I believe, turned towards the enemy and fired away our few remaining
cartridges; but it was too late to take aim, fortunately for us, or the
guns which the enemy had brought up through the gap, and were firing
point-blank, would have done more damage. As it was, we could see
little more than the bright flashes of their fire. In our confusion we
had jammed up a line regiment immediately behind us, which I suppose
had just arrived on the field, and its colonel and some staff-officers
were in vain trying to make a passage for it, and their shouts to us
to march to the rear and clear a road could be heard above the roar of
the guns and the confused babel of sound. At last a mounted officer
pushed his way through, followed by a company in sections, the men
brushing past with firm-set faces, as if on a desperate task; and the
battalion, when it got clear, appeared to deploy and advance down the
slope. I have also a dim recollection of seeing the Life Guards trot
past the front, and push on towards the town--a last desperate attempt
to save the day--before we left the field. Our adjutant, who had got
separated from our flank of the regiment in the confusion, now came up,
and managed to lead us, or at any rate some of us, up to the crest of
the hill in the rear, to re-form, as he said; but there we met a vast
crowd of volunteers, militia, and waggons, all hurrying rearward from
the direction of the big house, and we were borne in the stream for a
mile at least before it was possible to stop. At last the adjutant led
us to an open space a little off the line of fugitives, and there we
re-formed the remains of the companies. Telling us to halt, he rode off
to try and obtain orders, and find out where the rest of our brigade
was. From this point, a spur of high ground running off from the main
plateau, we looked down through the dim twilight into the battle-field
below. Artillery-fire was still going on. We could see the flashes from
the guns on both sides, and now and then a stray shell came screaming
up and burst near us, but we were beyond the sound of musketry. This
halt first gave us time to think about what had happened. The long
day of expectancy had been succeeded by the excitement of battle; and
when each minute may be your last, you do not think much about other
people, nor when you are facing another man with a rifle have you
time to consider whether he or you are the invader, or that you are
fighting for your home and hearths. All fighting is pretty much alike,
I suspect, as to sentiment, when once it begins. But now we had time
for reflection; and although we did not yet quite understand how far
the day had gone against us, an uneasy feeling of self-condemnation
must have come up in the minds of most of us; while, above all, we now
began to realise what the loss of this battle meant to the country.
Then, too, we knew not what had become of all our wounded comrades.
Reaction, too, set in after the fatigue and excitement. For myself, I
had found out for the first time that besides the bayonet-wound in my
leg, a bullet had gone through my left arm, just below the shoulder,
and outside the bone. I remember feeling something like a blow just
when we lost the lane, but the wound passed unnoticed till now, when
the bleeding had stopped and the shirt was sticking to the wound.
This half-hour seemed an age, and while we stood on this knoll the
endless tramp of men and rumbling of carts along the downs beside us
told their own tale. The whole army was falling back. At last we could
discern the adjutant riding up to us out of the dark. The army was
to retreat and take up a position on Epsom Downs, he said; we should
join in the march, and try and find our brigade in the morning; and
so we turned into the throng again, and made our way on as best we
could. A few scraps of news he gave us as he rode alongside of our
leading section; the army had held its position well for a time, but
the enemy had at last broken through the line between us and Guildford,
as well as in our front, and had poured his men through the point
gained, throwing the line into confusion, and the first army corps
near Guildford were also falling back to avoid being out-flanked. The
regular troops were holding the rear; we were to push on as fast as
possible to get out of their way, and allow them to make an orderly
retreat in the morning. The gallant old lord commanding our corps had
been badly wounded early in the day, he heard, and carried off the
field. The Guards had suffered dreadfully; the household cavalry had
ridden down the cuirassiers, but had got into broken ground and been
awfully cut up. Such were the scraps of news passed down our weary
column. What had become of our wounded no one knew, and no one liked
to ask. So we trudged on. It must have been midnight when we reached
Leatherhead. Here we left the open ground and took to the road, and the
block became greater. We pushed our way painfully along; several trains
passed slowly ahead along the railway by the roadside, containing the
wounded, we supposed--such of them, at least, as were lucky enough
to be picked up. It was daylight when we got to Epsom. The night had
been bright and clear after the storm, with a cool air, which, blowing
through my soaking clothes, chilled me to the bone. My wounded leg was
stiff and sore, and I was ready to drop with exhaustion and hunger.
Nor were my comrades in much better case; we had eaten nothing since
breakfast the day before, and the bread we had put by had been washed
away by the storm: only a little pulp remained at the bottom of my bag.
The tobacco was all too wet to smoke. In this plight we were creeping
along, when the adjutant guided us into a field by the roadside to
rest awhile, and we lay down exhausted on the sloppy grass. The roll
was here taken, and only 180 answered out of nearly 500 present on
the morning of the battle. How many of these were killed and wounded
no one could tell; but it was certain many must have got separated in
the confusion of the evening. While resting here, we saw pass by, in
the crowd of vehicles and men, a cart laden with commissariat stores,
driven by a man in uniform. “Food!” cried some one, and a dozen
volunteers jumped up and surrounded the cart. The driver tried to whip
them off; but he was pulled off his seat, and the contents of the cart
thrown out in an instant. They were preserved meats in tins, which we
tore open with our bayonets. The meat had been cooked before, I think;
at any rate we devoured it. Shortly after this a general came by with
three or four staff-officers. He stopped and spoke to our adjutant,
and then rode into the field. “My lads,” said he, “you shall join my
division for the present: fall in, and follow the regiment that is now
passing.” We rose up, fell in by companies, each about twenty strong,
and turned once more into the stream moving along the road;--regiments,
detachments, single volunteers or militiamen, country people making
off, some with bundles, some without, a few in carts, but most on foot;
here and there waggons of stores, with men sitting wherever there was
room, others crammed with wounded soldiers. Many blocks occurred from
horses falling, or carts breaking down and filling up the road. In
the town the confusion was even worse, for all the houses seemed full
of volunteers and militiamen, wounded, or resting, or trying to find
food, and the streets were almost choked up. Some officers were in vain
trying to restore order, but the task seemed a hopeless one. One or
two volunteer regiments which had arrived from the north the previous
night, and had been halted here for orders, were drawn up along the
roadside steadily enough, and some of the retreating regiments,
including ours, may have preserved the semblance of discipline, but
for the most part the mass pushing to the rear was a mere mob. The
regulars, or what remained of them, were now, I believe, all in the
rear, to hold the advancing enemy in check. A few officers among such
a crowd could do nothing. To add to the confusion several houses were
being emptied of the wounded brought here the night before, to prevent
their falling into the hands of the enemy, some in carts, some being
carried to the railway by men. The groans of these poor fellows as they
were jostled through the street went to our hearts, selfish though
fatigue and suffering had made us. At last, following the guidance of
a staff-officer who was standing to show the way, we turned off from
the main London road and took that towards Kingston. Here the crush
was less, and we managed to move along pretty steadily. The air had
been cooled by the storm, and there was no dust. We passed through a
village where our new general had seized all the public-houses, and
taken possession of the liquor; and each regiment as it came up was
halted, and each man got a drink of beer, served out by companies.
Whether the owner got paid, I know not, but it was like nectar. It must
have been about one o’clock in the afternoon that we came in sight
of Kingston. We had been on our legs sixteen hours, and had got over
about twelve miles of ground. There is a hill a little south of the
Surbiton station, covered then mostly with villas, but open at the
western extremity, where there was a clump of trees on the summit. We
had diverged from the road towards this, and here the general halted us
and disposed the line of the division along his front, facing to the
south-west, the right of the line reaching down to the water-works on
the Thames, the left extending along the southern slope of the hill, in
the direction of the Epsom road by which we had come. We were nearly
in the centre, occupying the knoll just in front of the general, who
dismounted on the top and tied his horse to a tree. It is not much of
a hill, but commands an extensive view over the flat country around;
and as we lay wearily on the ground we could see the Thames glistening
like a silver field in the bright sunshine, the palace at Hampton
Court, the bridge at Kingston, and the old church tower rising above
the haze of the town, with the woods of Richmond Park behind it. To
most of us the scene could not but call up the associations of happy
days of peace--days now ended and peace destroyed through national
infatuation. We did not say this to each other, but a deep depression
had come upon us, partly due to weakness and fatigue, no doubt, but we
saw that another stand was going to be made, and we had no longer any
confidence in ourselves. If we could not hold our own when stationary
in line, on a good position, but had been broken up into a rabble
at the first shock, what chance had we now of manœuvring against a
victorious enemy in this open ground? A feeling of desperation came
over us, a determination to struggle on against hope; but anxiety for
the future of the country, and our friends, and all dear to us, filled
our thoughts now that we had time for reflection. We had had no news
of any kind since Wood joined us the day before--we knew not what was
doing in London, or what the Government was about, or anything else;
and exhausted though we were, we felt an intense craving to know what
was happening in other parts of the country.
Our general had expected to find a supply of food and ammunition here,
but nothing turned up. Most of us had hardly a cartridge left, so he
ordered the regiment next to us, which came from the north and had not
been engaged, to give us enough to make up twenty rounds a man, and he
sent off a fatigue-party to Kingston to try and get provisions, while a
detachment of our fellows was allowed to go foraging among the villas
in our rear; and in about an hour they brought back some bread and
meat, which gave us a slender meal all round. They said most of the
houses were empty, and that many had been stripped of all eatables, and
a good deal damaged already.
It must have been between three and four o’clock when the sound of
cannonading began to be heard in the front, and we could see the smoke
of the guns rising above the woods of Esher and Claremont, and soon
afterwards some troops emerged from the fields below us. It was the
rear-guard of regular troops. There were some guns also, which were
driven up the slope and took up their position round the knoll. There
were three batteries, but they only counted eight guns amongst them.
Behind them was posted the line; it was a brigade apparently of four
regiments, but the whole did not look to be more than eight or nine
hundred men. Our regiment and another had been moved a little to the
rear to make way for them, and presently we were ordered down to occupy
the railway station on our right rear. My leg was now so stiff I could
no longer march with the rest, and my left arm was very swollen and
sore, and almost useless; but anything seemed better than being left
behind, so I limped after the battalion as best I could down to the
station. There was a goods shed a little in advance of it down the
line, a strong brick building, and here my company was posted. The rest
of our men lined the wall of the enclosure. A staff-officer came with
us to arrange the distribution; we should be supported by line troops,
he said; and in a few minutes a train full of them came slowly up from
Guildford way. It was the last; the men got out, the train passed on,
and a party began to tear up the rails, while the rest were distributed
among the houses on each side. A sergeant’s party joined us in our
shed, and an engineer officer with sappers came to knock holes in the
walls for us to fire from; but there were only half-a-dozen of them, so
progress was not rapid, and as we had no tools we could not help.
It was while we were watching this job that the adjutant, who was
as active as ever, looked in, and told us to muster in the yard.
The fatigue-party had come back from Kingston, and a small baker’s
hand-cart of food was made over to us as our share. It contained
loaves, flour, and some joints of meat. The meat and the flour we had
not time or means to cook. The loaves we devoured; and there was a tap
of water in the yard, so we felt refreshed by the meal. I should have
liked to wash my wounds, which were becoming very offensive, but I
dared not take off my coat, feeling sure I should not be able to get it
on again. It was while we were eating our bread that the rumour first
reached us of another disaster, even greater than that we had witnessed
ourselves. Whence it came I know not; but a whisper went down the ranks
that Woolwich had been captured. We all knew that it was our only
arsenal, and understood the significance of the blow. No hope, if this
were true, of saving the country. Thinking over this, we went back to
the shed.
Although this was only our second day of war, I think we were already
old soldiers so far that we had come to be careless about fire, and
the shot and shell that now began to open on us made no sensation. We
felt, indeed, our need of discipline, and we saw plainly enough the
slender chance of success coming out of troops so imperfectly trained
as we were; but I think we were all determined to fight on as long as
we could. Our gallant adjutant gave his spirit to everybody; and the
staff-officer commanding was a very cheery fellow, and went about as
if we were certain of victory. Just as the firing began he looked in
to say that we were as safe as in a church, that we must be sure and
pepper the enemy well, and that more cartridges would soon arrive.
There were some steps and benches in the shed, and on these a party
of our men were standing, to fire through the upper loop-holes, while
the line soldiers and others stood on the ground, guarding the second
row. I sat on the floor, for I could not now use my rifle, and besides,
there were more men than loop-holes. The artillery fire which had
opened now on our position was from a longish range; and occupation
for the riflemen had hardly begun when there was a crash in the shed,
and I was knocked down by a blow on the head. I was almost stunned
for a time, and could not make out at first what had happened. A shot
or shell had hit the shed without quite penetrating the wall, but the
blow had upset the steps resting against it, and the men standing on
them, bringing down a cloud of plaster and brickbats, one of which had
struck me. I felt now past being of use. I could not use my rifle,
and could barely stand; and after a time I thought I would make for
my own house, on the chance of finding some one still there. I got up
therefore, and staggered homewards. Musketry fire had now commenced,
and our side were blazing away from the windows of the houses, and from
behind walls, and from the shelter of some trucks still standing in
the station. A couple of field-pieces in the yard were firing, and in
the open space in rear of the station a reserve was drawn up. There,
too, was the staff-officer on horseback, watching the fight through
his field-glass. I remember having still enough sense to feel that the
position was a hopeless one. That straggling line of houses and gardens
would surely be broken through at some point, and then the line must
give way like a rope of sand. It was about a mile to our house, and I
was thinking how I could possibly drag myself so far when I suddenly
recollected that I was passing Travers’s house,--one of the first of a
row of villas then leading from the Surbiton station to Kingston. Had
he been brought home, I wondered, as his faithful old servant promised,
and was his wife still here? I remember to this day the sensation of
shame I felt, when I recollected that I had not once given him--my
greatest friend--a thought since I carried him off the field the day
before. But war and suffering make men selfish. I would go in now at
any rate and rest awhile, and see if I could be of use. The little
garden before the house was as trim as ever--I used to pass it every
day on my way to the train, and knew every shrub in it--and ablaze with
flowers, but the hall-door stood ajar. I stepped in and saw little
Arthur standing in the hall. He had been dressed as neatly as ever that
day, and as he stood there in his pretty blue frock and white trousers
and socks showing his chubby little legs, with his golden locks, fair
face, and large dark eyes, the picture of childish beauty, in the quiet
hall, just as it used to look--the vases of flowers, the hat and coats
hanging up, the familiar pictures on the walls--this vision of peace in
the midst of war made me wonder for a moment, faint and giddy as I was,
if the pandemonium outside had any real existence, and was not merely a
hideous dream. But the roar of the guns making the house shake, and the
rushing of the shot, gave a ready answer. The little fellow appeared
almost unconscious of the scene around him, and was walking up the
stairs holding by the railing, one step at a time, as I had seen him do
a hundred times before, but turned round as I came in. My appearance
frightened him, and staggering as I did into the hall, my face and
clothes covered with blood and dirt, I must have looked an awful object
to the child, for he gave a cry and turned to run toward the basement
stairs. But he stopped on hearing my voice calling him back to his
god-papa, and after a while came timidly up to me. Papa had been to the
battle, he said, and was very ill: mamma was with papa: Wood was out:
Lucy was in the cellar, and had taken him there, but he wanted to go
to mamma. Telling him to stay in the hall for a minute till I called
him, I climbed upstairs and opened the bedroom door. My poor friend lay
there, his body resting on the bed, his head supported on his wife’s
shoulder as she sat by the bedside. He breathed heavily, but the pallor
of his face, the closed eyes, the prostrate arms, the clammy foam she
was wiping from his mouth, all spoke of approaching death. The good old
servant had done his duty, at least,--he had brought his master home to
die in his wife’s arms. The poor woman was too intent on her charge to
notice the opening of the door and as the child would be better away,
I closed it gently and went down to the hall to take little Arthur to
the shelter below, where the maid was hiding. Too late! He lay at the
foot of the stairs on his face, his little arms stretched out, his hair
dabbled in blood. I had not noticed the crash among the other noises,
but a splinter of a shell must have come through the open doorway; it
had carried away the back of his head. The poor child’s death must have
been instantaneous. I tried to lift up the little corpse with my one
arm, but even this load was too much for me, and while stooping down I
fainted away.
When I came to my senses again it was quite dark, and for some time
I could not make out where I was; I lay indeed for some time like one
half asleep, feeling no inclination to move. By degrees I became aware
that I was on the carpeted floor of a room. All noise of battle had
ceased, but there was a sound as of many people close by. At last I sat
up and gradually got to my feet. The movement gave me intense pain, for
my wounds were now highly inflamed, and my clothes sticking to them
made them dreadfully sore. At last I got up and groped my way to the
door, and opening it at once saw where I was, for the pain had brought
back my senses. I had been lying in Travers’s little writing-room at
the end of the passage, into which I made my way. There was no gas, and
the drawing-room door was closed; but from the open dining-room the
glimmer of a candle feebly lighted up the hall, in which half-a-dozen
sleeping figures could be discerned, while the room itself was crowded
with men. The table was covered with plates, glasses, and bottles;
but most of the men were asleep in the chairs or on the floor, a few
were smoking cigars, and one or two with their helmets on were still
engaged at supper, occasionally grunting out an observation between the
mouthfuls.
“Sind wackere Soldaten, diese Englischen Freiwilligen,” said a
broad-shouldered brute, stuffing a great hunch of beef into his mouth
with a silver fork, an implement I should think he must have been using
for the first time in his life.
“Ja, ja,” replied a comrade, who was lolling back in his chair with a
pair of very dirty legs on the table, and one of poor Travers’s best
cigars in his mouth; “Sie so gut laufen können.”
“Ja wohl,” responded the first speaker; “aber sind nicht eben so
schnell wie die Französischen Mobloten.”
“Gewiss,” grunted a hulking lout from the floor, leaning on his elbow,
and sending out a cloud of smoke from his ugly jaws; “und da sind hier
etwa gute Schützen.”
“Hast recht, lange Peter,” answered number one; “wenn die Schurken so
gut exerciren wie schützen könnten, so wären wir heute nicht hier!”
“Recht! recht!” said the second; “das exerciren macht den guten
Soldaten.”