Here, though, I mean to make free with it.”
In bold, broad letters, excavated in the burnished brass, I read
“THE BANK OF ENGLAND.”
Really the largeness of Gingham’s plans was too much for my limited
capacities. We rode forward again to the head of the column; and I, for
a while, rode on in silence, digesting. At length, one idea leading to
another, I ventured to say something about “authority—concurrence.”
Gingham, big with his scheme, was now like a gladiator prepared for
every thrust. “At home,” said he, “I have all the concurrence, all the
authority I need, with many good wishes to boot; and, as to pecuniary
support, I can have whatever amount is required. All that I settled
before I left Falmouth, or have since arranged by correspondence. Here I
ask for countenance only so far as my plan is found, on trial, to aid
the public service. Let that once become manifest, and I doubt not we
shall find all the favour we want.”
“Only sorry your plan was not thought of before. It might have spared
our Commander much anxiety, and our soldiers many privations.”
Swelling with the plenitude of his anticipations, Gingham began to
dogmatise. “In London,” said he, “credit is equivalent to cash. Here, at
headquarters, the case is different. In London, so long as my banker
will honour my cheques, I have cash at command. Here, I may possess
unlimited power to draw bills, yet not be able to raise a rap. What
makes the difference?”
“Here, your resource is at a distance; there, your banker is close at
hand.” I was more disposed, though, to chew upon Gingham’s ideas than to
discuss them, and we again rode on in silence. At length I bolted out a
difficulty.
“Well, we make an issue in cash—say a hundred thousand dollars, for the
pay of the troops. These dollars are distributed, and spent; the whole
sum evaporates. How do you get them together again, for a second
payment?”
“I don’t expect to get them all,” said Gingham, scornfully. “But suppose
I can get a part of them, say half. That, I think, I shall manage; for,
observe, ten dollars are quite as many as you can carry about your
person without annoyance. Undoubtedly, then, many individuals, receiving
a payment in dollars, will be glad enough to lodge them in a bank, when
there’s a bank at hand. And when I have issued my paper, payable at
demand, many, I make no question, will much rather take it, than burden
themselves with a load of specie.”
The reasonableness of Gingham’s expectations was fully borne out, by
scenes which I afterwards witnessed, when accompanying the military
chest, as it moved from place to place with the headquarters of the
British army. A gentleman, say a Frenchman or a Spaniard, has a claim
for payment, on account of provisions, forage, or other necessaries,
supplied for the service of the troops—the amount, suppose, ten thousand
dollars. After long following headquarters from place to place, till he
is far distant from his own home, he has at length established his
claim: it’s all right, he has got a written order for payment, and
enters our office elated, bearing it between his finger and thumb, eager
to receive the cash. The cashier takes the bill, points to five deal
boxes, each containing two thousand dollars, and tells him, “There’s the
money.” I have seen a man, under such circumstances, knocked down in a
moment, perfectly dumfounded. He has not brought a horse and cart, and
every available conveyance has been impressed by the troops. One of the
five boxes is as much as a man can carry; two are a load for a mule. If
he has a lodging in the place, he possesses no means even of taken them
there; but probably he has none—the whole town is full of soldiers. But
to-morrow it will be worse: the army will have swept on; headquarters
will be three or four leagues in advance; and the troops will be
succeeded by stragglers, camp-followers, marauders, and all the lawless
tribe that close up the rear of an advancing host. Poor man! what an
alteration in his looks! He sees, in an instant, the full amount of his
difficulties. Two minutes ago, he was dying to realise; now, he has got
the cash, and doesn’t know what to do with it. I remember an instance
when an acquaintance of mine, a Frenchman, came to receive five thousand
dollars, which, with the aid of an attendant, he removed from the
office. Presently he reappeared at the door, caught my eye, intimated by
bows and simpers his request for a private interview. It was easy to
guess the subject of his communication, but I followed him out. He had
got his five bags in a cowhouse. His home was distant a two days’
journey. How was he to get them there? Could he have gold instead of
silver? Would gladly make any sacrifice in the way of _agio_. Couldn’t I
_arrange_ it?—How he managed at last, I never learned—whether he got his
dollars to a place of safety, or was robbed and murdered on the road.
Sometimes the claimants would come eagerly demanding their money, and,
the next moment, would most earnestly entreat permission to leave it in
our keeping. If a man so circumstanced, instead of hard dollars, could
have had paper securing him cash at demand, at a time more convenient
for receiving it—in short, Gingham’s plan just meets a case like this.
And Gingham, who knew headquarters well, especially in respect to
financial details and the attendant difficulties, had devised his scheme
as a practical remedy. The claimant gives his bill to Gingham, and takes
Gingham’s bank notes, or, if he prefers it, part notes and part specie.
Gingham, at his own convenience, gets the official dollars on the bill.
Then comes the other advantage. So much hard cash as has not been paid
away to the claimant remains at headquarters, available, by monetary
arrangements with the authorities, for the payment of the troops, or for
any other headquarters purposes. What an improvement from the state of
things when cash was so low, that, the commander-in-chief wishing to
communicate with a distant point, it was necessary to raise a private
loan for the expenses of the courier!
In short, twenty practical difficulties occurred to my mind, all which
Gingham took off, as fast as I started them. “After all,” said he, “the
only real difficulty will be this: that whereas now, at headquarters,
there sometimes is not a dollar disposable for public purposes, we shall
then, especially if the army is on the move, have more dollars than we
know what to do with.” His plan, indeed, contemplated a large concern,
for the cash transactions of headquarters were immense; but it was clear
he had viewed the scheme in every light, and was prepared to carry it
out. No question, Gingham would have made a good thing of it, both for
himself and for his backers in London. Yet it was a concern which
Government could not undertake; and which, if Government had undertaken
it, would have infallibly broken down. Private enterprise alone could
prosperously conduct the scheme.
Gingham had laid out our conference in three parts, and two were now
disposed of. First, he had ascertained the progress of my financial
education in the past year; secondly, he had developed his own plans;
but there yet remained the third topic of discussion, into which he now
led with all his usual elegance, straightforwardness, and good feeling.
The long and the short of it was this,—he had two gentlemen in London,
ready to come out to Bordeaux whenever he commenced operations; they
would arrive, like a letter, by return of post; but there was a question
respecting myself. Did I feel so far interested in his plan that I might
be willing, on due reflection, to relinquish my actual appointment, and
work with him? He asked it “in the strictest confidence,” and begged me
to consider all that now passed “as merely conversation.”
“Have the kindness to excuse me for a few moments. I’ll presently tell
you just exactly my own prospects and plans, and then we’ll talk the
matter over. In the mean time, accept my best thanks for this proof of
confidence.”
While listening with the profoundest attention to Gingham, I had, it
must be confessed, been taking a look, from time to time, at the country
round. Hitherto our route had been across an open level, and we had
always seen the road before us. Now, first, we reached a spot were we
could not discern what was in front. The table-land, over which we had
been marching, terminated in a brow or declivity. The road dipped, and
disappeared; where it led us there was no perceiving. The road itself
also became hollow—that is, it descended between two high banks, and
these were covered with underwood. This was the part of our way on which
we were now about to enter.
Just at this moment, while I was debating with myself whether we ought
to go on without a little exploration, Jones stepped up to me rather
hastily. “Please, sir,” said he, “I’m a-thinking Nanny siz something
as we doesn’t see.” I should mention that, in the course of our march,
when we approached any eminence that afforded a view of the road and
country in front, Nanny would trot off from the party, run to the
summit, and make her observations—in short, see all that was to be
seen. Goats, if you observe, never, unless compelled, venture on new
ground, till they have first halted, and taken a view of it. Even
sheep, if not over-driven, will not turn down a lane, till they have
stopped and turned their heads, for the purpose of taking a look with
_both_ eyes. Cows, on the contrary, look and advance at the same time;
and your nag, contenting himself with a _one-eyed_ view, appears to
advance without looking at all. Your dog, who has more sense than all
the others put together, when you come to a place where the road
forks—dear old Burruff!—_looks up in your face_. Well, Nanny, in the
present instance, had done as she always did. The ground rose to our
left, and the elevation _commanded_ the valley in front. On that
elevation Nanny was now standing, and Jones’s observation was
evidently correct. She saw something, or somebody, unseen by us. There
she stood—not, though, as on previous occasions, quietly taking a
survey of the road before us: her tail, the “upward curl” of which was
more than perpendicular—_retroussé_—from time to time vibrated
rapidly. She uttered, at intervals, a sharp, anxious bleat, and ever
and anon stamped with a movement so quick, the eye could scarce
discern it. “What d’ye think, then, she sees down there?” said I to
Jones—“other goats?”
“Please, sir,” said Jones, “I’m a-thinking it’s not goats, sir; ’cause
then she wouldn’t stop up there, sir. Please, sir, she’d come back at
once, and keep close, sir; ’cause she knows as how I’d protect her
varchy, sir; ’cause for fear the Billies should make too free, sir;
’cause, when the Nannies is in milk, sir, they doesn’t not pemit
hinnersint libbities, sir.”
Nanny now adopted a new style of attitude—rearing, as when at play, with
arched neck and combative front, still, at times, subsiding into the
quadruped; now bleating, now stamping, now wagging her tail with intense
vivacity; then walking back, stamping again, advancing; gazing all the
while on the low ground in front. “If Nanny takes a view, why shouldn’t
Sancho?” I cantered up, and speedily cantered down again. “Mr
Chesterfield, I think, sir, we had better halt.”
Indeed there was reason. In front was the enemy, drawn up to receive us,
in military array. The road, I must explain, led down to a lower level.
Just at the bottom, another road crossed it; and, where the two roads
cut, they spread out round a large pond. About this pond, but
principally in advance of it, appeared a large concourse of the rural
population. “_Tout Français est soldat._” I never felt the force of the
phrase as I did at that moment. They were armed, and stood in line;
their number formidable, their aspect decidedly pugnacious. Oh, you
plucky villains! won’t we be down upon you presently? I stated to Mr
Chesterfield what I had seen, and he immediately halted our whole party.
“If you will ride up with me,” said I, “you may see the whole lot of
them.”
I returned to Nanny’s look-out post, but Mr Chesterfield did not follow.
Had I known what he was about to do, I should certainly have
remonstrated. He chose to take a nearer look at the enemy, and for that
purpose rode forward alone. On the eminence on which I stood, I heard
the rattle of his horse’s hoofs in the hollow way; and presently I saw
him emerge below, at its further extremity. He then reined in his horse,
and sat viewing the foe, who greeted his appearance with shouts and
yells. Having quietly made his observations, he turned, and began to
come back at a walk. As he withdrew, three or four shots were fired
after him from below, but without effect. After he again disappeared in
the hollow road, though, on his way to rejoin us, I heard, with great
uneasiness, other shots fired—the report much nearer. They were
evidently from rascals ambushed in the underwood of the two banks,
between which he was passing. I rejoined the convoy just as he rode up.
His look was perfectly calm and self-possessed, but pale as ashes. He
held the bridle in his right hand, while his left hung helpless at his
side. Pledget at once tumbled off his mule, stepped up, and addressed
him with a tone and aspect of unfeigned concern—“Not serious, sir, I
hope?”
“Oh, nothing,” said he, his manner a little hurried; “a mere
graze—nothing. Corporal Fraser, the infantry must load immediately. Let
them fix bayonets, though. We must begin by clearing those two banks.”
Scarcely were the words out of his lips, when his face became ghastly
like death, his eyes half closed, his mouth half opened. His head
drooped; and speechless, almost fainting, he sank down gradually from
his saddle into Fraser’s arms. The corporal carried him to the
road-side—why, he was but a boy—and seated, or rather laid him upon the
bank. Pledget was promptly in attendance, got off the patient’s coat,
and examined the wounded arm, amidst the clatter of fixing bayonets and
ramming down cartridges. “Oh, ain’t we going at it in yarnest, though?”
said Jones.
“The system,” said Pledget, with all his usual deliberation—“the system
has received a severe shock; that is the cause of these alarming
symptoms—they will not last. So it often happens with gunshot wounds.
The wound itself is not dangerous. The ball has gone clean through the
arm, and at short distance too, but without fracturing the bone or
injuring any important vessel.”
Oh, had you seen that lad languishing on the sod, with the black blood
trickling from two holes at once, and joining in a sluggish stream which
went rippling down his arm, and dripped into the grass! I don’t know
what he thought of; I thought of his mother. Enough: the foe is in
front.
But affairs now assumed a new phase. While I was anxiously surveying our
wounded commander, Corporal Eraser stepped up to me, saluting in due
form, _à la militaire_! He stood waiting and looking at me, as if he
expected to receive directions.
The nature of the position in which I was so unexpectedly placed, broke
upon me in a moment. I’ll tell you just everything, exactly as it
occurred. Mr Chesterfield was _hors de combat_. Pledget, in discharge of
his professional duty, was wholly occupied in attending upon him. The
corporal, and, it was clear, the men also, looked to me for direction in
our present fix. Gingham, when the corporal approached me, backed his
horse. From many persons such an action might have gone for nothing. But
Gingham had a reason for all he did; and, from him, it seemed to say,
“Now, Mr Y—, take the management of this little business, and go through
with it. Don’t you see, my dear sir? It has devolved upon you.”
“The men are ready, sir,” said Corporal Fraser; “shall we now proceed to
clear the banks?”
It was evident I must direct, or nothing could be done. “Wait a minute,
Fraser.”
I beckoned to the cavalry sergeant, and desired him to place a few of
his men, with swords drawn, in the rear of the convoy, giving them
strict directions to suffer no one to fall behind, mule or muleteer. He
was then to divide the rest of our mounted force into two equal parties,
under his two corporals, who, when the infantry advanced, were to
descend along the top of the banks, and halt at its extremity. I then
gave the word to Corporal Fraser to move forward at once with the
infantry, and clear the underwood, but to halt where the cavalry halted,
and by no means to go beyond.
“Then, to prevent that,” said the corporal, “I will go first myself,
sir.”
He dashed forward, and the infantry followed, with a shout. Thus we
moved down to the extremity of the hollow road. The infantry led the
way, gallantly headed by General Fraser, and dislodged some ten or a
dozen fellows from the banks, who bolted successively, and cut away,
making good their retreat to their own party below. This movement was
not effected without some firing on both sides, but nobody was hurt on
either. The cavalry, supporting the infantry, walked quietly down the
two edges of the cutting: and I put the convoy in motion to follow. Mr
Chesterfield now rallied for a few moments, and was eager to remount.
But the faintness returned; it was evident he could neither ride nor
walk; so he was brought down in Gingham’s cart, with every attention
both from Gingham and Pledget.
While we were thus moving down through the hollow, I heard, close
behind, an angry shout from our dragoons on the banks above. Then
followed three shots in quick succession, one from the underwood, on the
side, two from the summit. A bullet whizzed by my head, and spat into
the opposite bank. A rustling was then distinguishable among the bushes,
and presently a peasant, in a blue gabardine, slid down stiff into the
road, and there doubled up. Eluding Fraser and the foot soldiers, he had
remained in ambush till we came along, when he had selected me for a
passing compliment, as the head of the party, intending no doubt to
climb up the bank, if pursued, and escape above. Just as he was taking
aim, though, he was seen by the dragoons, who, unheard by him, were
quietly moving down at a walk over the ploughed ground. Two of them
fired their carbines, and one or both of their shots taking effect,
prevented the effect of his.
Too green to know that it was unmilitary, I returned a few paces to take
a view of the dying foe. A Frenchman to the last, he must needs find
something to say, though life was now ebbing apace. Slowly, and with
apparent difficulty, he raised his eyes till they were fixed full on
mine; and then, with quivering features, and a strange snapping of the
jaw, began to speak. “_Ah, Monsieur —— j’ai pensé—vous._”——He was dead!
We now gained the extremity of the hollow way, and stood looking down on
the enemy ranged in order of battle at the pond. Fraser had drawn up the
infantry across the road, and the cavalry, with the exception of the
rearguard, formed on our two flanks. Our first movement was thus
effected. All our men were perfectly steady, but burning to fall to, and
savage on account of Mr Chesterfield’s casualty.
Gingham now suggested, as the enemy were so numerous—two hundred and
fifty at least, if not three hundred—that it might be prudent to wait a
while, in the hope that other parties, bound to headquarters, might come
up. But I happened to know that none were coming that day; and Gingham,
on hearing this, withdrew his motion. What, then, was our course? How
were we to deal with these Mounseers? No doubt we could lick them; and,
had fighting been our object, nothing would have given our men greater
satisfaction. But we had dollars in charge, and our first care must be
to get safe through, and deliver them safe at headquarters. My decision,
then, was taken. We must advance—we must continue our march—and we
mustn’t let those fellows hinder us; but we must, if possible, effect
our purpose, without coming to close quarters. A mêlée we must shun;
for, though the issue would be glorious—no doubt of that—yet, if once
mixed up with our convoy, the enemy, when they took to flight, might
persuade some of our mules to go with them. Our object, then, reduced
itself to this: we must disperse the foe, without coming to close
quarters with them. Gingham quite adopted this view of the subject, and
now prepared for further operations by drawing his pistols from the
holsters, and examining their priming. He next called to Coosey to get
him his sword out of the cart, girded it on, and drew it forth from the
scabbard—a formidable Andrea Ferrara, equally available for cut and
thrust. He bore it bolt upright, with great gravity, and with an air
half military, half civic, which, on his showy Spanish horse, would have
rendered him a highly ornamental addition to a Lord Mayor’s procession.
We were now immediately in front of the enemy; and I rode a few yards
forward, to take a full view of their position, previous to our advance.
They favoured me with a great deal of noise, and, on my turning, with a
few shots, which I acknowledged by taking off my hat. Many of them
returned the compliment; while others expressed their civility by a
courteous gesture, vernacular in most civilised countries.
The enemy, it was clear, had no idea that we marched with a Nanny-goat
in company, and had intended that we should walk into them unawares. In
that case, we should probably have come off second best. As matters
stood, our position was far more favourable: and theirs, less
advantageous in the same degree. The worst of it was, though, that to
the left of the main road—that is, on the enemy’s right—a wood came down
to within two hundred yards of them; which same wood, further on,
extended close up to the road we were to proceed by, and seemed to skirt
it for some distance. The danger was that, when we attacked the enemy,
and drove them before us, some of them, perhaps the greater number,
might escape into this wood; in which case we might afterwards find it
difficult to get rid of their agreeable company. These considerations,
then, indicated the plan of our attack. I desired the sergeant of
cavalry to select seven or eight of his steadiest men, and gain at once
the skirts of the wood, at the point nearest the enemy. He was to
advance at first as if intending to attack their right; but, when he got
nearer, was to quicken his pace, and make at once for the wood.
Immediately after, when he saw the general attack commence, his party,
also, were to advance and fire; but not to advance so far that
fugitives, escaping from the enemy’s rear, might be able to enter the
wood. The infantry were to advance, firing, down the road; and the
remainder of the cavalry was to spread out on our flanks, and act in
concert with us: our whole party pressing more on the enemy’s right than
left, in order that their retreat might be from the wood, not to it.
These matters I explained distinctly. One other point remained.
“Corporal Fraser, step this way. Your duty is the most responsible of
any.” I knew it would be a bitter pill for the corporal, so endeavoured
to gild it.
“I am ready for any duty you may assign me, sir,” said the corporal,
whose blood was up.
“You must take two or three of the infantry to the rear—we shall want
all the cavalry—and see that no muleteer loiters behind, or falls
out—bring all up.”
“As you please, sir,” said Fraser; “but in action, the rear is not the
place to which I have been most accustomed.” The poor fellow looked so
dismally blank, I really felt for him.
“Never mind that, corporal. Remember you have had your turn already, and
have done well. Depend upon this,” I added, with a consolatory wink,
“should there be any real business in front, though I don’t expect it,
you, if possible, shall have your share.” The clouds were now dispelled
from the corporal’s face, and he retired to his station in the rear.