alas! without success. Went from village to village, inquired
from house to house, searched the whole neighbourhood. Lots of
wounded officers, but not the man I sought. Throughout the day my
search was unsuccessful. Towards night I was passing through a
street of scattered houses, a sort of hamlet, and was beginning to
think of securing a lodging and a dinner. Wolves rouse at sunset;
and I distinctly felt one gnawing at my stomach. At this painful
juncture, much to my satisfaction, at the door of a cottage I
discovered a jolly acquaintance, whom I beg to introduce as my "Fat
Friend." He was one of the smartest clerks amongst our civilians,
and probably the youngest; under, rather than over fifteen; in
short, a chubby boy, who somehow or other had broken away from his
mother's apron-strings, and obtained a post, which he filled in a
way that did him credit. In one respect he was precocious; namely,
that he soon proved himself up to all the waggery and villainy
of headquarters. Moreover, he had a vast idea of maintaining his
importance, and could take his own part; was touchy in anything
that affected his manhood; and, if you offended him, punched your
head; brushed up to fine women, with a marked preference for a
bouncer. Yet, after all, he was but an overgrown boy, and often
afforded us sport by his mannish airs. "Ah, Fatty, is that you? Glad
to see you. Got any room?"
"Plenty, plenty," said Fatty; "good entertainment for man and horse.
Glad to see you; and glad to see the pony. Here, Francisco, take
Sancho, and give him some corn. Come in, old fellow. Sit down, and
make yourself comfortable. Dreadful dull here--horrid! Left in
charge of the departmental boxes."
"I say, Fatty; have you dined?"
"Dined? We dined an hour ago." Fatty saw his advantage, and was
resolved to make the most of it.
"Well, what did you have for dinner? Got any cold beef?"
"Why, where have you been?" said Fatty; "haven't seen you these two
days. Oh, I suppose you got into Toulouse. Lots of fine gals?"
"Answer my question, and I'll answer yours."
"Come out, old fellow. Let's take a turn through village before it
gets dark. Dinner? Why, a turkey. Sorry you were not with us to
partake. Not a morsel left. Picked the old gobbler clean, drumsticks
and all."
"I wish you'd let me send your fellow for some beef."
"Oh yes," said Fatty, "send him by all means. Sorry to inform you
it's no use, though. Not a morsel of rations to be had; not a
biscuit. What, haven't you _dined_?" I saw he meant to have his
joke, so made no reply.
There was a dodge, though; my remedy was in my pocket. Brought out a
cigar, one of my choice grenadiers; struck a light, blew a fragrant
cloud, took it easy. The rich odour diffused itself through the
apartment.
Fatty, knowing in cigars, soon discovered that mine was no common
weed. He first drew a sniff; then gave utterance to his emotions in
a coaxing and admiring "Oh!" I took no notice.
"Come, old fellow," said Fatty; "hand out one of those."
"Lost your cigar-case?"
"No, no; nonsense. Come, give us one; that's a good chap."
Failing in his request, Fatty sat silent and fidgetty. The first
finished, I lit a second.
Fatty watched his opportunity; made a vicious grab at the case. I
was too quick for him--knew his ways. Down he sat again; tried all
the varieties of entreating, threatening, bullying, wheedling, till
cigar the second was burnt out. When I extracted the third, Fatty
could stand it no longer; made a rush, and commenced a ferocious
assault, pitching it in, right and left. The punches came so fierce
and fast, I was at length compelled, in self-defence, to administer
a slight persuader, and Fatty found it convenient to resume his
seat. He sat awhile, sulky and all but blubbering; then hastily
rose, and stalked out of the room in high dudgeon. I presently found
him stationed at the front door with his hands in his pocket, very
pensive and dignified. Shortly after, he slipped into the house;
Francisco appeared with the tablecloth and a bottle of wine; then
came half a turkey and the cold beef. After dinner we clubbed our
resources, and closed the evening with whisky punch and prime cigars.
Next morning early, started afresh in search of Cousin Tom. Near
Toulouse, fell in with Gingham--told him my difficulties. "Come up
the hill," said Gingham; "I'll go with you. There, no doubt, we
shall find your cousin's regiment." On reaching the summit of the
heights, we found our way in the first instance into the Colombette
redoubt; the same in which, on the day of the fight, the brave
Forty-second had been suddenly overwhelmed by a superior force,
and had lost four-fifths of its numbers. Within the redoubt were
standing two or three privates; they belonged to the Forty-second.
The uniform at once reminded me of Corporal Fraser, the trusty
companion of my march to headquarters. I asked one of the privates,
did he know the Corporal. "He joined about three weeks ago, sir."
"Hope he's well. Where is he now?"
"He's there, sir," said the man, pointing to the parapet of the
redoubt. I looked, but saw no one.
"The earth," said Gingham, "seems to have been recently stirred
there. That mound, I think, is not many days old." Then, addressing
the soldier, "your regiment suffered a heavy loss. Is that where you
buried after the action?"
"That's the place, sir." The man then walked away, as if little
disposed for conversation.
We did not pause to calculate how many bodies would fill a space
commensurate with the length, breadth, and altitude of the soil
displaced. There lay the slain of a gallant regiment, in the redoubt
they had so nobly won. There lay Corporal Fraser, who, in all the
difficulties of our march, had shown himself trustworthy, fearless,
intelligent, and energetic. He had longed to join ere the day of
combat, and had found a soldier's grave.
We discovered at length the sergeant who had informed me of my
cousin's wound. He now pointed to a large house, near the thicket at
the bottom of the hill. While searching for Cousin Tom on the day of
the fight, I was close to that same house, but without seeing it.
From our present elevated position it was distinctly visible, though
not from the low ground, amongst trees and underwood.
Our approach to the house led us through the thicket. While making
our way among the trees, we both, Gingham and I, came to a halt at
the same instant. The sight which arrested our steps was new to
Gingham, not to me. I saw, on that spot, an object that I had seen
two days before. The sergeant whom I had then found wounded was
still sitting there, on the same bank, in the same attitude! There
he had sat the whole time, overlooked by the bearers, and unable to
move. Viewed at the distance of a few paces, his aspect scarcely
appeared changed. It was the identical figure--I remembered him
at once. But on a nearer inspection, the alteration was but too
manifest. His eye was glazed, and half shut. His face was that of a
corpse. He sat up, like a dead man galvanised. "What, still here,
sergeant? Has nobody come to remove you yet."
He attempted to speak--paused--at length found utterance. "Sorry I
didn't accept your offer, sir." His voice was low and husky, but
distinct.
"Come," said Gingham, "you mustn't refuse this time. We'll soon
carry you into the house just by."
"Thank you, sir; thank you, gentlemen. Would you have the kindness
though--I should be sorry to lose my gaiter."
The gaiter secured, we prepared to lift the sufferer from his seat,
and he on his part made a feeble effort to rise. The attempt brought
on a gush of pain. For a moment, his features were distorted with
intolerable anguish; the next, he fainted in our arms.
"Now then," said Gingham, thrusting back into his sidepocket a small
flask which he had just drawn out. "Now then; away with him at once,
before he recovers. Come, Mr Y----; you take his shoulders, I'll
take his legs. It may save him further pain."
We bore the sufferer, still senseless, to the house. Gingham, not
having a hand to spare, banged at the door with his foot. It was
opened by Mr Staff-surgeon Pledget, who bowed on recognising us, but
looked rather perplexed at the unexpected addition to his duties.
Pledget gave instant directions for the accommodation of the wounded
man, and informed me, in reply to my inquiries for Cousin Tom, that
he had an officer under his care, answering to my description.
Pledget appeared bewildered, and stood with us in the passage a few
moments, without speaking. At length he opened the door of a small
chamber close by, and begged us to enter. He placed chairs for us,
and seated himself on the bed. "I'm rather exhausted," said he.
"I fear after such a fight," said Gingham, "your duties must be
heavy indeed."
"Oh yes," said Pledget, looking distressed and rather wild. "I have
had much work, and little assistance; a long spell, too."
"Why, you began, I suppose," replied Gingham, "early on the day of
the fight."
"Yes," said Pledget; "and I've been at it ever since. Let me see:
two days and two nights, isn't it? Yes, and now going on for the
third. Here have I been operating, bandaging, taking up arteries,
taking off arms and legs, night and day, without time to lie down,
almost without a moment to eat. In fact," said he, looking about the
room like a man lost, "this is the first time I've sat down these
eight-and-forty hours."
Pledget's look bore full testimony to his toils. Three weeks'
illness could hardly have wrought a greater change. Nor was his
appearance mended by his garb. He wore a sort of operating gown
similar to that employed in dissecting; a long pinafore with
sleeves, protecting the whole person from the chin to the feet, tied
round the middle, and closing with a fold behind. The front was
spotted in every part with jets of blood from wounded arteries. Some
of the stains had dried on, and blackened where they dried; others,
more recent, were still moist and crimson. Blood was on his unshaven
and haggard face; and on his hands, too, wore marks of blood.
Gingham eyed him with a look of deep concern. "I really fear," said
Gingham, "you've been quite overdone."
"I did hope, before this," replied Pledget, "to be relieved by other
gentlemen of my own department. I have but one medical assistant,
and he, at this moment, can afford me no help, for I have been
forced to leave him sitting with his finger on a wounded artery; and
if he takes it off but for a few seconds, the major's a dead man."
Pledget now looked like a man that can't remember what's next. "Oh,"
said he, in all absent tone, "so peace is really concluded. Come, Mr
Y----, suppose we go and look for your cousin. His case, I'm happy
to say, is not serious. The ball will be extracted this evening, and
then, I hope, he will do well."
Pledget spoke, but did not stir. "By the bye," he added, "you know
Captain Gabion? I think you do. Oh yes, I recollect; we were all
three fellow-passengers from Lisbon to Falmouth. No, no, what am
I saying? From Falmouth to Lisbon. His case is past hope. He can
hardly live through the night."
Gingham and I rose at once from our seats. For the moment, the
imminent danger of a man we so highly esteemed, expelled from my
thoughts even Cousin Tom. Pledget also rose, as if to lead the way,
but again lapsed into forgetfulness. His mind was evidently worn
out, as well as his body. "Well," said he, "I'm glad we've got
Toulouse.--Gentlemen, I beg your pardon. This way, if you please; up
stairs."
He led the way. Every open door, as we passed through the spacious
mansion, discovered a room crowded with wounded and dying men, in
beds, or on the ground. Or, if we saw not into the apartment, sounds
were heard, which told of anguish and laceration within. We were
conducted by Pledget into a large room on the first floor, filled,
like the others, with every form of suffering. Some, slightly
wounded, sat round the fire, on which cookery was proceeding in
kettles of every size and shape. One officer, bandaged round the
head, had become delirious. He alternately laughed and whimpered,
muttered and sang. Another sat near him, moaning, with his arm in
a sling. A spent cannon ball had smashed the bones from the elbow
to the wrist, without inflicting an external wound. Every bed had
an occupant; and many lay upon the floor, with only a blanket under
them. My eye glanced round the apartment, and lighted on the pinched
features and pallid visage of Captain Gabion.
He lay on his back in bed. Death was legible in his aspect. His eyes
were all but shut; but, from time to time, a convulsive twitching
of the muscles suddenly expanded them to their full width. To all
appearance, he was perfectly insensible. His breathing was irregular
and laborious; but the expression of his countenance, except when
disfigured by the spasms which occasionally shot through his frame,
and jerked him from head to foot, was, as in health, calm and
dignified. Strange indeed were the vicissitudes, strange was the
contrast, between the rigid tranquillity of one moment, and the
awful distortion of the next. Now, it was the quivering play of
features pulled by muscular contraction; now, the monumental repose
of marble.
"I fear," whispered Gingham to Pledget, "you view the case
unfavourably." Pledget hopelessly raised his eyes.
"The Captain has been insensible," said Pledget, "ever since he was
brought in; and probably will continue so till he expires."
We turned from this sad spectacle, without exchanging a syllable.
A handkerchief was whisked in my face. I looked round; there
was the man I wanted. In the next bed, tucked in, with smiling
face, little changed since we parted, a splendid specimen of the
ugly-handsome--those fellows that make the biggest holes in ladies'
hearts--lay Cousin Tom. Gingham, my object attained, forthwith
took a temporary leave--had urgent business in Toulouse--an
appointment--would return as soon as possible.
"Fine fellow, that" said Cousin Tom, craning round, and nodding at
Captain Gabion.
"Well, Tom," said I; "what's the matter with YOU? What brought YOU
here?"
"Oh, not much; nothing," replied Tom, curling out his lips
contemptuously, like a disappointed man; "only a musket-shot. It
won't get me a step, I'm afraid; no, nor a pension neither."
"Well, but how was it? When was it? We lost you in a moment."
"I'll tell you just how it happened," said Tom. "You saw the old
colonel knocked over. Ah! Don't touch the bed; that's a good fellow.
Well. Directly after, you know, we charged. I was running on; felt
a smart crack in the small of my leg. Thought it was a stone; took
no notice. A few paces further, though, found I couldn't walk. The
sergeant looked at my leg; said 'You're wounded, sir.' Wounded I
was, sure enough; and disabled, too. Got carried to the rear; placed
myself in the doctor's--"
Here Tom suddenly knit his brows. His colour changed in an instant
from florid to livid; his whole face was distorted with pain.
Clapping his handkerchief to his mouth, he chewed away at it with
all his might, while big drops of sweat started out on his forehead,
and he drew in breath till the bedclothes heaved. Next moment he was
himself again.
Once more Tom nodded at the next bed. "Known him long? The doctor
knows him."
"We came over from England, all three of us in a ship."
"Doctor was out, though, in one thing," said Cousin Tom. "Told you
he was insensible ever since he came in. No such thing; this morning
he revived; for about an hour seemed quite himself. Told me how he
got hit."
"Then tell me. I must communicate with his friends in England."
"Well," replied Tom, "the Captain wasn't on duty here at
headquarters; was doing some field-works on the left bank of the
river, to be ready for Soult in case of his bolting again for the
south. He heard, though, that the fight was coming off; so rode
in on the morning. Found out there was to be a flank movement to
the left; thought he might as well explore the line of march; went
forward alone. Passed through the thicket on foot; made his way
from one end to the other. When he reached the further extremity,
just where our men got such a pounding afterwards from the guns
on the heights, he looked out for the enemy's skirmishers; saw no
one; thought he might as well go a little further. Just then our
batteries at the right opened on the French position; some of our
shots flew too high, and came clean over the hill into the lane,
just exactly where he was standing."--Indeed! I thought of Captain
Gabion's dream.--"Well; he saw one coming; didn't trouble himself;
it seemed spent. Just when he thought it was going to stop, it
fetched a pitch; took him in the side. He was found when our troops
advanced, and brought in here." At this moment the pain returned.
Tom again made wry faces, took another chew at his handkerchief, and
soon recovered as before.
"Well, Tom; I'm a leisure man. What can I do for you? Is there
anything you want?--anything I can get you?"
Cousin Tom looked very much as if there was something he did want,
yet was backward to speak. "Why," said he, "I suppose by this time
you can get into Toulouse. I wish you would make inquiries; try
and find me some--But never mind; it's of no use. The ball will be
extracted this evening, and to-morrow I shall go in myself."
"Nonsense, nonsense; I'll go this instant."
"Don't be too sure of that, though," said Tom. "Yesterday morning
I tried it. Told the servant to have my mule ready; got my things
on while the doctor was sawing away on the other floor; slipped
down stairs; gave him the go-by. Mounted--rode to the top of the
hill--was riding down into the city--almost rode into a French
piquet."
"No fear of that now, Tom; the city is ours. I saw the French troops
marching out. Come, tell us, old fellow. What is it you fancy?
Anything the doctor sanctions, you know. A quarter of mutton?--a
dozen of pigeons?--some prime French sausages?--a bushel or so of
oysters? What do you say to a brace of biddies?"
"Oh, no!--oh, no!" said Tom, as if the very mention of biddies made
him sick. "We were always in advance; got fowls and turkeys till we
hated the sight of them."
"Any dish from a French cuisine, then?"
"Oh, no--oh, no! Nothing French, nothing Frenchified. What I
want, if it's to be got at all, is not to be got good, except in
England--or the West Indies."
"Well, but, you know, Bordeaux is open; West India produce has come
into the country by ship-loads. What is it? Come, just tell us, old
chap, and I'll go and get it for you at once, if it's to be had in
Toulouse."
Tom was not so well as he looked; and there was evidently something
for which, like other sick persons, he was inwardly pining. Now that
I had held out a prospect of its attainment, his cheek flushed, and
his eye gleamed with feverish eagerness.
"Well, then," said Tom, "I wish you would try and get me--but it's
no use; it's a shame to bother you.--I say, though, can you spare
the time? Have you really nothing to do? Upon your honour?--I've
been longing for them, day and night, ever since I got here. Oh, if
you could only get me--some tamarinds!"
His eye, while he spoke, fixed full on mine. He watched my
countenance with the anxiety of a dying man when he makes his last
request. "I'll be off and try this instant," said I, though really
fearing there was little chance of success.
"Oh, thank you--thank you!" cried Cousin Tom. I was going.
"Here--here! Come back! I want to speak to you!" I returned. "Old
fellow," said Tom, with a coaxing, eager grin, "make haste now, will
you? Bring 'em directly--that's a good chap."
"Well, but, you know--if tamarinds can't be had for love or money,
is there nothing else?"
"No, stupid--no! Tamarinds, I say; get me some tamarinds. What did
I tell you? Didn't I tell you tamarinds? Now then; what are you
waiting for? Cut away, and be hanged to you! Be off!--be off!"
I entered the ancient and very interesting city of Toulouse, and
rushed through streets choked with cars of wounded men, in search
of tamarinds. The search was tedious, and far from satisfactory.
I inquired at all the likeliest shops; found only two where
they professed to sell tamarinds. The samples were similar: a
made-up, sticky mess; a black, nauseous electuary, with a beastly
pharmaceutical odour, and barely the flavour of tamarinds.
It was no pleasant thought returning to poor Tom with a big gallipot
of this filthy compound stowed in each of my coat pockets. Yet,
though bad thus to baulk him, it was worse to keep him in suspense;
so I started on my return with all speed, and, in my speed, came
full butt against a passenger, who hugged me like a wrestler, to
prevent a mutual capsize.
"Well, Mr Y----! Glad to see you so active. Something of importance,
no doubt: official duty, I suppose."
It was Gingham! I told him my troubles, my pursuit in behalf of
Cousin Tom, and my disappointment. Had searched all Toulouse, and
could find no good tamarinds.
"Shall be happy to supply you," said Gingham, "in any quantity your
cousin can require. Got a whole kegful--capital. Always take some
with me when I visit the Continent. Got them on Fish-street Hill."
We walked off forthwith to Gingham's quarters.
I was speedily on my return to Cousin Tom, with Gingham for
my companion, and a good jar of prime, sweet, wholesome,
unsophisticated tamarinds. On approaching Tom's bed, I held up the
jar in triumph. Tom raised himself without saying a word, tucked his
handkerchief under his chin, and sat up, poor fellow, like a child,
with eyes half-closed and mouth half-open, eager to be fed. In went
a spoonful. The next instant--bolt!--it was gone! What a swallow! He
sat as before, ready for another. A second allowance vanished with
equal speed. Down it goes! Why, it's like feeding a young rook!--Tom
now laid himself down again, exhausted. "Here," said he; and made me
a present of a handful of tamarind stones. "Now put a good lot in
that jug, and fill it up with water."
While the drink was mixing, an unusual sound called our attention to
the adjoining bed. Captain Gabion was fast sinking. His respiration,
laborious from the first, had now become painfully audible; in
fact, he did not breathe, he gasped. The convulsive movements had
ceased. His face retained its natural expression; but there was that
in his look which told us he was a dying man. I felt at the moment
an impression,--He is not insensible! His lips moved. Surely he is
trying to speak! He strove to fix his eyes on us, but could not.
I stooped down, observing his lips again in motion. Yes, he was
speaking. I caught only the words--"On the platform."
"The Calvinet platform?" I whispered in reply. "Is that the spot
where you wish--?"
Feebly, tremulously he pressed my hand, which had just before taken
his. I had caught his last request, then; a grave on the summit of
Mount Rave, the key of the French position, where the table-land,
crowned with redoubts, had been carried by our troops. His breathing
became gradually feebler and less perceptible. The moment when it
ceased entirely, no one present could determine. This only was
evident:--a minute before, he had given signs of life; and now, he
had passed into another world!
Cousin Tom's bullet was extracted the same afternoon, with immediate
relief to the patient. During the operation I was present, by Tom's
request; and friendship, let me tell you, has more pleasing duties
than that of attending on such emergencies. Tom, however, made it as
agreeable as he could. Throughout the process he viciously stared
me full in the face, grinning most horribly from time to time, half
in agony, half in fun. When the forceps was produced, he caught a
glimpse of that terrific implement, and twisted his ugly mug into
such a comical grimace, that mine, spite of the solemnity of the
occasion, was screwed into a smile. Tom thereupon clenched his fist,
with a look that said ferociously, "Laugh again, and I'll punch your
eye."
The bullet, doctor, had lodged between the bones of the leg, a
little above the ankle, and, I need not inform you, came out
rather flattened. Tom kept it as a bijou, in a red morocco case
made express by an artist in Toulouse. Tom called it his pill-box.
Neither bone was broken; but the strain of this disagreeable
visitant wedged in between them, and rending them apart, had
occasioned from time to time those awful twinges, which Tom assuaged
by taking a chew at his handkerchief. The enemy removed, he not only
found himself in a state of comparative ease, but was relieved from
the constitutional irritation which had begun to manifest itself
by hardness of pulse, dryness of the mouth, parched lips, a dull,
hectic, brickdust-coloured patch on each cheek, a feverish lustre of
the eye, and an enormous appetite for tamarinds.