CHAPTER XXXI
MICKEY FREE’S ADVENTURE
When I returned to the camp, I found the greatest excitement prevailing on all sides. Each day brought in fresh rumors that Marmont was advancing in force; that sixty thousand Frenchmen were in full march upon Ciudad Rodrigo, to raise the blockade, and renew the invasion of Portugal. Intercepted letters corroborated these reports; and the Guerillas who joined us spoke of large convoys which they had seen upon the roads from Salamanca and Tamanes.
Except the light division, which, under the command of Crawfurd, were posted upon the right of the Aguada, the whole of our army occupied the country from El Bodon to Gallegos; the Fourth Division being stationed at Fuente Guenaldo, where some intrenchments had been hastily thrown up.
To this position Lord Wellington resolved upon retreating, as affording points of greater strength and more capability of defence than the other line of road, which led by Almeida upon the Coa. Of the enemy’s intentions we were not long to remain in doubt; for on the morning of the 24th, a strong body were seen descending from the pass above Ciudad Rodrigo, and cautiously reconnoitring the banks of the Aguada. Far in the distance a countless train of wagons, bullock-cars, and loaded mules were seen winding their slow length along, accompanied by several squadrons of dragoons.
Their progress was slow, but as evening fell they entered the gates of the fortress; and the cheering of the garrison mixing with the strains of martial music, faint from distance, reached us where we lay upon the far-off heights of El Bodon. So long as the light lasted, we could perceive fresh troops arriving; and even when the darkness came on, we could detect the position of the reinforcing columns by the bright watch-fires which gleamed along the plain.
By daybreak we were under arms, anxiously watching for the intentions of our enemy, which soon became no longer dubious. Twenty-five squadrons of cavalry, supported by a whole division of infantry, were seen to defile along the great road from Ciudad Rodrigo to Guenaldo. Another column, equally numerous, marched straight upon Espeja; nothing could be more beautiful, nothing more martial, than their appearance: emerging from a close mountain gorge, they wound along the narrow road and appeared upon the bridge of the Aguada just as the morning sun was bursting forth, its bright beams tipping the polished cuirassiers and their glittering equipments, they shone in their panoply like the gay troop of some ancient tournament. The lancers of Berg, distinguished by their scarlet dolmans and gorgeous trappings, were followed by the Cuirassiers of the Guard, who again were succeeded by the chasseurs à cheval, their bright steel helmets and light-blue uniforms, their floating plumes and dappled chargers, looking the very beau idéal of light horsemen; behind, the dark masses of the infantry pressed forward and deployed into the plain; while, bringing up the rear, the rolling din, like distant thunder, announced the “dread artillery.”
On they came, the seemingly interminable line converging on to that one spot upon whose summit now we assembled a force of scarcely ten thousand bayonets.
While this brilliant panorama was passing before our eyes, we ourselves were not idle. Orders had been sent to Picton to come up from the left with his division. Alten’s cavalry and a brigade of artillery were sent to the front, and every preparation which the nature of the ground admitted was made to resist the advance of the enemy. While these movements on either side occupied some hours, the scene was every moment increasing in interest. The large body of cavalry was now seen forming into columns of attack. Nine battalions of infantry moved up to their support, and forming into columns, echelons, and squares, performed before us all the manoeuvres of a review with the most admirable precision and rapidity; but from these our attention was soon taken by a brilliant display upon our left. Here, emerging from the wood which flanked the Aguada, were now to be seen the gorgeous staff of Marmont himself. Advancing at a walk, they came forward amidst the vivas of the assembled thousands, burning with ardor and thirsting for victory. For a moment, as I looked, I could detect the marshal himself, as, holding his plumed hat above his head, he returned the salute of a lancer regiment, who proudly waved their banners as he passed; but, hark, what are those clanging sounds which, rising high above the rest, seem like the war-cry of a warrior?
“I can’t mistake those tones,” said a bronzed old veteran beside me; “those are the brass bands of the Imperial Guard. Can Napoleon be there? See, there they come!” As he spoke, the head of a column emerged from the wood, and deploying as they came, poured into the plain. For above an hour that mighty tide flowed on, and before noon a force of sixty thousand men was collected in the space beneath us.
I was not long to remain an unoccupied spectator of this brilliant display, for I soon received orders to move down with my squadron to the support of the Eleventh Light Dragoons, who were posted at the base of the hill. The order at the moment was anything but agreeable, for I was mounted upon a hack pony, on which I had ridden over from Crawfurd’s Division early in the morning, and suspecting that there might be some hot work during the day, had ordered Mike to follow with my horse. There was no time, however, for hesitation, and I moved my men down the slope in the direction of the skirmishers.
The position we occupied was singularly favorable, – our flanks defended on either side by brushwood, we could only be assailed in front; and here, notwithstanding our vast inferiority of force, we steadily awaited the attack. As I rode from out the thick wood, I could not help feeling surprised at the sounds which greeted me. Instead of the usual low and murmuring tones, the muttered sentences which precede a cavalry advance, – a roar of laughter shook the entire division, while exclamations burst from every side around me: “Look at him now!” “They have him, by heavens, they have him!” “Well done, well done!” “How the fellow rides!” “He’s hit, he’s hit!” “No, no!” “Is he down?” “He’s down!”
A loud cheer rent the air at this moment, and I reached the front in time to learn, the reason of all this excitement. In the wide plain before me a horseman was seen, having passed the ford of the Aguada, to advance at the top of his speed towards the British lines. As he came nearer, it was perceived that he was accompanied by a led horse, and apparently with total disregard of the presence of an enemy, rode boldly and carelessly forward. Behind him rode three lancers, their lances couched, their horses at speed; the pace was tremendous, and the excitement intense: for sometimes, as the leading horseman of the pursuit neared the fugitive, he would bend suddenly upon the saddle, and swerving to the right or the left, totally evade him, while again at others, with a loud cry of bold defiance, rising in his stirrups, he would press on, and with a shake of his bridle that bespoke the jockey, almost distance the enemy.
“That must be your fellow, O’Malley; that must be your Irish groom!” cried a brother officer. There could be no doubt of it. It was Mike himself.
“I’ll be hanged, if he’s not playing with them!” said Baker. “Look at the villain! He’s holding in; that’s more than the Frenchmen are doing. Look! look at the fellow on the gray horse! He has flung his trumpet to his back, and drawn his sabre.”
A loud cheer burst from the French lines; the trumpeter was gaining at every stride. Mike had got into deep ground, and the horses would not keep together. “Let the brown horse go! Let him go, man!” shouted the dragoons, while I re-echoed the cry with my utmost might. But not so, Mike held firmly on, and spurring madly, he lifted his horse at each stride, turning from time to time a glance at his pursuer. A shout of triumph rose from the French side; tin; trumpeter was beside him; his arm was uplifted; the sabre above his head. A yell broke from the British, and with difficulty could the squadron be restrained. For above a minute the horses went side by side, but the Frenchman delayed his stroke until he could get a little in the front. My excitement had rendered me speechless; if a word could have saved my poor fellow, I could not have spoken. A mist seemed to gather across my eyes, and the whole plain and its peopled thousands danced before my vision.
“He’s down!” “He’s down, by heavens!” “No! no, no!” “Look there! Nobly done!” “Gallant fellow!” “He has him! he has him, by – !” A cheer that rent the very air above us broke from the squadrons, and Mike galloped in among us, holding the Frenchman by the throat with one hand; the bridle of his horse he firmly grasped with his own in the other.
“How was it? How did he do it?”
“He broke his sword-arm with a blow, and the Frenchman’s sabre fell to the earth.”
“Here he is, Mister Charles; and musha, but it’s trouble he gave me to catch him! And I hope your honor won’t be displeased at me losing the brown horse. I was obliged to let him go when the thief closed on me; but sure, there he is! May I never, if he’s not galloping into the lines by himself!” As he spoke, my brown charger came cantering up to the squadrons, and took his place in the line with the rest.
I had scarcely time to mount my horse, amidst a buzz of congratulations, when our squadron was ordered to the front. Mixed up with detachments from the Eleventh and Sixteenth, we continued to resist the enemy for about two hours.
Our charges were quick, sharp, and successive, pouring in our numbers wherever the enemy appeared for a moment to be broken, and then retreating under cover of our infantry when the opposing cavalry came down upon us in overwhelming numbers.
Nothing could be more perfect than the manner in which the different troops relieved each other during this part of the day. When the French squadrons advanced, ours met them as boldly. When the ground became no longer tenable, we broke and fell back, and the bayonets of the infantry arrested their progress. If the cavalry pressed heavily upon the squares, ours came up to the relief, and as they were beaten back, the artillery opened upon them with an avalanche of grape-shot.
I have seen many battles of greater duration and more important in result; many there have been in which more tactic was displayed, and greater combinations called forth, – but never did I witness a more desperate hand-to-hand conflict than on the heights of El Bodon.
Baffled by our resistance, Montbrun advanced with the Cuirassiers of the Guard. Riding down our advanced squadrons, they poured upon us like some mighty river, overwhelming all before it, and charged, cheering, up the heights. Our brave troopers were thrown back upon the artillery, and many of them cut down beside the guns. The artillerymen and the drivers shared the same fate, and the cannon were captured. A cheer of exultation burst from the French, and their vivas rent the air. Their exultation was short-lived, and that cheer their death-cry; for the Fifth Foot, who had hitherto lain concealed in the grass, sprang madly to their feet, their gallant Major Ridge at their head. With a yell of vengeance they rushed upon the foe; the glistening bayonets glanced amidst the cavalry of the French; the troops pressed hotly home; and while the cuirassiers were driven down the hill, the guns were recaptured, limbered up, and brought away. This brilliant charge was the first recorded instance of cavalry being assailed by infantry in line.
But the hill could no longer be held; the French were advancing on either flank; overwhelming numbers pressed upon the front, and retreat was unavoidable. The cavalry were ordered to the rear, and Picton’s Division, throwing themselves into squares, covered the retreating movement.
The French dragoons bore down upon every face of those devoted battalions; the shouts of triumph cheered them as the earth trembled beneath their charge, – but the British infantry, reserving their fire until the sabres clanked with the bayonet, poured in a shattering volley, and the cry of the wounded and the groans of the dying rose from the smoke around them.
Again and again the French came on; and the same fate ever awaited then. The only movement in the British squares was closing up the spaces as their comrades fell or sank wounded to the earth.
At last reinforcements came up from the left; the whole retreated across the plain, until as they approached Guenaldo, our cavalry, having re-formed, came to their aid with one crushing charge, which closed the day.
That same night Lord Wellington fell back, and concentrating his troops within a narrow loop of land bounded on either flank by the Coa, awaited the arrival of the light division, which joined us at three in the morning.
The following day Marmont again made a demonstration of his force, but no attack followed. The position was too formidable to be easily assailed, and the experience of the preceding day had taught him that, however inferior in numbers, the troops he was opposed to were as valiant as they were ably commanded.
Soon after this, Marmont retired on the valley of the Tagus. Dorsenne also fell back, and for the present at least, no further effort was made to prosecute the invasion of Portugal.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE SAN PETRO
“Not badly wounded, O’Malley, I hope?” said General Crawfurd, as I waited upon him soon after the action.
I could not help starting at the question, while he repeated it, pointing at the same time to my left shoulder, from which a stream of blood was now flowing down my coat-sleeve.
“I never noticed it, sir, till this moment. It can’t be of much consequence, for I have been on horseback the entire day, and never felt it.”
“Look to it at once, boy; a man wants all his blood for this campaign. Go to your quarters. I shall not need you for the present; so pray see the doctor at once.”
As I left the general’s quarters, I began to feel sensible of pain, and before a quarter of an hour had elapsed, had quite convinced myself that my wound was a severe one. The hand and arm were swollen, heavy, and distended with hemorrhage beneath the skin, my thirst became great, and a cold, shuddering sensation passed over me from time to time.
I sat down for a moment upon the grass, and was just reflecting within myself what course I should pursue, when I heard the tramp of feet approaching. I looked up, and perceived some soldiers in fatigue dresses, followed by a few others who, from their noiseless gestures and sad countenances, I guessed were carrying some wounded comrade to the rear.
“Who is it, boys?” cried I.
“It’s the major, sir, the Lord be good to him!” said a hardy-looking Eighty-eighth man, wiping his eye with the cuff of his coat as he spoke.
“Not your major? Not Major O’Shaughnessy?” said I, jumping up and rushing forward towards the litter. Alas, too true, it was the gallant fellow himself! There he lay, pale and cold; his bloodless cheek and parted lips looking like death itself. A thin blue rivulet trickled from his forehead, but his most serious wound appeared to be in the side; his coat was open, and showed a mass of congealed and clotted blood, from the midst of which, with every motion of the way, a fresh stream kept welling upward. Whether from the shock or my loss of blood or from both together, I know not, but I sank fainting to the ground.
It would have needed a clearer brain and a cooler judgment than I possessed to have conjectured where I was, and what had occurred to me, when next I recovered my senses. Weak, fevered, and with a burning thirst, I lay, unable to move, and could merely perceive the objects which lay within the immediate reach of my vision. The place was cold, calm, and still as the grave. A lamp, which hung high above my head, threw a faint light around, and showed me, within a niche of the opposite wall, the figure of a gorgeously dressed female; she appeared to be standing motionless, but as the pale light flickered upon her features, I thought I could detect the semblance of a smile. The splendor of her costume and the glittering gems which shone upon her spotless robe gleamed through the darkness with an almost supernatural brilliancy, and so beautiful did she look, so calm her pale features, that as I opened and shut my eyes and rubbed my lids, I scarcely dared to trust to my erring senses, and believe it could be real. What could it mean? Whence this silence; this cold sense of awe and reverence? Was it a dream; was it the fitful vision of a disordered intellect? Could it be death? My eyes were riveted upon that beautiful figure. I essayed to speak, but could not; I would have beckoned her towards me, but my hands refused their office. I felt I know not what charm she possessed to calm my throbbing brain and burning heart; but as I turned from the gloom and darkness around to gaze upon her fair brow and unmoved features, I felt like the prisoner who turns from the cheerless desolation of his cell, and looks upon the fair world and the smiling valleys lying sunlit and shadowed before him.
Sleep at length came over me; and when I awoke, the day seemed breaking, for a faint gray tint stole through a stained-glass window, and fell in many colored patches upon the pavement. A low muttering sound attracted me; I listened, it was Mike’s voice. With difficulty raising myself upon one arm, I endeavored to see more around me. Scarcely had I assumed this position, when my eyes once more fell upon the white-clad figure of the preceding night. At her feet knelt Mike, his hands clasped, and his head bowed upon his bosom. Shall I confess my surprise, my disappointment! It was no other than an image of the blessed Virgin, decked out in all the gorgeous splendor which Catholic piety bestows upon her saints. The features, which the imperfect light and my more imperfect faculties had endowed with an expression of calm, angelic beauty, were, to my waking senses, but the cold and barren mockery of loveliness; the eyes, which my excited brain gifted with looks of tenderness and pity, stared with no speculation in them; yet contrasting my feelings of the night before, full as they were of, their deceptions, with my now waking thoughts, I longed once more for that delusion which threw a dreamy pleasure over me, and subdued the stormy passions of my soul into rest and repose.
“Who knows,” thought I, “but he who kneels yonder feels now as I did then? Who can tell how little the cold, unmeaning reality before him resembles the spiritualized creation the fervor of his love and the ardor of his devotion may have placed upon that altar? Who can limit or bound the depth of that adoration for an object whose attributes appeal not only to every sentiment of the heart, but also to every sense of the brain? I fancy that I can picture to myself how these tinselled relics, these tasteless waxworks, changed by the magic of devotion and of dread, become to the humble worshipper images of loveliness and beauty. The dim religious light; the reverberating footsteps echoed along those solemn aisles; the vaulted arches, into whose misty heights the sacred incense floats upward, while the deep organ is pealing its notes of praise or prayer, – these are no slight accessories to all the pomp and grandeur of a church whose forms and ceremonial, unchanged for ages and hallowed by a thousand associations, appeal to the mind of the humblest peasant or the proudest noble by all the weaknesses as by all the more favored features of our nature.”
How long I might have continued to meditate in this strain I know not, when a muttered observation from Mike turned the whole current of my thoughts. His devotion over, he had seated himself upon the steps of the altar, and appeared to be resolving some doubts within himself concerning his late pious duties.
“Masses is dearer here than in Galway. Father Rush would be well pleased at two-and-sixpence for what I paid three doubloons for, this morning. And sure it’s droll enough. How expensive an amusement it is to kill the French! Here’s half a dollar I gave for the soul of a cuirassier that I kilt yesterday, and nearly twice as much for an artilleryman I cut down at the guns; and because the villain swore like a heythen, Father Pedro told me he’d cost more nor if he died like a decent man.”
At these words he turned suddenly round towards the Virgin, and crossing himself devoutly, added, —
And sure it’s yourself knows if it’s fair to make me pay for devils that don’t know their duties; and after all, if you don’t understand English nor Irish, I’ve been wasting my time here this two hours.”
“I say, Mike, how’s my friend the major! How’s Major O’Shaughnessy?”
“Charmingly, sir. It was only loss of blood that ailed him. A thief with a pike – one of the chaps they call Poles, bekase of the long sticks they carry with them – stuck the major in the ribs; but Doctor Quill – God reward him! he’s a great doctor and a funny divil too – he cured him in no time.”
“And where is he now, Mike?”
“Just convanient, in a small chapel off the sacristy; and throuble enough we have to keep him quiet. He gave up the confusion of roses, and took to punch; and faith, it isn’t hymns nor paslams [psalms] he’s singing all night. And they had me there, mixing materials and singing songs, till I heard the bell for matins; and what between the punch and the prayers, I never closed my eyes.”
“What do they call this convent?”
“It is a hard word, I misremember. It’s something like saltpetre. But how’s your honor? It’s time to ask.”
“Much better, Mike, much better. But as I see that either your drink or your devotion seems to have affected your nerves, you’d better lie down for an hour or two. I shall not want you.”
“That’s just what I can’t; for you see I’m making a song for this evening. The Rangers has a little supper, and I’m to be there; and though I’ve made one, I’m not sure it’ll do. May be your honor would give me your opinion about it?”
“With all my heart, Mike; let’s hear it.”
“Arrah, is it here, before the Virgin and the two blessed saints that’s up there in the glass cases? But sure, when they make an hospital of the place, and after the major’s songs last night – ”
“Exactly so, Mike; out with it.”
“Well, Ma’am,” said he, turning towards the Virgin, “as I suspect you don’t know English, may be you’ll think it’s my offices I’m singing. So, saving your favor, here it is.”
MR. FREE’S SONG
AIR, – “Arrah, Catty, now can’t you be asy?”
Oh, what stories I’ll tell when my sodgering’s o’er,
And the gallant Fourteenth is disbanded;
Not a drill nor parade will I hear of no more,
When safely in Ireland landed.
With the blood that I spilt, the Frenchmen I kilt,
I’ll drive the young girls half crazy;
And some cute one will cry, with a wink of her eye,
“Mister Free, now why can’t you be asy?”
I’ll tell how we routed the squadrons in fight,
And destroyed them all at “Talavera,”
And then I’ll just add how we finished the night,
In learning to dance the “bolera;”
How by the moonshine we drank raal wine,
And rose next day fresh as a daisy;
Then some one will cry, with a look mighty sly,
“Arrah, Mickey, now can’t you lie asy?”
I’ll tell how the nights with Sir Arthur we spent,
Around a big fire in the air too,
Or may be enjoying ourselves in a tent,
Exactly like Donnybrook fair too.
How he’d call out to me: “Pass the wine, Mr. Free,
For you’re a man never is lazy!”
Then some one will cry, with a wink of her eye,
“Arrah, Mickey, dear, can’t you be asy?”
I’ll tell, too, the long years in fighting we passed,
Till Mounseer asked Bony to lead him;
And Sir Arthur, grown tired of glory at last,
Begged of one Mickey Free to succeed him.
“But, acushla,” says I, “the truth is I’m shy!
There’s a lady in Ballymacrazy!
And I swore on the book – ” He gave me a look,
And cried: “Mickey, now can’t you be asy?”
“Arrah, Mickey, now can’t you be asy?” sang out a voice in chorus, and the next moment Dr. Quill himself made his appearance.
“Well, O’Malley, is it a penitential psalm you’re singing, or is my friend Mike endeavoring to raise your spirits with a Galway sonata?”
“A little bit of his own muse, Doctor, nothing more; but tell me, how goes it with the major, – is the poor fellow out of danger?”
“Except from the excess of his appetite, I know of no risk he runs. His servant is making gruel for him all day in a thing like the grog-tub of a frigate. But you’ve heard the news, – Sparks has been exchanged. He came here last night; but the moment he caught sight of me, he took his departure. Begad, I’m sure he’d rather pass a month in Verdun than a week in my company!”
“By-the-bye, Doctor, you never told me how this same antipathy of Sparks for you had its origin.”
“Sure I drove him out of the Tenth before he was three weeks with the regiment.”
“Ay, I remember; you began the story for me one night on the retreat from the Coa, but something broke it off in the middle.”
“Just so, I was sent for to the rear to take off some gentleman’s legs that weren’t in dancing condition; but as there’s no fear of interruption now, I’ll finish the story. But first, let us have a peep at the wounded. What beautiful anatomists they are in the French artillery! Do you feel the thing I have now in my forceps? There, – don’t jump, – that’s a bit of the brachial nerve most beautifully displayed. Faith, I think I’ll give Mike a demonstration.”
“Oh, Mister Quill, dear! Oh, Doctor, darling!”
“Arrah, Mickey, now can’t ye be asy?” sang out Maurice, with a perfect imitation of Mike’s voice and manner.
“A little lint here! Bend your arm, – that’s it – Don’t move your fingers. Now, Mickey, make me a cup of coffee with a glass of brandy in it. And now, Charley, for Sparks. I believe I told you what kind of fellows the Tenth were, – regular out-and-outers. We hadn’t three men in the regiment that were not from the south of Ireland, – the bocca Corkana on their lips, fun and devilment in their eyes, and more drollery and humbug in their hearts than in all the messes in the service put together. No man had any chance among them if he wasn’t a real droll one; every man wrote his own songs and sang them too. It was no small promotion could tempt a fellow to exchange out of the corps. You may think, then, what a prize your friend Sparks proved to us; we held a court-martial upon him the week after he joined. It was proved in evidence that he had never said a good thing in his life, and had about as much notion of a joke as a Cherokee has of the Court of Chancery; and as to singing, Lord bless you, he had a tune with wooden turns to it, – it was most cruel to hear; and then the look of him, those eyes, like dropsical oysters, and the hair standing every way, like a field of insane flax, and the mouth with a curl in it like the slit in the side of a fiddle. A pleasant fellow that for a mess that always boasted the best-looking chaps in the service.
“‘What’s to be done with him?’ said the major; ‘shall we tell him we are ordered to India, and terrify him about his liver?’
“‘Or drill him into a hectic fever?’
“‘Or drink him dry?’
“‘Or get him into a fight and wing him?’
“‘Oh, no,’ said I, ‘leave him to me; we’ll laugh him out of the corps.’
“‘Yes, we’ll leave him to you, Maurice,’ said the rest.
“And that day week you might read in the ‘Gazette,’ ‘Pierce Flynn O’Haygerty, to be Ensign, 10th Foot, vice Sparks, exchanged.’”
“But how was it done, Maurice; you haven’t told me that.”
“Nothing easier. I affected great intimacy with Sparks, bemoaned our hard fate, mutually, in being attached to such a regiment: ‘A damnable corps this, – low, vulgar fellows, practical jokes; not the kind of thing one expects in the army. But as for me, I’ve joined it partly from necessity. You, however, who might be in a crack regiment, I can’t conceive your remaining in it.’
“‘But why did you join, Doctor?’ said he; ‘what necessity could have induced you?’
“‘Ah, my friend,’ said I, ‘that is the secret, —that is the hidden grief that must lie buried in my own bosom.’
“I saw that his curiosity was excited, and took every means to increase it farther. At length, as if yielding to a sudden impulse of friendship, and having sworn him to secrecy, I took him aside, and began thus, —
“‘I may trust you, Sparks, I feel I may; and when I tell you that my honor, my reputation, my whole fortune is at stake, you will judge of the importance of the trust.’
“The goggle eyes rolled fearfully, and his features exhibited the most craving anxiety to hear my story.
“‘You wish to know why I left the Fifty-sixth. Now I’ll tell you; but mind, you’re pledged, you’re sworn, never to divulge it.’
“‘Honor bright.’
“‘There, that’s enough; I’m satisfied. It was a slight infraction of the articles of war; a little breach of the rules and regulations of the service; a trifling misconception of the mess code, – they caught me one evening leaving the mess with – What do you think in my pocket? But you’ll never tell! No, no, I know you’ll not; eight forks and a gravy-spoon, – silver forks every one of them. There now,’ said I, grasping his hand, ‘you have my secret; my fame and character are in your hands, for you see they made me quit the regiment, – a man can’t stay in a corps where he is laughed at.’
“Covering my face with my handkerchief, as if to conceal my shame, I turned away, and left Sparks to his meditations. That same evening we happened to have some strangers at mess; the bottle was passing freely round, and as usual the good spirits of the party at the top of their bent, when suddenly from the lower end of the table, a voice was heard demanding, in tones of the most pompous importance, permission to address the president upon a topic where the honor of the whole regiment was concerned.
“‘I rise, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Sparks, ‘with feelings the most painful; whatever may have been the laxity of habit and freedom of conversation habitual in this regiment, I never believed that so flagrant an instance as this morning came to my ears – ’