Chapter IV: Part VI: Chapter XV

Early in the morning I was surprised by a visit from Mr Chesterfield. He had received information, which he wished to communicate. From other British officers, then in the town, he had learned that the state of the country through which we had to pass was far from satisfactory; and one or two had even told him that, in the course of this day’s march, we should certainly be attacked. Mr Chesterfield added that he had attempted, under the circumstances, to obtain an addition to our escort, but without success; there were but few troops in the place, and none could be spared. He wished, therefore, to know what course I thought preferable; whether to wait till fresh parties bound to headquarters came up, or to proceed at once.

I was quite for proceeding. Begged to ask, Did he know what was the character of the road we should have to travel?

Mr Chesterfield had inquired. It was for the most part through an open country. “Any villages?”—If there were, no doubt parties of troops were stationed in them, and their presence would be a check on the population.

These replies confirmed my previous views; and, as my orders were to conform to the written route, not only with regard to places, but with regard to time, I gave my voice decidedly in favour of going on. If plans against us were in process of concoction, delay on our part would both give encouragement, and afford time for the mischief to come to a head. With a convoy like ours, holding out so many temptations to irregular enterprise, it seemed far better to pass quickly on, ere reports could spread, and an attack be organised. Admitting that there was danger if we proceeded, there was also danger if we remained stationary. If we incurred any disaster by remaining, we incurred it by a breach of orders; if by proceeding, we met it in the path of duty.

Fully concurring in these views, and agreeing that we should proceed, Mr Chesterfield then suggested—might it not be proper to adopt some precautions? He thought, as soon as we were out of the town, the men should load.

This I fully concurred in, not only as a defence, but as likely to keep the men steadier, by letting them see that we were preparing for business in earnest. Here were two inexperienced youths, the one raw from college, the other from school, thrown on their own resources, and laying their heads together to meet an emergency, by the most prudent measures their united stock of wisdom could suggest. Suffice it to say, we both spoke with oracular gravity; and gave dignified evidence of our perfect self-possession, by blowing copious puffs of fragrant smoke.

The conference between our two high mightinesses, though, was suddenly interrupted. Enter Corporal Fraser, evidently in a little bit of a flurry. The sight of Mr Chesterfield brought him at once to a halt. He saluted, and seemed to check himself in something that he was going to say. In short, he looked flushed and anxious—not altogether himself—breathed hard between his clenched teeth—stood silent. The visit being to me, Mr Chesterfield gave me a look; so I asked the corporal what he wanted.

“I am sorry, sir,” said he, “to be the bearer of disagreeable intelligence.”

“Well, corporal, out with it.”

“The men, sir, I regret to say, are in a state of beastly intoxication.”

The corporal, it was clear, wishing to shield the men, had come to my billet, intending the information for my ears only. But finding Mr Chesterfield with me, and not being at the time in the absolute possession of his faculties, (for, though quite unconscious of the fact, he was himself partially under the influence of liquor,) he had no resource but to tell out all, though not by any means one of those petty officers “as likes to get poor fellers into trouble.”

Beastly intoxication? What! at this early hour of the day? It was a strange circumstance, and excited ugly apprehensions. How could they have become so? Who made them drunk? Under other circumstances, I should have applied to the corporal for an explanation forthwith; but I saw indications, in the corporal’s eye, that it would not be kind to question him at the moment before an officer—so proposed, instead, that we should go and look for ourselves. We went. The case was much as Fraser had stated it. We reached a large old house with a _porte cochère_, within which was a court. On entering this court we found the men—happily the infantry only, for the cavalry had quarters just by—all, with one exception, more or less in a state of intoxication. Some were laughing; others were wrangling; one or two were crying—maudlin drunk. Some were making a show of cleaning arms and accoutrements, with profound bows and sagacious nods. All tried, on our arrival, to look as sober as they could. On any morning this would have been a serious state of things, at the hour of mustering to start; but now, when we expected hostility, it was worse than ever. Neither did I like the look of the inhabitants. There was no exact throng, indeed; but parties were standing near in groups, evidently cognisant of our present fix, watching, and making their remarks among themselves. In that old house, guarded by those drunken soldiers, were sixty mule-loads of silver and gold! Things looked still worse, though, when we entered the quarters. Three or four men, who were most overcome, had deliberately laid themselves down again for a snooze. There they were, wrapped up in their blankets, stretched and snoring on the floor; while Corporal Fraser, himself a little “disguised,” flushed in the face, and in a high state of indignation and excitement, was storming and kicking them up; and a fellow, who found it easier to lean against the wainscot than to stand upright, was expostulating—“You haven’t no business to kick a poor soger in that ’ere way.”

To this general boskiness, I have said, there was one exception. It was Jones. In fact, with all his faults, I never, on any one occasion, saw Jones overcome with liquor; which was the more remarkable, because he got more than any other soldier of the detachment. His own ration—all that he could appropriate of mine—occasional contributions from Coosey—all he could get from every quarter, (and he never missed an opportunity,) all went down his throat without visible effect. In short, he seemed brandy-proof. I never saw him affected, nor had he the appearance of a hard drinker. Observing that he looked much as usual, while all around were looking so different, I applied to him for an explanation. “Why, Jones, what’s the cause of this disgraceful scene? How did the men get it?”

“Please, sir, the fellers is very sorry for it, sir. Hadn’t no intentions to get drunk _now_, sir.”

“Well, but how did it happen, man?”

“Please, sir, the jeddleham stood treat, sir; treated ’em all, sir.”

“What gentleman?”

“Please, sir, the same as treated me the night before last, sir: give me a tumbler of hot punch what was all a-fire, sir; brought it out into the inn-yard all of a blaze, sir. Told me the French soldiers got that twice a day, sir. Said, if the Hinglish soldiers had their rights, they’d get the same, sir.”

“The night before last? What gentleman treated you the night before last?”

“Please, sir, it was the same jeddleham as aast to speak to you, sir; the jeddleham what you went into the house to speak to him, sir.”

“Oh, that fellow! Why, you might have seen him again yesterday. Didn’t you notice him among the people at the ferry?”

“Please, sir, when we come to the ferry, I was in the rear, sir; halted there, and remained till we turned the hinnimy over the ford, sir. Didn’t git a sight on him, sir. Only wish I had, sir.”

“Well, but how comes it some of the other men didn’t know him again? They must have seen him yesterday, if you didn’t.”

“Please, sir, I s’pose it’s ’cause this morning he was dressed different, sir. Had a large hat pulled over his eyes, sir; and muffled up in a long cloak, sir. Shouldn’t not have knowed him myself, sir, only if it hadn’t not a-been for his nose, sir.”

“Stood treat, though? How?—did he treat the whole party?”

“Please, sir, I won’t tell you no lie, sir. Jest after the fellers turned out in the morning, sir—jest as I was a-washing my face in this ’ere horse trough, sir—there come along a man with a couple of barrils, sir; which the barrils was slung on a-top of a donkey, sir. So he took and stopped the donkey close to that ’ere gateway, sir, which some of the fellers was standing at it, sir. So they knowed at once it was wine, sir—in course they did, by the look on it, sir—so they got a-bargaining with him for a drink, sir. So, jest as they was a-bargaining come along that ’ere Nosey, sir; which, as soon as he see the fellers a-talking to the man what belonged to the donkey, sir, he looked very pleasant, and stopped and spoke to him, sir. Then he spoke to the fellers, sir, and told ’em they might drink as much as they pleased, sir; might drink it all, if they liked, sir; and he’d stand it, sir.”

“Did he speak English, then?”

“Yes, he did, sir; sitch Hinglish as they speaks here, sir; not sitch as you and I speaks, sir. I won’t tell you no lie, sir.”

The case was too clear. Hookey was still on our traces. Disappointed in his two previous attempts to turn us from our route, he meant to keep near us, watch his opportunity, and act accordingly. Making the men drunk just when we were about to start on a dangerous part of the road, was as unquestionably part of some more extensive plot as it was palpably Hookey’s doing. I briefly stated the matter to Mr Chesterfield, adding, “We shall see that fellow again to-day.”

“If he comes once more within the range of a firelock,” said Mr Chesterfield, “we must not let him get off so easily.”

Meanwhile, the immediate question was a practical one: What course was best, under existing circumstances? In spite of the state of the men, I was still for proceeding.

“Very well,” said Mr Chesterfield; “then let the packing commence. We will take all the infantry who are fit to march when the mules are loaded, and go on with them and the cavalry. Such as are too bad must remain behind, and come up afterwards with other parties, as they can.”

Mr Chesterfield then went to see after his own men; the mules arrived, and the muleteers began loading. Jones stepped up to me: he had apparently overheard our conversation.

“Please, sir, none of the fellers won’t not stay behind, sir.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause, sir, when the mules is ready, they’ll be ready, sir.”

“Ready? How ready, if they ’re beastly drunk?”

“Please, sir, they won’t be beastly by that time, sir.”

“How can you tell that?”

“Please, sir, ’cause I knows they won’t, sir; ’cause it’s only that ’ere wine, sir. Please, sir, that ’ere hasn’t not got no varchy in it, like the sperrits has, sir. ’Cause, please, sir, when a feller gets drunk on sperrits, sir, they makes him rale drunk, sir; but that ’ere wine only jest makes him drunkish-like, sir; ’cause it’s only jest for a time, sir, and then it goes off again, sir; ’cause there’s no good in it, sir, if you drink a butt of it, sir. Hope no offence, sir.”

“Common country wine, was it?”

“Please, sir, it was new wine, sweetish-like, sir. That’s what did it, sir. Sitch new wine gits into a feller’s headpiece at once, sir; makes him silly drunk directly instant, sir; but then he soon gits sober agin, sir. Consickvent, I considers the fellers will all be sober agin in an hour or two, sir; and then they’ll be able to fall in, sir. ’Cause I knowed it was new, sir; ’cause it sparkled like cider do when it’s drawed frish from the barril, sir.”

Jones’s prognosis, though not very clearly expressed, was verified by the result. Ere the loading was completed, all the men had become either sober or nearly so. Even those who had been most affected fell in, and mustered with the rest; and though our rank and file displayed some set and gummy eyes, only two or three of the worst betrayed the disaster by their gait. Hookey had thus outwitted himself. By dosing the men with new wine, (which, as all persons acquainted with the wine countries are well aware, flies at once to the head, even if taken moderately,) he had, indeed, succeeded in making them drunk at once; but not in making them drunk for a continuance. “Let alone it’s new,” said Jones, “it isn’t no wine, sitch as the fellers gits, as would make ’em rale drunk; nayther Spanish wine, nor yit Frinch wine, except it’s the jinny-wine.”

The men having somehow discovered that they were likely to be put on their mettle during the day’s march, were all, in appearance, truly sorry for what had occurred. They became aware, through Jones, of Hookey’s real character; saw through his contrivance to make them all drunk; and, feeling that they had been in a measure his dupes, were savage at the artifice, and burned for an opportunity to retrieve their character in the course of the day. Mr Chesterfield now returned: he glanced at the men, and afterwards took an opportunity of speaking to me.

“That fellow with the nose,” said he, “according to your account of him, must be a dangerous character. Should not steps be taken for his apprehension?”

“If you like, I will go to the Mairie, and make inquiries about him.”

“I fear,” said he, “you will not be very cordially seconded in that quarter, judging, at least, from my own last night’s experience, when I applied for billets. However, it can do no harm.”

“Well, then, the sooner I go the better. I will take with me the Spanish Capataz. As soon as we have gone in, be so kind as to keep an eye on the entrance. If Señor Roque puts his head out, send me three or four dismounted dragoons. We must see if we can’t teach those fellows good manners.”

I took with me Señor Roque, and explained to him, by the way, what I wished him to do. If, after we entered the bureau of the Mairie, I gave him a look, he was to go down to the door, and bring up the dragoons.

We entered; and, as at a previous interview the night before, found three gentlemen busily employed in writing, each at his desk. The interval had wrought no improvement in their manners. When I saluted them, neither of the three took the least notice—all went on writing. I addressed the head man of the party.

“I have the honour of waiting on you, Monsieur, for the purpose of soliciting your co-operation.”—Still he writes. Wait awhile. Try again.

“I must soon be leaving this place, Monsieur, and have duties which will occupy me in the interval. May I claim a moment’s attention?”—Scribble, scribble, scribble.

One or two similar attempts were similarly met. I then gave friend Roque the concerted look; and he, nothing loath, went off to fetch the dragoons. Meanwhile, no seat having been offered me, I took one, and remained quiet. The three official gentlemen, though so dreadfully busy, just before, that they could not notice my application, now began jabbering amongst themselves upon some indifferent topic, as if no one else had been in the room. When a Frenchman really wishes to treat you with insolence, I must say he has a neat, quiet way of doing it, which no other people on earth can equal. An Englishman, I admit, can beat him in vulgarity; but for _elegance_ of execution, there is no intentional rudeness like the rudeness of a Frenchman.

Presently was heard on the stairs a stumping—ha!—a hoof-like tread!—the tramp of heavy feet! With it ascended the clatter of accoutrements! Four scabbards were mounting the stairs, each scabbard marking each step by a bang! The three officials started—exchanged looks—wrote on in silence with redoubled energy, while their faces twitched.

The door opened! Four big fellows entered the bureau, with clattering accoutrements and resounding steps. Señor Roque, his face burnished with exultation—for he hated the French—followed, and closed the door. The bold dragoons ranged themselves in line, with their backs to the wall. Nay, more: their four right hands, probably by a hint from the Capataz, moved simultaneously towards their left sides; four enormous swords leaped from their scabbards, flashed in the air, and slumbered on the bearers’ shoulders. The writing was now intense.

The display of arms in such a place, though, might compromise us with our own authorities. I made a sign, and the swords were sheathed.

Having so often spoken in vain, I was determined that the civic dignities should speak first. I therefore quietly took out a cigar. Quick as lightning, my friend the Capataz whipped out his smoking gear, and went to work with flint, steel, and junk. At the first click, my three polite entertainers almost jumped from their stools. The twinkle of the jolly old Spaniard’s eye, as he handed me a light, was worth a dollar any day. The four dragoons, much to their credit, maintained the most perfect gravity throughout. I lit, and blew a cloud.

The panic of the three writers increased. They were evidently telegraphing. At length the chief turned round on his seat, and, with alarm and courtesy comically mingled in his visage, begged to be informed in what way he could be of service to me.

“I interrupt you, Monsieur. Pray, finish the business you have in hand.”

“Monsieur, I have no business so cherished as to expedite yours.”

I then told my object—that there had been in the place a suspicious _sujet_, whom I described. Should he again make his appearance, he must be apprehended _tout-de-suite_, and kept in safe custody, till he was surrendered to the normal authorities. “Messieurs, has he presented himself here?”

Three voices answered simultaneously—“Yes”—“No”—“Yes.”

“Do you know anything of him?”

“He is an Englishman—a courier from Madrid.”—“He bears despatches to the British headquarters.”—“Nothing whatever.”

“He is neither an Englishman nor a courier; consequently, he must be provided with a passport. Has he presented it HERE?”

“Viewing him as attached to the British service, we did not consider it our affair.”

“Where is he now?”

“He is not here.”—“He didn’t state his intended route.”—“He has left this place.”

“By what route?”

“We don’t know.”—“He went, within the last hour, towards St Sever.”

“Is that an ascertained fact?”

“Yes, Monsieur, yes,” they all answered; “he is gone in the direction of St Sever.”

“If, Messieurs, what you have now stated should prove correct, and if I find that you have told me all you know, I trust I shall not feel it necessary to report the matter to our commander-in-chief.”

These gentlemen, I felt, could have told me more, had they chosen; and I, with time at my command, could have extracted more. But in our case it was touch and go. We could not, with such a charge, stop to pursue investigations. So I took my leave, deeming it, at any rate, something to have ascertained that friend Hookey, in accordance with my anticipations, though not in accordance with his own statements, had preceded us by the route which we were so soon to follow.

The civic trio were as courteous at my departure as they were rude at my entry. First stumped out the cavalry—who had really done the business; then followed the old unctuous Capataz; and I, with a horizontal tripartite bow, closed up the rear. Ere I had fairly quitted the room, the three were all at work again, intently scribbling. The “dressing” of a _procèsverbal_, with formal and full details of the whole transaction, was probably their occupation for the rest of the morning. I was sorry that we had compromised ourselves by the exhibition of cold steel. But, under all the circumstances, I felt little apprehension, to borrow an expression from Jones, of their “telling that ’ere to my Lord Valentine.”

The mules were loaded, the men fell in; and, though some of them were still a little the worse for the disaster of the morning, we were quite in a condition to lick any Frenchmen that might come across us, and made a very respectable march of it to the outskirts of the town. There we were again joined by Pledget and Gingham; and shortly after, Fraser, by Mr Chesterfield’s direction, made the infantry load, and saw that each had a supply of cartridges—a process which caused the muleteers to look a little queer. We then proceeded on our march.

Passing through an open country, Mr Pledget and Mr Chesterfield rode on side by side in conversation, at the head of the line; while Gingham and I followed close, in similar guise. Suddenly was heard, in the rear, the crack of a musket! A ball whistled close over our heads, and struck the road, a few yards before us. Mr Chesterfield immediately called a halt of the whole party; and he and I proceeded to the rear. As we were riding back, Corporal Fraser came running forward to meet us, and soon explained. Our Yorkshire lad, it appeared, had been larking with another soldier, one of those whose early sobriety the wine had most disturbed, and had got him into a scrape. The result was, that the musket of the half-tipsy soldier had gone off, and had so nearly done execution amongst us in front. It was evident our infantry were not yet in a state to be trusted with loaded arms; it wouldn’t do. Mr Chesterfield gave directions at once, that they should all draw their charges. And as our route for some distance appeared perfectly level and open, so as to afford no cover for a sudden attack, (it was that sort of country so common in France, cultivated to the road-side, but totally bare of hedges, copse, or trees,) it was settled that they should not load again till circumstances rendered it necessary. The man whose musket had caused the alarm looked stupid and bewildered—could give no explanation, but that “it went off.” I observed, however, that Mr Chesterfield quietly spoke a few words to the Yorkshireman. What they were, I did not hear; but they certainly had the effect of making that worthy a better-behaved, though not a merrier man, during the rest of our march.