PART IV.—CHAPTER X.

Next morning, I commenced my regular attendance at the office; all hands employed in counting money.

“Well, Mr Y—,” said my commanding officer, “I fear you find the gentleman with whom you lodge rather dull company.”

“Particularly lively, sir; never met with a more pleasant person.”

“Thought he was rather morose,” replied Mr Q—. “That’s the character he bears amongst his acquaintance here.”

“Quite cheerful and obliging, sir; sings a good song. Yesterday he invited a couple of friends to meet me at dinner. Does all he can to make me comfortable, even to his own inconvenience. Last night, as we were short of blankets, he forced me to take his greatcoat, which he generally puts upon his own bed. Offered, as a favour, to sell it me, as I am going up to the army. Only asks ten dollars.”

“Yes, yes; he’s always trying to bargain. That’s what has got him such a bad name here. Constantly on the look-out to turn a penny. Well, do you buy the pony?”

“Yes, sir,” said I; “we settled about that this morning at breakfast. Shall have to trouble you for the needful, as he would like to be paid in the course of the day.”

“In the course of the day? Oh, very well. The cashier may as well give it you at once. Stop; I’ll write you an order. At the same time, I feel it my duty to say this to you; mind and take a receipt. How much will you draw?”

“I suppose, sir, the usual allowance granted by Government, eighty dollars. That, he said, of course.”

“What! Eighty dollars for that beast of a pony? Why, Mr Y—, one would think you had come out direct from England! Saddle and bridle in? Of course.”

“No, sir; we are to settle about the saddle and bridle to-morrow. Said he didn’t know what he _ought_ to ask for them.”

“Ought!—a rascal! He knows very well, when you’ve got the pony, you _must_ have the saddle and bridle. Don’t know of a saddle that would suit Sancho, in all Passages. Well, Mr Y—; I feel it my duty to say this to you—it’s a regular take-in. Sixty dollars I should call a high figure, saddle and bridle included. If you can sell at headquarters for forty, you may think yourself well off.”

“Hadn’t I better go and pitch into him, sir?”

“Pitch into him? Nonsense. That won’t do here, Mr Y—. Besides, a bargain’s a bargain, you know. If you have said eighty, it must be eighty. Have you looked out for a fresh billet?”

“Didn’t know there was any occasion, sir.”

“You don’t expect to pass another night in your present quarters, after you have paid for Sancho? If you complete the purchase this morning, depend upon it, you’ll have to get other accommodation before bed-time.”

“I’m rather at a loss how to proceed, sir.”

“Why, let me see. I must consider. Go and tell him—yes—go and tell him, for that money you ought to have saddle and bridle in. Tell him so, from me. We must try and be a match for this gentleman. Don’t think it right that your uncle’s nephew, the moment he joins, should be pigeoned at this rate. Stop—tell him, at the same time, you can’t purchase till the day you’re off. Under all the circumstances of the case, I feel it my duty to say this to you; till then, I shall keep the eighty dollars in the military chest. While you’re here, he may as well have the bother of keeping Sancho as you. And, besides, while the bargain’s open—don’t you see?—you won’t be disturbed in your quarters. If you lose them, the place is so crowded, ten to one I shall be forced to accommodate you _myself_.”

Charged with what promised to prove an awkward negotiation, I walked off to find my friend. Nothing of the kind. He took it all with the greatest good-humour; consented with alacrity to throw in the saddle and bridle; and as to the money, why, if it wasn’t forthcoming at once, he could wait till it was.

Three hands of us, counting dollars till dinner-time, did a good stroke of work:—only that plaguy “small mixed” was a serious addition to our labours. Fancy a bag of small silver, a thousand dollars in amount, shot out before you on the table; a heap of mingled coin, specimens of every fraction of a dollar, that ever issued in silver from the Spanish mint; the whole lot to be sorted, counted, and made right. A single bag took us often two or three hours. As to counting a bag of whole dollars, that was a far easier job. Count ten; set them on the table in a pile. Ten such piles in a row make a hundred; ten such rows in a square make one thousand:—the bag is counted. Unluckily, though, your last pile is sometimes nine, or eleven, instead of ten. Ah, you’re a greenhorn; you’ve counted wrong. Then down goes your nose to the edge of the table; your eye glances over the summit of the piles. Discover, if you can, a pile higher or lower than the rest: the error is then detected. Should you fail, there’s no remedy: “Mr Snooks, you had better count the whole again.” Still wrong? then some older hand is set to count. Can’t he get it right? Why, then, the bag is wrong. Set it on one side and count another. Fingers sore, about the third day. With the first day’s counting they get a little black; on the second, rough, and painful; third, cracked, and begin to bleed. About this time comes a thundering letter, blowing up the whole department sky high, for not having the money ready to pay the troops. What your fingers are, if the counting goes on a day or two longer, especially with the encouraging accompaniment of a rap on the knuckles, I leave you to guess. We had a military guard; four Germans, one of them a corporal. The man on duty as sentry walked up and down in the passage, while the other three sat over a small fire in an adjoining room. They could sing in parts—sang well. One of them struck up, the others followed, the sentry joined in as he paced the lobby. Sometimes it was a national song, sometimes a hymn. Nothing, in sacred music, like those German hymns. But then, take notice, you must have German voices to do them justice. The men of our guard were quiet, sober, well-conducted fellows; always willing to make themselves useful; rendered us great assistance in helping the carpenter to open and close the boxes, and in lifting the bags from the boxes to the table, and _vice versâ_. Mr Q—, as an acknowledgment, made a handsome addition to their supper.

Our dinner was strictly departmental, very much to my taste; quite a sort of family party. No one was present save the gentlemen of our own office at Passages. Mr Q—, I rather suspect, wanted to give me some idea of my duties, in the responsible charge of conducting treasure to headquarters through the enemy’s country. Perhaps he thought a little chat amongst ourselves would be the best mode of instruction.

Towards the close of the evening, as we sat talking over departmental matters, each with his tumbler before him—hot,—our conversation was interrupted by a tap at the door. “Come in,” said Mr Q—.

The door opened; and in the doorway appeared one of our German guard. With an earnest but somewhat vacant look, and his hand spread out upon his breast, he stood erect, his appearance that of a man who wants words, but is very anxious to speak. At length he began: “_Mine haarrt ist folle._” Just at that moment the corporal appeared behind, seized the orator by the shoulders, and cut short his harangue by spinning him round into the passage, and closing the door. “Oh, I see how it is,” said Mr Q—. “The extra allowance has got into his head. He wants to return thanks for his supper; that’s all.”

Presently there was a scuffle outside. Again the door opened; and again the same individual made his appearance, commencing as before, with pathos and much gravity, “_Mine haarrt ist folle._” The corporal interposed once more; but another scuffle ensued in the passage, followed by a third visit, with similar results.

“Better get him to turn in,” said Mr Q—; but that was more English than the corporal understood. Recollecting a few German words, I contrived to make the command intelligible; and partly by force, partly by persuasion, our grateful friend was stowed away for the night; still exclaiming, from time to time, “_Mine haarrt ist folle_,” and making strenuous efforts to break away from his comrades, come back, and finish his oration. When all was quiet, I took my leave for the night. The sound of my footsteps caught his ear, and set him off again. His voice grew louder as my distance increased; and “_Mine haarrt ist folle_” resounded in the street. Next morning he came up to me, looking very sheepish and compunctious; and commenced a long discourse in German, expressive of his profound regret. This at his request I interpreted, as far as able, to his “Excellenz” the “Haupt.”

At length arrived the day, the important day, of my departure to join the army. It was arranged that the treasure should be conveyed up the harbour in boats to the bridge of Oyarzun, with a guard of soldiers. At Oyarzun we were to sleep the first night; and there, also, we were to meet the rest of our escort, and the mules intended to convey the money. My friend and I had arranged it together, that he was to bring Sancho to the office in the course of the morning, saddled and bridled. I was then to pay the purchase-money, and the pony would be mine. My friend was punctual to his time; Sancho stood at the door; and I applied to Mr Q— for the eighty dollars.

“Oh yes, of course,” said he; “may as well give it you at once. Is the pony at Oyarzun?”

“No, sir; he’s here, at the door.”

“Here at the door? Then how do you mean to get him to Oyarzun?” I had never thought of that.

“Can’t he go with us, in one of the boats, sir?”

“Oh yes, certainly; yes, yes. If they were horse-boats, of course he could. But as they are common ship-boats, borrowed for the occasion from the transports in harbour, how will you get him in, and how will you get him out? Not to mention that he might take to kicking; and kick out a plank from the bottom of the boat, as you were pulling up the harbour. In that case, the treasure would have a short voyage, and you too.”

“Hadn’t I better mention it to my friend, sir?”

“Why, yes; I think you had. Stop; let me see. Suppose you request him to step in. I’ll speak to him myself.”

I invited my friend into the office. He entered smiling—rubbed his hands—looked sleeky and resigned—evidently thought he was going to realise.

“Well, sir,” said Mr Q—, addressing my friend, “this is an awkward business about the pony. I don’t see how the purchase can be completed.”

“Completed, sir?” said my friend, rather taken aback, and losing his temper. “I thought it _was_ completed, all but paying the money.”

“Very true, sir,” said Mr Q—; “but that, you know, makes all the difference. The money is not paid; and, more than that, it’s not issued. And, sir, under all the circumstances of the case, I feel it my duty to say this to you; unless I see everything straight, I don’t intend to issue it.”

“Well, sir,” said my friend, “I conceive everything _is_ straight, so far as I am concerned. There stands the pony, at the door.”

“Yes, I know he does. But how is he to be got to the head of the harbour?”

“Of course I supposed Mr Y— would ride him, sir.”

“No, no; that’s out of the question. The treasure goes by water; and of course, being in charge, Mr Y— must go with it.”

“Well, sir,” replied my friend, “if that’s all, my servant shall take the pony.”

“Oh, very well, sir,” said Mr Q—, “if you think you can trust your servant to receive and bring back the purchase-money.”

“No occasion for that, sir; I can receive it here, sir, if you’ve no objection.”

“None whatever, when I know that the pony is delivered at Oyarzun. Not before delivery, of course.”

My friend was seized with a fit of musing;—looked rather at a loss. At length he found his tongue.

“The long and the short of it is, I think, sir, I had better ride the pony to Oyarzun myself, and make the delivery in person.”

“Very well, sir,” said Mr Q—. “I think so too. Then, on receiving the pony at Oyarzun, Mr Y— will pay you the eighty dollars. Will you favour us with your company? We are just going to lunch.”

“Thank you, sir; much obliged. Think I had better be off at once. Mr Y— will not reach Oyarzun till late; and it’s out of the question my returning to Passages after dark, especially on foot, and with a lot of dollars.”

“Oh, certainly; and by such a horrid, cut-throat, out-of-the-way road, too. You’d certainly be robbed and murdered; that is, if you get safe there. Better secure a night’s lodging at Oyarzun, if there’s one to be had, sir.”

“Yes, and come back to-morrow by daylight. Well, the sooner I’m off the better. Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, sir.” My friend mounted Sancho at the door, and set off forthwith to Oyarzun.

Mr Q—, laughing heartily, then handed me my route, made out in due form.

While I was making the necessary arrangements for my start in the afternoon, Mr Q— summoned me into his private apartment. He had doffed his blue frock with black velvet collar, and now appeared in full fig, departmental coat, epaulet on his shoulder, staff-hat on the table. His manner was serious, but friendly.

“You are probably aware, Mr Y—,” said he, “that the Allied army is not likely to resume active operations for some days.”

“So I have understood, sir,” said I.

“I presume, however, you are not acquainted with the cause of this temporary inactivity.”

“Can’t say I am, sir.”

“It is, I believe I may venture to inform you, principally the want of money. That deficiency your arrival will supply. You will readily perceive, then, how much depends on your conducting the treasure safely, and delivering it by the time when it is looked for. Your route lies through the enemy’s country; but the population is now comparatively quiet; the date of your departure is known at headquarters, and, I have no doubt, every requisite arrangement has been made to secure the safety of your convoy. All such arrangements, however, proceed, and must proceed, on one supposition—namely, that the officer in charge is, on his part, competent to the task committed to him, obeys his orders, and does his duty properly. You will readily perceive, then, that some measure of responsibility rests upon your own shoulders.”

“Yes, sir; and, in the course of the last few days, I have been thinking on that subject more than once.”

“All the better. Mr Y—, if you had ever discharged this duty before, I should now merely wish you a pleasant journey, and send you off. But this is your first expedition; it is one, to speak candidly, of greater risk than any that has hitherto fallen to our department. The army is considerably in advance in the French territory; you have before you six or seven days’ march upon French ground; it will, of course, be discovered that you carry money—there is no concealing that; a convoy like yours will naturally excite the cupidity of partisans and marauders; from St Jean de Luz to headquarters you will not find a single officer of our department to give you the benefit of his experience; and, under all the circumstances of the case, I feel it my duty to say this to you—mind what you are about; on no account separate from your convoy; let nothing induce you to deviate from the written route; always reach the specified station at the specified time; keep your escort sober, if you can; keep your muleteers in good-humour; keep your mules well together on the line of march; and, if you are asked questions, don’t be lavish of information. The French, Mr Y—, though an inquisitive people, are not apt to interrogate official persons out of mere curiosity. If, therefore, any individual should pester you with inquiries, depend upon it he has a motive.”

“I suppose, sir,” said I, “in such a case, it will be as well to return some sort of a general reply, just to avoid the appearance of mystery.”

“Exactly that,” said Mr Q—. “When a gentleman makes an inquiry, you are bound, by etiquette, to give him a _reply_. Whether you give him an _answer_ is optional, and a matter of discretion.

“By the bye,” added Mr Q—, after a pause, “I shouldn’t wonder if you missed the pony, after all—no great harm if you do. To be sure, you must march on foot, the first day or two; but you won’t mind that; and you will have your eighty dollars. Put twenty to them, and I shouldn’t wonder if you pick up a very tolerable mule, which will answer your purpose far better. Then, if at headquarters you wish to come out well mounted, and choose to buy a horse, a mule, you know, will always fetch its value.”

“I hope, sir,” said I, “we shall have a good escort.”

“Oh, yes—the escort. That is one of the subjects I wish to mention. Well, Mr Y—, you must do the best you can with them. Your escort consists of twenty men; not, I am sorry to say, twenty men of any one corps, but twenty men of twenty different regiments; men who have been in hospital at Vittoria, sick or wounded—have recovered, and are now on their return to headquarters—not exactly the guard I should have wished to provide, but the best I could get for you. The worst is, I have seen the officer who is to command them, and don’t like him at all. Hope you will like him better than I do. Hope he won’t give you trouble, or prove incompetent. Should he turn out not quite the person you wish, or should your escort appear insufficient, say nothing till you reach St Jean de Luz, up to which point I consider you as safe as if travelling in England. Then wait upon old Colonel B—, the commandant; state your case to him; and he, I have no doubt, will make the best arrangements in his power, for the security of your subsequent progress. Come, Mr Y—, after dinner, we’ll see you into the boat.”

“Perhaps, sir,” said I, “you will oblige me with a line to the commandant, to be presented if the case requires.”

“No need of that,” said he, “I wrote to the Colonel yesterday, after seeing the gentleman who goes with you.”

Before leaving the room, I very heartily thanked my commanding officer for all his good advice, forethought, and kind attentions. We then shook hands upon it, in the usual English style; and I held by the paw as worthy a little man as ever trod shoe-leather, and as smart an officer as ever drew rations.

The dinner was again departmental, and so was the talk. “It is the boast of our department,” said Mr Q—, “that, since we have served in the Peninsula under our present commander-in-chief, no treasure in our keeping, not even a single mule’s load of specie, has ever been captured by the enemy. Recollect that, Mr Y—, and keep up our character.”

“Didn’t we once lose a box of papers, sir?” said one of my fellow-clerks.

“We did,” said Mr Q—; “but, two days after, it was recaptured, and all the papers found right. That was on the retreat, subsequent to the battle of Talavera. I see nothing of the boats,” he added, rising, and walking to the balcony. “Hope they’ll be here in time.”

“Get him to tell about that campaign,” whispered the senior of my fellow-clerks, winking to the junior. “Did you ever hear him tell it, Mr Y—?”

“I think, sir, in the course of that campaign,” said the junior, addressing Mr Q—, on his return to the table, “the whole department together, chest and all, had a narrow escape from being captured.”

“Not exactly,” said Mr Q—, “because we obeyed orders. Had we not, we should have had no escape at all: we must have been taken, every man of us. The boats are not in sight, so I’ll just tell you how it was. Gentlemen, try this Madeira. We halted one evening, after a weary march, in a village. The rain was coming down in torrents. We unloaded the treasure, and housed it, glad enough to get a little rest. Just at that moment, Mr Y—, an order came to your uncle, to load again, and be ready to move on at a moment’s warning, but not to stir till further notice. Well, sir, we made ready again, with all expedition; the night closed in; the rain fell, heavier than ever; and an anxious time we had of it. Parties of stragglers, one after the other, came hurrying through the village—one set assuring us the enemy were close at their heels, another telling us we had better be off, another warning us, if we stayed there, we should all be taken, and serve us right. I own I felt rather nervous; but the Governor would not budge. He had got his directions, he said, not to proceed without further orders; and there he should wait, treasure and all, till the orders came. Presently, in a mighty bustle, up rode a general officer. Begged to know, in a tone of authority, why we were waiting there. The Governor replied as before. ‘Well, but it was perfectly absurd. The enemy were close at hand—on our flanks, right and left.’ Couldn’t move the Governor. The general grew angry, swore, almost threatened. ‘Will you move on, sir, or will you not?’ Then clapped spurs to his horse, in a towering passion, and rode away with a wave of his hand, as if saying, ‘I leave you to your fate.’ Well, gentlemen, we waited, waited till midnight. No order came. Waited on till morning dawned. Then, at length, came a staff-officer, with a message from his lordship, directing us to proceed. We did so; and found the general quite right in one thing—the French had been on our flanks. But not only that; they had been in our front. During the night, they had occupied in force the very road by which we were to pass. Had we started sooner, we should have walked right into them.”

The boats now made their appearance, and were soon alongside the jetty. A working party embarked the treasure, packed, as before, in boxes. I then said farewell, and took my seat. With three boat-loads of treasure, and a guard of a corporal and six soldiers, we pulled away for the bridge of Oyarzun. There we found three individuals expecting our arrival—Captain Rattler, who was appointed to command our escort, my friend, and Sancho.

I completed the purchase of Sancho, by handing over to my friend the eighty dollars, and receiving an acknowledgment of the same, which he had brought in his pocket. Just at that moment, my attention was called from my friend, by something in the boats. The next instant I turned, to resume our conversation—he had vanished! By the dim ray of evening at length I caught sight of him in the distance, walking down the road towards the town. My friend! My jolly, good-humoured, hospitable friend! My friend, who could sing a good song! My friend, who laughed indiscriminately and immoderately at all my jokes! He had got his money. It was all he wanted. He was off, without staying to say “Good night!”

CHAPTER XI.

The departure of my friend was soon followed by that of the boats. The treasure was then placed in security for the night, in charge of two sentries; and Captain Rattler politely offered me accommodation in his quarters, as well as stable-room for Sancho. We accordingly started together, I leading the pony; when one of the soldiers stepped up, and, saluting in due form, took hold of the bridle. “Well,” said I, “just lead him to the stable, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” said he smartly; “and take care on him too, sir. Git across him, sir, if you’ve no objections, sir. Got a bullet in my leg, sir.”

Suiting the action to the word, and not waiting for leave, he then mounted the pony, or, as he had more graphically described the process, “got across” him. That is, laying hold with both hands, he took a spring, and brought the pit of his stomach upon the saddle; then, wriggling forwards, got one leg over, dug his heels into Sancho’s side before he was well in his seat, and started off at a trot, his legs dangling, and the stirrups too. As he mounted and rode away, I noticed a hard, droll sort of leer, on the weather-beaten countenances of his comrades. Jones, it soon became apparent, was both the wag and the butt of the whole escort.

The corporal, meanwhile, was receiving his instructions from Captain Rattler. “Fraser of the 42d?” said the captain. “Oh, very well. You will see to the whole party. We haven’t another corporal in the escort. Turn them out to-morrow in good time; and be sure to have them here by eight o’clock, when we load the mules.”

While the captain and I were seated at our tea, Jones entered without knocking, twitched his forelock, and with a savage look made a plunge at my boots, and walked away with them. Jones, it was clear, had made up his mind to be my personal attendant, as long as I and he marched in company. That being the case, I here beg leave to give you his character,—though I fear it would not gain him admittance into your service.

Jones went among his comrades by the name of Taffy, and certainly was not wronged by the legend, which says “Taffy was a thief.” Take a trait. On the march, he stole a Dutch cheese, sold it me for a dollar, and ate it himself. He was conversable, and couldn’t keep his own counsel: _e. g._ not satisfied with realising both dollar and cheese, he ostentatiously pleaded guilty to the original theft, walking by the side of my pony. Jones was no raw recruit:—had served in the Peninsula, if his word was to be trusted, through five successive campaigns; got his wound at Pampeluna, and was now returning from hospital to join his regiment. In active service, he had acquired all the good and bad qualities of an old campaigner; united with which were some of both sorts, that were properly his own. His oddities he did not attempt to hide, though they constantly exposed him to the jeers of his comrades. He was susceptible, touchy, testy—not quarrelsome. Felt ridicule very acutely; if laughed at, complained bitterly—expostulated—but was not to be laughed out of his own ways. He was somewhat undersized; a smart, wiry, hard-featured light-infantry man: had, to an excess, that wriggle in his gait, which was imparted to our foot-soldiers by the awkward set of their accoutrements—straightening their back, stretching their neck, fixing their head, projecting their chin, and throwing all the action, in walking, into their loins, thighs, and shoulders. His first appearance was by no means a letter of recommendation. He carried the gallows in his countenance,—in short, had that sort of look which helps to get “oudacious” boys a “larrupping;” desperate, dogged, abject, and impudent at the same time. He was capable of any sort of atrocity:—you might turn him by a word. Had a perpetual wolf—yet didn’t care much for eating, when he could get drink. Never refused a tumbler of wine—but preferred something short. His tact was considerable. He soon found out just what I disliked, and what I liked—accommodated his likings to mine. With a constant eye to self, was my intensely devoted humble servant. Never resisted—always gave up a point at once, when he couldn’t carry it—yet often contrived to have his own way. Much preferred riding to walking: seldom suffered a day to pass, without finding more than one opportunity to “get across” Sancho in the course of the march. If I was off, he was on. Took an amazing liking to “the pony,”—and sold his corn. Hated the French, but not so much as he hated our own horse-soldiers. Jones, often offended, was never saucy. Took a jobation as a matter of course. Looked savage at the moment; the next, was larking with the muleteers. The muleteers took to him amazingly. For endless neglects and trespasses, he had one plea, always ready—“Got a bullet in my leg, sir.”

Next morning, just as we had done breakfast, Corporal Fraser entered to announce the men ready, the mules arrived, and all prepared for loading. The captain and I proceeded to the spot, and the loading commenced. Corporal Fraser made himself universally useful; I soon discovered that, in him, we had an acquisition. Leaving the superintendence, for a moment, to the captain and him, I stepped back to the billet, for the purpose of stowing, in my already overcharged portmanteau, a lot of loose dollars, part of my own ready cash, which I found a drag. Just as I had piled them on the table, to the number of forty, and was forcing them in amongst shirts, shaving materials, and portable dictionaries, who should enter but the captain? “Ah!” said he, “don’t trouble yourself; you haven’t room. You’ll ruin your things. Here; my portmanteau is open.” So saying, he laid hands on the dollars, counted thirty, and whipped them into his box. “Thirty,” said he—“there, they’ll go safe. Remember. Thirty.” It was done in the twinkling of an eye. “Rather cool,” thought I; “but of course it’s all right.”

We returned together. A few of the soldiers were placed as sentries. The rest had piled their arms, and stood waiting about, ready to fall in and march when the mules were loaded. Something out of the usual course was evidently going on: the men were all on a broad grin. I walked into a sort of court-yard, and at once discovered the cause of the general mirth. On a money-box sat Jones, and before him stood a goat. “Purty creatur!” said Jones. “Purty thing—isn’t she, sir?” He held out a bit of biscuit. She playfully made a show of butting, advanced, and took it—“It’s mine, sir,” said he: “follows me about like a dog, sir.”

“No wonder,” said I, “so long as the biscuit lasts.”

“No, sir; ’tisn’t that, sir,” replied Jones. “It’s ’cause I speaks to her as goats understands, sir; same as we speaks to ’em in the Principality, sir. Only see, sir.”

Jones then knelt down, put his nose close to nanny’s, and, with a coaxing voice and a most affectionate look, gave utterance to a few low guttural sounds, in a language to me unknown. Nanny rose on her hind legs, and again made play with her head; then, just as I expected to see Jones punched and prostrate, arched her neck gracefully on one side, descended on her fore-feet, stepped back, cut a caper, ran up to Jones again in a butting attitude, and, instead of knocking him over, put her nose close to his, and uttered a short bleat. “There, sir,” said Jones; “see that, sir?—understands me every word, sir.” It certainly did look very much as if nanny understood Welch.

“Well, what did you say to her?”

“Why, I said this, sir. ‘Nanny,’ says I, ‘we’re off directly instant,’ says I; ‘and you must come along with us,’ says I; ‘and I’ll milk you morning and evening,’ says I. ‘And then the cappn, and this here hommerble jeddleham what’s present,’ says I, ‘won’t never not want milk for their tea,’ says I, ‘nor yet for their breakfast nayther,’ says I.”

“Well, and what does nanny say?” asked I, almost laughing at this stroke of generalship.

“Please, sir,” replied Jones, “she says she’s quite agreeable, sir; that is, if you are, sir. That’s what she says, sir.”

“Oh, very well.” Had Jones and I been better acquainted, I might have felt it needful to ask first, how nanny had passed into his possession.

“Thank yer honour,” said Jones, springing on his feet. “That’s jest the very thing as I was a-going to aast yer honour. Much obleeged to yer honour. Purty creatur! Nothing to her, a day’s march, sir. Won’t mind it the least in the world, sir. Come in quite fresh, sir.” As I was walking out of the yard, Jones ran after me,—“Please, sir, if the cappn makes any objections, when he siz nanny coming on along with us, sir, please just tell him she’s a nanny, sir; that is, I means to say, a femmel, sir, and giz milk, sir. Then he won’t have nothing to say against her, sir.”

Nanny did actually accompany our march to headquarters; and not only gave us milk, regularly twice a-day, but on one occasion rendered us a far more important service. She became the pet of the men, and soon knocked up an acquaintance with the pony. Sancho and nanny travelled side by side; except that nanny’s line of march was now and then excursive; on which occasions the pony expressed his uneasiness by turning his head to look, with an impatient snort. Nanny was certainly not undeserving of Jones’s commendations of her beauty. Not one of that homebred race, of vulgar aspect, ungainly form, and short, coarse coat, so common both in this country and abroad—a race that lose all their sprightliness when they cease to be kids, and become full-grown goats;—in form she resembled the antelope; her step was that of goats that haunt the precipice, the pinnacle, and the glacier; elegance was in all her movements; and her hair, fine, flowing, and luxuriant—in colour a beautiful light orange-tawny, softening into an amber yellow, pale and delicate—with its snow-white fringe almost sweeping the ground. A dainty hussy, too, was Miss Nanny. She had her luxuries, and scorned to browse on common grass: culled her tidbits by the road-side, as she trotted along—a nibble here, and a nibble there; was partial to biscuit broken small, and wouldn’t refuse a crumb of cheese. Didn’t care for bread, except when she could steal it—her only vice—off the table before dinner; an object which she easily effected, by raising herself on her hind-legs. At the end of the march, as Jones had predicted, she always came in as fresh as she started; and proved it, wherever we were, by commencing an immediate perambulation of the house and premises, in search of anything she could pick up. This sometimes brought her into odd positions, and gave us trouble.

Where are we? Oh, loading the money for our start from Oyarzun. Just as I was coming out of the court-yard, a soldier entered it, with a look of execration, muttering. Didn’t at all like appearances, when I got into the road. All the men looked sulky; the muleteers, perfectly vicious. The loading was going on, but without method, and not by any means with despatch. Of all the party, the only man that didn’t show ill blood was Corporal Fraser. He was doing his best, but looked serious, and somewhat nonplussed. The cause of all was soon apparent. The captain, for some reason or other, had worked himself into a perfect fury, to which he was giving expression in a regular stream of abuse and imprecations; discharging it indiscriminately on the muleteers and the escort, in Portuguese, Spanish, and English, as though he had rifled and ransacked the vocabularies for every bullying and blasphemous expression in the three languages. He had already got matters into a little bit of a mess—was ordering, counter-ordering—bothering the whole party out of their wits—in short, obstructing everything, and thereby indefinitely delaying our departure. This particularly enraged the muleteers: for you must know, first, they take the packing upon themselves, understand their business, and like to be let alone at it; secondly, they have a notion that nothing ruins their mules like keeping a beast standing, when once he has got his load on his back; and some of the first loaded were a couple of hours in this predicament, before we got off. We started at last, and passed through Oyarzun in no very military order: soldiers, mules, and muleteers, all jumbled together, like beef, pork, onions, and mutton-chops, in a Saturday’s pie. Fraser’s smartness saved us more than once from a jam, as we threaded the narrow street; and at length we emerged on the high road to St Jean de Luz.

Although, in our transition to French from Spanish ground, we mounted not to the regions of perpetual snows, we did certainly pass over some very high ground, both before and after crossing the Bidassoa; and our second elevation gave us a splendid prospect of the fertile plains of France. “Shan’t want for nothing to eat, sir,” said Jones, “when we gits down there, sir. Shocking bad country, Spain, for poor soldiers, sir. Starvation country, I calls it, sir. Nothing but lean ration beef, as tough as hides, sir; and couldn’t always get that, sir. Dreadful hard work up these hills, sir. Got a bullet in my leg, sir.”

Beyond Irun, we passed over an irregular eminence, which had been the scene of a sharp conflict with the enemy. Nothing, however, now indicated the field of combat, save a few dead horses, that lay scattered on the bare side of a hill. “What are those smaller animals,” said I to Jones, “lying about there, among the horses? Can’t be goats, can they?”

“Thim’s dogs, sir,” said Jones. “They goes and gits a good blowout off the horses, sir; then they crawls a little way off, and lies down a bit, jest to choe the quid, sir; and then they goes back again, and takes another pull, sir. That’s jest how three or four on us did at Vittoria, sir, when we come upon the Frinch Ginneral’s dinner, sir, which he hadn’t time to stop and eat sir. Please sir, it’s not correct, what the men jeers me about the goats where I comes from, sir. Niver see’d nobody a-riding of a goat in the Principality, sir; nayther man, nor yet woman, sir; no, nor a babby nayther, sir; let alone a clergyman, sir.”

Perhaps, my dear reader, as this is our first day on the road, I may as well give you here a description of our regular order of march; that is, so far as we marched in any order at all. We had eighty mules, then, in twenty strings, of four mules each. The muzzle of the second mule was connected with the _albarda_ (or pack-saddle) of the first, by a thong of leather. The third mule was attached to the second in like manner, and the fourth to the third. Each of these strings of mules had its own muleteer—twenty muleteers in all. The twenty were divided into two parties of ten; and over each of these ten was a sort of master-muleteer, called a Capataz. Of the four mules in each string, three carried money, and the fourth carried nothing but his _albarda_. We had thus twenty unloaded mules, and sixty charged with treasure: that is, fifty-eight with dollars, and two with doubloons. Now, as each mule carried two boxes, and each box contained two bags of a thousand, I think you will find, reckoning the dollar at only 4s. 6d. (the value at which it was issued to the troops,) and reckoning sixteen dollars to the doubloon, that we were marching to headquarters to the tune of eighty-one thousand pounds sterling. If, however, you prefer calculating the dollar at what it was then and there worth in buying bills on England—say from 6s. 6d. to 7s. 6d.—why then, of course, the value of our load comes to so much the more. What a catch for a Frenchman—one of our mules!

Supposing us, then, to march in due order, the mules proceed in single file, each string of four attended by its own muleteer. Of the soldiers, some precede the line of march, others follow it, and others, again, march at intervals on the flanks: and so we walk on at mules’ pace, which is steady and uniform, convenient for marching, and gets over the ground at a very satisfactory rate; so that we cover our sixteen or twenty miles a-day with tolerable facility, going straight on from end to end. But we don’t always get on so pleasantly. If, not keeping the single file, one string of mules comes up abreast of that next in advance, then there is a thronging, which soon leads to confusion. Or if the load of one of your mules gets wrong, then there is a stoppage. Those in the rear come crowding up, and are brought to a halt; those in advance walk on. Thus a division takes place, your line is broken, and your cavalcade of mules (“bad English!”—It’s good Portuguese,) no longer kept well together as it ought to be, becomes extended over an undue length of road, and cannot be looked after and kept regular. Should you ever march with such a convoy, you will soon make the discovery that order, though excellent in theory, is not always reducible to practice. It won’t at all mend the matter, if you happen to have such a commander as ours was: a battered dandy of forty, a military _roué_, who carried in his countenance the marks of rough weather and hard drinking—for his face was not only bronzed by the elements, but pimpled with brandy—and whose continual language, all through the march from starting to halting, was just nothing but one stream of oaths, vituperations, and contradictory orders. And yet this same officer, I make no doubt, had we been placed in a position of real danger, would have conducted himself with coolness, energy, and judgment. As it was, he started us in confusion, and kept us in it all day. The muleteers, who set out in ill-temper, hadn’t one chance given them of recovering their amiability. The soldiers first walked along in dogged silence—then, finding what sort of a gentleman they had to deal with, began to take things easy, joked among themselves, talked loud, and, when he commanded them with an oath to hold their tongues, all but laughed in his face. Discipline was gone. One fellow, a Yorkshire lad, almost amused me with his provoking insolence. He was a red-faced chap with flaxen hair, white eyebrows, and a merry but malevolent eye;—could look, in a moment, either impudent or sedate—just kept himself steady under the captain’s immediate inspection; the moment it was off him, recommenced his antics—was clown, harlequin, and scaramouch, all in one—cut the double-shuffle, winked, twisted his mouth, broke out singing, and was dumb in a moment; cracked jokes, raised a roar, made believe to quarrel, kicked up every devisable sort of row. At length he deliberately disobeyed orders, and the captain put him under arrest; in other words, he was deprived of his musket. Whispered audibly, “It was just what he wanted; now one of the mules could shoulder arms”—set half-a-dozen fellows laughing. Yet this man afterwards, when we were differently commanded, was as well-conducted as any soldier of the escort.

We at length reached St Jean de Luz, after a long, and, to me, very anxious march—the more so as it was my first. Towards our journey’s end, the question was uppermost in my thoughts, “Is it thus we are to march, when the road is insecure?” Marching as we did now, far from being prepared to meet Marshal Soult, I should have felt it far from agreeable to meet another distinguished commander that shall be nameless. There certainly were periods, during the day, when a few resolute assailants might easily have driven off part of our convoy, money and all; nay, when one or other of our own muleteers, had they been so disposed, might have slipped down one of the cross-roads with his string of mules, and made his escape among the hills. These uneasy reflections brought to my mind the advice given me at Passages by Mr Q—; and I resolved to wait on the commandant immediately on my arrival, in the hope of effecting some more satisfactory arrangement for our subsequent progress.

We reached a large house assigned to our department on the outskirts of St Jean de Luz, stowed the treasure in safety under a guard, and dismissed the rest of the men to their quarters; Jones only excepted, who remained in charge of the pony. Captain Rattler took his leave, with a polite “_Au revoir._” Having seen the moneyboxes all right, secured accommodation for the mules and muleteers, and ascertained that dinner would be ready in half-an-hour, I stepped on at once to the commandant’s, and found him in his office.

“I have waited on you, sir, to announce my arrival from Oyarzun, with a convoy of treasure for headquarters.”

“Oh yes; Mr Y—, I presume. Mr Y—, pray take a chair. Happy to see you, Mr Y—, especially on such an occasion. If you arrive safe, I trust we shall all get a little of it; for it’s what we’re all in want of. Can I render you any assistance, Mr Y—?”

“Should feel much obliged, sir, if you could increase the strength of our escort. For eighty mules, twenty men will hardly be sufficient.”

“Why, no; certainly not, Mr Y—, if you don’t happen to find the country quiet. Well, what sort of an addition would you like to have?”

“At Passages, sir, we had a guard of Germans; so steady and well-conducted, I should be very glad to have some more like them. As to number, I would leave that to you, sir.”

“Sorry to say we have no Germans going up at present, Mr Y—.”

“Well, sir, we have with us a Scotch corporal, decidedly the steadiest man in our party. Perhaps you could give me some Scotsmen.”

“My dear sir, I’d go with you myself, if I could, with the greatest pleasure. Unfortunately, though, we have no Scotch regiment in the place. Suppose I could give you—say twenty or thirty men, heavy cavalry.”

“Well, sir, I think cavalry, joined with our infantry, would be the best escort we could have.”

“Very good, sir. Well, now you’ll want an officer to command them.”

“Why, sir, the truth is, I wished to consult you on that subject. The present commander of our party is Captain Rattler.”

“Your present? Say your late. He’s off.”

“He was with me within the last half-hour, sir. Said nothing about leaving.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that. All I know is this—he was here just before you; got his route changed. By this time, I should think, he’s on his way to St Jean Pied de Port. Very well, Mr Y—. Load to-morrow, and start with your present escort. At what hour may I expect you to pass here, in your way through the town?”

“Probably about ten o’clock, sir.”

“Very well, Mr Y—. Then, to-morrow morning, by ten o’clock, I’ll have your additional escort here in readiness for you. As to the officer that’s to command the party, we’ll talk about that when we meet. Let me see. I hardly know how to settle it. At present, I have only one that’s going to join, and he’s young—your junior, I should say, by three or four years; has never seen service—a cornet, fresh from England. Well, if you can’t have another, you know, you must have him. Very well, Mr Y—; to-morrow morning, if you please, at ten o’clock.”

I withdrew, satisfied with the result of my visit, not at all sorry to have got rid of the captain by his own act, and without any complaint on my part—a little surprised, however, at the precipitancy of his retreat, especially after his last words, “_Au revoir._” Suddenly a thought came plump—“My thirty dollars! The caitiff! he’s off, and I am once more a victim!”

It didn’t turn out quite so bad as it looked, though. On my return to our office, I was met by Jones, who, with a face of famine, announced “dinner ready,” and handed me the following letter:—

“ST JEAN DE LUZ, _March 1814_.

“Dear Sir—As unexpected circumstances have induced me to alter my route, I adopt this hurried method of wishing you a safe and pleasant journey to headquarters. It would have afforded me much gratification to accompany you, or at any rate to have said farewell in person. You will, however, I am sure, pardon the little omission, as I am compelled to start without delay.

“I have thirty dollars belonging to you in my portmanteau. _They are_ _safe._ I was about to forward them by the bearer of this, but, not feeling entire confidence in such a mode of conveyance, I beg to enclose you an order on England for the amount. Believe me to remain, dear sir, faithfully yours,

“R. RATTLER.

“P.S.—Excuse haste.

G. Y—, Esq., Army Pay Department, St Jean de Luz.”

“_Au revoir!_” Never, from that time forward, have I and the captain met. Sly rogue! His _modus operandi_, how dashing, yet how cool! To say nothing of his walking off with my dollars in his box, and thus securing a little hard cash at my expense, when cash was so scarce, how civilly he took leave of me at the door of our office! Thence he must have cut away direct to the commandant’s, resolved to be off forthwith—in plain English, to bolt! “Excuse haste!” And then in the morning, too, at Oyarzun, how smartly he whipped up my dollars, stowed them in his own portmanteau without asking my leave, and locked them up before my eyes. “_Au revoir!_” Yes; “_they are safe!_”

Well, the less said about my dinner, that day, the better. In the course of the afternoon, though, Miss Nanny-goat thought fit to indulge herself in a bit of a spree. She walked, in search of varieties, into an old gentleman’s garden. Jones pursued—wanted to milk her for tea. The proprietor followed; I joined the chase. Nanny, for the fun of the thing, sprang on the wall, walked up the roof of the summer-house, ran along the ridge, pedestalled herself on the gable-end which rose in a peak, and there stood, looking down on us in defiance, her four little feet gathered up within the compass of a crown-piece. Jones called, coaxed, spoke Welsh, held out successively cabbage-leaf, lettuce-leaf, vine-leaf, all in vain. “Ah!” said the old Frenchman; and, toddling off to his geraniums, culled a scarlet cluster of aromatic flowers. That was irresistible. One jump brought Nanny down upon the wall, another landed her easy on the ground. Before you could say Jack Robinson, she was nibbling the nosegay out of the Frenchman’s hand. Next morning he loaded us, when we took leave, with a blushing bouquet of geraniums—shed tears, poor old gentleman, when Nanny departed—put his arms round her neck—a true Frenchman—and, _hi oculi viderunt_, kissed her.

The morning after our arrival at St Jean de Luz, I rose betimes, breakfasted, and descended into the road to superintend the loading of the mules—a much more expeditious process without the captain’s aid than with it. We got off with the convoy in good time, and soon reached the commandant’s. In that part of the town the street widened into a sort of “place;” and there, drawn up and awaiting our arrival, I had the pleasure of discovering a party of dragoons, in number four-and-twenty. Being fresh from winter-quarters, they had turned out in capital order; presentable, as to dress and accoutrements, at a Windsor review; their horses, too, in good condition, though rather undersized for the men, none of them being English. At the door of the commandant’s office stood two horses, held by a groom, both of them serviceable, and rather showy animals, apparently recent arrivals from home. I alighted, and ascended to the office.

“Punctual to your time,” said the commandant. “This, Mr Y—, is the officer who will command your party—the Hon. Mr Chesterfield.” Did the introduction in due form.

In the military undress of his regiment—viz. cap with tassel and gold band, said cap hiding one side of the head and face, and leaving the other bare, long greatcoat, redundant in frogs, belt and sabre, enormous boots, and formidable spurs—I saw before me a youth of eighteen, slight in form, elegant in manner, who quietly returned my salutation, and, shortly after, walked down stairs and mounted. “I have explained to Mr C. the nature of the duty,” said the colonel. “He is quite fresh from England; but he seems to have no nonsense about him; and, at any rate, I trust you will find the change for the better. Well, Mr Y—, we mustn’t keep the mules standing; so I now wish you a pleasant journey.”

“Thank you, sir. Much obliged to you for this arrangement. Good morning, sir.”

It soon became apparent, as we proceeded on our march, that matters were greatly mended since the day before. Our new commander said little; but, young as he was, seemed to know what he was about; and all went on much to my satisfaction. He never interfered needlessly; and his directions, when given, were much to the purpose. Managed the cavalry himself, and the infantry through Corporal Fraser. Things began to grow right of their own accord, and a great load was taken off my mind. The men, finding they were now _commanded_, were orderly and well-conducted. Even our jolly Yorkshireman behaved himself—that is, with the exception of an occasional caper or grimace when he felt himself safe. Nothing more was said about his arrest. Consequently he had to carry his musket through the rest of the march; for, seeing what kind of a person he now had to deal with, he was too wise to try over again the game of the day before. The muleteers, too, recovered their good-humour. Muleteers are like live lobsters—very tractable, if you know how to handle them. The delays were now few. And though, with such a mixture of men and mules, we could not keep perfect order, if anything got wrong, it was soon set right.

We reached at length that point in our march where a lane struck off to the left, from the high road which we were following, and which led direct to Bayonne. Our route, with official brevity, assigned Bayonne as our halting-place for the night. But as Bayonne happened just then to be occupied by the French, we proposed directing our course toward the headquarters of Sir John Hope, who commanded the besieging army. The aforesaid lane to the left soon brought us out on a heathy eminence, covered with fieldworks completed or in progress, and affording us a splendid view of the beleaguered city, of the river Adour, and of the bridge of boats thrown across it near the sea. Headquarters were at a small hamlet, on the right or opposite bank of the river.

Yes, we saw that famous bridge. The Duke was always great in passing rivers. Witness his services in India. Witness the Douro, the Bidassoa, the Nivelle, the Nive, and now the Adour. Sufficient attention, perhaps, has not been directed to this subject. Take two feats out of the number, and view them together—the passage of the Adour, and the passage of the Bidassoa: both original ideas; both ideas that no mere tactician would have conceived or brought to bear; and both vindicating their claim to a distinguished record, by taking an able, gallant, and vigilant opponent by surprise. Who, but the Duke, would have dreamed of passing the Bidassoa at its mouth, without a bridge? Who, but the Duke, would have dreamed of passing the Adour at its mouth, by such a bridge as we now beheld? One thing is clear: _Soult_ did not dream of either one passage or the other. Obs. 1.—The execution, in each case, was off-hand, dashing, and daring. The preparation, in both, was deliberate, mature, and secret. Obs. 2.—The distinguishing excellence of the Duke’s strategy did not, however, consist in the mere exploit of throwing an army across a wide and rapid stream, in the face of an enemy assembled in force—though this, in itself, is among the most difficult operations of war; but in the combined, extensive, and successful movements which uniformly attended the achievement. In short, the subject claims a distinct volume. All the Duke’s passages of rivers, effected in the face of the enemy, should be brought into one view, and studied together. Such a work, properly executed, would merit a place in every military library. However, don’t think I’m going to inflict on you a detailed description of the oft-described bridge which we had now to pass. Suffice it to say, the bridge consisted of small vessels, moored side by side, all across the river. These vessels answered the purpose of piers; that is, they supported the gangway of planks, which formed the passage across.

It may be deemed extraordinary, that this idea of floating piers has not been more generally adopted. But I suppose the real objection is an inconvenience, to which the method is unavoidably liable, and which we experienced on the present occasion, in passing with our mules and moneyboxes; namely, the variation of the bridge’s altitude, with the rise and fall of the water. This, in the Adour, at spring-tides, is fourteen feet. You must know, the river was now low. The consequence was, that the level of the bridge was considerably beneath the level of the banks on each side; while its two extremities were two boarded slopes, connecting the higher level with the lower. It was a ticklish business, passing these two slopes with our mules four in a string—one of them light, three loaded. In going _down_-hill, to get on the bridge, the mules managed admirably—let them alone for that. Seeing that this part of the process was proceeding satisfactorily, I left an injunction with Senhor Roque, the chief Capataz, not to send on the mules too fast—for this might have led to a jam, which would probably have consigned some of our boxes to the bottom of the Adour—and pushed on for the opposite bank, to be ready to superintend the ascent. This was the real bother, the going _up_-hill. In coming to the rise, which was somewhat abrupt, the first mule of the first string stumbled and fell. The muleteer got him on his legs again—his load happily not unshipped—and, taking him by the head, was about to lead him up. But this, it was clear, wouldn’t do. The beast had sense to see it wouldn’t, and declined moving. It might have answered very well for a single mule; but was no security for the ascent of the other three, that followed in the same category; and, unless all ascended together, we were undone. Under these circumstances, the leading mule, not choosing to compromise himself, refused the ascent. Meanwhile, the other strings of mules came crowding up; and we should soon have had them all of a heap, shouldering one another into the water. It was a nervous moment. I shouted to the muleteer, “_Anda para detraz, homem, e falla_”—(Old fellow, go behind, and speak to them.) “Si, si, Senhor,” said he, catching the idea at once, and promptly adopting it. The moment the mules heard, behind them, the well-known “_árre_” of their driver, they bolted simultaneously; and, scrambling up like cats, soon reached the summit of the slope, and stood on _terra firma_. Thus, though they could not have done it walking, they did it with a run. The other muleteers, as they came up in succession, adopted the same expedient each with his own team; and thus we effected the passage of the Adour, without either jam, crowding, confusion, or capsize.

Before we go any further, though, I must let you into the use of that magical word “_árre_,” which, on the present occasion, effected so much in our favour. It is the word used by drivers to their beasts, to set them off, or increase their speed. Please to pronounce it with a lengthened rattling of the _r_—ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re. Only remember this: pronounce it ever so correctly, you yourself can never do anything with it: for, if twenty persons sing out ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re, neither horse, mule, nor donkey will move the faster, till they hear the ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re of their own driver. This they distinguish among a hundred, and bolt forthwith. The knowledge of this singular fact in animal psychology tends greatly to enliven an Almada or Cintra donkey-party. Upon an occasion of this kind, my friend John G—, being the longest fellow of the party, thought fit to appropriate the tallest donkey. This was deemed a usurpation, and, as such, meriting castigation. A hint was therefore given to the driver of his (John’s) donkey. John was suffered to get one foot quietly into the stirrup; but, before he had got the other over the Albarda, ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re was heard behind; away went the donkey through the village of Almada; and away went John, one hand holding by the Albarda, the other by an ear—one toe in the stirrup, the other now hopping along the ground, now describing circles aloft, in vain attempts to get across. John, how unjustly I need not say, imputes the Almada exhibition to my contrivance, and bides his time. Presently we enter a sandy lane—John warns me I shall be in the dust ere we get out of it—advises to take feet out of stirrups. Advice followed, in defiance. Again the cry is heard, ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re; but now in a different key. This time, it is my driver. Donkey bolts—away we go—ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re is heard once more—donkey can gallop no faster, so begins to kick. I stoop forward—hug him round the neck; both donkey and rider are soon rolling in the dust. “Now,” says John, as he trots exulting by, “you and I are quits.” “Yes,” says Frank Woodbridge, passing at a canter; “one Johnny has avenged the other.” _Mem._—As, in an English donkey-race, no one rides his own donkey, and the donkey last in wins; so, in those Almada donkey-parties, each paid another man’s driver, no man paid his own. That driver got most whose donkey spilt his rider oftenest.

To proceed. All our party having passed the bridge, I was viewing with some satisfaction the train of mules, as they walked off from the river towards the hamlet, cheerily switching their tails—the animals’ usual practice after accomplishing any extraordinary _tour de force_—when I noticed, not far from the bridge-head, in a long military frock-coat, quietly eyeing me with folded arms, a stately officer of the engineers. Who, do you think?—who, but my fellow-passenger from England a year before, Captain Gabion? We exchanged greetings with mutual cordiality.

“Much obliged to you, Mr Y—,” said he; “you have saved me some trouble.”

“Happy to hear it, sir: don’t exactly understand how, though.”

“Why, the fact is,” replied the Captain, “I was here waiting to see the convoy safe over—if needful, to render assistance. But really you got them so handily up the bank, I had no occasion to interfere. Famous plan, that, of sending them up with a run: shan’t soon forget it. That ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re starts them capitally,—acts like a brad-awl.”

“Were you not on the bridge just now, towards the other side of the river, sir?”

“Yes, yes; but I saw you were getting them on well; so I came over to this end, to see how you would get them off.”

“What I most feared,” said I, “was their crowding up, in passing the bridge.”

“No, no,” said the captain, “no danger of that. Had I seen the least tendency to confusion, I should have passed a command by signal. Effectual means would then have been taken at once, to keep back those coming on, till those in front were clear. Well, what do you think of our bridge?”

“I was thinking how I could destroy it—that is, if I was General Thouvenot, shut up in Bayonne with thirteen or fourteen thousand men. That’s what I began to think of, as soon as I saw it; and that’s what I’ve been thinking of ever since.”

“Destroy it?” said the Captain; “destroy the bridge? Come, that’s a good one. Destroy it, indeed! I should like just to know, now, how you would go to work to do that. Why, Thouvenot did come down and attack, on our first arrival here; got well pounded, though. Don’t think it very probable he’ll try that again.”

“Now, it’s too late, perhaps. Besides, he committed two great mistakes; he attacked with an insufficient force, and he came down only on one side of the river. If, instead, when the bridge was first thrown over, he had come down on both sides, and that with adequate—”

“Going up with the treasure to headquarters, Mr Y—?”

“That’s our destination, sir. This afternoon, though, we halt where we are.”

“What, halt here?” said the Captain. “Let me look at your route.”

“Our route says Bayonne, sir; but of course we came here.”

“Yes, yes; very right; exactly; just so. Sorry to say, though, Mr Y—, I fear you’ll find no accommodation where you are. Every house, every cottage, every shed, is as full as it can cram. If it was only yourself, pony, and goat, I would give you accommodation most willingly. I sleep on a deal table. Would give you half with pleasure. But such a lot of you—about seventy bipeds, I guess, and more than a hundred quadrupeds—why, where could we put you all?”

“Well, then,” said I, “we must make a bivouac of it, I suppose.”

“Bivouac? Nonsense!—bivouac! How would those fine fellows stand a bivouac, I wonder, with their white gloves and horsehair plumes? Besides, it’s beginning to rain. Bet you a dollar, it rains all night. Besides that, where would you put your money? If General Thouvenot should take your advice, ‘come down on both sides,’ and find your boxes ranged along that bank by the road-side—and that’s the only place to put them I know of—a pretty catch he’d make of it. No, no, Mr Y—; your only plan is to go on. Follow the lane till it brings you back into the high road above Bayonne. You will then soon find a village, which will afford you accommodation for the night.”

“Very well, sir. I suppose, then, the sooner we move the better. Will you have the goodness, though, to put me in the way of getting the men their rations?”

“Oh yes,” said the Captain; “yes, yes: I’ll set all that straight for you, in no time. I see you’re rather a young campaigner; and the officer of your escort, I suspect, is younger still. You can’t stay here to-night, that’s certain. Better see the General, though, before you move on; just report yourself, you know, and hear what he says about it. Step on to his quarters, that small house with a white front, and I’ll be after you directly.”

I turned to remount; but what had become of Sancho? Two minutes before, I held his bridle in my hand. Now, he was nowhere to be seen. At length, in the distance, I caught sight of Jones’ legs, dangling from the pony’s side, as he trotted off towards the houses, with Nanny cantering after him.

THE GREEN HAND. A “SHORT” YARN.