“Give up your sword,” said the major, in an undertone.
“You behaved gallantly, but you fought against invincibles. Lord love them! but they are the most terrified invincibles.”
I nearly burst aloud at this.
“It was a close thing which of us ran first,” muttered the major, as he turned to give some directions to an aide-de-camp. “Ask them who they are,” said he, in Spanish.
By this time I came close alongside of him, and placing my mouth close to his ear, holloed out,—
“Monsoon, old fellow, how goes the King of Spain’s sherry?”
“Eh, what! Why, upon my life, and so it is,—Charley, my boy, so it’s you, is it? Egad, how good; and we were so near being the death of you! My poor fellow, how came you here?”
A few words of explanation sufficed to inform the major why we were there, and still more to comfort him with the assurance that he had not been charging the general’s staff, and the conmander-in-chief himself.
“Upon my life, you gave me a great start; though as long as I thought you were French, it was very well.”
“True, Major, but certainly the invincibles were merciful as they were strong.”