I turned round hastily, and at the same instant several officers, who apparently from precaution had dismounted at the end of the street, were seen approaching. They came hurriedly forward, but without speaking. He who was in advance of the party wore a short, blue cape over an undress uniform. The rest were in full regimentals. I had scarcely time to throw a passing glance upon him, when the officer I have mentioned as coming first called out in a stern voice,—
“Who are you, sir?”
I started at the sounds; it was not the first time those accents had been heard by me.
“Captain O’Malley, Fourteenth Light Dragoons.”
“What brings you here, sir? Your regiment is at Caya.”
“I have been employed as acting aide-de-camp to General Crawfurd,” said I, hesitatingly.
“Is that your staff uniform?” said he, as with compressed brow and stern look he fixed his eyes upon my coat. Before I had time to reply, or, indeed, before I well knew how to do so, a gruff voice from behind called out,—
“Damn me! if that ain’t the fellow that led the stormers through a broken embrasure! I say, my lord, that’s the yeoman I was telling you of. Is it not so, sir?” continued he, turning towards me.
“Yes, sir. I led a party of the Eighty-eight at the breach.”
“And devilish well you did it, too!” added Picton, for it was he who recognized me. “I saw him, my lord, spring down from the parapet upon a French gunner, and break his sword as he cleft his helmet in two. Yes, yes; I shall not forget in a hurry how you laid about you with the rammer of the gun! By Jove! that’s it he has in his hand!”