A little farther on, I came up with the main body of the regiment, from whom I learned the corroboration of the news, and also the additional intelligence that Sparks had been ordered off with his detachment early in the morning, a veteran battalion being sent into garrison in the various towns of the south and west.
“Do you happen to know a Mr. O’Malley, sir?” said the major, coming up with a note in his hand.
“I beg to present him to you,” said I, bowing.
“Well, sir, Sparks gave me this note, which he wrote with a pencil as we crossed each other on the road this morning. He told me you were an old Fourteenth man. But your regiment is in India, I believe; at least Power said they were under orders when we met him.”
“Fred Power! Are you acquainted with him? Where is he now, pray?”
“Fred is on the staff with General Vandeleur, and is now in Belgium.”
“Indeed!” said I, every moment increasing my surprise at some new piece of intelligence. “And the Eighty-eighth?” said I, recurring to my old friends in that regiment.
“Oh, the Eighty-eighth are at Gibraltar, or somewhere in the Mediterranean; at least, I know they are not near enough to open the present campaign with us. But if you’d like to hear any more news, you must come over to Borrisokane; we stop there to-night.”
“Then I’ll certainly do so.”
“Come at six then, and dine with us.”