It was on the evening of the 3d of June that I was slowly wending my way back towards my hotel. Latterly I had refused all invitations to dine at the mess. And by a strange spirit of contradiction, while I avoided society, could yet not tear myself away from the spot where every remembrance of my past life was daily embittered by the scenes around me. But so it was; the movement of the troops, their reviews, their arrivals, and departures, possessed the most thrilling interest for me. While I could not endure to hear the mention of the high hopes and glorious vows each brave fellow muttered.
It was, as I remember, on the evening of the 3d of June, I entered my hotel lower in spirits even than usual. The bugles of the gallant Seventy-first, as they dropped down with the tide, played a well-known march I had heard the night before Talavera. All my bold and hardy days came rushing madly to my mind; and my present life seemed no longer endurable. The last army list and the newspaper lay on my table, and I turned to read the latest promotions with that feeling of bitterness by which an unhappy man loves to tamper with his misery.
Almost the first paragraph I threw my eyes upon ran thus:—
OSTEND, May 24.
The “Vixen” sloop-of-war, which arrived at our port this morning,
brought among several other officers of inferior note
Lieutenant-General Sir George Dashwood, appointed as
Assistant-Adjutant-General
on the staff of his Grace the Duke of Wellington. The gallant
general was accompanied by his lovely and accomplished daughter,
and his military secretary and aide-de-camp, Major Hammersley,
of the 2d Life Guards. They partook of a hurried déjeunéwith the Burgomaster, and left immediately after for Brussels.
Twice I read this over, while a burning, hot sensation settled upon my throat and temples. “So Hammersley still persists; he still hopes. And what then?—what can it be to me?—my prospects have long since faded and vanished! Doubtless, ere this, I am as much forgotten as though we had never met,—would that we never had!” I threw up the window-sash; a light breeze was gently stirring, and as it fanned my hot and bursting head, I felt cooled and relieved. Some soldiers were talking beneath the window and among them I recognized Mike’s voice.
“And so you sail at daybreak, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Mister Free; we have our orders to be on board before the flood-tide. The ‘Thunderer’ drops down the harbor to-night, and we are merely here to collect our stragglers.”
“Faix, it’s little I thought I’d ever envy a sodger any more; but someway, I wish I was going with you.”
“Nothing easier, Mike,” said another, laughing.
“Oh, true for you, but that’s not the way I’d like to do it. If my master, now, would just get over his low spirits, and spake a word to the Duke of York, devil a doubt but he’d give him his commission back again, and then one might go in comfort.”