“Ah, Sir George Cockburn, how d’ ye do?—your son’s appointment is made out. Major Conyers, that application shall be looked to. Forbes, you must explain that I cannot possibly put men in the regiment of their choice; the service is the first thing. Lord L——, your memorial is before the Prince Regent; the cavalry command will, I believe, however, include your name.”
While he spoke thus, he approached the place where I was standing, when, suddenly checking himself, he looked at me for a moment somewhat sternly. “Why not in uniform, sir?”
“Your Royal Highness, I am not in the army.”
“Not in the army—not in the army? And why, may I beg to know, have you—But I’m speaking to Captain O’Malley, if I mistake not?”
“I held that rank, sir, once; but family necessities compelled me to sell out. I have now no commission in the service, but am come to beseech your Royal Highness’s permission to serve as a volunteer.”
“As a volunteer, eh—a volunteer? Come, that’s right, I like that; but still, we want such fellows as you,—the man of Ciudad Rodrigo. Yes, my Lord L——, this is one of the stormers; fought his way through the trench among the first; must not be neglected. Hold yourself in readiness, Captain—hang it, I was forgetting; Mr. O’Malley, I mean—hold yourself in readiness for a staff appointment. Smithson, take a note of this.” So saying, he moved on; and I found myself in the street, with a heart bounding with delight, and a step proud as an emperor’s.
With such rapidity the events of my life now followed one upon the other, that I could take no note of time as it passed. On the fourth day after my conversation with the duke I found myself in Brussels. As yet I heard nothing of the appointment, nor was I gazetted to any regiment or any situation on the staff. It was strange enough, too, I met but few of my old associates, and not one of those with whom I had been most intimate in my Peninsular career; but it so chanced that very many of the regiments who most distinguished themselves in the Spanish campaigns, at the peace of 1814 were sent on foreign service. My old friend Power was, I learned, quartered at Courtrai; and as I was perfectly at liberty to dispose of my movements at present, I resolved to visit him there.
It was a beautiful evening on the 12th of June. I had been inquiring concerning post-horses for my journey, and was returning slowly through the park. The hour was late—near midnight—but a pale moonlight, a calm, unruffled air, and stronger inducements still, the song of the nightingales that abound in this place, prevailed on many of the loungers to prolong their stay; and so from many a shady walk and tangled arbor, the clank of a sabre would strike upon the ear, or the low, soft voice of woman would mingle her dulcet sound with the deep tones of her companion. I wandered on, thoughtful and alone; my mind pre-occupied so completely with the mighty events passing before me, I totally forgot my own humble career, and the circumstances of my fortune. As I turned into an alley which leads from the Great Walk towards the Palace of the Prince of Orange, I found my path obstructed by three persons who were walking slowly along in front of me. I was, as I have mentioned, deeply absorbed in thought, so that I found myself close behind them before I was aware of their presence. Two of the party were in uniform, and by their plumes, upon which a passing ray of moonlight flickered, I could detect they were general officers; the third was a lady. Unable to pass them, and unwilling to turn back, I was unavoidably compelled to follow, and however unwilling, to overhear somewhat of their conversation.
“You mistake, George, you mistake! Depend upon it, this will be no lengthened campaign; victory will soon decide for one side or the other. If Napoleon beats the Prussians one day, and beat us the next, the German States will rally to his standard, and the old confederation of the Rhine will spring up once more in all the plenitude of its power. The Champ de Mai has shown the enthusiasm of France for their Emperor. Louis XVIII fled from his capital, with few to follow, and none to say, ‘God bless him!’ The warlike spirit of the nation is roused again; the interval of peace, too short to teach habits of patient and enduring industry, is yet sufficient to whet the appetite for carnage; and nothing was wanting, save the presence of Napoleon alone, to restore all the brilliant delusions and intoxicating splendors of the empire.”
“I confess,” said the other, “I take a very different view from yours in this matter; to me, it seems that France is as tired of battles as of the Bourbons—”