A vicious lash out behind served in a moment to corroborate Mike’s assertion, and to scatter the crowd on every side.
However indisposed to exhibit myself with such a turn-out, my time did not admit of any delay; and so, arming myself with my despatches, and having procured the necessary information as to the road, I set out from the Belle Vue, amidst an ill-suppressed titter of merriment from the mob, which nothing but fear of Mike and his broomstick prevented becoming a regular shout of laughter.
It was near night-fall as, tired and weary of the road, I entered the little village of Halle. All was silent and noiseless in the deserted streets; nor a lamp threw its glare upon the pavement, nor even a solitary candle flickered through the casement. Unlike a town, garrisoned by troops, neither sentry nor outpost was to be met with; nothing gave evidence that the place was held by a large body of men; and I could not help feeling struck, as the footsteps of my mule were echoed along the causeway, with the silence almost of desolation around me. By the creaking of a sign, as it swung mournfully to and fro, I was directed to the door of the village inn, where, dismounting, I knocked for some moments, but without success. At length, when I had made an uproar sufficient to alarm the entire village, the casement above the door slowly opened, and a head enveloped in a huge cotton nightcap—so, at least, it appeared to me from the size—protruded itself. After muttering a curse in about the most barbarous French I ever heard, he asked me what I wanted there; to which I replied, most nationally, by asking in return, where the British dragoons were quartered.
“They have left for Nivelle this morning, to join some regiments of your own country.”
“Ah! ah!” thought I, “he mistakes me for a Brunswicker;” to which, by the uncertain light, my uniform gave me some resemblance. As it was now impossible for me to proceed farther, I begged to ask where I could procure accommodation for the night.
“At the burgomaster’s. Turn to your left at the end of this street, and you will soon find it. They have got some English officers there, who, I believe in my soul, never sleep.”
This was, at least, pleasant intelligence, and promised a better termination to my journey than I had begun to hope for; so wishing my friend a good-night, to which he willingly responded, I resumed my way down the street. As he closed the window, once more leaving me to my own reflections, I began to wonder within myself to what arm of the service belonged these officers to whose convivial gifts he bore testimony. As I turned the corner of the street, I soon discovered the correctness of his information. A broad glare of light stretched across the entire pavement from a large house with a clumsy stone portico before it. On coming nearer, the sound of voices, the roar of laughter, the shouts of merriment that issued forth, plainly bespoke that a jovial party were seated within. The half-shutter which closed the lower part of the windows prevented my obtaining a view of the proceedings; but having cautiously approached the casement, I managed to creep on the window-sill and look into the room.
