“Hurrah! three cheers, my lads!” cried Anderson, dropping the hand which held the newspaper, and raising the other with his hat in it above his head. The three hearty cheers were given by the crowd which had now assembled; and then Ben said to me:—
“You see, Jack, there’s a lot of killed and wounded; so now, perhaps, you will hear something about your father.”
By this time I had been pushed back, first by one, and then by another, until I was a long way off from where Anderson stood.
“I can’t hear a word that Peter says,” replied I to Ben.
“No, because the wind’s so high, and I myself am, a little hard of hearing out of doors; suppose we go now, and by-and-bye you shall get the paper from Anderson, and read it all over to me.”
“Come away, Ben,” replied I, impatiently, “I’ve got a shilling, and I’ll buy one.”
We left the hill and went down into the town, directing our course to where we heard the horns blowing. I had not, however, to go to such an extraordinary expense, as “a full and particular account” had been struck off for twopence; one of these I purchased, and then Ben and I sat down on the bench outside of a public house, and I commenced reading.
“How good that porter looks!” observed Ben, after a pause, as he eyed a man near to him who was blowing off the froth from the top of the pot he held in his hand.
“Well, Ben, as I have bought the account of the battle for twopence, suppose I spend the rest of the money I intended to pay for it in a pot of, porter, to drink the health of Nelson?”
“Ay, my boy, and of those who fought with him,” replied Ben; “your own father, Jack, whether he be dead or alive.”