"'The village is surrounded——'
"'It is not surrounded—a few sharpshooters fired a shot or two at our cavalry, but they have been all killed or taken.'
"'A Belgian officer—
"'Cowardice—rank cowardice,' said Wellington. 'and at a time like this! Provost Marshal—where are the Provost Marshal and his guard? A rope—get a rope, and hang this young fellow from the nearest tree.'
"I was in deadly terror, for I was then a raw lad, and did not perceive that this was, perhaps, only to frighten me; but at that moment Sir Denis Pack dashed up with some intelligence which was of more importance to Europe than the hanging of Ensign Mac Leechy, so Wellington troubled himself no more about me; I shrunk away to pick my half-devilled bone and to rejoin the Scots Brigade, who were bivouacked in a field near the Brussels road.
"Soon after Waterloo, I exchanged my ensign's commission for a medical one, and have never since been in terror of being hanged by a Provost, or shot by a court martial."
"Tush," said the major, "I was once nearer being hanged than you, doctor; for I was tried, and sentenced, and, moreover, only escaped one noose to be caught by another—for I got my wife by it."
Our major was a jolly and cozy old fellow, who was addicted to a little flirtation with married dames of mature age, and to making downright love to widows (if his good lady was absent), and invariably opened the trenches by affecting to consider them the sisters of their handsome daughters. He was a great favorite with us all; but, being married, he never dined at mess, unless when specially invited by some one. Thus we warmly welcomed our old major's story, which he began without further preamble.