"Please, sir, if two hofficers dines togither four or five times a-week, sir, that's what I calls being friends, sir. Hope I shall find plenty sitch, and you too, sir. Hope no offence, sir." (Pause.) "Might I make bold to aast the question, sir? The men says, as soon as we jines, we shall move on aginst the hinnimy, sir."
"Shouldn't wonder."
"Please, sir, I should like to pick off that 'ere feller as put a bullet into me, sir; jest knock him over, sir, as he did me, sir."
"Sure you would know him again, though?"
"No doubt of that, sir. I know him by the way he cocks his eye down on his firelock, sir. Could pick him out of a whole ridgment on 'em, sir."
We had now been toiling on, through mire and puddles, for about a brace of hours; and I know not how much longer our conference might have continued; but, looking forwards, at a part where the lane was more than usually darkened by over-arching trees, I perceived, at the extremity of the vista, a light less dim than hitherto. Hurra! we had reached the main road. I passed the intelligence; a shout ran down the line, and came back to us from the rear; and, reaching at length the paved highway—it was like landing on terra firma, I took my stand to the right of the embouchure, while weary men and weary beasts slowly and successively emerged from the dark recess, and filed off to the left along the road. At this moment the rain began to moderate; the clouds lifted in the east; the blowzy moon looked down on us from silver peaks, that crested the distant Pyrenees; and, favoured by her light, after an additional half-hour's marching we reached our halting-place. Mr Chesterfield and I established headquarters at a small auberge, stowed the money-boxes, saw to the accommodation of the party, and were fortunate enough to secure a couple of rooms, each with a comfortable bed.
Walking down into the lower part of the house, I found Jones already at work, busying himself, much to the amusement of the ménage, in unbidden preparations for my evening meal. He had cut the ration beef into large uncouth dabs, which he called beef-steaks, and was banging away at them with a rolling-pin on the dresser, in the vain hope of subduing them to tenderness. Alas, what could be done with beef, that had said "moo" that forenoon? While this operation was in progress, a smart fillette looked smiling on, as if anxious to take a lesson in cookery à l'Anglaise. Fancying that Jones had intruded on an office which she considered her own, I asked whether I could have anything else? "Anything Monsieur pleased." Bravo! I was now among the Gascons. Well but, what could I have?—"For example, a poulet, dressed any way Monsieur preferred—potage, in every variety—omelets—she made twenty-three different sorts. Her brother, who was cook to the hotel at Mont de Marsan, made twenty-nine." Very well, suppose we try all three, potage, poulet, omelet:—the façon of each at your discretion;—only, if you please, as soon as possible; to be ready with the biftek (which, I perceived, would be impregnable.) "All should be ready, in a solitary moment."—What wine could I have? She referred me to the landlord, a pleasant-looking old gentleman in a blouse, very pursy about the neck, chest, and chin, who sat in a corner of the hearth. "Any wine I liked, French or foreign." Go it again, Gascony!—Could I have a bottle of bordeaux? "Superb."—These weighty matters arranged, I returned to the first floor; and heard, on my way up stairs, the screams of a luckless hen, which my mandate had sentenced to prompt execution in the poultry-yard.
I had not ordered dinner, however, with an eye to self alone: and was thinking whether it would not be proper to wait on my fellow-lodger, and report proceedings, when Jones followed me to my door. "Please, sir," said he, "the hofficer's kit is left behind, sir. His man isn't come up, nor yet his mule, not nayther on 'em, sir." This intelligence was decisive: I knocked at the entrance of the Hon. Mr Chesterfield's apartment. Found him rather disposed, though, to live alone. "His man would be up ere long. He was much obliged to me." Well; perhaps I had taken a liberty. Almost before I had completed the twofold process of shifting and scrubbing, the cloth was laid. The bread and bordeaux were first on the table; then the potage.—Presently came the poulette and the beefsteak—then the omelet;—in short, I had dined. Suffice it to say, the bordeaux was very respectable; but the beefsteak impracticable, and the poulette questionable. It had been cut into small pieces, and broiled. The potage and the omelet were the staple of my meal. Obs. 1.—When travelling in France, should you order an omelet at a roadside inn, let it by all means be the omelette au jambon. They will offer you a choice of twenty or thirty sorts; but that's the kind you are most likely to get good, and that you may get everywhere. Obs. 2.—Though a fowl dressed as I have described is not very tempting in appearance, especially if you have been cognisant of its recent slaughter, give me leave to observe, the dish, in a general way, is by no means unworthy of your attention; indeed, is one of the best the rural cuisine of France has to offer. And, let me tell you, the rural cuisine of France far excels the civic cuisine that we sometimes meet with out of France. Obs. 3.—With regard to wine,—I asked for bordeaux. That, I admit, was flat. But make allowance; I was inexperienced; this was the first time I ordered dinner on Gallic ground. The fact is—and, if you travel in France and ramble about in country places, so you will find it—the white wine at a given price is decidedly better than the red at the same price. Thus, say the price you choose to go to for a bottle of wine is three francs: and I call that quite enough—for, if you say six, seven, eight francs, it comes from the same bin. Well, order white; and you probably get, for your three francs, a bottle of good sound wine. Order red; and, ten to one, it's horrid. Perhaps, however, you choose to pay for colour; you prefer red. Well, as you please. Only in that case, remember: you are responsible for the consequences, not I.
As I sat on three chairs after dinner in dreamy repose, sipping the last of my bottle of bordeaux, and revolving the events of the day, Jones entered, licking his lips. Really he looked, already, ten per cent better than when we crossed the Bidassoa—his complexion fresher and more wholesome, his aspect decidedly less misanthropic;—I began to imagine some truth in his theory, that English soldiers, who had served in Spain, grew fat on entering France. He laid hands, without ceremony, on the garments which I had doffed before dinner, and walked away with them. Rain and mud, indeed, had horribly maltreated them; and Jones, holding out the coat at arm's length, inspected it in silence, as he moved towards the door.
How beguile the hours till bed-time? I looked out. What a lovely night! The silent moonbeams fell on the paved court at the entrance of our inn. Beyond, all was luminous, but indistinct. Below, there was an open doorway, with a seat—a curious old carved concern,—the very place, the very hour, for a cigar! A cigar? Why, I've a box-full! Come, Mons. Thouvenot; we'll see what sort of havannahs you smoke there in Bayonne.