The Captain, who was a most gallant and deserving, but hot-tempered and impetuous man, interrupted the Adjutant-general thus: “God bless me! I hope his Lordship is not going to send me home.”
“I don't know that,” was the answer.
“I'm sure I have done my duty since I have joined his Lordship's army,” continued the Captain, “and I trust I shall not be so far negatively disgraced.”
“My dear Captain,” replied the Adjutant-general, “it is not a very disgraceful duty to which you are appointed, considering the very respectable men who have preceded you upon it. The fact is, that the Commander of the forces, knowing you to be a devil of a fire-eater, has directed us to send you to h——ll, and here is your route,” handing him an official direction of the marches by which he was to arrive at his destination.
The stages mentioned in the route were whimsical in the extreme, and there were several good points made; the last-mentioned place on the road was London.
When Thompson read the paper, his weather-beaten jaws relaxed into a smile; and putting the document into his pocket, he drily remarked, that Lord Wellington had always been in the habit of giving him hot work. “It is not the first time,” said he, “that I was sent to clear the way for him; however, when I arrive, I'll look out for warm quarters for his Lordship and staff. But there is a mistake in the route, I suspect; you see ‘London’ is the last stage mentioned.”
“Yes,” replied the Adjutant-general, “and depend upon it that is the nearest way to the infernal regions.”
“Excuse me,” rejoined Thompson, “there is a much better.”
“What is that?” asked the other.
“Why,” said the Captain, “Wellington, to be sure.”