This lieutenant, who acted so prominent a part in the rough passage, is worthy of an outline. He was a subaltern of four or five years standing, but had yet known no more of service than the barrack parade and a good mess-dinner were capable of affording. He was the son of a rich London tradesman—a legitimate child of Cockaigne; and as powerfully impressed with the peculiarities of that distinguished land as any of his countrymen. He could point out every feature of metropolitan amusement, from half-price at Common-Garden, to the Panorama in Leicester-Square—could repeat the biography of all Mr. Pidcock's menagerial subjects, together with those of the Tower—understood the Sunday park-ride, and knew to a fraction the charges of all respectable horse-hirers in London—could discuss a plate of a-la-mode at the Three Cantons, or ticket his way to a Guildhall dinner—was well acquainted with Gog and Magog, and could criticize a peal of triple bob-majors with any citizen within the sound of Bow-bells. From his face, (although full twenty-seven years old,) one could tell that his taste had begun upon lolly-pops, improved in raspberry-puffs, and ultimately expanded in the sugary bosom of a twelfth-cake. He was married withal; and had but just tasted the sweets of his honey-moon, when he was ordered to embark for Portugal. This last circumstance had imparted to his countenance a strong tinge of melancholy, calculated to remind the beholder of Liston, in the part of Romeo; indeed the sudden retreat of his chin and forehead, from the centre of the facial line, made him infinitely more interesting than even that performer could ever have been in his most sentimental characters. He had a purse pretty well filled with guineas, purchased at twenty-five shillings each, and a good stock of little luxuries for a sea-table; therefore was he civil and good-natured, as your true and genuine cockaignee (vulgarly spelt cockney) always is, when amongst strangers out of his own land.
When the other two Subalterns arrived on board, they were received by the Dragoon (whom we shall call Mr. Dickens) with all that condescending civility, which imaginary importance deigns to bestow upon imagined inferiority. He requested them to taste his peculiarly fine German sausage at tea; showed them his canteen, and praised the manufacture of it; promised to let them see his horses in the hold next day; and having himself taken the best birth in the cabin, recommended others for their acceptance.
The ship sailed next morning along with a numerous fleet, under convoy of the Hibernia and San Joseph, for Lisbon, and things went on agreeably enough, Lieutenant Dickens having all his own way. On the fourth day after sailing, they came in sight of the high hills, and bold coast of Portugal, within a few leagues of Oporto. It was a most delightful day; the goatherds could be plainly seen on the hills; and they no doubt admired the magnificence of the fleet, which glided under them like a flock of huge sea-birds. The water was calm, but there was a sufficient breeze in the sails (which were all set before the wind) to make the passengers imagine that the objects on shore passed rapidly by—and Lieutenant Dickens looking out from the forecastle, through a newly purchased field glass, for the boats of oranges, which (as the master of the vessel said) would put off from Oporto to the fleet, wonderfully improved the picture—in his own eyes.
Nothing could be more favourable than the voyage so far; and the officers of course expected to be on shore at Lisbon, in two days more at farthest.
In these expectations they were enjoying a pleasant dinner—the Lieutenant, from the prospect of landing, having become more condescendingly agreeable, and less inclined to muse upon his departed honey-moon. The calm sea and the sight of the land had the effect of removing from all stomachs those squeamish sensations which the rolling of the ship in the middle of the Bay of Biscay had produced, and the wine circulated well after a substantial dinner was duly disposed of.
In the course of the evening the Dragoon became peculiarly communicative, and began to comment, not only on things in general, but on things in particular: the state of the army and the state of the nation were reviewed; and in one of his harangues he roundly asserted that “the Hirish made very good private soldiers; but the hidear was preposterous to say that they were fit to command in the haumy.” To this one of the Subalterns (who happened to have been born in Ireland) replied in warm but inoffensive language, recapitulating the names of some hundreds of distinguished Irish officers, at the head of whom he placed Lord Wellington, under whose command they were, even at that moment. The Dragoon was somewhat posed at this, but rallied.
“Haw, Sir!” said he, “you mention a vast number; but I still do not halter my hopinion. Lord Wellington is a very fortunate man, Sir; but he is nothing of a commander; and before three months, Sir, we shall all be driven out of the Peninsular—that hevery body must allow.”
“I will not allow it,” replied Mr. Smith; “for one.”
“Nor I, for another,” rejoined Mr. Brown.
“'Pon my honour, gentlemen, you know nothing, either of politics or of the haumy; you should read the papers.” With this observation the Dragoon arose from the table, put on his foraging cap, and went on deck.