“Captain, Captain!” roared he out, “how are you again, Sir? I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Thus was I saddled with his company, rather against my will; but as I had nothing either to amuse or employ me at that moment, I submitted quietly, and we walked together towards the market-place. It was during this walk I learned that my companion was not the master of the butter-schooner, but a “Gentleman Volunteer,” absolutely on his way to the head-quarters of the army. So sincerely did he assure me of this, ridiculous as it appeared, that I hesitated not to offer the hospitality of my quarters, which he very readily accepted, and we lost not a moment in proceeding to crack a bottle; or, rather, broach a pig-skin, for in such vessels was the wine of Renteria usually contained.
We sat together for a few hours, and I found that, in his new profession, my guest was an enthusiast of the most capacious calibre; yet upon other subjects rational, and sometimes acute. To carry the matter by comparison, I will say that his intellect could have hit a thought, as a screw-barrelled pocket pistol might the ace of hearts, at ten paces, when aimed and discharged by a tolerably good shot—he would never fly a mile from it, but seldom if ever pop right through the centre. A short extract from the conversation of the evening will outline my man, far better than comment. This I will attempt from memory. In the dialogue, I will call him I. and myself II.—not that there were two to one against the Volunteer in any sense; but for the sake of brevity.
I. Yes, Captain, I have determined to join my gallant countrymen in their glorious cause, and lend a hand to pull down the tyrant Buonaparte.
II. That is laudable, Sir; but I fear it will not be very profitable to you.
I. Profitable! I don’t much care for profit, so as I obtain well-earned promotion.
II. The war is now drawing to a close, and it will be difficult to succeed in your hopes.
I. The war, Sir, will never end. Excuse me, Sir—when I say never, I say only with the everlasting Scriptures, “We shall have wars and wars and rumours of wars.” Besides, Sir, the Russians, and Prussians, and Austrians, and even British, I fear, cannot effectually overcome that scourge of civil liberty, Napoleon.
II. Pardon me, Sir, I think his day is drawing to a close.
I. Impossible! the hordes of the North must vanish before him, even like the chaff before the wind. England is the only hope.