THE SUPPER.

I have often partaken of more luxurious cookery and rarer wines; but never do I remember enjoying a more welcome supper than on this occasion.

Our Portuguese guests left us soon, and the major and myself were once more tÊte-a-tÊte beside a cheerful fire; a well-chosen array of bottles guaranteeing that for some time at least no necessity of leave-taking should arise from any deficiency of wine.

“That sherry is very near the thing, Charley; a little, a very little sharp, but the after-taste perfect. And now, my boy, how have you been doing since we parted?”

“Not so badly, Major. I have already got a step in promotion. The affair at the Douro gave me a lieutenancy.”

“I wish you joy with all my heart. I’ll call you captain always while you’re with me. Upon my life I will. Why, man, they style me your Excellency here. Bless your heart, we are great folk among the Portuguese, and no bad service, after all.”

“I should think not, Major. You seem to have always made a good thing of it.”

“No, Charley; no, my boy. They overlook us greatly in general orders and despatches. Had the brilliant action of to-day been fought by the British—But no matter, they may behave well in England, after all; and when I’m called to the Upper House as Baron Monsoon of the Tagus,—is that better than Lord Alcantara?”

“I prefer the latter.”

“Well, then, I’ll have it. Lord! what a treaty I’ll move for with Portugal, to let us have wine cheap. Wine, you know, as David says, gives us a pleasant countenance; and oil,—I forget what oil does. Pass over the decanter. And how is Sir Arthur, Charley? A fine fellow, but sadly deficient in the knowledge of supplies. Never would have made any character in the commissariat. Bless your heart, he pays for everything here as if he were in Cheapside.”

“How absurd, to be sure!”

“Isn’t it, though? That was not my way, when I was commissary-general about a year or two ago. To be sure, how I did puzzle them! They tried to audit my accounts, and what do you think I did? I brought them in three thousand pounds in my debt. They never tried on that game any more. ‘No, no,’ said the Junta, ‘Beresford and Monsoon are great men, and must be treated with respect!’ Do you think we’d let them search our pockets? But the rogues doubled on us after all; they sent us to the northward,—a poor country—”

“So that, except a little commonplace pillage of the convents and nunneries, you had little or nothing?”

“Exactly so; and then I got a great shock about that time that affected my spirits for a considerable while.”

“Indeed, Major, some illness?”

“No, I was quite well; but—Lord, how thirsty it makes me to think of it; my throat is absolutely parched—I was near being hanged!”

“Hanged!”

“Yes. Upon my life it’s true,—very horrible, ain’t it? It had a great effect upon my nervous system; and they never thought of any little pension to me as a recompense for my sufferings.”

“And who was barbarous enough to think of such a thing, Major?”

“Sir Arthur Wellesley himself,—none other, Charley?”

“Oh, it was a mistake, Major, or a joke.”

“It was devilish near being a practical one, though. I’ll tell you how it occurred. After the battle of Vimeira, the brigade to which I was attached had their headquarters at San Pietro, a large convent where all the church plate for miles around was stored up for safety. A sergeant’s guard was accordingly stationed over the refectory, and every precaution taken to prevent pillage, Sir Arthur himself having given particular orders on the subject. Well, somehow,—I never could find out how,—but in leaving the place, all the wagons of our brigade had got some trifling articles of small value scattered, as it might be, among their stores,—gold cups, silver candlesticks, Virgin Marys, ivory crucifixes, saints’ eyes set in topazes, and martyrs’ toes in silver filagree, and a hundred other similar things.

“One of these confounded bullock-cars broke down just at the angle of the road where the commander-in-chief was standing with his staff to watch the troops defile, and out rolled, among bread rations and salt beef, a whole avalanche of precious relics and church ornaments. Every one stood aghast! Never was there such a misfortune. No one endeavored to repair the mishap, but all looked on in terrified amazement as to what was to follow.

“‘Who has the command of this detachment?’ shouted out Sir Arthur, in a voice that made more than one of us tremble.

“‘Monsoon, your Excellency,—Major Monsoon, of the Portuguese brigade.’

“‘The d—d old rogue, I know him!’ Upon my life that’s what he said. ‘Hang him up on the spot,’ pointing with his finger as he spoke; ‘we shall see if this practice cannot be put a stop to.’ And with these words he rode leisurely away, as if he had been merely ordering dinner for a small party.

“When I came up to the place the halberts were fixed, and Gronow, with a company of the Fusiliers, under arms beside them.

“‘Devilish sorry for it, Major,’ said he; ‘It’s confoundedly unpleasant; but can’t be helped. We’ve got orders to see you hanged.’

“Faith, it was just so he said it, tapping his snuff-box as he spoke, and looking carelessly about him. Now, had it not been for the fixed halberts and the provost-marshal, I’d not have believed him; but one glance at them, and another at the bullock-cart with all the holy images, told me at once what had happened.

“‘He only means to frighten me a little? Isn’t that all, Gronow?’ cried I, in a supplicating voice.

“‘Very possibly, Major,’ said he; ‘but I must execute my orders.’

“‘You’ll surely not—’ Before I could finish, up came Dan Mackinnon, cantering smartly.

“‘Going to hang old Monsoon, eh, Gronow? What fun!’

“‘Ain’t it, though,’ said I, half blubbering.

“‘Well, if you’re a good Catholic, you may have your choice of a saint, for, by Jupiter, there’s a strong muster of them here.’ This cruel allusion was made in reference to the gold and silver effigies that lay scattered about the highway.

“‘Dan,’ said I, in a whisper, ‘intercede for me. Do, like a good, kind fellow. You have influence with Sir Arthur.’

“‘You old sinner,’ said he, ‘it’s useless.’

“‘Dan, I’ll forgive you the fifteen pounds.’

“‘That you owe me,’ said Dan, laughing.

“‘Who’ll ever be the father to you I have been? Who’ll mix your punch with burned Madeira, when I’m gone?’ said I.

“‘Well, really, I am sorry for you, Monsoon. I say, Gronow, don’t tuck him up for a few minutes; I’ll speak for the old villain, and if I succeed, I’ll wave my handkerchief.’

“Well, away went Dan at a full gallop. Gronow sat down on a bank, and I fidgeted about in no very enviable frame of mind, the confounded provost-marshal eying me all the while.

“‘I can only give you five minutes more, Major,’ said Gronow, placing his watch beside him on the grass. I tried to pray a little, and said three or four of Solomon’s proverbs, when he again called out: ‘There, you see it won’t do! Sir Arthur is shaking his head.’

“‘What’s that waving yonder?’

“‘The colors of the 6th Foot. Come, Major, off with your stock.’

“‘Where is Dan now; what is he doing?’—for I could see nothing myself.

“‘He’s riding beside Sir Arthur. They all seem laughing.’

“‘God forgive them! what an awful retrospect this will prove to some of them.’

“‘Time’s up!’ said Gronow, jumping up, and replacing his watch in his pocket.

“‘Provost-Marshal, be quick now—’

“‘Eh! what’s that?—there, I see it waving! There’s a shout too!’

“‘Ay, by Jove! so it is; well, you’re saved this time, Major; that’s the signal.’

“So saying, Gronow formed his fellows in line and resumed his march quite coolly, leaving me alone on the roadside to meditate over martial law and my pernicious taste for relics.

“Well, Charley, this gave me a great shock, and I think, too, it must have had a great effect upon Sir Arthur himself; but, upon my life, he has wonderful nerves. I met him one day afterwards at dinner in Lisbon; he looked at me very hard for a few seconds: ‘Eh, Monsoon! Major Monsoon, I think?’

“‘Yes, your Excellency,’ said I, briefly; thinking how painful it must be for him to meet me.

“‘Thought I had hanged you,—know I intended it,—no matter. A glass of wine with you?’

“Upon my life, that was all; how easily some people can forgive themselves! But Charley, my hearty, we are getting on slowly with the tipple; are they all empty? So they are! Let us make a sortie on the cellar; bring a candle with you, and come along.”

We had scarcely proceeded a few steps from the door, when a most vociferous sound of mirth, arising from a neighboring apartment, arrested our progress.

“Are the dons so convivial, Major?” said I, as a hearty burst of laughter broke forth at the moment.

“Upon my life, they surprise me; I begin to fear they have taken some of our wine.”

We now perceived that the sounds of merriment came from the kitchen, which opened upon a little courtyard. Into this we crept stealthily, and approaching noiselessly to the window, obtained a peep at the scene within.

Around a blazing fire, over which hung by a chain a massive iron pot, sat a goodly party of some half-dozen people. One group lay in dark shadow; but the others were brilliantly lighted up by the cheerful blaze, and showed us a portly Dominican friar, with a beard down to his waist, a buxom, dark-eyed girl of some eighteen years, and between the two, most comfortably leaning back, with an arm round each, no less a person than my trusty man Mickey Free.

It was evident, from the alternate motion of his head, that his attentions were evenly divided between the church and the fair sex; although, to confess the truth, they seemed much more favorably received by the latter than the former,—a brown earthen flagon appearing to absorb all the worthy monk’s thoughts that he could spare from the contemplation of heavenly objects.

“Mary, my darlin,’ don’t be looking at me that way, through the corner of your eye; I know you’re fond of me,—but the girls always was. You think I’m joking, but troth I wouldn’t say a lie before the holy man beside me; sure I wouldn’t, Father?”

The friar grunted out something in reply, not very unlike, in sound at least, a hearty anathema.

“Ah, then, isn’t it yourself has the illigant time of it, Father dear!” said he, tapping him familiarly upon his ample paunch, “and nothing to trouble you; the best of divarsion wherever you go, and whether it’s Badahos or Ballykilruddery, it’s all one; the women is fond of ye. Father Murphy, the coadjutor in Scariff, was just such another as yourself, and he’d coax the birds off the trees with the tongue of him. Give us a pull at the pipkin before it’s all gone, and I’ll give you a chant.”

With this he seized the jar, and drained it to the bottom; the smack of his lips as he concluded, and the disappointed look of the friar as he peered into the vessel, throwing the others, once more, into a loud burst of laughter.

“And now, your rev’rance, a good chorus is all I’ll ask, and you’ll not refuse it for the honor of the church.”

So saying, he turned a look of most droll expression upon the monk, and began the following ditty, to the air of “Saint Patrick was a Gentleman”:—

A perfect burst of laughter from Monsoon prevented my hearing how Mike’s minstrelsy succeeded within doors; but when I looked again, I found that the friar had decamped, leaving the field open to his rival,—a circumstance, I could plainly perceive, not disliked by either party.

“Come back, Charley, that villain of yours has given me the cramp, standing here on the cold pavement. We’ll have a little warm posset,—very small and thin, as they say in Tom Jones,—and then to bed.”

Notwithstanding the abstemious intentions of the major, it was daybreak ere we separated, and neither party in a condition for performing upon the tight-rope.