THE LAND.

It was late when we separated for the night, and the morning was already far advanced ere I awoke; the monotonous tramp overhead showed me that the others were stirring, and I gently moved the shutter of the narrow window beside me to look out.

The sea, slightly rippled upon its surface, shone like a plate of fretted gold,—not a wave, not a breaker appeared; but the rushing sound close by showed that we were moving fast through the water.

“Always calm hereabouts,” said a gruff voice on deck, which I soon recognized as the skipper’s; “no sea whatever.”

“I can make nothing of it,” cried out Power, from the forepart of the vessel. “It appears to me all cloud.”

“No, no, sir, believe me; it’s no fog-bank, that large dark mass to leeward there,—that’s Cintra.”

“Land!” cried I, springing up, and rushing upon deck; “where, Skipper,—where is the land?”

“I say, Charley,” said Power, “I hope you mean to adopt a little more clothing on reaching Lisbon; for though the climate is a warm one—”

“Never mind, O’Malley,” said the major, “the Portuguese will only be flattered by the attention, if you land as you are.”

“Why, how so?”

“Surely, you remember what the niggers said when they saw the 79th Highlanders landing at St. Lucie. They had never seen a Scotch regiment before, and were consequently somewhat puzzled at the costume; till at last, one more cunning than the rest explained it by saying: ‘They are in such a hurry to kill the poor black men that they came away without their breeches.’”

“Now, what say you?” cried the skipper, as he pointed with his telescope to a dark-blue mass in the distance; “see there!”

“Ah, true enough; that’s Cintra!”

“Then we shall probably be in the Tagus River before morning?”

“Before midnight, if the wind holds,” said the skipper. We breakfasted on deck beneath an awning. The vessel scarcely seemed to move as she cut her way through the calm water.

The misty outline of the coast grew gradually more defined, and at length the blue mountains could be seen; at first but dimly, but as the day wore on, their many-colored hues shone forth, and patches of green verdure, dotted with sheep or sheltered by dark foliage, met the eye. The bulwarks were crowded with anxious faces; each looked pointedly towards the shore, and many a stout heart beat high, as the land drew near, fated to cover with its earth more than one among us.

“And that’s Portingale, Mister Charles,” said a voice behind me. I turned and saw my man Mike, as with anxious joy, he fixed his eyes upon the shore.

“They tell me it’s a beautiful place, with wine for nothing and spirits for less. Isn’t it a pity they won’t be raisonable and make peace with us?”

“Why, my good fellow, we are excellent friends; it’s the French who want to beat us all.”

“Upon my conscience, that’s not right. There’s an ould saying in Connaught, ‘It’s not fair for one to fall upon twenty.’ Sergeant Haggarty says that I’ll see none of the divarsion at all.”

“I don’t well understand—”

“He does be telling me that, as I’m only your footboy, he’ll send me away to the rear, where there’s nothing but wounded and wagons and women.”

“I believe the sergeant is right there; but after all, Mike, it’s a safe place.”

“Ah, then, musha for the safety! I don’t think much of it. Sure, they might circumvint us. And av it wasn’t displazing to you, I’d rather list.”

“Well, I’ve no objection, Mickey. Would you like to join my regiment?”

“By coorse, your honor. I’d like to be near yourself; bekase, too, if anything happens to you,—the Lord be betune us and harm,” here he crossed himself piously,—“sure, I’d like to be able to tell the master how you died; and sure, there’s Mr. Considine—God pardon him! He’ll be beating my brains out av I couldn’t explain it all.”

“Well, Mike, I’ll speak to some of my friends here about you, and we’ll settle it all properly. Here’s the doctor.”

“Arrah, Mr. Charles, don’t mind him. He’s a poor crayture entirely. Devil a thing he knows.”

“Why, what do you mean, man? He’s physician to the forces.”

“Oh, be-gorra, and so he may be!” said Mike, with a toss of his head. “Those army docthers isn’t worth their salt. It’s thruth I’m telling you. Sure, didn’t he come to see me when I was sick below in the hould?

“‘How do you feel?’ says he.

“‘Terribly dhry in the mouth,’ says I.

“‘But your bones,’ says he; ‘how’s them?’

“‘As if cripples was kicking me,’ says I.

“Well, with that he wint away, and brought back two powders.

“‘Take them,’ says he, ‘and you’ll be cured in no time.’

“‘What’s them?’ says I.

“‘They’re ematics,’ says he.

“‘Blood and ages!’ says I, ‘are they?’

“‘Devil a lie,’ says he; ‘take them immediately.’

“And I tuk them; and would you believe me, Mister Charles?—it’s thruth I’m telling you,—devil a one o’ them would stay on my stomach. So you see what a docther he is!”

I could not help smiling at Mike’s ideas of medicine, as I turned away to talk to the major, who was busily engaged beside me. His occupation consisted in furbishing up a very tarnished and faded uniform, whose white seams and threadbare lace betokened many years of service.

“Getting up our traps, you see, O’Malley,” said he, as he looked with no small pride at the faded glories of his old vestment. “Astonish them at Lisbon, we flatter ourselves. I say, Power, what a bad style of dress they’ve got into latterly, with their tight waist and strapped trousers; nothing free, nothing easy, nothing dÉgagÉ about it. When in a campaign, a man ought to be able to stow prog for twenty-four hours about his person, and no one the wiser. A very good rule, I assure you, though it sometimes leads to awkward results. At Vimeira, I got into a sad scrape that way. Old Sir Harry, that commanded there, sent for the sick return. I was at dinner when the orderly came, so I packed up the eatables about me, and rode off. Just, however, as I came up to the quarters, my horse stumbled and threw me slap on my head.

“‘Is he killed?’ said Sir Harry.

“‘Only stunned, your Excellency,’ said some one.

“‘Then he’ll come to, I suppose. Look for the papers in his pocket.’

“So they turned me on my back, and plunged a hand into my side-pocket; but, the devil take it! they pulled out a roast hen. Well, the laugh was scarcely over at this, when another fellow dived into my coat behind, and lugged out three sausages; and so they went on, till the ground was covered with ham, pigeon-pie, veal, kidney, and potatoes; and the only thing like a paper was a mess-roll of the 4th, with a droll song about Sir Harry written in pencil on the back of it. Devil of a bad affair for me! I was nearly broke for it; but they only reprimanded me a little, and I was afterwards attached to the victualling department.”

What an anxious thing is the last day of a voyage! How slowly creep the hours, teeming with memories of the past and expectations of the future!

Every plan, every well-devised expedient to cheat the long and weary days is at once abandoned; the chess-board and the new novel are alike forgotten, and the very quarter-deck walk, with its merry gossip and careless chit-chat, becomes distasteful. One blue and misty mountain, one faint outline of the far-off shore, has dispelled all thought of these; and with straining eye and anxious heart, we watch for land.

As the day wears on apace, the excitement increases; the faint and shadowy forms of distant objects grow gradually clearer. Where before some tall and misty mountain peak was seen, we now descry patches of deepest blue and sombre olive; the mellow corn and the waving woods, the village spire and the lowly cot, come out of the landscape; and like some well-remembered voice, they speak of home. The objects we have seen, the sounds we have heard a hundred times before without interest, become to us now things that stir the heart.

For a time the bright glare of the noonday sun dazzles the view and renders indistinct the prospect; but as evening falls, once more is all fair and bright and rich before us. Rocked by the long and rolling swell, I lay beside the bowsprit, watching the shore-birds that came to rest upon the rigging, or following some long and tangled seaweed as it floated by; my thoughts now wandering back to the brown hills and the broad river of my early home, now straying off in dreary fancies of the future.

How flat and unprofitable does all ambition seem at such moments as these; how valueless, how poor, in our estimation, those worldly distinctions we have so often longed and thirsted for, as with lowly heart and simple spirit we watch each humble cottage, weaving to ourselves some story of its inmates as we pass!

The night at length closed in, but it was a bright and starry one, lending to the landscape a hue of sombre shadow, while the outlines of the objects were still sharp and distinct as before. One solitary star twinkled near the horizon. I watched it as, at intervals disappearing, it would again shine out, marking the calm sea with a tall pillar of light.

“Come down, Mr. O’Malley,” cried the skipper’s well-known voice,—“come down below and join us in a parting glass; that’s the Lisbon light to leeward, and before two hours we drop our anchor in the Tagus.”