A RENCONTRE.

“LIEUTENANT O’MALLEY, 14th Light Dragoons, to serve as extra aide-de-camp to Major-General Crawfurd, until the pleasure of his Royal Highness the Prince Regent is known.” Such was the first paragraph of a general order, dated Fuentes d’Onoro, the day after the battle, which met me as I woke from a sound and heavy slumber, the result of thirteen hours on horseback.

A staff appointment was not exactly what I desired at the moment; but I knew that with Crawfurd my duties were more likely to be at the pickets and advanced posts of the army, than in the mere details of note-writing or despatch-bearing; besides that, I felt, whenever anything of importance was to be done, I should always obtain his permission to do duty with my regiment.

Taking a hurried breakfast, therefore, I mounted my horse, and cantered over to Villa Formosa, where the general’s quarters were, to return my thanks for the promotion, and take the necessary steps for assuming my new functions.

Although the sun had risen about two hours, the fatigue of the previous day had impressed itself upon all around. The cavalry, men and horses, were still stretched upon the sward, sunk in sleep; the videttes, weary and tired, seemed anxiously watching for the relief; and the disordered and confused appearance of everything bespoke that discipline had relaxed its stern features, in compassion for the bold exertions of the preceding day. The only contrast to this general air of exhaustion and weariness on every side was a corps of sappers, who were busily employed upon the high grounds above the village. Early as it was, they seemed to have been at work some hours,—at least so their labors bespoke; for already a rampart of considerable extent had been thrown up, stockades implanted, and a breastwork was in a state of active preparation. The officer of the party, wrapped up in a loose cloak, and mounted upon a sharp-looking hackney, rode hither and thither as the occasion warranted, and seemed, as well as from the distance I could guess, something of a tartar. At least I could not help remarking how, at his approach, the several inferior officers seemed suddenly so much more on the alert, and the men worked with an additional vigor and activity. I stopped for some minutes to watch him, and seeing an engineer captain of my acquaintance among the party, couldn’t resist calling out:—

“I say, Hatchard, your friend on the chestnut mare must have had an easier day yesterday than some of us, or I’ll be hanged if he’d be so active this morning.” Hatchard hung his head in some confusion, and did not reply; and on my looking round, whom should I see before me but the identical individual I had so coolly been criticising, and who, to my utter horror and dismay, was no other than Lord Wellington himself. I did not wait for a second peep. Helter-skelter, through water, thickets, and brambles, away I went, clattering down the causeway like a madman. If a French squadron had been behind me, I should have had a stouter heart, although I did not fear pursuit. I felt his eye was upon me,—his sharp and piercing glance, that shot like an arrow into me; and his firm look stared at me in every object around.

Onward I pressed, feeling in the very recklessness of my course some relief to my sense of shame, and ardently hoping that some accident—some smashed arm or broken collar-bone—might befall me and rescue me from any notice my conduct might otherwise call for. I never drew rein till I reached the Villa Formosa, and pulled up short at a small cottage where a double sentry apprised me of the general’s quarters. As I came up, the low lattice sprang quickly open, and a figure, half dressed, and more than half asleep, protruded his head.

“Well, what has happened? Anything wrong?” said he, whom I now recognized to be General Crawfurd.

“No, nothing wrong, sir,” stammered I, with evident confusion. “I’m merely come to thank you for your kindness in my behalf.”

“You seemed in a devil of a hurry to do it, if I’m to judge by the pace you came at. Come in and take your breakfast with us; I shall be dressed presently, and you’ll meet some of your brother aides-de-camp.”

Having given my horse to an orderly, I walked into a little room, whose humble accommodations and unpretending appearance seemed in perfect keeping with the simple and unostentatious character of the general. The preparations for a good and substantial breakfast were, however, before me, and an English newspaper of a late date spread its most ample pages to welcome me. I had not been long absorbed in my reading, when the door opened, and the general, whose toilet was not yet completed, made his appearance.

“Egad, O’Malley, you startled me this morning. I thought we were in for it again.”

I took this as the most seasonable opportunity to recount my mishap of the morning, and accordingly, without more ado, detailed the unlucky meeting with the commander-in-chief. When I came to the end, Crawfurd threw himself into a chair and laughed till the very tears coursed down his bronzed features.

“You don’t say so, boy? You don’t really tell me you said that? By Jove! I had rather have faced a platoon of musketry than have stood in your shoes! You did not wait for a reply, I think?”

“No, faith, sir, that I did not!”

“Do you suspect he knows you?”

“I trust not, sir; the whole thing passed so rapidly!”

“Well, it’s most unlucky in more ways than one!” He paused for a few moments as he said this, and then added, “Have you seen the general order?” pushing towards me a written paper as he spoke. It ran thus:—

“Now look at this list. The Honorable Harvey Howard, Grenadier Guards, to be first lieutenant, vice—No, not that. Henry Beauchamp—George Villiers—ay, here it is! Captain Lyttleton, Fourteenth Light Dragoons, to be major in the Third Dragoon Guards, vice Godwin, killed in action; Lieutenant O’Malley to be captain, vice Lyttleton, promoted. You see, boy, I did not forget you; you were to have had the vacant troop in your own regiment. Now I almost doubt the prudence of bringing your name under Lord Wellington’s notice. He may have recognized you; and if he did so, why, I rather think—that is, I suspect—I mean, the quieter you keep the better.”

While I poured forth my gratitude as warmly as I was able for the general’s great kindness to me, I expressed my perfect concurrence in his views.

“Believe me, sir,” said I, “I should much rather wait any number of years for my promotion, than incur the risk of a reprimand; the more so, as it is not the first time I have blundered with his lordship.” I here narrated my former meeting with Sir Arthur, at which Crawfurd’s mirth again burst forth, and he paced the room, holding his sides in an ecstasy of merriment.

“Come, come, lad, we’ll hope for the best; we’ll give you the chance that he has not seen your face, and send the list forward as it is. But here come our fellows.”

As he spoke, the door opened, and three officers of his staff entered, to whom, being severally introduced, we chatted away about the news of the morning until breakfast.

“I’ve frequently heard of you from my friend Hammersley,” said Captain Fitzroy, addressing me. “You were intimately acquainted, I believe?”

“Oh, yes! Pray, where is he now? We have not met for a long time.”

“The poor fellow’s invalided; that sabre-cut upon his head has turned out a sad affair, and he’s gone back to England on a sick leave. Old Dashwood took him back with him as private secretary, or something of that sort.”

“Ah!” said another, “Dashwood has daughters, hasn’t he? No bad notion of his; for Hammersley will be a baronet some of these days, with a rent-roll of eight or nine thousand per annum.”

“Sir George Dashwood,” said I, “has but one daughter, and I am quite sure that in his kindness to Hammersley no intentions of the kind you mention were mixed up.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said the third, a pale, sickly youth, with handsome but delicate features. “I was on Dashwood’s staff until a few weeks ago, and certainly I thought there was something going on between Hammersley and Miss Lucy, who, be it spoken, is a devilish fine girl, though rather disposed to give herself airs.”

I felt my cheek and my temples boiling like a furnace; my hand trembled as I lifted my coffee to my lips; and I would have given my expected promotion twice over to have had any reasonable ground of quarrel with the speaker.

“Egad, lads,” said Crawfurd, “that’s the very best thing I know about a command. As a bishop is always sure to portion off his daughters with deaneries and rectories, so your knowing old general always marries his among his staff.”

This sally was met with the ready laughter of the subordinates, in which, however little disposed. I was obliged to join.

“You are quite right, sir,” rejoined the pale youth; “and Sir George has no fortune to give his daughter.”

“How came it, Horace, that you got off safe?” said Fitzroy, with a certain air of affected seriousness in his voice and manner. “I wonder they let such a prize escape them.”

“Well, it was not exactly their fault, I do confess. Old Dashwood did the civil towards me, and la belle Lucie herself was condescending enough to be less cruel than to the rest of the staff. Her father threw us a good deal together; and in fact, I believe—I fear—that is—that I didn’t behave quite well.”

“You may rest perfectly assured of it, sir,” said I; “whatever your previous conduct may have been, you have completely relieved your mind on this occasion, and behaved most shamefully.”

Had a shell fallen in the midst of us, the faces around me could not have been more horror-struck than when, in a cool, determined tone, I spoke these few words. Fitzroy pushed his chair slightly back from the table, and fixed his eyes full upon me. Crawfurd grew dark-purple over his whole face and forehead, and looked from one to the other of us without speaking; while the Honorable Horace Delawar, the individual addressed, never changed a muscle of his wan and sickly features, but lifting his eyes slowly from his muffin, lisped softly out,—

“You think so? How very good!”

“General Crawfurd,” said I, the moment I could collect myself sufficiently to speak, “I am deeply grieved that I should so far have forgotten myself as to disturb the harmony of your table; but when I tell you that Sir George Dashwood is one of my warmest friends on earth; that from my intimate knowledge of him, I am certain that gentleman’s statements are either the mere outpourings of folly or worse—”

“By Jove, O’Malley! you have a very singular mode of explaining away the matter. Delawar, sit down again. Gentlemen, I have only one word to say about this transaction; I’ll have no squabbles nor broils here; from this room to the guard-house is a five minutes’ walk. Promise me, upon your honors, this altercation ends here, or as sure as my name’s Crawfurd, you shall both be placed under arrest, and the man who refuses to obey me shall be sent back to England.”

Before I well knew in what way to proceed, Mr. Delawar rose and bowed formally to the general, while I imitated his example; silently we resumed our places, and after a pause of a few moments, the current of conversation was renewed, and other topics discussed, but with such evident awkwardness and constraint that all parties felt relieved when the general rose from table.

“I say, O’Malley, have you forwarded the returns to the adjutant-general’s office?”

“Yes, sir; I despatched them this morning before leaving my quarters.”

“I am glad of it; the irregularities on this score have called forth a heavy reprimand at headquarters.”

I was also glad of it, and it chanced that by mere accident I remembered to charge Mike with the papers, which, had they not been lying unsealed upon the table before me, would, in all likelihood, have escaped my attention. The post started to Lisbon that same morning, to take advantage of which I had sat up writing for half the night. Little was I aware at the moment what a mass of trouble and annoyance was in store for me from the circumstance.