Now for the fight. On the morning of the battle of Toulouse we left Grenade. It was known amongst us that the battle was coming off; and we started in the expectation of passing the night either in the city itself, or in its immediate vicinity. We ascended towards the city by the left bank of the Garonne, but reached a pontoon bridge, which enabled us to cross to the right bank, where the main body of our troops was posted. The fight had commenced. We heard the firing as we advanced; and while we approached the scene of action, it became gradually louder and more distinct. Immediately in the rear of the British lines we halted, not knowing the ground, and withdrew from the road into a field which was close at hand, in order that our numerous party might not prove an obstacle to passing troops, ammunition, or artillery. Our forces held the low ground, and closed, in a sort of semicircle, around the heights occupied by the French. As it so happened that I was not only at this battle, but in it, I here beg leave to relate the circumstances which led to my finding myself in a position where, as a civilian, I was so little wanted, and so much out of my ordinary sphere of duty.

Sancho did it all. We were sitting upon our nags, speculating upon the fight, and seeing all that could be seen, till we began to think we knew something of what was going on. At this moment rode up from the rear, coming across the fields, an old officer of rank, a major-general, well known at headquarters, without aide-de-camp, orderly, or any kind of attendant. He inquired eagerly, "Where are the troops?—Where are the troops?" We pointed forward; little was visible but trees. He looked rather at a loss, but turned his horse's head in the direction we had indicated. That villain Sancho, seeing another horse go on, snorted, and pulled at the bridle. He was tired of standing still. I, ever indulgent to Sancho, followed the old general, and soon overtook him. "I believe I know the position of the troops, sir. Will you give me leave to show you?"

"Thank you, sir, thank you," said he; "I shall really be much obliged."

We rode on till we reached a British regiment, drawn up in line. With renewed acknowledgments he then took his leave. The air was musical above our heads with whistling and humming missiles. I was now fairly upon the ground, and didn't like to go back.

There was a lull in the fight. The spectacle was singular. Some firing was kept up on both sides, but not sufficient to obscure the view of the French position, which rose immediately in front, a bare range of hills, crowned by their redoubts. The atmosphere was bright; and though the skirmishers on the declivity were discoverable only by small white jets of smoke, as they fired from time to time, every movement of the enemy on the summit, with the sky for its background, was perfectly visible. I noticed a single horseman, probably an aide-de-camp bearing orders, as distinct and diminutive as if seen through the wrong end of a telescope. You might perceive the very action of his horse, that laborious up-and-down gallop of the French manÉge, which throws away so much of the animal's strength, and sacrifices speed without securing elegance.

The combat, at this moment, was renewed, and our troops went to work in earnest. The Spanish army ascended the hill to assault the enemy's redoubts. This movement, at first, had all the regularity of a review. But the redoubts opened their fire; as the Spaniards moved up, the smoke rolled down; and, when the wind swept it away, their broken bands were seen in precipitate retreat, followed by a large body of the French, who swarmed out from their intrenchments. Instantly, and just in front of me, our artillery opened upon the pursuing foe. The round-shot plumped into their columns, knocking up clods as high as a house; and the enemy, not relishing this salutation, hastily fell back to their former position. Sancho now became a dreadful plague. He had for some time been getting unquiet, and, with the continual firing, he grew worse and worse. I believe this was his first battle, as it was mine. Not content with a little extra restiveness at every fresh discharge of artillery, he had worked himself into a state of chronic excitement, and, at intervals, attempted to bolt. It was clear I must get rid of Sancho, or see no more of the fight; so I deposited him in a stable, under care of a cottager, in the adjoining village.

Still moving towards the left, along the base of the hill, I reached a part of the British position, where a number of our troops were waiting to storm the heights, when the flank movement against the enemy's right, which was his weakest point, should be sufficiently advanced. All at once I plumped upon "Cousin Tom," whom I had not met since he embarked, three years before, a raw subaltern, at Portsmouth. There he now stood, as large as life, rough and ugly, at the head of his regiment, a regular "Old Peninsular;" and on him had devolved the duty, as he gave me to understand, of "taking those fellows up the hill." This service, I thought, would have fallen to some officer of higher rank; but Tom explained. The regiment having been reduced, either by losses or detachment, its numbers in the field were small, and he, being the senior officer present, of course had to "carry them up." "Come," said he, "we are going to take a look at those monsieurs above there; you may as well go with us."

The proposal was coolly made, so I took it coolly. "With all my heart," said I. "You know what is the feeling towards an amateur. If he makes an ass of himself, he's laughed at; and if he gets hit, they only say, it serves him right. If it's of any use, I'll go with pleasure."

"Use?" said Tom; "the greatest use. Why, I want to ask you twenty questions about friends in England. Besides, you know, if I am knocked over, you can pick me up."

"Very well, then; and you can do the same for me."

"No, no," said cousin Tom; "I don't promise that. Got my men to attend to. If I am hit, you must take care of me. If you are hit, you must take care of yoursel——Oh, that's the signal. Come along." Away we went, up the hill.

Rank and file—double-quick time—a capital pace for opening the chest. Tom took it easy, trotting on at a steady pace, and assailing me with a running fire of questions; while the row that had already commenced above prevented my returning categorical replies. "Is your father at sea now?"—Bang! from one of the big guns in the French batteries right over our heads. "Got any brandy?"—A shout from a thousand throats, in the rush and shock of a charge with bayonets. "Had breakfast this morning?"—Pop! pop! pop! a running fire of musketry. Pop! pop! pop! "Got any cigars?"—Bang! bang! the big guns at it again. "When did you hear from your mother?" A new sound, less loud and sudden, but, from its peculiarity, distinct amidst the din; a spiteful, whirling, whizzing noise, ten thousand skyrockets combined in one; not, though, like the skyrocket, first loud, then less audible—quite the contrary. Commencing with a faint and distant hiss, it grew louder and louder, came singing on, nearer and nearer, till a shell dropped a few yards in front of our column! The hiss was now an angry roar, like the blowing off of steam. There lay the bottled demon, full in our path, threatening instant destruction, and daring us to advance. Our column halted. "Hurra! my lads," cried Cousin Tom, waving his sword. "Come along, old Five-and-threepennies. Push by it at once, before it spreads." The game old Five-and-threepennies gave a shout—rushed forward—got by in time; each yelping and capering as he passed the fizzing foe. Bang went the shell. For a few seconds I was stone deaf. Never felt such an odd sensation. Not the deafness, but the return of hearing. First, perfect silence in the midst of the turmoil—then the crack! crack! bang! bang! as if you had suddenly flung open a door. Not a man of us was hurt. "Got an English paper?" said Tom.

"I've got some intelligence for you, old chap, not in this morning's Times. Just look up there, in front."

The view in front was striking and picturesque. Right above us, dimly visible through the smoke, on the verge of the platform or table-land which we were mounting to assault, appeared a regiment of French infantry, enough of them to eat us up, advancing upon us with an irregular fire, and led on by their colonel. He rode a showy horse; and, hat in hand, waved them on, while his white hairs streamed in the wind, and his whole bearing announced the brave old soldier. "We must form line," said Tom. It was done forthwith, with steadiness, order, and rapidity. "Make ready—present—fire." Crack! went all the muskets together. I saw the gallant old colonel, with outspread arms, tumbling from his horse.—"Charge!" We rushed upon the foe; but, when the smoke had cleared away, found no foe to fight withal. Nothing was visible, save their knapsacks in the distance, poppling up and down in the smoke, as they scampered off. We still continued advancing in pursuit, and now were fairly in for it, half choked with dust and sulphur. If it be asked, how far I personally contributed to the triumphs of that glorious day, I beg leave to answer:—Unquestionably my arm performed prodigies of valour; of that there neither is, nor can be, the shadow of a doubt. But as I should have felt it extremely difficult to give a distinct account of my exploits if questioned on the day, why, of course you won't expect it now, after the lapse of six-and-thirty years. Suffice it to say, we made good our footing on the platform, drove the enemy from their position, occupied it ourselves, took possession of their redoubts, and formed, with the rest of the British forces, on the summit of the heights. The day was our own. But there was one unfortunate circumstance to damp our exultation; Cousin Tom was missing. A sergeant now informed me he was wounded, and had gone to the rear.

CHAPTER XX. AND LAST.

As victory had crowned our efforts, and my valuable services were now no longer required, I determined to look for Cousin Tom, and walked down the hill for that purpose. At its base, I entered a long thicket or shrubbery. There, amongst the trees, I found several wounded men, whom their comrades were removing off the ground. No one could give me the information that I sought; no one knew anything of Cousin Tom. Saw a sergeant sitting on a bank, who, I soon discovered, was also wounded. He knew no such officer; had seen no one answering the description. "What's your injury, sergeant?"

"A musket-ball in my ankle, sir."

"Well, but hadn't I better help you to a place of shelter?"

"Much obliged to you, sir; but I couldn't walk, even with your support. I'd rather wait till my turn comes to be carried, if you've no objections, sir. Much obliged to you, equally all the same, sir."

"As you please. Can I render you any assistance? What can I do for you?"

"If you'd have the kindness, sir, perhaps you'd be so good and take off my gaiter. I can't take it off myself, sir, though I've tried; it does hurt me so when I stoop forward. I'm afraid the bleeding will spoil it, sir; and then I shall be forced to take out a new pair."

Having performed this office, and administered a little brandy both topically and constitutionally, I once more ascended the hill, thinking it possible Cousin Tom might be somewhere nearer the scene of action. I inquired and looked in every direction, but without success. Where are you, Cousin Tom? This time my steps brought me into one of the redoubts, which had been carried by our troops. When I entered, there were not a dozen men in it. Sunset was near, and everything over for the day. Yet just at that moment, for what reason I know not, perhaps for a freak, the enemy thought fit to open upon this all but unoccupied post, from their own lines nearer the city, with a heavy fire of shot and shell. Bang went a shell, knocking up bushels of earth and mire. Plump came a round-shot, into the mud parapet of the redoubt. It was no use moving; one place was as hot as another. So we had nothing to do for it but to stand still and exchange grins till the pelting was over. I then took my leave for the evening. The day indeed was drawing to a close as I descended the hill; and happily I succeeded in reaching the village, and finding the cottage where Sancho had been left in charge, just after it became pitch-dark. A cheering light streamed through the cottage window; and, on entering, I found comfortably seated by the blazing hearth a veterinary surgeon, who was there in charge of wounded horses. He very civilly informed me there were two good beds, so all was right with respect to accommodation; and, more civilly still, invited me to partake of his supper, which was boiling on the fire. Not having eaten a morsel since my early breakfast at Grenade, and having just discovered that I was enormously hungry, I accepted the invitation with glee, took my seat, and cast many a glance at the boiling, bubbling, and steaming kettle. Presently the contents were turned out into a large, old-fashioned tureen, and displayed to my eager gaze a compound of various materials, the chief of which were a fowl, and—what d'ye think?—a pig's heart. Supper excellent. Bed ditto.

Next day early I resumed my search for Cousin Tom, but still, alas! without success. Went from village to village, inquired from house to house, searched the whole neighbourhood. Lots of wounded officers, but not the man I sought. Throughout the day my search was unsuccessful. Towards night I was passing through a street of scattered houses, a sort of hamlet, and was beginning to think of securing a lodging and a dinner. Wolves rouse at sunset; and I distinctly felt one gnawing at my stomach. At this painful juncture, much to my satisfaction, at the door of a cottage I discovered a jolly acquaintance, whom I beg to introduce as my "Fat Friend." He was one of the smartest clerks amongst our civilians, and probably the youngest; under, rather than over fifteen; in short, a chubby boy, who somehow or other had broken away from his mother's apron-strings, and obtained a post, which he filled in a way that did him credit. In one respect he was precocious; namely, that he soon proved himself up to all the waggery and villainy of headquarters. Moreover, he had a vast idea of maintaining his importance, and could take his own part; was touchy in anything that affected his manhood; and, if you offended him, punched your head; brushed up to fine women, with a marked preference for a bouncer. Yet, after all, he was but an overgrown boy, and often afforded us sport by his mannish airs. "Ah, Fatty, is that you? Glad to see you. Got any room?"

"Plenty, plenty," said Fatty; "good entertainment for man and horse. Glad to see you; and glad to see the pony. Here, Francisco, take Sancho, and give him some corn. Come in, old fellow. Sit down, and make yourself comfortable. Dreadful dull here—horrid! Left in charge of the departmental boxes."

"I say, Fatty; have you dined?"

"Dined? We dined an hour ago." Fatty saw his advantage, and was resolved to make the most of it.

"Well, what did you have for dinner? Got any cold beef?"

"Why, where have you been?" said Fatty; "haven't seen you these two days. Oh, I suppose you got into Toulouse. Lots of fine gals?"

"Answer my question, and I'll answer yours."

"Come out, old fellow. Let's take a turn through village before it gets dark. Dinner? Why, a turkey. Sorry you were not with us to partake. Not a morsel left. Picked the old gobbler clean, drumsticks and all."

"I wish you'd let me send your fellow for some beef."

"Oh yes," said Fatty, "send him by all means. Sorry to inform you it's no use, though. Not a morsel of rations to be had; not a biscuit. What, haven't you dined?" I saw he meant to have his joke, so made no reply.

There was a dodge, though; my remedy was in my pocket. Brought out a cigar, one of my choice grenadiers; struck a light, blew a fragrant cloud, took it easy. The rich odour diffused itself through the apartment.

Fatty, knowing in cigars, soon discovered that mine was no common weed. He first drew a sniff; then gave utterance to his emotions in a coaxing and admiring "Oh!" I took no notice.

"Come, old fellow," said Fatty; "hand out one of those."

"Lost your cigar-case?"

"No, no; nonsense. Come, give us one; that's a good chap."

Failing in his request, Fatty sat silent and fidgetty. The first finished, I lit a second.

Fatty watched his opportunity; made a vicious grab at the case. I was too quick for him—knew his ways. Down he sat again; tried all the varieties of entreating, threatening, bullying, wheedling, till cigar the second was burnt out. When I extracted the third, Fatty could stand it no longer; made a rush, and commenced a ferocious assault, pitching it in, right and left. The punches came so fierce and fast, I was at length compelled, in self-defence, to administer a slight persuader, and Fatty found it convenient to resume his seat. He sat awhile, sulky and all but blubbering; then hastily rose, and stalked out of the room in high dudgeon. I presently found him stationed at the front door with his hands in his pocket, very pensive and dignified. Shortly after, he slipped into the house; Francisco appeared with the tablecloth and a bottle of wine; then came half a turkey and the cold beef. After dinner we clubbed our resources, and closed the evening with whisky punch and prime cigars.

Next morning early, started afresh in search of Cousin Tom. Near Toulouse, fell in with Gingham—told him my difficulties. "Come up the hill," said Gingham; "I'll go with you. There, no doubt, we shall find your cousin's regiment." On reaching the summit of the heights, we found our way in the first instance into the Colombette redoubt; the same in which, on the day of the fight, the brave Forty-second had been suddenly overwhelmed by a superior force, and had lost four-fifths of its numbers. Within the redoubt were standing two or three privates; they belonged to the Forty-second. The uniform at once reminded me of Corporal Fraser, the trusty companion of my march to headquarters. I asked one of the privates, did he know the Corporal. "He joined about three weeks ago, sir."

"Hope he's well. Where is he now?"

"He's there, sir," said the man, pointing to the parapet of the redoubt. I looked, but saw no one.

"The earth," said Gingham, "seems to have been recently stirred there. That mound, I think, is not many days old." Then, addressing the soldier, "your regiment suffered a heavy loss. Is that where you buried after the action?"

"That's the place, sir." The man then walked away, as if little disposed for conversation.

We did not pause to calculate how many bodies would fill a space commensurate with the length, breadth, and altitude of the soil displaced. There lay the slain of a gallant regiment, in the redoubt they had so nobly won. There lay Corporal Fraser, who, in all the difficulties of our march, had shown himself trustworthy, fearless, intelligent, and energetic. He had longed to join ere the day of combat, and had found a soldier's grave.

We discovered at length the sergeant who had informed me of my cousin's wound. He now pointed to a large house, near the thicket at the bottom of the hill. While searching for Cousin Tom on the day of the fight, I was close to that same house, but without seeing it. From our present elevated position it was distinctly visible, though not from the low ground, amongst trees and underwood.

Our approach to the house led us through the thicket. While making our way among the trees, we both, Gingham and I, came to a halt at the same instant. The sight which arrested our steps was new to Gingham, not to me. I saw, on that spot, an object that I had seen two days before. The sergeant whom I had then found wounded was still sitting there, on the same bank, in the same attitude! There he had sat the whole time, overlooked by the bearers, and unable to move. Viewed at the distance of a few paces, his aspect scarcely appeared changed. It was the identical figure—I remembered him at once. But on a nearer inspection, the alteration was but too manifest. His eye was glazed, and half shut. His face was that of a corpse. He sat up, like a dead man galvanised. "What, still here, sergeant? Has nobody come to remove you yet."

He attempted to speak—paused—at length found utterance. "Sorry I didn't accept your offer, sir." His voice was low and husky, but distinct.

"Come," said Gingham, "you mustn't refuse this time. We'll soon carry you into the house just by."

"Thank you, sir; thank you, gentlemen. Would you have the kindness though—I should be sorry to lose my gaiter."

The gaiter secured, we prepared to lift the sufferer from his seat, and he on his part made a feeble effort to rise. The attempt brought on a gush of pain. For a moment, his features were distorted with intolerable anguish; the next, he fainted in our arms.

"Now then," said Gingham, thrusting back into his sidepocket a small flask which he had just drawn out. "Now then; away with him at once, before he recovers. Come, Mr Y——; you take his shoulders, I'll take his legs. It may save him further pain."

We bore the sufferer, still senseless, to the house. Gingham, not having a hand to spare, banged at the door with his foot. It was opened by Mr Staff-surgeon Pledget, who bowed on recognising us, but looked rather perplexed at the unexpected addition to his duties.

Pledget gave instant directions for the accommodation of the wounded man, and informed me, in reply to my inquiries for Cousin Tom, that he had an officer under his care, answering to my description. Pledget appeared bewildered, and stood with us in the passage a few moments, without speaking. At length he opened the door of a small chamber close by, and begged us to enter. He placed chairs for us, and seated himself on the bed. "I'm rather exhausted," said he.

"I fear after such a fight," said Gingham, "your duties must be heavy indeed."

"Oh yes," said Pledget, looking distressed and rather wild. "I have had much work, and little assistance; a long spell, too."

"Why, you began, I suppose," replied Gingham, "early on the day of the fight."

"Yes," said Pledget; "and I've been at it ever since. Let me see: two days and two nights, isn't it? Yes, and now going on for the third. Here have I been operating, bandaging, taking up arteries, taking off arms and legs, night and day, without time to lie down, almost without a moment to eat. In fact," said he, looking about the room like a man lost, "this is the first time I've sat down these eight-and-forty hours."

Pledget's look bore full testimony to his toils. Three weeks' illness could hardly have wrought a greater change. Nor was his appearance mended by his garb. He wore a sort of operating gown similar to that employed in dissecting; a long pinafore with sleeves, protecting the whole person from the chin to the feet, tied round the middle, and closing with a fold behind. The front was spotted in every part with jets of blood from wounded arteries. Some of the stains had dried on, and blackened where they dried; others, more recent, were still moist and crimson. Blood was on his unshaven and haggard face; and on his hands, too, wore marks of blood.

Gingham eyed him with a look of deep concern. "I really fear," said Gingham, "you've been quite overdone."

"I did hope, before this," replied Pledget, "to be relieved by other gentlemen of my own department. I have but one medical assistant, and he, at this moment, can afford me no help, for I have been forced to leave him sitting with his finger on a wounded artery; and if he takes it off but for a few seconds, the major's a dead man."

Pledget now looked like a man that can't remember what's next. "Oh," said he, in all absent tone, "so peace is really concluded. Come, Mr Y——, suppose we go and look for your cousin. His case, I'm happy to say, is not serious. The ball will be extracted this evening, and then, I hope, he will do well."

Pledget spoke, but did not stir. "By the bye," he added, "you know Captain Gabion? I think you do. Oh yes, I recollect; we were all three fellow-passengers from Lisbon to Falmouth. No, no, what am I saying? From Falmouth to Lisbon. His case is past hope. He can hardly live through the night."

Gingham and I rose at once from our seats. For the moment, the imminent danger of a man we so highly esteemed, expelled from my thoughts even Cousin Tom. Pledget also rose, as if to lead the way, but again lapsed into forgetfulness. His mind was evidently worn out, as well as his body. "Well," said he, "I'm glad we've got Toulouse.—Gentlemen, I beg your pardon. This way, if you please; up stairs."

He led the way. Every open door, as we passed through the spacious mansion, discovered a room crowded with wounded and dying men, in beds, or on the ground. Or, if we saw not into the apartment, sounds were heard, which told of anguish and laceration within. We were conducted by Pledget into a large room on the first floor, filled, like the others, with every form of suffering. Some, slightly wounded, sat round the fire, on which cookery was proceeding in kettles of every size and shape. One officer, bandaged round the head, had become delirious. He alternately laughed and whimpered, muttered and sang. Another sat near him, moaning, with his arm in a sling. A spent cannon ball had smashed the bones from the elbow to the wrist, without inflicting an external wound. Every bed had an occupant; and many lay upon the floor, with only a blanket under them. My eye glanced round the apartment, and lighted on the pinched features and pallid visage of Captain Gabion.

He lay on his back in bed. Death was legible in his aspect. His eyes were all but shut; but, from time to time, a convulsive twitching of the muscles suddenly expanded them to their full width. To all appearance, he was perfectly insensible. His breathing was irregular and laborious; but the expression of his countenance, except when disfigured by the spasms which occasionally shot through his frame, and jerked him from head to foot, was, as in health, calm and dignified. Strange indeed were the vicissitudes, strange was the contrast, between the rigid tranquillity of one moment, and the awful distortion of the next. Now, it was the quivering play of features pulled by muscular contraction; now, the monumental repose of marble.

"I fear," whispered Gingham to Pledget, "you view the case unfavourably." Pledget hopelessly raised his eyes.

"The Captain has been insensible," said Pledget, "ever since he was brought in; and probably will continue so till he expires."

We turned from this sad spectacle, without exchanging a syllable. A handkerchief was whisked in my face. I looked round; there was the man I wanted. In the next bed, tucked in, with smiling face, little changed since we parted, a splendid specimen of the ugly-handsome—those fellows that make the biggest holes in ladies' hearts—lay Cousin Tom. Gingham, my object attained, forthwith took a temporary leave—had urgent business in Toulouse—an appointment—would return as soon as possible.

"Fine fellow, that" said Cousin Tom, craning round, and nodding at Captain Gabion.

"Well, Tom," said I; "what's the matter with YOU? What brought YOU here?"

"Oh, not much; nothing," replied Tom, curling out his lips contemptuously, like a disappointed man; "only a musket-shot. It won't get me a step, I'm afraid; no, nor a pension neither."

"Well, but how was it? When was it? We lost you in a moment."

"I'll tell you just how it happened," said Tom. "You saw the old colonel knocked over. Ah! Don't touch the bed; that's a good fellow. Well. Directly after, you know, we charged. I was running on; felt a smart crack in the small of my leg. Thought it was a stone; took no notice. A few paces further, though, found I couldn't walk. The sergeant looked at my leg; said 'You're wounded, sir.' Wounded I was, sure enough; and disabled, too. Got carried to the rear; placed myself in the doctor's—"

Here Tom suddenly knit his brows. His colour changed in an instant from florid to livid; his whole face was distorted with pain. Clapping his handkerchief to his mouth, he chewed away at it with all his might, while big drops of sweat started out on his forehead, and he drew in breath till the bedclothes heaved. Next moment he was himself again.

Once more Tom nodded at the next bed. "Known him long? The doctor knows him."

"We came over from England, all three of us in a ship."

"Doctor was out, though, in one thing," said Cousin Tom. "Told you he was insensible ever since he came in. No such thing; this morning he revived; for about an hour seemed quite himself. Told me how he got hit."

"Then tell me. I must communicate with his friends in England."

"Well," replied Tom, "the Captain wasn't on duty here at headquarters; was doing some field-works on the left bank of the river, to be ready for Soult in case of his bolting again for the south. He heard, though, that the fight was coming off; so rode in on the morning. Found out there was to be a flank movement to the left; thought he might as well explore the line of march; went forward alone. Passed through the thicket on foot; made his way from one end to the other. When he reached the further extremity, just where our men got such a pounding afterwards from the guns on the heights, he looked out for the enemy's skirmishers; saw no one; thought he might as well go a little further. Just then our batteries at the right opened on the French position; some of our shots flew too high, and came clean over the hill into the lane, just exactly where he was standing."—Indeed! I thought of Captain Gabion's dream.—"Well; he saw one coming; didn't trouble himself; it seemed spent. Just when he thought it was going to stop, it fetched a pitch; took him in the side. He was found when our troops advanced, and brought in here." At this moment the pain returned. Tom again made wry faces, took another chew at his handkerchief, and soon recovered as before.

"Well, Tom; I'm a leisure man. What can I do for you? Is there anything you want?—anything I can get you?"

Cousin Tom looked very much as if there was something he did want, yet was backward to speak. "Why," said he, "I suppose by this time you can get into Toulouse. I wish you would make inquiries; try and find me some—But never mind; it's of no use. The ball will be extracted this evening, and to-morrow I shall go in myself."

"Nonsense, nonsense; I'll go this instant."

"Don't be too sure of that, though," said Tom. "Yesterday morning I tried it. Told the servant to have my mule ready; got my things on while the doctor was sawing away on the other floor; slipped down stairs; gave him the go-by. Mounted—rode to the top of the hill—was riding down into the city—almost rode into a French piquet."

"No fear of that now, Tom; the city is ours. I saw the French troops marching out. Come, tell us, old fellow. What is it you fancy? Anything the doctor sanctions, you know. A quarter of mutton?—a dozen of pigeons?—some prime French sausages?—a bushel or so of oysters? What do you say to a brace of biddies?"

"Oh, no!—oh, no!" said Tom, as if the very mention of biddies made him sick. "We were always in advance; got fowls and turkeys till we hated the sight of them."

"Any dish from a French cuisine, then?"

"Oh, no—oh, no! Nothing French, nothing Frenchified. What I want, if it's to be got at all, is not to be got good, except in England—or the West Indies."

"Well, but, you know, Bordeaux is open; West India produce has come into the country by ship-loads. What is it? Come, just tell us, old chap, and I'll go and get it for you at once, if it's to be had in Toulouse."

Tom was not so well as he looked; and there was evidently something for which, like other sick persons, he was inwardly pining. Now that I had held out a prospect of its attainment, his cheek flushed, and his eye gleamed with feverish eagerness.

"Well, then," said Tom, "I wish you would try and get me—but it's no use; it's a shame to bother you.—I say, though, can you spare the time? Have you really nothing to do? Upon your honour?—I've been longing for them, day and night, ever since I got here. Oh, if you could only get me—some tamarinds!"

His eye, while he spoke, fixed full on mine. He watched my countenance with the anxiety of a dying man when he makes his last request. "I'll be off and try this instant," said I, though really fearing there was little chance of success.

"Oh, thank you—thank you!" cried Cousin Tom. I was going. "Here—here! Come back! I want to speak to you!" I returned. "Old fellow," said Tom, with a coaxing, eager grin, "make haste now, will you? Bring 'em directly—that's a good chap."

"Well, but, you know—if tamarinds can't be had for love or money, is there nothing else?"

"No, stupid—no! Tamarinds, I say; get me some tamarinds. What did I tell you? Didn't I tell you tamarinds? Now then; what are you waiting for? Cut away, and be hanged to you! Be off!—be off!"

I entered the ancient and very interesting city of Toulouse, and rushed through streets choked with cars of wounded men, in search of tamarinds. The search was tedious, and far from satisfactory. I inquired at all the likeliest shops; found only two where they professed to sell tamarinds. The samples were similar: a made-up, sticky mess; a black, nauseous electuary, with a beastly pharmaceutical odour, and barely the flavour of tamarinds.

It was no pleasant thought returning to poor Tom with a big gallipot of this filthy compound stowed in each of my coat pockets. Yet, though bad thus to baulk him, it was worse to keep him in suspense; so I started on my return with all speed, and, in my speed, came full butt against a passenger, who hugged me like a wrestler, to prevent a mutual capsize.

"Well, Mr Y——! Glad to see you so active. Something of importance, no doubt: official duty, I suppose."

It was Gingham! I told him my troubles, my pursuit in behalf of Cousin Tom, and my disappointment. Had searched all Toulouse, and could find no good tamarinds.

"Shall be happy to supply you," said Gingham, "in any quantity your cousin can require. Got a whole kegful—capital. Always take some with me when I visit the Continent. Got them on Fish-street Hill." We walked off forthwith to Gingham's quarters.

I was speedily on my return to Cousin Tom, with Gingham for my companion, and a good jar of prime, sweet, wholesome, unsophisticated tamarinds. On approaching Tom's bed, I held up the jar in triumph. Tom raised himself without saying a word, tucked his handkerchief under his chin, and sat up, poor fellow, like a child, with eyes half-closed and mouth half-open, eager to be fed. In went a spoonful. The next instant—bolt!—it was gone! What a swallow! He sat as before, ready for another. A second allowance vanished with equal speed. Down it goes! Why, it's like feeding a young rook!—Tom now laid himself down again, exhausted. "Here," said he; and made me a present of a handful of tamarind stones. "Now put a good lot in that jug, and fill it up with water."

While the drink was mixing, an unusual sound called our attention to the adjoining bed. Captain Gabion was fast sinking. His respiration, laborious from the first, had now become painfully audible; in fact, he did not breathe, he gasped. The convulsive movements had ceased. His face retained its natural expression; but there was that in his look which told us he was a dying man. I felt at the moment an impression,—He is not insensible! His lips moved. Surely he is trying to speak! He strove to fix his eyes on us, but could not. I stooped down, observing his lips again in motion. Yes, he was speaking. I caught only the words—"On the platform."

"The Calvinet platform?" I whispered in reply. "Is that the spot where you wish—?"

Feebly, tremulously he pressed my hand, which had just before taken his. I had caught his last request, then; a grave on the summit of Mount Rave, the key of the French position, where the table-land, crowned with redoubts, had been carried by our troops. His breathing became gradually feebler and less perceptible. The moment when it ceased entirely, no one present could determine. This only was evident:—a minute before, he had given signs of life; and now, he had passed into another world!

Cousin Tom's bullet was extracted the same afternoon, with immediate relief to the patient. During the operation I was present, by Tom's request; and friendship, let me tell you, has more pleasing duties than that of attending on such emergencies. Tom, however, made it as agreeable as he could. Throughout the process he viciously stared me full in the face, grinning most horribly from time to time, half in agony, half in fun. When the forceps was produced, he caught a glimpse of that terrific implement, and twisted his ugly mug into such a comical grimace, that mine, spite of the solemnity of the occasion, was screwed into a smile. Tom thereupon clenched his fist, with a look that said ferociously, "Laugh again, and I'll punch your eye."

The bullet, doctor, had lodged between the bones of the leg, a little above the ankle, and, I need not inform you, came out rather flattened. Tom kept it as a bijou, in a red morocco case made express by an artist in Toulouse. Tom called it his pill-box. Neither bone was broken; but the strain of this disagreeable visitant wedged in between them, and rending them apart, had occasioned from time to time those awful twinges, which Tom assuaged by taking a chew at his handkerchief. The enemy removed, he not only found himself in a state of comparative ease, but was relieved from the constitutional irritation which had begun to manifest itself by hardness of pulse, dryness of the mouth, parched lips, a dull, hectic, brickdust-coloured patch on each cheek, a feverish lustre of the eye, and an enormous appetite for tamarinds.

The operation, though, I ought to have said, was not performed by Pledget, but by another army surgeon, who had arrived in the course of the day, not before he was wanted. Poor Pledget was quite done up. His powers, both mental and physical, had evidently been over-taxed. He looked haggard and wild. Yet still, though relieved, anxious about his cases, he wandered from room to room, and fidgeted from one patient to another; standing a while in silence, with his hands behind him, first by an amputation, then by a wounded artery, then by a contusion, then by a broken head; while his care-worn countenance expressed pleasure or pain, according to the symptoms. As Cousin Tom was now in a dreadful fuss to be off for Toulouse, Gingham and I applied to the newly-arrived surgeon, and consulted him as to the removal.

"I think, gentlemen," said he, "if no bad symptoms supervene in the night, it may safely be effected to-morrow; that is, of course, with proper care and precautions."

"You are not afraid, sir," said Gingham, "that to-morrow may be too early a day, then?"

"Why, sir, to say the truth," replied the doctor, "if we had more room here, better accommodations, and a less vitiated atmosphere, I should say a later day would be better. But, under existing circumstances, less evil, I think, is likely to arise from the patient's removal, than from his remaining. In his case, what we now have most to look to, is the general health. Keep that right, and the wound, I hope, will do well. Therefore the sooner he is withdrawn from the bad air, and the associations which surround him here, the better for him." The doctor paused.—"Pray, sir," said he, looking Gingham full in the face, as though intuitively knowing he spoke to a real good fellow, "pray, sir, if you will permit me to ask the question, is Mr Pledget a friend of yours?"

"There are few men, sir," replied Gingham, "for whom I have a higher regard, than for Mr Pledget."

"Well, sir," said the doctor, "I feel rather uneasy about him. It's a delicate thing to speak about. But you yourself must have noticed how changed he is, by the labours of the last three days. In short, to speak plainly, he requires to be looked after; and just at this time, with so many wounded upon our hands, I hardly know whether we could possibly give him the attention here which his case requires. If it is neglected now, it may become serious. Would it be asking too much, if I requested you to take charge of him into Toulouse?"

"Take him with us this instant, sir," said Gingham; "or when you please. If you approve, I'll have him with me in my own quarters."

"I really, sir, feel obliged to you," said the doctor. And the doctor looked as if he spoke from his heart. "Hope you understand, though, what it is you are taking on your shoulders. For a few days—not longer, I hope—he will require vigilant superintendence, and, possibly, slight control. His case demands firmness, and indulgence at the same time."

"Yes, sir, I understand," said Gingham. "Shall he go with us now?"

"I would rather have him under my eye," said the doctor, "till to-morrow morning. Perhaps a night's rest may effect a favourable change. In the interval, too, I shall have time to prepare his mind for the removal." So it was settled.

The next morning we returned to the chateau, for the purpose of bringing in Pledget and Cousin Tom. Tom's patience, though, had not lasted out till our arrival. At sunrise, again giving the doctor the go-by, he had got on his things, crept down stairs, mounted his mule, and taken himself off. In fact, he had got into Toulouse, obtained a billet, and, snugly located in a respectable French family, was prattling the vernacular, which he had at his fingers' ends, before we arrived at the chateau to fetch him.

It only remained, therefore, to remove Pledget. He, poor man, though all the better for a night's rest and a clean shirt, still looked very unlike himself. He had rested, indeed, but he had not slept; and his medical colleague hinted to Gingham, ere we departed, that the case still required vigilance and care. The state of Pledget's mind, at this time, was singular; he had all at once become excessively ceremonious. When we reached the garden gate he drew up; insisted that we should both precede him in going out. Had Gingham and I been equally punctilious, we should not have reached Toulouse by dinner-time.

Gingham had a matter upon his mind. Captain Gabion having expressed a last wish respecting his funeral, Gingham had undertaken the whole details, and some arrangements had been necessary at the chateau, or our departed friend would speedily have been consigned, on the spot, to a ready-made grave. Gingham mentioned the subject as we rode along, and began stating what steps he had taken. Pledget, who was ambling side by side with us on his mule, suddenly fell behind. Coosey, previously admonished by Gingham, kept still further in the rear. We waited till Pledget came up.

"Why, Mr Pledget," said Gingham, "I thought we had lost you, sir."

"Excuse me, sir," said Pledget, with gravity; "you are making a confidential communication. Part of it I unintentionally overheard. For this, an apology is due to both of you. Gentlemen, I most humbly beg your pardon."

We rode on. Presently, Pledget edged up alongside of me, as though he had something important to communicate.

"Mr Y——," said he, "I consider it the first duty which one gentleman owes another, to avoid giving him needless offence." Not exactly perceiving to what this observation tended, I could only bow my acquiescence.

"But if," continued Pledget, "an offence is actually given, then I conceive the next duty is to make reparation by a humble apology." Apology, it was evident, was now the uppermost idea in poor Pledget's mind.

"Well, sir," said I, seeking to divert his thoughts, "I think, in such a case, regard should be had to the feelings of both parties. And, judging by my own, I should say that, next to making an apology, there are few things one would more wish to avoid than receiving one."

"And accordingly," said Gingham, "in the intercourse of gentlemen, it rarely, very rarely occurs, that an actual apology is deemed requisite. To signify an intention, to express a willingness to apologise, is in most cases thought amply satisfactory. Manly feeling forbids the rest; and honour itself exacts no more." Pledget rode on awhile, absorbed in thought.

"Mr Y——," he said at last, "I appreciate your sentiments, as well as Mr Gingham's; and I perceive their drift. Allow me to say it, your conduct is most generous. I really feel that you have just cause to complain of mine; and, if it would pain you to receive the apology, which is your due, allow me at least to express my willingness, and, believe me, it was my intention, to apologise."

"Mr Pledget, my dear sir, what possible need of apology between you and me? What offence has been given or received? I know of none—never dreamt of any."

"Very handsome of you to say so, Mr Y——," replied Pledget. "But what could be more inconsiderate than my conduct yesterday morning? You must have felt it; I know you did. You came to me with an anxious inquiry respecting your wounded cousin; I spoke to you of Captain Gabion. It was wrong, I own. Nay, not merely wrong, it was unfeeling. I trust you will bear in mind my peculiar circumstances at the time. I was overwhelmed, perplexed, bewildered, I——"

Gingham now saw it was high time to interpose, and with much adroitness gave a new turn to the conversation. But ere we were housed in Toulouse, Pledget, addressing us alternately, and continually discovering fresh grounds of self-accusation, had made two or three more apologies.

For a few days, sedulously and most kindly tended by Gingham, who managed him admirably, and evinced equal tact and delicacy, Pledget continued in a state of alternate depression and excitement, with occasional hallucinations. He made apologies to all who came near him; and, ere he quitted Gingham's quarters, had begged pardon, again and again, of every servant in the household. From my first conversation with Gingham on the steps of the hotel at Falmouth, I always valued his acquaintance. But when I had seen him in this his new character as Pledget's nurse, wise, thoughtful, vigilant, and indulgent, I really grew proud of such a friend.

Within a week Pledget was almost himself again; and long before he quitted Toulouse, to embark for England at Bordeaux, he was fully and permanently restored.

Cousin Tom's, though, was a business of more time. He begged or borrowed a formidable sapling, with a knob as big as his fist, and was soon able to hobble about Toulouse, very much to his own satisfaction. But the bones of his leg had been injured, though not broken; and it was long before the wound got well, if it ever did. I was with him many months after in London, when the Medical Board sat to award gratuities and pensions to the wounded and disabled officers of the Peninsular Army. Lucky, then, did the wight esteem himself who had lost a limb or an eye. Tom was waiting for his turn to go before the Board; I saw him two days previously. His, I feared, was only a case for a gratuity; but Tom was determined to go for a pension, and made sure of getting it. I ventured to express my doubts; Tom whipped off his half-boot, turned down his sock, and exclaimed triumphantly, "Look at that!" The wound was clean, but looked fresh; much, indeed, as it appeared two days after the fight when the bullet was extracted, and still big enough to re-admit it. "If the Board don't give me a pension," cried Tom, "for such a punch as that, why, all I can say is, they deserve to be punched themselves." Saw him again after the inspection. "It's no go," said Tom; "I tried hard for it, too. Got up early in the morning—slapped twice round the Park at a swinging pace. When I went before them it was red all about, a couple of inches. The flinty-hearted villains gave me only a gratuity, though it bled while they were looking at it."

At an early day after Pledget's and Tom's removal, we assembled at the chateau, on an occasion in which we all felt a melancholy interest—the funeral of Captain Gabion. The military arrangements, of course, did not rest with us; Gingham had made every provision which was left to his care with equal liberality and propriety. Gingham also, no chaplain being present, officiated at the grave. He read the service with great devoutness and solemnity. The procession was joined, as we ascended the hill, by a mounted officer, a major of the artillery, who, during the whole of the service, seemed lost in thought, and stood with his eyes fixed upon the coffin till it was lowered into the grave. The whole concluded, he approached and shook hands with Gingham and myself, spoke a few hurried words, took a hasty leave, mounted, and rode away. Gingham and I waited by the grave till all was filled in and made right; we then walked down together towards the city, both for some time silent. I spoke first.

"Wouldn't it be right to communicate with the friends? I think they ought to know the exact position of the grave, and also the particulars which I got from my cousin."

"Why, yes," said Gingham; "it would, I think, be as well to give them all the information you can. I have already written to the widow."