The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer | Page 5

and which did tremendous
execution among our poor fellows--on they came, Sir; and as the smoke
cleared partially away we got a glimpse of them, and a more
dangerous looking set I should not desire to see: grizzle-bearded,
hard-featured, bronzed fellows, about five-and-thirty or forty years of
age; their beauty not a whit improved by the red glare thrown upon
their faces and along the whole line by each flash of the long
twenty-fours that were playing away to the right. Just at this moment
Picton rode down the line with his staff, and stopping within a few
paces of me, said, 'They're coming up; steady, boys; steady now: we
shall have something to do soon.' And then, turning sharply round, he
looked in the direction of the French battery, that was thundering away
again in full force, 'Ah, that must be silenced,' said he, 'Where's
Beamish?'--"Says Picton!" interrupted Feargus, his eyes starting from
their sockets, and his mouth growing wider every moment, as he listed
with the most intense interest. "Yes," said I, slowly; and then, with all
the provoking nonchalance of an Italian improvisatore, who always
halts at the most exciting point of his narrative, I begged a listener near
me to fill my glass from the iced punch beside him. Not a sound was
heard as I lifted the bumper to my lips; all were breathless in their
wound-up anxiety to hear of their countryman who had been selected
by Picton--for what, too, they knew not yet, and, indeed, at this instant I
did not know myself, and nearly laughed outright, for the two of our
men who had remained at the table had so well employed their interval
of ease as to become very pleasantly drunk, and were listening to my
confounded story with all the gravity and seriousness in the world.

"'Where's Beamish?' said Picton. 'Here, sir,' said Phil stepping out
from the line and touching his cap to the general, who, taking him
apart for a few minutes, spoke to him with great animation. We did not
know what he said; but before five minutes were over, there was Phil
with three companies of light-bobs drawn up at our left; their muskets
at the charge, they set off at a round trot down the little steep which
closed our flank. We had not much time to follow their movements, for
our own amusement began soon; but I well remember, after repelling
the French attack, and standing in square against two heavy charges of
cuirassiers, the first thing I saw where the French battery had stood,
was Phil Beamish and about a handful of brave fellows, all that
remained from the skirmish. He captured two of the enemy's
field-pieces, and was 'Captain Beamish' on the day after."
"Long life to him," said at least a dozen voices behind and about me,
while a general clinking of decanters and smacking of lips betokened
that Phil's health with all the honours was being celebrated. For myself,
I was really so engrossed by my narrative, and so excited by the
"ponche," that I saw or heard very little of what was passing around,
and have only a kind of dim recollection of being seized by the hand by
"Feargus," who was Beamish's brother, and who, in the fullness of his
heart, would have hugged me to his breast, if I had not opportunely
been so overpowered as to fall senseless under the table.
When I first returned to consciousness, I found myself lying exactly
where I had fallen. Around me lay heaps of slain--the two of "ours"
amongst the number. One of them--I remember he was the
adjutant--held in his hand a wax candle (three to the pound). Whether
he had himself seized it in the enthusiasm of my narrative of flood and
field, or it had been put there by another, I know not, but he certainly
cut a droll figure. The room we were in was a small one off the great
saloon, and through the half open folding-door I could clearly perceive
that the festivities were still continued. The crash of fiddles and French
horns, and the tramp of feet, which had lost much of their elasticity
since the entertainments began, rang through my ears, mingled with the
sounds "down the middle," "hands across," "here's your partner,
Captain." What hour of the night or morning it then was, I could not

guess; but certainly the vigor of the party seemed little abated, if I
might judge from the specimens before me, and the testimony of a short
plethoric gentleman, who stood wiping his bald head, after conducting
his partner down twenty-eight couple, and who, turning to his friend,
said, "Oh, the distance is nothing, but it is the pace that kills."
The first evidence I shewed of