 Book 2, Chapter 15 of the History of Henry Esmond Esquire by William Makepeace Thackeray. By the besiegers and besieged of Lily some of the most brilliant feats of Valor were performed that ever illustrated any war. On the French side, whose gallantry was prodigious, the skill and bravery of martial buffers actually eclipsing those of his conqueror, the Prince of Savoy, may be mentioned that daring action of M. D. Lechtenburg and Tournefort, who with a body of horse and dragoons carried powder into the town of which the besieged were in extreme want, each soldier bringing a bag with forty pounds of powder behind him, with which perilous provision they engaged our own horse, faced the fire of the foot brought out to meet them, and though half of the man were blown up in the dreadful air and they rode, a part of them got into the town with the suckers of which the garrison was so much in want. A French officer, Monsieur Dubois, performed an act equally daring and perfectly successful. The Duke's great army lying at Heltian and covering the siege and it being necessary for M. de Bedotsmy to get news of the condition of the place, Captain Dubois performed his famous exploit, not only passing through the lines of the siege, but swimming afterwards no less than seven motes and ditches, and coming back the same way, swimming with his letters in his mouth. By these letters M. de Beauflaye said that he could undertake to hold the place till October, and that if one of the convoys of the allies could be intercepted, they must raise the siege altogether. Such a convoy, as Hathben said, was now prepared at Austen, and about to march for the siege, and on the 27th September we, and the French too, had news that it was on its way. It was composed of seven hundred wagons containing ammunition of all sorts, and was escorted out of Austen by two thousand infantry and three hundred horse. At the same time M. de Le Mouffe quitted Beauflaye, having with him five and thirty battalions, and upwards of sixty squadrons and forty guns in pursuit of the convoy. Major General Webb had meanwhile made up a force of twenty battalions and three squadrons of dragoons at Toulouse. Once he moved to cover the convoy and pursue Le Mouffe, with whose advanced guard hours came up upon the great plain of Toulouse, and before the little wood and castle of Weynendale, behind which the convoy was marching. As soon as they came in sight of the enemy, our advanced troops were halted with the wood behind them, and the rest of our force brought up as quickly as possible our little body of horse being brought forward to the opening of the plain, as our general said, to amuse the enemy. When M. de Le Mouffe came up, he found us posted in two lines in front of the wood, and formed his own army and battle facing ours in eight lines, four of infantry in front, and dragoons and cavalry behind. The French began the action as usual with a cannonade, which lasted three hours, when they made their attack advancing in eight lines, four of foot and four of horse, upon the allied troops in the wood where we were posted. Their infantry behaved ill. They were ordered to charge with the bayonet, but instead began to fire, and almost at the very first discharge from our men broke and fled. The cavalry behaved better, with these alone, who were three or four times as numerous as our whole force, M. de Le Mouffe might have won victory, but only two of our battalions were shaken in the least, and these speedily rallied, nor could the repeated attacks of the French horse cause our troops to budge an inch from the position in the wood in which our general had placed them. After attacking for two hours, the French retired at nightfall entirely foiled. With all the loss we had inflicted upon him, the enemy was still three times stronger than we, and it could not be supposed that our general could pursue M. de Le Mouffe, or do much more than hold our ground about the wood from which the Frenchmen had in vain attempted to dislodge us. Le Mouffe retired behind his forty guns, his cavalry protecting them better than it had been able to annoy us, and meanwhile the convoy, which was of more importance than all our little force, and the safe passage of which we would have dropped to the last man to accomplish, marched away in perfect safety during the action, and joyfully reached the besieging camp before Lily. Major General Cadogan, M. de Le Mouffe's quartermaster general, and between whom and M. de Le Mouffe there was no love lost, accompanied the convoy and joined M. de Le Mouffe with a couple of hundred horse just as the battle was over, and the enemy in full retreat. He offered readily enough to charge with his horse upon the French as they fell back, but his force was too weak to inflict any damage upon them, and M. de Le Mouffe, commanding as Cadogan's senior, thought enough was done in holding our ground before an enemy that might still have overwhelmed us had we engaged him in the open territory, and in securing the safe passage of the convoy. Accordingly the horse brought up by Cadogan did not draw a sword, and only prevented by the good countants they showed any disposition the French might have had to renew the attack on us, and no attack coming at nightfall General Cadogan drew off with his squadron, being bound for headquarters the two generals at parting grimly saluting each other. He will be at ronk time enough to lick my lord's trenches at supper, said Mr. Webb. Our own men lay out in the woods of wine and dail that night, and our general had his supper in the little castle there. If I was Cadogan I would have a peerage for this day's work, General Webb said, and Harry thou shouldst have a regiment. Thou hast been reported in the last two actions. Thou were nearly killed in the first. I shall mention thee and my dispatch to his grace, the commander-in-chief, and recommend thee to poor Dick Harward's vacant majority. Have you ever a hundred guineas to give Cardinal? Slip them into his hand tomorrow, when you go to headquarters with my report. In this report the Major General was good enough to mention Captain Esmond's name with particular favor, and that a gentleman carried the dispatch to headquarters the next day, and was not a little pleased to bring back a letter by his Grace's secretary addressed to Lieutenant General Webb. The Dutch officer dispatched by Count Nassau-Woodenburg, Bael-Telmarischal, Evercoke's son, brought back also a complimentary letter to his commander, who had seconded Mr. Webb in the action with great valor and skill. Esmond, with a low bow and a smiling face, presented his dispatch and saluted Mr. Webb as Lieutenant General as he gave it in. The gentleman round about him, he was riding with his sweet on the road to Menon as Esmond came up with him, gave a cheer, and he thanked him, and opened the dispatch with rather a flushed, eager face. He slapped it down on his boot in a rage after he had read it. Tis not even writhed with his own hand. Read it out, Esmond, and Esmond read it out. Sir, Mr. Categan is just now come in, and has acquainted me with the success of the action you had yesterday in the afternoon against the body of troops commanded by M. de La Mol at Wynendale, which must be attributed chiefly to your good contact and resolution. You may be sure I shall do you justice at home, and be glad on all occasions to own the service you have done in securing this convoy, yours, et cetera, M. Two lines by that damned cardinale, and no more for the taking of Lily, for beating five times our number, for an action as brilliant as the best he ever fought, says poor Mr. Webb. Lieutenant General, that's not his doing. I was the oldest major general by far. I believe he had been better pleased if I had been beat. The letter to the Dutch officer was in French, and longer and more complimentary than that to Mr. Webb. And this is the man he broke out that's gorged with gold, that's covered with titles and honors that we won for him, and that grudges even a line of praise to a comrade in arms. Hasn't he enough? Don't we fight that he may roll in riches? Well, well, wait for the Gazette, gentlemen. The Queen and the country will do us justice if his grace denies it less. There were tears of rage in the brave warrior's eyes as he spoke, and he dashed them off his face onto his glove. He shook his fist in the air. Oh, by the Lord, says he, I know what I had rather have than a peerage. And what is that, sir, some of the masked? I had rather have a quarter of an hour with John Churchill on a fair green field, and only a pair of rapiers between my shirt and his. Sir, interposes one. Tell him so. I know that's what you mean. I know every word goes to him that's dropped from every general officer's mouth. I don't say he's not brave. Curse him. He's brave enough. But we'll wait for the Gazette, gentlemen. God save her Majesty. She'll do us justice. The Gazette did not come to us till a month afterwards. When my general and his officers had the honor to dine with Prince Eugene and Lily, his Highness being good enough to say that we had brought the provisions and ought to share in the banquet. It was a great banquet. His grace of moral borough was on his Highness's right. And on his left, the Marachel de Boufflet, who had so bravely defended the place. The chief officers of either army were present. And you may be sure Esmond's general was splendid this day. His tall, noble person and manly beauty of face made him remarkable anywhere. He wore, for the first time, the star of the Order of Generosity that his Prussian Majesty had sent to him for his victory. His Highness, the Prince of Savoy, called a toast to the conqueror of Wynondale. My Lord Duke drank it with rather a sickly smile. The aged Dekamp were present, and Harry Esmond and his dear young Lord were together, as they always strove to be when duty would permit. They were over against the table where the general for her and could see all that passed pretty well. Frank laughed at my Lord Duke's glum face. The affair of Wynondale and the captain general's conduct to web had been the talk of the whole army. When his Highness spoke and gave Le Vanquard de Wynondale, Sononie etes et victori, ad in quino fonti ne, a lili ad vidoe. There was a great cheer through the hall. For Mr. Webb's bravery, generosity and very weakness of character caused him to be loved in the army. Like Hector, handsome and like Parry, brave whispers Frank Castlewood, of Venus and elderly Venus couldn't refuse him a pippin. Stand up, Harry. See, we are drinking the army of Wynondale. Remmelies is nothing to it. Huse, Huse. At this very time, and just after our general had made his acknowledgment, someone brought in an English gazette and was passing it from hand to hand down the table. Officers were eager enough to read it. Mothers and sisters at home must have sickened over it. Their scarce came out of gazette for six years that did not tell of some heroic death or some brilliant achievement. Here it is, action of Wynondale. Here you are, general, says Frank, seizing hold of the little dingy paper that soldiers loved to read so, and scrambling over from our bench he went out to where the general sat, who knew him, and had seen many a time at his table his laughing, handsome face, which everybody loved who saw. The generals, in their great perruques, made way for him. He handed the paper over General Donna's buff coat to our general on the opposite side. He came hobbling back and blushing at his feet, I thought he'd like it, Harry, the young fellow whispered, didn't I like to read my name after a millies in the London Gazette, miscount Castlewood serving a volunteer, I say, what yonder Mr. Webb reading the Gazette look very strange, slapped it down on the table, then sprang up in his place and began to with your highness pleased to his grace, the Duke of Marlborough here jumped up to there's some mistake, my dear general web, your grace had better rectify it says Mr. Webb holding out the letter, but he was five off his grace the Prince Duke, who besides was higher than the general being seated with the Prince of Savoy, the electoral Prince of Hanover, and the envoys of Prussia and Denmark under a Baldaclan, and Webb could not reach him tall as he was, stay says he with a smile as if catching it some idea, and then with a perfect courtesy, drawing his sword, he ran the Gazette through with the point and said, permit me to hand it to your grace, the Duke look very black, take it says he to his master of the horse who was waiting behind him, the Lieutenant General made a very low bow and retired and finished his glass, the Gazette in which Mr. Cardinal, the Duke's secretary gave an account of the victory of Wynondale, mentioned Mr. Webb's name, but gave the soul praise and conduct of the action to the Duke's favorite, Mr. Cadogan. There was no little talk and excitement occasioned by this strange behavior of General Webb who had almost drawn a sword upon the Commander-in-Chief, but the General, after the first outbreak of his anger, mastered it outwardly all together, and by his subsequent behavior had the satisfaction of even more angering the Commander-in-Chief than he could have done by any public exhibition of resentment. On returning to his quarters and consulting with his Chief Advisor, Mr. Esmond, who was now entirely in the General's confidence and treated by him as a friend and almost a son, Mr. Webb read a letter to his Grace, the Commander-in-Chief, in which he said, your grace must be aware that the sudden perusal of the London Gazette in which your Grace's secretary, Mr. Cardinal, have mentioned Major General Cadogan's name as the officer commanding in the late action of Wynondale must have caused a feeling of anything but pleasure to the General who fought that action. Your Grace must be aware that Mr. Cadogan was not even present at the battle, though he arrived with squadrons of horse at its close and put himself under the command of his superior officer, and as the result of the battle of Wynondale, in which Lieutenant General Webb had the good fortune to command, was the capture of Lily, the relief of Brussels, then invested by the enemy under the elector of Bavaria, the restoration of the great cities of Ghent and Bruget, of which the enemy, by treason within the walls, had got possession in the previous year. Mr. Webb cannot consent to forego the honors of such a success and service for the benefit of Mr. Cardigan or any other person. As soon as the military operations of the year are over, Lieutenant General Webb will request permission to leave the army and return to his place in Parliament where he gives notice to his Grace, the Commander-in-Chief, that he shall lay his case before the House of Commons, the country, and Her Majesty the Queen. By his eagerness to rectify that false statement of the Gazette, which had been written by his Grace's secretary, Mr. Cardin-Hell, Mr. Webb not being able to reach his Grace, the Commander-in-Chief, on account of the gentlemen seated between them placed the paper containing the false statement on his sword so that it might more readily arrive in the hands of his Grace, the Duke of Marlborough, who surely would wish to do justice to every officer in his army. Mr. Webb knows his duty too well to think of insubordination, who is superior officer, or of using his sword in a campaign against any but the enemies of Her Majesty. He solicits permission to return to England immediately. The military duties will permit and take with him to England Captain Esmond of his regiment, who acted as his aide-de-camp and was present during the entire action and noted by his watch the time when Mr. Cadigan arrived at its close. The Commander-in-Chief could not but grant this permission nor could he take notice of Webb's letter, though it was couched in terms the most insulting. Half the army believed that the cities of Ghent and Rougé were given up by a treason, which some in our army very well understood, that the Commander-in-Chief would not have relieved Lily if he could have helped himself, that he would not have fought that year had not the Prince of Savoy forced him. When the battle once began then for his own renown, my Lord Marlborough would fight as no man in the world ever fought better, and no bribe on earth could keep him from beating the enemy. Note. Our grandfather's hatred of the Duke of Marlborough appears all through his account of these campaigns. He always persisted that the Duke was the greatest traitor and soldier history ever told of, and declared that he took bribes in all hands during the war. My Lord Marquis, for so we may call him here, though he never went by any other name than Colonel Esmond, was in the habit of telling many stories which he did not sit down in his memoirs and which he had from his friend the Jesuit, who was not always correctly informed, and who persisted that Marlborough was looking for a bribe of two millions of crowns before the campaign of Ramilles. And our grandmother used to tell us children that on his first presentation to my Lord Duke, the Duke turned his back upon my grandfather, and said to the Duchess, who told my Lady Dowager at Chelsea, who afterwards told Colonel Esmond, Tom Esmond's bastard has been to my levy. He has the hangdog look of his rogue of a father, an expression which my grandfather never forgave. He was as constant in his dislikes as in his attachments, and exceedingly partial to Webb, whose side he took against the more celebrated General. We have a General Webb's portrait now at Castlewood. But the matter was taken up by the subordinates, and half the army might have been by the ears if the quarrel had not been stopped. General Cattigan sent an intimation to General Webb to say that he was ready if Webb liked and would meet him. This was a kind of invitation our stout old General was always too ready to accept, and was with great difficulty we got the General to reply that he had no quarrel with Mr. Cattigan, who had behaved with perfect gallantry, but only with those at headquarters who had belied him. Mr. Cardinale offered General Webb reparation. Mr. Webb said he had a cane at the service of Mr. Cardinale, and the only satisfaction he wanted from him was one he was not likely to get, namely, the truth. The officers, in our staff of Webb's and those in the immediate suite of the General, were ready to come to blows, and hence arose the only affair in which Mr. Esmond ever engaged as principal, and that was from a revengeful wish to wipe off an old injury. My Lord one, who had a troop in Lord Maclefield's regiment of the Horse Guard, rode this campaign with the Duke. He had sunk by this time to the very worst reputation. He had had another fatal duel in Spain. He had married and forsaken his wife. He was a gambler, a profligate, and a debauchee. He joined just before Udnard, and as Edmund feared, as soon as Frank Castle would heard of his arrival, Frank was forsaking him out and killing him. The wound, my Lord God, at Udnard prevented their meeting. But that was nearly healed, and Mr. Esmond trembled daily lest any chance should bring his boy and this known assassin together. They met at the mess-table of Handyside's Regiment at Lily, the officer commanding not knowing of the feud between the two noblemen. Esmond had not seen the hateful handsome face of Maughan for nine years, since they had met on that fatal night in Isesterfield. It was degraded with crime and passion now. It wore the anxious look of a man who has three deaths and who knows how many hidden shames and lusts and crimes on his conscience. He bowed with a sickly low bow and slunk away when our host presented us round to one another. Frank Castlewood had not known him till then, so changed was he. He knew the boy well enough. It was curious to look at the two, especially the young man whose face flushed up when he heard the hated name of the other, and who said in his bad French and his brave, boyish voice, he had long been anxious to meet my Lord Maughan. The other only bowed and moved away from him. I knew him justice. He wished to have no quarrel with the lad. Esmond put himself between them at table. Damn it, says Frank. Why do you put yourself in the place of a man who is above you in degree? My Lord Maughan should walk after me. I want to sit by my Lord Maughan. Esmond whispered to Lord Maughan that Frank was hurt in the leg at Wodenard and besought the other to be quiet. Quiet enough he was for some time, disregarding the many taunts which young Castlewood flung at him, until after several helts when my Lord Maughan got to be rather in liquor. Will you go away, my Lord? Mr. Esmond said to him, imploring him to quit the table. No, by George, says my Lord Maughan, I will not go away for any man. He was quite flushed with wine by this time. The talk got round to the affairs of yesterday. Web had offered to challenge the Commander-in-Chief. Web had been ill-used. Web was the bravest, handsomest, venous man in the army. Lord Maughan did not know that Esmond was Web's aide-de-camp. He began to tell some stories against the General, which from the other side of Esmond, young Castlewood, contradicted. I can't bear any more of this, says my Lord Maughan. Nor can I, my Lord, says Mr. Esmond, starting up. The story my Lord Maughan has told respecting General Web is false, gentlemen, false, I repeat, and making a low bow to Lord Maughan, and without a single word more, Esmond got up and left the dining-room. These affairs were common enough among the military of those days. There was a garden behind the house, and all the party turned instantly into it, and the two gentlemen's coats were off, and their points engaged within two minutes after Esmond's words had been spoken. If Captain Esmond had put Maughan out of the world, as he might, a villain would have been punished and spared further villainies. But who is one man to punish another? I declare upon my honour that my only thought was to prevent Lord Maughan from mischief with Frank, and the end of this meeting was that after a half a dozen passes my Lord went home with a hurt which prevented him from lifting his right arm for three months. Oh, Harry, why didn't you kill the villain, young castle would ask. I can't walk without a crutch, but I could have met him on horseback with sword and pistol, but Harry Esmond said it was best to have no man's life on one's conscience, not even that villain's. And after this affair, which did not occupy three minutes being over, the gentlemen went back to their wine and my Lord Maughan to his quarters where he was laid up with a fever which had spared mischief had approved fatal. And very soon after this affair Harry Esmond and his general left the camp for London where there a certain reputation had preceded the captain, for my Lady Castlewood of Chelsea received him as if he had been a conquering hero. She gave a great dinner to Mr. Webb where the general's chair was crowned with laurels, and her ladieship called Esmond's help in a toast to which my kind general was graciously pleased to bear the strongest testimony and took down a mob of at least forty coaches to cheer our general as he came out of the House of Commons the day when he received the thanks of Parliament for his action. The mob hussed and applauded him as well as the fine company. It was splendid to see him waving his hat and bowing and laying his hand upon his order of generosity. He introduced Mr. Esmond to Mr. St. John and the Right Honourable Robert Harley Esquire as he came out of the House walking between them and was pleased to make many flattering observations regarding Mr. Esmond's behaviour during the last three campaigns. Mr. St. John, who had the most winning presence of any man I ever saw, excepting always my peerless young Frank Castlewood, said he had heard of Mr. Esmond before from Captain Steele and how he had helped Mr. Addison to write his famous poem of the campaign. It was as great an achievement as the victory of Blenheim itself, Mr. Harley said, who was famous as a judge and patron of letters, and so perhaps it may be, though for my part I think there are twenty beautiful lines, but all the rest is commonplace, and Mr. Addison's hymn worth a thousand such poems. All the town was indignant at my Lord Duke's unjust treatment of General Webb and applauded the vote of thanks which the House of Commons gave to the general for his victory at Winondale, to certain that the capture of Lily was the consequence of that lucky achievement and the humiliation of the old French King who was said to suffer more at the loss of this great city than from any of the former victories our troops had won over him. And I think no small part of Mr. Webb's exaltation at his victory arose from the idea that Marlborough had been disappointed of a great bribe the French King had promised him should the siege be raised. The very sum of money offered to him was mentioned by the Duke's enemies, and honest Mr. Webb chuckled at the notion not only of beating the French, but of beating Marlborough too, and intercepting a convoy of three millions of French crowns that were on their way to the General Hissmo's insatiable pockets. When the General's lady went to the Queen's drawing room all the Tory women crowded round her with congratulations and made her a train greater than the Duchess of Marlborough's own. Feasts were given to the General, by all the Chiefs of the Tory Party, who vaunted him as the Duke's equal in military skill, and perhaps used the worthy soldier as their instrument whilst he thought they were but acknowledging his merits as a commander. As the General's aide-decomp and favorite officer, Mr. Esmond came in for a share of his Chief's popularity and was presented to Her Majesty and advanced to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel at the request of his grateful Chief. We may be sure there was one family in which any good fortune that happened to Esmond caused such a sincere pride and pleasure that he, for his part, was thankful he could make them so happy. With these fond friends, Lenheim and Udenard seemed to be mere trifling incidents of the war, and Wynondale was its crowning victory. Esmond's mistress never tired to hear accounts of the battle, and I think General Webb's Lady grew jealous of her, for the General was forever at Kensington and talking on that delightful theme. As for his aide-decomp, though, no doubt Esmond's old natural vanity was pleased at the little share of reputation which his good fortune had won him, yet it was chiefly precious to him, he may say so now, that he hath long since outlived it, because it pleased his mistress, and above all because Beatrix valued it. As for the old dowager of Chelsea, never was an old woman in all England more delighted, nor more gracious than she, Esmond had his quarters in her ladyship's house, where the domestics were instructed to consider him as their master. She bade him give entertainments, of which she defrayed the charges, and was charmed when his guests were carried away tipsy in their coaches. She must have his picture taken, and accordingly he was painted by Mr. Jervis in his red coat, and smiting upon a bombshell which was bursting at the corner of the piece. She vowed that unless he made a great match she should never die easy, and was forever bringing young ladies to Chelsea with pretty faces and pretty fortunes at the disposal of the Colonel. He smiled to think how times were altered with him, and of the early days in his father's lifetime, when a trembling page he stood before her with her ladyship's basin and ewer or crouched in her coat step. The only fault she found with him was that he was more sober than an Esmond ought to be, and would neither be carried to bed by his valade, nor lose his heart to any beauty whether of St. James or Covent Garden. What is the meaning of fidelity and love, and whence the birth of it? It is a state of mind that men fall into, and depending on the man rather than the woman. We love being in love, that's the truth of it. If we had not met Joan we should have met Kate and a daughter. We know our mistresses are no betterer than many other women, nor no prettier, nor no wiser, nor no wittier. It is not for these reasons we love a woman, or for any special quality or charm I know of. We might as well demand that a lady should be the tallest woman in the world, like the Shropshire Giantus, as that she should be a paragon in any character, before we began to lover. Esmond's mistress had a thousand faults beside her charms. He knew both perfectly well. She was imperious, she was like-minded, she was flighty, she was false, she had no reverence in her character, she was in everything, even in beauty, the contrast of her mother, who was the most devoted and the least selfish of women. Well, from the very first moment he saw her on the stairs at Walcote, Esmond knew he loved Beatrix. There might be better women, he wanted that one. He cared for none other. Was it because she was gloriously beautiful? Beautiful as she was, he had heard people say a score of times in her company that Beatrix's mother looked as young and was the handsomer of the two. Why did her voice thrill in his ear so? She could not sing near so well as Nicolini or Mrs. Toff's. Nay, she sang out of tune, and yet he liked to hear her better than St. Cecilia. She had not a finer complexion than Mrs. Steele, Dick's wife, whom he had now got and who ruled poor Dick with a rod of pickle, and yet to see her dazzled, Esmond, he would shut his eyes and the thought of her dazzled him all the same. She was brilliant and lively in talk, but not so incomparably witty as her mother, who, when she was cheerful, said the finest things. But yet to hear her and to be with her was Esmond's greatest pleasure. Days passed away between him and these ladies, he scarce knew how. He poured his heart out to them, so as he never could in any other company where he hath generally passed for being moody or supercilious and silent. This society was more delightful than that of the greatest wits to him. May heaven pardon him the lies he told the dowager at Chelsea in order to get a pretext for going away to Kensington, the business at the ordinance which he invented, the courts and statesmen's levies which he didn't frequent and describe, who wore a new suit on Sunday at St. James or at the Queen's birthday. How many coaches filled the street at Mr. Harley's levy? How many bottles he had had the honour to drink overnight with Mr. St. John at the cocoa tree or at the gutter with Mr. Walpole and Mr. Steele? Ms. Beatrix Esmond had been a dozen times on the point of making great matches, so the court scandal said, but for his part Esmond never would believe the stories against her and came back after three years absence from her, not so frantic as he had been perhaps, but still hungering after her and no other, still hopeful, still kneeling with his heart in his hand for the young lady to take. We were now got to 1709. She was near 22 years old and three years at court and without a husband. Tis not for want of being asked, Lady Castle would said, looking into Esmond's heart as she could with that perceptiveness affection gives, but she will make no mean match, Harry. She will not marry as I would have her. The person whom I should like to call my son and Henry Esmond, knows who that is, is best served by my not pressing his claim. Beatrix is so willful that what I would urge on her she would be sure to resist. The man who would marry her will not be happy with her unless he be a great person and can put her in a great position. Beatrix loves admiration more than love and longs beyond all things for command. Why should a mother speak so of her child? You are my son too, Harry. You should know the truth about your sister. I thought you might cure yourself of your passion, my lady added fondly. Other people can cure themselves of that folly, you know, but I see you are still as infatuated as ever. When we read your name in the Gazette, I pleaded for you, my poor boy. Poor boy indeed. You are growing a grave old gentleman now, and I am an old woman. She likes your fame well enough and she likes your person. She says you have wit and fire and good breeding and are more natural than the fine gentleman of the court. But this is not enough. She wants a commander-in-chief and not a colonel. We're a duke to ask her she would leave an earl whom she had promised. I told you so before. I know not how my poor girl is so worldly. Well, says Esmond, a man can but give his best and his all. She has that from me. What little reputation I have won. I swear I cared for it because I thought Beatrix would be pleased with it. What care I to be a colonel or a general? Thank you to a matter a few score years hence what our foolish honors today are. I would have had a little fame that she might wear it in her hat. If I had anything better I would endow her with it. If she wants my life I would give it to her. If she marries another I will say God bless him. I make no boast nor complaint. I think my fidelity is folly perhaps, but so it is. I cannot help myself. I love her. You are a thousand times better, the fondest, the fairest, the dearest of women. Sure, my dear lady, I see all Beatrix's faults as well as you do, but she is my fate. It is indorable. I shall not die for not having her. I think I should be no happier if I won her. Que belou vous, as my lady of Chalcy would say, j'ai la main. I wish she would have you, said Harry's fond mistress, giving a hand to him. He kissed the fair hand, was the prettiest dimpled little hand in the world, and my lady Castlewood, though now almost forty years old, did not look to be within ten years of her age. He kissed and kept her fair hand as they talked together. Why, says he, should she hear me? She knows what I would say. Far or near she knows I am her slave. I have sold myself for nothing it may be. Well, it is the price I choose to take. I am worth nothing, or I am worth all. You are such a treasure, Esmond's mistress was pleased to say, that the woman who has your love shouldn't change it away against a kingdom, I think. I am a country-bred woman, and cannot say but the ambitions of the town seem mean to me. I never was awestricken by my Lady Duchess's rank and finery, or a fray she added with a sly laugh, of anything but her temper. I hear of court-ladies who pine because her majesty looks cold on them, and great nobleman who would give a limb that they might wear a garter on the other. This worldliness which I can't comprehend was born with Beatrix, who on the first day of her waiting was a perfect courtier. We are like sisters, and she the eldest sister somehow. She tells me I have a mean spirit. I laugh, and say she adores a coach in six. I cannot reason her out of her ambition. It is natural to her as to me to love quiet, and be indifferent about rank and riches. What are they, Harry? And for how long do they last? Our home is not here. She smiled as she spoke, and looked like an angel that was only on earth on a visit. Our home is where the just are, and where our sins and sorrows enter not. My father used to rebuke me, and say that I was too hopeful about heaven, but I cannot help my nature, and grow obstinate as I grow to be an old woman. And as I love my children so, sure our father loves us with a thousand and a thousand times greater love. It must be that we shall meet yonder, and be happy. Yes, you, and my children, and my dear Lord, do you know, Harry, since his death it has always seemed to me as if his love came back to me, and that we are parted no more. Perhaps he is here now, Harry. I think he is. Forgiven, I am sure he is. Even Mr. Atterbury absolved him, and he died forgiving. Oh, what a noble heart he had! How generous he was! I was but fifteen and a child when he married me. How good he was to stoop to me! He was always good to the poor and humble. She stopped, then, presently, with a peculiar expression, as if her eyes were licking into heaven, and saw my Lord there. She smiled and gave a little laugh. I laugh to see you, sir, she says. When you come, it seems as if you never were away. One may put her words down and remember them, but how describe her sweet tones, sweeter than music. My young Lord did not come home at the end of the campaign, and wrote that he was kept at Bruxelles on military duty. Indeed, I believe he was engaged in laying siege to a certain lady who was of the suite of Madame de Sois and the Prince of Savoy's mother, who was just dead, and who, like the Flemish fortresses, was taken and retaken a great number of times during the war, and occupied by French, English, and imperialists. Of course Mr. Asman did not think fit to enlighten Lady Castlewood regarding the young scapegraces' doings, nor had he said a word about the affair with Lord Mohan, knowing how abhorrent that man's name was to his mistress. Frank did not waste much time or money on pen and ink, and when Harry came home with his general, only ripped two lines to his mother, to say his wound in the leg was almost healed, that he would keep his coming of age next year, that the duty aforesaid would keep him at Bruxelles, and that Cousin Harry would tell all the news. But from Bruxelles, knowing how the Lady Castlewood always liked to have a letter about the famous 29th of December, my Lord ripped her along in full one, and in this he must have described the affair with Mohan. For when Mr. Asman came to visit his mistress one day, early in the new year, to his great wonder meant she and her daughter both came up and sleuded him, and after them the Dowager of Chelsea, too, whose chairman had just brought her ladyship from her village to Kensington across the fields. After this honour, I say, from the two ladies of Castlewood, the Dowager came forward in great state with her grand tall headdress of King James Raine, that she never forsook and said, Cousin Henry, all our family have met, and we thank you, Cousin, for your noble conduct towards the head of our house. And pointing to her blushing cheek, she made Mr. Asman aware that he was to enjoy the rapture of an embrace there. Having saluted one cheek, she turned to him the other. Cousin Harry, said both the other ladies in a little chorus, we thank you for your noble conduct. And then Harry became aware that the story of the Lily Affair had come to his kin's women's ears. It pleased him to hear them all saluting him as one of their family. The tables of the dining room were laid for a great entertainment, and the ladies were in gala dresses. My lady of Chelsea in her highest tour, my lady viscountess out of black, and looking fair and happy in a revere. And the maid of honour attired with that splendour which naturally distinguished her, and wearing on her beautiful breast the French officer's star, which Frank had sent home after Romelli's. You see, Tis a gala day with us, says she, glancing down to the star complacently, and we have our orders on. Does not mama look charming? To as I dressed her. Indeed, Esmond's dear mistress, blushing as he looked at her with her beautiful fair hair, and an elegant dress according to the mode, appeared to have the shape and complexion of a girl of twenty. On the table was a fine sword with a red velvet scabbard, and a beautiful chased silver handle with a blue ribbon for a sword-knot. What is this, says the captain, going up to look at this pretty piece? Mrs. Beatrix advanced towards it. Kneel down, says she. We dub you our knight with this, and she waved the sword over his head. My lady Dowager hath given the sword, and I give the ribbon, and mama hath sewn on the fringe. Put the sword on him, Beatrix, says her mother. You are our knight, Harry, our true knight. Take a mother's thanks and prayers for defending her son, my dear, dear friend. She could say no more, and even the Dowager was affected for a couple of rebellious tears made sad marks down those wrinkled old roses which Esmond had just been allowed to salute. We had a letter from our dearest Frank, his mother said, three days since, whilst you were on your visit to your friend Captain Steele at Hampton. He told us all that you had done, and how nobly you had put yourself between him and that that wretch. And I adopt you from this day, says the Dowager, and I wish I was richer for your sake, son Esmond, she added, with a wave of her hand. And as Mr. Esmond dutifully went down on his knee before her ladyship, she cast her eyes up to the ceiling. The guilt chandelier and the twelve wax candles in it, for the party was numerous, and invoked a blessing from that quarterer upon the newly adopted son. Dear Frank, says the other viscountess, how fond he is of his military profession. He is studying fortification very hard. I wish he were here. We shall keep his coming of age at Castlewood next year. If the campaign permit us, says Mr. Esmond, I am never afraid when he is with you, cries the boy's mother. I am sure my Henry will always defend him. But there will be a peace before next year. We know it for certain, cries the maid of honour. Lord Marlborough will be dismissed, and that horrible duchess turned out of all her places. Her Majesty won't speak to her now. Did you see her at Bushey, Harry? She is furious, and she ranges about the park like a lightness, and tears people's eyes out. And the Princess Anne will send for somebody, says my Lady of Chelsea, taking out her medal and kissing it. Did you see the King of Udnard, Harry? His mistress asked. She was a staunch Jacobite, and would no more have thought of denying her King than her God. I saw the young Hanoverian only, Harry said, the Chevalier de St. George. The King, sir, the King, said the ladies, and Miss Beatrice, and she clasped her pretty hands and cried, Viva Le Roy. By this time there came a thundering knock that drove in the doors of the house almost. It was three o'clock, and the company were arriving, and presently the servant announced Captain Steele in his lady. Captain and Mrs. Steele, who were the first to arrive, had driven to Kensington from their country house, the Hubble at Hampton Wick. Not from our mansion in Bloomsbury Square, as Mrs. Steele took care to inform the ladies, indeed Harry had ridden away from Hampton that very morning, leaving the couple by the ears, for from the chamber where he lay, in a bed that was none of the cleanest, and kept awake by the company which he had in his own bed, and the quarrel which was going on in the next room, he could hear both night and morning the curtain lecture which Mrs. Steele was in the habit of administering to poor Dick. At night it did not matter so much for the culprit. Dick was fuddled, and when in that way no scolding could interrupt his benevolence. Mr. Hesman could hear him coaxing and speaking in that maudlin manner, which punch in Clare produced to his beloved pru, and beseeching her to remember that there was a distiwish officer, Edie Rueb, who would overhear her. She went on, nevertheless, calling him a drunken wretch, and was only interrupted in her harangues by the captain's snoring. In the morning the unhappy victim awoke to a headache and consciousness, and the dialogue of that night was resumed. Why do you bring captains home to dinner when there's not a guinea in the house? How am I to give dinners when you leave me without a shelling? How am I to go traipsing to Kensington in my yellow satin sack before all the fine company? I've nothing fit to put on. I never have, and so the dispute went on. Mr. Hesman, the interrupting the talk, when it seemed to be growing too intimate by blowing his nose as loudly as ever he could, at the sound of which trumpet there came a lull. But Dick was charming, though his wife was odious, and was to give Mr. Steele pleasure that the ladies of Castlewood, who were ladies of no small fashion, invited Mrs. Steele. Besides the captain and his lady, there was a great and notable assemblage of company, my lady of Chelsea having sent her lackeys and liveries to aid the modest detentments at Kensington. There was Lieutenant General Webb, Harry's kind patron, of whom the Dowager took possession, and who resplendent in velvet and gold lace. There was Harry's new acquaintance, the right honourable Henry St. John Esquire, the general's kinsman, who was charmed with the Lady Castlewood even more than with her daughter. There was one of the great noblemen in the kingdom, the Scots duke of Hamilton, just created duke of Brandon in England, and two other noble lords of the Tory party, my lord Ash Burnham and another I forgot, and for ladies heard Grace the Duchess of Ormonday, and her daughters the Lady Mary and the Lady Betty, the former one of Miss Beatrix colleagues in Waiting on the Queen. What a party of Tory's whispered Captain Steele to Esmond, as we were assembled in the parlor before dinner. Indeed, all the company present, save Steele, were of that faction. Mr. St. John made his special compliments to Mrs. Steele, and so charmed her that she declared she would have Steele a Tory too. Or will you have me a wig, said Mr. St. John? I think, madam, you could convert a man to anything. If Mr. St. John ever comes to Bloomsbury Square, I will teach him what I know, says Mrs. Steele, dropping her handsome eyes. Do you know Bloomsbury Square? Do I know the mall? Do I know the opera? Do I know the reigning toast? Why Bloomsbury is the very height of the mode, said Mr. St. John. It is ruse in Irba. You have gardens all the way to Hampstead, and palaces round about you, Southampton House and Montague House. Where you wretches go and fight duels, cries Mrs. Steele, of which the ladies are the cause, says her entertainer. Madam, is Dick a good swordsman? How charming the tattler is! We all recognized your portrait in the forty-ninth number, and I have been dying to know you ever since I read it, as Pacia must be allowed to be the first of the beauteous order of love. Doth not the passage run so? In this accomplished lady love is the constant effect, though it is never the design, yet though her mean carries much more invitation than command, to behold her is an immediate check to loose behavior, and to love her is a liberal education. Oh, indeed, said Mrs. Steele, who did not seem to understand a word of what the gentleman was saying. Who could fail to be accomplished under such a mistress? says Mr. St. John, still gallant and bowing. Mistress, upon my word, sir, cries the lady. If you mean me, I would have you know that I am the captain's wife. Sure, we all know it answers Mr. St. John, keeping his countenance very gravely, and Steele broke in saying it was not about Mrs. Steele I writ that paper, though I am sure she is worthy of any compliment I can pay her but of the lady Elizabeth Hastings. I hear Mr. Addison is equally famous as a wit, and a poet says Mr. St. John. Is it true that his hand is to be found in your tattler, Mr. Steele? Whether it is the sublime or the humorous, no man can come near him, cries Steele. A fig-dick for your Mr. Addison, cries out his lady, a gentleman who gives himself such heirs and holds his head so high now. I hope your ladyship thinks as I do, I can't bear those very fair men with white eyelashes, a black man for me, all the black men at table applauded and made Mrs. Steele a bow for this compliment. As for this Mr. Addison she went on, he comes to dine with the captain sometimes, never says a word to me, and then they walk upstairs, both tipsy, to a dish of tea. I remember your Mr. Addison when he had but one coat to his back and that with a patch at the elbow. Indeed, a patch at the elbow? You interest me, says Mr. St. John. It is charming to hear of one man of letters from the charming wife of another. La, I could tell you ever so much about him, continues the baudible lady. What do you think the captain has got now? A little hunchback fellow, a little hop of my thumb creature that he calls a poet, a little poppish brat. Hush, there are two in the room, whispers her companion. Well, I call him poppish because his name is Pope, says the lady. It is only my joking way, and this little dwarf of a fellow has wrote a pastoral poem all about shepherds and shepherdesses, you know. A shepherd should have a little crook, says my mistress, laughing from her end of the table, on which Mrs. Steele said, she did not know but the captain brought home this queer little creature when she was in bed with her first boy, and it was a mercy he had come no sooner, and Dick raved about his genus and was always raving about some nonsense or other. Which of the tatlers do you prefer, Mrs. Steele, asked Mr. St. John? I never read but one, and I think it all a pack of ruby-sers, says the lady. Such stuff about bicker-staff and disstaff and quarter-staff as it all is. There is the captain going on still with the burgundy. I know he'll be tipsy before he stops. Captain Steele. I drink to your eyes, my dearest, as the captain, who seemed to think his wife charming, and to receive as genuine all the satiric compliments which Mr. St. John paid her, all this while the maid of honour had been trying to get Mr. Esmond to talk, and no doubt voted him a dull fellow. For by some mistake, just as he was going to pop into the vacant place, he was placed far away from Beatrix's chair, who sat between his grace and my Lord asked Burnham, and shrugged her lovely white shoulders, and cast a look as if to say, pity me to her cousin. My Lord Duke and his young neighbour were presently in a very animated and close conversation. Mrs. Beatrix could no more help using her eyes than the sun can help shining, and setting those it shines on a burning. By the time the first course was done the dinner seemed long to Esmond. By the time the soup came he fancied they must have been ours at table, and as for the sweets and jellies he thought they never would be done. At length the ladies rose, Beatrix throwing a partheon glance at her duke as she retreated. A fresh bottle and glasses were fetched and toasts were called. Mr. St. John asked his grace the Duke of Hamilton and the company to drink to the health of his grace the Duke of Brandon. Another Lord gave General Webb's health, and may he get the command the bravest officer in the world deserves. Mr. Webb thanked the company, complimented his aide-de-camp, and fought his famous battle over again. Il est fatigua, whispers Mr. St. John, avai some trope de Vinlandale. Captain Steele, who was not of our side, loyally gave the health of the Duke of Marlborough the greatest general of the age. I drink to the greatest general with all my hearts, as Mr. Webb. There can be no gain saying that character of him. My glass goes to the general and not to the Duke, Mr. Steele. And the stout old gentleman emptied his bumper, to which Dick replied by filling and emptying a pair of brimmers, one for the general and one for the Duke. And now his grace of Hamilton, rising up with flashing eyes—we had all been drinking pretty freely—proposed a toast to the lovely, to the incomparable Mrs. Beatrix Asement. We all drank it with cheers, and my Lord Ash Burnham, especially with a shot of enthusiasm. What a pity there is a Duchess of Hamilton, whispers St. John, who drank more wine and yet was more steady than most of the others. And we entered the drying room where the ladies were at their tea, as for poor Dick. We were obliged to leave him alone at the dining table, where he was hiccuping out the lines from the campaign, in which the greatest poet had celebrated the greatest general in the world. And Harry Asement found him, half an hour afterwards, in a more advanced stage of liquor and weeping about the treachery of Tom Boxer. The drying room was all dark to poor Harry, in spite of the grand illumination. Beatrix scarce spoke to him. When my Lord Duke went away she practiced upon the next in rank and plied my young Lord Ash Burnham with all the fire of her eyes and the fascinations of her wit. Most of the party were set to cards, and Mr. St. John, after yawning in the face of Mrs. Steele, whom he did not care to pursue anymore, and talking in his most brilliant animated way to Lady Castlewood, whom he pronounced to be beautiful of a far higher border of beauty than her daughter, presently took his leave and went his way. The rest of the company speedily followed. My Lord Ash Burnham, the last, throwing firing glances at the smiling young tempress, who had bewitched more hearts than his in her thrall. No doubt, as a kinsman of the house, Mr. Esmond thought fit to be the last of all in it. He remained after the coaches had rolled away, after his dowager aunt's chair and flambo had marched off in the darkness towards Chelsea, and the townspeople had gone to bed, who had been drawn into the square to gape at the unusual assemblage of chairs and chariots, lackeys and torchmen. The poor mean wretch lingered yet for a few minutes to see whether the girl would vouchsafe him a smile, or a parting word of consolation. But her enthusiasm of the morning was quite died out, or she chose to be in a different mood. She felt a joking about the dowdy appearance of Lady Betty, and mimicked the vulgarity of Mrs. Steele. And then she put up her little hand to her mouth and yawned, lighted a taper and shrugged her shoulders, and dropping Mr. Esmond a saucy curtsy sailed off to bed. The day began so well, Henry, that I hoped it might have ended better, was all the consolation that poor Esmond's fond mistress could give him. And as he trudged home through the dark alone, he thought with bitter rage in his heart, and a feeling of almost revolt against the sacrifice he had made, she would have me, thought he had but a name to give her. But for my promise to her father, I might have my rank and my mistress too. I suppose a man's vanity is stronger than any other passion in him, for I blush, even now, as I recall the humiliation of those distant days, the memory of which still smarts, though the fever of bucked desire has passed away more than a score of years ago. When the writer's descendants come to read this memoir, I wonder will they have lived to experience a similar defeat and shame? Will they ever have knelt to a woman who has listened to them and played with them and laughed with them, who beckoning them with lores and caresses, and with yes, smiling from her eyes, has tricked them on to their knees and turned her back and left them? All this shame Mr. Esmond had to undergo, and he submitted and revolted and presently came crouching back for more. After this fest, my young Lord Ashburnham's coach was forever rolling in and out of Kensington Square. His lady mother came to visit Esmond's mistress, and at every assembly in the town wherever the maid of honour made her appearance, you might be pretty sure to see the young gentleman in a new suit every week, and decked out in all the finery that his tailor or embroiderer could furnish for him. My Lord was forever paying Mr. Esmond compliments, bidding him to dinner, offering him horses to ride, and giving him a thousand uncouth marks of respect and goodwill. At last one night at the coffee-house, whether my Lord came considerably flushed and excited with drink, he rushes up to Mr. Esmond and cries out, Give me joy, my dearest Colonel, I am the happiest of men. The happiest of men needs no dearest Colonel to give him joy, says Mr. Esmond. What is the cause of this supreme felicity? Haven't you heard, says he? Don't you know? I thought the family told you everything. The adorable Beatrix has promised to be mine. What? cries out Mr. Esmond, who had spent happy hours with Beatrix that very morning, had writ verses for her that she had sung at the harpsichord. Yes, says he. I waited on her to-day. I saw you walking towards Night Bridge as I passed in my coach, and she looked so lovely and spoke so kind that I couldn't help going down on my knees, and sure I am the happiest of men in all the world, and I am very young, but she says I shall get older, and, you know, I shall be of age in four months, and there's very little difference between us, and I'm so happy. I should like to treat the company to something. Let us have a bottle, a dozen bottles, and drink the health of the finest woman in England. Esmond left the young Lord tossing off bumper after bumper, and strolled away to Kensington to ask whether the news was true. It was only too sure. His mistress's sad, compassionate face told him the story, and then she related what particulars of it she knew, and how my young Lord had made his offer half an hour after Esmond went away that morning, and in the very room where the song lay yet on the harpsichord which Esmond had writ, and they had sung together. End of book two, chapter fifteen, recording by Ralph Snelson. Book three, chapter one of the history of Henry Esmond Esquire, by William Makepeace Thackeray. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Ralph Snelson. The History of Henry Esmond Esquire, by William Makepeace Thackeray. Book three, chapter one. I come to an end of my battles and bruises. That feverish desire to gain a little reputation which Esmond had had left him now, perhaps that he had attained some portion of his wish, and the great motive of his ambition was over. His desire for military honor was that it might raise him in Beatrix's eyes. It was next to nobility and wealth, the only kind of rank she valued. It was the state quickest one or lost to for law is a very long game that requires a life to practice, and to be distinguished in letters or the church would not have forwarded the poor gentleman's plans in the least. So he had no suit to play but the red one, and he played it. And this, in truth, was the reason of his speedy promotion, for he exposed himself more than most gentlemen do, and risked more to win more. Is he the only man that has set his life against a stake which may not be worth the winning? Another risks his life, and is honored too sometimes, against a bundle of banknotes, or a yard of blue ribbon, or a seat in parliament, and some for the mere pleasure and excitement of the sport. As a field of a hundred huntsmen will do, each out bawling and out galloping the other at the tail of a dirty fox, that is to be the prize of the foremost happy conqueror. When he heard this news of Beatrix's engagement in marriage, Colonel Esmond knocked under to his fate, and resolved to surrender his sword, that could win him nothing now he cared for. And in this dismal frame of mind he determined to retire from the regiment, to the great delight of the captain next in rank to him, who happened to be a young gentleman of good fortune, who eagerly paid Mr. Esmond a thousand guineas for his majority in Webb's regiment, and was knocked on the head the next campaign. Perhaps Esmond would not have been sorry to share his fate. He was more than knight of the woeful countenance than ever he had been. His moodyness must have made him perfectly odious to his friends under the tents, who like a jolly fellow, and laugh at a melancholy warrior always sighing after Dulcinea at home. Both the ladies of Castlewood approved of Mr. Esmond, quitting the army, and his kind general coincided in his wish of retirement, and helped in the transfer of his commission, which brought a pretty sum into his pocket. But when the commander-in-chief came Holman was forced in spite of himself to appoint Lieutenant General Webb to the command of a division of the army in Flanders, the Lieutenant General prayed Colonel Esmond so urgently to be his aide-de-camp and military secretary that Esmond could not resist his kind patrons and treaties, and again took the field, not attached to any regiment, but under Webb's orders. What must have been the continued agonies of fears and apprehensions which rack the gentle breaths of wives and matrons in those dreadful days when every gazette brought accounts of deaths and battles, and when the present anxiety over and the beloved person escaped, the doubt still remained that a battle might be fought possibly of which the next Flanders letter would bring the account, so they, the poor tender creatures, had to go on sickening and trembling through the whole campaign. Whatever these terrors were on the part of Esmond's mistress, and that tenderest of women must have felt them most keenly for both her sons, as she called them, she never allowed them outwardly to appear, but hid her apprehension as she did her charities and devotion. It was only by chance that Esmond, wandering in Kensington, found his mistress coming out of a mean cottage there, and heard that she had a score of poor retainers, whom she visited and comforted in their sickness and poverty, and who blessed her daily. She attended the early church daily, though of a Sunday especially she encouraged and advanced all sorts of cheerfulness and innocent gaiety in her little household, and by notes entered into a table-book of hers at this time, and devotional compositions writ with a sweet heartless fervor, such as the best divines could not surpass, showed how fond her heart was, how humble and pious her spirit, what pangs of apprehension she endured silently, and with what a faithful reliant she committed the care of those she loved to the awful dispenser of death and life. As for her ladyship at Chelsea, Esmond's newly adopted mother, she was now of an age when the danger of any second party doth not disturb the rest much. She cared for Trump's more than for most things in life. She was firm enough in her own faith, but no longer very bitter against ours. She had a very good natured, easy French director, Monsieur Gauthier by name, who was a gentleman of the world, and would take a hand of cards with Dean Atterbury, my lady's neighbor at Chelsea, and was well with all the high church party. No doubt, Monsieur Gauthier knew what Esmond's peculiar position was, for he corresponded with Holt and always treated Colonel Esmond with particular respect and kindness. But for good reasons the Colonel and the Abbey never spoke on this matter together, and so they remained perfect good friends. All the frequenters of my lady of Chelsea's house were of the Tory and high church party. Madame Beatrix was as frantic about the king as her elderly kinswoman. She wore his picture on her heart. She had a piece of his hair. She vowed he was the most injured and gallant and accomplished and unfortunate and beautiful of princes. Steele, who quarreled with very many of his Tory friends, but never with Esmond, used to tell the Colonel that his kinswoman's house was a rendezvous of Tory intrigues, that Gauthier was a spy, that Atterbury was a spy, that letters were constantly going from that house to the queen at St. Germain's, on which Esmond, laughing, would reply that they used to say in the army, the Duke of Marlborough was a spy too, and as much in correspondence with that family as any Jesuit. And without entering very eagerly into the controversy, Esmond had frankly taken the side of his family. It seemed to him that King James III was undoubtedly King of England by right, and at his sister's death it would be better to have him more than a foreigner over us. No man admired King William Moore, a hero and a conqueror, the bravest, justice, wisest of men, but was by the sword he conquered the country, and held and governed it by the very same right that the great Cromwell held it, who was truly and greatly a sovereign, but that a foreign despotic prince out of Germany, who happened to be descended from King James I, should take possession of this empire, seemed to Mr. Esmond a monstrous injustice. At least every Englishman had a right to protest, and the English prince, the heir, at law, the first of all. What man of spirit with such a cause would not back it? What man of honor with such a crown to win would not fight for it? But that race was destined. That prince had himself against him an enemy he could not overcome. He never dared to draw his sword, though he had it. He let his chances slip by as he lay in the lap of opera girls, or snivelled at the knees of priests, asking pardon, and the blood of heroes, and the devotedness of honest hearts and endurance, courage, fidelity, were all spent for him in vain. But let us return to my lady of Chelsea, who, when her son Esmond announced to her ladyship that he proposed to make the ensuing campaign, took leave of him with perfect alacrity, and was down to Piquet with her gentlewoman before he had well quitted the room on his last visit. Tears to a king were the last words he ever heard her say. The game of life was pretty nearly over for the good lady, and three months afterwards she took to her bed, where she flickered out without any pain, so the Abbey Gauthier wrote over to Mr. Esmond, then with his general on the frontier of France. The Lady Castlewood was with her at her ending, and had written two, but these letters must have been taken by a privateer in the packet that brought them, for Esmond knew nothing of their contents until his return to England. My Lady Castlewood had left everything to Colonel Esmond as a reparation for the wrong done to him, it was read in her will. But her fortune was not much, for it never had been large, and the honest viscountess had wisely sunk most of the money she had upon an annuity, which terminated with her life. However, there was the house and furniture, plate, and pictures at Chelsea, and a sum of money lying at her merchant's, or Josiah Child, which altogether would realize a sum of near three hundred pounds per annum, so that Mr. Esmond found himself, if not rich, at least easy for life. Likewise, there were the famous diamonds, which had been said to be worth fabulous sums, though the goldsmith pronounced they would fetch no more than four thousand pounds. These diamonds, however, Colonel Esmond reserved, having a special use for them. But the Chelsea house, plate, goods, and etc., with the exception of a few articles which he kept back, were sold by his orders, and the sums resulting from the sale invested in the public securities, so as to realize the aforesaid annual income of three hundred pounds. Having now something to leave, he made a will, and dispatched it home. The army was now in presence of the enemy, and a great battle expected every day. It was known that the general-in-chief was in disgrace, and the parties at home strong against him, and there was no stroke this great and resolute player would not venture to recall his fortune when it seemed desperate. Frank Castlewood was with Colonel Esmond, his general having gladly taken the young nobleman on to his staff. His studies of fortifications at Brussels were over by this time. The fort he was besieging had yielded, I believe, and my lord had not only marched in with flying colors, but marched out again. He used to tell his boy wickedness with admirable humor, and was the most charming young scapegrace in the army. It is needless to say that Colonel Esmond had left every penny of his little fortune to this boy. It was the Colonel's firm conviction that the next battle would put an end to him, for he felt a weary of the sun, and quite ready to bid that and the earth farewell. Frank would not listen to his comrades gloomy forebodings, but swore they would keep his birthday at Castlewood that autumn after the campaign. He had heard of the engagement at home. If Prince Eugene goes to London, says Frank, and tricks can get hold of him, she'll jilt ash, burn him for his highness. I tell you, she used to make eyes at the Duke of Marlborough when she was only fourteen, an ogling poor little Blandford. I wouldn't marry her, Harry. No, not if her eyes were twice as big. I'll take my fun. I'll enjoy for the next three years every possible pleasure. I'll sew my wild oats then, and marry some quiet, steady, modest, sensible Viscountess, hunt my Harriers, and settle down at Castlewood. Perhaps I'll represent the county. No, damn. You shall represent the county. You have the brains of the family. By the Lord, my dear old Harry, you have the best head and the kindest heart in all the army. And every man says so. And when the queen dies and the king comes back, why shouldn't you go to the House of Commons and be a minister and be made a peer? And that sort of thing. You be shot in the next action? I wager a dozen of burgundy, you're not touched. Mohan is well of his wound. He is always with Corporal John now. As soon as ever I see his ugly face, I'll spit in it. I took lessons of father, of captain hold at Bruxelles. What a man that is. He knows everything. Esmond, Bade Frank, have a care. That father Holt's knowledge was rather dangerous. Not indeed knowing as yet how far the father had pushed his instructions with his young pupil. The gazetteers and writers, both of the French and English side, have given accounts sufficient of that bloody battle of Blargenies or Maltaquet, which was the last and the hardest earned of the victories of the great Duke of Marlborough. In that tremendous combat, near upon 250,000 men were engaged. More than 30,000 of whom were slain or wounded. The Allies lost twice as many men as they killed of the French whom they conquered. And this redful slaughter very likely took place because a great general's credit was shaken at home and he thought to restore it by a victory. If such were the motives which induced the Duke of Marlborough to venture that prodigious stake and desperately sacrifice 30,000 brave lives so that he might figure once more in a gazette and hold his places and pensions a little longer, the event defeated the dreadful and selfish design. For the victory was purchased at a cost which no nation, greedy of glory as it may be, would willingly pay for any triumph. The gallantry of the French was as remarkable as the furious bravery of their assailants. We took a few score of their flags and a few pieces of their artillery. But we left 20,000 of the bravest soldiers of the world round about the entrenched lines from which the enemy was driven. He retreated in perfect good order. The panic spell seemed to be broke under which the French had labored ever since the disaster of Hosset. And fighting now on the threshold of their country, they showed an heroic ardor of resistance such as had never met us in this course of their aggressive war. Had the battle been more successful, the conqueror might have got the price for which he waged it, as it was, and justly, I think. The party adverse to the Duke in England were indignant at the lavish extravagance of slaughter and demanded more eagerly than ever the recall of a chief whose cupidity and desperation might urge him further still. After this bloody fight of mal-placay, I can answer for it that in the Dutch quarters and our own, and amongst the very regiments and commanders whose gallantry was most conspicuous upon this frightful day of carnage, the general cry was that there was enough of the war. The French were driven back into their own boundary, and all their conquests and booty of Flanders discord. As for the Prince of Savoy, with whom our commander-in-chief, for reasons of his own, consorted more closely than ever, it was known that he was animated not merely by a political hatred, but by personal rage against the old French king, the imperial general Lissimo never forgot the sight put by Louis upon the Abbey of Savoy. And in the humiliation or ruin of his most Christian majesty, the Holy Roman Emperor found this account. But what were these quarrels to us, the free citizens of England and Holland, despot as he was? The French monarch was yet the chief of European civilization, more venerable in his age and misfortunes than at the period of his most splendid successes, whilst his opponent was but a semi-barbarous tyrant, with a pillaging murderous horde of croats and pandwares composing a half of his army, filling our camp with their strange figures bearded like the miscreant Turks, their neighbors, and carrying into Christian warfare their native heathen habits of a rapine lust and murder. Why should the best blood in England and France be shed in order that the Holy Roman and apostolic master of these ruffians should have his revenge over the Christian king? And it was to this end we were fighting, for this that every village and family in England were deploring the death of beloved sons and fathers. We dared not speak to each other, even at table of maleplacade so frightful were the gaps left in our army by the cannon of that bloody action. It was heart-printing for an officer who had a heart to look down his line on a parade day afterwards and miss hundreds of faces of comrades, humble or of high rank, that had gathered but yesterday full of courage and cheerfulness round the torn and blackened flags. Where were our friends? As the great Duke reviewed us, riding along our lines with his fine suite of prancing aids decomp and generals, stopping here and there to thank an officer with those eager smiles and bows of which his grace was always lavish, scarce a huzzah could be got for him. Though Cadogan with an oath rode up and cried, damn you, why don't you cheer? But the man had no heart for that, not one of them but was thinking, where's my comrade, where's my brother that fought by me, or my dear captain that led me yesterday? It was the most gloomy pageant I ever booked on, and the tedium sung by our chaplains the most woeful and dreary satire. Esmond's general added one more to the many marks of honor which he had received in the front of a score of battles and got a wound in the groin which laid him on his back, and you may be sure he consoled himself by abusing the commander-in-chief as he lay groaning. Corporal Johns is fond of me, he used to say, as King David was of general Uriah, and so he always gives me the post of danger. He persisted to his dying day and believing that the Duke intended he should be beat at Wynondale and sent him purposely with a small force, hoping that he might be knocked on the head there. Esmond and Frank Castlewood both escaped without hurt, though the division, which our general commanded, suffered even more than any other, having to sustain not only the fury of the enemy's candidate, which was very hot and well served, but the furious and repeated charges of the famous Meson du Roy, which he had to receive and beat off again and again with volleys of shot and hedges of iron and our four lines of musketeers and pikemen. They said the King of England charged us no less than 12 times that day along with the French household. Esmond's late regiment, General Webb's own fusiliers, served in the division which their colonel commanded. The general was thrice in the center of the square of the fusiliers, calling the fire at the French charges, and after the action his Grace the Duke of Burwick sent his compliments to his old regiment and their colonel for their behavior on the field. We drank my Lord Castlewood's health and majority the 25th of September, the army being then before Mawns, and here Colonel Esmond was not so fortunate as he had been in actions much more dangerous and was hit by a spent ball just above the place where his former wound was which caused the old wound to open again, fever, spitting of blood, and other ugly symptoms to ensue, and in a word brought him near to death's door. The kind lad, his kinsman, attended his elder comrade with a very praiseworthy affectionateness and care until he was pronounced out of danger by the doctors when Frank went off past the winter at Bruxelles and beseed no doubt some other fortress there. Very few lads would have given up their pleasures so long and so gaily as Frank did. His cheerful prattles soothed many long days of Esmond's pain and languor. Frank was supposed to be still at his kinsman's bedside for a month after he had left it, for letters came from his mother at home full of thanks to the younger gentleman for his care of his elder brother, so it pleased Esmond's mistress now affectionately to style him. Nor was Mr. Esmond in a hurry to un-deceive her when the good young fellow was gone for his Christmas holiday. It was as pleasant to Esmond on his couch to watch the young man's pleasure at the idea of being free as to note his simple efforts to disguise his satisfaction on going away. There are days when a flask of champagne at a cabaret and red-cheeked partner to share it are too strong temptations for any young fellow's spirit. I am not going to play the moralist and cry fee. For ages past I know how old men preach and what young men practice, and that patriarchs have had their weak moments too. Long since Father Noah toppled over after discovering the vine. Frank went off then to his pleasures at Bruxelles in which capital many young fellows of our army declared they found infinitely greater diversion even than in London. And Mr. Henry Esmond remained in his sick room, where he writ a fine comedy that his mistress pronounced to be sublime, and that was acted no less than three successive nights in London in the next year. Here, as he lay nursing himself, ubiquitous Mr. Holt reappeared and stopped a whole month at Mons, where he not only went over Colonel Esmond to the king's side in politics, that side being always held by the Esmond family, but where he endeavored to reopen the controversial question between the churches once more and to recall Esmond to that religion in which, in his infancy, he had been baptized. Holt was a cause-wist, both dexterous and learned, and presented the case between the English Church and his own in such a way that those who granted his premises ought certainly to allow his conclusions. He touched on Esmond's delicate state of health, chance of dissolution, and so forth, and in large, upon the immense benefits that the sick man was likely to forego, benefits which the Church of England did not deny to those of the Roman Communion, and how should she, being derived from that Church, and only an offshoot from it. But Mr. Esmond said that his Church was the Church of his country, and to that he chose to remain faithful. Other people were welcome to worship and to subscribe any other set of articles, whether at Rome or at Augsburg. But if the good father meant that Esmond should join the Roman Communion for fear of consequences, and that Holt England ran the risk of being damned for heresy, Esmond, for one, was perfectly willing to take his chance of the penalty along with the countless millions of his fellow countrymen who were bred in the same faith, and along with some of the noblest, the truest, the purest, the wisest, the most pious, and learned men and women in the world. As for the political question in that Mr. Esmond could agree with the father much more readily, and had come to the same conclusion, though perhaps by a different way, the right divine about which Dr. Sacaberyl and the High Church Party in England were just now making a bother, they were welcome to hold as they chose. If Richard Cromwell and his father before him had been crowned and anointed, and bishops enough would have been found to do it, it seemed to Mr. Esmond that they would have had the right divine just as much as any platiginé or tutor or steward. But the desire of the country being unquestionably for an hereditary monarchy, Esmond thought an English king out of St. Germain's was better and fitter than a German prince from Heron-Hawson, and that if he failed to satisfy the nation, some other Englishmen might be found to take his place. And so, though with no frantic enthusiasm or worship of that monstrous pedigree which the Tories chose to consider divine, he was ready to say, God save King James, when Queen Anne went the way of kings and commoners. I fear, Colonel, you are no better than a Republican at heart, says the priest with a sigh. I am an Englishman, says Harry, and take my country as I find her. The will of the nation being for church and king, I am for church and king too. But English church and English king. And that is why your church isn't mine, though your king is. Though they lost the day at Malapaké, it was the French who were elated by that action, whilst the conquerors were dispirited by it, and the enemy gathered together a larger army than ever and made prodigious efforts for the next ten pain. Marcel Burwick was with the French this year, and we heard that Marichal Villars was still suffering of his wound, was eager to bring our duke to action and vowed he would fight us in his coach. Young Castlewood came flying back from Brussels as soon as he heard that fighting was to begin, and the arrival of the Chevalier de Saint-George was announced about May. It's the king's third campaign and it's mine, Frank Light saying. He was come back a greater Jacobite than ever, and Esmond suspected that some fair conspirators at Brussels had been inflaming the young man's ardor. Indeed he owned that he had a message from the queen, Beatrix's godmother, who had given her name to Frank's sister the year before he and his sovereign were born. However desirous, Marichal Villars might be to fight. My Lord duke did not seem disposed to indulge him this campaign. Last year his grace had been all for the wigs and Hanoverians, but finding on going to England his country cold towards himself and the people in affirmant of high church loyalty, the duke comes back to his army cool towards the Hanoverians, cautious with the imperians, and particularly civil and polite towards the Chevalier de Saint-George. Tis certain that messengers and letters were continually passing between his grace and his brave nephew, the duke Burwick, in the opposite camp. No man's caresses were more opportune than his graces, and no man ever uttered expressions of regard and affection more generously. He professed to Monsieur de Torcy, so Mr. Saint John told the writer, quite an eagerness to be cut in pieces for the exiled queen and her family. Namor, I believe, this year he parted with a portion of the most precious part of himself, his money, which he sent over to the royal exiles. Mr. Tunstall, who was in the Prince's service, was twice or thrice in and out of our camp. The French in theirs of our new and about eras. A little river, the Canayhe, I think, was called, but this is rid away from books in Europe, and the only map the right or half of these scenes of his youth bears no mark of this little stream, divided our pickets from the enemies. Our centuries talked across the stream when they could make themselves understood to each other, and when they could not, grinned and handed each other their brandy flasks or their pouches of tobacco. And one fine day of June, riding thither with the officer who visited the outpost, Colonel Esmond was taking an airing on horseback, being too weak for military duty. They came to this river where a number of English and Scots were assembled, talking to the good-natured enemy on the other side. Esmond was especially amused with the talk of one long fellow, with a great curling, red mustache, and blue eyes that was half a dozen inches taller than his swarthy little comrades on the French side of the stream, and being asked by the Colonel, saluted him and said that he belonged to the Royal Croivats. From his way of saying Royal Croivat, Esmond at once knew that the fellow's tongue had first wagged on the banks of the Liffey and not the Lois, and the poor soldier, a deserter probably, did not like to venture very deep into French conversation, lest his unlucky brogue should peep out. He chose to restrict himself to such few expressions in the French language as he thought he had mastered easily, and his attempt at disguise was infinitely amusing. Mr. Esmond whistled bull arrow at which Teague's eyes began to twinkle, and then flung him a dollar when the poor boy broke out with a god bless that his due beneath Voterrona, that would infallibly have sent him to the provost marshal had he been on our side of the river. Whilst this party was going on, three officers on horseback on the French side appeared at some little distance and stopped as if eyeing us, when one of them left the other two and rode close up to us, who were by the stream. Look, look, says the Royal Croivat, with great agitation. Paul-Louis, that's he, not him, little Trey, and appointed to the distant officer on a chestnut horse, with a cuirin shining in the sun and over it a broad blue ribbon. Pleased to take Mr. Hamilton's services to my Lord Marlborough, my Lord Duke, says the gentleman in English, and looking to see that the party were not hostily disposed, he added with a smile, there's a friend of yours, gentlemen, yonder. He bids me to say that he saw some of your faces on the 11th of September last year. As the gentleman spoke, the other two officers rode up and came quite close. We knew at once who it was. It was the King, then two and twenty years old, tall and slim, with deep brown eyes that looked melancholy, though his lips were a smile. We took off our hats and saluted him. No man sure could see for the first time, without emotion, the youthful inheritor of so much fame and misfortune. It seemed to Mr. Esmond that the Prince was not unlike young Casawod, whose age and figure he resembled. The chivalier de Saint George acknowledged the salute and looked at us hard, even the idlers on our side of the river set up a hurrah. As for the royal cravat, he ran to the Prince's stirrup, knelt down, and kissed his boot, and bawled and looked a hundred ejaculations and blessings. The Prince made the aid to comp give him a piece of money, and when the party saluting us had ridden away, cravat spat upon the piece of gold by way of benediction, and swaggered away, pouching his coin and twirling his honest charity mustache. The officer in whose company Esmond was, the same little captain of Handyside's Regiment, Mr. Stern, who had proposed the garden at Lily, when my Lord Mohan and Esmond had that affair, was an Irishman too, and as brave a little soul as ever wore a sword. My dad, says Roger Stern, that long fellow spoke French so beautiful that I shouldn't have known he wasn't a foreigner, till he broke out with his hullabalooing, and only an Irish calf can bellow like that, and Roger made another remark in his wild way in which there was sense as well as absurdity. If that young gentleman, says he, would butt right over to our camp instead of Villars, toss up his hat and say, here am I, the king, who will follow me by the Lord Esmond. The whole army would rise and carry him home again and beat the Lars and take Paris by the way. The news of the Prince's visit was all through the camp quickly, and scores of hours went down in hopes to see him. Major Hamilton, whom we had talked with, sent back by trumpet several silver pieces for officers with us. Mr. Esmond received one of these, and that medal and a recompense not uncommon amongst princes were the only rewards he ever had from a royal person whom he endeavored not very long after to serve. Esmond quitted the army almost immediately after this, following his general home, and indeed being advised to travel in the fine weather and attempt to take no further part in the campaign. But he heard from the army that of the many who crowded to see the chivalier de Saint George, Frank Castlewood had made himself most conspicuous. My Lord Biscount, riding across the little stream, bare headed to where the Prince was, and dismounting and kneeling before him to do him homage. Some said that the Prince had actually knighted him. But my Lord denied that statement, though he acknowledged the rest of the story, and said, from having been out of favor with Corporal John, as he called the Duke, before his grace warned him not to commit those follies, and smiled on him cordially ever after. And he was so kind to me, Frank Ritt, that I thought I would put in a good word for Master Harry. But when I mentioned your name, he looked as black as thunder, and said he had never heard of you. End of book three, chapter one, recording by Ralph Snowson.