Chapter I. 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, andthe great motive of his ambition was over. His desire for military honourwas that it might raise him in Beatrix's eyes. 'Twas next to nobility andwealth the only kind of rank she valued. It was the stake quickest won orlost too; for law is a very long game that requires a life to practise;and to be distinguished in letters or the Church would not have forwardedthe poor gentleman's plans in the least. So he had no suit to play but thered one, and he played it; and this, in truth, was the reason of hisspeedy promotion; for he exposed himself more than most gentlemen do, andrisked more to win more. Is he the only man that hath set his life againsta stake which may be not worth the winning? Another risks his life (andhis honour, too, sometimes) against a bundle of bank-notes, or a yard ofblue ribbon, or a seat in Parliament; and some for the mere pleasure andexcitement of the sport; as a field of a hundred huntsmen will do, eachout-bawling and out-galloping the other at the tail of a dirty fox, thatis to be the prize of the foremost happy conqueror.
When he heard this news of Beatrix's engagement in marriage, ColonelEsmond 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 ofmind he determined to retire from the regiment, to the great delight ofthe captain next in rank to him, who happened to be a young gentleman ofgood fortune, who eagerly paid Mr. Esmond a thousand guineas for hismajority in Webb's regiment, and was knocked on the head the nextcampaign. Perhaps Esmond would not have been sorry to share his fate. Hewas more the Knight of the Woful Countenance than ever he had been. Hismoodiness must have made him perfectly odious to his friends under thetents, who like a jolly fellow, and laugh at a melancholy warrior alwayssighing 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 inthe transfer of his commission, which brought a pretty sum into hispocket. But when the commander-in-chief came home, and was forced, inspite of himself, to appoint Lieutenant-General Webb to the command of adivision of the army in Flanders, the lieutenant-general prayed ColonelEsmond so urgently to be his aide de camp and military secretary, thatEsmond could not resist his kind patron's entreaties, and again took thefield, not attached to any regiment, but under Webb's orders. What musthave been the continued agonies of fears(15) and apprehensions whichracked the gentle breasts of wives and matrons in those dreadful days,when every _Gazette_ brought accounts of deaths and battles, and when thepresent anxiety over, and the beloved person escaped, the doubt stillremained that a battle might be fought, possibly, of which the nextFlanders letter would bring the account; so they, the poor tendercreatures, had to go on sickening and trembling through the wholecampaign. Whatever these terrors were on the part of Esmond's mistress(and that tenderest of women must have felt them most keenly for both hersons, as she called them), she never allowed them outwardly to appear, buthid her apprehension as she did her charities and devotion. 'Twas only bychance that Esmond, wandering in Kensington, found his mistress coming outof 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 whoblessed her daily. She attended the early church daily (though of a Sundayespecially, she encouraged and advanced all sorts of cheerfulness andinnocent gaiety in her little household): and by notes entered into atable-book of hers at this time, and devotional compositions writ with asweet artless fervour, such as the best divines could not surpass, showedhow fond her heart was, how humble and pious her spirit, what pangs ofapprehension she endured silently, and with what a faithful reliance shecommitted the care of those she loved to the awful Dispenser of death andlife.
As for her ladyship at Chelsea, Esmond's newly-adopted mother, she was nowof an age when the danger of any second party doth not disturb the restmuch. She cared for trumps more than for most things in life. She was firmenough in her own faith, but no longer very bitter against ours. She had avery good-natured, easy French director, Monsieur Gauthier by name, whowas a gentleman of the world, and would take a hand of cards with DeanAtterbury, my lady's neighbour at Chelsea, and was well with all the HighChurch party. No doubt Monsieur Gauthier knew what Esmond's peculiarposition was, for he corresponded with Holt, and always treated ColonelEsmond with particular respect and kindness; but for good reasons thecolonel and the abbe never spoke on this matter together, and so theyremained perfect good friends.
All the frequenters of my lady of Chelsea's house were of the Tory andHigh Church party. Madame Beatrix was as frantic about the king as herelderly kinswoman: she wore his picture on her heart; she had a piece ofhis hair; she vowed he was the most injured, and gallant, andaccomplished, and unfortunate, and beautiful of princes. Steele, whoquarrelled with very many of his Tory friends, but never with Esmond, usedto tell the colonel that his kinswoman's house was a rendezvous of Toryintrigues; that Gauthier was a spy; that Atterbury was a spy; that letterswere constantly going from that house to the queen at St. Germains; onwhich Esmond, laughing, would reply, that they used to say in the army theDuke of Marlborough was a spy too, and as much in correspondence with thatfamily as any Jesuit. And without entering very eagerly into thecontroversy, Esmond had frankly taken the side of his family. It seemed tohim that King James the Third was undoubtedly King of England by right:and at his sister's death it would be better to have him than a foreignerover us. No man admired King William more; a hero and a conqueror, thebravest, justest, wisest of men--but 'twas by the sword he conquered thecountry, and held and governed it by the very same right that the greatCromwell held it, who was truly and greatly a sovereign. But that aforeign despotic prince, out of Germany, who happened to be descended fromKing James the First, should take possession of this empire, seemed to Mr.Esmond a monstrous injustice--at least, every Englishman had a right toprotest, and the English prince, the heir-at-law, the first of all. Whatman of spirit with such a cause would not back it? What man of honour withsuch 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. Henever dared to draw his sword, though he had it. He let his chances slipby as he lay in the lap of opera-girls, or snivelled at the knees ofpriests asking pardon; and the blood of heroes, and the devotedness ofhonest hearts, and endurance, courage, fidelity, were all spent for him invain.
But let us return to my lady of Chelsea, who, when her son Esmondannounced to her ladyship that he proposed to make the ensuing campaign,took leave of him with perfect alacrity, and was down to piquet with hergentlewoman before he had well quitted the room on his last visit. "Tierceto a king," were the last words he ever heard her say: the game of lifewas pretty nearly over for the good lady, and three months afterwards shetook to her bed, where she flickered out without any pain, so the AbbeGauthier wrote over to Mr. Esmond, then with his general on the frontierof France. The Lady Castlewood was with her at her ending, and had writtentoo, but these letters must have been taken by a privateer in the packetthat brought them; for Esmond knew nothing of their contents until hisreturn to England.
My Lady Castlewood had left everything to Colonel Esmond, "as a reparationfor the wrong done to him"; 'twas writ in her will. But her fortune wasnot much, for it never had been large, and the honest viscountess hadwisely sunk most of the money she had upon an annuity which terminatedwith her life. However, there was the house and furniture, plate andpictures at Chelsea, and a sum of money lying at her merchant's, SirJosiah Child, which altogether would realize a sum of near three hundredpounds per annum, so that Mr. Esmond found himself, if not rich, at leasteasy for life. Likewise, there were the famous diamonds which had beensaid to be worth fabulous sums, though the goldsmith pronounced they wouldfetch no more than four thousand pounds. These diamonds, however, ColonelEsmond reserved, having a special use for them: but t
he Chelsea house,plate, goods, &c., with the exception of a few articles which he keptback, were sold by his orders; and the sums resulting from the saleinvested in the public securities so as to realize the aforesaid annualincome of three hundred pounds.
Having now something to leave, he made a will, and dispatched it home. Thearmy was now in presence of the enemy; and a great battle expected everyday. 'Twas known that the general-in-chief was in disgrace, and theparties at home strong against him; and there was no stroke this great andresolute player would not venture to recall his fortune when it seemeddesperate. Frank Castlewood was with Colonel Esmond; his general havinggladly taken the young nobleman on to his staff. His studies offortifications at Bruxelles were over by this time. The fort he wasbesieging had yielded, I believe, and my lord had not only marched in withflying colours, but marched out again. He used to tell his boyishwickednesses with admirable humour, and was the most charming youngscapegrace in the army.
'Tis needless to say that Colonel Esmond had left every penny of hislittle fortune to this boy. It was the colonel's firm conviction that thenext battle would put an end to him: for he felt aweary of the sun, andquite ready to bid that and the earth farewell. Frank would not listen tohis comrade's gloomy forebodings, but swore they would keep his birthdayat Castlewood that autumn, after the campaign. He had heard of theengagement at home. "If Prince Eugene goes to London," says Frank, "andTrix can get hold of him, she'll jilt Ashburnham for his highness. I tellyou, she used to make eyes at the Duke of Marlborough, when she was onlyfourteen and 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 thenext three years every possible pleasure. I'll sow my wild oats then, andmarry some quiet, steady, modest, sensible viscountess; hunt my harriers;and settle down at Castlewood. Perhaps I'll represent the county--no,damme, _you_ shall represent the county. You have the brains of thefamily. By the Lord, my dear old Harry, you have the best head and thekindest heart in all the army; and every man says so--and when the queendies, and the king comes back, why shouldn't you go to the House ofCommons 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 are nottouched. Mohun 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 ofFather--of Captain Holtz at Bruxelles. What a man that is! He knowseverything." Esmond bade Frank have a care; that Father Holt's knowledgewas rather dangerous; not, indeed, knowing as yet how far the father hadpushed his instructions with his young pupil.
The gazetteers and writers, both of the French and English side, havegiven accounts sufficient of that bloody battle of Blarignies orMalplaquet, which was the last and the hardest-earned of the victories ofthe great Duke of Marlborough. In that tremendous combat, near upon twohundred and fifty thousand men were engaged, more than thirty thousand ofwhom were slain or wounded (the Allies lost twice as many men as theykilled of the French, whom they conquered): and this dreadful slaughtervery likely took place because a great general's credit was shaken athome, and he thought to restore it by a victory. If such were the motiveswhich induced the Duke of Marlborough to venture that prodigious stake,and desperately sacrifice thirty thousand brave lives, so that he mightfigure once more in a _Gazette_, and hold his places and pensions a littlelonger, the event defeated the dreadful and selfish design, for thevictory was purchased at a cost which no nation, greedy of glory as it maybe, would willingly pay for any triumph. The gallantry of the French wasas remarkable as the furious bravery of their assailants. We took a fewscore of their flags, and a few pieces of their artillery; but we lefttwenty thousand of the bravest soldiers of the world round about theentrenched lines, from which the enemy was driven. He retreated in perfectgood order; the panic-spell seemed to be broke, under which the French hadlaboured ever since the disaster of Hochstedt; and, fighting now on thethreshold of their country, they showed an heroic ardour of resistance,such as had never met us in the course of their aggressive war. Had thebattle been more successful, the conqueror might have got the price forwhich he waged it. As it was (and justly, I think), the party adverse tothe duke in England were indignant at the lavish extravagance ofslaughter, and demanded more eagerly than ever the recall of a chief,whose cupidity and desperation might urge him further still. After thisbloody fight of Malplaquet, I can answer for it, that in the Dutchquarters and our own, and amongst the very regiments and commanders, whosegallantry was most conspicuous upon this frightful day of carnage, thegeneral cry was, that there was enough of the war. The French were drivenback into their own boundary, and all their conquests and booty ofFlanders disgorged. As for the Prince of Savoy, with whom ourcommander-in-chief, for reasons of his own, consorted more closely thanever, 'twas known that he was animated not merely by a political hatred,but by personal rage against the old French king: the ImperialGeneralissimo never forgot the slight put by Lewis upon the Abbe deSavoie; and in the humiliation or ruin of his most Christian Majesty, theHoly Roman Emperor found his account. But what were these quarrels to us,the free citizens of England and Holland? Despot as he was, the Frenchmonarch was yet the chief of European civilization, more venerable in hisage and misfortunes than at the period of his most splendid successes;whilst his opponent was but a semi-barbarous tyrant, with a pillagingmurderous horde of Croats and Pandours, composing a half of his army,filling our camp with their strange figures, bearded like the miscreantTurks their neighbours, and carrying into Christian warfare their nativeheathen habits of rapine, lust, and murder. Why should the best blood inEngland and France be shed in order that the Holy Roman and Apostolicmaster 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 andfamily in England was deploring the death of beloved sons and fathers. Wedared not speak to each other, even at table, of Malplaquet, so frightfulwere the gaps left in our army by the cannon of that bloody action. 'Twasheartrending, for an officer who had a heart, to look down his line on aparade-day afterwards, and miss hundreds of faces of comrades--humble or ofhigh rank--that had gathered but yesterday full of courage and cheerfulnessround the torn and blackened flags. Where were our friends? As the greatduke reviewed us, riding along our lines with his fine suite of prancingaides de camp and generals, stopping here and there to thank an officerwith 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, rodeup and cried--"D--n you, why don't you cheer?" But the men had no heart forthat: not one of them but was thinking, "Where's my comrade?--where's mybrother that fought by me, or my dear captain that led me yesterday?"'Twas the most gloomy pageant I ever looked on; and the _Te Deum_, sung byour chaplains, the most woful and dreary satire.
Esmond's general added one more to the many marks of honour which he hadreceived 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 byabusing the commander-in-chief, as he lay groaning:--"Corporal John's asfond of me," he used to say, "as King David was of General Uriah; and sohe always gives me the post of danger." He persisted, to his dying day, inbelieving that the duke intended he should be beat at Wynendael, and senthim purposely with a small force, hoping that he might be knocked on thehead there. Esmond and Frank Castlewood both escaped without hurt, thoughthe division which our general commanded suffered even more than anyother, having to sustain not only the fury of the enemy's cannonade, whichwas very hot and well-served, but the furious and repeated charges of thefamous Maison-du-Roy, which we had to receive and beat off again andagain, with volleys of shot and hedges of iron, and our four lines ofmusketeers and pikemen. They said the King of England charged us no lessthan twelve times that day, along with the French Household. Esmond's lateregiment, General Webb's own Fusiliers, served in the division which theircolonel commanded. The general was thrice in the centre of the square ofthe Fusiliers, calling the fire at the Fr
ench charges; and, after theaction, his grace the Duke of Berwick sent his compliments to his oldregiment and their colonel for their behaviour on the field.
We drank my Lord Castlewood's health and majority, the 25th of September,the army being then before Mons: and here Colonel Esmond was not sofortunate as he had been in actions much more dangerous, and was hit by aspent ball just above the place where his former wound was, which causedthe old wound to open again, fever, spitting of blood, and other uglysymptoms, to ensue; and, in a word, brought him near to death's door. Thekind lad, his kinsman, attended his elder comrade with a very praiseworthyaffectionateness and care until he was pronounced out of danger by thedoctors, when Frank went off, passed the winter at Bruxelles, andbesieged, no doubt, some other fortress there. Very few lads would havegiven up their pleasures so long and so gaily as Frank did; his cheerfulprattle soothed many long days of Esmond's pain and languor. Frank wassupposed to be still at his kinsman's bedside for a month after he hadleft it, for letters came from his mother at home full of thanks to theyounger gentleman for his care of his elder brother (so it pleasedEsmond's mistress now affectionately to style him); nor was Mr. Esmond ina hurry to undeceive her, when the good young fellow was gone for hisChristmas holiday. It was as pleasant to Esmond on his couch to watch theyoung man's pleasure at the idea of being free, as to note his simpleefforts to disguise his satisfaction on going away. There are days when aflask of champagne at a cabaret, and a red-cheeked partner to share it,are too strong temptations for any young fellow of spirit. I am not goingto play the moralist, and cry "Fie!" For ages past, I know how old menpreach, and what young men practise; and that patriarchs have had theirweak moments, too, long since Father Noah toppled over after discoveringthe vine. Frank went off, then, to his pleasures at Bruxelles, in whichcapital many young fellows of our army declared they found infinitelygreater diversion even than in London: and Mr. Henry Esmond remained inhis sick-room, where he writ a fine comedy, that his mistress pronouncedto be sublime, and that was acted no less than three successive nights inLondon in the next year.
Here, as he lay nursing himself, ubiquitous Mr. Holtz reappeared, andstopped a whole month at Mons, where he not only won over Colonel Esmondto the king's side in politics (that side being always held by the Esmondfamily); but where he endeavoured to reopen the controversial questionbetween the Churches once more, and to recall Esmond to that religion inwhich, in his infancy, he had been baptized. Holtz was a casuist, bothdexterous and learned, and presented the case between the English Churchand his own in such a way that those who granted his premisses oughtcertainly to allow his conclusions. He touched on Esmond's delicate stateof health, chance of dissolution, and so forth; and enlarged upon theimmense benefits that the sick man was likely to forgo--benefits which theChurch of England did not deny to those of the Roman communion, as howshould 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 tothat he chose to remain faithful: other people were welcome to worship andto subscribe any other set of articles, whether at Rome or at Augsburg.But if the good father meant that Esmond should join the Roman communionfor fear of consequences, and that all England ran the risk of beingdamned for heresy, Esmond, for one, was perfectly willing to take hischance of the penalty along with the countless millions of his fellowcountrymen, who were bred in the same faith, and along with some of thenoblest, the truest, the purest, the wisest, the most pious and learnedmen and women in the world.
As for the political question, in that Mr. Esmond could agree with thefather much more readily, and had come to the same conclusion, though,perhaps, by a different way. The right-divine, about which Dr. Sachevereland the High Church party in England were just now making a bother, theywere welcome to hold as they chose. If Henry Cromwell and his fatherbefore him, had been crowned and anointed (and bishops enough would havebeen found to do it), it seemed to Mr. Esmond that they would have had theright-divine just as much as any Plantagenet, or Tudor, or Stuart. But thedesire of the country being unquestionably for an hereditary monarchy,Esmond thought an English king out of St. Germains was better and fitterthan a German prince from Herrenhausen, and that if he failed to satisfythe nation, some other Englishman might be found to take his place; andso, though with no frantic enthusiasm, or worship of that monstrouspedigree which the Tories chose to consider divine, he was ready to say,"God save King James!" when Queen Anne went the way of kings andcommoners.
"I fear, colonel, you are no better than a republican at heart," says thepriest, with a sigh.
"I am an Englishman," says Harry, "and take my country as I find her. Thewill 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 Churchisn't mine, though your king is."
Though they lost the day at Malplaquet, it was the French who were elatedby that action, whilst the conquerors were dispirited by it; and the enemygathered together a larger army than ever, and made prodigious efforts forthe next campaign. Marshal Berwick was with the French this year; and weheard that Mareschal Villars was still suffering of his wound, was eagerto bring our duke to action, and vowed he would fight us in his coach.Young Castlewood came flying back from Bruxelles, as soon as he heard thatrighting was to begin; and the arrival of the Chevalier de St. George wasannounced about May. "It's the king's third campaign, and it's mine,"Frank liked saying. He was come back a greater Jacobite than ever, andEsmond suspected that some fair conspirators at Bruxelles had beeninflaming the young man's ardour. Indeed, he owned that he had a messagefrom the queen, Beatrix's godmother, who had given her name to Frank'ssister the year before he and his sovereign were born.
However desirous Marshal Villars might be to fight, my lord duke did notseem disposed to indulge him this campaign. Last year his grace had beenall for the Whigs and Hanoverians; but finding, on going to England, hiscountry cold towards himself, and the people in a ferment of High-Churchloyalty, the duke comes back to his army cooled towards the Hanoverians,cautious with the Imperialists, and particularly civil and polite towardsthe Chevalier de St. George. 'Tis certain that messengers and letters werecontinually passing between his grace and his brave nephew, the Duke ofBerwick, in the opposite camp. No man's caresses were more opportune thanhis grace's, and no man ever uttered expressions of regard and affectionmore generously. He professed to Monsieur de Torcy, so Mr. St. John toldthe writer, quite an eagerness to be cut in pieces for the exiled queenand her family; nay more, I believe, this year he parted with a portion ofthe most precious part of himself--his money--which he sent over to theroyal exiles. Mr. Tunstal, who was in the prince's service, was twice orthrice in and out of our camp; the French, in theirs of Arlieu and aboutArras. A little river, the Canihe, I think 'twas called (but this is writaway from books and Europe; and the only map the writer hath of thesescenes of his youth, bears no mark of this little stream), divided ourpickets from the enemy's. Our sentries talked across the stream, when theycould make themselves understood to each other, and when they could not,grinned, and handed each other their brandy-flasks or their pouches oftobacco. And one fine day of June, riding thither with the officer whovisited the outposts (Colonel Esmond was taking an airing on horseback,being too weak for military duty), they came to this river, where a numberof English and Scots were assembled, talking to the good-natured enemy onthe other side.
Esmond was especially amused with the talk of one long fellow, with agreat curling red moustache, and blue eyes, that was half a dozen inchestaller 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 tothe Royal Cravats.
From his way of saying "Royal Cravat", Esmond at once knew that thefellow's tongue had first wagged on the banks of the Liffey, and not theLoire; and the poor soldier--a deserter probably--did not like to venturevery deep into French conversation, lest his unlucky brogue should peepout. He chose to restrict himself to such few expressio
ns in the Frenchlanguage as he thought he had mastered easily; and his attempt at disguisewas infinitely amusing. Mr. Esmond whistled "Lillibullero," at whichTeague's eyes began to twinkle, and then flung him a dollar, when the poorboy broke out with a "God bless--that is, _Dieu benisse votre honor_", thatwould infallibly have sent him to the provost-marshal had he been on ourside of the river.
Whilst this parley was going on, three officers on horseback, on theFrench side, appeared at some little distance, and stopped as if eyeingus, when one of them left the other two, and rode close up to us who wereby the stream. "Look, look!" says the Royal Cravat, with great agitation,"_pas lui_, that's he; not him, _l'autre_," and pointed to the distantofficer on a chestnut horse, with a cuirass shining in the sun, and overit a broad blue ribbon.
"Please to take Mr. Hamilton's services to my Lord Marlborough--my lordduke," says the gentleman in English; and, looking to see that the partywere not hostilely disposed, he added, with a smile, "There's a friend ofyours, gentlemen, yonder; he bids me to say that he saw some of your faceson the 11th of September last year."
As the gentleman spoke, the other two officers rode up, and came quiteclose. We knew at once who it was. It was the king, then two-and-twentyyears old, tall and slim, with deep brown eyes, that looked melancholy,though his lips wore a smile. We took off our hats and saluted him. Noman, sure, could see for the first time, without emotion, the youthfulinheritor of so much fame and misfortune. It seemed to Mr. Esmond that theprince was not unlike young Castlewood, whose age and figure he resembled.The Chevalier de St. George acknowledged the salute, and looked at ushard. Even the idlers on our side of the river set up a hurrah. As for theRoyal Cravat, he ran to the prince's stirrup, knelt down and kissed hisboot, and bawled and looked a hundred ejaculations and blessings. Theprince bade the aide de camp give him a piece of money; and when the partysaluting us had ridden away, Cravat spat upon the piece of gold by way ofbenediction, and swaggered away, pouching his coin and twirling his honestcarroty moustache.
The officer in whose company Esmond was, the same little captain ofHandyside's regiment, Mr. Sterne, who had proposed the garden at Lille,when my Lord Mohun and Esmond had their affair, was an Irishman too, andas brave a little soul as ever wore a sword. "Bedad," says Roger Sterne,"that long fellow spoke French so beautiful that I shouldn't have known hewasn't a foreigner, till he broke out with his hulla-balloing, and only anIrish calf can bellow like that."--And Roger made another remark in hiswild way, in which there was sense as well as absurdity--"If that younggentleman," says he, "would but ride over to our camp instead ofVillars's, toss up his hat and say, 'Here am I, the king, who'll followme?' by the Lord, Esmond, the whole army would rise and carry him homeagain, and beat Villars, and take Paris by the way."
The news of the prince's visit was all through the camp quickly, andscores of ours went down in hopes to see him. Major Hamilton, whom we hadtalked with, sent back by a trumpet several silver pieces for officerswith us. Mr. Esmond received one of these: and that medal, and arecompense not uncommon amongst princes, were the only rewards he ever hadfrom a royal person, whom he endeavoured not very long after to serve.
Esmond quitted the army almost immediately after this, following hisgeneral home; and, indeed, being advised to travel in the fine weather andattempt to take no further part in the campaign. But he heard from thearmy, that of the many who crowded to see the Chevalier de St. George,Frank Castlewood had made himself most conspicuous: my lord viscountriding across the little stream bareheaded to where the prince was, anddismounting and kneeling before him to do him homage. Some said that theprince had actually knighted him, but my lord denied that statement,though he acknowledged the rest of the story, and said:--"From having beenout of favour with Corporal John," as he called the duke, before, hisgrace warned him not to commit those follies, and smiled on him cordiallyever after.
"And he was so kind to me," Frank writ, "that I thought I would put in agood word for Master Harry, but when I mentioned your name he looked asblack as thunder, and said he had never heard of you."