The History of Henry Esmond, Esq., a Colonel in the Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  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 honorwas that it might raise him in Beatrix's eyes. 'Twas next to nobilityand wealth, the only kind of rank she valued. It was the stake quickestwon or lost too; for law is a very long game that requires a life topractise; and to be distinguished in letters or the Church would nothave forwarded the poor gentleman's plans in the least. So he had nosuit to play but the red one, and he played it; and this, in truth, wasthe reason of his speedy promotion; for he exposed himself more thanmost gentlemen do, and risked more to win more. Is he the only man thathath set his life against a stake which may be not worth the winning?Another risks his life (and his honor, too, sometimes,) against a bundleof bank-notes, or a yard of blue ribbon, or a seat in Parliament; andsome for the mere pleasure and excitement of the sport; as a field of ahundred huntsmen will do, each out-bawling and out-galloping the otherat the tail of a dirty fox, that is to be the prize of the foremosthappy 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 gentlemanof good fortune, who eagerly paid Mr. Esmond a thousand guineas forhis majority 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 helpedin the 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* and apprehensions which rackedthe gentle breasts of wives and matrons in those dreadful days, whenevery 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 bothher sons, as she called them), she never allowed them outwardly toappear, but hid her apprehension, as she did her charities and devotion.'Twas only by chance that Esmond, wandering in Kensington, found hismistress coming out of a mean cottage there, and heard that she hada score of poor retainers, whom she visited and comforted in theirsickness and poverty, and who blessed her daily. She attended theearly church daily (though of a Sunday, especially, she encouraged andadvanced all sorts of cheerfulness and innocent gayety in her littlehousehold): and by notes entered into a table-book of hers at this time,and devotional compositions writ with a sweet artless fervor, such asthe best divines could not surpass, showed how fond her heart was, howhumble and pious her spirit, what pangs of apprehension she enduredsilently, and with what a faithful reliance she committed the care ofthose she loved to the awful Dispenser of death and life.

  * What indeed? Psm. xci. 2, 3, 7.--R. E.

  As for her ladyship at Chelsey, Esmond's newly adopted mother, she wasnow of an age when the danger of any second party doth not disturb therest much. She cared for trumps more than for most things in life. Shewas firm enough in her own faith, but no longer very bitter againstours. She had a very good-natured, easy French director, MonsieurGauthier by name, who was a gentleman of the world, and would take ahand of cards with Dean Atterbury, my lady's neighbor at Chelsey, andwas well with all the High Church party. No doubt Monsieur Gauthier knewwhat Esmond's peculiar position was, for he corresponded with Holt, andalways treated Colonel Esmond with particular respect and kindness; butfor good reasons the Colonel and the Abbe never spoke on this mattertogether, and so they remained perfect good friends.

  All the frequenters of my Lady of Chelsey'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 pieceof his 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,used to tell the Colonel that his kinswoman's house was a rendezvous ofTory intrigues; that Gauthier was a spy; that Atterbury was a spy;that letters were constantly going from that house to the Queen at St.Germains; on which Esmond, laughing, would reply, that they used tosay in the army the Duke of Marlborough was a spy too, and as much incorrespondence with that family as any Jesuit. And without entering veryeagerly into the controversy, Esmond had frankly taken the side of hisfamily. It seemed to him that King James the Third was undoubtedly Kingof England by right: and at his sister's death it would be better tohave him than a foreigner over us. No man admired King William more; ahero and a conqueror, the bravest, justest, wisest of men--but 'twas bythe sword he conquered the country, and held and governed it by the verysame right that the great Cromwell held it, who was truly and greatlya sovereign. But that a foreign despotic Prince, out of Germany,who happened to be descended from King James the First, shouldtake possession of this empire, seemed to Mr. Esmond a monstrousinjustice--at least, every Englishman had a right to protest, and theEnglish Prince, the heir-at-law, the first of all. What man of spiritwith such a cause would not back it? What man of honor with such a crownto win would not fight for it? But that race was destined. That Princehad himself against him, an enemy he could not overcome. He never daredto draw his sword, though he had it. He let his chances slip by as helay in the lap of opera-girls, or snivelled at the knees of priestsasking pardon; and the blood of heroes, and the devotedness of honesthearts, and endurance, courage, fidelity, were all spent for him invain.

  But let us return to my Lady of Chelsey, 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 withher gentlewoman before he had well quitted the room on his last visit."Tierce to a king," were the last words he ever heard her say: thegame of life was pretty nearly over for the good lady, and three monthsafterwards she took to her bed, where she flickered out without anypain, so the Abbe Gauthier wrote over to Mr. Esmond, then with hisGeneral on the frontier of France. The Lady Castlewood was with her ather ending, and had written too, but these letters must have been takenby a privateer in the packet that brought them; for Esmond knew nothingof their contents until his return to England.

  My Lady Castlewood had left everything to Colonel Esmond, "as areparation for the wrong done to him;" 'twas writ in her will. Buther fortune was not much, for it never had been large, and the honestviscountess had wisely sunk most of the money she had upon an annuitywhich terminated with her life. However, there was the house andfurniture, plate and pictures at Chelsey, and a sum of money lying ather merchant's, Sir Josiah Child, which altogether would realize asum of near three hundred pounds per annum, so that Mr. Esmond foundhimself, if not rich, at least easy for life. Likewise there were thefamous diamonds which had been said to be worth fabulous sums, thoughthe goldsmith pronounced they would fetch no more than four thousandpounds. These dia
monds, however, Colonel Esmond reserved, having aspecial use for them: but the Chelsey house, plate, goods, &c., with theexception of a few articles which he kept back, were sold by his orders;and the sums resulting from the sale invested in the public securitiesso as to realize the aforesaid annual income of three hundred pounds.

  Having now something to leave, he made a will and despatched it home.The army was now in presence of the enemy; and a great battle expectedevery day. 'Twas known that the General-in-Chief was in disgrace, andthe parties at home strong against him, and there was no stroke thisgreat and resolute player would not venture to recall his fortune whenit seemed desperate. Frank Castlewood was with Colonel Esmond; hisGeneral having gladly taken the young nobleman on to his staff. Hisstudies of fortifications at Bruxelles were over by this time. Thefort he was besieging had yielded, I believe, and my lord had not onlymarched in with flying colors, but marched out again. He used to tellhis boyish wickednesses with admirable humor, and was the most charmingyoung scapegrace 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 thatthe next battle would put an end to him: for he felt aweary of the sun,and quite ready to bid that and the earth farewell. Frank would notlisten to his comrade's gloomy forebodings, but swore they would keephis birthday at Castlewood that autumn, after the campaign. He hadheard of the engagement at home. "If Prince Eugene goes to London," saysFrank, "and Trix can get hold of him, she'll jilt Ashburnham for hisHighness. I tell you, she used to make eyes at the Duke of Marlborough,when she was only fourteen, and ogling poor little Blandford. I wouldn'tmarry her, Harry--no, not if her eyes were twice as big. I'll take myfun. I'll enjoy for the next three years every possible pleasure. I'llsow my wild oats then, and marry some quiet, steady, modest, sensibleviscountess; hunt my harriers; and settle down at Castlewood. PerhapsI'll represent the county--no, damme, YOU shall represent the county.You have the brains of the family. By the Lord, my dear old Harry, youhave the best head and the kindest heart in all the army; and every mansays so--and when the Queen dies, and the King comes back, why shouldn'tyou 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 dozenof Burgundy you are not touched. Mohun is well of his wound. He isalways with Corporal John now. As soon as ever I see his ugly face I'llspit in it. I took lessons of Father--of Captain Holt at Bruxelles. Whata man that is! He knows everything." Esmond bade Frank have a care; thatFather Holt's knowledge was rather dangerous; not, indeed, knowing asyet 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 Blarignies orMalplaquet, which was the last and the hardest earned of the victoriesof the great Duke of Marlborough. In that tremendous combat near upontwo hundred and fifty thousand men were engaged, more than thirtythousand of whom were slain or wounded (the Allies lost twice asmany men as they killed of the French, whom they conquered): and thisdreadful slaughter very likely took place because a great general'scredit was shaken at home, and he thought to restore it by a victory. Ifsuch were the motives which induced the Duke of Marlborough to venturethat prodigious stake, and desperately sacrifice thirty thousand bravelives, so that he might figure once more in a Gazette, and hold hisplaces and pensions a little longer, the event defeated the dreadful andselfish 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. Thegallantry of the French was as remarkable as the furious bravery oftheir assailants. We took a few score of their flags, and a few piecesof their artillery; but we left twenty thousand of the bravest soldiersof the world round about the intrenched lines, from which the enemy wasdriven. He retreated in perfect good order; the panic-spell seemed tobe broke, under which the French had labored ever since the disasterof Hochstedt; and, fighting now on the threshold of their country, theyshowed an heroic ardor of resistance, such as had never met us in thecourse 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 wereindignant at the lavish extravagance of slaughter, and demanded moreeagerly than ever the recall of a chief whose cupidity and desperationmight urge him further still. After this bloody fight of Malplaquet, Ican answer for it, that in the Dutch quarters and our own, and amongstthe very regiments and commanders whose gallantry was most conspicuousupon this frightful day of carnage, the general cry was, that there wasenough of the war. The French were driven back into their own boundary,and all their conquests and booty of Flanders disgorged. As for thePrince of Savoy, with whom our Commander-in-Chief, for reasons of hisown, consorted more closely than ever, 'twas known that he was animatednot merely by a political hatred, but by personal rage against the oldFrench King: the Imperial Generalissimo never forgot the slight put byLewis upon the Abbe de Savoie; and in the humiliation or ruin of hismost Christian Majesty, the Holy Roman Emperor found his account.But what were these quarrels to us, the free citizens of England andHolland! Despot as he was, the French monarch was yet the chief ofEuropean civilization, more venerable in his age and misfortunes than atthe period of his most splendid successes; whilst his opponent was buta semi-barbarous tyrant, with a pillaging, murderous horde of Croatsand Pandours, composing a half of his army, filling our camp with theirstrange figures, bearded like the miscreant Turks their neighbors, andcarrying into Christian warfare their native heathen habits of rapine,lust, and murder. Why should the best blood in England and France beshed in order that the Holy Roman and Apostolic master of these ruffiansshould have his revenge over the Christian king? And it was to this endwe were fighting; for this that every village and family in England wasdeploring the death of beloved sons and fathers. We dared not speak toeach other, even at table, of Malplaquet, so frightful were the gapsleft in our army by the cannon of that bloody action. 'Twas heartrendingfor an officer who had a heart to look down his line on a parade-dayafterwards, and miss hundreds of faces of comrades--humble or of highrank--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 noheart for that: not one of them but was thinking, "Where's mycomrade?--where's my brother that fought by me, or my dear captain thatled me yesterday?" 'Twas the most gloomy pageant I ever looked on; andthe "Te Deum" sung by our chaplains, the most woful and dreary satire.

  Esmond's General added one more to the many marks of honor which hehad received in the front of a score of battles, and got a wound inthe groin, which laid him on his back; and you may be sure heconsoled himself by abusing the Commander-in-Chief, as he laygroaning,--"Corporal John's as fond of me," he used to say, "as KingDavid was of General Uriah; and so he always gives me the post ofdanger." He persisted, to his dying day, in believing that the Dukeintended he should be beat at Wynendael, and sent him purposely with asmall force, hoping that he might be knocked on the head there. Esmondand Frank Castlewood both escaped without hurt, though the divisionwhich our General commanded suffered even more than any other, having tosustain not only the fury of the enemy's cannonade, which was very hotand well served, but the furious and repeated charges of the famousMaison du Roy, which we had to receive and beat off again and again,with volleys of shot and hedges of iron, and our four lines ofmusqueteers and pikemen. They said the King of England charged usno less than twelve times that day, along with the French Household.Esmond's late regiment, General Webb's own Fusileers, served in thedivision which their colonel commanded. The General was thrice in thecentre
of the square of the Fusileers, calling the fire at the Frenchcharges, and, after the action, his Grace the Duke of Berwick sent hiscompliments to his old regiment and their Colonel for their behavior onthe field.

  We drank my Lord Castlewood's health and majority, the 25th ofSeptember, the army being then before Mons: and here Colonel Esmond wasnot so fortunate as he had been in actions much more dangerous, and washit 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 todeath's door. The kind lad, his kinsman, attended his elder comrade witha very praiseworthy affectionateness and care until he was pronouncedout of danger by the doctors, when Frank went off, passed the winter atBruxelles, and besieged, no doubt, some other fortress there. Very fewlads would have given up their pleasures so long and so gayly as Frankdid; his cheerful prattle soothed many long days of Esmond's pain andlanguor. Frank was supposed to be still at his kinsman's bedside fora month after he had left it, for letters came from his mother athome full of thanks to the younger gentleman for his care of his elderbrother (so it pleased Esmond's mistress now affectionately to stylehim); nor was Mr. Esmond in a hurry to undeceive her, when the goodyoung fellow was gone for his Christmas holiday. It was as pleasant toEsmond on his couch to watch the young man's pleasure at the idea ofbeing free, as to note his simple efforts to disguise his satisfactionon going away. There are days when a flask of champagne at a cabaret,and a red-cheeked partner to share it, are too strong temptations forany young fellow of spirit. I am not going to play the moralist, andcry "Fie." For ages past, I know how old men preach, and what youngmen practise; and that patriarchs have had their weak moments too, longsince Father Noah toppled over after discovering the vine. Frank wentoff, then, to his pleasures at Bruxelles, in which capital many youngfellows of our army declared they found infinitely greater diversioneven 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 thenext year.

  Here, as he lay nursing himself, ubiquitous Mr. Holt 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 theEsmond family); but where he endeavored to reopen the controversialquestion between the churches once more, and to recall Esmond to thatreligion in which, in his infancy, he had been baptized. Holt was acasuist, both dexterous and learned, and presented the case betweenthe English church and his own in such a way that those who grantedhis premises ought certainly to allow his conclusions. He touched onEsmond's delicate state of health, chance of dissolution, and so forth;and enlarged upon the immense benefits that the sick man was likely toforego--benefits which the church of England did not deny to those ofthe Roman communion, as how should she, being derived from that church,and only an offshoot from it? But Mr. Esmond said that his church wasthe church of his country, and to that he chose to remain faithful:other people were welcome to worship and to subscribe any other set ofarticles, whether at Rome or at Augsburg. But if the good Father meantthat Esmond should join the Roman communion for fear of consequences,and that all England ran the risk of being damned for heresy, Esmond,for one, was perfectly willing to take his chance of the penalty alongwith the countless millions of his fellow-countrymen, who were bredin the same faith, and along with some of the noblest, the truest, thepurest, the wisest, the most pious and learned men and women in theworld.

  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.Sacheverel and the High Church party in England were just now making abother, they were welcome to hold as they chose. If Richard Cromwell,and his father before him had been crowned and anointed (and bishopsenough would have been found to do it), it seemed to Mr. Esmond thatthey would have had the right divine just as much as any Plantagenet, orTudor, or Stuart. But the desire of the country being unquestionablyfor an hereditary monarchy, Esmond thought an English king out of St.Germains was better and fitter than a German prince from Herrenhausen,and that if he failed to satisfy the nation, some other Englishman mightbe found to take his place; and so, though with no frantic enthusiasm,or worship of that monstrous pedigree which the Tories chose to considerdivine, he was ready to say, "God save King James!" when Queen Anne wentthe way of kings and commoners.

  "I fear, Colonel, you are no better than a republican at heart," saysthe 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 andking too; but English church and English king; and that is why yourchurch isn't mine, though your king is."

  Though they lost the day at Malplaquet, it was the French who wereelated by that action, whilst the conquerors were dispirited, by it; andthe enemy gathered together a larger army than ever, and made prodigiousefforts for the next campaign. Marshal Berwick was with the French thisyear; and we heard that Mareschal Villars was still suffering of hiswound, was eager to bring our Duke to action, and vowed he would fightus in his coach. Young Castlewood came flying back from Bruxelles, assoon as he heard that fighting was to begin; and the arrival of theChevalier de St. George was announced about May. "It's the King's thirdcampaign, and it's mine," Frank liked saying. He was come back a greaterJacobite than ever, and Esmond suspected that some fair conspiratorsat Bruxelles had been inflaming the young man's ardor. Indeed, he ownedthat he had a message from the Queen, Beatrix's godmother, who had givenher name to Frank's sister the year before he and his sovereign wereborn.

  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 politetowards the Chevalier de St. George. 'Tis certain that messengers andletters were continually passing between his Grace and his brave nephew,the Duke of Berwick, in the opposite camp. No man's caresses were moreopportune than his Grace's, and no man ever uttered expressions ofregard and affection more generously. He professed to Monsieur de Torcy,so Mr. St. John told the writer, quite an eagerness to be cut in piecesfor the exiled Queen and her family; nay more, I believe, this yearhe parted with a portion of the most precious part of himself--hismoney--which he sent over to the royal exiles. Mr. Tunstal, who was inthe Prince's service, was twice or thrice in and out of our camp; theFrench, in theirs of Arlieu and about Arras. A little river, the CaniheI think 'twas called, (but this is writ away from books and Europe; andthe only map the writer hath of these scenes of his youth, bears nomark of this little stream,) divided our pickets from the enemy's.Our sentries talked across the stream, when they could make themselvesunderstood to each other, and when they could not, grinned, and handedeach other their brandy-flasks or their pouches of tobacco. And one fineday of June, riding thither with the officer who visited the outposts,(Colonel Esmond was taking an airing on horseback, being too weak formilitary duty,) they came to this river, where a number of English andScots were assembled, talking to the good-natured enemy on the otherside.

  Esmond was especially amused with the talk of one long fellow, with agreat curling red moustache, and blue eyes, that was half a dozeninches taller than his swarthy little comrades on the French side of thestream, and being asked by the Colonel, saluted him, and said that hebelonged to the 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 notthe Loire; and the poor soldier--a deserter probably--did not like toventure very deep into French conversation, lest his unlucky brogueshould peep out. H
e chose to restrict himself to such few expressionsin the French language as he thought he had mastered easily; andhis attempt at disguise was infinitely amusing. Mr. Esmond whistledLillibullero, at which Teague's eyes began to twinkle, and then flunghim a dollar, when the poor boy broke out with a "God bless--that is,Dieu benisse votre honor," that would infallibly have sent him to theprovost-marshal had he been on our side 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 eyingus, when one of them left the other two, and rode close up to us whowere by the stream. "Look, look!" says the Royal Cravat, with greatagitation, "pas lui, that's he; not him, l'autre," and pointed to thedistant officer on a chestnut horse, with a cuirass shining in the sun,and over it 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 friendof yours, gentlemen, yonder; he bids me to say that he saw some of yourfaces on 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 thatthe Prince was not unlike young Castlewood, whose age and figure heresembled. The Chevalier de St. George acknowledged the salute, andlooked at us hard. Even the idlers on our side of the river set up ahurrah. As for the Royal Cravat, he ran to the Prince's stirrup, kneltdown and kissed his boot, and bawled and looked a hundred ejaculationsand blessings. The prince bade the aide-de-camp give him a piece ofmoney; and when the party saluting us had ridden away, Cravat spat uponthe piece of gold by way of benediction, and swaggered away, pouchinghis coin and twirling his honest carroty 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 knownhe wasn't a foreigner, till he broke out with his hulla-ballooing, andonly an Irish calf can bellow like that." And Roger made another remarkin his wild way, in which there was sense as well as absurdity--"If thatyoung gentleman," 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, whomwe had talked with, sent back by a trumpet several silver pieces forofficers with us. Mr. Esmond received one of these; and that medal, anda recompense not uncommon amongst Princes, were the only rewards heever had from a Royal person, whom he endeavored not very long after toserve.

  Esmond quitted the army almost immediately after this, following hisgeneral home; and, indeed, being advised to travel in the fine weatherand attempt to take no further part in the campaign. But he heard fromthe army, that of the many who crowded to see the Chevalier de St.George, Frank Castlewood had made himself most conspicuous: my LordViscount riding across the little stream bareheaded to where the Princewas, and dismounting and kneeling before him to do him homage. Somesaid that the Prince had actually knighted him, but my lord deniedthat statement, though he acknowledged the rest of the story, andsaid:--"From having been out of favor with Corporal John," as he calledthe Duke, "before his Grace warned him not to commit those follies, andsmiled on him cordially ever 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."