‘Yes, yes, of course I will! Good luck to you, old fellow! and don’t worry! I’ll send you word how she goes on!’
With a last, wild look at Juana’s pale, inanimate countenance, Harry turned, and strode out of the inn. His horse was being held for him in the street; he jumped into the saddle, and rode off, his face so grim that the ostler stood gaping after him, wondering what could be the matter with the cheerful young Englishman.
Harry did not reach Pauillac until the following day. He found West waiting for him there, and the Royal Oak riding at anchor a few miles below the village. West greeted his master in a matter-of-fact way, but when he had conducted him to the billet he had found for him, he could not help directing one or two earnestly inquiring looks at him. Harry could only shake his head.
West began to unpack a clean shirt from the portmanteau. Clearing his throat after a few minutes, he said: ‘General Ross hasn’t shown his front yet, sir.’
‘Oh!’
‘I took a look at that there Royal Oak,’ persevered West. ‘I reckon she’s a fine ship.’ ‘We shall have to mind our P’s and Qs aboard her,’ said Harry, trying to speak lightly. “They say the etiquette on a man-o’-war’s so strict that there’s no keeping up with it at all.’ ‘Ah, I daresay!’ said West gloomily. ‘I never did hold with them Navy chaps.’ They were kept kicking their heels for two days at Pauillac, but Harry had the satisfaction of getting a note from Digby, through the military post-office, which assured him that Juana was well, and trying hard to be brave.
On the afternoon of the second day, Harry, having seen his horses off with West, embarked in a small boat with his portmanteau, and was rowed out to the Royal Oak. He really was a little nervous of boarding a man-of-war, having heard the most chilling tales of the rigidity of all naval rules and regulations, but as soon as he came over the side he was met by the officer of the Watch, who asked him bluffly what his name was; said he was happy to welcome him aboard; and at once escorted him aft, to the Admiral’s cabin. ‘The old boy wants to see you,’ he confided. ‘Your General hasn’t come aboard yet. You’re a Rifleman, aren’t you? I’ll wager you’ve seen some fights in your time! Were you at Salamanca? I say, what a hiding you fellows gave the Frogs at Vittoria! We heard that poor old Joseph never stopped running till he got to France! Here’s the Admiral’s cabin: you’ll find him a nice old dog.’
There were two gentlemen in the cabin: Malcolm, and Captain Dick. As he paused on the threshold, Harry thought that if the Admiral was the personification of a British sailor, his companion might well have sat as a model for a portrait of John Bull. Both men got up at once, and welcomed Harry so warmly that he began to realize that during his years of service in the Peninsula the Navy’s opinion of the Army had undergone a change. Nine years before, when Harry first joined, nothing was talked of but Nelson’s victories; now, as he shook hands with Malcolm, he was conscious of a marked look of respect on that weather-beaten countenance. The Army had become glorious, even in the eyes of the Navy.
‘Very glad to welcome you aboard, sir!’ said the Admiral. ‘Captain Smith, aren’t you? This is Captain Dick. Come and sit down, and have a glass of grog! Your General don’t mean to haul his wind till tomorrow.’
Harry returned some sort of an answer. The idea that in a few hours this gently swaying ship would be bearing him thousands of miles away from Juana had taken such strong possession of his mind that he hardly knew what he was doing. Upon the Admiral’s pushing a bottle towards him, he half-filled his glass with gin, added a splash of water, and tossed the whole off without a blink.
If anything had been needed to convince Malcolm that the officers in the Army were a good set of fellows, this absent-minded action would have been enough.
‘Well done!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve been at sea, man and boy, these forty years, but damn me if I ever saw a stiffer glass of grog than that in my life!’
He insisted on showing Harry to his cabin himself, and told him what his hours were. ‘I breakfast at eight, dine at three, have tea in the evening, and grog at night, as you see; and if you’re thirsty, or want anything, my steward’s name is Stewart-a Scot, like myself. Tell the Marine at the cabin door to call him, and ask him to bring you everything you want.’ Such easy, friendly manners, and so much kindness, had the effect of cheering Harry, who began to think that once the pangs of separation from his wife had grown less acute, he might enjoy himself very well aboard the Royal Oak.
General Ross arrived next morning, with his ADC, Captain Tom Falls, of the 20th, and his AQMG, Lieutenant De Lacy Evans. Both these young gentlemen took an instant liking to Harry, and he to them. ‘I say, we’re all frightened to death of you!’ said De Lacy Evans, grinning. ‘They tell us you’re the devil of a fellow!’
The General, a mild-looking man in the late forties, said that he was very glad to have Harry with him and favoured him, as he shook hands, with an appraising look. ‘He’s a hot-tempered, emotional young dog,’ Colborne had told the General. ‘He’ll very likely damn your eyes, if he thinks you’re making a mistake, and he’ll command the brigade, if you give him rope enough. He thinks the devil of a lot of himself; but so does every man who was ever in his brigade. He’ll very likely drive you mad with his restless ways; and you’ll probably be shocked if you hear him on a field of battle; but you’ll never have a better Major of Brigade, sir, nor one who spares himself less.’
General Ross thought that his new Staff-officer looked rather fine-drawn; he hoped he was not ill?
‘Not a bit, sir! I’m never ill,’ said Harry briskly.
‘Good!’ said Ross. ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you from Colonel Colborne.’ He added, with a twinkle in his eye: ‘I understand you’ll take the command out of my hands, if I’m not careful.’
‘Oh, that’s too bad, sir!’ protested Harry, blushing. ‘At least I never did so with dear Colborne!’
‘Ah, we know what you Sweeps are!’ murmured Tom Falls.
Harry laughed, and began to think that he would go on very well with his new General, and his Staff.
Soon after Ross’s coming aboard, the Royal Oak weighed anchor, and stood out to sea. Harry remained motionless on deck, watching the coast of France dwindle in the distance, until nothing but the line of the horizon could any longer be seen.
Chapter Ten. England
Juana’s first sight of London was by lamplight. Parting from her friends on board the convoy at Portsmouth, she had spent an hour or two at the George Inn, while Tom saw Tiny, and Old Chap, and all the greyhounds ashore, and arranged with Digby’s servant for their conveyance to Whittlesey. Tom was in tearing spirits, quite forgetting the pain in his knee in his delight at being in England again. He was not an exile of such long standing as Harry, who had not been in England for five years, but his last visit, in 1810, after the battle of the Coa, had been made in such unpleasant circumstances that it seemed as though it hardly counted. He had been carried off the ship then, suffering the most dreadful agony, and had been so ill that the noise and bustle of the port had hurt his head, and he had not cared even to look out of the coach window at the familiar countryside. All was different now. It was true that his old wound was troubling him a good deal, but it was not bad enough to prevent his walking about the town, and revelling in being in his own land again. It seemed strange, and delightful, to be able to walk into a shop and speak to its owner in English. So accustomed had he become to the use of Spanish or Portuguese, that he found himself addressing a bewildered haberdasher in the most fluent Castilian, and quite burst out laughing at his own forgetfulness.
Juana had declined going to walk about the town with him. Harry had so often drawn pictures of what they would do together as soon as they set foot in England, that the thought of being in Portsmouth without him for some time threatened to overpower her. She had promised to be good, however, and knew enough about men to realize that Tom would like nothing less than to be obliged to escort all the way to London a sister-in-law who was labouring under all the miseries of homesickness and grass-widowhood. When he returned to the inn, he found her sitting by the window in the parlour, watching the busy quayside. Her eyes were rather red, but he was too excited to notice that, and he found nothing to complain of in her demeanour, which was subdued, but perfectly cheerful. He had hired a post-chaise-and-pair to carry them to London, and the question now occupying his mind was to which hotel he should take Juana.