eneral!
That's not his doing. I was the oldest major-general. By ----, 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 us." There were tears of rage in the brave warrior's eyes as
he spoke; and he dashed them off his face on to 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 them asked.

"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 in Lille; his
Highness being good enough to say that we had brought the provisions,
and ought to share in the banquet. 'Twas a great banquet. His Grace of
Marlborough was on his Highness's right, and on his left the Mareschal
de Boufflers, 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 Wynendael. My Lord Duke drank it with rather a sickly
smile. The aides-de-camp 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 generals were, and
could see all that passed pretty well. Frank laughed at my Lord Duke's
glum face: the affair of Wynenda