r camp; the French, in theirs of Arlieu and about
Arras. A little river, the Canihe, I think 'twas called (but this is writ
away from books and Europe; and the only map the writer hath of these
scenes of his youth, bears no mark of this little stream), divided our
pickets from the enemy's. Our sentries 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 outposts (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 moustache, 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 Cravats.

From his way of saying "Royal Cravat", Esmond at once knew that the
fellow's tongue had first wagged on the banks of the Liffey, and not the
Loire; 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 "Lillibullero," 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 is, _Dieu benisse votre honor_", that
would infallibly have sent him to the provost-marshal had he been on our
side of the river.

Whilst this parley 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 Cravat, with great agitation,
"_pas lui_, that's he; not him, _l'autre_," and pointed to the distant
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 lord
duke," says the gentleman in English; and, looking to see that the party
were