terborough, and was shot the moment he rose to the surface of the
water. Alas! for him, poor fellow, they could aim well in those days
with even the old "Brown Bess."

Many a sad procession of unfortunates like these had travelled the same
road before, during the last five years, but they had consisted for the
most part of prisoners taken in naval engagements, such as the seamen and
marines captured from the four Spanish frigates, with a million sterling
on board; and the men brought to England from both French and Spanish
possessions in the West Indies, besides crews of privateers, floating
"Caves of Adullam," where everyone that was in distress, or in debt, or
discontented, were gathered together, along with many who had taken to
that wild life to escape political troubles. Perhaps, also, there had
been some of those twelve thousand prisoners who had been sent after
Trafalgar's fight was over in 1805.

It was now, as we have said, the year 1808. The Peninsular war had
begun, and the prisoners we are describing were some of those brave
Frenchmen who had fought against us in one of the first engagements, the
short but incisive battle of Vimiero.

"Why, Tournier, my friend," cried a young fellow, marching with the
officers at the head of the column, "how miserable you look! Who would
think you were almost at the end of your journey, and about to find
repose in the hotel the English have provided for us? I have not seen a
smile on your face since the day you left Portugal. Courage, man, or we
shall all have the blue-devils!"

Those who heard him seemed amused, but Tournier did not deign to notice
the raillery, though it was not meant ill-naturedly.

An English officer, riding at the side a little in advance, and overheard
what was said, looked round on Tournier, and, struck with his soldierly
figure, said quietly, "Let us hope it will not be for long."

"Long, sir?" exclaimed the other; "long as the grave: we are marching
there."

"Mercy on us!" cried the lively Frenchman, "that's a pleasant idea! We
are going to that 'undiscovered country,' as your Shakspeare says, 'from
whose bourn no traveller returns.' Bah! let us change the subject, and
hope for another 'Peace of Amiens,' and as short a one."

And then the light-hearted fellow--for a light heart is often a kind
one--seeing that open raillery was powerless, tried gentler means to
cheer his companion up.

"Look, Tournier," he whispered, after a pause,