Vanity Fair - Page 261/573

As far as his regiment was concerned, this campaign was over now. They

had formed a part of the division under the command of his Sovereign

apparent, the Prince of Orange, and as respected length of swords and

mustachios, and the richness of uniform and equipments, Regulus and his

comrades looked to be as gallant a body of men as ever trumpet sounded

for.

When Ney dashed upon the advance of the allied troops, carrying one

position after the other, until the arrival of the great body of the

British army from Brussels changed the aspect of the combat of Quatre

Bras, the squadrons among which Regulus rode showed the greatest

activity in retreating before the French, and were dislodged from one

post and another which they occupied with perfect alacrity on their

part. Their movements were only checked by the advance of the British

in their rear. Thus forced to halt, the enemy's cavalry (whose

bloodthirsty obstinacy cannot be too severely reprehended) had at

length an opportunity of coming to close quarters with the brave

Belgians before them; who preferred to encounter the British rather

than the French, and at once turning tail rode through the English

regiments that were behind them, and scattered in all directions. The

regiment in fact did not exist any more. It was nowhere. It had no

head-quarters. Regulus found himself galloping many miles from the

field of action, entirely alone; and whither should he fly for refuge

so naturally as to that kitchen and those faithful arms in which

Pauline had so often welcomed him?

At some ten o'clock the clinking of a sabre might have been heard up

the stair of the house where the Osbornes occupied a story in the

continental fashion. A knock might have been heard at the kitchen

door; and poor Pauline, come back from church, fainted almost with

terror as she opened it and saw before her her haggard hussar. He

looked as pale as the midnight dragoon who came to disturb Leonora.

Pauline would have screamed, but that her cry would have called her

masters, and discovered her friend. She stifled her scream, then, and

leading her hero into the kitchen, gave him beer, and the choice bits

from the dinner, which Jos had not had the heart to taste. The hussar

showed he was no ghost by the prodigious quantity of flesh and beer

which he devoured--and during the mouthfuls he told his tale of

disaster.

His regiment had performed prodigies of courage, and had withstood for

a while the onset of the whole French army. But they were overwhelmed

at last, as was the whole British army by this time. Ney destroyed each

regiment as it came up. The Belgians in vain interposed to prevent the

butchery of the English. The Brunswickers were routed and had

fled--their Duke was killed. It was a general debacle. He sought to

drown his sorrow for the defeat in floods of beer.