“By Jasus, and ye may say that with your own pritty mouth,” remarked another veteran, who answered to the name of Lieutenant Murphy; “for it isn’t now, while we are surrounded and bediviled by the savages, that any man of the ——­ rigimint should be after talking of bating a retrate.”

“I scarcely understand you, gentlemen,” warmly and quickly retorted Sir Everard, who, with all his dandyism and effeminacy of manner, was of a high and resolute spirit.  “Do either of you fancy that I want courage to face a positive danger, because I may not happen to have any particular vulgar predilection for early rising?”

“Nonsense, Valletort, nonsense,” interrupted, in accents of almost feminine sweetness, his friend Lieutenant Charles de Haldimar, the youngest son of the Governor:  “Murphy is an eternal echo of the opinions of those who look forward to promotion; and as for Delme—­do you not see the drift of his observation?  Should you retire, as you have threatened, of course another lieutenant will be appointed in your stead; but, should you chance to lose your scalp during the struggle with the savages, the step goes in the regiment, and he, being the senior ensign, obtains promotion in consequence.”

“Ah!” observed Captain Blessington, “this is indeed the greatest curse attached to the profession of a soldier.  Even among those who most esteem, and are drawn towards each other as well by fellowship in pleasure as companionship in danger, this vile and debasing principle —­this insatiable desire for personal advancement—­is certain to intrude itself; since we feel that over the mangled bodies of our dearest friends and companions, we can alone hope to attain preferment and distinction.”

A moment or two of silence ensued, in the course of which each individual appeared to be bringing home to his own heart the application of the remark just uttered; and which, however they might seek to disguise the truth from themselves, was too forcible to find contradiction from the secret monitor within.  And yet of those assembled there was not one, perhaps, who would not, in the hour of glory and of danger, have generously interposed his own frame between that of his companion and the steel or bullet of an enemy.  Such are the contradictory elements which compose a soldier’s life.

This conversation, interrupted only by occasional questioning of the sentinels whom they passed in their circuit, was carried on in an audible whisper, which the close approximation of the parties to each other, and the profound stillness of the night, enabled them to hear with distinctness.

“Nay, nay, De Haldimar,” at length observed Sir Everard, in reply to the observation of his friend, “do not imagine I intend to gratify Mr. Delme by any such exhibition as that of a scalpless head; but, if such be his hope, I trust that the hour which sees my love-locks dangling at the top of an Indian pole may also let daylight into his own carcass from a rifle bullet or a tomahawk.”