The savour of the soup, however, was agreeable to
Mrs. O’Dowd’s nostrils: and she thought
she would bear Mr. Jos company. So the two sate
down to their meal. “God bless the meat,”
said the Major’s wife, solemnly: she was
thinking of her honest Mick, riding at the head of
his regiment: “’Tis but a bad dinner
those poor boys will get to-day,” she said,
with a sigh, and then, like a philosopher, fell to.
Jos’s spirits rose with his meal. He would
drink the regiment’s health; or, indeed, take
any other excuse to indulge in a glass of champagne.
“We’ll drink to O’Dowd and the brave
—th,” said he, bowing gallantly to
his guest. “Hey, Mrs. O’Dowd?
Fill Mrs. O’Dowd’s glass, Isidor.”
But all of a sudden, Isidor started, and the Major’s
wife laid down her knife and fork. The windows
of the room were open, and looked southward, and a
dull distant sound came over the sun-lighted roofs
from that direction. “What is it?”
said Jos. “Why don’t you pour, you
rascal?”
“Cest le feu!” said Isidor, running to
the balcony.
“God defend us; it’s cannon!” Mrs.
O’Dowd cried, starting up, and followed too
to the window. A thousand pale and anxious faces
might have been seen looking from other casements.
And presently it seemed as if the whole population
of the city rushed into the streets.
In Which Jos Takes Flight, and the War Is Brought
to a Close
We of peaceful London City have never beheld—and
please God never shall witness—such a scene
of hurry and alarm, as that which Brussels presented.
Crowds rushed to the Namur gate, from which direction
the noise proceeded, and many rode along the level
chaussee, to be in advance of any intelligence from
the army. Each man asked his neighbour for news;
and even great English lords and ladies condescended
to speak to persons whom they did not know. The
friends of the French went abroad, wild with excitement,
and prophesying the triumph of their Emperor.
The merchants closed their shops, and came out to
swell the general chorus of alarm and clamour.
Women rushed to the churches, and crowded the chapels,
and knelt and prayed on the flags and steps.
The dull sound of the cannon went on rolling, rolling.
Presently carriages with travellers began to leave
the town, galloping away by the Ghent barrier.
The prophecies of the French partisans began to pass
for facts. “He has cut the armies in two,”
it was said. “He is marching straight
on Brussels. He will overpower the English, and
be here to-night.” “He will overpower
the English,” shrieked Isidor to his master,
“and will be here to-night.” The man
bounded in and out from the lodgings to the street,
always returning with some fresh particulars of disaster.
Jos’s face grew paler and paler. Alarm
began to take entire possession of the stout civilian.
All the champagne he drank brought no courage to
him. Before sunset he was worked up to such
a pitch of nervousness as gratified his friend Isidor
to behold, who now counted surely upon the spoils of
the owner of the laced coat.
