I think well of the
Irish gentlemen, for their sakes; and I believe I might fairly attribute
to Lieutenant-Colonel Stowell (next whom I sat) a higher and finer
cultivation than the above description indicates. Indeed, many of them
may have been capable of much more intellectual intercourse than that of
the mess-table; but I suppose it would not have been in keeping with
their camp life, nor suggested by it. Several of the elder officers were
men who had been long in the army; and the Colonel--a bluff, hearty old
soldier, with a profile like an eagle's head and beak--was a veteran of
the Peninsula, and had a medal on his breast with clasps for three famous
battles besides that of Waterloo.
The regimental band played during dinner, and the Lieutenant-Colonel
apologized to me for its not playing "Hail Columbia," the tune not coning
within their musical accomplishments. It was no great matter, however;
for I should not have distinguished it from any other tune; but, to do me
what honor was possible, in the way of national airs, the band was
ordered to play a series of negro melodies, and I was entirely satisfied.
It is really funny that the "wood-notes wild" of those poor black slaves
should have been played in a foreign laud as an honorable compliment to
one of their white countrymen.
After dinner we played whist, and then had some broiled bones for supper,
and finally went home to our respective huts not much earlier than four
o'clock.
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