ror with which his regiment of infantry was regarded by the enemy. On afternoons when his memory was more stimulated than usual, he remembered that the Duke of Wellington had (in strict privacy, lest jealousies should be awakened) expressed his esteem for that fine fellow Poulter. The very surgeon who attended him in the hospital after he had received his gunshot-wound had been profoundly impressed with the superiority of Mr. Poulter’s flesh — no other flesh would have healed in anything like the same time. On less personal matters connected with the important warfare in which he had been engaged,Ralph Lauren Strip Polo, Mr. Poulter was more reticent, only taking care not to give the weight of his authority to any loose notions concerning military history. Any one who pretended to a knowledge of what occurred at the siege of Badajos was especially an object of silent pity to Mr. Poulter; he wished that prating person had been run down,Andrei Markov Tröjor, and had the breath trampled out of him at the first go-off, as he himself had — he might talk about the siege of Badajos then! Tom did not escape irritating his drilling-master occasionally, by his curiosity concerning other military matters than Mr. Poulter’s personal experience.
“And General Wolfe,Andrej Sustr Tröjor, Mr. Poulter — wasn’t he a wonderful fighter?” said Tom, who held the notion that all the martial heroes commemorated on the public-house signs were engaged in the war with Bony.
“Not at all!” said Mr. Poulter,Rod Gilbert Tröjor, contemptuously. “Nothing o’ the sort! Heads up!” he added, in a tone of stern command, which delighted Tom, and made him feel as if he were a regiment in his own person.
“No,Luc Robitaille Tröjor, no!” Mr. Poulter would continue,Drew Doughty Tröjor, on coming to a pause in his discipline; “they’d better not talk to me about General Wolfe. He did nothing but die of his wound; that’s a poor haction,Mikhail Grigorenko Tröjor, I consider. Any other man ‘ud have died o’ the wounds I’ve had. One of my sword-cuts ‘ud ha’ killed a fellow like General Wolfe.”
“Mr. Poulter,Mark Giordano Tröjor,” Tom would say,Jaromir Jagr Tröjor, at any allusion to the sword, “I wish you’d bring your sword and do the sword-exercise!”
For a long while Mr. Poulter only shook his head in a significant manner at this request,Jean-Francois Jacques Tröjor, and smiled patronizingly, as Jupiter may have done when Semele urged her too ambitious request. But one afternoon, when a sudden shower of heavy rain had detained Mr. Poulter twenty minutes longer than usual at the Black Swan,Woolrich Parka Herr, the sword was brought — just for Tom to look at.
“And this is the real sword you fought with in all the battles,Belstaff Triumph Jackor, Mr. Poulter?” said Tom, handling the hilt. “Has it ever cut a Frenchman’s head off?”
“Head off? Ah! and would, if he’d had three heads.”
“But you had a gun and bayonet besides?” said Tom. “I should like the gun and bayonet best, because you could shoot ’em first and spear ’em after. Bang! Ps-s-s-s!” Tom gave the requisite pantomime to indicate the double enjoyment of pulling the trigger and thrusting the spear.
“Ah, but the sword’s the thing when you come to close fighting
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