Before parting from my generous comrade, who insisted on my sleeping at his house that night, and although himself in needy circumstances, he provided me most liberally with what I most required; (poor fellow! he was severely wounded at Waterloo, passed the board, and married a woman at Dover:)[24] I explained to him my abject situation, when he advised me to lay my Chelsea discharge before the Commandant at Dover, who was then Colonel Ford, and solicit from him sufficient means to carry me to London. This was to beg—a task contrary to my nature. I asked him what I was to say? how act? for I had been a soldier since I was sixteen years of age, and was unacquainted with the forms of civil life. He gave me such advice as occurred to him, accompanied me on the road, and showed me the house at which the Colonel resided. It was, I remember, at the end of the town, near the General Hospital. With an unwilling hand I rung the bell. The door was immediately opened. “Is the Colonel at home?” said I. “Do you wish to see him?” answered the footman, surveying my person. “I do,” was my reply, “tell him that a sergeant of the Rifles wishes to speak to him.” The servant then stepping across the hall, went into the room, and while the door was ajar, I heard the Colonel ask, “Is he in uniform or in coloured clothes?” “In coloured clothes,” was the answer. “Tell him to come in.” I entered the room slowly, and believe me, I went with more spirits on the forlorn-hope at Badajoz than I now did into the presence of this officer. He was standing with his back to the fire-place. “Well, friend,” said he, “what do you want?” In a doubtful tone, I answered, “I want to know, Sir, if you will lend me a little money, to carry me to London, and I will pay you when I get my pension.” While thus delivering myself, which I did in a very confused manner, the Colonel stooped, and staring me full in the face, as if he thought me mad, with a stentorian voice, he exclaimed, “God damn you, Sir! who are you, what are you, what do you want?” The Colonel’s uncouth manner suddenly overwhelmed my already sinking heart; but the whole spirit of the “man” rebounding from the shock, instantaneously brought me about again, for recovering myself, in a firm, earnest, yet determined manner, I replied, “Sir, I am a man brought to the last pitch of distress, without friend or money. If you will assist me, pray do so, but do not insult my feelings.” Then laying my papers on the table, I added, “There, Sir, are my papers; keep them until I refund the money. I am a Sergeant of the Rifle Brigade, who has seen service.” Taking my Chelsea discharge, and reading over attentively the wounds I had received, he looked at me with altogether an altered expression, and said, “You must have been a gallant fellow, or you would not have got so many scars in the service; which battalion did you belong to?” I told him the first. He then asked me what money I wanted to take me to London.