‘Is this the place?’ says John in wild amazement. ‘Is it to such D----n’d sties as these they send us? ‘A pretty way they treat their Brave Defenders!’ Entering, at length, he saw a squalid Wench, Begrimed with dirt, and luxury of stench; Then, in a filthy room, and almost dark, Three wretched women squatted round a spark. With out stretch’d hand his Billet he presents, And stopp’d his nose t’ escape the beastly scents. A croaking voice exclaims, ‘_Aqui Senhor?_’ ‘A key!’ says John, ‘why, D----n me, you’ve no Door.’ Teague, sober grown, now offer’d his advice, ‘A Soldier, plase your honour, mayn’t be nice. ‘Becase your honour must consider; as why, ‘There’s a good Roof between us and the Sky: ‘I’ll first go out, and steal the Beasts some Food, ‘And then I’ll cook your honour something good.’ Alas! poor John; he wanted consolation, Wrapp’d in the misery of meditation; So bolting out in anguish to the Street, A Sign[16] suspended did his optics greet; When in he rush’d, and to a room was led, With Table, Chair, and something like a Bed. Now from his Canteen culled sufficient fare, The Brandy swallowed, and forgot his care, In four days’ time he reach’d the first Depôt, And at the Commandant’s himself did show. This was a Hero[17] great, who treated Subs As little better than a pack of Scrubs. Himself from Ranks had risen by his merit, But those advantages did not inherit That in the best societies you find Arising from a cultivated mind; Imperiously made all beneath him feel His rod of Power and his wond’rous zeal, ‘Here, Sir, you Ensign, mind, on no pretext ‘Must you neglect to call day after next. ‘There, get you gone! for you I’ve nothing more,’ And with his finger pointed to the Door. John travelled out, repeating, ‘Nothing more! ‘D----n me if e’er I met so rude a Bore!’ But by experience knew that to complain Against such Brutal manners would be vain. Accustom’d now, he quickly stirr’d about, First to obtain, then make his Billet out. This settled to his heart’s content, That Day and Night he comfortably spent; Next morning call’d, and so without delay, To reach the next Depôt he bent his Way. END OF PART I [Illustration: _Johnny Newcome going to lay in Stock._] [Illustration: _Getting into his Billet._] FOOTNOTES [1] This species of partial puffing is carried too far. It reminds me of something of a similar tendency, that panegerized a young Count who was killed by a +Broad-Wheeled Waggon+.