“Haw, Sir!” said he, “you mention a vast number; but I still do not _halter_ my _hopinion_. Lord Wellington is a very _fortunate_ man, Sir; but he is nothing of a commander; and before three months, Sir, we shall all be driven out of the Peninsula_r_—that _hevery_ body must allow.” “_I_ will not allow it,” replied Mr. Smith; “for one.” “Nor I, for another,” rejoined Mr. Brown. “'Pon my honour, gentlemen, you know nothing, either of politics or of the _haumy_; you _should_ read the papers.” With this observation the Dragoon arose from the table, put on his foraging cap, and went on deck. Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown had not sat half an hour after the departure of the Dragoon, and had scarcely concluded their remarks on the arrogance of his manners as well as the absurdity of his opinions, when an unusual bustle was heard on deck. They went up to learn the cause, and found that a south-west wind had set in, and it was coming on to blow hard. It was nearly dusk; but they could perceive that the fleet had tacked about from the land, and was bearing out to sea. A total change of feeling took possession of every mind; and sleep became the only resource to those who had hoped for a speedy landing. Next morning, what a change! Where were the sunny hills—the dark shade of the rocks on the darker water? where the blue tranquil sky that but the day before anticipated the serenity of May? Vanished!—Over the stern of the ship, on the gloomy horizon, something like a raincloud was seen,—the land they were leaving: all overhead was one murky mass of mist; around, the increasing surges were contending against a fierce wind; the yielding vessel, half way on her side, plunging rapidly through the white and crackling foam—her body vibrating as each wave struck against her sides. And where were the ships that covered the peaceful seas with their white sails, but yesterday? Gone—dispersed! each alone in a wide circle of the ocean, surrounded by the threatenings of the storm. Like some young voyager—perhaps, within her very planks—whose hours were passed in sailing along the peaceful and shining shores of pleasure, dreaming of beautiful things to come—in a moment separated from its happy associations; alone on the stormy sea of life,—friends all gone,—prospects wholly changed! But why do I say _perhaps?_ It was _really_ the case with the three Subalterns: with this bad weather came their troubles: their prospects changed even with the wind. Before the day closed a violent gale set in, and for four succeeding weeks there was but little remission of its force; a lull for a day or so, after it had blown for eight or ten, was the only change in the determined south-west wind; and often was it terrible in its wrath, carrying away sail after sail, and obliging the ship to go under her bare poles, or one close-reefed topsail. All this time they were tacking to and fro through the Atlantic Ocean.