General Picton, like Otway's _Pierre_, was a “bold rough soldier,” that stopped at nothing; he was a man whose decisions were as immutable, as his conceptions were quick and effective, in all things relative to the command which he held. While in the Peninsula, an assistant commissary, (commonly called assistant-commissary _General_, the rank of which appointment is equal to a Captain's,) through very culpable carelessness, once failed in supplying with rations the third division under General Picton's command; and on being remonstrated with by one of the principal officers of the division, on account of the deficiency, declared, with an affected consequence unbecoming the subject, “that he should not be able to supply the necessary demand for some days.” This was reported to the General, who instantly sent for the Commissary, and laconically accosted him with:— “Do you see that tree, Sir?” “Yes, General, I do.” “Well, if my division be not provided with rations to-morrow, by twelve o'clock, I'll _hang_ you on that very tree.” The confounded Commissary muttered, and retired. The threat was alarming: so he lost not a moment in proceeding at a full gallop to head quarters, where he presented himself to the Duke of Wellington, complaining most emphatically of the threat which General Picton had held out to him. “Did the General say he would _hang_ you, Sir?” demanded his Grace. “Yes, my Lord—he did,” answered the complainant. “Well, Sir,” returned the Duke, “if he said so, believe me he _means_ to do it, and you have no remedy but to provide the rations!” The spur of necessity becomes a marvellous useful instrument in sharpening a man to activity: and the Commissary found it so; for the rations were all up, and ready for delivery, at twelve o'clock the next day. INFERNAL DUTY. “Down, down to hell, and say I sent thee thither.” _Shakspeare._