I had seen Puttee Rooge; I had robbed her (I say
ROBBED her, and I don't care what the reader or any other man may think
of the act) of a deal box, containing jewels to the amount of three
millions sterling, the property of herself and husband.
Three millions in money and jewels! And what the deuce were money and
jewels to me or to my poor garrison? Could my adorable Miss Bulcher eat
a fricassee of diamonds, or, Cleopatra-like, melt down pearls to her
tea? Could I, careless as I am about food, with a stomach that would
digest anything--(once, in Spain, I ate the leg of a horse during a
famine, and was so eager to swallow this morsel that I bolted the shoe,
as well as the hoof, and never felt the slightest inconvenience from
either,)--could I, I say, expect to live long and well upon a ragout of
rupees, or a dish of stewed emeralds and rubies? With all the wealth of
Croesus before me I felt melancholy; and would have paid cheerfully its
weight in carats for a good honest round of boiled beef. Wealth, wealth,
what art thou? What is gold?--Soft metal. What are diamonds?--Shining
tinsel. The great wealth-winners, the only fame-achievers, the sole
objects worthy of a soldier's consideration, are beefsteaks, gunpowder,
and cold iron.
The two latter means of competency we possessed; I had in my own
apartments a small store of gunpowder (keeping it under my own bed, with
a candle burning for fear of accidents); I had 14 pieces of artillery
(4 long 48's and 4 carronades, 5 howitzers, and a long brass mortar, for
grape, which I had taken myself at the battle of Assaye), and muskets
for ten times my force.
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