's reminiscences of the Peninsular War were removed from all
suspicion of being mythical. Mr. Poulter, it appeared, had been a conspicuous
figure at Talavera, and had contributed not a little to the peculiar terror with
which his regiment of infantry was regarded by the enemy. On afternoons, when
his memory was more stimulated than usual, he remembered that the Duke of
Wellington had (in strict privacy, lest jealousies should be awakened) expressed
his esteem for that fine fellow Poulter. The very surgeon who attended him in
the hospital after he had received his gunshot wound, had been profoundly
impressed with the superiority of Mr. Poulter's flesh: no other flesh would have
healed in anything like the same time. On less personal matters connected with
the important warfare in which he had been engaged, Mr. Poulter was more
reticent, only taking care not to give the weight of his authority to any loose
notions concerning military history. Any one who pretended to a knowledge of
what occurred at the siege of Badajos, was especially an object of silent pity
to Mr. Poulter; he wished that prating person had been run down, and had the
breath trampled out of him at the first go-off, as he himself had - he might
talk about the siege of Badajos then! Tom did not escape irritating his
drilling-master occasionally, by his curiosity concerning other military matters
than Mr. Poulter's personal experience.
    »And General Wolfe, Mr. Poulter? wasn't he a wonderful fighter?« said Tom,
who held the notion that all the martial heroes commemorated on the public-house
signs were engaged in the war with Bony.
    »Not at all!« said Mr. Poulter, contemptuously. »Nothing o' the sort! ...
Heads up!« he added, in a tone of stern command, which delighted Tom, and made
him feel as if he were a regiment in his own person.
    »No, no!« Mr. Poulter would continue, on coming to a pause in his
discipline. »They'd better not talk to me about General Wolfe. He did nothing
but die of his wound; that's a poor haction, I consider. Any other man 'ud have
died o' the wounds I've had ... One of my sword-cuts 'ud ha' killed a fellow
like General Wolfe.«
    »Mr. Poulter,« Tom would say, at any allusion to the sword, »I wish you'd
bring your sword and do the sword-exercise!«
    For
