There we went, all three, by coach: the Major in great spirits and full of stories about the Duke and the Peninsula, while Jim sat in the corner with his lips set and his arms folded, and I knew that he killed de Lissac three times an hour in his heart.

I could tell it by the sudden glint of his eyes and grip of his hand.

As to me, I did not know whether to be glad or sorry; for home is home, and it is a weary thing, however you may brazen it out, to feel that half Scotland is between you and your mother.
We were in Glasgow next day, and the Major took us down to the depot, where a soldier with three stripes on his arm and a fistful of ribbons from his cap, showed every tooth he had in his head at the sight of Jim, and walked three times round him to have the view of him, as if he had been Carlisle Castle.

Then he came over to me and punched me in the ribs and felt my muscle, and was nigh as pleased as with Jim.
"These are the sort, Major, these are the sort," he kept saying.
"With a thousand of these we could stand up to Boney's best." "How do they run ?" asked the Major.
"A poor show," said he, "but they may lick into shape.

The best men have been drafted to America, and we are full of Militiamen and recruities." "Tut, tut!" said the Major.