time the Corsican upstart menaced our shores. A recruiting-party
and captain of Cutts's regiment (which had been so mangled at
Blenheim the year before) were now in Warwickshire; and having their
depot at Warwick, the captain and his attendant, the corporal, were
used to travel through the country, seeking for heroes to fill up
the gaps in Cutts's corps,--and for adventures to pass away the
weary time of a country life.

Our Captain Plume and Sergeant Kite (it was at this time, by the
way, that those famous recruiting-officers were playing their pranks
in Shrewsbury) were occupied very much in the same manner with
Farquhar's heroes. They roamed from Warwick to Stratford, and from
Stratford to Birmingham, persuading the swains of Warwickshire to
leave the plough for the Pike, and despatching, from time to time,
small detachments of recruits to extend Marlborough's lines, and to
act as food for the hungry cannon at Ramillies and Malplaquet.

Of those two gentlemen who are about to act a very important part in
our history, one only was probably a native of Britain,--we say
probably, because the individual in question was himself quite
uncertain, and, it must be added, entirely indifferent about his
birthplace; but speaking the English language, and having been
during the course of his life pretty generally engaged in the
British service, he had a tolerably fair claim to the majestic title
of Briton. His name was Peter Brock, otherwise Corporal Brock, of
Lord Cutts's regiment of dragoons; he was of age about fifty-seven
(even that point has never been ascertained); in height about five
feet six inches; in weight, nearly thirteen stone; with a chest that
the celebrated Leitch himself might envy; an arm that was like an
opera-dancer's leg; a stomach so elastic that it would accommodate