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Title: Charles O'Malley, Vol. 2
Author: Charles Lever
Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8674]
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARLES O'MALLEY, VOL. 2 ***
Produced by David Widger, Jonathan Ingram, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
CHAPTER
I. THE DOCTOR'S TALE II. THE SKIRMISH III. THE LINES OF CIUDAD RODRIGO IV. THE DOCTOR V. THE COA VI. THE NIGHT MARCH VII. THE JOURNEY VIII. THE GHOST IX. LISBON X. A PLEASANT PREDICAMENT XI. THE DINNER XII. THE LETTER XIII. THE VILLA XIV. THE VISIT XV. THE CONFESSION XVI. MY CHARGER XVII. MAURICE XVIII. THE MASQUERADE XIX. THE LINES XX. THE RETREAT OF THE FRENCH XXI. PATRICK'S DAY IN THE PENINSULA XXII. FUENTES D'ONORO XXIII. THE BATTLE OF FUENTES D'ONORO XXIV. A RENCONTRE XXV. ALMEIDA XXVI. A NIGHT ON THE AZAVA XXVII. MIKE'S MISTAKE XXVIII. MONSOON IN TROUBLE XXIX. THE CONFIDENCE XXX. THE CANTONMENT XXXI. MICKEY FREE'S ADVENTURE XXXII. THE SAN PETRO XXXIII. THE COUNT'S LETTER XXXIV. THE TRENCHES XXXV. THE STORMING OF CIUDAD RODRIGO XXXVI. THE RAMPART XXXVII. THE DESPATCH XXXVIII. THE LEAVE XXXIX. LONDON XL. THE BELL AT BRISTOL XLI. IRELAND XLII. THE RETURN XLIII. HOME XLIV. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE XLV. A SURPRISE XLVI. NEW VIEWS XLVII. A RECOGNITION XLVIII. A MISTAKE XLIX. BRUSSELS L. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE LI. THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND'S BALL LII. QUATRE BRAS LIII. WATERLOO LIV. BRUSSELS LV. CONCLUSION L'ENVOI
Etchings *
*EXORCISING A SPIRIT
A FLYING SHOT
O'MALLEY FOLLOWING THE CUSTOM OF HIS COUNTRY
MR. FREE TURNED SPANIARD
CHARLEY TRYING A CHARGER
GOING OUT TO DINNER
DISADVANTAGE OF BREAKFASTING OVER A DUELLING-PARTY
*THE TABLES TURNED
MR. FREE PIPES WHILE HIS FRIENDS PIPE-CLAY
A HUNTING TURN-OUT IN THE PENINSULA
MIKE CAPTURING THE TRUMPETER
CAPTAIN MICKEY FREE RELATING HIS HEROIC DEEDS
BABY BLAKE
MICKEY ASTONISHES THE NATIVES
*THE GENTLEMEN WHO NEVER SLEEP
DEATH OF HAMMERSLEY
*THE WELCOME HOME
CHAPTER I.
THE DOCTOR'S TALE.[1]
"It is now some fifteen years since—if it wasn't for
O'Shaughnessy's
wrinkles, I could not believe it five—we were quartered in
Loughrea. There
were, besides our regiment, the Fiftieth and the Seventy-third,
and a troop
or two of horse artillery, and the whole town was literally a
barrack, and
as you may suppose, the pleasantest place imaginable. All the
young ladies,
and indeed all those that had got their brevet some years before,
came
flocking into the town, not knowing but the Devil might persuade
a raw
ensign or so to marry some of them.
"Such dinner parties, such routs and balls, never were heard
of west of
Athlone. The gayeties were incessant; and if good feeding, plenty
of
claret, short whist, country dances, and kissing could have done
the thing,
there wouldn't have been a bachelor with a red coat for six miles
around.
[Footnote 1: I cannot permit the reader to fall into the same
blunder,
with regard to the worthy "Maurice," as my friend Charles
O'Malley has
done. It is only fair to state that the doctor in the following
tale was
hoaxing the "dragoon." A braver and a better fellow than Quill
never
existed, equally beloved by his brother officers, as delighted in
for his
convivial talents. His favorite amusement was to invent some
story or
adventure in which, mixing up his own name with that of some
friend or
companion, the veracity of the whole was never questioned. Of
this nature
was the pedigree he devised in the last chapter of Vol. I. to
impose upon
O'Malley, who believed implicitly all he told him.]
"You know the west, O'Mealey, so I needn't tell you what the
Galway girls
are like: fine, hearty, free-and-easy, talking, laughing devils,
but as
deep and 'cute as a Master in Chancery; ready for any fun or
merriment, but
always keeping a sly look-out for a proposal or a tender
acknowledgment,
which—what between the heat of a ball-room, whiskey negus, white
satin
shoes, and a quarrel with your guardian—it's ten to one you fall
into
before you're a week in the same town with them.
"As for the men, I don't admire them so much: pleasant and
cheerful enough
when they're handicapping the coat off your back, and your new
tilbury for
a spavined pony and a cotton umbrella, but regular devils if you
come to
cross them the least in life; nothing but ten paces, three shots
apiece, to
begin and end with something like Roger de Coverley, when every
one has a
pull at his neighbor. I'm not saying they're not agreeable,
well-informed,
and mild in their habits; but they lean overmuch to corduroys and
coroners'
inquests for one's taste farther south. However, they're a fine
people,
take them all in all; and if they were not interfered with, and
their
national customs invaded with road-making, petty-sessions,
grand-jury laws,
and a stray commission now and then, they are capable of great
things, and
would astonish the world.
"But as I was saying, we were ordered to Loughrea after being
fifteen
months in detachments about Birr, Tullamore, Kilbeggan, and all
that
country; the change was indeed a delightful one, and we soon
found
ourselves the centre of the most marked and determined
civilities. I told
you they were wise people in the west; this was their
calculation: the
line—ours was the Roscommon militia—are here to-day, there
to-morrow;
they may be flirting in Tralee this week, and fighting on the
Tagus the
next; not that there was any fighting there in those times, but
then there
was always Nova Scotia and St. John's, and a hundred other places
that a
Galway young lady knew nothing about, except that people never
came back
from them. Now, what good, what use was there in falling in love
with them?
Mere transitory and passing pleasure that was. But as for us:
there we
were; if not in Kilkenny we were in Cork. Safe out and come
again; no
getting away under pretence of foreign service; no excuse for not
marrying
by any cruel pictures of the colonies, where they make
spatch-cocks of the
officers' wives and scrape their infant families to death with a
small
tooth-comb. In a word, my dear O'Mealey, we were at a high
premium; and
even O'Shaughnessy, with his red head and the legs you see, had
his
admirers. There now, don't be angry, Dan; the men, at least, were
mighty
partial to you.
"Loughrea, if it was a pleasant, was a very expensive place.
White gloves
and car hire,—there wasn't a chaise in the town,—short whist,
too (God
forgive me if I wrong them, but I wonder were they honest), cost
money; and
as our popularity rose, our purses fell; till at length, when the
one was
at the flood, the other was something very like low water.
"Now, the Roscommon was a beautiful corps; no petty
jealousies, no little
squabbling among the officers, no small spleen between the
major's wife
and the paymaster's sister,—all was amiable, kind, brotherly,
and
affectionate. To proceed, I need only mention one fine trait of
them,—no
man ever refused to indorse a brother officer's bill. To think of
asking
the amount or even the date would be taken personally; and thus
we went on
mutually aiding and assisting each other,—the colonel drawing on
me, I
on the major, the senior captain on the surgeon, and so on, a
regular
cross-fire of 'promises to pay,' all stamped and regular.
"Not but the system had its inconveniences; for sometimes an
obstinate
tailor or bootmaker would make a row for his money, and then we'd
be
obliged to get up a little quarrel between the drawer and the
acceptor of
the bill; they couldn't speak for some days, and a mutual friend
to both
would tell the creditor that the slightest imprudence on his part
would
lead to bloodshed; 'and the Lord help him! if there was a duel,
he'd be
proved the whole cause of it.' This and twenty other plans were
employed;
and finally, the matter would be left to arbitration among our
brother
officers, and I need not say, they behaved like trumps. But
notwithstanding
all this, we were frequently hard pressed for cash; as the
colonel said,
'It's a mighty expensive corps.' Our dress was costly; not that
it had much
lace and gold on it, but that, what between falling on the road
at night,
shindies at mess, and other devilment, a coat lasted no time.
Wine, too,
was heavy on us; for though we often changed our wine merchant,
and rarely
paid him, there was an awful consumption at the mess!
"Now, what I have mentioned may prepare you for the fact that
before
we were eight weeks in garrison, Shaugh and myself, upon an
accurate
calculation of our conjoint finances, discovered that except some
vague
promises of discounting here and there through the town, and
seven and
fourpence in specie, we were innocent of any pecuniary treasures.
This was
embarrassing; we had both embarked in several small schemes of
pleasurable
amusement, had a couple of hunters each, a tandem, and a running
account—I
think it galloped—at every shop in the town.
"Let me pause for a moment here, O'Mealey, while I moralize a
little in a
strain I hope may benefit you. Have you ever considered—of
course you have
not, you're too young and unreflecting—how beautifully every
climate
and every soil possesses some one antidote or another to its own
noxious
influences? The tropics have their succulent and juicy fruits,
cooling and
refreshing; the northern latitudes have their beasts with fur and
warm skin
to keep out the frost-bites; and so it is in Ireland. Nowhere on
the face
of the habitable globe does a man contract such habits of small
debt, and
nowhere, I'll be sworn, can he so easily get out of any scrape
concerning
them. They have their tigers in the east, their antelopes in the
south,
their white bears in Norway, their buffaloes in America; but we
have an
animal in Ireland that beats them all hollow,—a country
attorney!
"Now, let me introduce you to Mr. Matthew Donevan. Mat, as he
was
familiarly called by his numerous acquaintances, was a short,
florid, rosy
little gentleman of some four or five-and-forty, with a
well-curled wig of
the fairest imaginable auburn, the gentle wave of the front
locks, which
played in infantine loveliness upon his little bullet forehead,
contrasting
strongly enough with a cunning leer of his eye, and a certain
nisi prius
laugh that however it might please a client, rarely brought
pleasurable
feelings to his opponent in a cause.
"Mat was a character in his way; deep, double, and tricky in
everything
that concerned his profession, he affected the gay fellow,—liked
a jolly
dinner at Brown's Hotel, would go twenty miles to see a
steeple-chase and
a coursing match, bet with any one when the odds were strong in
his favor,
with an easy indifference about money that made him seem, when
winning,
rather the victim of good luck than anything else. As he kept a
rather
pleasant bachelor's house, and liked the military much, we soon
became
acquainted. Upon him, therefore, for reasons I can't explain,
both our
hopes reposed; and Shaugh and myself at once agreed that if Mat
could not
assist us in our distresses, the case was a bad one.
"A pretty little epistle was accordingly concocted, inviting
the worthy
attorney to a small dinner at five o'clock the next day,
intimating that we
were to be perfectly alone, and had a little business to discuss.
True to
the hour, Mat was there; and as if instantly guessing that ours
was no
regular party of pleasure, his look, dress, and manner were all
in keeping
with the occasion,—quiet, subdued, and searching.
"When the claret had been superseded by the whiskey, and the
confidential
hours were approaching, by an adroit allusion to some heavy wager
then
pending, we brought our finances upon the tapis. The thing was
done
beautifully,—an easy adagio movement, no violent transition;
but hang me
if old Mat didn't catch the matter at once.
"'Oh, it's there ye are, Captain!' said he, with his peculiar
grin.
'Two-and-sixpence in the pound, and no assets.'
"'The last is nearer the mark, my old boy,' said Shaugh,
blurting out the
whole truth at once. The wily attorney finished his tumbler
slowly, as
if giving himself time for reflection, and then, smacking his
lips in a
preparatory manner, took a quick survey of the room with his
piercing green
eye.
"'A very sweet mare of yours that little mouse-colored one is,
with the dip
in the back; and she has a trifling curb—may be it's a spavin,
indeed—in
the near hind-leg. You gave five-and-twenty for her, now, I'll be
bound?'
"'Sixty guineas, as sure as my name's Dan,' said Shaugh, not
at all pleased
at the value put upon his hackney; 'and as to spavin and curb,
I'll wager
double the sum she has neither the slightest trace of one nor the
other.'
"'I'll not take the bet,' said Mat, dryly. 'Money's scarce in these parts.'
"This hit silenced us both; and our friend continued,—
"'Then there's the bay horse,—a great strapping, leggy beast
he is for a
tilbury; and the hunters, worth nothing here; they don't know
this country.
Them's neat pistols; and the tilbury is not bad—'
"'Confound you!' said I, losing all patience; 'we didn't ask
you here to
appraise our movables. We want to raise the wind without
that.'
"'I see, I perceive,' said Mat, taking a pinch of snuff very
leisurely as
he spoke,—'I see. Well, that is difficult, very difficult just
now. I've
mortgaged every acre of ground in the two counties near us, and a
sixpence
more is not to be had that way. Are you lucky at the races?'
"'Never win a sixpence.'
"'What can you do at whist?'
"'Revoke, and get cursed by my partner; devil a more!'
"'That's mighty bad, for otherwise, we might arrange something
for you.
Well, I only see one thing for it; you must marry. A wife with
some money
will get you out of your present difficulties; and we'll manage
that easily
enough.'
"'Come, Dan,' said I, for Shaugh was dropping asleep; 'cheer
up, old
fellow. Donevan has found the way to pull us through our
misfortunes. A
girl with forty thousand pounds, the best cock shooting in
Ireland, an old
family, a capital cellar, all await ye,—rouse up, there!'
"'I'm convanient,' said Shaugh, with a look intended to be
knowing, but
really very tipsy.
"'I didn't say much for her personal attractions, Captain,'
said Mat; 'nor,
indeed, did I specify the exact sum; but Mrs. Rogers Dooley, of
Clonakilty,
might be a princess—'
"'And so she shall be, Mat; the O'Shaughnessys were Kings of
Ennis in the
time of Nero and I'm only waiting for a trifle of money to revive
the
title. What's her name?'
"'Mrs. Rogers Dooley.'
"'Here's her health, and long life to her,—
'And may the Devil cut the toes
Of all her foes,
That we may know them by their limping.'
"This benevolent wish uttered, Dan fell flat upon the
hearth-rug, and was
soon sound asleep. I must hasten on; so need only say that,
before we
parted that night, Mat and myself had finished the half-gallon
bottle of
Loughrea whiskey, and concluded a treaty for the hand and fortune
of Mrs.
Rogers Dooley. He being guaranteed a very handsome percentage on
the
property, and the lady being reserved for choice between Dan and
myself,
which, however, I was determined should fall upon my more
fortunate friend.
"The first object which presented itself to my aching senses
the following
morning was a very spacious card of invitation from Mr. Jonas
Malone,
requesting me to favor him with the seductions of my society the
next
evening to a ball; at the bottom of which, in Mr. Donevan's hand,
I read,—
"'Don't fail; you know who is to be there. I've not been idle
since I saw
you. Would the captain take twenty-five for the mare?'
"'So far so good,' thought I, as entering O'Shaughnessy's
quarters, I
discovered him endeavoring to spell out his card, which, however,
had no
postscript. We soon agreed that Mat should have his price; so
sending a
polite answer to the invitation, we despatched a still more civil
note to
the attorney, and begged of him, as a weak mark of esteem, to
accept the
mouse-colored mare as a present."
Here O'Shaughnessy sighed deeply, and even seemed affected by the souvenir.
"Come, Dan, we did it all for the best. Oh, O'Mealey, he was a
cunning
fellow; but no matter. We went to the ball, and to be sure, it
was a great
sight. Two hundred and fifty souls, where there was not good room
for the
odd fifty; such laughing, such squeezing, such pressing of hands
and waists
in the staircase, and then such a row and riot at the top,—four
fiddles, a
key bugle, and a bagpipe, playing 'Haste to the wedding,' amidst
the crash
of refreshment-trays, the tramp of feet, and the sounds of
merriment on all
sides!
"It's only in Ireland, after all, people have fun. Old and
young, merry and
morose, the gay and cross-grained, are crammed into a lively
country-dance;
and ill-matched, ill-suited, go jigging away together to the
blast of a bad
band, till their heads, half turned by the noise, the heat, the
novelty,
and the hubbub, they all get as tipsy as if they were really deep
in
liquor.
"Then there is that particularly free-and-easy tone in every
one about.
Here go a couple capering daintily out of the ball-room to take a
little
fresh air on the stairs, where every step has its own separate
flirtation
party; there, a riotous old gentleman, with a boarding-school
girl for
his partner, has plunged smack into a party at loo, upsetting
cards and
counters, and drawing down curses innumerable. Here are a merry
knot round
the refreshments, and well they may be; for the negus is strong
punch,
and the biscuit is tipsy cake,—and all this with a running fire
of good
stories, jokes, and witticisms on all sides, in the laughter for
which even
the droll-looking servants join as heartily as the rest.
"We were not long in finding out Mrs. Rogers, who sat in the
middle of a
very high sofa, with her feet just touching the floor. She was
short,
fat, wore her hair in a crop, had a species of shining yellow
skin, and a
turned-up nose, all of which were by no means prepossessing.
Shaugh and
myself were too hard-up to be particular, and so we invited her
to dance
alternately for two consecutive hours, plying her assiduously
with negus
during the lulls in the music.
"Supper was at last announced, and enabled us to recruit for
new efforts;
and so after an awful consumption of fowl, pigeon-pie, ham, and
brandy
cherries, Mrs. Rogers brightened up considerably, and professed
her
willingness to join the dancers. As for us, partly from
exhaustion, partly
to stimulate our energies, and in some degree to drown
reflection, we drank
deep, and when we reached the drawing-room, not only the
agreeable guests
themselves, but even the furniture, the venerable chairs, and the
stiff old
sofa seemed performing 'Sir Roger de Coverley.' How we conducted
ourselves
till five in the morning, let our cramps confess; for we were
both
bed-ridden for ten days after. However, at last Mrs. Rogers gave
in, and
reclining gracefully upon a window-seat, pronounced it a most
elegant
party, and asked me to look for her shawl. While I perambulated
the
staircase with her bonnet on my head, and more wearing apparel
than would
stock a magazine, Shaugh was roaring himself hoarse in the
street, calling
Mrs. Rogers' coach.
"'Sure, Captain,' said the lady, with a tender leer, 'it's only a chair.'
"'And here it is,' said I, surveying a very portly-looking old
sedan, newly
painted and varnished, that blocked up half the hall.
"'You'll catch cold, my angel,' said Shaugh, in a whisper, for
he was
coming it very strong by this; 'get into the chair. Maurice,
can't you find
those fellows?' said he to me, for the chairmen had gone
down-stairs, and
were making very merry among the servants.
"'She's fast now,' said I, shutting the door to. 'Let us do
the gallant
thing, and carry her home ourselves.' Shaugh thought this a great
notion;
and in a minute we mounted the poles and sallied forth, amidst a
great
chorus of laughing from all the footmen, maids, and teaboys that
filled the
passage.
"'The big house, with the bow-window and the pillars,
Captain,' said a
fellow, as we issued upon our journey. "'I know it,' said I.
'Turn to the
left after you pass the square.'
"'Isn't she heavy?' said Shaugh, as he meandered across the
narrow streets
with a sidelong motion that must have suggested to our fair
inside
passenger some notions of a sea voyage. In truth, I must confess
our
progress was rather a devious one,—now zig-zagging from side to
side, now
getting into a sharp trot, and then suddenly pulling up at a dead
stop, or
running the machine chuck against a wall, to enable us to stand
still and
gain breath.
"'Which way now?' cried he, as we swung round the angle of a
street and
entered the large market-place; 'I'm getting terribly tired.'
"'Never give in, Dan. Think of Clonakilty and the old lady
herself.' Here
I gave the chair a hoist that evidently astonished our fair
friend, for a
very imploring cry issued forth immediately after.
"'To the right, quick-step, forward, charge!' cried I; and we
set off at a
brisk trot down a steep narrow lane.
"'Here it is now,—the light in the window. Cheer up.'
"As I said this we came short up to a fine, portly-looking
doorway, with
great stone pillars and cornice.
"'Make yourself at home, Maurice,' said he; 'bring her in.' So
saying,
we pushed forward—for the door was open—and passed boldly into
a great
flagged hall, silent and cold, and dark as the night itself.
"'Are you sure we're right?' said he.
"'All right,' said I; 'go ahead.'
"And so we did, till we came in sight of a small candle that
burned dimly
at a distance from us.
"'Make for the light,' said I; but just as I said so Shaugh
slipped and
fell flat on the flagway. The noise of his fall sent up a hundred
echoes
in the silent building, and terrified us both dreadfully. After a
minute's
pause, by one consent we turned and made for the door, falling
almost at
every step, and frightened out of our senses, we came tumbling
together
into the porch, and out in the street, and never drew breath till
we
reached the barracks. Meanwhile let me return to Mrs. Rogers. The
dear
old lady, who had passed an awful time since she left the ball,
had just
rallied out of a fainting fit when we took to our heels; so after
screaming
and crying her best, she at last managed to open the top of the
chair, and
by dint of great exertions succeeded in forcing the door, and at
length
freed herself from bondage. She was leisurely groping her way
round it
in the dark, when her lamentations, being heard without, woke up
the old
sexton of the chapel,—for it was there we placed her,—who,
entering
cautiously with a light, no sooner caught a glimpse of the great
black
sedan and the figure beside it than he also took to his heels,
and ran like
a madman to the priest's house.
"'Come, your reverence, come, for the love of marcy! Sure
didn't I see him
myself! Oh, wirra, wirra!'
"'What is it, ye ould fool?' said M'Kenny.
"'It's Father Con Doran, your reverence, that was buried last
week, and
there he is up now, coffin and all, saying a midnight Mass as
lively as
ever.'
"Poor Mrs. Rogers, God help her! It was a trying sight for her
when the
priest and the two coadjutors and three little boys and the
sexton all came
in to lay her spirit; and the shock she received that night, they
say, she
never got over.
"Need I say, my dear O'Mealey, that our acquaintance with Mrs.
Rogers was
closed? The dear woman had a hard struggle for it afterwards. Her
character
was assailed by all the elderly ladies in Loughrea for going off
in our
company, and her blue satin, piped with scarlet, utterly ruined
by a deluge
of holy water bestowed on her by the pious sexton. It was in vain
that she
originated twenty different reports to mystify the world; and
even ten
pounds spent in Masses for the eternal repose of Father Con Doran
only
increased the laughter this unfortunate affair gave rise to. As
for us, we
exchanged into the line, and foreign service took us out of the
road of
duns, debts, and devilment, and we soon reformed, and eschewed
such low
company."
The day was breaking ere we separated; and amidst the rich and
fragrant
vapors that exhaled from the earth, the faint traces of sunlight
dimly
stealing told of the morning. My two friends set out for
Torrijos, and I
pushed boldly forward in the direction of the Alberche.
It was a strange thing that although but two days before the
roads we were
then travelling had been the line of retreat of the whole French
army, not
a vestige of their equipment nor a trace of their
matériel had been left
behind. In vain we searched each thicket by the wayside for some
straggling
soldier, some wounded or wearied man; nothing of the kind was to
be seen.
Except the deeply-rutted road, torn by the heavy wheels of the
artillery,
and the white ashes of a wood fire, nothing marked their
progress.
Our journey was a lonely one. Not a man was to be met with.
The houses
stood untenanted; the doors lay open; no smoke wreathed from
their deserted
hearths. The peasantry had taken to the mountains; and although
the plains
were yellow with the ripe harvest, and the peaches hung
temptingly upon the
trees, all was deserted and forsaken. I had often seen the
blackened walls
and broken rafters, the traces of the wild revenge and reckless
pillage of
a retiring army. The ruined castle and the desecrated altar are
sad things
to look upon; but, somehow, a far heavier depression sunk into my
heart
as my eye ranged over the wide valleys and broad hills, all
redolent of
comfort, of beauty, and of happiness, and yet not one man to say,
"This is
my home; these are my household gods." The birds carolled gayly
in each
leafy thicket; the bright stream sung merrily as it rippled
through the
rocks; the tall corn, gently stirred by the breeze, seemed to
swell the
concert of sweet sounds; but no human voice awoke the echoes
there. It
was as if the earth was speaking in thankfulness to its Maker,
while
man,—ungrateful and unworthy man,—pursuing his ruthless path
of
devastation and destruction, had left no being to say, "I thank
Thee for
all these."
The day was closing as we drew near the Alberche, and came in
sight of the
watch-fires of the enemy. Far as the eye could reach their column
extended,
but in the dim twilight nothing could be seen with accuracy; yet
from the
position their artillery occupied, and the unceasing din of
baggage wagons
and heavy carriages towards the rear, I came to the conclusion
that a still
farther retreat was meditated. A picket of light cavalry was
posted upon
the river's bank, and seemed to watch with vigilance the
approaches to the
stream.
Our bivouac was a dense copse of pine-trees, exactly opposite
to the French
advanced posts, and there we passed the night,—fortunately a
calm and
starlight one; for we dared not light fires, fearful of
attracting
attention.
During the long hours I lay patiently watching the movements
of the enemy
till the dark shadows hid all from sight; and even then, as my
ears caught
the challenge of a sentry or the footsteps of some officer in his
round,
my thoughts were riveted upon them, and a hundred vague fancies
as to the
future were based upon no stronger foundation than the clink of a
firelock
or the low-muttered song of a patrol.
Towards morning I slept; and when day broke my first glance
was towards the
river-side. But the French were gone, noiselessly, rapidly. Like
one man
that vast army had departed, and a dense column of dust towards
the
horizon alone marked the long line of march where the martial
legions were
retreating.
My mission was thus ended; and hastily partaking of the humble
breakfast my
friend Mike provided for me, I once more set out and took the
road towards
headquarters.
CHAPTER II.
THE SKIRMISH.
For several months after the battle of Talavera my life
presented nothing
which I feel worth recording. Our good fortune seemed to have
deserted us
when our hopes were highest; for from the day of that splendid
victory we
began our retrograde movement upon Portugal. Pressed hard by
overwhelming
masses of the enemy, we saw the fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and
Almeida
fall successively into their hands. The Spaniards were defeated
wherever
they ventured upon a battle; and our own troops, thinned by
sickness and
desertion, presented but a shadow of that brilliant army which
only a few
months previous had followed the retiring French beyond the
frontiers of
Portugal.
However willing I now am—and who is not—to recognize the
genius and
foresight of that great man who then held the destinies of the
Peninsula
within his hands, I confess at the time I speak of I could ill
comprehend
and still less feel contented with the successive retreats our
forces made;
and while the words Torres Vedras brought nothing to my mind but
the last
resting-place before embarkation, the sad fortunes of Corunna
were now
before me, and it was with a gloomy and desponding spirit I
followed the
routine of my daily duty.
During these weary months, if my life was devoid of stirring
interest or
adventure, it was not profitless. Constantly employed at the
outposts,
I became thoroughly inured to all the roughing of a soldier's
life, and
learned in the best of schools that tacit obedience which alone
can form
the subordinate or ultimately fit its possessor for command
himself.
Humble and unobtrusive as such a career must ever be, it was
not without
its occasional rewards. From General Crawfurd I more than once
obtained
most kind mention in his despatches, and felt that I was not
unknown or
unnoticed by Sir Arthur Wellesley himself. At that time these
testimonies,
slight and passing as they were, contributed to the pride and
glory of my
existence; and even now—shall I confess it?—when some gray
hairs are
mingling with the brown, and when my old dragoon swagger is
taming down
into a kind of half-pay shamble, I feel my heart warm at the
recollection
of them.
Be it so; I care not who smiles at the avowal. I know of
little better
worth remembering as we grow old than what pleased us while we
were young.
With the memory of the kind words once spoken come back the still
kinder
looks of those who spoke them, and better than all, that early
feeling of
budding manhood, when there was neither fear nor distrust. Alas!
these are
the things, and not weak eyes and tottering limbs, which form the
burden of
old age. Oh, if we could only go on believing, go on trusting, go
on hoping
to the last, who would shed tears for the bygone feats of his
youthful
days, when the spirit that evoked them lived young and vivid as
before?
But to my story. While Ciudad Rodrigo still held out against
the besieging
French,—its battered walls and breached ramparts sadly
foretelling the
fate inevitably impending,—we were ordered, together with the
16th Light
Dragoons, to proceed to Gallegos, to reinforce Crawfurd's
division, then
forming a corps of observation upon Massena's movements.
The position he occupied was a most commanding one,—the crown
of a long
mountain ridge, studded with pine-copse and cork-trees,
presenting every
facility for light-infantry movements; and here and there gently
sloping
towards the plain, offering a field for cavalry manoeuvres.
Beneath, in
the vast plain, were encamped the dark legions of France, their
heavy
siege-artillery planted against the doomed fortress, while clouds
of their
cavalry caracoled proudly before us, as if in taunting sarcasm at
our
inactivity.
Every artifice which his natural cunning could suggest, every
taunt a
Frenchman's vocabulary contains, had been used by Massena to
induce Sir
Arthur Wellesley to come to the assistance of the beleagured
fortress:
but in vain. In vain he relaxed the energy of the siege, and
affected
carelessness. In vain he asserted that the English were either
afraid or
else traitors to their allies. The mind of him he thus assailed
was neither
accessible to menace nor to sarcasm. Patiently abiding his time,
he watched
the progress of events, and provided for that future which was to
crown his
country's arms with success and himself with undying glory.
Of a far different mettle was the general formed under whose
orders we were
now placed. Hot, passionate, and impetuous, relying upon bold and
headlong
heroism rather than upon cool judgment and well-matured plans,
Crawfurd
felt in war all the asperity and bitterness of a personal
conflict. Ill
brooking the insulting tone of the wily Frenchman, he thirsted
for any
occasion of a battle, and his proud spirit chafed against the
colder
counsels of his superior.
On the very morning we joined, the pickets brought in the
intelligence that
the French patrols were nightly in the habit of visiting the
villages at
the outposts and committing every species of cruel indignity upon
the
wretched inhabitants. Fired at this daring insult, our general
resolved to
cut them off, and formed two ambuscades for the purpose.
Six squadrons of the 14th were despatched to Villa del Puerco,
three of
the 16th to Baguetto, while some companies of the 95th, and the
caçadores,
supported by artillery, were ordered to hold themselves in
reserve, for the
enemy were in force at no great distance from us.
The morning was just breaking as an aide-de-camp galloped up
with the
intelligence that the French had been seen near the Villa del
Puerco, a
body of infantry and some cavalry having crossed the plain, and
disappeared
in that direction. While our colonel was forming us, with the
intention of
getting between them and their main body, the tramp of horses was
heard in
the wood behind, and in a few moments two officers rode up. The
foremost,
who was a short, stoutly-built man of about forty, with a bronzed
face and
eye of piercing black, shouted out as we wheeled into
column:—
"Halt, there! Why, where the devil are you going? That's your
ground!" So
saying, and pointing straight towards the village with his hand,
he would
not listen to our colonel's explanation that several stone fences
and
enclosures would interfere with cavalry movements, but added,
"Forward, I
say! Proceed!"
Unfortunately, the nature of the ground separated our
squadron, as the
colonel anticipated; and although we came on at a topping pace,
the French
had time to form in square upon a hill to await us, and when we
charged,
they stood firmly, and firing with a low and steady aim, several
of our
troopers fell. As we wheeled round, we found ourselves exactly in
front
of their cavalry coming out of Baguilles; so dashing straight at
them,
we revenged ourselves for our first repulse by capturing
twenty-nine
prisoners, and wounding several others.
The French infantry were, however, still unbroken; and Colonel
Talbot rode
boldly up with five squadrons of the 14th; but the charge,
pressed home
with all its gallantry, failed also, and the colonel fell
mortally wounded,
and fourteen of his troopers around him. Twice we rode round the
square,
seeking for a weak point, but in vain; the gallant Frenchman who
commanded,
Captain Guache, stood fearlessly amidst his brave followers, and
we could
hear him, as he called out from time to time,—
"C'est ça mes enfans! Trés bien fait, mes braves!"
And at length they made good their retreat, while we returned
to the camp,
leaving thirty-two troopers and our brave colonel dead upon the
field in
this disastrous affair.
The repulse we had met with, so contrary to all our hopes and
expectations,
made that a most gloomy day to all of us. The brave fellows we
had left
behind us, the taunting cheer of the French infantry, the
unbroken ranks
against which we rode time after time in vain, never left our
minds; and a
sense of shame of what might be thought of us at headquarters
rendered the
reflection still more painful.
Our bivouac, notwithstanding all our efforts, was a sad one,
and when the
moon rose, some drops of heavy rain falling at intervals in the
still,
unruffled air threatened a night of storm; gradually the sky grew
darker
and darker, the clouds hung nearer to the earth, and a dense,
thick mass
of dark mist shrouded every object. The heavy cannonade of the
siege was
stilled; nothing betrayed that a vast army was encamped near us;
their
bivouac fires were even imperceptible; and the only sound we
heard was the
great bell of Ciudad Rodrigo as it struck the hour, and seemed,
in the
mournful cadence of its chime, like the knell of the doomed
citadel.
The patrol which I commanded had to visit on its rounds the
most advanced
post of our position. This was a small farm-house, which,
standing upon a
little rising ledge of ground, was separated from the French
lines by a
little stream tributary to the Aguda. A party of the 14th were
picketed
here, and beneath them in the valley, scarce five hundred yards
distant,
was the detachment of cuirassiers which formed the French
outpost. As we
neared our picket the deep voice of the sentry challenged us; and
while
all else was silent as the grave, we could hear from the opposite
side
the merry chorus of a French chanson à boire, with its
clattering
accompaniment of glasses, as some gay companions were making
merry
together.
Within the little hut which contained our fellows, the scene
was a
different one. The three officers who commanded sat moodily over
a wretched
fire of wet wood; a solitary candle dimly lighted the dismantled
room,
where a table but ill-supplied with cheer stood unminded and
uncared for.
"Well, O'Malley," cried Baker, as I came in, "what is the
night about? And
what's Crawfurd for next?"
"We hear," cried another, "that he means to give battle
to-morrow; but
surely Sir Arthur's orders are positive enough. Gordon himself
told me
that he was forbidden to fight beyond the Coa, but to retreat at
the first
advance of the enemy."
"I'm afraid," replied I, "that retreating is his last thought
just now.
Ammunition has just been served out, and I know the horse
artillery have
orders to be in readiness by daybreak."
"All right," said Hampden, with a half-bitter tone. "Nothing
like going
through with it. If he is to be brought to court-martial for
disobedience,
he'll take good care we sha'n't be there to see it."
"Why, the French are fifty thousand strong!" said Baker. "Look
there, what
does that mean, now? That's a signal from the town."
As he spoke a rocket of great brilliancy shot up into the sky,
and bursting
at length fell in millions of red lustrous sparks on every side,
showing
forth the tall fortress, and the encamped army around it, with
all the
clearness of noonday. It was a most splendid sight; and though
the next
moment all was dark as before, we gazed still fixedly into the
gloomy
distance, straining our eyes to observe what was hid from our
view forever.
"That must be a signal," repeated Baker.
"Begad! if Crawfurd sees it he'll interpret it as a reason for
fighting. I
trust he's asleep by this time," said Hampden. "By-the-bye,
O'Malley, did
you see the fellows at work in the trenches? How beautifully
clear it was
towards the southward!"
"Yes, I remarked that! and what surprised me was the openness
of their
position in that direction. Towards the San Benito mole I could
not see a
man."
"Ah, they'll not attack on that side; but if we really are—"
"Stay, Hampden!" said I, interrupting him, "a thought has just
struck me.
At sunset, I saw, through my telescope, the French engineers
marking with
their white tape the line of a new entrenchment in that quarter.
Would it
not be a glorious thing to move the tape, and bring the fellows
under the
fire of San Benito?"
"By Jove, O'Malley, that is a thought worth a troop to you!"
"Far more likely to forward his promotion in the next world
than in this,"
said Baker, smiling.
"By no means," added I. "I marked the ground this evening, and
have it
perfectly in my mind. If we were to follow the bend of the river,
I'll be
bound to come right upon the spot; by nearing the fortress we'll
escape the
sentries; and all this portion is open to us."
The project thus loosely thrown out was now discussed in all
its bearings.
Whatever difficulties it presented were combated so much to our
own
satisfaction, that at last its very facility damped our ardor.
Meanwhile
the night wore on, and the storm of rain so long impending began
to descend
in very torrents; hissing along the parched ground, it rose in a
mist,
while overhead the heavy thunder rolled in long unbroken peals;
the crazy
door threatened to give way at each moment, and the whole
building trembled
to its foundation.
"Pass the brandy down here, Hampden, and thank your stars
you're where you
are. Eh, O'Malley? You'll defer your trip to San Benito for finer
weather."
"Well, to come to the point," said Hampden, "I'd rather begin
my
engineering at a more favorable season; but if O'Malley's for
it—"
"And O'Malley is for it," said I, suddenly.
"Then faith, I'm not the man to balk his fancy; and as
Crawfurd is so bent
upon fighting to-morrow, it don't make much difference. Is it a
bargain?"
"It is; here's my hand on it."
"Come, come, boys, I'll have none of this; we've been prettily
cut up this
morning already. You shall not go upon this foolish
excursion."
"Confound it, old fellow! it's all very well for you to talk,
with the
majority before you, next step; but here we are, if peace came
to-morrow,
scarcely better than we left England. No, no; if O'Malley's
ready—and I
see he is so before me—What have you got there? Oh, I see;
that's our tape
line; capital fun, by George! The worst of it is, they'll make us
colonels
of engineers. Now then, what's your plan—on foot or
mounted?"
"Mounted, and for this reason, the country is all open; if we
are to have a
run for it, our thoroughbreds ought to distance them; and as we
must expect
to pass some of their sentries, our only chance is on
horseback."
"My mind is relieved of a great load," said Hampden; "I was
trembling in my
skin lest you should make it a walking party. I'll do anything
you like in
the saddle, from robbing the mail to cutting out a frigate; but I
never was
much of a foot-pad."
"Well, Mike," said I, as I returned to the room with my trusty
follower,
"are the cattle to be depended on?"
"If we had a snaffle in Malachi Daly's mouth [my brown horse],
I'd be
afeared of nothing, sir; but if it comes to fencing, with that
cruel
bit,—but sure, you've a light hand, and let him have his head,
if it's
wall."
"By Jove, he thinks it a fox-chase!" said Hampden.
"Isn't it the same, sir?" said Mike, with a seriousness that
made the whole
party smile.
"Well, I hope we shall not be earthed, any way," said I. "Now,
the next
thing is, who has a lantern? Ah! the very thing; nothing better.
Look to
your pistols, Hampden; and Mike, here's a glass of grog for you;
we'll want
you. And now, one bumper for good luck. Eh, Baker, won't you
pledge us?"
"And spare a little for me," said Hampden. "How it does rain!
If one didn't
expect to be water-proofed before morning, one really wouldn't go
out in
such weather."
While I busied myself in arranging my few preparations,
Hampden proceeded
gravely to inform Mike that we were going to the assistance of
the besieged
fortress, which could not possibly go on without us.
"Tare and ages!" said Mike, "that's mighty quare; and the blue
rocket was a
letter of invitation, I suppose?"
"Exactly," said Hampden; "and you see there's no ceremony
between us. We'll
just drop in, in the evening, in a friendly way."
"Well, then, upon my conscience, I'd wait, if I was you, till
the family
wasn't in confusion. They have enough on their hands just
now."
"So you'll not be persuaded?" said Baker. "Well, I frankly
tell you, that
come what will of it, as your senior officer I'll report you
to-morrow.
I'll not risk myself for any such hair-brained expeditions."
"A mighty pleasant look-out for me," said Mike; "if I'm not
shot to-night,
I may be flogged in the morning."
This speech once more threw us into a hearty fit of laughter,
amidst which
we took leave of our friends, and set forth upon our way.
CHAPTER III.
THE LINES OF CIUDAD RODRIGO.
The small, twinkling lights which shone from the ramparts of
Ciudad Rodrigo
were our only guide, as we issued forth upon our perilous
expedition. The
storm raged, if possible, even more violently than before, and
gusts of
wind swept along the ground with the force of a hurricane; so
that at
first, our horses could scarcely face the tempest. Our path lay
along the
little stream for a considerable way; after which, fording the
rivulet, we
entered upon the open plain, taking care to avoid the French
outpost on the
extreme left, which was marked by a bivouac fire, burning under
the heavy
downpour of rain, and looking larger through the dim atmosphere
around it.
I rode foremost, followed closely by Hampden and Mike; not a
word was
spoken after we crossed the stream. Our plan was, if challenged
by a
patrol, to reply in French and press on; so small a party could
never
suggest the idea of attack, and we hoped in this manner to
escape.
The violence of the storm was such that many of our
precautions as to
silence were quite unnecessary; and we had advanced to a
considerable
extent into the plain before any appearance of the encampment
struck us.
At length, on mounting a little rising ground, we perceived
several fires
stretching far away to the northward; while still to our left,
there blazed
one larger and brighter than the others. We now found that we had
not
outflanked their position as we intended, and learning from the
situation
of the fires, that we were still only at the outposts, we pressed
sharply
forward, directing our course by the twin stars that shone from
the
fortress.
"How heavy the ground is here!" whispered Hampden, as our
horses sunk above
the fetlocks. "We had better stretch away to the right; the rise
of the
hill will favor us."
"Hark!" said I; "did you not hear something? Pull up,—silence
now. Yes,
there they come. It's a patrol; I hear their tramp." As I spoke,
the
measured tread of infantry was heard above the storm, and soon
after a
lantern was seen coming along the causeway near us. The column
passed
within a few yards of where we stood. I could even recognize the
black
covering of the shakos as the light fell on them. "Let us follow
them,"
whispered I; and the next moment we fell in upon their track,
holding our
cattle well in hand, and ready to start at a moment.
"Qui va là?" a sentry demanded.
"La deuxième division," cried a hoarse voice.
"Halte là! la consigne?"
"Wagram!" repeated the same voice as before, while his party
resumed
their march; and the next moment the patrol was again upon his
post, silent
and motionless as before.
"En avant, Messieurs!" said I, aloud, as soon as the
infantry had
proceeded some distance,—"en avant!"
"Qui va là?" demanded the sentry, as we came along at a sharp trot.
"L'état-major, Wagram!" responded I, pressing on
without drawing rein;
and in a moment we had regained our former position behind the
infantry. We
had scarcely time to congratulate ourselves upon the success of
our scheme,
when a tremendous clattering noise in front, mingled with the
galloping of
horses and the cracking of whips, announced the approach of the
artillery
as they came along by a narrow road which bisected our path; and
as they
passed between us and the column, we could hear the muttered
sentences of
the drivers, cursing the unseasonable time for an attack, and
swearing at
their cattle in no measured tones.
"Did you hear that?" whispered Hampden; "the battery is about
to be
directed against the San Benito, which must be far away to the
left.
I heard one of the troop saying that they were to open their fire
at
daybreak."
"All right, now," said I; "look there!"
From the hill we now stood upon a range of lanterns was
distinctly visible,
stretching away for nearly half a mile.
"There are the trenches; they must be at work, too. See how
the lights are
moving from place to place! Straight now. Forward!"
So saying, I pressed my horse boldly on.
We had not proceeded many minutes when the sounds of galloping
were heard
coming along behind us.
"To the right, in the hollow," cried I. "Be still."
Scarcely had we moved off when several horsemen galloped up,
and drawing
their reins to breathe their horses up the hill, we could hear
their voices
as they conversed together.
In the few broken words we could catch, we guessed that the
attack upon San
Benito was only a feint to induce Crawfurd to hold his position,
while
the French, marching upon his flank and front, were to attack him
with
overwhelming masses and crush him.
"You hear what's in store for us, O'Malley?" whispered
Hampden. "I think we
could not possibly do better than hasten back with the
intelligence."
"We must not forget what we came for, first," said I; and the
next moment
we were following the horsemen, who from their helmets seemed to
be
horse-artillery officers.
The pace our guides rode at showed us that they knew their
ground. We
passed several sentries, muttering something at each time, and
seeming as
if only anxious to keep up with our party.
"They've halted," said I. "Now to the left there; gently here,
for we must
be in the midst of their lines. Ha! I knew we were right. See
there!"
Before us, now, at a few hundred yards, we could perceive a
number of men
engaged upon the field. Lights were moving from place to place
rapidly,
while immediately in front a strong picket of cavalry were
halted.
"By Jove! there's sharp work of it to-night," whispered
Hampden. "They do
intend to surprise us to-morrow."
"Gently now, to the left," said I, as cautiously skirting the
little hill,
I kept my eye firmly fixed upon the watch-fire.
The storm, which for some time had abated considerably, was
now nearly
quelled, and the moon again peeped forth amidst masses of black
and watery
clouds.
"What good fortune for us!" thought I, at this moment, as I
surveyed the
plain before me.
"I say, O'Malley, what are those fellows at yonder, where the
blue light is
burning?"
"Ah! the very people we want; these are the sappers. Now for
it; that's our
ground. We'll soon come upon their track now."
We pressed rapidly forward, passing an infantry party as we
went. The blue
light was scarcely a hundred yards off; we could even hear the
shouting of
the officers to their men in the trenches, when suddenly my horse
came down
upon his head, and rolling over, crushed me to the earth.
"Not hurt, my boy," cried I, in a subdued tone, as Hampden
jumped down
beside me.
It was the angle of a trench I had fallen into; and though
both my horse
and myself felt stunned for the moment, we rallied the next
minute.
"Here is the very spot," said I. "Now, Mike, catch the bridles
and follow
us closely."
Guiding ourselves along the edge of the trench, we crept
stealthily
forward; the only watch-fire near was where the engineer party
was halted,
and our object was to get outside of this.
"My turn this time," said Hampden, as he tripped suddenly, and
fell head
foremost upon the grass.
As I assisted him to rise, something caught my ankle, and on
stooping I
found it was a cord pegged fast into the ground, and lying only a
few
inches above it.
"Now, steady! See here; this is their working line. Pass your
hand along it
there, and let us follow it out."
While Hampden accordingly crept along on one side, I tracked
the cord upon
the other. Here I found it terminating upon a small mound, where
probably
some battery was to be erected. I accordingly gathered it
carefully up, and
was returning towards my friend, when what was my horror to hear
Mike's
voice, conversing, as it seemed to me, with some one in
French.
I stood fixed to the spot, my very heart beating almost in my
mouth as I
listened.
"Qui êtes-vous done, mon ami?" inquired a hoarse, deep
voice, a few yards
off.
"Bon cheval, non beast, sacré nom de Dieu!" A
hearty burst of laughter
prevented my hearing the conclusion of Mike's French.
I now crept forward upon my hands and knees, till I could
catch the dark
outline of the horses, one hand fixed upon my pistol trigger, and
my sword
drawn in the other. Meanwhile the dialogue continued.
"Vous êtes d'Alsace, n'est-ce-pas?" asked the
Frenchman, kindly supposing
that Mike's French savored of Strasburg.
"Oh, blessed Virgin! av I might shoot him," was the muttered reply.
Before I had time to see the effect of the last speech, I
pressed forward
with a bold spring, and felled the Frenchman to the earth. My
hand had
scarcely pressed upon his mouth, when Hampden was beside me.
Snatching up
the pistol I let fall, he held it to the man's chest and
commanded him to
be silent. To unfasten his girdle and bind the Frenchman's hands
behind
him, was the work of a moment; and as the sharp click of the
pistol-cock
seemed to calm his efforts to escape, we soon succeeded in
fastening a
handkerchief tight across his mouth, and the next minute he was
placed
behind Mike's saddle, firmly attached to this worthy individual
by his
sword-belt.
"Now, a clear run home for it, and a fair start," said
Hampden, as he
sprang into the saddle.
"Now, then, for it," I replied, as turning my horse's head
towards our
lines, I dashed madly forward.
The moon was again obscured, but still the dark outline of the
hill which
formed our encampment was discernible on the horizon. Riding side
by side,
on we hurried,—now splashing through the deep wet marshes, now
plunging
through small streams. Our horses were high in mettle, and we
spared them
not. By taking a wide détour we had outflanked the
French pickets, and
were almost out of all risk, when suddenly on coming to the verge
of rather
a steep hill, we perceived beneath us a strong cavalry picket
standing
around a watch-fire; their horses were ready saddled, the men
accoutred,
and quite prepared for the field. While we conversed together in
whispers
as to the course to follow, our deliberations were very rapidly
cut short.
The French prisoner, who hitherto had given neither trouble nor
resistance,
had managed to free his mouth from the encumbrance of the
handkerchief; and
as we stood quietly discussing our plans, with one tremendous
effort he
endeavored to hurl himself and Mike from the saddle, shouting out
as he did
so,—
"A moi camarades! à moi!"
Hampden's pistol leaped from the holster as he spoke, and
levelling it with
a deadly aim, he pulled the trigger; but I threw up his arm, and
the ball
passed high above his head. To have killed the Frenchman would
have been to
lose my faithful follower, who struggled manfully with his
adversary, and
at length by throwing himself flatly forward upon the mane of his
horse,
completely disabled him. Meanwhile the picket had sprung to their
saddles,
and looked wildly about on every side.
Not a moment was to be lost; so turning our horses' heads
towards the
plain, away we went. One loud cheer announced to us that we had
been seen,
and the next instant the clash of the pursuing cavalry was heard
behind us.
It was now entirely a question of speed, and little need we have
feared
had Mike's horse not been doubly weighted. However, as we still
had
considerably the start, and the gray dawn of day enabled us to
see the
ground, the odds were in our favor. "Never let your horse's head
go," was
my often repeated direction to Mike, as he spurred with all the
desperation
of madness. Already the low meadow-land was in sight which
flanked the
stream we had crossed in the morning, but unfortunately the heavy
rains had
swollen it now to a considerable depth, and the muddy current,
choked with
branches of trees and great stones, was hurrying down like a
torrent. "Take
the river! never flinch it!" was my cry to my companions, as I
turned my
head and saw a French dragoon, followed by two others, gaining
rapidly upon
us. As I spoke, Mike dashed in, followed by Hampden, and the same
moment
the sharp ring of a carbine whizzed past me. To take off the
pursuit from
the others, I now wheeled my horse suddenly round, as if I feared
to take
the stream, and dashed along by the river's bank.
[A FLYING SHOT]
Beneath me in the foaming current the two horsemen
labored,—now stemming
the rush of water, now reeling almost beneath. A sharp cry burst
from Mike
as I looked, and I saw the poor fellow bend nearly to his saddle.
I could
see no more, for the chase was now hot upon myself. Behind me
rode a French
dragoon, his carbine pressed tightly to his side, ready to fire
as he
pressed on in pursuit. I had but one chance; so drawing my pistol
I wheeled
suddenly in my saddle, and fired straight at him. The Frenchman
fell, while
a regular volley from his party rung around me, one ball striking
my horse,
and another lodging in the pommel of my saddle. The noble animal
reeled
nearly to the earth, but as if rallying for a last effort, sprang
forward
with renewed energy, and plunged boldly into the river. For a
moment,
so sudden was my leap, my pursuers lost sight of me; but the bank
being
somewhat steep, the efforts of my horse to climb again discovered
me, and
before I reached the field two pistol-balls took effect upon
me,—one
slightly grazed my side, but my bridle-arm was broken by the
other, and
my hand fell motionless to my side. A cheer of defiance was,
however, my
reply, as I turned round in my saddle, and the next moment I was
far beyond
the range of their fire.
Not a man durst follow, and the last sight I had of them was
the dismounted
group who stood around their dead comrade. Before me rode Hampden
and Mike,
still at top speed, and never turning their heads backwards. I
hastened
after them; but my poor, wounded horse, nearly hamstrung by the
shot,
became dead lame, and it was past daybreak ere I reached the
first outposts
of our lines.
CHAPTER IV.
THE DOCTOR.
"And his wound? Is it a serious one?" said a round, full
voice, as the
doctor left my room at the conclusion of his visit.
"No, sir; a fractured bone is the worst of it,—the bullet
grazed, but did
not cut the artery, and as—"
"Well, how soon will he be about again?"
"In a few weeks, if no fever sets in."
"There's no objection to my seeing him?—a few minutes
only,—I'll be
cautious." So saying, and as it seemed to me, without waiting for
a reply,
the door was opened by an aide-de-camp, who, announcing General
Crawfurd,
closed it again, and withdrew.
The first glance I threw upon the general enabled me to
recognize the
officer who, on the previous morning, had ridden up to the picket
and given
us the orders to charge. I essayed to rise a little as he came
forward; but
he motioned me with his hand to lie still, while, placing a chair
close
beside my bed, he sat down.
"Very sorry for your mishap, sir, but glad it is no worse.
Moreton says
that nothing of consequence is injured; there, you mustn't speak
except I
ask you. Hampden has told me everything necessary; at least as
far as he
knew. Is it your opinion, also, that any movement is in
contemplation; and
from what circumstance?"
I immediately explained, and as briefly as I was able, the
reasons for
suspecting such, with which he seemed quite satisfied. I detailed
the
various changes in the positions of the troops that were taking
place
during the night, the march of the artillery, and the strong
bodies of
cavalry that were posted in reserve along the river.
"Very well, sir; they'll not move; your prisoner,
quartermaster of an
infantry battalion, says not, also. Yours was a bold stroke, but
could not
possibly have been of service, and the best thing I can do for
you is not
to mention it,—a court-martial's but a poor recompense for a
gun-shot
wound. Meanwhile, when this blows over, I'll appoint you on my
personal
staff. There, not a word, I beg; and now, good-by."
So saying, and waving me an adieu with his hand, the gallant
veteran
withdrew before I could express my gratitude for his
kindness.
I had little time for reflecting over my past adventure, such
numbers of my
brother officers poured in upon me. All the doctor's cautions
respecting
quietness and rest were disregarded, and a perfect levee sat the
entire
morning in my bed-room. I was delighted to learn that Mike's
wound, though
painful at the moment, was of no consequence; and indeed Hampden,
who
escaped both steel and shot, was the worst off among us,—his
plunge in the
river having brought on an ague he had labored under years
before.
"The illustrious Maurice has been twice here this morning, but
they
wouldn't admit him. Your Scotch physician is afraid of his
Irish
confrère, and they had a rare set-to about Galen and
Hippocrates
outside," said Baker.
"By-the-bye," said another, "did you see how Sparks looked
when Quill
joined us? Egad, I never saw a fellow in such a fright; he
reddened up,
then grew pale, turned his back, and slunk away at the very first
moment."
"Yes, I remember it. We must find out the reason; for Maurice,
depend upon
it, has been hoaxing the poor fellow."
"Well, O'Malley," growled out the senior major, "you certainly
did give
Hampden a benefit. He'll not trust himself in such company again;
and
begad, he says, the man is as bad as the master. That fellow of
yours never
let go his prisoner till he reached the quartermaster-general,
and they
were both bathed in blood by that time."
"Poor Mike! we must do something for him."
"Oh, he's as happy as a king! Maurice has been in to see him,
and they've
had a long chat about Ireland, and all the national pastimes of
whiskey
drinking and smashing skulls. My very temples ache at the
recollection."
"Is Mister O'Mealey at home?" said a very rich Cork accent, as
the
well-known and most droll features of Dr. Maurice Quill appeared
at the
door.
"Come in, Maurice," said the major; "and for Heaven's sake,
behave
properly. The poor fellow must not have a row about his
bedside."
"A row, a row! Upon my conscience, it is little you know about
a row, and
there's worse things going than a row. Which leg is it?"
"It's an arm, Doctor, I'm happy to say."
"Not your punch hand, I hope. No; all's right. A neat fellow
you have for
a servant, that Mickey Free. I was asking him about a townsman of
his
own—one Tim Delany,—the very cut of himself, the best servant I
ever had.
I never could make out what became of him. Old Hobson of the
95th, gave
him to me, saying, 'There he is for you, Maurice, and a bigger
thief and a
greater blackguard there's not in the 60th.'
"'Strong words,' said I.
"'And true' said he; 'he'd steal your molar tooth while you
were laughing
at him.'
"'Let me have him, and try my hand on him, anyway. I've got no
one just
now. Anything is better than nothing.'
"Well I took Tim, and sending for him to my room I locked the
door, and
sitting down gravely before him explained in a few words that I
was quite
aware of his little propensities.
"'Now,' said I, 'if you like to behave well, I'll think you as
honest as
the chief-justice; but if I catch you stealing, if it be only the
value of
a brass snuff-box, I'll have you flogged before the regiment as
sure as my
name's Maurice.'
"Oh, I wish you heard the volley of protestations that fell
from him fast
as hail. He was a calumniated man the world conspired to wrong
him; he was
never a thief nor a rogue in his life. He had a weakness, he
confessed, for
the ladies; but except that, he hoped he might die so thin that
he could
shave himself with his shin-bone if he ever so much as took a
pinch of salt
that wasn't his own.
"However this might be, nothing could be better than the way
Tim and I got
on together. Everything was in its place, nothing missing; and in
fact, for
upwards of a year, I went on wondering when he was to show out in
his true
colors, for hitherto he had been a phoenix.
"At last,—we were quartered in Limerick at the time,—every
morning used
to bring accounts of all manner of petty thefts in the
barrack,—one fellow
had lost his belt, another his shoes, a third had
three-and-sixpence in
his pocket when he went to bed and woke without a farthing, and
so on.
Everybody save myself was mulet of something. At length some
rumors of
Tim's former propensities got abroad; suspicion was excited; my
friend
Delany was rigidly watched, and some very dubious circumstances
attached to
the way he spent his evenings.
"My brother officers called upon me about the matter, and
although nothing
had transpired like proof, I sent for Tim, and opened my mind on
the
subject.
"You may talk of the look of conscious innocence, but I defy
you to
conceive anything finer than the stare of offended honor Tim gave
me as I
began.
"'They say it's me, Doctor,' said he, 'do they? And you,—you
believe them.
You allow them to revile me that way? Well, well, the world is
come to a
pretty pass, anyhow! Now, let me ask your honor a few questions?
How many
shirts had yourself when I entered your service? Two, and one was
more like
a fishing net! And how many have ye now? Eighteen; ay, eighteen
bran new
cambrie ones,—devil a hole in one of them! How many pair of
stockings had
you? Three and an odd one. You have two dozen this minute. How
many pocket
handkerchiefs? One,—devil a more! You could only blow your nose
two days
in the week, and now you may every hour of the twenty-four! And
as to
the trilling articles of small value, snuff-boxes, gloves,
bootjacks,
nightcaps, and—'
"'Stop, Tim, that's enough—'
"'No, sir, it is not,' said Tim, drawing himself up to his
full height;
'you have wounded my feelings in a way I can't forget. It is
impossible
we can have that mutual respect our position demands. Farewell,
farewell,
Doctor, and forever!'
"Before I could say another word, the fellow had left the
room, and closed
the door after him; and from that hour to this I never set eyes
on him."
In this vein did the worthy doctor run on till some more
discreet friend
suggested that however well-intentioned the visit, I did not seem
to be
fully equal to it,—my flushed cheek and anxious eye betraying
that the
fever of my wound had commenced. They left me, therefore, once
more alone,
and to my solitary musings over the vicissitudes of my
fortune.
CHAPTER V.
THE COA.
Within a week from the occurrence of the events just
mentioned, Ciudad
Rodrigo surrendered, and Crawfurd assumed another position
beneath the
walls of Almeida. The Spanish contingent having left us, we were
reinforced
by the arrival of two battalions, renewed orders being sent not
to risk a
battle, but if the French should advance, to retire beyond the
Coa.
On the evening of the 21st of July a strong body of French
cavalry advanced
into the plain, supported by some heavy guns; upon which Crawfurd
retired
upon the Coa, intending, as we supposed, to place that river
between
himself and the enemy. Three days, however, passed over without
any
movement upon either side, and we still continued, with a force
of scarcely
four thousand infantry and a thousand dragoons, to stand opposite
to an
army of nearly fifty thousand men. Such was our position as the
night of
the 24th set in. I was sitting alone in my quarters. Mike, whose
wound had
been severer than at first was supposed, had been sent to
Almeida, and I
was musing in solitude upon the events of the campaign, when the
noise and
bustle without excited my attention,—the roll of artillery
wagons, the
clash of musketry, and the distant sounds of marching, all proved
that the
troops were effecting some new movement, and I burned with
anxiety to
learn what it was. My brother officers, however, came not as
usual to my
quarters; and although I waited with impatience while the hours
rolled by,
no one appeared.
Long, low moaning gusts of wind swept along the earth,
carrying the leaves
as they tore them from the trees, and mingling their sad sounds
with the
noises of the retiring troops; for I could perceive that
gradually the
sounds grew more and more remote, and only now and then could I
trace their
position as the roll of a distant drum swelled upon the breeze,
or the
more shrill cry of a pibroch broke upon my ear. A heavy downpour
of rain
followed soon after, and in its unceasing plash drowned all other
sounds.
As the little building shook beneath the peals of loud
thunder, the
lightning flashed in broad sheets upon the rapid river, which,
swollen and
foaming, dashed impetuously beside my window. By the uncertain
but vivid
glare of the flashes, I endeavored to ascertain where our force
was posted,
but in vain. Never did I witness such a night of storm,—the deep
booming
of the thunder seeming never for a moment to cease, while the
rush of the
torrent grew gradually louder, till at length it swelled into one
deep and
sullen roar like that of distant artillery.
Weak and nervous as I felt from the effects of my wound,
feverish and
exhausted by days of suffering and sleepless nights, I paced my
little room
with tottering but impatient steps. The sense of my sad and
imprisoned
state impressed me deeply; and while from time to time I
replenished my
fire, and hoped to hear some friendly step upon the stair, my
heart grew
gradually heavier, and every gloomy and depressing thought
suggested itself
to my imagination. My most constant impression was that the
troops were
retiring beyond the Coa, and that, forgotten in the haste and
confusion of
a night march, I had been left behind to fall a prisoner to the
enemy.
The sounds of the troops retiring gradually farther and
farther favored the
idea, in which I was still more strengthened on finding that the
peasants
who inhabited the little hut had departed, leaving me utterly
alone. From
the moment I ascertained this fact, my impatience knew no bounds;
and in
proportion as I began to feel some exertion necessary on my part,
so much
more did my nervousness increase my debility, and at last I sank
exhausted
upon my bed, while a cold perspiration broke out upon my
temples.
I have mentioned that the Coa was immediately beneath the
house; I must
also add that the little building occupied the angle of a steep
but narrow
gorge which descended from the plain to the bridge across the
stream. This,
as far as I knew, was the only means we possessed of passing the
river; so
that, when the last retiring sounds of the troops were heard by
me, I began
to suspect that Crawfurd, in compliance with his orders, was
making a
backward movement, leaving the bridge open to the French, to draw
them
on to his line of march, while he should cross over at some more
distant
point.
As the night grew later, the storm seemed to increase; the
waves of the
foaming river dashed against the frail walls of the hut, while
its roof,
rent by the blast, fell in fragments upon the stream, and all
threatened a
speedy and perfect ruin.
How I longed for morning! The doubt and uncertainty I suffered
nearly drove
me distracted. Of all the casualties my career as a soldier
opened, none
had such terrors for me as imprisonment; the very thought of the
long years
of inaction and inglorious idleness was worse than any death. My
wounds,
and the state of fever I was in, increased the morbid dread upon
me, and
had the French captured me at the time, I know not that madness
of which
I was not capable. Day broke at last, but slowly and sullenly;
the gray
clouds hurried past upon the storm, pouring down the rain in
torrents as
they went, and the desolation and dreariness on all sides was
scarcely
preferable to the darkness and gloom of night. My eyes were
turned ever
towards the plain, across which the winter wind bore the plashing
rain in
vast sheets of water; the thunder crashed louder and louder; but
except the
sounds of the storm none others met my ear. Not a man, not a
human figure
could I see, as I strained my sight towards the distant
horizon.
The morning crept over, but the storm abated not, and the same
unchanged
aspect of dreary desolation prevailed without. At times I thought
I could
hear, amidst the noises of the tempest, something like the roll
of distant
artillery; but the thunder swelled in sullen roar above all, and
left me
uncertain as before.
At last, in a momentary pause of the storm, a tremendous peal
of heavy
guns caught my ear, followed by the long rattling of small-arms.
My heart
bounded with ecstasy. The thoughts of the battle-field, with all
its
changing fortunes, was better, a thousand times better, than the
despairing
sense of desertion I labored under. I listened now with
eagerness, but
the rain bore down again in torrents, and the crumbling walls and
falling
timbers left no other sounds to be heard. Far as my eye could
reach,
nothing could still be seen save the dreary monotony of the vast
plain,
undulating slightly here and there, but unmarked by a sign of
man.
Far away towards the horizon I had remarked for some time past
that the
clouds resting upon the earth grew blacker and blacker, spreading
out to
either side in vast masses, and not broken or wafted along like
the rest.
As I watched the phenomenon with an anxious eye, I perceived the
dense mass
suddenly appear, as it were, rent asunder, while a volume of
liquid flame
rushed wildly out, throwing a lurid glare on every side. One
terrific clap,
louder than any thunder, shook the air at this moment, while the
very earth
trembled beneath the shock.
As I hesitated what it might be, the heavy din of great guns
again was
heard, and from the midst of the black smoke rode forth a dark
mass,
which I soon recognized as the horse-artillery at full gallop.
They were
directing their course towards the bridge.
As they mounted the little rising ground, they wheeled and
unlimbered with
the speed of lightning, just as a strong column of cavalry showed
above the
ridge. One tremendous discharge again shook the field, and ere
the smoke
cleared away they were again far in retreat.
So much was my attention occupied with this movement that I
had not
perceived the long line of infantry that came from the extreme
left, and
were now advancing also towards the bridge at a brisk quick-step;
scattered
bodies of cavalry came up from different parts, while from the
little
valley, every now and then, a rifleman would mount the rising
ground,
turning to fire as he retreated. All this boded a rapid and
disorderly
retreat; and although as yet I could see nothing of the pursuing
enemy, I
knew too well the relative forces of each to have a doubt for the
result.
At last the head of a French column appeared above the mist,
and I could
plainly distinguish the gestures of the officers as they hurried
their men
onwards. Meanwhile a loud hurra attracted my attention, and I
turned my eye
towards the road which led to the river. Here a small body of the
95th had
hurriedly assembled, and formed again, were standing to cover the
retreat
of the broken infantry as they passed on eagerly to the bridge;
in a second
after the French cuirassiers appeared. Little anticipating
resistance from
a flying and disordered mass, they rode headlong forward, and
although the
firm attitude and steady bearing of the Highlanders might have
appalled
them, they rode heedlessly down upon the square, sabring the very
men in
the front rank. Till now not a trigger had been pulled, when
suddenly the
word "Fire!" was given, and a withering volley of balls sent the
cavalry
column in shivers. One hearty cheer broke from the infantry in
the rear,
and I could hear "Gallant Ninety-fifth!" shouted on every side
along the
plain.
The whole vast space before me was now one animated
battle-ground. Our own
troops, retiring in haste before the overwhelming forces of the
French,
occupied every little vantage ground with their guns and light
infantry,
charges of cavalry coursing hither and thither; while, as the
French
pressed forward, the retreating columns again formed into squares
to
permit stragglers to come up. The rattle of small-arms, the heavy
peal of
artillery, the earth-quake crash of cavalry, rose on every side,
while the
cheers which alternately told of the vacillating fortune of the
fight rose
amidst the wild pibroch of the Highlanders.
A tremendous noise now took place on the floor beneath me; and
looking
down, I perceived that a sergeant and party of sappers had taken
possession
of the little hut, and were busily engaged in piercing the walls
for
musketry; and before many minutes had elapsed, a company of the
Rifles were
thrown into the building, which, from its commanding position
above the
road, enfiladed the whole line of march. The officer in command
briefly
informed me that we had been attacked that morning by the French
in force,
and "devilishly well thrashed;" that we were now in retreat
beyond the Coa,
where we ought to have been three days previously, and desired me
to cross
the bridge and get myself out of the way as soon as I possibly
could.
A twenty-four pounder from the French lines struck the angle
of the house
as he spoke, scattering the mortar and broken bricks about us on
all sides.
This was warning sufficient for me, wounded and disabled as I
was; so
taking the few things I could save in my haste, I hurried from
the hut, and
descending the path, now slippery by the heavy rain, I took my
way across
the bridge, and established myself on a little rising knoll of
ground
beyond, from which a clear view could be obtained of the whole
field.
I had not been many minutes in my present position ere the
pass which led
down to the bridge became thronged with troops, wagons,
ammunition carts,
and hospital stores, pressing thickly forward amidst shouting and
uproar;
the hills on either side of the way were crowded with troops, who
formed
as they came up, the artillery taking up their position on every
rising
ground. The firing had already begun, and the heavy booming of
the large
guns was heard at intervals amidst the rattling crash of
musketry. Except
the narrow road before me, and the high bank of the stream, I
could see
nothing; but the tumult and din, which grew momentarily louder,
told that
the tide of battle raged nearer and nearer. Still the retreat
continued;
and at length the heavy artillery came thundering across the
narrow bridge
followed by stragglers of all arms, and wounded, hurrying to the
rear. The
sharpshooters and the Highlanders held the heights above the
stream, thus
covering the retiring columns; but I could plainly perceive that
their fire
was gradually slackening, and that the guns which flanked their
position
were withdrawn, and everything bespoke a speedy retreat. A
tremendous
discharge of musketry at this moment, accompanied by a deafening
cheer,
announced the advance of the French, and soon the head of the
Highland
brigade was seen descending towards the bridge, followed by the
Rifles and
the 95th; the cavalry, consisting of the 11th and 14th Light
Dragoons, were
now formed in column of attack, and the infantry deployed into
line; and in
an instant after, high above the din and crash of battle, I heard
the word
"Charge!" The rising crest of the hill hid them from my sight,
but my heart
bounded with ecstasy as I listened to the clanging sound of the
cavalry
advance. Meanwhile the infantry pressed on, and forming upon the
bank,
took up a strong position in front of the bridge; the heavy guns
were
also unlimbered, riflemen scattered through the low copse-wood,
and every
precaution taken to defend the pass to the last. For a moment all
my
attention was riveted to the movements upon our own side of the
stream,
when suddenly the cavalry bugle sounded the recall, and the same
moment
the staff came galloping across the bridge. One officer I could
perceive,
covered with orders and trappings, his head was bare, and his
horse,
splashed with blood and foam, moved lamely and with difficulty;
he turned
in the middle of the bridge, as if irresolute whether to retreat
farther.
One glance at him showed me the bronzed, manly features of our
leader.
Whatever his resolve, the matter was soon decided for him, for
the cavalry
came galloping swiftly down the slope, and in an instant the
bridge was
blocked up by the retreating forces, while the French as suddenly
appearing
above the height, opened a plunging fire upon their defenceless
enemies;
their cheer of triumph was answered by our fellows from the
opposite bank,
and a heavy cannonade thundered along the rocky valley, sending
up a
hundred echoes as it went.
The scene now became one of overwhelming interest; the French,
posting
their guns upon the height, replied to our fire, while their
line, breaking
into skirmishers, descended the banks to the river's edge, and
poured
in one sheet of galling musketry. The road to the bridge, swept
by our
artillery, presented not a single file; and although a movement
among
the French announced the threat of an attack, the deadly service
of the
artillery seemed to pronounce it hopeless.
A strong cavalry force stood inactively spectators of the
combat, on the
French side, among whom I now remarked some bustle and
preparation, and as
I looked an officer rode boldly to the river's edge, and spurring
his horse
forward, plunged into the stream. The swollen and angry torrent,
increased
by the late rains, boiled like barm, and foamed around him as he
advanced;
when suddenly his horse appeared to have lost its footing, and
the rapid
current, circling around him, bore him along with it. He labored
madly, but
in vain, to retrace his steps; the rolling torrent rose above his
saddle,
and all that his gallant steed could do was barely sufficient to
keep
afloat; both man and horse were carried down between the
contending
armies. I could see him wave his hand to his comrades, as if in
adieu. One
deafening cheer of admiration rose from the French lines, and the
next
moment he was seen to fall from his seat, and his body, shattered
with
balls, floated mournfully upon the stream.
This little incident, to which both armies were witnesses,
seemed to have
called forth all the fiercer passions of the contending forces; a
loud yell
of taunting triumph rose from the Highlanders, responded to by a
cry of
vengeance from the French, and the same moment the head of a
column was
seen descending the narrow causeway to the bridge, while an
officer with a
whole blaze of decorations and crosses sprang from his horse and
took the
lead. The little drummer, a child of scarcely ten years old,
tripped gayly
on, beating his little pas des charge, seeming rather like the
play of
infancy than the summons to death and carnage, as the heavy guns
of the
French opened a volume of fire and flame to cover the attacking
column. For
a moment all was hid from our eyes; the moment after the
grape-shot swept
along the narrow causeway; and the bridge, which but a second
before was
crowded with the life and courage of a noble column, was now one
heap of
dead and dying. The gallant fellow who led them on fell among the
first
rank, and the little child, as if kneeling, was struck dead
beside the
parapet; his fair hair floated across his cold features, and
seemed in its
motion to lend a look of life where the heart's throb had ceased
forever.
The artillery again re-opened upon us; and when the smoke had
cleared away,
we discovered that the French had advanced to the middle of the
bridge and
carried off the body of their general. Twice they essayed to
cross, and
twice the death-dealing fire of our guns covered the narrow
bridge with
slain, while by the wild pibroch of the 42d, swelling madly into
notes of
exultation and triumph, the Highlanders could scarcely be
prevented from
advancing hand to hand with the foe. Gradually the French
slackened their
fire, their great guns were one by one withdrawn from the
heights, and a
dropping, irregular musketry at intervals sustained the fight,
which, ere
sunset, ceased altogether; and thus ended "The Battle of the
Coa!"
CHAPTER VI.
THE NIGHT MARCH.
Scarcely had the night fallen when our retreat commenced.
Tired and weary
as our brave fellows felt, but little repose was allowed them;
their
bivouac fires were blazing brightly, and they had just thrown
themselves
in groups around them, when the word to fall in was passed from
troop to
troop, and from battalion to battalion,—no trumpet, no bugle
called them
to their ranks. It was necessary that all should be done
noiselessly and
speedily; while, therefore, the wounded were marched to the
front, and
the heavy artillery with them, a brigade of light four pounders
and two
squadrons of cavalry held the heights above the bridge, and the
infantry,
forming into three columns, began their march.
My wound, forgotten in the heat and excitement of the
conflict, was now
becoming excessively painful, and I gladly availed myself of a
place in a
wagon, where, stretched upon some fresh straw, with no other
covering save
the starry sky, I soon fell sound asleep, and neither the heavy
jolting of
the rough conveyance, nor the deep and rutty road, were able to
disturb my
slumbers. Still through my sleep I heard the sounds around me,
the heavy
tramp of infantry, the clash of the moving squadrons, and the
dull roll of
artillery; and ever and anon the half-stifled cry of pain,
mingling with
the reckless carol of some drinking-song, all flitted through my
dreams,
lending to my thoughts of home and friends a memory of glorious
war.
All the vicissitudes of a soldier's life passed then in review
before me,
elicited in some measure by the things about. The pomp and
grandeur, the
misery and meanness, the triumph, the defeat, the moment of
victory, and
the hour of death were there, and in that vivid dream I lived a
life long.
I awoke at length, the cold and chilling air which follows
midnight blew
around me, and my wounded arm felt as though it were frozen. I
tried to
cover myself beneath the straw, but in vain; and as my limbs
trembled and
my teeth chattered, I thought again of home, where, at that
moment, the
poorest menial of my uncle's house was better lodged than I; and
strange to
say, something of pride mingled with the thought, and in my
lonely heart a
feeling of elation cheered me.
These reflections were interrupted by the sound of a voice
near me, which I
at once knew to be O'Shaughnessy's; he was on foot, and speaking
evidently
in some excitement.
"I tell you, Maurice, some confounded blunder there must be;
sure, he was
left in the cottage near the bridge, and no one ever saw him
after."
"The French took it from the Rifles before we crossed the
river. By Jove!
I'll wager my chance of promotion against a pint of sherry, he'll
turn up
somewhere in the morning; those Galway chaps have as many lives
as a cat."
"See, now, Maurice, I wouldn't for a full colonelcy anything
would happen
to him; I like the boy."
"So do I myself; but I tell you there's no danger of him. Did
you ask
Sparks anything?"
"Ask Sparks! God help you! Sparks would go off in a fit at the
sight of me.
No, no, poor creature! it's little use it would be my speaking to
him."
"Why so, Doctor!" cried I, from my straw couch.
"May I never, if it's not him! Charley, my son, I'm glad
you're safe.
'Faith, I thought you were on your way to Verdun by this
time."
"Sure, I told you he'd find his way here—But, O'Mealey, dear,
you're
mighty could,—a rigor, as old M'Lauchlan would call it."
"E'en sae, Maister Quill," said a broad Scotch accent behind
him; "and I
canna see ony objection to giein' things their right names."
"The top of the morning to you," said Quill, familiarly
patting him on the
back; "how goes it, old Brimstone?"
The conversation might not have taken a very amicable turn had
M'Lauchlan
heard the latter part of this speech; but, as happily he was
engaged
unpacking a small canteen which he had placed in the wagon, it
passed
unnoticed.
"You'll nae dislike a toothfu' of something warm, Major," said
he,
presenting a glass to O'Shaughnessy; "and if ye'll permit me, Mr.
O'Mealey,
to help you—"
"A thousand thanks, Doctor; but I fear a broken arm—"
"There's naething in the whiskey to prevent the proper
formation of
callus."
"By the rock of Cashel, it never made any one callous," said
O'Shaughnessy,
mistaking the import of the phrase.
"Ye are nae drinking frae the flask?" said the doctor, turning
in some
agitation towards Quill.
"Devil a bit, my darling. I've a little horn convaniency here,
that holds
half-a-pint, nice measure."
I don't imagine that our worthy friend participated in Quill's
admiration
of the "convaniency," for he added, in a dry tone:—
"Ye may as weel tak your liquor frae a glass, like a
Christian, as stick
your nose in a coo's horn."
"By my conscience, you're no small judge of spirits, wherever
you learned
it," said the major; "it's like Islay malt!"
"I was aye reckoned a gude ane," said the doctor, "and my
mither's brither
Caimbogie had na his like in the north country. Ye may be heerd
tell what
he aince said to the Duchess of Argyle, when she sent for him to
taste her
claret."
"Never heard of it," quoth Quill; "let's have it by all means.
I'd like to
hear what the duchess said to him."
"It was na what the duchess said to him, but what he said to
the duchess,
ye ken. The way of it was this: My uncle Caimbogie was aye up at
the
castle, for besides his knowledge of liquor, there was nae his
match for
deer-stalking, or spearing a salmon, in those parts. He was a
great, rough
carle, it's true; but ane ye'd rather crack wi' than fight
wi'.
"Weel, ae day they had a grand dinner at the duke's, and there
were plenty
o' great southern lords and braw leddies in velvets and satin;
and vara
muckle surprised they were at my uncle, when he came in wi' his
tartan
kilt, in full Highland dress, as the head of a clan ought to do.
Caimbogie,
however, pe'd nae attention to them; but he eat his dinner, and
drank his
wine, and talked away about fallow and red deer, and at last the
duchess,
for she was aye fond o' him, addressed him frae the head o' the
table:—
"'Cambogie,' quoth she, 'I'd like to hae your opinion about
that wine. It's
some the duke has just received, and we should like to hear what
you think
of it.'
"'It's nae sae bad, my leddy,' said my uncle; for ye see he
was a man of
few words, and never flattered onybody.
"'Then you don't approve much of it?' said the duchess.
"'I've drank better, and I've drank waur,' quo' he.
"'I'm sorry you don't like it, Caimbogie,' said the duchess,
'for it can
never be popular now,—we have such a dependence upon your
taste.'
"'I cauna say ower muckle for my taste, my leddy, but ae
thing I will
say,—I've a most damnable smell!'
"I hear that never since the auld walls stood was there ever
the like o'
the laughing that followed; the puir duke himsel' was carried
away, and
nearly had a fit, and a' the grand lords and leddies a'most died
of it. But
see here, the earle has nae left a drap o' whiskey in the
flask."
"The last glass I drained to your respectable uncle's health,"
said Quill,
with a most professional gravity. "Now, Charlie, make a little
room for me
in the straw."
The doctor soon mounted beside me, and giving me a share of
his ample
cloak, considerably ameliorated my situation.
"So you knew Sparks, Doctor?" said I, with a strong curiosity
to hear
something of his early acquaintance.
"That I did: I knew him when he was an ensign in the 10th
Foot; and, to say
the truth, he is not much changed since that time,—the same
lively look of
a sick cod-fish about his gray eyes; the same disorderly wave of
his yellow
hair; the same whining voice, and that confounded apothecary's
laugh."
"Come, come, Doctor, Sparks is a good fellow at heart; I won't
have him
abused. I never knew he had been in the infantry; I should think
it must
have been another of the same name."
"Not at all; there's only one like him in the service, and
that's himself.
Confound it, man, I'd know his skin upon a bush; he was only
three weeks
in the Tenth, and, indeed, your humble servant has the whole
merit of his
leaving it so soon."
"Do let us hear how that happened."
"Simply thus: The jolly Tenth were some four years ago the
pleasantest
corps in the army; from the lieutenant-colonel down to the last
joined
sub., all were out-and-outers,—real gay fellows. The mess was,
in fact,
like a pleasant club, and if you did not suit it, the best thing
you could
do was to sell out or exchange into a slower regiment; and,
indeed, this
very wholesome truth was not very long in reaching your ears some
way or
other, and a man that could remain after being given this hint,
was likely
to go afterwards without one."
Just as Dr. Quill reached this part of his story, an orderly
dragoon
galloped furiously past, and the next moment an aide-de-camp rode
by,
calling as he passed us,—
"Close up, there! Close up! Get forward, my lads! get forward!"
It was evident, from the stir and bustle about, that some
movement was
being made; and soon after, a dropping, irregular fire from the
rear showed
that our cavalry were engaged with the enemy. The affair was
scarcely of
five minutes' duration, and our march resumed all its former
regularity
immediately after.
I now turned to the doctor to resume his story, but he was
gone; at what
moment he left I could not say, but O'Shaughnessy was also
absent, nor did
I again meet with them for a considerable time after.
Towards daybreak we halted at Bonares, when, my wound
demanding rest and
attention, I was billeted in the village, and consigned to all
the miseries
of a sick bed.
CHAPTER VII.
THE JOURNEY.
With that disastrous day my campaigning was destined, for some
time
at least, to conclude. My wound, which grew from hour to hour
more
threatening, at length began to menace the loss of the arm, and
by the
recommendation of the regimental surgeons, I was ordered back to
Lisbon.
Mike, by this time perfectly restored, prepared everything for
my
departure, and on the third day after the battle of the Coa, I
began my
journey with downcast spirits and depressed heart. The poor
fellow was,
however, a kind and affectionate nurse, and unlike many others,
his cares
were not limited to the mere bodily wants of his patient,—he
sustained,
as well as he was able, my drooping resolution, rallied my
spirits, and
cheered my courage. With the very little Portuguese he possessed,
he
contrived to make every imaginable species of bargain; always
managed a
good billet; kept every one in good humor, and rarely left his
quarters in
the morning without a most affective leave-taking, and reiterated
promises
to renew his visit.
Our journeys were usually short ones, and already two days had
elapsed,
when, towards nightfall, we entered the little hamlet of Jaffra.
During the
entire of that day, the pain of my wounded limb had been
excruciating; the
fatigue of the road and the heat had brought back violent
inflammation, and
when at last the little village came in sight, my reason was fast
yielding
to the torturing agonies of my wound. But the transports with
which I
greeted my resting-place were soon destined to a change; for as
we drew
near, not a light was to be seen, not a sound to be heard, not
even a dog
barked as the heavy mule-cart rattled over the uneven road. No
trace of
any living thing was there. The little hamlet lay sleeping in the
pale
moonlight, its streets deserted, and its homes tenantless; our
own
footsteps alone echoed along the dreary causeway. Here and there,
as we
advanced farther, we found some relics of broken furniture and
house-gear;
most of the doors lay open, but nothing remained within save bare
walls;
the embers still smoked in many places upon the hearth, and
showed us that
the flight of the inhabitants had been recent. Yet everything
convinced
us that the French had not been there; there was no trace of the
reckless
violence and wanton cruelty which marked their footsteps
everywhere.
All proved that the desertion had been voluntary; perhaps in
compliance
with an order of our commander-in-chief, who frequently desired
any
intended line of march of the enemy to be left thus a desert. As
we
sauntered slowly on from street to street, half hoping that some
one human
being yet remained behind, and casting our eyes from side to side
in search
of quarters for the night, Mike suddenly came running up,
saying,—
"I have it, sir; I've found it out. There's people living down
that small
street there; I saw a light this minute as I passed."
I turned immediately, and accompanied by the mule-driver,
followed Mike
across a little open square into a small and narrow street, at
the end
of which a light was seen faintly twinkling. We hurried on and in
a few
minutes reached a high wall of solid masonry, from a niche of
which we now
discovered, to our utter disappointment, the light proceeded. It
was a
small lamp placed before a little waxen image of the Virgin, and
was
probably the last act of piety of some poor villager ere he left
his home
and hearth forever. There it burned, brightly and tranquilly,
throwing its
mellow ray upon the cold, deserted stones.
Whatever impatience I might have given way to in a moment of
chagrin was
soon repressed, as I saw my two followers, uncovering their heads
in silent
reverence, kneel down before the little shrine. There was
something at once
touching and solemn in this simultaneous feeling of homage from
the hearts
of those removed in country, language, and in blood. They bent
meekly down,
their heads bowed upon their bosoms, while with muttering voices
each
offered up his prayer. All sense of their disappointment, all
memory of
their forlorn state, seemed to have yielded to more powerful and
absorbing
thoughts, as they opened their hearts in prayer.
My eyes were still fixed upon them when suddenly Mike, whose
devotion
seemed of the briefest, sprang to his legs, and with a spirit of
levity
but little in accordance with his late proceedings, commenced a
series of
kicking, rapping, and knocking at a small oak postern sufficient
to have
aroused a whole convent from their cells. "House there! Good
people
within!"—bang, bang, bang; but the echoes alone responded to his
call,
and the sounds died away at length in the distant streets,
leaving all as
silent and dreary as before.
Our Portuguese friend, who by this time had finished his
orisons, now began
a vigorous attack upon the small door, and with the assistance of
Mike,
armed with a fragment of granite about the size of a man's head,
at length
separated the frame from the hinges, and sent the whole mass
prostrate
before us.
The moon was just rising as we entered the little park, where
gravelled
walks, neatly kept and well-trimmed, bespoke recent care and
attention;
following a handsome alley of lime-trees, we reached a little
jet d'eau,
whose sparkling fountain shone diamond-like in the moonbeams, and
escaping
from the edge of a vast shell, ran murmuring amidst mossy stones
and
water-lilies that, however naturally they seemed thrown around,
bespoke
also the hand of taste in their position. On turning from the
spot, we came
directly in front of an old but handsome château, before
which stretched
a terrace of considerable extent. Its balustraded parapet lined
with
orange-trees, now in full blossom, scented the still air with
delicious
odor; marble statues peeped here and there amidst the foliage,
while a rich
acacia, loaded with flowers, covered the walls of the building,
and hung in
vast masses of variegated blossom across the tall windows.
As leaning on Mike's arm I slowly ascended the steps of the
terrace, I was
more than ever struck with the silence and death-like stillness
around;
except the gentle plash of the fountain, all was at rest; the
very plants
seemed to sleep in the yellow moonlight, and not a trace of any
living
thing was there.
The massive door lay open as we entered the spacious hall
flagged with
marble and surrounded with armorial bearings. We advanced farther
and came
to a broad and handsome stair, which led us to a long gallery,
from which
a suit of rooms opened, looking towards the front part of the
building.
Wherever we went, the furniture appeared perfectly untouched;
nothing was
removed; the very chairs were grouped around the windows and the
tables;
books, as if suddenly dropped from their readers' hands, were
scattered
upon the sofas and the ottomans; and in one small apartment,
whose blue
satin walls and damask drapery bespoke a boudoir, a rich mantilla
of
black velvet and a silk glove were thrown upon a chair. It was
clear the
desertion had been most recent, and everything indicated that no
time had
been given to the fugitives to prepare for flight. What a sad
picture of
war was there! To think of those whose home was endeared to them
by all
the refinements of cultivated life and all the associations of
years of
happiness sent out upon the wide world wanderers and houseless,
while
their hearth, sacred by every tie that binds us to our kindred,
was to
be desecrated by the ruthless and savage hands of a ruffian
soldiery. I
thought of them,—perhaps at that very hour their thoughts were
clinging
round the old walls, remembering each well-beloved spot, while
they took
their lonely path through mountain and through valley,—and felt
ashamed
and abashed at my own intrusion there. While thus my revery ran
on, I
had not perceived that Mike, whose views were very practical upon
all
occasions, had lighted a most cheerful fire upon the hearth, and
disposing
a large sofa before it, had carefully closed the curtains; and
was, in
fact, making himself and his master as much at home as though he
had spent
his life there.
"Isn't it a beautiful place, Misther Charles? And this little
room, doesn't
it remind you of the blue bed-room in O'Malley Castle, barrin'
the elegant
view out upon the Shannon, and the mountain of Scariff?"
Nothing short of Mike's patriotism could forgive such a
comparison; but,
however, I did not contradict him as he ran on:—
"Faith, I knew well there was luck in store for us this
evening; and ye see
the handful of prayers I threw away outside wasn't lost.
José's making
the beasts comfortable in the stable, and I'm thinking we'll none
of us
complain of our quarters. But you're not eating your supper; and
the
beautiful hare-pie that I stole this morning, won't you taste it?
Well, a
glass of Malaga? Not a glass of Malaga? Oh, mother of Moses!
what's this
for?"
Unfortunately, the fever produced by the long and toilsome
journey had
gained considerably on me, and except copious libations of cold
water, I
could touch nothing; my arm, too, was much more painful than
before. Mike
soon perceived that rest and quietness were most important to me
at the
moment, and having with difficulty been prevailed upon to swallow
a few
hurried mouthfuls, the poor fellow disposed cushions around me in
every
imaginable form for comfort; and then, placing my wounded limb in
its
easiest position, he extinguished the lamp, and sat silently down
beside
the hearth, without speaking another word.
Fatigue and exhaustion, more powerful than pain, soon produced
their
effects upon me, and I fell asleep; but it was no refreshing
slumber which
visited my heavy eyelids; the, slow fever of suffering had been
hour by
hour increasing, and my dreams presented nothing but scenes of
agony and
torture. Now I thought that, unhorsed and wounded, I was trampled
beneath
the clanging hoofs of charging cavalry; now I felt the sharp
steel piercing
my flesh, and heard the loud cry of a victorious enemy; then,
methought, I
was stretched upon a litter, covered by gore and mangled by a
grape-shot.
I thought I saw my brother officers approach and look sadly upon
me, while
one, whose face I could not remember, muttered: "I should not
have known
him." The dreadful hospital of Talavera, and all its scenes of
agony, came
up before me, and I thought that I lay waiting my turn for
amputation. This
last impression, more horrible to me than all the rest, made me
spring from
my couch, and I awoke. The cold drops of perspiration stood upon
my brow,
my mouth was parched and open, and my temples throbbed so that I
could
count their beatings; for some seconds I could not throw off the
frightful
illusion I labored under, and it was only by degrees I
recovered
consciousness and remembered where I was. Before me, and on one
side of the
bright wood-fire, sat Mike, who, apparently deep in thought,
gazed fixedly
at the blaze. The start I gave on awaking had not attracted his
attention,
and I could see, as the flickering glare fell upon his features,
that he
was pale and ghastly, while his eyes were riveted upon the fire;
his lips
moved rapidly, as if in prayer, and his locked hands were
pressed
firmly upon his bosom; his voice, at first inaudible, I could
gradually
distinguish, and at length heard the following muttered
sentences:—
"Oh, mother of mercy! So far from his home and his people, and
so young to
die in a strange land—There it is again." Here he appeared
listening
to some sounds from without. "Oh, wirra, wirra, I know it
well!—the
winding-sheet, the winding-sheet! There it is; my own eyes saw
it!"
The tears coursed fast upon his pale cheeks, and his voice grew
almost
inaudible, as rocking to and fro, for some time he seemed in a
very stupor
of grief; when at last, in a faint, subdued tone, he broke into
one of
those sad and plaintive airs of his country, which only need the
moment of
depression to make them wring the very heart in agony.
His song was that to which Moore has appended the beautiful
lines, "Come
rest on this bosom." The following imperfect translation may
serve to
convey some impression of the words, which in Mike's version were
Irish:—
"The day was declining,
The dark night drew near,
And the old lord grew sadder
And paler with fear:
'Come listen, my daughter,
Come nearer, oh, near!
Is't the wind or the water
That sighs in my ear?'
"Not the wind nor the water
Now stirred the night air,
But a warning far sadder,—.
The Banshee was there!
Now rising, now swelling,
On the night wind it bore
One cadence, still telling,
'I want thee, Rossmore!'
"And then fast came his breath,
And more fixed grew his eye;
And the shadow of death
Told his hour was nigh.
Ere the dawn of that morning
The struggle was o'er,
For when thrice came the warning
A corpse was Rossmore!"
The plaintive air to which these words were sung fell heavily
upon my
heart, and it needed but the low and nervous condition I was in
to make me
feel their application to myself. But so it is; the very
superstition your
reason rejects and your sense spurns, has, from old association,
from
habit, and from mere nationality too, a hold upon your hopes and
fears that
demands more firmness and courage than a sick-bed possesses to
combat with
success; and I now listened with an eager ear to mark if the
Banshee
cried, rather than sought to fortify myself by any recurrence to
my own
convictions. Meanwhile Mike's attitude became one of listening
attention.
Not a finger moved; he scarce seemed even to breathe; the state
of suspense
I suffered from was maddening; and at last, unable to bear it
longer, I
was about to speak, when suddenly, from the floor beneath us,
one
long-sustained note swelled upon the air and died away again,
and
immediately after, to the cheerful sounds of a guitar, we heard
the husky
voice of our Portuguese guide indulging himself in a
love-ditty.
Ashamed of myself for my fears, I kept silent; but Mike, who
felt only one
sensation,—that of unmixed satisfaction at his mistake,—rubbed
his hands
pleasantly, filled up his glass, drank it, and refilled; while
with an
accent of reassured courage, he briefly remarked,—
"Well, Mr. José, if that be singing, upon my conscience
I wonder what
crying is like!"
I could not forbear a laugh at the criticism; and in a moment,
the poor
fellow, who up to that moment believed me sleeping, was beside
me. I saw
from his manner that he dreaded lest I had been listening to his
melancholy
song, and had overheard any of his gloomy forebodings; and as he
cheered
my spirits and spoke encouragingly, I could remark that he made
more than
usual endeavors to appear light-hearted and at ease. Determined,
however,
not to let him escape so easily, I questioned him about his
belief in
ghosts and spirits, at which he endeavored, as he ever did when
the subject
was an unpleasing one, to avoid the discussion; but rather
perceiving that
I indulged in no irreverent disrespect of these matters, he grew
gradually
more open, treating the affair with that strange mixture of
credulity and
mockery which formed his estimate of most things,—now seeming to
suppose
that any palpable rejection of them might entail sad consequences
in
future, now half ashamed to go the whole length in his
credulity.
"And so, Mike, you never saw a ghost yourself?—that you acknowledge?"
"No, sir, I never saw a real ghost; but sure there's many a
thing I never
saw; but Mrs. Moore, the housekeeper, seen two. And your
grandfather that's
gone—the Lord be good to him!—used to walk once a year in Lurra
Abbey;
and sure you know the story about Tim Clinchy that was seen every
Saturday
night coming out of the cellar with a candle and a mug of wine
and a pipe
in his mouth, till Mr. Barry laid him. It cost his honor your
uncle ten
pounds in Masses to make him easy; not to speak of a new lock and
two bolts
on the cellar door."
"I have heard all about that; but as you never yourself saw
any of these
things—"
"But sure my father did, and that's the same any day. My
father seen the
greatest ghost that ever was seen in the county Cork, and spent
the evening
with him, that's more."
"Spent the evening with him!—what do you mean?"
"Just that, devil a more nor less. If your honor wasn't so
weak, and the
story wasn't a trying one, I'd like to tell it to you."
"Out with it by all means, Mike; I am not disposed to sleep;
and now that
we are upon these matters, my curiosity is strongly excited by
your worthy
father's experience."
Thus encouraged, having trimmed the fire and reseated himself
beside the
blaze, Mike began; but as a ghost is no every-day personage in
our history,
I must give him a chapter to himself.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE GHOST.
"Well, I believe your honor heard me tell long ago how my
father left the
army, and the way that he took to another line of life that was
more to his
liking. And so it was, he was happy as the day was long; he drove
a hearse
for Mr. Callaghan of Cork for many years, and a pleasant place it
was; for
ye see, my father was a 'cute man, and knew something of the
world; and
though he was a droll devil, and could sing a funny song when he
was among
the boys, no sooner had he the big black cloak on him and the
weepers, and
he seated on the high box with the six long-tailed blacks before
him, you'd
really think it was his own mother was inside, he looked so
melancholy and
miserable. The sexton and gravedigger was nothing to my father;
and he had
a look about his eye—to be sure there was a reason for it—that
you'd
think he was up all night crying; though it's little indulgence
he took
that way.
"Well, of all Mr. Callaghan's men, there was none so great a
favorite as my
father. The neighbors were all fond of him.
"'A kind crayture, every inch of him!' the women would say.
'Did ye see his
face at Mrs. Delany's funeral?'
"'True for you,' another would remark; 'he mistook the road
with grief, and
stopped at a shebeen house instead of Kilmurry church.'
"I need say no more, only one thing,—that it was principally
among the
farmers and the country people my father was liked so much. The
great
people and the quality—ax your pardon; but sure isn't it true,
Mister
Charles?—they don't fret so much after their fathers and
brothers, and
they care little who's driving them, whether it was a decent,
respectable
man like my father, or a chap with a grin on him like a rat-trap.
And so
it happened that my father used to travel half the county; going
here and
there wherever there was trade stirring; and faix, a man didn't
think
himself rightly buried if my father wasn't there; for ye see, he
knew all
about it: he could tell to a quart of spirits what would be
wanting for a
wake; he knew all the good criers for miles round; and I've heard
it was a
beautiful sight to see him standing on a hill, arranging the
procession as
they walked into the churchyard, and giving the word like a
captain,—
"'Come on, the stiff; now the friends of the stiff; now the pop'lace.'
"That's what he used to say, and troth he was always repeating
it, when he
was a little gone in drink,—for that's the time his spirits
would rise,
and he'd think he was burying half Munster.
"And sure it was a real pleasure and a pride to be buried in
them times;
for av it was only a small farmer with a potato garden, my father
would
come down with the black cloak on him, and three yards of crape
behind his
hat, and set all the children crying and yelling for half a mile
round;
and then the way he'd walk before them with a spade on his
shoulder, and
sticking it down in the ground, clap his hat on the top of it, to
make it
look like a chief mourner. It was a beautiful sight!"
"But Mike, if you indulge much longer in this flattering
recollection of
your father, I'm afraid we shall lose sight of the ghost
entirely."
"No fear in life, your honor; I'm coming to him now. Well, it
was this
way it happened: In the winter of the great frost, about
forty-two or
forty-three years ago, the ould priest of Tullonghmurray took ill
and died.
He was sixty years priest of the parish, and mightily beloved by
all
the people, and good reason for it; a pleasanter man, and a
more
social crayture never lived,—'twas himself was the life of the
whole
country-side. A wedding nor a christening wasn't lucky av he
wasn't there,
sitting at the top of the table, with may be his arm round the
bride
herself, or the baby on his lap, a smoking jug of punch before
him, and as
much kindness in his eye as would make the fortunes of twenty
hypocrites if
they had it among them. And then he was so good to the poor; the
Priory was
always so full of ould men and ould women sitting around the big
fire in
the kitchen that the cook could hardly get near it. There they
were, eating
their meals and burning their shins till they were speckled like
a trout's
back, and grumbling all the time; but Father Dwyer liked them,
and he would
have them.
"'Where have they to go,' he'd say, 'av it wasn't to me? Give
Molly
Kinshela a lock of that bacon. Tim, it's a could morning; will ye
have a
taste of the "dew?"'
"Ah, that's the way he'd spake to them; but sure goodness is
no warrant
for living, any more than devilment, and so he got could in his
feet at a
station, and he rode home in the heavy snow without his big
coat,—for he
gave it away to a blind man on the road; in three days he was
dead.
"I see you're getting impatient, so I'll not stop to say what
grief was
in the parish when it was known; but troth, there never was seen
the like
before,—not a crayture would lift a spade for two days, and
there was more
whiskey sold in that time than at the whole spring fair. Well, on
the third
day the funeral set out, and never was the equal of it in them
parts:
first, there was my father,—he came special from Cork with the
six horses
all in new black, and plumes like little poplar-trees,—then came
Father
Dwyer, followed by the two coadjutors in beautiful surplices,
walking
bare-headed, with the little boys of the Priory school,
two-and-two."
"Well, Mike, I'm sure it was very fine; but for Heaven's sake,
spare me all
these descriptions, and get on to the ghost!"
"'Faith, yer honor's in a great hurry for the ghost,—may be
ye won't like
him when ye have him; but I'll go faster, if ye please. Well,
Father Dwyer,
ye see, was born at Aghan-lish, of an ould family, and he left it
in his
will that he was to be buried in the family vault; and as
Aghan-lish was
eighteen miles up the mountains, it was getting late when they
drew near.
By that time the great procession was all broke up and gone home.
The
coadjutors stopped to dine at the 'Blue Bellows' at the
cross-roads; the
little boys took to pelting snowballs; there was a fight or two
on the way
besides,—and in fact, except an ould deaf fellow that my father
took to
mind the horses, he was quite alone. Not that he minded that
same; for when
the crowd was gone, my father began to sing a droll song, and
told the deaf
chap that it was a lamentation. At last they came in sight of
Aghan-lish.
It was a lonesome, melancholy-looking place with nothing near it
except two
or three ould fir-trees and a small slated house with one window,
where the
sexton lived, and even that was shut up and a padlock on the
door. Well,
my father was not over much pleased at the look of matters; but
as he was
never hard put to what to do, he managed to get the coffin into
the vestry,
and then when he had unharnessed the horses, he sent the deaf
fellow with
them down to the village to tell the priest that the corpse was
there, and
to come up early in the morning and perform Mass. The next thing
to do was
to make himself comfortable for the night; and then he made a
roaring fire
on the ould hearth,—for there was plenty of bog-fir
there,—closed the
windows with the black cloaks, and wrapping two round himself, he
sat down
to cook a little supper he brought with him in case of need.
"Well, you may think it was melancholy enough to pass the
night up there
alone with a corpse, in an ould ruined church in the middle of
the
mountains, the wind howling about on every side, and the
snowdrift beating
against the walls; but as the fire burned brightly, and the
little plate of
rashers and eggs smoked temptingly before him, my father mixed a
jug of the
strongest punch, and sat down as happy as a king. As long as he
was eating
away he had no time to be thinking of anything else; but when all
was done,
and he looked about him, he began to feel very low and melancholy
in his
heart. There was the great black coffin on three chairs in one
corner; and
then the mourning cloaks that he had stuck up against the windows
moved
backward and forward like living things; and outside, the wild
cry of the
plover as he flew past, and the night-owl sitting in a nook of
the old
church. 'I wish it was morning, anyhow,' said my father, 'for
this is a
lonesome place to be in; and faix, he'll be a cunning fellow that
catches
me passing the night this way again.' Now there was one thing
distressed
him most of all,—my father used always to make fun of the ghosts
and
sperits the neighbors would tell of, pretending there was no such
thing;
and now the thought came to him, 'May be they'll revenge
themselves on me
to-night when they have me up here alone;' and with that he made
another
jug stronger than the first, and tried to remember a few prayers
in case of
need, but somehow his mind was not too clear, and he said
afterwards he
was always mixing up ould songs and toasts with the prayers, and
when he
thought he had just got hold of a beautiful psalm, it would turn
out to be
'Tatter Jack Walsh' or 'Limping James' or something like that.
The storm,
meanwhile, was rising every moment, and parts of the old abbey
were falling
as the wind shook the ruin; and my father's spirits,
notwithstanding the
punch, wore lower than ever.
"'I made it too weak,' said he, as he set to work on a new
jorum; and
troth, this time that was not the fault of it, for the first sup
nearly
choked him.
"'Ah,' said he, now, 'I knew what it was; this is like the
thing; and Mr.
Free, you are beginning to feel easy and comfortable. Pass the
jar. Your
very good health and song. I'm a little hoarse, it's true, but if
the
company will excuse—'
"And then he began knocking on the table with his knuckles, as
if there was
a room full of people asking him to sing. In short, my father was
drunk as
a fiddler; the last brew finished him; and he began roaring away
all kinds
of droll songs, and telling all manner of stories as if he was at
a great
party.
"While he was capering this way about the room, he knocked
down his hat,
and with it a pack of cards he put into it before leaving home,
for he was
mighty fond of a game.
"'Will ye take a hand, Mr. Free?' said he, as he gathered them
up and sat
down beside the fire.
"'I'm convanient,' said he, and began dealing out as if there
was a partner
fornenst him.
"When my father used to get this far in the story, he became
very confused.
He says that once or twice he mistook the liquor, and took a pull
at the
bottle of poteen instead of the punch; and the last thing he
remembers was
asking poor Father Dwyer if he would draw near to the fire, and
not be
lying there near the door.
"With that he slipped down on the ground and fell fast asleep.
How long he
lay that way he could never tell. When he awoke and looked up,
his hair
nearly stood on an end with fright. What do you think he seen
fornenst him,
sitting at the other side of the fire, but Father Dwyer himself.
There he
was, divil a lie in it, wrapped up in one of the mourning cloaks,
trying to
warm his hands at the fire. "'Salve hoc nomine patri!' said my
father,
crossing himself, 'av it's your ghost, God presarve me!'
"'Good-evening t'ye, Mr. Free,' said the ghost; 'and av I
might be bould,
what's in the jug?'—for ye see, my father had it under his arm
fast, and
never let it go when he was asleep.
"'Pater noster qui es in,—poteen, sir,' said my father; for
the ghost
didn't look pleased at his talking Latin.
"'Ye might have the politeness to ax if one had a mouth on
him, then,' says
the ghost.
"'Sure, I didn't think the likes of you would taste sperits.'
"'Try me,' said the ghost; and with that he filled out a
glass, and tossed
it off like a Christian.
"'Beamish!' says the ghost, smacking his lips.
"'The same,' says my father; 'and sure what's happened you has
not spoiled
your taste.'
"'If you'd mix a little hot,' says the ghost, 'I'm thinking it
would be
better,—the night is mighty sevare.'
"'Anything that your reverance pleases,' says my father, as he
began to
blow up a good fire to boil the water.
"'And what news is stirring?' says the ghost.
"'Devil a word, your reverance,—your own funeral was the only
thing doing
last week. Times is bad; except the measles, there's nothing in
our parts.'
"'And we're quite dead hereabouts, too,' says the ghost.
"'There's some of us so, anyhow, says my father, with a sly
look. 'Taste
that, your reverance.'
"'Pleasant and refreshing,' says the ghost; 'and now, Mr.
Free, what do you
say to a little "spoilt five," or "beggar my neighbor"?'
"'What will we play for? 'says my father, for a thought just
struck
him,—'may be it's some trick of the Devil to catch my soul.'
"'A pint of Beamish,' says the ghost.
"'Done!' says my father; 'cut for deal. The ace of clubs,—you have it.'
"Now the whole time the ghost was dealing the cards, my father
never took
his eyes off of him, for he wasn't quite aisy in his mind at all;
but when
he saw him turn up the trump, and take a strong drink afterwards,
he got
more at ease, and began the game.
"How long they played it was never rightly known; but one
thing is sure,
they drank a cruel deal of sperits. Three quart bottles my father
brought
with him were all finished, and by that time his brain was so
confused with
the liquor, and all he lost,—for somehow he never won a
game,—that he was
getting very quarrelsome.
"'You have your own luck to it,' says he, at last.
"'True for you; and besides, we play a great deal where I come from.'
"'I've heard so,' says my father. 'I lead the knave, sir;
spades! Bad cess
to it, lost again!'
"Now it was really very distressing; for by this time, though
they only
began for a pint of Beamish, my father went on betting till he
lost the
hearse and all the six horses, mourning cloaks, plumes, and
everything.
"'Are you tired, Mr. Free? May be you'd like to stop?'
"'Stop! faith it's a nice time to stop; of course not.'
"'Well, what will ye play for now?'
"The way he said these woods brought a trembling all over my
father, and
his blood curdled in his heart. 'Oh, murther!' says he to
himself, 'it's my
sowl he's wanting all the time.'
"'I've mighty little left,' says my father, looking at him
keenly, while he
kept shuffling the cards quick as lightning.
"'Mighty little; no matter, we'll give you plenty of time to
pay,—and if
you can't do it, it shall never trouble you as long as you
live.'
"'Oh, you murthering devil!' says my father, flying at him
with a spade
that he had behind his chair, 'I've found you out.'
"With one blow he knocked him down, and now a terrible fight
begun, for the
ghost was very strong, too; but my father's blood was up, and
he'd have
faced the Devil himself then. They rolled over each other several
times,
the broken bottles cutting them to pieces, and the chairs and
tables
crashing under them. At last the ghost took the bottle that lay
on the
hearth, and levelled my father to the ground with one blow. Down
he fell,
and the bottle and the whiskey were both dashed into the fire.
That was
the end of it, for the ghost disappeared that moment in a blue
flame that
nearly set fire to my father as he lay on the floor.
"Och, it was a cruel sight to see him next morning, with his
cheek cut open
and his hands all bloody, lying there by himself,—all the broken
glass and
the cards all round him,—the coffin, too, was knocked down off
the chair,
may be the ghost had trouble getting into it. However that was,
the funeral
was put off for a day, for my father couldn't speak; and as for
the sexton,
it was a queer thing, but when they came to call him in the
morning, he had
two black eyes, and a gash over his ear, and he never knew how he
got them.
It was easy enough to know the ghost did it; but my father kept
the secret,
and never told it to any man, woman, or child in them parts."
CHAPTER IX.
LISBON.
I have little power to trace the events which occupied the
succeeding three
weeks of my history. The lingering fever which attended my wound
detained
me during that time at the château; and when at last I did
leave for
Lisbon, the winter was already beginning, and it was upon a cold
raw
evening that I once more took possession of my old quarters at
the Quay de
Soderi.
My eagerness and anxiety to learn something of the campaign
was ever
uppermost, and no sooner had I reached my destination than I
despatched
Mike to the quartermaster's office to pick up some news, and hear
which of
my friends and brother officers were then at Lisbon. I was
sitting in a
state of nervous impatience watching for his return, when at
length I heard
footsteps approaching my room, and the next moment Mike's voice,
saying,
"The ould room, sir, where he was before." The door suddenly
opened, and my
friend Power stood before me.
"Charley, my boy!"—"Fred, my fine fellow!" was all either
could say for
some minutes. Upon my part, the recollection of his bold and
manly bearing
in my behalf choked all utterance; while upon his, my haggard
cheek and
worn look produced an effect so sudden and unexpected that he
became
speechless.
In a few minutes, however, we both rallied, and opened our
store of mutual
remembrances since we parted. My career I found he was perfectly
acquainted
with, and his consisted of nothing but one unceasing round of
gayety and
pleasure. Lisbon had been delightful during the summer,—parties
to Cintra,
excursions through the surrounding country, were of daily
occurrence; and
as my friend was a favorite everywhere, his life was one of
continued
amusement.
"Do you know, Charley, had it been any other man than
yourself, I should
not have spared him; for I have fallen head over ears in love
with your
little dark-eyed Portuguese."
"Ah, Donna Inez, you mean?"
"Yes, it is she I mean, and you need not affect such an air of
uncommon
nonchalance. She's the loveliest girl in Lisbon, and with
fortune to pay
off all the mortgages in Connemara."
"Oh, faith! I admire her amazingly; but as I never flattered
myself upon
any preference—"
"Come, come, Charley, no concealment, my old fellow; every one
knows the
thing's settled. Your old friend, Sir George Dashwood, told me
yesterday."
"Yesterday! Why, is he here, at Lisbon?"
"To be sure he is; didn't I tell you that before? Confound it,
what a head
I have! Why, man, he's come out as deputy adjutant-general; but
for him I
should not have got renewed leave."
"And Miss Dashwood, is she here?"
"Yes, she came with him. By Jove, how handsome she is,—quite
a different
style of thing from our dark friend, but, to my thinking, even
handsomer.
Hammersley seems of my opinion, too."
"How! Is Hammersley at Lisbon?"
"On the staff here. But, confound it, what makes you so red,
you have no
ill-feeling towards him now. I know he speaks most warmly of you;
no later
than last night, at Sir George's—"
What Power was about to add I know not, for I sprang from my
chair with a
sudden start, and walked to the window, to conceal my agitation
from him.
"And so," said I, at length regaining my composure in some
measure, "Sir
George also spoke of my name in connection with the senhora?"
"To be sure he did. All Lisbon does. What can you mean? But I
see, my dear
boy; you know you are not of the strongest, and we've been
talking far too
long. Come now, Charley, I'll say good-night. I'll be with you at
breakfast
to-morrow, and tell you all the gossip; meanwhile promise me to
get quietly
to bed, and so good-night."
Such was the conflicting state of feeling I suffered from that
I made no
effort to detain Power. I longed to be once more alone, to think,
calmly if
I could, over the position I stood in, and to resolve upon my
plans for the
future.
My love for Lucy Dashwood had been long rather a devotion than
a hope. My
earliest dawn of manly ambition was associated with the first
hour I met
her. She it was who first touched my boyish heart, and suggested
a sense
of chivalrous ardor within me; and even though lost to me
forever, I could
still regard her as the mainspring of my actions, and dwell upon
my passion
as the thing that hallowed every enterprise of my life.
In a word, my love, however little it might reach her heart,
was everything
to mine. It was the worship of the devotee to his protecting
saint. It was
the faith that made me rise above misfortune and mishap, and led
me onward;
and in this way I could have borne anything, everything, rather
than the
imputation of fickleness.
Lucy might not—nay, I felt she did not—love me. It was
possible that some
other was preferred before me; but to doubt my own affection, to
suspect my
own truth, was to destroy all the charm of my existence, and to
extinguish
within me forever the enthusiasm that made me a hero to my own
heart.
It may seem but poor philosophy; but alas, how many of our
happiest, how
many of our brightest thoughts here are but delusions like this!
The
dayspring of youth gilds the tops of the distant mountains before
us, and
many a weary day through life, when clouds and storms are
thickening around
us, we live upon the mere memory of the past. Some fast-flitting
prospect
of a bright future, some passing glimpse of a sunlit valley,
tinges all our
after-years.
It is true that he will suffer fewer disappointments, he will
incur fewer
of the mishaps of the world, who indulges in no fancies such as
these; but
equally true is it that he will taste none of that exuberant
happiness
which is that man's portion who weaves out a story of his life,
and who, in
connecting the promise of early years with the performance of
later, will
seek to fulfil a fate and destiny.
Weaving such fancies, I fell sound asleep, nor woke before the
stir and
bustle of the great city aroused me. Power, I found, had been
twice at my
quarters that morning, but fearing to disturb me, had merely left
a few
lines to say that, as he should be engaged on service during the
day,
we could not meet before the evening. There were certain
preliminaries
requisite regarding my leave which demanded my appearing before a
board of
medical officers, and I immediately set about dressing; resolving
that, as
soon as they were completed, I should, if permitted, retire to
one of the
small cottages on the opposite bank of the Tagus, there to remain
until my
restored health allowed me to rejoin my regiment.
I dreaded meeting the Dashwoods. I anticipated with a heavy
heart how
effectually one passing interview would destroy all my day-dreams
of
happiness, and I preferred anything to the sad conviction of
hopelessness
such a meeting must lead to.
While I thus balanced with myself how to proceed, a gentle
step came to the
door, and as it opened slowly, a servant in a dark livery
entered.
"Mr. O'Malley, sir?"
"Yes," said I, wondering to whom my arrival could be thus early known.
"Sir George Dashwood requests you will step over to him as
soon as you go
out," continued the man; "he is so engaged that he cannot leave
home, but
is most desirous to see you."
"It is not far from here?"
"No, sir; scarcely five minutes' walk."
"Well, then, if you will show me the way, I'll follow you."
I cast one passing glance at myself to see that all was right
about my
costume, and sallied forth.
In the middle of the Black Horse Square, at the door of a
large,
stone-fronted building, a group of military men were assembled,
chatting
and laughing away together,—some reading the lately-arrived
English
papers; others were lounging upon the stone parapet, carelessly
puffing
their cigars. None of the faces were known to me; so threading my
way
through the crowd, I reached the steps. Just as I did so, a
half-muttered
whisper met my ear:—
"Who did you say?"
"O'Malley, the young Irishman who behaved so gallantly at the Douro."
The blood rushed hotly to my cheek, my heart bounded with
exultation; my
step, infirm and tottering but a moment before, became fixed and
steady,
and I felt a thrill of proud enthusiasm playing through my veins.
How
little did the speaker of those few and random words know what
courage he
had given to a drooping heart, what renewed energy to a breaking
spirit!
The voice of praise, too, coming from those to whom we had
thought
ourselves unknown, has a magic about it that must be felt to be
understood.
So it happened that in a few seconds a revolution had taken place
in all
my thoughts and feelings, and I, who had left my quarters
dispirited and
depressed, now walked confidently and proudly forward.
"Mr. O'Malley, sir," said the servant to the officer waiting,
as we entered
the antechamber.
"Ah, Mr. O'Malley," said the aide-de-damp, in his blandest
accent, "I hope
you're better. Sir George is most anxious to see you; he is at
present
engaged with the staff—"
A bell rang at that moment, and cut short the sentence; he
flew to the door
of the inner room, and returning in an instant, said,—
"Will you follow me? This way, if you please."
The room was crowded with general officers and aides-de-camp,
so that for
a second or two I could not distinguish the parties; but no
sooner was my
name announced, than Sir George Dashwood, forcing his way
through, rushed
forward to meet me.
"O'Malley, my brave fellow, delighted to shake your hand
again! How much
grown you are,—twice the man I knew you; and the arm, too, is it
getting
on well?"
Scarcely giving me a moment to reply, and still holding my
hand tightly in
his grasp, he introduced me on every side.
"My young Irish friend, Sir Edward, the man of the Douro. My
Lord, allow me
to present Lieutenant O'Malley, of the Fourteenth."
"A very dashing thing, that of yours, sir, at Ciudad Rodrigo."
"A very senseless one, I fear, my Lord."
"No, no, I don't agree with you at all; even when no great
results follow,
the morale of an army benefits by acts of daring."
A running fire of kind and civil speeches poured in on me from
all
quarters, and amidst all that crowd of bronzed and war-worn
veterans, I
felt myself the lion of the moment. Crawfurd, it appeared, had
spoken most
handsomely of my name, and I was thus made known to many of those
whose own
reputations were then extending over Europe.
In this happy trance of excited pleasure I passed the morning.
Amidst
the military chit-chat of the day around me, treated as an equal
by the
greatest and the most distinguished, I heard all the confidential
opinions
upon the campaign and its leaders; and in that most entrancing
of
all flatteries,—the easy tone of companionship of our elders
and
betters,—forgot my griefs, and half believed I was destined for
great
things.
Fearing, at length, that I had prolonged my visit too far, I
approached
Sir George to take my leave, when, drawing my arm within his, he
retired
towards one of the windows.
"A word, O'Malley, before you go. I've arranged a little plan
for you;
mind, I shall insist upon obedience. They'll make some difficulty
about
your remaining here, so that I have appointed you one of our
extra
aides-de-camp. That will free you from all trouble, and I shall
not be very
exacting in my demands upon you. You must, however, commence your
duties
to-day, and as we dine at seven precisely, I shall expect you. I
am
aware of your wish to stay in Lisbon, my boy, and if all I hear
be true,
congratulate you sincerely; but more of this another time, and so
good-by."
So saying, he shook my hand once more, warmly; and without well
feeling how
or why, I found myself in the street.
The last few words Sir George had spoken threw a gloom over
all my
thoughts. I saw at once that the report Power had alluded to had
gained
currency at Lisbon. Sir George believed it; doubtless, Lucy, too;
and
forgetting in an instant all the emulative ardor that so lately
stirred my
heart, I took my path beside the river, and sauntered slowly
along, lost in
my reflections.
I had walked for above an hour before paying any attention to
the path I
followed. Mechanically, as it were, retreating from the noise and
tumult-of
the city, I wandered towards the country. My thoughts fixed but
upon
one theme, I had neither ears nor eyes for aught around me; the
great
difficulty of my present position now appearing to me in this
light,—my
attachment to Lucy Dashwood, unrequited and unreturned as I felt
it,
did not permit of my rebutting any report which might have
reached her
concerning Donna Inez. I had no right, no claim to suppose her
sufficiently
interested about me to listen to such an explanation, had I even
the
opportunity to make it. One thing was thus clear to me,—all my
hopes had
ended in that quarter; and as this conclusion sank into my mind,
a species
of dogged resolution to brave my fortune crept upon me, which
only waited
the first moment of my meeting her to overthrow and destroy
forever.
Meanwhile I walked on,—now rapidly, as some momentary rush of
passionate
excitement, now slowly, as some depressing and gloomy notion
succeeded;
when suddenly my path was arrested by a long file of bullock cars
which
blocked up the way. Some chance squabble had arisen among the
drivers, and
to avoid the crowd and collision, I turned into a gateway which
opened
beside me, and soon found myself in a lawn handsomely planted and
adorned
with flowering shrubs and ornamental trees.
In the half-dreamy state my musings had brought me to, I
struggled to
recollect why the aspect of the place did not seem altogether
new. My
thoughts were, however, far away,—now blending some memory of my
distant
home with scenes of battle and bloodshed, or resting upon my
first
interview with her whose chance word, carelessly and lightly
spoken, had
written the story of my life. From this revery I was rudely
awakened by a
rustling noise in the trees behind me, and before I could turn my
head, the
two fore-paws of a large stag-hound were planted upon my
shoulders, while
the open mouth and panting tongue were close beside my face. My
day-dream
was dispelled quick as lightning; it was Juan, himself, the
favorite dog of
the senhora, who gave me this rude welcome, and who now, by a
thousand wild
gestures and bounding caresses, seemed to do the honors of his
house. There
was something so like home in these joyful greetings that I
yielded myself
at once his prisoner, and followed, or rather was accompanied by
him
towards the villa.
Of course, sooner or later, I should have called upon my kind
friends; then
why not now, when chance has already brought me so near? Besides,
if I
held to my resolution, which I meant to do,—of retiring to some
quiet and
sequestered cottage till my health was restored,—the opportunity
might not
readily present itself again. This line of argument perfectly
satisfied my
reason; while a strong feeling of something like curiosity piqued
me to
proceed, and before many minutes elapsed, I reached the house.
The door, as
usual, lay wide open; and the ample hall, furnished like a
sitting-room,
had its customary litter of books, music, and flowers scattered
upon the
tables. My friend Juan, however, suffered me not to linger here,
but
rushing furiously at a door before me, began a vigorous attack
for
admittance.
As I knew this to be the drawing-room, I opened the door and
walked in, but
no one was to be seen; a half-open book lay upon an ottoman, and
a fan,
which I recognized as an old acquaintance, was beside it, but the
owner was
absent.
I sat down, resolved to wait patiently for her coming, without
any
announcement of my being there. I was not sorry, indeed, to have
some
moments to collect my thoughts, and restore my erring faculties
to
something like order.
As I looked about the room, it seemed as if I had been there
but yesterday.
The folding-doors lay open to the garden, just as I had seen them
last; and
save that the flowers seemed fewer, and those which remained of a
darker
and more sombre tint, all seemed unchanged. There lay the guitar
to whose
thrilling chords my heart had bounded; there, the drawing over
which I had
bent in admiring pleasure, suggesting some tints of light or
shadow, as the
fairy fingers traced them; every chair was known to me, and I
greeted them
as things I cared for.
While thus I scanned each object around me, I was struck by a
little china
vase which, unlike its other brethren, contained a bouquet of
dead and
faded flowers; the blood rushed to my cheek; I started up; it was
one I had
myself presented to her the day before we parted. It was in that
same vase
I placed it; the very table, too, stood in the same position
beside that
narrow window. What a rush of thoughts came pouring on me! And
oh!—shall I
confess it?—how deeply did such a mute testimony of remembrance
speak
to my heart, at the moment that I felt myself unloved and uncared
for by
another! I walked hurriedly up and down, a maze of conflicting
resolves
combating in my mind, while one thought ever recurred: "Would
that I had
not come there!" and yet after all it may mean nothing; some
piece of
passing coquetry which she will be the very first to laugh at. I
remembered
how she spoke of poor Howard; what folly to take it otherwise!
"Be it so,
then," said I, half aloud; "and now for my part of the game;" and
with this
I took from my pocket the light-blue scarf she had given me the
morning we
parted, and throwing it over my shoulder, prepared to perform my
part in
what I had fully persuaded myself to be a comedy. The time,
however, passed
on, and she came not; a thousand high-flown Portuguese phrases
had time to
be conned over again and again by me, and I had abundant leisure
to enact
my coming part; but still the curtain did not rise. As the day
was wearing,
I resolved at last to write a few lines, expressive of my regret
at not
meeting her, and promising myself an early opportunity of paying
my
respects under more fortunate circumstances. I sat down
accordingly, and
drawing the paper towards me, began in a mixture of French and
Portuguese,
as it happened, to indite my billet.
"Senhora Inez—" no—"Ma chère Mademoiselle Inez—"
confound it, that's too
intimate; well, here goes: "Monsieur O'Malley presente ses
respects—" that
will never do; and then, after twenty other abortive attempts, I
began
thoughtlessly sketching heads upon the paper, and scribbling with
wonderful
facility in fifty different ways: "Ma charmante amie—Ma plus
chère Inez,"
etc., and in this most useful and profitable occupation did I
pass another
half-hour.
How long I should have persisted in such an employment it is
difficult to
say, had not an incident intervened which suddenly but most
effectually put
an end to it. As the circumstance is one which, however little
striking in
itself, had the greatest and most lasting influence upon my
future career,
I shall, perhaps, be excused in devoting another chapter to its
recital.
CHAPTER X.
A PLEASANT PREDICAMENT.
As I sat vainly endeavoring to fix upon some suitable and
appropriate
epithet by which to commence my note, my back was turned towards
the door
of the garden; and so occupied was I in my meditations, that even
had any
one entered at the time, in all probability I should not have
perceived it.
At length, however, I was aroused from my study by a burst of
laughter,
whose girlish joyousness was not quite new to me. I knew it well;
it was
the senhora herself; and the next moment I heard her voice.
"I tell you, I'm quite certain I saw his face in the mirror as
I passed.
Oh, how delightful! and you'll be charmed with him; so, mind, you
must not
steal him from me; I shall never forgive you if you do; and look,
only
look! he has got the blue scarf I gave him when he marched to the
Douro."
While I perceived that I was myself seen, I could see nothing
of the
speaker, and wishing to hear something further, appeared more
than ever
occupied in the writing before me.
What her companion replied I could not, however, catch, but
only guess at
its import by the senhora's answer. "Fi done!—I really am very
fond of
him; but, never fear, I shall be as stately as a queen. You shall
see how
meekly he will kiss my hand, and with what unbending reserve I'll
receive
him."
"Indeed!" thought I; "mayhap, I'll mar your plot a little; but
let us
listen."
Again her friend spoke, but too low to be heard.
"It is so provoking," continued Inez; "I never can remember
names, and his
was something too absurd; but never mind, I shall make him a
grandee of
Portugal. Well, but come along, I long to present him to
you."
Here a gentle struggle seemed to ensue; for I heard the
senhora coaxingly
entreat her, while her companion steadily resisted.
"I know very well you think I shall be so silly, and perhaps
wrong; eh, is
it not so? but you are quite mistaken. You'll be surprised at my
cold and
dignified manner. I shall draw myself proudly up, thus, and
curtsying
deeply, say, 'Monsieur, j'ai l' honneur de vous saluer.'"
A laugh twice as mirthful as before interrupted her account of
herself,
while I could hear the tones of her friend evidently in
expostulation.
[O'MALLEY FOLLOWING THE CUSTOM OF HIS COUNTRY.]
"Well, then, to be sure, you are provoking, but you really
promise to
follow me. Be it so; then give me that moss-rose. How you have
fluttered
me; now for it!"
So saying, I heard her foot upon the gravel, and the next
instant upon the
marble step of the door. There is something in expectation that
sets the
heart beating, and mine throbbed against my side. I waited,
however, till
she entered, before lifting my head, and then springing suddenly
up, with
one bound clasped her in my arms, and pressing my lips upon her
roseate
cheek, said,—
"Mar charmante amie!" To disengage herself from me, and to
spring
suddenly back was her first effort; to burst into an immoderate
fit of
laughing, her second; her cheek was, however, covered with a deep
blush,
and I already repented that my malice had gone so far.
"Pardon, Mademoiselle," said I, in affected innocence, "if I
have so far
forgotten myself as to assume a habit of my own country to a
stranger."
A half-angry toss of the head was her only reply, and turning
towards the
garden, she called to her friend:—
"Come here, dearest, and instruct my ignorance upon your
national customs;
but first let me present to you,—never know his name,—the
Chevalier de
——What is it?"
The glass door opened as she spoke; a tall and graceful figure
entered, and
turning suddenly round, showed me the features of Lucy Dashwood.
We both
stood opposite each other, each mute with amazement. My
feelings let me
not attempt to convey; shame, for the first moment stronger than
aught
else, sent the blood rushing to my face and temples, and the next
I was
cold and pale as death. As for her, I cannot guess at what passed
in
her mind. She curtsied deeply to me, and with a half-smile of
scarce
recognition passed by me, and walked towards a window.
"Comme vous êtes amiable!" said the lively Portuguese,
who comprehended
little of this dumb show; "here have I been flattering myself
what friends
you'd be the very moment you meet, and now you'll not even look
at each
other."
What was to be done? The situation was every instant growing
more and more
embarrassing; nothing but downright effrontery could get through
with
it now; and never did a man's heart more fail him than did mine
at this
conjuncture. I made the' effort, however, and stammered out
certain
unmeaning commonplaces. Inez replied, and I felt myself
conversing with the
headlong recklessness of one marching to a scaffold, a coward's
fear at his
heart, while he essayed to seem careless and indifferent.
Anxious to reach what I esteemed safe ground, I gladly
adverted to the
campaign; and at last, hurried on by the impulse to cover my
embarrassment,
was describing some skirmish with a French outpost. Without
intending, I
had succeeded in exciting the senhora's interest, and she
listened with
sparkling eye and parted lips to the description of a sweeping
charge in
which a square was broken, and several prisoners carried off.
Warming with
the eager avidity of her attention, I grew myself more excited,
when just
as my narrative reached its climax, Miss Dashwood walked gently
towards the
bell, rang it, and ordered her carriage. The tone of perfect
nonchalance
of the whole proceeding struck me dumb; I faltered, stammered,
hesitated,
and was silent. Donna Inez turned from one to the other of us
with a look
of unfeigned astonishment and I heard her mutter to herself
something
like a reflection upon "national eccentricities." Happily,
however,
her attention was now exclusively turned towards her friend, and
while
assisting her to shawl, and extorting innumerable promises of an
early
visit, I got a momentary reprieve; the carriage drew up also, and
as the
gravel flew right and left beneath the horses' feet, the very
noise and
bustle relieved me. "Adios," then said Inez, as she kissed her
for the
last time, while she motioned to me to escort her to her
carriage. I
advanced, stopped, made another step forward, and again grew
irresolute;
but Miss Dashwood speedily terminated the difficulty; for making
me a
formal curtsey, she declined my scarce-proffered attention, and
left the
room.
As she did so, I perceived that on passing the table, her eyes
fell upon
the paper I had been scribbling over so long, and I thought that
for
an instant an expression of ineffable scorn seemed to pass across
her
features, save which—and perhaps even in this I was
mistaken—her manner
was perfectly calm, easy, and indifferent.
Scarce had the carriage rolled from the door, when the
senhora, throwing
herself upon her chair, clapped her hands in childish ecstasy,
while she
fell into a fit of laughing that I thought would never have an
end. "Such
a scene!" cried she; "I would not have lost it for the world;
what
cordiality! what empressement to form acquaintance! I shall
never forget
it, Monsieur le Chevalier; your national customs seem to run
sadly in
extremes. One would have thought you deadly enemies; and poor me,
after a
thousand delightful plans about you both!"
As she ran on thus, scarce able to control her mirth at each
sentence, I
walked the room with impatient strides, now, resolving to hasten
after the
carriage, stop it, explain in a few words how all had happened,
and then
fly from her forever; then the remembrance of her cold, impassive
look
crossed me, and I thought that one bold leap into the Tagus might
be the
shortest and easiest solution to all my miseries. Perfect
abasement,
thorough self-contempt had broken all my courage, and I could
have cried
like a child. What I said, or how I comforted myself after, I
know not; but
my first consciousness came to me as I felt myself running at the
top of my
speed far upon the road towards Lisbon.
CHAPTER XI.
THE DINNER.
It may easily be imagined that I had little inclination to
keep my promise
of dining that day with Sir George Dashwood. However, there was
nothing
else for it; the die was cast,—my prospects as regarded Lucy
were ruined
forever. We were not, we never could be anything to each other;
and as for
me, the sooner I braved my altered fortunes the better; and after
all, why
should I call them altered. She evidently never had cared for me;
and even
supposing that my fervent declaration of attachment had
interested her, the
apparent duplicity and falseness of my late conduct could only
fall the
more heavily upon me.
I endeavored to philosophize myself into calmness and
indifference. One by
one I exhausted every argument for my defence, which, however
ingeniously
put forward, brought no comfort to my own conscience. I pleaded
the
unerring devotion of my heart, the uprightness of my motives, and
when
called on for the proofs,—alas! except the blue scarf I wore in
memory of
another, and my absurd conduct at the villa, I had none. From the
current
gossip of Lisbon, down to my own disgraceful folly, all, all was
against
me.
Honesty of intention, rectitude of purpose, may be, doubtless
they are,
admirable supports to a rightly constituted mind; but even then
they must
come supported by such claims to probability as make the injured
man feel
he has not lost the sympathy of all his fellows. Now, I had none
of these,
had even my temperament, broken by sickness and harassed by
unlucky
conjectures, permitted my appreciating them.
I endeavored to call my wounded pride to my aid, and thought
over the
glance of haughty disdain she gave me as she passed on to her
carriage; but
even this turned against me, and a humiliating sense of my own
degraded
position sank deeply into my heart. "This impression at least,"
thought I,
"must be effaced. I cannot permit her to believe—"
"His Excellency is waiting dinner, sir," said a lackey,
introducing a
finely powdered head gently within the door. I looked at my
watch, it was
eight o'clock; so snatching my sabre, and shocked at my delay,
I
hastily followed the servant down-stairs, and thus at once cut
short my
deliberations.
The man must be but little observant or deeply sunk in his own
reveries,
who, arriving half-an-hour too late for dinner, fails to detect
in the
faces of the assembled and expectant guests a very palpable
expression of
discontent and displeasure. It is truly a moment of awkwardness,
and one
in which few are found to manage with success; the blushing,
hesitating,
blundering apology of the absent man, is scarcely better than
the
ill-affected surprise of the more practised offender. The
bashfulness of
the one is as distasteful as the cool impertinence of the other;
both are
so thoroughly out of place, for we are thinking of neither; our
thoughts
are wandering to cold soups and rechaufféd
pâtés, and we neither care for
nor estimate the cause, but satisfy our spleen by cursing the
offender.
Happily for me I was clad in a triple insensibility to such
feelings,
and with an air of most perfect unconstraint and composure walked
into
a drawing-room where about twenty persons were busily discussing
what
peculiar amiability in my character could compensate for my
present
conduct.
"At last, O'Malley, at last!" said Sir George. "Why, my dear
boy, how very
late you are!"
I muttered something about a long walk,—distance from Lisbon, etc.
"Ah! that was it. I was right, you see!" said an old lady in a
spangled
turban, as she whispered something to her friend beside her, who
appeared
excessively shocked at the information conveyed; while a fat,
round-faced
little general, after eying me steadily through his glass,
expressed a
sotto voce wish that I was upon his staff. I felt my cheek
reddening
at the moment, and stared around me like one whose trials were
becoming
downright insufferable, when happily dinner was announced, and
terminated
my embarrassment.
As the party filed past, I perceived that Miss Dashwood was
not among them;
and with a heart relieved for the moment by the circumstance, and
inventing
a hundred conjectures to account for it, I followed with the
aides-de-camp
and the staff to the dinner-room.
The temperament is very Irish, I believe, which renders a man
so elastic
that from the extreme of depression to the very climax of high
spirits,
there is but one spring. To this I myself plead guilty, and thus,
scarcely
was I freed from the embarrassment which a meeting with Lucy
Dashwood must
have caused, when my heart bounded with lightness.
When the ladies withdrew, the events of the campaign became
the subject of
conversation, and upon these, very much to my astonishment, I
found myself
consulted as an authority. The Douro, from some fortunate
circumstance, had
given me a reputation I never dreamed of, and I heard my opinions
quoted
upon topics of which my standing as an officer, and my rank in
the service,
could not imply a very extended observation. Power was absent on
duty; and
happily for my supremacy, the company consisted entirely of
generals in the
commissariat or new arrivals from England, all of whom knew still
less than
myself.
What will not iced champagne and flattery do? Singly, they are
strong
impulses; combined, their power is irresistible. I now heard for
the first
time that our great leader had been elevated to the peerage by
the title of
Lord Wellington, and I sincerely believe—however now I may smile
at the
confession—that, at the moment, I felt more elation at the
circumstance
than he did. The glorious sensation of being in any way, no
matter how
remotely, linked with the career of those whose path is a high
one, and
whose destinies are cast for great events, thrilled through me;
and in
all the warmth of my admiration and pride for our great captain,
a secret
pleasure stirred within me as I whispered to myself, "And I, too,
am a
soldier!"
I fear me that very little flattery is sufficient to turn the
head of a
young man of eighteen; and if I yielded to the "pleasant
incense," let my
apology be that I was not used to it; and lastly, let me avow, if
I did get
tipsy, I liked the liquor. And why not? It is the only tipple I
know of
that leaves no headache the next morning to punish you for the
glories of
the past night. It may, like all other strong potations, it is
true, induce
you to make a fool of yourself when under its influence; but like
the
nitrous-oxide gas, its effects are passing, and as the pleasure
is an
ecstasy for the time, and your constitution none the worse when
it is over,
I really see no harm in it.
Then the benefits are manifest; for while he who gives becomes
never the
poorer for his benevolence, the receiver is made rich indeed. It
matters
little that some dear, kind friend is ready with his bitter
draught to
remedy what he is pleased to call its unwholesome sweetness; you
betake
yourself with only the more pleasure to the "blessed elixir,"
whose
fascinations neither the poverty of your pocket, nor the penury
of your
brain, can withstand, and by the magic of whose spell you are
great and
gifted. "Vive la bagatelle!" saith the Frenchman. "Long live
flattery!"
say I, come from what quarter it will,—the only wealth of the
poor man,
the only reward of the unknown one; the arm that supports us in
failure;
the hand that crowns us in success; the comforter in our
affliction; the
gay companion in our hours of pleasure; the lullaby of the
infant; the
staff of old age; the secret treasure we lock up in our own
hearts, and
which ever grows greater as we count it over. Let me not be told
that the
coin is fictitious, and the gold not genuine; its clink is as
musical to
the ear as though it bore the last impression of the mint, and
I'm not the
man to cast an aspersion upon its value.
This little digression, however seemingly out of place, may
serve to
illustrate what it might be difficult to convey in other
words,—namely,
that if Charles O'Malley became, in his own estimation, a very
considerable
personage that day at dinner, the fault lay not entirely with
himself, but
with his friends, who told him he was such. In fact, my good
reader, I was
the lion of the party, the man who saved Laborde, who charged
through a
brigade of guns, who performed feats which newspapers quoted,
though he
never heard of them himself. At no time is a man so successful in
society
as when his reputation heralds him; and it needs but little
conversational
eloquence to talk well, if you have but a willing and ready
auditory. Of
mine, I could certainly not complain; and as, drinking deeply, I
poured
forth a whole tide of campaigning recital, I saw the old colonels
of
recruiting districts exchanging looks of wonder and admiration
with
officers of the ordnance; while Sir George himself, evidently
pleased at my
début, went back to an early period of our acquaintance,
and related the
rescue of his daughter in Galway.
In an instant the whole current of my thoughts was changed. My
first
meeting with Lucy, my boyhood's dream of ambition, my plighted
faith,
my thought of our last parting in Dublin, when, in a moment of
excited
madness, I told my tale of love. I remembered her downcast look,
as her
cheek now flushing, now growing pale, she trembled while I spoke.
I thought
of her, as in the crash of battle her image flashed across my
brain, and
made me feel a rush of chivalrous enthusiasm to win her heart by
"doughty
deeds."
I forgot all around and about me. My head reeled, the wine,
the excitement,
my long previous illness, all pressed upon me; and as my temples
throbbed
loudly and painfully, a chaotic rush of discordant, ill-connected
ideas
flitted across my mind. There seemed some stir and confusion in
the room,
but why or wherefore I could not think, nor could I recall my
scattered
senses, till Sir George Dashwood's voice roused me once again
to
consciousness.
"We are going to have some coffee, O'Malley. Miss Dashwood
expects us in
the drawing-room. You have not seen her yet?"
I know not my reply; but he continued:—
"She has some letters for you, I think."
I muttered something, and suffered him to pass on; no sooner
had he done
so, however, than I turned towards the door, and rushed into the
street.
The cold night air suddenly recalled me to myself, and I stood
for a moment
endeavoring to collect myself; as I did so, a servant stopped,
and saluting
me, presented me with a letter. For a second, a cold chill came
over me; I
knew not what fear beset me. The letter, I at last remembered,
must be that
one alluded to by Sir George, so I took it in silence, and walked
on.
CHAPTER XII.
THE LETTER.
As I hurried to my quarters, I made a hundred guesses from
whom the letter
could have come; a kind of presentiment told me that it bore, in
some
measure, upon the present crisis of my life, and I burned with
anxiety to
read it.
No sooner had I reached the light, than all my hopes on this
head vanished;
the envelope bore the well-known name of my old college chum,
Frank Webber,
and none could, at the moment, have more completely dispelled all
chance
of interesting me. I threw it from me with disappointment, and
sat moodily
down to brood over my fate.
At length, however, and almost without knowing it, I drew the
lamp towards
me, and broke the seal. The reader being already acquainted with
my amiable
friend, there is the less indiscretion in communicating the
contents, which
ran thus:—
TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN, No. 2,
October 5, 1810.
My Dear O'Malley,—Nothing short of your death and
burial,
with or without military honors, can possibly excuse your
very
disgraceful neglect of your old friends here. Nesbitt has
never
heard of you, neither has Smith. Ottley swears never to have
seen
your handwriting, save on the back of a protested bill. You
have
totally forgotten me, and the dean informs me that you have
never
condescended a single line to him; which latter inquiry on my
part
nearly cost me a rustication.
A hundred conjectures to account for your silence—a new
feature
in you since you were here—are afloat. Some assert that
your
soldiering has turned your head, and that you are above
corresponding
with civilians. Your friends, however, who know you better
and
value your worth, think otherwise; and having seen a
paragraph
about a certain O'Malley being tried by court-martial for
stealing a
goose, and maltreating the woman that owned it, ascribe your
not
writing to other motives. Do, in any case, relieve our minds;
say,
is it yourself, or only a relative that's mentioned?
Herbert came over from London with a long story about
your
doing wonderful things,—capturing cannon and general
officers by
scores,—but devil a word of it is extant; and if you have
really
committed these acts, they have "misused the king's press
damnably,"
for neither in the "Times" nor the "Post" are you heard
of.
Answer this point, and say also if you have got promotion;
for what
precise sign you are algebraically expressed by at this
writing, may
serve Fitzgerald for a fellowship question. As for us, we are
jogging
along, semper eadem,—that is, worse and worse. Dear
Cecil
Cavendish, our gifted friend, slight of limb and soft of
voice, has
been rusticated for immersing four bricklayers in that
green
receptacle of stagnant water and duckweed, yeleped the
"Haha."
Roper, equally unlucky, has taken to reading for honors, and
obtained
a medal, I fancy,—at least his friends shy him, and it must
be
something of that kind. Belson—poor Belson (fortunately for
him he
was born in the nineteenth, not the sixteenth century, or
he'd be most
likely ornamenting a pile of fagots) ventured upon some
stray
excursions into the Hebrew verbs,—the professor himself
never having
transgressed beyond the declensions, and the consequence is,
he is
in disgrace among the seniors. And as for me, a heavy charge
hangs
over my devoted head even while I write. The senior lecturer,
it
appears, has been for some time instituting some very
singular
researches into the original state of our goodly college at
its
founding. Plans and specifications showing its extent and
magnificence
have been continually before the board for the last month;
and in such
repute have been a smashed door-sill or an old arch, that
freshmen
have now abandoned conic sections for crowbars, and instead
of the
"Principia" have taken up the pickaxe. You know, my dear
fellow,
with what enthusiasm I enter into any scheme for the
aggrandizement
of our Alma Mater, so I need not tell you how ardently I
adventured into the career now opened to me. My time was
completely
devoted to the matter; neither means nor health did I
spare,
and in my search for antiquarian lore, I have actually
undermined
the old wall of the fellows' garden, and am each morning in
expectation
of hearing that the big bell near the commons-hall has
descended
from its lofty and most noisy eminence, and is snugly
reposing in
the mud. Meanwhile accident put me in possession of a
most
singular and remarkable discovery. Our chambers—I call
them
ours for old association sake—are, you may remember, in the
Old
Square. Well, I have been fortunate enough, within the very
precincts
of my own dwelling, to contribute a very wonderful fact to
the
history of the University; alone, unassisted, unaided, I
labored
at my discovery. Few can estimate the pleasure I felt, the
fame
and reputation I anticipated. I drew up a little memoir for
the
board, most respectfully and civilly worded, having for title
the
following:—
ACCOUNT
Of a remarkable Subterranean Passage lately discovered in
the
Old Building of Trinity College, Dublin;
With Observations upon its Extent, Antiquity, and Probable
Use.
By F. WEBBER, Senior Freshman.
My dear O'Malley, I'll not dwell upon the pride I felt in
my new
character of antiquarian; it is enough to state, that my
very
remarkable tract was well considered and received, and a
commission
appointed to investigate the discovery, consisting of the
vice-provost, the senior lecturer, old Woodhouse, the
sub-dean, and
a few more.
On Tuesday last they came accordingly in full academic
costume.
I, being habited most accurately in the like manner,
conducted
them with all form into my bed-room, where a large screen
concealed
from view the entrance to the tunnel alluded to. Assuming a
very
John Kembleish attitude, I struck this down with one hand,
pointing
with the other to the wall, as I exclaimed, "There! look
there!"
I need only quote Barret's exclamation to enlighten you
upon my
discovery as, drawing in his breath with a strong effort, he
burst
out:—
"May the Devil admire me, but it's a rat-hole!"
I fear, Charley, he's right, and what's more, that the
board will
think so, for this moment a very warm discussion is going on
among
that amiable and learned body whether I shall any longer
remain an
ornament to the University. In fact, the terror with which
they
fled from my chambers, overturning each other in the
passage,
seemed to imply that they thought me mad, and I do believe
my
voice, look, and attitude would not have disgraced a blue
cotton
dressing-gown and a cell in "Swift's." Be this as it may, few
men
have done more for college than I have. The sun never stood
still
for Joshua with more resolution than I have rested in my
career of
freshman; and if I have contributed little to the fame, I
have done
much for the funds of the University; and when they come to
compute
the various sums I have paid in, for fines, penalties, and
what
they call properly "impositions," if they don't place a
portrait of me
in the examination hall, between Archbishop Ussher and Flood,
then
do I say there is no gratitude in mankind; not to mention the
impulse
I have given to the various artisans whose business it is
to
repair lamps, windows, chimneys, iron railings, and watchmen,
all
of which I have devoted myself to with an enthusiasm for
political
economy well known, and registered in the College Street
police-office.
After all, Charley, I miss you greatly. Your second in a
ballad is
not to be replaced; besides, Carlisle Bridge has got low;
medical
students and young attorneys affect minstrelsy, and actually
frequent
the haunts sacred to our muse.
Dublin is, upon the whole, I think, worse; though one
scarcely
ever gets tired laughing at the small celebrities—
Master Frank gets here indiscreet, so I shall skip.
And so the Dashwoods are going too; this will make mine
a
pitiable condition, for I really did begin to feel tender in
that
quarter. You may have heard that she refused me; this,
however, is not
correct, though I have little doubt it might have been,—had
I
asked her.
Hammersley has, you know, got his dismissal. I wonder how
the
poor fellow took it when Power gave him back his letters and
his
picture. How you are to be treated remains to be seen; in
any
case, you certainly stand first favorite.
I laid down the letter at this passage, unable to read
farther. Here, then,
was the solution of the whole chaos of mystery; here the full
explanation
of what had puzzled my aching brain for many a night long. These
were the
very letters I had myself delivered into Hammersley's hands; this
the
picture he had trodden to dust beneath his heel the morning of
our meeting.
I now felt the reason of his taunting allusion to my "success,"
his cutting
sarcasm, his intemperate passion. A flood of light poured at once
across
all the dark passages of my history; and Lucy, too,—dare I think
of her! A
rapid thought shot through my brain. What if she had really cared
for me!
What if for me she had rejected another's love! What if, trusting
to my
faith, my pledged and sworn faith, she had given me her heart!
Oh, the
bitter agony of that thought! To think that all my hopes were
shipwrecked
with the very land in sight.
I sprang to my feet with some sudden impulse, but as I did so
the blood
rushed madly to my face and temples, which beat violently; a
parched and
swollen feeling came about my throat; I endeavored to open my
collar
and undo my stock, but my disabled arm prevented me. I tried to
call
my servant, but my utterance was thick and my words would not
come; a
frightful suspicion crossed me that my reason was tottering. I
made towards
the door; but as I did so, the objects around me became confused
and
mingled, my limbs trembled, and I fell heavily upon the floor. A
pang of
dreadful pain shot through me as I fell; my arm was rebroken.
After this I
knew no more; all the accumulated excitement of the evening bore
down with
one fell swoop upon my brain. Ere day broke, I was delirious.
I have a vague and indistinct remembrance of hurried and
anxious faces
around my bed, of whispered words and sorrowful looks; but my own
thoughts
careered over the bold hills of the far west as I trod them in
my
boyhood, free and high of heart, or recurred to the din and crash
of the
battle-field, with the mad bounding of the war-horse, and the
loud clang of
the trumpet. Perhaps the acute pain of my swollen and suffering
arm gave
the character to my mental aberration; for I have more than once
observed
among the wounded in battle, that even when torn and mangled by
grape
from a howitzer, their ravings have partaken of a high feature
of
enthusiasm,—shouts of triumph and exclamations of pleasure,
even
songs have I heard, but never once the low muttering of despair
or the
half-stifled cry of sorrow and affliction.
Such were the few gleams of consciousness which visited me;
and even to
such as these I soon became insensible.
Few like to chronicle, fewer still to read, the sad history of
a sick-bed.
Of mine, I know but little. The throbbing pulses of the erring
brain, the
wild fancies of lunacy, take no note of time. There is no past
nor future;
a dreadful present, full of its hurried and confused impressions,
is all
that the mind beholds; and even when some gleams of returning
reason flash
upon the mad confusion of the brain, they come like sunbeams
through a
cloud, dimmed, darkened, and perverted.
It is the restless activity of the mind in fever that
constitutes its
most painful anguish; the fast-flitting thoughts that rush ever
onwards,
crowding sensation on sensation, an endless train of exciting
images
without purpose or repose; or even worse, the straining effort to
pursue
some vague and shadowy conception which evades us ever as we
follow, but
which mingles with all around and about us, haunting us at
midnight as in
the noontime. Of this nature was a vision which came constantly
before
me, till at length, by its very recurrence, it assumed a kind of
real and
palpable existence; and as I watched it, my heart thrilled with
the high
ardor of enthusiasm and delight, or sunk into the dark abyss of
sorrow and
despair. "The dawning of morning, the daylight sinking," brought
no other
image to my aching sight; and of this alone, of all the
impressions of the
period, has my mind retained any consciousness.
Methought I stood within an old and venerable cathedral, where
the dim
yellow light fell with a rich but solemn glow upon the fretted
capitals,
or the grotesque tracings of the oaken carvings, lighting up the
fading
gildings of the stately monuments, and tinting the varied hues of
time-worn
banners. The mellow notes of a deep organ filled the air, and
seemed to
attune the sense to all the awe and reverence of the place, where
the very
footfall, magnified by its many echoes, seemed half a
profanation. I stood
before an altar, beside me a young and lovely girl, whose bright
brown
tresses waved in loose masses upon a neck of snowy whiteness; her
hand,
cold and pale, rested within my own; we knelt together, not in
prayer, but
a feeling of deep reverence stole over my heart, as she repeated
some few
half-uttered words after me; I knew that she was mine. Oh, the
ecstasy of
that moment, as, springing to my feet, I darted forward to press
her to my
heart! When, suddenly, an arm was interposed between us, while a
low but
solemn voice rang in my ears, "Stir not; for thou art false and
traitorous,
thy vow a perjury, and thy heart a lie!" Slowly and silently the
fair form
of my loved Lucy—for it was her—receded from my sight. One
look, one last
look of sorrow—it was scarce reproach—fell upon me, and I sank
back upon
the cold pavement, broken-hearted and forsaken.
This dream came with daybreak, and with the calm repose of
evening; the
still hours of the waking night brought no other image to my
eyes, and when
its sad influence had spread a gloom and desolation over my
wounded heart,
a secret hope crept over me, that again the bright moment of
happiness
would return, and once more beside that ancient altar I'd kneel
beside my
bride, and call her mine.
For the rest, my memory retains but little; the kind looks
which came
around my bedside brought but a brief pleasure, for in their
affectionate
beaming I could read the gloomy prestige of my fate. The hurried
but
cautious step, the whispered sentences, the averted gaze of those
who
sorrowed for me, sunk far deeper into my heart than my friends
then thought
of. Little do they think, who minister to the sick or dying, how
each
passing word, each flitting glance is noted, and how the pale and
stilly
figure which lies all but lifeless before them counts over the
hours he has
to live by the smiles or tears around him!
Hours, days, weeks rolled over, and still my fate hung in the
balance; and
while in the wild enthusiasm of my erring faculties, I wandered
far in
spirit from my bed of suffering and pain, some well-remembered
voice beside
me would strike upon my ear, bringing me back, as if by magic, to
all the
realities of life, and investing my almost unconscious state with
all the
hopes and fears about me.
One by one, at length, these fancies fled from me, and to the
delirium of
fever succeeded the sad and helpless consciousness of illness,
far, far
more depressing; for as the conviction of sense came back, the
sorrowful
aspect of a dreary future came with it.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE VILLA.
The gentle twilight of an autumnal evening, calm, serene, and
mellow, was
falling as I opened my eyes to consciousness of life and being,
and looked
around me. I lay in a large and handsomely-furnished apartment,
in which
the hand of taste was as evident in all the decorations as the
unsparing
employment of wealth; the silk draperies of my bed, the inlaid
tables, the
ormolu ornaments which glittered upon the chimney, were one by
one so many
puzzles to my erring senses, and I opened and shut my eyes again
and again,
and essayed by every means in my power to ascertain if they were
not the
visionary creations of a fevered mind. I stretched out my hands
to feel the
objects; and even while holding the freshly-plucked flowers in my
grasp I
could scarce persuade myself that they were real. A thrill of
pain at this
instant recalled me to other thoughts, and I turned my eyes upon
my wounded
arm, which, swollen and stiffened, lay motionless beside me.
Gradually, my
memory came back, and to my weak faculties some passages of my
former
life were presented, not collectedly it is true, nor in any
order, but
scattered, isolated scenes. While such thoughts flew past, my
ever-rising
question to myself was, "Where am I now?" The vague feeling which
illness
leaves upon the mind, whispered to me of kind looks and soft
voices; and
I had a dreamy consciousness about me of being watched and cared
for, but
wherefore, or by whom, I knew not.
From a partly open door which led into a garden, a mild and
balmy air
fanned my temples and soothed my heated brow; and as the light
curtain
waved to and fro with the breeze, the odor of the rose and the
orange-tree
filled the apartment.
There is something in the feeling of weakness which succeeds
to long
illness of the most delicious and refined enjoyment. The spirit
emerging as
it were from the thraldom of its grosser prison, rises high and
triumphant
above the meaner thoughts and more petty ambitions of daily life.
Purer
feelings, more ennobling hopes succeed; and dreams of our
childhood,
mingling with our promises for the future, make up an ideal
existence
in which the low passions and cares of ordinary life enter not or
are
forgotten. 'Tis then we learn to hold converse with ourselves;
'tis then we
ask how has our manhood performed the promises of its youth, or
have our
ripened prospects borne out the pledges of our boyhood? 'Tis
then, in
the calm justice of our lonely hearts, we learn how our failures
are but
another name for our faults, and that what we looked on as the
vicissitudes
of fortune are but the fruits of our own vices. Alas, how
short-lived are
such intervals! Like the fitful sunshine in the wintry sky, they
throw one
bright and joyous tint over the dark landscape: for a moment the
valley and
the mountain-top are bathed in a ruddy glow; the leafless tree
and the dark
moss seem to feel a touch of spring; but the next instant it is
past; the
lowering clouds and dark shadows intervene, and the cold blast,
the moaning
wind, and the dreary waste are once more before us.
I endeavored to recall the latest events of my career, but in
vain; the
real and the visionary were inextricably mingled, and the scenes
of my
campaigns were blended with hopes and fears and doubts which had
no
existence save in my dreams. My curiosity to know where I was
grew now my
strongest feeling, and I raised myself with one arm to look
around me. In
the room all was still and silent, but nothing seemed to intimate
what I
sought for. As I looked, however, the wind blew back the curtain
which
half-concealed the sash-door, and disclosed to me the figure of a
man
seated at a table; his back was towards me, but his broad
sombrero hat
and brown mantle bespoke his nation; the light blue curl of
smoke
which wreathed gently upwards, and the ample display of
long-necked,
straw-wrapped flasks, also attested that he was enjoying himself
with true
Peninsular gusto, having probably partaken of a long siesta.
It was a perfect picture in its way of the indolent luxury of
the
South,—the rich and perfumed flowers, half-closing to the night
air, but
sighing forth a perfumed buonas noches as they betook
themselves to rest;
the slender shadows of the tall shrubs, stretching motionless
across the
walks; the very attitude of the figure himself was in keeping as
supported
by easy chairs he lounged at full length, raising his head ever
and anon as
if to watch the wreath of eddying smoke as it rose upwards from
his cigar
and melted away in the distance.
[MR. FREE TURNED SPANIARD.]
"Yes", thought I, as I looked for some time, "such is the very
type of his
nation. Surrounded by every luxury of climate, blessed with all
that earth
can offer of its best and fairest, and yet only using such gifts
as mere
sensual gratifications." Starting with this theme, I wove a whole
story for
the unknown personage whom, in my wandering fancy, I began by
creating
a grandee of Portugal, invested with rank honors, and riches; but
who,
effeminated by the habits and usages of his country, had become
the mere
idle voluptuary, living a life of easy and inglorious indolence.
My further
musings were interrupted at this moment for the individual to
whom I
had been so complimentary in my revery, slowly arose from his
recumbent
position, flung his loose mantle carelessly across his left
shoulder, and
pushing open the sash-door, entered my chamber. Directing his
steps to a
large mirror, he stood for some minutes contemplating himself
with what,
from his attitude, I judged to be no small satisfaction. Though
his back
was still towards me, and the dim twilight of the room too
uncertain to see
much, yet I could perceive that he was evidently admiring himself
in the
glass. Of this fact I had soon the most complete proof; for as I
looked,
he slowly raised his broad-leafed Spanish hat with an air of most
imposing
pretension, and bowed reverently to himself.
"Come sta vostra senoria?" said he.
The whole gesture and style of this proceeding struck me as so
ridiculous,
that in spite of all my efforts I could scarcely repress a laugh.
He turned
quickly round and approached the bed. The deep shadow of the
sombrero
darkened the upper part of his features, but I could distinguish
a pair of
fierce-looking mustaches beneath, which curled upwards towards
his eyes,
while a stiff point beard stuck straight from his chin. Fearing
lest my
rude interruption had been overheard, I was framing some polite
speech in
Portuguese, when he opened the dialogue by asking in that
language how I
did.
I replied, and was about to ask some questions relative to
where, and
under whose protection I then was, when my grave-looking friend,
giving a
pirouette upon one leg, sent his hat flying into the air, and
cried out in
a voice that not even my memory could fail to recognize,—
"By the rock of Cashel he's cured!—he's cured!—the fever's
over! Oh,
Master Charles, dear! oh, Master, darling, and you ain't mad,
after all?"
"Mad! no, faith! but I shrewdly suspect you must be."
"Oh, devil a taste! But spake to me, honey; spake to me, acushla!"
"Where am I? Whose house is this? What do you mean by that
disguise, that
beard—"
"Whisht, I'll tell you all, av you have patience? But are you
cured? Tell
me that first. Sure they was going to cut the arm off you, till
you got out
of bed, and with your pistols, sent them flying, one out of the
window and
the other down-stairs; and I bate the little chap with the saw
myself till
he couldn't know himself in the glass."
While Mike ran on at this rate, I never took my eyes from him,
and it was
all my poor faculties were equal to, to convince myself that the
whole
scene was not some vision of a wandering intellect. Gradually,
however, the
well-known features recalled me to myself, and as my doubts gave
way at
length, I laughed long and heartily at the masquerade absurdity
of his
appearance.
Mike, meanwhile, whose face expressed no small mistrust at the
sincerity of
my mirth, having uncloaked himself, proceeded to lay aside his
beard and
mustaches, saying, as he did so,—
"There now, darling; there now, Master, dear,—don't be
grinning that
way,—I'll not be a Portigee any more, av you'll be quiet and
listen to
reason."
"But, Mike, where am I? Answer me that one question."
"You're at home, dear; where else would you be?"
"At home?" said I, with a start, as my eye ranged over the
various articles
of luxury and elegance around, so unlike the more simple and
unpretending
features of my uncle's house,—"at home?"
"Ay, just so; sure, isn't it the same thing. It's ould Don
Emanuel that
owns it; and won't it be your own when you're married to that
lovely
crayture herself?"
I started up, and placing my hand upon my throbbing temples,
asked myself
if I were really awake, or if some flight of fancy had not
carried me away
beyond the bounds of reason and sense. "Go on, go on!" said I, at
length,
in a hollow voice, anxious to gather from his words something
like a clew
to this mystery. "How did this happen?"
"Av ye mean how you came here, faith, it was just this way.
After you got
the fever, and beat the doctors, devil a one would go near you
but myself
and the major."
"The major,—Major Monsoon?"
"No, Major Power himself. Well, he told your friends up here
how it was
going very hard with you, and that you were like to die; and the
same
evening they sent down a beautiful litter, as like a hearse as
two peas,
for you, and brought you up here in state,—devil a thing was
wanting but
a few people to raise the cry to make it as fine a funeral as
ever I seen.
And sure, I set up a whillilew myself in the Black Horse Square,
and the
devils only laughed at me.
"Well, you see they put you into a beautiful, elegant bed, and
the young
lady herself sat down beside you, betune times fanning you with a
big
fan, and then drying her eyes, for she was weeping like a
waterfall. 'Don
Miguel,' says she to me,—for ye see, I put your cloak on by
mistake when I
was leaving the quarters,—'Don Miguel, questa hidalgo é
vostro amigo?'
"'My most particular friend,' says I; 'God spare him many years to be so.'
"'Then take up your quarters here,' says she, 'and don't leave
him; we'll
do everything in our power to make you comfortable.'
"'I'm not particular,' says I; 'the run of the house—'
"Then this is the Villa Nuova?" said I, with a faint sigh.
"The same," replied Mike; "and a sweet place it is for eating
and
drinking,—for wine in buckets full, av ye axed for it, for
dancing and
singing every evening, with as pretty craytures as ever I set
eyes upon.
Upon my conscience, it's as good as Galway; and good manners it
is they
have. What's more, none of your liberties or familiarities with
strangers;
but it's Don Miguel, devil a less. 'Don Miguel, av it's plazing
to you to
take a drop of Xeres before your meat?' or, 'Would you have a
shaugh of a
pipe or cigar when you're done?' That's the way of it."
"And Sir George Dashwood," said I, "has he been here? Has he
inquired for
me?"
"Every day either himself or one of the staff comes galloping
up at
luncheon time to ask after you; and then they have a bit of
tender
discourse with the senhora herself. Oh, devil a bit need ye fear
them,
she's true blue; and it isn't the major's fault,—upon my
conscience it
isn't,—for he does be coming the blarney over her in beautiful
style."
"Does Miss Dashwood ever visit here?" said I, with a voice
faltering and
uncertain enough to have awakened suspicion in a more practised
observer.
"Never once; and that's what I call unnatural behavior, after
you saving
her life; and if she wasn't—"
"Be silent, I say."
"Well, well, there, I won't say any more; and sure it's time
for me to be
putting on my beard again. I'm going to the Casino with Catrina,
and sure
it's with real ladies I might be going av it wasn't for Major
Power, that
told them I wasn't a officer; but it's all right again. I gave
them a great
history of the Frees from the time of Cuilla na Toole, that was
one of the
family and a cousin of Moses, I believe; and they behave well to
one that
comes from an ould stock."
"Don Miguel! Don Miguel!" said a voice from the garden.
"I'm coming, my angel! I'm coming, my turtle-dove!" said Mike,
arranging
his mustaches and beard with amazing dexterity. "Ah, but it would
do your
heart good av you could take a peep at us about twelve o'clock,
dancing
'Dirty James' for a bolero, and just see Miss Catrina, the lady's
maid,
doing 'cover the buckle' as neat as Nature. There now, there's
the lemonade
near your hand, and I'll leave you the lamp, and you may go
asleep as soon
as you please, for Miss Inez won't come in to-night to play the
guitar, for
the doctor said it might do you harm now."
So saying, and before I could summon presence of mind to ask
another
question, Don Miguel wrapped himself in the broad folds of his
Spanish
cloak, and strode from the room with the air of an hidalgo.
I slept but little that night; the full tide of memory,
rushing in upon me,
brought back the hour of my return to Lisbon and the wreck of all
my hopes,
which from the narrative of my servant I now perceived to be
complete. I
dare not venture upon recording how many plans suggested
themselves to my
troubled spirit, and were in turn rejected. To meet Lucy
Dashwood; to make
a full and candid declaration; to acknowledge that flirtation
alone with
Donna Inez (a mere passing, boyish flirtation) had given the
coloring to
my innocent passion, and that in heart and soul I was hers, and
hers
only,—this was my first resolve; but alas! if I had not courage
to sustain
a common interview, to meet her in the careless crowd of a
drawing-room,
what could I do under circumstances like these? Besides, the
matter would
be cut very short by her coolly declaring that she had neither
right nor
inclination to listen to such a declaration. The recollection of
her look
as she passed me to her carriage came flashing across my brain
and decided
this point. No, no! I'll not encounter that; however appearances
for the
moment had been against me, she should not have treated me thus
coldly and
disdainfully. It was quite clear she had never cared for
me,—wounded pride
had been her only feeling; and so as I reasoned I ended by
satisfying
myself that in that quarter all was at end forever.
Now then for dilemma number two, I thought. The senhora, my
first impulse
was one of anything but gratitude to her by whose kind, tender
care my
hours of pain and suffering had been soothed and alleviated. But
for her,
I should have been spared all my present embarrassment, all my
shipwrecked
fortunes; but for her I should now be the aide-de-camp residing
in Sir
George Dashwood's own house, meeting with Lucy every hour of the
day,
dining beside her, riding out with her, pressing my suit by every
means and
with every advantage of my position; but for her and her dark
eyes—and,
by-the-bye, what eyes they are! how full of brilliancy, yet how
teeming
with an expression of soft and melting sweetness; and her mouth,
too,
how perfectly chiselled those full lips,—how different from the
cold,
unbending firmness of Miss Dashwood's! Not but I have seen Lucy
smile too,
and what a sweet smile! How it lighted up her fair cheek, and
made her blue
eyes darken and deepen till they looked like heaven's own vault.
Yes, there
is more poetry in a blue eye. But still Inez is a very lovely
girl, and
her foot never was surpassed. She is a coquette, too, about that
foot and
ankle,—I rather like a woman to be so. What a sensation she
would make in
England; how she would be the rage! And then I thought of home
and Galway,
and the astonishment of some, the admiration of others, as I
presented her
as my wife,—the congratulations of my friends, the wonder of the
men, the
tempered envy of the women. Methought I saw my uncle, as he
pressed her in
his arms, say, "Yes, Charley, this is a prize worth campaigning
for."
The stray sounds of a guitar which came from the garden broke
in upon my
musings at this moment. It seemed as if a finger was straying
heedlessly
across the strings. I started up, and to my surprise perceived it
was Inez.
Before I had time to collect myself, a gentle tap at the window
aroused me;
it opened softly, while from an unseen hand a bouquet of fresh
flowers was
thrown upon my bed. Before I could collect myself to speak, the
sash closed
again and I was alone.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE VISIT.
Mike's performances at the masquerade had doubtless been of
the most
distinguished character, and demanded a compensating period of
repose, for
he did not make his appearance the entire morning. Towards noon,
however,
the door from the garden gently opened, and I heard a step upon
the stone
terrace, and something which sounded to my ears like the clank of
a sabre.
I lifted my head, and saw Fred Power beside me.
I shall spare my readers the recital of my friend, which,
however, more
full and explanatory of past events, contained in reality little
more than
Mickey Free had already told me. In fine, he informed me that our
army, by
a succession of retreating movements, had deserted the northern
provinces,
and now occupied the intrenched lines of Torres Vedras. That
Massena, with
a powerful force, was still in march, reinforcements daily
pouring in
upon him, and every expectation pointing to the probability that
he would
attempt to storm our position.
"The wise-heads," remarked Power, "talk of our speedy
embarkation, the
sanguine and the hot-brained rave of a great victory and the
retreat of
Massena; but I was up at headquarters last week with despatches,
and saw
Lord Wellington myself."
"Well, what did you make out? Did he drop any hint of his own views?"
"Faith, I can't say he did. He asked me some questions about
the troops
just landed; he spoke a little of the commissary department,
damned the
blankets, said that green forage was bad food for the artillery
horses,
sent me an English paper to read about the O. P. riots, and said
the
harriers would throw off about six o'clock, and that he hoped to
see me at
dinner."
I could not restrain a laugh at Power's catalogue of his
lordship's topics.
"So," said I, "he at least does not take any gloomy views of our
present
situation."
"Who can tell what he thinks? He's ready to fight if fighting
will do
anything, and to retreat, if that be better. But that he'll sleep
an hour
less, or drink a glass of claret more—come what will of it—I'll
believe
from no man living.
"We've lost one gallant thing in any case, Charley," resumed
Power. "Busaco
was, I'm told, a glorious day, and our people were in the heat of
it. So
that, if we do leave the Peninsula now, that will be a confounded
chagrin.
Not for you, my poor fellow, for you could not stir; but I was so
cursed
foolish to take the staff appointment,—thus one folly ever
entails
another."
There was a tone of bitterness in which these words were
uttered that left
no doubt upon my mind some arrière pensée
remained lurking behind them.
My eyes met his; he bit his lip, and coloring deeply, rose from
the chair,
and walked towards the window.
The chance allusion of my man Mike flashed upon me at the
moment, and I
dared not trust myself to break silence. I now thought I could
trace in my
friend's manner less of that gay and careless buoyancy which ever
marked
him. There was a tone, it seemed, of more grave and sombre
character, and
even when he jested, the smile his features bore was not his
usual frank
and happy one, and speedily gave way to an expression I had never
before
remarked. Our silence which had now lasted for some minutes was
becoming
embarrassing; that strange consciousness that, to a certain
extent, we were
reading each other's thoughts, made us both cautious of breaking
it; and
when at length, turning abruptly round, he asked, "When I hoped
to be up
and about again?" I felt my heart relieved from I knew not well
what load
of doubt and difficulty that oppressed it. We chatted on for some
little
time longer, the news of Lisbon, and the daily gossip finishing
our topics.
"Plenty of gayety, Charley, dinners and balls to no end! so
get well, my
boy, and make the most of it."
"Yes," I replied, "I'll do my best; but be assured the first
use I'll make
of health will be to join the regiment. I am heartily ashamed of
myself for
all I have lost already,—though not altogether my fault."
"And will you really join at once?" said Power, with a look of
eager
anxiety I could not possibly account for.
"Of course I will; what have I, what can I have to detain me here?"
What reply he was about to make at this moment I know not, but
the door
opened, and Mike announced Sir George Dashwood.
"Gently, my worthy man, not so loud, if you please?" said the
mild voice of
the general, as he stepped noiselessly across the room, evidently
shocked
at the indiscreet tone of my follower. "Ah, Power, you here! and
our poor
friend, how is he?"
"Able to answer for himself at last, Sir George," said I,
grasping his
proffered hand.
"My poor lad! you've had a long bout of it; but you've saved
your arm, and
that's well worth the lost time. Well, I've come to bring you
good news;
there's been a very sharp cavalry affair, and our fellows have
been the
conquerors."
"There again, Power,—listen to that! We are losing everything!"
"Not so, not so, my boy," said Sir George, smiling blandly,
but archly.
"There are conquests to be won here, as well as there; and in
your present
state, I rather think you better fitted for such as these."
Power's brow grew clouded; he essayed a smile, but it failed,
and he rose
and hurried towards the window.
As for me, my confusion must have led to a very erroneous
impression of my
real feelings, and I perceived Sir George anxious to turn the
channel of
the conversation.
"You see but little of your host, O'Malley," he resumed; "he
is ever from
home; but I believe nothing could be kinder than his arrangements
for you.
You are aware that he kidnapped you from us? I had sent Forbes
over to
bring you to us; your room was prepared, everything in readiness,
when he
met your man Mike, setting forth upon a mule, who told him you
had just
taken your departure for the villa. We both had our claim upon
you and, I
believe, pretty much on the same score. By-the-bye, you have not
seen Lucy
since your arrival. I never knew it till yesterday, when I asked
if she did
not find you altered."
I blundered out some absurd reply, blushed, corrected myself,
and got
confused. Sir George attributing this, doubtless, to my weak
state, rose
soon after, and taking Power along with him, remarked as he left
the
room,—
"We are too much for him yet, I see that; so we'll leave him
quiet some
time longer."
Thanking him in my heart for his true appreciation of my
state, I sank back
upon my pillow to think over all I had heard and seen.
"Well, Mister Charles," said Mike as he came forward with a
smile, "I
suppose you heard the news? The Fourteenth bate the French down
at Merca
there, and took seventy prisoners; but sure it's little good
it'll do,
after all."
"And why not, Mike?"
"Musha! isn't Boney coming himself? He's bringing all the
Roossians down
with him, and going to destroy us entirely."
"Not at all, man; you mistake. He's nothing to do with Russia,
and has
quite enough on his hands at this moment."
"God grant it was truth you were talking! But, you see, I read
it myself in
the papers (or Sergeant Haggarty did, which is the same thing)
that he's
coming with the Cusacks."
"With who?—with what?"
"With the Cusacks."
"What the devil do you mean? Who are they?"
"Oh, Tower of Ivory! did you never hear of the Cusacks, with
the red beards
and the red breeches and long poles with pike-heads on them, that
does all
the devilment on horseback,—spiking and spitting the people like
larks?"
"The Cossacks, is it, you mean? The Cossacks?"
"Ay, just so, the Cusacks. They're from Clare Island, and
thereabouts; and
there's more of them in Meath. They're my mother's people, and
was always
real devils for fighting."
I burst out into an immoderate fit of laughing at Mike's
etymology, which
thus converted Hetman Platoff into a Galway man.
"Oh, murder! isn't it cruel to hear you laugh that way! There
now, alanna!
be asy, and I'll tell you more news. We've the house to ourselves
to-day.
The ould gentleman's down at Behlem, and the daughter's in
Lisbon, making
great preparations for a grand ball they're to give when you are
quite
well."
"I hope I shall be with the army in a few days, Mike; and
certainly, if I'm
able to move about, I'll not remain longer in Lisbon."
"Arrah, don't say so, now! When was you ever so comfortable?
Upon my
conscience, it's more like Paradise than anything else. If ye see
the
dinner we sit down to every day; and as for drink,—if it wasn't
that I
sleep on a ground-floor, I'd seldom see a blanket!"
"Well, certainly, Mike, I agree with you, these are hard
things to tear
ourselves away from."
"Aren't they now, sir? And then Miss Catherine, I'm taching her Irish!"
"Teaching her Irish! for Heaven's sake, what use can she make of Irish?"
"Ah, the crayture, she doesn't know better; and as she was
always bothering
me to learn her English, I promised one day to do it; but ye see,
somehow,
I never was very proficient in strange tongues; so I thought to
myself
Irish will do as well. So, you perceive, we're taking a course of
Irish
literature, as Mr. Lynch says in Athlone; and, upon my
conscience, she's an
apt scholar."
"'Good-morning to you, Katey,' says Mr. Power to her the other
day, as he
passed through the hall. 'Good-morning, my dear; I hear you speak
English
perfectly now?'
"'Honia mon diaoul,' says she, making a curtsey.
"Be the powers, I thought he'd die with the laughing.
"'Well, my dear, I hope you don't mean it,—do you know what
you're
saying?'
"'Honor bright, Major!' says I,—'honor bright!' and I gave
him a wink at
the same time.
"'Oh, that's it!' said he, 'is it!' and so he went off holding
his hands to
his sides with the bare laughing; and your honor knows it wasn't
a blessing
she wished him, for all that."
CHAPTER XV.
THE CONFESSION.
"What a strange position this of mine!" thought I, a few
mornings after
the events detailed in the last chapter. "How very fascinating in
some
respects, how full of all the charm of romance, and how
confoundly
difficult to see one's way through!"
To understand my cogitation right, figurez-vous, my dear
reader, a large
and splendidly furnished drawing-room, from one end of which an
orangery
in full blossom opens; from the other is seen a delicious little
boudoir,
where books, bronzes, pictures and statues, in all the artistique
disorder
of a lady's sanctum, are bathed in a deep purple light from a
stained glass
window of the seventeenth century.
On a small table beside the wood fire, whose mellow light is
flirting with
the sunbeams upon the carpet, stands an antique silver
breakfast-service,
which none but the hand of Benvenuto could have chiselled; beside
it sits
a girl, young and beautiful; her dark eyes, beaming beneath their
long
lashes, are fixed with an expression of watchful interest upon a
pale and
sickly youth, who, lounging upon a sofa opposite, is carelessly
turning
over the leaves of a new journal, or gazing steadfastly on the
fretted
gothic of the ceiling, while his thoughts are travelling many a
mile away.
The lady being the Senhora Inez; the nonchalant invalid, your
unworthy
acquaintance, Charles O'Malley.
What a very strange position to be sure.
"Then you are not equal to this ball to-night?" said she,
after a pause of
some minutes.
I turned as she spoke; her words had struck audibly upon my
ear, but, lost
in my revery, I could but repeat my own fixed thought,—how
strange to be
so situated!
"You are really very tiresome, Signor; I assure you, you are.
I have
been giving you a most elegant description of the Casino
fête, and the
beautiful costume of our Lisbon belles, but I can get nothing
from you but
this muttered something, which may be very shocking for aught I
know. I'm
sure your friend, Major Power, would be much more attentive to
me; that
is," added she, archly, "if Miss Dashwood were not present."
"What! why! You don't mean that there is anything there—that
Tower is
paying attention to—"
"Madre divina, how that seems to interest you, and how red
you are! If it
were not that you never met her before, and that your
acquaintance did not
seem to make rapid progress, then I should say you are in love
with her
yourself."
I had to laugh at this, but felt my face flushing more. "And
so," said I,
affecting a careless and indifferent tone, "the gay Fred Power is
smitten
at last!"
"Was it so very difficult a thing to accomplish?" said she, slyly.
"He seems to say so, at least. And the lady, how does she
appear to receive
his attentions?"
"Oh, I should say with evident pleasure and satisfaction, as
all girls do
the advances of men they don't care for, nor intend to care
for."
"Indeed," said I, slowly, "indeed, Senhora?" looking into her
eyes as I
spoke, as if to read if the lesson were destined for my
benefit.
"There, don't stare so!—every one knows that."
"So you don't think, then, that Lucy,—I mean Miss
Dashwood—Why are you
laughing so?"
"How can I help it; your calling her Lucy is so good, I wish
she heard it;
she's the very proudest girl I ever knew."
"But to come back; you really think she does not care for him?"
"Not more than for you; and I may be pardoned for the simile,
having seen
your meeting. But let me give you the news of our own
fête. Saturday is
the day fixed; and you must be quite well,—I insist upon it.
Miss Dashwood
has promised to come,—no small concession; for after all she has
never
once been here since the day you frightened her. I can't help
laughing at
my blunder,—the two people I had promised myself should fall
desperately
in love with each other, and who will scarcely meet."
"But I trusted," said I, pettishly, "that you were not
disposed to resign
your own interest in me?"
"Neither was I," said she, with an easy smile, "except that I
have so many
admirers. I might even spare to my friends; though after all I
should be
sorry to lose you, I like you."
"Yes," said I half bitterly, "as girls do those they never
intend to care
for; is it not so?"
"Perhaps, yes, and perhaps—But is it going to rain? How
provoking! and I
have ordered my horse. Well, Signor Carlos, I leave you to your
delightful
newspaper, and all the magnificent descriptions of battles and
sieges and
skirmishes of which you seem doomed to pine without ceasing.
There, don't
kiss my hand twice; that's not right."
"Well, let me begin again—"
"I shall not breakfast with you any more. But tell me, am I to
order a
costume for you in Lisbon; or will you arrange all that yourself?
You must
come to the fête, you know."
"If you would be so very kind."
"I will, then, be so very kind; and once more, adios." So
saying, and
with a slight motion of her hand, she smiled a good-by, and left
me.
"What a lovely girl!" thought I, as I rose and walked to the
window,
muttering to myself Othello's line, and—
"When I love thee not, chaos is come again."
In fact, it was the perfect expression of my feeling; the only
solution
to all the difficulties surrounding me, being to fall
desperately,
irretrievably in love with the fair senhora, which, all things
considered,
was not a very desperate resource for a gentleman in trouble. As
I thought
over the hopelessness of one attachment, I turned calmly to
consider all
the favorable points of the other. She was truly beautiful,
attractive in
every sense; her manner most fascinating, and her disposition, so
far as
I could pronounce, perfectly amiable. I felt already something
more than
interest about her; how very easy would be the transition to a
stronger
feeling! There was an éclat, too, about being her
accepted lover that had
its charm. She was the belle par excellence of Lisbon; and then
a sense
of pique crossed my mind as I reflected what would Lucy say of
him whom
she had slighted and insulted, when he became the husband of the
beautiful
millionnaire Senhora Inez?
As my meditations had reached thus far, the door opened
stealthily, and
Catherine appeared, her finger upon her lips, and her gesture
indicating
caution. She carried on her arm a mass of drapery covered by a
large
mantle, which throwing off as she entered, she displayed before
me a rich
blue domino with silver embroidery. It was large and loose in its
folds, so
as thoroughly to conceal the figure of any wearer. This she held
up before
me for an instant without speaking; when at length, seeing my
curiosity
fully excited, she said,—
"This is the senhora's domino. I should be ruined if she knew
I showed it;
but I promised—that is, I told—"
"Yes, yes, I understand," relieving her embarrassment about
the source of
her civilities; "go on."
"Well, there are several others like it, but with this small
difference,
instead of a carnation, which all the others have embroidered
upon the
cuff, I have made it a rose,—you perceive? La Senhora knows
nothing of
this,—none save yourself knows it. I'm sure I may trust you with
the
secret."
"Fear not in the least, Catherine; you have rendered me a
great service.
Let me look at it once more; ah, there's no difficulty in
detecting it. And
you are certain she is unaware of it?"
"Perfectly so; she has several other costumes, but in this one
I know she
intends some surprise, so be upon your guard."
With these words, carefully once more concealing the rich
dress beneath the
mantle, she withdrew; while I strolled forth to wonder what
mystery might
lie beneath this scheme, and speculate how far I myself was
included in the
plot she spoke of.
For the few days which succeeded, I passed my time much alone.
The senhora
was but seldom at home; and I remarked that Power rarely came to
see me. A
strange feeling of half-coolness had latterly grown between us,
and instead
of the open confidence we formerly indulged in when together, we
appeared
now rather to chat over things of mere every-day interest than of
our own
immediate plans and prospects. There was a kind of
pre-occupation, too, in
his manner that struck me; his mind seemed ever straying from the
topics he
talked of to something remote, and altogether, he was no longer
the frank
and reckless dragoon I had ever known him. What could be the
meaning of
this change? Had he found out by any accident that I was to blame
in my
conduct towards Lucy; had any erroneous impression of my
interview with her
reached his ears? This was most improbable; besides, there was
nothing in
that to draw down his censure or condemnation, however
represented; and was
it that he was himself in love with her, that, devoted heart and
soul to
Lucy, he regarded me as a successful rival, preferred before him!
Oh, how
could I have so long blinded myself to the fact! This was the
true solution
of the whole difficulty. I had more than once suspected this to
be so; now
all the circumstances of proof poured in upon me. I called to
mind his
agitated manner the night of my arrival in Lisbon, his thousand
questions
concerning the reasons of my furlough; and then, lately, the look
of
unfeigned pleasure with which he heard me resolve to join my
regiment the
moment I was sufficiently recovered. I remembered also how
assiduously he
pressed his intimacy with the senhora, Lucy's dearest friend
here; his
continual visits at the villa; those long walks in the garden,
where his
very look betokened some confidential mission of the heart. Yes,
there was
no doubt of it, he loved Lucy Dashwood! Alas, there seemed to be
no end to
the complication of my misfortunes; one by one I appeared fated
to lose
whatever had a hold upon my affections, and to stand alone,
unloved and
uncared for in the world. My thoughts turned towards the senhora,
but
I could not deceive myself into any hope there. My own feelings
were
untouched, and hers I felt to be equally so. Young as I was,
there was no
mistaking the easy smile of coquetry, the merry laugh of
flattered vanity,
for a deeper and holier feeling. And then I did not wish it
otherwise. One
only had taught me to feel how ennobling, how elevating in all
its impulses
can be a deep-rooted passion for a young and beautiful girl! From
her
eyes alone had I caught the inspiration that made me pant for
glory and
distinction. I could not transfer the allegiance of my heart,
since it had
taught that very heart to beat high and proudly. Lucy, lost to me
forever
as she must be, was still more than any other woman ever could
be; all the
past clung to her memory, all the prestige of the future must
point to it
also.
And Power, why had he not trusted, why had he not confided in
me? Was this
like my old and tried friend? Alas! I was forgetting that in his
eye I was
the favored rival, and not the despised, rejected suitor.
"It is past now," thought I, as I rose and walked into the
garden; "the
dream that made life a fairy tale is dispelled; the cold reality
of the
world is before me, and my path lies a lonely and solitary one."
My first
resolution was to see Power, and relieve his mind of any
uneasiness as
regarded my pretentions; they existed no longer. As for me, I was
no
obstacle to his happiness; it was, then, but fair and honorable
that I
should tell him so; this done, I should leave Lisbon at once. The
cavalry
had for the most part been ordered to the rear; still there was
always
something going forward at the outposts.
The idea of active service, the excitement of a campaigning
life, cheered
me, and I advanced along the dark alley of the garden with a
lighter and a
freer heart. My resolves were not destined to meet delay; as I
turned the
angle of a walk, Power was before me. He was leaning against a
tree, his
hands crossed upon his bosom, his head bowed forward, and his
whole air and
attitude betokening deep reflection.
He started as I came up, and seemed almost to change color.
"Well, Charley," said he, after a moment's pause, "you look
better this
morning. How goes the arm?"
"The arm is ready for service again, and its owner most
anxious for it. Do
you know, Fred, I'm thoroughly weary of this life."
"They're little better, however, at the lines. The French are
in position,
but never adventure a movement; and except some few affairs at
the pickets,
there is really nothing to do."
"No matter, remaining here can never serve one's interests,
and besides, I
have accomplished what I came for—"
I was about to add, "the restoration of my health," when he
suddenly
interrupted me, eying me fixedly as he spoke.
"Indeed! indeed! Is that so?"
"Yes," said I, half puzzled at the tone and manner of the
speech; "I can
join now when I please; meanwhile, Fred, I have been thinking of
you. Yes,
don't be surprised, at the very moment we met you were in my
thoughts."
I took his arm as I said this, and led him down the alley.
"We are too old and, I trust, too true friends, Fred, to have
secrets from
each other, and yet we have been playing this silly game for some
weeks
past. Now, my dear fellow, I have yours, and it is only fair
justice you
should have mine, and, faith, I feel you'd have discovered it
long since,
had your thoughts been as free as I have known them to be. Fred,
you are in
love; there, don't wince, man, I know it; but hear me out. You
believe me
to be so also; nay, more, you think that my chances of success
are better,
stronger than your own; learn, then, that I have
none,—absolutely none.
Don't interrupt me now, for this avowal cuts me deeply; my own
heart alone
knows what I suffer as I record my wrecked fortunes; but I repeat
it, my
hopes are at end forever; but, Fred, my boy, I cannot lose my
friend too.
If I have been the obstacle to your path, I am so no more. Ask me
not why;
it is enough that I speak in all truth and sincerity. Ere three
days I
shall leave this, and with it all the hopes that once beamed upon
my
fortunes, and all the happiness,—nay, not all, my boy, for I
feel some
thrill at my heart yet, as I think that I have been true to
you."
I know not what more I spoke nor how he replied to me. I felt
the warm
grasp of his hand, I saw his delighted smile; the words of
grateful
acknowledgment his lips uttered conveyed but an imperfect meaning
to my
ear, and I remembered no more.
The courage which sustained me for the moment sank gradually
as I meditated
over my avowal, and I could scarce help accusing Power of a
breach of
friendship for exacting a confession which, in reality, I had
volunteered
to give him. How Lucy herself would think of my conduct was ever
occurring
to my thoughts, and I felt, as I ruminated upon the conjectures
it might
give rise to, how much more likely a favorable opinion might now
be formed
of me, than when such an estimation could have crowned me with
delight.
"Yes," thought I, "she will at last learn to know him who
loved her with
truth and with devoted affection; and when the blight of all his
hopes is
accomplished, the fair fame of his fidelity will be proved. The
march,
the bivouac, the battle-field, are now all to me; and the
campaign alone
presents a prospect which may fill up the aching void that
disappointed and
ruined hopes have left behind them."
How I longed for the loud call of the trumpet, the clash of
the steel, the
tramp of the war-horse; though the proud distinction of a
soldier's life
were less to me in the distance than the mad and whirlwind
passion of a
charge, and the loud din of the rolling artillery.
It was only some hours after, as I sat alone in my chamber,
that all the
circumstances of our meeting came back clearly to my memory, and
I could
not help muttering to myself,—
"It is indeed a hard lot, that to cheer the heart of my
friend, I must bear
witness to the despair that shed darkness on my own."
CHAPTER XVI.
MY CHARGER.
Although I felt my heart relieved of a heavy load by the
confession I had
made to Power, yet still I shrank from meeting him for some days
after;
a kind of fear lest he should in any way recur to our
conversation
continually beset me, and I felt that the courage which bore me
up for my
first effort would desert me on the next occasion.
My determination to join my regiment was now made up, and I
sent forward a
resignation of my appointment to Sir George Dashwood's staff,
which I
had never been in health to fulfil, and commenced with energy all
my
preparations for a speedy departure.
The reply to my rather formal letter was a most kind note
written by
himself. He regretted the unhappy cause which had so long
separated us, and
though wishing, as he expressed it, to have me near him,
perfectly approved
of my resolution.
"Active service alone, my dear boy, can ever place you in
the
position you ought to occupy; and I rejoice the more at your
decision
in this matter, as I feared the truth of certain reports
here,
which attributed to you other plans than those which a
campaign
suggests. My mind is now easy on this score, and I pray you
forgive
me if my congratulations are mal à propos."
After some hints for my future management, and a promise of
some letters to
his friends at headquarters, he concluded:—
"As this climate does not seem to suit my daughter, I
have
applied for a change, and am in daily hope of obtaining it.
Before
going, however, I must beg your acceptance of the charger
which my
groom will deliver to your servant with this. I was so struck
with
his figure and action that I purchased him before leaving
England
without well knowing why or wherefore. Pray let him see
some
service under your auspices, which he is most unlikely to do
under
mine. He has plenty of bone to be a weight carrier, and they
tell
me also that he has speed enough for anything."
Mike's voice in the lawn beneath interrupted my reading
farther, and on
looking out, I perceived him and Sir George Dashwood's servant
standing
beside a large and striking-looking horse, which they were both
examining
with all the critical accuracy of adepts.
"Arrah, isn't he a darling, a real beauty, every inch of him?"
"That 'ere splint don't signify nothing; he aren't the worse
of it," said
the English groom.
"Of coorse it doesn't," replied Mike. "What a fore-hand, and
the legs,
clean as a whip!"
"There's the best of him, though," interrupted the other,
patting the
strong hind-quarters with his hand. "There's the stuff to push
him along
through heavy ground and carry him over timber."
"Or a stone wall," said Mike, thinking of Galway.
My own impatience to survey my present had now brought me into
the
conclave, and before many minutes were over I had him saddled,
and was
cantering around the lawn with a spirit and energy I had not felt
for
months long. Some small fences lay before me, and over these he
carried me
with all the ease and freedom of a trained hunter. My courage
mounted with
the excitement, and I looked eagerly around for some more bold
and dashing
leap.
"You may take him over the avenue gate," said the English
groom, divining
with a jockey's readiness what I looked for; "he'll do it, never
fear him."
Strange as my equipment was, with an undress jacket flying
loosely open,
and a bare head, away I went. The gate which the groom spoke of
was a
strongly-barred one of oak timber, nearly five feet high,—its
difficulty
as a leap only consisted in the winding approach, and the fact
that it
opened upon a hard road beyond it.
In a second or two a kind of half fear came across me. My long
illness had
unnerved me, and my limbs felt weak and yielding; but as I
pressed into the
canter, that secret sympathy between the horse and his rider shot
suddenly
through me, I pressed my spurs to his flanks, and dashed him at
it.
Unaccustomed to such treatment, the noble animal bounded madly
forward.
With two tremendous plunges he sprang wildly in the air, and
shaking his
long mane with passion, stretched out at the gallop.
[CHARLEY TRYING A CHARGER.]
My own blood boiled now as tempestuously as his; and with a
shout of
reckless triumph, I rose him at the gate. Just at the instant two
figures
appeared before it,—the copse had concealed their approach
hitherto,—but
they stood now as if transfixed. The wild attitude of the horse,
the not
less wild cry of his rider, had deprived them for a time of all
energy; and
overcome by the sudden danger, they seemed rooted to the ground.
What I
said, spoke, begged, or imprecated, Heaven knows—not I. But they
stirred
not! One moment more and they must lie trampled beneath my
horse's
hoofs,—he was already on his haunches for the bound,—when,
wheeling half
aside, I faced him at the wall. It was at least a foot higher and
of solid
stone masonry, and as I did so I felt that I was perilling my
life to save
theirs. One vigorous dash of the spur I gave him, as I lifted him
to the
leap. He bounded beneath it quick as lightning; still, with a
spring like
a rocket, he rose into the air, cleared the wall, and stood
trembling and
frightened on the road outside.
"Safe, by Jupiter! and splendidly done, too," cried a voice
near me, that I
immediately recognized as Sir George Dashwood's.
"Lucy, my love, look up,—Lucy, my dear, there's no danger
now. She has
fainted! O'Malley, fetch some water,—fast. Poor fellow, your own
nerves
seem shaken. Why, you've let your horse go! Come here, for
Heaven's sake!
Support her for an instant. I'll fetch some water."
It appeared to me like a dream; I leaned against the pillar of
the gate;
the cold and death-like features of Lucy Dashwood lay motionless
upon my
arm; her hand, falling heavily upon my shoulder, touched my
cheek. The
tramp of my horse, as he galloped onward, was the only sound that
broke the
silence, as I stood there, gazing steadfastly upon the pale brow
and paler
cheek, down which a solitary tear was slowly stealing. I knew not
how the
minutes passed; my memory took no note of time, but at length a
gentle
tremor thrilled her frame, a slight, scarce-perceptible blush
colored her
fair face, her lips slightly parted, and heaving a deep sigh, she
looked
around her. Gradually her eyes turned and met mine. Oh, the
bliss
unutterable of that moment! It was no longer the look of cold
scorn she had
given me last; the expression was one of soft and speaking
gratitude. She
seemed to read my very heart, and know its truth; there was a
tone of deep
and compassionate interest in the glance; and forgetting
all,—everything
that had passed,—all save my unaltered, unalterable love, I
kneeled beside
her, and in words burning as my own heart burned, poured out my
tale
of mingled sorrow and affection with all the eloquence of
passion. I
vindicated my unshaken faith,—reconciling the conflicting
evidences with
the proofs I proffered of my attachment. If my moments were
measured, I
spent them not idly. I called to witness how every action of my
soldier's
life emanated from her; how her few and chance words had decided
the
character of my fate; if aught of fame or honor were my portion,
to her I
owed it. As, hurried onwards by my ardent hopes, I forgot Power
and all
about him, a step up the gravel walk came rapidly nearer, and I
had but
time to assume my former attitude beside Lucy as her father came
up.
"Well, Charley, is she better? Oh, I see she is. Here, we have
the whole
household at our heels." So saying, he pointed to a string of
servants
pressing eagerly forward with every species of restorative that
Portuguese
ingenuity has invented.
The next moment we were joined by the senhora, who, pale with
fear, seemed
scarcely less in need of assistance than her friend.
Amidst questions innumerable; explanations sought for on all
sides;
mistakes and misconceptions as to the whole occurrence,—we took
our way
towards the villa, Lucy walking between Sir George and Donna
Inez, while I
followed, leaning upon Power's arm.
"They've caught him again, O'Malley," said the general,
turning half round
to me; "he, too, seemed as much frightened as any of us."
"It is time, Sir George, I should think of thanking you. I
never was so
mounted in my life—"
"A splendid charger, by Jove!" said Power; "but, Charley, my
lad, no more
feats of this nature, if you love me. No girl's heart will stand
such
continual assaults as your winning horsemanship submits it
to."
I was about making some half-angry reply, when he continued:
"There, don't
look sulky; I have news for you. Quill has just arrived. I met
him at
Lisbon; he has got leave of absence for a few days, and is coming
to our
masquerade here this evening."
"This evening!" said I, in amazement; "why, is it so soon?"
"Of course it is. Have you not got all your trappings ready?
The Dashwoods
came out here on purpose to spend the day; but come, I'll drive
you into
town. My tilbury is ready, and we'll both look out for our
costumes." So
saying, he led me along towards the house, when, after a rapid
change of my
toilet, we set out for Lisbon.
CHAPTER XVII.
MAURICE.
It seemed a conceded matter between Power and myself that we
should never
recur to the conversation we held in the garden; and so, although
we dined
tête-à-tête that day, neither of us
ventured, by any allusion the most
distant, to advert to what it was equally evident was uppermost
in the
minds of both.
All our endeavors, therefore, to seem easy and unconcerned
were in vain;
a restless anxiety to seem interested about things and persons we
were
totally indifferent to, pervaded all our essays at conversation.
By
degrees, we grew weary of the parts we were acting, and each
relapsed
into a moody silence, thinking over his plans and projects, and
totally
forgetting the existence of the other.
The decanter was passed across the table without speaking, a
half nod
intimated the bottle was standing; and except an occasional
malediction
upon an intractable cigar, nothing was heard.
Such was the agreeable occupation we were engaged in, when,
towards nine
o'clock, the door opened, and the great Maurice himself stood
before us.
"Pleasant fellows, upon my conscience, and jovial over their
liquor!
Confound your smoking! That may do very well in a bivouac. Let us
have
something warm!"
Quill's interruption was a most welcome one to both parties,
and we
rejoiced with a sincere pleasure at his coming.
"What shall it be, Maurice? Port or sherry mulled, and an anchovy?"
"Or what say you to a bowl of bishop?" said I.
"Hurrah for the Church, Charley! Let us have the bishop; and
not to
disparage Fred's taste, we'll be eating the anchovy while the
liquor's
concocting."
"Well, Maurice, and now for the news. How are matters at
Torres Vedras?
Anything like movement in that quarter?"
"Nothing very remarkable. Massena made a reconnoissance some
days since,
and one of our batteries threw a shower of grape among the staff,
which
spoiled the procession, and sent them back in very disorderly
time. Then
we've had a few skirmishes to the front with no great results,—a
few
courts-martial, bad grub, and plenty of grumbling."
"Why, what would they have? It's a great thing to hold the
French army in
check within a few marches of Lisbon."
"Charley, my man, who cares twopence for the French army or
Lisbon or the
Portuguese or the Junta or anything about it?—every man is
pondering over
his own affairs. One fellow wants to get home again, and be sent
upon some
recruiting station. Another wishes to get a step or two in
promotion, to
come to Torres Vedras, where even the grande armée
can't. Then some of us
are in love, and some of us are in debt. Their is neither glory
nor profit
to be had. But here's the bishop, smoking and steaming with an
odor of
nectar!"
"And our fellows, have you seen them lately?"
"I dined with yours on Tuesday. Was it Tuesday? Yes. I dined
with them.
By-the-bye, Sparks was taken prisoner that morning."
"Sparks taken prisoner! Poor fellow. I am sincerely sorry. How
did it
happen, Maurice?"
"Very simply. Sparks had a forage patrol towards Vieda, and
set out early
in the morning with his party. It seemed that they succeeded
perfectly, and
were returning to the lines, when poor Sparks, always susceptible
where the
sex are concerned, saw, or thought he saw, a lattice gently open
as he rode
from the village, and a very taper finger make a signal to him.
Dropping a
little behind the rest, he waited till his men had debouched upon
the road,
when riding quietly up, he coughed a couple of times to attract
the fair
unknown; a handkerchief waved from the lattice in reply, which
was speedily
closed, and our valiant cornet accordingly dismounted and entered
the
house.
"The remainder of the adventure is soon told; for in a few
seconds after,
two men mounted on one horse were seen galloping at top speed
towards the
French lines,—the foremost being a French officer of the 4th
Cuirassiers,
the gentleman with his face to the tail, our friend Sparks; the
lovely
unknown being a, vieille moustache of Loison's corps, who had
been
wounded in a skirmish some days before, and lay waiting an
opportunity of
rejoining his party. One of our prisoners knew this fellow well;
he had
been promoted from the ranks, and was a Hercules for feats of
strength; so
that, after all, Sparks could not help himself."
"Well, I'm really sorry; but as you say, Sparks's tender
nature is always
the ruin of him."
"Of him! ay, and of you; and of Power; and of myself; of all
of us. Isn't
it the sweet creatures that make fools of us from Father Adam
down to
Maurice Quill, neither sparing age nor rank in the service,
half-pay nor
the veteran battalion—it's all one? Pass the jug, there.
O'Shaughnessy—"
"Ah, by-the-bye, how's the major?"
"Charmingly; only a little bit in a scrape just now. Sir
Arthur—Lord
Wellington, I mean—had him up for his fellows being caught
pillaging, and
gave him a devil of a rowing a few days ago.
"'Very disorderly corps yours, Major O'Shaughnessy,' said the
general;
'more men up for punishment than any regiment in the
service.'
"Shaugh muttered something; but his voice was lost in a
loud
cock-a-doo-do-doo, that some bold chanticleer set up at the
moment.
"'If the officers do their duty, Major O'Shaughnessy, these
acts of
insubordination do not occur.'
"'Cock-a-doo-do-doo,' was the reply. Some of the staff found
it hard not to
laugh; but the general went on,—
"'If, therefore, the practice does not cease, I'll draft the
men into West
India regiments.'
"'Cock-a-doo-do-doo.'
"'And if any articles pillaged from the inhabitants are
detected in the
quarters, or about the person of the troops—'
"'Cock-a-doo-do-doo,' screamed louder here than ever.
"'Damn that cock! Where is it?'
"There was a general look around on all sides, which seemed in
vain; when
a tremendous repetition of the cry resounded from O'Shaughnessy's
coat
pocket,—thus detecting the valiant major himself in the very
practice of
his corps. There was no standing this: every one burst out into a
peal of
laughing; and Lord Wellington himself could not resist, but
turned away,
muttering to himself as he went, 'Damned robbers—every man of
them!' while
a final war-note from the major's pocket closed the
interview."
"Confound you, Maurice, you've always some villanous narrative
or other.
You never crossed a street for shelter without making something
out of it."
"True this time, as sure as my name's Maurice; but the bowl is empty."
"Never mind, here comes its successor. How long can you stay among us?"
"A few days at most. Just took a run off to see the sights. I
was all over
Lisbon this morning; saw the Inquisition and the cells and the
place where
they tried the fellows,—the kind of grand jury room with the
great picture
of Adam and Eve at the end of it. What a beautiful creature she
is; hair
down to her waist, and such eyes! 'Ah, ye darling!' said I to
myself,
'small blame to him for what he did. Wouldn't I ate every crab in
the
garden, if ye asked me!'"
"I must certainly go to see her, Maurice. Is she very
Portuguese in her
style?"
"Devil a bit of it! She might be a Limerick-woman with elegant
brown hair
and blue eyes and a skin like snow."
"Come, come, they've pretty girls in Lisbon too, Doctor."
"Yes, faith," said Power, "that they have."
"Nothing like Ireland, boys; not a bit of it; they're the
girls for my
money; and where's the man can resist them? From Saint Patrick,
that had to
go and live in the Wicklow mountains—"
"Saint Kevin, you mean, Doctor."
"Sure it's all the same, they were twins. I made a little song
about them
one evening last week,—the women I mean."
"Let us have it, Maurice; let us have it, old fellow. What's the measure?"
"Short measure; four little verses, devil a more!"
"But the time, I mean?"
"Whenever you like to sing it; here it is,"—
THE GIRLS OF THE WEST.
Air,—"Teddy, ye Gander."
(With feeling: but not too slow.)
You may talk, if you please,
Of the brown Portuguese,
But wherever you roam, wherever you roam,
You nothing will meet,
Half so lovely or sweet,
As the girls at home, the girls at home.
Their eyes are not sloes,
Nor so long is their nose,
But between me and you, between me and you,
They are just as alarming,
And ten times more charming,
With hazel and blue, with hazel and blue.
They don't ogle a man,
O'er the top of their fan
Till his heart's in a flame, till his heart's in a flame
But though bashful and shy,
They've a look in their eye
That just comes to the same, just comes to the same.
No mantillas they sport,
But a petticoat short
Shows an ankle the best, an ankle the best,
And a leg—but, O murther!
I dare not go further;
So here's to the west, so here's to the west.
"Now that really is a sweet little thing. Moore's isn't it?"
"Not a bit of it; my own muse, every word of it."
"And the music?" said I.
"My own, too. Too much spice in that bowl; that's an
invariable error in
your devisers of drink, to suppose that the tipple you start with
can
please your palate to the last; they forget that as we advance,
either in
years or lush, our tastes simplify."
"Nous revenons à nos premières amours. Isn't that it?"
"No, not exactly, for we go even further; for if you mark the
progression
of a sensible man's fluids, you'll find what an emblem of life it
presents
to you. What is his initiatory glass of 'Chablis' that he throws
down with
his oysters but the budding expectancy of boyhood,—the
appetizing sense of
pleasure to come; then follows the sherry with his soup, that
warming glow
which strength and vigor in all their consciousness impart, as a
glimpse of
life is opening before him. Then youth succeeds—buoyant, wild,
tempestuous
youth—foaming and sparkling like the bright champagne whose
stormy surface
subsides into a myriad of bright stars."
"Oeil de perdrix."
"Not a bit of it; woman's own eye, brilliant, sparkling, life-giving—"
"Devil take the fellow, he's getting poetical!"
"Ah, Fred! if that could only last; but one must come to the
burgundies
with his maturer years. Your first glass of hermitage is the
algebraic sign
for five-and-thirty,—the glorious burst is over; the pace is
still good,
to be sure, but the great enthusiasm is past. You can afford to
look
forward, but confound it, you've along way to look back
also."
"I say, Charley, our friend has contrived to finish the bishop
during his
disquisition; the bowl's quite empty."
"You don't say so, Fred. To be sure, how a man does forget
himself in
abstract speculations; but let us have a little more, I've not
concluded my
homily."
"Not a glass, Maurice; it's already past nine. We are all
pledged to
the masquerade, and before we've dressed and got there, 't will
be late
enough."
"But I'm not disguised yet, my boy, nor half."
"Well, they must take you au naturel, as our countrymen do
their
potatoes."
"Yes, Doctor, Fred's right; we had better start."
"Well, I can't help it; I've recorded my opposition to the
motion, but I
must submit; and now that I'm on my legs, explain to me what's
that very
dull-looking old lamp up there?"
"That's the moon, man; the full moon."
"Well, I've no objection; I'm full too: so come along, lads."
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE MASQUERADE.
To form one's impression of a masked ball from the attempts at
this mode
of entertainment in our country, is but to conceive a most
imperfect and
erroneous notion. With us, the first coup d'oeil is everything;
the
nuns, the shepherdesses, the Turks, sailors, eastern princes,
watchmen,
moonshees, milestones, devils, and Quakers are all very well in
their way
as they pass in the review before us, but when we come to mix in
the
crowd, we discover that, except the turban and the cowl, the
crook and
the broad-brim, no further disguise is attempted or thought of.
The nun,
forgetting her vow and her vestments, is flirting with the devil;
the
watchman, a very fastidious elegant, is ogling the fishwomen
through his
glass; while the Quaker is performing a pas seul Alberti might
be proud
of, in a quadrille of riotous Turks and half-tipsy Hindoos; in
fact, the
whole wit of the scene consists in absurd associations. Apart
from this,
the actors have rarely any claims upon your attention; for even
supposing
a person clever enough to sustain his character, whatever it be,
you must
also supply the other personages of the drama, or, in stage
phrase, he'll
have nothing to "play up to." What would be Bardolph without
Pistol; what
Sir Lucius O'Triuger without Acres? It is the relief which throws
out the
disparities and contradictions of life that afford us most
amusement; hence
it is that one swallow can no more make a summer, than one
well-sustained
character can give life to a masquerade. Without such sympathies,
such
points of contact, all the leading features of the individual,
making him
act and be acted upon, are lost; the characters being mere
parallel lines,
which, however near they approach, never bisect or cross each
other.
This is not the case abroad: the domino, which serves for mere
concealment,
is almost the only dress assumed, and the real disguise is
therefore thrown
from necessity upon the talents, whatever they be, of the wearer.
It is
no longer a question of a beard or a spangled mantle, a Polish
dress or
a pasteboard nose; the mutation of voice, the assumption of a
different
manner, walk, gesture, and mode of expression, are all necessary,
and no
small tact is required to effect this successfully.
I may be pardoned this little digression, as it serves to
explain in some
measure how I felt on entering the splendidly lit up salons of
the
villa, crowded with hundreds of figures in all the varied
costumes of a
carnival,—the sounds of laughter mingled with the crash of the
music;
the hurrying hither and thither of servants with refreshments;
the crowds
gathered around fortune-tellers, whose predictions threw the
parties
at each moment into shouts of merriment; the eager following of
some
disappointed domino, interrogating every one to find out a lost
mask.
For some time I stood an astonished spectator at the kind of
secret
intelligence which seemed to pervade the whole assemblage, when
suddenly a
mask, who for some time had been standing beside me, whispered in
French,—
"If you pass your time in this manner, you must not feel
surprised if your
place be occupied."
I turned hastily round, but she was gone. She, I say, for the
voice was
clearly a woman's; her pink domino could be no guide, for
hundreds of the
same color passed me every instant. The meaning of the allusion I
had
little doubt of. I turned to speak to Power, but he was gone; and
for the
first moment of my life, the bitterness of rivalry crossed my
mind. It was
true I had resigned all pretensions in his favor. My last meeting
with Lucy
had been merely to justify my own character against an impression
that
weighed heavily on me; still, I thought he might have
waited,—another day
and I should be far away, neither to witness nor grieve over his
successes.
"You still hesitate," whispered some one near me.
I wheeled round suddenly, but could not detect the speaker,
and was again
relapsing into my own musings, when the same voice
repeated,—
"The white domino with the blue cape. Adieu."
Without waiting to reflect upon the singularity of the
occurrence, I now
hurried along through the dense crowd, searching on every side
for the
domino.
"Isn't that O'Malley?" said an Englishman to his friend.
"Yes," replied the other; "the very man we want. O'Malley,
find a partner;
we have been searching a vis-à-vis this ten
minutes."
The speaker was an officer I had met at Sir George Dashwood's.
"How did you
discover me?" said I, suddenly.
"Not a very difficult thing if you carry your mask in your
hand that way,"
was the answer.
And I now perceived that in the distraction of my thoughts I
had been
carrying my mask in this manner since my coming into the
room.
"There now, what say you to the blue domino? I saw her foot,
and a girl
with such an instep must be a waltzer."
I looked round, a confused effort at memory passing across my
mind; my eyes
fell at the instant upon the embroidered sleeve of the domino,
where a
rosebud worked in silver at once reminded me of Catrina's secret.
"Ah,"
thought I, "La Senhora herself!" She was leaning upon the arm of
a tall and
portly figure in black; who this was I knew not, nor sought to
discover,
but at once advancing towards Donna Inez asked her to waltz.
Without replying to me she turned towards her companion, who
seemed as it
were to press her acceptance of my offer; she hesitated, however,
for an
instant, and curtsying deeply, declined it. "Well," thought I,
"she at
least has not recognized me."
"And yet, Senhora," said I, half jestingly, "I have seen you
join a
bolero before now."
"You evidently mistake me," was the reply, but in a voice so
well feigned
as almost to convince me she was right.
"Nay, more," said I, "under your own fair auspices did I
myself first
adventure one."
"Still in error, believe me; I am not known to you."
"And yet I have a talisman to refresh your memory, should you
dare me
further."
At this instant my hand was grasped warmly by a passing mask.
I turned
round rapidly, and Power whispered in my ear,—
"Yours forever, Charley; you've made my fortune."
As he hurried on I could perceive that he supported a lady on
his arm, and
that she wore a loose white domino with a deep blue cape. In a
second all
thought of Inez was forgotten, and anxious only to conceal my
emotion, I
turned away and mingled in the crowd. Lost to all around me, I
wandered
carelessly, heedlessly on, neither noticing the glittering throng
around,
nor feeling a thought in common with the gay and joyous spirits
that
flitted by. The night wore on, my melancholy and depression
growing ever
deeper, yet so spell-bound was I that I could not leave the
place. A
secret sense that it was the last time we were to meet had gained
entire
possession of me, and I longed to speak a few words ere we parted
forever.
I was leaning on a window which looked out upon the courtyard,
when
suddenly the tramp of horses attracted my attention, and I saw by
the
clear moonlight a group of mounted men, whose long cloaks and
tall helmets
announced dragoons, standing around the porch. At the same moment
the
door of the salon opened, and an officer in undress, splashed
and
travel-stained, entered. Making his way rapidly through the
crowd, he
followed the servant, who introduced him towards the supper-room.
Thither
the dense mass now pressed to learn the meaning of the singular
apparition;
while my own curiosity, not less excited, led me towards the
door. As
I crossed the hall, however, my progress was interrupted by a
group of
persons, among whom I saw an aide-de-camp of Lord Wellington's
staff,
narrating, as it were, some piece of newly-arrived intelligence.
I had
no time for further inquiry, when a door opened near me, and Sir
George
Dashwood, accompanied by several general officers, came forth,
the officer
I had first seen enter the ball-room along with them. Every one
was by this
unmasked, and eagerly looking to hear what had occurred.
"Then, Dashwood, you'll send off an orderly at once?" said an
old general
officer beside me.
"This instant, my Lord. I'll despatch an aide-de-camp. The
troops shall be
in marching order before noon. Oh, here's the man I want!
O'Malley, come
here. Mount your horse and dash into town. Send for Brotherton
and M'Gregor
to quarters, and announce the news as quickly as possible."
"But what am I to announce, Sir George?"
"That the French are in retreat,—Massena in retreat, my lad."
A tremendous cheer at this instant burst from the hundreds in
the
salon, who now heard the glorious tidings. Another cheer and
another
followed,—ten thousand vivas rose amidst the crash of the
band, as it
broke into a patriotic war chant. Such a scene of enthusiasm and
excitement
I never witnessed. Some wept with joy. Others threw themselves
into their
friends' arms.
"They're all mad, every mother's son of them!" said Maurice
Quill, as he
elbowed his way through the mass; "and here's an old vestal won't
leave my
arm. She has already embraced me three times, and we've finished
a flask of
Malaga between us."
"Come, O'Malley, are you ready for the road?"
My horse was by this time standing saddled at the front. I
sprang at once
to the saddle, and without waiting for a second order, set out
for Lisbon.
Ten minutes had scarce elapsed,—the very shouts of joy of the
delighted
city were still ringing in my ears,—when I was once again back
at the
villa. As I mounted the steps into the hall, a carriage drew
up,—it was
Sir George Dashwood's. He came forward, his daughter leaning upon
his arm.
"Why, O'Malley, I thought you had gone."
"I have returned, Sir George. Colonel Brotherton is in
waiting, and the
staff also. I have received orders to set out for Benejos, where
the 14th
are stationed, and have merely delayed to say adieu."
"Adieu, my dear boy, and God bless you!" said the warm-hearted
old man, as
he pressed my hand between both his. "Lucy, here's your old
friend about to
leave; come and say good-by."
Miss Dashwood had stopped behind to adjust her shawl. I flew
to her
assistance. "Adieu, Miss Dashwood, and forever!" said I, in a
broken voice,
as I took her hand in mine. "This is not your domino," said I,
eagerly, as
a blue silk one peeped from beneath her mantle; "and the sleeve,
too,—did
you wear this?" She blushed slightly, and assented.
"I changed with the senhora, who wore mine all the evening."
"And Power, then, was not your partner?"
"I should think not,—for I never danced."
"Lucy, my love, are you ready? Come, be quick."
"Good-by, Mr. O'Malley, and au revoir, n'est-ce pas?"
I drew her glove from her hand as she spoke, and pressing my
lips upon her
fingers, placed her within the carriage. "Adieu, and au
revoir!" said I.
The carriage turned away, and a white glove was all that remained
to me of
Lucy Dashwood!
The carriage had turned the angle of the road, and its
retiring sounds were
growing gradually fainter, ere I recovered myself sufficiently to
know
where I stood. One absorbing thought alone possessed me. Lucy was
not lost
to me forever; Power was not my rival in that quarter,—that was
enough for
me. I needed no more to nerve my arm and steel my heart. As I
reflected
thus, the long loud blast of a trumpet broke upon the silence of
the
night, and admonished me to depart. I hurried to my room to make
my few
preparations for the road; but Mike had already anticipated
everything
here, and all was in readiness.
But one thing now remained,—to make my adieu to the senhora.
With this
intent, I descended a narrow winding stair which led from my
dressing-room,
and opened by a little terrace upon the flower-garden beside
her
apartments.
As I crossed the gravelled alley, I could not but think of the
last time I
had been there. It was on the eve of departure for the Douro. I
recalled
the few and fleeting moments of our leave-taking, and a thought
flashed
upon me,—what if she cared for me! What if, half in coquetry,
half in
reality, her heart was mixed up in those passages which daily
association
gives rise to?
I could not altogether acquit myself of all desire to make her
believe me
her admirer; nay, more, with the indolent abandon of my
country, I had
fallen into a thousand little schemes to cheat the long hours
away, which,
having no other object than the happiness of the moment, might
yet color
all her after-life with sorrow.
Let no one rashly pronounce me a coxcomb, vain and
pretentious, for all
this. In my inmost heart I had no feeling of selfishness mingled
with the
consideration. It was from no sense of my own merits, no
calculation of my
own chances of success, that I thought thus. Fortunately, at
eighteen one's
heart is uncontaminated with such an alloy of vanity. The first
emotions of
youth are pure and holy things, tempering our fiercer passions,
and calming
the rude effervescence of our boyish spirit; and when we strive
to please,
and hope to win affection, we insensibly fashion ourselves to
nobler and
higher thoughts, catching from the source of our devotion a
portion of that
charm that idealizes daily life, and makes our path in it a
glorious and a
bright one.
Who would not exchange all the triumph of his later days, the
proudest
moments of successful ambition, the richest trophies of
hard-won
daring,—for the short and vivid flash that first shot through
his heart
and told him he was loved. It is the opening consciousness of
life, the
first sense of power that makes of the mere boy a man,—a man in
all his
daring and his pride; and hence it is that in early life we feel
ever prone
to indulge those fancied attachments which elevate and raise us
in our own
esteem. Such was the frame of my mind when I entered the little
boudoir
where once before I had ventured on a similar errand.
As I closed the sash-door behind me, the gray dawn of breaking
day scarcely
permitted my seeing anything around me, and I felt my way towards
the door
of an adjoining room, where I supposed it was likely I should
find the
senhora. As I proceeded thus, with cautious step and beating
heart, I
thought I heard a sound near me. I stopped and listened, and was
about
again to move on, when a half-stifled sob fell upon my ear.
Slowly and
silently guiding my steps towards the sounds, I reached a sofa,
when, my
eyes growing by degrees more accustomed to the faint light, I
could detect
a figure which, at a glance, I recognized as Donna Inez. A
cashmere shawl
was loosely thrown around her, and her face was buried in her
hands. As she
lay, to all seeming, still and insensible before me, her
beautiful hair
fell heavily upon her back and across her arm, and her whole
attitude
denoted the very abandonment of grief. A short convulsive shudder
which
slightly shook her frame alone gave evidence of life, except when
a sob,
barely audible in the death-like silence, escaped her.
I knelt silently down beside her, and gently withdrawing her
hand, placed
it within mine. A dreadful feeling of self-condemnation shot
through me as
I felt the gentle pressure of her taper fingers, which rested
without a
struggle in my grasp. My tears fell hot and fast upon that pale
hand, as
I bent in sadness over it, unable to utter a word. A rush of
conflicting
thoughts passed through my brain, and I knew not what to do. I
now had no
doubt upon my mind that she loved me, and that her present
affliction was
caused by my approaching departure.
"Dearest Inez!" I stammered out at length, as I pressed her
hands to my
lips,—"dearest Inez!"—a faint sob, and a slight pressure of her
hand, was
the only reply. "I have come to say good-by," continued I,
gaining a little
courage as I spoke; "a long good-by, too, in all likelihood. You
have heard
that we are ordered away,—there, don't sob, dearest, and,
believe me, I
had wished ere we parted to have spoken to you calmly and openly;
but,
alas, I cannot,—I scarcely know what I say."
"You will not forget me?" said she, in a low voice, that sank
into my very
heart. "You will not forget me?" As she spoke, her hand dropped
heavily
upon my shoulder, and her rich luxuriant hair fell upon my cheek.
What a
devil of a thing is proximity to a downy cheek and a black
eyelash, more
especially when they belong to one whom you are disposed to
believe not
indifferent to you! What I did at this precise moment there is no
necessity
for recording, even had not an adage interdicted such
confessions, nor can
I now remember what I said; but I can well recollect how,
gradually warming
with my subject, I entered into a kind of half-declaration of
attachment,
intended most honestly to be a mere exposé of my own
unworthiness to win
her favor, and my resolution to leave Lisbon and its neighborhood
forever.
Let not any one blame me rashly if he has not experienced the
difficulty of
my position. The impetus of love-making is like the ardor of a
fox-hunt.
You care little that the six-bar gate before you is the boundary
of another
gentleman's preserves or the fence of his pleasure-ground. You go
slap
along at a smashing-pace, with your head up, and your hand low,
clearing
all before you, the opposing difficulties to your progress giving
half
the zest, because all the danger to your career. So it is with
love; the
gambling spirit urges one ever onward, and the chance of failure
is a
reason for pursuit, where no other argument exists.
"And you do love me?" said the senhora, with a soft, low
whisper that most
unaccountably suggested anything but comfort to me.
"Love you, Inez? By this kiss—I'm in an infernal scrape!"
said I,
muttering this last half of my sentence to myself.
"And you'll never be jealous again?"
"Never, by all that's lovely!—your own sweet lips. That's the
very last
thing to reproach me with."
"And you promise me not to mind that foolish boy? For, after
all, you know,
it was mere flirtation,—if even that."
"I'll never think of him again," said I, while my brain was
burning to make
out her meaning. "But, dearest, there goes the
trumpet-call—"
"And, as for Pedro Mascarenhas, I never liked him."
"Are you quite sure, Inez?"
"I swear it!—so no more of him. Gonzales Cordenza—I've broke
with him
long since. So that you see, dearest Frederic—"
"Frederic!" said I, starting almost to my feet with,
amazement, while she
continued:—
"I'm your own,—all your own!"
"Oh, the coquette, the heartless jilt!" groaned I, half-aloud.
"And O'Malley, Inez, poor Charley!—what of him?"
"Poor thing! I can't help him. But he's such a puppy, the
lesson may do him
good."
"But perhaps he loved you, Inez?"
"To be sure he did; I wished him to do so,—I can't bear not
to be loved.
But, Frederic, tell me, may I trust you,—will you keep faithful
to me?"
"Sweetest Inez! by this last kiss I swear that such as I kneel
before you
now, you'll ever find me."
A foot upon the gravel-walk without now called me to my feet;
I sprang
towards the door, and before Inez had lifted her head from the
sofa, I had
reached the garden. A figure muffled in a cavalry cloak passed
near me, but
without noticing me, and the next moment I had cleared the
paling, and was
hurrying towards the stable, where I had ordered Mike to be in
waiting.
The faint streak of dull pink which announces the coming day
stretched
beneath the dark clouds of the night, and the chill air of the
morning was
already stirring in the leaves.
As I passed along by a low beech hedge which skirted the
avenue, I was
struck by the sound of voices near me. I stopped to listen, and
soon
detected in one of the speakers my friend Mickey Free; of the
other I was
not long in ignorance.
"Love you, is it, bathershin? It's worship you, adore you,
my
darling,—that's the word! There, acushla, don't cry; dry your
eyes—Oh,
murther, it's a cruel thing to tear one's self away from the best
of
living, with the run of the house in drink and kissing! Bad luck
to it for
campaigning, any way, I never liked it!"
Catrina's reply,—for it was she,—I could not gather; but Mike resumed:—
"Ay, just so, sore bones and wet grass, accadenté,
and half-rations. Oh,
that I ever saw the day when I took to it! Listen to me now,
honey; here it
is, on my knees I am before you, and throth it's not more nor
three, may be
four, young women I'd say the like to; bad scran to me if I
wouldn't marry
you out of a face this blessed morning just as soon as I'd look
at ye.
Arrah, there now, don't be screeching and bawling; what'll the
neighbors
think of us, and my own heart's destroyed with grief
entirely."
Poor Catrina's voice returned an inaudible answer, and not
wishing any
longer to play the eavesdropper, I continued my path towards the
stable.
The distant noises from the city announced a state of movement
and
preparation, and more than one orderly passed the road near me at
a gallop.
As I turned into the wide courtyard, Mike, breathless and
flurried with
running, overtook me.
"Are the horses ready, Mike?" said I; "we must start this instant?"
"They've just finished a peck of oats apiece, and faix, that
same may be a
stranger to them this day six months."
"And the baggage, too?"
"On the cars, with the staff and the light brigade. It was
down there I was
now, to see all was right."
"Oh, I'm quite aware; and now bring out the cattle. I hope
Catrina received
your little consolations well. That seems a very sad affair."
"Murder, real murder, devil a less! It's no matter where you
go, from
Clonmel to Chayney, it's all one; they've a way of getting round
you. Upon
my soul, it's like the pigs they are."
"Like pigs, Mike? That appears a strange compliment you've
selected to pay
them."
"Ay, just like the pigs, no less. May be you've heard what
happened to
myself up at Moronha?"
"Look to that girth there. Well, go on."
"I was coming along one morning, just as day was beginning to
break, when I
sees a slip of a pig trotting before me, with nobody near him;
but as the
road was lonely, and myself rather down in heart, I thought,
Musha! but yer
fine company, anyhow, av a body could only keep you with him.
But, ye see,
a pig—saving your presence—is a baste not easily flattered, so
I didn't
waste time and blarney upon him, but I took off my belt, and put
it round
its neck as neat as need be; but, as the devil's luck would have
it, I
didn't go half an hour when a horse came galloping up behind me.
I turned
round, and, by the blessed light, it was Sir Dinny himself was on
it!"
"Sir Dennis Pack?"
"Yes, bad luck to his hook nose. 'What are you doing there, my
fine
fellow?' says he. 'What's that you have dragging there behind
you?'
"'A boneen, sir,' says I. 'Isn't he a fine crayture?—av he
wasn't so
troublesome.'
"'Troublesome, troublesome—what do you mean?'
"'Just so,' says I. 'Isn't he parsecutiug the life out of me
the whole
morning, following me about everywhere I go? Contrary bastes they
always
was.'
"'I advise you to try and part company, my friend,
notwithstanding,' says
he; 'or may be it's the same end you'll be coming to, and not
long either.'
And faix, I took his advice; and ye see, Mister Charles, it's
just as I was
saying, they're like the women, the least thing in life is enough
to bring
them after us, av ye only put the 'comether' upon them."
"And now adieu to the Villa Nuova," said I, as I rode slowly
down the
avenue, turning ever and anon in my saddle to look back on each
well-known
spot.
A heavy sigh from Mike responded to my words.
"A long, a last farewell!" said I, waving my hand towards the
trellised
walls, now half-hidden by the trees; and, as I spoke, that
heaviness of the
heart came over me that seems inseparable from leave-taking. The
hour of
parting seems like a warning to us that all our enjoyments and
pleasures
here are destined to a short and merely fleeting existence; and
as each
scene of life passes away never to return, we are made to feel
that youth
and hope are passing with them; and that, although the fair world
be as
bright, and its pleasures as rich in abundance, our capacity of
enjoyment
is daily, hourly diminishing; and while all around us smiles in
beauty and
happiness, that we, alas! are not what we were.
Such was the tenor of my thoughts as I reached the road, when
they were
suddenly interrupted by my man Mike, whose meditations were
following
a somewhat similar channel, though at last inclining to
different
conclusions. He coughed a couple of times as if to attract my
attention,
and then, as it were half thinking aloud, he muttered,—
"I wonder if we treated the young ladies well, anyhow, Mister
Charles, for,
faix, I've my doubts on it."
CHAPTER XIX.
THE LINES.
When we reached Lescas, we found that an officer of Lord
Wellington's staff
had just arrived from the lines, and was occupied in making known
the
general order from headquarters; which set forth, with customary
brevity,
that the French armies, under the command of Massena, had retired
from
their position, and were in full retreat,—the second and third
corps,
which had been stationed at Villa Franca, having marched, during
the
night of the 15th, in the direction of Manal. The officers in
command of
divisions were ordered to repair instantly to Pero Negro, to
consult upon a
forward movement, Admiral Berkeley being written to to provide
launches to
pass over General Hill's, or any other corps which might be
selected, to
the left bank of the Tagus. All now was excitement, heightened by
the
unexpected nature of an occurrence which not even speculation
had
calculated upon. It was but a few days before, and the news had
reached
Torres Vedras that a powerful reinforcement was in march to join
Massena's
army, and their advanced guard had actually reached Santarem. The
confident
expectation was, therefore, that an attack upon the lines was
meditated.
Now, however, this prospect existed no longer; for scarcely had
the heavy
mists of the lowering day disappeared, when the vast plain, so
lately
peopled by the thickened ranks and dark masses of a great army,
was seen in
its whole extent deserted and untenanted.
The smouldering fires of the pickets alone marked where the
troops had been
posted, but not a man of that immense force was to be seen.
General Fane,
who had been despatched with a brigade of Portuguese cavalry and
some
artillery, hung upon the rear of the retiring army, and from him
we learned
that the enemy were continuing their retreat northward, having
occupied
Santarem with a strong force to cover the movement. Crawfurd was
ordered
to the front with the light division, the whole army following in
the same
direction, except Hill's corps, which, crossing the river at
Velada, was
intended to harass the enemy's flank, and assist our future
operations.
Such, in brief, was the state of affairs when I reached Villa
Franca
towards noon, and received orders to join my regiment, then
forming part of
Sir Stapleton Cotton's brigade.
It must be felt to be thoroughly appreciated, the enthusiastic
pleasure
with which one greets his old corps after some months of
separation: the
bounding ecstasy with which the weary eye rests on the old
familiar faces,
dear by every association of affection and brotherhood; the
anxious look
for this one and for that; the thrill of delight sent through the
heart as
the well-remembered march swells upon the ear; the very notes of
that rough
voice which we have heard amidst the crash of battle and the
rolling of
artillery, speak softly to our senses like a father's welcome;
from the
well-tattered flag that waves above us to the proud steed of the
war-worn
trumpeter, each has a niche in our affection.
If ever there was a corps calculated to increase and foster
these
sentiments, the 14th Light Dragoons was such. The warm affection,
the truly
heart-felt regard, which existed among my brother officers, made
of our
mess a happy home. Our veteran colonel, grown gray in
campaigning, was like
a father to us; while the senior officers, tempering the warm
blood of
impetuous youth with their hard-won experience, threw a charm of
peace and
tranquillity over all our intercourse that made us happy when
together, and
taught us to feel that, whether seated around the watch-fire or
charging
amidst the squadrons of the enemy, we were surrounded by those
devoted
heart and soul to aid us.
Gallant Fourteenth!—ever first in every gay scheme of
youthful jollity, as
foremost in the van to meet the foe—how happy am I to recall the
memory
of your bright looks and bold hearts; of your manly daring and
your bold
frankness; of your merry voices, as I have heard them in the
battle or in
the bivouac! Alas and alas, that I should indulge such
recollections alone!
How few—how very few—are left of those with whom I trod the
early steps
of life, whose bold cheer I have heard above the clashing sabres
of the
enemy, whose broken voice I have listened to above the grave of a
comrade!
The dark pines of the Pyrenees wave above some, the burning sands
of India
cover others, and the wide plains of Salamanca are the
abiding-place of
still more.
"Here comes O'Malley!" shouted a well-known voice, as I rode
down the
little slope at the foot of which a group of officers were
standing beside
their horses.
"Welcome, thou man of Galway!" cried Hampden; "delighted to
have you once
more among us. How confoundedly well the fellow is looking!"
"Lisbon beef seems better prog than commissariat biscuit!" said another.
"A'weel, Charley?" said my friend the Scotch doctor; "how's a'
wi' ye man?
Ye seem to thrive on your mishaps! How cam' ye by that braw
beastie ye're
mounted on?"
"A present, Doctor; the gift of a very warm friend."
"I hope you invited him to the mess, O'Malley! For, by Jove,
our stables
stand in need of his kind offices! There he goes! Look at him!
What a
slashing pace for a heavy fellow!" This observation was made
with
reference to a well-known officer on the commander-in-chief's
staff, whose
weight—some two and twenty stone—never was any impediment to
his bold
riding.
"Egad, O'Malley, you'll soon be as pretty a light-weight as
our friend
yonder. Ah, there's a storm going on there! Here comes the
colonel!"
"Well, O'Malley, are you come back to us? Happy to see you,
boy! Hope
we shall not lose you again in a hurry! We can't spare the
scapegraces!
There's plenty of skirmishing going on! Crawfurd always asks for
the
scapegraces for the pickets!"
I shook my gallant colonel's hand, while I acknowledged, as
best I might,
his ambiguous compliment.
"I say, lads," resumed the colonel, "squad your men and form
on the road!
Lord Wellington's coming down this way to have a look at you!
O'Malley, I
have General Crawfurd's orders to offer you your old appointment
on his
staff; without you prefer to remaining with the regiment!"
"I can never be sufficiently grateful, sir, to the general:
but, in fact—I
think—that is, I believe—"
"You'd rather be among your own fellows. Out with it boy! I
like you all
the better! But come, we mustn't let the general know that; so
that I shall
forget to tell you all about it. Eh, isn't that best? But join
your troop
now; I hear the staff coming this way."
As he spoke, a crowd of horseman were seen advancing towards
us at a sharp
trot, their waving plumes and gorgeous aiguillettes denoting
their rank
as generals of division. In the midst, as they came nearer, I
could
distinguish one whom once seen there was no forgetting; his plain
blue
frock and gray trousers, unstrapped beneath his boots, not a
little unlike
the trim accuracy of costume around him. As he rode to the head
of the
leading squadron, the staff fell back and he stood alone before
us; for a
second there was a dead silence, but the next instant—by what
impulse tell
who can—one tremendous cheer burst from the entire regiment. It
was like
the act of one man; so sudden, so spontaneous. While every cheek
glowed,
and every eye sparkled with enthusiasm, he alone seemed cool and
unexcited,
as, gently raising his hand, he motioned them to silence.
"Fourteenth, you are to be where you always desire to be,—in
the advanced
guard of the army. I have nothing to say on the subject of your
conduct
in the field. I know you; but if in pursuit of the enemy, I
hear of any
misconduct towards the people of the country, or any
transgression of the
general orders regarding pillage, by G——, I'll punish you as
severely as
the worst corps in the service, and you know me!"
"Oh, tear an ages, listen to that; and there's to be no
plunder after all!"
said Mickey Free; and for an instant the most I could do was not
to burst
into a fit of laughter. The word, "Forward!" was given at the
moment, and
we moved past in close column, while that penetrating eye, which
seemed to
read our very thoughts, scanned us from one end of the line to
the other.
"I say, Charley," said the captain of my troop, in a
whisper,—"I say, that
confounded cheer we gave got us that lesson; he can't stand that
kind of
thing."
"By Jove! I never felt more disposed than to repeat it," said I.
"No, no, my boy, we'll give him the honors, nine times nine;
but wait till
evening. Look at old Merivale there. I'll swear he's saying
something
devilish civil to him. Do you see the old fellow's happy
look?"
And so it was; the bronzed, hard-cast features of the veteran
soldier
were softened into an expression of almost boyish delight, as he
sat,
bare-headed, bowing to his very saddle, while Lord Wellington was
speaking.
As I looked, my heart throbbed painfully against my side, my
breath came
quick, and I muttered to myself, "What would I not give to be in
his place
now!"
CHAPTER XX.
THE RETREAT OF THE FRENCH.
It is not my intention, were I even adequate to the task, to
trace with
anything like accuracy the events of the war at this period. In
fact, to
those who, like myself, were performing a mere subaltern
character, the
daily movements of our own troops, not to speak of the continual
changes
of the enemy, were perfectly unknown, and an English newspaper
was more
ardently longed for in the Peninsula than by the most eager crowd
of a
London coffee-room; nay, the results of the very engagements we
were
ourselves concerned in, more than once, first reached us through
the press
of our own country. It is easy enough to understand this. The
officer in
command of the regiment, and how much more, the captain of a
troop, or the
subaltern under him, knows nothing beyond the sphere of his own
immediate
duty; by the success or failure of his own party his knowledge is
bounded,
but how far he or his may influence the fortune, of the day, or
of what is
taking place elsewhere, he is totally ignorant; and an old
Fourteenth man
did not badly explain, his ideas on the matter, who described
Busaco as "a
great noise and a great smoke, booming artillery and rattling
small-arms,
infernal confusion, and to all seeming, incessant blundering,
orders
and counter-orders, ending with a crushing charge; when, not
being hurt
himself, nor having hurt anybody, he felt much pleased to learn
that they
had gained a victory." It is then sufficient for all the purposes
of my
narrative, when I mention that Massena continued his retreat by
Santarem
and Thomar, followed by the allied army, who, however desirous of
pressing
upon the rear of their enemy, were still obliged to maintain
their
communication with the lines, and also to watch the movement of
the large
armies which, under Ney and Soult, threatened at any unguarded
moment to
attack them in flank.
The position which Massena occupied at Santarem, naturally one
of great
strength, and further improved by intrenchments, defied any
attack on
the part of Lord Wellington, until the arrival of the
long-expected
reinforcements from England. These had sailed in the early part
of January,
but delayed by adverse winds, only reached Lisbon on the 2d of
March; and
so correctly was the French marshal apprised of the circumstance,
and so
accurately did he anticipate the probable result, that on the
fourth he
broke up his encampment, and recommenced his retrograde movement,
with an
army now reduced to forty thousand fighting men, and with two
thousand
sick, destroying all his baggage and guns that could not be
horsed. By a
demonstration of advancing upon the Zezere, by which he held the
allies
in check, he succeeded in passing his wounded to the rear, while
Ney,
appearing with a large force suddenly at Leiria, seemed bent upon
attacking
the lines. By these stratagems two days' march were gained, and
the French
retreated upon Torres Novas and Thomar, destroying the bridges
behind them
as they passed.
The day was breaking on the 12th of March, when the British
first came in
sight of the retiring enemy. We were then ordered to the front,
and broken
up into small parties, threw out our skirmishers. The French
chasseurs,
usually not indisposed to accept this species of encounter,
showed now less
of inclination than usual, and either retreated before us, or
hovered in
masses to check our advance; in this way the morning was passed,
when
towards noon we perceived that the enemy was drawn up in battle
array,
occupying the height above the village of Redinha. This little
straggling
village is situated in a hollow traversed by a narrow causeway
which opens
by a long and dangerous defile upon a bridge, on either side of
which a
dense wood afforded a shelter for light troops, while upon the
commanding
eminence above a battery of heavy guns was seen in position.
In front of the village a brigade of artillery and a division
of infantry
were drawn up so skilfully as to give the appearance of a
considerable
force, so that when Lord Wellington came up he spent some time in
examining
the enemy's position. Erskine's brigade was immediately ordered
up, and the
Fifty-second and Ninety-fourth, and a company of the Forty-third
were led
against the wooded slopes upon the French right. Picton
simultaneously
attacked the left, and in less than an hour, both were
successful, and
Ney's position was laid bare; his skirmishers, however, continued
to hold
their ground in front, and La Ferrière, a colonel of
hussars, dashing
boldly forward at this very moment, carried off fourteen
prisoners from
the very front of our line. Deceived by the confidence of the
enemy, Lord
Wellington now prepared for an attack in force. The infantry were
therefore
formed into line, and, at the signal of three shots fired from
the centre,
began their foremost movement.
Bending up a gentle curve, the whole plain glistened with the
glancing
bayonets, and the troops marched majestically onward; while the
light
artillery and the cavalry, bounding forward from the left and
centre,
rushed eagerly towards the foe. One deafening discharge from the
French
guns opened at the moment, with a general volley of small-arms.
The smoke
for an instant obscured everything, and when that cleared away,
no enemy
was to be seen.
The British pressed madly on, like heated blood-hounds; but
when they
descended the slope, the village of Redinha was in flames, and
the French
in full retreat beyond it. A single howitzer seemed our only
trophy, and
even this we were not destined to boast of, for from the midst of
the
crashing flame and dense smoke of the burning village, a troop of
dragoons
rushed forward, and charging our infantry, carried it off. The
struggle,
though but for a moment, cost them dear: twenty of their comrades
lay dead
upon the spot; but they were resolute and determined, and the
officer who
led them on, fighting hand to hand with a soldier of the
Forty-second,
cheered them as they retired. His gallant bearing, and his coat
covered
with decorations, bespoke him one of note, and well it might; he
who
thus perilled his life to maintain the courage of his soldiers at
the
commencement of a retreat, was none other than Ney himself, le
plus brave
des braves. The British pressed hotly on, and the light troops
crossed the
river almost at the same time with the French. Ney, however, fell
back upon
Condeixa, where his main body was posted, and all farther pursuit
was for
the present abandoned.
At Casa Noval and at Foz d'Aronce, the allies were successful;
but the
French still continued to retire, burning the towns and villages
in their
rear, and devastating the country along the whole line of march
by every
expedient of cruelty the heart of man has ever conceived. In the
words of
one whose descriptions, however fraught with the most wonderful
power of
painting, are equally marked by truth, "Every horror that could
make war
hideous attended this dreadful march. Distress, conflagration,
death in
all modes,—from wounds, from fatigue, from water, from the
flames, from
starvation,—vengeance, unlimited vengeance, was on every side."
The
country was a desert!
Such was the exhaustion of the allies, who suffered even
greater privations
than the enemy, that they halted upon the 16th, unable to proceed
farther;
and the river Ceira, swollen and unfordable, flowed between the
rival
armies.
The repose of even one day was a most grateful interruption to
the
harassing career we had pursued for some time past; and it seemed
that my
comrades felt, like myself, that such an opportunity was by no
means to
be neglected; but while I am devoting so much space and
trespassing on my
reader's patience thus far with narrative of flood and field, let
me steal
a chapter for what will sometimes seem a scarcely less congenial
topic, and
bring back the recollection of a glorious night in the
Peninsula.
CHAPTER XXI.
PATRICK'S DAY IN THE PENINSULA.
The réveil had not yet sounded, when I felt my
shoulder shaken gently as
I lay wrapped up in my cloak beneath a prickly pear-tree.
"Lieutenant O'Malley, sir; a letter, sir; a bit of a note,
your honor,"
said a voice that bespoke the bearer and myself were countrymen.
I opened
it, and with difficulty, by the uncertain light, read as
follows:—
Dear Charley,—As Lord Wellington, like a good Irishman
as
he is, wouldn't spoil Patrick's Day by marching, we've got a
little
dinner at our quarters to celebrate the holy times, as my
uncle would
call it. Maurice, Phil Grady, and some regular trumps will
all come,
so don't disappoint us. I've been making punch all night,
and
Casey, who has a knack at pastry, has made a goose-pie as big
as a
portmanteau. Sharp seven, after parade. The second battalion
of
the Fusiliers are quartered at Melanté, and we are
next them. Bring
any of yours worth their liquor. Power is, I know, absent
with the
staff; perhaps the Scotch doctor would come; try him. Carry
over
a little mustard with you, if there be such in your
parts.
Yours,
D. O'SHAUGHNESSY.
Patrick's day, and raining like blazes.
Seeing that the bearer expected an answer, I scrawled the
words, "I'm
there," with my pencil on the back of the note, and again turned
myself
round to sleep. My slumbers were, however, soon interrupted once
more; for
the bugles of the light infantry and the hoarse trumpet of the
cavalry
sounded the call, and I found to my surprise that, though halted,
we were
by no means destined to a day of idleness. Dragoons were already
mounted,
carrying orders hither and thither, and staff-officers were
galloping right
and left. A general order commanded an inspection of the troops,
and within
less than an hour from daybreak the whole army was drawn up under
arms. A
thin, drizzling rain continued to fall during the early part of
the day,
but the sun gradually dispelled the heavy vapor; and as the
bright verdure
glittered in its beams, sending up all the perfumes of a southern
clime, I
thought I had never seen a more lovely morning. The staff were
stationed
upon a little knoll beside the river, round the base of which the
troops
defiled, at first in orderly, then in quick time, the bands
playing and the
colors flying. In the same brigade with us the Eighty-eighth
came, and as
they neared the commander-in-chief, their quick-step was suddenly
stopped,
and after a pause of a few seconds, the band struck up "St.
Patrick's Day;"
the notes were caught up by the other Irish regiments, and amidst
one
prolonged cheer from the whole line, the gallant fellows moved
past.
The grenadier company were drawn up beside the road, and I was
not long in
detecting my friend O'Shaughnessy, who wore a tremendous shamrock
in his
shako.
"Left face, wheel! Quick march! Don't forget the mustard!"
said the bold
major; and a loud roar of laughing from my brother officers
followed him
off the ground. I soon explained the injunction, and having
invited some
three or four to accompany me to the dinner, waited with all
patience for
the conclusion of the parade.
The sun was setting as I mounted, and joined by Hampden,
Baker, the doctor,
and another, set out for O'Shaughnessy's quarters. As we rode
along, we
were continually falling in with others bent upon the same errand
as
ourselves, and ere we arrived at Melanté our party was
some thirty strong;
and truly a most extraordinary procession did we form. Few of
the
invited came without some contribution to the general stock; and
while a
staff-officer flourished a ham, a smart hussar might be seen with
a plucked
turkey, trussed for roasting; most carried bottles, as the
consumption of
fluid was likely to be considerable; and one fat old major jogged
along on
a broken-winded pony, with a basket of potatoes on his arm. Good
fellowship
was the order of the day, and certainly a more jovial squadron
seldom was
met together than ours. As we turned the angle of a rising
ground, a hearty
cheer greeted us, and we beheld in front of an old ordnance
marquee a party
of some fifty fellows engaged in all the pleasing duties of the
cuisine.
Maurice, conspicuous above all, with a white apron and a ladle in
his hand,
was running hither and thither, advising, admonishing,
instructing, and
occasionally imprecating. Ceasing for a second his functions, he
gave us a
cheer and a yell like that of an Indian savage, and then resumed
his duties
beside a huge boiler, which, from the frequency of his
explorations into
its contents, we judged to be punch.
"Charley, my son, I've a place for you; don't forget. Where's
my learned
brother?—haven't you brought him with you? Ah, Doctor, how goes
it?"
[GOING OUT TO DINNER.]
"Nae that bad, Master Quell: a' things considered, we've had
an awfu' time
of it lately."
"You know my friend Hampden, Maurice. Let me introduce Mr.
Baker, Mr.
Maurice Quill. Where's the major?"
"Here I am, my darling, and delighted to see you. Some of
yours, O'Malley,
ain't they? Proud to have you, gentlemen. Charley, we are obliged
to have
several tables; but you are to be beside Maurice, so take your
friends with
you. There goes the 'Roast Beef;' my heart warms to that old
tune."
Amidst a hurried recognition, and shaking of hands on every
side, I elbowed
my way into the tent, and soon reached a corner, where, at a
table for
eight, I found Maurice seated at one end; a huge, purple-faced
old major,
whom he presented to us as Bob Mahon, occupied the other.
O'Shaughnessy
presided at the table next to us, but near enough to join in all
the
conviviality of ours.
One must have lived for some months upon hard biscuit and
harder beef
to relish as we did the fare before us, and to form an estimate
of our
satisfaction. If the reader cannot fancy Van Amburgh's lions in
red coats
and epaulettes, he must be content to lose the effect of the
picture. A
turkey rarely fed more than two people, and few were abstemious
enough to
be satisfied with one chicken. The order of the viands, too,
observed no
common routine, each party being happy to get what he could, and
satisfied
to follow up his pudding with fish, or his tart with a sausage.
Sherry,
champagne, London porter, Malaga, and even, I believe, Harvey's
sauce were
hobnobbed in; while hot punch, in teacups or tin vessels, was
unsparingly
distributed on all sides. Achilles himself, they say, got tired
of eating,
and though he consumed something like a prize ox to his own
cheek, he at
length had to call for cheese, so that we at last gave in, and
having
cleared away the broken tumbrels and baggage-carts of our army,
cleared for
a general action.
"Now, lads!" cried the major, "I'm not going to lose your time
and mine by
speaking; but there are a couple of toasts I must insist upon
your drinking
with all the honors; and as I like despatch, we'll couple them.
It so
happens that our old island boasts of two of the finest fellows
that
ever wore Russia ducks. None of your nonsensical geniuses, like
poets or
painters or anything like that; but downright, straightforward,
no-humbug
sort of devil-may-care and bad-luck-to-you kind of chaps,—real
Irishmen!
Now, it's a strange thing that they both had such an antipathy to
vermin,
they spent their life in hunting them down and destroying them;
and whether
they met toads at home or Johnny Crapaud abroad, it was all one.
[Cheers.]
Just so, boys; they made them leave that; but I see you are
impatient, so
I'll not delay you, but fill to the brim, and with the best cheer
in your
body, drink with me the two greatest Irishmen that ever lived,
'Saint
Patrick and Lord Wellington.'"
The Englishmen laughed long and loud, while we cheered with an
energy that
satisfied even the major.
"Who is to give us the chant? Who is to sing Saint Patrick?"
cried Maurice.
"Come, Bob, out with it."
"I'm four tumblers too low for that yet," growled out the major.
"Well, then, Charley, be you the man; or why not Dennis
himself? Come,
Dennis, we cannot better begin our evening than with a song; let
us have
our old friend 'Larry M'Hale.'"
"Larry M'Hale!" resounded from all parts of the room, while
O'Shaughnessy
rose once more to his legs.
"Faith, boys, I'm always ready to follow your lead; but what
analogy can
exist between 'Larry M'Hale' and the toast we have just drank I
can't see
for the life of me; not but Larry would have made a strapping
light company
man had he joined the army."
"The song, the song!" cried several voices.
"Well, if you will have it, here goes:"—
LARRY M'HALE.
AIR,—"It's a bit of a thing," etc.
Oh, Larry M'Hale he had little to fear,
And never could want when the crops didn't fail;
He'd a house and demesne and eight hundred a year,
And the heart for to spend it, had Larry M'Hale!
The soul of a party, the life of a feast,
And an illigant song he could sing, I'll be bail;
He would ride with the rector, and drink with the priest,
Oh, the broth of a boy was old Larry M'Hale!
It's little he cared for the judge or recorder,
His house was as big and as strong as a jail;
With a cruel four-pounder, he kept in great order,
He'd murder the country, would Larry M'Hale.
He'd a blunderbuss too, of horse-pistols a pair;
But his favorite weapon was always a flail.
I wish you could see how he'd empty a fair,
For he handled it neatly, did Larry M'Hale.
His ancestors were kings before Moses was born,
His mother descended from great Grana Uaile;
He laughed all the Blakes and the Frenches to scorn;
They were mushrooms compared to old Larry M'Hale.
He sat down every day to a beautiful dinner,
With cousins and uncles enough for a tail;
And, though loaded with debt, oh, the devil a thinner,
Could law or the sheriff make Larry M'Hale!
With a larder supplied and a cellar well stored,
None lived half so well, from Fair-Head to Kinsale,
As he piously said, "I've a plentiful board,
And the Lord he is good to old Larry M'Hale."
So fill up your glass, and a high bumper give him,
It's little we'd care for the tithes or repale;
For ould Erin would be a fine country to live in,
If we only had plenty like LARRY M'HALE.
"Very singular style of person your friend Mr. M'Hale," lisped
a
spooney-looking cornet at the end of the table.
"Not in the country he belongs to, I assure you," said
Maurice; "but I
presume you were never in Ireland."
"You are mistaken there," resumed the other; "I was in
Ireland, though I
confess not for a long time."
"If I might be so bold," cried Maurice, "how long?"
"Half an hour, by a stop-watch," said the other, pulling up
his stock; "and
I had quite enough of it in that time."
"Pray give us your experiences," cried out Bob Mahon; "they
should be
interesting, considering your opportunities."
"You are right," said the cornet; "they were so; and as they
illustrate a
feature in your amiable country, you shall have them."
A general knocking upon the table announced the impatience of
the company,
and when silence was restored the cornet began:—
When the 'Bermuda' transport sailed from Portsmouth for
Lisbon, I happened
to make one of some four hundred interesting individuals who,
before they
became food for powder, were destined to try their constitutions
on pickled
pork. The second day after our sailing, the winds became adverse;
it blew
a hurricane from every corner of the compass but the one it
ought, and the
good ship, that should have been standing straight for the Bay of
Biscay,
was scudding away under a double-reefed topsail towards the coast
of
Labrador. For six days we experienced every sea-manoeuvre that
usually
preludes a shipwreck, and at length, when, what from sea-sickness
and fear,
we had become utterly indifferent to the result, the storm
abated, the sea
went down, and we found ourselves lying comfortably in the harbor
of Cork,
with a strange suspicion on our minds that the frightful scenes
of the past
week had been nothing but a dream.
"'Come, Mr. Medlicot,' said the skipper to me, 'we shall be
here for a
couple of days to refit; had you not better go ashore and see the
country?'
"I sprang to my legs with delight; visions of cowslips, larks,
daisies, and
mutton-chops floated before my excited imagination, and in ten
minutes I
found myself standing at that pleasant little inn at Cove which,
opposite
Spike Island, rejoices in the name of the 'Goat and Garters.'
"'Breakfast, waiter,' said I; 'a beefsteak,—fresh beef, mark
ye,—fresh
eggs, bread, milk, and butter, all fresh. No more hard tack,'
thought I;
'no salt butter, but a genuine land breakfast.'
"Up-stairs, No. 4, sir,' said the waiter, as he flourished a
dirty napkin,
indicating the way.
"Up-stairs I went, and in due time the appetizing little meal
made its
appearance. Never did a minor's eye revel over his broad acres
with more
complacent enjoyment than did mine skim over the mutton and the
muffin,
the tea-pot, the trout, and the devilled kidney, so invitingly
spread out
before me. 'Yes,' thought I, as I smacked my lips, 'this is the
reward of
virtue; pickled pork is a probationary state that admirably fits
us for
future enjoyments.' I arranged my napkin upon my knee, seized my
knife
and fork, and proceeded with most critical acumen to bisect a
beefsteak.
Scarcely, however, had I touched it, when, with a loud crash, the
plate
smashed beneath it, and the gravy ran piteously across the cloth.
Before I
had time to account for the phenomenon, the door opened hastily,
and the
waiter rushed into the room, his face beaming with smiles, while
he rubbed
his hands in an ecstasy of delight.
"'It's all over, sir,' said he; 'glory be to God! it's all done.'
"'What's over? What's done?' inquired I, with impatience.
"'Mr. M'Mahon is satisfied,' replied he, 'and so is the other gentleman.'
"'Who and what the devil do you mean?'
[DISADVANTAGE OF BREAKFASTING OVER A DUELLING-PARTY.]
"'It's over, sir, I say,' replied the waiter again; 'he fired in the air.'
"'Fired in the air! Was there a duel in the room below stairs?'
"'Yes, sir,' said the waiter, with a benign smile.
"'That will do,' said I, as seizing my hat, I rushed out of
the house, and
hurrying to the beach, took a boat for the ship. Exactly half an
hour had
elapsed since my landing, but even those short thirty minutes had
fully as
many reasons that although there may be few more amusing, there
are some
safer places to live in than the Green Isle."
A general burst of laughter followed the cornet's story, which
was
heightened in its effect by the gravity with which he told
it.
"And after all," said Maurice Quill, "now that people have
given up making
fortunes for the insurance companies by living to the age of
Methuselah,
there's nothing like being an Irishman. In what other part of the
habitable
globe can you cram so much adventure into one year? Where can you
be so
often in love, in liquor, or in debt; and where can you get so
merrily out
of the three? Where are promises to marry and promises to pay
treated with
the same gentleman-like forbearance; and where, when you have
lost your
heart and your fortune, are people found so ready to comfort you
in your
reverses? Yes," said Maurice, as he filled his glass up to the
brim, and
eyed it lusciously for a moment,—"yes, darling, here's your
health; the
only girl I ever loved—in that part of the country, I mean. Give
her a
bumper, lads, and I'll give you a chant."
"Name! name! name!" shouted several voices from different
parts of the
table.
"Mary Draper!" said Maurice, filling his glass once more,
while the name
was re-echoed by every lip at table.
"The song! the song!"
"Faith, I hope I haven't forgotten it," quoth Maurice. "No; here it is."
So saying, after a couple of efforts to assure the pitch of
his voice, the
worthy doctor began the following words to that very popular
melody, "Nancy
Dawson:"—
MARY DRAPER.
AIR,—Nancy Dawson.
Don't talk to me of London dames,
Nor rave about your foreign flames,
That never lived, except in drames,
Nor shone, except on paper;
I'll sing you 'bout a girl I knew,
Who lived in Ballywhacmacrew,
And let me tell you, mighty few
Could equal Mary Draper.
Her cheeks were red, her eyes were blue,
Her hair was brown of deepest hue,
Her foot was small, and neat to view,
Her waist was slight and taper;
Her voice was music to your ear,
A lovely brogue, so rich and clear,
Oh, the like I ne'er again shall hear,
As from sweet Mary Draper.
She'd ride a wall, she'd drive a team,
Or with a fly she'd whip a stream,
Or may be sing you "Rousseau's Dream,"
For nothing could escape her;
I've seen her, too,—upon my word,—
At sixty yards bring down her bird,
Oh, she charmed all the Forty-third,
Did lovely Mary Draper.
And at the spring assizes' ball,
The junior bar would one and all
For all her fav'rite dances call,
And Harry Dean would caper;
Lord Clare would then forget his lore;
King's Counsel, voting law a bore,
Were proud to figure on the floor,
For love of Mary Draper.
The parson, priest, sub-sheriff too,
Were all her slaves, and so would you,
If you had only but one view,
Of such a face and shape, or
Her pretty ankles—But, ohone,
It's only west of old Athlone
Such girls were found—and now they're gone—
So here's to Mary Draper!
"So here's to Mary Draper!" sang out every voice, in such
efforts to catch
the tune as pleased the taste of the motley assembly.
"For Mary Draper and Co., I thank you," said Maurice. "Quill
drinks to
Dennis," added he, in a grave tone, as he nodded to
O'Shaughnessy. "Yes,
Shaugh, few men better than ourselves know these matters; and few
have had
more experience of the three perils of Irishmen,—love, liquor,
and the law
of arrest."
"It's little the latter has ever troubled my father's son,"
replied
O'Shaughnessy. "Our family have been writ proof for centuries,
and he'd
have been a bold man who would have ventured with an original or
a true
copy within the precincts of Killinahoula."
"Your father had a touch of Larry M'Hale in him," said I, "apparently."
"Exactly so," replied Dennis; "not but they caught him at
last, and a
scurvy trick it was and well worthy of him who did it! Yes," said
he, with
a sigh, "it is only another among the many instances where the
better
features of our nationality have been used by our enemies as
instruments
for our destruction; and should we seek for the causes of
unhappiness in
our wretched country, we should find them rather in our virtues
than in
our vices, and in the bright rather than in the darker phases of
our
character."
"Metaphysics, by Jove!" cried Quill; "but all true at the same
time. There
was a mess-mate of mine in the 'Roscommon' who never paid
car-hire in his
life. 'Head or harp, Paddy!' he would cry. 'Two tenpennies or
nothing.'
'Harp, for the honor of ould Ireland!' was the invariable
response, and my
friend was equally sure to make head come uppermost; and, upon my
soul,
they seem to know the trick at the Home Office."
"That must have been the same fellow that took my father,"
cried
O'Shaughnessy, with energy.
"Let us hear the story, Dennis," said I.
"Yes," said Maurice, "for the benefit of self and fellows, let
us hear the
stratagem!"
"The way of it was this," resumed O'Shaughnessy. "My father,
who for
reasons registered in the King's Bench spent a great many years
of his life
in that part of Ireland geographically known as lying west of the
law,
was obliged, for certain reasons of family, to come up to Dublin.
This he
proceeded to do with due caution. Two trusty servants formed an
advance
guard, and patrolled the country for at least five miles in
advance; after
them came a skirmishing body of a few tenants, who, for the
consideration
of never paying rent, would have charged the whole Court of
Chancery, if
needful. My father himself, in an old chaise victualled like a
fortress,
brought up the rear; and as I said before, he were a bold man who
would
have attempted to have laid siege to him. As the column advanced
into the
enemy's country, they assumed a closer order, the patrol and the
picket
falling back upon the main body; and in this way they reached
that most
interesting city called Kilbeggan. What a fortunate thing it is
for us in
Ireland that we can see so much of the world without foreign
travel, and
that any gentleman for six-and-eightpence can leave Dublin in the
morning,
and visit Timbuctoo against dinner-time. Don't stare! it's truth
I'm
telling; for dirt, misery, smoke, unaffected behavior, and black
faces,
I'll back Kilbeggan against all Africa. Free-and-easy, pleasant
people ye
are, with a skin, as begrimed and as rugged as your own potatoes!
But, to
resume. The sun was just rising in a delicious morning of June,
when my
father,—whose loyal antipathies I have mentioned made him also
an early
riser,—was preparing for the road. A stout escort of his
followers were
as usual under arms to see him safe in the chaise, the passage to
and from
which every day being the critical moment of my father's
life.
"'It's all right, your honor,' said his own man, as, armed
with a
blunderbuss, he opened the bed-room door.
"'Time enough, Tim,' said my father; 'close the door, for I
haven't
finished my breakfast.'
"Now, the real truth was, that my father's attention was at
that moment
withdrawn from his own concerns by a scene which was taking place
in a
field beneath his window.
"But a few minutes before, a hack-chaise had stopped upon the
roadside, out
of which sprang three gentlemen, who, proceeding into the field,
seemed
bent upon something, which, whether a survey or a duel, my father
could not
make out. He was not long, however, to remain in ignorance. One,
with an
easy, lounging gait, strode towards a distant corner; another
took an
opposite direction; while a third, a short, pursy gentleman, in a
red
handkerchief and rabbit-skin waistcoat, proceeded to open a
mahogany
box, which, to the critical eyes of my respected father, was
agreeably
suggestive of bloodshed and murder.
"'A duel, by Jupiter!' said my father, rubbing his hands.
'What a heavenly
morning the scoundrels have,—not a leaf stirring, and a sod like
a
billiard-table!'
"Meanwhile the little man who officiated as second, it would
appear to
both parties, bustled about with an activity little congenial
to his
shape; and what between snapping the pistols, examining the
flints, and
ramming down the charges, had got himself into a sufficient
perspiration
before he commenced to measure the ground.
"'Short distance and no quarter!' shouted one of the
combatants, from the
corner of the field.
"'Across a handkerchief, if you like!' roared the other.
"'Gentlemen, every inch of them!' responded my father.
"'Twelve paces!' cried the little man. 'No more and no less.
Don't forget
that I am alone in this business!'
"'A very true remark!' observed my father; 'and an awkward
predicament
yours will be if they are not both shot!'
"By this time the combatants had taken their places, and the
little man,
having delivered the pistols, was leisurely retiring to give the
word.
My father, however, whose critical eye was never at fault,
detected a
circumstance which promised an immense advantage to one at the
expense of
the other; in fact, one of the parties was so placed with his
back to the
sun, that his shadow extended in a straight line to the very foot
of his
antagonist.
"'Unfair, unfair!' cried my father, opening the window as he
spoke, and
addressing himself to him of the rabbit-skin. 'I crave your
pardon for the
interruption,' said he; 'but I feel bound to observe that that
gentleman's
shadow is likely to make a shade of him.'
"'And so it is,' observed the short man; 'a thousand thanks
for your
kindness, but the truth is, I am totally unaccustomed to this
kind of
thing, and the affair will not admit of delay.'
"'Not an hour!' said one.
"'No, not five minutes!' growled the other of the combatants.
"'Put them up north and south,' said my father.
"'Is it thus?'
"'Exactly so. But now, again, the gentleman in the brown coat
is covered
with the ash-tree.'
"'And so he is!' said rabbit-skin, wiping his forehead with agitation.
"'Move them a little to the left,' said he.
"'That brings me upon an eminence,' said the gentleman in
blue. 'I'll be
d—d if I be made a cock shot of!'
"'What an awkward little thief it is in the hairy waistcoat!'
said my
father; 'he's lucky if he don't get shot himself!'
"'May I never, if I'm not sick of you both!' ejaculated
rabbit-skin, in a
passion. 'I've moved you round every point of the compass, and
the devil a
nearer we are than ever!'
"'Give us the word,' said one.
"'The word!'
"'Downright murder,' said my father.
"'I don't care,' said the little man; 'we shall be here till doomsday.'
"'I can't permit this,' said my father; 'allow me.' So saying,
he stepped
upon the window-sill, and leaped down into the field.
"'Before I can accept of your politeness,' said he of the
rabbit-skin, 'may
I beg to know your name and position in society?'
"'Nothing more reasonable,' said my father. 'I'm Miles
O'Shaughnessy,
Colonel of the Royal Raspers,—here is my card.'
"The piece of pasteboard was complacently handed from one to
the other of
the party, who saluted my father with a smile of most courteous
benignity.
"'Colonel O'Shaughnessy,' said one.
"'Miles O'Shaughnessy,' said the other.
"'Of Killinahoula Castle,' said the third.
"'At your service,' said my father, bowing, as he presented
his snuff-box;
'and now to business, if you please, for my time also is
limited.'
"'Very true,' observed he of the rabbit-skin; 'and, as you
observe, now to
business; in virtue of which, Colonel Miles O'Shaughnessy, I
hereby arrest
you in the King's name. Here is the writ; it's at the suit of
Barnaby
Kelly, of Loughrea, for the sum of £1,482 19s. 7-1/2d.,
which—'
"Before he could conclude the sentence, my father discharged
one obligation
by implanting his closed knuckles in his face. The blow, well
aimed and
well intentioned, sent the little fellow summersetting like a
sugar
hogshead. But, alas! it was of no use; the others, strong and
able-bodied,
fell both upon him, and after a desperate struggle succeeded in
getting him
down. To tie his hands, and convey him to the chaise, was the
work of a few
moments; and as my father drove by the inn, the last object which
caught
his view was a bloody encounter between his own people and the
myrmidons
of the law, who, in great numbers, had laid siege to the house
during his
capture. Thus was my father taken; and thus, in reward for
yielding to a
virtuous weakness in his character, was he consigned to the
ignominious
durance of a prison. Was I not right, then, in saying that such
is the
melancholy position of our country, the most beautiful traits in
our
character are converted into the elements of our ruin?"
"I dinna think ye ha'e made out your case, Major?" said the
Scotch doctor,
who felt sorely puzzled at my friend's logic. "If your faether
had na gi'en
the bond—"
"There is no saying what he wouldn't have done to the
bailiffs,"
interrupted Dennis, who was following up a very different train
of
reasoning.
"I fear me, Doctor," observed Quill, "you are much behind us
in Scotland.
Not but that some of your chieftains are respectable men, and
wouldn't get
on badly even in Galway."
"I thank ye muckle for the compliment," said the doctor,
dryly; "but I ha'e
my doubts they'd think it ane, and they're crusty carls that's
no' ower
safe to meddle wi'."
"I'd as soon propose a hand of 'spoiled five' to the Pope of
Rome, as a
joke to one of them," returned Maurice.
"May be ye are na wrang there, Maister Quell."
"Well," cried Hampden, "if I may be allowed an opinion, I can
safely aver I
know no quarters like Scotland. Edinburgh beyond anything or
anywhere I was
ever placed in."
"Always after Dublin," interposed Maurice; while a general
chorus of voices
re-echoed the sentiment.
"You are certainly a strong majority," said my friend,
"against me; but
still I recant not my original opinion. Edinburgh before the
world. For a
hospitality that never tires; for pleasant fellows that improve
every day
of your acquaintance; for pretty girls that make you long for a
repeal of
the canon about being only singly blessed, and lead you to long
for a score
of them, Edinburgh,—I say again, before the world."
"Their ankles are devilish thick," whispered Maurice.
"A calumny, a base calumny!"
"And then they drink—"
"Oh—"
"Yes; they drink very strong tea."
"Shall we ha'e a glass o' sherry together, Hampden?" said the
Scotch
doctor, willing to acknowledge his defence of auld Reekie.
"And we'll take O'Malley in," said Hampden; "he looks imploringly."
"And now to return to the charge," quoth Maurice. "In what
particular dare
ye contend the palm with Dublin? We'll not speak of beauty. I
can't suffer
any such profane turn in the conversation as to dispute the
superiority of
Irishwomen's lips, eyes, noses, and eyebrows, to anything under
heaven.
We'll not talk of gay fellows; egad, we needn't. I'll give you
the
garrison,—a decent present,—and I'll back the Irish bar for
more genuine
drollery, more wit, more epigram, more ready sparkling fun, than
the whole
rest of the empire—ay, and all her colonies—can boast of."
"They are nae remarkable for passing the bottle, if they
resemble their
very gifted advocate," observed the Scotchman.
"But they are for filling and emptying both, making its
current, as it
glides by, like a rich stream glittering in the sunbeams with the
sparkling
lustre of their wit. Lord, how I'm blown! Fill my pannikin,
Charley.
There's no subduing a Scot. Talk with him, drink with him, fight
with him,
and he'll always have the last of it; there's only one way of
concluding
the treaty—"
"And that is—"
"Blarney him. Lord bless you, he can't stand it! Tell him
Holyrood's like
Versailles, and the Trossach's finer than Mont Blanc; that
Geordie Buchanan
was Homer, and the Canongate, Herculaneum,—then ye have him on
the hip.
Now, ye never can humbug an Irishman that way; he'll know you're
quizzing
him when you praise his country."
"Ye are right, Hampden," said the Scotch doctor, in reply to
some
observation. "We are vara primitive in the Hielands, and we keep
to our ain
national customs in dress and everything; and we are vara slow to
learn,
and even when we try we are nae ower successfu' in our
imitations, which
sometimes cost us dearly enough. Ye may have heard, may be, of
the M'Nab o'
that ilk, and what happened him with the king's equerry?"
"I'm not quite certain," said Hampden, "if I ever heard the story."
"It's nae muckle of a story; but the way of it was this. When
Montrose came
back from London, he brought with him a few Englishers to show
them the
Highlands, and let them see something of deer-stalking,—among
the rest, a
certain Sir George Sowerby, an aide-de-camp or an equerry of the
prince.
He was a vara fine gentleman, that never loaded his ain gun, and
a'most
thought it too much trouble to pull the trigger. He went out
every
morning to shoot with his hair curled like a woman, and dressed
like a
dancing-master. Now, there happened to be at the same time at the
castle
the Laird o' M'Nab; he was a kind of cousin of the Montrose, and
a rough
old tyke of the true Hieland breed, wha' thought that the head of
a clan
was fully equal to any king or prince. He sat opposite to Sir
George at
dinner the day of his arrival, and could not conceal his surprise
at the
many new-fangled ways of feeding himself the Englisher adopted.
He ate his
saumon wi' his fork in ae hand, and a bittock of bread in the
other. He
would na touch the whiskey; helped himself to a cutlet wi' his
fingers. But
what was maist extraordinary of all, he wore a pair o' braw white
gloves
during the whole time o' dinner and when they came to tak' away
the cloth,
he drew them off with a great air, and threw them into the middle
of it,
and then, leisurely taking anither pair off a silver salver which
his ain
man presented, he pat them on for dessert. The M'Nab, who,
although an
auld-fashioned carl, was aye fond of bringing something new hame
to his
friends, remarked the Englisher's proceeding with great care, and
the next
day he appeared at dinner wi' a huge pair of Hieland mittens,
which he
wore, to the astonishment of all and the amusement of most,
through the
whole three courses; and exactly as the Englishman changed his
gloves, the
M'Nab produced a fresh pair of goats' wool, four times as large
as the
first, which, drawing on with prodigious gravity, he threw the
others into
the middle of the cloth, remarking, as he did so,—
"'Ye see, Captain, we are never ower auld to learn.'
"All propriety was now at an end, and a hearty burst of
laughter from one
end of the table to the other convulsed the whole company,—the
M'Nab and
the Englishman being the only persons who did not join in it, but
sat
glowering at each other like twa tigers; and, indeed, it needed,
a'
the Montrose's interference that they had na quarrelled upon it
in the
morning."
"The M'Nab was a man after my own heart," said Maurice; "there
was
something very Irish in the lesson he gave the Englishman."
"I'd rather ye'd told him that than me," said the doctor,
dryly; "he would
na hae thanked ye for mistaking him for ane of your
countrymen."
"Come, Doctor," said Dennis, "could not ye give us a stave?
Have ye nothing
that smacks of the brown fern and the blue lakes in your
memory?"
"I have na a sang in my mind just noo except 'Johnny Cope,'
which may be
might na be ower pleasant for the Englishers to listen to."
"I never heard a Scotch song worth sixpence," quoth Maurice,
who seemed
bent on provoking the doctor's ire. "They contain nothing save
some
puling sentimentality about lasses with lint-white locks, or some
absurd
laudations of the Barley Bree."
"Hear till him, hear till him!" said the doctor, reddening with impatience.
"Show me anything," said Maurice, "like the 'Cruiskeen Lawn'
or the 'Jug
of Punch;' but who can blame them, after all? You can't expect
much from a
people with an imagination as naked as their own knees."
"Maurice! Maurice!" cried O'Shaughnessy, reprovingly, who saw
that he was
pushing the other's endurance beyond all bounds.
"I mind weel," said the Scotchman, "what happened to ane o'
your countrymen
wha took upon him to jest as you are doing now. It was to Laurie
Cameron he
did it."
"And what said the redoubted Laurie in reply?"
"He did na say muckle, but he did something."
"And what might it be?" inquired Maurice.
"He threw him ower the brig of Ayr into the water, and he was drowned."
"And did Laurie come to no harm about the matter?"
"Ay, they tried him for it, and found him guilty; but when
they asked
him what he had to say in his defence, he merely replied, 'When
the carl
sneered about Scotland, I did na suspect that he did na ken how
to swim;'
and so the end of it was, they did naething to Laurie."
"Cool that, certainly," said I.
"I prefer your friend with the mittens, I confess," said
Maurice, "though
I'm sure both were most agreeable companion. But come, Doctor,
couldn't you
give us,—
Sit ye down, my heartie, and gie us a crack,
Let the wind tak' the care o' the world on his back.'"
"You maunna attempt English poethry, my freend Quell; for it
must be
confessed ye'e a damnable accent of your ain."
"Milesian-Phoenician-Corkacian; nothing more, my boy, and a
coaxing kind
of recitative it is, after all. Don't tell me of your soft
Etruscan, your
plethoric. Hoch-Deutsch, your flattering French. To woo and win
the
girl of your heart, give me a rich brogue and the least taste in
life of
blarney! There's nothing like it, believe me,—every inflection
of your
voice suggesting some tender pressure of her soft hand or taper
waist,
every cadence falling on her gentle heart like a sea-breeze on a
burning
coast, or a soft sirocco over a rose-tree. And then, think, my
boys,—and
it is a fine thought after all,—what a glorious gift that is,
out of the
reach of kings to give or to take, what neither depends upon the
act of
Union nor the Habeas Corpus. No! they may starve us, laugh at
us, tax us,
transport us. They may take our mountains, our valleys, and our
bogs; but,
bad luck to them, they can't steal our 'blarney;' that's the
privilege one
and indivisible with our identity. And while an Englishman raves
of his
liberty, a Scotchman of his oaten meal, blarney's our
birthright, and a
prettier portion I'd never ask to leave behind me to my sons. If
I'd as
large a family as the ould gentleman called Priam we used to hear
of at
school, it's the only inheritance I'd give them, and one comfort
there
would be besides, the legacy duty would be only a trifle.
Charley, my
son, I see you're listening to me, and nothing satisfies me more
than to
instruct inspiring youth; so never forget the old song,—
'If at your ease, the girls you'd please,
And win them, like Kate Kearney,
There's but one way, I've heard them say,
Go kiss the Stone of Blarney.'"
"What do you say, Shaugh, if we drink it with all the honors?"
"But gently: do I hear a trumpet there?"
"Ah, there go the bugles. Can it be daybreak already?"
"How short the nights are at this season!" said Quill.
"What an infernal rumpus they're making! It's not possible the
troops are
to march so early."
"It wouldn't surprise me in the least," quoth Maurice; "there
is no knowing
what the commander-in-chief's not capable of,—the reason's clear
enough."
"And why, Maurice?"
"There's not a bit of blarney about him."
The réveil sang out from every brigade, and the drums
beat to fall in,
while Mike came galloping up at full speed to say that the bridge
of boats
was completed, and that the Twelfth were already ordered to
cross. Not a
moment was therefore to be lost; one parting cup we drained to
our next
meeting, and amidst a hundred "good-bys" we mounted our horses.
Poor
Hampden's brains, sadly confused by the wine and the laughing, he
knew
little of what was going on around him, and passed the entire
time of our
homeward ride in a vain endeavor to adapt "Mary Draper" to the
air of "Rule
Britannia."
CHAPTER XXII.
FUENTES D'ONORO.
From this period the French continued their retreat, closely
followed by
the allied armies, and on the 5th of April, Massena once more
crossed the
frontier into Spain, leaving thirty thousand of his bravest
troops behind
him, fourteen thousand of whom had fallen or been taken
prisoners.
Reinforcements, however, came rapidly pouring in. Two divisions
of the
Ninth corps had already arrived, and Drouet, with eleven thousand
infantry
and cavalry, was preparing to march to his assistance. Thus
strengthened,
the French army marched towards the Portuguese frontier, and
Lord
Wellington, who had determined not to hazard much by his blockade
of Ciudad
Rodrigo, fell back upon the large table-land beyond the Turones
and the Dos
Casas, with his left at Fort Conception, and his right resting
upon Fuentes
d'Onoro. His position extended to about five miles; and here,
although
vastly inferior in numbers, yet relying upon the bravery of the
troops, and
the moral ascendency acquired by their pursuit of the enemy, he
finally
resolved upon giving them battle.
Being sent with despatches to Pack's brigade, which formed the
blockading
force at Almeida, I did not reach Fuentes d'Onoro until the
evening of the
3d. The thundering of the guns, which, even at the distance I was
at, was
plainly heard, announced that an attack had taken place, but it
by no means
prepared me for the scene which presented itself on my
return.
The village of Fuentes d'Onoro, one of the most beautiful in
Spain, is
situated in a lovely valley, where all the charms of verdure so
peculiar to
the Peninsula seemed to have been scattered with a lavish hand.
The citron
and the arbutus, growing wild, sheltered every cottage door, and
the
olive and the laurel threw their shadows across the little
rivulet which
traversed the village. The houses, observing no uniform
arrangement,
stood wherever the caprice or the inclination of the builder
suggested,
surrounded with little gardens, the inequality of the ground
imparting a
picturesque feature to even the lowliest hut, while upon a craggy
eminence
above the rest, an ancient convent and a ruined chapel looked
down upon the
little peaceful hamlet with an air of tender protection.
Hitherto this lovely spot had escaped all the ravages of war.
The light
division of our army had occupied it for months long; and every
family was
gratefully remembered by some one or other of our officers, and
more than
one of our wounded found in the kind and affectionate watching of
these
poor peasants the solace which sickness rarely meets with when
far from
home and country.
It was, then, with an anxious heart I pressed my horse forward
into a
gallop as the night drew near. The artillery had been distinctly
heard
during the day, and while I burned with eagerness to know the
result, I
felt scarcely less anxious for the fate of that little hamlet
whose name
many a kind story had implanted in my memory. The moon was
shining brightly
as I passed the outpost, and leading my horse by the bridle,
descended the
steep and rugged causeway to the village beneath me. The lanterns
were
moving rapidly to and fro; the measured tread of infantry at
night—that
ominous sound, which falls upon the heart so sadly—told me that
they
were burying the dead. The air was still and breathless; not a
sound was
stirring save the step of the soldiery, and the harsh clash of
the shovel
as it struck the earth. I felt sad and sick at heart, and leaned
against a
tree; a nightingale concealed in the leaves was pouring forth its
plaintive
notes to the night air, and its low warble sounded like the dirge
of the
departed. Far beyond, in the plain, the French watch-fires were
burning,
and I could see from time to time the fatigue-parties moving in
search of
their wounded. At this moment the clock of the convent struck
eleven, and a
merry chime rang out, and was taken up by the echoes till it
melted away in
the distance. Alas, where were those whose hearts were wont to
feel cheered
at that happy peal; whose infancy it had gladdened; whose old age
it has
hallowed? The fallen walls, the broken roof-trees, the ruin and
desolation
on every side, told too plainly that they had passed away
forever! The
smoking embers, the torn-up pathway, denoted the hard-fought
struggle; and
as I passed along, I could see that every garden, where the
cherry and the
apple-blossom were even still perfuming the air, had now its
sepulchre.
"Halt, there!" cried a hoarse voice in front. "You cannot pass
this
way,—the commander-in-chief's quarters."
I looked up and beheld a small but neat-looking cottage, which
seemed to
have suffered less than the others around. Lights were shining
brightly
from the windows, and I could even detect from time to time a
figure
muffled up in a cloak passing to and fro across the window; while
another,
seated at a table, was occupied in writing. I turned into a
narrow path
which led into the little square of the village, and here, as I
approached,
the hum and murmur of voices announced a bivouac party. Stopping
to ask
what had been the result of the day, I learned that a tremendous
attack
had been made by the French in column upon the village, which was
at first
successful; but that afterwards the Seventy-first and
Seventy-ninth,
marching down from the heights, had repulsed the enemy, and
driven them
beyond the Dos Casas. Five hundred had fallen in that fierce
encounter,
which was continued through every street and alley of the little
hamlet.
The gallant Highlanders now occupied the battle-field; and
hearing that the
cavalry brigade was some miles distant, I willingly accepted
their offer to
share their bivouac, and passed the remainder of the night among
them.
When day broke, our troops were under arms, but the enemy
showed no
disposition to renew the attack. We could perceive, however, from
the road
to the southward, by the long columns of dust, that
reinforcements were
still arriving; and learned during the morning, from a deserter,
that
Massena himself had come up, and Bessiéres also, with
twelve hundred
cavalry, and a battery of the Imperial Guard.
From the movements observable in the enemy, it was soon
evident that the
battle, though deferred, was not abandoned; and the march of a
strong
force towards the left of their position induced our
commander-in-chief to
despatch the Seventh Division, under Houston, to occupy the
height of Naval
d'Aver—our extreme right—in support of which our brigade of
cavalry
marched as a covering force. The British position was thus
unavoidably
extended to the enormous length of seven miles, occupying a
succession of
small eminences, from the division at Fort Conception to the
height of
Naval d'Aver,—Fuentes d'Onoro forming nearly the centre of the
line.
It was evident, from the thickening combinations of the
French, that a more
dreadful battle was still in reserve for us; and yet never did
men look
more anxiously for the morrow.
As for myself, I felt a species of exhilaration I had never
before
experienced; the events of the preceding day came dropping in
upon me from
every side, and at every new tale of gallantry or daring I felt
my heart
bounding with excited eagerness to win also my need of honorable
praise.
Crawfurd, too, had recognized me in the kindest manner; and
while saying
that he did not wish to withdraw me from my regiment on a day of
battle,
added that he would make use of me for the present on his staff.
Thus was
I engaged, from early in the morning till late in the evening,
bringing
orders and despatches along the line. The troop-horse I rode—for
I
reserved my gray for the following day—was scarcely able to
carry me
along, as towards dusk I jogged along in the direction of Naval
d'Aver.
When I did reach our quarters, the fires were lighted, and around
one of
them I had the good fortune to find a party of the Fourteenth
occupied in
discussing a very appetizing little supper. The clatter of
plates, and the
popping of champagne corks were most agreeable sounds. Indeed,
the latter
appeared to me so much too flattering an illusion, that I
hesitated giving
credit to my senses in the matter, when Baker called out,—
"Come, Charley, sit down; you're just in the nick. Tom Marsden
is giving us
a benefit. You know Tom?"
And here he presented me in due form to that best of
commissaries and most
hospitable of horse-dealers.
"I can't introduce you to my friend on my right," continued
Baker, "for my
Spanish is only a skeleton battalion; but he's a trump,—that
I'll vouch
for; never flinches his glass, and looks as though he enjoyed all
our
nonsense."
The Spaniard, who appeared to comprehend that he was alluded
to, gravely
saluted me with a low bow, and offered his glass to hobnob with
me. I
returned the curtesy with becoming ceremony, while Hampden
whispered in my
ear,—
"A fine-looking fellow. You know who he is? Julian, the Guerilla chief."
I had heard much of both the strangers. Tom Marsden was a
household word
in every cavalry brigade; equally celebrated were his contracts
and his
claret. He knew every one, from Lord Wellington to the
last-joined cornet;
and while upon a march, there was no piece of better fortune than
to be
asked to dine with him. So in the very thick of battle, Tom's
critical eye
was scanning the squadrons engaged, with an accuracy as to the
number of
fresh horses that would be required upon the morrow that nothing
but long
practice and infinite coolness could have conferred.
Of the Guerilla I need not speak. The bold feats he
accomplished, the aid
he rendered to the cause of his country, have made his name
historical. Yet
still with all this, fatigue, more powerful than my curiosity,
prevailed,
and I sank into a heavy sleep upon the grass, while my merry
companions
kept up their revels till near morning. The last piece of
consciousness I
am sensible of was seeing Julian spreading his wide mantle over
me as I
lay, while I heard his deep voice whisper a kind wish for my
repose.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BATTLE OF FUENTES D'ONORO.
So soundly did I sleep that the tumult and confusion of the
morning never
awoke me; and the Guerilla, whose cavalry were stationed along
the edge of
the ravine near the heights of Echora, would not permit of my
being roused
before the last moment. Mike stood near me with my horses, and it
was only
when the squadrons were actually forming that I sprang to my feet
and
looked around me.
The day was just breaking; a thick mist lay upon the parched
earth, and
concealed everything a hundred yards from where we stood. From
this dense
vapor the cavalry defiled along the base of the hill, followed by
the
horse artillery and the Guards, disappearing again as they passed
us,
but proving, by the mass of troops now assembled, that our
position was
regarded as the probable point of attack.
While the troops continued to take up their position, the sun
shone out,
and a slight breeze blowing at the same, moment, the heavy clouds
moved
past, and we beheld the magnificent panorama of the battle-field.
Before
us, at the distance of less than half a league, the French
cavalry were
drawn up in three strong columns; the Cuirassiers of the Guard,
plainly
distinguished by their steel cuirasses, flanked by the Polish
Lancers and a
strong huzzar brigade; a powerful artillery train supported the
left, and
an infantry force occupied the entire space between the right and
the
rising ground opposite Poço Velho. Farther to the right
again, the column
destined for the attack of Fuentes d'Onoro were forming, and we
could see
that, profiting by their past experience, they were bent upon
attacking the
village with an overwhelming force.
For above two hours the French continued to manoeuvre, more
than one
alteration having taken place in their disposition; fresh
battalions were
moved towards the front, and gradually the whole of their cavalry
was
assembled on the extreme left in front of our position. Our
people were
ordered to breakfast where we stood; and a little after seven
o'clock a
staff officer came riding down the line, followed in a few
moments after by
General Crawfurd, when no sooner was his well-known brown cob
recognized by
the troops than a hearty cheer greeted him along the whole
division.
"Thank ye, boys; thank ye, boys, with all my heart. No man
feels more
sensibly what that cheer means than I do. Guards, Lord Wellington
relies
upon your maintaining this position, which is essential to the
safety of
the whole line. You will be supported by the light division. I
need say
no more. If such troops cannot keep their ground, none can.
Fourteenth,
there's your place; the artillery and the Sixteenth are with you.
They've
the odds of us in numbers, lads; but it will tell all the better
in the
'Gazette.' I see they're moving; so fall in now, fall in; and
Merivale,
move to the front. Ramsey, prepare to open your fire on the
attacking
squadrons."
As he spoke, the low murmuring sound of distantly moving
cavalry crept
along the earth, growing louder and louder, till at length we
could detect
the heavy tramp of the squadrons as they came on in a trot, our
pace
being merely a walk. While we thus advanced into the plain, the
artillery
unlimbered behind us, and the Spanish cavalry, breaking into
skirmishers,
dashed boldly to the front.
It was an exciting moment. The ground dipped between the two
armies so
as to conceal the head of the advancing column of the French, and
as the
Spanish skirmishers disappeared down the ridge, our beating
hearts and
straining eyes followed their last horseman.
"Halt! halt!" was passed from squadron to squadron, and the
same instant
the sharp ring of the pistol shots and the clash of steel from
the valley,
told us the battle had begun. We could hear the Guerilla war-cry
mingle
with the French shout, while the thickening crash of fire-arms
implied a
sharper conflict. Our fellows were already manifesting some
impatience
to press on, when a Spanish horseman appeared above the ridge,
another
followed, and another, and then pell-mell, broken and disordered,
they
fell back before the pursuing cavalry in flying masses; while the
French,
charging them hotly home, utterly routed and repulsed them.
The leading squadrons of the French now fell back upon their
support; the
column of attack thickened, and a thundering noise between their
masses
announced their brigade of light guns as they galloped to the
front. It was
then for the first time that I felt dispirited; far as my eye
could stretch
the dense mass of sabres extended, defiling from the distant
hills and
winding its slow length across the plain. I turned to look at our
line,
scarce one thousand strong, and could not help feeling that our
hour was
come: the feeling flashed vividly across my mind, but the next
instant I
felt my cheek redden with shame as I gazed upon the sparkling
eyes and bold
looks around me, the lips compressed, the hands knitted to their
sabres;
all were motionless, but burning to advance.
The French had halted on the brow of the hill to form, when
Merivale came
cantering up to us.
"Fourteenth, are you ready? Are you ready, lads?"
"Ready, sir! ready!" re-echoed along the line.
"Then push them home and charge! Charge!" cried he, raising
his voice to a
shout at the last word.
Heavens, what a crash was there! Our horses, in top condition,
no sooner
felt the spur than they bounded madly onwards. The pace—for the
distance
did not exceed four hundred yards—was like racing. To resist the
impetus
of our approach was impossible; and without a shot fired,
scarcely a
sabre-cut exchanged, we actually rode down their advanced
squadrons,
hurling them headlong upon their supporting division, and rolling
men and
horses beneath us on every side. The French fell back upon their
artillery;
but before they could succeed in opening their fire upon us, we
had
wheeled, and carrying off about seventy prisoners, galloped back
to our
position with the loss of but two men in the affair. The whole
thing was so
sudden, so bold, and so successful, that I remember well, as we
rode
back, a hearty burst of laughter was ringing through the squadron
at the
ludicrous display of horsemanship the French presented as they
tumbled
headlong down the hill; and I cannot help treasuring the
recollection,
for from that moment, all thought of anything short of victory
completely
quitted my mind, and many of my brother officers, who had
participated in
my feelings at the commencement of the day, confessed to me
afterwards that
it was then for the first time they felt assured of beating the
enemy.
While we slowly fell back to our position, the French were
seen advancing
in great force from the village of Almeida, to the attack of
Poço Velho;
they came on at a rapid pace, their artillery upon their front
and flank,
large masses of cavalry hovering around them. The attack upon the
village
was now opened by the large guns; and amidst the booming of the
artillery
and the crashing volleys of small fire-arms, rose the shout of
the
assailants, and the wild cry of the Guerilla cavalry, who had
formed in
front of the village. The French advanced firmly, driving back
the pickets,
and actually inundated the devoted village with a shower of
grape; the
blazing fires burst from the ignited roofs; and the black, dense
smoke,
rising on high, seemed to rest like a pall over the little
hamlet.
The conflict was now a tremendous one; our Seventh Division
held the
village with the bayonet; but the French continuing to pour in
mass upon
mass, drove them back with loss, and at the end of an hour's hard
fighting,
took possession of the place.
The wood upon the left flank was now seen to swarm with light
infantry, and
the advancement of their whole left proved that they meditated to
turn our
flank; the space between the village and the hill of Naval d'Aver
became
thus the central position; and here the Guerilla force, led on by
Julian
Sanches, seemed to await the French with confidence. Soon,
however, the
cuirassiers came galloping to the spot, and almost without
exchanging a
sabre-cut, the Guerillas fell back, and retired behind the
Turones. This
movement of Julian was more attributable to anger than to fear;
for his
favorite lieutenant, being mistaken for a French officer, was
shot by a
soldier of the Guards a few minutes before.
Montbrun pursued the Guerillas with some squadrons of horse,
but they
turned resolutely upon the French, and not till overwhelmed by
numbers did
they show any disposition to retreat.
The French, however, now threw forward their whole cavalry,
and driving
back the English horse, succeeded in turning the right of the
Seventh
Division. The battle by this time was general. The staff officers
who came
up from the left informed us that Fuentes d'Onoro was attacked in
force,
Massena himself leading the assault in person; while thus for
seven miles
the fight was maintained hotly at intervals, it was evident that
upon the
maintenance of our position the fortune of the day depended.
Hitherto we
had been repulsed from the village and the wood; and the dark
masses of
infantry which were assembled upon our right, seemed to threaten
the hill
of Naval d'Aver with as sad a catastrophe.
Crawfurd came now galloping up among us, his eye flashing
fire, and his
uniform splashed and covered with foam:
"Steady Sixteenth, steady! Don't blow your horses! Have your
fellows
advanced, Malcolm?" said he, turning to an officer who stood
beside him.
"Ay, there they go!" pointing with his finger to the wood where,
as he
spoke, the short ringing of the British rifle proclaimed the
advance of
that brigade. "Let the cavalry prepare to charge! And now,
Ramsey, let us
give it them home!"
Scarcely were the words spoken, when the squadrons were
formed, and in an
instant after, the French light infantry were seen retreating
from the
wood, and flying in disorderly masses across the plain. Our
squadrons
riding down among them, actually cut them to atoms, while the
light
artillery, unlimbering, threw in a deadly discharge of
grape-shot.
"To the right, Fourteenth, to the right!" cried General
Stewart. "Have at
their hussars!"
Whirling by them, we advanced at a gallop, and dashed towards
the enemy,
who, not less resolutely bent, came boldly forward to meet us.
The shock
was terrific! The leading squadrons on both sides went down
almost to a
man, and all order being lost, the encounter became one of hand
to hand.
The struggle was deadly; neither party would give way; and
while fortune
now inclined hither and thither, Sir Charles Stewart singled out
the French
general, Lamotte, and carried him off his prisoner. Meanwhile
Montbrun's
cavalry and the cuirassiers came riding up, and the retreat now
sounding
through our ranks, we were obliged to fall back upon the
infantry. The
French pursued us hotly; and so rapid was their movement, that
before
Ramsey's brigade could limber up and away, their squadrons had
surrounded
him and captured his guns.
"Where is Ramsey?" cried Crawfurd, as he galloped to the head
of our
division. "Cut off—cut off! Taken, by G——! There he goes!"
said he,
pointing with his finger, as a dense cloud of mingled smoke and
dust moved
darkly across the plain. "Form into column once more!"
As he spoke, the dense mass before us seemed agitated by some
mighty
commotion; the flashing of blades, and the rattling of
small-arms, mingled
with shouts of triumph or defiance, burst forth, and the ominous
cloud
lowering more darkly, seemed peopled by those in deadly strife.
An English
cheer pealed high above all other sounds; a second followed; the
mass was
rent asunder, and like the forked lightning from a thunder-cloud,
Ramsey
rode forth at the head of his battery, the horses bounding madly,
while the
guns sprang behind them like things of no weight; the gunners
leaped to
their places, and fighting hand to hand with the French cavalry,
they flew
across the plain.
"Nobly done, gallant Ramsey!" said a voice behind me. I turned
at the
sound; it was Lord Wellington who spoke. My eye fixed upon his
stern
features, I forgot all else; when he suddenly recalled me to
my
recollection by saying,—
"Follow your brigade, sir. Charge!"
In an instant I was with my people, who, intervening betwixt
Ramsey and his
pursuers, repulsed the enemy with loss, and carried off several
prisoners.
The French, however, came up in greater strength; overwhelming
masses of
cavalry came sweeping upon us, and we were obliged to retire
behind the
light division, which rapidly formed into squares to resist the
cavalry.
The Seventh Division, which was more advanced, were, however, too
late for
this movement, and before they could effect their formation, the
French
were upon them. At this moment they owed their safety to the
Chasseurs
Britanniques, who poured in a flanking fire, so close, and with
so deadly
an aim, that their foes recoiled, beaten and bewildered.
Meanwhile the French had become masters of Pogo Velho; the
formidable
masses had nearly outflanked us on the right. The battle was lost
if we
could not fall back upon our original position, and concentrate
our force
upon Fuentes d'Onoro. To effect this was a work of great
difficulty; but
no time was to be lost. The Seventh Division were ordered to
cross the
Turones, while Crawfurd, forming the light division into squares,
covered
their retreat, and supported by the cavalry, sustained the whole
force of
the enemy's attack.
Then was the moment to witness the cool and steady bravery of
British
infantry; the squares dotted across the enormous plain seemed as
nothing
amidst that confused and flying multitude, composed of
commissariat
baggage, camp-followers, peasants, and finally, broken pickets
and videttes
arriving from the wood. A cloud of cavalry hovered and darkened
around
them; the Polish Lancers shook their long spears, impatient of
delay, and
the wild huzzas burst momentarily from their squadrons as they
waited for
the word to attack. But the British stood firm and undaunted; and
although
the enemy rode round their squares, Montbrun himself at their
head, they
never dared to charge them. Meanwhile the Seventh Division fell
back, as
if on a parade, and crossing the river, took up their ground at
Frenada,
pivoting upon the First Division; the remainder of the line also
fell back,
and assumed a position at right angles with their former one, the
cavalry
forming in front, and holding the French in check during the
movement. This
was a splendid manoeuvre, and when made in face of an
overnumbering enemy,
one unmatched during the whole war.
At sight of this new front, the French stopped short, and
opened a fire
from their heavy guns. The British batteries replied with vigor
and
silenced the enemy's cannon. The cavalry drew out of range, and
the
infantry gradually fell back to their former position. While this
was going
on, the attack upon Fuentes d'Onoro was continued with unabated
vigor.
The three British regiments in the lower town were pierced by
the
French tirailleurs, who poured upon them in overwhelming numbers;
the
Seventy-ninth were broken, ten companies taken, and Cameron,
their colonel,
mortally wounded. Thus the lower village was in the hands of the
enemy,
while from the upper town the incessant roll of musketry
proclaimed the
obstinate resistance of the British.
At this period the reserves were called up from the right, in
time to
resist the additional troops which Drouet continued to bring on.
The
French, reinforced by the whole Sixth Corps, now came forward at
a
quick-step. Dashing through the ruined streets of the lower town,
they
crossed the rivulet, fighting bravely, and charged against the
height.
Already their leading files had gained the crag beside the
chapel. A French
colonel holding his cap upon his sword-point waved on his
men.
The grizzly features of the grenadiers soon appeared, and the
dark column,
half-climbing, half-running, were seen scaling the height. A
rifle-bullet
sent the French leader tumbling from the precipice; and a
cheer—mad and
reckless as the war-cry of an Indian—rent the sky, as the 71st
and 79th
Highlanders sprang upon the enemy.
Our part was a short one; advancing in half squadrons, we were
concealed
from the observation of the enemy by the thick vineyards which
skirted the
lower town, waiting, with impatience, the moment when our gallant
infantry
should succeed in turning the tide of battle. We were ordered to
dismount,
and stood with our bridles on our arms, anxious and expectant.
The charge
of the French column was made close to where we were
standing,—the
inspiriting cheers of the officers, the loud vivas of the men,
were
plainly heard by us as they rushed to the assault; but the space
between
us was intersected by walls and brushwood, which totally
prevented the
movements of cavalry.
Fearlessly their dark column moved up the heights, fixing the
bayonets
as they went. No tirailleurs preceded them, but the tall shako of
the
Grenadier of the Guard was seen in the first rank. Long before
the end of
the column had passed us, the leading files were in action. A
deafening
peal of musketry—so loud, so dense, it seemed like
artillery—burst forth.
A volume of black smoke rolled heavily down from the heights and
hid all
from our view, except when the vivid lightning of the platoon
firing rent
the veil asunder, and showed us the troops almost in hand to hand
conflict.
"It's Picton's Division, I'm certain," cried Merivale; "I hear
the bagpipes
of the Highlanders."
"You are right, sir," said Hampden, "the Seventy-first are in
the same
brigade, and I know their bugles well. There they go again!"
"Fourteenth! Fourteenth!" cried a voice from behind, and at
the same
moment, a staff officer, without his hat, and his horse bleeding
from a
recent sabre-cut, came up. "You must move to the rear, Colonel
Merivale;
the French have gained the heights! Move round by the causeway;
bring up
your squadrons as quickly as you can, and support the
infantry!"
In a moment we were in our saddles; but scarcely was the word
"to fall in"
given, when a loud cheer rent the very air; the musketry seemed
suddenly
to cease, and the dark mass which continued to struggle up the
heights
wavered, broke, and turned.
"What can that be?" said Merivale. "What can it mean?"
"I can tell you, sir," said I, proudly, while I felt my heart
throb as
though it would bound from my bosom.
"And what is it, boy? Speak!"
"There it goes again! That was an Irish shout! The
Eighty-eighth are at
them!"
"By Jove, here they come!" said Hampden. "God help the Frenchmen now!"
The words were not well spoken, when the red coats of our
gallant fellows
were seen dashing through the vineyard.
"The steel, boys; nothing but the steel!" shouted a loud voice
from the
crag above our heads.
I looked up. It was the stern Picton himself who spoke. The
Eighty-eighth
now led the pursuit, and sprang from rock to rock in all the
mad
impetuosity of battle; and like some mighty billow rolling before
the gale,
the French went down the heights.
"Gallant Eighty-eighth! Gloriously done!" cried Picton, as he
waved his
hat.
"Aren't we Connaught robbers, now?" shouted a rich brogue, as
its owner,
breathless and bleeding, pressed forward in the charge.
A hearty burst of laughter mingled with the din of the battle.
"Now for it, boys! Now for our work!" said old Merivale,
drawing his
sabre as he spoke. "Forward! and charge!"
We waited not a second bidding, but bursting from our
concealment,
galloped down into the broken column. It was no regular charge,
but an
indiscriminate rush. Scarcely offering resistance, the enemy fell
beneath
our sabres, or the still more deadly bayonets of the infantry,
who were
inextricably mingled up in the conflict.
The chase was followed up for above half a mile, when we fell
back,
fortunately in good time; for the French had opened a heavy fire
from their
artillery, and regardless of their own retreating column, poured
a shower
of grape among our squadrons. As we retired, the struggling files
of the
Rangers joined us,—their faces and accoutrements blackened and
begrimed
with powder; many of them, themselves wounded, had captured
prisoners; and
one huge fellow of the grenadier company was seen driving before
him a
no less powerful Frenchman, and to whom, as he turned from time
to time
reluctantly, and scowled upon his jailer, the other vociferated
some Irish
imprecation, whose harsh intentions were made most palpably
evident by a
flourish of a drawn bayonet.
"Who is he?" said Mike; "who is he, ahagur?"
"Sorra one o' me knows," said the other; "but it's the chap
that shot
Lieutenant Mahony, and I never took my eye off him after; and if
the
lieutenant's not dead, sure it'll be a satisfaction to him that I
cotch
him."
The lower town was now evacuated by the French, who retired
beyond the
range of our artillery; the upper continued in the occupation of
our
troops; and worn out and exhausted, surrounded by dead and dying,
both
parties abandoned the contest, and the battle was over.
Both sides laid claim to the victory; the French, because,
having taken the
village of Poço Velho, they had pierced the British line,
and compelled
them to fall back and assume a new position; the British, because
the
attack upon Fuentes d'Onoro has been successfully resisted, and
the
blockade of Almeida—the real object of the battle—maintained.
The loss
to each was tremendous; fifteen hundred men and officers, of whom
three
hundred were prisoners, were lost by the allies, and a far
greater number
fell among the forces of the enemy.
After the action, a brigade of the light division released the
troops in
the village, and the armies bivouacked once more in sight of each
other.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A RENCONTRE.
"LIEUTENANT O'MALLEY, 14th Light Dragoons, to serve as extra
aide-de-camp
to Major-General Crawfurd, until the pleasure of his Royal
Highness the
Prince Regent is known." Such was the first paragraph of a
general order,
dated Fuentes d'Onoro, the day after the battle, which met me as
I woke
from a sound and heavy slumber, the result of thirteen hours on
horseback.
A staff appointment was not exactly what I desired at the
moment; but I
knew that with Crawfurd my duties were more likely to be at the
pickets and
advanced posts of the army, than in the mere details of
note-writing or
despatch-bearing; besides that, I felt, whenever anything of
importance
was to be done, I should always obtain his permission to do duty
with my
regiment.
Taking a hurried breakfast, therefore, I mounted my horse, and
cantered
over to Villa Formosa, where the general's quarters were, to
return my
thanks for the promotion, and take the necessary steps for
assuming my new
functions.
Although the sun had risen about two hours, the fatigue of the
previous day
had impressed itself upon all around. The cavalry, men and
horses, were
still stretched upon the sward, sunk in sleep; the videttes,
weary and
tired, seemed anxiously watching for the relief; and the
disordered and
confused appearance of everything bespoke that discipline had
relaxed its
stern features, in compassion for the bold exertions of the
preceding day.
The only contrast to this general air of exhaustion and weariness
on every
side was a corps of sappers, who were busily employed upon the
high grounds
above the village. Early as it was, they seemed to have been at
work
some hours,—at least so their labors bespoke; for already a
rampart
of considerable extent had been thrown up, stockades implanted,
and a
breastwork was in a state of active preparation. The officer of
the party,
wrapped up in a loose cloak, and mounted upon a sharp-looking
hackney, rode
hither and thither as the occasion warranted, and seemed, as well
as from
the distance I could guess, something of a tartar. At least I
could not
help remarking how, at his approach, the several inferior
officers seemed
suddenly so much more on the alert, and the men worked with an
additional
vigor and activity. I stopped for some minutes to watch him, and
seeing
an engineer captain of my acquaintance among the party, couldn't
resist
calling out:—
"I say, Hatchard, your friend on the chestnut mare must have
had an easier
day yesterday than some of us, or I'll be hanged if he'd be so
active this
morning." Hatchard hung his head in some confusion, and did not
reply;
and on my looking round, whom should I see before me but the
identical
individual I had so coolly been criticising, and who, to my utter
horror
and dismay, was no other than Lord Wellington himself. I did not
wait for a
second peep. Helter-skelter, through water, thickets, and
brambles, away I
went, clattering down the causeway like a madman. If a French
squadron had
been behind me, I should have had a stouter heart, although I did
not fear
pursuit. I felt his eye was upon me,—his sharp and piercing
glance, that
shot like an arrow into me; and his firm look stared at me in
every object
around.
Onward I pressed, feeling in the very recklessness of my
course some relief
to my sense of shame, and ardently hoping that some
accident—some smashed
arm or broken collar-bone—might befall me and rescue me from any
notice
my conduct might otherwise call for. I never drew rein till I
reached the
Villa Formosa, and pulled up short at a small cottage where a
double sentry
apprised me of the general's quarters. As I came up, the low
lattice sprang
quickly open, and a figure, half dressed, and more than half
asleep,
protruded his head.
"Well, what has happened? Anything wrong?" said he, whom I now
recognized
to be General Crawfurd.
"No, nothing wrong, sir," stammered I, with evident confusion.
"I'm merely
come to thank you for your kindness in my behalf."
"You seemed in a devil of a hurry to do it, if I'm to judge by
the pace
you came at. Come in and take your breakfast with us; I shall be
dressed
presently, and you'll meet some of your brother
aides-de-camp."
Having given my horse to an orderly, I walked into a little
room, whose
humble accommodations and unpretending appearance seemed in
perfect
keeping with the simple and unostentatious character of the
general. The
preparations for a good and substantial breakfast were, however,
before
me, and an English newspaper of a late date spread its most ample
pages
to welcome me. I had not been long absorbed in my reading, when
the door
opened, and the general, whose toilet was not yet completed, made
his
appearance.
"Egad, O'Malley, you startled me this morning. I thought we
were in for it
again."
I took this as the most seasonable opportunity to recount my
mishap of the
morning, and accordingly, without more ado, detailed the unlucky
meeting
with the commander-in-chief. When I came to the end, Crawfurd
threw himself
into a chair and laughed till the very tears coursed down his
bronzed
features.
"You don't say so, boy? You don't really tell me you said
that? By Jove! I
had rather have faced a platoon of musketry than have stood in
your shoes!
You did not wait for a reply, I think?"
"No, faith, sir, that I did not!"
"Do you suspect he knows you?"
"I trust not, sir; the whole thing passed so rapidly!"
"Well, it's most unlucky in more ways than one!" He paused for
a few
moments as he said this, and then added, "Have you seen the
general order?"
pushing towards me a written paper as he spoke. It ran
thus:—
G.O. ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE, VILLA FORMOSA,
May 6, 1811.
Memorandum.—Commanding officers are requested to send
in to
the military secretary, as soon as possible, the names of
officers they
may wish to have promoted in succession to those who have
fallen
in action."
"Now look at this list. The Honorable Harvey Howard, Grenadier
Guards,
to be first lieutenant, vice—No, not that. Henry
Beauchamp—George
Villiers—ay, here it is! Captain Lyttleton, Fourteenth Light
Dragoons,
to be major in the Third Dragoon Guards, vice Godwin, killed in
action;
Lieutenant O'Malley to be captain, vice Lyttleton, promoted.
You see,
boy, I did not forget you; you were to have had the vacant troop
in your
own regiment. Now I almost doubt the prudence of bringing your
name under
Lord Wellington's notice. He may have recognized you; and if he
did so,
why, I rather think—that is, I suspect—I mean, the quieter you
keep the
better."
While I poured forth my gratitude as warmly as I was able for
the general's
great kindness to me, I expressed my perfect concurrence in his
views.
"Believe me, sir," said I, "I should much rather wait any
number of years
for my promotion, than incur the risk of a reprimand; the more
so, as it is
not the first time I have blundered with his lordship." I here
narrated
my former meeting with Sir Arthur, at which Crawfurd's mirth
again burst
forth, and he paced the room, holding his sides in an ecstasy of
merriment.
"Come, come, lad, we'll hope for the best; we'll give you the
chance that
he has not seen your face, and send the list forward as it is.
But here
come our fellows."
As he spoke, the door opened, and three officers of his staff
entered, to
whom, being severally introduced, we chatted away about the news
of the
morning until breakfast.
"I've frequently heard of you from my friend Hammersley," said
Captain
Fitzroy, addressing me. "You were intimately acquainted, I
believe?"
"Oh, yes! Pray, where is he now? We have not met for a long time."
"The poor fellow's invalided; that sabre-cut upon his head has
turned out
a sad affair, and he's gone back to England on a sick leave. Old
Dashwood
took him back with him as private secretary, or something of that
sort."
"Ah!" said another, "Dashwood has daughters, hasn't he? No bad
notion of
his; for Hammersley will be a baronet some of these days, with a
rent-roll
of eight or nine thousand per annum."
"Sir George Dashwood," said I, "has but one daughter, and I am
quite sure
that in his kindness to Hammersley no intentions of the kind you
mention
were mixed up."
"Well, I don't know," said the third, a pale, sickly youth,
with handsome
but delicate features. "I was on Dashwood's staff until a few
weeks ago,
and certainly I thought there was something going on between
Hammersley
and Miss Lucy, who, be it spoken, is a devilish fine girl, though
rather
disposed to give herself airs."
I felt my cheek and my temples boiling like a furnace; my hand
trembled as
I lifted my coffee to my lips; and I would have given my expected
promotion
twice over to have had any reasonable ground of quarrel with the
speaker.
"Egad, lads," said Crawfurd, "that's the very best thing I
know about a
command. As a bishop is always sure to portion off his daughters
with
deaneries and rectories, so your knowing old general always
marries his
among his staff."
This sally was met with the ready laughter of the
subordinates, in which,
however little disposed. I was obliged to join.
"You are quite right, sir," rejoined the pale youth; "and Sir
George has no
fortune to give his daughter."
"How came it, Horace, that you got off safe?" said Fitzroy,
with a certain
air of affected seriousness in his voice and manner. "I wonder
they let
such a prize escape them."
"Well, it was not exactly their fault, I do confess. Old
Dashwood did the
civil towards me, and la belle Lucie herself was condescending
enough to
be less cruel than to the rest of the staff. Her father threw us
a good
deal together; and in fact, I believe—I fear—that is—that I
didn't
behave quite well."
"You may rest perfectly assured of it, sir," said I; "whatever
your
previous conduct may have been, you have completely relieved your
mind on
this occasion, and behaved most shamefully."
Had a shell fallen in the midst of us, the faces around me
could not have
been more horror-struck than when, in a cool, determined tone, I
spoke
these few words. Fitzroy pushed his chair slightly back from the
table, and
fixed his eyes full upon me. Crawfurd grew dark-purple over his
whole face
and forehead, and looked from one to the other of us without
speaking;
while the Honorable Horace Delawar, the individual addressed,
never changed
a muscle of his wan and sickly features, but lifting his eyes
slowly from
his muffin, lisped softly out,—
"You think so? How very good!"
"General Crawfurd," said I, the moment I could collect myself
sufficiently
to speak, "I am deeply grieved that I should so far have
forgotten myself
as to disturb the harmony of your table; but when I tell you that
Sir
George Dashwood is one of my warmest friends on earth; that from
my
intimate knowledge of him, I am certain that gentleman's
statements are
either the mere outpourings of folly or worse—"
"By Jove, O'Malley! you have a very singular mode of
explaining away the
matter. Delawar, sit down again. Gentlemen, I have only one word
to say
about this transaction; I'll have no squabbles nor broils here;
from this
room to the guard-house is a five minutes' walk. Promise me, upon
your
honors, this altercation ends here, or as sure as my name's
Crawfurd, you
shall both be placed under arrest, and the man who refuses to
obey me shall
be sent back to England."
Before I well knew in what way to proceed, Mr. Delawar rose
and bowed
formally to the general, while I imitated his example; silently
we resumed
our places, and after a pause of a few moments, the current of
conversation
was renewed, and other topics discussed, but with such evident
awkwardness
and constraint that all parties felt relieved when the general
rose from
table.
"I say, O'Malley, have you forwarded the returns to the
adjutant-general's
office?"
"Yes, sir; I despatched them this morning before leaving my quarters."
"I am glad of it; the irregularities on this score have called
forth a
heavy reprimand at headquarters."
I was also glad of it, and it chanced that by mere accident I
remembered to
charge Mike with the papers, which, had they not been lying
unsealed upon
the table before me, would, in all likelihood, have escaped my
attention.
The post started to Lisbon that same morning, to take advantage
of which
I had sat up writing for half the night. Little was I aware at
the
moment what a mass of trouble and annoyance was in store for me
from the
circumstance.
CHAPTER XXV.
ALMEIDA.
On the morning of the 7th we perceived, from a movement in the
French camp,
that the wounded were being sent to the rear, and shortly
afterwards the
main body of their army commenced its retreat. They moved with
slow, and as
it were, reluctant steps; and Bessiéres, who commanded the
Imperial Guard,
turned his eyes more than once to that position which all the
bravery of
his troops was unavailing to capture. Although our cavalry lay in
force to
the front of our line, no attempt was made to molest the
retreating French;
and Massena, having retired beyond the Aguada, left a strong
force to watch
the ford, while the remainder of the army fell back upon Cuidad
Rodrigo.
During this time we had succeeded in fortifying our position
at Fuentes
d'Onoro so strongly as to resist any new attack, and Lord
Wellington now
turned his whole attention to the blockade of Almeida, which, by
Massena's
retreat, was abandoned to its fate.
On the morning of the 10th I accompanied General Crawfurd in
a
reconnoissance of the fortress, which, from the intelligence we
had lately
received, could not much longer hold out against our blockade.
The fire
from the enemy's artillery was, however, hotly maintained; and as
night
fell, some squadrons of the Fourteenth, who were picketed near,
were unable
to light their watch-fires, being within reach of their shot. As
the
darkness increased so did the cannonade, and the bright flashes
from the
walls and the deep booming of the artillery became incessant.
A hundred conjectures were afloat to account for the
circumstance; some
asserting that what we heard were mere signals to Massena's army;
and
others, that Brennier was destroying and mutilating the fortress
before he
evacuated it to the allies.
It was little past midnight when, tired from the fatigues of
the day, I had
fallen asleep beneath a tree, an explosion, louder than any which
preceded
it, burst suddenly forth, and as I awoke and looked about me, I
perceived
the whole heavens illuminated by one bright glare, while the
crashing
noise of falling stones and crumbling masonry told me that a mine
had been
sprung; the moment after, all was calm and still and motionless;
a thick
black smoke increasing the sombre darkness of the night shut out
every star
from view, and some drops of heavy rain began to fall.
The silence, ten times more appalling than the din which
preceded it,
weighed heavily upon my senses, and a dread of some unknown
danger crept
over me; the exhaustion, however, was greater than my fear, and
again I
sank into slumber.
Scarcely had I been half an hour asleep, when the blast of a
trumpet again
awoke me, and I found, amidst the confusion and excitement about,
that
something of importance had occurred. Questions were eagerly
asked on all
sides, but no one could explain what had happened. Towards the
town all was
as still as death, but a dropping, irregular fire of musketry
issued from
the valley beside the Aguada. "What can this mean; what can it
be?" we
asked of each other. "A sortie from the garrison," said one; "A
night
attack by Massena's troops," cried another; and while thus we
disputed and
argued, a horseman was heard advancing along the road at the top
of his
speed.
"Where are the cavalry?" cried a voice I recognized as one of
my brother
aides-de-camp. "Where are the Fourteenth?"
A cheer from our party answered this question, and the next
moment,
breathless and agitated, he rode in among us.
"What is it? Are we attacked?"
"Would to Heaven that were all! But come along, lads, follow me."
"What can it be, then?" said I again; while my anxiety knew no bounds.
"Brennier has escaped; burst his way through Pack's Division,
and has
already reached Valde Mula."
"The French have escaped!" was repeated from mouth to mouth;
while,
pressing spurs to our horses, we broke into a gallop, and dashed
forward in
the direction of the musketry. We soon came up with the 36th
Infantry, who,
having thrown away their knapsacks, were rapidly pressing the
pursuit. The
maledictions which burst from every side proved how severely the
misfortune
was felt by all, while the eager advance of the men bespoke how
ardently
they longed to repair the mishap.
Dark as was the night, we passed them in a gallop, when
suddenly the
officer who commanded the leading squadron called out to
halt.
"Take care there, lads!" cried he; "I hear the infantry before
us; we shall
be down upon our own people."
The words were hardly spoken, when a bright flash blazed out
before us, and
a smashing volley was poured into the squadron.
"The French! the French, by Jove!" said Hampden. "Forward,
boys! charge
them!"
Breaking into open order, to avoid our wounded comrades,
several of whom
had fallen by the fire, we rode down among them. In a moment
their order
was broken, their ranks pierced, and fresh squadrons coming up at
the
instant, they were sabred to a man.
After this the French pursued their march in silence, and even
when
assembling in force we rode down upon their squares, they never
halted nor
fired a shot. At Barba del Puerco, the ground being unfit for
cavalry, the
Thirty-sixth took our place, and pressed them hotly home. Several
of
the French were killed, and above three hundred made prisoners,
but our
fellows, following up the pursuit too rashly, came upon an
advanced body of
Massena's force, drawn up to await and cover Brennier's retreat;
the result
was the loss of above thirty men in killed and wounded.
Thus were the great efforts of the three preceding days
rendered fruitless
and nugatory. To maintain this blockade, Lord Wellington, with an
inferior
force, and a position by no means strong, had ventured to give
the enemy
battle; and now by the unskilfulness of some, and the negligence
of others,
were all his combinations thwarted, and the French general
enabled to march
his force through the midst of the blockading columns almost
unmolested and
uninjured.
Lord Wellington's indignation was great, as well it might be;
the prize for
which he had contested was torn from his grasp at the very moment
he had
won it, and although the gallantry of the troops in the pursuit
might,
under other circumstances, have called forth eulogium, his only
observation
on the matter was a half-sarcastic allusion to the inconclusive
effects of
undisciplined bravery. "Notwithstanding," says the general order
of the
day, "what has been printed in gazettes and newspapers, we have
never seen
small bodies, unsupported, successfully opposed to large; nor has
the
experience of any officer realized the stories which all have
read, of
whole armies being driven by a handful of light infantry and
dragoons."
CHAPTER XXVI.
A NIGHT ON THE AZAVA.
Massena was now recalled, and Marmont, having assumed the
command of
the French, army, retired towards Salamanca, while our troops
went into
cantonments upon the Aguada. A period of inaction succeeded to
our previous
life of bustle and excitement, and the whole interest of the
campaign was
now centred in Beresford's army, exposed to Soult in
Estramadura.
On the 15th Lord Wellington set out for that province, having
already
directed a strong force to march upon Badajos.
"Well, O'Malley," said Crawfurd, as he returned from bidding
Lord
Wellington good-by, "your business is all right; the
commander-in-chief has
signed my recommendation, and you will get your troop."
While I continued to express my grateful acknowledgments for
his kindness,
the general, apparently inattentive to all I was saying, paced
the room
with hurried steps, stopping every now and then to glance at a
large map of
Spain which covered one wall of the apartment, while he muttered
to himself
some broken and disjointed sentences.
"Eight leagues—too weak in cavalry—with the left upon Fuenta
Grenaldo—a
strong position. O'Malley, you'll take a troop of dragoons and
patrol the
country towards Castro; you'll reconnoitre the position the Sixth
Corps
occupies, but avoid any collision with the enemy's pickets,
keeping the
Azava between you and them. Take rations for three days."
"When shall I set out, sir?"
"Now!" was the reply.
Knowing with what pleasure the hardy veteran recognized
anything like
alacrity and despatch, I resolved to gratify him; and before half
an hour
had elapsed, was ready with my troop to receive his final
orders.
"Well done, boy!" said he, as he came to the door of the hut,
"you've lost
no time. I don't believe I have any further instructions to give
you; to
ascertain as far as possible the probable movement of the enemy
is my
object, that's all." As he spoke this, he waved his hand, and
wishing me
"Good-by," walked leisurely back into the house. I saw that his
mind was
occupied by other thoughts; and although I desired to obtain some
more
accurate information for my guidance, knowing his dislike to
questions, I
merely returned his salute, and set forth upon my journey.
The morning was beautiful; the sun had risen about an hour,
and the earth,
refreshed by the heavy dew of the night, was breathing forth all
its
luxuriant fragrance. The river which flowed beside us was clear
as crystal,
showing beneath its eddying current the shining, pebbly bed,
while upon
the surface, the water-lilies floated or sank as the motion of
the stream
inclined. The tall cork-trees spread their shadows about us, and
the richly
plumed birds hopped from branch to branch awaking the echoes with
their
notes.
It is but seldom that the heart of man is thoroughly attuned
to the
circumstances of the scenery around him. How often do we need a
struggle
with ourselves to enjoy the rich and beautiful landscape which
lies smiling
in its freshness before us! How frequently do the blue sky and
the calm air
look down upon the heart darkened and shadowed with affliction!
And how
often have we felt the discrepancy between the lowering look of
winter and
the glad sunshine of our hearts! The harmony of the world without
with our
thoughts within is one of the purest, as it is one of the
greatest, sources
of happiness. Our hopes and our ambitions lose their selfish
character when
we feel that fortune smiles upon us from all around, and the
flattery which
speaks to our hearts from the bright stars and the blue sky, the
peaked
mountain or the humble flower, is greater in its mute eloquence
than all
the tongue of man can tell us.
This feeling did I experience in all its fulness as I
ruminated upon my
bettered fortunes, and felt within myself that secret instinct
that tells
of happiness to come. In such moods of mind my thoughts strayed
ever
homewards, and I could not help confessing how little were all my
successes
in my eyes, did I not-hope for the day when I should pour forth
my tale of
war and battle-field to the ears of those who loved me.
I resolved to write home at once to my uncle. I longed to tell
him each
incident of my career, and my heart glowed as I thought over the
broken
and disjointed sentences which every cotter around would whisper
of my
fortunes, far prouder as they would be in the humble deeds of one
they
knew, than in the proudest triumphs of a nation's glory.
Indeed, Mike himself gave the current to my thoughts. After
riding beside
me for some time in silence, he remarked,—
"And isn't it Father Rush will be proud when he sees your
honor's a
captain; to think of the little boy that he used to take before
him on the
ould gray mare for a ride down the avenue,—to think of him being
a real
captain, six feet two without his boots, and galloping over the
French as
if they were lurchers! Peggy Mahon, that nursed you, will be the
proud
woman the day she hears it; and there won't be a soldier sober in
his
quarters that night in Portumna barracks! 'Pon my soul, there's
not a thing
with a red coat on it, if it was even a scarecrow to frighten the
birds
from the barley, that won't be treated with respect when they
hear of the
news."
The country through which we travelled was marked at every
step by the
traces of a retreating army: the fields of rich corn lay
flattened beneath
the tramp of cavalry, or the wheels of the baggage-wagons; the
roads, cut
up and nearly impassable, were studded here and there with marks
which
indicated a bivouac. At the same time, everything around bore a
very
different aspect from what we had observed in Portugal; there,
the
vindictive cruelty of the French soldiery had been seen in full
sway: the
ruined château, the burned villages, the desecrated altars,
the murdered
peasantry,—all attested the revengeful spirit of a beaten and
baffled
enemy. No sooner, however, had they crossed the frontiers, than,
as if by
magic, their character became totally changed. Discipline and
obedience
succeeded to recklessness and pillage; and instead of treating
the natives
with, inhumanity and cruelty, in all their intercourse with the
Spaniards
the French behaved with moderation and even kindness. Paying
for
everything, obtaining their billets peaceably and quietly,
marching with
order and regularity, they advanced into the heart of the
country, showing,
by the most irrefragable proof, the astonishing evidences of a
discipline
which, by a word, could convert the lawless irregularities of a
ruffian
soldiery into the orderly habits and obedient conduct of a
highly-organized
army.
As we neared the Azava, the tracks of the retiring enemy
became gradually
less perceptible, and the country, uninjured by the march,
extended for
miles around us in all the richness and abundance of a favored
climate. The
tall corn, waving its yellow gold, reflected like a sea the
clouds that
moved slowly above it. The wild gentian and the laurel grew
thickly around,
and the cattle stood basking in the clear streams, while some
listless
peasant lounged upon the bank beside them. Strange as all these
evidences
of peace and tranquillity were, so near to the devastating track
of a
mighty army, yet I have more than once witnessed the fact, and
remarked
how, but a short distance from the line of our hurried march, the
country
lay untouched and uninjured; and though the clank of arms and the
dull roll
of the artillery may have struck upon the ear of the far-off
dweller in his
native valley, he listened as he would have done to the passing
thunder as
it crashed above him; and when the bright sky and pure air
succeeded to
the lowering atmosphere and the darkening storm, he looked forth
upon his
smiling fields and happy home, while he muttered to his heart a
prayer of
thanksgiving that the scourge was passed.
We bivouacked upon the bank of the river, a truly Salvator
Rosa scene;
the rocks, towering high above us, were fissured by the channel
of many a
trickling stream, seeking, in its zigzag current, the bright
river below.
The dark pine-tree and the oak mingled their foliage with the
graceful
cedar, which spread its fan-like branches about us. Through the
thick shade
some occasional glimpses of a starry sky could yet be seen, and a
faint
yellow streak upon the silent river told that the queen of night
was there.
When I had eaten my frugal supper, I wandered forth alone upon
the bank
of the stream, now standing to watch its bold sweeps as it
traversed the
lonely valley before me, now turning to catch a passing glance at
our
red watch-fires and the hardy features which sat around. The
hoarse and
careless laugh, the deep-toned voice of some old campaigner
holding forth
his tale of flood and field, were the only sounds I heard; and
gradually I
strolled beyond the reach of even these. The path beside the
river, which
seemed scarped from the rock, was barely sufficient for the
passage of
one man, a rude balustrade of wood being the only defence against
the
precipice, which, from a height of full thirty feet, looked down
upon the
stream. Here and there some broad gleam of moonlight would fall
upon the
opposite bank, which, unlike the one I occupied, stretched out
into rich
meadow and pasturage, broken by occasional clumps of ilex and
beech. River
scenery has been ever a passion with me. I can glory in the bold
and broken
outline of a mighty mountain; I can gaze with delighted eyes upon
the
boundless seas, and know not whether to like it more in all the
mighty
outpouring of its wrath, when the white waves lift their heads to
heaven
and break themselves in foam upon the rocky beach, or in the calm
beauty of
its broad and mirrored surface, in which the bright world of sun
and sky
are seen full many a fathom deep. But far before these, I love
the happy
and tranquil beauty of some bright river, tracing its winding
current
through valley and through plain, now spreading into some calm
and waveless
lake, now narrowing to an eddying stream with mossy rocks and
waving trees
darkening over it. There's not a hut, however lowly, where the
net of the
fisherman is stretched upon the sward, around whose hearth I do
not picture
before me the faces of happy toil and humble contentment, while,
from the
ruined tower upon the crag, methinks I hear the ancient sounds of
wassail
and of welcome; and though the keep be fissured and the curtain
fallen, and
though for banner there "waves some tall wall-flower," I can
people its
crumbling walls with images of the past; and the merry laugh of
the warder,
and the clanking tread of the mailed warrior, are as palpably
before me as
the tangled lichen that now trails from its battlements.
As I wandered on, I reached the little rustic stair which led
downward from
the path to the river's side; and on examining farther, perceived
that at
this place the stream was fordable; a huge flat rock, filling up
a great
part of the river's bed, occupied the middle, on either side of
which the
current ran with increased force.
Bent upon exploring, I descended the cliff, and was preparing
to cross,
when my attention was attracted by the twinkle of a fire at some
distance
from me, on the opposite side; the flame rose and fell in fitful
flashes,
as though some hand were ministering to it at the moment. As it
was
impossible, from the silence on every side, that it could proceed
from a
bivouac of the enemy, I resolved on approaching it, and examining
it for
myself. I knew that the shepherds in remote districts were
accustomed thus
to pass the summer nights, with no other covering save the blue
vault above
them. It was not impossible, too, that it might prove a Guerilla
party, who
frequently, in small numbers, hang upon the rear of a retreating
army. Thus
conjecturing, I crossed the stream, and quickening my pace,
walked forward
in the direction of the blaze. For a moment a projecting rock
obstructed my
progress; and while I was devising some means of proceeding
farther, the
sound of voices near me arrested my attention. I listened, and
what was my
astonishment to hear that they spoke in French. I now crept
cautiously to
the verge of the rock and looked over; the moon was streaming in
its full
brilliancy upon a little shelving strand beside the stream, and
here I
now beheld the figure of a French officer. He was habited in the
undress
uniform of a chasseur á cheval, but wore no arms; indeed
his occupation
at the moment was anything but a warlike one, he being leisurely
employed
in collecting some flasks of champagne which apparently had been
left to
cool within the stream.
"Eh bien, Alphonse!" said a voice in the direction of the
fire, "what are
you delaying for?"
"I'm coming, I'm coming," said the other; "but, par Dieu! I
can only find
five of our bottles; one seems to have been carried away by the
stream."
"No matter," replied the other, "we are but three of us, and
one is, or
should be, on the sick list."
The only answer to this was the muttered chorus of a French
drinking-song,
interrupted at intervals by an imprecation upon the missing
flask. It
chanced, at this moment, that a slight clinking noise attracted
me, and on
looking down, I perceived at the foot of the rock the prize he
sought for.
It had been, as he conceived, carried away by an eddy of the
stream and was
borne, as a true prisoner-of-war, within my grasp. I avow that
from this
moment my interest in the scene became considerably heightened;
such a waif
as a bottle of champagne was not to be despised in circumstances
like mine;
and I watched with anxious eyes every gesture of the impatient
Frenchman,
and alternately vibrated between hope and fear, as he neared or
receded
from the missing flask.
"Let it go to the devil," shouted his companion, once more.
"Jacques has
lost all patience with you."
"Be it so, then," said the other, as he prepared to take up
his burden. At
this instant I made a slight effort so to change my position as
to obtain
a view of the rest of the party. The branch by which I supported
myself,
however, gave way beneath my grasp with a loud crash. I lost my
footing,
and slipping downward from the rock, came plump into the stream
below. The
noise, the splash, and more than all, the sudden appearance of a
man beside
him, astounded the Frenchman, who almost let fall his pannier,
and thus we
stood confronting each other for at least a couple of minutes in
silence. A
hearty burst of laughter from both parties terminated this
awkward moment,
while the Frenchman, with the readiness of his country, was the
first to
open the negotiation.
"Sacré Dieu!" said he, "what can you be doing here?
You're English,
without doubt."
"Even so," said I; "but that is the very question I was about
to ask you;
what are you doing here?"
"Eh bien," replied the other, gayly, "you shall be answered
in all
frankness. Our captain was wounded in the action of the 8th, and
we heard
had been carried up the country by some peasants. As the army
fell back, we
obtained permission to go in search of him. For two days all was
fruitless;
the peasantry fled at our approach; and although we captured some
of our
stolen property—among other things, the contents of this
basket—yet we
never came upon the track of our comrade till this evening. A
good-hearted
shepherd had taken him to his hut, and treated him with every
kindness,
but no sooner did he hear the gallop of our horses and the clank
of our
equipments, than, fearing himself to be made a prisoner, he fled
up the
mountains, leaving our friend behind him; voilà notre
histoire. Here we
are, three in all, one of us with a deep sabre-cut in his
shoulder. If you
are the stronger party, we are, I suppose, your prisoners; if
not—"
What was to have followed I know not, for at this moment his
companion, who
had finally lost all patience, came suddenly to the spot.
"A prisoner," cried he, placing a heavy hand upon my shoulder,
while with
the other he held his drawn sword pointed towards my breast.
To draw a pistol from my bosom was the work of a second; and
while gently
turning the point of his weapon away, I coolly said,—
"Not so fast, my friend, not so fast! The game is in my hands,
not yours. I
have only to pull this trigger, and my dragoons are upon you;
whatever fate
befall me, yours is certain."
A half-scornful laugh betrayed the incredulity of him I
addressed, while
the other, apparently anxious to relieve the awkwardness of the
moment,
suddenly broke in with,—
"He is right, Auguste, and you are wrong; we are in his power;
that is,"
added he, smiling, "if he believes there is any triumph in
capturing such
pauvres diables as ourselves."
The features of him he addressed suddenly lost their scornful
expression,
and sheathing his sword with an air of almost melodramatic
solemnity,
he gravely pulled up his mustaches, and after a pause of a few
seconds,
solemnly ejaculated a malediction upon his fortune.
"C'est toujours ainsi," said he, with a bitterness that only
a Frenchman
can convey when cursing his destiny. "Soyez bon enfant, and see
what will
come of it. Only be good-natured, only be kind, and if you
haven't bad luck
at the end of it, it's only because fortune has a heavier stroke
in reserve
for you hereafter."
I could not help smiling at the Frenchman's philosophy, which,
assuming
as a good augury, he gayly said, "So, then, you'll not make us
prisoners.
Isn't it so?"
"Prisoners," said the other, "nothing of the kind. Come and
sup with us;
I'll venture to say our larder is as well stocked as your own; in
any case
an omelette, a cold chicken, and a glass of champagne are not bad
things in
our circumstances."
I could not help laughing outright at the strangeness of the
proposal.
"I fear I must decline," said I; "you seem to forget I am placed
here to
watch, not to join you."
"A la bonne heure," cried the younger of the two; "do both.
Come along;
soyez bon camarade; you are always near your own people, so
don't refuse
us."
In proportion as I declined, they both became more pressing in
their
entreaties, and at last, I began to dread lest my refusal might
seem to
proceed from some fear as to the good faith of the invitation,
and I never
felt so awkwardly placed as when one plumply pressed me by
saying,—
"Mais pourquoi pas, mon cher?"
I stammered out something about duty and discipline, when they
both
interrupted me by a long burst of laughter.
"Come, come!" said they; "in an hour—in half an hour, if you
will—you
shall be back with your own people. We've had plenty of fighting
latterly,
and we are likely to have enough in future; we know something of
each other
by this time in the field; let us see how we get on in the
bivouac!"
Resolving not to be outdone in generosity, I replied at once,
"Here goes,
then!"
Five minutes afterwards I found myself seated at their bivouac
fire. The
captain, who was the oldest of the party, was a fine soldier-like
fellow of
some forty years old; he had served in the Imperial Guard through
all the
campaigns of Italy and Austria, and abounded in anecdotes of the
French
army. From him I learned many of those characteristic traits
which so
eminently distinguish the imperial troops, and saw how completely
their
bravest and boldest feats of arms depended upon the personal
valor of him
who led them on. From the daring enterprise of Napoleon at Lodi
to the
conduct of the lowest corporal in the grande armée, the
picture presents
nothing but a series of brilliant and splendid chivalry; while,
at the same
time, the warlike character of the nation is displayed by that
instinctive
appreciation of courage and daring which teaches them to follow
their
officers to the very cannon's mouth.
"It was at Elchingen," said the captain, "you should have seen
them. The
regiment in which I was a lieutenant was ordered to form close
column, and
charge through a narrow ravine to carry a brigade of guns, which,
by a
flanking fire, were devastating our troops. Before we could reach
the
causeway, we were obliged to pass an open plain in which the
ground dipped
for about a hundred yards; the column moved on, and though it
descended one
hill, not a man ever mounted the opposite one. A very avalanche
of balls
swept the entire valley; and yet amidst the thunder and the
smoke, the red
glare of the artillery, and the carnage around them, our
grenadiers marched
firmly up. At last, Marshal Ney sent an aide-de-camp with orders
to the
troops to lie flat down, and in this position the artillery
played over
us for above half an hour. The Austrians gradually slackened, and
finally
discontinued their fire; this was the moment to resume the
attack. I crept
cautiously to my knees and looked about. One word brought my men
around me;
but I found to my horror that of a battalion who came into action
fourteen
hundred strong, not five hundred remained; and that I myself, a
mere
lieutenant, was now the senior officer of the regiment. Our
gallant colonel
lay dead beside my feet. At this instant a thought struck me. I
remembered
a habit he possessed in moments of difficulty and danger, of
placing in his
shako a small red plume which he commonly carried in his belt. I
searched
for it, and found it. As I held it aloft, a maddening cheer burst
around
me, while from out the line each officer sprang madly forward,
and rushed
to the head of the column. It was no longer a march. With a loud
cry of
vengeance, the mass rushed forward, the men trying to outstrip
their
officers, and come first in contact with the foe. Like tigers on
the
spring, they fell upon the enemy, who, crushed, overwhelmed, and
massacred,
lay in slaughtered heaps around the cannon. The cavalry of the
Guard came
thundering on behind us; a whole division followed; and three
thousand five
hundred prisoners, and fourteen pieces of artillery were
captured.
"I sat upon the carriage of a gun, my face begrimed with
powder, and my
uniform blackened and blood-stained. The whole thing appeared
like some
shocking dream. I felt a hand upon my shoulder, while a rough
voice called
in my ear, 'Capitaine du soixante-neuvième, tu es mon
frère!'
"It was Ney who spoke. This," added the brave captain, his
eyes filling as
he said the words,—"this is the sabre he gave me."
I know not why I have narrated this anecdote; it has little in
itself, but
somehow, to me it brings back in all its fulness the recollection
of that
night.
There was something so strongly characteristic of the old
Napoleonist
in the tone of his narrative that I listened throughout with
breathless
attention. I began to feel too, for the first time, what a
powerful arm
in war the Emperor had created by fostering the spirit of
individual
enterprise. The field thus opened to fame and distinction left no
bounds
to the ambition of any. The humble conscript, as he tore himself
from the
embraces of his mother, wiped his tearful eyes to see before him
in the
distance the bâton of a marshal. The bold soldier who
stormed a battery
felt his heart beat more proudly and more securely beneath the
cordon of
the Legion than behind a cuirass of steel; and to a people in
whom the
sense of duty alone would seem cold, barren, and inglorious, he
had
substituted a highly-wrought chivalrous enthusiasm; and by the
prestige
of his own name, the proud memory of his battles, and the glory
of those
mighty tournaments at which all Europe were the spectators, he
had
converted a nation into an army.
By a silent and instinctive compact we appeared to avoid those
topics of
the campaign in which the honor of our respective arms was
interested; and
once, when, by mere accident, the youngest of the party adverted
to Fuentes
d'Onoro, the old captain adroitly turned the current of the
conversation by
saying, "Come, Alphonse, let's have a song."
"Yes," said the other. "Les Pas de Charge."
"No, no," said the captain; "if I am to have a choice, let it
be that
little Breton song you gave us on the Danube."
"So be it then," said Alphonse. "Here goes!"
I have endeavored to convey, by a translation, the words he
sang; but I
feel conscious how totally their feeling and simplicity are lost
when
deprived of their own patois, and the wild but touching melody
that
accompanied them.
THE BRETON HOME.
When the battle is o'er, and the sounds of fight
Have closed with the closing day,
How happy around the watch-fire's light
To chat the long hours away;
To chat the long hours away, my boy,
And talk of the days to come,
Or a better still and a purer joy,
To think of our far-off home.
How many a cheek will then grow pale,
That never felt a tear!
And many a stalwart heart will quail,
That never quailed in fear!
And the breast that like some mighty rock
Amidst the foaming sea
Bore high against the battle's shock
Now heaves like infancy.
And those who knew each other not
Their hands together steal,
Each thinks of some long hallowed spot,
And all like brothers feel:
Such holy thoughts to all are given;
The lowliest has his part;
The love of home, like love of heaven,
Is woven in our heart.
There was a pause as he concluded, each sank in his own
reflections. How
long we should have thus remained, I know not; but we were
speedily aroused
from our reveries by the tramp of horses near us. We listened,
and could
plainly detect in their rude voices and coarse laughter the
approach of a
body of Guerillas. We looked from one to the other in silence and
in fear.
Nothing could be more unfortunate should we be discovered. Upon
this point
we were left little time to deliberate; for with a loud cheer,
four Spanish
horsemen galloped up to the spot, their carbines in the rest. The
Frenchmen
sprang to their feet, and seized their sabres, bent upon making a
resolute
resistance. As for me, my determination was at once taken.
Remaining
quietly seated upon the grass, I stirred not for a moment, but
addressing
him who appeared to be the chief of the Guerillas, said, in
Spanish:—
"These are my prisoners; I am a British officer of dragoons,
and my party
is yonder."
This evidently unexpected declaration seemed to surprise them,
and they
conferred for a few moments together. Meanwhile they were joined
by two
others, in one of whom we could recognize, by his costume, the
real leader
of the party.
"I am captain in the light dragoons," said I, repeating my declaration.
"Morte de Dios!" replied he; "it is false; you are a spy!"
The word was repeated from lip to lip by his party, and I saw,
in their
lowering looks and darkened features, that the moment was a
critical one
for me.
"Down with your arms!" cried he, turning to the Frenchmen.
"Surrender
yourselves our prisoners; I'll not bid ye twice!"
The Frenchmen turned upon me an inquiring look, as though to
say that upon
me now their hopes entirely reposed.
"Do as he bids you," said I; while at the same moment I sprang
to my legs,
and gave a loud, shrill whistle, the last echo of which had not
died away
in the distance ere it was replied to.
[THE TABLES TURNED.]
"Make no resistance now," said I to the Frenchmen; "our safety depends on this."
While this was passing two of the Spaniards had dismounted,
and detaching a
coil of rope which hung from their saddle-peak, were proceeding
to tie the
prisoners wrist to wrist; the others, with their carbines to the
shoulder,
covered us man by man, the chief of the party having singled out
me as his
peculiar prey.
"The fate of Mascarenhas might have taught you better," said
he, "than to
play this game." And then added with a grim smile, "But we'll see
if an
Englishman will not make as good a carbonado as a
Portuguese!"
This cruel speech made my blood run cold, for I knew well to
what he
alluded. I was at Lisbon at the time it happened, but the
melancholy fate
of Julian Mascarenhas, the Portuguese spy, had reached me there.
He was
burned to death at Torres Vedras!
The Spaniard's triumph over my terror was short-lived, indeed,
for scarcely
had the words fallen from his lips, when a party of the
Fourteenth,
dashing through the river at a gallop, came riding up. The
attitude of the
Guerillas, as they sat with presented arms, was sufficient for my
fellows
who needed not the exhortation of him who rode foremost of the
party:—
"Ride them down, boys! Tumble them over! Flatten their broad
beavers, the
infernal thieves!"
"Whoop!" shouted Mike, as he rode at the chief with the force
of a
catapult. Down went the Spaniard, horse and all; and before he
could
disentangle himself, Mike was upon him, his knee pressed upon his
neck.
"Isn't it enough for ye to pillage the whole country without
robbing the
king's throops!" cried he, as he held him fast to the earth with
one hand,
while he presented a loaded pistol to his face.
By this time the scene around me was sufficiently ludicrous.
Such of the
Guerillas as had not been thrown by force from their saddles, had
slid
peaceably down, and depositing their arms upon the ground,
dropped upon
their knees in a semicircle around us, and amidst the hoarse
laughter of
the troopers, and the irrepressible merriment of the Frenchmen,
rose up the
muttered prayers of the miserable Spaniards, who believed that
now their
last hour was come.
"Madre de Dios, indeed!" cried Mike, imitating the tone of a
repentant
old sinner in a patched mantle; "it's much the blessed Virgin
thinks of
the like o' ye, thieves and rogues as ye are; it a'most puts me
beyond my
senses to see ye there crossing yourselves like rale
Christians."
If I could not help indulging myself in this retributive
cruelty towards
the chief, and leaving him to the tender mercies of Mike, I
ordered the
others to rise and form in line before me. Affecting to occupy
myself
entirely with them, I withdrew the attention of all from the
French
officers, who remained quiet spectators of the scene around
them.
"Point de façons, gentlemen," said I, in a whisper.
"Get to your horses
and away! Now's your time. Good-by!"
A warm grasp of the hand from each was the only reply, and I
turned once
more to my discomforted friends the Guerillas.
"There, Mike, let the poor devil rise. I confess appearances
were strong
against me just now."
"Well, Captain, are you convinced by this time that I was not
deceiving
you?"
The Guerilla muttered some words of apology between his teeth,
and while he
shook the dust from his cloak, and arranged the broken feather of
his
hat, cast a look of scowling and indignant meaning upon Mike,
whose rough
treatment he had evidently not forgiven.
"Don't be looking at me that way, you black thief! or I'll—"
"Hold there!" said I; "no more of this. Come, gentlemen, we
must be
friends. If I mistake not, we've got something like refreshment
at our
bivouac. In any case you'll partake of our watch-fire till
morning."
They gladly accepted our invitation, and ere half an hour
elapsed Mike's
performance in the part of host had completely erased every
unpleasant
impression his first appearance gave rise to; and as for myself,
when I did
sleep at last, the confused mixture of Spanish and Irish airs
which issued
from the thicket beside me, proved that a most intimate alliance
had grown
up between the parties.
CHAPTER XXVII.
MIKE'S MISTAKE.
An hour before daybreak the Guerillas were in motion, and
having taken a
most ceremonious leave of us, they mounted their horses and set
out upon
their journey. I saw their gaunt figures wind down the valley,
and watched
them till they disappeared in the distance. "Yes, brigands though
they be,"
thought I, "there is something fine, something heroic in the
spirit of
their unrelenting vengeance." The sleuth-hound never sought the
lair of
his victim with a more ravening appetite for blood than they
track the
retreating columns of the enemy. Hovering around the line of
march, they
sometimes swoop down in masses, and carry off a part of the
baggage, or the
wounded. The wearied soldier, overcome by heat and exhaustion,
who drops
behind his ranks, is their certain victim; the sentry on an
advanced post
is scarcely less so. Whole pickets are sometimes attacked and
carried off
to a man; and when traversing the lonely passes of some mountain
gorge, or
defiling through the dense shadows of a wooded glen, the stoutest
heart has
felt a fear, lest from behind the rock that frowned above him, or
from the
leafy thicket whose branches stirred without a breeze, the sharp
ring of a
Guerilla carbine might sound his death-knell.
It was thus in the retreat upon Corunna fell Colonel Lefebvre.
Ever
foremost in the attack upon our rear-guard, this gallant youth
(he was
scarce six-and-twenty), a colonel of his regiment, and decorated
with the
Legion of Honor, he led on every charge of his bold "sabreurs,"
riding
up to the very bayonets of our squares, waving his hat above his
head, and
seeming actually to court his death-wound; but so struck were our
brave
fellows with his gallant bearing, that they cheered him as he
came on.
It was in one of these moments as, rising high in his
stirrups, he bore
down upon the unflinching ranks of the British infantry, the
shrill whistle
of a ball strewed the leaves upon the roadside, the exulting
shout of a
Guerilla followed it, and the same instant Lefebvre fell forward
upon his
horse's mane, a deluge of blood bursting from his bosom. A broken
cry
escaped his lips,—a last effort to cheer on his men; his noble
charger
galloped forward between our squares, bearing to us our prisoner,
the
corpse of his rider.
"Captain O'Malley," said a mounted dragoon to the advanced
sentry at the
bottom of the little hill upon which I was standing. "Despatches
from
headquarters, sir," delivering into my hands a large sealed
packet from the
adjutant-general's office. While he proceeded to search for
another letter
of which he was the bearer, I broke the seal and read as
follows:—
ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE.
May 15.
Sir,—On the receipt of this order you are directed,
having previously
resigned your command to the officer next in seniority,
to
repair to headquarters at Fueutes d'Onoro, there to report
yourself
under arrest.
I have the honor to be your obedient servant,
GEORGE HOPETON,
Military Secretary.
"What the devil can this mean?" said I to myself, as I read
the lines over
again and again. "What have I done lately, or what have I left
undone to
involve me in this scrape? Ah!" thought I, "to be sure, it can be
nothing
else. Lord Wellington did recognize me that unlucky morning,
and has
determined not to let me pass unpunished. How unfortunate.
Scarcely
twenty-four hours have elapsed since fortune seemed to smile upon
me from
every side, and now the very destiny I most dreaded stares me
fully in the
face." A reprimand, or the sentence of a court-martial, I shrank
from with
a coward's fear. It mattered comparatively little from what
source arising,
the injury to my pride as a man and my spirit as a soldier would
be almost
the same.
"This is the letter, sir," said the orderly, presenting me
with a packet,
the address of which was in Power's hand-writing. Eagerly tearing
it open,
I sought for something which might explain my unhappy position.
It bore the
same date as the official letter, and ran thus:—
My Dear Charley,—I joined yesterday, just in time to
enjoy the
heartiest laugh I have had since our meeting. If notoriety
can gratify
you, by Jove, you have it; for Charles O'Malley and his man
Mickey
Free are bywords in every mess from Villa Formosa to the
rear-guard.
As it's only fair you should participate a little in the fun
you've
originated, let me explain the cause. Your inimitable man
Mike, to
whom it appears you intrusted the report of killed and
wounded for
the adjutant-general, having just at that moment accomplished
a
letter to his friends at home, substituted his correspondence
for your
returns, and doubtless, sent the list of the casualties as
very
interesting information to his sweetheart in Ireland. If such
be the
case, I hope and trust she has taken the blunder in better
part than
old Colbourn, who swears he'll bring you to a court-martial,
under
Heaven knows what charges. In fact, his passion has known no
bounds
since the event; and a fit of jaundice has given his face a
kind of
neutral tint between green and yellow, like nothing I know of
except
the facings of the "dirty half-hundred." [2]
[Footnote 2: For the information of my unmilitary readers, I
may
remark that this sobriquet was applied to the 50th Regiment.]
As Mr. Free's letter may be as great a curiosity to you as
it has
been to us, I enclose you a copy of it, which Hopeton
obtained for
me. It certainly places the estimable Mike in a strong light
as a
despatch-writer. The occasional interruption to the current
of the
letter, you will perceive, arises from Mike having used the
pen of a
comrade, writing being, doubtless, an accomplishment
forgotten in
the haste of preparing Mr. Free for the world; and the
amanuensis
has, in more than one instance, committed to paper more than
was
meant by the author:—
Mrs. M'Gra,—Tear an' ages, sure I need not be treating
he
way. Now, just say Mrs. Mary—ay, that'll do—Mrs. Mary,
it's may be
surprised you'll be to be reading a letter from your humble
servant,
sitting on the top of the Alps,—arrah, may be it's not the
Alps; but
sure she'll never know,—fornent the whole French army,
with Bony
himself and all his jinnerals—God be between us and
harm—ready to
murther every mother's son of us, av they were able, Molly
darlin';
but, with the blessing of Providence, and Lord Wellington
and Mister
Charles, we'll bate them yet, as we bate them afore.
My lips is wathering at the thought o' the plunder. I
often
of Tim Riley, that was hanged for sheep-stealing; he'd be
worth his
weight in gold here.
Mr. Charles is now a captain—devil a less—and myself
might be
somethin' that same, but ye see I was always of a bashful
n
and recommended the master in my place. "He's mighty young,
Mister
Charles is," says my Lord Wellington to me,—"He's mighty
young, Mr.
Free." "He is, my lord," says I; "he's young, as you
obsarve, but
he's as much divilment in him as many that might be his
father."
"That's somethin', Mr. Free," says my lord; "ye say he
comes from a
good stock?" "The rale sort, my lord," says I; "an ould,
ancient
family, that's spent every sixpence they had in treating
their
neighbors. My father lived near him for years,"—you see,
Molly, I
said that to season the discourse. "We'll make him a
captain," says
my lord; "but, Mr. Free, could we do nothing for you?"
"Nothing, at
present, my lord. When my friends comes into power," says
I, "they'll
think of me. There's many a little thing to give away in
Ireland, and
they often find it mighty hard to find a man for
lord-lieutenant; and
if that same, or a tide-waiter's place was vacant—" "Just
tell me,"
says my lord. "It's what I'll do," says I. "And now,
wishing you
happy dreams, I'll take my lave." Just so, Molly, it's hand
and glove
we are. A pleasant face, agreeable manners seasoned with
natural
modesty, and a good pair of legs, them's the gifts to push
a man's
way in the world. And even with the ladies—but sure I am
forgetting,
my master was proposed for, and your humble servant too, by
two
illigant creatures in Lisbon; but it wouldn't do, Molly,
it's higher
nor that we'll be looking,—rale princesses, the devil a
less. Tell
Kitty Hannigan I hope she's well; she was a disarving
young
in her situation in life. Shusey Dogherty, at the cross
roa
I don't forget the name—was a good-looking slip too; give
her my
affectionate salutations, as we say in the Portuguese. I
hope I'll be
able to bear the inclementuous nature of your climate when
I go back;
but I can't expect to stay long—for Lord Wellington can't
do without
me. We play duets on the guitar together every evening. The
master is
shouting for a blanket, so no more at present from,
Your very affectionate friend,
MICKEY FREE.
P. S.—I don't write this myself, for the Spanish tongue
p
out o' the habit of English. Tell Father Rush, if he'd
study the
Portuguese, I'd use my interest for him with the Bishop of
Toledo.
It's a country he'd like—no regular stations, but
promiscuous eating
and drinking, and as pretty girls as ever confessed their
sins.
My poor Charley, I think I am looking at you. I think I
can
see the struggle between indignation, and laughter, which
every line
of this letter inflicts upon you. Get back as quickly as you
can, and
we'll try if Crawfurd won't pull you through the business. In
any
case, expect no sympathy; and if you feel disposed to be
angry with
all who laugh at you, you had better publish a challenge in
the next
general order. George Scott, of, the Greys, bids me say, that
if
you're hard up for cash, he'll give you a couple of hundred
for
Mickey Free. I told him I thought you'd accept it, as your
uncle
has the breed of those fellows upon his estate, and might
have no
objection to weed his stud. Hammersley's gone back with the
Dashwoods;
but I don't think you need fear anything in that quarter.
At the same time, if you wish for success, make a bold push
for the
peerage and half-a-dozen decorations, for Miss Lucy is most
decidedly
gone wild about military distinction. As for me, my affairs
go on
well: I've had half-a-dozen quarrels with Inez, but we parted
good
friends, and my bad Portuguese has got me out of all
difficulties with
papa, who pressed me tolerably close as to fortune. I shall
want
your assistance in this matter yet. If parchments will
satisfy him, I
think I could get up a qualification; but somehow the matter
must
be done, for I'm resolved to have his daughter.
The orderly is starting, so no more till we meet.
Yours ever, FRED POWER.
"Godwin," said I, as I closed the letter, "I find myself in a
scrape at
headquarters; you are to take the command of the detachment, for
I must set
out at once."
"Nothing serious, I hope. O'Malley?"
"Oh, no; nothing of consequence. A most absurd blunder of my
rascally
servant."
"The Irish fellow yonder?"
"The same."
"He seems to take it easily, however."
"Oh, confound him! he does not know what trouble he has
involved me in; not
that he'll care much when he does."
"Why, he does not seem to be of a very desponding temperament.
Listen to
the fellow! I'll be hanged, if he's not singing!"
"I'm devilishly disposed to spoil his mirth. They tell me,
however, he
always keeps the troop in good humor; and see, the fellows are
actually
cleaning his horses for him, while he is sitting on the
bank!"
"Faith, O'Malley, that fellow knows the world. Just hear him."
Mr. Free was, as described, most leisurely reposing on a bank,
a mug of
something drinkable beside him, and a pipe of that curtailed
proportion
which an Irishman loves held daintily between his fingers. He
appeared to
be giving his directions to some soldiers of the troop, who were
busily
cleaning his horses and accoutrements for him.
[MR. FREE PIPES WHILE HIS FRIENDS PIPE-CLAY.]
"That's it, Jim! Rub 'em down along the hocks; he won't kick;
it's only
play. Scrub away, honey; that's the devil's own carbine to get
clean."
"Well, I say, Mr. Free, are you going to give us that ere song?"
"Yes. I'll be danged if I burnish your sabre, if you don't sing."
"Tear an' ages! ain't I composing it? Av I was Tommy Moore, I
couldn't be
quicker."
"Well, come along, my hearty; let's hear it."
"Oh, murther!" said Mike, draining the pot to its last few
drops, which he
poured pathetically upon the grass before him; and then having
emptied the
ashes from his pipe, he heaved a deep sigh, as though to say life
had no
pleasures in store for him. A brief pause followed, after which,
to the
evident delight of his expectant audience, he began the following
song, to
the popular air of "Paddy O'Carroll":—
BAD LUCK TO THIS MARCHING.
Air,—Paddy O'Carroll.
Bad luck to this marching,
Pipe-claying, and starching,
How neat one must be to be killed by the French,
I'm sick of parading,
Through wet and cowld wading,
Or standing all night to be shot in a trench.
To the tune of a fife
They dispose of your life,
You surrender your soul to some illigant lilt;
Now, I like Garryowen,
When I hear it at home,
But it's not half so sweet when you're going to be kilt.
Then, though up late and early,
Our pay comes so rarely,
The devil a farthing we've ever to spare;
They say some disaster
Befell the paymaster;
On my conscience, I think that the money's not there.
And just think what a blunder,
They won't let us plunder,
While the convents invite us to rob them, 'tis clear;
Though there isn't a village,
But cries, "Come and pillage,"
Yet we leave all the mutton behind for Mounseer.
Like a sailor that's nigh land,
I long for that island
Where even the kisses we steal if we please;
Where it is no disgrace
If you don't wash your face,
And you've nothing to do but to stand at your ease.
With no sergeant t'abuse us,
We fight to amuse us;
Sure, it's better bate Christians than kick a baboon.
How I'd dance like a fairy
To see ould Dunleary,
And think twice ere I'd leave it to be a dragoon!
"There's a sweet little bit for you," said Mike, as he
concluded; "thrown
off as aisy as a game at football."
"I say, Mr. Free, the captain's looking for you; he's just
received
despatches from the camp, and wants his horses."
"In that case, gentlemen, I must take my leave of you; with
the more
regret, too, that I was thinking of treating you to a supper this
evening.
You needn't be laughing; it's in earnest I am. Coming, sir,
coming!"
shouted he, in a louder tone, answering some imaginary call, as
an excuse
for his exit.
When he appeared before me, an air of most business-like
alacrity had
succeeded to his late appearance, and having taken my orders to
get the
horses in readiness, he left me at once, and in less than half an
hour we
were upon the road.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
MONSOON IN TROUBLE.
As I rode along towards Fuentes d'Onoro, I could not help
feeling provoked
at the absurd circumstances in which I was involved. To be made
the subject
of laughter for a whole army was by no means a pleasant
consideration; but
what I felt far worse was the possibility that the mention of my
name in
connection with a reprimand might reach the ears of those who
knew nothing
of the cause.
Mr. Free himself seemed little under the influence of similar
feelings; for
when, after a silence of a couple of hours, I turned suddenly
towards him
with a half-angry look, and remarked, "You see, sir, what your
confounded
blundering has done," his cool reply was,—
"Ah, then! won't Mrs. M'Gra be frightened out of her life when
she reads
all about the killed and wounded in your honor's report? I wonder
if they
ever had the manners to send my own letter afterwards, when they
found out
their mistake!"
"Their mistake, do you say? rather yours! You appear to
have a happy
knack of shifting blame from your own shoulders. And do you fancy
that
they've nothing else to do than to trouble their heads about your
absurd
letters?"
"Faith, it's easily seen you never saw my letter, or you
wouldn't be saying
that. And sure, it's not much trouble it would give Colonel
Fitzroy or any
o' the staff that write a good hand just to put in a line to Mrs.
M'Gra, to
prevent her feeling alarmed about that murthering paper. Well,
well; it's
God's blessing! I don't think there's anybody of the name of
Mickey Free
high up in the army but myself; so that the family won't be going
into
mourning for me on a false alarm."
I had not patience to participate in this view of the case; so
that I
continued my journey without speaking. We had jogged along for
some time
after dark, when the distant twinkle of the-watch-fires announced
our
approach to the camp. A detachment of the Fourteenth formed the
advanced
post, and from the officer in command I learned that Power was
quartered
at a small mill about half a mile distant; thither I accordingly
turned my
steps, but finding that the path which led abruptly down to it
was broken
and cut up in many places, I sent Mike back with the horses, and
continued
my way alone on foot.
The night was deliciously calm; and as I approached the little
rustic mill,
I could not help feeling struck with Power's taste in a
billet.
A little vine-clad cottage, built close against a rock, nearly
concealed
by the dense foliage around it, stood beside a clear rivulet
whose eddying
current supplied water to the mill, and rose in a dew-like spray
which
sparkled like gems in the pale moonlight. All was still within,
but as I
came nearer I thought I could detect the chords of a guitar. "Can
it be,"
thought I, "that Master Fred has given himself up to minstrelsy;
or is
it some little dress rehearsal for a serenade? But no," thought
I, "that
certainly is not Power's voice." I crept stealthily down the
little path,
and approached the window; the lattice lay open, and as the
curtain waved
to and fro with the night air, I could see plainly all who were
in the
room.
Close beside the window sat a large, dark-featured Spaniard,
his hands
crossed upon his bosom and his head inclined heavily forward, the
attitude
perfectly denoting deep sleep, even had not his cigar, which
remained
passively between his lips, ceased to give forth its blue smoke
wreath. At
a little distance from him sat a young girl, who, even by the
uncertain
light, I could perceive was possessed of all that delicacy of
form and
gracefulness of carriage which characterize her nation.
Her pale features—paler still from the contrast with her jet
black
hair and dark costume—were lit up with an expression of
animation and
enthusiasm as her fingers swept rapidly and boldly across the
strings of a
guitar.
"And you're not tired of it yet?" said she, bending her head
downwards
towards one whom I now for the first time perceived.
Reclining carelessly at her feet, his arm leaning upon her
chair, while his
hand occasionally touched her taper fingers, lay my good friend,
Master
Fred Power. An undress jacket, thrown loosely open, and a black
neck-cloth,
negligently knotted, bespoke the easy nonchalance with which
he
prosecuted his courtship.
"Do sing it again?" said he, pressing her fingers to his lips.
What she replied, I could not catch; but Fred resumed: "No,
no; he never
wakes. The infernal clatter of that mill is his lullaby."
"But your friend will be here soon," said she. "Is it not so?"
"Oh, poor Charley! I'd almost forgotten him. By-the-bye, you
mustn't fall
in love with him. There now, do not look angry; I only meant
that, as I
knew he'd be desperately smitten, you shouldn't let him fancy he
got any
encouragement."
"What would you have me do?" said she, artlessly.
"I have been thinking over that, too. In the first place,
you'd better
never let him hear you sing; scarcely ever smile; and as far as
possible,
keep out of his sight."
"One would think, Senhor, that all these precautions were to
be taken more
on my account than on his. Is he so very dangerous, then?"
"Not a bit of it! Good-looking enough he is, but, only a boy;
at the same
time, a devilish bold one! And he'd think no more of springing
through that
window and throwing his arms round your neck, the very first
moment of his
arrival, than I should of whispering how much I love you."
"How very odd he must be! I'm sure I should like him."
"Many thanks to both for your kind hints; and now to take
advantage of
them." So saying, I stepped lightly upon the window-sill, cleared
the
miller with one spring, and before Power could recover his legs
or
Margeritta her astonishment, I clasped her in my arms, and kissed
her on
either cheek.
"Charley! Charley! Damn it, man, it won't do!" cried Fred;
while the young
lady, evidently more amused at his discomfiture than affronted at
the
liberty, threw herself into a seat, and laughed immoderately.
"Ha! Hilloa there! What is't?" shouted the miller, rousing
himself from his
nap, and looking eagerly round. "Are they coming? Are the French
coming?"
A hearty renewal of his daughter's laughter was the only
reply; while Power
relieved his anxiety by saying,—
"No, no, Pedrillo, not the French; a mere marauding
party,—nothing more. I
say, Charley," continued he, in a lower tone, "you had better
lose no time
in reporting yourself at headquarters. We'll walk up together.
Devilish
awkward scrape, yours."
"Never fear, Fred; time enough for all that. For the present,
if you permit
me, I'll follow up my acquaintance with our fair friend
here."
"Gently, gently!" said he, with a look of most imposing
seriousness. "Don't
mistake her; she's not a mere country girl: you understand?—been
bred in a
convent here,—rather superior kind of thing."
"Come, come, Fred, I'm not the man to interfere with you for a moment."
"Good-night, Senhor," said the old miller, who had been
waiting patiently
all this time to pay his respects before going.
"Yes, that's it!" cried Power, eagerly. "Good-night, Pedrillo."
"Buonos noches," lisped out Margeritta, with a slight curtsy.
I sprang forward to acknowledge her salutation, when Power
coolly
interposed between us, and closing the door after them, placed
his back
against it.
"Master Charley, I must read you a lesson—"
"You inveterate hypocrite, don't attempt this nonsense with
me. But come,
tell me how long you have been here?"
"Just twenty-four of the shortest hours I ever passed at an
outpost. But
listen,—do you know that voice? Isn't it O'Shaughnessy?"
"To be sure it is. Hear the fellow's song."
"My father cared little for shot or shell,
He laughed at death and dangers;
And he'd storm the very gates of hell
With a company of the 'Rangers.'
So sing tow, row, row, row, row," etc.
"Ah, then, Mister Power, it's twice I'd think of returning
your visit, if I
knew the state of your avenue. If there's a grand jury in Spain,
they might
give you a presentment for this bit of road. My knees are as bare
as a
commissary's conscience, and I've knocked as much flesh off my
shin-bones
as would make a cornet in the hussars!"
A regular roar of laughter from both of us apprized Dennis of our vicinity.
"And it's laughing ye are? Wouldn't it be as polite just to
hold a candle
or lantern for me in this confounded watercourse?"
"How goes it, Major?" cried I, extending my hand to him through the window.
"Charley—Charley O'Malley, my son! I'm glad to see you. It's
a hearty
laugh you gave us this morning. My friend Mickey's a pleasant
fellow for a
secretary-at-war. But it's all settled now; Crawfurd arranged it
for you
this afternoon."
"You don't say so! Pray tell me all about it."
"That's just what I won't; for ye see I don't know it; but I
believe old
Monsoon's affair has put everything out of their heads."
"Monsoon's affair! What is that? Out with it, Dennis."
"Faith, I'll be just as discreet about that as your own
business. All I can
tell you is, that they brought him up to headquarters this
evening with
a sergeant's guard, and they say he's to be tried by
court-martial; and
Picton is in a blessed humor about it."
"What could it possibly have been? Some plundering affair, depend on it."
"Faith, you may swear it wasn't for his little charities, as
Dr. Pangloss
calls them, they've pulled him up," cried Power.
"Maurice is in high feather about it," said Dennis. "There are
five of them
up at Fuentes, making a list of the charges to send to Monsoon;
for Bob
Mahon, it seems, heard of the old fellow's doings up the
mountains."
"What glorious fun!" said Tower. "Let's haste and join them, boys."
"Agreed," said I. "Is it far from this?"
"Another stage. When we've got something to eat," said the
major, "if Power
has any intentions that way—"
"Well, I really did begin to fear Fred's memory was lapsing;
but somehow,
poor fellow, smiles have been more in his way than sandwiches
lately."
An admonishing look from Power was his only reply, as he
walked towards the
door. Bent upon teasing him, however, I continued,—
"My only fear is, he may do something silly."
"Who? Monsoon, is it?"
"No, no. Not Monsoon; another friend of ours."
"Faith, I scarcely thought your fears of old Monsoon were
called for. He's
a fox—the devil a less."
"No, no, Dennis. I wasn't thinking of him. My anxieties were
for a most
soft-hearted young gentleman,—one Fred Power."
"Charley, Charley!" said Fred, from the door, where he had
been giving
directions to his servant about supper. "A man can scarce do a
more silly
thing than marry in the army; all the disagreeables of married
life, with
none of its better features."
"Marry—marry!" shouted O'Shaughnessy, "upon my conscience,
it's
incomprehensible to me how a man can be guilty of it. To be sure,
I don't
mean to say that there are not circumstances,—such as half-pay,
old age,
infirmity, the loss of your limbs, and the like; but that, with
good health
and a small balance at your banker's, you should be led into such
an
embarrassment—"
"Men will flirt," said I, interrupting; "men will press taper
fingers, look
into bright eyes, and feel their witchery; and although the fair
owners be
only quizzing them half the time, and amusing themselves the
other, and
though they be the veriest hackneyed coquettes—"
"Did you ever meet the Dalrymple girls, Dennis?" said Fred,
with a look I
shall never forget.
What the reply was I cannot tell. My shame and confusion were
overwhelming,
and Power's victory complete.
"Here comes the prog," cried Dennis, as Power's servant
entered with a very
plausible-looking tray, while Fred proceeded to place before us a
strong
army of decanters.
Our supper was excellent, and we were enjoying ourselves to
the utmost,
when an orderly sergeant suddenly opened the door, and raising
his hand to
his cap, asked if Major Power was there.
"A letter for you, sir."
"Monsoon's writing, by Jove! Come, boys, let us see what it
means. What a
hand the old fellow writes! The letters look all crazy, and are
tumbling
against each other on every side. Did you ever see anything half
so tipsy
as the crossing of that t?"
"Read it. Read it out, Fred!"
Tuesday Evening.
Dear Power,—I'm in such a scrape! Come up and see me
at
once, bring a little sherry with you, and we'll talk over
what's to be
done.
Yours ever,
B. MONSOON.
Quarter-General.
We resolved to finish our evening with the major; so that,
each having
armed himself with a bottle or two, and the remnants of our
supper, we set
out towards his quarters, under the guidance of the orderly.
After a sharp
walk of half an hour, we reached a small hut, where two sentries
of the
Eighty-eighth were posted at the door.
O'Shaughnessy procured admittance for us, and in we went. At a
small table,
lighted by a thin tallow candle, sat old Monsoon, who, the
weather being
hot, had neither coat nor wig on; an old cracked china tea-pot,
in which
as we found afterwards he had mixed a little grog, stood before
him, and a
large mass of papers lay scattered around on every side,—he
himself being
occupied in poring over their contents, and taking occasional
draughts from
his uncouth goblet.
As we entered noiselessly, he never perceived us, but
continued to mumble
over, in a low tone, from the documents before him:—
"Upon my life, it's like a dream to me! What infernal stuff
this brandy
is!"
CHARGE No. 8.—For conduct highly unbecoming an officer
and
a gentleman, in forcing the cellar of the San Nicholas
convent at
Banos, taking large quantities of wine therefrom, and
subsequently
compelling the prior to dance a bolero, thus creating a riot,
and
tending to destroy the harmony between the British and the
Portuguese,
so strongly inculcated to be preserved by the general
orders.
"Destroy the harmony! Bless their hearts! How little they know
of it! I've
never passed a jollier night in the Peninsula! The prior's a
trump, and
as for the bolero, he would dance it. I hope they say nothing
about my
hornpipe."
CHARGE No. 9.—For a gross violation of his duty as an
officer, in
sending a part of his brigade to attack and pillage the
alcalde of
Banos; thereby endangering the public peace of the town,
being a
flagrant breach of discipline and direct violation of the
articles of
war.
"Well, I'm afraid I was rather sharp on the alcalde, but we
did him no harm
except the fright. What sherry the fellow had! 't would have been
a sin to
let it fall into the hands of the French."
CHARGE No. 10.—For threatening, on or about the night of
the
3d, to place the town of Banos under contribution, and
subsequently
forcing the authorities to walk in procession before him, in
absurd
and ridiculous costumes.
"Lord, how good it was! I shall never forget the old alcalde!
One of my
fellows fastened a dead lamb round his neck, and told him it was
the golden
fleece. The commander-in-chief would have laughed himself if he
had been
there. Picton's much too grave,—never likes a joke."
CHARGE No. 11.—For insubordination and disobedience, in
refusing
to give up his sword, and rendering it necessary for the
Portuguese
guard to take it by force,—thereby placing himself in a
situation highly degrading to a British officer.
"Didn't I lay about me before they got it! Who's that? Who's
laughing
there? Ah, boys, I'm glad to see you! How are you, Fred? Well,
Charley,
I've heard of your scrape; very sad thing for so young a fellow
as you are.
I don't think you'll be broke; I'll do what I can. I'll see what
I can do
with Picton; we are very old friends, were at Eton together."
"Many thanks, Major; but I hear your own affairs are not
flourishing.
What's all this court-martial about?"
"A mere trifle; some little insubordination in the legion.
Those Portuguese
are sad dogs. How very good of you, Fred, to think of that little
supper."
While the major was speaking, his servant, with a dexterity
the fruit of
long habit, had garnished the table with the contents of our
baskets, and
Monsoon, apologizing for not putting on his wig, sat down among
us with a
face as cheerful as though the floor was not covered with the
charges of
the court-martial to be held on him.
As we chatted away over the campaign and its chances, Monsoon
seemed little
disposed to recur to his own fortunes. In fact, he appeared to
suffer much
more from what he termed my unlucky predicament than from his own
mishaps.
At the same time, as the evening wore on, and the sherry began to
tell upon
him, his heart expanded into its habitual moral tendency, and by
an easy
transition, he was led from the religious association of convents
to the
pleasures of pillaging them.
"What wine they have in their old cellars! It's such fun
drinking it out of
great silver vessels as old as Methuselah. 'There's much treasure
in the
house of the righteous,' as David says; and any one who has ever
sacked a
nunnery knows that."
"I should like to have seen that prior dancing the bolero," said Power.
"Wasn't it good, though! He grew jealous of me, for I
performed a hornpipe.
Very good fellow the prior; not like the alcalde,—there was no
fun in him.
Lord bless him! he'll never forget me."
"What did you do with him, Major?"
"Well, I'll tell you; but you mustn't let it be known, for I
see they have
not put it in the court-martial. Is there no more sherry there?
There, that
will do; I'm always contented. 'Better a dry morsel with
quietness,' as
Moses says. Ay, Charley, never forget that 'a merry heart is just
like
medicine.' Job found out that, you know."
"Well, but the alcalde, Major."
"Oh! the alcalde, to be sure. These pious meditations make me
forget
earthly matters."
"This old alcalde at Banos, I found out, was quite spoiled by
Lord
Wellington. He used to read all the general orders, and got an
absurd
notion in his head that because we were his allies, we were not
allowed to
plunder. Only think, he used to snap his fingers at Beresford,
didn't care
twopence about the legion, and laughed outright at Wilson. So,
when I was
ordered down there, I took another way with him. I waited till
night-fall,
ordered two squadrons to turn their jackets, and sent forward one
of my
aides-de-camp, with a few troopers, to the alcalde's house. They
galloped
into the courtyard, blowing trumpets and making an infernal
hubbub. Down
came the alcalde in a passion. 'Prepare quarters quickly, and
rations for
eight hundred men.'
"'Who dares to issue such an order?' said he.
"The aide-de-camp whispered one word in his ear, and the old
fellow
grew pale as death. 'Is he here; is he coming,—is he coming?'
said he,
trembling from head to foot.
"I rode in myself at this moment looking thus,—
"'Où est le malheureux?' said I, in French,—you know
I speak French like
Portuguese."
"Devilish like, I've no doubt," muttered Power.
"'Pardon, gracias eccellenza!' said the alcalde, on his knees."
"Who the deuce did he take you for, Major?"
"You shall hear; you'll never guess, though. Lord, I shall
never forget it!
He thought I was Marmont; my aide-de-camp told him so."
One loud burst of laughter interrupted the major at this
moment, and it was
some considerable time before he could continue his
narrative.
"And do you really mean," said I, "that you personated the Duke de Raguse?"
"Did I not, though? If you had only seen me with a pair of
great mustaches,
and a drawn sabre in my hand, pacing the room up and down in
presence of
the assembled authorities. Napoleon himself might have been
deceived. My
first order was to cut off all their heads; but I commuted the
sentence
to a heavy fine. Ah, boys, if they only understood at
headquarters how to
carry on a war in the Peninsula, they'd never have to grumble in
England
about increased taxation! How I'd mulet the nunneries! How I'd
grind the
corporate towns! How I'd inundate the country with exchequer
bills! I'd
sell the priors at so much a head, and put the nuns up to auction
by the
dozen."
"You sacrilegious old villain! But continue the account of your exploits."
"Faith, I remember little more. After dinner I grew somewhat
mellow, and
a kind of moral bewilderment, which usually steals over me about
eleven
o'clock, induced me to invite the alcalde and all the aldermen to
come and
sup. Apparently, we had a merry night of it, and when morning
broke,
we were not quite clear in our intellects. Hence came that
infernal
procession; for when the alcalde rode round the town with a paper
cap, and
all the aldermen after him, the inhabitants felt offended, it
seems, and
sent for a large Guerilla force, who captured me and my staff,
after a very
vigorous resistance. The alcalde fought like a trump for us, for
I promised
to make him Prefect of the Seine; but we were overpowered,
disarmed, and
carried off. The remainder you can read in the court-martial, for
you may
think that after sacking the town, drinking all night, and
fighting in the
morning, my memory was none of the clearest."
"Did you not explain that you were not the marshal-general?"
"No, faith, I know better than that; they'd have murdered me
had they known
their mistake. They brought me to headquarters in the hope of a
great
reward, and it was only when they reached this that they found
out I
was not the Duke de Raguse; so you see, boys, it's a very
complicated
business."
"'Gad, and so it is," said Power, "and an awkward one, too."
"He'll be hanged, as sure as my name's Dennis!" vociferated
O'Shaughnessy,
with an energy that made the major jump from his chair. "Picton
will hang
him!"
"I'm not afraid," said Monsoon; "they know me so well. Lord
bless you,
Beresford couldn't get on without me!"
"Well, Major," said I, "in any case, you certainly take no
gloomy nor
desponding view of your case."
"Not I, boy. You know what Jeremiah says: 'a merry heart is a
continual
feast;' and so it is. I may die of repletion, but they'll never
find me
starved with sorrow."
"And, faith, it's a strange thing!" muttered O'Shaughnessy,
thinking aloud;
"a most extraordinary thing! An honest fellow would be sure to be
hanged;
and there's that old rogue, that's been melting down more saints
and
blessed Virgins than the whole army together, he'll escape. Ye'll
see he
will!"
"There goes the patrol," said Fred; "we must start."
"Leave the sherry, boys; you'll be back again. I'll have it
put up
carefully."
We could scarcely resist a roar of laughter as we said, "Good-night."
"Adieu, Major," said I; "we shall meet soon."
So saying, I followed Power and O'Shaughnessy towards their quarters.
"Maurice has done it beautifully!" said Power. "Pleasant
revelations the
old fellow will make on the court-martial, if he only remembers
what we've
heard to-night! But here we are, Charley; so good-night, and
remember, you
breakfast with me to-morrow."
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE CONFIDENCE.
"I have changed the venue, Charley," said Power, as he came
into my room
the following morning,—"I've changed the venue, and come to
breakfast with
you."
I could not help smiling as a certain suspicion crossed my
mind; perceiving
which, he quickly added,—
"No, no, boy! I guess what you're thinking of. I'm not a bit
jealous in
that quarter. The fact is, you know, one cannot be too
guarded."
"Nor too suspicious of one's friends, apparently."
"A truce with quizzing. I say, have you reported yourself?"
"Yes; and received this moment a most kind note from the
general. But it
appears I'm not destined to have a long sojourn among you, for
I'm desired
to hold myself in readiness for a journey this very day."
"Where the deuce are they going to send you now?"
"I'm not certain of my destination. I rather suspect there are
despatches
for Badajos. Just tell Mike to get breakfast, and I'll join
you
immediately."
When I walked into the little room which served as my salon,
I found
Power pacing up and down, apparently wrapped in meditation.
"I've been thinking, Charley," said he, after a pause of about
ten
minutes,—"I've been thinking over our adventures in Lisbon.
Devilish
strange girl that senhora! When you resigned in my favor, I took
it for
granted that all difficulty was removed. Confound it! I no sooner
began to
profit by your absence, in pressing my suit, than she turned
short round,
treated me with marked coldness, exhibited a hundred wilful and
capricious
fancies, and concluded one day by quietly confessing to me you
were the
only man she cared for."
"You are not serious in all this, Fred?" said I.
"Ain't I though, by Jove! I wish to Heaven I were not! My dear
Charley,
the girl is an inveterate flirt,—a decided coquette. Whether she
has a
particle of heart or not, I can't say; but certainly her greatest
pleasure
is to trifle with that of another. Some absurd suspicion that you
were in
love with Lucy Dashwood piqued her vanity, and the anxiety to
recover a
lapsing allegiance led her to suppose herself attached to you,
and made her
treat all my advances with the most frigid indifference or
wayward caprice;
the more provoking," continued he, with a kind of bitterness in
his tone,
"as her father was disposed to take the thing favorably; and, if
I must say
it, I felt devilish spooney about her myself.
"It was only two days before I left, that in a conversation
with Don
Emanuel, he consented to receive my addresses to his daughter on
my
becoming lieutenant-colonel. I hastened back with delight to
bring her the
intelligence, and found her with a lock of hair on the book
before her,
over which she was weeping. Confound me, if it was not yours! I
don't
know what I said, nor what she replied; but when we parted, it
was with a
perfect understanding we were never to meet again. Strange girl!
She came
that evening, put her arm within mine as I was walking alone in
the garden,
and half in jest, half in earnest, talked me out of all my
suspicions, and
left me fifty times more in love with her than ever. Egad! I
thought I used
to know something about women, but here is a chapter I've yet to
read.
Come, now, Charley, be frank with me; tell me all you know."
"My poor Fred, if you were not head and ears in love, you
would see as
plainly as I do that your affairs prosper. And after all, how
invariable
is it that the man who has been the veriest flirt with
women,—sighing,
serenading, sonneteering, flinging himself at the feet of every
pretty girl
he meets with,—should become the most thorough dupe to his own
feelings
when his heart is really touched. Your man of eight-and-thirty is
always
the greatest fool about women."
"Confound your impertinence! How the devil can a fellow with a
mustache not
stronger that a Circassian's eyebrow read such a lecture to
me?"
"Just for the very reason you've mentioned. You glide into
an attachment
at my time of life; you fall in love at yours."
"Yes," said Power, musingly, "there is some truth in that.
This flirting is
sad work. It is just like sparring with a friend; you put on the
gloves in
perfect good humor, with the most friendly intentions of
exchanging a few
amicable blows; you find yourself insensibly warm with the
enthusiasm of
the conflict, and some unlucky hard knock decides the matter, and
it ends
in a downright fight.
"Few men, believe me, are regular seducers; and among those
who behave
'vilely' (as they call it), three-fourths of the number have been
more
sinned against than sinning. You adventure upon love as upon a
voyage to
India. Leaving the cold northern latitudes of first acquaintance
behind
you, you gradually glide into the warmer and more genial climate
of
intimacy. Each day you travel southward shortens the miles and
the hours of
your existence; so tranquil is the passage, and so easy the
transition, you
suffer no shock by the change of temperature about you. Happy
were it for
us that in our courtship, as in our voyage, there were some
certain Rubicon
to remind us of the miles we have journeyed! Well were it if
there were
some meridian in love!"
"I'm not sure, Fred, that there is not that same shaving
process they
practise on the line, occasionally performed for us by parents
and
guardians at home; and I'm not certain that the iron hoop of old
Neptune is
not a pleasanter acquaintance than the hair-trigger of some
indignant
and fire-eating brother. But come, Fred, you have not told me the
most
important point,—how fare your fortunes now; or in other words,
what are
your present prospects as regards the senhora?"
"What a question to ask me! Why not request me to tell you
where Soult will
fight us next, and when Marmont will cross the frontier? My dear
boy, I
have not seen her for a week, an entire week,—seven full days
and nights,
each with their twenty-four hours of change and vacillation."
"Well, then, give me the last bulletin from the seat of war;
that at least
you can do. Tell me how you parted."
"Strangely enough. You must know we had a grand dinner at the
villa the
day before I left; and when we adjourned for our coffee to the
garden, my
spirits were at the top of their bent. Inez never looked so
beautiful,
never was one half so gracious; and as she leaned upon my arm,
instead
of following the others towards the little summer-house, I
turned, as if
inadvertently, into a narrow, dark alley that skirts the
lake."
"I know it well; continue."
Power reddened slightly, and went on:—
"'Why are we taking this path?' said Donna Inez; 'this is,
surely, not a
short way?'
"'Oh, I wished to make my adieux to my old friends the swans.
You know I go
to-morrow.'
"'Ah, that's true,' added she. 'I'd quite forgotten it.'
"This speech was not very encouraging; but as I felt myself in
for the
battle, I was not going to retreat at the skirmish. 'Now or
never,' thought
I. I'll not tell you what I said. I couldn't, if I would. It is
only with
a pretty woman upon one's arm; it is only when stealing a glance
at her
bright eyes, as you bend beyond the border of her bonnet,—that
you know
what it is to be eloquent. Watching the changeful color of her
cheek with
a more anxious heart than ever did mariner gaze upon the fitful
sky above
him, you pour out your whole soul in love; you leave no time for
doubt, you
leave no space for reply. The difficulties that shoot across her
mind you
reply to ere she is well conscious of them; and when you feel her
hand
tremble, or see her eyelids fall, like the leader of a storming
party when
the guns slacken in their fire, you spring boldly forward in the
breach,
and blind to every danger around you, rush madly on, and plant
your
standard upon the walls."
"I hope you allow the vanquished the honors of war," said I, interrupting.
Without noticing my observation, he continued:—
"I was on my knee before her, her hand passively resting in
mine, her eyes
bent upon me softly and tearfully—"
"The game was your own, in fact."
"You shall hear.
"'Have we stood long enough thus, Senhor?' said she, bursting
into a fit of
laughter.
"I sprang to my legs in anger and indignation.
"'There, don't be passionate; it is so tiresome. What do you
call that tree
there?'
"'It is a tulip-tree,' said I, coldly.
"'Then, to put your gallantry to the test, do climb up there
and pluck me
that flower. No, the far one. If you fall into the lake and are
drowned,
why it would put an end to this foolish interview.'
"'And if not?' said I.
"'Oh, then I shall take twelve hours to consider of it; and if
my decision
be in your favor, I'll give you the flower ere you leave
to-morrow.'
"It's somewhat about thirty years since I went bird-nesting,
and hang me,
if a tight jacket and spurs are the best equipment for climbing a
tree; but
up I went, and, amidst a running fire of laughter and quizzing,
reached the
branch and brought it down safely.
"Inez took especial care to avoid me the rest of the evening.
We did not
meet until breakfast the following morning. I perceived then that
she wore
the flower in her belt; but, alas! I knew her too well to augur
favorably
from that; besides that, instead of any trace of sorrow or
depression at my
approaching departure, she was in high spirits, and the life of
the party.
'How can I manage to speak with her?' said I to myself. 'But one
word,—I
already anticipate what it must be; but let the blow
fall—anything is
better than this uncertainty.'
"'The general and the staff have passed the gate, sir,' said
my servant at
this moment.
"'Are my horses ready?'
"'At the door, sir; and the baggage gone forward.'
"I gave Inez one look—
"'Did you say more coffee?' said she, smiling.
"I bowed coldly, and rose from the table. They all assembled
upon the
terrace to see me ride away.
"'You'll let us hear from you,' said Don Emanuel.
"'And pray don't forget the letter to my brother,' cried old Madame Forjas.
"Twenty similar injunctions burst from the party, but not a word said Inez.
"'Adieu, then!' said I. 'Farewell.'
"'Adios! Go with God!' chorused the party.
"'Good-by, Senhora,' said I. 'Have you nothing to tell me ere we part?'
"'Not that I remember,' said she, carelessly. 'I hope you'll
have good
weather.'
"'There is a storm threatening,' said I, gloomily.
"'Well, a soldier cares little for a wet jacket.'
"'Adieu!' said I, sharply, darting at her a look that spoke my meaning.
"'Farewell!' repeated she, curtsying slightly, and giving one
of her
sweetest smiles.
"I drove the spurs into my horse's flanks, but holding him
firmly on the
curb at the same moment, instead of dashing forward, he bounded
madly in
the air.
"'What a pretty creature!' said she, as she turned towards the
house; then
stopping carelessly, she looked round,—
"'Should you like this bouquet?'
"Before I could reply, she disengaged it from her belt, and
threw it
towards me. The door closed behind her as she spoke. I galloped
on to
overtake the staff, et voilà tout. Now, Charley, read my
fate for me, and
tell me what this portends."
"I confess I only see one thing certain in the whole."
"And that is?" said Power.
"That Master Fred Power is more irretrievably in love than any
gentleman on
full pay I ever met with."
"By Jove, I half fear as much! Is that orderly waiting for
you, Charley?
Who do you want my man?"
"Captain O'Malley, sir. General Crawfurd desires to see you at
headquarters
immediately."
"Come, Charley, I'm going towards Fuentes. Take your cap;
we'll walk down
together."
So saying, we cantered towards the village, where we
separated,—Power to
join some Fourteenth men stationed there on duty, and I to the
general's
quarters to receive my orders.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE CANTONMENT.
Soon after this the army broke up from Caja, and went into
cantonments
along the Tagus, the headquarters being at Portalegre. We were
here joined
by four regiments of infantry lately arrived from England, and
the 12th
Light Dragoons. I shall not readily forget the first impression
created
among our reinforcements by the habits of our life at this
period.
[A HUNTING TURN-OUT IN THE PENINSULA.]
Brimful of expectation, they had landed at Lisbon, their minds
filled with
all the glorious expectancy of a brilliant campaign; sieges,
storming, and
battle-fields floated before their excited imagination.
Scarcely,
however, had they reached the camp, when these illusions were
dissipated.
Breakfasts, dinners, private theatricals, pigeon matches, formed
our daily
occupation. Lord Wellington's hounds threw off regularly twice a
week;
and here might be seen every imaginable species of equipment,
from the
artillery officer mounted on his heavy troop horse, to the
infantry
subaltern on a Spanish jennet. Never was anything more ludicrous
than our
turn-out. Every quadruped in the army was put into requisition.
And even
those who rolled not from their saddles from sheer necessity,
were most
likely to do so from laughing at their neighbors. The pace may
not have
equalled Melton, nor the fences have been as stubborn as in
Leicestershire,
but I'll be sworn there was more laughter, more fun, and more
merriment,
in one day with us, than in a whole season with the best
organized pack in
England. With a lively trust that the country was open and the
leaps easy,
every man took the field. Indeed, the only anxiety evinced at
all, was to
appear at the meet in something like jockey fashion, and I must
confess
that this feeling was particularly conspicuous among the
infantry. Happy
the man whose kit boasted a pair of cords or buck skins; thrice
happy he
who sported a pair of tops. I myself was in that enviable
position, and
well remember with what pride of heart I cantered up to cover in
all the
superior éclat of my costume, though, if truth were to
be spoken, I doubt
if I should have passed muster among my friends of the "Blazers."
A round
cavalry jacket and a foraging cap with a hanging tassel were the
strange
accompaniments of my more befitting nether garments. Whatever our
costumes,
the scene was a most animated one. Here the shell-jacket of a
heavy dragoon
was seen storming the fence of a vineyard; there the dark green
of a
rifleman was going the pace over the plain. The unsportsmanlike
figure of
a staff officer might be observed emerging from a drain, while
some
neck-or-nothing Irishman, with light infantry wings, was flying
at every
fence before him, and overturning all in his way. The rules and
regulations
of the service prevailed not here; the starred and gartered
general, the
plumed and aiguilletted colonel obtained but little deference and
less
mercy from his more humble subaltern. In fact, I am half disposed
to think
that many an old grudge of rigid discipline or severe duty met
with its
retribution here. More than once have I heard the muttered
sentences around
me which boded like this,—
"Go the pace, Harry, never flinch it! There's old
Colquhoun—take him in
the haunches; roll him over!"
"See here, boys—watch how I'll scatter the staff—Beg your
pardon,
General, hope I haven't hurt you. Turn about—fair play—I have
taught
you to take up a position now."
I need scarcely say there was one whose person was sacred from
all such
attacks. He was well mounted upon a strong, half-breed horse;
rode always
foremost, following the hounds with the same steady pertinacity
with which
he would have followed the enemy, his compressed lip rarely
opening for a
laugh when even the most ludicrous misadventure was enacting
before him;
and when by chance he would give way, the short ha! ha! was over
in a
moment, and the cold, stern features were as fixed and impassive
as before.
All the excitement, all the enthusiasm of a hunting-field,
seemed powerless
to turn his mind from the pre-occupation which the mighty
interests he
presided over, exacted. I remember once an incident which,
however trivial
in itself, is worth recording as illustrative of what I mean. We
were going
along at a topping pace, the hounds, a few fields in advance,
were hidden
from our view by a small beech copse. The party consisted of not
more than
six persons, one of whom was Lord Wellington himself. Our run had
been a
splendid one, and as we were pursuing the fox to earth, every man
of us
pushed his horse to his full stride in the hot enthusiasm of such
a moment.
"This way, my lord, this way," said Colonel Conyers, an old
Melton man, who
led the way. "The hounds are in the valley; keep to the left." As
no reply
was made, after a few moments' pause Conyers repeated his
admonition, "You
are wrong, my lord, the hounds are hunting yonder."
"I know it!" was the brief answer given, with a shortness that
almost
savored of asperity; for a second or two not a word was
spoken.
"How far is Niza, Gordon?" inquired Lord Wellington.
"About five leagues, my lord," replied the astonished aide-de-camp.
"That's the direction, is it not?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Let's go over and inspect the wounded."
No more was said, and before a second was given for
consideration, away
went his lordship, followed by his aide-de-camp, his pace the
same
stretching gallop, and apparently feeling as much excitement, as
he dashed
onwards towards the hospital, as though following in all the
headlong
enthusiasm of a fox chase.
Thus passed our summer; a life of happy ease and recreation
succeeding to
the harassing fatigues and severe privations of the preceding
campaign.
Such are the lights and shadows of a soldier's life; such the
checkered
surface of his fortunes. Constituting, by their very change, that
buoyant
temperament, that happy indifference, which enables him to derive
its full
enjoyment from each passing incident of his career.
While thus we indulged in all the fascinations of a life of
pleasure, the
rigid discipline of the army was never for a moment forgotten.
Reviews,
parades, and inspections were of daily occurrence, and even a
superficial
observer could not fail to detect that under this apparent
devotion to
amusement and enjoyment, our commander-in-chief concealed a deep
stroke of
his policy.
The spirits of both men and officers, broken, in spite of
their successes,
by the incessant privations they had endured, imperatively
demanded this
period of rest and repose. The infantry, many of whom had served
in the
ill-fated campaign of Walcharen, wore still suffering from the
effects of
the intermittent fever. The cavalry, from deficient forage,
severe marches,
and unremitting service, were in great part unfit for duty. To
take the
field under circumstances like these was therefore impossible;
and with the
double object of restoring their wonted spirit to his troops, and
checking
the ravages which sickness and the casualties of war had made
within his
ranks, Lord Wellington embraced the opportunity of the enemy's
inaction to
take up his present position on the Tagus.
But while we were enjoying all the pleasures of a country
life, enhanced
tenfold by daily association with gay and cheerful companions,
the
master-mind, whose reach extended from the profoundest
calculations of
strategy to minutest details of military organization, was never
idle.
Foreseeing that a period of inaction, like the present, must only
be like
the solemn calm that preludes the storm, he prepared for the
future by
those bold conceptions and unrivalled combinations which were to
guide him
through many a field of battle and of danger to end his career of
glory in
the liberation of the Peninsula.
The failure of the attack upon Badajos had neither damped his
ardor nor
changed his views; and he proceeded to the investment of Ciudad
Rodrigo
with the same intense determination of uprooting the French
occupation in
Spain by destroying their strongholds and cutting off their
resources.
Carrying aggressive war in one hand, he turned the other towards
the
maintenance of those defences which, in the event of disaster or
defeat,
must prove the refuge of the army.
To the lines of Torres Vedras he once more directed his
attention. Engineer
officers were despatched thither; the fortresses were put into
repair; the
bridges broken or injured during the French invasion were
restored; the
batteries upon the Tagus were rendered more effective, and
furnaces for
heating shot were added to them.
The inactivity and apathy of the Portuguese government but ill
corresponded
with his unwearied exertions; and despite of continual
remonstrances and
unceasing representations, the bridges over the Leira and Alva
were left
unrepaired, and the roads leading to them, so broken as to be
almost
impassable, might seriously have endangered the retreat of the
army, should
such a movement be deemed necessary.
It was in the first week of September. I was sent with
despatches for the
engineer officer in command at the lines, and during the
fortnight of my
absence, was enabled for the first time to examine those
extraordinary
defences which, for the space of thirty miles, extended over a
country
undulating in hill and valley, and presenting, by a succession of
natural
and artificial resources, the strongest and most impregnable
barrier that
has ever been presented against the advance of a conquering
army.
CHAPTER XXXI.
MICKEY FREE'S ADVENTURE.
When I returned to the camp, I found the greatest excitement
prevailing on
all sides. Each day brought in fresh rumors that Marmont was
advancing
in force; that sixty thousand Frenchmen were in full march upon
Ciudad
Rodrigo, to raise the blockade, and renew the invasion of
Portugal.
Intercepted letters corroborated these reports; and the Guerillas
who
joined us spoke of large convoys which they had seen upon the
roads from
Salamanca and Tamanes.
Except the light division, which, under the command of
Crawfurd, were
posted upon the right of the Aguada, the whole of our army
occupied the
country from El Bodon to Gallegos; the Fourth Division being
stationed at
Fuente Guenaldo, where some intrenchments had been hastily thrown
up.
To this position Lord Wellington resolved upon retreating, as
affording
points of greater strength and more capability of defence than
the other
line of road, which led by Almeida upon the Coa. Of the enemy's
intentions
we were not long to remain in doubt; for on the morning of the
24th, a
strong body were seen descending from the pass above Ciudad
Rodrigo, and
cautiously reconnoitring the banks of the Aguada. Far in the
distance a
countless train of wagons, bullock-cars, and loaded mules were
seen winding
their slow length along, accompanied by several squadrons of
dragoons.
Their progress was slow, but as evening fell they entered the
gates of
the fortress; and the cheering of the garrison mixing with the
strains
of martial music, faint from distance, reached us where we lay
upon the
far-off heights of El Bodon. So long as the light lasted, we
could perceive
fresh troops arriving; and even when the darkness came on, we
could detect
the position of the reinforcing columns by the bright watch-fires
which
gleamed along the plain.
By daybreak we were under arms, anxiously watching for the
intentions of
our enemy, which soon became no longer dubious. Twenty-five
squadrons of
cavalry, supported by a whole division of infantry, were seen to
defile
along the great road from Ciudad Rodrigo to Guenaldo. Another
column,
equally numerous, marched straight upon Espeja; nothing could be
more
beautiful, nothing more martial, than their appearance: emerging
from a
close mountain gorge, they wound along the narrow road and
appeared upon
the bridge of the Aguada just as the morning sun was bursting
forth,
its bright beams tipping the polished cuirassiers and their
glittering
equipments, they shone in their panoply like the gay troop of
some ancient
tournament. The lancers of Berg, distinguished by their scarlet
dolmans
and gorgeous trappings, were followed by the Cuirassiers of the
Guard,
who again were succeeded by the chasseurs à cheval,
their bright steel
helmets and light-blue uniforms, their floating plumes and
dappled
chargers, looking the very beau idéal of light horsemen;
behind, the dark
masses of the infantry pressed forward and deployed into the
plain; while,
bringing up the rear, the rolling din, like distant thunder,
announced the
"dread artillery."
On they came, the seemingly interminable line converging on to
that one
spot upon whose summit now we assembled a force of scarcely ten
thousand
bayonets.
While this brilliant panorama was passing before our eyes, we
ourselves
were not idle. Orders had been sent to Picton to come up from the
left with
his division. Alten's cavalry and a brigade of artillery were
sent to the
front, and every preparation which the nature of the ground
admitted was
made to resist the advance of the enemy. While these movements on
either
side occupied some hours, the scene was every moment increasing
in
interest. The large body of cavalry was now seen forming into
columns of
attack. Nine battalions of infantry moved up to their support,
and forming
into columns, echelons, and squares, performed before us all the
manoeuvres
of a review with the most admirable precision and rapidity; but
from these
our attention was soon taken by a brilliant display upon our
left. Here,
emerging from the wood which flanked the Aguada, were now to be
seen the
gorgeous staff of Marmont himself. Advancing at a walk, they came
forward
amidst the vivas of the assembled thousands, burning with ardor
and
thirsting for victory. For a moment, as I looked, I could detect
the
marshal himself, as, holding his plumed hat above his head, he
returned the
salute of a lancer regiment, who proudly waved their banners as
he passed;