Chapter IV (1)

The English arm is strong, boys,
The Irish arm is tough,
The Scotchman's blow, the French well know,
Is struck by sterling stuff;
And when, before the enemy,
Their shining steel appears—
Good by'e! Good by'e!—How they run! How they fly
From the British Bayoneteers!
Then fill the glass, for the toast of toasts, &c.

Loud applause followed this song, for the wine had pretty freely circulated before it was sung. A deviled turkey was now brought in, the decanters were all replenished, and several jolly songs sung. It was a festival day; therefore did the young _subs_ leave off the everyday rule of quitting the mess-table after the “_second allowance_,” and indulged _ad libitum_. In short, a merrier set of fellows, from the Colonel to the Quarter-master, never broke up from a happy mess-table, than they, at half-past 12 o'clock, A. M.

GERAGHTY'S KICK.

“Send that to your next-door neighbour.”

At the battle of Talavera, when the hill on the left of the British line had been retaken from the enemy, after the most obstinate and bloody fighting, the French continued to throw shells upon it with most destructive precision. One of those terrible instruments of death fell close to a party of grenadiers belonging to the 45th regiment, who were standing on the summit of the hill. The fusee was burning rapidly, and a panic struck upon the minds of the soldiers, for they could not move away from the shell on account of the compact manner in which the troops stood: it was nearly consumed—every rapidly succeeding spark from it promised to be the last—all expected instant death—when Tom Geraghty, a tall raw-boned Irishman, ran towards the shell, crying out, “By J——, I'll have a kick for it, if it was to be my last;” and with a determined push from his foot, sent the load of death whirling off the height. It fell amongst a close column of men below, while Geraghty, leaning over the verge from whence it fell, with the most vehement and good-natured energy, bawled out “Mind your heads, boys, mind your heads!” Horror!—the shell burst!—it was over in a moment. At least twenty men were shattered to pieces by the explosion!

Geraghty was wholly unconscious of having done any mischief. It was a courageous impulse of the moment, which operated upon him in the first instance; and the injury to the service was not worse than if the shell had remained where it first fell. Self-preservation is positively in favour of the act, considering that there was no other way of escaping from destruction.

Very serious consequences would have still attended the matter, had it not been for the active exertions of the officers; for the men of the regiment, among which the shell was thrown, and who had escaped, were with difficulty prevented from mounting the hill and executing summary punishment upon the grenadiers, from whom the unwelcome messenger had been so unceremoniously despatched. Thus they would have increased to an alarming degree the evil consequences of Geraghty's kick.

An unexpected shower of admiration and flattery, like the sudden possession of great and unexpected wealth, produces evil effects upon a weak head. The perilous kick, instead of exalting Geraghty's fortunes, as it would have done had he been a prudent man, produced the very opposite consequences. He was talked of throughout the regiment—nay, the whole division, for this intrepid act; every body, officers and all, complimented him upon his coolness and courage; and the general who commanded his regiment (Sir John Doyle) gave him the most flattering encouragement. All this was lost upon Geraghty; he was one of those crazy fellows whom nothing but the weight of adversity could bring to any tolerable degree of steadiness; and instead of profiting by his reputed bravery, he gave way to the greatest excesses. Finding that he was tolerated in one, he would indulge in another, until it became necessary to check the exuberance of his folly. He gave way completely to drunkenness: when under the effects of liquor, although a most inoffensive being when sober, he would try to “carry all before him,” as the phrase goes; and having succeeded in this so frequently, amongst the privates and non-commissioned officers of his regiment, the excitement of the excess began to lose its pungency in his imagination, and he determined to extend his enjoyments amongst the officers: this very soon led him to most disagreeable results. It had been ordered that the privates should not walk upon a certain part of the parade in Colchester Barracks. Geraghty, however, thought proper to _kick_ against it as determinedly as he formerly did against the shell. Charged with strong rum, he one day strutted across it in a manner becoming a hero of Talavera (as he thought), and was seen by two of his officers, ensigns, who sent the orderly to desire him to move off the forbidden ground; but Geraghty declined obedience, and told the orderly to “_be off to the devil out o' that_.” The ensigns, on being informed of the disobedience, proceeded to the delinquent, and renewed their orders, which were not only disregarded, but accompanied by a violent assault from Geraghty. The refractory giant seized an ensign in each hand, and having lifted both off the ground, dashed their heads together. This was seen by some other officers and soldiers of the regiment, who all ran instantly to rescue the sufferers from Geraghty's gripe. None could, however, secure him; he raged and threatened vengeance on all who came within the length of his long arms; nor would he have surrendered had it not been for a captain in the regiment, under whose eye he pulled many a trigger against the enemy. This officer approached with a stick, seized him by the collar, and began to lay on in good style. “Leather away,” cried Geraghty, “I'll submit to _you_, Captain, and will suffer any thing; flog me, if you like. You are a good sodger, an' saw the enemy; but by J——, I'll not be insulted by brats o' boys who never smelt powdther.”

The consequences of this violence of course led to punishment: Geraghty was flogged for the mutiny; he received six hundred and fifty lashes, laid heavily on; yet he never uttered a groan during the whole of this suffering; and when taken down, although bleeding, bruised, and doubtless greatly exhausted, assumed an air of insolent triumph; put on his shirt, and boldly walked off to the hospital. The body of the man was overcome,—the pallid cheek, the bloodshot eye, the livid lip, the clammy mouth—all declared it; but the spirit was wholly untouched by the lash: nothing on earth _could_ touch it.

The 87th was subsequently quartered in Guernsey: here the sheriff, a little powdered personage of the forensic faculty, was the immediate cause of another punishment to Geraghty, by having preferred a complaint against him. The deepest enmity towards the civic officer arose in Geraghty's breast, and he vowed vengeance against him. It happened that after long looking out for the fulfilment of his vow, he met the sheriff one dark night in a narrow way: a moment so precious could not be wasted; so Geraghty, with an oath like the thunder of Jupiter, seized his victim by the collar of his coat and the posterior portion of his pantaloons, and having twirled him in the air just as he would a monkey, flung him “neck and crop” (as the flinger said) over the church-yard wall, which stood full seven feet high, beside the road.

The sheriff received several bruises and a dislocation of the shoulder by the fall, but managed to creep home, after a little rest taken on a grave, quite as much frightened as he was hurt. Of course the necessary steps were taken next day to bring Geraghty to justice; but at the trial the sheriff failed in his evidence, having none but his own oath, while the prisoner proved that he was in bed when the roll was called, and also that he was on parade at six in the morning: the court was of opinion that the sheriff might have been mistaken, and therefore acquitted the graceless grenadier.

General Doyle, however, was not quite convinced of the prisoner's innocence, and although acquitted, he received a private reprimand from the General, who also addressed the regiment publicly upon the necessity of behaving with decorum towards the inhabitants, giving Mr. Geraghty many severe hints upon the sheriff's affair, which showed that Sir John Doyle was not one of those who doubted his delinquency.

“Eighty-seventh,” said the General to the regiment in a loud voice, “you have always distinguished yourselves in the field, and have never disgraced yourselves in your quarters: you have fought with the enemies of your country, and not against your countrymen. I trust you will continue to respect the civilian, and thereby respect yourselves. An occurrence has taken place lately which I am shocked at, and if I thought the 87th regiment would practise such gross conduct against the worthy inhabitants of this island, _it would break my heart_.”

This natural appeal had a powerful effect: every man felt as if his own father addressed him, and Geraghty amongst the rest participated in the respectful homage paid to the parent of the corps; for he then was sober, and consequently rational and kind-hearted.

A short time after this the General held a levee, and Geraghty happened to be the sentry on his house. The sheriff having attended, was returning from the doors, the General and several friends in the balcony above, elevated at no greater distance than that within which every word spoken at the door could be distinctly heard by them: the sheriff passed close to Geraghty, who, not thinking that there was anybody within hearing, seized the little gentleman by the buttonhole, and forcibly detained him while he addressed him in the following impressive manner: “Come here, you little rascal:”—the petrified civilian trembling, looked up and listened,—“I tell you what; by J——, if it wasn't that I'd brake the poor owld General's heart, I'd just take an' I'd smash every bone in your skin this minute; so ger out o' my sight, and never come near me again while you've breath in your little body.”

Sir John heard the whole of this address, and saw the sheriff hasten to obey the commands of the sentry. He did not bring him to court-martial, for he wisely thought that punishment was wholly useless: however, he procured his discharge, as the only means of securing the regiment against the farther consequences of _Geraghty's kick_.

DUELLING IN THE SERVICE.

—— Keep your honour clear,
Barring all consequences.

_Burns._

That the practice of duelling is to be tolerated in general society, I will not take upon me to say; but that it is absolutely necessary in the army, no officer of that profession will deny. It should, however, be regulated by temperate and honourable rules. In a body like the army, where unanimity and obedience to command must prevail, every thing that tends to disturb those passive qualities, should be scrupulously forbidden. But as the evil passions of the heart have not less exercise amongst military men than in any other division of society, quarrels cannot of course be avoided. Yet if these quarrels were allowed to develope their virulence in bickerings and open abuse, every corps of officers, it is to be feared, would be divided into parties, and disunion would place in jeopardy that power which can only act efficiently by unanimity. Hence the necessity of a more particular attention to gentlemanly demeanour amongst the military, and hence also the necessity of the existence of some power which will enforce conformity to its regulations. This, to a certain extent, is to be found in military authority; but beyond this, there is no remedy, except in the practice of duelling; and the more this practice is cherished in the army, the more honourable and lasting will be its reputation; the less will its quiet be disturbed; fewer will insult or injure their brother-officers, and consequently fewer will be necessitated to vindicate their honour by duel.

The admirable decorum and gentlemanly friendships which prevail in the army generally, bear strong testimony to the truth of my argument; and as insults and injuries cannot pass there with impunity, those despicable characters, _professed duellists_, are rarely, if ever, to be met with in the service. They do not, at all events, practise their “_profession_” amongst military men, for the most obvious reasons in the world. Yet there have been, and are still in the army, men who approach towards this odious character; they are, however, but very few, nor will they attempt to offer insult openly; their aim is to assume an overbearing superiority, and, by all indirect means in their power, to impress every one with a sense of their vast prowess and undaunted courage: through all this they are guarded in their manner and expressions, and only go so far as to render themselves both despised and shunned.

An ancient writer observes, that “The long sword and the swaggering cock are the ordinary marks of a faint heart in disguise;” and never was there more truth in any observation: for, as modesty and courage are usually associated, and as regard to self-preservation is natural to every one who contemplates the possible consequences of a duel, it is very unlikely that a truly brave man would wantonly expose himself to peril, by insulting another, without ample provocation. As a man of courage, he would feel that he could not shrink from a challenge, and that once engaged in it, “there must be no shuffling”; but the swaggerer is altogether a different sort of person, and will be found on examination to be made up of vanity, cruelty, and cowardice; he indulges in the two former, but is betrayed by the latter. He is forward to insult, because he is predetermined to shrink from the dangerous consequences his insults might threaten to bring upon him; and by indulging in the practice of bullying, he is in fact playing a game in which there is a great deal of counterfeit reputation to be won, and much base vanity to be gratified, but little or nothing to be lost by him: you may, at the end of the game, kick him in the breech, and he will politely thank you for so distinguishing a mark of attention, provided you call not upon him for the stakes. His great enjoyment is in attacking men from whom he can win off hand, but he is amazingly shy of those who know how to play.

An instance of this kind occurred within my own observation at Ostend, in 1815, in which the character of a swaggerer was completely developed and effectually disgraced. The person I allude to, belonged to one of the regiments which were sent out to garrison Ostend, farther than which town they did not proceed in the campaign. An officer, who had not only served at Waterloo, but in most of the actions in the Peninsula, was insulted in a coffee-room by a low person, attached to one of the departments of the army; and of so inferior a rank, that he chose rather to report his gross misconduct to his commanding officer than to degrade himself by fighting a duel with him. The Swaggerer, who was a needy fellow, and one who would be the bottle friend of anybody who would treat him, was, it appeared, upon terms of intimacy with the person who insulted the officer; and, in his defence, thought proper to display himself, a few nights after the other had been reported. The result proved, that in this he made a totally false estimate of the officer's courage, and was deceived in the confidence or hope that an insult from him would be met by the same return as that given to his low companion. Under this idea he placed himself, in company with others of his own class, at a table in the coffee-room, close to one where the officer alluded to was sitting, engaged at a game of backgammon with a friend. The mode of attack which he then adopted, was to allude, in the most insulting terms, to the affront given a few days before to the officer; and in so loud a voice, that it was evident he intended that the allusions should be heard; he talked of white feathers, “shy cocks,” &c. all which the officer appeared to take no notice of, so that the talker became “stronger in his strength,” and blustered away in such a manner as made all who heard him suppose he was a most determined fire-eater, and that his stomach would digest lead with as much ease as a cock ostrich's would a horse's shoe. Nothing farther took place in the affair that evening, and all parties separated; but next morning the _denouement_ was brought about, which I have no doubt was as little expected by Mr. Swagger as that he himself was not a “monstrous excellent” gentleman. The officer's friend called upon him ere he was out of bed; and in sending up his card, intimated that he would wait until the gentleman had “made his toilette.” Word was immediately returned, that he might “walk up.”

On perceiving the countenance and air of the visitor, the hero of cups, who had not yet stirred from his bed, made an effort to conceal his fears by a forced compliment; and when he learned the nature of the visit clearly, and saw that there was no loop-hole open for a jump, he declared solemnly he did not recollect a single word which passed from his lips the night before, and offered to make the most ample apology. He was therefore requested to rise, which he did with the obedience of a timid child; and having done so, was directed to write down, word after word, one of the most humiliating apologies that a determined head could dictate; and having done so, was farther _requested_ to appear in the coffee-room where the insult passed, and to read the paper to the company. Even this he agreed to; but it was only an agreement, for he never appeared at the appointed place; his regiment was ordered home to be disbanded, so he started off to England by the next packet. The apology, however, was read in the coffee-room, and afforded an admirable lesson to any swaggerer who might have been present.[15]

Our French neighbours, who would have us to think they would fly to the field of single combat as readily as would a cock pheasant, are not without the swaggering white feather. I recollect some instances of this—particularly when the British army arrived victorious at Bordeaux, the field of ancient British glory. Scarcely an officer or soldier could, whilst we were there, escape a fight of some sort. Our soldiers, who cared neither for duelling nor its laws, levelled, in good style, the insulters, by a few “_facers_,” _à la_ Cribb, and settled the contest by committing their antagonists' heads to chancery; but the officers had as many duels to provide for daily, while amongst the Gascons, as they had tradesmen's bills; all which they settled as honourable men should settle their accounts—by paying off every one in his own coin.

One night, while in the theatre, an Irish gentleman and myself were quietly enjoying the performance (the house crowded with British officers and fine women; for the beauties of Bordeaux fought no duels with us, except those in which nothing but the heart is to be lost, they having nothing else to lose), when an officer of one of the French corps took up a position exactly behind my friend, and in a fierce and brutal manner opened a volley of abuse upon him, in French, interlarding his language with English extracts, such as “_Beef-stek!_” “_Ros-beef!_” and then serving up the vegetable “_pomme de terre_,” _secundum artem_; nothing of which my high-spirited but unfrenchified friend comprehended in the slightest degree. All the notice he took of the outrage was by saying to me, “This French fellow is making a great fuss; what the devil is he jabbering about?” Had I answered by stating the fact, Heaven help the Frenchman! he would have been in the pit in a second; but knowing the irascibility of my Hibernian companion, I replied evasively, determined to take a better opportunity for resentment.

The play went on, and the assailant went away; but I knew that he attended the theatre every night. I informed my friend when we went home of what had happened: his rage became almost ungovernable. We of course proceeded to the theatre the next night, and met the Frenchman in the saloon. He was leaning against a table, taking an ice; and, as previously arranged, one of us took our station close upon each side of him, and began a dialogue in English, of the same cast as the insulting soliloquy in French, the previous night, introducing certain French words which were not to be misunderstood. This we were wrong in doing; but my friend insisted that “it would be useless to call him out without taking a little bit of satisfaction out of him, for his impudence.” Accordingly, we enjoyed a considerable quantity of fun, at the expense of the Frenchman, who at length blustered out and demanded what we meant, in a most cut-and-thrust manner. “What does he say?” said my friend to me. I told him. “O faith, I'll soon answer you, Sir,” said he, and seizing the Frenchman's nose, (a long one) he tweaked it in such a tortuous and effective style, as made the mouth beneath it roar, “Nothing now but _immediate_ satisfaction.” After this I explained the matter, and the Frenchman seemed astonished at the aspect which affairs had taken. He departed, assuring us that he would return in half an hour with his friend. We informed him that he would find us in the theatre. There we remained, to the last moment of its being open: but had we stayed a month, we should not have had another word about the nose affair.

Thus, even in the army, both of England and France, a cowardly braggart will occasionally show himself. This, however, very seldom happens, owing to the certainty of disgrace, which attends the exposure of their false pretensions.

Another character is also to be met with in the army, nearly as injurious to its internal peace as the swaggerer. This is the man who, from weakness of judgment, flies to duelling for the rectification of every trifling dispute—one who thinks that a mere contradiction is “the lie.” These are not sanguinary heroes, and will fire in the air, or exchange shots with the most perfect good-nature; but they must argue by duel, and the first pop settles the argument. An example of this is within my recollection:—a Major W. and a Captain W. fell into a most trivial dispute. Cards passed. The parties met—the seconds and the principals, as polite and good-humoured as if they had assembled to shoot at a target for a wager. “Beg the Major to move a little to the right.” “The Captain may have _our_ pistols with pleasure.” “We are much obliged to the Major,” and so on. They both fired at once—both fell, and then in the coolest manner possible, addressed each other thus:

“Captain, are you wounded?”

“I am, Major.”

“So am I—mortally!”

There was but one house near, and in one room were these unhappy victims of a diseased refinement obliged to remain for a whole night, before the termination of which Major W. died. The other recovered, after a long confinement from a most severe wound in the hip.

A third character is one who goes to extremities at once, and deals out the lie or the blow in the heat of passion. There are few quarrels that cannot be amicably arranged by judicious seconds, _if_ the lie or blow have not passed; but those who deal in such acts or expressions, generally lose their lives in duelling. Many have fallen in this way, and many but narrowly escaped, owing to the almost impossibility of settling the matter without a bloody or protracted combat.

Two officers, a Lieutenant and a Surgeon, quarreled in this way at Ostend, in 1815. They were intimate friends, and had differed in a public coffee-room about a trifling bet at backgammon, when the Lieutenant gave the unqualified lie to the other in a loud voice, and in the presence of several gentlemen. The Surgeon instantly knocked him down, and in his rage kicked him out of the room. A message was sent next day from the Lieutenant at twelve o'clock, and a meeting was appointed to take place at four, outside the ramparts. The parties met, each attended by a second. There was also a mutual friend, and a Flemish surgeon. The combatants took their distance at ten paces. The earth was covered with snow, and afforded, therefore, a greater chance of a hit from either side; but the evening was drawing in dusky. There was scarcely a word spoken by any of the party; and from the nature of the quarrel, no hope of separating without blood was entertained. The combatants stood back to back, close together, and each marched five paces, when the words “_halt_—_front_—_fire_” were given. They fired: the Surgeon in a very elevated direction above his antagonist's head, the Lieutenant point blank at his man without effect. The former fired as described without letting his second previously know that he intended to do so, and (as he afterwards declared) for the purpose of terminating the affair; he feeling satisfied that his antagonist, although the first aggressor, was in no way his creditor. This, however, was unnoticed by both his own second and that of his opponent.

It was now demanded by the Lieutenant's party whether the Surgeon was disposed to apologize, and answered in the negative. The pistols were again loaded, and the Surgeon, seeing that nothing but blood or apology could terminate the matter, proposed by his second to advance two paces closer every round. This was declined by the Lieutenant's party. The word was again given, and it was evident that neither of the combatants intended to leave their next shot to chance, for each took deliberate aim while one could count ten; yet, strange to say, (although both well-known good shots) neither ball took effect. They certainly could not have been many hairs' breadth from fate. I saw the aim of the pistols from a hedge close by; both men were as steady as rocks, and I fully expected to see both fall.

It was now getting dark: the apology was again demanded, and again refused. Another round was inevitable; but there were no more balls which would fit both pistols. It was, therefore, proposed that the seconds should return to the town for them. This was agreed to, and the combatants returned both to a cottage or farm-house near, where they coolly sat by the kitchen fire while the balls were preparing—at least half an hour—for it was necessary to cast the balls. It was by this time settled night, but the moon rose very bright; which, together with the reflection from the snow, gave a tolerably good light. The men took their ground once more—all parties silent—again was the word given—and again deliberate and slower aim was taken. One pistol missed fire, the other was harmless.

There had now been three hours spent: the seconds, however, consulted, and both the combatants shook hands. It was a heart-sickening scene to all; and more so when it was observed that each of the opponents expressed themselves happy that the other had escaped. It is but justice to say, that when the surgeon informed him (all being then over) that he had fired in the air, the most generous assurance was given that if it had been known to the Lieutenant's party at the time, they would not have fired another shot: the surgeon declared that he did so from a repugnance to fire at his friend, when he felt that he had taken summary satisfaction the night before; he therefore fired obliquely, and not palpably upwards, in hopes that one shot would satisfy the Lieutenant without affording a chance to misconstrue the surgeon's good feelings towards him.

Thus terminated a duel, which, but for something like a miracle, would have been fatal to one or both of these mutual friends. The lie was an irritating insult; but had the insulted acted prudently, he would not have returned it by a blow, and therefore would have held a greater power over his opponent. He should have sent him an immediate message, and the consequences most likely would have been that an apology as public as the insult would have been made: in my mind, a far greater triumph than the death of the insulter, for such is the moral humility from conviction of having committed an injury; and the atonement is ample. If no insult except a blow (or even that in some cases) were returned on the moment, but cool and determined steps taken for gentlemanly satisfaction, there would be but few fatal duels; for few men when under the influence of calm reason (a state seldom attending the man while insulting) will hesitate to make every amends in his power. If otherwise, then is the pistol the friend.

In almost every case of duel, it is not the wish to kill, or injure, but to vindicate our wounded pride or honour, that urges us to satisfaction; therefore should every fight be under the direction of a prudent and honourable friend, who will neither carelessly throw away the life entrusted to his charge, nor compromise its honour. After an insult is given, the sooner the insulted cuts off communication with the insulter, the better; then matters will have the best chance of terminating as they ought. If this maxim were universal, how many lives would have been saved! how many lives, also, which have dwindled out in sorrow and repining, for the death of friends by rash duels, would have passed without remorse and pain! A Major[16] would not have expired ignominiously on a scaffold for shooting a brother-officer; nor a Lieutenant[17] have drawn tears from the judge of a criminal court by the excess of his grief for the rash slaughter of his friend.

FOOTNOTES:

[15] Another case of rank cowardice, hooded with boasting and swaggering, will be found in the sketch entitled “_A Rough Passage to Portugal_,” at another part of this work.

[16] This case occurred in Ireland about twenty years ago:—The Major followed a Lieutenant to his room, forced him to stand before him, and the latter fell. The Major was hanged. Both left wives and orphans!

[17] Lieutenant Kenny and Dr. Chambers.

NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE.

No. III.

“Make haste with yir tay, there, Pollard, an' let yir wife go home to her quarthers, for it's gettin' as dark as the divil; an' for a young good-lookin' English woman like her, it's not fit she should be out so late of a-night.”

“There, Mulligan: I'm done. Here, Mary, take away the tin pot, and be off home,” replied private Pollard, finishing the last sup of his two pints of good home-brewed tea.

Mrs. Pollard was the woman who messed for the squad now on guard; and a very pretty, neat, little, black-silk-bonneted “Lancashire witch” she was: one who had been daring enough to leave a comfortable home to couple her fortunes with a private soldier; yet virtuous enough to live in the midst of a regiment, affectionate and faithful to her husband.

“Well, I'm sure! this _is_ a dark night, Mr. Mulligan,” said Mrs. Pollard, looking out. “But I says nothing to nobody as I goes along; and I'm sure I shaunt meet no harm—'ticklerly as I walks pretty sharpish.”

“I see yir not afeard o' the Irish fellows afther all, Mrs. Pollard,” said Mulligan.

“La bless you! not I. When I was a-coming over to Hoireland I was told by the folk in our town as how the Hoirish were all woild, and that they used to hunt un in the woods to tame un. Feather's John swore to me that he seed one on 'em with wings and a tail. But, La bless yi! I didn't think much on't. I was a little afraid, to be sure, at first. I didn't think there was houses and fields, and trees, loik as we have un in Lancashire; but I never believed the Hoirish had ony thing loik wings or tails.”

[_A laugh from the whole guard._]

“Well,” asked Mulligan, “what d'ye think of 'em now, Mrs. Pollard?”

“Why, now I finds 'em just loik ony other folk: they're civil and koind; and I'm sure the country is very foin and very cheap. Ecod! I don't care how long we stops here!—Good night, Pollard: Serjeant, good night—Good night, lads all.” And Mrs. Pollard in her pattens toddled off to her quarters.

“'Pon my sowl,” said Mulligan, “the counthry people in England are as ignorant as hogs about Ireland. They do really suppose us all to be outlandishers. Maybe its because we don't spake in their own hoppy-go-jumpy sort of lingo, that they think we are such bugaboos.”

“It's na' sa muckle o' that, neither,” observed Serjeant M'Fadgen, as he lighted his pipe. “I'll tell y' what it is: the English think that a mon is nathing at a' if he's been born out o' England.”

“Well, perhaps a great many think so,” said Corporal O'Callaghan; “but in the coorse of my life I fell in with plenty of Englishmen who were just as good as any other people, and as liberal in their feelings, as regards not only Ireland but every other counthry. I'll grant ye that they were dacent and well ejucated men; for I do certainly think the lower ordthers of England are just as ignorant and as pigheaded as any people on the face o' the earth.”

“'Deed, Corporal, I think there is na muckle difference in a' mankind when they're very ignorant—ay or when they are educated: as our Bardy says,

‘The man's the man for a' that.’”

“Yes, but look at the recruits that Sargent Brown and Jack Andrews brought over from Winchesther last September,” said Corporal O'Callaghan: “did ever you see such a set o' regular blutherumbunios in your life? the divil a one o' them could do the “_right-left_” dthrill for full six weeks! an' look at the Irish and the Scotch fellows! the great, raw, ugly, romikin divils that we got at the same time; why they could move a company off the parade in little more nor that time, as well as I could myself.”

“It's na use o' talkin', Corporal,” replied M'Fadgen, “the English sodgers are gude, the Scotch sodgers are gude, an' the Irish sodgers are gude; but the Scotch an' Irish enter the sarvice to beetter themselves, while the English 'list from misfortune: _we_ tak it as a wife, for beetter or for worse, to live an' dee by it; but the English tak it only as sort o' reemedy; they dinna like it; but it's oor meat an' drink; and that's the reason why we make mair progress in learnin' oor duty. Yet if ye get an Englishman but fairly into it, heart an' han', he'll turn oot as gude an' as brave a sodger as ever bore a musket over his shouther.”

“Why, to be sure, Sergeant, there is a dale o' thruth in that,” replied O'Callaghan: “I only say, that we larn the business quicker, because it's more in our way; but faith! I've met English boys in the Peninsula, that never were surpassed by any sodgers on earth—right steady fellows—proper salamandthers—men who would jump into a breach undther a flankin' fire as soon as any divils in the world. I'm only saying that they are as ignorant before they 'list as we are, an' have no rason at all at all in talking about Irishmen or Scotchmen as one bit below them.”

“_Below_ them! eh?—Pooh! that's a' to be put to nathing, but raight doon ignorance,” said the Sergeant; “I never knew any Englishmon that wasn't either a booby or a puppy, wha didn't think we were quite as gude as themsels.”

“Damn'd if you a'nt right, Sergeant,” observed Jack Andrews: “I am an Englishman, born and reared. I have seen the world, and as you say, Sergeant, the Englishman _must_ be either a booby or puppy, who places himself and his countrymen above either Scotch or Irish. The fact is, we have all fought together, and will fight again, please God and the Holy Alliance. Was that fellow, snoring there on the guard-bed, an Englishman, when he rescued me from the gripe of three French grenadiers, by the fair dint of battering their heads with the butt end of his musket—I mean Dennis Tool? Did _he_ consider that he was fighting to rescue an Englishman or his own countryman? We were two against four: he shot the fellow who attacked him, and got me safe from the other three: and it was when we were on picket, cut off clean from our guard. I say, that I never, during the whole time I served in the Peninsula, saw or heard of any difference as regards country; it is only at home that there is bickering on that subject.”

“Well, faith! I suppose, it's to keep their hands in practice, that they fight and wallop each other at home, having no more enemies to fight with abroad,” remarked the Corporal.

“And as to difference—I'd be glad to know where that lay on the bullock-cars which carried down the wounded men from Busaco, after the bit o' business we had there. _You_ were amongst 'em, O'Callaghan, as well as me. _There_ was a pretty mess of English, Scotch, and Irish broken legs; _there_ was your national blood dropping from the cars—and it appeared all of the same colour. The cursed rough roads and broken wheels didn't spare _me_ more than _you_, Corporal; and the canteen that wet the Scotch and Irish lips, and kept life in them, was not ungrateful to the Englishman's at the point of death. We had no difference then, either on country or religion; every jolt of the wheels made us feel that we all suffered alike for our King and for our Country—Great Britain. I wish some of our talkative argufiers in London had got a glimpse of us all there, they wouldn't be inclined to make much _differ_ between the men, who, after all, must bear the brunt of their quarrels.”

“Raight, Andrews, raight,” warmly cried the Sergeant. “The deil crack my croon, but ye speak like a mon; the pooliticians wha endeevour to mak diveesion amongst the three nations, are na friends to the King nor their ain country neither.”

“Oh! the divel a doubt o' that,” said the Corporal.

“And to talk about stupid recruits,” continued Jack Andrews. “You should see the yokels we picked up at Winchester fair last year. They were just as easy to be gulled—if not easier—than any Pat I ever caught. I'll just tell you how we worked the oracle there. The party was ordered out on the first day of the fair: it consisted of the Depot Sergeant-major, Sergeant Brown of ours, a Sergeant of the 76th, a couple of Corporals, and half a dozen privates, with a fifer as tall as a lamp-post, and a drummer not bigger than the drum he carried. I and a fellow of the name of Peters were supplied with coloured clothes, and smock frocks, so as to appear like country gawkies. All the officers of the Depot went disguised as coachmen, grooms, fancy covies, &c., so as not to be known by the townspeople. However, _they_ only went for a lark: _we_ went a fishing for gudgeons. The party mustered at nine o'clock, and marched out of the barracks with streaming cockades, to the tune of ‘The Downfall of Paris.’ The fat Sergeant-major took a position ten yards in front, and the party occupying at least a hundred yards in length. Peters and I mixed with the crowd, and followed with our mouths open, like the rest of the folk: _down_ the _high_ street—_round_ the _square_—the long fifer puffing his lungs out, and the pigmy drummer bumping his knees against his parchment box of wind: the Sergeant-major with the hilt of his sword in a parallel line with his bow-window belly, and keeping time to a nicety, while the motley group behind—some of the guards—some of the line—some of the rifles—all sorts of facings—marching as proudly as if they were triumphantly entering Madrid. When the party got to the fair, Peters and I left them, and strutted about, shying at cocks for gingerbread, and playing all manner of pranks, until a favourable opportunity offered of breaking our mind to the yokels, who fell in with us. Then we began to represent ourselves as lads who had a ‘nation deal of work to do,’ and so on, all of which remarks were instantly echoed by the gulls about us. We then would offer cheerfully to treat them, and so adjourn to the nearest tent, where, after a few pots of beer, we at once declared our intention to list with the party, and spun out a long rigmarole of how my eldest brother, who listed that day three years, was now a Captain in India, as rich as a Nabob. Thus we went on, and in general we had little more to do than to let one of us slip off for the Sergeant of the party, who dropped in, as if by accident. All this was soon arranged, and I of course offered a drink to the Sergeant, and shook hands with him: he joined us as one of our best friends, every body shaking hands with him, when I at length started up, and offered to list on the minute, if any body joined me. Peters then rose in a jolly off-handed-way, and immediately offered to make one with me. The shilling was put into each of our hands in the King's name, and we gave three cheers. Ten to one, but two or three more out of the company followed our example. If not, the Sergeant sat down, pulled out a fist-full of money, and a couple of watches; observing that, as we were now King's men, he was happy to have it in his power to reward us with a trifle of the bounty money, and to make each of us a present of a good silver-watch out of the Captain's pocket—adding, that there were now eight vacancies for Sergeants in the regiment, and he was sure that, if any well-looking young man would push for one of them, he would have it before the week was out. You would be astonished to see the effect the watches had; perhaps three or four would offer on the instant: but the making of the Sergeants was sure to bring them down. I never shall forget one fellow—Turner, I mean—he of the grenadier company, you know:—when Sergeant Brown had enlisted seven of them, this fellow stands up, and he says, with a slap on the table, ‘Oi tells you what, Mr. Sergeant; you'll not have me unless you makes me the same thing as yourself _now_; so, if you loiks to do that, whoy here's your man.’ ‘Well,’ says Brown, ‘how tall are you? let me see—Ay—a good size—about five feet eleven.—With all my heart; you shall be a Sergeant.’

“Brown then cut three pieces of white tape, and pinned them on Turner's right sleeve, in the form of V's; he then drew his sword, made the fellow kneel down, and with a tone of martial command, cried out, ‘Rise, Sergeant Turner, in the name of St. George and the Dragon.’

“The thing was done—the shilling given—and the new ‘Sergeant,’ as conceited as a Colonel's pug, took his station in the ranks of the party. When the gulls asked for watches and money, seeing that Peters and I got both, the Sergeant said he had given two-and-twenty away that day, but that he had just sent up to the barracks for six-and-twenty more, as well as two hundred pounds in money. We ‘had done the trick,’ as they say, and brought in eighteen as able-bodied boobies as any in Hampshire. But what do you think we did the day after? We employed a gipsy fellow to sit in a tent all day, with a fur cap and a false beard on him, to tell fortunes in favour of us.”

“Hoo the deel's that?” demanded M'Fadgen.

“Why, I'll tell you. We got the tent from the store—an old marquee—and we instructed the gipsy to tell every fellow who he saw was likely to suit, that his fortune lay in a red coat; that he was to be a high officer in a marching regiment, and to marry a General's daughter—with a hundred other things; such as—that he was born to be a great man, and that he had it in his countenance. To the young women he would say, that either their brothers or their sweethearts were to be great generals in the army, and that they themselves were to be officers' ladies. The simple girls would run directly to their sweethearts, and tell what they had heard of future greatness; and it was ten to one but the booby who heard it, went first and got drunk; then, half gin half joy, entered the road to glory by a silver ticket in the shape of a shilling. It is not always that you can humbug the Irish and Scotch so: if they are not previously inclined to enlist, scarcely any thing will make them do so; indeed the Irish very often humbug the _sergeant_ out of a skinful of drink, and then hop off, without even _touching_ the silver trap. They are easier enlisted, from their poverty; but not half so easily humbugged as my countrymen, the worthy John Bulls.”

“By dad, Jack,” observed Mulligan, “_you're_ no fool, at all events. I wonder how the devil they ever caught you.”

“My own will,” replied Jack. “I was educated well; my parents died when I was but young. I ran away, and went on the stage, where I starved a couple of years; and having got acquainted with a sergeant in Portsmouth, I learnt the nature of the service. I examined a soldier's life thoroughly; and, on mature consideration, gave it the preference to that of a wanderer without profession or trade. I knew that if I did my duty I could be happy, and I entered determined to do it. I _have_ done it, and I _am_ happy—perhaps more so than many men in trade, who call themselves rich.”

“Jock Andrews, ye speak your sentiments like a good sodger, and I hope afore long that ye'll have the stripes. Indeed I think yir mark'd oot for it. I agree with ye, there is nae sort o' common life where a man is so weel off as a sodger wha does his duty; but he _must_ do his duty, mind ye. He has got his comfortable hame with his comrades, his breakfast of brochan[18], or tea, or coffee—his dinner o' gude boiled or roast beef, with potatoes—a clean table-cloth, an' a knife and fork; his bed foond him; his claithes foond him; his hospital in sickness, and his barrack-room in health; an' after a' this, a trifle in his pouch to keep the De'il out. He has na bill to pay—not a baubee. What mair does he want? Show me the workin' man o' ony trade wha can say that he has got mair, an' stands clean oot o' debt.”

“Not one in England,” replied Andrews.

“An' I'm sure you won't find one in Ireland,” observed O'Callaghan.

“This is while the sodger is employed in the three kingdoms; but look at him abroad. There he has a' found him, an' o' th' best the country can afford, for twa pence an' a baubee ilka day; the remainder he has to spen'—at least he can coont on saxpence a-day clean out o' a', an' just to do as he likes wi'.”

“By the powers, Serjeant!” exclaimed private Mulligan, “if I had fifty brothers an' sisthers, I'd make them all list directly, so I would; and I wouldn't exchange my situation now with any mechanic at two guineas a-week, who works like a pack-hors, and afther all, in rags and in dirt—not a testher[19] to bless himself with. It's only lazy, hulking, ill-tempered fellows, that dislike a sodger's life; they don't like to be ordthered, nor to be clane and dacent; an' so they get kicked about like an owld hat, as they desarve: but let a man do his juty as a man, an' he will find himself respected an' happy; no body dar say _ill you done it_, but all things will go smooth, and he'll be as comfortable an' as snug as a bug in a rug.”

“Well done, Mulligan! Bravo! bravo!” roared out all the guard; and an applauding laugh from every listener produced an agreeable effect upon the face of the worthy private, who, no doubt, would have resumed his subject, but that the hour for relieving the posts was arrived—and this put an end to the _confab_.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] Oatmeal porridge.

[19] An Irish appellation for sixpence.

THE BISCUIT.

—— T'would disarm
The spectre Death, had he the substantial power to harm.

_Byron._

Our advanced guard had been skirmishing with the enemy for five days—and with empty stomachs. The Commissary of the division had either missed us in his march with the provisions, for which he had been dispatched to the rear, or else had not been successful in procuring a supply: but whatever might have been the cause, the consequence was trying to us; for the men, officers and all, were wholly without provisions for three days. At the time the Commissary went to the rear, two pounds of biscuit, one pound of meat, and a pint of wine, were served out to each individual; and upon this quantity we were forced to exist for five days; for nothing was to be bought: if we had been loaded with gold, we could not have purchased a morsel of any sort of food.

Most of the men, from having been accustomed to disappointment in supplies of rations, managed their little stock of provision so economically, that it lasted nearly three days; and some were so gastronomically ingenious and heroic, as to have extended it to four. But, on the other hand, the greatest number were men of great appetite and little prudence, who saw and tasted the end of their rations on the second day after possession. Indeed, the active life in which all were then engaged, left few without that piquant relish for their food, which the rich citizen in the midst of his luxury might gladly exchange half his wealth for: the greatest of them all, in taste as well as purse, can never enjoy his epulation with so enviable a zest, as those campaigners did their coarse dry beef, and flinty biscuit.

As the men grew weaker, the work grew heavier; and as hunger increased, so did the necessity for physical exertion. The enemy were constantly annoying us, and every hour of the day brought a skirmish, either with their little squads of cavalry, their riflemen, or their Voltigeurs.[20] The rifles would advance by the cover of a hedge, or hill perhaps, while the Voltigeurs would suddenly dart out from a ditch, into which they had crept under cover of the weeds, and fall upon our pickets with the ferocity of bull-dogs; and when they were mastered, would (if not killed, wounded, or held fast) scamper off like kangaroos. In like manner, the cavalry would try to surprise us; or, if they could not steal upon us, would dash up, fire their pistols, and, if well opposed, gallop off again—particularly if any of our cavalry were near; for they never liked close quarters with the British dragoons, owing, no doubt, to the superior strength and power of our horses:—this is as regards mere skirmishing. The French dragoons, when so situated as to be able to ride close to ours without danger of “cut and thrust,” would skirmish for hours—they would retire, load, advance, fire, and off again; but they very prudently disliked the steel.

On the fifth morning after the commissary had delivered the rations above mentioned, we had a very sharp brush with the enemy. A company of infantry and a few dragoons were ordered to dislodge the French from a house in which they had a party, and which was necessary to the security of our position; for from this house they used to sally upon our pickets in a most annoying manner. The French, not more than about fifty in number, made a considerable resistance: they received the English with a volley from the windows, and immediately retreated to a high bank behind the house: from this point they continued to fire until their flank was threatened by our dragoons, when they retreated in double-quick disorder, leaving about fifteen killed and wounded.