Part 14

“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.

Our men were then starving. The poor fellows, although they had forgotten their animal wants in the execution of their duty, plainly displayed in their faces the weakness of their bodies. Every man of the crowded encampment looked wan and melancholy; but all kept up their flagging spirits by resolution and patience. Many a manly fellow felt in silence the bitterness of his situation, and many a forced Hibernian joke was passed from a suffering heart to lighten a comrade's cares. There was no upbraiding, for all were sufferers alike; and, with the exception of a few pardonable curses on the commissary, there was no symptom of turbulence—all was manly patience.

In about an hour after the taking of the old house in front, I went out from our huts in a wood to see the place of action. I met four or five of our men wounded, led and carried by their comrades. The officer commanding the party now joined me, and walked back to the house, to give farther directions regarding other wounded men not yet removed. When we had gone about fifty yards, we met a wounded soldier carried very slowly in a blanket by four men. As soon as he saw the officer who was along with me, he cried out in a feeble but forced voice, “Stop! stop!—lay me down:—let me speak to the Captain.” The surgeon, who was along with him, had no objection, for (in my opinion) he thought the man beyond the power of his skill, and the sufferer was laid gently down upon the turf, under the shade of a projecting rock. I knew the wounded man's face in a moment, for I had often remarked him as being a steady well-conducted soldier: his age was about forty-one or two, and he had a wife and two children in England. I saw death in the poor fellow's face. He was shot in the throat—or rather between the shoulder and the throat: the ball passed apparently downwards, probably from having been fired from the little hill on which the French posted themselves when they left the house. The blood gurgled from the wound at every exertion he made to speak. I asked the surgeon what he thought of the man, and that gentleman whispered, “It is all over with him.” He said he had done every thing he could to stop the blood, but found, from the situation of the wound, that it was impossible to succeed.

The dying soldier, on being laid down, held out his hand to my friend the Captain, which was not only cordially received, but pressed with pity and tenderness by that officer. “Sir,” said the unhappy man, gazing upon his Captain with such a look as I shall never forget—“Sir, you have been my best friend ever since I entered the regiment—you have been every man's friend in the company, and a good officer.—God bless you!—You saved me once from punishment, which you and all knew afterwards, that I was unjustly sentenced to.—God bless you!”—Here the tears came from his eyes, and neither the Captain nor any one around could conceal their kindred sensation. All wept silently.

The poor sufferer resumed;—“I have only to beg, Sir, you will take care that my dear wife and little ones shall have my back pay as soon as possible:—I am not many hours for this world.” The Captain pressed his hand, but could not speak. He hid his face in his handkerchief.

“I have done my duty, Captain—have I not, Sir?”

“You have, Tom, you have—and nobly done it,” replied the Captain, with great emotion.

“God bless you!—I have only one thing more to say.”—Then addressing one of his comrades, he asked for his haversack, which was immediately handed to him.—“I have only one thing to say, Captain:” said he, “I have not been very well this week, Sir, and did not eat all my rations.—I have one biscuit—it is all I possess.—You, as well as others, Sir, are without bread;—take it for the sake of a poor grateful soldier—take it—take it, Sir, and God be with you—God Almighty be with you!”

The poor, good-natured creature was totally exhausted, as he concluded; he leaned back—his eyes grew a dull glassy colour—his face still paler, and he expired in about ten minutes after, on the spot. The Captain wept like a child.

Few words were spoken. The body was borne along with us to the wood where the division was bivouacked, and the whole of the company to which the man belonged attended his interment, which took place in about two hours after.