Part 3

“Attention!” roared out the Colonel. The word, were it not that it was technically necessary, need not have been used, for the attention of all was most intense; and scarcely could the footsteps of the last men, closing in, be fairly said to have broken the gloomy silence of the riding-house. The two prisoners were now marched into the centre of the square, escorted by a corporal and four men.

“Attention!” was again called, and the Adjutant commanded to read the proceedings of the court-martial. When he had concluded, the Colonel commanded the private to “_strip_.”

The drummers now approached the triangle, four in number, and the senior took up the “_cat_” in order to free the “tails” from entanglement with each other.

“Strip, Sir!” repeated the Colonel, having observed that the prisoner seemed reluctant to obey the first order.

“Colonel,” replied he, in a determined tone, “I’ll volunteer.”[3]

“You’ll volunteer, will you, Sir?”

“Yes; sooner than I’ll be flogged.”

“I am not sorry for that. Such fellows as you can be of no use to the service except in Africa. Take him back to the guard-house, and let the necessary papers be made out for him immediately.”

The latter sentence was addressed to the Corporal of the guard who escorted the prisoners, and accordingly the man who volunteered was marched off, a morose frown and contemptuous sneer strongly marked on his countenance.

The Colonel now addressed the other prisoner.

“You are the last man in the regiment I could have expected to find in this situation. I made you a corporal, Sir, from a belief that you were a deserving man; and you had before you every hope of farther promotion; but you have committed such a crime that I must, though unwillingly, permit the sentence of the court which tried you to take its effect.” Then turning to the Sergeant-major, he ordered him to cut off the Corporal’s stripes from his jacket: this was done, and the prisoner then stripped without the slightest change in his stern but penitent countenance.

Every one of the regiment felt for the unfortunate Corporal’s situation; for it was believed that nothing but intoxication, and the persuasion of the other prisoner who had volunteered, could have induced him to subject himself to the punishment he was about to receive, by committing such a breach of military law, as that of which he was convicted. The Colonel, himself, although apparently rigorous and determined, could not, by all his efforts, hide his regret that a good man should be thus punished: the affected frown, and the loud voice in command, but ill concealed his real feelings;--the struggle between the head and the heart was plainly to be seen; and had the head had but the smallest loophole to have escaped, the heart would have gained a victory. But no alternative was left; the man had been a _Corporal_, and, therefore, was the holder of a certain degree of trust from his superiors: had he been a private only, the crime might have been allowed to pass with impunity, on account of his former good character; but, as the case stood, the Colonel could not possibly pardon him, much as he wished to do so. No officer was more averse to flogging in any instance, than he was; and whenever he could avert that punishment, consistent with his judgment, which at all times was regulated by humanity, he would gladly do it. Flogging was in his eyes an odious punishment, but he found that the _total_ abolition of it was impossible; he therefore held the power over the men, but never used it when it could be avoided. His regiment was composed of troublesome spirits; and courts-martial were frequent: so were sentences to the punishment of the lash; but seldom, indeed, were those punishments carried into execution; for if the Colonel could find no fair pretext in the previous conduct of the criminal, to remit his sentence, he would privately request the Captain of his company to intercede for him when about to be tied up to the triangle; thus placing the man under a strong moral obligation to the officer under whose more immediate command he was: and in general, this proved far more salutary than the punishment ever could have done.

It is not _flogging_ that should be abolished in the army, but the cruel and capricious opinions which move the lash. Humanity and sound judgment are the best restrictions upon this species of punishment; and when they are more frequently brought into action than they have formerly been, there will be but few dissentient opinions upon military discipline.

The prisoner was now stripped and ready to be tied, when the Colonel asked him why he did not volunteer for Africa, with the other culprit.

“No, Sir,” replied the man; “I’ve been a long time in the regiment, and I’ll not give it up for three hundred lashes; not that I care about going to Africa. I deserve my punishment, and I’ll bear it; but I’ll not quit the regiment yet, Colonel.”

This sentiment, uttered in a subdued but manly manner, was applauded by a smile of satisfaction from both officers and men; but most of all by the old Colonel, who took great pains to show the contrary. His eyes, although shaded by a frown, beamed with pleasure. He bit his nether lip; he shook his head--but all would not do; he could not look displeased, if he had pressed his brows down to the bridge of his nose; for he felt flattered that the prisoner thus openly preferred a flogging to quitting him and his regiment.

The man now presented his hands to be tied up to the top of the triangle, and his legs below: the cords were passed round them in silence, and all was ready. I saw the Colonel at this moment beckon to the surgeon, who approached, and both whispered a moment.

Three drummers now stood beside the triangle, and the sergeant, who was to give the word for each lash, at a little distance opposite.

The first drummer began, and taking three steps forward, applied the lash to the soldier’s back--“_one_.”

Again he struck--“_two_.”

Again, and again, until _twenty-five_ were called by the Sergeant. Then came the second drummer, and he performed his twenty-five. Then came the third, who was a stronger and a more heavy striker than his coadjutors in office: this drummer brought the blood out upon the right shoulder-blade, which perceiving, he struck lower on the back; but the surgeon ordered him to strike again upon the bleeding part: I thought this was cruel; but I learnt after, from the surgeon himself, that it gave much less pain to continue the blows as directed, than to strike upon the untouched skin.

The poor fellow bore without a word his flagellation, holding his head down upon his breast, both his arms being extended, and tied at the wrists above his head. At the first ten or twelve blows, he never moved a muscle; but about the twenty-fifth, he clenched his teeth and cringed a little from the lash. During the second twenty-five, the part upon which the cords fell became blue, and appeared thickened, for the whole space of the shoulder-blade and centre of the back; and before the fiftieth blow was struck, we could hear a smothered groan from the poor sufferer, evidently caused by his efforts to stifle the natural exclamations of acute pain. The third striker, as I said, brought the blood; it oozed from the swollen skin, and moistened the cords which opened its way from the veins. The Colonel directed a look at the drummer, which augured nothing advantageous to his interest; and on the fifth of his twenty-five, cried out to him, “Halt, Sir! you know as much about using the cat as you do of your sticks.” Then addressing the Adjutant, he said, “Send that fellow away to drill: tell the drum-major to give him two hours _additional_ practice with the sticks every day for a week, in order to bring his hand into--a--proper movement.”

The drummer slunk away at the order of the Adjutant, and one of the others took up the cat. The Colonel now looked at the Surgeon, and I could perceive a slight nod pass, in recognition of something previously arranged between them. This was evidently the case; for the latter instantly went over to the punished man, and having asked him a question or two, proceeded formally to the Colonel, and stated something in a low voice: upon which the drummers were ordered to take the man down. This was accordingly done; and when about to be removed to the regimental hospital, the Colonel addressed him thus: “Your punishment, Sir, is at an end; you may thank the Surgeon’s opinion for being taken down so soon.” (Every one knew this was only a pretext.) “I have only to observe to you, that as you have been always, previous to this fault, a good man, I would recommend you to conduct yourself well for the future, and I promise to hold your promotion open to you as before.”

The poor fellow replied that he would do so, and burst into tears, which he strove in vain to hide.

Wonder not that the hard cheek of a soldier was thus moistened by a tear; the heart was within his bosom, and these tears came from it. The lash could not force one from his burning eyelid; but the word of kindness--the breath of tender feeling from his respected Colonel, dissolved the stern soldier to the grateful and contrite penitent.

May this be remembered by every commanding officer, when the cat is cutting the back of the soldier! May they reflect that both the back and the heart have feeling; and that the tear of repentance is oftener brought from the culprit’s eyes by kindness than by the lash!

ECCENTRICITIES OF THE LATE MORRIS QUILL.

I knew him, Horatio--a fellow of infinite jest--of most excellent fancy.

_Shakspeare._

Few indeed are there in the army who have not heard of Morris Quill; and fewer still are they who have known a better man, or a merrier companion. He was a medical officer of the 31st regiment--an Irishman, with one of the softest, soundest, and most gentlemanly brogues that ever eulogised a bottle of genuine port, or asked a favour from a wealthy widow’s lip. He was a fine portly, good-humoured looking, summer-faced son of Erin, with that sort of fun about him which, if it did not injure himself, carried no sting to the bosom of any body else, except when his wit was directed to the operation of crushing some impudent coxcomb; and then it left its penal effects with him who deserved them. He is now no more, poor fellow! He died at Cork a short time ago, and his _last march_ was attended by all the military (both half and full pay) in the city and its vicinity. His memory still lives; and so long as there shall be a gallant Peninsular hero to sit at a mess-table, the eccentricities and whims of Morris Quill can never be forgotten. The few which I recollect will be recognized as genuine by all those officers who served in the Duke of Wellington’s army. I knew him: I have known his friends: I have seen and heard of most of his drolleries; and from the many I select the few which follow.

For the purpose of creating hilarity, Morris would often affect the greatest simplicity of Irish manners when strangers were at the mess-table. He would on those occasions tell such anecdotes of himself, as were calculated to make him appear but little removed from barbarism; and this always afforded the highest degree of enjoyment to those who were by, most of whom knew that he was any thing but a barbarian. I was once present when he played off this whim in a most laughable way. There were several very prim and “_monstrous_” important gentlemen dining at the mess--perfect strangers to any thing like a joke, and equally so to Quill.

As soon as the bottle was fairly adrift, Morris seized an opportunity of gravely addressing the President. “Colonel,” said he, “I received a _letther_ to-day from my _ould_ mother in Kerry. Just read the direction on it. I’m sure ’tis plain enough, and yet it has been two months coming.” The letter was handed about the table, and the officers read aloud the address to the perfect astonishment of the visitors.

“_To Misther Docthor Morris Quill, Esquire. Along with Lord Wellington’s fighting army in France, or Spain, or Portingale, or maybe elsewhere, and the Western Indys. From his loving mother._”

The gravity with which he managed this piece of humour, excited the mirth of all his companions, at the expense of the strangers, who looked very contemptuously on Morris, when they saw this specimen of the family education. However, before they left the table, all was explained, and Quill reinstated in their good opinion.

Morris had served in a regiment before he joined the 31st; and one of his old brother-officers having met him in Dublin, shortly after the exchange, asked him why he did not stay with his old friends?--“Oh, I’ll tell you then,” replied Morris. “You see I have a brother in the 32d, and I wanted to be near him in the wars, so I changed into the 31st, which you know is as close as possible to his regiment.” At this time they happened to be two thousand miles asunder.

With all the apparent simplicity which Quill exhibited, he was as good a judge of politeness, and knew as well the difference between gentlemanlike familiarity and impertinent freedom, as any man in the army; which the following anecdote will in a great measure prove. He exchanged from the 31st, after having been a long time in the regiment, for no other purpose but to be attached to one about to go on actual service, in order that he might have a better chance of promotion. On joining, he had in his pocket letters from all those officers of his old corps who had happened to be acquainted with those of the one into which he exchanged; but he did not take the trouble to present a single one, lest they would suppose, as he said himself, that he wanted them to give him a dinner. In a few days after his joining, a very supercilious officer of the regiment, no less a personage than one of the majors, met him in the mess-room, _tête-à-tête_, and after a little conversation, put a very impertinent question to Morris. “Pray, Sir,” said he, “were not you a considerable time in the 31st?”

“Oh, yes, I was, ’faith.”

“It is a very good corps indeed--very good corps. I wonder you did not remain in it! Pray, what made you leave it, Sir?”

Morris hesitated a little, and then replied: “Why, ’faith, I don’t like to mention exactly the reason, Major.”

“God bless me! what was it?”

“Why, you see, Major, I know you are a gentleman every bit of you; and if you will solemnly pledge me your honour that you will never mention it to any body, I’ll tell you the whole affair.”

“’Pon my honour, I won’t. I pledge you my honour, I will not mention it.”

“’Pon your _honour_,” said Morris emphatically.

“’Pon my _honour_!” echoed the Major.

“Well, that’s enough,” observed Morris; “I’ll tell you all about it. But shut the door, Major.”--The Major obeyed and hurried back to his chair.--“Well, then, you see, when I was in the 31st, I owed a little money here and there; and I was bothered with duns--Oh! the 31st was a fine regiment; it was there we had plenty of credit wherever we went: more is the pity for me; because I just--one day that I was short of a little money”--(_whispering_)

“Well, Sir!” interrupted the Major.

“I--a--just--a--put a few of the mess-table spoons and silver forks into my pocket;--that’s all.”

“Indeed!” observed the Major, drawing back his chair.

“Yes, indeed,” continued Morris; “and a fellow there, dressed up in livery (they call him the mess-waiter), saw me do it, and stopped me before the officers;--so I was obliged to leave the regiment; for the colonel was a civil fellow, and let me off without a court-martial.”

“Indeed!--ho--hum----Good morning, Sir,” _politely_ replied the Major, and left the room.

Of course a thing of this kind was not suffered to lie hidden under a bushel half an hour by the Major. He proceeded instantly to the Colonel, and gravely laid open to him the alarming discovery. The Colonel lost not a moment in calling a meeting of the mess. The mess assembled (all excepting Morris, to whom the meeting was not made known, for obvious reasons), and the Major, in an energetic speech, informed the mess that he had heard the fact from Mr. Quill’s own lips, with that gentleman’s solemn injunction upon the Major to be secret. All were equally astonished and alarmed; each man put his hand instinctively to his fob; and a little attorney-faced captain despatched his servant to see if his trunks were all safe. The _mad dog_ had got amongst them, and there was but one opinion about his expulsion.

Morris was sent for forthwith:--the orderly-serjeant was despatched to tell him that the Colonel and the members of the mess were assembled, and that he was to attend immediately.

The _delinquent_ appeared without the least hesitation, and looking as pleasantly as ever. On being informed by the Colonel of the cause of the meeting, he paused, cast his eyes archly at the Major, and exclaimed, “Ah! Major, Major! so you have told on me, though you pledged your _honour_!” (_Not a word from the Major._) “Now, Colonel, the fact of the matter is this: I was asked a question by that gentleman, which, however he might have meant it, I could not receive but as a joke (a little too free, I must say), and so I--just answered him as the joke deserved. The Major, in a way I did not much relish, asked me, ‘_What was the reason I quitted the 31st?_’ and I gave him an answer. It was a question of an odd meaning, and so I gave him an odd reply.” (_A stare and a smile from all except the Major._) “Now,” continued Morris, pulling out a bundle of letters, “there’s a letter for you, Colonel; and one for you, Captain Smith; and for you, Captain Jones; and for you, Lieutenant Edwards:”--so on, until he delivered the bundle of introductions which he brought from his last regiment. The letters were read aloud, and better fun was never enjoyed in the mess-room, nor relished with greater zest before or since; even the Major

“Join’d in the laugh that almost made him sick;”

and Morris became the favourite of every officer in the regiment, always excepting the _honourable_ Major himself.

At one period of the Peninsular war, the army was several months in arrear of pay. Money was not to be got anywhere by the advanced troops, except in the class of Generals and higher officers. Morris Quill was, of course, one of those whose purses were empty--indeed there was not a dollar to be _caught_ in the regiment from right to left.

A general officer was passing with his staff (General Crawford, I believe) through the village in which Morris was quartered. As soon as he saw the General, he turned to a brother officer, and said, “By J----! I’ve a great mind to ask the General for a few dollars.”

“That you may do,” replied the officer; “but I’m sure you will not get them.”

“Will you bet me £5 I don’t?” returned Morris.

“I will bet you £5 you do not borrow £5 or 20 dollars from _him_.”

“Done. I’ll bet you a bill on the paymaster.”

“Done.”

“Done--and I’ll _dine_ with him too,” said Morris, as he started off on his poney. He trotted up to the General: taking off his hat in the most “official” manner,--“General,” said he, “I beg your pardon--I have to mention to you that my sick are without any _comforts_,[4]--they will be in a bad way if I cannot buy something for them; and I have no money at all.”

“Well, Mr. Quill, that is a very unfortunate thing. How much money will be enough for you?”

“Oh! about 20 dollars, Sir; and if you will lend that sum to me, I will give you an order on Cox and Greenwood for the money; which you can send over, and it will be just the same thing to you.”

“Very well, Mr. Quill. Come to my quarters, and you shall have the money.”

Morris jogged off with the General about two miles to his quarters; and during the time they were going, the General found him a very pleasant and humorous fellow. Morris, as he was receiving the money, mentioned something about the scarcity of provisions, and concluded by saying, “Faith, General, I don’t know when I had a dinner, or even saw the ghost of one: there is a very savoury smell here, I can perceive; but that is a _General_ thing, I suppose, in this quarter.”

The General without hesitation asked Morris to stay to dinner; and highly enjoyed his society during the evening.

It was eleven o’clock before he returned; when producing the cash, he convinced his friend and the other officers of his success; so they finished the night over a cigar and a bottle of ration grog.

Quill, during the whole time he served in the Peninsula, had a servant who was as whimsical and as humorous as himself. This servant, he used to say, was “the best caterer for a gentleman’s table in hard times, that ever came from Kerry.” And so he was; for Morris Quill had always a fowl or a sucking pig for dinner, when the rest of the officers (except those who dined with Morris) were obliged to be contented with a biscuit and a bit of hard beef. Indeed, so excellent a purveyor and cook was Dennis, that his master made it a practice to ask his friends to dine with him, without (_of himself_) knowing where the eatables were to come from. “Dennis,” he would say, “I am going to ask a couple of gentlemen to dine with me to-day--indeed I _have_ asked them already. What have you got?”

“Oh musha! Docthor Quill, I don’t know that I have any thing, barrin’ a shouldther o’ vale and a hen or two.”

(A shoulder of veal! and a brace of fowls! when they were starving!--no bad things.)--Or, perhaps, as it might happen, Dennis would say, “Faith! Masther, I havn’t a toothful in the place, barrin’ the rashions.”

“Well, Dennis, get what you can. Try, can you _buy_ any thing about the country?”

(_Buy_, indeed! and not a sixpence in the whole division!)

Morris and his friends would come to dinner at the usual hour, perfectly confident that Dennis had done his duty; and, perhaps, a good pair of fowls, or a piece of pickled pork, or a sucking pig, would welcome their longing appetites.

“Where did you buy these things, Dennis?” Quill would ask.

“O! plase your honour, up there above--over the hill--down there, at a farm-house yondther.”

“You’re _sure_ you _bought_ them, Dennis?”

“O yes; I ped for ’em, Sir--that is, I offered the money to the farmer; but he said, ‘Never mind, Dennis,’ says he, ‘it will do another time.’ So I mane to pay the next time I go.”

“Very well, very well, Dennis; so as you _paid_ for the provision, it’s all well; but take care the Provost doesn’t give you your _change_ one of these days.”

“Oh, never mind that, Sir; the Portuguese hereabouts all knows me very well, and wouldn’t mind if I never ped them a vintin.”

And they had a right to know Dennis,--at least their _live stock_ had; for there was scarcely a fowl, rabbit, pig, sheep, or calf in the country, that he had not paid his respects to. Dennis used to say, “We are here starvin’ and fightin’ for the Portuguese; so the laste they may do, is to give us our dinner, _at any rate_.”

The last anecdote of this singular character, which I recollect, is as follows:--