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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 L161— O-1096
 
 STORIES 
 
 OF 
 
 WATERLOO; 
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 Pciiod of honour as of woes, 
 
 Wliat bright careers 'twas ihine to close ! 
 
 Scott. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY 
 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1829.
 
 I'RINTLD BY A. J.VAIPV, U E D HON COURT, 
 
 FiFi T SI uni
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE 
 
 THE DETACHMENT . . . . 
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF THE CAPTAIN OF 
 
 GRENADIERS 
 THE ROUTE 
 THE OUTLAW'S STORY 
 THE MARCH 
 SARSFIELD 
 FRANK KENNEDY 
 «. THE STORY OF COLONEL HILSON 
 
 Page 
 1 
 
 29 
 
 55 
 83 
 99 
 119 
 133 
 185 
 243
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 
 
 You don't mean marriage, I hope ? 
 
 The Inconstant, 
 
 I HAVE been eccentric from my cradle. At 
 Eton I was called an odd boy, and at Oxford 
 was considered a character. 
 
 At twenty-one T came into possession of my 
 property ; it was a moderate inheritance, and ex- 
 empt from every embarrassment. I settled in the 
 family mansion, and fell in love with the daughter 
 of my next neighbour. 
 
 My overtures were favourably received, and I 
 was assured the lady's heart was mine. Every
 
 4 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 preliminary for my marriage was nearly completed, 
 when another suitor, unexpectedly, addressed my 
 mistress. In age he was my senior by twenty 
 years, in fortune he exceeded me by one hun- 
 dred thousand pounds. I despised him : he was 
 ugly — I was handsome. At the next ball, how- 
 ever, my mistress cut me dead, and on the second 
 morning after it she married my ill-looking rival. 
 I left England in disgust, and became a woman- 
 hater and a wanderer. 
 
 I had passed three weeks miserably enough in a 
 French fishing town. How I managed to con- 
 sume so much time there, was to me a subject of 
 surprise. All my resources were at length ex- 
 hausted, and to remain, even for another day, was 
 impossible ; but where to go, whither to bend my 
 course — there lay the puzzle. 
 
 While quite undetermined whether I should 
 head towards Corinth or Carniola, one time ru- 
 minating on a journey to the Morea, at another 
 weighing the probable results of a voyage to 
 Madras, I opportunely received a letter from
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 5 
 
 a gentleman whom I had known at Florence, 
 pressing me to fulfil a promise I had once made 
 of visiting him at his place in Ireland. He 
 told me that he had been lately married, that his 
 wife was all a poet fancies ; and here his letter 
 became a perfect rhapsody on the virtues of the 
 sex. 
 
 To me, all this was any thing but an induce- 
 ment to visit him — I, who had eschewed love, as 
 I would the Pontine Marshes. In a simple case. 
 I might look on without an agony ; but the mawk- 
 ish tenderness of a married pair is not endurable. 
 *' I shall refuse point-blank." I looked coldly 
 through the letter. I passed over '* soft blue eye 
 — brown hair in natural ringlets — sweet smile — 
 musical voice — small foot — round arm," all being 
 a faithful description of " the lady of his love," 
 when the postscript produced a change of senti- 
 ment I could not have foreseen. ** The country 
 
 is in an extraordinary ferment. Lord B has 
 
 started, and this new candidate is about to over- 
 turn a long and uninterrupted order of represen-
 
 6 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 tative arrangement. We shall have a desperate 
 contest. God grant some valuable lives be not 
 lost ! As to myself, I have given my interest to 
 
 *— ; but, blest as I am with Emily — " Pish ! 
 
 I ejaculated— hang *' Emily;" — but for her, I 
 should have seen an election even at the expense 
 of a fractured bone. 
 
 I had already been over the greater part of the 
 habitable globe. I had been following Nature into 
 her wildest retreats — and where should I be more 
 likely to find her perfectly at home than in Con- 
 nemara? I had also read a speech of Daniel 
 O'Connell, Esq., in which that learned gentleman 
 averred that his countrymen were the finest people 
 on the surface of the globe. The authority being 
 undoubted, one would naturally wish to become 
 acquainted with these accomplished and interest- 
 ing islanders. 
 
 Was it not then a melancholy circumstance that 
 my friend had chosen this particular time to be- 
 come a Benedict? I dread a newly-married pair. 
 Billing and cooing to me is worse to witness than
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 7 
 
 an execution. The stolen glances, that like the 
 fingering of an unpractised pickpocket, can only 
 escape the observation of a dolt or a drunkard, 
 the significant smiles, the silly terms of endear- 
 ment, the mingling of hands, and other little ap- 
 proaches to dalliance— in short, all the nausea of 
 hymeneal tenderness are detestable. 
 
 But an election, and that too beyond the Shan- 
 non, with its full accompaniments of assaults and 
 accidents, duels and inquests, battle, murder, and 
 sudden death, and broken promises, and broken 
 windows ! — there was no resisting this ; and forth- 
 with I transported myself and baggage to the next 
 post, caught the Diligence, reached Dieppe, em- 
 barked for Margate, on to London, thence to Li- 
 verpool, and crossed the channel in the L^nited 
 Company's steamer, the St. Patrick, commanded 
 by Captain Mac Conky, a short navigator, de- 
 lighting in long stories and whisky punch. 
 
 I landed safely in the capital of the Emerald 
 Isle, established myself at Bitton's, and proceeded, 
 as travellers generally do, to eat, drink, and look
 
 8 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 out at the window. I counted, in one evening, 
 three private carriages, and thirteen hacknies ; 
 observed that the young women went to the 
 Bethesda, and the old ones to the play ; — read 
 in the Warder, that Father Maguire and Mr. 
 Pope would have "a set-to" at the Rotunda, and 
 that the Chinese jugglers would exhibit in some- 
 body's " great room." I hate argument — what 
 then should bring me to the Rotunda ? I detest 
 juggling, and accordingly avoided the '* great 
 room." Other circumstances combined to hurry 
 my departure. Abroad, I met nothing but empty 
 shops and idle tradesmen ; — at home, an eternal 
 controversy between a country curate, desperately 
 orthodox, and a fat gentleman who obstinately 
 believed in transubstantiation. I determined to 
 quit the city instantly — demanded a bill — satisfied 
 the house-maid — left Boots sulky — started for the 
 coach-office, and booked myself for Ballinasloe. 
 
 It was a wet night, and wanted a quarter to 
 eight o'clock, when the Gal way mail-coach rolled 
 out from under the arch-way in Dawson street.
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 9 
 
 We were full inside — my companions of the 
 coarser sex — men of formidable dimensions, and 
 **each and every" well encompassed in camlet 
 cloak, or trustier fearnought. " What shall I 
 do with my legs ?" thought I ; for I stand six feet, 
 and, Heaven knows, the Galway mail was never 
 constructed for corporators, or gentlemen who 
 wear shovel hats. 
 
 Jolt — jolt — jolt — we whirled into the post- 
 office yard — interchanged legs by mutual agree- 
 ment — compared watches with Crosthwait's clock 
 — and rattled oflF for that portion of the land 
 of saints ichere bating's chape, and poteen 
 plinty. 
 
 Irishmen are not reserved, and the company 
 appeared dying to be intimately acquainted. 
 Some cunning speculations on the state of the 
 weather, the state of the nation, and the state of 
 the crops, and we were bosom friends in a twink- 
 ling. My opposite neighbour was arrayed in a 
 shag wrap-rascal ; his hat covered with oiled silk :
 
 10 S'TORTES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 he sighed heavily while speaking of com lawis, 
 and falling cattle. "Here's a farmer," said I, 
 "there's no mistaking him." 
 
 Beside him sate an upright figure " with his 
 martial cloak around him." His evident anxiety 
 to ascertain the number of that portion of his 
 Majesty's forces, to whom the safety of the an- 
 cient town of Gal way was entrusted, super- 
 added to a lamp-light glimpse 1 got of huge black 
 whiskers, and braided frock with Prussian collar, 
 left me no reason to doubt that he belonged to 
 that most honourable community, whose "trade is 
 war." 
 
 A short, corpulent gentleman, who wore spec- 
 tacles, and indulged in the use of that plain, but 
 pungent snuff, known to the fancier by the appel- 
 lation of " Irish blackguard, " completed the 
 parti quarre. 
 
 The conversation flagged : I am naturally taci- 
 turn, and became a silent and attentive listener. 
 The gentleman in the oil-skin hat was drowsy be-
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE, 11 
 
 fore we cleared the Quays ; and his heavy breath- 
 ing proved that whisky punch is no bad prepa- 
 ration for sleeping in the royal mail. 
 
 But the soldier, and the man in spectacles, 
 betrayed no indication of somnolency. They 
 plunged at once into a fierce and furious argu- 
 ment upon the claims and merits of the rival 
 candidates for Gal way ; and, in the course of 
 the discussion, I learned that the short man was 
 
 Q. polisher for , and the tall one, a fighting 
 
 friend of Dick Martin. 
 
 Never were two people more opposite in sen- 
 timent than my companions. On one subject 
 they did agree ; and that was, in refreshing 
 themselves comfortably whenever a change of 
 horses afforded the opportunity. Often and ear- 
 nestly was I appealed to by both, and invari- 
 ably I decided against the polisher. The man in 
 spectacles was a dead hand at polling a free- 
 holder twice over, or patching up a defective 
 registry ; but Dick Martin's supporter was no 
 subject for contradiction. He might be inclined
 
 12 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 to take offence at a difference of opinion ; and, by 
 the way of practice, amuse himself with my per- 
 son, at the imminent risk of doing me a mortal 
 injury. I determined to agree with him, there- 
 fore, on every disputed point ; and when he left 
 us at Ballinasloe next morning, and I saw him 
 remove his luggage, comprising three pistol-cases, 
 and a portmanteau of the dimensions of a dress- 
 maker's reticule, I offered a short prayer for my 
 deliverance, while I received from Dick's aid-de- 
 camp an assurance of eternal regard. 
 
 The town of Ballinasloe was a scene of despe- 
 rate commotion ; the bustle little inferior to that 
 witnessed at the period of its cattle fair : — free- 
 holders and fighting-men, polishers and poll clerks, 
 every specimen of the human race were being 
 forwarded to the scene of action. No wonder I 
 found immense difficulty in procuring a scramb- 
 ling breakfast in a back bed-room. In the large 
 parlour were assembled a score of Dick Martin's 
 committee ; in the small one, a number of James 
 Lambert's friends. The front drawing-room was
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 13 
 
 occupied by certain adherents of Lord Bingham, 
 and the back one by divers supporters of James 
 Browne. 
 
 Now, I being a stranger to all concerned, was 
 iiaturally considered on every side an interloper. 
 I opened the right-hand parlour — " Fat the divil 
 di ye want ?" roared a little man with a nose of 
 portentous crimson. I tried the opposite apart- 
 ment, and was ordered out by a long gentleman, 
 who swore as they formerly did in Flanders. For 
 an attempt upon the front drawing-room, I nar- 
 rowly escaped being kicked down stairs ; and a 
 flying peep I hazarded at the back one, was ter- 
 minated by over-hearing a rough voice request 
 his opposite friend at the fire to " shy the poker 
 at that rascally bagman." I would have given a 
 quarterly dividend of my three per cents to have 
 been safe at my friend's place. I often heard 
 ** hell and Connaught " assimilated by the pro- 
 fane ; but, in my judgment, no places can be so 
 different. The approach to one, if Virgil speaks
 
 14 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 truth, is easy enough ; ^' but an entrance into the 
 realms beyond the Shannon was, in my case, a 
 perilous exploit. 
 
 I had no inducement to remain longer in the 
 town of Ballinasloe, and having luckily procured a 
 carriage, I set off for Glantane. Here I arrived 
 in safety, but had the mortification to find that no 
 post-horses could be had. This was indeed a me- 
 lancholy discovery. What was to be done ? I sal- 
 lied into the yard, bribed the ostler, and implored 
 him by every tender epithet to get me forward. 
 
 Money works miracles. The ostler scratched 
 his head — thought for a moment — " There was a 
 shaij at home, but the horses and driver were off 
 with a gentleman's carriage — Lanty White was 
 all but well — and Breedein Rua as fresh as a 
 daisy ; — but, bad luck to them for a pair, there was 
 no depindin on atJier, and CritJif Corcoran was no 
 match for two such contrarey hastes. Sure, my 
 
 *" Facilis descensus Averni." 
 
 t The Irish term for a hump-back.
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 15 
 
 honour could thry — Crith, the cratur, was handy 
 enough. Once they started, there was no fear — 
 that is of Crith could get them over the hill of 
 Mullagh More, and across the bridge of Came- 
 gat." 
 
 I had no alternative, and consented to trust life 
 and limb to Crith Corcoran. Accordingly my lug- 
 gage was tied on, and after a considerable delay 
 the horses were put to. Half a score of labourers 
 were called from the potato field by a warning 
 whistle. I was duly deposited in the carriage, 
 and an extraordinary looking cripple, with long 
 legs and no body, grappled the reins with his flesh- 
 less fingers, clambered up by the fore-wheel, and 
 perched himself upon the driving bar. 
 
 These preparations being made, we started, or 
 rather attempted to start. Then came the tug of 
 war. Breedein lashed out like a fury, and LaDty 
 White was obstinate in being stationary. In vain 
 the cripple objurgated, " rest, Biddy," and encou- 
 raged Lanty White. In vain the ostler cherup- 
 ped and cursed alternately ; the struggle was in
 
 W STORIBS OF WATERLOO. 
 
 favour of the cattle, till the boys, with sheer 
 strength, spoked the wheels on. Breedein, finding 
 her tail invaded, after discharging a succession of 
 kicks at the cripple, which he most ingeniously 
 avoided, dashed forward ; and Lanty, furiously 
 assaulted on every side, by Critli, the ostler, and 
 as many of the hoys as could manage to get a 
 blow at him, laid huS shoulders to the collar, and 
 away we went. 
 
 A wild hurra from the potato diggers announced 
 their victory ; and the ostler shouted a ** God 
 speed ye!" accompanied with "Padreein avournein, 
 for the sake of the blissid Mother, mind yourself 
 at the hill of Mullagh More !" 
 
 The road was level, and we got on gallantly. 
 I concluded our danger was at an end, and so did 
 Qrith, for he sung merrily — 
 
 " Ogh ! I wish I was in Manchester, 
 And sated on my bench ; 
 In my right hand a pint of beer ! — 
 
 Whoop, Bredeein ! — G'iong Lanty White ! — 
 
 And at my side my wench."
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 17 
 
 What a chapter of accidents is the story of a 
 life ! Mine, at least its most important event, was 
 influenced by Crith Corcoran. Human foresight 
 is a farce. Could I have suspected that my des- 
 tiny lingered upon the driving of a dwarf — a thing 
 no larger than a leprighawn ? '^ The result will 
 prove it. 
 
 While the road continued level we got on gal- 
 lantly ; but we were now approaching the danger- 
 ous pass, and the bridge of Carnegat appeared in 
 view. It was narrow and ruinous, the battlements 
 having been swept away by a winter flood. A 
 sudden hill met its extremity, and it required 
 some skill and quiet horses to effect a passage with 
 tolerable security. I would have left the carriage, 
 but Crith, elated with previous success, ivar ranted 
 me against any danger, and before I could enforce 
 an order to stop, a whoop and flourish of the thong 
 rendered it impossible. 
 
 We passed the bridge, and ascended the hill for 
 
 * A being of tlie fairjr tribe.
 
 18 STORIES OP WATERLOO. 
 
 a few yards, when at once the infernal quadrupeds 
 relaxed their efforts, stopped, backed, and the 
 carriage began to descend. In vain I endeavoured 
 to undo the fastening of the door — it resisted. 
 Crith whipped, cherupped, shouted, cursed. I 
 made a desperate effort— the door yielded. I 
 sprang into the ditch, and next moment the car- 
 riage, horses, and driver vanished over the broken 
 battlement. 
 
 I did not escape without considerable injury. 
 My wrist was sprained, and my foot severely lace- 
 rated. With difficulty I crawled to the place over 
 which the carriage had been precipitated. The 
 vehicle was sadly shattered, and the horses strug- 
 gling in the brook. Crith Corcoran was sitting 
 on the bank, clapping his hands, and making a 
 terrible lament, in a sort of Irish monologue. 
 
 A few peasants came promptly to our assistance. 
 The carriage and horses were extricated from the 
 river, and I was carried to the lodge of a gentle- 
 man's domain, which happened to be at no great 
 distance from the scene of my misfortune.
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 19 
 
 The owners of the cottage were anxious to con- 
 vey me to the mansion-house ; but I determined 
 to get on, and requested that a messenger might 
 be despatched to the next market town for a 
 conveyance. Some delay occurred before a per- 
 son could be procured. I was giving the neces- 
 sary orders when an elderly gentleman enterexl 
 the lodge, saluted me with all the courtesy of the 
 old school, introduced himself as General Mervyn, 
 and insisted on my accompanying him to the 
 Hall. 
 
 The general's carriage was sent for, and we 
 entered it. In the course of conversation I 
 mentioned my name, and, to my great surprise, 
 found that my companion was father-in-law to my 
 friend's bride — that very '* Emily " whom I had so 
 often and piously consigned to the bottom of the 
 Red sea ! 
 
 It was nearly dinner hour when I entered Mer- 
 vyn Hall. My wounds were examined and dress- 
 ed, and, with the assistance of a servant, I managed 
 to reach the drawing-room before the dinner-bell
 
 20 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 rang. There the general was waiting for me. 
 He was a striking looking old man : his hair was 
 white as snow, but his person was still erect and 
 unbroken. He presented me to a stranger some 
 ten years younger than himself, whose air and 
 dress bespoke him to be a member of the military 
 profession; and I farther learned that Colonel 
 Mac Dermott was the brother-in-law of my host. 
 
 '* We may order dinner — ring the bell, Dennis." 
 The order was delightful ; there was no gang of 
 men to worry me ; no flock of females to make one 
 miserable. I was indulging in this agreeable an- 
 ticipation, when the drawing-room door opened. 
 Was it the servant to announce dinner? Alas! 
 no — it was a girl of nineteen ! 
 
 I shall pass over the first evening of my si- 
 jour at the general's. I spent that night in con- 
 siderable pain, and with difficulty reached the 
 breakfast room, where I found Lucy Mervyn was 
 already waiting for me. Her father and Colonel 
 Mac Dermott immediately joined us ; and after 
 many apologies for deserting their guest, I learned
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 21 
 
 that the general was obliged to start for Gal way, 
 and the colonel for Castlebar. 
 
 And what was to become of me ? Was I, in 
 this defenceless and crippled state, to be exposed 
 to the peril of a tete-a-tete, and left at the mercy 
 of a girl of nineteen ? Heaven forbid ! I deter- 
 mined to follow the general's example, and ab- 
 scond. Accordingly, I overruled every friendly 
 objection to this proceeding, and arranged for 
 leaving Mervyn Hall on the morrow. 
 
 ** Sed dis aliter visum;" or, in plain English, 
 the " Fates forbade it." During the day, my foot 
 inflamed, and the agony of my wrist became in- 
 tolerable. 
 
 If life depended on the exertion, I could not 
 stir a yard. I was carried to my room in the 
 evening, and lay for several days unable to leave 
 my bed. Never was a patient so kindly nursed. 
 An old woman, not a crone, but one sufficiently 
 active to use all necessary liniments and embro- 
 cations, attended to my wrist and ancle. Every 
 light restorative that the nearest doctor prescribed
 
 22 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 was anxiously prepared — Miss Lucy sent this 
 jelly, and Miss Lucy recommended that cream. 
 There was a gentle, a lady-like attention 
 throughout : no approximation towards familia- 
 rity ; nothing indelicate or unfeminine. I left 
 my chamber half reconciled to woman, and on the 
 fourth morning presented myself at the breakfast- 
 table of Lucy Mervyn. 
 
 I took her by surprise; it was believed that I 
 should not leave my room for another day, and 
 when I hobbled down, supported by a servant, the 
 apparition of a departed acquaintance could not 
 have created a more striking sensation. There 
 sat Lucy — so neat, so becomingly dressed, — all 
 her kindness was instantly remembered, and, for 
 the first time, I examined her with critical atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Lucy Mervyn was no beauty. Her features 
 were every thing but regular : no sculptor would 
 select her nose — no craniologist adopt her fore- 
 head ; — but there was a joyous expression in her 
 countenance, — an eternal sunshine in the flashes
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 23 
 
 of her hazel-eye, that were bewitching. Her 
 smile disclosed a row of beautiful teeth : her 
 figure was undersized ; but she had a waist of 
 excellent proportion : and a foot, that a man 
 might swear by . 
 
 Reader ! I am not writing a confession ; there- 
 fore, on certain points, you must excuse my bre- 
 vity. For ten days I lounged upon the sofa. 
 Lucy was my constant companion, and enter- 
 tained me, as she best could, — settled the cushion 
 for my foot, made silk cases for my wounded fin- 
 ger ; listened patiently to my stories, and amused 
 me with her own. I was just beginning to dis- 
 cover that at times I had an odd kind of non-de- 
 script sensation, when, one fine morning, a tandem 
 — a bright bay in the shafts — a thorough-bred grey 
 one leading, passed the window at a sporting pace, 
 and pulled up at the door — Captain Hardyman of 
 the th Lancers was announced. 
 
 In driving, dressing, drinking, and a multitude 
 of military accomplishments, no man exceeded the 
 bold dragoon. He really was a pleasant fellow.
 
 24: STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 told us the news, foreign and domestic, and brought 
 intelligence that the Mayo election had ended in 
 smoke. It was to all parties, save the members, 
 a dead disappointment. One candidate did not 
 come to the post, and to the other two, the thing 
 was a walk over. Ah! shame upon you, Mayo! 
 Not a duel, or a decent death, after all the tur-^ 
 moil of a two years' preparation ! 
 
 The lancer rattled on — gave us a return of the 
 casualties at Castlebar — how two carriage-horses 
 were stoned by the mob, and how two men were 
 killed in effecting it — how one gentleman was sur- 
 feited with bad beer, and how another had died 
 from dancing at a bonfire. What a shabby list! 
 What a change from the good old days, when the 
 coroner had not time to bless himself! 
 
 So far this gallant captain was particularly plea- 
 sant ; but my horror was inconceivable when, after 
 a prolonged visit, he entreated, with evident em- 
 barrassment, to be permitted to speak a few words 
 to Miss Mervyn in the next room. I instantly 
 started on my feet, grasped the general's cane,
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 25 
 
 and in a sort of frenzy left the drawing-room, 
 hastened to the shrubbery, and there threw myself 
 on a bench. 
 
 What the devil did the fellow want with Lucy ? 
 What else, but to make her an unconnected speech, 
 and an offer of his hand and fortune? Was ever 
 man so miserable as I? Lucy, the only woman 
 that for "ten years 1 could look upon without aver- 
 sion, that she should be selected by this infernal 
 lancer ! In another week I might have come to 
 the desperate resolution of asking her to marry, 
 and have succeeded ; but this whiskered swords- 
 man would be my ruiit. Again I forswore the 
 sex — determined to be off for Galway — rose to 
 order post-horses — sat down again, and passed 
 a miserable half hour, till I heard the wheels of 
 that execrable tandem crossing the gravel like a 
 whirlwind. 
 
 Suspense was not endurable. I approached 
 the house, and entered the drawing-room — Lucy 
 was not there. I tried the library — equally un- 
 fortunate. I examined the green-house — no Lucy. 
 VOL. I. B
 
 26 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 The dressing-bell rang — the dinner peal succeeded 
 — and Lucy entered the apartment by one door, as 
 the servant announced dinner at another. 
 
 A burning blush dyed her cheek, as her eyes 
 encountered mine. *' All is over !" I mentally 
 ejaculated ; and none but the damned need envy 
 the feelings that that conviction carried with it. 
 
 Would I have soup ? No. — Fish ? No.— Fowl ? 
 Same reply. Dinner passed — neither ate. She 
 was confused — I miserable; the dessert was laid, 
 and the servants left us. 
 
 A pause, a painful pause of several minutes 
 succeeded. I coughed : — ** Captain Hardyman — " 
 —and the name came forth as reluctantly as a 
 miser's donative. " Captain Hardyman is a plea- 
 sant kind of— hem ! — sort of ." Lucy bowed 
 
 assent : — " agreeable conversation, — hem ! — I 
 mean — that before I left the room." Lucy blush- 
 ed : — "suppose, in ttte-d-tete, the Captain equally 
 entertaining:" — a deeper blush. " Beg pardon — 
 don't wish to be inquisitive." 
 
 Poor Lucy appeared struggling to get words.
 
 MY OWN ADVENTURE. 27 
 
 '* Captain Hardyman's request must have appear- 
 ed so very odd ; but — " and another blush, and 
 more confusion. At length she managed to inform 
 me that Captain Hardyman had offered his hand, 
 and that she had declined the honour. Reader ! 
 the sequel shall be short ; I forgot wrist, foot, and 
 finger, and found myself muttering something 
 about ''unspeakable misery, and eternal love!" 
 
 In three weeks after this day I married Lucy. 
 I have since resided chiefly at Mervyn Hall ; and 
 have made all necessary arrangements for passing 
 the remainder of my life west of the Shannon. 
 I have obtained all that can make me happy ; — a 
 woman I love, and a course of life that I delight 
 in. 
 
 Colonel Mac Dermott resides mostly with the 
 general. We have a good pack of hounds, and 
 the best shooting in the country. When the wea- 
 ther permits it we enjoy our field sports together: 
 we talk of other scenes and other days at the 
 cover-side, or while away the evening with recol-
 
 2^ STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 lections of past adventures over old port and a 
 bog- deal fire. 
 
 The following stories were communicated to me 
 by my friend the colonel, and relate, generally, 
 to his former companions in arms. 
 
 Gentle reader ! in arranging these military 
 tales for your perusal, I have found employment 
 for leisure hours, and an agreeable refuge from 
 '* Winter and bad weather." Of me, you know 
 enough. Of my friends, should the present sto- 
 ries amuse you, I promise that you shall know 
 more hereafter. Courteous reader, adiev \ 
 
 Mervyn Hall, 
 April 1, 1829.
 
 THE DETACHMENT.
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 
 
 In a county south of the Shannon, and in one 
 of the wildest districts of a disturbed barony, the 
 village of Woodford is situated. 
 
 To a person interested in mountain scenery, I 
 know no part of Ireland more attractive than 
 this secluded place. From the time you leave 
 the mail-coach road the face of the country gra- 
 dually assumes a wilder appearance. The small 
 stony fields become more barren and less fre- 
 quent ; the hamlets disappear altogether ; and 
 now and then, perhaps at the distance of a mile, 
 you come unexpectedly on two or three loosely- 
 built huts in some sheltered hollow, or a herd's 
 hovel, erected under a precipitous bank, or in a
 
 32 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 ravine formed by the sudden alteration in the 
 course of a mountain stream. 
 
 All signs of cultivation are now at an end. 
 Around is a continuous heath as far as the eye can 
 penetrate. The surface of the ground becomes 
 more difficult and broken ; bogs, apparently inter- 
 minable, are interspersed with stony hills covered 
 with strong heather, or small patches of drier 
 ground, clothed with fern and bent ; while a deep 
 and narrow stream, rising in the chain of dark 
 mountains which bound the view, moves sluggish- 
 ly through the morass, and adds to the difficulties 
 offered to a stranger who may be obliged to pass 
 over this desolate district. 
 
 In a deep glen, sheltered on every side by hills, 
 and where several mountain streams unite and 
 form a considerable river, the small town of 
 Woodford stands. The situation chosen by the 
 founder for this infant settlement is undoubtedly 
 both convenient and picturesque. The sides of 
 the rocky hills which environ it are capable of 
 being planted ; and the larch and firs which had
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 98 
 
 been put down some years ago, are now healthy 
 and promising. The river abounds with salmon, 
 and affords a never-failing supply of water to the 
 corn and flax-mills. The bogs around produce 
 fuel with little labour : timber applicable for most 
 domestic purposes may be raised with trifling 
 difficulty ; the moors generally have been ascer- 
 tained to be reclaimable, and already a consider- 
 able portion of excellent land has been brought 
 in. 
 
 If the situation of Woodford is in many points 
 favourable, it is not, however, without its moral 
 and natural disadvantages. The difficult, and in 
 many places, impassable morasses, which sur- 
 round and separate it from the opener and 
 more civilised country, have for years been a 
 favourite retreat for the peasantry employed in 
 illicit distillation. 
 
 The nature of the ground makes a military 
 approach laborious in the extreme, and renders a 
 surprise by rapid movements impossible. The 
 great security of this wilderness has encouraged
 
 34 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 this demoralising traffic to a fearful extent ; and 
 consequently, the people of this district have been 
 always a desperate semi-barbarous community, 
 leagued together against the laws by a bond 
 of common interest, which in many instances 
 they have observed with fatal fidelity to each 
 other. 
 
 Nor was the injurious effects of this system 
 confined to a mere diminution of the revenue, and 
 a destruction of habits of domestic industry in 
 those only engaged in this illegal manufacture. 
 The mountains here afforded concealment to men 
 of desperate character from remoter counties ; 
 and many persons, whose lives would have been 
 forfeited for crimes of the deepest die, found 
 shelter in the fastnesses of Woodford, and there 
 lived in comparative security. 
 
 For a considerable time, associations of a trea- 
 sonable nature had existed in the south and 
 west of Ireland ; and it may be readily conceived 
 that the neighbourhood we have described would 
 have been a chosen haunt of the disaffected.
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 35 
 
 Such was the case. The country round Wood- 
 ford had been in a state of unusual disturbance. 
 The lamentably-defective police of that day were 
 found unable to make head against the increasing 
 power of the ribbon-men. The gentry deserted 
 their houses ; the landlords were necessitated to 
 have their lands partitioned, and let in obedience 
 to the mandates of those midnight legislators, or 
 submit to see their estates wasted and untenanted. 
 At length the government was called upon to 
 interfere. A military force was, as usual, called 
 in ; and, in the winter of 1814, the soldiery in 
 Woodford,' generally confined to a subaltern's 
 party stationed there for revenue duty, were re- 
 lieved by the flank companies of the 28th regi- 
 ment detached from head-quarters, who, with a 
 small party of dragoons, took possession of a 
 temporary barrack. 
 
 The effects of quartering this effective military 
 force in Woodford were soon apparent. Captain 
 Kennedy, the young and active commander of 
 the detachment, was indefatigable in harassing
 
 36 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 the insurgents. At first, trusting to the imagi- 
 nary security of their fastnesses, they ventured a 
 show of opposition to the army ; but the bold 
 and active movements of the young soldier, him- 
 self a mountaineer, disconcerted the outlaws ; 
 and, after losing several of their leaders, they 
 gradually retired into the remote mountains, 
 where the military could not follow them, and 
 left the country about Woodford in a state of 
 comparative tranquillity. 
 
 Still the system was suppressed, but not exter- 
 minated. The revenue-men could not act without 
 being protected by the army. A ganger had 
 been assassinated recently, under circumstances 
 of peculiar atrocity, and a small military party, 
 escorting a revenue seizure, were waylaid in a 
 defile, and several of the soldiers wounded before 
 they could effbct their retreat. 
 
 In the spring of 1815 our story opens. It 
 was one of those uncertain days in April, when 
 showers and sunshine succeed each other ra- 
 pidly : a brisk wind from the west ruffled the
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 37 
 
 deep pools in the river, aad eddying over its 
 surface, offered every inducement to the fisher 
 to venture out. The morning parade of the little 
 garrison of Woodford was ended, when the com- 
 mander, sallying forth with his fishing-rod,' was 
 seen, attended by a huge Newfoundland dog, 
 winding up the narrow glen, where one of the 
 river's tributary streams rushed from the higher 
 moors into the hollow where the village stood. 
 Without stopping to fish this rivulet, the angler 
 pressed quickly on, and crossing the brow of the 
 hill, was soon shut out from view. 
 
 During his progress over the rising ground 
 the fisher had been observed by three persons, 
 who were leaning over the battlements of the 
 bridge, amusing themselves in throwing small 
 pebbles, and detached portions of the rough- cast, 
 into the stream below. They paused occasionally 
 to make passing remarks upon certain pieces of 
 intelligence, which a short man in a close-but- 
 toned blue frock-coat was detailing, in very broad
 
 38 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 Scotch, from the columns of the Dublin Corre- 
 spondent. The landing of Buonaparte at Cannes 
 had been known for a few days, and his rapid and 
 unopposed advance on Paris formed a subject of 
 surprise and conversation to the idle group. 
 
 ** God defend us !" said the little man in blue ; 
 *' what a deevil incarnate that Boney is ! We 
 thought we had done with him for ever, and 
 hegh, sirs, here he is pushing right for the ca- 
 pital, without the snapping of a flint, and all the 
 folk, from corporal to colonel, flying from the 
 Bourbons like rats from a wreck !" 
 
 '' Ay, ay, Mac Splint," rejoined a sturdy 
 lieutenant of grenadiers, whose broad should- 
 ers, and broader dialect, bespoke him at once, as 
 being an indigenous production of the Emerald 
 Isle, *' we'll be at the old work again. Some 
 comfort in having a row of blue-boys before one, 
 compared to our present rascally employment, of 
 scampering for a winter's night after an excise- 
 man, to ferret out contraband malt, and capture
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 39 
 
 drunken distillers. Zounds ! since the Ribbon-men 
 have retired, Nev/ Holland would be a paradise 
 to this. A brush of a moon-light night with them 
 was something creditable — smart active fellows, 
 and passable shots, as you know, doctor ; but 
 now a man is knocked out of bed twice a week 
 to scramble after a cowardly gauger, who won't 
 go the length of himself without half a company 
 at his back ; and if one escapes dislocated bones, 
 and suffocation in some cursed quagh, he comes 
 home, half dead with fatigue, in the honourable 
 charge of a tin still and a drunken soldier. But, 
 blessings on Napoleon ! our banishment here will 
 soon terminate, and the good folks of Woodford 
 may follow their honest calling, and brew poteen 
 to their heart's content, without being harried by 
 spies and soldiers." 
 
 ** Egad," rejoined the third, whose uniform 
 (the wings being ornamented with a bugle-horn, 
 and a silver whistle hanging at the breast) an- 
 nounced him to be an officer of light infantry,
 
 40 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 '* when we march, the revenue gentry will be 
 rather ceremonious in their rural visits. The 
 mountain people have a happy knack of dispos- 
 ing of a supernumerary exciseman." 
 
 ** Morton's murder was a bold and barbarous 
 act," replied the first speaker; ** and what strange 
 fealty exists among these wild people! for although 
 a number of persons must have been concerned 
 in, or cognizant of that outrage, an immense re- 
 ward and promise of free pardon has as yet 
 failed in procuring any clue to unravel the mys- 
 tery of that murder. But where has Kennedy 
 gone ?" 
 
 '* He is off to fish the lake in the mountains; 
 it abounds, they say, with fine gilleroes." 
 
 " The lake in the mountains !" exclaimed he in 
 blue. " By St. Andrew, all the gilleroe trouts 
 in the empire would not induce me to venture 
 half the way ! Why, is it not the favourite haunt 
 of Johnny Gibbons and Captain Mac Greal, and 
 half the other infernal captains, whose handy-
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 41 
 
 work brought me here from head-quarters to 
 attend the wounded men ? — Who has he with 
 him ?" 
 
 " His dog Sailor," replied the other. " Young 
 Mansell promised to meet him at the Priest's 
 Cairn." 
 
 *' Ay, that's a cheii after Kennedy's own heart, 
 and like enough to come to a short end, unless 
 auld nick has a sharp eye to his ain." 
 
 *' Faith, Mac Splint," said the grenadier, **you 
 forgot the danger in the delicacy yesterday, for 
 you played a man's part at the fish." 
 
 ** Hoot, Charley, the trouts are gude trouts; 
 but deil have me but they might swim in their 
 loughs to eternity before I would gang up yon 
 black hills to pull them out. — But it's time for me 
 to look in at the hospital." 
 
 " How are they getting on with you there?" 
 inquired the lieutenant of light infantry. 
 
 " Oh ! pretty well. I'll save Sergeant Morri- 
 son's leg, and that's more than I expected when I 
 first saw him. — Trouts !" he continued, as he lei-
 
 4t STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 surely moved away from his companions, " deil 
 tak the fule who would risk getting a lump of 
 leed in his carcass for all the fish that ever wore 
 a fin!" 
 
 While the military group, who were lounging 
 on the bridge of Woodford, had been thus en- 
 gaged, the subject of their last remarks was tra- 
 versing the m.oors which lay between his barracks 
 and the hills. He was a tall, active man, ap- 
 parently about four or five-and-twenty. His 
 step, as he crossed the heath, was firm and free ; 
 and when the ground became unsound and dan- 
 gerous, the lightness of his spring, as he bounded 
 across the tammocks, showed him to be well 
 accustomed to severe and perilous exertion. His 
 plain dress was well adapted for mountain exer- 
 cise. He was habited in a short fustian jacket, 
 his loose trowsers and woollen stockings allowing 
 ample play to the muscles of his legs ; a silk ker- 
 chief was knotted round his neck, and a green 
 foraging cap completed his simple costume. 
 
 If the light bearing of the sportsman did not
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 48 
 
 sufficiently bespeak his careless, reckless charac- 
 ter, one glance at his face would have readily 
 determined his disposition. The features were far 
 from regular, and his complexion, naturally dark, 
 had been exposed to sun and storm ; but there 
 was an expression of an elastic spirit and cheerful 
 temper in the merry glance of his hazel eye. 
 More too than simple good-humour might be 
 traced in his marked countenance. The forehead 
 was open, and the brow arched boldly ; and be- 
 neath that light smile Kennedy concealed a daring 
 heart and prompt determination. 
 
 Following the course of the river, he entered 
 a deep and narrow glen : distant objects were shut 
 out from view, and the only sounds which broke 
 the silence of the mountain pass were caused by 
 the springing of the grouse from her nest, and 
 the plashing of his large black dog, who cooled 
 himself now and then in the deeper eddies of 
 the rivulet. 
 
 In the centre of this solitary dell was the 
 Priest's Cairn. It was a huge pile of stones irre-
 
 44 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 gularly heaped together. A Catholic clergyman 
 of a singular and romantic character had, many 
 years ago, perished there in a snow-storm; and 
 as the winter was unusually seyere, and the snow 
 remained for a long time unthawed, the body of 
 the ill-f^ted man, notwithstanding every research 
 possible, and the united exertions of the pea- 
 santry, remained undiscovered for several weeks. 
 On the spot where the corpse was found, an im- 
 mense heap of stones had been accumulated ; for 
 no one passed without adding to the pile. Here 
 Kennedy halted, awaiting the arrival of his com- 
 panion ; and soon after, as Mansell did not ap- 
 pear, he set out for the lough, which was situated 
 at the head of the glen, and from which the 
 river whose banks he traversed took its rise. 
 
 There could not be a more lone and desolate 
 place than the site of the mountain lake. On 
 every side the ground rose abruptly and encom- 
 passed it in a circle of heath and rock. One 
 narrow gorge at its extremity marked the egress 
 of its waters, and the source of the rivulet it fed.
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 45 
 
 Nearly in the middle was an island ; but it seemed 
 merely a mass of loose stones ejected from the 
 bed of the lough by a volcano. There was no 
 herbage on its surface ; but a few blasted shrubs 
 clung to the fissures of the rock, and a rifted 
 oak, with one or two wild hollies, had contrived 
 to imbed themselves in the cliffs which formed it. 
 
 With all a sportsman's keenness Kennedy per- 
 severed in his angling. The fish rose freely, and 
 in a few hours his basket was full. He now 
 prepared for his return ; and as the barracks were 
 distant fully seven miles, by the shortest route 
 he could take across the moors, he tied up his 
 fishing-rod, and turned his face to Woodford. 
 
 The day was nearly closing, and with all his 
 exertions he would hardly reach the barracks in 
 time for dinner. It struck him that by altering 
 his course, and crossing a deep ravine, which lay 
 to the left, he could shorten his road considerably. 
 The way was steep and difficult, but to one so 
 strong and active, that was a matter of trivial 
 consequence.
 
 46 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 While Kennedy was mentally arranging his 
 new route the shades of evening fell fast, and 
 the first dinner bugle was sounded in the bar- 
 racks at Woodford. Doctor Mac Splint, who, like 
 the lamented Kitchener, united the rare talents 
 of gastronomy with medicine, had that day been 
 at unusual pains in overseeing the construction of 
 a curry, and now that '* the hour of projection" 
 was at hand, looked with much anxiety at the 
 clock, and made a frequent reconnaissance from 
 the window. 
 
 In out-quarters, where extensive accommoda- 
 tion cannot be had, there is often a community 
 of property in the apartments ; and one of 
 Kennedy's being more convenient than the rest, 
 was selected as the mess-room for the party. 
 Here the anxious doctor paced, soliloquising, to 
 the great amusement of the lieutenants, who in- 
 sinuated the possibility of the protracted absence 
 of the commander, and accordingly urged the pro- 
 priety of putting back dinner for another hour. 
 
 ** Put back dinner!" said Mac Splint, peevishly,
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 47 
 
 *' the thing's clean impossible ; the curry would be 
 overdone, and the rice ruined. God preserve us ! 
 — such folly — men wauding like outlaws over 
 glens and muirs — and all for catching as much 
 fish as could be bought for a shilling ! forby 
 the great likelihood of being shot or hamstrung 
 by the savage renegades that are as thick in this 
 accursed country as broom bushes: — but is not 
 that a horse's feet I hear? Charley, boy, look 
 out." 
 
 While he spoke, two men rode up at a rapid 
 pace, and Lieutenant Dennison at once pro- 
 nounced them to be young Mansell, who was in 
 charge of the dragoons, and Captain Mac Carthy 
 of the same corps. 
 
 " God help us !" ejaculated the doctor, " it 
 will be a severe night. Mac Carthy never goes 
 to bed under four bottles, and many an aching 
 head will be among us to-morrow ; but mess 
 waiter — Phil Boyle^ — run to Mr. Mansell's room ; 
 tell him to hurry— need not mind dressing — out- 
 quarters —no ceremony — houille beef will be in
 
 48 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 ribbons — tell them to sound the second bugle— 
 Ah ! here they come ;" — and Mansell and Mac 
 Carthy entered as he spoke, and were welcomed 
 in due form. 
 
 To an inquiry about Kennedy, Mansell could 
 give no satisfactory answer. He had been detain- 
 ed unexpectedly at head-quarters till too late to 
 think of keeping his appointment, and persuaded 
 his friend Mac Carthy, who was always ready for 
 a ramble, to ride over with him on chance, and 
 try the mountain mutton, and mountain dew of 
 Woodford. Half an hour elapsed, and still Ken- 
 nedy did not appear ; and Mac Splint having 
 declared that waiting dinner a moment longer was 
 utterly subversive of military discipline, and 
 moreover, certain destruction to divers dishes 
 which he duly enumerated, the meal was served, 
 and the absent fisher for a time forgotten. 
 
 Dinner ended, and still there was no appear- 
 ance of Captain Kennedy. Tattoo-time came ; 
 the cavalry trumpet was answered by the bugles 
 of the light infantry. Another hour passed, and
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 49 
 
 the party became exceedingly alarmed by the 
 unaccountable absence of the captain of grena- 
 diers. The conjectures respecting him were nu- 
 merous, vague, and unsatisfactory. 
 
 " He could hardly be drowned in the lough," 
 observed Doctor Mac Splint, the president of 
 the mess for the day. " He swims like a water- 
 fowl, and his dog Sailor would drag out any thing 
 lighter than an alderman." 
 
 ** He may have fallen lame, or met with an 
 accident," remarked a second ; and casting a side 
 glance at the doctor, continued, " and therefore I 
 propose that medical assistance be promptly de- 
 spatched, under the protection of a couple of dra- 
 goons." 
 
 " He has more likely lost his way," said the 
 third, " or followed a will o' the wisp." 
 
 ** Or the waft of a petticoat, like Nora Crina's," 
 rejoined Captain Mac Carthy, as he sung — 
 
 *' Oh, my Nora's gown for me ! 
 Floating loose as mountain breezes." 
 
 •* But, seriously," said young Mansell, *' Ken- 
 VOL. I. c
 
 50 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 iiedy's absence is both unaccountable and alarm- 
 ing, and I'll take out a party of dragoons." 
 
 *' And so shall I," rejoined the officer on duty. 
 But before the young men could leave the room 
 steps were heard crossing the little court hastily ; 
 the door was thrown open, and the object of 
 the intended search, accompanied by a tall man, 
 wrapped closely in the frieze coat peculiar to the 
 country, stood before them. 
 
 It was evident from a momentary glance at 
 Kennedy, and the mountaineer who attended him, 
 that he had been engaged in some troublesome 
 adventure. His look expressed fatigue and ex- 
 haustion ; his clothes were torn, and covered with 
 mud ; his jacket was scorched and bloody, and 
 his countenance bespoke anxiety and thought. 
 Had any additional proof been requisite of his 
 master having been in recent peril. Sailor's ap- 
 pearance would have been conclusive. He limped 
 on three legs, evidently in considerable pain ; his 
 head and neck were scarred with a deep cut ; in 
 some jplaces his back was totally, stripped of hair.
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 51 
 
 and in others he was singed or scalded. Without 
 stopping to answer the numerous interrogatories 
 of his comrades, Kennedy filled a goblet of wine, 
 and desiring the mess waiter to summon the ser- 
 geant of the guard, he finished it at a draught. 
 
 While waiting the soldier's arrival, the military 
 group round the table were scrutinising the ap- 
 pearance of the peasant who had accompanied the 
 captain of grenadiers. He was a powerful and 
 athletic countryman, plainly but decently dressed, 
 so far as the rough coat, which nearly concealed 
 him, would admit their examination. There was 
 something bold and martial in his bearing; and 
 when he approached the table, and took the wine 
 filled for him by direction of Kennedy, he raised, 
 as soldiers do, his hand to his hat, without remov- 
 ing it. 
 
 This motion, however simple in itself, caused 
 desperate alarm to the president of the mess, who 
 happened to be unluckily next him. The opening 
 of the peasant's coat, as he raised his arm, dis- 
 closed a belt beneath it, in which were a dirk and
 
 ^2 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 case of pistols; and Mac Splint testified his ap- 
 prehension, by inquiring of Mansell softly, — " if he 
 could guess who, the stranger was ?" 
 
 *^ To a certainty," replied the mischievous dra- 
 goon, " Johnny Gibbons, the outlaw." 
 
 " God preserve us !" ejaculated the doctor, 
 springing in desperate affright from the chair. 
 " Why, he has shot two men already ; — what the 
 deevil possessed you, Kennedy, to bring a savage in 
 upon us, and he loaded with weapons of destruc- 
 tion r 
 
 But vain was Mac Splint's attempt at an escape. 
 As he endeavoured to pass Mac Carthy, who was 
 unfortunately sitting in the line of his retreat, the 
 latter seized him in his iron grasp, and all he 
 effected by the movement was bringing himself 
 within two paces of the formidable stranger. 
 
 At this moment the sergeant appeared. " Rey- 
 nolds," said the commander, " conduct this man to 
 the inner guard-house. Nobody must intrude on 
 him, or question him, and let him have every com- 
 fort he requires. I will visit you myself to-night," 
 added he, addressing the stranger.
 
 THE DETACHMENT. 53 
 
 The peasant bowed. " Had I not better," said 
 he, with a half smile, " leave these here?" as he 
 unclosed his coat, and took the fire-arms from his 
 belt. 
 
 " No— no !" roared Doctor Mac Splint. " Damn 
 it, Kennedy, leave them alone. Gie them to the 
 guard, man — gie them to the guard. They're 
 charged no doubt, and may go off in the hanlin. 
 Leave them down for God's sake !" as one of 
 the lieutenants received them from the stranger. 
 " Charley, Charley ! if you will take them, point 
 them at the wall, man." 
 
 In the midst of the doctor's alarm and advice, 
 the prisoner retired with the sergeant. The cold 
 dinner was brought back for Kennedy, who sat 
 down at a side-table to satisfy a sportsman's ap- 
 petite, leaving Doctor Mac Splint and the other 
 gentlemen of the sword full leisure to amuse 
 themselves with any speculations they might 
 please to make on the strange occurrence of the 
 evening. 
 
 Having despatched a hasty meal, and sent
 
 54 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 refreshments to the prisoner in the guard-room, 
 and while Mac Splint, whose curiosity was un- 
 bounded, had flattered himself that he was on 
 the eve of receiving an ample explanation, Ken- 
 nedy abruptly retired, followed by his wounded 
 dog.
 
 THE ADVENTURE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 CAPTAIN OF GRENADIERS.
 
 THE ADVENTURE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 CAPTAIN OF GRENADIERS 
 
 When Kennedy decided on taking the shortest 
 apparent route from the mountain lough to his 
 quarters, he was little aware of the difficulty of 
 the ground he had determined on traversing. 
 Scarcely had he lost sight of the lake, by cross- 
 ing the steep rising ground above it, before he 
 found his further progress interrupted by the 
 course of one of the many mountain streams tri- 
 butary to the river of Woodford. The valley 
 where he now stood was a natural amphitheatre 
 formed by the curving of the rivulet; and the 
 banks rising precipitously from the water, and in
 
 58 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 many places beetling over their base, forbad all 
 approach to human footsteps. 
 
 The soldier paused, disconcerted ; he must either 
 retrace his steps, and follow the path he had taken 
 in the morning-, or by a tedious detour, through a 
 marsh which terminated the valley, and which his 
 quick eye at once detected as a perilous mode of 
 egress, endeavour to recover the track from which 
 the unexpected obstruction of this mountain bar- 
 rier had so unfortunately diverted him. Evening 
 was coming on fast ; the night mists were already 
 rising from the low grounds, and the sportsman 
 decided on making an attempt higher up the 
 valley, and there endeavour to surmount the ob- 
 stacle which lay between him and his destination. 
 
 Nor were his efforts unsuccessful. Farther on 
 a small spring trickled over the ridge of the pre- 
 cipice, and an irregular channel had been gradu- 
 ally formed by its waters in the cliff ; a few bushes 
 of wild myrtle were growing on its verge, and the 
 heath there was strong and well rooted. Kennedy 
 without hesitation attempted an ascent, and in a
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 59 
 
 few minutes, with powerful exertion, the dange- 
 rous effort was successful, and he stood safely on 
 the brow of the precipice. 
 
 To his dumb companion, however, the cliff 
 was impracticable. After several efforts, he 
 found that he could not succeed, and, with the 
 astonishing instinct which distinguishes that spe- 
 cies of the canine race, having surveyed the valley 
 for an instant. Sailor started at full speed to cross 
 the morass which formed its termination. 
 
 While Kennedy paused to recover his breath, 
 and observe the course his dog would pursue to 
 rejoin him, he remarked a small cut, made in the 
 turf, from the place where the spring was gush- 
 ing from the rock, and easily discerned that this 
 little canal was not the work of nature. Where it 
 led to was not visible ; and he determined to follow 
 its course, as offering the easiest mode of egress 
 from the intricate spot where he stood. The water 
 ran in crystal brightness for a short distance, 
 and then winding round the base of a huge rock, 
 disappeared. Kennedy was turning it abruptly.
 
 60 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 but started ; for before him, and within a step 
 or two, a woman stood, her finger placed upon her 
 lip, and her arm extended, to bar his farther pro- 
 gress. For a few moments he gazed on her with 
 surprise. She was young, and strikingly hand- 
 some : her dress was that of a peasant, but ar- 
 ranged with perfect neatness : her hair was par- 
 tially screened by a broad ribbon across the fore- 
 head, and partly fell in luxuriant tresses down her 
 back and shoulders : her eyes were particularly 
 dark and intelligent ; and her red lips, half apart, 
 indicative of anxiety and attention, revealed with- 
 in a row of even teeth, as white as ivory itself. 
 
 The fisher's surprise was momentary : struck 
 with the uncommon loveliness of the mountain- 
 nymph, he seized her extended hand, and began 
 to offer the customary tribute of admiration ; but 
 a speaking look, and a gesture of peculiar mean- 
 ing, restrained him. After gazing for a moment 
 round her, she inquired in an emphatic whisper, 
 the object of his present journey. 
 
 ** Faith, pretty one," replied the soldier, " no-
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 61 
 
 thing but the simple object of endeavouring to 
 reach home before night overtakes me in these 
 bleak hills, or the bleaker moors beneath us ; — 
 but now, you shall be my guide, and I will be 
 your protector." 
 
 Again he would have taken her hand, but her 
 impressive action prevented him. She sprang 
 upon the brow of the rock, — looked anxiously 
 around, and then placing herself beside Kennedy, 
 pointed to the marriage ring upon her finger, and 
 in a low and earnest whisper, continued — 
 
 " Captain Kennedy — for God's sake return : 
 move as silently as a ghost ; your safety — your 
 life depend upon a feather. I have watched 
 you, and saw you like a doomed man, hurry to 
 the very spot where destruction was inevitable : 
 return promptly, quickly, silently ; — steal back, 
 cautious as a midnight robber ; for if one awakes, 
 (and he is fearfully near you) your life, if a king- 
 dom rested on it, would not be worth the pur- 
 chase of a farthing." 
 
 While she still spake, the noise of a slight
 
 62 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 rustling in the heath was heard ; her glance 
 rested quickly on the brow of the hillock oppo- 
 site ; by an expressive turn of her eye she di- 
 rected Kennedy's observation to the spot; and, 
 nearly concealed by the thick heather, a man's 
 head was visible. 
 
 "Attend," she said in a deep whisper. "We 
 must now follow a different course to what I had 
 intended, or you are lost : go on boldly ; enter 
 the hovel beyond the hill, and ask for refresh- 
 ment and a guide : conceal who and what you 
 are : be bold, be prudent ; for a stout heart, and 
 a ready wit, alone can save you. I will be with 
 you as soon as I can find one who will protect 
 you with his life ; but, till I come, leave not the 
 cabin : show neither alarm nor uneasiness, but 
 trust to no one ; and now to deceive yonder spy, 
 who watches us '' 
 
 In a moment she assumed an air of rustic co- 
 quetry ; the soldier perceived her object, and seizing 
 her hand, attempted to snatch a kiss : — while appa- 
 rently struggling in his arms, she muttered — " Go
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 63 
 
 on— cross the hill without hesitation : be collected, 
 for your life depends upon your acting;" — and 
 springing from his hold, she struck him playfully 
 on the face with her open hand, and then bound- 
 ing from him, with a loud laugh, and the speed 
 of a hunted deer, she turned the rock, and was 
 out of sight in an instant. 
 
 There was no braver man than Captain Ken- 
 nedy ; but, as he followed the last flutter of the 
 female's dress, as she vanished from his sight, he 
 sensibly felt his own forlorn and destitute situa- 
 tion : he was unarmed and alone, in the depth of 
 a solitude, where human aid was hopeless ; and 
 bis wild moni tress had but too clearly intimated, 
 that danger, nay death, awaited him. Bitterly he 
 cursed his imprudence for thus unnecessarily ex- 
 posing himself; for none knew better than he did 
 the ferocious character of the desperate men who 
 infested these wilds. But while his heart beat 
 fast ; while, in rapid succession, those bitter 
 thoughts crowded thick upon each other, Kenne- 
 dy did not forget the line of conduct pointed out
 
 64 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 for him to pursue. After a moment's hesitation, 
 he resolutely prepared to cross the hill. Danger, 
 imminent and deadly, lay in his path ; but if he 
 did not seek it, it would undoubtedly find him. 
 Endeavouring to master his agitation, and assum- 
 ing a composure in his looks, far foreign from 
 his heart, he boldly ascended the rising ground 
 before him ; and as he cast apparently a careless 
 glance across the hillock, he remarked the per- 
 son who had been watching him crawl cautiously 
 away among the heath, and disappear in the irre- 
 gularities of the mountain's broken surface. 
 
 When Kennedy gained the summit of the ridge 
 he found himself above a little dell, situated in 
 the bosom of the hill he had surmounted. It was 
 a spot of singular loneliness; a stranger might 
 pass near it repeatedly, and yet nothing but acci- 
 dent reveal to him its existence. It had been 
 evidently used for what the peasantry call a 
 houilie, or temporary residence in the summer for 
 the young persons of the lowland villages, who 
 annually frequent these mountains with their cat-
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 65 
 
 tie, which at stated times are driven up to be 
 pastured. The roofless walls of several huts 
 were still remaining, and one long hovel was 
 covered with a rude thatch composed of the bent 
 grass, which grew abundantly in the numerous 
 swamps with which these wilds abounded. 
 
 This hovel was inhabited : a clear blue smoke 
 eddied from the imperfect roof, and through the 
 fissures of its loosely-constructed walls ; and the 
 small canal which led from the spring which we 
 have before described, was artfully conveyed by 
 many an ingenious winding, until it discharged its 
 water into a rude trough which rested on the 
 walls of the hovel. This, and the flashing of a 
 large fire from the open door- way, at once showed 
 Kennedy that this wild spot had been prepared 
 for illicit distillation. 
 
 Nor could a better situation have been selected 
 than this lonely dell for carrying on this hazard- 
 ous work extensively, and, at the same time, 
 avoiding the chances of a discovery. The suc- 
 cession of fresh water, which is indispensable for
 
 66 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 the process, fell in icy coldness from the spring 
 into the vessel where it was required ; and the 
 heated fluid it replaced with the refuse of the 
 potall, as the liquor is termed from which the 
 spirit is extracted, after it became exhausted in 
 the still, was conveyed by concealed sewers to a 
 distance ; and mixing with one of the streams, 
 became speedily lost in the rush of its waters. 
 
 While Kennedy was examining this lone retreat 
 he felt himself rudely touched upon the shoulder, 
 and on turning round, his eye met the same wild 
 face which he had before indistinctly observed 
 watching him when talking to the young female. 
 There could not be a more savage-looking being 
 than the man who now stood beside him. He 
 was a low-sized person, of gaunt and bony propor- 
 tions ; his limbs thin and sinewy, and, like his 
 face and bosom, covered with red hair; his eye 
 was wild and unsettled, and his air indicated a 
 mixture of ferocity and cunning. Except a tat- 
 tered shirt and short woollen drawers, he was per- 
 fectly naked. He roughly demanded, in Irish,
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 67 
 
 from the soldier, what business brought him there, 
 and pointing to the hovel, signed that he must go 
 there before him. To resist the mandate of the 
 mountaineer would have been neither possible, nor 
 politic ; and, remembering the directions given 
 him by his fair monitress, Kennedy, although he 
 understood his native language well, at once 
 affected ignorance, and signing to the stranger 
 to that effect, he preceded him in silence to the 
 hut. 
 
 The interior of the hovel displayed a melan- 
 choly and revolting picture of savage life ; a still 
 was at full work, attended by an old man and a 
 lad. The former was one of those persons who, 
 in the remote districts, where private distillation 
 cannot be prevented, travel through the moun- 
 tains, preparing the vessels used in the process, 
 and either working them, or instructing those who 
 may engage them in the mysteries of this wretch- 
 ed trade. The lad was employed, under the direc- 
 tions of the old man, and appeared as anxious to 
 receive his precepts, in this art, as if he had
 
 Ob STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 been acquiring' a safe and reputable calling. At 
 the farther end of the cabin a quantity of dry 
 fern was spread. A torn blanket, and two or 
 three frieze coats, were lying on the heap, and 
 formed the covering of the occupants of the hut 
 both by night and day. A cleeve, or pannier, 
 filled with potatoes, with a metal pot, were stand- 
 ing in the corner, and a couple of loys (narrow 
 spades) and a rusty musket, comprised all the 
 articles which the hovel contained. In a recess in 
 the wall were a few earthen vessels and a glass ; 
 these were for the customary uses of drinking, or 
 ascertaining the strength and flavour of the spirit, 
 as it fell from the worm. 
 
 Kennedy's eye, in traversing the hut for a mo- 
 ment, rested suspiciously on the old firelock ; but 
 he quickly remarked that it was without a flint, 
 and consequently useless. The men had with- 
 drawn to a corner, and were conversing in a low 
 whisper. From their frequently turning an in- 
 quisitive look to the farther end of the cabin, 
 which was wrapped in darkness, the soldier con-
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 69 
 
 eluded there were more in the hut than he had 
 yet discovered. Nor was he wrong : the still fire 
 suddenly threw out a strong flash of light; and 
 although the blaze was momentary, he observed a 
 human figure, stretched in a dark recess, beyond 
 the still ; but whether it was male or female — 
 living or dead, the partial light prevented him 
 from determining. 
 
 While pondering on the course he should adopt 
 — whether to address the inmates of the hut at 
 once, or await patiently the result of their delibe- 
 ration, a fourth person entered. He was very 
 different in his dress and appearance from the per- 
 sons within. He was a stout, powerful, middle- 
 aged man, wearing excellent clothes, and carrying 
 a clean carbine in his hand, with a case of pistols 
 in a belt beneath his large coat, which thus an- 
 swered the double purpose of concealing his arms, 
 when necessary, or in rain protecting them from 
 the weather. He measured Kennedy from head to 
 foot with his eye, and beckoning to the two elder 
 peasants, and throwing a malignant glance at the
 
 70 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 soldier, retired from the hut, accompanied by the 
 mountaineers. 
 
 At a little distance from the door they stopped, 
 and a deep and earnest consultation was carried 
 on in a low tone of voice, which prevented Ken- 
 nedy from hearing a syllable of their conversa- 
 tion ; but he well knew that it boded him no 
 good. For an instant, he determined to attempt 
 an escape ; but a moment's consideration told him 
 that the thing was hopeless. The chances of suc- 
 cess were desperate. It was nearly dark ; he had 
 four persons to contend with, beside the sleeper ; 
 and, for aught he could tell, others whom he had 
 not seen were near him. Even could he free 
 himself from these men, he was bewildered in a 
 labyrinth of rocks and morasses, from which, in 
 safety and day-light, he would find it nearly im- 
 possible to extricate himself: — an escape would 
 then be little short of miraculous. 
 
 While thus deliberating, the outlaws re-entered ; 
 and lifting a sort of wicker door from the wall, 
 placed it across the entrance, and secured it with a
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 71 
 
 spade ; and the armed man, addressing Kennedy, 
 in excellent English, demanded bis name, residence, 
 and the object which brought him to the moun- 
 tains. With assumed calmness, the soldier replied, 
 that he was a sportsman, and stranger, and al- 
 lured by the report he had heard of the mountain 
 lough, he had been induced to visit it. 
 
 The robber shook his head, and turning to his 
 companions, whispered in Irish, *'It is as I told 
 you — we are set ; and if he had a thousand lives, 
 he dies." 
 
 Kennedy started : he knew the language inti- 
 mately ; he heard his doom pronounced ; and 
 that too by an idiomatic phrase in Irish, which 
 conveyed the certainty of his murder in terms 
 for which the English has no words sufficiently 
 expressive. 
 
 Kennedy's agitation did not escape the outlaw, 
 who rapidly exclaimed, ''does he understand us?" 
 The old man answered in the negative, but added, 
 " try him yourself." 
 
 In this moment of mental anguish, Kennedy's
 
 72 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 natural hardiesse saved him. The robber con- 
 fronting him, addressed him in his native tongue ; 
 and while he eyed him with a searching look, 
 Kennedy, with astonishing composure, requested 
 him to speak to him in English, for unfortunately 
 he was an Englishman, and of course ignorant 
 of the language. 
 
 Apparently satisfied, the outlaw turned to his 
 companions :—** You're right," he said, "the 
 spy's a Sassenach ;" and advancing to the fire, he 
 lighted a small torch composed of split bog-deal, 
 and went to the corner of the hut, where, on a 
 heap of fern, the human figure already remarked 
 by the soldier was extended. 
 
 During the momentary action of applying the 
 torch to the fire, the old man, by emphatic ges- 
 tures, would have prevented him; and when he 
 saw him advance to the fern where the sleeper 
 lay, he muttered as he crossed himself, and threw 
 a look of pity on the victim, — " Mary, mother 
 of God, be good to him ! for Johnny Gibbons 
 never yet showed mercy."
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 73 
 
 Every nerve in Kennedy's frame jarred ; the 
 blood rushed back to his heart as the dreaded 
 name of Gibbons was pronounced : the old out- 
 law indeed spoke truly ; for that ruflBan never 
 had shown mercy ! Kennedy knew him well by 
 character; he had been an outcast from so- 
 ciety since the rebellion of ninety-eight ; and 
 while the other delinquents had generally re- 
 ceived pardon, the ear of mercy was justly 
 closed to him. He was the only one of the 
 western rebels who had been guilty of delibe- 
 rate bloodshed ; and his truculent disposition 
 had not only been displayed to those whom he 
 looked upon as his enemies, but also, and not 
 unfrequently, to his misguided companions. 
 For many years he had infested the wilds of 
 Connemara ; but the wanton murder of a com- 
 rade, and his repeated aggressions on the pea- 
 santry, whom he plundered and ill-used, re- 
 moved all that mistaken sympathy, which the 
 lower Irish, in the remote parts of the king- 
 dom, cherish for malefactors ; and the ruflSan 
 VOL. I. D
 
 74 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 became an object of such general detestation, 
 that he was forced to abandon the mountains, 
 which for fifteen years had sheltered him. 
 The party disturbances which prevailed in the 
 neighbourhood of Woodford induced him to 
 seek this wilderness as a suitable retreat ; and 
 in consequence of the disaffection of some, and 
 the wild character of the peasantry, who, even 
 when unconnected with treasonable associa- 
 tions, were generally, from the nature of their 
 pursuits, opposed to the operations of the law, 
 the outcast from Connemara here found pro- 
 tection and support. 
 
 Gibbons had been latterly joined by another 
 ruffian, named Garland, who had also been 
 obliged to screen himself from justice. This 
 desperado had been a sort of agent employed 
 by the mountain people to dispose of their 
 whisky in the adjacent counties. In an affray 
 with the revenue-men, an officer had lost his life 
 by Garland's hand : he became, of course, a re- 
 fugee ; and now rendered desperate, he had
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 75 
 
 planned and executed Morton's murder, which 
 has been already alluded to; — and a fit associate 
 for Gibbons, their names became formidable to 
 the country around. 
 
 No wonder the soldier's heart sank when he 
 saw the sleeping ruffian roused by his compa- 
 nion, and heard him angrily demand " why he 
 was awakened ?" The low dialogue was quick- 
 ly terminated ; for with an execration, he 
 bounded on his feet, and lifting a blunderbuss 
 from beside him, staggered forward where 
 Kennedy was leaning against the wall of the 
 hovel. His look and air were indescribably 
 savage ; his features were inflamed by inebriety, 
 alarm, &nd revenge ; and as he steadied him- 
 self within a few paces of his victim, he shot a 
 glance of malignant exultation from beneath 
 his shaggy eyebrows, which seemed to pre- 
 clude all hope. 
 
 The peasants appeared alarmed at the ex- 
 pectation of a scene of cold-blooded butchery, 
 and murmured prayers, mingled with entreaties,
 
 tS STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 which seemed unregarded by the ruthless 
 being to whom they were addressed ; for after 
 eyeing Kennedy deliberately, he suddenly raised 
 and snapped the blunderbuss. It did not dis- 
 charge ; and Gibbons, pouting out execrations, 
 proceeded to re-prime it, from an immense flask 
 of gunpowder which he took from his pocket. 
 
 Kennedy now desperately sprang in and seized 
 him ; but the struggle would have been a short 
 one. Garland drew a pistol and advanced to 
 the relief of his comrade, when suddenly the 
 wicker door was driven in with violence; a 
 huge dog rushed into the hut, and leaping at 
 the ruffian's throat, pulled him in an instant to 
 the ground. A terrible struggle, in which the 
 robber's pistol went off without effect, ensued. 
 
 If Kennedy's impending fate had excited a 
 momentary feeling of remorse in the other sa- 
 vages, his desperate resistance, and the un- 
 expected appearance of his faithful ally, re- 
 moved it ; for the red mountaineer seized a loy, 
 and endeavoured to strike the dog from his
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 77 
 
 hold ; and the young savage struck fiercely at 
 the soldier, as he rolled upon the floor, locked 
 in the deadly grasp of Gibbons. 
 
 The scene of murder was hurrying to its 
 close. Kennedy was suffering from the heavy 
 blows of the lad, and Sailor was cut down by 
 the edge of the spade ; when, at the moment, 
 a pistol was discharged from the door; a man 
 fell dead across the prostrate soldier, and the 
 powder-flask rolled from Gibbons, and falling 
 on the red embers of the still fire, exploded 
 with tremendous violence. The roof was blown 
 off* the hut, the walls rent asunder, and a scene 
 of horrible confusion followed. The still was 
 overturned ; the boiling liquor falling upon the 
 young savage and Gibbons, who was already 
 scorched by the explosion, they testified their 
 pain by howls and terrific execrations. 
 
 Kennedy, nearly suff*ocated, was with difii- 
 culty dragged from under the fallen roof: he 
 looked round in astonishment : he was sup- 
 ported by a tall and powerful man ; and the
 
 78 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 young female he had encountered before he en- 
 tered this murderous den bathed his temples 
 in cold water, which she had carried in a hat 
 from the spring. The stunned soldier had 
 scarcely time to recollect himself when his pro- 
 tector inquired if he could stand without assist- 
 ance : he made the exertion, and found him- 
 self able to move with tolerable freedom. 
 " Heaven be praised !" exclaimed the stranger. 
 " If ever you exerted your strength, use it 
 now." As he spoke he put a light fowling- 
 piece into his hand, and while the female led 
 the way, he seized Kennedy's arm, and turn- 
 ing round the angle of the rock, plunged into 
 a ravine beyond it. 
 
 There was no time for delay : the fire had 
 already seized the thatch and timbers of the 
 cabin, and dried almost to tinder by the con- 
 stant heat, it was instantly in a blaze. By the 
 lurid light of the burning hut several men were 
 distinctly seen dragging the wounded ruffians 
 from beneath the ruins. No excitement was
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 79 
 
 requisite to urge Kennedy to rapid move- 
 ment. The explosion had long since alarmed 
 the mountaineers, and an immediate pursuit 
 would probably take place. 
 
 Without, however, encountering any fresh 
 danger, the little party reached the crest of the 
 hill which overlooked the town of Woodford. 
 The guide stopped. ** I must leave you now," 
 he said ; *' but fear nothing ; your safety is cer- 
 tain. I would have conducted you into the 
 barracks, but " He paused, and the sol- 
 dier added — " You fear something there?" 
 ** I do," said the peasant, frankly. " That 
 I owe my life to you I need hardly say," re- 
 sumed the soldier, " and now, how can I best 
 repay it ? Will money ?" 
 
 The outlaw waved his hand contemptuously. 
 ** Or if, in return, I can afford you protection ; 
 if you have committed any offence within the 
 pale of pardon, speak ; — speak freely ; and 
 should I be obliged to kneel at the foot of the 
 king's throne, I will faithfully endeavour to
 
 80 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 obtain it. Have you trespassed beyond mercy I 
 Is there blood upon your hands ?" 
 
 " None," said the outlaw, calmly, '* but 
 what was spilled to-night." 
 
 *' Are you a robber? " 
 
 " No r — and he drew himself up proudly. 
 
 *' Then come with me," said Kennedy, as he 
 took the wanderer's sinewy hand. 
 
 There was a momentary silence. '* Pat," 
 said the female, imploringly, " for my sake — 
 for the sake of Him who died for us," — and she 
 crossed herself — *' refuse not. Is it not better 
 to meet the worst, when innocent, than keep 
 the mountains till these savage men lead you 
 into a life as wild and wicked as their own? 
 Oh, Pat ! — for my sake — for the sake of what 
 is yet unborn— leave the hills, and come in — 
 Captain Kennedy and your own innocence will 
 protect you — and what have you to fear ?" 
 
 When she paused, the soldier united his en- 
 treaties to her's ; but still the outlaw hesitated. 
 The young woman seemed hurt and mortified.
 
 THE ADVENTURE, &C. 81 
 
 and in a voice betokening disappointment and 
 wounded pride — " He won't, sir," she conti- 
 nued, addressing Kennedy, " and we must seek 
 some other haunt, for Garland's faction are too 
 numerous here for our lives to be safe an hour. 
 Come, Pat, let us go. I left all for you — 
 father, mother, friends. I took you when all 
 else frowned on you: — when the world slandered 
 and threw you off, I clung to you, alone, and 
 faithfully. In danger and distress when did I 
 leave your side? and now I am ready to follow, 
 go where and when you will !" 
 
 '* No, no ! — by Heaven, Alice, for me you 
 shall never more be exposed to injury and in 
 suit. Captain Kennedy, Captain Dwyer is 
 your prisoner!" 
 
 As he spoke, he caught the female to his 
 breast, and wept over her like a child. Then, 
 as if ashamed that his weakness was witnessed, 
 he dashed the tears aside, and taking the pis- 
 tols from his belt, would have given them to 
 Kennedy ; but he declined them, and, with a
 
 82 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 smile, added, " No, no, brother Captain, I am 
 under your protection to my barrack, and then 
 comes my turn." 
 
 As he spoke the soldier led the way, and the 
 outlaw and his mistress followed. The latter 
 left them at the entrance of the village to seek 
 a relative, in whose house she purposed remain- 
 ing for the night. Kennedy and the outlaw 
 directed their steps to the barracks, where, 
 from the lights which flashed from the windows 
 of the mess-room, the soldier calculated on 
 finding his comrades over their wine.
 
 THE ROUTE.
 
 THE ROUTE. 
 
 When the captain-commandant of the gar- 
 rison of "Woodford retired from the mess-table, 
 the worthy president, Doctor Mac Splint, and 
 the other gentlemen of the sword, evinced no 
 intention of imitating the example. Their curi- 
 osity was unsatisfied, but that was no reason why 
 their thirst should be left in a similar predica- 
 ment. Accordingly the chairman's mandate for 
 uncorking a fresh cooper was received without 
 a dissentient voice ; and Phil Boyle, the master 
 of the revels, being summoned to the presence, 
 orders for the immediate preparation of a broiled 
 bone were issued, as also for the production of
 
 m STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 *' mountain dew," it being deemed a proper con- 
 comitant for the same. 
 
 After exchanging his dress, which bore marks 
 of the evening fray, Kennedy sought the prison 
 of the outlaw. His orders had been strictly 
 obeyed, and Dwyer comfortably lodged inside the 
 guard-room. On opening the door, the wanderer 
 was discovered lying on the bed undressed, bu- 
 ried in profound repose. Without disturbing 
 him, Kennedy left the guard-house, and know- 
 ing from past experience that going to bed for 
 the purpose of sleeping would be perfectly use- 
 less, with Doctor Mac Splint president, and 
 Captain Mac Carthy his guest, he determined 
 to join the revellers and resume his seat at the 
 table. 
 
 Short as his absence had been, the worthy 
 group he had deserted appeared not to have 
 been unemployed. The reeling eye of the 
 croupier, and the drunken wisdom concentrated 
 in the chairman's look, fully attested that the 
 last cooper had done its duty. One of the party
 
 THE ROUTE. 87 
 
 alone appeared unshaken. The elder dragoon 
 sat as steadily in his chair as if the dinner had 
 been just removed, and seemed a man on whose 
 intellects wine could make no ravages. His 
 was a splendid-looking figure ; strength and 
 symmetry were there combined, and when some 
 years younger, his face must have been strik- 
 ingly handsome. He had yet scarcely reached 
 the middle age, but dissipation more than time 
 bespoke his ** wild youth passed." The hair 
 once black as a raven's wing, was slightly griz- 
 zled, and the healthy hue of manhood had given 
 place to the deeper flush of constant and severe 
 debauches. Mac Carthy possessed all that 
 makes a soldier the idol of a regiment and a 
 mess— boundless good-humour, inexhaustible 
 anecdote, and a fine voice, united to consider^ 
 able musical acquirements : his courage was 
 proverbial, his honour chivalrous, and yet he 
 was at the same time loved and dreaded. The 
 life of society, the arbiter on every point of dis-
 
 88 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 puted honour, ** courted and caressed" by all. 
 The anxious mother warned her boy against the 
 effect of his example, and more than one cau- 
 tious parent declined a cornetcy in the Ennis- 
 killen Dragoons, fearing that Maurice Mac 
 Car thy would lead his unschooled boy into late 
 hours and military dissipation. 
 
 It was said that this wild soldier had his 
 moments of thought and melancholy. Under 
 a plea of indisposition, at times he shut himself 
 up and retired from society ; but no physician 
 was admitted, no friend called in ; and as this 
 self-seclusion was annually repeated, many 
 strange and vague conjectures were afloat as 
 to the probable cause of this singular custom. 
 Attempts, originating in curiosity and attach- 
 ment, had been made by his companions to 
 solve the mystery which involved their com- 
 rade's conduct:— the former had been fiercely 
 and rudely repulsed — the latter firmly but de- 
 cidedly rejected; and as the dragoon was no
 
 THE ROUTE. 89 
 
 man to trifle with, none presumed to urge the 
 point farther. 
 
 Mac Carthy appeared now to have reached 
 that "sweet hour i' th' night" when care and 
 the world are forgotten. If ever Melancholy 
 had *' marked him for her own," she left no 
 trace of her stern hand on his bold and joyous 
 face ; and obeying the call of his companions to 
 sing, he finished his bumper of claret, and with 
 a sweet and powerful voice chanted the fol- 
 lowing martial ditty : — 
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S SONG. 
 
 Comrade wake ! the sun is high — 
 
 Hurrah ! my boys, the world's before ns ; 
 The charger stamps, our banners fly, 
 "While woman's tears to stay implore us. 
 Hark ! 'tis the signal gun resounding — 
 March ! each bosom's wildly bounding. 
 The drum is struck, the bugle's sounding- 
 Hurrah ! — a soldier's life for me. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Hurrah ! — a soldier's life for me.
 
 90 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 Comrade, why that pensive eye ? 
 
 Hurrah ! my boys, the world's before us 5 
 Why for one woman waste a sigh,^ 
 When more are waiting to adore us ? 
 The soldier's breast should own no care. 
 Light be his range from fair to fair ! 
 Does Cbloris frown ? Psbaw — leave her there< 
 Hurrah ! — a soldier's life for me. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Hurrah !— a soldier's life for rae. 
 
 Leaves will fall and soldiers too — 
 
 Hurrah ! my boys, the world's before us 5 
 Why then of death make much ado, 
 When beauty's streaming eyes deplore us ? 
 List ! — 'tis the battle's rising cry — 
 List ! — 'tis the cheer of victory — 
 Come, glorious hour ! Who fears to die ? 
 Hurrah ! — a soldier's life for me. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Hurrah ! — a soldier's life for me. 
 
 The bold dragoon ceased amid the plaudits 
 of his companions as Kennedy came forward. 
 The grilled and devilled bones were quickly de-
 
 THE ROUTE. 91 
 
 spatched, and the glasses again and again re- 
 plenished. There was a general anxiety mani- 
 fested to hear from the captain of grenadiers a 
 narrative of the night's adventures; and, to the 
 horror of Mac Splint, and the astonishment of 
 all, he detailed the particulars of his perilous 
 excursion to the mountain lough. 
 
 " Frank," cried the dragoon with mock gra- 
 vity, as he concluded his story, " thou wilt be a 
 great man yet, and may even attain the rank of 
 major-general. What ! after escaping being 
 pinked at Badajoz — and being blown up to- 
 night, in company with Johnny Gibbons and 
 the red distiller ! Thy life's a charmed one ; 
 but where is the honest gentleman who saved 
 you in the nick of time ?" 
 
 ** Fast asleep, poor fellow ! — sound as a 
 watchman. He seems to feel his present secu- 
 rity. 'Tis many a long day, I suppose, since 
 he rested without dreaming of gyves and gib- 
 bets."
 
 92 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 " An' God guide us all ! — Kennedy, boy/' 
 said Mac Splint, " what will ye do with this 
 wild cretur 1 ye'll surely not let him out upon 
 the world ?" 
 
 " No, my dear fellow, certainly not. I have 
 struck out, I think, a good plan for him al- 
 ready : he can be profitable to himself, and 
 useful to the community." 
 
 " An' what's that, Francie, boy ?" 
 
 '* Make him hospital sergeant," rejoined 
 Kennedy, with perfect gravity. " I found out, 
 Duncan, in our walk home, that in his youth 
 he had mixed boluses for an apothecary in 
 Loughva. You want an assistant ; I heard 
 you say so this morning." 
 
 " Put him in my hospital ! — ha ! ha! Gad, if 
 I vexed him, he wouldna stop to brain me with 
 my ain spatula. Na, Francie : the fellow's tall 
 enough : tak him to yerself, man : he'll match 
 your squad well. Since we've recruited in 
 Trelan, if I'm not in dread walkin my own
 
 THE ROUTE. 93 
 
 wards ! Sich a set of deevils and desperados ! 
 
 — why, I shake like an aspen when I'm called 
 
 to examine a recruit : — all rapparees and rib- 
 bon-men, through other !" 
 
 *' Why, thou slanderous Skeyman ! thou true 
 descendant of Celtic robber and northern pi- 
 rate ! how durst you libel * the land that gave 
 Patrick his birth V and five of his progeny pre- 
 sent ! Hallo, Maurice ! what does he de- 
 serve V 
 
 " Hanging, at least!" roared the dragoon. 
 
 *' Oh ! hang him, certainly," hiccupped the 
 vice-president, awaking from a sound sleep. 
 
 " Hang him, certainly !" shouted the lieute- 
 nant of light infantry, springing from the chair, 
 and seizing a sash from the wall. In vain Mac 
 Splint, who often suffered from the mad pranks 
 of his drunken comrades, remonstrated. The 
 loop was already over his neck, and Mac Car- 
 thy was selecting a peg for the suspension, 
 when a noise was heard in the street : the cen-
 
 94 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 tinel's challenge was answered ; the guard turn- 
 ed out, and the gate was unbarred. 
 
 *' Stop !" said Kennedy. " Who the deuce 
 is come?" 
 
 '*'Tis a horseman," said Mansell. 
 
 " One of our own," cried Mac Carthy, look- 
 ing from the window. 
 
 The dragoon had now dismounted, and 
 ushered in by the sergeant of the guard, ad- 
 vanced, and delivered his dispatch to ** the 
 officer commanding at Woodford." 
 
 Kennedy broke the seal. — ** The route, by 
 Heaven !" 
 
 *' The route!" was responded by all: — 
 ^' where? where?" 
 
 " Here is a note for you, Maurice." 
 
 "Hurrah ! orders of readiness for us too !" 
 exclaimed the dragoon. "This looks like busi- 
 ness. Mansell, send for your servant. I must 
 be off to head-quarters : get your squad 
 ready ; you'll be called in to-morrow."
 
 THE ROUTE. 95 
 
 *' Won't you stay till morning, Maurice?" 
 
 '* Is it not morning already, boy?" replied 
 the dragoon. " A cool ride of three hours at 
 cock-crow, is just the thing after a warm night, 
 Ned. Kennedy, you'll march through Old 
 Bridge, and you all dine with us, of course. 
 Execution is respited for the present on Dun- 
 can ; but we'll finish it there." 
 
 ** Ay ; and so you may if ye catch me. ISTa, 
 na, Mac : ye'll not send me home agen on a 
 door, carried by sax dragoons, and the bugles 
 blowin afore me." 
 
 ** But," said the dragoon, '*does not Xapo- 
 leon deserve to be canonised ? Here we might 
 have remained till doom'sday, had not * le petit 
 caporal,' as the French fellows call him, given 
 his watch the slip from Elba, and taken off 
 our embargo. Hurrah ! — service for ever !" 
 
 " Via ! rouse thee, man," roared the captain 
 of grenadiers. " Out with a couple of corks. 
 Boyle, fresh glasses. Come, lads, a round to
 
 96 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 the old trade. — Service for ever ! and damn 
 still-hunting !" 
 
 Again the revelry vs^as renewed: "fast and 
 furious " the drinking recommenced. Man- 
 sell fell off his chair, and was carried to bed. 
 Mac Splint staggered out with apparent diffi- 
 culty, muttering his intention of " takin an 
 hoor's sleep before he would move the hospi- 
 tal." *' The lads," as he called the lieutenants, 
 crawled off after him, endeavouring, with the 
 assistance of their servants, to find their way to 
 their rooms ; while Mac Carthy, having given 
 orders to have his horse brought to the door in 
 an hour, sat down with Kennedy tete-a-tete. 
 
 *' By the way, Frank, what's to be done 
 with the mountain man you were so kind as to 
 introduce to us last night ?" 
 
 " By Jove, Maurice, this route puzzles 
 me; I hardly know what to do with him. I 
 am ignorant of his crimes, or what cause it
 
 THE ROUTE. 97 
 
 might be, which sent him wandering through 
 the hills." 
 
 " What, suppose we send for him ?" 
 
 ''With all my heart. Duncan is gone, and 
 we can now hear his story without risking the 
 loss of our accomplished doctor, through fear 
 and terror. Ring ; the bell is at your elbow." 
 
 *' The sergeant of the guard being sent for, 
 was directed to bring in the prisoner ; and in a 
 few minutes returned, accompanied by the 
 peasant. The large coat which had concealed 
 him was laid aside, and a fine, handsome young 
 man presented himself. His countenance was 
 open and intelligent ; his figure tall, and ad- 
 mirably proportioned ; and his whole appear- 
 ance bespoke him to be above the common 
 description of the Irish peasantry. 
 
 " Dvvyer," said Kennedy, addressing him, 
 
 when the sergeant had left the room, *' we 
 
 have unexpectedly got the route, and march in 
 
 a day or two, when relieved by the veterans. I 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 98 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 am anxious to discharge my debt to you ; — how 
 can I best do it ?" 
 
 The peasant bowed gratefully. 
 
 "If I knew the particulars of your story," 
 resumed Kennedy, ** I might probably be more 
 serviceable ; but if there is any thing connected 
 with your case which it may be imprudent to 
 make public, conceal it; for I only generally 
 inquire to find the way in which I can befriend 
 you." 
 
 Dwyer was silent for a time. *' Captain 
 Kennedy," said he, at length, " there is no act 
 of my bumble life for which I have cause to be 
 ashamed. My fate has been as unfortunate, a.s 
 my birth lowly. If the detail of events connected 
 with a peasant's life would not tire you, and 
 the other gentleman, I would tell you my hum> 
 ble history, as truly as if I knelt at the con- 
 fessional." 
 
 While the soldiers, struck with the stran- 
 ger's manner, listened with attention, the latter 
 I bus commenced.
 
 THE OUTLAW'S STORY.
 
 THE OUTLAW S STORY 
 
 " My father was a soldier. He was a tall 
 and handsome fellow : frequented fairs and 
 wakes, and hurling matches ; and by all ac- 
 counts, was handier with the cudgel than the 
 spade. From his wild, unsettled habits, a dra- 
 goon-officer, who accidentally met with him 
 while grouse-shooting on the moors, easily per- 
 suaded him to enlist. He did so, and left his 
 native mountains ; and while on detachment in 
 an English village, married the daughter of a 
 wealthy yeoman, who discarded her for the 
 match. She followed her husband to Flanders : 
 he fell in battle; and my mother having conveyed
 
 ')L02 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 me to my uncle's house, died there soon after, 
 leaving me in his care. 
 
 " My uncle was the parish priest : he was a 
 kind-hearted, simple man. Having no near 
 relative but myself, he became much attached 
 to me as I grew up, and formed the resolution 
 of educating me to the church, that I might as- 
 sist him when old, and eventually succeed him 
 in the parish. Poor man ! his stock of learning 
 was not extensive ; but such as it was, he did 
 his best to impart it to his nephew. 
 
 " From my infancy I felt averse to the idea 
 of becoming a priest. I suppose my father's 
 habits had descended to me. I would follow a 
 grouse-shooter all day ; or employ myself in 
 digging for foxes in the hills, and spearing 
 otters in the river. If an eagle's airy was to be 
 robbed, I must be present at the perpetration. 
 I fished with skill ; and for my opportunities, 
 none shot better. I was sent for to all hurling- 
 matches ; and at foot-ball, was considered to be 
 unrivalled. All this was but a poor prepara-
 
 THE outlaw's story. 103 
 
 tion for divinity ; but I was unsuited for the 
 cowl ; and had I ever thought of a life of celi- 
 bacy, circumstances occurred which made me 
 abandon the church for ever. 
 
 '* My uncle's parish was one of the remotest 
 in Erris ; it was separated by a chain of moun- 
 tains from the more open parts of the county ; 
 and, besides the peasantry and fishermen, there 
 was but one family of the better order within 
 the limits of his spiritual charge. 
 
 *' This was a gentleman's of ruined fortune. 
 He had been in early life extravagant ; and 
 having utterly destroyed a property which came 
 to him overloaded with debts, he had been 
 forced in his declining years to retire to the 
 miserable remnant of his patrimony, a large 
 mountain farm, situated by the side of my 
 uncle's house. 
 
 ** Mr. Percival had an only daughter. Like 
 her parent, she had seen happier days ; but she 
 had cheerfully followed him to his retirement, 
 and every exertion of her's was used to make
 
 104 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 their humble home comfortable, and render his 
 declining years as happy as their limited means 
 would permit. There was naturally an inti- 
 macy between the priest and his principal 
 parishioner. They were every day together; 
 and Agnes Percival and I became inseparable 
 companions. She was a young, artless, inte- 
 resting girl ; and before I even suspected dan- 
 ger, I found that I loved her passionately. I 
 never once considered that a barrier was placed 
 between us, which could never be removed by 
 me. I was an orphan — a dependent. My uncle 
 had not saved, as I believed, a shilling from his 
 small income ; for he was hospitable and hu- 
 mane, and consequently his parish was scarcely 
 able to support him. I was destined for a 
 churchman. I had no other hope in life. My 
 uncle was well advanced in years ; and if he 
 could defray the expenses attending my educa- 
 tion at Maynooth college, it was the utmost I 
 could expect from him. 
 
 *' Yet I madly persevered in loving. * The
 
 THE outlaw's story. 105 
 
 Fathers,' and the few dull tomes of dogmatic 
 theology, which formed my uncle's library, 
 were abandoned for Shakspeare, and some 
 lighter books, which Percival had brought with 
 him. My time was spent in killing game and 
 fish, for presents to my mistress, or in wander- 
 ing on the sea-shore, or reading by the side of 
 a mountain stream the magic pages of the bard 
 of Avon ; and when twilight fell, I mused on 
 imaginary days of happiness, which, in all pro- 
 bability, I was never fated to realise. 
 
 ** But this dream was soon to be dissolved. 
 I had spent the evening with Agnes ; our con- 
 versation had been free and unreserved ; we sat 
 on the heathy bank of her little garden, which 
 with my assistance she had formed. Insensibly 
 I became excited, till, throvving off all restraint, 
 I confessed my secret attachment, and implored 
 her to return my love. Her face was crimsoned ; 
 her eyes were filled with tears ; she trembled 
 and was agitated ; and I was kneeling at her 
 feet when, at the moment, Percival stood be-
 
 106 STORIES OP WATERLOO. 
 
 fore us : his countenance flashed with rage ; he 
 shook with violent passion ; he indignantly 
 cursed my presumption, upbraided me with my 
 poverty, and scornfully contrasted his daugh- 
 ter's family with mine ; and then ordering me 
 to quit his presence, he took Agnes harshly 
 by the arm, and hurried her from my sight, 
 leaving me rooted to the spot. 
 
 *' When I recovered my recollection, I hur- 
 ried to the shore, and for some hours wandered 
 among the rocks. It was dark when I returned 
 to my uncle's. Percival had been there, and 
 from the priest's manner I could easily guess 
 that he had received from the father of Agnes 
 no favourable account of the evening scene in 
 his garden. The old man reproached me bit- 
 terly with duplicity. I had deceived him. He 
 had educated me carefully for the priesthood ; 
 and was I about to throw away an opportunity 
 of settling myself for life? 
 
 " I was silent, and he marked my irresolution. 
 * Pat,' said he, with much emotion, * I have hi-
 
 THE outlaw's story. 107 
 
 therto been a father to you, and out of my small 
 income I saved this purse for your college 
 expenses/ He took out from his bureau an old 
 glove filled with silver coins and a few bank- 
 notes. * I have promised Mr. Percival that you 
 shall leave this place to-morrow. Enter May- 
 nooth forthwith : take this, it will defray your 
 charges there. Come back to me a student, or 
 never come again !' So saying, he rose abruptly, 
 entered his little sleeping room, bolted the 
 door, and left me standing in the kitchen, with 
 the old glove filled with dues and ofierings in 
 my hand. 
 
 *' Left to myself, I quickly formed my de- 
 termination. I collected my small stock of 
 linen, wrote a tender epistle to Agnes, bidding 
 her adieu, and telling her that for her I had 
 left home and kindred ; entrusted my letter to 
 an idiot boy who lived with my uncle, and with 
 my bundle over my shoulders, and the priest's 
 purse in my pocket, T started ; crossed the 
 mountains by moonlight, and ere morning
 
 108 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 dawned had reached the town of Ballinagh, and 
 finding a recruiting party there, I enlisted, and 
 entered the dragoon guards. 
 
 ** A year passed away. My squadron was 
 quartered in Ballinrobe. My fate was un- 
 known to my friends ; and my poor uncle little 
 thought that the youth he had destined for the- 
 ology had abandoned the church for the riding- 
 house. I was already made a corporal, and was 
 a general favourite with the regiment. 
 
 *' One evening I was cleaning my appoint- 
 ments at the stable door, when I perceived a 
 wild-looking lad wandering through the bar- 
 rack yard, and staring at every dragoon he 
 passed. His appearance was familiar to me. 
 I approached him, and discovered the well- 
 known features of Morteein heg (little Martin), 
 my uncle's fool. The poor creature uttered a 
 cry of delight, and with strange grimaces and 
 great caution gave me a sealed letter. I broke 
 it open. My heart beat, my cheek burned, as 
 I read it. It was from Agnes. She told me
 
 THK outlaw's story. 109 
 
 that I had been recognised by a herd, while 
 driving cattle from the mountains to an inland 
 fair. She implored me, if I still loved her, to 
 come home without a moment's delay. Perci- 
 val had determined to marry her to a wealthy 
 trader from Galway : he was old, ugly, dis- 
 sipated, and disagreeable, but he was im- 
 mensely rich, and had offered settlements which 
 her father had accepted. The suitor was now 
 absent completing all arrangements for the 
 marriage and her removal to Galway ; and on 
 the third evening, unless I found means to 
 prevent it, she would be a bride. 
 
 *' I had a comrade, who had since I joined 
 the regiment been my bosom friend. I showed 
 him Agnes' letter. By his advice I applied to 
 the commanding officer for a few days' leave of 
 absence. Unfortunately the colonel was absent, 
 and the major was cross and gouty. He re- 
 fused me. I attempted to expostulate and 
 plead my cause ; but he cut matters short by
 
 110 STORIES OP WATERLOO. 
 
 throwing a boot-jack at my head, and swearing 
 he would send me to drill for my impertinence. 
 My blood, already in a fever, now boiled with 
 rage, and I determined to desert that night. 
 Accordingly, I conveyed by Morteein a suit of 
 coloured clothes, which I had fortunately pre- 
 served, to a public-house in the town, told my 
 friend of my desperate resolution, and, unmoved 
 by his remonstrances, once more put the priest's 
 purse in my pocket, and waiting till all was 
 quiet, scaled the wall, changed my dress, and, 
 accompanied by Morteein, left the dragoon 
 guards, as I had my uncle's house, by moon- 
 light. 
 
 " We walked all night, and to avoid pursuit, 
 rested during the day. On the third morning, 
 the morning of that night which would see Agnes 
 united to another, I gained the mountain pass 
 above my uncle's house. I stopped to rest 
 myself, and contrive some plan for seeing my 
 mistress privately, when suddenly one of my
 
 THE outlaw's story. Ill 
 
 former companioDs appeared below, and waving 
 his hand, hurried up the hill to meet me. He 
 had been watching* for me. 
 
 *' The news of my desertion had already 
 reached the mountains ; for on the same night 
 an officer's room had been plundered of a con- 
 siderable sum ; and as I had been observed 
 counting money in the public-house where I 
 had changed my dress, I was suspected to be 
 the thief, and a military party had been de- 
 spatched after me. Heavens and earth ! accused 
 of theft ! and how strongly would circumstances 
 tell against me ! I had unfortunately been re- 
 marked by the publican reckoning my uncle's 
 purse, and from my flight no wonder I was de- 
 nounced as the robber of the barrack-room. 
 
 " What was to be done ? I dared not ap- 
 proach the village, lest I should be seen and 
 apprehended ; and in a few hours Agnes would 
 be lost to me for ever. I told my friend my 
 situation. I showed him the priest's purse, with 
 my uncle's name on the notes, and at once re-
 
 112 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 moved any suspicion which might be attached 
 to me for the felony. My companion took a 
 warm interest in my affairs, and leaving me 
 concealed in a ravine, hastened to collect my 
 young friends, and consult with them what was 
 the best course to pursue in my present emer- 
 gency. 
 
 *' I remained in my retreat till evening, 
 when Austin Malley, my friend, returned. He 
 brought me refreshments, and also the welcome 
 news that he had seen my mistress, and re- 
 moved from her mind the disgraceful charge of 
 robbery, which had been insinuated against me. 
 He told me that Percival was uneasy at my de- 
 sertion, and was determined that the Galway 
 trader, who had just arrived, should be married 
 that night to Agnes, and set off next morning 
 for his own residence with the bride. Austin 
 had sounded my old comrades, and found them 
 ardent to evince their affection, by assisting me 
 in this my hour of need. We held a council 
 of war, and it was resolved that Agnes should
 
 THE outlaw's story. 113 
 
 be carried off that evening. To effect this 
 would be somewhat perilous, for Connolly hav- 
 ing come by sea, had filled his hooker with 
 friends to assist at his bridal. 
 
 ** Late in the evening I left my place of con- 
 cealment, and by the light of a full harvest 
 moon approached the dwelling of my mistress. 
 About a dozen fine able young fellows were 
 waiting for me, well mounted and armed. We 
 left our horses in a hollow, and with Austin 
 and half a dozen of his friends, advanced to 
 Percival's house. All within was noise, and 
 joy, and revelry ; the servants were dancing in 
 the kitchen ; the guests were drinking in the 
 parlour; and this being the room where the 
 principal company assembled, it was literally 
 crowded with people. 
 
 " Connolly had brought a strange priest with 
 him ; for my uncle being apprised of Agnes' 
 aversion to the marriage, had refused to per- 
 form the ceremony. Suddenly there was a 
 bustle among the company ; the priest put on his
 
 114 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 vestment, and the missal was open in his hand ; 
 the doughty bridegroom was vainly endeavour- 
 ing to bring my handsome mistress forward, 
 when I burst into the apartment. The women 
 uttered a tremendous yell ; the men pressed on 
 to see what had caused this unexpected interrup- 
 tion. I threw th«m, right and left, aside, until 
 I gained the place where the bride was stand- 
 ing. In vain Connolly interposed. I hurled 
 him to the end of the chamber, and lifting 
 Agnes in my arms, carried her fainting to the 
 door. In vain Percival and Connolly's friends 
 would have torn her from my grasp. My com- 
 rades seconded me gallantly, and covered my 
 retreat until we reached our horses, when, 
 mounting with the bride, we spurred them to a 
 gallop, and left pursuit behind us. 
 
 " Next day I made Agnes my wife. We 
 were obliged to leave the county and conceal 
 ourselves in the mountains here ; and through 
 the winter we have had a perilous and wretched 
 life. I need not conceal from you that neces-
 
 THE outlaw's story. 115 
 
 sity obliged rae to head a lawless band ; but, 
 except in prosecuting contraband adventures, I 
 have never commanded or joined them. I have 
 restrained them from robbery, and I have pre- 
 vented the commission of any act of violence. 
 
 " Gibbons and Garland were ray deadly ene- 
 mies. The former attempted to deprive me of 
 the command ; but, in a personal contest, I de- 
 feated and disarmed him. The other ruflBan, 
 who fell by my hand last night, way-laid and 
 fired at me a few days since. I saw him steal 
 from his ambush ; but I had devoted him to 
 death. I overheard him, with Gibbons, plot- 
 ting my murder, and, what sealed his fate with 
 me, the violation of my wife." The outlaw's 
 face flashed as he alluded to the intended injury 
 of Agnes. 
 
 *' But, Dwyer, why did you interest yourself 
 for me? I was a stranger to you, and you 
 owed me no favour." 
 
 " Pardon me, captain," said the outlaw, *' I 
 did, and a heavy obligation it was. Last win-
 
 116 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 ter, on a desperate snowy night, you surprised 
 the cabin where I was sleeping. I had hardly 
 a moment to conceal myself. There was a 
 hollow in the wall, beside the pallet where my 
 wife and I lay, into which I crept. Agnes, as 
 if from alarm, shrank to that side, and effec- 
 tually hid me. You entered ; the soldiers 
 searched the cabin; their information of my 
 being there was positive ; and, irritated at not 
 finding me, they attempted to remove the bed 
 coverings from my wife, and even threatened 
 to pull down the roof. Poor Agnes was nearly 
 dead with terror. You approached the humble 
 pallet where she lay — * Fear not, my girl ; I 
 would rather a dozen ribbon-men escaped than 
 one unprotected female should be injured ; 
 yourself and your poor hut shall be respected. 
 Turn out, lads !' and, bidding my wife * Good 
 night!' you took the men away and left the 
 hovel. 
 
 " I then swore that I would repay the life 
 you unintentionally saved ; and when I saw you
 
 THE outlaw's story. 117 
 
 this morning heading to the lake, I stopped the 
 spy, who was hastening to apprise Gibbons and 
 Garland of your being in their power. Both 
 had vowed to be revenged of you, for you had 
 often exposed them to imminent danger, by 
 following them in dark and stormy nights, when 
 they did not believe that the soldiery would 
 leave their quarters." 
 
 " And now, Dwyer, what can be done for 
 you?" said Kennedy. 
 
 *' Let me go with you," said the outlaw. 
 " Let me, by loyal and honest service, prove 
 that necessity, not choice, led me to oppose the 
 laws." 
 
 " Your wish shall be granted ; you shall be 
 enrolled in my own company." 
 
 The outlaw bowed in grateful acknowledg- 
 ment ; and on arriving at head-quarters, the 
 commanding officer received Dwyer into the 
 28th, and promised him his protection.
 
 THE MARCH
 
 THE MARCH. 
 
 Early on a sweet spring morning, the de- 
 tached companies of the 28th marched from 
 "Woodford for head- quarters. Than this dis- 
 tinguished regiment no finer body of men 
 could be found. Some corps might boast larger 
 grenadiers, or a more compact light infantry ; 
 but a military eye would dwell with pleasure on 
 the ranks of this gallant regiment. The termi- 
 nation of the war had enabled Colonel Hilson, 
 the commanding officer, to invalid all whose 
 best days had gone by ; and while a large pro- 
 portion of veteran soldiers remained, the vacan- 
 cies were filled with the elite of the western 
 peasantry, who, from their naturally martial 
 VOL. I. F
 
 122 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 disposition, and the absence of useful or manu- 
 facturing employment, are ever ready to adopt 
 a military life, and leave a home, which, from 
 neglected advantages, and the abandonment of 
 the heartless landlords, can promise no perma- 
 nent advantage to the tenant, beyond that ac- 
 quired by labour barely requited, by procuring 
 the common necessaries of existence. 
 
 On the third evening the flank companies 
 rejoined the regiment, whose route being for a 
 northern sea-port, moved the following morn- 
 ing, and, in two divisions, directed its march 
 on Newry. 
 
 Ireland, the great military depot of Britain, 
 was in agitation from one extremity to the 
 other. A simultaneous movement of the sol- 
 diery had taken place ; the effective regiments 
 were ordered to the coast for embarkation ; the 
 field artillery left the forts where they had been 
 cantoned ; and the corresponding marches of 
 militia and veteran companies to replace the 
 garrisons vacated by the corps ordered on ser-
 
 THE MARCH. 123 
 
 vice, crowded the leading roads, and filled the 
 towns lying in the line of march to an overflow. 
 On the fourth day the Enniskillen dragoons 
 and the 28th regiment, which had been moving 
 by parallel routes, crossed each other at Long- 
 ford. The barracks were occupied by English 
 militia, and the inns and private houses were 
 assigned to the soldiers on their march; and 
 from the smallness of the town, could afford 
 but indifferent accommodation to. both the dra- 
 goons and infantry. Colonel Hilson and Ken- 
 nedy were billeted in the same house where 
 Captain Mac Carthy with Cornet Mansell 
 had been already quartered ; and, as the three 
 former had been well acquainted, and served 
 together during the Peninsular war, the acci- 
 dental meeting on the march was a subject of 
 satisfaction to all. 
 
 Colonel Hilson had commenced his military 
 career in the Royal Irish Artillery. He served 
 in that corps till its reduction, after the rebellion 
 of 1798, and rejoining the army after the short
 
 124 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 peace, entered into the line, and distinguished 
 himself in the Peninsula. He had been on the 
 personal staff of the lamented Picton, and, 
 on the termination of the war, obtained the 
 command of a regiment for his past services. 
 Hilson held a proud place in the annals of 
 British bravery. Admired by his officers and 
 beloved by his men, he had, by a system pe- 
 culiar to himself, brought his regiment to a 
 state of efficiency and discipline which justly 
 ranked it among the finest in the service ; and 
 yet severity of drill, and that disgrace to the 
 British army, corporal punishment inflicted for 
 trivial offences, were unknown in the 28th. 
 
 Hilson was in the prime of life ; his figure 
 tall and slight, with a burnt brow and faded 
 cheek, which told of fatigue endured, and a 
 residence in unhealthy climates; his eye, like 
 Napoleon's, was dark, quick, and searching; 
 and in the character of his face there was 
 something so manly and intelligent, that one 
 preferred it far to fresher beauty and a more
 
 THE MARCH. 125 
 
 regular cast of features. Mac Carthy had been 
 for a time attached to the same staff with 
 Hilson ; and although no two men on earth 
 were more dissimilar in their habits, they en- 
 tertained for each other a sincere regard. 
 
 As the evening advanced the lowering of the 
 clouds, and a rising wind gave token of an ap- 
 proaching tempest. Young Mansell complained 
 of fatigue, and retired early, leaving his com- 
 panions to talk over their wine of past cam- 
 paigns and military adventure, and speculate 
 on those scenes of martial life which were now 
 in perspective. Time flew unheeded. Hilson, 
 though proverbially moderate in his cups, exhi- 
 bited no wish to abridge the conviviality of his 
 friends; while 3Iac Carthy, whose spirits rose 
 as the hours advanced to midnight, amused his 
 companions with curious anecdotes of himself, 
 given in that naive manner which, when he 
 pleased, made his stories irresistible. 
 
 Kennedy alone seemed thoughtful. — "Frank," 
 said the dragoon, " art thou arranging thy
 
 126 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 affairs, man ? Come, rouse thee, boy ; for 
 ' when shall we three meet again V What, ho ! 
 some wine, here. Hang it, the bell is broken. 
 Kennedy, thou art some ten years younger 
 than Hilson and myself; thou hast a happy 
 share of effrontery, with a swagger in thy gait, 
 which no bar-maid can withstand. The host's 
 daughter is pert and pretty. Go down, use 
 thy winning ways, and get us a cooper of 
 sounder port than the last the jade sent 
 us." 
 
 Kennedy rose with a smile, and left the room 
 to do his comrade's bidding. 
 
 '* Frank is but dull to-night," said the colonel. 
 " Is he in love, Maurice?" 
 
 " Probably enough," answered Mac Carthy. 
 *' It would be a pity he made a fool of himself 
 — he's a kind lad." 
 
 " And a brave one," said Hilson. " We 
 should be proud of him, Maurice, for he's a 
 favourable specimen of Ireland : he has a lion's 
 spirit, with a woman's heart."
 
 THE MARCH. 127 
 
 " A. woman's heart ! Pish ! — a woman has no 
 heart," said the dragoon scornfully. 
 
 " Come, Maurice, leave the sex alone. I 
 mention Kennedy, to prove that a sensitive 
 heart may inhabit the same breast which holds 
 a daring spirit. On the retreat from Burgos^ 
 his was one of the covering regiments, and con- 
 sequently its losses were severe. A sergeant 
 who was accompanied by his wife, with an in- 
 fant in her arms, was killed early in the retreat, 
 and she soon after died from fatigue. At the 
 close of the hot skirmish Kennedy was retir- 
 ing, having driven back the French advance, 
 when the body of a young and beautiful female 
 lying dead on the road side attracted his atten- 
 tion. He stooped to look at it, and the men 
 recognised the wife of their deceased comrade. 
 A child was folded in the arms of the corpse. 
 Kennedy gazed on the infant — it was alive and 
 sleeping. His eyes filled as he gazed on this 
 singular picture of human destitution — a sleep- 
 ing infant — a dead mother, and all around be-
 
 128 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 speaking" war, and want, and desolation. * I 
 could not leave it,' he said; and raising the 
 slumbering child, he folded it carefully in his 
 cloak, while the soldiers turned a few sods with 
 their bayonets, and threw them lightly over the 
 body of the ill-starred mother. With the as- 
 sistance of his servant he conveyed the poor 
 orphan safely to the lines, and afterwards had 
 it sent to England and placed in one of our 
 military asylums for soldiers' children. 
 
 " I saw Kennedy at the storming of Badajoz; 
 the company lost its captain, and he led it to 
 the assault. I saw him place the first ladder : 
 he mounted it, and it was thrown from the 
 walk by the French. He mounted it again 
 and again ; and though bleeding from bayonet 
 thrusts and sword cuts, he made good at last 
 his desperate footing, and followed by his daring 
 comrades, he carried in succession the different 
 defences of the castle ; and as they drove the 
 French from work to work, above the infernal 
 din of that tremendous night, the roar of can-
 
 THE MARCH. 129 
 
 non, and the roll of musquetry, the hissing of 
 rockets, and the bursting of shells, the wild and 
 terror-striking cheer of the 88th was audible, 
 mingled with their well-known cry of * Faugh a 
 ballagh.'"* 
 
 '* Frank is a gallant fellow," said the dra- 
 goon. " But what a night it is ! — how it blows ! 
 — and lightning too !— it is a regular tempest." 
 
 " A tremendous night to be in the channel. 
 Ha ! that squall ! it shakes the very table." 
 
 " It was such a night last autumn," said Mac 
 Carthy, " when the American vessel went ashore 
 on the northern coast, where I was then quar- 
 tered. We were brought out early next morn- 
 ing by the magistrate, to preserve from plunder 
 any property which might come ashore. At" a 
 short distance from the vessel, which was now 
 
 * " Faugh a ballagh" is the charging word of the 87lh and 
 88tli Irish regiments. Its literal meaning is, " clear the way." 
 A French ofl&cer, speaking of the Peninsular war, says, " that 
 nothing shook the steadiness of the French infantry, but the 
 wild cheer of the Irish regiments, as they came up to a bayonet 
 charge."
 
 130 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 lying high and dry upon the sands, I observed 
 something drift in with the tide. Some of the 
 peasantry had watched it, and descending from 
 the cliffs, they were examining what it was, 
 when I rode off to ascertain if it was any thing 
 worth saving. On coming up, the country 
 people left it, and retired hastily. It was the 
 body of a man, apparently a foreigner. No 
 clothes except a sailor's trowsers were on the 
 corpse; but the shirt appeared too fine to be 
 the property of a common mariner. The pea- 
 sants who had been before me had plundered 
 the pockets, and no clue remained to assist me 
 in determining who the stranger had been. I 
 was retiring slowly, when at the distance of a 
 few paces, my horse struck with his foot a small 
 tin case which the plunderers had dropped in 
 their hurry. I dismounted and picked it up, 
 and finding that it contained a roll of written 
 paper, I brought it with me. The water had 
 not penetrated the case, and the writing re- 
 mained uninjured."
 
 THE xMARCH. 131 
 
 " What was the manuscript?" inquired Co- 
 lonel Hilson. 
 
 " I have but partially looked over it," replied 
 Mac Carthy. '' Are you, Hilson, an adept at 
 decyphering a cramp handwriting ? The scroll 
 is in my writing- box. 
 
 " Bring it hither, Maurice," said the com- 
 mander. " A tale, a story, or even a sailor's 
 will, will be some relief from the tedium of a 
 dull night, in dreary quarters." 
 
 The dragoon produced the case ; and, on 
 opening it, the papers were found in perfect 
 preservation. Kennedy having returned with 
 the handsome bar-maid, on the opening of a 
 fresh bottle, was pronounced by Mac Carthy 
 to have executed his commission successfully ; 
 and while the storm roared fearfully without, 
 the bog-deal fire was replenished, and Hilson 
 finding the manuscript sufficiently legible, read 
 the following narrative to his comrades.
 
 SARSFIELD.
 
 SARSFIELD 
 
 If lusty love should go in quest of beauty. 
 Where should he find it fairer than in Blanche ? 
 If realous love should go in quest of virtue. 
 Where should he find it purer than in Blanche ' 
 If love ambitious sought a match of birth, 
 Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanche ? 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 There is not a sweeter spot on earth than 
 the village of M . To view it to advan- 
 tage, go to the little hill which rises near the 
 river ; and, seated beneath one of the splendid 
 lime-trees which grow upon the mount, turn 
 your eyes down the valley, and follow the many
 
 136 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 windings of the gentle stream. The large and 
 venerable park of the ancient family of De 
 Warre bounds the hamlet with its ivy-clus- 
 tered walls ; and the mansion, unaltered for 
 ages, displays its shafted chimnies through the 
 dark oak wood, which screens it from the vil- 
 lage. Farther off, and in fine relief, the 
 church appears ; the old town in lone and iso- 
 lated majesty, rearing its mouldering battle- 
 ment above the sombre yews, which have been 
 its companions for a century. 
 
 The hillock, from which this fair scene is 
 best viewed, is a favourite haunt of mine. 
 When the summer*s day is closing, it is re- 
 freshing to visit this quiet spot — following the 
 wooded banks of the sparkling rivulet. And 
 yet this retreat is seldom sought by others : 
 some wild story, of a long-forgotten murder, 
 is prevalent in the neighbourhood : the peasant 
 returning from his labour, hurries hastily on ; 
 the milk-maid ceases in her carol ; and the 
 schoolboy winds up his fishing-line, and passes
 
 SARSFIELD. 137 
 
 quickly down the brook, although a sullen 
 pool eddies around the base of the acclivity 
 here, and offers a likely retreat for the larger 
 fish to rest in. 
 
 But here I love to wander : here T love to 
 see the evening sun descend behind the distant 
 high grounds ; and here my full heart can often 
 find relief, undisturbed by the mockery of hu- 
 man sympathy, and spared from the insulting 
 pity of a heartless world. 
 
 God ! — my boys ! — and those too, my 
 youngest, and my last ! * * ^ 
 * # . # ik^ ^ 
 
 1 spent the best portion of my life beneath 
 the glowing skies of India. Ambition taught 
 me to submit to all the inconveniences and 
 dangers of a torrid clime. I grew opulent, 
 and looked impatiently to the hour when my 
 labours should be crowned with success, and 
 I should return to my native land, with wealth, 
 not only sufficient for my wants, but for my 
 wishes. That time came. I returned to Eng-
 
 XdS STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 land safely : my name was but a lowly one, 
 my family obscure. I would raise it up by a 
 proud alliance ; and I succeeded. My ambition 
 was nearly satisfied. I had children. I had 
 wealth. I was allied to a family old as the 
 Conquest. I had become purchaser of their 
 ancient place ; and under a well-concerted 
 plea, assumed the proud name and arms of my 
 wife, who was a descendant of the house of De 
 War re. 
 
 My wife died suddenly ; and with that event, 
 a consequent course of misery opened, which 
 has seldom been surpassed in the detail of pri- 
 vate sufl'ering : — mark how quickly my calami- 
 ties succeeded each other. I had purchased a 
 West India property ; and it was necessary — 
 absolutely necessary, that a master's eye should 
 be placed over it for a time. 
 
 As a companion, I took my eldest boy with 
 me ; and my voyage out was prosperous as 
 my earlier career in life. I visited my estates, 
 arranged their economy, and re-embarked for
 
 SARSFIELD. 139 
 
 Europe. The wind was fair as I could wish ; 
 the sea which divided me from home was 
 cleft rapidly: — distance decreased, and I re- 
 tired, on the tenth evening of my voyage, to 
 my cabin, to calculate the day on which I 
 should be again in my native England. 
 
 Midnight came : the bell was struck, and the 
 watch changed ; the lamp burned dimly, and I 
 listened to the light slumbers of my boy, who 
 was sleeping in a berth beside me. I quietly 
 sank to repose — deep unbroken repose. Sudden- 
 ly I heard a fearful rushing noise. I was 
 thrown violently from my cot ; the lamp fell 
 and was extinguished: — all was confused— in- 
 definite — horrible ! The water poured down 
 the hatchway. I rushed madly on, and gained 
 the deck ; and in another moment the ship set- 
 tled and sank ! a squall had struck her when 
 under a press of sail : she upset instantly ; and 
 every soul, except myself, went down with her ! 
 # # * # * 
 
 Time brought its cure, and I partially sue-
 
 140 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 ceeded in forgetting mj^ lost child. My second, 
 a girl, grew up with promises of mental endow- 
 ments, well calculated to encourage brilliant 
 hopes in the ardent breast of a parent. Nor 
 was this precocious talent evanescent : her 
 mind was developed with her years, and Nature 
 had formed her in her fairest mould. One 
 circumstance alone alloyed my happiness : there 
 was a delicacy of constitution, perceptible from 
 the cradle, which rendered every care requi- 
 site ; but I hoped the best, and trusted that 
 she would strengthen as she advanced to 
 womanhood. 
 
 The unruffled sweetness of her temper, the in- 
 nocency of her artless disposition, wound round 
 my heart, and I adored — nay, worshipped Emily. 
 Alas! how fugitive were the pleasing hopes I 
 indulged in ! Her looks underwent an alarming 
 change, and my suspicions were fearfully awak- 
 ened. I hurried to London for advice ; and the 
 appalling intelligence was conveyed to me that 
 my girl's case was a consumptive one, I took
 
 SARSFIELD. 141 
 
 her instantly to Lisbon. I spent three years in 
 torturing suspense ; but change of climate was 
 unsuccessful — human aid was inefficient — the 
 decree had gone forth, and at Nice the darling of 
 my soul resigned her gentle spirit, and, calm as 
 a dying infant, breathed her last sigh, invoking 
 a blessing upon her father ; and sinking on my 
 agonised bosom, her eye, dim in death, was 
 turned upon mine, to give me its last lingering 
 look of earthly love. 
 
 I brought her corpse to England, and yonder 
 marble, in the village church, stands over all 
 
 that remains of the child whom I idolised. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ■^ ^ 
 
 Evening has closed a sultry day. The sun 
 is sinking slowly, and the dew rising in fleecy 
 wreaths from the meadows beneath, eddies 
 round the mount I stand upon. Was ever 
 scene so quiet and so fair ? It would afford a 
 goodly subject of repose to the magic pencil of 
 Lorraine. All is peaceful, heavenly rest. AH, 
 did I say ? O God ! not all. My breast, my
 
 142 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 tortured self-accusing breast, forbids me to share 
 that calm which pervades all beside. My boy — 
 my youngest — and my last ! * * * 
 
 # * :M: # # * * 
 
 I hear a sound distant and indistinct. The 
 dust rises, where the thick hedges of holly in- 
 terrupt my view of the road. The tread of 
 horses' feet is audible, and now lances appear, 
 and pennons float gaily on the evening breeze. 
 It is cavalry on their march— how beautiful ! 
 how imposing ! The horse hair dances on their 
 caps — the rays of fading sunshine flash from 
 bit and lance- blade. They issue from the thick 
 fenced road, and sweep gracefully round the 
 hillock where I stand. 
 
 Merciful Heaven ! what bitter recollections 
 are mine, when I view the horseman's foreign 
 air and dark uniform ! Edward, my lost 
 one, such were thy companions : — thy laugh 
 was once as light as their's, thy seat was once 
 as firm. They shared thy hours of military 
 idleness, and they rushed with thee to that fatal
 
 SARSFIELD. 143 
 
 charge, that last fearful, desperate encounter, 
 which closed the day of Leipsic, and dyed its 
 fatal river in the best blood of France's proud- 
 est chivalry. 
 
 They have survived. But where art thou ? 
 — lying with the countless thousands who fell 
 there, unnoticed and forgotten ! =^ * *' 
 
 I am hurrying to the painful period of my 
 history : — would I could for ever erase it from 
 my memory ! I was in a moment reft of my 
 eldest son : it was the visitation of Providence, 
 and I submitted. I saw the fairest child, which 
 Heaven could gift a father with, fade gradually 
 on my bosom, and hasten to that pure exist- 
 ence, which more than human innocence and 
 beauty were best adapted for, and yet I did 
 not sink beneath the blow. But — Edward — 
 bitter recollection ! — insane pride and heartless 
 ambition robbed me of thee ! 
 
 To connect my story, I must return to that 
 time when I came back from Jamaica. While
 
 144 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 absent, a stranger arrived and settled in the 
 village. He resided in a neat ornamented cot- 
 tage, surrounded by a garden and shrubbery, 
 and separated from the hamlet by a paddock 
 and pleasure-ground. He called himself Ge- 
 neral Sarsfield ; but minute particulars of what 
 were his means or his objects in selecting the 
 village for his residence, had not yet trans- 
 pired to the most industrious gossips, as the 
 stranger's cold and haughty bearing had hi- 
 therto cut short every effort at inquiry. His 
 family comprised an only daughter, and a few 
 male and female domestics. 
 
 I visited him. He was training flowers in 
 his garden ; a lovely girl of about fourteen 
 years old beside him, and a middle-aged man, 
 his servant, attending him with some necessary 
 implements. 
 
 He received me haughtily, but like a gentle- 
 man, easy and unembarrassed. He conducted 
 me to his house. The interior surprised me; 
 the furniture was handsome, the rooms beau-
 
 SARSFIELD. 145 
 
 tifully clean, while the more elegant articles of 
 domestic use, the harp, the piano, and well 
 filled bookcase, evidently bespoke the owner 
 as belonging to the higher grade of society. 
 
 And yet he and I were never intimate. There 
 was something in the lofty bearing of this sin- 
 gular man which claimed a tacit superiority 
 over me. I felt it was so, and I disliked him. 
 Other circumstances also excited those feelings 
 deeply. He was avowedly an Irishman and a 
 Romanist. I was prejudiced against the one — 
 I was bigotted against the other ; and my aver- 
 sion towards General Sarsfield became uncon- 
 trolable-and unbounded. 
 
 It was possible that time or a more intimate 
 acquaintance with his character might have in- 
 duced me to alter the feelings which unfavour- 
 able first impressions had given birth to; but 
 an incident occurred which fatally confirmed 
 our mutual enmity. 
 
 I was proud and tenacious of my manorial 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 146 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 rights. A pheasant having wandered from my 
 preserve, was inadvertently shot by the gene- 
 ral's favourite servant in his shrubbery. I had 
 the man summoned before the next magistrate. 
 The village attorney, a vindictive, troublesome 
 personage, incited my angry feelings. I pressed 
 the charge on — he was convicted accordingly, 
 and the fine recorded : the general paid the 
 penalty on the spot: we separated, and from 
 that time ceased to visit or to speak. 
 
 It was shortly after my quarrel with General 
 Sarsfield that my daughter's indisposition com- 
 menced. I left the country immediately, first 
 entrusting the education of my son to the cler- 
 gyman of the parish, who had lately left a fel- 
 lowship in Oxford for the living of which 1 
 had the presentation. His character and ac- 
 quirements were such, as to relieve me in a 
 great degree from any anxiety in leaving Ed- 
 ward behind ; and I could now turn my undi- 
 vided attention to my declining daughter. The
 
 SARSFIELD. 147 
 
 village and all its lighter concerns were soon 
 forgotten, and I ceased to remember that such 
 a person as General Sarsfield was in existence. 
 It was evening when I struck off the great 
 London road, which passes within two miles of 
 
 M . The spring was well advanced, the 
 
 hedges in full leaf, and the birds singing mer- 
 rily from the surrounding coppices. I had now 
 entered on my own estate, and a proud feeling 
 rose in my breast, while my eyes wandered 
 widely round, and only rested on what was 
 " mine own." But it was soon checked. I 
 thought on Emily : she had been beside me 
 when I last travelled this road, and the car- 
 riage now held but me, its solitary occupant. 
 This chain of bitter thought was interrupted 
 by the postilions coming to a sudden stop. 
 The narrow road was undergoing some repairs, 
 and a pony phaeton was passing the broken 
 way, and obliged me to pull up and wait its 
 egress. I looked at the travellers, and felt 
 my cheek redden. It was my old acquaint-
 
 148 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 ance General Sarsfield. Time had made some 
 changes in his appearance, but one look showed 
 that the proud spirit of the man was unbroken. 
 His figure was still erect and dignified, his eye 
 retained its former fire, and his hair, silvered 
 by age, was turned back, and hung down his 
 shoulders in a military cue. A young female of 
 exquisite beauty was beside him ; — never had I 
 seen a lovelier creature. He bowed coldly as 
 he drove slowly by, but his daughter saluted 
 me with glowing cheeks and evident emotion. 
 
 And did she feel for me ? I looked upon my 
 mourning dress and the sable liveries of my 
 servants. My recent loss rushed back upon my 
 memory — I hid my face in my handkerchief, 
 nor removed it until the carriage stopped at the 
 Hall. 
 
 I sat alone in the gloomy oak-panelled din- 
 ing-room. The walls were crowded with heavy, 
 ill-designed portraits of the De Warres. The 
 armed knight and stately dame, the crosiered 
 prelate and the ermined judge were there. —
 
 SARSFIELD. 149 
 
 What were they to me? I would have given 
 up all the heraldic glories from the Heptarchy 
 for one radiant smile of a daughter like Sars- 
 field's ; and I had such another : — had— hut she 
 was gone. What a strangely constituted mind 
 was mine ! That innocent, heavenly girl should 
 have smoothed the asperity of my temper, and 
 softened my animosity to her parent ; but the 
 reverse was the consequence. I felt that he 
 possessed a blessing which had been refused to 
 me :— I envied him his treasure, and I hated 
 him anew. 
 
 On the morrow Edward arrived from Oxford 
 with his tutor. He entered my dressing-room, 
 and I held my sole surviving child to my heart. 
 I had left him a boy ; but a handsome, well- 
 formed man now called me father. All my 
 pride returned as I gazed on his fine, intelligent 
 countenance, for there the spirit and the beauty 
 of the De Warres were blended. Sorrow for 
 my former loss abated; my mind was now
 
 150 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 directed to plans for Edward's aggrandizement; 
 it became a leading principle, and engrossed 
 my thoughts — my dreams ; and once more I 
 indulged in my darling vice — boundless, un- 
 restricted ambition. 
 
 Not very distant from the Hall was the man- 
 sion of the Earl of Eustonby. His property 
 joined mine. For many years the Earl had 
 held a leading situation in the cabinet; but 
 owing to causes not relevant to this story, he 
 had failed in a diplomatic mission, fallen conse- 
 quently into disgrace, and been obliged to retire 
 from office. Like myself, he had been the 
 founder of his own fortunes, and raised himself 
 by political intrigue to the peerage. He had 
 an only daughter, and it mutually occurred to 
 us that we might ally our children, and unite 
 the properties. 
 
 The lawyer, whom I cursorily mentioned be- 
 fore, was employed, and in a few weeks we 
 had arranged preliminaries, and laid the foun-
 
 SARSFIELD. 151 
 
 dation of a towering superstructure. With my 
 wealth, and his peculiar talent for aggrandize- 
 ment, what was it not possible to effect J 
 
 The union of our estates would leave my son 
 the wealthiest individual in the county, and 
 Lord Eustonby had been too long conversant 
 with state intrigue to feel any difficulty in at- 
 taining the primary object of my ambition — 
 the earldom in remainder to Edward and his 
 heirs. • 
 
 Our negotiation was so privately carried on 
 that we had completed the arrangements with- 
 out a suspicion being entertained of our de- 
 signs. All was in train. I advanced £50,000 
 to Lord Eustonby to pay ofif the last instalment 
 of the purchase money of his acquired pro- 
 perty, and he had taken preliminary steps in 
 the important design of securing to my son the 
 reversion of the title of Eustonby. 
 
 The material points of this important affair 
 being now, as his lordship and I supposed,
 
 152 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 finally arranged, all that remained to be done 
 was to introduce the parties to each other, and 
 permit them to go through the ceremonial of a 
 formal courtship. Edward, who had been gra- 
 duating at Oxford, was accordingly sent for, 
 and I carried him with me on a visit to Eu- 
 stonby Castle. 
 
 The Earl's daughter was young, tolerably 
 well-looking, showily accomplished, and fa- 
 shionably brought up. She assented to her 
 father's project, when it was mentioned, as a 
 matter-of-course transaction of life, and seemed 
 agreeably disappointed when, as her intended 
 husband, a handsome, noble-looking youth was 
 presented. The day passed heavily over. The 
 dinner was grand, tedious, and dull. Wines 
 and plate and servants were all arranged to 
 produce effect. I watched Edward narrowly, to 
 see how his mind was affected by this pomp; 
 but his demeanour did not by any means satisfy 
 me. Throughout the evening he was abstract-
 
 SARSFIELD. 153 
 
 ed and reserved. The hour for retiring at 
 length came, and I beckoned him to follow me 
 to my chamber. 
 
 He came. I closed the door, and drew my 
 chair near to his. I commenced with due 
 deliberation an expose of my plans, while I 
 generally recommended an early marriage, as 
 likely to conduce to his happiness, and as being 
 accordant to my own wishes. He heard me 
 calmly and without interruption ; but when I 
 wound up my speech by acquainting him that 
 his future wife was already selected, and all 
 matters arranged for his being speedily united 
 to Lady Caroline Singleton, he started as if 
 from a reverie, and declared that such an event 
 was utterly impossible ! In vain I pressed him 
 to state any reasonable objection ; in vain I 
 pointed out the proud prospects that this al- 
 liance would open up. I used every argument; 
 I resorted to every artifice; I tried to play 
 upon his filial affection ; I attempted to strike 
 the chord of his ambition. Peerage and wealth
 
 154 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 and power were placed before him. He was 
 immoveable. My temper gradually gave 
 way. I had never experienced aught from a 
 child but implicit obedience. I became pas- 
 sionate — violent— delirious — ordered him from 
 my presence, giving him one night's time for 
 reflection, with the alternative, of obedience to 
 my wishes, or ceasing to consider me a pa- 
 rent. 
 
 1 passed a sleepless night. A few hours ago 
 I imagined my wishes on the point of being 
 realised ; but suddenly a gigantic obstacle had 
 arisen, and my darling scheme was threatened 
 with total shipwreck ere it was well launched. 
 Early next morning I sent to my son's chamber : 
 it was unoccupied, and the servant presented 
 me with a letter, which had been just brought 
 by a peasant. 
 
 The letter was from Edward : it simply stated 
 " that any further discussion on the subject of 
 our recent conversation would be at once un- 
 pleasant and unnecessary ; and therefore he had
 
 SARSFIELD. 155 
 
 gone to the Hall, there to abide my determi- 
 nation." 
 
 I found, too late, that I had committed a 
 great error in calculating on passive obedience 
 from Edward. The tone of his letter was firm, 
 respectful, and decisive. I had a bold and re- 
 solute spirit to subdue, or my ambition-built 
 edifice would crumble to the earth. '■ 
 
 I sent for Lord Eustonby. He was surprised 
 — thunderstruck ; but his habitual self-posses- 
 sion soon returned. *' We must," he said, '* be 
 prudent and politic. Had he formed any at- 
 tachment V I could not tell ; I never dreamed 
 of such a thing occurring. Our consultation 
 ended by my starting for the Hall, accompanied 
 by the Earl. 
 
 But where was Edward ? He had retired to 
 his room half distracted ; for that interview with 
 me had dispelled the love-dream on which, for 
 months, he had existed. Yes, he loved pas- 
 sionately — devotedly. He met General Sars- 
 field by accident ; they became acquainted, and
 
 156 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 Edward visited at the cottage ; and what young 
 heart could be near Blanche Sarsfield, and un- 
 moved ? Nor was his love unblessed ; she re- 
 turned it faithfully. 
 
 They loved imprudently, for they loved in se- 
 cret ; but my return was anxiously expected, 
 and that the poignancy of my domestic affliction 
 would be abated; and then, Edward would ask 
 me to sanction his addresses, and demand 
 Blanche from her father. But this sudden blow ! 
 how could he break it to her — her, whose high 
 honour had recoiled from listening to his vows, 
 unhallowed by a father's approbation ? how 
 would that proud one feel, when told that he 
 was already affianced to another, and if she 
 dared to follow him to the altar, a parent's 
 curse would mingle with the nuptial benison ? 
 He left the fatal house which threatened ruin 
 to his peace, and before a domestic was awake 
 had concealed himself in the gener.ars shrub- 
 bery. 
 
 Nor was young Blanche a late sleeper that
 
 SARSFIELD. 157 
 
 mofDing: she knew her lover had returned, 
 and that he would not be dilatory in seek- 
 ing her. Her heart beat, her cheek flushed, 
 as she crossed the garden : — pride would have 
 restrained her ; but would she give pain to one 
 so devoted to her as she believed Edward was ; 
 and when the time had almost come when con- 
 cealment would be at an end ? 
 
 Who could blame her ? she was scarce seven- 
 teen. And oh ! at that age, did ever pride 
 contend with passion, that the latter gained not 
 the mastery ? She came : Edward was stand- 
 ing in the well-known arbour ; his head rested 
 on his hand, as if lost in bitter thought ; he 
 leaned against the broad beech which shel- 
 tered him : the light step had not been heard, 
 when Blanche— his own loved Blanche, was 
 beside him. A cry of delight burst from him, 
 as he caught her in his arms-— pressed her to 
 his heart — called her by every endearing name, 
 and covered her cheek and neck with kisses. 
 Blanche started back, and gently withdrew
 
 iOS STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 from his embrace. He was much agitated : 
 they had been separated, and probably his feel- 
 ings overpowered him. She gazed on his face : 
 there was wildness in his look ; unwonted and 
 excited ardour in his manner. He took her 
 hand in his : the touch was hot and tremulous. 
 
 ** Edward, you are disturbed — unhappy." 
 He smiled sadly. 
 
 •* I am agitated, dearest Blanche : you came 
 unexpectedly, and your appearance flurried me 
 for a moment." 
 
 *' Yes, dear Edward, such must be the conse- 
 quence of acting as you and I have done : we 
 have suffered ourselves by degrees to be sur- 
 prised into a forgetfulness of our duty ; but, 
 thank God, the hour is come, and I shall no 
 longer reproach myself with duplicity. Nay, 
 Edward, your cheek colours ! think not I meant 
 to pain you ; think not, because I prize your 
 honour and my own above any other feeling, 
 that my affection for you is, or can be, abated. 
 No : conscience has reproached me with want
 
 SARSFIELD. 159 
 
 of candour to one who has so entirely confided 
 in me ; and I rejoice that I can now throw 
 myself upon a father's bosom, confess my error, 
 and hear him say that he forgives me." 
 
 There was a momentary silence. — ** Blanche, 
 a few hours have made me the most miserable 
 wretch existing ; and it rests with you, whether 
 life shall be endurable much longer." 
 
 The blood deserted her pale cheek ; her eye 
 was fixed upon his speaking countenance. He 
 continued in faltering accents, ** You have 
 told me I was dear to you. Wilt thou, Blanche, 
 be mine, — nmie only, and for ever ?" 
 
 *' Edward, why doubt me ? I have confessed 
 more than maiden ought. I have owned for 
 you a woman's love. Do you want proof?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Be it so. Come with me to my father ; I 
 will kneel at his feet, and ask him, for my sake, 
 to forget unkindness to your parent, and " 
 
 " Stop, stop, Blanche ; — poor girl ! little dost 
 thou imagine what misery a few hours have
 
 160 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 wrought." She trembled violently. " I cannot 
 proceed : — hast thou courage, my loved one l" 
 A struggle was visible in Blanche's face ; but 
 it was momentary : she was a woman, but a 
 proud one ; her eyes were elevated ; her lips 
 compressed: — she paused to collect her reso- 
 lution. 
 
 " Courage !" she said, — " yes ; go on : I am 
 the daughter of Sarsfield : — prove me." 
 
 " Blanche, I am wretched ! — miserable be- 
 yond idea ! I have heard the ruin of my hopes 
 from him, on whose breath my happiness de- 
 pended. I am debarred from wecMing thee 
 — and — I am destined for another .'" 
 
 A shriek burst from her lips ; and the next 
 moment she was insensible in his arms. He 
 placed her on the rustic bench — called her by 
 every dear name :— he prayed — he raved — he 
 cried aloud for help :~some one approached 
 i-apidly, and General Sarsfield stood before him. 
 
 ^ Tp ^t* W ^ 
 
 Lord Eustonby and I were seated in deep
 
 SARSFIELD. 161 
 
 consultation in the library. Simmonds, the 
 village lawyer, had been with us. He had dis- 
 covered the secret of my son's attachment ; and 
 the mystery of his aversion to our arrangements 
 was now cleared up. I felt enraged and mor- 
 tified. My plans were interrupted — probably 
 overturned ; and I owed my defeat to my an- 
 cient enemy. Edward was not to be found ; 
 and we despatched Simmonds to place spies 
 upon his movements, and ascertain whether he 
 had visited the cottage since his return. My 
 mind wr , a perfect chaos, and Lord Eustonby 
 appeared unhappy and chagrined. Suddenly 
 we heard a noise : steps paced the corridor 
 hastily ; the folding-doors flew open ; and Ed- 
 ward, in great disorder, entered. 
 
 A stranger was with him : he advanced de- 
 liberately to the centre of the apartment ; and 
 one glance at his commanding figure assured 
 me it was General Sarsfield. 
 
 For a considerable time we looked on this 
 unexpected visitor in breathless astonishment.
 
 162 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 Sarsfield alone was perfectly cool and collected, 
 and was the first to break this ominous silence. 
 — " I come here, Mr. De Warre," he said, in a 
 deep, solemn voice, ** to discharge a double 
 duty. I owe it to you, sir, as a gentleman ; 
 and it is due to me as a father. I have a 
 daughter; and circumstances which have oc- 
 curred within this hour make this interview 
 unavoidable. Your son, sir, has professed an 
 attachment for my child ; and his declaration 
 has been, I fear, too favourably received, for 
 the happiness of either." 
 
 I had gradually recovered my composure, 
 and felt piqued at the cold manner in which 
 the general alluded to the event which had 
 marred my projects. 
 
 *' I thank you," said I, proudly; *' but for 
 that unwelcome news, I am already debtor to 
 another." 
 
 Sarsfield coloured at my observation ; but 
 proceeded with wonderful composure — " Your 
 remarks, sir, are neither flattering, nor gentle-
 
 SARSFIELD. 163 
 
 manly ; but let them pass. I have promised 
 one, who is very dear to me, to learn your sen- 
 timents from your own lips. I beg to ask dis- 
 tinctly, have you, sir, been aware, which I was 
 not, of the existence of the attachment I have 
 hinted at ; and whether your son would have 
 your full approbation for prosecuting further 
 his addresses to Miss Sarsfield ?" 
 
 I was burning with rage ; — Lord Eustonby 
 seemed lost in amazement, and Edward hung 
 upon my words as if his life was included in 
 my reply. — " General Sarsfield, if such title 
 in reality be yours, allow me to answer you 
 briefly and definitively. Till this morning I 
 scarcely recollected that such a person as Miss 
 Sarsfield existed; and the boundless disparity 
 in rank and fortune between the parties pre- 
 cluded all thought of my son's wise intention 
 of marrying the daughter of a papist, and, for 
 aught I know to the reverse, an Irish refugee 
 and adventurer. I have but to add for your, and 
 for his information, that the moment he unites
 
 164 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 himself to her, I cast him from me for ever, and 
 my curse — a father's deep, desperate curse, shall 
 attend him to his dying hour." 
 
 With ominous calmness Sarsfield listened 
 imtil my malediction was pronounced. *' You 
 have answered me," he said, *' in full. You 
 have done more; you have wantonly insulted 
 me, my religion, and my country. For myself, 
 I fling your false and slanderous insinuations 
 back, with the contempt that the offspring of 
 Sarsfield, and the descendant of a line of 
 princes, bestows upon a peasant-born wretch, 
 who strives to veil his lowly origin under a 
 borrowed name. Your insult to my faith, I 
 leave you to settle with your God ; but for 
 my country, you have my mortal defiance." So 
 saying, he pulled his glove from his hand, and 
 hurled it in my face. " And if craven and 
 coward are not the inheritance of your menial 
 cradle, I shall expect you an hour hence at the 
 three large elm trees, a mile east of the village." 
 
 With the utmost dignity he strode from the
 
 SARSFIELD. 165 
 
 room. I attempted to follow, but Edward fell 
 in a fit upon the carpet. We carried him to 
 his room. Lord Eustonby endeavoured to calm 
 ray passion, and persuaded me to abandon every 
 intention I might have of meeting Sarsfield, 
 Soon afterwards he left me, with an assurance 
 that he would return on the morrow. 
 
 The day dragged heavily on. My dinner was 
 removed untasted. I sat in melancholy soli- 
 tude, brooding over the failure of my schemes, 
 when Simmonds was introduced. His spies 
 had been on the alert, and brought him intel- 
 ligence that there was unusual bustle among 
 the inmates of the cottage. Trunks were pack- 
 ing, and preparations making for an instant jour- 
 ney ; and it was the attorney's opinion that an 
 elopement would take place that night, and that 
 Edward's movements should be closely watched. 
 The information brought by Simmonds was 
 further confirmed, by finding that my son's 
 chamber was deserted, and neither he nor his 
 servant could be found.
 
 166 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 I determined to counteract their plans. I 
 ordered horses to be saddled^ and despatched 
 messengers to watch the northern road, which 
 I deemed the route most likely to be taken by 
 the fugitives ; and muffling myself in a cloak, 
 I set out with Simmonds to observe the move- 
 ments of ray enemy. 
 
 It was now quite dark. By a private door 
 in the park wall we came out close to Sars- 
 field's cottage. Leaving the attorney to watch 
 the road, I crossed into the shrubbery which 
 surrounded the general's house, and favoured 
 by the darkness, stationed myself before a lower 
 window. Within, much confusion was appa- 
 rent ; the furniture was disordered, and the 
 floor covered with trunks and boxes. I was 
 anxiously waiting for the demonstration of 
 what was going forward in the cottage, when 
 suddenly a powerful hand was laid upon my 
 collar, and a pistol presented to my head. I 
 turned round alarmed, and found myself in the 
 grasp of my enemy.
 
 SARSFIELJ). 167 
 
 *' So!" he said, as the cloak fell, '* is Mr. 
 De Warre, as he chooses to call himself, come 
 to visit General Sarsfield, not as a manly foe, 
 with his weapon in his hand, and the blessed 
 light of day to witness the result, but in the 
 dark, as best becomes an eves-dropper and a 
 coward ?" 
 
 I was unable to articulate a word. I felt 
 abased, degraded. Contempt, ineffable con- 
 tempt, was on the general's lip as he addressed 
 me in bitter scorn. I at last found words to 
 mention the object which had brought me 
 within his premises. *' And you feared that 
 the heir of — I really forget your proper appel- 
 lation — would be trepanned into matrimony 
 with the daughter of the Irish adventurer? 
 Come in, I will relieve your doubts. Nay, 
 fear nothing. I will not harm thee, man ; for, 
 God's sooth ! thou art utterly beneath my ven- 
 geance." 
 
 I felt as it were paralysed in his presence, 
 and mechanically followed him. He took a
 
 168 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 lamp from the hall table, and ushered me into 
 a back apartment in which I had never been 
 before. 
 
 The room was evidently intended for study 
 or private devotion. The shelves were filled 
 with books — the table strewn with papers. 
 Beneath a fine oil painting of the Virgin there 
 was a small altar and crucifix. On the former 
 an illuminated missal was lying open, and a 
 small casket beside it. Sarsfield reverently 
 approached, and crossing himself, took up the 
 casket, and returned to where I was standing 
 lost in astonishment. " I visited you this 
 morning, sir. I put a simple question to you, 
 and you answered it with mockery and insult. 
 I am known as General Sarsfield, and you as 
 Mr. De Warre ; and now let us see which has 
 the better claim to the title he has assumed." 
 
 He paused and unclosed the casket; it ap- 
 peared filled with jewels and other articles of 
 value. He pointed with his finger to a cross 
 of the order of Maria Theresa, and continued —
 
 SARSFIELD. 169 
 
 •'' That was on my breast when, on the morn- 
 ing of the 14th of June, I carried by assault 
 the village of Marengo ; and, but for the unex- 
 pected arrival of Dessaix, might have changed 
 that proud day for France into one of mourn- 
 ing and defeat. That medal I wore at Hohen- 
 linden ; and this at Bardinetto." He took out 
 a small miniature, richly set with diamonds — 
 '* There is a memorial of my youth ; it is the 
 likeness of a lovely woman, and a queen. She 
 came to a stranger's court. She was coldly, 
 cruelly welcomed. She was neglected, despis- 
 ed, and slandered. I was but a nameless hus- 
 sar, but accident made me her champion. I 
 
 fought Count N , her deadliest enemy — 
 
 her implacable and unwearied persecutor. He 
 fell beneath my sword : — that ill-used lady be- 
 stowed this portrait on me, and continued my 
 friend and patroness until her death. These," 
 and he uncovered his scarred bosom — " These 
 are memorials of Rivoli and Bassano; and those 
 sabre-cuts" — he turned back his long grey 
 VOL. I. H
 
 170 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 tresses—** I received in the passage of the 
 Mincio ; and now, sir, are these the tokens of 
 imposture ?" 
 
 I was silent, and he continued — ** You called 
 me traitor too, and now to the proof." He 
 raised the lamp, and turned the light upon two 
 pictures — ** These were my sons — my only 
 sons. That was the elder." I looked, as he 
 pointed to a portrait of a young man in a naval 
 uniform. — " He commanded an English frigate, 
 and was convoying some troop-ships. Two 
 French vessels of superior force chased him : 
 one choice was left him — to lose the convoy or 
 himself. He chose the latter, and dared the 
 unequal conflict. Never was England's flag 
 more desperately defended. His masts went 
 over the side, but the thunder of his cannon 
 was unabated. His assailants boarded him to- 
 gether: he drove them back with slaughter. 
 They told him his ship was sinking: he col- 
 lected the remnant of his men, * feeble and 
 few, but fearless still,' sprang upon the French-
 
 SARSFIELD. 171 
 
 man's deck, and died there, while his shattered 
 frigate went down, the English colours flying 
 to the last, for no enemy's hand had touched 
 them ! 
 
 ** And this," continued he, after a pause, "is 
 the likeness of my other boy. He would be a 
 soldier, and, like his brother's, his career was 
 but a short one. He died at Ciudad Rodrigo. 
 His foot was on the breach, his sword was in 
 his hand — he fell — his last breath was a cheer — 
 his last word was — ' Forward !' They are gone. 
 I gave them to my country — they sealed their 
 loyalty with their lives. Were they the gifts 
 of a traitor ? 
 
 ** And now, sir, return to your home. You 
 have wrought me much mischief and misery. 
 Before to-morrow's sun sets I shall be far from 
 this spot ; and to avoid you and yours, I leave, 
 what was to me, a quiet and a happy resting- 
 place. Let not your son presume to follow me : 
 if he does, his blood be on his head. Tell him 
 he knows not the daughter of Sarsfield . Though
 
 172 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 his portion was a kingdom, Blanche would not 
 wed him, if that union was unhallowed by her 
 parent's blessing. One word, and we part. — I 
 recommend you, charity ; and when you next 
 speak of my poor insulted country, remember 
 she has lavishly given you her treasure and 
 her blood ; and if you cannot be generous — be 
 just!" 
 
 He pointed to the door, led the way with 
 haughty courtesy, and left me at his gate. 
 
 Two days elapsed. Sarsfield, faithful to his 
 word, had removed with all his family, leaving 
 a servant in charge of the cottage, with direc- 
 tions to forward his baggage to a distant sea- 
 port, where he should receive further orders. 
 I was in dreadful alarm for my son : we had 
 heard no tidings of him since he left the Hall, 
 when late in the evening an express arrived 
 from his servant, to say that his master was 
 dangerously ill in a neighbouring town. I in- 
 stantly set off, and found him in a brain fever. 
 He raved incessantly of his " lost Blanche ;"
 
 SARSFIELD. 173 
 
 and my name and Sarsfield's were often men- 
 tioned in his delirium. I learned from his ser- 
 vant that he had followed and attempted to 
 interrupt General Sarsfield's journey ; but the 
 attempt failed. A distressing interview be- 
 tween him and his mistress had taken place, 
 and they parted in a state bordering on dis- 
 traction. 
 
 Edward recovered slowly — youth prevailed — 
 his strength returned, but his spirits had totally 
 forsaken him. I thought society would dispel 
 his melancholy, and invited Lord Eustonby and 
 a numerous party to the Hall. 
 
 On the day when my guests were expected, 
 my son, at a late hour, had not appeared. I felt 
 alarmed, and went in person to ascertain the 
 cause. He was gone; the chamber was de- 
 serted, and the bed had not been occupied the 
 preceding night. A note addressed to me was 
 left upon the table. With trembling anxiety I 
 broke the seal ; — it informed me that he had left 
 the kingdom. Every thing about the Hall re-
 
 174 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 called unhappy recollections; and he revolted 
 from the idea of meeting Lord Eostonby, as he 
 attached much of the misery he suffered to him. 
 He assured me that for a time all inquiry after 
 him would be fruitless, for he had changed his 
 name, and adopted other measures to prevent 
 discovery. 
 
 And so the result proved ; for every exertion 
 to gain any information of himself, or Mervyn, 
 the servant who accompanied him, was abor- 
 tive. 
 
 A year — a miserable year passed, and still no 
 tidings of my absent boy. Europe was con- 
 vulsed and in arms : the disastrous campaign in 
 Russia robbed France of half her glory, and 
 Napoleon was hurled from his throne. There 
 was joy and exultation throughout Britain. 
 But what were victories and events to one so 
 bereaved as 1 ? Could I have found Edward, 
 I would have gone with him, and humbled my- 
 self at the feet of that proud man whom I had 
 once scorned and insulted. I would have sa-
 
 SARSFIELD. 175 
 
 crificed ambition, and power, and fortune, could 
 they have restored to me a son, a happy son, as 
 mine once was, and would have been, but for 
 my false notions of aggrandizement. I deter- 
 mined to use fresh exertions to learn his fate, 
 and prepared to set out for Ireland, where I 
 imagined he might have gone, under the sup- 
 position that Sarsfield would naturally settle 
 in his native country. 
 
 Full of this idea, I issued orders to prepare 
 for my departure, when a person from the vil- 
 lage inn arrived to tell me that a dying man 
 was there, and anxious to speak to me without 
 a moment's delay ; but he had declined to tell 
 the messenger either his name or business. I 
 obeyed the summons, and was conducted to the 
 sick man's chamber. In a feeble voice he re- 
 quested the others to withdraw, and beckoned 
 to me to approach the bed. I came forward 
 and looked at him : — he was a young soldier, 
 dressed in the uniform of a Saxon lancer, and 
 apparently in the last stage of life. He asked
 
 176 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 me if I remembered him. I viewed him more 
 attentively; the face was pale and much dis- 
 figured by a sword-cut : slowly memory re- 
 turned — it was Edward's servant. 
 
 With evident exertion he succeeded in telling 
 me his disastrous tale. My son assumed another 
 name, and repairing to the theatre of war, en- 
 tered the Austrian service. Mervyn loved him 
 too well to separate from him, and he enrolled 
 himself in the same corps. They served that 
 sanguinary campaign together, and Edward 
 perished in the streets of Leipsic, in the last 
 furious charge which decided that fearful day. 
 Mervyn lay beside him badly wounded, and 
 received from his dying master a small packet, 
 -which, with his last breath, he entreated him to 
 convey to me. 
 
 The attached servant faithfully obeyed the 
 wishes of my boy, and used the feeble remnant 
 of departing life to reach the village. Slowly, 
 and with painful exertions, Mervyn communi- 
 cated his fatal message. The people of the
 
 SARSFIELD. 177 
 
 inn, surprised at the silence of the apartment, 
 at last ventured to enter it. They found me 
 stretched across the bed, insensible, and Mer- 
 
 vvn a corpse beside me ! • » » 
 
 * » » * » * * 
 
 Months rolled on unmarked and unregarded. 
 The world was a blank to me. I retired 
 from it, and refused any intercourse with man- 
 kind. Since the day I heard of Edward's 
 death I never left the Hall, but in the gloom of 
 evening, to wander in some secluded part of 
 the domain, and commune with my own sad 
 thoughts in secret. One evening I ventured 
 earlier than usual on my melancholy walk. I 
 was passing an opening in the thick plantations, 
 where a turn of the high road was for a mo- 
 ment visible. I threw a glance suspiciously 
 forward, to satisfy myself that nothing human 
 would disturb my solitude. I became rooted to 
 the spot ; — a funeral was passing. There were 
 tall white plumes waving above the hearse, and 
 one dark carriage carefully closed up, followed
 
 178 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 it. I felt a creeping at my heart as I looked at 
 that lone funeral, and hastened home to brood 
 in silence over my own destitution. 
 
 Night came ; the library was wrapped in 
 deepest gloom, where, by the sickly light of an 
 untrimmed lamp, I was sitting in melancholy 
 abstraction. I heard the door open, and sup- 
 posed it to be some of the domestics coming 
 to perform some necessary duty with their ac- 
 customed silence. I felt my shoulder gently 
 touched, I raised my eyes ; — a tall figure in 
 deep mourning stood beside me. Merciful Hea- 
 ven ! — it was Sarsfield : but oh ! how altered ! 
 — the ruin only, of my once haughty enemy, 
 was now before me ; the cheek was sunken and 
 colourless as a marble statue ; the fire of that 
 once proud eye was totally extinguished : his 
 silver hair fell in neglected ringlets down his 
 shoulders. The step was humble as a penitent's 
 — the figure bent and emaciated. And was 
 this broken-hearted old man he who had rid- 
 den through the red fields of Hohenlinden and
 
 SARSFIELD. 179 
 
 Rivoli, and Marengo ? God ! what is man — 
 his pride — his pomp — his glory ! 
 
 There was a long and harrowing silence : the 
 deep tones of the mourner at last broke it. 
 " De Warre," he said, *• I am childless ! The 
 last of that proud name I gloried in, now 
 stands before you. My last child to-night is 
 laid in the village cemetery." I was utterly 
 overwhelmed. 1 sunk upon my knees; I im- 
 plored him to have mercy — to have pity, and 
 to pardon me. I sobbed convulsively — ** I too 
 am childless !" 
 
 •* Yes, De Warre, we have been both to 
 blame ; your false ambition and my erring pride 
 wrought ruin to those we loved best. I am 
 here to obey the last wishes of a departed an- 
 gel — to interchange forgiveness with the father 
 of him she died for." 
 
 *' And did she hear of Edward's death?" 
 *' She did : her heart broke; and she never 
 smiled again. At her own request I brought 
 her remains here ; for here the first tale of mu-
 
 180 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 tual love was told. De Warre, I come to say 
 farewell !" 
 
 I gasped — *' Oh ! stay — stay here — live here 
 —die here — and let us wear out our miserable 
 existence together !" 
 
 " No, De Warre ; we never meet again in this 
 world ; — may we meet in another and a better 
 one ! My last earthly tie is snapped, and my 
 few remaining days are dedicated to Heaven. 
 De Warre, farewell — for ever! accept this 
 pledge of my forgiveness"— stooping, he laid 
 his trembling lips on my cheek — " God comfort 
 you — and me /" 
 
 He then gathered his mourning cloak around 
 him, and with noiseless steps glided through 
 the gloom of the chamber. I remained in 
 speechless agony. Next moment I heard the 
 wheels of his carriage — and never saw him 
 more ! * * =* * * 
 
 The bells were tolling a death-peal from the 
 old tower of the village church ; the pulpit was
 
 SARSFIELD. 181 
 
 covered with black cloth, and over the pew of 
 the De Warres there hung an escutcheon, 
 charged with their numerous and ancient bear- 
 ings. The last of that name was gone : — he died 
 childless, and there was no heir to inherit his 
 extensive possessions. 
 
 A funeral entered the churchyard gate : 
 there was but one mourner, and a few of the 
 villagers had followed it from curiosity. The 
 stranger's face was buried in his sable cloak, 
 while the corpse was committed to the earth ; 
 but the customary service for the dead was 
 omitted. The last turf was placed on the 
 grave, as the gates of the domain of the De 
 AYarres were flung open, and a long train of 
 mourners and attendants issued forth. 
 
 The sable stranger raised his head quickly, 
 and iuquired, ** whose was that funeral proces- 
 sion ?" They told him. " Then is my message 
 useless," he muttered; — ** there was but little 
 time between them. Mother of mercy, pardon 
 them their sins !"
 
 182 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 He hurried from the spot, and mounted a 
 horse which was in waiting. Rapidly, however, 
 as he rode off, there were some in the crowd 
 who recognised the man : — he was the followed 
 and foster-brother of General Sarsfield. 
 
 The colonel ceased reading just as his ser- 
 vant entered to say there had been some mis- 
 take about the apartments ; for, on investiga- 
 tion, there appeared to have been no accom- 
 modation reserved for the soldiers, but a por- 
 tion of a wretched sort of barrack-room, in 
 which one of the beds was already tenanted by 
 a sick traveller. Mine host was instantly sum- 
 moned ; and when the worthy man, with con- 
 siderable danger, had clambered up the steep 
 stairs to the presence, it was discovered that 
 he could not render any assistance in removing 
 the difficulty, having just attained that respect-
 
 SARSFIELD. - 183 
 
 able state of drunkeoness, when the power of 
 articulation ceases. 
 
 In vain Hilson remonstrated, and Kennedy 
 stormed. Beds, excepting cribs in the sick 
 man's chamber, were not to be procured ; and 
 no alternative was left, but sleeping on the 
 floor, or sitting up quietly till morning. 
 
 The latter proposition was made by Captain 
 Mac Carthy, who appeared to bear his dis- 
 appointment with laudable equanimity. The 
 regiments were to move by the first light next 
 morning ; and as the night was now far ad- 
 vanced, the party resolved to pass away, as 
 they best could, the few hours that remained. 
 
 " Frank," said the dragoon, ** finish that 
 bottle : order supper — it will kill time ; and 
 as we have a leisure hour, and are a little 
 melancholy after that sombre story, will you 
 favour us with your history ? which no doubt 
 will be sufficiently farcical, to make us forget 
 that deep tragedy we have listened to, of love, 
 and Heaven knows what."
 
 184 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 *' Farcical! God help thee, Mac! The 
 wisest can hardly escape the urchin archer, and 
 how should Frank Kennedy 1 Ah ! Maurice, 
 I too have been a butt for Cupid's arrows." 
 
 *' You!" exclaimed the dragoon, with a loud 
 laugh. ** You ! — Oh ! for your tenderest ad- 
 venture ; and compared with it, ' Billy Taylor ' 
 would be German sentiment." 
 
 "Stop, Maurice," said the commander; ** let 
 us hear and judge. Come, Frank, that gloomy 
 tale has dispirited us, and yours must divert 
 our melancholy." 
 
 " Divert melancholy ! — why mine is a most 
 calamitous narrative ; but, if you please, such 
 as it is, you shall have it ;" and filling his glass, 
 which example his friend Mac Carthy faithfully 
 followed, the captain of grenadiers commenced 
 his story.
 
 FRANK KENNEDY.
 
 FRANK KENNEDY, 
 
 Sure now this is much better than being in love ! ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! There's some spirit in this ! What signifies breaking some 
 scores of solemn promises ? — all that's of no consequence, you 
 know. Perhaps they may be ill-natured enough to hint that 
 the gentleman grew tired of the lady, and forsook her ; but 
 don't let that fret you ! 
 
 The Rivals. 
 
 My father left the carbineers some years 
 before the Irish rebellion of ninety-eight. Like 
 greater warriors, the crop of laurels be col- 
 lected in that celebrated corps, was but a short 
 one. It is true be had seen service : his sword.
 
 188 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 like Butler's knights, of " passing worth," had 
 been unsheathed in executing " warrants and 
 exigents ;" and more than once he had stormed 
 a private distillery, under the leading of a des- 
 perate gauger. 
 
 He was, however, a stout, slashing-looking 
 fellow, and found favour in my mother's sight. 
 She had reached the wrong side of thirty ; 
 consequently she made but a short resistance, 
 and bestowed her hand and fortune on the 
 bold dragoon. My mother was an heiress ; 
 but the estate of Killnacoppal owed *' a trifle 
 of money :" now a trifle, in Connaught, is 
 sometimes a sweeping sum ; and you cannot 
 safely calculate on rents in Connemara being 
 paid exactly to the day. 
 
 I never exhibited precocity of intellect ; but 
 before I was sixteen I discovered that our 
 establishment occasionally suff'ered from a scar- 
 city of specie. At these times, my father was 
 sure to be afflicted with cold or rheumatism, 
 and never left the house ; and, I suppose, for
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 189 
 
 fear of disturbing him, the hall door was but 
 seldom opened, and then only to a particular 
 friend ; while an ill-favoured tradesman, or 
 suspicious-looking" stranger, received their com- 
 mands in the briefest manner, from an upper- 
 window. 
 
 What was to be done with me had cruelly 
 puzzled both my parents : whether I should 
 ornament the church, or benefit the revenue, 
 was for a long time under consideration. The 
 law, however, held out more promising pros- 
 pects than either ; and it was decided that I 
 should be bound to an attorney. 
 
 Duncan Davidson, of Dorset Street, was 
 married to my father's sister. He was of 
 Scotch descent, and like that " thinking peo- 
 ple " from whom he sprung, he held "a hard 
 grip of the main chance." Duncan was wealthy 
 and childless ; and if he could be induced to 
 bring me up at his feet, God knows what might 
 be the consequence. My father accordingly 
 made the application, and the gracious Dun-
 
 190 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 can consented to receive me for a time on 
 trial. 
 
 What a bustle there was in Killnacoppal 
 when my uncle's letter arrived ! due prepara- 
 tions were made for my departure ; and as the 
 term of my absence was computed at seven years, 
 I had to take a formal and affectionate leave of 
 my relatives to the fifteenth degree of consan- 
 guinity. My aunt Macan, whose cat's leg I 
 had unfortunately dislocated, and who had not 
 spoken to me since Candlemas, was induced to 
 relent on the occasion, and favoured me with 
 her blessing and a one-pound note, although 
 she had often declared she never could banish 
 the idea from her mind, but that I should travel 
 at the public expense, if my career were not 
 finished in a more summary manner. 
 
 I arrived safely in Dublin. Awful were my 
 feelings when first ushered into the presence of 
 my uncle Duncan. He was a short, fat man, 
 in a brown coat and flax- coloured scratch, 
 perched upon a high office stool. Considering
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 191 
 
 his dimensions, I used to marvel much how he 
 managed to get there. Holding out his fore- 
 finger, which I dutifully grasped, he told me 
 to be steady and attentive, and that my aunt 
 would be happy to see me up stairs. On leav- 
 ing the room, I heard him softly remark to the 
 head clerk, that he did not much like my ap- 
 pearance, for that I had ** a wild eye in my 
 head." 
 
 I was duly put to the desk, and the course 
 of trial was not flattering to me, or satisfactory 
 to my intended master. It was allowed on all 
 hands, that my writing was abominable ; and my 
 spelling, being untrammelled by rules, was 
 found in many material points to differ from 
 modern orthographers. Nor was T more suc- 
 cessful in comparing deeds. My desk and stool 
 were unluckily placed beside a window which 
 looked into a narrow court, and a straw-bonnet 
 maker occupied the opposite apartment. She 
 was pretty, and I was naturally polite, and who 
 with a rosy cheek before him would waste a
 
 W2 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 look upon a tawny skin of parchment? I men- 
 tally consigned the deed to the devil, and let 
 the copy loose upon the world " with all its im- 
 perfections on its head." 
 
 The first trial was nearly conclusive. Never 
 before had such a lame and lamentable docu- 
 ment issued from the office of the punctilious 
 Duncan. I had there omitted setting forth 
 " one hundred dove-cots," and, for aught I 
 know, left out " one hundred castles," to keep 
 them company. My uncle almost dropped from 
 his perch at the discovery ; and Counsellor 
 Roundabout was heard to remark, that a man's 
 life was not safe in the hands of such a delin- 
 quent. I was on the point of getting my cojige, 
 and free permission to return to the place from 
 whence I came ; but my aunt — good easy wo- 
 man, interfered ; and Duncan consented to 
 give me a farther trial, and employ me to trans- 
 port his bag to the courts, and his briefs to the 
 lawyer. 
 
 Any drudgery for me but the desk. With
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 193 
 
 suitable instructions the bag was confided to 
 me, and for three days it came back safely. On 
 the fourth evening I was returning ; the bag 
 was unusually full, and so had been my uncle's 
 admonitions for its security. I had got half 
 way down Capel Street, when, whom should I 
 see, on the other side of the way, but Slasher 
 Mac Tigue ? The Slasher was five akin to my 
 mother, and allowed to be the greatest buck at 
 the last fair of Ballinasloe. Would he acknow- 
 ledge me, loaded as I was like a Jew clothes- 
 man i What was to be done ? I slipped the 
 cursed bag to a ragged boy — promised him 
 some halfpence for his trouble — prudently as- 
 sured him that his cargo was invaluable — told 
 him to wait for me at the corner, and next mo- 
 ment was across the street, with a fast hold of 
 the Slasher's right hand. 
 
 The Slasher — peace to his ashes ! for he 
 was shot stone dead in the Phoenix Park — we 
 never well understood the quarrel in Conne- 
 mara, and it was said there that the poor man 
 himself was not thoroughly informed on the 
 subject — appeared determined to support his 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 194 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 justly-acquired reputation at the late fair of 
 Balliuasloe. Not an eye in Capel Street but 
 was turned on him as he swaggered past. His 
 jockey boots — I must begin below — were in the 
 newest style; the top sprang from the ancle 
 bone, and was met midleg by short tights of 
 tea-coloured leather ; three smoothing-iron 
 seals, and a chain that would manacle a deser- 
 ter, dangled from the fob ; his vest was of am- 
 ber kerseymere, gracefully sprinkled with stars 
 and shamrocks ; his coat sky-blue, with basket 
 buttons, relieved judiciously with a purple neck- 
 cloth, and doe-skin gloves ; while a conical hat, 
 xyith a leaf full seven inches broad, topped all. 
 A feeble imitation of the latter article may still 
 be seen by the curious, in a hatter's window, 
 No. 71, in the Strand, with a label affixed 
 thereto, denominating it *' Neck or Nothing." 
 
 Lord, how proud I felt when the Slasher 
 tucked me under his arm ! We had already 
 taken two turns — the admiration of a crowded 
 thoroughfare, when I looked round for my 
 bag-holder ; but he was not visible. I left my 
 kinsman hastily, ran up and down the street,
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 195 
 
 looked round the corners, peered into all the 
 public-houses ; but neither bag nor boy was 
 there. I recollected my uncle's name and ad- 
 dress were written on it, and the urchin might 
 have mistaken his instructions, and carried the 
 bag home. Off I ran, tumbled an apple basket in 
 Bolton Street, and, spite of threats and curses, 
 held on my desperate course, until I found my- 
 self, breathless, in my uncle's presence. 
 
 He sternly reproached me for being dilatory. 
 '•'What had detained me? Here had been 
 Counsellor Leatherhead's servant waiting this 
 half-hour for his papers ; — bring in the bag." I 
 gaped at him, and stuttered that I supposed it 
 had been already here ; but it would certainly 
 arrive shortly. Question and answer followed 
 rapidly, and the fatal truth cajne out — the bag 
 was lost ! — for the cad, advertised of the value 
 of his charge, had retreated the moment I 
 turned my back ; and although, on investiga- 
 tion, he must have felt much disappointed at 
 the result of his industry ; yet, to do him jus- 
 tice, he lost no time in transferring the papers
 
 196 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 to the tobacconist, and pocketing the produce 
 of the same. 
 
 For some moments Duncan's rage prevented 
 him from speaking. At last he found utter- 
 ance : — ** Heaven and earth!" he exclaimed; 
 ** was there ever such a villain ? He was 
 ruined : — all the Kilgobbin title-deeds — Lady 
 Splashboard's draft of separation, and papers of 
 satisfaction for sixteen mortgages of Sir Phe- 
 lim O'Boyl ! — What was to be done ?" 
 
 I muttered that I supposed I should be 
 obliged to give Sir Phelim satisfaction myself. 
 " Oh ! curse your satisfaction," said my uncle ; 
 " these are your Connaught notions, you des- 
 perate do-no-good. What an infernal business, 
 to let any one from that barbarous country into 
 my house ! Never had but two clients in my 
 life on the other side of the Shannon. I di- 
 vorced a wife for one ; and he died insolvent 
 the very day the decree was pronounced, and 
 my costs, and money advanced, went along 
 with him to the devil. The other quarrelled 
 with me for not taking a bad bill for my de-
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 197 
 
 mand, and giving a large balance, over my 
 claim, in ready cash. I threatened law, and he 
 threatened flagellation. I took courage, and 
 sent down a writ ; and the sheriff returned a 
 non est inventus, although he was hunting 
 with him for a fortnight. I ran him to execu- 
 tion, and got nulla bona on my return. As a 
 last resource, I sent a man specially from Dub- 
 lin : they tossed him in a blanket, and forced 
 him to eat the original; and he came back, 
 half dead, with a civil intimation, that if I ever 
 crossed the bridge of Athlone, the defendant 
 would drive as many slugs through my body as 
 there were hoops on a wine-pipe !" 
 
 I could not help smiling at the simile : the 
 client was a wag ; for my uncle, in his personal 
 proportions, bore a striking resemblance to a 
 quarter-cask. 
 
 *' But, run every soul of you," he continued, 
 *' and try to get some clue by which we may 
 trace the papers." Away clerk and apprentice 
 started ; but their researches were unsuccess- 
 ful ; for many a delicate cut of cheese was 
 before now encased in my Lady Splashboard's
 
 198 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 separation bill ; and the Kilgobbin title-deeds 
 had issued in subdivisions from the snuff shop, 
 and were making a rapid circle of the metro- 
 polis. 
 
 My aunt's influence was not sufficient to ob- 
 tain my pardon, and mollify the attorney ; and 
 I was despatched, per mail, to that refugium 
 peccatorum, as Duncan styled Connemara. 
 
 The gentle auditor may anticipate that on my 
 return no fatted calf was killed ; nor was there 
 " joy in Aztlan," as the poet-laureate has it. 
 I re-entered Killnacoppal without beat of 
 drum ; and indeed my demeanour on this oc- 
 casion was so modest, that I had been in undis- 
 turbed possession of the front attic for two 
 whole days before my worthy parents were 
 advertised that I had retired from the study of 
 the law, with no future intention to *' stick to 
 the woolsack." 
 
 To communicate the abrupt termination of 
 my forensic pursuits to my aunt Macan, was 
 an affair of nice and delicate management. 
 When acquainted with the unhappy incident 
 which had drawn down the wrath of my uncle
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 199 
 
 Duncan, she particularly inquired ** if there 
 had been any money in the lost bag," and re- 
 quested to see the last " Hue and Cry." 
 
 God knows whether I should have been en- 
 abled to weather the gale of family displeasure, 
 as my aunt had again resumed the mantle of 
 prophecy, when, luckily for me, the representa- 
 tion of the county of Galway became vacant, 
 by the sudden decease of Sir Barnabas Bodkin ; 
 the honest gentleman being smothered in a 
 hackney coach, returning cojnfortable from a 
 corporation dinner at Morrison's. 
 
 On this distressing event being known, Mr. 
 Denis Darcey of Cunaghahowhy castle declared 
 himself. He was strongly supported by Mr. 
 Richard Martin, the other member ; and his 
 address, from the pen of the latter gentleman, 
 was circulated without delay. In it he stated 
 bis family and pretensions : pledged himself to 
 support Catholic emancipation and the repeal 
 of still fines;— humanely recommended his op- 
 ponent to provide himself with a coffin previous 
 to the opening of the poll ; — professed strong
 
 @00 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 attachment to the House of Brunswick, and the 
 church by law established ; and promised to 
 use his utmost exertions to purify the penal 
 code, by making accidents in duelling amount 
 only to justifiable homicide; and abduction of 
 heiresses and dogs, felony without benefit of 
 clergy. 
 
 A person of Denis Darcey's constitutional 
 principles was a man after my father's own 
 heart : the Killnacoppal interest was accord- 
 ingly given him, and I was despatched at the 
 head of sixscore freeholders, "good men and 
 true," untrammelled with tight shoes or tender 
 consciences, to give our ** most sweet voices " 
 in the ancient town of Galway. 
 
 But I was not entrusted with this important 
 command without receiving full instructions for 
 my conduct on the occasion. My father, no 
 doubt, would have led the Killnacoppal legion 
 to the hustings in person had it not happened 
 that the sheriff was on the other side ; and, 
 therefore, his public appearance within the 
 bailiwick of that redoubted personage would
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 201 
 
 have been a dangerous experiment. " Frank," 
 said my father, ''don't overdo the thing: poll 
 your men twice ! and more cannot be expected ; 
 but mind the outwork^ for its there the tinints 
 will shine." 
 
 I obeyed him to the letter ; and, without 
 personal vanity, I ascribe the happy return of 
 my esteemed friend Denis Darcey to the un- 
 wearied exertions of the freeholders of Killna- 
 coppal. What between pelting the military, 
 smashing the booths, and scattering the tallies, 
 we managed to keep up such eternal confu- 
 sion, that our adversaries could hardly bring 
 forward a man. If dispersed by a charge of 
 cavalry here, we were rallied in a few minutes 
 in the next street, cracking heads and crashing 
 windows : if routed by the riot act and a row 
 of bayonets, before the sheriff was well round 
 the corner we had a house pulled down to the 
 tune of " Hurrah for Killnacoppal !" 
 
 At last, all human means being found un- 
 available by our opponents to bring in a free- 
 holder, the booths were closed, and Mr. Denis 
 Darcey declared duly elected.
 
 202 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 After such feats, how could it be wondered at 
 that I was 
 
 " courted and caressed. 
 High placed in halls a welcome guest j" 
 
 seated within seven of the chairman, at the 
 election dinner, drank wine with by the new 
 member, toasted by the old one, I mean Dick 
 Martin — and embraced by Blakes, Brownes, 
 and Bodkins in endless variety ; nor did the re- 
 ward of " high desert" end here; for in the 
 next gazette I was appointed to a lieutenantcy 
 in the— Mayo militia. 
 
 With very different feelings, I now returned 
 to my paternal mansion— I, who had left the 
 little lawyer in Dorset Street in disgrace, and 
 been happy to effect a sort of felonious re-entry 
 of the premises at Killnacoppal — I now came 
 home a conqueror ; an hundred blackthorns 
 rattled above my head ; an hundred voices 
 yelled '' Kinnidy for ivir!" — a cag of pothein 
 was broached before the door ; a stack of turf 
 was blazing in the village ; and all was triumph
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 203 
 
 and exultation. We had brought back, of 
 course, the usual assortment of broken bones, 
 left some half-score damaged skulls to be re- 
 paired at the expense of the county, and carried 
 back one gentleman totally defunct, who had 
 been suffocated by tumbling, dead drunk, into 
 a bog-hole. My fame had travelled before me, 
 and my aunt Macan had taken to her bed, not 
 from vanity, but " vexation of spirit." 
 
 My leave of absence having expired, I set 
 out to join my regiment. My mother consulted 
 the Army List, and discovered she had divers 
 relatives in my corps ; for there was scarcely a 
 family from Loughrea to Belmullet with whom 
 she was not in some way connected. Some of 
 her relations in the — Mayo she mentioned as 
 being rather remote ; but there was Captain Rat- 
 tigan : his father, Luke Rattigan, of Rawna- 
 creeva, married Peter Fogarty's third daughter ; 
 and Peter Fogarty and my aunt Macan were 
 cousins-german. Xo doubt the gallant captain 
 would know and acknowledge the relationship, 
 and take that lively interest in my welfare 
 which was natural ; but, for fear of mistakes,
 
 204 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 she wrote a letter of introduction with me, 
 having very fortunately danced fifteen years 
 before with Mr. Rattigan, at a fair ball at 
 Ballinasloe. 
 
 For the second time, I left my father*s house. 
 The head-quarters of the regiment were in 
 Naas, and there I arrived in safety ; was re- 
 cognised by Captain Rattigan ; presented by him 
 in due form to the colonel; introduced to'the 
 corps ; paid plate and band-fund fees ; dined at 
 the mess ; got drunk there, as became a soldier 
 of promise, and was carried home to my inn 
 by a file of the guard, after having overheard 
 the fat major remark to my kinsman — " Rat, 
 that boy of yours will be a credit to the regi- 
 ment ; for, as I'm a true Catholic, he has taken 
 off three bottles of Page's port, and no doubt 
 he'll improve." 
 
 A year passed over — I conducted myself 
 creditably in all regimental matters, touching 
 drill, duty, and drinking, when an order sud- 
 denly came for a detachment to march to 
 Ballybunnion ; in the neighbourhood of which 
 town the pleasant part of the population were
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 205 
 
 amusing themselves nightly in carding middle- 
 men, and feathering tithe proctors. Captain 
 Rattigan's company (in which I was an un- 
 worthy lieutenant) were selected for this im- 
 portant service. 
 
 The morning I left Naas for Ballybunnion 
 will be a memorable day in the calendar of my 
 life. My cousin Rattigan frequently boasted, 
 after dinner, that " he was under fifty, and 
 above five feet three ;" but there were persons 
 in the corps who alleged that he was above 
 the former and under the latter:— but let that 
 pass — he is now, honest man, quietly resting 
 in Craughane churchyard, with half a ton 
 weight of Connemara marble over him, on 
 which his virtues and his years are recorded. 
 
 Now, without stopping to ascertain minutely 
 the age and height of the departed, T shall 
 describe him as a thick, square-shouldered, un- 
 dersized man, having a short neck, and snub 
 nose — the latter organ fully attesting that 
 Page's port was a sound and well-bodied liquor. 
 The captain, on his pied pony, rode gallantly on 
 at the head of ** his charge:" I modestly fol-
 
 206 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 lowed on foot, and late in the evening we 
 marched in full array down the main street of 
 Ballybunnion, our fife and drum playing to the 
 best of their ability the captain's favourite quick 
 step, " I'm over young to marry yet." 
 
 My kinsman and I were peaceably settled 
 over our wine, when the waiter announced that 
 a gentleman had called upon us. He was 
 shown up in proper form ; and having ma- 
 naged by ■ depressing his person, which was 
 fully six feet four inches, to enter the apart- 
 ment, announced himself as Mr. Christopher 
 Clinch ; and, in a handsome speech, declared 
 himself to be an ambassador from the stewards 
 of the Ballybunnion coterie ; which coterie being 
 to be holden that evening, he was deputed to 
 solicit the honour of our company on this occa- 
 sion. Captain Rattigan returned our acknow- 
 ledgments duly; and he and the ambassador 
 having discussed a cooper of port within a 
 marvellous short period, separated with many 
 squeezes of the hand, and ardent hopes of a 
 future acquaintance. 
 
 There was a subject my kinsman invariably
 
 FRA?IK KENNEDY. 207 
 
 dwelt upon whenever he had transgressed the 
 third bottle. It was a bitter lamentation over 
 the numerous opportunities he had suffered to 
 escape of making himself comfortable for life, 
 by matrimony. As we dressed together, for 
 we were cantoned in a double-bedded room, 
 Rat was unusually eloquent on the grand mis- 
 take of his earlier days, and declared his deter- 
 mination of even yet endeavouring to amend 
 his youthful error, and retrieve his lost time. 
 
 The commander's advice was not lost upon 
 me. T took unusual pains in arraying myself 
 for conquest, and in good time found myself 
 in the ball-room, with thirty couples on the 
 floor, all dancing " for the bare life," that 
 admired tune of ''Blue bonnets over the bor- 
 der." 
 
 The attention evinced in his visit to the inn, 
 by Mr. Christopher Clinch, was not confined 
 to a formal invitation ; for he assured us on our 
 arrival, that two ladies had been expressly kept 
 disengaged for us. Captain Rattigan declined 
 dancing, alleging that exercise flurried him, 
 and he could not abide a red face, it looked so
 
 208 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 very like dissipation. I, whose countenance 
 was fortunately not so inflammable as my kins- 
 man's, was marshalled by Mr. Clinch to the head 
 of the room. "He was going*," he said, '*to 
 introduce me to Miss Jemima O'Brien — lady 
 of first connexions — large fortune when some 
 persons at present in possession dropped off — 
 fine woman — much followed — sprightly — off- 
 handed— fond of military men. Miss O'Brien, 
 Caplain Kennedy." I bowed — she ducked 
 — seized my offered hand, and in a few mi- 
 nutes we were going down the middle like 
 two-year-olds starting for *' the Kirwans." 
 Nor had Captain Rattigan been neglected by 
 the master of ceremonies : he was snugly seat- 
 ed in a quiet corner at cribbage, a game the 
 commander delighted in, with an elderly gen- 
 tlewoman, whom my partner informed me was 
 her aunt. 
 
 Miss O'Brien was what Rattigan called a 
 spanker. She was dressed in a blue silk lute- 
 string gown, with a plume of ostrich feathers, 
 flesh-coloured stockings and red satin shoes. 
 She had the usual assortment of beads and
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 209 
 
 curls, with an ivory fan, and a well-scented 
 handkerchief. 
 
 She was evidently a fine-tempered girl ; for, 
 observing my eye rest on an immense stain 
 upon her blue lutestring, she remarked, with a 
 smile, " that her aunt's footman had spilled some 
 coffee on her dress, and to save him from a 
 scolding, she had assured the dear old lady that 
 the injury was but trifling, and that it would be 
 quite unnecessary to detain her while she should 
 change her gown : it was quite clear she never 
 could wear it again ; but her maid and the 
 milliner would be the gainers." Amiable crea- 
 ture ! — the accident did not annoy her for a 
 second. 
 
 The first dance had concluded, when the long 
 gentleman whispered softly over my shoulder, 
 how I liked '' the heiress?" The heiress! — T 
 felt 'a faint hope rising in my breast, which made 
 my cheek colour like a peony. Rattigan's re- 
 morse for neglected opportunities rushed to my 
 mind. Had my lucky hour come? and had I 
 actually an heiress by the hand for nine-and- 
 twenty couples? We were again at the head
 
 210 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 of the room, and away we went — she cutting 
 and I capering, until we danced to the very 
 bottom, " The wind that shakes the barley !" 
 
 I had placed Miss O'Brien, with great for- 
 mality, on a bench, when Rattigan took me 
 aside : — " Frank, you're a fortunate fellow, or 
 its your own fault — found out all from the old 
 one — lovely creature — great catch — who knows? 
 — strike while the iron is hot," &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Fortune, indeed, appeared to smile upon me. 
 By some propitious accident all the men had 
 been provided with partners, and I had the 
 heiress to myself. ** She was, she confessed, 
 romantic — she had quite a literary turn ; spoke 
 of Lady Morgan's ' Wild Irish Girl ;' — she, 
 Jemima, loved it — doated upon it; — and why 
 should she not I for Lieutenant-Colonel Cassidy 
 had repeatedly sworn that Glorvina was written 
 for herself;" — and she raised her fan 
 
 " The conscious blush to hide." 
 
 Walter Scott ^cceeded. I had read in the 
 Galway Advertiser a quotation from that poet, 
 which the newspaper had put in the mouth of 
 a travelling priest, and alleged to have been
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 211 
 
 spoken by him in a charity sermon, which I 
 fortunately now recollected and repeated. Miss 
 O'Brien responded with that inflammatory pas- 
 sage — 
 
 " In peace lova tunes the shepherd's reed." 
 
 ** And could she love?" I whispered with a 
 look of tender inquietude. " She could ; she 
 had a heart, she feared, too warm for her hap- 
 piness : she was a creature of imagination — all 
 soul — all sympathy. She could wander, with 
 the man of her heart, from 
 
 " Egypt's fires to Zembla's frost." 
 
 There was no standing this. I mustered all 
 my resolution — poured out an unintelligible 
 rhapsody — eternal love — life gratefully devoted 
 — permission to fall at her feet — hand — heart — 
 fortune ! 
 
 She sighed deeply — kept her fan to her face 
 for some moments — and, in a voice soft as the 
 harp of Eolus, murmured something about 
 ** short acquaintance," and a gentle supplication 
 to be allowed time, for ten minutes, to con- 
 sult her heart. Rat again rushed to my mind ; 
 procrastination had ruined him ; and I was ob-
 
 212 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 durate — pressed —raved — ranted. She sighed, 
 and in a timid whisper told me she was mine 
 for ever! 
 
 Heavens '.—was I awake? — did my ears de- 
 ceive me ? The room turned topsy-turvey ; the 
 candles danced a reel; my brain grew giddy. 
 It was true —absolutely true ; Jemima O'Brien 
 had consented to become Mrs. Kennedy ! 
 
 Up came Captain Rattigan, as my partner left 
 me for an instant to speak to her aunt. Rat was 
 thunderstruck — cursed his fate, and compliment- 
 ed mine. " But, zounds ! Frank, you must stick 
 to her. \Yould she run away with you ? These 
 damned lawyers will be tying up the property, 
 so that you cannot touch a guinea but the half- 
 year's rent — may-be inquiring about settlements, 
 and ripping up the cursed mortgages of Killna^ 
 coppal. At her, man — they are all on the move. 
 I'll manage the old one : — mighty lucky, by-the- 
 bye, at cribbage. Try and get the heiress to 
 be off — to-morrow, if possible — early hour. Oh ! 
 murder — how I lost my time !" 
 
 All was done as the commander directed. 
 Rat kept the aunt in play ; I pressed the heiress
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 213 
 
 hard; and so desperately did I pourtray my 
 misery, that, to save my life, she humanely con- 
 sented to elope with me at twelve o'clock next 
 day. 
 
 Rattigan was enraptured. What a chance 
 for a poor lieutenant ! He shrewdly observed, 
 from the very unpretending appearance of Mrs. 
 Cogan's mansion, that ** my aunt's " purse must 
 be a long one. We settled ourselves joyfully 
 at the inn fire— ordered two bottles of mulled 
 port— arranged all for the elopement — clubbed 
 purses — sum total not burthensome — and went 
 to bed drunk and happy. 
 
 Next morning — the morning of that day 
 which was to bless me with fortune and a wife, 
 Captain Ratty and I were sitting at an early 
 breakfast, when, who should unexpectedly arrive 
 but Cornet Bircham, who was in command of a 
 small party of dragoons in Ballybunnion, and 
 was an old acquaintance of my kinsman. *' How 
 lucky !" whisper^ed Rat ; " he has been quartered 
 here for three months, and we shall hear the 
 particulars of the O'Briens from him." 
 
 While he spoke the trooper entered. *' Ah !
 
 214 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 Ratty, old boy, how wags the world? — Just 
 heard you had been sent here to exterminate 
 carders — cursed scoundrels! — obliged me to 
 leave a delightful party at Lord Tara's; but, 
 Rat, we'll make them smoke for it." 
 
 ** Mr. Bircham, my cousin Kennedy. Come, 
 cornet, off with the scimitar, and attack the 
 Congo. Any news stirring?" 
 
 '* Nothing but a flying report that you had 
 determined on sobriety, and forsworn a drop 
 beyond the third bottle ; — but, damme, that 
 shake in your claw gives a lie direct to the 
 tale. And you were dancing, Rat, last night. 
 How did the carnival or coterie go off? Any 
 wigs lost or gowns tattered ? Any catastrophe ?" 
 
 " Why, no — pleasant thing enough — some 
 fine women there." 
 
 *' Were there, faith ? Why, Rat, you're a 
 discoverer; for such a crew as figured at the 
 last mortal eye never looked upon." 
 
 " I only particularly noticed one — by Jove, 
 a fine woman ! — a Miss O'Brien." 
 
 " Miss Jemmy O'Brien, as the men call her. 
 Why, Rat, what iniquity of yours has delivered
 
 , FRANK KENNEDY. 215 
 
 you into the hands of the most detestable harpy 
 that ever infested country quarters ?" 
 
 ** Detestable harpy!" Rat and I looked 
 cursedly foolish. " Bircham — hem ! — are you 
 sure you know the lady ?" 
 
 " Know the lady ! to be sure I do. Why, 
 she did me out of an ivory fan one unlucky wet 
 day that the devil templed me to enter Mrs. 
 Cogan's den. Phoo ! I'll give you what the 
 beadle calls ' marks and tokens.' Let me see. 
 Yes, I have it. Blue dress cursedly splashed 
 with beer — she says coffee ; soiled feathers, and 
 tricked out like a travelling actress." 
 
 I groaned audibly — it was Jemima to a T : — 
 Captain Rattigan looked queer. 
 
 *' My dear Bircham— hem ! — you know among 
 military men— hem '.—honourable confidence may 
 be reposed — hem ! My young friend here danced 
 with her. Represented as an heiress to him — '» 
 ** By a cursed hag who cheats at cribbage, 
 and carries off negus by the quart." 
 
 " True bill, by !" ejaculated the captain. 
 
 '* Complained eternally of thirst and the heat
 
 216 STORIES OP WATERLOO. 
 
 of the room, and did me regularly out of thirty 
 shillings." 
 
 '* Ha ! ha ! ha ! — Kat, Rat, and wert thou so 
 soft, my old one ?" 
 
 ** But, Birchy," said the captain, " the devil 
 of it is, my young friend — little too much wine 
 • — thought himself in houourahle hands, and 
 promised her — " 
 
 " A new silk gown. Ah, my young friend, 
 little didst thou know the Jezebel. But it was 
 a promise obtained under false pretences. She 
 told you a cock-and-bull story about Lady 
 Morgan — sported Watty Scott — dealt out Tom 
 Moore by the yard — all false pretences. See 
 her damned before I would buy her a yard of 
 ribbon. What a pirate the woman is !" 
 
 Rat jumped off his chair, drew his breath in, 
 and gulped out — " A gown ! Zounds, man, he 
 promised to marry her !" 
 
 Up jumped Bircham. — " To marry her! Are 
 you mad, or are you hoaxing?" 
 
 *' Serious, by St. Patrick," said Rat. 
 
 " Why then its no longer a joke. You are
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 217 
 
 in a nice scrape. I beg" to tell you that Jemmy 
 O'Brien is as notorious as Captain Rock. She 
 has laid several fools under contribution, and 
 has just returned from Dublin, after taking an 
 action against a little, drunken, one-eyed Welsh 
 major, whom her aunt got, when intoxicated, to 
 sign some paper or promise of marriage. The 
 major, like a true gentleman, retrieved his error 
 by suspending himself in his lodgings the day 
 before the trial ; and it is likely that Jem and 
 her aunt will he jugged for the law expenses." 
 
 Rat and I were overwhelmed. We looked 
 for some minutes in silence at each other. At 
 last I told Bircham the whole affair. The dra- 
 goon was convulsed with laughter. " So,'' said 
 he, " at twelve o'clock the gentle Jemmy is to 
 be spirited away. But come, there's no time 
 to lose. Sit down. Rat, get a pen in thy fist, 
 and I'll dictate and thou inscribe." 
 
 " Madam, 
 " Having unfortunately, at the request of his 
 afflicted family, undertaken the case of Lieu- 
 tenant Kennedy of the Mayo regiment, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 218 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 I beg to apprise you that the unhappy gentle- 
 man is subject to occasional fits of insanity. 
 Fearing, from his mental malady, that he may 
 have misconducted himself to your amiable 
 niece last night at the coterie, I beg, on the 
 part of my poor friend, who is tolerably col- 
 lected this morning, to say that he is heartily 
 sorry for what has occurred, and requests the 
 lady will consider any thing he might have said 
 only as the wanderings of a confirmed lunatic. 
 *' I am, Madam, &c. &c. 
 
 . ** Your obedient Servant, 
 
 "Terence Rattigan, 
 
 " Capt. M— Militia. 
 
 *' To Mrs. Cogan, 
 &c. &c. &c." 
 
 How very flattering this apology was to me, 
 I submit to the indulgent auditor. I was in- 
 dubitably proven to have been an ass over 
 night, and I must pass as a lunatic in the morn- 
 ing. We had barely time to speculate on the 
 success of Bircham's curious epistle, when my 
 aunt Cogan's answer arrived with due prompti- 
 tude. The cornet separated the wet wafer with
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 219 
 
 a " faugh !" and holding the billet at arm's 
 length, as if it exhibited a plague-spot, he fa- 
 voured us with the contents, which were lite- 
 rally as follows : — 
 
 " Captin Ratigiu, 
 
 " Sir, — I have red your paltrey appollogey 
 for your nephew's breech of promis. I beg to 
 tell you, that a lady of the famuly of Clinch 
 will not submit to be ensulted with impunnitey. 
 My neece is packed and reddy; and if your 
 friend does not apear acording to apoint- 
 ment, he will shortly here as will not plase 
 him, from your's to command, 
 
 " Honor CoGAN, otherwise Clinch. 
 
 " Hawthorn Cotage, 
 " Friday moruing." 
 
 Twelve o'clock passed. We waited the re- 
 sult of Mrs. Cogan's threats, when the waiter 
 showed up a visitor, and Mr. Christopher 
 Clinch, the prime cause of all our misfortunes, 
 presented himself. He persisted in standing, 
 or more properly, stooping — for the ceiling was 
 not quite six feet from the floor — coughed —
 
 220 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 hoped his interference might adjust the mistake, 
 as he presumed it must be on the part of Lieu- 
 tenant Kennedy, and begged to inform him that 
 Miss Jemima O'Brien was ready to accompany 
 the said Mr. Kennedy, as last night arranged. 
 Captain Rattigan took the liberty to remark, 
 that he, the captain, had been very explicit 
 with Mrs. Cogan, and requested to refer to his 
 letter, in which Mr. Kennedy's sentiments were 
 fully conveyed, and, on his part, to decline the 
 very flattering proposal of Miss Jemima O'Brien. 
 Mr. Clinch stated that an immediate change of 
 sentiment, on the part of Mr. Kennedy, was 
 imperative, or that Mr. K. would be expected 
 to favour him, Mr. C, with an interview in the 
 Priest's Meadow. Captain Rattigan acknow- 
 ledged the request of Mr. Clinch to be a very 
 reasonable alternative, and covenanted that 
 Mr. Kennedy should appear at the time and 
 place mentioned ; and Mr. Clinch was then very 
 ceremoniously conducted down stairs by the 
 polite commander. 
 
 Through motives of delicacy, I had, at the 
 commencement of the interview, retired to the
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 221 
 
 next apartment; and as the rooms were only 
 separated by a boarded partition, I overheard, 
 through a convenient chink, with desperate 
 alarm. Captain Rattigan giving every facility 
 to my being shot at in half an hour in the 
 Priest's Meadow. 
 
 No wonder Rat found me pale as ^ spectre, 
 when bursting into the room he seized me by 
 the hand, and told me he had brought this un- 
 lucky business to a happy termination. He, the 
 captain, dreaded that Jemima would have been 
 looking for legal redress ; but, thank God ! it 
 would only end in a duel. 
 
 I hinted at the chance of my being shot. 
 
 " Shot!" exclaimed my comforter. '' Why, 
 what the devil does that signify? If, indeed, 
 you had been under the necessity of hanging 
 yourself, like the one-eyed major, it would have 
 been a hardship. No funeral honours — no de- 
 cent wake — but smuggled into the earth like a 
 half-bale of contraband tobacco ; — but, in your 
 case, certain of respectable treatment — reversed 
 arms — dead-march — and Christian burial : — vow 
 to God, quite a comfort to be shot under such
 
 222 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 flattering circumstances ! Frank, you have all 
 the luck of the Rattigans about you!" — and, 
 opening the door, he hallooed — " Myke — Mykle 
 Boyle, bring down the pace-makers to the par- 
 lour." 
 
 In a few seconds I heard the captain and his 
 man busily at work, and by a number of vil- 
 lanous clicks, which jarred through my system 
 like electricity, I found these worthies were 
 arranging the commander's pace-makers for my 
 use in the Priest's Meadow. 
 
 At the appointed hour I reached the ground, 
 which was but a short distance from the inn. 
 Rattigan and Bircham accompanied me, and 
 Myke Boyle followed with the tools. Mr. 
 Christopher Clinch and his friends were waiting 
 for us; and a cadaverous-looking being was 
 peeping through the hedge, whom I afterwards 
 discovered to be the village apothecary, allured 
 thither by the hope of an accident, as birds of 
 prey are said to be collected by a chance of 
 carrion. 
 
 The customary bows were formally inter- 
 changed between the respective belligerents— ^ the
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 223 
 
 ground correctly measured — pistols squibbed, 
 loaded, and delivered to the principals. I felt 
 devilish queer on finding myself opposite a tru- 
 culent fellow of enormous height, with a pair of 
 projecting whiskers, upon which a man might 
 hang his hat, and a pistol two feet long clutched 
 in his bony grasp. Rattigan, as he adjusted my 
 weapon, whispered — " Frank, jewel, remem- 
 ber the hip-bone ; or, as the fellow's a hell of a 
 length, you may level a trifle higher;'' and, 
 stepping aside, his coadjutor pronounced in an 
 audible voice — one ! — two ! ! — three I ! ! 
 
 Off went the pistols. I felt Mr. Clinch's 
 bullet whistle past my ear, and saw Captain 
 Rattigan, next moment, run up to my antago- 
 nist, and inquire if he was much hurt. Hea- 
 vens ! — how delightful ! I had brought the en- 
 gagement to a glorious issue by neatly removing 
 Mr. Clinch's trigger-finger, and thereby spoiling 
 his shooting for life. 
 
 With a few parting bows, we retired from 
 the Priest's Meadow, leaving Christopher 
 Clinch a job for the vampire apothecary, and 
 a fit subject for the assiduities of Mrs. Cogan 
 and the gentle Jemima.
 
 ^2A STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 If Captain Rattigan had registered a rash 
 vow against port wine, it is to be lamented ; for 
 never were three gentlemen of the sword more 
 completely done up at an early hour of the even- 
 ing than we. 
 
 Next day we were informed that Clinch was 
 tolerably well, and that their attorney had been 
 closeted with the ladies of Hawthorn Cottage. 
 We held a council of war, and while debating 
 on the expediency of my retiring on leave to 
 Connemara, where I might set Jemmy and her 
 lawyer at defiance, the post brought us intelli- 
 gence that *' a turn-out for the line was wanted ;" 
 and if I could muster the necessary number, I 
 should be exchanged into a regular regiment. 
 Off Rat and I started for Naas, and with little 
 difficulty succeeded in making up the quota; 
 and the first intimation the prototype of Glor- 
 vina received of our movements was being se- 
 duced to the window by the drums, as I march- 
 ed past Hawthorn Cottage, with as choice a 
 sample of '* food for gunpowder" as ever left 
 Ballybunnion. I saluted the once-intended 
 Mrs. Kennedy with great respect ; the fifers 
 struck up " Fare you well, Killeavey;*' and
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 225 
 
 Captain Rattigao, who accompanied me the 
 first day's march, ejaculated, as he looked 
 askance at this second Ariadne, " May the 
 devil smother you, Jemma O'Brien !" 
 
 And now, my dear boys, having brought my 
 autobiography to that interesting period when 
 I left the militia for the line, I shall pause in 
 the narrative, to direct your attention to the 
 moral of the tale. It is quite evident that a 
 young attorney should never compare deeds 
 within duelling distance of an accomplished 
 bonnet-maker, nor an elderly one divorce a 
 sickly gentleman's wife without securing his 
 costs before he announces his instructions to 
 proceed. No bilious bailiff should ever cross 
 the Shannon, for it is not every stomach which 
 will digest a stripe of parchment ; and exercise, 
 a good thing enough in its own w^ay, may, taken 
 on a tense blanket, be very inconvenient to per- 
 sons of sedentary habits. 
 
 I have a mighty affection for the army, and 
 therefore I supplicate young soldiers never to 
 propose for a lady in a public ball-room the 
 first night they arrive in country quarters, and
 
 J§t26 STQRIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 to shun, as they would the chorea viti, that 
 seductive tune, called *' The wind that shakes 
 the barley!" and, finally, to give no credence 
 whatever to any apology offered for a soiled 
 silk, unless they have perpetrated the offence 
 in person, or have seen it committed in their 
 own actual presence. 
 
 Here Captain Kennedy paused, and the at- 
 tendants of the Red Cow, marshalled by an 
 Irish bat-man of Mac Carthy's, entered in due 
 form with supper. Whether its arrangement 
 would have been lauded by Ude, or its quality 
 commended by Kitchener, we shall not stop to 
 determine; but certainly either artist would 
 have pronounced it sufficiently substantial. 
 
 When supper had given place to roscrea, 
 a liquor which Captain Mac Carthy admired 
 mightily, Colonel Hilson expressed much cu- 
 riosity to hear the rest of the history of the 
 grenadier: the latter willingly assented, and 
 thus continued his adventures.
 
 FRANK KENNEDY, 
 
 CONTINUED. 
 
 After an affectionate parting with Captain 
 Rattigan, on the second evening I marched 
 into the metropolis at the head of my *' charge 
 of foot !" I made my grand entree in full regi- 
 mentals, and recalled, with no small vanity, 
 the difference of my present appearance in the 
 redoubted capital of the Emerald Isle, with the 
 unassuming manner in which I first sought the 
 residence of my uncle Davidson, when bent on 
 studying jurisprudence at the feet of that gifted 
 Gamaliel. Who, indeed, could have recognised 
 the staring rustic bestriding a trunk upon the 
 roof of the Galway mail, in the spruce and 
 jaunty commander, who was now leaving, The- 
 seus like, the Ariadne of Ballybunnion ? 
 
 I found my uncle perched on his well-known
 
 228 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 stool. He made a most formal bow when I 
 entered, and when, in a most dutiful strain, I 
 inquired after his, and my aunt's health, and 
 he discovered that the smart soldier before him 
 was no other than his quondam disciple, myself, 
 I never witnessed such a display of astonish- 
 ment, excepting that occasioned by the abstrac- 
 tion of the Kilgobbin title-deeds. There would 
 have been a demur touching my re-entry of 
 the premises, I verily suspect; but, then my 
 aunt, what would she say if her nephew should 
 be rejected like hearsay evidence ? The little 
 lawyer summoned up all his civility, and taking 
 my protruded hand between a couple of his 
 fingers, as gingerly as my mutilated friend Kit 
 Clinch would have done, assured me he was 
 glad to see me, that he had a room at my ser- 
 vice, provided I did not outstay the end of 
 term— an event, by-the-bye, of some three or 
 four days ; and telling me my aunt was paying a 
 sick visit, and that his niece was in the drawing- 
 room, warned me from entertaining the latter 
 lady with any love or nonsense, and pointing to 
 the door, signalled me to retire.
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 229 
 
 I mounted the drawing-room stairs, leisurely 
 communing" with myself. I had heard that 
 Duncan had an only niece, to whose education 
 he had been most attentive, and thai moreover 
 she was young and lively ; and my aunt Macan 
 delighted in prognosticating that she would in- 
 herit " every sixpence." But 4 rather looked 
 down upon the little solicitor in his proper per- 
 son ; the blood was clearly on our side of the 
 house, and my mother a thousand times averred 
 that my aunt's marriage with Duncan was the 
 first introduction of an attorney into the house 
 of Killnacoppall. 
 
 " But, God help him, poor man !" said I ; 
 " little does he imagine what a heart-scald 
 love and sentiment have given me. i'U in- 
 sure Miss Davidson against similar consequen- 
 ces as far as I am concerned." As I soli- 
 loquised, I opened the drawing-room door ; 
 there she sat with her back to me, playing 
 with might and main Tom Cooke's overture 
 to Mother Goose, which was at that time 
 addling and distracting man, woman, and child. 
 I nearly levanted without a further cultivation
 
 230 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 of our relationship ; for, object of my aversion 
 — not Tom Cooke's overture — there she was, 
 literally and absolutely invested in blue bomba- 
 sine ! " Oh ! for one speck of coffee," thought 
 I, " and I'm off for ever." But the frock bore 
 my scrutiny, and I set down the colour as a 
 lamentable instance of false taste, and deter- 
 mined the first moment of our intimacy to sup- 
 plicate a total abandonment of blue for the 
 term of her natural life. 
 
 Whether she really had not heard me, or 
 pretended it, I know not ; but I was obliged to 
 approach close to her elbow before she would 
 exhibit any symptoms of acknowledgment. I 
 bowed — she bowed — and both were silent. I 
 mustered courage — I, a soldier, and be afraid 
 of attacking a cousin, and that too on Duncan's 
 side of the house! — *' Madam, I presume — my 
 fair cousin. Miss Lucy Davidson V' 
 
 " Exactly, sir." 
 
 " I have the honour— a-hem ! — to be Mr. 
 Kennedy of the 88th." 
 
 ** So I supposed," said she, with perfect un- 
 concern.
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 231 
 
 *' Is this ease or stupidity," thought I. 
 
 *' You have heard of me before, then ?" 
 
 " O Lord, yes ! repeatedly : my uncle spoke 
 of nothing else for a year; — you're the man 
 that lost the bag !" 
 
 "Lost the devil, madam! has not that in- 
 fernal mistake been yet forgotten ?" 
 
 " Don't call it a mistake; it was a cause of 
 great service to the community. Lady Splash- 
 board tired of her lover before a new deed 
 could be engrossed, and is now living with her 
 noble spouse in the greatest connubial felicity; 
 and Sir Phelim O'Boyl popped off suddenly 
 in a passion before half his mortgages could be 
 resatisfied, and thereby discharged his debts, 
 and concluded a chancery suit ; two events 
 which would otherwise have been left incom- 
 plete till the day of judgment." 
 
 I stared at her during the singular dialogue. 
 I had made a wrong estimate of my cousin : 
 of us two, it was clear that she was the stouter 
 vessel ; and I at once determined to give in. 
 At this moment my aunt's knock was heard at 
 the door. Lucy turned to me with arch good-
 
 SS2 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 nature, '*Come, cousin Frank, here's my hand— 
 we are friends ; and excepting when ttte-d-ttte, 
 we will never allude to the title-deeds ;" and 
 sitting down to the piano, she recommenced 
 Mother Goose. 
 
 I had been an inmate of my uncle's house 
 but a few days when I discovered I was ab- 
 solutely ill love with Lucy. She was a clever, 
 warm-hearted girl ; a compound of wildness 
 and good-nature — teazing me this moment, and 
 softening me the next. V/e strolled arm-in- 
 arm through the city ; and as the time for my 
 departure drew on, I found that Lucy had, as 
 Duncan would have said, ejected former occu- 
 pants, and taken undisputed possession of my 
 heart. Full of the idea of my fair cousin, we 
 were returning home through Capel Street, 
 when, on coming abruptly round the corner of 
 Mary's Abbey — blessed apostle of Ireland! 
 whom should we meet, full front, but Christo- 
 pher Clinch, with one arm in a sling, and the 
 other supporting Jemima O'Brien. I thought I 
 should have died on the spot ; and, indeed. Kit 
 was not apparently on a bed of roses ; and Jemi-
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 233 
 
 ma, notwithstanding her brass, had rather what 
 we call in Ireland "a bothered look about her." 
 We passed hastily on, none of the party 
 having" any inclination for salutations in the 
 market-place. Lucy was too clever not to re- 
 mark, that some more than common under- 
 standing existed between this_ amiable pair 
 and myself; and when we reached home, find- 
 ing we were alone, she pressed her inquiries 
 with such tact and pertinacity, that no alterna- 
 tive but a full confession was left. Accord- 
 ingly, amid roars of laughter, I made a clean 
 breast, and only brought my unhappy story to 
 a close when Duncan's peculiar cough was 
 heard in the hall. *' ^yhy, Frank, this far ex- 
 ceeds the title-deeds : ah ! my poor cousin, two 
 such scrapes in one short twelvemonth 1" and 
 tapping my cheek wdth her glove, she ran out 
 of the room before our gracious uncle entered. 
 While congratulating myself on the rapid ad- 
 vance in my cousin's estimation, which no 
 doubt my character had just acquired, by her 
 being more particularly acquainted with my 
 private memoirs, my sergeant arrived with
 
 234 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 written orders for our embarkation the next 
 morning-. Any chance I might have had of 
 gradually removing Lucy's impression of my 
 idiotcy was now over, and I should leave Ire- 
 land, satisfied that my mistress considered me 
 the veriest ass that was permitted to go at 
 large through the world. No wonder, when I 
 joined her after dinner, my spirits were any 
 thing but buoyant. 
 
 I approached her at the piano. '* What is 
 the matter with you, Frank ? You are sorry 
 that you admitted me farther into your con- 
 fidence than you first purposed. Come, I 
 won't play with your feelings — indeed I won't ; 
 don't be depressed." 
 
 " How can I be otherwise, Lucy? here is 
 the order for my embarkation ; and 1 leave you 
 in the full persuasion that I must appear a weak 
 and contemptible imbecile in your eyes — a fit 
 subject for being fooled by flirts and bullies." 
 
 *' No, no — not by bullies. You have enough 
 of your country's pugnacious properties to pre- 
 vent your being dragooned ; — but when do you 
 go I and when do you probably return 1"
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 235 
 
 " I go to-morrow ; I return probably, never. 
 Oh! Lucy; on this, our last evening, forgive 
 me if I tell my secret : I never felt I loved a 
 woman till I met you." 
 
 She turned her eyes quickly upon mine : she 
 read there the sincerity of my declarations, and 
 coloured deeply, as I continued—" Lucy, how 
 shall I woo you? how shall I win you? Be 
 mine — mine own. Love ! — boundless eternal 
 love— !" 
 
 *' Hush ! for Heaven's sake ! some one is on 
 the stairs ;" and turning hastily some leaves of 
 music, she continued with apparent unconcern, 
 " it is composed by my master. I'll sing it for 
 you, and of its merits you will then be a better 
 judge." 
 
 Love, wilt thou build a cot for me 
 
 Where roses red shall blush around it? 
 
 And there shall bloom Love's sacred tree. 
 And many a myrtle wreath surround it. 
 
 Love, wilt thou twine for me a bower 
 To shade me from the summer's glow ? 
 
 And there the jasmine white shall flower. 
 And there the purple hare-bell blow.
 
 23G STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 Love, wilt thou come when day is over, 
 
 And softly lay thee down to rest ? 
 My arms shall clasp my faithful lover. 
 
 My head be pillowed on his breast. 
 
 Before her song was finished my aunt had 
 again left us to ourselves, and I pressed my 
 wild suit with all the ardent arguments of first 
 love. Lucy was not unmoved : she listened, 
 and then calmly turning to me, replied, ** And 
 would you have me, Frank, leave home and 
 kindred to join my destinies to yours? Now, 
 Frank, hear me — calmly hear me. We should 
 have to eat and drink, and be clothed as other 
 mortals are, and that, all on five shillings and 
 sixpence per day, and you be shot at for that 
 sum into the bargain ! As to private pro- 
 perty, I have some fifty pounds, being the be- 
 quest of an aff"ectionate aunt, who left double 
 that sum for the maintenance of her poodle; 
 and you have probably not so much to carry 
 you over the Peninsula. Now, dear Frank, 
 where would be the wisdom in our marriage I 
 No, no — wait five years, and when I have 
 five thousand pounds in the funds, who knows
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 237 
 
 but I may become Mrs. Kennedy ? — there's my 
 hand on it." She smiled — ** Come, you are 
 dull : my uncle will be coming up to supper, and 
 in the interim I'll sing you my favourite ballad." 
 
 Fair Jessie, wlien the ruoon was new. 
 
 Stole out to meet her highland lover : 
 The glistening leaf was bathed in dew. 
 
 And soundly slept her watchful mother. 
 
 The moon grew round, still Jessie hied 
 Each night to hear young Donald's stoiy j 
 
 And oft the gentle maiden sighed 
 O'er tales of love, and fields of glory. 
 
 Behind her clouds the wan moon sleeps; 
 
 But Jessie loves no more the gloaming : 
 Alone s!ie sighs — alone she weeps — 
 
 For far from her false Donald's roaming. 
 
 Sweet smiles the moon upon the lea, 
 
 While on her snow- wreathed throne she's sleeping; 
 But, ah ! that fickle smile will flee ; 
 
 And, Uke false love, may end in weeping. 
 
 As Lucy sang, she cast a look of arch appli- 
 cation to me — " Ladies have been loved, and 
 ladies have been left before now, Frank." 
 
 Again I commenced rhapsodising — ** What!
 
 238 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 leave you, Lucy, were you once mine ! Never, 
 by Heaven ! I would live for you — labour for 
 
 you — die for you — but never •" and my 
 
 cursed voice was pitched so loud as to prevent 
 me hearing the opening of the door — " I will 
 never leave you — never leave this house till — ^*' 
 
 ** There's a writ o{ ne exeat regno served on 
 you, at the suit of Jemima O'Brien, spinster, 
 for breach of promise ;" and, to our unutterable 
 dismay, Duncan Davidson was standing at the 
 back of my chair. ** Oh ! Frank, Frank Ken- 
 nedy, what will be your end ? By you. Lord 
 Splashboard lost his divorce : I lost my costs : 
 Sir Phelim lost his life : Jemima O'Brien lost 
 her character ; and Mr. Clinch, as I am in- 
 structed, lost the use of his hand." 
 
 I felt hurt and mortified at these multifa- 
 rious allegations ; and with some heat, told him 
 I should remove myself forthwith from the 
 house of a relation, who seemed to extend a 
 scanty share of hospitality to one who had 
 never been a trespasser on it. 
 
 " No, no — don't be in a passion : Poucett, my 
 scrivener, heard of the intended proceedings by
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 239 
 
 chance, and gave me the earliest information — 
 but, you sail in the morning ; be on board be- 
 fore the court sits ; avoid the ne exeat — 
 and God speed you ! — To your bed, Lucy ! — 
 what keeps the girl up?" With a significant 
 look, my mistress rose and left the room. 
 
 As I was to be off very early in ihe morning, 
 ray uncle availed himself of this opportunity 
 of bidding me farewell. Having calculated 
 that the odds were against my ever troubling 
 him again, he made me a parting present of a 
 five-pound note. 
 
 I retired to my chamber, but not to sleep — 
 and was gazing listlessly from the window, hear- 
 ing the sleepy watchman tell the droning hours, 
 when a gentle tap called me to the door, and, on 
 tiptoe, my fair cousin glided into the apartment. 
 
 She placed her finger on her lip, and pro- 
 ducing a small parcel, carefully sealed, spoke 
 to me in a cautious whisper — " I have brought 
 you, Frank, a trifle — a bauble — it is for a re- 
 collection of your cousin, when you are far 
 away ; but give me one promise, or I take my 
 present with me. Can you patiently wait a 
 given time before you open this enclosure T'
 
 240 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 I had thrown my arm around her, but an em- 
 phatic gesture prevented me from catching her 
 to my breast ; — I murmured a hasty promise. 
 
 " Will you swear it?" 
 
 " By your own sweet self," I whispered. 
 
 *' Enough !" — she smiled — ** the oath is cer- 
 tainly aa awful one ! — Have you nothing to 
 give me in return ?" 
 
 I looked confounded. — *' Nothing," I eja- 
 culated, " but this poor hand." 
 
 " Nothing!" she repeated. " Has woman 
 never had an offering of your hair?" 
 
 ** Never," I exclaimed solemnly. 
 
 *' Stoop." 
 
 I did so, and she removed a ringlet hastily — 
 then turning her lips to mine, she bade me a 
 fond adieu. I would have followed, but a 
 menace from her finger, and an expressive 
 look, forbade me. 
 
 I never saw her since ! 
 
 Well — my tale is near its close. The little 
 packet was carefully secured, and a written 
 order prohibited its being opened until we landed 
 in Portugal. Vain were my conjectures as to 
 what might be Lucy's present ; the time came —
 
 FRANK KENNEDY. 241 
 
 I broke the seals eagerly. The packet contained 
 a picture of herself, and a purse of fifty guineas, 
 being the legacy of her aunt, the poodle fancier. 
 
 Five years have nearly passed, and I have 
 been since in many a stirring scene ; I have 
 shared the pleasures of a military life, and 
 like my comrades, I have bent to woman, and, 
 urfed the " lightly- won " suit of a soldier, 
 but never has my heart been disengaged, from 
 that generous high-spirited girl. I have dream- 
 ed of her in the bivouac ; I have thought of 
 her in the battle ; I returned, ardent to catch 
 my gentle cousin to my heart, and renew upon 
 her lips my vows of eternal constancy. 
 
 But when did love's course run smooth ? — 
 My father and Duncan had quarrelled beyond 
 the possibility of being reconciled ; for my aunt 
 Macan had, as usual, interfered, and to evince 
 what she calls " proper spirit," favoured my 
 uncle Davidson with a letter, in which she 
 satisfactorily proved that all good luck had 
 abandoned the house of Killnacoppal since one 
 of its daughters had degraded her name, by 
 '• intermarrying with a low-born quill-driver." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 242 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 No wonder Duncan's door was closed against 
 me; no wonder Lucy was commanded, under 
 the heaviest denunciation of being disinherited, 
 to avoid me. Poor girl ! — she wrote to me. It 
 was a letter worthy of her : she pointed out the 
 delicacy of her situation, and showed me the 
 necessity of a farther separation ; — yet, I know 
 I hold a place in her heart, and if woman was 
 ever true — " 
 
 Mac Carthy coloured deeply — " Never!" he 
 muttered, as he left the room. There was a 
 momentary silence; Hilson broke it. " Poor 
 Maurice, there is some hidden mystery gnaws 
 that bold heart, and which even his desperate 
 resolution cannot subdue; but he wrongs the 
 sex — woman can, and has, and will be true : — 
 yes, J have witnessed faith to the tomh!" 
 
 His eyes filled with tears as he traversed 
 the apartments. " Kennedy, you and I will 
 bear record of woman's truth, and woman's con- 
 stancy, did you but know my early history." 
 
 Anxiously Kennedy entreated him to tell it ; 
 and Mac Carthy having returned. Colonel Hil- 
 son related his youthful adventures.
 
 THE STORY 
 
 OF 
 
 COLONEL HILSON.
 
 THE STORY OF COLONEL 
 HILSON. 
 
 Oh the heart that has truly loved, never forgets, 
 But as fondly loves on to the close. 
 
 MoouE. 
 
 I AM the second son of Sir Philip Hilson. 
 My elder brother, the late baronet, and I were 
 the sole issue of Sir Philip's marriage. My 
 father and brother have been long dead ; and 
 ray orphan nephew (a minor) and myself are 
 all that survive of that ancient name. 
 
 My early history is so closely interwoven 
 with my father's that I must describe him. At 
 the time I last saw him, he was in his fiftieth
 
 246 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 year ; he was a man of eccentric opinions, and 
 stern uncompromising temper. In his youth 
 he had been a busy, bustling intriguer in poli- 
 tics, and had so materially injured his property 
 by election contests, as to make it necessary 
 for him to repair it by means of a wealthy al- 
 liance with my mother. How two such beings 
 could come together is marvellous : the one 
 seemed to be the hottest production of the 
 tropic sun ; and she, the offspring of an ice- 
 berg. I have often thought that Sheridan and 
 my father were intimate ; for Sir Anthony Abso- 
 lute, in the Rivals, was but a softened portrait 
 of Sir Philip. 
 
 Different as were my parents, there was a 
 comparative difference between my brother and 
 me. Thomas was a quiet, tame-spirited milk- 
 and-water character ; he was the counterpart 
 of his mother, and she literally doated on him. 
 As to myself, I believe she did not dislike me ; 
 but she certainly never wasted a thought upon 
 what I did, or what I should hereafter do. Not 
 so my father: I was honoured with a due 
 share of his attention (for he never minded my
 
 COLONEL HILSON, 247 
 
 brother). Every day I was scolded or chastised, 
 right or wrong ; and the sun never set with- 
 out my having received some personal favour, 
 in the shape of an oath or a blow. I pass over 
 my infancy, and now imagine me fifteen years 
 old. 
 
 The family estate was entailed, and of course 
 devolved upon my brother; and a valuable 
 church preferment Icing in our gift, I was 
 destined to possess it. 
 
 My education for a churchman was after the 
 peculiar system of my worthy father. I had 
 a tutor who was fond of me, and endeavoured 
 to teach me Latin. The huntsman gave me 
 lessons in riding, and I learned shooting and 
 swearing from the keeper. Under these in- 
 structors, T have some doubts whether I 
 should have attained much eminence as a 
 theologian. 
 
 A circumstance occurred about this time, 
 which will mark the state of the family of 
 Hiison Hall. Tom had scarcely nerve to ride 
 a donkey ; but almost from his childhood a 
 pair of horses had been kept solely for his use ;
 
 248 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 >vhile I was obliged to follow the hunt on foot, 
 or g-et an odd ring from the huntsman or 
 whipper. *' St. Stephen's day, that blessed morn," 
 as the old ballad goes, I was in the field, with 
 nothing to depend on but my own supple legs ; 
 for on that grand day, my friends, the gentle- 
 men of the kennel, would have sooner parted 
 with their lives than their cavalry. Tom, 
 sorely against his own inclination, had ven- 
 tured out to look at the hunt : the chase un- 
 luckily headed towards the rising ground where 
 he had established himself; and the galloping 
 of horses made his mare so uneasy, that he 
 dismounted. At this moment the fox broke 
 cover, and the hounds made a gallant burst 
 from the coppice beneath us. Human nature 
 could not bear it. I sprung on Tom's mare, 
 seized the bridle, and with a shout of delight 
 was in a second across the fence, and alongside 
 my Worthy friends the huntsman and whipper. 
 The chase was long and sharp; and unfortu- 
 nately, Tom's mare not being in wind, made a 
 mistake at the last leap, and a broken knee 
 was the result.
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 249 
 
 Trembling for the consequences of my rash- 
 ness, I had scarcely time to change my clothes 
 before the dinner-bell rang. One of the ca- 
 pital offences of Hilson Hall was not being re- 
 gularly at the table. 1 hurried down. My father 
 had had an additional twinge of the gout in the 
 course of the day, and was now seated near the 
 fire, his foot rolled in flannel, and a huge crutch 
 standing perpendicularly against the chimney- 
 piece. My mother sat in imperturbable placi- 
 dity, while occasionally Tom threw a reproach- 
 ful glance across the table, first eyeing my father 
 askance, to see that he did not observe him. 
 Our dinner passed with its customary accom- 
 paniments ; my father between every mouthful 
 rating the attendants and cursing the cook. 
 
 The only accomplishment that I can remem- 
 ber to have learned from Sir Philip, was the 
 art and mystery of making a turf fire. Poor 
 Tom's nervous habits prevented him from being 
 employed; for he never took the tongs in his 
 hands that his dread of my father did not oc- 
 casion the fall of a peat, to the imminent peril 
 of the baronet's gouty toe.
 
 2f50 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 The cloth was removed : I was summoned to 
 my duty ; and had approached awfully close to 
 Sir Philip, when the head-groom came in and 
 whispered him. My hand trembled, my face 
 grew pale, as he bellowed — " Blood and thun- 
 der !" I thought Tom would have fainted. 
 *' Who broke her knees, you rascal ?" 
 
 *' I can't tell," said the groom. " Mr. Tho- 
 mas rode her out quite well in the morning." 
 ** Ay, you nincompoop," returned my father. 
 My mother, comprehending by this epithet 
 that my brother was implicated in the business, 
 with her usual provoking calmness inquired 
 what was the matter. 
 
 *• The devil's the matter," replied Sir Philip. 
 *' Miss Macnamara's knees are broken." 
 
 "I am so sorry," said my mother, with per- 
 fect unconcern. 
 
 " Blood and fury !" said my father. *' Will 
 your sorrow grow hair upon the mare's knees ? 
 The mare I refused one hundred guineas for 
 from that puppy in the dragoons. How did 
 this happen, you hen-hearted do-no-good ?" 
 Tom was perfectly thunderstruck, and only
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 251 
 
 looked at me as if he was fascinated. — *' Who, 
 I say, broke her knees ?" 
 
 ** I did," said I, mustering desperate resolu- 
 tion. 
 
 In a moment the crutch described a rapid 
 circle round my head. — " And why, you block- 
 head, did you lend your mare to the villain I" 
 
 '•' He did not lend her," said-I, doggedly. 
 
 '* And how, you graceless rogue, did you 
 break her knees?" 
 
 " He could not ride her, and I took her from 
 him ; she was in no wind, and fell at a leap." 
 
 Now comes the blow, thought I ; but, to my 
 surprise, the crutch was lowered. ** Humph! 
 a good reason enough for taking the fellow's 
 horse ; a thirty-year-old donkey would suit the 
 simpleton better than the best mare I bred 
 these ten years. When I was your age, 1 
 would have ridden the devil himself, had he 
 but a horse's skin over him. Ah ! if you were 
 but like me!" 
 
 " God forbid ! Sir Philip," rejoined my mo- 
 ther, who had coolly collected her needle-work.
 
 252 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 and with the heir-apparent was leaving the 
 room. 
 
 "Pish!" cried my father, ''these PlaCids 
 (my mother was of that family) would drive a 
 passionate man mad. Here, you sir!" and he 
 filled a bumper of port — " Here, never run 
 your horse off his wind again." 1 took the 
 glass, and drank with suitable gravity towards 
 his better health. 
 
 ** Humph!" said he, and thinking he bad 
 encouraged too much freedom between us, he 
 gruffly added — '* I tell you, George, my easy 
 temper, and your mother's silly indulgence, will 
 destroy you. Ah ! if you had Sir Humphry my 
 father to deal with ;— but be off:" and he point- 
 ed to the door. There was no misunderstand- 
 ing my father ; 1 accordingly retired, wondering 
 what kind of man Sir Humphry had been. 
 
 I pass over two years. My entrance into 
 the Dublin University was fixed for the ensu- 
 ing month, but circumstances gave my life a 
 very opposite colour; and now I must intro- 
 duce you to the only two beings whom I may
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 253 
 
 say I ever sincerely loved. The one was my 
 kinsman, Arthur Hilson, and the other, Emma 
 Folingsby, the daughter of a deceased ofiBcer. 
 
 Arthur was the only child of my uncle. His 
 father made an imprudent match, and died of a 
 broken heart before my kinsman was born. The 
 widow did not long survive him, and the orphan 
 fell to the protection of Sir Philip. Whether 
 it was Arthur's destitution, or to some superior 
 qualifications he possessed, that my father's 
 predilection for the boy can be ascribed, I know 
 not ; but certainly he treated him with common 
 civility, sometimes asked him for an opinion, 
 and always supplied his pecuniary wants with 
 delicacy and liberality. Arthur was indeed a 
 fine amiable creature. His character was one 
 of quiet decision ; his manners particularly 
 bland ; but with external gentleness, there was 
 much manly feeling in Arthur Hilson. His 
 character, indeed, was unknown, until an inci- 
 dent called his latent spirit out. 
 
 In one of those afflictions of Ireland, a ge- 
 neral election, Sir Philip must, forsooth, ** as it 
 was his wont," interfere ; and anv interference
 
 254 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 of his was sure to create confusion to all par- 
 ties. He said something harsh to a young 
 gentleman, which drew forth a rejoinder that 
 my father called an insult. Away he posted 
 for his friend and pistols ; for among his nume- 
 rous virtues, it is but common justice to say, 
 that he was always ready to fight for any quar- 
 rel, or for no quarrel at all. 
 
 Arthur happened to be fortunately at the 
 election ; and promptly waiting on the gentle- 
 man, pointed out the inequality of years be- 
 tween my father and him, and concluded by 
 offering himself as his substitute. A kind of 
 Sir Lucius, who happened to be the friend, 
 thought it mattered nothing who fought, pro- 
 vided there was a battle ; and the offer was ac- 
 cordingly accepted. My cousin took my father's 
 place, received a fire, and afterwards an apo- 
 logy. This generous conduct of course rais- 
 ed him highly in his uncle's esteem, as well 
 as in the good opinion of all the neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 Arthur noticed the injustice with which my 
 parents treated me, and when staying at Hilson
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 255 
 
 Hall, endeavoured to lighten my sufferings. I 
 sincerely loved him as a brother, and the afifec- 
 tion of my youth followed him, poor fellow, to 
 his grave. 
 
 I remember the last interview I had with my 
 parents, and as it is characteristic of both, I 
 will relate it. 
 
 I had latterly been promoted to be a kind of 
 deputy master of cavalry to the establishment, 
 and had occasion to call on my father pro- 
 fessionally for something required by the mt- 
 nage. He was sitting in his usual place, which 
 was called the study, although Sir Philip seldom 
 used it for purposes to which such apartments 
 are commonly appropriated. Within this room 
 was a small closet, which was the baronet's 
 sanctorum ; it was a curious repository of all 
 sorts of things. Here was gunpowder for the 
 keeper, specifics for the gout, leather for the 
 harness, and iron for the ploughs. To this 
 Noah's ark my father directed me, and when 
 searching through the lumber, the study door 
 opened, and my mother sailed in.
 
 256 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 A voluntary call from the good lady was 
 so extraordinary, that Sir Philip immediately 
 growled — *' How now — any thing wrong ?" 
 
 " Sir Philip," replied the dame, *' I have 
 made a dreadful discovery." 
 
 " Humph !" said my father. 
 
 ** I and my maid," continued my mother, 
 *' were in my flower-garden, when, on the other 
 side of the hedge, we saw George kiss the 
 huntsman's daughter, and put his arm with 
 frightful familiarity round her waist." 
 
 " Well, madam, and what next?" 
 
 '* What next. Sir Philip ! Oh ! if this shock- 
 ing affair has proceeded to the height of my 
 apprehensions — " 
 
 My father here burst in with a tremendous 
 " Pish ! All I shall say is, that I hope your 
 fears are realised to their fullest extent ! What ! 
 all this bottle of smoke about a fellow kissing a 
 wench ! But be under no alarm for nincompoop, 
 your pet — no fear of him. Zounds ! he's a man 
 of snow— an automaton. Why, before I was 
 his age, the increase I gave the population
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 257 
 
 would astonish you. Zounds! if he was but 
 like me — " 
 
 " Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Lady Hilson, 
 as she glided in unruffled composure from the 
 chamber. 
 
 But the fears of my lady mother were un- 
 founded. I had indeed '* kissed the keeper's 
 daughter;" but that was the " head and front," 
 and termination too, of my offending. I should 
 have required, no doubt, as much philosophy 
 as my neighbours to have withstood the in- 
 fluence of Susan's rustic beauties ; but I had a 
 counter-charm — my heart was already full of 
 another, and a fairer object;— in short, I was 
 distractedly in love. 
 
 Emma Folingsby — even yet my cheek red- 
 dens as I name her — was an orphan, and re- 
 sided with a respectable elderly lady, her grand- 
 mother. She had neither fortune nor family to 
 boast of, and like many a village beauty, her 
 existence was unknown beyond the hamlet 
 where she bloomed. She was one of those 
 rare creatures who are occasionally found in 
 obscurity — beautiful, graceful, talented, and
 
 258 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 spirited. Our years were about equal ; we 
 had been intimate from cliildhood, and my 
 passion for her had grown with my growth. 
 
 I was now seventeen. Latterly, indeed, Sir 
 Philip had not subjected me to the indignity of 
 a blow ; but the dreadful severity of his temper 
 made my existence intolerable. Years must 
 pass before I could be emancipated from do- 
 mestic thraldom, and sometimes I despaired of 
 longer endurance of my slavery— but love sup- 
 ported me through all, Emma heard my com- 
 plaints, witnessed my sufferings, and cheered 
 me when I drooped. She was the only being 
 with whom I held communion ; for my cousin 
 was about to graduate in college, and Avas sel- 
 dom at home. Her pity I mistook for passion, 
 and her sympathy for love. 
 
 The romance of my story draws near to its 
 catastrophe. Arthur was expected home, having 
 completed his studies ; and happy in having any 
 excuse for being near her, who engrossed my 
 every thought, 1 walked to the cottage to tell 
 Emma that my kinsman was returning. 
 
 The garden of Mrs. Folingsby was separated
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 259 
 
 from the park by a holly hedge ; and by means 
 of a little door the inmates could visit Hilson 
 Hall without passing through the village. It 
 was a sultry day in July, and I found Emma in 
 her favourite retreat. She never looked so 
 beautiful; the colour of her cheeks was height- 
 ened by the summer heat, and her expressive 
 eyes sparkled with more than their usual bril- 
 liancy. ** Emma," said I, sitting beside her on 
 the rustic bench, '* you look so happy, so 
 handsome, to-day ; has any thing occurred to 
 give you pleasure ?" 
 
 There was an archness about her ** Xo " that 
 would have been understood to mean the con- 
 trary by any one but myself. — '* I have good 
 news to tell you," continued I, " our favourite 
 Arthur is to be at the Hall to-day. I am so 
 happy." 
 
 " And are you really so, dear George?" she 
 replied, with animated quickness. 
 
 A look — a word — will often decide a man's 
 destiny; and such did mine. " Oh, that I was 
 dear to you!" I exclaimed, as my full heart 
 found utterance, and in fervid language told
 
 260 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 its secret. Emma's brow and cheeks grew red 
 and pale by turns. I watched the varying ex- 
 pression of her countenance. I listened, trem- 
 bling, for the first word she would articulate. 
 Agitation kept her silent for a minute; but 
 summoning resolution, she spoke, and my 
 hopes were blasted. She told me, quietly, 
 affectionately, but decisively, that she had no 
 heart to give me : she told me, she would ever 
 love me as a brother, but circumstances ren- 
 dered all else impossible. While she still spoke 
 to soothe my disappointment, her grandmother 
 entered the garden ; my mind was distracted — 
 I knew scarcely what I did ; but leaping from 
 the bench, I bounded over the hedge, and 
 rushed into the thickest of the underwood. 
 
 Hours passed, and still I lay upon the earth ; 
 tears rolled down my cheeks : never was man 
 so wretched. At last the dinner bell sounded, 
 and I mechanically rose and hurried to the 
 Hall. 
 
 I was late in entering the dining-room : 
 something had irritated my father, and in his 
 con^mon coarse manner, he commenced one of
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 261 
 
 his philippics. To his and the surprise of all, I 
 answered coolly, that it was useless making any 
 noise about a trifle, and that the inconvenience 
 of cold soup would be a more than adequate 
 punishment for my offence. A reply had, here- 
 tofore, never passed my lips. Sir Philip got 
 red with rage — the domestics trernbled for the 
 consequences — my father could not speak for 
 passion, but pointed to the door. I understood 
 the hint, and rose and quitted the apartment. 
 
 Unconscious of what I did, I wandered to 
 the shrubbery. I flung myself on a bench, and 
 indulged in bitter musings uninterruptedly. 
 Before I was aware of their approach. Lady 
 Hilson and Tom were beside me. My mother, 
 with her characteristic calmness, passed me, 
 coolly remarking — " Well, George, your temper 
 is so like your poor father's !" 
 
 " Oh, Heaven !" I exclaimed, ** among you, 
 I shall be driven mad ;" and I wildly rushed 
 from the shrubbery. 
 
 Arthur had taken the earliest moment for 
 quitting the baronet to come and look for me. 
 I was rushing past him, when he forcibly arrest-
 
 262 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 ed me. I was almost crazed, and when my 
 cousin took my hand, when he affectionately 
 began, ** Dear George," the recollection of the 
 morning perfectly unsettled my understanding ; 
 and, with an execration on my wayward fate, I 
 rushed from him, and with the speed of a 
 hunted deer, plunged into the darkest of the 
 plantations. 
 
 Stretched on the grass, evening came on — 
 the shades of night fell fast, and hours elapsed 
 while I lay on the ground in bitter listlessness. 
 At length the rolling of the mail-coach, and the 
 winded horn of the guard, broke my melancholy 
 reveries. I rose up — it was nearly dark ; one 
 of the village streets was parallel with the park 
 wall, and by accident I took the path which ran 
 beside it. I heard voices on the other side — 
 the night was still — and I overheard two per- 
 sons in conversation, one of whom I recognised 
 to be the postmaster. 
 
 ** This news will make a stir at the Hall." 
 " It will," replied the second voice. " What 
 says the letter?" asked the other. *' Nothing 
 more, than that Dr. Dosewell died on Satur-
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 263 
 
 day." — " That is one thousand a year for George 
 Hilson ;" — and the speakers separated with a 
 " good night." 
 
 You can scarcely imagine how coldly this im- 
 portant occurrence affected me. I had already 
 formed a plan for immediately leaving home. 
 '* Could I hut see Emma once more," thought I, 
 " could I but know the reason of my rejection; 
 I am ignorant of any acquaintance she has, 
 likely to engage her affections." Instinctively, 
 my steps led me to the garden. " I will, at 
 least," said I, " visit the spot which witnessed 
 my misery." T started— the little wicket was 
 open, and voices were talking softly at no great 
 distance. *' Oh, if it be Emma!" thought I; 
 •' and that sweet voice is surely her's." I ad- 
 vanced cautiously ; the evergreens concealed 
 me. I approached the rustic bench— and, 
 heavens and earth ! I saw Emma herself, sit- 
 ting beside a man whose arm encircled her 
 waist, while her head fondly rested on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 I leaned for support against a tree, when a 
 well-known voice told me that the stranger was
 
 264 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 my cousin. He had been just listening to her 
 account of our morning interview. " A.ncl did 
 you soften the bitterness of a refusal, dearest 
 Emma? — did you soothe the agony of such a 
 disappointment? Good Heaven! poor youth, 
 how I pity him ! Emma, I love him, next to 
 yourself, best in the world, and would sacrifice 
 every thing " 
 
 *' But me," interrupted the blushing girl. 
 
 " Even so," said my cousin, as he kissed her 
 tenderly, *' to make George Hilson happy ; and 
 when I think of our engagement, this, like all 
 the rest, omens badly for its issue." 
 
 " Nay, dear Arthur, you are always appre- 
 hensive." 
 
 *' If I am, Emma, it is for you ; am I not 
 injuring you, in inducing you to make en- 
 gagements with a beggar — you, whose beauty, 
 whose worth would insure you a handsome set- 
 tlement in life ?" 
 
 ** Stop, Arthur ; I know your feelings — you 
 are richer than all the world to me — and none 
 but Arthur Hilson shall call me wife." 
 
 My kinsman, with his happy mistress, now
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 265 
 
 talked of his future plans — of fortunes to be 
 made, and years to be endured in hopes of hap- 
 piness. " And now, dearest, we must part till 
 to-morrow night ; my heart is full of anguish for 
 my poor cousin. I will, before I sleep, see him, 
 and acquaint him with our long attachment : 
 his honour and his affection for me call for 
 this discovery." Again the " parting kiss was 
 given." 
 
 I had listened with my brain on fire ; but 
 even in my madness, I determined on my fu- 
 ture course of action. Suddenly I stood before 
 them. Emma screamed, and nearly fainted. In 
 a moment I had seized her passive hand — " Fear 
 not, Emma," I exclaimed ; ** I would not harm 
 you for the universe. Hear me, Arthur : — I 
 have been a listener from accident, and, for the 
 last time, you see me here. Happier days 
 await you ! — to-morrow shall unfold the mystery. 
 — Adieu for ever !" I kissed her cold lips, and 
 before either could speak, I bounded across the 
 hedge. 
 
 I retired to my chamber, but not to sleep. I 
 wrote two letters— one to Emma, bidding her 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 266 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 adieu, and congratulating her on the prospect 
 of independence which Dosewell's death had 
 opened up to my kinsman Arthur. The other 
 was to my father, stating, that his tyranny made 
 my home so comfortless, that to avoid the re- 
 peated indignities I suffered, I had resolved to 
 leave Ireland, and seek my fortune beyond the 
 seas. Having enclosed Emma's letter in a 
 cover to Arthur, T next prepared for my de- 
 parture. My half-yearly allowance had been 
 paid me only a few days before. I made up a 
 small bundle of linen, and with a good stick in 
 my hand and twenty guineas in my pocket, I 
 jumped out of my bed-room window, and bade 
 a long adieu to Hilson Hall. 
 
 Morning was just breaking as I passed down 
 the village street. One minute I stopped be- 
 fore Emma's door. I knew her room, and 
 gazed for a moment on her lattice — then de- 
 positing my letters as I passed the post, I took 
 the most unfrequented road, that led across the 
 country, to the nearest sea-port. 
 
 I slung my bundle across my stick, and 
 moved rapidly on. A weight seemed to press
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 267 
 
 on my breast, and my respiration was difficult 
 and uneasy. I stole a side-look at the Hall and 
 village, and then, as if I had seen some object 
 I disliked, I hastily turned away my eyes. At 
 last a turn in the road shut out both objects ; 
 and, raising my head erect, I fancied that I 
 breathed more freely. In four hours my home 
 lay twelve miles behind me. I entered the vil- 
 lage of N just as mine host of the 
 
 Spread Eagle was rising. 
 
 The want of food the day before, joined to 
 mental and bodily exhaustion, made refreshment 
 necessary ; and I entered the Spread Eagle, and 
 called to the landlord for breakfast. 
 
 He, worthy man, was at the moment combin- 
 ing a quantity of milk and brandy : he looked at 
 my haggard countenance — " You are way-worn, 
 my friend," he said ; and handing me the mix- 
 ture, made a droll inclination of his head and 
 little finger. I understood this freemasonry* 
 and in a second swallowed the specific of the 
 Spread Eagle. The quantity of alcohol, which 
 was a trifle to mine host, soon affected my un- 
 practised head. My cheek recovered its faded
 
 268 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 colour : my eye lost its leaden hue : I laid my 
 weary head upon a bench, and after two hours' 
 sweet repose, was awakened by the maid, to 
 tell me my breakfast was waiting. 
 
 I arose, and followed her to a neat small 
 parlour off the kitchen, which formed the centre 
 of the house; and, accommodated with cold 
 water and a towel, I bathed my hot and fever- 
 ish hands, removed the marks of dust and 
 fatigue from my face, and sat down to break- 
 fast with what appetite I had earned. 
 
 ** I will not yield to this despondency," said 
 I : " I have acted at least a manly part ; and 
 though my dream of happiness is dissolved, 
 have I not made others happy ? and the world 
 is surely large enough for us all. What's to 
 be done ? Rouse thyself, George Hilson !" As 
 I soliloquised, a sweet and powerful voice 
 sang as it passed my open window — 
 
 Jog on, jog on the foot-path waj, 
 And merrily hent the stile a : 
 A merry heart goes all the day j 
 Your sad one tires in a mile a.
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 269 
 
 *' I hail the omen," said I ; and at the in- 
 stant, a fine, gallant-looking fellow, of some 
 twenty-four years old, entered the parlour. 
 
 He was dressed in an artillery uniform, and 
 three stripes across his arm announced his sub- 
 ordinate rank. A red handkerchief dangled 
 from the extremity of a sword : his knapsack 
 was across his shoulders ; and taking his cap off, 
 he placed it on the table, and throwing himself 
 on a form, opened the conversation with — ** No 
 offence, I hope, sir." 
 
 *' None in the world," I replied. 
 
 The soldier bowed. — '* What, ho ! landlord, 
 have my comrades been here ?" 
 
 " Not yet, Sergeant Hamilton ; — how left you 
 the old dame ?" 
 
 *' Well, and tolerably cheery, considering 
 the odds are against her ever seeing me again." 
 
 " That," said the host, '* is all the chance of 
 war." 
 
 *' It is so," said the soldier with a sigh. 
 
 ** But here, Marian," cried mine host, " have 
 you nothing to offer your old companion ?" 
 
 I thought the soldier drew himself up to his
 
 270 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 full height, and did not appear to acknowledge 
 the alleged equality which mine host's speech 
 would have implied ; who continued—" You 
 look but dull this morning." 
 
 *' I was just thinking," said the soldier, 
 " that my grandfather came here a captain of 
 horse, and his descendant leaves it a sergeant 
 of artillery. However, we both get an honour- 
 able living, which is more than better men can 
 say." 
 
 While he spoke, the landlord's daughter 
 brought in a plentiful supply of refreshments ; 
 and with fresh apologies for trespassing on my 
 dejeune, the soldier sat down with us to break- 
 fast. 
 
 Although the gallant sergeant flirted freely 
 with the handsome Marian, and laughed with 
 her jolly father, it required little penetration to 
 remark, that he was a man far above the grade 
 of life in which he moved at present. His 
 appearance bespoke habitual good-humour, and 
 a naturally buoyant spirit, struggling with the 
 frowns of fortune, and determined to gain the 
 mastery. I took an early occasion of following
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 271 
 
 him of the Spread Eagle, and left the gay 
 soldier and the young souhrette tete-a-tete 
 together. 
 
 I found mine host sitting on the bench be- 
 neath the pent-house of the inn, inhaling, in 
 luxurious indolence, the odorous comforts of a 
 long Dutch pipe. He was as conamunicative as 
 persons of his calling are said to be ; and per- 
 ceiving that I evinced some curiosity respect- 
 ing his military guest, favoured me with his 
 history. 
 
 *' His grandfather," he said, " was a captain in 
 Ligonier's regiment of dragoons, and was quar- 
 tered in a neighbouring town. The male 
 descent of the ancient family of the Aubreys 
 had failed ; and the estates were now possessed 
 by the orphan daughter of the late lord. Soon 
 after the arrival of the dragoon, a fete was 
 given in honour of Miss Aubrey, and Captain 
 Hamilton danced with the heiress. He was 
 young, handsome, and insinuating ; and the re- 
 sult was, that the lady loved and wedded him. 
 
 ** But, unhappily, prudence was not among the 
 qualities of the fortunate dragoon. There were
 
 272 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 in that part of the country several distinguish- 
 ed families with much larger estates, with 
 whom Hamilton unwisely endeavoured to keep 
 pace in extravagance and display. His splen- 
 did equipage, his well-appointed retinue, his 
 stud and his kennel, were all supported on a 
 scale of unusual magnificence. His hospitality 
 was boundless and profuse : his bacchanalian ex- 
 ploits formed the theme of many a popular bal- 
 lad ; and Aubrey Hall almost eclipsed the still 
 celebrated mansion of 'Bumper Squire Jones.' 
 
 " The consequences may be easily imagined. 
 More fhan a moderate fortune became rapidly 
 embarrassed ; and the improvident owner died 
 of a desperate debauch, leaving a son as 
 thoughtless as his sire to inherit his shattered 
 property. It speedily passed piecemeal to 
 strangers; and forty years saw a noble estate 
 acquired and dissipated, and the grandson of 
 him, who had been the meteor of his day, ne- 
 cessitated to enter into life in the humble cir- 
 cumstances of a private of artillery." 
 
 It was strange enough that chance should 
 bring me into contact with one so singularly
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 273 
 
 situated as my military companion was ; and 
 without a moment's hesitation, I determined to 
 follow the same career. 
 
 Taking Hamilton aside, I told him I was the 
 son of a respectable farmer, and that to avoid 
 the consequences of an imprudent attachment, 
 it was necessary for me, for a time^ to leave my 
 home. I had decided, I continued, on enlist- 
 ing, and if he would receive me, I would enter 
 iuto his corps. Hamilton commended my reso- 
 lution, and willingly enrolled me as a recruit ; 
 and to prevent my being discovered, I took the 
 precaution of assuming another name : the al- 
 teration of a letter was sufficient for my con- 
 cealment, and t entered the Royal Irish Artil- 
 lery as George Wilson. 
 
 The ceremony of my enlistment had scarcelv 
 concluded, when the expected comrades of mv 
 military friend arrived. They were all hearty, 
 strapping fellows ; and as I was an active, 
 well-grown lad, I at once found favour in their 
 sight. Among soldiers, little formality exists. 
 I insisted on treating my new companions. 
 The bowl was filled, and the tankard traversed
 
 274 STORIES OP WATERLOO, 
 
 the table rapidly. Hamilton's gay cockade was 
 placed jauntily in my hat ; and early in the 
 forenoon we left the village on our route to 
 head-quarters. 
 
 The road we took ran through a romantic 
 and rich country. The high hedge-rows, now 
 in full leaf, sheltered us from the sun's light : 
 refreshing showers fell occasionally: we were 
 all full of life and energy ; and, sa\e myself, 
 *' unburthened with a care." The jest and 
 song beguiled the way, and I almost forgot 
 that I was unhappy. A sigh, however, would 
 sometimes escape ; and as we passed a gentle- 
 man's park, which bore a faint resemblance to 
 Hilson Hall, my lost love and my deserted 
 home came forcibly to my memory. Hamil- 
 ton observed a tear tremble on my cheek, and 
 remarked my agitation. He had the innate 
 feelings of his better birth about him, and 
 kindly endeavoured to amuse my melancholy. 
 
 Our journey continued for several days, un- 
 marked by any incident worth recording. Time, 
 and change of scene, and the novelty of my 
 present life, did much in removing my sorrow ;
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 275 
 
 and when we reached our destination, which 
 was Cork, no traces of the " heart's disease," 
 which had sent me a wanderer from home, 
 were evident. 
 
 From the moment I first formed the design 
 of a military life, I determined to devote my- 
 self zealously to its professional tluties. I was 
 patient and attentive, and in a few weeks, hav- 
 ing overcome the drudgery of drill, was trans- 
 ferred to the ranks, having obtained from my 
 instructors the reputation of being a promising 
 soldier. 
 
 It was a fortunate circumstance that I had 
 taken the precaution of adopting another name ; 
 for shortly after my departure from Hilson 
 Hall, an advertisement appeared in the Irish 
 and English newspapers, addressed to me, and 
 imploring me to return — " where independence 
 awaited me, and parental forgiveness would be 
 willingly extended." 
 
 The delicacy and warmth of expression in 
 which the article was couched left me at no 
 loss to guess who the author was ; and though 
 aware that his own happiness utterly depended
 
 W'G STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 on my being an alien from my home, I firmly 
 believe my generous kinsman would have 
 sacrificed his brilliant prospects to have me re- 
 stored to my family : but I was too proud to 
 return like a truant boy ; home had no spell to 
 lure me back ; mine should not be the band to 
 pull down the fabric on which my cousin's hap- 
 piness was placed, and thus annihilate the 
 hopes of her for whom I would have yielded 
 up life itself. I would cut my road to fortune, 
 and return with an honourable name, or perish 
 like multitudes of the brave, " unwept, un- 
 honoured, and unsung," 
 
 There v/as a union of science and skill requi- 
 site to become eminent in the profession I had 
 selected, which stimulated me to be indefa- 
 tigable in minute attention to my duty. I had 
 many national advantages to assist me in achiev- 
 ing professional superiority. I was young, 
 patient, and vigorous ; my constitution was un- 
 broken, and capable of privation and fatigue; 
 my sight was quick and powerful. I measured 
 distances with unerring skill : the shell burst 
 where I directed it, and the ball was propelled
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 277 
 
 with fatal accuracy. Before I was two years 
 in the service my talent was distinguished by 
 my officers ; and when orders came for our 
 brigade to embark for Holland, I was entrusted 
 with the command of a gun, and promoted to 
 a sergeant's rank. 
 
 We landed at Helvoetsluys «n the 1st of 
 March, and soon after formed a junction with 
 the Austro-Prussian army, and a corps of 
 Hanoverians and Hessians in British pay. 
 In the battle of the 23rd of May, at Farmas, 
 we were successful, and invested Valenciennes, 
 which fell on the 28th of July. This opening 
 success, however, was delusory ; and I shall 
 simply mention, that in this unhappy campaign 
 I was a sharer in its victories and reverses. 
 The gallant duke who commanded was worthier 
 of a more prosperous career than that which 
 he was fated to pass through. Attacked by a 
 brave, active, and enthusiastic enemy, opposed 
 to able and enterprising officers, he depended 
 upon heartless friends, and operated with un- 
 warlike allies. Paralysed in victory, and desert- 
 ed when distressed, that brave man struggled
 
 278 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 vainly against circumstances beyond his control, 
 and after an useless attempt upon Dunkirk, was 
 obliged to retreat by Furness upon Ghent. 
 
 Early next April, Pichegru having moved on 
 West Flanders, the disastrous campaign of nine- 
 ty-four opened. It was, in truth, a continuation 
 of defeats. Repulsed on the I7th and 18th of 
 May, the Royal Duke was driven behind the 
 Aa. The French crossed the Maes on the 
 19th of October, when all our exertions failed 
 to defend Nimeguen, which was carried by 
 assault on the 8th of November. During this 
 campaign, in the field movements, and sieges, 
 the British artillery suffered heavily. Poor 
 Hamilton fell before Dunkirk : the most of 
 my earlier comrades were killed or invalided : 
 I, from a severe wound, was sent home to 
 England early in December, having for my 
 conduct been promoted to the rank of sub- 
 lieutenant. 
 
 I might now have returned proudly to my 
 home; for by my own unassisted exertions I 
 had made an honourable name. In fancy, I 
 revisited Hilson Hall, and indulged in many
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 279 
 
 a wild conjecture of the state in which I 
 should find its inmates, — what would be my 
 reception there; — would my father's sternness 
 give way, and Nature assert her mastery, and 
 open his closed arms to offer a prodigal's wel- 
 come to his long-estranged child ? — Would even 
 my unexpected return disturb my mother's 
 apathy — and how would Emma meet me — 
 where was she — what was she — was she still 
 unwedded — or, had the indissoluble bond of 
 marriage united her to Arthur, and severed 
 her from me for ever ^ I still clung to the 
 hope that Emma was yet free, and that cir- 
 cumstances I could neither name nor fancy 
 might make her still my own. 
 
 Restless and miserable, I determined to re- 
 turn to Ireland ; and having obtained a leave 
 of absence, I set off for Bristol, to embark in 
 the Dublin packet. 
 
 When I arrived there, the vessel was on the 
 eve of sailing : she only waited for the turning 
 of the tide ; and to pass the short time away, 
 I sauntered into an adjacent coffee-house. An 
 Irish newspaper was beside me, and I care-
 
 280 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 lessly threw my eye over its columns. Sud- 
 denly I started : I felt my cheek flush ; I had 
 scarcely courage to peruse the fatal paragraph — 
 fatal indeed to all my hopes of happiness — 
 " At the Rectory of Ashfield, the lady of the 
 Reverend Arthur Hilson of a son and heir !" 
 The paper dropped from my hand — the dream 
 was dispelled, the charm was broken ; Emma 
 was a wife — a mother; and could I, dare 1 
 return ? No, no : home was now a hateful 
 name; all there, to me, would be bitterness 
 and disappointment. I threw myself into a 
 coach, and in cin hour was on the road to 
 Woolwich, to rejoin my corps. 
 
 It was evening when I returned, and having 
 entered the barracks unobserved, I was left for 
 several hours in solitary possession of my apart- 
 ments. The next rooms were occupied by a 
 married officer. He had lately returned to head- 
 quarters with his bride : they were both young 
 and handsome, and, as it was said, a long attach- 
 ment had subsisted between them ; and that 
 theirs was what the world calls a love match. 
 The partition which separated our apartments
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 281 
 
 was but slight, and, to my astonishment, I heard 
 sounds of weeping and distress. All around me 
 was still, and I easily ascertained that the lady 
 was in deep affliction, and her husband vainly en- 
 deavouring to soothe her anguish. Soon after, 
 my servant came to me, and, on inquiry, I 
 learned that a reinforcement for the West 
 Indies was drafted from our corps, and that my 
 neighbour. Lieutenant Mowbray, was one of 
 the officers ordered for this service. From the 
 imperative command received for the imme- 
 diate embarkation of the detachment, it was 
 impossible that Mrs. Mowbray could be per- 
 mitted to accompany her husband ; and the 
 well-known insalubrity of the climate rendered 
 the chance a desperate one of the unhappy 
 pair being again united. 
 
 The idea instantly occurred to me that it was 
 within my power to avert this dreaded calamity. 
 Every climate was alike to me ; and I could 
 reason with Orlando, " If killed, but one dead 
 that is willing to be so. I shall do my friends 
 no wrong, for I have none to lament me; and 
 the world no injury, for in it I have nothing."
 
 282 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 Without a moment's deliberation I opened Mow- 
 bray's door : his wife, who was leaning her 
 head upon his shoulder, and bitterly lamenting 
 the hard lot which separated her so suddenly 
 from her lover, started when I entered, and 
 he rose up, evidently huift and mortified at an 
 interruption, which, in any other than me, 
 would have been unfeeling and unpardonable. 
 But when I told him my determination, and 
 offered to exchange and take his place, never 
 were surprise and rapture more marked than in 
 the features of Mowbray and his wife. In glow- 
 ing language he poured out his ardent acknow- 
 ledgments, while she hung upon my neck, and 
 called me her saviour, her deliverer. 
 
 Gently detaching myself from her embrace, 
 I left the delighted lovers to their happiness, 
 and returning to my room, commenced active 
 preparations for a long absence from England. 
 In a few days all necessary matters were com- 
 pleted — my exchange of service with Mowbray 
 was easily effected — and for the second time I 
 left my country, with feeble hopes, indeed, of 
 ever seeing it again.
 
 COLO>IEL HILSON. 283 
 
 But fortune willed it otherwise. I remained 
 in those unhealthy islands for four years; and 
 although twice attacked by the malignant fevers 
 of the country, I survived to bury my compa- 
 nions. The French invested the fort I com- 
 manded, but I repulsed them. For this service 
 I was promoted to a company ; and soon after, 
 being relieved by a fresh body of victims, I was 
 ordered home, and with the remains of those 
 who survived that fatal climate, I landed at 
 Cove, in the spring of 1798, five years from the 
 time I left its harbour an humble sergeant. 
 
 It was on the eve of that political convulsion 
 which, breaking out in the summer of 1798, 
 threatened the dissolution of the empire, that 
 I returned to the south of Ireland. From the 
 period I had left the country, to the time of 
 my landing from the West Indies, the kingdom 
 had been a scene of continued disorder and vio- 
 lence ; but things were now hastening to a cri- 
 sis, and I arrived but a few weeks before the 
 insurrection of the malcontents to the govern- 
 ment took place. 
 
 In my military profession, I was an eye-wit-
 
 284 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 ness to the dreadful events which ensued, and 
 was unhappily an actor in many a scene of com- 
 motion and bloodshed. Even at this remote 
 time I recall the memory of those evil days with 
 pain ; and though since hackneyed in deeds of 
 violence and death, still shudder at the recol- 
 lection of this fatal summer. It was in truth a 
 fearful period. Assassination was perpetrated 
 in the open day. Houses were nightly attacked, 
 and the inmates when they failed in repulsing 
 the assailants, deprived of arms and property, 
 and not unfrequently of life. The scaffold 
 groaned with victims, and the air stank with 
 unburied hundreds, who fell in conflicts with 
 the military, and crushed by superior discipline, 
 perished in idle but fearless opposition. 
 
 The excited royalist visited the inoffensive 
 and the aggressing peasantry with indiscrimi- 
 nate vengeance. The cabin was fired — the 
 hitherto inactive occupant driven, like a wild 
 beast, to the morass and the mountain, and gray 
 hairs, and woman's helplessness, were alike dis- 
 respected by the ruthless soldier. When the 
 destroyer passed on, what met the returning
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 285 
 
 peasant's view? — his humble dwelling levelled 
 to the earth, a mass of smouldering embers— 
 his aged parent bleeding on the ground he had 
 tilled from infancy, and his children crying for 
 sustenance and shelter ; w hile his wife, in all 
 the debasement of outraged honour, mourned 
 over her disgrace, and refused to ^e comforted ; 
 that once careless, passive islander, returned to 
 his hills again, no longer a slave and a fugitive, 
 but a desperate immitigable enemy, panting for 
 the hour of revenge, and burning to riot in blood 
 and devastation. 
 
 Time and absence had cooled the fever of my 
 blood ; but I could not but feel that I was in the 
 land of my birth ; and no longer separated by 
 interposing seas from my parents, without tor- 
 turing myself with conjectures as to the present 
 state of my family, and owning a yearning of 
 the heart towards the home I had so hastily 
 quitted. I made the necessary inquiries, and 
 found that Sir Philip and my mother were 
 no longer among the living. All past seve- 
 rity and unkindness were forgotten— my fa- 
 ther's sternness, the chilly bearing of my mo-
 
 28G STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 ther, faded from my memory. They were now- 
 resting in the grave, and the memory of their 
 neglect was buried with them. 
 
 Although the tie of kindred was severed, I 
 felt an uncontrollable desire to revisit my native 
 village. Emma was there ; but what was she 
 to me ? A barrier, eternal and insuperable, was 
 placed between us. Where would be the pru- 
 dence of witnessing Arthur's happiness? Was 
 it politic to open the seared wound, and again 
 place myself within the dangerous influence of 
 that cherished object, whom I could not see 
 without emotion, nor remember without pain? 
 Still the impulse was irresistible. I would risk 
 all — I would once more see Emma, though 
 my tranquillity should be broken, and my bo- 
 som bleed anew ! 
 
 Strange and unaccountable desire ! I set 
 out to visit my long-deserted home. I obtain- 
 ed a short leave of absence, and engaged a 
 place in the mail, which passed my paternal 
 residence. 
 
 Nothing could have marked the insecurity of 
 the times more strongly than the unusual ap-
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 287 
 
 pearaiice of the Cork coach. Its double guard 
 was considered insufficient for its protection. 
 Apprehensive of attack, the passengers were 
 armed, and a party of dragoons, relieved at 
 each stage, escorted us through our perilous 
 journey. 
 
 Of my fellow-travellers, the ^ne who was 
 seated opposite to me attracted my attention. 
 He was, like myself, habited in a sort of mili- 
 tary undress ; and from his sallow complexion 
 and foreign air, I should have concluded him 
 to have been one who had resided long in some 
 torrid climate. I made some efforts to induce 
 a conversation, but he was silent, almost re- 
 pulsive, and I left him accordingly to his own 
 contemplations. 
 
 The other travellers were persons in the 
 humbler walk of life, and avowedly engaged 
 in trade. For a time their conversation was 
 confined to subjects only interesting to them- 
 selves. With such dull companions, to sleep 
 was my only alternative ; and arranging my 
 fur cap, I prepared to slumber away some 
 portion of my tedious journey. But my at-
 
 288 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 tention was soon engaged. I found that one 
 of the traders was settled in Ashfield, my na» 
 tive town ; and, with a little management, I 
 learned the singular changes which a few years 
 had produced in my family. 
 
 My father had been suddenly taken off by an 
 attack of gout in the stomach, and Tom conse- 
 quently succeeded to the title and estates. My 
 mother resided with him ; and never was an 
 ancient name consigned to weaker representa- 
 tives than Lady Hilson and Sir Thomas. 
 
 About this period Methodism made its way 
 into the south of Ireland, and fitter subjects 
 for knaves and fanatics to work on could not be 
 found than the baronet and his mother. Duped 
 by a specious and imposing system, well calcu- 
 lated to deceive the weak and unsuspicious, 
 they listened to designing preachers, and caught 
 the prevailing enthusiasm of the day. They 
 were flattered into a belief that they held a 
 leading place among those elected for celestial 
 honours ; and those, whose mental imbecility 
 had unfitted them for interfering in the com- 
 monest occurrences of human life, were intoxi-
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 289 
 
 cated with the fond delusion that themselves 
 had been specially selected to forward the great 
 work of Heaven. Hilson Hall was the home of 
 the proselytes of Wesley and Huntingdon. 
 Every crazy professor of the Heaven-commis- 
 sioned coal-heaver there found a welcome. It 
 was a regular resting-place for all Sion-bound 
 travellers ; and knaves and fools, in tolerably 
 equal numbers, " claimed kindred there, and 
 had their claim allowed." The revenues of the 
 estates went to support idle pretenders to in- 
 spiration and the true disciples of an all-suf- 
 ficing faith, to send conversion to the Caffres, 
 and cajole Judaism into Christianity. 
 
 When a weak mind is once well infected with 
 religious folly, there is but slight ground for 
 dreading its disenthralment ; and therefore dur- 
 ing the term of Lady Hilson's life, the Hall 
 might be safely reckoned one of the safest 
 havens for the elect. But the good lady was 
 evidently declining, and it was deemed advis- 
 able to guard against any contingency of the 
 baronet's escaping from the toils. The most 
 certain prevention was, by marrying him to a 
 VOL. I. N
 
 290 STORIES OF WATERLOO, 
 
 professor; and a daughter of Sion was accord- 
 ingly selected. It was no difficult matter for 
 poor Tom's spiritual director to persuade him 
 that completing this holy alliance was only fulfil- 
 ling the special decree of Heaven ; and the lady, 
 who neither wanted cleverness nor beauty, left 
 the home of her father, an humble manufac- 
 turer, to become the mistress of Hilson Hall. 
 
 The rate of travelling of his Majesty's mail 
 was then very different from the birdlike velo- 
 city of the present day ; and the evening was 
 far advanced when we reached the high hill 
 which commands Ashfield, and from which the 
 narrow chimneys and fretted gables of the old 
 Hall are first seen. Here the foreign-looking 
 traveller left the carriage, and turned down an 
 unfrequented lane, where a person seemed to 
 have been waiting for him ; and together they 
 disappeared behind the hawthorn hedges which 
 flanked the narrow pathway, 
 
 I can but ill describe my feelings when the 
 coach rolled through the long street of Ash- 
 field. Every object was familiar — every house — 
 every tree, which, in two straight lines, ran
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 291 
 
 parallel to the church which occupied the cen- 
 tre of the village, were well remembered. We 
 pulled up at the inn : the coach-door opened — I 
 looked at the man who assisted me to alight, 
 and I knew him to have been an old servant of 
 my father's. The rosy-cheeked daughter of the 
 landlord was curtseying in the hall to welcome 
 me : but neither recognised me. My sun-burnt 
 cheek — my strong compacted figure bore no 
 resemblance to the wild youth, whose history 
 was now almost forgotten. 
 
 I entered the little parlour. *' The neatly 
 sanded floor, and varnished clock" were just as 
 I left them : the corner cupboard fronted me, 
 with its full display of cracked china and gauze- 
 stemmed glasses. Above the chimney-piece, 
 the effigies of the Babes in the Wood were 
 standing in fine preservation ; — often, when a 
 boy, have I gazed on them with compassion and 
 delight. There they reclined in waxen glory, 
 upon a bed of moss, attended by the " gentle 
 redbreast," which the cunning artist had re- 
 presented by a two-legged animal, with the air 
 and proportions of a Norfolk turkey. On one
 
 292 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 side, a tender couple with crooks and cattle 
 were suspended, and underneath was written 
 " The Arcadian lovers;" and on the other, a lean 
 and famished youth was sprawling at the feet 
 of an elderly gentleman, arrayed in a full-bot- 
 tomed wig, and scarlet hunting-frock, with 
 sky-blue breeches, and jockey boots. To in- 
 sinuate that the scene of this interesting limn- 
 ing was eastern, an elephant was judiciously in- 
 troduced, scratching, over the court-yard wall, 
 a camel's hump with his proboscis ; and in 
 golden letters the subject was stated to be " The 
 Prodigal's return." 
 
 I declined the offer of refreshments, and was 
 leaning against the mantle-piece, considering 
 my future course of conduct, when a low whis- 
 pering beneath the window induced me to look 
 out. In the twilight, I observed several per- 
 sons in deep conversation, and at a little dis- 
 tance, one or two armed men, who seemed post- 
 ed there as centinels. I was soon aware that T 
 was the subject of their discourse; and the 
 casement being imperfectly closed enabled me 
 to overhear them.
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 293 
 
 *' Are you certain," inquired the first speaker, 
 ** that he answers the description of the stran- 
 ger?" 
 
 " Perfectly. He is a dark, sallow man — his 
 air military— his height the same — and his dress 
 exactly what the foreigner is described to 
 wear." 
 
 *' Heavens! how fortunate! Did any one 
 remark him but you V* 
 
 " Not a soul : I saw him alight. It struck 
 me in an instant that he was the man. I 
 watched him through the key-hole : he seemed 
 in deep thought, and anxious to avoid observa- 
 tion." 
 
 " It must be he." 
 
 *' What's best to do?" 
 
 " Arrest him before any chance could let 
 others see him, and share the honour and 
 reward." 
 
 " I agree with you. We'll take him at once 
 to Captain Hilson's, and there examine him 
 before the magistrate." 
 
 ** Speak lower — let us lose no time." 
 
 They both retired ; and, giving some direc-
 
 294 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 tions to the sentinels, left the inn yard to- 
 gether. 
 
 Short as the preceding dialogue had been, I 
 remembered the principal of the two speakers. 
 He had been employed in disciplining the yeo- 
 manry of Ashfield ; and from the humble grade 
 of a drill-serjeant, for espionage and other 
 secret services, had been made a brigade-major 
 for that district. He was a fawning sycophant 
 to those in power, and a ready tool for the bigot 
 and the oppressor. I remembered he had been 
 an object of aversion to poor Sir Philip ; and it 
 at once occurred to me, that I could disappoint 
 his avarice, and gain a safe and unsuspected 
 entree to my cousin's house, by favouring the 
 mistake into which the gallant major had fallen. 
 It was quite clear that my foreign-looking 
 fellow-traveller was concerned, or suspected to 
 be so, in some treasonable transactions, and that 
 a similarity of dress and appearance would na- 
 turally occasion much confusion. While I was 
 still undecided, v/hether to announce my name 
 at once, and prove my identity, the door was 
 opened, and Dalton, with two armed attendants.
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 295 
 
 entered the room, and approached with due 
 caution to the place where I stood. 
 
 Major Dalton opened the conversation by in- 
 quiring *' If I had not arrived by the coach that 
 evening?" I bowed. " Where was my pass- 
 port?" Forgotten. '' Where was I last 
 from ?" Cork. '' Had I been long in the 
 country?" No; only a few days. *' I was a 
 French officer?" No; I was an English one. 
 *' Impossible !" — and he pulled out a paper 
 which contained my supposed description : — 
 " dark eyes — sallow complexion — tall — stout — 
 soldierly — blue frock — dark stock." I was the 
 man, and I must accompany him instantly to 
 Mr. Hilson, the justice. Again I assured him 
 I was not a French general ; but my protesta- 
 tions were not believed ; and in a few minutes 
 I found myself in close custody, proceeding to 
 my kinsman's house, and a crowd of ragged 
 boys running after to get a sight of " General 
 Buonaparte, who was just taken at the inn by 
 Major Dalton." 
 
 It was quite dark when I entered the court- 
 yard of the glebe house, where my cousin
 
 296 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 resided. The capture of the supposed general 
 had occasioned a wonderful sensation, and I 
 was ushered into Arthur's mansion with suitable 
 formality. My cousin was absent, and I was 
 left a prisoner in th^ parlour until a messenger 
 should be despatched to apprise him of this im- 
 portant event. 
 
 I found myself alone ; and, for a few mo- 
 ments, almost doubted the reality of my situa- 
 tion. Was I under the roof of Emma? — my 
 once — my still-loved Emma — and so strangely 
 circumstanced too! — a prisoner — a supposed spy. 
 I took a candle from the table to examine the 
 apartment, and satisfy myself that I was really 
 in Arthur's house. Above the chimney-piece a 
 picture, richly framed, attracted my attention. 
 I gazed on it — I started — it was a faithful like- 
 ness of myself. I gazed on it again, and read 
 in a small scroll upon the corner — *' Drawn 
 from memory by E, H." Then Emma had not 
 forgotten me ! I felt something touch my foot 
 — it was a small spaniel smelling me. He was 
 old, and nearly blind. Still he moved as I 
 traversed the room, and appeared confounded
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 297 
 
 and uncertain. I took him up, and looked at 
 him, I whispered — '* Carlo ! Carlo!" — it was 
 my own— my favourite little spaniel. In a mo- 
 ment he recollected me, and whimpered and 
 gambolled about my feet. 
 
 While still occupied in caressing my quon- 
 dam favourite, the door was gently opened, and 
 the rustling of female garments startled me. 
 I turned suddenly round, and— Heavens and 
 earth! Emma — my idolised Emma, was stand- 
 ing almost beside me ! She was fatter, and 
 more formed than when I left her, and had 
 ripened into matronly beauty. I felt my cheek 
 glow — my lips trembled, and I was obliged to 
 lean against the mantle-piece for support. The 
 light was favourably placed for concealing my 
 features, and my agitation passed unmarked, 
 or was attributed to the feelings occasioned by 
 imaginary captivity. In tones too well remem- 
 bered, and which went to my very soul, Emma 
 apologised for intruding on me, but she came 
 to offer me refreshment : I doubtless required 
 it ; and a servant laid food and wines upon the 
 table.
 
 298 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 Emma was about to leave the room, when, 
 making a powerful exertion, 1 spoke to her 
 with tolerable composure, and offered my thanks 
 for her kindness. I inquired if Mr. Hilson 
 was soon expected ? — '* He was." ** The por- 
 trait abpve the chimney-piece was his ?" — No, 
 it was not ; it was a likeness of his kinsman — 
 a very dear relative of her husband's, and one 
 whom she had loved with sisterly affection. 
 *' Was he living-?" — No ; he was dead — at least 
 there was every reason to come to that conclu- 
 sion. 
 
 '* Strange!" I observed, ** I once knew a 
 person to whom that picture bears a striking 
 resemblance^ In a moment her eyes brightened, 
 and with great apparent interest, she eagerly 
 inquired — " Where I had met the person ?" 
 I replied, in terms of assumed coolness, that 
 the person I alluded to had been a soldier — I 
 knew him in Holland. Was she interested 
 about him 1 
 
 She was for a moment silent. '* I am, in- 
 deed," she replied. *' Yes, sir; that person 
 •whom that picture is intended to represent, was
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 299 
 
 mine and my beloved husband's dearest friend : 
 for us he sacrificed bis own prospects ; and, to 
 insure my happiness, prodigally gave up coun- 
 try, and relatives, and fortune ; and, alas! —life 
 itself." 
 
 She burst into tears. I thought my bosom 
 would burst with smothered feelings. I en- 
 deavoured to be calm ; — " And would she re- 
 joice to hear that he lived? Might not his 
 return interrupt those brilliant prospects which 
 his absence appeared to have opened ?" *' No," 
 she replied with energy ; " could the unhoped- 
 for return of a cherished friend, a beloved bro- 
 ther, cause any thing but joy ? Oh ! poor, 
 generous George, to restore thee to life, I 
 would give up half my own !" 
 
 She spoke with enthusiasm : the tear trem- 
 bled down her cheek, as, losing all control, I 
 sprang forward, caught her to my heart, and 
 exclaimed as I kissed her rapturously, " Emma, 
 the wanderer is returned !" Uttering a piercing 
 shriek, she looked for a moment in my face — 
 *' It is — it is himself!" and calling on my 
 name, sank in my arms insensible
 
 300 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 I was still supporting Emma, when steps 
 approached— the door was opened, and Arthur 
 and Major Dalton entered. The surprise of 
 both was unbounded ; Arthur, to find his wife 
 in the arms of a stranger ; and Dalton, to find 
 his prisoner so unaccountably engaged. An 
 instant eclair cissement succeeded, and Arthur 
 held me to his heart. 
 
 There was something so indescribably ridi- 
 culous in Dalton's disappointment, when I 
 assured him I was not General Buonaparte, 
 that gave an air of burlesque to a scene, which 
 would otherwise have been oppressive to us 
 all : the conqueror of Lodi had dwindled into a 
 truant youth, and the formidable foreigner was, 
 after all, but a native of the village. I readily 
 accepted an apartment in Arthur's house, as, 
 from a short inquiry into the personal circum- 
 stances of Hilson Hall, I conjectured that a 
 sojourn there might neither be desirable nor 
 politic. 
 
 I shall pass over my first interview with my 
 brother. Imbecile as he had been in boyhood, 
 he was now totally helpless, and appeared
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 301 
 
 utterly incompetent to act or think for himself. 
 In his house, and the management of his affairs, 
 he was a perfect cypher. Lady Hilson was 
 master and manager, and poor Tom submitted 
 to her thrall without a murmur. Nor, indeed, 
 was there any person now left who would be 
 likely to dispute the point with Lady Hilson. 
 All intercourse with Arthur and his wife had 
 long since ceased : my kinsman was too manly 
 and enlightened to be safely trusted to be inti- 
 mate with the baronet ; and disgusted with the 
 cant and hypocrisy of the gang who infested 
 the mansion of his family, Arthur willingly left 
 the field to the fanatics who frequented it. 
 
 Whether I should have been able to preserve, 
 even a formal intimacy for a time, with my bro- 
 ther, is doubtful. My return was certainly no 
 cause for joy to Lady Hilson. Sir Philip had 
 burdened the estates with a legacy of 10,000/. 
 in the event of my being alive ; and inde- 
 pendent of this cause of regret. Lady Hilson 
 disliked and feared me. But circumstances 
 occurred which suddenly called me from Ash- 
 field. The insurrection broke out on the 23rd
 
 302 STORIES OP WATERLOO. 
 
 of May ; and I was ordered off to take com- 
 mand of the artillery attached to the brigade 
 of General Sir James Duff. 
 
 I dined that day at Hilson Hall. As I walked 
 to the house, I felt that it was no longer a 
 home for me. A strange and unaccountable 
 revolution appeared to have taken place. My 
 road lay by the kennel ; it was now unoccupied. 
 The roof had fallen in ; for the pack had been 
 broken up soon after my father's death, and 
 the buildings suffered to fall to ruin. I saun- 
 tered into the stables : the stalls were empty ; 
 the hunters were dead or disposed of, and a few 
 sorry hacks were feeding in their places. I 
 stopped a lazy loitering fellow in the middle of 
 a hymn, to ask the reason of this miserable 
 change in the establishment. " Sir Thomas 
 had given up carnal pursuits, and these were 
 the horses of certain gospel ministers." 
 
 Thus prepared, I approached the Hall. I 
 entered it ; and with considerable emotion, 
 found m^yself in the drawing-room, surrounded 
 by a singular-looking company. 
 
 They were fully assembled for dinner. I looked
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 303 
 
 carefully round, but no old acquaintance was 
 in the circle. A thin, tall, bilious-looking crea- 
 ture was disputing a passage in the Romans 
 with a squab, sandy-haired girl, on one side; 
 and the proceedings of a class-meeting were 
 being earnestly discussed by a couple of leaden- 
 headed professors on the other. At this mo- 
 ment Tom came in. He, poor man, appeared 
 rejoiced to see me ; and leading me to the end 
 of the room, presented me to Lady Hilson. 
 
 She was a good-looking woman, of a certain 
 age, and full of the importance of her unlooked- 
 for elevation ; for, habituated to rule her pas- 
 sive lord, she appeared fond of power, and ac- 
 customed to be deferred to. Her dress was a 
 collection of the richest articles, clumsily ar- 
 ranged for plain and puritanic effect. Beside 
 her, a large, coarse, burly-looking character 
 was standing : with great ceremony I was an- 
 nounced to him ; and in return informed, that 
 he was the Reverend Samuel Sludge. 
 
 I was placed beside the lady of the mansion ; 
 and opposite sat Doctor Sludge. That of eat- 
 ing, was certainly not excluded from the good
 
 304 STORIES OF WATERLOO, 
 
 works of the company. Sludge fed like a cor- 
 porator ; and the bilious Roman and his fellow 
 class-leaders were no indifferent performers. 
 Of Tom I saw little : a loin of beef eclipsed 
 him totally ; and, in sooth, his loss seemed to 
 be disregarded. 
 
 Every thing will find an end, as well as eat- 
 ing ; and the elect began to find leisure for 
 other employments ; not the least of which was 
 an affectionate remembrance of each other, 
 through the medium of a glass of wine. Sludge 
 having undergone the chief civilities of the 
 company to his manifest satisfaction, at last 
 addressed me, under the title of brother sol- 
 dier. *' He's Spiritualizing t^ lisped the sandy- 
 haired sister. ** Ay, instant in season, and out 
 of season," rejoined a class-leader. "Brother 
 soldier," continued Sludge, with unblushing 
 effrontery, " I arraign you as a deserter. You 
 have left your regiment, and abandoned your 
 commander ;" and he continued a rhapsody of 
 abominable blasphemy, which I should feel 
 shocked to remember. 
 
 The disgust I had been endeavouring to sub-
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 305 
 
 due would have burst forth ; but I controlled 
 my feelings, and contented myself by acknow- 
 ledging his pledge with a torpid bow. Soon 
 after, the ladies retired ; and after a few glasses 
 of wine, I rose, and left the house. Tom fol- 
 lowed me to the door, his eyes filled with 
 tears: he felt his own degradation. He was 
 striving to murmur some affectionate expostu- 
 lation at my sudden departure, when, unfortu- 
 nately. Sludge came from the dining-room. 
 His natural impudence was emboldened, I pre- 
 sume, by the wine he had swallowed ; for, 
 laying his hand familiarly on my shoulder, he 
 recommenced a strain of cant and blasphemy, 
 which totally overpowered my already excited 
 temper. I started from him, threw off his hold 
 with violence, and seizing my brother's arm, 
 hurried down the avenue. 
 
 I would have endeavoured to rouse Tom to a 
 sense of what was required from him, as the 
 head of an ancient family, and intreat him to 
 assert his own independence, and free Hilson 
 Hall from the gang of hypocrites who infested 
 it ; but my expostulations pained him, without
 
 306 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 effecting the object I aimed at. Fanaticism 
 had gained entire possession of his infirm under- 
 standing ; and to liberate him from its trammels 
 was hopeless. While I was still speaking to 
 him, a servant despatched from the house came 
 up to tell us that " Dr. Sludge was about to 
 commence evening exercise." Tom instantly 
 turned homewards — ''would I not return?" 
 *' What ! to hear that canting ruffian use the 
 Deity's name with blasphemous familiarity ?" 
 My poor brother trembled from head to foot, 
 and muttering a prayer for my being speedily 
 turned from the broad way, we separated. 
 
 That evening's mail brought the alarming 
 news that the insurrection had burst out gene- 
 rally. The rebels, in great numerical force, 
 were up in arms : several partial engagements 
 between them and the royal forces had already 
 taken place ; and a peremptory order was con- 
 veyed to me to set off for Gorey, to command 
 the artillery attached to the brigade of Major 
 General Loftus. 
 
 My cousin was greatly alarmed by the dis- 
 tressing accounts which came from every quarter
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 307 
 
 of the country around him. He was aware 
 that the peasantry in the neighbouring moun- 
 tains were on the e\e of joining the general 
 movement of the disaffected. A stranger to 
 personal fear, he was sensibly alarmed for Emma 
 and her child. He had been an active, resident 
 magistrate ; energetic in preserving the tran- 
 quillity of the country ; and from the known 
 determination of his character, was frequently 
 employed by the government in hazardous official 
 services, which would have been better adapted 
 to a more warlike profession than his. He was 
 well aware that^is exertions had caused him 
 to be feared, and hated by the disaffected ; and 
 threatening letters received almost every post, 
 left him by no means uncertain of the treatment 
 he might expect at their hands, should they 
 unfortunately succeed, and he become their 
 prisoner. 
 
 Under these apprehensions, it was determined 
 that he should remove his wife and child to 
 some place of greater safety than the unpro- 
 tected village of Ashfield ; for the small de- 
 tachment which had formerly garrisoned it, was
 
 308 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 removed to strengthen the field force of some 
 of the contiguous generals ; and that he should 
 return after leaving them in a place of security, 
 and avrait the result of this alarming crisis. 
 Preparations were accordingly commenced for 
 the intended journey ; but, poor Arthur ! — death 
 interrupted it. 
 
 Nor were the inhabitants of the Hall insen- 
 sible to the signs of the times. Although full 
 of professions of unbounded reliance on Pro- 
 vidence, Samuel Sludge and his coadjutors 
 thought it unwise to play deaf adder on the 
 present occasion. They considered themselves 
 too useful servants to be deserving of a crown 
 of martyrdom at present, and contended, if it 
 was inculcated to pray without ceasing, it was 
 also advisable to pray without danger. The 
 plate and valuables were accordingly transmit- 
 ted without delay to Dublin^ and Lady Hilson 
 took her departure for " the city of refuge," 
 as the gang termed it, accompanied by her hus- 
 band and the whole hive. 
 
 My parting with Emma and my cousin was 
 painful, and I would say, ominous. He accom-
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 309 
 
 panied me some miles of the road ; and when 
 we took leave of each other, and separated, I 
 observed, on a turning of the path, that Arthur 
 was still looking after me : we waved our hands 
 to each other, and I saw him for the last time. 
 
 My route led through a wild and dangerous 
 district. I was therefore anxious to reach my 
 destination, if possible, before night. 
 
 As evening came on, the signs of the insur- 
 rection being commenced were frequent and 
 distinct. Fires were blazing on the hills, and 
 in number and brilliancy, were increasing as 
 the night closed in. I pushed on rapidly. Ar- 
 thur had presented me with a horse, and I 
 proved his speed and bottom. I had now de- 
 scended into the level country. The distant spire 
 of the church of the town T was to halt in for 
 the night was visible, and I congratulated my- 
 self on achieving my dangerous journey unmo- 
 lested, when on a sudden I was surrounded by 
 armed men, pulled by a hook attached to a pike 
 from my horse, and found myself lying stunned 
 upon the ground, with a number of truculent- 
 looking ruffians around me. 
 
 From the sanguinary complexion of the in-
 
 310 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 human warfare carried on, I at once concluded 
 that my death was inevitable, and I endea- 
 voured to collect my spirits, and summon ade- 
 quate resolution to meet my fate with a sol- 
 dier's fortitude. 
 
 But my death was not the present object of 
 the banditti. A stout intelligent fellow, who 
 was addressed by the rest as captain, exa- 
 mined me minutely as to my name, rank, and 
 the purpose of my travelling. On these points 
 my uniform and papers would have satisfied 
 him sufficiently. I was remounted on my own 
 horse, and, in the centre of the rebels, proceeded 
 by a cross-road to join their main body, who, 
 I was informed, were at some place in the vici- 
 nity of Ballymore. 
 
 After some hours' marching, we came up 
 with the rebel outposts. I was conducted to a 
 place of security in centre of the insurgent 
 army, and as the summer night was nearly 
 passed, I lay down, guarded by a sentinel, on a 
 sward of newly-cut hay, to repose after my 
 wearying, and, as it had proved, calamitous 
 journey. 
 
 The morning had dawned some time before
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 311 
 
 I awoke. I had been much fatigued by the 
 exertions of the preceding day, and, urged by 
 thirst, had drank a considerable quantity of 
 spirits and water before I lay down to sleep. I 
 looked about like one bewildered. I was in a 
 country of whose appearance I was profoundly 
 ignorant, and, for some time, imagined the 
 body of men who, I was aware, had occupied 
 the ground on the last night, had moved off 
 while I slept. 
 
 But soon, from the rising ground where I 
 stood, I discovered the cause of the extraordi- 
 nary stillness of the rebel forces. They were 
 lying in ambuscade, concealed by the high 
 fences ; and from a careful look-out kept by 
 their leaders, I was aware that an enemy was 
 speedily expected. 
 
 The position chosen by the rebels for at- 
 tempting to surprise the king's troops was ad- 
 mirably selected for that purpose, but was a 
 place where a successful attempt at an ambus- 
 cade was most unlikely. Near the village of 
 Clogh, the country, which is flat and open, with 
 large and spacious fields running parallel with
 
 312 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 the road, and offering every facility for an army 
 to deploy and form easily, if necessary, suddenly 
 changes its character. The road then becomes 
 deep, narrow, and intricate, with clay banks on 
 each side, having wide ditches at their bases, 
 and rows of close bushes on the top. The fields, 
 also, are small and difficult, interspersed into 
 numerous parks, and separated by full-grown 
 hedges. At this time of the year, the trees 
 being in full leaf, and the ground occupied by 
 rich potato crops, standing corn, and unmown 
 grass, afforded ample concealment for any force 
 which chose to occupy it. Here, accordingly, the 
 rebels awaited the attack of the royalists ; and 
 the movements of the latter on the Camolin 
 road were soon apparent. 
 
 The rising of a dense, continuous cloud of 
 dust gave notice that the king's troops were 
 approaching. For security, 1 presume, I was 
 placed about a hundred paces from the insur- 
 gents, who lined the hedges. To enable them- 
 selves the better to obtain a view of the ex- 
 pected conflict, my guards posted me on the 
 crest of a Danish fort, which not only com-
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 313 
 
 manded the rebel position, but had an unbroken 
 prospect of the road by which their assailants 
 advanced for several miles. I had not, fortu- 
 nately, been deprived of my telescope, and was 
 thus enabled to remark the occurrences of this 
 calamitous morning with painful accuracy. A 
 sudden angle of the road cleared the advancing 
 military of the dust, which had hitherto ob- 
 scured theirraarch, and at once I perceived, to 
 my astonishment, that they were moving in 
 close column, without either flanking parties 
 or skirmishers. The dragoons were in the front, 
 the infantry succeeded— in the centre of which 
 I perceived three or four pieces of artillery, 
 and a squadron of cavalry brought up the rear. 
 The country, as yet, was open. The troops 
 could easily extend, if required, on the right and 
 left of the road ; but still there was a want of 
 military caution in their order of march, which 
 struck me as being blameable. Presently they 
 halted—" Now," thought I, " the rebel plan is 
 known— we shall soon see this formidable posi- 
 tion turned." I looked attentively: there was 
 as yet no partial movement— no light troops ex- 
 
 VOL.I.
 
 314 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 tending — no advanced-guard pushed forward. 
 Did my eyes deceive me ? — was it possible I 
 By Heaven! the march in close column was 
 resumed ; and without a single precautionary 
 measure, the doomed leader moved to his de- 
 struction. 
 
 On came the royalists, and in a short time 
 the leading squadron of the advanced cavalry 
 entered the fatal pass of Tubberneering. None 
 but a soldier can conceive the feelings of de- 
 spair, of madness, with which I viewed my de- 
 voted comrades, in the gorge of those enclosures, 
 from which few would return with life, and 
 none without dishonour. In profound silence 
 the rebel ambush lay concealed — not a pike 
 glittered—not a man was seen, and the ad- 
 vanced-guard rode on without suspicion. The 
 infantry had now entered the defile. As the road 
 narrowed, the progress of the column became 
 slow and difficult : they passed, and the unhappy 
 cause of the day's disgrace, surrounded by his 
 aides-de-camp and staff, r ode forward. 
 
 Colonel "Walpole, to whom, unfortunately, the 
 direction of this ill-fated detachment had been 

 
 COLONEL HILSON. 315 
 
 intrusted, was a man totally unfitted for com- 
 mand. He was vain, ignorant, and imprudent; 
 arrogant in his manners, and averse to com- 
 municate with his officers, or avail himself of 
 the experience of others. He held a situation in 
 the Castle of Dublin, and had unfortunately been 
 despatched with confidential orders to General 
 Loftus, from whom he received the command, 
 which was so fatal to his followers. He was a 
 remarkably fine-looking man, and being dressed 
 in a field-officer's full uniform, and mounted on 
 a tall gray charger, he formed a most conspicu- 
 ous object for his latent enemy. 
 
 The column had now completely entangled it- 
 self; and, at once, from the enclosures a wild 
 yell burst forth, accompanied by a stream of 
 musketry. Colonel Walpole fell in the first fire : 
 the confusion was tremendous — and to fight or 
 retreat impossible. The height and number of 
 the fences on every side made the ground most 
 favourable for irregular and desultory warfare, 
 and the long pikes of the rebels reached nearly 
 across the narrow road ; and those of the dis- 
 tracted soldiers who escaped the first close fire
 
 316 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 were perforated from behind the hedges by in- 
 visible opponents. The surprise of the troops 
 was complete — dragoons and infantry were 
 thrown in helpless disorder on each other, and 
 a scene of butchery ensued. 
 
 I mentioned that I had been placed apart 
 from the rebel body : my guard had been gra- 
 dually diminished, after the meUe commenced, 
 by their savage anxiety to join in the work of 
 slaughter: but two now remained. I looked 
 down the next enclosure — it was entirely open ; 
 for those who had originally lined it had ad- 
 vanced to close with the struggling soldiery. 
 
 I was aware that escape was practicable. A 
 pikeman and a musketeer were my retainers. 
 I waited till the latter had discharged his piece, 
 and then flinging the spearman down the steep 
 bank, I sprang over the next fence, and rushed 
 towards the flank of the royalists. 
 
 Fortunately some of the officers had managed 
 to disengage the rear-guard, and form them 
 across an open field, to cover the broken column. 
 A steep and expansive rock rose abruptly, with- 
 in a few paces of the road, and was crowded
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 317 
 
 with the rebel musketry, who, from its supe- 
 rior elevation, were enabled to throw a destruc- 
 tive fire into the helpless mass below. To ex- 
 tricate the column, while that commanding spot 
 was occupied, was impossible. I instantly took 
 command of the artillery, and having levelled 
 a hedge, got one of the six-pounders across the 
 fence, where its fire would traverse the rebel 
 position. The gunners behaved with admira- 
 ble steadiness : with a few discharges we swept 
 the rock of its occupants ; and a few of the 4th 
 dragoons, and the Ancient British cavalry, hav- 
 ing threatened a flank movement on the rebels, 
 the remains of the column were disengaged. 
 We were reluctantly obliged to abandon the 
 guns ; for the horses, being untrained to fire, 
 carried off the limbers in the commencement of 
 the attack, and made it impracticable to remove 
 them. We fell back in great confusion, and 
 retreated through the town of Gorey, followed 
 closely by the insurgents, and annoyed as we 
 retreated through the streets by the rebel in- 
 habitants, who fired on us from their houses. 
 But I had little time to brood deeply over
 
 318 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 the disastrous fight of Tubberneering. An oc- 
 currence of private calamity had taken place, in 
 which those with whom my best feelings were 
 involved had heavily suffered. Ashfield had 
 been surprised and taken by the rebels on the 
 night I left it, and Arthur Hilson murdered in 
 his own house, with circumstances of revolting 
 barbarity. Emma and her child had escaped 
 with difficulty : they had gained the sea-shore, 
 and been embarked in a vessel bound to some 
 English or Welsh port ; but where, my inforriia- 
 tion failed to state. They were safe ; but, good 
 .God ! so forlorn — so unprotected ! I would have 
 flown to them ; but that was utterly impossible ; 
 and I was obliged to remain in a state of 
 harassing anxiety until time or accident would 
 enable me to communicate with the wretched 
 widow. 
 
 In the interim, the rebels' success at Tubber- 
 neering brought thousands- of the wavering to 
 their standard. By our defeat, they had got 
 several pieces of cannon, and a quantity of 
 other arms and ammunition. Their numbers 
 were now immense, and their movements bold
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 319 
 
 and formidable. On the 5th, under the com- 
 mand of Bageual Harvey, they attacked the 
 town of Ross : the engagement continued the 
 whole day, and after a desperate conflict, they 
 were defeated by General Johnston. On the 
 9th the battle of Arklow was fought, which 
 also terminated in their discomfiture. On the 
 30th they took possession of the town of Wex- 
 ford, which they held till the 21st of June; 
 and having formed a camp on Vinegar Hill, 
 from it they overran the country in immense 
 bodies. 
 
 It would not be interesting to mention more 
 than generally, those affairs, in most of which I ' 
 was employed . I commanded the artillery of the 
 army, under Lord Lake, but more immediately 
 operated with the brigade commanded by Ge- 
 neral Sir James Duff. 
 
 Although the rebels had been mostly unsuc- 
 cessful in their decisive attempts on the king's 
 troops, their possession of a strong intrenched 
 camp on Vinegar Hill gave them a great faci- 
 lity of making attempts on the weaker military 
 posts around them, and maintaining themselves
 
 320 STORIES OF WATERLOO, 
 
 against any thing but a powerful force. Of 
 course it became imperative on the Wexford 
 commanders to dislodge them from it. A 
 combined attack of the brigades of Dundas, 
 Loftus, Needham, Johnston, and Duff, was 
 arranged ; their object was to surround and 
 carry the hill simultaneously ; and the necessary 
 orders having been issued by Lord Lake, the 
 troops were put in motion. 
 
 General Duff, to whom I was attached with 
 the artillery, advanced on the Ferns road, hav- 
 ing his right flank on the river Slaney. Our 
 march was parallel to the rebel lines upon the 
 hills; and during this movement I protected 
 the columns, throwing shells into the lines from 
 the howitzers, while the light infantry under 
 General Loftus supported me by a flanking fire. 
 Late in the evening we arrived on the ground 
 we were directed to occupy, and after a day of 
 immense fatigue, rested on our arms on Vinegar 
 Hill, in front of the rebel position. Ours be- 
 ing the light brigade, was of course considerably 
 advanced, and I employed the little remaining 
 light before the night closed in surveying the
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 321 
 
 ground and selecting a fit position for placing 
 the guns in battery. 
 
 The night was mild and warm ; the rebel 
 fires were lighted along their lines and in the 
 fort which crowned the crest of their camp. 
 Every necessary precaution against surprise 
 was taken, and we lay down to sleep and refresh 
 ourselves for the exertions of the morrow. 
 
 We were already apprised that the assault 
 upon the rebel camp would commence with the 
 morning's dawn. All but the pickets and sen- 
 tries were consequently anxious to obtain as 
 much refreshment and repose as possible. A 
 soldier's supper is readily disposed of; and soon 
 after dark our bivouac was profoundly silent, 
 and no sound or step was heard but those of 
 the guards and outposts. 
 
 Not so the rebel camp. All within their 
 lines was mirth and music : groups of figures 
 were seen moving opaquely round the watch- 
 fires, and the dance, and laugh, and song, only 
 ceased a short time before their lines were 
 formed for the engagement. 
 
 The short hours of the summer night passed,
 
 ^22 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 and the first blush of morning was expected 
 anxiously. We were all at our posts. A High- 
 land regiment was formed on the left of the 
 ground, where my guns, six six-pounders and 
 .two howitzers, were in battery, and the light 
 brigade, being the flank companies of the Irish 
 militia, and forming the finest battalion I ever 
 saw, were extended on the right. Our watches 
 were momently consulted : in a few minutes the 
 gray dawn would break, and then the work of 
 death was to commence ! At this instant an aide- 
 de-camp came up with orders. When the light 
 broke sufficiently to lay the guns, my fire was 
 to open, and that would be the signal for the 
 columns who were now resting round the hill 
 to press forward. 
 
 But natural causes, for a time, forbade the 
 flow of human blood. Suddenly a thick dense 
 fog rolled in huge fleeces across the hill; the 
 soldier could scarcely distinguish his next file, 
 and all around was enveloped in dark continu- 
 ous clouds, into which the human eye found it 
 impossible to penetrate. 
 
 It was six o'clock before the light broke
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 3*23 
 
 upon the morning of the 21st of June. The 
 mist rose gradually from the low grounds, and 
 as it rolled up the hill, the columns of Generals 
 Wilford, Dundas, and Duff, commenced as- 
 cending with it. When I heard the advance 
 sounded on their bugles, I apprised General 
 Loftus, who had stationed himself beside me, 
 that the fog was now dispersing. The word of 
 readiness was given to the light troops, and im- 
 mediately the mist curled upwards in one huge 
 fleece, and showed us the advancing columns 
 below, displayed in a dazzling glare of sun- 
 shine. The cloud rolled majestically forward, 
 and in a few minutes more the double lines of 
 the insurgents, five or six files deep, appeared 
 encircling the ridge and summit of the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 The opening light showed me that, on the. 
 preceding evening, I had not calculated my 
 distance wrong, when I chose the ground on 
 which I had parked my guns. A long deep 
 ditch and breastwork had been thrown up in 
 front of their position by the rebels, and to 
 defend it they had filled it with their choicest
 
 324 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 musketry. A few paces from me the ground 
 rose, and I ascertained that from that elevation 
 I could enfilade their whole line. I changed 
 the guns instantly, and waited orders to com- 
 mence firing. 
 
 The mist had now cleared off the rebel fort, 
 which was situated on the cone of the mountain, 
 and the scene around was beautiful and im- 
 posing. Above, the rebel lines displayed a 
 forest of glittering pikes ; along their ranks a 
 number of green flags were waving ; and their 
 leaders, mounted and dismounted, were seen 
 completing the necessary arrangements. One 
 was particularly remarkable, and seemed to hold 
 a principal command. He was a man of huge 
 stature, arrayed in green uniform, with cross- 
 belts and cavalry pistols ; and being mounted 
 on a showy gray horse, and constantly engaged 
 in reconnoitring, he had greatly attracted the 
 attention of the soldiery. He appeared to 
 remark the change of my guns, and rode for- 
 ward to the breast of the hill to observe my 
 battery nearer. 
 
 As yet not a shot was fired ; the troops press-
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 325 
 
 ed up the hill at a moderate step, and in perfect 
 silence; and the rebels waited steadily and 
 quietly for them to close. General Duff rode 
 up — *' Hilson, are you ready to open?" I an- 
 swered in the affirmative. ** Well, begin, in 
 God's name !" 
 
 The rebel chieftain on the gray horse was 
 now within good range. He was observing us 
 through a glass, with the reins on the neck of 
 his charger, which 1 afterwards learned had 
 belonged to the unfortunate Colonel Walpole. 
 
 I laid the gun carefully, and desiring those 
 around to observe the rebel leader, applied the 
 match, and horse and man were hurled lifeless 
 to the earth. Instantly the guns loaded with 
 grape and canister opened with destructive 
 effect on the crowded trenches, and the howit- 
 zers shelled the fort with fatal precision. The 
 bugle sounded the assault : under cover of the 
 cannon the light brigade, with a tremendous 
 cheer, rushed up the hill, and after a short re- 
 sistance, the rebel breastwork was carried with 
 the bayonet. 
 
 On their several points of attack the columns
 
 S26 STORIES 0F» WATERLOO. 
 
 were equally successful. The rebel position was 
 every where forced, and the cavalry having got 
 open ground to charge, rushed forward and 
 completed their overthrow. Fortunately for 
 the insurgents, one of the columns failed in 
 reaching its destination in sufficient time to co- 
 operate with the others, and thus afforded them 
 an opening to escape by. Owing to this mistake, 
 an immense column succeeded in retreating by 
 the eastern bank of the Slaney ; and the troops, 
 after a long and bloody pursuit, halted for the 
 night. 
 
 With the loss of their camp, the energies of 
 the insurgents appeared to decline. All their 
 cannon, fifteen pieces, with a large quantity of 
 arms and military stores, fell into the hands of 
 the royalists. Wexford next day was retaken, 
 and their forces from that time were constantly 
 harassed and broken by the king's troops, and 
 never afterwards were capable of any formidable 
 opposition. 
 
 During the period of these events my uncer- 
 tainty about poor Emma and her child was 
 most distressing ; the confusion of the times,
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 327 
 
 and the frequent miscarriage of correspondence, 
 precluded me from discovering the place of her 
 retreat. At last I received a letter from her, 
 written in the very spirit of despondency. She 
 was in Wales, where she had been landed, and 
 was looking for a suitable asylum. When she 
 had effected her object, she promised to write 
 again ; and, assuring me that she was amply 
 provided with necessary funds for her support, 
 bade me an affectionate farewell. 
 
 Melancholy as was Emma's letter, it relieved 
 me of much unhappiness. I wrote to her in- 
 stantly : the rebellion was being gradually ex- 
 Uoguished ; and I promised that the moment I 
 could obtain leave of absence I would hasten 
 to join her in England. 
 
 But the period of obtaining that leave was 
 protracted by circumstances beyond my control. 
 The French landed in the west, and again the 
 country was convulsed. When they were ob- 
 liged to surrender at Ballinamuck, other causes 
 of alarm occurred. Reports of the Brest fleet 
 being at sea to invade Ireland were prevalent.
 
 328 STORIES OP WATERLOO. 
 
 and for a year the government was kept in 
 constant agitation, and consequently every mili- 
 tary rnan was actively employed. 
 
 I had gained the confidence of the command- 
 ing officers in Ireland, and my request of leave 
 of absence was decisively refused, but in terms 
 flattering to my character as a soldier, as the 
 reply was — " I could not be spared." 
 
 Months passed. The winter wore away. I 
 had letters occasionally from Emma; they 
 breathed a deep affection for the dead, and 
 perfect resignation to that Providence which 
 had visited her so severely. The last one had 
 spoken of her health as being indifferent, and 
 
 her having changed to in Devonshire, 
 
 for better air, and conveyed a wish to see me, 
 if I could conveniently obtain the necessary 
 leave. 
 
 I made the application, and it was granted. 
 On the eve of setting out I received another 
 letter, evidently written under very agitated 
 feelings. The request to see me immediately 
 was urgent. I became alarmed, and starting
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 329 
 
 within an hour after I received it, travelled day 
 and night, until the fifth day T reached the vil- 
 lage where my beloved friend resided. 
 
 Aware of the necessity of a prepared meet- 
 ing, I wrote to her from the inn, announcing 
 my arrival, and inquiring when I should visit 
 her. In a short time a hurried note was re- 
 turned, in which an early hour the succeed- 
 ing morning was named. I was startled when 
 I looked a second time at Emma's billet ; the 
 once-beautiful hand had become feeble and 
 tremulous ; and the paper was in one or 
 two places blistered, as if a tear had fallen 
 on it. 
 
 I was at her door at the appointed time, and 
 admitted. She was lying on a couch, and rose 
 to receive me when she heard my voice. I 
 went forward hastily, and held her in my arms ; 
 she trembled, and was deeply agitated ; but 
 tears brought relief to her full heart, and in a 
 few minutes she mastered her feelings, and be- 
 came tolerably composed. I was silent and felt 
 embarrassed, but Emma spoke. 
 
 " We parted, George, under very different
 
 030 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 circumstances. I was then a wife ; but now I 
 am — :" she became hysterical, and sobbed bit- 
 terly. I strove to soothe her, and she listened- 
 to me with attention. I spoke of resignation — 
 of fortitude ; she had duties to stimulate her 
 to exertion — she had an orphan charge — ** Who 
 will, poor boy, be soon motherless ! George, I 
 would not grieve you unnecessarily, and would 
 have saved you from this very painful inter- 
 view, but my boy — he has no father." 
 
 She stopped, unable to proceed. I was equally 
 affected. I murmured — ** Emma, I will be his 
 father ; he shall be my child ;— but why talk 
 thus ? why abandon yourself to despair ? You 
 are young, and have many years to live." A 
 melancholy smile played over her face; ** Years 
 to live," she repeated in a low calm voice—** no, 
 not days." I looked at her attentively ; she 
 was unusually beautiful ; her eyes were bright 
 and lustrous, and her cheek was streaked with 
 glowing carmine : she changed the conversation 
 to more indifferent subjects, and presently, com- 
 plaining that she felt a little faint, requested 
 me to leave her for the present, and return at
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 331 
 
 an early hour in the evening. I obeyed her, 
 and retired. 
 
 As I walked from the house a fearful sus- 
 picion crossed my mind. There was a solem- 
 nity in her '^not days'^ that filled me with alarm. 
 I inquired for the physician that attended her, 
 and called upon him. My worst fears were 
 true— Emma was in the last, the hopeless stage 
 of a consumption. 
 
 My feelings may be easily conceived, when 
 in the evening I sought the lodgings of my 
 dying friend. I found her reclined upon the 
 sofa, and beside her a lovely boy, of three years' 
 old, in the deepest mourning. I entered so 
 gently, that for a few seconds she was uncon- 
 scious of my being in the room : I looked at 
 her anxiously. 
 
 Her still beautiful face was now white as the 
 artist's marble : bat when she saw me hanging 
 over the couch, again the eye lightened, and 
 again a feeble blush dwelt for an instant on her 
 faded cheek : — she beckoned to me— I knelt 
 beside her — she was sadly altered since the 
 morning. ** George," she said feebly, " I feared
 
 332 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 I might not have strength to convey to you my 
 dying wishes ; you will find them here," and 
 she put a sealed packet in my hand ; with a 
 faint effort she placed the infant in my arms — 
 '' Will you be a father to him ?" 
 
 A flood of tears fell upon the child's face, as 
 silently T pressed him to my bosom — *^and you 
 will bury me with Arthur ?" I could not speak. 
 " Kiss me, George — my boy — Arthur, I come !" 
 I had passed my arm round her neck to support 
 her ; as my lips touched hers, I felt a gentle 
 sigh; the head fell backwards on my arm; the 
 eyelid closed — Emma Hilson was dead ! 
 
 *• ^ w ^ w ^ 'If 
 
 Her wishes were obeyed ; she sleeps in the 
 churchyard of Ashfield, beside him whom in 
 life she loved so well. I placed the simple 
 tablet over their graves, which tells their names 
 to the passing traveller. The orphan of Arthur 
 Hilson is my adopted child. 
 
 My hoy — for he is dear to me as ever child 
 was to a parent — has exceeded my most sanguine 
 hopes; and when I fall — and a presentiment 
 tells me that mine will be a soldier's death —
 
 COLONEL HILSON. 333 
 
 George Hilson will fiod that his adopted father 
 has not forgotten him. 
 
 As Colonel Hilson brought his story to a 
 close, the bugles of the 28th, and the trumpets 
 of the cavalry, sounded in the streets of Long- 
 ford. Kennedy opened the curtains, and the 
 gray light streamed into the chamber, and 
 showed that morning had stolen on the revellers 
 unnoticed. 
 
 The hurry of preparation for the day's march 
 was now general. The infantry assembled fast, 
 and the dragoons rode from the quarters they 
 had occupied, and formed in the principal 
 street. Captain Mac Carthy, who was in com- 
 mand of this division of the Enniskillens, was 
 soon at the head of the cavalry. Hilson looked 
 after him as he rode from the door of the Red 
 Lion, with a mixed feeling of admiration and 
 regret. Ablution in cold water, and the morn- 
 ing's bracing air, had done for Mac Car- 
 thy, what quiet and a night's rest effected for
 
 034 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 bis more abstemious comrades ; and when 
 mounted on his charger — a jet-black horse of 
 uncommon strength and action — his firm seat, 
 light hand, and martial bearing, were well 
 worthy of the high military character borne by 
 the bold dragoon. 
 
 " What a pity, Kennedy !" said the com- 
 mander, " when poor Maurice goes, the king 
 will lose a noble soldier; and human nature 
 cannot long withstand his determined dissipa- 
 tion. The thorn is at his heart; but none 
 knows wherefore — " While speaking, Mac 
 Carthy's ** forward !" was heard : he waved 
 his hand to his friends— the trumpets sounded, 
 and the gallant body resumed their march for 
 Dublin. 
 
 On the sixth day the 28th regiment reached 
 their destination. They found the 79th wait- 
 ing for them at Newry ; and with the next 
 tide, the transports, to convey them to Bel- 
 gium, under the protection of a frigate and 
 8ome lighter ships of war, entered the harbour, 
 and anchored between Carlingford and War- 
 ren Point.
 
 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 335 
 
 Both regiments marched next morning to the 
 point of embarkation, and formed on the beach 
 together. Each was at its full war establish- 
 ment ; and two finer corps never left the shores 
 of Britain. 
 
 The day was remarkably fine. The transports 
 and their convoy lay in deep water, two miles 
 distant from the land. "When the regiments 
 were seen approaching, the frigate loosed her 
 fore-top sail, and discharging a gun, the launches 
 and boats left their respective ships, and pulled 
 rapidly ashore. The troops, in half companies, 
 entered the boats. In a short time the em- 
 barkation was effected, and the first division of 
 these splendid corps pushed off from the green 
 shores of Erin. 
 
 Now, indeed, the scene became interesting. 
 When the oars struck the water, the soldiery on 
 board burst into one wild cheer of military 
 exultation. It was answered from the shore by 
 the prayers and blessings of the peasantry ; and 
 amid all the pomp and circumstance of war 
 those gallant regiments left their native land, to 
 win on the red field of Waterloo another wreath
 
 336 STORIES OF WATERLOO. 
 
 to blazon, that proud page of history which re- 
 cords the victories of Britain. Soft rest the 
 brave! — many a young heart throbbed lightly 
 there that morning, which in two short months 
 had ceased to beat for ever ! 
 
 About noon the embarkation was completed ; 
 and as evening came on a gentle breeze from 
 the north east sprang up. The usual signal for 
 sailing was made, and the transports spread 
 their canvass, and, with a leading wind, the little 
 fleet stood slowly out to sea. The light-armed 
 vessels led the squadron down the bay, the 
 frigate keeping in the wake of her gallant 
 charge, under easy sail, and regulating the 
 movements of the convoy. 
 
 The voyage was quick and pleasant. On the 
 eighth day the troops landed at Ostend, and, in 
 beautiful order and high spirits, directed their 
 march, by Ghent, on Brussels. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY A, J. VALPY, RtD LIOS COURT, FLEIT STRfiKT.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLIN0I8-URBANA 
 
 3„„,„ ill 
 
 3 0112 051363601