We dined at the club-house, and sat chatting over our wine till near
ten o'clock. The events of the morning were our principal topics; for
although I longed myself to turn the conversation to the Rooneys, I
was deterred from doing so by the fear of another outbreak of O'Grady's
mirth. Meanwhile the time rolled on, and rapidly too, for my companion,
with an earnestness of manner and a force of expression I little knew he
possessed, detailed to me many anecdotes of his own early career. From
these I could glean that while O'Grady suffered himself to be borne
along the current of dissipation and excess, yet in his heart he hated
the life he led, and, when a moment of reflection came, felt sorrow for
the past, and but little hope for the future.
'Yes, Jack,' said he, on concluding a narrative of continual family
misfortune, 'there would seem a destiny in things; and if we look about
us in the world we cannot fail to see that families, like individuals,
have their budding spring of youth and hope, their manhood of pride and
power, and their old age of feebleness and decay. As for myself, I am
about the last branch of an old tree, and all my endeavour has been, to
seem green and cheerful to the last. My debts have hung about my neck
all through life; the extravagances of my early years have sat like a
millstone upon me; and I who began the world with a heart brimful of
hope, and a soul bounding with ambition, have lingered on my path like a
truant schoolboy. And here I am, at the age of three-and-thirty, without
having realised a single promise of my boyhood, the poorest of all
imaginable things--a gentleman without fortune, a soldier without
service, a man of energy without hope.'
'But why, Phil,' said I, 'how comes it that you never went out to the
Peninsula?'
'Alas, my boy! from year to year I have gone on expecting my gazette
to a regiment on service. Too poor to purchase, too proud to solicit, I
have waited in anxious expectancy from some of those with whom, high as
was their station, I've lived on terms of intimacy and friendship, that
notice they extended to others less known than I was; but somehow the
temperament that would seem to constitute my happiness, has proved my
bane, and those qualities which have made me a boon companion, have
left me a beggar. Handed over from one viceroy to another, like a state
trumpeter or a butt of sherry, I have been left to linger out my
best years a kind of court-jester; my only reward being, the hour of
merriment over, that they who laughed with, should laugh at me.'
There was a tone of almost ferocity in the way he spoke these words;
while the trembling lip, the flashing eye, and the swollen veins of
his temple betrayed that the very bitterest of all human
emotions--self-scorn--was racking his heart within him.
For some time we were both silent. Had I even known what to say at such
a moment, there was that comfortless expression about his face, that
look of riveted despair, which would have rendered any effort on my part
to console him a vain and presumptuous folly.
'But come, Jack,' said he, filling his glass and pushing over the
decanter to me, 'I have learned to put little faith in patrons; and
although the information has been long in acquiring, still it has come
at last, and I am determined to profit by it. I am now endeavouring to
raise a little money to pay off the most pressing of my creditors, and
have made an application to the Horse Guards to be appointed to any
regiment on service, wherever it may be. If both these succeed, and it
is necessary both should, then, Jack, I 'll try a new path, and even
though it lead to nothing, yet, at least, it will be a more manly one
to follow. And if I am to linger on to that period of life when to look
back is nearly all that's left us--why, then, the retrospect will be
less dashed with shame than with such a career as this is. Meanwhile,
my boy, the decanter is with you, so fill your glass; I 'll join you
presently.'
As he spoke, O'Grady sprang up and walked to the other end of the room,
where a party of some half-dozen persons were engaged in putting on
greatcoats, and buttoning up previous to departure. In an instant I
could hear his voice high above the rest--that cheerful ringing tone
that seemed the very tocsin of a happy heart--while at some observation
he made, the whole party around him were convulsed with laughter. In the
midst of all this he drew one of them aside, and conversing eagerly with
him for a few seconds, pointed to me as he spoke.
'Thank you, my lord, thank you,' said he, as he turned away. 'I'll be
answerable for my friend. Now, Hinton,' whispered he, as he leaned his
hand upon my shoulder and bent over me, 'we 're in luck to-night, at all
events, for I have just got permission to bring you with me where I
am to spend the evening. It's no small favour if you knew but all; so
finish your wine, for my friends there are moving already.'
All my endeavours to ascertain where we were going, or to whose house,
were in vain; the only thing I could learn was, that my admission was a
prodigious favour--while to satisfy my scruples about dress he informed
me that no change of costume was necessary.
'I perceive,' said O'Grady, as he drew the curtain and looked out into
the street, 'the night is fine and starlight; so what say you if we
walk? I must tell you, however, our place of rendezvous is somewhat
distant.'
Agreeing to the proposition with pleasure, I took his arm, and we
sallied forth together. Our way led at first through a most crowded and
frequented part of the capital We traversed Dame Street, passed by the
Castle, and ascended a steep street beyond it; after this we took a
turning to the left, and entered a part of the city, to me at least,
utterly unknown. For about half an hour we continued to wander on, now
to the right, now to the left, the streets becoming gradually narrower,
less frequented, and less lighted; the shops were all closed, and few
persons stirred in the remote thoroughfares.
'I fear I must have made a mistake,' said O'Grady, endeavouring to take
a short cut; 'but here comes a watchman. I say, is this Kevin Street?'
'No, sir; the second turning to your right brings you into it.'
'Kevin Street!' said I, repeating the name half aloud to myself.
'Yes, Jack, so it is called; but all your ingenuity will prove too
little in discovering whither you are going. So come along; leave time
to tell you what guessing never will.'
By this time we arrived at the street in question, when very soon after
O'Grady called out--
'All right--here we are!'
With these words he knocked three times in a peculiar manner at the door
of a large and gloomy-looking house. An ill-trimmed lamp threw a faint
and nickering light upon the old and ruined building, and I could trace
here and there, through all the wreck of time, some remnants of a better
day. The windows now, however, were broken in several places, those on
the lower storey being defended on the outside by a strong iron railing;
not a gleam of light shone through any one of them, but a darkness
unrelieved, save by the yellow gleam of the street lamp, enveloped the
entire building. O'Gradys summons was twice repeated ere there seemed
any chance of its being replied to, when, at last, the step of a heavy
foot descending the stairs announced the approach of some one. While I
continued my survey of the house O'Grady never spoke, and, perceiving
that he made a mystery of our visit, I resolved to ask no further
questions, but patiently await the result; my impression, however,
was, that the place was the resort either of thieves or of some illegal
association, of which more than one, at that time, were known to
have their meetings in the capital. While I was thus occupied in
my conjectures, and wondering within myself how O'Grady had become
acquainted with his friends, the door opened, and a diminutive,
mean-looking old man, shading the candle with his hand, stood at the
entrance.
'Good-evening, Mickey,' cried O'Grady, as he brushed by him into the
hall. 'Are they come?'
'Yes, Captain,' said the little man, as, snuffing the long wick with his
fingers, he held the light up to O'Grady's face. 'Yes, Captain, about
fifteen.'
'This gentleman's with me--come along, Jack--he is my friend, Mickey.'
'Oh, I can't do it by no means, Mister Phil,' said the dwarf, opposing
himself as a barrier to my entrance. 'You know what they said the last
night'--here he strained himself on his toes, and, as O'Grady stooped
down, whispered some words I couldn't catch, while he continued
aloud--'and you know after that, Captain, I daren't do it.'
'I tell you, you old fool, I've arranged it all; so get along there,
and show us the light up these confounded stairs. I suppose they never
mended the hole on the lobby?'
'Troth they didn't,' growled the dwarf; 'and it would be chaper for them
nor breaking their shins every night.'
I followed O'Grady up the stairs, which creaked and bent beneath us at
every step; the hand-rail, broken in many places, swung to and fro with
every motion of the stair, and the walls, covered with green, and damp
mould, looked the very picture of misery and decay. Still grumbling
at the breach of order incurred by my admission, the old man shuffled
along, wheezing, coughing, and cursing between times, till at length we
reached the landing-place, where the hole of which I heard them speak
permitted a view of the hall beneath. Stepping across this, we entered
a large room lighted by a lamp upon the chimney-piece; around the walls
were hung a variety of what appeared to be cloaks of a lightish drab
colour, while over each hung a small skull-cap of yellow leather.
'Don't you hear the knocking below, Mickey? There's some one at the
door,' said O'Grady.
The little man left the room, and as we were now alone, I expected some
explanation from my friend as to the place we were in, and the people
who frequented it. Not so, however. Phil merely detached one of the
cloaks from its peg, and proceeded to invest himself in its folds; he
placed the skull-cap on his head, after which, covering the whole with
a hood, he fastened the garment around his waist with a girdle of rope,
and stood before me the perfect picture of a monk of St. Benedict, as we
see them represented in old pictures--the only irregularity of costume
being, that instead of a rosary, the string from his girdle supported a
corkscrew and a horn spoon of most portentous proportions.
'Come, my son,' said he reverently, 'indue thy garment.' So saying,
he proceeded to clothe me in a similar manner, after which he took a
patient survey of me for a few seconds. 'You 'll do very well; wear the
hood well forward; and mark me, Jack, I 've but one direction to give
you--never speak a word, not a syllable, so long as you remain in the
house; if spoken to, cross your arms thus upon your breast, and bow
your head in this manner. Try that--perfectly--you have your lesson; now
don't forget it.'
O'Grady now, with his arms crossed upon his bosom, and his head bent
slightly forward, walked slowly forth, with a solemn gravity well
befitting his costume. Imitating him as well as I was able, I followed
him up the stairs. On reaching the second landing, he tapped twice with
his knuckles at a low door, whose pointed arch and iron grating were
made to represent the postern of a convent.
'_Benedicite_,' said Phil, in a low voice.
'_Et tu quoque, frater_,' responded some one from within, and the door
was opened.
Saluting a venerable-looking figure, who, with a long grey beard, bowed
devoutly as we passed, we entered an apartment, where, so sudden was the
change from what I had hitherto seen, I could scarcely trust my eyes.
A comfortable, well-carpeted room, with curtained windows, cushioned
chairs, and, not least inviting of all, a blazing fire of wood upon the
hearth, were objects I was little prepared for; but I had little time to
note them, my attention being directed with more curiosity to the living
occupants of this strange dwelling. Some fifteen or sixteen persons,
costumed like ourselves, either walked up and down engaged in
conversation, or sat in little groups around the fire. Card-tables there
were in different parts of the room, but one only was occupied. At this
a party of reverend fathers were busily occupied at whist. In the corner
next the fire, seated in a large chair of carved oak, was a figure,
whose air and bearing bespoke authority; the only difference in his
costume from the others being a large embroidered corkscrew, which he
wore on his left shoulder.
'Holy Prior, your blessing,' said Phil, bowing obsequiously before him.
'You have it, my son: much good may it do you,' responded the superior,
in a voice which, somehow or other, seemed not perfectly new to me.
While O'Grady engaged in a whispered conversation with the prior,
I turned my eyes towards a large-framed paper which hung above the
chimney. It ran thus:--
'Rules and regulations to be observed in the monastery of the venerable
and pious brothers, the Monks of the Screw.'
Conceiving it scarcely delicate in a stranger to read over the
regulations of a society of which he was not a member, I was turning
away, when O'Grady, seizing me by the arm, whispered, 'Remember your
lesson'; then added aloud, 'Holy Father, this is the lay brother of whom
I spoke.'
The prior bowed formally, and extended his hands towards me with a
gesture of benediction--
'_Accipe benedictionem_-----'
'Supper, by the Lord Harry!' cried a jolly voice behind me, and at the
same moment a general movement was made by the whole party.
The prior now didn't wait to conclude his oration, but tucking up his
garments, put himself at the head of the procession which had formed,
two and two, in order of march. At the same moment, two fiddles from the
supper-room, after a slight prelude, struck up the anthem of the order,
which was the popular melody of, 'The Night before Larry was stretched!'
Marching in measured tread, we entered the supper-room, when, once
having made the circuit of the table, at a flourish of the fiddles we
assumed our places, the superior seating himself at the head in a chair
of state, slightly elevated above the rest. A short Latin grace, which
I was unfortunate enough not to catch, being said, the work of eating
began; and, certainly, whatever might have been the feats of the friars
of old, when the bell summoned them to the refectory, their humble
followers, the Monks of the Screw, did them no discredit. A profusion of
dishes covered the table; and although the entire service was of wood,
and the whole 'equipage' of the most plain and simple description, yet
the cookery was admirable, and the wines perfection itself.
While the supper proceeded, scarcely a word was spoken. By the skilful
exercise of signs, with which they all seemed familiar, roast ducks,
lobsters, veal-pies, and jellies flew from hand to hand; the decanters
also paraded up and down the table with an alacrity and despatch I had
seldom seen equalled. Still, the pious brethren maintained a taciturn
demeanour that would have done credit to La Trappe itself. As for me, my
astonishment and curiosity increased every moment. What could they be?
What could they mean? There was something too farcical about it all to
suppose that any political society or any dangerous association could
be concealed under such a garb; and if mere conviviality and good
fellowship were meant, their unbroken silence and grave demeanour struck
me as a most singular mode of promoting either.
Supper at length concluded, the dishes were removed by two humble
brethren of the order, dressed in a species of grey serge; after
which, marching to a solemn tune, another monk appeared, bearing a huge
earthenware bowl, brimful of steaming punch--at least so the odour and
the floating lemons bespoke it. Each brother was now provided with
a small, quaint-looking pipkin, after which the domestics withdrew,
leaving us in silence as before. For about a second or two this
continued, when suddenly the fiddles gave a loud twang, and each monk,
springing to his legs, threw hack his cowl, and, bowing to the superior,
reseated himself. So sudden was the action, so unexpected the effect,
for a moment or two I believed it a dream. What was my surprise, what my
amazement, that this den of thieves, this hoard of burglars, this secret
council of rebels, was nothing more or less than an assemblage of nearly
all the first men of the day in Ireland! And as my eye ran rapidly over
the party, here I could see the Chief Baron, with a venerable dignitary
of St. Patrick's on his right; there was the Attorney-General; there the
Provost of Trinity College; lower down, with his skull-cap set jauntily
on one side, was Wellesley Pole, the secretary of state; Yelverton,
Day, Plunket, Parsons, Toler; in a word, all those whose names were a
guarantee for everything that was brilliant, witty, and amusing, were
there; while, conspicuous among the rest, the prior himself was no other
than John Philpot Curran! Scarcely was my rapid survey of the party
completed, when the superior, filling his pipkin from the ample bowl
before him, rose to give the health of the order. Alas me! that time
should have so sapped my memory! I can but give my impression of what I
heard.
The speech, which lasted about ten minutes, was a kind of burlesque on
speeches from the throne, describing in formal phrase the prosperous
state of their institution, its amicable foreign relations, the
flourishing condition of its finances--brother Yelverton having paid in
the two-and-sixpence he owed for above two years--concluding all with
the hope that by a rigid economy, part of which consisted in limiting
John Toler to ten pipkins, they would soon be enabled to carry into
effect the proposed works on the frontier, and expend the sum of four
shillings and nine-pence in the repair of the lobby. Winding up all with
a glowing eulogium on monastic institutions in general, he concluded
with recommending to their special devotion and unanimous cheers 'the
Monks of the Screw.' Never, certainly, did men compensate for their
previous silence better than the worthy brethren in question. Cheering
with an energy I never heard the like of, each man finished his pipkin
with just voice enough left to call for the song of the order.
Motioning with his hand to the fiddlers to begin, the prior cleared his
throat, and, to the same simple but touching melody they had marched in
to supper, sang the following chant:--
GOOD-LUCK TO THE FRIARS OF OLD
'Of all trades that flourished of old,
Before men knew reading and writing,
The friars' was best I am told,
If one wasn't much given to fighting;
For, rent free, you lived at your ease--
You had neither to work nor to labour--
You might eat of whatever you please,
For the prog was supplied by your neighbour.
Oh, good-luck to the friars of old!
'Your dress was convenient and cheap--
A loose robe like this I am wearing:
It was pleasant to eat in or sleep,
And never much given to tearing.
Not tightened nor squeezed in the least--
How of modern days you might shame us!
With a small bit of cord round your waist--
With what vigour you'd chant the oremus!
Oh, good-luck to the friars of old!
'What miracles then, too, you made!
The fame to this hour is lasting;
But the strangest of all, it is said,
You grew mighty fat upon fasting!
And though strictly forbid to touch wine,
How the fact all your glory enhances!
You well knew the taste of the vine--
Some miraculous gift of St. Francis!
Oh, good-luck to the friars of old!
'To trace an example so meek,
And repress all our carnal desires,
We mount two pair stairs every week,
And put on the garment of friars;
And our order itself it is old--
The oldest between me and you, sir;
For King David, they say, was enrolled,
And a capital Monk of the Screw, sir.
So, good-luck to the friars of old!'
The song over, and another cheer given to the brethren of the Screw, the
pipkins were replenished, and the conversation, so long pent up, burst
forth in all its plenitude. Nothing but fun, nothing but wit, nothing
but merriment, was heard on either side. Here were not only all the
bright spirits of the day, but they were met by appointment; they came
prepared for the combat, armed for the fight; and, certainly, never was
such a joust of wit and brilliancy. Good stories rained around; jests,
repartees, and epigrams flew like lightning; and one had but time
to catch some sparkling gem as it glittered, ere another and another
succeeded.
But even already I grow impatient with myself while I speak of these
things. How poor, how vapid, and how meagre is the effort to recall the
wit that set the table in a roar! Not only is memory wanting, but how
can one convey the incessant roll of fun, the hailstorm of pleasantry,
that rattled about our ears; each good thing that was uttered ever
suggesting something still better; the brightest fancy and the most
glowing imagination stimulated to their utmost exercise; while powers
of voice, of look, and of mimicry unequalled, lent all their aid to the
scene.
While I sat entranced and delighted with all I saw and all I heard, I
had not remarked that O'Grady had been addressing the chair for some
time previous.
'Reverend brother,' replied the prior, 'the prayer of thy petition is
inadmissible. The fourth rule of our faith says, _de confessione:_ No
subject, mirthful, witty, or jocose, known to, or by, any member of the
order, shall be withheld from the brotherhood under a penalty of the
heaviest kind. And it goes on to say, that whether the jest involve your
father or your mother, your wife, your sister, or the aunt from whom
you expect a legacy, no exception can be made. What you then look for is
clearly impossible; make a clean breast of it, and begin.'
This being a question of order, a silence was soon established, when,
what was my horror to find that Phil O'Grady began the whole narrative
of my mother's letter on the subject of the Rooneys! Not limiting
himself, however, to the meagre document in question, but colouring
the story with all the force of his imagination, he displayed to the
brethren the ludicrous extremes of character personated by the London
fine lady and the Dublin attorney's wife. Shocked as I was at first, he
had not proceeded far, when I was forced to join the laughter. The whole
table pounced upon the story. The Rooneys were well known to them
all; and the idea of poor Paul, who dispensed his hospitalities with
a princely hand, having his mansion degraded to the character of a
chop-house, almost convulsed them with laughter.
'I am going over to London next week,' said Parsons, 'with old Lambert;
and if I thought I should meet this Lady Charlotte Hinton, I'd certainly
contrive to have him presented to her as Mr. Paul Rooney.'
This observation created a diversion in favour of my lady-mother, to
which I had the satisfaction of listening without the power to check.
'She has,' said Dawson, 'most admirable and original views about
Ireland; and were it only for the fact of calling on the Rooneys for
their bill, she deserves our gratitude. I humbly move, therefore, that
we drink to the health of our worthy sister, Lady Charlotte Hinton.'
The next moment found me hip-hipping, in derision, to my mother's
health, the only consolation being that I was escaping unnoticed and
unknown.
'Well, Barrington, the duke was delighted with the corps; nothing could
be more soldierlike than their appearance, as they marched past.'
'Ah, the attorneys', isn't it--the Devil's Own, as Curran calls them?'
'Yes, and remarkably well they looked. I say, Parsons, you heard what
poor Rooney said when Sir Charles Asgill read aloud the general order
complimenting them: “May I beg, Sir Charles,” said he, “to ask if the
document in your hand be an attested copy?”'
'Capital, 'faith! By-the-bye, what's the reason, can any one tell me,
Paul has never invited me to dine for the last two years?'
'Indeed!' said Curran; 'then your chance is a bad one, for the statute
of limitations is clearly against you.'
'Ah, Kellar, the Rooneys have cut all their low acquaintances, and your
prospects look very gloomy. You know what took place between Paul and
Lord Manners?'
'No, Barrington; let's hear it, by all means!'
'Paul had met him at Kinnegad, where both had stopped to change horses.
“A glass of sherry, my lord?” quoth Paul, with a most insinuating look.
'“No, sir, thank you,” was the distant reply.
'“A bowl of gravy, then, my lord?” rejoined he. '“Pray, excuse me,” more
coldly than before.
'“Maybe a chop and a crisped potato would tempt your lordship?”
'“Neither, sir, I assure you.”
'“Nor a glass of egg-flip?” repeated Paul, in an accent bordering on
despair.
'“Nor even the egg-flip,” rejoined his lordship, in the most pompous
manner.
'“Then, my lord,” said Paul, drawing himself up to his full height, and
looking him firmly in the face, “I've only to say, the 'onus' is now on
you.” With which he stalked out of the room, leaving the chancellor to
his own reflections.'
'Brethren, the saint!' cried out the prior, as he rose from the chair.
'The saint! the saint!' re-echoed from lip to lip; and at the same moment
the door opened, and a monk appeared, bearing a silver image of St.
Patrick, about a foot and a half high, which he deposited in the middle
of the table with the utmost reverence. All the monks rose, filling
their pipkins, while the junior of the order, a fat little monk with
spectacles, began the following ditty, in which all the rest joined,
with every energy of voice and manner:--
I
'When St. Patrick our order created,
And called us the Monks of the Screw,
Good rules he revealed to our abbot
To guide us in what we should do.
II
'But first he replenished his fountain
With liquor the best in the sky,
And he swore by the word of his saintship
That fountain should never run dry.
III
'My children, be chaste, till you 're tempted;
While sober, be wise and discreet;
And humble your bodies with fasting
Whene'er you 've nothing to eat.
IV
'Then be not a glass in the convent,
Except on a festival, found;
And this rule to enforce, I ordain it
A festival all the year round.'
A hip, hip, hurrah! that made the very saint totter on his legs, shook
the room; and once more the reverend fathers reseated themselves to
resume their labours.
Again the conversation flowed cm in its broader channel; and scarcely
was the laughter caused by one anecdote at an end when another
succeeded, the strangest feature of all this being that he who related
the story was, in almost every instance, less the source of amusement
to the party than they who, listening to the recital, threw a hundred
varied lights upon it, making even the tamest imaginable adventure the
origin of innumerable ludicrous situations and absurd fancies. Besides
all this, there were characteristic differences in the powers of
the party, which deprived the display of any trace or appearance of
sameness: the epigrammatic terseness and nicety of Curran; the jovial
good-humour and mellow raciness of Lawrence Parsons; the happy facility
of converting all before him into a pun or a repartee, so eminently
possessed by Toler; and, perhaps more striking than all, the caustic
irony and piercing sarcasm of Plunket's wit--relieved and displayed one
another, each man's talent having only so much of rivalry as to excite
opposition and give interest to the combat, yet never by any accident
originating a particle of animosity, or even eliciting a shade of
passing irritation.
With what pleasure could I continue to recount the stories, the songs,
the sayings, I listened to! With what satisfaction do I yet look back
upon that brilliant scene, nearly all the actors in which have since
risen to high rank and eminence in the country! How often, too, in their
bright career, when I have heard the warm praise of the world bestowed
upon their triumphs and their successes, has my memory carried me back
to that glorious night, when with hearts untrammelled by care, high in
hope, and higher in ambition, these bright spirits sported in all the
wanton exuberance of their genius, scattering with profusion the rich
ore of their talent, careless of the depths to which the mine should
be shafted hereafter! Yes, it is true there were giants in those days.
However much one may be disposed to look upon the eulogist of the past,
as one whose fancy is more ardent than his memory is tenacious, yet with
respect to this, there is no denial of the fact, that great convivial
gifts, great conversational power, no longer exist as they did some
thirty or forty years ago. I speak more particularly of the country
where I passed my youth--of Ireland. And who that remembers those names
I have mentioned; who that can recall the fascination, and charm, which
almost every dinner-party of the day could boast; who that can bring to
mind the brilliancy of Curran, the impetuous power of Plunket, or the
elegance of manner and classical perfection of wit that made Burke
the Cicero of his nation; who, I say, with all these things before
his memory, can venture to compare the society of that period with the
present? No, no; the grey hairs that mingle with our brown may convict
us of being a prejudiced witness, but we would call into court every one
whose testimony is available, and confidently await the verdict.
'And so they ran away!' said the prior, turning towards a tall,
gaunt-looking monk, who with a hollow voice and solemn manner was
recording the singular disappearance of the militia regiment he
commanded on the morning they were to embark for England. 'The story
we heard,' resumed the prior, 'was, that when drawn up in the Fifteen
Acres, one of the light company caught sight of a hare, and flung his
musket at it; that the grenadiers followed the example, and that then
the whole battalion broke loose, with a loud yell, and set off in
pursuit----'
'No, sir,' said the gaunt man, waving his hand to suppress the laughter
around him. 'They were assembled on the lighthouse wall, as it might
be here, and we told them off by tallies as they marched on board, not
perceiving, however, that as fast as they entered the packet on one side
they left it on the opposite, there being two jolly-boats in waiting to
receive them; and as it was dusk at the time, the scheme was undetected,
until the corporal of a flank company shouted out to them to wait for
him, that being his boat. At this time we had fifty men of our four
hundred and eighty.'
'Ay, ay, holy father,' cried the prior, as he helped himself to a
devilled bone, 'your fellows were like the grilled bone before me--when
they were mustered, they would not wait to be peppered?
This sally produced a roar of laughter, not the less hearty that the
grim-visaged hero it was addressed to never relaxed a muscle of his
face.
It was now late, and what between the noise, the wine, and the laughter,
my faculties were none of the clearest. Without having drunk much, I
felt all the intoxication of liquor, and a whirlwind of confusion in my
ideas, that almost resembled madness. To this state one part of their
proceedings in a great measure contributed; for every now and then, on
some signal from the prior, the whole party would take hands and dance
round the table to the measure of an Irish jig, wilder and even more
eccentric than their own orgies. Indeed, I think this religious exercise
finished me; for after the third time of its performance, the whole
scene became a confused and disturbed mass, and amid the crash of
voices, the ringing of laughter, the tramping of feet, I sank into
something which, if not sleep, was at least unconsciousness; and thus
is a wet sponge drawn over the immediately succeeding portion of my
history.
[Illustration: 224]
Some faint recollection I have of terrifying old Corny by my costume;
but what the circumstances, or how they happened, I cannot remember.
I can only call to mind one act in vindication of my wisdom--I went to
bed.