It would afford me little pleasure to write, and doubtless my readers
less to read, my lucubrations as I journeyed along towards Dublin. My
thoughts seldom turned from myself and my own fortunes, nor were
they cheered by the scene through which I travelled. The season was a
backward and wet one, and the fields, partly from this cause, and partly
from the people being engaged in the late struggle, lay untilled and
neglected. Groups of idle, lounging peasants stood in the villages,
or loitered on the highroads as we passed, sad, ragged-looking, and
wretched. They seemed as if they had no heart to resume their wonted
life of labour, but were waiting for some calamity to close their
miserable existence. Strongly in contrast with this were the air
and bearing of the yeomanry and militia detachments with whom we
occasionally came up. Quite forgetting how little creditable to some
of them, at least, were the events of the late campaign, they gave
themselves the most intolerable airs of heroism, and in their drunken
jollity, and reckless abandonment, threatened, I know not what--utter
ruin to France and all Frenchmen. Bonaparte was the great mark of
their sarcasms, and, from some cause or other, seemed to enjoy a most
disproportioned share of their dislike and derision.
At first it required some effort of constraint on my part to listen to
this ribaldry in silence; but prudence, and a little sense, taught me
the safer lesson of ‘never minding,’ and so I affected to understand
nothing that was said in a spirit of insult or offence.
On the night of the 7th of November we drew nigh to Dublin; but instead
of entering the capital, we halted at a small village outside of it,
called Ghapelizod. Here a house had been fitted up for the reception of
French prisoners, and I found myself, if not in company, at least under
the same roof, with my countrymen.
Nearer intercourse than this, however, I was not destined to enjoy, for
early on the following morning I was ordered to set out for the Royal
Barracks, to be tried before a court-martial. It was on a cold, raw
morning, with a thin, drizzly rain falling, that we drove into the
barrack-yard, and drew up at the mess-room, then used for the purposes
of a court. As yet none of the members had assembled, and two or three
mess-waiters were engaged in removing the signs of last night’s
debauch, and restoring a semblance of decorum to a very rackety-looking
apartment. The walls were scrawled over with absurd caricatures, in
charcoal or ink, of notorious characters of the capital, and a very
striking ‘battle-piece’ commemorated the ‘Races of Castlebar,’ as that
memorable action was called, in a spirit, I am bound to say, of
little flattery to the British arms. There were, to be sure, little
compensatory illustrations here and there of French cavalry in Egypt,
mounted on donkeys, or revolutionary troops on parade, ragged as
scarecrows, and ill-looking as highwaymen; but a most liberal justice
characterised all these frescoes, and they treated both Trojan and
Tyrian alike.
I had abundant time given me to admire them, for although summoned for
seven o’clock, it was nine before the first officer of the court-martial
made his appearance, and he having popped in his head, and perceiving
the room empty, sauntered out again, and disappeared. At last a very
noisy jaunting-car rattled into the square, and a short, red-faced
man was assisted down from it, and entered the mess-room. This was Mr.
Peters, the Deputy Judge Advocate, whose presence was the immediate
signal for the others, who now came dropping in from every side, the
President, a Colonel Daly, arriving the last.
A few tradespeople, loungers, it seemed to me, of the barracks, and some
half-dozen non-commissioned officers off duty, made up the public; and I
could not but feel a sense of my insignificance in the utter absence of
interest my fate excited. The listless indolence and informality, too,
offended and insulted me; and when the President politely told me to
be seated, for they were obliged to wait for some books or papers left
behind at his quarters, I actually was indignant at his coolness.
As we thus waited, the officers gathered round the fireplace, chatting
and laughing pleasantly together, discussing the social events of the
capital, and the gossip of the day; everything, in fact, but the case of
the individual on whose future fate they were about to decide.
At length the long-expected books made their appearance, and a few
well-thumbed volumes were spread over the table, behind which the Court
took their places, Colonel Daly in the centre, with the judge upon his
left.
The members being sworn, the Judge Advocate arose, and in a hurried,
humdrum kind of voice, read out what purported to be the commission
under which I was to be tried; the charge being, whether I had or had
not acted treacherously and hostilely to his Majesty, whose natural-born
subject I was, being born in that kingdom, and, consequently, owing to
him all allegiance and fidelity. ‘Guilty or not guilty, sir?’
‘The charge is a falsehood; I am a Frenchman,’ was my answer.
‘Have respect for the Court, sir,’ said Peters; ‘you mean that you are a
French officer, but by birth an Irishman.’
‘I mean no such thing--that I am French by birth, as I am in
feeling--that I never saw Ireland till within a few months back, and
heartily wish I had never seen it.’
‘So would General Humbert, too, perhaps,’ said Daly, laughing; and the
Court seemed to relish the jest.
‘Where were you born, then, Tiernay?’
‘In Paris, I believe.’
‘And your mother’s name, what was it?’
‘I never knew; I was left an orphan when a mere infant, and can tell
little of my family.’
‘Your father was Irish, then?’
‘Only by descent. I have heard that we came from a family who bore the
title of “Timmahoo”---Lord Tiernay of Timmahoo.’
‘There was such a title,’ interposed Peters; ‘it was one of King James’s
last creations after his flight from the Boyne. Some, indeed, assert
that it was conferred before the battle. What a strange coincidence, to
find the descendant, if he be such, labouring in something like the same
cause as his ancestor.’
‘What’s your rank, sir?’ asked a sharp, severe-looking man, called Major
Flood.
‘First Lieutenant of Hussars.’
‘And is it usual for a boy of your years to hold that rank; or was there
anything peculiar in your case that obtained the promotion?’
‘I served in two campaigns, and gained my grade regularly.’
‘Your Irish blood, then, had no share in your advancement?’ asked he
again.
‘I am a Frenchman, as I said before,’ was my answer.
‘A Frenchman, who lays claim to an Irish estate and an Irish title,’
replied Flood. ‘Let us hear Dowall’s statement.’
And now, to my utter confusion, a man made his way to the table, and,
taking the book from the Judge Advocate, kissed it in token of an oath.
‘Inform the Court of anything you know in connection with the prisoner,’
said the judge.
And the fellow, not daring even to look towards me, began a long,
rambling, unconnected narrative of his first meeting with me at Killala,
affecting that a close intimacy had subsisted between us, and that,
in the faith of a confidence, I had told him how, being an Irishman by
birth, I had joined the expedition in the hope that with the expulsion
of the English I should be able to re-establish my claim to my family
rank and fortune. There was little coherence in his story, and more
than one discrepant statement occurred in it; but the fellow’s natural
stupidity imparted a wonderful air of truth to the narrative, and I
was surprised how naturally it sounded even to my own ears, little
circumstances of truth being interspersed through the recital, as though
to season the falsehood into a semblance of fact.
‘What have you to reply to this, Tiernay?’ asked the colonel.
‘Simply, sir, that such a witness, were his assertions even more
consistent and probable, is utterly unworthy of credit. This fellow was
one of the greatest marauders of the rebel army; and the last exercise
of authority I ever witnessed by General Humbert was an order to drive
him out of the town of Castlebar.’
‘Is this the notorious Town-major Dowall?’ asked an officer of
artillery.
‘The same, sir.’
‘I can answer, then, for his being one of the greatest rascals
unhanged,’ rejoined he.
‘This is all very irregular, gentlemen,’ interposed the Judge Advocate;
‘the character of a witness cannot be impugned by what is mere desultory
conversation. Let Dowall withdraw.’
The man retired, and now a whispered conversation was kept up at the
table for about a quarter of an hour, in which I could distinctly
separate those who befriended from those who opposed me, the major being
the chief of the latter party. One speech of his which I overheard made
a slight impression on me, and for the first time suggested uneasiness
regarding the event.
‘Whatever you do with this lad must have an immense influence on Tone’s
trial. Don’t forget that if you acquit him, you’ll be sorely puzzled to
convict the other.’
The colonel promptly overruled this unjust suggestion, and maintained
that in my accent, manner, and appearance, there was every evidence of
my French origin.
‘Let Wolfe Tone stand upon his own merits,’ said he, ‘but let us not mix
this case with his.’
‘I’d have treated every man who landed to a rope,’ exclaimed the major,
‘Humbert himself among the rest. It was pure “brigandage,” and nothing
less.’
‘I hope if I escape, sir, that it will never be my fortune to see you a
prisoner of France,’ said I, forgetting all in my indignation.
‘If my voice have any influence, young man, that opportunity is not
likely to occur to you,’ was the reply.
This ungenerous speech found no sympathy with the rest, and I soon saw
that the major represented a small minority in the Court.
The want of my commission, or of any document suitable to my rank or
position in the service, was a great drawback; for I had given all my
papers to Humbert, and had nothing to substantiate my account of myself.
I saw how unfavourably this acknowledgment was taken by the Court; and
when I was ordered to withdraw that they might deliberate, I own that I
felt great misgivings as to the result.
The deliberation was a long, and, as I could overhear, a strongly
disputed one. Dowall was twice called in for examination, and when he
retired on the last occasion the discussion grew almost stormy.
As I stood thus awaiting my fate, the public, now removed from the
court, pressed eagerly to look at me; and while some thronged the
doorway, and even pressed against the sentry, others crowded at the
window to peep in. Among these faces, over which my eye ranged in half
vacancy, one face struck me, for the expression of sincere sympathy and
interest it bore. It was that of a middle-aged man of a humble walk in
life, whose dress bespoke him from the country. There was nothing in his
appearance to have called for attention or notice, and at any other time
I should have passed him over without remark; but now, as his features
betokened a feeling almost verging on anxiety, I could not regard him
without interest.
Whichever way my eyes turned, however my thoughts might take me off,
whenever I looked towards him I was sure to find his gaze steadily bent
upon me, and with an expression quite distinct from mere curiosity. At
last came the summons for me to reappear before the Court, and the crowd
opened to let me pass in.
The noise, the anxiety of the moment, and the movement of the people
confused me at first; and when I recovered self-possession, I found
that the Judge Advocate was reciting the charge under which I was tried.
There were three distinct counts, on each of which the Court pronounced
me ‘Not Guilty,’ but at the same time qualifying the finding by the
additional words--‘by a majority of two’; thus showing me that my escape
had been a narrow one.
‘As a prisoner of war,’ said the President, ‘you will now receive the
same treatment as your comrades of the same rank. Some have been already
exchanged, and some have given bail for their appearance to answer any
future charges against them.’
‘I am quite ready, sir, to accept my freedom on parole,’ said I; ‘of
course, in a country where I am an utter stranger, bail is out of the
question.’
‘I’m willing to bail him, your worship; I’ll take it on me to be surety
for him,’ cried a coarse, husky voice from the body of the court; and
at the same time a man dressed in a greatcoat of dark frieze pressed
through the crowd and approached the table.
‘And who are you, my good fellow, so ready to impose yourself on the
Court?’ asked Peters.
‘I’m a farmer of eighty acres of land, from the Black Pits, near
Baldoyle, and the adjutant there, Mr. Moore, knows me well.’
‘Yes,’ said the adjutant, ‘I have known you some years, as supplying
forage to the cavalry, and always heard you spoken of as honest and
trustworthy.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Moore; that’s as much as I want.’
‘Yes; but it’s not as much as we want, my worthy man,’ said Peters; ‘we
require to know that you are a solvent and respectable person.’
‘Come out and see my place, then; ride over the land and look at my
stock; ask my neighbours my character; find out if there’s anything
against me.’
‘We prefer to leave all that trouble on your shoulders,’ said Peters;
‘show us that we may accept your surety, and we ‘ll entertain the
question at once.’
‘How much is it?’ asked he eagerly.
‘We demanded five hundred pounds for a major on the staff; suppose we
say two, colonel, is that sufficient?’ asked Peters of the President.
‘I should say quite enough,’ was the reply.
‘There’s eighty of it, anyway,’ said the farmer, producing a dirty roll
of bank-notes, and throwing them on the table; ‘I got them from Mr.
Murphy in Smithfield this morning, and I’ll get twice as much more from
him for asking; so if your honours will wait till I come back, I’ll not
be twenty minutes away.’
‘But we can’t take your money, my man; we have no right to touch it.’
‘Then what are ye talking about two hundred pounds for?’ asked he
sternly.
‘We want your promise to pay in the event of this bail being broken.’
‘Oh, I see, it’s all the same thing in the end; I’ll do it either way.’
‘We’ll accept Mr. Murphy’s guarantee for your solvency,’ said Peters;
‘obtain that, and you can sign the bond at once.’
‘‘Faith, I’ll get it, sure enough, and be here before you’ve the writing
drawn out,’ said he, buttoning up his coat.
‘What name are we to insert in the bond?’ ‘Tiernay, sir.’
‘That’s the prisoner’s name, but we want yours.’ ‘Mine’s Tiernay, too,
sir; Pat Tiernay of the Black Pits.’
Before I could recover from my surprise at this announcement he had left
the court, which in a few minutes afterwards broke up, a clerk alone
remaining to fill up the necessary documents and complete the bail-bond.
The colonel, as well as two others of his officers, pressed me to join
them at breakfast, but I declined, resolving to wait for my namesake’s
return, and partake of no other hospitality than his.
It was near one o’clock when he returned, almost worn out with fatigue,
since he had been in pursuit of Mr. Murphy for several hours, and only
came upon him by chance at last. His business, however, he had fully
accomplished; the bail-bond was duly drawn out and signed, and I left
the barrack in a state of mind very different from the feeling with
which I had entered it that day.