THE SAN PETRO.
“Not badly wounded, O’Malley, I hope?” said General Crawfurd, as I waited
upon him soon after the action.
I could not help starting at the question, while he repeated it, pointing
at the same time to my left shoulder, from which a stream of blood was now
flowing down my coat-sleeve.
“I never noticed it, sir, till this moment. It can’t be of much
consequence, for I have been on horseback the entire day, and never felt
it.”
“Look to it at once, boy; a man wants all his blood for this campaign. Go
to your quarters. I shall not need you for the present; so pray see the
doctor at once.”
As I left the general’s quarters, I began to feel sensible of pain, and
before a quarter of an hour had elapsed, had quite convinced myself that my
wound was a severe one. The hand and arm were swollen, heavy, and distended
with hemorrhage beneath the skin, my thirst became great, and a cold,
shuddering sensation passed over me from time to time.
I sat down for a moment upon the grass, and was just reflecting within
myself what course I should pursue, when I heard the tramp of feet
approaching. I looked up, and perceived some soldiers in fatigue dresses,
followed by a few others who, from their noiseless gestures and sad
countenances, I guessed were carrying some wounded comrade to the rear.
“Who is it, boys?” cried I.
“It’s the major, sir, the Lord be good to him!” said a hardy-looking
Eighty-eighth man, wiping his eye with the cuff of his coat as he spoke.
“Not your major? Not Major O’Shaughnessy?” said I, jumping up and rushing
forward towards the litter. Alas, too true, it was the gallant fellow
himself! There he lay, pale and cold; his bloodless cheek and parted lips
looking like death itself. A thin blue rivulet trickled from his forehead,
but his most serious wound appeared to be in the side; his coat was open,
and showed a mass of congealed and clotted blood, from the midst of which,
with every motion of the way, a fresh stream kept welling upward. Whether
from the shock or my loss of blood or from both together, I know not, but I
sank fainting to the ground.
It would have needed a clearer brain and a cooler judgment than I possessed
to have conjectured where I was, and what had occurred to me, when next
I recovered my senses. Weak, fevered, and with a burning thirst, I lay,
unable to move, and could merely perceive the objects which lay within the
immediate reach of my vision. The place was cold, calm, and still as the
grave. A lamp, which hung high above my head, threw a faint light around,
and showed me, within a niche of the opposite wall, the figure of a
gorgeously dressed female; she appeared to be standing motionless, but as
the pale light flickered upon her features, I thought I could detect the
semblance of a smile. The splendor of her costume and the glittering gems
which shone upon her spotless robe gleamed through the darkness with an
almost supernatural brilliancy, and so beautiful did she look, so calm her
pale features, that as I opened and shut my eyes and rubbed my lids, I
scarcely dared to trust to my erring senses, and believe it could be
real. What could it mean? Whence this silence; this cold sense of awe
and reverence? Was it a dream; was it the fitful vision of a disordered
intellect? Could it be death? My eyes were riveted upon that beautiful
figure. I essayed to speak, but could not; I would have beckoned her
towards me, but my hands refused their office. I felt I know not what charm
she possessed to calm my throbbing brain and burning heart; but as I turned
from the gloom and darkness around to gaze upon her fair brow and unmoved
features, I felt like the prisoner who turns from the cheerless desolation
of his cell, and looks upon the fair world and the smiling valleys lying
sunlit and shadowed before him.
Sleep at length came over me; and when I awoke, the day seemed breaking,
for a faint gray tint stole through a stained-glass window, and fell in
many colored patches upon the pavement. A low muttering sound attracted me;
I listened, it was Mike’s voice. With difficulty raising myself upon one
arm, I endeavored to see more around me. Scarcely had I assumed this
position, when my eyes once more fell upon the white-clad figure of the
preceding night. At her feet knelt Mike, his hands clasped, and his head
bowed upon his bosom. Shall I confess my surprise, my disappointment! It
was no other than an image of the blessed Virgin, decked out in all the
gorgeous splendor which Catholic piety bestows upon her saints. The
features, which the imperfect light and my more imperfect faculties had
endowed with an expression of calm, angelic beauty, were, to my waking
senses, but the cold and barren mockery of loveliness; the eyes, which my
excited brain gifted with looks of tenderness and pity, stared with no
speculation in them; yet contrasting my feelings of the night before, full
as they were of, their deceptions, with my now waking thoughts, I longed
once more for that delusion which threw a dreamy pleasure over me, and
subdued the stormy passions of my soul into rest and repose.
“Who knows,” thought I, “but he who kneels yonder feels now as I did then?
Who can tell how little the cold, unmeaning reality before him resembles
the spiritualized creation the fervor of his love and the ardor of his
devotion may have placed upon that altar? Who can limit or bound the depth
of that adoration for an object whose attributes appeal not only to every
sentiment of the heart, but also to every sense of the brain? I fancy
that I can picture to myself how these tinselled relics, these tasteless
waxworks, changed by the magic of devotion and of dread, become to the
humble worshipper images of loveliness and beauty. The dim religious light;
the reverberating footsteps echoed along those solemn aisles; the vaulted
arches, into whose misty heights the sacred incense floats upward, while
the deep organ is pealing its notes of praise or prayer,--these are no
slight accessories to all the pomp and grandeur of a church whose forms and
ceremonial, unchanged for ages and hallowed by a thousand associations,
appeal to the mind of the humblest peasant or the proudest noble by all the
weaknesses as by all the more favored features of our nature.”
How long I might have continued to meditate in this strain I know not, when
a muttered observation from Mike turned the whole current of my thoughts.
His devotion over, he had seated himself upon the steps of the altar, and
appeared to be resolving some doubts within himself concerning his late
pious duties.
“Masses is dearer here than in Galway. Father Rush would be well pleased
at two-and-sixpence for what I paid three doubloons for, this morning.
And sure it’s droll enough. How expensive an amusement it is to kill the
French! Here’s half a dollar I gave for the soul of a cuirassier that I
kilt yesterday, and nearly twice as much for an artilleryman I cut down at
the guns; and because the villain swore like a heythen, Father Pedro told
me he’d cost more nor if he died like a decent man.”
At these words he turned suddenly round towards the Virgin, and crossing
himself devoutly, added,--
And sure it’s yourself knows if it’s fair to make me pay for devils that
don’t know their duties; and after all, if you don’t understand English nor
Irish, I’ve been wasting my time here this two hours.”
“I say, Mike, how’s my friend the major! How’s Major O’Shaughnessy?”
“Charmingly, sir. It was only loss of blood that ailed him. A thief with
a pike--one of the chaps they call Poles, bekase of the long sticks they
carry with them--stuck the major in the ribs; but Doctor Quill--God reward
him! he’s a great doctor and a funny divil too--he cured him in no time.”
“And where is he now, Mike?”
“Just convanient, in a small chapel off the sacristy; and throuble enough
we have to keep him quiet. He gave up the _con_fusion of roses, and took
to punch; and faith, it isn’t hymns nor paslams [psalms] he’s singing all
night. And they had me there, mixing materials and singing songs, till I
heard the bell for matins; and what between the punch and the prayers, I
never closed my eyes.”
“What do they call this convent?”
“It is a hard word, I misremember. It’s something like saltpetre. But how’s
your honor? It’s time to ask.”
“Much better, Mike, much better. But as I see that either your drink or
your devotion seems to have affected your nerves, you’d better lie down for
an hour or two. I shall not want you.”
“That’s just what I can’t; for you see I’m making a song for this evening.
The Rangers has a little supper, and I’m to be there; and though I’ve made
one, I’m not sure it’ll do. May be your honor would give me your opinion
about it?”
“With all my heart, Mike; let’s hear it.”
“Arrah, is it here, before the Virgin and the two blessed saints that’s
up there in the glass cases? But sure, when they make an hospital of the
place, and after the major’s songs last night--”
“Exactly so, Mike; out with it.”
“Well, Ma’am,” said he, turning towards the Virgin, “as I suspect you don’t
know English, may be you’ll think it’s my offices I’m singing. So, saving
your favor, here it is.”
MR. FREE’S SONG.
AIR,--“_Arrah, Catty, now can’t you be asy?_”
Oh, what stories I’ll tell when my sodgering’s o’er,
And the gallant Fourteenth is disbanded;
Not a drill nor parade will I hear of no more,
When safely in Ireland landed.
With the blood that I spilt, the Frenchmen I kilt,
I’ll drive the young girls half crazy;
And some cute one will cry, with a wink of her eye,
“Mister Free, now _why can’t you be asy?_”
I’ll tell how we routed the squadrons in fight,
And destroyed them all at “Talavera,”
And then I’ll just add how we finished the night,
In learning to dance the “bolera;”
How by the moonshine we drank raal wine,
And rose next day fresh as a daisy;
Then some one will cry, with a look mighty sly,
“Arrah, Mickey, _now can’t you lie asy?_”
I’ll tell how the nights with Sir Arthur we spent,
Around a big fire in the air too,
Or may be enjoying ourselves in a tent,
Exactly like Donnybrook fair too.
How he’d call out to me: “Pass the wine, Mr. Free,
For you’re a man never is lazy!”
Then some one will cry, with a wink of her eye,
“Arrah, Mickey, dear, _can’t you be asy?_”
I’ll tell, too, the long years in fighting we passed,
Till Mounseer asked Bony to lead him;
And Sir Arthur, grown tired of glory at last,
Begged of one Mickey Free to succeed him.
“But, acushla,” says I, “the truth is I’m shy!
There’s a lady in Ballymacrazy!
And I swore on the book--” He gave me a look,
And cried: “Mickey, _now can’t you be asy?_”
“Arrah, Mickey, now can’t you be _asy?_” sang out a voice in chorus, and
the next moment Dr. Quill himself made his appearance.
“Well, O’Malley, is it a penitential psalm you’re singing, or is my friend
Mike endeavoring to raise your spirits with a Galway sonata?”
“A little bit of his own muse, Doctor, nothing more; but tell me, how goes
it with the major,--is the poor fellow out of danger?”
“Except from the excess of his appetite, I know of no risk he runs. His
servant is making gruel for him all day in a thing like the grog-tub of a
frigate. But you’ve heard the news,--Sparks has been exchanged. He came
here last night; but the moment he caught sight of me, he took his
departure. Begad, I’m sure he’d rather pass a month in Verdun than a week
in my company!”
“By-the-bye, Doctor, you never told me how this same antipathy of Sparks
for you had its origin.”
“Sure I drove him out of the Tenth before he was three weeks with the
regiment.”
“Ay, I remember; you began the story for me one night on the retreat from
the Coa, but something broke it off in the middle.”
“Just so, I was sent for to the rear to take off some gentleman’s legs that
weren’t in dancing condition; but as there’s no fear of interruption now,
I’ll finish the story. But first, let us have a peep at the wounded. What
beautiful anatomists they are in the French artillery! Do you feel the
thing I have now in my forceps? There,--don’t jump,--that’s a bit of the
brachial nerve most beautifully displayed. Faith, I think I’ll give Mike a
demonstration.”
“Oh, Mister Quill, dear! Oh, Doctor, darling!”
“Arrah, Mickey, now can’t ye be asy?” sang out Maurice, with a perfect
imitation of Mike’s voice and manner.
“A little lint here! Bend your arm,--that’s it--Don’t move your fingers.
Now, Mickey, make me a cup of coffee with a glass of brandy in it. And now,
Charley, for Sparks. I believe I told you what kind of fellows the Tenth
were,--regular out-and-outers. We hadn’t three men in the regiment that
were not from the south of Ireland,--the _bocca Corkana_ on their lips, fun
and devilment in their eyes, and more drollery and humbug in their hearts
than in all the messes in the service put together. No man had any chance
among them if he wasn’t a real droll one; every man wrote his own songs and
sang them too. It was no small promotion could tempt a fellow to exchange
out of the corps. You may think, then, what a prize your friend Sparks
proved to us; we held a court-martial upon him the week after he joined. It
was proved in evidence that he had never said a good thing in his life,
and had about as much notion of a joke as a Cherokee has of the Court of
Chancery; and as to singing, Lord bless you, he had a tune with wooden
turns to it,--it was most cruel to hear; and then the look of him, those
eyes, like dropsical oysters, and the hair standing every way, like a field
of insane flax, and the mouth with a curl in it like the slit in the side
of a fiddle. A pleasant fellow that for a mess that always boasted the
best-looking chaps in the service.
“‘What’s to be done with him?’ said the major; ‘shall we tell him we are
ordered to India, and terrify him about his liver?’
“‘Or drill him into a hectic fever?’
“‘Or drink him dry?’
“‘Or get him into a fight and wing him?’
“‘Oh, no,’ said I, ‘leave him to me; we’ll laugh him out of the corps.’
“‘Yes, we’ll leave him to you, Maurice,’ said the rest.
“And that day week you might read in the ‘Gazette,’ ‘Pierce Flynn
O’Haygerty, to be Ensign, 10th Foot, _vice_ Sparks, exchanged.’”
“But how was it done, Maurice; you haven’t told me that.”
“Nothing easier. I affected great intimacy with Sparks, bemoaned our hard
fate, mutually, in being attached to such a regiment: ‘A damnable corps
this,--low, vulgar fellows, practical jokes; not the kind of thing one
expects in the army. But as for me, I’ve joined it partly from necessity.
You, however, who might be in a crack regiment, I can’t conceive your
remaining in it.’
“‘But why did you join, Doctor?’ said he; ‘what necessity could have
induced you?’
“‘Ah, my friend,’ said I, ‘_that_ is the secret,--_that_ is the hidden
grief that must lie buried in my own bosom.’
“I saw that his curiosity was excited, and took every means to increase it
farther. At length, as if yielding to a sudden impulse of friendship, and
having sworn him to secrecy, I took him aside, and began thus,--
“‘I may trust you, Sparks, I feel I may; and when I tell you that my
honor, my reputation, my whole fortune is at stake, you will judge of the
importance of the trust.’
“The goggle eyes rolled fearfully, and his features exhibited the most
craving anxiety to hear my story.
“‘You wish to know why I left the Fifty-sixth. Now I’ll tell you; but mind,
you’re pledged, you’re sworn, never to divulge it.’
“‘Honor bright.’
“‘There, that’s enough; I’m satisfied. It was a slight infraction of the
articles of war; a little breach of the rules and regulations of the
service; a trifling misconception of the mess code,--they caught me one
evening leaving the mess with--What do you think in my pocket? But
you’ll never tell! No, no, I know you’ll not; eight forks and a
gravy-spoon,--silver forks every one of them. There now,’ said I, grasping
his hand, ‘you have my secret; my fame and character are in your hands, for
you see they made me quit the regiment,--a man can’t stay in a corps where
he is laughed at.’
“Covering my face with my handkerchief, as if to conceal my shame, I turned
away, and left Sparks to his meditations. That same evening we happened to
have some strangers at mess; the bottle was passing freely round, and as
usual the good spirits of the party at the top of their bent, when suddenly
from the lower end of the table, a voice was heard demanding, in tones of
the most pompous importance, permission to address the president upon a
topic where the honor of the whole regiment was concerned.
“‘I rise, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Sparks, ‘with feelings the most painful;
whatever may have been the laxity of habit and freedom of conversation
habitual in this regiment, I never believed that so flagrant an instance as
this morning came to my ears--’
“‘Oh, murder!’ said I. ‘Oh, Sparks, darling, sure you’re not going to
tell?’
“‘Doctor Quill,’ replied he, in an austere tone, ‘it is impossible for me
to conceal it.’
“‘Oh, Sparks, dear, will you betray me?’
“I gave him here a look of the most imploring entreaty, to which he replied
by one of unflinching sternness.
“‘I have made up my mind, sir,’ continued he; ‘it is possible the officers
of this corps may look more leniently than I do upon this transaction; but
know it they shall.’
“‘Out with it, Sparks; tell it by all means!’ cried a number of voices; for
it was clear to every one, by this time, that he was involved in a hoax.
“Amidst, therefore, a confused volley of entreaty on one side, and my
reiterated prayers for his silence, on the other, Sparks thus began:--
“‘Are you aware, gentlemen, why Dr. Quill left the Fifty-sixth?’
“‘No, no, no!’ rang from all sides; ‘let’s have it!’
“‘No, sir,’ said he, turning towards me, ‘concealment is impossible; an
officer detected with the mess-plate in his pocket--’
“They never let him finish, for a roar of laughter shook the table from one
end to the other; while Sparks, horror-struck at the lack of feeling and
propriety that could make men treat such a matter with ridicule, glared
around him on every side.
“‘Oh, Maurice, Maurice!’ cried the major, wiping his eyes, ‘this is too
bad; this is too bad!’
“‘Gracious Heaven!’ screamed Sparks, ‘can you laugh at it?’
“‘Laugh at it!’ re-echoed the paymaster, ‘God grant I only don’t burst a
blood-vessel!’ And once more the sounds of merriment rang out anew, and
lasted for several minutes.
“‘Oh, Maurice Quill,’ cried an old captain, ‘you’ve been too heavy on the
lad. Why, Sparks, man, he’s been humbugging you.’
“Scarcely were the words spoken when he sprang from the room. The whole
truth flashed at once upon his mind; in an instant he saw that he had
exposed himself to the merciless ridicule of a mess-table and that all
peace for him, in that regiment at least, was over.
“We got a glorious fellow in exchange for him; and Sparks descended into
a cavalry regiment,--I ask your pardon, Charley,--where, as you are well
aware, sharp wit and quick intellect are by no means indispensable. There
now, don’t be angry or you’ll do yourself harm. So good-by, for an hour or
two.”