the dusk o' the morning, and the column was moving down the hill,
the mist was so thick I could hardly see Harry, although so close to
my elbow; but I hard him discoursing a little with a Portuguese that
walked beside him. ‘When did you lave Maria,’ says I.—‘Hush, man,’ says
he, ‘she's here.’—‘O, by the Powers!’ says I again, ‘Harry, my boy,
you did right, for she'd be desthroyed by these thundthering French
beggars.’—‘For God's sake!’ says Harry, ‘then don't let on to mortyal
man anything about it: she can be with us until I can get her down
to her friends in Lisbon.’ I made no reply, but just put out my hand
to Maria, who was close to Harry, an' I shook hands with her. ‘O, my
honey!’ says I, ‘you'll be as good a little soldier as any in the
division: take a dthrop out o' this canteen.’ Poor thing! she smiled
and seemed happy, although we had no great prospects of an asy life of
it, for a few days at laste. She wouldn't taste the rum, of coorse, but
with the best humour in the world, pulled out a tin bottle and dthrank
a little of its contents, which I saw was only milk.
“The mist began to rise above us by this time, and the sun threw out
a pleasant bame or two, to warm us a bit; for the men were all chilly
with the djew. In a very few minets, the walking and the canteens
produced a little more talk along the line o' march, and we seemed
as merry as a bag o' flays, cracking our jokes all along; although
a squadthron o' blue bottles was plain enough to be seen, on their
garrons, through the bushes on the top o' the hill behind us; but
divel a toe they daared come down. Well! we arrived at Punhete, about
one o'clock, and afther ating some beef, just killed and briled on a
wooden skewer; and washing it down with a canteen o' wine; the division
crossed the river _Se hairy_,[4] an' encamped on the other side in
green tents: that is, good wholesome branches o' cork, chesnut, olive,
and orange threes waving purtily over our heads. Dy you remember the
night, Pattherson? Dy _you_, Redmond?”
“Yes, faith! we do,” says Patterson; “and that was the first time I saw
Maria, though I then thought she was a boy.”
“Well, I'll never forget that night as long as I live. There we were,
Harry, and Maria, and myself, undther a three, with a ratling fire
blazing away before us. We gave our blankets to the girl when the
men were asleep, and I got plenty of India corn straw, which is like
our flaggers, an' made up a good bed for her, an' stuck plenty o'
branches into the bank over her, to keep off the djew. There she slept,
poor sowl! while Harry and I sat at the fire, until we fell asleep,
discoursing o' one thing or other. We had some grapes an' bread, an'
a thrifle o' wine which I got in the town on the way (becaise I had a
look out for a dthry day), upon which the whole of us faisted well.
“When the girl fell asleep, Harry towld me all about her coming away
with him. Says he, ‘Tom, you're my only friend in the regiment that
I would confide in, and if I fall I request you will do what's right
for that poor dear girl, just the same as a sisther.’ ‘Don't talk
about falling,’ says I, ‘till you're dead in earnest. God forbid ya
should ever lave us without _falling in_ with a few score o' the French
scoundthrels and giving them their godsend.’
“‘Well,’ says he, ‘Tom there's no knowing any of our fates, so God
bless you, do as I bid you.’ (I shook his hand, and it was in thrue
friendship too. I didn't spake; but he knew what I meant.) ‘She has
got most respectable friends in Lisbon, and here's the adthress—“_Rua
de Flores, Lisbōa_.”’ I took the paper, and put it up in the inside
breast-pocket o' my jacket, where I kept my _will_ in case I was
_settled_; for I had a thrifle which I wished my mother and sisther to
get in case of accident; an' by my sowl, there was plenty o' rason to
expect it, for the report was that the French was coming up in very
great force. ‘Tom,’ says he, ‘that sweet girl sleeping there, is as
dear to me as my life; an' dearer too. I'll take care of her, plase
God, until I bring her to her friends; now that her father is dead and
she's an orphan, she shall be to me only as a sisther, until we get to
Lisbon, an' then she shall be my wife. Therefore, stand by me, Tom, in
protecting her on the march. In the dthress she now wears, she will
pass as a muleteer of our division, and not rise wondther in the men.
We must say that his mule was killed, an' that he is a good fellow we
have taken a liking to—if any body asks about her. I took her away
for the best; becaise she was in danger of every thing bad, and also
a burthen to the people she was with, at such a time as this. I swore
on the Holy Evangelists, before the ould couple, that I would protect
her to Lisbon inviolate, and I hope I'll keep my oath, Tom. If I brake
it, may that burning log there watch my corpse!’ ‘Then,’ says I, ‘Tom,
I'll do my part, an' if I don't mane to do it, may the same light watch
mine!’
“In this way we talked over the night, until the day broke. We could
just see all spread undther the threes, the men snoring fast asleep,
an' the senthries posted in front. Before the light got much clearer,
I spied, over on the hill fornent us about half-a-quarter of a mile,
our pickets moving in a bit of a hurry; and faith! about half a dozen
shots from them showed us plainly what sort of a storm was beginning.
The alarm was amongst us in a minet, an' every one of us sazed the
cowld iron, in the twinklin' of a bed-post. ‘Harry,’ says I, ‘waken
poor Maria.’—‘Yes,’ says he, ‘God help her, I will.’ With that he did,
and without frightening her much, towld her to keep him in sight, but
not to be very close to him when he was in any danger. O she was a
heroine every inch of her! She didn't spake much, but bowldly buttoned
her coat, put her hand on her heart, and looked at him as if she said,
‘Wherever you are, there will I be.’
“Very few minutes more passed, till the Granadiers and we (being the
light company) were ordthered out to cover the retrate; a squadthron
o' the French 16th dragoons, in green coats and brass helmets, came
trhotting up the road through the ravine, that was on our right an'
opening with the main road. We were within about two hundthred yards
o' them before they _got_ into the main road, for we advanced close to
it, undther the cover of a ridge o' bushes; an' in about a minet we let
slap amongst them. O! faith, it bothered them, for they didn't want
for the word ‘_threes about_,’ but galloped off, laving about a dozen
o' them behind. Howsomever, they didn't go far when they returned at a
throt, seeing that a column of infantry was moving down the main road
from the top o' the hill, to dislodge us. At this moment our own light
dthragoons (the 13th, I think,) with horses that looked like giants to
the French garrons, came smashing down behind us on the main road, just
as the French horse were coming up. Oh! by Jabus! such a licking no
poor devils ever got; the sabres went to work in style, an' our captain
gave us the word to face about, an' give it right in to the column
coming down the road; which we did with a “_cead mille falthea_,” an'
then retired as steady as a rock, before our cavalry. It was just at
this time I saw Maria close to us, an' as pale as death, though all on
the alert, an' as brave as a lion. We were now in full march afther the
breeze we had kicked up; when, from an opening on our right, through a
wood of olives, an immense body of horse approached at full gallop: we
had just time to give them a volley an' run, when they were in amongst
us. Harry an' I, an' about eighteen more, were cut off from the rest
and surrounded, when all further fighting _with us_ was out o' the
question; so we were marched off prisoners. The divil a much they got
by this manœuvre, for we could see that they came back quick enough,
with our dthragoons afther 'em, and if it wasn't that the French
infantry by this time cum up, we should have been retaken. I saw one
fellow, a sarjeant o' the French horse, going back to the rear, with
his thigh laid open and his face cut down the sides: Faith an' many a
French horse galloped by us without a ridther at all.”
“I lost all feelings about myself when I looked at Harry, for his
countenance was like a wild man's. I knew the cause: it was that Maria
was missing. He attempted to run back, an' was near being bagneted by
the French guard in charge of us, for doing so.
“There was no time for thinking; or for any thing else. Away we were
marched to the rear as fast as we could go, meeting at every step
fresh regiments of the French cavalry an' artillery, all in high
spirits,—humbugging us with ‘_God dam Crabs_,’[5] an' the like. Then
we were taken across the river at Punhete, an' packed off to Abrantes.
In going through, the rascals paraded us about the town to show they
had taken _some_ prisoners, an' telling the Portuguese that they
killed _thousunds_ of us that morning! On the way to Abrantes poor
Harry hardly spoke a word, an' I didn't say much, for our hearts were
sick and sore. The whole o' the road along was in a bustle with the
advancing army, singing French songs and shouting at us as we passed.
‘Ah!’ says I to myself, ‘if I had half a dozen o' ye to my own share,
I'd larn you to shout at th' other side o' yir mouths.’ But we'd _one_
comfort; an' that was, that we knew these fellows' tone would be
changed before they went many miles farther.
“We arrived at Abrantes—right back to where we started from the
day before,—an' was again made a show of about the town by the
braggadocios o' Frenchmen. One o' their generals came up to me—a
finikin little hop-o'-my-thumb fellow, who could talk a little broken
English; an' says he, ‘You Englisman, eh?’—‘Yes,’ says I, ‘in throth
I am.’—‘From what part?’—‘From a place called Ballinamore, in the
county of Leitrim.’ ‘Is dat in Hirlaund?’—‘Yes, faith,’ says I, ‘it
is.’—‘Ah bon,’ says the general, ‘you be von Catholic—von slave
d'Angleterre.’—‘No, Monseer, I'm no _slave_ to Angleterre, though I
_am_ a Catholic. There's a little differ in our religion, to be sure,
but we are all _one_ afther all.’—‘Vell, Sare, you be Catholic, an
Frenchmen be Catholic. You give me all de information of de English
army, and vee make you sargeant in de French Guard, and give you de
l'argent; you can den fight against de heretick English.’—‘Thank you,’
says I, ‘Monseer General, but I'd much rather be excused, if you
plase. I know no differ between Ireland and England when once out o'
the counthries; we may squabble a bit at home, just to keep us alive,
but you mistake us if you think we would do such a thing as fight
against our King and counthry. Come, boys, says I, (turning about to
my comrades,) if any o' yiz want promotion an' plenty o' money, now is
your time. All you'll be asked to do, is to fight against your ould
king, your ould counthry, an' your ould rigiment. Any o' yiz that
likes this, let him spake now.’ The General was a little astonished,
an' so was the officers with him. There was a bit of a grin on all my
comrades' faces, but divil a word one o' them answered.—‘O! I see how
it is,’ says I, ‘none o' yiz accepts the General's offer; so now take
off your caps an' give three hearty cheers for ould England, Ireland,
an' Scotland, against the world.’ Hoo! by the holy St. Dinis! you never
hard such a shout—it was like blowing up a mine. The General hadn't
a word in his gob; he saw there was no use o' pumping us any more,
and so he turned round smiling to one of his officers, an' says he
in French (which I understood well, though he didn't think it) ‘_En
verité ce sont de braves gens! si toute l'armée Britannique est comme
cet echantillon-ci, tant pis pour nous autres_:’ and galloped off. The
maning o' that was this, you see—that _we were the broth o' boys, an'
if the remaindhar o' the English army was like us, the divil a much
chance the French would have_.”
“It was nae bad compliment, Corporal,” said Sergeant M'Fadgen; a
sentiment in which the rest of the guard unanimously joined.
“By my soul it wasn't, Sergeant, and we all felt what it was to have
the honour of our regiment in our hands, and to stick to it like good
soldiers, as we ought through thick an' thin.”
“Well, we were there standing in the market-place, surrounded by
straggling French an' Frenchified Portuguese; that is, fellows who
followed their invaders, like our dogs, to be kicked about as they
liked; but there wasn't many o' them, an' maybe the poor divils
couldn't help it, unless they preferred a male o' could iron. The shops
were all shut up, except where they were broke open by the French,
and in every balcony you could see, instead of young women, a set of
French soldiers smoking and drinking. Says I to Harry Gainer, ‘If poor
Maria was here now, she'd have a bad chance among these rapscallions.’
Harry shook his head and said, with a heavy sigh, ‘Ah, Tom, is she any
betther off now? God help her, where can she be?’ At this very minet, a
muleteer boy appeared amongst them, crying out ‘_Viva os Francesos_,’
along with some others, and he had a tri-color cockade in his hat. It
was nobody else but Maria herself! She put up her finger to her lip,
when she saw that we were looking at her; an' this is the Portuguese
sign for silence. We undtherstood her in a jiffy, an', by the Powers!
poor Harry's face grew like a May-day morning. I could see that he
didn't know whether he was on his head or his heels. ‘Silence, my boy,’
says I, ‘don't you see how it is? don't take the laste notice of her
for your life.’ We were immadiately marched off to a church, close by,
where we were to lie for the night. Some brown bread was given to us,
an' some of Adam's ale to faste ourselves; an' there we were—twenty of
us. Now just as we were going in, Maria, in a bustling sort o' way, got
close to Harry and me, and says she, in a whisper, ‘_Non dorme vos
merce esta note, Anrique, pour amor de Dios_.’ She then went away in a
careless manner, pretending to join in the jokes passed off upon us by
those around.”
“The English o' that,” said Serjeant M'Fadgen, anxious to show his
knowledge of the Portuguese, “is _For the loo o' God, Harry, dinna
sleep a wink the naight_.”
“Throth you're just right! It is, Sergeant; you ought to know it well,
for you were a long time in the Peninsula.”
The Sergeant shut his eyes, and smoked again.
“Well! we got into the church, which was more like a stable; for there
was a squadthron of dthragoons' horses in it the night before; the
sthraw that remained was all we had to sleep on, an' wet enough it
was, God knows! The althar piece,—a fine painting, cut and hacked, an'
the wood of the althar itself tore up for firing. ‘There's something
a brewing, Harry,’ says I.—‘Whisht!’ says he, ‘Tom; she manes to get
us out if she can; an' sorry enough I am, for she may get shot, or be
hung by these Frenchmen, if they discover that she is our friend.’
So we talked about it awhile, and agreed to watch all night, as she
desired. It was then coming dark, an' we all sat down on the sthraw,
an' afther a few mouthfuls of what we had, an' some conversation, all
fell asleep, except Harry and I. We talked together to pass the time,
till about nine o'clock, when we both from fatague felt very sleepy,
so we agreed to lie down, one at a time, while the other walked about.
I had the first sleep; an' I suppose it might be two hours, when Harry
wakened me, an' lay down himself; but although he did, his sleep
was only a doze, for he used to start an' ask me something or other
every ten minutes. At last, about one o'clock—I think it couldn't be
more—the high window on one side began to rise up, and I could just
disarn a figure of a head an' shouldhers, like Maria's, between me
an' the faint grey light o' the sky; so I wakens Harry, an' we both
went over undther the window. ‘It's she, sure enough!’ says I; an' a
whisper from her soon showed it was. The snores of our comrades were
just loud enough to dhrown her voice, an' ours too, from any danger;
an' from the great fatague they suffered, there wasn't a sowl awake,
but ourselves and the senthry outside the door. ‘Take this rope,’ says
she, in Portuguese, ‘an' pull up the ladther, while I guide it down to
you:—make no noise.’ We then laid howld o' the rope, which by a little
groping we found hanging down from the window, an' we pulled steady,
while she took the top o' the ladther, an' guided it down as nice as
you plase. She then sat down across on the window, while we cautiously
mounted the ladther, an' got up to her. I was first; so I looked all
round to see if I could make out any o' the senthries; but the heavy
sky and a high wind favoured us. So Harry an' I stands on the edge,
an' we slowly draws up the ladther an' put it down. ‘Here goes!’ says
I; an' I took a parting look at my poor comrades. ‘God send you safe,
lads!’ thought I, as I went down. Maria was the next, and then Harry.
When we all three got out clear, I was putting my hand to the ladther
to take it away, when the senthry cried out ‘_Qui va là?_’ from the
front o' the church. Thinks I, ‘It's all up with us!’ Maria seemed
to sink into nothing: she laned against us both, thrembling like an
aspin-lafe, while we stirred not a limb, and held fast our breath.
‘_Qui va là?_’ was again roared out by the senthry, in a louder voice.
O God! how I suffered then, an' poor Harry too: the dhrops run off our
faces with the anxiety, for it was now whether we should answer to the
senthry's challenge, an' be taken, or remain silent an' be shot! He
challenged a third time, when, at the highest pitch of our feelings, a
Frenchman answered to the challenge as he passed the senthry. I suppose
it was some officer prowling about the town to watch the guards. Oh!
what a relief it was to us! Ye may _guess_ how glad we were to find
that our chance was as good as ever.
“Afther a bit, Maria tould us to follow exactly wherever she went, and
to carry the ladther with us. So we proceeded—she first—picking our
steps in the dark, till we got out over a little wall into a narrow
lane, where we left the ladther down in a ditch. The wind blew as loud
as ever I hard it, which favoured us greatly; an' the sort o' grey
twilight that was above us, was just sufficient to show us our way.
Maria now got into a little garden o' grapes, through a broken wall,
and desired us to follow her; which we did, all along undther the
vines, which grew over the walk as thick as hops. We creeped on, 'till
we came to a sort of an outhouse; where we halted to dthraw our breath,
an' thank God for our escape so far. Says Maria to Harry, ‘Men Anrique!
men curaçao!’—but there's no use of telling it in Portuguese, so I'll
give it in plain English—‘Henry, my heart,’ says she, ‘we are now at
the back of Señor Luiz de Alfandega's house,’ (that was her friend's,
where she lived) ‘and we must stay there until morning.’ ‘Are the
French in it, or not?’ says Harry. ‘No,’ replied Maria, ‘none of the
soldiers, except a sick French curnel and his servant; but both are
fast asleep above stairs. Poor Luiz an' his wife are fled, and there is
nobody remaining in the house but Emanuel’ (that was an ould crature of
a man, sixty years in the family—a sort o' care-taker o' the vineyard).
‘I will go to the window an' see if all is safe. It was he who provided
me with the ladther, an' now waits to hear of my success. Stay here
until I return.’ She went up to the house, and in a few minutes came
back an' guided us safely into the kitchen, where ould Emanuel was
waiting.
“When we got into the kitchen, there was the poor ould man sitting.
We couldn't see him till we sthruck a light—which was a good while
first, owing to his groping about for a flint, an' being fearful o'
wakening the curnel or his sarvant, that was above stairs. Well, we
got the light, an' a sad sight it showed us; _there_ was desthruction
itself—every thing broken and batthered—the windows knocked out—the
partitions burned—an' the ould man, with his white head, standing, like
Despair, over the ruins. This was all done by the rascals o' French;
an' I suppose if they wern't turned out, to make room for the sick
curnel, they'd have burned the boords o' the floors afore they'd ha'
left the house.
“Maria now brought out from a nook in the kitchen, two shutes o'
counthryman's clothes for us to put on, in ordher that we might all
escape to the English camp; an' scarcely had we taken them up, when
we hard a noise, as if a person had slipp'd his foot on the stairs.
‘Whisht,’ says I, ‘Harry; there's somebody stirring.’ We were all as
mute as mice, an' the ould man blew out the light. We could now hear a
footstep moving down the stairs; an' as there was a boord broken out
o' the partition, Harry an' I popped out our heads to look. It was
dark; but we could see the cracks in the gate o' the house. Presently
the step was at the bottom o' the stairs, an' in the stone passage or
gateway,—the Portuguese houses mostly have gateways. Maria thrembled
like an aspin leaf, an' Harry pinched her to be quiet. The boult o'
the gate was now slowly moved an' opened. We could then see, by a dim
light from the sthreet, that a French soldier, in rigimentals, was
let in by another in undthress, an' the gate quietly shut, an' not
boulted, but latched afther them. ‘By the Powers!’ thinks I, we are
done. So we listened: an' presently one o' the villians says to the
other, in French, ‘He's fast asleep; but you must be quick, or he may
wake; the money is all ready on the table.’ Both then stole up stairs,
an' I consulted with Harry about the matther. We didn't know what to
think of it. Says I, ‘They're going to rob the curnel of his money, you
may depend upon it.’ I then explained to Maria what the man said; an'
says she, in a minute, ‘They're going to _murther_ him.’ ‘Yes,’ says
ould Emanuel, ‘_Certamente_.’ Scarcely was the word out of his mouth,
when we hard a dreadful groan! ‘It's the curnel,’ says the ould man.
Harry an' I jumped out in a minute, followed by Emanuel. ‘Dthraw your
bagnet,’ says I.—Harry was up first; and slash into the room where the
light _was_, we ran. One o' the villians fired a pistol at Harry as he
enthered, an' just rubbed the skin off his arm with the ball. The poor
curnel was struggling undther the other fellow. Harry jumped in upon
the bed at him, while I ran at the fellow who fired the pistol. It was
a large room; he made for the door, an' leaped right over Emanuel—I
afther him, down stairs into the kitchen, an' got him down. He was a
horrible sthrong man; I'm not very wake myself, and faith! he gave
me enough of it. I dthropped my bagnet to hould him, when he made a
desperate effort, an' twisted himself away from me. You may think I
held a good hoult, when the breast-plate, which was the last thing I
held out of, broke away in my hand. I ran afther him as he got out o'
the door, but he got clane off through the back o' the house.
“I immadiately went back to the room, an' there was Harry shaking the
murdtherer by the neck, an' the ould man lifting up the curnel gently,
who was groaning in a shocking way, an' looking at us as if he thanked
us from his very heart an' sowl, but couldn't spake a word. He was
bleeding fast from a deep wound in the side, an' the bloody knife was
on the ground, beside the bed.
“Afther I shook my fist at the tallow-faced rascal that stabbed his
masther, an' when I threatened him with the rope, I went over to the
poor curnel an' I spoke kindly to him: I gave him a dthrink o' wather:
O! God help him, how ghastly he looked at me—I'll never forget it. He
pressed my hand to his heart an' sunk back upon the pillow; then he
struggled an' heaved his breast very much, an' seemed just on the point
o' death.
“At this minute we hard people running up the stairs, an' in a minute
a corporal an' six file o' the French guard burst into the room. The
murdthering dog no sooner saw this than he fell on his knees, an'
pretended to pray to heaven an' to thank God for his deliverance; then
starting up, he cried out to the corporal to saze the murdtherers of
his master!
“The three of us were immadiately sazed. We did every thing we could to
prove the matther as it really was, but this was of no use. I abused,
an' cursed, an' swore at the villian as well as I could, in both French
an' English, and bid them ask his masther; but this had no effect, for
when the soldiers went to the curnel they found him dead: so Emanuel,
Harry, an' myself, were hauled off as if we were three murdtherers, an'
locked up in the guard-house.
“When we began to think of ourselves, good God! how dthreadful our
situation appeared. Harry suffered on account of his Maria as much as
any thing else. What was become of her he could not tell, nor could I
either: poor ould Emanuel did nothing but pray all the night.
“As soon as the day-light came, hundthreds of officers crowded to see
the two English soldiers who broke from their prison and murdthered a
curnel; an' sure enough it was past bearing what we endured from them.
But the worst of all was when the general who wanted us to enther his
sarvice the day before, came an' saw us.
“‘What!’ says he, ‘are these the men who refused so nobly yestherday to
bethray their counthry? Have _they_ committed murdther?’