court-martial was assembled: we were marched in by twelve men, an'
placed before it for thrial. The charges were read; they were for
murdthering the curnel, an' attempting the murdther of his servant. All
the officers o' the garrison were present.
“To describe our feelings at that moment is out o' the power o' man;
but we were conscious of our innocence, an' that supported us. The poor
ould man was almost dead; he could scarcely spake a word.
“The thrial was very short; the murdtherer was the evidence. He swore
as coolly and as deliberately that we killed his masther as if it
really was the case. He said that the curnel had just gone asleep, an'
_he_ had lain himself down beside his bed, on a matthrass, when he saw
the door open, when we three enthered with a lanthern, an' having sazed
him, stabbed his masther with a clasp knife, but that before he was
sazed, he said he snatched a pistol an' fired at us.
“One o' the officers present then persaving the mark o' the ball on the
arm o' Harry, pointed it out.—His coat was sthripped off, an' the skin
appeared tore a little, which a surgeon present declared was done by a
ball. The corporal and the guard which took us, proved the situation
which they found us in, adding, that we were just proceeding to kill
the sarvant as they enthered the room.
“This of course clenched the business: however, we were called upon to
make our defence. As I spoke French, I undhertook it. I acknowledged
that Harry an' I got out o' the church for the purpose of escaping
to our own throops, that we went into the house where the curnel was
killed, in ordther to change our rigimentals for other clothes, which
ould Emanuel had provided for us. I didn't say any thing about Maria,
lest the poor thing might be brought into the scrape. I then described
the way that we ran up stairs, an' the sthruggle I had to hould the
soldier who was the accomplice. Harry an' the ould man gave the same
account o' the affair through an interprether, but all our stories only
made them think worse of us. We were asked, could we _point out_ the
soldier we saw? and what proof could we give of it? But there was so
much hurry when we discovered the murdther, that none of us could give
any particular description of the man, so as to find him.
“We were immadiately found guilty, an' sentence o' death was
pronounced. We were marched on the minute to the place of execution: it
was in front o' the house where the murther'd body lay, an' the gallows
had been erected before the thrial.
“Great God! as we stood undther the fatal bame what was my feeling! My
friend Harry's fate, and the poor ould man's, sunk me to the bottom of
misery. Harry thought o' nothing but his dear Maria, an' Emanuel was
totally speechless an' totthering.
“The ropes were preparing, when Maria burst through the soldiers, with
a paleness on her face even worse than ours; her clothes disordered,
her hair flying about: the soldiers were ordthered to stop her, an'
they did; but although they did not undtherstand her language, they
couldn't mistake her well, when she pointed to Harry, an' knelt down
at the officer's feet. All thought it was a friend of ours, but none
supposed her a woman. She was then permitted to go to Harry, an'—oh!
such a parting!—she hung upon his neck; she knelt down; she embraced
his knees! I stood motionless, gazing at the fond an' unfortunate pair
in agony, wishing that the scene was past. An' even Emanuel felt for
them, overcome as he was with the thoughts of his own situation.
“The Provost now was proceeding to his juty, the ropes in his hand,
when I started as if I had wakened from a horrid dream. A thought
sthruck me like lightning: I roared out ‘Stop, for God's sake, stop!’
with a strength and determination of manner that changed the feelings
of every body; an' I called out to the officer commanding, with such
earnestness, that he rode over to me at once. ‘Oh,’ says I in French to
him, ‘I'll prove our innocence; I'll prove it, Sir, if you will grant
me your support in doing so.’ This the officer willingly assented to.
‘Go, then, yourself, Sir,’ says I, ‘go _yourself_ into the kitchen o'
that house, and look upon the floor. There, plase the Lord, you will
find the breastplate o' the soldier that murthered the curnel; I tore
it off him in the sthruggle, but unfortunately did not keep it.’
“The officer, God bless him! although he was a Frenchman, seemed as
glad as if he had already found proof of our innocence, and immadiately
dismounted, called his adjutant and a sarjeant to go with him, an' went
straight into the house. I then tould Harry, Maria, and Emanuel, what I
thought of; an' such an effect I never saw, as it had upon all o' them.
Harry grew red, and looked at me with feelings as if I had already
saved his life. Maria's eyes almost started out of her head. She seemed
to laugh like, and hung round my neck as if I was her lover, and not
Harry; while poor ould Emanuel suddenly came to his speech, an' cried
like a child.
“The officer was away about ten minutes, an' during this time there
was the greatest anxiety amongst the crowd. I could see plainly their
countenances showed that they wished we might be found innocent. The
officer at length appeared; advanced hastily,—O God! to have seen us
then,—poor Maria, an' the ould man shaking every limb!
“‘Have you found it, Sir?’ says I.—‘_Yes, yes_, my friend, I _have_,’
was the answer; an' immadiately he ordthered the Provost to unbind us.
The ould man dthropped on his knees, an' every one of us followed his
example. There was a murmur of satisfaction among the crowd,—all were
delighted with the respite, an' their prayers were mixed with ours.
“We were on our way back to the Governor's house, when I thought o'
the necessity o' sending to the rigiment to which the breast-plate
belonged, to secure success, an' I asked the commanding officer to do
so: but it had been already done; he had sent off his adjutant on the
moment to the proper quarter.
“It was now not more than eleven o'clock in the day: the news of the
affair had spread, an' a greater number of officers crowded to spake to
us now, than to see us before the thrial.
“We were all brought into a private room, where the Governor was, (an'
that was the General that spoke to us about joining the French the day
before)—The officer who found the breast-plate, up an' tould him all
about it.
“‘But this breast-plate,’ says the General, ‘only gives the _number_
o' the regiment. We are still at a loss for the man, should he have
obtained another breast-plate.—Besides, this is not direct proof.’
“‘Turn the other side, Sir,’ said the officer, ‘an' you will see the
man's name scratched upon it with a pen-knife.’
“Oh! by the powers! this was like Providence, an' we all thanked God
Almighty for it.
“In a few minutes the adjutant who was sent to find the man, returned;
the sargeant was with him, carrying a kit, an' every thing belonging to
the fellow that was suspected. He was then brought in before us; an'
when we saw him, an' he us, any body could have sworn he was guilty.
‘Look at the villian,’ says I; ‘look at his neck, where I left the
marks o' my knuckles:’ an' sure enough the marks were there, black as
you plase.
“The General looked like thundther at him. ‘Where's your breast-plate,
Sir?’ says he. The fellow shook.
“‘It's on my belt,’ was the reply. The belt was produced. It had
no breast-plate on it! The passporation dthropped off the fellow's
forehead.
“‘Sarch his kit,’ says the General. The kit was opened, and amongst his
things was found a purse of money, a miniature picture of a lady, an' a
gold watch—_all belonging to the curnel_!
“This was convincing. The General demanded him to answer to these
proofs. He was silent. In a few moments, however, he confessed the
crime; but pleaded that he was led into it by the sarvant, an' that
both intended to desart to the English.
“We were immadiately liberated. The General himself came forward and
shook hands with us. Maria acknowledged her disguise, an' the whole
story of her getting her lover and myself out o' the church was tould.
Every officer of the garrison came to congratulate us. They all seemed
as happy as if they were our relations.
“The rascally sarvant that swore against us was sazed, an' both him an'
the soldier were thried in an hour afther by the same court that thried
us. We were the evidences; an' in less than two hours, the murdtherers
_were hung on the gallows which they had prepared for us_!
“There wasn't a man in the garrison so happy as Harry that evening, nor
a woman more joyful than Maria; for the General ordthered that we all
should be escorted safely to the front an' delivered over to our own
army. Not only that, but plenty o' money was given to us, with a hearty
shake o' the hand from all the officers for our conduct; an' we marched
out of Abrantes next morning with three jolly cheers from the men.”
* * * * *
Thus ended the Corporal's story of Maria de Carmo.
“Aweel, Corporal,” said Sergeant M'Fadgen, “that story is nae far short
o' bein' a romance. If I didn't ken it to be fac mysel', I'd ha' swore
it to be made oot o' yir ain Irish invention.”
The meed of praise so justly due to O'Callaghan for his story was now
given by all the men; his courage and loyalty were commended, and his
sufferings pitied. All, however, who had not been in the regiment at
the time the circumstances occurred, demanded of the Corporal, what
became of Harry and his sweetheart.
“O faith,” replied O'Callaghan, “they lived like turtle-doves together
for three years. When we were delivered over from the enemy, they
got married, an' had two fine boys, who are now in the Juke o' York's
School.”
“And where are Maria and Harry?” asked one of the men.
The Corporal sighed as he answered; and got up to prepare for the
relief.
“Maria,” said he, “God rest her sowl! died in child-bed; an' poor Harry
was killed by my side at the battle o' Toulouse, shortly afther.”
The men then proceeded to relieve the sentries, and the Sergeant fell
asleep.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] _Zehere._
[5] The French in the Peninsula during the war, called the English,
_Crabs_, in allusion to their red coats.
OLD CHARLEY.
“Charley is my darling—the [_old_] Cavalier.”
A good-humoured by-name is often given by soldiers to their commanding
officer, under which he is always known and talked of amongst them when
his back is turned; and nothing more strongly proves their esteem for
him than this practice. The Duke of Wellington himself was called “_The
Little Corporal_” by his men; and this _mark of distinction_ his Grace
received from his uncommon zeal and industry in promoting the works of
the impenetrable lines at Torres Vedras. The indefatigable commander
usually turned out at daybreak, and went through the batteries in
which the men were at work, dressed in a plain blue coat and glazed
hat, singly and on foot, to watch the progress of the operations. When
seen at a distance by the working parties, “_Here comes the Little
Corporal!_” would pass from one to another throughout, and all would
redouble their exertions. This was not from fear, but from esteem—each
was emulous of approval in his task; and had his Grace himself heard
them designating him with the _title_ of his extraordinary rank, he
would not have been at all displeased.
The subject of this sketch is Colonel Donellan, of the 48th, who
was killed at Talavera; and “_Old Charley_” was the cognomen of
friendly distinction, which the men of his regiment gave their gallant
commander. A few traits in his military character will be found not
unworthy of imitation by all young Colonels; nay, even some of our old
ones would not be wrong in copying a few of his good qualities.
Old Charley was the last of the _Powderers_; that is to say, the only
one in the regiment who, in despite of new customs and new taxes, clung
to the good old cauliflower-head of the army, and would no more have
gone to parade without pomatum and powder, than without his sword and
sash. He had been accustomed to the practice of military hair-dressing
from his early youth, and it formed as much a part of the officer, in
his estimation, as the epaulette or the gorget. Even as the odoriferous
effluvia of Auld Reekie, by the powers of association, will affect the
children of that city throughout life, so will hair-powder and pomatum
stick to the heads of the old military school for ever:—they bring back
the mind to its early predilections: like Merlin's wand, a smell of the
one and a dust of the other bid the spirit “of former days arise,” and
cheer it with an intellectual view of its dearest hours!
In this amiable susceptibility Old Charley was pre-eminent; and he was
often known to have regretted the improvement in hair-dressing, which
reduced the quantity of iron pins and coagulable fat used in that art,
from two pounds each head per diem to three ounces. The powdering-rooms
built in all the old barracks for the purpose of twisting the tails of
the battalions into dense knobs, and beautifying their heads with a
composition of meal, whiting, and rancid suet, never were permitted
by him to be defiled with cast-off stores of quarter-masters, or
the rattletrap uproar of an adjutant's nursery. No; those relics of
worth were sure to be protected by the whitewasher's brush and the
charwoman's scrubber; and, in giving them up to the substitute purposes
of orderly-room, Old Charley would heave a sigh and think of the white
heads which, like snow-balls, were melted away by the warmth of croppy
influence, and trampled upon by the march of refinement!
This worthy officer had formed the greatest friendship with the
jack-boot of the army, together with its close associate—the white
buckskin breeches; and when the grey overalls and short Wellingtons
were ordered to displace them, he indignantly refused to obey—as far
as regarded his own proper person: such innovations he could not bear;
and, as a proof of his opposition upon this point, he stuck to his
jacks and buckskins to the day of his death. They, as well as his
favourite powder and pomatum, were along with him at Talavera, when the
shot struck him which deprived the service of an excellent, though
somewhat whimsical officer.
Amongst his _whims_ was that of governing his soldiers without
flogging; and in this task (which is no very easy one) he succeeded
so well, that when his regiment, the 2nd Battalion of the 48th, was
reviewed by Sir David Baird on the Curragh of Kildare, that general
officer complimented him by saying, that “it was as fine and as
well disciplined a corps as he would ever wish to command.” This is
certainly an argument, and a strong one, against the punishment of
flogging in the army; but then, to make the argument perfect, we must
provide that there should be an “Old Charley” in every regiment; or,
in other words, a commanding officer whose qualities of government can
supersede the necessity of the lash.
He pleased both officers and men under his command, although he
sometimes was harsh with them, for they knew this harshness was
dictated by a wish for their welfare—it was that of a father for his
children.
The Colonel had been removed from the second battalion to the first,
and for a considerable time had not seen his favourite men. Previous
to the battle of Talavera, Lord Wellington reviewed his whole army on
the plain, in order to show his ally, the Spanish General Cuesta, a
specimen of the British forces in all the pride of their excellence.
As the Generals rode along the line, which was of immense extent, each
soldier stood fixed in his place; each battalion silent and motionless;
scarcely the eyelids of the soldiers twinkled, as the cavalcade of the
chiefs and their staff rode by. All on a sudden, a bustle and murmur
took place in one regiment; its line lost its even appearance; and
caps, and heads, and hands, and tongues moved, to the utter dismay
of the officer who was in command of it. In vain did he endeavour
to check this unseemly conduct in his men, and Lord Wellington was
himself astonished and exasperated at the circumstance. The fact is,
the irregular regiment was the second battalion of the 48th:—Colonel
Donellan happened to be riding along with the staff, in his stiff
buckskins, powdered hair, and square-set cocked hat—his men, from whom
he had been separated, perceived their beloved commanding-officer, and
every one murmured to his comrade—“There goes _old Charley!_”—“God
bless _the old boy!_”—“Success to him!”—“Does not he look well?”—and
so on; bustling and smiling, evidently from an impulse they could not
resist. When this was known to the Commander-in-Chief he was perfectly
satisfied; and all were delighted as old Charley uncovered, and shook
the powder from his cocked hat in waving a cordial salute to his worthy
soldiers.
In a very short time after this circumstance the battle of Talavera
took place, and then the Colonel showed that he knew the use of steel
and ball as well as of _powder_. He was engaged at the head of his
regiment, in the thickest of the fight: for several hours he had stood
the fire of the enemy, and drove them from their ground frequently,
during which time he had two horses shot under him. The presence of
the fine old soldier, like Charles the XII. in scarlet, animated his
men, and they fought with the energy of true courage. His voice, as
he gave the word of command along the line of his battalion, was like
a match to the gun—“Steady, officers! cool, my men—Ready, p'sent,
fire—that's the way, my lads.” Thus old Charley, at a word, sent
showers of well-directed balls into the blue ranks before him; and in
the heat of a well-returned fire, was as cool as on the parade, and as
primly caparisoned. He perceived a few of his men fall from a discharge
of musketry, at such a distance as made him doubtful of being within
range—“Curse the fellows,” said he, “those damn'd long guns of theirs
can shoot at two miles off!” and immediately advanced his battalion to
such a proximity of the foe, that he soon made them shift their ground.
Very shortly after this, a dreadful charge upon the French was made
by the Guards; but in their pursuit they went rather far, and a
reinforcement of the enemy came upon them. Colonel Donellan instantly
advanced to the support of the threatened regiment at double quick
time: but in this glorious moment, the gallant leader received a ball
in his knee: he beckoned the officer next in command, Major Middlemore,
and, although suffering the most excruciating torture from the wound,
took off his hat, and resigned the command just as if he had been on
the parade of a barrack-yard. His enraged men went on like lions,
taking ample revenge upon their enemies—and that too with the _cold
iron_.
The Colonel, with his knee broken in a most dangerous manner, was,
without loss of time, carried to the rear by four of his musicians, and
placed on a straw bed in the town of Talavera: had there been surgeons
to have amputated his limb on the instant, it is supposed he would have
survived; but this not having been the case, mortification took place,
and he died on the fourth day after the battle, surrounded by thousands
of dying and dead.
Owing to Cuesta's illiberal opposition to Lord Wellington, he, as well
as the rest of the wounded, were left in the hands of the French; as
were also several English surgeons, who remained at the mercy of the
enemy.[6] The Colonel, however, was treated with the greatest respect
and kindness by the French officers. Some of them remembered seeing
him at the head of his battalion, and warmly praised the veteran's
gallantry.
His soldier-like appearance, too, commanded their regard, and they
carried him in a cloak to the spot on which he had led his regiment so
bravely, and there they buried “Old Charley” with the true honours of a
soldier.
FOOTNOTE:
[6] These surgeons were sent, after their duty, not to a French prison,
but to Paris, where Napoleon complimented all, and presented them with
money and a free passage to England, for the service they had done his
soldiers, and allowed for the nature of their duty, which placed them
in his power.
MESS-TABLE CHAT.
No. I.
“But this is worshipful society.”
_Shakspeare._
SCENE—_The mess-room of a Hussar Regiment: principal speakers—Colonel
Diamond_; _Major Flowers_; _Captains Tache_, _Bright_, _and Ploomer_;
_Doctor Scott_; _Lieutenants Rose_, _Golding_, _Lavender_, _and
Honeywood_; _Cornets Lilly_, _Fairfax_, _Canary_, _and Small_. _Table
spread with dessert_, _decanters_, _glasses_, _and snuff-boxes_.
_Time—half-past ten at night._
_Capt. Bright._ When Colonel Diamond has done _drilling_ the claret, I
would thank him to put it into _marching order_, and give the decanter
the _route_.
_Col. Diamond._ 'Pon my honour, Bright, you are becoming _brilliant_.
If you take any more of the light wine, you will absolutely _dazzle_ us.
_All the Mess._ Good!—good!—excellent!—bravo! Colonel—admirable hit.
[_A well directed volley is laughed at the Colonel's_ “HIT;”
_particularly loud from the Subalterns._]
_Dr. Scott._ Positively, Colonel Diamond, the Ensign and Adjutant,
wha writes in Blackwood's Magazine, couldna say a better bet o' wut.
(_offers his gold snuff-box to the Colonel._)
_Capt. Bright._ By the by, Colonel, who is this new Cornet we are about
to have?
_Col. Diamond._ 'Pon my honour, I don't know him; but, I believe, Major
Flowers does.
_Major Flowers._ _Pardonnez moi_, Colonel, I don't _know_ him. His
uncle's in _trade_: he is _known_ on _change_.
_All the Mess_ (_with a stare_). Indeed!!!
_Major Flowers._ Yes, I have _heard_ that he is a _dry-salter_?
_All the Mess._ A dry-salter?
_Lieut. Rose._ Horrible!
_Cornet Canary._ Shocking!
_Cornet Small._ Dreadful!
_Lieut. Golding._ Abominable!
_Dr. Scott._ Aweel, I dinna know but there's mare in dry-salters than
you think, gentlemen: he's na' the worse for a' that, gin he's got the
siller.
_Major Flowers._ Doctor, 'pon my honour, I am surprised that you should
think that money could possibly purchase our permission to admit a
_dry-salter's_ relation as a member of the _nonpareils_!
_All the Mess._ Oh, Doctor!—oh! oh! oh!
_Dr. Scott._ A dry-salter, Major, is na' worse than a _tailor_, and I
have seen a tailor's son _cut_ a canny dash in the army afore noo.
_All the Mess._ Have _done_, Doctor, pray have done!
_Colonel Diamond._ The Doctor has _Dunn_, I assure you. (_Although
the Colonel's pun was evidently a poser—all laughed a little; but the
Colonel himself, although he could not refrain from the deliverance of
it, was certainly sorry for having been so witty, and a short silence
intervened._)
_Major Flowers._ Oh, by the by, Colonel, I have received a letter from
Lady Fanny, and she tells me that it is rumoured—a—that we are to be
sent to Ireland.
_All the Mess._ To Ireland!
_Capt. Tache._ I'll exchange, upon my honour.
_Lieut. Golding._ I'll resign.
_Lieut. Lavender._ We shall be starved, as I live.
_Capt. Bright._ We shall be murdered.
_Cornet Small_ (_in a piping voice_). Really, if I had the slightest
anticipation that the regiment should have been ordered on _foreign_
service _at all_, I would have joined the _Blues_. A man of _fortune_
has no business in Ireland.
_Col. Diamond._ If this news of Lady Fanny's should turn out to be
true, I must go to town immediately, and insist upon a change in the
arrangement; the Duke must _not_ be allowed to have his way in this:
so, gentlemen, make yourselves easy on the subject. _I am determined we
shall not go._
[_All the Mess are delighted, and a burst of applause
follows the concluding word of the Colonel's assurance._]
_Dr. Scott._ Dinna fash aboot ganging to Ireland, gentlemen; it's no
sae bad a spot as you think.
_Capt. Ploomer._ Really, Doctor, you Scotchmen have strange notions
of comfort,—totally at variance with the _esprit de corps_ which
distinguishes the _nonpareils_. Those _boundary_ countries, Ireland,
Scotland, and Wales, may do very well for the infantry and the heavy
dragoons, and perhaps as an occasional quarter for the _lights_; but
we, who are the _influential_ portion of the military ton, should never
leave England, except, indeed, for such an affair as Waterloo.
_Dr. Scott._ My conscience! but I think, Captain, such “_affairs_”
as Waterloo are more suitable to the _heavy dragoons_ than to the
_Hussars_: an' I have na doubt but the gallant Marquis o' Anglesea wud
tell ye the same thing.