proposal to make: we cannot be more harmonious than we are; but by way
of diversifying our happiness, suppose Killdragon favours us with his
“_British Bayoneteers_.” It will bring back the recollections of the
“_work_” as he calls it.
[_All now warmly called on Captain Killdragon, who was not
a man that required much pressing; so, having filled his
glass and put on a regular corporal countenance, he sang
the following song, in a fine bold voice, and all the Mess
joined in merry chorus_:—
THE BRITISH BAYONETEERS.
I.
Eyes right! my jolly field boys,
Who British bayonets bear,
To teach your foes to yield, boys,
When British steel they dare!
Now fill the glass, for the toast of toasts
Shall be drunk with the cheer of cheers:—
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
For the British Bayoneteers!
Then fill the glass, for the toast of toasts, &c.
II.
Great guns have shot and shell, boys,
Dragoons have sabres bright,
Th' artillery's fire's like hell, boys,
And the horse like devils fight;
But neither light nor heavy horse,
Nor thundering cannoneers,
Can stem the tide of the foeman's pride,
Like the British Bayoneteers.
Then fill the glass, for the toast of toasts, &c.
III.
See, see, red Battle raging,
In wild and bloody strife;
His burning thirst assuaging
In the smoking tide of life!
From the shower of balls our men give way—
But the rank of steel appears:
They charge!—Hurrah! Hurrah! for the day
Is the British Bayoneteers!
Then fill the glass, for the toast of toasts, &c.
IV.
The English arm is strong, boys,
The Irish arm is tough,
The Scotchman's blow, the French well know,
Is struck by sterling stuff;
And when, before the enemy,
Their shining steel appears—
Good by'e! Good by'e!—How they run! How they fly
From the British Bayoneteers!
Then fill the glass, for the toast of toasts, &c.
Loud applause followed this song, for the wine had pretty freely
circulated before it was sung. A deviled turkey was now brought in, the
decanters were all replenished, and several jolly songs sung. It was
a festival day; therefore did the young _subs_ leave off the everyday
rule of quitting the mess-table after the “_second allowance_,” and
indulged _ad libitum_. In short, a merrier set of fellows, from the
Colonel to the Quarter-master, never broke up from a happy mess-table,
than they, at half-past 12 o'clock, A. M.
GERAGHTY'S KICK.
“Send that to your next-door neighbour.”
At the battle of Talavera, when the hill on the left of the British
line had been retaken from the enemy, after the most obstinate and
bloody fighting, the French continued to throw shells upon it with most
destructive precision. One of those terrible instruments of death fell
close to a party of grenadiers belonging to the 45th regiment, who were
standing on the summit of the hill. The fusee was burning rapidly,
and a panic struck upon the minds of the soldiers, for they could not
move away from the shell on account of the compact manner in which the
troops stood: it was nearly consumed—every rapidly succeeding spark
from it promised to be the last—all expected instant death—when Tom
Geraghty, a tall raw-boned Irishman, ran towards the shell, crying out,
“By J——, I'll have a kick for it, if it was to be my last;” and with a
determined push from his foot, sent the load of death whirling off the
height. It fell amongst a close column of men below, while Geraghty,
leaning over the verge from whence it fell, with the most vehement
and good-natured energy, bawled out “Mind your heads, boys, mind your
heads!” Horror!—the shell burst!—it was over in a moment. At least
twenty men were shattered to pieces by the explosion!
Geraghty was wholly unconscious of having done any mischief. It was a
courageous impulse of the moment, which operated upon him in the first
instance; and the injury to the service was not worse than if the shell
had remained where it first fell. Self-preservation is positively in
favour of the act, considering that there was no other way of escaping
from destruction.
Very serious consequences would have still attended the matter, had it
not been for the active exertions of the officers; for the men of the
regiment, among which the shell was thrown, and who had escaped, were
with difficulty prevented from mounting the hill and executing summary
punishment upon the grenadiers, from whom the unwelcome messenger had
been so unceremoniously despatched. Thus they would have increased to
an alarming degree the evil consequences of Geraghty's kick.
An unexpected shower of admiration and flattery, like the sudden
possession of great and unexpected wealth, produces evil effects
upon a weak head. The perilous kick, instead of exalting Geraghty's
fortunes, as it would have done had he been a prudent man, produced
the very opposite consequences. He was talked of throughout the
regiment—nay, the whole division, for this intrepid act; every body,
officers and all, complimented him upon his coolness and courage; and
the general who commanded his regiment (Sir John Doyle) gave him the
most flattering encouragement. All this was lost upon Geraghty; he was
one of those crazy fellows whom nothing but the weight of adversity
could bring to any tolerable degree of steadiness; and instead of
profiting by his reputed bravery, he gave way to the greatest excesses.
Finding that he was tolerated in one, he would indulge in another,
until it became necessary to check the exuberance of his folly. He
gave way completely to drunkenness: when under the effects of liquor,
although a most inoffensive being when sober, he would try to “carry
all before him,” as the phrase goes; and having succeeded in this so
frequently, amongst the privates and non-commissioned officers of his
regiment, the excitement of the excess began to lose its pungency in
his imagination, and he determined to extend his enjoyments amongst the
officers: this very soon led him to most disagreeable results. It had
been ordered that the privates should not walk upon a certain part of
the parade in Colchester Barracks. Geraghty, however, thought proper to
_kick_ against it as determinedly as he formerly did against the shell.
Charged with strong rum, he one day strutted across it in a manner
becoming a hero of Talavera (as he thought), and was seen by two of
his officers, ensigns, who sent the orderly to desire him to move off
the forbidden ground; but Geraghty declined obedience, and told the
orderly to “_be off to the devil out o' that_.” The ensigns, on being
informed of the disobedience, proceeded to the delinquent, and renewed
their orders, which were not only disregarded, but accompanied by a
violent assault from Geraghty. The refractory giant seized an ensign in
each hand, and having lifted both off the ground, dashed their heads
together. This was seen by some other officers and soldiers of the
regiment, who all ran instantly to rescue the sufferers from Geraghty's
gripe. None could, however, secure him; he raged and threatened
vengeance on all who came within the length of his long arms; nor would
he have surrendered had it not been for a captain in the regiment,
under whose eye he pulled many a trigger against the enemy. This
officer approached with a stick, seized him by the collar, and began to
lay on in good style. “Leather away,” cried Geraghty, “I'll submit to
_you_, Captain, and will suffer any thing; flog me, if you like. You
are a good sodger, an' saw the enemy; but by J——, I'll not be insulted
by brats o' boys who never smelt powdther.”
The consequences of this violence of course led to punishment: Geraghty
was flogged for the mutiny; he received six hundred and fifty lashes,
laid heavily on; yet he never uttered a groan during the whole of
this suffering; and when taken down, although bleeding, bruised, and
doubtless greatly exhausted, assumed an air of insolent triumph; put on
his shirt, and boldly walked off to the hospital. The body of the man
was overcome,—the pallid cheek, the bloodshot eye, the livid lip, the
clammy mouth—all declared it; but the spirit was wholly untouched by
the lash: nothing on earth _could_ touch it.
The 87th was subsequently quartered in Guernsey: here the sheriff, a
little powdered personage of the forensic faculty, was the immediate
cause of another punishment to Geraghty, by having preferred a
complaint against him. The deepest enmity towards the civic officer
arose in Geraghty's breast, and he vowed vengeance against him. It
happened that after long looking out for the fulfilment of his vow, he
met the sheriff one dark night in a narrow way: a moment so precious
could not be wasted; so Geraghty, with an oath like the thunder of
Jupiter, seized his victim by the collar of his coat and the posterior
portion of his pantaloons, and having twirled him in the air just as he
would a monkey, flung him “neck and crop” (as the flinger said) over
the church-yard wall, which stood full seven feet high, beside the road.
The sheriff received several bruises and a dislocation of the shoulder
by the fall, but managed to creep home, after a little rest taken on a
grave, quite as much frightened as he was hurt. Of course the necessary
steps were taken next day to bring Geraghty to justice; but at the
trial the sheriff failed in his evidence, having none but his own oath,
while the prisoner proved that he was in bed when the roll was called,
and also that he was on parade at six in the morning: the court was
of opinion that the sheriff might have been mistaken, and therefore
acquitted the graceless grenadier.
General Doyle, however, was not quite convinced of the prisoner's
innocence, and although acquitted, he received a private reprimand
from the General, who also addressed the regiment publicly upon the
necessity of behaving with decorum towards the inhabitants, giving Mr.
Geraghty many severe hints upon the sheriff's affair, which showed
that Sir John Doyle was not one of those who doubted his delinquency.
“Eighty-seventh,” said the General to the regiment in a loud voice,
“you have always distinguished yourselves in the field, and have
never disgraced yourselves in your quarters: you have fought with the
enemies of your country, and not against your countrymen. I trust you
will continue to respect the civilian, and thereby respect yourselves.
An occurrence has taken place lately which I am shocked at, and if I
thought the 87th regiment would practise such gross conduct against the
worthy inhabitants of this island, _it would break my heart_.”
This natural appeal had a powerful effect: every man felt as if his own
father addressed him, and Geraghty amongst the rest participated in
the respectful homage paid to the parent of the corps; for he then was
sober, and consequently rational and kind-hearted.
A short time after this the General held a levee, and Geraghty
happened to be the sentry on his house. The sheriff having attended,
was returning from the doors, the General and several friends in the
balcony above, elevated at no greater distance than that within which
every word spoken at the door could be distinctly heard by them: the
sheriff passed close to Geraghty, who, not thinking that there was
anybody within hearing, seized the little gentleman by the buttonhole,
and forcibly detained him while he addressed him in the following
impressive manner: “Come here, you little rascal:”—the petrified
civilian trembling, looked up and listened,—“I tell you what; by J——,
if it wasn't that I'd brake the poor owld General's heart, I'd just
take an' I'd smash every bone in your skin this minute; so ger out o'
my sight, and never come near me again while you've breath in your
little body.”
Sir John heard the whole of this address, and saw the sheriff hasten to
obey the commands of the sentry. He did not bring him to court-martial,
for he wisely thought that punishment was wholly useless: however, he
procured his discharge, as the only means of securing the regiment
against the farther consequences of _Geraghty's kick_.
DUELLING IN THE SERVICE.
—— Keep your honour clear,
Barring all consequences.
_Burns._
That the practice of duelling is to be tolerated in general society,
I will not take upon me to say; but that it is absolutely necessary
in the army, no officer of that profession will deny. It should,
however, be regulated by temperate and honourable rules. In a body
like the army, where unanimity and obedience to command must prevail,
every thing that tends to disturb those passive qualities, should be
scrupulously forbidden. But as the evil passions of the heart have
not less exercise amongst military men than in any other division of
society, quarrels cannot of course be avoided. Yet if these quarrels
were allowed to develope their virulence in bickerings and open abuse,
every corps of officers, it is to be feared, would be divided into
parties, and disunion would place in jeopardy that power which can only
act efficiently by unanimity. Hence the necessity of a more particular
attention to gentlemanly demeanour amongst the military, and hence
also the necessity of the existence of some power which will enforce
conformity to its regulations. This, to a certain extent, is to be
found in military authority; but beyond this, there is no remedy,
except in the practice of duelling; and the more this practice is
cherished in the army, the more honourable and lasting will be its
reputation; the less will its quiet be disturbed; fewer will insult
or injure their brother-officers, and consequently fewer will be
necessitated to vindicate their honour by duel.
The admirable decorum and gentlemanly friendships which prevail in the
army generally, bear strong testimony to the truth of my argument;
and as insults and injuries cannot pass there with impunity, those
despicable characters, _professed duellists_, are rarely, if ever, to
be met with in the service. They do not, at all events, practise their
“_profession_” amongst military men, for the most obvious reasons in
the world. Yet there have been, and are still in the army, men who
approach towards this odious character; they are, however, but very
few, nor will they attempt to offer insult openly; their aim is to
assume an overbearing superiority, and, by all indirect means in their
power, to impress every one with a sense of their vast prowess and
undaunted courage: through all this they are guarded in their manner
and expressions, and only go so far as to render themselves both
despised and shunned.
An ancient writer observes, that “The long sword and the swaggering
cock are the ordinary marks of a faint heart in disguise;” and never
was there more truth in any observation: for, as modesty and courage
are usually associated, and as regard to self-preservation is natural
to every one who contemplates the possible consequences of a duel, it
is very unlikely that a truly brave man would wantonly expose himself
to peril, by insulting another, without ample provocation. As a man
of courage, he would feel that he could not shrink from a challenge,
and that once engaged in it, “there must be no shuffling”; but the
swaggerer is altogether a different sort of person, and will be found
on examination to be made up of vanity, cruelty, and cowardice; he
indulges in the two former, but is betrayed by the latter. He is
forward to insult, because he is predetermined to shrink from the
dangerous consequences his insults might threaten to bring upon him;
and by indulging in the practice of bullying, he is in fact playing
a game in which there is a great deal of counterfeit reputation to
be won, and much base vanity to be gratified, but little or nothing
to be lost by him: you may, at the end of the game, kick him in the
breech, and he will politely thank you for so distinguishing a mark of
attention, provided you call not upon him for the stakes. His great
enjoyment is in attacking men from whom he can win off hand, but he is
amazingly shy of those who know how to play.
An instance of this kind occurred within my own observation at Ostend,
in 1815, in which the character of a swaggerer was completely developed
and effectually disgraced. The person I allude to, belonged to one of
the regiments which were sent out to garrison Ostend, farther than
which town they did not proceed in the campaign. An officer, who
had not only served at Waterloo, but in most of the actions in the
Peninsula, was insulted in a coffee-room by a low person, attached to
one of the departments of the army; and of so inferior a rank, that he
chose rather to report his gross misconduct to his commanding officer
than to degrade himself by fighting a duel with him. The Swaggerer, who
was a needy fellow, and one who would be the bottle friend of anybody
who would treat him, was, it appeared, upon terms of intimacy with the
person who insulted the officer; and, in his defence, thought proper
to display himself, a few nights after the other had been reported.
The result proved, that in this he made a totally false estimate of
the officer's courage, and was deceived in the confidence or hope
that an insult from him would be met by the same return as that given
to his low companion. Under this idea he placed himself, in company
with others of his own class, at a table in the coffee-room, close to
one where the officer alluded to was sitting, engaged at a game of
backgammon with a friend. The mode of attack which he then adopted,
was to allude, in the most insulting terms, to the affront given a
few days before to the officer; and in so loud a voice, that it was
evident he intended that the allusions should be heard; he talked of
white feathers, “shy cocks,” &c. all which the officer appeared to take
no notice of, so that the talker became “stronger in his strength,”
and blustered away in such a manner as made all who heard him suppose
he was a most determined fire-eater, and that his stomach would digest
lead with as much ease as a cock ostrich's would a horse's shoe.
Nothing farther took place in the affair that evening, and all parties
separated; but next morning the _denouement_ was brought about, which I
have no doubt was as little expected by Mr. Swagger as that he himself
was not a “monstrous excellent” gentleman. The officer's friend called
upon him ere he was out of bed; and in sending up his card, intimated
that he would wait until the gentleman had “made his toilette.” Word
was immediately returned, that he might “walk up.”
On perceiving the countenance and air of the visitor, the hero of
cups, who had not yet stirred from his bed, made an effort to conceal
his fears by a forced compliment; and when he learned the nature of
the visit clearly, and saw that there was no loop-hole open for a
jump, he declared solemnly he did not recollect a single word which
passed from his lips the night before, and offered to make the most
ample apology. He was therefore requested to rise, which he did with
the obedience of a timid child; and having done so, was directed to
write down, word after word, one of the most humiliating apologies
that a determined head could dictate; and having done so, was farther
_requested_ to appear in the coffee-room where the insult passed, and
to read the paper to the company. Even this he agreed to; but it was
only an agreement, for he never appeared at the appointed place; his
regiment was ordered home to be disbanded, so he started off to England
by the next packet. The apology, however, was read in the coffee-room,
and afforded an admirable lesson to any swaggerer who might have been
present.[15]
Our French neighbours, who would have us to think they would fly to
the field of single combat as readily as would a cock pheasant, are
not without the swaggering white feather. I recollect some instances
of this—particularly when the British army arrived victorious at
Bordeaux, the field of ancient British glory. Scarcely an officer or
soldier could, whilst we were there, escape a fight of some sort.
Our soldiers, who cared neither for duelling nor its laws, levelled,
in good style, the insulters, by a few “_facers_,” _à la_ Cribb, and
settled the contest by committing their antagonists' heads to chancery;
but the officers had as many duels to provide for daily, while amongst
the Gascons, as they had tradesmen's bills; all which they settled as
honourable men should settle their accounts—by paying off every one in
his own coin.
One night, while in the theatre, an Irish gentleman and myself were
quietly enjoying the performance (the house crowded with British
officers and fine women; for the beauties of Bordeaux fought no duels
with us, except those in which nothing but the heart is to be lost,
they having nothing else to lose), when an officer of one of the
French corps took up a position exactly behind my friend, and in a
fierce and brutal manner opened a volley of abuse upon him, in French,
interlarding his language with English extracts, such as “_Beef-stek!_”
“_Ros-beef!_” and then serving up the vegetable “_pomme de terre_,”
_secundum artem_; nothing of which my high-spirited but unfrenchified
friend comprehended in the slightest degree. All the notice he took of
the outrage was by saying to me, “This French fellow is making a great
fuss; what the devil is he jabbering about?” Had I answered by stating
the fact, Heaven help the Frenchman! he would have been in the pit
in a second; but knowing the irascibility of my Hibernian companion,
I replied evasively, determined to take a better opportunity for
resentment.
The play went on, and the assailant went away; but I knew that he
attended the theatre every night. I informed my friend when we went
home of what had happened: his rage became almost ungovernable. We of
course proceeded to the theatre the next night, and met the Frenchman
in the saloon. He was leaning against a table, taking an ice; and, as
previously arranged, one of us took our station close upon each side
of him, and began a dialogue in English, of the same cast as the
insulting soliloquy in French, the previous night, introducing certain
French words which were not to be misunderstood. This we were wrong in
doing; but my friend insisted that “it would be useless to call him
out without taking a little bit of satisfaction out of him, for his
impudence.” Accordingly, we enjoyed a considerable quantity of fun, at
the expense of the Frenchman, who at length blustered out and demanded
what we meant, in a most cut-and-thrust manner. “What does he say?”
said my friend to me. I told him. “O faith, I'll soon answer you, Sir,”
said he, and seizing the Frenchman's nose, (a long one) he tweaked
it in such a tortuous and effective style, as made the mouth beneath
it roar, “Nothing now but _immediate_ satisfaction.” After this I
explained the matter, and the Frenchman seemed astonished at the aspect
which affairs had taken. He departed, assuring us that he would return
in half an hour with his friend. We informed him that he would find
us in the theatre. There we remained, to the last moment of its being
open: but had we stayed a month, we should not have had another word
about the nose affair.
Thus, even in the army, both of England and France, a cowardly braggart
will occasionally show himself. This, however, very seldom happens,
owing to the certainty of disgrace, which attends the exposure of their
false pretensions.
Another character is also to be met with in the army, nearly as
injurious to its internal peace as the swaggerer. This is the man who,
from weakness of judgment, flies to duelling for the rectification of
every trifling dispute—one who thinks that a mere contradiction is
“the lie.” These are not sanguinary heroes, and will fire in the air,
or exchange shots with the most perfect good-nature; but they must
argue by duel, and the first pop settles the argument. An example of
this is within my recollection:—a Major W. and a Captain W. fell into
a most trivial dispute. Cards passed. The parties met—the seconds and
the principals, as polite and good-humoured as if they had assembled
to shoot at a target for a wager. “Beg the Major to move a little to
the right.” “The Captain may have _our_ pistols with pleasure.” “We
are much obliged to the Major,” and so on. They both fired at once—both
fell, and then in the coolest manner possible, addressed each other
thus:
“Captain, are you wounded?”
“I am, Major.”