Templemore--Devil's Mountain--No companion--Force of circumstance--Way of
the world--Ruined castle--Grim and desolate--The donjon--Old woman--My
own house.
When Christmas was over, and the new year commenced, we broke up our
quarters, and marched away to Templemore. This was a large military
station, situated in a wild and thinly inhabited country. Extensive bogs
were in the neighbourhood, connected with the huge bog of Allen, the
Palus Maeotis of Ireland. Here and there was seen a ruined castle
looming through the mists of winter; whilst, at the distance of seven
miles, rose a singular mountain, exhibiting in its brow a chasm, or
vacuum, just, for all the world, as if a piece had been bitten out; a
feat which, according to the tradition of the country, had actually been
performed by his Satanic majesty, who, after flying for some leagues with
the morsel in his mouth, becoming weary, dropped it in the vicinity of
Cashel, where it may now be seen in the shape of a bold bluff hill,
crowned with the ruins of a stately edifice, probably built by some
ancient Irish king.
We had been here only a few days, when my brother, who, as I have before
observed, had become one of his Majesty's officers, was sent on
detachment to a village at about ten miles' distance. He was not
sixteen, and, though three years older than myself, scarcely my equal in
stature, for I had become tall and large-limbed for my age; but there was
a spirit in him which would not have disgraced a general; and, nothing
daunted at the considerable responsibility which he was about to incur,
he marched sturdily out of the barrack-yard at the head of his party,
consisting of twenty light-infantry men, and a tall grenadier sergeant,
selected expressly by my father, for the soldier-like qualities which he
possessed, to accompany his son on this his first expedition. So out of
the barrack-yard, with something of an air, marched my dear brother, his
single drum and fife playing the inspiring old melody,
Marlbrouk is gone to the wars,
He'll never return no more!
I soon missed my brother, for I was now alone, with no being, at all
assimilating in age, with whom I could exchange a word. Of late years,
from being almost constantly at school, I had cast aside, in a great
degree, my unsocial habits and natural reserve, but in the desolate
region in which we now were there was no school; and I felt doubly the
loss of my brother, whom, moreover, I tenderly loved for his own sake.
Books I had none, at least such 'as I cared about'; and with respect to
the old volume, the wonders of which had first beguiled me into common
reading, I had so frequently pored over its pages, that I had almost got
its contents by heart. I was therefore in danger of falling into the
same predicament as Murtagh, becoming 'frighted' from having nothing to
do! Nay, I had not even his resources; I cared not for cards, even if I
possessed them and could find people disposed to play with them. However,
I made the most of circumstances, and roamed about the desolate fields
and bogs in the neighbourhood, sometimes entering the cabins of the
peasantry, with a 'God's blessing upon you, good people!' where I would
take my seat on the 'stranger's stone' at the corner of the hearth, and,
looking them full in the face, would listen to the carles and carlines
talking Irish.
Ah, that Irish! How frequently do circumstances, at first sight the most
trivial and unimportant, exercise a mighty and permanent influence on our
habits and pursuits!--how frequently is a stream turned aside from its
natural course by some little rock or knoll, causing it to make an abrupt
turn! On a wild road in Ireland I had heard Irish spoken for the first
time; and I was seized with a desire to learn Irish, the acquisition of
which, in my case, became the stepping-stone to other languages. I had
previously learnt Latin, or rather Lilly; but neither Latin nor Lilly
made me a philologist. I had frequently heard French and other
languages, but had felt little desire to become acquainted with them; and
what, it may be asked, was there connected with the Irish calculated to
recommend it to my attention?
First of all, and principally, I believe, the strangeness and singularity
of its tones; then there was something mysterious and uncommon associated
with its use. It was not a school language, to acquire which was
considered an imperative duty; no, no; nor was it a drawing-room
language, drawled out occasionally, in shreds and patches, by the ladies
of generals and other great dignitaries, to the ineffable dismay of poor
officers' wives. Nothing of the kind; but a speech spoken in out-of-the-
way desolate places, and in cut-throat kens, where thirty ruffians, at
the sight of the king's minions, would spring up with brandished sticks
and an 'ubbubboo like the blowing up of a powder-magazine.' Such were
the points connected with the Irish, which first awakened in my mind the
desire of acquiring it; and by acquiring it I became, as I have already
said, enamoured of languages. Having learnt one by choice, I speedily,
as the reader will perceive, learnt others, some of which were widely
different from Irish.
Ah, that Irish! I am much indebted to it in more ways than one. But I
am afraid I have followed the way of the world, which is very much wont
to neglect original friends and benefactors. I frequently find myself,
at present, turning up my nose at Irish when I hear it in the street; yet
I have still a kind of regard for it, the fine old language:
A labhair Padruic n'insefail nan riogh.
One of the most peculiar features of this part of Ireland is the ruined
castles, which are so thick and numerous that the face of the country
appears studded with them, it being difficult to choose any situation
from which one, at least, may not be descried. They are of various ages
and styles of architecture, some of great antiquity, like the stately
remains which crown the Crag of Cashel; others built by the early English
conquerors; others, and probably the greater part, erections of the times
of Elizabeth and Cromwell. The whole speaking monuments of the troubled
and insecure state of the country, from the most remote periods to a
comparatively modern time.
From the windows of the room where I slept I had a view of one of these
old places--an indistinct one, it is true, the distance being too great
to permit me to distinguish more than the general outline. I had an
anxious desire to explore it. It stood to the south-east; in which
direction, however, a black bog intervened, which had more than once
baffled all my attempts to cross it. One morning, however, when the sun
shone brightly upon the old building, it appeared so near, that I felt
ashamed at not being able to accomplish a feat seemingly so easy; I
determined, therefore, upon another trial. I reached the bog, and was
about to venture upon its black surface, and to pick my way amongst its
innumerable holes, yawning horribly, and half filled with water black as
soot, when it suddenly occurred to me that there was a road to the south,
by following which I might find a more convenient route to the object of
my wishes. The event justified my expectations, for, after following the
road for some three miles, seemingly in the direction of the Devil's
Mountain, I suddenly beheld the castle on my left.
I diverged from the road, and, crossing two or three fields, came to a
small grassy plain, in the midst of which stood the castle. About a gun-
shot to the south was a small village, which had, probably, in ancient
days, sprung up beneath its protection. A kind of awe came over me as I
approached the old building. The sun no longer shone upon it, and it
looked so grim, so desolate and solitary; and here was I, in that wild
country, alone with that grim building before me. The village was within
sight, it is true; but it might be a village of the dead for what I knew;
no sound issued from it, no smoke was rising from its roofs, neither man
nor beast was visible, no life, no motion--it looked as desolate as the
castle itself. Yet I was bent on the adventure, and moved on towards the
castle across the green plain, occasionally casting a startled glance
around me; and now I was close to it.
It was surrounded by a quadrangular wall, about ten feet in height, with
a square tower at each corner. At first I could discover no entrance;
walking round, however, to the northern side, I found a wide and lofty
gateway with a tower above it, similar to those at the angles of the
wall; on this side the ground sloped gently down towards the bog, which
was here skirted by an abundant growth of copse-wood and a few evergreen
oaks. I passed through the gateway, and found myself within a square
inclosure of about two acres. On one side rose a round and lofty keep,
or donjon, with a conical roof, part of which had fallen down, strewing
the square with its ruins. Close to the keep, on the other side, stood
the remains of an oblong house, built something in the modern style, with
various window-holes; nothing remained but the bare walls and a few
projecting stumps of beams, which seemed to have been half burnt. The
interior of the walls was blackened, as if by fire; fire also appeared at
one time to have raged out of the window-holes, for the outside about
them was black, portentously so. 'I wonder what has been going on here?'
I exclaimed.
There were echoes among the walls as I walked about the court. I entered
the keep by a low and frowning doorway: the lower floor consisted of a
large dungeon-like room, with a vaulted roof; on the left hand was a
winding staircase in the thickness of the wall; it looked anything but
inviting; yet I stole softly up, my heart beating. On the top of the
first flight of stairs was an arched doorway, to the left was a dark
passage, to the right, stairs leading still higher. I stepped under the
arch and found myself in an apartment somewhat similar to the one below,
but higher. There was an object at the farther end.
An old woman, at least eighty, was seated on a stone, cowering over a few
sticks burning feebly on what had once been a right noble and cheerful
hearth; her side-glance was towards the doorway as I entered, for she had
heard my foot-steps. I stood suddenly still, and her haggard glance
rested on my face.
'Is this your house, mother?' I at length demanded, in the language which
I thought she would best understand.
'Yes, my house, my own house; the house of the broken-hearted.'
'Any other person's house?' I demanded.
'My own house, the beggar's house--the accursed house of Cromwell!'