AN IRISH FAIR AT DUNDALK--GREAT FUN AND NO END
OF FIGHTING--THE BOMBARDMENT OF
COPENHAGEN--GRANDFATHER GETS MARRIED.
That little cruise round to Dundalk and back was to be big with my
grandfather's fate, though he did not know this at the time he
started.
He voyaged, with his friend Tonal, in a small but comfortable trading
schooner, the _St. Patrick_. She was well decked, and though her
cabin or cuddy was small, it and everything else were beautifully
clean.
The skipper was likewise the owner of the craft, and as soon as the
vessel had cleared the bay, and established a good offing--for the
wind, though light, was dead on to the rocky shore, a shore on which
many a good ship has left her ribs--all three got talking.
The skipper told his passengers that he made many a journey to
Liverpool, and even Glasgow, and that being his own master he could
go wherever he pleased.
"My little ship is almost like a yacht, you see," he said, looking
round the deck with pardonable pride. "If she weren't my own,
perhaps I wouldn't take so much pains with her."
"I don't know who it can be," said my grandfather presently, "but you
are very like someone I know."
"I am said to be very like my elder sister at Booterstown, Sergeant;
but you would hardly know Mrs. Stapleton. She and her daughter have
a cottage there, and, as I always tell them, are buried alive among
the trees."
"But, sir, I do know them. What a strange meeting, to be sure!"
Then he told the skipper the story of the runaway pony, and the
pleasant evening he had spent at the cottage.
"The first and the last," he added with half a sigh.
"Don't be too sure, young Sergeant," said the skipper; "for troth,
then, I took Eleanor to Dundalk with me only a week ago, to see
another uncle, and it is back with me she'll be coming same time as
yourself.
"If you've no objection, Sergeant."
This was said with a sly and merry twinkle of the eyes.
"Ah!" he added, "you needn't be looking at the seagulls, Sergeant.
Sure it is myself that can see as far into a stone as a mason
himself. Or _free_-mason."
He held out his hand.
"Shake, brother, shake."
* * * * * *
That was a merry fair indeed. And when Tonal blew up the
bagpipes--he was dressed in full Highland costume--the two of them
had a very pretty following, I assure you.
I really cannot say whether my grandfather was guilty of overpraising
his Majesty's service or not. Perhaps he was.
He and Tonal were very lordly, however, and tossed coins upon the
counters in a way that struck awe into the hearts of the simple lads
they treated.
"Faix!" said one fellow. "Faix, Sergeant agra, you must know where
them things is dug."
Grand-dad took him aside for a few moments, and talked to him. In
that brief time he had gained a recruit.
A fine, strapping, fair-haired lad he was, and when he had got a few
ribbons attached to his cap he was proud indeed, and, marching off
behind Tonal, became a kind of nucleus to draw other recruits. That
first day the haul was seven.
More ribbons were bought, and more recruits were got next forenoon.
Why, Tonal really seemed the "pied piper," whom the rats all followed.
Anyhow, it was recruits, not rats, that were wanted, and by the end
of the third day they had scored nineteen good men and true.
There was great fun at the fair, and no end of fighting.
His recruits begged my grandfather, late on the last day, just to let
them have a little scrimmage, and he hadn't the heart to refuse.
And, with their shillalahs, those nineteen recruits quickly cleared
the market-place. There were many constables there, and they alleged
that, "on their honour, they couldn't have done it more nately
themselves."
On the evening of the fourth day, my grandfather marched proudly down
to the harbour at the head of his men, Tonal on the other side,
playing a right lively pibroch.
Here there was much sad leave-taking, sisters, sweethearts, and aged
mothers crying and wringing their hands, as if broken-hearted,
because their boys were going off to the wars.
But they were all safely shipped at last, and then the schooner set
sail.
My grandfather felt strangely sad, for he saw no signs of Eleanor
there. She could not have come, then; but his sadness disappeared
like dark clouds at daybreak when the skipper went down below, and
presently returned leading Ellen by the hand.
"Is this the young lady?" said that sly and wicked old skipper. "She
was baptized Eleanor as certain as sunrise, but she's called
Eleanora, Leonora, Ellen, or Nora, according to taste, and answers to
any or all of them together. I'll leave the two of you together till
dinner time. Sure, sodgers never need prompting to talk."
* * * * *
I'm sorry, for my reader's sake, that no wild storm arose during the
voyage of the St. Patrick back to Dublin, or that the ship didn't
founder, leaving them all to escape in the boats, or float for days
on a stormy sea, or that they weren't attacked by a French
brig--sorry, in a word, that nothing happened to give my grand-dad
and Tonal a chance of showing off their gallantry and bravery.
But nothing did. That is the worst of writing a true story. Had
this been fiction, I should easily have known how to dispose of the
Sergeant and Nora, if I had had to sink the ship and drown everybody
else.
Well, nothing did happen _just then_, but I'll tell you what did
happen a few months after this, if you'll wait a few minutes.
We are in the officers' mess again, then, and listening to the
conversation of an animated little group who are sitting by
themselves near a window, through which are peeping the red rays of
the setting sun.
"You may say what you like, Drake, but I don't think it's altogether
a fair action on the part of the British Government."
"I can't say it is, either," said big McLeod, "but it serves Boney
(Bonaparte) right, though I pity the poor Danes that were killed.
The women and the bairns. Yet how! Seems to me that Boney is the
devil incarnate, and that he is not only unscrupulous and sinful
himself, but manages to stir up evil in every nation he enters or
places his black foot upon."
"Well, perhaps you're right, Doctor."
"O, I'm sure I am."
"Just like a medico. Anyhow, I'd believe any evil you like to tell
me about Boney. Why he has been let loose on earth, goodness only
knows."
"When taken to be well shaken."
"Yes, till the life is out of him. But here is, or was, Doctor, the
state of the case. Russia has proved about as much a rogue as
France. For we find the Bear and the Eagle hugging each other for
their mutual benefit.
"Says the Eagle: 'If you'll be on my side, we'll play fair. You
shall have the rich and splendid provinces of Finland and the Danube.'
"'Yes, yes,' says the Bear, 'and what am I to do for all these fine
things?'
"'O, hardly anything, only in case of Britain refusing the terms of
peace that I offer, you, Mr. Bruin, and I, Mr. Eagle, will bring
matters to a head. It will be fine fun. Denmark and Portugal are
neutral, but we'll force them to join us against England. See?'
"'Yes,' grunted the Bear; 'but suppose the Sultan cuts up rusty and
says----'
"'O, bother! what does the Sultan signify? I can take him by the
nose and force him to give up every bit of European territory he
holds, bar Roumelia and Constantinople, and this we would divide
between us.'
"Says the Bear: 'Couldn't I have Constantinople? It would----'
"'No, no, no; that is, not at present. But won't we laugh to see the
fall of prideful, boasting, blessed Britain?'
"'Ha, ha, ha!' roared Bruin.
"'And I can then have a castle in Spain,' says the Eagle.
"'And I, you said (didn't you?), would have the city of Constanti----'
"'No. You're joking, Bruin.'
"Well, this was the secret arrangement between the two nations that
were pretending to wish for peace with us. Were we going to permit
them to walk away with that splendid fleet of Denmark's, that should
help them to come thundering to our gates? Perish the thought! We
should have it, and not they."
"And yet," said O'Reilly, "you say England isn't a grasping nation.
Faith, it's myself that differs from you entirely. I say that
England would rather smash an egg than let any other old hen sit on
it."
"Anyhow, the thing's done," said Drake. "We sent a fine fleet and a
fine army out, and it got there in the middle of August.
"'Hand over these ships,' said the British Lion, 'else the Eagle will
float them.'
"'We won't,' was the reply.
"'They'll only be in pawn till peace is proclaimed, you know, and we
can protect you from the wrath of France----'"
"Yes, indeed," sneered O'Reilly, "and what did brave Denmark reply?
She told them (didn't she?) that she wasn't sure the wrath of the
Eagle wasn't less to be dreaded than the friendship of England.
'Why,' says the Dane, 'there is more honour to be expected from the
pirates of Barbary than from you British.'"
"And a very insolent remark it was," said Drake, "and I don't wonder
that the Lion growled."
"'If you don't shut up, and hand over your ships,' cried the Lion,
'I'll blow you sky-high off the face of the earth.'
"'Then I shan't,' cried Denmark.
"So, men, the bombardment of Copenhagen commenced."
"Ay," said Dr. McLeod, "and a terrible one it must have been. A _feu
d'infer_ that lasted three days and nights. Eighteen hundred houses
levelled to the ground. The city on fire, here, there, and
everywhere; even the women and children perishing in the flames, and
not knowing where to turn or run to. Awful!"
"But," said Drake, "not only was the fleet then handed over to us,
but all the stores in the arsenal as well."
"To be kept in pawn? Eh?"
"No, no, not now. What we've got we mean to hold."
O'Reilly jumped up, and walked away laughing, but ha turned in the
doorway, and said--
"English fair-play? Eh? O, sure, it's a beautiful thing entirely.
English fair----ha, ha, ha!"
And off went O'Reilly.
"I beg your pardon, Sergeant Robertson," he said, as he nearly
tumbled over my grandfather in the passage.
"It was to see Major Drake I came," said my grand-dad.
"Knock and go right in, my boy; you'll find him by the window,
talking--nonsense."
My grandfather told me he felt very shy. But he broke the ice at
last.
He wanted to get married, and wanted the commanding officer's leave;
and would Major Drake----
Of course he would.
"Of course he will," added McLeod also. "We'll be proud to have your
wife join the Royals."
* * * * *
So grandfather got married.
Or, in more poetical language, grandfather made this sweet young
girl--my grandmother--his bride, which was very good of him.
The marriage was a very quiet one--Presbyterian, of course, my
gallant grand-dad being a Scot as well as a Royal Scot.
Honeymoons were not in those days considered an indispensable
appendix to a wedding. Nevertheless, my grand-dad got a fortnight's
furlough, to say nothing of a lot of old shoes and handfuls of rice
as he drove off in a carriage and pair, _en route_ for the Lakes of
Killarney.
By the way, I am not much of an antiquarian, else I would pause here
to wonder what is the reason annexed to throwing old shoes--not
hob-nailed ones--after a happy pair, plus handfuls of rice.
I suppose--but I don't know--that the old shoes mean: "May you never
go barefooted."
And the rice: "May you never go hungry!"
I think that fortnight's furlough must have been spent most
blissfully, because one of the few snatches of song that ever I heard
the old man sing, was this:
"Did e'er you hear tell of Kate Kearney?
She lives by the banks of Killarney.
From the glance of her eye
Shun danger, and fly,
For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney."