"No, no, brother," he said, "I am unhurt and you cannot help
yourself," and thereupon he left me.
I was greatly refreshed, and on looking about me saw poor Lieutenant
Butler, whom I had not before observed, lying near me on all fours.
He was sadly wounded, and begged me in the name of God to let him
have a drink. I drew myself a little nearer him, for he could not
move, and handed him the calabash. He seized it eagerly and would
have certainly finished it, had not I, observing from the horrid
nature of his wound it was only a question of minutes till the end,
pulled it from him, saying, "It is easy to see, my poor fellow, that
your bread is baked. I cannot let you waste this when I may perish
for the want of it." It is not that war makes men unfeeling, as many
have urged, but in it they attain a judgment in the value of life not
so readily acquired elsewhere.
It was now getting towards evening, and I must have fainted or slept
somewhat, for the next I remember was feeling what I took to be rain
falling, and, on opening my eyes, there was the big face of Father
O'Rourke over me. He was crying like a child, and the first words I
made out were: "Oh, Giovannini, darling! My poor boy! You're not
dead--you're not dead, after all!"
"Who's beaten, Father?" I asked, as soon as I could speak.
"Faith, we're all beaten! First we were smashed into tatters, the
King all but taken, and would have been had it not been for Sir
Balthasar Nihel. We were beaten at every point of the compass, only
we didn't know it! But now we've the town again, and sent General
Browne off with a flea in his ear, and all the Croats and Hungarians,
Pandours and Talpathians, hot foot after him. But oh, the poor souls
that have gone to glory this night! Faith, promotion will be the
order of the day now." And all this and much more he gave out, half
crying, half laughing.
And there the good man sate, talking his nonsense to keep me up,
holding me in his arms covered with his cassock, which he had
stripped off when first he found me, in no little danger from the
rascally camp-followers and the miserable peasants, who were prowling
about ready to put a knife into any one who offered the least
resistance. Indeed, the peasants killed, resistance or not; for each
soldier dead, no matter what side, they looked on as one enemy the
less.
[Illustration: "THERE THE GOOD MAN SATE, HOLDING ME IN HIS ARMS"]
I was too weak to think of such things, but he told me afterwards his
heart gave a Te Deum of rejoicing when he saw Lieutenant Miles
MacDonnell, of the Regiment Hibernia, looking over the bodies for any
chance of saving friends. He at once hailed him, and I was soon,
lying on the leaf of a door on my way to the hospital.
Some idea may be gathered of the importance of this engagement when I
say that there were near two hundred officers alone in the hospital,
which was one of the largest convents in the town. As Father
O'Rourke foretold, promotion was rapid and easy, and Captain Ranald
MacDonnell was named as Colonel, commanding the regiment in the place
of his brother, killed, as already related. He went through the
hospital twice a day and never failed to visit me, inquiring
particularly of my condition by order of his father, the General, and
also brought me news of my own promotion as Lieutenant, with many
kindly wishes for my speedy recovery--and I know no more grateful
cataplasm for a mending wound than promotion.
It was wonderful how we all improved in spite of the heat, our
crowded condition, and the scanty fare. My greatest suffering was
from dreaming; for weeks I could not get the awful experiences of
that day out of my poor head, and no sooner was I asleep than I was
at some part of it again, only to be awakened with a scream and a
start which often opened my wounds afresh and left me almost fainting
with pain. My experience was only that of others, many of whom
afterwards said they too dreaded the coming of sleep, which only
increased their torments.
Many a story we had of the day, and gradually we gathered something
like a fair idea of the whole. General Novati had carried out his
attack on the town successfully, but had been prevented from seizing
the person of the King through the obstinate defence of the Irish
troops; indeed, we came in for no small share of compliments. Even
General Browne, who cut our own detachment to pieces, said he was
sorry for our loss, though he admired our gallant behaviour. This
was the word brought by Mr. O'Reilly, who saved his life by a
stratagem; for being down like the rest of us in our last stand, and
fearing lest he should be trampled under foot by a squadron of horse
just preparing to charge, he called out to the Germans, "Would you
leave the Duke of Alba to perish?" and so was picked up and carried
out of danger. When brought before General Browne and his staff, he
confessed he was only Mr. O'Reilly, a Lieutenant in the Irish
Brigade, and had borrowed the Duke's name when he thought it would do
him most good. He was abandoned by the enemy in their retreat and
carried in, and afterwards made his apologies to His Highness for the
liberty he had taken, who graciously assured him he was glad it
served so good an end.
The day had ended by a loss to the enemy of near three thousand men,
and General Novati a prisoner, besides many other officers of high
rank; our own loss was near as heavy, but, then, we were victorious,
and the enemy foiled in every point he attempted.
Father O'Rourke was untiring in his care of us all. Indeed, for
weeks he hardly seemed to have any rest, but whether he was up all
night with some poor fellow whose time was short, or comforting
another in pain, or letter-writing, or listening to complaints, he
had always the same lively humour that brought many a laugh from the
long rows of beds within hearing.
In about six weeks I was on crutches, but sadly incommoded by want of
clothes, for I had not even a shirt I could call my own. "Faith,
don't be so mighty put out on account of a few rags and tatters," was
Father O'Rourke's comfort; "'tis a blessed state of innocence I found
you in! Not even Adam in the Garden of Eden could have had less on
him, or been less put out by it. You may thank Providence you are
here in this blessed sunshine, instead of skiting about barelegged in
your native land, where I'm told on good authority the men wear
petticoats even in winter." But I was superior to his gibes a day or
so later, for the General, hearing of my straits, most obligingly
sent me a suit of clothes and half a dozen of shirts. And to add to
his many kindnesses, in a letter he wrote to King James giving an
account of the late battle, he mentioned my condition to His Majesty,
setting forth my services in terms of such commendation that the King
was pleased to order a pretty good sum of money for my immediate
occasions.
Weary as I was of the hospital, I dreaded leaving it, as ordinary
courtesy, let alone my heavy obligations, necessitated an immediate
visit to the General, which I much dreaded, as I had not seen him
since the day before the battle, when his son rode at our head, as
gallant an officer as there was in the service. But when I stood
before that fine old soldier there was only welcome in his look, and
he said, jocosely:
"Are you still alive?"
"I hope your Excellency has sent no one to kill me," I answered,
falling in with his humour.
"No, by gad! I thought you had enough. But I know what has brought
you here to-day; you have come for a good meal after being starved in
the hospital. But be careful, I have seen many who have been carried
off by overeating in like case."
Dinner was served, and I sate down nearly opposite the General, who
eyed me anxiously from time to time; at last he got up, took my knife
and fork from me, and, ordering away what was before me, said, "You
young devil, you'll kill yourself!" and his roughness meant more to
me than soft words from any other man.
From this out I recovered rapidly, and soon was myself again and back
in my Company with full rank as Lieutenant. There was no fighting
now of any importance, and we wondered what the next move would be.
But our spies and the deserters brought us in no news of value, and
on the last day of September we lay down while our out-posts watched
those of the enemy, their fires burning as usual across the valley;
but in the morning we thought it strange we heard no drums and saw no
movement, and then it dawned upon us that their whole army had
withdrawn during the night, and now were in full retreat by way of
Rome.
All the available force started in pursuit, with the hope of bringing
them to an action at Torre Metia, about half-way between Albano and
Rome, but they outmarched us. Both armies had engaged with His
Holiness not to enter Rome, so the enemy passed under its walls,
where, our advanced guard coming up with their rear, there was warm
skirmishing until they crossed the Tiber at the Ponte Mole and
encamped on the far side until the next morning, when they continued
their retreat. Our army now divided, one division going forward
under the Count di Gages to harass the enemy, while the remainder
followed King Carlo back to Naples.