Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 1

What an illegant life a friar leads,
With a fat round paunch before him!
He mutters a prayer and counts his beads,
And all the women adore him.
It’s little he’s troubled to work or think,
Wherever devotion leads him;
A “pater” pays for his dinner and drink,
For the Church – good luck to her! – feeds him.

From the cow in the field to the pig in the sty,
From the maid to the lady in satin,
They tremble wherever he turns an eye.
He can talk to the Devil in Latin!
He’s mighty severe to the ugly and ould,
And curses like mad when he’s near ‘em;
But one beautiful trait of him I’ve been tould,
The innocent craytures don’t fear him.

It’s little for spirits or ghosts he cares;
For ‘tis true as the world supposes,
With an Ave he’d make them march down-stairs,
Av they dared to show their noses.
The Devil himself’s afraid, ‘tis said,
And dares not to deride him;
For “angels make each night his bed,
And then – lie down beside him.”

A perfect burst of laughter from Monsoon prevented my hearing how Mike’s minstrelsy succeeded within doors; but when I looked again, I found that the friar had decamped, leaving the field open to his rival, – a circumstance, I could plainly perceive, not disliked by either party.

“Come back, Charley, that villain of yours has given me the cramp, standing here on the cold pavement. We’ll have a little warm posset, – very small and thin, as they say in Tom Jones, – and then to bed.”

Notwithstanding the abstemious intentions of the major, it was daybreak ere we separated, and neither party in a condition for performing upon the tight-rope.

CHAPTER LV

THE LEGION

My services while with the Legion were of no very distinguished character, and require no lengthened chronicle. Their great feat of arms, the repulse of an advanced guard of Victor’s corps, had taken place the very morning I had joined them, and the ensuing month was passed in soft repose upon their laurels.

For the first few days, indeed, a multiplicity of cares beset the worthy major. There was a despatch to be written to Beresford, another to the Supreme Junta, a letter to Wilson, at that time with the corps of observation to the eastward. There were some wounded to be looked after, a speech to be made to the conquering heroes themselves, and lastly, a few prisoners were taken, whose fate seemed certainly to partake of the most uncertain of war’s proverbial chances.

The despatches gave little trouble; with some very slight alterations, the great original, already sent forward to Sir Arthur, served as a basis for the rest. The wounded were forwarded to Alcantara, with a medical staff; to whom Monsoon, at parting, pleasantly hinted that he expected to see all the sick at their duty by an early day, or he would be compelled to report the doctors. The speech, which was intended as a kind of general order, he deferred for some favorable afternoon when he could get up his Portuguese; and lastly, came the prisoners, by far the most difficult of all his cares. As for the few common soldiers taken, they gave him little uneasiness, – as Sir John has it, they were “mortal men, and food for powder;” but there was a staff-officer among them, aiguilletted and epauletted. The very decorations he wore were no common temptation. Now, the major deliberated a long time with himself, whether the usages of modern war might not admit of the ancient, time-honored practice of ransom. The battle, save in glory, had been singularly unproductive: plunder there was none; the few ammunition-wagons and gun-carriages were worth little or nothing; so that, save the prisoners, nothing remained. It was late in the evening – the mellow hour of the major’s meditations – when he ventured to open his heart to me upon the matter.

“I was just thinking, Charley, how very superior they were in olden times to us moderns, in many matters, and nothing more than in their treatment of prisoners. They never took them away from their friends and country; they always ransomed them, – if they had wherewithal to pay their way. So good-natured! – upon my life it was a most excellent custom! They took any little valuables they found about them, and then put them up at auction. Moses and Eleazar, a priest, we are told, took every piece of gold, and their wrought jewels, – meaning their watches, and ear-rings. You needn’t laugh, they all wore ear-rings, those fellows did. Now, why shouldn’t I profit by their good example? I have taken Agag, the King of the Amalekites, – no, but upon my life, I have got a French major, and I’d let him go for fifty doubloons.”

It was not without much laughing, and some eloquence, that I could persuade Monsoon that Sir Arthur’s military notions might not accept of even the authority of Moses; and as our headquarters were at no great distance, the danger of such a step as he meditated was too considerable at such a moment.

As for ourselves, no fatiguing drills, no harassing field-days, and no provoking inspections interfered with the easy current of our lives. Foraging parties there were, it was true, and some occasional outpost duty was performed. But the officers for both were selected with a tact that proved the major’s appreciation of character; for while the gay, joyous fellow that sung a jovial song and loved his liquor was certain of being entertained at headquarters, the less-gifted and less-congenial spirit had the happiness of scouring the country for forage, and presenting himself as a target to a French rifle.

My own endeavors to fulfil my instructions met with but little encouragement or support; and although I labored hard at my task, I must confess that the soil was a most ungrateful one. The cavalry were, it is true, composed mostly of young fellows well-appointed, and in most cases well-mounted; but a more disorderly, careless, undisciplined set of good-humored fellows never formed a corps in the world.

Monsoon’s opinions were felt in every branch of the service, from the adjutant to the drumboy, – the same reckless, indolent, plunder-loving spirit prevailed everywhere. And although under fire they showed no lack of gallantry or courage, the moment of danger passed, discipline departed with it, and their only conception of benefiting by a victory consisted in the amount of pillage that resulted from it.

From time to time the rumors of great events reached us. We heard that Soult, having succeeded in re-organizing his beaten army, was, in conjunction with Ney’s corps, returning from the north; that the marshals were consolidating their forces in the neighborhood of Talavera; and that King Joseph himself, at the head of a large army, had marched for Madrid.

Menacing as such an aspect of affairs was, it had little disturbed the major’s equanimity; and when our advanced posts reported daily the intelligence that the French were in retreat, he cared little with what object of concentrating they retired, provided the interval between us grew gradually wider. His speculations upon the future were singularly prophetic. “You’ll see, Charley, what will happen; old Cuesta will pursue them, and get thrashed. The English will come up, and perhaps get thrashed too; but we, God bless us! are only a small force, partially organized and ill to depend on, – we’ll go up the mountains till all is over!” Thus did the major’s discretion not only extend to the avoidance of danger, but he actually disqualified himself from even making its acquaintance.

Meanwhile our operations consisted in making easy marches to Almarez, halting wherever the commissariat reported a well-stocked cellar or well-furnished hen-roost, taking the primrose path in life, and being, in words of the major, “contented and grateful, even amidst great perils!”

CHAPTER LVI

THE DEPARTURE

On the morning of the 10th July a despatch reached us announcing that Sir Arthur Wellesley had taken up his headquarters at Placentia for the purpose of communicating with Cuesta, then at Casa del Puerto; and ordering me immediately to repair to the Spanish headquarters and await Sir Arthur’s arrival, to make my report upon the effective state of our corps. As for me, I was heartily tired of the inaction of my present life, and much as I relished the eccentricities of my friend the major, longed ardently for a different sphere of action.

Not so Monsoon; the prospect of active employment and the thoughts of being left once more alone, for his Portuguese staff afforded him little society, depressed him greatly; and as the hour of my departure drew near, he appeared lower in spirits than I had ever seen him.

“I shall be very lonely without you, Charley,” said he, with a sigh, as we sat the last evening together beside our cheerful wood fire. “I have little intercourse with the dons; for my Portuguese is none of the best, and only comes when the evening is far advanced; and besides, the villains, I fear, may remember the sherry affair. Two of my present staff were with me then.”

“Is that the story Power so often alluded to, Major; the King of Spain’s – ”

“There, Charley, hush; be cautious, my boy. I’d rather not speak about that till we get among our own fellows.”

“Just as you like, Major; but, do you know, I have a strong curiosity to hear the narrative.”

“If I’m not mistaken, there is some one listening at the door, – gently; that’s it, eh?”

“No, we are perfectly alone; the night’s early; who knows when we shall have as quiet an hour again together? Let me hear it, by all means.”

“Well, I don’t care; the thing, Heaven knows! is tolerably well known; so if you’ll amuse yourself making a devil of the turkey’s legs there, I’ll tell you the story. It’s very short, Charley, and there’s no moral; so you’re not likely to repeat it.”

So saying, the major filled up his glass, drew a little closer to the fire, and began: —

“When the French troops, under Laborde, were marching, upon Alcobaca, in concert with Loison’s corps, I was ordered to convey a very valuable present of sherry the Duo d’Albu-querque was making to the Supreme Junta, – no less than ten hogsheads of the best sherry the royal cellars of Madrid had formerly contained.

“It was stored in the San Vincente convent; and the Junta, knowing a little about monkish tastes and the wants of the Church, prudently thought it would be quite as well at Lisbon. I was accordingly ordered, with a sufficient force, to provide for its safe conduct and secure arrival, and set out upon my march one lovely morning in April with my precious convoy.

“I don’t know, I never could understand, why temptations are thrown in our way in this life, except for the pleasure of yielding to them. As for me, I’m a stoic when there’s nothing to be had; but let me get a scent of a well-kept haunch, the odor of a wine-bin once in my nose, I forget everything except appropriation. That bone smells deliciously, Charley; a little garlic would improve it vastly.

“Our road lay through cross-paths and mountain tracts, for the French were scouring the country on every side, and my fellows, only twenty altogether, trembled at the very name of them; so that our only chance was to avoid falling in with any forage parties. We journeyed along for several days, rarely making more than a few leagues between sunrise and sunset, a scout always in advance to assure us that all was safe. The road was a lonesome one and the way weary, for I had no one to speak to or converse with, so I fell into a kind of musing fit about the old wine in the great brown casks. I thought on its luscious flavor, its rich straw tint, its oily look as it flowed into the glass, the mellow after-taste warming the heart as it went down, and I absolutely thought I could smell it through the wood.

“How I longed to broach one of them, if it were only to see if my dreams about it were correct. ‘May be it’s brown sherry,’ thought I, ‘and I am all wrong.’ This was a very distressing reflection. I mentioned it to the Portuguese intendant, who travelled with us as a kind of supercargo; but the villain only grinned and said something about the Junta and the galleys for life, so I did not recur to it afterwards. Well, it was upon the third evening of our march that the scout reported that at Merida, about a league distant, he had fallen in with an English cavalry regiment, who were on their march to the northern provinces, and remaining that night in the village. As soon, therefore, as I had made all my arrangements for the night, I took a fresh horse and cantered over to have a look at my countrymen, and hear the news. When I arrived, it was a dark night, but I was not long in finding out our fellows. They were the 11th Light Dragoons, commanded by my old friend Bowes, and with as jolly a mess as any in the service.

“Before half an hour’s time I was in the midst of them, hearing all about the campaign, and telling them in return about my convoy, dilating upon the qualities of the wine as if I had been drinking it every day at dinner.

“We had a very mellow night of it; and before four o’clock the senior major and four captains were under the table, and all the subs, in a state unprovided for by the articles of war. So I thought I’d be going, and wishing the sober ones a good-by, set out on my road to join my own party.

“I had not gone above a hundred yards when I heard some one running after, and calling out my name.

“‘I say, Monsoon; Major, confound you, pull up.’