229
‘Is there no one else on board can speak thisbarargouinage?’ cried Humbert, in anger.
‘Yes, general, I can interrogate him,’ cried a young lad named Conolly, who had only joined us on the day before we sailed.
And now as the youth addressed the fisherman in a few rapid sentences, the other answered as quickly, making a gesture with his hands that implied grief, or even despair.
‘We can interpret that for ourselves,’ broke in Humbert; ‘he is telling you that the game is up.’
‘Exactly so, general; he says that the insurrection has been completely put down, that the Irish forces are scattered or disbanded, and all the leaders taken.’
‘The fellow is just as likely to be an English spy,’ said Madgett, in a whisper; but Humbert’s gesture of impatience showed how little trust he reposed in the allegation.
‘Ask him what English troops are quartered in this part of the country,’ said the general.
‘A few militia, and two squadrons of dragoons,’ was the prompt reply.
‘No artillery?’
‘None.’
‘Is there any rumour of our coming abroad, or have the frigates been seen?’ asked Humbert.
‘They were seen last night from the church steeple of Killala, general,’ said Conolly, translating, ‘but believed to be English.’
‘Come; that is the best news he has brought us yet,’ said Humbert, laughing; ‘we shall at least surprise them a little. Ask him what men of rank or consequence live in the neighbourhood, and how are they affected towards the expedition?’
A few words, and a low dry laugh, made all the peasant’s reply.
‘Eh, what says he?’ asked Humbert.
‘He says, sir, that, except a Protestant bishop, there’s nothing of the rank of gentry here.’
‘I suppose we need scarcely expect his blessing on our efforts,’ said Humbert, with a hearty laugh. ‘What is he saying now?—what is he looking at?’
‘He says that we are now in the very best anchorage of the bay,’ said Conolly, ‘and that on the whole coast there’s not a safer spot.’
A brief consultation now took place between the general and naval officers, and in a few seconds the word was given to take in all sail and anchor.
‘I wish I could speak to that honest fellow myself,’ said Humbert, as he stood watching the fisherman, who, with a peasant curiosity, had now approached the mast, and was passing his fingers across the blades of the cutlasses as they stood in the sword-rack.
‘Sharp enough for the English, eh?’ cried Humbert, in French, but with a gesture that seemed at once intelligible. A dry nod of the head gave assent to the remark.
‘If I understand him aright,’ said Humbert, in a half-whisper to Conolly, ‘we are as little expected by our friends as by our enemies; and that there is little or no force in arms among the Irish.’
‘There are plenty ready to fight, he says, sir, but none accustomed to discipline.’
A gesture, half contemptuous, was all Humbert’s reply, and he now turned away and walked the deck alone and in silence. Meanwhile the bustle and movements of the crew continued, and soon the great ships, their sails all coiled, lay tranquilly at anchor in a sea without a ripple.
‘A boat is coming out from the shore, general,’ whispered the lieutenant on duty.
‘Ask the fisherman if he knows it.’
Conolly drew the peasant’s attention to the object, and the man, after looking steadily for a few seconds, became terribly agitated.
‘What is it, man—can’t you tell who it is?’ asked Conolly.
But although so composed before, so ready with all his replies, he seemed now totally unmanned—his frank and easy features being struck with the signs of palpable terror. At last, and with an effort that bespoke all his fears, he muttered—’ ‘Tis the king’s boat is coming, and ‘tis the collector’s on board of her!’
‘Is that all?’ cried Conolly, laughing, as he translated the reply to the general.
‘Won’t you say that I’m a prisoner, sir; won’t you tell them that you “took” me?’ said the fisherman, in an accent of fervent entreaty, for already his mind anticipated the casualty of a failure, and what might betide him afterwards; but no one now had any care for him or his fortunes—all was in preparation to conceal the national character of the ships. The marines were ordered below, and all others whose uniforms might betray their country, while the English colours floated from every mast-head.
General Humbert, with Serasin and two others, remained on the poop-deck, where they continued to walk, apparently devoid of any peculiar interest or anxiety in the scene. Madgett alone betrayed agitation at this moment, his pale face was paler than ever, and there seemed to me a kind of studious care in the way he covered himself up with his cloak, so that not a vestige of his uniform could be seen.
The boat now came close under our lee, and Conolly being ordered to challenge her in English, the collector, standing up in the stern, touched his hat, and announced his rank. The gangway-ladder was immediately lowered, and three gentlemen ascended the ship’s side and walked aft to the poop. I was standing near the bulwark at the time, watching the scene with intense interest. As General Humbert stood a little in advance of the rest, the collector, probably taking him for the captain, addressed him with some courteous expressions of welcome, and was proceeding to speak of the weather, when the general gently stopped him by asking if he spoke French.
I shall never forget the terror of face that question evoked. At first, looking at his two companions, the collector turned his eyes to the gaff, where the English flag was flying; but still unable to utter a word, he stood like one entranced.
‘You have been asked if you can speak French, sir?’ said Conolly, at a sign from the general.
‘No—very little—very badly—not at all; but isn’t this—am I not on board of——’
‘Can none of them speak French?’ said Humbert shortly.
‘Yes, sir,’ said a young man on the collector’s right; ‘I can make myself intelligible in that language, although no great proficient.’
‘Who are you, monsieur?—are you a civilian?’ asked Humbert.
‘Yes, sir. I am the son of the Bishop of Killala, and this young gentleman is my brother.’
‘What is the amount of the force in this neighbourhood?’
‘You will pardon me, sir,’ said the youth, ‘if I ask, first, who it is puts this question, and under what circumstances I am expected to answer it.’
‘All frank and open, sir,’ said Humbert, good-humouredly. ‘I ‘m the General Humbert, commanding the army for the liberation of Ireland—so much for your first question. As to your second one, I believe that if you have any concern for yourself, or those belonging to you, you will find that nothing will serve your interest so much as truth and plain dealing.’
‘Fortunately, then, for me,’ said the youth, laughing, ‘I cannot betray my king’s cause, for I know nothing, nothing whatever, about the movement of troops. I seldom go ten miles from home, and have not been even at Ballina since last winter.’
‘Why so cautious about your information, then, sir,’ broke in Serasin roughly, ‘since you have none to give?’
‘Because I had some to receive, sir, and was curious to know where I was standing,’ said the young man boldly.
While these few sentences were being interchanged, Madgett had learned from the collector that, except a few companies of militia and fencibles, the country was totally unprovided with troops; but he also learned that the people were so crest-fallen and subdued in courage from the late failure of the rebellion, that it was very doubtful whether our coming would arouse them to another effort. This information, particularly the latter part of it, Madgett imparted to Humbert at once, and I thought, by his manner, and the eagerness with which he spoke, that he seemed to use all his powers to dissuade the general from a landing; at least I overheard him more than once say—‘Had we been farther north, sir——-’
Humbert quickly stopped him by the words—
‘And what prevents us, when we have landed, sir, in extending our line north’ard?—the winds cannot surely master us, when we have our feet on the sward. Enough of all this; let these gentlemen be placed in security, and none have access to them without my orders. Make signal for the commanding-officers to come on board here. We’ve had too much of speculation—a little action now will be more profitable.’
‘So, we are prisoners, it seems!’ said the young man who spoke French, as he moved away with the others, who, far more depressed in spirit, hung their heads in silence, as they descended between decks.
Scarcely was the signal for a council of war seen from the mast-head, when the different boats might be descried stretching across the bay with speed. And now all were assembled in General Humbert’s cabin whose rank and station in the service entitled them to the honour of being consulted.
To such of us as held inferior ‘grade,’ the time passed tediously enough as we paced the deck, now turning from the aspect of the silent and seemingly uninhabited cliffs along shore to listen if no sign betokened the breaking up of the council; nor were we without serious fears that the expedition would be abandoned altogether. This suspicion originated with some of the Irish themselves, who, however confident of success, and boastful of their country’s resources before we sailed, now made no scruple of averring that everything was the exact reverse of what they had stated, for that the people were dispirited, the national forces disbanded, neither arms, money, nor organisation anywhere—in fact, that a more hopeless scheme could not be thought of than the attempt, and that its result could not fail to be defeat and ruin to all concerned.
Shall I own that the bleak and lonely aspect of the hills along shore, the dreary character of the landscape, the almost deathlike stillness of the scene, aided these gloomy impressions, and made it seem as if we were about to try our fortune on some desolate spot, without one look of encouragement, or one word of welcome to greet us? The sight of even an enemy’s force would have been a relief to this solitude—the stir and movement of a rival army would have given spirit to our daring, and nerved our courage, but there was something inexpressibly sad in this unbroken monotony.
A few tried to jest upon the idea of liberating a land that had no inhabitants—the emancipation of a country without people; but even French flippancy failed to be witty on a theme so linked with all our hopes and fears, and at last a dreary silence fell upon all, and we walked the deck without speaking, waiting and watching for the result of that deliberation which already had lasted above four mortal hours.
Twice was the young man who spoke French summoned to the cabin, but, from the briefness of his stay, apparently with little profit; and now the day began to wane, and the tall cliffs threw their lengthened shadows over the still waters of the bay, and yet nothing was resolved on. To the quiet and respectful silence of expectation, now succeeded a low and half-subdued muttering of discontent; groups of five or six together were seen along the deck, talking with eagerness and animation, and it was easy to see that whatever prudential or cautious reasons dictated to the leaders, their arguments found little sympathy with the soldiers of the expedition. I almost began to fear that if a determination to abandon the exploit were come to, a mutiny might break out, when my attention was drawn off by an order to accompany Colonel Gharost on shore to reconnoitre. This at least looked like business, and I jumped into the small boat with alacrity.
With the speed of four oars stoutly plied, we skimmed along the calm surface, and soon saw ourselves close in to the shore. Some little time was spent in looking for a good place to land, for although not the slightest air of wind was blowing, the long swell of the Atlantic broke upon the rocks with a noise like thunder. At last we shot into a little creek with a shelving gravelly beach, and completely concealed by the tall rocks on every side; and now we sprang out, and stood upon Irish ground!
From the little creek where we landed, a small zigzag path led up the sides of the cliff, the track by which the peasants carried the sea-weed which they gathered for manure, and up this we now slowly wended our way.
Stopping for some time to gaze at the ample bay beneath us, the tall-masted frigates floating so majestically on its glassy surface—it was a scene of tranquil and picturesque beauty with which it would have been almost impossible to associate the idea of war and invasion. In the lazy bunting that hung listlessly from peak and mast-head—in the cheerful voices of the sailors, heard afar off in the stillness—in the measured plash of the sea itself, and the fearless daring of the sea-gulls, as they soared slowly above our heads—there seemed something so suggestive of peace and tranquillity, that it struck us as profanation to disturb it.
As we gained the top and looked around us, our astonishment became even greater. A long succession of low hills, covered with tall ferns or heath, stretched away on every side; not a house, nor a hovel, nor a living thing to be seen. Had the country been one uninhabited since the Creation, it could not have presented an aspect of more thorough desolation! No road-track, nor even a footpath, led through the dreary waste before us, on which, to all seeming, the foot of man had never fallen. And as we stood for some moments, uncertain which way to turn, a sense of the ridiculous suddenly burst upon the party, and we all broke into a hearty roar of laughter.
‘I little thought,’ cried Charost, ‘that I should ever emulate “La Perouse,” but it strikes me that I am destined to become a great discoverer.’
‘How so, colonel?’ asked his aide-de-camp.
‘Why, it is quite clear that this same island is uninhabited; and if it be all like this, I own I’m scarcely surprised at it.’
‘Still, there must be a town not far off, and the residence of that bishop we heard of this morning.’
A half-incredulous shrug of the shoulders was all his reply, as he sauntered along with his hands behind his back, apparently lost in thought; while we, as if instinctively partaking of his gloom, followed him in total silence.
‘Do you know, gentlemen, what I’m thinking?’ said he, stopping suddenly and facing about. ‘My notion is, that the best thing to do here would be to plant our tricolour, proclaim the land a colony of France, and take to our boats again.’
This speech, delivered with an air of great gravity, imposed upon us for an instant; but the moment after, the speaker breaking into a hearty laugh, we all joined him, as much amused by the strangeness of our situation, as by anything in his remark.
‘We never could bring our guns through a soil like this, colonel,’ said the aide-de-camp, as he struck his heel into the soft and clayey surface.
‘If we could ever land them at all!’ muttered he, half aloud; then added, ‘But for what object should we? Believe me, gentlemen, if we are to have a campaign here, bows and arrows are the true weapons.’
‘Ah! what do I see yonder?’ cried the aide-de-camp; ‘are not those sheep feeding in that little glen?’
‘Yes,’ cried I, ‘and a man herding them, too. See, the fellow has caught sight of us, and he’s off as fast as his legs can carry him.’ And so was it: the man had no sooner seen us than he sprang to his feet and hurried down the mountain at full speed.
Our first impulse was to follow and give him chase, and even without a word we all started off in pursuit; but we soon saw how fruitless would be the attempt, for, even independent of the start he had got of us, the peasant’s speed was more than the double of our own.
‘No matter,’ said the colonel, ‘if we have lost the shepherd we have at least gained the sheep, and so I recommend you to secure mutton for dinner to-morrow.’
With this piece of advice, down the hill he darted as hard as he could; Briolle, the aide-de-camp, and myself following at our best pace. We were reckoning without our host, however, for the animals, after one stupid stare at us, set off in a scamper that soon showed their mountain breeding, keeping all together like a pack of hounds, and really not very inferior in the speed they displayed.
A little gorge led between the hills, and through this they rushed madly, and with a clatter like a charge of cavalry. Excited by the chase, and emulous each to outrun the other, the colonel threw off his shako, and Briolle his sword, in the ardour of pursuit. We now gained on them rapidly, and though, from a winding in the glen, they had momentarily got out of sight, we knew that we were close upon them. I was about thirty paces in advance of my comrades, when, on turning an angle of the gorge, I found myself directly in front of a group of mud hovels, near which were standing about a dozen ragged, miserable-looking men, armed with pitchforks and scythes, while in the rear stood the sheep, blowing and panting from the chase.
I came to a dead stop; and although I would have given worlds to have had my comrades at my side, I never once looked back to see if they were coming; but, putting a bold face on the matter, called out the only few words I knew of Irish, ‘Go de-mat ha tu.’
The peasants looked at each other; and whether it was my accent, my impudence, or my strange dress and appearance, or altogether, I cannot say, but after a few seconds’ pause they burst out into a roar of laughter, in the midst of which my two comrades came up.
‘We saw the sheep feeding on the hills yonder,’ said I, recovering self-possession, ‘and guessed that by giving them chase they’d lead us to some inhabited spot. What is this place called?’
‘Shindrennin,’ said a man who seemed to be the chief of the party; ‘and, if I might make so bould, who are you, yourselves?’
‘French officers; this is my colonel,’ said I, pointing to Charost, who was wiping his forehead and face after his late exertion.
The information, far from producing the electric effect of pleasure I had anticipated, was received with a coldness almost amounting to fear, and they spoke eagerly together for some minutes in Irish.
‘Our allies evidently don’t like the look of us,’ said Charost, laughing;’ and if the truth must be told, I own the disappointment is mutual.’
‘Tis too late you come, sir,’ said the peasant, addressing the colonel, while he removed his hat, and assumed an air of respectful deference. ‘‘Tis all over with poor Ireland this time.’
‘Tell him,’ said Charost, to whom I translated the speech, ‘that it’s never too late to assert a good cause; that we have got arms for twenty thousand, if they have but hands and hearts to use them. Tell him that a French army is now lying in that bay yonder, ready and able to accomplish the independence of Ireland.’
I delivered my speech as pompously as it was briefed to me; and although I was listened to in silence, and respectfully, it was plain my words carried little or no conviction with them. Not caring to waste more of our time in such discourse, I now inquired about the country—in what directions lay the highroads, and the relative situations of the towns of Killala, Gastlebar, and Ballina, the only places of comparative importance in the neighbourhood. I next asked about the landing-places, and learned that a small fishing-harbour existed, not more than half a mile from the spot where we had landed, from which a little country road lay to the village of Palmerstown. As to the means of transporting baggage, guns, and ammunition, there were few horses to be had, but with money we might get all we wanted; indeed, the peasants constantly referred to this means of success, even to asking ‘What the French would give a man that was to join them?’ If I did not translate the demand with fidelity to my colonel, it was really that a sense of shame prevented me. My whole heart was in the cause; and I could not endure the thought of its being degraded in this way. It was growing duskish, and the colonel proposed that the peasant should show us the way to the fishing-harbour he spoke of, while some other of the party might go round to our boat, and direct them to follow us thither. The arrangement was soon made, and we all sauntered down towards the shore, chatting over the state of the country, and the chances of a successful rising. From the specimen before me, I was not disposed to be over sanguine about the peasantry. The man was evidently disaffected towards England. He bore her neither good-will nor love, but his fears were greater than all else. He had never heard of anything but failure in all attempts against her, and he could not believe in any other result. Even the aid and alliance of France inspired no other feeling than distrust, for he said more than once, ‘Sure what can harm yez? Haven’t ye yer ships beyant, to take yez away, if things goes bad?’
I was heartily glad that Colonel Charost knew so little English, that the greater part of the peasant’s conversation was unintelligible to him, since, from the first, he had always spoken of the expedition in terms of disparagement; and certainly what we were now to hear was not of a nature to controvert the prediction.
In our ignorance as to the habits and modes of thought of the people, we were much surprised at the greater interest the peasant betrayed when asking us about France and her prospects, than when the conversation concerned his own country. It appeared as though, in the one case, distance gave grandeur and dimensions to all his conceptions, while familiarity with home scenes and native politics had robbed them of all their illusions. He knew well that there were plenty of hardships, abundance of evils, to deplore in Ireland: rents were high, taxes and tithes oppressive, agents were severe, bailiffs were cruel Social wrongs he could discuss for hours, but of political woes, the only ones we could be expected to relieve or care for, he really knew nothing. ‘‘Tis true,’ he repeated, ‘that what my honour said was all right, Ireland was badly treated,’ and so on; ‘liberty was an elegant thing if a body had it,’ and such like; but there ended his patriotism.
Accustomed for many a day to the habits of a people where all were politicians, where the rights of man and the grand principles of equality and self-government were everlastingly under discussion, I was, I confess it, sorely disappointed at this worse than apathy.
‘Will they fight?—ask him that,’ said Gharost, to whom I had been conveying a rather rose-coloured version of my friend’s talk.
‘Oh, begorra! we ‘ll fight sure enough!’ said he, with a half-dogged scowl beneath his brows.
‘What number of them may we reckon on in the neighbourhood?’ repeated the colonel.
‘‘Tis mighty hard to say; many of the boys were gone over to England for the harvest; some were away to the counties inland, others were working on the roads; but if they knew, sure they ‘d be soon back again.’
‘Might they calculate on a thousand stout, effective men?’ asked Charost.
‘Ay, twenty, if they were at home,’ said the peasant, less a liar by intention than from the vague and careless disregard of truth so common in all their own intercourse with each other.
I must own that the degree of credit we reposed in the worthy man’s information was considerably influenced by the state of facts before us, inasmuch as that the ‘elegant, fine harbour’ he had so gloriously described—‘the beautiful road’—‘the neat little quay’ to land upon, and the other advantages of the spot, all turned out to be most grievous disappointments. That the people were not of our own mind on these matters, was plain enough from the looks of astonishment our discontent provoked; and now a lively discussion ensued on the relative merits of various bays, creeks, and inlets along the coast, each of which, with some unpronounceable name or other, was seen to have a special advocate in its favour, till at last the colonel lost all patience, and jumping into the boat, ordered the men to push off for the frigate.
Evidently out of temper at the non-success of his reconnaissance, and as little pleased with the country as the people, Gharost did not speak a word as we rowed back to the ship. Our failure, as it happened, was of little moment, for another party, under the guidance of Madgett, had already discovered a good landing-place at the bottom of the Bay of Rathfran, and arrangements were already in progress to disembark the troops at daybreak. We also found that, during our absence, some of the ‘chiefs’ had come off from shore, one of whom, named Neal Kerrigan, was destined to attain considerable celebrity in the rebel army. He was a talkative, vulgar, presumptuous fellow, who, without any knowledge or experience whatever, took upon him to discuss military measures and strategy with all the assurance of an old commander.
Singularly enough, Humbert suffered this man to influence him in a great degree, and yielded opinion to him on points even where his own judgment was directly opposed to the advice he gave.
If Kerrigan’s language and bearing were directly the reverse of soldierlike, his tawdry uniform of green and gold, with massive epaulettes and a profusion of lace, were no less absurd in our eyes, accustomed as we were to the almost puritan plainness of military costume. His rank, too, seemed as undefined as his information; for while he called himself ‘General,’ his companions as often addressed him by the title of ‘Captain.’ Upon some points his counsels, indeed, alarmed and astonished us.
‘It was of no use whatever,’ he said, ‘to attempt to discipline the peasantry, or reduce them to anything like habits of military obedience. Were the effort to be made, it would prove a total failure; for they would either grow disgusted with the restraint, and desert altogether, or so infect the other troops with their own habits of disorder, that the whole force would become a mere rabble. Arm them well, let them have plenty of ammunition, and free liberty to use it in their own way and their own time, and we should soon see that they would prove a greater terror to the English than double the number of trained and disciplined troops.’
In some respects this view was a correct one; but whether it was a wise counsel to have followed, subsequent events gave us ample cause to doubt.
Kerrigan, however, had a specious, reckless, go-a-head way with him that suited well the tone and temper of Humbert’s mind. He never looked too far into consequences, but trusted that the eventualities of the morrow would always suggest the best course for the day after; and this alone was so akin to our own general’s mode of proceeding, that he speedily won his confidence.
The last evening on board was spent merrily on all sides. In the general cabin, where the staff and all thechefs de brigadewere assembled, gay songs, and toasts, and speeches succeeded each other till nigh morning. The printed proclamations, meant for circulation among the people, were read out, with droll commentaries; and all imaginable quizzing and jesting went on about the new government to be established in Ireland, and the various offices to be bestowed upon each. Had the whole expedition been a joke, the tone of levity could not have been greater. Not a thought was bestowed, not a word wasted, upon any of the graver incidents that might ensue. All were, if not hopeful and sanguine, utterly reckless, and thoroughly indifferent to the future.
I will not weary my reader with an account of our debarkation, less remarkable as it was for the ‘pomp and circumstance of war’ than for incidents and accidents the most absurd and ridiculous—the miserable boats of the peasantry, the still more wretched cattle employed to drag our artillery and train-waggons, involving us in innumerable misfortunes and mischances. Never were the heroic illusions of war more thoroughly dissipated than by the scenes which accompanied our landing! Boats and baggage-waggons upset; here, a wild, half savage-looking fellow swimming after a cocked-hat—there, a group of ragged wretches scraping sea-weed from a dripping officer of the staff; noise, uproar, and confusion everywhere; smart aides-de-camp mounted on donkeys; trim field-pieces ‘horsed’ by a promiscuous assemblage of men, women, cows, ponies, and asses. Crowds of idle country-people thronged the little quay, and, obstructing the passages, gazed upon the whole with eyes of wonderment and surprise, but evidently enjoying all the drollery of the scene with higher relish than they felt interest in its object or success. This trait in them soon attracted all our notice, for they laughed at everything: not a caisson tumbled into the sea, not a donkey brought his rider to the ground, but one general shout shook the entire assemblage.
If want and privation had impressed themselves by every external sign on this singular people, they seemed to possess inexhaustible resources of good-humour and good spirits within. No impatience or rudeness on our part could irritate them; and even to the wildest and least civilised-looking fellow around, there was a kind of native courtesy and kindliness that could not fail to strike us.
A vague notion prevailed that we were their ‘friends’; and although many of them did not clearly comprehend why we had come, or what was the origin of the warm attachment between us, they were too lazy and too indifferent to trouble their heads about the matter. They were satisfied that there would be a ‘shindy’ somewhere, and somebody’s bones would get broken, and even that much was a pleasant and reassuring consideration; while others of keener mould revelled in plans of private vengeance against this landlord or that agent—small debts of hatred to be paid off in the day of general reckoning.
From the first moment nothing could exceed the tone of fraternal feeling between our soldiers and the people. Without any means of communicating their thoughts by speech, they seemed to acquire an instinctive knowledge of each other in an instant. If the peasant was poor, there was no limit to his liberality in the little he had. He dug up his half-ripe potatoes, he unroofed his cabin to furnish straw for litter, he gave up his only beast, and was ready to kill his cow, if asked, to welcome us. Much of this was from the native, warm, and impulsive generosity of their nature, and much, doubtless, had its origin in the bright hopes of future recompense inspired by the eloquent appeals of Neal Kerrigan, who, mounted on an old white mare, rode about on every side, addressing the people in Irish, and calling upon them to give all aid and assistance to ‘the expedition.’
The difficulty of the landing was much increased by the small space of level ground which intervened between the cliffs and the sea, and of which now the thickening crowd filled every spot. This and the miserable means of conveyance for our baggage delayed us greatly, so that, with a comparatively small force, it was late in the afternoon before we had all reached the shore.
We had none of us eaten since morning, and were not sorry, as we crowned the heights, to hear the drums beat for ‘cooking.’ In an inconceivably short, time fires blazed along the hills, around which, in motley groups, stood soldiers and peasantry mingled together, while the work of cooking and eating went briskly on, amid hearty laughter and all the merriment that mutual mistakes and misconceptions occasioned. It was a new thing for French soldiers to bivouac in a friendly country, and find themselves the welcome guests of a foreign people; and certainly, the honours of hospitality, however limited the means, could not have been performed with more of courtesy or good-will. Paddy gave his ‘all,’ with a generosity that might have shamed many a richer donor.
While the events I have mentioned were going forward, and a considerable crowd of fishermen and peasants had gathered about us, still it was remarkable that, except immediately on the coast itself, no suspicion of our arrival had gained currency, and even the country-people who lived a mile from the shore did not know who we were. The few who, from distant heights and headlands, had seen the ships, mistook them for English, and as all those who were out with fish or vegetables to sell were detained by the frigates, any direct information about us was impossible. So far, therefore, all might be said to have gone most favourably with us. We had safely escaped the often-menaced dangers of the Channel fleet; we had gained a secure and well-sheltered harbour; and we had landed our force not only without opposition, but in perfect secrecy. There were, I will not deny, certain little counterbalancing circumstances on the other side of the account not exactly so satisfactory. The patriot forces upon which we had calculated had no existence. There were neither money, nor stores, nor means of conveyance to be had; even accurate information as to the strength and position of the English was unattainable; and as to generals and leaders, the effective staff had but a most sorry representative in the person of Neal Kerrigan. This man’s influence over our general increased with every hour, and one of the first orders issued after our landing contained his appointment as an extra aide-de-camp on General Humbert’s staff.
In one capacity Neal was most useful. All the available sources of pillage for a wide circuit of country he knew by heart, and it was plain, from the accurate character of his information, varying, as it did, from the chattels of the rich landed proprietor to the cocks and hens of the cottier, that he had taken great pains to master his subject. At his suggestion it was decided that we should march that evening on Killala, where little or more likely no resistance would be met with, and General Humbert should take up his quarters in the ‘Castle,’ as the palace of the bishop was styled. There, he said, we should not only find ample accommodation for the staff, but good stabling, well filled, and plenty of forage, while the bishop himself might be a most useful hostage to have in our keeping. From thence, too, as a place of some note, general orders and proclamations would issue, with a kind of notoriety and importance necessary at the outset of an undertaking like ours; and truly never was an expedition more loaded with this species of missive than ours—whole cart-loads of printed papers, decrees, placards, and such like, followed us. If our object had been to drive out the English by big type and a flaming letterpress, we could not have gone more vigorously to work. Fifty thousand broadsheet announcements of Irish independence were backed by as many proud declarations of victory, some dated from Limerick, Cashel, or Dublin itself.
Here, a great placard gave the details of the new Provincial Government of Western Ireland, with the name of the ‘Prefect’ a blank. There was another, containing the police regulations for the ‘arrondissements’ of Connaught, ‘et ses dépendances.’ Every imaginable step of conquest and occupation was anticipated and provided for in these wise and considerate protocols, from the ‘enthusiastic welcome of the French on the western coast’ to the hour of ‘General Humbert’s triumphal entry into Dublin!’ Nor was it prose alone, but even poetry did service in our cause. Songs, not, I own, conspicuous for any great metrical beauty, commemorated our battles and our bravery; so that we entered upon the campaign as deeply pledged to victory as any force I ever heard or read of in history.
Neal, who was, I believe, originally a schoolmaster, had great confidence in this arsenal of ‘black and white,’ and soon persuaded General Humbert that a bold face and a loud tongue would do more in Ireland than in any country under heaven; and, indeed, if his own career might be called a success, the theory deserved some consideration. A great part of our afternoon was then spent in distributing these documents to the people, not one in a hundred of whom could read, but who treasured the placards with a reverence nothing diminished by their ignorance. Emissaries, too, were appointed to post them up in conspicuous places through the country, on the doors of the chapels, at the smiths’ forges, at cross-roads—everywhere, in short, where they might attract notice. The most important and business-like of all these, however, was one headed ‘Arms!’—‘Arms!’ and which went on to say that no man who wished to lift his hand for old Ireland need do so without a weapon, and that a general distribution of guns, swords, and bayonets would take place at noon the following day at the Palace of Killala.
Serasint and, I believe, Madgett, were strongly opposed to this indiscriminate arming of the people; but Neal’s counsels were now in the ascendant, and Humbert gave an implicit confidence to all he suggested.
It was four o’clock in the evening when the word to march was given, and our gallant little force began its advance movement. Still attached to Colonel Charost’s staff, and being, as chasseurs, in the advance, I had a good opportunity of seeing the line of march from an eminence about half a mile in front. Grander and more imposing displays I have indeed often witnessed. As a great military ‘spectacle’ it could not, of course, be compared with those mighty armies I had seen deploying through the defiles of the Black Forest, or spreading like a sea over the wide plain of Germany; but in purely picturesque effect, this scene surpassed all I had ever beheld at the time, nor do I think that, in after-life, I can recall one more striking.
The winding road, which led over hill and valley, now disappearing, now emerging, with the undulations of the soil, was covered by troops marching in a firm, compact order—the grenadiers in front, after which came the artillery, and then the regiments of the line. Watching the dark column, occasionally saluting it as it went with a cheer, stood thousands of country-people on every hill-top and eminence, while far away in the distance the frigates lay at anchor in the bay, the guns at intervals thundering out a solemn ‘boom’ of welcome and encouragement to their comrades.
There was something so heroic in the notion of that little band of warriors throwing themselves fearlessly into a strange land, to contest its claim for liberty with one of the most powerful nations of the world; there was a character of daring intrepidity in this bold advance, they knew not whither, nor against what force, that gave the whole an air of glorious chivalry.
I must own that distance lent its wonted illusion to the scene, and proximity, like its twin-brother familiarity, destroyed much of the prestige my fancy had conjured up. The line of march, so imposing when seen from afar, was neither regular nor well kept. The peasantry were permitted to mingle with the troops; ponies, mules, and asses, loaded with camp-kettles and cooking-vessels, were to be met with everywhere. The baggage-waggons were crowded with officers andsous-officierswho, disappointed in obtaining horses, were too indolent to walk. Even the gun-carriages, and the guns themselves, were similarly loaded, while, at the head of the infantry column, in an old rickety gig, the ancient mail conveyance between Ballina and the coast, came General Humbert, Neal Kerrigan capering at his side on the old grey, whose flanks were now tastefully covered by the tricolour ensign of one of the boats as a saddle-cloth.
This nearer and less enchanting prospect of my gallant comrades I was enabled to obtain on being despatched to the rear by Colonel Charost, to say that we were now within less than a mile of the town of Killala, its venerable steeple and the tall chimneys of the palace being easily seen above the low hills in front. Neal Kerrigan passed me as I rode back with my message, galloping to the front with all the speed he could muster; but while I was talking to the general he came back to say that the beating of drums could be heard from the town, and that by the rapid movements here and there of people, it was evident the defence was being prepared. There was a lookout, too, from the steeple, that showed our approach was already known. The general was not slow in adopting his measures, and the word was given for quick-march, the artillery to deploy right and left of the road, two companies of grenadiers forming on the flanks. ‘As for you, sir,’ said Humbert to me, ‘take that horse,’ pointing to a mountain pony, fastened behind the gig, ‘ride forward to the town, and make a reconnaissance. You are to report to me,’ cried he, as I rode away, and was soon out of hearing.
Quitting the road, I took a foot-track across the fields, and which the pony seemed to know well, and after a sharp canter reached a small, poor suburb of the town, if a few straggling wretched cabins can deserve the name. A group of countrymen stood in the middle of the road, about fifty yards in front of me; and while I was deliberating whether to advance or retire, a joyous cry of ‘Hurrah for the French!’ decided me, and I touched my cap in salute and rode forward.
Other groups saluted me with a similar cheer, as I went on; and now windows were flung open, and glad cries and shouts of welcome rang out from every side. These signs were too encouraging to turn my back upon, so I dashed forward through a narrow street in front, and soon found myself in a kind of square or ‘Place,’ the doors and windows of which were all closed, and not a human being to be seen anywhere. As I hesitated what next to do, I saw a soldier in a red coat rapidly turn the corner—‘What do you want here, you spy?’ he cried out in a loud voice, and at the same instant his bullet rang past my ear with a whistle. I drove in the spurs at once, and just as he had gained a doorway, I clove his head open with my sabre—he fell dead on the spot before me. Wheeling my horse round, I now rode back, as I had come, at full speed, the same welcome cries accompanying me as before.
Short as had been my absence, it was sufficient to have brought the advanced guard close up with the town; and just as I emerged from the little suburb, a quick, sharp firing drew my attention towards the left of the wall, and there I saw our fellows advancing at a trot, while about twenty red-coats were in full flight before them, the wild cries of the country-people following them as they went.
I had but time to see thus much, and to remark that two or three English prisoners were taken, when the general came up. He had now abandoned the gig, and was mounted on a large, powerful black horse, which I afterwards learned was one of the bishop’s. My tidings were soon told, and, indeed, but indifferently attended to, for it was evident enough that the place was our own.
‘This way, general—follow me,’ cried Kerrigan. ‘If the light companies will take the road down to the “Acres,” they’ll catch the yeomen as they retreat by that way, and we have the town our own.’
The counsel was speedily adopted; and although a dropping fire here and there showed that some slight resistance was still being made, it was plain enough that all real opposition was impossible.
‘Forward!’ was now the word; and the chasseurs, with their muskets ‘in sling,’ advanced at a trot up the main street. At a little distance the grenadiers followed, and, debouching into the square, were received by an ill-directed volley from a few of the militia, who took to their heels after they fired. Three or four red-coats were killed, but the remainder made their escape through the churchyard, and, gaining the open country, scattered and fled as best they could.
Humbert, who had seen war on a very different scale, could not help laughing at the absurdity of the skirmish, and was greatly amused with the want of all discipline and ‘accord’ exhibited by the English troops.
‘I foresee, gentlemen,’ said he jocularly, ‘that we may have abundance of success, but gain very little glory, in the same campaign. Now for a blessing upon our labours—where shall we find our friend the bishop?’
‘This way, general,’ cried Neal, leading down a narrow street, at the end of which stood a high wall, with an iron gate. This was locked, and some efforts at barricading it showed the intention of a defence; but a few strokes of a pioneer s hammer smashed the lock, and we entered a kind of pleasure-ground, neatly and trimly kept. We had not advanced many paces when the bishop, followed by a great number of his clergy—for it happened to be the period of his annual visitation—came forward to meet us.
Humbert dismounted, and removing his chapeau, saluted the dignitary with a most finished courtesy. I could see, too, by his gesture, that he presented General Serasin, the second in command; and, in fact, all his motions were those of a well-bred guest at the moment of being received by his host. Nor was the bishop, on his side, wanting either in ease or dignity; his manner, not without the appearance of deep sorrow, was yet that of a polished gentleman doing the honours of his house to a number of strangers.
As I drew nearer I could hear that the bishop spoke French fluently, but with a strong foreign accent. This facility, however, enabled him to converse with ease on every subject, and to hold intercourse directly with our general, a matter of no small moment to either party. It is probable that the other clergy did not possess this gift, for assuredly their manner towards us inferiors of the staff was neither gracious nor conciliating; and as for myself, the few efforts I made to express, in English, my admiration for the coast scenery, or the picturesque beauty of the neighbourhood, were met in any rather than a spirit of politeness.
The generals accompanied the bishop into the castle, leaving myself and three or four others on the outside. Colonel Charost soon made his appearance, and a guard was stationed at the entrance gate, with a strong picket in the garden. Two sentries were placed at the hall door, and the words ‘Quartier Général’ written up over the portico. A small garden pavilion was appropriated to the colonel’s use, and made the office of the adjutant-general, and in less than half an hour after our arrival, eightsous-officierswere hard at work under the trees, writing away at billets, contribution orders, and forage rations; while I, from my supposed fluency in English, was engaged in carrying messages to and from the staff to the various shopkeepers and tradesmen of the town, numbers of whom now flocked around us with expressions of welcome and rejoicing.