CHAPTER III.

When we had been a few weeks in Wexford, we received about six months’ pay, of which we had fallen in arrear while in the Peninsula, amounting to a considerable sum each man; and as it could scarcely be spent by individuals like us, who had been exiled from home and all its enjoyments for a number of years, without some spreeing, the commanding-officer wisely resolved to relax the reins of discipline a little. In such cases I have always found that severe restraintcreates the evil that it is meant to prevent; but when humoured in some degree, the ebullition passes over,—foolishly enough certainly, but in general harmlessly. Nothing is more natural than that men’s judgment should be carried away by their animal spirits on such occasions, and those who purse up their mouths and treat the matter as a crime, know nothing at all about it.

Our poor fellows, when they got their money, in the joy of their hearts, played such fooleries as could challenge comparison with any ship’s crew that ever came into port. It would be an endless task to portray every extravagance they ran into; all joined, however, in a greater or less degree, in paying their addresses to the whisky; each heart then became unveiled, and a very common observer could have told the ruling passion of each individual in the regiment. Some showed their devotion to the fair sex, by hauling in every female with whom they had the slightest acquaintance, and treating them to gowns, caps, or anything they chose to ask. Others gratified their ambitious longings by hiring horses, coaches, gigs, or jaunting cars, and riding into the country or about the town. Dennis and I were in the throng, no doubt, and on receiving our cash sallied forth in quest of adventures. Dennis could not brook the idea of entering a common public-house on that day. ‘We have not long to act the gentleman,’ said he, ‘we may as well make a good use of our time;’ so saying, he led the way to the head inn, and with the utmost pomp bawled out ‘waiter!’—The waiter made his appearance.—‘Bring us a bottle of wine.’—The waiter smiled, and looked as if he thought him mad.—‘Go along, sir, and do as I order you,’ said Dennis; ‘you stare, you spalpeen, as if you never saw a gentleman before.’ The waiter made his escape, and having consulted with his master, brought the wine. We had scarcely seated ourselves when two of our officers entered,—the one was a good fellow, generous, brave, and feeling; the other was the reverse. ‘Mr G.,’ said Dennis, addressing the former, ‘will you be kind enough to drink with us?’

‘Certainly, my good fellow, it is not the first time you and I have drank together; I do not forget the time you gave me the last drop out of your canteen, on that long day’s march going up through Spain, when every one was dying with thirst, and no water to be had.’

Having drank to our health, and the glasses replenished, Dennis took up one,—‘Long life to you, Mr G., you are a noble, brave officer, and I could shed my heart’s blood for you by night or by day; I wish I could say as much for many a one in the corps,’ casting a significant look at the other officer.

I whispered to Dennis, ‘You had better ask him to drink.’

‘Devil a sup,’ said he, loud enough to be heard. Mr J. felt galled to the soul, and colouring with rage he walked out of the room, accompanied by the other officer, who seemed to take no notice of what Dennis had said.

‘You were too rude,’ said I; ‘you provoke the man to be your enemy.’

‘Is it my enemy—sure he is every body’s enemy, and anything that Dennis could say or do, would not change him for better or worse. Don’t you remember the death of poor H—b—s—n, how could any body like him after that? I wouldn’t have his conscience for worlds.[14]But come, comrade, let’s into the city—Bythe powers, I had almost forgot myself, I promised to call on Peggy Doyle. Let me see, what will I buy for Peggy?’—but that moment a carriage came rattling down the street, filled outside and inside with our comrades, and ribbons and handkerchiefs streaming from all parts of it. ‘By the hokey!’ cried Dennis, in a yell of transport, ‘let’s scale the garrison.’ In a moment we were mounted, and poor Peggy Doyle was consigned to oblivion.

The town was now in an uproar; carriages, sociables, and jaunting cars were in requisition, flying past in every direction, with our men clinging to the outside of them, to the manifest danger of their necks and limbs. Every thing seemed to have received an impulse unusual to it, and participated in the flying motion,—the old women shouted, the children capered, the dogs barked, and the very pigs, instead of lying lazily before the doors, were galloping about the streets with their tails cocked.

Some of the boys had tarried so long at the whisky, that all the vehicles of any speed had been taken up; but their invention was soon at work; common cars were hired by them, and driven furiously along, to the great torment of the poor hacks. One fellow, who had been too late for even a common car, and determined at all events to ride, jumped into an empty buttermilk churn[15]up to the neck, and paid the woman handsomely to drive him along. ‘Och, it’s yourself that has the taste, Slobber-daddy,’ cried Dennis, ‘you were always fond of the slurry.’[16]He had scarcely spoke the word,when the wheel of the carriage came in contact with that of the car, and in a twinkling we were all sprawling in the mud, in glorious confusion. Nobody was hurt, however, the buttermilk hero excepted, who had broken his nose when emptied out of the churn. Up we were again in a moment, dashing along, regardless of old women, children, and corners, until the poor horses were so jaded that they actually stood still. It was now near evening, all the public-houses soon filled, and drinking and boisterous mirth of every description was kept up during the night.

Next day the same scenes were renewed, the same wanton prodigality in spending the money which had been so dearly earned. On this day Dennis was determined that his sweetheart should not be forgotten; but it may be as well to exonerate him from falling in love too hastily, by stating that Peggy and he had been acquainted when children, and were distantly related to each other. She had removed to this place along with her mistress, during the time Dennis was abroad. They had accidentally met—their joy on meeting was as great as it was unexpected, and a kind of courtship had been kept up between them from that time. A gown-piece and a handsome shawl were now bought for her, and Dennis having delivered it, we were going farther into the town, when we met John ——, a particular friend of ours, though not in the same company, whom we had not seen since the commencement of the riot.

‘Where on earth have you been, John?’ said I; ‘we have been hunting every place for you, and you were not to be found. What’s the matter with you, man? you look very demure; why don’t you join in the general joy? come along into the town.’

‘I hope you will excuse me,’ replied he, ‘I cannot go now.’

We insisted on knowing his reason; he tried to evade giving any, but at length he said, ‘he had no money.’

‘O, what consequence is that?’ said Dennis, ‘wehave some. But what has become of your back pay, have you lost it?’

‘No.’

‘And what the deuce have you done with it?’

John blushed and hesitated a moment, ‘I have sent it to my mother.’

‘What—all? without keeping anything to drink?’

‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I durst not trust myself to send it if I once began, and in my sober senses I thought it a pity to spend a shilling uselessly of that which would do her so much good.’

‘Long life to you, Jack!’ said Dennis, shaking him by the hand, ‘you’re a noble boy; but come along with us, you are not going home to mope in the barracks, and nobody there but yourself; you shall share with us while we have anything.’

‘No,’ replied John, firmly, ‘that I cannot do; I thought on all these things before I sent the money; I know I shall be lonely enough while these times last, but I will never drink at any other person’s expense, in such circumstances. No, no, the first letter I get from my poor mother, after she receives the money, will repay me for all I have done, a thousand times.’

We parted from him with reluctance, but we knew it was of no use to press him farther. Dennis and I adjourned to a public-house, where, having got a room to ourselves, he called for a sheet of paper and pen and ink.

‘What do you want with the paper?’ said I.

‘I wish you to write a bit of a letter for me. Do you know, that when John was telling us about sending the money, I could have cried, so I could, to think that the whisky or the noise should put my old mother out of my head; and I owe John my blessing for putting me in mind of her. Now, there’s nothing like striking the iron while it’s hot; so just write me a bit of a line. I’ll send—let me see, (dividing the notes from the silver,) I’ll send the bits of paper, and keep the tenpennies, and much good may it do to the poor old creature.’

I wrote the letter accordingly, and having enclosed the money, Dennis got up to go to the post office.

‘Will you not drink before you go?’

‘No, indeed, it wouldn’t go down.’ He was off and returning in a few minutes,—

‘Hand us the glass, now,’ said he, ‘for my throat’s clear, and my heart’s light.’

Many of the lads were now beginning to feel the bottom of their purse, and put on a sober face, but few of them, I believe, derived so much pleasure from a review of the manner in which they had spent their money as did my friends John and Dennis.

By the end of a week things were restored to their usual routine; but the kindly feeling generated between us and the inhabitants did not so soon cease, for during the many months we remained there, we were on the very best terms with them.

FOOTNOTES:[14]The story Dennis alluded to was certainly a dreadful one. Poor H. joined us a short time before we advanced through Spain, and being but a weakly boy, when we commenced the march, he was unable to keep up with the regiment. He reported himself sick, but the doctor finding that he complained of nothing but weakness, accused him of scheming, and scratched his name out of the report; this did not give him more strength, and he fell out the next day’s march. The officer of whom Dennis had expressed his dislike, being riding in the rear of the regiment, swore at him dreadfully, and threatened to turn him over to the provost and have him flogged if he would not keep up, but his threatenings were of no avail. Next day he was again reported sick, again accused of scheming, and sent to march with his company, and, as on the preceding day, was unable to keep pace with his comrades. He was given in charge to the rear guard, and Mr J. ordered two men of the guard to drag him along, and another to go behind him and prick him on with his bayonet; but all this cruelty was unavailing—they were obliged to give up dragging him, and leave him behind. During this time he had never complained, but his heart was broken. When he was left he crawled off the road into a field, and, tired of a world in which he had met with such cruel treatment, loaded his musket, and taking off his stocking, put his toe on the trigger, and blew out his brains.[15]In Ireland the buttermilk is brought into the towns in the churn, fastened on a common car.[16]A cant term for buttermilk.

[14]The story Dennis alluded to was certainly a dreadful one. Poor H. joined us a short time before we advanced through Spain, and being but a weakly boy, when we commenced the march, he was unable to keep up with the regiment. He reported himself sick, but the doctor finding that he complained of nothing but weakness, accused him of scheming, and scratched his name out of the report; this did not give him more strength, and he fell out the next day’s march. The officer of whom Dennis had expressed his dislike, being riding in the rear of the regiment, swore at him dreadfully, and threatened to turn him over to the provost and have him flogged if he would not keep up, but his threatenings were of no avail. Next day he was again reported sick, again accused of scheming, and sent to march with his company, and, as on the preceding day, was unable to keep pace with his comrades. He was given in charge to the rear guard, and Mr J. ordered two men of the guard to drag him along, and another to go behind him and prick him on with his bayonet; but all this cruelty was unavailing—they were obliged to give up dragging him, and leave him behind. During this time he had never complained, but his heart was broken. When he was left he crawled off the road into a field, and, tired of a world in which he had met with such cruel treatment, loaded his musket, and taking off his stocking, put his toe on the trigger, and blew out his brains.

[15]In Ireland the buttermilk is brought into the towns in the churn, fastened on a common car.

[16]A cant term for buttermilk.

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