CHAPTER I.THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS.
MY FIRST EXPERIENCES IN THE REGIMENT—TOBY WHITE—THE CASTLE GUARD—CHANGES IN IRELAND—DONNYBROOK FAIR—HALF-A-CROWN’S WORTH OF FIGHTING—ORDERED TO MALTA—AFFAIRS IN SYRIA—IRISHMEN AND SCOTCHMEN—TRANSPORTS—A CRUEL JOKE—AMUSEMENTS AT MALTA—CRUISE TO CANDIA AND GREECE—AN OLD COLONEL’S OPINION OF ROME AND ITS RUINS—DEPOT AT PAISLEY—FIRING A SALUTE AT DUMBARTON CASTLE—MARCH FROM STIRLING TO ABERDEEN—ILLUSTRIOUS TOM AND THE BLOTTING BOOKS—REMINISCENCES.
MY FIRST EXPERIENCES IN THE REGIMENT—TOBY WHITE—THE CASTLE GUARD—CHANGES IN IRELAND—DONNYBROOK FAIR—HALF-A-CROWN’S WORTH OF FIGHTING—ORDERED TO MALTA—AFFAIRS IN SYRIA—IRISHMEN AND SCOTCHMEN—TRANSPORTS—A CRUEL JOKE—AMUSEMENTS AT MALTA—CRUISE TO CANDIA AND GREECE—AN OLD COLONEL’S OPINION OF ROME AND ITS RUINS—DEPOT AT PAISLEY—FIRING A SALUTE AT DUMBARTON CASTLE—MARCH FROM STIRLING TO ABERDEEN—ILLUSTRIOUS TOM AND THE BLOTTING BOOKS—REMINISCENCES.
CHAPTER I.
In the year 1839 I entered the Army as ensign in the 88th Regiment Connaught Rangers, which was then quartered in Dublin; and a merry life it was. What with drill and parties, hunting and field-days, the officers of the old regiment were always occupied. There were several packs of hounds within easy distance of Richmond Barracks; but the Ward Union was the one most patronised by my brothers-in-arms. The manœuvres in the Phœnix Park were not much varied. I remember one day, when, my captain being absent, I was in command of the company in which I was ensign. The old colour-sergeant took the greatest care of me. We advanced in line, and so sure was the non-commissioned officer of what the manœuvre would be that he whispered to me: ‘When ye get to that black thing on the ground, ye must givethe words, “Form fours to the right; right wheel;”’ which, I think, was the form in those days. The black thing was a crow, which flew away before we got up to it. But, by my friend the colour-sergeant’s help, I gave the proper word, and we retired in time to let the cavalry through. Week after week passed, and the same manœuvres were executed.
Old Toby White was town-major then, and his portrait, often repeated, appeared on the walls of the Castle Guard. I always tried to be sub. on the Castle Guard, for it was a pleasant lounge during the day, and in the evening a good dinner was served free of expense, while at night a supper of grilled bones, etc., was always ready for those who had been at the theatre, and who looked in on their way home.
Everything is changed in Ireland now-a-days. The spirit of fun seems to have vanished, and a sombre gloom appears to overshadow everything. There was always a comical side to all the proceedings of our Irish friends, even when the affair was serious, or assumed an air of importance.
I remember going to Donnybrook fair—nowa thing of the past—with two brother officers, Bayley and Dawson. When we arrived all was quite decorous. We observed many tents, in which the country people were apparently enjoying themselves peaceably, but, unfortunately, an urchin—a Dublin street Arab—came up to us, and said, ‘Give me half-a-crown, captin, and I’ll show ye the finest sport ye ever saw.’ So we tossed him the money, and off he went. He crept up near a tent, where we saw him ‘feeling for a head,’ and, having found one ‘convanient’ belonging to some man inside, perhaps asleep, he took the stick in his hand, and hit the head as hard as he could. The effect was wonderful. All started up with such vehemence that the tent came down at once, and everyone began to fight with his neighbour. The clatter of sticks was incessant, and the uproar soon extended to the whole fair. Then the peelers rushed in, and were swayed from one side to the other by the contending parties. We left the scene of battle while the strife was still raging,—many a cracked crown being the consequence of that miserable half-crown.
After being quartered for some time in Dublin,we were ordered to Cork, there to await embarkation to Malta. In the year 1840, affairs in Syria looked very warlike, and we fully expected to be ordered on to the seat of war, but the bombardment of St. Jean D’Acre by our Fleet, under Sir R. Stopford, together with the other successful operations, put off for some years a great war.
The 42nd Royal Highlanders were quartered at Cork when we were there, and a great friendship existed between the two regiments. The consumption of whiskey—to cement this friendly feeling—among the men of the two corps was enormous. Sometimes a Highlander and a Connaught Ranger might be seen climbing the steep hill on whose summit the infantry barracks are situated; both having proved the genuineness of their friendship by deep potations, and both in their way showing various indications of their respective nationalities. Sandy appeared quiet, grave, and canny, while Paddy was excited and noisy; waving a stick in the air, and challenging everyone to ‘tread on the tail of his coat.’
When they arrived at the barrack-gate, the Scotchman pulled himself together, and, solemnlyfixing his eyes on a distant point, marched steadily past the sentry to his barrack-room, while the Irishman, howling defiance to all about him, staggered right into the middle of the guard and was lodged most probably in a cell for the night.
At length the transportConwaywas reported to be ready to receive the head-quarters of the Connaught Rangers, and we went on board. Very different from what they are now were the vessels employed for the conveyance of troops; the comfort and luxury of floating palaces like theCrocodileand theJumnawere then unknown, and a ship that was considered almost unsafe to convey merchandise was regarded as quite good enough to carry one of Her Majesty’s regiments.
A curious scene the deck of our old East India-man presented when we got on board. Confusion seemed the order of the day; geese, ducks, and fowls filling the air with their peculiar cries. It was difficult to get along the decks, so crowded were they with friends of the soldiers, consisting of weeping women and disconsolate children.
Somehow or other every stranger was clearedout in the course of time, and we put to sea. We had a very rough time of it in the Bay of Biscay, for it blew a fierce gale from the S.W., and not only could we make no way against the storm, but we were driven quite out of our course. These discomforts were not much thought of by my young brothers-in-arms, but must have been trying to the older officers on board. One veteran attached to our regiment passed a fearful time. He had never been to sea before, having served always in a cavalry corps, and the extent of his voyages had been from England to Ireland and back again; he was an old man now, and he and his wife had a very miserable appearance. Whenever he came into the cabin he looked the picture of woe, but I fear he got no sympathy from us youngsters. Once when the storm was at its worst, and the waves broke clean over the ship, the green water washing in at the cuddy door, ‘Oh!’ exclaimed the poor old man, ‘why do we not go into a harbour? Can we not get a steamer to tow us in?’ This proved an unfortunate remark to make in the presence of a lot of careless young jokers.
‘A first-rate idea,’ said one of them. ‘Letus get up a subscription for a steamer to pull us out of this tre-men-duous sea.’ No sooner said than done. We got a sheet of paper and wrote the following heading: ‘It is proposed to get a steamer to tow us out of the Bay of Biscay. Officers wishing to subscribe towards a fund to pay the expense of the said steamer are requested to sign their names.’ We all wrote down the amount we were willing to give, some putting down five pounds, others two pounds; but the poor old man, who was considered by us to be rather fond of his money, surprised us all by putting down his name for twenty pounds. The paper was stuck up in the cabin, but the old captain of the transport baffled our project, and let the cat out of the bag by asking the ancient warrior, ‘How the dickens are ye to get at the steamer?’ I do not think we were ever forgiven for our rather cruel joke.
On our arrival at Malta we were hospitably entertained by the regiments quartered there. The season was a very gay one, as our magnificent sailing fleet almost filled the many harbours, and dinners and balls, regattas and races, became the order of the day. The race-course was a veryprimitive affair, being a hard road called Pieta; but great was the excitement of these sporting events when the ‘Wandering Boy,’ belonging to Captain Horsford of the Rifle Brigade, won the Ladies’ Whip, and Major Shirley’s (88th regiment) ‘Monops’ came in first for some other favourite stakes.
I shall pass over the three years I belonged to the Malta garrison, during which time I went a cruise to Candia and Greece. The late Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Houston Stewart, was then captain of theBenbow, in which I went as guest of the present Admiral Sir John Hay, then a mate. A more delightful time no man ever had, for theBenbowwas celebrated for its hospitality, and all the officers were kindness itself. To recall these pleasant hours is the most agreeable exercise of an old soldier’s memory, but the old ship is now a hulk. Her captain rests in his honoured grave, and the jolly youngBenbowsof that merry time have become admirals and captains, and are all scattered to the four winds. I had often intended visiting Naples and Rome, but somehow the journey never came off, the remarks made by an old colonel having probably had some effect in preventingme from undertaking the journey. When he was asked if he enjoyed his visit to Rome, he always got very angry, an anger which increased to fury if one mentioned any of the ruins. ‘Ah, bah!’ he would exclaim, ‘the Colay-sayem, is it?—the greatest absurdity that ever stepped—just a parcel of ould stones!’
In 1843 I left Malta, and, after a few months’ leave, I was ordered to join the dépôt of the 88th, quartered at Paisley. The dépôt of a regiment in those days was a miniature battalion, consisting of four companies, under command of a major. We were particularly fortunate in our commanding officer, who always was kind and considerate to everyone. We also had a good band—a privilege which a dépôt was allowed to enjoy at that time.
Very soon after joining at Paisley, I was sent on detachment to Dumbarton Castle. My party consisted of a sergeant, a corporal, and twenty men. When at Paisley, I was provided with a servant—a stately old soldier named Thomas Pillsworth, but better known afterwards as ‘Illustrious Tom.’ His wife, one of the fattest women I ever saw, became my housekeeper at Dumbarton.The rock of Dumbarton is a lonely spot, and to a young fellow of twenty-one was regular banishment. For a day or two I sat on the top of the rock and moaned over my sad fate, but very soon all became changed, for I was most kindly received by the families in the county, and I look back to the period of my being quartered in Dumbarton Castle as a most agreeable reminiscence. When I was there, I was known as ‘the governor of the castle.’ My command consisted of a master gunner, six old artillerymen, and my detachment. The castle was armed with seven guns.
The Queen’s birthday was announced in general orders, and, as usual, the notice was given that every fort in Scotland should fire a salute of twenty-one guns. There existed among the papers in the office a memorandum from the Adjutant-General in Scotland that the guns at Dumbarton Castle were not to be fired,but on this occasion the said document could not be found, so I sent for the old master gunner, who informed me that the guns had not been used since the death of His Majesty George IV. But I overcame his scruples by writing an orderthat a royal salute was to be fired next day. The six patriarchal artillerymen were full of zeal, and we managed in this wise: The detachment of Connaught Rangers was formed up on the top of the rock; the seven old guns were first fired by the ancient gunners, and then my men fired afeu-de-joie. This gave time for the venerable artillerymen to load again, and to repeat the fire, an operation which I am thankful to say was effected without any accident, till the twenty-one rounds had been expended.
After giving three hearty cheers for Her Majesty, I dismissed my men to their dinners, and the ancient warriors marched off to their quarters very pleased with their performance. But the authorities did not approve of our loyalty; for I received a reprimand, and an order to pay for the powder expended. Colonel Thorndike, R.A., (late General Thorndike) came to my assistance in this dilemma, and, through his influence, I think I was not called upon to pay anything. As, fortunately, I had blown up nobody, I did not grieve much over the official blowing up, as it was earned in a good cause—loyalty to Her Majesty the Queen.
As the dépôt of the 88th were ordered to proceed from Paisley to Aberdeen, I ceased to be Governor of Dumbarton Castle. We went by train to Stirling, and began there a most enjoyable march. We were received everywhere with open arms, no troops having been along that road since the time of the Peninsular War. The men were not allowed to pay a penny at their billets, and the officers were most kindly welcomed by the hospitable families on whom they were quartered. It was amusing to hear the men giving an account of their adventures as we marched from one place to another.
One day I heard two of them remarking on the fate of a sergeant who had been reduced to the ranks for drunkenness.
‘It’s sorry I am for Sergeant —— to be broke by court-martial,’ said one.
‘Bedad,’ replied the other, ‘serve him right. He thought he could get drunk,like an officer!’
Aberdeen in the year 1844 was a most charming quarter. There was no railway at that period to carry people away to London, or even Edinburgh, and many of the county families came in for the balls at the Assembly Rooms,and were very kind in asking the officers of the 88th to stay in their houses in the county. One of my brother officers had a servant named Casey, who had been quartered at Corfu with the regiment, and was able to play the guitar, and sing Italian airs, the words of which could scarcely be said to belong to any particular language. There was a good theatre at Aberdeen, and Casey was asked to sing between the acts of some play that was having a run. The whole town was placarded with notices that ‘a distinguished amateur would sing the “Prayer in Norma.”’ We officers were greatly interested in this event, and all of us gave Casey different articles of dress, so that he might appear in proper form before the Aberdeen audience. The curtain drew up, and our hero came forward, and sang very well; but, alas, some one had given him whisky before going on the stage, a beverage which naturally took effect on his Irish nature, and instead of retiring gracefully after the conclusion of his song, to our intense disgust, he gave a sort of a screech, and began to dance an Irish jig with the greatest energy. The effect was wonderful, and the gods were delighted. Atlength the curtain fell, but the noise behind it intimated only too plainly that poor Casey was being taken off to the guard-room, where he passed the night in his borrowed plumes.
I had returned on one occasion to the barracks after a tour of visits in the county to many most agreeable houses. Rather dejected, I was watching Illustrious Tom unpacking my portmanteau. At first I did not take much notice, but very soon my attention was drawn to my servant’s performances. First he placed a blotting-book on the table, then he took out another from my portmanteau, and put it on my chest of drawers, and then he placed another somewhere else, and so on, till at last he could find no more vacant resting-places, and he stood in the middle of the room, bearing some resemblance to a sapient owl, with a blotting-book held in his claws.
‘Whatareyou doing, Tom, with all these blotting-books?’ I at length exclaimed.
‘Sure,’ said the Illustrious, ‘I thought ye would be plased. I tuck the different books from the bed-rooms in which yer honour slept. They look wellhere, and they’ll nivir miss themthere.’
As I received his intimation with shouts of laughter and volleys of abuse, Tom drew himself up to attention, faced about, and marched out of my room. My time was fully occupied for several days in finding out to whom the different blotting-books belonged.
A sudden order came for us to leave Scotland and proceed to Ireland. We embarked at Aberdeen in a steamer, and, after a good passage, arrived at Granton, where we landed, and marched through Edinburgh, and thence by train to Glasgow, in which town we were delayed a few days, and then we were taken over to Ireland. While in Glasgow we were made honorary members of the 92nd Highlanders’ mess, and at the end of our stay, when we asked for our bills, were told that we were the guests of the regiment.
What a pleasant reminiscence is that of Irish quarters in old times! Everyone was kind and hospitable to the officers of the Army, from the squire in his ancient castle, to the squireen in his more modest house, the property of the latter being often so limited in extent that you could sit on the lodge gate and kick the front door open. We were welcome even to the dwellers in cottages,who, when I entered their lowly cabins, would shout, ‘Come in, captin; ye’re welcome, sorr;’ and, if I did stumble over something in the dark, what did it matter when I was re-assured by the voice of my host saying, ‘Niver mind, yer honor, it’s only a schlip of a pig?’ and truly the repeated grunt, grunt, which followed showed that I had disturbed somewhat unceremoniously the slumbers of that valuable animal, which was fed on thelavings, and, when fattened up, ‘sowld to pay the rint.’ Then the ‘quality’ were always glad to welcome a young, merry officer, and in the evening one of the ‘boys,’ who could ‘play the fiddle first-rate,’ was called in to show his talent, and dance after dance made the night seem too short. What a pleasant time to look back to! Poor old Ireland, with its fearful murders of men and women, and slaying of hounds and cattle, is wofully changed, and I fear the officers of regiments quartered there now do not receive such kindness as I did from high and low. I suppose there was something in the air in those days that made us all so light-hearted, for not a day passed that there was not some fun,and most of the venturesome acts in which we indulged were done for the pure love of sport.
One evening, at Birr, a match, a sort of steeple-chase, was made between two of my brother officers. The night was pitch-dark, and they were to be mounted on their own horses, and to be led into a field about half a mile from the barracks. They were to get over the wall as well as they could, and the first of them who arrived mounted at the mess-room door was to be the winner. They got on their nags and were taken off to the starting-post, where they were invisible to us. We could only hear the word ‘Off!’ given by the starter. The difficulty was to get over the wall in the dark. One of the riders had a servant, a private in the Rangers, who, of course, was delighted with the sport. We were astounded to hear the voice of this man exclaiming, ‘Ride at me, Mr. John, ride at me, sorr!’ and all of a sudden a flash burst forth for a moment, and ‘Mr. John’ made for the light, got over the fence, and rode in triumphant as winner. Pat Casey, his servant, having made a ‘slap in thewall,’ had then cleverly lit a whole box of lucifers at the place, and thereby enabled his master to get out of the field and come in conqueror.