Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon Volume Ii Part 6

"May I never, if it's not him! Charley, my son, I'm glad you're safe.

'Faith, I thought you were on your way to Verdun by this time."

"Sure, I told you he'd find his way here--But, O'Mealey, dear, you're mighty could,--a rigor, as old M'Lauchlan would call it."

"E'en sae, Maister Quill," said a broad Scotch accent behind him; "and I canna see ony objection to giein' things their right names."

"The top of the morning to you," said Quill, familiarly patting him on the back; "how goes it, old Brimstone?"

The conversation might not have taken a very amicable turn had M'Lauchlan heard the latter part of this speech; but, as happily he was engaged unpacking a small canteen which he had placed in the wagon, it pa.s.sed unnoticed.

"You'll nae dislike a toothfu' of something warm, Major," said he, presenting a gla.s.s to O'Shaughnessy; "and if ye'll permit me, Mr. O'Mealey, to help you--"

"A thousand thanks, Doctor; but I fear a broken arm--"

"There's naething in the whiskey to prevent the proper formation of callus."

"By the rock of Cashel, it never made any one callous," said O'Shaughnessy, mistaking the import of the phrase.

"Ye are nae drinking frae the flask?" said the doctor, turning in some agitation towards Quill.

"Devil a bit, my darling. I've a little horn convaniency here, that holds half-a-pint, nice measure."

I don't imagine that our worthy friend partic.i.p.ated in Quill's admiration of the "convaniency," for he added, in a dry tone:--

"Ye may as weel tak your liquor frae a gla.s.s, like a Christian, as stick your nose in a coo's horn."

"By my conscience, you're no small judge of spirits, wherever you learned it," said the major; "it's like Islay malt!"

"I was aye reckoned a gude ane," said the doctor, "and my mither's brither Caimbogie had na his like in the north country. Ye may be heerd tell what he aince said to the d.u.c.h.ess of Argyle, when she sent for him to taste her claret."

"Never heard of it," quoth Quill; "let's have it by all means. I'd like to hear what the d.u.c.h.ess said to him."

"It was na what the d.u.c.h.ess said to him, but what he said to the d.u.c.h.ess, ye ken. The way of it was this: My uncle Caimbogie was aye up at the castle, for besides his knowledge of liquor, there was nae his match for deer-stalking, or spearing a salmon, in those parts. He was a great, rough carle, it's true; but ane ye'd rather crack wi' than fight wi'.

"Weel, ae day they had a grand dinner at the duke's, and there were plenty o' great southern lords and braw leddies in velvets and satin; and vara muckle surprised they were at my uncle, when he came in wi' his tartan kilt, in full Highland dress, as the head of a clan ought to do. Caimbogie, however, pe'd nae attention to them; but he eat his dinner, and drank his wine, and talked away about fallow and red deer, and at last the d.u.c.h.ess, for she was aye fond o' him, addressed him frae the head o' the table:--

"'Cambogie,' quoth she, 'I'd like to hae your opinion about that wine. It's some the duke has just received, and we should like to hear what you think of it.'

"'It's nae sae bad, my leddy,' said my uncle; for ye see he was a man of few words, and never flattered onybody.

"'Then you don't approve much of it?' said the d.u.c.h.ess.

"'I've drank better, and I've drank waur,' quo' he.

"'I'm sorry you don't like it, Caimbogie,' said the d.u.c.h.ess, 'for it can never be popular now,--we have such a dependence upon your taste.'

"'I cauna say ower muckle for my _taste_, my leddy, but ae thing I _will_ say,--I've a most d.a.m.nable _smell!_'

"I hear that never since the auld walls stood was there ever the like o'

the laughing that followed; the puir duke himsel' was carried away, and nearly had a fit, and a' the grand lords and leddies a'most died of it. But see here, the earle has nae left a drap o' whiskey in the flask."

"The last gla.s.s I drained to your respectable uncle's health," said Quill, with a most professional gravity. "Now, Charlie, make a little room for me in the straw."

The doctor soon mounted beside me, and giving me a share of his ample cloak, considerably ameliorated my situation.

"So you knew Sparks, Doctor?" said I, with a strong curiosity to hear something of his early acquaintance.

"That I did: I knew him when he was an ensign in the 10th Foot; and, to say the truth, he is not much changed since that time,--the same lively look of a sick cod-fish about his gray eyes; the same disorderly wave of his yellow hair; the same whining voice, and that confounded apothecary's laugh."

"Come, come, Doctor, Sparks is a good fellow at heart; I won't have him abused. I never knew he had been in the infantry; I should think it must have been another of the same name."

"Not at all; there's only one like him in the service, and that's himself.

Confound it, man, I'd know his skin upon a bush; he was only three weeks in the Tenth, and, indeed, your humble servant has the whole merit of his leaving it so soon."

"Do let us hear how that happened."

"Simply thus: The jolly Tenth were some four years ago the pleasantest corps in the army; from the lieutenant-colonel down to the last joined sub., all were out-and-outers,--real gay fellows. The mess was, in fact, like a pleasant club, and if you did not suit it, the best thing you could do was to sell out or exchange into a slower regiment; and, indeed, this very wholesome truth was not very long in reaching your ears some way or other, and a man that could remain after being given this hint, was likely to go afterwards without one."

Just as Dr. Quill reached this part of his story, an orderly dragoon galloped furiously past, and the next moment an aide-de-camp rode by, calling as he pa.s.sed us,--

"Close up, there! Close up! Get forward, my lads! get forward!"

It was evident, from the stir and bustle about, that some movement was being made; and soon after, a dropping, irregular fire from the rear showed that our cavalry were engaged with the enemy. The affair was scarcely of five minutes' duration, and our march resumed all its former regularity immediately after.

I now turned to the doctor to resume his story, but he was gone; at what moment he left I could not say, but O'Shaughnessy was also absent, nor did I again meet with them for a considerable time after.

Towards daybreak we halted at Bonares, when, my wound demanding rest and attention, I was billeted in the village, and consigned to all the miseries of a sick bed.

CHAPTER VII.

THE JOURNEY.

With that disastrous day my campaigning was destined, for some time at least, to conclude. My wound, which grew from hour to hour more threatening, at length began to menace the loss of the arm, and by the recommendation of the regimental surgeons, I was ordered back to Lisbon.

Mike, by this time perfectly restored, prepared everything for my departure, and on the third day after the battle of the Coa, I began my journey with downcast spirits and depressed heart. The poor fellow was, however, a kind and affectionate nurse, and unlike many others, his cares were not limited to the mere bodily wants of his patient,--he sustained, as well as he was able, my drooping resolution, rallied my spirits, and cheered my courage. With the very little Portuguese he possessed, he contrived to make every imaginable species of bargain; always managed a good billet; kept every one in good humor, and rarely left his quarters in the morning without a most affective leave-taking, and reiterated promises to renew his visit.

Our journeys were usually short ones, and already two days had elapsed, when, towards nightfall, we entered the little hamlet of Jaffra. During the entire of that day, the pain of my wounded limb had been excruciating; the fatigue of the road and the heat had brought back violent inflammation, and when at last the little village came in sight, my reason was fast yielding to the torturing agonies of my wound. But the transports with which I greeted my resting-place were soon destined to a change; for as we drew near, not a light was to be seen, not a sound to be heard, not even a dog barked as the heavy mule-cart rattled over the uneven road. No trace of any living thing was there. The little hamlet lay sleeping in the pale moonlight, its streets deserted, and its homes tenantless; our own footsteps alone echoed along the dreary causeway. Here and there, as we advanced farther, we found some relics of broken furniture and house-gear; most of the doors lay open, but nothing remained within save bare walls; the embers still smoked in many places upon the hearth, and showed us that the flight of the inhabitants had been recent. Yet everything convinced us that the French had not been there; there was no trace of the reckless violence and wanton cruelty which marked their footsteps everywhere.

All proved that the desertion had been voluntary; perhaps in compliance with an order of our commander-in-chief, who frequently desired any intended line of march of the enemy to be left thus a desert. As we sauntered slowly on from street to street, half hoping that some one human being yet remained behind, and casting our eyes from side to side in search of quarters for the night, Mike suddenly came running up, saying,--

"I have it, sir; I've found it out. There's people living down that small street there; I saw a light this minute as I pa.s.sed."

I turned immediately, and accompanied by the mule-driver, followed Mike across a little open square into a small and narrow street, at the end of which a light was seen faintly twinkling. We hurried on and in a few minutes reached a high wall of solid masonry, from a niche of which we now discovered, to our utter disappointment, the light proceeded. It was a small lamp placed before a little waxen image of the Virgin, and was probably the last act of piety of some poor villager ere he left his home and hearth forever. There it burned, brightly and tranquilly, throwing its mellow ray upon the cold, deserted stones.

Whatever impatience I might have given way to in a moment of chagrin was soon repressed, as I saw my two followers, uncovering their heads in silent reverence, kneel down before the little shrine. There was something at once touching and solemn in this simultaneous feeling of homage from the hearts of those removed in country, language, and in blood. They bent meekly down, their heads bowed upon their bosoms, while with muttering voices each offered up his prayer. All sense of their disappointment, all memory of their forlorn state, seemed to have yielded to more powerful and absorbing thoughts, as they opened their hearts in prayer.