Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon Volume Ii Part 30

The Spaniard's triumph over my terror was short-lived, indeed, for scarcely had the words fallen from his lips, when a party of the Fourteenth, dashing through the river at a gallop, came riding up. The att.i.tude of the Guerillas, as they sat with presented arms, was sufficient for my fellows who needed not the exhortation of him who rode foremost of the party:--

"Ride them down, boys! Tumble them over! Flatten their broad beavers, the infernal thieves!"

"Whoop!" shouted Mike, as he rode at the chief with the force of a catapult. Down went the Spaniard, horse and all; and before he could disentangle himself, Mike was upon him, his knee pressed upon his neck.

"Isn't it enough for ye to pillage the whole country without robbing the king's throops!" cried he, as he held him fast to the earth with one hand, while he presented a loaded pistol to his face.

By this time the scene around me was sufficiently ludicrous. Such of the Guerillas as had not been thrown by force from their saddles, had slid peaceably down, and depositing their arms upon the ground, dropped upon their knees in a semicircle around us, and amidst the hoa.r.s.e laughter of the troopers, and the irrepressible merriment of the Frenchmen, rose up the muttered prayers of the miserable Spaniards, who believed that now their last hour was come.

"_Madre de Dios_, indeed!" cried Mike, imitating the tone of a repentant old sinner in a patched mantle; "it's much the blessed Virgin thinks of the like o' ye, thieves and rogues as ye are; it a'most puts me beyond my senses to see ye there crossing yourselves like _rale_ Christians."

If I could not help indulging myself in this retributive cruelty towards the chief, and leaving him to the tender mercies of Mike, I ordered the others to rise and form in line before me. Affecting to occupy myself entirely with them, I withdrew the attention of all from the French officers, who remained quiet spectators of the scene around them.

"_Point de facons_, gentlemen," said I, in a whisper. "Get to your horses and away! Now's your time. Good-by!"

A warm grasp of the hand from each was the only reply, and I turned once more to my discomforted friends the Guerillas.

"There, Mike, let the poor devil rise. I confess appearances were strong against me just now."

"Well, Captain, are you convinced by this time that I was not deceiving you?"

The Guerilla muttered some words of apology between his teeth, and while he shook the dust from his cloak, and arranged the broken feather of his hat, cast a look of scowling and indignant meaning upon Mike, whose rough treatment he had evidently not forgiven.

"Don't be looking at me that way, you black thief! or I'll--"

"Hold there!" said I; "no more of this. Come, gentlemen, we must be friends. If I mistake not, we've got something like refreshment at our bivouac. In any case you'll partake of our watch-fire till morning."

They gladly accepted our invitation, and ere half an hour elapsed Mike's performance in the part of host had completely erased every unpleasant impression his first appearance gave rise to; and as for myself, when I did sleep at last, the confused mixture of Spanish and Irish airs which issued from the thicket beside me, proved that a most intimate alliance had grown up between the parties.

CHAPTER XXVII.

MIKE'S MISTAKE.

An hour before daybreak the Guerillas were in motion, and having taken a most ceremonious leave of us, they mounted their horses and set out upon their journey. I saw their gaunt figures wind down the valley, and watched them till they disappeared in the distance. "Yes, brigands though they be,"

thought I, "there is something fine, something heroic in the spirit of their unrelenting vengeance." The sleuth-hound never sought the lair of his victim with a more ravening appet.i.te for blood than they track the retreating columns of the enemy. Hovering around the line of march, they sometimes swoop down in ma.s.ses, and carry off a part of the baggage, or the wounded. The wearied soldier, overcome by heat and exhaustion, who drops behind his ranks, is their certain victim; the sentry on an advanced post is scarcely less so. Whole pickets are sometimes attacked and carried off to a man; and when traversing the lonely pa.s.ses of some mountain gorge, or defiling through the dense shadows of a wooded glen, the stoutest heart has felt a fear, lest from behind the rock that frowned above him, or from the leafy thicket whose branches stirred without a breeze, the sharp ring of a Guerilla carbine might sound his death-knell.

It was thus in the retreat upon Corunna fell Colonel Lefebvre. Ever foremost in the attack upon our rear-guard, this gallant youth (he was scarce six-and-twenty), a colonel of his regiment, and decorated with the Legion of Honor, he led on every charge of his bold "_sabreurs_," riding up to the very bayonets of our squares, waving his hat above his head, and seeming actually to court his death-wound; but so struck were our brave fellows with his gallant bearing, that they cheered him as he came on.

It was in one of these moments as, rising high in his stirrups, he bore down upon the unflinching ranks of the British infantry, the shrill whistle of a ball strewed the leaves upon the roadside, the exulting shout of a Guerilla followed it, and the same instant Lefebvre fell forward upon his horse's mane, a deluge of blood bursting from his bosom. A broken cry escaped his lips,--a last effort to cheer on his men; his n.o.ble charger galloped forward between our squares, bearing to us our prisoner, the corpse of his rider.

"Captain O'Malley," said a mounted dragoon to the advanced sentry at the bottom of the little hill upon which I was standing. "Despatches from headquarters, sir," delivering into my hands a large sealed packet from the adjutant-general's office. While he proceeded to search for another letter of which he was the bearer, I broke the seal and read as follows:--

ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE.

May 15.

Sir,--On the receipt of this order you are directed, having previously resigned your command to the officer next in seniority, to repair to headquarters at Fueutes d'Onoro, there to report yourself under arrest.

I have the honor to be your obedient servant,

GEORGE HOPETON,

_Military Secretary_.

"What the devil can this mean?" said I to myself, as I read the lines over again and again. "What have I done lately, or what have I left undone to involve me in this sc.r.a.pe? Ah!" thought I, "to be sure, it can be nothing else. Lord Wellington _did_ recognize me that unlucky morning, and has determined not to let me pa.s.s unpunished. How unfortunate. Scarcely twenty-four hours have elapsed since fortune seemed to smile upon me from every side, and now the very destiny I most dreaded stares me fully in the face." A reprimand, or the sentence of a court-martial, I shrank from with a coward's fear. It mattered comparatively little from what source arising, the injury to my pride as a man and my spirit as a soldier would be almost the same.

"This is the letter, sir," said the orderly, presenting me with a packet, the address of which was in Power's hand-writing. Eagerly tearing it open, I sought for something which might explain my unhappy position. It bore the same date as the official letter, and ran thus:--

My Dear Charley,--I joined yesterday, just in time to enjoy the heartiest laugh I have had since our meeting. If notoriety can gratify you, by Jove, you have it; for Charles O'Malley and his man Mickey Free are bywords in every mess from Villa Formosa to the rear-guard.

As it's only fair you should partic.i.p.ate a little in the fun you've originated, let me explain the cause. Your inimitable man Mike, to whom it appears you intrusted the report of killed and wounded for the adjutant-general, having just at that moment accomplished a letter to his friends at home, subst.i.tuted his correspondence for your returns, and doubtless, sent the list of the casualties as very interesting information to his sweetheart in Ireland. If such be the case, I hope and trust she has taken the blunder in better part than old Colbourn, who swears he'll bring you to a court-martial, under Heaven knows what charges. In fact, his pa.s.sion has known no bounds since the event; and a fit of jaundice has given his face a kind of neutral tint between green and yellow, like nothing I know of except the facings of the "dirty half-hundred." [2]

[Footnote 2: For the information of my unmilitary readers, I may remark that this sobriquet was applied to the 50th Regiment.]

As Mr. Free's letter may be as great a curiosity to you as it has been to us, I enclose you a copy of it, which Hopeton obtained for me. It certainly places the estimable Mike in a strong light as a despatch-writer. The occasional interruption to the current of the letter, you will perceive, arises from Mike having used the pen of a comrade, writing being, doubtless, an accomplishment forgotten in the haste of preparing Mr. Free for the world; and the amanuensis has, in more than one instance, committed to paper more than was meant by the author:--

Mrs. M'Gra,--Tear an' ages, sure I need not be treating he way. Now, just say Mrs. Mary--ay, that'll do--Mrs. Mary, it's may be surprised you'll be to be reading a letter from your humble servant, sitting on the top of the Alps,--arrah, may be it's not the Alps; but sure she'll never know,--fornent the whole French army, with Bony himself and all his jinnerals--G.o.d be between us and harm--ready to murther every mother's son of us, av they were able, Molly darlin'; but, with the blessing of Providence, and Lord Wellington and Mister Charles, we'll bate them yet, as we bate them afore.

My lips is wathering at the thought o' the plunder. I often of Tim Riley, that was hanged for sheep-stealing; he'd be worth his weight in gold here.

Mr. Charles is now a captain--devil a less--and myself might be somethin' that same, but ye see I was always of a bashful n and recommended the master in my place. "He's mighty young, Mister Charles is," says my Lord Wellington to me,--"He's mighty young, Mr.

Free." "He is, my lord," says I; "he's young, as you obsarve, but he's as much divilment in him as many that might be his father."

"That's somethin', Mr. Free," says my lord; "ye say he comes from a good stock?" "The _rale_ sort, my lord," says I; "an ould, ancient family, that's spent every sixpence they had in treating their neighbors. My father lived near him for years,"--you see, Molly, I said that to season the discourse. "We'll make him a captain," says my lord; "but, Mr. Free, could we do nothing for you?" "Nothing, at present, my lord. When my friends comes into power," says I, "they'll think of me. There's many a little thing to give away in Ireland, and they often find it mighty hard to find a man for lord-lieutenant; and if that same, or a tide-waiter's place was vacant--" "Just tell me,"

says my lord. "It's what I'll do," says I. "And now, wishing you happy dreams, I'll take my lave." Just so, Molly, it's hand and glove we are. A pleasant face, agreeable manners seasoned with natural modesty, and a good pair of legs, them's the gifts to push a man's way in the world. And even with the ladies--but sure I am forgetting, my master was proposed for, and your humble servant too, by two illigant creatures in Lisbon; but it wouldn't do, Molly, it's higher nor that we'll be looking,--_rale_ princesses, the devil a less. Tell Kitty Hannigan I hope she's well; she was a disarving young in her situation in life. Shusey Dogherty, at the cross road-- I don't forget the name--was a good-looking slip too; give her my affectionate salutations, as we say in the Portuguese. I hope I'll be able to bear the inclementuous nature of your climate when I go back; but I can't expect to stay long--for Lord Wellington can't do without me. We play duets on the guitar together every evening. The master is shouting for a blanket, so no more at present from,

Your very affectionate friend,

MICKEY FREE.

P. S.--I don't write this myself, for the Spanish tongue p out o' the habit of English. Tell Father Rush, if he'd study the Portuguese, I'd use my interest for him with the Bishop of Toledo.

It's a country he'd like--no regular stations, but promiscuous eating and drinking, and as pretty girls as ever confessed their sins.

My poor Charley, I think I am looking at you. I think I can see the struggle between indignation, and laughter, which every line of this letter inflicts upon you. Get back as quickly as you can, and we'll try if Crawfurd won't pull you through the business. In any case, expect no sympathy; and if you feel disposed to be angry with all who laugh at you, you had better publish a challenge in the next general order. George Scott, of, the Greys, bids me say, that if you're hard up for cash, he'll give you a couple of hundred for Mickey Free. I told him I thought you'd accept it, as your uncle has the breed of those fellows upon his estate, and might have no objection to weed his stud. Hammersley's gone back with the Dashwoods; but I don't think you need fear anything in that quarter.

At the same time, if you wish for success, make a bold push for the peerage and half-a-dozen decorations, for Miss Lucy is most decidedly gone wild about military distinction. As for me, my affairs go on well: I've had half-a-dozen quarrels with Inez, but we parted good friends, and my bad Portuguese has got me out of all difficulties with papa, who pressed me tolerably close as to fortune. I shall want your a.s.sistance in this matter yet. If parchments will satisfy him, I think I could get up a qualification; but somehow the matter must be done, for I'm resolved to have his daughter.

The orderly is starting, so no more till we meet.

Yours ever, FRED POWER.

"G.o.dwin," said I, as I closed the letter, "I find myself in a sc.r.a.pe at headquarters; you are to take the command of the detachment, for I must set out at once."

"Nothing serious, I hope. O'Malley?"