Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon Volume Ii Part 33

"Here comes the prog," cried Dennis, as Power's servant entered with a very plausible-looking tray, while Fred proceeded to place before us a strong army of decanters.

Our supper was excellent, and we were enjoying ourselves to the utmost, when an orderly sergeant suddenly opened the door, and raising his hand to his cap, asked if Major Power was there.

"A letter for you, sir."

"Monsoon's writing, by Jove! Come, boys, let us see what it means. What a hand the old fellow writes! The letters look all crazy, and are tumbling against each other on every side. Did you ever see anything half so tipsy as the crossing of that _t?_"

"Read it. Read it out, Fred!"

Tuesday Evening.

Dear Power,--I'm in such a sc.r.a.pe! Come up and see me at once, bring a little sherry with you, and we'll talk over what's to be done.

Yours ever,

B. MONSOON.

Quarter-General.

We resolved to finish our evening with the major; so that, each having armed himself with a bottle or two, and the remnants of our supper, we set out towards his quarters, under the guidance of the orderly. After a sharp walk of half an hour, we reached a small hut, where two sentries of the Eighty-eighth were posted at the door.

O'Shaughnessy procured admittance for us, and in we went. At a small table, lighted by a thin tallow candle, sat old Monsoon, who, the weather being hot, had neither coat nor wig on; an old cracked china tea-pot, in which as we found afterwards he had mixed a little grog, stood before him, and a large ma.s.s of papers lay scattered around on every side,--he himself being occupied in poring over their contents, and taking occasional draughts from his uncouth goblet.

As we entered noiselessly, he never perceived us, but continued to mumble over, in a low tone, from the doc.u.ments before him:--

"Upon my life, it's like a dream to me! What infernal stuff this brandy is!"

CHARGE No. 8.--For conduct highly unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, in forcing the cellar of the San Nicholas convent at Banos, taking large quant.i.ties of wine therefrom, and subsequently compelling the prior to dance a bolero, thus creating a riot, and tending to destroy the harmony between the British and the Portuguese, so strongly inculcated to be preserved by the general orders.

"Destroy the harmony! Bless their hearts! How little they know of it! I've never pa.s.sed a jollier night in the Peninsula! The prior's a trump, and as for the bolero, he _would_ dance it. I hope they say nothing about my hornpipe."

CHARGE No. 9.--For a gross violation of his duty as an officer, in sending a part of his brigade to attack and pillage the alcalde of Banos; thereby endangering the public peace of the town, being a flagrant breach of discipline and direct violation of the articles of war.

"Well, I'm afraid I was rather sharp on the alcalde, but we did him no harm except the fright. What sherry the fellow had! 't would have been a sin to let it fall into the hands of the French."

CHARGE No. 10.--For threatening, on or about the night of the 3d, to place the town of Banos under contribution, and subsequently forcing the authorities to walk in procession before him, in absurd and ridiculous costumes.

"Lord, how good it was! I shall never forget the old alcalde! One of my fellows fastened a dead lamb round his neck, and told him it was the golden fleece. The commander-in-chief would have laughed himself if he had been there. Picton's much too grave,--never likes a joke."

CHARGE No. 11.--For insubordination and disobedience, in refusing to give up his sword, and rendering it necessary for the Portuguese guard to take it by force,--thereby placing himself in a situation highly degrading to a British officer.

"Didn't I lay about me before they got it! Who's that? Who's laughing there? Ah, boys, I'm glad to see you! How are you, Fred? Well, Charley, I've heard of your sc.r.a.pe; very sad thing for so young a fellow as you are.

I don't think you'll be broke; I'll do what I can. I'll see what I can do with Picton; we are very old friends, were at Eton together."

"Many thanks, Major; but I hear your own affairs are not flourishing.

What's all this court-martial about?"

"A mere trifle; some little insubordination in the legion. Those Portuguese are sad dogs. How very good of you, Fred, to think of that little supper."

While the major was speaking, his servant, with a dexterity the fruit of long habit, had garnished the table with the contents of our baskets, and Monsoon, apologizing for not putting on his wig, sat down among us with a face as cheerful as though the floor was not covered with the charges of the court-martial to be held on him.

As we chatted away over the campaign and its chances, Monsoon seemed little disposed to recur to his own fortunes. In fact, he appeared to suffer much more from what he termed my unlucky predicament than from his own mishaps.

At the same time, as the evening wore on, and the sherry began to tell upon him, his heart expanded into its habitual moral tendency, and by an easy transition, he was led from the religious a.s.sociation of convents to the pleasures of pillaging them.

"What wine they have in their old cellars! It's such fun drinking it out of great silver vessels as old as Methuselah. 'There's much treasure in the house of the righteous,' as David says; and any one who has ever sacked a nunnery knows that."

"I should like to have seen that prior dancing the bolero," said Power.

"Wasn't it good, though! He grew jealous of me, for I performed a hornpipe.

Very good fellow the prior; not like the alcalde,--there was no fun in him.

Lord bless him! he'll never forget me."

"What did you do with him, Major?"

"Well, I'll tell you; but you mustn't let it be known, for I see they have not put it in the court-martial. Is there no more sherry there? There, that will do; I'm always contented. 'Better a dry morsel with quietness,' as Moses says. Ay, Charley, never forget that 'a merry heart is just like medicine.' Job found out that, you know."

"Well, but the alcalde, Major."

"Oh! the alcalde, to be sure. These pious meditations make me forget earthly matters."

"This old alcalde at Banos, I found out, was quite spoiled by Lord Wellington. He used to read all the general orders, and got an absurd notion in his head that because we were his allies, we were not allowed to plunder. Only think, he used to snap his fingers at Beresford, didn't care twopence about the legion, and laughed outright at Wilson. So, when I was ordered down there, I took another way with him. I waited till night-fall, ordered two squadrons to turn their jackets, and sent forward one of my aides-de-camp, with a few troopers, to the alcalde's house. They galloped into the courtyard, blowing trumpets and making an infernal hubbub. Down came the alcalde in a pa.s.sion. 'Prepare quarters quickly, and rations for eight hundred men.'

"'Who dares to issue such an order?' said he.

"The aide-de-camp whispered one word in his ear, and the old fellow grew pale as death. 'Is he here; is he coming,--is he coming?' said he, trembling from head to foot.

"I rode in myself at this moment looking thus,--

"'_Ou est le malheureux?_' said I, in French,--you know I speak French like Portuguese."

"Devilish like, I've no doubt," muttered Power.

"'_Pardon, gracias eccellenza!_' said the alcalde, on his knees."

"Who the deuce did he take you for, Major?"

"You shall hear; you'll never guess, though. Lord, I shall never forget it!

He thought I was Marmont; my aide-de-camp told him so."

One loud burst of laughter interrupted the major at this moment, and it was some considerable time before he could continue his narrative.

"And do you really mean," said I, "that you personated the Duke de Raguse?"

"Did I not, though? If you had only seen me with a pair of great mustaches, and a drawn sabre in my hand, pacing the room up and down in presence of the a.s.sembled authorities. Napoleon himself might have been deceived. My first order was to cut off all their heads; but I commuted the sentence to a heavy fine. Ah, boys, if they only understood at headquarters how to carry on a war in the Peninsula, they'd never have to grumble in England about increased taxation! How I'd mulet the nunneries! How I'd grind the corporate towns! How I'd inundate the country with exchequer bills! I'd sell the priors at so much a head, and put the nuns up to auction by the dozen."

"You sacrilegious old villain! But continue the account of your exploits."