Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon Volume Ii Part 37

The French dragoons bore down upon every face of those devoted battalions; the shouts of triumph cheered them as the earth trembled beneath their charge,--but the British infantry, reserving their fire until the sabres clanked with the bayonet, poured in a shattering volley, and the cry of the wounded and the groans of the dying rose from the smoke around them.

Again and again the French came on; and the same fate ever awaited then.

The only movement in the British squares was closing up the s.p.a.ces as their comrades fell or sank wounded to the earth.

At last reinforcements came up from the left; the whole retreated across the plain, until as they approached Guenaldo, our cavalry, having re-formed, came to their aid with one crushing charge, which closed the day.

That same night Lord Wellington fell back, and concentrating his troops within a narrow loop of land bounded on either flank by the Coa, awaited the arrival of the light division, which joined us at three in the morning.

The following day Marmont again made a demonstration of his force, but no attack followed. The position was too formidable to be easily a.s.sailed, and the experience of the preceding day had taught him that, however inferior in numbers, the troops he was opposed to were as valiant as they were ably commanded.

Soon after this, Marmont retired on the valley of the Tagus. Dorsenne also fell back, and for the present at least, no further effort was made to prosecute the invasion of Portugal.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

THE SAN PETRO.

"Not badly wounded, O'Malley, I hope?" said General Crawfurd, as I waited upon him soon after the action.

I could not help starting at the question, while he repeated it, pointing at the same time to my left shoulder, from which a stream of blood was now flowing down my coat-sleeve.

"I never noticed it, sir, till this moment. It can't be of much consequence, for I have been on horseback the entire day, and never felt it."

"Look to it at once, boy; a man wants all his blood for this campaign. Go to your quarters. I shall not need you for the present; so pray see the doctor at once."

As I left the general's quarters, I began to feel sensible of pain, and before a quarter of an hour had elapsed, had quite convinced myself that my wound was a severe one. The hand and arm were swollen, heavy, and distended with hemorrhage beneath the skin, my thirst became great, and a cold, shuddering sensation pa.s.sed over me from time to time.

I sat down for a moment upon the gra.s.s, and was just reflecting within myself what course I should pursue, when I heard the tramp of feet approaching. I looked up, and perceived some soldiers in fatigue dresses, followed by a few others who, from their noiseless gestures and sad countenances, I guessed were carrying some wounded comrade to the rear.

"Who is it, boys?" cried I.

"It's the major, sir, the Lord be good to him!" said a hardy-looking Eighty-eighth man, wiping his eye with the cuff of his coat as he spoke.

"Not your major? Not Major O'Shaughnessy?" said I, jumping up and rushing forward towards the litter. Alas, too true, it was the gallant fellow himself! There he lay, pale and cold; his bloodless cheek and parted lips looking like death itself. A thin blue rivulet trickled from his forehead, but his most serious wound appeared to be in the side; his coat was open, and showed a ma.s.s of congealed and clotted blood, from the midst of which, with every motion of the way, a fresh stream kept welling upward. Whether from the shock or my loss of blood or from both together, I know not, but I sank fainting to the ground.

It would have needed a clearer brain and a cooler judgment than I possessed to have conjectured where I was, and what had occurred to me, when next I recovered my senses. Weak, fevered, and with a burning thirst, I lay, unable to move, and could merely perceive the objects which lay within the immediate reach of my vision. The place was cold, calm, and still as the grave. A lamp, which hung high above my head, threw a faint light around, and showed me, within a niche of the opposite wall, the figure of a gorgeously dressed female; she appeared to be standing motionless, but as the pale light flickered upon her features, I thought I could detect the semblance of a smile. The splendor of her costume and the glittering gems which shone upon her spotless robe gleamed through the darkness with an almost supernatural brilliancy, and so beautiful did she look, so calm her pale features, that as I opened and shut my eyes and rubbed my lids, I scarcely dared to trust to my erring senses, and believe it could be real. What could it mean? Whence this silence; this cold sense of awe and reverence? Was it a dream; was it the fitful vision of a disordered intellect? Could it be death? My eyes were riveted upon that beautiful figure. I essayed to speak, but could not; I would have beckoned her towards me, but my hands refused their office. I felt I know not what charm she possessed to calm my throbbing brain and burning heart; but as I turned from the gloom and darkness around to gaze upon her fair brow and unmoved features, I felt like the prisoner who turns from the cheerless desolation of his cell, and looks upon the fair world and the smiling valleys lying sunlit and shadowed before him.

Sleep at length came over me; and when I awoke, the day seemed breaking, for a faint gray tint stole through a stained-gla.s.s window, and fell in many colored patches upon the pavement. A low muttering sound attracted me; I listened, it was Mike's voice. With difficulty raising myself upon one arm, I endeavored to see more around me. Scarcely had I a.s.sumed this position, when my eyes once more fell upon the white-clad figure of the preceding night. At her feet knelt Mike, his hands clasped, and his head bowed upon his bosom. Shall I confess my surprise, my disappointment! It was no other than an image of the blessed Virgin, decked out in all the gorgeous splendor which Catholic piety bestows upon her saints. The features, which the imperfect light and my more imperfect faculties had endowed with an expression of calm, angelic beauty, were, to my waking senses, but the cold and barren mockery of loveliness; the eyes, which my excited brain gifted with looks of tenderness and pity, stared with no speculation in them; yet contrasting my feelings of the night before, full as they were of, their deceptions, with my now waking thoughts, I longed once more for that delusion which threw a dreamy pleasure over me, and subdued the stormy pa.s.sions of my soul into rest and repose.

"Who knows," thought I, "but he who kneels yonder feels now as I did then?

Who can tell how little the cold, unmeaning reality before him resembles the spiritualized creation the fervor of his love and the ardor of his devotion may have placed upon that altar? Who can limit or bound the depth of that adoration for an object whose attributes appeal not only to every sentiment of the heart, but also to every sense of the brain? I fancy that I can picture to myself how these tinselled relics, these tasteless waxworks, changed by the magic of devotion and of dread, become to the humble worshipper images of loveliness and beauty. The dim religious light; the reverberating footsteps echoed along those solemn aisles; the vaulted arches, into whose misty heights the sacred incense floats upward, while the deep organ is pealing its notes of praise or prayer,--these are no slight accessories to all the pomp and grandeur of a church whose forms and ceremonial, unchanged for ages and hallowed by a thousand a.s.sociations, appeal to the mind of the humblest peasant or the proudest n.o.ble by all the weaknesses as by all the more favored features of our nature."

How long I might have continued to meditate in this strain I know not, when a muttered observation from Mike turned the whole current of my thoughts.

His devotion over, he had seated himself upon the steps of the altar, and appeared to be resolving some doubts within himself concerning his late pious duties.

"Ma.s.ses is dearer here than in Galway. Father Rush would be well pleased at two-and-sixpence for what I paid three doubloons for, this morning.

And sure it's droll enough. How expensive an amus.e.m.e.nt it is to kill the French! Here's half a dollar I gave for the soul of a cuira.s.sier that I kilt yesterday, and nearly twice as much for an artilleryman I cut down at the guns; and because the villain swore like a heythen, Father Pedro told me he'd cost more nor if he died like a decent man."

At these words he turned suddenly round towards the Virgin, and crossing himself devoutly, added,--

And sure it's yourself knows if it's fair to make me pay for devils that don't know their duties; and after all, if you don't understand English nor Irish, I've been wasting my time here this two hours."

"I say, Mike, how's my friend the major! How's Major O'Shaughnessy?"

"Charmingly, sir. It was only loss of blood that ailed him. A thief with a pike--one of the chaps they call Poles, bekase of the long sticks they carry with them--stuck the major in the ribs; but Doctor Quill--G.o.d reward him! he's a great doctor and a funny divil too--he cured him in no time."

"And where is he now, Mike?"

"Just convanient, in a small chapel off the sacristy; and throuble enough we have to keep him quiet. He gave up the _con_fusion of roses, and took to punch; and faith, it isn't hymns nor paslams [psalms] he's singing all night. And they had me there, mixing materials and singing songs, till I heard the bell for matins; and what between the punch and the prayers, I never closed my eyes."

"What do they call this convent?"

"It is a hard word, I misremember. It's something like saltpetre. But how's your honor? It's time to ask."

"Much better, Mike, much better. But as I see that either your drink or your devotion seems to have affected your nerves, you'd better lie down for an hour or two. I shall not want you."

"That's just what I can't; for you see I'm making a song for this evening.

The Rangers has a little supper, and I'm to be there; and though I've made one, I'm not sure it'll do. May be your honor would give me your opinion about it?"

"With all my heart, Mike; let's hear it."

"Arrah, is it here, before the Virgin and the two blessed saints that's up there in the gla.s.s cases? But sure, when they make an hospital of the place, and after the major's songs last night--"

"Exactly so, Mike; out with it."

"Well, Ma'am," said he, turning towards the Virgin, "as I suspect you don't know English, may be you'll think it's my offices I'm singing. So, saving your favor, here it is."

MR. FREE'S SONG.

AIR,--"_Arrah, Catty, now can't you be asy?_"

Oh, what stories I'll tell when my sodgering's o'er, And the gallant Fourteenth is disbanded; Not a drill nor parade will I hear of no more, When safely in Ireland landed.

With the blood that I spilt, the Frenchmen I kilt, I'll drive the young girls half crazy; And some cute one will cry, with a wink of her eye, "Mister Free, now _why can't you be asy?_"

I'll tell how we routed the squadrons in fight, And destroyed them all at "Talavera,"

And then I'll just add how we finished the night, In learning to dance the "bolera;"

How by the moonshine we drank raal wine, And rose next day fresh as a daisy; Then some one will cry, with a look mighty sly, "Arrah, Mickey, _now can't you lie asy?_"

I'll tell how the nights with Sir Arthur we spent, Around a big fire in the air too, Or may be enjoying ourselves in a tent, Exactly like Donnybrook fair too.

How he'd call out to me: "Pa.s.s the wine, Mr. Free, For you're a man never is lazy!"

Then some one will cry, with a wink of her eye, "Arrah, Mickey, dear, _can't you be asy?_"

I'll tell, too, the long years in fighting we pa.s.sed, Till Mounseer asked Bony to lead him; And Sir Arthur, grown tired of glory at last, Begged of one Mickey Free to succeed him.

"But, acushla," says I, "the truth is I'm shy!