Stories of Waterloo;
and Other Tales.
by William Hamilton Maxwell
London: Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley
1829
Vol. 1.
———
—Chapter 2—
The Detachment.
IN
a country south of the Shannon, and in one of the wildest districts of a disturbed barony, the village of Woodford is situated.
To a person interested in mountain scenery, I know no part of Ireland more attractive than this secluded place. From the time you leave the mail-coach road the face of the country gradually assumes a wilder appearance. The small stony fields become more barren and less frequent; the hamlets disappear altogether; and now and then, perhaps at the distance of a mile, you come unexpectedly on two or three loosely-built huts in some sheltered hollow, or a herd's hovel, erected under a precipitous bank, or in a ravine formed by the sudden alteration in the course of a mountain stream.
All signs of cultivation are now at an end. Around is a continuous heath as far as the eye can penetrate. The surface of the ground becomes more difficult and broken; bogs, apparently interminable, are interspersed with stony hills covered with strong heather, or small patches of drier ground, clothed with fern and bent; while a deep and narrow stream, rising in the chain of dark mountains which bound the view, moves sluggishly through the morass, and adds to the difficulties offered to a stranger who may be obliged to pass over this desolate district.
In a deep glen, sheltered on every side by hills, and where several mountain streams unite and form a considerable river, the small town of Woodford stands. The situation chosen by the founder for this infant settlement is undoubtedly both convenient and picturesque. The sides of the rocky hills which environ it are capable of being planted; and the larch and firs which had been put down some years ago, are now healthy and promising. The river abounds with salmon, and affords a never-failing supply of water to the corn and flax-mills. The bogs around produce fuel with little labour: timber applicable for most domestic purposes may be raised with trifling difficulty; the moors generally have been ascertained to be reclaimable, and already a considerable portion of excellent land has been brought in.
If the situation of Woodford is in many points favourable, it is not, however, without its moral and natural disadvantages. The difficult, and in many place, impassible morasses, which surround and separate it from the opener and more civilized country, have for years been a favourite retreat for the peasantry employed in illicit distillation.
The nature of the ground makes a military approach laborious in the extreme, and renders a surprise by rapid movements impossible. The great security of this wilderness has encouraged this demoralizing traffic to a fearful extent; and consequently, the people of this district have been always a desperate semi-barbarous community, leagued together against the laws by a bond of common interest, which in many instances they have observed with fatal fidelity to each other.
Nor was the injurious effects of this system confined to a mere diminution of the revenue, and a destruction of habits of domestic industry in those only engaged in this illegal manufacture. The mountains here afforded concealment to men of desperate character from remoter counties; and many persons, whose lives would have been forfeited for crimes of the deepest die, found shelter in the fastnesses of Woodford, and there lived in comparative security.
For a considerable time, associations of a treasonable nature had existed in the south and west of Ireland; and it may be readily conceived that the neighbourhood we have described would have been chosen haunt of the disaffected. Such was the case. The country round Woodford had been in a state of unusual disturbance. The lamentably-defective police of that day were found unable to make head against the increasing power of the ribbon-men. The gentry deserted their houses; the landlords were necessitated to have their lands partitioned, and let in obedience to the mandates of those midnight legislators, or submit to see their estates wasted and untenanted. At length the government was called upon to interfere. A military force was, as usual, called in; and, in the winter of 1814, the soldiery in Woodford, generally confined to a subaltern's party stationed there for revenue duty, were relieved by the flank companies of the 18th regiment detached from head-quarters, who, with a small party of dragoons, took possession of a temporary barrack.
The effects of quartering this effective military force in Woodford were soon apparent. Captain Kennedy, the young and active commander of the detachment, was indefatigable in harassing the insurgents. At first, trusting to the imaginary security of their fastnesses, they ventured a show of opposition to the army; but the bold and active movements of the young soldier, himself a mountaineer, disconcerted the outlaws; and, after losing several of their leaders, they gradually retired into the remote mountains, where the military could not follow them, and left the country about Woodford in a state of comparative tranquility.
Still the system was suppressed, but not exterminated. The revenue-men could not act without being protected by the army. A gauger had been assassinated recently, under circumstances of peculiar atrocity, and a small military party, escorting a revenue seizure, were waylaid in a defile, and several of the soldiers wounded before they could effect their retreat.
In the spring of 1815 our story opens. It was one of those uncertain days in April, when showers and sunshine succeed each other rapidly: a brisk wind from the west ruffled the deep pools in the river, and eddying over its surface, offered every inducement to the fisher to venture out. The morning parade of the little garrison of Woodford was ended, when the commander, sallying forth with his fishing-rod, was seen, attended by a huge Newfoundland dog, winding up the narrow glen, where one of the river's tributary streams rushed from the higher moors into the hollow where the village stood. Without stopping to fish this rivulet, the angler pressed quickly on, and crossing the brow of the hill, was soon shut out from view.
During his progress over the rising ground the fisher had been observed by three persons, who were leaning over the battlements of the bridge, amusing themselves in the throwing small pebbles, and detached portions of the rough-cast, into the stream below. They paused occasionally to make passing remarks upon certain pieces of intelligence, which a short man in a close-but-toned blue frock-coat was detailing, in very broad Scotch, from the columns of the Dublin Correspondent. The landing of Buonaparte at Cannes had been known for a few days, and his rapid and unopposed advance on Paris formed a subject of surprise and conversation to the idle group.
"God defend us!" said the little man in blue; "what a deevil incarnate that Boney is! We thought we had done with him for ever, and hegh, sirs, here he is pushing right for the capital, without the snapping of a flint, and all the folk, from corporal to colonel, flying from the Bourbons like rats from a wreck!"
"Ay, ay, Mac Splint," rejoined a sturdy lieutenant of grenadiers, whose broad shoulders, and broader dialect, bespoke him at once, as being an indigenous production of the Emerald Isle, "we'll be at the old work again. Some comfort in having a row of blue-boys before one, compared to our present rascally employment, of scampering for a winter's night after an excise-man, to ferret out contraband malt, and capture drunken distillers. Zounds! since the Ribbon-men have retired, New Holland would be a paradise to this. A brush of a moon-light night with them was something creditable—smart active fellows, and passable shots, as you know, doctor; but now a man is knocked out of bed twice a week to scramble after a cowardly gauger, who won't go the length of himself without half a company at his back; and if one escapes dislocated bones, and suffocation in some cursed quagh, he comes home, half dead with fatigue, in the honourable charge of a tin still and a drunken soldier. But, blessings on Napoleon! our banishment here will soon terminate, and the good folks of Woodford may follow their honest calling, and brew poteen to their heart's content, without being harried by spies and soldiers."
"Egad," rejoined the third, whose uniform (the wings being ornamented with a bugle-horn, and a silver whistle hanging at the breast) announced him to be an officer of light infantry, "when we march, the revenue gentry will be rather ceremonious in their rural visits. The mountain people have a happy knack of disposing of a supernumerary exciseman."
"Morton's murder was a bold and barbarous act," replied the first speaker; "and what strange fealty exists among these wild people! for although a number of persons must have been concerned in, or cognizant of that outrage, an immense reward and promise of free pardon has as yet failed in procuring any clue to unravel the mystery of that murder. But where has Kennedy gone?"
"He is off to fish the lake in the mountains; it abounds, they say, with fine gilleroes."
"The lake in the mountains!" exclaimed he in blue. "By St. Andrews, all the gilleroe trouts in the empire would not induce me to venture half the way! Why, is it not the favourite haunt of Johnny Gibbons and Captain Mac Greal, and half the other infernal captains, whose handywork brought me here from head-quarters to attend the wounded men?—Who has he with him?"
"His dog Sailor," replied the other. "Young Mansell promised to meet him at the Priest's Cairn."
"Ay, that's a cheil after Kennedy's own heart, and like enough to come to a short end, unless auld nick has a sharp eye to his ain."
"Faith, Mac Splint," said the grenadier, "you forgot the danger in the delicacy yesterday, for you played a man's part at the fish."
"Hoot, Charley, the trouts are gude trouts; but deil have me but they might swim in their loughs to eternity before I would gang up you black hills to pull them out.—But it's time for me to look in at the hospital."
"How are they getting on with you there?" inquired the lieutenant of light infantry.
"Oh! pretty well. I'll save Sergeant Morrison's leg, and that's more than I expected when I first saw him.—Trouts!" he continued, as he leisurely moved away from his companions, "deil tak the fule who would risk getting a lump of leed in his carcass for all the fish that ever wore a fin!"
While the military group, who were lounging on the bridge of Woodford, had been thus engaged, the subject of their last remarks was traversing the moors which lay between his barracks and the hills. He was a tall, active man, apparently about four or five-and-twenty. His step, as he crossed the heath, was firm and free; and when the ground became unsound and dangerous, the lightness of his spring, as he bounded across the tammocks, showed him to be well accustomed to severe and perilous exertion. His plain dress was well adapted for mountain exercise. He was habited in a short fustian jacket, his loose trowsers and woolen stockings allowing ample play to the muscles of his legs; a silk kerchief was knotted round his neck, and a green foraging cap completed his simple costume.
If the light bearing of the sportsman did not sufficiently bespeak his careless, reckless character, one glance at his face would have readily determined his disposition. The features were far from regular, and his complexion, naturally dark, had been exposed to sun and storm; but there was an expression of an elastic spirit and cheerful temper in the merry glance of his hazel eye. More too than simple good-humour might be traced in his marked countenance. The forehead was open, and the brow arched boldly; and beneath that light smile Kennedy concealed a daring heart and prompt determination.
Following the course of the river, he entered a deep and narrow glen: distance objects were shut out from view, and the only sounds which broke the silence of the mountain pass were caused by the springing of the grouse from her nest, and the plashing of his large black dog, who cooled himself now and then in the deeper eddies of the rivulet.
In the center of this solitary dell was the Priest's Cairn. It was a huge pile of stones irregularly heaped together. A Catholic clergyman of a singular and romantic character had, many years ago, perished there in a snow-storm; and as the winter was unusually severe, and the snow remained for a long time unthawed, the body of the ill-fated man, notwithstanding every research possible, and the united exertions of the peasantry, remained undiscovered for several weeks. On the spot where the corpse was found, an immense heap of stones had been accumulated; for no one passed without adding to the pile. Here Kennedy halted, awaiting the arrival of his companion; and soon after, as Mansell did not appear, he set out for the lough, which was situated at the head of the glen, and from which the river whose banks he traversed took its rise.
There could not be a more lone and desolate place than the site of the mountain lake. On every side the ground rose abruptly and encompassed it in a circle of heath and rock. One narrow gorge at its extremity marked the egress of its waters, and the source of the rivulet it fed. Nearly in the middle was an island; but it seemed merely a mass of loose stones ejected from the bed of the lough by a volcano. There was no herbage on its surface; but a few blasted shrubs clung to the fissures of the rock, and a rifted oak, with one or two wild hollies, had contrived to imbed themselves in the cliffs which formed it.
With all a sportsman's keenness Kennedy persevered in his angling. The fish rose freely, and in a few hours his basket was full. He now prepared for his return; and as the barracks were distant fully seven miles, by the shortest route he could take across the moors, he tied up his fishing-rod, and turned his face to Woodford.
The day was nearly closing, and with all his exertions he would hardly reach the barracks in time for dinner. It struck him that by altering his course, and crossing a deep ravine, which lay to the left, he could shorten his road considerably. The way was steep and difficult, but to one so strong and active, that was a matter of trivial consequence.
While Kennedy was mentally arranging his new route the shades of evening fell fast, and the first dinner bugle was sounded in the barracks at Woodford. Doctor Mac Splint, who, like the lamented Kitchener, united the rare talents of gastronomy with medecine, had that day been at unusual pains in overseeing the construction of a curry, and now that "the hour of projection" was at hand, looked with much anxiety at the clock, and made frequent reconnaissance from the window.
In out-quarters, where extensive accommodation cannot be had, there is often a community of property in the apartments; and one of Kennedy's being more convenient than the rest, was selected as the mess-room for the party. Here the anxious doctor paced, soliloquising, to the great amusement of the lieutenants, who insinuated the possibility of the protracted absence of the commander, and accordingly urged the propriety of putting back dinner for another hour.
"Put back dinner!" said Mac Splint, peevishly, "the thing's clean impossible; the curry would be overdone, and the rice ruined. God preserve us!—such folly—men wauding like outlaws over glens and muirs—and all for catching as much fish as could be bought for shilling! forby the great likelihood of being shot or hamstrung by the savage renegades that are as thick in this accursed country as broom bushes:—but is not that a horse's feet I hear? Charley, boy, look out."
While he spoke, two men rode up at a rapid pace, and Lieutenant Dennison at once pronounced them to be young Mansell, who was in charge of the dragoons, and Captain Mac Carthy of the same corps.
"God help us!" ejaculated the doctor, "it will be a severe night. Mac Carthy never goes to bed under four bottles, and many an aching head will be among us to-morrow; but mess waiter—Phil Boyle—run to Mr. Mansell's room; tell him to hurry—need not mind dressing—out-quarters—no ceremony—bouillé beef will be in ribbons—tell them to sound the second bugle—Ah! here they come;"—and Mansell and Mac Carthy entered as he spoke, and were welcomed in due form.
To an inquiry about Kennedy, Mansell could give no satisfactory answer. He had been detained unexpectedly at head-quarters till too late to think of keeping his appointment, and persuaded his friend Mac Carthy, who was always ready for a ramble, to ride over with him on chance, and try the mountain mutton, and mountain dew of Woodford. Half an hour elapsed, and still Kennedy did not appear; and Mac Splint having declared that waiting dinner a moment longer was utterly subversive of military discipline, and moreover, certain destruction to divers dishes which he duly enumerated, the meal was served, and the absent fisher for a time forgotten.
Dinner ended, and still there was no appearance of Captain Kennedy. Tattoo-time came; the cavalry trumpet was answered by the bugles of the light infantry. Another hour passed, and the party became exceedingly alarmed by the unaccountable absence of the captain of grenadiers. The conjectures respecting him were numerous, vague, and unsatisfactory.
"He could hardly be drowned in the lough," observed Doctor Mac Splint, the president of the mess for the day. "He swims like a water-fowl, and his dog Sailor would drag out any thing lighter than an alderman."
"He may have fallen lame, or met with an accident," remarked a second; and casting a side glance at the doctor, continued, "and therefore I propose that medical assistance be promptly dispatched, under the protection of a couple of dragoons."
"He has more likely lost his way," said the third, "or followed a will o' the wisp."
"Or the waft of a petticoat, like Nora Crina's," rejoined Captain Mac Carthy, as he sung—
"Oh, my Nora's gown for me!
Floating loose as mountain breezes."
"But, seriously," said young Mansell, "Kennedy absence is both unaccountable and alarming, and I'll take out a party of dragoons."
"And so shall I," rejoined the officer on duty. But before the young men could leave the room, steps were heard crossing the little court hastily; the door was thrown open, and the object of the intended search, accompanied by a tall man, wrapped closely in the frieze coat peculiar to the country, stood before them.
It was evident from a momentary glance at Kennedy, and the mountaineer who attended him, that he had been engaged in some troublesome adventure. His look expressed fatigue and exhaustion; his clothes were torn, and covered with mud; his jacket was scorched and bloody, and his countenance bespoke anxiety and thought. Had any additional proof been requisite of his master having been in recent peril, Sailor's appearance would have been conclusive. He limped on three legs, evidently in considerable pain; his head and neck were scarred with a deep cut; in some places his back was totally stripped of hair, and in others he was singed or scalded. Without stopping to answer the numerous interrogatories of his comrades, Kennedy filled a goblet of wine, and desiring the mess waiter to summon the sergeant of the guard, he finished it at a draught.
While waiting the soldier's arrival, the military group round the table were scrutinizing the appearance of the peasant who had accompanied the captain of grenadiers. He was a powerful and athletic countryman, plainly but decently dressed, so far as the rough coat, which nearly concealed him, would admit their examination. There was something bold and martial in his bearing; and when he approached the table, and took the wine filled for him by direction of Kennedy, he raised, as soldiers do, his hand to his hat, without it.
This motion, however simple in itself, caused desperate alarm to the president of the mess, who happened to be unluckily next him. The opening of the peasant's coat, as he raised his arm, disclosed a belt beneath it, in which were a dirk and case of pistols; and Mac Splint testified his apprehension, by inquiring of Mansell softly,—"if he could guess who the stranger was?"
"To a certainty," replied the mischievous dragoon, "Johnny Gibbons, the outlaw."
"God preserve us!" ejaculated the doctor, springing in desperate affright from the chair. "Why, he has shot two men already;—what the deevil possessed you, Kennedy, to bring a savage in upon us, and he loaded with weapons of destruction?"
But vain was Mac Splint's attempt to an escape. As he endeavoured to pass Mac Carthy, who was unfortunately sitting in the line of his retreat, the latter seized him in his iron grasp, and all he effected by the movement was bringing himself within two paces of the formidable stranger.
At this moment the sergeant appeared. "Reynolds," said the commander, "conduct this man to the inner guard-house. Nobody must intrude on him, or question him, and let him have every comfort he requires. I will visit you myself to-night," added he, addressing the stranger.
The peasant bowed. "Had I not better," said he, with a half smile, "leave these here?" as he unclosed his coat, and took the fire-arms from his belt.
"No-no!" roared Doctor Mac Splint. "Damn it, Kennedy, leave them alone. Gie them to the guard, man—gie them to the guard. They're charged no doubt, and may go off in the hanlin. Leave them down for God's sake!" as one of the lieutenants received them from the stranger. "Charley, Charley! if you will take them, point them at the wall, man."
In the midst of the doctor's alarm and advice, the prisoner retired with the sergeant. The cold dinner was brought back for Kennedy, who sat down at a side-table to satisfy a sportsman's appetite, leaving Doctor Mac Splint and the other gentlemen of the sword full leisure to amuse themselves with any speculations they might please to make on the strange occurrence of the evening.
Having dispatched a hasty meal, and sent refreshments to the prisoner in the guard-room, and while Mac Splint, whose curiosity was unbounded, had flattered himself that he was on the eve of receiving an ample explanation, Kennedy abruptly retired, followed by his wounded dog.
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