Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon Volume Ii Part 42

"Yes, sir. I led a party of the Eighty-eight at the breach."

"And devilish well you did it, too!" added Picton, for it was he who recognized me. "I saw him, my lord, spring down from the parapet upon a French gunner, and break his sword as he cleft his helmet in two. Yes, yes; I shall not forget in a hurry how you laid about you with the rammer of the gun! By Jove! that's it he has in his hand!"

While Picton ran thus hurriedly on, Lord Wellington's calm but stern features never changed their expression. The looks of those around were bent upon me with interest and even admiration; but his evinced nothing of either.

Reverting at once to my absence from my post, he asked me,--

"Did you obtain leave for a particular service, sir?"

"No, my lord. It was simply from an accidental circ.u.mstance that--"

"Then, report yourself at your quarters as under arrest."

"But, my lord--" said Picton. Lord Wellington waited not for the explanation, but walked firmly forward, and strode into the church. The staff followed in silence, Picton turning one look of kindness on me as he went, as though to say, "I'll not forget you."

"The devil take it," cried I, as I found myself once more alone, "but I'm unlucky! What would turn out with other men the very basis of their fortune, is ever with me the source of ill-luck."

It was evident, from Picton's account, that I had distinguished myself in the breach; and yet nothing was more clear than that my conduct had displeased the commander-in-chief. Picturing him ever to my mind's eye as the _beau ideal_ of a military leader, by some fatality of fortune I was continually incurring his displeasure, for whose praise I would have risked my life. "And this confounded costume--What, in the name of every absurdity, could have ever persuaded me to put it on. What signifies it, though a man should cover himself with glory, if in the end he is to be laughed at? Well, well, it matters not much, now my soldiering's over! And yet I could have wished that the last act of my campaigning had brought with it pleasanter recollections."

As thus I ruminated, the click of the soldier's musket near aroused me: Picton was pa.s.sing out. A shade of gloom and depression was visible upon his features, and his lip trembled as he muttered some sentences to himself.

"Ha! Captain--I forget the name. Yes, Captain O'Malley; you are released from arrest. General Crawfurd has spoken very well of you, and Lord Wellington has heard the circ.u.mstances of your case."

"Is it General Crawfurd, then, that is wounded, sir?" said I, eagerly.

Picton paused for a moment, while, with an effort, he controlled his features into their stern and impa.s.sive expression, then added hurriedly and almost harshly:--

Yes, sir; badly wounded through the arm and in the lung. He mentioned you to the notice of the commander-in-chief, and your application for leave is granted. In fact, you are to have the distinguished honor of carrying back despatches. There, now; you had better join your brigade."

"Could I not see my general once more? It may be for the last time."

"No, sir!" sternly replied Picton. "Lord Wellington believes you under arrest. It is as well he should suppose you obeyed his orders."

There was a tone of sarcasm in these words that prevented my reply; and muttering my grat.i.tude for his well-timed and kindly interference in my behalf, I bowed deeply and turned away.

"I say, sir!" said Picton, as he returned towards the church, "should anything befall,--that is, if, unfortunately, circ.u.mstances should make you in want and desirous of a staff appointment, remember that you are known to General Picton."

Downcast and depressed by the news of my poor general, I wended my way with slow and uncertain steps towards the rampart. A clear, cold, wintry sky and a sharp, bracing air made my wound, slight as it was, more painful, and I endeavored to reach the reserves, where I knew the hospital-staff had established, for the present, their quarters. I had not gone far when, from a marauding party, I learned that my man Mike was in search of me through the plain. A report of my death had reached him, and the poor fellow was half distracted.

Longing anxiously to allay his fears on my account, which I well knew might lead him into any act of folly or insanity, I pressed forward; besides--shall I confess it?--amidst the manifold thoughts of sorrow and affliction which weighed me down, I could not divest myself of the feeling that so long as I wore my present absurd costume, I could be nothing but an object of laughter and ridicule to all who met me.

I had not long to look for my worthy follower, for I soon beheld him cantering about the plain. A loud shout brought him beside me; and truly the poor fellow's delight was great and sincere. With a thousand protestations of his satisfaction, and reiterated a.s.surances of what he would not have done to the French prisoners if anything had happened me, we took our way together towards the camp.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

THE DESPATCH.

I was preparing to visit the town on the following morning, when my attention was attracted by a dialogue which took place beneath my window.

"I say, my good friend," cried a mounted orderly to Mike, who was busily employed in brus.h.i.+ng a jacket,--"I say, are you Captain O'Malley's man?"

"The least taste in life o' that same," replied he, with a half-jocular expression.

"Well, then," said the other, "take up these letters to your master. Be alive, my fine fellow, for they are despatches, and I must have a written return for them."

"Won't ye get off and take a drop of somethin' refres.h.i.+ng; the air is cowld this morning."

"I can't stay, my good friend, but thank you all the same; so be alive, will you?"

"Arrah, there's no hurry in life. Sure, it's an invitation to dinner to Lord Wellington or a tea-party at Sir Denny's; sure, my master's bothered with them every day o' th' week: that's the misfortune of being an agreeable creature; and I'd be led into dissipation myself, if I wasn't rear'd prudent."

"Well, come along, take these letters, for I must be off; my time is short."

"That's more nor your nose is, honey," said Mike, evidently piqued at the little effect his advances had produced upon the Englishman. "Give them here," continued he, while he turned the various papers in every direction, affecting to read their addresses.

"There's nothing for me here, I see. Did none of the generals ask after me?"

"You _are_ a queer one!" said the dragoon, not a little puzzled what to make of him.

Mike meanwhile thrust the papers carelessly into his pocket, and strode into the house, whistling a quick-step as he went, with the air of a man perfectly devoid of care or occupation. The next moment, however, he appeared at my door, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, and apparently breathless with haste.

"Despatches, Mister Charles, despatches from Lord Wellington. The orderly is waiting below for a return."

"Tell him he shall have it in one moment," replied I. "And now bring me a light."

Before I had broken the seal of the envelope, Mike was once more at the porch.

"My master is writing a few lines to say he'll do it. Don't be talking of it," added he, dropping his voice, "but they want him to take another fortress."

What turn the dialogue subsequently took, I cannot say, for I was entirely occupied by a letter which accompanied the despatches. It ran as follows:--

QUARTER-GENERAL,

CIUDAD RODRIGO, Jan. 20, 1812.

Dear Sir,--The commander-in-chief has been kind enough to accord you the leave of absence you applied for, and takes the opportunity of your return to England to send you the accompanying letters for his Royal Highness the Duke of York. To his approval of your conduct in the a.s.sault last night you owe this distinguished mark of Lord Wellington's favor, which, I hope, will be duly appreciated by you, and serve to increase your zeal for that service in which you have already distinguished yourself.

Believe me that I am most happy in being made the medium of this communication, and have the honor to be,

Very truly yours,

T. PICTON.

I read and re-read this note again and again. Every line was conned over by me, and every phrase weighed and balanced in my mind. Nothing could be more gratifying, nothing more satisfactory to my feelings; and I would not have exchanged its possession for the brevet of a lieutenant-colonel.