"Eh! what's that?" cried a gruff voice; "the corpse does what?"
"'T is a rhetorical amplification, that means he would if he could,"said Darby, stopping to explain.
"I say," said another, "that's all gammon and stuff; a corpse could n'tknow what was doing,--eh, old fellow?"
"'T is an Irish corpse I was describin'," said Darby, proudly, andevidently, while sore pushed for an explanation, having a severestruggle to keep down his contempt for the company that needed it.
An effort I made at this moment to obtain a nearer view of the party,from whom I was slightly separated by some low brushwood, brought myhand in contact with something sharp; I started and looked round, and tomy astonishment saw a clasp knife, such as gardeners carry, lying openbeside me. In a second I guessed the meaning of this. It had been soleft by Darby, to give me an opportunity of cutting the cords that boundmy arms, and thus facilitating my escape. His presence was doubtlessthere for this object, and all the entertaining powers he displayedonly brought forth to occupy the soldiers' attention while I effected mydeliverance. Regret for the time lost was my first thought; my second,more profitable, was not to waste another moment. So, kneeling downI managed with the knife to cut some of my fastenings, and after somelittle struggle freed one arm; to liberate the other was the work ofa second, and I stood up untrammelled. What was to be done next? foralthough at liberty, the soldiers lay about me on every side, and escapeseemed impossible. Besides, I knew not where to turn, where to look forone friendly face, nor any one who would afford me shelter. Just thenI heard Darby's voice raised above its former pitch, and evidentlyintended to be heard by me.
"Sure, there's Captain Bubbleton, of the Forty-fifth Regiment, now inDublin, in George's Street Barracks. Ay, in George's Street Barracks,"said he, repeating the words as if to impress them on me. "'T is himselfcould tell you what I say is thrue; and if you wouldn't put confidentialauthentification on the infirmation of a poor leather-squeezing,timber-tickling crayture like myself, sure you 'd have reverentialobaydience to your own commissioned captain."
"Well, I don't think much of that song of yours, anyhow, old Blow, orBlast, or whatever your name is. Have you nothing about the service, eh?'The British Grenadiers;' give us that."
"Yes; 'The British Grenadiers,' that's the tune!" cried a number of theparty together.
"I never heard them play but onst, sir," said Darby, meekly; "and theywere in sich a hurry that day, I couldn't pick up the tune."
"A hurry! what d' you mean?" said the corporal.
"Yes, sir; 't was the day but one after the French landed; and theBritish Grenadiers that you were talking of was running away towardsCastlebar."
"What 's that you say there?" cried out one of the soldiers, in a voiceof passion.
"'Tis that they wor running away, sir," replied Darby, with a mostinsulting coolness; "and small blame to thim for that same, av they worfrightened."
In an instant the party sprang to their legs, while a perfect shower ofcurses fell upon the luckless piper, and fifty humane proposals to smashhis skull, break his neck and every bone in his body, were mooted on allsides. Meanwhile M'Keown remonstrated, in a spirit which in a minute Iperceived was not intended to appease their irritation; on the contrary,his apologies were couched in very different guise, being rather excusesfor his mishap in having started a disagreeable topic, than any regretfor the mode in which he treated it.
"And sure, sir," continued he, addressing the corporal, "'t was n't myfault av they tuck to their heels; would n't any one run for his life avhe had the opportunity?"
He raised his voice once more at these words with such significance thatI resolved to profit by the counsel if the lucky moment should offer.--Ihad not long to wait. The insulting manner of Darby, still more thanhis words, had provoked them beyond endurance, and one of the soldiers,drawing his bayonet, drove it through the leather bag of his pipes. Ashout of rage from the piper, and a knockdown blow that levelled theoffender, replied to the insult. In an instant the whole party were uponhim. Their very numbers, however, defeated their vengeance; as I couldhear from the tone of Darby's voice, who, far from declining the combat,continued to throw in every possible incentive to battle, as he struckright and left of him. "Ah, you got that!--Well done!--'Tis brave youare! ten against one!--Devil fear you!"
The scuffle by this time had brought the sergeant to the spot, who invain endeavored to ascertain the cause of the tumult, as they rolledover one another on the ground, while caps, belts, and fragments ofbagpipes were scattered about on every side. The uproar had now reachedits height, and Darby's yells and invectives were poured forth with truenative fluency. The moment seemed propitious to me. I was free,--no onenear; the hint about Bubbleton was evidently intended for my guidance.I crept stealthily a few yards beneath the brushwood, and emerged safelyupon the road. The sounds of the conflict, amid which Darby's own voicerose pre-eminent, told me that all were too busily engaged to waste athought on me. I pressed forward at my best pace, and soon reached thecrest of a hill, from which the view extended for miles on every side.My eyes, however, were bent in but one direction: they turned westwards,where a vast plain stretched away towards the horizon, its variedsurface presenting all the rich and cultivated beauty of a garden;villas and mansions surrounded with large parks; waving cornfields andorchards in all the luxuriance of blossom. Towards the east lay the sea;the coast line broken into jutting promontories and little bays, dottedwith white cottages, with here and there some white-sailed skiff, scarcemoving in the calm air. But amid all this outspread loveliness of view,my attention was fixed upon a dense and heavy cloud that seemed balancedin the bright atmosphere far away in the distance. Thither my eyesturned, and on that spot was my gaze riveted, for I knew that beneaththat canopy of dull smoke lay Dublin. The distant murmur of the angryvoices still reached me as I stood. I turned one backward look; theroad was lonely, not a shadow moved upon it. Before me the mountain roaddescended in a zigzag course till it reached the valley. I sprang overthe low wall that skirted the wayside, and with my eyes still fixed uponthe dark cloud, I hurried on. My heart grew lighter with every step; andwhen at length I reached the shelter of a pine-wood, and perceived nosign of being pursued, my spirits rose to such a pitch of excitementthat I shouted for very joy.
For above an hour my path continued within the shelter of the wood; andwhen at last I emerged, it was not without a sense of sudden fear that Ilooked back upon the mountains which frowned above me, and seemed stillso near. I thought, too, I could mark figures on the road, md imaginedI could see them moving backwards and forwards, like persons seeking forsomething; and then I shuddered to think that they too might be at thatvery moment looking at me. The thought added fresh speed to my flight,and for some miles I pressed forward without even turning once.
It was late in the evening as I drew near the city. Hungry and tired asI was, the fear of being overtaken was uppermost in my thoughts; andas I mingled in the crowds that strolled along the roads enjoying thedelicious calmness of a summer's eve, I shrank from every eye likesomething guilty, and feared that every glance that fell on me wasdetection itself.
It was not until I entered the city, and found myself traversing thecrowded and narrow streets that formed the outskirts, that I felt atease; and inquiring my way to George's Street Barracks, I hurried on,regardless of the strange sights and sounds about. At that hour thehumbler portion of the population was all astir; their daily work ended,they were either strolling along with their families for an eveningwalk, or standing in groups around the numerous ballad-singers,who delighted their audience with diatribes against the Union, andridiculous attacks on the Ministry of the day. These, however, werenot always unmolested, for as I passed on, I saw more than one errantminstrel seized on by the soldiery, and hurried off to the guardhouseto explain some uncivil or equivocal allusion to Lord Castlereagh or Mr.Cook,--such evidences of arbitrary power being sure to elicit a heartygroan or shout' of derision from the mob, which in turn was replied tob
y the soldiers. These scolding matches gave an appearance of tumultto the town, which on some occasions did not stop short at mere war ofwords.
In the larger and better streets such scenes were unfrequent; buthere patrols of mounted dragoons or police passed from time to time,exchanging as they went certain signals as to the state of the city;while crowds of people thronged the pathways, and conversed in a lowtone, which broke forth now and then into a savage yell as often as someinterference on the part of the military seemed to excite their angrypassions. At the Castle gates the crowd was more dense and apparentlymore daring, requiring all the efforts of the dragoons to keep themfrom pressing against the railings, and leave a space for the exit ofcarriages which from time to time issued from the Castle yard. Few ofthese, indeed, went forth unnoticed. Some watchful eye would detect theoccupant as he lay back to escape observation; his name would be shoutedaloud, as an inevitable volley of hisses and execrations showered uponhim. And in this way were received the names of Mr. Bingham, ColonelLoftus, the Right Hon. Denis Browne, Isaac Corry, and several others whohappened that day to be dining with the Lord-Lieutenant, and were now ontheir way to the House of Commons.
Nothing struck me so much in the scene as the real or apparent knowledgepossessed by the mob of all the circumstances of each individual'spersonal and political career; and thus the price for which they hadbeen purchased--either in rank, place, or pounds sterling--was criedaloud amid shouts of derision and laughter, or the more vindictive yellsof an infuriated populace.
"Ha, Ben! what are you to get for Baltinglass? Boroughs is up in themarket." "Well, Dick, you won't take the place; nothing but hard cash.""Don't be hiding. Jemmy." "Look at the Prince of Orange, boys!" "A groanfor the Prince of Orange!"--here a fearful groan from the mob echoedthrough the streets. "There 's Luke Fox; ha! stole away!"--here followedanother yell.
With difficulty I elbowed my way through the densely-packed crowd, andat last reached the corner of George's Street, where a strong policeforce was stationed, not permitting the passage of any one either up ordown that great thoroughfare. Finding it impossible to penetrate by thisway, I continued along Dame Street, where I found the crowd to thickenas I advanced. Not only were the pathways, but the entire streets,filled with people; through whom the dragoons could with difficultyforce a passage for the carriages, which continued at intervals to passdown. Around the statue of King William the mob was in its greatestforce. Not merely the railings around the statue, but the figure itselfwas surmounted by persons, who, taking advantage of their elevated andsecure position, hurled their abuse upon the police and military withdouble bitterness. These sallies of invective were always accompanied bysome humorous allusion, which created a laugh among the crowd beneath;to which, as the objects of the ridicule were by no means insensible,the usual reply was by charging on the people, and a command to keepback,--a difficult precept when pressed forward by some hundreds behindthem. As I made my way slowly through the moving mass, I could see thata powerful body of horse patrolled between the mob and the front of theCollege, the space before which and the iron railings being crammed withstudents of the University, for so their caps and gowns bespoke them.Between this party and the others a constant exchange of abuse andinsult was maintained, which even occasionally came to blows wheneverany chance opportunity of coming in contact, unobserved by the soldiery,presented itself.
In the interval between these rival parties, each member's carriage wasobliged to pass; and here each candidate for the honors of one and theexecrations of the other, met his bane and antidote.
"Ha, broken beak, there you go! bad luck to you!" "Ha, old vulture,Flood!"
"Three cheers for Flood, lads!" shouted a voice from the College; andin the loud cry the yells of their opponents were silenced, but only tobreak forth the next moment into further license.
"Here he comes, here he comes!" said the mob; "make way there, or he'll take you flying! it 's himself can do it. God bless your honor, andmay you never want a good baste under ye!"
This civil speech was directed to a smart, handsome-looking man of aboutfive and forty, who came dashing along on a roan thoroughbred, perfectlycareless of the crowd, through which he rode with a smiling face and amerry look. His leathers and tops were all in perfect jockey style,and even to his long-lashed whip he was in everything a sportsmanlikefigure.
"That's Greorge Ponsonby," said a man beside me, in answer to myquestion. "And I suppose you know who that is?"
A perfect yell from the crowd drowned my reply; and amid the mingledcurses and execrations of the mass, a dark-colored carriage moved slowlyon, the coachman evidently fearful at every step lest his horses shouldstrike against some of the crowd, and thus license the outbreak thatseemed only waiting an opportunity to burst forth.
"Ha, Bladderchops, Bloody Jack! are you there?" shouted the savageringleaders, as they pressed up to the very glasses of the carriage, andstared at the occupant.
"Who is it?" said I, again.
"John Toler, the Attorney-General."
Amid deafening cries of vengeance against him, the carriage movedon, and then rose the wild cheers of the College men to welcome theirpartisan.
A hurrah from the distant end of Dame Street now broke on the ear,which, taken up by those bearer, swelled into a regular thunder; and atthe same moment the dragoons cried out to keep back, a lane was formedin a second, and down it came six smoking thoroughbreds, the postilionsin white and silver, cutting and spurring with all their might. Neverdid I hear such a cheer as now burst forth. A yellow chariot, its panelscovered with emblazonry, came flying past; a hand waved from the windowin return to the salutation of the crowd, and the name of Tom Conollyof Castletown rent the very air. Two outriders in their rich liveriesfollowed, unable to keep their place through the thick mass that wedgedin after the retiring equipage.
Scarcely had the last echo of the voices subsided when a cheerburst from the opposite side, and a waving of caps and handkerchiefsproclaimed that some redoubted champion of Protestant ascendancy wasapproaching. The crowd rocked to and fro as question after questionpoured in.
"Who is it? who is coming?" But none could tell, for as yet thecarriage, whose horses were heard at a smart trot, had not turned thecorner of Grafton Street. In a few moments the doubt seemed resolved,for scarcely did the horses appear in sight when a perfect yell rosefrom the crowd and drowned the cheers of their opponents. I cannotconvey anything like the outbreak of vindictive passion that seemed toconvulse the mob as a splendidly appointed carriage drove rapidly pastand made towards the colonnade of the Parliament House. A rush of thepeople was made at the moment, in which, as in a wave, I was borne alongin spite of me. The dragoons, with drawn sabres, pressed down upon thecrowd, and a scene of frightful confusion followed: many were sorelywounded by the soldiers; some were trampled under foot; and one poorwretch, in an effort to recover himself from stumbling, was supposed tobe stooping for a stone, and cut through the skull without mercy. Helay there insensible for some time; but at last a party of the crowd,braving everything, rushed forward and carried him away to an hospital.
During this, I had established myself on the top of a lamp-post, whichgave me a full view, not only of all the proceedings of the mob, butof the different arrivals as they drew up at the door of the House. Thecarriage whose approach was signalized by all these disasters, had nowreached the colonnade. The steps were lowered, and a young man of thevery handsomest and most elegant appearance descended slowly from thechariot. His dress was in the height of the reigning fashion, but withalhad a certain negligence that bespoke one who less paid attention totoilette, than that his costume was a thing of course, which could notbut be, like all about him, in the most perfect taste. In his hand heheld a white handkerchief, which, as he carelessly shook, the perfumefloated over the savage-looking, half-naked crowd around. He turned togive some directions to his coachman; and at the same moment a dead catwas hurled by some one in the crowd and struck him on the breast, a cryof exultation rending the
very air in welcome of this ruffian act.As for him, he slowly moved his face round towards the mob, and as hebrushed the dirt from his coat with his kerchief, he be, stowed on themone look so full of immeasurable heartfelt contempt that they actuallyquailed beneath it. The cry grew fainter and fainter, and it was only ashe turned to enter the House that they recovered self-possession enoughto renew their insulting shout. I did not need to ask the name, for theyell of "Bloody Castlereagh" shook the very air.
"Make way there! make way, boys!" shouted a rough voice from the crowd;and a roar of laughter, that seemed to burst from the entire street,answered the command, and the same instant a large burly figure advancedthrough a lane made for him in the crowd, mopping his great bullet headwith a bright scarlet handkerchief.
"Long life to you, Mr. Egan!" shouted one. "Three cheers for Bully Egan,boys!" cried another; and the appeal was responded to at once.
"Make way, you blackguards! make way, I say," said Egan, affecting tobe displeased at this display of his popularity; "don't you see who'scoming?"
Every eye was turned at once towards Daly's Clubhouse, in whichdirection he pointed; but it was some minutes before the dense crowdwould permit anything to be seen. Suddenly, however, a cheer arosewilder and louder than any I had yet heard; from the street to the veryhousetops the cry was caught up and repeated, while a tumultuous joyseemed to rock the crowd as they moved to and fro.
At this moment the excitement was almost maddening. Every neck wasstrained in one direction, every eye pointed thither, while theprolonged cheering was sustained with a roar as deafening as the sea ina storm. At last the crowd were forced back, and I saw three gentlemenadvancing abreast: the two outside ones were holding between them theweak and trembling figure of an old and broken man, whose emaciated formand withered face presented the very extreme of lassitude and weakness;his loose coat hung awkwardly on his spare and shrunken form, and hemoved along in a shuffling, slipshod fashion. As they mounted the stepsof the Parliament House, the cheering grew wilder and more enthusiastic;and I wondered how he who was evidently the object could seem soindifferent to the welcome thus given him, as with bent-down head hepressed on, neither turning right nor left. With seeming difficulty hewas assisted up the steps, when he slowly turned round, and removinghis hat, saluted the crowd. The motion was a simple one, but in its verysimplicity was its power. The broad white forehead,--across which somescanty hair floated,--the eye that now beamed proudly forth, was turnedupon them; and never was the magic of a look more striking. For a secondall was hushed, and then a very thunder of applause rolled out, and thename of Henry Grattan burst from every tongue.
Just then one of the mob, exasperated by a stroke from the flat of adragoon's sabre, had caught the soldier by the foot and flung him fromhis saddle to the ground; his comrades flew to his rescue at once, andcharged the crowd, which fell back before them. The College men, takingadvantage of this, sprang forward on the mob, armed with their favoriteweapons, their hurdles of strong oak; the street was immediately tornup behind, and a shower of paving stones poured in upon the lucklessmilitary, now completely hemmed in between both parties. Tells of rageand defiance rose on either side, and the cheers of the victors andcries of the wounded were mixed in mad confusion.
My lamp-post was no longer an enviable position, and I slipped gentlydown towards the ground; in doing so, however, I unfortunately kickedoff a soldier's cap. The man turned on me at once and collared me,and notwithstanding all my excuses insisted on carrying me off tothe guardhouse. The danger of such a thing at once struck me, and Iresisted manfully. The mob cheered me, at which the soldier only becamemore angry; and ashamed, too, at being opposed by a mere boy, he seizedme rudely by the throat. My blood rose at this, and I struck boldly athim; my fist met him in the face, and before he could recover himselfthe crowd were upon him. Down he went, while a rush of the mob, escapingfrom the dragoons, flowed over his body. At the same moment the shout,"Guard, turn out!" was heard from the angle of the Bank, and theclattering of arms and the roll of a drum followed. A cheer from the mobseemed to accept the challenge, and every hand was employed tearingup the pavement and preparing for the fray. Whether by my ownself-appointment, or by common consent, I cannot say, but I at once tookthe leadership; and having formed the crowd into two parties,directed them, if hard pressed, to retreat either by College Street orWestmoreland Street. Thus one party could assist the other by enfiladingthe attacking force, unless they were in sufficient strength to pursueboth together. We had not long to wait the order of battle. The soldierswere formed in a second, and the word was given to advance at a charge.The same instant I stepped forward and cried, "Fire!" Never was anorder so obeyed; a hundred paving stones showered down on the wretchedsoldiers, who fell here and there in the ranks. "Again!" I shouted to mysecond battalion, that stood waiting for the word; and down came anotherhailstorm, that rattled upon their caps and muskets, and sent manya stout fellow to the rear. A wild cheer from the mob proclaimed thevictory; but at the same instant a rattling of ramrods and a clankof firelocks was heard in front, and from the rear of the soldiers acompany marched out in echelon, and drew up as if on parade. All wasstilled; not a man moved in the crowd,--indeed our tactics seemed now atan end; when suddenly the word, "Make ready--present!" was called out,and the same instant a ringing discharge of musketry tore through thecrowd. Never did I witness such a scene as followed. All attempts toretreat were blocked up by the pressure from behind; and the sight ofthe wounded who fell by the discharge of the soldiers seemed to paralyzeevery effort of the mob. One terrified cry rose from the mass, as theyshrank from the muskets. Again the ramrods were heard clinking in thebarrels. I saw there was but one moment, and cried out, "Courage, lads,and down upon them!"--and with that I dashed madly forward, followedby the mob, that like a mighty mass now rolled heavily after me. Thesoldiers fell back as we came on; their bayonets were brought to thecharge; the word "Fire low!" was passed along the line, and a brightsheet of flame flashed forth, and was answered by a scream of anguishthat drowned the crash of the fire. In the rush backwards I was thrownon the ground, and at first believed I had been shot; but I soonperceived I was safe, and sprang to my legs. But the same moment a blowon the head from the but-end of a musket smote me to the earth, andI neither saw nor heard of anything very clearly afterwards. I had,indeed, a faint, dreamy recollection of being danced upon and trampledby some hundred heavy feet, and then experiencing a kind of swinging,rocking motion, as if carried on something; but these sensations are fartoo vague to reason upon, much less to chronicle.
Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume I Page 14
