  THE LEAVE. After an hour’s sharp riding we reached the Aguada, where the river was yet fordable; crossing this, we mounted the Sierra by a narrow and winding pass which leads through the mountains towards Almeida. Here I turned once more to cast a last and farewell look at the scene of our late encounter. It was but a few hours that I had stood almost on the same spot, and yet how altered was all around. The wide plain, then bustling with all the life and animation of a large army, was now nearly deserted,—some dismounted guns, some broken-up, dismantled batteries, around which a few sentinels seemed to loiter rather than to keep guard; a strong detachment of infantry could be seen wending their way towards the fortress, and a confused mass of camp-followers, sutlers, and peasants following their steps for protection against the pillagers and the still ruder assaults of their own Guerillas. The fortress, too, was changed indeed. Those mighty walls before whose steep sides the bravest fell back baffled and beaten, were now a mass of ruin and decay; the muleteer could be seen driving his mule along through the rugged ascent of that breach to win whose top the best blood of Albion’s chivalry was shed; and the peasant child looked timidly from those dark enclosures in the deep fosse below, where perished hundreds of our best and bravest. The air was calm, clear, and unclouded; no smoke obscured the transparent atmosphere; the cannon had ceased; and the voices that rang so late in accents of triumphant victory were stilled in death. Everything, indeed, had undergone a mighty change; but nothing brought the altered fortunes of the scene so vividly to my mind as when I remembered that when last I had seen those walls, the dark shako of the French grenadiers peered above their battlements, and now the gay tartan of the Highlanders fluttered above them, and the red flag of England waved boldly in the breeze. Up to that moment my sensations were those of unmixed pleasure. The thought of my home, my friends, my country, the feeling that I was returning with the bronze of the battle upon my cheek, and the voice of praise still ringing in my heart,—these were proud thoughts, and my bosom heaved short and quickly as I revolved them; but as I turned my gaze for the last time towards the gallant army I was leaving, a pang of sorrow, of self-reproach, shot through me, and I could not help feeling how far less worthily was I acting in yielding to the impulse of my wishes, than had I remained to share the fortunes of the campaign. So powerfully did these sensations possess me, that I sat motionless for some time, uncertain whether to proceed; forgetting that I was the bearer of important information, I only remembered that by my own desire I was there; my reason but half convinced me that the part I had adopted was right and honorable, and more than once my resolution to proceed hung in the balance. It was just at this critical moment of my doubts that Mike, who had been hitherto behind, came up. “Is it the upper road, sir?” said he, pointing to a steep and rugged path which led by a zigzag ascent towards the crest of the mountain. I nodded in reply, when he added:— “Doesn’t this remind your honor of Sleibh More, above the Shannon, where we used to be grouse shooting? And there’s the keeper’s house in the valley; and that might be your uncle, the master himself, waving his hat to you.” Had he known the state of my conflicting feelings at the moment, he could not more readily have decided this doubt. I turned abruptly away, put spurs to my horse, and dashed up the steep pass at a pace which evidently surprised, and as evidently displeased, my follower. How natural it is ever to experience a reaction of depression and lowness after the first burst of unexpected joy! The moment of happiness is scarce experienced ere come the doubts of its reality, the fears for its continuance; the higher the state of pleasurable excitement, the more painful and the more pressing the anxieties that await on it; the tension of delighted feelings cannot last, and our overwrought faculties seek repose in regrets. Happy he who can so temper his enjoyments as to view them in their shadows as in their sunshine; he may not, it is true, behold the landscape in the blaze of its noonday brightness, but he need not fear the thunder-cloud nor the hurricane. The calm autumn of his bliss, if it dazzle not in its brilliancy, will not any more be shrouded in darkness and in gloom. My first burst of pleasure over, the thought of my uncle’s changed fortunes pressed deeply on my heart, and a hundred plans suggested themselves in turn to my mind to relieve his present embarrassments; but I knew how impracticable they would all prove when opposed by his prejudices. To sell the old home of his forefathers, to wander from the roof which had sheltered his name for generations, he would never consent to; the law might by force expel him, and drive him a wanderer and an exile, but of his own free will the thing was hopeless. Considine, too, would encourage rather than repress such feelings; his feudalism would lead him to any lengths; and in defence of what he would esteem a right, he would as soon shoot a sheriff as a snipe, and, old as he was, ask for no better amusement than to arm the whole tenantry and give battle to the king’s troops on the wide plain of Scariff. Amidst such conflicting thought, I travelled on moodily and in silence, to the palpable astonishment of Mike, who could not help regarding me as one from whom fortune met the most ungrateful returns. At every new turn of the road he would endeavor to attract my attention by the objects around,—no white-turreted chÂteau, no tapered spire in the distance, escaped him; he kept up a constant ripple of half-muttered praise and censure upon all he saw, and instituted unceasing comparisons between the country and his own, in which, I am bound to say, Ireland rarely, if ever, had to complain of his patriotism. When we arrived at Almeida, I learned that the “Medea” sloop-of-war was lying off Oporto, and expected to sail for England in a few days. The opportunity was not to be neglected. The official despatches, I was aware, would be sent through Lisbon, where the “Gorgon” frigate was in waiting to convey them; but should I be fortunate enough to reach Oporto in time, I had little doubt of arriving in England with the first intelligence of the fall of Ciudad Rodrigo. Reducing my luggage, therefore, to the smallest possible compass, and having provided myself with a juvenile guide for the pass of La Reyna, I threw myself, without undressing, upon the bed, and waited anxiously for the break of day to resume my journey. As I ruminated over the prospect my return presented, I suddenly remembered Frank Webber’s letter, which I had hastily thrust into a portfolio without reading, so occupied was I by Considine’s epistle; with a little searching I discovered it, and trimming my lamp, as I felt no inclination to sleep, I proceeded to the examination of what seemed a more than usually voluminous epistle. It contained four closely-written pages, accompanied by something like a plan in an engineering sketch. My curiosity becoming further stimulated by this, I sat down to peruse it. It began thus:— Official Despatch of Lieutenant-General Francis Webber to Lord Castlereagh, detailing the assault and capture of the old pump, in Trinity College, Dublin, on the night of the second of December, eighteen hundred and eleven, with returns of killed, wounded, and missing, with other information from the seat of war. HEADQUARTERS, No. 2, OLD SQUARE. My Lord,—In compliance with the instructions contained in your lordship’s despatch of the twenty-first ultimo, I concentrated the force under my command, and assembling the generals of division, made known my intentions in the following general order:— A. G. O. The following troops will this evening assemble at headquarters, and having partaken of a sufficient dinner for the next two days, with punch for four, will hold themselves in readiness to march in the following order:— Harry Nesbitt’s Brigade of Incorrigibles will form a blockading force, in the line extending from the vice-provost’s house to the library. The light division, under Mark Waller, will skirmish from the gate towards the middle of the square, obstructing the march of the Cuirassiers of the Guard, which, under the command of old Duncan the porter, are expected to move in that direction. Two columns of attack will be formed by the senior sophisters of the Old Guard, and a forlorn hope of the “cautioned” men at the last four examinations will form, under the orders of Timothy O’Rourke, beneath the shadow of the dining-hall. At the signal of the dean’s bell the stormers will move forward. A cheer from the united corps will then announce the moment of attack. The word for the night will be, “May the Devil admire me!” The commander-of-the-forces desires that the different corps should be as strong as possible, and expects that no man will rema any pretence whatever, in the rear with the lush. During the main assault, Cecil Cavendish will make a feint upon the provost’s windows, to be converted into a real attack if the ladies scream. GENERAL ORDER. The commissary-general, Foley, will supply the following articles for the use of the troops: Two hams; eight pair of chickens, the same to be roasted; a devilled turkey; sixteen lobsters; eight hundred of oysters, with a proportionate quantity of cold sherry and hot punch. The army will get drunk by ten o’clock to-night. Having made these dispositions, my lord, I proceeded to mislead the enemy as to our intentions, in suffering my servant to be taken with an intercepted despatch. This, being a prescription by Doctor Colles, would convey to the dean’s mind the impression that I was still upon the sick list. This being done, and four canisters of Dartford gunpowder being procured on tick, our military chest being in a most deplorable condition, I waited for the moment of attack. A heavy rain, accompanied with a frightful hurricane, prevailed during the entire day, rendering the march of the troops who came from the neighborhood of Merrion Square and Fitzwilliam Street, a service of considerable fatigue. The outlying pickets in College Green, being induced probably by the inclemency of the season, were rather tipsy on joining, and having engaged in a skirmish with old M’Calister, tying his red uniform over his head, the moment of attack was precipitated, and we moved to the trenches by half-past nine o’clock. Nothing could be more orderly, nothing more perfect, than the march of the troops. As we approached the corner of the commons-hall, a skirmish on the rear apprised us that our intentions had become known; and I soon learned from my aide-de-camp, Bob Moore, that the attack was made by a strong column of the enemy, under the command of old Fitzgerald. Perpendicular (as your lordship is aware he is styled by the army) came on in a determined manner, and before many minutes had elapsed had taken several prisoners, among others Tom Drummond,—Long Tom,—who, having fallen on all fours, was mistaken for a long eighteen. The success, however, was but momentary; Nesbitt’s Brigade attacked them in flank, rescued the prisoners, extinguished the dean’s lantern, and having beaten back the heavy porters, took Perpendicular himself prisoner. An express from the left informed me that the attack upon the provost’s house had proved equally successful; there wasn’t a whole pane of glass in the front, and from a footman who deserted, it was learned that Mrs. Hutchinson was in hysterics. While I was reading this despatch, a strong feeling of the line towards the right announced that something was taking place in that direction. Bob Moore, who rode by on Drummond’s back, hurriedly informed me that Williams had put the lighted end of his cigar to one of the fuses, but the powder, being wet, did not explode notwithstanding his efforts to effect it. Upon this, I hastened to the front, where I found the individual in question kneeling upon the ground, and endeavoring, as far as punch would permit him, to kindle a flame at the portfire. Before I could interfere, the spark had caught; a loud, hissing noise followed; the different magazines successively became ignited, and at length the fire reached the great four-pound charge. I cannot convey to your lordship, by any words of mine, an idea of this terrible explosion; the blazing splinters were hurled into the air, and fell in fiery masses on every side from the park to King William; Ivey the bell-ringer, was precipitated from the scaffold beside the bell, and fell headlong into the mud beneath; the surrounding buildings trembled at the shock; the windows were shattered, and in fact a scene of perfect devastation ensued on all sides. When the smoke cleared away, I rose from my recumbent position, and perceived with delight that not a vestige of the pump remained. The old iron handle was imbedded in the wall of the dining-hall, and its round knob stood out like the end of a queue. Our loss was, of course, considerable; and ordering the wounded to the rear, I proceeded to make an orderly and regular retreat. At this time, however, the enemy had assembled in force. Two battalions of porters, led on by Dr. Dobbin, charged us on the flank; a heavy brigade poured down upon us from the battery, and but for the exertions of Harry Nesbitt, our communication with our reserves must have been cut off. Cecil Cavendish also came up; for although beaten in his great attack, the forces under his command had penetrated by the kitchen windows, and carried oil a considerable quantity of cold meat. Concentrating the different corps, I made an echelon movement upon the chapel, to admit of the light division coming up. This they did in a few moments, informing me that they had left Perpendicular in the haha, which, as your lordship is aware, is a fosse of the very greenest and most stagnant nature. We now made good our retreat upon number “2,” carrying our wounded with us. The plunder we also secured; but we kicked the prisoners, and suffered them to escape. Thus terminated, my lord, one of the brightest achievements of the undergraduate career. I enclose a list of the wounded, as also an account of the various articles returned in the commissary-general’s list. Harry Nesbitt: severely wounded; no coat nor hat; a black-eye; left shoe missing. Cecil Cavendish: face severely scratched; supposed to have received his wound in the attack upon the kitchen. Tom Drummond: not recognizable by his friends; his features resembling a transparency disfigured by the smoke of the preceding night’s illumination. Bob Moore: slightly wounded. I would beg particularly to recommend all these officers to your lordship’s notice; indeed, the conduct of Moore, in kicking the dean’s lantern out of the porter’s hand, was marked by great promptitude and decision. This officer will present to H. R. H. the following trophies, taken from the enemy: The dean’s cap and tassel; the key of his chambers; Dr. Dobbin’s wig and bands; four porters’ helmets, and a book on the cellar. I have the honor to remain, my lord, etc., FRANCIS WEBBER. G. O. The commander-of-the-forces returns his thanks to the various officers and soldiers employed in the late assault, for their persevering gallantry and courage. The splendor of the achievement can only be equalled by the humanity and good conduct of the troops. It only remains for him to add, that the less they say about the transaction, and the sooner they are severally confined to their beds with symptoms of contagious fever, the better. Meanwhile, to concert upon the future measures of the campaign, the army will sup to-night at Morrison’s. Here ended this precious epistle, rendering one fact sufficiently evident,—that, however my worthy friend advanced in years, he had not grown in wisdom. While ruminating upon the strange infatuation which could persuade a gifted and an able man to lavish upon dissipation and reckless absurdity the talents that must, if well directed, raise him to eminence and distinction, a few lines of a newspaper paragraph fell from the paper I was reading. It ran thus:— LATE OUTRAGE IN TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN. We have great pleasure in stating that the serious disturbance which took place within the walls of our University a few evenings since, was in no wise attributable to the conduct of the students. A party of ill-disposed townspeople were, it would appear, the instigators and perpetrators of the outrage. That their object was the total destruction of our venerated University there can be but little doubt. Fortunately, however, they did not calculate upon the esprit de corps of the students, a body of whom, under the direction of Mr. Webber, successfully opposed the assailants, and finally drove them from the walls. It is, we understand, the intention of the board to confer some mark of approbation upon Mr. Webber, who, independently of this, has strong claims upon their notice, his collegiate success pointing him out as the most extraordinary man of his day. This, my dear Charley, will give you some faint conception of one of the most brilliant exploits of modern days. The bulletin, believe me, is not Napoleonized into any bombastic extravagance of success. The tiling was splendid; from the brilliant firework of the old pump itself, to the figure of Perpendicular dripping with duckweed, like an insane river-god, it was unequalled. Our fellows behaved like trumps; and to do them justice, so did the enemy. But unfortunately, notwithstanding this, and the plausible paragraphs of the morning papers, I have been summoned before the board for Tuesday next. Meanwhile I employ myself in throwing off a shower of small squibs for the journals, so that if the board deal not mercifully with me, I may meet with sympathy from the public. I have just despatched a little editorial bit for the “Times,” calling, in terms of parental tenderness, upon the University to say— “How long will the extraordinary excesses of a learned funct be suffered to disgrace college? Is Doctor —— to be permitted to exhibit an example of more riotous insubordination than would be endured in an undergraduate? More on this subject hereafter.” “‘Saunders’ News-letter.’—Dr. Barret appeared at the head police-office, before Alderman Darley, to make oath that neither he nor Catty were concerned in the late outrage upon the pump.” etc., etc. Paragraphs like these are flying about in every provincial paper of the empire. People shake their heads when they speak of the University, and respectable females rather cross over by King William and the Bank than pass near its precincts. Tuesday Evening. Would you believe it, they’ve expelled me! Address your next letter as usual, for they haven’t got rid of me yet. Yours, F. W. “So I shall find him in his old quarters,” thought I, “and evidently not much altered since we parted.” It was not without a feeling of (I trust pardonable) pride that I thought over my own career in the interval. My three years of campaigning life had given me some insight into the world, and some knowledge of myself, and conferred upon me a boon, of which I know not the equal,—that, while yet young, and upon the very threshold of life, I should have tasted the enthusiastic pleasures of a soldier’s fortune, and braved the dangers and difficulties of a campaign at a time when, under other auspices, I might have wasted my years in unprofitable idleness or careless dissipation. |
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