Our voyage was very uneventful, but not without anxiety, since, to avoid the English cruisers and the Channel fleet, we were obliged to hold a southerly course for several days, making a great circuit before we could venture to bear up for the place of our destination. The weather alternated between light winds and a dead calm, which usually came on every day at noon, and lasted till about sunset. As to me, there was an unceasing novelty in everything about a ship; her mechanism, her discipline, her progress, furnished abundant occupation for all my thoughts, and I never wearied of acquiring knowledge of a theme so deeply interesting. My intercourse with the naval officers, too, impressed me strongly in their favour in comparison with their comrades of the land service. In the former case, all was zeal, activity, and watchfulness. The lookout never slumbered at his post; and an unceasing anxiety to promote the success of the expedition manifested itself in all their words and actions. This, of course, was all to be expected in the discharge of the duties peculiarly their own; but I also looked for something which should denote preparation and forethought in the others; yet nothing of the kind was to be seen. The expedition was never discussed even as table-talk; and for anything that fell from the party in conversation, it would have been impossible to say if our destination were China or Ireland. Not a book nor a map, not a pamphlet nor a paper that bore upon the country whose destinies were about to be committed to us, ever appeared on the tables. A vague and listless doubt how long the voyage might last was the extent of interest any one condescended to exhibit; but as to what was to follow after—what new chapter of events should open when this first had closed, none vouchsafed to inquire.

Even to this hour I am puzzled whether to attribute this strange conduct to the careless levity of national character, or to a studied and well ‘got up’ affectation. In all probability both influences were at work; while a third, not less powerful, assisted them—this was the gross ignorance and shameless falsehood of some of the Irish leaders of the expedition, whose boastful and absurd histories ended by disgusting every one. Among the projects discussed at the time, I well remember one which was often gravely talked over, and the utter absurdity of which certainly struck none amongst us. This was no less than the intention of demanding the West India Islands from England as an indemnity for the past woes and bygone misgovernment of Ireland. If this seem barely credible now, I can only repeat my faithful assurance of the fact, and I believe that some of the memoirs of the time will confirm my assertion.

The French officers listened to these and similar speculations with utter indifference; probably to many of them the geographical question was a difficulty that stopped any further inquiry, while others felt no further interest than what a campaign promised. All the enthusiastic narratives, then, of high rewards and splendid trophies that awaited us, fell upon inattentive ears, and at last the word Ireland ceased to be heard amongst us. Play of various kinds occupied us when not engaged on duty. There was little discipline maintained on board, and none of that strictness which is the habitual rule of a ship-of-war. The lights were suffered to burn during the greater part of the night in the cabins; gambling went on usually till daybreak; and the quarter-deck, that most reverential of spots to every sailor-mind, was often covered by lounging groups, who smoked, chatted, or played at chess, in all the cool apathy of men indifferent to its claim for respect.

Now and then, the appearance of a strange sail afar off, or some dim object in the horizon, would create a momentary degree of excitement and anxiety; but when the ‘lookout’ from the mast-head had proclaimed her a ‘schooner from Brest,’ or a ‘Spanish fruit-vessel,’ the sense of danger passed away at once, and none ever reverted to the subject.

With General Humbert I usually passed the greater part of each forenoon—a distinction, I must confess, I owed to my skill as a chess-player, a game of which he was particularly fond, and in which I had attained no small proficiency. I was too young and too unpractised in the world to make my skill subordinate to my chiefs, and beat him at every game with as little compunction as though he were only my equal, till, at last, vexed at his want of success, and tired of a contest that offered no vicissitude of fortune, he would frequently cease playing to chat over the events of the time, and the chances of the expedition.

It was with no slight mixture of surprise and dismay that I now detected his utter despair of all success, and that he regarded the whole as a complete forlorn-hope. He had merely taken the command to involve the French Government in the cause, and so far compromise the national character that all retreat would be impossible. We shall be all cut to pieces or taken prisoners the day after we land,’ was his constant exclamation, ‘and then, but not till then, will they think seriously in France of a suitable expedition.’ There was no heroism, still less was there any affectation of recklessness in this avowal. By nature he was a rough, easy, good-tempered fellow, who liked his profession less for its rewards than for its changeful scenes and moving incidents—his one predominating feeling being that France should give rule to the whole world, and the principles of her Revolution he everywhere pre-eminent. To promote this consummation the loss of an army was of little moment. Let the cause but triumph in the end, and the cost was not worth fretting about.

Next to this sentiment was his hatred of England, and all that was English. Treachery, falsehood, pride, avarice, grasping covetousness, and unscrupulous aggression, were the characteristics by which he described the nation; and he made the little knowledge he had gleaned from newspapers and intercourse so subservient to this theory, that I was an easy convert to his opinion; so that, ere long, my compassion for the wrongs of Ireland was associated with the most profound hatred of her oppressors.

To be sure, I should have liked the notion that we ourselves were to have some more active share in the liberation of Irishmen than the mere act of heralding another and more successful expedition; but even in this thought there was romantic self-devotion, not unpleasing to the mind of a boy; but, strange enough, I was the only one who felt it.

The first sight of land to one on sea is always an event of uncommon interest; but how greatly increased is the feeling when that land is to be the scene of a perilous exploit—the cradle of his ambition, or perhaps his grave! All my speculations about the expedition—all my daydreams of success, or my anxious hours of dark forebodings—never brought the matter so palpably before me as the dim outline of a distant headland, which, I was told, was part of the Irish coast.

This was on the 17th of August, but on the following day we stood further out to sea again, and saw no more of it.

The three succeeding ones we continued to beat up slowly to the northward against a head wind and a heavy sea; but on the evening of the 21st the sun went down in mellow splendour, and a light air from the south springing up, the sailors pronounced a most favourable change of weather—a prophecy that a starry night and a calm sea soon confirmed.

The morning of the 22nd broke splendidly—a gentle breeze from the south-west slightly curled the blue waves, and filled the canvas of the three frigates, as in close order they sailed along under the tall cliffs of Ireland. We were about three miles from the shore, on which now every telescope and glass was eagerly directed. As the light and fleeting clouds of early morning passed away we could descry the outlines of the bold coast, indented with many a bay and creek, while rocky promontories and grassy slopes succeeded each other in endless variety of contrast. Towns, or even villages, we could see none—a few small wretched-looking hovels were dotted over the hills, and here and there a thin wreath of blue smoke bespoke habitation, but, save these signs, there was an air of loneliness and solitude which increased the solemn feelings of the scene.

All these objects of interest, however, soon gave way before another to the contemplation of which every eye was turned. This was a small fishing-boat, which, with a low mast and ragged piece of canvas, was seen standing boldly out for us: a red handkerchief was fastened to a stick in the stern, as if for a signal, and on our shortening sail, to admit of her overtaking us, the ensign was lowered as though in acknowledgment of our meaning.

The boat was soon alongside, and we now perceived that her crew consisted of a man and a boy, the former of whom, a powerfully built, loose fellow, of about five-and-forty, dressed in a light-blue frieze jacket and trousers, adroitly caught at the cast of rope thrown out to him, and having made fast his skiff, clambered up the ship’s side at once, gaily, as though he were an old friend coming to welcome us.

‘Is he a pilot?’ asked the officer of the watch, addressing one of the Irish officers.

‘No; he’s only a fisherman, but he knows the coast perfectly, and says there is deep water within twenty fathoms of the shore.’

An animated conversation in Irish now ensued between the peasant and Captain Madgett, during which a wondering and somewhat impatient group stood around, speedily increased by the presence of General Humbert himself and his staff.

‘He tells me, general,’ said Madgett, ‘that we are in the Bay of Killala, a good and safe anchorage, and, during the southerly winds, the best on all the coast.’

‘What news has he from the shore?’ asked Humbert sharply, as if the care of the ship was a very secondary consideration.

‘They have been expecting us with the greatest impatience, general; he says the most intense anxiety for our coming is abroad.’

‘What of the people themselves? Where are the national forces? Have they any headquarters near this? Eh, what says he? What is that? Why does he laugh?’ asked Humbert, in impatient rapidity, as he watched the changes in the peasant’s face.

‘He was laughing at the strange sound of a foreign language, so odd and singular to his ears,’ said Madgett; but for all his readiness, a slight flushing of the cheek showed that he was ill at ease.

‘Well, but what of the Irish forces? Where are they?’

For some minutes the dialogue continued in an animated strain between the two; the vehement tone and gestures of each bespeaking what sounded at least like altercation; and Madgett at last turned half angrily away, saying, ‘The fellow is too ignorant; he actually knows nothing of what is passing before his eyes.’

‘Is there no one else on board can speak this barargouinage?’ cried Humbert, in anger.

‘Yes, general, I can interrogate him,’ cried a young lad named Conolly, who had only joined us on the day before we sailed.

And now as the youth addressed the fisherman in a few rapid sentences, the other answered as quickly, making a gesture with his hands that implied grief, or even despair.

‘We can interpret that for ourselves,’ broke in Humbert; ‘he is telling you that the game is up.’

‘Exactly so, general; he says that the insurrection has been completely put down, that the Irish forces are scattered or disbanded, and all the leaders taken.’

‘The fellow is just as likely to be an English spy,’ said Madgett, in a whisper; but Humbert’s gesture of impatience showed how little trust he reposed in the allegation.

‘Ask him what English troops are quartered in this part of the country,’ said the general.

‘A few militia, and two squadrons of dragoons,’ was the prompt reply.

‘No artillery?’

‘None.’

‘Is there any rumour of our coming abroad, or have the frigates been seen?’ asked Humbert.

‘They were seen last night from the church steeple of Killala, general,’ said Conolly, translating, ‘but believed to be English.’

‘Come; that is the best news he has brought us yet,’ said Humbert, laughing; ‘we shall at least surprise them a little. Ask him what men of rank or consequence live in the neighbourhood, and how are they affected towards the expedition?’

A few words, and a low dry laugh, made all the peasant’s reply.

‘Eh, what says he?’ asked Humbert.

‘He says, sir, that, except a Protestant bishop, there’s nothing of the rank of gentry here.’

‘I suppose we need scarcely expect his blessing on our efforts,’ said Humbert, with a hearty laugh. ‘What is he saying now?—what is he looking at?’

‘He says that we are now in the very best anchorage of the bay,’ said Conolly, ‘and that on the whole coast there’s not a safer spot.’

A brief consultation now took place between the general and naval officers, and in a few seconds the word was given to take in all sail and anchor.

‘I wish I could speak to that honest fellow myself,’ said Humbert, as he stood watching the fisherman, who, with a peasant curiosity, had now approached the mast, and was passing his fingers across the blades of the cutlasses as they stood in the sword-rack.

‘Sharp enough for the English, eh?’ cried Humbert, in French, but with a gesture that seemed at once intelligible. A dry nod of the head gave assent to the remark.

‘If I understand him aright,’ said Humbert, in a half-whisper to Conolly, ‘we are as little expected by our friends as by our enemies; and that there is little or no force in arms among the Irish.’

‘There are plenty ready to fight, he says, sir, but none accustomed to discipline.’

A gesture, half contemptuous, was all Humbert’s reply, and he now turned away and walked the deck alone and in silence. Meanwhile the bustle and movements of the crew continued, and soon the great ships, their sails all coiled, lay tranquilly at anchor in a sea without a ripple.

‘A boat is coming out from the shore, general,’ whispered the lieutenant on duty.

‘Ask the fisherman if he knows it.’

Conolly drew the peasant’s attention to the object, and the man, after looking steadily for a few seconds, became terribly agitated.

‘What is it, man—can’t you tell who it is?’ asked Conolly.

But although so composed before, so ready with all his replies, he seemed now totally unmanned—his frank and easy features being struck with the signs of palpable terror. At last, and with an effort that bespoke all his fears, he muttered—’ ‘Tis the king’s boat is coming, and ‘tis the collector’s on board of her!’

‘Is that all?’ cried Conolly, laughing, as he translated the reply to the general.

‘Won’t you say that I’m a prisoner, sir; won’t you tell them that you “took” me?’ said the fisherman, in an accent of fervent entreaty, for already his mind anticipated the casualty of a failure, and what might betide him afterwards; but no one now had any care for him or his fortunes—all was in preparation to conceal the national character of the ships. The marines were ordered below, and all others whose uniforms might betray their country, while the English colours floated from every mast-head.

General Humbert, with Serasin and two others, remained on the poop-deck, where they continued to walk, apparently devoid of any peculiar interest or anxiety in the scene. Madgett alone betrayed agitation at this moment, his pale face was paler than ever, and there seemed to me a kind of studious care in the way he covered himself up with his cloak, so that not a vestige of his uniform could be seen.

The boat now came close under our lee, and Conolly being ordered to challenge her in English, the collector, standing up in the stern, touched his hat, and announced his rank. The gangway-ladder was immediately lowered, and three gentlemen ascended the ship’s side and walked aft to the poop. I was standing near the bulwark at the time, watching the scene with intense interest. As General Humbert stood a little in advance of the rest, the collector, probably taking him for the captain, addressed him with some courteous expressions of welcome, and was proceeding to speak of the weather, when the general gently stopped him by asking if he spoke French.

I shall never forget the terror of face that question evoked. At first, looking at his two companions, the collector turned his eyes to the gaff, where the English flag was flying; but still unable to utter a word, he stood like one entranced.

‘You have been asked if you can speak French, sir?’ said Conolly, at a sign from the general.

‘No—very little—very badly—not at all; but isn’t this—am I not on board of——’

‘Can none of them speak French?’ said Humbert shortly.

‘Yes, sir,’ said a young man on the collector’s right; ‘I can make myself intelligible in that language, although no great proficient.’

‘Who are you, monsieur?—are you a civilian?’ asked Humbert.

‘Yes, sir. I am the son of the Bishop of Killala, and this young gentleman is my brother.’

‘What is the amount of the force in this neighbourhood?’

‘You will pardon me, sir,’ said the youth, ‘if I ask, first, who it is puts this question, and under what circumstances I am expected to answer it.’

‘All frank and open, sir,’ said Humbert, good-humouredly. ‘I ‘m the General Humbert, commanding the army for the liberation of Ireland—so much for your first question. As to your second one, I believe that if you have any concern for yourself, or those belonging to you, you will find that nothing will serve your interest so much as truth and plain dealing.’

‘Fortunately, then, for me,’ said the youth, laughing, ‘I cannot betray my king’s cause, for I know nothing, nothing whatever, about the movement of troops. I seldom go ten miles from home, and have not been even at Ballina since last winter.’

‘Why so cautious about your information, then, sir,’ broke in Serasin roughly, ‘since you have none to give?’

‘Because I had some to receive, sir, and was curious to know where I was standing,’ said the young man boldly.

While these few sentences were being interchanged, Madgett had learned from the collector that, except a few companies of militia and fencibles, the country was totally unprovided with troops; but he also learned that the people were so crest-fallen and subdued in courage from the late failure of the rebellion, that it was very doubtful whether our coming would arouse them to another effort. This information, particularly the latter part of it, Madgett imparted to Humbert at once, and I thought, by his manner, and the eagerness with which he spoke, that he seemed to use all his powers to dissuade the general from a landing; at least I overheard him more than once say—‘Had we been farther north, sir——-’

Humbert quickly stopped him by the words—

‘And what prevents us, when we have landed, sir, in extending our line north’ard?—the winds cannot surely master us, when we have our feet on the sward. Enough of all this; let these gentlemen be placed in security, and none have access to them without my orders. Make signal for the commanding-officers to come on board here. We’ve had too much of speculation—a little action now will be more profitable.’

‘So, we are prisoners, it seems!’ said the young man who spoke French, as he moved away with the others, who, far more depressed in spirit, hung their heads in silence, as they descended between decks.

Scarcely was the signal for a council of war seen from the mast-head, when the different boats might be descried stretching across the bay with speed. And now all were assembled in General Humbert’s cabin whose rank and station in the service entitled them to the honour of being consulted.

To such of us as held inferior ‘grade,’ the time passed tediously enough as we paced the deck, now turning from the aspect of the silent and seemingly uninhabited cliffs along shore to listen if no sign betokened the breaking up of the council; nor were we without serious fears that the expedition would be abandoned altogether. This suspicion originated with some of the Irish themselves, who, however confident of success, and boastful of their country’s resources before we sailed, now made no scruple of averring that everything was the exact reverse of what they had stated, for that the people were dispirited, the national forces disbanded, neither arms, money, nor organisation anywhere—in fact, that a more hopeless scheme could not be thought of than the attempt, and that its result could not fail to be defeat and ruin to all concerned.

Shall I own that the bleak and lonely aspect of the hills along shore, the dreary character of the landscape, the almost deathlike stillness of the scene, aided these gloomy impressions, and made it seem as if we were about to try our fortune on some desolate spot, without one look of encouragement, or one word of welcome to greet us? The sight of even an enemy’s force would have been a relief to this solitude—the stir and movement of a rival army would have given spirit to our daring, and nerved our courage, but there was something inexpressibly sad in this unbroken monotony.

A few tried to jest upon the idea of liberating a land that had no inhabitants—the emancipation of a country without people; but even French flippancy failed to be witty on a theme so linked with all our hopes and fears, and at last a dreary silence fell upon all, and we walked the deck without speaking, waiting and watching for the result of that deliberation which already had lasted above four mortal hours.

Twice was the young man who spoke French summoned to the cabin, but, from the briefness of his stay, apparently with little profit; and now the day began to wane, and the tall cliffs threw their lengthened shadows over the still waters of the bay, and yet nothing was resolved on. To the quiet and respectful silence of expectation, now succeeded a low and half-subdued muttering of discontent; groups of five or six together were seen along the deck, talking with eagerness and animation, and it was easy to see that whatever prudential or cautious reasons dictated to the leaders, their arguments found little sympathy with the soldiers of the expedition. I almost began to fear that if a determination to abandon the exploit were come to, a mutiny might break out, when my attention was drawn off by an order to accompany Colonel Gharost on shore to reconnoitre. This at least looked like business, and I jumped into the small boat with alacrity.

With the speed of four oars stoutly plied, we skimmed along the calm surface, and soon saw ourselves close in to the shore. Some little time was spent in looking for a good place to land, for although not the slightest air of wind was blowing, the long swell of the Atlantic broke upon the rocks with a noise like thunder. At last we shot into a little creek with a shelving gravelly beach, and completely concealed by the tall rocks on every side; and now we sprang out, and stood upon Irish ground!