CHAPTER XXIII. THE TOWN-MAJOR OF CASTLEBAR
I am at a loss to know whether or not I owe an apology to my reader forturning away from the more immediate object of this memoir of a life, tospeak of events which have assumed an historical reputation. It may bethought ill-becoming in one who occupied the subordinate station thatI did, to express himself on subjects so very far above both hisexperience and acquaintance; but I would premise, that in the opinions Imay have formed, and the words of praise or censure dropped, I have beenbut retailing the sentiments of those older and wiser than myself, andby whose guidance I was mainly led to entertain not only the convictionsbut the prejudices of my early years.
Let the reader bear in mind, too, that I was very early in life throwninto the society of men--left self-dependent, in a great measure, andobliged to decide for myself on subjects which usually are determinedby older and more mature heads. So much of excuse, then, if I seempresumptuous in saying that I began to conceive a very low opiniongenerally of popular attempts at independence, and a very high one ofthe powers of military skill and discipline. A mob, in my estimation,was the very lowest, and an army about the very highest, object Icould well conceive. My short residence at Castlebar did not tend tocontrovert these impressions. The safety of the town and its inhabitantswas entirely owing to the handful of French who held it, and who,wearied with guards, pickets, and outpost duty, were a mere fraction ofthe small force that had landed a few days before.
Our 'allies' were now our most difficult charge, Abandoning the hopelesstask of drilling and disciplining them, we confined ourselves to themore practical office of restraining pillage and repressing violence--ameasure, be it said, that was not without peril, and of a veryserious kind. I remember one incident, which, if not followed by graveconsequences, yet appeared at the time of a very serious character.
By the accidental misspelling of a name, a man named Dowall, anotorious ruffian and demagogue, was appointed _commandant de place_, ortown-major, instead of a most respectable shopkeeper named Downes, who,although soon made aware of the mistake, from natural timidity tookno steps to undeceive the general. Dowall was haranguing a mob ofhalf-drunken vagabonds, when his commission was put into his hands; and,accepting the post as an evidence of the fears the French entertained ofhis personal influence, became more overbearing and insolent than ever.We had a very gallant officer, the second major of the 12th Regimentof the Line, killed in the attack on Castlebar, and this Dowall at oncetook possession of poor Delaitre's horse, arms, and equipment. His coatand shako, his very boots and gloves, the scoundrel appropriated; and,as if in mockery of us and our poor friend, assumed a habit that he hadwhen riding fast, to place his sabre between his leg and the saddle, toprevent its striking the horse on the flanks.
I need scarcely say that, thoroughly disgusted by the unsightlyexhibition, our incessant cares, and the endless round of duty we wereengaged in, as well as the critical position we occupied, left us notime to notice the fellow's conduct by any other than a passing signof anger or contempt--provocations that he certainly gave us back asinsolently as we offered them. I do not believe that the general eversaw him, but I know that incessant complaints were daily made to himabout the man's rapacity and tyranny, and scarcely a morning passedwithout a dozen remonstrances being preferred against his overbearingconduct.
Determined to have his own countrymen on his side, he issued themost absurd orders for the billeting of the rabble, the rations andallowances of all kinds. He seized upon one of the best houses for hisown quarters, and three fine saddle-horses for his personal use, besidesa number of inferior ones for the ruffian following he called his staff!
It was, indeed, enough to excite laughter, had not indignation been themore powerful emotion, to see this fellow ride forth of a morning--atawdry scarf of green, with deep gold fringe, thrown over his shoulder,and a saddle-cloth of the same colour, profusely studded with goldshamrocks, on his horse; a drawn sword in his hand, and his head erect,followed by an indiscriminate rabble on foot or horseback--some withmuskets, some pikes, some with sword blades, bayonets, or even knivesfastened on sticks, but all alike ferocious-looking.
They affected to march in order, and, with a rude imitation of soldiery,carried something like a knapsack on their shoulders, surmounted by akettle or tin cup, or sometimes an iron pot--a grotesque parody on thetrim cooking equipment of the French soldier. It was evident, from theirstep and bearing, that they thought themselves in the very height ofdiscipline; and this very assumption was far more insulting to the realsoldier than all the licentious irregularity of the marauder. If to usthey were objects of ridicule and derision, to the townspeople they wereimages of terror and dismay. The miserable shopkeeper who housed one ofthem lived in continual fear; he knew nothing to be his own, and feltthat his property and family were every moment at the dictate of aruffian gang, who acknowledged no law, nor any rule save their own willand convenience. Dowall's squad were indeed as great a terror in thatlittle town as I had seen the great name of Robespierre in the proudcity of Paris.
In my temporary position on General Serasin's staff, I came to hear muchof this fellow's conduct. The most grievous stories were told me everyday of his rapacity and cruelty; but, harassed and overworked as thegeneral was with duties that would have been overmuch for three or fourmen, I forebore to trouble him with recitals which could only fret anddistress him without affording the slightest chance of relief to others.Perhaps this impunity had rendered him more daring, or, perhaps, theimmense number of armed Irish in comparison with the small force ofdisciplined soldiers, emboldened the fellow; but certainly he grew dayby day more presumptuous and insolent, and at last so far forgot himselfas to countermand one of General Serasin's orders, by which a guardwas stationed at the Protestant church to prevent its being molested orinjured by the populace.
General Humbert had already refused the Roman Catholic priest hispermission to celebrate mass in that building, but Dowall had determinedotherwise, and that, too, by a written order, under his own hand. TheFrench sergeant who commanded the guard of course paid little attentionto this warrant; and when Father Hennisy wanted to carry the matter witha high hand, he coolly tore up the paper, and threw the fragments athim.
Dowall was soon informed of the slight offered to his mandate. He was atsupper at the time, entertaining a party of his friends, who all heardthe priest's story, and, of course, loudly sympathised with his sorrows,and invoked the powerful leader's aid and protection. Affecting tobelieve that the sergeant had merely acted in ignorance, and from notbeing able to read English, Dowall despatched a fellow whom he calledhis aide-de-camp, a schoolmaster named Lowrie, and who spoke a littlebad French, to interpret his command, and to desire the sergeant towithdraw his men, and give up the guard to a party of 'the squad.'
Great was the surprise of the supper-party, when, after the lapse ofhalf an hour, a country fellow came in to say that he had seen Lowrieled off to prison between two French soldiers. By this time Dowall haddrunk himself into a state of utter recklessness, while, encouraged byhis friends' praises, and the arguments of his own passions, he fanciedthat he might dispute ascendency with General Humbert himself. He atonce ordered out his horse, and gave a command to assemble the 'squad.'As they were all billeted in his immediate vicinity, this was speedilyeffected, and their numbers swelled by a vast mass of idle and curious,who were eager to see how the matter would end; the whole street wascrowded, and when Dowall mounted, his followers amounted to above athousand people.
If our sergeant, an old soldier of the 'Sambre et Meuse,' had notalready enjoyed some experience of our allies, it is more than likelythat, seeing their hostile advance, he would have fallen back upon themain guard, then stationed in the market-square. As it was, he simplyretired his party within the church, the door of which had already beenpierced for the use of musketry. This done, and one of his men beingdespatched to headquarters for advice and orders, he waited patientlyfor the attack.
I happened that night
to make one of General Serasin's dinner-party,and we were sitting over our wine, when the officer of the guard enteredhastily with the tidings of what was going on in the town.
'Is it the _commandant de place_ himself who is at the head?' exclaimedSerasin, in amazement, such a thought being a direct shock to all hisideas of military discipline.
'Yes, sir,' said the officer; 'the soldier knows his appearance well,and can vouch for its being him.'
'As I know something of him, general,' said I, 'I may as well mentionthat nothing is more likely.'
'Who is he--what is he?' asked Serasin hastily.
A very brief account--I need not say not a nattering one--told all thatI knew or had ever heard of our worthy town-major--many of the officersaround corroborating, as I went on, all that I said, and interpolatinglittle details of their own about his robberies and exactions.
'And yet I have heard nothing of all this before,' said the general,looking sternly around him on every side.
None ventured on a reply; and what might have followed there is noguessing, when the sharp rattle of musketry cut short all discussion.
'That fire was not given by soldiers,' said Serasin. 'Go, Tiernay, andbring this fellow before me at once.'
I bowed, and was leaving the room, when an officer, having whispered afew words in Serasin's ear, the general called me back, saying--
'You are not to incur any risk, Tiernay; I want no struggle, still lessa rescue. You understand me?'
'Perfectly, general; the matter will, I trust, be easy enough.'
And so I left the room, my heart--shall I avow it?--bumping andthrobbing in a fashion that gave a very poor corroboration to my words.There were always three or four horses ready saddled for duty at eachgeneral's quarters, and, taking one of them, I ordered a corporal ofdragoons to follow me, and set out. It was a fine night of autumn; thelast faint sunlight was yet struggling with the coming darkness, as Irode at a brisk trot down the main street towards the scene of action.
I had not proceeded far when the crowds compelled me to slacken my paceto a walk, and finding that the people pressed in upon me in such away as to prevent anything like a defence if attacked, still more, anychance of an escape by flight, I sent the corporal forward to cleara passage, and announce my coming to the redoubted commandant. It wascurious to see how the old dragoon's tactic effected his object,and with what speed the crowd opened and fell back, as, with a flankmovement of his horse, he 'passaged' up the street, prancing, bounding,and back-leaping, yet all the while perfectly obedient to the hand,and never deviating from the straight line in the very middle of thethoroughfare.
I could catch from the voices around me that the mob had fired a volleyat the church door, but that our men had never returned the fire; andnow a great commotion of the crowd, and that swaying, surging motion ofthe mass, which is so peculiarly indicative of a coming event, told thatsomething more was in preparation. And such was it; for already numberswere hurrying forward with straw faggots, broken furniture, and othercombustible material, which, in the midst of the wildest cries andshouts of triumph, were now being heaped up against the door. Anothermoment, and I should have been too late; as it was, my loud summons to'halt,' and a bold command for the mob to fall back, only came at thevery last minute.
'Where's the commandant?' said I, in an imperious tone.
'Who wants him?' responded a deep, husky voice, which I well knew to beDowall's.
'The general in command of the town,' said I firmly--'General Serasin.'
'Maybe I'm as good a general as himself,' was the answer. 'I nevercalled him my superior yet! Did I, boys?'
'Never--devil a bit--why would you?' and such like, were shouted by themob around us, in every accent of drunken defiance.
'You 'll not refuse General Serasin's invitation to confer with yourcommandant, I hope?' said I, affecting a tone of respectful civility,while I gradually drew nearer and nearer to him, contriving, at the sametime, by a dexterous plunging of my horse, to force back the bystanders,and thus isolate my friend Dowall.
'Tell him I've work to do here,' said he, 'and can't come; but if he'sfond of a bonfire he may as well step down this far and see one.'
By this time, at a gesture of command from me, the corporal had placedhimself on the opposite side of Dowall's horse, and, by a movementsimilar to my own, completely drove back the dense mob, so that we hadhim completely in our power, and could have sabred or shot him at anymoment.
'General Serasin only wishes to see you on duty, commandant,' said I,speaking in a voice that could be heard over the entire assemblage; andthen, dropping it to a whisper, only audible to himself, I added--
'Come along quietly, sir, and without a word. If you speak, if youmutter, or if you lift a finger, I'll run my sabre through your body.'
'Forward, way, there!' shouted I aloud, and the corporal, holdingDowall's bridle, pricked the horse with the point of his sword, andright through the crowd we went at a pace that defied following, had anythe daring to think of it.
So sudden was the act and so imminent the peril, for I held the point ofmy weapon within a few inches of his back, and would have kept my wordmost assuredly too, that the fellow never spoke a syllable as we went,nor ventured on even a word of remonstrance till we descended at thegeneral's door. Then, with a voice tremulous with restrained passion, hesaid--
'If ye think I'll forgive ye this thrick, my fine hoy, may the flamesand fire be my portion! and if I haven't my revenge on ye yet, my nameisn't Mick Dowall.'
With a dogged, sulky resolution he mounted the stairs, but as he nearedthe room where the general was, and from which his voice could even nowbe heard, his courage seemed to fail him, and he looked back as thoughto see if no chance of escape remained. The attempt would have beenhopeless, and he saw it.
'This is the man, general,' said I, half pushing him forward into themiddle of the room, where he stood with his hat on, and in an attitudeof mingled defiance and terror.
'Tell him to uncover,' said Serasin; but one of the aides-de-camp, morezealous than courteous, stepped forward and knocked the hat off with hishand. Dowall never budged an inch, nor moved a muscle, at this insult;to look at him you could not have said that he was conscious of it.
'Ask him if it was by his orders that the guard was assailed,' said thegeneral.
I put the question in about as many words, but he made no reply.
'Does the man know where he is? does he know who I am?' repeated Serasinpassionately.
'He knows both well enough, sir,' said I; 'this silence is a meredefiance of us.'
'_Parbleu!_' cried an officer, 'that is the _coquin_ took poorDelaitre's equipments; the very uniform he has on was his.'
'The fellow was never a soldier,' said another.
'I know him well,' interposed a third--' he is the very terror of thetownsfolk.'
'Who gave him his commission?--who appointed him?' asked Serasin.
Apparently the fellow could follow some words of French, for as thegeneral asked this he drew from his pocket a crumpled and soiled paper,which he threw heedlessly upon the table before us.
'Why, this is not his name, sir,' said I; 'this appointment is made outin the name of Nicholas Downes, and our friend here is called Dowall.'
'Who knows him? who can identify him?' asked Serasin.
'I can say that his name is Dowall, and that he worked as a porter onthe quay in this town when I was a boy,' said a young Irishman who wascopying letters and papers at a side-table. 'Yes, Dowall,' said theyouth, confronting the look which the other gave him. 'I am neitherafraid nor ashamed to tell you to your face that I know you well, andwho you are, and what you are.'
'I'm an officer in the Irish Independent Army now,' said Dowallresolutely. 'To the divil I fling the French commission and all thatbelongs to it. Tisn't troops that run and guns that burst we want.Let them go back again the way they came--we 're able for the workourselves.*
Before I could translate this rude speech an officer brok
e into theroom, with tidings that the streets had been cleared, and the riotersdispersed; a few prisoners, too, were taken, whose muskets bore trace ofbeing recently discharged.
'They fired upon our pickets, general,' said the officer, whose excitedlook and voice betrayed how deeply he felt the outrage.
The men were introduced; three ragged, ill-looking wretches, apparentlyonly roused from intoxication by the terror of their situation, for eachwas guarded by a soldier with a drawn bayonet in his hand.
'We only obeyed ordhers, my lord; we only did what the captain touldus,' cried they, in a miserable, whining tone, for the sight of theirleader in captivity had sapped all their courage.
'What am I here for? who has any business with me?' said Dowall,assuming before his followers an attempt at his former tone of bully.
'Tell him,' said Serasin, 'that wherever a French general stands in fullcommand he will neither brook insolence nor insubordination. Let thosefellows be turned out of the town, and warned never to approach thequarters of the army under any pretence whatever. As for this scoundrel,we'll make an example of him. Order a _peloton_ into the yard, and shoothim!'
I rendered this speech into English as the general spoke it, and nevershall I forget the wild scream of the wretch as he heard the sentence.
'I'm an officer in the army of Ireland. I don't belong to ye at all.You've no power over me. Oh, captain, darlin'; oh, gentlemen, speak forme! General, dear; general, honey, don't sintince me! don't, for thelove o' God!' and in grovelling terror the miserable creature threwhimself on his knees to beg for mercy.
'Tear off his epaulettes,' cried Serasin; 'never let a French uniform beso disgraced!'
The soldiers wrenched off the epaulettes at the command, and, notsatisfied with this, they even tore away the lace from the cuffs of theuniform, which now hung in ragged fragments over his trembling hands.
'Oh, sir! oh, general! oh, gentlemen, have marcy!'
'Away with him,' said Serasin contemptuously; 'it is only the cruel canbe such cowards. Give the fellow his fusillade with blank cartridge,and, the chances are, fear will kill him outright.'
The scene that ensued is too shocking, too full of abasement, to record;there was nothing that fear of death, nothing that abject terror couldsuggest, that this miserable wretch did not attempt to save his life; hewept--he begged in accents that were unworthy of all manhood--he kissedthe very ground at the general's feet in his abject sorrow; and when atlast he was dragged from the room, his screams were the most piercingand terrific.
Although all my compassion was changed into contempt, I felt that Icould never have given the word to fire upon him, had such been myorders; his fears had placed him below all manhood, but they stillformed a barrier of defence around him. I accordingly whispered a fewwords to the sergeant, as we passed down the stairs, and then, affectingto have forgotten something, I stepped back towards the room, where thegeneral and his staff were sitting. The scuffling sound of feet, mingledwith the crash of firearms, almost drowned the cries of the stillstruggling wretch; his voice, however, burst forth into a wild cry, andthen there came a pause--a pause that at last became insupportable to myanxiety, and I was about to rush downstairs, when a loud yell, a savagehowl of derision and hate burst forth from the street; and on lookingout I saw a vast crowd before the door, who were shouting after a man,whose speed soon carried him out of reach. This was Dowall, who, thussuffered to escape, was told to fly from the town and never to return toit.
'Thank Heaven,' muttered I, 'we've seen the last of him.'
The rejoicing was, however, premature.
Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune Page 23