Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 2

CHAPTER II.

For several months after the battle of Talavera my life presented nothing which I feel worth recording. Our good fortune seemed to have deserted us when our hopes were highest; for from the day of that splendid victory we began our retrograde movement upon Portugal. Pressed hard by overwhelming masses of the enemy, we saw the fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida fall successively into their hands. The Spaniards were defeated wherever they ventured upon a battle; and our own troops, thinned by sickness and desertion, presented but a shadow of that brilliant army which only a few months previous had followed the retiring French beyond the frontiers of Portugal.

CHAPTER VII.

Fatigue and exhaustion, more powerful than pain, soon produced their effects upon me, and I fell asleep; but it was no refreshing slumber which visited my heavy eyelids; the slow fever of suffering had been hour by hour increasing, and my dreams presented nothing but scenes of agony and torture. Now I thought that, unhorsed and wounded, I was trampled beneath the clanging hoofs of charging cavalry; now I felt the sharp steel piercing my flesh, and heard the loud cry of a victorious enemy; then, methought, I was stretched upon a litter, covered by gore and mangled by a grape-shot. I thought I saw my brother officers approach and look sadly upon me, while one, whose face I could not remember, muttered: “I should not have known him.” The dreadful hospital of Talavera, and all its scenes of agony, came up before me, and I thought that I lay waiting my turn for amputation. This last impression, more horrible to me than all the rest, made me spring from my couch, and I awoke. The cold drops of perspiration stood upon my brow, my mouth was parched and open, and my temples throbbed so that I could count their beatings; for some seconds I could not throw off the frightful illusion I labored under, and it was only by degrees I recovered consciousness and remembered where I was. Before me, and on one side of the bright wood-fire, sat Mike, who, apparently deep in thought, gazed fixedly at the blaze. The start I gave on awaking had not attracted his attention, and I could see, as the flickering glare fell upon his features, that he was pale and ghastly, while his eyes were riveted upon the fire; his lips moved rapidly, as if in prayer, and his locked hands were pressed firmly upon his bosom; his voice, at first inaudible, I could gradually distinguish, and at length heard the following muttered sentences:--

CHAPTER XXXII.

I’ll tell how we routed the squadrons in fight, And destroyed them all at “Talavera,” And then I’ll just add how we finished the night, In learning to dance the “bolera;” How by the moonshine we drank raal wine, And rose next day fresh as a daisy; Then some one will cry, with a look mighty sly, “Arrah, Mickey, _now can’t you lie asy?_”

CHAPTER XLI.

With what a yearning of the heart, then, did I look upon the dim and misty cliffs, that mighty framework of my island home, their stern sides lashed by the blue waters of the ocean, and their summits lost within the clouds! With what an easy and natural transition did my mind turn from the wild mountains and the green valleys to their hardy sons, who toiled beneath the burning sun of the Peninsula; and how, as some twinkling light of the distant shore would catch my eye, did I wonder within myself whether beside that hearth and board there might not sit some whose thoughts were wandering over the sea beside the bold steeps of El Bodon, or the death-strewn plain of Talavera,--their memories calling up some trait of him who was the idol of his home; whose closing lids some fond mother had watched over; above whose peaceful slumber her prayers had fallen; but whose narrow bed was now beneath the breach of Badajos, and his sleep the sleep that knows not waking!

CHAPTER

I. THE DOCTOR’S TALE II. THE SKIRMISH III. THE LINES OF CIUDAD RODRIGO IV. THE DOCTOR V. THE COA VI. THE NIGHT MARCH VII. THE JOURNEY VIII. THE GHOST IX. LISBON X. A PLEASANT PREDICAMENT XI. THE DINNER XII. THE LETTER XIII. THE VILLA XIV. THE VISIT XV. THE CONFESSION XVI. MY CHARGER XVII. MAURICE XVIII. THE MASQUERADE XIX. THE LINES XX. THE RETREAT OF THE FRENCH XXI. PATRICK’S DAY IN THE PENINSULA XXII. FUENTES D’ONORO XXIII. THE BATTLE OF FUENTES D’ONORO XXIV. A RENCONTRE XXV. ALMEIDA XXVI. A NIGHT ON THE AZAVA XXVII. MIKE’S MISTAKE XXVIII. MONSOON IN TROUBLE XXIX. THE CONFIDENCE XXX. THE CANTONMENT XXXI. MICKEY FREE’S ADVENTURE XXXII. THE SAN PETRO XXXIII. THE COUNT’S LETTER XXXIV. THE TRENCHES XXXV. THE STORMING OF CIUDAD RODRIGO XXXVI. THE RAMPART XXXVII. THE DESPATCH XXXVIII. THE LEAVE XXXIX. LONDON XL. THE BELL AT BRISTOL XLI. IRELAND XLII. THE RETURN XLIII. HOME XLIV. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE XLV. A SURPRISE XLVI. NEW VIEWS XLVII. A RECOGNITION XLVIII. A MISTAKE XLIX. BRUSSELS L. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE LI. THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND’S BALL LII. QUATRE BRAS LIII. WATERLOO LIV. BRUSSELS LV. CONCLUSION L’ENVOI

CHAPTER LI.

“We’re in for it, Charley,” said he. “The whole French army are in march; and Blucher’s aide-de-camp, who has arrived, gives the number at one hundred and fifty thousand men. The Prussians are drawn up between St. Amand and Sombref, and the Nassau and Dutch troops are at Quatre Bras, both expecting to be attacked.”

CHAPTER LI.

“Quatre Bras was the original rallying spot for our troops, was it not?” said I.

CHAPTER LII.

Those who have visited the field of Quatre Bras will remember that on the left of the high road, and nearly at the extremity of the Bois de Bossu, stands a large Flemish farm-house, whose high pitched roof, pointed gables, and quaint, old-fashioned chimneys, remind one of the architecture so frequently seen in Tenier’s pictures.