Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

The ridge was scarcely eight hundred yards’ distance, and so distinctly was every object seen, that Humbert and his two aides-de-camp were at once marked and fired at, even in the few minutes during which the reconnaissance lasted.

As the general retired the firing ceased, and now all our arrangements were made without molestation of any kind. They were, indeed, of the simplest and speediest Two companies of our grenadiers were marched to the front, and in advance of them, about twenty paces, were posted a body of Irish in French uniforms. This place being assigned them, it was said, as a mark of honour, but in reality for no other purpose than to draw on them the Royalist artillery, and thus screen the grenadiers.

Under cover of this force came two light six-pounder guns, loaded with grape, and intended to be discharged at point-blank distance. The infantry brought up the rear in three compact columns, ready to deploy into line at a moment.

In these very simple tactics no notice whatever was taken of the great rabble of Irish who hung upon our flanks and rear in disorderly masses, cursing, swearing, and vociferating in all the license of insubordination; and O’Donnell, whose showy uniform contrasted strikingly with the dark-blue coat and low glazed cocked-hat of Humbert, was now appealed to by his countrymen as to the reason of this palpable slight.

‘What does he want? what does the fellow say?’ asked Humbert, as he noticed his excited gestures and passionate manner.

‘He is remonstrating, sir,’ replied I, ‘on the neglect of his countrymen; he says that they do not seem treated like soldiers; no post has been assigned, nor any order given them.’

‘Tell him, sir,’ said Humbert, with a savage grin, ‘that the discipline we have tried in vain to teach them hitherto, we’ll not venture to rehearse under an enemy’s fire; and tell him also that he and his ragged followers are free to leave us, or, if they like better, to turn against us, at a moment’s warning.’

I was saved the unpleasant task of interpreting this civil message by Conolly, who, taking O’Donnell aside, appeared endeavouring to reason with him, and reduce him to something like moderation.

‘There, look at them, they’re running like sheep!’ cried Humbert, laughing, as he pointed to an indiscriminate rabble, some hundred yards off, in a meadow, and who had taken to their heels on seeing a round shot plunge into the earth near them. ‘Come along, sir: come with me, and when you have seen what fire is, you may go back and tell your countrymen! Serasin, is all ready? Well then, forward, march!’

‘March!’ was now re-echoed along the line, and steadily, as on a parade, our hardy infantry stepped out, while the drums kept up a continued roll as we mounted the hill.

The first to cross the crest of the ascent were the ‘Legion,’ as the Irish were called, who, dressed like French soldiers, were selected for some slight superiority in discipline and bearing. They had but gained the ridge, however, when a well-directed shot from a six-pounder smashed in amongst them, killing two, and wounding six or seven others. The whole mass immediately fell back on our grenadiers. The confusion compelled the supporting column to halt, and once more the troops were retired behind the hill.

‘Forward, men, forward!’ cried Humbert, riding up to the front, and in evident impatience at these repeated checks; and now the grenadiers passed to the front, and, mounting the height, passed over, while a shower of balls flew over and around them. A small slated house stood half-way down the hill, and for this the leading files made a dash and gained it, just as the main body were, for the third time, driven back to re-form.

It was now evident that an attack in column could not succeed against a fire so admirably directed, and Humbert quickly deployed into line, and prepared to storm the enemy’s position.

Up to this the conduct of the Royalists had been marked by the greatest steadiness and determination. Every shot from their batteries had told, and all promised an easy and complete success to their arms. No sooner, however, had our infantry extended into line, than the militia, unaccustomed to see an enemy before them, and unable to calculate distance, opened a useless, dropping fire, at a range where not a bullet could reach!

The ignorance of this movement, and the irregularity of the discharge, were not lost upon our fellows, most of whom were veterans of the army of the Rhine, and, with a loud cheer of derision, our troops advanced to meet them, while a cloud of skirmishers dashed forward and secured themselves under cover of a hedge.

Even yet, however, no important advantage had been gained by us, and if the Royalists had kept their ground in support of their artillery, we must have been driven back with loss; but, fortunately for us, a movement we made to keep open order was mistaken by some of the militia officers for the preparation to outflank them, a panic seized the whole line, and they fell back, leaving their guns totally exposed and unprotected.

‘They ‘re running! they ‘re running!’ was the cry along our line; and now a race was seen, which should be first up with the artillery. The cheers at this moment were tremendous, for our ‘allies,’ who had kept wide aloof hitherto, were now up with us, and, more lightly equipped than we were, soon took the lead. The temerity, however, was costly, for three several times did the Royalist artillery load and fire; and each discharge, scarcely at half-musket range, was terribly effective.

We were by no means prepared for either so sudden or complete a success, and the scene was exciting in the highest degree, as the whole line mounted the hill, cheering madly. From the crest of this rising ground we could now see the town of Castlebar beneath us, into which the Royalists were scampering at full speed. A preparation for defending the bridge into the town did not escape the watchful eyes of our general, who again gave the word ‘Forward!’ not by the road alone, but also by the fields at either side, so as to occupy the houses that should command the bridge, and which, by a palpable neglect, the others had forgotten to do.

Our small body of horse, about twenty hussars, were ordered to charge the bridge, and had they been even moderately well mounted, must have captured the one gun of the enemy at once; but the miserable cattle, unable to strike a canter, only exposed them to a sharp musketry; and when they did reach the bridge, five of their number had fallen. The six-pounder was, however, soon taken, and the gunners sabred at their posts, while our advanced guard coming up, completed the victory; and nothing now remained but a headlong flight.

Had we possessed a single squadron of dragoons, few could have escaped us, for not a vestige of discipline remained. All was wild confusion and panic. Such of the officers as had ever seen service, were already killed or badly wounded; and the younger ones were perfectly unequal to the difficult task of rallying or restoring order to a routed force.

The scene in the market-square, as we rode in, is not easily to be forgotten; about two hundred prisoners were standing in a group, disarmed, it is true, but quite unguarded, and without any preparation or precaution against escape!

Six or seven English officers, amongst whom were two majors, were gathered around General Humbert, who was conversing with them in tones of easy and jocular familiarity. The captured guns of the enemy (fourteen in all) were being ranged on one side of the square, while behind them were drawn up a strange-looking line of men, with their coats turned. These were part of the Kilkenny militia, who had deserted to our ranks after the retreat began.

Such was the ‘fight’ of Castlebar. It would be absurd to call it a ‘battle’ – a day too inglorious for the Royalists to reflect any credit upon us; but, such as it was, it raised the spirits of our Irish followers to a pitch of madness, and, out of our own ranks, none now doubted in the certainty of Irish independence.

Our occupation of the town lasted only a week; but, brief as the time was, it was sufficient to widen the breach between ourselves and our allies into an open and undisguised hatred. There were, unquestionably, wrongs on both sides. As for us, we were thoroughly, bitterly disappointed in the character of those we had come to liberate; and, making the egregious mistake of confounding these semi-civilised peasants with the Irish people, we deeply regretted that ever the French army should have been sent on so worthless a mission. As for them, they felt insulted and degraded by the offensive tone we assumed towards them. Not alone were they never regarded as comrades, but a taunting insolence of manner was assumed in all our dealings with them, very strikingly in contrast to that with which we conducted ourselves towards all the other inhabitants of the island, even those who were avowedly inimical to our object and our cause.

These things, with native quickness, they soon remarked. They saw the consideration and politeness with which the bishop and his family were treated; they saw several Protestant gentlemen suffered to return to their homes ‘on parole.’ They saw, too – worse grievance of all – how all attempts at pillage were restrained, or severely punished, and they asked themselves, ‘To what end a revolt, if neither massacre nor robbery were to follow? If they wanted masters and rulers, sure they had the English that they were used to, and could at least understand.’

Such were the causes, and such the reasonings, which gradually ate deeper and deeper into their minds, rendering them at first sullen, gloomy, and suspicious, and at last insubordinate, and openly insulting to us.

Their leaders were the first to exhibit this state of feeling. Affecting a haughty disdain for us, they went about with disparaging stories of the French soldiery; and at last went even so far as to impugn their courage!

In one of the versions of the affair at Castlebar, it was roundly asserted that but for the Irish threatening to fire on them, the French would have turned and fled; while in another, the tactics of that day were all ascribed to the military genius of Neal Kerrigan, who, by-the-bye, was never seen from early morning until late the same afternoon, when he rode into Castlebar on a fine bay horse that belonged to Captain Shortall of the Royal Artillery!

If the feeling between us and our allies was something less than cordial, nothing could be more friendly than that which subsisted between us and such of the Royalists as we came in contact with. The officers who became our prisoners were treated with every deference and respect. Two field-officers and a captain of carbineers dined daily with the general, and Serasin entertained several others. We liked them greatly; and I believe I am not flattering if I say that they were equally satisfied with us. Nos amis l’ennemis, was the constant expression used in talking of them; and every day drew closer the ties of this comrade regard and esteem.

Such was the cordial tone of intimacy maintained between us, that I remember well, one evening at Humbert’s table, an animated discussion being carried on between the general and an English staff-officer on the campaign itself – the Royalist averring that in marching southward at all, a gross and irreparable mistake had been made, and that if the French had occupied Sligo, and extended their wings towards the north, they would have secured a position of infinitely greater strength, and also become the centre for rallying round them a population of a very different order from the half-starved tribes of Mayo.

Humbert affected to say that the reason for his actual plan was that twenty thousand French were daily expected to land in Lough Swilly, and that the western attack was merely to occupy time and attention, while the more formidable movement went on elsewhere.

I know not if the English believed this; I rather suspect not. Certes, they were too polite to express any semblance of distrust of what was told them with all the air of truth.

It was amusing, too, to see the candour with which each party discussed the other to his face – the French general criticising all the faulty tactics and defective manoeuvres of the Royalists; while the English never hesitated to aver that whatever momentary success might wait upon the French arms, they were just as certain to be obliged to capitulate in the end.

‘You know it better than I do, general,’ said the major of dragoons. ‘It may be a day or two earlier or later, but the issue will and must be – a surrender.’

‘I don’t agree with you,’ said Humbert, laughing; ‘I think there will be more than one “Castlebar.” But let the worst happen – and you must own that your haughty country has received a heavy insult – your great England has got a soufflet in the face of all Europe!’

This, which our general regarded as a great compensation – the greatest, perhaps, he could receive for all defeat – did not seem to affect the English with proportionate dismay, nor even to ruffle the equanimity of their calm tempers.

Upon one subject both sides were quite agreed – that the peasantry never could aid, but very possibly would always shipwreck, every attempt to win national independence.

‘I should have one army to fight the English, and two to keep down the Irish!’ was Humbert’s expression; and very little experience served to show that there was not much exaggeration in the sentiment.

Our week at Castlebar taught us a good lesson in this respect. The troops, wearied with a march that had begun on the midnight of the day before, and with an engagement that lasted from eight till two in the afternoon, were obliged to be under arms for several hours, to repress pillage and massacre. Our allies now filled the town, to the number of five thousand, openly demanding that it should be given up to them, parading the streets in riotous bands, and displaying banners with long lists of names doomed for immediate destruction.

The steadiness and temper of our soldiery were severely tried by these factious and insubordinate spirits; but discipline prevailed at last, and before the first evening closed in, the town was quiet, and, for the time at least, danger over.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE TOWN-MAJOR OF CASTLEBAR

I am at a loss to know whether or not I owe an apology to my reader for turning away from the more immediate object of this memoir of a life, to speak of events which have assumed an historical reputation. It may be thought ill-becoming in one who occupied the subordinate station that I did, to express himself on subjects so very far above both his experience and acquaintance; but I would premise, that in the opinions I may have formed, and the words of praise or censure dropped, I have been but retailing the sentiments of those older and wiser than myself, and by whose guidance I was mainly led to entertain not only the convictions but the prejudices of my early years.

Let the reader bear in mind, too, that I was very early in life thrown into the society of men – left self-dependent, in a great measure, and obliged to decide for myself on subjects which usually are determined by older and more mature heads. So much of excuse, then, if I seem presumptuous in saying that I began to conceive a very low opinion generally of popular attempts at independence, and a very high one of the powers of military skill and discipline. A mob, in my estimation, was the very lowest, and an army about the very highest, object I could well conceive. My short residence at Castlebar did not tend to controvert these impressions. The safety of the town and its inhabitants was entirely owing to the handful of French who held it, and who, wearied with guards, pickets, and outpost duty, were a mere fraction of the small force that had landed a few days before.

Our ‘allies’ were now our most difficult charge, Abandoning the hopeless task of drilling and disciplining them, we confined ourselves to the more practical office of restraining pillage and repressing violence – a measure, be it said, that was not without peril, and of a very serious kind. I remember one incident, which, if not followed by grave consequences, yet appeared at the time of a very serious character.

By the accidental misspelling of a name, a man named Dowall, a notorious ruffian and demagogue, was appointed commandant de place, or town-major, instead of a most respectable shopkeeper named Downes, who, although soon made aware of the mistake, from natural timidity took no steps to undeceive the general. Dowall was haranguing a mob of half-drunken vagabonds, when his commission was put into his hands; and, accepting the post as an evidence of the fears the French entertained of his personal influence, became more overbearing and insolent than ever. We had a very gallant officer, the second major of the 12th Regiment of the Line, killed in the attack on Castlebar, and this Dowall at once took possession of poor Delaitre’s horse, arms, and equipment. His coat and 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 had when riding fast, to place his sabre between his leg and the saddle, to prevent its striking the horse on the flanks.

I need scarcely say that, thoroughly disgusted by the unsightly exhibition, our incessant cares, and the endless round of duty we were engaged in, as well as the critical position we occupied, left us no time to notice the fellow’s conduct by any other than a passing sign of anger or contempt – provocations that he certainly gave us back as insolently as we offered them. I do not believe that the general ever saw him, but I know that incessant complaints were daily made to him about the man’s rapacity and tyranny, and scarcely a morning passed without a dozen remonstrances being preferred against his overbearing conduct.

Determined to have his own countrymen on his side, he issued the most absurd orders for the billeting of the rabble, the rations and allowances of all kinds. He seized upon one of the best houses for his own quarters, and three fine saddle-horses for his personal use, besides a number of inferior ones for the ruffian following he called his staff!

It was, indeed, enough to excite laughter, had not indignation been the more powerful emotion, to see this fellow ride forth of a morning – a tawdry scarf of green, with deep gold fringe, thrown over his shoulder, and a saddle-cloth of the same colour, profusely studded with gold shamrocks, on his horse; a drawn sword in his hand, and his head erect, followed by an indiscriminate rabble on foot or horseback – some with muskets, some pikes, some with sword blades, bayonets, or even knives fastened 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 a kettle or tin cup, or sometimes an iron pot – a grotesque parody on the trim cooking equipment of the French soldier. It was evident, from their step and bearing, that they thought themselves in the very height of discipline; and this very assumption was far more insulting to the real soldier than all the licentious irregularity of the marauder. If to us they were objects of ridicule and derision, to the townspeople they were images of terror and dismay. The miserable shopkeeper who housed one of them lived in continual fear; he knew nothing to be his own, and felt that his property and family were every moment at the dictate of a ruffian gang, who acknowledged no law, nor any rule save their own will and convenience. Dowall’s squad were indeed as great a terror in that little town as I had seen the great name of Robespierre in the proud city of Paris.

In my temporary position on General Serasin’s staff, I came to hear much of this fellow’s conduct. The most grievous stories were told me every day of his rapacity and cruelty; but, harassed and overworked as the general was with duties that would have been overmuch for three or four men, I forebore to trouble him with recitals which could only fret and distress him without affording the slightest chance of relief to others. Perhaps this impunity had rendered him more daring, or, perhaps, the immense number of armed Irish in comparison with the small force of disciplined soldiers, emboldened the fellow; but certainly he grew day by day more presumptuous and insolent, and at last so far forgot himself as to countermand one of General Serasin’s orders, by which a guard was stationed at the Protestant church to prevent its being molested or injured by the populace.

General Humbert had already refused the Roman Catholic priest his permission to celebrate mass in that building, but Dowall had determined otherwise, and that, too, by a written order, under his own hand. The French sergeant who commanded the guard of course paid little attention to this warrant; and when Father Hennisy wanted to carry the matter with a high hand, he coolly tore up the paper, and threw the fragments at him.

Dowall was soon informed of the slight offered to his mandate. He was at supper at the time, entertaining a party of his friends, who all heard the priest’s story, and, of course, loudly sympathised with his sorrows, and invoked the powerful leader’s aid and protection. Affecting to believe that the sergeant had merely acted in ignorance, and from not being able to read English, Dowall despatched a fellow whom he called his aide-de-camp, a schoolmaster named Lowrie, and who spoke a little bad French, to interpret his command, and to desire the sergeant to withdraw 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 of half an hour, a country fellow came in to say that he had seen Lowrie led off to prison between two French soldiers. By this time Dowall had drunk himself into a state of utter recklessness, while, encouraged by his friends’ praises, and the arguments of his own passions, he fancied that he might dispute ascendency with General Humbert himself. He at once ordered out his horse, and gave a command to assemble the ‘squad.’ As they were all billeted in his immediate vicinity, this was speedily effected, 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 was crowded, and when Dowall mounted, his followers amounted to above a thousand people.

If our sergeant, an old soldier of the ‘Sambre et Meuse,’ had not already enjoyed some experience of our allies, it is more than likely that, seeing their hostile advance, he would have fallen back upon the main guard, then stationed in the market-square. As it was, he simply retired his party within the church, the door of which had already been pierced for the use of musketry. This done, and one of his men being despatched to headquarters for advice and orders, he waited patiently for 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 entered hastily with the tidings of what was going on in the town.

‘Is it the commandant de place himself who is at the head?’ exclaimed Serasin, in amazement, such a thought being a direct shock to all his ideas 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 mention that 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 that I knew or had ever heard of our worthy town-major – many of the officers around corroborating, as I went on, all that I said, and interpolating little 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 no guessing, when the sharp rattle of musketry cut short all discussion.

‘That fire was not given by soldiers,’ said Serasin. ‘Go, Tiernay, and bring this fellow before me at once.’

I bowed, and was leaving the room, when an officer, having whispered a few words in Serasin’s ear, the general called me back, saying —