With the Connaught Rangers

by Edward Herbert Maxwell

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS.
My first Experiences in the Regiment—Toby White—The CastleGuard—Changes in Ireland—Donnybrook Fair—Half-a-crown’sworth of Fighting—Ordered to Malta—Affairs inSyria—Irishmen and Scotchmen—Transports—A Cruel Joke—Amusementsat Malta—Cruise to Candia and Greece—Anold Colonel’s opinion of Rome and its Ruins—Dépôt atPaisley—Firing a Salute at Dumbarton Castle—March fromStirling to Aberdeen—Illustrious Tom and the Blotting-books—Reminiscences	[3]
CHAPTER II.
IN THE WEST INDIES.
Tralee—A Venturesome Feat—Old Pate—An Irish Cornet—PaddyOysters—Ordered to Barbadoes—Grenada—CaptainAstley’s Creole—St. George’s—Land-crab Catching—Turtle-turning—AJigger Toe—Recollections of Trinidad—Halifax,Nova Scotia—Burning of the Barracks—Lobster-spearing—Presentof a Bear—Smuggling Bruin on Board—Our Pet inthe Zoo	[23]
CHAPTER III.
ENGLAND AND THE CONTINENT.
Return to England—Paris—English and French Officers—Unvéritable Rosbif—Plum Poudin—Touching Courtesy—Isleof Wight—Parkhurst Barracks—Election at Cowes—A TipsyDriver—Camp at Chobham—Visitors to the Camp—TheRev. Dr. Cumming—In the Manufacturing Districts—Orderedto the East—Generous Conduct of the Cunards—WarDitties—Scutari—A Wrestling Match—A Good Story—AFairy Scene—The Sultan’s Wife	[45]
CHAPTER IV.
IN TURKEY AND THE CRIMEA.
Enchanting Scene—Loss of Baggage-horses—Sir George Brown’sOrder—Identification of Lost Horses—Dealings with thePeasantry—Foraging—Cholera in Bulgaria—DisagreeableMistake—Dr. Shegog—Devotion to his Work and SuddenDeath—Death of an Officer—Embarkation at Varna—TheBlack Sea Fleet—Kind Soldiers—Our first Scare in theCrimea—Kindness of Lord Raglan—An Outlying Picquet—Storyof a Connaught Ranger—Capture of Balaclava—ASerious Mistake	[65]
CHAPTER V.
THE PUNJAUB.
Sent Tumbling into a Ditch—Sir Houston Stewart—Ordered toEngland—Fearful Accident on H.M.S. Belleisle—Lisbon—Cholera—AMagnificent Regiment—The Ulysses—A ScotchCaptain—A Long Farewell to England—Cape Pigeons—TheAlbatross—Arrival in India—Perplexing News—OurPosition in India—Servants—Ordered to the Punjaub—Agra—Installationof the Star of India—Showers of Meteors—Durbar	[85]
CHAPTER VI.
DELHI.
By Train to Delhi—The Railway Station in 1866—Bridge ofBoats—Palace of Delhi—The Jumna—Musjid—Reminiscencesof Delhi—Valuable Copy of the Koran—Autobiographyof Sultan Baber—Mausoleum of Sufter Jung—Marchin Cold Weather—Luxurious Tents—Soldiers’ Wivesin India—Kurnal—Government Stud—Christmas in India—Umballah—TremendousStorm—Umritsur—March into Rawul Pindee	[103]
CHAPTER VII.
THE AMEER OF CABUL.
Rawul Pindee—Expedition to Cashmere—Indian Heat—Visit ofthe Ameer of Cabul—Lady in a Riding-habit—Death ofBishop Milman—Absurd Statement—Peshawur—Chokedars—Nowshera—Horse-dealers—M’Kay—WildScene—March to Cashmere—Murree—Faithless Coolies—Daywal—Terrorsof my Bearer	[123]
CHAPTER VIII.
CASHMERE.
March to Kohalla—Crossing the Jhellum—Accident to a Boat—Ascentof the Dunna Pass—Barradurries, or Refuges—Tombof a Young Cavalry Officer—Sudden Storm—Chikar—TheDoctor—An Early Start—Wonderful Tomasha Walla—Backsheesh—ThePeople of Cashmere—Heavy Taxation—Treaty	[145]
CHAPTER IX.
THE VALE OF CASHMERE.
Medical Science in Cashmere—Long and Fatiguing March—Chikoti—Fort of Oree—Faqueers—Bridge of Ropes—AnOld Friend—Playful Monkeys—Temple of Bhumniar—PrimitiveFishing—Barramula Pass—The Happy Valley at last—Formationof the Vale of Cashmere—Change in Mode ofTravelling—Dongahs—Herons—The Walloor Lake—Fort ofSrinagur—Pug and the Afghan Warrior—The Murderer of Lord Mayo	[165]
CHAPTER X.
THE MAHARAJAH.
Chowni—Srinagur—Wooden Bathing-houses—Baboo MohasChander—Our Future Domicile—‘Me come Up’—OurShikarrah—Summud Shah, the Shawl-merchant—AncientTemples—The Manufacture of Cashmere Shawls—Dinnerwith the Maharajah—A Nautch—The Maharajah’s ‘Hookem’—LordMayo’s Fête at Agra—Uninvited Guests—Rising ofthe Lake—The Poplar Avenue—The Pariah Dog—Cause ofthe Flood	[187]
CHAPTER XI.
VALLEY OF THE SCIND.
Journey to the Nishat Bagh—Floating Gardens—Superfine Joe—Isleof Chenars—Inscription—Nightingales—Sudden Storm—Sunbul—AnIrishman’s Dinner—The Guardian of theLake—Ganderbul—Noonur—Engagement of a Shikarree—AnIrishman losing his ‘Presence of Mind’—A Holy Man—Crossinga Rickety Bridge—Valley of the Scind—Bears	[207]
CHAPTER XII.
THE RESIDENT OF CASHMERE.
Gond—Officer of the Connaught Rangers—A State Prisoner—Our Gascon Captain—Silvertail—M’Kay on Eastern MountainScenery—The Walloor Lake—Palhallan—Our Chokedar—Takenfor Wandering Jugglers—Vale of Gulmurg—OurCamping-ground—A Favourite Excursion—Hospitality ofthe Resident of Cashmere—Polly the Pug—Calling the Mareshome—Hindoos and Animal Suffering—Effects of Campaigningon Servants	[227]
CHAPTER XIII.
TRAVELLING IN CASHMERE.
Visit to Islamabad—Avantipore—Kunbul—Pitching our Camp—TravellingCamp Fashion—Palace of Sirkari Bagh—AnutNag, the Sacred Spring—Shawl Manufactory—Visit to theGarden at Atchibul—Irish Acuteness—Pleasure-garden—Picnicin the Ruins of Martund—Sacred Spring of the Bowun—APundit eager for Backsheesh—Expedition to the Lolab—Reviewof the Maharajah’s Troops	[249]
CHAPTER XIV.
FAREWELL TO CASHMERE.
Last Wanderings in Cashmere—Lalpari—Return to Murree—AMurree Cart—Return to Military Life—Fever in the Regiment—Deathof M’Kay—Ordered to Agra—Intelligence ofElephants—Goats—Regimental Pets—A Drunken old Goat—HuntingRebels—The Value of a Flogging—SapientJackdaws—Painful Tidings—Brigadier Nicholson—EnglishStores—Lahore—Flight of Locusts—Flocks of Geese	[271]
CHAPTER XV.
THE HIMALAYAS.
Agra—Letter-writers in Bazaar—A Dilemma—The Rajah ofUlwar—The Taj-Mahal—Deserted City of Palaces—FuttehporeSekri—Railway Travelling—The Sewallic Range—TheHimalayas—The Snowy Range—Dehra—The TrainingSeason—Cholera—Proclaiming Banns of Marriage—Presagesof a Storm	[291]
CHAPTER XVI.
OUR FINAL JOURNEY.
Indian Hospitality—Reminiscences of Hindostan—My Bearer—ASpinster in a Dilemma—Deollalee—Our Final Journey—Bombay—Voyagein the Jumna—Escape of a Minar—Lossof a Parrot—Return to England—Escapade of a YoungOfficer—Anecdote	[313]

CHAPTER I.
THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS.

MY FIRST EXPERIENCES IN THE REGIMENT—TOBY WHITE—THE CASTLE GUARD—CHANGES IN IRELAND—DONNYBROOK FAIR—HALF-A-CROWN’S WORTH OF FIGHTING—ORDERED TO MALTA—AFFAIRS IN SYRIA—IRISHMEN AND SCOTCHMEN—TRANSPORTS—A CRUEL JOKE—AMUSEMENTS AT MALTA—CRUISE TO CANDIA AND GREECE—AN OLD COLONEL’S OPINION OF ROME AND ITS RUINS—DEPOT AT PAISLEY—FIRING A SALUTE AT DUMBARTON CASTLE—MARCH FROM STIRLING TO ABERDEEN—ILLUSTRIOUS TOM AND THE BLOTTING BOOKS—REMINISCENCES.

CHAPTER I.

In the year 1839 I entered the Army as ensign in the 88th Regiment Connaught Rangers, which was then quartered in Dublin; and a merry life it was. What with drill and parties, hunting and field-days, the officers of the old regiment were always occupied. There were several packs of hounds within easy distance of Richmond Barracks; but the Ward Union was the one most patronised by my brothers-in-arms. The manœuvres in the Phœnix Park were not much varied. I remember one day, when, my captain being absent, I was in command of the company in which I was ensign. The old colour-sergeant took the greatest care of me. We advanced in line, and so sure was the non-commissioned officer of what the manœuvre would be that he whispered to me: ‘When ye get to that black thing on the ground, ye must give the words, “Form fours to the right; right wheel;”’ which, I think, was the form in those days. The black thing was a crow, which flew away before we got up to it. But, by my friend the colour-sergeant’s help, I gave the proper word, and we retired in time to let the cavalry through. Week after week passed, and the same manœuvres were executed.

Old Toby White was town-major then, and his portrait, often repeated, appeared on the walls of the Castle Guard. I always tried to be sub. on the Castle Guard, for it was a pleasant lounge during the day, and in the evening a good dinner was served free of expense, while at night a supper of grilled bones, etc., was always ready for those who had been at the theatre, and who looked in on their way home.

Everything is changed in Ireland now-a-days. The spirit of fun seems to have vanished, and a sombre gloom appears to overshadow everything. There was always a comical side to all the proceedings of our Irish friends, even when the affair was serious, or assumed an air of importance.

I remember going to Donnybrook fair—now a thing of the past—with two brother officers, Bayley and Dawson. When we arrived all was quite decorous. We observed many tents, in which the country people were apparently enjoying themselves peaceably, but, unfortunately, an urchin—a Dublin street Arab—came up to us, and said, ‘Give me half-a-crown, captin, and I’ll show ye the finest sport ye ever saw.’ So we tossed him the money, and off he went. He crept up near a tent, where we saw him ‘feeling for a head,’ and, having found one ‘convanient’ belonging to some man inside, perhaps asleep, he took the stick in his hand, and hit the head as hard as he could. The effect was wonderful. All started up with such vehemence that the tent came down at once, and everyone began to fight with his neighbour. The clatter of sticks was incessant, and the uproar soon extended to the whole fair. Then the peelers rushed in, and were swayed from one side to the other by the contending parties. We left the scene of battle while the strife was still raging,—many a cracked crown being the consequence of that miserable half-crown.

After being quartered for some time in Dublin, we were ordered to Cork, there to await embarkation to Malta. In the year 1840, affairs in Syria looked very warlike, and we fully expected to be ordered on to the seat of war, but the bombardment of St. Jean D’Acre by our Fleet, under Sir R. Stopford, together with the other successful operations, put off for some years a great war.

The 42nd Royal Highlanders were quartered at Cork when we were there, and a great friendship existed between the two regiments. The consumption of whiskey—to cement this friendly feeling—among the men of the two corps was enormous. Sometimes a Highlander and a Connaught Ranger might be seen climbing the steep hill on whose summit the infantry barracks are situated; both having proved the genuineness of their friendship by deep potations, and both in their way showing various indications of their respective nationalities. Sandy appeared quiet, grave, and canny, while Paddy was excited and noisy; waving a stick in the air, and challenging everyone to ‘tread on the tail of his coat.’

When they arrived at the barrack-gate, the Scotchman pulled himself together, and, solemnly fixing his eyes on a distant point, marched steadily past the sentry to his barrack-room, while the Irishman, howling defiance to all about him, staggered right into the middle of the guard and was lodged most probably in a cell for the night.

At length the transport Conway was reported to be ready to receive the head-quarters of the Connaught Rangers, and we went on board. Very different from what they are now were the vessels employed for the conveyance of troops; the comfort and luxury of floating palaces like the Crocodile and the Jumna were then unknown, and a ship that was considered almost unsafe to convey merchandise was regarded as quite good enough to carry one of Her Majesty’s regiments.

A curious scene the deck of our old East India-man presented when we got on board. Confusion seemed the order of the day; geese, ducks, and fowls filling the air with their peculiar cries. It was difficult to get along the decks, so crowded were they with friends of the soldiers, consisting of weeping women and disconsolate children.

Somehow or other every stranger was cleared out in the course of time, and we put to sea. We had a very rough time of it in the Bay of Biscay, for it blew a fierce gale from the S.W., and not only could we make no way against the storm, but we were driven quite out of our course. These discomforts were not much thought of by my young brothers-in-arms, but must have been trying to the older officers on board. One veteran attached to our regiment passed a fearful time. He had never been to sea before, having served always in a cavalry corps, and the extent of his voyages had been from England to Ireland and back again; he was an old man now, and he and his wife had a very miserable appearance. Whenever he came into the cabin he looked the picture of woe, but I fear he got no sympathy from us youngsters. Once when the storm was at its worst, and the waves broke clean over the ship, the green water washing in at the cuddy door, ‘Oh!’ exclaimed the poor old man, ‘why do we not go into a harbour? Can we not get a steamer to tow us in?’ This proved an unfortunate remark to make in the presence of a lot of careless young jokers.

‘A first-rate idea,’ said one of them. ‘Let us get up a subscription for a steamer to pull us out of this tre-men-duous sea.’ No sooner said than done. We got a sheet of paper and wrote the following heading: ‘It is proposed to get a steamer to tow us out of the Bay of Biscay. Officers wishing to subscribe towards a fund to pay the expense of the said steamer are requested to sign their names.’ We all wrote down the amount we were willing to give, some putting down five pounds, others two pounds; but the poor old man, who was considered by us to be rather fond of his money, surprised us all by putting down his name for twenty pounds. The paper was stuck up in the cabin, but the old captain of the transport baffled our project, and let the cat out of the bag by asking the ancient warrior, ‘How the dickens are ye to get at the steamer?’ I do not think we were ever forgiven for our rather cruel joke.

On our arrival at Malta we were hospitably entertained by the regiments quartered there. The season was a very gay one, as our magnificent sailing fleet almost filled the many harbours, and dinners and balls, regattas and races, became the order of the day. The race-course was a very primitive affair, being a hard road called Pieta; but great was the excitement of these sporting events when the ‘Wandering Boy,’ belonging to Captain Horsford of the Rifle Brigade, won the Ladies’ Whip, and Major Shirley’s (88th regiment) ‘Monops’ came in first for some other favourite stakes.

I shall pass over the three years I belonged to the Malta garrison, during which time I went a cruise to Candia and Greece. The late Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Houston Stewart, was then captain of the Benbow, in which I went as guest of the present Admiral Sir John Hay, then a mate. A more delightful time no man ever had, for the Benbow was celebrated for its hospitality, and all the officers were kindness itself. To recall these pleasant hours is the most agreeable exercise of an old soldier’s memory, but the old ship is now a hulk. Her captain rests in his honoured grave, and the jolly young Benbows of that merry time have become admirals and captains, and are all scattered to the four winds. I had often intended visiting Naples and Rome, but somehow the journey never came off, the remarks made by an old colonel having probably had some effect in preventing me from undertaking the journey. When he was asked if he enjoyed his visit to Rome, he always got very angry, an anger which increased to fury if one mentioned any of the ruins. ‘Ah, bah!’ he would exclaim, ‘the Colay-sayem, is it?—the greatest absurdity that ever stepped—just a parcel of ould stones!’

In 1843 I left Malta, and, after a few months’ leave, I was ordered to join the dépôt of the 88th, quartered at Paisley. The dépôt of a regiment in those days was a miniature battalion, consisting of four companies, under command of a major. We were particularly fortunate in our commanding officer, who always was kind and considerate to everyone. We also had a good band—a privilege which a dépôt was allowed to enjoy at that time.

Very soon after joining at Paisley, I was sent on detachment to Dumbarton Castle. My party consisted of a sergeant, a corporal, and twenty men. When at Paisley, I was provided with a servant—a stately old soldier named Thomas Pillsworth, but better known afterwards as ‘Illustrious Tom.’ His wife, one of the fattest women I ever saw, became my housekeeper at Dumbarton. The rock of Dumbarton is a lonely spot, and to a young fellow of twenty-one was regular banishment. For a day or two I sat on the top of the rock and moaned over my sad fate, but very soon all became changed, for I was most kindly received by the families in the county, and I look back to the period of my being quartered in Dumbarton Castle as a most agreeable reminiscence. When I was there, I was known as ‘the governor of the castle.’ My command consisted of a master gunner, six old artillerymen, and my detachment. The castle was armed with seven guns.

The Queen’s birthday was announced in general orders, and, as usual, the notice was given that every fort in Scotland should fire a salute of twenty-one guns. There existed among the papers in the office a memorandum from the Adjutant-General in Scotland that the guns at Dumbarton Castle were not to be fired, but on this occasion the said document could not be found, so I sent for the old master gunner, who informed me that the guns had not been used since the death of His Majesty George IV. But I overcame his scruples by writing an order that a royal salute was to be fired next day. The six patriarchal artillerymen were full of zeal, and we managed in this wise: The detachment of Connaught Rangers was formed up on the top of the rock; the seven old guns were first fired by the ancient gunners, and then my men fired a feu-de-joie. This gave time for the venerable artillerymen to load again, and to repeat the fire, an operation which I am thankful to say was effected without any accident, till the twenty-one rounds had been expended.

After giving three hearty cheers for Her Majesty, I dismissed my men to their dinners, and the ancient warriors marched off to their quarters very pleased with their performance. But the authorities did not approve of our loyalty; for I received a reprimand, and an order to pay for the powder expended. Colonel Thorndike, R.A., (late General Thorndike) came to my assistance in this dilemma, and, through his influence, I think I was not called upon to pay anything. As, fortunately, I had blown up nobody, I did not grieve much over the official blowing up, as it was earned in a good cause—loyalty to Her Majesty the Queen.

As the dépôt of the 88th were ordered to proceed from Paisley to Aberdeen, I ceased to be Governor of Dumbarton Castle. We went by train to Stirling, and began there a most enjoyable march. We were received everywhere with open arms, no troops having been along that road since the time of the Peninsular War. The men were not allowed to pay a penny at their billets, and the officers were most kindly welcomed by the hospitable families on whom they were quartered. It was amusing to hear the men giving an account of their adventures as we marched from one place to another.

One day I heard two of them remarking on the fate of a sergeant who had been reduced to the ranks for drunkenness.

‘It’s sorry I am for Sergeant —— to be broke by court-martial,’ said one.

‘Bedad,’ replied the other, ‘serve him right. He thought he could get drunk, like an officer!’

Aberdeen in the year 1844 was a most charming quarter. There was no railway at that period to carry people away to London, or even Edinburgh, and many of the county families came in for the balls at the Assembly Rooms, and were very kind in asking the officers of the 88th to stay in their houses in the county. One of my brother officers had a servant named Casey, who had been quartered at Corfu with the regiment, and was able to play the guitar, and sing Italian airs, the words of which could scarcely be said to belong to any particular language. There was a good theatre at Aberdeen, and Casey was asked to sing between the acts of some play that was having a run. The whole town was placarded with notices that ‘a distinguished amateur would sing the “Prayer in Norma.”’ We officers were greatly interested in this event, and all of us gave Casey different articles of dress, so that he might appear in proper form before the Aberdeen audience. The curtain drew up, and our hero came forward, and sang very well; but, alas, some one had given him whisky before going on the stage, a beverage which naturally took effect on his Irish nature, and instead of retiring gracefully after the conclusion of his song, to our intense disgust, he gave a sort of a screech, and began to dance an Irish jig with the greatest energy. The effect was wonderful, and the gods were delighted. At length the curtain fell, but the noise behind it intimated only too plainly that poor Casey was being taken off to the guard-room, where he passed the night in his borrowed plumes.

I had returned on one occasion to the barracks after a tour of visits in the county to many most agreeable houses. Rather dejected, I was watching Illustrious Tom unpacking my portmanteau. At first I did not take much notice, but very soon my attention was drawn to my servant’s performances. First he placed a blotting-book on the table, then he took out another from my portmanteau, and put it on my chest of drawers, and then he placed another somewhere else, and so on, till at last he could find no more vacant resting-places, and he stood in the middle of the room, bearing some resemblance to a sapient owl, with a blotting-book held in his claws.

‘What are you doing, Tom, with all these blotting-books?’ I at length exclaimed.

‘Sure,’ said the Illustrious, ‘I thought ye would be plased. I tuck the different books from the bed-rooms in which yer honour slept. They look well here, and they’ll nivir miss them there.’

As I received his intimation with shouts of laughter and volleys of abuse, Tom drew himself up to attention, faced about, and marched out of my room. My time was fully occupied for several days in finding out to whom the different blotting-books belonged.

A sudden order came for us to leave Scotland and proceed to Ireland. We embarked at Aberdeen in a steamer, and, after a good passage, arrived at Granton, where we landed, and marched through Edinburgh, and thence by train to Glasgow, in which town we were delayed a few days, and then we were taken over to Ireland. While in Glasgow we were made honorary members of the 92nd Highlanders’ mess, and at the end of our stay, when we asked for our bills, were told that we were the guests of the regiment.

What a pleasant reminiscence is that of Irish quarters in old times! Everyone was kind and hospitable to the officers of the Army, from the squire in his ancient castle, to the squireen in his more modest house, the property of the latter being often so limited in extent that you could sit on the lodge gate and kick the front door open. We were welcome even to the dwellers in cottages, who, when I entered their lowly cabins, would shout, ‘Come in, captin; ye’re welcome, sorr;’ and, if I did stumble over something in the dark, what did it matter when I was re-assured by the voice of my host saying, ‘Niver mind, yer honor, it’s only a schlip of a pig?’ and truly the repeated grunt, grunt, which followed showed that I had disturbed somewhat unceremoniously the slumbers of that valuable animal, which was fed on the lavings, and, when fattened up, ‘sowld to pay the rint.’ Then the ‘quality’ were always glad to welcome a young, merry officer, and in the evening one of the ‘boys,’ who could ‘play the fiddle first-rate,’ was called in to show his talent, and dance after dance made the night seem too short. What a pleasant time to look back to! Poor old Ireland, with its fearful murders of men and women, and slaying of hounds and cattle, is wofully changed, and I fear the officers of regiments quartered there now do not receive such kindness as I did from high and low. I suppose there was something in the air in those days that made us all so light-hearted, for not a day passed that there was not some fun, and most of the venturesome acts in which we indulged were done for the pure love of sport.

One evening, at Birr, a match, a sort of steeple-chase, was made between two of my brother officers. The night was pitch-dark, and they were to be mounted on their own horses, and to be led into a field about half a mile from the barracks. They were to get over the wall as well as they could, and the first of them who arrived mounted at the mess-room door was to be the winner. They got on their nags and were taken off to the starting-post, where they were invisible to us. We could only hear the word ‘Off!’ given by the starter. The difficulty was to get over the wall in the dark. One of the riders had a servant, a private in the Rangers, who, of course, was delighted with the sport. We were astounded to hear the voice of this man exclaiming, ‘Ride at me, Mr. John, ride at me, sorr!’ and all of a sudden a flash burst forth for a moment, and ‘Mr. John’ made for the light, got over the fence, and rode in triumphant as winner. Pat Casey, his servant, having made a ‘slap in the wall,’ had then cleverly lit a whole box of lucifers at the place, and thereby enabled his master to get out of the field and come in conqueror.

CHAPTER II.
IN THE WEST INDIES.

TRALEE—A VENTURESOME FEAT—OLD PATE—AN IRISH CORNET—PADDY OYSTERS—ORDERED TO BARBADOES—GRENADA—CAPTAIN ASTLEY’S CREOLE—ST. GEORGES—LAND-CRAB CATCHING—TURTLE TURNING—A JIGGER TOE—RECOLLECTIONS OF TRINIDAD—HALIFAX, NOVA SCOTIA—BURNING OF THE BARRACKS—LOBSTER-SPEARING—PRESENT OF A BEAR—SMUGGLING BRUIN ON BOARD—OUR PET IN THE ZOO.

CHAPTER II.

We were quartered for some time at Tralee, a place I shall ever remember with the kindliest feelings for its inhabitants, whose great hospitality was only equalled by their love of good honest sport. On one occasion, when the seniors of the mess were not present, a deal of good-natured chaff had gone on after dinner in the mess-room, where some of the members of the Chute hounds had assembled as guests.

The subject on the tapis was the capabilities of a mare I possessed, which I considered one of the best fencers I ever saw. If you hurried her at her fences she was sure to give you a fall, but leave her alone and nothing in the shape of high banks, for which the country round Tralee was famous, would stop her. The chaff went on, and at length I said,

‘I am quite sure the mare would jump this table if asked to do so.’

As many voices proclaimed the impossibility of such a feat, I desired the mess-waiter to tell my groom to saddle the mare and bring her into the mess-room. In a short time the noise of her feet was heard, and as soon as she entered the room, Bayley, a brother officer, jumped up and vaulted on her back. I copy the following narrative from the New Sporting Magazine, 1850, page 353.

‘Dining at the mess of the “Indomitable Rangers” on the evening of the very last run, I there witnessed an exploit performed which I believe has never been equalled, and I do think never will be excelled. The cloth having been drawn, social converse replaced the cool formality, which is, by some mischance or other, almost the invariable attendant upon dinner-parties; and as might be expected amongst a party where all were sportsmen, and on the evening of a hunting day when a good fox had shown much sport, the topic chosen was the various particulars of the run, and the mode in which each hunter had done its work.

‘“I saw you kiss your mother earth twice, Maxwell,” remarked a brother officer; “believe me, that mare of yours is not just the thing,” and here from all sides followed many good-humoured criticisms upon the jumping qualities of my friend’s prad, to which he (highly delighted at having such an opportunity afforded him “for a lark,”) lustily protested the mare should practically reply by then and there popping over the mess-table. The groom being immediately summoned, received in silence, and, as may be imagined, with staring amazement, his master’s order “to saddle the mare and bring her in.” Many of those present tried to stay the proceedings, but it was now too late; a wilful man, strong in the justice of his cause, would have his way, and in came them mare accordingly, much to the consternation of the company assembled, who heard her tramp, tramp, up the boarded passage, knocking out of it the sound of at least a troop of heavy horse.

‘Mounted by Mr. Bayley, amidst the glare of wax lights and a blazing coal fire, she actually jumped across the mess-table (a good four feet and a half) without laying an iron on it, and, landing safe on the other side, stood gentle and quiet as a lamb upon the floor, under which (as though to increase the hazard of the deed) lay a wine-cellar of from ten to twelve feet deep.’

I remember with great satisfaction that there was not a single bet on the event, and that the mare acquitted herself in the most gallant way, shaking her head and clearing her nostrils, quite pleased after having done what was required of her in the well-lighted mess-room.

The quotation from the Sporting Magazine was written and signed by one who, besides being the most pleasant of companions, was a first-rate sportsman. If ‘Old Pate’ should happen to read these stories of a time long past, I am sure he will recall with pleasure the days gone by.

There was a distinguished cavalry regiment quartered in Ireland during the time our dépôt was wandering about the country. A young cornet joined, who, I believe, was a very good fellow, but so very Irish that his brother officers would not allow him to go out to any parties in the county. Mrs. ——, a very clever woman, was the wife of a gentleman who was proprietor of a large estate near the town where our hero’s regiment was stationed. Having previously met the young dragoon, and being delighted with his Milesian remarks, she sent him a pressing invitation to a picnic which she intended giving. After a great deal of trouble he received permission to go, but on the sole condition that he was not to speak a single word the whole time he was there. So off he started, bound by his promise to act the mute.

The scene of the picnic was near a lake, and Mrs. —— managed that the young soldier should accompany a very pretty and amusing girl for a walk before luncheon. Having been told by her hostess that Mr. —— was a most agreeable Irishman, she was very much surprised that, in answer to all her remarks, he only said, ‘Ho, ha!’ the monotony of which reply terribly bored her. As they came near the lake, however, and were turning a corner, a great swan flew along the water with such a startling noise that it took our poor cornet by surprise, and, forgetting that he was to act the mute, he exclaimed, ‘Holy Biddy, look at the goose!’ I believe he was never allowed to go to any parties again.

In by-gone days valuable horses were often picked up in unexpected ways. My father, who was a captain in the 23rd Dragoons when only sixteen years old, was a wonderfully good judge of a horse. Once, when quartered in Ireland, he saw a man seated on a kish of oysters on the back of a good-looking animal.

‘Paddy, will ye sell your horse?’ exclaimed my father.

‘Bedad I will,’ was the reply.

‘How much will ye take?’ was the next question.

After scratching his head for some time, the man mentioned a price, which my father agreed to give him. The bargain seemed to be coming to an end, when the Irishman said,

‘Och, tear-an-ages, I forgot the oysters!’ which difficulty was met by the would-be purchaser declaring,

‘I’ll buy you, your horse, and your oysters.’

Whether the man was kept I do not know, but the horse and the oysters became my father’s property, and most probably a merry supper-party disposed of the latter to commemorate the event. The new purchase was named ‘Paddy Oysters,’ and an acquisition he proved, for he won several plates in Ireland, and was well known everywhere. My father became major of the 23rd Dragoons, and then raised a battalion of the Cameronians, 26th Regiment, hoping to get the lieutenant-colonelcy of a cavalry regiment, as he had always served in that branch of the service; but the Duke of York told him he must command the corps he had raised, a high honour to him, and he went out to Spain as lieutenant-colonel of the 26th Cameronians, which formed part of the force under Sir John Moore, a personal friend of his own. So my father went to the wars, and took Paddy Oysters as his charger. At the battle of Corunna his left arm was shattered by a cannon ball, and he was hurried off on board a transport, where the wounded limb was taken out at the socket. Alas! poor Paddy Oysters! The order was given that all horses were to be shot to prevent them falling into the hands of the French; so the gallant charger was condemned to die. The colonel’s groom would allow no one to touch his master’s faithful steed. Although the enemy was approaching, and no doubt there was a good deal of hurry and excitement, he waited for orders, which were given, and Paddy Oysters fell dead on the beach. These particulars were given me by my father as well as by my uncle, who was present at the time.

A soldier’s life is one of continual change. I suppose, among its many charms, that of uncertainty is one of the greatest. We were quartered at Tralee, and in the full enjoyment of all the sport and hospitality which are the distinguishing features of that most charming quarter. I well remember one evening; we had had a first-rate run with the Chute fox-hounds, and it was late before I got back to my quarters. My room looked very comfortable, Illustrious Tom having made a fine fire of turf and coal mixed. Everything seemed so pleasant, and I daresay the thought entered my mind what a jolly season was before me. There were some letters on the table. One official-looking document I left to the last, believing it referred to some court-martial duty. However, at length I opened it and found a note from my commanding officer, regretting that he was obliged to forward the enclosed to me; which was an order from the Horse Guards for Captain Maxwell to proceed to join the head-quarters of the 88th Connaught Rangers at Barbadoes, West Indies. So my Irish campaign was over, and I had to say farewell to Tralee and all its charms, and to leave behind me not only my brothers-in-arms, but, among other treasures, Illustrious Tom and his fat wife.

The steamer started from Southampton. We touched at Madeira, and, after a prosperous passage, cast anchor at Barbadoes.

The head-quarters of the Connaught Rangers were ordered to Trinidad, four companies under my command to the Island of Grenada, and another detachment under Captain Bayley to St. Vincent. The 88th had suffered fearfully from that awful disease, yellow fever. Our much beloved Colonel Ormsby Phibbs had fallen a victim to it, and many men had lost their lives. Yellow Jack left us the moment we sailed from Barbadoes, and during the two years I was quartered at Grenada we had no hospital to speak of, and only one man died, a poor man who fell a victim to new rum. We got up a race meeting, open to all the islands in the West Indies. Captain Astley, 66th Regiment, brought a horse down from Barbadoes named Creole, and won everything with it. He was a very nice fellow, and we were all glad at his success, as it showed much sporting spirit to bring a horse to run at such a distance from where his regiment was quartered. The stakes he had won were all in dollars, and the bag he had to carry away was so large that Captain Astley asked me, as secretary and treasurer, to have the money sent to him through the Colonial Bank at Grenada. We said farewell to this gallant officer on board the steamer which was to take him back to Barbadoes. He was in great spirits, and apparently in excellent health. But, alas! the return steamer from Barbadoes, in a very few days, brought a letter from the paymaster of the 66th Regiment, telling the sad story that Astley was dead; yellow fever having carried him off.

Among the fair places of the earth there is none fairer than the Island of Grenada. The Carenage and town of St. Georges are situated at the foot of high hills covered with trees. The road winds up a green avenue, and gradually ascends to Fort Mathew, where four companies of the Rangers were quartered. What a view there was from the verandah of my rooms! The town of St. Georges appeared to consist of toy buildings, half encircling the harbour, and, far beyond, miles and miles of sea. In the day time everything was bright and lively: the balmy trade winds blew fresh and perfumed; the night, when every tree and bush was lit up by sparkling fireflies, appeared calm and peaceful; rare flowers seemed to grow uncared for—flowers which at home would have been highly valued and carefully tended. Fruit is plentiful, and pine-apples are very fine; a brilliant purple blossom, resembling the single bell of the hyacinth, opens from each of the diamond-shaped divisions of the fruit itself, which when young is of the same rich hue, surrounded by a crest of pink-corded leaves, and protected all round by others much larger and broader, with saw-like edges and spiked points. The pine-apple, as it ripens, loses its beautiful and fresh appearance; the purple changes to pale strawberry, and the leaves become green. It is placed in ice, and sliced; and there cannot be anything more delicious than this juicy fruit when the sun is high and the trade wind has failed.

It would take pages to describe the various dishes a gourmet might revel in at Grenada; turtle in every way, pepper-pot, and land-crabs. I can only recommend those who have large yachts to go to the West Indies for a cruise. Land-crab catching was a very picturesque scene. These creatures, which live in holes near the sea, are strangely ugly. At night we used to sally forth, attended by crowds of niggers, and proceed to an inlet from the sea, on the shore of which the manchineel-trees grow. If you take refuge from the rain underneath the shade of these treacherous shrubs, your face and hands become blistered all over. The ground is full of holes where the land-crabs dwell. Fascinated by the torch-light (which each native carries), they come out, and are seized by the expert watcher. These crabs are supposed to be foul feeders, and when caught they are placed in barrels, and fed on meal for many days before they are cooked for the table. Another exciting sport was turtle turning. The natives would watch a turtle coming out of the water to lay her eggs, and, before she got back to the sea, would intercept her, and turn her over on her back, in which position a turtle is quite helpless. Having marked the spot where the eggs were deposited, they went there, and generally found an enormous quantity. These eggs when boiled have a skin like parchment. One becomes in time quite clever at opening them. The way a West Indian gourmet eats them was always a wonder to me, though I became pretty expert at it after some practice.

My brother officer, Lee Steere, and myself were greatly interested in the race-meeting before mentioned. Both of us had horses to run, and we had to train them ourselves; so we discovered an old house near the race-course—which we called Jockey Lodge—and there we came and lived occasionally before the races. The house was very old, and the wooden flooring quite out of repair. I was attacked in it by some very disagreeable symptoms. I suppose I had walked on the floor in my bed-room without slippers; for one morning I felt the most maddening itching in one of my toes, so I shouted for my servant Seeley, who was a first-rate attendant, and asked him what could be the matter. He and his wife had both been slaves who had been freed by Colonel Tidy, I think, of the 14th Regiment. The colonel had given Seeley a watch with an inscription on it at the time when he made him a free man. Whenever anything out of the common happened, Seeley would roll his eyes, and grin from ear to ear, showing his white teeth, and looking the embodiment of black mischief. Having examined my foot, he almost shouted with delight.

‘Yah! yah! Massa got jigger toe. Yah! yah!’

I did not appreciate his mirth and laughter.

‘What am I to do, you horrible old rascal?’ I exclaimed.

Seeley bent nearly double, and with his hands on the front of his thighs, assumed the attitude of long-stop at cricket, and continued to give expression to his sense of enjoyment. ‘Yah! yah! ho! ho!’ But at length he became quiet, and proceeded to business. Taking a needle, he began to scrape away at my toe, nearly driving me mad. Suddenly he exclaimed, ‘Hi haw!’ like a donkey braying, and then he appeared to force the needle gently into my foot, and brought out at the end of it a little bag, which he held up with a triumphant look; for this was the jigger, which had laid its eggs in my toe, and which, if allowed to remain, would have been attended with most serious consequences.

I had a thirty-ton cutter, in which I made several expeditions. Once I went to Trinidad, where the head-quarters of the 88th were stationed. I do not remember how long we took to go there, but I recall with pleasure that delightful sail over a calm sea, a favouring breeze filling our sails. As we cut through the water, flying fish darted here and there, either in fear or in play; the nautilus floated gracefully, dolphins leaped, and sometimes the horrid fin of a shark following our track might be seen. It is long ago since all this happened, and I can only trust to my memory, but I think the barracks where the Connaught Rangers were stationed must have been the very abode of fever. The mosquitoes were intolerable, and the heat intense. Lord Harris was governor then, and his gardens were beautiful. I well remember the luxurious marble bath in his grounds. My colonel, the late Sir H. Shirley, gave me a room in his quarters, and in the morning he awoke me to show a huge tarantula, as big as the back of my hand, which a gunner had found in his boot as he was about to pull it on. I also saw a centipede, which the assistant-surgeon of the regiment was preserving, so long that in a common-sized havanna cigar-box it could not be placed without almost doubling it. So my recollections of Trinidad are a conglomeration of tarantulas, mosquitoes, centipedes, iced champagne, and a hearty welcome.

My regiment went from the West Indies to Halifax, Nova Scotia. We changed from almost perpetual sunshine to a land where snow lay on the ground for months. When we landed, I well remember how fresh and beautiful everything looked. I had been accustomed for some years to see for the most part only the negro women, who, although possessing figures like graceful ebony statues, that showed to the finest advantage as they walked erect and firm, bearing their purchases from market on a tray carried on the top of their heads, still their faces, as a rule, were ugly, and always black. How surpassingly beautiful we thought the women of Halifax, with their dazzling complexions, who came to welcome the wild Irishmen; and further acquaintance showed that their beauty was only equalled by their frank and gentle ways. The year we remained at Halifax is a memory never to be effaced. The venerable and rickety old wooden barracks, which had been condemned during the time the Duke of Kent was in Nova Scotia, was burnt to the ground when the 88th and 38th Regiments occupied it as quarters. The conflagration was a grand sight, which we would willingly have dispensed with, as the Connaught Rangers never received any compensation for the mess napery and other valuables lost in that magnificent bonfire.

The mention of land-crab catching in Grenada recalls to me the lobster-spearing at Halifax, a sport which was carried on at night. In the bows of the boat large fires were kept burning. Standing ready, the sportsman holds in his grasp a trident, which is not pointed, but is like a huge pair of tweezers. The lobsters are seen crawling beneath the clear water. A sudden dart is made with the trident, the tweezers open, and seize the prey, which is hauled on board and thrown among others in the bottom of the boat. Many dozens are caught in this way, and the scene is very exciting when there are several boats, the fires in them looking strange and weird-like.

If I were to begin recalling old times at Halifax, with its sleigh club in winter and the flowers of its summer, I fear I should become very wearisome. When my regiment was quartered in Nova Scotia, we got a bear, about the size of a small donkey, which became a great favourite. The order came for us to return home in the troopship Resistance, commanded by Captain Bradshaw. Great was our consternation when that officer issued a proclamation that only a certain number of pets, and no bears, should be allowed on board. We all vowed that the bear was not to be left behind, and a clever plan to smuggle it on board was hit upon by two of my brother officers. As there were many casks to be hoisted on board, chloroform was administered to our bear, and he was packed in one of them. As it was going to be hoisted in the air, the captain asked,

‘What’s in that big barrel?’

The Ranger, who was seeing it elevated, answered, promptly,

‘The warm clothing of the regiment, sorr,’ and being asked by a comrade why he said so, he observed, with a wink, ‘Begorra, I thought the ould Tartar moight see the fur through the bunghole of the cask and smell—a bear!’

The sailors were delighted and helped to stow our favourite away, and I believe the captain never knew anything about it till we had been some time at sea, and then he pretended to have been cognizant of the fact all along. Our bear was with us at Parkhurst Barracks, and was always in a friendly disposition with all. A young fellow dined at our mess, and I suppose drank too much champagne, for he was discovered peacefully reposing beside the bear in its kennel.

The 38th Regiment brought home two bears, very fine, large animals. A child was playing with them and got a hug, which killed the poor little thing. Down came an official from the Horse Guards with orders that all regimental bears were to be destroyed; we gave ours, however, to the Zoo, where it lived in the pit and was fed with buns by children. Round its neck was a brass collar with ‘Connaught Rangers’ engraved on it. I do not know its further history.

CHAPTER III.
ENGLAND AND THE CONTINENT.

RETURN TO ENGLAND—PARIS—ENGLISH AND FRENCH OFFICERS—UN VERITABLE ROSBIF—PLUM POUDIN—TOUCHING COURTESY—ISLE OF WIGHT—PARKHURST BARRACKS—ELECTION AT COWES—A TIPSY DRIVER—CAMP AT CHOBHAM—VISITORS TO THE CAMP—THE REV. DR. CUMMING—IN THE MANUFACTURING DISTRICTS—ORDERED TO THE EAST—GENEROUS CONDUCT OF THE CUNARDS—WAR DITTIES—SCUTARI—A WRESTLING MATCH—A GOOD STORY—A FAIRY SCENE—THE SULTAN’S WIFE.

CHAPTER III.

On our arrival in England we disembarked at Chatham and marched to Canterbury, where we were quartered for some months. The 17th Lancers, who occupied the cavalry barracks, were one of the most hospitable and pleasant corps I ever met; many of them have passed away, many of them fell in the glorious charge of Balaclava, but at the time of which I write they formed a gathering of the finest specimens of the light dragoon.

When the leave time came round I went to Paris. The late emperor was then President of the French Republic, and enjoyment seemed the order of the day. The balls of the Tuileries were most amusing; all officers were in uniform, and the dress of the 17th Lancers of that day, several of whom were present at one of these balls, was universally admired. I went in the tight coatee with epaulettes which was an infantry officer’s costume at that time, and no doubt thought myself very fine; but my vanity received a shock when a French lady passed, and, looking towards me, said to her friend, ‘Ma foi, c’est un véritable Rosbif!’ We were received with great civility by the officers of the artillery quartered at Vincennes, who invited us to pay them a visit, which we did a day or two after the ball. Nothing could exceed the friendliness of these French gunners. We dined with them in a café, as they had no mess, and I remember the great event was the ‘plum poudin,’ the very remembrance of which fills my mind with horror. The excitement of the Frenchmen was intense when a large soup tureen was placed on the table. ‘Ah, le voilà! Le plum poudin! Ah, oh!’ When the cover was removed a mass of liquid horrors was brought to view, among which a bottle of cognac was poured and then lighted. This fearful decoction was ladled out into soup plates, and with anxious eyes our friends gazed on us as we began to eat. I suppose the brandy saved us, but we certainly endangered our lives for the honour of our country.

When we were leaving, these kindly-disposed fellows insisted on paying our cab hire to Paris, and we had the greatest difficulty in preventing them doing so. We were anxious to give them some return for their civility, so the lancers and myself resolved to ask them to dinner at the Rocher de Cancale. A note was therefore despatched requesting the pleasure of their company. A reply came to me from one of them, a nice young fellow called Joubert, begging us to postpone the entertainment for a week. Of course this was complied with, and when the week had elapsed we had a very jolly party. Joubert accounted for the delay which had been requested, which was owing, as he said, to the fact that we had honoured them with our presence in plain clothes, and, as they had nothing but uniform, they had to get mufti made! This was quite touching by its simple courtesy.

We had a great deal of fun during our stay in Paris. On our first arrival my friends, the lancers, asked me to order dinner at the ‘Trois Frères,’ which was in existence then. I was determined to have a good dinner; but I had forgotten Parisian ways, having been absent for so long in the West Indies and America. Anyway, I ordered a portion for each person. I think we numbered eight; so there were eight soups, eight fish, eight of each entrée, &c., and the room seemed hardly large enough to contain our various plats. How we did laugh and enjoy ourselves! With one exception, I am now the only one left of that merry party.

My leave was drawing to a close, so I left Paris, where every moment had been so occupied. I had not done much in letter-writing, and was, therefore, quite ignorant of regimental news. On arriving at Canterbury, I got a fly, and ordered the driver to take me to the barracks; but, on reaching the infantry lines, I was surprised to find all in darkness, although it was only about half-past seven in the evening.

At length an 88th man came up to the carriage in which I was seated.

‘What’s become of everybody?’ I exclaimed.

‘Well, sorr, they’re all gone; a sudden order came, and they’re gone, except just a few to give over the barracks.’

‘Gone—where to?’ I asked.

After a time he replied, ‘They’re gone, sorr, to some island; but I disremember the name.’

With this very unsatisfactory information, I told cabby to drive me to the ‘Fountain Hotel,’ where I was told that the regiment had left for the Isle of Wight.

Parkhurst Barracks was occupied by only one battalion, the 88th, and the four company dépôt of the Cameronians. What delightful quarters the Isle of Wight was in these days! There was no railway then in the island; a four-horse coach plied between Newport and Hyde, and the drive was most enjoyable. The pretty little villages have now become staring towns. It is difficult to find a retired nook in the noisy country now all built over.

The officers of the 88th received the greatest hospitality from everyone in the Isle of Wight. The numbers were not overwhelming, there being few red-coats at the barracks. The private soldiers also were most kindly treated by the inhabitants of this charming island. It is a strange fact that at home in Britain, because a man wears a red coat and is liable to a greater punishment for drunkenness than a civilian, kind-hearted men consider themselves bound to offer him a dram, and even press him to take it, while to another class of men they would only wish ‘God speed.’ When my regiment was quartered at Parkhurst Barracks, an election took place, and the usually quiet town of Cowes was very excited. I had been asked to dinner there by a very hospitable host, and a married brother officer offered me a seat in his carriage. The party was a very pleasant one, and the cheers of the successful candidate’s supporters were distinctly heard every now and then.

When we were leaving, my friend saw that his coachman, a private soldier, had been drinking success to the newly-elected member—in other words, was very drunk, so he whispered to me to get inside with his wife, and that he would drive. The lady, however, was not to be deceived by remarks about the pleasures of smoking a cigar and driving home by moonlight. She soon exclaimed,

‘I am sure there is something wrong,’ and at this moment coachee made a tremendous lurch. ‘The servant is drunk. He will knock my husband off the box. Oh! Captain Maxwell, do, do something.’

What could I do to pacify this kind lady, whose husband was my dearest friend? I was in a dreadful quandary. A bright idea came to the anxious wife.

‘Oh, Captain Maxwell, will you hold the man on to the box?’

So I let down the front window, and with considerable difficulty got hold of some part of the horrid man’s dress, and so pretended to keep him steady. The tipsy wretch made a horrible lurch, and, giving his master a poke in the ribs, said, in a tone half jovial, half sad,

‘Meejor, the missus is pulling my tail!’

We left the Isle of Wight, and, after being quartered for some months at Portsmouth, proceeded to join the camp at Chobham. How much we enjoyed that bloodless campaign, and how absurdly proud of ourselves we all were! The Connaught Rangers were composed of as fine a body of men as could be mustered anywhere, well seasoned soldiers, full of loyalty to the Queen, and imbued with a thorough knowledge of their duties, which it takes many years to learn, and thus enable a private to become a good non-commissioned officer. In two years from that time how few remained alive! Most of them repose in death on the heights of Sebastopol, where the wild flowers cover their honoured graves. But Chobham was the first camp which had been formed for many years, and we all enjoyed it very much. It was amusing to watch the curiosity displayed by civilians. I have often seen visitors to the camp walk through our mess-kitchen, and horrify our cook by taking the lids off some of his most cherished pots to see what we were to have for dinner.

I remember one day, after a long field-day in the warm sun, going to my tent, throwing myself into an arm-chair, and very nearly falling asleep, when I heard a whispering going on at the entrance, which was gently opened, when a pretty face peeped in, and I heard the remark made, ‘He is asleep,’ but, like the celebrated weasel, I had an eye open. One peculiar feature of Chobham at that time was, that friends who had previously ignored one’s existence all of a sudden became greatly interested in our welfare, especially about luncheon time. The camp at Chobham was the first opportunity many of us had of seeing regiments combined together in brigades and divisions. It was a grand picnic, and was the melodious overture to the great tragedy of the Crimean War.

We were visited by royal personages, by soldiers, sailors, lawyers, and clergymen. The celebrated Dr. Cumming once addressed the men. I remember some of his remarks:

‘I am a man of peace, but, if anyone tried to knock me down, I would do all I could to floor him first.’

The chaplain-general preached a sermon. He said,

‘The last time he had seen such a gathering of soldiers, he himself had taken an active part, for he was then an officer under Wellington.’

Though no one was certain then that there would be war, yet there was a sulphurous vapour impregnating the air, which the most peaceable inhaled, and the next year the Crimean campaign came on.

After leaving Chobham, we were sent to the manufacturing districts. The head-quarters was stationed at Bury, in Lancashire, and the left wing, to which I belonged, was sent to Ashton-under-Line. The cotton-spinners were most hospitable to us. I have a very kindly remembrance of a Mr. Harrison, whose house was in the neighbourhood of our barracks, and who showed me the greatest kindness. But the plot was thickening, and the order came for the Connaught Rangers to embark for the East. The whole of Ashton turned out to see us march away. The streets were decorated, and as the colours were carried past every head was uncovered. One man, however, standing near the hotel in the street through which we passed, did not take off his hat. A young fellow went up to him, and, I suppose, told him to uncover, but he refused to do so. I heard him say: ‘No, I won’t.’ The next moment he was lying on the ground, the young fellow having hit him right between the eyes, and knocked him down. As we proceeded onward, an old woman knelt, and in a loud voice blessed the colours.

When we arrived in Liverpool, we were halted near the Exchange, and the mayor made a speech, which was received with great cheering. The ships in the harbour were gaily decorated with flags, and crowds of people shouted and cheered. On the 4th of April, 1854, the Connaught Rangers embarked on board the Niagara, one of Cunard’s finest steamers, on which we were most sumptuously entertained. On arriving at Constantinople we asked for our bill, and were informed we were guests of the Cunards. We subscribed, and presented the captain with a watch.

Our passage out was a very prosperous one. A calm sea prevailed nearly all the time. Our band played often on deck, and in the bright moonlight the men sat in groups and sang merrily. I still possess some of their cheery ditties.