A CONSTELLATION OF BULLS.
A letter written during the Irish rebellion.
My dear Sir:—Having now a little peace and quietness, I sit down to inform you of a dreadful bustle and confusion we are in from these blood-thirsty rebels, most of whom are, however, thank God, killed or dispersed.
We are in a pretty mess; can get nothing to eat, nor any wine to drink, except whiskey; and when we sit down to dinner, we are obliged to stand with arms in both hands: whilst I write this letter, I hold a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. I concluded, from the beginning, that this would be the end of it; and I see I was right, for it is not half over yet. At present there is such goings on, that every thing is at a stand.
I should have answered your letter a fortnight ago, but it only came this morning. Indeed, hardly a mail arrives safe, without being robbed. Yesterday the coach with the mails from Dublin was robbed near this town: but the bags had been judiciously left behind, for fear of accidents; and by good luck there was nobody in the coach, except two outside passengers, who had nothing for the thieves to take.
Last Thursday an alarm was given, that a gang of rebels were advancing hither, under the French standard; but they had no colors, nor any drums except bagpipes. Immediately every man in the place, including women and children, ran out to meet them. We soon found our force much too little; and they were far too near for us to think of retreating; so to it we went: death was in every face; but by the time half our little party was killed, we began to be all alive. The rebels fortunately had no guns, except cutlasses and pikes; and as we had plenty of muskets and ammunition, we put them all to the sword: not a soul of them escaped, except some that were drowned in the adjoining bog; and in a very short time nothing was to be heard but silence. Their uniforms were all of different shapes and colours—in general they were green. After the action we rummaged their camp; all we found was a few pikes without heads, a parcel of empty bottles full of water, and a bundle of blank French commissions filled up with Irishmen's names.
Troops are now stationed every where round the country, which exactly squares with my ideas. Nothing, however, can save us but a union, which would turn our barren hills into fruitful valleys. I have only leisure to add, that I am in great haste.
Yours truly,
J. B.
P. S. If you do not receive this in course, it must have miscarried, therefore write immediately to let me know.