I was not partial to soldiering, and glad as I would have been for my discharge, I sickened at the idea of selling myself. Only fancy my going home again, with a woman fastened to me!—what would my father say? I shuddered as I thought of the heavy pig-whip, of which I had more than a slight acquaintance.
I had been led into this dilemma by Denis Mulroony, who was eight years my senior.
“Denny,” said I, after parting with the two women at the barrack-gate, one night at watch-setting, “what shall I say to ‘Old Dorcas,’ when I go again?”
“Arrah, now, don’t be talking, you great mahoney. Can’t you get the money first, and marry her when it is more convanient? Shure she’ll give it you, no fear; and if she’ll not part wid the whole, no doubt she’ll be after giving you the half of it.”
We were at that time under orders to march; in fact, the route had come for a change of quarters, and I had promised to see her again on the following night, when, as good luck would have it, Denny was on guard, and therefore could not go with me. I went, saw, and told her that I was too young to marry, and that I must decline her generous offer to purchase my freedom. This she took all in good part, and I left her.
When Denny came off duty I told him all.
“Faix, thin,” said he, “I wonder would she marry me? Throth I’ll go and thry her this very night.”
“What’ll you do with Nelly, for she is sure to be there expecting you, it being the last night we have to stay here?” cried I.
“Shure I’ll send Andy Ryan down to tell Old Dorcas that you want to spake to her onest more before you lave her for ever.”
Andy Ryan was a fine, handsome man as ever stepped. He had been twelve years a soldier, and was near upon thirty years of age. Denny opened his mind and told him all the particulars, whereupon Andy started on his mission directly the trumpet had sounded the “dismiss from stables.” That was the last either I or Denny ever saw of Andy. He deserted, and most probably went abroad with or without “Old Dorcas.”