“Whah! whah! whah! Murther! Boys, did ye’s see anything in the room?” Larry and I burst out laughing, the rest of the men were awoke by the row; old Sam found the string tied to his toe, and, accusing Larry of the trick, jumped out of bed, seized his sword, and I believe would have killed Larry had not the latter, knowing the customer he had to deal with, jumped out of bed, drawn his own sword from the scabbard, and taken up his position on the defensive, until old Sam could be pacified.
We had a great number of Irishmen in our regiment—brave as lions in action, at all times clever and smart in the performance of their duty, and as merry as crickets in the barrack-room or on the line of march; but some of them, enlisted from the remote country districts, very superstitious and firm believers in ghosts.
A tale is handed down from regiment to regiment to the effect that the ghost of a soldier once flogged to death in Hounslow Riding-school haunts the place every night. I have been on sentry on what is called the “Hospital Post,” near to the riding-school, very many times, but I never saw or heard anything of the ghost.
One man I knew, who had been tolerably well educated, and who, I consider, was by no means short of common intelligence, frequently declared to me that he has, while on guard on this particular post, heard noises in the riding-school just after the clock over the front of the officers’ quarters had struck twelve, as though a ride of twenty or more soldiers were in the school. He asserted that he heard the regular beat of the horses’ hoofs on the floor, the tinkling of the scabbards on the stirrup-irons, and the shouts of the rough-riders. This was supposed to arise from the ghost of a man who had been killed some years previously by a horse rearing and falling backwards upon him. At other times, both he and many others would say, when they were relieved from the post and afterwards sat round the guard-room fire, that they had plainly heard the shrieks of the man’s ghost who was flogged to death.
One of our men, who had been little more than a year in the regiment, having been sent by our Irish recruiting party from the county Mayo, and rejoicing in the rather funny name of Barney Mulgruddery, created quite a sensation in the regiment by the apparent sincerity with which he related an interview with one of these ghosts or some other spectra.
“Shure,” said he, “I seen a mighty quare thing coming towards me between the sintry-box and the hospital; it was all surrounded wid blue lights, and was like a big dog with a man’s head. Nearer and nearer it came. ‘Faix,’ thought I to myself, ‘Barney, me hold fellow, I wish you were again cutting turf in the bog.’ Well, me jewels, it seemed to grow bigger and bigger until it was as big as me mother’s peat-stack, and more betoken it had horns too. I tried to spake for to challenge, as was me duty, boys; but oh, Meila Murther! I’d lost the power of spache. Well, me jewels, it came nearer and nearer, until at last it stood quite convanient to the sintry-box. ‘Bad scan to your impudence!’ sis I (my spache returning all at oncst), ‘is it clane off me post you want for to dhrive me, and desthroy me karacther for ever?’ ‘Hould yer whist; go along out of that, and show me the back ov yer stockings, Barney Mulgruddery,’ sis the ghost, in a tunderhin’ passion. ‘Not a step I’ll take for any ov the likes ov ye. Shure I was placed here by me supariors, and I’ve as good a right to be here as you.’ ‘Be gorra! if yer not off out of this like a shot, you great nagur, I’ll desthroy your body and soul for ever,’ sis the ghost. ‘Why you murtherin’ villain! shure you wouldn’t be afther killing me?’ sis I, keeping me finger on the trigger of me carbine; for you see, boys, I was not going to be dhruv off me post widout a struggle. Oh, blue nagurs! he kem wid a rush right forenenst me. I backed a few paces. ‘Barney Mulgruddery, attention!’ sis I to meself, aloud; ‘make ready! prisint!’ and I brought me carbine up to me shoulder. ‘Hould yer hand, Barney Mulgruddery,’ sis the ghost, beginning to get smaller and smaller every moment, and lookin’ me sthraight in the face all the while, as impidint as a tinker’s dog. But, me jewels, it wasn’t long before the ghost was thransmuggrified into as nice a young lady as ever the moon shone on. ‘Barney, me bold sodger,’ sis she, ‘you’re the bravest man I ever seen on sintry here. Shure,’ sis she, ‘Barney Mulgruddery, you’re a credit to ould Ireland, and you’re sure to be a giniral;’ and wid that she vanished. Och! it’s she was the Colleen Dhas. It was right good for sore eyes to look on her, the darlint. It may be a quare notion, but I’m thinking she took it into her head to fall in love wid me. At any rate, shure, she gev me the encouragement and the swate look, as if she was sthruck wid me appearance.”
This extraordinary story proved too clearly that Barney had either invented it from beginning to end; or, what was perhaps as bad, he had been sleeping and dreaming at his post.