Narrative of a Private Soldier in His Majesty's 92d Regiment of Foot

by George Billany

Their bigotry to the Romish religion was so strong, that although their oaths, as united Irishmen, bound them to "persevere in endeavouring to form a brotherhood of affection among Irishmen of every religious persuasion," they were no sooner up in arms, than they began to show that Protestants would not be tolerated. They put many Protestants to death, in the most cruel manner, some of whom were fighting in their own ranks. And had they succeeded in overturning the government, they would not have spared even those Protestant gentlemen that were their chief leaders, nor yet those of their own communion that were favourers of toleration. Their secular leaders, whether Protestant or Catholic, were soon convinced, that because they did not approve of intolerance, their lives would fall a sacrifice to their own party if it was successful. They preferred surrendering themselves to the clemency of the government, as soon as it was in their power, to staying among the insurgents; for, although they had forfeited their lives by their insurrection, they had a greater chance of being spared by the clemency of the government, than of escaping the bigotry of those whom they themselves had stirred up to rise in arms against it. One Garret Byrne, a Roman Catholic gentleman, of landed property, surrendered after the affair of the White Heaps, and was sent to our camp, and was employed by Sir John Moore to guide us through the mountains, when we went in pursuit of the insurgents.

Disaffection had spread among the Protestants of the north, as well as among the Papists of the south; but, as soon as the Protestants in the north heard that the insurrection had taken a religious turn in the south, they were glad to be quiet, for they instantly saw that their safety (they being by far the fewer number) lay in the preservation of the government. This freed the government from the resistance of the Protestant insurgents of the north; who, from the superiority of their intelligence, were more to be dreaded than the Catholics of the south. Want of subordination in the insurgent armies, also, contributed materially to render the insurrection abortive. Their notions of liberty, for which they ignorantly pretended to be fighting, were of such a nature as to render every attempt to train them to arms utterly vain. They said, we are the sovereign people—we are free—we will not be drilled like those slaves of government, the red coats. To be drilled like a soldier was a degree of subordination which they had never been subject to; and, when they had been persuaded by those who stirred them up to insurrection, that they were slaves, and that they would obtain freedom by rising in arms, they could not see the consistency of this, with submitting to the slavery of being drilled like soldiers. Indeed, their actions showed that the liberty for which they were fighting, was a liberty to violate the laws of God and man, and indulge in licentiousness, riot, and dissipation, and the cruelties of superstition.

We had a long fatiguing march to the opposite coast of Ireland. We never came in contact with the French, but we were extremely glad when we heard of their surrender, as we were weary with hard marching. We escorted them as prisoners one day's march; their number was then, of all ranks, somewhat about 800. When they landed, they were 1100, (Gordon's History of the Irish Rebellion, p. 294.) There were several amongst them who had been prisoners in Corsica when our regiment was there, and they recognised some of our men as having been guards over them there.

They had brought a large quantity of arms, accoutrements, and clothing from France, to equip the Irish insurgents, many of whom had joined them after they had taken the town of Castlebar; but the major part left them, and went away with the arms, accoutrements, and clothing they had received, as soon as the French began to drill them. Muskets had been given to five thousand five hundred in Castlebar, but there were only about fifteen hundred that accompanied the French on their march from that place to Ballinamuck, where the French surrendered, when 500 of them were killed, and the rest dispersed. They were also dangerous as well as useless allies to the French; for they were not disposed to give quarter to prisoners. I heard of an instance of an insurgent who killed a soldier that had been taken prisoner: one of the French cavalry instantly cut the insurgent down with his sword. This restraint did not suit the sanguinary temper of the insurgents; but the French well knew that if their allies did not give quarter, no quarter would be given to them. The alliance was also very incongruous; for the insurgents were all bigotted Catholics, and the French enthusiastic infidels, who openly boasted that they had lately driven Mr. Pope out of Italy, and had not expected to find him so suddenly in Ireland. They smiled at the simplicity of the Irish, when they heard them declare that they came to take arms for France and the blessed Virgin. The priests were treated with the utmost contempt by the French general, although it was his interest to have acted otherwise. There can be no doubt that, although the French had succeeded in revolutionizing Ireland, their religious difference would have produced a new war between them and the Irish.

We did not return to the Wicklow mountains; but encamped during the autumn at Moat, twelve miles from Athlone, which is near the centre of Ireland; and, when winter set in, we went into Athlone for winter quarters. The number of the regiment was changed at this time from the 100th to the 92d.

We lay there from the end of October, 1798, to June, 1799. In this place it pleased God to lead my mind to serious and deep reflection, and to begin a work of sharp conviction, such as I had never before experienced. There was a Catholic Chapel, an English Church, and a Wesleyan Methodist Meeting-house in the town. In the Methodist Meeting-house, there were always public prayers evening and morning, and sermon on the Lord's day, and often twice a week in the evenings. I attended the Meeting-house pretty closely, and began to read my Bible with more than common attention. I reviewed my past life, and found that I was an exceeding great sinner in the sight of God: and God's goodness as my Creator, and merciful Preserver, appeared to my view in a much stronger light than ever it had done before. I read several religious books, amongst which were Baxter's Call to the Unconverted, and Young's Night Thoughts. The subject of life, death, and immortality, occupied my thoughts very much; the conviction of my ingratitude, in sinning against God, often made me weep in secret; and the fear of falling into the hands of a justly offended God, frequently made me shudder. The words of Scripture, "Repent and turn to the Lord," were strongly impressed upon my mind. I saw there was no salvation without pardon, and no pardon without repentance. I wept for my sins, and earnestly besought God to forgive them. I read the Scriptures, and found, as I imagined, pardon promised to the penitent. I followed, as far as circumstances permitted, in point of form, Baxter's directions. I devoted myself to God, and vowed to forsake sin, and to live a godly life for the future. I made this resolution in sincerity of heart, my understanding being convinced that it was my duty to hate sin, because God hated it; and that if I regarded sin in my heart, God would not hear my prayers, nor pardon my transgressions. I then began to attempt the performance of what I saw was my duty. I began to hunger and thirst after personal holiness; but of the nature of justification, by faith in the imputed righteousness of Christ, I had no conception; and of the nature and design of his sufferings, my ideas were very confused and erroneous. It was a sense of sin that pained my conscience, and I sought for relief in personal reformation, and founded my hope of pardon for the past, and of eternal life, in the success of the reformation, I had now commenced. Being convinced that I was liable to many and strong temptations, and that the conquest of sin would be no easy work, I conceived that it was my wisdom, as well as duty, to have recourse to every thing that could strengthen me against temptation, and assist me in the arduous task of working out what I conceived to be my salvation.

When under this temper of mind, I happened, with a number of other soldiers of the regiment, to be at the meeting-house one evening; and after the ordinary service of praise and prayer was over, the preacher desired the soldiers to remain, intimating that he had something to say to us. He then addressed us, on the propriety of joining in a class meeting, informing us how many soldiers had joined in a class meeting, in a neighbouring town, in his circuit. He said that some of us might scruple, because he was not of the same religious principles as those we had been brought up in. This might be true; but he remarked that we had no opportunity of joining with those, who were of the principles in which we might have been educated, there being none in the place; that, if we chose to form a class meeting, he did not require that we should be of the same principles with him in every thing; but that if we were concerned for the salvation of our souls, it would be for our benefit, while we were absent from home, to be united together, for the purpose of social worship and instruction.—I thought the proposal candid and reasonable, and put down my name, as one willing to join in a class meeting. I thought it would be a means of helping me in the work of personal reformation. For a short time I went on pretty well in my own estimation, abstaining from any thing that was open and flagrant; but secret sins overcame me, although I had set myself to resist them with all my might; and this broke my peace of mind. It happened, that there were a number of the regiment, and amongst them some of my own comrades, taken ill with dysentery; and several died of the disorder. This alarmed me much. I began more seriously than ever, to contemplate the uncertainty of life. I read seriously, and with great attention, those portions of Young's Night Thoughts that treat on that subject. I entered fully into the spirit of the poet, and applied to my conscience his reflections. My security of life was completely broken. Every night I lay down to sleep, I was afraid I might never awake, and every morning I arose, I was afraid I might die before night. I would say to myself in the morning, "Some of my fellow creatures, who are living at this moment, will be dead before night; and how can I tell but I may be one of them!" This subject never made so strong an impression on my mind as at this time. I never was so much afraid of death, except on occasions of evident danger. I could no longer place death at a distance. I saw myself in danger of being snatched away every moment in numberless ways, and put the question to myself, "Were I to die this moment, what hope have I of escaping hell and getting to heaven?" and I concluded, that I had no hope of heaven whatever, but every reason to fear that hell should be my portion.

I then began to look around me; and compare myself with the bulk of my comrades. I thought I was not so bad as they were. I began to reason with myself, that if God was to send me to hell for my sins, surely those that were worse than I was, would also be condemned; and, if that was the case, how few would there be that would escape! I would fondly have indulged the idea, that surely God would not be so severe, as to condemn so many, and would fain have cherished the hope, that because I was not so bad as the major part of those I knew, I should have a chance to escape. But when I reviewed my past life in the light of the word of God, I found nothing but condemnation; for I perceived that that word took cognisance of the quality of sin, as well as the quantity, and condemned both sins secret and sins open: I began to remember the means that I had enjoyed above others, of religious instruction and information; and the declaration of our Lord, "To whom much is given, of them shall much be required," rang in my ears. I remembered the impressions made upon my mind by early religious instructions; I recollected the resolutions I had made to forsake sin, and the convictions which had produced these resolutions; I thought of my breaches of these resolutions, and my former forgetfulness and indifference: and more particularly, my failing in keeping my last most solemn vow. I began to meditate and consider of God's dealings with me as an individual: and of the account he would require of me as an individual sinner. I no longer durst compare myself with other men. I knew not the extent, in number and heinousness, of any other man's sins. I knew not their secret sins and evil purposes of heart; and as God would bring all manner of sin into judgment, I durst no longer think in my heart that I was a whit better than the most wicked and profane person I knew; for I knew more evil of myself than I had known, or could know of another. This led me to look more strictly into my own heart, and to examine what was done in it, as I found that the word of God discerned the thoughts of the heart. This led me to investigate the motives of my actions, and then I found that I did nothing that was pure. I called to mind the past goodness of God, the many mercies and deliverances he had given me; I reflected on my ungrateful behaviour, and was filled with wonder and astonishment that a God of such awful majesty, should have spared such an ungrateful and vile wretch so long; I was led afresh to consider, "What shall I do to escape the just vengeance of Almighty God?" and my resolution was to repent afresh of my sins, and devote my future life, with greater resolution to his glory. I durst not delay my repentance to a more convenient time, because the fear of death stared me in the face; and I was convinced, that as death left me, judgment would find me. I trembled at the thought of being called, by death, before the awful tribunal of God. I had nothing to look to on the one hand, but a broken law; and a holy, sin-avenging God on the other. This made me earnestly wish for the pardon of my sins, and I resolved that I would do any thing whatever that would procure it.

I read the Scriptures, but chiefly in the Old Testament, often in Isaiah. To the clearer light of the New Testament, I did not so much attend. Its clear evangelical language did not strike my mind with that force as to fix my attention upon it. From those parts of the Scripture that caught my attention, I formed the following opinions:—that God promised mercy to the penitent returning sinner: this gave me a gleam of hope, which I believe prevented me from sinking into absolute despair; but I did not understand the nature of evangelical repentance, or the way by which the penitent should come to God, in order to be accepted. The state of my mind at that time was this; I thought that if I sincerely repented of my past sins, and did not commit sin for the future, God would pardon my sins. I also promised myself, that if I truly, and seriously, resolved to serve God for the future period of my life, God would on this account, give me strength to resist every kind of temptation, and to overcome every desire to sin. I promised myself, that, by constant endeavours, and unremitting exertions, I should overcome all obstacles, and finally merit eternal life. I saw that God required of the penitent sinner, future obedience: I was convinced that this was just: I thought that God did not require any thing but what he had given us power to perform, if we were but willing to do so. I resolved to be willing, and to try my strength to the utmost. I thought that if I did meet with any thing that was too hard for my present strength, God would give me additional strength; but that the only way to honour God was to use the power that he had already given me. I thought it would be affronting God to ask more, until I had first proved the insufficiency of what I now possessed: and that it would be insulting to divine goodness, to be seeking that which was already bestowed upon me. Under this frame of mind, I set about the performance of religious duties. I prayed more frequently and fervently; I read the Scriptures with greater diligence and attention; I abstained from every thing that was in my opinion sinful. But my past sins were still painful to me, because I was not yet assured that they were or should be pardoned. I was, however, certain that if I continued to commit sin, I should get no pardon, but if I forsook sin, I might obtain pardon. The spirit of my prayers was, entreating God to pardon my sins, and promising to lead a holy life in future.

While in this state of mind, I went one evening to the meeting-house, and as I was returning to the barracks, pondering in my mind my guilt, as a sinner, and the goodness and sparing mercy of God, the powers of my mind having been buoyed up by the fervour of the exhortations and prayers I had heard, a sudden emotion started all at once into my mind, that my sins were pardoned by God, that God had promised pardon to such as me; and that all that was required was, that I should believe that God had pardoned my sins; that God was faithful to his promise, and it would be to me, even according to my faith. This emotion had a powerful influence upon me. It gave peace to my mind, for I took it to be one of those manifestations of the Spirit, spoken of by those who preached, exhorted, and prayed, at the meeting-house. Under the impressions produced by it, I went on very smoothly, abstaining from sins, to which I had formerly been a slave. I now thought myself happy, and promised to myself, that I would now be able to live such a life, as should be pleasing to God, and should procure and retain his favour.