“Why not point out how you progressed with your studies, where you and your friends worshipped, how many prizes you had for good conduct, and such like?” asks a well-wisher to whom I read some of these pages in MS.
“The fact is,” I replied, “a very little of that sort of thing will go a long way,” and we may come to it by and bye, but as I was a lad of action, and have in after life stuck to my colours, though it was thought I was cut out either for a parson or a soldier officer; I must be true to my bent, and as to pretending that I was studious, or intellectually inclined—well I will not affect anything of that sort, having ever alluded to myself as a practical man; at the same time I do hope, that by being straight-forward as to my plan and intentions, I may not prove altogether dull in this truthful narrative.
“Still harping upon those horrid uninteresting experiences of your early life and doings?” yes, and I must hark back upon a few other wild acts and thereby risk further censure with an obtuseness deserving of reprehension.
In this fresh adventure, I was all alone in my glory, having embarked single-handed in a little practice with firearms.
My first essay with a horse-pistol, already described, when I nearly shot a servant and my own relations, did not produce that dread that might have been expected. Certainly I was now older, and had fought with a wooden gun, had watched soldiers load, present, and fire, but the fright attending my first efforts ought, by good right, to have made me nervous on this score for many a year to come.
In one of my father’s rooms which was not marked strictly private, there were some guns, swords, pistols, and a frightful old Spanish blunderbuss with a bell-mouthed barrel and a bayonet affixed, which was kept down by a catch. Whether it was that I had a coarse, depraved taste in occasionally looking over this armoury, I cannot say, but the blunderbuss took my fancy vastly. One day I became bold enough to borrow it for a trial, and I surreptitiously provided myself with ammunition, going among the ramparts in quest of something to let fly at. As may be guessed, I made a poor hand with birds, owing to the bell-mouthed weapon scattering so much. Annoyed at this, a packet of ball cartridge was undone and I resolved to engage in target practice. Following a road which led to the Spur battery, a disused sentry-box presented itself, and as nobody appeared to be about, I made a circle on one side, took aim, and fired!
Just as I was examining the effect, a file of the guard came in sight, and I was sorely perplexed as to how to avoid detection, especially as I noticed that daylight was let into the sentry-box on both sides; the ball having penetrated through and through.
There were deep trenches on one side of the road and high palings on the other, so that escape was impossible. Only one remedy was applicable, and that was to keep moving with a view of diverting attention from the damaged property; but the corporal was not to be hoodwinked, he instantly detected what I had been at, and challenged me to stand until I was overtaken.
In less than a minute I was a prisoner, and was marched off to the guard-house. Here I was examined by a sergeant and sent with an escort to the upper barracks.
On my way there I became the object of derision. When I was taken into the presence of some officers on duty, I felt my position the more keenly as Major O—— was my father’s friend and frequently visited our house.