"Now, mother, I must fall into the ranks; good bye, good bye."
"May God Almighty preserve thee, my child; you may one day be a parent yourself, and will then know what your poor old grandmother feels this day."
The lad had by this time passed muster, and was soon after on board. The afflicted grand–mother stood, with her eyes transfixed on the vessel, gazing on her unheeding boy, who, insensible to the agonizing feelings that rent her breast, felt not one single throe of regret, his mind being entirely engrossed in contemplating the bright future, which the sergeant, who enlisted him, had drawn.
Captain Ormsby, who commanded the detachment, was a man of feeling; he had particularly noticed the poor woman's distress.
"Be comforted," said he, "I will watch over the lad, for your sake, and will try and take him under my immediate charge, and if he behaves well, I may be able to serve him. I will see that he writes to you."
"Heaven bless and reward your honour," she exclaimed, "surely you are a parent yourself. Oh, yes, I knew it," said she, as she saw him wipe off the starting tear. "May God spare you such a trial as has this day been my lot."
"Thank you, thank you, my good woman," said he hardly able to speak.
She had touched a tender chord, and its vibration shook his very frame, for he had in the last few days, taken leave of four motherless girls, pledges of love by a wife whom he had fondly loved, and of whom he had been suddenly bereaved. Well might he feel for this poor wretch, for he had known parting in all its bitterness.
A soldier and his wife stood side by side, apparently ready to embark, whose looks told unutterable things; they both seemed young, but their faces betokened the extreme of agony. The name of Patrick Morgan being called, the distracted wife clung to her husband, uttering the most piercing and heartrending cries.
"Sure, and what'll become of me," cried she, "will you then lave me, Pat, dear, lave your own poor Norah to die, as, sure I will, when you go in that big ship? Oh, my dear Captain, and where will I go if your honour isn't plazed to go without him this time? Oh, do forgive me, but do not, oh, do not, in pity, part us. Sure, an' its your honours dear self as knows what it is to part from them ye loves; an' so you thought, when ye tuk lave of the dear childer, t'other day, an' saw the mother's swate face, God rest her sowl, in the biggest of 'em, for sure they're like, as two pays in a bushel, only one is little an' t'other big, barring she's in heaven. Sure, and if your honour's self had to bid 'em good bye over agin you'd, may be, think how hard it was for me to stay behind when Pat goes."