“I sent to the landlord of the yellow house of Rathfarnan, many months ago,” said Sir John, “a hogshead of my capital chateau margot, for which he has never paid me; and as that landlord now, in all probability, deserves to be hanged, we can at least put up with him at nights; drink my chateau; do military execution in the days, which will report well to Lord Castlereagh; and at all events, the riding and good cheer can do us no harm.” This was universally approved of; and, led by this gallant and celebrated vintner, the troop set off to acquire food and fame about the environs of the capital.
Sergeant Potterton, who was a very good-humoured and good-natured attorney, with a portion of slang dryness and a sly drawl, diverting enough, afterwards recited to me the whole of their adventure, which campaign was cut a good deal shorter than the warriors premeditated.
“No man,” said Attorney Potterton, “could be better calculated to lead us to any burning excursion than Sir John. You know, Counsellor, that every feature in his face is the picture of a conflagration; and the people swear that when he bathes, the sea fizzes, as if he was a hot iron.
“But,” continued Sergeant Potterton, “Counsellor Curran’s story of Sir John’s nose setting a cartridge on fire, when he was for biting off the end of it, has not one word of truth in it.”
This troop had advanced on their intended route just to the spot where, a few nights before, the Earl of Roden had received a bullet in his nightcap, and had slain some rebels, when Sergeant Potterton espied a rebel skulking in what is called in Ireland a brake or knock of furze. Of course the sergeant immediately shouted out, in the proper military style—“Halloa, boys!—halloa!—hush!—hush!—silence!—halloa! Oh! by ——, there’s a nest of rapparee rebels in that knock. Come on, lads, and we’ll slice every mother’s babe of them to their entire satisfaction. Now, draw, boys!—draw!—cock!—charge!” said the grocers. “Charge away!” echoed the attorneys; and without further ceremony they did charge the knock of furze with most distinguished bravery: but, alas! their loyal intentions were disappointed; the knock of furze was found uninhabited; the rebels had stolen off, on their hands and feet, across a ditch adjoining it; and whilst the royal scouters were busily employed cutting, hacking, and twisting every furze and tuft, in expectation that a rebel was behind it, of a sudden a certain noise and smoke, which they had no occasion for, came plump from an adjoining ditch. “Halloa!—halloa!—I’m hit, by ——!” said one. “I’m grazed, by the ——!” said another. “I heard the slugs whiz like hailstones by my head!” swore a third. “O, blood and ——z!” roared out Sergeant Potterton the attorney, “I’ve got an indenture in my forehead.”—“This is nothing else but a fair ambush,” said Malony the bailiff, scratching his cheek, through which a couple of slugs had made an illegal entry to visit his grinders. “Church and state be d——d!” said the buck parson, inadvertently, on seeing a dash of blood on his waistcoat. “Oh, murder! murder!” cried the slop-merchant. “Oh, Mary Ann, Mary Ann! why did I not stay fair and easy at Poolbeg-street, as you wanted me, and I would not be massacred in this manner?”
Many of the combatants actually fancied themselves mortally wounded, at least, and all flocked round Captain Sir John Ferns for orders in this emergency. “Halloa!” roared the captain; “Halloa, boys, wheel—wheel—eel—l—boys! I say, wheel—l—l!” But being too brave to specify whether to the right, or left, or front, or rear, every wheeler wheeled according to his own taste and judgment; some to right and others to left, by twos, threes, fours, and single files, as was most convenient; of course the poor horses, being equally uncertain as the riders, absolutely charged each other in one mélange—heads and tails—helter skelter—higgledy piggledy—rumps and foreheads all toulting and twisting, to the great edification of the gentlemen rebels, who stood well hid behind the ditch, charging for another volley.
Sir John standing bravely in the centre to rally his men, his nose like the focus of a burning-glass collecting its rays, was himself a little astounded at seeing the number who appeared wounded and bleeding after so short an encounter. For this surprise the captain no doubt had very good cause: his charger had, in truth, got a bullet through his nostrils, and not being accustomed to twitches of that kind, he began to toss up his head, very naturally, in all directions, dispersing his blood on the surrounding warriors; whilst, there being no particular tint by which the blood of a Christian or an attorney and that of a horse are distinguished on a field of battle, every gallant who got a splash of the gelding’s aqua vitæ from his nose and nostrils, fancied it was his own precious gore which was gushing out of some hole bored into himself, in defence of the church and state; to both of which articles he gave a smothered curse for bringing him into so perilous and sanguinary an adventure.
However, they wisely considered that the greatest bravery may be carried too far, and become indiscretion. By a sort of instinctive coincidence of military judgment, therefore, without waiting for a council of war, word of command, or such ill-timed formalities, the whole troop immediately proved in what a contemptible point of view they held such dangers; and to show that they could turn a battle into a matter of amusement, commonly called a horse-race—such as was practised by the carbineers at the battle of Castlebar (ante), Captain Ferns, Sergeant Potterton, and the entire troop, started from the post, or rather the knock of furze, at the same moment, every jockey trying whose beast could reach a quarter of a mile off with the greatest expedition. This was performed in a time incredibly short. The winner, however, never was decided; as, when a halt took place, every jockey swore that he was the last—being directly contrary to all horse-races which do not succeed a battle.
When the race was over, a council of war ensued, and they unanimously agreed, that as no rebel had actually appeared, they must of course be defeated, and that driving rebels out of the furze was, in matter of fact, a victory.
After three cheers, therefore, for the Protestant ascendancy, they determined to follow up their success, and scour the neighbourhood of all lurking traitors.