Every road leading out of Rathkeale had a guard or outpost to prevent a surprise, and near to the Askeaton-road guard lived a character known as “the red haired man,” a noted White-boy (so named from wearing shirts over their clothes when on their nocturnal excursions), who had taken care of himself from the passing of the Insurrection Act, although still a leader and director of their doings. His house was close to the guard, and there were special orders to watch him, and at uncertain hours to visit the house, to find him absent, if possible. On an evening in June, the sentry called to the sergeant of the guard that “the red haired man,” half an hour back, had gone into a house where he was still. The sergeant walked about, the retreat beat, and watch in hand, he kept his look-out; one hour after sunset “the red haired man” came out without his hat, and laughing heartily: he was taken prisoner, and next day was on his way to the Cove of Cork!!
Pages could be filled with anecdotes connected with the doings of the several portions of the regiment in their various quarters. One more, to show the natural inborn Irish inclination for fighting.—The major commanding at Shannogalden, while standing on the street on a fair-day, was thus accosted by a tall, gaunt, wiry man, of some 60 years of age. “Good morning to your honour.” “Good morning, Mr Sullivan.” “I’ve a favour to ask of you, Major.” “Well, Mr Sullivan, what can I do for you?” “Well, your honour knows that I’ve been a loyal man, that during them disturbed times I always advised the boys to give up the foolish night-work; that I’ve caused a great many arms to be given up to yourself, Major.” Mr Sullivan’s detail of his services and his appreciation of them being much too long to go over, it ended in:—“It’s a long time, Major, since the boys have had a fight, and all that I want is, that yourself and your men will just keep out of sight, and remain at this end of the town, till me and my boys go up to the fair, and stretch a few of the Whichgeralds.” (Fitzgeralds, the opposite faction.) “Oh, then, Major, we’ll not be long about it, just to stretch a dozen or two of them Whichgeralds, and then I’ll engage we’ll go home quietly.” Much to Mr Sullivan’s disappointment, the Major replied that he could not allow the peace to be broken, and grievously crest-fallen, Mr S. went to report the failure of his request to the fine set of young Sullivans who were in sight, waiting the issue of the singular application, and ready to be let loose on the Fitzgeralds. A Mr V——, a local magistrate, who was standing with the Major, said that it would tend much to break up the combination of Whiteboyism to let the factions fight among themselves, and that he could not do better than to wink at the Sullivans having a turn with their opponents; but the Major would not entertain the idea of having, possibly, half-a-dozen murders to think of.
In 1821, on the day the head-quarters division marched out of the city of Limerick for Rathkeale, a man dropped out of the ranks without leave, to take leave of some friends belonging to the 79th (quartered at Limerick), when the rear guard came up; poor David Hill was found senseless on the road, with a deep cut on the back of his head, and his musket gone. On reaching Rathkeale, he was tried by a Court Martial held in a square, formed there and then, before the regiment was dismissed. He was sentenced to 300 lashes, and to pay for his musket. It was what would rightly now be considered an unnecessarily cruel individual suffering, though the most stringent discipline was required, as the regiment was virtually in an enemy’s country.
About three months afterwards an officer of the 79th was out snipe shooting, near to the scene of poor Hill’s misfortune. A countryman entered into conversation with the officer, watched his opportunity, knocked him over, and was off with the gun. Two of the 3d light dragoons on dispatch duty, from Rathkeale for Limerick, saw it; one of them leaped wall after wall, and apprehended the culprit. A special commission was at the time sitting in Limerick, by which he was tried next day, and hanged a day or two after. On the scaffold he confessed that it was he who had knocked over the Highlander, and told the priest where the gun was to be found. When it was recovered it was found cut down to make it a “handy gun.” It was given over to Hill.
Lieutenant-Colonel Wheatley, who was with the 42d at this time, was himself an ear-witness to the following:—About ten minutes after he and his comrade reached their billets at Rathkeale, the man of the house came in from his work, evidently not aware of the soldiers’ presence. From the kitchen and stable, one apartment, the latter overheard the following catechism between the father and a child about four years old:—“Well Dan, have you been a good boy all day?” “Yes, father.” “Come to my knee, Dan; now tell me, what will you do to the peeler, Dan?” “I’ll shoot him, father, I will.” “You’ll shoot him, will you?” “Yes, father, when I’m big like brother Phill.” “Ah, you’re a fine fellow, Dan; there’s a penny for you to buy bread.” Comment is unnecessary.[344]
In September 1823 the 42d, along with the other regiments in the Munster district, was taught the “Torrance” system of drill, which this year superseded the cumbrous old “Dundas.” This system effected an entire change in the drill, particularly in the field movements and the platoon exercise. Before this the wheeling or counter-marching of a column was unknown. He was a rash commanding officer who attempted an echelon movement in quick time, and it was not to be presumed upon before a general officer. The marching past in slow time was such a curiosity, that it is worthy of record. At every angle, the command “Halt, left wheel, halt, dress, march,” was given, and such work it was again to step off in time with the preceding company; about one in twenty could do it. Altogether, a drill book of “Dundas’s 18 manœuvres” would be a curious study for the present day; and that corps was to be admired whose Colonel could put them through “the 18 manœuvres.” At present the whole could be done in 20 minutes, and as to skirmishing it was almost unknown, except in rifle and light infantry corps.
Long marches were common in those days. The following account of a long march while in Ireland, illustrates well the sad want of system at this time in connection with the army, and the little attention paid to the men’s welfare.
In the month of May 1819, the regiment was ordered from Dundalk to Dublin. The detachment (of one subaltern and twenty men) at Cootehill, in County Cavan, was ordered, when relieved, to march to Ardee, and thence to Drogheda, to join a division under a field officer for Dublin. The relieving party of the 3d Buffs did not arrive until after mid-day on the 21st of May, when the detachment of the 42d marched by Shercock under the belief that they would halt at Kingscourt for the night, 18 miles from Cootehill. But, alas! they marched on amidst pelting rain, and reached Ardee between 11 and 12 o’clock at night, 13 miles from Kingscourt, with the pipe-clay so thoroughly washed from their belts (cross in those days), that they were quite brown. The question will naturally arise, why did they not stop at Kingscourt? even that distance being a long day’s march. There was a reason. The end of the month was the 24th day at this time, and from some neglect or mistake the officer was short of money to keep the men all night at Kingscourt. But 42d soldiers made no complaints, on any occasion, in those days. With the consolatory saying, “what we march to-day we will not have to march to-morrow,” the march was, with few exceptions, made cheerfully, although every man carried his full kit.
At this period there was a lamentable want of organisation and good management in many particulars. For instance, there was a garrison field day every Thursday (in Dublin 1819–20), and the guards who went on at ten o’clock the previous day had nothing sent to them in the way of food from the scanty dinner of Wednesday, till they reached their barracks about seven or eight the following evening.
Pay-sergeants were always consulted in all matters of interior economy, whether it regarded the supply of necessaries or improvements in messing, and they looked upon it as an innovation on their rights to propose any plan for the good of the soldiers, by which the smallest portion of the pay would have been diverted from passing through their (the pay sergeants’) hands; and thus a great portion of the men were always in debt. A baneful system it was, when men were allowed to be in debt to the sergeant to the extent of several pounds.