"A Frenchman, who lays claim to an Irish estate and an Irish title," replied Flood. "Let us hear Dowall's statement."
And now, to my utter confusion, a man made his way to the table, and, taking the book from the Judge Advocate, kissed it in token of an oath.
"Inform the Court of any thing you know in connection with the prisoner," said the Judge.
And the fellow, not daring even to look toward me, began a long, rambling, unconnected narrative of his first meeting with me at Killala, affecting that a close intimacy had subsisted between us, and that in the faith of a confidence, I had told him how, being an Irishman by birth, I had joined the expedition in the hope that with the expulsion of the English I should be able to re-establish my claim to my family rank and fortune. There was little coherence in his story, and more than one discrepant statement occurred in it; but the fellow's natural stupidity imparted a wonderful air of truth to the narrative, and I was surprised how naturally it sounded even to my own ears, little circumstances of truth being interspersed through the recital, as though to season the falsehood into a semblance of fact.
"What have you to reply to this, Tiernay?" asked the Colonel.
"Simply, sir, that such a witness, were his assertions even more consistent and probable, is utterly unworthy of credit. This fellow was one of the greatest marauders of the rebel army: and the last exercise of authority I ever witnessed by General Humbert was an order to drive him out of the town of Castlebar."
"Is this the notorious Town-Major Dowall?" asked an officer of artillery.
"The same, sir."
"I can answer, then, for his being one of the greatest rascals unhanged," rejoined he.
"This is all very irregular, gentlemen," interposed the Judge Advocate; "the character of a witness can not be impugned by what is mere desultory conversation. Let Dowall withdraw."