We hurried over the morning meal,—the horses were being put to,—the ladies already in the carriage,—when a dragoon rode in at speed, and the worst apprehensions we had entertained were more than realized by this fresh arrival. The mail-coach had been plundered and burned, while everywhere, north, east, and west, as it was stated, the rebels were in open insurrection,—all communication with Dublin was cut off,—and any attempt to reach the metropolis would have been only an act of madness.
Another express from the south came in. Matters there were even worse. The rebels had risen en masse and committed fearful devastation. The extent of danger in attempting to reach the capital, or return to his mansion, were thus painfully balanced; and my father considering that, as sailors say, the choice rested between the devil and the deep sea, decided on remaining where he was, as the best policy under all circumstances.
The incompetency of the Irish engineering staff, and a defective commissariat, at that time was most deplorable; and although the town of —— was notoriously disaffected, the barrack chosen, temporarily, to accommodate the garrison—a company of militia—was a thatched building, two stories high, and perfectly commanded by houses in front and rear. The captain in charge of the detachment knew nothing of his trade, and had been hoisted to a commission in return for the use of a few freeholders. The Irish read character quickly. They saw at a glance the marked imbecility of the devoted man; and by an imposition, from which any but an idiot would have recoiled, trapped the silly victim and, worse still, sacrificed those who had been unhappily intrusted to his direction.
That the express had ridden hard was evident from the distressed condition of his horse; and the intelligence he brought deranged my father's plans entirely. Any attempt either to proceed or to return, as it appeared, would be hazardous alike; and nothing remained but to halt where he was, until more certain information touching the rebel operations should enable him to decide which would be the safest course of action to pursue. He did not communicate the extent of his apprehensions to the family,—affected an air of indifference he did not feel,—introduced himself to the commanding officer on parade, and returned to the inn in full assurance that, in conferring a commission on a man so utterly ignorant of the trade he had been thrust into as Captain —- appeared to be, "the King's press had been abused most damnably."
The Colonel had a singular quality,—that of personal remembrance; and even at the distance of years he would recall a man to memory, even had the former acquaintance been but casual. Passing through the inn yard, his quick eye detected in the ostler a quondam stable-boy. To avoid the consequences attendant on a fair riot which had ended, "ut mos est," in homicide, the ex-groom had fled the country, and, as it was reported and believed, sought an asylum in the "land of the free" beyond the Atlantic, which, privileged like the Cave of Abdullum, conveniently flings her stripes and stars over all that are in debt and all that are in danger. Little did the fugitive groom desire now to recall "lang syne," and renew a former acquaintance. But my father was otherwise determined; and stepping carelessly up, he tapped his old domestic on the shoulder, and at once addressed him by name.
The ostler turned deadly pale, but in a moment the Colonel dispelled his alarm.
"You have nothing to apprehend from me, Pat. He who struck the blow, which was generally laid to your charge, confessed when dying that he was the guilty man, and that you were innocent of all blame beyond mixing in the affray."
Down popped the suspected culprit on his knees, and in a low but earnest voice he returned thanks to heaven.
"I understood you had gone to America, or I would have endeavored in some way to have apprised you, that a murderer by report, you were but a rioter in reality."
"I did go there. Colonel, but I could not rest. I knew that I was innocent: but who would believe my oath? I might have done well enough there; but I don't know why, the ould country was always at my heart, and I used to cry when I thought of the mornings that I whipped in the hounds, and the nights that I danced merrily in the servants' hall, when piper or fiddler came,—and none left the house without meat, drink, and money, and a blessing on the hand that gave it."