“Wha' dy' ye mean,” said the Sergeant.
“I mean John Thomas, the Welshman. You remember we were on guard one night after the siege of St. Sebastian, on the top of the high hill in the middle of the town, where the fort stands, and into which the French retired. Well, this John Thomas was sentry; he was then only a raw boy, just come from among the goats and ghosts of his native mountains. It was exactly twelve o'clock, and a fine moonshine night. You could see the wide Bay of Biscay below your feet; the high Pyrenees, all misty on the right; and close under you the ruined town. I suppose the young fellow was superstitious; but be that as it may, he burst into the guard-room without his musket, fell down on the floor, against which he cut his forehead, and struggled in a fit for half an hour. He was taken down to the regimental hospital, and had three fits before the next morning. When he came quite to himself, he declared that he saw the Friar of St. Sebastian and the Lady beside him on the hill, and that the Friar held a dead infant in his hand, which he dashed down into the sea. Of course, this vision was the effect of his boyish fears and superstition; but it certainly is a fact that the lad nearly lost his life by it, for I heard our doctor himself say so. The poor fellow was afterwards killed at the sortie of Bayonne.”
“I remember the lad weel, Jock; but wha made the sang aboot it?” demanded Sergeant M'Fadgen.
“The Captain himself wrote the song,” replied Andrews, “and Corporal O'Callaghan taught me the air.”
“By my sowl,” said O'Callaghan, “I never hard an air I like betther. I used to sit for hours listening to the boat-women all singing it in chorus. I used to cross with them from Passages to Renteria of an evening, for no other purpose than to hear them.”
“Haud yer tongue, Corporal,” observed Sergeant M'Fadgen. “It's na' for a sang that ye wad stay sae lang amongst a parcel o' bonny lasses like them.”—
“Turn out the guard!” roared the sentry: and out the guard turned, leaving Patrick Mulligan in quiet possession of the old arm chair, and a blazing fire.