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 TOM BURKE 
 
 OF "OURS 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES LEVER 
 
 AUTHOR OF " CHARLES o'mALLEY " 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS 
 
 Broadway, Ludgate Hill 
 
 GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK
 
 CHARLES LEVER'S WORKS. 
 
 THE "HARRY LORREQUER " EDITION. 
 
 In Crown 8va, with Illustrations. 
 
 Harry Lorrequer. 
 
 The Dodd Family, vol. i. 
 
 Jack Hinton. 
 
 Tfafc Dodd Family, vol. », 
 
 Charles O'Malley, vol l. 
 
 Luttrell of Arran. 
 
 Charles O'Malley, vol. s. 
 
 Davenport Durm, vol. i. 
 
 Con Cregan. 
 
 Davenport Dunn, vol. a. 
 
 The O'Donoghue. 
 
 The Bramleighs of Bishop's Foliy 
 
 Tom Burke, vol. i. 
 
 Lord Kilgobbin. 
 
 Tom Burke, vol. 2. 
 
 The Martins of Cro' Martin, vol. > . 
 
 One of Them. 
 
 The Martins of Cro' Martin, voL a. 
 
 The Daltons, vol. r. 
 
 That Boy of Norcott's. 
 
 The Daltons, vol. 2. 
 
 The Fortunes of Glencore. 
 
 The Knight of Gwynne, vol. 1. 
 
 Sir Jasper Carew. 
 
 The Knight of Gwynne, vol. »- 
 
 Maurice Tiemay. 
 
 Arthur O'Leary. 
 
 A Day's Ride : A Life's Romanct. 
 
 Roland Cashel, vol. i. 
 
 Tony Butler. 
 
 Roland Cashel, voL 3. 
 
 SLr Brooke Fosbrook . 
 
 Barringtoo. 
 
 Horace Templetou.
 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 I WAS led to write this story by two impulses: first, the 
 fascination which the name and exploits of the Great 
 Emperor had ever exercised on my mind as a boy, and 
 secondly, by the favourable notice which the Press 
 had bestowed upon my scenes of soldier-life in " Charles 
 O'Malley." 
 
 If I had not in the wars of the Empire the patriotic 
 spirit of a great national struggle to sustain me, I had 
 a field far wider and grander than any afi'orded by our 
 Peninsular campaigns ; while in the character of the 
 French army, composed as it was of elements derived from 
 every rank and condition, there were picturesque efi'ects 
 one might have sought for in vain throughout the rest 
 of Europe. 
 
 It was my fortune to have known personally some of 
 those who filled great parts in this glorious drama. I had 
 listened over and over to their descriptions of scenes, to 
 which their look, and voice, and manner imparted a thrill- 
 ing intensity of interest. I had opportunities of ques- 
 
 76098
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 tioning them for explanations, of asking for solutions of 
 this and that difficulty which had puzzled me, till I grew 
 so familiar with the great names of the time, the events, 
 and even the localities, that when I addressed myself to 
 my tale, it was with a mind filled by my topics to the 
 utter exclusion of all other subjects 
 
 Neither before nor since have I ever enjoyed to the same 
 extent the sense of being so entirely engrossed by a single 
 theme. A great tableau of the Empire, from its gorgeous 
 celebrations in Paris to its numerous acliievements on the 
 field of battle, was ever outspread before me, and I sat 
 down rather to record than to invent the scenes of my 
 story. A feeling that, as I treated of real events I was 
 bound to maintain a degree of accuracy in relation to them, 
 even in fiction, made me endeavour to possess myself with 
 a correct knowledge of localities, and, so far as I was able, 
 with a due estimate of those whose characters I discussed. 
 
 Some of the battle-fields I have gone over ; of others, I 
 have learnt the particulars from witnesses of the great 
 struggles that have made them famous. To the claim of 
 this exactness I have, therefore, the pretension of at least 
 the desire to be faithful. For my story, it has all the 
 faults and shortcomings which beset everything I have 
 ever written ; for these I can but offer regrets, only the 
 more poignant that I feel how justly they are due.
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 The same accuracy which I claim for scenes and situa- 
 tions, I should like, if I dared, to claim for the individuals 
 who figure in this tale ; but I cannot, in any fairness, pre- 
 tend to more than an attempt to paint resemblances of 
 those whom I have myself admired in the description of 
 others. Pioche and Minette are of this number. So is, 
 but of a very different school, the character of Duchesne • 
 for which, however, I had what almost amounted to an 
 original. As to the episodes of this story, one or two were 
 communicated as facts ; the others are mere invention. 
 
 I do not remember any particulars to which I should 
 further advert ; while I feel, that the longer I dwell upon 
 the theme, the more occasion is there to entreat indulgence 
 — an indulgence which, if you are not weary of according- 
 will be most gratefully accepted by 
 
 Your faithful Servant, 
 
 CHARLES LEVER. 
 
 Caea Capponi, Florence, 
 May, 1857.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Myself 1 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 Darby — the "Blast" 15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Departure 28 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 My Wanderings , , 40 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The Cabin 47 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 My Education .58
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ^AGE 
 
 Kevin Street 66 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 No. 39, AND ITS Frequenters ....... 72 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 The Fkenchmak's Story 84 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 The Churchyard 93 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Too Late » 98 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 A Character , 117 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 An Unlooked-for Visitor 128 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 The Gaol - 136
 
 CONTENTS. XI 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 The Castle 142 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 The Bail 149 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Mr. Basset's Dwelling 155 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 The Captain's Quarters ........ 163 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 The Quarrel 173 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 The Flight 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 The *'£cole Militairb" 200
 
 XJl CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The " TuiLEKiBS " in 1803 .212 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 A Surprise . 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 The " Pavilion de Flore " 226 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 The Supper at " Beauvilliers's " 236 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 The "Two Visits" 242 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 The March to Versailles 255 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 The Park of Versailles 261
 
 CONTENTS. xiii 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 PAOE 
 
 La Rose de Provence » . . 276 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 A " Warning ". . . . ' ,28^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 The " Chateau ".......,, 294 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 The ChItbait d'Anore" 805 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 The "Temple" 314 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 The "Chouans" 324 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 The Reion of Terror under the Consulate . . . .334
 
 XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 FACE 
 
 The "Palais de Justice" ....«•• 349 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 The "Trial" 358 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 "The Cuirassier " 370 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 A Morning at "The Tuileries " 377 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 A Night in the Tuileries Gardens 393 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 A Story of the Year '92 ..,.,. . 405 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 The Hall op the Marshals 423
 
 CONTENTS. XV 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The March on the Danube ....... 437 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 The Cantbkn 44) 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 The * ' VivANDiliRB of the Fourth* " 457
 
 TOM BURKE OF "OURS. 
 
 55 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MrSELF. 
 
 Tt was at the close of a cold, raw day in January — no 
 matter for the year — that tlie Galway mail was seen to 
 wind its slow course through that long and dull plain that 
 skirts the Shannon, as you approach the " sweet town of 
 Athlone." The reeking box-coats and dripping umbrellas 
 that hung down on every side bespoke a day of heavy rain, 
 while the splashed and mud-stained panels of the coach 
 bore token of cut-up roads, which the jaded and toil-worn 
 horses amply confirmed. If the outsiders, with hats 
 pressed firmly down, and heads bent against the cutting 
 wind, presented an aspect far from comfortable, those with- 
 in, who peeped with difficulty through the dim glass, had 
 little to charm the eye ; their flannel nightcaps and red 
 comforters were only to be seen at rare intervals, as they 
 gazed on the dreary prospect, and then sank back into the 
 coach, to con over their moody thoughts, or, if fortunate, 
 perhaps to doze. 
 
 In the rumble, with the guard, sat one, whose burly 
 figure and rosy cheeks seemed to feel no touch of the in- 
 clement wind that made his companions crouch. An 
 oiled-silk foraging-cap, fastened beneath the chin, and a 
 large mantle of blue cloth, bespoke him a soldier, if even 
 the assured tone of his voice, and a certain easy carriage 
 of his head, had not conveyed to the acute observer the 
 same information. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 2 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 Unsabdued in spirit, undepressed in mind, either by fhe 
 long day of pouring rain or the melanclioly outline of 
 country on every side, bis dark eye flashed as brightly 
 from beneath the brim of his cap, and his ruddy face 
 beamed as cheerily, as though Nature had put forth her 
 every charm of weather and scenery to greet and delight 
 him. 
 
 Now inquiring of the guard of the various persons 
 whose property lay on either side, the name of some poor 
 hamlet or some humble village, now humming to himself 
 some stray verse of an old campaigning song, he pas5?ed 
 his time, diversifying these amusements by a courteous 
 salute to a gaping country girl, as, with unmeaning look, 
 she stared at the passing coach. But his principal occu- 
 pation seemed to consist in retaining one wing of his wide 
 cloak around the figure of a little boy, who lay asleep be- 
 side him, and whose head jogged heavily against his arm 
 with every motion of the coach. 
 
 " And so that's Athlone, yonder, you tell me," said the 
 Captain, for such he was. " ' The sweet town of Athlone, 
 ociione ! ' Weil, it might be worse. I've passed ten years 
 in Africa — on the burning coast, as they call it : you never 
 light a fire to cook your victuals, but only lay them before 
 the sun for ten minutes, game something less, and the 
 joint's done ; all true, by Jove ! Lie still, my young friend, 
 or you'll heave us both over ! And whereabouts does he 
 live, guard? " 
 
 " Something like a mile and a half from here," replied 
 the gruff guard. 
 
 " Poor little fellow, he's sleeping it out well. They cer- 
 tainly don't take overmuch care of him, or they'd never 
 have sent him on the top of a coach, in weather like this, 
 without even a greatcoat to cover him. I say, Tom, my 
 lad, wake up, you're not far from home now. Are you 
 dreaming of the plum-pudding, and the pony, and the big 
 spaniel — eh?" 
 
 " Whisht ! " said the guard, in a low whisper. " The 
 chap's father is dying, and they've sent for him from school 
 to see him." 
 
 A loud blast of the horn now awoke me thoroughly from 
 the half-dreamy slumber in which I had listened to the 
 previous dialogue, and I sat up and looked about me. Yes,
 
 MYSELF. ' 3 
 
 reader, my unworthy self it was who was then indulging 
 m as pleasant a dream of home and holidays as ever 
 blessed even a schoolboy's vigils. Though my eyes were 
 open, it was some minutes before I could rally myself to 
 understand where I was, and with what object. My senses 
 were blunted by cold, and my drenched limbs were 
 cramped and stiffened ; for the worthy captain, to whose 
 humanity I owed the share of his cloak, had only joined 
 the coach late in the day, and during the whole morning I 
 had been exposed to the most pitiless downpour of rain 
 and sleet. 
 
 " Here you are ! " said the rough guard, as the coach 
 drew up to let me down. " JN^o need of blowing the horn 
 here, I suppose." 
 
 This was said in allusion to the miserable appearance of 
 the ruined cabin that figured as my father's gate-lodge, 
 where some naked children were seen standing before the 
 door, looking with astonishment at the coach and pas- 
 sengers. 
 
 " Well, good-bye, my little man. I hope you'll find the 
 governor better. Give him my respects ; and, hark ye, if 
 ever you come over to Athlone don't forget to come and 
 see me — Captain Bubbleton — George Frederick Augustus 
 Bubbleton, 45th Regiment, or, when at home. Little Bub- 
 bleton, Herts, and Bungalow Hut, in the Carnatic ; that's 
 the mark ; so good-bye — good-bye." 
 
 I waved my hand to him in adieu, and then turned to 
 enter the gate. 
 
 "Well, Freney," said I, to a half-dressed, wild-looking 
 figure that rushed out to lift the gate open, for the hinges 
 had been long broken, and it was attached to the pier by 
 some yards of strong rope, " how is my father ? " 
 
 A gloomy nod and a discouraging sign with his open 
 hand were the only reply. 
 
 " Is there any hope ? " said I, faintly. 
 
 " Sorrow one of me knows. 1 daren't go near the 
 house. I was sarved with notice to quit a month ago, and 
 they tell him I'm gone. Oh, vo, vo ! what's to betiome of 
 us all ! " 
 
 I threw the bag, which contained my humble wardrobe, 
 on my shoulder, and, without waiting for further question- 
 ing, walked forward. Night was falling fast, and nothing
 
 4 TOM BURKE OF " OURS. 
 
 short of my intimacy with the place from infancy conld 
 have enabled me to find my way. The avenue, from long 
 neglect and disuse, was completely obliterated ; the fences 
 were broken up to burn ; the young trees had mostly 
 shared the same fate ; the cattle strayed at will through 
 the plantations, and all bespoke utter ruin and destruction. 
 
 If the scene around me was sad, it only the better 
 suited my own heart. I was returning to a home where I 
 had never heard the voice of kindness or affection ; where 
 one fond word — one look of welcome had never met me. 
 I was returning, not to receive the last blessing of a lov- 
 ing parent, but merely sent for as a necessary ceremony 
 on the occasion. And perhaps there was a mock pro- 
 priety in inviting me once more to the house which I was 
 never to revisit. My father — a widower for many years 
 — had bestowed all his affection on my elder brother, to 
 whom so much of his property as had escaped the general 
 wreck was to descend. He had been sent to Eton under 
 the guidance of a private tutor, while an obscure Dublin 
 school was deemed good enough for me. For him every 
 nerve was strained to supply all his boyish extravagance, 
 and enable him to compete with the sons of men of high 
 rank and fortune, whose names, mentioned in his letters 
 home, were an ample recompense for all the lavish expendi- 
 ture their intimacy entailed. My letters were few and brief, 
 their unvaried theme the delay in the last quarter's pay- 
 ment, or the unfurnished condition of my little trunk, 
 which more than once exposed me to the taunts of my 
 schoolfellows. 
 
 He was a fair and delicate boy, timid in manner, and re- 
 tiring in disposition ; I, a browned-faced varlet, who knew 
 every one from the herd to the high-sheriff. To him the 
 servants were directed to look up as the head of the house, 
 while I was consigned either to total neglect, or the atten- 
 tions of those who only figured as supernumeraries in our 
 army list. 
 
 Yet, with all these sources of jealousy between us, we 
 loved each other tenderly. George pitied " poor Tommy," 
 as he called me ; and for that very pity my heart clang to 
 him. He would often undertake to plead my cause for 
 those bolder infractions his gentle nature never ven- 
 tured on, and it was only from long association with boys
 
 MYSELF. 5 
 
 of superior rank, whose habits and opinions he believed to 
 be standards for his imitation, that at length a feeling of 
 estrangement grew up between us, and we learned to look 
 somewhat coldly on each other. 
 
 From these brief details it will not be wondered at if I 
 turned homeward with a heavy heart. From the hour I 
 received the letter of my recall — which was written by my 
 father's attorney in most concise and legal phrase — I had 
 scarcely ceased to shed tears ; for, so it is, there is some- 
 thing in the very thought of being left an orphan, friend- 
 less and unprotected, quite distinct from the loss of affec- 
 tion and kindness which overwhelms the young heart with 
 a very flood of wretchedness. Besides, a stray word or 
 two of kindness had now and then escaped my father 
 towards me, and I treasured these up as my richest pos- 
 session. I thought of them over and over. Many a 
 lonely night, when my heart has been low and sinking, I 
 repeated them to myself, like talismans against grief ; and 
 when I slept, my dreams would dwell on them, and make 
 my waking happy. 
 
 As I issued from a dark copse of beech-trees the indis- 
 tinct outline of the old house met my eye. I could trace 
 the high-pitched roof, the tall and pointed gables against 
 the sky, and with a strange sense of undefinable fear, be- 
 held a solitary light that twinkled from the window of an 
 upper room, where my father lay ; the remainder of the 
 buiJding was in deep shadow. 
 
 I mounted the long flight of stone steps that led to what 
 once had been a terrace ; but the balustrades were broken 
 many a year ago, and even the heavy granite stone had 
 been sma.shed in several places. The hall-door lay wide 
 open, and the hall itself had no other light save such ag 
 the flickering of a wood fire afforded, as its uncertain 
 flashes fell upon the dark wainscot and the floor. 
 
 I had just recognized the grim, old-fashioned portraits 
 that covered the walls, when my eye was attracted by a 
 figure near the fire. I approached, and beheld an old man 
 doubled with age ; his bleared eyes were bent upon the 
 wood embers, which he was trying to rake together with 
 a stick. His clothes bespoke the most miserable poverty, 
 and afforded no protection against the cold and cutting 
 blast. He was croning some old song to himself as I
 
 6 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 drew near, and paid no attention to me. I noved ronnd 
 so as to let the light fall on his face, and then perceived 
 it was old Lanty, as he was called. Poor fellow ! Age 
 and neglect had changed him sadly since I had seen him 
 last. He had been the huntsman of the family for two 
 generations, but having somehow displeased my father one 
 day at the cover, he rode at him and struck him on the 
 head with his loaded whip. The man fell senseless from 
 his horse, and was carried home. A few days, however, 
 enabled him to rally and be about again, but his senses had 
 left him for ever. All recollection of the unlucky circum- 
 stance had faded from his mind, and his rambling thoughts 
 dwelt on his old pursuits, so that he passed his days about 
 the stables, looking after the horses and giving directions 
 about them. Latterly he had become too infirm for this, 
 and never left his own cabin ; but now, from some strange 
 cause, he had come up to " the house," and was sitting by 
 the fire as I found him. 
 
 They who know Ireland will acknowledge the strange 
 impulse which, at the approach of death, seems to excite 
 the people to congregate about the house of mourning. 
 The passion for deep and powerful excitement — the most 
 remarkable feature in their complex nature — seems to 
 revel in the details of sorrow and sujffering. Not content 
 even with the tragedy before them, they call in the aid of 
 superstition to heighten the awfulness of the scene ; and 
 every story of ghost and banshee is conned over in tones 
 that need not the occasion to make them thrill upon the 
 heart. At such a time, the deepest workings of their 
 wild spirits are revealed. Their grief is low and sorrow- 
 struck, or it is loud and passionate ; now breaking into 
 some plaintive wail over the virtues of the departed, now 
 bursting into a frenzied appeal to the Father of Mercies 
 as to the justice of recalling those from earth who were 
 its blessing ; while, stranger than all, a dash of reckless 
 merriment will break in upon the gloom, but it is like 
 the red lightning through the storm, that, as it rends the 
 cloud, only displays the havoc and desolation around, and 
 at its parting leaves even a blacker darkness behind it. 
 
 From my infancy I had been familiar with scenes of 
 this kind, and my habit of stealing away unobserved from 
 home to witness a country wake had endeared me much
 
 MYSELF. 7 
 
 to tlie country people, who felfc this no small kindness 
 from " the master's son." Somehow, the ready welcome 
 and attention I always met with had worked on my young 
 heart, and I learned to feel all the interest of these scenes 
 fully as much as those about me. It was, then, with a 
 sense of desolation that I looked upon the one solitary 
 mourner who now sat at the hearth — that poor old idiot 
 man who gazed on vacancy, or muttered with parched 
 lip some few words to himself. That he alone should be 
 found to join his sorrows to ours, seemed to me like utter 
 destitution, and as I leaned against the chimney I burst 
 into tears, 
 
 " Don't cry, alannah, don't cry." said the old man; 
 *' it's the worst way at all. Get up again and ride him at 
 it bould. Oh, vo, look at where the thief is taking now 
 ■ — along the stonewall there!" Here he broke out into 
 a low, wailing ditty : — 
 
 *' And the fox set him down and lookesd about, 
 And many were feared to follow. 
 * Maybe I'm wrong,' says he, ' but I doubt 
 
 That you'll be 3s gay to-morrow. 
 For loud as you cry, and high as you ride. 
 
 And little you feel my sorrow, 
 I'll be free on the mountain side, 
 While you'll lie low to-morrow. 
 
 Oh, Moddideroo, aroo, aroo.* 
 
 Ay, just so — they'll run to earth in the cold churchyard. 
 Whisht — hark there — soho, soho — that's Badger I hear ! '* 
 
 I turned awaj'' with a bursting heart, and felt my way 
 up the broad oak-stair, which was left in complete dark- 
 ness. As I reached the corridor, off which the bed- 
 rooms lay, I heard voices talking together in a low tone — 
 they came from my father's room, the door of which lay 
 ajar. I approached noiselessly and peeped in: by the 
 fire, which was the only light now in the apartment, sat 
 two persons at a small table, one of whom I at once re- 
 cognized as the tall, solemn-looking figure of Doctor 
 Finnerty ; the other I detected by the sharp tones of his 
 voice to be Mr. Anthony Basset, my father's confidential 
 attorney. 
 
 On the table before them lay a mass of papers, parch-
 
 8 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 ments, leases, deeds, together with glasses and a black 
 bottle, whose accompaniments of hot water and SQgar 
 left no doubt as to its contents. The chimnej-piece was 
 crowded with a range of vials and medicine bottles, some 
 of them empty, some of them half finished. From the 
 bed in the corner of the room came the heavy sound of 
 snoring respiration, which either betokened deep sleep or 
 insensibility. If I enjoyed but little favour in my father's 
 house, I owed much of the coldness shown to me to the 
 evil influence of the very two persons who sat before me 
 in conclave. Of the precise source of the doctor's dislike 
 T was not quite clear, except, perhaps, that I recovered 
 from the measles when he predicted my certain death; 
 the attorney's was, however, no mystery. About three 
 years before he had stopped to breakfast at our house on 
 his way to Ballinasloe fair. As his pony was led round to 
 the stable it caught my eye. It was a most tempting bit 
 of horseflesh, full of spirit and in top condition, for he was 
 going to sell it. I followed him round, and appeared just 
 as the servant was about to unsaddle him. The attorney 
 was no favourite in the house, and I had little diflBculty in 
 persuading the man, instead of taking off the saddle, 
 merely to shorten the stirrups to the utmost limit. The 
 next minute I was on his back flying over the lawn at a 
 stretching gallop. Fences abounded on all sides, and I 
 rushed him at double ditches, stone walls, and bog-wood 
 rails, with a mad delight that at every leap rose higher. 
 After about three-quarters of an hour thus passed, his 
 blood, as well as my own, being by this time thoroughly 
 roused, I determined to try him at the wall of an old 
 pound, which stood some few hundred yards from the front 
 Df the house. Its exposure to the window, at any other 
 time, would have deterred me from even the thought of 
 such an exploit, but now I was quite beyond the pale of 
 such cold calculations ; besides that I was accompanied 
 by a select party of all the labourers, with their wives and 
 children, whose praises of my horsemanship would have 
 made me take the lock of a canal if before me. A fine 
 gallop of grass sward led to the pound, and over this I 
 went, cheered with as merry a cry as ever stirred a light 
 heart. One glance I threw at the liouse as I drew near 
 the leap ; the window of the breakfast parlour was open,
 
 MYSELF. 9 
 
 my father and Mr. Basset were both at it ; I saw their 
 faces red with passion, I heard their loud shout ; my very 
 spirit sickened within me — I saw no more — I felt the 
 pony rush at the wall — the quick stroke of his feet — the 
 rise — the plunge — and then a crash — and I was sent spin- 
 ning over his head some half-dozen yards, ploughing up 
 the ground on face and hands. I was carried home with 
 a broken head ; the pony's knees were in the same con- 
 dition. My father said that he ought to be shot for 
 humanity's sake ; Tony suggested the same treatment for 
 me, on similar grounds. The upshot, however, was, I 
 secured an enemy for life, and, worse still, one whose 
 power to injure was equalled by his inclination. 
 
 Into the company of these two worthies I now found 
 myself thus accidentally thrown, and would gladly have 
 retreated at once, but that some indescribable impulse to 
 be near my father's sick-bed was on me, and so I crept 
 stealthily in and sat down in a large chair at the foot of 
 the bed, where unnoticed I listened to the long-drawn 
 Leavings of his chest, and in silence wept over my own 
 desolate condition. 
 
 For a long time the absorbing nature of my own grief 
 prevented me hearing the muttered conversation near the 
 fire ; but at length, as the night wore on, and my sorrow 
 had found vent in tears, I began to listen to the dialogue 
 beside me. 
 
 " He'll have five hundred pounds under his grandfather's 
 will, in spite of us ; but what's that ? " said the attorney. 
 
 " I'll take him as an apprentice for it, I know," said the 
 doctor, with a grin that made me shudder. 
 
 "That's settled already," replied Mr. Basset. "He's to 
 be articled to me for five years ; but I think it's likely he'll 
 go to sea before the time expires. How heavily the old 
 man is sleeping ! Now, is that natural sleep ? " 
 
 "No; that's always a bad sign; that puffing with the 
 lips is generally among the last symptoms. Well, he'll be 
 a loss anyhow, when he's gone. There's an eight-ounce 
 mixture he never tasted yet — infusion of gentian with 
 soda. Put your lips to that." 
 
 " Devil a one o' me will ever sup the like," said the 
 attorney, finishing his tumbler of punch as he spoke. 
 " Pheugh ! how can you drink them things that way ? "
 
 10 TOM BURKE OF '* OURS." 
 
 ** Sure it's the compound infusion, made with orange^ 
 peel and cardamom seeds. There isn't one of them didn't 
 cost two-and-ninepence. He'll be eight weeks in bed come 
 Tuesday next." 
 
 " Well, well ! If he lived till the next assizes, it would 
 be telling me four hundred pounds, not to speak of tlie 
 costs of t> o ejectments I have in hand against MuUins 
 and his father-in-law." 
 
 " It's a wonder," said the doctor, after a pause, " that 
 Tom didn't come by the coach. It's no matter now, at any 
 rate ; for, since the eldest son's away, there's no one here 
 to interfere with us." 
 
 " It was a masterly stroke of yours, doctor, to tell the 
 old man the weather was too severe to bring George over 
 from Eton. As sure as he came he'd make up matters 
 with Tom, and the end of it would be, I'd lose the agency, 
 and you wouldn't have those pleasant little bills lor the 
 tenantry — eh, Fin ? " 
 
 "Whisht! he's waking now. Well, sir — weU, Mr. 
 Burke, how do you feel now ? He's off again." 
 
 "The funeral ought to be on a Sunday," said Basset, in 
 a whisper. " There'll be no getting the people to come 
 any other day. He's saying something, I think." 
 
 " Fin," said my father, in a faint, hoarse voice — " Fin, 
 give me a drink. It's not warm." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I had it on the fire." 
 
 " Well, then, it's myself that's growing cold. How's 
 the pulse now, Fin ? Is the Dublin doctor come yet ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; we're expecting him every minute ; but sure, 
 you know, we're doing everything." 
 
 " Oh ! i know it. Yes, to be sure. Fin ; but they've 
 many a new thing up in Dublin, there, we don't hear of. 
 W^hisht ! what's that ? " 
 
 " It's Tony, sir — Tony Basset ; he's sitting up with 
 me." 
 
 " Conie over here, Tony. Tony, I'm going fast. I feel 
 it, and my heart is low. Could we withdraw the proceed- 
 ings about Freney ? " 
 
 " He's the biggest blackguard " 
 
 " Ah ! no matter now — I'm going to a place where we'll 
 all need mercy. W^hat was it that Canealy said he'd give 
 for the land.?"
 
 MYSELF. 11 
 
 " Two pound ten an acre — and Freney never paid thirty 
 shillings out of it." 
 
 " It's mighty odd George didn't come over." 
 
 " Sure, I told you there was two feet of snow on the 
 ground." 
 
 " Lord be about us ! what a severe season ! But why 
 isn't Tom here ? " I started at the words, and was 
 about to rush forward, when he added, " I don't want him, 
 though." 
 
 " Of course you don't,'* said the attorney. " It's little 
 comfort he ever gave you. Are you in pain there ? " 
 
 "Ay, great pain over my heart. Well, well i don't be 
 hard to him when I'm gone." 
 
 " Don't let him talk so much," said Basset, in a whisper, 
 to the doctor. 
 
 " You must compose yourself, Mr. Burke," said the 
 doctor. " Try and take a sleep. The night isn't half 
 through yet." 
 
 The sick man obeyed without a word, and soon after the 
 heavy respiration betokened the same lethargic slumber 
 once more. 
 
 The voices of the speakers gradually fell into a low, 
 monotonous sound ; the long-drawn breathings from the 
 sick-bed mingled with them ; the fire only sent forth aq 
 occasional gleam, as some piece of falling turf seemed to 
 revive its wasting life, and shot up a myriad of bright 
 sparks ; and the chirping of the cricket in the chimney- 
 corner sounded to my mournful heart like the tick of the 
 death-watch. 
 
 As I listened my tears fell fast, and a gulping fulness 
 in my throat made me feel like one in suffocation. Bat 
 deep sorrow, somehow, tends to sleep. The weariness of 
 the long day and dreary night, exhaustion, the dull hum 
 of the subdued voices, and the faint light, all combined 
 to make me drowsy, and I fell into a heavy slumber. 
 
 I am writing now of the far-off past — of the long years 
 ago, of my youth — since which my seared heart lias had 
 many a sore and scalding lesson ; yet I cannot think of 
 that night, fixed and graven as it lies in my memory, 
 without a touch of boyish softness. I remember every 
 waking thought that crossed my mind — my very dream 
 is still before me. It was of my mother. I thought of
 
 12 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 her as she lay on a sofa in the old drawing-room, the 
 window open, and the blinds drawn ; the gentle breeze of 
 a June morning flapping them lazily to and fro, as I 
 knelt beside her to repeat my little hymn, the first I 
 ever learned ; and how at each moment my eyes would 
 turn and my thoughts stray to that open casement, 
 through which the odour of flowers and the sweet song 
 of birds were pouring; and my little heart was panting 
 for liberty, while her gentle smile and faint words bade 
 me remember where 1 was. And then I was straying 
 away through the old garden, where the very sunlight 
 fell scantily through the thick-woven branches, loaded with 
 perfumed blossom ; the blackbirds hopped fearlessly from 
 twig to twig, mingling their clear notes with the breezy 
 murmur of the leaves, and the deep hum of summer bees. 
 How happy was I then ! And why cannot such happiness 
 be lasting ? Why can we not shelter ourselves from the 
 base contamination of worldly cares, and live on amid 
 pleasures pure as these, with hearts as holy and desires 
 as simple as in childhood ? 
 
 Suddenly a change came over my dream, and the dark 
 clouds began to gather from all quarters, and a low, 
 creeping wind moaned heavily along. 1 thought I heard 
 my name called. I started and awoke. For a second or 
 two the delusion was so strong that I could not remember 
 where I was ; but as the grey light of a breaking morn- 
 ing fell through the half-open shutters, I beheld the two 
 figures near the fire. They were both sound asleep, the 
 deep-drawn breathing and nodding heads attesting the 
 heaviness of their slumber. 
 
 I felt cold and cramped, but still afraid to stir, although 
 a longing to approach the bedside was still upon me. A 
 faint sigh and some muttered words here came to my ear, 
 and I listened. It was my father ; but so indistinct the 
 sounds, they seemed more like the ramblings of a dream. 
 1 crept noiselessly on tiptoe to the bed, and, drawing the 
 curtain gently over, gazed within. He was lying on his 
 back, his hands and arms outside the clothes. His beard 
 had grown so much, and he had wasted so far, that I 
 could scarcely have known him. His eyes were wide 
 open, but fixed on the top of the bed ; his lips moved 
 rapidly, and, by his hands, as they were closely clasped.
 
 MYSELF. 13 
 
 I thought it was in prayer. I leaned over him, and 
 placed my hand in his. For some time he did not seem 
 to notice it, but at last he pressed it softly, and, rubbing 
 the lingers to and fro, he said, in a low, famt voice, 
 *' Is this your hand, my boy ? " 
 
 I thought my heart had split, as, in a gush of tears, I 
 bent down and kissed him. 
 
 " I can't see well, my dear ; there's something between 
 me and the light, and a weight is on me — here — here- '* 
 
 A heavy sigh, and a shudder that shook his whole frame, 
 followed these words. 
 
 " They told me I wasn't to see you once again," said 
 he, as a sickly smile played over his mouth ; " but I knew 
 you'd come to sit by me. It's a lonely thing not to have 
 one's own at such an hour as this. Don't weep, my dear 
 — my own heart's failing me fast." 
 
 A broken, muttering sound followed, and then he said, 
 in a loud voice, — 
 
 " I never did it ! It was Tony Basset. He told me 
 — ^he persuaded me. Ah ! that was a sore day when I 
 listened to him. Who's to tell me I'm nob to be master 
 of my own estate ? Turn them adrift — ay, every man of 
 them. I'll weed the ground of such wretches — eh, Tony? 
 Did any one say Freney's mother was dead ? — they may 
 wake her at the cross roads, if they like. Poor old Molly! 
 I'm sorry for her, too. She nursed me and my sister 
 that's gone ; and maybe her death-bed, poor as she was, 
 was easier than mine will be — without kith or kin, child 
 or friend. Oh, George ! — and I that doted on you with 
 all my heart ! Who's hand's this ? — ah, I forgot, my 
 darling boy, it's you. Come to me here, my child. Wasn't 
 it for you that I toiled and scraped this many a year ? 
 I Wasn't it for you that I did all this, and — God, forgive 
 me ! — maybe it's my soul that I've perilled to leave you 
 a rich man. Where's Tom ? — where's that fellow now ? " 
 
 " Here, sir," said I, squeezing his hand, and pressing it 
 to my lips. 
 
 He sprang up at the words, and sat up in his bed, his 
 eyes dilated to their widest, and his pale lips parted 
 asunder. 
 
 "Where?" cried he, as he felt me over with his thin 
 fingers, and drew me towards him.
 
 14 TOM BURKE OF *' OUES." 
 
 " Here, father, here." 
 
 " And is this Tom ? " said he, as his voice fell into a 
 low, hollow sound, and then added, " Where's George ? 
 ■ — answer me at once. Oh, I see it. He isn't here ; he 
 wouldn't come over to see his old father. Tony ! Tony 
 Basset, I say ! " shouted the sick man, in a voice that 
 roused the sleepers, and brought them to his bedside, 
 " open that window there. Let me look out — do it as I 
 bid you — open it wide. Turn in all the cattle you can 
 find on the road. Do you hear me, Tony? Drive them 
 in from every side. Finnerty, I say, mind my words, 
 for " — (here he uttered a most awful and terrific oath) — 
 " as I linger on this side of the grave, I'll not leave him 
 a blade of grass I can take from him." 
 
 His chest heaved with a convulsive spasm, his face 
 became pale as death, his eyes fixed ; he clutched eagerly at 
 the bed-clothes, and then, with a horrible cry, he fell back 
 upon the pillow, as a faint stream of red blood trickled 
 from his nostril and ran down his chin. 
 
 " It's all over now," whispered the doctor. 
 
 " Is he dead ? " said Basset. 
 
 The other made no reply ; but, drawing the cnrtaina 
 close, he turned away, and they both moved Loiselessly 
 from the room.
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER TI. 
 
 J) A R B Y — T HE " B L A S T." 
 
 If there are dreams which, by their vividness and accnracj 
 of detail, seem altogether like reality, so are there certain 
 actual passages in our lives which, in their indistinctness 
 while occurring, and in the faint impression they leave 
 behind them, seem only as mere dreams. Most of our 
 early sorrows are of this kind. The warm current of our 
 young hearts would appear to repel the cold touch of 
 affliction ; nor can grief, at this period, do more than 
 breathe an icy chill upon the surface of our affections, 
 where all is glowing and fervid beneath. The struggle, 
 then, between the bounding heart and the depressing 
 care, renders our impressions of grief vague and ill- 
 defined. 
 
 A stunning sense of some great calamity, some sorrow 
 without hope, mingled in my waking thouglits with a 
 childish notion of freedom. Unloved, uncared for, my 
 early years presented but few pleasures. My boyhood 
 had been a long struggle to win some mark of afiection 
 from one who cared not for me, and to whom still my 
 heart had clung, as does the drowning man to the last 
 plank of all the wreck. The tie that bound me to him 
 was now severed, and I was without one in the wide 
 world to look up to or to love. 
 
 I looked out from my window upon the bleak 
 country. A heavy snow-storm had fallen during tlie 
 night. A lowering sky of leaden hue stretched above 
 the dreary landscape, across which no living thing was 
 seen to move. Within-doors all was silent. The doctor 
 and the attorney had both taken their departure : the 
 deep wheel-track in the snow marked the road they had 
 followed. The servants, seated around the kitchen fire, 
 conversed in low and broken whispers. The only sound 
 that broke the stillness was the ticking of the clock upon
 
 16 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS." 
 
 the stair. There was sometliing that smote heavily on my 
 heart in the monotonous ticking of that clock ; that told 
 of time passing beside him who had gone ; that seemed 
 to speak of minutes close to one whose minutes were 
 eternity. I crept into the room where the dead body lay, 
 and, as my tears ran fast, I bent over it. I thought 
 sometimes the expression of those cold features changed 
 — now frowning heavily, now smiling blandly on me. 
 I watched them till, in my eager gaze, the lips seemed to 
 move, and the cheek to flush. How hard is it to believe 
 in death ! — how difficult to think that " there is a sleep 
 that knows no waking." I knelt down beside the bed and 
 prayed. I prayed that now, as all of earth was nought to 
 him who was departed, he would give me the affection he 
 had not bestowed in life. I besought him not to chill the 
 heart that in its lonely desolation had neither home nor 
 friend. My throat sobbed to bursting as in my words 
 I seemed to realize the fulness of my affliction. The door 
 opened behind me as with bent-down head I knelt. A 
 heavy footstep slowly moved along the floor, and the next 
 moment the tottering figure of old Lanty stood beside me, 
 gazing on the dead man. There was that look of vacancy 
 in his filmy eye that showed he knew nothing of what had 
 happened. 
 
 " Is he asleep, Master Tommy? *' said the old man, in 
 a faint whisper. 
 
 My lips trembled, but I could not speak the word. 
 
 " I thought he wanted the ' dogs ' up at Meelif ; but I'm 
 strained here about the loins, and can't go out myself. 
 Tell him that, when he wakes." 
 
 " He'll never wake now, Lanty — he's dead," said I, as a 
 rush of tears half choked my utterance. 
 
 " Dead ! " said he, repeating the word two or three 
 times — " dead ! Well, well, I wonder will Master George 
 keep the dogs now. There seldom comes a better ; and 
 'twas himself that liked the cry o' them." 
 
 He tottered from the room as he spoke, and I could hear 
 him muttering the same words over and over, as he crept 
 slowly down the stair. 
 
 I have said that this painful stroke of fortune was as a 
 dream to me, and so for three daj'^s I felt it. The altered 
 circumstances of everything about me were inexplicable
 
 DARBY — THE " BLAST." 17 
 
 to my puzzled brain. The very kindness of the servants — 
 so unusual to me — struck me forcibly. They felt that tho 
 time was past when any sympathy for me had been tho 
 passport to disfavour, and they pitied me. 
 
 The funeral took place on the third morning. Mr. 
 Basset having acquainted my brother that there was no 
 necessity for his presence, even that consolation was 
 denied me, to meet him who alone remained of all my 
 name and house belonging to me. How I remember 
 every detail of that morning ! The silence of the long 
 night broken in upon by heavy footsteps ascending the 
 stairs — strange voices, not subdued like those of all in our 
 little household, but loud and coarse — even laughter I 
 could hear — the noise increasing at each moment. Then 
 the muffled sound of wheels upon the snow, and the cries 
 of the drivers as they urged their horses forward. Then 
 a long interval, in which nought was heard save the happy 
 whistle of some poor postilion, who, careless of his errand, 
 wiled away the tedious time with a lively tune. And, 
 lastly, there came the dull noise of feet moving step by 
 step down the stair, the muttered words, the shuffling 
 sound of feet as they descended, and the clank of the 
 coffin as it struck against the wall. 
 
 The long, low parlour was filled with people, few of 
 whom I had ever seen before. They were broken up into 
 little knots, chatting cheerfully together, while they made 
 a hurried breakfast. The table and sideboard were covered 
 with a profusion I had never witnessed previously. De- 
 canters of wine passed freely from hand to hand ; and 
 although the voices fell somewhat as I appeared amidst 
 them, I looked in vain for one touch of sorrow for the dead, 
 or even respect for his memory. 
 
 As I took my place in the carriage beside the attorney, 
 a kind of dreamy apathy settled down on me, and I scarcely 
 knew what was passing. I only remember the horrible 
 shrinking sense of dread with which I recoiled from his 
 one attempt at consolation, and the abrupt way in which 
 he desisted, and turned to converse with the doctor. How 
 my heart sickened as we drew near the churchyard, and I 
 beheld the open gate that stood wide awaiting us. The 
 dusky figures, with their mournful black cloaks, moved 
 slowly across the snow, like spirits of some gloomy world ; 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 18 
 
 while the death-bell echoed in my ears, and sent a shudder- 
 ing through my frame. 
 
 ****** 
 ****** 
 
 " What is to become of the second boy ? " said the 
 clergyman, in a low whisper, but which, by some strange 
 fatality, struck forcibly on my ear. 
 
 " It's not much matter," replied Basset, still lower ; " for 
 the present he goes home with me. Tom, I say, you come 
 back with me to-day." 
 
 " No," said I, boldly, " I'll go home again." 
 
 '• Home ! " repeated he, with a scornful laugh — '* home ! 
 And where may thafc be, youngster? " 
 
 " For shame. Basset ! " said the clergyman, " don't speak 
 that way to him. My little man, you can't go home to- 
 day. Mr. Basset will take you with him for a few days, 
 until your late father's will is known, and his wishes 
 respecting you." 
 
 " I'll go home, sir," said I, but in a fainter tone, and 
 with tears in my eyes. 
 
 " Well, well, let him do so for to-day ; it may relieve his 
 poor heart. Come, Basset, I'll take him back myself." 
 
 I clasped his hand as he spoke, and kissed it over and 
 over. 
 
 " With all my heart," cried Basset. "I'll come over and 
 fetch him to-morrow;" and then he added, in a lower 
 tone, "and before that you'll have found out quite enough 
 to be heartily sick of your charge." 
 
 All the worthy vicar's efforts to rouse me from my stupor 
 or interest me failed. He brought me to his house, where, 
 amid his own happy children, he deemed my heart would 
 have yielded to the sympathy of my own age ; but I pined 
 to get back : I longed — why, I knew not — to be in my 
 own little chamber, alone with my grief. In vain he tried 
 every consolation his kind heart and his life's experience 
 had taught him ; the very happiness I witnessed but re- 
 minded me of my own state, and I pressed the more 
 eagerly to return. 
 
 It was late when he drew up to the door of the house, 
 to which already the closed window-shutters had given a 
 look of gloom and desertion. We knocked several times 
 before any one came, and at length two or three heads
 
 DARBY — THE "BLAST." 19 
 
 appeared at an upper window, in half-terror at ttie unlooked- 
 for summons for admission. 
 
 " Good-bje, my dear boy," said the vicar, as he kissed 
 me; " don't forget what I have been telling you. It will 
 make you bear your present sorrow better, and teach you 
 to be happier when it is over." 
 
 " Come down to the kitchen, alannah," said the old cook, 
 as the hall door closed — " come down and sit with us there ; 
 sure it's no wonder your heart 'ud be low." 
 
 " Yes, Master Tommy, and Darby ' the blast ' is there, 
 and a tune and the pipes will raise you." 
 
 I suffered myself to be led along listlessly between them. 
 to the kitchen, where, around a huge fire of red turf, the 
 servants of the house were all assembled, together with 
 some neighbouring cottagers. Darby " the blast " occupy- 
 ing a prominent place in the party, his pipes laid across his 
 knees, as he employed himself in concocting a smoking 
 tumbler of punch. 
 
 " Your most obadient," said Darby, with a profound 
 reverence, as I entered. " May I make so bowld as to 
 surmise that my presence isn't unsaysonable to your feel- 
 in's ? for I wouldn't be contumacious enough to adjudicate 
 without your honour's permission." 
 
 What I muttered in reply I know not ; but the whole 
 party were speedily reseated, every eye turned admiringly 
 on Darby for the very neat and appropriate expression of 
 his apology. 
 
 Young as I was, and slight as had been the considera- 
 tion heretofore accorded me, there was that in the lonely 
 desolation of my condition which awakened all their 
 sympathies, and directed all their interests towards me ; 
 and in no country are the differences of rank such slight 
 barriers in excluding the feeling of one portion of the 
 community from the sorrows of the others. The Irish 
 peasa,nt, however humble, seems to possess an intuitive 
 tact on this subject, and to minister all the consolations in 
 his power with a gentle delicacy that cannot be sur- 
 passed. 
 
 The silence caused by my appearing among them was 
 unbroken for some time after I took my seat by the fire ; 
 and the only sounds were the clinking of a spoon against 
 the glass, or the deep-drawn sigh of some compassionate 
 
 c 2
 
 20 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.' 
 
 fioul, as she wiped a stray tear from the comer of her eye 
 with her apron. 
 
 Darby alone manifested a little impatience at the sud- 
 den change in a party where his powers of agreeability 
 had so lately been successful, and fidgeted on his chair, 
 unscrewed his pipes, blew into them, screwed them on 
 again, and then slyly nodded over to the housemaid, as 
 he raised his glass to his lips. 
 
 " Never mind me," said I to the old cook, who, between 
 grief and the glare of a turf fire, had her face swelled out 
 to twice its natural size — '* never mind me, Molly, or I'll 
 go away." 
 
 " And why would you, darlin' ? Troth, no ! sure there's 
 nobody feels for you like them that was always about you. 
 Take a cup of tay, alannah — it'll do you good." 
 
 *' Yes, Master Tom," said the butler ; ** you never tasted 
 anything since Tuesday night." 
 
 " Do, sir, av ye plaze ! " said the pretty housemaid, as 
 she stood before me, cup in hand. 
 
 " Arrah ! what's tay ? " said Darby, in a contemptuous 
 tone of voice : "a few dirty laves, with a drop of water 
 on top of them, that has neither beatification nor invigo- 
 ration. Here's the ^fons animi!*'^ said he, patting the 
 whisky bottle affectionately. " Did ye ever hear of the 
 ancients indulging in tay ? D'ye think Polyphamus and 
 Jupither took tay ? " 
 
 The cook looked down abashed and ashamed. 
 
 " Tay's good enough for women — no offence, Mrs. 
 Cook ! — but you might boil down Paykin and it'd never 
 be potteen. ' IJx quo vis ligno non Jit Mercurius ' — ' You 
 can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.' That's the 
 meaning of it — ligno' s a sow." 
 
 Heaven knows I was in no mirthful mood at that 
 moment, but I burst into a fit of laughing at this, in 
 which, from a sense of politeness, the party all joined. 
 
 " That's it, acushla ! " said the old cook, as her eyes 
 sparkled with delight; " sure it makes my heart light to 
 see you smilin' again. Maybe Darby would raise a tune 
 now, and there's nothing equal to it for the spirits." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. M'Keown," said the housemaid, " play ' Kiss 
 me twice ; ' Master Tom likes it." 
 
 *' Devil a doubt he does," replied Darby, so maliciously
 
 DARBY — THE "BLAST." 21 
 
 as to make poor Kitty blush a deep scarlet, '* and no 
 shame to him ! Bat you see my fingers is cut, Master 
 Tom, and T can't perform the reduplicating intonations 
 with proper ettect." 
 
 " How did that happen, Darby ? " said the butler. 
 
 " Faix, easy enough. Tim Daly and myself was hunt- 
 ing a cat the other evening, and she was under the 
 dhresser, and we wor poking her with a burnt stick and a 
 rayping-hook, and she somehow always escaped us, and 
 except about an inch of her tail that we cut off, there was 
 no getting at her ; and at last I hated a toastin'-fork and put 
 it in, when out she flew, teeth and claws, at me. Look, 
 there's where she stuck her thieving nails into my thumb, 
 and took the piece clean out. The onnatural baste ! " 
 
 "Arrah!" said the old cook, with a most reflective 
 gravity, "there's nothing so treacherous as a cat ! " A 
 moral to the story which I found met general assent 
 among the whole company. 
 
 " Nevertheless," observed Darby, with an air of ill-dis- 
 sembled condescension, "if it isn't umbrageous to your 
 honour, I'll intonate something in the way of an ode, or a 
 canticle." 
 
 " One of your own, Darby,*' said the butler, inter- 
 rupting. 
 
 " Well, I've no objection," replied Darby, with an 
 affected modesty ; " for you see, master, like Homer, I 
 accompany myself on the pipes, though — glory be to God ! 
 — I'm not blind. The little thing I'll give you is imitated 
 from the ancients — like TibuUus or Euthropeus — in the 
 natural key." 
 
 Mister M'Keown, after this announcement, pushed his 
 empty tumbler towards the butler with a significant glance, 
 gave a few preparatory grunts with the pipes, followed by 
 a long dolorous quaver, and then a still more melancholy 
 cadence, like the expiring bray of an asthmatic jackass — 
 all of which sounds, seeming to be the essential prelimi- 
 naries to any performance on the bagpipes, were listened 
 to with great attention by the company. At length, 
 having assumed an imposing attitude, he lifted up both 
 elbows, tilted his little finger affectedly up, dilated his 
 cheeks, and began the following to the well-known air 
 of '^Una:"
 
 22 TOM BURKE OF " OURS. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Of all the arts and sciences, 
 
 'Tis music surely takes the sway ; 
 It has its own appliances 
 
 To melt the heart, or make it gay. 
 
 To raise us, 
 
 Or plaze us, 
 There's nothing with it can compare ; 
 
 To make us bowld, 
 
 Or hot, or cowld, 
 Just as suits the kind of air. 
 
 There's not a woman, man, or child. 
 That hasn't felt its powers too : 
 
 Don t deny it ! — when you smilt-d 
 Your eyes confess' d — that so did yoa. 
 
 The very winds that sigh or roar — 
 
 The leaves that rustle, dry and sear— . 
 The waves that beat upon the shore — 
 They all are music to your ear. 
 
 It was of use 
 
 To Orpheus, 
 He charmed the fishes in the say ; 
 
 t^o everything 
 
 Alive can sing — 
 The kettle even sings for tay ! 
 
 There's not a woman, man, or child, 
 That hasn't felt its power too ; 
 
 Don't deny it ! — when you smiled 
 Your eyes confess'd — that so did you. 
 
 I have certainly, since this period, listened to more bril- 
 liant musical performances, but, for the extent of the 
 audience, I do not think it was possible to reap a more 
 overwhelming harvest of applause. Indeed the old cook 
 kept repeating stray fragments of the words to every air 
 that crossed her memory for the rest of the evening ; and 
 as for Kitty, I intercepted more than one soft glance in- 
 tended for Mister M'Keown as a reward for his minstrelsy. 
 
 Darby, to do him justice, seemed fully sensible of his 
 triumphj and sat back in his chair, and imbibed his liquor 
 like a man who had won his laurels, and needed no further 
 efforts to maintain his eminent position in life. 
 
 As the wintry wind moaned dismally without, and the
 
 DARBY — THE "BLAST." 23 
 
 leafless trees shook and trembled with the cold blast, the 
 party drew in closer to the cheerful tarf fire, with that 
 sense of selfish delight that seems to revel in the contrast 
 of in-door comfort with the bleakness and dreariness with- 
 out. 
 
 " Well, Darby," said the butler, "you weren't far wrong 
 when you took ray advice to stay here for the night ; listen 
 to how it's blowing." 
 
 "That's hail," said the old cook, as the big drops came 
 pattering down the chimney, and hissed on the red embers 
 as they fell. " It's a cruel night, glory be to God !" Here 
 the old lady blessed herself — a ceremony which the others 
 followed. 
 
 " For all that," said Darby, " I ought to be up at Crock- 
 navorrigha this blessed evening. Joe Neale was to be 
 married to-day." 
 
 " Joe ! is it Joe ? " said the butler. 
 
 " I wish her luck of him, whoever she is," added the 
 cook. 
 
 " Faix, and he's a smart boy," chimed in the housemaid, 
 with something not far from a blush as she spoke. 
 
 " He was a raal devil for coortin', any how," said the 
 butler. 
 
 " It's just for peace he's marrying now, then," said 
 Darby ; " the women never gave him any quietness — just 
 8o, Kitty, you needn't be looking cross that way — it's truth 
 I'm telling you ; they were always coming about him, and 
 teasing him, and the like, and he coaldn't bear it any 
 lonp-er." 
 
 "Arrah, howld your prate," interrupted the old cook, 
 whose indignation for the honour of the sex could not 
 endure more ; " he's the biggest liar from this to himself 
 —and that same's not a small word, Darby M'Keown." 
 
 There was a pointedness in the latter part of this 
 speech which might have led to angry consr quences, had I 
 not interposed, by asking Mr. M*Keown himself if he ever 
 was in love. 
 
 " Arrah, it's wishing it, I am, the same love. Sure my 
 back and sides is sore with it — my misfortunes would fill 
 a book. Didn't I bind myself apprentice to a carpenter, 
 for love of Molly Scraw, a niece he had, just to be near 
 her, and be looking at her, and that's the way I shaved off
 
 24 TOM BURKE OP " OURS.*' 
 
 the top of my thumb with the plane. By the mortial, 
 it was near killing me ; I usedn't to eat or drink ; and 
 though I was three years at the thra.de, faix, at the end of 
 it, I couldn't tell you the gimlet from the handsaw/' 
 
 " And you wor never married, Mister M'Keown ? " said 
 Kitty. 
 
 "Never, ray darling, but often mighty near it. Many 'a 
 the quare thing happened to me," said Darby, meditat- 
 ingly; " and sure if it wasn't my guardian angel, or some- 
 thing of the kind prevented it, I'd maybe have more wive? 
 this day than the Emperor of Roossia himself." 
 
 " Arrah, don't be talking," grunted out the old cook, 
 whose passion could scarcely be restrained at the boastful 
 tone Mister M'Keown assumed in descanting on his suc- 
 cesses. 
 
 "There was Biddy Finn," continued Darby, without 
 paying any attention to the cook's interruption ; " she 
 might be Mrs. M'Keown this day, av it wasn't for a re- 
 markable thing that happened." 
 
 " What was that ?" said Kitty, with eager curiosity. 
 
 •* Tell us about it, Mister M'Keown," said the butler. 
 
 *' The devil a word of truth he'll tell you/' grumbled 
 the cook, as she raked the ashes with a stick. 
 
 " There's them here does not care for agreeable inter- 
 coorse," said Darby, assuming a grand air. 
 
 " Come, Darby, I'd like to hear the story," said I. 
 
 After a few preparatory scruples, in which modesty, 
 offended dignity, and conscious merit struggled, Mr. 
 M'Keown began by informing us that he had once a most 
 ardent attachment to a certain Biddy Finn, of Ballyclough, 
 a lady of considerable personal attractions, to whom, for a 
 long time, he had been constant, and at last, through the 
 intervention of Father Curtin, agreed to marry. Darby'a 
 consent to the arrangements was not altogether the result 
 of his reverence's eloquence, nor indeed the justice of the 
 case — nor was it quite owing to Biddy's black eyes and 
 pretty lips — but rather to the soul-persuading powers of 
 some fourteen tumblers of strong punch which he swal- 
 lowed at a seance in Biddy's lather's house, one cold 
 evening in November ; after which he betook himself to 
 the road homewards, where— But we must give hia 
 Btory in his own words : —
 
 DARBY — THE " BLAST." 25 
 
 ** Whether it was the prospect of happiness before me, 
 or the potteen," quoth Darby, " but so it was, I never felt 
 a step of the road home that night, though it was every 
 foot of five mile. When I came to a stile, I used to give 
 a whoop, and over it ; then I'd run for a hundred yards or 
 two, flourish my stick, cry out, ' Who'll say a word against 
 Biddy Finn ? ' and then over another fence, flying. Well, 
 I reached home at last, and wet enough I was, but I didn't 
 care for that. I opened the door and struck a light — there 
 was the least taste of kindling on the hearth, and I put 
 some dry sticks into it, and some turf, and knelt down and 
 began blowing it up. 
 
 " 'Troth,' says I to myself, *if I wor married, it isn't 
 this way E'd be — on my knees like a nagur ; but when I'd 
 come home, there 'ud be a fine fire blazin' fornint me, and 
 a clean table out before it, and a beautiful cup of tay 
 waiting for me — and somebody I won't mintion, sitting 
 there, looking at me, smilin'.' 
 
 " ' Don't be making a fool of yourself, Darby M'Keown,* 
 said a gruff" voice near the chimley. 
 
 "I jumped at him, and cried out, 'Who's that?' but 
 there was no answer ; and at last, after going round the 
 kitchen, I began to think it was only my own voice I 
 heard ; so I knelt down again, and set to blowing away 
 at the fire. 
 
 " ' And it's yerself, Biddy,' says I, ' that would be an or- 
 nament to a dacent cabin ; and a purtier leg and foot ■' 
 
 " ' Be the light that shines, you're making me sick. 
 Darby M'Keown,' said the voice again. 
 
 " ' The heavens be about us ! ' says I, * what's that, and 
 who are you at all ? ' for someways I thought I knew the 
 voice. 
 
 " * I'm your father ! * says the voice. 
 
 " ' My father ! ' says I. ' Holy Joseph, is it truth you're 
 telling me ? ' 
 
 " ' The divil a word o' lie in it,' says the voice. ' Take 
 me down, and give me an air o' the fire, for the night's 
 cowld.' 
 
 " ' And where are you, father,* says I, ' av it's plasing 
 to ye ? ' 
 
 *' 'I'm on the dhresser,' says he. ' Don't you see me ? * 
 
 ** ' Sorra bit o' me. Where now ? '
 
 iiG TOM BURKE OF ** OUllS." 
 
 " ' Arrah, on the second shelf, next the rowllng-pin. 
 Don't you see the green jug ? — that's me.' 
 
 " ' Oh, the saints in heaven be about us ! ' says I ; * and 
 are you a green jug ? * 
 
 " *I am,' says he; *and sure I might be worse. Tim 
 Healey's mother is only a cullender, and she died two 
 years before me.' 
 
 " ' Oh, father, darlin',' says I, * I hoped you wor in glory, 
 and you only a jug all this time ! ' 
 
 " ' Never fret about it,' says my father ; * it's the trans- 
 mogrification of sowls, and we'll be right by-and-by. 
 Take me down, I say, and put me near the fire.' 
 
 " So I up and took him down, and wiped him with a 
 clean cloth, and put him on the hearth before the blaze. 
 
 " ' Darby,' says he, ' I'm famished with the druth. 
 Since you took to coortin' there's nothing ever goes into 
 my mouth — haven't you a taste of something in the 
 house ? ' 
 
 " I wasn't long till I hated some wather, and took down 
 the bottle of whisky and some sugar, and made a rousing 
 jugful, as strong as need be. 
 
 *' ' Are you satisfied, father ? ' says I. 
 
 " I am,' says he, ' you're a dutiful child ; and here's 
 your health, and don't be thinking of Biddy Finn.' 
 
 "With that my father began to explain how there was 
 never any rest nor quietness for a man after he married — - 
 more be token, if his wife was fond of talking ; and that he 
 never could take his dhrop of drink in comfort afterwards. 
 
 "'May I never,' says he, 'but I'd rather be a green 
 jug, as I am now, than alive again wid your mother. 
 Sure it's not here you'd be sitting to-night,' says he, 
 ' discoorsing with me, av you wor married, devil a bit. 
 Fill me,' says my father, * and I'll tell you more.' 
 
 " And sure enough I did, and we talked away till near 
 daylight ; and then the first thing I did was to take the 
 ould mare out of the stable, and set off to Father Curtin, 
 and towld him all about it, and how my father wouldn't 
 give his consent by no means. 
 
 " 'We'll not mind the marriage,' says his rivirence; 'but 
 go back and bring me your father — the jug, I mean — and 
 we'll try and get him out of trouble — for it's trouble he's 
 in, or he wouldn't be that way. Give me the two-pound-
 
 DARBY THE ** BLAST.** 27 
 
 ten,' says the priest : * you had it for the wedding, and it 
 will be better spent getting your father out of purgatory 
 than sending you into it.' " 
 
 " Arrah, aren't you ashamed of yourself? " cried the 
 cook, with a look of ineffable scorn, as he concluded. 
 
 " Look now," said Darby, *' see this — if it isn't 
 thruth " 
 
 " And what became of your father ? " interrupted the 
 butler. 
 
 " And Biddy Finn, what did she do ? " said the house- 
 maid. 
 
 Darby, however, vouchsafed no reply, but sat back in 
 his chair with an offended look, and sipped his liquor in 
 silence. 
 
 A fresh brew of punch under the butler's auspices 
 speedily, however, dispelled the cloud that hovered over 
 the conviviality of the party ; and even the cook voach- 
 safed to assist in the preparation of some rashers, which 
 Darby suggested " were beautiful things for the thirst at 
 this hour of the night " — but whether in allaying or excit- 
 ing it, he didn't exactly lay down. The conversation now 
 became general; and as they seemed resolved to continue 
 their festivities to a late hour, I took the first opportunity 
 I could, when unobserved, to steal away and return to my 
 own room. 
 
 No sooner alone again than all the sorrow of my lonely 
 state came back upon me ; and as I laid my head on my 
 pillow, the full measure of my misery flowed in upon my 
 heart, and I sobbed myself to sleep.
 
 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 The violent beating of the rain ap^ainst the g-lass, and the 
 loud crash of the storm as it shook the window-frames, or 
 snapped the sturdy branches of the old trees, awoke me. 
 I got up, and, opening the shutters, endeavoured to look 
 out ; but the darkness was impenetrable, and I could see 
 nothing but the gnarled and grotesque forms of the leafless 
 trees dimly marked against the sky, as they moved to and 
 fro like the arms of some mighty giant — masses of heavy 
 snow melted by the rain fell at intervals from the steep 
 roof, and struck the ground beneath with a low sumph 
 like thunder — a greyish, leaden tinge that marked the 
 horizon showed it was near daybreak ; but there was 
 nought of promise in this harbinger of morning. Like my 
 own career, it opened gloomily and in sadness ; so felt I 
 at least ; and as I sat beside the window, and strained my 
 eyes to pierce the darkening storm, I thought that even 
 watching the wild hurricane without was better than 
 brooding over the sorrows within my own bosom. 
 
 How long I remained thus I know not ; but already 
 the faint streak that announces sunrise marked the dull- 
 coloured sky, when the cheerful sounds of a voice singing 
 in the room underneath attracted me. I listened, and in 
 a moment recognized the piper. Darby M'Keown. He 
 moved quickly about, and by his motions I could collect 
 that he was making preparations for his journey. 
 
 If I could venture to pronounce, from the merry tones 
 of his voice, and the lio^ht elastic step with which he trod 
 the floor, I certainly would not suppose that the dreary 
 weather had any terror for him. He spoke so loud that I 
 could catch a great deal of the dialogue he maintained 
 with himself, and some odd verses of the song with which 
 from time to time he garnished his reflections. 
 
 " Marry, indeed ! — catch me at it — nabocklish — with the 
 country side before me, and the hoith of good eating and
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 29 
 
 drinking for a blast of the chauntre. Well, well, women's 
 quare craytures anyway. 
 
 Ho, ho ! Mister Barney, 
 
 No more of your blarney, 
 I'd have you not make so free ; 
 
 You may go where you plaze, 
 
 And make love at your ease. 
 But the devil may hive you for me. 
 
 Very well, Ma'am — Mister M'Keown is your most obedient 
 — never say it twice, honey — and isn't there as good tish, 
 eh ? — whoop ! 
 
 Oh ! my heart is unazy, 
 My brain is run crazy, 
 Sure it's often I wish I was dead ; 
 
 'Tis your smile now so sweet. 
 Now your ankles and feet, 
 That's walked into my heart, Molly Spread. 
 
 Tol de rol, de rol, oh ! 
 
 Whew ! that's rain, anyhow. I wouldn't mind it, bad as it 
 is, if I hadn't the side of a mountain before me ; but sure 
 it comes to the same in the end. Catty Del any is a good 
 warrant for a pleasant evening, and, please God, I'll be 
 playing ' Baltiorum ' beside the fire there before this time 
 to-night. 
 
 She'd a pig and boneens. 
 
 And a bed and a dresser. 
 And a nate little room 
 For the father confessor, 
 With a cupboard and curtains, and something, I'm towld. 
 That his riv'rance liked, when the weather was cowld. 
 
 And it's hurroo, hurroo ! Biddy O'RaflFerty. 
 
 After all, faix, the priest bates us out. There's eight 
 o'clock now, and I'm not off — devil a one's stirring in the 
 house either. Well, I believe 1 may take my leave of it. — 
 sorrow many tunes of the pipes it's likely to hear, with 
 Tony Basset over it ; and my heart's low when I think of 
 that child there. Poor Tom! and it was you liked fun 
 when you could have it." 
 
 I wanted but the compassionate tone in which these few 
 words were spoken to decide me in a resolution that I had 
 been for some time pondering over. I knew that ere many 
 hours Basset would come in search of me — I felt that.
 
 30 TOM Bur.KE OP "ours." 
 
 once in his power, I had. nothing to expect but the long- 
 promised payment of his old debt of hatred to me. In a 
 few seconds I ran over with myself the prospect of misery 
 before me, and determined at once, at every hazard, to 
 make my escape. Darby seemed to afford me the best pos- 
 sible opportunity for this purpose, and I dressed myself, 
 therefore, in the greatest haste, and, throwing whatever I 
 could find of my wardrobe into my carpet-bag, I pocketed 
 my little purse, with all my worldly wealth — some twelve 
 Dr thirteen shillings — and noiselessly slipped downstairs 
 to the room beneath. I reached the door at the very 
 moment Darby opened it to issue forth. He started back 
 with fear, and crossed himself twice. 
 
 " Don't be afraid. Darby," said I, uneasy lest he should 
 make any noise that would alarm the others ; "' I want to 
 know which road you are travelling this morning." 
 
 " The saints be about us, but you frightened me. Master 
 Tommy — though, intermediately, I may obsarve, I'm by 
 no ways timorous. I'm going within two miles of 
 Athlone." 
 
 " That's exactly where I want to go. Darby ; will you 
 take me with you ? " for at the instant Captain Babbleton's 
 address flashed on my mind, and I resolved to seek him 
 out and ask his advice in my difficulties. 
 
 " I see it all," replied Darby, as he placed the tip of his 
 finger on his nose. " I conceive your embarrassments — 
 you're afraid of Basset, and small blame to you ; but don't 
 do it, Master Tommy, don't do it, alannah : that's the 
 hardest life at all." 
 
 " What ? " said I, in amazement. 
 
 " To 'list : sure I know what you're after ; faix, it would 
 Barve you better to larn the pipes." 
 
 I hastened to assure Darby of his error, and in a few 
 tvords informed him of what I had overheard of Basset's 
 intentions respecting me. 
 
 " Make you an attorney !" said Darby, interrupting me 
 abruptly — " an attorney ! There's nothing so mean as an 
 attorney ; the police is gentlemen compared to them — they 
 fight it out fair like men ; but the other chaps sit in a 
 house planning and contriving mischief all day long, in- 
 venting every kind of wickedness, and then getting people 
 to do it. See, now, I believe in my conscience the devil
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 81 
 
 was tlie first attorney, and it was just to serv^e his own 
 ends that he bred a ruction between Adam and Eve. But 
 whisht! there's somebody stirring. Are you for the 
 road ? " 
 
 *' Yes, Darby ; my mind's made up." 
 
 Indeed, his own elegant eulogium on legal pursuits 
 assisted my resolution, and filled my heart with renewed 
 disgust at the thought of such a guardian as Tony Basset. 
 
 We walked stealthily along the gloomy passages, tra- 
 versed the old hall, and noiselessly withdrew the heavy 
 bolts and the great chain that fastened the door. The rain 
 was sweeping along the ground in torrents, and the wind 
 dashed it against the window-panes in fitful gusts. It 
 needed all our strength to close the door after us against 
 the storm, and it was only after several trials that we 
 succeeded in doing so. The hollow sound of the oak door 
 smote upon my heart as it closed behind me ; in an instant 
 the sense of banishment — of utter destitution — was present 
 to my mind. I turned my eyes to gaze upon the old house 
 — to take my last farewell of it for ever. Gloomy as my 
 prospect was, my sorrow was less for the sad future than 
 for the misery of the moment. 
 
 "No, Master Tom — no, you must go back," said Darby, 
 who watched with a tender interest the sickly paleness of 
 my cheek, and the tottering uncertainty of my walk. 
 
 " No, Darby," said I, with an effort at firmness, " I'll 
 not look round any more." And bending my head against 
 the storm, I stepped out boldly beside my companion. We 
 walked on without speaking, and soon left the neglected 
 avenue and ruined gate-lodge behind us, as we reached the 
 high road that led to Athlone. 
 
 Darby, who only waited to let my first burst of sorrow 
 ' find its natural vent, no sooner perceived from my step, 
 and the renewed colour of my cheek, that T had rallied my 
 courage once more, than he opened all his stores of agree- 
 ability, which, to my inexperience in such matters, were 
 by no means inconsiderable. Abandoning at once all high- 
 flown phraseology — which Mr. M'Keown, I afterwards 
 remarked, only retained as a kind of gala suit for great 
 occasions — he spoke freely and naturally ; lightening the 
 way with many a story — now grave, now gay — he seemed 
 to care little for the inclemency of the weather, and looked
 
 32 TOM BURKE OP ** OURS.** 
 
 pleasantly forward to a happy evening as an ample reward 
 for the present hardship. 
 
 *' And the Captain, Master Tom ; you say he's an agree- 
 able man? " said Darby, alluding to my late companion on 
 the coach, whose merits I was never tired of recapitulating. 
 
 " Oh, delightful ! He has travelled everywhere, and 
 seems to know everybody and everything. He's very rich, 
 too — I forget how many houses he has in England, and 
 elephants without number in India." 
 
 " Faix, you were in luck to fall in with him ! " observed 
 Darby. 
 
 " Yes, that I was ! I'm sure he'll do something for 
 me ; and for you too, Darby, when he knows you have 
 been so kind to me." 
 
 " Me ! What did I do, darling ? and what could I do, 
 a poor piper like me ? Wouldn't it be honour enough for 
 me, if a gentleman's son would travel the road with me ? 
 Darby M'Keown's a proud man this day to have you beside 
 him." 
 
 A ruined cabin in the road, whose blackened walls and 
 charred timbers denoted its fate, here attracted my com- 
 panion's attention. He stopped for a second or two to 
 look on it, and then, kneeling down, he muttered a short 
 prayer for the eternal rest of some one departed, and 
 taking up a stone, he threw it on a heap of similar ones 
 which lay near the door- side. 
 
 " What happened there, Derby ?" said I, as he resumed 
 his way. 
 
 " They wor out in the thrubles," was his only reply, as 
 he cast a glance behind, to perceive if any one had remarked 
 him. 
 
 Though he made no further allusion to the fate of those 
 who once inhabited the cabin, he spoke freely of his own 
 share in the eventful year of Ninety-eight ; justifying, as 
 it then seemed to me, every step of the patriotic party, and 
 explaining the causes of their unsuccess so naturally and 
 so clearly, that I could not help following with interest 
 every detail of his narrative, and joining in his regrets for 
 the unexpected and adverse strokes fortune dealt upon 
 them. As he warmed with his subject, he spoke of France 
 with an enthusiasm that 1 soon found contagious ; he told 
 me of the glorious career of the French armies in Italy and
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 83 
 
 Austria, and of that wonderful man of whom I then heard 
 for the first time, as spreading a halo of victory over his 
 nation ; contrasting, as he went on, the rewards which 
 awaited heroism and bravery in that service, with the pur- 
 chased promotion in ours, artfully illustrating his position 
 by a reference to myself, and what my fortunes would have 
 been if born under that happier sky. " No elder brother 
 there," said he, "to live in affluence, while the younger 
 ones are turned out to wander on the wide world, house- 
 less and penniless ; and all these things we might have 
 done, had we been but true to ourselves." 
 
 I drank in all he said with avidity; the bearing of his 
 arguments on my own fortunes gave them an interest 
 and an apparent truth my young mind eagerly devoured ; 
 and when he ceased to speak, I pondered over all he told 
 me in a spirit that left its impress on my whole future 
 life. 
 
 It was a new notion to me to connect my own fortunes 
 with anything in the political condition of the country, 
 and while it gave my young heart a kind of martyred 
 courage, it set my brain a-thinking on a class of subjects 
 which never before possessed any interest for me ; there 
 was a flattery, too, in the thought that I owed my 
 straitened circumstances less to any demerits of my own, 
 than to political disabilities. The time was well chosen 
 by my companion to instil his doctrines into my heart — 
 I was young, ardent, enthusiastic — my own wrongs had 
 taught me to hate injustice and oppression — my condition 
 had made me feel, and feel bitterly, the humiliation of 
 dependence; and if I listened with eager curiosity to 
 every story and every incident of the bygone rebellion, 
 it was because the contest was represented to me as one 
 between tyranny on one side and struggling liberty on the 
 other. I heard the names of those who sided with the 
 insurgent party extolled as the great and good men of 
 their country — their ancient families and hereditary claims 
 furnishing a contrast to many of the opposite party, whose 
 recent settlement in the island and new-born aristocracy 
 were held up in scoff and derision. In a word, I learned 
 to believe that the one side was characterized by cruelty, 
 oppression, and injustice, the other conspicuous only for 
 endurance, courage, patriotism, and truth. What a pic- 
 
 VOL. L D
 
 8^ TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 ture was this to a mind like mine ! and at a moment, too, 
 when I seemed to realize, in my own desolation, an exam- 
 ple of the very saflPerings I heard of. 
 
 If the portrait M'Keown drew of Ireland was sad and 
 gloomy, he painted France in colours the brightest and 
 most seductive. Dwelling less on the political advan- 
 tages which the revolution had won for the popular party, 
 he directed my entire attention to the brilliant career of 
 glory the French army had followed — the triumphant 
 success of the Italian campaign — the war in Germany, 
 and the splendour of Paris, which he represented as a very 
 paradise on earth ; but above all, he dwelt on the character 
 and achievements of the First Consul, recounting many 
 anecdotes of his early life, from the period when he was 
 a schoolboy at Brienne, to the hour when he dictated the 
 conditions of peace to the oldest monarchies of Europe, 
 and proclaimed war with the voice of one who came as 
 an avenger. 
 
 I drank in every word he spoke with avidity — the very 
 enthusiasm of his manner was contagious — I felt my 
 heart bound with rapturous delight at some hardy deed 
 of soldierlike daring, and conceived a kind of wild 
 idolatry for the man who seemed to have infused his 
 own glorious temperament into the mighty thousands 
 around him, and converted a whole nation into heroes. 
 
 Darby's information on all these matters — which seemed 
 to me something miraculous — had been obtained at dif- 
 ferent periods from French emissaries who were scattered 
 through Ireland, many of them old soldiers, who had 
 served in the campaigns of Egypt and Italy. 
 
 " But sure, if you'd come with me. Master Tom, I 
 could bring you where you'll see them yourself, and you 
 could talk to them of the battles and skirmishes, for I 
 suppose you spake French." 
 
 " Very little, Darby. How sorry I am now that I 
 don't know it well." 
 
 " No matter, they'll soon teach you, and many a thing 
 beside. There's a captain I know of, not far from where 
 we are this minute, could learn you the small sword — 
 in style, he could. I wish you saw him in his green 
 uniform with white facings, and three elegant crosses 
 upon it that General Bonaparte gave him with his own
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 85 
 
 hands ; he had them on one Sunday, and I never see'd 
 anything equal to it." 
 
 " And are there many French officers hereabouts ? " 
 
 " Not now ; no, they're almost all gone. After the 
 rising they went back to France, except a few. Well, 
 there'll be call for them again, please God." 
 
 " Will there be another rebellion, then, Darby ? " 
 
 As I put this question fearlessly, and in a voice loud 
 enough to be heard at some distance, a horseman, wrapped 
 up in a loose cloth cloak, was passing ; he suddenly pulled 
 up short, and turning his horse round, stood exactly oppo- 
 site to the piper. Darby saluted the stranger respect- 
 fully, and seemed desirous to pass on, but the other, 
 turning round in his saddle, fixed a stern look on him, 
 and he cried out, — • 
 
 " What ! at the old trade, M'Keown. Is there no 
 curing you, eh ? " 
 
 " Just so. Major," said Darby, assuming a tone of 
 voice he had not made use of the entire morning; " I'm 
 conveying a little instrumental recreation." 
 
 " None of your d — d gibberish with me. Who's that 
 with you?" 
 
 " He's the son of a neighbour of mine, your honour," 
 said Darby, with an imploring look at me not to betray 
 him. "His father's a schoolmaster — a philomath, as one 
 might say." 
 
 I was about to contradict this statement bluntly, when 
 the stranger called out to me, — 
 
 " Mark me, young sir, you're not in the best of company 
 this morning, and I recommend you to part with your 
 friend as soon as may be. And you," said he, turning 
 to Darby, " let me see you in Athlone at ten o'clock to- 
 morrow. D'ye hear me ? " 
 
 The piper grew pale as death as he heard this com- 
 mand, to which he only responded by touching his hat 
 in silence ; while the horseman, drawing his cloak around, 
 dashed his spurs into his beast's flanks, and was 
 soon out of sight. Darby stood for a moment or two 
 looking down the road where the stranger had disap- 
 peared ; a livid hue coloured his cheek, and a tremulous 
 quivering of his under lip gave him the appearance of 
 one in ague. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 " I'll be even with ye yet," muttered he between his 
 clenched teeth ; " and when the hour comes " 
 
 Here he repeated some words in Irish with a vehemence 
 of manner that actually made my blood tingle ; then sud- 
 denly recovering himself, he assumed a kind of sickly 
 smile. " That's a hard man, the Major." 
 
 " I'm thinking," said Darby, after a pause of some min- 
 utes — "I'm thinking it's better for you not to go into 
 Athlone with me ; for if Basset wishes to track you out, 
 that'll be the first place he'll try; besides, now that the 
 Major has seen you, he'll never forget you." 
 
 Having pledged myself to adopt any course my com- 
 panion recommended, he resumed : — 
 
 " Ay, that's the best way. I'll lave you at Ned Malone's, 
 in the Glen ; and when I've done with the Major in the 
 morning, I'll look after your friend the Captain, and tell 
 him where you are." 
 
 I readily assented to this arrangement, and only asked 
 what distance it might yet be to Ned Malone's, for 
 already I began to feel fatigue. 
 
 '*Agood ten miles," said Darby, "no less; but we'll 
 stop here above, and get something to eat, and then we'll 
 take a rest for an hour or two, and you'll think nothing of 
 the road after." 
 
 I stepped out with increased energy at the cheering 
 prospect ; and although the violence of the weather was 
 nothing abated, I consoled myself with thinking of the 
 rest and refreshment before me, and resolved not to bestow 
 a thought upon the present. Darby, on the other hand, 
 seemed more depressed than before, and betrayed in many 
 ways a state of doubt and uncertainty as to his movement' 
 — sometimes pushing on rapidly for half a mile or so, then 
 relapsing into a slow and plodding pace, often looking back^ 
 too, and more than once coming to a perfect stand-still, 
 talking the whole time to himself in a low muttering voice. 
 
 In this way we proceeded for above two miles, when at 
 last I descried through the beating rain the dusky gable 
 of a small cabin in the distance, and eagerly asked if that 
 were to be our halting-place. 
 
 "Yes," said Darby, "that's Peg's cabin; and though 
 it's not very remarkable in the way of cookery or the lik^ 
 it's the only house within seven miles of us."
 
 THE DEPARTURE, 37 
 
 As we ca.me nearer, the aspect of the building became 
 even less enticing. It was a low mud hovel, with a miser- 
 able roof of sods, or scraws, as they are technically called ; 
 a wretched attempt at a chimney occupying the gable, and 
 the front to the road containing a small square aperture, 
 with a single pane of glass as a window, and a wicker con- 
 trivance in the shape of a door, which, notwithstanding 
 the severity of the day, lay wide open to permit the exit 
 of the smoke, which rolled more freely through this than 
 through the chimney. A filthy pool of stagnant, green- 
 covered water stood before the door, through which a little 
 causeway of earth led. Upon this a thin, lank-sided sow 
 was standing to be rained on, her long, pointed snout 
 turned meditatively towards the luscious mud beside her. 
 Displacing this important member of the family with an 
 unceremonious kick, Darby stooped to enter the low 
 doorway, uttering as he did so the customary " God 
 save all here!" As I followed him in, I did not catch 
 the usual response to the greeting and from the thick 
 smoke which filled the cabin, could see nothing whatever 
 aroand me. 
 
 "Well, Peg," said Darby, "how is it with you the 
 day?" 
 
 A low grunting noise issued from the foot of a little mud 
 wall beside the fire-place. I turned and beheld the figure 
 of a woman of some seventy years of age, seated beside 
 the turf embers ; her dark eyes, bleared with smoke and 
 dimmed with age, were still sharp and piercing, and her 
 nose, thin and aquiline, indicated a class of features by no 
 means common among the people. Her dress was the 
 blue frieze coat of a labouring man, over the woollen gown 
 usually worn by women. Her feet and legs were bare, 
 and her head was covered with an old straw bonnet, whose 
 faded ribbon and tarnished finery betokened its having 
 once belonged to some richer owner. There was no ves- 
 tige of any furniture — neither table, nor chair, nor dresser, 
 nor even a bed, unless some straw laid against the wall 
 in one corner could be thus called; a pot suspended over 
 the wet and sodden turf by a piece of hay rope, and an 
 earthen pipkin with water stood beside her. The floor of 
 the hovel, lower in many places than the road without, 
 was cut up into sloppy mud by the tread of the sow,
 
 88 TOM BURKE OP " OURS.*' 
 
 who ranged at will through the premises. In a word, 
 more dire and wretched poverty it was impossible to con- 
 ceive. 
 
 Darby's first movement was to take off the lid and peer 
 into the pot, when the bubbling sound of the boiling po- 
 tatoes assured him that we should have at least something 
 to eat ; his next was, to turn a little basket upside down 
 tor a seat, to which he motioned me with his hand ; then, 
 approaching the old woman, he placed his hand to his 
 mouth and shouted in her ear, — 
 
 *' What's the Major after this morning, Peg ? " 
 
 She shook her head gloomily a couple of times, but gave 
 no answer. 
 
 " I'm thinking there's bad work going on at the town 
 there," cried he, in the same loud tone as before. 
 
 Peg muttered something in Irish, but far too low to be 
 audible. 
 
 " Is she mad, poor thing ? " said I, in a whisper. 
 
 The words were not well uttered, when she darted on 
 me her black and piercing eyes, with a look so steadfast 
 as to make me quail beneath them. 
 
 " Who's that there ? " said the hag, in a croaking, harsh 
 voice. 
 
 " He's a young boy from beyond Loughrea." 
 
 " No I " shouted she, in a tone of passionate energy, 
 " don't tell me a lie. I'd know his brows among a thou- 
 sand : he's a son of Mat Burke's, of Cronmore." 
 
 " Begorra, she is a witch — devil a doubt of it," muttered 
 Darby between his teeth. " You're right. Peg," continued 
 he, after a moment. " His father's dead, and the poor 
 child's left nothing in the world." 
 
 " And so ould Mat's dead," interrupted she. " When 
 did he die?" 
 
 '* On Tuesday morning, before day." 
 
 " I was dhraming of him that morning, and I thought 
 he kem up here to the cabin door on his knees, and said, 
 ' Peggy, Peggy M'Casky, I'm come to ax your pardon for 
 all I done to you ;' and I sat up in my bed, and cried out, 
 * Who's that? ' and he said, ' 'Tis me — 'tis Mister Burke — 
 I'm come to give you back your lease.' ' I'll tell you 
 what you'll give me back,' says I, ' give me the man whose 
 heart you bruck with bad treatment— give me the two fine
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 89 
 
 boys you transported for life — give me back twenty years 
 of my own, that I spent in sorrow and misery.' " 
 
 " Peg, acusUa ! don't speak of it any more. The poor 
 child here, that's fasting from daybreak, he isn't to blame 
 for what his lather did. I think the praties is done by 
 this time." 
 
 So saying, he lifted the pot from the fire, and carried it 
 to the door to strain off the water. The action seemed to 
 rouse the old woman, who rose rapidly to her legs, and, 
 hastening to the door, snatched the pot from his hand 
 and pushed him to one side. 
 
 " 'Tis two days since I tasted bit or sup. 'Tis God 
 himself knows when and where I may have it again; but 
 if I never broke my fast I'll not do it with the son of him 
 that left me a lone woman this day, that brought the man 
 that loved me to the grave, and my children to shame for 
 ever." 
 
 As she spoke, she dashed the pot into the road with 
 such force as to break it into fifty pieces ; and then, sitting 
 down on the outside of the cabin, she wrung her hands 
 and moaned piteously, in the very excess of her sorrow. 
 
 " Let us be going," said Darby, in a whisper. '* There's 
 DO spaking to her when she's one of them fits on her." 
 
 We moved silently from the hovel, and gained the road. 
 My heart was full to bursting — shame and abasement 
 overwhelmed me, and I dared not look up. 
 
 " Good-bye, Peg. T hope we'll be better friends when 
 we meet again," said Darby, as he passed out. 
 
 She made no reply, but entered the cabin, from which, 
 in an instant after, she emerged, carrying a lighted sod of 
 turf in a rude wooden tongs. 
 
 '* Come along quick," said Darby, with a look of terror, 
 ** she's going to curse you." 
 
 I turned round, transfixed and motionless. If my life 
 depended on it, I could not have stirred a limb. The old 
 woman by this time had knelt down on the road, and was 
 muttering rapidly to herself. 
 
 " Come along, I say," said Darby, pulling me by the 
 arm. 
 
 " And now," cried the hag aloud, *' may bad luck be 
 your shadow wherever you walk, with sorrow behind and 
 bad hopes before you — may you never taste happiness
 
 40 TOM BURKE OF " OUKS." 
 
 nor ease, and, like this turf, may your heart be always 
 
 V>urning here, and " 
 
 1 heard no more, for Darby, tearing me away by main 
 force, dragged me along the road, jnst as the hissing turf 
 embers had fallen at my feet, where the hag had thrown 
 them. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 MY WANDERINGS. 
 
 I CANNOT deny it, the horrible imprecation I had heard 
 nttered against me seemed to fill up the cup of my miseiy. 
 An outcast, without home, without a friend, this alone 
 was wanting to overwhelm me with very wretchedness ; 
 and, as I covered my face with both hands, 1 thought my 
 heart would break. 
 
 " Come, come, Master Tom," said Darby, " don't be 
 afeard, it'll never do you harm, all she said. I made the 
 sign of the cross on the road between you and her with the 
 end of my stick, and you're safe enough this time. Faix, 
 she's a quare divil when she's roused — to destroy an illigint 
 pot of praties that way ; but sure she had hard provoca- 
 tion. Well, well, you warn't to blame, any how : Tony 
 Basset will have a sore reckoning some day for all this." 
 
 The mention of that name recalled me in a moment to 
 the consideration of my own danger if he were to succeed 
 in overtaking me, and I eagerly communicated my fear to 
 •Darby. 
 
 "That's thrue," said he; "we must leave the high 
 road, for Basset will be up at the house by this, and will 
 lose no time in following you out. If you had a bit of 
 something to eat." 
 
 "As to that, Darby," said I, with a sickly effort to 
 smile, " Peg's curse took away my appetite, full as well as 
 her potatoes would have done."
 
 c^yy^ '0f^4Jie^

 
 MY WANDERINGS. 41 
 
 *' 'Tis a bad way to breakfast, after all," said Darby. 
 *' Do you ever take a shaugh of the pipe. Master Tom ? " 
 " No,'* said I, laughing, " I never learned to smoke yet." 
 " Well," replied he, a little piqued by the tone of my 
 answer, " 'tis worse you might be doin' than that same. 
 Tobacco's a fine thing for the heart ! Many's the time, 
 when I'm alone, if I hadn't the pipe I'd be lone and 
 sorrowful — thinking over the hard times and the like ; 
 but when I've filled my dudeen, and do be watching the 
 smoke curling up, I begin dhraming about sitting round 
 the fire with pleasant companions, chatting away, and dis- 
 coorsing, and telling stories ; and then I invint the stories 
 to myself about quare devils of pipers travelling over the 
 country, making love here and there, and playing dhroll 
 tunes out of their own heads ; and then I make the tunes 
 to them : and after that, maybe, I make words, and 
 sometimes lay down the pipe and begin singing to my- 
 self; and often I take up the bagpipes and play away 
 with all my might, till I think I see the darlingest little 
 fairies ever you seen dancing before me, setting to one 
 another, and turning round, and capering away — down the 
 middle and up again: small chaps, with three-cornered 
 hats, and wigs, and little red coats, all slashed with goold ; 
 and beautiful little craytures houlding their petticoats this 
 way, to show a nate leg and foot ; and I do be calling out 
 to them — ' Hands round ' — ' That's your sowl' — ' Look at 
 the green fellow, 'tis himself can do it ' — ' Rise the jig, 
 hoo ! ' and faix 'tis sorry enough I'm when they go, and 
 lave me all alone by myself." 
 
 *' And how does all that come into your head, Darby ? " 
 " Troth, 'tis hard to tell," said Darby, with a sigh ; " but 
 my notion is, that the poor man that has neither fine 
 houses, nor fine clothes, nor horses, nor sarvants to amuse 
 him, that Providence is kind to him in another way, and 
 fills his mind with all manner of dhroll thoughts, and 
 quare stories, and bits of songs, and the like ; and lets 
 him into many a sacret about fairies, and the good people, 
 that the rich has no time for : and sure you must have 
 often remarked it, that the quality has never a bit of fnn 
 in them at all, but does be always coming to us for some- 
 thing to make them laugh. Did you never lave the 
 parlour, when the company was sitting with lashings of
 
 42 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 wine and fruit, and every convaniency, and go down staire 
 to the kitchen, where maybe there was nothing but a salt 
 herrin' and a jug of punch, and if you did, where was the 
 most fun, I wondher ? Arrah, when they bid me play a 
 tune for them, and I look at their sorrowful pale faces, 
 and their dim eyes, and the stiff way they sit upon their 
 chairs, I never put heart in it ; but when I rise ' Dirty 
 James,' or ' The Little Bould Fox,' or ' Kiss my Lady,' for 
 the boys and girls, sure 'tis my whole sowl does be in the 
 bag, and I squeeze the notes out of it with all my might." 
 
 In this way did Darby converse until we reached a cross 
 road, when, coming to a halt, he pointed with his finger 
 to the distance, and said, — 
 
 "Athlone is down beyond that low mountain. ISTow, 
 Ned Malone's is only six short miles from this. You keep 
 this by-road till you reach the smith's forge, then turn 
 off to the lift, across the fields, till you come to an ould 
 ruin, lave that to your right hand, and follow the boreen 
 straight, 'twill bring you to Ned's doore." 
 
 " But I don't know him," said I. 
 
 " What signifies that — sure 'tis no need you have — tell 
 Lim you'll stop there till Darby the Blast conies for you ; 
 and see, now, here's all you have to do — put your right 
 thumb in the palm of your lift hand, this way, and then 
 kiss the other thumb, and then you have it ; but mind you 
 don't do that till you're alone with him — 'tis a token 
 between ourselves." 
 
 " I wish you were coming with me, Darby — I'd rather 
 not leave you ! " 
 
 " 'Tis myself mislikes it, too," said Darby, with a sigh ; 
 "but I daren't miss going to Athlone, the Major would 
 soon ferret me out — and it's worse it would be for me." 
 
 " And what am I to do if Mr. Basset comes after me ? " 
 
 If he hasn't a throop of horse at his back, you may 
 laugh at him in Ned Malone's. And now good-bye, 
 acushla ; and don't let your heart be low — you'll be a man 
 soon, you know." 
 
 The words of encouragement could not have been more 
 happily chosen to raise my drooping spirits. The sense of 
 opening manhood was already stirring within me, and 
 waited but for some direct occasion to elicit it in full 
 vigour.
 
 MY WANDERINGS. 43 
 
 I shook Darby's hand with a firm grasp, and, assuming 
 the easiest smile I could accomplish, I set out on the path 
 before me with all the alacrity in my power. 
 
 The first thought that shot across my mind when I 
 parted with my companion was the utter loneliness of my 
 condition ; the next— and it followed immediately on the 
 other — was tlie bold consciousness of personal freedom. 
 I enjoyed, at the moment, the untrammelled liberty to 
 wander, without let or control. All memory of Tony 
 Basset was forgotten, and I only remembered the restraint 
 of school and the tyranny of my master. My plan — and 
 already I had formed a plan — was to become a farmer's 
 servant — to work as a daily labourer. Ned Malone would 
 probably accept of me, young as I was, in that capacity ; 
 and I had no other ambition than such as secured my 
 independence. 
 
 As I travelled along I wove within my mind a whole 
 web of imaginary circumstances — of days of peaceful 
 toil; of nights of happy and contented rest; of friend- 
 ship formed with those of my own age and condition ; 
 of the long summer evenings, when I should ramble 
 alone to commune with myself on my humble but happy 
 lot ; on the red hearth in winter, aronnd which the merry 
 faces of the cottagers were beaming, as some pleasant 
 tale was told ; and as I asked myself, would I exchange 
 a life like this for all the advantages of fortune my 
 brother's position aff'orded him, my heart replied. No. 
 Even then the words of the piper had worked upon me, 
 and already had I connected the possession of wealth 
 with oppression and tyranny, and the lowly fortunes of 
 the poor man as alone securing high-souled liberty of 
 thought and freedom of speech and action. 
 
 I trudged along through the storm, turning from time 
 to time to see that I was not pursued ; for, as the day 
 waned, my fear of being overtaken increased, and in 
 every moaning of the wind and every rustle of the 
 branches I thought T heard Tony Basset surarxioning me 
 to stop and surrender myself his prisoner. This dread 
 gradually gave way, as the loneliness of the .'oad was 
 unbroken by a single traveller, the wild half-tilled fields 
 presented no living object far or near, the thick rain 
 Bwooped along the swampy earth, and, in its misty dark-
 
 44 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS." 
 
 Ress, sliut out all distant prospect, and a sadder picture 
 eye never rested on. 
 
 At length I reached the ruined church Darby spoke of, 
 and following the track he indicated, soon came out upon 
 the boreen, where for the first time some little shelter 
 existed. 
 
 It was only at nightfall, when fatigue and hunger had 
 nearly obtained the victory over me, that I saw, at some 
 short distance in front, the long roof of a well-thatched 
 cabin ; as I came nearer, I could perceive that it contained 
 several windows, and that the door was sheltered by a 
 small porch — marks of comfort by no means common 
 among the neighbouring farmers ; lights moved here and 
 there through the cabin, and the voices of people driving 
 in the cows, and the barking of dogs, were welcome 
 sounds to my ear. A half-clad urchin, of some seven 
 years old, armed with a huge bramble, was driving a flock 
 of turkeys before him as I approached ; but instead of 
 replying to my question, "If this were Ned Malone's?" 
 the little fellow threw down his weapon, and ran for his 
 life. Before I could recover from my surprise at his 
 strange conduct the door opened, and a large, powerful- 
 looking man, in a long blue coat, appeared. He carried 
 a musket in his hand, which, as soon as he perceived the 
 figure before him, he laid down within the porch, calling 
 out to some one inside, — 
 
 " Go back, Maurice — it's nothing. Well, sir," continued 
 he, addressing me, " do you want anybody hereabouts ? " 
 
 "Is this Ned Malone's, may I ask ? " said I. 
 
 " It is," answered he, " and I am Ned Malone, at your 
 service ; and what then ? " 
 
 There was something in the cold, forbidding tone in 
 which he spoke, as well as in the hard severity of his look, 
 that froze all my resolution to ask a favour, and I would 
 gladly have sought elsewhere for shelter for the night, 
 had I known where to look. 
 
 The delay this indecision on my part created caused him 
 fco repeat his question, while he fixed his eyes on me with 
 a dark and piercing expression. 
 
 " Darby the Blast told me," said I, with a great effort 
 to seem at ease, " that you would give me shelter to-night. 
 To-morrow morning he's to come here for me."
 
 MY WANDERINGS. 45 
 
 "And who are you ?" said he, harshly, "that I am to 
 take into my house ? In these troublesome times a man 
 may ask the name of his lodger." 
 
 "My name is Burke. My father's name was Burke, of 
 Cremore, but he's dead now." 
 
 " 'Tis you that Basset is after all day, is it ? " 
 
 " I can't tell, but I fear it may be." 
 
 "Well, some one told him that you took the Dublin 
 road, and another sent him up here, and the boys here 
 sent him to Durragh. And what are you after, younc;- 
 gentleman ? Do you dislike Tony Basset ? Is that it ? " 
 
 "Yes," said I, "I'm resolved never to go home and 
 live with him. He made my father hate me, and through 
 him I have been left a beggar." 
 
 " There's more than you has a score to settle with 
 Tony. Come into the house and get your clothes dried. 
 Bat stop, I have a bit of a caution to give you. If you see 
 anything or anybody while you're under my roof that you 
 didn't expect " 
 
 " Trust me there," interrupted I, eagerly, and making 
 the sign the piper had taught me. 
 
 "What!" cried Malone, in astonishment, "are you one 
 of us? Is a son of Matt Burke's going to redress the 
 wrongs his father and grandfather before him inflicted ? 
 Give me your hand, my brave boy ; there's nothing in 
 this house isn't your own from this minit." 
 
 I grasped his strong hand in mine, and with a proud 
 and swelling heart, followed him into the cabin. 
 
 A whisper crept round the various persons that sat 
 and stood about the kitchen fire as I appeared among 
 them ; and the next moment one after another pressed 
 anxiously forward to shake hands with me. 
 
 " Help him ofl' with his wet clothes, Maurice," said 
 Malone, to a young man of some twenty years ; and in a 
 few seconds my wet garments were hung on chairs before 
 the blaze, and I myself, accompanied with a frieze coat 
 that would make a waistcoat lor an elephant, sat basking 
 before the cheerful turf fire. The savoury steam of a great 
 mess of meat and potatoes induced me to peep into the 
 large pot over the fire ; a hearty burst of laughing from 
 the whole party acknowledged their detection of my 
 ravenous hunger, and the supper was smoking on the
 
 46 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 board in a few minutes after. Unliappily, a good 
 number of years have rolled over my head since that 
 night ; but I still hesitate to decide whether to my appe- 
 tite or to Mrs. Malone's cookery I should attribute it, but 
 certainly my performance on that occasion called forth 
 unqualified admiration. 
 
 I observed, during the supper, that one of the girls carried 
 a plateful of the savoury dish into a small room at the end 
 of the kitchen, carefully closing the door after her as she 
 entered, and, when she came out, exchanging with Malone 
 a few hurried words, to which the attention of the others 
 was evidently directed. The caution I had already received, 
 and my own sense of propriety, prevented my paying any 
 attention to this, and I conversed with those about me, 
 freely narrating the whole circumstances of my departure 
 from home, my fear of Basset, and my firm resolve — come 
 what might — never to become an inmate of his house and 
 family. Not all the interest they took in my fortunes, nor 
 even the warm praises of what they called my courage and 
 manliness, could ward off the tendency to sleep, and my 
 eyes actually closed as I lay down in my bed, and, notwith- 
 standing the noise of voices and the sounds of laughter so 
 near me, sank into the heaviest slumber.
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CABIN. 
 
 Before day broke, the stir and bustle of the household 
 awoke me, and, had it not been for the half-open door, 
 which permitted a view of the proceedings in the kitchen, 
 I should have been sadly puzzled to remember where I was. 
 The cheerful turf fire, the happy faces, and the pleasant 
 voices, all reminded me of the preceding night, and I lay 
 pondering over my fortunes, and revolving within myself 
 many a plan for the future. 
 
 In all the day-dreams of ambition in which youth in- 
 dulges, there is this advantage over the projects of maturer 
 years — the past never mingles with the future. In after 
 life our by-gone existence is ever tinging the time to come ; 
 the expectations friends have formed of us, the promises 
 we have made to our own hearts, the hopes we have created, 
 seem to pledge us to something which, if unattained, 
 sounds like failure ; but, in earlier years, the budding con- 
 sciousness of our ability to reach the goal does but stimulate 
 us, and never chills our efforts by the dread of disappoint- 
 ment. We have, as it were, only bound ourselves in re- 
 cognizances with our own hearts — the world has not gone 
 bail for us, and our falling short involves not the ruin of 
 others, nor the loss of that self-respect which is but the 
 reflex of the opinion of society. I felt this strongly ; and, 
 the more I ruminated on it, the more resolutely bent was T 
 to adopt some bold career — some enterprising path, where 
 ambition should supply to me the pleasures and excitements 
 that others found among friends and home. 
 
 I now perceived how unsuitable would be to me the 
 quiet monotony of a peasant's life — how irksome the recur- 
 rence of the same daily occupations — the routine of ceaseless 
 labour — the intercourse with those whose views and hopes 
 strayed not beyond their own hedge-rows. A soldier's life 
 appeared to realize all that I looked for ; but then, the 
 conversation of the piper recurred to me, and I remembered
 
 48 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 how he painted these men to me as mere hireling bravos, 
 to whom glory or fame was nothing, merely actuated by 
 the basest of passions, the slaves of tyranny. All the 
 atrocities he mentioned of the military in the past year 
 came up before me, and with them the brave resistance of 
 the people in their struggle for independence. How my 
 heart glowed with enthusiasm as I thought over the bold 
 stand they had made, and how I panted to be a man, and 
 linked in such a cause. Every gloomy circumstance in my 
 own fate seemed as the result of that grinding oppression 
 under which my country suffered, even to the curse vented 
 on me by one whose ruin and desolation lay at my own 
 father's door. My temples throbbed, and my heart beat 
 painfully against my side, as I revolved these thoughts 
 within me ; and when I rose from my bed that morning I 
 was a rebel with all my soul. 
 
 The day, like the preceding one, was stormy and incle- 
 ment. The rain poured down without ceasing, and the dark, 
 louring sky gave no promise of better things. The house- 
 hold of the cottage remained all at home, and betook them- 
 selves to such occupations as in-door permitted. The 
 women sat down to their spinning-wheels — some of the 
 men employed themselves in repairing their tools, and 
 others in making nets for fishing ; but all were engaged. 
 Meanwhile, amid the sounds of labour was mixed the busy 
 hum of merry voices, as they chatted away pleasantly, with 
 many a story and many a song lightening the long hours 
 of the dark day. As for me, I longed impatiently for 
 Darby's return ; a thousand half-formed plans were flitting 
 through my mind, and I burned to hear whether Basset 
 was still in pursuit of me — what course he was adopting 
 to regain me within his control — if Darby had seen my 
 friend Bubbleton, and whether he showed any disposition 
 to befriend and protect me. These and such like thoughts 
 kept passing through my mind ; and, as the storm would 
 shake the rude door, I would stand up with eagerness, 
 hoping every moment to see him enter. But the day 
 moved on, and the dusky half-light of a wintry afternoon 
 was falling, and Darby made not his appearanee. When I 
 spoke of him to the others, they expressed no surprise at 
 his absence, merely remarking that he was always uncertain 
 •—no one knew when to expect him — that he rarely came
 
 THE CABIN 49 
 
 when they looked for him, and constantly di'opped in when 
 no one anticipated it. 
 
 " There he is now, then," said one of the young men, 
 springing up and opening the door ; '' I hear his voice in 
 the glen." 
 
 "Do you see him, Maurice ? " cried Malone. " Is it 
 liim ?" 
 
 The young man stepped back, his face pale as death, 
 and his mouth partly open. He whispered a word in the 
 old man's ear, to which the other responded : 
 
 " Where ? " The youth pointed with his finger. " How 
 many are they ? " was his next question, while his dark 
 eye g:lanced towards the old musket that hung on the wall 
 above the fire. 
 
 " Too many — too many for us," said Maurice, bitterly. 
 
 The women, who had gathered around the speaker, 
 looked at each other with an expression of utter wretched- 
 ness, when one of them, breaking from the others, rushed 
 into the little inner room off' the kitchen, and slammed the 
 door violently behind her. The next instant the sound of 
 voices was heard from the room, as if in altercation. Ma- 
 lone turned round at once, and, throwing the door wid 
 open, called out : 
 
 " Be quiet, I say. There's not a moment to be lost. 
 Maurice, put that gun away^ — Sbamus, take up your net 
 again — sit down, girls." 
 
 At the same instant he drew from his bosom a long 
 horse pistol, and, having examined the loading and priming, 
 replaced it within his waistcoat, and sat down on a chair 
 beside the fire, his strongly marked countenance fixed on 
 the red blaze, while his lips muttered rapidly some words 
 to himself. 
 
 " Are ye ready there ?" he cried, as his eyes were turned 
 towards the small door. 
 
 " In a minit," said the woman from within. 
 
 At the same instant the sounds of voices and the regular 
 tramp of men marching were heard without. 
 
 '• Halt ! stand at ease !" called out a deep voice, and the 
 clank of the muskets as they fell to the ground was heard 
 through the cabin. Meanwhile, every one within had re- 
 sumed his previous place and occupation, and the buzz of 
 voices resounded through the kitchen, as though no inier- 
 
 YOL. I. S
 
 60 TOM BUEKE OF " OURS." 
 
 ruption whatever bad taken place. The latch was now 
 lifted, and a sergeant, stooping to permit his tall feather to 
 pass in, entered, followed by a man in plain clothes. 
 
 The latter was a short, powerfully-built man, of about 
 fifty ; his hair of a grizzly grey, contrasted with the deep 
 purple of his countenance, which was swollen and bloated 
 — the mouth, its most remarkable feature, was large and 
 thick-lipped — the under lip projecting considerably forward, 
 and having a strange, convulsive motion when he was not 
 speaking. 
 
 '• It's a hard day, Mister Barton," said Malone, rising 
 from his seat, and stroking down his hair with one 
 hand. " Won't ye come over and take an air at the 
 fire?" 
 
 " I will, indeed, I^ed," said he, taking the proffered seat, 
 and stretching out his legs to the blaze. " It's a severe 
 sea so we have. 1 don't know how the poor are to get in 
 the turf; the bogs are very wet entirely." 
 
 " They are, indeed, sir ; and the harvest 'ill be very late 
 getting in now," said one of the young men, with a most 
 obsequious voice. "Won't ye sit down, sir?" said he to 
 the sergeant. 
 
 A nod from Mister Barton in acquiescence decided the 
 matter, and the sergeant was seated. 
 
 " What's here, Mary ?" said Barton, striking the large 
 pot that hung over the fire with his foot. 
 
 " It's the boys' dinner, sir," said the girl. 
 
 " I think it wouldn't be a bad job if we joined them,** 
 replied he, laughingly — " eh, sergeant ?" 
 
 " There 'ill be enough for us all," said Malone, " and I'm 
 sure ye're welcome to it." 
 
 The table was quickly spread, the places next the fire 
 being reserved for the strangers ; while Malone, unlocking 
 a cupboard, took down a bottle of whisky, which he placed 
 before them, remarking, as he did so — 
 
 " Dont be afeard, gentlemen — 'tis Parliament." 
 
 " That's right, Malone. I like a man to be loyal in these 
 bad times ; there's nothing like it. Faith, Mary, you're a 
 good cook — that's as savoury a stew as ever I tasted. 
 Where's Patsey now? I haven't seen him for some 
 time." 
 The girl's face grew dark red, and then became as suddenly
 
 THE CABIN. 51 
 
 pale ; when, staggering back, she lifted her apron to 
 her face, and leaned against the dresser. 
 
 " He's transported for life," said Malone, in a deep, 
 sepulchral voice, while all his efforts to conceal agitation 
 were fruitless. 
 
 " Oh, I remember," said Barton, carelessly, " he was in 
 the dock with the Hogans. I'll take another bone from 
 you Ned. Sergeant, that's a real Irish dish, and no bad 
 one either." 
 
 " What's doing at the town to-day ?" said Malone, affect- 
 ing an air of easy indifference. 
 
 " Nothing remarkable, I believe ; they have taken up 
 that rascal, Darby the Blast, as they call him. The Major 
 had him under examination this morning for two hours ; 
 and they say he'll give evidence against the Dillons — a 
 little more fat if ye please — money, you know, Ned, will 
 do anything these times." 
 
 " You ought to know that, sir," said Maurice, with such 
 an air of assumed innocence as actually made Barton look 
 ashamed. In an instant, however, he recovered himself, 
 and pretended to laugh at the remark. "Your health, 
 sergeant — Ned Malone, your health — ladies, yours, and 
 boys the same." A shower of " thank ye, sir's," followed 
 this piece of unlooked-for courtesy. " Who's that boy 
 there, Ned?" said he, pointing to me as I sat with my eyes 
 riveted upon him. 
 
 *' He's from this side of Banagher, sir," said Malone, 
 evading the question. 
 
 " Come over here, younker. What's his name ? " 
 
 " Tom, sir." 
 
 *' Come over, Tom, till I teach you a toast. Here's a 
 glass, my lad — hold it steady, till I fill you a bumper. 
 Did you ever hear tell of the croppies ? " 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 ** Never heard of the croppies ! Well, you're not long 
 in Ned Malone's company anyhow — eh? ha! ha! ha! 
 Well, my man, the croppies is another name for the rebels, 
 and the toast I'm going to give you is about them. So 
 mind you finish it at one pull — here now, are you 
 ready ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite ready," said I, as I held the brimming 
 glass straight before me. 
 
 E 2
 
 52 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS.'* 
 
 *' Here's it, then : — 
 
 ** 'May every croppy taste the rope, 
 
 And find some man to bang them; 
 May Bagnal Haivey and the Pope 
 Have Heppenstal to hang them."* 
 
 I knew enough of the meaning of his words to catch 
 the allusion, and dashing the glass with all my force 
 against the wall, I smashed it into a hundred pieces. 
 Barton sprang from his chair, his face dark with passion ; 
 clutching me by the collar with both hands, he cried out, 
 " Halloa there without, bring in the handcuffs here ! As 
 sure as my name's Sandy Barton, we'll teach you that toast 
 practically, and that ere long. 
 
 " Take care what you do there," said Malone, fiercely ; 
 "that young gentleman is a son of Matthew Burke of 
 Cremore ; his relatives are not the kind of people to figure 
 in your riding-house." 
 
 " Are you a son of Matthew Burke ? " 
 
 "I am." 
 
 •' What brings you here then ? — why are you not at 
 home ? " 
 
 " By what right do you dare to ask me? I have yet to 
 learn how far I am responsible for where I go to a thief- 
 catcher." 
 
 " You hear that, sergeant ; you heard him use a word to 
 bring me into contempt before the people, and excite them 
 to use acts of violence towards me." 
 
 " No such thing, Mister Barton," said Malone coolly ; 
 " nobody here has any thought of molesting you. I told 
 you that young gentleman's name and condition, to prevent 
 you making any mistake concerning him ; for his friends 
 are not the -people to trifle with." 
 
 This artfully-put menace had its effect ; Barton sat down 
 again, and appeared to reflect for a few minutes ; then 
 taking a roll of paper from his pocket, he began leisurely 
 to peruse it. The silence at this moment was something 
 horribly oppressive. 
 
 " This is a search-warrant, Mr. Malone," said Barton, 
 laying down the paper on the table, " empowering me to 
 seek for the body of a certain French officer, said to be 
 concealed in these parts. Informations on oath state that
 
 THE CABIN. 53 
 
 he passed, at least, one night under your roof. As he has 
 not accepted the amnesty granted to the other officers 
 in the late famous attempt against the peace of this 
 country, the law will deal with him as strict justice may 
 demand ; at the same time, it is right you should know- 
 that harbouring or sheltering him, under these circum- 
 st:inces, involves the person or persons so doing in his 
 guilt. Mr. Malone's well-known and tried loyalty," con- 
 tinued Barton, with a half grin of most malicious mean- 
 ing, " would certainly exculpate him from any suspicion of 
 this nature ; but sworn informations are stubborn things, 
 and it is possible that, in ignorance of the danger such a 
 proceeding would involve " 
 
 " I thought the thrubbles was over, sir," interrupted 
 Malone, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, 
 " and that an honest, industrious man, that minded his own 
 business, had nothinoj to fear from any one." 
 
 "And you thought right," said Barton, slowly and de- 
 liberatel}'-, while he scanned the other's features with a 
 searching look ; " and that is the very fact I'm come to 
 ascertain ; and now, with your leave, we'll first search the 
 house and offices, and then I'll put a little interrogatory 
 to such persons as I think fit, touching this affair," 
 
 " You're welcome to go over the cabin whenever you 
 like," said Malone, rising, and evidently labouring to re- 
 press his passionate indignation at Barton's coolness. 
 
 Barton stood up at the same moment, and giving a wink 
 at the sergeant to follow, walked towards the small door 
 I've already mentioned. Malone's wife at this started 
 forward, and, catching Barton's arm, whispered a few 
 words in his ear. 
 
 " She must be a very old woman by this time," said 
 Barton, fixing his sharp eyes on the speaker. 
 
 " Upwards of ninety, sir, and bedridden for twelve 
 years," said the woman, wiping a tear away with her 
 apron. 
 
 " And how comes it she's so afraid of the soldiers, if 
 she's doting ? " 
 
 " Arrah ! they used to frighten her so much, cominoj in 
 at night, and firing shots at the doore, and drinking and 
 eiiiging songs, that she never got over it, and that's the 
 rayson. I'll beg of your honour not to bring in the
 
 o4 TOM BUEKE OF ** OUES." 
 
 sergeant, and to disturb her only as little as yon can, for 
 it sets her raving about battles and murders, and it's may- 
 be ten days before we'll get her mind at ease again." 
 
 " Well, well, I'll not trouble her," said he, quickly, 
 ** Sergeant, step back for a moment." 
 
 With this he entered the room, followed by the woman, 
 whose uncertain step and quiet gesture seemed to sug- 
 gest caution. 
 
 " She's asleep, sir," said she, approaching the bed. 
 " It's many a day since she had as fine a sleep as that. 
 'Tis good luck you brought us this morning. Mister 
 Barton." 
 
 " Draw aside the curtain a little," said Barton, in a 
 low voice, as if fearing to awake the sleeper. 
 
 " 'Tis rousing her up, you'll be, Mister Barton. She 
 feels the light at wanst." 
 
 " She breathes very long for so old a woman," said he 
 somewhat louder, " and has a good broad shoulder, too. I'd 
 like, if it was only for curiosity, just to see her face a little 
 closer. I thought so ! Come, Captain, it's no use " 
 
 A scream from the woman drowned the remainder of 
 the speech, while at the same instant one of the young 
 men shut to the outside door, and barred it. The sergeant 
 was immediately pinioned with his hands behind his 
 back, and Malone drew his horse-pistol from his bosom, 
 and, holding up his hand, called out, — 
 
 " Not a word — not a word ! If ye spake, it will be 
 the last time ever you'll do so ! " said he to the sergeant. 
 
 At the same moment, the noise of a scuffle was heard 
 in the inner room, and the door burst suddenly open, and 
 Barton issued forth, dragging in his strong hands the 
 figare of a young, slightly-formed man. His coat was 
 off, but his trousers were braided with gold, in military 
 fashion ; and his black moustache denoted the officer. 
 The struggle of the youth to get free was utterly fruit- 
 less ; Barton's grasp was on his collar, and he held him 
 as though he were a child. 
 
 Malone stooped down towards the fire, and, opening 
 the pan of his pistol, examined the priming ; then, slap- 
 ping it down again, he stood erect. 
 
 " Barton," said he, in a tone of firm determination 
 I heard him use for the first time — " Barton, it's
 
 THE CABIN. 55 
 
 bad to provoke a man with the halter round his neck ! I 
 know what's before me well enough now. But, see, let 
 him escape — give him two hours to get away — and here 
 I'll surrender myself your prisoner, and follow you where 
 you like." 
 
 " Break in the door, there, blast ye ! " was the reply to 
 this offer, as Barton shouted to the soldiers at the top of 
 his voice. Two of the young men darted forward as he 
 spoke, and threw themselves against it. '* Fire through 
 it! " cried Barton, stamping with passion. 
 
 " You will have it, will you, then?" said Malone, as 
 he ground his teeth in anger ; then, raising his pistol, he 
 sprang forward, and holding it within a yard of Barton's 
 face, shouted out, " There ! " The powder flashed in the 
 lock, and, quick as its own report, Barton hurled the 
 Frenchman round to protect him from the ball, but only 
 in time to receive the shot in his right arm as he held 
 it uplifted. The arm fell powerless to his side, while 
 Malone, springing on him like a tiger, grasped him in his 
 powerful grip, and they both rolled upon the ground in 
 terrible conflict. The Frenchman stood for an instant 
 like one transfixed, then, bursting from the spot, dashed 
 through the kitchen to the small room I had slept in. One 
 of the young men followed him. The crash of glass, and 
 the sounds of breaking wood-work were heard among the 
 other noises, and at the same moment the door gave way 
 in front, and the soldiers with fixed bayonets entered at a 
 charge. 
 
 " Fire on them ! fire on them !" shouted Barton, as he 
 lay struggling on the ground ; and a random volley rang 
 through the cabin, filling it with smoke. A yell of an- 
 guish burst forth at the moment, and one of the womer^ 
 lay stretched upon the hearth, her bosom bathed in blood. 
 The scene was now a terrible one; for, although over- 
 powered by numbers, the young men rushed on the 
 soldiers, and, regardless of wounds, endeavoured to wrest 
 their arms from them. The bayonets glanced through 
 the blue smoke, and shouts of rage and defiance rose up 
 amid frightful screams of suffering and woe. A bayonet- 
 stab in the side, received 1 know not how, sent me half 
 fainting into the little room, through which the French- 
 man had escaped. The open window being belore me, I
 
 56 TOM BURKE OF ** OUEs/' 
 
 did not deliberate a second, but, mounting the table, crept 
 through it, and fell heavily on the turf outside. In a 
 moment after I rallied, and, staggering onwards, reached 
 a potato-field, where, overcome by pain and weakness, I 
 sank into one of the furrows, scarcely conscious of what 
 had occurred. 
 
 Weak and exhausted as I was, I could still hear the 
 sounds of the conflict that raged within the cabin. Gra- 
 dually, however, they grew fainter and fainter, and at 
 last subsided altogether. Yet I feared to stir ; and al- 
 though night was now falling, and the silence continued 
 unbroken, I lay still, hoping to hear some well-known 
 voice, or even the footstep of some one belonging to the 
 house ; but all was calm, and nothing stirred. The very 
 air, too, was hushed ; not a leaf moved in the thin, frosty 
 atmosphere. The dread of finding the soldiers in posses- 
 sion of the cabin made me fearful of quitting my hiding- 
 place, and I did not move. Some hours had passed over 
 ere I gained courage enough to raise my head and look 
 about me. 
 
 My first glance was directed towards the distant high- 
 road, where I expected to have seen some of the party 
 who attacked the cabin ; but, far as my eye could reach, 
 no living thing was to be seen ; my next was towards the 
 cabin, which, to my horror, and amazement, I soon per- 
 ceived was enveloped in a thick, dark smoke, that rolled 
 lazily from the windows and doorway, and even issued 
 from the thatched roof. As I looked, I could hear the 
 crackling of timber and the sound of wood burning. 
 These continued to increase ; and then a red, forked flame 
 shot through one of the casements, and, turning upwards, 
 caught the thatch, where, passing rapidly across the entire 
 roof, it burst into a broad sheet of fire, which died out 
 again as rapidly, and left the gloomy smoke triumphant. 
 f Meanwhile, a roaring sound, like that of a furnace, was 
 heard from within ; and at last, with an explosion like a 
 mortar, the roof burst open, and the bright blaze sprang 
 forth ; the rafters were soon enveloped in fire, and the 
 heated straw rose into the air, and floated in thin streaks 
 of flame through the black sky. The door-cases and the 
 window-frames were all burning, and marked their out- 
 lines against the dark walls ; and, as the thatch was con-
 
 THE CABIN. 57 
 
 Bumed, the red rafters were seen like tlie ribs of a skeleton, 
 but they fell in one by one, sending up in their descent 
 millions of red sparks into the dark air. The black wall 
 of the cabin had given way to the heat, and through its 
 wide fissure I could see the interior, now one mass of un- 
 distinguishable ruin : nothing remained, save the charred 
 and blackened walls. 
 
 I sat gazing at thip sad sight like one entranced. Some- 
 times it seemed to me as a terrible dream ; and then the 
 truth would break upon me with fearful force, and my 
 heart felt as though it would burst far beyond my bosom. 
 The last flickering flame died away ; the hissing sounds of 
 the fire were stilled ; and the dark walls stood out against 
 the bleak background in all their horrible deformity, as I 
 rose and entered the cabin. I stood within the little room 
 where I had slept the night before, and looked out into the 
 kitchen, around whose happy hearth the merry voices 
 were so lately heard. I brought them up before me, in 
 imagination, as they sat there. One by one I marked 
 their places in my mind, and thought of the kindness of 
 their welcome to me, and the words of comfort and en- 
 couragement they spoke. The hearth was now cold and 
 black; the pale stars looked down between the walls, and 
 a chill moonlight flickered through the gloomy ruin. My 
 heart had no room for sorrow, but another feeling found 
 a place within it — a savage thirst for vengeance — ven- 
 geance upon those who had desecrated a peaceful home, 
 and brought blood and death among its inmates ! Here 
 was the very realization before my eyes of what M'Keown 
 had been telling me ; here the horrible picture he had 
 drawn of tyranny and outrage. In the humble cottagers 
 I saw but simple-minded peasants, who had opened their 
 doors to some poor unfriended outcast — one who, like 
 myself, had neither house nor home. I saw them offering 
 their hospitality to him who sought it, freely and openly; 
 and at last, adventuring all they possessed in the world, 
 rather than betray him — and their reward was this! Oh, 
 how my heart revolted at such oppression ! how my spirit 
 fired at such indignity ! I thought a life passed in op- 
 position to such tyranny were too short a vengeance, and 
 I knelt nie do.vn b side thnt blackened hearth, and swore 
 myselt its enemy to the death.
 
 68 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 MY EDUCATION. 
 
 As I thouglit over the various incidents the last few 
 days of my life had presented, I began to wonder with 
 myself whether the world always went on thus ; and if 
 the same scenes of misery and woe I had witnessed were 
 in the ordinary course of nature. The work of years 
 seemed to me to have been accomplished in a few brief 
 hours. Here, where 1 stood but yesterday, a happy 
 family were met together ; and now, death and misfortune 
 had laid waste the spot ; and, save the cold walls, nothing 
 marked it as a human habitation. What had become of 
 them? Where had they gone to? Had they fled from 
 the blood-stained hands of the cruel soldiery, or were they 
 led away to prison ? These were the questions constantly 
 recurring to my mind. And the French ofi&cer, too — what 
 of him ? I felt the deepest interest in his fate. Poor 
 fellow ! he looked so pale and sickly ; and yet there was 
 something both bold and manly in his flashing eye and 
 compressed lip. He was doubtless one of those Darby 
 alluded to. What a lot was his ; and how little did my 
 own sorrows seem, as I compared them with his house- 
 less, friendless condition ! As my thoughts thus wandered 
 on, a dark shadow fell across the gleam of moonlight 
 that lit up the ruined cabin. I turned suddenly, and saw 
 the figure of a man leaning against the door-post. For a 
 second or two fear was uppermost in my mind, but rally- 
 ing soon, I called out, " Who's there ? " 
 
 " 'Tis me, Darby M'Keown," said a well-known voice, 
 but in a tone of deepest sorrow. *' I came over to have a 
 look at the ould walls once more." 
 
 " You heard it all, then, Darby ? " 
 
 *' Yes. They wor bringing the prisoners into Athlone 
 as I left the town ; and I thought to myself you'd maybe 
 be hiding somewhere hereabouts. Is the Captain away — 
 is he sale ? "
 
 MY EDUCATION. 59 
 
 " The FrencTi officer — yes — he escaped early in the 
 business. I know he must be far off by this time. 
 Heaven knows which way though." 
 
 " Maybe I could guess," said Darby, quietly. "Well, 
 well, it's hard to know what's best. Sometimes it would 
 seem the will of God that we aren't to succeed ; and, if 
 we hadn't right on our side, it would not be easy to bear 
 up against such misfortunes as these." 
 
 There was a silence on both sides after these words, 
 during which I pondered them well in my mind. 
 
 "Come, Master Tom," said Darby, suddenly; '* 'tis 
 time we were moving. You're not safe here no more nor 
 others. Basset is looking for you everywhere, and you'll 
 have to leave the neighbourhood, for a while, at least. 
 Your friend, the Captain, too, is gone ; his regiment 
 marched yesterday ; so now make up your mind what to 
 do." 
 
 " That's easily done, Darby," said I, attempting to 
 seem at ease ; " whichever is your road shall be mine, if 
 you let me." 
 
 " Let you — yes, with a hearty welcome, too, my darling ; 
 but the first thing is to get you some clothes that won t 
 discover on you. Here's a hat I squeezed into my own 
 that'll just fit you, and I've a coat here that's about your 
 size — that's enough for the present, and as we go along I'll 
 teach you your part, how you are to behave, and he'll be 
 no fool that'll find you out after ten days or a fortnight." 
 
 My change of costume was soon effected, and my wound, 
 which turned out to be a trifling one, looked after ; I took 
 a farewell look at the old walls, and stepped after my com- 
 panion, down the boreen. 
 
 "If we make haste," said Darby, "we'll be beyond 
 Shannon harbour before day ; and then, when we're on 
 the canal, we'll easy get a lift in some of the boats going 
 to Dublin." 
 
 " Atid are you for Dublin ? " inquired I, eagerly. 
 
 "Yes. I'm to be there on the twenty- fourth of this 
 month, please God. There's a meeting of the friends of 
 Ireland to be th' n, and some resolutions will be taken 
 about what's to be done. There's bad work going on in 
 the Parliament." 
 
 " Indeed, Darby ! what is it ? '*
 
 CO TOM BURKE OF '* OURS." 
 
 " Oil ! you couldn't understand it well ; but it's just aa 
 if we warn't to have anything to say to governing our- 
 selves, only to be made slaves of, and sent abroad to fight 
 for the English, that always hate us and abuse us." 
 
 " And are we going to bear with this ? " cried I, pas- 
 sionately. 
 
 "No," said Darby, laying his hand on my shoulder — ■ 
 *'no, not at least if we had twenty thousand like you, my 
 brave boy. But you'll hear everything yourself soon ; 
 and now, let me attend to your education a bit, for we're 
 not out of the enemy's country." 
 
 Darby now commenced his code of instruction to me, 
 by which I learned that I was to perform a species of second 
 to him in all minstrelsy — not exactly on the truest prin- 
 ciples of harmony, but merely alternating with him in the 
 verses of his songs. These, which were entirely of his 
 own composition, were all to be learned, and orally, too, 
 for Mister M'Keown was too jealous of his copyright ever 
 to commit them to writing, and especially charged me 
 never to repeat any lyric in the same neighbourhood. 
 
 " It's not only the robbery I care for," quoth Darby, 
 *' but the varmints desthroys my poethry completely — • 
 sometimes changing the words, injuring the sentiments, 
 and even altering the tune, 'Now it's only last Tuesday I 
 heerd ' Behave politely,' to the tune of * Look how he 
 sarved me.' " 
 
 Besides the musical portion of my education, there was 
 another scarcely less difficult to be attended to : this was, 
 the skilful adaptation of our melodies not only to the pre- 
 vailing tastes of the company, but to their political and 
 party bearings — Darby supplying me with various hints 
 how 1 was to discover at a moment the peculiar bias of 
 any stranger's politics. 
 
 " The boys," said Darby, thereby meaning his own 
 party, " does be always sly and careful, and begin by ask- 
 ing, maybe for ' Do you incline ? ' or ' Crows in the barley,' 
 or the like. Then they'll say, ' Have you anything new, 
 Mister M'Keown, from up the country?' 'Something 
 sweet, is it? ' says I. * Ay, or sour, av ye have it,' they'll 
 say. 'Maybe ye'd like "Vinegar-hill," then,' says I. Arrah, 
 you'd see their faces redden up with delight, and how 
 they'll beat time to every stroke of the tune — it's a plea-
 
 MY EDUCATION. 61 
 
 sure to play for them. But the yeos (meaning the yeo- 
 men) will call out mightily — ' Piper — holloa there, piper, 
 I say — rise The Bojne water, or Croppies lie down.' " 
 
 " And, of course, you refuse, Darby ? " 
 
 " Refuse — refuse, is it — and get a bayonet in me ? Devil 
 a bit, my dear. I'll play it up with all the spirit I can ; 
 and nod my head to the tune, and beat the time with my 
 heel and toe ; and, maybe, if I see need of it, I fasten this 
 to the end of the chanter, and that does the business 
 entirely." 
 
 Here Darby took from the lining of his hat a bunch of 
 orange ribbon, whose faded glories showed it had done long 
 and active service in the cause of loyalty. 
 
 I confess Darby's influence over me did not gain any ac- 
 cession of power by this honest avowal of his political 
 expediency ; and the bold assertion of a nation's wrongs, 
 by which at first he won over my enthubiasra, seemed sadly 
 at variance with this truckling policy. He was quick- 
 sighted enough to perceive what was passing in my mind, 
 and at once remarked, — 
 
 " 'Tis a hard part we're obliged to play. Master Tom, 
 but one comfort we have — it's only a short time we'll 
 need it. You know the song ? " 
 
 Htre he broke into the popular tune of the day : — 
 
 ** * And the French will come again, 
 
 Says the Shan van vaugh, 
 And they'll bring ten thousand men, 
 
 Says the Shan van vaugh, 
 And, with powder and with ball, 
 For our rights we'll loudly call ; 
 Don't you think they'll hear us then ? 
 
 Says the Shan van vaugh.' 
 
 "Ye must larn that air. Master Tom; and see, now, 
 the 3'eos is as fond of it as the boys, only remember to put 
 their own words to it ; and devil a harm in that same when 
 one's not in earnest. See, now, I believe it's a natural 
 pleasure for an Irishman to be humbugging somebody ; and, 
 faix, when there's nobody by, he'd rather be taking a rise 
 out of himself than doing nothing. It's the way that's 
 in us, God help us 1 Sure it's that same makes us sich
 
 62 TOM BUBKE OF " OUKS.'* 
 
 favourites witli the ladies, and gives us a kind of native 
 Junius for coortin' : — 
 
 *' *'Tis the look of his eye, 
 
 And a way he can sigh 
 Makes Paddy a darlin' wherever he goes ; 
 
 With a sugary brogue, 
 
 Ye'd hear the rogue 
 Cheat the girls before their nose.* 
 
 And why not ? — Don't they like to be chated, when they're 
 sure to win after all — to win a warm heart and a stout 
 arm to fight for them ? " 
 
 This species of logic I give as a specimen of Mister 
 M'Keown's power of, if not explaining away a difficulty, 
 at least, getting out of all reach of it — an attribute almost 
 as Irish as the cause it was employed to defend. 
 
 As we journeyed along, Darby maintained a stnct 
 reserve as to the event which had required his presence 
 in Athlone, nor did he allude to the Mayor but passingly, 
 observing that — 
 
 " He didn't know how it happened that a Dublin 
 magistrate should have come up to these parts, though, 
 to be sure, he's a great friend of the Right Honourable." 
 
 " And who is he ? " asked I. 
 
 *' The Eight Honourable ! Don't you know, then ? 
 Why, I didn't think there was a child in the county 
 couldn't tell that. Sure, it's Denis Browne himself." 
 
 The name seemed at once to suggest a whole flood 
 of recollections, and Darby expatiated for hours long 
 on the terrible power of a man, by whose hands life 
 and death were distributed, without any aid from judge 
 or jury — thus opening to me another chapter of the law- 
 less tyranny to which he was directing my attention, and 
 by which he already saw my mind was greatly influenced. 
 
 About an hour after daybreak we arrived at a small 
 cabin, which served as a lock-house on the canal side. 
 It needed not the cold, murky sky, nor the ceaseless 
 pattering of the rain, to make this place look more com- 
 fortless and miserable than anything I had ever beheld. 
 Around, for miles in extent, the country was onb un- 
 broken flat, without any trace of wood, or even a single 
 thorn hedge, to relieve the eye. Low, marshy meadows^
 
 MY EDUHATION, 63 
 
 wLere the rank flaggers and reedj grass grew tall and 
 luxuriant, with here and there some stray patches of 
 tillage, were girt round by vast plains of bog, cut up 
 into every variety of trench and pit. The cabin itself, 
 though slated and built of stone, was in bad repair, the 
 roof broken in many places, and the window mended 
 with pieces of board, and even straw. As we came close. 
 Darby remarked that there was no smoke from the chim- 
 ney, and that the door was fastened on the outside. 
 
 " That looks bad," said he, as he stopped short about 
 a dozen paces from the hovel, and looked steadily at it ; 
 " they've taken him too." 
 
 " Who is it. Darby ? " said I. *' What did he do ? " 
 
 M'Keown paid no attention to my question, but un- 
 fastening the hasp which attached the door, without any 
 padlock, entered. The fire was yet alive on the hearth, 
 and a small stool, drawn close to it, showed where some 
 one had been sitting ; there was nothing unusual in the 
 appearance of the cabin ; the same humble furniture and 
 cooking utensils lying about, as were seen in any other. 
 Darby, however, scrutinized everything most carefully, 
 looking everywhere, and into everything, till, at last, 
 reaching his hand above the door, he pulled out from the 
 straw of the thatch a small piece of dirty and crumpled 
 paper, which he opened with the greatest care and atten- 
 tion ; and then flattening it out with his hand, began to 
 read it over to himself, his eye flashing, and his cheek 
 growing redder, as he pored over it. At last he broke 
 silence with, — 
 
 " 'Ti s myself never doubted ye, Tim, my boy. Look 
 at that, Master Tom— but sure, you wouldn't understand 
 it, after all. The yeos took him up last night. 'Ti3 
 ' something about cutting the canal, and attacking the boat, 
 that's again him; and he left that there — that bit of 
 paper — to give the boys courage that he wouldn't betray 
 them. That's the way the cause will prosper — if we'll 
 only stick by each other. For many a time, when they 
 take a man up, they spread it about that he's turned in- 
 former against the rest, and then the others gets careless, 
 and don't mind whether they're taken or not," 
 
 Darby replaced the piece of paper carefully, and then, 
 listening for a moment, exclaimed, —
 
 64 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.*' 
 
 " I hear the boat coming; let's wait for it out- 
 side." 
 
 While he employed himself in getting his pipes into 
 readiness. I could not help ruminating on the strength of 
 loj^alty to each other the poor people observed amid every 
 temptation and every seduction ; how, in the midst of 
 such misery as theirs, neither threats nor bribery seemed 
 to influence them, was a strong testimony in favour of 
 their truth, and to such a reasoner as I was, a no less 
 cogent argument for the goodness of the cause that 
 elicited such virtues. 
 
 As the boat came alongside, T remarked that the deck 
 was without a passenger ; heaps of trunks and luggage 
 littered it the entire way ; but the severity of the weather 
 had driven every one under cover, except the steersman 
 and the captain, who, both of them wrapped up in thick 
 coats of frieze, seemed like huge bears standing on their 
 hind-quarters. 
 
 " How are you. Darby ?" shouted the skipper ; " call out 
 that lazy rascal to open the lock." 
 
 " I don't think he's at home, sir," said Darby, as inno- 
 cently as though he knew nothing of the reason for his 
 absence. 
 
 •' Not at home ! — the scoundrel, where can he be, then ? 
 Come youngster," cried he, addressing me, "take the key 
 there, and open the lock." 
 
 Until this moment, I forgot the character which my 
 dress and appearance assigned to me ; but a look from the 
 piper recalled me at once to recollection ; and, taking up 
 the iron key, I proceeded, under Darby's instructions, to do 
 what I was desired, while Darby and the captain amused 
 themselves by wondering what had become of Tim, and 
 speculated on the immediate consequences his absence 
 would bring down on him. 
 
 " Are you going with us, Darby ? " said the captain. 
 
 " Faix, I don't know, sir," said he, as if hesitating ; 
 **av there was any gentleman that liked the pipes " 
 
 "Yes, yes, come along, man," rejoined the skipper; "is 
 the boy with you ? — very well — come in, youngster." 
 
 We were soon under weigh again ; and Darby, having 
 arranged his instrument to his satisfaction, commenced a 
 very spirited voluntary to announce his arrival. In an
 
 MY EDUCATION. 65 
 
 instant the cabin-door opened, and a red-faced, coarse- 
 looking fellow, in uniform, called out, — 
 
 " Holloa, there ! is that a piper ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Darby, without turning his face round, 
 while, at the same time, he put a question, in Irish, to the 
 skipper, who answered it with a single word. 
 
 " I say, piper, come down here !" cried the yeoman, for 
 such he was — " come down here, and let's have a tune ! " 
 
 "I'm coming, sir," cried Darby, standing up ; and hold- 
 ing out his hand to me, he called out, *' Tom, alannah, lead 
 me down stairs." 
 
 I looked up in his face, and, to my amazement, perceived 
 that he had turned up the white of his eyes, to represent 
 blindness, and was groping with his hand, like one de- 
 prived of sight. 
 
 As any hesitation on my part might have betrayed him 
 at once, I took his hand, and led him along, step by step, 
 to the cabin-door. I had barely time to perceive that all 
 the passengers were habited in uniform, when one of them 
 called out — 
 
 " We don't want the young fellow ; let him go back. 
 Piper, sit down here." 
 
 The motion for my exclusion was passed without a 
 negative, and I closed the door, and sat down by myself 
 among the trunks on deck. 
 
 For the remainder of the day I saw nothing of Darby ; 
 the shouts of laughter and clapping of hands below stairs 
 occasionally informing me how successful were his efforts 
 to amuse his company ; while I had abundant time to 
 think over my own plans, and make some resolutions for 
 the future. 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 66 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 KEVIN-STREET. 
 
 How this long, melancholy day wore on I cannot say ; to 
 me it was as gloomy in reverie as in its own dismal aspect; 
 the very sounds of mirth that issued from the cabin 
 beneath grated harshly on my ear ; and the merry strains 
 of Darby's pipes and the clear notes of his rich voice 
 seemed like treachery from one who so lately had spoken 
 in terms of heart-breathing emotion of his countrymen 
 and their wrongs. While, therefore, my estimation for my 
 companion suffered, my sorrow for the cause that de- 
 manded such sacrifices deepened at every moment, and 
 I panted with eagerness for the moment when I might 
 take my place among the bold defenders of my country, 
 and openly dare our oppressors to the battle. All that 
 M'Keown had told me of English tyranny and oppression 
 was connected in my mind with the dreadful scene I had 
 so lately been a witness to, and for the cause of which I 
 looked no further than an act of simple hospitality. From 
 this I wandered on to the thought of those brave allies 
 who had deserted their career of continental glory to share 
 our almost hopeless fortunes here ; and how I burned to 
 know them, and learn from them something of a soldier's 
 ardour. 
 
 Night had fallen when the fitful flashing of lamps be- 
 tween the tall elms that lined the banks announced our 
 approach to the capital. There is something dreadfully 
 depressing in the aspect of a large city to the poor, un- 
 friended youth, who, without house or home, is starting 
 upon his life's journey. The stir, the movement, the 
 onward tide of population, intent on pleasure or business, 
 are things in which he has no part. The appearance of 
 wealth humiliates, while the sight of poverty affrights 
 him ; and, while every one is animated by some purpose, 
 he alone seems like a waif thrown on the shores of life,
 
 KEVIN STREET. 67 
 
 unclaimed, unlooked for. Thus did I feel among that 
 busy crowd who now pressed to the deck, gathering to- 
 gether their luggage, and preparing for departure. Some 
 home awaited each of these — some hearth, some happy 
 faces to greet their coming ; but I had none of these. 
 This was a sorrowful thought ; and as I brooded over it, 
 my head sank upon my knees, and I saw nothiug of what 
 was going forward about me. 
 
 "Tom," whispered a low voice in my ear — "Master 
 Tom, don't delay, my dear ; let us slip out here. The 
 soldiers want me to go with them to their billets, and I 
 have promised ; but I don't mean to do it." 
 
 I looked up. It was Darby, buttoned up in his coat, 
 his pipes unfastened for the convenience of carriage. 
 
 *' Slip out after me at the lock here. It's so dark, we'll 
 never be seen." 
 
 Keeping my eye on him, I elbowed my way through the 
 crowded deck, and sprang out just as the boat began her 
 forward movement. 
 
 " Here we are, all safe," said Darby, patting me on the 
 shoulder ; " and now that I've time to ask you, did you 
 get your dinner, my child ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; the captain brought me something to eat." 
 
 '* Come that's right, anyhow. Glory be to God ! I ate 
 heartily of some bacon and greens ; though the black- 
 guards — bad luck to them for the same ! — made me eat an 
 orange-lily whole, afraid the greens, as they said, might 
 injure me." 
 
 "I wonder. Darby," said I, "that you haven't more 
 firmness than to change this way at every moment." 
 
 " Firmness, is it ? Faith, it's firm enough I'd be, and 
 stiff too, if I didn't. Sure it's the only way now at all. 
 Wait, my honey, till the time comes round for ourselves, 
 and, iaith, you'll never accuse me of coorting their favour; 
 but now, at this moment, you perceive, we must do it to 
 learn their plans. What do you t'.iink I got to-night ? I 
 learned all the signs the yeos have when they're drinking 
 together, and what they say at each sign. Tliere's a way 
 they have of gripping the two little fingers together that 
 I'll not forget soon." 
 
 For some time we walked on at a rnpid paco, without 
 exchanging more than an occasional word. At last we 
 
 F 2
 
 68 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 entered a narrow, ill-liglited street, wliicli led from the 
 canal harbour to one of the larger and wider thorough- 
 fares. 
 
 " I almost forget the way here," said Darby, stopping 
 and looking about him. At last, unable to solve the diffi- 
 culty, he leaned over the half-door of a shop, and called 
 out to a man witliin, " Can you tell where is Kevin Street?" 
 
 "No. 39 ?" said the man, after looking at him steadily 
 for a moment. 
 
 Darby stroked down one side of his face with his hand 
 slowly, a gesture immediately imitated by the other man. 
 
 " What do you know ? " said Darby. 
 
 " I know 'U.," replied the man. 
 
 *' And what more ? " 
 
 *'Iknow'K'" 
 
 " That 'ill do," said Darby, shaking hands with him 
 cordially. " Now, tell me the way, for I have no time to 
 spare." 
 
 " Begorra ! you're in as great haste as if ye were 
 Darby the Blast himself. Te'll come in and take a glass ? " 
 
 Darby only laughed : and again excusing himself, he 
 asked the way, which having learned, he wished his newly- 
 made friend good-night, and we proceeded. 
 
 " They know you well, hereabouts, by name, at least," 
 said I, when we had walked on a little. 
 
 " That they do," said Darby, proudly. "From Wexford 
 to Belfast there's few doesn't know me; and they'll know 
 more of me, av I'm light, before I die. " 
 
 This he spoke with more of determination than I ever 
 heard him use previously. 
 
 " Here's the street, now. There's the lamp — that one 
 with the two burners there. Eaix, we've made good track 
 since morning, anyhow." 
 
 As he spoke we entered a narrow jDassage, through 
 which the street-lamp threw a dubious half-light. This 
 conducted us to a small paved court, crossing which we 
 arrived at the door of a large house. Darb}?" knocked in 
 a peculiar manner, and the door was speedly opened by a 
 man who whispered something, to which M'Keown made 
 answer in the same low tone. 
 
 *' I'm glad to see you again," said the man, louder, as 
 he made way for him to pass.
 
 KEVIN STREET. 69 
 
 I pushed forward to follow, when suddenly a strong arm 
 was stretched across my breast, and a gruff voice asked, — 
 
 " Who are you ? " 
 
 Darb}'^ stepped back, and said something in his ear ; the 
 other replied, sturdily, in the negative. And although 
 Darby, as it appeared, used every power of persuasion he 
 possessed, the man was inexorable. At last, when the 
 temper of both appeared nearly giving way, Darby turned 
 to me, and said, — 
 
 " Wait for me a moment, Tom, where you are, and I'll 
 come for you." 
 
 So saying, he disappeared, and the door closed at the 
 same time, leaving me in darkness on the outside. My 
 patience was not severely taxed — ere five minutes the door 
 opened, and Darby, followed by another person, appeared. 
 
 "Mr. Burke," said this latter, with the tone of voice 
 that at once bespoke a gentleman, " I am proud to know 
 you." He grasped my hand warmly as he spoke, and 
 shook it affectionately. " I esteem it an honour to be 
 your sponsor here. Can you find your way after me ? 
 This place is never lighted; but I trust you'll know it 
 better ere long." 
 
 Muttering some words of acknowledgment, I followed 
 my unseen acquaintance along the dark corridor. 
 
 " There's a step, here," cried he, " and now mind the 
 stairs." 
 
 A long and winding flight conducted us to a landing, 
 where a candle was burning in a tin sconce. Here my 
 conductor turned round. 
 
 " Your christian name is Thomas, I believe," said he ; 
 at the same moment, as the light fell on me, he started 
 suddenly back, with an air of mingled astonishment and 
 
 chagrin. "Why, M'Keown, you told me " The rest 
 
 of the sentence was lost in a whisper. 
 
 "' It's a disguise I made him wear," said Darby; "he'd 
 no chance of escaping the country without it." 
 
 " I'm not speaking of that," retorted the other, angrily. 
 ** It is his age, I mean — he's only a boy. How old are you, 
 sir?" continued he, addressing me, but with far less 
 courtesy than before. 
 
 " Old enough to live for my country, or die for it either, 
 if need be," said I, haughtily.
 
 70 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.'* 
 
 *' Bravo, my darling," cried the piper, slapping me on 
 the shoulder with enthusiasm. 
 
 •' That's not exactly my question," said the stranger, 
 smiling goodnaturely ; " I want to know your age." 
 
 " I was fourteen in Augast," said I. 
 
 *' I had rather you could say twenty," responded he, 
 thoughtfully. " This is a sad mistake of yours, Darby. 
 What dependence can be placed on a child like this ? He's 
 only a child after all." 
 
 " He's a child I'll go bail for with my head," said 
 Darby. 
 
 " Your head has fully as much on it as it is fit to carry," 
 said the other, in a tone of rebuke. " Have you told him 
 anything of the object and intentions of this society ? But 
 of course you have revealed everything. Well, I'll not be a 
 party to this business. Young gentleman," continued he, 
 in a voice of earnest and impressive accent, " all I know 
 of you is the few particulars this man has stated respect- 
 ing your unfriended position, and the cruelty to which you 
 fear to expose yourself in trusting to the guardianship of 
 Mr. Basset. If these reasons have induced you, from 
 recklessness and indifference, to risk your life, by associa- 
 tion with men who are actuated by high and noble ])rin- 
 ciples, then, I say, you shall not enter here. If, however, 
 aware of the object and intentions of our union, you are 
 desirous to aid us, young though you be, I shall not refuse 
 you." 
 
 " That's it," interrupted Darby, " if you feel in your 
 heart a friend to your country " 
 
 " Silence ! " said the other, harshly ; " let him decide 
 for himself." 
 
 " I neither know your intentions, nor even guess at 
 them," said I, frankly. " My destitution, and the poor 
 prospect before me, make me, as you suppose, indifferent 
 to what I embark in, provided that it be not dishonourable. 
 It is not danger that will deter me, that's all I can promise 
 
 *' I see," said the stranger, " this is but another of your 
 pranks, Mr. M'Keown. The young gentleman was to be 
 kidnapped amongst us. One thing," said he, turning to 
 ,me, " I feel assured of, that anything you have witnessed 
 here is safe within your keeping, and now we'll not press
 
 KEVIN STREET. 71 
 
 tlie matter further ; in a few days you can hear, and make 
 up your mind on all these things, and, as you are not 
 otherwise provided, let us make you our guest in the mean 
 while." 
 
 "Without giving me time to reply, he led me down stairs 
 again, and, unlocking a room on the second floor, passed 
 through several rooms, until he reached one comfortably 
 fitted up like a study. 
 
 "You must be satisfied with a sofa here f)r to-night, 
 but to-morrow 1 will make you more comfortable." 
 
 I threw my eyes over the well-filled bookshelf with 
 delight, and was preparing to thank him for all his kind- 
 ness to me, when he added, — 
 
 " I must leave you now, but we'll meet to-morrow ; so 
 good night. Come along, M'Keown, we shall want you 
 presently." 
 
 I would glady have detained Darby to interrogate him 
 about my new abode and its inhabitants, but he was 
 obliged to obey, and I heard the door locked, as they 
 closed it, on the outside ; and shortly after the sounds of 
 their feet died away, and I was left in silence. 
 
 Determined to con over, and, if possible, explain to my- 
 self the mystery of my position, I drew my sofa towards 
 the fire and sat down, but fatigue, stronger than all ray 
 curiosity, had the mastery, and I was soon sound asleep.
 
 72 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS. 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 HO. 39, AND ITS PREQUENTEUS. 
 
 Whfn my eyes opened the following morning, it was quite 
 pardonable in me if I believed I was still dreaming. The 
 room, which I had scarcely time to look at the previous 
 evening, now appeared handsomely, almost richly fur- 
 nished. Books in handsome bindings covered the shelves, 
 prints in gilded frames occupied the walls, and a large 
 mirror filled the space above the chimney. Various little 
 articles of taste, in bronze and marble, were scattered 
 about, and a silver tea equipage, of antique pattern, graced 
 a small table near the fire. A pair of splendidly mounted 
 pistols hung at one side of the chimney glass, and a gor- 
 geously gilt sabre occupied the other. 
 
 While I took a patient survey of all these, and was de- 
 liberately examining myself as to how and when I had 
 first made their acquaintance, a voice from an adjoining 
 room, the door of which lay open, exclaimed, — 
 
 " Sacristil quel mauvais temps I '' and then broke out 
 into a little IVench air, to which, after a minute, the singer 
 appeared to move, in a kind of dancing measure. " Oui, 
 c'est f«/" exclaimed he, in rapture, as he whirled round 
 in a pirouette, overturning a dressing-table and its con- 
 tents with a tremendous crash upon the flibor. 
 
 I started up, and without thinking of what I was doing, 
 rushed in. 
 
 " Ra ! Ion jour^'' said he, gaily, stretching out two 
 fingers of a hand almost concealed beneath a mass of 
 rings ; and then suddenly changing to English, which he 
 spoke perfectly, saving with a foreign accent, " How did 
 you sleep ? I suppose the tintamarre awoke you." 
 
 I hastened to apologize for my intrusion, which he 
 stopped at once by asking if I had passed a comfortable 
 night, and had a great appetite for breakfast. 
 
 Assuring him of both facts, I retreated into the sitting-
 
 NO. 39, AND ITS FREQT3ENTERS. 73 
 
 room, where he followed me, laughing heartily at his mis- 
 hap, which he confessed he had not patience to remedy. 
 " And what's worse," added he. " I have no servant. 
 But here's some tea and coffee — let us chat while we 
 eat." 
 
 I drew over my chair at Hs invitation, and found my- 
 self, before half an hour went by, acted on by that strange 
 magnetism which certain individuals possess, to detail to 
 my new friend the principal events of my simple story, 
 down to the very moment in which we sat opposite to 
 each other. He listened to me with the greatest atten- 
 tion, occasionally interposing a question, or asking an 
 explanation of something which he did not perfectly com- 
 prehend ; and when I concluded, he paused for some 
 minutes, and then, with a slight laugh, said, — 
 
 " You don't know how you disappointed the people 
 here. Your travelling companion had given them to un- 
 derstand that you were some other Burke, whose alliance 
 they have been long desiring. In fact, they were certain 
 of it; but," said he, starting up hastily, " it is far better 
 as it is. I suspect, my young friend, the way in which 
 you have been entrapped. Don't fear, we are perfectly 
 safe here. I know all the hackneyed declamations about 
 wrongs and slavery that are in vogue, and I know, too, 
 how timidly they shrink from every enterprise by which 
 their cause might be honourably, boldly asserted. 1 am 
 myself another victim to the assumed patriotism of this 
 party. I came over here two years since to take the com- 
 mand. A command — but in what an army ! An undis- 
 ciplined rabble, without arms, without officers, without 
 even clothes — their only notion of warfare a midnight 
 murder, or a reckless and indiscriminate slaughter. The 
 result could not be doubtful — utter defeat and discomfi- 
 ture. My countrymen, disgusted at the scenes they 
 witnessed, and ashamed of such confrerie, accepted the 
 amnesty, and returned to France. I " 
 
 Here he hesitated, and blushed slightly ; after which he 
 resumed : — 
 
 " I yielded to a credulity for which there was neither 
 reason nor excuse. I remained. Promises were made 
 me, oaths were sworn, statements were produced to show 
 how complete the organization of the insurgents really
 
 74 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 was, and to what purpose it miglit be turned. I drew np 
 a plan of a campaign, corresponded with the different 
 leaders, encouraged the wavering, restrained the head- 
 strong, confirmed the hesitating, and, in fact, for fourteen 
 ironths held them together, not only against their oppo- 
 nents, but their own more dangerous disunion ; and the 
 end is — what think you ? I only learned it yesterday, on 
 my return from an excursion in the west, which nearly 
 cost me my life. I was concealed in a cabin in woman's 
 
 clothes " 
 
 " At Malone's, in the Glen ? '* 
 *' Yes ; how did you know that ? " 
 
 " I was there. I saw you captured, and witnessed 
 your escape." 
 
 " Diantre ! How near it was ! " 
 
 He paused for a second, and I took the opportunity to 
 recount to him the dreadful issue of the scene, with the 
 burning of the cabin. He grew sickly pale as I re- 
 lated the circumstance: then flushing as quickly, he 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " We must look to this ; these people must be taken 
 care of. I'll speak to Dalton — you know him ? " 
 " No ; I know not one here." 
 
 " It was he who met you last night ; he is a noble fel- 
 low. But stay, there's a knock at the door." 
 
 He approached the fireplace, and taking down the 
 pistols which hung beside it, walked slowly towards the 
 door. 
 
 " 'Tis Darby, sir — Darby the Blast, coming to speak a 
 word to Mister Burke," said a voice from without. 
 
 The door was opened at once, and Darby entered. 
 Making a deep reverence to the French officer, in whose 
 presence he seemed by no means at his ease. Darby 
 dropped his voice to its most humble cadence, and said, — 
 " Might I be so bould as to have a word with ye, 
 Master Tom ? " 
 
 There was something in the way this request was made 
 that seemed to imply a desire for secrecy — so, at least, the 
 Frenchman understood it — and turning hastily round, he 
 Baid, — 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ; I'll go into my dressing-room; there 
 is nothing to prevent your speaking here."
 
 NO. 39, AND ITS FREQUENTERS. 75 
 
 No sooner was the door closed, than Darbj drew a chair 
 close to me, and bending down his head, whispered, — 
 
 " Don't trust him — not from here to that window ; 
 they're going to do it without him — Mahony told me so 
 himself: bat my name was not drawn, and I'm to be off 
 to Kildare this evening. There's a meeting of the boys 
 at the Curragh, and I want you to come with me." 
 
 The state of doubt and uncertainty which had harassed 
 my mind for the last twenty-four hours was no longer 
 tolerable; so I boldly asked M'Keown for an explanation 
 as to the people in whose house I was, their objects and 
 plans, and how far I was myself involved in their designs. 
 
 In fewer words than I could convey it, Darby informed 
 me that the house was the meeting-place of the United 
 Irishmen, who still cherished the hope of reviving the 
 scenes of '98 ; that, conscious the failure before was attri- 
 butable to their having taken the field as an army when 
 they should have merely contented themselves with secret 
 and indirect attacks, they had resolved to adopt a different 
 tactique. It was, in fact, determined that every political 
 opponent to their party should be marked — himself, his 
 family, and his property ; that no opportunity was to be 
 lost of injuring him or his, and, if need be, of taking away 
 his life ; that various measures were to be propounded to 
 Parliament by their friends, to the maintenance of which 
 threats were to be freely used to the Government members ; 
 and, with respect to the great measure of the day — the 
 Union — it was decided that on the night of the division a 
 certain number of people should occupy the gallery above 
 the ministerial benches, armed with hand-grenades and 
 other destructive missiles ; that, on a signal given, these 
 were to be thrown amongst them, scattering death and 
 ruin on all sides. 
 
 " It will be seen, then," said Darby, with a fiendish grin, 
 ** how the enemies of Ireland pay for their hatred of her. 
 Maybe they'll vote away their country after that! " 
 
 Whether it was the tone, the look, or the words that 
 suddenly awoke me from my dreamy infatuation, I know 
 not ; but coming so soon after the Frenchmen's detail of 
 the barbarism of the party, a thorough disgust seized me, 
 and the atrocity of this wholesale murder lost nothing 
 of its blackness from being linked with the cause of liberty.
 
 7G 
 
 With ready quickness Darby saw what my impression 
 was, and hastily remarked, — 
 
 " We'll be all away out of this, Master Tom, you know, 
 before that. We'll be up in Kildare, where we'll see the 
 boys exercising and marching ; that's what 'ill do your 
 heart good to look at. But, before we go, you'll have to 
 take the oath ; for I'm answerable for you all this time 
 with my own head : not that I care for that same, but others 
 might mistrust ye." 
 
 " Holloa ! " cried the Frenchman, from within, " I hope 
 you have finished your conference there ; for you seem to 
 forget there's no fire in this room." 
 
 "Yes, sir; and I beg a thousand pardons," said Darby, 
 servilely: "and Master Tom only wants to b.d 3'ou good- 
 bye before he goes." 
 
 "Goes! goes where? Are you so soon tired of 
 me ? " said he, in an accent of most winning sweet- 
 ness. 
 
 " He's obliged to be at the Curragh, at the meeting 
 there," said Darby answering for me. 
 
 " What meeting ? I never heard of it." 
 
 *' It's a review, sir, of the throops, that's to be by moon- 
 light." 
 
 " A review ! " said the Frenchman, with a scornful laugh. 
 " And do you call this midnight assembly of marauding 
 savages a review ? " 
 
 Darby's face grew dark with rage, and for a second I 
 thought he would have sprung on his assailant, but with a 
 fawning, shrewd smile he lisped out, — 
 
 "It's what they call it. Captain; sure the poor boys 
 knows no better." 
 
 " Are you going to this review ? " said the Frenchman, 
 with an ironical pronunciation of the word. 
 
 " I scarce know whereto go, or what to do," said I, in a 
 tone of despairing sadness ; " any certainty would be pre- 
 ferable to the doubts that harass me." 
 
 " Stay with me," said the Frenchman, interrupting me, 
 and laying his hand on my shoulder ; "we shall be com- 
 panions to each other ; your friend here knows I can teach 
 you many things that may be useful to you hereafter, and 
 perhaps, with all humility I may say, your stay will be as 
 profitable as at the caw/> yonder."
 
 NO. 39, AND ITS FREQUENTERS 77 
 
 ** I sliould not like to desert one who has been so kind 
 to me as Darby, and if he wishes " 
 
 Before I could finish my sentence, the door was opened 
 by a key from without, and Dalton, as he was called, stood 
 amono^st us. 
 
 " What, Darby ! " said he, in a voice of something like 
 emotion, " not gone yet ! you know I forbid you coming 
 up here ; I suspected what you would be at. Come, 
 lose no more time, we'll take care of Mr. Burke for 
 
 you." 
 
 Darby hung his head sorrowfully and left the room 
 without speaking, followed by Dalton, whose voice I heard 
 in a tone of anger, as he descended the stairs. 
 
 There was a certain openness, an easy air of careless 
 freedom in the young Frenchman, which made me feel at 
 home in his company almost the very moment of our 
 acquaintance ; and when he asked some questions about 
 myself and my family, I hesitated not to tell him my entire 
 history, with the causes which had first brought me into 
 Darby's society, and led me to imbibe his doctrines and 
 opinions. He paused when I finished, and, after reflecting 
 for some minutes, he looked me gravely in the face, and 
 said, — 
 
 " But you are aware of the place you are now in ? " 
 
 '*No," said I; "further than the fact of my having 
 enjoyed a capital night's rest and eaten an excellent break- 
 fast, I know nothing about it." 
 
 A hearty burst of laughter from my companion followed 
 this very candid acknowledgment on my part. 
 
 " Then, may I ask, what are your intentions for the 
 future ? — have you any ? " 
 
 " At least one hundred," said I, smiling ; " but every 
 one of them has about as many objections against it. I 
 should like much, for instance, to be a soldier — not in the 
 English service though. I should like to belong to an 
 army where neither birth nor fortune can make nor mar a 
 man's career. I should like, too, to be engaged iu some 
 great war of liberty, where with each victory we gained 
 the voices of a liberated people would fall in blessings upon 
 us ; and then I should like to raise myself to high command 
 by some great achievement." 
 
 *'And then," said the Frenchman, interrupting, "to
 
 78 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 come back to Ireland, and cut off the head of this terrible 
 Monsieur Basset. N'est-ce ^oas^ Tom ? " 
 
 I could uot help joining in his laugh against myself, 
 although in good truth I had felt better pleased if he had 
 taken up my enthusiasm in a different mood. 
 
 " So much for mere dreaming," said I, with half a sigh, 
 as our laughter subsided. 
 
 ''Not so, " said he, quickly — '"not so; all you said is 
 far more attainable than you suspect. I have been in 
 such a service myself — I won my ' grade ' as officer at the 
 point of my sword, when scarcely your age ; and before I 
 was fifteen received this." 
 
 He took down the sword tha.t hung over the chimney as 
 he said these words, and drawing it from the scabbard, 
 pointed to the inscription which, in letters of gold, 
 adorned the blade — " Rivoli," *' Arcole ;" then turning the 
 reverse, I read — " Au Lieutenant Charles Gustave de 
 Meudon, 3me Cuirassiers." 
 
 " This, then, is your name ?" said I, repeating it half 
 aloud. 
 
 *' Yes," replied he, as he drew himself up, and seemed 
 struggling to repress a feeling of pride that sent the blood 
 rushing to his cheek and brow. 
 
 "How I should like to be you!" was the wish that 
 burst from me at that moment, and which I could not 
 help uttering in words. 
 
 '* Helas, non ! " said the Frenchman, sorrowfully, and 
 turning away to conceal his agitation. " I have broken 
 with fortune many a day since." 
 
 The tone of bitter disappointment in which these words 
 were spoken left no room for reply, and we were both 
 silent. 
 
 Charles — for so I must now call him to my reader, as he 
 compelled me to do so with himself-^-Charles was the first 
 to speak. 
 
 "JS'ot many months ago my thoughts were very like 
 your own ; but since then how many disappointments — 
 how many reverses !" 
 
 He walked hurriedly up and down the room as he said 
 this ; then, stopping suddenly before me, laid his hand on 
 my sho alder, and, with a voice of impressive earn tness, 
 said, — •
 
 NO. 39, AND ITS FREQUENTERS. 79 
 
 " Be advised by me — ^join not with these people ; do not 
 embark with them in their enterprise. Their enterprise !" 
 repeated he, scornfully : " they have none. The only men 
 of action here are they with whom no man of honour, no 
 soldier could associate — their only daring some deed of 
 rapine and murder. No, liberty is not to be achieved by 
 such hands as these ; and the other — the men of political 
 wisdom, who prate about reform and the people's rights, 
 who would gladly see such as me adventure in the cause 
 they do not care themselves to advocate — they are all false 
 alike. Give me," cried he, with energy, and stamping his 
 foot upon the ground, "give me a demi-brigade of ours, 
 some squadrons of Milhaud's cavalry, and ' trois houches 
 afeu^ to open the way before us. But why do I speak of 
 this ? Some midnight burning, some savage murder, 
 some cowardly attack on unarmed and defenceless people 
 — these are our campaigns here ; and shall I stain this 
 blade in such a conflict? " 
 
 " But you will go back to France ? " said I, endeavour- 
 ing to say something that might rally him from his gloom. 
 
 "ISTever," replied he, firmly — '"never. I alone, of all 
 ray countrymen, maintained, that to leave the people here 
 at such a crisis was unfair and unmanly. I alone believed 
 in the representations that were made of extended organi- 
 zation, of high hopes, and ardent expectations. I ac- 
 cepted the command of their army — their army ! what a 
 mockery ! When others accepted the amnesty, I refused, 
 and lived in concealment, my life hanging upon the chance 
 of being captured ; for fourteen months I have wandered 
 from county to county, endeavouring to rally the spirit I 
 had been taught to think only needed restraint to hold back 
 its impetuous daring. I have spent money largely, for it 
 was largely placed at my disposal ; I have distributed 
 places and promises ; I have accepted every post where 
 danger offered ; and in return, I hoped that the hour was 
 approaching when we should test the courage of our 
 enemies by such an outbreak as would astonish Europe — 
 and what think you has all ended in ? But my cheek 
 burns at the very thought — an intended attack on the 
 Goverment Members of Parliament — an act of base assas- 
 sination — a cowardly murder; and for what, too ? to pre- 
 vent a political union with England ! Have they forgot-
 
 80 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 ten that our cause was total rupture ! indepeudence ! open 
 enmity with England ! But, c'estjlni, 1 have given them 
 my last resolve. Yesterday evening I told the delegates 
 the only chance that, in my opinion, existed of their suc- 
 cessfully asserting their own independence. I gave them 
 the letters of French officers, high in command and station, 
 concurring with my own views ; and I have pledged my- 
 self to wait one month longer, if they deem my plans 
 worthy of acceptance, to consider all the details, and 
 arrange the mode of proceeding. If they refuse, then I 
 leave Ireland for ever within a week. In America, the 
 cause I glory in is still triumphant ; and there, no prestige 
 of failure shall follow me to damp my own efforts, nor dis- 
 courage the high hopes of such as trust me. But you, my 
 poor boy — and how have I forgotten you in all this sad 
 history — I will not suffer you to be misled by false represen- 
 tations and flattering offers. It may be the only consola- 
 tion I shall carry with me from this land of anarchy and 
 misfortune — but even that is something — if I rescue one 
 untried and uncorrupted heart from the misery of such 
 associates. You shall be a soldier — be my companion here 
 while I stay ! I'll arrange everything for your comfort ; 
 we'll read and talk together ; and I will endeavour to 
 repay the debt I owe to France, by sending back there 
 one better than myself to guard her eagles." 
 
 The tears ran last down my cheeks as I heard these 
 words, but not one syllable could I utter. 
 
 " You do not like my plan ; well " 
 
 Before he could conclude, I seized his hand with rapture 
 within both of mine, and pressed it to my lips. 
 
 " It is a bargain, then," said he, gaily ; " and now let 
 us lose no more time ; let us remove this breakfast-table, 
 and begin at once." 
 
 Another table was soon drawn over to the fire, upon 
 which a mass of books, maps, and plates were heaped by 
 my companion, who seemed to act in the whole affair 
 with all the delight of a schoolboy in some exploit of 
 amusement. 
 
 " You are aware, Tom, that this place is a prison to 
 me, and, therefore, I am not altogether disinterested in 
 this proposal. You, however, can go out when you please ; 
 but until you understand the precautions necessary to
 
 NO. 39, AND ITS FREQUENTERS. 81 
 
 prevent you from being traced here, it is better not to 
 venture into the city." 
 
 " I have no wish whatever to leave this," said I, quickly, 
 while I ranged my eye with delight over the pile of books 
 before me, and thought of all the pleasure I was to draw 
 from their perusal. 
 
 " You must tell me so three weeks hence, if you wish 
 to flatter me," replied Charles, as he drew over his chair, 
 and pointed with his hand to another. 
 
 It needed not the pleasing and attractive power ol 
 my teacher to make my study the most captivating 
 of all amusements. Military science, even in its gravest 
 forms, had an interest for me such as no other pursuit 
 could equal. In its vast range of collateral subjects, it 
 opened an inexhaustible mine to stimulate industry and 
 encourage research. The great wars of the world were 
 the great episodes in history, wherein monarchs and 
 princes were nothing, if not generals. With what delight, 
 then, did I hang over the pages of Carnot and Jomini ; 
 with what an anxious heart would I read the narrative 
 of a siege, where, against every disadvantage of numbers 
 and munitions of war, some few resisted all the attacks of 
 the adverse forces, with no other protection save that of 
 consummate skill. With what enthusiasm did I hear of 
 Charles XII., of Wallenstein, of the Prince Eugene ; and 
 how oftentimes did I ask myself in secret, why had the 
 world none such as these to boast of now ? till at last the 
 name of Bonaparte burst from my companion's lips, as, 
 with a torrent of long-restrained devotion, he broke forth 
 into an eloquent and impassioned account of the great 
 general of his age. 
 
 That name once heard, I could not bear to think or 
 speak of any other. How I lollowed him, from the siege 
 of Toulon, as he knelt down beside the gun which he 
 pointed with his own hand, to the glorious battle-fields of 
 Italy, and heard, from one who listened to his shout of 
 " Suivez-moi " on the bridge of Lodi, the glorious heroism 
 of that day ! I tracked him across the pathless deserts of 
 the East, beneath the shadow of the Pyramids, whose 
 fame seems, somehow, to have revived in the history of 
 that great man ; and then I listened to the stories — and 
 how numerous were they ! — of his personal daring, the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82^ TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 devotion and love men bore him, the magic influence of 
 his presence, the command of his look ; the very short 
 and broken sentences he addressed to his generals were 
 treasured up in my mind and repeated over and over to 
 myself. Charles possessed a miniature of the First Consul, 
 which he assured me was strikingly like him, and for 
 hours long I could sit and gaze upon that cold, unimpas- • 
 sioned brow, where greatness seemed to sit enthroned. 
 How I longed to look upon the broad and massive fore- 
 head — the deep-set, searching eye — the mouth, where 
 sweetness and severity seemed tempered — and that finely 
 rounded chin, that gave his head so much the character of 
 antique beauty. His image filled every avenue of my 
 brain ; his eye seemed on me in my waking moments, and 
 I thought I heard his voice in my dream. Never did 
 lover dwell more rapturously on the memory of his mis- 
 tress than did my boyish thoughts on Bonaparte. What 
 would I not have done to serve him ? What would I not 
 have dared to win one word, one look of his, in praise? 
 All other names faded away before his ; the halo around 
 him paled every other star ; the victories I had thought of 
 before with admiration I now only regarded as trifling 
 successes, compared with the overwhelming torrent of his 
 conquests. Charles saw my enthusiasm, and ministered 
 to it with eager delight. Every trait in his beloved leader 
 that could stimulate admiration, or excite affection, he 
 dwelt on with all the fondness of a Frenchman for his 
 idol, till at last the world seemed to my eyes but the 
 theatre of his greatness, and men the mere instruments of 
 that commanding intellect that ruled the destinies and 
 disposed of the fortunes of nations. 
 
 In this way days, and weeks, and even months rolled 
 on, for Charles's interest in my studies had induced him 
 to abandon his former intention of departure, and he now 
 scarcely took any part in the proceedings of the dele- 
 gates, and devoted himself almost exclusively to me. 
 During the day-time we never left the house, but when 
 night fell we used to walk forth — not into the city, but 
 by some country road, often along the canal-side — our 
 conversation on the only topic wherein we felt interested ; 
 and these rambles still live within my memory with all 
 the vivid freshness of yesterday; and whil^. my heart
 
 NO. 39, AND ITS FREQUENTERS. 83 
 
 saddens over the influence they shed upon my after life, 
 I cannot help the train of pleasure with which, even yet, 
 I dwell upon their recollection. How guarded should he 
 be who converses with a boy, forgetting with what power 
 each word is fraught, by the mere force of years ; how the 
 flattery of equality destroys judgment, and saps all power 
 of discrimination ; and, more than all, how dangerous it is 
 to graft upon the tender sapling the ripe fruits of expe- 
 rience, not knowing how, in such, they may grow to very 
 rankness. Few are there who cannot look back to their 
 childhood for the origin of opinions that have had their 
 influence over all their latter years ; and when these have 
 owed their birth to those we loved, is it wonderful that 
 we should cling to faults which seemed hallowed by 
 friendship ? 
 
 Meanwhile, I was becoming a man, if not in years, at 
 least in spirit and ambition. The pursuits natural to my 
 age were passed over for the studies of more advanced 
 years. Military history had imparted to me a soldier's 
 valour, and I could take no pleasure in anything save as it 
 bore upon the one engrossing topic of my mind. 
 
 Charles, too, seemed to feel all his own ambition revived 
 in mine, and watched with pride the progress I was making 
 under his guidance. 
 
 a 2
 
 84 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE frenchman's STORY. 
 
 While my life slipped thus pleasantly along, the hopes of 
 the insurgent party fell daily and hourly lower ; disunion 
 and distrust pervaded all their councils, jealousies and 
 suspicions grew up among their leaders. Many of those 
 whose credit stood highest in their party became informers 
 to the Government, whose persevering activity increased 
 with every emergency ; and finally, they who would have 
 adventured everything but some few months before, grew 
 lukewarm and indifferent. A dogged carelessness seemed 
 to have succeeded to their outbreak of enthusiasm, and they 
 looked on at the execution of their companions, and the 
 wreck of their party, with a stupid and stolid indifference. 
 
 For sometime previous the delegates met at rare and ir- 
 regular intervals, and finally ceased to assemble altogether. 
 The bolder portion of the body, disgusted with the weak 
 and temporizing views of the others, withdrew first ; and 
 the less determined formed themselves into a, new society, 
 whose object was merely to get up petitions and addresses 
 unfavourable to the great project of the Government — a 
 legislative union with England. 
 
 From the turn events had taken, my companion, as it 
 may be supposed, took no interest in their proceedings. 
 Affecting to think that all was not lost — while in his heart 
 he felt bitterly the disappointment of his hopes — a settled 
 melancholy, unrelieved even by those flashes of buoyancy 
 which a Frenchman rarely loses in any misfortune, now 
 grew upon him. His cheek grew paler, and his frame 
 seemed wasting away, while his impaired strength and 
 tottering step betrayed that something more than sorrow 
 waa at work within him. Still he persevered in our course 
 of study, and, notwithstanding all my efforts to induce him 
 to relax in his labours, his desire to teach me grew with 
 every day. For some time, a short, hacking cough, with
 
 THE FKENCHMAN'S STORY. 85 
 
 pain in his chest, had seized on him, and, although it 
 yielded to slight remedies, it returned again and again. 
 Our night walks were, therefore, obliged to be discon- 
 tinued, and the confinement to the house preyed upon his 
 spirits, and shook his nerves. Boy as I was, I could not 
 look upon his altered face and attenuated figure without a 
 thrilling fear at my heart lest he might be seriously ill. 
 He perceived my anxiety quickly, and endeavoured, with 
 many a cheering speech, to assure me that these were 
 attacks to which he had been long accustomed, and which 
 never were either lasting or dangerous ; but the very 
 hollow accents in which he spoke robbed these words of 
 all their comfort to me. 
 
 The winter, which had been unusually long and severe, 
 at length passed away, and the spring, milder and more 
 genial than is customary in our climate, succeeded ; the 
 sunlight came slanting down through the narrow court, 
 and fell in one rich yellow patch upon the floor. Charles 
 started, his dark eyes, hollow and sunk, glowed with 
 unwonted brightness, and his haggard and hollow cheek 
 suddenly flushed with a crimson glow. 
 
 " Mon cher," said he, in a voice tremulous with emotion, 
 " I think if I were to leave this I might recover." 
 
 The very possibility of his death, until that moment, 
 had never even crossed my mind, and in the misery of the 
 thought I burst into tears. From that hour the impres- 
 sion never left my mind, and every accent of his low, 
 soft voice, every glance of his mild, dark eye, sank into 
 my heart, as though I heard and saw them for the last 
 time. There was nothing to fear now, so far as political 
 causes were concerned, in our removing from our present 
 abode, and it was arranged between us that we should 
 leave town, and take up our residence in the county of 
 Wicklow. There was a small cottage at the opening of 
 Glenmalure which my companion constantly spoke of ; he 
 had passed iwo nights there already, and left it with many 
 a resolve to return and enjoy the delightful scenery of 
 the neighbourhood. 
 
 The month of April was drawing to a close, when one 
 morning, soon after sunrise, we left Dublin. A heavy 
 mist, such as often in northern climates usliers in a day of 
 unusual brightness, shrouded every object from our view
 
 86 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.*' 
 
 for several miles of the way. Charles scarcely spoke ; the 
 increased exertion seemed to have fatigued and exhausted 
 him, and he lay back in the carriage, his handkerchief 
 pressed to his mouth, and his eyes half closed. 
 
 We had passed the little town of Bray, and entered 
 upon that long road which traverses the valley between 
 the two Sugar Loaves, when suddenly the sun burst forth ; 
 the lazy mists rolled heavily up the valley and along the 
 mountain sides, disclosing as they went patches of fertile 
 richness, or dark masses of frowning rock. Above this, 
 again, the purple heath appeared glowing, like a gorgeous 
 amethyst, as the red sunlight played upon it, or sparkled 
 on the shining granite that rose through the luxuriant 
 herbage. Gradually the ravine grew narrower ; the moun- 
 tains seemed like one vast chain, severed by some great 
 convulsion ; their rugged sides appeared to mark the very 
 junction ; trunks of aged and mighty trees hung threaten- 
 ingly above the pass ; and a hollow echoing sound arose, 
 as the horses trod along the causeway. It was a spot of 
 wild and gloomy grandeur, and as I gazed on it intently, 
 suddenly I felt a hand upon my shoulder. I turned 
 round : it was Charles's, his eyes riveted on the scene, 
 his lips parted with eagerness ; he spoke at length, but at 
 first his voice was hoarse and low, by degrees it grew 
 fuller and richer, and at last rolled on, in all its wonted 
 strength and roundness. 
 
 *' See there — look!" cried he, as his thin, attenuated 
 figure pointed to the pass. " What a ravine to defend ! 
 The column, with two pieces of artillery in the road ; the 
 cavalry to form behind, where you see that open space, 
 and advance between the open files of the infantry ; the 
 tirailleurs scattered along that ridge where the furze is 
 thickest, or down there among those masses of rock 
 Sacristi ! — what a volume of fire they'd pour down. See 
 how the blue smoke and the ring of the musket would 
 mark them out as they dotted the mountain side, and yet 
 were unapproachable to the enemy ; and think then of the 
 rolling thunder of the eighteeu-pounders shaking these old 
 mountains, and the long, clattering crash of the platoon 
 following after, and the dark chakos towering above the 
 smoke ; and then the loud ' Viva! ' I think 1 hear it." 
 
 His cheek became purple as he spoke, his veins swollen
 
 THE frenchman's STORY. 87 
 
 and distended ; his voice, though loud, lost nothing of its 
 musical cadence, and his whole look betokened excitement, 
 almost bordering on madness. Suddenly his chest heaved, 
 a tremendous fit of coughing seized him, and he fell for- 
 ward upon my shoulder. I lifted him up, and what was 
 my horror to perceive that all his vest and cravat were 
 bathed in florid blood, which issued from his mouth. He 
 had burst a blood- vessel in his wild transport of enthu- 
 siasm, and now lay pale, cold, and senseless in my arms. 
 
 It was a long time before we could proceed with our 
 journey, for, although fortunately the bleeding did not 
 continue, fainting followed fainting for hours after. At 
 length we were enabled to set out again, but only at a 
 walking pace. For the remainder of the day his head 
 rested on my shoulder, and his cold hand in mine, as we 
 slowly traversed the long, weary miles towards Glenmalure. 
 
 The night was falling as we arrived at our journey's end. 
 Here, however, every kindness and attention awaited us ; 
 and I soon had the happiness of seeing my poor friend in 
 his bed, and sleeping with all the ease and tranquillity of a 
 child. 
 
 From that hour every other thought was merged in my 
 fears for him. I watched, with an agonizing intensity, 
 every change of his malady. I scanned, with an aching 
 heart, every symptom day by day. How many times has 
 the false bloom of hectic shed happiness over me. How 
 often, in my secret walks, have I offered up my prayer of 
 thankfulness, as the deceitful glow of fever coloured his wan 
 cheek, and lent a more than natural brilliancy to his sunk 
 and filmy eye. The world to me was all nothing, save as 
 it influenced him. Every cloud that moved above, each 
 breeze that rustled, I thought of for him ; and when I slept 
 his image was still before me, and his voice seemed to call me 
 oftentimes in the silence of the night, and when I awoke 
 and saw him sleeping, I knew not which was the reality 
 
 His debility increased rapidly ; and although the mild 
 air of summer, and the shelter of the deep valley seemed 
 to have relieved his cough, his weakness grew daily more 
 and more. His character, too, seemed to have undergone 
 a change as great and as striking as that in his health. 
 The high and chivalrous ambition, the soldier-like heroism, 
 the ardent spirit of patriotism that at first marked him,
 
 88 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 had given way to a low and tender melancholy — an almost 
 womanish tenderness — that made him love to have tha 
 little children of the cabin near him, to hear their innocent 
 prattle, and watch their infant gambols. He talked, too, 
 of home, of the old chateau in Provence, where he was 
 born, and described to me its antiquated terraces and 
 quaint, old-fashioned alleys, where as a boy he wandered 
 with his sister. 
 
 " Pauvre Marie ! " said he, as a deep blush covered h^!s 
 pale cheek, " how have I deserted you ! " The thought 
 seemed full of anguish for him, and for the remainder of 
 the day he scarcely spoke. 
 
 Some days after his first mention of his sister, we were 
 sitting together in front of the cabin, enjoying the shade 
 of a large chestnut tree, which already had put forth its 
 early leaves, and tempered, if it did not exclude, the rays 
 of the sun. 
 
 "You heard me speak of my sister," said he, in a low 
 and broken voice. " She is all that 1 have on earth near 
 to me. We were brought up together as children ; learned 
 the same plays ; had the same masters ; spent not one hour 
 in the long day asunder, and at night we pressed each 
 other's hands, as we sunk to sleep. She was to me all 
 that I ever dreamed of girlish loveliness, of woman's hap- 
 piesc nature ; and I was her ideal of boyish daring, of 
 youthful boldness, and manly enterprise. We loved each 
 other — like those who felt they had no need of other affec- 
 tion, save such as sprang from our cradles, and tracked as 
 on through life. Hers was a heart that seemed made for 
 all that human nature can taste of happiness ; her eye, 
 her lip, her blooming cheek knew no other expression than 
 a smile ; her very step was buoyancy ; her laugh rang 
 through your heart as joy-bells fill the air ; and yet ! and 
 yet ! I brought that heart to sorrow, and that cheek I 
 made pale, and hollow, and sunken as you see my own. 
 My cursed ambition, that rested not content with my own 
 path in life, threw its baleful shadow across hers. The 
 story is a short one, and I may tell it to you. 
 
 " When I left Provence, to join the army of the south, 
 I was obliged to leave Marie under the care of an old and 
 distant relative, who resided some two leagues from us on 
 the Loire. The chevalier was a widower, with one son
 
 THE frenchman's STORY. 89 
 
 about mj own age, of whom I knew nothing, save that he 
 had never left his father s house — had been educated com- 
 pletely at home— and bad obtained the reputation of being 
 a sombre, retired book-worm, who avoided the world, and 
 preferred the lonely solitude of a provincial chateau to the 
 gay dissipations of Paris. 
 
 " My only fear in entrusting my poor sister in such 
 hands was the dire stupidity of the sejour ; but as I bid 
 her good-bye, I said, laughingly, * Frenez garde, Marie, 
 don't fall in love with Claude de Lauzan.' 
 
 " ' Poor Claude ! ' said she, bursting into a fit of 
 laughter ; ' what a sad affair that would be for him ! * 
 So saying, we parted. 
 
 " I made the campaign of Italy, where, as I have per- 
 haps too often told you, I had some opportunities of dis- 
 tinguishing myself, and was promoted to a squadron on 
 the field of Arcole. Great as my boyish exultation was 
 at my success, I believe its highest pleasure arose from the 
 anticipation of Marie's delight when she received my letter 
 'with the news. I wrote to her nearly every week, and 
 heard from her as frequently ; at the time I did not mark, 
 as I have since done, the altered tone of her letters to me. 
 How gradually the high, ambitious daring that animated 
 her early answers became tamed down into half-regretful 
 fears of a soldier's career ; her sorrows for those whose 
 conquered countries were laid waste by fire and sword; 
 her implied censure of a war, whose injustice she more 
 than hinted at ; and lastly, her avowed preference for 
 those peaceful paths in life that were devoted to the 
 happiness of one's fellows, and the worship of Him who 
 deserved all our affection. I did not mark, I say, this 
 change ; the bustle of the camp, the din of arms, the crash 
 of mounted squadrons, are poor aids to reflection ; and I 
 thought of Marie but as I left her. 
 
 " It was after a few months of absence I returned to 
 Provence, the croia, d'honneur on my bosom, the sabre I 
 won at Lodi by my side. I rushed into the room bursting 
 •with impatience to clasp my sister in my arms, and burn- 
 ing to tell her all my deeds and all my dangers; she met 
 me with her old affection, but how altered in its form! 
 her gay and girlish liglitness, the very soul of buoyant 
 pleasure was gone ; and in its place a mild, sad smile
 
 90 TOM BURKE OP *' OURS." 
 
 played upon her lip, and a deep, tboughtful look was in 
 her dark brown eye. She looked not less beautiful ; no, 
 far from it, her loveliness was increased tenfold ; but the 
 disappointment smote heavily on my heart. I looked 
 about me like one seeking for some explanation, and there 
 stood Claude — pale, still, and motionless — before me ; the 
 very look she wore reflected in his calm features, her very 
 smile was on his lips. In an instant the whole truth 
 flashed across me ; she loved him. There are thoughts 
 which rend us, as lightning does the rock, opening new 
 surfaces that lay hid since the Creation, and tearing our 
 fast-knit sympathies asunder like the rent granite — mine 
 was such. From that hour I hated him ; the very virtues 
 that had, under happier circumstances, made us like 
 brothers, but added fuel to the flame. My rival, he had 
 robbed me of my sister — he had left me without that one 
 great prize I owned on earth ; and all that I had dared 
 and won seemed poor, and barren, and worthless, since 
 she no longer valued it. 
 
 " That very night I wrote a letter to the First Consul ; 
 I knew the ardent desire he possessed to attach to Jose- 
 phine's suite such members of the old aristocracy as could 
 be induced to join it. He had more than once hinted 
 to me that the fame of my sister's beauty had reached the 
 Tuileries ; that with such pretensions as hers, the seclusion 
 of a chateau in Provence was ill-suited to her. I stated 
 at once my wish that she might be received as one of the 
 ladies of the Court, avowing my intention to afford her 
 any sura that might be deemed suitable to maintain her in 
 so exalted a sphere. This, you are not aware, is the mode 
 by which the members of a family express to the Consul 
 that they surrender all right and guardianship in the indi- 
 vidual given, tendering to him full power to dispose of her 
 in m irriage, exactly as though he were her own father. 
 
 " Before day broke my letter was on its way to Paris ; 
 in less than a week came the answer, accepting my pro- 
 posal in the moat flattering terms, and commanding me to 
 repair to the Tuileries with my sister, and take command 
 of a regiment d'elile then preparing for service. 
 
 " I may not dwell on the scene that followed. The very 
 memory of it is too much for my weak and failing spirits. 
 Claude flung himself at my feet, and confessed his love ;
 
 THE frenchman's STORY. 91 
 
 he declared his willingness to submit to any or everything 
 I should dictate : he would join the army ; he would volun- 
 teer for Egypt. Poor fellow ! his trembling accents and blood- 
 less lip comported ill with the heroism of his words. Only 
 promise that in the end Marie should be his, and there was no 
 danger he would not dare; no course in life, however unsuited 
 to him, he would not follow at my bidding. I know not 
 whether my heart could have withstood such an appeal as 
 this, had I been free to act ; but now the die was cast. I 
 handed him the First Consul's letter ; he opened it with a 
 hand trembling like palsy, and read it over ; he leaned his 
 head against the chimney when he finished, and gave me 
 back the letter without a word. I could not bear to look 
 on him, and left the room. 
 
 When I returned he was gone. We left the chateau 
 the same evening for Paris. Marie scarcely spoke one 
 word during the journey ; a fatuous, stupid indifference to 
 everything and every one had seized her, and she seemed 
 perfectly careless whither we went. This gradually yielded 
 to a settled melancholy, which never left her. On our 
 arrival in Paris, I did not dare to present myself with her 
 at the Tuileries ; so, feigning her ill-health as an excuse, I 
 remained some weeks at Versailles, to endeavour by affec- 
 tion and care to overcome this sad feature of her malady. 
 It was about six weeks after this that I read in the Journal 
 des Debats an announcement that ' Claude de Lauzan had 
 accepted holy orders, and was appointed cure of La Fleche, 
 in Brittany.' At first the news came on me like a thunder- 
 clap, but after a while's reflection I began to believe it 
 was, perhaps, the very best thing could have happened ; 
 and under this view of the matter I left the paper in 
 Marie's way. 
 
 " I was right. She did not appear the next morning 
 at breakfast nor the entire day after. The following day 
 the same ; but in the evening came a few lines written 
 with a pencil, saying she wished to see me. I went — 
 but I cannot tell you. My very heart is bursting as I 
 think of her, as she sat up in her bed — her long, dark 
 hair falling in heavy masses over her shoulders, and her 
 darker eyes flashing with a brightness that seemed like 
 wandering intellect. She fell upon my neck and cried ; 
 her tears ran down my cheek, and her sobs shook me. I
 
 92 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 know not what I said, bat I remember that she agreed 
 to everything I had arranged for her ; she even smiled a 
 sickly smile as I spoke of what an ornament she would 
 be to the belle cour, and we parted. 
 
 *' That was the last good-night I ever wished her. The 
 next day she was received at Court, and I was ordered to 
 !Normandy, thence I was sent to Boulogne, and soon after 
 to Ireland." 
 
 " But you have written to her — you have heard from 
 her ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no. I have written again and again, but either 
 she has never received my letters, or she will not answer 
 them." 
 
 The tone of sorrow he concluded in left no room for 
 any effort at consolation, and we were silent ; at last he 
 took my hand in his, and as his feverish fingers pressed 
 it, he said, — 
 
 *' 'Tis a sad thing when we work the misery of thoso 
 for whose happiness we would have shed our heart's 
 blood."
 
 93 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 The excitement caused by the mere narration of liia 
 sister's suffering weighed heavily on De Meudon's weak and 
 exhausted frame ; his thoughts would flow in no other 
 channel ; his reveries were of home and long-past years ; 
 and a depression far greater than I had yet witnessed 
 settled down upow his jaded spirits. 
 
 " Is not my present condition like a just retribution on 
 my ambitious folly ? " was his continued reflection : and 
 so he felt it. With a Frenchman's belief in destiny, he 
 regarded the failure of all his hopes, and the ruin of the 
 cause he had embarked in, as the natural and inevitable 
 consequences of his own ungenerous conduct ; and even 
 reproached himself for carrying his evil fortune into an 
 enterprise which, w^ithout him, might have been successful. 
 These gloomy forebodings, against which reason was of 
 no a,j^ail, grew hourly upon him, and visibly influenced 
 his chances of recovery. 
 
 It was a sad spectacle to look on one who possessed so 
 much of good — so many fair and attractive qualities — ■ 
 thus wasting away without a single consolMtion he could 
 lay to his bruised and wounded spirit. The very successes 
 he once gloried to remember now only added bitterness to 
 his fallen state ; to think of what he had been, and look on 
 what he was, was his heaviest affliction, and he fell into 
 deep, brooding melancholy, in which he scarcely spoke, 
 but sat looking at vacancy, waiting as it were for death. 
 
 I remember it well, I had been sitting silently by his 
 bedside ; for hours he had not spoken, but an occasional 
 deep-drawn sigh showed he was not sleeping. It was 
 night, and all in the little household were at rest ; a slight 
 rustling of the curtain attracted me, and I felt his hand 
 steal from the clothes and grasp my own. 
 
 " I have been thinking of you, my dear boy," said he,
 
 94 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 " and what is to become of you when I'm gone. There, 
 do not sob ; the time is short now, and I begin to feel it 
 so ; for, somehow, as we approach the confines of eternity, 
 our mental vision grows clearer and more distinct — doubts 
 that have long puzzled us seem doubts no longer. Many 
 of our highest hopes and aspirations — the day-dreams 
 that made life glorious — pass before our eyes, and be- 
 come the poor and empty pageants of the hour. Like the 
 traveller who, as he journeys along, sees little of the way, 
 but at the last sits down upon some grassy bank, and 
 gazes over the long line of road ; so, as the close of life 
 draws near, we throw a backward glance upon the past. 
 But how differently does all seem to our eyeS' — how many 
 of those we envied once do we pity now ; how many of 
 those who appeared low and humble, whose thoughts 
 seemed bowed to earth, do we now recognize as soaring 
 aloft, high above their fellow-men, like creatures of some 
 other sphere ! " He paused ; then in a tone of greater 
 earnestness added, "You must not join these people, Tom. 
 The day is gone by when anything great or good could 
 have been accomplished. The horrors of civil war will 
 ever prevent good men from uniting themselves to a 
 cause which has no other road save through bloodshed ; 
 and many wise ones, who weigh well the dangers, see it 
 hopeless. France is your country — there, liberty has been 
 won ; there lives one great man, whose notice, were it 
 but passingly bestowed, is fame. If life were spared me, 
 1 could have served you there — as it is, I can do some- 
 thing." 
 
 He paused for a while, and then drawing the curtain 
 gently to one side, said, — 
 
 " Can it be moonlight, it is so very bright ? " 
 " Yes," said I ; " the moon is at the full." 
 He sat up as I spoke, and looked eagerly out through 
 the little window. 
 
 " I have got a fancy — how strange, too, it is one I have 
 often smiled at in others, but I feel it strongly now — it is 
 to choose some spot where I shall be laid when I am dead.. 
 There is a little ruin at the bottom of this glen ; you 
 must remember it well. If I mistake not, there is a well 
 close beside it. I remember resting there one hot and 
 sultry day in July. It was an eventful day, too; we beat
 
 THE CHUUCHTARD. 95 
 
 the king's troops, and took seventy prisoners ; and I rode 
 from Arklow down here to bring up some ammunition 
 that we had secreted in one of the lead-mines. Well I 
 recollect falling asleep beside that well, and having such 
 a delightful dream of home, when I was a child, and of a 
 pony which Marie used to ride behind me, and 1 thought 
 we were galloping through the vineyard, she grasping me 
 round the waist, half laugliing, half in fear ; and when I 
 awoke I could not remember where I was. I should like 
 to see that old spot again, and I feel strong enough now 
 to try it." 
 
 I endeavoured, wdth all my power of persuasion, to 
 prevent his attempting to walk such a distance, and in the 
 night air too ; but the more 1 reasoned against it, the more 
 bent was he on the project, and at last I was obliged to 
 yield a reluctant consent, and assist him to rise and 
 dress. 
 
 The energy which animated him at first soon sank 
 under the effort, and before we had gone a quarter of a 
 mile he grew faint and weary, still he persevered, and, 
 leaning heavily on my arm, he tottered along. 
 
 " If I make no better progress," said he, smiling 
 sadly, " there will be no need to assist me coming 
 back." 
 
 At last we reached the ruin, which, like many of the 
 old churches in Ireland, was a mere gable, overgrown 
 with ivy, and pierced with a single window, whose rudely- 
 formed arch betokened great antiquity. Vestiges of the 
 side walls remained in part, but the inside of the building 
 was filled with tombstones and grave-mounds, selected by 
 the people as being a place of more than ordinary sanc- 
 tity ; among these the rank dock weeds and nettles grew 
 luxuriantly, and the tall grass lay heavy and matted. We 
 sat for some time looking on this sad spot : a few garlands 
 were withering on some rude crosses of stick, to mark 
 the latest of those who sought their rest there, and upon 
 these my companion's eyes were bent with a melancholy 
 meaning. 
 
 How long we sat there in silence I know not, but a 
 rustling of the ivy behind me was the first thing to attract 
 my attention. I turned quickly round, and in the window 
 of the ruin beheld the head of a man bent eagerly in the
 
 98 TOM BUBEE OF " OITKS." 
 
 direction we were in ; the moonlight fell upon him at the 
 moment, and I saw that the face was blackened. 
 
 "Who's that?" I called aloud, as with my finger I 
 directed De Meudon to the spot. No answer was re- 
 turned, and I repeated my question yet louder, but still 
 no reply, while I could mark that the head was turned 
 slightly round, as if to speak with some one without. 
 The noise of feet, and the low murmur of several voices, 
 now came from the side of the ruin, at the same instant 
 a dozen men, their faces blackened, and wearing a white 
 badge on their hats, stood up as if out of the very ground 
 around us. 
 
 " What are you d'oing here at this time of night?" 
 said a hard voice, in tones that boded but little kindli- 
 ness. 
 
 " We are as free to walk the country, when we like it, 
 as you are, I hope," was my answer. 
 
 " I know his voice well," said another of the crowd. 
 ** I told you it was them." 
 
 " Is it you that stop at Wild's, in the glen ? " said the 
 first speaker. 
 
 *' Yes," replied I. 
 
 " And is it to get share of what's going that ye*re 
 come to join us now ? " repeated he, in a tone of mockery. 
 
 " Be easy, Lanty — 'tis the French officer that behaved 
 so stout up at Ross : it's little he cares for money, as 
 myself knows. I saw him throw a handful of goold 
 among the boys when they stopped to pillage, and bid 
 them do their work first, and that he'd give them plenty 
 after." 
 
 " Maybe he'd do the same now," said a voice from the 
 crowd, in a tone of irony ; and the words were received 
 by the rest with a roar of laughter. 
 
 " Stop laughing," said the first speaker, in a voice of 
 command; " we've small time for joking." As he spoke 
 he threw himself heavily on the bank beside De Meudon, 
 and, placing his hand familiarly on his arm, said, in a low, 
 but clear voice, " The boys is come up here to-night to 
 draw lots for three men to settle Barton, that's come down 
 here yesterday, and stopping at the barrack there. We 
 knew you warn't well lately, and we didn't trouble you ; 
 but now that you're come up of yourself among us, it's only
 
 THE CHURCHYARD. 97 
 
 fair and reasonable you'd take your chance with the rest, 
 and draw your lot with the others." 
 
 " Arrah, he's too weak — the man is dying," said a 
 voice near. 
 
 " And if he is," said the other, " who wants his help, 
 snre, isn't it to keep him quiet, and not bethray us ? " 
 
 " The devil a fear of that," said the former speaker ; 
 ** he's thrue to the backbone ; I know them that knows 
 him well." 
 
 By this time De Meudon had risen to his feet, and 
 stood leaning upon a tall headstone beside him ; his 
 foraging cap fell off in his effort to stand, and his long 
 thin hair floated in masses down his pale cheeks and on 
 his shoulders ; the moon was full upon him, and what a 
 contrast did his noble features present to the ruffian band 
 that sat and stood around him ! 
 
 " And is it a scheme of murder — of cold, cowardly 
 assassination you have dared to propose to me ? " said he, 
 darting a look of fiery indignation on him who seemed 
 the leader. " Is it thus you understand my presence in 
 your country, and in your cause ? Think ye it was for 
 this that I left the glorious army of France — that I quitted 
 the field of honourable war to mix with such as you? 
 Ay, if it were the last word I were to speak on earth, I'd 
 denounce you, wretches that stain with blood and mas- 
 sacre the sacred cause the best and boldest bleed for." 
 
 The click of a trigger sounded harshly on my ear, and 
 my blood ran ^old with horror ; De Meudon heard it too, 
 and continued, — 
 
 " You do but cheat me of an hour or two, and I am 
 ready." 
 
 He paused, as if waiting for the shot. A deadly silence 
 followed ; it lasted for some minutes, when again he spoke, — - 
 
 " i came here to-night not knowing of your inten- 
 tions, not expecting you ; I came here to choose a grave, 
 where, before another week pass over, 1 hoped to rest ; if 
 you will it sooner, I shall not gainsay you." 
 
 Low murmurs ran through the crowd, and something 
 like a tone of pity could be heard mingling through the 
 voices. 
 
 " Let him go home, then, in God's name ! " said one of 
 tho number; "that's the best way." 
 
 VOL. 1. H
 
 98 TOM BURKE OF **0UIIS.'* 
 
 **Aj, take him home," said another, addressing me. 
 "Dan Kelly's a hard man when he's roused." 
 
 The words were repeated on every side, and I led De 
 Meudon forth leaning on my arm, for already, the excite- 
 ment over, a stupid indifference crept over him, and he 
 walked on by my side without speaking. 
 
 I confess it was not without trepidation, and many r' 
 backward glance towards the old ruin, that I turneo 
 homeward to our cabin. There was that in their looks ai 
 which I trembled for my companion, nor do I yet know 
 why they spared him at that moment. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The day which followed the events I have mentioned was 
 a sad one to me. The fatigue and the excitement together 
 brought on fever with De Meudon. His head became 
 attacked, and before evening his faculties began to wander. 
 All the strange events of his chequered lile were mixed 
 up in his disturbed intellect, and he talked on for hours 
 about Italy, and Egypt, the Tuileries, La Veadee, and 
 Ireland, without ceasing. The entire of the night he 
 never slept, and the next day the symptoms appeared 
 Btill more aggravated. The features of his insanity were 
 wilder and less controllable. He lost all memory of me, 
 and sometimes the sight of me at his bedside threw him 
 into most terrific paroxysms of passion ; while at others, 
 he would hold my hand for hours together, and seem to 
 feel my presence as something soothing. His frequent 
 recurrence to the scene in the churchyard showed the deep 
 impression it had made upon his mind, and how fatally 
 it had influenced the worst symptoms of his malady. 
 
 Thus passed two days and nights. On the third morn- 
 ing exhaustion seemed to have worn him into a false calm. 
 His wild., staring eye had become heavier ; his movements 
 less rapid j the spot of colour had left his cheek : th#
 
 TOO LATE. 99 
 
 Tuouth was pinched up and ricrid ; and a flatness of the 
 muscles of the face betokened complete depression. He 
 sj)oke seldom, and with a voice hoarse and cavernous, but 
 DO longer in the tone of wild excitement as before. 1 sat 
 by his bedside still and in silence, my own sad thoughts 
 my only company. As it grew later, the sleepless days 
 and nights I had passed, and the stillness of the sick- 
 room, overcame me, and I slept. 
 
 I awoke with a start ; some dreamy consciousness of 
 neglect had flashed across me, and I sat up. I peeped 
 into the bed, and started back with amazement. I looked 
 again, and there lay De Meudon, on the outside of the 
 clothes, dressed in his full uniform — the green coat and 
 white facing, the large gold epaulettes, the brilliant crosses 
 on the breast ; his plumed chapeau lay at one side of him, 
 and his sabre at the other. He lay still and motionless. 
 I held the candle near his face, and could mark a slight 
 smile that curled his cold lip, and gave to his wan and 
 wasted features something of their former expression. 
 
 " Oui, mon cher," said he, in a weak whisper, as he took 
 my hand and kissed it, "c'est bien moi ;" and then added, 
 " it was another of my strange fancies to put on these once 
 more before I died; and, when 1 found you sleeping, I 
 arose and did so. I have changed something since I wore 
 this last ; it was at a ball at Cambaceres." 
 
 My joy at hearing him speak once more, with full pos- 
 session of his reason, was damped by the great change a 
 few hours had worked in his appearance. His skin was 
 cold and clammy ; a gluey moisture rested on his cheek, 
 and his teeth were dark and discoloured. A slimy Iroth, 
 too, was ever rising to his lips as he spoke, while at every 
 respiration his chest heaved and waved like a stormy sea. 
 
 " You are thirsty, Charles," said I, stooping over him 
 to wet his lips. 
 
 "No," said he, calmly, "I have but one thing which 
 wants relief; it is here " 
 
 He pressed his hand to his heart as he spoke, while such 
 a look of misery as crossed his features I never beheld. 
 
 " Your heart " 
 
 " Is broken," said he, with a sigh. 
 
 For some minutes he said nothing, then whispered, — 
 
 •* Take my pocket-book from beneath my pillow — yea, 
 
 H 2
 
 .100 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 that's it. There is a letter you'll give my sister — yon HI 
 promise me that; well, the other is for Lecharlier, the chef 
 of the Polyteehnique at Paris — that is for you — you must 
 be un Sieve there. There are some five or six thousand 
 francs — it's all 1 have now — they are yours. Marie is 
 already provided for — tell her — but no, she has forgiven 
 me long since — I feel it. You'll one day -wm your grade 
 — high up ; yes, you must do so. Perhaps it may be your 
 fortune to speak with General Bonaparte ; if so, I beg j^ou 
 say to him that, when Charles de Meudon was dying — in 
 exile — with but one friend left of all the world, h ; held this 
 portrait to his lips, and, with his last breath, he kissed it." 
 
 The fervour ot the action drew the blood to his face and 
 temples, which as suddenly became pale ag^in ; a shivering 
 ran through his limbs — a quick heaving of his bosom — a 
 sigh — and all was still. He was dead. 
 
 The stunning sense of d^ep affliction is a mercy from on 
 high. Weak human faculties, long strained by daily com- 
 muning with grief, would fall into idiocy, were their 
 acuteness not blunted, and their perception rendered dull. 
 It is for memor}'- to trace back through the mazes of 
 misery the object of our sorrow, as the widow searches 
 for the corpse of him she loved amid the slain upon the 
 battle-field. 
 
 I sat benumbed with sorrow, a vague desire for the 
 breaking day my only thought. Already the indistinct 
 glimmerings of morning were visible, when I heard the 
 sounds of men marching along the road towards the house. 
 1 could mark, by the clank of their firelocks, and their 
 regular step, that they were soldiers. They halted at the 
 door of the cabin, whence a loud knocking now proceeded. 
 
 " Holloa, there ! " said a voice, whose tones seemed to 
 sink into my very heart — " holloa, Peter ! get up and open 
 the door." 
 
 " What's the matter ? " cried the old man, starting up, 
 and groping his way towards the door. 
 
 The sound of several voi(;es, and the noise of approach- 
 ing footsteps, drowned the reply ; and the same instant 
 the door of the little room in which I sat opened, and a 
 sergeant entered. 
 
 " Sorry to disturb ye, sir," said he civilly, ** but duty 
 can't be avoided. I have a warrant to arrest Captain de
 
 TOO LATE. tOl 
 
 "M<.'udon, a French officer that is concealed here. May I 
 ask where is be ? " 
 
 J pointed to the bed. 
 
 The serijeant approached, and by the half-light could 
 just perceive the glitter of the uniform, as the body lay 
 shaded by the curtain. 
 
 " I arrest you, sir, in the King's name," said he. 
 " Holloa, Kelly ! this is your prisoner, isn't he ? " 
 
 A head appeared at the door as he spoke, and, as the 
 eyes wandered stealthily round the chamber, I recognized, 
 dt^spite the change of colour, the wretch who led the party 
 at the churchyard. 
 
 " Come in, d — n ye," said the sergeant, impatiently ; 
 ** what are you afraid for ? Is this your man ? Holloa ! 
 sir," said he, shaking the corpse by the shoulder. 
 
 " You must call even louder yet," said I, while some-: 
 thing like the fury of a fiend was working within me. 
 
 " What ! " said the sergeant, snatching up the hght and 
 holding it within the bed. He started back in horror as h^ 
 did so, and called out, " He is dead ! " 
 
 Kelly sprang forward at the word, and seizing the^ 
 candle, held it down to the face of the corpse ; but the 
 flame rose as steadily before those cold lips as though the 
 breath of life had never warmed them. 
 
 *' I'll get the reward, anyhow, sergeant, won't T ? " said 
 the ruffian, while the thirst for gain added fresh expression 
 to his savage features. 
 
 A look of disgust was the only reply he met with, as 
 the sergeant walked into the outer room, and whispered 
 something to the man of the house. At the same instant 
 the galloping of a horse was heard on the causeway. It 
 came nearer and nearer, and ceased suddenly at the door, 
 as a deep voice shouted out, — 
 
 "Well, all right, 1 hope, sergeant. Is he safe? ** 
 
 A whii^.pered reply, and a low, muttered sound of two* 
 or three voices followed, and Barton — the same man I had 
 seen at the fray in Malone's cabin — entered the room. He 
 approached the bed, and drawing back the curtains rudely 
 gazed on the dead man, while over his shoulder peered 
 the demoniac countenance of the informer, Kelly, his 
 savaere features working in anxiety lest his gains should 
 have escaped him.
 
 102 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 Barton's eye ranged the little chamber till it fell on me, 
 as I sat still and motionless against the wall. He started 
 slightly, and then advancing close, fixed his piercing 
 glance upon me. 
 
 " Ha ! " cried he, ** you here ! Well, that is more than I 
 looked for this morning. I have a short score to settle with 
 you. Sergeant, here's one prisoner for you, at any rate." 
 
 " Yes," said Kelly, springing forward, '* he was at the 
 churchyard with the other; I'll swear to that." 
 
 " I think we can do without your valuable aid in this 
 business," said Barton, smiling maliciously. " Come along, 
 young gentleman, we'll try and finish the education that 
 has begun so prosperously." 
 
 My eyes involuntarily turned to the table where De 
 Meudon's pistols were lying. The utter hopelessness of 
 Buch a contest deterred me not. 1 sprang towards them ; 
 but, as I did so, the strong hand ot' Barton was on my 
 collar, and, with a hoarse laugh, he threw me against the 
 wall, as he called out, — 
 
 *' Folly, boy, mere folly ; you are quite sure of the rope 
 without that. Here, take him off." 
 
 As he spoke, two soldiers seized me on either side, and, 
 before a minute elapsed, pinioned my arms behind my 
 back. In another moment the men fell in, the order was 
 given to march, and I was led away between the tih s, 
 Kelly following at the rear; while Barton's voice might 
 be heard issuing from the cabin, as he gave his orders for 
 the burial of the body, and the removal of all the effects 
 and papers to the barrack at Glencree. 
 
 We might have been about an hour on the road when 
 Barton overtook us. He rode to the head of the party, 
 and, handing a paper to the sergeant, muttered some 
 words— among which I could only gather the phrase, 
 *' Committed to Newgate;" then, turning round in his 
 saddle, he fixed his eyes on Kelly, who, like a beast of 
 prey, continued to hang upon the track of his victim. 
 
 *' Well, Dan," cried he, " yoa may go home again 
 now. I am afraid you've gained nothing this time but 
 character." 
 
 '* Home ! " muttered the wretch in a voice of agony ; 
 *' is it face home after this morning's work ? " 
 
 *' And why not, man ? Take my word for it, the
 
 TOO LATE. 103 
 
 neighbonrs will be too much afraid to meddle with you 
 now." 
 
 " Oh ! Mister Barton — oh, darling ! don't send me 
 back there, for the love of Heaven ! Take me with you," 
 cried the miserable wretch, in tones of heart-moving 
 misery. "Oh, young gentleman," said he, turning to- 
 wards me, and catching me by the sleeve, " spake a word 
 for me this day." 
 
 '* Don't you think he has enough of troubles of his own to 
 think of, Dan ? " said Barton, with a tone of seeming kind- 
 liness. " Go back, man — go back ; there's plenty of work 
 before you in this very county. Don't lay your hand on me, 
 you scoundrel ; your touch would pollute a hangman." 
 
 The man fell back as if stunned at the sound of these 
 Words ; his face became livid, and his lips white as snow. 
 He staggered a pace or two, like a drunken man, and theu 
 Btood stock-still, his eyes fixed upon the road. 
 
 " Quick march ! " said the sergeant. 
 
 The soldiers stepped out again ; and as we turned the 
 angle of the road, about a mile farther, I beheld Kelly still 
 standing in the self-same attitude we left him. Barton, 
 after some order to the sergeant, soon left us, and we con- 
 tinued our march till near nine o'clock, when the party 
 halted to breakfast. They pressed me to eat with every 
 kind entreaty, but I could taste nothing, and we resumed 
 our road after half an hour ; but, the day becoming oppres- 
 sively hot, it was deemed better to defer our march till 
 nenr sunset. We stopped, then, during the noon, in a 
 shady thicket near the roadside, where the men, unbuck- 
 ling their knapsacks and loosening their stocks, lay down 
 in the deep grass, either chatting together or smoking. 
 The sergeant made many attempts to draw me into con- 
 versation, but my heart was too full of its own sensations 
 either to speak or listen ; so he abandoned the pursuit 
 with a good grace, and betook himself to his pipe at the 
 foot of a tree, where, after its last whilf escaped, he sank 
 into a heavy sleep. 
 
 Such of the party as were not disposed for sleep gathered 
 together in a little knot on a small patch of green grass, in the 
 middle of a beech clump, where, having arranged themselves 
 with as much comfort as the place permitted, they began 
 chatting away over their lile and its adventures pleasantly
 
 104 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS." 
 
 and freely. I was glad to seek any distraction from my 
 own gloomy thoughts in listening to them, as I lay only a 
 few yards oft'; but, though I endeavoured with all my 
 might to attend to, and take interest in, their converse, 
 my thoughts always turned to him I had lost for ever — • 
 the first, the only friend I had ever known. 
 
 All care for myself and what fortune awaited me was 
 "merged in my sorrow for him. If not indifierent to my fate, 
 I was at least unmindful of it, and although the words of 
 those near me fell upon my ear, I neither heard nor marked 
 them. From this dreamy lethargy I was at last suddenly 
 aroused by the hearty bursts of laughter that broke from 
 the party, and a loud clapping of hands that denoted their 
 applause of something, or somebody then before them. 
 
 " I say, George," said one of the soldiers, *' he's a queer 
 *un, too, that piper." 
 
 " Yes — he's a droll chap," responded the other solemnly, 
 as he rolled forth a long curl of smoke from the angle of 
 his mouth. 
 
 *' Can you play * Rule Britannia,* then ? " asked another 
 of the men. 
 
 *' No, sir," said a voice I at once knew to be no other 
 than my friend Darby's — '" no, sir ; but av the ' Fox'.^ 
 Lament,' or ' Mary's Dream,' wasn't uncongenial to your 
 sentiments, it would be a felicity to me to expatiate upon 
 the same before yez." 
 
 "Eh, Bell," cried a roughvoice, "does that beat you now?'* 
 
 " No," said another, '' not a bit ; he means he'll give us 
 something Irish instead ; he don't know ' Kule Britannia! *" 
 
 *' Not know ' Rule Britannia ! ' why, where the devil 
 were you ever bred or born, man — eh ? " 
 
 " Kerry, sir, the kingdom of Kerry, was the nativity of 
 toy father. My maternal progenitrix emanated from Clare. 
 Maybe you've heard the adage — 
 
 ' * From Kerry his father, from Clare came his mother. 
 
 He's more rogue nor fool on one side and the other.* 
 Not but that, in my humble individuality, I am an excep 
 tious illustration of the proverbial catastrophe." 
 
 Another shout of rude laughter from his audience fol- 
 lowed this speech, amid the uproar of which Darby began 
 tuning his pipes, as if perfectly unaware that any singu- 
 larity on his part had called forth the mirth.
 
 TOO LATE. 105 
 
 "Well, what are we to have, old fellow, after all that 
 confounded squeaking and grunting?" said he who ap- 
 peared the chief spokesman of the party. 
 
 " 'Tis a trifling production of my own muse, sir — a 
 kind of biographical, poetical, and categorical dissertation 
 of the delights, devices, and daily doings of your obay- 
 dient servant, and ever submissive slave, Darby the Blast." 
 
 Though it was evident very little of his eloquent an- 
 nouncement was comprehended by the party, their laugh- 
 ter was not less ready, and a general chorus proclaimed 
 their attention to the song. 
 
 Darby accordingly assumed his wonted dignity of port, 
 and having given some half dozen premonitory flourishes, 
 which certainly had the effect of astonishing and overaw- 
 ing the audience, he began, to the air of " The Night before 
 Larry was stretched," the following ditty : — 
 
 ; DARBY THE BLAST. 
 
 Oh ! my name it is Darby the Blast, 
 My country is Ireland all over, 
 ■ My religion is never to fast, 
 
 But live, as I wander, in clover ; 
 To make fun for raysel- every day, 
 
 Tbe ladies to plaze when Fm able, 
 The boys to amuse, as I play. 
 
 And make the jugs dance on the table. 
 
 Oh ! success to the chanter, my dear. 
 
 Your eyes on each side you may cast, 
 
 But there isn't a house that is near ye 
 But they're glad to have Darby the Blast, 
 
 And they'll tell ye 'tis he that can cheer ye. 
 Oh ! 'tis he can put life in a feast, 
 
 What music lies under his knuckle, 
 As he plays " Will I send for the Priest ?'* 
 
 Or a jig they call *' Cover the Buckle." 
 
 Oh ! good luck to the chanter, your sow\ 
 
 But give me an audience in rags, 
 
 They're illigant people for li>t'ning ; 
 'Tis they that can humour the bags, 
 
 As 1 rise a fine tune at a christ'ning. 
 There's many a weddin' I make 
 
 Where they never get further nor sighing ; 
 And when 1 perform at a wake, 
 
 The corpse looks delighted at dying. 
 
 Oh ! success to the chanter, your sowL
 
 106 TOM BUPtKE OF " OURS." 
 
 *• Eh ! what's that ? " cried a gruff voice ; ** the corpse 
 does what ? " 
 
 "'Tis a rhetorical amph'fioation, that means, he would if 
 he could," said Darby, stopping to explain. 
 
 *' 1 say," said another, " that's all gammon and stuff ; a 
 corpse couldn't know what was doing — eh ! old fellow ? '* 
 
 " 'Tis an Irish corpse I was describin','' said Darby, 
 proudly, and evidently, while sore pushed for an explana- 
 tion, having a severe struggle to keep down his contempt 
 for the company that needed it. 
 
 An effort I made at this moment to obtain a nearer view 
 of the party^ from whom I was slightly separated by some 
 low brushwood, brought my hand in contact with some- 
 thing sharp ; I started and looked round, and to my aston- 
 ishment saw a clasp-knife, such as gardeners carry, lying 
 open beside me. In a second I guessed the meaning of 
 this. It had been so left by Darby, to give me an oppor- 
 tunity of cutting the cords that bound ray arms, and thus 
 facilitating my escape. His presence was doubtless there 
 for this object, and all the entertaining powers he dis- 
 played only brought forth to occupy the soldiers' attention 
 while I effected my deliverance. Regret for the time lost 
 was my first thought, my second, more profitable, was not 
 to waste another moment ; so kneeling down 1 managed 
 with the knife to cut some of my fastenings, and after 
 some little struggle freed one arm, to liberate the other 
 was the work of a second, and 1 stood up untrammelled. 
 What was to be done next ? for although at liberty the 
 soldiers lay about me on every side, and escape seemed 
 impossible ; besides, I knew not where to turn, where to 
 look for one friendly face, nor any one who would afford 
 me shelter. Just then I heard Darby's voice raised above 
 its former pitch, and evidently intended to be heard by me. 
 
 " Sure there's Captain Bubbleton, of the 45th Regiment, 
 now in Dublin, in George's Street Barracks. Ay, in 
 George's Street Barracks," said he, repeating the words 
 as if to impress them on me. " 'Tis himself could tell 
 you what I say is thrue ; and if you wouldn't put confiden- 
 tial authentification on the infirmation of a poor leather- 
 squeezing, timber-tickling crayture like myself, sure you'd 
 have reverential obaydience to your own commissioned 
 captain."
 
 TOO LATE. 107 
 
 " Well, I don't think much of that song of yours, any- 
 how, old Blow, or Blast, or whatever your name is. Have 
 you nothing about the service — eh ? * The British Grena- 
 diers,' give us that." 
 
 " Yes ; ' The British Grenadiers,' that's the tune ! " 
 cried a number of the party together. 
 
 " I never heard them play but onst, sir," said Darby, 
 meekly, " and they were in sich a hurry that day, I 
 couldn't pick up the tune." 
 
 " A hurry ! what d'you mean ? " said the corporal. 
 
 " Yes, sir, 'twas the day but one after the French landed ; 
 and the British Grenadiers that you were talking of was 
 running away towards Castlebar." 
 
 "What's that you say there?" cried out one of the 
 Boldiers, in a voice of passion. 
 
 " 'Tis that they wor running away, sir," replied Darby, 
 •with a most insulting coolness ; " and small blame to thim 
 for that same, av they wor frightened." 
 
 In an instant the party sprang to their legs, while a per- 
 fect shower of curses fell upon the luckless piper, and fifty 
 humane proposals to smash bis skull, break his neck and 
 every bone in his body, were mooted on all sides. Mean- 
 vrhile, M'Keown remonstrated in a spirit which in a minute 
 I perceived was not intended to appease their irritation ; 
 on the contrary, his apologies were couched in very dif- 
 ferent guise, being rather excuses for his mishap in having 
 started a disagreeable topic, than any regret for the mode 
 in which he treated it. 
 
 "And sure, sir," continued he, addressing the corporal, 
 ** twasn't my fault av they tuck to their heels ; wouldn't 
 any one run for his life av he had the opportunity ? " 
 
 He raised his voice once more at these words with such 
 significance that I resolved to profit by the counsel if the 
 lucky moment Bihould offer. I had not long to wait — the 
 insulting manner of Darby, still more than his words, had 
 provoked them beyond endurance, and one of the soldiers, 
 drawing his bayonet, drove it through the leather bag ot 
 his pipes ; a shout of rage from the piper, and a knock- 
 down blow that levelled the offender, replied to the insult. 
 In an instant the whole party were upon him — their very 
 numbers, however, defeated their vengeance ; as I could 
 hear from the tone of Darby's voice, who, far from deciiu-
 
 108 TOM BURKE OP ** OUES." 
 
 ing the combat, continued to throw in every possible incen* 
 tive to battle, as he struck right and left of him. " Ah, 
 you got that — well done — 'tis brave you are — ten against 
 one — devil fear you ! " 
 
 The scuffle by this time had brought the sergeant to the 
 spot, who in vain endeavoured to ascertain the cause of 
 the tumult, as they rolled over one another on the ground, 
 while caps, belts, and fragments of bagpipes were scat- 
 tered about on every side. The uproar had now reached 
 its height, and Darby's yells and invectives were poured 
 forth with true native fluency. The moment seemed pro- 
 pitious to me. I was free — no one near : the hint about 
 Bubbleton was evidently intended for my guidance. I 
 crept stealthily a few yards beneath the brushwood, and 
 emerged safely upon the road. The sounds of the conflict, 
 amid which Darby's own voice rose pre-eminent, told me 
 that all were too busily engaged to waste a thought on me. 
 I pressed forward at my best pace and soon reached th^ 
 crest of a hill, from which the view extended for miles on 
 every side ; my eyes, however, were bent in but one direc- 
 tion — they turned westwards, where a vast plain stretched 
 away towards the horizon, its varied surface presenting all 
 the rich and cultivated beauty of a garden, villas and 
 mansions surrounded with large parks, waving corn-fields 
 and orchards, in all the luxuriance of blossom. Towards 
 the east lay the sea, the coast line broken into jutting pro- 
 montories and little bays, dotted with white cottages, with 
 here and there some white-sailed skiff, scarce moving in 
 the calm air. But amid all this outspread loveliness of 
 view, my attention was fixed upon a dense and heavy 
 cloud that seemed balanced in the bright atmosphere far 
 away in the distance ; thither my eyes turned, and on that 
 spot was my gaze riveted, for I knew that beneath that 
 canopy of dull smoke lay Dublin. The distant murmur 
 of the angry voices still reached me as I stood. I tuT^ned 
 one backward look, the road was lonely, not a shadow 
 moved upon it ; before me the mountain road descended 
 in a zi:^zag course till it reached the valley ; I sprang over 
 the low wall that skirted the wayside, and with my eyes 
 still iixed upon the dark cloud I hurried on —my heart 
 grew lighter with every step, and when at length 1 reached 
 the shelter of a pine wood, and perceived no sign of being
 
 Too LvrE. 109 
 
 pursued, my spirits rose to such a pitch of excitement that 
 I shouted tor very joy. 
 
 For above an hour my path continued within the shelter 
 of the wood, and when at last I emerged, it was not without 
 a sense of sudden fear that I looked back upon the moun- 
 tains which frowned above me, and seemed still so near. 
 I thought, too, I could mark figures on the road, and 
 imagined I could see them moving backwards and for- 
 wards, like persons seeking for something, and then I 
 shuddered to think that they too might be at that very 
 moment looking at me; the thought added fresh speed to 
 my flight, and for some miles I pressed forward without 
 even turning once. 
 
 It was late in the evening as I drew near the city; 
 hungry and tired as I was, the fear of being overtaken was 
 uppermost in my thoughts, and as I mingled in the crowds 
 that strolled along the roads enjoying the delicious calm- 
 ross of a summer's eve, I shrank from every eye like some- 
 thing guilty, and feared that every glance that fell on me 
 was detection itself. 
 
 It was not until I entered the city, and found myself 
 traversing the crowded and narrow streets that formed 
 the outskirts, that I felt at ease, and inquiring my way to 
 George's Street Barracks, I hurried on, regardless of the 
 strange sights and sounds about. At that hour, the 
 humbler portion of the population was all astir; their 
 daily work ended, they were either strolling along with 
 their families for an evening walk, or standing in groups 
 around the numerous ballad-singers, who delighted their 
 audience with diatribes against "the Union," and ridiculous 
 attacks on the ministry of the day. These, however, were 
 not always unmolested, for as I passed on, I saw more 
 than one errant minstrel seized on by the soldiery, and 
 hurried off to the guard-house to explain some uncivil 
 or equivocal allusion to Lord Castlereagh or Mr. Cook, 
 such evidences of arbitrary power being sure to elicit a 
 hearty groan or shout of derision from the mob, which in 
 turn was replied to by the soldiers; these scolding matches 
 gave an appearance of tumult to the town, which on some 
 occasions did not stop short at mere war of words. 
 
 In the larger and better streets such scenes were un- 
 frequent — but here patrols of mounted dragoons or police
 
 110 TO?/I BUKKE OF " OURS.** 
 
 passed from time to time, exchanging as they went certain 
 signals as to the state of the city ; while crowds of peoplo 
 thronged the pathways, and conversed in a low tone, 
 which broke forth now and then into a savage yell as 
 often as some interference on the part of the military 
 seemed to excite their angry passions. At the Castle gates 
 the crowd was more dense, and apparently more daring, 
 requiring all the efforts of the dragoons to keep them 
 from pressing against the railings, and leave a space for 
 the exit of carriages, which from time to time issued from 
 the Castle yard. Few of these, indeed, went forth un- 
 noticed. Some watchful eye would detect the occupant 
 as he lay back to escape observation — his name would be 
 shouted aloud, as an inevitable volley of hisses and execra- 
 tions showered upon him ; and in this way were received 
 the names of Mr. Bingham, Colonel Loftus, the Right 
 Hon. Denis Browne, Isaac Corry, and several others who 
 happened that day to be dining with the Lord -Lieutenant, 
 and were now on their way to the House of Commons. 
 
 Nothing struck me so much in the scene as the real or 
 apparent knowledge possessed by the mob of all the cir- 
 cumstances of each individual's personal and political 
 career ; and thus the price for which they had been pur- 
 chased — either in rank, place, or pounds sterling, was 
 cried aloud amid shouts of derision and laughter, or the 
 more vindictive yells of an infuriated populace. 
 
 " Ha ! Ben, what are you to get for Baltinglass ? 
 Boroughs is up in the market. — Well, Dick, you won't 
 take the place — nothing but hard cash. — Don't be hiding, 
 Jemmy. — Look at the Prince of Orange, boys. — A groan 
 for the Prince of Orange! " here a fearful groan from the 
 mob echoed through the streets. " There's Luke Fox — ' 
 ha! stole away ! " here followed another yell. 
 
 With difficulty I elbowed my way through the densely- 
 packed crowd, and at last reached the corner of George's 
 Street, where a strong police force was stationed, not per- 
 mitting the passage of any one either up or down that 
 great thoroughfare. Finding it impossible to penetrate 
 by this way, I continued along Dame Street, where I found 
 the crowd to thicken as I advanced. Not only were the 
 pathways, but the entire streets filled with people — 
 through whom the dragoons could with difficulty force a
 
 TOO LATE, 111 
 
 passage for the carriages, wliich continued at intervals to 
 pass down. Around the statue of King William the mob 
 was in its greatest force. Not merely the railings around 
 the statue, but the figure itself was surmounted by per- 
 sons, who, taking advantage of their elevated and secure 
 position, hurled their abuse upon the police and military 
 with double bitterness. These sallies of invective were 
 always accompanied by some humorous allusion, which 
 created a laugh among the crowd beneath, to which, as 
 the objects of the ridicule were by no means insensible, 
 the usual reply was by charging on the people, and a 
 command to keep back — a difficult precept when pressed 
 forward by some hundreds behind them. As I made my 
 way slowly through the moving mass, I could see that a 
 powerful body of horse patrolled between the mob and the 
 front of the College, the space before which and the iron 
 railings being crammed with students of the University, 
 for so their caps and gowns bespoke them. Between 
 this party and the others a constant exchange of abuse 
 and insult was maintained, which even occasionally 
 came to blows whenever any chance opportunity of 
 coming in contact, unobserved by the soldiery, presented 
 itself. 
 
 In the interval between these rival parties each mem- 
 ber's carriage was obliged to pass, and here each candidate 
 for the honours of one and the execrations of the other, 
 met his bane and antidote. 
 
 " Ha ! broken beak, there you go ! bad luck to you ! 
 Ha ! old vulture, Flood ! " 
 
 *' Three cheers for Flood, lads ! " shouted a voice from 
 the College, and in the loud cry the yells of their opponents 
 were silenced, but only to break forth the next moment 
 into further license. 
 
 '* Here he comes, here he comes," said the mob; " make 
 "Way there, or he'll take you flying. It's himself can do 
 it. God bless your honour, and may you never want a 
 good baste under ye ! " 
 
 This civil speech was directed to a smart, handsome- 
 looking man of about five-and-forty, who came dashing 
 along on a roan thoroughbred, perfectly careless of the 
 crowd, through which he rode with a smiling face and a 
 merry look. His leathers and tops were all in perfect
 
 112 TOM BURKE OP ^* OURS." 
 
 jookey style, and even to his long-lashed whip he was in 
 everything a sportsmanlike figure. 
 
 . " That's George Ponsonby," said a man beside me, in 
 answer to my question ; " and I suppose you know who 
 that is ? " 
 
 A perfect yell from the crowd drowned my reply, and 
 amid the mingled curses and execrations of the mass, a 
 dark-coloured carriage moved slowly on ; the coachman 
 evidently fearful at every step lest his horses should strike 
 against some of the crowd, and thus license the outbreak 
 that seemed only waiting an opportunity to burst forth. 
 
 '* Ha ! Bladderchops, Bloody Jack, are you there ? " 
 shouted the savage ringleaders, as they pressed up to the 
 very glasses of the carriage, and stared at the occupant. 
 
 " Who is it ? " said I, again. 
 
 "John Toler, the Attorney- General." 
 
 Amid deafening cries of vengeance against him the 
 carriage moved on, and then rose the wild cheers of the 
 College men to welcome their partisan. A hurrah from 
 the distant end of Dame Street now broke on the ear, 
 which, taken up by those nearer, swelled into a regular 
 thunder, and at the same moment the dragoons cried out 
 to keep back, a lane was formed in a second, and down it 
 came six smoking thoroughbreds ; the postilions in whit^ 
 and silver, cutting and spurring with all their might. Never 
 did I hear such a cheer as now burst forth ; a yellow 
 chariot, its panels covered with emblazonry, came flying 
 past ; a hand waved from the window in return to the 
 salutation of the crowd, and the name of Tom Conolly of 
 Castletown rent the very air; two outriders in their rich 
 liveries followed, unable to keep their place through the 
 thick mass that wedged in after the retiring equipage. 
 
 Scarcely had the last echo of the voices subsided when a 
 cheer burst from the opposite side, and a waving of caps 
 and handkerchiefb proclaimed that some redoubted cham-r 
 pion of Protestant ascendancy was approaching. The crowd 
 rocked to and fro as question after question poured in. 
 
 " Who is it, who is coming ? '' But none could tell, fot 
 as yet the carriage, whose horses were heard at a smart 
 trot, had not turned the corner of Grafton Street ; in a few 
 moments the doubt seemed resolved, for scarcely did the 
 horses appear in sight when a perfect yell rose from the
 
 TOO LATE. 113 
 
 crowd and drowned the cheers of their opponents. I cannot 
 convey anything like the outbreak of vindictive passion 
 that seemed to convulse the mob, as a splendidly-appointed 
 carriage drove rapidly past and made towards the colonnade 
 of the Parliament House. A rush of the people was made 
 at the moment, in which, as in a wave, I was borne along 
 in spite of me. The dragoons, with drawn sabres, pressed 
 down upon the crowd, and a scene of frightful confusion 
 followed ; many were sorely wounded by the soldiers, some 
 were trampled under foot, and one poor wretch in an effort 
 to recover himself from stumbling, was supposed to be 
 stooping for a stone, and cut through the skull without 
 mercy. He lay there insensible for some time, but at last 
 a party of the crowd, braving everything, rushed forward 
 and carried him away to an hospitah During this, I had 
 established myself on the top of a lamp-post, which gave 
 me a full view, not only of all the proceedings of the mob, 
 hut of the different arrivals as they drew up at the door of 
 the house. The carriage whose approach was signalized 
 by all these disasters, had now reached the colonnade. The 
 steps were lowered, and a young man of the very hand- 
 somest and most elegant appearance descended slowly 
 from the chariot ; his dress was in the height of the reign • 
 ing fashion, but withal had a certain negligence that 
 bespoke one who less paid attention to toilette, than that 
 his costume was a thing of course, which could not but be, 
 like nil about him, in the most perfect taste. In his hand 
 he held a white handkerchief, which, as he carelessly shook, 
 the pt^ifume floated over the savage-looking, half-naked 
 crowd around ; he turned to give some directions to his 
 coachman, and at the same moment a dead cat was hurled 
 by some one in the crowd and struck him on the breast, a 
 cry of exultation rending the very air in welcome of this 
 ruffian act : as for him, he slowly moved his face round 
 towards the mob, and as he brushed the dirt from his coat 
 with his kerchief he bestowed on them one look, so full of 
 immeasurable heartfelt contempt, that they actually quailed 
 beneath it ; the cry grew fainter and fainter, and it was 
 only as he turned to enter the House that they recovered 
 self-possession enough to renew their insulting shout. ] 
 did not need to ask the name, for the yell of bloody Castle- 
 reagh shook the very air. 
 
 1
 
 114 TOM BURKE OF '* OURS." 
 
 " Make way there— -make way, boys! " shouted a rongh 
 voice from the crowd, and a roar of laughter, that seemed 
 to burst from the entire street, answered the command, and 
 the same instant a large burly figure advanced through a 
 lane made for him in the crowd, mopping his great bullet- 
 head with a bright scarlet handkerchief. 
 
 "Long life to you, Mr. Egan ! " shouted one. 
 
 " Three cheers for Bully Egan, boys ! " cried another, 
 and the appeal was responded to at once. 
 
 " Make way, you blackguards, make way, I say," said 
 Egan, affecting to be displeased at this display of his 
 popularity, " don't you see who's coming ? " Every eye 
 was turned at once towards Daly's club-house, in which 
 direction he pointed ; bat it was some minutes before the 
 dense crowd woTild permit anything to be seen. Suddenly, 
 however, a cheer arose wilder and louder than any 1 had 
 yet heard ; from the street to the very housetops the cry 
 was caught up and repeated, while a tumultuous joy seemed 
 to rock the crowd as they moved to and fro. 
 
 At this moment the excitement was almost maddening ; 
 every neck was strained in one direction, every eye pointed 
 thither, while the prolonged cheering was sustained with 
 a roar as deafening as the sea in a storm. At last the 
 crowd were forced back, and I saw three gentlemen advanc- 
 ing abreast : the two outside ones were holding between 
 them the weak and trembling figure of an old and broken 
 man, whose emaciated form and withered face presented 
 the very extreme of lassitude and weakness ; his loose 
 coat hung awkwardly on his spare and shrunken form, and 
 he moved along in a shufiiing, slipshod fashion. As they 
 mounted the steps of the Parliament House, the cheering 
 grew wilder and more enthusiastic, and I wondered how 
 he who was evidently the object could seem so indifferent 
 to the welcome thus given him, as with bent-down head he 
 pressed on, neither turning right nor left. With seeming 
 difi&culty he was assisted up the steps, when he slowly 
 tarned round, and, removing his hat, saluted the crowd. 
 The motion was a simple one, but in its Yerj simplicity 
 was its power. The broad white forehead, across which 
 some scanty hair floated ; the eye that now beamed proudly 
 forth, was turned upon them, and never was the magic of 
 a look more striking ; for a second all was hushed, and
 
 TOO LATE. J 15 
 
 then a very tliunder of applause rolled out, and tlie 
 name of Henry Grattan burst from every tongue. Jusd 
 then one of the mob, exasperated by a stroke from the 
 flat of a dragoon's sabre, had caught the soldier by the 
 foot and flung him from his saddle to the ground ; his 
 comrades flew to his rescue at once, and charged the 
 crowd, which fell back before them. The College men, 
 taking advantage of this, sprang forward on the mob, 
 armed with their favourite weapons, their hurdles of strong 
 oak ; the street was immediately torn up behind, and a 
 shower of paving-stones poured in upon the luckless mili- 
 tary, now completely hemmed in between both parties. 
 Yells of rage and defiance rose on either side, and the 
 cheers of the victors and cries of the wounded were mixed 
 in mad confusion. My lamp-post was no longer an 
 enviable position, and I slipped gently down towards the 
 ground ; in doing so, however, I unfortunately kicked off 
 a soldier's cap. The man turned on me at once and 
 collared me, and notwithstanding all my excuses insisted 
 on carrying me off to the guard-house. The danger of 
 such a thing at once struck me, and I resisted manfully. 
 The mob cheered me, at which the soldier only became 
 more angry ; and ashamed, too, at being opposed by a 
 mere boy, he seized me rudely by the throat. My blood 
 rose at this, and I struck boldly at him; my fist met him in 
 the face, and before he could recover himself the crowd 
 were upon him. Down he went, while a rush of the mob, 
 escaping from the dragoons, flowed over his body; 
 at the same moment the shout, " Guard, turn out ! " was 
 heard from the angle of the Bank, and the clattering of 
 arms and the roll of a drum followed. A cheer from the 
 mob seemed to accept the challenge, and every hand was 
 employed tearing up the pavement and preparing for the 
 fray. Whether by my own self-appointment, or by com- 
 mon consent, I cannot say, but 1 at once took the leader- 
 ship, and having formed the crowd into two parties, 
 directed them, if hard pressed, to retreat either by College 
 Street or Westmoreland Street. Thus one party could 
 assist the other by enfilading the attacking force, unless 
 they were in sufficient strength to pursue both together. 
 We had not long to wait thu order of battle The soldiers 
 were formed in a second, and the word was given to 
 
 I 2
 
 116 TOM BURKE OF '* OUES." 
 
 advance at a charge. The same inRtant I stepped forward 
 and cried, " Fire ! " Never was an order so obeyed— a 
 hundred paving- stones showered down on the wretched 
 soldiers, who fell here and there in the ranks. *' Again ! ' I 
 shouted to my second battalion, that stood waiting for the 
 word, and down came another hail-storm, that rattled upon 
 their caps and muskets, and sent many a stout fellow to 
 the rear. A wild cheer from the mob proclaimed the 
 victory, but at the same instant a rattling of ramrods, and 
 a clank of firelocks, was heard in front ; and from the rear 
 of the soldiers a company marched out in echelon, and 
 drew up as if on parade. All was stilled, not a man 
 moved in the crowd, indeed our tactics seemed now at an 
 end, when suddenly the word, " Make ready — present ! " 
 was called out, and the same instant a ringing discharge 
 of musketry tore through the crowd. Never did I 
 witness such a scene as followed. All attempts to retreat 
 were blocked up by the pressure from behind ; and 
 the sight of the wounded who fell by the discharge of 
 the soldiers, seemed to paralyze every effort of the mob. 
 One terrified cry rose from the mass, as they shrank from 
 the muskets. Again the ramrods were heard clinking in 
 the barrels. I saw there was but one moment, and cried 
 out, " Courage, lads, and down upon them ! " and with that 
 I dashed madly forward, followed by the mob, that, like a 
 mighty mass, now rolled heavily after me. The soldiers 
 fell back as we came on ; their bayonets vrere brought to 
 the charge, the word " Fire low ! " was passed along the 
 line, and a bright sheet of flame flashed forth, and was 
 answered by a scream of anguish that drowned the crash 
 of the fire. In the rush backwards 1 was thrown on the 
 ground, and at first believed I had been shot, but I soon 
 perceived I was safe, and sprang to my legs ; but the same 
 moment a blow on the head from the butt-end of a musket 
 smote me to the earth, and I neither saw nor heard of any- 
 thing very clearly afterwards. I had, indeed, a faint, 
 dreamy recollection of being danced upon and trampled by 
 some hundred heavy feet, and then experiencing a kind of 
 swinging, rocking motion, as if carried on something ; but 
 these sensations are far too vague to reason upon, much 
 less to chronicle.
 
 117 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A CHARACTER. 
 
 There mnst have been a very considerable interval from 
 the moment I have last recorded to that in which I next 
 became a responsible individual ; but in what manner, in 
 what place, or in what company it was passed, the reader 
 must excuse my indulging for many important reasons, 
 one of which is, I never clearly knew anything of the 
 matter. 
 
 To date my recollections from my first consciousness, 
 I may state that I found myself on my back in a very 
 narrow bed, a table beside me covered with phials and 
 small flasks, with paper cravats, some of which hung 
 down, queue fashion, to an absurd extent. A few rush- 
 backed and bottomed chairs lay along the walls, which 
 were coarsely whitewashed. A window, of ver}- unclean 
 and unprepossessing aspect, was partly shaded b}- a faded 
 scarlet curtain, while the floor was equally sparingly 
 decked with a small and ragged carpet. Where was 1 '? 
 was the frequent but unsatisfactory query I ever put to 
 myself Could this be a prison — had 1 been captured on 
 that riotous evening, and carried ofif to gaol — or was I in 
 Darby M'Keown's territory ? for, somehow, a very general 
 impression was on my mind that Darby's gifts of ubiquity 
 were somewhat remarkable ; or, lastly (and the thought 
 was not a pleasant one), was this the domicile of Anthony 
 Basset, Esq., Attorney-at-Law ? To have resolved any or 
 all of these doubts, by rising and taking a personal survey 
 of the premises, woald have been my first thought ; but, 
 unluckily, I found one of my arms bandaged, and enclosed 
 in a brace of wooden splints ; a very considerable general 
 impression pervaded me of bruises and injuries all over 
 my body ; and, worse still, a kind of megrim accompanied 
 every attempt to lift my head from the pillow, that made 
 tne heartily glad to lie down again, and be at rest.
 
 118 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 That I had not fallen into unfriendly hands was abont 
 the extent to which my deductions led me, and with this 
 consolatory fact, and a steady resolve to remain awake 
 three days, if necessary, so as to interrogate the first 
 visitor who should approach me, I mustered all my 
 patience, and waited quietly. What hour of the day it 
 was when first I awoke to even thus much of conscious- 
 ness I cannot say ; but I well remember watching what 
 appeared to me twelve mortal hours in my anxious expec- 
 tation ; at last a key turned in an outer lock, a door opened, 
 and I heard a heavy foot enter. This was shortly followed 
 by another step, whose lese imposing tread was, I sus- 
 pected, a woman's. 
 
 " Where, in the devil's name, is the candle ? " said a 
 gruff" voice, that actually seemed to me not unknown. " I 
 left it on the table when I went out. Oh! my shin's 
 broke — that infernal table ! " 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! oh. Lord ! " screamed the female voice. 
 
 " Ah ! you've caught it too," cried the other, in glee ; 
 *' did you think you saw a little blue flame before you 
 when your shin was barked ? " 
 
 " You're a monster ! " said the lady, in a tone of passion- 
 ate indignation. 
 
 " Here it is — I have it," replied the other, not paying the 
 slightest attention to the endearing epithet last bestowed ; 
 "and d — n me, if it's not burned down to the socket. 
 Holloa there ! Peter Dodd — you scoundrel, where are you?" 
 
 ** Call him Saladin," said the lady, with a sneer, "and 
 perhaps he'll answer." 
 
 " Imp of darkness, where are you gone to ? Peter — 
 Dodd — Dodd— Peter ! Ah ! you young blackguard, where 
 were you all this time?" 
 
 "Asleep, sir ; sure you know well, sir, it's little rest I 
 get," said a thin, childish voice in answer. " Wasn't it 
 five o'clock this morning when I divilled the two kidneys 
 ye had for supper for the four officers and had to borrey 
 the Kian pepper over the way ?" 
 
 " I'll bore a gimlet-hole through your pineal gland, and 
 stuff it with brass-headed nails, if you reply to me. Anna 
 Maria, that was a fine thought, eh? — glorious, by Jove I 
 There, put the candle there ; hand your mistress a chair ; 
 give me my robe de chamhre. Confound me, if it's not
 
 A CHAEACTER. 119 
 
 getting like the kingdom of Prussia on the map, full of 
 very straggling dependencies. Supper, Saladin." 
 
 " The sorrow taste " 
 
 *' What ! thou piece of human ebony, what do you say ? " 
 
 " Me hab no — a— ting in de larder," cried the child, in a 
 broken voice. 
 
 " Isn't there a back of a duck and two slices of cold 
 bacon ? " asked the lady, in the tone of a cross-examining 
 barrister. 
 
 " I poisoned the bacon for the rats, Miss ; and for the 
 dack " 
 
 " Let me strangle him with my own hands," shouted 
 the man ; " let me tear him up into merry-thoughts. 
 Look here, sirrah," said he, in a voice like John Kemble's, 
 " there may be nothing which man eats within these walls, 
 there may not be wherewithal to regale a sickly fly — no, 
 not enough for one poor spider to lunch upon; but if you 
 ever dare to reply to me, save in Oriental phrase, I'll 
 throw you in a sack, call my mutes, and hurl you into the 
 Bosphorus." 
 
 " Where, sir ? " 
 
 " The Dodder, you son of a burnt father. My hookah." 
 
 '* My slippers," repeated the lady. 
 
 " My lute, and the sherbet," added the gentleman. 
 
 By the stir in the chamber, these arrangements, or 
 something equivalent to them, seemed to have taken 
 place, when again 1 heard, — 
 
 " Dance a lively measure, Saladin ; my soul is heavy." 
 
 Here a most vile tinkling of a guitar was heard, to 
 which, by the sounds of the feet, I could perceive Saladin 
 was moving in a species of dance. 
 
 " Let the child go to bed, and don't be making a fool of 
 yourself," said the lady, in a voice of bursting passion. 
 
 "Thank Heaven," said I, half aloud, ^'- she isn't 
 mad." 
 
 " Tink, tink, a-tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink-a-dido," thrummed 
 out her companion. " I say, Saladin, heat me a little porter, 
 nvith an egg^ and some sugar." 
 
 The door closed as the imp made his exit, and there 
 was silence for some seconds, during which my upper- 
 most thought was, '* What infernal mischance has thrown 
 me into a lunatic asylum ? " At length the man spoke,-~
 
 120 TOM BURKE OP " OTTRS.** 
 
 " T say, Anna Maria, Cradock has this mn of Inck a 
 long time." 
 
 " He plays better than you," responded the lady, 
 eharply. 
 
 *' 1 deny it," rejoined he, angrily. " I play whist better 
 than any man that ever lived, except the Begum of 8ou- 
 tancantantarabad, who beat my father. They played for 
 lacs of rupees on the points, and a territory on the rub ; 
 live to two, first game against the loser, in white ele- 
 phants." 
 
 " How you do talk ! " said Anna Maria ; " do you forget 
 that all this rubbish doesn't go down with me ? " 
 
 " Well, I mean old Hickory, that had the snufF-shop in 
 Bath, used only to give me one point in the rub, and we 
 played for sixpence — damme, I'll not forget it — he cleaned 
 me out in no time. Tink, tink, a-tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink-a- 
 dido. Here, Saladin, bear me the spicy cup, ambrosial 
 boy!" 
 
 " Ahem ! ** said the lady, in a tone that didn't sound 
 exactly like concurrence. 
 
 " Eat a few dates, and then repose," said the deep 
 voice. 
 
 " I wish I had them, av they were eatable," said 
 Saladin, as he turned away. 
 
 " Wretch ! you have forgotten to salaam ; exit slowly. 
 Tink, tink, a-tink-a-tink. Anna Maria, he's devilish good, 
 now, for black parts. I think I'll make Jones bring him 
 out. Wouldn't it be original to make Othello talk broken 
 English ? * Farewell de camp ! ' Eh ! by Jove, that's a 
 fine thought. ' De spirit-stir a drum, de piercy pipe ' — by 
 Jove ! I like that notion." 
 
 Here the gentleman rose in a glorious burst of en- 
 thusiasm, and began repeating snatches from Shakspeare, 
 in the pleasant travesty he had hit upon. 
 
 " Cradock revoked, and you never saw him,*' said the 
 lady, dryly, interrupting the monologue. 
 
 " I did see it clearly enough, but 1 had done so twice 
 the same game," said he, gaily; "and if the grave were 
 to give up its dead, I, too, should be a murderer. Fine 
 thought that, isn't it ? " 
 
 " He won seventeen-and-sixpence from you," rejoined 
 she, pettishly.
 
 A CHARACTER. 121 
 
 "Two bad half-crowns — dowlas, filthy dowlas," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " And the hopeful young gentleman in the next room, 
 what profitable intentions, may I ask you, have you with 
 respect to him ? " 
 
 "Burke! Tom Burke! Bless your heart, he's only 
 son and heir to Burke of Mount Blazes, in the county 
 Galway. His father keeps three packs of harriers, one of 
 fox, and another of stag-hounds — a kind of brindled 
 devils, three feet eight in height ; he won't take them 
 Tinder. His father and mine were schoolfellows at Dun- 
 dunderaraud, in the Himalaya, and he — that is, old Burke 
 — saved my father's life in a tiger- hunt ; and am I to for- 
 get the heritage of gratitude my father left me ? " 
 
 " You ought not, perhaps, since it was the only one he 
 i)equeathed,'' quoth the lady. 
 
 " What ! Is the territory of Shamdoonah and Bunfun- 
 terabad nothing ? Are the great suits of red emeralds and 
 blue opal, that were once the crown-jewels of Saidh Sing 
 Doolah, nothing? Is the scimitar of Hafiz, with verses 
 of the Koran in letters of pure brilliants, nothing ? " 
 
 "You'll drive me distracted with your insane folly," 
 rejoined the lady, rising and pushing back her chair with 
 violence. " To talk this way when you know you haven't 
 got a five-pound note in the world." 
 
 *' Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed out the jolly voice of the 
 other ; " that's good, faith. If I only consented to dip 
 my Irish property, 1 could raise fourteen hundred and 
 seventy thousand pounds, so Mahony tells me. But I'll 
 never give up the royalties — never. There, you have 
 my last word on the matter: rather than surrender my 
 tin mine, I'd consent to starve on twelve thousand a year, 
 and resign my claim to the title which, I believe, the 
 next session will give me ; and, when you are Lady 
 Machinery — something or other — maybe they won't bite, 
 eh? Ramskins versus wrinkles." 
 
 A violent bang of the door announced at this moment 
 the exit of the lady in a rage, to which her companion 
 paid no attention, as he continued to mumble to himself, — 
 
 " Surrender the royalties — never. Oh, she's gone — 
 well, she's not far wrong after all. I dare not draw a 
 cheque on my own exchequer at this moment for a larger
 
 122 TOM BURKE OF " OULS. 
 
 5um than — let me see — twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty- 
 eight-and-tenpence ; with twenty-nine shillings, the grand 
 firm of Biibbleton and Co. must shut up and suspend 
 their payments." So saying, he walked from the room 
 in stately fashion, and closed the door after him. 
 
 My first thought, as I listened to this speech, was one 
 of gratefulness that 1 had fallen into the friendly hands 
 of my old coach companion, whose kindness still lived 
 fresh in my memory ; my next was, what peculiar forju 
 of madness could account for the strange outpouring I 
 had just overheard, in which my own name was so 
 absurdly introduced, coupled with family circumstances 
 I knew never had occurred. Sleep was now out of tho 
 question with me ; for whole hours long I could do 
 nothing but revolve in my mind all the extraordinary 
 odds and ends of my friend Babbleton's conversation, 
 which I remembered to have been so struck by at my first 
 meeting with him. Tho miraculous adventures of his 
 career, his hair-breadth 'scapes, his enormous w^ealth, the 
 voluptuous ease of his daily life, and his habits of luxury 
 and expenditure with which he then astounded me, had 
 now received some solution — while, at the same time, 
 there was something in his own common-sense observa- 
 tions to himself that puzzled me much, and gave a great 
 difficulty to all my calculations concerning him. 
 
 To all these conflicting doubts and difficulties sleep at 
 last succeeded ; but better far for me it had not ; for 
 with it came dreams such as sick men only experience ; 
 all the distorted images that rose before my wandering 
 faculties, mingling with the strange fragments of Bub- 
 bleton's conversation, made a phantasmagoria the most 
 perplexing and incomprehensible ; and which, even on 
 waking, I could not banish, so completely had Saladin 
 and his pas seul, the guitar, the hookah, and the suit of 
 red emeralds taken hold of my erring intellect. 
 
 Candid, though not fair reader, have you ever been 
 tipsy? Have you ever gone so far over the boundary line 
 that separates the land of mere sobriety from its neighbour- 
 ing territory, the country of irresponsible impulses, that you 
 actually doubted which was the way back, that you thought 
 you saw as much good sense and good judgment on the 
 one side of the frontier as the other, with only a strong
 
 A CHARACTER. 123 
 
 balance of good-fellowship to induce a preference? If 
 you know this state, if you have taken the precise quan- 
 tum of champagne, or moselle mousseux, that iuduces it, 
 and yet goes no farther, then do you perfectly understand 
 all the trials and difficulties of my waking moments, and 
 you can appreciate the arduous task I undertook in my 
 effort to separate the real from the imaginary, the true 
 types from their counterfeits ; in a word, the wanderings 
 of my own brain from those of Captain Bubbleton's. 
 
 In this agreeable and profitable occupation was I en- 
 gaged, when the same imposing tread and heavy footstep 
 I had heard the previous evening entered the adjoining 
 room and approached my door. The lock turned, and the 
 illustrious Captain himself appeared; and here let me 
 observe, that if grave censure be occasionally bestowed on 
 persons who, by the assumption of voice, look, or costume, 
 seek to terrorize over infant minds, a no less heavy sen- 
 tence should be bestowed on all who lord it over the frail 
 faculties of sickness by any absurdity in their personal 
 appearance ; and that I may not seem captious, let me 
 describe my friend. The Captain, who was somewhere 
 about the forties, was a full-faced, chubby, good-looking 
 fellow, of some five feet ten or eleven inches in height ; his 
 countenance had been intended by nature for the expression 
 of such emotions as arise from the enjoyment of turtle, 
 milk-punch, truffled turkeys, mulled port, mulligatawny, 
 etilton, stout, and pickled oysters ; a rich, mellow-looking 
 pair of dark -brown eyes, with large bushy eyebrows, meet- 
 ing above the nose, which latter feature was a little " on 
 the snub, and off the Roman ; " his mouth was thick-lipped, 
 and had that peculiar mobility which seems inseparable, 
 wherever eloquence or imagination predominate; in colour, 
 his face was of that uniform hue painters denominate as 
 *' warm," in fact, a rich sunset Claude-Lorrainish tint, 
 that seemed a compound, the result of high-seasoned 
 meats, plethora, punch, and the tropics ; in figure, he was 
 like a huge pudding-bag, supported on two short little 
 dumpy pillars that, from a sense of the superincumbent 
 weight, had wisely spread themselves out below, giving to 
 his lower man tho appearance of a stunted letter A ; his 
 arms were most preposterously short, and, for the con- 
 venience of locomotion, he used them somewhat after the
 
 124 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 fashion of fins ; as to his costume on the morning in qties* 
 tion, it was a singularly dirty and patched dressing-gown 
 of antique silk, fastened about the waist by a girdle, from 
 which depended a scimitar on one side, and a meerschaum 
 on the other ; a well-worn and not over clean-looking 
 shawl was fastened in fashion of a turban round his head ; 
 a pair of yellow buskins with faded gold tassels decorated 
 legs which occasionally peeped from the folds of the rohe 
 de C'lamh^e, without any other covering. 
 
 Such was the outward man of him who suddenly stopped 
 short at the doorway, while he held the latch in his hand, 
 and called out, — 
 
 " Burke ! Tom Burke, don't be violent, don't be out- 
 rageous, you see I'm armed! I'd cut you down without 
 mercy if you attempt to lift a finger ! Promise me this — • 
 do you hear me ? " 
 
 That any one even unarmed could have conceived fear 
 from such a poor weak object as I was, seemed so utterly 
 absurd, that I laughed outright ; an emotion on my part 
 that seemingly imparted but little confidence to my friend 
 the Captain, who retreated still closer to the door, and 
 seemed ready for flight. The first use I could make of 
 speech, however, was, to assure him that I was not only 
 perfectly calm and sensible, but deeply grateful for 
 kindness which I knew not how, nor to whom, I became 
 indebted. 
 
 " Don't roll your eyes there ; don't look so d — d 
 treacherous ! " said he ; " keep down your hands ; keep 
 them under the bed-clothes. I'd put a bullet through 
 your skull if you stirred ! " 
 
 1 again protested that any manifestation of quietness he 
 asked for I would immediately comply with, and begged 
 him to sit down beside me and tell me where 1 was and 
 how I had come hither. Having established an outwork 
 of a table and two chairs between us, and cautiously having 
 left the door ajar, to secure his retreat, he drew the scimi- 
 tar and placed it before him, his eyes being fixed on me 
 the entire time. 
 
 " Well," said he, as he assumed a seat, and leaned hia 
 arm on the table, "so you are quiet at last. Lord ! what 
 a frightful lunatic you were. Nobody would approach 
 your bed but me. The stoutest keeper of Swift's Hospital
 
 A CHARACTER. 125 
 
 fled from the spot, while I said, ' Leave him to me. The 
 human eye is your true agent to humble the pride of 
 maniacal frenzy.' " 
 
 With these words he fixed on me a look such as the 
 chief murderer in a melodrama assumes at the momenb he 
 proceeds to immolate a whole family. 
 
 " You infernal young villain, how I subdued you — how 
 you quailed be Core me ! " 
 
 There was something so ludicrous in the contrast of this 
 bravery with his actual terror, that ajjain I burst out 
 a-laughing, upon which he sprang up, and brandishing his 
 sabre, vowed vengeance on me if I stirred. After a con- 
 siderable time spent thus, I at last succeeded in impressing 
 him with the fact, that if I had all the will in the world to 
 tear him to pieces, my strength would not suffice to carry 
 me to the door — an assurance which, however sorrowfully 
 made by me, I perceived to afi'ord him the most unmixed 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " That's right, quite right," said he, " and mad should 
 he be indeed who would measure strength with me. The 
 red men of Tuscarora always called me the great buffalo. 
 I used to carry a bark canoe with my squaw and nine 
 little black devils under one arm, so as to leave the other 
 free for my tomahawk. 'He, how, he!' that's the war 
 step." 
 
 Here he stooped down to his knees, and then sprang up 
 again, with a yell that actually made me start, and brought 
 a new actor on the scene in the person of Anna Maria, 
 whose name I had so frequently heard the night before. 
 
 " What is the matter?" said the lady, a short, squab- 
 like woman, of nearly the Captain's age, but none of his 
 personal attractions. " We can't have him screaming 
 all day in that fashion." 
 
 " It isn't he, it was I who was performing the war 
 dance. Come, now, let down your hair, and be a squaw 
 — do. What trouble is it? and bring in Saladin ; we'll 
 get up a combat scene ; devilish fine thought that ! " 
 
 The indignant look of the lady in reply to this modest 
 proposal again overpowered me, and I sank back in my 
 bed exhausted with laughter, an emotion which I was 
 forced to subdue as well as I might on beholding the 
 angry countenance with which the lady regarded me
 
 128 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 " I say, Burke," cried the Captain, " let me present you 
 to my sister, Miss Anna Maria Bubbleton." 
 
 A very dry recognition on Miss Anna Maria's part 
 replied to the efibrt I made to salute her, and as she 
 turned on her heel, she said to her brother, " Breakfast's 
 ready," and left the room. 
 
 Bubbleton jumped up at this, rubbed his mouth plea- 
 santly with his hand, smacked his lips, and then dropping 
 his voice to a whisper, muttered, — ■ 
 
 " Excuse me, Tom, but if I have a weakness it is for 
 Yarmouth bloaters, and anchovy toast, milk chocolate, 
 marmalade, hot rolls, and reindeer tongue, with a very 
 small glass of pure white brandy, as a qualifier." So 
 saying, he whisked about and made his exit. 
 
 While my host was thus occupied 1 was visited by the 
 regimental surgeon, who informed me that my illness had 
 now been of some weeks' duration ; severe brain fever, 
 with various attending evils, and a broken arm, being the 
 happy results of my evening's adventure at the Parlia- 
 ment House. 
 
 " Bubbleton is an old friend of yours," continued the 
 doctor ; and then, without giving me time to reply, added, 
 " capital fellow, no better; a little given to the miracu- 
 lous — eh? but nothing worse." 
 
 " Why, he does indeed seem to have a strong vein for 
 fiction," said I, half timidly. 
 
 " Bless your heart, he never ceases ; his world is an 
 ideal thing, full of impossible people and events, where 
 he has lived at least some centuries, enjoying the intima- 
 cies of princes, statesmen, poets, and warriors ; he has, 
 in his own estimation, unlimited wealth and unbounded 
 resources, the want of which he is never convinced of till 
 pressed for five shillings to buy his dinner." 
 
 " And his sister," said I, " what of her? " 
 
 " Just as strange a character in the opposite direction. 
 She is as matter-of-fact as he is imaginative. To all 
 his flights she as resolutely enters a dissentient ; and he 
 never inflates his balloon of miracles without her stepping 
 forward to punch a hole in it. But here they come." 
 
 "I say. Pepper, how goes your patient? Spare no 
 pains, old fellow — no expense ; only get him round. I've 
 left a cheque for you for five hundred in the next room.
 
 ▲ CHABACTER. 127 
 
 This is no regimental case — come, come, it*s my way, and 
 I insist apon it." 
 
 Pepper bowed with an air of the deepest gratitude, and 
 actually looked so overpowered by the liberality, that I 
 began to suspect there might be less truth in his account 
 of Bubbleton than I thought a few minutes before. 
 
 " All insanity has left him— that's pleasant. I say, 
 Tom, you must have had glorious thoughts, eh ? When 
 you were mad, did you ever think you were an anaconda 
 bolting a goat, or the Eddystone lighthouse when the 
 foundation began to shift?" 
 *' No, never." 
 
 " How odd ! I remember being once thrown on my 
 head off a drag. I was breaking in a pair of young uni- 
 corns for the Queen of " 
 
 " No ! " said Anna Maria, in a voice of thunder, hold- 
 ing up her finger, at the same moment, in token of reproof. 
 The Captain became mute on the instant, and the very 
 word he was about to utter stuck in his throat, and he 
 stood with his mouth open, like one in enchantment. 
 
 " You said a little weak tea, I think," said Miss Bub- 
 bleton, turning towards the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, and some dry toast, if he liked it ; and, in a 
 day or two, a half glass of wine-and-water." 
 
 ** Some of that tokay old Pippo Esterhazy sent us." 
 *' No," said the lady again, in the same tone of menace. 
 " And, perhaps, after a week, the open air and a little 
 exercise in a carriage." 
 
 " The barouche and the four ponies," interrupted 
 Bubbleton. 
 
 " No," repeated Miss Anna Maria, but in such a voice 
 of imperious meaning, that the poor Captain actually fell 
 back, and only muttered to himself, — 
 
 "What would be the use of wealth, if one couldn't con- 
 tribute to the enjoyment of one's friends ? " 
 
 " There's the drum for parade," cried the doctor ; 
 "you'll be late, and so shall I." 
 
 They both bustled out of the room together, while Miss 
 Anna Maria, taking her work out of a small bag she car- 
 ried on her arm, drew a chair to the window and sat down, 
 havir.g quietly intimated to me that, as conversation was 
 deemed injurious to me, I must not speak one sv liable.
 
 128 TOM BURUE OF " OUR)}.' 
 
 CHAPTER XTTI. 
 
 AN PNLOOKED-FOK VISITOR. 
 
 All my endeavours to ascertain the steps by which I came 
 to occupy my present abode were fruitless, inasmuch as 
 Captain Bubbleton contrived to surround his explanation 
 with such a mist of doubtful, if not impossible, circum- 
 stances, that I gave up the effort in despair, and was 
 obliged to sit down satisfied with the naked fact, that it 
 was by some soldiers of his company I was captured, and 
 by them brought to the guard-house. Strangely enough, 
 too, I found that, in his self-mystification, the worthy Cap- 
 tain had invested me with all the honours of a stanch 
 loyalist who had earned his cracked skull in defence of the 
 soldiery against the mob ; and this prevailing impression 
 gave such a tone to his narrative, that he not only set to 
 work to trace back a whole generation of Burkes famed 
 for their attachment to the House of Hanover, but also 
 took a peep into the probable future, where he saw me 
 covered with rewards for my heroism and gallantry. 
 
 Young as I was, I hesitated long how far I dare trust 
 him with the real state of the case. I felt that in so doing 
 I should either expose him to the self-reproach of having 
 harboured one he would deem a rebel — or, by withdraw- 
 ing from me his protection, give him, perhaps, greater 
 pain by compelling him to such an ungracious act. Yet 
 liow could I receive attention and kindness under these 
 false colours? This was a puzzling and difficult thing to 
 resolve ; and a hundred times a day I wished I had never 
 been rescued by him, but taken my chance of the worst 
 fortune had in store for me. 
 
 While, therefore, my streno^th grew with every day, these 
 thoughts harassed and depressed me. The continual con- 
 flict in my mind deprived me of all ease ; and scarcely a 
 morning broke in which I had not decided on avowing my 
 real position and my true sentiments ; and still, when the 
 moment came, the flighty uncertainty of Bubbleton's man-
 
 AN UNLOOKED-FOR VISITOR. 129 
 
 ner— his caprice and indiscretion — all frightened me, and I 
 was silent. 1 hoped, too, that some questioning on his part 
 might give me a fitting opportunity for such a disclosure ; 
 but here again I was deceived. The jolly Captain was far 
 too busy inventing his own history of me, to think of ask- 
 ing for mine ; and I found out from the surgeon of the 
 regiment that according to the statement made at the mess- 
 table, I was an only son, possessed of immense estates — 
 somewhat encumbered, to be sure (among other debts, a 
 large jointure to my mother) — that I had come up to town 
 to consult the Attorney-General about the succession to a 
 title long in abeyance in my family, and was going down to 
 the House in Lord Castlereagh's carriage, when, fired by 
 the rufl&anism of the mob, I sprang out, and struck one of 
 the ringleaders, &c., &c. 
 
 How this visionary history had its origin, or whether it 
 had any, save in the wandering fancies of his brain, I know 
 net ; but either by frequent repetition of it, or by the strong 
 hold a favourite notion sometimes will take of a weak in- 
 tellect, he so far believed it true, that he wrote more than 
 one letter to Lord Castlereagh, to assure him that I was 
 rapidly recovering, and would be delighted to receive him 
 — which, whether from a knowledge of the Captain's cha- 
 racter, or his indifference as to my fate, the secretary cer- 
 tainly never took any notice of whatever. 
 
 Bubbleton had too much experience of similar instances 
 of neglect to be either afflicted or offended at this silence ; 
 on the contrary, he satisfied his mind by an excuse of his 
 own inventing, and went about saying, " I think we'll 
 have Castlereagh down to-day to see Burke," until it be- 
 came a cant on parade, and a jest at mess. 
 
 Meanwhile, his active mind was not lying dormant. 
 Indignant that no inquiries had been made after me, and 
 astonished that no aide-de-camp — not even a liveried me- 
 nial of the Viceroy's household — had come down to receive 
 the daily bulletin of my health, and somewhat piqued, 
 perhaps, that his own important services regarding me re- 
 mained unacknowledged, he set about springing a mine for 
 himself, which very nearly became my ruin. 
 
 After about ten days spent by me in this state of pain- 
 ful vacillation, my mind vibrating between two opposite 
 courses, and seeing arguments for either, both in the 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 130 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS." 
 
 matter-of-fact shortDessof Miss Bubbleton's not over-conr- 
 teous manner, and the splendidly liberal and vast concep- 
 tions of her brother, I went to my bed one night, resolved 
 that on the very next morning I would hesitate no longer ; 
 and as my strength would now permit of my being able to 
 walk unassisted, I would explain freely to Bubbleton every 
 circumstance of my life, and take my leave of him, to 
 wander, I knew not where. This decision at length being 
 come to, I slept more soundly than I had slept for many 
 nights, nor awoke until the loud step and the louder voice 
 of the captain had aroused me from mj slumbers. 
 
 " Eh, 1 om — a good night, my lad ? How soundly you 
 sleep ! Just like the Lachigong Indians : they go to bed 
 after the hunting season, and never wake till the bears 
 come in next fall. I had the knack myself once, but then 
 I always took six or seven dozen of strong Burton ale 
 first — and that, they said, wasn't quite fair; but for a 
 white man, I'd back myself for a thousand to-morrow. 
 But what's this I have to tell you ? Something or other 
 was in my head for you. Oh, I have it ! I say, Tom, old 
 fellow, I think I have touched them up to some purpose. 
 They didn't expect it — no, hang it ! they little knew what 
 was in store for them. They weren't quite prepared for 
 it. By Jove, that they weren't ! " 
 
 " Who are they ? " said I, sitting up in my bed, and 
 somewhat curious to hear something of these astonished 
 individuals. 
 
 " The Government, my lad ! — the Castle — the Privat* 
 Sec. — the Major — the Treasury — the Board of Green 
 Cloth — the — what d'ye call them ? — the Privy Council." 
 
 '* Why, what has happened them?" 
 
 " I'll show you what's happened. Lie down again and 
 compose yourself. He won't be here before twelve o'clock ; 
 though, by the bye, I promised on my honour not to say a 
 word about his coming. But it's over now." 
 
 " Who is it ? " said I, eagerly. 
 
 *' Oh, I can't tell now. You'll see him very soon, and 
 right glad he'll be to see you, so he says. But here thej 
 are — here's the whole affair." So saying, he covered tha 
 bed with a mass of newspapers, and blotted, ill-written 
 manuscripts, among which he commenced a vigorous 
 search at once.
 
 AN UNLOOKED-FOR VISITOR. 181 
 
 ** Here ifc is. I've found it out. Listen to this: * Tlic 
 Press, Friday, August 10. — The magnificent ourang- 
 oatang that Captain Bubbleton is about to present to the 
 
 Lady-Lieutenant ' No ; that isn't it. It must be in 
 
 Faulkner. Ay, here we have it: * In Captain Bubbleton's 
 forthcoming volume, which we have been favoured with a 
 private perusal of, a very singular account is given of the 
 gigantic mouse found in Candia, which grows to the size 
 
 of a common mastiff — ' No ; that's not it. You've 
 
 heard of that, Tom, though, haven't you ? " 
 
 " Never," said I, trying to repress a smile. 
 
 " I'm amazed at that. Never heard of my curious specu- 
 lations about the Candian mouse ! The fellow has a voice 
 like a human being — you'd hear him crying in the woods, 
 and you'd swear it was a child. I've a notion that the 
 Greeks took their word ' mousikos ' from this fellow ; but 
 that's not what I'm looking for. No ; but here it is. This 
 is squib No. 1 : * Tuesday morning. — We are at length 
 enabled to state that the young gentleman who took such 
 a prominent part in defending the military against the 
 savage and murderous attack of the mob in the late riot 
 in College Green is now out of danger ; being removed to 
 Captain Bubbleton's quarters in George's Street Barracks, 
 he was immediately trepanned ' " 
 
 " Eh ? trepanned ! " 
 
 " No, you weren't trepanned ; but Pepper said you might 
 have been though, and he'd just as soon do it as not; so 
 I put in trepanned. ' The pia-mater was fortunately not 
 cut through.' That you don't understand ; but no matter 
 
 — hem, hem ! ' Congestion of ' hem, hem ! ' In our 
 
 next, we hope to give a still more favourable report.* 
 Then here's the next : ' To the aide-de-camp sent to inquire 
 after the " hero of College Green," the answer this morning 
 was — ' Better — able to sit up.' " Well, here we go. 
 No. 3: 'His Excellency mentioned this morning at the 
 Privy Council the satisfaction he felt at being able to 
 
 announce that Mr. (from motives of delicacy we 
 
 omit the name) is now permitted to take some barley- 
 gruel, with a spoonful of old Madeira. The Bishop of 
 Ferns and Sir Boyle Roach both left their cards yesterday 
 at the barracks.' I waited a day or two after this; V)nt 
 —would you believe it ? — no notice was taken ; >iot evei'i 
 
 £ 2
 
 132 TOM BUr.KE OF " OURS." 
 
 the opposition papers said a word, except some insolent 
 rascal in The Press asks — ' Can you tell your readers are 
 we to have anything more from Captain Bubbleton ? ' So 
 then I resolved to come out in force, and here you see the 
 result : ' Friday, 20th. — It is now our gratifying task to 
 announce the complete restoration of the young gentleman 
 whose case has, for some weeks past, been the engrossing 
 topic of conversation of all ranks and classes, from the 
 table of the Viceroy to the humble denizen of Mud Island. 
 Mr. Burke is the only son and heir to the late Matthew 
 Burke, of Cremore, county of Galway. His family have 
 been long distinguished for their steady, uncompromising 
 loyalty ; nor is the hereditary glory of their house likely to 
 suffer in the person of the illustrious youth, who, we learn, 
 is now to be raised to the baronetcy, under the title of Sir 
 Thomas Bubbleton Burke, the second name assumed to 
 
 commemorate theservices of Captain Bubbleton, whose ' 
 
 Of course I dilated a little here to round the paragraph. 
 Well, this did it. Here was the shell that exploded the 
 magazine ; for early this morning I received a polite note 
 from the Castle ; I won't tell you the writer though. I 
 like a good bit of surprise ; and, egad, now I think on't, 
 I won't say anything more about the letter either, only 
 that we're in luck, my lad, as you'll soon acknowledge. 
 What's the hour now ? Ah ! a quarter to twelve. But 
 wait, I think I hear him in the next room ; jump up, and 
 dress as fast as you can, while I do the honours." 
 
 With this the Captain bustled out of the room ; and, 
 although he banged the door after him, I could hear his 
 voice in the act of welcoming some new arrival. 
 
 In spite of the sea of nonsense and absurdity through 
 which I had waded in the last half-hour, the communica- 
 tion he had made me excited my curiosity to the utmost, 
 and in some respect rendered me uneasy. It was no part 
 whatever of my object to afford any clue to Basset by 
 which he might trace me, and, although much of the fear 
 I had formerly entertained of that dreaded personage had 
 evaporated with increased knowledge of the world, yet old 
 instincts preserved their influence over me, and I felt as 
 though Tony Basset would be a name of terror to me for 
 my life long. It was quite clear, however, that the appli- 
 cation from the Castle to which he alluded could have no
 
 AN UNLOOKED-FOR VISITOR. 133 
 
 reference to the honest attorney ; and with this comforting 
 reflection, which 1 confess came somewhat late, I finished 
 my dressing, and prepared to leave my room. 
 
 " Oh ! here he comes," cried Bubbleton, as he flung 
 open my door, and announced my approach. " Come 
 along, Tom, and let us see if your face will let you be 
 recognized." 
 
 I scarcely had crossed the threshold when I started 
 back with aff'right, and, had it not been for the wall against 
 which I leaned, must have fallen. The stranger, whose 
 visit was to aflbrd me so much of pleasure was no other 
 than Major Barton ; there he stood, his arm leo.ning on 
 the chimney-piece, the same cool malicious smile playing 
 about the angles of his mouth, which I noticed the first 
 day I saw him in the glen. His sharp eyes shot on me 
 one quick, searching glance, and then turned to the door, 
 from which again they were directed to me, as if some 
 passing thought had moved them. 
 
 Bubbleton was the first to speak, for, not noticing either 
 the agitation I was under or the stern expression of 
 Barton's features, he ran on : — 
 
 "Eh, Major! that's your friend — isn't it? Changed a 
 bit, I suppose — a little blanched ; but in a good cause, 
 you know, — that's the thing. Come, Tom, you don't 
 forget your old friend, Major what's the name ? " 
 
 " Barton," repeated the other, dryly. 
 
 " Yes, Major Barton ; he's come from his Excellency. 
 I knew that last paragraph would do it — eh, Major ? " 
 
 " You were quite right, sir," said Barton, slowly and 
 distinctly, "that paragraph did do it; and very fortunate 
 you may esteem yourself, if it will not do i/ou also." 
 
 " Eh, what ! how me? What d'you mean ? " 
 
 " How long, may I beg to ask," continued Barton, in 
 the same quiet tone of voice, " have you known this young 
 gentleman ? " 
 
 " Burke — Tom Burke ? — bless your heart, since the 
 height of that fender. His father and mine were school- 
 fellows. I'm not sure he wasn't my godfather, or, at least, 
 one of them ; I had four." Here the Captain began 
 counting on his fingers. " There was the Moulah, one ; 
 the Cham, two " 
 
 " I beg your pardon for the interruption," said Barton,
 
 134 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 with affected politeness ; "how long has he occupied these 
 quarters ? That fact may possibly not be too antiquated 
 for your memory." 
 
 " How long ? " said Bubbleton, reflectingly. ** Let me 
 Bee : here we are in August " 
 
 " Three weeks on Tuesday last," said I, interfering, to 
 prevent any further drain on so lavish an imagination. 
 
 " Then you came here on the day of the riots ? " said 
 Barton. 
 
 '' On that evening," was my reply. 
 
 " On that evening— just so. Before or after, may I 
 ask ? " 
 
 " I shall answer no further questions," said I, resolutely. 
 " If you have any charge against me, it is for you to 
 prove it." 
 
 " Charge against you ! " said Bubbleton, laughing. 
 *' Bless your heart, boy, don't mistake him ; they've sent 
 him down to compliment you. Lord Castlereagh mentions 
 in his note — where the devil did I throw that note ? " 
 
 *' It's of no consequence, Captain," said Barton, dryly ; 
 " his Lordship usually entrusts the management of these 
 matters to me. May I learn, is this young gentleman 
 known in your regiment ? Has he been at your mess? " 
 
 " Tom Burke known among us ! Why, man, he's 
 called nothing but ' Burke of Ours.' He's one of our- 
 selves — not gazetted, you know, but all the same, in fact. 
 We couldn't get on without him ; he's like the mess-plate, 
 or the orderly-book, or the regimental snutf-box." 
 
 " I'm sincerely sorry, sir," rejoined Barton, slowly, " to 
 rob you and the gallant Forty-fifth of one upon whom 
 you place sach just value ; but ' Burke of Ours' must 
 consent to be Burke of mine at present." 
 
 " To be sure, my dear Major, of course ; anything con- 
 vivial — nothing like good fellowship. We'll lend him to 
 you for to-day — one day, mark me — we can't spare him 
 longer ; and, now I think of it, don't press him with his 
 wine, he's been poorly of late." 
 
 " Have no fears on that score," said Barton, laughing 
 outright ; " our habits of life, in his circumstances, are 
 rigidly temperate." Then, turning to me, he continued, 
 in an altered voice, " I need scarcely explain to you^ sir, 
 the reason of my visit. When last we parted I did not
 
 AN UNLOOKED-FOR VISITOR. 135 
 
 anticipate that our next meeting would have been in a 
 royal barrack ; but you may thank your friend here for 
 ray knowledge of your abode " 
 
 Bubbleton attempted to interpose here a panegyric on 
 himself, but Barton went on, — 
 
 " Here is an order of the Privy Council for your appre- 
 hension, and here " 
 
 " Apprehension ! " echoed the Captain, in a voice of 
 wonderment and terror. 
 
 " Here, sir, is your committal to Newgate. I suppose 
 you'll not give me the trouble of using force ; I have a 
 carriage in waiting below, and request that we may lose 
 no more time." 
 
 " I am ready, sir," said I, as stoutly as I was able. 
 
 " To Newgate ! " repeated Bubbleton, as, overcome 
 with fright, he sank back in a chair, and crossed his 
 arms on his breast. " Poor fellow ! poor fellow ! perhaps 
 they'll bring it in manslaughter, eh ? — or was it a bank 
 robbery? " 
 
 Not even the misery before me could prevent my smiling 
 at the worthy Captain's rapidly-conceived narrative of me. 
 I was in no merry mood, however ; and, turning to him, 
 grasped his hand. 
 
 "It may happen," said I, " that we never meet again. 
 I know not — indeed, I hardly care — what is before me ; 
 but, with all ray heart, I thank you for your kindness. 
 Farewell." 
 
 " Farewell," said he, half mechanically, as he grasped 
 ray hand in both of his, and the large tears rolled down 
 his cheeks. " Poor fellow ! all my fault — see it now." 
 
 I hurried after Barton down stairs, a nervous choking 
 in my throat nearly suffocating me. Just as I reached the 
 door the carriage drew up, and a policeman let down the 
 steps. Already my foot was on them, when B-ubbleton 
 was beside me. 
 
 " I'll go with him. Major ; you'll permit me, won't 
 you ? " 
 
 "Not at present. Captain," said Barton, significantly; 
 *' it may happen that we shall want you, one of these days. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 He pushed me forward as he spoke, and entered the 
 carriage after me. I felt the pressure of poor Bubbleton's
 
 136 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.'^ 
 
 hand as he grasped mine for the last, time, and discovered 
 he had slipped something into my palm at parting. I 
 opened and found two guineas in gold, which the kind- 
 hearted fellow had given me j perhaps they were his only 
 ones in the world. 
 
 CHAPTER Xiy. 
 
 THE GAOL. 
 
 From the moment the carriage-door closed upon ns, Bar- 
 ton never addressed one word to me, but, leaning back, 
 seemed only anxious to escape being recognized by the 
 people, whose attention was drawn to the vehicle by seeing 
 two mounted policemen ride at either side of it. We 
 drove along the quays, and, crossing an old, dilapidated 
 bridge, traversed several obscure and mean-looking streets, 
 through which numbers of persons were hurr^dng in the 
 same direction we were going. At length we arrived at a 
 large open space, thronged with people, whose dress and 
 appearance bespoke them from the country. They were 
 all conversing in a low, murmuring tone, and looking up, 
 from time to time, towards a massive building of dark 
 granite, which I had only to glance at to guess was New- 
 gate. Our pace slackened to a walk as we entered the 
 crowd ; and while we moved slowly along, I was struck by 
 the eager and excited faces I saw on every side. It could 
 • be no common occasion which impressed that vast multi- 
 tude with the one character of painful anxiety I beheld. 
 As they stood gazing with upturned faces at the frowning 
 portals of the gaol, the deep, solemn tolling of a bell rung 
 out at the moment, and as its sad notes vibrated through 
 the air, it seemed to strike with a mournful power on every 
 heart in the crowd. In an instant, too, the windows of 
 all the houses were thronged with eager faces — even the
 
 THE GAOL. 137 
 
 parapets were crowded — and, while every sound was 
 hushed, each eye was turned in one direction. I followed 
 with my own whither the others were bent, and beheld 
 above my head the dark framework of the " drop," covered 
 with black cloth, above which a piece of rope swung back- 
 wards and forwards with the wind. The narrow door 
 behind was closed ; but it was clear that each second that 
 stole by was bringing some wretched criminal closer to his 
 awful doom. 
 
 As we neared the entrance, the massive doors were 
 opened on a signal from a policema,n on the box of the 
 carriage, and we drove inside the gloomy vestibule. It 
 was only then, as the heavy door banged behind me, that 
 my heart sank. Up to that moment a mingled sense of 
 wrong, and a feeling of desperate courage, had nerved me ; 
 but suddenly a cold chill ran through my veins, my knees 
 smote each other, and fear, such as till then I never knew, 
 crept over me. The carriage-door was now opened, the 
 steps lowered, and Barton descending first, addressed a 
 few words to a person near him, whom he called Mr. 
 Grej^g. 
 
 It was one of those moments in life in which every 
 passing look, every chance word, every stir, every gesture, 
 are treasured up, and remembered ever after : and I 
 recollect now how, as T stepped from the carriage, a 
 feeling of shame passed across me, lest the bystanders 
 should mark my fear, and what a relief I experienced on 
 finding that my presence was unnoticed ; and then the 
 instant after, that very same neglect, that cold, cold indif- 
 ference to me, smote as heavily on my spirits, and I looked 
 on myself as one whose fate had no interest for any — in 
 whose fortune none sympathized. 
 
 " Drive on ! " cried a rough voice to the coachman ; and 
 the carriage moved through the narrow passage, in which 
 some dozen of persons were now standing. The next 
 moment, a murmur of " They are coming ! " was heard, 
 and the solemn tones of a man's voice chanting the last 
 offices of the Romish Church reached us, with the 
 measured footfall of persons crossing the flagged court- 
 yard. In the backward movement now made by those 
 around me, I was brought close to a small arched doorway, 
 within which a flight of stone steps ascended in a spinal
 
 138 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 direction, and towards this point I remarked that the per* 
 sons who approached were tending. My eyes scarcely 
 glanced on those who came first, but they rested with a 
 fearful interest on the bareheaded priest, who, in all the 
 trappings of his ofiice, walked, book in hand, repeating 
 with mournful impressiveness the litany for the dead. As 
 he came nearer, 1 could see that his eyes were dimmed 
 with tears, and his pale lips quivered with emotion, while 
 his very cheek trembled with a convulsive agony. ISTot so 
 he who followed. He was a young man, scarce four- an d- 
 twenty, dressed in loose white trousers and shirt, but 
 without coat, vest, or cravat ; his head bare, and displaying 
 a broad forehead, across which some straggling hairs of 
 light brown were blown by the wind. His eye was bright 
 and flashing, and in the centre of his pale cheek a small 
 crimson spot glowed with a hectic colouring. His step 
 was firm, and as he planted it upon the ground, a kind of 
 elasticity seemed to mark his footfall. He endeavoured to 
 repeat after the priest the words as they fell from hrjQi ; but 
 as he looked wildly around, it was clear his mind was 
 straying from the subject which his lips expressed, and 
 that thoughts far different were passing within him. Sud- 
 denly his eyes fell upon the Major, who stood close to where 
 I was. The man started back, and for a sec4>nd even that 
 small spot of crimson left his cheek, which >>ecame nearly 
 livid in its pallor. A ghastly smile, that showed his white 
 teeth from side to side, crossed his features, and with a 
 voice of terrible earnestness, he said, — 
 
 " 'Tis easy for you to look calm, sir, at your mornin s 
 work, and I hope you're plazed at it." Then frowning 
 fearfully, as his lace grew purple, he added, '* But, by the 
 Eternal! you'd not look that way av we two stood by 
 ourselves on the side of Sliebmish, and nothing but our 
 own four arms between us." 
 
 The horrible expression of vengeance that lit up his 
 savage face at these words seemed to awe even the cal- 
 lous and stern nature of Barton himself. AH his efforts 
 to seem calm and at ease were for the moment un- 
 availing, and he shrank from the proud and flashing eye 
 of the felon, as though he were the guilty one in the 
 presence of his accuser. 
 
 Another stroke of the heavy bell rang out; the pri-
 
 THE GAOL. 139 
 
 soner started, and, taming round his head, seemed to 
 peer anxiously through the crowd behind him, when his 
 eyes fell upon the figure of a man apparently a year or 
 two younger than himself, and whose features, even in 
 their livid colouring, bore a striking resemblance to his own. 
 
 " Come, Patsey," cried he — " come along with us." Then 
 turning to the gaoler, while his face assumed a smile, 
 and his voice a tone of winning softness, he added, *' It is 
 my brother, sir ; he is come up nigh eighty miles to see 
 me, and I hope you'll let him come upon the drop." 
 
 There was something in the quiet earnestness of his 
 manner in such a moment that thrilled upon the heart 
 more painfully than even the violent outbreak of his pas- 
 sion ; and when I saw the two brothers hand in hand, 
 march step by step along, and then disappear in the wind- 
 ing of the dark stair, a sick, cold feeling came over 
 me, and even the loud shout that rent the air from the 
 assembled thousands without scarce roused me from ray 
 stupor. 
 
 " Come, sir," cried a man, who in the dress of an official 
 had been for some minutes carefully reading over the 
 document of my committal, " after me, if you please." 
 
 I followed him across the courtyard in the direction of 
 a small building which stood isolated and apart from the 
 rest, when suddenly he stopped, and carefully examining 
 the paper in his hand, he said, — 
 
 " Wait a moment, I'll join you presently." 
 
 With these words, he hurried back towards the gate, 
 where Barton still stood with two or three others. What 
 passed between them I could not hear, but I could dis- 
 tinctly mark that Barton's manner was more abrupt and 
 imperious than ever; and that while the gaoler — for such 
 he was — expressed his scruples of one kind or another, 
 the Major would not hear him with patience, but, turning 
 his back upon him, called out loud enough to be heard 
 even where 1 stood, — - 
 
 " I tell you I don't care — regular or irregular — if you 
 refuse to take him in charge, on your head be it. We 
 have come to a pretty pass, Pollock," said he, turning to 
 a person beside him, " when there is more sympathy for 
 a rebel in his Majesty's gaol, than respect for a Govern- 
 ment officer."
 
 140 
 
 " I'll do it, sir— I'll do it," cried the gaoler; saying 
 which he motioned me to follow, while he muttered be- 
 tween his teeth, " there must come an end to this, one 
 day or other." 
 
 With that he unlocked a strongly barred gate, and led 
 me along a narrow passage, at the extremity of which he 
 opened a door into a small and rather comfortably fur- 
 nished room. 
 
 " Here, sir," said he, " you'll be better than where I 
 have my orders to put you, and, in any case, I tru.st that 
 our acquaintance will be but a short one." 
 
 These were the first words of kindness I had heard for 
 some time past. I turned to thank the speaker, but 
 already the door had closed, and he was gone. 
 
 The quickly succeeding incidents of my life' — the dark 
 destiny that seemed to track me — had given a reflective 
 character to my mind while I was yet a boy. The troubles 
 and cares of life, that in manhood serve only to mould and 
 fashion character, to call forth efforts of endurance, of 
 courage, or ability, come upon us in early years with far 
 different effect and far different teaching. Every lesson of 
 deceit and duplicity is a direct shock to some preconceived 
 notion of faith and honour; every punishment, whose 
 severity in after years we had forgotten in its justice, has to- 
 the eyes of youth a character of vindictive cruelty. Looking 
 only to effects, and never to causes, our views of life are 
 one-sided and imperfect; the better parts of our nature 
 will as often mislead us by false sympathy, as will the 
 worst ones by their pernicious tendency. 
 
 From the hour I quitted my father's house to the 
 present, I had seen nothing but what to me appeared 
 the sufferings of a poor, defenceless people at the hands 
 of wanton tyranny and outrage. I had seen the peasant's 
 cabin burned because it had been a shelter to an outcast. 
 I had heard the loud and drunken denunciations of a 
 ruffianly soldiery against those who professed no other 
 object, who acknowledged no other wish, than liberty and 
 equality; and in my heart I vowed a rooted hate to the 
 enemies of my country — a vow that lost nothing of its 
 bitterness because it was made within the walls of a 
 prison. 
 
 In reflections like these my evening passed on, and with
 
 THE GA.OL. 141 
 
 it the greater part of the night also. Mj mind was too 
 much excited to permit me to sleep, and I longed for day- 
 break with that craving impatience which sick men feel, 
 who count the long hours of darkness, and think the morn- 
 ing must bring relief. It came at last, and the heavy, 
 clanking sounds of massive doors opening and shutting — 
 the mournful echoes that told of captivity and durance — 
 sighed along the corridors, and then all was still. 
 
 There is a time in reverie when silence seems not to 
 encourage thought, but rather, like some lowering cloud, 
 to hang over and spread a gloomy insensibility around us. 
 Long watching and much thinking had brought me now 
 to this, and I sat looking upon the faint streak of sunlight 
 that streamed through the barred window, and speculating 
 within myself when it would fall upon the hearth. Sud- 
 denly I heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor ; my 
 door was opened, and the gaoler entered, followed by a 
 man ©arrying my breakfast. 
 
 *' Come, sir," said the former, " I hope you have got an 
 appetite for our prison fare. Lose no time, for there is a 
 carriage in waiting to bring you to the Castle, and the 
 Major himself is without." 
 
 " I am ready this moment," said T, starting up, and 
 taking my hat ; and notwithstanding every entreaty to eat, 
 made with kindness and good-nature, I refused everything, 
 and followed him out into the courtyard, where Barton 
 was pacing up and down, impatiently awaiting our 
 coming.
 
 142 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 CHAPTER Xy. 
 
 THE OASTLE. 
 
 Scarcely liad the carriage driven from the gloomy portals 
 of the gaol, and entered one of the long, straggling streets 
 that led towards the river, when I noticed a singular-look- 
 ing figure who ran alongside, and kept up with us as we 
 went. A true type of the raggedness of old Dublin, his 
 clothes fluttered behind him like ribbons ; even from his 
 hat, his long, red hair straggled and streamed, while his 
 nether garments displayed a patchwork no tartan could vie 
 with ; his legs were bare, save where a single top-boot 
 defended one of them, the other was naked to the foot, clad 
 in an old morocco slipper, which he kicked up and caught 
 again as he went with surprising dexterity, accompanying 
 the feat with a wild yell which might have shamed a war- 
 whoop ; he carried a bundle of printed papers over one 
 arm, and flourished one of them in his right hand, vocif- 
 erating something all the while with uncommon energy. 
 Scarcely had the carriage drawn up at the door of an old- 
 fashioned brick building when he was beside it. 
 
 " How are ye. Major? How is every bit of you, sir? 
 Are ye taking them this mornin' ? — 'tis yourself knows 
 how ! Buy a ha'porth, sir." 
 
 " What have you got to-day, Toby ? " said the Major, 
 with a greater degree of complacency in his manner than 
 I had ever noticed before. 
 
 " An illigant new song about Buck Whaley ; or, maybe, 
 you'd like 'Beresford's Jig; or, the Humours of Malbro' 
 Green.' " 
 
 " Why, man, they're old these three weeks." 
 
 •' True for ye, Major. Begorra ! there's no chating yon 
 at all, at all. Well, maybe you'll have this. Here's the 
 bloody and cruel outrage committed by the yeomen on the 
 body of a dacent and respectable young man, by the name 
 »f Darby M'Keown, with the full and true account of hovr
 
 THE CASTLE. 1-43 
 
 lie was inhumanly stabbed and murdered on the 8th day of 
 July " 
 
 " Ay, give me that ; I hope they've done for that 
 scoundrel ; I have been on his track three years." 
 
 The fellow drew near, and, as he handed the paper to 
 the Major, contrived to approach close to where I stood. 
 ** Buy one, master," said he ; and, as he spoke, he turned 
 completely round, so as only to be observed by myself, 
 and as suddenly the whole expression of his vacant features 
 changed like magic, and I saw before me the well-known 
 face of Darby himself. 
 
 " Did you get an answer to that for me, Toby ? " said 
 the Major. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; here it is." And with that he pulled off his 
 tattered hat, and withdrew a letter which lay concealed 
 within the lining. " 'Tis sixpence you ought to be afther 
 givin' me this mornin'. Major," continued he, in an in- 
 sinuating tone of voice ; '* the devil a less than twenty-one 
 mile it is out of this, not to spake of the danger I run, and 
 the boys out on every side o' me." 
 
 " And what's the news up the country, Toby ? " asked 
 the Major, as he broke the seal of the letter. 
 
 " 'Tis talking of a risin' they do be still, sir — av the 
 praties was in ; glory be to God, they say it '11 be a great 
 say son." 
 
 " For which, Toby — the crops or the croppies ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Toby, with a most provoking look of 
 idiocy. "And you won't buy Darby, sir?" rejoined he, 
 flourishing the printed placard. " No matter ; here's the 
 
 whole, full, thrue, and particular account " And so 
 
 he turned the angle of the building, and I could hear his 
 voice mingling with the street noises as he wended his way 
 down Dame Street. The Major looked after him and 
 smiled, and brief as was that smile, I saw in it how 
 thoroughly he was duped. 
 
 " Come, sir, follow me, if you please," said he, ad- 
 dressing me. 
 
 I mounted a flight of old and neglected stairs, and 
 entered an anteroom, where, having waited for a few 
 seconds, the Major whispered an order to the porter, and 
 passed on to the inner room, leaving me behind. 
 
 As Major Barton passed out by one door, the porter
 
 144 TOM BURKE OP " OURS." 
 
 turned the key in the other, and, placing it in his pocket, 
 drew his chair to the window and resumed the newspaper 
 he was reading when we entered. How long I waited I 
 cannot say. My thoughts, though sad ones, chased each 
 other rapidly, and I felt not the time as it passed. Sud- 
 denly the door opened, and I heard my name called. I 
 drew a deep breath, like one who felt his fate was in the 
 balance, and entered. 
 
 The room, which was plainly furnished, seemed to serve 
 as an office. The green-covered table that stood in the 
 middle was littered with letters and papers, among which 
 a large, heavy-browed, dark-featured man was searching 
 busily as I came in. Behind, and partly beside him, 
 stood Barton, in an attitude of respectful attention, while, 
 with his back to the fire, was a third person, whose age 
 might have been from thirty-five to forty. His dress was 
 in the perfection of the mode, his top-boots reaching to 
 the middle of his leg ; his coat, of the lightest shade of 
 sky-blue, was lined with white silk; and two watch-chains 
 hung down beneath his bufi* waistcoat, in the acme of the 
 then fashion. His features were frank and handsome, 
 and, saving a dash of puppyism that gave a character of 
 weakness to the expression, I should deem him a manly, 
 fine-looking fellow. 
 
 " So this is your ' Eobespierre ! ' Major, is it?" cried 
 he, bursting into a laugh, as I appeared. 
 
 Barton approached nearer to him, and muttered some- 
 thing in a low, mumbling tone, to which the other seemed 
 to pay little, if any attention. 
 
 " You are here, sir," said the dark-featured man at the 
 table, holding in his hand a paper as he spoke — '* you are 
 here, under a warrant of the Privy Council, charging you 
 with holding intercourse with that rebellious and ill-fated 
 faction who seek to disturb the peace and welfare of this 
 country — disseminating dangerous and wicked doctrines, 
 
 and being in alliance with France — with France- 
 
 What's that word, Barton?— to " 
 
 " In two words, young gentleman," said the young 
 man at the fire, " you are charged with keeping very bad 
 company — learning exceedingly unprofitable notions, and 
 incurring very considerable present risk. Now I am 
 Bot disposed to think that at your age, and with your
 
 THE CASTLE. 145 
 
 respectable connections, either the cause or its associates 
 can have taken a very strong hold of your mind. 1 am 
 sure that you must have received your impressions, such 
 as they are, from artful and designing persons, who had 
 only their own ends in view when involving you in their 
 plots. If 1 am justitiea in tms opinion, and if you will 
 pledge me your honour " 
 
 " I say, Cooke, you can't do this. The warrant sets 
 forth " 
 
 " Well, well, we'll admit him to bail." 
 
 *' It is not bailable. Right Honourable," said Barton, 
 addressing the large man at the table. 
 
 " Phelan," said the younger man, turning away in 
 pique, " we really have matters of more importance than 
 this boy's case to look after." 
 
 " Boy as he is, sir," said Barton, obsequiously, " he 
 was in the full confidence of that notorious French cap- 
 tain for whose capture you offered a reward of one 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 " You like to run your fox to earth, Barton," replied 
 the Under-Secretary, calmly, for it was he who spoke. 
 
 " In alliance with France," continued the dark man, 
 reading from the paper, over which he continued to pore 
 ever since, " for the propagation — ay, that's it — the pro- 
 pagation of democratic " 
 
 " Come, come, Browne, never mind the warrant ; if he 
 can find laail — say five hundred pounds — for his future 
 appearance, we shall be satisfied." 
 
 Browne, who never took his eyes from the paper, and 
 seemed totally insensible to everything but the current of 
 his own thoughts, now looked up, and, fixing his dark 
 and beetling look upon me, uttered in a deep, low tone, — 
 
 " You see, sir, the imminent danger of your present 
 position, and at the same time the merciful leniency 
 which has always characterized His Majesty's Govern- 
 ment — ahem! If, therefore, you will plead guilty to any 
 transportable felony, the grand jury will find true bills " 
 
 " You mistake, Browne," said Cooke, endeavouring 
 with his handkerchief to repress a burst of laughter, " we 
 are going to take his bail." 
 
 " Bail ! " said the other, in a voice and with a look of 
 amazement absolutely comic. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 Up to this moment I had not broken silence, but I was 
 unable to remain longer without speaking. 
 
 " I am quite ready, sir," said I, resolutely, " to stand 
 my trial for anything laid to my charge. I am neither 
 ashamed of the opinions I profess, nor alraid of the dan- 
 gers they involve." 
 
 " You hear him, sir, you hear him," said Barton, 
 triumphantly, turning towards the Secretary, who bit his 
 lip in disappointment, and frowned on me with a mingled 
 expression of anger and warning. " Let him only pro- 
 ceed, and you'll be quite satisfied, on his own showing, 
 that he cannot be admitted to bail." 
 
 " Bail ! " echoed the Right Honourable, whose faculties 
 seemed to have stuck fast in the mud of thought, and 
 were totally unable to extricate themselves. 
 
 At the same moment, a gentle tap was heard at the door, 
 and the porter entered with a card, which he delivered to 
 the Secretary. 
 
 "Let him wait," was the brief reply, as he threw his 
 eyes over it. " Captain Bubbleton," muttered he, between 
 his teeth. " Don't know him." 
 
 I started at the name, and felt my cheek flush ; he saw 
 it at once. 
 
 *' You know this gentleman, then ?" said he, mildly. 
 
 *' Yes ; to his humanity I am indebted for my life." 
 
 " I think I shall be able to show, sir," said Barton, in- 
 terposing, " that through this Burke's instrumentality a 
 very deep scheme of disaffection is at this moment in 
 operation among the troops in garrison. It was in the 
 barrack at George's Street that I apprehended him." 
 
 '* You may withdraw, sir," said the Secretary, turning 
 towards me. "Let Captain Bubbleton come in." 
 
 As I left the room, the burly Captain entered ; but so 
 flurried and excited was he, that he never perceived me, as 
 we passed each other. 
 
 I had not been many minutes in the outer room when 
 a loud laugh attracted me, in which I could distinctly 
 recognize the merry cadence of my friend Bubbleton ; and 
 shortly after the door was opened, and I was desired to 
 enter. 
 
 " You distinctly understand, then, Captain Bubbleton," 
 said Mr. Cooke, " that in accepting the l)ail in this case, I
 
 THE CASTLE. 147 
 
 I am assuming a responsibility which may involve me in 
 trouble r" 
 
 " I have no doubfc of it," muttered Barton, between his 
 teeth. 
 
 *' We shall require two sureties of five hundred pounds 
 each." 
 
 " Take the whole myself, by Jove !" broke in Bubble- 
 ton, with a flourish of his hand. " In for a penny — eh, 
 Tom P" 
 
 " You can't do that, sir," interposed Barton. 
 
 The Secretary nodded an assent, and for a moment or 
 two Bubbletou looked nonplused, 
 
 " You'll of course have little difficulty as to a co-surety,*' 
 continued Barton, with a grin. " Burke of 'Ours' is suffi- 
 ciently popular in the Forty-fifth to make it an easy 
 matter." 
 
 " True," cried Bubbleton, " quite true ; but in a thing 
 of this kind, every fellow will be so deuced anxious to 
 come forward — a kind of military feeling, you know." 
 
 " I understand it perfectly," said Cooke, with a polite 
 bow ; *' although a civilian, I think I can estimate the 
 esprit de corps you speak of." 
 
 " Nothing like it, nothing like it, by Jove ! I'll just 
 tell you a story — a little anecdote in point. When we 
 were in the Neelgharries, there was a tiger devilish fond 
 of one of ours. Some way or other, Forbes — that was his 
 name " 
 
 " The tiger's ?" 
 
 " jNo ! the captain's. Forbes had a devilish insinuating 
 way with him — women always liked him — and this tiger 
 used to come in after mess, and walk round where he was 
 sitting, and Forbes used to give him his dinner, just as 
 you might a dog " 
 
 The castle clock struck three just at this moment ; the 
 Secretary started up. 
 
 "My dear Captain," cried he, putting his hand on 
 Bubbleton's arm, " I never was so sorry in my life ; but I 
 must hurry away to the Privy Council. I shall be here, 
 however, at lour; and if you will meet me at that time 
 with the other security, we can arrange this little matter 
 at once." So saying, he seized hid hat, bowed politely 
 round the room, and left us. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 *' Come along, Tom," cried Bubbleton, taking me hjihe 
 &rm ; " devilish good fellow that ; knew I'd tickle him 
 with the tiger ; nothing to what I could have told him, 
 however, if he had waited." 
 
 " I beg yonr pardon, sir," said Barton, interposing: 
 between ns and the door, " Mr. Barke is in custody until 
 the formality at least of a bail be gone through." 
 
 " So he is," said Bubbleton ; " I forgot all about it. So 
 good-bye, Tom, for half an hour ; I'll not be longer, depend 
 on it." 
 
 With this he shook me warmly by the hand, bustled out 
 of the room, and hurried downstairs, humming a tune as 
 he went, apparently in capital spirits, while I knew from 
 his manner that the bail he was in search of had about as 
 much existence as the tiger in the Neelgharries. 
 
 *' You can wait in this room, sir," said Barton, opening 
 the door of a small apartment which had no other exit 
 save through this office. 
 
 I sat down in silence and in sorrow of heart, to specu- 
 late, as well as I was able, on the consequences of my mis- 
 fortune. I knew enough of Bubbleton to be certain that 
 all chance of assistance in that quarter was out of the ques- 
 tion — the only source he could draw upon being his inven- 
 tion — the only wealth he possessed the riches of his imagi- 
 nation — which had, however, this advantage over any 
 other species of property I ever heard of— the more he 
 squandered it, the more affluent did he become. Time 
 wore on ; the clock struck four ; and yet no appearance of 
 Bubbleton. Another hour rolled by — no one came near 
 me, and at length, from the perfect stillness without, I be- 
 lieved they had forgotten me.
 
 149 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Six o'clock, seven, and even eiglat struck, and yet no one 
 came. The mouotonous tread of the sentry on guard at 
 the Castle-gate, and the occasional challenge to some 
 passing stranger, were the only sounds I heard above the 
 distant hum of the city, which grew fainter gradually as 
 evening fell. At last I heard the sound of a key moving 
 in a lock, the bang of a door, and then came the noise of 
 many voices, as the footsteps mounted the staire, amid 
 which Bubbleton's was pre-eminently loud. The party 
 entered the room next to where I sat, and, from the tones, 
 I could collect that Major Barton and Mr. Cooke were of 
 the number. Another there was, too, whose voice was 
 not absolutely new or strange to my ears, though I could 
 not possibly charge my memory where I had heard it 
 before. 
 
 While I was thus musing, the door opened noiselessly, 
 and Bubbleton entering without a word, closed it behind 
 him, and approached me on tiptoe. 
 
 " All right, my boy ; they're doing the needful outside ; 
 ready in ten minutes ; never was such a piece of fortune ; 
 found out a glorious fellow ; heard of him from Hicks, 
 the money-lender ; he'll go security to any amount ; knows 
 your family well; knew your father, grandfather, I believe; 
 delighted to meet you ; says he'd rather see you than tifty 
 pounds ! " 
 
 " Who is he, for Heaven's sake ? " said I, impatiently ; 
 for it was a new thing to me to receive anything like 
 kindness on the score of my father's memory. 
 
 " Eh ! who is he ? He's a kind of a bill-broking, mort- 
 gaging, bail-giving, devilish good sort of fellow. I've a 
 notion he'd do a bit of something at three months." 
 
 " But his name — what's he called ? " 
 
 "His name is — let me see — his name is • Bat who
 
 150 TOM BUEKE OF ** OURS." 
 
 cares for his name ? He can write it, I suppose, on a 
 stamp, my boy — that's the mark. Bless your heart, I 
 only spoil a stamp when I put my autograph across it — it 
 would be worth prime cost till then. What a glorious 
 thing is youth — unfledged, unblemished youth — to possess 
 a name new to the Jews — a reputation against which no 
 one has ' protested ! ' Tom Burke, iny boy, I envy you. 
 Now, when I write George Frederick Augustus Bubbleton. 
 on any bill, warrant, or quittance, straightway there's a 
 grin around the circle — a kind of a d — d impertinent sort 
 of a half-civil smile, as though to say ' mdla bona,' pay- 
 able nowhere. But hold ! that was a tap at the door — oh, 
 they want us." 
 
 So saying, the Captain opened the door and introduced 
 me. 
 
 " I say, Tom," cried he, *' come here, and thank our 
 kind friend, Mr. Mr. " 
 
 " Mr. Basset," said I, starting back, as my eyes beheld 
 the pale, sarcastic features of the worthy attorney, who 
 stood at the table, conversing in a low tone with the 
 Under-Secretary. 
 
 "Eh! what's the matter?" whispered Bubbleton, as he 
 saw my colour come and go, and perceived that I leaned 
 on a chair for support. " What the devil's wrong now ? '* 
 
 "You've betrayed me to my greatest enemy," said I, in 
 a low, distinct voice. 
 
 "Eh! what? — why, you seem to have nothing but foes 
 in the world. Confound it, that's always my luck — my 
 infernal good-nature is everlastingly making a wrong 
 plunge." 
 
 " In that case, if I understand the matter aright, the 
 bail is unnecessary," said Mr. Cooke, addressing Basset, 
 who never turned his head to the part of the room where 
 we stood. 
 
 " JVo, sir, it is not necessary. While the law assists me 
 to resume my guardianship of this young gentleman, 1 
 am answerable for his appearance." 
 
 " The indentures are quite correct," said Barton, as he 
 laid the papers on the table, "as I believe Mr. Basset's 
 statement to be also." 
 
 " No bail necessary," interrupted Bubbleton, rubbing 
 his hands pleasantly, " so much the better. Wish them
 
 THE BAIL. 151 
 
 good evening, Tom, my hearty ; we shall be back in time 
 for supper. You wouldn't take an oyster, Mr. Cooke ? " 
 
 " I thank you very much, but I am unfortunately 
 en,2:aged." 
 
 " Not so fast, Captain, I beg you," said Basset, with a 
 most servile but malignant expression in his features. 
 " The habits I would inculcate to my apprentice are 
 not exactly consistent with mess-parties and barrack- 
 suppers." 
 
 "Apprentice ! apprentice ! " said Bubbleton, starting as 
 if stung by a wasp. " Eh ! you're surely not — not the — • 
 the " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; there's the indenture, signed and sealed, if 
 you are desirous to satisfy yourself. The young gentleman 
 himself will not deny his father's instructions concerning 
 him." 
 
 I hung down my head, abashed and ashamed. The 
 tears started to my eyes ; I turned away to wipe them, and 
 feared to face the others again; I saw that Bubbleton, my 
 only friend, believed I had practised some deceit on him — 
 and how to explain, without disclosing what I dare not! 
 There was a bustle in the room — a sound of voices — the 
 noise of feet descending the stairs ; and when I aga^n 
 looked round, they were all gone, save Basset, who was 
 leisurely collecting his papers together, and fastening 
 them with a string. 1 turned my eyes everywhere, to see 
 if Bubbleton had not remained. But no, he had left me 
 like the rest, and I was alone with the man I most dreaded 
 and disliked of all the world. 
 
 "Well, sir," said Basset, as he thrust the papers into 
 the pocket of his greatcoat, " I'm ready now." 
 
 "Where to, sir?" replied I, sternly, as he moved to 
 leave the room; for, without thinking of how and why I 
 was to succeed in it, a vague resolution of defiance flitted 
 through my mind. 
 
 "To mi/ house, sir, or to Newgriir', if you prefer it. 
 Don*t mistake, young g^eTstleman. for a moment, the posi- 
 tion you occupy — you owe your liberation at this moment 
 not to any merits of your own. Your connection with the 
 disaffected and rebellious body is well known : my interest 
 witli the Government is your only protection. Again, sir, 
 let me add, that I have no peculiar desire for your com-
 
 152 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 pany in my family ; neither the habits nor the opinions 
 you have acquired will suit those you'll meet there." 
 
 " Why, then, have you interfered with me ? " said I, 
 passionately. " Why not have left me to my fate? Beit 
 what it might, it would have been not less acceptuble, I 
 assure you, than to become an inmate of your house " 
 
 " That question were very easily answered," said he, 
 interrupting me. 
 
 " Then, why not do so ? " 
 
 " Come, come, sir, these are not the terms which are to 
 subsist between us, nor is this the place to discuss our 
 difference. Follow me." 
 
 He led the way downstairs as he spoke, and, taking my 
 arm within his, turned into the street. Without a word 
 on either side we proceeded down Parliament Street, 
 and, crossing Essex Bridge, followed the quays for some 
 time, then turning into Stafiord Street, we arrived at a 
 house, when having taken a latch-key from his pocket. 
 Basset opened the door and ushered me in, muttering half 
 aloud as he turned the key in the lock, and fastened the 
 bolt, " Safe at last." We turned from the narrow hall 
 into a small parlour, which, from its dingy furniture of 
 writing-desk and stools, I guessed to serve as an office. 
 Here my companion lit a candle from the embers of the 
 fire, and having carefully closed the door he motioned me 
 to a seat. 
 
 " I have already told you, sir, that I am not in the least 
 covetous of your company in my house ; circumstances, 
 which I may or may not explain hereafter, have led me to 
 rescue you from the disgrace you. must eventually have 
 brought upon your family." 
 
 " Hold, sir, I have none, save a brother " 
 
 " Well, sir, and your brother's feelings are, I trust, not 
 to be slightingly treated — a young gentleman whose posi- 
 tion and prospects are of the very highest order." 
 
 " You are his agent, I perceive, Mr Basset," said I, with 
 a significant smile. 
 
 " I am, sir," replied he, with a deep flush that mounted 
 even to his forehead. 
 
 " Then let me save you all further trouble on my 
 account," said I, calmly. " My brother's indifference 
 to me or my fate has long since absolved me from any
 
 THE BAIL. 153 
 
 regret I miglit feel for the consequences which my actions 
 might induce on his fortunes. His own conduct must 
 stamp him, as mine must me. I choose to judge for 
 myself, and not even Mr. Basset shall decide for me, 
 although I am well aware his powers of discrimination 
 have had the double advantage of experience on both sides 
 of the question." 
 
 As I said this, his face became almost livid, and his 
 white lips quivered with passion. He knew not before 
 that I was acquainted with his history, nor that I knew of 
 his having sold to the Government information which 
 brought his schoolfellow and benefactor to the scaffold. 
 
 " Come, come," continued I, gaining courage, as I saw 
 the effect my words produced, " it is not your interest to 
 injure me, however it may be your wish. Is there no 
 arrangement we can come to, mutually advantageous ? 
 We shall be but sorry companions. I ought to have some 
 property under my grandfather's will." 
 
 " There is, I believe, five hundred pounds," said Basset, 
 with a slow distinctness, as if not rejecting the turn the 
 conversation had taken. 
 
 " Well, then, what will you take to cancel that inden- 
 ture ? You don't set a very high value on my services, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 " You forget, I perceive," said he, " that I am answer- 
 able for your future appearance if called on." 
 
 " There was no bail-bond drawn out, no sum mentioned, 
 if I mistake not, Mr. Basset." 
 
 " Very true, sir, very true ; but I pledged myself to the 
 law adviser — my character is responsible." 
 
 " Well, well, let me have two hundred pounds — burn 
 that cursed indenture " 
 
 " Two hundred pounds! Do you fancy, then, that you 
 are in the possession of this legacy ? Why, it never may, 
 in all likelihood it never will, be yours — it's only payable 
 on your attaining your majority." 
 
 " Give me one hundred pounds, then — j/ive me fifty — 
 let me only be free, at liberty, and not absolutely a beggar 
 on the streets." 
 
 Basset leaned his head on the chimney, and seemed sunk 
 in reflection, while I, wound up to the highest pitch of 
 excitement, trod up and down the room, pouring forth
 
 IB-i TOM BUEKE OF " OURS.*' 
 
 from time to time short and broken sentences, declaratory 
 of my desire to surrender all that I might chance to 
 inherit by every casualty in life, to my last guinea, only let 
 there be no constraint on my actions — no attempt to con- 
 trol my personal liberty. 
 
 " I see," cried I, passionately — " I see what hampers 
 you — you fear I may compromise my family ! It is my 
 brother's fair fame you are thinking of; but away with all 
 dread on that score — I'll leave Ireland— I have long since 
 determined on that." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Basset, slowly, as he turned round his 
 head, and looked me full in the face. " Would you go to 
 America, then P " 
 
 "To America! no — to France! that shall be the land 
 of my adoption, as it is this moment of all my heart's 
 longings.'' 
 
 His eyes sparkled, and a gleam of pleasure shot across 
 his cold features, as if he caught a glow of the enthu- 
 siasm that lit up mine. 
 
 '' Come," cried he, " I'll think of this — give me till to- 
 morrow, and if you'll pledge yourself to leave Ireland 
 within a w^eek " 
 
 "I'll pledge myself to nothing of the kind," replied I, 
 fiercely. " It is to be free — free in thought as in act, that 
 I would barter all my prospects with you. There must 
 be but one compact between us — it must begin and end 
 here. Take a night if you will to think it over, and to- 
 morrow morning " 
 
 " VV^ell, then, to-morrow morning be it," said he, with 
 more of animation in his tone; ''and now to supper." 
 
 •'To bed, rather," said I, " if I may speak my mind, for 
 rest is whr/; I now stand most in need of."
 
 155 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MR. basset's dwelling. 
 
 Excepting tlie two dingy-looking, dust-covered parlonrs, 
 which served as office and dijiing-room, the only portion 
 of Mr. Basset's dwelling untenanted by lodgers were the 
 attics. The large brass plate that adorned the hall-door, 
 setting forth in conspicuous letters, " Anthony Basset, 
 Attorne}^" gave indeed a most inadequate notion of the 
 mixed population within, whose respectability, in the in- 
 verse ratio of their height from the ground, went on grow- 
 ing beautifully less, till it found its culminating point in 
 the host himself, on whose venerable head the light 
 streamed from a cobweb-covered pane in the roof. The 
 stairs were dark and narrow, the walls covered with a dull- 
 coloured old wainscot, that flapped and banged with every 
 foot that came and went, while the windows were de- 
 fended by strong iron railings, as if anything in;<ide them 
 could possibly demand such means of protection. 
 
 I followed Mr. Basset as he led the way up these appar- 
 ently interminable stairs, till at length the decreasing 
 head-room betokened that we vrere near the slates. IMum- 
 bling a half apology for the locale, he introduced me into 
 a long, low attic, where a settle bed, of the humblest pre- 
 tensions, and a single rush-bottomed chair supporting a 
 basin, were the only articles of turniture. Something like 
 the drop-eurtain of a strolling theatre closed up the dis- 
 tance ; but this I could only perceive imperfectly by the 
 dim twilight of a dip candle ; and in my stare of fatigue 
 and weariness, I had little inclination to explore further. 
 Wishing me a good night, and promising that 1 should be 
 called betimes next morning, Mr. Basset took his leav(% 
 while I, overcome by a long day of care and anxiety, 
 threw myself on the bed, and slept far more soundly than 
 I could have believed it were possible for me to do under 
 the roof of Anthony Basset. 
 
 The sun was streaming in a rich flood of yellow light
 
 156 TOM BURKE OF " CUES." 
 
 througli a small skylight, and playing its merry gambols 
 on the floor when I awoke. The birds, too, were singing ; 
 and the hum of the street noises, mellowed by distance, 
 broke not unpleasantly on the ear. It did not take me 
 long to remember where I was, and why. The conversa 
 tion of the evening before recurred at once to my mind, 
 and hope, stronger than ever before I felt it, filled my 
 heart. It was clear Basset could place little value on such 
 services as mine ; and if I could only contrive to make it 
 his interest to part with me, he would not hesitate about 
 it. I resolved that, whatever price he put upon my free- 
 dom, if in my power I should pay it. My next plan was 
 to find out, through some of the persons in correspond- 
 ence with France, the means of reaching that country, in 
 whose military service I longed to enrol myself. Had I 
 but the papers of my poor friend Charles de Meudon, 
 there had been little difficulty in this ; but, unfortunately, 
 they were seized by Major Barton on the day of his death, 
 and I had never seen them since. 
 
 While I revolved these thoughts within myself I heard 
 the merry notes of a girl's voice, singing, apparently, in 
 the very room with me. I started up and looked about 
 me, and now perceived that what seemed so like a drop- 
 curtain the night before was nothing more or less than a 
 very large patchwork quilt, suspended on a line across the 
 entire attic, from the other side of which came the sounds 
 in question. It was clear, both from the melody and the 
 voice, that she could not be a servant ; and somewhat 
 curious to know more of my fair neighbour, I rose gently, 
 and slipping on my clothes, approached the boundary of 
 my territory with noiseless step. 
 
 A kind of whistling noise interrupted every now and 
 then the lady's song, and an occasional outbreak of impa- 
 tience would burst forth in the middle of the " Arrah, will 
 you marry me, dear Alley Croker? " by some malediction 
 on a " black knot," or a broken string. I peeped over the 
 *' drop," and beheld the figure of a young, plump, and 
 pretty girl, busily engaged in lacing her stays — an occupa- 
 tion which accounted equally for the noise of the rushing 
 stay-lace and the bit of peevishness I had heard. I quite 
 forgot how inadvisable was the indulgence of my curiosity 
 in my admiration of my fair neighboLr, whose buxom
 
 ^?^^;*^^:^>5i 
 
 
 ^ 

 
 *>°*^^''^^ 
 
 h^ 
 
 aN\*^
 
 MR. basset's dwelling. 157 
 
 figure, not the less attractive for the shortness of her dra- 
 per}^, showed itself to peculiar advantage as she bent to 
 one side and the other in her efforts to fasten the imprac- 
 ticable boddice. A mass of rich brown hair, on which the 
 sun was playing, fell over her neck and on her shoulders, 
 and half concealed her round, well-turned arms as they 
 plied their busy task. 
 
 " "Well, ain't my heart broke with you entirely ? " ex- 
 claimed she, as a stubborn knot stopped all further pro- 
 gress. At this moment the cord, on which through 
 inadvertence I had leaned somewhat too heavily, gave 
 way, and down came the curtain with a squash to the 
 floor. She sprang back with a bound, and, while a slight 
 but momentary blush flushed her cheek, stared at me half 
 angrily, and then cried out, "Well, I hope you like me? " 
 
 " Yes, that I do," said I, readily; "and who wouldn't 
 that saw you ? " 
 
 Whether it was the naivete of my confession, or my 
 youth, or both, I can't well say, but slie laughed heartily 
 at my speech, and threw herself into a chair to indulge 
 her mirth. 
 
 " So we were neighbours, it seems," said I. 
 
 " And if we were," said she, roguishly, " I think it's a 
 very unceremonious way you've opened the acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 " You forget, apparently, I haven't left my own terri- 
 tory." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure I wish you would, if you're any good 
 at a black knot ; my heart and my nails are both broke 
 with one here." 
 
 I didn't wait for anymore formal invitation, but stepped 
 at once over the frontier, while she, rising from the chair, 
 turned her back towards me, as with her finger she 
 directed me to the most chaotic assemblage of knots, 
 twists, loops, and entanglements I ever beheld. 
 
 " And you're Burke, I suppose," cried she, as I com- 
 menced my labours. 
 
 " Yes, I'm Burke." 
 
 " Well, I hope your done with wildness by this time. 
 Uncle Tony tells fine tales of your doings." 
 
 " Uncle Tony I So you're Mr. Basset's niece — is that 
 
 BO?"
 
 158 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 *' Yon didn't take me for his wife, I hope," said she, 
 again bursting out into laughter. 
 
 " In truth, I never thought so well of him as to sup- 
 pose it." 
 
 " Well, well, I'm s^ure it's little I expected you to look 
 BO mild and so quiet; but you needn't pinch me, for all 
 that. Isn't your name Tom ? " 
 
 '■• Yes, I hope you'll always call me so." 
 
 *' Maybe I will. Isn't that done yet ? — and there's the 
 milk bell. Uncle will be in a nice passion if I'm not down 
 soon — cut it — cut it at once." 
 
 " Now do be patient for a minute or two — it's all right 
 il you stay quiet. I'll try my teeth on it." 
 
 " Yes, but you needn't try your lips too," said she, 
 tartly. 
 
 " Why, it's the only plan to get your fingers out of the 
 way. I'm sure I never was so puzzled in all my life." 
 
 " Nothing like practice, my boy, nothing," cried a merry 
 voice from the door behind me, half choked with laughing, 
 while a muttered anathema, in a deeper tone, followed. I 
 looked back, and there stood Bubbleton, his face florid 
 with laughter, endeavouring to hold back Mr. Basset, 
 whose angry look and flashing eye there was no mis- 
 taking. 
 
 " Mr. Burke — Burke, I say — Nelly, what does this 
 mean ? How came this young gentleman " 
 
 " As to that," said I, interrupting him, and my blood 
 somewhat chafed by his manner, " this piece of trumpery 
 tumbled down when I leaned my arm on it. I had no 
 idea " 
 
 " No, no; to be sure not," broke in Bubbleton, in an 
 ecstasy. " The thing was delicious ; such a bit of stage 
 effect. She was there, as it might be, combing her hair, 
 and all that sort of thing. Tom was here, raving about 
 absence and eternal separation. You are an angi-y father, 
 or uncle — all the same; and I'm Count Neitztachenitz, 
 the old friend and brother-officer of Tom's father. Now, 
 
 '.et Miss Nelly But where is she? — why, she's gone! 
 
 y.h, and Basset ? Basset ! — why, he's gone ! Come, 
 iTom, don't you go too. I say, my boy, devilish well got 
 up that. You onght to have had a white satin doublet 
 and hose, slashed with pale cherry-coloured ribbons to
 
 MB. BASSET^S DVv'ELLINa. 159 
 
 matcli, small hat looped, aigrette and white plume. She 
 was perfect — her leg and foot were three certain rounds 
 of applause from the pit and gallery." 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said I, angrily ; " we weren't play- 
 ing a comedy." 
 
 " Weren't you, though ? Well, I'm deuced sorry for it, 
 that's all ; but it did look confoundedly like an undress 
 rehearsal." 
 
 •' Come, come, no foolery, I beg. I'm here in a very 
 sad plight, and this piece of nonsense may not make mat- 
 ters any better. Listen to me, if you can, patiently for 
 five minutes, and give me your advice." 
 
 I took him by the arm as I spoke, and leading him from 
 the room, where i saw that everything was only suggest- 
 ing some piece of scenic effect, and in as few words as 
 I could command, explained bow I was circumstanced ; 
 omitting, of course, any detail of my political bias, and 
 only stated so much of my desire as implied my wish to 
 be free of my contract with Sasset, and at liberty to dis- 
 pose of myself as I liked in future. 
 
 " I see," cried Bubbleton, as I finished; "the old fox 
 has this five hundred pounds of yours." 
 
 " No, I didn't say that ; I only mean- " 
 
 " Well, well, it's all the same. If he hasn't, you know 
 he ought." 
 
 " No; that's not essential either." 
 
 " No matter, he would if be could; it just comes to the 
 same thing, and yon only wish to get clear out of his 
 hands at any cost. Isn't that it ? " 
 
 " Exactly ; you have it all perfectly." 
 
 " Bless your heart, boy, there's nothing easier. If I 
 were in your place, should arrange the afi'air in less than 
 a week. I'd have fits — strong fits — and burn all the 
 papers in the office during the paroxysm. I'd make a 
 pile of deeds, leases, bonds, and settlements in the back 
 yard." 
 
 " I don't fancy your plan would be so successful as you 
 flatter yourself," said a dry husky voice behind : " there's 
 rather a stringent law for refractory apprentices, as Mr. 
 Bnrke may learn." We turned round, and there stood 
 Mr. Basset, with a grin of most diabolical malignity ir 
 his by no means pleasant features. " At the same time,'*
 
 IfiO TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 continued lie, " your suggestions are of infinite value, and 
 shall be duly appreciated in the King's Bench." 
 
 " Eh — King's Bench ! Lord bless you, don't speak of 
 it. Mere trifles — I just threw them out as good hints. I 
 had fifty far better to come. There's the young lady, now — 
 to be sure, he has started that notion himself, so I must not 
 pretend it was mine ; but Miss Nelly, I think, Tom " 
 
 " Mr. Basset is well aware," interrupted I, " that I am 
 only desirous to be free and untrammelled— that what- 
 ever little means I may derive from my family, I'm will- 
 ing to surrender all, short of actual beggary, to attain 
 this object — that I intend quitting Ireland at once. If, 
 then, he consent to enter into an arrangement with me, let 
 it be at once, and on the spot. I have no desire, I have no 
 power, to force him by a threat, in case of refusal ; but I hope 
 lie will make so much of amends to one of whose present 
 desolation and poverty he is not altogether innocent." 
 
 " There, there, that's devihsh well said ; the whole thing 
 is all clear before me. So come along. Basset, you and I 
 will settle all this. Have you got a private room where 
 we can have five minutes' chat together ? Tom, wait 
 for me here." 
 
 Before either of us could consent or oppose his arrange- 
 ment, he had taken Basset's arm, and led him downstairs, 
 while I, in a flurry of opposing and conflicting resolves, 
 sat down to think over my fortunes. 
 
 Tired at length with waiting, and half suspecting that 
 my volatile friend had forgotten me and all my concerns, 
 I descended to the parlour in hopes to hear something of 
 the pending negotiation. At the head of a long, narrow 
 table sat my fair acquaintance. Miss Nelly, her hair 
 braided very modestly at each side of her pretty face, 
 which had now assumed an almost Quakerish propriety 
 of expression. She was busily engaged in distributing 
 tea to three pale, red-eyed, emaciated men, whose spongy- 
 looking, threadbare garments bespoke to be attorney's 
 clerks : a small imp, a kind of embryo practitioner, knelt 
 before the fire in the act of toasting bread, but followed 
 with his sharp piercing eyes every stir in the apartment, 
 and seemed to watch with malicious pleasure the wry- 
 faces around, whenever any undue dilution of the bohea, 
 or any curtailment of the blue milk pressed heavily on the
 
 MR. basset's dwelling. 161 
 
 guests. These were not exactly the circumstances to re- 
 new my acquaintance with my fair neighbour, had I been 
 so minded ; so having declin-ed her otl'er of breakfast, I 
 leaned moodily on the chimney-piece, my anxiety to know 
 my fate becoming each instant more painful. Meanwhile, 
 not a word was spoken — a sad, moody silence, unbroken 
 save by the sounds of eating, pervaded all, when suddenly 
 the door of the front parlour was flung open, and Bubble- 
 ton's pleasant voice was heard as he talked away unceas- 
 ingly ; in an instant he entered, followed by Basset, over 
 whose hard countenance a shade of better nature seemed 
 to pass. 
 
 " In that case," cried the Captain, "I'm your man, not 
 that I'm anything of a performer at breakfast or dinner ; 
 supper's rather my forte — an odour of a broiled bone at 
 tliree in the morning, a herring smeared with clietna and 
 grilled with brandy, two hundred of small oysters, a few 
 hot ones to close with, a glass of Seltzer dashed with 
 Hollands for health, and then any number you like of 
 glasses of hot brandy- and-water afterwards for pleasure." 
 
 While Bubbleton ran on in this fashion, he had broken 
 about half a dozen eggs into the slop basin, and seasoning 
 the mess with pepper and vinegar, was busily engaged in 
 illustrating the moderation of his morning appetite. 
 
 " Try a thing like this, Tom," cried he, not defining 
 how it was to be effected under the circumstances, while 
 he added in a whisper, "your affair's all right." 
 
 These few words brought courage to my heart ; and I 
 ventured to begin the breakfast that had lain untasted 
 before me. 
 
 " I think, Mr. Burke," said Basset, as soon as he re- 
 covered from the surprise Bubbleton's mode of breakfast- 
 ing had excited — " I think and trust that all has been 
 arranged to your satisfaction." Then turning to the 
 clerks, who ate away without even lifting their heads, 
 " Mr. Muggridge, you will be late at the Masters' Office ; 
 Jones, take that parcel to Hennet ; Kit, carry my bag up 
 to the Courts." 
 
 Miss Nelly did not wait for the part destined for her, 
 but with a demure face rose from the table and left the 
 room, giving me, however, one sly glance as she passed 
 my chair that I remembered for many a day after. 
 
 Vol. I. M
 
 162 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 " You'll excuse lue, gentlemen, if I am pressed for time 
 this morning — a very particular case comes on in the 
 Common Pleas." 
 
 *' Never speak of it, my dear fellow," said Bubbleton, 
 who had just addressed himself to a round of spiced beef, 
 " business has its calls just as pleasure has, ay, and 
 appetite too. That would make an excellent bit of 
 supper, with some mulled port, after a few rubbeis of 
 shorts." 
 
 Basset paid little attention to this speech, but, turning 
 to me, continued : — 
 
 " You mentioned your intention of leaving Ireland, 
 I think ; might 1 ask where you have decided on — from 
 where ? Is it possible that your brother " 
 
 " My brother's anxieties on my account, Mr. Basset, can 
 scarcely be very poignant, and deserve no particular respect 
 or attention at my hands. I suppose that this morning 
 has concluded all necessary intercourse between us ; and 
 if you have satisfied my friend Captain Bubbleton " 
 
 "Perfectly, perfectly — another cup of tea, if you please 
 — yes, nothing could be more gratifying than Mr. Basset's 
 conduct — you are merely to sign the receipt for the legacy, 
 and he hands you over one hundred pounds ; isn't that it ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite correct ; my bill for one hundred at three 
 months." 
 
 " That's what I mean ; but surely you're not done break- 
 fast — why, Tom, you've eaten nothing. I have been pick- 
 ing away this half hour, just to encourage you a bit. Well, 
 well, I lunch in Stephen's Green at three, so here goes." 
 
 Mr. Basset now took from his pocket-book some papers, 
 which, having glanced his eye over, he handed to me. 
 
 " This is a kind of acknowledgment, Mr. Burke, for the 
 receipt of a legacy to which you could be only entitled on 
 attaining your majority ; here are your indentures to me, 
 and this is my acceptance for one hundred pounds." 
 
 " I am content," said I, eagerly, as I seized the pen. 
 The thought of my liberty alone filled my mind, and I 
 cared little for the conditions, provided I secured that. 
 
 Basset proffered his hand ; 1 was in no humour to reject 
 anything that even simulated cordiality ; I shook it heartily. 
 Bubbleton followed my example, and, having pledged him- 
 self to see more of his pleasant acquaintance, thrust his
 
 MR. basset's dwelling. 1G3 
 
 arm through mine, and bustled out, adding, in a tone loud 
 enough to be overheard, " Made a capital tight of it — told 
 him you were a Defender, a United Irishrafin, a Peep-o'- 
 day Boy, and all that sort of thing — devilish glad to get 
 rid of you, even on Miss Nelly's account. ' And so he 
 rattled away without ceasing, until we found ourselves at 
 the George's Street Barracks, my preoccupation, of mind 
 preventing my even having remarked what way we came. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE captain's QUARTERN. 
 
 I WAS not sorry to find that Miss Babbleton did not respond 
 to the noisy summons of the Captain, as he flourished about 
 from one room to the other, making the quarters echo to 
 the sweet name of " Anna Maria." " Saladin," " Grimes," 
 *' Peter," were also shouted out unsuccessfully ; and with 
 a fierce menace against various grooms of the chambers, 
 waiting-men, and lacqueys, who happily were still unborn, 
 Bubbleton flung himself into a seat, and began to conjecture 
 what had become of the inhabitants. 
 
 " She's paying a morning call — gone to see the Duchess 
 — that's it, or perhaps she's looking over that suit of pearls 
 I bought yesterday at Gallon's — pretty baubles, but dear 
 at eight hundred pounds. Never mind, what's money for, 
 eh, Tom?" 
 
 As he looked at me for a rej^ly, I drew my chair closer 
 towards him, and, assuming as much of importance as my 
 manner could command, I besought his attention for a 
 moment. Hitherto, partly from my own indecision, partly 
 from his flighty and volatile bearing, I never had an oppor- 
 tunity either to explain my real position or my political 
 
 M 2
 
 164 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS.'* 
 
 sentiments, much less my intentions for the future. The 
 moment had at length arrived, and I resolved to profit by 
 it ; and, in as few words as I was able, gave a brief nar- 
 rative of my life, from the hour of my father's death to 
 the day in which I fell into his own hands in Dublin, only 
 omitting such portions as might, by the mention of names, 
 compromise others concerned. 
 
 Nothing could possibly be more attentive than he was 
 during the entire detail. He leaned his head on his hand, 
 and listened with eager curiosity to all my scrapes and 
 difficulties, occasionally nodding in assent, and now evinc- 
 ing by his excited air his desire to learn further ; and when 
 I at last wound up by avowing my long-cherished desire 
 to enter the French service, he sat perfectly silent, and 
 seemed to reflect gravely on the whole. 
 
 " I say, Tom," said he, at length, as he stared me full in 
 the face, and laid his hand impressively on my knee, "there's 
 good stuff in that — excellent stuff ! depend upon it ! " 
 
 " Good stuff! what do you mean?" said I, in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " I mean," replied he, " there's bone in it, sinew in it, 
 substance in it— there are some admirable situations too. 
 How Fulham would come out in Tony Basset — brown 
 shorts, white stockings, high shoes and buckles — his own 
 very costume ; and there's that little thing. Miss Booth, 
 for Nelly, give her a coaple of songs — ballad airs take 
 best ; Williams should be Barton ; a devilish fine villain 
 in coarse parts, Williams. I think I see him stealing 
 along by the flats with his soldiers to the attack. Then 
 the second act should open — interior of hut — peasants 
 round a table — eating always successful on the stage — 
 nothing like seeing a fat fellow bolting hard eggs, and 
 blustering out unpronounceable jokes over a flagon of 
 coloured water. You, by right, should have your own 
 part — splendid thing — devilish fine, your sensations when 
 the cabin was on fire, and the fellows were prodding about; 
 with their bayonets to discover you." 
 
 "And who's to perform Captain Bubbleton?" asked .1, 
 venturing for once to humour his absurdity. 
 
 " Eh ? — oh ! there's nothing for me, no marked feature, 
 nothing strong, nothing characteristic. That has been 
 through life my greatest, my very highest ambition — that
 
 THE captain's quarters. 165 
 
 no man should ever detect by anything in my manner, my 
 dress, or my style of conversation, that I was not John 
 JSTokes, or Peter Styles. You'll meet me at a dinner-party, 
 Tom, you'll converse with me, drink with me, we'll sit the 
 evening together, grow intimate — perhaps you'll borrow 
 fifty pounds of me — and yet I'd wager another, you'd 
 never guess that T rode a hippopotamus across the Ganges 
 after tiffin one day, to pay my respects to the Governor- 
 General. That, let me tell you, Tom, is the very proudest 
 boast a man can make. Do you see that scar ? It looks 
 nothing now — that was a bite from a ferocious boa ; the 
 villain got into my room before breakfast, he had eaten my 
 chokadar — a fellow I was very fond of " 
 
 " Ah, I remember you mentioned that to me. And now 
 to come back to my dull story, to which, I assure you, 
 however dramatic you may deem it, I'd prefer adding an 
 act or so before it comes before the world. I intend to 
 leave this to-morrow." 
 
 " No, no, you mustn't think of it, yet awhile. Why, 
 my dear fellow, you've a hundred pounds — only think of 
 that ! twenty will bring you to Paris ; less, if you choose. 
 I once travelled from Glugdamuck to the Ghauts of Bun- 
 deramud for half a rupee — put my elephants on three 
 biscuits a day — explained to them in Hindostanee — a most 
 expressive language — that our provisions had fallen short 
 • — that on our arrival all arrears of grub should be made 
 up. They tossed up their trunks thus in token of assent, 
 and on we marched. Well, when we came to Helgie, there 
 was no water " 
 
 " Very true," interrupted I, half in despair at the tor- 
 rent of story-telling I had got involved in; "but you 
 forget 1 have neither elephants, nor camels, nor coolies, 
 nor chokadars — Pm a mere adventurer with, except your- 
 self, not a friend in the world." 
 
 " Then why not join us ? " cried the ever-ready Captain. 
 *' We are to have our orders for foreign service in a few 
 weeks — you've only to volunteer ; you've money enough to 
 buy your kit. When you're fairly in, it's only writing to 
 your brother. Besides, something always turns up ; that's 
 my philosophy. I rarely want anything I don't find 
 means to obtain, somehow or other." 
 
 "No," said I, resolutely, "1 will never join the service
 
 166 TOM BUKKE OF " OURS." 
 
 of a country which has inflicted such foul wrong on my 
 native land." 
 
 " All stuif and nonsense ! *' cried Bubbleton. " Who 
 cares the deuce of clubs about politics ? When you're my 
 age, you'll find that if you're not making something of 
 politics, they'll make very little of you. I'd as soon sell 
 figs for my grocer, or snuff for my tobacconist, as I'd . 
 bother my head governing the kingdom for Billy Pitt ; ' 
 he's paid for it — that's his business, not mine. No, no, my 
 boy, join us — you shall be ' Burke of Ours ' — we'll have a 
 glorious campaign among the Yankees. I'll teach you 
 the Seneca language, and we'll have a ramble through the 
 Indian settlements. Meanwhile, you dine to-day at the 
 mess ; to-morrow, we pic-nic at the Dargle ; next day we 
 — what the deuce is next day to be? — oh, yes ! next day 
 we all dine with you. Nothing stiflP or formal — a snug, 
 quiet thing for sixteen — I'll manage it all." 
 
 Here was an argument there was no resisting, so I com- 
 plied at once, comforting myself with a silent vow, come 
 what might, I'd leave Ireland the day after my dinner- 
 party. 
 
 Under whatever guise, with what history of my rank, 
 wealth, and family influence, Bubbleton thought proper to 
 present me to his brother oflicers, 1 cannot say ; but 
 nothing could possibly be more kind, or even more cordial, 
 than their reception of me ; and although I had some 
 difficulty in replying to questions put under mistaken 
 notions of my position and intentions, I readily followed, 
 as far as I was able, the line suggested by my imaginative 
 friend, whose representations, I suspected, would be re- 
 ceived with a suitable limitation by his old associates. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no species of society so striking and 
 so captivating to the young man entering on life as that of 
 a military mess. The easy, well-bred intimacy, that never 
 degenerates into undue familiarity — the good-humoured, 
 playful raillery, that never verges en coarseness or severity 
 — the happy blending of old men's wisdom and young 
 men's buoyancy — are all very attractive features of social 
 intercourse, even independently of the stronger interest 
 that invests the companionship of men whose career is 
 arras. I felt this, and enjoyed it, too, not the less pleas- 
 antly that 1 discovered no evidence of that violent partisan
 
 THE captain's quaeters. 167 
 
 feeling I had been led to believe was the distinguishing 
 mark of the Royalist soldier. If, by chance, any allusion 
 was made to the troubles of the period, it was invariably 
 done rather in a tone of respect for mistaken and ill- 
 directed political views, than in reprehension of disloyalty 
 and rebellion ; and when I heard the dispassionate 
 opinions, and listened to the mild counsels of these men, 
 whom 1 had always believed to be the veriest tyrants and 
 oppressors, I could scarcely credit my own senses, so 
 utterly opposed were my impressions and my experience. 
 One only of the party evinced an opposite feeling. He 
 was a pale, thin, rather handsome man, of about five-and- 
 twenty, who had lately joined them from a dragoon regi- 
 ment, and who, by sundry little inuendoes, was ever bringing 
 uppermost the preference he evinced for his former service, 
 and his ardent desire to be back again in the cavalry. 
 
 Captain Montague Crofts was, indeed, the only exception 
 I witnessed to the almost brotherly feeling that prevailed 
 in the Fort^^-fifth. Instead of identifying himself with the 
 habits and opinions of his brother officers, he held himself 
 studiously apart. Regarding his stay in the regiment like 
 a period of probation, he seemed resolved to form neither 
 intimacies nor friendships, but to wait patiently for the 
 time of his leaving the corps to emancipate himself from 
 a society below his caste. 
 
 The cold, repulsive, steady stare, the scarcely bowed 
 head, the impassive silence with which he heard the 
 words of Bubbleton's introduction of me, formed a strong 
 contrast with the warm cordiality of the others ; and 
 though at the time little disposed to criticize the manner 
 of any one, and still less to be dissatisfied with anything, 
 I conceived from the moment a dislike to Captain Crofts, 
 which I felt to increase with every minute I spent in his 
 company. The first occasion which suggested this dis- 
 like on my part was, from observing that while Bubbleton 
 — whose historical accuracy, or blind adherence to reality, 
 no one in the corps thought of requiring — narrated some 
 of his incredible adventures, Crofis, far from joining in 
 the harmless mirth which such tales created, invariably 
 took delight in questioning and cross-questioning the 
 worthy Captain, quoting him against himself, and playing 
 ofi" a hundred tricks, which, however smart and witty in
 
 168 TOM BURKE OF '* OURS.** 
 
 a law court, are downright rudeness when practised in 
 society. Bubbleton, it is true, saw nothing in all this 
 save the natural interest of a good listener — but the 
 others did ; and it was quite clear to me, that while one 
 was the greatest favourite in the regiment, the other had 
 not a single friend amongst them. To me, Crofts mani- 
 fested the most perfect indifference — not ever mixing 
 himself in any conversation in which I bore a part. Hg 
 rarely turned his head towards that part of the table at 
 which I sat; and by an air of haughty superciliousness 
 gave me plainly to understand that our acquaintance, 
 though confessedly begun, was to proceed no further. T 
 cannot say how happy I felt to learn that one I had so 
 much cause to dislike was a violent aristocrat, an ultra- 
 Tory — a most uncompromising denouncer of the Irish 
 Liberal party, and an out-and-out advocate of severe and 
 harsh measures towards the people. He never missed aa 
 opportunity for the enunciation of such doctrines, which, 
 whatever might be the opinions of the listeners, there 
 was, at the time I speak of, no small risk in gainsaying , 
 and this immunity did Crofts enjoy to his heart's content. 
 
 Slight as these few reminiscences of the mess are, 
 they are the called-up memories of days not to be forgotten 
 by me. For now, what with my habitual indecision on 
 the one hand, and Bubbleton's solicitations on the other, I 
 continued to linger on in Dublin, leading the careless, 
 easy life of those about me, joining in all the plots for 
 amusement which the capital afforded, and mixing in 
 every society to which my military friends had access. 
 Slender as were my resources, they sufficed, in the eyes 
 of all who knew not their limit, to appear abundant. 
 Crofts was the only rich man in the regiment ; and my 
 willingness to enter into every scheme of pleasure, re- 
 gardless of cost, impressed them all with the notion that 
 Bubbleton for once was right, and that " Burke was a 
 kind of west-country Croeisus," invaluable to the regi- 
 ment. 
 
 Week after week rolled on, and still did I find myself a 
 Jenizen of George's Street. The silly routine of the 
 barrack life filled all my thoughts, save when the waning 
 condition of my purse would momentarily turn them 
 towards the future ; but these moments of reflection came
 
 THE captain's quarteks. 169 
 
 but Beldom, and at last came not at all. It was autumn — ■ 
 the town almost divested of its inhabitants, at least of 
 all who could leave it ; and along the pai^ched, sun-burnt 
 streets a stray jingle or a noddy was rarely seen to pass. 
 The squares, so lately crowded with equipages and caval- 
 cades of horsemen, were silent and deserted ; the closed 
 shutters of every house, and the grass-grown steps, 
 vouched for the absence of the owners. The same dreamy 
 lethargy that seemed to rest over the deserted city ap- 
 peared to pervade everything ; and save a certain subdued 
 activity among the officials of the Castle — a kind of ground- 
 swell movement that boded something important — there 
 was nothing stirring. The great measure of the " Union,'* 
 which had been carried on the night of the riots, had, 
 however, annihilated the hopes of the Irish Liberal party ; 
 and many who once had taken a leading part in politics 
 had now deserted public life for ever. 
 
 They with whom I associated cared but little for these 
 things. There were but two or three Irish in the regi- 
 ment, and they had long since lost all their nationality in 
 the wear and tear of the service ; so that 1 heard nothing 
 of what occupied the public mind, and lived on in the 
 very midst of the threatening hurricane, in a calm as 
 deep as death itself. 
 
 I had seen neither Barton nor Basset since the day of 
 my leave-taking ; and, stranger still, never could meet 
 with Darby, who seemed to have deserted Dublin. The 
 wreck of the party he belonged to seemed now effectually 
 accomplished, and the prospect of Irish independence was 
 lost, as it seemed, for ever. 
 
 I was sitting one evening in the window of Bubble- 
 ton's quarters, thinking over these things, not without 
 self-reproach for the life I was leading, so utterly adverse 
 to the principles I had laid down for my guidance. I 
 thought of poor De Meudon, and all his ambitious 
 dreams for my success, and I felt my cheek flush with 
 shame for my base desertion of the cause to which, with 
 his dying breath, he devoted me. I brought up in memory 
 those happy evenings, as we wandered through the fields, 
 talking over the glorious campaigns of Italy, or speculat- 
 ing on the mighty changes we believed yet before us; and 
 then I thought of the reckless orgies in which my present
 
 170 to:m burke of ''ours.'* 
 
 life was passed. I remembered how his full voice wonid 
 falter when one great name fell from his lips ; and with 
 v/hat reverence he touched his chapeau as the word 
 "Bonaparte" escaped from him! And how my heart 
 thrilled to think of an enthusiasm that could light up the 
 dying embers of a broken heart, and make it flash out in 
 vivid brilliancy once more ! and longed to feel as he did. 
 
 For the first time for some weeks I found mj^self 
 alone. Bubbleton was on guard ; and though I had 
 promised to join him at supper, 1 lingered at home, to 
 think and ponder over the past. I scarcely dared to face 
 the future. It was growing dusky. The richly golden 
 arch of an autumn moon could be seen through the hazy 
 mist of that half frost which is at this season the sure 
 harbinger of a hot day on the morrow. The street noises 
 had gradually died away, and, save the distant sound of 
 a ballad singer, whose mournful cadence fell sadly on the 
 ear, I heard nothing. 
 
 Without perceiving it, I found myself listening to the 
 doggrel of the minstrel, who, like most of her fellows of 
 the period, was celebrating the means that had been used 
 by Government to carry their favourite measure — the 
 union with England. There was, indeed, very little to 
 charm the ear or win the sense, in either the accent or the 
 sentiment of the melody ; yet somehow she had contrived 
 to collect a pretty tolerable audience, who moved slowly 
 along with her down the street, and evinced by many an 
 outburst of enthusiasm how thorouglily they relished the 
 pointed allusions of the verse, and how completely they 
 enjoyed the dull satire of the song. 
 
 As they approached the barracks, the procession came 
 to a halt, probably deeming that so valuable a lesson 
 should not be lost to His Majesty's service ; and, forming 
 into a circle round the singer, a silence was commanded, 
 when, with that quavering articulation so characteristic of 
 the tribe, and that strange quality of voice that seems to 
 alternate between a high treble and a deep bass, the lady 
 began : — 
 
 " Don't be crowdin' an me that a way. There it is now 
 •— ye're tearin' the cloak off the back o' me ! Divil receave 
 the note I'll sing, if ye don't behave! And look at his 
 honour up there, with a tenpenny bit in the heel of his
 
 THE captain's QUARTERS. 171 
 
 fist for rae. The Lord reward your pnrty face — 'tis your- 
 self has the darlin' blue eyes ! Bad scran to yez, yo 
 blaggards — look at my elegant bonnet the way you've 
 made it ! " 
 
 " Arrah ! rise the tune, and don't be blarneying the 
 young gentleman," said a voice from the crowd; and then 
 added, in a lower but very audible tone, " Them chaps 
 hasn't a farthin' beyond their pay — three and ninepence a 
 day, and find themselves in pipeclay ! ' 
 
 A rude laugh followed this insolent speech ; and the 
 ballad- singer, whose delay had only been a ruse to attract 
 a sufficient auditory, then began to a very well-known air — 
 
 ** Come hither, M.P.'s, and I'll tell 
 
 My advice, and I'm sure you'll not mock it : 
 Whoe'er has a country to sell, 
 
 Need never want gold in his pocket. 
 Your brother a bishop shall be — 
 
 Yourself — if you only will make a 
 Voice in our ma-jo-rity — 
 
 We'll make you chief judge in Jamaica. 
 
 Tol, loi de rol, tol de rol lay !" 
 
 The mob-chorus here broke in, and continued with such 
 hearty enthusiasm, that I lost the entire of the next verse 
 in the tumult, 
 
 *' Yoar father, they say, is an ass, 
 
 And your mother, not noted for knowledge ; 
 But he'll do very well at Madras, 
 
 And she shall be provost of college. 
 Your aunt, lady's-maid to the Queen ; 
 
 Atid Bill, if he'll give up his rakiu'. 
 And not drunk m day-time be seen, 
 I'll make him a rosy archdeacon. 
 
 Tol, lol de rol, tol de rol lay ! 
 
 ** A jollier set ne'er was seen, 
 
 Than you'll be. when freed from your calHn', 
 With an empty house in College Green — 
 
 What an elegant place to jjlay ball in. 
 Ould Foster stand by with his mace, 
 
 He'll do mighty well for a marker; 
 John Toler " 
 
 ** Here's the polls ! " said a gruff voice from the crown ; 
 and the word was repeated from mouth to mouth in every
 
 172 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 accent of fear and dread, while in an instant all took to 
 flight, some dashing down obscure lanes and narrow alleys, 
 others running straight onwards towards Dame Street, but 
 all showing the evident apprehension they felt at the 
 approach of these dreaded oflQcials. The ballad-singer 
 alone did not move. Whether too old or too infirm to 
 trust to speed, or too much terrified to run, I know not ; 
 but there she stood, the last cadence of her song still 
 dying on her lips, while the clattering sounds of men 
 advancing rapidly were heard in the distant street. 
 
 I know not why, some strange momentary impulse, half 
 pity, half caprice, moved me to her rescue, and I called 
 out to the sentry, " Let that woman pass in ! " She heard 
 the words, and with an activity greater than I could have 
 expected, sprang into the barrack-yard, while the police 
 passed eagerly on in vain pursuit of their victims. 
 
 I remained motionless in the window-seat, watching the 
 now silent street, when a gentle tap came to my door. I 
 opened it, and there stood the figure of the ballad singer, 
 her ragged cloak gathered closely across her face with one 
 hand, while with the other she held the bundle of printed 
 songs, her only stock-in-trade.
 
 173 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE QUARREL. 
 
 While I stood gazing at tne uncoutli and ragged figure 
 before me, she pushed rudely past, and shutting the door 
 behind her, asked, in a low whisper, "Are ye alone?" 
 and then, without waiting for a reply, threw back the 
 tattered bonnet that covered her head, and, removing a 
 wig of long black hair, stared steadfastly at me. 
 
 " Do you know me, now ?" said the hag, in a voice of 
 almost menacing eagerness. 
 
 " What ! " cried I, in amazement, " it surely cannot 
 be- ■ Darby, is this really you ? " 
 
 "Ye may well say it," replied he, bitterly. "Ye had 
 time enough to forget me since we met last ; and 'tis 
 thinking twice your grand friends the ofi&cers would be, 
 before they'd put their necks where mine is now to see 
 you. Read that "^as he spoke, he threw a ragged and 
 torn piece of printed paper on the table — " read tliat ; and 
 you'll see there's five hundred pounds of blood-money to 
 the man that takes me. Ay, and here I stand this minit 
 in the king's barrack, and walked fifty-four miles this 
 blessed day just to see you and speak to you once more. 
 Well, well " — he turned away his head while he said this, 
 and wiping a starting tear from his red eye-ball, he added, 
 "Master Tom, 'tis myself would never b'lieve ye done it." 
 
 " Did what ? " said I, eagerly ; " what have I ever done 
 that you should charge me thus ? " 
 
 But Darby heard me not; his eyes were fixed on 
 vacancy, and his lips moved rapidly as though he wero 
 speaking to himself. " Ay," said he, half aloud, " true 
 enough, 'tis the gentlemen that betrayed us always — never 
 came good of the cause where they took a part. But 
 you" — here he turned full round, and grasping my arm, 
 spoke directly to me — " you that I loved better than my 
 own kith and kin, that I thought would one day be a pride
 
 174 TOM BURKE OF " OUES.'* 
 
 and glory to us all — you that I brought over myself to tne 
 cause' " 
 
 "And when have I deserted — when have I betrayed 
 it?" 
 
 " When did you desert it ? " repeated he, in a tone of 
 mocking irony. " Tell me the day and hour ye came here 
 - — tell me the first time ye sat down among the red butchers 
 of King George, and I'll answer ye that. ]s it here you 
 ought to be ? Is this the home for him that has a heart 
 for Ireland ? I never said you betrayed us ; others said 
 it — but I stood to it, ye never did that. But what does it 
 signify ? 'Tis no wonder ye left us ; we were poor and 
 humble people, we had nothing at heart but the good 
 cause " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried I, maddened by this taunt, "what could 
 I have done ? Where was my place ? " 
 
 *' Don't ask me. If your own heart doesn't teach thee, 
 how can I ? But it's over now — the day is gone, and I 
 must take to the road again. My heart is lighter since 
 I seen you, and it will be lighter again when I give you 
 this warnin' — God knows if you'll mind it. You think 
 yourself safe now since you joined the sodgers — you think 
 they trust you, and that Barton's eye isn't on ye still — 
 there isn't a word you say isn't noted down — not a man 
 you spake to isn't watched! You don't know it, but I 
 know it. There's more go to the gallows in Ireland over 
 their wine, than with the pike in their hands. Take care 
 of your friends, I say." 
 
 " You wrong them, Darby, and you wrong me. Never 
 have I heard from one here a single word that could offend 
 the proudest heart among us." 
 
 "Why would they? — what need of it? Ar'n't we 
 down, down — ar'n't we hunted like wild beasts? is the 
 roof left to shelter us? dare we walk the roads? dare we 
 say, ' God save ye ! ' when we meet, and not be tried for 
 pass words ? It's no wonder they pity us — the hardest 
 heart must melt sometimes." 
 
 '* As to myself," said I^ — for there was no use in attempt- 
 ing to reason with him further — " my every wish is with 
 the cause as warmly as on the day we parted ; but I look 
 to France " 
 
 " Ay, and why not ? I remember the time your eye
 
 THE QUARREL. 175 
 
 flashed and your clieek grew another colont when you 
 spoke of that." 
 
 "Yes, Darby," said I, after a pause ; "and I had not 
 been here now, but that the only means I possessed of 
 forwarding myself in the French service are unfortunately 
 lost to me." 
 
 " And what was that? " interrupted he, eagerly. 
 
 " Some letters which the poor Captain de Meudon gave 
 me," said I, endeavouring to seem as much at ease as I 
 could. Darby stooped down as I spoke, and, ripping ope<n 
 the lining of his cloak, produced a small parcel fastened 
 with a cord, saying, — 
 
 " Are these what you mean ? " 
 
 1 opened it with a trembling hand, and, to my inexpres- 
 sible delight, discovered Charles's letter to the head of the 
 Ecole Poly technique, together with a letter of credit and 
 two cheques on his banker. The note to his sister was 
 not, however, among them. 
 
 " How came you l3y these papers. Darby P " inquired I, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I found them on the road Barton travelled, the same ~ 
 evening jou made your escape from the yeomanry — you 
 remember that ? They were soon missed, and an orderly 
 was sent back to search for them. Since that, I've kept 
 them by me J and it was only yesterday that I thought of 
 bringing them to you, thinking you might know some- 
 thing about them." 
 
 " There's a mark on this one," said I, still gazing on 
 the paper in my hand — " it looks like blood." 
 
 " If it is, it's mine, then," said Darby, doggedly; and, 
 after a pause, he continued, " the soldier galloped up the 
 very minute I was stooping for the papers. He called 
 out to me to give them up ; but I pretended not to hear, 
 and took a long look round to see M^hat way I could 
 escape where his horse couldn't follow me ; but he saw 
 what I was at, and the same instant his sabre was in my 
 shoulder, and the blood running hot down my arm. I 
 fell on my knoes ; but, if I did, I took this from my 
 breast" — here he drew forth a long-barrelled rusty pistol 
 ^" and shot him through the nei'k." 
 
 " Was he killed ?" said J, in horror at the coolness of 
 the recital.
 
 176. TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 *' Sorrow one o' me knows. He fell on his horse'a 
 mane, and I saw the beast gallop with him np the road 
 with his arms hanging at each side of the neck ; and then 
 1 heard a crash, and I saw that he was down, and the 
 horse was dragging him by the stirrup ; but the dnst soon 
 hid him from my sight, and, indeed, I was growing weak, 
 too, so I crept into the bushes until it was dark, and then 
 got down to Glencree." 
 
 The easy indifference with which he spoke, the tone of 
 coolness in which he narrated this circumstance, thrilled 
 through me far more painfully than the most passionate 
 description ; and I stood gazing on him with a feeling of 
 dread, that, unhappily, my features but too plainly indi- 
 cated. He seemed to know what was passing in my 
 mind, and, as if stung by what he deemed my ingratitude 
 for the service he had rendered me, his face grew darkly 
 red, the swollen veins stood out thick and knotted in his 
 forehead, his livid lips quivered, and he said in a thick, 
 guttural voice, — 
 
 " Maybe ye think I murdered him? " And then, as I 
 made no answer, he resumed, in a different tone, " And, 
 faix, ye warn't long larnin' their lessons. But, hear me, 
 now : there never was a traitor to the cause had a happy 
 life, or an easy death ; there never was one betrayed us, 
 but we were revenged on him or his. 1 don't think ye're 
 
 come to that yet ; for, if I did, by the mortial " As 
 
 he pronounced the last word, in a tone of the fiercest 
 menace, the sound of many voices talking without, and 
 the noise of a key turning in the lock, broke in upon our 
 colloquy, and Darby had scarcely time to resume his dis- 
 guise, when Bubbleton entered, followed by three of his 
 brother officers, all speaking together, and in accents that 
 evidently betokened their having drunk somewhat freely. 
 
 '' I tell you, again and again, the diamond wins it. 
 But here we are," cried Bubbleton; '* and now for a pack 
 of cards, and let's decide the thing at once." 
 
 " You said you'd bet fifty, I think ? " drawled out 
 Crofts, who was unquestionably the most sober of the 
 party. " But what have we here ? " At this instant his 
 eye fell upon Darby, who had quietly ensconced himself 
 behind the door, and hoped to escape unseen. " Eh, 
 what's this, J say ? "
 
 THE QUARREL. 177 
 
 *' What! " cried Bubbleton, " what do I see ? — a nymph 
 with bright and flowing hair — a hag like Hecuba, by- 
 Jove ! Tom Burke, my man, how comes the damsel 
 here?" 
 
 " 'Tis Kitty, ould Kitty Cole, your honour. The young 
 gentleman was buying a ballad from me, the Heavens 
 prosper him ! " said Darby. 
 
 " Nothing treasonous, I hope — no disloyal effusion, 
 Tom ; no scandal about Queen Elizabeth, my boy, eh ? " 
 
 " Come, old lady," said Cradock, " let's have the latest 
 novelty of the Liberty." 
 
 " Yes," said Bubbleton, " strike the harp in praise 
 
 of Confound the word ! " 
 
 " Hang the old crone ! " broke in Hilliard. " Here are 
 the cards. The game stands thus : a spade is led — you've 
 got none ; hearts are trumps." 
 
 " No, you mistake ; the diamond's the trump," said 
 Cradock. 
 
 " I cry halt," said Crofts, holding up both his hands ; 
 " the first thing is, what's the bet ? " 
 
 " Anything you like," cried Bubbleton ; *' fifty — a hun- 
 dred — five hundred." 
 
 *' Be it then five hundred; I take you," said Crofts, 
 coolly, taking a memorandum-book from his pocket. 
 
 " No, no," interposed Hilliard ; " Bubbleton, you shan't 
 do any such thing ; five — ten — twenty, if you wish, but 
 I'll not stand by at such a wager." 
 
 '* Well, then, if twenty be as much as you have got 
 permission to bet," replied Crofts, insolently, " there's 
 mi/ stake." So saying he threw a note on the table, and 
 looked over at Bubbleton, as if awaiting his doing the 
 same. 
 
 I saw my poor friend's embarrassment, and, without 
 stirring from my place, slipped a note into his hand in 
 silence ; a squeeze of his fingers replied to me, and the 
 same instant he threw the crumpled piece of paper down, 
 and cried out, " Now for it — decide the point." 
 
 Crofts at once drew his chair to the table, and began 
 with the utmost coolness to arrange the cards ; while the 
 others, deeply interested in the point at issue, looked on 
 without speaking. I thought this a good opportunity for 
 Darby to effect his escape, and, raising my hand noise- 
 VOL. I. If
 
 178 TOM BURKE OF '* OURS.'* 
 
 lessly, I pointed to the door. Darby, who had been only 
 waiting for the fortunate moment, stole quietly towards-' 
 it ; but, while his hand was on the lock, Crofts lifted hi;-; 
 eyes towards me, and then throwing them half round - 
 intimated at once that he observed the manoeuvre. Th( 
 blood suffused my face and temples, and though I saw 
 the door close behind the piper, I could not recover front 
 my embarrassment, or the fear that pressed on me lesG 
 Crofts should have penetrated the secret of Darby's dis- 
 guise, and augured from the fact something to my dis- 
 credit. 
 
 '* The game is now arranged," said he. '* The spade 
 being led here, the second player follows suit, the third, 
 having none, trumps the card, and is overtrumped by the 
 last in play ; the trick is lost, therefore, and, with it, tha 
 game." 
 
 " No, no," interrupted Bubbleton, " you mistake alto- 
 gether ; the diamond — no, the heart— I mean the — the 
 
 what the deuce is it ? I say, Cradock, I had it all correct 
 a minute ago — how is it, old fellow ? " 
 
 " Why, you've lost, that's all," said the other, as he 
 looked intently on the table, and seemed to consider the 
 point. 
 
 " Yes, Bubbleton, there's no doubt about it — you've lost 
 — we forgot all about the last player," said Hilliard. 
 
 A violent knocking at the outer door drowned the voices 
 of all within, while a gruff voice shouted out, — 
 
 " Captain Bubbleton, the grand round is coming up 
 Parliament-Street. " 
 
 Bubbleton snatched up his sword, and dashing through 
 the room, was followed by the others in a roar of laughter. 
 Crofts alone remaining behind, proceeded leisurely to open 
 the folded piece of bank paper that lay before him, while I 
 stood opposite unable to take my eyes from him. Slowly 
 unfolding the note, he flattened it with his hand, and then 
 proceeded to read aloud, " ^ayez au porteur la somme de 
 deuce mille livres " 
 
 "I beg pardon," interrupted I; "there's a mistake 
 there — that belongs to me." 
 
 " I thought as much," replied Crofts, with a very pecu- 
 liar smile — " I scarcely supposed my friend Bubbleton 
 had gone so far."
 
 THE QUARREL. 179 
 
 *' There's the sum, sir," said I, endeavouring to control 
 my temper, and only eager to regain possession of what 
 would at once have compromised me, if discovered. " This 
 is what Captain Bubbleton lost — twenty pounds, if I mis- 
 take not." 
 
 " I must entreat your pardon, sir," said Crofts, folding 
 lip the French hillef de hanque. " My wager was not with 
 you, nor can I permit you to pa} it. This is at present 
 my property, and remains so until Captain Bubbleton de- 
 mands it from me." 
 
 1 was struck dumb by the manner in which these words 
 were spoken. It was clear to me, that not only he sus- 
 pected the disguise of the ballad-singer, but that by the dis- 
 covery of the French note he connected his presence with 
 its being in my possession. Rousing myself for the effort, 
 I said, " You force me, sir, to speak of what nothing short 
 of the circumstance could have induced me to allude to. It 
 was I gave Captain Bubbleton that note. I gave it in mis- 
 take, for this one." 
 
 " I guessed as much, sir," was the cool answer of Crofts, 
 as he placed the note in his pocket-book and clasped it ; 
 " but I cannot permit your candid explanation to alter the 
 determination 1 have already come to — even had I not the 
 stronger motive, which as an officer in His Majesty's ]my 
 I possess, to inform the Government, on such infallible 
 evidence, how deeply interested our French neighbours are 
 in our welfare, when they supply us with a commodity 
 which report says is scarce enough among themselves." 
 
 " Do not suppose, sir, that your threat — for as such I 
 understand it — has any terror for me ; there is, it's true, 
 another whose safety might be compromised by any step 
 you might take in this affair ; but when I tell you that it 
 is one who never did, never could have injured you, and, 
 moreover, that nothing treasonous or disloyal lies beneath 
 your discovery " 
 
 '* You are really taking a vast deal of trouble, Mr. Burke," 
 said he, stopping me with a cold smile ; " which I am 
 forced to say is unnecessary. Your explanation of how 
 this billet de hanque came into your possession may be re- 
 quired elsewhere, and will, I am certain, meet with every 
 respect and attention. As for me, an humble captain, 
 with only one principle to sustain me, one clue to guide 
 
 N 2
 
 180 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.'* 
 
 me, in what I am disposed to consider a question of some 
 importance, I shall certainly ask advice of others better 
 able to direct me." 
 
 " You refuse, then, sir, to restore me what I have assured 
 you is mine? " 
 
 " And what I have no doubt whatever you are correct 
 in calling so," added he contemptuously. 
 
 "And you persist in the refusal ? " said I, in a voice 
 which unhappily betrayed more temper than I had yet 
 shown. 
 
 " Even so, sir," said he, moving towards the door. 
 
 " In that case," said I, springing before him, and set- 
 ting my back against it, " you don't leave this room until, 
 in the presence of a third party, I care not who he be, I have 
 told you somewhat more of my opinion of you than it is 
 necessary I should say now." The insulting expression 
 of Crofts' features changed suddenly as I spoke, the colour 
 left his cheek, and he became as pale as death ; his eye 
 wandered round the room with an uncertain look, and 
 then was fixed steadfastly on the door, against which I 
 stood firmly planted. At length his face recovered its 
 wonted character, and he said, in a cool, distinct manner, — 
 
 *' Your difficulties have made you bold, sir." 
 
 "Not more bold than you'll find me whenever you think 
 fit to call on me ; but perhaps I am wrong for suggesting a 
 test, which report, at least, says Captain Crofts has little 
 predilection for." 
 
 " Insolent cub ! " said he, half drawing his sword from 
 the scabbard, and as hastily replacing it when he perceived 
 that I never moved a muscle in my defence, but stood as 
 if inviting his attack. " Let me pass, sir," cried he, im- 
 petuously ; " stand by this instant." 
 
 I made no reply, but, crossing my arms on my breast, 
 stared at him firmly as before. He had now advanced 
 within a foot of me, his face purple with passion, and hia 
 hands trembling with rage. 
 
 " Let me pass, I say," shouted he, in an accent that 
 boded his passion had completely got the ascendant ; at 
 the same instant he seized me by the collar, and, fixing 
 his grip firmly in my clothes, prepared to hurl me from 
 the spot. The moment had now come that for some 
 minutes past I had been expecting, and with my open
 
 THE QUARREL. 181 
 
 hand I struck him on the cheek, but so powerfully, that 
 he reeled back with the stroke. A yell of rage burst from 
 him, and in an instant his sword leaped from the scabbard, 
 a.nd he darted fiercely at me. I sprang to one side, and 
 the weapon pierced the door and broke off short ; still 
 more than half the blade remained ; and with this he flew 
 towards me. One quick glance I gave to look for some- 
 thing which might serve to arm me, and the same moment 
 the sharp steel pierced my side, and I fell backwards with 
 the shock, carrying my antagonist along with me. The 
 struggle was now a dreadful one; for while he endea- 
 voured to withdraw the w^eaponfrom the wound, my hands 
 were on his throat, and in his strained eyeballs and livid 
 colour might be seen that a few seconds more must decide 
 the contest ; a sharp pang shot through me, just then a 
 hot gush of warm blood ran down my side, and I saw 
 above me the shining steel, which he was gradually short- 
 ening in his hand, before he ventured to strike ; a wild 
 cry broke from me, while at the instant, with a crash, the 
 door of the room fell forward, torn from its hinges ; a 
 heavy foot approached, and the blow of a strong arm 
 felled Crofts to the earth, where he lay stunned and sense- 
 less. In a second I was on my feet ; my senses were reel- 
 ing and uncertain, but I could see that it was Darby who 
 came to my rescue, and who was now binding a sash 
 round my wound to stanch the blood. 
 
 " Now for it — life or death's on it now," said he, in a 
 low but distinct whisper ; " wipe the blood from your 
 face, and be calm as you can when you're passing the 
 sentry." 
 
 " Is he " I dared not speak the word as I looked on 
 
 the still motionless body that lay before me. Darby 
 raised one arm, and as he let it go it fell heavily on the 
 ground ; he stooped down, and, placing his lips near the 
 mouth, endeavoured to ascertain if he breathed, and then, 
 jumping to his feet, he seized my arm, and, in a tone T 
 shall never forget, he said, " It's over now." 
 
 I tottered back as he spoke; the horrible thought of 
 murder — the frightful sense of crime — the heaviest, the 
 blackest that can stain the heart of man — stunned me ; 
 mv senses reeled, and as I looked on that corpse stretched 
 at my feet, 1 would have suffered my every bone to bo
 
 182 TOM BURKE OP *' OURS." 
 
 broken on the rack, to see one quiver of life animate its 
 rigid members. Meanwhile, Darby was kneeling down, 
 and seemed to search for something beside the body. 
 
 " All right — come now," said he ; " we must be far 
 from this before daybreak ; and it's lucky if we've the 
 means to do it." I moved onward like one walking in a , 
 dream, when horrible images surround him, and dreadful 
 thoughts are ever crowding fast ,• but where, amid all, • 
 some glimmering sense of hope sustains him, and he half 
 feels that the terrors will pass away, and his soul be calm 
 and tranquil once more. What is it ? What has happened ? 
 was the ever-rising question, as I heard D;irby groping 
 his way along the dark gallery and the darker stairs. 
 
 "Be steady, now," said he, in a whisper, " we're at the 
 gate." 
 
 "Who comes there?" cried the sentry. 
 
 "A friend," said Darby, in a feigned voice, answering 
 for me, while he dropped behind me. The heavy bolts 
 were withdrawn, and I felt the cold air of the streets on 
 my cheek. 
 
 " Where to, now ?" said I with a dreamy conscious- 
 ness that some place of safety must be sought, without 
 well knowing why or wherefore. 
 
 " Lean on me, and don't speak," said Darby. *' If you 
 can walk as far as the end of the quay we're all safe," I 
 walked on without further questioning, and almost with- 
 out thought ; and though, from time to time. Darby spoke 
 to several persons as we passed, I heard not what they 
 Baid, nor took any notice of them.
 
 183 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE PLIGHT. 
 
 " Are ye getting weak ?" said Darby, as I staggered 
 heavily against him and gasped twice or thrice for breath. 
 "Are ye bleeding still?" was his next question, while he 
 passed his hand gently within the sash, and felt my 
 wound. I endeavoured to mutter something in reply, to 
 which he paid no attention, but, stooping down, he threw 
 me across his shoulder, and darting off at a more rapid 
 pace than before, he left the more frequented thorough- 
 fare, and entered a narrow and gloomy alley, unlighted by 
 a single lamp. As he hurried onward he stopped more 
 than once, as if in quest of some particular spot, but 
 which in the darkness he was unable to detect. " Oh ! 
 Holy Mother ! " he muttered, "the blood is soaking through 
 me ! Master Tom, dear — Master Tom, my darlin', speak 
 to me — speak to me, acushla!" But though I heard each 
 word distinctly I could not utter one — a dreamy stupor was 
 over me, and I only wished to be left quiet. " This must be 
 it — ay, here it is," said Darby, as he laid me gently down 
 on the stone si!l of the door, and knocked loudly with his 
 knuckles. The summons, though repeated three or four 
 times, was unheeded ; and, although he knocked loudly 
 enough to have alarmed the neighbourhood, and called 
 out at the top of his voice, no one came; and the only 
 sounds we could hear were the distant cadences of a drink- 
 ing song, mingled with wild shouts of laughter, and still 
 wilder cries of agony and woe. 
 
 " Here they are, at last," said Darby, as he almost staved 
 in the door with a heavy stone. 
 
 "Who's there?" cried a harsh and feeble Toice from 
 within. 
 
 " 'Tis me, Molly — 'tis Darby M'Keown. Open quick, 
 for the love of Heaven — here's a young gentleman bleediu' 
 to death on the steps."
 
 184 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS.'* 
 
 " Ugli ! there's as good as ever he was, and going as 
 fast, too, here within," said the crone. " Ye must take 
 him away — he wouldn't mind him now for a king's 
 ransom." 
 
 *' I'll break open the door this minit," said Darby, with 
 a horrible oath, " av ye don't open it." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed the hag. " If ye wor Darby 
 M'Keown, ye'd know well how easy that is ; try it — try it, 
 acushla ! oak timber and nails is able to bear all you'll do ! " 
 
 *' See, now," said Darby, dropping his voice to a whisper 
 — '* see, Molly, here's five goold guineas for ye, av ye'll let 
 us in — 'tis a man's life's on it, and one I'd give my own 
 for twice over." 
 
 " Av ye offered me forty," replied she, " I darn't do it. 
 Ye don't know the sorrow that's here this night. 'Tis Dan 
 Fortescue is going. I'm coming, I'm coming," muttered 
 she to some call from within. And then, without waiting 
 to hear more, she shuffled back along the passage, and leit 
 us once more alone. 
 
 '* There's nothing for it but this now," said Darby, as, 
 retiring a few paces, he dashed his shoulder against the 
 door with all his force ; but, though a powerful man, and 
 though every window rattled and trembled with the 
 tremendous shock, the strong panels withstood the stroke, 
 and never yielded in the least. " 'Tis no use firing through 
 the lock," said he, in a tone of despair. " Blessed Joseph ! 
 what's to be done ? " 
 
 As he spoke, the light tread of a barefooted child was 
 heard coming up the lane, and the same moment a little 
 girl approached the door ; she carried a cup in her hand, 
 and held it carefully, as if fearful of spilling its contents, 
 i As she neared the door, she seemed uncertain how to pro- 
 ceed, and at last, as if gaining courage, tapped twice at it 
 with her knuckles. 
 
 " Don't ye know me, Nora?" said Darby; •' don't ye 
 know Darby the Blast r *" 
 
 "Ah ! Mister M'Keown, is this you? Ah! I'm afeard 
 it's little use there is in coming here to-night. Mr. For- 
 tescue's dying within, and Doctor Kenagh can't leave him. 
 I'm bringing him this to take, but '* 
 
 " Nora, dear," said Darby, " I've a secret for Mr. For- 
 tescue, and must see him before he dies. Here's a crown,
 
 THE FLIGHT. 185 
 
 my darlin*, and don't tell any one I gave it to ye." Here 
 he stooped down, and whispered rapidly some words in 
 her ear. 
 
 " Who's there ? " broke in the hag's voice from within. 
 
 "'Tis me — Nora," said the child, boldly. 
 
 " Are ye alone, there — do ye see any one about the 
 door?" 
 
 *' Sorra one ; can't you let me in out of the cowld ? *' 
 
 " Come in quick, then," said the crone, as she opened 
 the door carefully, and only wide enough to let the child 
 p ;ss ; but the same instant Darby daslied forward his foot, 
 and, flinging the door full wide, seized me by the collar, 
 and dragged me in after him, closing the door at once 
 behind him. The screams of the hag, though loud and 
 vehement, were as unheeded as were Darby's own efforts 
 to attract notice half an hour before. 
 
 " Be quiet, I say — hush yer crying, or, be the sowl o' 
 the man that's dyin', I'll dhrive a ball through ye." The 
 sight of a pistol-barrel seemed at last to have its effect, and 
 she contented herself with a low, wailing kind of noise, 
 as she tottered after us along the passage. 
 
 The cold air of the street, and the rest combined, had 
 given me strength, and I was able to follow Darby, as he 
 led the way through many a passage, and up more than 
 one stair. 
 
 " Here it is," said the child, in a whisper, as she stopped 
 at the door of a room which lay half ajar. 
 
 We halted in silence, and listened to the breathings of a 
 man, whose short, sobbing respiration, broken by hiccup, 
 denoted the near approach of death. 
 
 " Go on," cried a deep, low voice, in a tone of eager- 
 ness ; '^ ye'll not have the congh now for some time." 
 
 The sick man made no reply, but his hurried breathing 
 seemed to show that he was making some unwonted effort; 
 at last he spoke, but in a voice so faint and husky, we 
 could not hear the words. The other, however, appeared 
 to listen, and, by a stray monosyllable, dropped at inter- 
 vals, to follow the tenour of his speech. At last the sound 
 ceased, and all was still. 
 
 " Go in now," said Darby, in a whisper, to the child, 
 "I'll follow you." 
 
 The little girl gently pushed the door and entered, fol-
 
 186 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 lowed by M'Keown, who, however, only advanced one foot 
 within the room, as if doubting what reception he should 
 meet with. 
 
 By the uncertain light of a wood-fire, which threw in 
 fitful flashes its glare around, I perceived that a sick man 
 lay on a mean-looking, miserable bed in one corner of a 
 dark room ; beside him, seated on a low stool, sat another, 
 his head bent down to catch the low breathings which the 
 dying man gave forth from time to time. The heavy 
 snoring sound of others asleep directed my eyes to a 
 distant part of the chamber, where I saw three fellows 
 lying on the floor, partly covered by a blanket. I had 
 barely time to see this much, when the figure beside the 
 bed sprang forward, and, in a low but menacing tone, 
 addressed M'Keown. The last words only could I catch, 
 as he said, — 
 
 " And if he wakes up he may know you still." 
 
 "And if he does," said Darby, doggedly, "who cares? 
 Isn't there as good blood as his shed for the cause ? Look 
 here!" 
 
 He dragged me forward as he spoke, and, tearing open 
 my coat, pointed to the sash that was now saturated with 
 the blood that flowed at every stir from my wound. The 
 other looked fixedly at me for a second or two, took my 
 hand within his, and, letting it fall heavily, he whispered 
 a word to M'Keown, and turned away. 
 
 " No, no," cried Darby, violently ; " by the holy mass ! 
 ye'U not trate me that way. Sit down. Master Tom," 
 said he, as he forced me into an old arm-chair beside the 
 fire. " Here, take a drink of water. Come here, doctor ; 
 come here, now, stop the bleeding; stand by me this 
 
 wonst, and by this " Here he crossed his fingers 
 
 before him, and looked fervently upwards ; but at this 
 instant the sick man sprang up in his bed, and looked 
 wildly about him. 
 
 " Isn't that Darby — isn't that M'Keown there?" cried 
 he, as he pointed with his finger. " Darby," he continued, 
 in a low clear whisper — " Darby, see here, my boy ; you 
 often said I'd do nothing for the cause. Is this nothing? '* 
 He threw back the bedclothes as he spoke, and disclosed a 
 ghastly wound that divided his chest, exposing the carti- 
 lage of the ribs, which stood out amid the welling blood
 
 THE FLIGHT. 187 
 
 that oozed forth with every respiration he made. " Is it 
 nothing that I gave up rank, and place, and fortune, the 
 broad acres that were in nay family for three centuries — 
 all my hopes, all my prospects " 
 
 "And if you did," interrupted M'Keown, hastily, " you 
 knew what for." 
 
 " I knew what for ! " repeated the sick man, as a deadly 
 smile plaj^ed upon his livid face and curled his white lip ; 
 '• 1 know it now, at least: to leave my inheritance to a 
 bastard — to brand my name with disgrace and dishonour 
 
 • — to go down to the grave a traitor, and, worse still " 
 
 He shuddered violently here, and though his mouth 
 moved, no sound came forth; he sank back, worn out and 
 exhausted. 
 
 " Was he tliere^'' said Darby to the doctor, with a signi- 
 ficant emphasis on the word — " was he tliere to-night ?" 
 
 " He was," replied the other. " He thinks, too, he fired 
 the shot that did it ; but, poor fellow! he was down before 
 that. The boys brought him off. That child is going 
 fast," continued he, as his eye fell upon me. 
 
 "Look to him, then, and don't be losin' time," said 
 Darby, fiercely ; " look to hijn," he added, more mildly, 
 " and the Heavens will bless ye. Here's twenty goolden 
 guineas — it's all I've saved these eight years — here they're 
 for you, and save his life." 
 
 The old man knelt down beside me, and slipping a 
 scissors within the scarf that lay fastened to my side with 
 clotted blood, he proceeded to open and expose the situation 
 of my wound. A cold, sick feeling, a kind of half- 
 fainting sensation, followed this, and I could hear nothing 
 of the dialogue that passed so near me. An occasional 
 sting of pain shot through me as the dressing proceeded ; 
 but, save this, I had little consciousness of anything. At 
 length, like one av/akening from a heavy slumber, with 
 faculties half-clouded by the dreamy past, I looked around 
 me. All was still and motionless in the room. The doctor 
 sat beside the sick man's bed, and Darby, his eyes riveted 
 on me, knelt close to my chair, and held his hand upon the 
 bandage over my wound. A gentle tap here came to the 
 door, and the child I had seen before entered noiselessly, 
 and, approaching the doctor, said, — 
 
 " The car is come, sir."
 
 188 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 The old man nodded in silence, and then, turning 
 towards Darby, lie whispered something in his ear. 
 M'Keown sprang to his legs at once, his cheek flushed 
 deeply, and his eyes sparkled with animation. 
 
 " I have it ! I have it ! " cried he j " there never was 
 such luck for us before." 
 
 With that he drew the old man to one side, and speak- 
 ing to him in a low but rapid tone, evinced by the 
 violence of his gestures and the tremulous eagerness of 
 his voice how deeply he was interested. 
 
 *' True enough, true enough," said the old man, after a 
 pause ; " poor Dan has but one more journey before him." 
 
 " Is he able to bear it, doctor ? " said Darby, pointing 
 towards me with his finger ; that's all I ask. Has he the 
 strength in him ? " 
 
 "He'll do now," replied the other, gruffly; "there's 
 little harm done him this time. Let him taste that, 
 whenever you find him growing weak ; and keep his 
 head low, and there's no fear of him." As he spoke, he 
 took from a cupboard in the wall a small phial, which he 
 handed to M'Keown, who received the precious elixir 
 with as much reverence as though it contained the very 
 well-spring of human existence. 
 
 " And now," said Darby, " the less time lost now the 
 better. It will soon be daylight on us. Master Tom, 
 oan you rise, acushla ? Are you able to stand up ? " 
 
 I made the effort as well as I could, but my limbs 
 seemed chained down, and even my arm felt like lead 
 beside me. 
 
 " Take him on your back," said the old man, hurriedly. 
 " You'll stay here till sunrise. Take him downstairs on 
 your back ; and, when you have him in the open air, turn 
 him towards the wind, and keep his head low, mind 
 that." 
 
 I made another attempt to stand up ; but, before I could 
 eff'ect it. Darby's strong arms were round my waist, and 
 I felt myself lifted on his shoulder, and borne from the 
 room. A muttered good-bye passed between the others, and 
 Darby began to descend the stairs cautiously, while the 
 little child went before with a candle. As the street-door 
 was opened 1 could perceive that a car and horse stood in 
 waiting, accompanied by two men, who, the moment they
 
 THE FLIGHT. 189 
 
 Baw me, sprang forward to Darby's assistance, and helped 
 to place me on the car. M'Keown was soon beside me, 
 and, supporting my head upon his shoulder, he contrived 
 to hold me in a leaning position, giving me, at the same 
 time, the full benefit of the cool breeze, which already re- 
 freshed and restored me. The vehicle now moved on in 
 darkness and in silence. At first our pace was slow, but 
 it gradually quickened as we passed along the quay — for as 
 such I recognized it by the dull sound of the river near us. 
 The bright lamps of the greater thoroughfares soon made 
 their appearance ; and, as we traversed these, I could 
 mark that our pace slackened to a walk, and that we kept 
 the very middle of the wide street, as if to avoid observa- 
 tion. Gradually we emerged from this, and, as I heard 
 by the roll of the wheels, reached the outskirts of the town. 
 We had not been many minutes there when the horse was 
 put to his speed, and the car whirled along at a tremen- 
 dous rate. Excepting a sense of weight and stifihess in the 
 side, I had no painful feeling from my wound ; while the 
 rapidity with which we passed through the air imparted a 
 sensation of drowsiness far from unpleasant. In this state 
 I scarcely was conscious of what passed about me. Now 
 and then some occasional halt, some chance interruption, 
 would momentarily arouse me, and I could faintly hear the 
 sound of voices ; but of what they spoke I knew nothing. 
 Darby frequently questioned me, but my utmost effort at 
 reply was to press his hand. By times it would seem to 
 me as tl^ough all I felt were but the fancies of some sick 
 dream, which the morning should dispel and scatter. Then 
 I thought that we were flying from an enemy, who pressed 
 hotly on us, and gained at every stride ; a vague, shadowy 
 sense of some horrible event mingling with all, and weigh- 
 ing heavily on my heart. 
 
 As the time wore on my senses became clearer, and I 
 saw that we were travelling along the seaside. The faint 
 grey light of breaking day shed a cold gleam across the 
 green water, which plashed with a mournful cadence on 
 the low, flat shore. 1 watched the waves as they beat with 
 a heavy sough amid the scattered weeds, where the wild 
 cry of the curlew mingled with the sound as he skimmed 
 along the gloomy water, and my heart grew heavier. There 
 is something — I know not what — terribly in unison with our
 
 190 TOM BURKE OF "OUIS." 
 
 saddest tlioug^hts intheduU plasTi of the sea at night : the 
 loudest thunders of the storm, when white-ci-ested waves 
 rise high, and break in ten thousand eddies on the dark 
 rocks, are not so suggestive of melancholy as the sighing 
 moan of the midnight tide. Long-buried griefs, long- 
 forgotten sorrows, rise up as we listen ; and we feel as 
 though that wailing cry were the funeral chant over 
 cherished hopes and treasured aspirations. From my dark 
 musings I was roused suddenly by Darby's voice asking of 
 the men who sat at the opposite side, how the wind 
 was ? 
 
 "Westing by south," replied one, "as fair as need be, 
 if there was enough of it — but who knows, we may have 
 a capful yet, when the sun gets up." 
 
 " We'll not have long to wait for that," cried the other 
 — " see there." 
 
 I lifted my eyes as he spoke, and beheld the pink staiu 
 of coming day rising above the top of a large mountain. 
 
 " That's Howth," said Darby, seizing with eagerness the 
 proof of my returning senses. 
 
 " Come, press on, as fast as you can," said one of the 
 men ; " we must catch the ebb, or we'll never do it." 
 
 " Where does she lie ? " said Darby, in a low whisper. 
 
 " Under the cliffs, in Bolskaton Bay," said the last 
 speaker, whom I now perceived, by his dress and language, 
 to be a sailor. 
 
 My curiosity was now excited to the utmost to know 
 whither we were bound, and with an effort I articulated 
 the one word, "Where?" Darby's eyes brightened as 
 I spoke, he pressed my hand firmly within his, but 
 made no reply. Attributing his silence to caution, I 
 pressed him no further ; and, indeed, already my former 
 indifference came back on me, and I felt listless as before. 
 
 '• Turn off there to the right," cried the sailor to the 
 driver ; and suddenly we left the high road, and entered a 
 narrow byway, which seemed to lead along the side of the 
 mountain close to the water's edge. Before we had pro- 
 ceeded far in this direction, a long, low whistle was heard 
 from a distance. 
 
 " Stop there, stop," said the sailor, as he knelt upon the 
 car, and replied to the signal. " Ay, all right, there they 
 are," said he, as, pointing to a little creek between the rocks
 
 THE FLIGHT. 191 
 
 below us, we saw a small row-boat with six men lying on 
 their oars. 
 
 " Can't he walk ?" said the sailor, in a half whisper, as 
 he stood beside the car. " Well, let's lose no more time, 
 we'll take him down between us." 
 
 "No, no," said Darby; "put him on my back, I'll do it 
 myself." 
 
 " The ground's slippier than you take it," said the other ; 
 " my way's the safest." 
 
 With that, he lifted me from the car, and placing me 
 between Darby and himself, they grasped each other's 
 hands beneath me, and soon began a descent which I saw 
 would have been perfectly impracticable for one man to 
 have accomplished with another on his back. 
 
 During the time my desire to know where they were 
 bringing me again grew stronger than ever ; and, as I 
 turned to ask Darby, I perceived that the tears were cours- 
 ing each other fast down his weather-beaten cheeks, while 
 his lips shook and trembled like one in an ague. 
 
 "Mind your footing there, my man, I say," cried the 
 sailor, "or you'll have us over the cliff." 
 
 " Round the rock to the left there," cried a voice from 
 below ; " that's it, that's it — now you're all right ; steady 
 there ; give me your hand." 
 
 As he spoke, two men advanced from the boat, and 
 assisted us down the sloping beach, where the wet sea- 
 weed made every step a matter of difficulty. 
 
 " Lay him in the stern there — gently, lads, gently," said 
 the voice of one who appeared the chief amongst them ; 
 " that's it ; throw those jackets under his head. I say, 
 piper, ar'n't you coming with us ? " 
 
 But Darby could not speak one word. A livid palloi 
 was over his features, and the tears fell, drop by drop, 
 upon his cheek. 
 
 " Master Tom," said he, at length, as his lips almost 
 touched me — " my child, my heart's blood, you won't for- 
 get poor Darby. Ye'll be a great man yet — ye'U be all 
 I wish ye. But will you remember a poor man like me ? " 
 
 " Jump ashore there, my good fellow," cried the cox- 
 swain ; " we'll have enough to do to round the point before 
 the tide ebbs." 
 
 " One minit more — and God love ye for it," said Darby,
 
 192 TOM BURKE OF *" OUR^." 
 
 in a voice of imploring accent; " who knows will we ever 
 meet again. Tis the last time, maybe, I'll ever look 
 on him." 
 
 I could but press his hand to my heart ; for my agita- 
 tion increased the debility I felt, and every effort to speak 
 v^as in vain. 
 
 " One half minit more — if it's only that he'll be able to 
 say, ' God bless you, Darby!' and i'Jl be happy." 
 
 " Pash off, my lads," shouted the sailor, sternly ; and as 
 he spoke the oars plashed heavily in the sea, and the boat 
 rocked over with the impulse. Twice the strong stroke 
 of the oars sent the craft through the clear water, when 
 the piper clasped his arm wildly around me, and kissing 
 me on the cheek, he sprang over the side. The waves 
 were nearly to his shoulders ; but in a few seconds he had 
 buffeted through them, and stood upon the shore. With 
 a last effort I waved my hand in adieu ; and as I sank 
 back exhausted, I heard a wild cry burst from him, half 
 in triumph, half in despair. One glance more I caught of 
 his figure as we stood out to sea ; he was kneeling on the 
 beach, bareheaded, and as if in prayer. The tears gushed 
 from my eyes as I beheld him, and the long pent-up 
 sorrow at last broke forth, and I sobbed like a child. 
 
 "Come, come, my lad, don't feel downhearted," said 
 the sailor, laying his hand on my shoulder. "The world 
 can scarce have been over rough to one so young as you 
 are. Lift up your head and see what a glorious morning 
 we've got ; and there comes the breeze over the water. 
 We hadn't such weather the last time we made this trip, I 
 assure you." 
 
 I looked up suddenly, and truly never did such a scene 
 of loveliness meet my eyes. The sun had risen in all his 
 glorious brilliancy, and poured a flood of golden light 
 across the bay, tipping with a violet hue the far-off peaks 
 of the Wicklow mountains, and lighting up the wooded 
 valleys at their feet. Close above us rose the rugged 
 sides of Howth in dark shadow, the frowning rocks and 
 gloomy caverns contrasting with the glittering tints of 
 the opposite coast, where every cottage and cliff sparkled 
 in the dancing sunlight. As we rounded the point, a cheer 
 broke from the men, and was answered at once. I turned 
 my head, and saw beneath the tall cliffs the taper spars of
 
 THE FLIGHT. 193 
 
 a STnall vessel, from which the sails hung listlessly, half 
 brailed to the mast. 
 
 " There she lies," said the skipper ; " that's the Saiici/ 
 Sal, my master; and if you're any judge of a craft, I 
 think you'll like her. Give way, lads — give way ; when 
 that rock yonder's covered, the tide is at the flood." 
 
 The boat sprang to the strong jerk of their brawny 
 arms, and in a few minutes glided into the little creek 
 where the Saucy Sal lay at anchor. 
 
 Lifting me up, they placed me on board the little vessel, 
 while, without losing a moment, they proceeded to ship 
 the anchor and shake out the canvas. In less than five 
 minutes the white sails bent to the breeze, the water 
 rustled at the prow, and we stood out to sea. 
 
 " Where to ? " said I, in a faint whisper, to the sailor who 
 held the tiller beside me. 
 
 *' Down Channel, sir." 
 
 *' And then ? " asked I once more — " and then ? '* 
 
 " That must depend on the revenue cruisers, I believe," 
 said he, more gruffly, and evidently indisposed to further 
 questioning. 
 
 AIhs ! I had too little interest in life to care for where, 
 and, laying my head upon my arm, fell into a heavy stupor 
 for several hours. 
 
 The hot sun, the breeze, the unaccustomed motion, and, 
 worse than all, the copious libations of bran dy-and- water 
 I was forced from time to time to take, gradually brought 
 on fever, and, before evening, a burning thirst and throb- 
 bing headache seized me, and my senses, that hitherto 
 had been but lethargic, became painfully acute, and my 
 reason began to wander. In this state I remained for 
 days, totally unconscious of the flight of time ; frightful 
 images of the past pursuing each other through my heated 
 brain, and torturing me with horrors unspeakable. It 
 was in one of my violent paroxysms I tore the bandage 
 from my side, and, reopening my half-healed wound, 
 became in a moment deluged with blood. I have no 
 memory of aught that followed ; the debility of almost 
 death itself succeeded, and I lay without sense or motion. 
 To this circumstance I owed my life, for, when I next 
 rallied, the fever had left me, my senses were unclouded, 
 my cheek no longer burned, nor did my temples throb, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 
 
 and, as tLe sea-breeze played acrops ray face, I drank it in 
 with ecstasy, and felt once more the glorious sensations of 
 returning health. It was evening, the faint wind that 
 follows sunset scarce filled the sails as we glided along 
 through the waveless sea. I had been listening to the low 
 monotonous song of one of the sailors as he sat mending 
 a sail beside me, when suddenly I heard a voice hail us 
 from the water ; the skipper jumped on the halF-deck, and 
 immediately replied — the words I could not hear, but, by 
 the stir and movement about me, I saw something unusual 
 had occurred, and, by an effort, I raised my head above 
 the bulwark and looked about me. A long, low craft lay 
 close alongside us, filled with men, whose blue caps and 
 striped shirts struck me as strange and uncommon, not 
 less than their black belts and cutlasses with which every 
 man was armed. After an interchange of friendly greet- 
 ings with our crew, for such they seemed, although I 
 could not catch the words, she moved rapidly past us. 
 
 " There's their flotilla, sir," said the helmsman, as he 
 watched my eye while it wandered over the water. 
 
 I crept up higher, and followed the direction of his 
 finger. Never shall I forget that moment ; before me, 
 scarce, as it seemed, a mile distant, lay a thousand boats 
 at anchor, beneath the shadow of tall sand-hills, decorated 
 with gay and gaudy pennons, crowded with figures whose 
 bright colours and glittering arras shone gorgeously in the 
 setting sunlight. The bright waves reflected the myriad 
 tints, while they seemed to plash in unison with the rich 
 swell of martial music that stole along the water with 
 every freshening breeze. The shore was covered with tents, 
 some of them surmounted with large banners that floated 
 out gaily to the breeze ; and, far as the eye could reach, 
 were hosts of armed men dotted over the wide plain 
 beside the sea. Vast columns of infantry were there — 
 cavalry and artillery, too — their bright arms glittering, 
 and their gay plumes waving, but all still and motionless, 
 as if spell-bound. As I looked, I could see horsemen 
 gallop from the dense squares, and riding hurriedly to and 
 fro. Suddenly a blue rocket shot into the calm sky, and 
 broke in a million glittering fragments over the camp ; the 
 deep roar of a cannon boomed out, and then the music of 
 a thousand bands swelled high and full, and in an instant
 
 THE FLIGHT. 195 
 
 the whole plain was in motion, and the turf trembled 
 beneath the tramp of marching men. Regiment followed 
 regiment, squadron poured after squadron, as they de- 
 scended the paths towards the beach, while a long, dark 
 line wound through the glittering mass, and marked the 
 train of the artillery, as with caissons and ammunition- 
 waggons they moved silently over the grassy surface. 
 
 All that I had ever conceived of warlike preparation 
 was as nothing to the gorgeous spectacle before me. The 
 stillness of the evening air, made tremulous with the clang 
 of trumpets and the hoarse roar of drums — the mirror- 
 like sea, coloured with the reflection of bright banners and 
 waving pennants — and then, the simultaneous step of the 
 mighty army, so filled up every sense, that I feared lest 
 all might prove the mere pageant of a dream, and vanish 
 as it came. 
 
 " What a glorious sight ! " cried T, at length, half wild 
 with enthusiasm. " Where are we P" 
 
 " Where are we ! " repeated the skipper, smiling. 
 " Look out, and you'll soon guess that. Are those very 
 like the uniforms of King George ? When did you see steel 
 breastplates and helmets before? This is France, my lad." 
 
 "France! France!"said I, stupefied with the mere thought. 
 
 " Tes, to be sure. That's the Army of England, as they 
 call it, you see yonder ; they are practising the embarka- 
 tion. See the red rockets 1 there they go— three, four, 
 five, six — that's the signal ; in less than half an hour 
 thirty thousand men will be ready to embark. Mark how 
 they press on faster and faster ; and watch the cavalry, as 
 they dismount and lead their horses down the steep. 
 See how the boats pull in shore — but, holloa there ! we 
 shall get foul of the gun-boats — already we've run in too 
 close. Down helm, my lad ; keep the headland yonder 
 on your lee." 
 
 As he spoke, the light craft bent over to the breeze, and 
 skipped freely over the blue water. Each moment wafted 
 us farther away from the bright scene, and soon a pro- 
 jecting point shut out the whole, save the swell of the 
 brass bands as it floated on the breeze, and I might have 
 believed it a mere delusion. 
 
 " They practise that manoeuvre often enough to know it 
 well," said the skipper ; " sometimes at daybreak — now, 
 
 2
 
 196 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 at noonday — and again, as we see, at sunset ; and no one 
 knows at what moment the attack that seems a feint may 
 not turn out to be real. But here we are now alongside ; 
 our voyage is ended." 
 
 The anchor plashed from our bow, while a signal was 
 made from the shore, and answered by us; and in an 
 instant we were surrounded with, boats. 
 
 "Ha, Antoine!" cried a sous-ofBcier in a naval 
 uniform, who sat on the gunwale of a long eight-oar 
 gig, and touched his hat in recognition of our skipper. 
 *'What news ''outre mer'? — what are we doing in Ire- 
 land?" 
 
 " My young friend here must tell you that," replied the 
 skipper, laughingly, as he laid his hand on my shoulder. 
 " Let me present him to you — Mr. Burke, Lieutenant 
 Brevix." 
 
 The lieutenant saluted me politely, and then, springing 
 up, he jumped gaily on board of us, and shook our hands 
 with great appearance of cordiality. 
 
 "They'll want to see you ashore, Antoine, as soon as 
 may be ; there are despatches going off to-night for Paris, 
 and they'll be glad to send the last accounts of the state 
 of the Channel." 
 
 " Light winds and no cruisers are all I have to tell 
 them, then," said the skipper. 
 
 The lieutenant now took him aside, and they conversed 
 for some time in a low tone, during which I occupied my- 
 self by watching the sentinels who paraded incessantly 
 to and fro along a low wooden pier that stretched out into 
 the sea, and formed, with a promontory at some distance, 
 a small harbour. Their watch seemed of the most vigi- 
 lant, if I might judge from the low but continued cry 
 which passed from mouth to mouth of " Sentinelle, prenez 
 garde a cons ; " while from each boat, across the harbour, 
 a sing-song note chanted in response the monotonous 
 sounds, '■'■ bon quart ! '^ as each quarter of an hour stole 
 past. These precautions against the approach of any 
 strange craft extended, as I afterwards learned, along the 
 entire coast from Dieppe to Ostend ; yet were they not 
 sufficient to prevent frequent visits from the English 
 spies, who penetrated into every quarter of the camp, 
 and even had the hardihood to visit the theatre of the
 
 THE FJJGHT. 197 
 
 town, and express loudly their disapprobation of tbo 
 performance. 
 
 " You'd better come ashore with me, sir," said the 
 lieutenant. " Colonel Dorsenne will be glad to ask you 
 some questions. What papers have you got ? " 
 
 " None, save a few private letters," said I, somewhat 
 confused at the question. 
 
 " No matter," said he, gaily. " I hear from Antoine 
 you wish to join the service here. That wish is your best 
 recommendation to the colonel ; he'll not trouble jou for 
 reasons, I warrant you. Conduct Monsieur to the quar- 
 tier-general," said the lieutenant to a corporal, who, with 
 his party of four men, stood awaiting at the landing- 
 place the arrival of any one from the boats ; and in an 
 instant, the men falling to each side of me, took their way 
 along the pier. I could mark as we went that more than 
 once their looks were bent on me with an expression of 
 compassion and pity, which at the time I was at a loss to 
 explain. I knew not then that the road we were taking 
 was that which so often led to death, and that it was only 
 on the very day before two Englishmen were shot for 
 having ventured on shore without authority. 
 
 The consigne of the corporal passed us through one post 
 after another, until we reached the open plain, over which 
 now the night was falling fast. A lantern at some dis- 
 tance off marked the quarters of the officer on duty ; and 
 thither we directed our steps, and at last reached a small 
 wooden hut, from within which the sounds of mirth and 
 revelry pro, ceded. The voice of the sentinel who chal- 
 lenged us brought an officer to the door, who, the moment 
 his eyes fell on me, stepped back, and, passing his hand 
 hurriedly across his forehead, muttered, half inaudibly, 
 *' Another already ! " 
 
 While he retired into an inner apartment, T had time 
 to look at the singular decorations which adorned the 
 walls of the antechamber; ai'ound on every side, and 
 arranged like trophies, were grouped the weapons of dif- 
 ferent arms of the service, surmounted with some device 
 emblematic of their peculiar character, or sometimes the 
 mere record of some famous battle in which they had pre- 
 eminently distinguished themselves. Here were the loner, 
 Btiaighb swords of the cuirassier crossed above the steel
 
 198 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.** 
 
 breastplate, and surmounted by the heavy helmet half 
 hid in leopard skin, and bearing the almost etf'aced word 
 " Arcole " in front ; there was the short carbine of the 
 voltigeur, over which hung the red cap and its gay gold 
 tassel, with the embroidered motto, " En avanty in gold 
 letters ; the long and graceful weapon of the lancer, the 
 curved sabre of the chasseur a cheval, even the axe of the 
 pioneer was not wanting, displaying at a glg-nce some 
 trait of every branch of the mighty force that bore the 
 proud designation of " La Grande Armee,^^ 
 
 I was busily engaged inspecting these when the door 
 opened, and an officer in full uniform appeared ; his figure 
 was above the middle size, strongly and squarely built, 
 and his bronzed features, and high, bold forehead gave 
 him a soldier-like air. 
 
 " Your name, sir," said he, quickly, as he drew himself 
 up before me, and looked sternly in my face. 
 
 " Burke— Thomas Burke." 
 
 " Write it down, Auguste," said he, turning to a young 
 officer who stood, pen in hand, behind him. 
 
 " Your rank or profession ? " 
 
 *' GentilJiom7ne," said I, not knowing that the word 
 expressed nobility. 
 
 " Ahy pardieu,'' cried he, as he showed his white teeth 
 in a grin. " Produce your papers, if you have any." 
 
 " I have nothing save those letters," said I, handing 
 him those of De Meudon. 
 
 Scarce had his eye glanced over them, when I saw 
 bis colour heighten and his cheek tremble. 
 
 " What ! '' cried he, " are you the same young Irishman 
 who is mentioned here, the constant companion and friend 
 of poor Charles? He was my schoolfellow; we were at 
 Brienne together. What a mistake I was about to fall 
 into ! How did you come, and when ? " 
 
 Before I could reply to any of his many questions, the 
 naval officer I had met at the harbour entered, and 
 delivered his report. 
 
 '* Yes, yes; I know it all," said Dorsenne, hurriedly 
 throwing his eye over it. " It's all right, perfectly right, 
 Brevix. Let Capitaine Antoine be examined at the quar- 
 tier-general. I'll take care of Monsieur here ; and, to be- 
 gin — come and join us at supper."
 
 THE FLIGHT. 199 
 
 Passing his arm familiarly over my shoulder, lie led me 
 into the adjoining room, where two other officers were 
 seated at a table covered with silver dishes and numerous 
 flasks of wine. A few words sufficed for my introduction, 
 and a few glasses of champagne placed me as thoroughly 
 at my ease as though I had passed my life amongst them, 
 and never heard any other conversation than the last 
 movement of the French army, and their projects for 
 future campaigns. 
 
 *' And so," said the colonel, after hearing from me a 
 short account of the events which had induced me to turn 
 my eyes to France — " and so you'd be a soldier ? Eh hien, 
 I see nothing better going myself. There's Davernac 
 will tell you the same, though he has lost his arm in the 
 service." 
 
 " Oui, pardieu,''^ said the officer on my right, " I am not 
 the man to dissuade him from a career I've ever loved." 
 
 " A vous, mon ajni,^' said the young officer who first ad- 
 dressed me on my arrival, as he held out his glass and 
 clinked it against mine. " I hope we shall have you one 
 of these days as our guide through the dark streets of 
 London. The time may not be so distant as you think. 
 Never shake your head at it." 
 
 '* It is not that I would mean," said I, eagerly. 
 
 " What then ? " said the colonel. " You don't suppose 
 such an expedition as ours could fail of success ? " 
 
 " Nor that either," replied I. " I am not so presump- 
 tuous as to form an opinion on the subject." 
 
 " Dianfre, then, what is it? " 
 
 *' Simply this : that whatever fortune awaits me, I shall 
 never be found fighting against the country under whose 
 rule I was born. England may not — alas ! she has not 
 been — just to us. But whatever resistance I might have 
 offered in the ranks of my countrymen, I shall never 
 descend to in an invading army. No, no ; if France have 
 no other war than with England — if she have not the 
 cause of continental liberty at heart— she'll have no blood 
 of mine shed in her service." 
 
 ^'' Sacristi ! '' said the colonel, sipping his wine coolly, 
 *' you had better keep these same opinions of yours to 
 yourself. There's a certain little ocneral we have at Paris, 
 who rarely permits people to rea;5on about the cause of the
 
 200 TOM BUEKE OF *' OURS.'* 
 
 campaign. However, it is growing late now, and we'll 
 not discuss tlie matter at present. Auguste, will you take 
 Burke to your quarters? and to-morrow I'll call on the 
 general about his brevet for the Polytechnique." 
 
 I lelt now that I had spoken more warmly than was 
 pleasing to the party ; but the sentiments I had announced 
 were only such as in my heart I had resolved to abide by, 
 and I was pleased that an opportunity so soon offered to 
 display them. I was glad to find myself at rest at last ; 
 and although events pressed on me fast and thick enough 
 to have occupied my mind, no sooner had I laid my head 
 on my pillow than I fell into a sound sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ECOLE MILITAI 
 
 Let me now skip over at a bound some twelve months of 
 my life — not that they were to me without their chances 
 and their changes, but they were such as are incidental to 
 all boyhood — and present myself to my reader as the 
 scholar at the " Polytechnique." What a change had the 
 time, short as it was, worked in all my opinions ; how 
 completely had I unlearned all the teaching of my early 
 instructor, poor Darby ; how had I been taught to think 
 that glory was the real element of war, and that its cause 
 was of far less moment than its conduct ! 
 
 The enthusiasm which animated every corps of the 
 French army, and was felt through every fibre of the 
 nation, had full sway in the little world of the military 
 school. There, every battle was known and conned over ; 
 we called every spot of our playground by some name 
 great in the history of glory ; and among ourselves w^e 
 asbumed the titles of the heroes who shed such lustre on
 
 THE "ecole militaire." 201 
 
 tbeir country ; and thus in all our boyish sports our talk 
 was of the Bridge of Lodi — Arcole — Rivoli — Casti<j;lioiie — 
 the Pyramids- — Mount Tabor. While the names of Kleber, 
 Kellerman, Massena, Desaix, Murat, were adopted amongst 
 us, but one name only remained unappropriated, and no 
 one was bold enough to assume the title of him whose 
 victories w^ere the boast of every tongue. If this enthusiasm 
 was general amongst us, I felt it in all its fullest force, for 
 it came untinged with any other thought. To me there 
 was neither home nor family — my days passed over in one 
 unbroken calm ; no thought of pleasure, no hope of happi- 
 ness when the fete day came round ; my every sense was 
 wrapped up in the one great desire — to be a soldier — to 
 have my name known among those great men whose fame 
 was over Europe — to be remembered by him whose 
 slightest word of praise was honour itself. When should 
 that day come for me ? when should I see the career open 
 before me ? — these were my earliest waking thoughts, my 
 last at nightfall. 
 
 If the intensity of purpose, the strong current of all my 
 hopes, formed for me an ideal and a happy world within 
 me, yet did it lend a trait of seriousness to my manner 
 that seemed like melancholy ; and while few know less 
 what it was to grieve, a certain sadness in me struck my 
 companions, on which they often rallied me, but which I 
 strove in vain to conquer. It was true that at certain 
 times my loneliness and isolation came coldly on my 
 heart ; when one by one I saw others claimed by their 
 friends, and hurrying away to some happy home, where 
 some fond sister threw her arm around a brother's neck, 
 or some doting mother clasped her son close to her bosom, 
 and kissed his brow, a tear would find its w^ay down my 
 cheek, and I would hasten to my room, and, locking the 
 door, sit down alone to think, till my sad heart grew 
 weary, or my sterner nature rose within me, and, by an 
 effort over myself, I turned to my studies and forgot all 
 else. Meanwhile I made rapid progress ; the unbroken 
 tenor of my thoughts gave me a decided advantage over 
 the others, and long before tne regular period arrived the 
 day for my final examination was appointed. 
 
 What a lasting impression do some passages of early 
 life leave behind them! Even yet — and how many years
 
 202 TOM BURKE OF *' OUllS." 
 
 are past ! — how well do I remember all the hopes and 
 fears that stirred my heart as the day drew near; how 
 each morning at sunrise I rose to pore over some of the 
 books which formed the subjects of examination ; how, 
 when the grey dawn was only breaking, have I bent over 
 the pages of Vauban, and the calculations of Carnot, and 
 with what a sinking spirit have I often found that a night 
 seemed to have erased all the fruit of a long day's labour, 
 and that the gain of my hard-worked intellect had escaped 
 me; and then again, like magic, the lost thought would 
 come back, my brain grow clear, and all the indistinct 
 and shadowy conceptions assume a firm and tangible 
 reality, which I felt like power ! At such times as these 
 my spirits rose, my heart beat high, a joyous feeling 
 throbbed in every pulse, and an exhilaration almost mad- 
 dening elevated me, and there was nothing I would not 
 have dared — no danger I would not have confronted. 
 Such were the attractions of my boyish days, and such 
 the temperament they bequeathed to my manhood. 
 
 It was on the 16th of June, the anniversary of Marengo, 
 when the drum beat to arms in the court of the Poly- 
 technique, and soon after the scholars were seen assembling 
 in haste from various quarters, anxious to learn if their 
 prayer had been acceded to, which asked permission for 
 them to visit the " Invalides," the usual indulgence on 
 the anniversary of any great victory. 
 
 As we flocked into the court we were struck by seeing 
 an orderly dragoon standing beside the head-master, who 
 was eagerly perusing a letter in his hands ; when he had 
 concluded he spoke a few words to the soldier, who at 
 once wheeled round his horse and trotted rapidly from 
 the spot. 
 
 Again the drum rolled out, and the order was given to 
 form in line; in an instant the command was obej^ed, and 
 we stood in silent expectation of the news which Ave per- 
 ceived awaited us. 
 
 ^'■Messieurs les eleves,''^ he began, when stillness was 
 restored, " this day being the anniversary of the glorious 
 battle of Marengo, the General Bonaparte has decreed 
 that a review should be held of the entire school. Lieu- 
 tenant- General d'Auvergne will arrive here at noon to 
 inspect you, and on such reports as I shall give of your
 
 THE '*ECOLE MILITATRE.** 203 
 
 general conduct, zeal, and proficiency will recommenda- 
 tions be forwarded to the First Consul for your promo- 
 tion." 
 
 A loud cheer followed this speech. The announcement 
 far surpassed our most ardent hopes, and there was no 
 limit to our enthusiasm; and loud vivas in honour of 
 General Bonaparte, D'Auvergne, and the 1 ead-master 
 himself were heard on all sides. 
 
 Scarcely was the breakfast over when onr preparations 
 began. What a busy scene it was ! Here, were some 
 brushing up their uniforms, polishing their sword-hilts, 
 and pipeclaying their cross-belts ; there, might be seen 
 others conning over the directions of field manoeuvres, 
 and refreshing their memory of the words of command; 
 some, practised marching in groups along the corridor ; 
 others, too much excited by the prospect before them, 
 jumped madly from place to place, shouting and singing 
 snatches of soldier-songs ; but all were occupied. As for 
 me, it was only two days before I had obtained my grade 
 of corporal ; my new uuiform had only just come home, 
 and I put it on for the first time with no inconsiderable 
 pride; indeed, I could scarce turn my eyes, as I walked, 
 from the stripes upon my arm that denoted my rank. Long 
 before the appointed time we were all assembled, and when 
 the clock struck twelve and the drum beat out, not a boy 
 was absent ; we were drawn up in three columns according 
 to our standing, spaces being left between each to permit 
 of our wheeling into line at the word of command. The 
 head-master passed down our ranks, narrowly inspecting 
 our equipments and scrutinizing every detail of our cos- 
 tume ; but a stronger impulse than ordinary was now at 
 work, and not the slightest irregularity was anywhere 
 detectable. Meanwhile the time passed on, and although 
 every eye was directed to the long avenue of lime-trees by 
 which the general must arrive, nothing moved along it ; 
 and the briglit streaks of sunlight that peeped between the 
 trees were unbroken by any passing shadow. Whispera 
 passed along the ranks, some fearing he might have for- 
 gotten the whole appointment, others suspecting that 
 another review elsewhere had engrossed his attention, and 
 at last a half murmur of dissatisfaction crept through the 
 mass^ which only the presence of the cl/cj' restrained
 
 204 TOM BUKKE OF " OURS." 
 
 within due bounds. One o'clock struck, and yet no rider 
 appeared ; the alley remained silent and deserted as before. 
 Tiie minutes now seemed like hours — weariness and lassi- 
 tude appeared everywhere. The ranlvs were broken, and 
 many wandered from their posts, and forgot all discipline. 
 At last a cloud of dust was seen to rise at a distance, and 
 gradually it approached the long avenue ; and every eye 
 was turned in the direction, and in an instant the stragglers 
 resumed their places, and all was attention and anxiety, 
 while every look pierced eagerly the dense cloud, to see 
 whether it was not the long-wished-for staiF which was 
 coming. At length the object burst upon our sight; but 
 what was our disappointment to see that it was only a 
 travelling carriage with four post-horses that approached; 
 no appearance of a soldier was there, not one solitary 
 dragoon — a half-uttered shout announced our dissatis- 
 faction, for we at once guessed it was merely some chance 
 visitor, or perhaps the friends of some of the scholars, 
 who had thus excited our false hopes. 
 
 The chef himself participated in our feeling, and pass- 
 ing down the lines he announced, that if the general did 
 not arrive within ten minutes, he would himself dismiss 
 us, and set us at liberty. A cheer of gratitude received 
 this speech, and we stood patiently awaiting our libera- 
 tion, when suddenly, from the guard-house at the gate, 
 the clash of arms was heard, and the roll of drums in 
 salute, and the same instant the carriage we had seen 
 rolled into the courtyard, and took up its station in the 
 middle of the square. The next moment the door was 
 opened and the steps lowered, and an officer in a splendid 
 uniform assisted three ladies to alight. Before we reco- 
 vered from the surprise of the proceeding, the master had 
 approached the party, and by his air of deference and 
 deep respect denoted that they were no ordinary visitors ; 
 but our attention was quickly drawn from the group that 
 now stood talking and laughing together, for already the 
 clank of a cavalry escort was heard coming up the avenue, 
 and we beheld the waving plumes and brilliant uniform of 
 a general officer's staff advancing at a rapid trot. Tho 
 drums now rolled out along the lines, we stood to arms 
 —the gallant cor/er/e turned into the court and formed in 
 front of us. All eyes were fixed on tlie general himself,
 
 1^ 
 
 I 
 
 |x 
 
 «
 
 % 
 
 
 Jo 
 
 ^3a,^,
 
 THE " ECOLE MILITAIEE." 205 
 
 tlie perfect heau ideal of an old soldier. He sat In's horse 
 as firmly and gracetully as the youngest aide-de-camp of 
 his suite ; his long whihe hair, dressed in queue behind, 
 was brushed back off his high broad forehead ; his clear 
 blue eye, mild yet resolute, glanced over our ranks, and as 
 he bowed to the head-master, his whole gesture and bear- 
 ing was worthy of the Court of which ouce he was a 
 brilliant member. 
 
 " I have kept my young friends waiting for me," said 
 he in a low but clear voice, " and it now remains for me 
 to make the only amende in ray power — a short inspection. 
 Dorsenne, will you take the command ? " 
 
 I started at the name, and looked round, and close be- 
 side him stood the same officer who had so kindly received 
 me the day I landed in France ; though he looked at me, 
 however, I saw he did not remember me, and my spirits sank 
 again as I thought how utterly friendless and alone I was. 
 
 The general was true to his word in making the in- 
 spection as brief as possible ; he rode leisurely down the 
 ranks, stopping from time to time to express his satis- 
 faction, or drop some chance word of encouragement or 
 advice, which we caught up with eagerness and delight. 
 Forming us into line, he ordered his aide-de-camp to put 
 us through some of the ordinary parade manoeuvres, 
 which we knew as thoroughly as the most disciplined 
 troops. During all this time, the group of ladies main- 
 tained their position in front, and seemed to watch the 
 review with every semblance of interest. The general, 
 ■<ioo, made one of the party, and appeared from time to 
 time to explain the intended movement, and direct their 
 attention to the scene. 
 
 " Let thei-i march past in salute," said he, at length ; 
 ** the poor fellows have had enough of it ; I must not 
 encroach on the entire holiday." 
 
 A unanimous cheer was the reply to this kind speech, 
 and we formed in sections and marched by him at a quick- 
 step. The chef d'ecole had now approached the staff, and 
 was making his report on the boys, when the general 
 again interrupted him by saying, — 
 
 " Madame has expressed a wish to see the boys at their 
 usual exercise of the play hour. If the request be admis- 
 sible "
 
 206 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 *' Certainly, mon General, of course," said he. And, 
 stepping forward, he beckoned to one of the drummersi 
 to come near ; he whispered a word, and the tattoo beat 
 out, and, like magic, every one sprang from his ranks, 
 caps were flung into the air, and vivas rung out from 
 every quarter of the court. 
 
 The sudden transition from discipline to perfect liberty 
 added to our excitement, and we became half wild with 
 delight. The first mad burst of pleasure over, we turned, 
 as if by instinct, to our accustomed occupations ; here 
 were seen a party collecting for a drill, officers gathering 
 and arranging their men, and sergeants assisting in the 
 muster ; there, were others, armed with spades and shovels, 
 at work on an entrenchment, while some were driving 
 down stockades and fixing a palisade ; another set, more 
 peaceful in their pursuits, had retired to their little gar- 
 dens, and were busy with watering-pots and trowels. 
 The section I belonged to were the seniors of the school, 
 and we had erected a kind of fort which it was our daily 
 amusement to defend and attack, the leadership on either 
 side being determined by lots. On this day the assault 
 had fallen to my command, and I hurried hither and 
 thither collecting my forces, and burning for the attack. 
 
 We were not long in assembling, and the garrison 
 having announced their readiness by the display of a flag 
 from the ramparts, the assault began. I know not why 
 nor wherefore, but on this day ray spirits were unusually 
 high ; it was one of those chance occasions when my 
 temperament, heated and glowing, had elevated me in ray 
 own esteera, and I would have given my life for some 
 opportunity of distinguishing myself. 
 
 I led my party on, then, with more than common 
 daring, and though repulsed by the besieged, we fell back 
 only for a moment, and returned to the assault deter- 
 mined to succeed ; the others, animated by the same 
 spirit, fought as bravely, and the cheers that rose from 
 one side w^ore replied to by shouts as full of defiance from 
 the other. Heated and excited, I turned round to order 
 an attack of my whole force, when, to my surprise, I 
 beheld that the general and his staff, accompanied by the 
 ladies, had taken their places a short distance off, and 
 were become interested spectators of the siege. This
 
 THE "ecole militaire." 207 
 
 alone was wanting to stimulate ray efforts to the utmost, 
 and I now returned to the fight with tenfold impetuosity. 
 Bat if this feeling animated me, it also nerved my anta- 
 gonists, for their resistance rose with every moment, and 
 as they drove us back from their walls, cheers of triumph 
 rang out and proclaimed the victory. 
 
 Already the battle had lasted nearly an hour, and all 
 that was obtained was a slight breach in one of the out- 
 works, too small to be practicable for assault. In this state 
 were matters when the sound of a cavalry escort turned 
 every eye towards the entrance to the courtyard, where 
 we now beheld a squadron of the Landers rouges follow- 
 inga numerous and brilliant staff of general officers. 
 Scarcely had they entered the gates when a loud cry rent 
 the air, and every voice shouted, " C'cst lui / c'est lui ! '* 
 and the next moment, " Vive Bonaparte ! vive le Premier 
 Consul /^^ All that I ever heard from poor De Meudon 
 came rushing on my mind, and my heart swelled out till it 
 seemed bursting my very bosom. The next instant my 
 eye turned to the little fort ; the moment was propitious, 
 for there every cap was waving, every look bent towards 
 him. I seized the opportunity, and pointing silently to the 
 breach, stole forward ; in a second I was beneath the 
 grassy rampart, in another I reached the breach, the next 
 brought me to the top, where, with a shout of victory, I 
 called on my men to follow me. On they came rushing — 
 but too late ; already the garrison were upon me, and, over- 
 come by numbers, I fought alone and unsupported ; step 
 by step they drove me to the edge of the rampart, already 
 my foot was on the breach, when with a spring I dashed 
 at the flag-staff and carried it with me as I fell headlong 
 into the ditch. In a moment I was on my legs, but so 
 stunned and crushed that I fell almost immediately again ; 
 cold perspiration broke over my face and forehead, and I 
 should have fainted but that they dashed some water over 
 me. As I lay sick and faint I lilted my eyes, and what was 
 my amazement to see, not the little companions of the school 
 about me, but the gorgeous unilbi'm of staff officers, and 
 two elegantly-dressed ladies, one of whom held a cup of 
 water in her hand and sprinkled it over my brow. I 
 looked down upon my torn dress, and the sleeve of my 
 coat, where the marks of my rank were already half effaced,
 
 208 TOT.I BUEKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 and I felt the tears start into ray eyes as the remembrance 
 of my late failure crossed my mind ; at the instant the 
 crowd opened, and a pale but handsome face, where com- 
 mand was tempered by a look of almost womanly soft- 
 ness, smiled upon me. 
 
 " C'ttait hien fait, mon eiifant,"^^ said he, " ires hien fait, 
 and if you have lost a coat by the struggle, why I must 
 even see if I can't give you another to replace it. Mon- 
 sieur Legrange, what is the character of this boy in the 
 school ? Is he diligent, zealous, and v/ell-conducted ?" 
 
 " All of the three, general," said the chef bowing ob- 
 sequiously. 
 
 " Let him have his brevet ; to date from to-day. Who 
 are his friends ? " 
 
 A whispered answer replied to this inquiry. 
 
 *' Indeed !" said the first speaker ; " reason the more we 
 should take care of him. Monsieur," continued he, turn- 
 ing towards me, " to-morrow you shall have your epau- 
 lettes ; never forget how you gained them, and remember 
 ever that every grade in the service is within the reach of 
 a brave man who does his duty." So saying he passed 
 on, while, overcome by emotion, I could not speak or 
 move. 
 
 '* There, he is much better now," said a soft voice near 
 me ; " you see his colour is coming back." I looked up, 
 and there were two ladies standing beside me. The elder 
 was tall and elegantly formed ; her figure, which in itself 
 most graceful, looked to its full advantage by the splen- 
 dour of her dress : there was an air of stateliness in her 
 manner, which had seemed hauteur were it not for a look 
 of most benevolent softness that played about her mouth 
 whenever she spoke. The younger, who might in years 
 have seemed her daughter, was in every respect unlike 
 her : she was slight and delicately formed, her complexion 
 and her black eyes, shaded by a long dark fringe, bespoke 
 the Proven9al, her features were beautifully regular, and 
 when at rest completely Greek in their character ; but 
 each moment some chance word, some passing thought, 
 implanted a new expression, and the ever-varying look of 
 her flashing eyes and full round lips played between a 
 Bmile and that arch spirit that essentially belongs to the 
 fair daughters of the South. It was not until my fixed
 
 THE " ECOLE MILITAIRE.'* 209 
 
 gaze had brought a deep bliish to her cheek, that I felt how 
 ardently I had been looking at her. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said she, hurriedly, "he's quite well now," 
 and at the same moment she made a gesture of impatience 
 to pass on. But the elder held her arm close within her 
 own, as she whispered with something of half malice — 
 *' Bat stay, Marie, I should like to hear his name. Ah ! " 
 cried she, starting in affected surprise, '' how flashed you 
 are ; there must be something in the air here, so we had 
 better proceed." And with a soft smile and a courteous 
 motion of her hand she passed on. 
 
 I looked after them as they went ; a strange odd feeling 
 stirred within my heart — a kind of wild joy with a mingled 
 sense of hope too vague to catch at. I watched the droop- 
 ing feather of her bonnet, and the folds of her dress as 
 they fluttered in the wind, and when she disappeared from 
 my sight, I could scarce believe that she was not still 
 beside me, and that her dark eyes did not look into my 
 very soul. But already my companions crowded about 
 me, and amid a hundi^ed warm congratulations and kind 
 wishes I took my way back to the college. 
 
 Scarcely was breakfast over the following morning, 
 when the order arrived for my removal I'rom the scholar 
 quarter of the Poly technique to that occupied by the 
 cadets. A small tri-coloured cock ade affixed to my hat was 
 the only emblem of my new rank ; but, simple as it was, 
 no decoration ever attracted more envy and admiration 
 from the beholders, nor gave more pride to the wearer, 
 than that knot of ribbon. 
 
 " At number thirteen you'll find your quarters. Monsieur 
 le Cadet,'''' said a sergeant, as he presented me with the 
 official order. I remember at this very hour what a thrill 
 his military salute sent through me. It was the first ac- 
 knowledgment of my grade — the first recognition that I 
 was no longer a mere schoolboy. I had not much time 
 granted me to indulge such sensations, for already ray 
 school-fellows had thronged round me, and overwhelmed 
 with me questions and felicitations. 
 
 *' Ah ! what a fortunate fellow — no examination to go 
 through — has his grade given him, withoat toiling for it 
 — is it the cavalry, Burke ? — are you a cheual when do 
 you join? — where is your regiment? — shall we see you 
 
 VOi.. I. P
 
 210 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 again ? — won't you write to us all about the corps when 
 you join them ? — who is your comrade ? — yes, tell us that; 
 who is he ? " 
 
 "iLT^ybt," said I, "I know not more than yourselves. 
 You are all aware to what an accident I owe my promo- 
 tion. Where I am destined for, or in what corps, I can't 
 tell ; and as to my comrade " 
 
 "Ah! take care he's no tyrant," said one. 
 
 " Yes, yes," cried another — " show him you know what 
 a small sword is at once." 
 
 •' Burke won't be trifled with," cried a third. 
 
 And then followed a very chorus of voices, each detail- 
 ing some atrocity committed by the cadets on their newly- 
 joined associates. One had a friend wounded in the side 
 tbe very day he joined; another knew some one who was 
 thrown out of a window : here was an account of a delicate 
 boy who passed an entire night in the snow, and died of 
 a chest disease three weeks after ; there, a victim to in- 
 temperance met his fate in the orgie that celebrated his 
 promotion. This picture, I confess, did somewhat damp 
 the ardour of my first impressions ; and I took leave of my 
 old friends with not less feeling of affection, that I doubted 
 how much kindness and good feeling I had to expect from 
 my new ones. In this mood of mind I shook their hands 
 for the last time, and followed the soldier who carried my 
 baggage to the distant quarter of the ecole. As I entered 
 the large court by the richly ornamented gate, whose 
 bronzed tracery and handsome carving dated from the 
 time of Louis XIY., my heart swelled with conscious 
 pride. The fa9ade of the square, unlike the simple front 
 of the scholars' quarters, was beautifully architectural ; 
 massive consoles supported the windows, and large 
 armorial insignia, cut on stone, surmounted the different 
 entrances : but what most captivated my spirits and en- 
 gaged my attention was a large flag in the centre, from 
 which waved the broad ensign of France, beside which a 
 sentinel paced to and fro. He presented arms as I passed ; 
 and the click of his musket, as he stood erect, sent a thrill 
 through me, and made my very fingers tingle with delight. 
 
 " This is number thirteen, sir," said the soldier, as we 
 arrived in front of one of the doorways ; and before I 
 r^uld reply, the door opened, and a young officer, in the
 
 THE *' ECOLE MILITAIRE.'* 211 
 
 uniform of an infantry regiment, appeared. He was about 
 to pass out, when his eye resting on the luggage the soldier 
 had just placed beside him, he stopped suddenly, and, 
 touching his cap, asked, in a polite tone, — 
 " Not Mr. Burke, is it ? " 
 
 " Yes," said I, bowing in return. 
 
 " Eh, mon camarade,'" said he, holding out his hand, 
 " delighted to see you. Have you breakfasted ? Well, 
 you'll find all ready for you in the quarters. I shall be 
 back soon. I'm only going to a morning drill, which 
 won't last half an hour ; so make yourself at home, and 
 we'll meet soon again." 
 
 So saying, he once more saluted me, and passed on. 
 *' Not very like what I feared," thought I, as I entered the 
 quarters, whose look of neatness and coaifort so pleasantly 
 contrasted with my late abode. I had barely time to look 
 over the prints and maps of military subjects which orna- 
 mented the walls, when my new friend made his appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " No parade to-day, thank Heaven," said he, throwing 
 down his cap and sabre, and lolling at full length on the 
 little camp sofa. " Now, mon cher camarade, let us make 
 acquaintance at once, for our time is likely to be of the 
 shortest. My name is Tascher, an humble sous-lieutenant 
 of the 21st Regiment of Foot. As much a stranger in 
 this land as yourself, I fancy," continued he, after a slight 
 pause, " but very well contented to be adopted by it." 
 
 After this opening, he proceeded to inform me that he 
 was the nephew of Madame Bonaparte — her sister's only 
 son — who, at his mother's death, left Guadaloupe, and 
 came over to France, and became an eleve of the Polytech- 
 nique. There he had remained five years, and, after a 
 severe examination, obtained his brevet in an infantry 
 corps ; his uncle Bonaparte having shown him no other 
 favour nor affection than a severe reprimand on one occa- 
 sion for some boyish freak, when all the other delinquents 
 escaped scot-free. 
 
 " I am now under orders for service," said he ; " but 
 where for, and when, I can't tell. But this I know, that 
 whatever good fortune may be going a-begging, 1, Lien- 
 tenant Tascher, am very likely to get only the hem of the 
 garment." 
 
 p 2
 
 212 TOM BURKE OF '* OURS.'* 
 
 There was a tone of easy and frank good-nature in all 
 he said, which at once disposed me to like the young 
 Creole ; and we spent the whole afternoon recounting our 
 various adventures and fortunes, and before night came on 
 were sworn friends for life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE "TUILERIES" IN 1803. 
 
 The life of the cadet differed little from that of the school- 
 boy. The same routine of study, the same daily round of 
 occupation and duty were his. Until drafted to the par- 
 ticular corps to which he might be appointed, he only 
 could absent himself from the college by special leave ; 
 and the most rigid of all military discipline prevailed dur- 
 ing the brief interval which was to fit him for the arduous 
 life of a soldier. The evenings, however, were at our dis- 
 posal ; and what a pleasure it was — the fatigue of the day 
 over — to wander forth into the city — that brilliant Paris 
 -—near which I had lived so long, and yet had seen so 
 little of. 
 
 At first the splendour of the shops, the unceasing flow 
 cf population, the might and grandeur of the public build- 
 ings, attracted all my attention ; and when these wore off in 
 novelty, I could still wander with delight through the gay 
 gardens of the Tuileries, and watch the sparkling foun- 
 tains as they splashed in the pale moonlight, and look upon 
 the happy children who played about them, their merry 
 laughter ringing through the water's plash. What a fairy 
 scene it was to watch the groups as they passed and re- 
 passed — came and went, and disappeared — amid those 
 dark alleys, where the silent footstep did not mar the
 
 THE ^'TUILERIES" IN 1803. 213 
 
 Bounds oi' happy voices ; and then, how have I turned 
 from these, to throw a wistful glance towards the palace 
 windows, where some half-closed curtain, from time to 
 time, would show the golden sparkle of a brilliant lustre, 
 or the rich frame of a mirror ; mayhap an open sash 
 would for a moment display some fair form, the outline 
 only seen as she leaned on the balcony, and drank in the 
 balmy air of the mild evening, while the soft swell of 
 music would float from the gorgeous saloon, and falling 
 on my ear, set me a-dreaming of pleasures my life had 
 never known. My utter loneliness pressed deeper on me 
 every day ; for, while each of my companions had friends 
 and relatives, among whom their evenings were passed, 
 I was friendless and alone. The narrowness of my means 
 — I had nothing save my pay — prevented my frequenting 
 the theatre, or even accepting such invitations as the 
 other cadets pressed upon me ; and thus for hours long 
 have I sat and watched the windows of the palace, weav- 
 ing to myself stories of that ideal world from which my 
 humble fortune debarred me. 
 
 It had been 3'ears since the Tuileries exhibited anything 
 resembling the state that formerly prevailed in that splen- 
 did palace ; but, at the period I speak of, Bonaparte had 
 just been chosen Consul for life, and alread}^ the organ- 
 ization of his household had undergone a most consider- 
 able alteration. In the early years of the Consulate, a 
 confused assemblage of aides-de-camp, whose heavy gait 
 and loud speech betokened less the Court than the camp, 
 were the only attendants on his person. He lived in the 
 centre pavilion, as if in a tent in the midst of his army ; 
 but now he inhabited the splendid suite of rooms to the 
 left of the pavilion, de Vhorloge, as it is called, which 
 stretch away towards the river. The whole service of the 
 palace was remodelled ; and, without wounding those pre- 
 judices that attached to the times of the deposed mon- 
 archy by adopting the titles of chamberlain, or gentle- 
 men of the chamber, he graduall}^ instituted the cere- 
 monial of a Court by preferring to the posts about his per- 
 son those whose air and manners savoured most of the 
 higher habitudes of society, and whose families were dis- 
 tinguished among the noblesse of the kingdom. 
 
 J)uroc, the chief aide-de-camp of the General, was ap-
 
 214 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 pointed governor of the palace ; and it was said that the 
 Consul himself studied all the ancient ceremonial of the 
 old Court, and ordained that every etiquette of royalty 
 should be resumed with the most unerring accuracy. The 
 chamberlains were represented by prefects of the palace, 
 and Josephine had her ladies of honour, like any princess 
 of the blood royal. 
 
 The Consul, still imitating the observances of the Bour- 
 bons, had his pet its levers and his grand receptions ; and if 
 the new-created functionaries possessed little of the cour- 
 teous ease and high-bred habitudes of the old Court, there 
 was in their hard- won honours — most of them promoted 
 on the very field of battle — that which better suited the 
 prejudices of the period, and scarcely less became the 
 gilded saloons of the Tuileries. 
 
 Like all newly-organized societies, the machinery worked 
 ill at first. Few, if any of them, had ever seen a Court ; 
 and the proud but yet respectful obedience which cha- 
 acterized the French gentleman in the presence of his sove- 
 reign, was converted into an obsequious and vulgar 
 deference towards Bonaparte, equally opposite to the true 
 type, as it was foreign to the habits, of the blunt soldier 
 who proffered it. But what, after all, signified these 
 blemishes ? There was beauty — never in the brighter 
 annals of France had more lovely women filled those gor- 
 geous saloons ; there was genius — heroism — the highest 
 chivalry of the great nation could scarce vie with the 
 jjroud deeds of those grouped around him — the mighty 
 one, on whom each eye was fixed ; and if, as M. Talleyrand 
 remarked, there were those who knew not how to walk on 
 the waxed floor of a palace, few could tread more finely 
 the field of battle, and step with firmer foot the path that 
 led to glory. Yet with all the First Consul's pride in 
 those whose elevation to rank and dignity was his own 
 work, his predilections leaned daily more and more 
 towards the high and polished circles of the Faubourg St. 
 Germain. The courteous and easy politeness of Talley- 
 rand, the chivalrous and courtly bearing of the Count de 
 Narbonne, and the graceful elegance of Segur's manners, 
 formed too striking a contrast with the soldier-like rude- 
 ness of the newly-promoted generals, not to make a pro- 
 found impression on one who could, in the deepest and
 
 THE "tuileries" IN 1803. 215 
 
 weiglitiest concerns of life, take into calculation the most 
 minute and trivial circumstances. 
 
 This disparity, remarkable as it was among the men, 
 was still more so in the ladies of the Court, few of those 
 newly elevated having tact enough either to imitate suc- 
 cessfully the polished usages of the old nobility, or resolu- 
 tion sufficient to maintain their original habits without 
 blushing at their own want of breeding. 
 
 If I have been led somewhat from the current of my 
 own story by this digression, it is merely that I may pass- 
 ingly note down some of the features of the period — one 
 of the most remarkable in the history of modern Europe, 
 and one which already, to the far-seeing eye of some, be- 
 tokened the speedy return to those very institutions of 
 monarchy, to uproot which cost the best blood of France, 
 and a revolution the most terrific the world has ever 
 witnessed. 
 
 And now, looking back on the great career of that 
 great man, no portion of his history can, perhaps, present 
 anything to compare with the splendour of the Consulate. 
 A long succession of victories — the spoils of half Europe 
 ■ — glory to very satiety had intoxicated the nation — a 
 country flourishing in every element of prosperity — social 
 order restored — a high position amid surrounding nations 
 — and everything that could gratify national ambition 
 obtained — France stood at the very pinnacle of her great- 
 ness. Even the splendour of those names who represented 
 the various states of Europe at her Court, seemed to attest 
 her supremacy. The stately and polished Whitworth, 
 conspicuous by the elegance of his appearance and the 
 perfection of his aristocratic bearing; the Russian Ambas- 
 sador, MarcofF; the Chevalier Azara, the Minister of 
 Spain, the courtier of Europe ; Baron de Cetto, the Envoy 
 of Saxony, one of the most distinpcuished, both by man- 
 ners and ability, in the whole diplomatic circle, were 
 among those who frequented the First Consul's levees, 
 which already, in the splendour of costume and the 
 gorgeous display of uniform, rivalled the most sumptuous 
 days of the monarchy. 
 
 All the long- forgotten ceremonial of a Court was res<tored. 
 Dinners, most splendid in all the array of pomp and 
 grandeur, were given every week; letes, that vied with the
 
 216 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 luxurious era of Louis XIV. himself, took place fre- 
 quently ; and Paris became the rendezvous for all Europe, 
 curious to behold the rich trophies of successful wars, and 
 mix in the delight of a capital where pleasure reigned 
 triumphant. 
 
 The theatre presented an array of genius and talent 
 hitherto unequalled. Talma and Mademoiselle Mars were 
 in the very zenith of their fame, and obtained a large 
 share of Bonaparte's favour, whose tastes were eminently 
 dramatic. In a word, a new era had commenced, and 
 every class and walk, every condition of man, seemed re- 
 solved to recompense itself, by the pursuit of pleasure, for 
 the long and dark night of trouble through which it had 
 passed. 
 
 While, therefore, the Court of the First Consul partook 
 of such features as those, the circle of Josephine possessed 
 attractions totally different. There, amid her intimate 
 friends, all the charm and fascination of French society 
 held sway ; each evening saw assembled around her the 
 wittiest and most polished persons of the day ; the gay 
 and spirited talkers who so pre-eminently gave the tone 
 to Parisian society ; the handsomest women, and the most 
 distinguished of the litterateurs of the period, found ready 
 access to one whose own powers of pleasing have left an 
 undying impression on some, who even still can recall 
 those delightful moments. Such were, in brief, the lead- 
 ing features of the Court then held in the Tuileries, and 
 such the germ of that new order of things which was so 
 soon to burst forth upon astonished Europe, under the 
 proud title of The Empire.
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A SURPRISK. 
 
 I WAS sitting one evening alone in my quarters, an open 
 volume before me, in which I persuaded m^^self I was 
 reading, while my thoughts were far otherwise engaged, 
 when my comrade Tascher suddenly entered the room, 
 and, throwing himself into a chair, exclaimed, in a tone 
 of passionate impatience, — 
 
 " PardifAi/ it is a fine thing to be nephew to the first 
 man in France ! " 
 
 " What has happened ? " said I, when I perceived that 
 he stopped short without explaining further. 
 
 "What has happened! — enough to drive one mad. 
 Just hear this. You know how fond I am of Paris, and 
 how naturally I must wish to be near the Tuileries, where 
 1 have the entree to my aunt's soirees. Well, there was a 
 vacancy occurred yesterday in the huitieme hussars — a 
 corps always stationed here or at A^ersailles — and as J am 
 longing to have a cavalry grade, I waited on Madame 
 Bonaparte to solicit her interest in my favour. She pro- 
 mised of course. The General was to breakfast with her, 
 and it was all settled. She was to ask him for the pro- 
 motion ; and I had not a doubt of success. In fact, if 
 I must confess, I told two or three of my friends, and 
 actually received their congratulations. It so fell out, 
 however, that he did not come to breakfast, nor dinner 
 either — there's no knowing that man ; but whcit think you ? 
 he walked in, this evening, just as we were preparing to 
 act a proverb. Such a scene as it was, to be sure. No 
 one expected him. Most of us were dressed up in cos- 
 tumes of one kind or other; and I, ma foi, ridiculous 
 enough, I suppose — I was costumed like a galley-slave. 
 He stood for a second or two at the door with his arms 
 folded, and his stern eyes wandering over the whole room. 
 There was not one amongst us would not have wished
 
 218 TOM BURKE OF '* OURS.** 
 
 himself rnany a mile away: even my aunt lierselP seemerl 
 quite confused, and blushed, and grew pale, and blushed 
 again. 
 
 " ' Ha ! ' cried he at last, in his dry, short voice. 
 •Pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I have made a mistake — I 
 believed I was in the palace of the Tuileries, and I find 
 this is the Porte St. Martin.' 
 
 " ' Fi done, Bonaparte ! ' cried my aunt, blushing, while 
 with one of her sweetest smiles she endeavoured to bring 
 him back to good humour. ' See, how you have frightened 
 Madame de Narbonne — she'll never be able to play the 
 miller's wife ; and Marie here, her tears will wash away all 
 her rouge.' 
 
 " ' And this amiable gentleman — what is to become of 
 him ? ' said he, interrupting her, while he laid his hand on 
 my shoulder, and I stood trembling like a culprit beside 
 him. 
 
 "'Ah, there! — that's Tascher,' said she, laughingly; 
 and as if happy to escape from her greater embarrassment 
 l)y any means, she continued: * Your question comes, 
 indeed, quite apropos. I have a request to make in his 
 favour ; there's a vacancy in the huitieme, I think it is — eh, 
 Edward ? ' I nodded slightly, for if my life depended on 
 it, I could not have uttered a word. ' Now, I am sure 
 he's been sous-lieutenant long enough, and in the in- 
 fantry too.' 
 
 " ' Can you ride well, sir ? ' said he, turning to me with 
 a half frown on his pale face. 
 
 " ' Yes, General,' replied I, with my heart almost choking 
 me as I spoke. 
 
 " ' Well, sir, you shall be employed, and in a service 
 worthy your present tastes, if I may judge from your cos- 
 tume. A detachment of prisoners is to march to-morrow 
 from this for the Bagne de Brest — hold yourself in readi- 
 ness to accompany the military escort. Go, sir, and report 
 yourself to your colonel.' He waved his hand when he' 
 had finished, and how I left the room, reached the street, 
 und found myself here, hang me if I can tell you." 
 
 "And is there no help for this? must you really go?** 
 said I, compassionating the dejected and sorrow-struck 
 expression of the youth. 
 
 *' Must I go ! Mafoly you know little of this dear uncle
 
 A SURPRISE. 219 
 
 of mine, if you ask such a question. When once his 
 mind's made up, anything like an attempt to argue only 
 confirms his resolve. The best thing now is, to obey and 
 say nothing ; for if my aunt remonstrates, I may spend my 
 life in garrison there over the galley-slaves." 
 
 A knocking at the outer door interrupted our conversa- 
 tion at this moment, and a corporal of the staff entered, 
 with a despatch-bag at his waist. 
 
 " Sous-Lieutenant Tascher," said he, touching his cap, 
 and presenting a large official-looking letter to my com- 
 panion, who threw it from him on the table, and turned 
 away to hide his confusion. " Monsieur Burke," said the 
 corporal, withdrawing another ominous document from 
 his leathern pouch. 
 
 *^ Diantre ! " cried Tascher, turning quickly about, 
 *' have I got you into a scrape as well as myself? I 
 remember now the General asked me who was my ' com- 
 rade.' " 
 
 I took the paper with a trembling hand, and tore it 
 open. The first line was all I could read ; it was a war- 
 office official, appointing me to the vacant commission in 
 the huitienie hussars. 
 
 Tascher's hand shook as he leaned on my shoulder, and 
 I could feel a convulsive twitching of his fingers as his 
 agitation increased ; but in a second or two he recovered 
 his self-command, and taking my hund within both of hisj 
 he said, while the large tears were starting from his eyes, — 
 
 " I'm ghid it's you, Burke," and then turned away 
 unable to SMy more. 
 
 It was some time before I could bring myself to credit 
 my good fortune. Had I been free to choose, I could have 
 desired nothing better nor more to my liking; aiid when 
 I succeeded at length, then came my embarrassment at my 
 poor friend's disappointment, which must have been still 
 more poignant as contrasted with my success. Tascher, 
 however, had all the Creole warmth of temperament. The 
 first burst over, he really enjoyed tlie thought of my pro- 
 motion ; and we sat up the entire night talking over plans 
 for the future, and making a hundred resolves for contin- 
 gencies, some of which never arose, and many, when they 
 came, suggested remedies of their own. 
 
 At daybreak my comrade's horses came to the door, and
 
 220 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 a mounted orderly attended to accompany him to the 
 prison where the convoy were assembled. We shook 
 hands again and again. He was leaving what had been 
 his home for years, Paris — the gay and brilliant city, in 
 whose pleasures he had mixed, and whose fascinations he 
 had tasted. I was parting from one with whom 1 had 
 lived in a friendship as close as can subsist between two 
 natures essentially different — we both were sad. 
 
 " Adieu, Burke ! " said he, as he waved his hand for the 
 last time. " I hope you'll command the huitieme when 
 next we meet." 
 
 I hurried into the quarters, which already seemed lonely 
 and deserted, so soon does desolation throw its darkening 
 shadow before it. The sv/ord that had hung above the 
 chimney crosswise on my own was gone ; the chako, too, 
 and the pistols were missing ; the vacant chair stood oppo- 
 site to mine ; and the isolation I felt became so painful, 
 that I wandered out into the open air, glad to escape the 
 sight of objects, every one of which only suggested how 
 utterly alone I stood in the world, when the departure of 
 one friend had left me companionless. 
 
 No one save he who has experienced it can form any 
 just idea of the intense hold a career of any kind will 
 take of the mind of him who, without the ties of country, 
 of kindred, and of friends, devotes all his energies in one 
 direction. The affections that might, under other influ- 
 ences, have grown up — the hopes that might have flourished 
 in the happy sphere of a home, become the springs of a 
 more daring ambition. In proportion as he deserts other 
 roads in life, the path he has struck out for himself seems 
 wider and grander, and his far-seeing eye enables him to 
 look into the long distance with a prophetic vision, where 
 are rewards for his hard-won victories, the recompense of 
 long years of toil. The pursuit, become a passion, gra- 
 dually draws all into its vortex ; and that success whicli 
 at first he believed only attainable by some one mighty 
 effort, seems at last to demand every energy of his lite and 
 every moment of his existence ; and as the miser would 
 deem his ruin near, should the most trifling opportunity 
 of gain escape him, so does the ambitious man feel that 
 every incident in life must be made tributary to the suc- 
 C(3ss which is his Mammon. It was thus I thou(rht of the
 
 k SURPRISE, 221 
 
 profession of arms ; my whole soul was in it ; no other 
 wish, no other hope, divided my heart ; that passion 
 reigned there alone. How often do we find it in life that 
 the means become the end, that the effort we employ to 
 reach an object takes hold upon our fancy, gains hourly 
 upon our affections, and at length usurps the place of 
 what before had been our idol. As a boy, liberty, the bold 
 assertion of my country's rights, stirred my heart, and 
 made me wish to be a soldier. As years rolled on, the 
 warlike passion sank deeper and deeper in my nature ; 
 the thirst for glory grew upon me, and forgetting all save 
 that, I longed for the time when, on the battle-field, I 
 should win my name to fame and honour. In this wise 
 were my musings, as I loitered homeward and entered my 
 quarters. A sealed packet, addressed Sous-Lieutenant 
 Burke — how that humble title made my heart beat — lay 
 on my table. Supposing it referred to my new appoint- 
 ment, I sat down to con it over at my leisure ; but no 
 sooner had I torn open the envelope than a card fell to 
 the ground. I took it up hastil}^ and read, '■'• jy aprh 
 Vordre de Madame Bonaparte, fai Vhonneur de voits inviter 
 
 a une soiree " " What ! " cried I, aloud, " me I — invite 
 
 me to the Palace ! There must be some mistake here." 
 And I turned again to the envelope, where my name was 
 legibly written, with my grade, and the number of my 
 new corps. There could be no doubt of it, and yet was it 
 still inexplicable ; I that was so perfectly alone, a stranger, 
 without a friend, save among the humble ranks of the 
 school, how came such a distinction as this to be conferred 
 on me ? I thought of Tascher ; but then we had lived 
 months together, and such a thing had never been even 
 alluded to. The more I reflected on it, the greater be- 
 came my difficulty ; and in a maze of confusion and 
 embarrassment I passed the day in preparation for the 
 evening, for, as was customary at the period, the invita- 
 tions tor small parties were issued on the very mornings 
 themselves. My first care was to look after the uniform 
 of my new corps, in which I knew I must appear. My 
 last remaining bank-note, the sole survivor of my little 
 stock of wealth, was before me, and I sat calculating with 
 myself the costly outlay of a hussar dress, the full uniform 
 of which had not till now entered into my computation.
 
 222 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.** 
 
 Never was my ingenuity more sorely tried than in the 
 endeavour to bring the outlay within the narrow limits of 
 my little purse ; and when, at length, I would think that 
 all had been remembered, some small but costly item 
 would rise up against me, and disconcert all my calcula- 
 tions. 
 
 At noon I set out to wait on my new colonel, whose 
 quarters were in the Place Vendome. The visit was a 
 short and not over pleasant one ; a crowd of ofiicers filled 
 the rooms, among whom I edged my way with difficulty 
 towards the place where Colonel Marbois was standing. 
 He was a short, thick-set, vulgar-looking man, of about 
 fifty ; his moustache and whiskers meeting above the lip, 
 and his bushy, black beard below, gave him the air of 
 a pioneer, which his harsh Breton accent did not derogate 
 from. 
 
 "^^, c'e.s^ vousl^^ said he, as my name was an- 
 nounced ; "you'll have to learn in future, sir, that officers 
 of your rank are not received at the levees of their 
 colonel. You hear me ; report yourself to the chef 
 d'escadron, however, who will give you your orders ; and 
 mark me, sir, let this be the last day you are seen in that 
 uniform." 
 
 A short and not very gracious nod concluded the audi- 
 ence, and I took my leave not the less abashed that I 
 could mark a kind of half smile on most of the faces 
 about me as I withdrew from the crowd. Scarcely in the 
 street, however, when my heart felt light and my step 
 elastic. I was a sous-lieutenant of hussars, and if I did 
 my duty what cared I for the smiles and frowns of my 
 colonel ; and had not the General Bonaparte himself told 
 me " that no grade was too high for the brave man who 
 did so?" 
 
 I can scarcely avoid a smile even yet as I call to mind 
 the awe I felt on entering the splendid shop of Monsieur 
 Crillac, the fashionable tailor of those days, whose plate- 
 glass windows and showy costumes formed the standing 
 point for many a lounger around the corner of the Rue de 
 Kichelieu and the Boulevard. His saloon, as he somewhat 
 ostentatiously called it, was the rendezvous for the idlers 
 of a fashionable world, who spent their mornings canvass- 
 ing the last gossip of the city, and devising now extrava-
 
 A sunp isE. 223 
 
 gances in dress. The morning- papers, caricatures, prints 
 of fashions, patterns of waistcoats, and new devices for 
 buttons, were scattered over a table, round which, in every 
 attitude of indolence and ease, vi^ere stretched some dozen 
 of the exquisites of the period, engacred in that species of 
 half-ennui, half-conversation, that forms a considerable 
 part of the existence of your young men of fashion, of 
 every age and every country. Their frock-coats of light 
 cloth, high-collared, and covered with buttons ; their hottes 
 a revers reaching only mid leg, and met there by a tight 
 pantalon collant ; their hair studiously brushed back off 
 their foreheads, and worn long, though not in queue 
 behind, bespoke them as the most accurate types of the 
 mode. 
 
 The appearance of a youth in the simple uniform of the 
 Polytechnique in such a place seemed to excite universal 
 astonishment. Such a phenomenon apparently had never 
 been witnessed before ; and as they turned fully round to 
 stare at me, it was clear they never deemed that any mark 
 of rudeness could be felt by one so humble as I was. 
 Monsieur Crillac himself, who was sipping his glass of 
 eau sucree, with one arm leaning on the chimney-piece, 
 never deigned to pay me other attention than a half smile, 
 as, with a voice of most patronizing softness, he lisped 
 out, — 
 
 " What can we do for you here. Monsieur ? " 
 
 Apparently the answer to this question was a matter of 
 interest to the party, who suddenly ceased talking to 
 listen. 
 
 '* 1 wish to order a uniform," said I, summoning up all 
 my resolution not to seem abashed. " This is a tailor's, 
 if I don't mistake ? " 
 
 "Monsieur is quite correct," replied the imperturbable 
 proprietor, whose self-satisfied smile became still more 
 insulting, " but perhaps not exactly what you seek for. 
 Gentlemen who wear your cloth seldom visit us." 
 
 " 'No, Crillac," interrupted one of the bystanders ; " I 
 never heard that you advertised yourself as fashioNcr to 
 the Polytechnique, or tailor in ordinary to the corps of 
 Pompiers." 
 
 " You are insolent, sir," said I, turning fiercely round 
 vpon the speaker. The words were scarce spoken, wiicv
 
 224 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.'* 
 
 the parly sprang to their legs; some endeavonrmg to 
 restrain the temper of the young* man addressed, others, 
 pressing around, called on me to apologize on the spot for 
 what I had said. 
 
 *' No, no : let us have his name — his name," said three 
 or four in a breath. " De Beauvais will take the punish- 
 ment into his own hands." 
 
 '' Be advised, young gentleman ; unsay your words, and 
 go your way," said an elder one of the party, while he 
 added, in a whisper, " De Beauvais has no equal in Paris 
 witH the small sword." 
 
 " There is my address," said I, seizing a pen, and writ- 
 ing on a piece of paper before me. 
 
 " Ha! " said De Beauvais, as he threw his eye on the 
 writing, " he has got his grade, it seems — all the better 
 that ; I half shrunk from the ridicule of an afi'air with a 
 cadet. So you are serious about this ? " 
 
 " Sir ! " said 1, all my efforts being barely enough to re- 
 press my rising passion. 
 
 " Well, well^ — enough about it. To-raoiTow morning — 
 the Bois de Boulogne — the rapier. You understand me, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 I nodded and was about to leave the place, when I 
 remembered thar, in my confusion, I had neither asked 
 my antagonist's name nor rank. "And you, sir," said I, 
 *' may I have the honour to learn who you are ? " 
 
 *' jBardieu I my young friend," cried one of the others, 
 *' the information will not strengthen your nerves ; but if 
 you will have it, he is the Marquis de Beauvais, and 
 tolerably well known in that little locality where he ex- 
 pects to meet you to-morrow." 
 
 " Till then, sir," replied I, touching my cap, as I turned 
 into the street — not, however, before a burst of laughter 
 rang through the party at a witticism of which I was the 
 object, and the latter part of which only could I catch. 
 It was De Beauvais who spoke. " In which case, Crillac, 
 another artist must take his measure." The allusion 
 could not be mistaken, and, I confess, I did not relish it 
 like the others. 
 
 I should, I fear, have fallen very low in the estimate of 
 my companions and associates could the real state of 
 my heart at that moment have been laid open to them.
 
 A SURPRISE. 225 
 
 It was, I freely own, one of great depression. But an 
 hour ago, and life was opening before me with many a 
 bright and cheerful hope ; and now, in an instant, was my 
 fortune clouded. Let me not be misunderstood : among 
 the rules of the Poly technique duelling was strictly for- 
 bidden, and although numerous transgressions occurred, so 
 determined was the head of the Government to put down 
 the practice, that the individuals thus erring were either 
 reduced in rank, or their promotion stopped for a con- 
 siderable period ; while the personal displeasure of General 
 Bonaparte rarely failed to show itself with reference to 
 them. Now it was clear to me that some unknown friend, 
 some secret well-wisher, had interested himself in my 
 humble fate — that I owed my newly-acquired rank to his 
 kindness and good offices. What, then, migh.t I not be 
 forfeiting by this unhappy rencontre ? Was it not more 
 than likely that such an instance of misconduct, the very 
 day of my promotion, might determine the whole tenor of 
 my future career ? What misrepresentation might not 
 gain currency about my conduct ? These were sad re- 
 flections indeed, and every moment but increased them. 
 
 When I reached the college, I called on one of my 
 friends ; but not finding him in his quarters, I wrote a 
 few lines, begging he would come over to me the moment 
 he returned. This done, I sat down alone, to think over 
 my adventure, and devise, if I could, some means to pre- 
 vent its publicity, or, if not that, its being garbled and 
 misstated. Hour after hour rolled past — my wandering 
 thoughts took no note of time — and the deep-tolled 
 bell of the Polytechnique struck eight before I was aware 
 the day was nearly over. Nine was the hour mentioned on 
 my card of invitation ; it flashed suddenly on me. What 
 was to be done ? I had no uniform save that of the 
 *'ecoZe." Such a costume in such a place would, I 
 feared, be considered too ridiculous ; yet to absent my- 
 self altogether was impossible. Never was I in such a 
 dilemma. All my endeavours to rescue myself were fruit- 
 less ; and at last, worn out with the conflict of my doubts 
 and fears, I stepped into the fiacre and set out for the 
 Palace. 
 
 YOL. I,
 
 226 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE ** PA VILLON DE FLORE." 
 
 As my humble carriage slackened its pace to a walk on 
 approaching the Place Carousel, I for the first time per- 
 ceived that the open space around was thronged with 
 equipages, moving slowly along in line towards the gate of 
 the Palace. A picket of dragoons was drawn up at the 
 great archway, and mounted gendarmes rode up and down 
 to preserve order in the crowd. Before me stretched the 
 long fa9ade of the Tuileries, now lighted up in its entire 
 extent. The rich hangings and costly furniture could be 
 seen even where I was. 
 
 What a sinking sense of shame overwhelmed me as I 
 thought of my humble position amid that mighty concourse 
 of all that was great and illustrious in France ; and how I 
 shrunk within myself as I thought of the poor scholar of 
 the Polytechnique — for such my dress proclaimed me — 
 mixing with the most distinguished diplomatists and 
 generals of Europe ! The rebuke I had met with from my 
 colonel in the morning was still fresh in my recollection, 
 and I dreaded something like a repetition of it. 
 
 " Oh ! why had I not known that this was a grand re- 
 ception ? " was the ever-rising thought of my mind. My 
 card of invitation said a soiree : even that I might have 
 dared — but here was a regular levee ! Already I was near 
 enough to hear the names announced at the foot of the 
 grand staircase, where ambassadors, senators, ministers of 
 state, and ofl&cers of the highest rank succeeded each 
 other in quick succession. My carriage stood now next 
 but two. I was near enough to see the last arrival hand 
 his card to the huissier in waiting, and hear his title called 
 out, " Le Ministre de la Guerre," when the person in the 
 carriage before me cried to his coachman, " To the left — 
 the Pavilion de Flore j" and at the same moment the car-
 
 THE *• PAVILLON DE FLOUE." 227 
 
 riage turned from the line, and drove rapidly towards a 
 distant wing of the Palace. 
 
 " Move up ! move up ! " shouted a dragoon ; " or are 
 you for the soiree de Madame ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes ! " said I, hastily, as I heard his question. 
 
 "Follow that carriage, then," said he, pointing with 
 his sabre ; and in a moment we left the dense file, and 
 followed the sounds of the retiring wheels towards a dark 
 corner of the Palace, where a single lamp over a gate was 
 the only light to guide us. Never shall I forget the sense 
 of relief I felt as I lay back in the carnage, and listened 
 to the hum and din of the vast crowd growing each moment 
 fainter. *' Thank Heaven," said I, " it's no levee." Scarce 
 half a dozen equipages stood around the door as we drove 
 up, and a single dragoon was the guard of honour. 
 
 " Whom shall I announce, sir ? " said a huissier inhldiok^ 
 whose manner was as deferential as though my appearance 
 bespoke an ambassador. I gave my name and followed 
 him up a wide stair, where the deep velvet carpet left no 
 footfall audible. A large bronze candelabra, supporting a 
 lilaze of wax-lights, diffused a light like day on every side. 
 The doors opened before us as if by magic, and I found 
 myself in. an antechamber, where the huissier, repeating 
 my name to another in waiting, retired. Passing through 
 this, we entered a small drawing-room, in which sat two 
 persons engaged at a chess-table, but who never looked up, 
 or noticed us, as we proceeded. At last the two wings of a 
 wide folding-door were thrown open, and my name was 
 announced in a low but audible voice. 
 
 The salon into which I now entered was a large and 
 splendidly-furnished apartment, whose light, tempered by a 
 species of abat-jour^ gave a kind of soft mysterious effect 
 to everything about, and made even the figures, as they 
 sat in little groups, appear something almost dramatic in 
 their character. The conversation, too, was maintained in 
 a half-subdued tone — a gentle murmur of voices, that, 
 mingling with the swell of music in another and distant 
 apartment, and the plash of a small fountain in a vase of 
 gold-fish in the room itself, made a strange but most pleas- 
 ing assemblage of sounds. Even in the momentary glance 
 which, on entering, I threw around me, I perceived that 
 no studied etiquette or courtly stateliuess prevailed. The 
 
 Q ii
 
 228 TOM BURKE OP " OURS." 
 
 guests were disposed in every attitude of lounging efise and 
 careless abandon ; and it was plain to see that all, or nearly 
 all, about were intimates of the place. 
 
 As the door closed behind me, I stood half tineertain 
 how to proceed. Unhappily, I knew little of the habitudes 
 of the great world ; and every step I took was a matter of 
 difficulty. 
 
 '* I think you will find Madame Bonaparte in that room," 
 said a middle-aged and handsome man, whose mild voice 
 and gentle smile did much to set me at my ease ; " but 
 perhaps you don't know her." 
 
 I muttered something I meant to be a negative, to which 
 he immediately replied, — 
 
 *' Then let me present you. There is no ceremony here, 
 and I shall be your groom of the chambers — but here she 
 is. Madame la Consulesse, this young gentleman desires to 
 make his respects." 
 
 " Ha ! our friend of the Poly technique — Monsieur 
 Burke, is it not ? " 
 
 "Yes, Madame," said I, bowing low, and blushing 
 deeply as I recognized, in the splendidly-attired and 
 beautiful person before me, the lady who so kindly held 
 the water to my lips the day of my accident at the school. 
 
 " Why, they told me you were promoted — a hussar, I 
 think." 
 
 " Yes, Madame— but — but " 
 
 " You are too fond of old associations to part from them 
 easily*," said she, laughing. " Come here, Stephanie, and 
 see a miracle of manhood, that could resist all the clin- 
 quant of a hussar for the simple costume of the Ecole 
 Militaire. Monsieur de Custine, this is my young friend 
 of whom I told you the other day." 
 
 The gentleman, the same who had so kindly noticed me, 
 bowed politely. 
 
 " And now I must leave you together, for I see they 
 are teasing poor Madame Lefebvre." And with a smile 
 she passed on into a small boudoir from which the sounds 
 of merry laughter were proceeding. 
 
 " You don't know any one here ? " said Monsieur de 
 Custine, as he motioned me to a place beside him on a 
 sofa ; " nor is there any very remarkable person here to 
 point out to you this evening. The First Consul's
 
 THE '* PA VILLON DE FLCRE." 229 
 
 levee absorbs all tlie celebrities — but by-and-by they 
 will drop in to pay their respects, and you'll see them all. 
 The handsome woman yonder with her fan before her is 
 Madame Beauharnais Lavalette, and the good-looking 
 young fellow in the staff uniform is Monsieur de Melcy, a 
 stepson of General Rapp." 
 
 " And the large handsome man wnth the embroidered 
 coat who passed through so hurriedly ? " 
 
 " Yes, he is somebody — that's Decres, the Ministre de la 
 Marine — he is gone to the levee ; and there, next the door, 
 with his eyes cast down, and his hands folded, that is the 
 Abbe Maynal, one of the most * spirituel ' men of the day ; 
 but I suppose you'd much rather look at the beauties of 
 the Court than hear long stories about literature and 
 politics ; and there is the gem of loveliness among 
 them." 
 
 1 turned my eyes as he spoke, and close beside me, 
 engaged in an eager conversation with an old lady, stood 
 a young and most beautiful girl. Her long hair, through 
 which, in the then mode, violets were wreathed and inter- 
 woven, descended in rich masses of curl over a neck white 
 as marble. The corsage of her dress, which, in imitation 
 of Greek costume, was made low, displayed her well- 
 rounded shoulders to the greatest advantage ; and though 
 rather below than above the middle size, there was a 
 dignity and grace in the air of her figure, and a certain 
 elegance about her slightest movements, that was most 
 fascinating. 
 
 " And the ' Rose de Provence ' — how is she this 
 evening ? " said my companion, rising suddenly, and pre- 
 senting himself with a smile before her. 
 
 " Ah ! you here, Monsieur de Custine ? we thought you 
 had been at Nancy." 
 
 The accent, the tone of voice in which she said these 
 few words, sent a thrill through me, and as I looked again, 
 r recognized the young lady who stood at Madame 
 Bonaparte's side on the memorable day of my fall. Per- 
 haps my astonishment ma.de me start; for she turned 
 round towards me, and with a soft and most charming 
 smile saluted me. 
 
 " How they are laughing in that room ! " said she, 
 turning towards her other companions. ''Monsieur de
 
 230 TOM BUKKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 Custine has deserted his dear friend this evening, and 
 left her to her unassisted defence." 
 
 *' Ma foi,'' replied he, " I got ill rewarded for my 
 advocac3^ It was only last week, when I helped her out 
 through one of her blunders in grammar, she called me a 
 *ganache ' for my pains." , 
 
 " How very ungrateful ! You that have been inter- 
 preter to her — her tutor for the entire winter — without ' 
 whom she could neither have obtained an ice nor a glass 
 of water." 
 
 " So is it ; but you are all ungrateful. But T think I 
 had better go and pay my respects to her ; pray come along 
 with me." 
 
 I followed the party into a small room fitted up like a tent, 
 where, amid some half-dozen persons assembled around 
 like an audience, sat a large, florid, and good-looking 
 person, her costume of scarlet velvet, turban, and robe 
 adding to the flushed and high-coloured expression of her 
 features. She was talking in a loud voice, and with an 
 accent of such patois as I should much more naturally 
 have expected in a remote faubourg than in the gilded 
 salons of the Tuileries. She had been relating sonte 
 anecdotes of military life, which came within her own 
 experience ; and evidently amused her auditory as much 
 by her manner as the matter of her narrative. 
 
 " Oui^ parhleu^^^ said she, drawing a long breath, " I was 
 only the wife of a sergeant in the ' Gardes Fran9aises ' 
 jn those days ; but they were pleasant times, and the men 
 one used to see were men indeed. They were not as much 
 laced in gold, nor had not so much finery on their jackets ; 
 but they were bold, bronzed, manly fellows. You'd not 
 see such a poor, miserable little fellow as De Custine there, 
 in a whole demi-brigade." When the laugh this speech 
 caused, and in which her own merry voice joined, sub- 
 sided, she continued : " Where will you find, now, any- 
 thing like the Twenty-second of the line ? Pioche was in 
 that — poor Pioche ! — I tied up his jaw in Egypt when it 
 was smashed by a bullet. I remember, too, when the 
 regiment came back ; your husband, the General, reviewed 
 them in the court below, and poor Pioche was quite 
 offended at not being noticed. ' We were good friends,' 
 quoth he, ' at Moant Tabor, but he forgets all that now ;
 
 THE " PA VILLON DE FLORE." 231 
 
 ttat's what comes of a rise in the world. " Le Petit 
 Caporal " was humble enough once, I warrant him ; but 
 now he can't remember me.' Well, they were ordered to 
 march past in line, and there was Pioche, with his great 
 dark eyes fixed on the General, and his big black beard 
 flowing down to his waist ; but no, he never noticed him 
 no more than the tambour that beat the rappel. He 
 could bear it no longer. His head was twisting with im- 
 patience and chagrin ; and he sprang out of the lines, and 
 seizing a brass gun — a, piece dequatre — he mounted it likt 
 a fusee to his shoulder, and marched past, calling out, 
 ' Tu ' — he always tu-toied him — * tu te rappelles maintenantt 
 n'esf-ce pas, petit / ' " 
 
 No one enjoyed this little story more than Madame 
 Bonaparte herself, who laughed for several minutes after 
 it was over. Story after story did she pour forth in this 
 way ; most of them, however, had their merit in some 
 personality or other, which, while recognized by the rest, 
 had no attraction for me. There was in all she said the 
 easy self-complacency of a kind-hearted but vulgar woman, 
 vain of her husband, proud of his services, and perfectly 
 indifferent to the habits and usages of a society whose 
 manners she gave herself no trouble to imitate, nor of 
 whose ridicule was she in the least afraid. 
 
 I sauntered from the room alone, to wander through the 
 other apartments, where objects of art and curiosities of 
 every kind were profusely scattered. The marbles of 
 Greece and Rome, the strange carvings of Egypt, the rich 
 vases of Sevres were there, amid cabinet pictures of the 
 rarest and most costly kind. Those delicious landscapes 
 of the time of Louis XV., where every charm of nature 
 and art was conveyed upon the canvas ; the cool arbours 
 of Versailles, with their terraced promenades and hissing 
 fountains — the subjects which Vanloo loved to paint, and 
 which that voluptuous Court loved to contemplate ; the 
 long alleys of shady green, where gay groups were 
 strolling in the mellow softness of an autumn sunset; 
 those proud dames whose sweeping garments brushed the 
 velvet turf, and at whose sides, uncovered, walked the 
 chivalry of France, how did they live again in the bright 
 pencil of Moucheron, and how did they carry one in fancy 
 to the great days of the Monarchy. Strange place for
 
 232 TOM BUEKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 them, too, the boudoir of her whose husband had uprooted 
 the ancient dynasty they commemorated — had erased from 
 the list of kings that proudest of all the royal stocks in 
 Europe. Was it the narrow-minded glory of the usurper 
 that loved to look upon the greatness he had humbled, 
 that brought them there ? or was it rather the well-spring 
 of that proud hope just rising in his heart that he was to 
 be successor of those great kings, whose history formed 
 the annals of Europe itself ? As I wandered on, captivated 
 in every sense by the charm of what to me was a scene in 
 fairyland, I came suddenly before a picture of Josephine, 
 surrounded by the ladies of her Court. It was by Isabey, 
 and had all the delicate beauty and transparent finish of 
 that delightful painter. Beside it was another portrait by 
 the same artist, and I started back in amazement at the 
 resemblance. Never had colour better caught the rich 
 tint of a southern complexion ; the liquid softness of eye, 
 the full and sparkling intelligence of ready wit and bright 
 fancy, all beamed in that lovely face. It needed not the 
 golden letters in the frame which called it ''La Rose de 
 Provence." I sat down before it unconsciously, delighted 
 that I might gaze on such beauty unconstrained. The 
 white hand leaned on a balustrade, and seemed almost as 
 if stretching from the very canvas. I could have knelt 
 and kissed it. That was the very look she wore the hour 
 I saw her first — it had never left my thoughts day or 
 night : the half-rising blush, the slightly-averted head, the 
 mingled look of impatience and kindness — all were there ; 
 and so entranced had I become, that I feared each instant 
 lest the vision would depart, and leave me dark and deso- 
 late. The silence of the room was almost unbroken— a 
 distant murmur of voices, the tones of a harp, were all I 
 heard, and I sat, I know not how long, thus wrapped in 
 ecstasy. 
 
 A tall screen of Chinese fabric separated the part of the 
 room I occupied from the rest, and left me free to contem- 
 plate alone those charms which each moment grew stronger 
 upon me. An hour might perhaps have thus elapsed, when 
 suddenly I heard the sound of voices approaching, but in 
 a different direction from that of the salons. They were 
 raised above the ordinary tone of speaking, and one in 
 particular sounded in a strange accent of mingled passion
 
 THE "PAVILLON DE FLORE." 233 
 
 and sarcasm, which 1 shall never forget. The door of the 
 room was flung open before I could rise from my chair, 
 and two persons entered, neither of whom could I see from 
 my position behind the screen. 
 
 " I ask you, again and again, is the treaty of Amiens a 
 treaty, or is it not ? " said a harsh, imperious tone T at 
 once recognized as that of the First Consul, while his 
 voice actually trembled with anger. 
 
 "My Lord Whitworth observed, if I mistake not," 
 replied a measured and soft accent, where a certain 
 courtier-like unction prevailed, " that the withdrawal of 
 the British troops from Malta would follow, on our making 
 a similar step as regards our forces in Switzerland and 
 Piedmont." 
 
 " What right have they to make such a condition ? 
 They never complained of the occupation of Switzerland 
 at the time of the treaty. I will not hear of such a stipu- 
 lation. I tell you. Monsieur de Talleyrand, I'd rather see 
 tlie English in the Faubourg St. Antoine than in the 
 Island of Malta. Why should we treat with England as 
 a continental power ? Of India, if she will — and as to 
 Egypt, I told my Lord that sooner or later it must belong 
 to France." 
 
 " A frankness he has reason to be thankful for," observed 
 M. de Talleyrand, in a voice of sarcastic slyness. 
 
 *' Que voulez-vous? " replied Bonaparte, in a raised tone; 
 "they want a war, and they shall h ve it: what matter 
 the cause — such treaties of peace as these had better be 
 covered with black crape." Then dropping his voice to a 
 half-whisper, he added : " You must see him to-morrow, 
 explain how the attacks of the English press have irri- 
 tated me — how deeply wounded I must feel at such a 
 license permitted under the very eyes of a friendly govern- 
 ment — plots against my lile encouraged — assassination 
 countenanced. Repeat that Sebastiani's mission to Egypt 
 is merely commercial. That although prepared for war, 
 our wish, the wish of Fi-ance, is peace. That the arma- 
 ments in Holland arc destined for the colonies. Show 
 yourself disposed to treat, but not to make advances. 
 Eeje(.'t the word ultimatum^ if he employ it. The phrase 
 implies a parley between a superior and an inferior. This 
 is no longer the France that remembers an English com-
 
 234 TOM BUEKE OF '* OURS." 
 
 missary at Dunkirk. If he do not use the word, then 
 remark on its absence — say, these are not times for longer 
 anxiety — that we must know, at last, to what we are to 
 look. Tell him the Bourbons are not still on the throne 
 here. Let him feel with whom he has to deal." 
 
 " And if he demand his passport," gravely observed 
 Talleyrand, " you can be in the country for a day — at 
 Plombieres — at St. Cloud." 
 
 A low, subdued laugh followed these words, and they 
 walked forward towards the salons, still conversing, but 
 in a whispered tone. 
 
 A cold perspiration broke over my face and forehead, 
 the drops fell heavily down my cheek, as I sat an un- 
 willing listener of this eventful dialogue. That the fate 
 of Europe was in the balance I knew full well — and, 
 ardently as I longed for war, the dreadful picture that 
 rose before me damped much of my ardour — while a 
 sense of my personal danger, if discovered where I was, 
 made me tremble from head to foot. It was, then, with a 
 sinking spirit, that I retraced my steps towards the salons^ 
 not knowing if my absence had not been remarked and 
 commented on. How little was I versed in such society, 
 where each came and went as it pleased him ; where 
 the most brilliant beauty, the most spiritual conversa- 
 tionalist, left no gap by absence, and where such as I 
 were no more noticed than the statues that held the wax- 
 lights. 
 
 The salons were now crowded — ministers of state, 
 ambassadors, general officers in their splendid uniforms, 
 filled the apartments, in which the din of conversation 
 and the sounds of laughter mingled. Yet, through the 
 air of gaiety which reigned throughout — the tone of light 
 and flippant smartness which prevailed — I thought I 
 could mark here and there, among some of the ministers, 
 an appearance of excitement, and a look of preoccupa- 
 tion, little in unison with the easy intimacy which a'l 
 seemed to possess. I looked on every side for the First 
 Consul himself, but he was nowhere to be seen. Mon- 
 sieur Talleyrand, however, remained — I recognized him 
 by his soft and measured accent, as he sat beside Madame 
 Bonaparte, and was relating some story in a low voice, at 
 which she seemed greatly amused. I could not help
 
 THE *'PAVILLON DE FLOKE.'* 235 
 
 wondering at the lively and animated character of features, 
 beneath which were concealed the dark secrets of state 
 affairs, the tangled mysteries of political intrigue. To 
 look on hira, you would have said, " There sits one whoso 
 easy life flows on, unruffled by this world's chances." Not 
 so the tall and swarthy man, whose dark moustache hangs 
 far below his chin, and who leans on the chimney-piece 
 yonder — the large veins of his forehead are swollen and 
 knitted, and his deep voice seems to tremble with strong 
 emotion as he speaks. 
 
 " Pray, monsieur, who is that officer yonder ? " said I, 
 to a gentleman beside me, and whose shoulder was half 
 turned away. 
 
 "That," said he, raising his glass, — "that is Savary, 
 the Minister of Police. And, pardon, you are Mr. Burke 
 — is't not so ? " 
 
 I started as he pronounced my name, and looking 
 fixedly at him, recognized the antagonist with whom I w.is 
 to measure swords the next morning in the Bois de 
 Boulogne ; I coloured at the awkwardness of my situa- 
 tion, but he, with more ease and self-possession, re- 
 sumed, — 
 
 " Monsieur, this is, to me at least, a very fortunate 
 meeting. I have called twice, in the hope of seeing yoix 
 this evening, and am overjoyed now to find you here. I 
 behaved very ""ll to you this morning — I feel it now — I 
 almost felt it at the time. If you will accept my apology 
 for what has occurred, I make it most freely. My 
 character is in no need of an affair to make me known 
 as a man of courage — yours, there can be no doubt of. 
 May I hope you agree with me ? 1 see you hesitate — 
 perhaps I anticipate the reason — you do not know how 
 far you can, or ought to receive such an amende P " I 
 nodded, and he continued : " Well, I am rather a practised 
 person in these matters, and I can safely say you may." 
 
 " Be it so, then," said I, taking the hand he proffered, 
 and shaking it warmly ; *' I am too young in the world to 
 be my own guide, and I feel you would not deceive me." 
 
 A gratified look, and a renewed pressure of the hand, 
 replied to my speech. 
 
 " One favour more — you mustn't refuse me. Let us 
 sup together — my caiecke is below — people are already
 
 236 TOM BURKE OF *' OUKS." 
 
 taking their leave here — and, if you have no particular 
 reason for remaining " 
 
 " None — 1 know no one." 
 
 ^^ Allons, then," said he, gaily taking ray arm; and I 
 soon found myself descending the marble stairs, beside 
 the man I had expected to stand opposed to in deadly 
 conflict a few hours later. 
 
 =^Il L_X 
 
 CHAPTER XXy. 
 
 THE SUPPER AT " BEAUVILLIERS'S." 
 
 " Where to ? " asked the coachman, as we entered the 
 caleche. 
 
 " Beauvilliers," said the Marquis, throwing himself back 
 in his seat, and remaining for some m.inutes silent. At 
 last, as if suddenly recollecting that we were strangers to 
 each other, he said, "You know Beauvilliers, of course?" 
 
 " No," replied I, with hesitation ; " I really have not 
 any acquaintance." 
 
 " Parbleu!'' said he, laughing, "you ought at least to 
 have his friendship. He is the most celebrated restaura- 
 teur of this or any other age ; no one has carried the great 
 art of the cuisine to a higher perfection, and his cellars are 
 unequalled in Paris — but you shall pronounce for yourself." 
 
 " Unhappily my judgment is of little value. Do you 
 forget that the diet-roll of the Poly technique is a bud 
 school for gastronomy ? " 
 
 " But a glorious preparation for it," interrupted he. 
 *' How delightful must be the enjoyment to the unsophis- 
 ticated palate of those first impressions which a carpe a la 
 Chambord, a pheasant trujf'e, a dish of ortolans a la Pro- 
 ven^ale inspire ! But here we are. Our party is a small 
 one — an old prefet of the south, an abbe, a secretary of the
 
 THE SUPPER AT " BEAUVTLLIERS's." 237 
 
 Hussian embassy, and ourselves." This information he 
 gave me as we mounted a narrow and windiug stair, 
 dimly lighted by a single lamp. On reaching the landing, 
 hov^^ever, a waiter stood in readiness to usher us into a 
 small apartment decorated with all the luxury of gold and 
 plate glass, so profusely employed in the interior of all 
 caies. The guests already mentioned were there, and evi- 
 dently awaiting our arrival with no small impatience. 
 
 " As usual, Henri," said the old man, whom I guessed 
 to be the pret'et — " as usual — an hour behind your appoint- 
 ment." 
 
 " Forgive him, monsieur," said the abbe, with a simper. 
 "The fascinations of a Court " 
 
 The grimace the old man made at this last word threw 
 the whole party into a roar of laughter, which only ceased 
 by the Marquis presenting me in all form to each of his 
 friends. 
 
 " A table, a table, for Heaven's sake ! " cried the prefet, 
 ringing the bell, and bustling about the room with a 
 fidgety impatience. 
 
 This was^ however, unneeded ; for in less than five 
 minutes the supper made its appearance, and we took our 
 places at the board. 
 
 The encomiums pronounced as each dish came and went 
 satisfied me that the feast was unexceptionable. As for 
 myself, I ate away, only conscious that I had never been so 
 regaled before, and wondering within me how far ingen- 
 uity had been exercised to produce the endless variety 
 that appeared at table. The wine, too, circulated freely ; 
 and Champagne, Bordeaux, and Chambertin followed each 
 other in succession, as the different meats indicated the 
 peculiar vintage. In the conversation I could take no 
 part ; it was entirely gastronomic ; and no man ever 
 existed more ignorant of the seasons that promised well 
 for truffles, or the state of the atmosphere that threatened 
 acidity to the vines. 
 
 " Well, Henri," said the prefet, when the dessert made 
 its appearance, and the time for concluding the gourmand 
 dissertation seemed arrived — "well, and what news from 
 the Tuileries ? " 
 
 "Nothing — absolutely nothing," said he, carelessly. 
 " The same people ; the same topics ; the eternal game of
 
 238 TOM BUEKE OF '* OURS." 
 
 tric-trac with old Madame d'Argerton ; Denon torment- 
 ing" some new victim with a mummy or a map of Egypt ; 
 Madame Lefebvre relating camp anecdotes " 
 
 "Ah, she is delightful !" interrupted the prefet. 
 
 " So thinks your chief, at least, AskoflP," said De 
 Beauvais, turning to the Russian. " He sat on the sofa 
 beside her for a good hour and a half." 
 
 " Who sat near him on the other side ? " slyly asked the 
 other. 
 
 " On the other side ? I forget — no, I remember it was 
 Monsieur de Talleyrand and Madame Bonaparte ; and, 
 now I think of it, he must have overheard what they 
 said." 
 
 " Is it true, then, that Bonaparte insulted the English 
 ambassador at the reception ? AskoJBF" heard it as he left 
 the Rue St. Honore." 
 
 " Perfectly true. The scene was a most outrageous 
 one ; and Lord Whitworth retired, declaring to Talley- 
 rand — at least, so they say — that without an apology being 
 made, he would abstain from any future visits at the 
 Tuileries." 
 
 " But what is to come of it ? — tell me that. What is to 
 be the result?" 
 
 '■'' Pardieu! I know not. A reconciliation to-morrow; 
 an article in the Moniteur ; a dinner at the Court; and 
 then another rupture, and another article." 
 
 " Or a war," said the Russian, looking cautiously about, 
 to see if his opinion met any advocacy. 
 
 " What say you to that, mon ami ? " said De Beauvais, 
 turning to me. " Glad enough, I suppose, you'll be to 
 win your epaulettes as colonel." 
 
 "That, too, is on the cards," said the abbe, sipping his 
 glass quietly. " One can credit anything these times." 
 
 " Even the Catholic religion, abbe," said De Beauva'S, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Or the Restoration," replied the abbe, with a half- 
 malicious look at the piefet, which seemed greatly to 
 amuse the Russian. 
 
 " Or the Restoration ! " repeated the prefet, solemnly, 
 after him — "or the Restoration!" And then filling his 
 glass to the brim, he drained it to the bottom. 
 
 " It is a hussar corps you are appointed to ? " said De
 
 THE SUPPER AT " CEAUVILLIERs's." 239 
 
 Beauvais, hastily turning towards me, as if anxious to 
 engage my attention. 
 
 " Yes ; the liuitihne^'' said I : "do you know them ? " 
 
 "No ; I have few acquaintances in the army." 
 
 ** His father, sir," said the pref'et, with a voice of con- 
 siderable emphasis, " was an old garde dii corps in those 
 times when the sword was only worn by gentlemen." 
 
 " So much the worse for the army," whispered the abbe 
 in an undertone, that was suflGlciently audible to the rest 
 to cause an outbreak of laughter. 
 
 " And when," continued the prefet, undisturbed by the 
 interruption, " birth had its privileges." 
 
 "Among the rest, that of being the first beheaded," 
 murmured the inexorable abbe. 
 
 " Were truffles dear before the Revolution, prefet ? " 
 said De Beauvais, with a half-impertinent air of simplicity. 
 
 " No, sir; nothing was dear save the king's favour." 
 
 "Which could also be had for paying for," quoth the 
 abbe. 
 
 " The 3foniteu.r of this evening, gentlemen," said the 
 waiter, entering with the paper, whose publication had 
 been delayed some two hours beyond the usual period. 
 
 "Ah, let us see what we have here," said De Beauvais, 
 opening the journal and reading aloud : 
 
 " ' General Espinasse is appointed to the command of 
 the fourth corps, stationed at Lille, and Major-General 
 
 Lannes to the fortress of Montreil, vacant by ' No 
 
 matter — here it is. ' Does the English Government sup- 
 pose that France is one of her Indian possessions, without 
 the means to declare her wrongs, or the power to avenge 
 them ? Can they believe that rights are not reciprocal, 
 and that the observance of one contracting party involves 
 nothing on the part of the other?' " 
 
 " There, there, De Beauvais ; don't worry us with that 
 tiresome nonsense." 
 
 " ' Or,' continued the marquis, still reading aloud, * do 
 they presume to say that we shall issue no commercial 
 instructions to our agents abroad lest English susceptibility 
 should be wounded by any prospect of increased advantages 
 to our trade ? ' " 
 
 " Our trtide ! " echoed the prefet, with a most contemp- 
 tuous intonation on the word.
 
 240 TOM BUKKE OF " OURS.** 
 
 " Ah ! for those good old times, when there was none ! " 
 said the abbe, with such a semblance of honest sincerity 
 as drew an approving smile from the old man. 
 
 "Hear this, prefet," said De Beauvais : "'From the 
 times of Colbert to the present ' — what think you ? the 
 allusion, right royal, is it not? — 'From the times of 
 Colbert our negotiations have been always conducted in 
 this manner.' " 
 
 "Sir, I beseech you read no more of that intolerable 
 nonsense." 
 
 " And here, continued the Marquis, " follows a special 
 invocation of the benediction of Heaven on the just efforts 
 which France is called on to make, to repress the insolent 
 aggression of England — abbe, this concerns you." 
 
 •' Of course," said he, meekly. " I am quite prepared to 
 pray for the party in power : if Heaven but leaves them 
 there, I must conclude they deserve it." 
 
 A doubtful look, as if he but half understood him, was 
 the only reply the old prefet made to this speech ; at which 
 the laughter of the others could no longer be repressed, 
 and burst forth most heartily. 
 
 " But let us read on. Whose style is this, think you ? 
 — ' France possessed within her dominion every nation 
 from the North Sea to the Adriatic; and how did she 
 employ her power ? — in restoring to Batavia self-govern- 
 ment, in giving liberty to Switzerland, and in ceding Venice 
 to Austria, while the troops at the very gates of Vienna 
 are halted and repass the Bhine once more. Are these 
 the evidences of ambition — are these the signs of that 
 overweening lust of territory with which England dares to 
 reproach us ? And if such passions prevailed, what was 
 easier than to have indulged them ? Was not Italy our 
 own ? Were not Batavia, Switzerland, Portugal, all ours ? 
 But no, peace was the desire of the nation — peace at any 
 cost. The colony of St. Domingo, that immense territory, 
 was not conceived a sacrifice too great to secure such a 
 blessing.' " 
 
 " Pardieu ! De Beauvais, I can bear it no longer." 
 
 " You must let me give you the reverse of the medal. 
 Hear now what England has done." 
 
 "He writes well, at least for the taste of newspaper 
 readers," said the abbe, musingly ; " but still he onlj
 
 THE SUPPER AT " BEAUVILLIERS*S.** 241 
 
 understands the pen as he does the sword ; it must be a 
 •weapon of attack." 
 
 " Who is the writer, then ? " said I, in a half- whisper. 
 
 " Who ! — can you doubt it ?• — Bonaparte himself. What 
 other man in France would venture to pronounce so autho- 
 I'itatively on the prospects and the intentions of the 
 nation ? " 
 
 " Or who," said the abbe, in his dry manner, " could 
 speak with such accuracy of the ' Illustrious and Magnani- 
 mous Chief that rules her destinies ? " 
 
 "It is growing late," said the prefet, with the air of one 
 who took no pleasure in the conversation, " and I start for 
 Rouen to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Come, come, prefet, one bumper before we part," said 
 De Beauvais ; " something has put you out of temper this 
 evening ; yet I think I know a toast can restore you to 
 good humour again." 
 
 The old man lifted his hand with a gesture of caution, 
 while he suddenly directed a look towards me. 
 
 " No, no ; don't be afraid," said De Beauvais, laughing ; 
 " I think you'll acquit me of any rashness : fill up. then, 
 and here let us drink to one in the old palace of the Tuileries 
 who, at this moment, can bring us back in memory to the 
 most glorious days of our country." 
 
 " Pardieii ! that must be the First Consul, I suppose," 
 whispered the abbe to the prefet, who dashed his glass 
 with such violence on the table as to smash it in a 
 hundred pieces. 
 
 " See what comes of impatience," cried De Beauvais, 
 laughing ; " and now you have not wherewithal to pledge 
 my fair cousin the ' Rose of Provence.' " 
 
 " The Rose of Provence," said each in turn, while, 
 excited by the wine, of which I had drunk freely, and 
 carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment, I re* 
 echoed the words in such a tone as drew every eye upon me. 
 
 " Ah ! you know my cousin, then ? " said De Beauvais, 
 looking at me with a strange mixture of curiosity and 
 astonishment. 
 
 "' No," said I, " I have seen her 1 saw her this even- 
 ing at the Palace." 
 
 "Well, I must present you," said he, smiling good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 242 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 Before I could mutter my acknowledgment, the party 
 had risen, and were taking leave of each other for the 
 night. 
 
 *'I shall see you soon again, Burke," said De Beauvais,. 
 as he pressed my hand warmly ; " and now, adieu." With 
 that we parted ; and I took my way back towards the 
 Poly technique, my mind full of strange incidents of this 
 the most eventful night in my quiet and monotonous 
 existence. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYL 
 
 THE **TWO VISITS." 
 
 Amid all the stirring duties of the next day — amid all the 
 excitement of a new position — my mind recurred con- 
 tinually to the events of the previous twenty-four hours. 
 Now dwelling on the soiree at the Palace — the unac- 
 customed splendour, the rank, the beauty I had witnessed ; 
 now on that eventful moment I spent behind the screen ; 
 then on my strange rencontre with my antagonist, and 
 that still stranger supper that followed it. 
 
 It was not, indeed, without certain misgivings, which I 
 could neither account for nor dismiss from my mind, that 
 I reflected on the character and conversation of my new 
 associates. 
 
 The tone of levity in which they dared to speak of him 
 whose name was to me something bordering on idolatry — 
 the liberty with which they ventured to canvass his 
 measures and his opinions, even to ridiculing tliem, were 
 so many puzzles to my mind; and I half reproached my- 
 self for having tamely listened to language which now, 
 as I thought over it, seemed to demand my notice. Totally 
 ignorant of all political intrigue — unconscious that any 
 party did or could exist in France, save that of the First 
 Consul himself — I could find no solution to the enigma.
 
 THE "two visits." 243 
 
 and at last began to think that I had been exaggerating 
 to myself the words 1 had heard, and permitting my 
 ignorance to weigh with me, where, with more knowledge, 
 1 should have seen nothing reprehensible. And if the 
 spirit in which they discussed the acts of Bonaparte dif- 
 fered from what I had been accustomed to, might it not 
 rather proceed from my own want of acquaintance with 
 the usages of society, than any deficiency in attachment 
 on their sides ? The prefet was, of course, as an officer 
 of the Government, no mean judge of what became him — ■ 
 the abbe, too, as a man of education and in holy orders, 
 was equally unlikely to express unbecoming opinions ; the 
 Russian scarcely spoke at all ; and as for De Beauvais, 
 his careless and headlong impetuosity made me feel easy 
 on his score ; and so I reasoned myself into the conviction 
 that it was only the ordinary bearing and every-day habit 
 of society to speak thus openly of one who, in the nar- 
 rower limits of our .little world, was deemed something 
 to worship. 
 
 Shall I own what then I could scarcely have confessed 
 to myself, that the few words De Beauvais spoke at part- 
 ing — the avowed cousinship with her they called " La 
 Kose de Provence " — did much to induce this conviction 
 on my mind ? while his promise to present me was a 
 pledge I could not possibly believe consistent with any but 
 right loyal thoughts and honest doctrines. Still, I would 
 have given anything for one friend to advise with — one 
 faithful counsellor to aid me. But again was I alone in 
 the world, and, save the short and not over-flattering 
 reception of my colonel, I had neither seen nor spoken to 
 one of my new corps. 
 
 That evening I joined my regiment and took up my 
 quarters in the barracks, where already the rumour of 
 important political events had reached the officers ; and 
 they stood in groups discussing the chances of a war, or 
 listening to the Moniteur, which was read out by one of 
 the party. What a strange thrill it sent through me to 
 think that I was privy to the deepest secret of that im- 
 portant step on which the peace of Europe was resting — 
 that I had heard the very words as they fell from the lips 
 of him on whom the destiny of millions then depended ! 
 With what a different interpretation to me came those 
 
 B 2
 
 244 TOM BUEKE OF " OURS." 
 
 passages in the Government journal which breathed of 
 pei'ce, and spoke of painful sacrifices to avoid a war, for 
 which already his very soul was thirsting ; and how, to 
 ray young heart, did that passion for glory exalt him 
 who could throw all into the scale ! The proud position 
 he occupied — the mighty chief of a mighty nation — the 
 adulation in which he daily lived — the gorgeous splendour 
 of a Court no country in Europe equalled — all these, and 
 more — his future destiny — did he set upon the cast for the 
 great game his manly spirit gloried in. 
 
 In such thoughts as these 1 lived as in a world of my 
 own ; companionship I had none. My brother-officers, with 
 few exceptions, had risen from the ranks, and were of that 
 class which felt no pleasure save in the coarse amusements 
 of the barrack-room, or the vulgar jests of the service. 
 The better classes lived studiously apart from these, and 
 made no approaches to intimacy with any newly-joined 
 officer with whose family and connections they were un- 
 acquainted ; and I, from my change of country, stood thus 
 alone, unacknowledged and unknown. At first this isola- 
 tion pained and grieved me, but gradually it became less 
 irksome ; and when at length they who had at first avoided 
 and shunned my intimacy showed themselves disposed to 
 know me, my pride, which before would have been gra- 
 tified by such an acknowledgment, was now wounded, and 
 I coolly declined their advances. 
 
 Some weeks passed in this manner, during which I 
 never saw or heard of De Beauvais, and at length began to 
 feel somewhat offended at the suddenness with which he 
 seemed to drop an intimacy begun at his own desire ; when 
 one evening, as I had returned to my barrack-room after 
 parade, I heard a knock at my door. I rose and opened 
 it, when, to my surprise, I beheld De Beauvais before me. 
 He was much thinner than when I last saw him, and his dress 
 and appearance all betokened far less of care and attention. 
 
 "Are these your quarters?" said he, entering and 
 throwing^ a cautious look about. " Are you alone here ? '* 
 
 " Yes/' said I, "perfectly." 
 
 " You expect no one ? " 
 
 " Not any," said I again, still more surprised at the 
 agitation of his manner, and the evident degree of anxiety 
 he laboured under.
 
 THE ** TWO VISITS.** 245 
 
 ** Thank Heaven ! " said he, drawing a deep sigh as he 
 threw himself on my little camp-bed, and covered his face 
 with his hands. 
 
 Seeing that something weighed heavily on him, T half 
 feared to interfere with the current of his thoughts, and 
 merely drew my chair and sat down beside him. 
 
 " I say, Burke, mo7i clier, have you any wine? Let me 
 have a glass or two, for, save some galette, and that not 
 the best either, I have tasted nothing these last twenty- 
 four hours." 
 
 I soon set before him the contents of my humble larder, 
 and in a few moments he rallied a good deal, and looking 
 up with a smile said, — 
 
 " I think you have been cultivating your education as * 
 gourmand since I saw you. That pasty is worthy our 
 friend in the Palais Royal. Well, and how have you 
 been since we met? " 
 
 " Let me rather ask t/o?^," said I. " You are nofc 
 looking so well as the last time I saw you. Have you 
 been ill ? " 
 
 " 111 ! no, not ill. Yet I can't say so ; for I have suf- 
 fered a good deal, too. No, my friend ; I have had much 
 to harass and distress me. I have been travelling, too, 
 long distances and weary ones — met some disappointments, 
 and altogether the world has not gone so well with me as 
 I think it ought. And now of you — what of yourself? " 
 
 '• Alas ! '' said I, *' if you have met much to annoy, I 
 have only lived a dull life of daily monotony. If it has 
 had little to r^istress, there is fully as little to cheer; and 
 J half suspect the fine illusions I used to picture to my- 
 self of a soldier's career had very little connection with 
 reality." 
 
 As De Beauvais seemed to listen with more attention 
 than such a theme would naturally call for, I gradually 
 was drawn into a picture of my barrack life, in which I 
 dwelt at length on my own solitary position, and the want 
 of that companionship which formed the chief charm of my 
 schoolboy life. To all this he paid a marked attention — 
 now questioning me on some unexplained point — now 
 agreeing with me in what I said by a word or a gesture. 
 
 *' And do you know, Burke," said he, interrupting me 
 in my descnption of those whoso early coldness of man-
 
 246 
 
 ner had cliilled my first advances — " and do yoa know/* 
 said he, impetuously, "who these aristocrats are? The 
 sons of honest hoiirgeois of Paris. Their fathers are 
 worthy men of the Rue Vivienne or the Palais — excellent 
 people, I've no doubt ; but very far better judges of point 
 lace and pat^ de Ferigord, than disputed precedence and , 
 armorial quarterings. Far better the others, the humble 
 soldiers of fortune, whose highest pride is their own daring, ' 
 their own undaunted heroism. Well, well," added he, 
 after a pause, " I must get you away from this — I can 
 manage it in a day or two. Tou shall be sent down to 
 Versailles with a detachment." 
 
 I could not help starting with surprise at these words, 
 and through all the pleasure they gave me my astonish- 
 ment was still predominant. 
 
 " 1 see you are amazed at what I say, but it is not so 
 w^onderful as you think. My cousin has only to hint to 
 Madame Bonaparte, who is at present there, and the thing 
 is done." 
 
 I blushed deeply as I thought of the agency through 
 which my wishes were to meet accomplishment, and turned 
 away to hide my embarrassment. 
 
 " By the bye, I have not presented you to her yet. I've 
 had no opportunity ; but now I shall do so at once." 
 
 " Pray, tell me your cousin's name," said I, anxious to 
 say anything to conceal my confusion. " I've only heard 
 her name called ' La Rose de Provence.' " 
 
 " Tes, that was a silly fancy of Madame la Consulesse, 
 because Marie is Froven^ale. But her name is De Roch- 
 fort, at least her mother's name ; for, by another caprice, 
 she was forbidden by Bonaparte to bear her father's 
 name. But this is rather a sore topic with me. Let us 
 change it. How did you like my friends the other even- 
 ing ? The abbe is agreeable, is he not ? " 
 
 "Yes," said I, hesitating somewhat; "but I am so 
 u/iaccustomed to hear General Bonaparte discussed so 
 freely " 
 
 " That absurd Polytechniqae ! " interrupted De Beau- 
 vais. " How many a fine fellow has it spoiled with its 
 ridiculous notions and foolish prejudices ! " 
 
 " Come, come," said I, " you must not call prejudices 
 the attachment which I, and all who wear an epaulette,
 
 THE " TWO VISITS." 247 
 
 feel in our glorious chief. There, there ; don't laugh, or 
 you'll provoke me ; for if I, an alien, feel this, how should 
 you, who are a Frenchman born, sympathize with such a 
 proud career ? " 
 
 " If you talk of sympathy, Burke, let me ask you, have 
 you ever heard speak of certain old families of these 
 realms, who have been driven forth and expatriated to 
 seek a home amongst strangers, themselves the descend- 
 ants of the fairest chivalry of our land — the proud scions 
 of St. Louis ? — and has your sympathy never strayed acrosa 
 sea to mingle with Me/r sorrows ? " His voice trembled 
 as he spoke, and a large tear filled his eye and tracked its 
 way along his cheek, as the last word vibrated on his 
 tongue ; and then, as if suddenly remembering how far 
 he had been carried away by momentary impulse, he 
 added, in an altered voice : " But what have we to do 
 with these things ? Our road is yet to be travelled by 
 either of us. Yours a fair path enough, if it only fulfil 
 its early promise. The fortunate fellow that can win his 
 
 grade while yet a schoolboy " 
 
 " Plow came you to know ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I know more than that, Burke ; and, believe 
 me, if my foolish conduct the first day we met had led to 
 anything disastrous, I should have passed a life of sorrow 
 for it ever after ; but we shall have time enough to talk 
 over all these matters in the green alleys of Versailles, 
 where I hope to see you before a week be over. Great 
 events may happen ere long, too. Burke, you don't 
 know it, but I can tell you, a war with England is at 
 this moment on the eve of declaration." 
 
 " Perhaps," said I, somewhat piqued by the tone of 
 superiority in which he had spoken for some minutes, 
 and anxious to assume for myself a position which, I 
 forgot, conferred no credit by the manner of its attain- 
 ment, " I know more of that than you are aware of." 
 
 " Oh," replied he, carelessly, " the gossip of a mess is 
 but little to be relied on. The sahreurs will always tell 
 you that the order to march is given." 
 
 " I don't mean that," said I, haughtily. " My infor- 
 mation has a higher source — the highest of all — General 
 Bonaparte himself." 
 
 " How ! — what! — Bonaparte himself! "
 
 2-18 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 " Listen to me," said I; and, hurried on by a foolish 
 
 vanity and a strange desire I cannot explain, to make a 
 
 confidant in what I felt to be a secret too weighty for my 
 
 ' own bosom, I told him all that I had overheard when 
 
 seated behind the screen in the salon at the Tuileries. 
 
 "You heard this — you, yourself?" cried he, as his 
 eyes flashed, and he grasped my arm with an eager grip. 
 
 " Yes, with my own ears I heard it," said I, half 
 trembling at the disclosure I made, and ready to give all 
 I possessed to recall my words. 
 
 " My friend, my dear friend," said he, impetuously, 
 " you must hesitate no longer — be one of us." 
 
 I started at the words, and, growing pale with agita- 
 tion as the very thought of the importance of what I had 
 related flashed across me, T stammered out, " Take care 
 what you propose to me, De Beauvais. I do not, I can- 
 not, fathom your meaning now ; but if I thought that 
 anything like treachery to the First Consul — that any- 
 thing traitorous to the great cause of liberty for which he 
 has fought and conquered, was meditated, I'd go forth- 
 with and tell him, word for word, a]l I have spoken now, 
 even though the confession might, as it would, humble 
 me for ever, and destroy all my future hope of advance- 
 ment." 
 
 " And be well laughed at for your pains, foolish boy," 
 said he, throwing himself back in his chair, and bursting 
 out into a fit of laughter. "No, no, Burke, you mu8t 
 not do anything half so ridiculous, or my pretty cousin 
 could never look at you without a smile ever after ; and, 
 a propos of that — when shall I present you ? That 
 splendid jacket, and all that finery of dolman there, will 
 \ make sad work of her poor heart." 
 
 I I blushed deeply at the silly impetuosity I had betrayed 
 myself into, and muttered some equally silly apology for 
 it ; still, young as I was, I could perceive that my words 
 made no common impression on him, and would have 
 given my best blood to recall them. 
 
 " Do you know, De Beauvais," said I, affecting as much 
 of coolness as I could^ — " do yor. know, I half regret having 
 told you this. The manner in which I heard this conver- 
 sation — though, as you will see, quite involuntary on my 
 part — should have prevented my ever having repeated it ;
 
 THE ** TWO VISITS.'* 249 
 
 and now tlie only reparation I can make is, to wait on 
 my colonel, explain the whole circumstance, and ask his 
 advice." 
 
 '* In plain words, to make public what at present is 
 only confided to a friend. Well, you think the phrase 
 too strong for one you have seen but twice — the first time 
 not exactly on terms such as warrant the phrase. But 
 come, if you can't trust me, I'll see if I can't trust you." 
 
 He drew at these words a roll of paper from his pocket, 
 and was proceeding to open it on the table, when a violent 
 knocking was heard at my door. 
 
 " What's that — who can it be ? " said he, starting up, 
 and growing pale as death. 
 
 The look of terror in his face appalled me, and I stood, 
 not able to reply, or even move towards the door, when 
 the knocking was repeated much louder, and I heard my 
 name called out ; pointing to a closet which led from the 
 room, and without speaking a word, I walked forward 
 and unlocked the door; a tall man, wrapped in a blue 
 cloak, and wearing a cocked-hat, covered with oilskin, 
 stood before me, accompanied by a sergeant of my troop. 
 
 " This is the sous-lieutenant, sir," said the sergeant, 
 touching his cap. 
 
 " That will do,'* replied the other; "you may leave us 
 now." Then turning to me he added, " May I have the 
 favour of a few minutes' conversation with you, Mr. Burke? 
 I am Monsieur Gisquet, clief de police of the depart- 
 ment." 
 
 A trembling ran through me at the words, and I stam- 
 mered out something scarce audible in reply. Monsieur 
 Gisquet followed me as I led the way into my room, 
 which already had been deserted by De Beauvais, and, 
 casting a quick glance around, he leisurely took ofi* his hat 
 and cloak and drew a chair towards the table. 
 
 *' Are we alone, sir ? " said he, in a measured tone of 
 voice, while his eye fell with a peculiar meaning on a chair 
 which stood opposite to mine, on the opposite side of the 
 stove. 
 
 " I had a friend with me when you knocked," I 
 muttered, in a broken and uncertain accent ; " but 
 
 perhaps " Before I could finish ray sentence the 
 
 door of the cabinet slowly opened, and De Beauvais
 
 250 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 appeared, but so metamorpliosed I could scarcely recog- 
 nize him ; for, short as the interval was, he had put on my 
 old uniform of the Polytechnique, which, from our simi- 
 larity in height, fitted him perfectly. 
 
 " All safe, Tom," said he, stealing out, with an easy 
 Bmile on his countenance. " Far St. Denis! I thought 
 it was old Legrange himself come to look for me. Ah, 
 monsieur, how d'ye do ? You have given me a rare fright 
 to-night. I came to spend the day with my friend here, 
 and, as ill-luck would have it, have outstayed my time. 
 The ecole closes at nine, so that I'm in for a week's arrest 
 at least." 
 
 " A cool confession this, sir, to a minister of police,'* 
 said Gisquet, sternly, while his dark eyes surveyed the 
 speaker from head to foot. 
 
 " Not when that minister is called Gisquet," said he, 
 readily, and bowing courteously as he spoke. 
 
 " You know me, then ? " said the other, still peering 
 at him with a sharp look. 
 
 " Only from your likeness to a little boy in my com- 
 pany," said he ; " Henri Gisquet : a fine little fellow he is, 
 and one of the cleverest in the school." 
 
 " You are right, sir, he is my son," said the minister, 
 as a pleased smile passed over his swarthy features. 
 " Come, I think I must get you safe through your dilemma. 
 Take this ; the officer of the night will be satisfied with 
 the explanation, and Monsieur Legrange will not hear 
 of it." 
 
 So saying, he seized a pen, and writing a few lines 
 rapidly on a piece of paper, he folded it note fashion, and 
 handed it to De Beauvais. 
 
 " A handsome ring, sir," said he, suddenly, and holding 
 the fingers within his own ; " a very costly one, too." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said De Beauvais, blushing scarlet. *' A 
 cousin of mine " 
 
 " Ha, ha ! an amourette^ too. Well, well, young gentle- 
 man, no need of further confessions. Lose no more time 
 here — hon soir.^' 
 
 *' Adieu, Burke," said De Beauvais, shaking my hand 
 with a peculiar pressure. 
 
 " Adieu, Monsieur Gisquet. This order will pass me 
 through the barrack, won't it ? "
 
 THE *' TWO VISITS." 251 
 
 *' Yes ; to b8 sure. You need fear no interference with 
 my people either, go where you will this evening/' 
 
 " Thanks, sir, once more," said he, and departed. 
 
 " Now for our business, Mr. Burke,'* said the minister, 
 opening his packet of papers before him, and commencing 
 to con over its contents. " I shall ask you a few ques- 
 tions, to which you will please to reply with all the ac- 
 curacy you can command, remembering that you are liable 
 to be called on to verify any statement hereafter on oath. 
 With whom did you speak on the evening of the second of 
 May, at the soiree of Madame Bonaparte ? " 
 
 " I scarcely remember if I spoke to any one save Madame 
 herself; a strange gentleman, whose name I forget, pre- 
 sented me ; one or two others, also unknown to me, may 
 have spoken a passing word or so ; and when coming away 
 I met Monsieur de Beauvais." 
 
 '• Monsieur de Beauvais ! who is he ? " 
 
 " Ma foi, I can't tell you. I saw him the day before 
 for the first time : we renewed our acquaintance, and we 
 supped together." 
 
 " At Beauvilliers's ? " said he, interrupting. 
 
 *' Pardieu ! monsieur," said I, somewhat stung at the 
 espionage on my movements, " you seem to know every- 
 thing so well already, it is quite needless to interrogate me 
 any further." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied he, coolly. " I wish to have 
 the names of the party you supped with." 
 
 *' Well, there was one who was called the prefet, a large, 
 full, elderly man." 
 
 '' Yes, yes, I know him," interrupted Gisquet again ; 
 ** and the others ? " 
 
 " There was an abbe, and a secretary of the Russian 
 mission." 
 
 " No other ? " said he, in a tone of disappointment. 
 
 " No one, save De Beauvais and myself — we were but 
 five in all." 
 
 " Did no one come in during the evening ? '* 
 
 "No, not any." 
 
 "Nor did any leave the party ? " 
 
 " No ; we separated at the same moment." 
 
 " Who accompanied you to the barracks ? " 
 
 ** No one. 1 returned alone."
 
 252 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.** 
 
 " And this Monsieur De Beauvais ; yoa can't tell any- 
 thing of him ? What age is he ? what height ? " 
 
 " About my own," said I, blushing deeply at the 
 thought of the events of a few moments back. " He 
 may be somewhat older ; but he looks not much more 
 than twenty-one or two." 
 
 " Have you mentioned any of these circumstances to 
 any of your brother officers or to your colonel ? " 
 
 " No, sir, never." 
 
 " Very right, sir. These are times in which discretion 
 is of no common importance. I have only to recommend 
 similar circumspection in future. It is probable that 
 some of these gentlemen may visit you and write to you 
 — they may invite you to sup or to dine; if so, sir, accept 
 the invitation ; be cautious, however, not to speak of this 
 interview to any one. E/Cmember, sir, I am the messen- 
 ger of one who never forgave a breach of trust, but who 
 also never fails to reward loyalty and attachment. If yoa 
 be but prudent, Mr. Burke, your fortune is certain." 
 
 With these words, Monsieur Gisquet threw his cloak 
 over his shoulder, and raising his hat, he bowed formally 
 to me, and withdrew, leaving me to meditations which, I 
 need not say, were none of the happiest. 
 
 If my fears were excited by the thought of the acquain- 
 tances I had so rashly formed, so also was my pride in- 
 sulted by the system of watching to which my move- 
 ments had been subjected ; and deeper still, by the insult- 
 ing nature of the proposal the minister of police had not 
 scrupled to make to me, on reflecting over which, only, 
 did I perceive how base and dishonourable it was. 
 
 " What ! " asked I, of myself, " is it a spy — is it a false 
 underhand betrayer of the men into whose society I have 
 been admitted on terms of friendly intercourse he would 
 make of me ? What saw he in me or in my actions, to 
 dare so far ? Was not the very cloth I wear enough to 
 guard me against such an insult? " Then came the mad- 
 dening reHection, "Why hnd I not thought of this 
 sooner ? Why had I not v iected his proposal with 
 scorn, and told him that I wiiS not of the stuff he looked 
 for ? " 
 
 But what is it that he wished to learn ? and who were 
 these men, and what w^ere their designs ? These were ques-
 
 THE '' TWO VISITS.'* 253 
 
 tinns tliat flashed across me, and I trembled to think how 
 deeply implicated I might become, at any moment, in 
 plans of which I knew nothing — merely from the impru- 
 dence with which I had made their acquaintance. The 
 escape of De Beauvais, if discovered, would also inevitably 
 involve me, and thus did I seem hurried along by a train 
 of incidents, without will or concurrence, each step but 
 increasing the darkness around me. 
 
 That Gisquet knew most of the party was clear ; De 
 Beauvais alone seemed personally unknown to him. What, 
 then, did he want of me ? Alas ! it was a tangled web I 
 could make nothing of — and all I could resolve on was, to 
 avoid in future all renewal of intimacy with De Beauvais, 
 to observe the greatest circumspection with regard to all 
 new acquaintance, and, since the police thought it worth 
 their while to set spies upon my track, to limit any excur- 
 sions, for some time at least, to the routine of my duty, 
 and the bounds of the barrack-yard. These were wise 
 resolutions, and if somewhat late in coming, yet not with- 
 out their comfort ; above all, because, in my heart, I felt 
 no misgivings of affection, no lack of loyalty to him who 
 was still my idol. 
 
 " Well, well," thought I, " something may come of this 
 — perhaps a war ; if so, happy shall 1 be to leave Paris 
 and all its intrigues behind me, and seek distinction in a 
 more congenial sphere, and under other banners than a 
 police minister would afford me." 
 
 With thoughts like these I fell asleep to dream over all 
 events of the preceding day, and wake the next morning 
 with an aching head and confused brain — my only clear 
 impression being, that some danger hung over me, but 
 from what quarter, and how, or in what way it was to be 
 met or averted, I could not guess. 
 
 The whole day I felt a feverish dread lest De Beauvais 
 should appear. Something whispered me that my diffi- 
 culties were to come of my acquaintance with him, and I 
 studiously passed my time among my brother officers, 
 knowing that, so long as I remained among them, ho was 
 not likely to visit me; and when evening came, I gladly 
 accepted an invitation to a barrack-room supper, which, 
 but the night before, I should have declined without hesi- 
 tation.
 
 254 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 This compliance on my part seemed well taken by my 
 companions, and, in their frank and cordial reception of 
 me, I felt a degree of reproach to myself for my having 
 hitherto lived estranged from them. We had jast taken 
 our places at table, when the door was flung wide open, 
 and a young captain of the regiment rushed in, waving a 
 paper over his head, as he called out, — 
 
 *' Good news, mes braves, glorioiis news for you ! Listen 
 to this : ' The English ambassador has demanded his 
 passports, and left Paris ; expresses are sent off to the 
 fourth corps, to move towards the coast ; twelve regiments 
 have received orders to march ; so that before my Lord 
 leaves Calais, he may witness a review of the army.* " 
 
 « Is this true ? " 
 
 " It is all certain." 
 
 *' Read it ; here's the Moniteur, with the official an- 
 nouncement." 
 
 In an instant a dozen heads were bent over the paper, 
 each eager to scan the paragraph so long and ardently 
 desired. 
 
 " Come, Burke, I hope you have not forgotten your 
 English," said the Major ; " we shall want you soon to in- 
 terpret for us in London, if, pardieu, we can ever find our 
 way through the fogs of that ill-starred island." 
 
 I hung my head without speaking — the miserable isola- 
 tion of him who has no country, is a sad and sickening 
 sense of want no momentary enthusiasm, no impulse of 
 high daring, can make up for. Happily for me, all were 
 too deeply interested in the important news to remark 
 me, or pay any attention to my feelings.
 
 255 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE MARCH TO VERSAILLES. 
 
 Thet wbo remember the excited state of England on the 
 rupture of the peace of Amiens — the spirit of military 
 ardour that animated every class and condition of life— 
 the national hatred, carried to the highest pitch by the 
 instigations and attack of a violent press, can yet form but 
 an imperfect notion of the mad enthusiasm that prevailed 
 in France on the same occasion. 
 
 The very fact that there v^^as no determinate and precise 
 cause of quarrel added to the exasperation on both sides. 
 It v^as less like the warfare of two great nations than the 
 personal animosity of two high-spirited and passionate 
 individuals, who, having interchanged words of insult, 
 resolve on the sword as the only arbiter between them. 
 
 All that the long rivalry of centuries, national dislike, 
 jealousy in every form, and ridicule in a thousand shapes, 
 could suggest, were added to the already existing hate, and 
 gave to the coming contest a character of blackest venom. 
 In England, the tyrannic rule of Bonaparte gave deep 
 oflPence to all true lovers of liberty, and gave rise to fears 
 of what the condition of their own country would become, 
 should he continue to increase his power by conquest. In 
 France, the rapid rise to honour and wealth, the career of, 
 arms so singularly favoured, made partisans of war in 
 every quarter of the kingdom. The peaceful arts were 
 but mean pursuits compared with that royal road to rank 
 and riches, the field of battle ; and their self-interest lent 
 its share in forming the spirit of hostility, which wanted 
 no element of hatred to make it perfect. 
 
 Paris, where so lately nothing was heard save the roll 
 of splendid equipages — the din of that gay workl whose 
 business is amusement — where amid gilded salons the 
 voluptuous habits of the Consulate mixed with the less
 
 253 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 courtly but scarce less costly display of military splen- 
 dour, became now like a vast camp. Regiments poured 
 in daily to resume their march the next morning ; the dull 
 rumble of ammunition-waggons and caissons, the warlike 
 clank of mounted cavalry, awoke the citizens at daybreak ; 
 the pickets of hussar corps and the dusty and travel- 
 stained infantry soldiers filled the streets at nightfall ; yet, 
 through all, the mad gaiety of this excited nation pre- 
 vailed. The cafes were crowded with eager and delighted 
 faces ; the tables spread in the open air were occupied by 
 groups whose merry voices and ready laughter attested 
 that war was the pastime of the people, and the very note 
 of preparation a tocsin of joy and festivity. The walla 
 were placarded with inflammatory addresses to the pa- 
 triotism and spirit of France. The papers teemed with 
 artful and cleverly-written explanations of the rupture 
 with England, in which every complaint against that 
 country was magnified, and every argument put forward 
 to prove the peaceful desires of that nation, whose present 
 enthusiasm for war was an unhappy commentary on the 
 assertion. The good faith of France was extolled — the 
 moderation of the First Consul dwelt upon ; and the 
 treachery of that ** perfidious Albion, that respected not 
 the faith of treaties," was displayed in such irrefragable 
 clearness, that the humblest citizen thought the cause 
 his own, and felt the coming contest the ordeal of his 
 own honour. 
 
 All the souvenirs of the former wars were invoked to 
 give spirit to the approaching struggle, and they were 
 suSiciently numerous to let no week pass over without at 
 least one eventful victory to commemorate. 
 
 Now it was Kellerman's cuirassiers, whose laurel- 
 wreathed helmets reminded the passing stranger that on 
 that day eight years they tore through the dense ranks of 
 the Austrians, and sabred the gunners at the very guns. 
 Now it was the Polish regiments — the steel-clad lancers — ■ 
 who paraded before the Tuileries, in memory of the proud 
 day they marched through Montebello with that awful 
 sentence on their banners, "Venice exists no longer." 
 Here were corps of infantry, intermingled v/ith dragoons, 
 pledging each other as they passed along; while the 
 names of Castiglione, Bassano, and Roveredo rangthrougn
 
 THE MAKCH TO VERSAILLES. 257 
 
 the motley crowd — the very children, " les enfants de 
 troupe^"" seemed filled with the warlike enthusiasm of 
 their fathers ; and each battalion, as it moved past, stepped 
 to the encouraging shouts of thousands, who gazed with 
 envious admiration on the heroes of their country. 
 
 Never did the pent-up feelings of a nation find vent in 
 such a universal torrent of warlike fervour as now filled 
 the land. The clank of the sabre was the music that 
 charmed the popular ear ; and the " coquette vivandiere," 
 as she tripped along the gravel avenues of the Tuileries 
 gardens, was as much an object of admiration as the most 
 splendidly-attired beauty of the "Faubourg St. Germain," 
 The whole tone of society assumed the feature of the 
 political emergency. The theatres only represented such 
 pieces as bore upon the ancient renown of the nation in 
 arms — its victories and conquests. The artists painted no 
 other subjects ; and the literature of the period appealed to 
 few other sympathies than are found in the rude manners 
 of the guard-room, or around the watch-fires of the bivouac. 
 Pegault Lebrun was the popular author of the day ; and 
 his works are even now no mean indication of the current 
 tastes and opinions of the period. 
 
 The predictions too hastily made by the English journals 
 that the influence of Bonaparte in France could not survive 
 the rupture of that peace which had excited so much 
 enthusiasm, were met by a burst of national unanimity that 
 soon dispelled the delusive hope. Never was there a greater 
 error than to suppose that any prospect of commercial pros- 
 perity, any vista of wealth and riches, could compensate to 
 Frenchmen for the intoxication of that glory in which they 
 lived as in an orgie. Too many banners floated from the 
 deep aisles of the " Invalides ; " too many cannon, the 
 spoils of the Italian and German wars, bristled on the 
 rampart, not to recall the memory of those fete days 
 when a bulletin threw the entire city into a frenzy of joy. 
 The Louvre and the Luxembourg, too, were filled with 
 the treasures of conquered states, and these are not 
 the guarantees of a long peace. 
 
 Such, in brief, was the state of Paris when the declara- 
 tion of war by Great BWtain once more called the nation 
 to arms. Every regiment was at once ordered to make up 
 its full complement to the war standard, and the furnaces 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 253 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 •were emplo5'ed in forging shot and casting cannon through- 
 out the length and breadth of France. The cavalry corps 
 were stationed about St. Omer and Compie^ne, where ^ 
 rich corn country sujDplied forage in abundance. Among 
 the rest the order came for the huitieme to march ; one 
 squadron only was to remain behind, chosen to execute 
 le service des dejpeches from St. Cloud and Versailles tc 
 Paris, and to this I belonged. 
 
 From the evening of Monsieur Gisquet's visit I had never 
 seen or heard of De Beauvais, and at last the hope grew in 
 me that we were to meet no more, when suddenly the 
 thought flashed across my mind — this is what he spoke of; 
 he promised I should be sent to Versailles ! Can it be 
 chance, or is this his doing ? These wore difficult questions 
 to solve, and gave me far more embarrassment than pleasure. 
 ]My fear that my acquaintance with him was in the end tc 
 involve me in some calamity, was a kind of superstition 
 which I could not combat, and I resolved at once to see 
 my colonel, with whom, happily, I was now on the best of 
 terms, and endeavour to exchange with some other officer, 
 any being willing to accept a post so much more agreeable 
 than a mere country quarter. I found the old man busied 
 in the preparations for departure ; he was marking out the 
 days of march to the adjutant as I entered. 
 
 "Well, Burke," said he, "you are the fortunate fellow 
 this time ; your troop remains behind." 
 
 " It is on that account, sir, I am come. You'll think my 
 request a strange one, but if it be not against rule, would 
 you permit me to exchange my destination with another 
 officer?" 
 
 " What — eh ? the boy's mad ! Why, it's to Versailles you 
 are going." 
 
 " I know, sir ; but, somehow, I'd rather remain with the 
 regiment." 
 
 " This is very strange — I don't understand it," said he, 
 leisurely ; " come here." With that he drew me into the 
 recess of a window where we could talk unheard by others. 
 " Burke," continued he, *' I'm not the man to question 
 my young fellows about secrets which they'd rather keep 
 for themselves ; but there is something here more than 
 common. Do you know that in the order it wns your 
 6L£uadron was specially marked out, all the officers'
 
 THE MARCH TO VERSAILLES. 259 
 
 naraeR were mentioned, and yours particularly, for Ver- 
 sailies ? " 
 
 A deadly paleness and a cold chill spread over my face ; 
 I tried to say some commonplace, but I could not utter 
 more than the words, " I feared it." Happily for me he 
 did not hear them, but, taking my hand kindly, said, — 
 
 " I see it all ; some youthful folly or other would make 
 you better pleased to leave Paris just now. Never mind, 
 stormy times are coming, you'll have enough on your hands 
 presently ; and let me advise you to make the most of your 
 time at Versailles, for, if I'm not mistaken, you'll see much 
 more of camps than courts for some time to come." 
 
 The rest of that day left me but little time for reflection ; 
 but in such short intervals as I could snatch from duty, 
 one thought ever rose to my mind : Can this be De 
 Beauvais's doing ? Has he had any share in my present 
 destination, and with what object? "Well," said I to 
 myself at last, "these are but foolish fears after all, aud 
 may be causeless ones. If I but follow the straight path 
 of my duty, what need I care if the whole world intrigued 
 and plotted around me ? And, after all, was it not most 
 likely that we should never see each other again ? " 
 
 The day was just breaking when we left Paris ; the bright 
 beams of a May morning's sun were flickering and playing 
 in the rippling river that ran cold and grey beneath ; the 
 tall towers of the Tuileries threw their long shadows across 
 the Place Carousel, where a dragoon regiment was en- 
 camped. They were already astir, and some of the men 
 were standing around the fountains with their horses, and 
 others were looking after the saddles and accoutrements in 
 preparation for the march ; a half-expiring fire here and 
 there marked where some little party had been sitting 
 together, while the jars and flasks about bespoke a merry 
 evening. A trumpeter sat, statue-like, on his white horse, 
 his trumpet resting on his knee, surveying the whole scene, 
 and as if deferring to the last the wakeful summons that 
 should rouse some of his yet sleeping comrades. I could 
 see thug much as we passed. Our road led along the quay 
 towards the Place Louis XV., where an infantry battalion 
 with four guns was picketed. The men were brenk fasting 
 and preparing for the route. They were part of t\ivgraiiae 
 armee under orders for Boulogne.
 
 260 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.*' 
 
 We soon traversed the Champs Elysees, and entered the 
 open country. For some miles it was merely a succession 
 of large corn-fields, and here and there a small vineyard, 
 that met the eye on either side ; but as we proceeded 
 farther we were girt in by rich orchards in full blossom, 
 the whole air loaded with perfume. Neat cottages peeped 
 from the woody enclosures, the trellised walls covered with 
 honeysuckles and wild roses ; the surface, too, was undulat- 
 ing, and waved in every imaginable direction, oflfering 
 every variety of hill and valley, precipice and plain, in even 
 the smallest space. As yet no peasant was stirring, no 
 smoke curled from a single chimney, and all, save the song 
 of the lark, was silent. It was a peaceful scene, and a 
 strong contrast to that we left behind us ; and whatever 
 ambitious yearnings filled my heart as I looked upon the 
 armed ranks of the mailed cuirassiers, I felt a deeper sense 
 of happiness as I strayed along those green alleys through 
 which the sun came slanting sparingly, and where the 
 leaves only stirred as their winged tenants moved among 
 them. 
 
 We travelled for some hours through the dark paths of 
 the Bois de Boulogne, and again emerged in a country wild 
 and verdant as before. And thus passed our day, till the 
 setting sun rested on the tall roof of the great Palace, and 
 lit up every window in golden splendour as we entered the 
 town of Versailles. 
 
 I could scarce avoid halting as I rode up the wide 
 terrace of the Palace. Never had I felt before the over- 
 coming sense of grandeur which architecture can be- 
 stow. The great facade, in its chaste and simple beauty, 
 stretched away to a distance, where dark lime-trees closed 
 the background, their tall summits only peeping above the 
 lofty terrace in which the chateau stands. On that terrace, 
 too, were walking a crowd of persons of the Court, the 
 fall-dress costume showing that they had but left the 
 salons to enjoy the cool and refreshing air of the evening. 
 I saw some turn and look after our travel-stained and 
 dusty party, and confess I felt a half sense of shame at our 
 wayworn appearance. I had not long to suffer such mor- 
 tification, for ere we marched more than a few minutes, we 
 were joined by a Marechal de Logis, who accompanied us 
 to our quarters- -one of the buildings adjoining the Palace
 
 THE MARCH TO VERSAILLES. 261 
 
 — where we found everything in readiness for our arrival ; 
 and there I, to my surprise, discovered that a most sump- 
 tuous supper awaited me — a politeness I was utterly a 
 strano-er to, not being over-cognizant of the etiquette and 
 privilege which awaitthe officer on guard at a royal palace. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THB PARK OF VERSAILLES. 
 
 The instructions delivered to me soon after my arrival in 
 Versailles convinced me that the transmission of de- 
 spatches was not the service we were called on to discharge, 
 but merely a pretence to blind others as to our presence ; 
 the real duty being the establishment of a cordon around 
 the royal Palace, permitting no one to enter or pass within 
 the precincts who was not provided with a regular leave, 
 and empowering us to detain all suspected individuals, and 
 forward thom for examination to St. Cloud. 
 
 To avoid all suspicion as to the true object, the men 
 ■were ordered to pass from place to place, as if with des- 
 patches, many being stationed in different parts of the 
 park ; my duty requiring me to be continually on the alert 
 to visit these pickets, and make a daily report to the Pre- 
 fet de Police at Paris. 
 
 What the nature of the suspicion, or from what quarter 
 Monsieur Savary anticipated danger, I could not even 
 guess ; and, though I well knew that his sources of infor- 
 mation were unquestionable, I began at last to think that 
 the whole was merely some plot devised by the police 
 themselves, to display uncommon vigilance and enhance 
 their own importance. This conviction grew stronger as 
 day by day I remarked that no person more than ordinary 
 had even approached near the town of Versailles itself.
 
 262 TOM BURKE OF " OUEF /* 
 
 while the absurd exactitude of inquiry as to every minute 
 thing that occurred went on just as before. 
 
 While my life passed on iu this monotonous fashion, the 
 little Court of Madame Bonaparte seemed to enjoy all its 
 accustomed pleasure. The actors of the Francais came 
 down expressly from Paris, and gave nightly representa- 
 tions in the Palace ; fourgons continued to arrive from the 
 capital with all the luxuries for the table ; new guests 
 poured in day after day, and the lighted-up saloons, and 
 the sounds of music that filled the Court, told each evening 
 that whatever fear prevailed without, the minds of thof-e 
 within the Palace had little to cause depression. 
 
 It was not without a feeling of wounded pride I saw 
 myself omitted in all the invitations : for, although my 
 rank was not sufficient of itself to lead me to expect sucli 
 an attention, my position as the officer on guard would 
 have fully warranted the politeness, had I not even already 
 received marks of civility while in Paris. From time to 
 time, as I passed through the park, I came upon some of 
 the Court party; and it was with a sense of painful 
 humiliation I observed that Madame Bonaparte had com- 
 pletely forgotten me, while from one whose indifference 
 was more galling still, I did not even obtam a look in 
 passing. How had I forfeited the esteem which volun- 
 tarily they had bestowed on me — the good opinion which 
 had raised me from an humble cadet of the Polytechniquo 
 to a commission in one of the first corps in the service ? 
 Under what evil influence was I placed ? Such were the 
 questions that forced themselves on me night and day ; 
 that haunted my path as I walked, and my dreams at 
 night. As the impression grew on me, I imagined that 
 every one I met regarded me with a look of distance and 
 distrust ; that each saw in me one who had forfeited his 
 fair name by some low or unworthy action, till at last I 
 actually avoided ihe walks where I was likely to encounter 
 the visitors of the Palace, and shunned the very approach 
 of a stranger, like a guilty thing. All the brilliant pros- 
 pects of my soldier's life, that a few days back shone out 
 before me, were now changed into a dreamy despondence. 
 The service I was employed on — so different from what I 
 deemed became a chivalrous career — was repugnant to all 
 my feelings ; and when the time for visiting my pickets
 
 THE PARK OF VERSAILLES. 233 
 
 came, I slirank witli shame from a dutj that suited rather 
 the spy of the police than the ofS.cer of hussars. 
 
 Eveiy day my depression increased. My isolation, doubly 
 painful from the gaiety and life around me, seemed to mark 
 me out as one unfit to know, and lessened me in my own 
 esteem ; and as I walked the long, dark alleys of the park, 
 a weighty load upon my heart, I envied the meanest 
 soldier of my troop, and would willingly have changed his 
 fortune with my own. It was a relief to me even when 
 night came — the shutters of my little room closed, my 
 lamp lighted — to think that there at least I was free from 
 the dark glances and sidelong looks of all I met ; that I 
 was alone with my own sorrow, — no contemptuous eye to 
 pierce ray sad heart, and see in my gloom a self-convicted 
 criminal. Had I one, but one friend to advise with, to 
 pour out all my sufferings before him, and say, " Tell me, 
 how shall I act ? Am I to go on enduring? or where shall 
 I — where can I vindicate my fame ? " 
 
 With such sad thoughts for company, I sat one evening 
 alone ; my mind now recurring to the early scenes of my 
 childhood, and to that harsh teaching which even in in- 
 fancy had marked me for suffering ; now straying onward 
 to a vision of the future I used to paint so brightly to 
 myself, when a gentle tap at the door aroused me. 
 
 " Come in," said I, carelessly, supposing it a sergeant of 
 my troop. The door slowly opened, and a figure wrapped 
 in a loose horseman's cloak entered. 
 
 " Ah ! lieutenant, don't you know me ? " said a voice, 
 whose peculiar tone struck me as well known — " the 
 Abb^ d'Ervan, at your service." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said I, starting with surprise, not less at the 
 unexpected visitor himself than at the manner of his 
 appearance. " Why, abbe, you must have passed the 
 sentinel." 
 
 " And so I did, my dear boy," replied he, as he folded 
 up his cloak leisurely on one chair, and seated himself on 
 another opposite me. " Nothing wonderful in that, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " But the countersign — they surely asked you for it ? " 
 
 "To be sure they did, and I gave it : ' Vincennes,' an 
 easy word enough. But come, come, you are not going to 
 play the police with me. I have taken you in on ray way
 
 264 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 back to St Cloud, where I am stopping just now, to pay 
 you a little visit and talk over the news." 
 
 " Pardon me once more, my dear abbe, but a young 
 soldier may seem over-punctilious. Have you the privi- 
 lege to passs through the royal park after nightfall ? " 
 
 " I think I have shown you that already, my most rigid 
 inquisitor, otherwise I should not have known the pass- 
 word. Give me your report for to-morrow. Ah, here it 
 is. What's the hour now ? A quarter to eleven. This 
 will save you some trouble." So saying, he took a pen and 
 wrote in a large free hand, " The Abbe d'Ervan from the 
 Chateau d'Ancre to St. Cloud." " Monsieur Savary will ask 
 you no further questions, trust me. And now, if you have 
 got over all your fears and disquietudes, may I take the 
 liberty to remind you that the chateau is ten leagues off — 
 that I dined at three, and have eaten nothing since. Abbes, 
 you are aware, are privileged gastronomists ; and the family 
 of D'Ervan have a most unhappy addiction to good things. 
 A poulet, however, and a flask of Chablis will do for the 
 present ; for I long to talk with you." 
 
 While I made my humble preparations to entertain him, 
 he rambled on in his usual free and pleasant manner — • 
 that mixture of smartness and carelessness which seemed 
 equally diffused through all he said, imparting a sufficiency 
 to awake, without containing anything to engage too deeply 
 the listener's attention. 
 
 " Come, come, lieutenant, make no apology for the fare : 
 the pdfe is excellent ; and as for the Burgundy, it is easy 
 enough to see your Chambertin comes from the Consul's 
 cellar. And so you tell me that you find this place dull, 
 which I own I'm surprised at. These little soirees are 
 usually amusing ; but perhaps at your age the dazzling 
 gaiety of the ball-room is more attractive." 
 
 *' In truth, abbe, the distinction would be a matter of 
 some difficulty to me, I know so little of either. And 
 indeed, Madame la Consulesse is not over likely to en- 
 lighten my ignorance : I have never been asked to the 
 Palace." 
 
 " You are jesting, surely ? " 
 
 " Perfectly in earnest, I assure you. This is ray third 
 week of being quartered here; and not only have I 
 not been invited, but, stranger still, Madame Bonaparte
 
 THE PARK OF VEKSAILLES. 265 
 
 passed and never noticed me ; and another, one of her 
 suite, did the same : so you see there can be no accident 
 in the matter." 
 
 " How strange ! " said the abbe, leaning his head on 
 his hand ; and then, as if speaking to himself, muttered, 
 " But so it is, there is no such tyrant as your parvenu. 
 The caprice of sudden elevation knows no guidance. And 
 you can't even guess at the cause of all this ? " 
 
 " Mot witli all my ingenuity could I invent anything 
 like a reason." 
 
 " Well, well, we may find it out yet. These are strange 
 times altogether, lieutenant. Men's minds are more unset- 
 tled than ever they were. The Jacobin begins to feel he has 
 been labouring for nothing : that all he deems the rubbish of 
 a monarchy has been removed, only to build up a greater 
 oppression. The soldier sees his conquests have only made 
 the fortune of one man in the army, and that one not over- 
 mindful of his old companions. Many begin to think — and 
 they may have some cause for the notion — that the old 
 family of France knew the interests of the nation best 
 after all ; and certain it is, they were never ungrateful to 
 those who served them. Your countrymen had always 
 their share of favour shown them. You do surprise me 
 when you say you've never been invited." 
 
 "So it is though; and, worse still, there is evidently 
 some secret reason. Men look at me as if I had done 
 something to stain my character and name." 
 
 " No, no, you mistake all that. This new and patch- 
 work Court does but try to imitate the tone of its leader. 
 When did you see De Beauvais ? " 
 
 *' Not for some months past. Is he in Paris ? " 
 
 *' No. The poor fellow has been ill. He's in Normandy 
 just now, but I expect him back soon. There is a youth 
 who might be anything he pleased : his family, one of the 
 oldest in the south ; his means abundant ; his own ability 
 first-rate ; but his principles are of that inflexible material 
 that won't bend for mere convenience' sake. He does 
 not like — he does not approve of the present govern- 
 ment of France." 
 
 " What would he have, then ? Does not Bonaparte 
 satisfy the ambition of a Frenchman? Does he wish a 
 greater name than that at the head of his nation? "
 
 265 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 " That's a brilliant lamp before us ; but see tbere," cried 
 the abbe, as he flung open the shutter, and pointed to the 
 bright moon that shone pale and beautiful in the clear 
 sky — " see there ! Is there not something granJer far in 
 the glorious radiance of the orb that has thrown its lustre 
 on the world for ages ? Is it not a glorious thought to 
 revel in the times long past, and think of those, our fathers, 
 who lived beneath the same bright beams, and drank in 
 the same golden waters? Men are too prone to measure 
 themselves with one of yesterday. They find it hard to 
 wonder at the statue of him whom they have themselves 
 placed on the pedestal. Feudalism, too, seems a very part 
 of our nature." 
 
 " These are thoughts I've never known, nor w^ould I 
 now w^ish to learn them," said I ; " and as for me, a hero 
 needs no ancestry to make him glorious in my eyes." 
 
 " All true," said the abbe, sipping his glass, and smiling 
 kindly on me ; " a young heart should feel as yours does ; 
 and time was when such feelings had made the fortune of 
 their owner ; but even now the world is changed about us. 
 The gendarmes have the mission that once belonged to 
 the steel-clad cuirassiers, and, in return, the hussar is 
 little better than a mouchard.'^ 
 
 The blood mounted to my face and temples and throbbed 
 in every vein and artery of my forehead, as I heard this 
 contemptuous epithet applied to the corps I belonged to — 
 a sarcasm that told not less poignantly on me, that I felt 
 how applicable it was to my present position. 
 
 He saw how deeply mortified the word had made me ; 
 and, putting his hand in mine, with a voice of winning 
 softness he added, " One who would be a friend must risk 
 a little now and then ; as he who passes over a plank 
 before his neighbour will sometimes spring to try its sound- 
 ness, even at the hazard of a fall. Don't mistake me, 
 lieutenant, you have a higher mission than this. France 
 is on the eve of a mighty change. Let us hope it may be 
 a happy one. And now it's 'getting late — tar later, in- 
 deed, than is my wont to be abroad — and so I'll wish you 
 good night. I'll find a bed in the village. And since I 
 have made you out here, we must meet often." 
 
 There was something — I could not define what exactly 
 —that alarmed me in the conversation of the abbe ; and
 
 THE PARK OF VERSAILLES. 267 
 
 lonely and solitary as I was, it was with a sense of relief 
 I saw him take his departure. 
 
 The pupil of a school where the Consul's name was 
 never mentioned without enthusiasm and admiration, I 
 found it strange that any one should venture to form any 
 other estimate of him than I was used to hear ; and yet in 
 all he said I could but faintly trace out anything to take 
 amiss. That men of his cloth should feel warmly towards 
 the exiled family was natural enough. They could have 
 but few sympathies with the soldier's calling, and, of 
 course, felt themselves in a very different position now 
 from what they once had occupied. The restoration of 
 Catholicism was, I well knew, rather a political and social 
 than a religious movement ; and Bonaparte never had 
 the slightest intention of replacing the Church in its 
 former position of ascendency, but rather of using it as a 
 state engine, and giving a stability to the new order of 
 things, which could only be done on the foundation of 
 prejudices and convictions old as the nation itself. 
 
 In this way the rising generation looked on the priests ; 
 and in this way had I been taught to regard the whole 
 class of religionists. It was, then, nothing wonderful if 
 ambitious men a.mong them, of whom D'Ervan might be 
 one, felt somewhat indignant at the post assigned them, 
 and did not espouse with warmth the cause of one who 
 merely condescended to make them the tool of his inten- 
 tions. " Yes, yes," said I to myself, " I have defined my 
 friend the abbe ; and though not a very dangerous cha- 
 racter after all, it's just as well I should be on my guard. 
 His being in possession of the password, and his ven- 
 turing to write his name in the police report, are evi- 
 dences that he enjoys the favour of the PreFet de Police. 
 Well, well, I'm sure I am heartily tired of such reflections. 
 "Would that the campaign were once begun ! The roll of 
 a platoon and the deep thunder of an artillery fire would 
 soon drown the small whispering of such miserable plot- 
 tings from one's head." 
 
 About a week passed over after this visit, in which, at- 
 first, I was rather better pleased that the abbe did not 
 come again; but as my solitude began to press more 
 lieavily oti me, I felt a kind of regret at not seeing him. 
 His lively tone in conversation, though spiced ith that
 
 2G8 
 
 vnoqueur spirit which Frenchmen nearly all assume, 
 amused me greatly ; and little versed as 1 was in the 
 world or in its ways, I saw that he knew it thoroughly. 
 Such were my thoughts as I returned home one evening 
 along the broad alley of the park, when 1 heard a foot 
 coming rapidly up behind me. 
 
 " I say, lieutenant," cried the voice of the very man I 
 was thinking of, " your people are terribly on the alert 
 to-night ; they refused to let me pass, until I told them I 
 was coming to you ; and here are two worthy fellows who 
 won't take my word for it without your corroboration." 
 
 I then perceived that two dismounted dragoons fol- 
 lowed him at the distance of a few paces. 
 
 " All right, men," said I, passing my arm beneath 
 the abbe's, and turning again towards my quarters. 
 " Wouldn't they take the password, then ? " continued I, 
 as we walked on. 
 
 " Ma foi, I don't know, for I haven't got it." 
 
 " How— not got it ? " 
 
 " Don't look so terribly frightened, my dear boy! 
 You'll not be put under arrest or any such mishap on 
 my account ; but the truth is, I've been away some days 
 from home, and have not had time to write to the minister 
 for the order ; and as I wanted to go over to St. Cloud 
 this evening, and as this route saves me at least a league's 
 walking, of course I availed myself of the privilege of 
 our friendship both to rest my legs and have a little chat 
 with you. Well, and how do you get on here now ? I 
 hope the chateau is more hospitable to you — eh ? — not 
 BO? — that is most strange. But I have brought you a 
 few books which may serve to while away the hours ; and 
 as a recompense, I'll ask you for a supper." 
 
 By this time we were at the door of my quarters, where, 
 having ordered up the best repast my cuisine afforded, we 
 sat down to await its appearance. Unlike the former 
 evening, the abbe now seemed low and depressed — spoke 
 little, and then moodily, over the unsettled state of men's 
 minds, and the rumours that pervaded Paris of some 
 momentous change — men knew not what — and thus by a 
 stray phrase, a chance word, or an unfinished sentence, 
 gave me to think that the hour was approaching for some 
 great political convalsiou.
 
 THE PAEK OF VERSAILLES. 269 
 
 " But, lieutenant, you never told me by what accident 
 you came first amongst us. Let me hear your story. The 
 feeling with which I ask is not the fruit of an impertinent 
 curiosity. I wish sincerely to know more about one in 
 whose fortunes I have taken a deep interest. De Beau- 
 vais told me the little anecdote which made you first 
 acquainted ; and though the event promised but little of 
 future friendship, the circumstances have turned out dif- 
 ferently. You have not one who speaks and thinks of- 
 you more highly than he does. I left him this morning 
 not many miles from this. And now that I think of it, 
 he gave me a letter for you — here it is." So saying, he 
 threw it carelessly on the chimney-piece, and continued : 
 " I must tell you a secret of poor De Beauvais, for I know 
 you feel interested in him. You must know, then, that 
 our friend is desperately in love with a very beautiful 
 cousin of his own, one of the suite of Madame Bonaparte. 
 She's a well-known Court beauty; and if you hnd seen 
 more of the Tuileries, you'd have heard of La Rose de 
 Provence.'* 
 
 " 1 have seen her, I think," muttered I, as my cheek 
 grew crimson, and my lips trembled. 
 
 '* Well," resumed the able, and without noticing my 
 embarrassment, " this love atfair, which [ believe began 
 long ago, and might have ended in marriage — for there is 
 no disparity of rank, no want of wealth, nor any other 
 difiiculty to prevent it — has been interrupted by General 
 Bonaparte, because, and for no other reason, mark ye, 
 than that De Beauvais's family were Bourbonists. His 
 father was a captain of the Garde du Corps, and his 
 grandfather a grand falconer, or something or other, with 
 Louis XV. Now, the young marquis was well enough 
 inclined to go with the current of events in France. The 
 order of things once changed, he deemed it best to follow 
 the crowd, and frequented the Tuileries like many others 
 of his own politics — I believe you met him there — till 
 one morning lately he resolved to try his fortune where 
 the game was his all. And he waited on Madame Bona- 
 parte to ask her consent to his marriage with his cousin — 
 for I must tell you that she is an orphan, and in all such 
 cases the parental nght is exercised by the head of the 
 Government. Madame referred him coldly to the General,
 
 270 TOM buhke of " ours." 
 
 who received liim more coldly still, and instead of reply- 
 ing to his suit, as he expected, broke out into invectives 
 against De Beauvais's friends — called them cliouans and 
 assassins — said they never ceased to plot against his life 
 with his most inveterate enemies, the English — that the 
 exiled family maintained a corps of spies in Paris, of 
 whom he half suspected him to be one ; and, in a word, 
 contrived to heap more insult on him in one quarter of 
 ,an hour than, as he himself said, his whole family had 
 endured from the days of St. Louis to the present. De 
 Beauvaia from that hour absented himself from the 
 Tuileries, and indeed almost entirely from Paris — now 
 living with his friends in Normandy, now spending a few 
 weeks in the south ; but at last he has determined on his 
 course, and means to leave France for ever. I believe the 
 object of his coming here at this moment is to see his 
 cousin for the last time. Perhaps his note to you has 
 some reference to it." 
 
 I took the letter with a trembling hand — a fear of some- 
 thing undefined was over me — and, tearing it open, read 
 as follows: — 
 
 " Dear Friend,— The Abbe d'Ervan will deliver this 
 into your hands, and, if you wish it, explain the reason 
 of the request it contains, which is simply that you will 
 afford me the shelter of your quarters for one day in the 
 park at Versailles. I know the diiBGLculty of your position ; 
 and if any other means under heaven presented itselt' I 
 should not ask the favour, which, although 1 pledge my 
 honour not to abuse, I shall value as the dearest a whole 
 life's gratitude can repay. My heart tells me that you will 
 not refuse the last wish of one you will never see after 
 this meeting. I shall wait at the gate below the Trianon 
 at eleven o'clock on Friday night, when you can pass me 
 through the sentries. 
 
 " Yours, e » er and devoted, 
 
 " Henri De Beauvais." 
 
 **The thing is impossible," said I, laying down the 
 letter on the table, and staring over at D'Ervaa.
 
 THE PARK OF VERSAILLES. 271 
 
 "No more so, dear friend, than what you have done for 
 me this evening, and which, I need not tell jou, involves 
 no risk whatever. Here am 1 now, without pass or coun- 
 ^.ersign, your guest — the partaker of as good a supper and 
 as excellent a glass of wine as man need care for. In an 
 hour hence — say two at most — I shall be on my way over 
 to St. Cloud. Who is, then, I ask you, to be the wiser ? 
 You'll not put me down in the night report — don't stai^t 
 — I repeat it — you can't do it ; for I had no countersign 
 to pass through : and as the Consul reads these sheets 
 every morning, you are not going to lose your commis- 
 sion for the sake of an absurd punctilio that nobody on 
 earth will thank you for. Come, come, my worthy lieu- 
 tenant, these same excellent scruples of yours savour far 
 more of the scholar at the rigid old Poly technique than 
 the young officer of hussars. Help me to that ortolan 
 there, and pass the bottle. There — a bumper of such a vin- 
 tage is a good reward for so much talking." 
 
 While the abbe continued to exert himself by many a 
 flippant remark, and many a smart anecdote, to dissipate 
 the gloom that now fell over my spirits, I grew only more 
 and more silent. The one false step I had taken already 
 presented itself before me as the precedent for further 
 wrong, and I knew not what course to take, nor how to 
 escape from my dilemma. 
 
 " i say, lieutenant," said D'Ervan, after a pause of some 
 minutes, during which he had never ceased to regard me 
 with a fixed, steady stare, *' you are about as unlike the 
 usual character of your countrymen as one can well con- 
 ceive. 
 
 " How so ? " said I, half smiling at the remark. 
 
 " All the Irishmen I have overseen," replied he — "and 
 I have known some scores of them — were bold, dashing, 
 intrepid fellows, that cared nothing for an enterprise if 
 danger had no share in it — who loved a difficulty as other 
 men love safety — who had an instinct for where their own 
 reckless courage would give them an advantage over all 
 others, and took life easily, under the conviction that every 
 day could present the circumstance where a ready wit and 
 a stout heart could make the way to fortune. Such were 
 the Irish I knew in the brigade ; and though not a man 
 of the number had ever seen what they called the Green
 
 272 TOM BURKE OP ** OtT.S.** 
 
 Island, they were as unlike the English, or French, or 
 Germans, or any other people, as — -as the old Court of 
 Louis XIV. was unlike the guard-room style of reception 
 that goes on now-a-days yonder." 
 
 " What you say may be just," said I coolly ; " and if I 
 seem to have few features of that headlong spirit which is 
 the gift of my nation, the circumstances of my boyhood 
 could well explain, perhaps excuse them. From my 
 earliest years I have had to struggle against ills that many 
 men, in a long lifetime, do not meet with. If suspicion 
 and distrust have crept or stolen into my heart, it is from 
 watching the conduct of those I deemed high-spirited and 
 honourable, and seeing them weak, and vacillating, and 
 faithless. And lastly, if every early hope that stirred 
 my heart does but wane and pale within me, as stars go 
 out when day is near, you cannot wonder that I, who 
 stand alone here, without home or friend, should feel a 
 throb of fear at aught which may tarnish a name that has 
 yet no memory of past services to rely upon. And if you 
 knew how sorely such emotions war against the spirit that 
 lives here, believe me, you had never made the reproach — 
 my punishment is enough already." 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear boy, if 1 said anything that could 
 wound you for a moment," said the abbe. This costume 
 of mine, they say, gives a woman's privilege, and truly I 
 believe it does something of the sex's impertinence also. 
 I ought to have known you better, and I do know you 
 better by this time. And now let me press a request I 
 made some half an hour ago — tell me this same story of 
 yours. I long to learn something of the little boy where I 
 feel such affection for the man." 
 
 The look of kindness and the tone of soothing interest 
 that accompanied these words I could not resist ; so, 
 drawing my chair close towards him, I began the narra- 
 tive of my life. He listened with the most eager atten- 
 tion to my account of the political condition of Ireland, 
 questioned me closely as to my connection with the in- 
 trigues of the period ; and when I mentioned the name 
 of Charles de Meudon, a livid paleness overspread his fea- 
 tures as he asked, in a low, hollow tone, if I were with 
 him when he died P 
 
 "Yes," replied I, '* by his bedside."
 
 THE PARK OF VERSAILLES. 273 
 
 " Did he ever speak to you of me ? Did he ever tell 
 you much of his early life when in Provence ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; he spoke often of those happy days in the 
 old chateau, where his sister, on whom he doted to dis- 
 traction, was his companion. Hers was a sad story, too. 
 Stran«^e, is it not, I have never heard of her since I came 
 to France ? " 
 
 A long pause followed these words, and the abbe leaned 
 his head upon his hand, and seemed to be lost in thought. 
 
 " She was in love with her cousin," I continued, " and 
 Charles, unhappily, refused his consent. Unhappily, I say, 
 for he wept over his conduct on his death-bed." 
 
 " Did he ? " cried the abbe, with a start, while his eye 
 flashed fire, and his nostrils swelled and dilated like a 
 chafed horse. " Did he do this ? " 
 
 " Yes, bitterly he repented it ; and although he never 
 confessed it, I could see that he had been deceived by 
 others, and turned from his own high-souled purpose 
 respecting his sister. I wonder what became of Claude — 
 he entered the Church." 
 
 " Ay, and lies there now," replied the abbe, sternly. 
 
 " Poor fellow! is he dead, too ? and so young." 
 
 " Yes. He contrived to entangle himself in some 
 Jacobite plot." 
 
 " Why, he was a royalist." 
 
 '* So he was. It might have been another conspiracy, 
 then — some cliouan intrigue. Whatever it was, the 
 Government heard of it ; he was arrested at the door of 
 his own preshytere ; the grenadiers were drawn up in his 
 own garden, and he was tried, condemned, and shot in 
 less than an hour. The officer of the company ate the 
 dinner that was preparing for him." 
 
 " What a destiny ! And Marie de Meudon ? " 
 
 " Hush ! the name is proscribed. The De Meudons 
 professed strong royalist opinions, and Bonaparte would 
 not permit her bearing her family name. She is known 
 by that of her mother's family, except by those poor 
 minions of the Court who endeavour, with their fade 
 afl'ectation, to revive the graceful pleasantries of Marie 
 Antoinette's time, and they call her La Rose de Provence." 
 
 " La Rose de Provence," cried I, springing up from my 
 chair, "the sister of Charles! " while a thrill of ecstasy 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 
 
 ran throngli ray frame, followed the moment after by a 
 cold, faint feel ; and I sank almost breathless in the chair, 
 
 " Ha ! " cried the abbe, leaning over me, and holding 
 
 the lamp close to my face, " what " And then, as he 
 
 resumed his place, he slowly muttered between his teeth, 
 " I did not dream of this." 
 
 Not a word was now spoken by either. The abbe sat 
 mute and motionless, his eyes bent upon the floor, and his 
 hands clasped before him. As for me, every emotion of 
 hope and fear, joy and sorrow, succeeded each other in my 
 mind ; and it was only as I thought of De Beauvais once 
 more that a gloomy despair spread itself before me, and I 
 remembered that he loved her, and how the abbe hinted 
 his passion was returned. 
 
 " The day is breaking,*' said D'Ervan, as he opened the 
 shutter and looked out ; " I must away. Well, I hope I 
 may tell my poor friend De Beauvais that you'll not refuse 
 his request. Charles de Meudon's sister may have a claim 
 on your kindness too." 
 
 •' If I thought that she " 
 
 " You mean, that she loved him. You must take his 
 word for that. She is not likely to make a confidant of 
 you ; besides, he tells you it's a last meeting. You can 
 scarcely say nay. Poor girl, he is the only one remaining 
 to her of all her house ! On his departure, you are not 
 more a stranger here than is she in the land of her fathers.'* 
 
 " I'll do it, I'll do it : "' criea 1, passionately. " Let him 
 meet me where he mentioned, I'll be there." 
 
 *' That's as it should be," said the abbe, grasping my 
 hand, and pressing it fervently ; " but come, don't forget 
 you must pass me through this same cordon of yours." 
 
 With a timid and shrinking heart I walked beside the 
 abbe across the open terrace, towards the large gate, 
 which with its bronzed and gilded tracery was already 
 shining in the rich sunlight. 
 
 " A fine-looking fellow, that dragoon yonder ; he's 
 decorated, I see." 
 
 " Yes ; an old hussar of the Garde." 
 
 *' What's he called ? " 
 
 " Pierre Dulong ; a name well known in his troop.** 
 
 *' Halte la!'"' cried the soldier, as we approached. 
 
 ** Your officer," said I.
 
 THE PAEK OF VERSAILLES. 275 
 
 « The word ? " 
 
 " Arcole." 
 
 " Pass, ' Arcole,' and good morrow." 
 
 " Adieu, lieutenant — adieu, Pierre," said the abbe, as 
 he waved his hand and passed out. 
 
 I stood for a minute or two uncertain of purpose ; why, 
 I know not. The tone of the last few words seemed 
 uttered in something like a sneer. " What folly, though ! " 
 said I to myself. " D'Ervan is a strange fellow, and it is 
 his way." 
 
 "We shall meet soon, abbe," I cried out, as he was turn- 
 ing the corner of the park wall. 
 
 "Yes, yes, rely on it, we shall meet — and soon." 
 
 He kept his word.
 
 276 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS. 
 
 CHAPTEH XXIX. 
 
 LA ROSE DE PROVENCE. 
 
 The one thought that dwelt in my mind the entire day 
 was, that Marie de Rochfort was Charles de Meudon's 
 sister. The fact once known, seemed to explain that secret 
 power she exercised over my hopes and longings. The 
 spell her presence threw around ever as she passed me in 
 the park ; that strange influence with which the few words 
 I had heard her speak still remained fast-rooted in my 
 memory ; all these did I attribute to the hold her name 
 had taken of my heart, as I sat night after night listening 
 to her brother's stories. And then, why had I not guessed 
 it earlier ? — why had I not perceived the striking resem- 
 blance which it now seemed impossible to overlook ? The 
 dark eye, beaming beneath a brow squarely chiselled like 
 an antique cameo ; the straight nose and short, up-turned 
 lip, where a half-saucy look seemed struggling with a sweet 
 smile ; and then the voice — was it not his own rich, 
 southern accent, tempered by her softer nature ? Yes ; I 
 should have known her. In reflections like these I made 
 my round of duty, my whole heart wrapped up in this 
 discovery. I never thought of De Beauvais, or his letter. 
 It seemed to me as though I had known her long and 
 intimately ; she was not the Rose de Provence of the 
 Court — the admired of the Tuileries — the worshipped belle 
 of Versailles — but Marie de Meudon, the sister of one who 
 loved me as a brother. 
 
 There was a dark alley near the Trianon, that led along 
 the side of a little lake, where rocks and creeping plants, 
 rudely grouped together, gave a half-wild aspect to the 
 scene. The tall beech and the drooping ash-trees that 
 grew along the bank threw their shadows far across she 
 still water ; and here I had remarked that Mademoiselle 
 de Meudon came frequently alone. It was a place, from 
 its look of shade and gloom, little likely to attract the gay
 
 -^/ 
 
 ■r/y 
 
 S^. y^.^-/ A^i"^"^^-

 
 LA ROSE DE PROVENCE. 277 
 
 Visitors of tlie Court, wlio better loved the sraoothly-sliaven 
 grass of the Palace walks, or the broad terraces where 
 bright fountains were plashing. Since I discovered that 
 she avoided rae when we met, 1 had never taken this path 
 on my rounds, although leading directly to one of my out- 
 posts, but preferred rather a different and longer route. 
 'Now, however, I sought it eagerly, and, as T hurried on, I 
 dreaded lest my unwonted haste might excite suspicion. 
 I resolved to see and speak to her. It was her brother's 
 wish that I should know her ; and till now I felt as though 
 my great object in coming to France was unobtained, if I 
 knew not her whose name was hallowed in my memory. 
 Poor Charles used to tell me she would be a sister to me. 
 How my heart trembled at the thought ! As I drew near 
 I stopped to think how she might receive me ; with what 
 feelings hear me speak of one who was the cause of all 
 her unhappiness. But then they said she loved De 
 Beauvais. What ! was poor Claude forgotten ? Was all 
 the love-dream of her first affection passed ? My thoughts 
 ran wild as different impulses struggled through them, and 
 I could resolve on nothing. Before me, scarcely a dozen 
 paces, and alone, she stood looking on the calm lake, 
 where the light in golden and green patches played, as it 
 struggled through the dense foliage. The clattering of 
 my sabre startled her, and, without looking back, she 
 dropped her veil, and moved slowly on. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Meudon," said I, taking off my chako, 
 and bowing deeply before her. 
 
 " What— how ! Why this name, sir ? Don't you know 
 it's forbidden here ? " 
 
 " I know it, madame ; but it is by that name alone I 
 dare to speak to you ; it was by that I learned to know you 
 — from one who loved you, and who did not reject my 
 humble heart — one who, amid all the trials of hard fate, 
 felt the hardest to be — the wrong he did his sister." 
 
 *' Did you speak of my brother Charles ? '! said she, in a 
 voice low and tremulous. 
 
 " I did, madame. The last message his lips ever uttered 
 was given to me, and for you. Not until last night did I 
 know that I was every hour of the day so near to one 
 whose name was treasured in my heart." 
 
 " Oh ! tell me of him — tell me of my dear Charles ! "
 
 278 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 cried she, as the tears ran fast down her pale cheeks. 
 " Where was his death ? Was it among strangers that 
 he breathed his last ? Was there one there who loved 
 him?" 
 
 " There was — there was ! " cried I, passionately, unable 
 to say more. 
 
 "And where was that youth that loved him so tenderly ? 
 I heard of him as one who never left his side — tending 
 him in sickness, and watching beside him in sorrow. Was 
 he not there P " 
 
 " I was — I was. My hand held his. In my ear his 
 last sigh was breathed." 
 
 " Oh ! was it you indeed who were my brother's friend ? " 
 said she, seizing my hand, and pressing it to her lips. 
 The hot tears dropped heavily on my wrist, and in my 
 ecstasy I knew not where I was. " Oh ! " cried she, pas- 
 sionately, " I did not think that in my loneliness such a 
 happiness as this remained for me. I never dreamed to 
 see and speak to one who knew and loved my own dear 
 Charles — who could tell me of his solitary hours of exile ; 
 what hopes and fears stirred that proud heart of his ; who 
 could bring back to me in all their force again the bright 
 hours of our happy youth, when we were all to each 
 other ; when our childhood knew no greater bliss than 
 that we loved. Alas ! alas ! how short-lived was it all ! 
 He lies buried beyond the sea in the soil of the stranger, 
 and I live on to mourn over the past, and shudder at the 
 future. But come, let us sit down upon this bank. You 
 must not leave me till I hear all about him. Where did 
 you meet first ? " 
 
 We sat down upon a grassy bench beside the stream, 
 where I at once began the narrative of my first acquaint- 
 ance with De Meudon. At first the rush of sensations 
 that came crowding on me made me speak with difiiculty 
 and effort. The flutter of her dress as the soft wind waved 
 it to and fro, the melody of her voice, and her full, languid 
 eye, where sorrow and long-buried aflPection mingled their 
 expression, sent thrilling through my heart thoughts that 
 I dared not dwell upon. Gradually, as I proceeded, my 
 mind recurred to my poor friend, and I warmed as T 
 spoke of his heroic darings and his bold counsels. All 
 his high-souled ardour, all the nobleness of his great
 
 LA ROSE DE PROVENCE. 279 
 
 nature, his self-devotion, and his suffering, were again 
 before me, mingled with those traits of womanly softness 
 which only belong to those whose courage is almost fana- 
 ticism. How her dark eyes grew darker as she listened, 
 and her parted lips and her fast-heaving bosom betrayed 
 the agitation that she felt! And how that proud look 
 melted into sorrow when I told of the day when his out^ 
 pouring heart recurred to home and her, the loved one of 
 his boyhood ! 
 
 Ever}^ walk in that old terraced garden, each grassy 
 alley, and each shady seat, I knew as though I saw them. 
 Although I did not mention Claude, nor even distinctly 
 allude to the circumstances whic'' led to their unhappi- 
 ness, I could see that her cheek became paler and paler, 
 and that, despite an effort to seem calm, the features 
 moved with a slight jerking motion, her lip trembled 
 convulsively, and, with a low, sad sigh she fell back 
 fainting. 
 
 I sprang down the bank towards the lake, and in an in- 
 stant dipped my chako in the water ; and as I hastened 
 back, she was sitting up, her eyes staring madly round her, 
 her look wild almost to insanity, while her outstretched 
 finger pointed to the copse of low beech near us. 
 
 " There, there ! I saw him ! " said she. ** He was 
 there now. Look ! look ! " Shocked at the terrified ex- 
 pression of her features, and alarmed lest my story had 
 conjured up before her disordered imagination the image 
 of her lost brother, I spoke to her in words of encourage- 
 ment. " No, no," replied she to my words, " I saw him 
 - — I heard his voice, too. Let us leave this. Bring me to 
 
 the Trianon ; and " The terrified and eager look she 
 
 threw around at each word did not admit of longer par- 
 ley, and I drew her arm within mine to lead her forward. 
 " This is no fancy, as you deem it," said she, in a low and 
 broken tone, to which an accent of bitterness lent a terrible 
 power ; " nor could the grave give up before me one so full 
 of terror to my heart as him I saw there." Her head 
 sank heavily as she uttered this ; and, notwithstanding 
 every effort I made, she spoke no more, nor would give 
 me any answer to my questions regarding the cause of her 
 fears. As we walked forward we heard the sound of 
 voices, which she at once recognized as belonging to the
 
 2S0 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.'' 
 
 Court party, and pressing my hand slightly, she motioned 
 me to leave her. I pressed the pale fingers to my lips, 
 and darted away, my every thought bent on discovering 
 the cause of her late fright. In an instant I was back 
 beside the lake. I searched every copse and every brake. 
 I wandered for hours through the dark woods, but nothing 
 could I see. I stooped to examine the ground, but could 
 not even detect the pressure of a footstep. The dried 
 branches lay unbroken, and the leaves nnpressed around; 
 and I at last became convinced that an excited brain, and 
 a mind harassed by a long sorrow, had conjured up the 
 image she spoke of. As I approached the picket, which 
 was one of the most remote in my rounds, I resolved to 
 ask the sentry had he seen any one. 
 
 " Yes, lieutenant," said the soldier ; " a man passed 
 some short time ago in an undress uniform. He gave 
 the word, and I let him proceed." 
 
 " Was be old or young ? " 
 
 " Middle-aged, and of your height." 
 
 " Which way did he take ? " 
 
 " He turned towards the left as he passed out ; I lost 
 sight of him then." 
 
 I hurried immediately onward, and entered the wood by 
 the path in the direction mentioned, my mind painfully 
 excited by what I heard, and resolved to do everything to 
 probe this matter to the bottom ; but, though I walked 
 miles in every direction, I met none save a few fagot- 
 gatherers, and they had not seen any one like him I sought 
 for. With a weary and a heavy heart I turned towards 
 my quarters, all the happiness of the morning dashed by 
 the strange event I have related. My night was feverish 
 and disturbed ; for a long time I could not sleep, and, 
 when I did, wild and terrible fancies came on me, and I 
 started up in terror. A horrible face recurred at every 
 instant to my mind's eye ; and even when awake, the least 
 noise, the slightest rustling of the leaves in the park, 
 agitated and excited me. At last, worn out with the pain- 
 ful struggle between sleep and waking, I arose and dressed. 
 The day was breaking, and already the birds were carol- 
 ling to the rising sun. I strolled out into the park. The 
 fresh and bracing air of morning cooled my burning brow ; 
 the mild influences of the hour, when sweet perfumes float
 
 LA ROSE DE PROVENCE. 2S1 
 
 softly in tlie dew-loaded breeze, soothed and calmed me; 
 and I wandered back in thought to her who already had 
 given a charm to my existence I never knew before. 
 
 The long wished-for dream of my boyhood was realized 
 at last. 1 knew the sister of my friend. I sat beside her, 
 and heard her speak to me in tones so like his own. I was no 
 longer the friendless alien, without one to care for, one to 
 feel interested in his fortunes. The isolation that pressed 
 so painfully on me fled before that thought, and now I felt 
 raised in my own esteem by those dark eyes that thanked 
 me as I spoke of poor Charles. What a thrill that look 
 iscnt through my heart ! Oh, did she know the power of 
 that glance ! Could she foresee what seeds of hig-h ambi- 
 tion her every smile was sowing ! The round of my duty 
 was to me devoid of all fatigue, and I returned to my 
 quarters with a light step and a lighter heart. 
 
 The entire day I lingered about the Trianon and near 
 the lake, but Marie never came, nor did she appear in the 
 •walks at all. " Was she ill ? had the vision, whatever it 
 was, of yesterday, preyed upon her health? " were my first 
 thoughts, and I inquired eagerly if any doctor had been 
 seen about the chateau ; but no, nothing unusual seemed to 
 have occurred, and a ball was to take place that very even- 
 ing. I would have given worlds, were they mine, even to 
 know in what part of the Palace she was lodged ; and fifty 
 times did I affect to have some duty, as an excuse to cross 
 the terrace, and steal a cautious glance t-owards the win- 
 dows, but in vain. 
 
 So engrossed was ray mind with thoughts of her that T 
 forgot all else The pickets, too, I had not visited since 
 daybreak, and my report to the minister remained unfilled. 
 It was late in the evening when I sallied forth to my duty, 
 and night, with scarce a star, was falling fast. My pre- 
 occupation prevented my feeling the way as I walked 
 along ; and I had already visited all the outposts except 
 one, when a low, faint whistle, that seemed to issue from 
 the copse near me, startled me. It was repeated after a 
 moment, and I called out, — 
 " Who's there ? Advance." 
 
 "Ah, I thought it was you, Burke," said a voice I at 
 once knew to be Beauvais's. "You broke faith with me 
 at the town-gate yonder, and so 1 had to come down here."
 
 282 TOM BURKE OF '' OUBG." 
 
 " Hew ? You surely were not there when I passed ? " 
 
 "Yes, but I was, though. Did you not see the wood- 
 cutter, with his blouse on his arm, lighting his pipe at tbe 
 door of the guard-house ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but you can't mean that it was you." 
 
 " Do you remember his saying, * Buy a cheap oharretee of 
 wood, lieutenant — I'll leave it at your quarters ? ' " 
 
 "De Beauvais," said I, gravely, " these risks maybe 
 fatal to us both. My orders are positive, and if I disobey 
 them there are no powerful friends nor high relatives to 
 screen me from a deserving punishment." 
 
 " What folly you speak, Burke ! If I did not know you 
 better, I should say you grudged me the hospitality I have 
 myself asked you for. One night to rest — and I need it 
 much, if yoa knew but all — and one day to speak to Marie, 
 and you have done with me. Is that too much ? " 
 
 ";N'o — not if I did not betray a trust in sheltering 
 you, far too little to speak of, much less thank me for; 
 but " 
 
 " Do spare me these scruples, and let us take the shortest 
 way to your quarters ; a supper, and three chairs to sleep 
 on, are worth all your arguments, eloquent though they 
 be." 
 
 We walked on together, almost in silence; I over- 
 whelmed with fear for the result should my conduct ever 
 become known, he evidently chagrined at my reception of 
 him, and little disposed to make allowances for scruples he 
 would not have respected himself. 
 
 " So here we are at last," said he, as he threw himself ou 
 my little sofa, seemingly worn out with exhaustion. I had 
 now time to look at him by the light, and almost started 
 back at the spectacle that presented itself. His dress, 
 which was that of the meanest peasant, was ragged and 
 torn ; his shoes scarce held together with coarse thongs, 
 and his beard, unshaven for weeks past, increased the 
 haggard look of features where actual want and starvation 
 seemed impressed. "You are surprised at my costume,'* 
 said he, with a sad smile; "and, certes, Crillac would not 
 court a customer habited as I am just now ; but what will 
 you say when I assure you that the outward man — and you 
 will not accuse him of any voluptuous extravagance — bfis 
 a very great advantage over the inner one ? In plain
 
 LA ROSE DE PROVENCE. 283 
 
 words, lieutenant, you'd hurry your cook, if you knew I 
 have not tasted food, save what the hedges afford, for two 
 days ; not from poverty neither ; there's wherewithal there 
 to dine, even at Beauvilliers's." He rattled a well-filled 
 purse as he spoke. 
 
 " Come, come, De Beauvais, you accuse me of doing the 
 honours with a bad grace, and, in truth, I wish I were your 
 host outside the pickets ; but let me retrieve my character 
 a little — taste this capon." 
 
 "If you never dined with a wolf, yon shall now," said 
 he, drawing his chair to the table and filling a large goblet 
 with Burgundy. For ten or fifteen minutes he ate on like 
 a man whom long starvation had rendered half savage ; 
 then ceasing suddenly, he looked up, and said, " Lieu- 
 tenant, the cuisine here might tempt a more fastidious man 
 than I am ; and if these people are not hospitable enough 
 to invite you to their soirees, they certainly do not starve 
 y3u at home." 
 
 *' How knew you that I was not asked to the chateau ? " 
 said I, reddening with a sense of offended pride I could 
 not conceal. 
 
 *' Know it ? Why, man, these things are known at once ; 
 people talk of them in saloons and morning visits, and 
 comment on them in promenades ; and though I seem not 
 to have been keeping company with the heau monde 
 latterly, I hear what goes on there too. But trust me, boy, 
 if your favour stands not high with the Court of to-day, 
 you may perhaps be preparing the road to fortune with 
 that of to-morrow." 
 
 " Though you speak in riddle, De Beauvais, so long 
 as I suspect that what you mean would offer insult to 
 those I serve, let me say — and I say it in all temper, 
 but in all firmness — yoa'll find no ready listener in 
 me. The highest favour I aspire to is the praise of our 
 great chief, General Bonaparte, and here I pledge his 
 health." 
 
 " I'll drink no more wine to-night," said he, sulkily 
 pushing his glass before him. " Is this to be my bed ? " 
 
 " Of course not ; mine is ready for you. I'll rest on 
 the sofa there ; for I shall have to visit my pickets by day- 
 break." 
 
 "in Heaven's name, for what?" said he, with a half
 
 284 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 sneer. *' What can that poor Savary be dreaming of? Is 
 there any one about to steal the staircase of the Louvre, or 
 the clock from the pavilion of the Tuileries ? or is it the 
 savants of the Institute he's afraid of losing?" 
 
 " Rail on, my good friend ; you'll find it very hard to 
 make an old scholar of the Polytechnique think poorly of 
 the man that gains battles." 
 
 " Well, well, I give up my faith in physiognomy. Do 
 you remember that same evening in the Tuileri' s, when I 
 askedyour pardon, and begged to be your friend ? I thought 
 you a different fellow then from what I see you now ; that 
 silly hussar pelisse has turned many a head before yours.'* 
 
 " You wish to make me angry, De Beauvais, and you'll 
 not succeed. A night's rest will bring you to better 
 temper with all the world." 
 
 " Will it, faith ! In that case a tolerably large portion 
 of it must take leave of it before morning ; for I promise 
 you, my worthy hussar, there are some I don't expect to 
 feel so very charitably towards as you expect." 
 
 " W^ell, well— what say you to bed ? " 
 
 *' I'll sleep where T am," said he, with some harshness 
 in his tone. " Good night." The words were scarcely 
 uttered when he turned on his side, and, shading his eyes 
 from the light with his hand, fell fast asleep. 
 
 -It was already past midnight, and as I was fatigued 
 with my day's walking, I soon retired to my bed, but not 
 to rest. Whenever I closed my eyes, Beauvais's pale and 
 worn face seemed before me — the haggard expression of 
 suffering and privation ; and then I fell to thinking what 
 enterprise of danger could involve him in such necessities 
 as these. It must be one of peril, or he had not become 
 what now I saw him. His very voice was changed — its 
 clear, manly tone was now harsh and dissonant : his 
 irank and cheerful look was downcast and suspicious. 
 
 At last, worn out with thinking, I fell asleep, but was 
 suddenly awakened by a voice shouting from the outer 
 room. I sat up and listened. It was De Beauvais, call- 
 ing wildly for help ; the cry grew fainter, and soon sank 
 into the long-drawn respiration of repose. Poor fellow ! 
 even in his dreams his thoughts were of strife and danger.
 
 285 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 The day was breaking when I was up and stirring, resolv- 
 ing to visit the pickets before De Beauvais awoke, for even 
 still the tone of ridicule he assumed was strong before me. 
 I passed stealthily through the room where he was still 
 sleeping : the faint light streamed through the half-closed 
 shutters, and fell upon a face so pale, so haggard, and so 
 worn, that I started back in horror. How altered was he, 
 indeed, from what I had seen him first ! The cheek once 
 ruddy with the flush of youth was now pinched and drawn 
 in ; the very lips were bloodless, as if not illness alone, 
 but long fasting from food, had pressed upon him. His 
 hair, too, which used to fall upon his shoulders and on his 
 neck in rich and perfumed locks, silky and delicate as a 
 girl's, was now tangled and matted, and hung across his 
 lace and temples wild and straggling. Even to his hands 
 his changed condition was apparent ; for they were torn 
 and bleeding : while in the attitude of sleep, you could 
 trace the heavy unconscious slumber of one utterly worn 
 out and exhausted. His dress was of the coarse stuff the 
 peasants wear in their blouses, and even that seemed old 
 and worn. What strange career had brought him down to 
 this I could not think ; for poor as all seemed about him, his 
 well-stocked purse showed that his costume was worn 
 rather for disguise than necessity. Such was my first 
 thought ; my second, more paintul still, recurred to her he 
 loved, by whom he was, perhaps, beloved in turn. Oh ! if 
 anything can add to the bitter smart of jealousy, it is the 
 dreadful conviction that she for whom our heart's best 
 blood would flow to ensure one hour of happiness, has 
 placed her whole life's fortune on the veriest chance, be- 
 stowing her love on one whose life gives no guarantiee 
 for the future — no hope, no pledge, that the world's 
 wildest schemes of daring and ambition are not dearer to
 
 2S6 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 his eyes tlian all her charms and affections. How does 
 our own deep devotion come up before us contrasted with 
 this ; and how, in the consciousness of higher motives and 
 more ennobling thoughts, do we still feel inferior to him 
 who, if poor in all besides, is rich in her love. Such en- 
 vious feelings filled my heart, as I looked on him ; and 
 with slow, sad step I moved on, when by accident I came 
 against a chair, and threw it down. The noise awoke 
 him, and with a spring he was on his legs, and, drawing a 
 pistol from his bosom, cried out, — 
 
 " Ha !— what is't ? Why Burke, it's you ! What hour 
 is it?" 
 
 " Not four yet. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, De 
 Beauvais ; but the chair here " 
 
 '• Yes, yes, I placed it so last night. I felt so very 
 heavy that I could not trust myself with waking to a 
 slight noise. Where to, so early ? Ah ! these pickets — I 
 forgot." And with that he lay down again, and before I 
 left the house was fast asleep once more. 
 
 Some trifling details of duty detained me at one or two 
 of the outposts, and it was beyond my usual time when I 
 turned homeward. I had but just reached the broad alley 
 that leads to the foot of the great terrace, when I saw a 
 figure before me hastening on towards the chateau. The 
 flutter of the dress showed it to be a woman, and then the 
 thought flashed on me — it was Mademoiselle de Meudon. 
 Yes, it was her step — I knew it well. She had left the 
 place thus early to meet De Beauvais. Without well 
 knowing what I did, I had increased my speed, and 
 was now rapidly overtaking her, when the noise of my 
 footsteps on the ground made her turn about and look 
 back. I stopped short suddenly. An indistinct sense of 
 something culpable on my part, in thus pursuing her, 
 flitted across my mind, and I could not move. There she 
 stood, too, motionless ; but for a second or two only, and 
 then beckoned to me with her hand. I could scarcely 
 trust my eyes, nor did I dare to stir till she had repeated 
 the motion twice or thrice. 
 
 As I drew near, I remarked that her eyes were red with 
 weeping, and her face pale as death. For a moment she 
 gazed steadfastly at me, and then, with a voice whose 
 accent i can never forget, she said, —
 
 A "WARNING." 287 
 
 " And you, too, tlie dearest friend of my own Charles, 
 whose very death-bed spoke of loyalty to him, how have 
 you been drawn from your allegiance ? " 
 
 I stood amazed and astounded, unable to utter a word 
 in reply, when she resumed, — 
 
 " For them there is reason, too. They lived, or tbeir 
 fathers did, in the sunshine of the old Monarchy. Wealth, 
 rank, riches, power — all were theirs : bat you, who came 
 amongst us with high hopes of greatness, where others 
 have earned them on the field of battle — whose youth is a 
 guarantee that base and unworthy thoughts should form 
 no part of his motives, and whose high career began under 
 the very eyes of him, the idol of every soldier's heart — 
 oh ! why turn from such a path as this, to dark and 
 crooked ways, where low intrigue, and plot, and treachery 
 are better weapons than your own stout heart and your 
 own bright sword ? " 
 
 " Hear me, I pray you," said I, bursting into impa- 
 tience — " hear me but one word, and know that you 
 accuse me wrongfully. I have no part in, nor have I 
 knowledge of, any treason." 
 
 " Oh, speak not thus to me. There are those who may 
 call their acts by high-sounding titles, and say — ' We are 
 but restoring our own sovereigns to the land they owned ;' 
 but you are free to think and feel. 'No prestige of long 
 years blinds your reason, or obstructs your sense of 
 right." 
 
 " Once more I swear, that though I can but guess at 
 where your suspicions point, my faith is now as true, my 
 loyalty as firm, as when I pledged myself at your dear 
 brother's side to be a soldier." 
 
 " Then why have you mixed yourself with their in- 
 trigues ? Why are you already suspected ? Why has 
 Madame Bonaparte received orders to omit your name 
 in all the invitations to the chateau? " 
 
 " Alas ! I know not. I learn now, for the first time, 
 that suspicion ever attached to me." 
 
 " It is said, too — for already such things are spoken of 
 — that you know that dreadful man, whose very presence 
 is contamination. Oh ! does it not seem like fate, that 
 his dark path should traverse every joortion of my 
 destiny ? "
 
 288 TOM BURKE OF " OURS. 
 
 »f 
 
 The sobs that burst from her at these words seemed to 
 rend her very bosom. 
 
 " They say," continued she, while her voice trembled 
 with strong emotion — " they say he has been here." 
 
 " I know not of whom you speak," said I, as a cold chill 
 ran through my blood. 
 
 " Mehee de la Touche," replied she, with an effort. 
 
 " I never heard of him till now — the very name is un- 
 known to me." 
 
 " Thank God for this," muttered she between her teeth. 
 " I thought, perhaps, that De Beauvais had made yoa 
 known to each other." 
 
 " No; De Beauvais never introduced me, save to some 
 friends of his one evening at a supper, several months 
 back ; and only one of them have I ever seen since, an 
 Aobe d'Ervan ; and, indeed, if I am guilty of any breach 
 of duty, I did not think the reproach was to come from 
 you." 
 
 The bitterness of these last words was wrung from me 
 in a moment of wounded pride. 
 
 " How! what mean you? " said she impetuously. "No 
 one has dared to call my fidelity into question, nor speak 
 of me as false to those who cherish and protect me." 
 
 " You mistake my meaning," said I, sadly and slowly; 
 then hesitating how far I should dare allude to De Beau- 
 vais's aifection, I stopped, when suddenly her face became 
 deeply flushed, and a tear started to her eye. " Alas ! she 
 loves him," said I to my heart, and a sickness like death 
 passed over me. 
 
 " Leave me, leave me quickly," cried she. " I see per- 
 sons watching us from the terrace." And with that she 
 moved hastily on towards the chateau, and I turned into 
 one of the narrow walks that led into the wood. 
 
 Two trains of thought struggled for mastery in my 
 mind: how had I become suspected? how should I wipe 
 out the stain upon my honour? 
 
 There was not an incident of my life since my landing 
 in France I did not call to mind ; and 3^et, save in the 
 unhappy meeting with De Beauvais, I could not see the 
 siiglitest probability that even malevolence could attach 
 anything to my reputation. From D'Ervan, it is true, I 
 heard more than once opinions that startled me j less,
 
 289 
 
 however, by anything direct, in their meaning, than that 
 they were totally new and strange ; and yet the abbe, I 
 had every reason to believe, was a friend of the present 
 Government — at least it was evident he was on terms of 
 close intimacy with Monsieur Savary. 
 
 " De Beauvais must clear up some of these doubts for 
 me," thought I ; "he must inform me more particularly as 
 to those to whom he introduced me. I shall endeavour to 
 learn, too, something of their schemes, and thus guard 
 myself against the mere chance of suspicion, for unques- 
 tionably he is not in ignorance of the movement, what- 
 ever it be." And with such intentions I hurried onwards, 
 eager to reach my quarters. 
 
 As I entered my room, a low, heavy sob broke on my 
 ear ; I started back with surprise. It was De Beauvais, 
 who sat, his head buried in his hands, leaning on the 
 table. 
 
 " Ha ! " said he, springing up, and passing his hand 
 hurriedly across his e3es, "so soon back! I scarcely 
 expected you." 
 
 " It is past ten o'clock — a full hour later than my usual 
 return." 
 
 " Indeed ! " rejoined he, with an air of impertinent sur- 
 prise. " So then your pickets have been arresting and 
 detaining some poor devils gathering fagots or acorns ; or 
 have you unfathomed the depth of this terrible plot your 
 Piefet de Police has become insane about ? " 
 
 "Neither," said I, aiiecting a careless tone. "The 
 Government of the Consul is sufficiently strong to make 
 men's minds easy on that score. Whatever intrigues are 
 at work, they are as little likely to escape his keen eye as 
 their perpetrators are, when taken, the fire of a grenadier 
 company." 
 
 " Ma foi^ sir, you speak confidently," replied he, in an 
 accent of pride totally different from his former tone. 
 " And yet I have heard of persons just as confident, too, 
 who afterwards confessed they had been mistaken. But, 
 perhaps, it seems less strange to you that a sous-lieutenant 
 of artillery should rule tlie destinies of France, than that 
 the king of the country should resume the throne of his 
 ancestors." 
 
 "Take care, De Beauvais, with whom you speak. I 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 290 TOM BURKE OF " OUES." 
 
 warn you ; and be assured I'll not be trifled with. One 
 word more, and I put you under arrest." 
 
 " Not here, surely," replied be, in a low and searching 
 voice. '* Not here. Let us walk out into the park — let it 
 be in the great alley, or on the terrace yonder ; or, better 
 stiU, let the capture take place in the wood ; but do not 
 let your loyalty violate the hospitality of your home." 
 
 <' Forgive me, I pray ; I knew not what I said. You 
 tempted me sorely, though. Think but for a moment, De 
 Beauvais, how I stand here, and let your own heart judge 
 me. I am an alien — a friendless stranger. There lives 
 not one in all the length and breadth of France who 
 would raise a finger, or speak one word to save me were 
 my head in peril. My sword and my fidelity are all my 
 hope ; that both should remain pure and unblemished is 
 all my wish. The grade I have 1 owe to him " 
 
 " Great cause for gratitude, truly," he broke in. " The 
 chiet eleve of the Polytechnique is made a sous-lieutenant 
 of cavalry, with functions of a sergeant of the gendar- 
 merie^ with orders to stop all travellers, and search their 
 pockets. Shame on it ! It was not thus the rightful 
 sovereigns of France regarded those who wore their epau- 
 lettes — not thus did they esteem the soldier's part. Think, 
 for a second, what you are, and then reflect what you 
 might be. Cold and unimpassioned as you call yourself, 
 I know your heart better. There lives not one who 
 treasures a higher ambition in his breast than you. Ah ! 
 your eyes sparkle already. Think, then, I say, what a 
 career opens before you, if you have courage to embrace 
 it. It's a great game that enables a man to spring from 
 sous-lieutenant to colonel of a regiment. Come, Burke, 
 I can have no reason, save your welfare, to press these 
 considerations on you. What are you writing there ? " 
 
 " A report to the Prefet de Police. I see now, however 
 late it is, the unworthiness of the part I've acted, in re- 
 maining in a service where I've listened to statements such 
 as these. I shall ask to have my grade withdrawn, and be 
 reduced to the ranks ; there, perhaps, I may be permitted 
 to carry a soldier's musket without a stain upon my 
 honour." 
 
 "You can do better, sir," interrupted he, as his face 
 grew purple with pabyiun, and his eyes flashed fire — "far
 
 A "WARNING.*' 291 
 
 better : call up your dragoons yondetr, and place me where 
 you threatened, under arrest ; forward your report to the 
 minister, that Henri de Beauvais, Marquis et Pair de 
 France, when such things were, has been taken with the 
 ' Croix de St. Louis' and the cordon in his possession." 
 Here he took from his bosom the decoration, and waved 
 it above his head. " Add, too, that he came prepared to 
 tempt your loyalty with this." He drew forth at the words 
 a parchment document, and dashed it on the table before 
 me. 
 
 " There, sir, read it ; it is the king's own handwriting 
 — your brevet of colonel to a regiment of the Gardes. 
 Such proofs of your devotion can scarcely go unrewarded. 
 They may raise you to the rank of police spy. There 
 is a lady yonder, too, who Lhould also share in your eleva- 
 tion, as she does in your loyal sentiments — Mademoiselle 
 de Meudon may be too quick for you. Lose no time, sir ; 
 such chances as these are not the fruit of every day. After 
 all, I can scarcely go to the guillotine under better auspices 
 than with my cousin and my friend as my betrayers. 
 Mayhap, too, they'll do you the honour to make you mount 
 guard beside the scaffold. Such an occasion to display 
 your devotion should not escape you. David found it 
 profitable to catch the expiring agonies of his own friends, 
 as with easel and brush he sat beside the guillotine. The 
 hint should not be lost." 
 
 The insulting emphasis with which he spoke the last 
 words cut me to the very heart, and I stood speechless 
 before him, trembling like a criminal. 
 
 "Let us part, De Beauvais," said I, at length, as I held 
 my hand towards him. *' Let us say adieu to each other, 
 and for ever. I can forgive all you have said to me far 
 better than I could myself had I listened to your per- 
 suasions. What may be honourable and just in you would 
 be black ingratitude and dark treachery in me. I shall 
 now endeavour to forget we have ever met, and once 
 more, good-bye ! " 
 
 " You are right," replied he, after a pause of some 
 seconds, and in a tone of great sadness. " We never 
 should have met. Adieu ! " 
 
 " One word more, De Beauvais. I find that I have been 
 suspected of some treasonable intercourse, that evcM here I 
 
 u 2
 
 292 TOM BURKE OF '* OURS.** 
 
 am watclied and spied upon ; tell me, I beseech you, before 
 you go, from what quarter comes this danger, that I may 
 guard against it." 
 
 " In good truth, you give me credit for quicker per- 
 ceptions than I have any right to. How so loyal a gentle- 
 man should lie under such an imputation I cannot even 
 guess." 
 
 " Your sneers shall not provoke me. The fact is as I 
 state it ; and if you will not help me to the discovery, tell 
 me, at least, who are the persons to whom you introduced 
 me formerly at Beauvilliers's ? " 
 
 " Very excellent company ! I trust none of them have 
 cheated you at ecarte." 
 
 " Pray, have done with jesting, and answer me. "Who 
 is your abbe ? " 
 
 " Majoi, he is the Abbe d'Ervan. What part of France 
 he comes from — who are his family, friends, and resources 
 — are all questions I have never thought proper to ask 
 him, possibly because I am not so scrupulous on the score 
 of my acquaintances as you are. He is a very clever, 
 amusing, witty person — knows almost every one — has the 
 entree into every house in the Faubourg St. Germain — can 
 compose a couplet, and sing it — make a mayonnaise or a 
 madrigal better than any man I know — and, in fact, if he 
 were o^-e of these days to be a minister of France, I should 
 not be so very much surprised as you appear this moment 
 at my not knowing more about him. As to the other, 
 the Russian secretary, or spy, if you like the phrase better, 
 he was unlucky enough to have one of his couriers robbed 
 by a party of brigands, which, scandal says, were sent out 
 for the purpose by Monsieur de Talleyrand. His secret 
 despatches were opened and read ; and as they were found 
 to implicate the Russian Government in certain intrigues 
 carrying on, the Czar had only one course open, which 
 was to recall the sec, and disavow his whole proceedings. 
 The better to evince his displeasure, 1 hear they have slit 
 his nose, and sent him to pass the winter at Tobolsk. 
 Lastly, the prefet — what shall I say of him, save that he 
 was a prefet in the south, and wants to be one again ? His 
 greatest endeavours in any cause will be to pledge its 
 success in Burgundy, or, if you wish, di'ink the downfall 
 of its enemy j and as to his enthusiasm, he cares a devilish
 
 293 
 
 deal more for a change of weather than a change of dynasty, 
 particularly in the truffle season, or when the vines are 
 ripening. Such are the truly dangerous associates you 
 have kept company with. It now only remains to speak 
 of my humble self, whose history, I need scarcely say, ig 
 far more at your service than worth the hearing. Are 
 you satisfied ? " 
 
 " Quite so, as regards me ; by no means so, however, 
 as to your fate. Short as our intimacy has been, I have 
 seen enough of you to know that qualities like yours 
 should not be wasted in a mad or hopeless enterprise." 
 
 " Who told you it was either?" interrupted he, impetu- 
 ously. " Who dares to say that the rule of a usurper is 
 more firmly placed than the prestige of a monarchy, that 
 goes back to Hugues Capet? Come, come! I will not 
 discuss these questions with you, nor have I temper now 
 left to do so. Give me the countersign to pass the sentry, 
 and let us part." 
 
 " Not in anger, though, De Beauvais." 
 
 " Not in friendship, sir," replied he, proudly, as he 
 waved back, with his, my proffered hand. " Adieu ! " said 
 he, in a softened tone, as he moved from the room, and 
 then, turning quickly round, he added, "We may meeis 
 again hereafter, and scarcely can do so on equal terms. 
 If fortune stand by you I must be a beggar; should I 
 win, yours is, indeed, a sorry lot. When that time comes, 
 let him with whom the world goes best not forget the 
 other. Good-bye ! " And with that he turned away, and 
 left the house. 
 
 I watched him as he strode along the silent alleys, 
 careless and free as though he had no cause for fear, till 
 he disappeared in the dark wood, and then I sat down at 
 the door to think over our interview. Never had my 
 heart felt more depressed. My own weakness in having 
 ever admitted the intimacy of men whose dangerous 
 designs were apparent had totally undermined the strong 
 principle of rectitude 1 should have relied upon in such 
 a trial, and on which I could have thrown myself for 
 support. What had I to guide me after all, save my 
 devotion to the cause of Bonaparte himself? The pre- 
 judices of education — the leanings of family opinion — the 
 inclinations of friends — exist not for the alien. He has to
 
 294 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.'* 
 
 choose his allegiance — it is not bom with him ; his loyalfy 
 is not the growth of a hundred different Fjympathies, that 
 have twined round his heart in childhood, and grown with 
 him to manhood, speaking of home and infancy — of his 
 own native streams and mountains — of aland that was his 
 father's. No ! with him it is not a conviction — it is but 
 a feeling. Such was the substance of my reverie ; and as 
 I arose and strolled out into the park, it was with a deeply- 
 uttered vow to be true to him and his fortunes whose 
 name first lit the spark of ambition in my heart, and 
 through weal or woe to devote myself to him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 The same day that De Beauvais left me, the Court took 
 its departure from Versailles. A sudden resolution of 
 the Consul to visit the camp at Boulogne, where he was 
 to be accompanied by Madame Bonaparte, was announced 
 as the reason for this change, while a dark rumour ran 
 that some detected scheme for his assassination had in- 
 duced his friends to advise this step. Certain it was, the 
 preparations were made with the utmost speed, and in 
 less than an hour after the despatch had arrived from 
 Paris, the Court was on its way back to the capital. 
 
 It was not without a sense of sadness that I watched 
 the equipages as they rolled one by one from beneath the 
 deep colonnade, and traversed the wide terrace, to disap- 
 pear in the recesses of the dark forest. I strained my 
 eyes to catch even a passing look at one who to me had 
 made every walk and every alley a thing to love. But I 
 could not see her ; and the last roll of the retiring wheels
 
 TnE " CHATEAU." 295 
 
 died away in the distance without one friendly voice to 
 say adieu — one smile at parting. 
 
 Though I had not participated in the festivities of the 
 chateau, nor even been noticed by any of the guests, the 
 absence of its gay world, the glitter of its brilliant 
 cortege, the neighing steeds in all their bright panoply, 
 the clank of military music, the gorgeously-dressed ladies 
 who strolled along its terraced walks, made the solitude 
 that followed appear dark and desolate indeed ; and now, 
 as I walked the park, whose avenues at noonday were 
 silent as at midnight, the desertion imparted a melan- 
 choly feeling to my heart I could not explain. How 
 often had I stopped beneath that balcony, striving to dis- 
 tinguish the soft tones of one gentle voice amid the buzz 
 of conversation ! How had I watched the crowded pro- 
 menade every evening upon the terrace, to see one figure 
 there among the rest ! — and when my eye had fallen upon 
 her, how has it followed and traced her as she went ! And 
 now I frequented each spot where I had ever seen her, 
 pacing at sunset the very walk she used to take, dwelling 
 on each word she ever spoke to me. The chateau, too, of 
 which before I had not passed the door, I now revisited 
 again and again, lingering in each room where I thought 
 she had been, and even resting on the chairs, and calling 
 up before me her image as though present. 
 
 Thus passed over weeks and months. The summer 
 glided into the mellow autumn, and the autumn itself 
 grew cold and chill, with greyish skies and sighing winds 
 that swept the leaves along the dark walks, and moaned 
 sadly among the tall beech-trees. The still, calm waters 
 of the little lake, that reflected the bright foliage and 
 the deep-blue sky, motionless as in a mirror, was now 
 ruffled by the passing breeze, and surged with a low, sad 
 sound against its rocky sides ; and as T watched these 
 changes, I sorrowed less for the departing season, than 
 that every trace of her I loved was fading from before 
 me. The bare and skeleton branches now threw their 
 gaunt shadows where I had seen her walk at noonday, 
 enveloped in deep shade. Dark, watery clouds were hurry- 
 ing across the surface of the stream where I had seen 
 her fair form mirrored. The cold winds of coming- 
 winter swept along the princely terrace, where not a
 
 296 
 
 zephyr rustled her dress as she moved ; and soTnehow, I 
 could not help connecting these changes with my own 
 sensations, and feeling that a gloomy winter was ap- 
 proaching to my own most cherished hopes. 
 
 Months passed over with me thus, in which, save on my 
 round of duty, I never spoke to any one. D'Ervan did 
 not return as he promised — a circumstance which, with 
 all my solitude, I sincerely rejoiced at — and of De Beau- 
 vais I heard nothing ; and yet, on one account, I could 
 have wished much to learn where he was. Unhappily, 
 in the excitement of the morning I last saw him, he 
 forgot on the table at my quarters the commission of 
 colonel, by which he had endeavoured to tempt my ambi- 
 tion, and which I never noticed till several hours after 
 his departure. Unwilling to destroy, and yet fearful of 
 retaining it in my possession, I knew not well what to do, 
 and had locked it up in my writing-desk, anxiously look- 
 ing for an opportunity to forward it to him. None such, 
 however, presented itself, nor did I ever hear from him 
 from the hour he left me. 
 
 The unbroken solitude in which I lived disposed me to 
 study, and I resumed the course which, in earlier days, had 
 afforded me so much interest and amusement; and by 
 this, not only was my mind drawn off from the contem- 
 plation of the painful circumstances of my own loneli- 
 ness, but gradually my former ardour for military dis- 
 tinction came back in all its force ; and thus did I learn, 
 for the first time, how many of the griefs that our brains 
 beget find their remedies in the source they spring from 
 — the exercise of the intellect being like that of the body, 
 an essential to a healthy state of thinking and feeling. 
 Each day imparted fresh energy to me in the path I fol- 
 lowed ; and in these solitary hours I made those acquisi- 
 tions in knowledge which, in after-life, were to render me 
 the most important services, and prepare me for the con- 
 tingencies of a soldier's career. 
 
 While thus engaged, time rolled over, and already the 
 dark and gloomy month of January set in with clouded 
 skies and nights of storm and rain. Everything wore 
 its most cheerless aspect. Not only were the trees leaf- 
 leas and bare, the roads broken up and fissured with 
 streams of water, but the neglected look of the chateau
 
 THE " CHATEAU." 297 
 
 itself bespoke the sad and gloomy season. The closed 
 shutters, the closely-barred doors, the statues covered up 
 with mats to protect them from the weather, the con- 
 servatories despoiled of all their gay habitants, betrayed 
 that the time was passed when, in the warm air of sunset, 
 happy groups wandered hither and thither, inhaling the 
 rich odours of the flowers, and gazing on the brilliant 
 landscape. 
 
 It was about nine o'clock at night. The storm that 
 usually began each evening at the same hour was already 
 stirring in fitful gusts among the bare branches of the 
 trees, or sending a sudden plash of rain against the win- 
 dows, when, as I drew closer to my fire, and was preparinc 
 to enjoy myself for the evening over my book, I heard the 
 regular tramping sound of a cavalry horse approaching 
 along the terrace — the jingle of the accoutrements was a 
 noise I could not mistake. I arose, but before I reached 
 the door I heard a deep voice call out, — 
 
 " The Sous- Lieutenant Burke — a despatch from Paris." 
 I took the paper, which was sealed and folded in the 
 most formal manner, and returning to the room, opened 
 it. The contents ran thus : — 
 
 " Sous-Lieutenant, — On receipt of this you are com- 
 manded to station four dragoons of your party, with a 
 corporal, on the road leading from Chaillot to Versailles, 
 who shall detain all persons passing that way, unable to 
 account satisfactorily for their presence. You will also 
 station a picket of two dragoons at the cross-road from 
 the Tron to St. Cloud for the like purpose. The remainder 
 of your party to be under arms during the night, and, if 
 requisite, at the disposal of Captain Lepelletier. For the 
 execution of which, the present order will be your respon- 
 sibility. 
 
 "(Signed) 
 
 " Savakt, 
 
 " Colonel de Gendarmerie d'Elite. 
 ** Given at the Tuileries, January 14, 1804." 
 
 " So," thought I, "there is, then, something astir after 
 all. These precautions all indicate minute and accurate
 
 298 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 information ; and now to perform my part." Jnst at tliat 
 instant I perceived at my feet a small note, which appa- 
 rently had fallen from the envelope as I opened it — I took 
 it up. It was addressed — " Sous-Lieutenant Burke," with 
 the words "in haste" written in the corner. Tearing it 
 open at once, I read the following : — 
 
 " All is discovered — Pichegru arrested — Moreau at the 
 Temple. A party have left this to capture the others at 
 the Chateau d'Ancre ; they cannot be there before raid- 
 night ; you may then yet be in time to save H. de B., who 
 is among them. Not an instant must be lost." 
 
 There was no signature to this strange epistle, but I 
 knew at once from whom it came. Marie alone could 
 venture on such a step to save her lover. My own deter- 
 mination was taken at once ; should my head be on it, I'd 
 do her bidding. While I sent for the sergeant to give 
 him the orders of the colonel, I directed my servant to 
 bring round my horse to the door as lightly equipped as 
 possible, and, save the holsters, nothing of his usual 
 accoutrements. Meanwhile I prepared myself for the 
 road by loading my pistols and fastening on my sword ; 
 the commission, too, which De Beauvais had left behind, 
 I did not forget, but taking it from my desk, I placed it 
 safely in my bosom ; nor was the brief billet omitted, 
 which having read and re-read, I placed in the lining of 
 my cap for safety. One difficulty still presented itself — 
 where was the chateau, and how in the darkness of a 
 winter's night should I find it. I just then remembered 
 that my troop sergeant, a sharp, intelligent fellow, had 
 been for some weeks past engaged in procuring forage 
 about the jTeighbourhood for several miles round. I sent 
 for him an )nce and asked him if he knew it. 
 
 "Yes, lieutenant, perfectly. It was an old seigneurie 
 once ; and though much dismantled, has a look of respect- 
 ability still about it. I've often been there to buy corn ; 
 but the gruft old farmer, they say, hates the military, and 
 it's not easy to get him to deal with us at all." 
 
 "What's the distance from here ? " 
 
 " Two leagues and a half, almost three — indeed you 
 may count it as much, the road is so bad."
 
 THE " CHATEAU." 299 
 
 " Now then for the way — describe it — be as brief as 
 you can." 
 
 •' You know the cross on the high road beyond Ypres ? *' 
 
 " I do. Proceed." 
 
 " Passing the cross and the little shrine, go forward for 
 a mile or something more, till you come to a small cabaret 
 on the roadside, at the end of which you'll find a ' chemin 
 de traverse^'' a clay road, which will lead you up the fields 
 nbout half a league, to a large pond, where they water the 
 cattle ; cross this and continue till you see the lights of a 
 village to your left ; the barking of the dogs will guide 
 you if the lights be out ; don't enter the village, but go 
 on till you meet an old gateway covered with ivy, enter 
 there, and you are in the avenue of the chateau ; the hig-h 
 road is full five leagues about, but you'll easily find this 
 way. There's a mastiff there you should be on your guard 
 against, though you must not fire on him either ; they 
 were going to take my life once, that I half drew a pistol 
 from my holster against him, and I heard one of the fel- 
 lows say to another, that monseigneur's dog was well 
 worth a ' hleu ' any day, whatever he meant by that." 
 
 Very few minutes sufficed to give my orders respecting 
 the picket, and I was in my saddle and ready for the road ; 
 and although ray departure excited no surprise among my 
 men, coupled as it was with the orders I had just given, I 
 overheard the troop sergeant mutter to another as I passed 
 out — " Parhleu^ I always suspected there was something 
 wrong about that old chateau yonder — come what weather 
 it would, they'd never let you take shelter within the walls 
 of it." 
 
 The night was so dark, that when I turned into the road 
 I could not even distinguish my horse's head ; heavy drifts 
 of rain, too, went sweeping along, and the wind roared 
 through the forest with a noise like the sea in a storm. 
 
 I now put spurs to my horse, and the animal, fresh 
 from long yiimpering, sprang forward madly, and dashed 
 onward. The very beating of the rain, the adverse wind, 
 seemed to chafe his spirits and excite his courage. 
 With head bent down, and hands firmly grasping the reins, 
 I rode on, till the faint glimmering of a light caught my 
 eye at a distance. A few miles brought me beside it. It 
 was a little candle that burned iu the shrine above the
 
 300 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS.'* 
 
 image of the Virgin. Some pious but humble hand had 
 placed it there, regardless of the rain and storm ; and 
 there it was now burning secure from the rude assaults of 
 the harsh night, and throwing its yellow light on the few 
 cheap trinkets which village devotion had consecrated to 
 the beloved saint. As I looked at the little altar, 1 thought 
 of the perilous enterprise I was engaged in. I could have 
 wished my heart to have yielded to the influence of a super- 
 stition, w^hich for every moment of life seems to have 
 its own apt consolation and succour. For, when as way- 
 worn travellers refresh their parched lips at some road- 
 side well, and bless the charity that carved the little basin 
 in the rock — so, followers of this faith have ever and anon 
 before their eyes some material evidence of their Church's 
 benevolence — row arming them against the arrows of the 
 world — now rendering them grate I ul for benefits received 
 • — now taxing their selfishness by sacrifices which elevate 
 them in their own esteem — now comforting them by ex- 
 amples which make them proud of their afflictions. It is 
 this direct appeal from the human heart to the hourly con- 
 solations of religion that forms the stronghold of belief 
 in Catholic countries. 
 
 These thoughts were passing through my mind long 
 after I left the little shrine behind me. " So," said I, 
 ** here must be the cabaret the sergeant spoke of, "as I 
 heard the sound of a voice issuing from a small house on 
 the roadside. For a second or two I hesitated whether I 
 should not dismount and ask the way ; but a moment's 
 consideration satisfied me it were better to risk nothing by 
 delay; and, cautiously advancing, I heard by the sound 
 of my horse's feet that we had left the high road, and 
 were now on the clay path I looked for. 
 
 Again I dashed onward at a gallop, my powerful horse 
 splashing through the deep ground, or striding boldly 
 across the heavy furrows — now breasting some steep and 
 rugged ascent, where the torn-up way gave passage to a 
 swollen rivulet ; now plunging down into some valley, 
 where the darkness seemed thicker and more impenetrable 
 still. At last I could see, far down beneath me, the 
 twinkling light of the village, and began to deliberate 
 with myself at what point I should turn off" leftwards. 
 Each moment the path seemed to lead me in the direction
 
 THE "CHATEAU.'* 801 
 
 of the light, while I felt that my road led straight onwards. 
 I drew my rein to deliberate what course 1 should take, 
 when directly in front of me I thought I could detect the 
 clank of a sabre flapping against the flank of a horse. I 
 lowered my head on a level with my horse's main, and 
 could now distinctly hear the sound I suspected, and, 
 more still, the deep tones of a soldier's voice interrogating 
 some one, who, by the paiois of his answer, I guessed to 
 be a peasant. 
 
 " You are certain, then, we have not come wrong ? " 
 said the horseman. 
 
 " Ah ! I know the way too well for that — travelling it 
 daylight and dark since I was a boy. I was born in the 
 village below. We shall soon reach the little wooden 
 bridge, and then, turning to the left, beside Martin 
 Guichard's " 
 
 "What care I for all that?" interrupted the other, 
 roughly. " How far are we now from the chateau ? Is 
 it still a league oflTr " 
 
 " Parhleu I — No ! nor the half of it. When you rise 
 the hill yonder, you'll see a light ; they always have one 
 burning in the tourelle there — and that's the chateau." 
 
 " Thank Heaven for that ! " muttered I ; " and now 
 only let me pass them, and all is safe." 
 
 The figures before me, whom I could now dimly trace 
 in the darkness, were descending step by step a ruogcd 
 and narrow path, where a tall hedge formed a wall on 
 either side. To get before them here, therefore, was out 
 of the question ; my only chance was by a detour through 
 the fields to come down upon the village, and, if possible, 
 gain the bridge he spoke of before them. Quick as the 
 thought, I turned from the deep road to the still deeper 
 earth of the ploughed field beside it. My horse — a strong 
 and powerful Norman— needed but the slightest movement 
 of the hand to plunge hotly on. My eyes bent upon the 
 twinkle of the few lights that still marked the little ham- 
 let, I rode fearlessly forward ; now tearing madly through 
 some low osier fence — now slipping in the wet and plashy 
 soil, where each stride threatened to bring us both to the 
 tarth. The descent became soon almost precipitous ; but 
 the deep ground gave a footing, and I never slackened my 
 speed. At length, with a crashing sound, I found that we
 
 002 TOM BUKKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 had burst the little enclosure of some village garden, and 
 could dimly trace the outline of a cottage at some dis- 
 tance in front. Dismounting now, I felt my way cau- 
 tiously for the path that usually conducts at the end of 
 the cabin to the garden. This I soon made out, and the 
 next minute was in the street. Happily, the storm, which 
 raged still as violently as before, suffered no one to be 
 without doors ; and save the rare glmimer of a light, all 
 was sunk in darkness. 
 
 I walked on beside my horse for some minutes, and at 
 last I heard the rushing sound of a swollen river, as it 
 tore along in its narrow bed ; and approaching step by 
 step discovered the little bridge, which simply consisted 
 of two planks, unprotected by any railing at either side. 
 With -a little difficulty I succeeded in leading my horse 
 across, and was just about to mount, when the sound of 
 the trooper's voice from the village street again reached 
 me. 
 
 A sudden thought flashed through my mind. Each 
 moment might now be precious; and stooping down, I 
 lifted the end of the plank, and sent it with a crash into 
 the stream; the other soon followed it; and before I was 
 in my saddle again the torrent was carrying them along 
 amid the rocks of the stream. 
 
 " Here is a misfortune, '' cried the peasant, in a tone of 
 misery ; "the bridge has been carried away by the flood.'* 
 
 " Tonnerre de del / And is there no other way across ?" 
 said the dragoon, in a voice of passion. 
 
 I waited not to hear more, but giving the spur to my 
 horse, dashed up the steep bank, and the next moment 
 saw the light of the chateau, for such I guessed to be a 
 bright star that twinkled at a distance. " Speed now will 
 doit," said I, and put my strong Norman to his utmost. 
 The wind tore past me scarce faster than I went, while the 
 beating rain came round me. The footway soon altered, 
 and I found that we were crossing a smooth turf like a 
 lawn. " Ha ! this is the old gate," thought I, as a tall 
 archway, overhung with ivy and closed by a strong door, 
 opposed farther progress. I beat loudly against it with the 
 heavy handle of my whip, but to purpose ; the hoarse 
 voice of the storm drowned all such soun-is. I dismounted 
 and endeavoured to make myself heard by knocking with
 
 c,J^- 0^ua<u^
 
 THE " CHATEAU." S03 
 
 a large stone. I shouted, I cried aloud, but all in vain. 
 My terror increased every instant. What was to be done ? 
 The dragoon might arrive at any moment, and then I my- 
 self must share the ruin of the others. Maddened by the 
 emergency that each moment grew more pressing, I sprang 
 into the saddle, and following the direction of the wall, 
 rode round to the other side of the chateau, seeking some 
 open spot, some break whereby to enter. 
 
 1 had not gone far when I saw a portion of the wall 
 which, broken and dilapidated, afforded the opportunity de- 
 sired. I hesitated not, but dashed wildly at it. My horse, 
 unaccustomed to such an effort, chested the barrier, and 
 came rolling head foremost to the earth, throwing me 
 several yards before him. A cry of pain escaped me as I 
 fell ; and I scarcely could gain my knees to rise, when the 
 hoarse bay of a savage dog broke upon my ear, and I 
 heard the animal tearing through the brushwood towards 
 me. I drew my sabre in a trice, and scarce knowing at 
 what side to defend myself, laid wildly about me, while I 
 shouted with all my might for help. The furious beast 
 sprang like a tiger at my throat, and, though wounded by 
 a chance cut, seized me in his terrible fangs. Fortunately 
 the strong collar of my uniform served to protect me ; but 
 the violence of the assault carried me off my balance, and 
 we rolled one over the other to the ground. Grasping his 
 throat with both hands I endeavoured to strangle him, 
 while he vainly sought to reach my face. At this critical 
 moment my cries were heard within, and numerous lights 
 flit^^d up and down in front of the chateau, and a crowd 
 of persons, all armed, were quickly about me. Seizing 
 the dog by his collar, a peasant tore him away ; while 
 another, holding a lantern to my face, ci'ied out in a voice 
 of terror, "They are upon us ! We are lost !" 
 
 " Farhleu ! you should let Colbert finish his work — he 
 is a ' blue :' they are but food for dogs any day." 
 
 "Not so," said another, in a low, determined voice; 
 " this is a surer weapon." 
 
 I heard the cock of a pistol click as he spoke. 
 
 " Halt there ! — Stop, I say !'' cried a voice, in a tone of 
 command. " I know him — I know hira well. It's Burke. 
 Is it not ?" 
 
 It was De Beauvais spoke, while at the same moment he
 
 804 TOM BUEKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 knelt down beside me on the grass, and put his arm round 
 my neck. I whispered one word into his ear. He spran,^ 
 to his feet, and with a hasty direction to assist me towards 
 the house, disappeared. Before I could reach the door he 
 was again beside me. 
 
 " And you did this to save me, dear friend ?" said he, 
 in a voice half stifled with subs. " You have run all this 
 danger for my sake ?" 
 
 I did not dare to take the merit of an act I had no claim 
 to, still less to speak of her for whose sake I risked my 
 life, and leaned on him without speaking, as he led mo 
 within the porch. 
 
 " Sit down here for a moment — but one moment," said 
 he, in a whibper, " and I'll return to you." 
 
 I sat down upon a bench, and looked about me. The 
 place had all the evidence of being one of consequence in 
 former days: the walls, wainscoted in dark walnut wood, 
 were adorned with grotesque carvings of hunting scenes 
 and instruments of " venerie ;" the ceiling in the same 
 taste, displayed trophies of weapons, intermingled with 
 different emblems of the cJiasse, while in the centre, and en- 
 closed within a garter, were the royal arms of the Bour- 
 bons : the gilding that once shone on them was tarnished 
 and faded ; the Jleur-de-lis, too, were broken and dilapi- 
 dated, while but a stray letter of the proud motto remained, 
 as if not willing to survive the downfall of those on whom it 
 was now less a boast than a sarcasm. As I sat thus, the 
 wide hall was gradually filled with men, whose anxious 
 and excited faces betokened the fears my presence had ex- 
 cited, while not one ventured to speak or address a word 
 to me. Most of them were armed with catlasses, and 
 some carried pistols in belts round their waists ; while 
 others had rude pikes, whose coarse fashion betokened the 
 handiwork of a village smith. They stood in a semicircle 
 round me ; and while their eyes were riveted upon me with 
 an expression of most piercing interest, not a syllable was 
 spoken. Suddenly a door was opened at the end of a cor- 
 ridor, and De Beauvais called out, — 
 
 ** This way, Burke — come this way!"
 
 805 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIT. 
 
 **THB CHATEAU D'aNCRE." 
 
 Before I hac! time to collect myself I was hurried on by 
 De Beauvais into a room, when, the moment I had entered, 
 the door was closed and locked behind me. By the light 
 of a coarse and rudely-formed chandelier that occupied 
 the middle of a table, T saw a party of near a dozen 
 persons who sat around it — the head of the board being 
 filled by one whose singular appearance attracted all my 
 attention. He was a man of enormous breadth of chest 
 and shoulders, with a lotty massive head, on either side 
 of which a quantity of red hair fell in profusion ; a beard 
 of the same colour descended far on his bosom, which, 
 with his overhanging eyebrows, imparted a most savage 
 and ferocious expression to features which of themselves 
 were harsh and repulsive. Though he wore a blouse in 
 peasant fashion, it was easy to see that he was not of the 
 lower walk of society. Across his brawny chest a broad 
 belt of black leather passed, to support a strong straight 
 sword, the heavy hilt of which peeped above the arm of 
 his chair. A pair of handsomely-mounted pistols lay 
 before him on the table ; and the carved handle of a 
 poniard could be seen projecting slightly from the breast- 
 pocket of his vest. Of the rest who were about him I 
 had but time to perceive that they were peasants — but all 
 were armed, and most of them wearing a knot of white 
 ribbon at the breast of their blouses. 
 
 Every eye was turned towards me, as I stood at the foot 
 of the table astonished and speechless — while De Beauvais, 
 quitting my arm, hastened to the large man's side, and 
 whispered some words in his ear. He rose slowly from 
 his chair, and in a moment each face was turned to him. 
 Speaking in a deep guttural tone, he addressed them for 
 some minutes in & patois of which I was totally ignorant 
 
 VOL. I, X
 
 306 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 — every word he uttered seemed to stir their very hearts, 
 if I were to judge from the short and heavy respiration, 
 the deep-drawn breath, the flushed faces and staring eyes 
 around me. More than once some allusion seemed made 
 to me — at least, they turned simultaneoasly to look at me ; 
 once, too, at something he said, each man carried his hand 
 round to his sword-hilt, but dropped it again, listlessly, as 
 he continued. The discourse over, the door was unlocked, 
 and one by one they left the room, each man saluting the 
 speaker with a reverence as he passed out. De Beauvais 
 closed the door, and barred it, as the last man disappeared, 
 and turning hastily round, called out, — ■ 
 
 "What now?" 
 
 The large man bent his head down between his hands, 
 and spoke not in reply ; then suddenly springing up, he 
 said, — 
 
 " Take my horse ; he is fresh, and ready for the road, 
 and make for Quilleboeuf : the ford at Montgorge will be 
 swollen — but he'll take the stream for you ; — at the 
 farmer's house, that looks over the river, you can stop." 
 
 " I know it, I know it," said De Beauvais ; " but what 
 of you, are you to remain behind ? " 
 
 " I'll go with him," said he, pointing towards me. 
 " As his companion, I can reach the Bois de Boulogne — 
 in any case, as his prisoner — once there, you may trust 
 me for the rest." 
 
 De Beauvais looked at me for a reply. I hesitated 
 what to say, and at last said, " For your sake, Henri de 
 Beauvais, and yours only, have I ventured on a step 
 which may, in all likelihood, be my ruin. I neither know, 
 nor wish to know, your plans — nor will I associate myself 
 with any one, be he who he may, in your enterprise." 
 
 "Jacques Tisserand, the tanner," continued the large 
 man, as if not heeding nor caring for my interruption, 
 " will warn Armand de Polignac of what has happened ; 
 and Charles de la Riviere had better remain near Biville 
 for the English cutter — she'll lie off the coast to-morrow 
 or next day. Away — lose not a moment." 
 
 " And my dear friend here," said De Beauvais, turning 
 to me, " who has risked his very life to rescue me, shall I 
 leave him thus ? " 
 
 " Can you save him by remaining ? " said the other, as
 
 807 
 
 he coolly examined the priming- of his pistols. " We 
 shall all escape, if you be but quick." 
 
 A look from De Beauvais drew me towards him, when 
 he threw his arms around my neck, and in a low, broken 
 voice, muttered, " When I tell you that all I lived for 
 exists to me no longer — the love I sought refused me — 
 my dearest ambition thwarted — you will not think that a 
 selfish desire for life prompts me now ; but a solemn oath 
 to obey the slightest command of that man, sworn before 
 my sovereign, binds me, and I must not break it." 
 
 " Away, away ! I hear voices at the gate below," cried 
 the other. 
 
 " Adieu ! adieu for ever," said De Beauvais, as he kissed 
 my cheek, and sprang through a small doorway in the 
 wainscot, which closed after him as he went. 
 
 " Now for our movements," said the large man, un- 
 hooking a cloak that hung against the wall. " You must 
 tie my hands with this cord in such a way that, although 
 seemingly secure, I can free myself at a moment ; place 
 me on a horse, a fast one too, beside you ; and order your 
 troopers to ride in front and rear of us. When we reach 
 the Bois de Boulogne, leave the Allee des Chasseurs, and 
 turn towards St. Cloud. Tonnerre de del, they're firing 
 yonder ! " An irregular discharge of small-arms, followed 
 by a wild cheer, rang out above the sound of the storm. 
 *' Again, did you hear that ? there are the carbines of 
 cavalry — I know their ring. Accur-sed dogs, that would 
 not do my bidding," cried he, stamping with passion on 
 the ground, while, throwing off his blouse, he stuck his 
 pistols in a belt around his waist, and prepared for mortal 
 combat. Meanwhile, pistol-shots, mingled with savage 
 shouts and wild hurrahs, were heard approaching nearer 
 and nearer ; and at length a loud knocking at the front 
 door, with a cry of " They're here — they're here !" 
 
 The large man, now fully armed, and with his drawn 
 sword in his hand, unlocked the door. The passage 
 ■without was full of armed peasants, silent and watchful 
 for his commands. A few words in the former patois 
 seemed sufficient to convey them, and their answer was a 
 cheer that made the walls ring. 
 
 The chief moved rapidly Irom place to place through 
 the crowds, who, at his bidding, broke into parties : some 
 
 X 2
 
 308 TOM buhke of " ours." 
 
 of tbem occupied doorways which enfiladed the hall — • 
 others knelt down to suiter some to fire above their heads ; 
 here were two posted, armed with hatchets, at the very 
 entrance itself; and six of the most determined-looking 
 were to dispute the passage with their muskets. Such 
 was the disposition of the force, when suddenly the light 
 was extinguished, and all left in utter darkness — -the deep 
 breathing of their anxious breasts alone marked their pre- 
 sence — when, without doors, the sounds of strife gradually 
 died away, and the storm alone was heard. 
 
 As for me, I leaned against a doorway, my arms folded 
 on my bosom, my head sunk, while I prayed for death, 
 the only exit I could see to my dishonour. 
 
 There was a terrible pause — the very hurricane seemed 
 to abate its violence, and only the heavy rain was heard 
 as it fell in torrents — when, with a loud crash, the door in 
 front was burst open, and fell with a bang upon the floor 
 — not a word from those within, not a motion betrayed 
 their presence, while the whispered tones of a party without 
 showed that the enemy was there. " Bring up the torches 
 quickly here," called out a voice like that of an officer ; 
 and as he spoke the red flare of lighted pine branches 
 was seen moving through the misty atmosphere. The 
 light fell upon a strong party of dismounted dragoons and 
 gendarmerie, who, carbine in hand, stood waiting for the 
 word to dash forward. The officer, whose figure I could 
 distinguish as he moved along the front of his men, ap- 
 peared to hesitate, and for a few seconds all stood motion- 
 less. At length, as if having resolved on his plan, he 
 approached the doorway, a pine torch in his hand — another 
 step, and the light must have disclosed the dense array of 
 armed peasants that stood and knelt around the hall — 
 when a deep low voice within uttered the one w^ord, 
 " Now ! " and quick, as if by his breath the powder had 
 been ignited, a volley rang out, pattering like hail on the 
 steel breastplates, and through the branches of the trees ; 
 a mingled shout of rage and agony rose from those without, 
 and, without waiting for a command, they rushed onward. 
 The peasants, who had not time to reload their pieces, 
 clubbed them in their strong hands, and laid wildly about 
 them. The fight was now hand to hand ; for, narrow as 
 was the doorway, some three or four dragoons pressed
 
 309 
 
 every inoment in, and gradually the hall became a dense 
 mass of indiscriminate combatants. The large man fought 
 like one possessed, and cleft his way towards the entrance 
 with a long straight dagger, as if regardless of friends or 
 foes. " A moi I a moi /" cried a tall and powerful man, as 
 he sprang at his throat; "this is he." The words were 
 his last, as, stabbed to the very heart, he sprang backward 
 in his death-agony ; but at the moment a perfe(;t shower 
 of bullets rattled around the large man, one of which alone 
 took effect in his shoulder. Still he strove onwards, and 
 at last, with a spring like a savage tiger, he lowered his 
 head, and bounded clean out into the court. Scarcely, 
 however, had his foot touched the wet grass, when ho 
 slipped forward, and fell heavily on his back. A dozen 
 swords flashed above him as he lay, and only by the most 
 immense efforts of the ofiicer was he spared death in a 
 imndred wounds. The defeat of their leader seemed to 
 subdue all the daring courage of his party ; the few who 
 were able to escape dashed hither and thither, through 
 passages and doorways they were well acquainted with ; 
 while the flagged floor was bathed in blood from the rest, 
 as they lay in mangled and frightful forms, dead and 
 dying on every side. 
 
 Like one in some dreadful dream, I stood spectator of 
 this savage strife, wishing that some stray bullet had 
 found my heart, yet ashamed to die with such a stain 
 upon my honour. I crossed my arms before my breast, 
 and waited for my doom. Two gendarmes passed quickly 
 to and fro with torches, examining the faces and looks of 
 those who were still likely to live, when suddenly one of 
 them cried out, as he stood before me, — 
 
 " What's this? An officer of hussars here! " 
 The exclamation brought an officer to the spot, who, 
 holding a lantern to my face, said quickly, — 
 " How is this, sir ? — how came you here ? " 
 " Here is my sword, sir," said 1, drawing it from the 
 scabbard. " 1 place myself under arrest. In another 
 place, and to other judges, I must explain my conduct.'' 
 
 " Parhleu I Jacques," said the officer, addressing another 
 who sat, while his wounds were being bound up, on a 
 chair near, " this affair is worse than we thought of. 
 Here's one of the huilienie in the thick of it."
 
 810 TOM BURKE OP " OURS.*' 
 
 " T hope, sir," said I, addressing the young man, whose 
 arm was bleeding profusely from a sabre wound — "I hope, 
 sir, your wound may not be of consequence." 
 
 He looked up suddenly, and, while a smile of the most 
 insulting sarcasm curled his bloodless lip, answered, — 
 
 " 1 thank you, sir, for your sympathy ; but you must 
 forgive me if, one of these days, I cannot bandy consola 
 tions with you." 
 
 *' You are right, lieutenant," said a dragoon, who lay bleed- 
 ing from a dreadfui cut in the forehead. *' I'd not exchange 
 places with him myself this minute for all his epaulettes." 
 
 With an overwhelming sense of my own degraded posi- 
 tion, when to such taunts as these I dared not reply, I stood 
 mute and confounded. Meantime the soldiers were en- 
 gaged in collecting together the scattered weapons, fasten- 
 ing the wrists of the prisoners with cords, and ransacking 
 the house for such proofs of the conspiracy as might 
 criminate others at a distance. By the time these operar- 
 tions were concluded, the day began to break, and I could 
 distinguish in the courtyard several large covered carts or 
 charretfes destined to convey the prisoners. One of these 
 was given up entirely to the chief, who, although only 
 slightly wounded, would never assist himself in the least, 
 but lay a heavy, inert mass, suffering the others to lift him 
 and place him in the cart. Suck as were too badly wounded 
 to be moved were placed in a room in the chateau, a guard 
 being left over them, 
 
 A sergeant of the gendarmerie now approached me as I 
 stood, and commenced, without a word, to examine me for 
 any papers or documents that might be concealed about 
 my person. 
 
 " You are in error," said I, quietly. " I have nothing 
 of what you suspect." 
 
 " Do you call this nothing ? " interrupted he, triumph- 
 antly, as he drew forth the parchment commission I had 
 placed in my bosom, and forgot to restore to De Beauvais. 
 *' FarhUii I you'd have had abetter memory had your plans 
 succeeded." 
 
 "Give it here," said an officer, as he saw the sergeant 
 devouring the document with his eyes. " Ah !" cried he, 
 starting, " he was playing a high stake, too. Let him be 
 closely secured."
 
 *' THE CHATEAU d'aNCRE." 811 
 
 Wliile the orders of the ofiEicer were being followed up, 
 the various prisoners were secured in the carts, mounted 
 dragoons stationed at either side, their carbines held un- 
 slung in their hands. At last my turn came, and I was 
 ordered to mount into a charrette with two gendarmes, 
 whose orders respecting any effort at escape on my part 
 were pretty clearly indicated by the position of two pistols 
 carried at either side of me. 
 
 A day of heavy, unremitting rain, without any wind or 
 storm, succeeded to the night of tempest. Dark inky 
 clouds lay motionless near the earth, whose surface became 
 blacker by the shadow. A weighty and louring atmo- 
 sphere added to the gloom I felt ; and neither in my heart 
 within, nor in the world without, could I find one solitary 
 consolation. 
 
 At first I dreaded lest my companions should address 
 me — a single question would have wrung my very soul — 
 but happily they maintained a rigid silence, nor did they 
 even speak to each other during the entire journey. At 
 noon we halted at a small roadside cabaret, where refresh- 
 ments were provided, and relays of horses in waiting, and 
 again set out on our way. The day was declining when 
 we reached the Bois de Boulogne, and entered the long 
 avenue that leads to the Barriere de I'Etoile. The heavy 
 wheels moved noiselessly over the even turf; and, save the 
 jingle of the troopers' equipments, all was hushed. For 
 above an hour we had proceeded thus, when a loud shout 
 in front, followed by a pistol-shot, and then three or four 
 others quickly after it, halted the party ; and I could mark 
 through the uncertain light the mounted figures dashing 
 wildly here and there, and plunging into the thickest of 
 the wood. 
 
 " Look to the prisoners," cried an ofiBcer, as he galloped 
 down the line ; and, at the word, every man seized his 
 carbine, and held himself on the alert. Meanwhile the 
 whole cavalcade was halted, and 1 could see that something 
 of consequence had occurred in front, though of what 
 nature [ could not even guess. At last a sergeant of the 
 gendarmes rode up to our side splashed and heated. 
 
 ** Has he escaped ? " cried one of the men beside me. 
 
 *'Yes!" said he, with an oath, '* the brigand has got 
 away, though how he cut the cords on his wrists, or by
 
 812 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 what means lie sprang from the charrette to the road, the 
 devil must answer. Ha ! there they are firing away after 
 him. The only use of their powder is to show the fellow 
 where they are." 
 
 *' I would not change places with our captain this even- 
 ing," cried one of the gendarmerie. "Returning to Paris 
 without the red beard " 
 
 " Ma foi, you're not wrong there. It will le a heavy 
 reckoning for him with dark Savary ; and as to taking a 
 Breton in a wood " 
 
 The word to march interrupted the colloquy, and again 
 we moved forward. 
 
 By some strange sympathy I cannot account for, I felt 
 glad that the chief had made his escape. The gallantry of 
 his defence, the implicit obedience yielded him by the 
 others, had succeeded in establishing an interest for hira 
 in my mind ; and the very last act of daring courage by 
 which he effected his liberty increased the feeling. By 
 what an easy transition, too, do we come to feel for those 
 whose fate has any similarity with our own ! The very 
 circumstance of common misfortune is a binding link; and 
 thus I was not without an anxious hope that the chief 
 might succeed in his escape, though, had I known his 
 intrigue or his intentions, such interest had scarcely found 
 a place in my heart. 
 
 Such reflections as these led me to think how great must 
 be the charm to the human mind of overcoming difficulty 
 or confronting danger, when even for those of whom we 
 know nothing we can feel, and feel warmly, when they 
 stand before us in such a light as this. Heroism and 
 bravery appeal to every nature ; and bad must be the cause 
 in which they are exerted, before we can venture to think 
 ill of those who possess them. 
 
 The lamps were beginning to be lighted as we reached 
 the Barriere, and halted to permit the officer of the party 
 to make his report of who we were. The formality soon 
 finished, we defiled along the Boulevard, loUowed by a 
 crowd that, increasing each moment, at last occupied the 
 entire road, and made our progress slow and difficult. 
 While the curiosity of the people to catch sight of the 
 prisoners demanded all the vigilance of the guards to pre- 
 vent it, a sad and most appalling stillness pervaded the
 
 "the chateau d'ancre." 313 
 
 whole multitude, and I could hear a murmur as they went, 
 that it was Generals Moreau and Pichegru who were taken. 
 At length we halted, and I could see that the foremost 
 cliarrette was entering a low archway, over which a massive 
 portcullis hung. The gloomy shadow of a dark, vast mass, 
 that rose against the inky sky, loured above the wall, and, 
 somehow, seemed to me as if well known. 
 
 " This is the ' Temple ' ? " said I to the gendarme on my 
 right. 
 
 A nod was the reply, and a half expressive look that 
 seemed to say, " In that word you have said your destiny." 
 
 About two years previous to the time I now speak of, I 
 remember one evening, when returning from a solitary 
 walk along the Boulevard, stopping in front of a tall and 
 weather-beaten tower, the walls black with age, and 
 pierced here and there with nari'ow windows, across 
 which strong iron stanchions ran transversely. A gloomy 
 fosse, crossed by a narrow drawbridge, surrounded the 
 external wall of this dreary building, which needed no 
 superstition to invest it with a character of crime and 
 misfortune. This was the Temple ; the ancient castle of 
 the knights whose cruelties were written in the dark 
 oubliettes and the noisome dungeons of that dread abode. 
 A terrace ran along the tower on three sides. There, for 
 hours long, walked in sadness and in sorrow the last of 
 France's kings, Louis XVI., his children at his side. In 
 that dark turret the Dauphin suffered death. At the low 
 casement yonder, Madame Royale sat hour by hour, the 
 stone on which she leaned wet with her tears. The plnce 
 was one of gloomy and sinister repute : the neighbour- 
 hood spoke of the heavy roll of carriages that passed the 
 drawbridge at the dead of night, of strange sounds and 
 cries, of secret executions, and even of tortures that 
 were inflicted there. Of these dreadful missions a corps 
 called the " Grendarmes d elite" were vulgarly supposed 
 the chosen executors, nnd their savage looks and repul- 
 sive exterior gave credibility to the surmise, while some 
 affirmed that the Mameluke Guard the Consul had brought 
 with him from Egypt had no other function than the 
 murder of the prisoners confined tliere. 
 
 Little thought I then, that in a few brief months I 
 should pass beneath that black portcullis a prisoner. Little
 
 314 TOM BURKE OP " OURS.*' 
 
 did I anticipate, as I wended my homeward way, my heart 
 heavy and my step slow, that the day was to come when, 
 in my own person, I was to feel the sorrows over which I 
 then wept for others. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 This was the second morning of my life which opened 
 in the narrow cell of a prison ; and when I awoke and 
 looked upon the bare, bleak walls, the barred window, the 
 strongly bolted door, 1 thought of the time when, as a 
 boy, I slept within the walls of Newgate. The same sad 
 sounds were now about me ; the measured tread of sen- 
 tinels ; the tramp of patrols ; the cavernous clank of door- 
 closing, and the grating noise of locking and unlocking 
 heavy gates, and then that dreary silence, more depressing 
 than all, how they came back upon me now, seeming to 
 wipe out all space, and bring me to the hours of my boy- 
 hood's trials. Yet what were they to this ? — what were 
 the dangers I then incurred to the inevitable ruin now 
 before me? True, I knew neither the conspirators nor 
 their crime; but who would believe it? How came 
 I among them ? Dare I tell it, and betray her whose 
 honour was dearer to me than my life ? Yet it was 
 hard to face death in such a cause ; no sense of high 
 though unsuccessful daring to support me ; no strongly- 
 roused passion to warm my blood, and teach me bravely 
 to endure a tarnished name. Disgrace and dishonour 
 were all my portion — in that land, too, where I once hoped 
 to win fame and glory, and make for myself a reputation 
 among the first and greatest. The deep roll of a drum, 
 followed by the harsh turning of keys iu the locks along
 
 THE " TEMPLE." 815 
 
 the corridor, i::iterrupted my sad musings; and the next 
 minute my door was unbolted, and an official, dressed in 
 the uniform of the prison, presented himself before me. 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur, awake and dressed already ! " said he, 
 in a gay and smiling tone, for which the place had not 
 prepared me. " At eight we breakfast here ; at nine you 
 are free to promenade in the garden or on the terrace — at 
 least, all who are not au secret ; and I have to felicitate 
 monsieur on that pleasure." 
 
 " How, then ; I am not a prisoner? " 
 
 " Yes, parhleiil you are a prisoner, but not under such 
 heavy imputation as to be confined apart. All in this 
 quarter enjoy a fair share of liberty : live together, walk, 
 chat, read the papers, and have an easy time of it ; but 
 you shall judge for yourself. Come along with me." 
 
 In a strange state of mingled hope and fear I followed 
 the gaoler along the corridor, and across a paved court- 
 yard into a low hall, where basins and other requisites for 
 a prison toilet were arranged around the walls. Passing 
 through this, we ascended a narrow stair, and finally 
 entered a large, well-lighted room, along which a table, 
 plentifully but plainly provided, extended the entire length. 
 The apartment was crowded with persons of every age, 
 and apparently every condition, all conversing noisily and 
 eagerly together, and evidencing as little seeming restraint 
 as though within the walls of a cafe. 
 
 Seated at a table, I could not help feeling amused at the 
 strange medley of rank and country about me. Here 
 were old milit aires, with bushy beards and moustaches, 
 side by side with ruddy-faced peasants, whose long, 
 yellow locks bespoke them of Norman blood ; hard, 
 weather-beaten sailors from the coast of Bretagne, talking 
 familiarly with venerable seigneurs in all the pomp of 
 powder and a queue ; priests with shaven crowns ; young 
 fellows, whose easy looks of unabashed effrontery betrayed 
 the careless Parisian ; all were mingled up together, and 
 yet not one among the number did I see whose appearance 
 denoted sorrow for his condition or anxiety for his fate. 
 
 The various circumstances of their imprisonment, the 
 imputation they lay under, the acts of which they were 
 accused, formed the topics of conversation in common 
 with the gossip of the town, the news of the theatres, and
 
 318 TOM BUBKE OF " OUES." 
 
 the movements in political life. I^ever was there a society 
 with less restraint ; each man knew his neighbour's 
 history too well to make concealment of any value, and 
 frankness seemed the order of the day. While I was 
 initiating myself into so much of the habit of the place, 
 a large, flat, florid personage, who sat at the head of the 
 table, called out to me for my name. 
 
 " The governor desires to have your name and rank for 
 his list," said my neighbour at the right hand. 
 
 Having given the required information, I could not 
 help expressing my surprise how, in the presence of the 
 governor of the prison, they ventured to speak so freely. 
 
 "Ha," said the person I addressed, "he is not the 
 governor of the Temple; that's merely a title we have 
 given him among ourselves. The ofiice is held always by 
 the oldest detenu. Now, he has been here ten months, 
 and succeeded to the throne about a fortnight since. The 
 abbe yonder, with the silk scarf round his waist, will be 
 his successor in a few days." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then he will be at liberty so soon. I thought 
 he seemed in excellent spirits." 
 
 " Not much, perhaps, on that score," replied he. " His 
 sentence is hard labour for life at the Bagne de Toulon." 
 
 I started back with horror, and could not utter a word. 
 
 " The abbe," continued my informant, " would be right 
 happy to take his sentence. But the governor is speaking 
 to you." 
 
 " Monsieur le sous-lieutenant," said the governor, in a 
 deep, solemn accent, " I have the honour to salute you, 
 and bid you welcome to the Temple, in the name of my 
 respectable and valued friends here about me. We rejoice 
 to possess one of your cloth amongst us. The last was, 
 if I remember aright, the Captain de Lorme, who boasred 
 ].e could hit the Consul at sixty paces with a pistol- 
 bullet." 
 
 " Pardon, governor," said a handsome man in a braided 
 frock ; " we had Ducaisne since." 
 
 "So we had, commandant," said the governor, bowing 
 politely, " and a very pleasant fellow he was ; but he only 
 stopped one night here." 
 
 " A single night, I remember it well," grunted out a 
 thick-lipped, rosy- faced little fellow, near the bottom of
 
 817 
 
 the tr.ble. " You'll meet him soon, governor ; he's at 
 Toulon. Pray present my respects " 
 
 " A fine ! a fine ! " shouted out a dozen voices in a 
 breath. 
 
 " I deny it, I deny it," replied the rosy-faced man, 
 rising from his chair " I appeal to the governor if I am 
 not innocent, I ask him if there were anything which 
 could possibly offend his feelings in my allusion to Toulon, 
 whither for the benefit of his precious health, he is about 
 to repair." 
 
 " Yes," replied the governor, solemnly, " you are fined 
 three francs. I always preferred Brest ; Toulon is not to 
 my taste." 
 
 " Pay ! pay ! " cried out the others ; while a pewter 
 dish, on which some twenty pieces of money were lying, 
 was passed down the table. 
 
 "And to resume," said the governor, turning towards 
 me, " the secretary will wait on you after breakfast to 
 receive the fees of initiation, and such information as you 
 desire to afford him for your coming amongst us, both 
 being perfectly discretionary with you. He who desires 
 the privilege of our amicable reunion soon learns the 
 conditions on which to obtain it. The enjoyments of our 
 existence here are cheap at any price. Le Pere d'Oligny, 
 yonder, will tell you life is short — very few here are 
 likely to dispute the assertion — and perhaps the Abbe 
 Thomas may give you a strong hint how to make the best 
 of it." 
 
 " JBarhleu, governor ! you forget the abbe left us this 
 morning." 
 
 " True, true — how my memory is failing me — the dear 
 abbe did leave us, sure enough." 
 
 " Where for? " said I, in a whisper. 
 
 *' La Plaine de Grenelle," said the person beside me, in 
 alow tone. " He was guillotined at live o'clock." 
 
 A sick shudder ran through me ; and, though the 
 governor continued his oration, I heard not a word he 
 spoke, nor could I arouse myself from the stupor until the 
 cheers of the party, at the conclusion of the harangue, 
 awoke me. 
 
 " The morning looks fine enough for a walk," said the 
 man beside me. " What say you to the ga^-dens ? "
 
 818 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 I followed him without speaking* across the court and 
 down a flight of stone steps into a large open space, 
 planted tastefully with trees, and adorned by a beautiful 
 fountain. Various walks and alleys traversed the garden 
 in every direction, along which parties were to be seen 
 walking — some laughing, some reading aload the morning 
 papers — but all engaged, and, to all seeming, pleasantly. 
 Yet did their reckless indifierence to life, their horrible 
 carelessness of each other's fate, seem to me far more 
 dreadful than any expression of sorrow, however painful ; 
 and I shrauk from them as though the contamination of 
 their society might impart that terrible state of unfeeling 
 apathy they were given up to. Even guilt itself had 
 seemed less repulsive than this shocking and unnatural 
 recklessness. Pondering thus, I hurried from the crowded 
 path, and sought a lonely, unfrequented walk which led 
 along the wall of the garden. I had not proceeded far, 
 when the low but solemn notes of church music struck on 
 my ear. I hastened forward, and soon perceived, through 
 the branches of a beech hedge, a party of some sixteen or 
 eighteen persons kneeling on the grass, their hands lifted 
 as if in prayer, while they joined in a psalm tune — one of 
 those simple but touching airs which the peasantry of the 
 south are so attached to. Their oval faces bronzed with 
 the sun, their long, flowing hair, divided on the head and 
 falling loose on either shoulder, their dark eyes and long 
 lashes, bespoke them all from that land of Bourbon loyalty, 
 La Vendee, even had not their yellow jackets, covered 
 with buttons along the sleeves, and their loose hose, 
 evinced their nationality. Many of the countenances I 
 now remembered to have seen the preceding night ; but 
 some were careworn and emaciated, as if from long im- 
 prisonment. 
 
 I cannot tell how the simple piety of these poor peasants 
 touched me, contrasted, too, with the horrible inditierence 
 of the others. As I approached them, I was recognized; 
 and, whether supposing that I was a well-wisher to their 
 cause, or attracted merely by the tie of common misfor- 
 tune, they saluted me respectfully, and seemed glad to see 
 me. While two or three of those I had seen before moved 
 forward to speak to me, I remarked that a low, swarthy 
 man, with a scar across his upper lip, examined me with
 
 THE " TEMPLE." 819 
 
 marked attention, and then whispered something to the 
 rest. At first he seemed to pay little respect to whatever 
 thej said — an incredulous shake of the head, or an impa- 
 tient motion of the hand, replying to their observations. 
 Gradually, however, he relaxed in this, and I conld see 
 that his stern features assumed a look of kinder meaning. 
 
 " So, friend," said he, holding out his tanned and 
 powerful hand towards me, " it was thou saved our chief 
 from being snared like a wolf in a trap. Le hon Dieu 
 will remember the service hereafter; and the good king 
 will not forget thee, if the time ever comes for his better 
 fortune." 
 
 "Tou must not thank me," said I, smiling; "the ser- 
 vice I rendered was one instigated by friendship only. I 
 know not your plans ; I never knew them. The epaulette 
 I wear I never was false to." 
 
 A murmur of dissatisfaction ran along the party, and I 
 could mark that in the words they interchanged feelings 
 of surprise were mingled with displeasure. At last, the 
 short man, commanding silence with a slight motion of 
 the hand, said, " I am sorry for it ; your courage merited 
 a better cause ; however, the avowal was at least an honest 
 one ; and now tell us, why came you here ? " 
 
 " For the very reason I've mentioned. My presence at 
 the chateau last night, and my discovery during the attack, 
 were enough to impute guilt. How can I clear myself, 
 without criminating those I would not name ? " 
 
 " That matters but little. Doubtless, you have powerful 
 friends — rich ones, perhaps, and in office; they will bear 
 you harmless." 
 
 " Alas ! you are wrong. I have not in all the length 
 and breadth of France one who, if a word would save me 
 from the scaffold, would care to speak it. I am a stranger 
 and an alien." 
 
 " Ha ! " said a fair-haired, handsome youth, starting 
 from the grass where he had been sitting, " what would I 
 not give nov/, if your lot was mine. They'd not make ray 
 heart tremble if 1 could forget the cabin I was born in." 
 
 " Hush! Philippe," said the other, " the weapon is not 
 
 in their armoury to make a Vendean tremble But, 
 
 hark ! there is the drum for the inspection. You must 
 present yourself each day at noon, at the low postern.
 
 320 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 yonder, and write your name ; and mark me, before we 
 part, it cannot serve us, it may ruin you, if we are seen to 
 speak together. Trust no one here. Those whom you 
 see yonder are half of them moutons.^^ 
 
 " How ? " said I, not understanding the phrase. 
 
 *• Ay, it was a prison word I used," resumed he. " I 
 would say they are but spies of the police, who, as if con- 
 fined for their offences, are only here to obtain confes- 
 sions from unguarded, unsuspecting prisoners. Their 
 frankness and sincerity are snares that have led many to 
 the guillotine : beware of them. You dare not carry your 
 glass to your lip, but the murmured toast might be your 
 condemnation. Adieu!" said he, and as he spoke he 
 turned away and left the place, followed by the rest. 
 
 The disgust I felt at first for the others was certainly 
 not lessened by learning that their guilt was stained by 
 treachery tlie blackest that can disgrace humanity ; and 
 now, as I walked among them, it was with a sense of 
 shrinking horror I recoiled from the very touch of the 
 wretches whose smiles were but lures to the scaffold. 
 
 "Ha! our lost and strayed friend," said one, as I 
 appeared, " come hither and make a clean breast of it. 
 What amiable weaknesses have introduced you to the 
 Temple?" 
 
 " In truth," said I, endeavouring to conceal my know- 
 ledge of my acquaintances' real character, " I cannot 
 even guess, nor do I believe that any one else is wiser 
 than myself." 
 
 " Parhleu f young gentleman," said the abbe, as he 
 spied me impertinently through his glass, " you are exces- 
 sively old-fashioned for your years. Don't you know 
 that spotless innocence went out with the Bourbons ? 
 Every one since that dies in the glorious assertion of his 
 peculiar wickedness, with certain extenuating circum- 
 stances, which he calls human nature." 
 
 " And now, then," resumed the first speaker, " for 
 your mishap — what was it? " 
 
 " I should only deceive you were I to give any other 
 answer than my first. Mere suspicion there may be 
 against me — there can be no more." 
 
 " Well, well, let us have the suspicions. The Moniteur 
 is late this morning, and we have nothing to amuse us."
 
 THE " TEMPLE." 321 
 
 *' Who are you ? " cried another, a tall, insolent-look- 
 ing fellow, with a dark moustache. " That's the first 
 question. I've seen a mouton in a hussar dress before 
 now." 
 
 " I am too late a resident here," answered I, " to guess 
 how far insolence goes unpunished ; but if I were out- 
 side these walls, and you also, I'd teach you a lesson you 
 have yet to learn, sir." 
 
 " Parhleu/'^ said one of the former speakers, " Jacques, 
 he has you there, though it was no great sharpness to 
 see you were a blanc-hec''' 
 
 The tall fellow moved away, muttering to himself, as a 
 hearty laugh broke forth among the rest. 
 
 " And now," said the abbe, with a simper, " pardon 
 the liberty ; but have you had any trifling inducement 
 for coming to pass a few days here ? Were you making 
 love to Madame la Consulesse ? or did you laugh at 
 General Bonaparte's grand dinners ? or have you been 
 learning the English grammar? or what is it? " 
 
 I shook my head, and was silent. 
 
 " Come, come, be frank with us; unblemished virtue 
 fares very ill here. There was a gentlem.an lost his head 
 this morning, who never did anything all his life other 
 than keep the post-office at Tarbes; but somehow he 
 happened to let a letter pass into the bag addressed to an 
 elderly gentleman in England, called the Count d'Artois, 
 not knowing that the Count's letters are always ' to the 
 care of Citizen Bonaparte.' Well, they shortened him 
 by the neck for it. Cruel ! you will say ; but so much 
 for innocence." 
 
 " For the last time then, gentlemen, I must express my 
 sincere sorrow that I have neither murder, treason, nor 
 any other infamy on my conscience, which might qualify 
 me for the distinguished honour of associating with you. 
 Such being the case, and my sense of my deficiency being 
 so great, you will, I'm sure, pardon me if I do not ob- 
 trude on society of which I am unworthy, and which I 
 have now the honour to wish a good-day to." With this, 
 and a formal bow, returned equally politely by the rest, I 
 moved on, and entered the tower. 
 
 Somlyve and sad as were my own reflections, yet did I 
 prefer their company to that of my fellow-prisoners, for 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 32*2 TOM BUEKE OF " OUES." 
 
 whom already I began to conceive a perfect feeling of 
 abhorrence. 
 
 Revolting, indeed, was the indifference to fame, honour, 
 and even life, which 1 already witnessed among them ; 
 but what was it compared with the deliberate treachery 
 of men who could wait for the hour when the heart, over- 
 flowing with sorrow, opened itself for consolation and 
 comfort, and then search its every recess for proofs of 
 guilt that should bring the mourner to the scaffold ? 
 
 How any government could need, how they could tole- 
 rate such assassins as these, I could not conceive. And 
 was this his doing — were these his minions, whose high- 
 soul ed chivalry had been my worship and my idolatry ? 
 No, no; I'll not believe it. Bonaparte knows not the 
 dark and terrible secrets of these gloomy walls. The 
 hero of Arcole, the conqueror of Italy, wots not of the 
 frightful tyranny of these dungeons : did he but know 
 them, what a destiny would wait on those who thus stain 
 with crime and treachery the fame of that " Belle France" 
 he made so great ! 
 
 Oh! that in the hour of my accusation — in the very 
 last of my life, were it on the step of the guillotine — I 
 could but speak with words to reach him, and say, how 
 glory like his must be tarnished, if such deeds went on 
 unpunished ; that while thousands and thousands were 
 welcoming his path with cries of wild enthusiasm and 
 joy, in the cold cells of the Temple there were breaking 
 hearts, whose sorrow-wrung confessions were registered, 
 whose prayers were canvassed for evidences of desires 
 that might be converted into treason. He could have no 
 sympathy with men like these. Not such the brave who 
 followed him at Lodi ; not kindred souls were they who 
 died for him at Marengo. Alas ! alas ! how might men 
 read of him hereafter, if by such acts the splendour of 
 his greatness was to suffer stain. While thoughts like 
 these filled my mind, and in the excitement of awakened 
 indignation I trod my little cell backwards and forwards, 
 the gaoler entered, and, having locked the door behind 
 him, approached me. 
 
 " You are the Sous-Lieutenant Burke: is it not so? 
 Well, I have a letter for you ; I promised to deliver it on 
 one condition only — which is, that when read, you shall
 
 THE " TEMPLE." 323 
 
 tear it in pieces. Were it known that I did this, my 
 head would roll in the Plaine de Grenelle before daybreak 
 to-morrow. I also promised to put you on your guard : 
 speak to few here ; confide in none ; and now here is 
 your letter." 
 
 I opened the billet hastily, and read the few lines it 
 contained, which evidently were written in a feigned hand. 
 " Your life is in danger — any delay may be your ruin — 
 address the minister at once as to the cause of your de- 
 tention, and for the charges under which you are com- 
 mitted : demand permission to consult an advocate, and, 
 when demanded, it can't be refused. Write to Monsieur 
 Baillot, of 4, Rue Chantereine, in whom you may trust 
 implicitly, and who has already instructions for your de- 
 fence. Accept the enclosed, and believe in the faithful 
 attachment of a sincere friend." A hillet de hanque for 
 three thousand francs was folded in the note, and fell to 
 the ground as I read it. 
 
 " Farhleu! I'll not ask you to tear this, though," said 
 the gaoler as he handed it to me; " and now let me see 
 you destroy the other." 
 
 I read and re-read the few lines over and over, some 
 new meaning striking me at each word, while I asked 
 myself from whom it could have come. Was it De Beau- 
 vais ? or dare I hope it was one dearest to me of all the 
 world? Who, then, in the saddest hour of my exist- 
 ence, could step between me and my sorrow, and leave 
 hope as my companion in the dreary solitude of a 
 prison ? 
 
 " Again, I say, be quick," cried the gaoler; " my being 
 here so long may be remarked. Tear it at once." 
 
 He followed with an eager eye every morsel of paper 
 as it fell from my hand, and only seemed at ease as the last 
 dropped to the ground; and then, without speaking a 
 word, unlocked the door and withdrew. 
 
 The shipwrecked sailor, clinging to some wave-tossed 
 raft, and watching with bloodshot eye the falling day, 
 where no friendly sail has once appeared, and at last, as 
 every hope dies out one by one within him, he hears a 
 cheer break through the plashing of the sea, calling on 
 him to live, may feel something like what were my sensa- 
 tions, as once more alone in my cell I thought of the 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 friendly voice that could arouse me from my cold despair, 
 and bid me hope again. 
 
 What a change came over the world to my eyes ! the 
 very cell itself no longer seemed dark and dreary ; the 
 faint sunlight that fell through the narrow window seemed 
 soft and mellow ; the voices I heard without struck me 
 not as dissonant and harsh ; the reckless gaiety I shuddered 
 at, the dark treachery I abhorred, I could now compas- 
 sionate the one, and openly despise the other ; and it was 
 with that stout determination at my heart that I sallied 
 forth into the garden where still the others lingered, 
 waiting for the drum that summoned them to dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE "CHOtJANS." 
 
 When night came, and aU was silent in the prison, I sat 
 down to write my letter to the minister. I knew enough 
 of such matters to be aware that brevity is the great requi- 
 site ; and, therefore, without any attempt to anticipate my 
 accusation by a defence of my motives, I simply, but re- 
 spectfully, demanded the charges alleged against me, and 
 prayed for the earliest and most speedy investigation into 
 my conduct. Such were the instructions of my unknown 
 friend, and, as I proceeded to follow them, their meaning 
 at once became apparent to me. Haste was recommended, 
 evidently to prevent such explanations and inquiries into 
 my conduct as more time might, afford. My appearance 
 at the chateau might still be a mystery to them, and one 
 which might remain unfathomable, if any plausible reason 
 were put forward. And what more could be laid to my 
 charge ? True, the brevet of colonel found on my person ; 
 but this I could with truth allege had never been accepted
 
 THE " CHOUANS.'* 325 
 
 by me. They would scarcely condemn me on such testi- 
 mony, unsupported by any direct charge ; and who could 
 bring such save De Beauvais ? FlimvSy and weak as such 
 pretexts were, yet were they enough in my then frame of 
 mind to support ray courage and nerve my heart; but 
 more than all I trusted in the sincere loyalty I felt for the 
 cause of the Government and its great chief — a sentiment 
 which, however difficult to prove, gave myself that inward 
 sense of safety which only can flow from strong convic- 
 tions of honesty. " It may so happen," thought I, " that 
 circumstances may appear against me, but I know and 
 feel my heart is true and firm, and, even at the worst, 
 such a consciousness will enable me to bear whatever may 
 be my fortune." 
 
 The next morning my altered manner and happier look 
 excited the attention of the others, who by various en- 
 deavours tried to fathom the cause, or learn any parti- 
 culars of my fate; but in vain, for already I was on my 
 guard against even a chance expression, and, save on the 
 most commonplace topics, held no intercourse with any. 
 Far from being offended at my reserve, they seemed rather 
 to have conceived a species of respect for one whose 
 secrecy imparted something of interest to him ; and while 
 they tried, by the chance allusion to political events and 
 characters, to sound me, I could see that, though baffled, 
 they by no means gave up the battle. 
 
 As time wore on, this half persecution died away — each 
 day brought some prisoner or other amongst us, or re- 
 moved some of those we had to other places of confine- 
 ment, and thus I became forgotten in the interest of 
 newer events. About a week after my entrance we were 
 walking as usual about the gardens, when a rumour ran, 
 that a prisoner of great consequence had been arrested 
 the preceding night, and conveyed to the Temple ; and 
 various surmises were afloat as to who he mig-ht be, or 
 whether he should be au secret or at large. While the 
 point was eagerly discussed, a low door from the house 
 was opened, and the gaoler appeared, followed by a large, 
 powerful man, whom in one glance I remembered as the 
 chief of the Vendean party at the chateau, and the same 
 who effected his escape in the Bois de Boulogne. He 
 passed close to where I stood, his arm folded on his
 
 326 TOM BUEKE OF *' OURS,*' 
 
 breast — his clear blue eye bent calmly on me — yet never by 
 the slightest sign did he indicate that we had ever met be- 
 fore. I divined at once his meaning, and felt grateful for 
 what I guessed might be a measure necessary to my safety. 
 
 '* I tell you," said a shrivelled old fellow, in a worn 
 dressing-gown and slippers, who held the Iloniteur of that 
 day in his hand — " I tell you it is himself; and see, his 
 hand is wounded— though he does his best to conceal the 
 bandage in his bosom." 
 
 " Well, well — read us the account : where did it occur ?'* 
 cried two or three in a breath. 
 
 The old man seated himself on a bench, and, having 
 arranged his spectacles and unfolded the journal, held 
 out his hand to proclaim silence, when suddenly a wild 
 cheer broke from the distant part of the garden, whither 
 the newly-arrived prisoner had turned his steps — a second, 
 louder, followed, in which the wild cry of '* Vive le Roi ! " 
 could be distinctly heard. 
 
 " You hear them," said the old man. " Was I right 
 now ? I knew it must be him." 
 
 " Strange enough, too, he should not be au secret^* 
 said another. " The generals have never been suffered to 
 speak to any one since their confinement. But read on, 
 let us hear it." 
 
 " * On yesterday morning,' " said the little man, read- 
 ing aloud, " ' Picot, the servant of George, was arrested, 
 and although every endeavour was made to induce him to 
 confess where his master was ' " 
 
 " Do you know the meaning of that phrase, Duchos ? " 
 said a tall, melancholy-lookmg man, with a bald head — 
 " that means the torture ; thumb-screws and flint vices are 
 the mode once more ; see here." As be spoke he undid a 
 silk handkerchief that was wrapped around his wrist, and 
 exhibited a hand that seemed actually smashed into frag- 
 ments — the bones were forced in many places through 
 the flesh, which hung in dark-coloured and blood-stained 
 pieces about. 
 
 "I would show that hand at the tribunal," muttered 
 an old soldier in a faded blue frock. " I'd hold it up when 
 they'd ask me to swear." 
 
 " Your head would only fare the worse for doing so," 
 said the abbe. •' Read on, Monsieur Duchos."
 
 THE " CHOUANS.** 327 
 
 " Oh, where was I ?—Pardieu/ colonel, I wish you would 
 cover that up : I shall dream of that terrible thumb all 
 night. — Here we are — ' Though nothing could be learned 
 from Picot, it was ascertained that the brigand — ■ — ' " 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " said a fat little fellow in a blouse, " they call 
 them all brigands — Moreau is a brigand — Pichegru is a 
 brigand too." 
 
 " ' That the brigand had passed Monday night near 
 Chaillot, and on Tuesday, towards evening, was seen at 
 Sainte- Genevieve, where it was suspected he slept on the 
 mountain ; on Wednesday the police traced him to the 
 cabriolet stand at the end of the Rue de Conde, where he 
 took a carriage and drove towards the Odeon. ' " 
 
 " Probably he was going to the spectacle. What did 
 they play that night ? " said the fat man. " La Mort ds 
 Barlerousse, perhaps." 
 
 The other read on. — '* *The officer cried out, as he 
 seized the bridle, " Je vous arrete ! " when George levelled 
 a pistol and shot him through the forehead, and then 
 springing over the dead body dashed down the street. 
 The butchers of the neighbourhood, who knew the reward 
 offered for his apprehension, pursued and fell upon him 
 with their hatchets ; a hand-to-hand encounter followed, 
 in which the brigand's wrist was nearly severed from his 
 arm, and thus disabled and overpowered, he was secured 
 and conveyed to the Temple.' " 
 
 "And who is this man ? " said I in a whisper to the 
 tall person near me." 
 
 " The General George Cadoudal — a brave Breton, and 
 a faithful follower of his king," replied he ; " and may 
 Heaven have pity on him now ! " He crossed himself 
 piously as he spoke, and moved slowly away. 
 
 " General Cadoudal ! " repeated I to myself, "the same 
 whose description figured on every wall of the capital, and 
 for whose apprehension immense rewards were offered ; " 
 and with an inward shudder 1 thought of my chance in- 
 tercourse with the man — to harbour whom was death — 
 the dreaded chief of the Chouans — the daring Breton — of 
 whom Paris rung with stories. And this was the com- 
 panion of Henry de Beauvais. Revolving such thoughts, 
 I strolled along unconsciously, until I reached the place 
 where, some days before, I had seen the Vcndeans engaged
 
 328 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.** 
 
 in prayer. TLe loud tone of a deep voice arrested my steps. 
 I stopped and listened. It was George himself who spoke ; 
 he stood, drawn up to his full height, in the midst of a 
 large circle who sat around on the grass. Though his 
 language was a patois of which I. was ignorant, I could 
 catch here and there some indication of his meaning, as 
 much perhaps from his gesture and the look of those he 
 addressed, as from the words themselves. It was an exhor- 
 tation to them to endure with fortitude the lot that had be- 
 fallen them — to meet death when it came without fear, as 
 they could do so without dishonour — to strengthen their 
 courage by looking to him, who would always give them 
 an example of what they should be. The last words he 
 spoke were in a plainer dialect, and almost these — " Throw 
 no glance on the past. We are where we are — we are 
 where God, in his wisdom, aud for his own ends, has 
 placed us. If this cause be just, our martyrdom is a 
 blessed one ; if it be not so, our death is our panishment ; 
 and never forget that you are permitted to meet it from 
 the same spot where our glorious monarch went to meet 
 his own." 
 
 A cry of " Vive le Roi ! " half stifled by sobs of emotion, 
 broke from the listeners, as they rose, and pressed around 
 him. 
 
 There he stood in the midst, while, like children, they 
 came to kiss his hand — to hear him speak one word — even 
 to look on him. Their swarthy faces, where hardship and 
 suffering had left many a deep line and furrow, beamed 
 with smiles as he turned towards them ; and many a 
 proud look was bent on the rest by those to whom he 
 addressed a single word. One I could not help remarking 
 above the others, a slight, pale, and handsome youth, 
 whose almost girlish cheek the first dowm of youth was 
 shading. George leaned his arm round his neck, and 
 nailed him by his name, and in a voice almost tremulous 
 from emotion. " And you, Bouvet de Lozier, whose infancy 
 wanted nothing of luxury and enjoyment — for whom all 
 that wealth and affection could bestow were in abundance — 
 how do you bear these rugged reverses, my dear boy? " 
 
 The youth looked up with eyes bathed in tears; the 
 hectic spot in his face gave way to the paleness of death, 
 and his lips moved without a sound.
 
 THE "CHOUANS." 829 
 
 **He has been ill — the count has," said a peasant, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said George ; " he was not meant for 
 trials like these ; the cares he used to bury in his mother's 
 lap met other consolations than our ruder ones. Look up, 
 Bouvet, my man, and remember you are a man." 
 
 The youth trembled from head to foot, and looked fear- 
 fully around, as if dreading something, while he clutched 
 the strong arm beside him, as though for protection. 
 
 " Courage, boy — courage ! " said George. " We are 
 together here — what can harm you ? " 
 
 Then dropping his voice, and turning to the rest, he 
 added, — 
 
 " They have been tampering with his reason- — his eye be- 
 trays a wandering intellect. Take him with you, Claude 
 — he loves you — and do not leave him for a moment." 
 
 The youth pressed George's fingers to his pale lips, and, 
 with his head bent down and listless gait, moved slowly 
 away. 
 
 As I wandered from the spot, my heart was full of all I 
 had witnessed. The influence of their chief had surprised 
 me on the night of the attack on the chateau. But how 
 much more wonderful did it seem now, when confined 
 within the walls of a prison — the only exit to which was 
 the patb tbat led to the guillotine. Yet was their reliance 
 on all lie said as great, as implicit their faith in him, as 
 w^arm their affection, as though success had crowned each 
 effort he suggested, and that fortune had been as kind as 
 she had proved adverse to his enterprise. 
 
 Such were the Chouans in the Temple. Life had pre- 
 sented to their hardy natures too many vicissitudes to 
 make them quail beneath the horrors of a prison — death 
 they had confronted in many shapes, and they feared it 
 not even at the hands of the executioner. Loyalty to the 
 exited family of France was less a political than a religious 
 feeling — one inculcated at the altar, and carried home to 
 the fireside of the cottage. Devotion to their king was a 
 part of their faith. The sovereign was but a saint the 
 more in their calendar. The glorious triumphs of the 
 revolutionary armies — the great conquests of the Consu- 
 late — found no sympathy within their bosoms ; they neither 
 joined the battle nor partook of the ovation. They looked
 
 330 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 on all such as the passing pageant of the hour — and mut- 
 tered to each other, that the hon Dieu could not bless a 
 nation that was false to its king. 
 
 Who could see them, as they met each morning, and not 
 feel deeply interested in these brave but simple peasants? 
 At daybreak they knelt together in prayer, their chief 
 officiating as priest ; their deep voices joined in the hymn 
 of their own native valleys, as with tearful eyes they sai g 
 the songs that reminded them of home. The service 
 over, George addressed them in a short speech — some 
 words of advice and guidance for the coming day — re- 
 minding them that ere another morning shone, many 
 might be summoned before the tribunal to be examined, 
 and from thence led forth to death ; exhorting them to 
 fidelity to each other, and loyalty to their glorious cause. 
 Then came the games of their country, which they played 
 with all the enthusiasm of liberty and happiness. These 
 were again succeeded by hours passed in hearing and re- 
 lating stories of their beloved Bretagne — of its tried faith 
 and its ancient bravery — while, through all, they lived a 
 community apart from the other prisoners, who never dared 
 to obtrude upon them ; nor did the most venturesome 
 of the police spies ever transgress a limit that might have 
 cost him his life. 
 
 Thus did two so different currents run side by side 
 within the walls of the Temple, and each regarding the 
 other with distrust and disHke. 
 
 While thus I felt a growing interest for these bold but 
 simple children of the forest, my anxiety for my own fate 
 grew hourly greater. No answer was ever returned to 
 my letter to the minister, nor any notice taken of it 
 whatever; and though each day I heard of some one or 
 other being examined before the " Tribunal Special," or 
 the prefet de police, I seemed as much forgotten as though 
 the grave enclosed me. My dread of anything like ac- 
 quaintance or intimacy with the other prisoners prevented 
 my learning much of what went forward each day, and 
 from which, from some source or other, they seemed well 
 informed. A chance phrase- — an odd word now and then 
 dropped — would tell me of some new discovery by the 
 police, or some recent confession by a captured con- 
 Rpirator ; but of what the crime consisted, and who
 
 THE " CHOUA^S." 831 
 
 were they principally implicated, I remained totally 
 ignorant. 
 
 It was well known that both Moreau and Pichegru were 
 confined in a part of the tower that opened upon the terrace, 
 but neither suffered to communicate with each other, nor 
 even to appear at large like the other prisoners. It was 
 rumoured, too, that each day one or both were submitted 
 to long and searching examinations, which, it was said, 
 had hitherto elicited nothing from either, save total denial 
 of any complicity whatever, and complete ignorance of tho 
 plots and machinations of others. 
 
 So much we could learn from the Moniteur, which 
 reached us each day ; and, while assuming a tone of open 
 reprobation regarding the Chouans, spoke in terms the 
 most cautious and reserved respecting the two generals, 
 as if probing tha public mind how far their implication in 
 treason might be credited, and with what faith the proofs 
 of their participation might be received. 
 
 At last the train seemed laid ; ^the explosion was all 
 prepared, and nothing wanting but the spark to ignite 
 it. A letter from Moreau to the Consul appeared in the 
 columns of the Government paper, in which, after recapitu- 
 lating in terms most suitable the services he had rendered 
 the Republic while in command of the army of the Rhine, 
 the confidence the Convention had always placed in him, 
 the frequent occasions which had presented themselves to 
 him of gratifying ambitious views (had he conceived such), 
 he adverted in brief but touching terms to his conduct on 
 the 18th Brumaire, in seconding the adventurous step 
 taken by Bonaparte himself, and attributed the neglect hi.s 
 devotion had met with rather to the interference and 
 plotting of his enemies, than to any estrangement on the 
 part of the Consul. Throughout the whole of the epistle 
 there reigned a tone of reverence for the authority of 
 Bonaparte most striking and remarkable ; there was 
 nothing like an approach to the equality which might well 
 be supposed to subsist between two g:-eat generals — albeit 
 the one was at the height of power, and the other sunk in 
 the very depth of misfortune. On the contrary, the letter 
 was nothing more than an appeal to old souvenirs and 
 former services — to one who possessed the power, if he 
 had the will, to save him : it breathed throughout the
 
 332 TOM BURKE OF " OUES." 
 
 sentiments of one who demands a favour, and that favour 
 his life and honour, at the hands of him who had already 
 con'itituted himself the fountain of both. 
 
 While such was the position of Moreau — -a position 
 which resulted in his downfall — chance informed us of the 
 Jiiferent ground occupied by his companion in misfortune, 
 the General Pichegru. 
 
 About three days after the publication of Moreau's letter, 
 we were w^alking as usual in the garden of the Temple, when 
 a huissier came up, and, beckoning to two of the prisoners, 
 desired them to follow him. Such was the ordinary course 
 by which one or more were daily summoned before the 
 tribunal for examination, and we took no notice of what 
 had become a matter of every-day occurrence, and went 
 on conversing as before about the news of the morning. 
 Several hours elapsed without the others having returned, 
 and at last we began to feel anxious about their fate, when 
 one of them made his appearance — his heightened colour 
 and agitated expression betokening that something more 
 than common had occurred. 
 
 " We were examined with Pichegru," said the prisoner, 
 who was an old quartermaster in the army of the Upper 
 Rhine, as he sat down upon a bench and wiped his 
 forehead with his handkerchief. 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the tall colonel with the bald head ; 
 *' before Monsieur Real, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes, before Real. My poor old general — there he was, 
 as I used to see him formerly, with his hand on the breast 
 of his uniform, his pale, thin features as calm as ever, 
 until at last, when roused, his eyes flashed fire, and his 
 lip trembled before he broke out into such a torrent of 
 attack " 
 
 " Attack, say you ? " interrupted the abbe ; " a bold 
 course, my faith ! in one who has need of all his powers 
 for defence." 
 
 " It was ever his tactique to be the assailant," said a 
 bronzed, soldier-like fellow, in a patched uniform ; " he 
 did so in Holland." 
 
 " He chose a better enemy to practise it with then, than 
 he has done now," resumed the quartermaster, sadly. 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? " cried half a dozen voices 
 together.
 
 THE " CHOUANS." 833 
 
 *' The Consul." 
 
 " The Consul ! Bonaparte ! Attack him /" repeated one 
 after the other, in accents of surprise and horror. " Poor 
 iellow, he is deranged." 
 
 " So I almost thought myself, as I heard him," replied 
 the quartermaster ; " for, after submitting with patience 
 to a long and tiresome examination, he suddenly, as if 
 endurance could go no farther, cried out — ' Assez ! ' The 
 prefet started, and Thuriot, who sat beside him, looked 
 up terrified, while Pichegru went on. ' So, the whole of 
 this negotiation about Cayenne is then a falsehood. Your 
 promise to make me governor there, if I consented to quit 
 France for ever, was a trick to extort confession, or a bribe 
 to silence. Be it so. Now, come what will, I'll not leave 
 France ; and, more still, I'll declare everything before the 
 judges openly at the tribunal. The people shall know, all 
 Europe shall know, who is my accuser, and what he is. 
 Yes, your Consul himself treated with the Bourbons in 
 Italy ; the negotiations were begun, continued, carried on, 
 and only broken off by his own excessive demands. Ay, 
 I can prove it ; his very return from Egypt through the 
 whole English fleet — that hfippy chance, as you were won't 
 to term it — was a secret treaty with Pitt for the restoration 
 of the exiled family on his reaching Paris. These facts — 
 and facts you shall confess them — are in my power to 
 prove ; and prove them I will in the face of all Prance ' " 
 
 "Poor Pichegru!" said the abbe, contemptuously. 
 " What an ill-tempered child a great general may be after 
 all ! Did he think the hour would ever come for him to 
 realize such a dream ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" cried two or three together. 
 
 " The Corsican never forgets a vendetta," was the cool 
 reply, as he walked away. 
 
 "True," said the colonel, thoughtfully — " quite true." 
 
 To me these words were riddles. My only feeling to- 
 wards Pichegru was one of contempt and pity that, in any 
 depth of misfortune, he could resort to such an unworthy 
 attack upon him who still was the idol of all my thoughts ; 
 and for this, the conqueror of Holland stood now as low in 
 my esteem as the most vulgar of the rabble gang that each 
 day saw sentenced to the galleys.
 
 334 TOM BUEKE OF 
 
 CHAPTER XXXy. 
 
 THE REIGN OF TERROR UNDER THE CONSULATB. 
 
 On the morning that followed the scene I have spoken of 
 came the news of the arrest *the trial, and the death of tha 
 Due d'Enghien. That terrible tragedy, which yet weighs, 
 and will weigh for ever, on the memory of the period, 
 reached us in our prison with all the terrible force of cir- 
 cumstances to make it a day of sorrow and mourniug. 
 Such details as the journals afforded but little satisfied 
 our curiosity. The youth, the virtues, the bravery of the 
 prince had made him the idol of his party ; and while his 
 death was lamented for his own sake, his followers read in 
 it the determination of the Government to stop at nothing 
 in their resolve to exterminate that party. A gloomy 
 silence sat upon the Chouans, who no longer moved about 
 as before, regardless of their confinement to a prison. 
 Their chief remained apart ; he neither spoke to any one, 
 cor seemed to notice those who passed : he looked stunned 
 and stupefied, rather than deeply affected, and when he 
 lifted his eyes, their expression was cold and wandering. 
 Even the other prisoners, who rarely gave way to feeling 
 of any kind, seemed at first overwhelmed by these sad 
 tidings ; and doubtless many who before had trusted to 
 rank and influence for their safety, saw how little depen- 
 dence could be placed on such aid, when the blow had 
 {alien upon a '* Concie " himself. 
 
 I, who neither knew the political movements of the 
 time nor the sources of the danger the Consul's party an- 
 ticipated, could only mourn over the unhappy fate of a 
 gallant prince whose daring had cost him his life, and 
 never dreamed for a moment of calling in question the 
 honour or good faith of Bonaparte in an affair of which I 
 could have easily believed him totally ignorant. Such, in- 
 deed, was the representation of the Monifeur; and what- 
 ever doubts the hints about me might have excited, were
 
 THE REIGN OF TERROR UNDER THE CONSULATE. 335 
 
 speedily allayed by the accounts I read of tlie Consul's in- 
 dignation at the haste and informality of the trial, and his 
 deep anger at the catastrophe that followed it. 
 
 " Savary will be disgraced for this," said I to the abbe 
 who leaned over my shoulder while I read the paper. 
 *' Bonaparte can never forgive him." 
 
 " You mistake, my dear sir," replied he, with a strange 
 expression I could not fathom ; " the Consul is the most 
 forgiving of men ; he never bears malice. ' 
 
 " But here was a dreadful event — a crime, perhaps." 
 
 *' Only a fault," resumed he. " By the bye, colonel, this 
 order about closing the barriers will be excessively incon- 
 venient to the good people of Paris." 
 
 " I have been thinking over that, too," said an over- 
 dressed, affected-looking youth, whose perfumed curls and 
 studied costume formed a strange contrast with the habits 
 of his fellow-prisoners. " If they shut up the Barriere de 
 I'Etoile, what are they to do for Longchamps.?" 
 
 " Parhleu I that did not strike me," interposed the 
 colonel, tapping his forehead with his finger. *' I'll wager 
 a crown that they haven't thought of that themselves." 
 
 " The Champs Elysees are surely long enough for such 
 tomfoolery," said the quartermaster, in a gruff, savage tone. 
 " Not one-half," was the imperturbable reply of the youth ; 
 " and Longchamps promised admirably this year. I had 
 ordered a caleche — lig^ht blue, with gilt circles on the 
 wheels, and a bronze carving to the pole — like an antique 
 chariot." 
 
 '* Parlleu ! you are more likely to take your next airing 
 in a simpler conveyance," said the quartermaster, with a 
 grin. 
 
 " I was to have driven la Comtesse de Beauflers to the 
 Bois de Boulogne." 
 
 " You must content yourself with the Count de la 
 Marque " — the prison name of the executioner — " instead," 
 growled out the other. 
 
 I turned away, no less disgusted at the frivolity that 
 could only see in the dreadful event that took place the 
 temporary interruption to a vain and silly promenade, than 
 at the savage coarseness that could revel in the pain com- 
 mon misfortune gave him the privilege of inflicting. 
 
 Such, however, was the prevalent tone of thinking and
 
 333 TOM BUHKH OF " OUES." 
 
 speaking tliere. The death of friends — the ruin of those 
 best loved and cared for- — the danger that each day canjc 
 nearer to themselves — were all casualties to which habit, 
 recklessness of life, and libertinism had accustomed them ; 
 while about former modes of life, the pleasures of the 
 capital, its delights and dissipation, they conversed with 
 the most eager interest. It is thus, while in some natures 
 misfortunes will call forth into exercise the best and 
 noblest traits that in happier circumstances had never 
 found the necessity that gave them birth ; so, in others, 
 adversity depresses and demoralizes those weaker tempera- 
 ments that seemed formed to sail safely in the calm waters, 
 but never destined to brave the stormy seas of life. 
 
 With such associates I could have neither sympathy nor 
 friendship ; and my life passed on in one unbroken and 
 dreary monotony- — day succeeding day, and night following 
 night — till my thoughts, turned ever inward, had worn as 
 it were a track for themselves, in which the world without 
 and its people had no share whatever. Kot only was my 
 application to the minister unanswered, but I was never 
 examined before any of the tribunals ; and sometimes 
 the dreadful fate of those prisoners who, in the Reign of 
 Terror, passed their whole life in prison, their crimes, their 
 very existence forgotten, would cross my mind, and strike 
 me with terror unspeakable. 
 
 If in the sombre atmosphere of the Temple a sad and 
 cheerless monotony prevailed, events followed fast on each 
 other in that world from which its gloomy walls excluded 
 us ; every hour was some new feature of the dark conspiracy 
 brought to light ; the vigilance of Monsieur Real slept not 
 night or day ; and all that bribery, terror, or torture could 
 effect, was put into requisition to obtain full and precise 
 information as to every one concerned in the plot. 
 
 It was a bright, fresh morning in April, the sixth of the 
 month — the day is graven on my memory — when, on 
 walking forth into the garden, I was surprised to see the 
 prisoners standing in a circle round a tree on which a 
 placard was fastened, with glances eagerly turned towards 
 the paper, or bent sadly to the ground. They stood around, 
 sad and silent : to my question of what had occurred, a 
 significant look at the tree was the only reply I received, 
 while in the faces of all I perceived that some dreadful
 
 THE REIGN OF TERROR L'NDER THE CONSULATE. 337 
 
 news had readied them. Forcing mj way with difficulty 
 through the crowd, I at length approached near enough to 
 read the placard, on which, in large letters, was written, — 
 
 " Charles JPicliegru^ ex-General Bepuhlicainy s'est etrangU 
 dans sa prison. 
 
 "6Avril. Le Temple." 
 
 "And did Pichegru, the great conqueror of Holland, die 
 by his own hand ? " said 1, as my eye rested on the fatal 
 bulletin, 
 
 " Don't you read it, young man ? " replied a deep, 
 solemn voice beside me, which I at once knew was that of 
 General George himself. " Can you doubt the accuracy 
 of information supplied by the police? " 
 
 The by-standers looked up with a terrified and frightened 
 expression, as if dreading lest the very listening to his 
 words might be construed into an acquiescence in them. 
 
 "Trust me, he is dead," continued he. "They who 
 have announced his fate here have a right to be relied on. 
 It now only remains to be seen how he died. These prison 
 maladies have a strange interest for us who live in the 
 infected climate ; and, if I mistake not, I see the Moniteur 
 yonder, a full hour before its usual time. See what a 
 blessing, gentlemen, you enjoy in a paternal Government, 
 which, in moments of public anxiety, can feel for your dis- 
 tress, and hasten to alleviate it." 
 
 The tone of sarcasm he spoke in, the measured fall of 
 every word, sank into the hearers' minds, and though they 
 stood mute, they did not even move from the spot. 
 
 " Here is the Moniteur now," said the quartermaster, 
 opening the paper and reading aloud. 
 
 " ' To his oft- repeated assurances that he would make no 
 attempt upon liis life- ' " 
 
 A rude burst of laughter from George interrupted the 
 reader here. 
 
 " 1 ask your pardon, sir," said he, touching his cap ; 
 " proceed. I promise not to interrupt you again." 
 
 " ' That he would make no attempt upon his Hie, General 
 Pichegru obtained permission that the sentries should be 
 stationed outside his cell during the night. Having pro- 
 
 VOL. I. Z
 
 838 TOM BURKE OP " OURS." 
 
 vided himself with a fagot, which he secreted beneath his 
 bed, he supped as usual in the evening of yesterday, eating 
 heartily at eleven o'clock, and retiring to rest by twelve. 
 When thus alone he placed the stick within the folds of 
 the black silk cravat he generally wore round his neck, 
 in such a manner as, when twisted, to act like a tourniquet ; 
 and having turned it with such a degree of force as to 
 arrest the return of blood from the head, he fastened it 
 beneath his head and shoulders, and in this manner, apo- 
 plexy supervening, expired.' " 
 
 " Par St. Louis, sir," cried George, " the explanation is 
 admirable, and most satisfactorily shows how a man may 
 possess life long enough to be certain he has killed himself. 
 The only thing wanting is for the general to assist in 
 dressing the proces-verbal, when doubtless his own views ot 
 his case would be equally edifying and instructive ; and 
 see, already the ceremony has begun." 
 
 As he spoke, he pointed to a number of persons who 
 crossed the terrace, preceded by Savary, in his uniform of 
 the gendarmes d' elite, and who went in the direction of the 
 cell where the dead body lay. 
 
 The prisoners now fell into little knots and groups, talk- 
 ing beneath their breath, and apparently terrified at every 
 stir about them. Each compared his sensation of what 
 he thought he heard during the night with the other's. 
 Some asserted that they distinctly heard the chains of the 
 drawbridge creak long after midnight ; others vouched for 
 the quick tramp of feet along the corridors, and the sounds 
 of strange voices ; one, whose cell was beneath that of 
 Pichegru, said that he was awoke before day by a violent 
 crash overhead, followed by a harsh sound like coughing, 
 which continued for some time, and then ceased entirely. 
 These were vague, uncertain signs, yet what horrible 
 thoughts did they not beget in each listener's mind ! 
 
 As I stood terror-struck and speechless, I felt a tap on 
 my shoulder. I turned ; it was the abbe, who, with a 
 smile of peculiar irony, stood behind me. 
 
 " Poor Savary ! " said he, in a whisper ; " how will he 
 ever get over this blunder, and it so very like the former 
 one?" 
 
 Q.Q did not wait for a reply, but moved away. 
 
 " Who is to be the next, sir ?" cried Georye, with a deep
 
 THE REIGN OF TERHOR UNDER THE CONSULATE. 339 
 
 voice, as he saw the assemblage thus accidentally collected 
 about to break up — " Moreau, perhaps. One thing I bid 
 you all bear witness to : suicide is a crime I'll never 
 commit. Let no narrative of a cravat and a fagot " 
 
 •' Do 3^ou never eat mushrooms, general?" said the 
 abbe, dryly ; and, whether from the manner of the speaker, 
 or the puzzled look of him to whom the speech was 
 addressed, the whole crowd burst into a fit of laughter — 
 the emotion seemed like one in which relief was felt by 
 all. They laughed long and loud — and now the faces tliat 
 a minute before were marked by every cha.racter of deep 
 affliction, looked merry and happy. Each had some story, 
 some apropos to tell, or some smart witticism to let off 
 against his neighbour; and to hear them you would say 
 that never was there a subject more suggestive of drollery 
 than the one of suicide and sudden death. 
 
 And thus was it ever. No event, however dreadful — 
 no circumstance, however shocking, could do more than 
 momentarily affect those whose life possessed no security, 
 was governed by no principle. Levity and unbelief — 
 unbelief that extended not only to matters of religion, 
 but actually penetrated every relation of life, rendering 
 them sceptical of friendship, love, truth, honour, and 
 charity — were the impulses under which they lived ; and 
 they would have laughed him to scorn who should have 
 attempt-ed to establish another code of acting or thinking. 
 Such feelings, if they made them but little suited to all 
 the habits and charities of life, certainly rendered them 
 most indifferent to death ; and much of that courage so 
 much lauded and admired on the scaffold, had no other 
 source than in the headlong recklessness the prison had 
 inculcated — the indifference to everything, where every- 
 thing was questionable and doubtful. 
 
 I struggled powerfully against the taint of such a con- 
 suming malady. I bethought me of my boyhood and its 
 early purpose — of him who first stirred my soul to ambi- 
 tion — and asked myself, what would he have thought of 
 me had I yielded to such a trial as this ? I pictured 
 before me a career, when such devotion as 1 felt, aided by 
 a stout heart, must win its way to honour : and when 
 roused to thought, these low, depressing dreams, these 
 dark hours of doubt and despair, vanished before it. But 
 
 z 2
 
 340 TOM BURKE OF ** CUES." 
 
 gradually vnj health gave way — my letl argic apathy in- 
 creased upon me — the gloomy walls of my cell had thrown 
 their shadow over my spirit, and I sank into a state of 
 moping indifference, in which I scarcely marked the change 
 of day and night ; and felt at length that had the sentence 
 been pronounced which condemned me for life to the walls 
 of the Temple, I could have heard it without emotion, 
 
 " Come, sous-lieutenant, it's your turn now ! " said the 
 turnkey, entering my cell one morning, where I sat alone 
 at breakfast ; " I have just received the orders for your 
 appearance." 
 
 " How ! where ? " said I, scarcely able to do more than 
 guess at the meaning of his words ; " before the prefet, 
 is it ? " 
 
 " Ko, no, a very different affair, indeed : you are sum- 
 moned with the Chouan prisoners to appear at the Palais 
 de Justice." 
 
 " The Palais ! " said I, as for the first time for weeks 
 past a sentiment of fear crept through me. " Are we to 
 be tried without having a list of the charges alleged 
 against us? " 
 
 " You'll hear them time enough in court." 
 
 " Without an advocate to defend us." 
 
 " The president will name one for that purpose." 
 
 ** And can the jury " 
 
 ** Jury ! there is no jury; the Consul has suspended 
 trial by jury for two years. Come, come, don't be down- 
 hearted — your friends without are singing away as gaily 
 as though it were a festival. My faith, that General 
 George is made of iron, I believe. He has been confined 
 au secret these ten days — his rations diminished to almost 
 a starvation level ; and yet there is he now, with his 
 countenance as calm, and his look as firm, as if he were 
 at large on the hills of La Vendee. Cheer up, then — let 
 the example of your chief " 
 
 " Chief! he is no chief of mine." 
 
 " That's as it may, or may not be," replied he, gruffly, 
 as though wounded by what he deemed a want of confi- 
 dence in his honour ; " however, make haste and dress, 
 for the carriages will be here to convey you to the Palais 
 — and there now are the gendarmes cPelite assembling in 
 the court."
 
 THE REIGN OF TERROR UNDER THE CONSULATE. 341 
 
 As I proceeded to dress, T could see from tlie window 
 of my cell that a squadron of gendarmes, in full uniform, 
 were drawn up in the square of the prison, along one side 
 of which were several carriages standing, each with two 
 gendarmes seated on the box. The prisoners were confined 
 to their walls ; but at every window some face appeared 
 peering anxiously at the proceedings beneath, and watch- 
 ing, with inquisitive gaze, every, even the slightest, 
 movement. 
 
 Just as the clock struck nine the door of my cell was 
 opened, and a greffier of the court entered, and, taking 
 from a black portmanteau at his side a roll of paper, began, 
 without delay, to repeat in a sing-song recitative tone a 
 formal summons of the Grand Tribunal for the " surrender 
 of the body of Thomas Burke, sous-lieutenant of the 
 huiiieme hussars, now in the prison of the Temple, and 
 accused of the crime of treason." 
 
 The last word made me shudder as it fell from him ; 
 and not all my stoical indifference of weeks past was 
 proof against such an accusation. The gaoler having 
 formally listened to the document, and replied by reading 
 aloud another, delivered me over to the officer, who de- 
 sired me to follow him. 
 
 Jn the court beneath the greater number of the prisoners 
 were already assembled. George, among the number, 
 was conspicuous, not only by his size and proportions, 
 but by a handsome uniform, in the breast of which he 
 wore his decoration of St. Louis, from which descended a 
 bright bow of crimson ribbon. A slight bustle at one of 
 the doorways of the tower suddenly seemed to attract his 
 attention, and I saw that he turned quickly round, and 
 forced his way through the crowd to the place. Eager to 
 learn what it was, I followed him at once. Pushing with 
 some difficulty forward, 1 reached the doorway, on the step 
 of which lay a young man in a fainting fit. His fiice, 
 pale as death, had no colour save two dark circles round 
 the eyes, which, though open, were upturned and filmy. 
 His cravat had been hastily removed by some of the by- 
 standers, and showed a purple welt around his neck, on 
 one side of which a mass of blood escaping beneath the 
 skin, made a dreadtul-lookinci: tumour. His dress denoted 
 a person of condition, as well as the character of his fea-
 
 342 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 ture-< ; but never had I looked «pon an objtct so sad and 
 woe-begone before. At his side knelt George^ — his strong 
 arm round his back, while his great massive hand patted 
 the water on his brow. The stern features of the hardy 
 Breton, which ever before had conveyed to me nothing but 
 daring and impetuous passion, were sottened to a look of 
 womanly kindliness — his blue eye beaming as softly as 
 though it were a mother leaning over her infant. 
 
 " Bouvet, my dear, dear boy, remember thou art a Breton 
 — rally thyself, my child — bethink thee of the cause." 
 
 The name of the youth at once recalled him whom I had 
 seen some months before among the Chouan prisoners ; and 
 who, sad and sickly as he then seemed, was now much 
 further gone towards the tomb. 
 
 "Bouvet," cried George, in an accent of heartrending 
 sorrow, " this will disgrace us for ever." 
 
 The youth turned his cold eyes round till they were fixed 
 on the other's face ; while his lips, still parted, and his 
 cheek pale and flattened, gave him the appearance of a 
 corpse suddenly called back to life. 
 
 •' There, my own brave boy,'* said George, kissing his 
 forehead — " there, thou art thyself again." He bent over 
 till his lips nearly touched the youth's ear, and then whis- 
 pered — " Dost thou forget the last words Monsieur spoke 
 to thee, Bouvet ?- ' Conserve- toi pour tes amis, et centre 
 nos ennemis communs.' " 
 
 The boy started up at the sounds, and looked wildly 
 about him, while his hands were open wide with a kind of 
 spasmodic motion. 
 
 " Tonnerre de a^l ./" cried George, with frantic passion, 
 " what have they done with him — his mind is gone. 
 Bouvet — Bouvet de Lozier — knowest thou this ? " He 
 tore from his bosom a miniature, surrounded with large 
 brilliants, and held it to the eyes of the youth. 
 
 A wild shriek broke frome the youth as he fell back in 
 strong convulsions. The dreadful cry seemed like the last 
 wail of expiring reason — so sad, so piercing was its cadence. 
 
 " Look, see," said George, turning a savage scowl upon 
 the crowd, " they have taken away his mind — he is an 
 idiot." 
 
 " The General George Cadoudal," cried a loud voice 
 from the centre of the court.
 
 THE EETGN OF TERROR UNDER THE CONSULATE. 343 
 
 *' Here," was the firm reply. 
 
 *' This way, sir — the carriage yonder." 
 
 *' Monsieur Sol de Gisolles." 
 
 "Here," replied a tall, aristocratic-looking personage, 
 in deep mourning. 
 
 Sous-Lieutenant Burke was next called, and I followed 
 the others, and soon found myself seated in a cXo^e caleche^ 
 with a gendarme beside me, while two mounted men of the 
 corps sat at either side of the carriage with drawn swords. 
 Picot, the servant of George, the faithful Breton, was next 
 summoned, and Lebourgeois, an old but handsome man, in 
 the simple habit of a farmer, with his long white hair, 
 and soft kind countenance. Many other names were 
 called over, and nearly an hour elapsed before the cere- 
 mony was concluded, and the order was given to move 
 forward. 
 
 At last the heavy gates were opened, and the procession 
 issued forth. I was surprised to see that the entire 
 Boulevard was lined with troops, behind which thousands 
 of people were closely wedged — all the windows, and even 
 the house-tops, being filled with spectators. 
 
 When we reached the quays, the crowd was greater 
 still ; and it required all the efforts of the troops to keep 
 it back sufficiently to permit an open space for the 
 carriages — while at all the streets that opened at the 
 quays, mounted dragoons were stationed, to prevent any 
 carriage passing down. Never had I beheld such a vast 
 multitude of people ; and yet, through all that crowded 
 host, a deep, solemn silence prevailed — not a cry nor a 
 shout was heard in all the way. Once only, at the corner 
 of the Pont Neuf, a cry of *' Vive Moreau ! " was given by 
 some one in the crowd ; but it was a solitary voice — and 
 the moment after I s-aw a gendarme force his way through 
 the mass, and seizing a miserable-looking creature by the 
 neck, hurry him along beside his horse towards the guard- 
 house. 
 
 On crossing the bridge, I saw that a company of artillery 
 and two guns were placed in position beside Uesaix's 
 monument, so as to command the Pont Neuf : all these 
 preparations clearly indicating that the Government felt 
 the occasion such as to warrant the most energetic 
 measures of security. There waB something in the earnest
 
 344 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.*' 
 
 look of the cannoniers, as they stood with their lighted 
 matches beside the guns, that betrayed the resolve of one 
 whose quick determination was ever ready for the moment 
 of danger. 
 
 The narrow streets of the Isle St. Louis, more densely 
 crowded than any part of the way, slackened our pace 
 considerably, and frequently the gendarmes were obliged 
 to clear the space before the carriages could proceed. I 
 could not help feeling struck, as we passed along these 
 miserable and dark alleys — where vice and crime, and 
 wretchedness of every type, herded together — to hear, at 
 every step, some expressions of pity or commiseration 
 from those who, themselves, seemed the veriest objects of 
 compassion. " Ah, voila'' cried an old creature in rags, 
 on whose cotton bonnet a faded and dirty tricolored 
 ribbon was fastened — " voila Moreau ! I'd know his proud 
 face any day. Poor general, 1 hope it will not go hard 
 with you to-day ! " 
 
 " Look there," screamed a hag, as the carriage in which 
 Bouvet sat passed by. "Look at the handsome youth 
 that's dying — Holy Virgin ! he'll not be living when they 
 reach the gate of the Palais ! " *' And there," cried 
 another, "there's a hussar officer, pale enough, I trow he 
 is ; come, I'll say a prayer or two lor him there, it can do 
 him no harm anyhow." 
 
 The hoarse rattle of a drum in front mingled with the 
 noise of the cavalcade, and I now could hear the clank of 
 a guard turning out. The minute after we stood before 
 a colossal gateway, whose rich tracery shone in the most 
 gorgeous gilding ; it was in the splendid taste of 
 Louis XIV., and well became the entrance of what once 
 had been a royal palace. "Alas!" thought I, "how 
 unlike those who once trod this wide court is the 
 melancholy cortege that now enters it." 
 
 As each carriage drew up at the foot of a wide flight of 
 stone steps, the prisoners descended, and, escorted by 
 gendarmes on each side, were led into the building. When 
 all had reached the hall, the order was given to move 
 forward, and we walked on till we came to a long gallery. 
 On either side was a range of massive pillars, between 
 which views were obtained of various spacious but dimly- 
 lighted chambers, apparently neglected and unused j some
 
 THE REIGN OF TERROR UNDER THE CONSULATE. 345 
 
 benches here and there, an old cabinet, and a deal table, 
 were all the furniture. Here we halted for a few moments, 
 till a door opening at the extreme end, a sign was made for 
 ■us to advance, and now we heard a low rushing sound, like 
 the distant breaking of the sea in a calm night. It grew 
 louder as we went, till we could mark the mingling of 
 several hundred voices, as thej conversed in a subdued 
 and Tinder tone. 
 
 Then, indeed, a dreadful thrill ran through me, as I 
 thought of the countless mass before whom 1 was to stand 
 forth a criminal, and it needed every effort in my power 
 to keep my feet. 
 
 A heavy curtain ojf dark cloth yet separated us from a 
 view of the court, but we could hear the voice of the 
 president commanding silence, and the monotonous intona- 
 tion of the clerk reading the order for the proceedings. 
 This concluded, a deep voice called out, " Introduce the 
 prisoners," and the words were repeated still louder by a 
 huissier at the entrance ; and at a signal the line moved 
 forward, the curtain was drawn back, and we advanced 
 into the court. 
 
 The crowd of faces that filled the vast space from the 
 body of the court below to the galleries above, turned, as 
 we passed on to the bench, at one side of the raised 
 platform, near the seat of the judges. A similar bench, 
 but unoccupied, ran along the opposite side, while dii-eotly 
 in front of the judges were ranged the advocates in rows 
 closely packed as they could sit ; a small desk, somewhat 
 advanced from the rest, being the seat reserved for the 
 Procureur- General of the court. 
 
 The vast multitude -of spectators — the pomp and cir- 
 cumstance of a court of justice — the solemn look of the 
 judges, arrayed in their dark robes and square black 
 caps, reminding one of the officers of the Inquisition, as we 
 see them in old paintings — the silence where so many 
 were assembled — all struck me with awe, and I scarcely 
 dared to look up, lest in the glances bent upon me 1 should 
 meet some whose looks might seem to condemn me. 
 
 " Proclaim the seance,'^ said the President. 
 
 And with a loud voice the Jiuissicr of the court made 
 proclamation that the tribunal had conimonccd its sitting. 
 This concluded, the Procureur-Gejieral proceeded to read
 
 846 TOM BT7IIKE OF " OURS." 
 
 the names of the accused, beginning with General Moreau, 
 Armand de Polignac, Charles de Riviere, Sol de GisoUes, 
 George Cadoudal, and some twenty others of less note, 
 among which I heard with a sinking heart my own name 
 pronounced. Some customary formalities seemed now to 
 occupy the court for a considerable time ; after which, the 
 huissier called silence once more. 
 
 " General Moreau," said the President, in a deep voice 
 that was heard throughout the entire court. " Rise up, 
 sir," added he, after a few seconds' pause. I looked down 
 the bench, at the farthest end of which 1 saw the tall and 
 well-knit figure of a man in the uniform of a general of 
 the Republic ; his back was turned towards me, but his 
 bearing and carriage were quite enough to distinguish the 
 soldier. 
 
 " Your name and surname," said the President. 
 
 Before an answer could be returned, a dull sound, like 
 something heavy falling, resounded through the court, 
 and in an instant several persons around me stood up. I 
 bent forward to see, and beheld the figure of Bouvet de 
 Lozier stretched insensible upon the ground ; beside him 
 his faithful friend George was stooping, and endeavouring 
 to open his vest to give him air. 
 
 " Bring some water here quickly," cried the hardy 
 Breton, in a tone that showed little respect for where he 
 stood. " Your absurd ceremonial has frightened the poor 
 boy out of his senses." 
 
 " Respect the court, sir, or I commit you!" said the 
 President, in a voice of anger. 
 
 A contemptuous look, followed by a still more con- 
 temptuous shrug of the shoulders, was his reply. 
 
 " Remove the prisoner," said the President, pointing to 
 the still fainting youth, " and proclaim silence in the 
 court." 
 
 The officers of the tribunal carried the death-like 
 figure of the boy down the steps, and bore him to some 
 of the chambers near. 
 
 This little incident, slight and passing as it was, seemed 
 much to afi^ect the auditory, and it was some time before 
 perfect silence could be again restored. 
 
 " So much for the regime of the Temple," said George, 
 aloud, as he looked after the insensible form of his friend.
 
 THE REIGN OF TERROR UNDER THE CONSULATE. 347 
 
 " Silence, sir! " cried one of the judges, M. Thuriot, a 
 harsh and severe-looking man, whose hatr-ed to the pri- 
 soners was the subject of much conversation in the prison. 
 
 " Ah, it is you, Tue-Roi ! " cried George, punning upon 
 his name, for he had been one of the regicides. " You, 
 there — I thouglit they had found you out long ere this." 
 
 A burst of laughter that nothing could repress broke 
 through the crowd ^d court, and it was not until some five 
 or six persons were forcibly removed by the gendarmes 
 that order was again restored. 
 
 " Read the act of accusation," said the President, in a 
 deep solemn voice. 
 
 " In the name of the Republic, one and indivi- 
 sible " 
 
 " Monsieur le President," interrupted the Procureur- 
 General, " I would submit to the court that, as in the 
 first accusation there are several of the prisoners not in- 
 cluded, they should not remain during the recital of the 
 indictment." 
 
 A conversation of some minutes now took place between 
 the judges, during which again the silence was unbroken 
 in the court. I turned gladly from the gaze of the 
 thousand spectators to the bench where my fellow-pri- 
 soners were seated ; and, however varied by age, rank, 
 and occupation, there seemed but one feeling amongst 
 them — a hardy and resolute spirit to brave every danger 
 without flinching. 
 
 " Which of the prisoners are not accused under the 
 first act? " said Thuriot. 
 
 " Charles Auguste Rebarde, dit le JSfoir, Guillaume 
 Lebarte, and Thomas Burke, Sous-Lieutenant in the 8th 
 Regiment of Hussars." 
 
 " Let them withdraw," said the President. 
 
 A slight bustle ensued in the body of the court as the 
 gendarmes advanced to make a passage for our exit ; and 
 for a moment 1 could perceive that the attention of the 
 assembly was drawn towards us. One by one we descended 
 to the platform, and, with a gendarme on either side, pro- 
 ceeded to pass out, when suddenly the deep, mellow voice 
 of Cadoudal called out aloud, — 
 
 " Adieu, my fri«nds, adieu ! If we are not to bo better 
 treated than our prince, vr ?- shall never see you again."
 
 348 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 "Silence, sir!" cried the President, severely; and 
 then, turning towards the bar of advocates, he continued, 
 *' If that man have an advocate in this conrt, it would 
 well become him to warn his client that such continued 
 insult to the tribunal can only prejudice his cause." 
 
 " I have none, and I wish for none," replied George, in 
 a tone of defiance. " This mockery is but the first step 
 of the guillotine, and I can walk it without assistance." 
 
 A renewed call of " Silence ! " and a deep murmur 
 through the assembly, was all I heard, as the door of the 
 court opened and closed behind us. As we marched 
 along a low vaulted corridor the sounds of the court 
 grew fainter and fainter; and at last the echoes of our 
 own steps were the only noises. 
 
 The room to which we were conducted was a small 
 whitewashed chamber, around which ran a bench of un- 
 painted wood. A deal table stood in the centre, on which 
 was a common-looking earthenware jar of water, and 
 Bome tin goblets. The window was several feet from 
 the ground, and strongly barred with iron. 
 
 " La salle d'attente is gloomy enough," said one of my 
 companions, " and yet some of us may be very sorry to 
 leave it." 
 
 " Not I, at least," cried the other, resolutely. " The 
 basket beneath the guillotine will be an easier couch than 
 I have slept on these three months."
 
 349 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYI. 
 
 PALAIS DK JUSTICE. 
 
 "It will go bard with Moreau to-day," said the elder of 
 the two prisoners — a large, swarthy-looking Breton, in 
 the dress of a sailor ; " the Consul hates him." 
 
 " Whom does he not hate ? " said the younger — a slight 
 and handsome youth. " Whom does he not hate that ever 
 rivalled him in glory ? What love did he bear to Kleber 
 or Desaix ?" 
 
 ** It is false," said I, fiercely. " Bonaparte's greatness 
 stands far too high to feel such rivalry as theirs — the con- 
 queror of Italy and of Egypt " 
 
 " Is a Corsican," interrupted the elder. 
 
 " And a tyrant," rejoined the other, in the same breath. 
 
 " These words become you well," said, I bitterly ; 
 " would that no stain lay on my honour, and i could make 
 you eat them." 
 
 " And who are you that dare to speak thus ? " said the 
 younger ; " or how came one like you mixed up with men 
 whose hearts were in a great cause, and who came to sell 
 their lives upon it ? " 
 
 " I tell you, boy," broke in the elder, in a slow and 
 measured tone, " 1 have made more stalwart limbs than 
 thine bend, and stronger joints crack, for less than thou 
 hast ventured to tell us ; but sorrow and suffering are 
 hard masters, and I can bear more now than I was wont 
 to do. Let us have no more words." 
 
 As he spoke, he leaned his head upon his hand, and 
 turned towards the wall ; the other, too, sat down in a 
 corner of the cell, and was silent, and thus we remained 
 for hours long. 
 
 The dreary stillness, made more depressing by the pre- 
 sence of the two prisoners, whose deep-drawn breathings 
 were the only sounds they uttered, had something uu-
 
 53^0 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.** 
 
 Bpeakably sad and melancholy in it, and more than once I 
 felt sorry for the few words I had spoken, which separated 
 those whose misfortunes should have made them brothers. 
 
 A confused and distant hum, swelling and falling at 
 intervals, now jSlled the air ; and gradually I could dis- 
 tinguish tbe shouts of people at a distance. This in- 
 creased as it came nearer, and then I heard the tramping 
 noise of many feet, and of a great multitude of people 
 passing in the street below, and suddenly a wild cheer 
 broke forth — "Vive le Consul!" "Vive Bonaparte!'* 
 followed the next instant by the clanking sound of a 
 cavalry escort, while the cry grew louder and louder, and 
 the vivas drowned all other sounds. 
 
 "You hear them, Guillaume, you hear them," said the 
 sailor to the other prisoner. " That shout is our death- 
 cry. Bonaparte comes not here to-day but to see his 
 judges do his bidding." 
 
 " What care I ? " said the other, fiercely. " The guil- 
 lotine or the sabre, the axe or the bayonet — it is all one. 
 We knew what must come of it." 
 
 The door opened as he spoke, and a greffier of the 
 tribunal appeared with four gendarmes. 
 
 " Come, messieurs," said he, " the court is waiting for 
 you." 
 
 " And how go matters without, sir ? " said the elder, in 
 an easy tone. 
 
 " Badly for the prisoners," said the greffier, shaking his 
 head ; " Monsieur Moreau, the general's brother, has done 
 much injury — he has insulted the Consul." 
 
 " Bravely done ! " cried the younger man, with enthu- 
 siasm. " It is well he should hear truth one day, though 
 the tongue that uttered it should be cold the next." 
 
 " Move on, sir," said the greffier, sternly. " Not you," 
 added he, as I pressed forward after the rest. " Your 
 time has not come." 
 
 "Would that it had," said I, as the door closed upon 
 me, and I was left in total solitude. 
 
 The day was over, and the evening already late, when 
 a turnkey appeared, and desired me to follow him. A 
 moody indifference to everything had settled on me, and 
 I never spoke, as I walked behind him down corridor after 
 corridor, and across a court, into a large, massive-looking
 
 THE " PALAIS DE JUSTICE." 851 
 
 building, whose grated windows and stronglj-barred doors 
 reminded me of the Temple. 
 
 "Here is your cell," said he, roughly, as he unlocked 
 a low door near the entrance. 
 
 " It is gloomy enough," said I, with a sad smile. 
 
 " And yet many have shed tears to leave it belore now," 
 rejoined he, with a savage twinkle of his small eyes. 
 
 I was glad when the hoarse crash of the closed door 
 told me I was alone, and I threw myself upon my bed and 
 buried my face in my hands. 
 
 There is a state which is not sleep, and yet is akin to 
 it, into which grief can bring us — a half-dreary stupor, 
 where only sorrows are felt, and even they come dulled 
 and blunted, as if time and years had softened down their 
 sting. But no ray of hope shines there — a dreary waste, 
 wdthout a star; the cold, dark sea, boundless and bleak, 
 is not more saddening than life then seems before us. 
 There is neither path to follow nor goal to reach, and an 
 apathy worse than death creeps over all our faculties ; and 
 yet, when we awake, we wish for this again. Into this 
 state I sank, and when morning came felt sorry that the 
 light should shine into my narrow cell, and rouse me from 
 my stupor. When the turnkey entered to bring me 
 breakfast, I turned towards the wall, and trembled lest he 
 should speak to me ; and it was with a strange thrill I 
 heard the door close as he went out. The abandonment 
 of one's sorrow — that daily, hourly indulgence in grief, 
 which the uncheered solitude of a prison begets — soon 
 brings the mind to the narrow range of one or two topics. 
 With the death of hope all fancy and imagination perish 
 — the springs of all speculation are dried up — and every 
 faculty bent towards one point — the reason, like a limb 
 unexercised, wastes and pines, and becomes paralyzed. 
 
 Now and then the thought would flash across me, 
 " What if this were madness ?" and I shuddered not at 
 the thought : such had my prison made me. 
 
 Four days and nights passed over thus — a long, mo- 
 notonous dream, in which I counted not the time, and I 
 lay upon my straw-bed watching the expiring light of the 
 candle with that strange interest one attaches to every- 
 thing within the limits of a prison-cell. The flame wnned 
 and flickered : now lighting up for a second the cold
 
 852 
 
 grey walls, scratched with many a prisoner's name ; now 
 subsiding, it threw strange and fitful shapes upon them — • 
 figures that seemed to move and to beckon to each other 
 — goblin outlines, wild and fanciful ; then came a bright 
 flash as the wick fell, and all was dark. 
 
 " If the dead do but sleep ! " was the first thought that 
 crossed my mind as the gloom of total night wrapped 
 every object about me, and a stillness most appalling pre- 
 vailed. Suddenly I heard the sounds of a heavy bolt 
 withdrawn, and a door opening, then a low, rushing noise, 
 like wind blowing through a narrow corridor, and at last 
 the marching sounds of feet, and the accents of men 
 speaking together ; nearer and nearer they came, and at 
 length halted at the door of my cell. A cold, faint 
 feeling — the sickness of the heart — crept over me ; the 
 hour — the sounds reminded me of what so often I had 
 heard men speak of in the Temple, and the dread of assas- 
 sination made me tremble from head to foot. The light 
 streamed from beneath the door, and reached to my bed ; 
 and I calculated the number of steps it would take before 
 they approached me. The key grated in the lock, and the 
 door opened slowly, and three men stood at the entrance. 
 I sprang up wildly to my feet — a sudden impulse of self- 
 defence seized me — and, with a wild shout for them to 
 come on, I rushed forward ; my foot, however, caught the 
 angle of the iron bedstead, and I fell headlong and sense- 
 less to the ground. Some interval elapsed ; and, when 
 next I felt consciousness, I was lying full length on my 
 bed — the cell lit up by two candles on the table, beside 
 which sat two men, their heads bent eagerly over a mass of 
 papers before them. One was an old and venerable-look- 
 ing man, his white hair and long queue so bespeaking 
 him ; he wore a loose cloth cloak that covered his entire 
 figure, but I could see that a brass scabbard of a sword 
 projected beneath it ; on the chair beside him, too, there 
 lay a foraging-cap. The other, much younger, though still 
 not in youth, was a thin, pale, careworn man ; his forehead 
 was high, and strongly marked ; and there was an inten- 
 sity and determination in his brow and about the angles 
 of his mouth most striking ; he was dressed in black, with 
 deep ruffles at his wrist. 
 
 " It is quite clear, general," said he, in a low and mea-
 
 THE " PALAIS DE JUSTICE.'* 353 
 
 snred voice, where each word fell with perfect diwstiuctness 
 — "it is quite clear that thej can press a conviction here 
 if they will. The allegations are so contrived as rather to 
 indicate complicity than actually establish it. The defence 
 in such cases has to combat shadows, not overturn facts ; 
 and, believe me, a procureur-general, aided by a police, is a 
 dexterous enemy." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," said the general, rapidly, 
 " but what are the weak points ? — where is he most 
 assailable ? " 
 
 " Everywhere," said the other. "To begin — the secret 
 information of the outbreak between Lord Whitworth and 
 the Consul — the frequent meetings with the Marquis de 
 Beauvais — the lalse report to tiie chef de police — the con- 
 cealment of this abbe- • By the bye, I am not quite 
 
 clear about that part of the case ; why have not the prose- 
 cution brought this abbe forward ? It is plain they have 
 his evidence, and can produce him if they will : and I 
 see no other name in the act of accusation than our old 
 acquaintance, Mehee de la Touche " 
 
 "The villain! " cried the general, with a stamp of in- 
 dignation, while a convulsive spasm seemed to shake every 
 fibre of his frame. 
 
 " Mehee de la Touche ! " said I to myself. " I have 
 heard that name before ; " and like a lightning flash it 
 crossed my mind that such was the name of the man 
 Marie de Meudon charged me with knowing. 
 
 " But still," said the general, " what can they make of 
 all these ? that of indiscretion, folly, breach of discipline, if 
 you will ; but " 
 
 " Wait a little," said the other, quietly ; " then comes 
 the night of the chateau, in which he is found among 
 the Chouan party in their very den, taking part in the 
 defence." 
 
 " No, no ! Lamoriciere, who commanded the cuirassiers, 
 can establish the fact beyond question — that Burke took 
 no part in the aSray, and delivered his sword at once 
 when called on." 
 
 " At least they found him there, and on his person the 
 brevet of colonel, signed by monsieur himself." 
 
 " Of that I can give no explanation," replied the 
 general ; " but I am in possession of such information as 
 
 VOL. I. A A
 
 854 TOM BUKKE OP '* OURS." 
 
 can account for his presence at the chateau, and establish 
 his innocence on that point." 
 
 ''Indeed!" cried the advocate, for such he was; '* with 
 that much may be done." 
 
 '• Unhappily, however," rejoined the general, "if such a 
 disclosure is not necessary to save his life, I cannot ven- 
 ture to give it ; the ruin of another must follow the exr 
 planation." 
 
 *' Without it he is lost," said the advocate, solemnly. 
 
 " And would not accept of life with it," said I, boldly, 
 as I started up in my bed, and looked fixedly at them. 
 
 The general sprang back, astonished and speechless ; 
 but the advocate, with more command over his emotions, 
 cast his eyes upon the paper before him, and quickly 
 asked, "And the commission — how do you account for 
 that ? " 
 
 *• It was offered to and refused by me. He who made 
 the proposal forgot it on my table, and I was about to 
 restore it when I was made prisoner." 
 
 "What condition was attached to your acceptance of 
 it?" 
 
 " Some vague, indistinct proposals were made to me to 
 join a conspiracy of which I was neither told the object 
 nor intentions. Indeed, I stopped any disclosure by re- 
 jecting the bribe." 
 
 " Who made these same proposals ? " 
 
 "I shall not tell his name." 
 
 " No matter," said the advocate, carelessly ; " it was 
 the Marquis de Beauvais ; " and then, as if affecting to 
 write, I saw his sharp eyes glance over towards me, while 
 a smile of gratified cunning twitched his lip. " You will 
 have no obiection to say how first you became acquainted 
 with him ?'" 
 
 The dexterity of this query, by replying to which I at 
 once established his preceding assumption, completely 
 escaped me, and I gave an account of my first meeting 
 with De Beauvais, without ever dreaming of the infer- 
 ences it led to. 
 
 " An unhappy rencontre, sir," said the advocate, as if 
 musing ; " better have finished the intimacy, as yoii first 
 intended, at the Bois de Boulogne." 
 
 " It may be as you say, sir," said I, irritated by the
 
 THE " PALAIS DE JUSTICE.*' 355 
 
 flippancy of his remark ; " but perhaps I may ask the 
 name of the gentleman who takes such interest in my 
 affairs, and by what right he meddles in them ? " 
 
 The general started back in his chair, and was about to 
 speak, when the advocate laid his hand gently on his arm 
 to restrain him, and, in a voice of the most unruffled 
 smoothness, replied, "As to my name, sir, it is Laurence 
 Baillot ; my rank is simple avocat to the Cours et Tribu- 
 naux ; and the * right ' by which I interfere in matters 
 personal to you is the consideration of fifty louis which 
 accompanied this brief." 
 
 " And my name, young man, is Lieutenant- Greneral 
 d'Auvergne," said the old man, proudly, as he stared me 
 steadfastly in the face. I arose at once, and saluted the 
 general with a deep and respectful obeisance. It was the 
 same officer who reviewed us at the Poly technique the day 
 of my promotion. 
 
 " You are now, I hope, satisfied with the reasons of our 
 presence, and that nothing but considerations of your 
 interest can have influenced our visit," said the avocat^ 
 with calmness. " Such being the case, sit down here, and 
 relate all you can of your lifie since your leaving the Poly- 
 technique ; be brief, too, for it is now three o'clock — the 
 court opens at ten, your case will be called the second, 
 and I must at least have three hours of sleep." 
 
 The general pointed to a seat beside him ; T sat down, 
 and without any delay proceeded to give a rapid account 
 of all my adventures and proceedings to the hour we were 
 then assembled, only omitting all mention of Made- 
 moiselle de Meudon's name, and such allusions to De 
 Beauvais as might lead to his crimination. 
 
 The advocate wrote down, as rapidly as I spoke them, 
 the principal details of my history, and when I had con- 
 cluded, perused the notes he had taken with a quick eye. 
 "This will never do," said he, with more impatience in 
 his manner than I had yet witnessed ; "here are a mass 
 of circumstances all unexplained, and all suspicious. It 
 is now entirely a question of the feeling of the court. 
 The charges, if pressed, must lead to a conviction. Your 
 innocence, sir, may satisfy — indeed, it has satisfied — 
 General d'Auvergne, who else had not been here thid 
 night, but the proofs are not before us." He paused for a
 
 356 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 moment., and then continued in a lower tone, addressing" 
 himself directly to the general : " We must entreat a 
 delay ; a day — two days, certainly — will establish the 
 proofs against George and his accomplices ; they will be 
 condemned and executed at once. It is most likely that 
 the court will not recur to capital punishment again. The 
 example being made, any further demonstration will be 
 needless. I see you put little faith in this manoeuvre ; 
 bat, trust me, I know the temper of the tribunal ; besides, 
 the political stroke has already succeeded. Bonaparte has 
 conquered all his enemies ; his next step will be to profit 
 by the victory." These words were riddles to me at the 
 tirae, though the day soon came when their meaning was 
 palpable. "Yes, two days will do it," said he, confidently 
 raising his voice as he spoke ; " and then, whether there 
 be a hussar the more, or one the less, in France, will little 
 trouble the current of events." 
 
 " Then how to obtain the time — that is the question,*' 
 said the general. 
 
 " Oh, we shall try something ; there can always be a 
 witness to be called ; some evidence all-essential not 
 forthcoming ; some necessary proof not quite unravelled. 
 What if we summoned this same abbe ? The court will 
 make proclamation for him. D'Ervan is the name Y " 
 
 " Yes ; but if by so doing he may be involved " 
 
 " Fear nothing on that score ; he'll never turn up, 
 believe me. We can affect to show that his evidence is 
 all- important. Yes, we'll make the Abbe d'Ervan our 
 first witness. Where shall we say he resides ? Rouen, I 
 suppose, will do. Yes, E-ouen." And so, without wait- 
 ing for a reply, he continued to write. " By this, you 
 perceive," he remarked, " we shall disconcert their plans. 
 They are evidently keeping this abbe up for some greater 
 occasion; they have a case against himself, perhaps, in 
 which the proofs are not yet sufficient for conviction. 
 We'll trouble their game, and they may be glad to com- 
 promise with us." 
 
 The general looked as much confounded as myself at 
 these schemes of the lawyer, but we both were silent. 
 
 A few questions more followed, to which he wrote down 
 my answers as I gave them, and then starting up, he said, 
 *' And now, general, I must hasten home to bed. Be
 
 THE •'' PALAIS DE JUSTICE.'* 857 
 
 ready, at all events, for appearing before the tribunal, Mr. 
 Burke ; at ten you will be called, and so, good night." 
 He bowed formally to me, as he opened the door to permit 
 the general to pass out first. 
 
 *' I'll follow you in a moment," said the general, while 
 he closed the door after him, and remained behind with 
 me in the cell. " It was only this evening, sir," said he, 
 in a low voice, ** at the return of Madame Bonaparte from 
 Boulogne, that Mademoiselle de Meudon learned you were 
 not at liberty. She has made me acquainted with the 
 circumstances by which your present risk has been incurred, 
 and has put me in possession of wherewithal to establish 
 your innocence as regards the adventure at the Chateau 
 d'Ancre. This disclosure, if it exculpates you, will of 
 course criminate her., and among those, too, where she 
 has been received and admitted on terms of the closest 
 friendship. The natural desire to save her cousin's life 
 will not cover the act by which so horrible a conspiracy 
 might have escaped punishment. Bonaparte never for- 
 gives ! Now, I am in possession of this proof, and if you 
 demand it, it shall be in your keeping. J have no hesita- 
 tion in saying that the other charges against \ou can 
 easily be got over — this one being refuted. What do 
 you say ? " 
 
 "Nothing could make me accept of such an exculpa- 
 tion," said I, resolutely ; " and were it offered in spite of 
 irie, 111 plead guilty to the whole act, and suffer with the 
 rest." 
 
 The old man's eyes glistened with pleasure, and I 
 thought I saw a tear fall on his cheek. " Now," cried he, 
 as he grasped my hand in both his — " now I feel that you 
 are innocent, my brave boy, and, come what will, I'll stand 
 by you." With that he hurried from the cell, and fol- 
 lowed the advocate, who was already calling with some 
 impatience to have the doors unlocked. 
 
 1 was again alone. No, not alone — for in ray narrow 
 ceil hope was with me now.
 
 358 TOM BURKE OF " OUIis/ 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVri. 
 
 THE ♦* TRIAL." 
 
 So doubtful was the Government of the day in what way 
 the people of Paris would be disposed to regard the trial 
 of the Chouan prisoners, how far public sympathy might 
 side with misfortune and heroism, and in what way they 
 would regard Moreau, whose career in arms so many had 
 witnessed with pride and enthusiasm, that for several daj^s 
 they did not dare to strike the decisive blow which was to 
 establish their guilt, but advanced with slow and cautious 
 steps, gradually accumulating a mass of small circum- 
 stances, on which the Moniteur each day commented, and 
 the other journals of less authority expatiated, as if to 
 prepare the public mind for further and more important 
 revelations. 
 
 At last, however, the day arrived in which the mine was 
 to be sprung. The secret police — whose information 
 extended to all that went on in every class of the capital, 
 and who knew the chit-chat of the highest circles, equally 
 as they did the grumblings of the Faubourg St. Antoine — 
 pronounced the time had come when the fatal stroke 
 might no longer be withheld, and when the long-destined 
 vengeance should descend on their devoted heads. 
 
 The want of energy on the part of the prosecution — the 
 absence of important witnesses, and of all direct evidence 
 whatever, which marked the first four days of the trial, 
 had infused a high hope and a strong sense of security 
 into the prisoners' hearts. The proofs which they so 
 much dreaded, and of whose existence they well knew, 
 were not forthcoming against them. The rumoured 
 treachery of some of their party began, at length, to lose 
 its terror for them — while in the lax and careless proceed- 
 ings of the procureur-general they saw, or fancied they 
 saw, a desire on the part of Government to render the 
 public uninterested spectators of the scene, and thus
 
 THE "TRIAL." 359 
 
 prepare the way for an acquittal, while no danger of any 
 excitement existed. 
 
 Such was the state of matters at the close of the fourth 
 day. A tiresome and desultory discussion on some merely 
 legal question had occupied the court for several hours, 
 and many of the spectators, wearied and tired out, had 
 gone home disappointed in their expectations, and secretly 
 resolving not to return the following day. 
 
 This was the moment for which the party in power had 
 been waiting — the interval of false security, as it would 
 seem, when all danger was past, and no longer any ap- 
 prehension existed. The sudden shock of the newly- 
 discovered proofs would then come with peculiar force, 
 while, no matter how rapid any subsequent step might 
 be, all charge of precipitancy or undue haste had been 
 disproved by the tardy nature of the first four days* 
 proceedings. 
 
 For the change of scene about to take place an early 
 edition of the Moniteur prepared the public ; and by 
 daybreak the walls of Paris were placarded with great 
 announcements of the discoveries made by the Government 
 — how, by their untiring efforts, the whole plot, which 
 was to deluge France with blood, and subvert the glorious 
 institutions of freedom they had acquired by the Bevolution, 
 had been laid open — new and convincing evidence of the 
 guilt of the Chouans had turned up — and a frightful 
 picture of anarchy and social disorganization was displayed, 
 all of which was to originate in an effort to restore the 
 Bourbons to the throne of France. 
 
 While, therefore, the galleries of the court were crowded 
 to suffocation at an early hour, and every avenue leading 
 to the tribunal crammed with people, anxious to be 
 present at this eventful crisis, the prisoners took their 
 places on the "bench of the accused," totally unaware of 
 the reason of the excitement they witnessed, and strangely 
 puzzled to conceive what unknown circumstance had 
 reinvested the proceedings with a new interest. 
 
 As 1 took my place among the rest, I stared with 
 surprise at the scene — the strange contrast between the 
 thousands there whose strained eyes and feverish faces 
 betokened the highest degree of excitement, and that little 
 group on which every look was turned — calm, and even
 
 360 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS.'* 
 
 cheerful. There sat George Cadoudal in the midst of 
 them, his hands clasped in those at either side of him ; 
 his strongly-marked features perfectly at rest, and his eyes 
 bent with a steady stare on the bench where the judges 
 were seated. Moreau was not present, nor did I see some 
 of the Chouans whom I remembered on the former day. 
 
 The usual foraial proclamation of the court being made, 
 silence was called by the crier — a useless precaution, as 
 throughout that vast assembly not a whisper was to be 
 heard. A conversation of some minutes took place 
 between the Procureur and the counsel for the prisoners, 
 in which I recognized the voice of Monsieur Baillot, my 
 own advocate, which was interrupted by the President, 
 desiring that the proceedings should commence. 
 
 The Procureur-General bowed and took his seat, while 
 the President, turning towards George, said, — 
 
 " George Cadoudal, you have hitherto persisted in a 
 course of blank denial regarding every circumstance of 
 the conspiracy with which you are charged. You have 
 asserted your ignorance of persons and places with which, 
 we are provided with proof to showyou are well acquainted. 
 You have neither accounted for your presence in suspected 
 situations, nor satisfactorily shown what were the objects 
 of your intimacy with suspected individuals. The court 
 now desires to ask you whether, at this stage of the 
 proceedings, you wish to oiFer more explicit revelations, or 
 explain any of the dubious events of your career ? " 
 
 " I will answer any question you put to me," replied 
 George, sternly ; " but I have lived too long in another 
 country not to have learned some of its usages, and I feel 
 no desire to become my own accuser. Let him there " (he 
 pointed to the Procureur-General) " do his office — he is the 
 paid and salaried assailant of the innocent." 
 
 " 1 call upon the court," said the Procureur, rising, 
 when he was suddenly interrupted by the President, 
 saying, " We will protect you, Monsieur le Procureur. 
 And once again we would admonish the accused, that 
 insolence to the authorities of this court is but a sorry 
 plea in vindication of his innocence, and shall be no 
 recommendation to our mercy." 
 
 " Your mercy I " said George, in a voice of scorn and 
 sarcasm. " Who ever heard of a tiger's benevolence or a
 
 THE *' TRIAL.*' 801 
 
 wolf's charity ? And even if you wished it, he whose 
 slaves you are— " 
 
 " I call upon you to be silent," said an advocate, rising 
 from a bench directly behind him. " Another interruption 
 of this kind, and I shall abandon the defence." 
 
 " What ? " said George, turning quickly round and 
 staring at him with a look of withering contempt, '* and 
 have they bought you over too ? " 
 
 " Call the first witness," said the President, and an 
 indistinct murmur was heard, and a slight confusion seen 
 to agitate the crowd, as the gendarmes opened a path 
 towards the witness bench; and then I saw two men carry- 
 ing something between them, which I soon perceived to be 
 a man. The legs, which were alone apparent, hung down 
 listlessly like those of a corpse, and one arm, which fell over 
 the shoulder of the bearer, moved to and fro, as they went, 
 like the limb of a dead man. Every neck was stretched 
 from the galleries above, and along the benches beneath, 
 to catch a glimpse of the mysterious figure, which seemed 
 like an apparition from the grave come to give evidence. 
 His face, too, was concealed by a handkerchief; and as 
 he was placed in a chair provided for the purpose, the 
 assistants stood at either side to support his drooping 
 figure. 
 
 "Let the witness be sworn," said the President; and, 
 with the aid of an officer of the court, a thin white hand 
 was held up, on which the flesh seemed almost transparent 
 from emaciation. A low, muttering sound followed, and 
 the President spoke again : " Let the witness be uncovered. 
 George Cadouclal, advance ! " 
 
 As the hardy Chouan stepped forward the handkerchief 
 fell from the witness's face, while his head slowly turned 
 round towards the prisoner. A cry, like the yell of a 
 wounded animal, broke from the stout Breton, as he 
 bounded into the air and held up both his arms to their 
 full height. " 7ofc, toi I " screamed he, in accents tb.at 
 seemed the very last of a heart wrung to agon}?-, while he 
 leaned forward and fixed his eyes on him, till the very 
 orbs seemed bursting from their sockets. " O///," added 
 he, in a lower tone, but one which was felt in every corner 
 of that crowded assemblage — " oz^i, c'est lid.'' Then 
 clasping his trembling hands together, as his knees bent
 
 362 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 beneath bim, he turned his eyes upwards, and said, " Ze 
 hon DieUf that make men's hearts and knows their 
 thoughts, deals with us as He will ; and I must have 
 sinned sorely towards Him when such punishment as this 
 has fallen upon me. Oh ! my brother, my child, my own 
 Bouvet de Lozier." 
 
 " Bouvet de Lozier 1 " cried the other prisoners, with a 
 shout wild as madness itself, while every man sprang for- 
 ward to look at him. But already his head had fallen 
 back over the chair ; the limbs stretched out rigidly, and 
 the arm fell heavily down. " He is dying!" " He is 
 dead ! " were the exclamations of the crowd, and a 
 general cry for a doctor was heard around. Several 
 physicians were soon at his side, and by the aid of 
 restoratives he was gradually brought back to animation, 
 but cold and speechless he lay, unable to understand any- 
 thing, and was obliged to be conveyed back again to his 
 bed. 
 
 It was some time before the excitement of this harrow- 
 ing scene was over; and when order at length was 
 restored in the court, George Cadoudal was seen seated, 
 as at first, on the bench, while around him his faithful 
 followers were grouped. Like children round a beloved 
 father, some leaned on his neck, others clasped his knees 
 — some covered his hands with kisses, and called him by 
 the most endearing names. But though he moved his 
 head from side to side, and tried to smile upon them, a 
 cold vacancy was in his face ; his lips were parted, and 
 his eyes stared wildly before him ; his very hair stood out 
 from his forehead, on which the big drops of sweat were 
 seen. 
 
 " Father, dear father, it is but one who is false — see, 
 look how many of your children are true to you — think 
 on us who are with you here, and will go with you to 
 death without shrinking." 
 
 " He is but a child, too, father, and they have stolen 
 away his reason from him," said another. 
 
 " Yes, they have brought him to this by suffering,'* 
 cried a third, as with a clenched hand he menaced the 
 bench where sat the judges. 
 
 " Order in the court ! " cried the President ; but the 
 command was reiterated again and again before silence
 
 THE *' TRIAL." 863 
 
 could be obtained ; and when again I conld observe the 
 proceedings, I saw the Procureur- General addressing the 
 tribunal, to demand a postponement, in consequence of 
 the illness of the last witness, whose testimony was pro- 
 nounced all-conclusive. 
 
 A discussion took place on the subject between the 
 counsel for the prisoners and the prosecution, and at 
 length it was ruled that this trial should not be proceeded 
 with till the following morning. 
 
 "We are, however, prepared to go on with the other 
 cases," said the Procureur, " if the court will permit." 
 
 " Certainly," said the President. 
 
 *' In that case," continued the Procureur, ** we shall 
 call on the accused Thomas Burke, lieutenant of the 
 Jiuitieme hussars, now present." For some minutes 
 nothing more could be heard, for the crowded galleries, 
 thronged with expectant hundreds, began now to empty. 
 Mine was a name without interest for any ; and the 
 thronged masses rose to depart, while their over-excited 
 minds found vent in words which drowned all else. It 
 was in vain silence and order were proclaimed — the pro- 
 ceedings had lost all interest, and with it all respect, and 
 for full ten minutes the uproar lasted. Meanwhile, 
 M. Baillot, taking his place by my side, produced some 
 most voluminous papers, in which he soon became deeply 
 engaged. I turned one look throughout the now almost 
 deserted seats, but not one face there was known to me. 
 The few who remained seemed to stay rather from indo- 
 lence than any other motive, as they lounged over the 
 vacant benches, and yawned listlessly ; and much as [ 
 dreaded the gaze of that appalling multitude, I sickened 
 at the miserable isolation of my lot, and felt overwhelmed 
 to think that for me there was not one who should pity op 
 regret my fall. At last order was established in the 
 court, and the Procureur opened the proceeding by re- 
 citing the act of my accusation, in which all the circum- 
 stances already mentioned by my advocate were dwelt 
 and commented on with the habitual force and exaggera.- 
 tion of bar oratory. The address was short, however — • 
 scarcely fifteen minutes long ; and by the tone of the 
 speak'-r, and the manner of the judges, I guessed that my 
 casp excited little or no interest to the prosecution, either
 
 364 TOM BURKE OF '* OURS." 
 
 from my own humble and insignificant position, or tlio 
 certainty they felt of my conviction. 
 
 My advocate rose to demand a delay — even a short one, 
 pleading most energetically against the precipitancy of a 
 proceeding in which the indictment was but made known 
 the day previous. The President interrupted him roughly, 
 and with an assurance that no circumstance short of the 
 necessity to produce some important evidence not then 
 forthcoming, would induce him to grant a postponement. 
 
 M. Baillot replied at once, " Such, sir, is our case ; a 
 witness, whose evidence is of the highest moment, is not 
 to be found ; a day or two might enable us to obtain his 
 testimony ; it is ujDon this we ground our hope, our cer- 
 tainty of an acquittal. The court will not, I am certain, 
 refuse its clemency in such an emergency as this ? " 
 
 " Where is this same witness to be found? Is he in 
 Paris ? — is he in France ? " 
 
 *' We hope in Paris, Monsieur le President." 
 
 " And his name ? " 
 
 " The Abbe d'Ervan." 
 
 A strange murmur ran along the bench of judges at the 
 words, and I could see that some of them smiled in spite of 
 their efforts to seem grave, while the Procureur- General 
 did not scruple to laugh outright. 
 
 " I believe, sir," said he, addressing the President, " that 
 I can accommodate my learned brother with this so-much- 
 desired testimony perhaps more speedil}' — I will not say 
 than he wishes — but than he expects." 
 
 " How is this ? " said my advocate, in a whisper to me ; 
 "they have this abbe then — has he turned against his 
 party ? " 
 
 "I know nothing of him," said T, recklessly; "false- 
 hood and treachery seem so rife here, that it can well be as 
 you say." 
 
 " The Abbe d'Ervan," cried a loud voice, and with the 
 words the well-known figure moved rapidly from the 
 crowd and mounted the steps of the platform. 
 
 " You are lost," said Baillot, in a low, solemn voice. " It 
 is Mehee de la Touche himself ! " 
 
 Had the words of my sentence rung in my ears I had 
 Dot felt them more ; that name, by some secret spell, had 
 Buch terror in it.
 
 THE **TrJAL." 365 
 
 "You know the prisoner before yon, sir?" said the 
 President, turning towards the abbe. 
 
 Before he could reply, my advocate broke in, — 
 
 " Pardon me, sir, bat previous to the examination of this 
 respectable witness, I would ask under what name he is 
 to tigure in this process ? Is he here the Abbe d'Ervan, 
 the agreeable and gifted frequenter of the Faubourg 8t. 
 Germain ? — is he the Chevalier Maupret, the companion 
 and associate of the house of Bourbon ? — or is he the no 
 less celebrated and esteemed citizen Mehee de la Touche, 
 whose active exertions have been of such value in these 
 eventful times, that we should think no recompense suf- 
 ficient for them, had he not been paid by both parties ? 
 Yes, sir," continued he, in an altered tone, "I repeat it, 
 we are prepared to show that this man is unworthy of all 
 credit ; that he whose testimony the court now calls is a 
 hired spy and bribed calumniator — the instigator to the 
 treason he prosecutes — the designer of the schemes for 
 which other men's blood has paid the penalty. Is thig 
 abbe without and gendarme within to be at large in the 
 world, ensnaring the unsuspecting youth of France by 
 subtle and insidious doctrines disguised under the sem- 
 blance of after-dinner gaiety ? Are we to feel that on 
 such evidence as this, the fame, the honour, the life of 
 every man is to rest ? He who earns his livelihood by 
 treason, and whose wealth is gathered in the bloody saw- 
 dust beneath the guillotine! " 
 
 " We shall not hear these observations longer," said the 
 President, with an accent of severity. " You may com- 
 ment on the evidence of the witness hereafter, and, if you 
 are able to do so, disprove it. His character is under the 
 protection of the court." 
 
 "No, sir," said the advocate, with enerery, "no court, 
 however high — no tribunal, beneath that of Heaven itself, 
 whose decrees we dare not question — can throw a shield 
 over a man like this. There are crimes which stain the 
 nation they occur in — which, happening in our age, make 
 men sorry for their generation, and wish they had lived 
 m other times." 
 
 " Once more, sir, I command you to desist," inter- 
 rupted the President. 
 
 " If I dare to dictate to the honourable court," said the
 
 366 TOM BUEKE OF " OURS." 
 
 so-called abbe, in an accent of the most honeyed sweet- 
 ness, and with a smile of the most winning expression, 
 *' I would ask permission for the learned gentleman to pro- 
 ceed. These well-arranged paragraphs, this indignation 
 got by heart, must have vent, since they're paid for ; and 
 it would save the tribunal the time which must be con- 
 sumed in listening to them hereafter." 
 
 '* If," said the advocate, "the coolness and indifference 
 to blood which the headsman exhibits, be a proof of guilt 
 in the victim before him, I could congratulate the pro- 
 secution on their witness. But," cried he, in an accent 
 of wild excitement, " great Heavens ! are we again fallen 
 on such times as to need atrocity like this ? Is the ter- 
 rible ordeal of blood through which we have passed to 
 be renewed once more ? Is the accusation to be hoarded, 
 the calumnious evidence secreted, the charge held back, 
 till the scaffold is ready — and then the indictment, the 
 slander, the sentence, and the death to follow on one an- 
 other like the flash and the thunder ? Is the very imputa- 
 tion of having heard from a Bourbon to bear its prestige 
 of sudden death ? " 
 
 " Silence, sir," cried the President, to whom the allu- 
 sion to the Due d'Enghien was peculiarly offensive, and 
 who saw in the looks of the spectators with what force 
 it told. " You know the prisoner ? " said he, turning 
 towards D'Ervan. 
 
 " I have that honour, sir," said he, with a bland smile. 
 
 " State to the court the place and the occasion of your 
 first meeting him." 
 
 " If I remember correctly, it was in the Palais Royal, 
 at Beauvilliers's. There was a meeting of some of "the 
 Chouan party arranged for that evening, but from some 
 accident only three or four were present. The sous-lieu- 
 tenant, h -wever, was one." 
 
 " Repeat, as far as your memory serves you, the conduct 
 and conversation of the prisoner during the evening iu 
 question." 
 
 In reply, the abbe recapitulated every minute particular 
 of the supper ; scarcely an observation the most trivial he 
 did not recall and apply, by some infernal ingenuity, to the 
 scheme of the conspiracy. Although never, even in the 
 slightest instance, falsifying any speech, he tortured the
 
 
 
 xjors
 
 868 TOM EUP.KE OP 
 
 shall pause here," said he, with a cool mali^^nity, bnt ill 
 concealed beneath a look of affected sorrow — " 1 shall pause 
 here, and, with the permission of the court, allow the 
 accused to make, if he will, a full confession of his crimin- 
 ality ; or, if he refuse this, 1 shall proceed to the disclosure 
 of other circumstances, by which it will be seen that these 
 dark designs met favour and countenance in higher 
 quarters, and among those, too, whose sex, if nothing else, 
 should have removed them beyond the contamination of 
 confederacy with assassination." 
 
 *' The court," said the President, sternly, " will enter 
 into no compromise of this kind. Yon are here to give 
 SQch evidence as you possess— fully, frankly, and without 
 reserve ; nor can we permit you to hold out any promises 
 to the prisoner that his confession of guilt can aflford a 
 screen to the culpability of others." 
 
 "I demand," cried the Procureur-General, "a full dis- 
 closure from the witness of everything he knows concerning 
 this conspiracy." 
 
 " In that case I shall speak," said the abb^. 
 
 At this instant a noise was heard in the hall without ; a 
 half murmur ran through the court ; and suddenly the 
 heavy curtain was drawn aside, and a loud voice called 
 out, — 
 
 *' In the name of the Republic — one and indivisible — an 
 order of council." 
 
 The messenger, splashed and covered with mud, advanced 
 through the court, and delivered a packet into the hands 
 of the President, who, having broken the large seals, pro- 
 ceeded leisurely to read it over. At the same moment 
 I felt my arm gently touched, and a small pencil note was 
 slipped into my hand. It ran thus : — 
 
 " Dear Sir, — Burke is safe. An order for his trans- 
 mission before a military tribunal has just been signed by 
 the First Consul. Stop all the evidence at once, as he is 
 no longer before the court. The court-martial will be but 
 a formality, and in a few days he will be at liberty. — Youis, 
 
 " D'AuvERGNE, Lieutenant- General." 
 
 Before I could recover from the shock of such glad 
 tidings the President rose, and said, —
 
 THE ^'trial.'* 369 
 
 " In the matter of the accused Burke this court has no 
 longer cognizance, as he is summoned before the tribunal 
 of the army. Let him withdraw, and call on the next 
 case, Auguste Leconisset." 
 
 D'Ervan stooped down and whispered a few words to 
 the Procureur- General, who immediately demanded to 
 peruse the order of council. To this my advocate at once 
 objected, and a short and animated discussion on the legal 
 question followed. The President, however, ruled in favour 
 of my defender ; and at the same instant a corporal's guard 
 appeared, into whose charge I was formally handed over, 
 and marched from the court. 
 
 Such was the excited state of my mind — in such a con- 
 fused whirl were all my faculties, that I knew nothing of 
 what was passing around me ; and save that I was ordered 
 to mount into a carriage, and driven along at a rapid pace, 
 I remembered no more. At length we reached the quay 
 Voltaire, and entered the large square of the barrack. The 
 tears burst out and ran down my cheeks, as I looked once 
 more on the emblems of the career I loved. We stopped 
 at the door of a large stone building, where two sentries 
 were posted ; and the moment after I found myself the 
 occupant of a small barrack-room, in which, though under 
 arrest, no feature of harsh confinement appeared, and from 
 whose windows I could survey the movement of the troops 
 in the court, and hear the sounds which for so many a day 
 had been the most welcome to my existence. 
 
 VOL. I. B 3
 
 870 TOM BUREE OF " OURS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIIL 
 
 "the cuirassier." 
 
 Although my arrest was continued with all its strictness, 
 I never heard one word of my transmission before the 
 military tribunal ; and a fortnight elapsed, during which I 
 passed through every stage of expectancy, doubt, and at 
 last indifference ; no tidings having ever reached me as to 
 what fortune lay in store for me. 
 
 The gruff old invalid that carried my daily rations 
 seemed but ill-disposed to afford me any information, even 
 as to the common events without, and seldom made any 
 other reply to my questioning than an erect position as 
 if on parade, a military salute, and '* Connais pas, mon lievr 
 tenant " — a phrase which I actually began to abhor from 
 its repetition, Still his daily visits showed I was not 
 utterly forgotten ; while from my window I had a view of 
 all that went on in the barrack-yard. There — for I had 
 neither books nor newspapers — 1 spent my day watching 
 the evolutions of the soldiers : the parade at daybreak, the 
 relieving guards, the drill, the exercise, the very labours 
 of the barrack- square — all had their interest for me, and at 
 length I began to know the very faces of the soldiers, and 
 could recognize the bronzed and weather-beaten features 
 of the veterans of the republican armies. 
 
 It was a cuirassier regiment, and one that had seen 
 much service : most of the sous-oficiers and many of the 
 men were decorated ; and their helmets bore the haughty 
 device of ^'' Dix contre unT^ in memory of some battle 
 against the Austrians, where they repulsed and overthrew 
 a force of ten times their own number. 
 
 At first their heavy equipments and huge unwieldy 
 horses seemed strange and uncouth to my eyes, accus- 
 tomed to the more elegant and trim style of a hussar 
 corps, but gradually I fancied there was something almost 
 more soldierlike about them ; their dark faces harmonized 
 too with the great black cuirass ; and the large massive
 
 371 
 
 boot mounting to the middle of the thigh, the long horse- 
 haired helmet, the straight sword, and pecuHar, heavy, 
 plodding step, reminded me of what I used to read of the 
 Roman centurion ; while the horses, covered with weighty 
 and massive trappings, moved with a warlike bearing, and 
 a tramp as stately as their riders. 
 
 When evening came, and set the soldiers free from 
 duty, I used to watch them for hoars long, as they sat in 
 little groups and knots about the barrack-yard, smoking 
 and chatting — occasionally singing too. Even then, how- 
 ever, their distinctive character was preserved : unlike 
 the noisy, boisterous merriment of the hussar, the staid 
 cuirassier deemed such levity unbecoming the dignity of 
 his arm of the service, and there reigned a half-solemn 
 feature over all their intercourse, which struck me forcibly. 
 I knew not then — as I have learned full well since — how 
 every department of the French army had its distinctive 
 characteristic, and that Napoleon studied and even en- 
 couraged the growth of these singular manners to a great 
 extent; doubtless, too, feeling a pride in his own thorough 
 intimacy with their most minute traits, and that facility 
 with which, by a single word, he could address himself to 
 the cherished feeling of a particular corps. And the tact 
 by which the monarch wins over and fascinates the nobles 
 of his court, was here exercised in the great world of a 
 camp, and with far more success too : a phrase, a name, 
 some well-known battle, the date of a victory, would fall 
 from his lips as he rode along the line, and be caught up 
 with enthusiasm by thousands, who felt in the one word 
 a recognition of past services. " Thou " — he always ad- 
 dressed the soldiers in the second person — " thoa wert 
 with me at Cairo;" "I remember thee at Arcole," were 
 enough to reward wounds, suffering, mutilation itself; and 
 he to whom such was addressed became an object of 
 veneration among his fellows. 
 
 Certain corps preserved more studiously than others the 
 memories of past achievements — the heirlooms of their 
 glory ; and to these Bonaparte always spoke with a feeling 
 of friendship most captivating to the soldier's heart, and 
 from them he selected the various regiments that com- 
 posed his " Guard." The cuirassiers belonged to this 
 proud force; and even an unmilitacv eye could mark, in 
 
 B B 2
 
 872 TOM. BURKE! OF " OURS. 
 
 their haughty bearing and assured look, that they were 
 a favoured corps. 
 
 Among those with whose faces I had now grown fami- 
 liar there was one whom I regarded with unusual interest: 
 he seemed to me the very type of his class. He was a 
 man of gigantic size, towering by half a head above the 
 very tallest of his fellows, while his enormous breadth of 
 chest and shoulder actually seemed to detract from his 
 great height. The lower part of his face was entirely 
 concealed by a beard of bright red hair that fell in a huge 
 mass over the breast of his cuirass, and seemed by its trim 
 and fashion to be an object of no common pride to the 
 wearer ; his nose was marked by a sabre-cut that extended 
 across one entire cheek, leaving a deep blue welt in its 
 track ; but saving these traits — wild and savage enough — 
 the countenance was singularly mild and pleasing ; he had 
 large and liquid blue eyes, soft and lustrous as any girl's; 
 the lashes, too, were long and falling ; and his forehead, 
 which was high and open, was white as snow. I was not 
 long in remarking the strange influence this man seemed 
 to possess over the rest — an ascendency not in any v/ay 
 attributable to the mark on his sleeve, which proclaimed 
 him a corporal. It seemed as though his slightest word, 
 his least gesture, was attended to ; and though evidently 
 taciturn and quiet, when he spoke I could detect in his 
 manner an air of promptitude and command that marked 
 him as one born to be above his fellows. If he seemed 
 such in the idle hours, on parade he was the heau ideal of 
 ft cuirassier. His great war-horse, seemingly small for 
 the immense proportions of the heavy rider, bounded with 
 each movement of his wrist, as if instinct with the horse- 
 man's wishes. 
 
 1 waited with some impatience for the invalid's arrival, 
 to ask who this remarkable soldier was, certain that I 
 should hear of no common man. He came soon after ; 
 and as I pointed out the object of my curiosity, the old 
 fellow drew himself up with pride, and, while a grim effort 
 at a smile crossed his features, replied, — 
 
 " That's Pioche— Ze gros Pioche ! " 
 
 "Pioche!" said I, repeating the name aloud, and en- 
 deavouring to remember why it seemed well known to me. 
 
 " Yes, Pioche," rejoined he, grufSy. " If Monsieur had
 
 ** THE CUIRASSIER." 873 
 
 •ever been in Egypt, the name would scarcely sound so 
 strange in his ears." And with this sarcasm he hobbled 
 from the room and closed the door, while I could hear hira 
 grumbling along the entire corridor, in evident auger at 
 the ignorance that did not know " Pioche." 
 
 Twenty times did I repeat the name aloud, before it 
 flashed across me as the same Madame Lefebvre mentioned 
 at the soiree in the palace. It was Pioche who shouldered 
 the brass field-piece, and passed before the general on 
 parade. The gi2;antic size, the powerful strength, the 
 strange name — all could belong to no other; and I felt as 
 though at once I had found an old acquaintance in the 
 great cuirassier of the Guard. 
 
 If the prisoner in his lonely cell has few incidents to 
 charm his solitary hours, in return he is enabled by some 
 happy gift to make these the sources of many thoughts. 
 The gleam of light that falls upon the floor, broken by the 
 iron gratings of his window, comes laden with storied 
 fancies of other lands — of far-distant countries where men 
 are dwelling in their native mountains free and happy ; 
 forgetful of his prison, the captive wanders in his fancy 
 through valleys he has seen in boyhood, and with friends 
 to be met no more. He turns gladly to the past, of whose 
 pleasures no adverse fortune can deprive him, an-d lives 
 over again the happy hours of his youth ; and thinks, with 
 a melancholy not devoid of its own pleasure, of what they 
 would feel who loved him, could they but see him now. 
 He pictures their sympathy and their sorrow, and his heart 
 feels lighter, though his eyes drop tears. 
 
 In this way the great cuirassier became an object for my 
 thoughts by day and my dreams by night. I fancied a 
 hundred stories of which he was the hero ; and these 
 imaginings served to whilfe away many a tedious hour, 
 and gave me an interest in watching the little spot of 
 earth that was visible from my barred window. It was 
 in one of these reveries I sat one evening, when I heard 
 the sounds of feet approaching along the corridor that led 
 to my room ; the clank of a sabre and the jingle of spurs 
 sounded not like my gruff visitor. My door was opened 
 before I had time for much conjecture, and General 
 D'Auvergne stood before me. 
 
 "■Ah/ man lieutenant^'' cried he, gail^-, "you have been
 
 374 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.*' 
 
 thinking very hardl j of me since we met last, I'm sure ; 
 charging me with forgetfulness, and accusing me of great 
 neglect." 
 
 " Pardon me, general," said I, hurriedly ; "your former 
 kindness, for which I never can be grateful enough, has 
 been always before my mind. I have not yet forgotten 
 that you saved my lite ; more still — you rescued my name 
 from dishonour." 
 
 " Well, well ; that's all past and gone now. Tour repu- 
 tation stands clear at last. De Beauvais has surrendered 
 himself to the authorities at Kouen, and made a full con- 
 fession of everything, exculpating you completely in every 
 particular, save the indiscretion of your intercourse with 
 Mehee de la Touche — or, as you know him better, the Able 
 d'Ervan." 
 
 "And poor De Beauvais, what is to become of him?" 
 said I, eagerly. 
 
 " Have no fears on his account," said he, with some- 
 thing like confusion in his manner; "she — that is, 
 Madame Bonaparte — has kindly interested herself in his 
 behalf, and he is to sail for Guadaloupe in a few days — his 
 own proposition and wish." 
 
 " And does General Bonaparte know now that I was 
 ^iltless ?" cried I, with enthusiasm. 
 
 " My dear young man," said he, with a bland smile, " I 
 very much fear that the general has little time at this 
 moment to give the matter much of his attention. Great 
 events have happened — are happening while we speak. 
 "War is threatening on the side of Austria. Tes, it is 
 true ; the camp of Boulogne have received orders to break 
 up ; troops are once more on their march to the Rhine ; all 
 France is arming." 
 
 " Oh, when I shall be free ?'♦ 
 
 "You are free!" cried he, clapping me gaily on the 
 shoulder. *' An amnesty against all untried prisoners for 
 state offences has been proclaimed. At such a moment of 
 national j oy " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " What ! and have I not told you my great news ? The 
 senate have presented to Bonaparte an address, praying 
 his acceptance of the throne of France— or, in their very- 
 words, to make his authority eternal."
 
 875 
 
 *' And he ?" said I, breathless with impatience to know 
 the result. 
 
 " He," continued the general, " has replied as became him, 
 desiring them to state clearly their views — by what steps 
 they propose to consolidate the acquired liberties of the 
 nation ; and while avowing that no higher honour or dig- 
 nity can await him than such as he has already received at 
 the hands of the people — ' Yet,' added he, * when the hour 
 arrives that I can see such to be the will of France, when 
 one voice proclaims it from Alsace to the Ocean — from 
 Lisle to the Pyrenees, then shall I be ready to accept the 
 throne of France.*" 
 
 The general entered minutely into all the circumstances 
 of the great political change, and detailed the effect which 
 the late conspiracy had had on the minds of the people, 
 and with what terror they contemplated the social disor- 
 ders that must accrue from the death of their great ruler ; 
 how nothing short of a government based on a monarchy, 
 with the right of succession established, could withstand 
 such a terrific crisis. As he spoke, the words I had heard 
 in the Temple crossed my mind, and I remembered that 
 such was the anticipation of the prisoners, as they said 
 among themselves, " When the guillotine has done its 
 work, they'll patch up the timbers into a throne." 
 
 "And George Cadoudal and the others ?" said I. 
 
 *' They are no more. Betrayed by their own party, they 
 met death like brave men, and as worthy of a better cause. 
 But let us not turn to so sad a theme. The order for your 
 liberation will be here to-morrow ; and as I am appointed 
 to a brigade on active service, I have come to offer you 
 the post of aide-de-camp." 
 
 I could not speak ; my heart was too full for words. I 
 knew how great the risk of showing any favour to one 
 who stood in such a position as I did, and I could but look 
 my gratitude, while the tears ran down my cheeks. 
 
 *' Well," cried he, as he took my hand in his, " so much 
 is settled. Now to another point, and one in which my 
 frankness must cause you no offence. You are not rich — 
 neither am I ; but Bonaparte always gives us opportunities 
 to gather our epaulettes — ay, and find the bullion to make 
 them, too. Meanwhile, you may want money " 
 
 "No, general," cried I, eagerly; "here are three thou-
 
 376 TOM BUEKE OF " OURS." 
 
 sand francs some kind friend sent me. I know not whence 
 they came ; and even if I wanted, did not dare to spend 
 them; but now " 
 
 The old man paused, and appeared confused, while he 
 leaned his finger on his forehead, and seemed endeavour- 
 ing to recall some passing thought. 
 
 "Did they come from'you, sir?" said T, timidly. 
 
 "No, not from me," repeated he, slowly. "You say 
 you never found out the donor ? " 
 
 " Never," said I, while a sense of shame prevented my 
 adding what rose to my mind — Could they not be from 
 Mademoiselle de Meudon ? 
 
 " Well, well," said he, at length, " be it so. And now 
 till to-morrow: I shall be here at neon, and bring the 
 minister's order with me. And so, good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye," said I, as I stood overcome with happiness. 
 " Let what will come of it, this is a moment worth living 
 (or."
 
 S77 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 A MORNING AT " THE TUILERIES." 
 
 True to his appointment, the general appeared the follow- 
 ing day as the hour of noon was striking. He brought 
 the official papers from the minister of war, as well as the 
 formal letter naming me his aide-de-camp. The docu- 
 ments were all perfectly regular, and being read over by 
 the military commission, I was sent for, when my sword 
 was restored to me by the colonel of the regiment in garri- 
 son, and I was free once more. 
 
 " You have received a severe lesson, Burke," said the 
 general, as he took my arm to lead me towards his car- 
 riage, " and all owing to the rashness with which, in times 
 of difficulty and danger, you permitted yourself to form 
 intimacies with men utterly unknown to you. There are 
 epochs when weakness is the worst of evils. You are 
 very young, to be sure, and I trust the experience you 
 have acquired here will serve for a lifetime." 
 
 " Still, sir, in all this sad business, my faith never 
 wavered ; my attachment to the Consul was unshaken." 
 
 " Had it been otherwise, do you think you had been 
 here now ? " said he, dryly. " Were not the evidences of 
 your fidelity set off against your folly, what chance of 
 escape remained for you ? No, no ; she who betriended 
 you so steadily throughout this tangled scheme for your 
 ruin, had never advocated your cause were there reason to 
 suppose you were involved in the conspiracy against her 
 husband's life." 
 
 " Who do you mean ? " said I. " I scarcely under- 
 stand." 
 
 " The Consulesse, of course. But for Madame Bona- 
 parte you were lost ; even since I saw you last, 1 have 
 learned how deeply interested she became in your fcirtunes. 
 The letter you received in the Temple came from her, and
 
 878 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 the enclosure also. And now, with your leave, we can do 
 nothing better than pay our respects to her, and make our 
 acknowledgments for such kindness. She receives at this 
 hour, and will, I know, take your visit in good part." 
 
 While I professed my readiness to comply with the 
 suggestion, we drove into the court of the Tuileries. It 
 was so early that, except the officers of the Consul's staff, 
 and some of those on guard, we were the only persons 
 visible. 
 
 " We are the first arrivals," said the general, as we 
 drew up at the door of the pavilion. " I am not sorry for 
 it ; we shall have our audience over before the crowd 
 assembles." 
 
 Giving our names to the usher, we mounted the stairs, 
 and passed on from room to room until we came to a large 
 salon, in which seats were formally arranged in a semi- 
 circle, an arm-chair somewhat higher than the rest occu- 
 pying the centre. Several full-length portraits of the 
 generals of the revolutionary armies adorned the walls, 
 and a striking likeness of the Consul himself, on horse- 
 back, held the principal place. I had but time to see thus 
 much, when the two sides of the folding-doors were flung 
 open, and Madame Bonaparte, followed by Mademoiselle 
 de Meudon, entered. Scarcely were the doors closed, 
 when she said, smiling, — 
 
 " I heard of your arrival, general, and guessed its pur- 
 port, so came at once. Monsieur Burke, I am happy to 
 see you at liberty once more." 
 
 " That I owe it to you, madame, makes it doubly dear 
 to me," said J, faltering. 
 
 " You must not overrate my exertions on your behalf," 
 replied the Consulesse, in a hurried voice. " There was 
 an amende due to you for the treatment you met with at 
 Versailles — all Savary's fault ; and now I am sincerely 
 sorry I ever suffered myself to become a party to his 
 schemes. Indeed, I never guessed them, or I should not. 
 General d'Auvergne has made you his aide-de-camp, he 
 tells me." 
 
 *' Yes, madame ; my good fortune has showered favours 
 on me most suddenly. Your kindness has been an augury 
 of success in everything." 
 
 She smiled, as if pleased, and then said, " I have a piece
 
 1 MORNING AT "THE TUILERIES." 379 
 
 of advice to give you, and hope you'll profit by it." Theu, 
 turning towards the general, who all this time was deeply 
 engaged in talking to Mademoiselle de Meudon, she added, 
 " Don't you think, general, that it were as well Monsieur 
 Burke should not be in the way of meeting the Consul for 
 some short time to come. Is there any garrison duty, or 
 any service away from Paris, where, for a week or so, he 
 could remain ? " 
 
 " I have thought of that, madame," said the generaL 
 "Two of the regiments in my brigade are to march to- 
 morrow for the east of France, and I intend my young 
 friend to proceed to Strasbourg at once." 
 
 " This is not meant for banishment," said she to me, 
 with a look of much sweetness ; " but Bonaparte will now 
 and then say a severe thing, likely to dwell in the mind of 
 him to whom it was addressed long after the sentiment 
 which dictated it has departed. A little time will efface 
 all memory of this sad affair, and then we shall be happy 
 to see you here again." 
 
 *' Or events may happen soon, madame, by which he 
 may make his own peace with General Bonaparte." 
 
 " True, very true," said she, gravely. *' And as to that, 
 general, what advices are there from Vienna ? " 
 
 She drew the general aside into one of the windows, 
 leaving me alone with Mademoiselle de Meudon. But a 
 minute before, and I had given the world for such an 
 opportunity, and now I could not speak a syllable. She, 
 too, seemed equally confused, and bent over a large vase 
 of moss-roses, as if totally occupied by their arrangement. 
 I drew nearer, and endeavoured to address her, but the 
 words would not come, while a hundred gushing thoughts 
 pressed on me, and my heart beat loud enough for me to 
 hear it. At last I saw her lips move, and thought I heard 
 my name ; I bent down my head lower ; it was her voice, 
 but so low as to be scarcely audible. 
 
 " I cannot thank you, sir, as I could wish," said she, 
 *' for the service you rendered me, at the risk of your own 
 life and honour. And though I knew not the dangers yon 
 were to incur by my request, I asked it as of the only one 
 I knew who would brave such danger at my asking." 
 She paused for a second, then continued : " The friend of 
 Charles could not but be the friend of Marie de Meudon.
 
 880 ^' TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 There is now another favour I would beg at your hands,* 
 said she, while a livid paleness overspread her features. 
 
 " Oh, name it ! " said I, passionately. " Say, how can 
 1 serve you Y " 
 
 " It is this," said she, with an accent whose solemnity 
 sank into the very recesses of my heart : " We have ever 
 been an unlucky race. De Meudon is but a name for mis- 
 fortune ; not only have we met little else in our own lives, 
 but all who have befriended us have paid the penalty of 
 their friendship. My dear brother knew this well ; and 
 I———." She paused, and then, though her lips moved, 
 the words that followed were inaudible. " There is but 
 one on earth," continued she, as her eyes, brimful of tears, 
 were turned towards Madame Bonaparte, who still stood 
 talking in the window, " over whose fortunes my affection 
 has thrown no blight. Heaven grant it may be ever so ! " 
 Then suddenly, as if remembering herself, she added : 
 " What I would ask is this — that we should meet no more. 
 Nay, nay, look not so harshly at me. If I, alone in the 
 world, ask to be deprived of his friendship who loved 
 my brother so " 
 
 " Oh ! if you be alone in the world, feel for one like me, 
 who has not even a country he can call his own. Take 
 not the one hope from my heart, I ask you. Leave me the 
 thought that there is one, but one, in all this land, to 
 whom my name, if ever mentioned with praise, can bring 
 one moment's pleasure — who can say ' I knew him.' Do 
 not forget that Charles, with his dying breath, said you 
 would be my sister." 
 
 The door of the salon opened suddenly, and a name 
 was announced, but in my confusion I heard not what. 
 Madame Bonaparte, however, advanced towards the new 
 arrival with an air of welcome, as she said, — 
 
 " We were just wishing for you, general. Pray tell us 
 ' all the news of Paris." 
 
 The person thus addressed was a very tall and singularly 
 handsome man, whose dark eyes, and dark whiskers meet- 
 ing in the middle of his chin, gave him the appearance of 
 an Italian. He was dressed in a hussar uniform-, whose 
 gorgeous braiding of gold was heightened in effect by a 
 blaze of orders and stars that covered the entire breast; 
 the scarlet pantaloons, tight to the leg, displayed to ad van-
 
 A MORNING AT "THE TUILEPJES." S^^l 
 
 tage fhe perfect symmetry of his form, while his boots of 
 yellow morocco, bound and tasselled with gold, seemed 
 the very coquetry of military costume. A sabre, the hi.fc 
 actually covered with precious stones, clanked at his side, 
 and the aigrette of his plumed hat was a large diamond. 
 There was something almost theatrical in the manner of 
 his approach, as with a stately step and a deep bow he 
 took Madame Bonaparte's hand and kissed it ; a cere- 
 mony he repeated to Mademoiselle de Meudon, adding, as 
 he did so, — 
 
 " And my fair Bose de Provence — more beautiful than 
 ever ! — how is she ? " 
 
 " What flattery is he whispering, Marie ? " said the 
 Consulesse, laughing. " Don't you know, general, that I 
 insist on all the compliments here being paid to myself. 
 What do you think of my robe ? — your judgment is said 
 to be perfect." 
 
 " Charming — absolutely charming ! " said he, in an 
 attitude of affected admiration. " It is only such taste as 
 yours could have devised anything so beautiful. Yet the 
 roses — I half think I should have preferred them white." 
 
 " You can scarcely imagine that vain fellow with the 
 long ringlets the boldest soldier of the French army," said 
 the general, in a low whisper, as he drew me to one side. 
 
 " Indeed ! And who is he, then ? " 
 
 *' Yoa a hussar, and not know him ! Why, Murat, to be 
 sure." 
 
 "So then, raadame, all my news of Monsieur Talleyrand's 
 ball, it seems, is stale already. You've heard that the 
 Russian and Austrian ministers both sent apologies ? " 
 
 " Oh dear ! *' said she, sighing ; " have I not heard it a 
 thousand times, and every reason for it canvassed, until I 
 wished both of their excellencies at — at Madame Lefebvre's 
 dinner-party ? " 
 
 *' That was perfect," cried Murat, aloud ; '* a regular 
 bivouac in a salon. You'd think that the silver dishes and 
 the gilt candelabras had just been captured from the enemy, 
 and that the cuisine was made by beat of drum." 
 
 " The general is an honest man and a brave officer," 
 said D'Auvergne, somewhat nettled at the tone Murat 
 spoke in. 
 
 " No small boast either," replied the other, shrugging
 
 382 TOM BURKE OF "ODRS." 
 
 his shoulders carelessly, "in the times and the land we 
 live in." 
 
 "And what of Carabaceres's soiree — how did it go 
 off? " interposed Madame Bonaparte, anxious to relieve the 
 awkward pause that followed. 
 
 " Like everything in his hotel — sombre, stately, and 
 stupid ; the company all dull, who would be agreeable 
 everywhere else ; the tone of the reception laboured and 
 affected, and every one dying to get away to Fouche's. 
 It was his second night for receiving." 
 
 " Was that pleasanter, then ? " 
 
 " A hundred times. There are no parties like his — one 
 meets everybody. It is a kind of neutral territory for the 
 Faubourg and the Jacobin — the partisan of our people, and 
 the followers of Heaven knows who. Fouche slips about, 
 whispering the same anecdote in confidence to every one, 
 and binding each to secrecy. Then, as every one comes 
 there to spy his neighbour, the host has an excellent 
 opportunity of pumping all in turn ; and while they all 
 persist in telling him nothing but lies, they forget that 
 with him no readier road could lead to the detection of 
 truth." 
 
 " The Consul ! " said a servant, aloud, as the door opeoed 
 and closed with a crash, and Bonaparte, dressed in the 
 uniform of the Chasseurs of the Guard, and covered with 
 dust, entered. 
 
 " Was Decres here? " And then, without waiting for a 
 reply, continued — " It is settled— all finally arranged ; I 
 told you, madame, the 'pear was ripe.' I start to-morrow 
 for Boulogne. You, Murat, must accompany me ; D'Au- 
 vergne, your division will march the day after. Who is 
 this gentleman? " 
 
 This latter question, in all its abruptness, was addressed 
 to me, while a dark and ominous frown settled on his 
 features. 
 
 " My aide-de-camp, sir," said the old general, hastily, 
 hoping thus to escape further inquiry. 
 
 " Your name, sir ? " said the Consul, harshly, as he fixed 
 his piercing eyes upon me. 
 
 " Burke, sir ; sous-lieutenant " 
 
 " Of the 8th Hussars," continued he. " I know the rest, 
 Bir. Every conspiracy is made up of knaves and fools ;
 
 A MORNING AT "THE TUILERIES." 883 
 
 you figured in the latter capacity. Mark me, sir, your 
 name is yet to make ; the time is approaching when yoa 
 may have the opportunity ; still, General d'Auvergne, it is 
 not in the ranks of a Chouan plot I should have gone to 
 select my staff." 
 
 ''Pardon me, sir; but this young man's devotion to 
 you—" 
 
 " Is on record, general ; I have seen it in Mehee de la 
 Touche's own writing," added Bonaparte, with a sneer. 
 " Give me the fidelity, sir, that has no tarnish — like your 
 own, D'Auvergne. Go, sir," said he, turning to me, while 
 he waved his hand towards the door. " It will need all 
 your bravery and all your heroism to make me acquit 
 General d'Auvergne of an act of folly." 
 
 I hung my head in shame, and with a low reverence and 
 a tottering step moved from the room and closed the door 
 behind me. 
 
 I had just reached the street when the general overtook 
 me. 
 
 " Come, come, Burke," said he, " you must not mind 
 this. I heard Lannes receive a heavier reproof, because 
 he only carried away three guns of an Austrian buttery, 
 when there were four in all." 
 
 " Bonaparte never forgets, sir," muttered I, between 
 my teeth, as the well-remembered phrase crossed my 
 mind. 
 
 " Then there's but one thing to do, my boy ; give him a 
 pleasanter souvenir to look back upon. Besides," added 
 he, in a lower tone, " the general is ever harsh at the mo- 
 ment of victory ; and such is the present. In a few days 
 more, France will have an emperor ; the Senate has de- 
 clared, and the army wait but for the signal to salute theii 
 monarch. And now for your own duties. Make your 
 arrangements to start to-night by post for Mayence ; I 
 shall join you there in about ten days. You are, on your 
 arrival, to report yourself to the general in command, and 
 receive your instructions from him. A great movement 
 towards the Rhine is in contemplation, but, of course, 
 everything awaits the progress of political changes in 
 Paris." 
 
 Thus conversing, we reached the corner of the Rue Je 
 Rohan, where the general's quarters were.
 
 884 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 " You'll be here then punctually at eight to-night," said 
 he ; and we parted. 
 
 I walked on for some time without knowing which way 
 I went, the strange conflict of my mind so completely 
 absorbed me — hope and fear, pride, shame, and sorrow 
 alternately swaying me with their impulses. I noticed not 
 the gay and splendid streets through which I passed, nor 
 the merry groups which poured along. At length I re- 
 membered that but a few hours remained for me to maka 
 some purchases necessary for my journey. My new um« 
 form as aide-de-camp, too, was yet to be ordered ; and by 
 some strange hazard I was exactly at the corner of the 
 Rue de Richelieu on the Boulevard, at the very shop of 
 Monsieur Crillac, where, some months before, began the 
 singular current of ill-luck that had followed me ever 
 since. A half-shudder of fear passed across me for a 
 second as I thought of all the dangers I had gone through, 
 and the next moment I felt ashamed of my cowardice, and 
 pushing the glass door before me, walked in. I looked 
 about me for the well-known face of the proprietor, but 
 he was nowhere to be seen. A lean and wasted little old 
 man, hung round with tapes and measures, was the only 
 person there. Saluting me with a most respectful bow, 
 he asked my orders. 
 
 '* I thought this was Crillac's," said I, hesitatingly. 
 
 A shrug of the shoulders and a strange expression of 
 the eyebrows was the only reply. 
 
 " I remember he lived here some eight or ten months 
 ago," said I again, curious to find out the meaning of the 
 man's ignorance of his predecessor. 
 
 " Monsieur has been away from Paris for some time 
 then ? " was the cautious question of the little man, as he 
 peered curiously at me. 
 
 " Yes ; I have been away," said I, after a pause. 
 
 " Monsieur knew Crillac probably when he was here ? *' 
 
 " I never saw him but once," said I. 
 
 '* Ha ! " cried he, after a long silence. *' Then you 
 probably never heard of the Chouan conspiracy to murder 
 the Jhief Consul and overthrow the Government, nor of 
 their trial at the Palais de Justice ? " 
 
 I nodded slightly, and he went on. 
 
 " Monsieur Crillac's evidence was of great value in the
 
 A MORNING AT " THE TUILERIES.'* 885 
 
 proceeding : lie knew Jules de Polignac and Charles de la 
 Riviere well ; and but for him, San Victor would have 
 escaped." 
 
 " And what has become of him since ? " 
 
 " He is gone back to the south ; he has been promoted." 
 
 " Promoted ! — what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Par bleu! it is easy enough to understand. He was 
 made chef de bureau in the department of " 
 
 " What! was he not a tailor then?" 
 
 "A tailor! — no," said the little man, laughing heartily, 
 " he was a mouchard, a police spy, who knew all the 
 royalist party well at Bordeaux, and Fouche brought hira 
 up here to Paris, and established him in this house. Ah, 
 mon Dieu /" said he, sighing, " he had a better and a plea- 
 santer occupation than cutting out pantaloons." 
 
 Without heeding the reiterated professions of the little 
 
 tailor of his desire for my patronage, 1 strolled out again, 
 
 lost in reflection, and sick to the heart of a system based 
 
 on such duplicity and deception. 
 
 *■*#*** 
 
 ****** 
 At last in Mayence. What a change of life was this to 
 me ! A large fortress garrisoned by twelve thousand men, 
 principally artillery, awaited here the orders of the Consul; 
 but whither the destination before them, or what the hour 
 when the word to march was to summon them, none could 
 tell. Meanwhile the activity of the troops was studiously 
 kept up ; battering trains of field artillery were exercised 
 day after day ; the men were practised in all the move- 
 ments of the field ; while the foundries were unceasingly 
 occupied in casting guns, and the furnaces rolled forth 
 their myriads of shell and shot. Staff officers came and 
 went ; expresses arrived from Paris, and orderlies, travel- 
 stained and tired, galloped in from the other fortified 
 places near, but still no whisper came to say where the 
 great game of war was to open — for what quarter of the 
 globe the terrible carnage was destined. From daylight 
 till dark no moment of our time was unoccupied : reports 
 innumerable were to be furnished on every possible sub- 
 ject, and frequently it was far in the night ere I returned 
 to rest. To others this unbroken monotony may have 
 been wearisome and uninteresting ; to me each incident 
 VOL. I. C C
 
 386 
 
 bore upon the great cause I gloried in ; the dull rumble of 
 the caissons, the heavy clattering of the brass guns, were 
 music to my ear, and I never wearied of the din and 
 clamour that spoke of preparation. Such was indeed the 
 preoccupation of my thoughts, that I scarcely marked the 
 course of events which were even then passing, or the 
 mighty changes that already moved across the destinies of 
 France. To my eyes the conqueror of Lodi needed no 
 title — what sceptre could equal his own sword ? France 
 might desire in her pride to unite her destinies with such 
 a name as his, but he, the general of Italy and Egypt, 
 could not be exalted by any dignity. , Such were my 
 boyish fancies, and, as I indulged them, again there grew 
 up the hope within me that a brighter day was yet to 
 beam on my own fortunes, when I should do that which 
 even in his eyes might seem worthy. His very reproaches 
 stirred my courage and nerved my hearto There was a 
 combat — there was a battle-field before me, in which my 
 whole fame and honour lay ; and could I but succeed in 
 making him confess that he had wronged me, what pride 
 was in the thought. "Yes," said I, again and again, " a 
 devotion to him such as I can offer must have success : 
 one who, like me, has neither home, nor friends, nor 
 country, to share his heart, must have room in it for one 
 passion, and that shall be glory. She whom alone I could 
 have loved — 1 dared not confess 1 did love her— rnever 
 could be mine. Life must have its object, and what so 
 noble as that before me." My very dreams caught up the 
 infatuation of my waking thoughts — and images of battle, 
 deadly contests, and terrific skirmishes were constantly 
 passing before me ; and I actually went my daily rounds 
 of duty buried in these thoughts, and lost to everything 
 save what ministered to my excited imagination. 
 
 We who lived far away on the distant frontier could but 
 collect from the journals the state of excitement and 
 enthusiasm into which every class of the capital was 
 thrown by Napoleon's elevation to the monarchy. Never, 
 perhaps, in any country, did the current of popular favour 
 run in a stream so united. The army hailed him as their 
 brother of the sword, and felt the proud distinction that 
 the chief of the Empire was chosen from their ranks. 
 The civilian saw the restoration of monarchy as the pledge
 
 A MORNING AT "THE TUILERIES." 387 
 
 of that security which alone was wanting to consolidate 
 national prosperity. The clergy, however they may have 
 distrusted his sincerity, could not but acknowledge that 
 to his influence was owing the return of the ancient faith ; 
 and, save the Vendeans, broken and discomfited, and the 
 scattered remnants of the Jacobin party, discouraged by 
 the fate of Moreau, none raised a voice against him. A 
 few of the old Hepublicans, among whom was Carnot, 
 did, it is true, proclaim their dissent ; but so moderately, 
 and with so little of partisan spirit, as to call forth a 
 eulogiura on their honourable conduct from Napoleon 
 himself. 
 
 The mighty change which was to undo all the long and 
 arduous struggles for liberty, which took years in their 
 accomplishment, was effiected in one burst of national 
 enthusiasm. Surrounded by nations on whose friendship 
 they dared not reckon, at war with their most powerful 
 enemy, England, France saw herself dependent on the 
 genius of one great man ; and beheld, too, the formidable 
 conspiracy for his assassination, coupled with the schemes 
 against her own independence. He became thus indis- 
 solubly linked with her fortunes — self-interest and grati- 
 tude pointed both in the same direction to secure his 
 services ; and the imperial crown was, indeed, less the 
 rev/ard of the past, thnn the price of the future. Even 
 they who loved him least, felt that in his guidance there 
 was safety ; and that, without him, the prospect was dark, 
 and dreary, and threatening. Another element which 
 greatly contributed to the same effect, was the social ruin 
 caused by the Revolution ; the destruction of all commerce, 
 the forfeiture of property, had thrown every class into 
 the service of the Government. Men gladlj» advocated a 
 change by which the ancient forms of a monarchy might 
 be restored, and with them the long train of patronage 
 and appointments, their inevitable attendants. Even the 
 old families of the kingdom hailed the return of an order 
 of things which might include them in the favours of the 
 Crown ; and the question now was, what rank or class 
 should be foremost in tendering their allegiance to the 
 new sovereign. We should hesitate ere we condemn tho 
 sudden impulse by which many were driven at this period. 
 Contiscation and exile had done much to break the spirit 
 
 C C 2
 
 888 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 of even the hardiest ; and the very return to the institu- 
 tions in which all their ancient prejudices were involved, 
 seemed a pledge against the tyi anuy of the mass. 
 
 As for Napoleon himself, each step in his proud career 
 seemed to evoke the spirit necessary to direct it — the 
 resources of his mighty intellect appeared with every new 
 drain on them, only the more inexhaustible. Animated 
 through his whole life by the one great principle, the 
 aggrandizement of France — his vast intelligence gather- 
 ing strength with his ov/n increase of power, enabled him 
 to cultivate every element of national greatness, and 
 mould their energies to his will, till at length the nation 
 seemed but one vast body, of which he was the heart, the 
 impulse, that sent the life-blood bounding through all its 
 arteries, and with whose beating pulses every, even the 
 most remote portion, throbbed in unison. 
 
 The same day that established the Empire, declared the 
 rank and dignity accorded to each member of the royal 
 family, with the titles to be borne by the ministers and 
 other high officers of the Crown. The next step was the 
 creation of a new order of nobility- — one which, without 
 ancient lineage or vast possessions, could still command 
 the respect and admiration of all — the marshals of France. 
 The names of Berthicr, Murat, Augereau, Massena, Ber- 
 nadotte, Ney, Soult, Launes, Mortier, Davoust, Bessieres, 
 were enough to throw a blaze of lustre on the order ; and 
 had it not been for the omission of Macdonald's name in 
 this glorious list, public enthusiasm had been complete ; 
 but then he was the friend of Moreau, and Bonaparte 
 " did not jorgive." 
 
 Ine restoration of the old titles, so long in abeyance, 
 the return to the pomp and state of monarchy, seemed 
 like a national fete, and Paris became the scene of a 
 splendid festivity and a magnificence unknown for many 
 years past. It was necessary for the new Court to make 
 its impression on the world, and the endeavour was to 
 eclipse, by luxury and splendour, the grandeur which, in 
 the days of the Bourbons, was an heirloom of royalty. 
 To this end functionaries and officers of the palace were 
 appointed in myriads — brilliant and costly uniforms 
 adopted — courtly titles and ceremonial observances in- 
 creased without end — and etiquette, carried to a pitch of
 
 A MORNING AT " THE TUILERIES." 389 
 
 strictness which no former reign had ever exhibited, now- 
 regulated every department of the state. 
 
 While, however, nothing was too minute or too trivial, 
 provided that it bore, even in the remotest way, on the 
 re-establishment of that throne he had so long and so 
 ardently desired, JNapoleon's great mind was eagerly bent 
 upon the necessity of giving to the Empire one of those 
 astounding evidences of his genius, which marked him as 
 above all other men. He wished to show to France that 
 the crown had devolved upon the rightful successor to 
 Charlemagne, and to prove to the army that the purple 
 mantle of royalty could not conceal the spur of the 
 warrior ; and thus, while all believed him occupied with 
 the ordinary routine of the period, his ambitious thoughts 
 were carrying him away across the Pyrenees, or beyond 
 the Danube, to battle-fields of even greater glory than 
 ever, and to conquests prouder than all his former ones. 
 
 The same power of concentrativeness that he so emi- 
 nently possessed himself, he imparted, as if by magic, to 
 his government. Paris was France. To the capital 
 flocked all whose talent or zeal prompted them to seek for 
 advancement. The Emperor was not only the fountain of 
 all honour, but of all emolument and place. No patronage 
 was exercised without his permission, and none was con- 
 ferred without the conviction that some stanch adherent 
 was secured, whose friendship was ratified, or whose 
 former enmity was conciliated. 
 
 Thus passed the year that followed his accession to the 
 throne — that brilliant pageant of a nation's enthusiasm 
 rendering tribute to the majesty of intellect. At length 
 the period of inaction seemed drawing to a close ; and a 
 greater activity in the war department, and a new levy of 
 troops, betokened the approach of some more energetic 
 measures. Men whispered that the English expedition 
 was about to sail, and reinforcements of ammunition alid 
 artillery were despatched to the coast ; when suddenly 
 came the news of Trafalgar : Villeneuve was beaten — 
 liis fleet annihilated — the whole combination of events 
 destroyed — and England, again triumphant on the element 
 she had made her own, hurled deHance at the threats of 
 her enemy. The same despatch that brought the intelli- 
 gen(^e to Majeuce told us to be in readiness lor a move-
 
 390 TOM BUEKE OF " OUES." 
 
 ment, but when, or where to, none of ns could surmise. 
 Still detachments from various corps stationed abou*^^ were 
 marched into the garrison, skeleton regiments commanded 
 to make up their deficiencies, and a renewed energy was 
 everywhere perceptible. At last, towards the middle of 
 August, I was sent for by the general in command of the 
 fortress, and informed that General d'Auvergne had been 
 promoted to the command of a cavalry brigade stationed 
 at Coblentz. 
 
 " You are to join him there immediately," continued he ; 
 but here is a note from himself, which probably will 
 explain everything." 
 
 And with that he handed me a small sealed letter. It 
 was the first, save on purely regimental matters, I had 
 ever received from him, and somehow I felt unusually 
 anxious about its contenis. It ran in these words: — 
 
 " My dear B., — His Majesty has just sent for me, and, 
 most graciously esteeming me not yet too old to serve 
 him, has given mo the command of a brigade — late the 
 12th, now to be called ' D'Auvergne's Cavalry.' I would 
 willingly have mentioned your name for promotion, to 
 which your zeal and activity would well entitle you, but 
 deemed it better to let your claim come before the Em- 
 peror's personal notice — which an opportunity will, 1 trust, 
 soon permit of its doing. His Mnjesty, with a kindness 
 which the devotion of a lite could not repay, has also 
 interested himself personally for me in a quarter where 
 only his influence could have proved successful — but the 
 explanation of this I reserve for your arrival. And now 
 I request that you will lose no time in repairing to Paris 
 — where 1 shall expect to see you by Tuesday. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " D'AuvEEGNE, Lieut -General." 
 
 This strange paragraph puzzled me not a little ; nor 
 could I, by any exercise of ingenuity, find out even a 
 plausible meaning for it. I read it over and over, weigh- 
 ing and canvassing every word, and torturing each syllable 
 — but all to no purpose. Had the general been some youtn-
 
 A MOKNTXG AT ''THE TUILEHIES." 391 
 
 ful but nnhappy lover, to forward whose suit the Emperor 
 had lent his influence, then had I understood the allusion ; 
 but with the old weather-beaten officer, whose hairs were 
 blanched with years and service, the very thought of such 
 a thing was too absurd. Yet what could be the royal favour 
 so lavishly praised : he needed no intercession with the 
 Empress^ — at least I remembered well how marked the 
 kindness of Josephine was towards him in former times. 
 But to what use guessing ? Thoughts, by long revolving, 
 often become only the more entangled, and we lose sight 
 of the real difficulty in canvassing our own impressions 
 concerning it. And so from this text did 1 spin away a 
 hundred fancies that occupied me the whole road to Paris, 
 nor left me till the din and movement of the great capital 
 banished all other reflections. 
 
 Arrangement had been made for my reception at the 
 Rue de Rohan, but I learned that the general was at Ver- 
 sailles with the Court, and only came up to Paris once or 
 twice each week. His direction to me was, to wait for his 
 arrival, and not to leave the city on any account. 
 
 With what a strange feeling did I survey the Palace of 
 the Tuileries — the scene of my first moment of delighted 
 admiration of her I now loved — and, alas ! of my first 
 step in the long catalogue of my misfortunes. I lingered 
 about the gardens with a fascination I could not account 
 for ; my destiny seemed somehow linked with the spot, 
 and I could not reason myself out of the notion but that 
 there, in that great pile, the fate of my whole life was to 
 be decided. 
 
 My entire day was passed in this way, and evening 
 found me seated on one of the benches near the windows 
 of tho pavilion, where I watched the lustres in the long 
 gallery as one by one they burst into light, and saw the 
 gilt candelabras twinkling as each taper was illuminated. 
 It was an evening reception of the Emperor, and I could 
 mark the vast assemblage, in every variety of uniform, 
 that filled the salons. At length the drums beat for 
 strangers to leave the gardens, the patrols passed on, and 
 gradually the crowded walks became thinner and thinner, 
 the sounds of the drum grew fainter, and finally the whole 
 space became still and noiseless ; not a voice was to l)e 
 heard, not a step moved on the gravel. I knew that the
 
 3G2 TOM BUKKE OF " OURS." 
 
 gates were now locked, and yet I stayed on, glad to be 
 alone, and at leisure to dream away among the fancies 
 that kept ever rising to my mind, and to follow out the 
 trains of thought that ever and anon opened before me. 
 
 As the hour grew later, and the salons tilled more and 
 more, the windows were opened along the terrace to give 
 air, and I could hear the continued murranr of hundreds 
 of voices conversing, while at times the sound of laughter 
 rose above the rest. What a rush of thoughts came on 
 me as I sat; how did I picture to myself the dark in- 
 trigues, the subtle plots of wily diplomatists, the bold and 
 daring aspirations of the brave soldiers, the high hopes, 
 and the ambitious yearnings, that were all commingled 
 there, grouped around him whose dreams were of univer- 
 sal empire. While I mused, the night glided on, and the 
 solemn sound of the bell of Notre Dame proclaimed mid- 
 night. I now could mark that the salons were thinning, 
 and the unceasing din of carriages in the " place " an- 
 nounced the departure of the guests. In little more than 
 half an hour the great gallery was empty, and but a few 
 groups remained in the apartments adjoining ; even they 
 soon departed, and then 1 could see the servants passing 
 from room to room extinguishing the lights, and soon the 
 great facade of the palace was wrapped in darkness : a 
 twinkling light appeared here and there for some time, 
 but it too went out. The night was calm, and still, and 
 sultry ; not a leaf stirred, and the heavy tread of the 
 sentinels, as they paced the marble vestibule, was heard 
 plainly where I stood. 
 
 How full of thought to me was that vast pile, now 
 shrouded in the gloom of night. What bold, ambitious 
 deeds- — what dreams of empire^ — -had not been conceived 
 there! The great of other days, indeed, entered little 
 into my mind, as I remembered it was the home of him, 
 the greatest of them all. How terrible, too, it was to 
 think, that within that silent palace, which seemed sle.ep- 
 ing with the tranquil quiet of an humble cottage, the 
 dreadful plans which were to convulse the world, to shake 
 thrones and dynasties, to make of Europe a vast battle- 
 field, were now devising. The masses of dark cloud that 
 hung hea\'ily in the air, obscuring the sky, and shutting 
 out every star, seemed to my fevered imagination an
 
 A MORNING AT '' THE TUILERIES." 803 
 
 augury of evil ; and the oppressive, loaded atmosphere, 
 though perfumed with the odour of flowers, sunk heavily 
 on the spirits. Again the hour rang out, and I remem- 
 bered that the gates of the garden were now closed for 
 the night, and that I should remain where 1 was till day- 
 light liberated me. My mind was, however, too full of 
 its own thou<2;hts to make me care for sleep, and I strolled 
 along the gloomy walks lost in reverie. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 A NWHT IN THE TI'ILERIES GARDENS. 
 
 Ag the night wore on, I remembered that once, when a 
 boy at the Poly technique, I longed to penetrate one of 
 the little enclosures which fenced the small flower-gardens 
 beside the palace, and which were railed up from the 
 public promenades by a low iron railing. The bouquets 
 of rich flowers that grew there, sparkling with the light 
 dew of a little je^ (Teau that fell in rain-drops over them, 
 had often tempted my young heart; but still, in the day- 
 time, such a transgression would have been immediately 
 punished. Now, with the strange caprice which so often 
 prompts us in after years to do that which in youth we 
 wished, but could not accomplish, I wandered towards 
 the gardens, and crossing over the low fence, entered tlie 
 parterre : each step awoke the sleeping perfume of the 
 flowers, and I strolled along the velvet turf until I 
 reached a low bench, half covered with honeysuckle and 
 woodbine. Here I threw myself down, and, wrapping my 
 cloak around me, resolved to rest till daybreak. The still- 
 ness of all around, the balmy air, and my own musings, 
 gradually conspired to make me drowsy, and I slept. 
 
 My sleep could not have been long, when I was 
 awakened by a noise close beside me. I started up and
 
 894 TOM BURKE OP *' OURS." 
 
 looked about, and for some seconds I could scarcely 
 credit that I was not still dreaming. Not more than a 
 dozen paces from where I lay, and where before the dark 
 walls of the palace rose in unbroken blackness, was now a 
 chamber, brilliantly lighted up by several wax-lights that 
 stood on a table. At the window, which opened to the 
 ground, and led into the garden, stood the figure of a 
 man, but from his position before the light I could not 
 remark more than that he wore epaulettes. It was the 
 noise of the opening jalousies which awoke me ; and I 
 could see his hand stretched out, as if to ascertain whether 
 or not it was raining. At the table I could perceive 
 another person, on whose uniform the light fell strongly, 
 displaying many a cross and star, which twinkled with 
 every stir he made. He was busily engaged writing, 
 and never lifted his head from the paper. The walls of 
 the room were covered with shelves, filled with books; 
 and on the chairs about, and even on the floor, lay maps 
 and drawings in every disorder ; a sword and belt, as if 
 just taken off, lay on the table among the writing mate- 
 rials, and a cocked hat beside them. While I noticed 
 these details my very heart was chill within me. The 
 dark figure at the window, which stirred not, seemed as if 
 turned towards me, and more than once I almost thought 
 1 could see his eyes bent upon me. This was, however, 
 but the mere suggestion of my own fears, for in the 
 shade of the seat no light whatever fell, and I was per- 
 fectly concealed. 
 
 In the deep stillness I could hear the scraping sound of 
 the pen on the paper, and scarcely dared to breath, lest I 
 should cause discovery, when the figure retired from the 
 window, and moved towards the table ; for some minutes 
 he appeared to stoop over a large map, which lay out- 
 stretched before him, and across which I could see his 
 finger moving rapidly. Suddenly he stood erect, and in a 
 voice which even now rings within my heart, said : " It 
 must be so, Duroc; by any other route Bernadotte will 
 be too late ! " What was the reply I know not, such 
 terror now fell over me. It was the Emperor himself 
 who spoke. It was he who the instant before was stand- 
 ing close beside me at the window ; nnd thus, a second 
 time in mj lii'e, did I become the unwilling eavesdropper
 
 A NIGHT IN THE TUILERIES GAUDENS. 395 
 
 of the man I most feared and respected of all the world. 
 Before I could summon resolution to withdraw, Napoleon 
 spoke again. *' Hardenberg," said he, in a tone of con- 
 temptuous passion — " Hardenberg is but a Prussian ; the 
 event will satisfy his scruples ; besides, if they do talk 
 about invasion of territory, you can reply ; the Margraves 
 were always open to belligerent parties ; remind them of 
 what took place in '96, and again in 1800, though, ^«r5Ze«, 
 the souvenir may not be so pleasant a one ; protract the 
 discussion, at all events, Duroc ; time ! — time ! Then," 
 added he, after a brief pause, " let them advance, and 
 they'll never pass the Danube ; and if they wait for me, 
 I'll fall upon them here — here, between Ulm and Augsburg. 
 You must, however, start for Berlin at once." At this 
 instant a heavy hand fell upon my shoulder, and, passing 
 down my arm, seized me by the wrist. I started back, 
 and beheld a dragoon, for so his helmet and cloak bespoke, 
 of enormous stature, who, motioning me to silence, led me 
 softly and with noiseless step along the flower-beds, as if 
 fearful of attracting the Emperor's notice. My limbs tot- 
 tered beneath me as T went, for the dreadful imputation 
 an accident might fix on me, stared on me with all its 
 awful consequences. Without a word on either side we 
 reached the little railing, crossed it, and regained the open 
 park, when the soldier, placing himself in front of me, 
 said, in a deep, low voice, — ■ 
 
 " Your name — who are you ? " 
 
 "An otlicer of the huitieme regiment of hussars," said 
 I, boldly. 
 
 " We shall see that presently," replied he, in a tone of 
 disbelief. " How came you here ? " 
 
 In a few words I explained how, having remained too 
 late in the garden, I preferred to pass my night on a bi'nch, 
 to the unpleasantness of being brought up before the officer 
 on duty, adding, that it was only on the very moment of 
 his coming that I awoke. 
 
 '* I know that," interrupted he, in a less surly voice. '* I 
 found you sleeping, and feared to awake you suddenly, 
 lest in the surprise a word or a cry would escape you — one 
 syllable had cost your head." 
 
 In the tone of these last few words there was something 
 I thought I could recognize, and resolving at a bold ven-
 
 396 TOM BUPtKE OF " OURS." 
 
 ture in such an emergency as I found myself placed, T said 
 at a hazard, — 
 
 '* The better fortune mine, that T fell into the hands of a 
 kind as well as a brave soldier — the Corporal Pioche." 
 
 " Sacristi / Yoa know me then ! " cried he, thunder- 
 struck. 
 
 " To be sure I do. Could I be an aide-de-camp to the 
 General d'Auvergne, and not have heard of Pioche ? " 
 
 *' An aide-de-camp of the general," said he, starting 
 back, as he carried his hand to the salute. " Pardon, mon 
 officler; but you know that duty " 
 
 ''Quite true; it was all my own indiscretion. And 
 novv, Pioche, if you'll keep me company here till daybreak 
 — it cannot be far off now — the light will soon satisfy yoa 
 that my account of myself is a true one." 
 
 "Willingly, sir," said the gruff cuirassier : " my patrol 
 is, to watch the parterres irom the pavilion to the aUee 
 yonder ; and, if you please, we'll take up our quarters on 
 this bench." 
 
 They who know not the strange mixture of deference 
 and familiarity of which the relation between ofhcer and 
 soldier is made up in the French service, will perhaps 
 wonder at the tone of almost equality in which we now 
 conversed. But such is the case ; the revolutionary armies 
 a.cknowledged no other gradations of rank than such as 
 the service conferred, nor any degree of superiority save 
 that derivable from greater ability, or more daring heroism ; 
 and although no troops more implicitly obeyed the com- 
 mands of their officers, the occasion of discipline over, a 
 perfect feeling of equality reigned amongst all, whether 
 they wore the epaulettes of colonel or carried a musket in 
 the ranks. With time, and the changes the Consulate had 
 jntroduced, much of this excessive familiarity was sup- 
 pressed ; still it was no uncommon thing to hear the 
 humble rank and file address the general of division as 
 " thou " — the expression of closest friendship, probably 
 dating from the hours of schoolboy attachment : nor was 
 the officer of rank thought less of because, in the hours of 
 off-duty, he mixed freely with thos-e who had been his 
 companions through life, and talked with them as brothers. 
 It is probable that in no other nation such a course could 
 have been practised without a total subversion of all respect,
 
 A NIGTIT IN THE TUILEHIES GARDENS. C97 
 
 and the ruin of all habits of order. The Frenchman is, 
 however, essentially military ; not merely warlike, like the 
 inhabitants of Great Britain, his mind ever inclines to the 
 details of war as an art. It is in generalship he glories, 
 not the mere conflict of force ; and the humblest soldier 
 in the army takes an interest in the great game of tactics, 
 which in any other people would be quite incredible. 
 Hence he submits to the control which otherwise he could 
 not endure ; for this, he yields to command at the hands of 
 one, who, although his equal in all other respects, he here 
 acknowledges as his superior. He knows, too, that the 
 grade of officer is open to merit alone, and he feels that the 
 epaulette may be his own one day. Such causes as these, 
 constantly in operation, could not fail to raise the morale 
 of an army ; nor can we wonder that from sr.'^-h a source 
 were derived many, if not most, of the great names that 
 formed the marshals of France. 
 
 Again, to this military spirit the French owe the per- 
 fection of their tirailleur force — the consummate skill 
 of independent parties, of which every campaign gave 
 evidence. Napoleon lound this spirit in the nation, and 
 spared nothing to give it its fullest development. He 
 quickly saw to what height of enthusiasm a people could 
 be brought, to whom a cross or a decoration, an epaulette 
 or a sabre of honour, were deemed the ample rewards of 
 every daring and of every jorivation ; and never in any 
 age, or in any country, was chivalry so universally spread 
 over the wide surface of a people. With them, rank 
 claimed no exception from fatigue or suffering. The 
 officer fared little better than the soldier on a march ; in a 
 battle, he was only more exposed to danger ; by daring 
 only could he win his way upwards ; and an emulative 
 ardour was continually maintained, which was ever giving 
 to the world instances of individual heroism, far more 
 brilliant than all the famed achievements of the crusaders. 
 
 This brief digression, unnecessary perhaps to many of 
 my readers, may serve to explain to others how naturally 
 our conversation took the easy tone of familiar equality ; 
 nor will they be surprised at the abrupt question of the 
 cuirassier, as lie said, — 
 
 '"'' Mille tonnerres ! lieutenant, was it from your liking 
 the post of danger you selected that bench yonder? "
 
 398 TOM BUnKE OP " OURS.'* 
 
 " The choice was a mere accident." 
 
 "An accident, morhleu!^' said he, with a low laugh. 
 ** That was what Lasalle called it at the Adige, when the 
 wheel came off the eight-pounaer in the charge, and the 
 enemy carried off the gun. ' An accident ! ' said the Petit 
 Caporal to him — I was close by when he said it — * will your 
 friends in Paris call it an a: cident if the " ordre du jour" 
 to-morrow condemn you to be shot ? ' I know him well," 
 continued Pioche, " that I do ; I was second bombardier 
 with him at Toulon — ay, at Cairo too. I mind well the 
 evening he came to our quarters — poor enough we were 
 at the time — no clothes, no rations. I was cook to our 
 division, but somehow there was little duty in my depart- 
 ment, till one day the vivandiere's ass — a brave beast he 
 was too, before provisions fell short — a spent shot took 
 him in the flank, and killed him on the spot. Scicristi / 
 what damage it did ; all the canteens were smashed to 
 atoms ; horn goblets and platters knocked to pieces ; but 
 worst of all, a keg of ti-ue Nantz was broached, and every 
 drop lost. Poor Madame Gougon, she loved that ass as 
 if he had been one of the regiment ; and though we all 
 offered her assignats on our pay, for a month each, to give 
 us the carcase, she wouldn't do it. No, faith ! she would 
 have him buried ; and with funeral honours ! Parhleu ! 
 it was a whim ; but the poor thing was in grief, and we 
 could not refuse her. I commanded the party," continued 
 Pioche, " and a long distance we had to march, lest the 
 shots might be heard in the quartier-general. Well, we 
 had some trouble in getting the poor soul away from the 
 grave. Sacristi / she took it so much to heart, I thought 
 she'd have masses said for him ; but we did succeed at 
 last, and before dawn we were all witliin the camp as if 
 nothing had happened. The whole of that day, however, 
 the ass was never out of our minds. It was not grief — • 
 no, no ! don't think that ; we were all thinking of what a 
 sin it was to have him buried there — such a fine beast as 
 he was — and not a pound of meat to be had, if you were 
 to offer a nine-pounder gun for it. ' He is never the 
 worse for his funeral,' said I ; * remember, boys, how well 
 preserved he was in brandy before he was buried. Let's 
 have him up again ! ' No sooner was night come, than 
 we set off for the place where we laid him, and in less
 
 A KIGHT IN THE TUILERIES GARDENS. 399 
 
 than two hours I was busily employed in making a 
 delicious sahni of his haunch. Mille bomles I I think I 
 have the smell of it before me ; it was gihier, and t^e 
 gravy was like a j^ujee. We were all pleasantly seated 
 round the fire, watching every turn of the roast, when, 
 crack I I heard the noise of the patrol bringing his gun to 
 the present, and before we had time to jump up, the Petit 
 Caporal was upon us — he was mounted on a little dark 
 Arab, and dressed in his grey surtout. 
 
 " ' What's all this here ? ' cried he, pulling up short, 
 while the barb sniffed the air, just as if he guessed what 
 the meat was. ' Who has stolen this sheep ? ' 
 
 " ' It is not a sheep, general,' said I, stepping forward, 
 and trying to hide the long ladle I was basting with. 
 
 " ' Not a sheep— then it is an ox, mayhap, or a calf,* 
 said he again, with an angry look. 
 
 " ' Neither, general,' said I ; ' it was a — a — a beast of 
 our division.' 
 
 " ' A beast of your division ! What does that mean ? 
 No trifling, mind ! Out with it at once. What's this ? 
 Where did it come from ? ' 
 
 " ' An ass, may it please you, sir,' said I, trembling all 
 over, for I saw he was in a rare passion ; and as he 
 repeated the word after me, I told him the whole story, 
 and how we could not sufi'er such capital prog to be eaten 
 by any other than good citizens of tiie Republic. 
 
 " While I was telling him so much, the rest stood round 
 terrified ; they could not even turn the joint, though it 
 was burning, and, to say truth, I thought myself we were 
 all in a bad way, when suddenly he burst into a fit of 
 laughing, and said, — 
 
 " ' What part of France do these fellows come from ? ' 
 
 " ' Alsace, mon general^ was the answer from every 
 one. 
 
 " ' I thought so, I thought so,' said he. * Sybarites — 
 all.' ^ ' ^ ^ 
 
 "'No, mon general — grenadiers of the Fourth — - 
 Milhaud's brigade,' said I ; and with that he turned away, 
 and we could hear him laughing long after he galloped 
 off". I saw he mistook us," said Pioche, "and that he 
 could not be angry with the old Fourth." 
 
 " You must have seen a great deal of hardship, Pioche ? "
 
 400 TOM EURKE OF "CUKS." 
 
 tsaid I, as lie came to a pause ; and wisLiing to draw him 
 on to speak more of his campaigns. 
 
 " Ma foi, there were few who saw service from '92 to 
 '97 had not their share of it ; but they were brave times, 
 too ; every battle had its day of promotion afterwards. 
 Le Petit Caporal would ride down the ranks with his statf, 
 looking for this one, and asking for that. ' Where's tho 
 adjutant of the Sixth? ' 'Dead, mon general.' 'Where's 
 the colonel of the Yoltigears ? ' ' Badly wounded.' 
 'Carry him this sabre of honour.' 'Who fell over the 
 Austrian standard, and carried away the fragment of the 
 drapeau ? ' ' One of my fellows, general ; here he is.' 
 * And what is your name, my brave fellow ? ' " 
 
 The corporal paused here, and drew a deep breath ; and 
 after a few seconds' pause, added in altered tone, "" Sacristif 
 they were fine times ! " 
 
 " But what did he say to the soldier that took the 
 colours ? " asked I, impatiently. " Who was he ? " 
 
 " It was I," i-eplied Pioche himself, in a deep voice^ 
 where pride and devotion struggled powerfully together. 
 
 " You, Pioche — indeed ! Well, what said the general 
 when he saw you? " 
 
 " ' Ah, Pioche,' said he, gaily, ' my old friend of 
 Toulouse.' 
 
 " ' Yes, general,' said I, ' we've had some warm work 
 together.' 
 
 " ' True, Pioche, and may again perhaps ; but you've 
 been made a corporal since that ; what am I to do for you 
 nuw ? " 
 
 " This was a puzzling question, and I did not know how 
 to answer it, and he repeated it before I could make up 
 my mind. 
 
 " ' Is there nothing, then, in which I can be of use to 
 Corporal Pioche ? " 
 
 " ' Yes, mon general,^ said I, ' there is.' 
 
 *' • Speak it out, man, then ; what is it ? ' 
 
 "*I wish, then, you'd rate the commissary-general of 
 our division for one blunder he's ever making. The 
 powder they serve us out is always wet, and our bread is 
 as hard as mitraille. Neither bayonets nor teeth will last 
 for ever, you know, general.' And he burst out a-laugh- 
 ing before I finished."
 
 A NIGHT IN THE TUILERIES GARDENS. 401 
 
 "*Tlest assured, Pioclie, I'll look to this,' said he; and 
 he kept his word." 
 
 " But why didn't you ask for promotion ? " said I ; 
 " what folly, was it not, to throw away such a chance ? 
 You might have been an officer ere this." 
 
 "No," replied he, with a sorrowful shake of the head 
 "that was impossible." 
 
 •* But why so ? Bonaparte knew you well ; he often 
 noticed you." 
 
 " True — all true," said he, more sadly than before ; 
 ** but then " 
 
 " What, then ? " asked I, with more of interest than 
 delicacy at the moment. 
 
 " I never learned to read," said Pioche, in a low voice, 
 which trembled with agitation, while he drew his swarthy 
 hand across his eyes, and was silent. 
 
 The few words so spoken thrilled most powerfully 
 within me. I saw that I had awakened the saddest 
 thoughts of the poor fellow's heart, and would have given 
 worlds to be able to recall my question. Here, then, was 
 the corroding sorrow of his lite — the grief that left its 
 impress on his stern features, and tinged with care the 
 open brow of the brave soldier. Each moment our silence 
 was prolonged made it still more poignant, but I made an 
 effort to break it, and happily with success. 
 
 " After all, Pioche," said I, laying my hand on his arm, 
 *' I would willingly exchange my epaulettes for these 
 stripes on your sleeve, to have had Bonaparte speak to 
 me as he has spoken to yoa ; that was a prouder dis- 
 tinction than any other, and will be a lender recollection, 
 too, hereatter." 
 
 "Do you think so, mon lieutenant?'^ said the poor 
 fellow, turning round quickly, as a faint smile played 
 about his features. "Do you think so? Sacrist I / I have 
 Baid as much to myself sometimes, when I've been alone; 
 and then I've almost thought I could hear his kind, soft 
 voice ringing in my ears — for it is kind and soft as a 
 woman's, when he pleases, though, parbleu f it can call 
 like a trumpet at other times, ay, and tingle within your 
 heart, till it sets your blood boiling, and makes your hands 
 twitch, I mind well the campaign in the Valais — the 
 words keep dinning in my ears to this hour." 
 
 \0L. I. D D
 
 402 TOM EUEKE OF " OURS." 
 
 " What was that, Pioche ?" said I, pleased to see Lim 
 turn from the remembrance of his own regrets. 
 
 " It is a good while past now — I forget the year exactly 
 — but we were marching on Italy, and it was in spring ; 
 still, the ground was covered with snow ; every night came 
 on with a hailstorm that lasted till nigh daybreak ; and 
 when we arose from the bivouac, we were so stiff and 
 frozen we could not move. They said, at the time, some- 
 thing went wrong with the commissariat — but when did it 
 ever go right, I wonder ? Ammunition and provisions 
 were always late ; and though the general used to drive 
 away a commissary every week or ten days for misconduct, 
 the new ones that came turned out just as bad. The 
 Petit Caporal kept sending them word to Paris not to send 
 down a,n.j more ' savants,' but a good, honest man, with 
 common sense and active habits ; but, parbleu / birds of 
 that feather must have been rare just then, for we never 
 could catch one of them. Whatever was the cause, we 
 never were so ill off : our chakos were like wet paper, and 
 took any shape ; and out of ridicule we used to come upon 
 parade with them fashioned into three-cocked hats, and 
 pointed caps, and slouched beavers. The officers couldn't 
 say a word, you know, all this time. It was not our fault 
 if we were in such misery. Then, as to shoes — a few 
 could boast of the upper-leathers, but a sole or a heel was 
 not to be found in a company. Our coats were actually in 
 rags, and a pivot sentry looked, for all the world, like a 
 flagstaff, as he stood fluttering in the wind. 
 
 *' We bore up, however, as well as we could for some 
 time, grumbling occasionally over our condition, and 
 sometimes laughing at it, when we had the heart ; till at 
 last, when we saw the new convoy arrive, and all the bis- 
 cuits distributed among the young regiments and the new 
 conscripts, we could endure it no longer, and a terrible 
 outcry arose among the troops. We were all drawn up 
 on parade — it was an inspection ; for, parhleu I though 
 we were as ragged as scarecrows, they would have us out 
 twice a week to review us, and put us through the 
 manoeuvres. Scarcely had the general — it was Bonaparte 
 himself — got half-way down the line, when a shout ran 
 from rank to rank — ' Bread ! shoes ! caps ! biscuits ! ' 
 
 *' ' What do I hear ? ' said Bonaparte, standing up in his
 
 A NIGHT IN THE TUILEPJES GARDENS. 403 
 
 Bfcirrups, and frowning at the line. * Who are the mal- 
 contents that dare to cry out on parade ? Let them stand 
 out. Let me see them.' 
 
 " And at once more than half the regiment of grena- 
 diers sprang forward, and shouted louder than before, 
 * Bread ! bread ! Let us have food and clothing ! If we 
 are to fight, let us not die of hunger ! ' 
 
 *' * Grenadiers of the Fourth,' cried he, in a terrible 
 voice, * to your ranks. Second division, and third ! * 
 shouted he, with his hand up, 'form in square — carry 
 arms! — present arms ! — front rank, kneel ! — kneeil ' said 
 he, again, louder ; for you know we never did that in those 
 days. However, every word was obeyed, and down dropped 
 the leading files on their knees, and there we were rooted 
 to the ground. Not a man spoke — all silent as death. 
 
 " He then advanced to the front of the staff, and point- 
 ing his hand to a convoy of waggons that could just be 
 seen turning the angle of the road, with white flags flying, 
 to show what they were, called out; — 'Commissary-general, 
 distribute full rations and half ammunition to the young 
 regiments — half rations and full ammunition to the vete- 
 rans of Egypt ! ' A shout of applause burst out, but he 
 cried louder than before — ' Silence in the ranks ! ' Then, 
 taking off his chapeau, he stood bare-headed before us ; 
 and, in a voice like the bugle that blows the charge, he 
 read from a large paper in his hand — ' In the name of tlio 
 French Eepublic — one and indivisible. The Directory of 
 the nation decrees — that the thanks of the Government be 
 given to the Grenadiers of the Fourth, who have deserved 
 well of their country. Vive la Repuhlique f* 
 
 " * Vive la Eepuhlique ! ' shouted the whole square in 
 a roar, like the sea itself. Who thought more of hard- 
 ships or hunger then ? Our only desire was, when we were 
 to meet the enemy ; and many a jest and many a laugh went 
 round, as we loaded our pouches with the new ammunition. 
 
 "'Who's that fellow yonder?' said Bonaparte, as he 
 rode slowly down the line. ' I should know him, I think. 
 Isn't that Pioche ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, mon general,^ said T, saluting him. * It is what 
 remains of poor Pioche ; pa?'bleu ! very little more than 
 half, though.' 
 
 " ' Ah ! glutton,' said he, laughing, * I ought to have 
 
 D D 2
 
 404 TOM BURKE OP ** OURS." 
 
 guessed you were liere ; one sucli gourmand is enough to 
 corrupt a whole brigade.' 
 
 '* ' Pioche is a good soldier, citizen-general,' said my 
 captain, who was an old schoolfellow of mine. 
 
 " ' I know it, captain,* said the general. 
 
 " ' You were in Excelmans's dragoons, Pioche, if I 
 mistake not ? * 
 
 " ' Two years and ten months, citizen-general.' 
 
 *' ' Why did you leave them, and when ? ' 
 
 *' ' At Monte Bello, with the colonel's permission.' 
 
 " ' And the reason ? ' 
 
 *" 3forhleic! it was a fancy I had. They killed two 
 horses under me that day, and I saw I was not destined 
 for the cavalry.' 
 
 " ' Ha, ha ! ' said he, with a sly laugh ; * had they been 
 asses, the thing might have been different — eh ? ' 
 
 " * Yes, mo?i general,' said I, growing red ; for I knew 
 what he meant. 
 
 " ' Come, Pioche, you must go back again to your old 
 corps; they want one or two like you — though, parbleuJ 
 you'll riiin the Republic in remounts.' 
 
 " 'As you please it. general.' 
 
 ** ' Well, what shall I do for you besides ? Any more 
 commissaries to row — eh ? Methinks no bad time to 
 gratify you in that way.' 
 
 *' ' Ah, mon general ! if you would only hang up one 
 now and then.' 
 
 " ' So I intend, the next time I hear of any of my 
 soldiers being obliged to eat the asses of the vivandieres.' 
 And with that he rode on, laughing, though none, save 
 myself, knew what he alluded to ; and, ma foi, I was not 
 disposed to turn the laugh against myself by telling. But 
 there goes the reveil, and I must leave you, mon lieutenant ; 
 the gates will be open in a few minutes." 
 
 " Good-bye, Pioche," said I, "and many thanks for your 
 pleasant company. I hope we shall meet again, and soon." 
 
 " 1 hope so, mon lieutenant ; and if it be at a bivouac 
 fire, all the better." 
 
 The gallant corporal made his military salute, wheeled 
 about, stiff' as if on parade, and departed; while I, throw- 
 ing my cloak over my arm, turned into the broad alley 
 and left the garden.
 
 405 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 A STORY OP THE YEAR '92. 
 
 I FOUND everything in the Rue de Rohan as I had left it 
 the day before. General d'Auvergne had not been there 
 during my absence, but a messenger from Versailles 
 brought intelligence that the Court would arrive that 
 evening in Paris, and in all likelihood the general would 
 accompany them. 
 
 My day was then at my disposal, and having dressed, I 
 strolled out to enjoy all the strange and novel sights of 
 the great capital. They who can carry their memories 
 back to Paris at that period, may remember the prodi- 
 gious amount of luxury and wealth so prodigally exhi- 
 bited — the equipages, the liveries, the taste in dress, were 
 all of the most costly character — the very shops, too, vied 
 with each other in the splendour and richness of their 
 display, and court uniforms and ornaments of jewellery 
 glittered in every window. Hussar jackets in all their 
 bravery — chapeaux covered with feather trimming and 
 looped with diamonds — sabres with ivory scalabards 
 encrusted with topaz and turquoise, replaced the simple 
 costumes of the revolutionary era, as rapidly as did the 
 high-sounding titles of " Excellence " and " Monseigneur " 
 the unpretending designation of " citoyen." Still, the 
 military feature of the land was in the ascendant; in 
 the phrase of the day, it was the " moustache " that 
 governed. Not a street but had its group of officers, on 
 horseback or on foot — regiments passed on duty, or 
 arrived from the march at every turn of the way. The 
 very rabble kept time and step as they followed, and the 
 warlike spirit animated every class of the popuhition. 
 All these things ministered to my enthusiasm, and set my 
 heart beating stronger for the time when the career of 
 arms was to open before me. This, if I were to judge
 
 406 TOM BURTvE OF " OURS." 
 
 from all I saw, conld not now be far distant. The conntrjr 
 for miles around Pans was covered with marching men, 
 their faces all turned eastward — orderlies, booted and 
 splashed, trotted rapidly from street to street, and general 
 officers, with their aides-de-camp, rode up and down with 
 a haste that boded preparation. 
 
 My mind was too full of its own absorbing interests to 
 make me care to visit the theatre, and having dined in a 
 cate on the Boulevard, I turned towards the general's 
 quarters, in the hope of finding him arrived. As I entered 
 the Rue de Rohan, I was surprised at a crowd collected 
 about the door, watching the details of packing a travelling 
 carriage which stood before it. A heavy fourgon, loaded 
 with military chests and boxes,, seemed also to attract 
 their attention, and call forth many a surmise as to its 
 destination. 
 
 "Le Petit Caporal has something in his head, depend 
 upon it," said a thin, dark-whiskered fellow with a wooden 
 leg, whose air and gesture bespoke the old soldier ; *' the 
 staff never move oflP, extra post, without a good reason 
 for it." 
 
 ** It is the English are about to catch it this time," said 
 a miserable-looking, decrepit creature, who was occupied 
 in roasting chestnuts over an open stove. " Hot, all hot ! 
 messieurs et mesdames ! real ' marrons de Nancy ' — the 
 true and only veritable chestnuts with a truffle flavour. 
 Sacristi ! now the sea- wolves will meet their match. It 
 is such brave fellows as you, monsieur le grenadier, can 
 make them tremble." 
 
 The old pensioner smoothed down his moustache, and 
 made no reply. 
 
 " The English, indeed ! " said a fat, ruddy-faced woman, 
 with a slight line of dark beard on her upper lip ; " my 
 husband's a pioneer in the Twenty-second, and says they're 
 nothing better than poltroons. How we made them run 
 at Arcole ! Wasn't it x^rcole ? " said she, as a buzz of 
 laughter ran through the crowd. 
 
 " Tonnerre de guerre,'' cried the little man, " if I was 
 at them! " A loud burst of merriment met this warlike 
 speech, while the maimed soldier, apparently pleased with 
 the creature's courage, smiled blandly on him as he said, 
 "Let me have two sous' worth of your chestnuts."
 
 A STOKY OF THE YEAR '92. 407 
 
 Leaving the party to their discussion, I now entered ihe 
 house, and edging my way upstairs between trunks and 
 packing-cases, arrived at the drawing-room. The general 
 had just come in ; he had been the whole morning at 
 Court, and was eating a hurried dinner in order to return 
 to the Tuileries for the evening reception. Although his 
 manner towards me was kind and cordial in the extreme, 
 I thought he looked agitated and even depressed, and 
 seemed much older and more broken than before. 
 
 " You see, Burke, you'll have little time to enjoy Paris 
 gaieties — we leave to-morrow." 
 
 " Indeed, sir! — so soon ? " 
 
 "Yes, Lasalle is oft" already; Dorsenne starts in two 
 hours ; and we three rendezvous at Coblentz. I wished, 
 much to see you," continued he, after a minute's pauso; 
 *' but I could not get away from Versailles even for a day. 
 Tell me, have you got a letter I wrote to you when at 
 Mayence ? I mean, is it still in existence ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said I, somewhat astonished at the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " I wrote it hurriedly," added he, with something of 
 confusion in his manner j " do let me see it." 
 
 I unlocked my writing-desk at once, and handed him his 
 own letter. He opened it hastily, and having thrown his 
 eyes speedily across it, said, and in a voice far more at 
 ease than before, — 
 
 " That will do. I feared lest perhaps But no 
 
 matter — this is better than I thought." 
 
 With this he gave the letter back into my hands, and 
 appeared for some moments engaged in deep thought; 
 then, with a voice and manner which showed a different 
 channel was given to his thoughts, he said, — 
 
 " The game has opened — the Austrians have invaded 
 Bavaria. The whole disposable force of France is on the 
 march — a hurried movement — but so it is. Napoleon 
 always strikes like his own emblem, the eagle." 
 
 *' True, sir ; but even that serves to heighten the chival- 
 rous feeling of the soldier, when the sword springs from 
 the scabbard at the call of honour, and is not drawn slowly 
 foi'th at the whispered counsel of some wily diplomat." 
 
 He smiled half-mournfully at the remark, or at my 
 impetuosity in making it, as he said, —
 
 408 TOM BUKKE OF " OURS.'* 
 
 " My dear boy, never flatter yourself that the cause of 
 any war can enter into the calculation of the soldier. The 
 liberty he fights for is often the rankest tyranny ; the 
 patriotism he defends the veriest oppression. Play the 
 game as though the stake were but your own ambition, if 
 you would play it manfully. As for me, I buckle on the 
 harness for the last time, come what will of it. The 
 Emperor feels, and justly feels, indignant that many of 
 the older officers have declined the service by which alone 
 they were elevated to rank, and wealth, and honour. It 
 was not, then, at the moment when he distinguished me 
 by an unsought promotion, still more, conferred a per- 
 sonal favour on me, that I could ask leave to retire from 
 the army." 
 
 By the tone in which he said these last few words, I 
 saw that the general was now approaching the topic I felt 
 so curious about, and did not venture by a word to in- 
 terrupt or divert his thoughts from it. My calculation 
 proved correct ; for, after meditating some eight or ten 
 minutes, he drew his chair closer to mine, and in a voice 
 of ill-repressed agitation, spoke thus, — 
 
 " You, doubtless, know the history of our great revolu- 
 tion, the causes that led to, the consequences that imme- 
 diately sprang from it — the terrible anarchy, the utter 
 confiscation of wealth, and, worse still, the social disor- 
 ganization that invaded every family, however humble, 
 or however exalted, setting wives against their husbands, 
 children against their parents, and making brothers sworn 
 enemies to each other. It was in vain for any man once 
 engaged in the struggle to draw back ; the least hesitation 
 to perform any order of the Convention — the delay of a 
 moment, to think — was death ; some one was ever on the 
 watch to denounce the man thus deliberating, and he was 
 led forth to the guillotine like the blackest criminal. The 
 immediate result of all this was a distrust that pervaded 
 the entire nation. No one knew who to speak to, nor 
 dare any confide in him who once had been his dearest 
 friend. The old Royalists trembled at every stir; the few 
 demonstrations they forced themselves to make of con- 
 currence in the new state of things, were received with 
 suspicion and jealousy. The ' Blues,' for so the revolu- 
 tionary party was called, thirsted for their blood; the
 
 A STORY OF THE TEAR *92. 409 
 
 aristocracy had been, as they deemed, long their oppress- 
 ors ; and where vengeance ceased, cupidity began. They 
 longed to seize upon the confiscated estates, and revel as 
 masters in the halls where so oft they had waited us 
 lacqueys. But the evil ended not here : wherever private 
 hate or secret malice lurked, an opportunity for revenge 
 now offered, and for one head that fell under the supposed 
 guilt of treason to France, a hundred dropped beneath 
 the axe from causes of personal animosity and long- 
 nurtured vengeance ; and thus many an idle word uttered 
 in haste or carelessness, some passing slight, some chance 
 neglect, met now its retribution, and that retribution was 
 ever death. 
 
 " It chanced that in the south, in one of those remote 
 districts where intelligence is always slow in arriving, and 
 where political movements rarely disturb the quiet current 
 of daily life, there lived one of those old seigneurs who, 
 at that period, were deemed sovereign princes in the little 
 locale they inhabited. The soil had been their own for 
 centuries, long custom had made them respected and 
 looked up to, while the acts of kindness and benevolence 
 in which, from father to son, their education consisted, 
 formed even a stronger tie to the affections of the peasantry. 
 The Church, too, contributed not a little to the main- 
 tenance of this feudalism, and the ' chateau ' entered into 
 the subject of the village prayers as naturally as though a 
 very principle of their faith. There was something beau- 
 tifully touching in the intercourse between the lord of the 
 Boil and its tillers — in the kindly interest of the one, re- 
 paid in reverence and devotion by the others; his fore- 
 sight for their benefit, their attachment and fidelity, the 
 paternal care, the filial love, made a picture of rural hap- 
 piness such as no land ever equalled, such as perhaps 
 none will ever see again. The seigneur of whom I speak 
 v/as a true type of this class ; he had been, in his boyhood, 
 a page at the gorgeous Court of Louis XV., mixed in the 
 voluptuous fascinations of the period, but, early disgusted 
 by the sensuality of the day, retired to his distant cliatoau, 
 bringing with him a wife, one of the most beautiful and 
 accomplished persons of the Court, but one who, like him- 
 self, preferred the peace and tranquillity of a country life 
 to the whirl V, ind pleasures of a vicious capital. For ycara
 
 410 TOM BUEKE OF " OURS." 
 
 they lived childless; but at last, after a long lapse of time, 
 two children were born to this union, a boy and girl, both 
 lovely, and likely in every respect to bless them with 
 happiness. Shortly after the birth of the girl, the mother 
 became delicate, and after some months of suffering, died. 
 The father, who never rallied from the hour of her death, 
 and took little interest in the world, soon followed her, 
 and the children were left orphans when the eldest was 
 but four years of age, and his sister but three. Before the 
 count died, he sent for his steward ; — you know that the 
 steward, or intendant, in France, was formerly the person 
 of greatest trust in any family, the faithful adviser in times 
 of difficulty, the depositary of secrets, the friend, in a 
 word, who in humble guise offered his counsel in every 
 domestic arrangement, and without whom no project was 
 entertained or determined on ; and usually the office was 
 hereditary, descending from father to son for centuries. 
 
 " In this fiamily such was the case ; his father and grand- 
 father before him had filled the office, and Leon Guichard 
 well knew every tradition of the house, and from his in* 
 fancy his mind had been stored with tales of its ancient 
 wealth and former greatness. His father had died but a 
 short time previous, and when the Count's last illness 
 seized him, Leon was only in the second year of his 
 stewardship. Brief as the period was, however, it had 
 sufficed to give abundant proof of his zeal and ability. 
 New sources of wealth grew up under his judicious man- 
 agement — improvements were everywhere conspicuous ; 
 and while the seigneur himself found his income increased 
 by nearly one-half, the tenants had gained in equal pro- 
 portion ; such was the result of his activity and intelligence. 
 These changes, marvellous as they may seem, were then 
 of frequent occurrence — the lands of the south had been 
 tilled for centuries without any effort at improvement — 
 sons were content to go on as their fathers had done before 
 them — increased civilization, with its new train of wants 
 and luxuries, never invaded this remote, untravelled dis- 
 trict, and primitive tastes and simple habits succeeded 
 each other generation after generation unaltered and 
 unchanged. Suddenly, however, a new light broke on the 
 the world, which penetrated even the darkness of the far- 
 olf valleys of La Provence. Intelligence began to be more
 
 A STOR!^ OF THE YEAR '92. 411 
 
 widely diffused — men read and reflected — the rudiments of 
 every art and every science were put within the reach of 
 humble comprehensions ; and they who before were limited 
 to memory or hearsay for such knowledge as they pos- 
 sessed, could now apply at the fountain for themselves. 
 Leon Guichard was not slow in cultivating these new 
 resources, and applying them to the circumstances about 
 him ; and although many an obstacle arose, dictated by 
 stupid adherence to old customs, or fast-rooted prejudice 
 against new- fashioned methods, by perseverance he over- 
 came them all, and actually enriched the people in spite of 
 themselves. 
 
 " The seigneur, himself a man of no mean intellect, saw 
 much of this with sorrow — he felt that a mighty change 
 was accomplishing, and that as one by one the ancient 
 landmarks by which men had been guided for ages were 
 removed, none could foresee what results might follow, nor 
 where the passion for alteration might cease. The super- 
 stitions of the Church, harmless in themselves, were now 
 openly attacked ; its observances, before so deeply vene- 
 rated, were even assailed as idle ceremonies, and it seemed 
 as if the strong cable that bound men to faith and loyalty 
 had parted, and that their minds were drifting over a 
 broad and pathless sea. Such was the ominous opening 
 of the revolution, such the terrible ground-swell before 
 the storm. 
 
 " On his death-bed, then, he entreated Leon to be aware 
 that evil days were approaching — that the time was not 
 distant when men should rely upon the affection and love 
 of those around them, on the ties that attached to each 
 other for years long, on the mutual interest that had grown 
 up from their cradles — he besought him to turn the 
 people's minds, as far as might be, from the specious 
 theories that were afloat, and fix them on their once-loved 
 traditions — and, above all, he charged him, as the guar- 
 dian of his orphan children, to keep them aloof from the 
 contamination of dangerous doctrines, and to train them 
 up in the ancient virtues of their house, in charity and 
 benevolence. 
 
 *' Scarce had the old count's grave closed over him, 
 when men began to perceive a marked change in Leon 
 Guichard; no longer humble, even to subservieucy, aa
 
 412 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 before, he now assumed an air of pride and haughtiness 
 tha.t soon estranged his companions from him. As guar- 
 dian to the orphan children, he resided in the chateau, and 
 took on him the pretensions of the master. Its stately 
 equipage, with great emblazoned panels, the village won- 
 der at every fete-day, was now replaced by a more modern 
 vehicle, newly arrived from Paris, in which Monsieur 
 Guichard daily took his airings. The old servants, many 
 of them born in the chateau, were sent adrift, and a new 
 and very different class succeeded them ; all was changed; 
 even the little path that led up from the presbytere to the 
 chateau, and along which the old cure was seen wending 
 his way on each Sunday to his dinner with the seigneur, 
 was now closed — the gate walled up — while the Sabbath 
 itself was only dedicated to greater festivities and excess, 
 to the scandal of the villagers. 
 
 "Meanwhile, the children grew up in strength and 
 beauty ; like wild flowers, they had no nurture, but they 
 flourished in all this neglect, ignorant and unconscious of 
 the scenes around them. They roved about the livelong 
 day through the meadows, or that wilderness of a garden, 
 on which no longer any care was bestowed, and where 
 rank luxuriance gave a beauty of its own to the rich 
 vegetation. With the unsuspecting freshness of their 
 youth, they enjoyed the present without a thought of the 
 luture — they loved each other, and were happy. To 
 them the vague reports and swelling waves of the revolu- 
 tion, which each day gained ground, brought neither fear 
 nor apprehension ; they little dreamed that the violence of 
 political strife could ever reach their quiet valle^-s : nor 
 did they think the hour was near when the tramp of 
 soldiery, and the ruffianly shout of predatory war, were to 
 replace the song of the vigneron and the dance of the 
 villager. The revolution came at last, sweeping like a 
 torrent over the land ; it blasted as it went — beneath its 
 baneful breath everything withered and wasted — loyalty, 
 religion, aflection, and brotherly love, all died out in the 
 devoted country — anarchy and bloodshed were masters of 
 the scene. The first dreadful act of this fearful drama 
 passed like a dream to those who, at a distance from Paris, 
 only read of the atrocities of that wretched capital ; but 
 when the wave rolled nearer, when crowds of armed men,
 
 A STORY OF THE YEAR '92. 413 
 
 wild and savage in look, with ragged uniforms and blood- 
 Btained hands, prowled about the villages, where in 
 happier times a soldier had never been seen — when the 
 mob around the guillotine supplied the place of the gather- 
 ing at the market — when the pavement was wet and 
 slippery with human blood, men's natures suddenly became 
 changed, as though some terrible curse from on high had 
 fallen on them ; their minds caught up the fearful conta- 
 gion of revolt, and a mad impulse to deny all they had 
 once held sacred and venerable seized on all. Their 
 blasphemies against religion went hand in hand with their 
 desecration of everything holy in social life, and a pre- 
 eminence in guilt became the highest object of ambition. 
 Sated with slaughter, bloated with crime, the nation reeled 
 like a drunken savage over the ruin it created, and with 
 the insane lust of blood poured forth its armed thousands 
 throughout the whole of Europe. Then began the much- 
 boasted triumphs of the revolutionary armies — the lauded 
 victories of those great asserters of liberty — say, rather, 
 the carnage of famished wolves, the devastating rage of 
 bloodthirsty maniacs. The conscription seized on the 
 whole youth of France, as if fearful that, in the untar- 
 nished minds of the young, the seeds of better things 
 might bear fruit in season. They carried them away to 
 scenes of violence and rapine, where, amid the shouts of 
 battle and the cries of the dying, ho voice of human 
 sympathy might touch their hearts, no trembling of re- 
 morse should stir within them. 
 
 " ' You are named in the conscription, Monsieur,' said 
 Leon, in a short abrupt tone, as one morning he entered 
 the dressing-room of his young master. 
 
 " ' I ! I named in the conscription ! ' replied the other, 
 with a look of incredulity and anger. ' This is but a sorry 
 jest, ]\[aster Leon, and not in too good taste, either.' 
 
 " ' Good or bad,' answered the steward, ' the fact is as I 
 say ; here is the order from the municipaUte. You were 
 fifteen yesterday, you know.' 
 
 " ' True ; and what then ? Am I not Marquis de 
 Neufchatel, Count de Rochefort, in right of my mother ?' 
 
 " ' There are no more marquises, no more counts,' said 
 the other, roughly ; ' France has had enough of such 
 cattle ; the less you allude to them the safer for your head.*
 
 414 To:.i Bur.KE of *' ours.'* 
 
 " He spoke truly, the reign of the aristocracy was 
 ended ; and while they were yet speaking, an emissary of 
 the Convention, accompanied by a party of troops, arrived 
 at the chateau to fetch away the newly-drawn conscript. 
 
 " I must not dwell on the scene which followed — the 
 heartrending sorrow of those who had lived but for each 
 other, now torn asunder for the firs time, not knowing 
 when, if ever, they were to meet again. His sister wished 
 to follow him, but even had he permitted it, such would 
 have been impossible. The dreadful career of a revolu- 
 tionary soldier was an obstacle insurmountable. The same 
 evening the battalion of infantry to which he was attached 
 began their march towards Savoy, and the lovely orphan 
 of the chateau fell dangerously ill. 
 
 *' Youth, however, triumphed over her malady, which, 
 indeed, was brought on by grief; and after some weeks 
 she was restored to health. During the interval, nothing 
 could be more kind and attentive than Leon Guichard ; 
 his manner, of late years rough and uncivil, became 
 softened and tender ; the hundred little attentions which 
 illness seeks for he paid with zeal and watchfulness ; 
 everything which could alleviate her sorrow or calm her 
 afflicted mind, was resorted to with a kind of instinctive 
 delicacy, and she began to feel that in her long-cherished 
 dislike of the intendant she had done him grie\^ous wrong. 
 
 " This change of manner attracted the attention of many 
 besides the inhabitants of the chateau. They remarked 
 his altered looks and bearing, the more studied attention 
 to his dress and appearance, and the singular difference in 
 all his habits of life ; no longer did he pass his time in the 
 wild orgies of debauchery and excess, but in careful 
 management of the estate, and rarely or never left the 
 chateau after nightfall. 
 
 " A hundred different interpretations were given to this 
 line of acting : some said that the more settled condition 
 of political affairs had made him cautious and careful, for 
 it was now the reign of the Directory, and the old excesses 
 of '92 were no longer endured ; others, that he was 
 naturally of a kind and benevolent nature, and that his 
 savage manner and reckless conduct were assumed merely 
 in compliance with the horrible features of the time. 
 None, however, suspected the real cause. Leon Guichard
 
 A STORY OF IriE YEAR *92. 415 
 
 was m love! Yes, the humble steward, the coarse 
 follower of the vices of that detestable period, was capti- 
 vated by the beauty of the young girl, now springing into 
 womanhood. The freshness of her artless nature, her 
 guileless innocence, her soft voice, her character so 
 balanced between gaiety and thoughtfulness, her loveli- 
 ness, so unlike all he had ever seen before, had seized upon 
 liis whole heart ; and, as the sun darting from behind the 
 blackest clouds will light up the surface of a bleak land- 
 scape, touching every barren rock and tipping every bell 
 of purple heath with colour and richness, so over his 
 rugged nature the beauty of this fair girl shed a very halo 
 of light, and a spirit awoke within him to seek for better 
 things, to endeavour better things, to fly the coarse, 
 depraved habits of his former self, to conform to the tastes 
 of her he worshipped. Day by da}^ his stern nature became 
 more softened. No longer those terrible bursts of passion, 
 to which he once gave way, escaped him ; his voice, his 
 very look, too, were changed in their expression, and a 
 gentleness of manner almost amounting to timidity now 
 characterized him who had once been the type of th^ 
 most savage Jacobin. 
 
 *' She to whom this wondrous change was owing knew 
 nothing of the miracle she had worked ; she would not, 
 indeed, have believed, had one told her. She scarcely 
 remarked him when they met, and did not perceive that 
 he was no longer like his former self; her whole soul 
 wrapped up in her dear brother's fate, she lived from week 
 to week in the thought of his letters home. It is true her 
 life had many enjoyments which owed their source to the 
 intendant's care ; but she knew not of this, and felt more 
 p^rateful to him when he came letter in hand from the 
 little post of the village, than when the fair moss-roses of 
 spring filled the vases of the salon, or the earliest fruits 
 of summer decked her table. At times something in his 
 demeanour would strike her — a tinge of sorrow it seemed 
 rather than aught else ; but as she attributed this, as every 
 other grief, to her brother's absence, she paid no further 
 attention to it, and merely thought good Leon had more 
 feeling than they used to give him credit for. 
 
 " At last, the campaign of Arcole over, the young soldier 
 obtained a short leave to see his sister. How altered were
 
 416 
 
 they both ; she, from the child, had become the beautiful 
 g'lvl ; her eyes flashing with the brilliant sparkle of youth, 
 her step elastic, her colour changing with every passing 
 expression. He was already a man, bronzed and sun- 
 burnt ; his dark eyes darker, and his voice deeper, but 
 still his former self in all the warmth of his afi'ection to 
 his sister. 
 
 " The lieutenant, for so was he always called by the old 
 soldier who accompanied him as his servant, and often- 
 times by the rest of his household, had seen much of the 
 world in the few years of his absence. 
 
 " The chances and changes of a camp had taught him 
 many things which lie far beyond its own limits, and he 
 had learned to scan men's minds and motives, with a quick 
 eye and ready wit. He was not long, therefore, in 
 observing the alteration in Leon Guichard's manner, nor 
 was he slow in tracing it to its real cause. At first, the 
 sudden impulse of his passion would have driven him to 
 any length ; the presumption of such a thought was too 
 great to endure — but then the times he lived in taught 
 him gome strong lessons ; he remembered the scenes of 
 social disorder and anarchy of his childhood ; how every 
 rank became subverted, and how men's minds were left to 
 their own unbridled influences to choose their own position, 
 and he bethought him, that in such trials as these, Leon 
 had conducted himself with moderation ; that to his 
 skilful management it was owing, if the property had not 
 suffered confiscation like so many others, and that it was, 
 perhaps, hard to condemn a man for being struck by 
 charms which, however above him in the scale of rank, 
 were still continually before his eyes. Reasoning thus, 
 he determined, as the wisest course, to remove his sister 
 to the house of a relative, where she could remain during 
 his absence. This would at once put a stop to the 
 steward's folly — for so he could not help deeming it — and, 
 what was of equal consequence in the young soldier's eyes, 
 prevent his sister being offended by ever suspecting the 
 existence of such a feeling towards her. The plan, once 
 resolved on, met no difficulty from his sister ; his promise 
 to return soon to see her was enough to compensate for 
 any arrangement, and it was determined that they should 
 Bet out towards the south by the first week in September.
 
 A STORY OF THE YEAR '92. 417 
 
 "When the intimation of this change first reached 
 Leon, which it did from the other servants, he could not 
 believe it, and resolved to hasten to the lieutenant himself, 
 and ask if it were true. On that day, however, the young 
 soldier was absent shooting, and was not to return before 
 night. Tortured with doubt and fear, trembling at the 
 very thought of her departure — whose presence had been 
 the loadstar of his life — he rushed from the house and 
 hurried into the wood. Every spot reminded him of her, 
 and he shuddered to think that in a few hours his existence 
 would have lost its spring — that ere the week was passed 
 lie would be alone without the sight of her, whom, even to 
 have seen, constituted the happiness of the whole day. 
 Revolving such sad thoughts, he strolled on, not knowing 
 whither, and, at last, on turning the angle of a path, 
 found himself before the object of his musings ; she was 
 returning from a farewell visit to one of the cottagers, 
 and was hastening to the chateau to dress for dinner. 
 
 " ' Ah, Monsieur Leon,' said she, suddenly, ' I am glad 
 to meet you here — these poor people at the wooden bridge 
 will miss me, I fear ; you must look to them in my absence. 
 And there is old Jeannette — she fancies she can spin still 
 — I pray you let her have her little pension regularly. 
 The children at Calotte, too — they are too far from the 
 school — mind that they have their books.' 
 
 "'And are you indeed going from hence, made- 
 moiselle ? ' said he, in a tone and accent so unlike his 
 ordinary one, as to make her start with surprise. 
 
 " ' Yes, to be sure. We leave the day after to-morrow.* 
 
 " ' And have you no regret, mademoiselle, to leave the 
 home of your childhood and those you have — known 
 there?' 
 
 " * Sir ! ' replied she haughtily, as the tone of his voice 
 assumed a meaning which could not be mistaken ; * you 
 seem to have forgotten yourself somewhat, or you had 
 not dared ' 
 
 " Dared! ' interrupted he, in a louder key — 'dared! I 
 have dared more than that! Yes,' cried he, in a voice 
 where passion could be no longer held under, ' Leon 
 Guichard, the steward, has dared to love his master's 
 daughter ! Start not so proudly back, madam e I Time 
 was when such an avowal had been a presumption death 
 
 VOL. I. E ^E
 
 418 TOM BURKE OP " OURS." 
 
 could not repay ; but these days are passed. The haughty 
 have been well humbled ; they who deemed their blood a 
 streanc too pure to mingle with the current in plebeian 
 veins, have poured it lavishly beneath the guillotine. 
 Leon Guichard has no master now ! ' 
 
 " The fire flashed from his eyes as he spoke, and his 
 colour, pale at first, grew darker and darker, till his face 
 became almost purple, while his nostrils, swelled to twice 
 their natural size, dilated and contracted like those of a 
 fiery charger. Terrified at the frightful paroxysm of 
 passion before her, the timid girl endeavoured to allay his 
 anger, and replied, — 
 
 " You know well, Leon, that my brother has ever 
 treated you as a. friend " 
 
 '"He a friend!' cried he, stamping on the ground, 
 while a look of demoniac malice lit up his features. ' He, 
 who talks to me as though I were a vassal — a slave ; he, 
 who deems his merest word of approval a recompense for 
 all my labour — all my toil; he, whose very glance shoots 
 into my heart like a dagger. Think you 1 forgive him 
 the contemptuous treatment of nineteen years, or that I 
 can pardon insults because they have grown into habits ? 
 Hear me ! ' — he grasped her wrist rigidly as he spoke, 
 and continued — ' I have sworn an oath to be revenged on 
 him from the hour when, a boy, scarce eight years old, he 
 struck me in the face, and called me canaille. I vowed his 
 ruin. I toiled for it, I strove for it, and I succeeded — ay, 
 succeeded. I obtained from the Convention the confiscation 
 of your lands — all — everything you possessed. I held the 
 titles in my possession, for I was the owner of this broad 
 chateau — ay — Leon Guichard — even so. You were but my 
 guest here. I kept it by me many a day, and when your 
 brother was drawn in the conscription, I resolved to assert 
 my right before the world.' He paused for a moment, while 
 a tremendous convulsion shook his frame, and made him 
 tremble like one in an ague ; then, suddenly rallying, he 
 passed his hand across his brow, and, in a lower voice, 
 resumed, ' I would have done so, but for you.' 
 
 " ' For me ! What mean you ? ' said she, almost sink- 
 ing with terror. 
 
 " ' I loved you — loved you as only he can love who can 
 surrender all his cherished hopes — his dream of ambition
 
 A STORY OF THE YEAR '92. 419 
 
 - — his vengeance even, to his love. I thought, too, that 
 you were not cold to my advances ; and fearing lest any 
 hazard should apprise you of my success, and thus run 
 counter to my wishes, I lived on here as your servant, 
 still hoping for the hour when I might call you mine, and 
 avow myself the lord of this chateau. How long I might 
 have continued thus I know not. To see you, to look on 
 you, to live beneath the same roof with you, seemed 
 happiness enough ; but when I heard that you were to 
 leave this, to go away, never to return, perhaps, or if so, 
 
 not as her I loved and worshipped, then Bat why look 
 
 you thu ' ? Is it because you doubt these things ? Look 
 here, see this. Is that in form? Are these signatures 
 authentic ? Is this the seal of the National Convention ? 
 What say you now ? It is not the steward Leon that sues, 
 but the Citizen Guichard, proprietaire de Rochefort. Now, 
 methinks, that makes some difference in the proposition.' 
 
 "'None, sir,' replied she, with a voice whose steady 
 utterance made each word sink into his heart ; ' save that 
 it adds to my contempt for him who has dared to seek my 
 affection in the ruin of my family. I did not despise you 
 before ' 
 
 " ' Beware,' said he, in a voice of menace, but in which 
 no violence of passion entered, ' you are in my power. I 
 ask you again, will you consent to be my wife ? Will you 
 save your brother from the scaffold, and yourself from 
 beggary and ruin ? — I can accomplish both.' 
 
 " A look of ineffable scorn was all her reply ; when he 
 sprang forward and threw his arm round her waist. 
 
 " ' Or would you drive me to the worst -' 
 
 " A terrific shriek broke from her as she felt his hand 
 around her, when the brushwood crashed behind her, and 
 her brother's dogs sprang from the thicket. With a loud 
 cry she called upon his name ; he answered from the wood, 
 and dashed towards her just as she sank fainting to the 
 ground. Leon was gone. 
 
 " As soon as returning strength permitted, she told her 
 brother the fearful story of the steward ; but bound him 
 by every entreaty not to bring himself in contact with a 
 monster so depraved. When they reached the chateau, 
 they learned that Guichard had been there and left it 
 again ; and from that hour they saw him no more. 
 
 £ E 2
 
 420 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS.*' 
 
 " I must now conclude in a few words, and to do so, 
 may mention, that in the year '99 I became the purchaser 
 of Haut Rochefort, at a sale of forfeited estates, it having 
 been bought by Government on some previous occasion, 
 but from whom and how, I never heard. The story I 
 have told I learned from the notaire of Hubane, the 
 village in the neighbourhood, who was conversant with 
 all its details, and knew well the several actors in it, as 
 well as their future fortunes. 
 
 " The brother became a distinguished officer, and rose 
 to some rank in the service, but embarking in the expe- 
 dition to Ireland, was reported to Bonaparte as having 
 betrayed the French cause. The result was> he was 
 struck off the list of the army, and pronounced degraded ; 
 lie died in some unknown place. 
 
 ** The sister became attached to her cousin, but the 
 brother opposing the union, she was taken away to Paris ; 
 the lover returned to Bretague, where, having heard a 
 false report of her mrrriage at Court, he assumed holy 
 orders, and being subsequently charged, but it is now 
 believed falsely, of corresponding with the Bourbons, was 
 shot in his own garden by a platoon of infantry. But how 
 is this ? are you ill ? has my story so affected you ? " 
 
 ** That brother was my friend — my dearest, my only 
 friend, Charles de Meudon." 
 
 " What ! and did you know poor Charles ? " 
 
 But I could not speak ; the tears ran fast down my 
 cheeks as I thought of all his sorrows — sorrows far greater 
 than ever he had told me. 
 
 " Poor Marie," said the general, as he wiped a tear 
 from his eye ; "few have met such an enemy as she did ; 
 every misfortune of her life has sprung from one hand ; 
 her brother's, her lover's death, were both his acts." 
 
 " Leon Guichard ! And who is he ? or how could he 
 have done these things ? " 
 
 " Methinks you might yourself reply to your own 
 question." 
 
 " I ! How could that be ? I know him not." 
 
 " Yes, but you do : Leon Guichard is Mehee de la 
 Touche!" 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen between us I could not have felt 
 more terror. That name, spoken but twice or thrice in my
 
 A STORY OF THE YEAR '92. 421 
 
 tearing, had each time brought its omen of evil. It was the 
 same with whose acquaintance Marie de Meudon charged 
 me in the garden of Versailles, the same who brought the 
 Chouans to the guillotine, and had so nearly involved 
 myself in their ruin ; and now I heard of him as one whose 
 dreadful life had been a course of perfidy and crime, one 
 who blasted all around him, and scattered ruin as he went. 
 
 " I have little more to add," resumed the general, after 
 a long pause, and in a voice whose weakened accents 
 evinced how fearfully the remembrance he called up 
 affected him. " What remains, too, more immediately 
 concerns myself than others. I am the last of my house; 
 an ancient family, and one not undistinguished in the 
 annals of France, hangs bat on the feeble thread of a 
 withered and broken, old man's life, with whom it dies ; 
 my only brother fell in the Austrian campaign. I never 
 bad a sister ; uncles and cousins I have had in numbers, 
 but death and exile have been rife these last twenty years, 
 and, save myself, none bears the name of D'Auvergne. 
 Yet once I nourished the hope of a family — of a race who 
 should hand down the ancient virtues of our house to 
 after years. I thought of those gallant ancestors whose 
 portraits graced the walls of the old chateau I was born 
 in, and fancied myself leading my infant boy from picture 
 to picture, as I pointed out the brave and the good, who 
 had been his forefathers. But this is a dream long since 
 dispelled. I was then a youth, scarce older than yourself, 
 rich, and with every prospect of happiness before me ; I 
 fell in love, and the object of my passion seemed one 
 created to have made the very paradise I sought for. She 
 was beautiful, beyond even the loveliest of a handsome 
 Court ; high-born and gifted ; but her heart was bestowed 
 on another — one who, unlike myself, encouraged no 
 daring thoughts, no ambitious longings, but who, wholly 
 devoted to her he loved, sought in tranquil quiet the 
 happiness such spirits can give each other. She told mo 
 herself frankly, as I speak now to you, that she could not 
 be mine, and then placed my hand in her husband's. This 
 was Marie de Rochefort, the mother of Mademoiselle de 
 Meudon. 
 
 " The world's changes seem ever to bring about these 
 strange vicissicudes by which our early deeds of good and
 
 422 TOM BURKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 evil are brought more forcibly to our memories, and we 
 are made to think over the past by some accident of the 
 present. After twenty years I came to live in that 
 chateau where she whom I once loved had lived and died. 
 I became the lord of that estate which her husband once 
 possessed, and where in happiness they had dwelt together. 
 I will not dwell upon the thoughts such associations ever 
 give rise to ; I dare not, old as I am, evoke them." He 
 paused for some minutes, and then went on : " Two years 
 ago I learned that Mademoiselle de Meudon was the 
 daughter of my once loved ]\Iarie. From that hour I felt 
 no longer childless ; I watched over her, without, how- 
 ever, attracting notice on her part, and followed her 
 everywhere ; the very day I saw you first at the Poly- 
 technique I was beside her. From all I could learn and 
 hear, her life had been one of devoted attachment to her 
 brother, and then to Madame Bonaparte ; her heart, it 
 was said, was buried with him she once loved ; at least 
 none since had ever won even the slightest acknowledg- 
 ment from her bordering on encouragement. 
 
 " Satisfied that she was everything I could have wished 
 my own daughter, and feeling that with youth the springs 
 of affection rarely dry up, I conceived the idea of settling 
 all my property on her, and entreating the Emperor to 
 make me her guardian, with her own consent of course. 
 He agreed ; he went further ; he repealed, so far as it 
 concerned her, the law by which the daughters of royalists 
 cannot inherit, and made her eligible to succeed to 
 property, and placed her hand at my disposal. 
 
 " Such was the state of matters when I wrote to you ; 
 since that I have seen her, and spoken to her in confidence ; 
 she has consented to every portion of the arrangement, 
 save that which involves her marrying ; but some strange 
 superstition being over her mind that her fate is to ruin 
 all with whom it is linked, that her name carries an evil 
 destiny with it, she refuses every ofi'er of marriage, and 
 will not yield to my solicitation. 
 
 " I thought," said the general, as he leaned on his 
 hand, and muttered half aloud, " that I had conceived a 
 plan which must bring happiness with it ; but, however, 
 one part of my design is accomplished — she is my heir, 
 the daughter of my own loved Marie is the child of my
 
 A STORY OF THE TEAR '92. 423 
 
 adoption, and for this T have reason to feel grateful. The 
 cheerless feeling of a death- bed where not one mourns 
 for the dying, haui ts me no longer, and I feel not as one 
 deserted and alone. To-morrow I go to wish her adieu ; 
 and we are to be at the Tuileries by noon. The Emperor 
 holds a levee, and our final orders will then be given." 
 
 The old general rallied at the last few words he spoke, 
 and pressing my hand affectionately, wished me good 
 night, and withdrew ; while I, with a mind confused and 
 stunned, sat thinking over the melancholy story he had 
 related, and sorrowing over the misfortunes of one whose 
 lot in lif3 had been far sadder than my own. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE HALL OP THE MARSHALS. 
 
 Some minutes before noon we entered the Place du 
 Carrousel, now thronged with equipages and led horses. 
 Officers, in the rich uniforms of every arm of the service, 
 were pressing their way to the palace, amid the crash of 
 carriages, the buzz of recognitions, and the thundering 
 sounds of the brass band, whose echo was redoubled 
 beneath the vaulted vestibule of the palace. 
 
 Borne along with the torrent, we mounted the wide 
 stair and passed from room to room, until we arrived at 
 the great antechamber where the oflicers of the house- 
 hold were assembled in their splendid dresses. Here the 
 crowd was so dense we were unable to move on for some 
 time, and it was after nearly an hour's waiting that we at 
 last found ourselves within that gorgeous gallery named 
 by the Emperor " La Salle des Marechaux." At any 
 other moment my attention had been riveted upon the
 
 424 TOM BUEKE OF " OURS." 
 
 magnificence and beauty of this great salon^ its pictures, 
 its gildings, the richness of the hangings, the tasteful 
 elegance of the ceiling, with its tracery of dull gold, the 
 great works of art in bronze and marble that adorned it 
 on every side ; but now my mind took au other and very 
 different range. Here around me were met the greatest 
 generals and warriors of Europe — the names second 
 alone to his who had no equal. There stood iVey, with 
 his broad, retiring forehead, and his eyes black and flash- 
 ing, like an eagle's. With what energy he spoke ! how 
 full of passionate vigour that thick and rapid utterance, 
 that left a tremulous quivering on his lip even when he 
 ceased to speak ! What a contrast to the bronzed, un- 
 moved features of the large man he addressed, and who 
 listened to him with such deference of manner ; his yellow 
 moustache bespeaks not the Frenchman, he is a German, 
 by blood at least, for it is Kellerman, the colonel of the 
 cuirassiers of the Guard. And yonder was Soult, with 
 his strong features seamed by many a day of hardship, 
 the centre of a group of colonels of the staff, to whom he 
 was rapidly communicating their orders. Close beside 
 him stood Lannes, his arm in a sling ; a gun-shot wound 
 that defied the art of the surgeons still deprived him of 
 his left hand. And there leaned Savary against the 
 window, his dark eyes riveted on the corps of gendarmerie 
 in the court beneath. Full taller by a head than the 
 largest about him, he seemed almost gigantic in the 
 massive accoutrements of his service. The fierce Davoust ; 
 the gay and splendid Murat, with his waving plumes and 
 jewelled dolman; Lefebvre, the very type of his class, 
 moving with difficulty from a wound in his hip — all were 
 there ; while passing rapidly from place to place, I re- 
 marked a young and handsome man, whose uniform of 
 colonel bore the decoration of the Lesion ; he appeared to 
 know and be known to all : this was Eugene Beauharnais, 
 the stepson of the Emperor. "Ah, General d'Auvergne," 
 cried he, approaching with a smile, " his Majesty desires 
 to see you after the levee. You leave to-night, I 
 believe ? " 
 
 " Yes, colonel, all is in readiness," said the general, 
 while I thought a look of anxiety at the Emperor's 
 eummons seemed to agitate his features.
 
 THE HALL OF THE MARSHALS. 425 
 
 "One of your staff? " said Beauharnais, bowing, as he 
 looked towards me. 
 
 " My aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Burke," replied the 
 general, presenting me. 
 
 " Ah ! I remember," said the colonel, as he drew himself 
 proudly up, and seemed as though the recollection were 
 anything but favourable to me. But just then the wide 
 folding-doors were thrown open, and a loud voice pro- 
 claimed, " Sa Majeste I'Empereur ! " In an instant every 
 voice was hushed, the groups broke up, and fell back into 
 two long lines, between which lay a passage ; alonsr this the 
 officers of the palace retired slowly, facing the Emperor, 
 who came step by step after them. I could but see the 
 pale face, massive and regular, like the head of an antique 
 cameo ; the hair combed straight upon his fine forehead, 
 and his large, full eyes, as they turned hither and thither 
 among that crowd, once his equals, now how immeasurably 
 his inferiors ! He stopped every now and then to say a 
 word or two to some one as he passed, but in so low a 
 tone that, even in the dead silence around, nothing was 
 audible save a murmur. It was a relief to my own excited 
 feelings as, with high, beating heart, I gazed on the 
 greatest monarch of the world, that I beheld the others 
 around, the oldest generals, the time-worn companions of 
 his battles, not less moved than myself. 
 
 While the Emperor passed slowly along, I could mark 
 that Eugene Beauharnais moved rapidly through the 
 gallery, whispering now to this one, now to that, among 
 the officers of superior grade, who, immediately after, left 
 the salon by a door at the end. At length he approached 
 General d'Auvergne, saying : — 
 
 " The audience of the marshals will not occupy more 
 than half an hour ; pray be in readiness to wait on his 
 Majesty when he calls. You can remain in the blue 
 drawing-room next the gallery." 
 
 The general bowed, and, taking my arm, moved slowly 
 from the spot in the direction mentioned, and in a few 
 minutes we found ourselves in the small room whore the 
 Empress used to receive her morning visitors during the 
 Consulate. 
 
 " You remember this salon^ Burke ? " said the general, 
 carelessly.
 
 426 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 " Yes, sir, but too well ; it was here that his Majesty 
 gave me that rebuke " 
 
 " True, true, my dear boy ; I forgot that completely. 
 But come, there has been time enough to forget it since. 
 I wonder what can mean this summons to attend here ! — I 
 have received my orders — there has been, so far as I 
 understand, no change of plan. Well, well, we shall soon 
 know — see, the levee has begun to break up already — 
 there goes the stafi' of the artillery — that roll of the drum 
 is for some general of division." 
 
 And now the crash of carriages, and the sounds of 
 cavalry escorts, jingling beside them, mingled with the 
 deep beating of the drums, made a mass of noises that 
 filled the air, and continued without interruption for above 
 an hour. 
 
 " Sacristi ! " cried the general, " the crowd seems to 
 pour in as fast as it goes out. This may last for the entire 
 day. I have scarce two hours left me now." 
 
 He walked the room impatiently, now muttering some 
 broken words to himself, now stopping to listen to the 
 sounds without. Still the din continued, and the distant 
 roll of equipages, growing louder as they came, told that 
 the tide was yet pressing onwards towards the palace. 
 " Three o'clock," cried the general, as the bell of the 
 pavilion sounded ; " at four 1 was to leave ; such were my 
 written orders, signed by the minister." 
 
 His impatience now became extreme He knew how 
 difficult it was, in a matter of military discipline, to satisfy 
 Napoleon that any breach, even when caused by his direct 
 orders, was not a fault. Besides, his old habits had taught 
 him to respect a command from the Minister of War as 
 Bomething above all others. 
 
 " Beauharnais must have mistaken," said he, angrily, 
 *' His Majesty gave me my final directions. I'U wait no 
 longer." 
 
 Yet did he hesitate to leave, arid seemed actually to 
 rely on me for some hint for his guidance. I did not 
 dare to offer a suggestion, and while thus we both 
 stood uncertain, the door opened, and a huissier called 
 out, — 
 
 " Lieutenant- General d'Auvergne — this way, sir," said 
 the official, as he threw open a folding-door into a long
 
 THE HALL OF THE MARSHALS. 427 
 
 gallery that looked into the garden. They passed oat 
 together, and I was alone. 
 
 The agitation of the general at this unexpected sum- 
 mons had communicated itself to me, but in a far 
 different way ; for I imagined that his Majesty desired 
 only to confer some mark of favour on the gallant 
 old general before parting with him. Yet did I not 
 venture to suggest this to him, for fear I should be mis- 
 taken. 
 
 While I revolved these doubts in my mind, the door 
 was flung open with a crash, and a page, in the uniform of 
 the Court, rushed in. 
 
 " May I ask, sir," cried he, breathlessly, " can you inform 
 me where is the aide-de-camp of the General d'Auvergne 
 — I forget the name, unfortunately ? " 
 
 *' I am the person — Lieutenant Burke." 
 
 " The same ; that is the name. Come after me with all 
 haste — this way." And so saying, he rushed down a 
 flight of stone stairs, clearing six or seven at a spring. 
 
 " A hurried business this, lieutenant," said the page,' 
 laughingly. " Took them all by surprise, I fancy." 
 
 " What is it ? — What do you mean ? " asked I, eagerly.' 
 
 •' Hush ! " said he, placing his fingers on his lips ; " here 
 they come." 
 
 We had just time to stand to one side of the gallery, aa 
 the oflB.cers of the household came up, two and two, 
 followed by the Chancellor of France, and the Dean of 
 St. Roch, in his full canonicals. They approached the 
 table, on which several papers and documents were lying, 
 and proceeded to sign their names to different writings 
 before them. While I looked on, puzzled and amazed, 
 totally unable to make the most vague conjecture of the 
 nature of the proceedings, I perceived that General d'Au- 
 vergne had entered the room, and was standing among the 
 rest at the table. 
 
 " Whose signature do you propose here. General ? '* 
 said the Chancellor, as he took up a paper before him. 
 
 ** My aide-de-camp. Lieutenant Burke." 
 
 *' He is here, sir," said the page, stepping forward. 
 
 "You are to sign your name here, sir, and again on this 
 side," said the Chancellor, "with your birthplace annexed, 
 age, and rank in the service."
 
 428 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 " I am a foreigner," said I; "does tliat make any dif- 
 ference here? " 
 
 *' None," said he, smiling; " tlie witness is but a very 
 subordinate personage here." 
 
 I took the pen, and proceeded to write as I was desired ; 
 and, while thus engaged, the door opened, and a short, 
 heavy step crossed the room. I did not dare to look up ; 
 some secret feeling of terror ran through me, and told me 
 it was the Emperor himself. 
 
 " Well, D'Auvergne," said he, in a frank, bold way, 
 quite different from his ordinary voice, " you seem but 
 half content with this plan of mine. Pardieu / there's 
 many a brave fellow would not deem the case so hard 
 a one." 
 
 *' As your wish, sire " 
 
 *' As mine, diantre ! my friend ; do not say mine only ; 
 you forget that the lady expressed herself equally satis- 
 fied. Come ! is the acte completed ? " 
 
 " It wants but your Majesty's signature," said the 
 Chancellor. 
 
 The Emperor took the pen, and dashed some inde- 
 scribable scroll across the paper ; then turning suddenly 
 towards the general, he conversed with him eagerly for 
 several minutes, but in so low a voice as not to be audible 
 where I stood. I could but catch the words " Darmstadt 
 — Augsburg — the fourth corps," from which it seemed the 
 movements of the army were the subject; when he added, 
 in a louder voice, — 
 
 *' Every hour now is worth a day, ay, a week, here- 
 after. Remember that, D'Auvergne." 
 
 " Everything is finished, sire," said the Chancellor, 
 handing the folded papers to the Emperor. 
 
 " These are for your keeping, general," said he, deliver- 
 ing them into D*Auvergne's hand. 
 
 " Pardon, sire," said the Chancellor, hastily, " T have 
 made a great error here. Madame la Comtesse has not 
 appended her signature to the consent." 
 
 "Indeed!" said the Emperor, smiling. "We have 
 been too hasty, it would seem ; so thinks our reverend 
 father of Saint Roch, I perceive, who is evidently not 
 accustomed to officiate au coup de tamhour.'' 
 
 ** Her Majesty the Empress! " said the huissier, as he
 
 THE HALL OF THE MARSHALS. 429 
 
 opened the doors to permit her to enter. She was dressed 
 in full Court dress, covered with jewels. She held within 
 her arm the hand of another, over whose figure a deep 
 veil was thrown, that entirely concealed her from head 
 to foot. 
 
 " Madame la Comtesse will have the kindness to sign 
 this," said the Chancellor, as he handed over a pen to the 
 lady. She threw back her veil as he spoke. As she 
 turned towards the table, I saw the pale, almost deathlike 
 features of Marie de Meudon. Such was the shock, 1 
 scarce restrained a cry from bursting forth, and a film fell 
 before my eyes as I looked, and the figures before me 
 floated like masses of vapour before my sight. 
 
 The Empress now spoke to the general, but no longer 
 could 1 take notice of what was said. Voices there were, 
 but they conveyed nothing to my mind. A terrible rush 
 of thoughts, too quick for perception, chased each other 
 through my brain, and I felt as though my temples were 
 bursting open from some pressure within. Suddenly the 
 general moved forward, and knelt to kiss the Empress's 
 hand; he then took that of Mademoiselle de Meudon, 
 and held it to his lips. I heard the word " Adieu ! '* 
 faintly uttered by her low voice ; the veil fell once more 
 over her features ; that moment a stir followed, and in a 
 few minutes more we were descending the stairs alone, 
 the general leaning on my arm, his right hand pressed 
 across his eyes. When we reached the court, several 
 officers of rank pressed forward, and I could hear the 
 buzz of phrases implying congratulations and joy, to 
 which the old general replied briefly, and with evident 
 depression of manner. The dreadful oppression of a sad 
 dream was over me still, and I felt as though to awake 
 A/ere impossible, when, to some remark near him, the 
 general replied, — 
 
 " True ! quite true, monseigneur ; I have made her my 
 wife. There only remains one reparation for it, which is 
 to make her my widow." 
 
 " His wife ! " said I, aloud, re-echoing the word without 
 knowing. 
 
 •' Even so, mon ami'' said he, pressing my hand softly. 
 " My name and my fortune are both hers. As for myself 
 - — we shall never meet again." He turned away his head
 
 430 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 as he spoke, nor uttered another word daring the re- 
 mainder of the way. 
 
 When we arrived at the Rue de Rohan the horses were 
 harnessed to the carriage, and all in readiness for our 
 departure. The rumour of expected war had brought a 
 crowd of idlers about the door, through which we passed 
 with some difficulty into the house. Hastily throwing an 
 eye over the now dismantled room, the old general ap- 
 proached the window that looked out upon the Tuileries. 
 "Adieu!" muttered he to himself; ^^ je ne vous reverrai 
 jamais ./" And with that he pressed his travelling- cap 
 over his brows, and descended the stairs. 
 
 A cheer burst from the mob — the postilion's whip 
 cracked loudly — the horses dashed over the pavement — 
 and, ere the first flarry of mad excitement had subsided 
 from my mind, Paris was some miles behind us, and we 
 were hastening on towards the frontier. 
 
 Almost every man has experienced at least one period 
 of his life when the curtain seems to drop, and the drama 
 in which he has hitlierto acted to end ; when a total 
 change appears to pass over the interests he has lived 
 among, and a new and very different kind of existence to 
 open before him. Such is the case when the death of 
 friends has left us alone and companionless ; when they, 
 into whose ears we poured our whole thoughts of sorrow 
 or of joy, are gone, and we look around upon the bleak 
 world, without a tie to existence, without one hope to 
 cheer us. How naturally then do we turn Irom every 
 path and place once lingered over ; how do we fly the 
 thoughts wherein once consisted our greatest happi- 
 ness, and seek, from other sources, impressions less 
 painful, because unconnected with the past.. Still the 
 bereavement of death is never devoid of a sense of holy 
 calm, a sort of solemn peace connected with the memory 
 of the lost one. In the sleep that knows no waking, we 
 see the end of earthly troubles — in the silence of the 
 grave come no sounds of this world's contention — the 
 winds that stir the rank grass of the churchyard breathe, 
 at least, repose. Kot so when fate has severed us from 
 those we loved best during lifetime ; when the fortunes 
 we hoped to link with our own are torn asunder from us ; 
 when the hour comes when we must turn from the path
 
 THE HALL OF THE MAESHALS. 431 
 
 we had followed with pleasure and happiness, and seek 
 another road in life, bearing with us not only all the 
 memory of the past, but all the speculation on the future. 
 There is no sorrow, no affliction, like this. 
 
 It was thus I viewed my joyless fortune — with such de- 
 pressing reflections I thought over the past. What mat- 
 tered it now how my career might turn, there lived not one 
 to care whether rank or honour, disgrace or death, were 
 to be my portion. The glorious path I often longed to 
 tread opened for me now without exciting one spark of 
 enthusiasm : so is it even in our most selfish desires, we 
 live less for ourselves than others. 
 
 If my road in life seemed to present few features to hang 
 hopes on, he who sat beside me appeared still more de- 
 pressed. Seldom speaking, and then but in monosyllables, 
 he remained sunk in reverie. And thus passed the days 
 of our journey, when, on the third evening, we came in 
 sight of Coblentz. Then indeed there burst upon my 
 astonished gaze one of those scenes which, once seen, are 
 never forgotten. From the gentle declivity which we were 
 now descending, the view extended several miles in every 
 direction. Beneath us lay the city of Coblentz, its spires 
 and domes shining like gilded bronze as the rays of the 
 setting sun fell upon them ; the Moselle swept along one 
 side of the town till it mingled its eddies with the broad 
 Rhine, now one sheet of liquid gold ; the long pontoon 
 bridge, against whose dark cutwaters the bright stream 
 broke in sparkling circles, trembled beneath the dull roll 
 of artillery and baggage-waggons, which might be seen 
 issuing from the town, and serpentining their course along 
 the river's edge for miles, till they were lost in the narrow 
 glen by which the Lahn flows into the Rhine ; beyond rose 
 the great precipice of rock, with its crowning fortress of 
 Ehrenbreitstein, along whose battlemented walls, almost 
 lost in the heavy clouds of evening, might be seen dark 
 specks moving from place to place — the soldiers of the 
 garrison looking down from their eyrie on the war-tide 
 that flowed beneath. Lower down the river many boats 
 were crossing, in which, as the sunlight shone, one could 
 mark the glancing of arms and the glitter of uniforms ; 
 while farther again, and in deep shadow, rose the solitary 
 towers of the ruiued castle of Lahneck, its shattered walls
 
 432 TOM BURKE OF " OUES." 
 
 and grass-grown battlements standing clearly out against 
 the evening sky. 
 
 Far as we were off, every breeze tbat stirred bore to- 
 wards us the softened swell of military music, which, even 
 when too faint to trace, made the air tremulous with its 
 martial sounds. Along the ramparts of the city were 
 crowds of townspeople, gazing with anxious wonderment 
 at the spectacle ; for none knew, save the generals in com- 
 mand of divisions, the destination of that mighty force, 
 the greatest Europe had ever seen up to that period. Such 
 indeed were the measures taken to ensure secrecy, that 
 none were permitted to cross the frontier without a special 
 authority from the Minister for Foreign Affairs ; the letters 
 in the various post-offices were detained, and even travel- 
 lers were denied post-horses on the great roads to the 
 eastward, lest intelligence might be conveyed to Germany 
 of the movement in progress. Meanwhile, at Manheim, at 
 Spire, at Strasburg, and at Coblentz, the long columns 
 streamed forth whose eagles were soon destined to meet in 
 the great plains of Southern Germany. Such was the 
 gorgeous spectacle that each moment grew more palpable 
 to our astonished senses — more brilliant far than any- 
 thing painting could realize — more spirit-stirring than the 
 grandest words that poet ever sang. 
 
 " The cuirassiers and the dragoons of the Guard are 
 yonder," said the general, as he directed his glass to a 
 large square of the town, where a vast mass of dismounted 
 cavalry were standing ; " you see how punctual they are ; 
 we are but two hours behind our time, and they are await- 
 ing our arrival." 
 
 " And do we move forward to-night, general ? " asked I, 
 in some surprise. 
 
 " Yes, and every night. The marches are to be made 
 fourteen hours each day. There go the Lancers of Berg 
 — you see their scarlet dolmans, don't you ? and yonder, 
 in the three large boats, beyond the point, there are the 
 sappers of the Guard. What are the shouts I hear ? — 
 whence comes that cheering ? " 
 
 " Oh, I see — it's a vivandiere ; her horse has backed 
 into the river. See — see ! — she is going to swim him 
 over ! Look how the current takes him down. Bravely 
 done, faith ! She heads him to the stream — it won't do,
 
 THE HALL OF THE MARSHALS. 433 
 
 thougli ; she must be carried down." Just at this critical 
 moment, a boat shoots out from under the cliff — a few 
 strokes of the oars, and they are alongside. There's a 
 splash and a shout, and the skiff moves on. " And now I 
 see they have given her a rope, and are towing her and her 
 horse across." 
 
 *' See how the old spirit comes back with the first blast 
 of the trumpet," said the old general, as his eyes flashed 
 with enthusiasm. " That damsel there — I'll warrant ye — 
 she'd have thought twice about stepping over a rivulet in 
 the streets of Paris yesterday, and look at her now. Well 
 done ! gallantly done ! See how she spurs him up the 
 bank ! Ma foi, mademoiselle, you'll have no lack of 
 lovers for that achievement." 
 
 A few minutes more and we entered the town, whose 
 streets were thronged with soldiers hurrying on to their 
 different corps, and eager townsfolk asking a hundred 
 questions, to which, of course, few waited to reply. 
 
 *' This way, general," said an officer in undress, who 
 recognized General d'Auvergne. " The cavalry of the 
 third division is stationed on the square." 
 
 Driving through a narrow street, through which the 
 caleche had barely room to pass, we now found ourselves 
 in the Place, a handsome space surrounded with a double 
 row of trees, under which the dragoons were lying, hold- 
 ing the bridles of their horses. 
 
 The general had scarcely put foot to ground when the 
 trumpets sounded the call. The superior officers came 
 running forward to greet him. Taking the arm of a short 
 man in the uniform of the cuirassiers, the general entered 
 a cafe near, while I became the centre of some dozen officers, 
 all eagerly asking the news from Paris, and whether the 
 Emperor had yet left the capital. It was not without 
 considerable astonishment I then perceived how totally 
 ignorant they all were of the destination of the army — • 
 many alleging it was designed for Russia, and others 
 equally positive that the Prussians were the object of 
 attack ; the arguments in support of each opinion being 
 wonderfully ingenious, and only deficient in one respect, 
 having not a particle of fact for their foundation. In the 
 midst of these conjecturings came a new subject for dis- 
 cussion, for one of the group who had just received a letter 
 
 VOL. i. F Jf
 
 43i TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 from his brother, a page at the Tuileries, was reading the 
 contents aloud for the benefit of the rest : 
 
 " J ales says that they are all astray as to the Emperor's 
 movements ; Duroc has left Paris suddenly, but no one 
 knows for where ; the only thing certain is, a hot campaign 
 is to open somewhere. One hundred and eighty thousand 
 
 " Bah ! " said an old, white-moustached major, with a 
 look of evident unbelief; " we never had forty with the 
 army of the Sambre." 
 
 " And what then ? " said another, fiercely ; " do you 
 compare your army of the Sambre, your sans-culottes 
 republicans, with the Imperial troops ? " 
 
 The old major's face became deeply crimsoned, and with 
 a muttered '''A demain,'^ he walked away. 
 
 " Go after him, Amedee," said another ; *' you had no 
 right to say that." 
 
 "Not 1, faith," said the other, carelessly; ** there is a 
 grudge between us these three weeks past, and we may as 
 well have it out. Go on with the letter, Henri." 
 
 " Oh, it is filled with Court gossip," said the reader, 
 ne!.'li gently. " Ha ! what is this, though — the postscript : 
 
 " ' 1 have just time to tell you the strangest bit of news 
 we have chanced upon for some time past. The Emperor 
 has this moment married old General d'Auvergne to the 
 very handsomest girl in the Empress's suite. Mademoiselle 
 de Meudon. There is a rumour afloat about the old man 
 having made her his heir, and desiring to confer her hand 
 on S(mie young fellow of his own choosing ; but this pas- 
 sion to make Court matches, which has seized his Majesty 
 lately, stops at nothing ; and it is whispered that old 
 Madame d'Orvalle is actually terrified at every levee, lest 
 she should be disposed of to one of the new marshals. I 
 must say that the general looks considerably put out by the 
 arrangement; not unnaturally, perhaps, as he is likely to 
 pass the honeymoon in the field ; while his aide-de-camp, 
 a certain Monsieur Burke, whose name you may remember 
 figuring in the affair of Pichegru and George ' '* 
 
 "Perhaps it were as well, sir," said I, quietly, •* that I 
 should tell you the person alluded to is myself. I have 
 no desire to learn how your correspondent speaks of me ; 
 nor, I take it for granted, do these gentlemen desire to
 
 THE HALL OF THE MARSHALS. 435 
 
 canvass me in my own hearing ; with your leave, then, I 
 shall withdraw." 
 
 " A word, monsieur, one word, first," said the officer, 
 whose insolent taunt had already offended the veteran 
 major ; '* we are most of us here staiF officers, and I need 
 not say accustomed to live pretty much together. Will 
 you favour us, then, with a little explanation as to the 
 manner in which you escaped a trial in that business : your 
 name, if I mistake not, did not figure before the tribunal 
 after the first day ? " 
 
 "Well, sir; and then?" 
 
 " And then ? why there is one only explanation in such 
 a circumstance." 
 
 " And that is ? if I may be so bold " 
 
 ** That the mouchard fares better than his victim." 
 
 " I believe, sir," said I, " I comprehend your meaning ; 
 I hope there will be no fear of your mistaking mine." With 
 that I drew off the long gauntlet glove I wore, and struck 
 him across the face. 
 
 Every man sprang backwards as I did so, as though a 
 shell had fallen in the midst of us ; while a deep voice 
 called out from behind, — 
 
 " Le Capitaine Amedee Pichot is under arrest." 
 
 I turned, and beheld the provost- marshal with his 
 guard approach, and take my adversary's sword from 
 him. 
 
 " What charge is this, marshal ? " said he, as a livid 
 colour spread over his cheek. 
 
 " Your duel of yesterday, capitaine ; you seem to forget 
 all about it already." 
 
 "Whenever and wherever you please, sir," said I, pass- 
 ing close beside him, and speaking in a whisper. 
 
 He nodded without uttering a word in reply, and moved 
 after the guard, while the others dispersed silently, and 
 left me standing alone in the Place. 
 
 What would I not have given at that moment for but 
 one friend to counsel and advise me : and yet, save the 
 general, to whom I dared not speak on such a subject, 
 I had not one in the whole world. It was, indeed, but 
 too true, that life had little value for me ; yet never did I 
 contemplate a duel with more abhorrence. The insult I 
 had inflicted, however, could have no other result. While 
 
 F V 2
 
 436 TOM BURKE OF ''oURS.** 
 
 I reasoned thus, the door of the cafe opened, and tb© 
 general appeared. 
 
 " Burke," cried he, " come in here, and make a 
 hasty supper; you must be in the saddle in half an 
 hour." 
 
 " Quite ready, sir.'* 
 
 " I know it, my lad. Your orders are there : ride for- 
 ward to Ettingen, and prepare the billets for the fourth 
 demi-brigade, which will reach that village by to-morrow 
 evening ; you'll have time for something to eat, and a 
 glass of wine before the orderly arrives. This piece of 
 duty is put on you, because a certain Captain Pichot, the 
 only one of the commissaries' department who can &peak 
 German, has just been put under arrest for a duel he 
 fought yesterday. I wish the court-martial would shoot 
 the fellow, with all my heart and soul ; he's a perfect 
 curse to the whole division. In any case, if he escape 
 this time, I'll keep my eye on him, and he'll scarce ^et 
 clear through my hands, I'll warrant him." 
 
 It may be supposed that I heard these words with no 
 common emotion, bearing as they did so closely on my 
 own circumstances at the moment ; but I hung down my 
 head and affected to eat, while the old general walked 
 hastily up and down the salon, muttering, half aloud, heavy 
 denunciations on the practice of duelling, which, at any 
 cost of life, he resolved to put down in his command. 
 
 " Done already ! why, man, you've eaten nothing. 
 Well, then, I see the orderly without ; you've got a capital 
 moonlight for your ride ; and so, au revoir.^^ 
 
 " Good-bye, sir," said I, as I sprang into the saddle ; 
 *' and now for Ettingen."
 
 4d7 
 
 CHAPTER XLin. 
 
 THE MARCH ON THE DANUBE, 
 
 There is a strange, unnatural kind of pleasure felt some- 
 times in the continued attacks of evil fortune : the dogged 
 courage with which we bear up against the ills of fate, 
 swimming more strongly as the waves grow rougher, has 
 its own meed of consolation. It is only at such a time, 
 perhaps, that the really independent spirit of our natures 
 is in the ascendant, and that we can stand amid the storm, 
 conscious of our firmness, and bid the winds " blow and 
 crack their cheeks." Yet, through how many sorrows 
 mast one have waded, ere he reach this point— through 
 what trials must he have passed — how must hope have 
 paled, and flickered, and died out — how must all self-love, 
 all ambition, all desire itself have withered within us — till 
 we become like the mere rock amid the breakers, against 
 which the waves beat in vain ! When that hour comes, 
 the heart has grown cold and callous — the affections have 
 dried up — and man looks no more upon his fellow-men as 
 brothers. Towards this sad condition I found myself 
 rapidly verging ; the isolation of my homeless, friendless 
 state — the death of my hopes — the uncheered path in 
 which 1 walked — all consnired to make me feel depressed, 
 and I perceived that a half-recklessness was already 
 stealing over me, and that, in my indifference as to for- 
 tune, now lay my greatest consolation. There was a time 
 when such a rencontre as lately befell me had made me 
 miserable till the hour came when I should meet my 
 adversary ; now, my blood boiled with no indignant 
 passion — no current of angry vengeance stirred throu!:;^h 
 iny veins — a stupid sullenness was over me, and 1 cared 
 nothing what might happen. And if this state became 
 not permanent, I owe it to youth alone — the mainspring 
 of many of our best endeavours.
 
 438 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.'* 
 
 We bad travelled some seven or eight miles, when "vre 
 stopped for a few seconds at the door of a cabaret, and 
 then I discovered for the first time that my old friend 
 Pioche was the corporal of oar little party. To my slight 
 reproach for his not having sooner made himself known 
 to me, the honest fellow replied that he saw I was low in 
 spirits about something, and did not wish to obtrude upon 
 me. " Not but, after all, mon lieutenant^ the best way is 
 always to ' face front ' against bad luck, and charge through 
 — saperinint, that's the way we did at Marengo, when 
 
 Desaix's corps was cut off from the left But pardon, 
 
 mon officier^ I forgot you were not there." There was 
 something so pleasant in the graff courtesy of the hardy 
 cuirassier, that 1 willingly led him on to speak of his 
 former life — a subject which, once entered on, he followed 
 as fancy or memory suggested. 
 
 " I used to feel low-spirited myself, once," said Pioche, 
 as he smoothed down his great moustache with a compla- 
 cent motion of his fingers — " 1 used to be very low in lieart 
 when I entered the service first, and saw all my old school- 
 fellows and companions winning their epaulettes md becom- 
 ing captains and colonels — ay, parbleu, and maiechals,too — 
 while, because I could not read, I was to remain all my life in 
 the ranks — as if one could not force a palisade, nor break 
 through a square, till he had stufi'ed his head with learning. 
 All this made me very sad, and I would sit brooding over 
 it for hours long ; but at l-tst 1 began to tliink my own lot 
 was not the worst after all — my duty was eaf^ily done, and, 
 when over, I could sleep sound till the reveil blew. I ran 
 no danger of being scolded by the Petit Caporal, because 
 my division was not somewhere yesterday, nor in some 
 other place to-day. He never came with a frown to ask 
 me why I had not captured another howitzer, and taken 
 more prisoners No, faith ! It was always, ' Well done, 
 Pioche — bravely done, mon enfant .^ — here's a piece of twenty- 
 francs to drink my health.' Or, perhaps, he'd mutter be- 
 tween his teeth, — ' That honest fellow there would make a 
 better general than one-half of them' — not that he was in 
 earnest, you know — but still it was pleasant just to hear it." 
 
 " And yet, Pioche," said I, " it does surprise me why, 
 seeing that this want of learning was the bar to your pro- 
 motion, you did not "
 
 THE MARCH ON THE DANUBE. 439 
 
 *' And so T did, vion lieutenant ; at least I tried to learn 
 to read. Morbleu ! it was a weary time for me. I'd 
 rather be under arrest three days a week, than be at it 
 again. Mademoiselle Minette — she was the vivancUere of 
 ours — undertook to teach me ; and I used to go over to 
 the canteen every evening after drill. Many a sad heart 
 had I over these same lessons. Saprelotte, I could learn the 
 look of every man in a brigade before 1 could know the 
 letters in the alphabet, they looked so confoundedly alike 
 when they stood up all in a line. The only fellows I could 
 distinguish were the big ones, that were probably the ser- 
 geants and sous-officiers ; and when my eye was fixed on 
 one column, it would stray away to another, and then 
 mademoiselle would laugh — and that would lead to some- 
 thing else. JEt, mafoi, the spelling-book w^as soon thrown 
 aside, and lessons given up for that evening." 
 
 "I suppose Mademoiselle Minette was pretty, Pioche?" 
 " Was ! ay, and is, too. What ! mon lieutenant^ did 
 you never see her on parade ? She's the handsomest girl 
 in the army, and rides so well — milh cannons f She might 
 have been a great lady before this if she'd have left the 
 regiment — but no, she'd die first ! Her father was tam- 
 bour-major with us, and killed at Groningen, when she was 
 only an infant — and we used to carry her about in our 
 arms on the march, and hand her from one to another. I 
 have seen her pass from the leading files to the baggage- 
 guard, on a long summer's day — that I have. Le Petit 
 Caporal knows her well — she gave him a gourd full of eau- 
 de-vie at Cairo, when he was so faint he could scarcely 
 speak. It was after that he saw her in the breach at 
 Acre — one of our fellows was lying wounded in the ruins, 
 and mademoiselle waited till the storming party fell back, 
 and then ran up to him with her flask in her hand. 
 * Whose pretty ankles are these ? I think I ought to know 
 them,* said an officer, as she passed along. * No flattery 
 will do with me, monsieur,' cried Minette ; it's hard 
 enough to get one's living here, without giving JSantz 
 brandy for nothing.' Sacristi I when the laugh made her 
 turn about, she saw it was the Petit Caporal himself who 
 spoke to her. Poor Minette ! she blushed scarlet, and 
 nearly dropped with shame, but that did not prevent her 
 dashing up the breach towards the wounded nianj not
 
 440 TOM BURKE OF ** OURS. ' 
 
 that it was of any use, though — he was dead when she 
 got up." 
 
 " I should like much to see mademoiselle. Is she still 
 with the Fourth ?" 
 
 " Yes, mon lieutenant ; I parted with her a few hours 
 ago. A half suppressed sigh that followed these words 
 showed that the worthy corporal was touched on the most 
 tender key of his nature, and for some time he lapsed into 
 a silence I could not venture to break. At length, desiring 
 to give the conversation a turn, I asked if he knew the 
 Capitaine Pichot. 
 
 "Know him!" cried Pioche, almost bounding in his 
 saddle as he spoke. " That I do. Peste ! I have good 
 reason to know him. See there." With that he lilted 
 the curled moustache from his upper lip, and disclosed to 
 my view a blue scar that marked one side of his mouth. 
 " That was his doing." 
 
 " Indeed ! How so, pray ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you ; we were in garrison at ]\Ietz, where, as 
 you know, the great commissariat station is held — thou- 
 sands of cannon and mortars, shells and shot, and tons of 
 powder without end. Well, the orders were very strict 
 against smoking— any man found with a pipe in his mouth 
 was sentenced to a week in the 'salle de police,' and I can't 
 say what else besides. When we marched into the town this 
 order stared us in the face — a great placard, with big 
 letters, which they who could read said was against smok- 
 ing. Now, most of us came from Alsace, and it was 
 pretty mach like setting a tish to live on dry land, bidding 
 us go without tobacco. As for me, I smoke just as £ 
 breathe, without knowinor or thinking of it. My pipe lies 
 in my mouth as naturally as my foot rests in the stirrup ; 
 and so, although I intended to obey the order, I knew 
 well the time might come when, just from not thinking, I 
 should be caught smoking away — for if I were on guard 
 over a magazine it would be all the same — I could noc 
 help it. So I resolved, as the only way not to be caught 
 tripping, to leave all my pipes in a secret place, till the 
 time came for us to leave Metz — an hour, I need not say, 
 we all anxiously longed for. This I did," continued 
 Pioche, " that same evening, and all went on favourably 
 for some time, when one night, as 1 was returning to
 
 THE MARCH ON THE DANUBE. 441 
 
 quarters, the devil, who meddles with everything in this 
 world, made me stick my hands into the pocket of my 
 mdress jacket, and I there discovered a little bit of a pipe 
 ibout the length of one joint of your thumb — a poor 
 crubby thing of clay, sure enough — but there it was, and, 
 .vorse still, ready filled with tobacco. Had it been a good- 
 ;ized meerschaum, with a tassel and an amber mouthpiece, 
 1 had resisted like a man ; but the temptation came in so 
 tumble a shape, I thought I was only guilty of a small 
 gin in transgressing, and so I lit my little friend, and 
 went gaily along towards the barracks. Just as I passed 
 the corner of the market-place I heard a great noise of 
 voices and laughing in the cate, and recognized the tones 
 of our major and some of the officers ; as they sat sipping 
 their wine in the verandah. Before I could raise my hand 
 to my mouth, Capitaine Pichot cried out — ^ Halte la! — 
 right about face — attention ! — left wheel — eyes front/ 
 This I did, as if on parade, and stood stock still — when 
 suddenly crack went a noise, and a pistol-bullet smashed 
 the pipe in two, and grazed my lip, when a roar of laugh- 
 ing followed, as he called out louder than before — ' Quick 
 march ! ' — and I stepped out to my quarters, never turn- 
 ing my head right or left, not knowing what other ball 
 practice might be in store for me. Tonnerre de Dieu ! 
 a little windage of the shot might have cost me every 
 tooth I have in the world ! " 
 
 "It was a cruel jest, Pioche, and you're a good- 
 humoured fellow to take it so eas ly." 
 
 " Not so, lieutenant. I had no punishment afterwards, 
 and was well content to be quit for the fright ! " 
 
 With such stray memories of his campaigning days did 
 Pioche beguile the way — now moralizing over the chances 
 and chanofes of a soldier's fortune — now comfortins: hira- 
 self with some pleasant retlection that, even in his own 
 humble walk, he had assisted at some of the greatest 
 triumphs of the French armies. Of the future he spoke 
 with the easy confidence of one who felt that in the 
 Emperor's guidance there could be full trust — both of the 
 cause being a just one, and the result victorious. A per- 
 fect type of his class, his bravery was only to be equalled 
 by the implicit confidence he ff^lt in his leader. That the 
 troops of any country, no matter how numerous and well
 
 442 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.** 
 
 equipped, could resist a French army, was a problem he 
 could not even entertain. The thing was too absurd : and 
 if Napoleon did not at that moment wield undisputed 
 sway over the whole of Europe, it was simply owing to 
 his excess of moderation, and the willing sacrifice of his 
 ambition to his greater love of liberty. 
 
 I confess, if I were sometimes tempted to smile at the 
 simplicity of the honest soldier, I was more often carried 
 away by his warm enthusiasm ; so frequently, too, did he 
 interweave in his narrative the mention of those great 
 victories, whose fame was unquestionable, that, in my 
 assent to the facts, I went a great way in my concurrence 
 with the inferences he deduced from them. And thus we 
 travelled on for several days, in advance of the division, 
 regulating the halting-places and the billets, according to 
 the nature and facilities of the country. The towns and 
 villages in our " route " presented an aspect of the most 
 profound peace ; and however strange it seemed, yet each 
 day attested how completely ignorant the people were of 
 the advance of that mighty army that now, in four vast 
 columns of march, was pouring its thousands into the 
 heart of Germany. The Princes of Baden and Darmstadt, 
 through whose territories we passed, had not as yet given 
 in their adherence to the Emperor ; and the inhabitants 
 of those countries seemed perplexed and confused at the 
 intentions of their powerful neighbour, whose immense 
 trains of ammunition, and enormous parks of artillery, 
 filled every road, and blocked up every village. 
 
 At length we reached Manheim, where a portion of the 
 corps of Marechal Davoust were in waiting to join us: 
 and there we first learned, by the imperial bulletin, the 
 object of the war, and the destination of the troops. The 
 document was written by Napoleon himself, and bore 
 abundant evidence of his style. After the usual pro- 
 gramme, attesting his sincere love for peace, and his 
 desire for the cultivation of those happy and industrious 
 habits which make nations more prosperous than glorious, 
 it went on to speak of the great coalition between Russia 
 and Austria, which, in union with the '■'' perjide Albion," 
 had no other thought nor wish than the abasement and 
 dismemberment of France. " But, soldiers ! " continued 
 he, "your Emperor is in the midst of you. France itself
 
 THE MARCH ON THE DANUBE. 443 
 
 in all its majesty, is at your back, and you are but the 
 advanced guard of a mighty people ! There are fatigues 
 and privations, battles and forced marches, before you ; 
 but let them oppose to us every resistance they are able — 
 we sv^^ear never to cry Halt ! till we have planted our 
 eagles on the territory of our enemies ! " 
 
 We halted two days at Manheim to permit some 
 regiments to come up, and then marched fo-rward to 
 Kordlingen, which place the Emperor himself had only 
 quitted the night before. Here the report rc^ached us 
 that a smart afiair had taken place the previous morning, 
 between the Austrian division and a portion of Ney's 
 advanced guard, in which we had rather the worst of it, 
 and had lost some prisoners. The news excited consider- 
 able di^^content among the troops, and increased their 
 impatience to move forward to a very great degree. 
 Meanwhile, the different divisions of the French army 
 were converging towards Ulm, from the north, south, and 
 west; and every hour brought them nearer to that de- 
 voted spot, which as yet, in the security of an enormous 
 garrison, never dreamed of sudden attack. 
 
 The corps of Soult was now pushed forward to Augs- 
 burg, and, extended by a line of communication to 
 Meiningen, the only channel of communication which re- 
 mained open to the enemy. The quartier-gemfral of the 
 Emperor was established at Zummerhausen. Ney was at 
 Guntzburg, Marmont threatened in the west, and Berua- 
 dotte, arriving by forced marches from Prussia, hovered in 
 the north, so that Ulm was invested in every direction at 
 one blow, and that in a space of time almost inconceivable. 
 
 While these immense combinations were being effected, 
 requiring as they did an enormous extent of circumference 
 to march over, before the fortress could be thus enclosed, 
 as it were, within our grasp, our astonishment increased 
 daily that the Austrian.s delayed to give battle ; but, as if 
 terror-stricken, they waited on, day after day, while the 
 measures for their ruin were accomplishing. At length a 
 desperate sortie was made from the garrison, and a large 
 body of troops escaping by the left bank of the Danube, 
 directed their course towards Bohemia ; while another 
 corps, in the opposite direction, forced back Ney's ad- 
 vanced guard, and took the road towards Nordlingen.
 
 414 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.'* 
 
 Having directed a strong detachment in pursuit of this 
 latter corps, which was commanded by the Archduke 
 Frederick himself, the Emperor closed in around Ulm, 
 and, forcing the passage of the river at Elchingen, pre- 
 pared for the final attack. 
 
 While these dispositions were being effected, the cavalry- 
 brigade, under General d'Auvergne, consisting of three 
 regiments of heavy dragoons, the 4th Cuirassiers, and 8th 
 Hussfirs, continued to descend the left bank of the 
 Danube, in pursuit of a part of the Austrian garrison 
 which had taken that line in retreat towards Vienna. 
 We followed as far as Guntzburg without coming up with 
 them, and there the news of the capitulation of Meiningen, 
 with its garrison of six thousand men, to Marechal Soult, 
 reached us, along with an order to return to Ulm. 
 
 Up to this time all 1 had seen of war was forced marches, 
 bivouacs hastily broken up, hurried movements in advance 
 find retreat, the fatigue of night parties, and a continual 
 alert. At first the hourly expectation of coming in sight 
 of the enemy kept up our spirits ; but when day after day 
 passed, and the same pursuit followed, where the pursued 
 never appeared, the younger soldiers grumbled loudly at 
 fatigues undertaken without object, and, as it seemed to 
 them, by mistake. 
 
 On the night of the 17th of October we bivouacked 
 within a league of Ulm. Scarcely were the pickets 
 formed for the night, when orders came for the whole 
 brigade to assemble under arms at daybreak. A thousand 
 rumours were abroad as to the meaning of the order, but 
 none came near the true solution ; indeed, the difficulty 
 was increased by the added command, that the regiments 
 should appear "e« grande tenue^'' or in full dress. I saw 
 that my old commander made a point of keeping me in 
 suspense as to the morrow, and affected, as much as 
 possible, an air of indifference on the subject. He had 
 himself arrived late from Ulm, where he had seen the 
 Emperor, and amused me by mentioning the surprise of 
 an Austrian aide-de-camp, who, sent to deliver a letter, 
 found his Majesty sitting with his boots off, and stretched 
 before a bivouac fire. 
 
 " Yes," said Napoleon, divining at once his astonish- 
 ment, " it is even so. Your master wished to remind me
 
 THE MARCH ON THE DANUBE. 445 
 
 of my old trade, and I hope that the imperial purple has 
 not made me torget its lessons." 
 
 Bj daybreak the next morning our brigade was in the 
 saddle, and in motion towards the quartier-geueval — a 
 gently rising ground, surmounted by a farm-hout^e, where 
 the Emperor had fixed his quarters. As we mounted the 
 hill we came in sight of the whole army drawn up in 
 battle array. They stood in columns of divisions, with 
 artillery and cavalry between them, the bands of the 
 various regiments in front. 
 
 The day was a brilliant one, and heightened the effect 
 of the scene. Beyond us lay Ulm — silent as if untenanted. 
 Not a sentinel appeared on the walls ; the very flag had 
 disappeared from the battlements. Our surprise was 
 great at this ; but how was it increased as the rumour fled 
 from mouth to mouth — " Ulm has capitulated : thirty- 
 live thousand men have become prisoners of war ! " Ere 
 the first moments of wonder had ceased, the staff of the 
 Emperor was seen passing along the line, and finally 
 taking up its station on the hill, while the regimental 
 bands burst forth into one crash the most spirit-stirring 
 and exciting. The proud notes swelled and filled the air 
 as the sun, bursting forth with increased brilliancy, tipped 
 every helmet and banner, and displayed the mightj^ hosts 
 in all the splendour of their pageantry. Beneath the hill 
 stretched a vast plain in the direction of Neuburg, and 
 here we at first supposed it was the Emperor's intention 
 to review the troops ; but a very diflerent scene was 
 destined to pass on that spot. 
 
 Suddenly a single gun boomed out, and as the lazy 
 smoke moved heavily along the earth, the gates of Ulm 
 opened, and the head of an Austrian column appeared. 
 Not with beat of drum, or colours flying, did they ad- 
 vance — but slow in step, with arms reversed, and their 
 heads downcast, they marched on towards the mound ; 
 defiling beneath this, they moved into the plain, and, 
 corps by corps, piled their arms, and resumed their 
 "route," the v/hite hne serpentining along the vast plain, 
 and stretching away into the dim distance. Never was a 
 sight so sad as this ! All that war can present of suff^r- 
 ing and bloodshed, all that the battle-field can show oi 
 dead and dying, were nothing to the miserable abasement
 
 446 TOM BUEKE OF *' OURS." 
 
 of those thousands, who from daybreak till noon poured 
 on their unceasing tide. 
 
 On the hill beside the Emperor stood several officers in 
 white uniform, whose sad faces and suffering looks 
 attested the misery of their hearts. " Better a thousand 
 deaths than such humiliation ! " was the muttered cry of 
 every man about me ; while in very sorrow at such a scene, 
 the tears coursed down the hardy cheeks of many a 
 bronzed soldier, and some turned away their heads, unable 
 to behold the spectacle. 
 
 Seventy pieces of cannon, with a long train of ammuni- 
 tion waggons, and four thousand cavalry horses, brought 
 up the rear of this melancholy procession — the spoils of 
 the capitulation of Ulm. Truly, if that day were, as the 
 imperial bulletin announced it, " one of the most glorious 
 for France," it was also the darkest in the history of 
 Austria — when thirty-two regiments of infantry and 
 fifteen of cavalry, with artillery and siege defences of 
 every kind, laid down their arms and surrendered them- 
 selves prisoners. Thus in fifteen days from the passing 
 of the Rhine was the campaign begun and ended, and tho 
 Austrian Empire prostrate at the feet of Napoleon.
 
 447 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE CANTEEN. 
 
 The Emperor returned tliat night to Elchingen, accom- 
 panied by a numerous staff, among whom was the General 
 d'Auvergne. I remember well the toilsome ascent of the 
 steep town, which, built on a cliff above the Danube, was 
 now little better than a heap of ruins, from the assault 
 of Ney's division two days before. Scrambling our way 
 over fallen houses and massive fragments of masonry, we 
 reached the square that forms the highest point of the 
 city ; from thence we looked down upon the great plain, 
 with the majestic Danube winding along for miles j in the 
 valley lay Ulm — now sad and silent ; no watch-fires blazed 
 along its deserted ramparts, and through its open gatea 
 there streamed the idle tide of soldiers and camp followers, 
 curious to see the place which once they had deemed 
 almost impregnable. The quartier- general was established 
 here, and the different staffs disposed of themselves, as 
 well as they were able, throughout the houses near. Most 
 of these, indeed, had been deserted by their inhabitants, 
 whose dread of the French was a feeling ministered to by 
 every artifice in the power of the Austrian Government. 
 As for me, I was but a young campaigner, and might from 
 sheer ignorance have passed my night in the open air, 
 when by good fortune I caught sight of my old companion, 
 Pioche, hurrying along a narrow street, carrying a basket 
 well stored with bottles on his arm. 
 
 "^^, mon lieute7iant, you here, and not supped yet, I'd 
 wager a crown ? " 
 
 "You'd win it too, Pioche; nor do I see very great 
 chance of my doing so." 
 
 " Come along with me, sir ; Mademoiselle Minette has 
 just opened her canteen in the flower-market — such it was 
 once, they tell me — but there is little odour left there now.
 
 448 TOM BURKE OF 
 
 save such as contract powder gives. But no matter 
 you'll have a roast capon and sausages, and some of the 
 Austrian wine ; I have just secured half a dozen bottles 
 here." 
 
 I need scarcely say that this was an invitation there 
 was no declining, and 1 joined the corporal at once, and 
 hurried on to mademoiselle's quarters. We had not pro- 
 ceeded far, when the noise of voices speaking and singing 
 in a loud tone announced that we were approaching the 
 canteen. 
 
 " You hear them, mon lieuteMant^''^ said Pioche, with a 
 look of delight, " you hear the rogues. JPar St. Jacques, 
 they know where to make themselves merry. Good wine 
 for drinking, lodging for nothing, fire for the trouble of 
 lighting it, are brave inducements to enjoy life." 
 
 " But it's a canteen ; surely mademoiselle is paid ? " 
 
 " Not the first night of a campaign, I suppose," said 
 he, with a voice of rebuke. " Parbleu I that would be a 
 pretty affair ! No, no ; each man brings what he can 
 find, drinks what he is able, and leaves the rest — ^yliich, 
 after all, is a very fair stock-in-trade to begin with ; and 
 so now, mon lieutenant, to commence operations regularly, 
 just sling this ham on your sabre over your shoulder, and 
 take this turkey carelessly in your hand — that's it — here 
 we are — follow me." 
 
 Passing through an arched gateway, we entered a little 
 courtyard where several horses were picketed, the ground 
 about them being strewn with straw knee-deep ; cavalry 
 saddles, holsters, and sheep-skins, lay confusedly on every 
 side, along with sabres and carbines ; a great lamp, 
 detached from its position over the street entrance, was 
 suspended from a lance out of a window, and threw its 
 light over the scene. Stepping cautiously through this 
 chaotic heap, we reached a glass door, from within which 
 the riotous sounds were most audibly issuing. Pioche 
 pushed it open, and we entered a large room, full fifty feet 
 in length, at one end of which, under a species of canopy, 
 formed by two old regimental colours, sat Mademoiselle 
 Minette — for so I guessed to be a very pretty brunette, 
 with a most decidedly Parisian look about her air and 
 toilette ; a table, covered with a snow-white napkin, was 
 in front of her, on which lay a large bouquet and an open
 
 THE CANTEEN. 449 
 
 book, in whick she appeared to be writing as we came in . 
 The room on either side was filled by small tables, around 
 which sat parties drinking, card-playing, singing, or 
 quarrelling, as it might be, with a degree of energy and 
 vociferation only camp^'gning can give an idea of. 
 
 The first thing whicii surprised me was, that all ranks 
 in the service seemed confusedly mixed up together, there 
 being no distinction of class whatever ; captains and 
 corporals, sergeants, lieutenants, colonels, and tambour- 
 majors, were inextricably commingled, hob-nobbing, hand- 
 shaking, and even kissing in turn ; that most fraternal 
 and familiar " Tu " of dearest friendship being heard on 
 every side. 
 
 Resisting a hundred invitations to join some party or 
 other as he passed up the room, Pioche led me forward 
 towards Mademoiselle Minette, to present me in due form 
 ere I took my place. 
 
 The honest corporal, who would have charged a square 
 without blinking, seemed actually to tremble as he came 
 near the pretty vivandiere, and when, with a roguish 
 twinkle of her dark eye, and a half smile on her saucy lip, 
 she said, ^^ Ah, c'est toi, gros Pioche?"" the poor fellow 
 could only mutter a " Oui, mademoiselle,'' in a voice scarce 
 loud enough to be heard. 
 
 " And monsieur," said she, " whom I have the honour 
 to see ? " 
 
 " Is my lieutenant, mademoiselle ; or he is aide-de- 
 camp of my general, which comes to the same thing." 
 
 With a few words of gracious civility, well and neatly 
 expressed, mademoiselle welcomed me to the canteen, 
 which, she said, had often been graced by the presence of 
 General d'Auvergne himself. 
 
 " Yes, by St. Denis ! " cried Pioche, with energy, 
 " Prince Murat, and Marechal Davoust, too, have been 
 here.''' Dropping his voice to a whisper, he added some- 
 thing that called a faint blush to mademoiselle's cheek as 
 she replied, — 
 
 *' You think so, do you ? " Then, turning to me, asked 
 if I were not disposed to sup. 
 
 " Yes, that he is," interrupted Pioche, " and here is the 
 materiel ; " with which he displayed his pannier of bottles, 
 and pointed to the spoils which, following his directions, 
 
 VOL. I. G G
 
 450 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 I carried in my hands. The corporal having despatched 
 the fowls to the kitchen, proceeded to arrange a little 
 table at a short distance from where mademoiselle sat — 
 an arrangement, I could perceive, which called forth some 
 rather angry looks from those around the room, and I 
 could overhear more than one muttered Sacre I as to the 
 ambitious pretensions of the "gros Pioche." 
 
 He himself paid little, if any, attention to these signs of 
 discontent, but seemed wholly occupied in perfecting the 
 table arrangements, which he did with the skill and 
 despatch of a tavern waiter. 
 
 " Here, mon lieutenant, this is your place," said he, 
 with a bow, as he placed a chair for me at the head of the 
 board ; and then, with a polite obeisance to the lady, he 
 added, " Avec permission, mademoiselle,^^ and took his own 
 seat at the siae. 
 
 A very appetizing dish made its appearance at this 
 moment, and notwithstanding my curiosity to watch the 
 proceedings of the party, and my admiration for made- 
 moiselle herself, hunger carried the day, and I was soon 
 too deeply engaged in the discussion of my supper to pay 
 much attention to aught else. It was just then that, 
 forgetting where I was, and unmindful that I was not 
 enjoying the regular fare of an inn, 1 called out, as if to 
 the waiter, for " bread." A roar of laughter ran through 
 the room at my mistake, when a dark-whiskered little 
 fellow, in an undress frock, stuck his small sword into 
 a loaf, and handed it to me from the table v/here he 
 sat. 
 
 There was something in the act which rather puzzled 
 me, and might have continued longer to do so, had not 
 Pioche whispered me in a low voice, '* Take it, take it." 
 
 I reached out my hand for the purpose, when, just as I 
 had caught the loaf, with a slight motion of his wrist he 
 disengaged the point of the weapon, and gave me a scratch 
 on the back of my hand. The gesture I made called forth 
 a renewed peal of laughing, and I now perceived, from the 
 little man's triumphant look at his companions, that the 
 whole thing was intended as an insult. Resolving, how- 
 ever, to go quietly in the matter, I held out my hand when 
 it was still bleeding, and said, " You perceive, sir." 
 
 "Ah, an accident, rnorhleu/^^ said he, with a careless
 
 THE CANTEEN. 451 
 
 shru^ of his shoulders, and a half-leer of impertinent 
 indiiference. 
 
 " So is this also," replied I, as, springing up, I seized 
 the sword he was returning to its scabbard, and smashed 
 the blade across my knee. 
 
 " Well done, well done ! " cried twenty voices in a 
 breath, while the whole room rose in a confused manner 
 to take one side or other in the contest, several crowding 
 around the little man, whose voice had suddenly lost its 
 tone of easy impertinence, and was now heard swearing 
 away, with the most guttural intonation. 
 
 " What kind of swordsman are you ? " whispered Pioche, 
 in my ear. 
 
 " Sufficiently expert to care little for an enemy of his 
 calibre." 
 
 *' Ah, you don't know that," replied he ; "it's Fran9ois, 
 the maitre d'armes of the Fourth." 
 
 "You must not fight him, monsieur," said mademoiselle, 
 as she laid her hand on mine, and looked up into my face 
 with a most expressive glance. 
 
 " They are waiting for you without, mon lieutenant," 
 said an old sergeant-major, touching his cap as he spoke. 
 
 " Come along," said Piocbe, with a deeply-muttered 
 oath ; " and, by the blood of St. Louis, it shall be the last 
 time Maitre Francois shows his skill in fence, if I cost 
 them the tire of a platoon to-morrow." 
 
 I was hurried along by the crowd to the court, a hundred 
 difi'erent advisers whispering their various counsels in my 
 ears as I went. 
 
 " Take care of his lunge in tierce — mind that," cried 
 one. 
 
 "Push him outside the arm — outside, remember — take 
 my advice, young man," said an old sous-ofic/cr : "close 
 on him at once, take his point where he gives it, and make 
 sure of your own weapon." 
 
 "No bad plan either," cried two or three. " Monsieur 
 Auguste is right ; Fran9ois can't bear the cold steel — and 
 if he sees it close, he loses his head altogether." 
 
 The courtyard was already cleared for action — the 
 horses picketed in one corner, the straw removed, and a 
 blaze of light from all the lamps and candles of the supper- 
 room showed the ground as clearly as at noondav. While 
 
 G G 2
 
 452 TOM BURKE OF " OURS." 
 
 my antagonist was taking off his coat and vest, an operation 
 I did not choose to imitate, I took a rapid survey of the 
 scene, and notwithstanding the rush of advisers around 
 rae, was sufficiently collected to decide on my mode of 
 acting. 
 
 " Come, raon lieutenant, off with your frock," said an 
 officer at my side ; " even if you don't care for the advan- 
 tage of a free sword-arm, those fellows yonder won't 
 believe it all fair, if you do not strip." 
 
 " Yes, yes, take it off," said a fellow in the crowd, 
 "j^our fine epaulettes may as well escape tarnishing; and 
 that new coat, too, will be all the better without a hole 
 in it." 
 
 I hastily threw off my coat and waistcoat, when the 
 crowd fell back, and the maitre cVarmes advancing into the 
 open space with a light and nimble step, cried out, " En 
 garde ^ monsieur." 1 stood my ground, and crossed my 
 sword with his. 
 
 For a few seconds I contented myself witb merely 
 observing my adversary, who handled his weapon not only 
 with all the skill of an accomplished swordsman, but with 
 a dexterity that showed me he was playing off his art 
 before his companions. 
 
 As if to meassure his distance, lie made two or three slight 
 passes over the guard of my sword, and then grating his 
 blade against mine with that peculiar motion which bodes 
 attack, he fixed his eyes on mine, to draw off my attention 
 from his intended thrust. The quickness and facility witii 
 which his weapon changed from side to side of mine, the 
 easy motion of his wrist, and the rigid firmness of his 
 arm, all showed me I was no match for him — although 
 one of the best of my day at the military school — and I 
 did not venture to proceed beyond mere defence. He saw 
 this, and by many a trick endeavoured to induce an attack 
 ■ — now dropping his point carelessly, to address a mono- 
 syllable to a friend near — now throwing open his guard, 
 as if from negligence. At length, as if tired with waiting, 
 lie called out, — 
 
 " Que cela Jinisse^'' and rushed in on me. 
 
 The rapidity of the assault, for a second or so, com- 
 pletely overcame me ; and though I defended myself 
 mechanically, I could neither follow his weapon with my
 
 THE CANTEEN. 453 
 
 eye, nor anticipate his intended thrust. Twice, his point 
 touched my sword-arm above the wrist, and by a slight 
 wound there, saved my lungs from being pierced. At 
 last, after a desperate rally, in which he broke in on my 
 uuard, he made a fearful lunge at my chest ; I bent 
 forward, and received his blade in the muscles of my back, 
 when, with a wheel round, I smashed the sword in me, and 
 buried my own, up to the hilt, in his body. He fell, 
 bathed in blood ; and I, staggering backwards, was caught 
 ill Pioche's arms, at the moment when all consciousness 
 was fast leaving me. 
 
 A few minutes after I came to myself, and found that 
 I was lying on a heap of straw in the yard, while two 
 regimental surgeons were most industriously engaged in 
 trying to stop the haemorrhage of my wounds. 
 
 With little interest in my own late, I could not help 
 feeling anxious about my antagonist. They shook their 
 heads mournfally in reply to my question, and desired me 
 to be as calm as possible, for my life hung on a very 
 thread. The dressing completed, I was carried into the 
 house, and laid on a bed in a small, neat-looking chamber, 
 which I heard, as they carried me along, mademoiselle had 
 kindly placed at my disposal. She herself assisted to 
 place the pillow beneath my head, and then with noiseless 
 gesture closed the curtains of the window, and took her 
 seat at the bedside. 
 
 The moment the others had left the room, I turned to 
 ask for the maitre d'ar^nes. But she could only say that 
 his companions of the Fourth had carried him away to 
 the ambulance, refusing all offers of aid, except from the 
 surgeons of their own corps. 
 
 " They say," added she, with a naive simplicity, "that 
 Fran9ois is not made like other folk, and tliat the only 
 doctors who understand him are in the Fourth Regiment. 
 However that may be, it will puzzle them sadly this time 
 — you have given him his coup de conge.''' 
 
 " I hope not, sincerely," said I, with a shudder. 
 
 "And why not?" cried mademoiselle, in astonishment. 
 " Is it not a good service you render to the whole brigade ? 
 Would not the division be all the happier if such as he, 
 and Pichot, and the rest of them " 
 
 " Pichot Am6dee Pichot ? "
 
 454 TOM BTJRKE OF " OURS." 
 
 " Yes, Amedee Pichot, to be sure. But whatV that 
 knocking outside ? Ah, there's Pioche at the window .' " 
 
 Mademoiselle arose and walked towards the door, but, 
 before she reached it, it was opened, and General d'Auvergno 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Is he here ? " asked he, in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes, general," said mademoiselle, with a curtsey, as 
 she placed the chair for him to sit down. " He is much 
 better — I'll wait outside till you want me," added she, -as 
 she left the room and closed the door, 
 
 " Come, come, my boy," said the kind old man, as he 
 took my hand in his, " don't give way thus. I have made 
 many inquiries about this atfair, and they all tend to 
 exculpate you. This fellow, Fran9ois, is the mauvaise 
 tete of the regiment, and I only wish his chastisement had 
 come from some other hand than yours." 
 
 " Will he live, general ? " asked I, with a smothering 
 fulness in my throat as I uttered the words. 
 
 " Not if he be mortal, I be'ieve. The sword pierced his 
 chest from side to side." 
 
 I groaned heavily as I heard these words ; and burying 
 ray head beneath the clothes, became absorbed in my grief. 
 What would I not have endured then of insult and con- 
 tumely, rather than suffer the terrible load upon ray con- 
 science of a fellow-creature's blood — shed in passion and 
 revenge. How willingly would I have accepted the 
 most despised position among men to be void of this 
 crime. 
 
 '* it matters not," cried I, in ray despair — "it raatters 
 not how I guide ray path, raisfortunes beset rae at every 
 turn of the way " 
 
 " Speak not thus," said the general, sternly. "The 
 career you have embarked in is a stormy and a rough 
 one. Other men have fared worse than you have in it — 
 and without repining too. You knew of one such your- 
 sslf, who, in all the saddest bereavements of his hopes, 
 cherished a soldier's heart and a soldier's courage." 
 
 The allusion to my poor friend, Charles de Meudon, 
 brought the tears to my eyes, and I felt that all my 
 sufferings were little compared with his. 
 
 " Let your first care be to get well as soon as you can : 
 happily your name may escape the Emperor's notice in
 
 THE CANTEEN. 455 
 
 tliis affair, by appearing in the list of wounded — our friend 
 the maitre d'armes is not likely to discover on you. The 
 campaign is begun, however, and you must try to take 
 your share of it. The Emperor's staff starts for Muni(;h 
 to-morrow. I must accompany them — but I leave you 
 in good hands here ; and this detachment will occupy 
 Elchingen at least ten days longer." 
 
 Scarcely had the general left me when mademoiselle 
 re-entered the room. 
 
 " So, monsieur," said she, smiling archly, ** you have 
 been left in my care, it seems. Morhleu ! it's well the 
 vivandiere of the regiment is not a prude, or I should 
 scarcely know how to act. Well, well, one can only do 
 one's best. And now, shall I read for you, or shall I leave 
 you quiet for an hour or two ? " 
 
 " Just so, leave him alone for a little while," said a gruff 
 voice from the end of the bed, at the same time that the 
 huge beard and red moustache of Pioche appeared peeping 
 above the curtain. 
 
 " Is he not stupid, that great animal of a cuirassier ? " 
 said mademoiselle, starting at the voice so unexpectedly 
 heard. " I say, mon caporal^ riptht face — march. Do you 
 hear, sir? You've got the feuille de route. What do you 
 stay for?" 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle," said the poor fellow, as he 
 smoothed down his hair pn his forehead, and looked the 
 very impersonation of sheepish admiration. 
 
 " Well ? " replied she, as if not understanding his appeal 
 to her feelings — " well ? " 
 
 A look of total embarrassment, an expression of com- 
 plete bewilderment, was his only reply ; while his e^'es 
 wandered round the room till they met mine, and then, as 
 if suddenly conscious that a third party was present, he 
 blushed deeply, and said, — 
 
 " Too true, mon lieutenant, she does with me what she 
 will." 
 
 " Don't believe him, monsieur," interposed she, quickly. 
 *' I told him to get knocked on the head a dozen times, 
 and he's never done so." 
 
 " I would though, and right soon too, if you were only 
 in earnest," said he, with a vehemence that bespoke the 
 truth of the assertion.
 
 i56 TOM BUKKE OF " OURS.** 
 
 " There, there," said she, with a smile, as she held out 
 her hand to hira, "we are friends." 
 
 The poor fellow pressed it to his lips with the respectful 
 devotion of a Bayard ; and with a muttered " This even- 
 ing," left the room. 
 
 " It is no small triumph, mademoiselle," said I, " that 
 you have inspired such a passion in the hardy breast of 
 the cuirassier." 
 
 A saucy shake of the head, as though she did not like 
 the compliment, was the only reply. She bent her head 
 down over her work, and seemed absorbed in its details ; 
 while I, reverting to my own cares, became silent also. 
 
 " And so, monsieur," said she, after a long pause — 
 ** and so you deem this conquest of mine a very wonderful 
 thing?" 
 
 " You mistake me," said I, eagerly — "you mistake me 
 much. My surprise was rather that one like Pioche, 
 good-hearted, simple fellow as he is, should possess the 
 refinement of feeling " 
 
 " A clever flank movement of yours, lieutenant," inter- 
 posed she, with a pleasant laugh ; " and I'll not attack 
 you again. And, after all, I am a little proud of my 
 conquest." 
 
 " The confession is a flattering one, from one who 
 doubtless has had a great many to boast of." 
 
 " A great many, indeed ! " replied she, naively. " So 
 many, that I can't reckon them — not to boast of, how- 
 ever, as you term it. JBarhleu ! some of them had little of 
 
 ihat But here comes the doctor, and I must not let 
 
 him see us talking. Mafoi, they little think, when their 
 backs are turned, how seldom we mind their directions." 
 
 The surgeon's visit was a matter of a lew seconds ; he 
 contented himself with feeling my pulse and reiterating 
 his advice as to quiet. 
 
 " You have got the best nurse in the army, monsieur," 
 said he, as he took his leave ; " I have only one caution to 
 give you — take care if an affection of the heart be not a 
 worse affair than a thrust of a small sword. I have known 
 such a termination of an illness before now." 
 
 Mademoiselle made no reply save an arch look of half 
 anper, and left the room; and I, wearied and exhausted, 
 Bank into a heavy slumber.
 
 457 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE "VIVANDIBRE OP THE FOURTH.'* 
 
 For three entire weeks my wound confined me to the 
 limits of my chamber ; and yet, were it not for my im- 
 patience to be up and stirring, my life was not devoid of 
 happiness. 
 
 Every movement of the army, in its most minute detail, 
 was daily reported to me by Mademoiselle Minette. The 
 bulletins of the Emperor, the promotions, the on dits of 
 the bivouac and the march, brought by the various 
 battalions as they moved on towards the east, were all 
 related by her, with such knowledge of military phrase 
 and soldiers' style as» to amuse nie, equally by her manner 
 as by what she told. 
 
 The cuirassiers marched soon after I received my wound, 
 and, though attached to the corps, she remained behind 
 at Elchingen, having pledged herself, as she said, to the 
 general, to restore me safe and sound before slie left 
 me. The little window beside my bed offered a widely- 
 extended view over the great plain beneath, and there I 
 have sat the entire day, watching the columns of cavalry 
 and infantry as they poured along, seemingly without 
 ceasing, towards the Lower Danube. Sometimes the faint 
 sounds of the soldiers' s(Hjgs would reach me — the rude 
 chorus of a regiment timing their step to some warrior's 
 chant — and set ray heart a beating to be with them once 
 more. Sometimes my eye would rest upon the slow train 
 of waggons, surmounted with a white flag, that wound 
 their way heavily in the rear, and my spirit sank as I 
 thought over the poor wounded fellows that were thus 
 borne onward with the tide of war, as the crushed serpent 
 trails his wounded folds beliind him. 
 
 Mademoiselle seldom left me. Seated at her work, 
 often for hours without speaking, she would follow the 
 train of her own thoughts, and when by chance she gave
 
 458 to:j buriie of "ouns." 
 
 a passing glance through the window at the scene beneath, 
 some single word would escape her, as to the regiments 
 or their officers, few of which were unknown to her, afe 
 least by reputation. 
 
 I could not but mark that, within the last twelve or 
 fourteen days, she seemed more sad and depressed than 
 before — the lively gaiety of her character had given place 
 to a meek and suffering melancholy, which I could not 
 help attributing to the circumstances in which she was 
 placed, away from all her ordinary pursuits, and the com- 
 panions of her daily life. I hinted as much one day, and 
 was about to insist on her leaving me, when she suddenly 
 interrupted me, saying, — 
 
 " It is all true. I am sad, and know not why — for I 
 never felt happier ; yet, if you wished me to be gay, as I 
 used to be, I could not for the world. It is not because 
 I am far from those I have learned to look on as my 
 brothers. Not so — my changeful fortune has often placed 
 me thus. Perhaps it's your fault, mon lieutenant,'^ said 
 she, suddenly, turning her eyes full upon me. 
 
 *' Mine, Minette — mine ! " said I, in amazement. 
 
 She blashed deeply, and held down her head, while her 
 bosom heaved several times convulsively ; and then, while 
 a deathly paleness spread over her cheek, she said, in a 
 low, broken voice, — 
 
 " Perhaps it is because I am an orphan, and never 
 knew what it was to have those whose dispositions I 
 should imitate, and whose tastes I should study ; but, 
 somehow, I feel even as though I could not help becoming 
 like those I am near to, following them — ay, and outstrip- 
 ping them — in all their likings and dislikings." 
 
 " And so, as you seem sad and sorrowful, it is more than 
 probable that you took the colour of my thoughts. I 
 should feel sorry, Minette, to think it were thus — I should 
 ill repay all your kindness to me — I must try and wear a 
 happier countenance." 
 
 " Do so — and mine will soon reflect it," said she, 
 laughing ; " but, perhaps, you have cause for sorrow,'* 
 added she, as she stole a glance at me beneath her 
 eyelashes. 
 
 " You know, Minette, that I am an orphan like your- 
 self," said I, half evading the question.
 
 THE " VIVANDIERE OF THE FOURTH." 459 
 
 ** All ! " cried slie, passionately, " if I had been a mau, 
 I should like to be such a one as Murat there. See how 
 his black eyes sparkle, and his proud lip curls, when the 
 roll of artillery, or the clattering of a platoon is heard — • 
 how his whole soul is in the fight ! I remember once — it 
 was at the Iser — his brigade was stationed beneath the 
 hill, and had no orders to move forward for several hours — 
 he used to get off his horse, and walk about, and en- 
 deavour, by pushing the smoke away thus with his hand, 
 and almost kneeling to the ground, to catch a view of the 
 battle, and then he vrould spring into the saddle, and, 
 for sheer passion, dash the spurs into his horse's flanks, 
 till he reared and plunged again. I watched him thus 
 for hours. I loved to look on him, chafing and fretting, 
 like his own mettled charger, he was so handsome ! 
 
 " ' A drink, Minette ! Something to cool my lips, for 
 Heaven's sake,' said he, at last, as he saw me standing 
 near him. I filled the little cup you see here with wine, 
 and handed it to him. Scarcely had he raised it to his 
 lips, when an aide-de-camp galloped up, and whispered 
 some words in haste. 
 
 *' ' Ha, ha ! ' cried he, with a shout of joy, * they want 
 us, then — the squadrons will advance by sections — and 
 charge! — charge!' — and with that he flung the goblet 
 from him to the ground, and when I took it up, I found 
 that with the grasp of his strong fingers he had crushed 
 it nearly together. See here. I never would let it be 
 changed. It is just as at the time he clasped it, and I 
 kept it as a souvenir of the prince." She took from a 
 little shelf the cup, as she spoke, and held it up before me, 
 with the devoted admiration with which some worshipper 
 would regard a holy relic. *' And that," said Minette, as 
 she pressed to her lips a faded cockade, whose time-worn 
 tints still showed the tricolored emblems of the Republic 
 — " that do I value above the cross of the Legion itself." 
 
 " Whose was it, Minette ? Some brave soldier's, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 *' A.nd you may be sure. That was the cockade of Le 
 Premier Grenadier de la Fiance — La Tour d'Auvergne — 
 the cousin of your own general.' Seeing that I had not 
 heard before of him, she paused for a few seconds in 
 amazement, and then muttered —" A brave school to train
 
 460 TOM BURKE OF " OURS.*' 
 
 the yoTitTi of France it must be, where the name of La 
 Tour d'Aavergne was never mentioned." 
 
 Having thus vented her indignation, she proceeded to 
 tell me of her hero, who, though descended from one of 
 the most distinguished families of France, yet persisted in 
 carrying his musket in the ranks of the republican army — - 
 never attaining to a higher grade, nor known by any other 
 title than the " Premier O-renadier de la France." Fore- 
 most in every post of danger — the volunteer a.t every 
 emergency of more than ordinary peril — he refused every 
 proffer of advancement, and lived among his comrades the 
 simple life of a soldier. 
 
 "He fell at Neuburg," said Mademoiselle, "scarce a 
 day's march from here ; they buried him on the field, and 
 placed him dead, as he had been ever while living, with, 
 his face towards the enemy. And you never heard of him ? 
 — -juste Ciel ! it is almost incredible. You never brigaded 
 with the Forty-fifth of the line — that's certain." 
 
 " And why so ? " 
 
 " Because they call his name at every parade muster as 
 though he were still alive and well. The first man called 
 is La Toar d'Auvergne, and the first soldier answers, 
 • 21ort sur le champ de bataille.^ That's a prouder monu- 
 ment than your statues and tombstones. Is it not ? " 
 
 " Indeed it is," said I, to whom the anecdote was then 
 new, though I afterwards lived to hear it corroborated in 
 every respect. With many such traits of the service did 
 mademoiselle beguile the time — now telling of the pleasant 
 life of the cantonment — now of the wild scenes of the 
 battle-field. Young as she was, she had seen much of 
 both, and learned around the bivouac fires the old tradi- 
 tions of the revolutionary armies, and the brave deeds of 
 the first veterans of France. In such narratives, too, her 
 own enthusiastic nature burst forth in all its vehemence — 
 her eyes would sparkle, and her words come rapidly, as 
 she descrip ;d some fierce attack or headlong charge — and 
 it was impossible to listen without catching up a portion 
 of her ardour, so wrapt up did she herself become in the 
 excitement of her story. Thus, one evening, while 
 describing the passage of the Adige, after detailing most 
 circumstantially the position and strength of the attacking 
 columns, and describing how each successive advance was
 
 THE " VIYANDIEEE OF THE FOURTH.'* 461 
 
 repulsed by the murderous fire of the artillery, she pro- 
 ceeded to relate the plan of a flank movement, effected by 
 some light infantry regiment, thrown across the river 
 a considerable distance up the stream. " We came along," 
 ssaid she, "under the .'uade of some willows, and at last 
 reached the ford — the leading companies halted, two 
 officers sounded the river, and found that it was passable. 
 I was close by at the time — it was the Colonel Lajolais 
 who commanded the brigade, and he asked me for a 
 ' goutte.^ ' It may be the last you'll ever give me, Minette,' 
 said he ; 'I don't expect to see you again.' 
 
 " ' Are you going to remain at this side, colonel ? * 
 said I. 
 
 " ' ISTo, parlleu /' said he, * not when the Twenty-second 
 cross to the other.' 
 
 "'Neither am I, then,' said I ; * my place is with the 
 head of the battalion.' Well, well, they all pressed me to 
 stay back — they said a thousand kind things too — but 
 that only decided me the more to go on — and as the signal- 
 rocket was fired, the word was given, and on we went. 
 For the first eight or ten paces it was mere wading — but 
 suddenly a grenadier in the fi'ont called out, ' Oa7^e I lift 
 your muskets, it's deep here;' and so it was — with one 
 plunge down I went, but they seized me by the arms and 
 carried me along, and some way or other we reached the 
 bank. Morbleu / I felt half drowned — but there was little 
 time to think over these things, for scarcely had the 
 column formed, when the cry of ' Cavalry ! ' was given, 
 and down came the lancers with a swoop ; but we were all 
 ready. The flank companies fell back, and formed in 
 square, and a tremendous volley sent them off faster than 
 they came. ' Now, then, push forward double quick,' said 
 the old colonel — ' the pas de charge.^ Alas ! the poor little 
 drummer was lying dead at his feet. The thought sud- 
 denly seized me, I sprang forward, unstrung his drum, 
 threw the strap over my shoulder, and beat the ''pas de 
 charge,^ — a cheer ran along the whole battalion, and on we 
 went. MoH de del / I was never so near the fire before. 
 There was the enemy, scarce two hundred yards off — two 
 great columns, with artillery between, waiting for us. 
 * Keep her back — keep back, Minette — hrave Jilh.^ I 
 heard no more — a shot came whizzing past, and struck
 
 462 TOM BURKE OF " OUllS.'* 
 
 me here." Slie pulled down her dress as she spoke, and 
 disclosed the scar of a bullet's track on her white shoulder ; 
 then, as if suddenly recollecting, she blushed deeply, drew 
 her kerchief closely around her, and muttered in a low 
 voice, " 3Iafoi, how these things make one forget to be a 
 woman." And with that she hung down her head, and 
 despite all 1 could say would not utter another word. 
 
 Such was the vivandiere of the Fourth ; blending in her 
 character the woman's weakness and the soldier's ardour — 
 the delicacy of feeling, which not even the life of camps 
 and bivouacs could eradicate, with the wild enthusiasm for 
 glory — the passion of her nation. It needed not her dark 
 eyes, shaded with their long black fringe — her oval face, 
 whose freckles but displayed the transparent skin beneath 
 — her graceful figure, and her elastic step, to make her an 
 object of attraction in the regiment ; nor could I be sur- 
 prised to learn, as I did, how many a high offer of marriage 
 had been made to her by those soldiers of fortune whose 
 gallantry and daring had won them honours in the service. 
 
 To value at their real price such attractions, one should 
 meet them far away, and remote from the ordinary habits 
 of the world, in the wild, reckless career of the camp — on 
 the long march— beside the weary watch-fire — ay, on the 
 very field of battle — amid the din, the clamour, and the 
 smoke — the cheers, the cries of carnage : then, indeed, 
 such an apparition had something magical in it. To see 
 that tender girl tripping along fearlessly from rank to 
 rank, as though she had a charmed life — now saluting 
 with her hand some brave soldier as he rode by to the 
 charge — now stooping beside the wounded, and holding to 
 his bloodless lips the longed-for cup : to watch her as she 
 rode gracefully at the head of the regiment, or lay beside 
 the fire of the bivouac, relating with a woman's grace 
 some story of the campaign — while the grey-bearded 
 veteran and the raw youth hung on each word, and won- 
 dered how the scenes in which they mingled and acted 
 could bear such interest when told by rosy lips. Who 
 would wonder if she had many lovers ? who would not 
 rather be surprised at those who remained coldly indifferent 
 to such charms as hers ? 
 
 Let my confession, then, excite neither astonishment nor 
 Buspicion, when I acknowledge that, in such companion-
 
 THE *' VIVAXDIERE OF THE FOUETH.'* 4G3 
 
 v«;liip, the days slipped rapidly over. I never wearied of 
 hearing her tell of the scenes she had witnessed, nor did 
 she of recounting them ; and, although a sense of reproach 
 used now and then to cross me for the life of inactivity 
 and indolence I was leading, Mademoiselle Minette pro- 
 mised me many a brave opportunity of distinction to 
 come, and campaigns of as great glory as even those of 
 Italy and Egypt. 
 
 EKD OF VOL. L 
 
 Wuodfiill ii Kinder, Printers, 70 to 76, Loug Acre, Loudon, W.C.