Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 2

There the scene was certainly a curious one. Around a large table sat a party of some twenty persons, the singularity of whose appearance may be conjectured when I mention that all those who appeared to be British officers were dressed in the robes of the échevins (or aldermen) of the village; while some others, whose looks bespoke them as sturdy Flemings, sported the cocked hats and cavalry helmets of their associates. He who appeared the ruler of the feast sat with his back towards me, and wore, in addition to the dress of burgomaster, a herald’s tabard, which gave him something the air of a grotesque screen at its potations. A huge fire blazed upon the ample hearth, before which were spread several staff uniforms, whose drabbled and soaked appearance denoted the reason of the party’s change of habiliments. Every imaginable species of drinking-vessel figured upon the board, from the rich flagon of chased silver to the humble cruche we see in a Teniers picture. As well as I could hear, the language of the company seemed to be French, or, at least, such an imitation of that language as served as a species of neutral territory for both parties to meet in.

He of the tabard spoke louder than the others, and although, from the execrable endeavors he made to express himself in French, his natural voice was much altered, there was yet something in his accents which seemed perfectly familiar to me.

“Mosheer l’Abbey,” said he, placing his arm familiarly on the shoulder of a portly personage, whose shaven crown strangely contrasted with a pair of corked moustachios, – “Mosheer l’Abbey, nous sommes frères, et moi, savez-vous, suis évèque, – ‘pon my life it’s true; I might have been Bishop of Saragossa, if I only consented to leave the Twenty-third. Je suis bong Catholique. Lord bless you, if you saw how I loved the nunneries in Spain! J’ai tres jolly souvenirs of those nunneries; a goodly company of little silver saints; and this waistcoat you see – mong gilet – was a satin petticoat of our Lady of Loretto.”

Need I say, that before this speech was concluded, I had recognized in the speaker nobody but that inveterate old villain, Monsoon himself.

“Permettez, votre Excellence,” said a hale, jolly-looking personage on his left, as he filled the major’s goblet with obsequious politeness.

“Bong engfong,” replied Monsoon, tapping him familiarly on the head. “Burgomaster, you are a trump; and when I get my promotion, I’ll make you prefect in a wine district. Pass the lush, and don’t look sleepy! ‘Drowsiness,’ says Solomon, ‘clothes a man in rags;’ and no man knew the world better than Solomon. Don’t you be laughing, you raw boys. Never mind them, Abbey; ils sont petits garçongs – fags from Eton and Harrow; better judges of mutton broth than sherry negus.”

“I say, Major, you are forgetting this song you promised us.”

“Yes, yes,” said several voices together; “the song, Major! the song!”

“Time enough for that; we’re doing very well as it is. Upon my life, though, they hold a deal of wine. I thought we’d have had them fit to bargain with before ten, and see, it’s near midnight; and I must have my forage accounts ready for the commissary-general by to-morrow morning.”

This speech having informed me the reason of the Major’s presence there, I resolved to wait no longer a mere spectator of their proceedings; so dismounting from my position, I commenced a vigorous attack upon the door.

It was some time before I was heard; but at length the door was opened, and I was accosted by an Englishman, who, in a strange compound of French and English, asked, “What the devil I meant by all that uproar?” Determining to startle my old friend the major, I replied, that “I was aide-de-camp to General Picton, and had come down on very unpleasant business.” By this time the noise of the party within had completely subsided, and from a few whispered sentences, and their thickened breathing, I perceived that they were listening.

“May I ask, sir,” continued I, “if Major Monsoon is here?”

“Yes,” stammered out the ensign, for such he was.

“Sorry for it, for his sake,” said I; “but my orders are peremptory.”

A deep groan from within, and a muttered request to pass down the sherry, nearly overcame my gravity; but I resumed: —

“If you will permit me, I will make the affair as short as possible. The major, I presume, is here?”

So saying, I pushed forward into the room, where now a slight scuffling noise and murmur of voices had succeeded silence. Brief as was the interval of our colloquy, the scene within had, notwithstanding, undergone considerable change. The English officers, hastily throwing off their aldermanic robes, were busily arraying themselves in their uniforms, while Monsoon himself, with a huge basin of water before him, was endeavoring to wash the cork from his countenance in the corner of his tabard.

“Very hard upon me, all this; upon my life, so it is! Picton is always at me, just as if we had not been school-fellows. The service is getting worse every day. Regardez-moi, Curey, mong face est propre? Eh? There, thank you. Good fellow the Curey is, but takes a deal of fluid. Oh, Burgomaster! I fear it is all up with me! No more fun, no more jollification, no more plunder – and how I did do it. Nothing like watching one’s little chances! ‘The poor is hated even by his neighbor.’ Oui, Curey, it is Solomon says that, and they must have had a heavy poor-rate in his day to make him say so. Another glass of sherry!”

By this time I approached the back of the chair, and slapping him heartily on the shoulder, called out, —

“Major, old boy, how goes it?”

“Eh? – what – how! – who is this? It can’t be – egad, sure it is, though. Charley! Charley O’Malley, you scapegrace, where have you been? When did you join?”

“A week ago, Major. I could resist it no longer. I did my best to be a country gentleman, and behave respectably, but the old temptation was too strong for me. Fred Power and yourself, Major, had ruined my education; and here I am once more among you.”

“And so Picton and the arrest and all that, was nothing but a joke?” said the old fellow, rolling his wicked eyes with a most cunning expression.

“Nothing more, Major, set your heart at rest.”

“What a scamp you are,” said he, with another grin. “Il est mon fils – il est mon fils, Curey,” presenting me, as he spoke, while the burgomaster, in whose eyes the major seemed no inconsiderable personage, saluted me with profound respect.

Turning at once towards this functionary, I explained that I was the bearer of important despatches, and that my horse – I was ashamed to say my mule – having fallen lame, I was unable to proceed.

“Can you procure me a remount, Monsieur?” said I, “for I must hasten on to Courtrai.”

“In half an hour you shall be provided, as well as with a mounted guide for the road. Le fils de son Excellence,” said he, with emphasis, bowing to the major as he spoke; who, in his turn, repaid the courtesy with a still lower obeisance.

“Sit down, Charley; here is a clean glass. I am delighted to see you, my boy! They tell me you have got a capital estate and plenty of ready. Lord, we so wanted you, as there’s scarcely a fellow with sixpence among us. Give me the lad that can do a bit of paper at three months, and always be ready for a renewal. You haven’t got a twenty-pound note?” This was said sotto voce. “Never mind; ten will do. You can give me the remainder at Brussels. Strange, is it not, I have not seen a bit of clean bank paper like this for above a twelvemonth!” This was said as he thrust his hand into his pocket, with one of those peculiar leers upon his countenance which, unfortunately, betrayed more satisfaction at his success than gratitude for the service. “You are looking fat – too fat, I think,” said he, scrutinizing me from head to foot; “but the life we are leading just now will soon take that off. The slave-trade is luxurious indolence compared to it. Post haste to Nivelle one day; down to Ghent the next; forty miles over a paved road in a hand-gallop, and an aide-de-camp with a watch in his hand at the end of it, to report if you are ten minutes too late. And there is Wellington has his eye everywhere. There is not a truss of hay served to the cavalry, nor a pair of shoes half-soled in the regiment, that he don’t know of it. I’ve got it over the knuckles already.”

“How so, Major? How was that?”

“Why, he ordered me to picket two squadrons of the Seventh, and a supper was waiting. I didn’t like to leave my quarters, so I took up my telescope and pitched upon a sweet little spot of ground on a hill; rather difficult to get up, to be sure, but a beautiful view when you’re on it. ‘There is your ground, Captain,’ said I, as I sent one of my people to mark the spot. He did not like it much; however, he was obliged to go. And, would you believe it? – so much for bad luck! – there turned out to be no water within two miles of it – not a drop, Charley; and so, about eleven at night, the two squadrons moved down into Grammont to wet their lips, and what is worse, to report me to the commanding officer. And only think! They put me under arrest because Providence did not make a river run up a mountain!”

Just as the major finished speaking, the distant clatter of horses’ feet and the clank of cavalry was heard approaching. We all rushed eagerly to the door; and scarcely had we done so, when a squadron of dragoons came riding up the street at a fast trot.

“I say, good people,” cried the officer, in French, “where does the burgomaster live here?”

“Fred Power, ‘pon my life!” shouted the major.

“Eh, Monsoon, that you? Give me a tumbler of wine, old boy; you are sure to have some, and I am desperately blown.”

“Get down, Fred, get down! We have an old friend here.”

“Who the deuce d’ye mean?” said he, as throwing himself from the saddle he strode into the room. “Charley O’Malley, by all that’s glorious!”

“Fred, my gallant fellow!” said I.

“It was but this morning, Charley, that I so wished for you here. The French are advancing, my lad. They have crossed the frontier; Zeithen’s corps have been attacked and driven in; Blucher is falling back upon Ligny; and the campaign is opened. But I must press forward. The regiment is close behind me, and we are ordered to push for Brussels in all haste.”

“Then these despatches,” said I, showing my packet, “‘tis unnecessary to proceed with?”

“Quite so. Get into the saddle and come back with us.”

The burgomaster had kept his word with me; so mounted upon a strong hackney, I set out with Power on the road to Brussels. I have had occasion more than once to ask pardon of my reader for the prolixity of my narrative, so I shall not trespass on him here by the detail of our conversation as we jogged along. Of me and my adventures he already knows enough – perhaps too much. My friend Power’s career, abounding as it did in striking incidents, and all the light and shadow of a soldier’s life, yet not bearing upon any of the characters I have presented to your acquaintance, except in one instance, – of that only shall I speak.

“And the senhora, Fred; how goes your fortune in that quarter?”

“Gloriously, Charley! I am every day expecting the promotion in my regiment which is to make her mine.”

“You have heard from her lately, then?”

“Heard from her! Why, man, she is in Brussels.”

“In Brussels?”

“To be sure. Don Emanuel is in high favor with the duke, and is now commissary-general with the army; and the senhora is the belle of the Rue Royale, or at least, it’s a divided sovereignty between her and Lucy Dashwood. And now, Charley, let me ask, what of her? There, there, don’t blush, man. There is quite enough moonlight to show how tender you are in that quarter.”

“Once for all, Fred, pray spare me on that subject. You have been far too fortunate in your affaire de coeur, and I too much the reverse, to permit much sympathy between us.”

“Do you not visit, then; or is it a cut between you?” “I have never met her since the night of the masquerade of the villa – at least, to speak to – ”

“Well, I must confess, you seem to manage your own affairs much worse than your friends’; not but that in so doing you are exhibiting a very Irish feature of your character. In any case, you will come to the ball? Inez will be delighted to see you; and I have got over all my jealousy.”

“What ball? I never heard of it.”

“Never heard of it! Why, the Duchess of Richmond’s, of course. Pooh, pooh, man! Not invited? – of course you are invited; the staff are never left out on such occasions. You will find your card at your hotel on your return.”

“In any case, Fred – ”

“I shall insist upon your going. I have no arrière pensée about a reconciliation with the Dashwoods, no subtle scheme, on my honor; but simply I feel that you will never give yourself fair chances in the world, by indulging your habit of shrinking from every embarrassment. Don’t be offended, boy. I know you have pluck enough to storm a battery; I have seen you under fire before now. What avails your courage in the field, if you have not presence of mind in the drawing-room? Besides, everything else out of the question, it is a breach of etiquette towards your chief to decline such an invitation.”

“You think so?”

“Think so? – no; I am sure of it.”

“Then, as to uniform, Fred?”

“Oh, as to that, easily managed. And now I think of it, they have sent me an unattached uniform, which you can have; but remember, my boy, if I put you in my coat, I don’t want you to stand in my shoes. Don’t forget also that I am your debtor in horseflesh, and fortunately able to repay you. I have got such a charger; your own favorite color, dark chestnut, and except one white leg, not a spot about him; can carry sixteen stone over a five-foot fence, and as steady as a rock under fire.”

“But, Fred, how are you – ”

“Oh, never mind me; I have six in my stable, and intend to share with you. The fact is, I have been transferred from one staff to another for the last six months, and four of my number are presents. Is Mike with you? Ah, glad to hear it; you will never get on without that fellow. Besides, it is a capital thing to have such a connecting link with one’s nationality. No fear of your ever forgetting Ireland with Mr. Free in your company. You are not aware that we have been correspondents. A fact, I assure you. Mike wrote me two letters; and such letters they were! The last was a Jeremiad over your decline and fall, with a very ominous picture of a certain Miss Baby Blake.”

“Confound the rascal!”

“By Jove, though, Charley, you were coming it rather strong with Baby. Inez saw the letter, and as well as she could decipher Mike’s hieroglyphics, saw there was something in it; but the name Baby puzzled her immensely, and she set the whole thing down to your great love of children. I don’t think that Lucy quite agreed with her.”

“Did she tell it to Miss Dashwood?” I inquired, with fear and trembling.

“Oh, that she did; in fact, Inez never ceases talking of you to Lucy. But come, lad, don’t look so grave. Let’s have another brush with the enemy; capture a battery of their guns; carry off a French marshal or two; get the Bath for your services, and be thanked in general orders, – and I will wager all my château en Espagne that everything goes well.”

Thus chatting away, sometimes over the past, of our former friends and gay companions, of our days of storm and sunshine; sometimes indulging in prospects for the future, we trotted along, and as the day was breaking, mounted the ridge of low hills, from whence, at the distance of a couple of leagues, the city of Brussels came into view.

CHAPTER LI

THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND’S BALL

Whether we regard the illustrious and distinguished personages who thronged around, or we think of the portentous moment in which it was given, the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, on the night of the 15th of June, 1815, was not only one of the most memorable, but, in its interest, the most exciting entertainment that the memory of any one now living can compass.

There is always something of no common interest in seeing the bronzed and war-worn soldier mixing in the crowd of light-hearted and brilliant beauty. To watch the eye whose proud glance has flashed over the mail-clad squadrons now bending meekly beneath the look of some timid girl; to hear the voice that, high above the battle or the breeze, has shouted the hoarse word “Charge!” now subdued into the low, soft murmur of flattery or compliment. This, at any rate, is a picture full of its own charm; but when we see these heroes of a hundred fights; when we look upon these hardy veterans, upon whose worn brows the whitened locks of time are telling, indulging themselves in the careless gayety of a moment, snatched as it were from the arduous career of their existence, while the tramp of the advancing enemy shakes the very soil they stand on, and where it may be doubted whether each aide-de-camp who enters comes a new votary of pleasure or the bearer of tidings that the troops of the foe are advancing, and already the work of death has begun: this is, indeed, a scene to make the heart throb, and the pulse beat high; this is a moment second in its proud excitement only to the very crash and din of battle itself. And into this entrancing whirlwind of passion and of pleasure, of brilliant beauty and ennobled greatness, of all that is lovely in woman and all that is chivalrous and heroic in man, I brought a heart which, young in years, was yet tempered by disappointment; still, such was the fascination, such the brilliancy of the spectacle, that scarcely had I entered, than I felt a change come over me, – the old spirit of my boyish ardor, that high-wrought enthusiasm to do something, to be something which men may speak of, shot suddenly through me, and I felt my cheek tingle and my temples throb, as name after name of starred and titled officers were announced, to think that to me, also, the path of glorious enterprise was opening.

“Come along, come along,” said Power, catching me by the arm, “you’ve not been presented to the duchess. I know her. I’ll do it for you; or perhaps it is better Sir Thomas Picton should. In any case, filez after me, for the dark-eyed senhora is surely expecting us. There, do you see that dark, intelligent-looking fellow leaning over the end of the sofa? That is Alava. And there, you know who that is, that beau ideal of a hussar? Look how jauntily he carries himself; see the careless but graceful sling with which he edges through the crowd; and look! Mark his bow! Did you see that, Charley? Did you catch the quick glance he shot yonder, and the soft smile that showed his white teeth? Depend upon it, boy, some fair heart is not the better nor the easier for that look.”

“Who is it?” said I.

“Lord Uxbridge, to be sure; the handsomest fellow in the service; and there goes Vandeleur, talking with Vivian; the other, to the left, is Ponsonby.”

“But stay, Fred, tell me who that is?” For a moment or two, I had some difficulty in directing his attention to the quarter I desired. The individual I pointed out was somewhat above the middle size; his uniform of blue and gold, though singularly plain, had a look of richness about it; besides that, among the orders which covered his breast, he wore one star of great brilliancy and size. This, however, was his least distinction; for although surrounded on every side by those who might be deemed the very types and pictures of their caste, there was something in the easy but upright carriage of his head, the intrepid character of his features, the bold and vigorous flashing of his deep blue eye, that marked him as no common man. He was talking with an old and prosy-looking personage in civilian dress; and while I could detect an anxiety to get free from a tiresome companion, there was an air of deferential, and even kind attention in his manner, absolutely captivating.

“A thorough gentleman, Fred, whoever he be,” said I.

“I should think so,” replied Power, dryly; “and as our countrymen would say, ‘The Devil thank him for it!’ That is the Prince of Orange; but see, look at him now, his features have learned another fashion.” And true it was; with a smile of the most winning softness, and with a voice, whose slightly foreign accent took nothing from its interest, I heard him engaging a partner for a waltz.

There was a flutter of excitement in the circle as the lady rose to take his arm, and a muttered sound of, “How very beautiful, quelle est belle, c’est un ange!” on all sides. I leaned forward to catch a glance as she passed; it was Lucy Dashwood. Beautiful beyond anything I had ever seen her, her lovely features lit up with pleasure and with pride, she looked in every way worthy to lean upon the arm of royalty. The graceful majesty of her walk, the placid loveliness of her gentle smile, struck every one as she passed on. As for me, totally forgetting all else, not seeing or hearing aught around me, I followed her with my eye until she was lost among the crowd, and then, with an impulse of which I was not master, followed in her steps.

“This way, this way,” said Power; “I see the senhora.” So saying, we entered a little boudoir, where a party was playing at cards. Leaning on the back of a chair, Inez was endeavoring, with that mixture of coquetry and half malice she possessed, to distract the attention of the player. As Power came near, she scarcely turned her head to give him a kind of saucy smile; while, seeing me, she held out her hand with friendly warmth, and seemed quite happy to meet me.

“Do, pray, take her away; get her to dance, to eat ice, or flirt with you, for Heaven’s sake!” said the half-laughing voice of her victim. “I have revoked twice, and misdealt four times since she has been here. Believe me, I shall take it as the greatest favor, if you’ll – ”

As he got thus far he turned round towards me, and I perceived it was Sir George Dashwood. The meeting was as awkward for him as for me; and while a deep flush covered my face, he muttered some unintelligible apology, and Inez burst into a fit of laughter at the ludicrous contretemps of our situation.

“I will dance with you now, if you like,” said she, “and that will be punishing all three. Eh, Master Fred?”

So saying, she took my arm as I led her toward the ball-room.

“And so you really are not friends with the Dashwoods? How very provoking, and how foolish, too! But really, Chevalier, I must say you treat ladies very ill. I don’t forget your conduct to me. Dear me, I wish we could move forward, there is some one pushing me dreadfully!”

“Get on, Ma’am, get on!” said a sharp, decided voice behind me. I turned, half smiling, to see the speaker. It was the Duke of Wellington himself, who, with his eye fixed upon some person at a distance, seemed to care very little for any intervening obstruction. As I made way for him to pass between us, he looked hardly at me, while he said in a short, quick way, —

“Know your face very well: how d’ye do?” With this brief recognition he passed on, leaving me to console Inez for her crushed sleeve, by informing her who had done it.

The ball was now at its height. The waltzers whirled past in the wild excitement of the dance. The inspiriting strains of the music, the sounds of laughter, the din, the tumult, all made up that strange medley which, reacting upon the minds of those who cause it, increases the feeling of pleasurable abandonment, making the old feel young, and the young intoxicated with delight.

As the senhora leaned upon me, fatigued with waltzing, I was endeavoring to sustain a conversation with her; while my thoughts were wandering with my eyes to where I had last seen Lucy Dashwood.

“It must be something of importance; I’m sure it is,” said she, at the conclusion of a speech of which I had not heard one word. “Look at General Picton’s face!”

“Very pretty, indeed,” said I; “but the hair is unbecoming,” replying to some previous observation she had made, and still lost in a revery. A hearty burst of laughter was her answer as she gently shook my arm, saying, —

“You really are too bad! You’ve never listened to one word I’ve been telling you, but keep continually staring with your eyes here and there, turning this way and looking that, and with a dull, vacant, and unmeaning smile, answering at random, in the most provoking manner. There now, pray pay attention, and tell me what that means.” As she said this, she pointed with her fan to where a dragoon officer, in splashed and spattered uniform, was standing talking to some three or four general officers. “But here comes the duke; it can’t be anything of consequence.”