Charles OMalley, vol 2 | Page 6

echoes in
the silent building, and terrified us both dreadfully. After a minute's
pause, by one consent we turned and made for the door, falling almost
at every step, and frightened out of our senses, we came tumbling
together into the porch, and out in the street, and never drew breath till
we reached the barracks. Meanwhile let me return to Mrs. Rogers. The
dear old lady, who had passed an awful time since she left the ball, had
just rallied out of a fainting fit when we took to our heels; so after
screaming and crying her best, she at last managed to open the top of
the chair, and by dint of great exertions succeeded in forcing the door,
and at length freed herself from bondage. She was leisurely groping her
way round it in the dark, when her lamentations, being heard without,
woke up the old sexton of the chapel,--for it was there we placed
her,--who, entering cautiously with a light, no sooner caught a glimpse

of the great black sedan and the figure beside it than he also took to his
heels, and ran like a madman to the priest's house.
"'Come, your reverence, come, for the love of marcy! Sure didn't I see
him myself! Oh, wirra, wirra!'
"'What is it, ye ould fool?' said M'Kenny.
"'It's Father Con Doran, your reverence, that was buried last week, and
there he is up now, coffin and all, saying a midnight Mass as lively as
ever.'
"Poor Mrs. Rogers, God help her! It was a trying sight for her when the
priest and the two coadjutors and three little boys and the sexton all
came in to lay her spirit; and the shock she received that night, they say,
she never got over.
"Need I say, my dear O'Mealey, that our acquaintance with Mrs.
Rogers was closed? The dear woman had a hard struggle for it
afterwards. Her character was assailed by all the elderly ladies in
Loughrea for going off in our company, and her blue satin, piped with
scarlet, utterly ruined by a deluge of holy water bestowed on her by the
pious sexton. It was in vain that she originated twenty different reports
to mystify the world; and even ten pounds spent in Masses for the
eternal repose of Father Con Doran only increased the laughter this
unfortunate affair gave rise to. As for us, we exchanged into the line,
and foreign service took us out of the road of duns, debts, and
devilment, and we soon reformed, and eschewed such low company."
The day was breaking ere we separated; and amidst the rich and
fragrant vapors that exhaled from the earth, the faint traces of sunlight
dimly stealing told of the morning. My two friends set out for Torrijos,
and I pushed boldly forward in the direction of the Alberche.
It was a strange thing that although but two days before the roads we
were then travelling had been the line of retreat of the whole French
army, not a vestige of their equipment nor a trace of their _matériel_
had been left behind. In vain we searched each thicket by the wayside

for some straggling soldier, some wounded or wearied man; nothing of
the kind was to be seen. Except the deeply-rutted road, torn by the
heavy wheels of the artillery, and the white ashes of a wood fire,
nothing marked their progress.
Our journey was a lonely one. Not a man was to be met with. The
houses stood untenanted; the doors lay open; no smoke wreathed from
their deserted hearths. The peasantry had taken to the mountains; and
although the plains were yellow with the ripe harvest, and the peaches
hung temptingly upon the trees, all was deserted and forsaken. I had
often seen the blackened walls and broken rafters, the traces of the wild
revenge and reckless pillage of a retiring army. The ruined castle and
the desecrated altar are sad things to look upon; but, somehow, a far
heavier depression sunk into my heart as my eye ranged over the wide
valleys and broad hills, all redolent of comfort, of beauty, and of
happiness, and yet not one man to say, "This is my home; these are my
household gods." The birds carolled gayly in each leafy thicket; the
bright stream sung merrily as it rippled through the rocks; the tall corn,
gently stirred by the breeze, seemed to swell the concert of sweet
sounds; but no human voice awoke the echoes there. It was as if the
earth was speaking in thankfulness to its Maker, while man,--ungrateful
and unworthy man,--pursuing his ruthless path of devastation and
destruction, had left no being to say, "I thank Thee for all these."
The day was closing as we drew near the Alberche,