The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer | Page 3

It is now many--do not ask me to say how many--years since I received
from the Horse Guards the welcome intelligence that I was gazetted to
an insigncy in his Majesty's _th Foot, and that my name, which had
figured so long in the "Duke's" list, with the words "a very hard case"
appended, should at length appear in the monthly record of promotions
and appointments.
Since then my life has been passed in all the vicissitudes of war and
peace. The camp and the bivouac--the reckless gaiety of the mess-table
--the comfortless solitude of a French prison--the exciting turmoils of
active service--the wearisome monotony of garrison duty, I have alike
partaken of, and experienced. A career of this kind, with a temperament
ever ready to go with the humour of those about him will always be
sure of its meed of adventure. Such has mine been; and with no greater
pretension than to chronicle a few of the scenes in which I have borne a
part, and revive the memory of the other actors in them--some, alas!
Now no more--I have ventured upon these "Confessions."
If I have not here selected that portion of my life which most abounded
in striking events and incidents most worthy of recording, my excuse is
simply, because being my first appearance upon the boards, I preferred
accustoming myself to the look of the house, while performing the
"Cock," to coming before the audience in the more difficult part of
Hamlet.
As there are unhappily impracticable people in the world, who, as
Curran expressed it, are never content to know "who killed the gauger,
if you can't inform them who wore his corduroys"--to all such I would,
in deep humility, say, that with my "Confessions" they have nothing to
do--I have neither story nor moral--my only pretension to the one, is
the detail of a passion which marked some years of my life; my only
attempt at the other, the effort to show how prolific in hair-breadth
'scapes may a man's career become, who, with a warm imagination and
easy temper, believes too much, and rarely can feign a part without

forgetting that he is acting. Having said thus much, I must once more
bespeak the indulgence never withheld from a true penitent, and at
once begin my "Confessions."
CHAPTER I.
ARRIVAL IN CORK--CIVIC FESTIVITIES--PRIVATE
THEATRICALS.
It was on a splendid morning in the autumn of the year 181 that the
Howard transport, with four hundred of his Majesty's 4th Regt.,
dropped anchor in the beautiful harbour of Cove; the sea shone under
the purple light of the rising sun with a rich rosy hue, beautifully in
contrast with the different tints of the foliage of the deep woods already
tinged with the brown of autumn. Spike Island lay "sleeping upon its
broad shadow," and the large ensign which crowns the battery was
wrapped around the flag-staff, there not being even air enough to stir it.
It was still so early, that but few persons were abroad; and as we
leaned over the bulwarks, and looked now, for the first time for eight
long years, upon British ground, many an eye filled, and many a
heaving breast told how full of recollections that short moment was,
and how different our feelings from the gay buoyancy with which we
had sailed from that same harbour for the Peninsula; many of our best
and bravest had we left behind us, and more than one native to the land
we were approaching had found his last rest in the soil of the stranger.
It was, then, with a mingled sense of pain and pleasure, we gazed upon
that peaceful little village, whose white cottages lay dotted along the
edge of the harbour. The moody silence our thoughts had shed over us
was soon broken: the preparations for disembarking had begun, and I
recollect well to this hour how, shaking off the load that oppressed my
heart, I descended the gangway, humming poor Wolfe's well-known
song--
"Why, soldiers, why Should we be melancholy, boys?"
And to this elasticity of spirits--whether the result of my profession, or
the gift of God--as Dogberry has it--I know not--I owe the greater

portion of the happiness I have enjoyed in a life, whose changes and
vicissitudes have equalled most men's.
Drawn up in a line along the shore, I could scarce refrain from a smile
at our appearance. Four weeks on board a transport will certainly not
contribute much to the "personnel" of any unfortunate therein confined;
but when, in addition to this, you take into account that we had not
received new clothes for three years--if I except caps for our grenadiers,
originally intended for a Scotch regiment, but found to be all too small
for the long-headed generation. Many a patch of