With Moore at Corunna | Page 2

tail between his legs and run for his bare life if he
sees you; and as for the colonel, he told me only the other day that he
had so many complaints against you, that he was fairly worn out with
them."
"That was only his way, father; the colonel likes a joke as well as any
of them."
"Yes, when it is not played on himself; but you haven't even the sense
to respect persons, and it is well for you that he could not prove that it
was you who fastened the sparrow to the plume of feathers on his shako
the other day, and no one noticed it till the little baste began to flutter
just as he came on to parade, and nigh choked us all with trying to hold
in our laughter, while the colonel was nearly suffocated with passion. It
was lucky you were able to prove that you had gone off at daylight
fishing, and that no one had seen you anywhere near his quarters. By
my faith, if he could have proved it was you he would have had you
turned out of the barrack gate, and word given to the sentries that you
were not to be allowed to pass in again."
"I could have got over the wall, father," the boy said, calmly; "but mind,
I never said that it was I who fastened the sparrow in his shako."

"Because I never asked you, Terence; but it does not need the asking.
What I am to do with you I don't know. Your Uncle Tim would not
take you if I were to go down upon my knees to him. You were always
in his bad books, and you finished it when you fired off that
blunderbuss in his garden as he was passing along in the twilight, and
yelled out 'Death to the Protestants!'"
The boy burst into a fit of laughter. "How could I tell that he was going
to fall flat upon the ground and shout a million murders, when I fired
straight into the air?"
"Well, you did for yourself there, Terence. Not that the old man would
ever have taken to you, for he never forgave my marriage with his
niece; still, he might have left you some money some day, seeing that
there is no one nearer to him, and it would have come in mighty useful,
for you are not likely to get much from me. But we are no nearer the
point yet. What am I to do with you at all? Here is the regiment ordered
on foreign service and likely to have sharp work, and not a place where
I can stow you. It beats me altogether!"
"Why not take me with you, father?"
"I have thought of that, but you are too young entirely."
"I am nearly sixteen, father. I am sure I am as tall as many boys of
seventeen, and as strong too. Why should I not go? I am certain I could
stand roughing it as well as Dick Ryan, who is a good bit over sixteen.
Could I not go as a volunteer? Or I might enlist; the doctor would pass
me quick enough."
"O'Flaherty would pass you if you were a baby in arms; he is as full of
mischief as you are, and has not much more discretion; but you could
not carry a musket, full cartridge-box, and kit for a long day's march."
"I can carry a gun through a long day's shooting, dad; but you might
make me your soldier servant."
"Bedad, I should fare mighty badly, Terence; still as I don't see

anything else for you, I must try and take you somehow, even if you
have to go as a drummer. I will talk it over with the colonel, though I
doubt whether he has forgotten that sparrow yet."
"He would not bear malice, dad, even if he were sure that it was
me--which he cannot be."
The speaker was Captain O'Connor of his Majesty's regiment of Mayo
Fusiliers, now under orders to proceed to Portugal to form part of the
force that was being despatched under Sir Arthur Wellesley to assist the
Portuguese in resisting the advance of the French. He was a widower,
and Terence was his only child. The boy had been brought up in the,
regiment. His mother had died when he was nine years old, and
Terence had been allowed by his father to run pretty nearly wild. He
picked up a certain amount of education, for he was as sharp at lessons
as at most other things. His mother had taught him to read and write,
and the officers and their wives were always ready to lend him books;
and as, during the hours when