CHAPTER VI.

AN IRISH FAIR AT DUNDALK--GREAT FUN AND NO END OF FIGHTING--THE BOMBARDMENT OF COPENHAGEN--GRANDFATHER GETS MARRIED.

That little cruise round to Dundalk and back was to be big with my grandfather's fate, though he did not know this at the time he started.

He voyaged, with his friend Tonal, in a small but comfortable trading schooner, the _St. Patrick_. She was well decked, and though her cabin or cuddy was small, it and everything else were beautifully clean.

The skipper was likewise the owner of the craft, and as soon as the vessel had cleared the bay, and established a good offing--for the wind, though light, was dead on to the rocky shore, a shore on which many a good ship has left her ribs--all three got talking.

The skipper told his passengers that he made many a journey to Liverpool, and even Glasgow, and that being his own master he could go wherever he pleased.

"My little ship is almost like a yacht, you see," he said, looking round the deck with pardonable pride. "If she weren't my own, perhaps I wouldn't take so much pains with her."

"I don't know who it can be," said my grandfather presently, "but you are very like someone I know."

"I am said to be very like my elder sister at Booterstown, Sergeant; but you would hardly know Mrs. Stapleton. She and her daughter have a cottage there, and, as I always tell them, are buried alive among the trees."

"But, sir, I do know them. What a strange meeting, to be sure!"

Then he told the skipper the story of the runaway pony, and the pleasant evening he had spent at the cottage.

"The first and the last," he added with half a sigh.

"Don't be too sure, young Sergeant," said the skipper; "for troth, then, I took Eleanor to Dundalk with me only a week ago, to see another uncle, and it is back with me she'll be coming same time as yourself.

"If you've no objection, Sergeant."

This was said with a sly and merry twinkle of the eyes.

"Ah!" he added, "you needn't be looking at the seagulls, Sergeant. Sure it is myself that can see as far into a stone as a mason himself. Or _free_-mason."

He held out his hand.

"Shake, brother, shake."

* * * * * *

That was a merry fair indeed. And when Tonal blew up the bagpipes--he was dressed in full Highland costume--the two of them had a very pretty following, I assure you.

I really cannot say whether my grandfather was guilty of overpraising his Majesty's service or not. Perhaps he was.

He and Tonal were very lordly, however, and tossed coins upon the counters in a way that struck awe into the hearts of the simple lads they treated.

"Faix!" said one fellow. "Faix, Sergeant agra, you must know where them things is dug."

Grand-dad took him aside for a few moments, and talked to him. In that brief time he had gained a recruit.

A fine, strapping, fair-haired lad he was, and when he had got a few ribbons attached to his cap he was proud indeed, and, marching off behind Tonal, became a kind of nucleus to draw other recruits. That first day the haul was seven.

More ribbons were bought, and more recruits were got next forenoon.

Why, Tonal really seemed the "pied piper," whom the rats all followed.

Anyhow, it was recruits, not rats, that were wanted, and by the end of the third day they had scored nineteen good men and true.

There was great fun at the fair, and no end of fighting.

His recruits begged my grandfather, late on the last day, just to let them have a little scrimmage, and he hadn't the heart to refuse.

And, with their shillalahs, those nineteen recruits quickly cleared the market-place. There were many constables there, and they alleged that, "on their honour, they couldn't have done it more nately themselves."

On the evening of the fourth day, my grandfather marched proudly down to the harbour at the head of his men, Tonal on the other side, playing a right lively pibroch.

Here there was much sad leave-taking, sisters, sweethearts, and aged mothers crying and wringing their hands, as if broken-hearted, because their boys were going off to the wars.

But they were all safely shipped at last, and then the schooner set sail.

My grandfather felt strangely sad, for he saw no signs of Eleanor there. She could not have come, then; but his sadness disappeared like dark clouds at daybreak when the skipper went down below, and presently returned leading Ellen by the hand.

"Is this the young lady?" said that sly and wicked old skipper. "She was baptized Eleanor as certain as sunrise, but she's called Eleanora, Leonora, Ellen, or Nora, according to taste, and answers to any or all of them together. I'll leave the two of you together till dinner time. Sure, sodgers never need prompting to talk."

* * * * *

I'm sorry, for my reader's sake, that no wild storm arose during the voyage of the St. Patrick back to Dublin, or that the ship didn't founder, leaving them all to escape in the boats, or float for days on a stormy sea, or that they weren't attacked by a French brig--sorry, in a word, that nothing happened to give my grand-dad and Tonal a chance of showing off their gallantry and bravery.

But nothing did. That is the worst of writing a true story. Had this been fiction, I should easily have known how to dispose of the Sergeant and Nora, if I had had to sink the ship and drown everybody else.

Well, nothing did happen _just then_, but I'll tell you what did happen a few months after this, if you'll wait a few minutes.

We are in the officers' mess again, then, and listening to the conversation of an animated little group who are sitting by themselves near a window, through which are peeping the red rays of the setting sun.

"You may say what you like, Drake, but I don't think it's altogether a fair action on the part of the British Government."

"I can't say it is, either," said big McLeod, "but it serves Boney (Bonaparte) right, though I pity the poor Danes that were killed. The women and the bairns. Yet how! Seems to me that Boney is the devil incarnate, and that he is not only unscrupulous and sinful himself, but manages to stir up evil in every nation he enters or places his black foot upon."

"Well, perhaps you're right, Doctor."

"O, I'm sure I am."

"Just like a medico. Anyhow, I'd believe any evil you like to tell me about Boney. Why he has been let loose on earth, goodness only knows."

"When taken to be well shaken."

"Yes, till the life is out of him. But here is, or was, Doctor, the state of the case. Russia has proved about as much a rogue as France. For we find the Bear and the Eagle hugging each other for their mutual benefit.

"Says the Eagle: 'If you'll be on my side, we'll play fair. You shall have the rich and splendid provinces of Finland and the Danube.'

"'Yes, yes,' says the Bear, 'and what am I to do for all these fine things?'

"'O, hardly anything, only in case of Britain refusing the terms of peace that I offer, you, Mr. Bruin, and I, Mr. Eagle, will bring matters to a head. It will be fine fun. Denmark and Portugal are neutral, but we'll force them to join us against England. See?'

"'Yes,' grunted the Bear; 'but suppose the Sultan cuts up rusty and says----'

"'O, bother! what does the Sultan signify? I can take him by the nose and force him to give up every bit of European territory he holds, bar Roumelia and Constantinople, and this we would divide between us.'

"Says the Bear: 'Couldn't I have Constantinople? It would----'

"'No, no, no; that is, not at present. But won't we laugh to see the fall of prideful, boasting, blessed Britain?'

"'Ha, ha, ha!' roared Bruin.

"'And I can then have a castle in Spain,' says the Eagle.

"'And I, you said (didn't you?), would have the city of Constanti----'

"'No. You're joking, Bruin.'

"Well, this was the secret arrangement between the two nations that were pretending to wish for peace with us. Were we going to permit them to walk away with that splendid fleet of Denmark's, that should help them to come thundering to our gates? Perish the thought! We should have it, and not they."

"And yet," said O'Reilly, "you say England isn't a grasping nation. Faith, it's myself that differs from you entirely. I say that England would rather smash an egg than let any other old hen sit on it."

"Anyhow, the thing's done," said Drake. "We sent a fine fleet and a fine army out, and it got there in the middle of August.

"'Hand over these ships,' said the British Lion, 'else the Eagle will float them.'

"'We won't,' was the reply.

"'They'll only be in pawn till peace is proclaimed, you know, and we can protect you from the wrath of France----'"

"Yes, indeed," sneered O'Reilly, "and what did brave Denmark reply? She told them (didn't she?) that she wasn't sure the wrath of the Eagle wasn't less to be dreaded than the friendship of England. 'Why,' says the Dane, 'there is more honour to be expected from the pirates of Barbary than from you British.'"

"And a very insolent remark it was," said Drake, "and I don't wonder that the Lion growled."

"'If you don't shut up, and hand over your ships,' cried the Lion, 'I'll blow you sky-high off the face of the earth.'

"'Then I shan't,' cried Denmark.

"So, men, the bombardment of Copenhagen commenced."

"Ay," said Dr. McLeod, "and a terrible one it must have been. A _feu d'infer_ that lasted three days and nights. Eighteen hundred houses levelled to the ground. The city on fire, here, there, and everywhere; even the women and children perishing in the flames, and not knowing where to turn or run to. Awful!"

"But," said Drake, "not only was the fleet then handed over to us, but all the stores in the arsenal as well."

"To be kept in pawn? Eh?"

"No, no, not now. What we've got we mean to hold."

O'Reilly jumped up, and walked away laughing, but ha turned in the doorway, and said--

"English fair-play? Eh? O, sure, it's a beautiful thing entirely. English fair----ha, ha, ha!"

And off went O'Reilly.

"I beg your pardon, Sergeant Robertson," he said, as he nearly tumbled over my grandfather in the passage.

"It was to see Major Drake I came," said my grand-dad.

"Knock and go right in, my boy; you'll find him by the window, talking--nonsense."

My grandfather told me he felt very shy. But he broke the ice at last.

He wanted to get married, and wanted the commanding officer's leave; and would Major Drake----

Of course he would.

"Of course he will," added McLeod also. "We'll be proud to have your wife join the Royals."

* * * * *

So grandfather got married.

Or, in more poetical language, grandfather made this sweet young girl--my grandmother--his bride, which was very good of him.

The marriage was a very quiet one--Presbyterian, of course, my gallant grand-dad being a Scot as well as a Royal Scot.

Honeymoons were not in those days considered an indispensable appendix to a wedding. Nevertheless, my grand-dad got a fortnight's furlough, to say nothing of a lot of old shoes and handfuls of rice as he drove off in a carriage and pair, _en route_ for the Lakes of Killarney.

By the way, I am not much of an antiquarian, else I would pause here to wonder what is the reason annexed to throwing old shoes--not hob-nailed ones--after a happy pair, plus handfuls of rice.

I suppose--but I don't know--that the old shoes mean: "May you never go barefooted."

And the rice: "May you never go hungry!"

I think that fortnight's furlough must have been spent most blissfully, because one of the few snatches of song that ever I heard the old man sing, was this:

"Did e'er you hear tell of Kate Kearney? She lives by the banks of Killarney. From the glance of her eye Shun danger, and fly, For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney."