



Produced by Mary Munarin and David Widger




[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the
file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an
entire meal of them.  D.W.]





THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Vol. 3

[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]


Dublin

MDCCCXXXIX.



Volume 3. (Chapter XVIII-XXIII)



Contents:

CHAPTER XVIII
Detachment Duty--An Assize Town

CHAPTER XIX
The Assize Town

CHAPTER XX
A Day in Dublin

CHAPTER XXI
A Night at Howth

CHAPTER XXII
The Journey

CHAPTER XXIII
Calais





CHAPTER XVIII.

DETACHMENT DUTY--AN ASSIZE TOWN.

As there appeared to be but little prospect of poor Fitzgerald ever
requiring any explanation from me as to the events of that morning, for
he feared to venture from his room, lest he might be recognised and
prosecuted for abduction, I thought it better to keep my own secret also;
and it was therefore with a feeling of any thing but regret, that I
received an order which, under other circumstances, would have rendered
me miserable--to march on detachment duty.  To any one at all conversant
with the life we lead in the army, I need not say how unpleasant such a
change usually is.  To surrender your capital mess, with all its
well-appointed equipments--your jovial brother officers--hourly
flirtations with the whole female population--never a deficient one in a
garrison town--not to speak of your matches at trotting, coursing, and
pigeon-shooting, and a hundred other delectable modes of getting over
the ground through life, till it please your ungrateful country and the
Horse Guards to make you a major-general--to surrender all these, I say,
for the noise, dust, and damp disagreeables of a country inn, with bacon
to eat, whiskey to drink, and the priest, or the constabulary chief, to
get drunk with--I speak of Ireland here--and your only affair, par
amours, being the occasional ogling of the apothecary's daughter
opposite, as often as she visits the shop, in the soi disant occupation
of measuring out garden seeds and senna.  These are indeed, the
exchanges with a difference, for which there is no compensation; and,
for my own part, I never went upon such duty, that I did not exclaim
with the honest Irishman, when the mail went over him, "Oh, Lord! what
is this for?"--firmly believing that in the earthly purgatory of such
duties, I was reaping the heavy retribution attendant on past offences.

Besides, from being rather a crack man in my corps, I thought it somewhat
hard that my turn for such duty should come round about twice as often as
that of my brother officers; but so it is--I never knew a fellow a little
smarter than his neighbours, that was not pounced upon by his colonel for
a victim.  Now, however, I looked at these matters in a very different
light.  To leave head-quarters was to escape being questioned; while
there was scarcely any post to which I could be sent, where something
strange or adventurous might not turn up, and serve me to erase the
memory of the past, and turn the attention of my companions in any
quarter rather than towards myself.

My orders on the present occasion were to march to Clonmel; from whence I
was to proceed a short distance to the house of a magistrate, upon whose
information, transmitted to the Chief Secretary, the present assistance
of a military party had been obtained; and not without every appearance
of reason.  The assizes of the town were about to be held, and many
capital offences stood for trial in the calendar; and as it was strongly
rumoured that, in the event of certain convictions being obtained, a
rescue would be attempted, a general attack upon the town seemed a too
natural consequence; and if so, the house of so obnoxious a person as him
I have alluded to, would be equally certain of being assailed.  Such, at
least, is too  frequently the history of such scenes, beginning with no
one definite object: sometimes a slight one--more ample views and wider
conceptions of mischief follow; and what has begun in a drunken riot--a
casual rencontre--may terminate in the slaughter of a family, or the
burning of a village.  The