Читать книгу The Story of a Peninsular Veteran. Sergeant in the Forty-Third Light Infantry, during the Peninsular War онлайн

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ARKLOW.

Having advanced to the suburbs of the town, the rebels set fire to several buildings, in hope that the smoke would annoy the garrison, and confuse their operations. Just then the wind shifted to the opposite quarter, so that the scheme not only failed, but served to confound their own devices. The action commenced between a column of the rebels and a detachment of the Dunbarton Fencibles, who were ordered out to line the ditches on each side of the road. When they had exchanged about a dozen rounds, the fencibles received orders to retreat, which was performed, but with a little confusion. On perceiving this movement, the rebels pursued with loud huzzas, and one of their officers, waving his hat, called out, ‘Come on, my boys! the town is our own.’ That was an error. He was suddenly surrounded by the troops, his horse was shot, and himself wounded; on which he fell as though slain. In a little time curiosity constrained him to lift up his head and look about; when he was perceived, and shot dead. The rebels pressed on with obstinacy worthy of a better cause; but on receiving a close fire of musketry and grape-shot, they fell back to some distance. They then endeavoured to extend their line in order to turn the left flank; but the fire of the Cavan battalion was so severe, that the attempt was abortive. Another column of the rebels tried to gain the lower end of the town by the beach; but here they were repulsed by a desperate charge of cavalry, headed by Colonel Sir Watkin Wynne. They then proceeded in great force to a passage that led to the centre of the town, which was defended only by a sergeant and twelve privates: this handful of men, however, made good their position, and, as the pass they held was narrow, rendered every effort to dislodge them from it ineffectual. At this critical juncture Priest Murphy appeared, animating his men to renewed acts of outrage: many of these, terror-stricken by the clamour of this clerical warrior, were driven before him to the thickest of the fray. As no new deception presented itself, he had recourse to the worn-out pretension of working miracles. He declared, like Brother Roche, that he could catch the bullets, or ward them off at pleasure; in proof of which, he advanced at the head of a strong party in order to take a cannon stationed near a barrack. In that moment his bowels were torn out with canister-shot. The rebels, on observing him fall, fled with precipitation, swearing the priest himself was down. On that day a thousand rebels fell. Their retreat, as might be expected, was marked by dreadful excesses: they broke the windows of churches and other places consecrated to Divine service. They had an intolerable hatred to Protestant Prayer-books, and tore to pieces all that came within their reach. They carried the leaves of the church Bible on their pikes, shouting, ‘Behold the French colours!’ and, to complete their impiety, they put two Protestants to death in the aisle of a church. In other parts they made saddles of the Bibles, and rode about upon them.