it is difficult to conceive how
such a sound thrilled through the heart at such a time. I own that more
than once I felt a choking fulness in the throat, as I heard a sudden
yell, it seemed so like a signal for destruction. In removing one of
the last barrels from the hand-barrow, it slipped, and, falling to the
ground, the hoops gave way, it burst open, and the powder fell out on
every side. The moment was critical, for the wind was baffling, now
wafting the sparks clear away, now whirling them in eddies around us. It
was then that an old sergeant of grenadiers threw off his upper coat and
spread it over the broken cask, while, with all the composure of a man
about to rest himself, he lay down on it, while his comrades went to
fetch water. Of course his peril was no greater than that of every one
around him, but there was an air of quick determination in his act which
showed the training of an old soldier. At length the labour was ended,
the last barrel was committed to the earth, and the men, formed into
line, were ordered to wheel and march. Never shall I forget the bishop's
face as they moved past. The undersized and youthful look of our
soldiers had acquired for them a kind of depreciating estimate in
comparison with the more mature and manly stature of the British
soldier, to whom, indeed, they offered a strong contrast on parade;
but now, as they were seen in a moment of arduous duty, surrounded
by danger, the steadiness and courage, the prompt obedience to every
command, the alacrity of their movements and the fearless intrepidity
with which they performed every act, impressed the worthy bishop so
forcibly, that he muttered half aloud, 'Thank Heaven there are so few of
them!'

Colonel Charost resisted steadily the bishop's proffer to afford the
men some refreshment; he would not even admit of an extra allowance of
brandy to their messes. 'If we become too liberal for slight services,
we shall never be able to reward real ones,' was his answer; and the
bishop was reduced to the expedient of commemorating what he could not
reward. This, indeed, he did with the most unqualified praise, relating
in the drawing-room all that he had witnessed, and lauding French valour
and heroism to the very highest.

The better to conceal my route, and to avoid the chances of being
tracked, I sailed that evening in a fishing-boat for Killybegs, a small
harbour on the coast of Donegal, having previously exchanged my uniform
for the