ntroductory Remarks.—The Author’s Birth.—Parentage.—Prevalence of the Military Spirit.—Two of his Brothers enlist, and are killed in the Service.—Author apprenticed to a Carpenter.—His Desire for a Military Life.—Leaves Home without the Consent of his Parents.—Reaches Belfast, and enlists.—Dissatisfied with his new Position.—Deserts, and returns to his Native Village.—Again enlists, at Navan.—Still dissatisfied, and again deserts.—Enlists a third Time.—Marches to Dublin, and thence to Cork.—Departs for England.—Incidents of the Voyage.—Sails for the Peninsula.—The Ship on Fire.—A Terrific Storm.—Arrives in Spain.—Gibraltar.—A Flogging.
People advanced somewhat in life, and surrounded by a family of children, often find great pleasure in retracing scenes of their own childhood,—in living over, again and again, the hours which have been to them so productive of happiness or misery; and the events of those bygone days present to their minds scenes of far deeper and more thrilling interest than the present can ever do. The thrice-told tale is as new, and as glowing with interest, as though its occurrences were but of yesterday. This is true in the case of most whose lives have been diversified by the changes of varied condition and prospects. But how much more true is this of the old soldier,—one who,[8] in early life, became inured to the hardships of war and the severe duties of camp life. Scenes in the camp, and on the bloody field of martial combat, where death, in its most terrific forms, is met by many,—the horrors of the siege, and the consequences to the vanquished,—the sufferings, the writhings and groans, of the distressed and the dying,—too deeply impress the mind to be ever erased; and, in our times of peace, should serve to enhance the value of the blessings we enjoy. It is, perhaps, with something like these feelings, that the author of the following sketch presents his narrative to the public. He can claim no titled ancestry, nor lordly birth, to throw around him a fictitious glory. This tale draws its interest from the wild scenes of war, and the wilder passions of men’s souls, which it has been his fortune to encounter. It is his hope both to instruct and amuse the young, that they may better prize the blessings of peace; and learn that war, with all its glory, is to be dreaded, not sought for,—that it is productive of far more evil than good, even to the successful party, and that it should ever be, to all nations, only a last resort from the most flagrant oppression.
PREVALENCE OF THE MILITARY SPIRIT.
BROTHER KILLED IN BATTLE.
I was born in Dendolk, in the county of Lowth, Ireland, in June, 1793. I was the youngest of eleven children, six of whom were sons, and five daughters. My father’s name was Charles O’Neil, and my mother’s maiden name was Alice McGee. My father was a carpenter by trade, and he supported[9] his large family by daily toil. He was an industrious and active laborer, and in other times would gladly have seen his family settle around him, pursuing the peaceful avocations of husbandry, or engaged in some of the useful mechanic arts. But it was our fortune—or misfortune, I should say—to live when all Europe resounded to the din of arms, and the glory of martial life, amid the confusion and carnage of battle. Napoleon, the mightiest of heroes and conquerors, was then rapidly ascending to the zenith of his glory; and all the crowned heads of Europe, terrified by his growing power, and anxious to save themselves and their thrones, began to prepare themselves for resistance. Recruits were sought for in every village and hamlet. The honors of the soldier’s life, and the glory of the military profession, were everywhere, and by all classes of people, the topics of conversation. Fathers and mothers were careful to instil into the minds of their children the glory and honor of a military life, and the fair young damsels of our own dear island—for Ireland has charming and beautiful girls—were scarcely willing to regard any young man as honorable or brave, who did not enlist, and aim to deserve well of his country. He is a soldier, he has fought in such a battle, he belongs to his majesty’s regiment, &c., were a sure passport to society and respectability. All other occupations were considered tame and spiritless, fit only for the aged, infirm, and for cowards. My father caught the spirit of the times, and although[10] too old to engage in such an enterprise himself, gave his ready permission to Arthur, my oldest brother, who early sought to distinguish himself on the field of battle. My mother’s consent was not so readily given, but even she did by no means object to his new enterprise; and when he presented himself before his parents, in his new uniform, for their parting blessing, she felt proud that her son was possessed of such a noble, courageous soul. She cheerfully gave him her hand, saying, “Go, my son; cover yourself with glory in the service of your country, and when you are old, you will be honored, respected, and provided for.” But, alas! how little did my mother think that the first news she would hear from her first-born son, after this blessing, would fill her own heart with grief unutterable. He enlisted into the navy, and was placed upon a seventy-four gun-ship, named the “Terrible;” and terrible, indeed, it proved to him, for he was killed by a cannon-ball, a few months only after enlisting, in an engagement which took place in 1807, near the coast of Holland, between his majesty’s fleet and the French naval force. His death was a severe affliction to my parents, and completely damped my father’s desire for military honor for his children. It was, therefore, with deep regret that they saw in my brother James’ mind a growing dislike to the quiet duties and occupations of home, and an earnest longing for those warlike scenes which had been so fatal to Arthur. This desire soon grew so strong that entreaties[11] and persuasions were alike useless from my dear and aged parents; and in less than two years from Arthur’s death, he enlisted in the royal army of George IV., in the 96th regiment of foot. It was a sorrowful day in our little home, when the news came that his regiment was ordered abroad, into the foreign service. My father gave him much good advice, with many directions for the attainment of that honor he hoped to see him enjoy, at some distant day. But my poor mother could only weep, and express her deep regret that Jimmie would not be contented to live at home, at the same time reiterating her confident prediction that she should see his face no more. Since the melancholy death of Arthur, the glory and honor of military life all gave place to the carnage, the slaughter, and the dreadful sufferings of the battle-field, where no kind hand could minister the slightest consolation, and where agony unmitigated might be the fate—and to her mind undoubtedly would be—of her son. She wept aloud, and would not be comforted. But the die was cast; Jimmie was resolved, at all hazards, to be a soldier. He thought not of danger, and did not fear death. He only thought of the excitement of martial strife, the joy and honor awaiting the victor, and the subsequent reward. Alas! for him the bright future never dawned. My mother’s fears were but too well founded; for he, too, fell dead upon the field of battle, while fighting bravely for his country, in[12] his first engagement, in the bloody battle of Talavera.
It was my father’s wish that I should become a carpenter; and he, early in life, put me an apprentice to his own trade. But the quiet habits, constant labor,—destitute of an exciting or romantic incident,—of a mechanic’s life, ill suited the tastes I had already formed. There resided near us an old soldier, who found great pleasure in relating the adventures of his past life; and I was never weary of listening to them. My imagination was excited, and the romantic scenes he related to me, with the thrilling incidents of a soldier’s life, made a deep and permanent impression upon my mind. Alas for me, that I ever fell in company with this old soldier! My peace was destroyed; I was uneasy, and determined not to remain in my employment, as a carpenter’s apprentice. Each interview with him strengthened my desire for a participation in those scenes which, I was sure, would be so delightful and interesting.
Mingled with a desire to see foreign countries, and be a sharer of those actions to whose thrilling narration I had so often listened with so much interest, came an ardent thirst for revenge on those whom I regarded as the murderers of my brothers. About this time, one of my cousins, to whom I was warmly attached, resolved to enlist in a regiment that was then being formed at Belfast. He was very anxious that I should accompany him. It did not require[13] much persuasion to induce me to determine so to do. But I remembered how difficult it had been for my brother James to gain my parents’ consent, and being anxious to avoid a scene which must be so painful to all, I resolved to leave without their knowledge.
REFLECTIONS ON LEAVING HOME.
JOURNEY TO BELFAST.
The Military Adventures of Charles O'Neil
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