We had in our regiment, at this time, a man of the name of Tom Crawley, who was always getting into scrapes, and who was one of those singular characters with which every regiment abounds. To enormous strength, and great meekness of temper, he added an infinity of dry humour, which I shall better illustrate by introducing him to the reader at once, as bearing no little part in my career—in which he first became known to me as one of the “incorrigibles.” Tom, however, made light of every punishment, even of the “six-pounder,” which he would generally chuck under his arm as if it were a mere toy. To obviate this, another move was made by our Colonel, which was the obliging him to wear a kind of long smock-frock, with a green cross painted on the back and front of it. The barrack in which we were, being only temporary, presented no outward wall to prevent our free intercourse with the town where Tom was a general favourite. Tom used, therefore, at night, while under disgrace, to take advantage of the dusk, and steal by the sentries into the town. Here, of course, his strange dress elicited innumerable queries. “Arrah and sure!” Tom would reply with a knowing side leer of the eye, “sure and is it not the new regulation of the Duke of York, and musn’t all the likes of me, that are Catholics in our regiment, wear the cross on their dress!” The first parade we had after our men had received their new equipments, was imprinted upon my memory from a circumstance attending it, that was well calculated to make an impression upon the mind of a youthful soldier, such as I then was; and to inspire that _esprit de corps_ in a regiment, which is absolutely essential to even disciplined valour. I had previously, more than once, heard a man of the name of Tom Plunket eulogised by the men for his courage. He was a smart, well-made fellow, about the middle height, in the prime of manhood; with a clear grey eye, and handsome countenance; and was a general favourite with both officers and men, besides being the best shot in the regiment. On the occasion I have above alluded to, we were formed into hollow square, and ordered to face inwards; as we knew it was not a punishment parade, we naturally expected some address from the commanding officer, and wondering in our own minds what was coming, when Colonel Beckwith broke the silence by calling out: “Private Thomas Plunket, step into the square.” All eyes, it is needless to say, were fixed upon Plunket, as he halted with his rifle shouldered, in the finest position of military attention, within a few paces of his officer.