Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 2Lever, Charles
General
Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 2
Lever, Charles
Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Fiction
“I’ll be hanged, if he’s not playing with them!” said Baker. “Look at the
villain! He’s holding in; that’s more than the Frenchmen are doing. Look!
look at the fellow on the gray horse! He has flung his trumpet to his back,
and drawn his sabre.”
A loud cheer burst from the French lines; the trumpeter was gaining at
every stride. Mike had got into deep ground, and the horses would not keep
together. “Let the brown horse go! Let him go, man!” shouted the dragoons,
while I re-echoed the cry with my utmost might. But not so, Mike held
firmly on, and spurring madly, he lifted his horse at each stride, turning
from time to time a glance at his pursuer. A shout of triumph rose from the
French side; tin; trumpeter was beside him; his arm was uplifted; the sabre
above his head. A yell broke from the British, and with difficulty could
the squadron be restrained. For above a minute the horses went side by
side, but the Frenchman delayed his stroke until he could get a little in
the front. My excitement had rendered me speechless; if a word could have
saved my poor fellow, I could not have spoken. A mist seemed to gather
across my eyes, and the whole plain and its peopled thousands danced before
my vision.
“He’s down!” “He’s down, by heavens!” “No! no, no!” “Look there! Nobly
done!” “Gallant fellow!” “He has him! he has him, by ----!” A cheer that
rent the very air above us broke from the squadrons, and Mike galloped in
among us, holding the Frenchman by the throat with one hand; the bridle of
his horse he firmly grasped with his own in the other.
[Illustration: MIKE CAPTURING THE TRUMPETER.]
“How was it? How did he do it?”
“He broke his sword-arm with a blow, and the Frenchman’s sabre fell to the
earth.”
“Here he is, Mister Charles; and musha, but it’s trouble he gave me to
catch him! And I hope your honor won’t be displeased at me losing the brown
horse. I was obliged to let him go when the thief closed on me; but sure,
there he is! May I never, if he’s not galloping into the lines by himself!”
As he spoke, my brown charger came cantering up to the squadrons, and took
his place in the line with the rest.
I had scarcely time to mount my horse, amidst a buzz of congratulations,
when our squadron was ordered to the front. Mixed up with detachments from
the Eleventh and Sixteenth, we continued to resist the enemy for about two
hours.
Our charges were quick, sharp, and successive, pouring in our numbers
wherever the enemy appeared for a moment to be broken, and then retreating
under cover of our infantry when the opposing cavalry came down upon us in
overwhelming numbers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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