Adventure stories, English; France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction; Soldiers of fortune -- Fiction
From them I learned so much as they had heard of the late naval
engagement. The report was that Bompard’s fleet had fallen in with Sir
John Warren’s squadron; and having given orders for his fastest sailers
to make the best of their way to France, had, with the _Hoche_, the
_Loire_, and the _Resolve_, given battle to the enemy. These had all
been captured, as well as four others which fled, two alone of the whole
succeeding in their escape. I think now, that, grievous as these tidings
were, there was nothing of either boastfulness or insolence in the tone
in which they were communicated to me. Every praise was accorded to
Bompard for skill and bravery, and the defence was spoken of in terms
of generous eulogy. The only trait of acrimony that showed itself in the
recital was a regret that a number of Irish rebels should have escaped
in the _Biche_, one of the smaller frigates; and several emissaries of
the people, who had been deputed to the admiral, were also alleged to
have been on board of that vessel.
‘You are sorry to have missed your friend the priest of Murrah,’ said
Hill jocularly.
‘Yes, by George, that fellow should have graced a gallows if I had been
lucky enough to have taken him.’
‘What was his crime, sir?’ asked I, with seeming unconcern.
‘Nothing more than exciting to rebellion a people with whom he had no
tie of blood or kindred! He was a Frenchman, and devoted himself to the
cause of Ireland,* as they call it, from pure sympathy----’
‘And a dash of Popery,’ broke in Hill.
‘It’s hard to say even that; my own opinion is, that French Jacobinism
cares very little for the Pope. Am I right, young gentleman--you don’t
go very often to confession?’
‘I should do so less frequently if I were to be subjected to such a
system of interrogatory as yours,’ said I tartly.
They both took my impertinent speech in good part, and laughed heartily
at it; and thus, half amicably, half in earnest, we entered the little
town of Letterkenny, just as night was falling.
‘If you’ll be our guest for this evening, sir,’ said Hill, ‘we shall be
happy to have your company.’
I accepted the invitation, and followed them into the inn.
CHAPTER XXIX. THE BREAKFAST AT LETTERKENNY
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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