The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Volume 1Lever, Charles
General
The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Volume 1
Lever, Charles
Fiction
Lieutenant-Colonel Carden--for so I shall call him, although not his real
name--had not been a month at quarters, when he proved himself a regular
martinet; everlasting drills, continual reports, fatigue parties, and
ball practice, and heaven knows what besides, superseded our former
morning's occupation; and, at the end of the time I have metioned, we,
who had fought our way from Albuera to Waterloo, under some of the
severest generals of division, were pronounced a most disorderly and
ill-disciplined regiment, by a Colonel, who had never seen a shot fired
but at a review in Hounslow, or a sham-battle in the Fifteen Acres. The
winter was now drawing to a close--already some little touch of spring
was appearing; as our last play for the season was announced, every
effort to close with some little additional effort was made; and each
performer in the expected piece was nerving himself for an effort beyond
his wont. The Colonel had most unequivocally condemned these plays; but
that mattered not; they came not within his jurisdiction; and we took no
notice of his displeasure, further than sending him tickets, which were
as immediately returned as received. From being the chief offender, I
had become particularly obnoxious; and he had upon more than one
occasion expressed his desire for an opportunity to visit me with his
vengeance; but being aware of his kind intentions towards me, I took
particular care to let no such opportunity occur.
On the morning in question, then, I had scarcely left my quarters, when
one of my brother officers informed me that the Colonel had made a great
uproar, that one of the bills of the play had been put up on his door
--which, with his avowed dislike to such representations, he considered as
intended to insult him: he added, too, that the Colonel attributed it to
me. In this, however, he was wrong--and, to this hour, I never knew who
did it. I had little time, and still less inclination, to meditate upon
the Colonel's wrath--the theatre had all my thoughts; and indeed it was a
day of no common exertion, for our amusements were to conclude with a
grand supper on the stage, to which all the elite of Cork were invited.
Wherever I went through the city--and many were my peregrinations--the
great placard of the play stared me in the fact; and every gate and
shuttered window in Cork, proclaimed, "THE PART OF OTHELLO, BY MR.
LORREQUER."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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