It was in the dim twilight of a hazy morning, that the bugler of the 8th aroused the sleeping soldiers from their miserable couches, which, wretched as they were, they, nevertheless, rose from reluctantly—­so wearied and fatigued had they been by the preceding day’s march; not one among the number felt so indisposed to stir as the worthy quarter-master; his peculiar avocations had demanded a more than usual exertion on his part, and in the posture he had laid down at night, he rested till morning, without stirring a limb.  Twice the reveille had rung through the little encampment, and twice the quarter-master had essayed to open his eyes, but in vain; at last he made a tremendous effort, and sat bolt upright on the floor, hoping that the sudden effort might sufficiently arouse him; slowly his eyes opened, and the first thing they beheld was the figure of the dead priest, with a light cavalry helmet on his head, seated before him.  Ridgeway, who was “bon Catholique,” trembled in every joint—­it might be a ghost, it might be a warning, he knew not what to think—­he imagined the lips moved, and so overcome with terror was he at last, that he absolutely shouted like a maniac, and never cased till the hut was filled with officers and men, who hearing the uproar ran to his aid—­the surprise of the poor quarter-master at the apparition, was scarcely greater than that of the beholders—­no one was able to afford any explanation of the circumstance, though all were assured that it must have been done in jest—­the door upon which the priest had been conveyed, afforded the clue—­they had forgotten to restore it to its place —­accordingly the different billets were examined, and at last O’Flaherty was discovered in a most commodious bed, in a large room without a door, still fast asleep, and alone; how and when he had parted from his companions, he never could precisely explain, though he has since confessed it was part of his scheme to lead them astray in the village, and then retire to the bed, which he had determined to appropriate to his sole use.

Old Ridgeway’s rage knew no bounds; he absolutely foamed with passion, and in proportion as he was laughed at his choler rose higher; had this been the only result, it had been well for poor Tom, but unfortunately the affair got to be rumoured through the country—­the inhabitants of the village learned the indignity with which the Padre had been treated; they addressed a memorial to Lord Wellington—­inquiry was immediately instituted—­O’Flaherty was tried by court martial, and found guilty; nothing short of the heaviest punishment that could be inflicted under the circumstances would satisfy the Spaniards, and at that precise period it was part of our policy to conciliate their esteem by every means in our power.  The commander-in-chief resolved to make what he called an “example,” and poor O’Flaherty—­the life and soul of his regiment—­the darling of his mess, was broke, and pronounced incapable of