McALISTER by S.Baring Gould (1904)
 |
| S.Baring Gould |
The city of Bayonne, lying on the left bank of the Adour, and
serving as its port, is one that ought to present much interest to
the British tourist, on account of its associations. For three
hundred years, along with Bordeaux, it belonged to the English crown.
The cathedral, a noble structure of the fourteenth century, was
reared by the English, and on the bosses of its vaulting are carved
the arms of England, of the Talbots, and of other great English noble
families. It was probably designed by English architects, for it
possesses, in its vaulting, the long central rib so characteristic of
English architecture, and wholly unlike what was the prevailing
French fashion of vaulting in compartments, and always without that
connecting rib, like the inverted keel of a ship, with which we are
acquainted in our English minsters. Under some of the modern houses
in the town are cellars of far earlier construction, also vaulted,
and in them as well may be seen the arms of the English noble
families which had their dwellings above.
But Bayonne has later associations with us. At the close of the
Peninsular War, when Wellington had driven Marshal Soult and the
French out of Spain, and had crossed the Pyrenees, his forces, under
Sir John Hope, invested the citadel. In February, 1814, Sir John
threw a bridge of boats across the Adour, boats being provided by the
fleet of Admiral Penrose, in the teeth of a garrison of 15,000 men,
and French gunboats which guarded the river and raked the English
whilst conducting this hazardous and masterly achievement. This
brilliant exploit was effected whilst Wellington engaged the
attention of Soult about the Gaves, affluents of the Adour, near
Orthez. It is further interesting, with a tragic interest, on account
of an incident in that campaign which shall be referred to presently.
The cathedral of Bayonne, some years ago, possessed no towers—the
English were driven out of Aquitaine before these had been completed.
The west front was mean to the last degree, masked by a shabby
penthouse, plastered white, or rather dirty white, on which in large
characters was inscribed, "Liberté égalité et fraternité."
 |
| Cathedral of Bayonne |
This has now disappeared, and a modern west front and twin towers
and spires have been added, in passable architecture. When I was at
Bayonne, more years ago than I care to say, I paid a visit to the
little cemetery on the north bank of the river, in which were laid
the English officers who fell during the investment of Bayonne.
The north bank is in the Department of the Landes, whereas that on
the south is in the Department of the Basses Pyrénées.
About the time when the English were expelled from France, and
lost Aquitaine, the Adour changed its course. Formerly it had turned
sharply round at the city, and had flowed north and found an outlet
some miles away at Cap Breton, but the entrance was choked by the
moving sand-dunes, and the impatient river burst its way into the Bay
of Biscay by the mouth through which it still flows. But the old
course is marked by lagoons of still blue water in the midst of a
vast forest of pines and cork trees. I had spent a day wandering
among these tree-covered
landes, seeking out the lonely lakes,
and in the evening I returned in the direction of Bayonne, diverging
somewhat from my course to visit the cemetery of the English. This
was a square walled enclosure with an iron gate, rank with weeds,
utterly neglected, and with the tombstones, some leaning, some
prostrate, all covered with lichen and moss. I could not get within
to decipher the inscriptions, for the gate was locked and I had not
the key, and was quite ignorant who was the custodian of the place.
Being tired with my trudge in the sand, I sat down outside, with
my back to the wall, and saw the setting sun paint with saffron the
boles of the pines. I took out my Murray that I had in my knapsack,
and read the following passage:—
"To the N., rises the citadel, the most formidable
of the works laid out by Vauban, and greatly strengthened, especially
since 1814, when it formed the key to an entrenched camp of Marshal
Soult, and was invested by a detachment of the army of the Duke of
Wellington, but not taken, the peace having put a stop to the siege
after some bloody encounters. The last of these, a dreadful and
useless expenditure of human life, took place after peace was
declared, and the British forces put off their guard in consequence.
They were thus entirely taken by surprise by a sally of the garrison,
made early on the morning of April 14th; which, though repulsed, was
attended with the loss of 830 men of the British, and by the capture
of their commander, Sir John Hope, whose horse was shot under him,
and himself wounded. The French attack was supported by the fire of
their gunboats on the river, which opened indiscriminately on friend
and foe. Nine hundred and ten of the French were killed."
When I had concluded, the sun had set, and already a grey mist
began to form over the course of the Adour. I thought that now it was
high time for me to return to Bayonne, and to table d'hôte, which is
at 7.30 p.m., but for which I knew I should be late. However, before
rising, I pulled out my flask of Scotch whisky, and drained it to the
last drop.
I had scarcely finished, and was about to heave myself to my feet,
when I heard a voice from behind and above me say—"It is
grateful, varra grateful to a Scotchman."
I turned myself about, and drew back from the wall, for I saw a
very remarkable object perched upon it. It was the upper portion of a
man in military accoutrements. He was not sitting on the wall, for,
if so, his legs would have been dangling over on the outside. And yet
he could not have heaved himself up to the level of the parapet, with
the legs depending inside, for he appeared to be on the wall itself
down to the middle.
"Are you a Scotchman or an Englishman?" he inquired.
"An Englishman," I replied, hardly knowing what to make
of the apparition.
"It's mabbe a bit airly in the nicht for me to be stirring,"
he said; "but the smell of the whisky drew me from my grave."
"From your grave!" I exclaimed.
"And pray, what is the blend?" he asked.
I answered.
"Weel," said he, "ye might do better, but it's guid
enough. I am Captain Alister McAlister of Auchimachie, at your
service, that is to say, his superior half. I fell in one of the
attacks on the citadel. Those"—he employed a strong
qualification which need not be reproduced—"those Johnny
Crapauds used chain-shot; and they cut me in half at the waistbelt,
and my legs are in Scotland."
Having somewhat recovered from my astonishment, I was able to take
a further look at him, and could not restrain a laugh. He so much
resembled Humpty Dumpty, who, as I had learned in childhood, did sit
on a wall.
"Is there anything so rideeculous about me?" asked
Captain McAlister in a tone of irritation. "You seem to be in a
jocular mood, sir."
"I assure you," I responded, "I was only laughing
from joy of heart at the happy chance of meeting you, Alister
McAlister."
"Of Auchimachie, and my title is Captain," he said.
"There is only half of me here—the etceteras are in the family
vault in Scotland."
I expressed my genuine surprise at this announcement. "You
must understand, sir," continued he, "that I am but the
speeritual presentment of my buried trunk. The speeritual presentment
of my nether half is not here, and I should scorn to use those of
Captain O'Hooligan."
I pressed my hand to my brow. Was I in my right senses? Had the
hot sun during the day affected my brain, or had the last drain of
whisky upset my reason?
"You may be pleased to know," said the half-captain,
"that my father, the Laird of Auchimachie, and Colonel Graham of
Ours, were on terms of the greatest intimacy. Before I started for
the war under Wellington—he was at the time but Sir Arthur
Wellesley—my father took Colonel Graham apart and confided to him:
'If anything should happen to my son in the campaign, you'll obleege
me greatly if you will forward his remains to Auchimachie. I am a
staunch Presbyterian, and I shouldn't feel happy that his poor body
should lie in the land of idolaters, who worship the Virgin Mary. And
as to the expense, I will manage to meet that; but be careful not to
do the job in an extravagant manner.'"
"And the untoward Fates cut you short?"
"Yes, the chain-shot did, but not in the Peninsula. I passed
safely through that, but it was here. When we were makin' the bridge,
the enemy's ships were up the river, and they fired on us with
chain-shot, which ye ken are mainly used for cutting the rigging of
vessels. But they employed them on us as we were engaged over the
pontoons, and I was just cut in half by a pair of these shot at the
junction of the tunic and the trews."
"I cannot understand how that your legs should be in Scotland
and your trunk here."
"That's just what I'm aboot to tell you. There was a Captain
O'Hooligan and I used to meet; we were in the same detachment. I need
not inform you, if you're a man of understanding, that O'Hooligan is
an Irish name, and Captain Timothy O'Hooligan was a born Irishman and
an ignorant papist to boot. Now, I am by education and conveection a
staunch Presbyterian. I believe in John Calvin, John Knox, and
Jeannie Geddes. That's my creed; and if ye are disposed for an
argument——"
"Not in the least."
"Weel, then, it was other with Captain O'Hooligan, and we
often had words; but he hadn't any arguments at all, only assertions,
and he lost his temper accordingly, and I was angry at the
unreasonableness of the man. I had had an ancestor in Derry at the
siege and at the Battle of the Boyne, and he spitted three Irish
kerns on his sabre. I glory in it, and I told O'Hooligan as much, and
I drank a glass of toddy to the memory of William III., and I shouted
out Lillibulero! I believe in the end we would have fought a duel,
after the siege was over, unless one of us had thought better of it.
But it was not to be. At the same time that I was cut in half, so was
he also by chain-shot."
"And is he buried here?"
"The half of him—his confounded legs, and the knees that
have bowed to the image of Baal."
"Then, what became of his body?"
"If you'll pay me reasonable attention, and not interrupt,
I'll tell you the whole story. But—sure enough! Here come those
legs!"
Instantly the half-man rolled off the wall, on the outside, and
heaving himself along on his hands, scuttled behind a tree-trunk.
Next moment I saw a pair of nimble lower limbs, in white ducks and
straps under the boots, leap the wall, and run about, up and down,
much like a setter after a partridge.
I did not know what to make of this.
Then the head of McAlister peered from behind the tree, and
screamed "Lillibulero! God save King William!" Instantly
the legs went after him, and catching him up kicked him like a
football about the enclosure. I cannot recall precisely how many
times the circuit was made, twice or thrice, but all the while the
head of McAlister kept screaming "Lillibulero!" and "D——
the Pope!"
Recovering myself from my astonishment, and desirous of putting a
term to this not very edifying scene, I picked up a leaf of shamrock,
that grew at my feet, and ran between the legs and the trunk, and
presented the symbol of St. Patrick to the former. The legs at once
desisted from pursuit, and made a not ungraceful bow to the leaf, and
as I advanced they retired, still bowing reverentially, till they
reached the wall, which they stepped over with the utmost ease.
The half-Scotchman now hobbled up to me on his hands, and said:
"I'm varra much obleeged to you for your intervention, sir."
Then he scrambled, by means of the rails of the gate, to his former
perch on the wall.
"You must understand, sir," said McAlister, settling
himself comfortably, "that this produces no pheesical
inconvenience to me at all. For O'Hooligan's boots are speeritual,
and so is my trunk speeritual. And at best it only touches my
speeritual feelings. Still, I thank you."
"You certainly administered to him some spiritual
aggravation," I observed.
"Ay, ay, sir, I did. And I glory in it."
"And now, Captain McAlister, if it is not troubling you too
greatly, after this interruption would you kindly explain to me how
it comes about that the nobler part of you is here and the less noble
in Scotland?"
"I will do so with pleasure. Captain O'Hooligan's upper story
is at Auchimachie."
"How came that about?"
"If you had a particle of patience, you would not interrupt
me in my narrative. I told you, did I not, that my dear father had
enjoined on Colonel Graham, should anything untoward occur, that he
should send my body home to be interred in the vault of my ancestors?
Well, this is how it came about that the awkward mistake was made.
When it was reported that I had been killed, Colonel Graham issued
orders that my remains should be carefully attended to and put aside
to be sent home to Scotland."
"By boat, I presume?"
"Certainly, by boat. But, unfortunately, he commissioned some
Irishmen of his company to attend to it. And whether it was that they
wished to do honour to their own countryman, or whether it was that,
like most Irishmen, they could not fail to blunder in the discharge
of their duty, I cannot say. They might have recognised me, even if
they hadn't known my face, by my goold repeater watch; but some
wretched camp-followers had been before them. On the watch were
engraved the McAlister arms. But the watch had been stolen. So they
picked up—either out of purpose, or by mistake—O'Hooligan's
trunk, and my nether portion, and put them together into one case.
You see, a man's legs are not so easily identified. So his body and
my lower limbs were made ready together to be forwarded to Scotland."
"But how—did not Colonel Graham see personally to the
matter?"
"He could not. He was so much engaged over regimental duties.
Still, he might have stretched a point, I think."
"It must have been difficult to send the portions so far. Was
the body embalmed?"
"Embalmed! no. There was no one in Bayonne who knew how to do
it. There was a bird-stuffer in the Rue Pannceau, but he had done
nothing larger than a seagull. So there could be no question of
embalming. We, that is, the bit of O'Hooligan and the bit of me, were
put into a cask of eau-de-vie, and so forwarded by a sailing-vessel.
And either on the way to Southampton, or on another boat from that
port to Edinburgh, the sailors ran a gimlet into the barrel, and
inserted a straw, and drank up all the spirits. It was all gone by
the time the hogshead reached Auchimachie. Whether O'Hooligan gave a
smack to the liquor I cannot say, but I can answer for my legs, they
would impart a grateful flavour of whisky. I was always a drinker of
whisky, and when I had taken a considerable amount it always went to
my legs; they swerved, and gave way under me. That is proof certain
that the liquor went to my extremities and not to my head. Trust to a
Scotchman's head for standing any amount of whisky. When the remains
arrived at Auchimachie for interment, it was supposed that some
mistake had been made. My hair is sandy, that of O'Hooligan is black,
or nearly so; but there was no knowing what chemical action the
alcohol might have on the hair in altering its colour. But my mother
identified the legs past mistake, by a mole on the left calf and a
varicose vein on the right. Anyhow, half a loaf is better than no
bread, so all the mortal relics were consigned to the McAlister
vault. It was aggravating to my feelings that the minister should
pronounce a varra eloquent and moving discourse on the occasion over
the trunk of a confounded Irishman and a papist."
"You must really excuse me," interrupted I, "but
how the dickens do you know all this?"
"There is always an etherial current of communication between
the parts of a man's body," replied McAlister, "and there
is speeritual intercommunication between a man's head and his toes,
however pairted they may be. I tell you, sir, in the speeritual world
we know a thing or two."
"And now," said I, "what may be your wishes in this
most unfortunate matter?"
"I am coming to that, if you'll exercise a little rational
patience. This that I tell you of occurred in 1814, a considerable
time ago. I shall be varra pleased if, on your return to England, you
will make it your business to run up to Scotland, and interview my
great-nephew. I am quite sure he will do the right thing by me, for
the honour of the family, and to ease my soul. He never would have
come into the estate at all if it had not been for my lamented
decease. There's another little unpleasantness to which I desire you
to call his attention. A tombstone has been erected over my trunk and
O'Hooligan's legs, here in this cemetery, and on it is: 'Sacred to
the Memory of Captain Timothy O'Hooligan, who fell on the field of
Glory. R. I. P.' Now this is liable to a misunderstanding for it is
me—I mean I, to be grammatical—who lies underneath. I make no
account of the Irishman's nether extremities. And being a convinced
and zealous Presbyterian, I altogether conscientiously object to
having 'Requiescat in pace' inscribed over my bodily remains. And my
great-nephew, the present laird, if he be true to the principles of
the Covenant, will object just as strongly as myself. I know very
weel those letters are attached to the name of O'Hooligan, but they
mark the place of deposition of my body rather than his. So I wish
you just to put it clearly and logically to the laird, and he will
take steps, at any cost, to have me transferred to Auchimachie. What
he may do with the relics of that Irish rogue I don't care for, not
one stick of barley sugar."
I promised solemnly to fulfil the commission entrusted to me, and
then Captain McAlister wished me a good night, and retired behind the
cemetery wall.
I did not quit the South of France that same year, for I spent the
winter at Pau. In the following May I returned to England, and there
found that a good many matters connected with my family called for my
immediate attention. It was accordingly just a year and five months
after my interview with Captain McAlister that I was able to
discharge my promise. I had never forgotten my undertaking—I had
merely postponed it. Charity begins at home, and my own concerns
engrossed my time too fully to allow me the leisure for a trip to the
North.
However, in the end I did go. I took the express to Edinburgh.
That city, I think candidly, is the finest for situation in the
world, as far as I have seen of it. I did not then visit it. I never
had previously been in the Athens of the North, and I should have
liked to spend a couple of days at least in it, to look over the
castle and to walk through Holyrood.
 |
| Holyrood Abbey Ruins |
 |
| Edinburgh Castle |
But duty stands before pleasure,
and I went on directly to my destination, postponing acquaintance
with Edinburgh till I had accomplished my undertaking.
I had written to Mr. Fergus McAlister to inform him of my desire
to see him. I had not entered into the matter of my communication. I
thought it best to leave this till I could tell him the whole story
by word of mouth. I merely informed him by letter that I had
something to speak to him about that greatly concerned his family.
On reaching the station his carriage awaited me, and I was driven
to his house.
He received me with the greatest cordiality, and offered me the
kindest hospitality.
The house was large and rambling, not in the best repair, and the
grounds, as I was driven through them, did not appear to be trimly
kept. I was introduced to his wife and to his five daughters,
fair-haired, freckled girls, certainly not beautiful, but pleasing
enough in manner. His eldest son was away in the army, and his second
was in a lawyer's office in Edinburgh; so I saw nothing of them.
After dinner, when the ladies had retired, I told him the entire
story as freely and as fully as possible, and he listened to me with
courtesy, patience, and the deepest attention.
"Yes," he said, when I had concluded, "I was aware
that doubts had been cast on the genuineness of the trunk. But under
the circumstances it was considered advisable to allow the matter to
stand as it was. There were insuperable difficulties in the way of an
investigation and a certain identification. But the legs were all
right. And I hope to show you to-morrow, in the kirk, a very handsome
tablet against the wall, recording the name and the date of decease
of my great-uncle, and some very laudatory words on his character,
beside an appropriate text from the Screeptures."
"Now, however, that the facts are known, you will, of course,
take steps for the translation of the half of Captain Alister to your
family vault."
"I foresee considerable difficulties in the way," he
replied. "The authorities at Bayonne might raise objections to
the exhuming of the remains in the grave marked by the tombstone of
Captain O'Hooligan. They might very reasonably say: 'What the hang
has Mr. Fergus McAlister to do with the body of Captain O'Hooligan?'
We must consult the family of that officer in Ireland."
"But," said I, "a representation of the case—of
the mistake made—would render all clear to them. I do not see that
there is any necessity for complicating the story by saying that you
have only half of your relative here, and that the other half is in
O'Hooligan's grave. State that orders had been given for the
transmission of the body of your great-uncle to Auchimachie, and
that, through error, the corpse of Captain O'Hooligan had been sent,
and Captain McAlister buried by mistake as that of the Irishman. That
makes a simple, intelligible, and straightforward tale. Then you
could dispose of the superfluous legs when they arrived in the manner
you think best."
The laird remained silent for a while, rubbing his chin, and
looking at the tablecloth.
Presently he stood up, and going to the sideboard, said: "I'll
just take a wash of whisky to clear my thoughts. Will you have some?"
"Thank you; I am enjoying your old and excellent port."
Mr. Fergus McAlister returned leisurely to the table after his
"wash," remained silent a few minutes longer, then lifted
his head and said: "I don't see that I am called upon to
transport those legs."
"No," I answered; "but you had best take the
remains in a lump and sort them on their arrival."
"I am afraid it will be seriously expensive. My good sir, the
property is not now worth what it was in Captain Alister's time. Land
has gone down in value, and rents have been seriously reduced.
Besides, farmers are now more exacting than formerly; they will not
put up with the byres that served their fathers. Then my son in the
army is a great expense to me, and my second son is not yet earning
his livelihood, and my daughters have not yet found suitors, so that
I shall have to leave them something on which to live; besides"—he
drew a long breath—"I want to build on to the house a
billiard-room."
"I do not think," protested I, "that the cost would
be very serious."
"What do you mean by serious?" he asked.
"I think that these relics of humanity might be transported
to Auchimachie in a hogshead of cognac, much as the others were."
"What is the price of cognac down there?" asked he.
"Well," I replied, "that is more than I can say as
to the cask. Best cognac, three stars, is five francs fifty centimes
a bottle."
"That's a long price. But one star?"
"I cannot say; I never bought that. Possibly three francs and
a half."
"And how many bottles to a cask?"
"I am not sure, something over two hundred litres."
"Two hundred three shillings," mused Mr. Fergus; and
then looking up, "there is the duty in England, very heavy on
spirits, and charges for the digging-up, and fees to the officials,
and the transport by water——" He shook his head.
"You must remember," said I, "that your relative is
subjected to great indignities from those legs, getting toed three or
four times round the enclosure." I said three or four, but I
believe it was only twice or thrice. "It hardly comports with
the family honour to suffer it."
"I think," replied Mr. Fergus, "that you said it
was but the speeritual presentment of a boot, and that there was no
pheesical inconvenience felt, only a speeritual impression?"
"Just so."
"For my part, judging from my personal experience," said
the laird, "speeritual impressions are most evanescent."
"Then," said I, "Captain Alister's trunk lies in a
foreign land."
"But not," replied he, "in Roman Catholic
consecrated soil. That is a great satisfaction."
"You, however, have the trunk of a Roman Catholic in your
family vault."
"It is so, according to what you say. But there are a score
of McAlisters there, all staunch Presbyterians, and if it came to an
argument among them—I won't say he would not have a leg to stand
on, as he hasn't those anyhow, but he would find himself just
nowhere."
Then Mr. Fergus McAlister stood up and said: "Shall we join
the ladies? As to what you have said, sir, and have recommended, I
assure you that I will give it my most serious consideration."
