I put the question in about as many words, but he made no reply.
‘Does the man know where he is? does he know who I am?’ repeated Serasin passionately.
‘He knows both well enough, sir,’ said I; ‘this silence is a mere defiance of us.’
‘_Parbleu!_’ cried an officer, ‘that is the _coquin_ took poor Delaitre’s equipments; the very uniform he has on was his.’
‘The fellow was never a soldier,’ said another.
‘I know him well,’ interposed a third--’ he is the very terror of the townsfolk.’
‘Who gave him his commission?--who appointed him?’ asked Serasin.
Apparently the fellow could follow some words of French, for as the general asked this he drew from his pocket a crumpled and soiled paper, which he threw heedlessly upon the table before us.
‘Why, this is not his name, sir,’ said I; ‘this appointment is made out in the name of Nicholas Downes, and our friend here is called Dowall.’
‘Who knows him? who can identify him?’ asked Serasin.
‘I can say that his name is Dowall, and that he worked as a porter on the quay in this town when I was a boy,’ said a young Irishman who was copying letters and papers at a side-table. ‘Yes, Dowall,’ said the youth, confronting the look which the other gave him. ‘I am neither afraid nor ashamed to tell you to your face that I know you well, and who you are, and what you are.’
‘I’m an officer in the Irish Independent Army now,’ said Dowall resolutely. ‘To the divil I fling the French commission and all that belongs to it. Tisn’t troops that run and guns that burst we want. Let them go back again the way they came--we ‘re able for the work ourselves.
*Before I could translate this rude speech an officer broke into the room, with tidings that the streets had been cleared, and the rioters dispersed; a few prisoners, too, were taken, whose muskets bore trace of being recently discharged.
‘They fired upon our pickets, general,’ said the officer, whose excited look and voice betrayed how deeply he felt the outrage.
The men were introduced; three ragged, ill-looking wretches, apparently only roused from intoxication by the terror of their situation, for each was guarded by a soldier with a drawn bayonet in his hand.
‘We only obeyed ordhers, my lord; we only did what the captain tould us,’ cried they, in a miserable, whining tone, for the sight of their leader in captivity had sapped all their courage.