Napoleon - The storm - The cove - Up the country - The trembling hand - Irish - Tough battle - Tipperary hills - Elegant lodgings - A speech - Fair specimen - Orangemen.
ONWARD， onward！ and after we had sojourned in Scotland nearly two years， the long continental war had been brought to an end， Napoleon was humbled for a time， and the Bourbons restored to a land which could well have dispensed with them； we returned to England， where the corps was disbanded， and my parents with their family retired to private life. I shall pass over in silence the events of a year， which offer little of interest as far as connected with me and mine. Suddenly， however， the sound of war was heard again， Napoleon had broken forth from Elba， and everything was in confusion. Vast military preparations were again made， our own corps was levied anew， and my brother became an officer in it； but the danger was soon over， Napoleon was once more quelled， and chained for ever， like Prometheus， to his rock. As the corps， however， though so recently levied， had already become a very fine one， thanks to my father‘s energetic drilling， the Government very properly determined to turn it to some account， and， as disturbances were apprehended in Ireland about this period， it occurred to them that they could do no better than despatch it to that country.
In the autumn of the year 1815 we set sail from a port in Essex； we were some eight hundred strong， and were embarked in two ships， very large， but old and crazy； a storm overtook us when off Beachy Head， in which we had nearly foundered. I was awakened early in the morning by the howling of the wind and the uproar on deck. I kept myself close， however， as is still my constant practice on similar occasions， and waited the result with that apathy and indifference which violent sea-sickness is sure to produce. We shipped several seas， and once the vessel missing stays - which， to do it justice， it generally did at every third or fourth tack - we escaped almost by a miracle from being dashed upon the foreland. On the eighth day of our voyage we were in sight of Ireland. The weather was now calm and serene， the sun shone brightly on the sea and on certain green hills in the distance， on which I descried what at first sight I believed to be two ladies gathering flowers， which， however， on our nearer approach， proved to be two tall white towers， doubtless built for some purpose or other， though I did not learn for what.
We entered a kind of bay， or cove， by a narrow inlet； it was a beautiful and romantic place this cove， very spacious， and， being nearly land-locked， was sheltered