One day, while at the Observatory, I was greatly surprised at seeing one
whom I took to be a Feejeeman, enter my tent, a circumstance so
inconsistent with the respect to our prescribed limit, of which I have
spoken. His colour, however, struck me as lighter than that of any
native I had yet seen. He was a short wrinkled old man, but appeared to
possess great vigour and activity. He had a beard that reached to his
middle, and but little hair, of a reddish-grey colour, on his head. He
gave me no time for inquiry, but at once addressed me in broad Irish,
with a rich Milesian brogue. In a few minutes he made me acquainted with
his story, which, by his own account, was as follows:--

His name was Paddy Connel, but the natives called him Berry; he was born
in the county of Clare, in Ireland; had run away from school when he was
a little fellow, and after wandering about as a vagabond, was pressed
into the army in the first Irish rebellion. At the time the French
landed in Ireland, the regiment to which he was attached marched at once
against the enemy, and soon arrived on the field of battle, where they
were brought to the charge. The first thing he knew or heard, the drums
struck up a White Boy's tune, and his whole regiment went over and
joined the French, with the exception of the officers, who had to flee.
They were then marched against the British, and were soon defeated by
Lord Cornwallis; it was a hard fight, and Paddy found himself among the
slain. When he thought the battle was over, and night came on, he
crawled off and reached home. He was then taken up and tried for his
life, but was acquitted; he was, however, remanded to prison, and busied
himself in effecting the escape of some of his comrades. On this being
discovered, he was confined in the black hole, and soon after sent to
Cork, to be put on board a convict-ship bound to New South Wales. When
he arrived there, his name was not found on the books of the prisoners;