The unhappy event which so suddenly interrupted the conviviality of the
party scarcely made a more than momentary impression. Altercations
which ended most seriously were neither rare nor remarkable at the
dinner-tables of the country gentlemen, and if the present instance
caused an unusual interest, it was only because one of the parties was
an Englishman.
As for Forester himself, his first burst of anger over, he forgot all
in his astonishment that the host was not “the Knight” himself, but only
his representative and friend, Bagenal Daly.
“Come, Captain Forester,” said he, “I owe you an _amende_ for the
mystification I have practised upon you. You shall have it. Your
travelling acquaintance at Kilbeggan was the 'Knight of Gwynne;' and the
few lines he sent through your hands contained an earnest desire that
your stay here might be sufficiently prolonged to admit of his meeting
you at his return.”
“I shall be extremely sorry,” said Forester, in a low voice, “if
anything that has occurred to-night shall deprive me of that pleasure.”
“No, no--nothing of the kind,” said Daly, with a significant nod of his
head. “Leave that to me.” Then, raising his voice, he added: “What do
you say to that claret, Conolly?”
“I agree with you,” replied a rosy-cheeked old squire in a
hunting-dress, “it 's too old,--there's little spirit left in it.”
“Quite true, Tom. Wine has its dotage, like the rest of us. All that the
best can do is to keep longest; and, after all, we scarcely can complain
of the vintage that has a taste of its once flavor at our age. It's a
long time since we were schoolfellows.”
“It is not an hour less than--”
“Stop, Tom,--no more of that. Of all scores to go back upon, that of
years past is the saddest.”
“By Jove! I don't think so,” said the hearty old squire, as he tossed
off a bumper. “I never remember riding better than I did to-day. Ask
Beecham O'Reilly there which of us was first over the double ditch at
the red barn.”
“You forget, sir,” said the young gentleman referred to, “that I was on
an English-bred mare, and she doesn't understand these fences.”
“Faith, she wasn't worse off, in that respect, than the man on her
back,” said old Conolly, with a hearty chuckle. “If to look before you
leap be wisdom, you ought to be the shrewdest fellow in the country.”
“Beecham, I believe, keeps a good place in Northamptonshire,” said his
father, half proudly.
“Another argument in favor of the Union, I suppose,” whispered a guest
in Conolly's ear.
“Well, well,” sighed the old squire, “when I was a young man, we 'd
have thought of bringing over a dromedary from Asia as soon as an
English horse to cross the country with.”
“Dick French was the only one I ever heard of backing a dromedary,” said
a fat old farmer-like man, from the end of the table.
“How was that, Martin?” said Daly, with a look that showed he either
knew the story or anticipated something good.
“And by all accounts, it 's the devil to ride,” resumed the old fellow;
“now it's the head down and the loins up, and then a roll to one side,
and then to the other, and a twist in the small of your back, as if it
were coming in two. Oh, by the good day! Dick gave me as bad as a stitch
in the side just telling me about it.”
“But where did he get his experience, Martin? I never heard of it
before,” said Daly.
“He was a fortnight in Egypt, sir,” said the old farmer. “He was in a
frigate, or a man-of-war of one kind or another, off--the devil a one o'
me knows well where it was, but there was a consul there, a son of one
of his father's tenants--indeed, ould French got him the place from the
Government--and when he found out that Dick was on board the ship, what
does he do but writes him an invitation to pass a week or ten days with
him at his house, and that he 'd show him some sport. 'We 've elegant
hunting,' says he; 'not foxes or hares, but a big bird, bigger nor a
goose, they call--'By my conscience, I 'll forget my own name next, for
I heard Dick tell the story at least twenty times.”
“Was it an ostrich?” said Tom.
“No; nor an oyster either, Mr. Conolly,” said the old fellow, who
thought the question was meant to quiz him.
“'T was an ibis, Martin,” cried Daly,--“an ibis.”
“The devil a doubt of it,--that's the name. A crayture with legs as
long as Mr. Beecham O'Reilly's, and a way of going--half-flying,
half-walking--almost impossible to catch; and they hunt him on
dromedaries. Dick liked the notion well, and as he was a favorite on
board, he got lave for three days to go on shore and have his fun;
though the captain said, at parting, 'It's not many dromedaries you'll
see, Dick, for the Pasha has them all up the country at this time.' This
was true enough; sorra a bit of a camel or dromedary could be seen for
miles round. But however it was, the consul kept his word, and had one
for Dick the next morning,--a great strapping baste, all covered with
trappings of one kind or other; elegant shawls and little hearthrugs all
over him.
“The others were mounted on mules or asses, any way they could, and away
they went to look after the goose--the 'ibis,' I mean. Well, to be short
with it, they came up with one on the bank of the river, and soon gave
chase; he was a fine strong fellow, and well able to run. I wish you
heard Dick tell this part of it; never was there such sport in the
world, blazing away all together as fast as they could prime and load,
at one time at the goose, more times at each other; the mules kicking,
the asses braying, and Dick cantering about on his dromedary, upsetting
every one near him, and shouting like mad. At last he pinned the goose
up in a narrow corner among some old walls, and Dick thought he 'd
have the brush; but sorra step the dromedary would stir; he spurred and
kicked, and beat away with a stick as hard as he could, but it was all
no good,--it was the carpets maybe, that saved him; for there he stood
fast, just for all the world as if he was made of stone.
[Illustration: 077]
“Dick pulled out a pistol and fired a shot in his ear, but all to no
use; he minded it no more than before. 'Bad luck to you for a baste,'
says Dick, 'what ails you at all--are you going to die on me? Get along
now.' The divil receave the step I 'll go till I get some spirits
and wather!' says the dromedary, 'for I 'm clean smothered with them
b------y blankets;' and with them same words the head of the baste fell
off, and Dick saw the consul's own man wiping the perspiration off his
face, and blowing like a porpoise. 'How the divil the hind legs bears
it I can't think,' says he; 'for I 'm nigh dead, though I had a taste of
fresh air.'
“The murther was out, gentlemen, for ye see the consul could n't get
a raal dromedary, and was obliged to make one out of a Christian and a
black fellow he had for a cook, and sure enough in the beginning of the
day Dick says he went like a clipper; 'twas doubling after the goose
destroyed him.”
Whether the true tale had or had not been familiar to most of the
company before, it produced the effect Bagenal Daly desired, by at first
creating a hearty roar of laughter, and then, as seems the consequence
in all cases of miraculous narrative, set several others upon recounting
stories of equal credibility. Daly encouraged this new turn of
conversation with all the art of one who knew how to lead men's thoughts
into a particular channel without exciting suspicion of his intentions
by either abruptness or over zeal: to any ordinary observer, indeed, he
would have now appeared a mere enjoyer of the scene, and not the spirit
who gave it guidance and direction.
In this way passed the hours long after midnight, when, one by one,
the guests retired to their rooms; Forester remaining at the table
in compliance with a signal which Daly had made him, until at length
Hickman O'Reilly stood up to go, the last of all, save Daly and the
young guardsman.
Passing round the table, he leaned over Forester's chair, and in a low,
cautious whisper, said, “You have put down the greatest bully in this
country, Captain Forester; do not spoil your victory by being drawn into
a disreputable quarrel! Good night, gentlemen both,” said he, aloud, and
with a polite bow left the room.
“What was that he whispered?” said Daly, as the door closed and they
were left alone together.
Forester repeated the words.
“Ah, I guessed why he sat so late; he sees the game clearly enough.
You, sir, have taken up the glaive that was thrown down for his son's
acceptance, and he knows the consequence--clever fellow that he is! Had
you been less prompt, Beecham's poltroonery might have escaped notice;
and even now, if you were to decline a meeting--”
“But I have no intention of doing any such thing.”
“Of course, I never supposed you had; but were you to be swayed by wrong
counsels and do so, Master Beecham would be saved even yet. Well, well,
I am sorry, Captain Forester, you should have met such a reception
amongst us, and my friend Darcy will be deeply grieved at it. However,
we have other occupation now than vain regret, so to bed as fast as you
can, and to sleep; the morning is not very far off, and we shall have
some one from MacDonough here by daybreak.”
With a cordial shake-hands, like men who already knew and felt kindly
towards each other, they separated for the night.
While Forester was thus sensible of the manliness and straightforward
resolution that marked Bagenal Daly's character, he was very far from
feeling satisfied with the position in which he found himself placed. A
duel under any circumstances is scarcely an agreeable incident in one's
life; but a meeting whose origin is at a drinking-bout, and where
the antagonist is a noted fire-eater, and by that very reputation
discreditable, is still a great aggravation of the evil.
To have embroiled himself in a quarrel of this kind would, he well knew,
greatly prejudice him in the estimation of his cold-tempered relative,
Lord Castlereagh, who would not readily forgive an indiscretion that
should mar his own political views. As he sat in his dressing-room
revolving such unpleasant reflections, there came a gentle tap at the
door; he had but time to say, “Come in,” when Mr. Hickman O'Reilly
entered.
“Will you excuse this intrusion, Captain Forester?” said he, with an
accent in which the blandest courtesy was mingled with a well-affected
cordiality; “but I really could not lay my head on a pillow in
tranquillity until I had seen and spoken to you in confidence. This
foolish altercation--”
“Oh, pray don't let that give you a moment's uneasiness! I believe I
understand the position the gentleman you allude to occupies in your
country society: that license is accorded him, and freedoms taken with
him, not habitually the case in the world at large.”
“You are quite right, your views are strictly accurate. MacDonough is a
low fellow of very small fortune, no family,--indeed, what pretension he
has to associate with the gentry I am unable to guess, nor would you
have ever seen him under this roof had the Knight been at home; Mr.
Daly, however, who, being an old schoolfellow and friend of Darcy's,
does the honors here in his absence, is rather indiscriminate in his
hospitalities. You may have remarked around the table some
singular-looking guests,--in fact, he not only invites the whole
hunting-field, but half the farmers over whose ground we 've ridden,
and, were it not that they have sense and shame enough to see their own
place with truer eyes, we should have an election mob here every day of
the week; but this is not exactly the topic which led to my intruding
upon you. I wished, in the first place, to rest assured that you had no
intention of noticing the man's impertinence, or of accepting any
provocation on his part; in fact, were he admissible to such a
privilege, my son Beecham would have at once taken the whole upon
himself, it being more properly his quarrel than yours.”
Forester, with all his efforts, was unable to repress a slight smile
at these words. O'Reilly noticed it, and colored up, while he added:
“Beecham, however, knew the impossibility of such a course,--in fact,
Captain Forester, I may venture to say, without any danger of being
misunderstood by you, that my son has imbibed more correct notions of
the world and its habits at _your_ side of St. George's Channel than
could have fallen to him had his education been merely Irish.”
This compliment, if well meant, was scarcely very successful, for
Forester bit his lip impatiently, but never made any answer. Whether
O'Reilly perceived the cause of this, or that, like a skilful painter,
he knew when to take his brush off the canvas, he arose at once and
said, “I leave you, then, with a mind much relieved. I feared that a
mistaken estimate of MacDonough's claims in society, and probably some
hot-brained counsels of Mr. Bagenal Daly--”
“You are quite in error there; let me assure you, sir, his view of the
matter is exactly my own,” interrupted Forester, calmly.
“I am delighted to hear it, and have now only one request: will you
favor us with a few days' visit at Mount O'Reilly? I may say, without
vanity, that my son is more likely to be a suitable companion to you
than the company here may afford; we 've some good shooting and--”
“I must not suffer you to finish the catalogue of temptations,” said
Forester, smiling courteously; “my hours are numbered already, and I
must be back in Dublin within a few days.”
“Beecham will be sorely disappointed; in fact, we came back here to-day
for no other reason than to meet you at dinner. Daly told us of your
arrival. May we hope to see you at another opportunity? are your
engagements formed for Christmas yet?”
“I believe so,--Dorsetshire, I think,” muttered Forester, with a tone
that plainly indicated a desire to cushion the subject at once; and Mr.
O'Reilly, with a ready tact, accepted the hint, and, wishing him a most
cordial goodnight, departed.