--Hycy's Friendship for Bryan M'Mahon--Bryan's Interview with his
Landlord.
M'Mahon's last interview with Fethertonge was of so cheering a nature,
and indicated on the part of that gentleman so much true and sterling
kindness towards the young man and his family, that he felt perfectly
satisfied on leaving him, and after having turned their conversation
over in his mind, that he might place every confidence in the assurance
he had given him. His father, too, who had never for a moment doubted
Feathertonge, felt equally gratified at Bryan's report of their
interview, as indeed did the whole family; they consequently spared
neither labor nor expense in the improvements which they were making on
their farms.
The situation of the country and neighborhood at this period was indeed
peculiar, and such as we in this unhappy country have experienced
both before and since. I have already stated, that there was a partial
failure of the potato crop that season, a circumstance which uniformly
is the forerunner of famine and sickness. The failure, however, on that
occasion was not caused by a blight in the haulm, or to use plainer
words, by a sudden withering of the stalks, but by large portions of the
seed failing to grow. The partial scarcity, however, occasioned by this,
although it did not constitute what can with propriety be termed famine,
cause the great mass of pauperism which such a season always extends and
increases, to press so heavily upon the struggling farmers, that their
patience and benevolence became alike tired out and exhausted. This
perpetually recurring calamity acts with a most depressing effect
upon those persons in the country who have any claim to be considered
independent. It deprives them of hope, and consequently of energy, and
by relaxing the spirit of industry which has animated them, tends in
the course of time to unite them to the great body of pauperism which
oppresses and eats up the country. But let us not be misunderstood. This
evil alone is sufficiently disastrous to the industrial energies of
the class we mention; but when, in addition to this, the hitherto
independent farmer has to contend with high rents, want of sympathy in
his landlord, who probably is ignorant of his very existence, and has
never seen him perhaps in his life; and when it is considered that he is
left to the sharp practice and pettifogging, but plausible rapacity of
a dishonest agent, who feels that he is irresponsible, and may act the
petty tryant and vindictive oppressor if he wishes, having no restraint
over his principles but his interest, which, so far from restraining,
only guides and stimulates them;--when we reflect upon all this, and
feel, besides, that the political principles upon which the country is
governed are those that are calculated to promote British at the expense
of Irish interests--we say, when we reflect upon and ponder over all
this, we need not feel surprised that the prudent, the industrious,
and the respectable, who see nothing but gradual decline and ultimate
pauperism before them--who feel themselves neglected and overlooked,
and know that every sixth or seventh year they are liable to those
oppressive onsets of distress, sickness, and famine--we need not, we
repeat, feel at all surprised that those who constitute this industrious
and respectable class should fly from the evils which surround them, and
abandon, whilst they possess the power of doing so, the country in which
such evils are permitted to exist.
It is upon this principle, or rather upon these principles, and for
these reasons, that the industry, the moral feeling, the independence,
and the strength of the country have been passing out of it for
years--leaving it, season after season, weaker, more impoverished, and
less capable of meeting those periodical disasters which, we may almost
say, are generated by the social disorder and political misrule of the
country.
The fact is, and no reasonable or honest man capable of disencumbering
himself of political prejudices can deny it, that up until a recent
period the great body of the Irish people--the whole people--were mainly
looked upon and used as political instruments in the hands of the
higher classes, but not at all entitled to the possession of separate or
independent interests in their own right. It is true they were allowed
the possession of the forty-shilling franchise; but will any man say
that the existence of that civil right was a benefit to the country? So
far from that, it was a mere engine of corruption, and became, in
the hands of the Irish landlords, one of the most oppressive and
demoralizing curses that ever degraded a people. Perjury, fraud,
falsehood, and dishonesty, were its fruits, and the only legacy it
left to the country was an enormous mass of pauperism, and a national
morality comparatively vitiated and depraved, in spite of all religious
influence and of domestic affections that are both strong and tender.
Indeed it is exceedingly difficult to determine whether it has been more
injurious to the country in a political than in a moral sense. Be that
as it may, it had a powerful effect in producing the evils that we now
suffer, and our strong tendencies to social disorganization. By it the
landlords were induced, for the sake of multiplying, votes, to encourage
the subdivision of small holdings into those that were actually only
nominal or fictitious, and the consequences were, that in multiplying
votes they were multiplying families that had no fixed means of
subsistence--multiplying in fact a pauper population--multiplying not
only perjury, fraud, falsehood, and dishonesty, but destitution, misery,
disease and death. By the forty-shilling franchise, the landlords
encumbered the soil with a loose and unsettled population that
possessed within itself, as poverty always does, a fearful facility of
reproduction--a population which pressed heavily upon the independent
class of farmers and yeomen, but which had no legal claim upon the
territory of the country. The moment, however, when the system which
produced and ended this wretched class, ceased to exist, they became not
only valueless in a political sense, but a dead weight upon the energies
of the country, and an almost insuperable impediment to its prosperity.
This great evil the landlords could conjure up, but they have not been
able to lay it since. Like Frankenstein in the novel, it pursues them to
the present moment, and must be satisfied or appeased in some way, or
it will unquestionably destroy them. From the abolition of the franchise
until now, an incessant struggle of opposing interests has been going on
in the country. The “forties” and their attendants must be fed; but the
soul on which they live in its present state is not capable of at the
same time supporting them and affording his claims to the landlord; for
the food must go to England to pay the rents and the poor “forties” must
starve. They are now in the way of the landlord--they are now in the way
of the farmer--they are in fact in way of each other, and unless some
wholesome and human principle, either of domestic employment or colonial
emigration, or perhaps both, shall be adopted, they will continue to
embarrass the country, and to drive out of it, always in connection with
other causes, the very class of persons that constitute its remaining
strength.
At the present period of our narrative the neighborhood of Ballymacan
was in an unsettled and distressful state. The small farmers, and such
as held from six to sixteen acres, at a rent which they could at any
period with difficulty pay, were barely able to support themselves and
their families upon the produce of their holdings, so that the claims
of the landlord were out of the question. Such a position as this to the
unhappy class we speak of, is only another name for ruin. The bailiff,
who always lives upon the property, seeing their condition, and knowing
that they are not able to meet the coming gale, reports accordingly
to the agent, who, now cognizant that there is only one look-up for the
rent, seizes the poor man's corn and cattle, leaving himself and
his family within cold walls, and at an extinguished hearth. In this
condition were a vast number in the neighborhood of the locality laid in
our narrative. The extraordinary, but natural anxiety for holding land,
and the equally ardent spirit of competition which prevails in the
country, are always ready arguments in the mouth of the landlord and
agent, when they wish to raise the rent or eject the tenant. “If you
won't pay me such a rent, there are plenty that will. I have been
offered more than you pay, and more than I ask, and you know I must look
to my own interests!” In this case it is very likely that the landlord
speaks nothing but the truth; and as he is pressed on by his necessities
on the one hand, and the tenant on the other, the state of a country so
circumstanced with respect to landed property and its condition may be
easily conceived.
In addition, however, to all we have already detailed, as affecting
the neighborhood of Ahadarra, we have to inform our readers that the
tenantry upon the surrounding property were soon about to enjoy the
luxury of a contested election. Chevydale had been the sitting member
during two sessions of Parliament. He was, as we have already stated,
an Emancipator and Liberal; but we need scarcely say that he did not
get his seat upon these principles. He had been a convert to Liberalism
since his election, and at the approaching crisis stood, it was thought,
but an indifferent chance of being re-elected. The gentleman who had sat
before was a sturdy Conservative, a good deal bigoted in politics, but
possessing that rare and inestimable quality, or rather combination of
qualities which constitute an honest man. He was a Major Vanston, a man
of good property, and although somewhat deficient in the _suaviter in
modo_, yet in consequence of his worth and sincerity, he was rather a
favorite with the people, who in general relish sincerity and honesty
wherever they find them in public men.
Having thus far digressed, we now beg leave to resume our narrative and
once more return, from the contemplation of a state of things so painful
to the progress of those circumstances which involve the fate of our
humble individuals who constitute our _dramatis personae_.
The seizure of the distillery apparatus on M'Mahon's farm of Ahadarra,
was in a few days followed by knowledge of the ruin in which it must
necessarily involve that excellent and industrious young man. At
this time there was an act of parliament in existence against illicit
distillation, but of so recent a date that it was only when a seizure
similar to the foregoing had been made, that the people in any
particular district became acquainted with it. By this enactment the
offending individual was looked upon as having no farther violated
the laws in that case made and provided, than those who had never been
engaged in such pursuits at all. In other words, the innocent, were
equally punished with the guilty. A heavy fine was imposed--not on the
offender, but on the whole townland in which he lived; so that the
guilt of one individual was not visited as it ought to have been on the
culprit himself, but equally distributed in all its penalties upon the
other inhabitants of the district in question, who may have had neither
act nor part in any violation of the laws whatsoever.
Bryan M'Mahon, on discovering the fearful position in which it placed
him, scarcely knew on what hand to turn. His family were equally
alarmed, and with just reason. Illicit distillation had been carried to
incredible lengths for the last two or three years, and the statute in
question was enacted with, a hope that it might unite the people in a
kind of legal confederacy against a system so destructive of industry
and morals. The act, however ill-judged, and impolitic at best, was not
merely imperative,--but fraught with ruin and bloodshed. It
immediately became the engine of malice and revenge between individual
enemies--often between rival factions, and not unfrequently between
parties instigated against each other by political rancor and hatred.
Indeed, so destructive of the lives and morals of the people was it
found, that in the course of a very few years it was repealed, but not
until it had led to repeated murders and brought ruin and destruction
upon many an unoffending and industrious family.
Bryan now bethought him of the warnings he had received from the gauger
and Fethertonge, and resolved to see both, that he; might be enabled,
if possible, to trace to its source the plot that had been laid, for
his destruction. He accordingly went down to his father's at Carriglass,
where he had not been long when Hycy Burke made his appearance, “Having
come that far on his way,” he said, “to see him, and to ascertain
the truth of the report that had gone abroad respecting the heavy
responsibility under which the illicit distillation had placed him.”
Bryan was naturally generous and without suspicion; but notwithstanding
this, it was impossible that he should not entertain some slight
surmises touching the sincerity of Burke.
“What is this, Bryan?” said the latter. “Can it be possible that you're
in for the Fine, as report goes?”
“It's quite possible,” replied Bryan; “on yesterday I got a notice of
proceedings from the Board of Excise.”
“But,” pursued his friend, “what devil could have tempted you to have
anything to do with illicit distillation? Didn't you know the danger of
it?”
“I had no more to do with it,” replied Bryan, “than you had--nor I don't
even rightly know yet who had; though, indeed, I believe I may say it
was these vagabonds, the Hogans, that has their hands in everything
that's wicked and disgraceful. They would ruin me if they could,” said
Bryan, “and I suppose it was with the hope of doing so that they set up
the still where they did.”
“Well, now,” replied Hycy, with an air of easy and natural generosity,
“I should be sorry to think so: they are d--d scoundrels, or rather
common ruffians, I grant you; but still, Bryan, I don't like to suspect
even such vagabonds without good grounds. Bad as we know them to be, I
have my doubts whether they are capable of setting about such an act
for the diabolical purpose of bringing you to ruin. Perhaps they merely
deemed the place on your farm a convenient one to build a still-house
in, and that they never thought further about it.”
“Or what,” replied Bryan, “if there was some one behind their backs who
is worse than themselves? Mightn't sich a thing as that be possible?”
“True,” replied Hycy, “true, indeed--that's not improbable.
Stay--no--well it may be--but--no--I can't think it.”
“What is it you can't think?”
“Why, such a thing might be,” proceeded Hycy, “if you have an enemy; but
I think, Bryan, you are too well liked--and justly so too--if you will
excuse me for saying so to your face--to have any enemy capable of going
such nefarious lengths as that.”
Bryan paused and seemed a good deal struck with the truth of Hycy's
observation--“There's raison, sure enough in what you say, Hycy,” he
observed. “I don't know that I have a single enemy--unless the
Hogans themselves--that would feel any satisfaction in drivin' me to
destruction.”
“And besides,” continued Hycy, “between you and me now, Bryan, who the
devil with an ounce of sense in his head would trust such scoundrels, or
put himself in their power?”
Bryan considered this argument a still more forcible one than the other.
“That's stronger still,” Re replied, “and indeed I am inclined to
think that after all, Hycy, it happened as you say. Teddy Phats I think
nothing at all about, for the poor, misshapen vagabone will distil
poteen for any one that employs him.”
“True,” replied the other, “I agree with you; but what's to be done,
Bryan? for that's the main point now.”
“I scarcely know,” replied Bryan, who now began to feel nothing but
kindness towards Hycy, in consequence of the interest which that young
fellow evidently took in his misfortune, for such, in serious truth, it
must be called. “I am the only proprietor of Ahadarra,” he proceeded,
“and, as a matter of course, the whole fine falls on my shoulders.”
“Ay, that's the devil of it; but at all events, Bryan, there is nothing
got in this world without exertion and energy. Mr. Chevydale,
the Member, is now at home: he has come down to canvass for the
coming-election. I would recommend you to see him at once. You know--but
perhaps you don't though--that his brother is one of the Commissioners
of Excise; so that I don't know any man who can serve you more
effectually than Chevydale, if he wishes.”
“But what could he do?” asked Bryan.
“Why, by backing a memorial from you, stating the particulars, and
making out a strong case, he might get the fine reduced. I shall draw up
such a memorial if you wish.”
“Thank you, Hycy--I'm obliged to you--these, I dare say, will be the
proper steps to take--thank you.”
“Nonsense! but perhaps I may serve you a little in another way. I'm
very intimate with Harry Clinton, and who knows but I may be able to
influence the uncle a little through the nephew.”
“It's whispered that you might do more through the niece,” replied
Bryan, laughing; “is that true?”
“Nonsense, I tell you,” replied Hycy, affecting confusion; “for Heaven's
sake, Bryan, say nothing about that; how did it come to your ears?”
“Faith, and that's more than I can tell you,” replied the other; “but I
know I heard it somewhere of late.”
“It's not a subject, of course,” continued Hycy, “that I should wish to
become the topic of vulgar comment or conversation, and I'd much rather
you would endeavor to discountenance it whenever you hear it spoken of.
At all events, whether with niece or nephew,” proceeded Hycy, “you may
rest assured, that whatever service I can render you, I shall not
fail to do it. You and I have had a slight misunderstanding, but on
an occasion like this, Bryan, it should be a bitter one indeed that a
man--a generous man at least,--would or ought to remember.”
This conversation took place whilst Bryan was proceeding to
Fethertonge's, Hycy being also on his way home. On arriving at the turn
of the road which led to Jemmy Burke's, Hycy caught the hand of his
companion, which he squeezed with an affectionate warmth, so cordial and
sincere in its character that Bryan cast every shadow of suspicion to
the winds,
“Cheer up, Bryan, all will end better than you think, I hope. I shall
draw up a memorial for you this evening, as strongly and forcibly as
possible, and any other assistance that I can render you in this unhappy
difficulty I will do it. I know I am about ninety pounds in your debt,
and instead of talking to you in this way, or giving you fair words,
I ought rather to pay you your money. The 'gentleman,' however, is
impracticable for the present, but I trust--”
“Not a word about it,” said Bryan, “you'll oblige me if you'll drop that
part of the subject; but listen, Hycy,--I think you're generous and a
little extravagant, and both is a good man's case--but that's not what
I'm going to spake about, truth's best at all times; I heard that you
were my enemy, and I was desired to be on my guard against you.”
Hycy looked at him with that kind of surprise which is natural to an
innocent man, and simply said, “May I ask by whom, Bryan?”
“I may tell you some other time,” replied Bryan, “but I won't now; all I
can say is, that I don't believe it, and I'm sure that ought to satisfy
you.”
“I shall expect you to tell me, Bryan,” said the other, and then after
returning a few steps, he caught M'Mahon's hand again, and shaking
it warmly, once more added, “God bless you, Bryan; you are a generous
high-minded young fellow, and I only wish I was like you.”
Bryan, after they had separated, felt that Hycy's advice was the very
best possible under the circumstances, and as he had heard for the first
time that Chevydale was in the country, he resolved to go at once and
state to him the peculiar grievance under which he labored.
Chevydale's house was somewhat nearer Ahadarra than Fethertonge's, but
on the same line of road, and he accordingly proceeded to the residence
of his landlord. The mansion indeed was a fine one. It stood on the brow
of a gentle eminence, which commanded a glorious prospect of rich and
highly cultivated country. Behind, the landscape rose gradually until
it terminated in a range of mountains that protected the house from
the north. The present structure was modern, having been built by old
Chevydale, previous to his marriage. It was large and simple, but so
majestic in appearance, that nothing could surpass the harmony that
subsisted between its proportions and the magnificent old trees which
studded the glorious lawn that surrounded, it, and rose in thick
extensive masses that stretched far away behind the house. It stood in a
park, which for the beauties of wood and. water was indeed worthy of its
fine simplicity and grandeur--a park in which it was difficult to say
whether the beautiful, the picturesque, or the wild, predominated most.
And yet in this princely residence Mr. Chevydale did not reside more
than a month, or at most two, during the whole year.
On reaching the hall-door, M'Mahon inquired from the servant who
appeared, if he could see Mr. Chevydale.
“I'm afraid not,” said the servant, “but I will see; what's your name?”
“Bryan M'Mahon, of Ahadarra, one of his tenants.”
The servant returned to him in a few moments, and said, “Yes, he will
see you; follow me.”
Bryan entered a library, where he found his landlord and Fethertonge
apparently engaged in business, and as he was in the act of doing so, he
overheard Chevydale saying--“No, no, I shall always see my tenants.”
Bryan made his obeisance in his own plain way, and Chevydale said--“Are
you M'Mahon of Ahadarra?”
“I am, sir,” replied Bryan.
“I thought you were a much older man,” said Chevydale, “there certainly
must be, some mistake here,” he added, looking at Fethertonge.
“M'Mahon of Ahadarra was a middle-aged man several years ago, but this
person is young enough to be his man.”
“You speak of his uncle,” replied Fethertonge, “who is dead. This
young man, who now owns his uncle's farm, is son to Thomas M'Mahon of
Carriglass. How is your father, M'Mahon? I hope he bears up well under
his recent loss.”
“Indeed but poorly, sir,” replied Bryan, “I fear he'll never be the same
man.”
Chevydale here took to reading a newspaper, and in a minute or two
appeared to be altogether unconscious of Bryan's presence.
“I'm afeard, sir,” said Bryan, addressing himself to the agent, who was
the only person likely to hear him, “I'm afeard, sir, that I've got into
trouble.”
“Into trouble? how is that?”
“Why, sir, there was a Still, Head, and Worm found upon Ahadarra, and
I'm going to be fined for it.”
“M'Mahon,” replied the agent, “I am sorry to hear this, both on your own
account and that of your family. If I don't mistake, you were cautioned
and warned against this; but it was useless; yes, I am sorry for it; and
for you, too.”
“I don't properly understand you, sir,” said Bryan.
“Did I not myself forewarn you against having anything to do in matters
contrary to the law? You must remember I did, and on the very last
occasion, too, when you were in my office.”
“I remember it right well, sir,” replied Bryan, “and I say now as I did
then, that I am not the man to break the law, or have act or part in
anything that's contrary to it. I know nothing about this business,
except that three ruffianly looking fellows named Hogan, common tinkers,
and common vagabonds to boot--men that are my enemies--are the persons
by all accounts who set up the still on my property. As for myself, I
had no more to do in it or with it than yourself or Mr. Chevydale here.”
“Well,” replied Fethertonge, “I hope not. I should feel much
disappointed if you had, but you know, Bryan,” he added, good-humoredly,
“we could scarcely expect that you should admit such a piece of folly,
not to call it by a harsher name.”
“If I had embarked in it,” replied M'Mahon, “I sartinly would not deny
it to you or Mr. Chevydale, at least; but, as I said before, I know
nothing more about it, than simply it was these ruffians and a fellow
named Phats, a Distiller, that set it a-working,--however, the question
is, what am I to do? If I must pay the fine for the whole townland, it
will beggar me--ruin me. It was that brought me to my landlord here,” he
added; “I believe, sir, you have a brother a Commissioner of Excise?”
“Eh? what is that?” asked Chevydaie, looking up suddenly as Bryan asked
the question.
M'Mahon was obliged to repeat all the circumstances once more, as did
Feathertonge the warning he had given him against having any connection
with illegal proceedings.
“I am to get a memorial drawn up tomorrow, sir,” proceeded Bryan, “and I
was thinking that by giving the Board of Excise a true statement of the
case, they might reduce the fine; if they don't, I am ruined--that's
all.”
“Certainly,” said his landlord, “that is a very good course to take;
indeed, your only course.”
“I hope, sir,” proceeded Bryan, “that as you now know the true
circumstances of the case, you'll be kind, enough to support my
petition; I believe your brother, sir, is one of the Commissioners;
you would sartinly be able to do something with him.”
“No,” replied Chevydaie, “I would not ask anything from him; but I
shall support your Petition, and try what I can do with the other
Commissioners. On principle, however, I make it a point never to ask
anything from my brother.”
“Will I bring you the Petition, sir?” asked Bryan.
“Fetch me the Petition.”
“And Bryan,” said Fethertonge, raising his finger at him as if by way of
warning--and laughing--“hark ye, let this be the last.”
“Fethertonge,” said the landlord, “I see 'Pratt has been found guilty,
and the sentence confirmed by the Commander-in-Chief.”
“You will insist on it,” said Bryan, in reply to the agent, “but--”
“There now, M'Mahon,” said the latter, “that will do; good day to you.”
“I think it is a very harsh sentence, Fethertonge; will you touch the
bell?”
“I don't know, sir,” replied the other, ringing as he spoke; “Neville's
testimony was very strong against him, and the breaking of the glass did
not certainly look like sobriety.”
“I had one other word to say, gentlemen,” added M'Mahon, “if you'll
allow me, now that I'm here.”
Fethertonge looked at him with a face in which might be read a painful
but friendly rebuke for persisting to speak, after the other had changed
the subject. “I rather think Mr. Chevydale would prefer hearing it some
other time, Bryan.”
“But you know the proverb, sir,” said Bryan, smiling, “that there's no
time like the present; besides it's only a word.”
“What is it?” asked the landlord.
“About the leases, sir,” replied M'Mahon, “to know when it would be
convanient for you to sign them.”
Chevydale looked, from Bryan to the agent, and again from the agent to
Bryan, as if anxious to understand what the allusion to leases meant.
At this moment a servant entered, saying, “The horses are at the door,
gentlemen.”
“Come some other day, M'Mahon,” said Fethertonge; “do you not see that
we are going out to ride now--going on our canvass? Come to my office
some other day; Mr. Chevydale will remain for a considerable time in the
country now, and you need not feel so eager in the matter.”
“Yes, come some other day, Mr.--Mr.--ay--M'Mahon; if there are leases
to sign, of course I shall sign them; I am always anxious to do my duty
as a landlord. Come, or rather Fethertonge here will manage it. You know
I transact no business here; everything is done at his office, unless
when he brings me papers to sign. Of course I shall sign any necessary
paper.”
Bryan then withdrew, after having received another friendly nod of
remonstrance, which seemed to say, “Why will you thus persist, when you
see that he is not disposed to enter into these matters now? Am I not
your friend?” Still, however, he did not feel perfectly at ease with the
result of his visit. A slight sense of uncertainty and doubt crept over
him, and in spite of every effort at confidence, he found that that
which he had placed in Fethertonge, if it did not diminish, was most
assuredly not becoming stronger.