Should my reader feel any interest concerning that portion of my history
which immediately followed the events of my last chapter, I believe I
must refer him to Mrs. Doolan, the amiable hostess of the Bonaveen
Arms. She could probably satisfy any curious inquiry as to the confusion
produced in her establishment by the lively sallies of Tipperary Joe in
one quarter, and the more riotous madness of myself in another. The fact
is, good reader, my head was an English one; and although its contents
were gradually acclimating themselves to the habits of the country, the
external shell had not assumed that proper thickness and due power of
resistance which Irish heads would appear to be gifted with. In plain
words, the injury had brought on delirium.
It was somewhere in the third week after this unlucky morning that I
found myself lying in my bed with a wet cloth upon my temples, while
over my whole frame was spread that depressing sense of great debility
more difficult to bear than acute bodily suffering. Although unable to
speak, I could distinctly hear the conversation about me, and recognise
the voices of both Father Tom and the Major as they conversed with a
third party, whom I afterwards learned was the Galen of Loughrea.
Dr. Mopin, surgeon of the Roscommon militia, had been for forty years
the terror of the sick of the surrounding country; for, independent of
a naturally harsh and disagreeable manner, he had a certain slangy and
sneering way of addressing his patients that was perfectly shocking.
Amusing himself the while at their expense, by suggesting the various
unhappy and miserable consequences that might follow on their illness,
he appeared to take a diabolical pleasure in the terror he was capable
of eliciting. There was something almost amusing in the infernal
ingenuity he had acquired in this species of torture. There was no
stage of your illness, no phase of your constitution, no character or
condition of your malady, that was not the immediate forerunner of one
or more afflicting calamities. Were you getting weaker, it was the
way they always died out; did you gain strength, it was a rally before
death; were you despondent, it was the best for you to know your state;
were you sanguine, he would rebuke your good spirits and suggest the
propriety of a priest. However, with all these qualifications people put
up with him; and as he had a certain kind of rude skill, and never stuck
at a bold method, he obtained the best practice of the country and a
widespread reputation.
'Well,' said Father Tom, in a low voice--'well, Doctor, what do you
think of him this evening?'
'What do I think of him? Just what I thought before--congestion of the
membranes. This is the low stage he is in now; I wouldn't be surprised
if he'd get a little better in a few days, and then go off like the rest
of them.'
'Go off! eh? Now you don't mean----'
'Don't I? Maybe not. The ould story--coma, convulsions, and death.'
'Damn the fellow!' said the Major, in a muttered voice, 'I feel as if I
was in a well. But I say, Doctor, what are we to do?'
'Anything you plase. They say his family is mighty respectable, and have
plenty of money. I hope so; for here am I coming three times a day,
and maybe when he dies it will be a mourning ring they'll be sending
me instead of my fee. He was a dissipated chap I am sure: look at the
circles under his eyes!'
'Ay, ay,' said the priest, 'but they only came since his illness.'
'So much the worse,' added the invincible Doctor; 'that's always a
symptom that the base of the brain is attacked.'
'And what happens then?' said the Major.
'Oh, he might recover. I knew a man once get over it, and he is alive
now, and in Swift's Hospital.'
'Mad?' said the priest.
'Mad as a March hare,' grinned the Doctor; 'he thinks himself the
post-office clock, and chimes all the hours and half-hours day and
night.'
'The heavens be about us!' said Father Tom, crossing himself piously. 'I
had rather be dead than that.'
'When did you see Burke?' inquired the Major, wishing to change the
conversation.
'About an hour ago; he is going fast.'
'Why, I thought he was better,' said Father Tom; 'they told me he ate a
bit of chicken, and took a little wine and water.'
'Ay, so he did; I bid them give him whatever he liked, as his time was
so short. So, after all, maybe it is as well for this young chap here
not to get over it.'
'How so?' said the Major. 'What do you mean by that?'
'Just that it is as good to die of a brain fever as be hanged; and it
won't shock the family.'
'I 'd break his neck,' muttered Bob Mahon, 'if there was another doctor
within forty miles.'
Of all his patients, Tipperary Joe was the only one of whom the Doctor
spoke without disparagement. Whether that the poor fellow's indifference
to his powers of terrorising had awed or conciliated him, I know
not; but he expressed himself favourably regarding his case, and his
prospects of recovery.
'Them chaps always recover,' drawled out the Doctor in a dolorous
cadence.
'Is it true,' said the Major, with a malicious grin--'is it true that
he changed all the splints and bandages to the sound leg, and that you
didn't discover the mistake for a week afterwards? Mary Doolan told me.'
'Mrs. Doolan,' said the Doctor, 'ought to be thinking of her own
misfortunes; and with an acute inflammation of the pericardium, she
might be making her sowl.'
'She ill?--that fine, fat, comfortable-looking woman!'
'Ay, just so; they're always fat, and have a sleepy look about the eyes,
just like yourself. Do you ever bleed at the nose?'
'Never without a blow on it. Come, come, I know you well, Doctor; you
shall not terrify me.'
'You're right not to fret; for it will take you off suddenly, with
a giddiness in your head, and a rolling in your eyes, and a choking
feeling about your throat----'
'Stop, and be d----d to you!' said the Major, as he cleared his voice a
couple of times, and loosed the tie of his cravat. 'This room is
oppressively hot.'
'I protest to God,' said Father Tom, 'my heart is in my mouth, and there
isn't a bone in my body that's not aching.'
'I don't wonder,' chimed in the Doctor; 'you are another of them, and
you are a surprising man to go on so long. Sure, it is two years ago I
warned your niece that when she saw you fall down she must open a vein
in your neck, if it was only with a carving-knife.'
'The saints in heaven forbid!' said the priest, cutting the sign of the
cross in the air; 'it's maybe the jugular she'd cut!'
'No,' drawled out the Doctor, 'she needn't go so deep; and if her hand
doesn't shake, there won't be much danger. Good-evening to you both.'
So saying, with his knees bent, and his hands crossed under the skirts
of his coat, he sneaked out of the room; while the others, overcome,
with fear, shame, and dismay, sat silently, looking misery itself, at
each side of the table.
'That fellow would kill a regiment,' said the Major at length. 'Come,
Tom, let's have a little punch; I 've a kind of a trembling over me.'
'Not a drop of anything stronger than water will cross my lips this
blessed night. Do you know, Bob, I think this place doesn't agree with
me? I wish I was back in Murranakilty: the mountain air, and regular
habits of life, that's the thing for me.'
'We are none of us abstemious enough,' said the Major; 'and then we
bachelors--to be sure you have your niece.'
'Whisht!' said the priest, 'how do you know who is listening? I vow to
God I am quite alarmed at his telling that to Mary; some night or other,
if I take a little too much, she'll maybe try her anatomy upon me!'
This unhappy reflection seemed to weigh upon the good priest's mind, and
set him a-mumbling certain Latin offices between his teeth for a quarter
of an hour.
'I wish,' said the Major, 'Hinton was able to read his letters, for here
is a whole bundle of them--some from England, some from the Castle, and
some marked “On His Majesty's service.”'
'I'll wait another week anyhow for him,' said the priest. 'To go back to
Dublin in the state he is now would be the ruin of him, after the shake
he has got. The dissipation, the dining-out, and all the devilment
would destroy him entirely; but a few weeks' peace and quietness up at
Murranakilty will make him as sound as a bell.'
'You are right, Tom, you are right,' said the Major; 'the poor fellow
mustn't be lost for the want of a little care; and now that Dillon has
gone, there is no one here to look after him. Let us go down and see if
the post is in; I think a walk would do us good.'
Assenting to this proposition, the priest bent over me mournfully for
a moment, shook his head, and having muttered a blessing, walked out of
the room with the Major, leaving me in silence to think over all I had
overheard.
Whether it was that youth suggested the hope, or that I more quickly
imbibed an appreciation of the Doctor's character from being the
looker-on at the game, I am not exactly sure; but certainly I felt
little depressed by his gloomy forebodings respecting me, and greatly
lightened at my heart by the good news of poor Tipperary Joe.
Of all the circumstances which attended my illness, the one that most
impressed me was the warm, affectionate solicitude of my two friends,
the priest and his cousin. There was something of kindness and good
feeling in their care of me that spoke rather of a long friendship than
of the weaker ties of chance and passing acquaintance. Again I thought
of home; and while I asked myself if the events which beset my path
in Ireland could possibly have happened to me there, I could not but
acknowledge that if they had so, I could scarcely have hoped to suddenly
conjure up such faithful and benevolent friends, with no other claim,
nor other recommendation, save that of being a stranger.
The casual observation concerning my letters had, by stimulating my
curiosity, awakened my dormant energy; and by a great effort I stretched
out my hand to the little bell beside my bed, and rang it. The summons
was answered by the barelegged girl who acted as waiter in the inn. When
she had sufficiently recovered from her astonishment to comprehend my
request, I persuaded her to place a candle beside me; and having given
me the packet of letters that lay on the chimney-piece, I desired her
on no account to admit any one, but say that I had fallen into a sound
sleep, and should not be disturbed.