his voice was loud and shrill, his utterance rapid, and the general
expression of his countenance irritable. His motions were so quick, that
he rather seemed to run than walk. He was a civil, obliging neighbor,
but performed his best actions with a bad grace; a firm, unflinching
friend, but a bitter and implacable enemy. Upon the whole he was
generally esteemed and respected--though considered as an eccentric
character, for such indeed he was. On hearing of Widow Doran's distress,
he gave orders that a portion of each meal should be regularly sent
down to her and her son; and from that period forward they were both
supported principally from his table.
“In this way some months had passed, and still Vengeance was undisturbed
in his farm. It often happened, however, that Doran's other son came
to see his brother; and during these visits it was but natural that
his mother and brother should allude to the kindness which they daily
experienced from Vesey.
“One night, about twelve o'clock, a tap came to Widow Doran's door, who
happened to be attending the invalid, as he was then nearly in the last
stage of his illness. When she opened it, the other son entered, in an
evident hurry, having the appearance of a man who felt deep and serious
anxiety.
“'Mother,' said he, 'I was very uneasy entirely about Mick, and just
started over to see him, although they don't know at home that I'm out,
so I can't stay a crack; but I wish you would go to the door for two or
three minutes, as I have something to say to him.'
“'Why, thin, Holy Mother!--Jack, a-hagur, is there anything the matther,
for you look as if you had seen something?' *
* This phrase means--you look as if you had seen a
ghost; it is a very common one.
“'Nothing worse than myself, mother,' he replied; 'nor there's nothing
the matther at all--only I have a few words to say to Mick here, that's
all.'
“The mother accordingly removed herself out of hearing.
“'Mick,' says the boy, 'this is a bad business--I wish to God I was
clear and clane out of it.'
“'What is it?' said Mick, alarmed. “' Murther, I'm afeard, if God
doesn't turn it off of them, somehow.
“'What do you mane, man, at all?' said the invalid, raising himself, in
deep emotion, on his elbow, from his poor straw bed.
“'Vengeance,' said he--'Vengeance, man--he's going to get it. I was out
with the boys on Sunday evening, and at last it's agreed on to visit
him to-morrow night. I'm sure and sartin he'll never escape, for there's
more in for him than taking the farm, and daring them so often as he
did--he shot two fingers off of a brother-in-law of Jem Reilly's one
night that they war on for threshing him, and that's coming home to him
along with the rest.'
“'In the name of God, Jack,' inquired Mick, 'what do they intend to do
to him?'
“' Why,' replied Jack, 'it's agreed to put a coal in the thatch, in the
first place; and although they were afeared to name what he's to get
besides, I doubt they'll make a spatchcock of himself. They won't meddle
with any other of the family, though--but he's down for it.'
“'Are you to be one of them?' asked Mick.
“'I was the third man named,' replied the other, 'bekase, they said, I
knew the place.'
“'Jack,' said his emaciated brother, with much solemnity, raising
himself up in the bed--'Jack, if you have act or part in that bloody
business, God in his glory you'll never see. Fly the country--cut off a
finger or toe--break your arm--or do something that may prevent you from
being there. Oh, my God!' he exclaimed, whilst the tears fell fast down
his pale cheeks--'to go to murder the man, and lave his little family
widout a head or a father over them, and his wife a widow! To burn his
place, widout rhime, or rason, or offince! Jack, if you go, I'll die
cursing you. I'll appear to you--I'll let you rest neither night nor
day, sleeping nor waking, in bed or out of bed. I'll haunt you, till
you'll curse the very hour you war born.'
“'Whist, Micky,' said Jack, 'you're frightening me: I'll not go--will
that satisfy you?'
“'Well, dhrop down on your two knees, there,' said Micky, 'and swear
before the God that has his eye upon you this minute, that you'll have
no hand in injuring him or his, while you live. If you don't do this,
I'll not rest in my grave and maybe I'll be a corpse before mornin.'
“'Well Micky, said Jack, who though wild and unthinking, was a lad whose
heart and affections were good, 'it would be hard for me to refuse
you that much, and you! not likely to be long wid me--I will;' and he
accordingly knelt down and swore solemnly, in words which his brother
dictated to him, that he would not be concerned in the intended murder.
“'Now, give me your hand, Jack,' said the invalid; 'God bless you--and
so He will. Jack, if I depart before I see you again, I'll die happy.
That man has supported me and my mother for near the last three months,
bad as you all think him. Why, Jack, we would both be dead of hunger
long ago, only for his family; and, my God! to think, of such a
murdhering intention makes my blood run cowld'--
“'You had better give him a hint, then,' said Jack, 'some way, or he'll
be done for, as sure as you're stretched on that bed; but don't mintion
names, if you wish to keep me from being murdhered for what I did.
I must be off now, for I stole out of the barn:* and only that Atty
Laghy's gone along wid the master to the ---- fair, to help him to sell
the two coults, I couldn't get over at all.'
* Laboring servants in Ireland usually sleep in barns.
“'Well, go home, Jack, and God bless you, and so He will, for what you
did this night.'
“Jack accordingly departed, after bidding his mother and brother
farewell.
“When the old woman came in, she asked her son if there was anything
wrong with his brother, but he replied that there was not.
“'Nothing at all,' said he--'but will you get up airly in the morning,
plase God, and tell Vesey Johnston that I want to see him; and--that--I
have a great dale to say to him?'
“' To be sure I will, Micky; but, Lord guard us, what ails you,
avourneen, you look so frightened?'
“'Nothing at all, at all, mother; but will you go where I say airly
to-morrow, for me?'
“'It's the first thing I'll do, God willin',' replied the mother. And
the next morning Vesey was down with the invalid very early, for the old
woman kept her word and paid him a timely visit.
“'Well, Micky, my boy,' said Vengeance, as he entered the hut, 'I hope
you're no worse this morning.'
“'Not worse, sir,' replied Mick; 'nor, indeed, am I anything better
either, but much the same way. Sure it's I that knows very well that my
time here is but short.'
“'Well, Mick, my boy,' said Vengeance, 'I hope you're prepared for
death--and that you expect forgiveness, like a Christian. Look up, my
boy, to God at once, and pitch the priests and their craft to ould Nick,
where they'll all go at the long-run.'
“'I b'lieve,' said Mick, with a faint smile, 'that you're not very fond
of the priests, Mr. Johnston; but if you knew the power they possess as
well as I do, you wouldn't spake of them so bad, anyhow.'
“'Me fond of them!' replied the other;' 'why, man, they're a set of the
most gluttonous, black-looking hypocrites that ever walked on neat's
leather; and ought to be hunted out of the country--hunted out of the
country, by the light of day! every one of them; for they do nothing but
egg up the people against the Protestants.'
“'God help you, Mr. Johnston,' replied the invalid, 'I pity you from
my heart for the opinion you hould about them. I suppose if you were
sthruck dead on the spot wid a blast from the fairies, that you think a
priest couldn't cure you by one word's spaking?'
“'Cure me!' said Vengeance, with a laugh of disdain; 'by the light of
day! if I caught one of them curing me, I'd give him the purtiest chase
you ever saw in your life, across the hills.'
“'Don't you know,' said Mick, 'that priest Dannelly cured Bob Beaty of
the falling sickness--until he broke the vow that was laid upon him,
of not going into a church, and the minute he crossed the church-door,
didn't he dhrop down as bad as ever--and what could the minister do for
him?'
“'And don't you know,' rejoined Vengeance, 'that that's all a parcel of
the most lying stuff possible; lies--lies--all lies--and vagabondism?
Why, Mick, you Papishes worship the priests; you think they can bring
you to heaven at a word. By the light of day, they must have good sport
laughing at you, when they get among one another. Why don't they teach
you and give you the Bible to read, the ribelly rascals? but they're
afraid you'd know too much then.'
“'Well, Mr. Johnston,' said Mick, 'I b'lieve you'll never have a good
opinion of them, at any rate.'
“'Ay, when the sky falls,' replied Vengeance; 'but you're now on your
death bed, and why don't you pitch them to ould Nick, and get a Bible?
Get a Bible, man; there's a pair of them in my house, that's never used
at all--except my mother's, and she's at it night and day. I'll send one
of them down to you: turn yourself to God--to your Redeemer, that died
on the mount of Jehosha-phat, or somewhere about Jerusalem, for your
sins--and don't go out of the world from the hand of a rascally priest,
with a band about your eyes, as if you were at blind-man's-buff, for, by
the light of day, you're as blind as a bat in a religious way.'
“'There's no use in sending me a Bible,' replied the invalid, 'for I
can't read it: but, whatever you may think, I'm very willing to lave my
salvation with my priest.'
“'Why, man,' observed Vengeance, 'I thought you were going to have
sense at last, and that you sent for me to give you some spiritual
consolation.'
“'No, sir,' replied Mick; 'I have two or three words to spake to you.'
“'Come, come, Mick, now that we're on a spiritual subject, I'll hear
nothing from you till I try whether it's possible to give you a trute
insight into religion. Stop, now, and let us lay our heads together,
that we may make out something of a dacenter creed for you to believe
in than the one you profess. Tell me the truth, do you believe in the
priests?'
“'How?' replied Mick; 'I believe that they're holy men--but I know they
can't save me widout the Redeemer and His blessed mother,'
“'By the light above us, you're shuffling, Mick--I say you do believe in
them--now, don't tell me to the contrary--I say you're shuffling as fast
as possible.'
“'I tould you truth, sir,' replied Mick; 'and if you don't believe me, I
can't help it.'
“'Don't trust in the priests, Mick; that's the main point to secure your
salvation.'
“Mick, who knew his prejudices against the priests, smiled faintly, and
replied--
“'Why, sir, I trust in them as bein' able to make inthercession wid God
for me, that's all'
“'They make intercession! By the stool I'm sitting on, a single word
from one of them would ruin you. They, a set of ribles, to make interest
for you in heaven! Didn't they rise the rebellion in Ireland?--answer me
that.'
“'This is a subject, sir, we would never agree on,' replied Mick.
“'Have you the Ten Commandments?' inquired Vesey.
“'I doubt my mimory's not clear enough to have them in my mind,'
said the lad, feeling keenly the imputation of ignorance, which he
apprehended from Vesey's blunt observations.
“Vesey, however, had penetration enough to perceive his feelings, and,
with more delicacy than could be expected from him, immediately moved
the question.
“'No matter, Mick,' said he, 'if you would give up the priests, we
would get over that point: as it is, I will give you a lift in the
Commandments; and, as I said a while ago,' if you take my advice, I'll
work up a creed for you that you may depend upon. But now, for the
Commandments--let me see.
“'First: Thou shalt have no other gods but me. Don't you see, man how
that peppers the priests?'
“'Second: Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath-day.'
“'Third: That shalt not make to thyself--no, hang it no!--I'm
out--that's the Second--very right. Third: Honor thy father and
thy mother--you understand that, Mick? It means that you are bound
to--to--just so--to honor your father and your mother, poor woman.'
“'My father--God be good to him!--is dead near fourteen years, sir,'
replied Mick.
“'Well, in that case, Mick, you see all that's left for you is to honor
your mother--although I'm not certain of that either; the Commandments
make no allowance at all for death, and in that case why, living or
dead, the surest way is to respect and obey them--that is, if the
thing were'nt impossible. I wish we had blind George M'Girr here, Mick;
although he's as great a rogue as ever escaped hemp, yet he'd beat the
devil himself at a knotty point.'
“'His breath would be bad about a dying man,' observed Mick.
“'Ay, or a living one,' said Vesey; 'however, let us get on--we were at
the Third. Fourth: Thou shalt do no murder.'
“At the word murder, Mick started, and gave a deep groan, whilst his
eyes and features assumed a gaunt and hollow expression, resembling that
of a man struck with an immediate sense of horror and affright.
“'Oh! for heaven's sake, sir, stop there,' said Doran, 'that brings to
my mind the business I had with you, Mr. Johnston.'
“'What is it about?' inquired Vengeance, in his usual eager manner.
“'Do you mind,' said Mick, 'that a paper was stuck one night upon your
door, threatening you, if you wouldn't lave that farm you're in?'.
“'I do, the blood-thirsty villains! but they knew a trick worth two of
coming near me.'
“'Well,' said Mick, 'a strange man, that I never seen before, came into
me last night, and tould me, if I'd see you, to say that you would get a
visit from the boys this night, and to take care of yourself.'
“'Give me the hand, Mick,' said Vengeance,--'give me the hand; in spite
of the priests, by the light of day you're an honest fellow. This night
you say, they're to come? And what are the bloody wretches to do, Mick.
But I needn't ask that, for I suppose it's to murder myself, and to burn
my place.
“'I'm afeard, sir, you're not far from the truth,' replied Mick; 'but,
Mr. Johnston, for God's sake don't mintion my name; for, if you do, I'll
get myself what they were laying out for you, be bumed in my bed maybe.'
“'Never fear, Mick,' replied Vengeance; 'your name will never cross my
lips.'
“'It's a great thing,' said Mick, 'that would make me turn informer: but
sure, only for your kindness and the goodness of your family, the Lord
spare you to one another! mightn't I be dead long ago? I couldn't have
one minute's peace if you or yours came to any harm when I could prevint
it.'
“'Say no more, Mick,' said Vengeance, taking his hand again; 'I know
that, leave the rest to me; but how do you find yourself, my poor
fellow? You look weaker than you did, a good deal.'
“'Indeed I'm going very fast, sir,' replied Mick; 'I know it'll soon be
over with me.'
“'Hut, no, man,' said Vengeance, drawing his hand rapidly across his
eyes, and clearing his voice, 'not at all--don't say so; would a little
broth serve you? or a bit of fresh meat?--or would you have a fancy for
anything that I could make out for you? I'll get you wine, if you think
it would do you good.”
“'God reward you,' said Mick feebly--'God reward you, and open your eyes
to the truth. Is my mother likely to come in, do you think?'
“'She must be here in a few minutes,' the other replied; 'she was
waiting till they'd churn, that she might bring you down a little fresh
milk and butter.'
“'I wish she was wid me,' said the poor lad, 'for I'm lonely wantin'
her--her voice and the very touch of her hands goes to my heart. Mother,
come home, and let me lay my head upon your breast, agra machree, for I
think it will be for the last time: we lived lonely, avourneen, wid none
but ourselves--sometimes in happiness, when the nabors 'ud be kind to
us--and sometimes in sorrow, when there 'ud be none to help us. It's
over now, mother, and I'm lavin' you for ever!'
“Vengeance wiped his eyes--'Rouse yourself, Mick,' said he, 'rouse
yourself.'
“'Who is that sitting along with you on the stool?' said Mick.
“'No one,' replied his neighbor; 'but what's the matter with you,
Mick?--your face is changed.'
“Mick, however, made no reply; but after a few slight struggles, in
which he attempted to call upon his mother's name, he breathed his last.
When Vengeance saw that he was dead--looked upon the cold, miserable
hut in which this grateful and affectionate young man was stretched--and
then reflected on the important service he had just rendered he could
not suppress his tears.
“After sending down some of the females to assist his poor mother in
laying him out, Vengeance went among his friends and acquaintances,
informing them of the intelligence he had received, without mentioning
the source from which he had it. After dusk that evening, they all
flocked, as privately as possible, to his house, to the number of thirty
or forty, well provided with arms and ammunition. Some of them stationed
themselves in the out-houses, some behind the garden edge, and others in
the dwelling-house.”
When my brother had got thus far in his narrative, a tap came to the
parlor-door, and immediately a stout-looking man, having the appearance
of a laborer, entered the room. “Well, Lachlin,” said my brother,
“what's the matter?”
“Why, sir,” said Lachlin, scratching his head, “I had a bit of a favor
to ax, if it would be plaisin' to you to grant it to me.”
“What is that,” said my brother. “Do you know, sir,” said he, “I haven't
been at a wake--let us see--this two or three years, anyhow; and, if
you'd have no objection, why, I'd slip up awhile to Denis Kelly's; he's
a distant relation of my own, sir; and blood's thicker than wather you
know.”
“I'm just glad you came in, Lachlin,” said my brother, “I didn't think
of you; take a chair here, and never heed the wake to-night, but sit
down and tell us about the attack on Vesey Vengeance, long ago. I'll get
you a tumbler of punch; and, instead of going to the wake to night, I
will allow you to go to the funeral to-morrow.”
“Ah, sir,” said Lachlin, “you know whenever the punch is consarned, I'm
aisily persuaded; but not making little of your tumbler, sir,” said the
shrewd fellow, “I would get two or three of them if I went to the wake.”
“Well, sit down,” said my brother, handing him one, “and we won't permit
you to get thirsty while you're talking, at all events.”
“In troth, you haven't your heart in the likes of it,” said Lachlin.
“Gintlemen, your healths--your health, sir, and we're happy to see you
wanst more. Why, thin, I remember you, sir, when you were a gorsoon,
passing to school wid your satchel on your back; but, I'll be bound
you're by no means as soople now as you were thin. Why, sir,” turning to
my brother “he could fly or kick football with the rabbits.--Well, this
is raal stuff!”
“Now, Lachlin,” said my brother, “give us an account of the attack you
made on Vesey Vengeance's house, at the Long Ridge, when all his party
were chased out of the town.”
“Why, thin, sir, I ought to be ashamed to mintion it; but you see,
gintleman, there was no getting over being connected wid them; but I
hope your brother's safe, sir!”
“Oh, perfectly safe, Lachlin; you may rest assured he'll never mention
it.”
“Well, sir,” said Lachlin, addressing himself to me, “Vesey Vengeance
was--.”
“Lachlin,” said my brother, “he knows all about Vesey; just give an
account of the attack.”
“The attack, sir! no, but the chivey we got over the mountains. Why,
sir, we met in, an ould empty house, you see, that belonged to the
Farrells of Ballyboulteen, that went over to America that spring. There
war none wid us, you may be sure, but them that war up;* and in all we
might be about sixty or seventy. The Grogans, one way or another, got
it up first among them, bekase they expected Mr. Simmons would take them
back when he'd find that no one else dare venther upon their land. There
war at that time two fellows down from the county Longford, in their
neighborhood, of the name of Collier--although that wasn't their right
name--they were here upon their keeping, for the murder of a proctor in
their own part of the country. One of them was a tall, powerful fellow,
with sandy hair, and red brows; the other was a slender chap, that
must have been drawn into it by his brother--for he was very mild
and innocent, and always persuaded us agin evil. The Grogans brought
lashings of whiskey, and made them that war to go foremost amost
drunk--these war the two Colliers, some of the strangers from behind the
mountains, and a son of Widdy Doran's, that knew every inch about the
place, for he was bred and born jist below the house a bit. He wasn't
wid us, however, in regard of his brother being under board that night;
but, instid of him, Tim Grogan went to show the way up the little glin
to the house, though, for that matther, the most of us knew it as well
as he did; but we didn't like to be the first to put a hand to it, if we
could help it.
* That is, had been made members of a secret society.
“At any rate, we sot in Farrell's empty house, drinking whiskey, till
they war all gathered, when about two dozen of them got the damp soot
from the chimley, and rubbed it over their faces, making them so black,
that their own relations couldn't know them. We then went across the
country in little lots, of about six or ten, or a score, and we war glad
that the wake was in Widdy Koran's, seeing that if any one would meet we
war going to it you know, and the blackening of the faces would pass for
a frolic; but there was no great danger of being met for it was now long
beyant midnight.
“Well, gintlemen, it puts me into a tremble, even at this time, to think
of how little we cared about doing what we were bent upon. Them that had
to manage the business war more than half drunk; and, hard fortune to
me! but you would think it was to a wedding they went--some of them
singing songs against the law--some of them quite merry, and laughing
as if they had found a mare's nest. The big fellow, Collier, had a dark
lanthern wid a half-burned turf in it to light the bonfire, as they
said; others had guns and pistols--some of them charged and some of them
not; some had bagnets, and ould rusty swords, pitchforks, and go on.
Myself had nothing in my hand but the flail I was thrashing wid that
day; and to tell the thruth, the divil a step I would have gone with
them, only for fraid of my health; for, as I said awhile agone, if any
discovery was made afterwards, them that promised to go, and turned
tail, would be marked as the informers. Neither was I so blind, but
I could see that there war plenty there that would stay away if they
durst.
“Well, we went on till we came to a little dark corner below the house,
where we met and held a council of war upon what we should do. Collier
and the other strangers from behind the mountains war to go first, and
the rest were to stand round the house at a distance--he carried the
lanthern, a bagnet, and a horse-pistol; and half a dozen more war to
bring over bottles of straw from Vengeance's own haggard, to hould up
to the thatch. It's all past and gone now--but three of the Reillys were
desperate against Vesey that night, particularly one of them that he
had shot about a year and a half before--that is, peppered two of the
right-hand fingers of him, one night in a scuffle, as Vesey came home
from an Orange lodge. Well, all went on purty fair; we had got as far as
the out-houses,where we stopped, to see if we could hear any noise; but
all was quiet as you plase.
“'Now, Vengeance,' says Reilly, swearing a terrible oath out of
him--'you murdering Orange villain, you're going to get your pay,' says
he.
“'Ay,' says Grogan, 'what he often threatened to others he'll soon meet
himself, plase God--come, boys,' says he, 'bring the straw and light it,
and just lay it up, my darlings, nicely to the thatch here, and ye'll
see what a glorious bonfire we'll have of the black Orange villain's
blankets in less than no time.'
“Some of us could hardly stand this: 'Stop, boys,' cried one of Dan
Slevin's sons--'stop, Vengeance is bad enough, but his wife and children
never offinded us--we'll not burn the place.'
“'No,' said others, spaking out when they heard any body at all having
courage to do so--'it's too bad, boys, to burn the place; for if we do,'
says they, 'some of the innocent may be burned before they get from the
house, or even before they waken out of their sleep.'
“'Knock at the door first,' says Slevin, 'and bring Vengeance out; let
us cut the ears off of his head and lave him.'
“'Damn him!' says another, 'let us not take the vagabone's life; it's
enough to take the ears from him, and to give him a prod or two of a
bagnet on the ribs; but don't kill him.'
“'Well, well,' says Reilly, 'let us knock at the door, and get himself
and the family out,' says he, 'and then we'll see what can be done wid
him.'