Another desperate character that made an evil reputation in the same
county was Captain Macnamara. Though a man of family and good means
and of splendid appearance, he led a life of the wildest excess, and
stopped at no crime so as he could gratify the passion or the caprice
of the moment, or find money to spend on his pleasures, with the
reckless, senseless, foolish extravagance of an evil, dissolute nature;
for he had early squandered away all his own patrimony, and now only
lived by fraud, lying, and insolent contempt of the rights and claims
of others.
Just at the time when his finances were at the lowest, he was summoned
to attend his trial at the county assizes for some malpractices
concerning land and stock belonging to a wealthy widow lady, who had a
fine place in the neighbourhood, though she seldom lived there, being
constantly abroad, in Paris or Rome, with her only son, a young lad,
the heir of the property. It happened, however, that she returned home
just in time for the trial, which interested her, as it concerned an
audacious appropriation of some of her best land from which the stock
had been drawn off and sold by Macnamara. Highly indignant at the
insult offered to her, the wealthy widow appeared in court resolved
on vengeance; and was received by all the officials with the utmost
distinction and deference. The defendant was put through a most
torturing examination, in which all his evil practices were laid bare
with ruthless severity. But the widow heeded nothing of the record of
wicked deeds; she only saw before her a splendid stalwart man in the
prime of life, with a magnificent presence, flashing eyes, and raven
hair. At once she was subjugated, as if by magic, by the handsome
prisoner in the dock, and calling over her counsel, she gave orders
that the suit should be stopped and no damages claimed. After this, as
was natural, a warm intimacy sprang up between plaintiff and defendant,
which ended in a short time by the marriage of the rich widow and
the spendthrift captain; the widow’s only son and heir to the estate
being brought home from school to live with them, for, as the captain
observed, it was necessary that the boy should be early instructed in
the management of the property.
One evening, however, Macnamara set a rope across a lonely part of the
road where he knew the lad must pass when riding home. In consequence
the horse stumbled, and threw the rider; and at night when the servants
and people went out with torches to look for the young heir, he was
found lying quite dead by the roadside.
The whole property now devolved to the widow, who gave up the
management entirely to Macnamara; and he lost no time in making
good use of the large sums of money that came under his control, by
constantly plunging into renewed courses of dissolute extravagance.
How the home life went on no one knew, for little was seen of the wife
while the husband carried on his orgies; but after a year had passed
by, the country heard with surprise of the death of the rich widow,
as she was still called—suddenly, it was said, by a fit, a stroke.
She was found lying dead in her bed one morning, and her husband was
in the greatest grief—this was the orthodox narrative. But strange
whispers at the same time went through the neighbourhood, that round
the neck of the poor dear lady was found a black mark, and many had
grave suspicions of foul play, though they feared to take any measures
against the captain, so great was the terror he inspired.
Meantime, he consoled himself with another wife, a young girl who had
been a favourite of his long before his first wife’s death. And they
led a reckless life together till all the widow’s money was gambled
away or spent in dissolute frolics. Then he joined a wild band of
sharpers and desperadoes who fought and cheated every one at the fairs
and races, and were the terror of the whole country. But, especially
they warred upon the Big Joyces of Connemara, who thereupon swore to be
revenged.
Now the captain had a famous mare called _Feenish_, who could fly like
the wind and live for days without food. And he taught her all sorts
of strange tricks—to stand on her hind legs, to go in at a window and
to walk upstairs; and the way the robber chief got the secret of power
over men and animals was in this wise.
There was an old raven lived near him up in a big tree, and one day
Macnamara stole the eggs, took them home, boiled them and then set them
back again in the nest, to see what the old bird would do. Now he saw
the wisdom of the raven, for she flew off at once to a neighbouring
mountain, and having found a certain stone of magic virtue carried it
back in her beak to the nest. With this stone she rubbed the eggs all
over, till the life came back into them; and in due time the young
ravens were flying about as strong and joyous as the rest.
Macnamara having observed this process, watched his opportunity, and
one day when the raven was absent, he stole the magic stone from the
nest. His first trial of the power was to rub himself all over, as he
had seen the raven do with the eggs; and with a very remarkable result,
for he at once became possessed of marvellous gifts. He could foresee
events, and force people to do his will: he knew when danger was near,
and what path to take to avoid his enemies when they were on his track.
Then he rubbed Feenish, the mare, all over, and instantly she became as
wise as a Christian, and knew every word that was said to her.
So Macnamara, armed with all these new powers, went on with his wild
wicked life, and robbed and plundered worse than ever; and the blood of
many a man, besides, was on his hands.
At last the Joyce faction resolved to make an end of the audacious
robber, and all the Big Joyces of Connemara gathered in force and
pursued him from place to place and over bog and mountain through half
the country. At one time Macnamara plunged into a bog; where Feenish
lost her four shoes; then he made her swim the river at Cong after a
hard day’s ride through mountain passes; but when the poor mare got to
the other side she fell down dead, to the great grief of the robber
chief, who had her buried on an island in Lough Corrib that still bears
her name—Innis-Feenish. However, when he had laid his faithful friend
in the clay, all energy forsook him, and all his good luck departed—his
riches melted away, his children squandered his property, and his two
sons met a violent death; finally, broken in spirit, beggared, and
alone in the world, the last of his race, he found himself with nothing
left of his ill-gotten gains except an old grey pony. On this animal
he rode to Cork, where he took his passage in an emigrant ship to
America, and sailed away from the old country, laden with the curses
of all who had ever known him; and from that hour he was heard of no
more. So ended the wicked career of the spendthrift and gambler and the
suspected murderer of many victims.