“Life had presented too many vicissitudes before me, to make much
difference in my temperament, whatever came uppermost. Like the gambler,
who if he lose to-day, goes off consoling himself, that he may be a
winner to-morrow, I had learned never to feel very acutely any
misfortune, provided only that I could see some prospect of its not
being permanent:--and how many are there who go through the world in
this fashion, getting the credit all the while of being such true
philosophers, so much elevated above the chances and changes of fortune,
and who, after all, only apply to the game of life the same rule of
action they practise at the ‘_rouge et noir_’ table.
“The worthy folks among whom my lot was now cast, were a tribe of red
men, called the Gaspé Indians, who, among other pastimes peculiar to
themselves, followed the respectable and ancient trade, of wreckers, in
which occupation the months of October and November usually supplied
them with as much as they could do--after that, the ice closed in, on
the bay and no vessel could pass up or down the St. Lawrence, before the
following spring.
“It was for some time to me a puzzle, how people so completely barbarous
as they were, possessed such comfortable and well-appointed dwellings,
for not only had they log-huts well jointed, and carefully put together,
but many of the comforts of civilized life were to be seen in the
internal decorations. The reason I at length learned, from the chief, in
whose house I dwelt, and with whom I had already succeeded in
establishing a sworn friendship. About fifteen years previous, this bay
was selected by a party of emigrants, as the _locale_ of a settlement.
They had been wrecked on the island of Anticosti themselves, and made
their escape to Gaspé, with such remnants of their effects as they could
rescue from the wreck. There, they built houses for themselves, made
clearings in the forest, and established a little colony, with rules and
regulations for its government. Happily for them, they possessed within
their number almost every description of artificer requisite for such an
undertaking, their original intention being to found a settlement in
Canada, and thus carpenters, shoe-makers, weavers, tailors, mill-
wrights, being all ready to contribute their aid and assistance to each
other, the colony made rapid progress, and soon assumed the appearance
of a thriving and prosperous place. The forest abounded in wild deer and
bears, the bay not less rich in fish, while the ground, which they sowed
with potatoes and Indian-corn, yielded most successful crops, and as the
creek was never visited by sickness, nothing could surpass the success
that waited on their labours.
“Thus they lived, till in the fall of the year, a detachment of the
Gaspé Indians, who came down every autumn for the herring-fishery,
discovered that their territory was occupied, and that an invading force
were in possession of their hunting-grounds. The result could not be
doubted; the red men returned home to their friends with the news, and
speedily came back again with reinforcements of the whole tribe, and
made an attack on the settlement. The colonists, though not prepared,
soon assembled, and being better armed, for their fire-arms and
cutlasses had all been saved, repelled the assailants, and having killed
and wounded several of them, drove them back into the forest. The
victory, however complete, was the first day of their misfortunes; from
that hour they were never safe; sometimes a marauding party of red men
would dash into the village at nightfall, and carry away some of the
children before their cries could warn their parents. Instead of
venturing as before into the ‘bush’ whenever they pleased, and in small
numbers, they were now obliged to go with the greatest circumspection
and caution, stationing scouts here and there, and, above all, leaving a
strong garrison to protect the settlement against attack in their
absence. Fear and distrust prevailed everywhere, and instead of the
peace and prosperity that attended the first year of their labours, the
land now remained but half tilled; the hunting yielded scarcely any
benefit; and all their efforts were directed to their safety, and their
time consumed in erecting outworks and forts to protect the village.
“While matters were in this state, a large timber ship, bound for
England, struck on a reef of rocks at the entrance of the bay. The sea
ran high, and a storm of wind from the north-west soon rent her in
fragments. The colonists, who knew every portion of the bay well, put
out, the first moment they could venture, to the wreck, not, however, to
save the lives and rescue the poor fellows who yet clung to the rigging,
but to pillage the ship ere she went to pieces. The expedition succeeded
far beyond their most ardent hopes, and a rich harvest of plunder
resulted from this venture, casks of powder, flour, pork, and rum, were
landed by every tide at their doors, and once more, the sounds of
merriment and rejoicing, were heard in the village. But how different
from before was it! Then, they were happy and contented settlers, living
like one united family in brotherly affection and kind good-will; now,
it was but the bond of crime that bound, and the wild madness of
intoxication, that excited them. Their hunting grounds were no longer
cared for; the fields, with so much labour rescued from the forest, were
neglected; the fishing was abandoned; and a life given up to the most
intemperate abandonment, succeeded to days of peaceful labour and
content. Not satisfied with mere defence, they now carried the war into
the Indian settlements, and cruelties the most frightful ensued in their
savage reprisals.
“In this dangerous coast a winter never passed without several wrecks
occurring, and as they now practised every device, by false signals and
fires, to lure vessels to their ruin, their infamous traffic succeeded
perfectly, and wrecking became a mode of subsistence, far more plentiful
than their former habits of quiet industry.
“One long reef of rocks that ran from the most southerly point of the
bay, and called by the Indians ‘the Teeth,’ was the most fatal spot of
the whole coast, for while these rocks stretched for above a mile, to
sea, and were only covered at high water, a strong land current drew
vessels towards them, which, with the wind on shore, it was impossible
to resist.
“To this fatal spot, each eye was turned at day-break, to see if some
ill-starred vessel had not struck during the night. This, was the last
point each look was bent on, as the darkness was falling; and when the
wind howled, and the sea ran mountains high, and dashed its white foam
over their little huts, then, was every one astir in the village. Many
an anxious gaze pierced through the mist, hoping some white sail might
gleam through the storm, or some bending spar show where a perishing
crew yet cried for help. The little shore would then present a busy
scene, boats were got out, coils of rope, and oars strewed on every
side, lanterns flitted rapidly from place to place. With what energy and
earnestness they moved, how their eyes gleamed with excitement, and how
their voices rung out, in accents of hoarse command. Oh! how horrible to
think that the same features of a manly nature--the bold and daring
courage that fears not the rushing wave, nor the sweeping storm, the
heroic daring that can breast the wild breakers as they splash on the
dark rocks, can arise from impulses so opposite; and that humanity the
fairest, and crime the blackest, have but the same machinery to work
with.
“It was on a dark November night--the heavy sough of a coming storm sent
large and sullen waves on shore, where they broke with that low hollow
cadence, that seamen recognise as boding ill. A dense, thick fog,
obscured all objects sea-ward, and though many scouts were out upon the
hills, they could detect nothing; still, as the night grew more and more
threatening, the wreckers felt assured a gale was coming, and already
their preparation was made for the approaching time. Hour after hour
passed by, but though the gale increased, and blew with violence on the
shore, nothing could be seen. Towards midnight, however, a scout came in
to say, that he thought he could detect at intervals, through the dense
mist, and spray, a gleaming light in the direction of ‘the Teeth.’ The
drift was too great to make it clearly perceptible, but still, he
persisted he had seen something.
“A party was soon assembled on the beach, their eyes turned towards the
fatal rocks, which at low water rose some twelve or fifteen feet above
the surface. They gazed long and anxiously, but nothing could they make
out, till, as they were turning away, one cried out, ‘Ay, see there--
there it is now;’ and as he spoke, a red-forked flame shot up through
the drifting spray, and threw a lurid flash upon the dark sea. It died
away almost as quickly, and though seen at intervals again, it seemed
ever to wax fainter, and fainter. ‘She’s on fire,’ cried one. ‘No, no;
it’s a distress signal,’ said another. ‘One thing is certain,’ cried a
third, ‘the craft that’s on the “Teeth” on such a night as this, won’t
get off very readily; and so, lads, be alive and run out the boats.’
“The little colony was soon astir. It was a race of avarice too; for,
latterly, the settlement had been broken up by feuds and jealousies,
into different factions; and each strove to overreach the other. In less
than half an hour, eight boats were out, and breasting the white
breakers, headed out to sea. All, save the old and decrepit, the women,
and children, were away, and even they, stood watching on the shore,
following with their eyes the boats in which they felt most interested.
“At last they disappeared in the gloom--not a trace could be seen of
them, nor did the wind carry back their voices, over which the raging
storm was now howling. A few still remained straining their eye-balls
towards the spot where the light was seen, the others had returned
towards the village; when all of a sudden a frightful yell, a long
sustained and terrible cry arose from the huts, and the same instant a
blaze burst forth, and rose into a red column towards the sky. The
Indians were upon them. The war shout--that dreadful sound they knew too
well--resounded on every side. Then began a massacre, which nothing in
description can convey. The dreadful rage of the vengeful savage--long
pent up--long provoked--had now its time for vengeance. The tomahawk and
the scalping knife ran red with blood, as women and infants rushed madly
hither and thither in the flight. Old men lay weltering in their gore
beside their daughters, and grandchildren; while the wild red men,
unsated with slaughter, tore the mangled corpses as they lay, and bathed
themselves in blood. But not there did it end. The flame that gleamed
from the ‘Teeth’ rocks, was but an Indian device, to draw the wreckers
out to sea. A pine-wood fire had been lighted on the tallest cliff at
low water, to attract their attention, by some savages in canoes, and
left to burn away slowly during the night.
“Deceived and baffled, the wreckers made towards shore, to which already
their eyes were turned in terror, for the red blaze of the burning huts
was seen, miles off, in the bay. Scarcely had the first boat neared the
shore, when a volley of fire-arms poured in upon her--while the war-cry
that rose above it, told them their hour was come. The Indians were
several hundred in number, armed to the teeth; the others few, and
without a single weapon. Contest, it was none. The slaughter scarce
lasted many minutes, for ere the flame from the distant rock subsided,
the last white man lay a corpse on the bloody strand. Such was the
terrible retribution that followed on crime, and at the very moment too,
when their cruel hearts were bent on its perpetration.
“This tale, which was told me in a broken jargon, between Canadian-
French and English, concluded with words, which were not to me, at the
time, the least shocking part of the story; as the narrator, with
glistening eyes, and in a voice whose guttural tones seemed almost too
thick for utterance said, ‘It was I, that planned it!’
“You will ask me, by what chance did I escape with life among such a
tribe. An accident--the merest accident--saved me. When a smuggler, as I
have already told you I was, I once, when becalmed in the Bay of Biscay,
got one of the sailors to tattoo my arm with gunpowder, a very common
practice at sea. The operator had been in the North American trade, and
had passed ten years as a prisoner among the Indians, and brought away
with him innumerable recollections of their habits and customs. Among
others, their strange idols had made a great impression on his mind;
and, as I gave him a discretionary power as to the frescos he was to
adorn me with, he painted a most American-looking savage with two faces
on his head--his body all stuck over with arrows and spear-points, while
he, apparently unmoved by such visitors, was skipping about, in
something that might be a war-dance.
“This, with all its appropriate colours--for as the heraldry folk say,
‘It was proper’--was a very conspicuous object on my arm, and no sooner
seen by the chief, than he immediately knelt down beside me, dressed my
wounds and tended me; while the rest of the tribe, recognising me as one
whose existence was charmed, showed me every manner of respect, and even
devotion. Indeed, I soon felt my popularity to be my greatest
difficulty; for whatever great event was going forward among the tribe,
it became the etiquette to consult me on it, as a species of soothsayer,
and never was a prophet more sorely tested. Sometimes, it was a question
of the whale-fishery--whether ‘bottle noses,’ or ‘sulphur bottoms,’ were
coming up the bay, and whether, in the then season, it was safe, or not,
to strike the ‘calf whales’ first. Now, it was a disputed point as to
the condition of bears; or worse than either, a little marauding party
would be undertaken into a neighbour’s premises, where I was expected to
perform a very leading part, which, not having the same strong
convictions of my invulnerable nature, as my worthy associates, I
undertook with as few feelings of satisfaction as you may imagine. But
these were not all; offers of marriage from many noble families pressed
me on every side; and though polygamy to any extent was permissible, I
never could persuade myself, to make my fortune in this manner. The
ladies too, I am bound to say, were not so seductive as to endanger my
principles: flattened heads, bent-down noses and lip stones, are very
strong antidotes to the tender passion. And I was obliged to declare,
that I was compelled, by a vow, not to marry for three moons. I dared
not venture on a longer period of amnesty, lest I should excite
suspicion of any insult to them, on a point where their vengeance never
forgives; and I hoped, ere that time elapsed, that I should be able to
make my escape--though how, or when, or where to, were points I could
not possibly guess at.
“Before the half of my probation had expired, we were visited by an old
Indian of a distant tribe--a strange old fellow he was, clothed in
goats’ skins, and wearing strong leather boots and rackets (snow shoes),
a felt hat, and a kind of leather sack strapped on his back, and secured
by a lock. This singular-looking fellow was, ‘the post.’ He travelled
once a year from a small settlement near Miramichi, to Quebec, and back,
carrying the letters to and from these places, a distance of something
like seven hundred miles, which he accomplished entirely on foot, great
part of it through dense forests and over wild uninhabited prairies,
passing through the hunting-grounds of several hostile tribes, fording
rivers and climbing mountains, and all, for the moderate payment of ten
pounds a year, half of which he spent in rum before he left Quebec, and
while waiting for the return mail; and strangest of all, though for
forty years he had continued to perform this journey, not only no
accident had ever occurred to the letters, but he himself was never
known to be behind his appointed time at his destination.
“‘Tahata,’ for such was his name, was, however, a character of great
interest; even to the barbarous tribes through whose territories he
passed. He was a species of savage newspaper, recounting various details
respecting the hunting and fishing seasons,--the price of skins at
Quebec or Montreal,--what was the peltry most in request, and how it
would bring its best price. Cautiously abstaining from the local
politics of these small states, his information only bore on such topics
as are generally useful and interesting, and never for a moment partook
of any partisan character; besides, he had ever some petty commission or
other, from the squaws, to discharge at Quebec. There was an amber bead,
or a tin ornament, a bit of red ribbon or a glass button, or some such
valuable, everywhere he went; and his coming was an event as much longed
and looked for, as any other that marked their monotonous existence.
“He rested for a few days at our village, when I learned these few
particulars of his life, and at once resolved, come what might, to make
my escape with him, and, if possible, reach Quebec. An opportunity,
fortunately, soon offered for my doing so with facility. The day of the
courier’s departure was fixed for a great fishing excursion, on which
the tribe were to be absent for several days. Affecting illness, I
remained on shore, and never stirred from the wigwam till the last canoe
had disappeared from sight: then I slowly sauntered out, and telling the
squaws that I would stroll about, for an hour or so, to breathe the air,
I followed the track which was pointed out to me by the courier, who had
departed early on the same morning. Before sunset I came up with my
friend, and with a heart overflowing with delight, sat down to partake
of the little supper he had provided for our first day’s journey; after
that, each day was to take care of itself.
“Then began a series of adventures, to which all I have hitherto told
you, are, as nothing. It was the wild life of the prairies in
companionship with one, who felt as much at home in the recesses of a
pine forest, as ever I did in the snug corner of mine inn. Now, it was a
night spent under the starry sky, beside some clear river’s bank, where
the fish lay motionless beneath the red glare of our watch-fire; now, we
bivouacked in a gloomy forest, planting stockades around to keep off the
wild beasts; then, we would chance upon some small Indian settlement,
where we were regaled with hospitality, and spent half the night
listening to the low chant of a red man’s song, as he deplored the
downfall of his nation, and the loss of their hunting-grounds. Through
all, my guide preserved the steady equability of one who was travelling
a well-worn path--some notched tree, some small stone heap, some
fissured rock, being his guide through wastes, where, it seemed to me,
no human foot had ever trod. He lightened the road with many a song and
many a story, the latter always displaying some curious trait of his
people, whose high sense of truth and unswerving fidelity to their word,
once pledged, appeared to be an invariable feature in every narrative;
and though he could well account for the feeling that makes a man more
attached to his own nation, he more than once half expressed his
surprise, how, having lived among the simple-minded children of the
forest, I could ever return to the haunts of the plotting, and designing
white men.
“This story of mine,” continued Mr. O’Kelly, “has somehow spun itself
out far more than I intended. My desire was, to show you briefly, in
what strange and dissimilar situations I have been thrown in life--how,
I have lived among every rank, and class, at home and abroad, in
comparative affluence--in narrow poverty; how, I have looked on, at the
world, in all its gala dress of wealth, and rank, and beauty--of power,
of station, and command of intellect; and how I have seen it poor, and
mean, and naked--the companion of gloomy solitudes, and the denizen of
pathless forests; and yet found the same human passions, the same love,
and hate, the same jealousy, and fear, courage, and daring--the same
desire for power, and the same wish to govern, in the red Indian of the
prairie, as in the starred noble of Europe. The proudest rank of
civilized life has no higher boast, than in the practice of such virtues
as I have seen rife among the wild dwellers in the dark forest. Long
habit of moving thus among my fellow men, has worn off much of that
conventional reverence for class, which forms the standing point of all
our education at home. The tarred and weather-beaten sailor, if he be
but a pleasant fellow, and has seen life, is to me as agreeable a
companion as the greatest admiral that ever trod a quarter-deck. My
delight has been thus, for many a year back, to ramble through the
world, and look on its game, like one who sits before the curtain, and
has no concern with the actors, save, in so far as they amuse him.
“There is no cynicism in this. No one enjoys life more than I do. Music
is a passion with me--in painting, I take the greatest delight, and
beauty, has still her charm for me. Society, never was a greater
pleasure. Scenery, can give me a sense of happiness, which none but
solitary men ever feel--yet, it is less as one identified with these,
than as a mere spectator. All this is selfish, and egotistical, you will
say--and so it is. But then, think what chance has one like me of any
other pleasure! To how many annoyances should I expose myself, if I
adopted a different career: think of the thousand inquiries, of,--who is
he? what is his family? where did he come from? what are his means? and
all such queries, which would beset me, were I the respectable denizen
of one of your cities. Without some position, some rank, some settled
place in society, you give a man nothing--he can neither have friend,
nor home. Now, I am a wanderer--my choice of life, happily took an
humble turn. I have placed myself in a good situation for seeing the
game--and I am not too fastidious, if I get somewhat crushed by the
company about me. But now, to finish this long story, for I see the day
is breaking, and I must leave Antwerp by ten o’clock.
“At last, then, we reached Quebec. It was on a bright, clear, frosty day
in December, when all the world was astir--sledges flying here and
there--men slipping along in rackets--women, wrapped up in furs, sitting
snugly in chairs, and pushed along the ice some ten or twelve miles the
hour--all gay, all lively, and all merry-looking--while I and my Indian
friend bustled our way through the crowd towards the post-office. He was
a well-known character, and many a friendly nod, and a knowing shake of
the head welcomed him as he passed along. I, however, was an object of
no common astonishment, even in a town where every variety of costume,
from full dress to almost nakedness, was to be met with daily. Still,
something remained as a novelty, and it would seem I had hit on it.
Imagine, then, an old and ill-used foraging-cap, drawn down over a red
night-cap, from beneath which my hair descended straight, somewhere
about a foot in length--beard and moustaches to match--a red uniform
coat, patched with brown seal-skin, and surmounted by a kind of blanket
of buffalo hide--a pair of wampum shorts, decorated with tin and copper,
after the manner of a marquetrie table--gray stockings, gartered with
fish skin--and moccasins made after the fashion of high-lows, an
invention of my own, which I trust are still known as ‘O’Kellies,’ among
my friends the red men.
“That I was not an Indian, was sufficiently apparent--if by nothing
else, the gingerly delicacy with which I trod the pavement, after a
promenade of seven hundred miles, would have shown it; and yet there was
an evident reluctance on all sides to acknowledge me as one of
themselves. The crowd that tracked our steps had by this time attracted
the attention of some officers, who stopped to see what was going
forward, when I recognised the major of my own regiment among the
number. I saw, however, that he did not remember me, and hesitated with
myself whether I should return to my old servitude. The thought that no
mode of subsistence was open to me--that I was not exactly prepossessing
enough to make my way in the world by artificial advantages, decided the
question, and I accosted him at once.
“I will not stop to paint the astonishment of the officer, nor shall I
dwell on the few events which followed the recognition--suffice it to
say, that, the same evening I received my appointment, not as a
sergeant, but as regimental interpreter between our people and the
Indians, with whom we were then in alliance against the Yankees. The
regiment soon left Quebec for Trois Rivières, where my ambassadorial
functions were immediately called into play--not, I am bound to confess,
under such weighty and onerous reponsibilities as I had been led to
suspect would ensue between two powerful nations--but, on matters of
less moment, and fully as much difficulty, viz., the barter of old
regimental coats and caps for bows and arrows; the exchange of rum and
gunpowder for moccasins, and wampum ornaments--in a word, the regulation
of an Anglo-Indian tariff, which accurately defined the value of
everything, from a black fox skin to a pair of old gaiters--from an
Indian tomahawk to a tooth-pick.
“In addition to these fiscal regulations, I drew up a criminal code--
which, in simplicity at least, might vie with any known system of
legislation--by which it was clearly laid down, that any unknown
quantity of Indians were only equal to the slightest inconvenience
incurred, or discomfort endured by an English officer; that the
condescension of any intercourse with them, was a circumstance of the
greatest possible value--and its withdrawal the highest punishment. A
few other axioms of the like nature, greatly facilitated all bargains,
and promoted universal good feeling. Occasionally, a knotty point would
arise, which somewhat puzzled me to determine. Now and then, some Indian
prejudice, some superstition of the tribe would oppose a barrier to the
summary process of my cheap justice; but then, a little adroitness and
dexterity could soon reconcile matters--and as I had no fear that my
decisions were to be assumed as precedents, and still less dread of
their being rescinded by a higher court, I cut boldly, and generally
severed the difficulty at a blow.
“My life was now a pleasant one enough--for our officers treated me on
terms of familiarity, which gradually grew into intimacy, as our
quarters were in remote stations, and as they perceived that I possessed
a certain amount of education--which, it is no flattery to say, exceeded
their own. My old qualities of convivialism, also, gave me considerable
aid; and as I had neither forgotten to compose a song, nor sing it
afterwards, I was rather a piece of good fortune in this solitary and
monotonous state of life. Etiquette prevented my being asked to the
mess, but, most generously, nothing interfered with their coming over to
my wigwam almost every evening, and taking share of a bowl of sangaree,
and a pipe--kindnesses I did my uttermost to repay, by putting in
requisition all the amusing talents I possessed: and certainly, never
did a man endeavour more for great success in life, nor give himself
greater toil, than did I, to make time pass over pleasantly to some
half-dozen silly subalterns, a bloated captain or two, and a plethoric,
old snuff-taking major, that dreamed of nothing but rappee, punch and
promotion. Still, like all men in an ambiguous, or a false position, I
felt flattered by the companionship of people, whom, in my heart, I
thoroughly despised and looked down upon; and felt myself honoured by
the society of the most thick-headed set of noodles ever a man sat down
with--Aye! and laughed at their flat witticisms, and their old stale
jokes--and often threw out hints for _bon mots_, which, if they caught,
I immediately applauded, and went about, saying, did you hear ‘Jones’s
last?’--‘do you know what the major said this morning?’ bless my heart!
what a time it was. Truth will out--the old tuft-hunting leaven was
strong in me, even yet--hardship and roughing had not effaced it from my
disposition--one more lesson was wanting, and I got it.
“Among my visitors was an old captain of the rough school of military
habit, with all the dry jokes of the recruiting service, and all the
coarseness which a life spent for the most part in remote stations, and
small detachments, is sure to impart. This old fellow, Mat Hubbart, a
well known name in the Glengarries, had the greatest partiality for
practical jokes--and could calculate to a nicety, the precise amount of
a liberty which any man’s rank in the service permitted, without the
risk of being called to account: and the same scale of equivalents, by
which he established the nomenclature for female rank in the army, was
regarded by him as the test for those licences he permitted himself to
take with any man beneath him: and as he spoke of the colonel’s ‘lady,’
the major’s ‘wife,’ the captain’s ‘woman,’ the lieutenant’s ‘thing’--so
did he graduate his conduct to the husbands--never transgressing for a
moment on the grade, by any undue familiarity, or any unwonted freedom.
With me, of course, his powers were discretionary--or rather, had no
discretion whatever. I was a kind of military outlaw, that any man might
shoot at--and certainly, he spared not his powder in my behalf.
“Among the few reliques of my Indian life, was a bear-skin cap and hood,
which I prised highly. It was a present from my old guide--his parting
gift--when I put into his hands the last few pieces of silver I
possessed in the world. This was then to me a thing, which, as I had met
with not many kindnesses in the world, I valued at something far beyond
its mere price; and would rather have parted with any, or everything I
possessed, than lose it. Well, one day on my return from a fishing
excursion, as I was passing the door of the mess-room, what should I see
but a poor idiot that frequented the barrack, dressed in my bear-skin.
“‘Holloa! Rokey,’ said I, ‘where did you get that?’ scarce able to
restrain my temper.
“‘The captain gave it me,’ said the fellow, touching his cap, with a
grateful look towards the mess-room window, where I saw Captain Hubbart
standing, convulsed with laughter.
“‘Impossible!’ said I--yet half-fearing the truth of his assertion. ‘The
Captain couldn’t give away what’s mine, and not his.’
“‘Yes, but he did though,’ said the fool, ‘and told me, too, he’d make
me the “talk man” with the Indians, if you didn’t behave better in
future.’
“I felt my blood boil up as I heard these words. I saw at once that the
joke was intended to insult and offend me; and he probably meant as, a
lesson, for my presumption, a few evenings before, since I had the
folly, in a moment of open-hearted gaiety, to speak of my family, and
perhaps to boast of my having been a gentleman: I hung my head in shame,
and all my presence of mind was too little to allow me to feign a look
of carelessness as I walked by the window: from whence the coarse
laughter of the captain was now heard peal after peal. I shall not tell
you how I suffered when I reached my hut, and what I felt at every
portion of this transaction. One thing forcibly impressed itself on my
mind, that the part I was playing must be an unworthy one, or I had
never incurred such a penalty; that if these men associated with me, it
was on terms which permitted all from them--nothing, in return; and for
a while, I deemed no vengeance enough to satisfy my wounded pride.
Happily for me, my thoughts took another turn, and I saw that the
position in which I had placed myself, invited the insolence it met
with; and that if any man stoop to be kicked in this world, he’ll always
find some kind friend ready to oblige him with the compliment. Had an
equal so treated me, my course had presented no difficulty whatever Now,
what could I do?
“While I pondered over these things, a corporal came up to say, that a
party of the officers were about to pay me a visit after evening parade,
and hoped I’d have something for supper for them. Such was the general
tone of their invitations, and I had received in my time above a hundred
similar messages, without any other feeling than one of pride, at my
being in a position to have so many distinguished guests. Now, on the
contrary, the announcement was a downright insult: my long sleeping
pride suddenly awakened, I felt all the contumely of my condition; and:
my spirit, sunk for many a day in the slavish observance of a miserable
vanity, rebelled against farther outrage. I muttered a hasty ‘all
right,’ to the soldier, and turned away to meditate on some scheme of
vengeance.
“Having given directions to my Indian follower, a half-breed fellow of
the most cunning description, to have all ready in the wigwam; I
wandered into the woods. To no use was it that I thought over my
grievance, nothing presented itself in any shape as a vindication of my
wounded feelings--nor could I see how anything short of ridicule could
ensue, from all mention of the transaction. The clanking sound of an
Indian drum broke on my musings, and told me that the party were
assembled; and on my entering the wigwam, I found them all waiting for
me. There were full a dozen; many who had never done me the honour of a
visit previously, came on this occasion to enjoy the laugh at my
expense, the captain’s joke was sure to excite. Husbanding their
resources, they talked only about indifferent matters--the gossip and
chit-chat of the day--but still with such a secret air of something to
come, that even an ignorant observer could notice, that there was in
reserve somewhat that must abide its time for development. By mere
accident, I overheard the captain whisper in reply to a question of one
of the subalterns--‘No! no!--not now--wait, till we have the punch up.’
I guessed at once that such was the period they proposed to discuss the
joke played off at my cost, and I was right; for no sooner had the large
wooden bowl of sangaree made its appearance, than Hubbart filling his
glass; proposed a bumper to our new ally, Rokey; a cheer drowned half
his speech, which ended in a roar of laughter, as the individual, so
complimented, stood at the door of the wigwam, dressed out in full
costume with my bear-skin.
“I had just time to whisper a command to my Indian imp, concluding with
an order for another bowl of sangaree, before the burst of merriment had
subsided--a hail-storm of jokes, many, poor enough, but still cause for
laughter, now pelted me on every side. My generosity was lauded, my good
taste extolled, and as many impertinences as could well be offered up to
a man at his own table, went the round of the party. No allusion was
spared either to my humble position as interpreter to the force, or my
former life among the Indians, to furnish food for joke; even my family-
-of whom, as I have mentioned, I foolishly spoke to them lately--they
introduced into their tirade of attack and ridicule, which nothing but a
sense of coming vengeance could hove enabled me to endure.
“‘Come, come,’ said one, ‘the bowl is empty. I say, O’Kelly, if you wish
us to be agreeable, as I’m certain you find us, will you order a fresh
supply?’
“‘Most willingly,’ said I, ‘but there is just enough left in the old
bowl to drink the health of Captain Hubbart, to whom we are certainly
indebted for most of the amusement of the evening. Now, therefore, if
you please, with all the honours, gentlemen--for let me say, in no one
quality has he his superior in the regiment. His wit we can all
appreciate; his ingenuity I can speak to; his generosity--you have
lauded ‘mine’--but think of ‘his.’ As I spoke I pointed to the door,
where my ferocious-looking Indian stood, in all his war-paint, wearing
on his head the full-dress cocked-hat of the captain, while over his
shoulders was thrown his large blue military-cloak, over which, he had
skilfully contrived to make a hasty decoration of brass ornaments, and
wild-birds’ feathers.
“‘Look there!’ said I, exultingly, as the fellow nodded his plumed-hat
and turned majestically round, to be fully admired.
“‘Have you dared, sir?’--roared he, frothing with passion and clenching
his fist towards me--but a perfect cheer of laughter overpowered his
words. Many rolled off their seats and lay panting and puffing on the
ground; some, turned away half-suffocated with their struggles, while a
few, more timid than the rest, endeavoured to conceal their feelings,
and seemed half-alarmed at the consequences of my impertinence. When the
mirth had a little subsided, it was remarked, that Hubbart was gone--no
one had seen how or when--but he was no longer among us.
“‘Come, gentlemen, said I, ‘the new bowl is ready for you, and your
toast is not yet drunk. All going so early? Why, it’s not eleven yet.’
“But so it was--the impulse of merriment over--the _esprit du corps_
came back in all its force, and the man, whose feelings they had not
scrupled to outrage and insult, they turned on, the very moment he had
the courage to assert his honour. One by one passed out--some, with a
cool nod--others, a mere look--many, never even noticed me at all; and
one, the last, I believe, dropping a little behind, whispered as he
went, ‘Sorry for you, faith, but all your own doing, though.’
“‘My own doing,’ said I in bitterness, as I sat me down at the door of
the wigwam. ‘My own doing!’ and the words ate into my very heart’s core.
Heaven knows, had any one of them who left me, but turned his head, and
looked at me then, as I sat--my head buried in my hands, my frame
trembling with strong passion---he had formed a most false estimate of
my feelings. In all likelihood, he would have regarded me as a man
sorrowing over a lost position in society--grieved at the mistaken
vanity that made him presume upon those who associated with him by grace
especial, and never, on terms of equality. Nothing in the world was then
farther from my heart: no, my humiliation had another source--my
sorrowing penetrated into a deeper soil. I awoke to the conviction that
my position was such, that even the temporary countenance they gave me
by their society, was to be deemed my greatest honour, as its withdrawal
should be my deepest disgrace--that these poor heartless brainless fools
for whom I taxed my time, my intellect, and my means, were in the light
of patrons to me. Let any man who has felt what it is to live among
those on whose capacity he has looked down, while he has been obliged to
pay homage to their rank--whose society he has frequented, not for
pleasure nor enjoyment--not for the charm of social intercourse, or the
interchange of friendly feeling, but for the mere vulgar object that he
might seem to others to be in a position to which he had no claim--to be
intimate, when he was only endured--to be on terms of ease, when he was
barely admitted; let him sympathise with me. Now, I awoke to the full
knowledge of my state, and saw myself at last in a true light. ‘My own
doing!’ repeated I to myself. Would it had been so many a day since, ere
I lost self-respect--ere I had felt the humiliation I now feel.”
“‘You are under arrest, sir,’ said the sergeant, as with a party of
soldiers he stood prepared to accompany me to the quarters. “‘Under
arrest! By whose orders?’
“‘The colonel’s orders,’ said the man briefly, and in a voice that
showed I was to expect little compassion from one of a class who had
long regarded me as an upstart, giving himself airs unbecoming his
condition.
“My imprisonment, of which I dared not ask the reason, gave me time to
meditate on my fortunes, and think over the vicisicitudes of my life,--
to reflect on the errors which had rendered abortive every chance of
success in whatever career I adopted; but, more than all, to consider
how poor were all my hopes of happiness in the road I had chosen, while
I dedicated to the amusement of others, the qualities which, if
cultivated for myself, might be made sources of contentment and
pleasure. If I seem prolix in all this--if I dwell on these memories, it
is, first, because few men may not reap a lesson from considering them;
and again, because on them hinged my whole future life.
“There, do you see that little drawing yonder? it is a sketch, a mere
sketch I made from recollection, of the room I was confined in. That’s
the St. Lawrence flowing beneath the window, and there, far in the
distance, you see the tall cedars of the opposite bank. On that little
table I laid my head the whole night long; I slept too, and soundly, and
when I awoke the next day I was a changed man.
“‘You are relieved from arrest,’ said the same sergeant who conducted me
to prison, ‘and the colonel desires to see you on parade.’
“As I entered the square, the regiment was formed in line, and the
officers, as usual, stood in a group chatting together in the centre. A
half smile, quickly subdued as I came near, ran along the party.
“‘O’Kelly,’ said the colonel, ‘I have sent for you to hear a reprimand
which it is fitting you should receive at the head of the regiment, and
which, from my knowledge of you, I have supposed would be the most
effectual punishment I could inflict for your late disrespectful conduct
to Captain Hubbart.’
“‘May I ask, colonel, have you heard of the provocation which induced my
offence?’
“‘I hope, sir,’ replied he, with a look of stern dignity, ‘you are aware
of the difference of your relative rank and station, and that, in
condescending to associate with you, Captain Hubbart conferred an honour
which doubly compensated for any liberty he was pleased to take. Read
the general order, Lieutenant Wood.’
“A confused murmur of something, from which I could collect nothing,
reached me; a vague feeling of weight seemed to press my head, and a
giddiness that made me reel, was on me; and I only knew the ceremony was
over, as I heard the order to march given, and saw the troops begin to
move off the ground.
“‘A moment, colonel,’ said, I, in a voice that made him start and drew
on me the look of all the others. ‘I have too much respect for you, and
I hope also for myself, to attempt any explanation of a mere jest, where
the consequences have taken a serious turn; besides, I feel conscious of
one fault, far too grave a one, to venture on an excuse for any other I
have been guilty of. I wish to resign my post. I here leave the badge of
the only servitude I ever did, or ever intend to submit to; and now, as
a free man once more, and a gentleman, too, if you’ll permit me, I beg
to wish you adieu: and as for you, captain, I have only to add, that
whenever you feel disposed for a practical joke, or any other
interchange of politeness, Con O’Kelly will be always delighted to meet
your views--the more so as he feels, though you may not believe it,
something still in your debt.’
“With that I turned on my heel, and left the barrack-yard, not a word
being spoken by any of the others, nor any evidence of their being so
much amused as they seemed to expect from my exposure.
“Did it never strike you as a strange thing, that while none but the
very poorest and humblest people can bear to confess to present poverty,
very few men decline to speak of the narrow circumstances they have
struggled through--nay, rather take a kind of pleasure in relating what
difficulties once beset their path--what obstacles were opposed to their
success? The reason perhaps is, there is a reflective merit in thus
surmounting opposition.
“The acknowledgment implies a sense of triumph. It seams to say--‘Here
am I, such as you see me now, and yet time was, when I was houseless and
friendless--when the clouds darkened around my path, and I saw not even
the faintest glimmer of hope to light up the future; yet with a stout
heart and strong courage, with the will came the way; and I conquered.’
I do confess, I could dwell, and with great pleasure too, on those
portions of my life when I was poorest and most forsaken, in preference
to the days of my prosperity, and the hours of my greatest wealth: like
the traveller who, after a long journey through some dark winter’s day,
finds himself at the approach of night, seated by the corner of a cheery
fire in his inn; every rushing gust of wind that shakes the building,
every plash of the beating rain against the glass, but adds to this
sense of comfort, and makes him hug himself with satisfaction to think
how he is no longer exposed to such a storm--that his journey is
accomplished--his goal is reached--and as he draws his chair closer to
the blaze, it is the remembrance of the past, gives all the enjoyment to
the present. In the same way, the pleasantest memories of old age are of
those periods in youth when we have been successful over difficulty, and
have won our way through every opposing obstacle. ‘Joy’s memory is
indeed no longer joy.’ Few can look back on happy hours without thinking
of those with whom they spent them, and then comes the sad question,
Where are they now? What man reaches even the middle term of life with a
tithe of the friends he started with in youth; and as they drop off, one
by one around him, comes the sad reflection, that the period is passed
when such ties can be formed anew--The book of the heart once closed,
opens no more. But why these reflections? I must close them, and with
them my story at once.
“The few pounds I possessed in the world enabled me to reach Quebec, and
take my passage in a timber vessel bound for Cork. Why I returned to
Ireland, and with what intentions, I should be sorely puzzled, were you
to ask of me. Some vague, indistinct feeling of home, connected with my
birthplace had, perhaps, its influence over me. So it was--I did so.
[Editor’s Note: Another edition of this book (Downey and Co., 1897) was
scannned for the middle part of this etext as large portions of the
original 1845 edition were defective. The reader will note that the two
editions initiate a quoted passages in different ways: the 1845 edition
with a double quote and the 1897 edition with a single quotation mark.]
‘After a good voyage of some five weeks, we anchored in Cove, where I
landed, and proceeded on foot to Tralee. It was night when I arrived. A
few faint glimmering lights could be seen here and there from an upper
window; but all the rest was in darkness. Instinctively I wandered on,
till I came to the little street where my aunt had lived. I knew every
stone in it. There was not a house I passed but I was familiar with all
its history. There was Mark Cassidy’s provision store, as he proudly
called a long dark room, the ceiling thickly studded with hams and
bacon, coils of rope, candles, flakes of glue, and loaves of sugar;
while a narrow pathway was eked out below between a sugar-hogshead, some
sacks of flour and potatoes, hemp-seed, tar, and treacle, interspersed
with scythe-blades, reaping-hooks, and sweeping-brushes--a great coffee-
roaster adorning the wall, and forming a conspicuous object for the
wonderment of the country-people, who never could satisfy themselves
whether it was a new-fashioned clock or a weather-glass, or a little
thrashing-machine or a money-box. Next door was Maurice Fitzgerald’s,
the apothecary, a cosy little cell of eight feet by six, where there was
just space left for a long-practised individual to grind with a pestle
without putting his right elbow through a blue-glass bottle that figured
in the front window, or his left into active intercourse with a regiment
of tinctures that stood up, brown and muddy and fetid, on a shelf hard
by. Then came Joe M’Evoy’s, “licensed for spirits and enthertainment,”
where I had often stood as a boy to listen to the pleasant sounds of
Larry Branaghan’s pipes, or to the agreeable ditties of “Adieu, ye
shinin’ daisies, I loved you well and long,” as sung by him, with an
accompaniment. Then there was Misther Moriarty’s, the attorney, a great
man in the petty sessions, a bitter pill for all the country gentlemen;
he was always raking up knotty cases of their decisions, and reporting
them to the _Limerick Vindicator_ under the cognomen of “Brutus” or
“Coriolanus.” I could just see by the faint light that his house had
been raised a storey higher, and little iron balconies, like railings,
stuck to the drawing-room windows.
‘Next came my aunt’s. There it was: my foot was on the door where I
stood as a child, my little heart wavering between fears of the unknown
world without and hopes of doing something--Heaven knows what!--which
would make me a name hereafter. And there I was now, after years of toil
and peril of every kind, enough to have won me distinction, success
enough to have made me rich, had either been but well directed; and yet
I was poor and humble, as the very hour I quitted that home. I sat down
on the steps, my heart heavy and sad, my limbs tired, and before many
minutes fell fast asleep, and never awoke till the bright sun was
shining gaily on one side of the little street, and already the
preparations for the coming day were going on about me. I started up,
afraid and ashamed of being seen, and turned into the little ale-house
close by, to get my breakfast. Joe himself was not forthcoming; but a
fat, pleasant-looking, yellow-haired fellow, his very image, only some
dozen years younger, was there, bustling about among some pewter quarts
and tin measures, arranging tobacco-pipes, and making up little
pennyworths of tobacco.
‘“Is your name M’Evoy?” said I.
‘“The same, at your service,” said he, scarce raising his eyes from his
occupation.
‘“Not Joe M’Evoy?”
‘“No, sir, Ned M’Evoy; the old man’s name was Joe.”
‘“He ‘s dead, then, I suppose?”
‘“Ay, sir; these eight years come Micklemass. Is it a pint or a naggin
of sperits?”
‘“Neither; it’s some breakfast, a rasher and a few potatoes, I want
most. I’ll take it here, or in the little room.”
‘“Faix, ye seem to know the ways of the place,” said he, smiling, as he
saw me deliberately push open a small door, and enter a little parlour
once reserved for favourite visitors.
‘“It’s many years since I was here before,” said I to the host, as he
stood opposite to me, watching the progress I was making with my
breakfast--“so many that I can scarce remember more than the names of
the people I knew very-well. Is there a Miss O’Kelly living in the town?
It was somewhere near this, her house.”
‘“Yes, above Mr. Moriarty’s, that’s where she lived; but sure she’s dead
and gone, many a day ago. I mind Father Donnellan, the priest that was
here before Mr. Nolan, saying Masses for her sowl, when I was a slip of
a boy.”
‘“Dead and gone,” repeated I to myself sadly--for, though I scarcely
expected to meet my poor old relative again, I cherished a kind of half
hope that she might still be living. “And the priest, Father Donnellan,
is he dead too?”
‘“Yes, sir; he died of the fever, that was so bad four years ago.”
‘“And Mrs. Brown that kept the post-office?”
‘“She went away to Ennis when her daughter was married there; I never
heard tell of her since.”
‘“So that, in fact, there are none of the old inhabitants of the town
remaining. All have died off?”
“Every one, except the ould captain; he’s the only one left”
‘“Who is he?”
‘“Captain Dwyer; maybe you knew him?”
‘“Yes, I knew him well; and he’s alive? He must be very old by this
time.”
‘“He ‘s something about eighty-six or seven; but he doesn’t let on to
more nor sixty, I believe; but, sure, talk of----- God preserve us, here
he is!”
‘As he spoke, a thin, withered-looking old man, bent double with age,
and walking with great difficulty, came to the door, and, in a cracked
voice, called out--
‘“Ned M’Evoy; here’s the paper for you; plenty of news in it, too, about
Mister O’Connell and the meetings in Dublin. If Cavanagh takes any fish,
buy a sole or a whiting for me, and send me the paper back.”
‘“There’s a gentleman, inside here, was just asking for you, sir,” said
the host.
‘“Who is he? Is it Mr. Creagh? At your service, sir,” said the old man,
sitting down on a chair near me, and looking at me from under the shadow
of his hand spread over his brow. “You ‘re Mr. Studdart, I ‘m thinking?”
‘“No, sir; I do not suspect you know me; and, indeed, I merely mentioned
your name as one I had heard of many years ago when I was here, but not
as being personally known to you.”
‘“Oh, troth, and so you might, for I ‘m well known in these parts--eh,
Ned?” said he, with a chuckling cackle, that sounded very like hopeless
dotage. “I was in the army--in the ‘Buffs’; maybe you knew one Clancy
who was in them?”
‘“No, sir; I have not many military acquaintances. I came here this
morning on my way to Dublin, and thought I would just ask a few
questions about some people I knew a little about. Miss O’Kelly----”
‘“Ah, dear! Poor Miss Judy--she’s gone these two or three years.”
‘“Ay, these fifteen,” interposed Ned.
‘“No, it isn’t though,” said the captain crossly, “it isn’t more than
three at most--cut off in her prime too. She was the last of an old
stock--I knew them all well. There was Dick--blazing Dick O’Kelly, as
they called him--that threw the sheriff into the mill-race at Kilmacud,
and had to go to France afterwards; and there was Peter--Peter got the
property, but he was shot in a duel. Peter had a son--a nice devil he
was too; he was drowned at sea; and except the little girl that has the
school up there, Sally O’Kelly--she is one of them--there’s none to the
fore.”
‘“And who was she, sir?”
‘“Sally was--what’s this? Ay, Sally is daughter to a son Dick left in
France. He died in the war in Germany, and left this creature; and Miss
Judy heard of her, and got her over here, just the week she departed
herself. She’s the last of them now--the best family in Kerry--and
keeping a child’s school! Ay, ay, so it is; and there’s property too
coming to her, if they could only prove that chap’s death, Con O’Kelly.
But sure no one knows anything where it happened. Sam Fitzsimon
advertised him in all the papers, but to no use.”
‘I did not wait for more of the old captain’s reminiscences, but
snatching up my hat I hurried down the street, and in less than an hour
was closeted with Mr. Samuel Fitzsimon, attorney-at-law, and gravely
discussing the steps necessary to be taken for the assumption of my
right to a small property, the remains of my Aunt Judy’s--a few hundred
pounds, renewal fines of lands, that had dropped since my father’s
death. My next visit was to the little school, which was held in the
parlour where poor Aunt Judy used to have her little card parties. The
old stuffed macaw--now from dirt and smoke he might have passed for a
raven--was still over the fireplace, and there was the old miniature of
my father, and on the other side was one which I had not seen before, of
Father Donnellan in full robes. All the little old conchologies were
there too; and except the black plethoric-looking cat that sat staring
fixedly at the fire as if she was grieving over the price of coals, I
missed nothing. Miss Sally was a nice modest-looking woman, with an air
of better class about her than her humble occupation would seem to
imply. I made known my relationship in a few words, and having told her
that I had made all arrangements for settling whatever property I
possessed upon her, and informed her that Mr. Fitzsimon would act as her
guardian, I wished her good-bye and departed. I saw that my life must be
passed in occupation of one kind or other--idleness would never do; and
with the only fifty I reserved to myself of my little fortune, I started
for Paris. What I was to do I had no idea whatever; but I well knew that
you have only to lay the bridle on Fortune’s neck, and you ‘ll seldom be
disappointed in adventures.
‘For some weeks I strolled about Paris, enjoying myself as thoughtlessly
as though I had no need of any effort to replenish my failing exchequer.
The mere human tide that flowed along the Boulevards and through the gay
gardens of the Tuileries would have been amusement enough for me. Then
there were theatres and cafés and restaurants of every class--from the
costly style of the “Rocher” down to the dinner beside the fountain Des
Innocents, where you feast for four sous, and where the lowest and
poorest class of the capital resorted. Well, well, I might tell you some
strange scenes of those days, but I must hurry on.
‘In my rambles through Paris, visiting strange and out-of-the-way
places, dining here and supping there, watching life under every aspect
I could behold it, I strolled one evening across the Pont Neuf into the
Ile St. Louis, that quaint old quarter, with its narrow straggling
streets, and its tall gloomy houses, barricaded like fortresses. The old
_portes cochères_ studded with nails and barred with iron, and having
each a small window to peer through at the stranger without, spoke of
days when outrage and attack were rife, and it behoved every man to
fortify his stronghold as best he could. There were now to be found the
most abandoned and desperate of the whole Parisian world; the assassin,
the murderer, the housebreaker, the coiner, found a refuge in this
confused wilderness of gloomy alleys and dark dismal passages. When
night falls, no lantern throws a friendly gleam along the streets; all
is left in perfect darkness, save when the red light of some cabaret
lamp streams across the pavement. In one of these dismal streets I found
myself when night set in, and although I walked on and on, somehow I
never could extricate myself, but continually kept moving in some narrow
circle--so I guessed at least, for I never wandered far from the deep-
toned bell of Notre Dame, that went on chanting its melancholy peal
through the stillness of the night air. I often stopped to listen. Now
it seemed before, now behind me; the rich solemn sound floating through
those cavernous streets had something awfully impressive. The voice that
called to prayer, heard in that gloomy haunt of crime, was indeed a
strange and appalling thing. At last it ceased, and all was still. For
some time I was uncertain how to act. I feared to knock at a door and
ask my way; the very confession of my loneliness would have been an
invitation to outrage, if not murder. No one passed me; the streets
seemed actually deserted.
‘Fatigued with walking, I sat down on a door-sill and began to consider
what was best to be done, when I heard the sound of heavy feet moving
along towards me, the clattering of sabots on the rough pavement, and
shortly after a man came up, who, I could just distinguish, seemed to be
a labourer. I suffered him to pass me a few paces, and then called out--
‘“Halloa, friend! can you tell me the shortest way to the Pont Neuf?”
‘He replied by some words in a patois so strange I could make nothing of
it. I repeated my question, and endeavoured by signs to express my wish.
By this time he was standing close beside me, and I could mark was
evidently paying full attention to all I said. He looked about him once
or twice, as if in search of some one, and then turning to me said, in a
thick guttural voice--
‘“Halte-là, I’ll come”; and with that he moved down in the direction he
originally came from, and I could hear the clatter of his heavy shoes
till the sounds were lost in the winding alleys.
‘A sudden thought struck me that I had done wrong. The fellow had
evidently some dark intention by his going back, and I repented bitterly
having allowed him to leave me. But then, what were easier for him than
to lead me where he pleased, had I retained him! and so I reflected,
when the noise of many voices speaking in a half-subdued accent came up
the street. I heard the sound, too, of a great many feet. My heart
sickened as the idea of murder, so associated with the place, flashed
across me; and I had just time to squeeze myself within the shelter of
the doorway, when the party came up.
‘“Somewhere hereabouts, you said, wasn’t it?” said one in a good accent
and a deep clear voice.
‘“Oui-da!” said the man I had spoken to, while he felt with his hands
upon the walls and doorway of the opposite house. “Halloa there!” he
shouted.
‘“Be still, you fool! don’t you think that he suspects something by this
time? Did the others go down the Rue des Loups?”
‘“Yes, yes,” said a voice close to where I stood.
‘“Then all’s safe; he can’t escape that way. Strike a light, Pierre.”
‘A tall figure, wrapped up in a cloak, produced a tinder-box, and began
to clink deliberately with a steel and flint. Every flash showed me some
savage-looking face, where crime and famine struggled for mastery; while
I could mark that many had large clubs of wood, and one or two were
armed with swords. I drew my breath with short efforts, and was
preparing myself for the struggle, in which, though I saw death before
me, I resolved to sell life dearly, when a hand was passed across the
pillar of the door, and rested on my leg. For a second it never stirred;
then slowly moved up to my knee, where it stopped again. My heart seemed
to cease its beating; I felt like one around whose body some snake is
coiling, fold after fold, his slimy grasp. The hand was gently
withdrawn, and before I could recover from my surprise I was seized by
the throat and hurled out into the street. A savage laugh rang through
the crowd, and a lantern, just lighted, was held up to my face, while he
who spoke first called out--
‘“You didn’t dream of escaping us, _bête_, did you?” ‘At the same moment
hands were thrust into my various pockets; the few silver pieces I
possessed were taken, my watch torn off, my hat examined, and the lining
of my coat ripped open--and all so speedily, that I saw at once I had
fallen into experienced hands.
‘“Where do you live in Paris?” said the first speaker, still holding the
light to my face, and staring fixedly at me.
‘“I am a stranger and alone,” said I, for the thought struck me that in
such a circumstance frankness was as good policy as any other. “I came
here to-night to see the cathedral, and lost my way in returning.”
‘“But where do you live--in what quarter of Paris?” ‘“The Rue d’Alger;
No. 12; the second storey.” ‘“What effects have you there in money?”
‘“One English bank-note for five pounds; nothing more.”
‘“Any jewels, or valuables of any kind?”
‘“None; I am as poor as any man in Paris.”
‘“Does the porter know your name, in the house?”
‘“No; I am only known as the Englishman of No. 12.”
‘“What are your hours--irregular, are they not?”
‘“Yes, I often come home very late.”
‘“That’s all right. You speak French well. Can you write it?”
‘“Yes, sufficiently so for any common purpose.”
‘“Here, then,” said he, opening a large pocket-book, “write an order,
which I’ll tell you, to the _concierge_ of the house. Take this pen.”
‘With a trembling hand I took the pen, and waited for his direction.
‘“Is it a woman keeps the door of your hotel?”
‘“Yes,” said I.
‘“Well, then, begin:--”
‘“Madame La Concierge, let the bearer of this note have the key of my
apartment----”
‘As I followed with my hand the words, I could mark that one of the
party was whispering in the ear of the speaker, and then moved slowly
round to my back.
‘“Hush! what’s that?” cried the chief speaker. “Be still there!” and as
we listened, the chorus of a number of voices singing in parts was heard
at some little distance off.
‘“That infernal nest of fellows must be rooted out of this, one day or
other,” said the chief; “and if I end my days on the Place de Grève,
I’ll try and do it. Hush there! be still! they’re passing on.”
‘True enough, the sound began to wax fainter, and my heart sank heavily,
as I thought the last hope was leaving me. Suddenly a thought dashed
through my mind--“Death in one shape is as bad as another. I’ll do it!”
I stooped down as if to continue my writing, and then collecting my
strength for the effort, and taking a deep breath, I struck the man in
front a blow with all my might that felled him to the ground, and
clearing him with a spring, I bounded down the street. My old Indian
teaching had done me good service here; few white men could have caught
me in an open plain, with space and sight to guide me, and I gained at
every stride. But, alas! I dared not stop to listen whence the sounds
proceeded, and could only dash straight forward, not knowing where it
might lead me. Down a steep, rugged street, that grew narrower as I
went, I plunged, when--horror of horrors!--I heard the Seine plashing at
the end; the rapid current of the river surged against the heavy timbers
that defended the banks, with a sound like a death-wail. A solitary,
trembling light lay afar off in the river from some barge that was at
anchor there; I fixed my eye upon it, and was preparing for a plunge,
when, with a half-suppressed cry, my pursuers sprang up from a low wharf
I had not seen, below the quay, and stood in front of me. In an instant
they were upon me; a shower of blows fell upon my head and shoulders,
and one, armed with desperate resolution, struck me on the forehead and
felled me on the spot.
‘“Be quick now, be quick!” said a voice I well knew; “into the river
with him--the filets de St. Cloud will catch him by daybreak--into the
river with him!”
‘They tore off my coat and shoes, and dragged me along towards the
wharf. My senses were clear, though the blow had deprived me of all the
power to resist, and I could calculate the little chance still left me
when once I had reached the river, when a loud yell and a whistle was
heard afar off--another, louder, followed; the fellows around me sprang
to their legs, and with a muttered curse and a cry of terror darted off
in different directions. I could hear now several pistol-shots following
quickly on one another, and the noise of a scuffle with swords; in an
instant it was over, and a cheer burst forth like a cry of triumph.
‘“Any one wounded there?” shouted a deep manly voice, from the end of
the street. I endeavoured to call out, but my voice failed me. “Halloa,
there! any one wounded?” said the voice again, when a window was opened
over my head, and a man held a candle out, and looked into the street.
‘“This way, this way!” said he, as he caught sight of my shadow where I
lay.
‘“Ay, I guessed they went down here,” said the same voice I heard first,
as he came along, followed by several others. “Well, friend, are you
much hurt? any blood lost?”
‘“No, only stunned,” said I, “and almost well already.”
‘“Have you any friends here? Were you quite alone?”
‘“Yes; quite alone.”
‘“Of course you were; why should I ask? That murderous gang never dared
to face two men yet. Come, are you able to walk? Oh, you’re a stout
fellow, I see; come along with us. Come, Ludwig, put a hand under him,
and we ‘ll soon bring him up.”
‘When they lifted me up, the sudden motion caused a weakness so complete
that I fainted, and knew little more of their proceedings till I found
myself lying on a sofa in a large room, where some forty persons were
seated at a long table, most of them smoking from huge pipes of regular
German proportions.
‘“Where am I?” was my question, as I looked about, and perceived that
the party wore a kind of blue uniform, with fur on the collar and cuffs,
and a greyhound worked in gold on the arm.
‘“Why, you’re safe, my good friend,” said a friendly voice beside me;
“that’s quite enough to know at present, isn’t it?”
‘“I begin to agree with you,” said I coolly; and so, turning round on my
side, I closed my eyes, and fell into as pleasant a sleep as ever I
remember in my life.
‘They were, indeed, a very singular class of restoratives which my kind
friends thought proper to administer to me; nor am I quite sure that a
_bavaroise_ of chocolate dashed with rum, and friction over the face
with hot Eau de Cologne are sufficiently appreciated by the “faculty”;
but this I do know, that I felt very much revived by the application
without and within; and with a face somewhat the colour of a copper
preserving-pan, and far too hot to put anything on, I sat up and looked
about me. A merrier set of gentlemen not even my experience had ever
beheld. They were mostly middle-aged, grizzly-looking fellows, with very
profuse beards and moustaches; their conversation was partly French,
partly German, while here and there a stray Italian diminutive crept in;
and to season the whole, like cayenne in a ragoût, there was an odd
curse in English. Their strange dress, their free-and-easy manner, their
intimacy with one another, and, above all, the _locale_ they had chosen
for their festivities, made me, I own, a little suspicious about their
spotless morality, and I began conjecturing to what possible calling
they might belong--now guessing them smugglers, now police of some kind
or other, now highwaymen outright, but without ever being able to come
to any conclusion that even approached satisfaction. The more I
listened, the more did my puzzle grow on me. That they were either the
most distinguished and exalted individuals or the most confounded story-
tellers was certain. Here was a fat, greasy little fellow, with a beard
like an Armenian, who was talking of a trip he made to Greece with the
Duke of Saxe-Weimar; apparently they were on the best of terms together,
and had a most jolly time of it. There was a large handsome man, with a
short black moustache, describing a night attack made by wolves on the
caravan he was in, during a journey to Siberia. I listened with intense
interest to his narrative; the scenery, the danger, the preparation for
defence, had all those little traits that bespeak truth, when, confound
him! he destroyed the whole as he said, “At that moment the Archduke
Nicholas said to _me_----” The Archduke Nicholas, indeed! very good
that! he’s just as great a liar as the other.
‘“Come,” thought I, “there’s a respectable-looking old fellow with a
bald head--let us hear him; there’s no boasting of the great people he
ever met with from that one, I’m sure.”
‘“We were now coming near to Vienna,” continued he, “the night was dark
as pitch, when a vedette came up to say that a party of brigands, well
known thereabouts, were seen hovering about the post station the entire
evening. We were well armed, but still by no means numerous, and it
became a grave question what we were to do. I got down immediately, and
examined the loading and priming of the carbines; they were all right,
nothing had been stirred. ‘What’s the matter?’ said the duke.” (“Oh,”
thought I, “then there’s a duke here also!”) “‘What’s the matter?’ said
the Duke of Wellington.”
‘“Oh, by Jove! that beats all!” cried I, jumping up on the sofa, and
opening both my hands with astonishment. “I ‘d have wagered a trifle on
that little fellow, and hang me if he isn’t the worst of the whole set!”
‘“What ‘s the matter; what’s happened?” said they all, turning round in
amazement at my sudden exclamation. “Is the man mad?”
‘“It’s hard to say,” replied I; “but if I ‘m not, you must be--unless I
have the honour, which is perfectly possible, to be at this moment in
company with the Holy Alliance; for, so help me, since I’ve sat here and
listened to you, there is not a crowned head in Europe, not a queen, not
an archduke, ambassador, and general-in-chief, whom some of you have not
been intimate with; and the small man with a red beard has just let slip
something about the Shah of Persia.”
‘The torrent of laughter that shook the table never ceased for a full
quarter of an hour. Old and young, smooth and grizzly, they laughed till
their faces were seamed with rivulets like a mountain in winter; and
when they would endeavour to address me, they’d burst out again, as
fresh as ever.
‘“Come over and join us, worthy friend,” said he who sat at the head of
the board--“you seem well equal to it; and perhaps our character as men
of truth may improve on acquaintance.”
‘“What, in Heaven’s name, are you?” said I.
‘Another burst of merriment was the only reply they made me. I never
found much difficulty in making my way in certain classes of society
where the tone was a familiar one. Where a _bon mot_ was good currency
and a joke passed well, there I was at home, and to assume the features
of the party was with me a kind of instinct which I could not avoid; it
cost me neither effort nor strain; I caught up the spirit as a child
catches up an accent, and went the pace as pleasantly as though I had
been bred among them. I was therefore but a short time at table when by
way of matriculation I deemed it necessary to relate a story; and
certainly if they had astounded me by the circumstances of their high
and mighty acquaintances, I did not spare them in my narrative--in which
the Emperor of Japan figured as a very commonplace individual, and the
King of Candia came in, just incidentally, as a rather dubious
acquaintance might do. For a time they listened, like people who are
well accustomed to give and take these kinds of miracle; but when I
mentioned something about a game of leap-frog on the wall of China with
the Celestial himself, a perfect shout of incredulous laughter
interrupted me.
‘“Well,” said I, “don’t believe me, if you don’t like; but here have I
been the whole evening listening to you, and if I ‘ve not bolted as much
as that, my name’s not Con O’Kelly.”
‘But it is not necessary to tell you how, step by step, they led me to
credit all they were saying, but actually to tell my own real story to
them--which I did from beginning to end, down to the very moment I sat
down there, with a large glass of hot claret before me, as happy as
might be.
‘“And you really are so low in purse?” said one. ‘“And have no prospect
of any occupation, nor any idea of a livelihood?” cried another.
‘“Just as much as I expect promotion from my friend the Emperor of
China,” said I.
‘“You speak French and German well enough, though?” ‘“And a smattering
of Italian,” said I. ‘“Come, you ‘ll do admirably; be one of us.”
‘“Might I make bold enough to ask what trade that is?” ‘“You don’t know-
-you can’t guess even?” ‘“Not even guess,” said I, “except you report
for the papers, and come here to make up the news.”
‘“Something better than that, I hope,” said the man at the head of the
table. “What think you of a life that leads a man about the world from
Norway to Jerusalem; that shows him every land the sun shines on, and
every nation of the globe, travelling with every luxury that can make a
journey easy and a road pleasant; that enables him to visit whatever is
remarkable in every city of the universe--to hear Pasta at St.
Petersburg in the winter, and before the year’s end to see an Indian
war-dance among the red men of the Rocky Mountains; to sit beneath the
shadow of the Pyramids as it were to-day, and ere two months be over to
stand in the spray of Trolhattan, and join a wolf-chase through the
pine-forests of the north. And not only this, but to have opportunities
of seeing life on terms the most intimate, so that society should be
unveiled to an extent that few men of any station can pretend to; to
converse with the greatest and the wisest, the most distinguished in
rank--ay! and better than all, with the most beautiful women of every
land in Europe, who depend on your word, rely on your information, and
permit a degree of intimacy which in their own rank is unattainable; to
improve your mind by knowledge of languages, acquaintance with works of
art, scenery, and more still by habits of intelligence which travelling
bestows.”
‘“And to do this,” said I, burning with impatience at a picture that
realised all I wished for, “to do this----”
‘“Be a courier!” said thirty voices in a cheer. “Vive la Grande Route!”
and with the word each man drained his glass to the bottom.
‘“Vive la Grande Route!” exclaimed I, louder than the rest; “and here I
join you.”
‘From that hour I entered on a career that each day I follow is becoming
dearer to me. It is true that I sit in the rumble of the carriage, while
_monseigneur_, or my lord, reclines within; but would I exchange his
ennui and depression for my own light-heartedness and jollity? Would I
give up the happy independence of all the intrigue and plotting of the
world I enjoy, for all his rank and station? Does not Mont Blanc look as
grand in his hoary panoply to me as to him; are not the Danube and the
Rhine as fair? If I wander through the gallery of Dresden, have I not
the sweet smile of the great Raphael’s Madonna bent on me, as blandly as
it is on him? Is not mine host, with less of ceremony, far more cordial
to me than to him? Is not mine a rank known and acknowledged in every
town, in every village? Have I not a greeting wherever I pass? Should
sickness overtake me, where have I not a home? Where am I among
strangers? Then, what care I for the bill--mine is a royal route where I
never pay. And, lastly, how often is the _soubrette_ of the rumble as
agreeable a companion as the pale and care-worn lady within?
‘Such is my life. Many would scoff, and call it menial. Let them, if
they will. I never _felt_ it so; and once more I say, “Vive la Grande
Route!”’
‘But your friends of the “Fischer’s Haus”?’
‘A jolly set of smugglers, with whom for a month or two in summer I take
a cruise, less for profit than pleasure. The blue water is a necessary
of life to the man that has been some years at sea. My little collection
has been made in my wanderings; and if ever you come to Naples, you must
visit a cottage I have at Castella Mare, where you ‘ll see something
better worth your looking at. And now, though it does not seem very
hospitable, I must say adieu.’
With these words Mr. O’Kelly opened a drawer, and drew forth a blue
jacket lined with rich dark fur and slashed with black braiding; a
greyhound was embroidered in gold twist on the arm, and a similar
decoration ornamented the front of his blue-cloth cap. I start for Genoa
in half an hour. We’ll meet again, and often, I hope.’
‘Good-bye,’ said I, ‘and a hundred thanks for a pleasant evening, and
one of the strangest stories I ever heard. I half wish I were a younger
man, and I think I ‘d mount the blue jacket too.’
‘It would show you some strange scenes,’ said Mr. O’Kelly, while he
continued to equip himself for the road. ‘All I have told is little
compared to what I might tell, were I only to give a few leaves of my
life _en courier_; but, as I said before, we ‘ll live to meet again. Do
you know who my party is this morning?’
‘I can’t guess.’
‘My old flame, Miss Blundell; she’s married now and has a daughter, so
like what I remember herself once. Well, well, it’s a strange world!
Good-bye.’
With that we shook hands for the last time, and parted; and I wandered
back to Antwerp when the sun was rising, to get into a bed and sleep for
the next eight hours.