A MISERABLE HOME.
Upon arrival at their destination, Welsh seized his nephew and ward by
the shoulders, and, looking fiercely in his face, informed him that
his father was a mean and black-hearted scoundrel. Welsh declared that
he had agreed to make Hugh his heir, with "the education of a
gentleman," in consideration of the sum of fifty pounds, but, as the
"spalpeen" had only paid five pounds, Hugh would have to work for his
bread and go without education; all emphasized by very strong words.
There was present at this family interview a tall, gaunt, half-naked
savage called Gallagher, who expressed audible approval of Welsh's
remarks, and, at their close, called on the Blessed Virgin and all the
saints to _blast_ Hugh's father and protect his uncle. This
sanctimonious individual was the steward of Welsh's house, and had
formerly been his most valuable ally. Hugh's father had once denounced
Gallagher as a spy at a public gathering, whence he had been
ignominiously ejected, and, in return, he had supplied the false
evidence which led to the imprisonment and conviction of the three
brothers. Gallagher had been of service to Welsh in many ways. He had
aided Meg in the schemes which led to Mary Bronte becoming Welsh's
wife, and he had been a partner with Meg in the foundling business.
Their ways of dealing with superfluous children had been effective.
These were supposed to be carried to the Dublin Foundling Hospital,
but, inasmuch as no questions were asked, and no receipts given, the
guilty parents were satisfied that their offspring should go "where
the wicked cease from troubling." Gallagher was the original from
which Emily Bronte drew her portrait of Joseph, in "Wuthering
Heights," just as Heathcliff is modelled on Welsh. It was to the
companionship of this human monster that Welsh committed his little
nephew and ward. His name became of common use in County Down as a
synonym for objectionable persons, and is so still.
As soon as Welsh and Gallagher ceased speaking, Hugh looked around the
mansion to which he had become presumptive heir. A happy pig with a
large family lay on one side of the room, and a stack of peat was
heaped up on the other side of the great open chimney. A broad, square
bed stood in the end of the room, raised about a foot from the ground.
The damp, uneven, earthen floor was unswept. On the backs of a few
chairs, upholstered with straw ropes, a succession of hens perched,
preliminary to flight to the cross-beams close up to the thatch. A
lean, long-backed, rough-haired yellow dog stood by his side smelling
him, without signs of welcome. Hugh listened to his uncle's hard,
rasping words, and in reply said:
"Are you going home soon?"
"You are at home now," declared his uncle. "This is the only home you
shall ever know, and you are beholden to me for it. Your father was
glad to be rid of you, and this is your gratitude to me! No airs here,
my fine fellow. Get to bed out of my way, and I'll find you something
to do in the morning."
But in the morning the child was unable to leave the bed where he had
lain across his uncle and aunt's feet, his slumbers incessantly
disturbed by the grunting, squealing pigs. Welsh arose early to let
out the animals, and then dragged little Hugh from his bed to resume
the responsibility of heirship. The child tottered to the floor. His
uncle's fierce imprecations could not exorcise fever and delirium, and
for many weeks little Hugh lingered between life and death. He
remained weak and unable to go out during the winter, but he made many
friends, of which the chief was the rough yellow dog. The child in
return loved the great shaggy creature with all the strength of his
poor crushed heart. But better than the devotion of the fowls, the pig
and the dog, his Aunt Mary conceived a great affection for him, and
grew to love him during his illness as her own child. When Welsh was
absent, she would give him an egg, or a little fresh butter from the
"meskin" prepared for market, or even a cup of peppermint tea; and
over this, she told him secretly the tragic story of the Bronte
family. In after years it was a satisfaction to Hugh to know that his
cowardly uncle was no Bronte after all, and not even an Irishman.
The spring came early that year, and with it health and vigor. Hugh's
aunt had told him of the burning of the old Bronte house. The squalor
and wretchedness of Welsh's home, into which so many things crept at
night, compared with the ruins of the house in which his father had
been reared, made a lasting impression upon Hugh's mind. But he was
not left long to such reflections. As soon as he was able to go, he
was sent to herd cattle, which were housed at night in the ruined
rooms of the burnt edifice, with his dog, Keeper, for a faithful
companion. Emily Bronte's love for her dog, which was actually named
Keeper, was a weak platonic affair compared with the tie that bound
the desolate boy and friendless dog together.
In no land has attachment to home so firm a grip of the heart as in
Ireland. Year followed year in slow procession, but Hugh grew up in
solitariness, and his heart never ceased to yearn for the lost friends
of his old home. His corduroy suit soon grew too small for him, and
when his boots became unwearable, he was obliged to go bare-footed.
His highest enjoyment was to be away with his dog somewhere, remote
from the espionage of Gallagher, and the violent blasphemy of Welsh.
But his idle days among the bees in the clover soon gave place to
sterner duties. He had to gather potatoes in sleet and rain, collect
stones from winter fields to drain bog-land, perform the drudgery of
an ill-cultivated farm from sunrise to sunset, and then thresh and
winnow grain in the barn until near midnight. His uncle hated him
fiercely and bitterly, and once told him that he could never beat him
when he did not deserve it, because, like a goat, he was always either
going to mischief, or coming from it.
Hugh found Gallagher's cunning malignity harder to endure than the
harsh cruelty of his uncle. The boy's clear instinct told him that
Gallagher was a bad man, but sometimes his pent-up heart would
overflow to the one human being near him in his working hours. When
Gallagher had got all the secrets of the boy from him, he would
denounce him to Welsh in such a way as to best stir up his cruelty; or
he would mock at Hugh's rags, and tell him that all of his evils had
come upon him because of his father's sins, assuring him that the
Devil would carry him away from the barn some night, as he had often
taken bad men's sons before.
The cruelties practised upon the boy were Gallagher's base revenge for
the whippings formerly administered to him by Hugh's father. Every
means that cunning could devise was employed to render the boy's life
miserable. He would purloin eggs, break the farming-tools, and maim
the cattle in order to have him beaten by his uncle, a ceremony which
he always managed to witness.