BUILDING THE ICE-HOUSES.--MATTHEW COLLINS'S GHOST.
At daybreak the gunners arose, and without disturbing the members of the
family, took some strong, hot coffee, prepared by the indefatigable
Creamer, and ate a breakfast, or rather lunch, of cold meats and bread
and butter, after which all proceeded to don their shooting costume,
which, being unlike that worn in any other sport, is worthy of
description here.
In ice-shooting, every color but pure white is totally inadmissible; for
the faintest shade of any other color shows black and prominent against
the spotless background of glittering ice-field and snow-covered cliffs.
Risk and his partner wore over their ordinary clothing long frocks of
white flannel, with white "havelocks" over their seal-skin caps, and
their gray, homespun pants were covered to the knee by seal-skin
Esquimaux boots--the best of all water-proof walking-gear for cold
weather. Risk carried the single ducking-piece before mentioned, but
Davies had a Blissett breech-loading double-barrel. They had chosen
their location to the north of the island, near a channel usually
opening early in the season, but now covered with ice that would have
borne the weight of an elephant. With much banter as to who should count
first blood, the party separated at the door; the younger Davies and
Creamer, with Kennedy and La Salle, plunging into the drifted fields to
the eastward, and in Indian file, trampling a track to be daily used
henceforward, until the snows should disappear forever. The two former
relied on over-frocks of strong cotton, and a kind of white night-caps,
while La Salle wore a heavy shooting-coat of white mole-skin, seal-skin
boots reaching to the knee, and armed with "crampets," or small iron
spikes, to prevent slipping, while a white cover slipped over his
Astrachan cap, completed his _outre_ costume. Kennedy, however, outshone
all others in the strangeness of his shooting apparel. Huge "arctics"
were strapped on his feet, from which seemed to spring, as from massive
roots, his small, thin form, clad in a scanty _robe de chambre_ of
cotton flannel, surmounted by a broad sou'wester, carefully covered by a
voluminous white pocket handkerchief. The general effect was that of a
gigantic mushroom carrying a heavy gun, and wearing a huge pair of blue
goggles.
La Salle alone of the four carried a huge single gun of number six
gauge, and carrying a quarter of a pound of heavy shot to tremendous
distances. The others used heavy muzzle-loading double-barrels. A brisk
walk of fifteen minutes brought them to the extremity of the island, and
from a low promontory they saw before them the Bay, and the East Bar,
the scene of their future labors.
Below them the Bar, marked by a low ridge, rising above the level of the
lower shallows,--for the tide was at ebb,--trended away nearly a league
into the spacious bay, covered everywhere with ice, level, smooth, and
glittering in the rising sun, save where, here and there, a huge white
hummock or lofty pinnacle, the fragments of some disintegrated berg,
drifted from Greenland or Labrador, rose along the Bar, where the early
winter gales had stranded them. Leaping down upon the ice-foot, the
party hastened to their respective stands, nearly a mile out on the
Bar--Davies being some four hundred yards from that of La Salle.
The "stand" of the former was a water-tight box of pine, painted white,
and about six feet square by four deep, which was quickly sunk into the
snow-covered ice to about half its depth; the snow and ice removed by
the shovel, being afterwards piled against the sides, beaten hard and
smooth, and finally cemented by the use of water, which in a few moments
froze the whole into the semblance of one of the thousands of hummocks,
which marked the presence of crusted snow-drifts on the level ice.
La Salle, however, had provided better for comfort and the vicissitudes
of sea-fowl shooting; occupying a broad, flat-bottomed boat, furnished
with steel-shod runners, and "half-decked" fore-and-aft, further
defended from the sea and spray by weather-boards, which left open a
small well, capable of seating four persons. Four movable boards,
fastened by metal hooks, raised the sides of the well to a height of
nearly three feet, and a fifth board over the top formed a complete
housing to the whole fabric. La Salle and Kennedy swung the boat until
her bow pointed due east, leaving her broadsides bearing north and
south; and then, excavating a deeper furrow in the hollow between two
hummocks, the boat was slid into her berth, and the broken masses of icy
snow piled against and over her, until nothing but her covering-board
was visible.
A huge pile of decoys stood near, of which about two dozen were of wood,
such as the Micmac Indian whittles out with his curved _waghon_, or
single-handed draw-knife, in the long winter evenings. He has little
cash to spend for paint, and less skill in its use, but scorches the
smooth, rounded blocks to the proper shade of grayish brown, and, with a
little lampblack and white lead, using his fore-finger in lieu of a
brush, manages to imitate the dusky head and neck with its snowy ring,
and the white feathers of breast and tail.
These rude imitations, with some more artistic ones, painted in profile
on sheet-iron shapes, of life-size, and a few cork-and-canvas
"floaters," were quickly placed in a long line heading to the wind,
which was north-west, and tailing down around the boat, the southernmost
"stools" being scarce half a gun-shot from the stands.
By the time these arrangements were completed it was nearly midday, and
the sky, so clear in the morning, had become clouded and threatening.
The chilly north-west breeze, which had made the shelter of their boats
very desirable, had died away, and a calm, broken only by variable puffs
of wind, succeeded.
"We shall have rain or snow to-night," remarked La Salle to Kennedy,
who, after a few moments of watching, had curled himself down in the dry
straw, and begun to peruse a copy of the Daily Tribune, his inseparable
companion.
"Yes, I dare say. Greeley says--"
What Greeley said was never known, for at that moment a distant sound
rung like a trumpet-call on the ear of La Salle, and amid the gathering
vapors of the leaden eastern sky, his quick eye marked the wedge-like
phalanx of the distant geese, whose leader had already marked the long
lines of decoys, which promised so much of needed rest and welcome
companionship, but concealed in their treacherous array nothing but
terror and death.
"There they are, Kennedy! Throw your everlasting paper down, and get
your gun ready. Put your ammunition where you can get at it quick; if
you want to reload. Ah, here comes the wind in good earnest!"
A gust of wind out of the north-east whistled across the floes, and the
next moment a thick snow-squall shut out the distant shores, the
lowering icebergs, the decoys of their friends, in fact, everything a
hundred yards away.
"Where are the geese?" asked Kennedy, as, with their backs to the wind,
the two peered eagerly into the impenetrable _pouderie_ to leeward.
"They were about two miles away, in line of that hummock, when the
squall set in. I'll try a call, and see if we can get an answer."
"Huk! huk!" There was a long silence, unbroken save by the whistle of
the blasts and the metallic rattle of the sleety snow:
"Ah-huk! ah-huk! ah--"
"There they are to windward. Down, close; keep cool, and fire at the
head of the flock, when I say fire!" said La Salle, hurriedly, for
scarce sixty yards to windward, with outstretched necks and widespread
pinions, headed by their huge and wary leader, the weary birds, eager to
alight, but apprehensive of unseen danger, swung round to the
south-west, and then, setting their wings, with confused cries, "scaled"
slowly up against the storm to the hindmost decoy.
"Hu-uk! hu-uk!" called La Salle, slowly and more softly.
"Huk! hu-uk!" answered the huge leader, not a score of yards away, and
scarce ten feet from the ice.
"Let them come until you see their eyes. Keep cool! aim at the leader!
Ready!--fire!"
Bang! bang! roared the heavy double-barrel, as the white snow-cloud was
lit up for an instant with the crimson tongues of levin-fire, and the
huge leader, with a broken wing, fell on the limp body of his dead mate.
Bang! growled the ponderous boat-gun, as it poured a sheet of deadly
flame into the very eyes of the startled rearguard.
A mingled and confused clamor followed, as the demoralized flock
disappeared in the direction of the next ice-house, from which, a few
seconds later, a double volley told that Davies and Creamer had been
passed, at close range, by the scattered and frightened birds.
La Salle reloaded, and then leaped upon the ice, and gave chase to the
gander, which he soon despatched, and returning, picked up Kennedy's
other bird, with three which lay where "the Baby" had hurled her four
ounces of "treble B's." Composing the dead bodies in the attitude of
rest among the other decoys, he returned to the boat, and for the first
time perceived that the geese were not the only bipeds which had
suffered in the late bombardment.
Leaning over the side-boards of the boat, the fastenings of which were
broken or unfastened, appeared Kennedy, apparently engaged in deep
meditation, for his head was bowed until the broad rim of his
preposterous head-covering effectually concealed his face from view.
"Here, Kennedy, both your birds are dead, and noble ones they are."
"I'm glad of it, for I'm nearly dead, too," came in a melancholy snuffle
from the successful shot, at whose feet La Salle for the first time
perceived a huge pool of blood.
"Good Heavens! are you hurt? Did your gun burst?" asked La Salle,
anxiously.
"No, I've nothin' but the nose-bleed and a broken shoulder, I reckon.
Braced my back against that board so as to get good aim, and I guess the
pesky gun was overloaded; and when she went off it felt like a horse had
kicked me in the face, and the wheel had run over my shoulder."
"Didn't you know better than to put your shoulder between the butt of a
gun like that and a half ton of ice?" asked La Salle. "Why, you've
broken two brass hooks, and knocked down all the ice-blocks on that
side. Can't I do anything to stop that bleeding? Lay down, face upward,
on the ice. Hold an icicle to the back of your neck."
"No, thank you; I guess it will soon stop of itself. A little while ago
I cut some directions for curing nose-bleed out of the Tribune, and I
guess they're in my pocket-book. Yes, here they are: 'Stuff the nostrils
with pulverized dried beef, or insert a small plug of cotton-wool,
moistened with brandy, and rolled in alum.' I'll carry some brandy and
alum the next time I go goose-shooting."
"Or provide a lunch of dried beef," laughed La Salle; "but you had
better keep your shoulder free after this, and you'll have no trouble.
There, the bleeding has stopped, and you'd better load up, while I clean
away this blood, and cover the boards with clean ice."
In a short time the marks of the disaster were removed, and the hunters
again took shelter from the increasing storm, which had set in harder
than ever. The snow, however, inconvenienced the friends but little, and
as Kennedy could not read, they talked over the cause of his little
accident.
"I had no idea that a gun could kick with such force. I shan't dare to
fire her again, if another flock puts in an appearance," said the
disabled goose-shooter.
"Had your shoulder been free, you would not have felt the recoil, which,
even in a heavy, well-made gun, is equal to the fall of a weight fifty
to sixty pounds from a height of one foot, and in overloaded or
defective guns, exceeds twice and even three times that. It is a wonder
that your shoulder was not broken, and a still greater wonder that you
killed your birds."
At this moment a hail came from the direction of the other boat, which
was answered by La Salle, and in a few moments, after several halloos
and replies, two human forms were seen through the scud, and Ben and
Creamer made their appearance, gun in hand. A brace of geese, held by
the necks, dangled by the side of the latter, and showed that their
shots had not been thrown away.
"This storm will last all night," said Davies, anxiously, "and we're
only an hour to sundown. Creamer, here, started a little while ago to
find out what you had shot. He lost his way, and was going right out to
sea past me, when I called to him, and I thought we had better try to
get ashore before it gets any darker."
"Does any one know in just what direction the Point lies?" asked
Creamer, with that "dazed" expression peculiar to persons who have been
"lost."
"Our boat lies nearly in a direct line east and west, and a line
intersecting her stem and stern will fall a few rods inside of the
island. We are about three quarters of a mile from the house, and by
counting thirteen hundred and twenty paces in that direction, we should
find ourselves near the shore, just below the house, if our course was
correct," said La Salle.
"Yes," said Creamer, "but no man can keep a straight line in a storm
like this, when one hummock looks just like another, and there isn't a
star to lay one's course by."
"I once saw in the Tribune," said Kennedy, eagerly, "a way to lay a
farm-line by poles stuck in the ground. It also recommended 'blazing'
trees in the woods for the same purpose."
"To blazes with yer poles and blazed trees, Mr. Kennedy, saving yer
presence; all the newspapers in Boston can't teach me anything in laying
a straight line where I can have or make marks that can be seen; but
there are no poles here, and we couldn't see them if we had them."
"Creamer, don't get so desperate. Kennedy has furnished the idea, and I
think I can get the party ashore without any trouble. Now let all get
ready to start, and I'll lay the course for the others."
In a few moments the decoys were stacked to prevent drifting, and the
boat covered so that no snow could penetrate. A pair of small oars were
first, however, removed, which were set upright at either extremity of
the boat, and in direct line with the keel.
"There is our proper direction," said La Salle. "Now, Creamer, take your
birds, gun, and one decoy, and align yourself with these oars when you
have counted one hundred paces. When you have done so, face about and
turn the beak of the decoy towards the boat. Now, Ben," continued he,
when this was done, "walk up within twenty yards of Creamer, and let me
align you; Kennedy will go with you, and, counting one hundred paces
beyond Creamer, will be aligned by you. You will then be relieved by me,
and placing yourself behind Kennedy, will direct Creamer to the right
position, when he has paced one hundred yards farther. At every other
hundred yards an iron decoy must be placed, pointing towards the boat."
The plan thus conceived was carried out until thirteen hundred paces had
been counted, when La Salle, begging all to keep their places, hurried
to the front. It was now nearly dark, and nothing but driving snow was
anywhere visible. Creamer was at the lead, but disconsolate and
terrified, having utterly lost his reckoning.
"We're astray, sir, completely," he said, hopelessly. "Mother of
Heaven!" he ejaculated, as a dim radiance shone through the scud a
little to their rear, "there's the 'Packet Light,' and we are lost men."
Buffeted by the heavy gusts and sharp sleet which froze on the face as
it fell, La Salle felt for a moment a thrill of the superstitious fear
which had overcome the usually stout nerves of his companion; but his
cooler nature reasserted itself, although he knew that no house stood in
the direction of the mysterious light, which seemed at times almost to
disappear, and then to shine with renewed radiance.
"There is nothing earthly about that thing, sir. Macquarrie's house is a
long piece from the shore, and Lund's is hidden by the woods. See; look
there, sir, for the love of Heaven!" and the stout sailor trembled like
a child as the light, describing a sharp curve, rose ten or twelve feet
higher into the air, where it seemed to oscillate violently for a few
seconds, and then to be at rest.
"Let us hail it, any way," said La Salle; "perhaps we have made some
house on the opposite shore."
"We haven't gone a mile, sir; and as for hailing _that_, sir, I'd as
soon speak the Flying Dutchman, and ask her captain aboard to dinner."
"Well, I'll try it, anyhow.--'Halloo! Light, ahoy!'" he shouted, placing
his hands so as to aid the sound against the wind, which blew across the
line of direction between them and the mysterious light. Again and again
the hail was repeated, but no answer followed.
"You may call until doomsday, but they who have lit that lamp will never
answer mortal hail again. They died thirty falls ago, amid frost and
falling snow, ay, and foaming breakers, on this very bar, and the men on
shore saw the light shiver, and swing, and disappear, as we saw it just
now."
"Well, I don't believe in that kind of light, and I, for one, am going
to see what it is. Now, don't move from your place, but watch the light,
and if you hear the report, or see the flash, of my gun, answer it once
with both barrels, counting three between the first and second shots. If
I fire a second time, call all hands and come ashore."
"Well, Master Charley, I wouldn't venture it for all on the face of the
earth; but we must do something, and the Lord be between ye and harm.
See, now," he added, in a lower tone, "you're a heretic, I know, the
Virgin pardon ye; but I'll say a Pater and two Aves, and if you never
come back--"
"There, there, Hughie, old fellow, don't go mad with your foolish fears.
Pray for yourself and us, if you please, for it is a terrible night, and
we may well stand in need of prayer; but do your duty like a man. Stand
in your place until I summon you, and then come, if a score of ghosts
stand in the way."
The next second Hughie stood alone, watching the tremulous radiance of
the mysterious beacon, which La Salle rapidly approached, not without
fear, it may be, but with a settled determination superior to the
weakness which he felt, for the danger, exposure, and settled fears of
his companion had almost transmitted their contagion to his own mind. As
he drew nearer, however, the apparition resolved itself into a large
reflecting lantern, suspended from a pole, in the hands of Captain Lund,
who had headed a party to assist their friends to find the shore. The
approach of our hero was not at first noticed, as he came up the bank a
little to the rear of the party.
"I'm sure, gentlemen, I don't know what to advise; and yet we can't let
them perish on the floes. We had better get the guns, and build a
bonfire on the cape below; perhaps they may see it; but it wasn't for
nothing that I saw those men the other night. Poor La Salle laughed at
it, but if he was here now--"
[Illustration: CAPT. LUND HEADED A PARTY TO ASSIST THEIR FRIENDS. Page
32.]
"He is here, captain, thanks to your lantern, although Hughie, who is
out on the ice yonder, shivering with fright and fear, vowed that it was
the 'Packet Light,' and would scarcely let me come to see what it was.
But this is no time to tell long stories; so I'll give the signal at
once."
Creamer, fearfully watching the luminous spot, saw suddenly beside a jet
of red flame, as the heavy gun roared the welcome signal that all was
well; and scarcely a half moment later a still heavier report called the
perplexed and wearied party to the shore, where they found themselves
but about ten minutes' walk from the house.
Half an hour later, the bustling housewife summoned them to the spacious
table, which was crowded with a profusion of smoking-hot viands, among
which two huge geese, roasted to a turn, attracted the attention of all.
Mr. Risk saw the inquiring looks of the others, and "rose to explain."
"Davies and I claim 'first blood,' as you see, having killed this pair,
which, early in the morning, flew in from the westward, and were just
lighting among our decoys, when we each dropped our bird. We came in
early, seeing the storm brewing, and, being warned by Indian Peter, we
escaped much inconvenience, if not danger, and were able to supply a
brace of hot geese for supper. We shall expect a similar contribution to
the general comfort from each party in rotation, in accordance with the
ancient usage of professors of our venerable and honorable mystery.
"Well, Lund," he continued, "the omen is not yet verified, although the
party was nearly lost, and would have been altogether, if Hughie here
had had his way, when he took your lantern for a ghost."
"Well, it does seem foolish, now that it is all over; but I have seen
the 'Packet Light' myself too often not to believe in it, and so I was
as simply frightened at the captain's lantern as the people of Loughrea
were at Matthew Collins's ghost."
La Salle noted the look of annoyance which clouded the usually placid
brow of their host, and hastened to allay the threatened storm. Rising
from his seat, he begged the attention of the company.
"As we are to spend our evenings together for some weeks, it seems to me
that it would not be a bad plan to require of each of our company, in
rotation, some tale of wonder or personal adventure. Hughie has just
referred to what must be an interesting and little known local legend of
his mother isle. I move that we adjourn to the kitchen, and pass an hour
in listening to it."
The proposition met with general favor, and rising, the company passed
into the unplastered kitchen, through whose thin walls and poorly
seasoned sashes came occasional little puffs of the furious wind, which
whistled and howled like a demon without. The gunners seated themselves
around the huge fireplace, in which a pile of dried gnarled roots
filled the room with light and warmth, and lighting pipe or cigar, as
fancy dictated, gave a respectful attention to the promised story.
As will be gathered from the preceding conversation, Creamer spoke
excellent English, but as is often the case when excited, he lapsed at
times into a rich brogue. This he did to a considerable degree in
relating what he was pleased to call the story of
MATTHEW COLLINS'S GHOST.
"I was only a babe in arms when my father crossed the ocean to settle
down on the Fane estate as one of the number of settlers, called for by
the terms of the original grant. His father was a _warm_ houlder in
Errigle-Trough, and had my father been patient and industhrious, he
would in a few years have rinted as good an hundhred acres as there was
in that section. But the agent tould of land at a shillin' an acre, with
wood in plenty, and trees that grew sugar, and game and fish for every
one, and my father thought that he was provided for for life, when, with
his lease in his pocket and a free passage, he stepped on board the ould
ship that bore us to this little island.
"He wasn't far wrong, for he died when I was fifteen, worn out with
clearin' woodland, and working all winter in the deep snow at lumbering,
to keep us in bread and herrin'. He was a disappointed, worn-out old man
at forty, and it was only when he told of the good old times of his
youth that I ever seen him smile at all, at all.
"Matthew Collins was a well-to-do farmer of the neighboring parish of
Errigle-Keeran, and had a snug cottage and barn, with a good team of
plough-horses, a cow, two goats, and a pig, beside poulthry enough to
keep him in egg-milk, and even an occasional fowl or two on a birthday,
or holy feast. He married Katty Bane, one of the prettiest girls and
greatest coquettes in the whole parish. She, however, made him a good
wife and careful manager, until the events of my sthory.
"One day, late in the fall, Matthew harnessed his horses in a
hay-riggin', and drove off to the bog, five miles away, to haul in his
winter's firin'. He wrought all day, getting the dried turfs into a
pile, and had just half loaded his team, when a stranger, decently
dressed, came up to him, and asked if his name was Matthew Collins.
"'That, indeed, is the name that's on me,' said Matthew; 'and what might
you be wantin' of me?'
"'I've sorrowful news for you, Mat,' said the stranger. 'Your sister
Rose, that married my poor cousin Tim Mulloy, beyant the mountains, is
dead, and I'm sint to bid ye to the berryin' to-morrow.'
"For a few moments Matthew gave way to a natural feeling of grief at the
loss of his sister; but he soon bethought himself that he was five miles
from home, and that a circuitous road of at least twenty miles lay
between his house and the parish of his sister's husband.
"'I can never do it, that's certain,' said he to the stranger. 'It's
five miles home, and there's changin' my clothes, and a twenty-mile
drive over a road that it's timptin' Providence to attimpt in the dark.'
"'It's a great bother, intirely," said the stranger, reflectively.
'Musha! I have it. Take my clothes, and take the short cut across the
Devil's Nose. In three hours you'll be at the wake, and I'll dhrive the
team home and tell the good woman, and be round with a saddle-horse
before mornin'.'
"'Faith it's yourself that's the dacent thing, any how; and I'm sorry
that I can't be at home to thrate you with a bottle of the rale poteen.
Never mind; tell Nancy it's in the thatch above the dure; and you're
welcome to it all the same as if I were there myself.'
"'We won't part without a glass, any how,' said the stranger,
laughingly. 'I've a pint bottle of the rale stuff, and some boiled eggs,
and we'll soon have a couple of the shells emptied, in the shake of a
lamb's tail, and thin we'll change clothes and dhrink to your safe
journey.'
"Accordingly the two exchanged clothes, and sat for half an hour, while
the stranger described the last illness of the deceased, and the respect
shown her memory by the people of her parish.
"'Divil a whole head will be left in the parish, if they dhrink all the
whiskey; and there's stacks of pipes, and lashin's of tobacky, with tay
and cakes, and the house in a blaze with mould candles. Is the road azy
to find?' continued he. 'For I'm goin', mylone, where I never was
afore.'
"'It's as plain as a pikestaff to the very door. Only take tent of the
bridge at the slough, two miles beyant; for there's a broken balk that
may upset ye.'
"'I'll warrant I'll look out for that. Have one more noggin. _Here's a
safe journey and a dacint berrin' to us both._'
"With this rather Irish toast, the two separated, Matthew seeing the
stranger safe off the moss, and then commencing his short but fatiguing
journey over the narrow mountain path which lay between him and his
destination.
"Long before sunset, the careful Katty had had the delph teapot
simmering among the hot peat ashes; and the well-browned bacon and mealy
potatoes, carefully covered to retain the heat, only awaited the return
of 'the master' from the distant bog. They had no children; but Andy,
Katty's brother (a _gossoon_ of thirteen), eyed the simple supper
anxiously, going from time to time to the door to see if he could see
the well-known gray horses coming by the old buckthorn, where the little
lane joined the main road.
"The sunset, the night, came on, and Katty became hungry and out of
temper.
"'Andy, _alannah_,' said she, 'run to the hill beyant, and try can you
see aught of the masther; for I'm tired wid the day's spinnin', and
hungry, and wake.'
"The boy went, but returned, saying that no team was in sight.
"'Thin, Andy, jewel, we'll have our supper anyhow; for the tay'll be
black wid thrawin', and the bacon and praties spilt intirely.'
"Accordingly the two sat down and finished their evening meal, expecting
every moment to hear the cheery voice of Matthew as he urged his
_garrons_ with their heavy load up the steep lane beside the cottage.
"About nine o'clock, the wife became alarmed, and with Andy went to a
neighbor's. Tim O'Connell, the village blacksmith, had just fallen
asleep after a hard day's work, and woke in no very amiable frame of
mind as Katty rapped at the door.
"'Who's there at all at this time of night?' said he, gruffly.
"'Only meself, Katty Collins, and Andy,' said Katty, rather dolorously,
for she was now thoroughly alarmed.
"'Alice, _colleen_, up and unbar the dure. Come in, neighbor, and tell
us what is the matther at all.'
"'O, Tim! Matthew's been gone all day to the bog, and isn't home yet.
Could ye go wid the lad down the road, and see if anything has happened
to himself or the bastes, the craters?'
"It was not like Tim O'Connell to refuse, and, calling his assistant in
the forge, young Larry Callaghan, he lighted a tallow candle, which he
placed in a battered tin lantern, and hastened out on his neighborly
errand, while Katty was easily persuaded by Mrs. O'Connell to 'stay by
the fire' until the men returned.
"The party saw nothing of the team or its owner until the dangerous road
led into a narrow but deep ravine, at whose bottom an ill-made causeway
led across a dangerous slough.
"'Holy Virgin, boys, but he's been upset! There's the cart across the
road, and one of the bastes in the wather; but where's the masther at
all? Come on, b'ys; we'll thry and save the _garrons_ any way.'
"They found the cart upset as described, and one of the horses exhausted
with struggling under the pole. The other, saved only from drowning by
the fact that its collar had held its head against the bank, had
evidently kicked and splashed until the water was thick with the black
muck stirred up from the bottom.
"It was only the work of a few moments to free the horse in the road,
and then the three proceeded to unloose the other, and draw him to a
less steep part of the embankment, where, making a sudden effort, with a
mighty plunge, he gained the road, and stood trembling and shaking
beside his companion.
"'Well done, our side,' said Tim, exultingly. 'Now for the masther.
They've run away I doubt, and he's.--What's the matter with you, Andy,
at all? What do you see? Mother of Heaven! it's himself, sure enough!'
"Tossed up from the shallows by the convulsive plunge of the steed,
whose heavy hoofs, in his first mad struggles, had beaten the head out
of all shape of humanity, in the narrow lane of light cast through the
door of the open lantern, lay the dead farmer, with his worn frieze coat
torn and blackened, and his black hair knotted with pond weeds, and
clotted with gore.
"It was scarce an hour later that the emptied cart, slowly drawn by its
exhausted span, bore to the little cottage a dead body, amid the wails
of scores of the simple peasants, and the hysterical and passionate
grief of the bereaved wife. It was with the greatest difficulty that she
was induced to refrain from looking at the dead body; although so
terribly was it mangled that the coroner's jury performed their duties
with the greatest reluctance, and the obsequies were ordered for the
very next day.
"The body was accordingly placed in a coffin, above which deals,
supported on trestles, and covered by white sheets, bore candles, plates
of cut tobacco, pipes, and whiskey. Although but little of the night
remained after the coroner had performed his duties, yet so quickly did
the news of the accident spread that hundreds of the neighbors came in
before morning 'to the wake of poor Matthew! God rest his sowl.'
"The following evening, an unusually large procession followed the
remains to their last resting-place. Nothing could have been more
heart-broken than the bearing of the widow. Tears, sobs, and cries
proclaimed her anguish incessantly, notwithstanding the attempts of
friends to assuage her sorrow.
"As they drew near the graveyard, one Lanty Casey, an old flame of
Katty's, tried to comfort her in his rough way.
"'Katty, _avourneen_, don't cry so, _avillish_. There's may be happiness
for you yet, and there's them left that will love ye as well as him
that's gone--if they'd be let.'
"Lanty was a noted lad at fair and pattern, but he got a box on the ear
that made his head ring until the body was safely deposited in the
grave.
"'Who are ye that talks love to a broken-hearted woman at the very
grave? O, Matthew, Matthew, that I should live to see this day! _Ochone,
ochone!_ are you dead? are you dead?'
"On her way home to her solitary hearth, Katty saw ahead of her the
hapless Lanty, and hastened to overtake him.
"'Lanty, _avick_," said she, sweetly, 'what were you saying there
beyant, a while agone?'
"'What I'm not likely to say again. I'm not fond of such ansthers as ye
gev me; an' if ye don't know when you're well off--'
"'There, there, Lanty, dear; I'm sorry for that same, but what wud the
people say, an' my husband not berrid? But I mustn't be seen talkin'
more wid you. I'll be alone to-night when the _gossoon_ is asleep, and
ye can dhrap in, and tell me what ye like, av ye plaze.'
"At about ten o'clock that night, the Rev. Patrick Mulcahy, while
talking over the funeral, and the sad events which had led to it, was
asked for by the young lad, Katty's brother.
"'Well, Andy, lad, what's wanting now? Is your sister feeling better,
_avick_?'
"'Yes, sir; and she sint me, your riverence, to see wud ye come down and
marry her to Lanty Casey the night.'
"'Are your wits gone _ashaughran_, ye _gomeral_? Or is Katty run mad
altogether?'
"'It's just as I say, your riverence; and she says she'll pay you a
pound English for that same.'
"'And I say that if I go down there to-night, that I'll take my whip
with me to the shameless hussy. The Jezabel, and she nearly dyin' with
grief this evening.'
"'An' you won't marry them, sir?'
"A staggering box on the ear with a heavy slipper flung from across the
room sent the unfortunate messenger whimpering out of the door; while
the priest, honest man, stormed up and down the room until the
housekeeper entered with a waiter, on which were arrayed a decanter,
some tumblers, a lemon, and a large tumbler full of loaf sugar.
"'Come, Peter,' said he, more calmly, 'reach the kettle from the hob,
and we'll let the jade go. Perhaps she's out of her head, poor thing!
and will forget all about what she says to-night by to-morrow morning.
What are you grinning at there?'
"'Do you remimber the coult ye won from me whin I bet that ye couldn't
light your pipe wid the sun?'
"'Yis, Pether. Ah, I had ye thin, sharp as you count yourself!'
"'Well, now, I'll bet the very moral of him against himself that
Katty'll send up again--if she don't come herself.'
"'Done! for twice as much if you will. She doesn't dare--'
"'Good evening, your riverence,' said a woman's voice. And in the
doorway stood Lanty Casey and Katty Collins.
"'We've come up, your riverence, to see if you'd plaze to marry us this
night. They tould us you wor angry, sur, and, indade, I don't blame you;
for you don't know all. The man who lies dead beyant was able to give me
a home, and to keep a roof over the heads of my poor father and mother,
and I gave up Lanty here for him. Now, sir, if you'll marry us, I'll
give you the pig down below--and a finer's not in the parish; and if
not--'
"The speaker paused, and, touching the arm of her companion, who
evidently feared to speak, retreated into the kitchen to await the
decision of Father Patrick, who was almost bursting with chagrin at the
loss of his wager, and anger at the boldness of his parishioner.
"Peter laughed, silently enjoying his brother's discomfiture, and then
suddenly broke out,--
"'Now, what's the use, sir, of spitin' yourself? You've lost the coult,
and the woman is bound to have her way. Sure, an' if you don't tie the
knot, all they're to do is to sind over to Father Cahill--'
"'The hedge priest--is it? No, I'll marry them. Let them come in, Mrs.
Hartigan, but no blessin' can come on such a rite as this.'
"Without a word of congratulation, the priest performed the service of
his church, and in silence the pair proceeded to the cottage of the
bride, where they fastened the doors and windows securely, and retired.
The rising moon lighted up the surrounding scenery, and the priest and
his brother sat later than usual over their 'night-caps' of hot Irish
whiskey.
"'Peter,' said Father Mulcahy, 'sind young Costigan down for the pig.
Perhaps to-morrow Katty will rue her bargain, and we won't get the
crathur.'
"Costigan (a tight little lad of fourteen), roused from the settle-bed
by the kitchen fire, soon procured a short cord and a whip, and set off
on his rather untimely errand.
"A few moments before, a man dressed in holyday garb tried the doors
and windows of the cottage, and, finding them securely fastened,
murmured,--
"''Tis frighted she is, an' I away, an' tired, too, wid spinnin', I'll
be bound. Well, I'll not rise her now. There's clane sthraw in the barn,
an' I'll slape there till mornin'.'
"The tired traveller had hardly laid himself down, with his head on a
sheaf of oats, when he saw a youth enter the barn, and, deliberately
taking a cord from his pocket, proceed to affix it to one of the hind
legs of his much-prized pig, which resented the insult with a tremendous
squealing.
"Matthew rose quietly, and lowered himself to the floor, catching a
bridle rein, and getting between the trespasser and the wall.
"'I don't know what thievish crew claims ye, but I'll lay they'll see
the marks of my hand-write under your shirt to-morrow,' said Matthew,
savagely; but to his surprise the lad gave a single shriek, and sank
down as if in a fit. A dash of water from the stable bucket recovered
him somewhat, although his mind seemed to wander.
"'Holy angels be about us!--an' him dead and berrid--his very self--come
back again!' And broken sentences of similar import were hurriedly
murmured with closed eyes, as if to shut out some hideous sight; and the
angry farmer was disarmed completely by the evident terror of the boy,
who at last rose, fearfully opened his eyes, and looked around.
"'Yes, ye little thafe of the world, I've come in time--'
"With a meaningless yell, or rather shriek of terror, the boy rushed out
of the door, fell on the frosty roadway, tearing his clothes and cutting
through the skin of both knees; and heeding nothing but the terror
behind, sprang again to his feet, and rushed down the lane and along the
moonlit road, until, panting, bleeding, and breathless, he rushed into
the priest's dining-room.
"'O, yer riverince, he's come back!' was all that the boy could find
breath to say for a moment; and Peter, who was rather irascible, took up
the discourse at once.
"'It's yourself that's come back in a fine plight, you graceless,
rioting, fighting, thaving young scullion. Whose cottage have ye been
skylarkin' round now? And where's the pig ye was sint for, at all, at
all?'
"'Peace, Pether, and let me discoorse him. Don't ye know that when I
sent ye for the dues of the church, ye was engaged in its sarvice,--in
holy ordhers, as it were? And how comes it, then, that you come back
without the pig, and looking as frighted as if Matthew Collins himself
had come back?'
"'And so he has masther, dear,' said the poor boy. 'O, _wirra_, _wirra_,
but afther this night I'll never be out mylone again. I shall always
think that I see him forninst me, as I met him beyant, the night.'
"'Met Matthew Collins? The gossoon's crazy,' said the priest.
"'The young devil is lying, more likely. The dead don't come back to
frighten honest folk, who want only their own,' said Peter, scornfully.
"'Now, Costigan, go back at wanst, and fetch the pig,' said Father
Mulcahy, firmly, but kindly. 'Ye'll be ready enough to ate him this
winther.'
"'O, masther, don't send me again! Ate that pig? An' if the pope himself
said grace, I'd sooner starve than ate a collop of the crater. Why,
either his sperit, or the devil in his shape, kapes watch over it; and
all the money in Dublin wouldn't timpt me there agin after dark.'
"'Well, sir,' said Peter, savagely, 'the boy's frikened at somethin',
that's certin'; and we shan't get the crather up here the night at all,
unless it's done soon. It's only a stip just, and I'll go and get the
pig, and find out what frighted the lad--a loose horse or cow, I'll be
bound.'
"Accordingly, Peter set off on his errand, accompanied by Costigan, who
went only on condition that he should not enter the barn, and only
consented to go at all under threat of a tremendous thrashing if he
refused.
"Scarcely an hour, therefore, had elapsed before Matthew was again
awakened from sleep by the intrusion of a second midnight visitor.
"'Where is the baste, any way?' asked the man, in gruff, angry tones.
"'He's right at the ind of the haggard, in the right hand corner,'
tremulously answered a boyish voice from the distance of a few rods.
"'Faith, but the villains is intent on my pig, any how,' muttered the
perplexed but angry Matthew, as he saw the struggles of his favorite
when the robber attempted to secure a cord to her hind leg, which he
seemed to find a difficult task.
"'The curse of Crom'll upon ye for an unaisy brute, any how, Ned! Ned
Costigan, I say, come, ye little divil, and help me tie the knot, ye
frikened _omadhaun_. There's nothing here to be afraid of, barrin' the
gray horses an' the ould cow. Come, I say.--The Vargin and St. Pather
presarve me! Are ye come back?'
"'Yes, I've come back, and ye'll go back to whoever sint ye, with my
mark on yer shoulthers,' said Matthew, grimly, as, suiting the action to
the word, he drew a stout stick from his sleeping-place, and brought it
down with emphasis upon the head and shoulders of the priest's brother,
who, though ordinarily considered 'as good a man' as there was in the
parish, could scarcely persuade himself that he was not the victim of a
terrible dream. Although he mechanically grappled and strove with his
fearful antagonist, he felt the fierce breath of a demon, as his breast
pressed against that of the dead, and the fierce eyes of a fiend, or an
avenging ghost, glared into his, as they fought and wrestled, now in
the dark shadows, and now in the narrow lane of moonlight, which peered
through the open door. It was no wonder that even the instinct of
self-preservation failed to nerve him to meet such a foe, and that
Matthew found it a surprisingly easy matter to give him a terrible
beating.
"Fifteen minutes later, Peter, wan and covered with cuts and bruises,
entered the priest's house, and swooned on the threshold. It was nearly
daylight before he recovered himself sufficiently to corroborate the
story of the lad, that the ghost of Matthew Collins jealously watched
over his favorite pig.
"'An' why didn't he watch his wife too, Peter?' asked the priest,
archly.
"'Faix! an' I dunno. But the same man set great store by that same
baste--bad scran to her! I wish you had been wid us to discoorse the
shpirit, and sind him back to _his place_.'
"'Faith, and only that it's daylight now, an' near time for matins, I'd
just step over, and show ye the powers that are delegated to the clargy,
avick. I'd like to see if Matthew Collins would dare to face me afther
I've buried him dacently.'
"'An' married his wife again,' said Peter, with a feeble attempt at
pleasantry.
"'I've doubts if I did wisely there, Peter. Sure and if the
ungratefulness of those they love is enough to keep the dead from
resting quietly, Matthew Collins should be one of the first to come
back and haunt his dishonored homestead.'
"'But if all the dead min that lave wifes aisily consoled for their
loss, were to come back, there'd be plinty of haunted houses,' said
Peter, pithily.
"'Well, we'll watch there the night, and try to find out the mysthery,'
said the priest. 'But I'm off to matins. Be sure and see that Mrs.
Hartigan has the breakfast ready when I return.'
"The bell calling the peasantry to their morning service awoke Matthew,
who hastened to his cottage, which he found as closely barred and bolted
as the night before.
"'She's gone to chapel long before this. Well, I'll have a wash at the
spring, and away to church.' Saying which, he carefully picked the straw
from his coat, cleaned his dusty shoes with a wisp of dry grass, and
after a thorough washing of face and hands, he took up the worn felt hat
of the stranger, and set off down the lane.
"As he got nearly to the main road, a group of neighbors passed along;
but instead of answering his cheerful greeting, they crossed themselves,
and hastened on with longer strides, turning from time to time, and
looking at him in a most puzzling manner.
"'Sure, the folks are mad,' muttered poor Matthew, 'or else 'tis late we
are--that must be it. Well, we can run, any way.' And suiting the action
to the word, he began to run after his neighbors, who, terribly
frightened, strove with all their might to preserve undiminished the
distance between them.
"'Faix, half the people is late--or is it a fire is ragin'? Well, I
dunno, but I'll be on hand any how.' And Matthew, taking a long breath,
pressed on after the flying crowd, which grew larger each moment, as
group after group of staid and devout worshipers recognized the features
of their dead neighbor, and joined the panting crowd, which, crossing
and blessing themselves, and shrieking and praying with terror, sought
the protection of the church, and having, as they deemed, found a refuge
from the apparition, sank exhausted into their seats, to thank God for a
place of safety.
"But they had reckoned without their host, for the next moment the dead
man strode through the arched door, and deliberately glided towards his
accustomed seat. In speechless horror the people, with one accord, arose
and rushed to the altar for protection, while many rushed out through
the rear entrances, to carry the terrible news far and wide.
"Pale, but resolute, attended by two trembling altar boys with bell and
censer, Father Mulcahy advanced in front of the astonished cause of this
unwonted disturbance.
"'In the name of the Blessed Thrinity, I command you to retire from this
blissid an' sacred church to the place from whence you came.'
"'An' why wud I go back, your riverince? Shure, the body's buried, an'
I've no call there now.'
"'Why, then, can you find no rest in the grave?'
"This last question 'broke the camel's back.'
"'H---- to my--There, the Lord forgive me for cursin', and in this
blessed an' howly place. But are all the people mad--prastes and clarks,
payrents and childher? Or am I losin' my sinses, or enchanted by the
fairies?'
"'Matthew,' said the priest, solemnly, 'are you alive an' well?'
"'Yis, your riverence, if I know meself I am.'
"'Will you go to the font an' thrink a taste of the holy wather?'
"'Yes, your riverince, an it's plasin' to ye.'
"It was with much doubt that Father Mulcahy awaited the result of his
test; but Matthew drank about a pint of the consecrated water, and a
short conversation made all plain to the priest, and to poor Matthew, to
whom the various events were far from being a matter of mirth.
"Accompanied by the priest, he went home, to the unutterable horror of
the newly-married pair, which was little lessened when they found that
their unwelcome visitor was not from another world.
"'I am dead to you, Katty,' said he, with a gentle sadness, so different
from the burst of passion which the priest had feared, that he knew that
his heart was broken. 'All the happiness I had was in your love, and
that was false. Go with your new love where I may see you no more.'
"Matthew died years after, a soured and misanthropic man; but few
legends are better known in his native district than the story of
Matthew Collins's ghost."
* * * * *
As the story ended, Risk thanked the narrator in behalf of the auditory,
adding, "The storm will probably change to a thaw before morning, and if
it does we must be on hand bright and early, for it will bring the main
body of 'the first flight.'"
As the company rose to retire, Ben approached La Salle. "Will you tell
me why you made us leave decoys at every hundred yards?"
"To help us find the way back, should we fail to reach the shore. We
could have lived out a night like this in my ice-boat, but we should
long since have been sleeping our last sleep beneath the snow-wreaths,
had we lost our way upon the floes."
At daybreak La Salle awoke, but turned again to his pillow, as he noted
the snow-flakes form in tiny drifts against the lower window panes; and
it was nine o'clock before the tired sportsmen completed their hasty
toilet, and seated themselves around the breakfast table.