I wasted no time in the vicinity of the inn. I decided that an
interval spent in some remote place would be consistent with the
behaviour of a gentleman.
But the agitations of the day were not yet closed for me. Suddenly I
came upon a small, slow-moving, and solemn company of men, who carried
among them some kind of a pallet, and on this pallet was the body of
Forister. I gazed upon his ghastly face; I saw the large blood
blotches on his shirt; as they drew nearer I saw him roll his eyes and
heard him groan. Some of the men recognized me, and I saw black looks
and straight-pointing fingers. At the rear walked Lord Strepp with
Forister's sword under his arm. I turned away with a new impression of
the pastime of duelling. Forister's pallor, the show of bloody cloth,
his groan, the dark stares of men, made me see my victory in a
different way, and I even wondered if it had been absolutely necessary
to work this mischief upon a fellow-being.
I spent most of the day down among the low taverns of the sailors,
striving to interest myself in a thousand new sights brought by the
ships from foreign parts.
But ever my mind returned to Lady Mary, and to my misfortune in being
pursued around chairs and tables by my angel's mother. I had also
managed to have a bitter quarrel with the noble father of this lovely
creature. It was hardly possible that I could be joyous over my
prospects.
At noon I returned to the inn, approaching with some display of
caution. As I neared it, a carriage followed by some horsemen whirled
speedily from the door. I knew at once that Lady Mary had been taken
from me. She was gone with her father and mother back to London. I
recognized Lord Strepp and Colonel Royale among the horsemen.
I walked through the inn to the garden, and looked at the parrot. My
senses were all numb. I stared at the bird as it rolled its wicked eye
at me.
"Pretty lady! Pretty lady!" it called in coarse mockery.
"Plague the bird!" I muttered, as I turned upon my heel and entered
the inn.
"My bill," said I. "A horse for Bath!" said I.
Again I rode forth on a quest. The first had been after my papers. The
second was after my love. The second was the hopeless one, and,
overcome by melancholy, I did not even spur my horse swiftly on my
mission. There was upon me the deep-rooted sadness which balances the
mirth of my people,--the Celtic aptitude for discouragement; and even
the keening of old women in the red glow of the peat fire could never
have deepened my mood.
And if I should succeed in reaching London, what then? Would the wild
savage from the rocky shore of Ireland be a pleasing sight to my Lady
Mary when once more amid the glamour and whirl of the fashionable
town? Besides, I could no longer travel on the guineas of Jem Bottles.
He had engaged himself and his purse in my service because I had told
him of a fortune involved in the regaining of certain papers. I had
regained those papers, and then coolly placed them as a gift in a
certain lovely white hand. I had had no more thought of Jem Bottles
and his five guineas than if I had never seen them. But this was no
excuse for a gentleman. When I was arrived at the rendezvous I must
immediately confess to Jem Bottles, the highwayman, that I had wronged
him. I did not expect him to demand satisfaction, but I thought he
might shoot me in the back as I was riding away.
But Jem was not at the appointed place under the tree. Not puzzled at
this behaviour, I rode on. I saw I could not expect the man to stay
for ever under a tree while I was away in Bristol fighting a duel and
making eyes at a lady. Still, I had heard that it was always done.
At the inn where Paddy holed Forister, I did not dismount, although a
hostler ran out busily. "No," said I. "I ride on." I looked at the
man. Small, sharp-eyed, weazened, he was as likely a rascal of a
hostler as ever helped a highwayman to know a filled purse from a man
who was riding to make arrangements with his creditors.
"Do you remember me?" said I.
"No, sir," he said with great promptitude.
"Very good," said I. "I knew you did. Now I want to know if Master Jem
Bottles has passed this way to-day. A shilling for the truth and a
thrashing for a lie."
The man came close to my stirrup. "Master," he said, "I know you to be
a friend of him. Well, in day-time he don't ride past our door. There
be lanes. And so he ain't passed here, and that's the truth."
I flung him a shilling. "Now," I said, "what of the red giant?"
The man opened his little eyes in surprise. "He took horse with you
gentlemen and rode on to Bristol, or I don't know."
"Very good; now I see two very fine horses champing in the yard. And
who owns them?"
If I had expected to catch him in treachery I was wrong.
"Them?" said he, jerking his thumb. He still kept his voice lowered.
"They belong to two gentlemen who rode out some hours agone along with
some great man's carriage. The officer said some pin-pricks he had
gotten in a duel had stiffened him, and made the saddle ill of ease
with him, and the young lord said that he would stay behind as a
companion. They be up in the Colonel's chamber, drinking vastly. But
mind your life, sir, if you would halt them on the road. They be men
of great spirit. This inn seldom sees such drinkers."
And so Lord Strepp and Colonel Royale were resting at this inn while
the carriage of the Earl had gone on toward Bath? I had a mind to
dismount and join the two in their roystering, but my eyes turned
wistfully toward Bath.
As I rode away I began to wonder what had become of Jem Bottles and
Paddy. Here was a fine pair to be abroad in the land. Here were two
jewels to be rampaging across the country. Separately, they were
villains enough, but together they would overturn England and get
themselves hung for it on twin gibbets. I tried to imagine the
particular roguery to which they would first give their attention.
But then all thought of the rascals faded from me as my mind received
a vision of Lady Mary's fair face, her figure, her foot. It would not
be me to be thinking of two such thieves when I could be dreaming of
Lady Mary with her soft voice and the clear depth of her eyes. My
horse seemed to have a sympathy with my feeling and he leaped bravely
along the road. The Celtic melancholy of the first part of the journey
had blown away like a sea-mist. I sped on gallantly toward Bath and
Lady Mary.
But almost at the end of the day, when I was within a few miles of
Bath, my horse suddenly pitched forward onto his knees and nose. There
was a flying spray of muddy water. I was flung out of the saddle, but
I fell without any serious hurt whatever. We had been ambushed by some
kind of deep-sided puddle. My poor horse scrambled out and stood with
lowered head, heaving and trembling. His soft nose had been cut
between his teeth and the far edge of the puddle. I led him forward,
watching his legs. He was lamed. I looked in wrath and despair back at
the puddle, which was as plain as a golden guinea on a platter. I do
not see how I could have blundered into it, for the daylight was still
clear and strong. I had been gazing like a fool in the direction of
Bath. And my Celtic melancholy swept down upon me again, and even my
father's bier appeared before me with the pale candle-flames swaying
in the gusty room, and now indeed my ears heard the loud wailing keen
of the old women.
"Rubbish," said I suddenly and aloud, "and is it one of the best
swordsmen in England that is to be beaten by a lame horse?" My spirit
revived. I resolved to leave my horse in the care of the people of
the nearest house and proceed at once on foot to Bath. The people of
the inn could be sent out after the poor animal. Wheeling my eyes, I
saw a house not more than two fields away, with honest hospitable
smoke curling from the chimneys. I led my beast through a hole in the
hedge, and I slowly made my way toward it.
Now it happened that my way led me near a haycock, and as I neared
this haycock I heard voices from the other side of it. I hastened
forward, thinking to find some yokels. But as I drew very close I
suddenly halted and silently listened to the voices on the other side.
"Sure, I can read," Paddy was saying. "And why wouldn't I be able? If
we couldn't read in Ireland, we would be after being cheated in our
rents, but we never pay them any how, so that's no matter. I would be
having you to know we are a highly educated people. And perhaps you
would be reading it yourself, my man?"
"No," said Jem Bottles, "I be not a great scholar and it has a look of
amazing hardness. And I misdoubt me," he added in a morose and envious
voice, "that your head be too full of learning."
"Learning!" cried Paddy. "Why wouldn't I be learned, since my uncle
was a sexton and had to know one grave from another by looking at the
stones so as never to mix up the people? Learning! says you? And
wasn't there a convent at Ballygowagglycuddi, and wasn't
Ballygowagglycuddi only ten miles from my father's house, and haven't
I seen it many a time?"
"Aye, well, good Master Paddy," replied Jem Bottles, oppressed and
sullen, but still in a voice ironic from suspicion, "I never doubt me
but what you are a regular clerk for deep learning, but you have not
yet read a line from the paper, and I have been waiting this
half-hour."
"And how could I be reading?" cried Paddy in tones of indignation.
"How could I be reading with you there croaking of this and that and
speaking hard of my learning? Bad cess to the paper, I will be after
reading it to myself if you are never to stop your clatter, Jem
Bottles."
"I be still as a dead rat," exclaimed the astonished highwayman.
"Well, then," said Paddy. "Listen hard, and you will hear such
learning as would be making your eyes jump from your head. And 'tis
not me either that cares to show my learning before people who are
unable to tell a mile-post from a church-tower."
"I be awaiting," said Jem Bottles with a new meekness apparently born
of respect for Paddy's eloquence.
"Well, then," said Paddy, pained at these interruptions. "Listen well,
and maybe you will gain some learning which may serve you all your
life in reading chalk-marks in taprooms; for I see that they have that
custom in this country, and 'tis very bad for hard-drinking men who
have no learning."
"If you would read from the paper--" began Jem Bottles.
"Now, will you be still?" cried Paddy in vast exasperation.
But here Jem Bottles spoke with angry resolution. "Come, now! Read!
'Tis not me that talks too much, and the day wanes."
"Well, well, I would not be hurried, and that's the truth," said Paddy
soothingly. "Listen now." I heard a rustling of paper. "Ahem!" said
Paddy, "Ahem! Are ye listening, Jem Bottles?"
"I be," replied the highwayman.
"Ahem!" said Paddy. "Ahem! Are ye listening, Jem Bottles?"
"I be," replied the highwayman.
"Then here's for it," said Paddy in a formidable voice. There was
another rustling of paper. Then to my surprise I heard Paddy intone,
without punctuation, the following words:
"Dear Sister Mary I am asking the good father to write this
because my hand is lame from milking the cows although we
only have one and we sold her in the autumn the four
shillings you owe on the pig we would like if convenient to
pay now owing to the landlord may the plague take him how
did your Mickey find the fishing when you see Peggy tell
her--"
Here Jem Bottles's voice arose in tones of incredulity.
"And these be the papers of the great Earl!" he cried.
Then the truth flashed across my vision like the lightning. My two
madmen had robbed the carriage of the Earl of Westport, and had taken,
among other things, the Earl's papers--my papers--Lady Mary's papers.
I strode around the haycock.
"Wretches!" I shouted. "Miserable wretches!"
For a time they were speechless. Paddy found his tongue first.
"Aye, 'tis him! 'Tis nothing but little black men and papers with him,
and when we get them for him he calls us out of our names in a foreign
tongue. 'Tis no service for a bright man," he concluded mournfully.
"Give me the papers," said I.
Paddy obediently handed them. I knew them. They were my papers--Lady
Mary's papers.
"And now," said I, eyeing the pair, "what mischief have you two been
compassing?"
Paddy only mumbled sulkily. It was something on the difficulties of
satisfying me on the subjects of little black men and papers. Jem
Bottles was also sulky, but he grumbled out the beginning of an
explanation.
"Well, master, I bided under the tree till him here came, and then we
together bided. And at last we thought, with the time so heavy, we
might better work to handle a purse or two. Thinking," he said
delicately, "our gentleman might have need of a little gold. Well, and
as we were riding, a good lad from the--your worship knows
where--tells us the Earl's carriage is halting there for a time, but
will go on later without its escort of two gentlemen; only with
servants. And, thinking to do our gentleman a good deed, I brought
them to stand on the highway, and then he--"
"And then I," broke in Paddy proudly, "walks up to the carriage-door
looking like a king's cruiser, and says I, 'Pray excuse the manners of
a self-opinionated man, but I consider your purses would look better
in my pocket.' And then there was a great trouble. An old owl of a
woman screeched, and was for killing me with a bottle which she had
been holding against her nose. But she never dared. And with that an
old sick man lifted himself from hundreds of cushions and says he,
'What do you want? You can't have them,' says he, and he keeps
clasping his breast. 'First of all,' says I, 'I want what you have
there. What I want else I'll tell you at my leisure.' And he was all
for mouthing and fuming, but he was that scared he gave me these
papers--bad luck to them." Paddy cast an evil eye upon the papers in
my hand.
"And then?" said I.
"The driver he tried for to whip up," interpolated Jem Bottles. "He
was a game one, but the others were like wet cats."
"And says I," continued Paddy, "'now we will have the gold, if it
please you.' And out it came. 'I bid ye a good journey,' says I, and I
thought it was over, and how easy it was highwaying, and I liked it
well, until the lady on the front seat opens her hood and shows me a
prettier face than we have in all Ireland. She clasps two white hands.
'Oh, please Mister Highwayman, my father's papers--' And with that I
backs away. 'Let them go,' says I to Jem Bottles, and sick I was of
it, and I would be buying masses to-night if I might find a Christian
church. The poor lady!"
I was no longer angry with Paddy.
"Aye," said Jem Bottles, "the poor lady was that forlorn!"
I was no longer angry with Jem Bottles.
But I now had to do a deal of thinking. It was plain that the papers
were of supreme importance to the Earl. Although I had given them to
Lady Mary, they had returned to me. It was fate. My father had taught
me to respect these papers, but I now saw them as a sign in the sky.
However, it was hard to decide what to do. I had given the papers to
Lady Mary, and they had fled back to me swifter than cormorants.
Perhaps it was willed that I should keep them. And then there would be
tears in the eyes of Lady Mary, who suffered through the suffering of
her father. No; come good, come bad for me, for Jem Bottles, for
Paddy, I would stake our fortunes on the act of returning the papers
to Lady Mary.
It is the way of Irishmen. We are all of us true philanthropists. That
is why we have nothing, although in other countries I have seen
philanthropists who had a great deal. My own interest in the papers I
staked, mentally, with a glad mind; the minor interests of Jem Bottles
and Paddy I staked, mentally, without thinking of them at all. But
surely it would be a tribute to fate to give anything to Lady Mary.
I resolved on a course of action. When I aroused to look at my
companions I found them seated face to face on the ground like players
of draughts. Between them was spread a handkerchief, and on that
handkerchief was a heap of guineas. Jem Bottles was saying, "Here be
my fingers five times over again." He separated a smaller heap. "Here
be my fingers five times over again." He separated another little
stack. "And here be my fingers five times over again and two more yet.
Now can ye understand?"
"By dad," said Paddy admiringly, "you have the learning this time,
Master Bottles. My uncle the sexton could not have done it better."
"What is all this?" said I.
They both looked at me deprecatingly. "'Tis, your honour," began
Paddy; "'tis only some little small sum--nothing to be talked
of--belonging to the old sick man in the carriage."
"Paddy and Jem Bottles," said I, "I forgive you the taking of the
papers. Ye are good men and true. Now we will do great deeds."