CAPTAIN CLAYTON COMES TO THE CASTLE.
"Well, my boy, how are you?" asked the Captain.
"There's nothing particularly the matter with me," said Florian.
"I suppose all this is troubling you?"
"All what? You mean about Pat Carroll. Of course it's troubling me.
Nobody will believe a word that I say."
"But they do believe you now that you are telling the truth," said
Edith.
"Do you hold your tongue, miss," said the boy, "I don't see why you
should have so much to say about it."
"She has been your best friend from first to last," said the father.
"If it had not been for Edith I would have turned you out of the
house. It is terrible to me to think that a boy of mine should refuse
to say what he saw in such a matter as this. You are putting yourself
on a par with the enemies of your own family. You do not know it, but
you are nearly sending me to the grave." Then there was a long pause,
during which the Captain kept his eyes fixed on the boy's face. And
Edith had moved round so as to seat herself close to her brother, and
had taken his hand in hers.
"Don't, Edith," said the boy. "Leave me alone, I don't want to be
meddled with," and he withdrew his hand.
"Oh, Florian!" said the girl, "try to tell the truth and be a
gentleman, whether it be for you or against you, tell the truth."
"I'm not to mind a bit about my religion then?"
"Does your religion bid you tell a lie?" asked the Captain.
"I'm not telling a lie, I am just holding my tongue. A Catholic has a
right to hold his tongue when he is among Protestants."
"Even to the ruin of his father," suggested the Captain.
"I don't want to ruin papa. He said he was going to turn--to turn me
out of the house. I would go and drown myself in the lake if he did,
or in one of those big dykes which divide the meadows. I am miserable
among them--quite miserable. Edith never gives me any peace, day
or night. She comes and sits in my bedroom, begging me to tell the
truth. It ought to be enough when I say that I will hold my tongue.
Papa can turn me out to drown myself if he pleases. Edith goes on
cheating the words out of me till I don't know what I'm saying. If
I am to be brought up to tell it all before the judge I shan't know
what I have said before, or what I have not said."
"_Nil conscire tibi_," said the father, who had already taught his
son so much Latin as that.
"But you did see the sluice gates torn down, and thrown back into the
water?" said the Captain. Here Florian shook his head mournfully. "I
understood you to acknowledge that you had seen the gates destroyed."
"I never said as much to you," said the boy.
"But you did to me," said Edith.
"If a fellow says a word to you, it is repeated to all the world.
I never would have you joined with me in a secret. You are a great
deal worse than--, well, those fellows that you abuse me about. They
never tell anything that they have heard among themselves, to people
outside."
"Pat Carroll, you mean?" asked the Captain.
"He isn't the only one. There's more in it than him."
"Oh yes; we know that. There were many others in it besides Pat
Carroll, when they let the waters in through the dyke gates. There
must have been twenty there."
"No, there weren't--not that I saw."
"A dozen, perhaps?"
"You are laying traps for me, but I am not going to be caught. I
was there, and I did see it. You may make the most of that. Though
you have me up before the judge, I needn't say a word more than I
please."
"He is more obstinate," said his father, "than any rebel that you can
meet."
"But so mistaken," said the Captain, "because he can refuse to answer
us who are treating him with such tenderness and affection, who did
not even want to wound his feelings more than we can help, he thinks
that he can hold his peace in the same fashion, before the entire
court; and that he can do so, although he has owned that he knows the
men."
"I have never owned that," said the boy.
"Not to your sister?"
"I only owned to one."
"Pat Carroll?" said the Captain; but giving the name merely as a hint
to help the boy's memory.
But the boy was too sharp for him. "That's another of your traps,
Captain Clayton. If she says Pat Carroll, I can say it was Tim Brady.
A boy's word will be as good as a girl's, I suppose."
"A lie can never be as good as the truth, whether from a boy or
a girl," said the Captain, endeavouring to look him through and
through. The boy quavered beneath his gaze, and the Captain went on
with his questioning. "I suppose we may take it for granted that Pat
Carroll was there, and that you did see him?"
"You may take anything for granted."
"You would have to swear before a jury that Pat Carroll was there."
Then there was another pause, but at last, with a long sigh, the boy
spoke out. "He was there, and I did see him." Then he burst into
tears and threw himself down on the ground, and hid his face in his
sister's lap.
"Dear Flory," said she. "My own brother! I knew that you would
struggle to be a gentleman at last."
"It will all come right with him now," said the Captain. But the
father frowned and shook his head. "How many were there with him?"
asked the Captain, intent on the main business.
But Florian feeling that it would be as good to be hung for a sheep
as a lamb, and feeling also that he had at last cast aside all the
bonds which bound him to Pat Carroll and Father Brosnan,--feeling
that there was nothing left for him but the internecine enmity of his
old friends,--got up from the floor, and wiping away the tears from
his face, spoke out boldly the whole truth as he knew it. "It was
dark, and I didn't see them all. There were only six whom I could
see, though I know that there were many others round about among the
meadows whose names I had heard, though I do not remember them."
"We will confine ourselves to the six whom you did see," said the
Captain, preparing to listen quietly to the boy's story. The father
took out a pen and ink, but soon pushed it on one side. Edith again
got hold of the boy's hand, and held it within her own till his story
was finished.
"I didn't see the six all at once. The first whom I did see was Pat
Carroll, and his brother Terry, and Tim Brady. They were up there
just where the lane has turned down from the steamboat road. I had
gone down to the big sluice gates before anyone had noticed me, and
there were Tim and Terry smashing away at the gate hinges, up to
their middles in mud; and Pat Carroll was handing them down a big
crowbar. Terry, when he saw me, fell flat forward into the water, and
had to be picked out again."
"Did they say anything to threaten you?" said the Captain.
"Tim Brady said that I was all right, and was a great friend of
Father Brosnan's. Then they whispered together, and I heard Terry say
that he wouldn't go against anything that Father Brosnan might say.
Then Pat Carroll came and stood over me with the crowbar."
"Did he threaten you?"
"He didn't do it in a threatening way; but only asked me to be hand
and glove with them."
"Had you been intimate with this man before? asked the Captain.
"He had been very intimate with him," said the father. "All this
calamity has come of his intimacy. He has changed his religion and
ceased to be a gentleman." Here the boy again sobbed, but Edith still
squeezed his hand.
"What did you say?" asked the Captain, "when he bade you be hand and
glove with him?"
"I said that I would. Then they made the sign of a cross, and swore
me on it. And they swore me specially to say nothing up here. And
they swore me again when they met down at Tim Rafferty's house in
Headford. I intended to keep my word, and I think that you ought to
have let me keep it."
"But there were three others whom you saw," urged the Captain.
"There was Con Heffernan, and a man they call Lax, who had come from
Lough Conn beyond Castlebar."
"He's not a man of this county."
"I think not, though I had seen him here before. He has had something
to do with the Landleaguers up about Foxford."
"I think I have a speaking acquaintance with that Mr. Lax," said the
Captain; and everybody could perceive that the tone of his voice was
altered as he spoke about Mr. Lax. "And who was the sixth?"
"There was that old man, papa, whom they call Terry. But he wasn't
doing anything in particular."
"He is the greatest blackguard on the estate," said the father.
"But we will confine ourselves to the five," said the Captain, "not
forgetting Mr. Lax. What was Mr. Lax doing?"
"I can't remember what they were all doing. How is a fellow to
remember them all? There were those two at the hinges, and Pat
Carroll was there pulling his brother out of the water."
"Terry was Pat's brother?"
"They are brothers," said the father.
"And then they went on, and took no notice of me for a time. Lax came
up and scowled at me, and told me that if a word was said I should
never draw the breath of life again."
"But he didn't do anything?" asked the Captain.
"I don't remember. How is a fellow to remember after so many months?"
"Why didn't you tell the truth at the time?" said his father angrily.
Another tear stood in each of the poor boy's eyes, and Edith got
closer to him, and threw her left arm round his waist. "You are
spoiling him by being so soft with him," said the father.
"He is doing the best he can, Mr. Jones," said the Captain. "Don't be
harsh with him now. Well, Florian, what came next?"
"They bade me go away, and again made me swear another oath. It was
nearly dark then, and it was quite dark night before I got up to the
house. But before I went I saw that there were many others standing
idle about the place."
"Do you remember any particularly?"
"Well, there was another of the Carrolls, a nephew of Pat's; and
there was Tony Brady, Tim's brother. I can't at this moment say who
else there were."
"It would be as well to have as many as we do know, not to prosecute
them, but to ask them for their evidence. Three or four men will
often contradict each other, and then they will break down. I think
we have enough now. But you must remember that I have only questioned
you as your friend and as your father's friend. I have not taken down
a word that you have said. My object has been simply that we might
all act together to punish a vindictive and infamous outrage. Pat
Carroll has had nothing to get by flooding your father's meadows. But
because your father has not chosen to forgive him his rent, he has
thought fit to do him all the injury in his power. I fear that there
are others in it, who are more to blame even than Pat Carroll. But if
we can get hold of this gentleman, and also of his friend Mr. Lax, we
shall have done much."
Then the meeting was over for that evening, and Captain Clayton
retired to his own room. "You needn't mind following me here,
Hunter," he said to the policeman.
"I wouldn't be too sure, sir."
"You may be sure in Mr. Jones's house. And no one in the country has
any idea of committing murder on his own behalf. I am safe till they
would have had time to send for someone out of another county. But we
shall be back in Galway to-morrow." So saying, Hunter left his master
alone, and the Captain sat down to write an account of the scene
which had just taken place. In this he gave every name as the boy had
given it, with accuracy; but, nevertheless, he added to his little
story the fact that it had been related from memory.
Edith took her brother away into her own room, and there covered him
with kisses. "Why is papa so hard to me?" said the boy sobbing. Then
she explained to him as gently as she could, the grounds which had
existed for hardness on his father's part. She bade him consider how
terrible a thing it must be to a father, to have to think that his
own son should have turned against him, while the country was in such
a condition.
"It is not the flood, Flory, nor the loss of the meadows being under
water. It is not the injury that Pat Carroll has done him, or any of
the men whom Pat Carroll has talked into enmity. That, indeed, is
very dreadful. To these very men he has been their best friend for
many years. And now they would help in his ruin, and turn us and him
out as beggars upon the world, because he has not chosen to obey the
unjust bidding of one of them." Here the boy hung down his head, and
turned away his face. "But it is not that. All that has had no effect
in nigh breaking his heart. Money is but money. No one can bear its
loss better than our papa. Though he might have to starve, he would
starve like a gallant man; and we could starve with him. You and I,
Frank and Ada, would bear all that he could bear. But--" The boy
looked up into her face again, as though imploring her to spare him,
but she went on with her speech. "But that a son of his should cease
to feel as a gentleman should feel,--and a Christian! It is that
which moves him to be hard, as you call it. But he is not hard; he is
a man, and he cannot kiss you as a woman does;--as your sister does;"
here she almost smothered the boy with kisses, "but, Florian, it is
not too late; it is never too late while you still see that truth is
godlike, and that a lie is of all things the most devilish. It is
never too late while you feel what duty calls you to do." And again
she covered him with kisses, and then allowed him to go away to his
own room.
When Edith was alone she sat back in an easy-chair, with her feet on
the fender before the turf fire, and began to consider how things
might go with her poor brother. "If they should get hold of him, and
murder him!" she said to herself. The thought was very dreadful, but
she comforted herself with reflecting that he might be sent out of
the country, before the knowledge of what he had done should get
abroad. And then by means of that current of thought, which always
runs where it listeth, independent of the will of the thinker, her
ideas flew off to Captain Yorke Clayton. In her imagination she had
put down Captain Clayton as a possible lover for her sister. She
possessed a girlish intuition into her sister's mind which made her
feel that her sister would not dislike such an arrangement. Ada was
the beauty of the family, and was supposed, at any rate by Edith, to
be the most susceptible of the two sisters. She had always called
herself a violent old maid, who was determined to have her own way.
But no one had ever heard Ada speak of herself as an old maid. And
then as to that danger of which Ada had spoken, Edith knew that such
perils must be overlooked altogether among the incidents of life. If
it came to her would she refuse her hand to a man because his courage
led him into special perils? She knew that it would only be an
additional ground for her love. And of Ada, in that respect, she
judged as she did of herself. She knew that Ada thought much of manly
beauty, and her eyes told her that Captain Yorke Clayton was very
handsome. "If he were as black as Beelzebub," she said to herself, "I
should like him the better for it; but Ada would prefer a man to be
beautiful." She went to work to make a match in her own mind between
Ada and Captain Clayton; but the more she made it, the more she
continued to think--on her own behalf--that of all men she had
ever seen, this man had pleased her fancy most. "But Captain Yorke
Clayton, you were never more mistaken in all your life if you think
that Edith Jones has taken a fancy to your handsome physiognomy."
This she said in almost audible words. "But nevertheless, I do think
that you are a hero. For myself, I don't want a hero--and if I did, I
shouldn't get one." But the arrangements made in the house that night
were those which are customary for a favoured young man's reception
when such matters are left to the favouring young lady in the family.
When Mr. Jones found himself alone in his study, he began to think of
the confession which Florian had made. It had gradually come to pass
that he had been sure of the truth for some months, though he had
never before heard it declared by his son's lips. Since the day on
which he had called on Mr. Blake at Carnlough, he had been quite sure
that Edith was right. He was almost sure before. Now the truth was
declared exactly as she had surmised it. And what should he do with
the boy? He could not merely put him forward as a witness in this
case. Some reason must be given, why the truth had not been told
during the last six months. As he thought of this, he felt that the
boy had disgraced himself for ever.
And he thought of the boy's danger. He had rashly promised that the
boy should be sent to England out of harm's way; but he now told
himself that the means of doing so were further from him than ever;
and that he was daily becoming a poorer, if not a ruined man. Of the
rents then due to him, not a penny would, he feared, be paid.
END OF VOL. I.
Charles Dickens And Evans, Crystal Palace Press.
* * * * *
THE LANDLEAGUERS
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
In Three Volumes--VOL. II.
London
Chatto & Windus, Piccadilly
1883
Charles Dickens and Evans,
Crystal Palace Press.
CONTENTS
Chapter
XVII. RACHEL IS FREE.
XVIII. FRANK JONES HAS CEASED TO EXIST.
XIX. FIFTH AVENUE AND NEWPORT.
XX. BOYCOTTING.
XXI. LAX, THE MURDERER.
XXII. MORONY CASTLE IS BOYCOTTED.
XXIII. TOM DALY IS BOYCOTTED.
XXIV. "FROM THE FULL HEART THE MOUTH SPEAKS."
XXV. THE GALWAY BALL.
XXVI. LORD CASTLEWELL.
XXVII. HOW FUNDS WERE PROVIDED.
XXVIII. WHAT WAS NOT DONE WITH THE FUNDS.
XXIX. WHAT WAS DONE WITH THE FUNDS.
XXX. THE ROAD TO BALLYGLUNIN.
XXXI. THE GALWAY COURT HOUSE.
XXXII. MR. O'MAHONY AS MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT.
THE LANDLEAGUERS.