When Edward O'Connor had hurried from the burial-place, he threw himself
into his saddle, and urged his horse to speed, anxious to fly the spot
where his feelings had been so harrowed; and as he swept along through
the cold night wind which began to rise in gusty fits, and howled past
him, there was in the violence of his rapid motion something congenial
to the fierce career of painful thoughts which chased each other through
his heated brain. He continued to travel at this rapid pace, so absorbed
in bitter reflection as to be quite insensible to external impressions,
and he knew not how far nor how fast he was going, though the heavy
breathing of his horse at any other time would have been signal
sufficient to draw the rein; but still he pressed onward, and still the
storm increased, and each acclivity was topped but to sweep down the
succeeding slope at the same desperate pace. Hitherto the road over
which he pursued his fleet career lay through an open country, and
though the shades of a stormy night hung above it, the horse could make
his way in safety through the gloom; but now they approached an old road
which skirted an ancient domain, whose venerable trees threw their arms
across the old causeway, and added their shadows to the darkness of the
night.
Many and many a time had Edward ridden in the soft summer under the
green shade of these very trees, in company with Fanny Dawson, his
guiltless heart full of hope and love; perhaps it was this very thought
crossing his mind at the moment which made his present circumstances the
more oppressive. He was guiltless no longer--he rode not in happiness
with the woman he adored under the soft shade of summer trees, but heard
the wintry wind howl through their leafless boughs as he hurried in
maddened speed beneath them, and heard in the dismal sound but an
echo of the voice of remorse which was ringing through his heart. The
darkness was intense from the canopy of old oaks which overhung the
road, but still the horse was urged through the dark ravine at speed,
though one might not see an arm's length before. Fearlessly it was
performed, though ever and anon, as the trees swung about their heavy
branches in the storm, smaller portions of the boughs were snapped off
and flung in the faces of the horse and the rider, who still spurred
and plashed his headlong way through the heavy road beneath. Emerging
at length from the deep and overshadowed valley, a steep hill raised
its crest in advance, but still up the stony acclivity the feet of the
mettled steed rattled rapidly, and flashed fire from the flinty path. As
they approached the top of the hill, the force of the storm became more
apparent; and on reaching its crest, the fierce pelting of the mingled
rain and hail made the horse impatient of the storm of which his rider
was heedless--almost unconscious. The spent animal with short snortings
betokened his labour, and shook his head passionately as the fierce
hail-shower struck him in the eyes and nostrils. Still, however, was he
urged downward, but he was no longer safe. Quite blown, and pressed
over a rough descent, the generous creature, that would die rather than
refuse, made a false step, and came heavily to the ground. Edward was
stunned by the fall, though not seriously hurt; and, after the lapse of
a few seconds, recovered his feet, but found the horse still prostrate.
Taking the animal by the head, he assisted him to rise, which he was not
enabled to do till after several efforts; and when he regained his legs,
it was manifest he was seriously lamed; and as he limped along with
difficulty beside his master, who led him gently, it became evident that
it was beyond the animal's power to reach his own stable that night.
Edward for the first time was now aware of how much he had punished his
horse; he felt ashamed of using the noble brute with such severity, and
became conscious that he had been acting under something little short
of frenzy. The consciousness at once tended to restore him somewhat to
himself, and he began to look around on every side in search of some
house where he could find rest and shelter for his disabled horse. As
he proceeded thus, the care necessarily bestowed on his dumb companion
partially called off his thoughts from the painful theme with which they
had been exclusively occupied, and the effect was most beneficial. The
first violent burst of feeling was past, and a calmer train of thought
succeeded; he for the first time remembered the boy had forgiven him,
and that was a great consolation to him; he recalled, too, his own
words, pledging to Gustavus his friendship, and in this pleasing hope of
the future he saw much to redeem what he regretted of the past. Still,
however, the wild flare of the pine-torch over the lone grave of his
adversary, and the horrid answer of the grave-digger, that he was but
“finishing _his_ work,” would recur to his memory and awake an internal
pang.
From this painful reminiscence he sought to escape, by looking forward
to all he would do for Gustavus, and had become much calmer, when the
glimmer of a light not far ahead attracted him, and he soon was enabled
to perceive it proceeded from some buildings that lay on his right,
not far from the road. He turned up the rough path which formed the
approach, and the light escaped through the chinks of a large door which
indicated the place to be a coach-house, or some such office, belonging
to the general pile which seemed in a ruinous condition.
As he approached, Edward heard rude sounds of merriment, amongst which
the joining of many voices in a “ree-raw” chorus indicated that a
carouse was going forward within.
On reaching the door he could perceive through a wide chink a group
of men sitting round a turf fire piled at the far end of the building,
which had no fire-place, and the smoke, curling upwards to the roof,
wreathed the rafters in smoke; beneath this vapoury canopy the party
sat drinking and singing, and Edward, ere he knocked for admittance,
listened to the following strange refrain:--
_“For my name it is Jimmy Barlow,
I was born in the town of Carlow,
And here I lie in Maryborough jail,
All for the robbing of the Wicklow mail.
Fol de rol de riddle-iddle-ido!”_
Then the principal singer took up the song, which seemed to be one of
robbery, blood, and murder, for it ran thus:--
“Then he cocked his pistol gaily,
And stood before him bravely,
Smoke and fire is my desire,
So blaze away, my game-cock squire.
_For my name it is Jimmy Barlow,
I was born &c._”
Edward O'Connor knocked at the door loudly; the words he had just heard
about “pistols,” “blazing away,” and, last of all, “_squire_” fell
gratingly on his ear at that moment, and seemed strangely to connect
themselves with the previous adventures of the night and his own sad
thoughts, and he beat against the door with violence.
The chorus ceased; Edward repeated his knocking. Still there was no
answer; but he heard low and hurried muttering inside. Determined,
however, to gain admittance, Edward laid hold of an iron hasp outside
the door, which enabled him to shake the gate with violence, that there
might be no excuse on the part of the inmates that they did not hear;
but in thus making the old door rattle in its frame, it suddenly yielded
to his touch and creaked open on its rusty hinges; for when Larry Hogan
had entered, it had been forgotten to be barred.
As Edward stood in the open doorway, the first object which met his eye
was the coffin--and it is impossible to say how much at that moment the
sight shocked him; he shuddered involuntarily, yet could not withdraw
his eyes from the revolting object; and the pallor with which his
previous mental anxiety had invested his cheek increased as he looked on
this last tenement of mortality. “Am I to see nothing but the evidences
of death's doing this night?” was the mental question which shot through
Edward's over-wrought brain, and he grew livid at the thought. He looked
more like one raised from the grave than a living being, and a wild
glare in his eyes rendered his appearance still more unearthly. He felt
that shame which men always experience in allowing their feelings to
overcome them; and by a great effort he mastered his emotion and spoke,
but the voice partook of the strong nervous excitement under which he
laboured, and was hollow and broken, and seemed more like that which one
might fancy to proceed from the jaws of a sepulchre than one of flesh
and blood. Beaten by the storm, too, his hair hung in wet flakes over
his face and added to his wild appearance, so that the men all started
up at the first glimpse they caught of him, and huddled themselves
together in the farthest corner of the building, from whence they eyed
him with evident alarm.
Edward thought some whisky might check the feeling of faintness which
overcame him; and though he deemed it probable he had broken in upon the
nocturnal revel of desperate and lawless men, he nevertheless asked them
to give him some; but instead of displaying that alacrity so universal
in Ireland, of sharing the “creature” with a new-comer, the men only
pointed to the bottle which stood beside the fire, and drew closer
together.
Edward's desire for the stimulant was so great, that he scarcely noticed
the singular want of courtesy on the part of the men; and seizing the
bottle (for there was no glass), he put it to his lips, and quaffed a
hearty dram of the spirit before he spoke.
“I must ask for shelter and assistance here,” said Edward. “My horse, I
fear, has slipped his shoulder--”
Before he could utter another word, a simultaneous roar of terror burst
from the group; they fancied the ghost of Jimmy Barlow was before them,
and made a simultaneous rush from the barn; and when they saw the horse
at the door, another yell escaped them, as they fled with increased
speed and terror. Edward stood in amazement as the men rushed from his
presence; he followed to the gate to recall them; they were gone; he
could only hear their yells in the distance. The circumstance seemed
quite unaccountable; and as he stood lost in vain surmises as to the
cause of the strange occurrence, a low neigh of recognition from the
horse reminded him of the animal's wants, and he led him into the barn,
where, from the plenty of straw which lay around, he shook down a litter
where the maimed animal might rest.
He then paced up and down the barn, lost in wonder at the conduct
of those whom he found there, and whom his presence had so suddenly
expelled; and ever as he walked towards the fire, the coffin caught his
eye. As a fitful blaze occasionally arose, it flashed upon the plate,
which brightly reflected the flame, and Edward was irresistibly drawn,
despite his original impression of horror at the object, to approach and
read the inscription. The shield bore the name of “O'Grady,” and Edward
recoiled from the coffin with a shudder, and inwardly asked, was he in
his waking senses? He had but an hour ago seen his adversary laid in his
grave, yet here was his coffin again before him, as if to harrow up his
soul anew. Was it real, or a mockery? Was he the sport of a dream, or
was there some dreadful curse fallen upon him that he should be for ever
haunted by the victim of his arm, and the call of vengeance for blood
be ever upon his track? He breathed short and hard, and the smoky
atmosphere in which he was enveloped rendered respiration still more
difficult. As through this oppressive vapour, which seemed only fit
for the nether world, he saw the coffin-plate flash back the flame, his
imagination accumulated horror on horror; and when the blaze sank, and
but the bright red of the fire was reflected, it seemed to him to burn,
as it were, with a spot of blood, and he could support the scene no
longer, but rushed from the barn in a state of mind bordering on frenzy.
It was about an hour afterwards, near midnight, that the old barn was in
flames; most likely some of the straw near the fire, in the confusion
of the breaking up of the party, had been scattered within range of
ignition, and caused the accident. The flames were seen for miles round
the country, and the shattered walls of the ruined mansion-house were
illuminated brightly by the glare of the consuming barn, which in the
morning added its own blackened and reeking ruin to the desolation,
and crowds of persons congregated to the spot for many days after. The
charred planks of the coffin were dragged from amongst the ruin; and
as the roof in falling in had dragged a large portion of the wall
along with it, the stones which had filled the coffin could not be
distinguished from those of the fallen building, therefore much wonder
arose that no vestige of the bones of the corpse it was supposed to
contain should be discovered. Wonder increased to horror as the strange
fact was promulgated, and in the ready credulity of a superstitious
people, the terrible belief became general, that his sable majesty had
made off with O'Grady and the party watching him; for as the Dublin
bailiffs never stopped till they got back to town, and were never seen
again in the country, it was most natural to suppose that the devil had
made a haul of _them_ at the same time. In a few days rumour added the
spectral appearance of Jim Barlow to the tale, which only deepened
its mysterious horror; and though, after some time, the true story was
promulgated by those who knew the real state of the case, yet the truth
never gained ground, and was considered but a clever sham, attempted by
the family to prevent so dreadful a story from attaching to their house;
and tradition perpetuates to this hour the belief that _the devil flew
away with O'Grady._
Lone and shunned as the hill was where the ruined house stood, it became
more lone and shunned than ever, and the boldest heart in the whole
country-side would quail to be in its vicinity, even in the day-time. To
such a pitch the panic rose, that an extensive farm which encircled
it, and belonged to the old usurer who made the seizure, fell into a
profitless state from the impossibility of men being found to work upon
it. It was useless even as pasture, for no one could be found to herd
cattle upon it; altogether it was a serious loss to the money-grubber;
and so far the incident of the burnt barn, and the tradition it gave
rise to, acted beneficially in making the inhuman act of warring with
the dead recoil upon the merciless old usurer.