When Bridget dragged Andy back and insisted on his going to bed--
No--I will not be too good natured and tell my story in that way;
besides, it would be a very difficult matter to tell it; and why should
an author, merely to oblige people, get himself involved in a labyrinth
of difficulties, and rack his unfortunate brain to pick and choose words
properly to tell his story, yet at the same time to lead his readers
through the mazes of this very ticklish adventure, without a single
thorn scratching their delicate feelings, or as much as making the
smallest rent in the white muslin robe of propriety? So, not to run
unnecessary risks, the story must go on another way.
When Shan More and the rest of the “big blackguards” began to wake, the
morning after the abduction, and gave a turn or two under their heather
coverlid, and rubbed their eyes as the sun peeped through the “curtains
of the east”--for these were the only bed-curtains Shan More and his
companions ever had--they stretched themselves and yawned, and felt
very thirsty, for they had all been blind drunk the night before, be it
remembered; and Shan More, to use his own expressive and poetic
imagery, swore that his tongue was “as rough as a rat's back,” while
his companions went no further than saying theirs were as “dry as a
lime-burner's wig.” We should not be so particular in those minute
details but for that desire of truth which has guided us all through
this veracious history and as in this scene, in particular, we feel
ourselves sure to be held seriously responsible for every word, we are
determined to be accurate to a nicety, and set down every syllable with
stenographic strictness.
“Where's the girl?” cried Shan, not yet sober.
“She's asleep with your sisther,” was the answer.
“Down-stairs?” inquired Shan.
“Yes,” said the other, who now knew that Big Jack was more drunk than he
at first thought him, by his using the words _stairs_; for Jack when he
was drunk was very grand, and called _down the ladder_ “down-_stairs_.”
“Get me a drink o' wather,” said Jack, “for I'm thundherin' thirsty, and
can't deludher that girl with soft words till I wet my mouth.”
His attendant vagabond obeyed the order, and a large pitcher full of
water was handed to the master, who heaved it upwards to his head and
drank as audibly and nearly as much as a horse. Then holding his hands
to receive the remaining contents of the pitcher, which his followers
poured into his monstrous palms, he soused his face, which he afterwards
wiped in a wisp of grass--the only towel of Jack's which was not then at
the wash.
Having thus made his toilet, Big Jack went downstairs, and as soon as
his great bull-head had disappeared beneath the trap, one of the men
above said, “We'll have a _shilloe_ soon, boys.”
And sure enough they did before long hear an extraordinary row. Jack
first roared for Bridget, and no answer was returned; the call was
repeated with as little effect, and at last a most tremendous roar was
heard above, but not from a female voice. Jack was heard below, swearing
like a trooper, and, in a minute or two, back he rushed “_up-stairs_”
and began cursing his myrmidons most awfully, and foaming at the mouth
with rage.
“What's the matther?” cried the men.
“Matther!” roared Jack; “oh, you 'tarnal villains! You're a purty set to
carry off a girl for a man--a purty job you've made of it!”
“Arrah, didn't we bring her to you?”
“_Her_, indeed--bring _her_--much good what you brought is to me!”
“Tare an' ouns! what's the matther at all? We dunna what you mane!”
shouted the men, returning rage for rage.
“Come down, and you'll see what's the matther,” said Jack, descending
the ladder; and the men hastened after him.
He led the way to the further end of the cabin, where a small glimmering
of light was permitted to enter from the top, and lifting a tattered
piece of canvas, which served as a screen to the bed, he exclaimed, with
a curse, “Look there, you blackguards!”
The men gave a shout of surprise, for--what do you think they saw?--An
empty bed!