The news of the attack on Lord Scatterbrain ran over the country like
wildfire, and his conduct throughout the affair raised his character
wonderfully in the opinion of all classes. Many who had hitherto held
aloof from the mushroom lord, came forward to recognise the manly
fellow, and cards were left at “the big house,” which were never seen
there before. The magistrates were active in the affair, and a reward
was immediately offered for the apprehension of the offenders; but
before any active steps could be taken by the authorities, Andy,
immediately after the attack, collected a few stout fellows himself, and
knowing where the den of Shan and his miscreants lay, he set off at the
head of his party to try if he could not secure them himself; but before
he did this, he despatched a vehicle to the farmhouse, where poor Nance
lay wounded, with orders that she should be removed to his own house,
the doctor having said that the transit would not be injurious.
A short time served to bring Andy and his followers to the private
still, where a little looking about enabled them to discover the
entrance, which was covered by some large stones, and a bunch of furze
placed as a mask to the opening. It was clear that it was impossible for
any persons inside to have thus covered the entrance, and it suggested
the possibility that some of its usual inmates were then absent.
Nevertheless, having such desperate characters to deal with, it was a
service of danger to be leader in the descent to the cavern when the
opening was cleared; but Andy was the first to enter, which he did
boldly, only desiring his attendants to follow him quickly, and give him
support in case of resistance. A lantern had been provided, Andy knowing
the darkness of the den; and the party was thereby enabled to explore
with celerity and certainty the hidden haunt of the desperadoes. The
ashes of the fire were yet warm, but no one was to be seen, till Andy,
drawing the screen of the bed, discovered a man lying in a seemingly
helpless state, breathing with difficulty, and the straw about him
dabbled with blood. On attempting to lift him, the wretch groaned
heavily and muttered, “D--n you, let me alone--you've done for me--I'm
dying.”
The man was gently carried from the cave to the open air, which seemed
slightly to revive him. His eyes opened heavily, but closed again; yet
still he breathed. His wounds were staunched as well as the limited
means and knowledge of the parties present allowed; and the ladder,
drawn up from the cave and overlaid with tufts of heather, served to
bear the sufferer to the nearest house, whence Andy ordered a mounted
messenger to hurry for a doctor. The man seemed to hear what was going
forward, for he faintly muttered, “the priest--the priest.”
Andy, anxious to procure this most essential comfort to the dying man,
went himself in search of Father Blake, whom he found at home, and who
suggested that a magistrate might be also useful upon the occasion; and
as Merryvale lay not much out of the way, Andy made a detour to obtain
the presence of Squire Egan, while Father Blake pushed directly onward
upon his ghostly mission.
Andy and the Squire arrived soon after the priest had administered
spiritual comfort to the sufferer, who still retained sufficient
strength to make his depositions before the Squire, the purport of which
turned out to be of the utmost importance to Andy.
This man, it appeared, _was the husband of Bridget_, who had returned
from transportation, and sought his wife and her dear brother, and his
former lawless associates, on reaching Ireland. On finding Bridget
had married again, his anger at her infidelity was endeavoured to be
appeased by the representations made to him that it was a “good job,”
inasmuch as “the lord” had been screwed out of a good sum of money by
way of separate maintenance, and that he would share the advantage of
that. When matters were more explained, however, and the convict found
this money was divided among so many, who all claimed right of share
in the plunder, his discontent returned. In the first place, the
pettifogger made a large haul for his services. Shan More swore it was
hard if a woman's own brother was not to be the better for her luck; and
Larry Hogan claimed hush-money, for he could prove Bridget's marriage,
and so upset their scheme of plunder. The convict maintained his claim
as husband was stronger than any; but this, all the others declared, was
an outlandish notion he brought back with him from foreign parts, and
did not prevail in their code of laws by any manner o' means, and even
went so far as to say they thought it hard, after they had “done the
job,” that he was to come in and lessen their profit, which he would, as
they were willing to give an even share of the spoil; and after that,
he must be the most discontented villain in the world if he was not
pleased.
The convict feigned contentment, but meditated at once revenge against
his wife and the gang, and separate profit for himself. He thought he
might stipulate for a good round sum from Lord Scatterbrain, as he could
prove him free of his supposed matrimonial engagement, and inwardly
resolved he would soon pay a visit to his lordship. But his intentions
were suspected by the gang, and a strict watch kept upon him; and though
his dissimulation and contrivance were of no inferior order, Larry Hogan
was his overmatch, and the convict was detected in having been so near
Lord Scatterbrain's dwelling, that they feared their secret, if not
already revealed, was no longer to be trusted to their new confederate's
keeping; and it was deemed advisable to knock him on the head, and shoot
my lord, which they thought would prevent all chance of the invalidity
of the marriage being discovered, and secure the future payment of the
maintenance.
How promptly the murderous determination was acted upon, the preceding
events prove. Andy's courage in the first part of the affair saved his
life; his promptness in afterwards seeking to secure the offenders
led to the important discovery he had just made; and as the convict's
depositions could be satisfactorily backed by proofs which he showed the
means of obtaining, Andy was congratulated heartily by the Squire and
Father Blake, and rode home in almost delirious delight at the prospect
of making Oonah his wife. On reaching the stables, he threw himself from
his saddle, let the horse make his own way to his stall, dashed through
the back hall, and nearly broke his neck in tumbling up-stairs, burst
open the drawing-room door, and made a rush upon Oonah, whom he hugged
and kissed most outrageously, amidst exclamations of the wildest
affection.
Oonah, half strangled and struggling for breath, at last freed herself
from his embraces, and asked him, angrily, what he was about--in which
inquiry she was backed by his mother.
Andy answered by capering round the room, shouting, “Hurroo! I'm not
married at all--hurroo!” He turned over the chairs, upset the tables,
threw the mantelpiece ornaments into the fire, seized the poker and
tongs, and banged them together as he continued dancing and shouting.
Oonah and his mother stood gazing at his antics in trembling amazement,
till at last the old woman exclaimed, “Holy Vargin! he's gone mad!”
whereupon she and her niece set up a violent screaming, which called
Andy back to his propriety, and, as well as his excitement would permit,
he told them the cause of his extravagant joy. His wonder and delight
were shared by his mother and the blushing Oonah, who did not struggle
so hard in Andy's embrace on his making a second vehement demonstration
of his love for her.
“Let me send for Father Blake, my jewel,” said Andy, “and I'll marry you
at once.”
His mother reminded him he must first have his present marriage proved
invalid. Andy uttered several pieces of _original_ eloquence on “the
law's delay.”
“Well, anyhow,” said he, “I'll drink your health, my darling girl, this
day, as Lady Scatterbrain--for you must consider yourself as sitch.”
“Behave yourself, my lord,” said Oonah, archly.
“Bother!” cried Andy, snatching another kiss.
“Hillo!” cried Dick Dawson, entering at the moment, and seeing the
romping-match. “You're losing no time, I see, Andy.”
Oonah was running from the room, laughing and blushing, when Dick
interposed, and cried, “Ah, don't go, 'my lady,' that _is to be_.”
Oonah slapped down the hand that barred her progress, exclaiming,
“You're just as bad as he is, Mister Dawson!” and ran away.
Dick had ridden over, on hearing the news, to congratulate Andy, and
consented to remain and dine with him. Oonah had rather, after what
had taken place, he had not been there, for Dick backed Andy in his
tormenting the girl and joined heartily in drinking to Andy's toast,
which, according to promise, he gave to the health of the future Lady
Scatterbrain.
It was impossible to repress Andy's wild delight; and in the excitement
of the hour he tossed off bumper after bumper to all sorts of
love-making toasts, till he was quite overcome by his potations, and
fit for no place but bed. To this last retreat of “the glorious” he was
requested to retire, and, after much coaxing, consented. He staggered
over to the window-curtain, which he mistook for that of the bed; in
vain they wanted to lead him elsewhere--he would sleep in no other bed
but _that_--and, backing out at the window-pane, he made a smash, of
which he seemed sensible, for he said it wasn't a fair trick to put
pins in the bed. “I know it was Oonah did that!--hip!--ha! ha! Lady
Scatterbrain!--never mind--hip!--I'll have my revenge on you yet!”
They could not get him up-stairs, so his mother suggested he should
sleep in her room, which was on the same floor, for that night, and at
last he was got into the apartment. There he was assisted to disrobe, as
he stood swaying about at a dressing-table. Chancing to lay his hands on
a pill-box, he mistook it for his watch.
“Stop--stop!” he stammered forth--“I must wind my watch;” and, suiting
the action to the word, he began twisting about the pill-box, the lid
of which came off and the pills fell about the floor. “Oh, murder!”
said Lord Scatterbrain, “the works of my watch are fallin' about the
flure--pick them up--pick them up--pick them up--” He could speak
no more, and becoming quite incapable of all voluntary action, was
undressed and put to bed, the last sound which escaped him being a faint
muttering--“pick them up.”
CHAPTER THE LAST
The day following the eventful one just recorded, the miserable convict
breathed his last. A printed notice was posted in all the adjacent
villages, offering a reward for the apprehension of _Shan More_ and
“other persons unknown,” for their murderous assault; and a small
reward was promised for such “private information as might lead to
the apprehension of the aforesaid,” &c., &c. Larry Hogan at once came
forward and put the authorities on the scent, but still Shan and his
accomplices remained undiscovered. Larry's information on another
subject, however, was more effective. He gave his own testimony to the
previous marriage of Bridget, and pointed out the means of obtaining
more, so that, ere long, Lord Scatterbrain was a “free man.” Though the
depositions of the murdered man did not directly implicate Larry in the
murderous attack, still it showed that he had participated in much
of their villany; but, as in difficult cases, we must put up with bad
instruments to reach the ends of justice, so this rascal was useful for
his evidence and private information, and got his reward.
But he got his reward in more ways than one. He knew that he dare not
longer remain in the country after what had taken place, and set off
directly for Dublin by the mail, intending to proceed to England; but
England he never reached. As he was proceeding down the Custom-house
quay in the dusk of the evening, to get on ship-board, his arms were
suddenly seized and drawn behind him by a powerful grasp, while a woman
in front drew a handkerchief across his mouth, and stifled his attempted
cries. His bundle was dragged from him, and the woman ransacked his
pockets but they contained but a few shillings, Larry having hidden
the wages of his treachery to his confederates in the folds of his
neck-cloth. To pluck this from his throat, many a fierce wrench was made
by the woman, when her attempts on the pockets proved worthless; but the
handkerchief was knotted so tightly that she could not disengage it.
The approach of some passengers along the quay alarmed the assailants
of Larry, who, ere the iron grip released him, heard a deep curse in
his ear growled by a voice he well knew, and then he felt himself hurled
with gigantic force from the quay wall. Before the base, cheating,
faithless scoundrel could make one exclamation, he was plunged into
the Liffey--even before one mental aspiration for mercy, he was in
the throes of suffocation! The heavy splash in the water caught the
attention of those whose approach had alarmed the murderers, and seeing
a man and woman running, a pursuit commenced, which ended by Newgate
having two fresh tenants the next day.
And so farewell to the entire of the abominable crew, whose evil doings
and merited fates have only been recorded when it became necessary
to our story. It is better to leave the debased and the profligate in
oblivion than drag their doings before the day; and it is with happy
consciousness an Irishman may assert, that there is plenty of subject
afforded by Irish character and Irish life honourable to the land,
pleasing to the narrator, and sufficiently attractive to the reader,
without the unwholesome exaggerations of crime which too often disfigure
the fictions which pass under the title of “Irish,” alike offensive
to truth as to taste--alike injurious both for private and public
considerations.
* * * * *
It was in the following autumn that a particular chariot drove up to the
door of the Victoria Hotel, on the shore of Killarney lake. A young man
of elegant bearing handed a very charming young lady from the chariot;
aand that kindest and mos accommodating of hostesses, Mrs. F----,
welcomed the fresh arrival with her good-humoured and smiling face.
Why, amidst the crowd of arrivals at the Victoria, one chariot should
be remarkable beyond another, arose from its quiet elegance, which might
strike even a casual observer; but the intelligent Mrs. F---- saw with
half an eye the owners must be high-bred people. To the apartments
already engaged for them they were shown; but few minutes were lost
within doors where such matchless natural beauty tempted them without.
A boat was immediately ordered, and then the newly arrived visitors were
soon on the lake. The boatmen had already worked hard that day, having
pulled one party completely round the lakes--no trifling task; but the
hardy fellows again bent to their oars, and made the sleeping waters
wake in golden flashes to the sunset, till told they need not pull so
hard.
“Faith, then, we'll _plaze_ you, sir,” said the stroke-oarsman, with a
grin, “for we have had quite enough of it to-day.”
“Do you not think, Fanny,” said Edward O'Connor, for it was he who spoke
to his bride, “Do you not think 'tis more in unison with the tranquil
hour and the coming shadows, to glide softly over the lulled waters?”
“Yes,” she replied, “it seems almost sacrilege to disturb this heavenly
repose by the slightest dip of the oar--see how perfectly that lovely
island is reflected.”
“That is Innisfallin, my lady,” said the boatman, hearing her allude
to the island, “where the hermitage is.” As he spoke, a gleam of light
sparkled on the island, which was reflected on the water.
“One might think the hermit was there too,” said Fanny, “and had just
lighted a lamp for his vigils.”
“That's the light of the guide that shows the place to the quality, my
lady, and lives on the island always in a corner of the ould ruin.
And, indeed, if you'd like to see the island this evening, there's time
enough, and 'twould be so much saved out of to-morrow.”
The boatman's advice was acted upon, and as they glided towards the
island, Fanny and Edward gazed delightedly on the towering summits of
Magillicuddy's reeks, whose spiral pinnacles and graceful declivities
told out sharply against the golden sky behind them, which, being
perfectly reflected in the calm lake, gave a grand chain of mountain the
appearance of being suspended in glowing heather, for the lake was one
bright amber sheet of light below, and the mountains one massive barrier
of shade, till they cut against the light above. The boat touched the
shore of Innisfallin, and the delighted pair of visitants hurried to its
western point to catch the sunset, lighting with its glory the matchless
foliage of this enchanting spot, where every form of grace exhaustless
nature can display is lavished on the arborial richness of the scene,
which, in its unequalled luxuriance, gives to a fanciful beholder the
idea that the _trees themselves have a conscious pleasure in growing
there._ Oh! what a witching spot is Innisfallin!
Edward had never seen anything so beautiful in his life; and with the
woman he adored resting on his arm, he quoted the lines which Moore has
applied to the Vale of Cashmere, as he asked Fanny would she not like to
live there.
“Would you?” said Fanny.
Edward answered--
“If woman can make the worst wilderness dear,
Think--think what a heaven she must make of Cashmere.”
They lingered on the island till the moon arose, and then re-embarked.
The silvery light exhibited the lake under another aspect, and the dimly
discovered forms of the lofty hills rose one above another, tier upon
tier, circling the waters in their shadowy frame, the beauty of the
scene reached a point of sublimity which might be called holy. As they
returned towards the shelving strand, a long row of peeled branches,
standing upright in the water, attracted Fanny's attention, and she
asked their use.
“All the use in life, my lady,” said the boatman, “for without the same
branches, maybe it's not home to-night you'd get.”
On Fanny inquiring further the meaning of the boatman's answer, she
learned that the sticks were placed there to indicate the only channel
which permitted a boat to approach the shore on that side of the lake,
where the water was shoal, while in other parts the depth had never been
fathomed.
An early excursion on the water was planned for the morning, and Edward
and Fanny were wakened from their slumbers by the tones of the bugle; a
soft Irish melody being breathed by Spillan, followed by a more sportive
one from the other minstrel of the lake, Ganzy.
The lake now appeared under another aspect--the morning sun and morning
breeze were upon it, and the sublimity with which the shades of evening
had invested the mountains was changed to that of the most varied
richness; for Autumn hung out its gaudy banner on the lofty hills,
crowned to their summits with all variety of wood, which, though tinged
by the declining year, had scarcely shed one leafy honour. The day was
glorious, and the favouring breeze enabled the boat to career across the
sparkling lake under canvas, till the overhanging hills of the opposite
side robbed them of their aerial wings, and the sail being struck, the
boatmen bent to their oars. As they passed under a promontory, clothed
from the water's edge to its topmost ridge with the most luxuriant
vegetation, it was pointed out to the lady as “the minister's back.”
“'T is a strange name,” said Fanny. “Do you know why it is called so?”
“Faix, I dunna, my lady--barrin' that it is the best covered back in
the country. But here we come to the _aichos_,” said he, resting on his
oars. The example was followed by his fellows, and the bugler, lifting
his instrument to his lips, gave one long well-sustained blast. It rang
across the waters gallantly. It returned in a few seconds with such
unearthly sweetness, as though the spirit of the departed sound had
become heavenly, and revisited the place where it had expired.
Fanny and Edward listened breathlessly.
The bugle gave out its notes again in the well-known “call,” and as
sweetly as before the notes were returned distinctly.
And now a soft and slow and simple melody stole from the exquisitely
played bugle, and phrase after phrase was echoed from the responding
hills. How many an emotion stirred within Edward's breast, as the
melting music fell upon his ear! In the midst of matchless beauties he
heard the matchless strains of his native land, and the echoes of her
old hills responding to the triumphs of her old bards. The air, too,
bore with it historic associations;--it told a tale of wrong and of
suffering. The wrong has ceased, the suffering is past, but the air
which records them still lives.
“Oh! triumph of the minstrel!” exclaimed Edward in delight. “The tyrant
crumbles in his coffin, while the song of the bard survives! The memory
of a sceptred ruffian is endlessly branded by a simple strain, while
many of the elaborate chronicles of his evil life have passed away and
are mouldering like himself.”
Scarcely had the echoes of this exquisite air died away, when the
entrancement it carried was rudely broken by one of the vulgarest tunes
being brayed from a bugle in a boat which was seen rounding the headland
of the wooded promontory. Edward and Fanny writhed, and put their hands
to their ears. “Give way, boys!” said Edward; “for pity's sake get away
from these barbarians. Give way!”
Away sprang the boat. To the boatman's inquiry whether they should stop
at “Lady Kenmare's Cottage,” Fanny said “no,” when she found on inquiry
it was a particularly “show-place,” being certain the vulgar party
following _would_ stop there, and therefore time might be gained in
getting away from such disagreeable followers.
Dinas Island, fringed with its lovely woods, excited their admiration,
as they passed underneath its shadows, and turned into Turk Lake; here
the labyrinthine nature of the channels through which they had been
winding was changed for a circular expanse of water, over which the
lofty mountain, whence it takes its name, towers in all its wild beauty
of wood, and rock, and heath.
At a certain part of the lake, the boatmen, without any visible cause,
rested on their oars. On Edward asking them why they did not pull, he
received this touching answer:--
“Sure, your honour would not have us disturb Ned Macarthy's grave!”
“Then a boatman was drowned here, I suppose?” said Edward.
“Yes, your honour.” The boatman then told how the accident occurred “one
day when there was a stag-hunt on the lake;” but as the anecdote struck
Edward so forcibly that he afterwards recorded it in verse, we will give
the story after his fashion.
MACARTHY'S GRAVE
I
The breeze was fresh, the morn was fair,
The stag had left his dewy lair;
To cheering horn and baying tongue,
Killarney's echoes sweetly rung.
With sweeping oar and bending mast,
The eager chase was following fast;
When one light skiff a maiden steer'd
Beneath the deep wave disappeared:
Wild shouts of terror wildly ring,
A boatman brave, with gallant spring
And dauntless arm, the lady bore;
But he who saved--was seen no more!
II
Where weeping birches wildly wave,
There boatmen show their brother's grave;
And while they tell the name he bore,
Suspended hangs the lifted oar;
The silent drops they idly shed
Seem like tears to gallant Ned;
And while gently gliding by,
The tale is told with moistened eye.
No ripple on the slumbering lake
Unhallow'd oar doth ever make;
All undisturb'd, the placid wave
Flows gently o'er Macarthy's grave.
Winding backwards through the channels which lead the explorers of this
scene of nature's enchantment from the lower to the upper lake, the
surpassing beauty of the “Eagle's nest” burst on their view; and as
they hovered under its stupendous crags, clustering with all variety of
verdure, the bugle and the cannon awoke the almost endless reverberation
of sound which is engendered here. Passing onward, a sudden change is
wrought; the soft beauty melts gradually away, and the scene hardens
into frowning rocks and steep acclivities, making a befitting vestibule
to the bold and bleak precipices of “The Reeks,” which form the western
barrier of this upper lake, whose savage grandeur is rendered more
striking by the scenes of fairy-like beauty left behind. But even here,
in the midst of the mightiest desolation, the vegetative vigour of the
numerous islands proves the wondrous productiveness of the soil in these
regions.
On their return, a great commotion was observable as they approached the
rapids formed by the descending waters of the upper lake to the lower,
and they were hailed and warned by some of the peasants from the shore
that they must not attempt the rapids at present, as a boat, which had
just been upset, lay athwart the passage. On hearing this, Edward and
Fanny landed upon the falls, and walked towards the old bridge, where
all was bustle and confusion, as the dripping passengers were dragged
safely to shore from the capsized boat, which had been upset by the
principal gentleman of the party, whose vulgar trumpetings had so
disturbed the delight of Edward and Fanny, who soon recognised the
renowned Andy as the instigator of the bad music and the cause of the
accident. Yes, Lord Scatterbrain, true to his original practice, was
author of all.
Nevertheless, he and his party, soused over head and ears as they
were, took the thing in good humour, which was unbroken even by the
irrepressible laughter which escaped from Edward and Fanny, as they
approached and kindly offered assistance. An immediate removal to the
neighbouring cottage on Dinas Island was recommended, particularly as
Lady Scatterbrain was in a delicate situation, as well, indeed, as Mrs.
Durfy, who, with her dear Tom, had joined Lord Scatterbrain's party of
pleasure.
On reaching the cottage, sufficient change of clothes was obtained
to prevent evil consequences from the ducking. This, under ordinary
circumstances, might not have been easy for so many; but, fortunately,
Lord Scatterbrain had ordered a complete dinner from the hotel to be
served in the cottage, and some of the assistants from the Victoria,
who were necessarily present, helped to dress more than the dinner. What
between cookmaids and waiters, the care-taker of the cottage and the
boatmen, bodies, and skirts, jackets and other conveniences, enabled
the party to sit down to dinner in company, until fire could mend the
mistake of his lordship. Edward and Fanny courteously joined the party;
and the honour of their company was sensibly felt by Andy and Oonah,
who would have borne a ducking a day for the honour of having Fanny and
Edward as their guests. Oonah was by nature a nice creature, and adapted
herself to her elevated position with a modest ease that was surprising.
Even Andy was by this time able to conduct himself tolerably well at
table--only on that particular day he did make a mistake; for when
salmon (which is served at Killarney in all sorts of variety) made its
appearance for the first time in the novel form “_en papillote_,”
Andy ate paper and all. He refused a second cutlet, however, saying he
“_thought the skin tough_.” The party, however, passed off mirthfully,
the very accident helping the fun; for, instead of any one being called
by name, the “lady in the jacket,” or the “gentleman in the bedgown,”
were the terms of address; and, after a merrily spent evening, the beds
of the Victoria gave sleep and pleasing dreams to the sojourners of
Killarney.
[Illustration: The Party at Killarney]
Kind reader! the shortening space we have prescribed to our volume warns
us we must draw our story to an end. Nine months after this Killarney
excursion, Lord Scatterbrain met Dick Dawson near Mount Eskar, where
Lord Scatterbrain had ridden to make certain inquiries about Mrs.
O'Connor's health. Dick wore a smiling countenance, and to Andy's
inquiry answered, “All right, and doing as well as can be expected.”
Lord Scatterbrain, wishing to know whether it was a boy or a girl, made
the inquiry in the true spirit of Andyism--“Tell me, Misther Dawson,
_are you an uncle or an aunt?_”
Andy's mother died soon after of the cold caught by her ducking. On her
death-bed she called Oonah to her, and said, “I leave you this quilt,
_alanna_--'t is worth more than it appears. The hundred-pound notes Andy
gave me I quilted into the lining, so that if I lived poor all my life
till lately, I died under a quilt of banknotes, anyhow.”
Uncle Bob was gathered to his fathers also, and left the bulk of his
property to Augusta, so that Furlong had to regret his contemptible
conduct in rejecting her hand. Augusta indulged in a spite to all
mankind for the future, enjoying her dogs and her independence, and
defying Hymen and hydrophobia for the rest of her life.
Gusty went on profiting by the early care of Edward O'Connor, whose
friendship was ever his dearest possession; and Ratty, always wild,
expressed a desire for leading a life of enterprise. As they are both
“Irish heirs,” as well as Lord Scatterbrain, and heirs under very
different circumstances, it is not improbable that in our future
“accounts” something may yet be heard of them, and the grateful author
once more meet his kind readers.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Handy Andy, Volume 2 (of 2), by Samuel Lover