It was a time of unusual stir and bustle at the Martin Arms; the house
was crammed with company. Messengers--some mounted, others on foot--came
and went at every moment; horses stood ready saddled and harnessed in
the stables, in waiting for any emergency; in fact, there was a degree
of movement and animation only second to that of a contested election.
In the midst of this confusion a chaise with four smoking posters drew
up at the door, and a sharp, clear voice called out,--“Morrissy, are my
rooms ready?”
“No, indeed, Mr. Repton,” stammered out the abashed landlord; “the house
is full; there's not a spot in it to put a child in.”
“You got my letter, I suppose?” said Repton, angrily.
“I did, sir, but it was too late; the whole house was engaged by
Mr. Scanlan, and the same evening the company arrived in two
coaches-and-four.”
“And who is the precious company you speak of?”
“Mr. Merl, sir,” said the other, dropping his voice to a whisper, “the
new owner of Cro' Martin; he's here, with two or three great lawyers and
one or two of his friends. They came down to serve the notices and give
warning--”
“Well, what is to be done? where can I be accommodated?” broke in
Repton, hastily. “Isn't Mr. Massing-bred in the house?”
“No, sir, he had to move out, too; but, sure enough, he left a bit of a
note for you in the bar.” And he hastened off at once to fetch it.
Repton broke open the seal impatiently, and read:--
“My dear Mr. Repton,--I regret that you 'll find the inn full on your
arrival; they turned me out yesterday to make room for Mr. Merl and his
followers. Happily, Mr. Nelligan heard of my destitution, and offered me
a quarter at his house. He also desires me to say that he will deem it
a very great favor if you will accept the shelter of his roof, and in
hopeful anticipation of your consenting, he will wait dinner for your
arrival. From my own knowledge, I can safely assure you that the offer
is made in a spirit of true hospitality, and I sincerely wish that you
may accept it.
“Yours very faithfully,
“J. Massingbred.”
“Where does Mr. Nelligan live?” asked Repton, as he refolded the letter.
“Just across the street, sir. There it is.”
“Set me down there, then,” said Repton. And the next moment he was at
Nelligan's door.
“This is a very great honor, sir,” said old Dan, as he appeared in a
suit of decorous black. “It is, indeed, a proud day that gives me the
pleasure of seeing you here.”
“My dear sir, if you had no other distinction than being the father of
Joseph Nelligan, the honor and the pride lie all in the opposite scale.
I am sincerely glad to be your guest, and to know you where every true
Irishman is seen to the greatest advantage,--at the head of his own
board.”
While Nelligan conducted his guest to his room, he mentioned that
Massingbred had ridden over to Cro' Martin early in the morning, but
would be certainly back for dinner.
“And what 's the news of Miss Martin? Is she better?”
“They say not, sir. The last accounts are far from favorable.”
“Sir Henry Laurie saw her, did n't he?”
“Yes, sir; he passed all Sunday here, and only returned to town
yesterday. He spoke doubtfully,--I might even say, gloomily. He said,
however, that we cannot know anything for certain before Friday or,
perhaps, Saturday.”
“It is fever, then?”
“Yes, he told my wife, the worst character of typhus.”
“Brought on, as I've been told, by exposure to wet and cold on that
night at sea. Is n't that the case?”
“I believe so. Mrs. Nelligan went over the next morning to the cottage.
She had heard of poor Mr. Martin's death, and thought she might be
of some use to Miss Mary; but when she arrived, it was to find her in
fever, talking wildly, and insisting that she must be up and away to
Kyle-a-Noe to look after a poor sick family there.”
“Has Mrs. Nelligan seen her since that?”
“She never left her,--never quitted her. She relieves Henderson's
daughter in watching beside her bed; for the old housekeeper is quite
too infirm to bear the fatigue.”
“What a sad change has come over this little spot, and in so brief
a space too! It seems just like yesterday that I was a guest at Cro'
Martin,--poor Martin himself so happy and light-hearted; his dear girl,
as he called her, full of life and spirits. Your son was there the night
I speak of. I remember it well, for the madcap girls would make a fool
of me, and insisted on my singing them a song; and I shall not readily
forget the shame my compliance inflicted on my learned brother's face.”
“Joe told me of it afterwards.”
“Ah, he told you, did he? He doubtless remarked with asperity on the
little sense of my own dignity I possessed?”
“On the contrary, sir, he said, 'Great as are Mr. Rep-ton's gifts, and
brilliant as are his acquirements, I envy him more the happy buoyancy of
his nature than all his other qualities.'”
“He's a fine fellow, and it was a generous speech; not but I will be
vain enough to say he was right,--ay, sir, perfectly right. Of all the
blessings that pertain to temperament, there is not one to compare with
the spirit that renews in an old man the racy enjoyment of youth, keeps
his heart fresh and his mind hopeful. With these, age brings no terrors.
I shall be seventy-five, sir, if I live to the second of next month, and
I have not lived long enough to dull the enjoyment life affords me, nor
diminish the pleasure my heart derives upon hearing of a noble action or
a generous sentiment.”
Nelligan gazed at the speaker in mingled astonishment and admiration.
Somehow, it was not altogether the man he had expected; but he was far
from being disappointed at the difference. The Valentine Repton of his
imagination was a crafty pleader, a subtle cross-examiner, an ingenious
flatterer of juries; but he was not a man whose nature was assailable by
anything “not found in the books.”
Now, though Nelligan was himself essentially a worldly man, he was
touched by these traits of one whom he had regarded as a hardened old
lawyer, distrustful and suspicious.
“Ay, sir,” said Repton, as, leaning on the other's arm, he entered the
drawing-room, “a wiser man than either of us has left it on record, that
after a long life and much experience of the world, he met far more of
good and noble qualities in mankind than of their opposite. Take my word
for it, whenever we are inclined to the contrary opinion, the fault lies
with ourselves.”
While they sat awaiting Massingbred's return, a servant entered with a
note, which Nelligan, having read, handed over to Repton. It was very
brief, and ran thus:--
“My dear Mr. Nelligan,--Forgive my not appearing at dinner, and make my
excuses to Mr. Repton, if he be with you, for I have just fallen in
with Magennis, who insists on carrying me off to Barnagheela. You can
understand, I 'm sure, that there are reasons why I could not well
decline this invitation. Meanwhile, till to-morrow, at breakfast,
“I am yours,
“Jack Massingbred.”
If there was a little constraint on Nelligan's part at finding himself
alone to do the honors to his distinguished guest, the feeling soon wore
away, and a frank, hearty confidence was soon established between these
two men, who up to the present moment had been following very different
roads in life. Apart from a lurking soreness, the remnants of long-past
bitterness, Nelligan's political opinions were fair and moderate, and
agreed with Repton's now to a great extent. His views as to the people,
their habits and their natures, were also strikingly just and true. He
was not over-hopeful, nor was he despondent; too acute an observer to
refer their faults to any single source, he regarded their complex,
intricate characters as the consequence of many causes, the issue of
many struggles. There was about all he said the calm judgment of a man
desirous of truth; and yet, when he came to speak of the higher classes,
the great country gentry, he displayed prejudices and mistakes
quite incredible in one of his discernment. The old grudge of social
disqualification had eaten deep into his heart, and, as Repton saw, it
would take at least two generations of men, well-to-do and successful,
to eradicate the sentiment.
Nelligan was quick enough to see that these opinions of his were not
shared by his guest, and said, “I cannot expect, Mr. Repton, that you
will join me in these views; you have seen these people always as an
equal, if not their superior; they met _you_ with their best faces and
sweetest flatteries. Not so with us. They draw a line, as though to say,
go on: make your fortunes; purchase estates; educate your children;
send them to the universities with our own; teach them our ways, our
instincts, our manners, and yet, at the end of all, you shall remain
exactly where you began. You shall never be 'of us.'”
“I am happy to say that I disagree with you,” said Repton; “I am a much
older man than you, and I can draw, therefore, on a longer experience.
Now the change that I myself have seen come over the tone and temper of
the world since I was a boy is far more marvellous to me than all the
new-fangled discoveries around us in steam and electricity. Why, sir,
the man who now addresses you, born of an ancient stock, as good blood
as any untitled gentleman of the land, was treated once as Jack Cade
might be in a London drawing-room. The repute of liberal notions or
politics at that day stamped you as a democrat and atheist If you sided
with a popular measure, you were deemed capable of all the crimes of a
'Danton.'
“Do I not remember it!--Ay, as a student, young, ardent, and
high-hearted, when I was summoned before the visitors of the university,
and sternly asked by the dark-browed Lord Chancellor if I belonged to
a society called the 'Friends of Ireland,' and on my acknowledging the
fact, without inquiry, without examination, deprived of my scholarship,
and sent back to my chambers, admonished to be more cautious, and
menaced with expulsion. I had very little to live on in those days;
my family had suffered great losses in fortune, and I disliked to be a
burden to them. I took pupils, therefore, to assist me in my support.
The Vice-Provost stepped in, however, and interdicted this. 'Young men,'
he said, 'ran a greater chance of coming out of my hands followers of
Paine than disciples of Newton.' I starved on till I was called to the
bar. There fresh insults and mortifications met me. My name on a brief
seemed a signal for a field-day against Jacobinism and infidelity. The
very bench forgot its dignity in its zeal. I remember well one day,
when, stung and maddened by these outrages, I so far forgot myself as
to reply, and the Court of King's Bench was closed against me for
twelve long years,--ay, till I came back to it as the first man in my
profession. It was a trumpery cause,--I forget what; a suit about some
petty bill of exchange. I disputed the evidence, and sought to show its
invalidity. The Chief Justice stopped me, and said, 'The Court is aware
of the point on which you rely; we have known evidence of this nature
admitted in cases of trial for treason,--cases with which Mr. Repton, we
know, is very familiar. I stopped; my blood boiled with indignation,
my temples throbbed to bursting, to be thus singled out amongst my
brethren--before the public--as a mark of scorn and reprobation. 'It is
true, my Lord,' said I, with a slow, measured utterance, 'I am familiar
with such cases. Who is there in this unhappy land that is not? I am
aware, too, that if I stood in that dock arraigned on such a charge,
your Lordship would rule that this evidence was admissible; you would
charge against me, sentence, and hang me; but the present is an action
for eleven pounds ten, and, therefore, I trust to your Lordship's lenity
and mercy to reject it.'
“That reply, sir, cost me twelve years of exile from the court wherein I
uttered it. Those were times when the brow-beating judge could crush
the bar; nor were the jury always safe in the sanctuary of the jury-box.
Now, such abuses are no longer in existence; and if we have made no
other stride in progress, even that is considerable.”
“In all that regards the law and its administration, I am sure you are
correct, sir,” said Nelligan, submissively.
“At the period I speak of,” resumed Repton, who now was only following
out his own thoughts and reminiscences, “the judges were little else
than prefects, administering the country through the channel of the
penal code, and the jury a set of vulgar partisans, who wielded the
power of a verdict with all the caprice of a faction; and as to their
ignorance, why, sir, Crookshank, who afterwards sat on the bench, used
to tell of a trial for murder at Kells, where the 'murdered man' was two
hours under cross-examination on the table! Yes, but that is not all;
the jury retired to deliberate, and came out at length with a verdict of
'manslaughter,' as the prisoner was 'a bad fellow, and had once stolen a
saddle from the foreman.' You talk of law and civilization; why, I tell
you, sir, that the barbaric code of the red man is a higher agent
of enlightenment than the boasted institutions of England, when thus
perverted and degraded. No, no, Mr. Nelligan, it may be a fine theme
for declamation, there may be grand descriptive capabilities about the
Ireland of sixty or seventy years ago, but be assured, it was a social
chaos of the worst kind; and as a maxim, sir, remember, that the
inhabitants of a country are never so much to be pitied as when the
aspect of their social condition is picturesque!”
Repton fell into a musing fit when he had finished these observations,
and Nelligan felt too much deference for his guest to disturb him,
and they sat thus silent for some time, when the old lawyer suddenly
arousing himself, said,--“What's all this I hear about disturbances, and
attacks on the police, down here?”
“There's nothing political in it,” rejoined Nelligan. “It was resistance
offered by the people to the service of certain notices on the part of
this London Jew--Merl, I think they call him.”
“Yes, that's the name,” quickly responded Repton. “You are aware of the
circumstances under which he claims the estate?”
“I had it from Brierley, who was told by Scanlan, that he purchased, or
rather won at play, the entire and sole reversion.”
Repton nodded.
“And such is a legal compact, I presume?” said Nelligan.
“If the immoral obligation be well concealed in the negotiation, I don't
see how it is to be broken. The law, sir,” added he, solemnly, “never
undertakes the charge of fools till a commission be taken out in their
behalf! This young fellow's pleasure it was to squander his succession
to a princely estate, and he chanced to meet with one who could
appreciate his intentions.”
“Massingbred told me, however, that some arrangement, some compromise
was in contemplation; that Merl, knowing that to enforce his claim would
subject him to a trial and all its disclosures, had shown a disposition
to treat; in fact, Massingbred has already had an interview with him,
and but for Scanlan, who desires to push matters to extremity, the
affair might possibly be accommodated.”
“The Jew possibly sees, too, that an Irish succession is not a bloodless
triumph. He has been frightened, I have no doubt.”
“I believe so; they say he took to his bed the day he got back here, and
has never quitted it since. The people hunted them for four miles across
the country, and as Merl couldn't leap his horse over the walls, they
were several times nearly caught by the delay in making gaps for him.”
“I'd have given fifty pounds to be in at it,” broke out Repton.
Then suddenly remembering that the aspiration did not sound as very
dignified, he hemmed and corrected himself, saying, “It must, indeed,
have been a strange spectacle!”
“They started at Kyle's Wood, and ran them over the low grounds beside
Kelly's Mills, and then doubling, brought them along the foot of
Barnagheela Mountain, where, it seems, Magennis joined the chase; he was
fast closing with them when his gun burst, and rather damaged his hand.”
“He fired, then?”
[Illustration: 368]
“Yes, he put a heavy charge of slugs into Merl's horse as he was getting
through the mill-race, and the beast flung up and threw his rider into
the stream. Scanlan dismounted and gathered him up, discharging his
pistol at some country fellow who was rushing forward; they say the man
has lost an eye. They got off, however, and, gaining the shelter of the
Cro' Martin wood, they managed to escape at last, and reached this
about six o'clock, their clothes in tatters, their horses lamed, and
themselves lamentable objects of fatigue and exhaustion. Since that,
no one but the doctor has seen Merl, and Scanlan only goes out with an
escort of police.”
“All this sounds very like 'sixty years ago,'” said Repton, laughing.
“I'm afraid it does, and I half dread what the English newspapers may
say under the heading of 'Galway Barbarities.'”
“By Jove! I must say I like it; that is,” said Repton, hesitating and
confused, “I can see some palliation for the people in such an outburst
of generous but misdirected feeling. The old name has still its
spell for their hearts; and even superstitions, sir, are better than
incredulity!”
“But of what avail is all this? The law must and will be vindicated. It
may cost some lives, on the road, but Mr. Merl must reach his journey's
end, at last.”
“He may deem the sport, as I have known some men do tiger-hunting, not
worth the danger,” said Repton. “You and I, Mr. Nelligan, acclimated, as
I may say, to such incidents, would probably not decline the title to
an estate, whose first step in possession should be enforced by the
blunderbuss; but make the scene Africa, and say what extent of territory
would you accept of, on the compact of enforcing your claim against
the natives? Now, for all the purposes of argument, to this cockney's
appreciation, these countrymen of ours are Africans.”
“I can well understand his terror,” said Nelligan, thoughtfully. “I 'm
sure the yell that followed him through the gap of Kyle-a-Noe will ring
in his heart for many a day. It was there the pursuit was hottest. As
they came out, a stranger, who had been here during the winter,--a Mr.
Barry--”
“What of _him?_ What did _he_ do?” broke in Repton, with great
eagerness.
“He stood upon an old wall, and hurrahed the people on, calling out,
'Five gold guineas to the man who will hurl that fellow into the lake.'”
“He said that?” cried Repton.
“Yes, and waved his hat in encouragement to the mob! This was deposed in
evidence before the bench; and Scanlan's affidavit went on to say, that
when the temper of the people seemed to relent, and the ardor of
their pursuit to relax, this man's presence invariably rallied all the
energies of mischief, and excited the wildest passions of the populace.”
“Who or what is he supposed to be?” asked the lawyer.
“Some say, a returned convict,--a banker that was transported thirty
years ago for forgery; others, that he is Con O'Hara, that killed Major
Stackpoole in the famous duel at Bunratty Castle. Magennis swears that
he remembers the face well; at all events, there is a mystery about him,
and when he came into the shop below stairs--”
“Oh, then, you have seen him yourself?”
“Yes; he came in on Monday last, and asked for some glazed gunpowder,
and if we had bullets of a large mould to fit his pistols. They were
curiosities in their way; they were made in America, and had a bore
large as your thumb.”
“You had some conversation with him?”
“A few words about the country and the crops. He said he thought we had
good prospects for the wheat, and, if we should have a fine harvest,
a good winter was like to follow. Meaning that, with enough to eat, we
should have fewer outrages in the dark nights, and by that I knew he
was one acquainted with the country. I said as much, and then he turned
fiercely on me, and remarked, 'I never questioned you, sir, about your
hides and tallow and ten-penny nails, for they were _your_ affairs;
please, then, to pay the same deference to _me_ and _mine_.' And before
I could reply he was gone.”
“It was a rude speech,” said Repton, thoughtfully; “but many men are
morose from circumstances whose natures are full of kindliness and
gentleness.”
“It was precisely the impression this stranger made upon me. There was
that in his manner which implied a hard lot in life,--no small share of
the shadiest side of fortune; and even when his somewhat coarse rebuke
was uttered, I was more disposed to be angry with myself for being the
cause than with him who made it.”
“Where is he stopping just now?”
“At Kilkieran, I have heard; but he has been repeatedly back and forward
in the town here during the week, though for the last few days I have
not seen him. Perhaps he has heard of Scanlan's intention to summons
him for aiding and abetting an assault, and has kept out of the way in
consequence.”
“_He_ keep out of the way!” cried Repton; “you never mistook a man more
in your life!”
“You are acquainted with him, then?” said Nelligan, in amazement.
“That am I, sir. No one knows him better, and on my knowledge of the man
it was that I apologized for his incivility to yourself. If I cannot
say more, Mr. Nelligan, it is not because I have any mistrust in your
confidence, but that my friend's secret is, in his own charge, and only
to be revealed at his own pleasure.”
“I wish you would tell him that I never meant to play the spy upon
him,--that my remark was a merely chance observation--”
“I promise you to do so,” broke in Repton. “I promise you still more,
that before he leaves this you shall have an apology from his own lips
for his accidental rudeness; nay, two men that would know how to respect
each other should never part under even a passing misunderstanding. It
is an old theory of mine, Mr. Nelligan, that good men's good opinions of
us form the pleasantest store of our reminiscences, and I 'd willingly
go a hundred miles to remove a misconception that might bring me back to
the esteem of an honorable heart, though I never were to set eyes again
on him who possessed it.”
“I like your theory well, sir,” said Nelligan, cordially.
“You 'll find the practice will reward you,” said Repton.
“I confess this stranger has inspired me with great curiosity.”
“I can well understand the feeling,” said Repton, musing. “It is with
men as with certain spots in landscape, there are chance glimpses which
suggest to us the fair scenes that lie beyond our view! Poor fellow!
poor fellow!” muttered he once or twice to himself; and then starting
abruptly, said, “You have made me so cordially welcome here that I
am going to profit by every privilege of a guest. I 'm going to say
good-night, for I have much before me on the morrow.”