DETACHMENT DUTY—THE BURTON ARMS—CALLONBY.
For a week after my arrival at Kilrush, my life was one of the most
dreary monotony. The rain, which had begun to fall as I left Limerick,
continued to descend in torrents, and I found myself a close prisoner
in the sanded parlour of “mine inn.” At no time would such “durance
vile” have been agreeable; but now, when I contrasted it with all I had
left behind at head quarters, it was absolutely maddening. The pleasant
lounge in the morning, the social mess, and the agreeable evening
party, were all exchanged for a short promenade of fourteen feet in one
direction, and twelve in the other, such being the accurate measurement
of my “salle a manger.” A chicken, with legs as blue as a Highlander’s
in winter, for my dinner; and the hours that all Christian mankind were
devoting to pleasant intercourse, and agreeable chit-chat, spent in
beating that dead-march to time, “the Devil’s Tattoo,” upon my ricketty
table, and forming, between whiles, sundry valorous resolutions to
reform my life, and “eschew sack and loose company.”
My front-window looked out upon a long, straggling, ill-paved street,
with its due proportion of mud-heaps, and duck pools; the houses on
either side were, for the most part, dingy-looking edifices, with
half-doors, and such pretension to being shops as a quart of meal, or
salt, displayed in the window, confers; or sometimes two tobacco-pipes,
placed “saltier-wise,” would appear the only vendible article in the
establishment. A more wretched, gloomy-looking picture of woe-begone
poverty, I never beheld.
If I turned for consolation to the back of the house, my eyes fell upon
the dirty yard of a dirty inn; the half-thatched cow-shed, where two
famished animals mourned their hard fate,—“chewing the cud of sweet and
bitter fancy;” the chaise, the yellow post-chaise, once the pride and
glory of the establishment, now stood reduced from its wheels, and
ignominiously degraded to a hen-house; on the grass-grown roof a cock
had taken his stand, with an air of protective patronage to the
feathered inhabitants beneath:
“To what base uses must we come at last.”
That chaise, which once had conveyed the blooming bride, all blushes
and tenderness, and the happy groom, on their honeymoon visit to
Ballybunion and its romantic caves, or to the gigantic cliffs and
sea-girt shores of Moher—or with more steady pace and becoming gravity
had borne along the “going judge of assize,”—was now become a lying-in
hospital for fowl, and a nursery for chickens. Fallen as I was myself
from my high estate, it afforded me a species of malicious satisfaction
to contemplate these sad reverses of fortune; and I verily believe—for
on such slight foundation our greatest resolves are built—that if the
rain had continued a week longer, I should have become a misanthropist
for life. I made many inquiries from my landlady as to the society of
the place, but the answers I received only led to greater despondence.
My predecessor here, it seemed, had been an officer of a veteran
battalion, with a wife, and that amount of children which is
algebraically expressed by an X (meaning an unknown quantity). He, good
man, in his two years’ sojourn here, had been much more solicitous
about his own affairs, than making acquaintance with his neighbours;
and at last, the few persons who had been in the habit of calling on
“the officer,” gave up the practice; and as there were no young ladies
to refresh Pa’s memory on the matter, they soon forgot completely that
such a person existed—and to this happy oblivion I, Harry Lorrequer,
succeeded, and was thus left without benefit of clergy to the tender
mercies of Mrs. Healy of the Burton arms.
As during the inundation which deluged the whole country around I was
unable to stir from the house, I enjoyed abundant opportunity of
cultivating the acquaintance of my hostess, and it is but fair that my
reader, who has journeyed so far with me, should have an introduction.
Mrs. Healy, the sole proprietor of the “Burton Arms,” was of some five
and fifty—“or by’r lady,” three score years, of a rubicund and hale
complexion; and though her short neck and corpulent figure might have
set her down as “doubly hazardous,” she looked a good life for many
years to come. In height and breadth she most nearly resembled a
sugar-hogshead, whose rolling, pitching motion, when trundled along on
edge, she emulated in her gait. To the ungainliness of her figure her
mode of dressing not a little contributed. She usually wore a thick
linsey-wolsey gown, with enormous pockets on either side, and, like
Nora Creina’s, it certainly inflicted no undue restrictions upon her
charms, but left
“Every beauty free,
To sink or swell as heaven pleases.”
Her feet—ye gods! Such feet—were apparelled in listing slippers, over
which the upholstery of her ancles descended, and completely relieved
the mind of the spectator as to the superincumbent weight being
disproportioned to the support; I remember well my first impression on
seeing those feet and ancles reposing upon a straw footstool, while she
took her afternoon dose, and I wondered within myself if elephants were
liable to the gout. There are few countenances in the world, that if
wishing to convey an idea of, we cannot refer to some well-known
standard; and thus nothing is more common than to hear comparisons with
“Vulcan—Venus—Nicodemus,” and the like; but in the present case, I am
totally at a loss for any thing resembling the face of the worth Mrs.
Healy, except it be, perhaps, that most ancient and sour visage we used
to see upon old circular iron rappers formerly—they make none of them
now—the only difference being, that Mrs. Healy’s nose had no ring
through it; I am almost tempted to add, “more’s the pity.”
Such was she in “the flesh;” would that I could say, she was more
fascinating in the “spirit!” but alas, truth, from which I never may
depart in these “my confessions,” constrains me to acknowledge the
reverse. Most persons in this miserable world of ours, have some
prevailing, predominating characteristic, which usually gives the tone
and colour to all their thoughts and actions, forming what we
denominate temperament; this we see actuating them, now more, now less;
but rarely, however, is this great spring of action without its moments
of repose. Not so with her of whom I have been speaking. She had but
one passion—but, like Aaron’s rod, it had a most consuming tendency—and
that was to scold, and abuse, all whom hard fate had brought within the
unfortunate limits of her tyranny. The English language, comprehensive
as it is, afforded not epithets strong enough for her wrath, and she
sought among the more classic beauties of her native Irish, such
additional ones as served her need, and with this holy alliance of
tongues, she had been for years long, the dread and terror of the
entire village.
“The dawning of morn, the day-light sinking,”
ay, and even the “night’s dull hours,” it was said, too, found her
labouring in her congenial occupation; and while thus she continued to
“scold and grow fat,” her inn, once a popular and frequented one,
became gradually less and less frequented, and the dragon of the
Rhine-fells did not more effectually lay waste the territory about him,
than did the evil influence of her tongue spread desolation and ruin
around her. Her inn, at the time of my visit, had not been troubled
with even a passing traveller for many months; and, indeed, if I had
any, even the least foreknowledge of the character of my hostess, its
privacy should have still remained uninvaded for some time longer.
I had not been many hours installed, when I got a specimen of her
powers; and before the first week was over, so constant and unremitting
were her labours in this way, that I have upon the occasion of a slight
lull in the storm, occasioned by her falling asleep, actually left my
room to inquire if anything had gone wrong, in the same was as the
miller is said to awake, if the mill stops. I trust I have said enough,
to move the reader’s pity and compassion for my situation—one more
miserable it is difficult to conceive. It may be though that much might
be done by management, and that a slight exercise of the favourite Whig
plan of concilliation, might avail. Nothing of the kind. She was proof
against all such arts; and what was still worse, there was no subject,
no possible circumstance, no matter, past, present, or to come, that
she could not wind by her diabolical ingenuity, into some cause of
offence; and then came the quick transition to instant punishment.
Thus, my apparently harmless inquiry as to the society of the
neighbourhood, suggested to her—a wish on my part to make
acquaintance—therefore to dine out—therefore not to dine at
home—consequently to escape paying half-a-crown and devouring a
chicken—therefore to defraud her, and behave, as she would herself
observe, “like a beggarly scullion, with his four shillings a day,
setting up for a gentleman,” &c.
By a quiet and Job-like endurance of all manner of taunting suspicions,
and unmerited sarcasms, to which I daily became more reconciled, I
absolutely rose into something like favour; and before the first month
of my banishment expired, had got the length of an invitation to tea,
in her own snuggery—an honour never known to be bestowed on any before,
with the exception of Father Malachi Brennan, her ghostly adviser; and
even he, it is said, never ventured on such an approximation to
intimacy, until he was, in Kilrush phrase, “half screwed,” thereby
meaning more than half tipsy. From time to time thus, I learned from my
hostess such particulars of the country and its inhabitants as I was
desirous of hearing; and among other matters, she gave me an account of
the great landed proprietor himself, Lord Callonby, who was daily
expected at his seat, within some miles of Kilrush, at the same time
assuring me that I need not be looking so “pleased and curling out my
whiskers;” “that they’d never take the trouble of asking even the name
of me.” This, though neither very courteous, nor altogether flattering
to listen to, was no more than I had already learned from some brother
officers who knew this quarter, and who informed me that the Earl of
Callonby, though only visiting his Irish estates every three or four
years, never took the slightest notice of any of the military in his
neighbourhood; nor, indeed did he mix with the country gentry,
confining himself to his own family, or the guests, who usually
accompanied him from England, and remained during his few weeks’ stay.
My impression of his lordship was therefore not calculated to cheer my
solitude by any prospect of his rendering it lighter.
The Earl’s family consisted of her ladyship, an only son, nearly of
age, and two daughters; the eldest, Lady Jane, had the reputation of
being extremely beautiful; and I remembered when she came out in
London, only the year before, hearing nothing but praises of the grace
and elegance of her manner, united to the most classic beauty of her
face and figure. The second daughter was some years younger, and said
to be also very handsome; but as yet she had not been brought into
society. Of the son, Lord Kilkee, I only heard that he had been a very
gay fellow at Oxford, where he was much liked, and although not
particularly studious, had given evidence of talent.
Such were the few particulars I obtained of my neighbours, and thus
little did I know of those who were so soon to exercise a most
important influence upon my future life.
After some weeks’ close confinement, which, judging from my feelings
alone, I should have counted as many years, I eagerly seized the
opportunity of the first glimpse of sunshine to make a short excursion
along the coast; I started early in the morning, and after a long
stroll along the bold headlands of Kilkee, was returning late in the
evening to my lodgings. My path lay across a wild, bleak moor, dotted
with low clumps of furze, and not presenting on any side the least
trace of habitation. In wading through the tangled bushes, my dog
“Mouche” started a hare; and after a run “sharp, short, and decisive,”
killed it at the bottom of a little glen some hundred yards off.
I was just patting my dog, and examining the prize, when I heard a
crackling among the low bushes near me; and on looking up, perceived,
about twenty paces distant, a short, thick-set man, whose fustian
jacket and leathern gaiters at once pronounced him the gamekeeper; he
stood leaning upon his gun, quietly awaiting, as it seemed, for any
movement on my part, before he interfered. With one glance I detected
how matters stood, and immediately adopting my usual policy of “taking
the bull by the horns,” called out, in a tone of very sufficient
authority,
“I say, my man, are you his lordship’s gamekeeper?”
Taking off his hat, the man approached me, and very respectfully
informed me that he was.
“Well then,” said I, “present this hare to his lordship with my
respects; here is my card, and say I shall be most happy to wait on him
in the morning, and explain the circumstance.”
The man took the card, and seemed for some moments undecided how to
act; he seemed to think that probably he might be ill-treating a friend
of his lordship’s if he refused; and on the other hand might be merely
“jockeyed” by some bold-faced poacher. Meanwhile I whistled my dog
close up, and humming an air, with great appearance of indifference,
stepped out homeward. By this piece of presence of mind I saved poor
“Mouche;” for I saw at a glance, that, with true gamekeeper’s law, he
had been destined to death the moment he had committed the offence.
The following morning, as I sat at breakfast, meditating upon the
events of the preceding day, and not exactly determined how to act,
whether to write to his lordship explaining how the matter occurred, or
call personally, a loud rattling on the pavement drew me to the window.
As the house stood at the end of a street, I could not see in the
direction the noise came; but as I listened, a very handsome tandem
turned the corner of the narrow street, and came along towards the
hotel at a long, sling trot; the horses were dark chestnuts, well
matched, and shewing a deal of blood. The carriage was a dark drab,
with black wheels; the harness all of the same colour. The whole
turn-out—and I was an amateur of that sort of thing—was perfect; the
driver, for I come to him last, as he was the last I looked at, was a
fashionable looking young fellow, plainly, but knowingly, dressed, and
evidently handling the “ribbon,” like an experienced whip.
After bringing his nags up to the inn door in very pretty style, he
gave the reins to his servant, and got down. Before I was well aware of
it, the door of my room opened, and the gentleman entered with a
certain easy air of good breeding, and saying,
“Mr. Lorrequer, I presume—” introduced himself as Lord Kilkee.
I immediately opened the conversation by an apology for my dog’s
misconduct on the day before, and assured his lordship that I knew the
value of a hare in a hunting country, and was really sorry for the
circumstance.
“Then I must say,” replied his lordship, “Mr. Lorrequer is the only
person who regrets the matter; for had it not been for this, it is more
than probable we should never have known we were so near neighbours; in
fact, nothing could equal our amazement at hearing you were playing the
‘Solitaire’ down here. You must have found it dreadfully heavy, ‘and
have thought us downright savages.’ But then I must explain to you,
that my father has made some ‘rule absolute’ about visiting when down
here. And though I know you’ll not consider it a compliment, yet I can
assure you there is not another man I know of he would pay attention
to, but yourself. He made two efforts to get here this morning, but the
gout ‘would not be denied,’ and so he deputed a most inferior
‘diplomate;’ and now will you let me return with some character from my
first mission, and inform my friends that you will dine with us to-day
at seven—a mere family party; but make your arrangements to stop all
night and to-morrow: we shall find some work for my friend there on the
hearth; what do you call him, Mr. Lorrequer?”
“‘Mouche’—come here, ‘Mouche.’”
“Ah ‘Mouche,’ come here, my fine fellow—a splendid dog, indeed; very
tall for a thorough-bred; and now you’ll not forget, seven, ‘temps
militaire,’ and so, sans adieu.”
And with these words his lordship shook me heartily by the hand; and
before two minutes had elapsed, had wrapped his box-coat once more
across him, and was round the corner.
I looked for a few moments on the again silent street, and was almost
tempted to believe I was in a dream, so rapidly had the preceding
moments passed over; and so surprised was I to find that the proud Earl
of Callonby, who never did the “civil thing” any where, should think
proper to pay attention to a poor sub in a marching regiment, whose
only claim on his acquaintance was the suspicion of poaching on his
manor. I repeated over and over all his lordship’s most polite
speeches, trying to solve the mystery of them; but in vain: a thousand
explanations occurred, but none of them I felt at all satisfactory;
that there was some mystery somewhere, I had no doubt; for I remarked
all through that Lord Kilkee laid some stress upon my identity, and
even seemed surprised at _my_ being in such banishment. “Oh,” thought I
at last, “his lordship is about to get up private theatricals, and has
seen my Captain Absolute, or perhaps my Hamlet”—I could not say
“Othello” even to myself—“and is anxious to get ‘such unrivalled
talent’ even ‘for one night only.’”
After many guesses this seemed the nearest I could think of; and by the
time I had finished my dressing for dinner, it was quite clear to me I
had solved all the secret of his lordship’s attentions.
The road to “Callonby” was beautiful beyond any thing I had ever seen
in Ireland. For upwards of two miles it led along the margin of the
lofty cliffs of Moher, now jutting out into bold promontories, and
again retreating, and forming small bays and mimic harbours, into which
the heavy swell of the broad Atlantic was rolling its deep blue tide.
The evening was perfectly calm, and at a little distance from the shore
the surface of the sea was without a ripple. The only sound breaking
the solemn stillness of the hour, was the heavy plash of the waves, as
in minute peals they rolled in upon the pebbly beach, and brought back
with them at each retreat, some of the larger and smoother stones,
whose noise, as they fell back into old ocean’s bed, mingled with the
din of the breaking surf. In one of the many little bays I passed, lay
three or four fishing smacks. The sails were drying, and flapped lazily
against the mast. I could see the figures of the men as they passed
backwards and forwards upon the decks, and although the height was
nearly eight hundred feet, could hear their voices quite distinctly.
Upon the golden strand, which was still marked with a deeper tint,
where the tide had washed, stood a little white cottage of some
fisherman—at least, so the net before the door bespoke it. Around it,
stood some children, whose merry voices and laughing tones sometimes
reached me where I was standing. I could not but think, as I looked
down from my lofty eyrie, upon that little group of boats, and that
lone hut, how much of the “world” to the humble dweller beneath, lay in
that secluded and narrow bay. There, the deep sea, where their days
were passed in “storm or sunshine,”—there, the humble home, where at
night they rested, and around whose hearth lay all their cares and all
their joys. How far, how very far removed from the busy haunts of men,
and all the struggles and contentions of the ambitious world; and yet,
how short-sighted to suppose that even they had not their griefs and
sorrows, and that their humble lot was devoid of the inheritance of
those woes, which all are heirs to.
I turned reluctantly, from the sea-shore to enter the gate of the park,
and my path in a few moments was as completely screened from all
prospect of the sea, as though it had lain miles inland. An avenue of
tall and ancient lime trees, so dense in their shadows as nearly to
conceal the road beneath, led for above a mile through a beautiful
lawn, whose surface, gently undulating, and studded with young clumps,
was dotted over with sheep. At length, descending by a very steep road,
I reached a beautiful little stream, over which a rustic bridge was
thrown. As I looked down upon the rippling stream beneath, on the
surface of which the dusky evening flies were dipping, I made a
resolve, if I prospered in his lordship’s good graces, to devote a day
to the “angle” there, before I left the country. It was now growing
late, and remember Lord Kilkee’s intimation of “sharp seven,” I threw
my reins over my cob, “Sir Roger’s” neck, (for I had hitherto been
walking,) and cantered up the steep hill before me. When I reached the
top, I found myself upon a broad table land, encircled by old and
well-grown timber, and at a distance, most tastefully half concealed by
ornamental planting, I could catch some glimpse of Callonby. Before,
however, I had time to look about me, I heard the tramp of horses’ feet
behind, and in another moment two ladies dashed up the steep behind,
and came towards me, at a smart gallop, followed by a groom, who,
neither himself nor his horse, seemed to relish the pace of his fair
mistresses. I moved off the road into the grass to permit them to pass;
but no sooner had they got abreast of me, than Sir Roger, anxious for a
fair start, flung up both heels at once, pricked up his ears, and with
a plunge that very nearly threw me from the saddle, set off at top
speed. My first thought was for the ladies beside me, and, to my utter
horror, I now saw them coming along in full gallop; their horses had
got off the road, and were, to my thinking, become quite unmanageable.
I endeavoured to pull up, but all in vain. Sir Roger had got the bit
between his teeth, a favourite trick of his, and I was perfectly
powerless to hold him by this time, they being mounted on
thoroughbreds, got a full neck before me, and the pace was now
tremendous, on we all came, each horse at his utmost stretch; they were
evidently gaining from the better stride of their cattle, and will it
be believed, or shall I venture to acknowledge it in these my
confessions, that I, who a moment before, would have given my best
chance of promotion, to be able to pull in my horse, would now have
“pledged my dukedom” to be able to give Sir Roger one cut of the whip
unobserved. I leave it to the wise to decipher the rationale, but such
is the fact. It was complete steeple-chasing, and my blood was up.
On we came, and I now perceived that about two hundred yards before me
stood an iron gate and piers, without any hedge or wall on either side;
before I could conjecture the meaning of so strange a thing in the
midst of a large lawn, I saw the foremost horse, now two or three
lengths before the other, still in advance of me, take two or three
short strides, and fly about eight feet over a sunk fence—the second
followed in the same style, the riders sitting as steadily as in the
gallop. It was now my turn, and I confess, as I neared the dyke, I
heartily wished myself well over it, for the very possibility of a
“mistake” was maddening. Sir Roger came on at a slapping pace, and when
within two yards of the brink, rose to it, and cleared it like a deer.
By the time I had accomplished this feat, not the less to my
satisfaction, that both ladies had turned in the saddles to watch me,
they were already far in advance; they held on still at the same pace,
round a small copse which concealed them an instant from my view, and
which, when I passed, I perceived that they had just reached the hall
door, and were dismounting.
On the steps stood a tall, elderly-looking, gentleman-like person, who
I rightly conjectured was his lordship. I heard him laughing heartily
as I came up. I at last succeeded in getting Sir Roger to a canter, and
when about twenty yards from where the group were standing, sprung off,
and hastened up to make my apologies as I best might, for my
unfortunate runaway. I was fortunately spared this awkwardness of an
explanation, for his lordship, approaching me with his hand extended,
said—
“Mr. Lorrequer is most welcome at Callonby. I cannot be mistaken, I am
sure—I have the pleasure of addressing the nephew of my old friend, Sir
Guy Lorrequer of Elton. I am indeed most happy to see you, and not the
less so, that you are safe and sound, which, five minutes since, I
assure you I had my fears for—”
Before I could assure his lordship that my fears were all for my
competitors in the race—for such in reality they were—he introduced me
to the two ladies, who were still standing beside him—“Lady Jane
Callonby; Mr. Lorrequer; Lady Catherine.”
“Which of you, young ladies, may I ask, planned this escapade, for I
see by your looks, it was no accident?”
“I think, papa,” said Lady Jane, “you must question Mr. Lorrequer on
that head; he certainly started first.”
“I confess, indeed,” said I, “such was the case.”
“Well, you must confess, too, you were distanced,” said Lady Jane, at
the same time, most terribly provoked, to be quizzed on such a matter;
that I, a steeple-chase horseman of the first water, should be twitted
by a couple of young ladies, on the score of a most manly exercise.
“But come,” said his lordship, “the first bell has rung long since, and
I am longing to ask Mr. Lorrequer all about my old college friend of
forty years ago. So, ladies, hasten your toilet, I beseech you.”
With these words, his lordship, taking my arm, led me into the
drawing-room, where we had not been many minutes till we were joined by
her ladyship, a tall stately handsome woman, of a certain age;
resolutely bent upon being both young and beautiful, in spite of time
and wrinkles; her reception of me, though not possessing the frankness
of his lordship, was still very polite, and intended to be even
gracious. I now found by the reiterated inquiries for my old uncle, Sir
Guy, that he it was, and not Hamlet, to whom I owed my present notice,
and I must include it among my confessions, that it was about the first
advantage I ever derived from the relationship. After half an hour’s
agreeable chatting, the ladies entered, and then I had time to remark
the extreme beauty of their appearance; they were both wonderfully
like, and except that Lady Jane was taller and more womanly, it would
have been almost impossible to discriminate between them.
Lady Jane Callonby was then about twenty years of age, rather above the
middle size, and slightly disposed towards embonpoint; her eye was of
the deepest and most liquid blue, and rendered apparently darker, by
long lashes of the blackest jet—for such was the colour of her hair;
her nose slightly, but slightly, deviated from the straightness of the
Greek, and her upper lip was faultless, as were her mouth and chin; the
whole lower part of the face, from the perfect “chiselling,” and from
the character of her head, had certainly a great air of hauteur, but
the extreme melting softness of her eyes took from this, and when she
spoke, there was a quiet earnestness in her mild and musical voice,
that disarmed you at once of connecting the idea of self with the
speaker; the word “fascinating,” more than any other I know of, conveys
the effect of her appearance, and to produce it, she had more than any
other woman I ever met, that wonderful gift, the “l’art de plaire.”
I was roused from my perhaps too earnest, because unconscious gaze, at
the lovely figure before me, by his Lordship saying, “Mr. Lorrequer,
her Ladyship is waiting for you.” I accordingly bowed, and, offering my
arm, led her into the dinner-room. And here I draw rein for the
present, reserving for my next chapter—My Adventure at Callonby.