No, never had there been such a state of excitement in any ball-room
before, when it became known that Captain O'Rooney had entrapped
Lieutenant Charles Fortescue, of the Stiffshire Regiment, into a
thousand guineas match P.P., owners up, twelve stone each, and four
miles over the stiffest country in Galway.
The match had been made at the supper-table, after the ladies had left;
but nevertheless, the news had been carried to them, and they were
furious.
"Fancy," said one, a tall, handsome brunette, "that that little
wretched bandy-legged O'Rooney should have got round our handsome
friend in such a mean way. He is jealous and disgusted with Fortescue's
waltzing, and he _is_ the best waltzer in Ireland."
"I'll make him a set of colours to ride in," returned the toast of five
counties, the beautiful Alice Gwynne. "I never made any before, but
'there's luck in odd numbers, says Rory O'More,' and so he is sure to
win in them."
"Too bad," exclaimed the gray-haired Colonel of Fortescue's regiment to
some gentlemen standing by him at the supper-table, "to have hounded
the lad into it. O'Rooney is a noted steeplechase rider, and my boy"
(he always called the youngsters of his regiment his boys), "though a
workman across country, never rode a race in his life; but I hear that
Captain O'Rooney has the character of looking up the Griffs."
"Faith, Colonel, ye are about right there," said a jolly-looking young
Irishman; "he is just the boy that can do that same; he is mad now
because Fortescue's English horse cut him down to-day, and pounded
him--a thing that has never been done before."
"Bedad, you're out there, Mat," put in another; "I'd be after thinking
it is because the Leaftenent has been making mighty strong running
entirely with Alice Gwynne all this blessed night. O'Rooney, by my
faith, does not like _that_, devil a hap'orth; he considers himself the
favoured one--the consated spalpeen."
"He the favoured one!" remarked big H----, of Fortescue's regiment;
"why, he cannot suppose he would have a ghost of a chance with that pug
nose and whisky-toddy countenance of his against Fortescue of ours.
Why, Old Nick himself could not boast of an uglier face than Pat
Rooney. Fortescue is about the handsomest and nicest fellow in the
service, and though only a poor man, yet there are devilish few girls,
at least of any taste, who would give him the 'cold shoulder.'"
The conversation was put an end to by the redoubtable Captain O'Rooney
they were descanting on, and with whom all seemed to be on such bad
terms, walking towards them.
"I will make one endeavour now," said the Colonel, "to put a stop to
this match."
"Captain O'Rooney," said he, as that gentleman joined them, "I am sorry
to hear of this proposed steeplechase, and for such a sum. Mr Fortescue
is a young man, and has acted very foolishly; moreover, though he holds
the post of adjutant, he has little, I know, but his pay, and such a
loss as a thousand pounds would seriously inconvenience him. Let me
recommend, Captain O'Rooney, that Fortescue give you a hundred pounds
to-morrow morning and draw the bet. What say you, gentlemen all, is the
proposal fair?"
"Nothing fairer," they exclaimed.
"See now, Colonel," said Captain O'Rooney, "let us hear what Mr
Fortescue says: he is not here; he'll be found in the ball-room, I'm
after thinking."
"True for ye, Captain dear," said the jolly-looking young Irishman
before alluded to. "Divil a bit," he continued, with a sly and
malicious twinkle of his blue eye, "is Fortescue in the ball. Be
jabers, he is seated in the card-room alone by Alice Gwynne, playing
with her bouquet and fan. I'll go and fetch him; but it's a pity to
disturb him. I'd almost take my oath he has been asking her to be Mrs
Fortescue, and by my soul I don't think she has said no." So saying,
the young man, without giving the other time to answer, vanished from
the room.
"What is it, Colonel?" said Fortescue, coming in almost immediately
after.
"See now," said O'Rooney, interrupting him; "the Colonel says this is a
foolish match we have entered into, and proposes that ye should pay me
a hundred down to-morrow to let ye off. What d'ye say?"
"What do I say?" replied the young man; "why, I'll do anything the
Colonel likes. I think it is a foolish match. I was excited and out of
humour when I made it. I'm better now, and if you like to take a
hundred and draw, why I'll send you a cheque to-morrow morning for the
amount, or run you for a hundred, which you like."
"See, now," said the Captain, his naturally red face getting purple
with anger and excitement. "I've heard ye both--the Colonel and
yourself; now both of ye hear me. If ye were to offer me nine hundred
and ninety-nine pounds, d--n me if I'd take it, for by the Rock of
Cashel, I'll lick ye and break your heart and neck over the country;
and see now, Fortescue," he continued, "steer clear of the heiress."
"What do you mean, sir," retorted the young man, firing up. "Steer
clear of the heiress? you forget yourself; do you presume to put a lady
in the question?" and saying this, he turned away.
"All devilish fine," said O'Rooney, sticking his hands in his pockets
and sauntering away from the supper-table, humming a verse of Harry
Lorrequer's well-known song:--
"The King of Oude
Is mighty proud,
And so were onst the Caysars (Cæsars);
But ould Giles Eyre
Would make them stare,
Av he had them with the Blazers.
"To the devil I'd fling--ould Runjeet Singh
He's only a prince in a small way;
And knows nothing at all of a six-foot wall,
Oh! he'd never do for Galway."
"Won't he?" muttered Fortescue to himself, as he caught the last words,
"perhaps I'll show you he will." If the Captain had not been so blind
with passion, he might have heard the gallant Adjutant singing _sotto
voce_ a verse of a song from the same author, as he strode
carelessly from the room:--
"Put his arm round her waist,
Gave ten kisses at laste,
'Oh!' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone,
'My own,
'Oh!' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone!'"
What did he mean?
"By the great gun of Athlone, I'm mighty glad entirely they're both
gone from the room," said a hard-riding Galway squire, as the
illustrious Captain O'Rooney disappeared from sight. "I thought there
was an illigant row brewing. Better as it is. Where O'Rooney is to get
the coin from if he loses, divil a one of me knows. He's in 'Quare
Street' long ago. Never mind, boys; let us have the groceries. 'O
Punch! you are my darling,' and the devil fly away with dull care. Now
Colonel," he continued, "upon my conscience, as O'Rooney won't listen
to reason, you must look after Fortescue's interests. O'Rooney will
endeavour to pick out a country. I mean he will go building up walls,
and so on. You must have your own way a little, or, begorra, he'll do
as he likes entirely. Now, there is one thing that will beat him if
anything will--you must insist on that, or I would not give a trauneen
for Fortescue's chance--and that is" (he dropped his voice to a
whisper) _one_ if not _two_ WATER-jumps; if anything will stop
Mad Moll it is WATER."
"It shall be done," said the Colonel; "I'll see that the lad is not
taken advantage of." And the old field-officer kept his word, as will
be seen in the sequel.
O'Rooney was greatly disturbed when he knew there were to be one or
more water-jumps. He fought hard and gallantly against it; but the
Colonel was obdurate. "By Gad, sir," said he, "you do not want it
entirely your own way, do you? I have not interfered with the country
in any way. I have said nothing as to the six-foot wall you have built
up, and others equally dangerous, and now you cavil at a paltry ditch."
"Ditch do ye call it, Colonel? fifteen feet of water, hurdled and
staked, a ditch, and another of eleven. By my troth, no such like
ditches are found between this and Ballinasloe. But never mind. Glory
be to Moses, I'll get over them. And then, h--ll to my soul, if the
English horse will ever come near Mad Moll's girths again."
"We think nothing of nineteen feet, sir," said the Colonel. "In
England, fifteen feet is nothing; but my youngster shall have a
chance."
Great was the excitement throughout the country--indeed, in all parts
of Ireland. Such a match had not been known for years--"a thousand
pounds!" What could the English soldier have been thinking of! The nags
went on well in their training, closely guarded by their respective
admirers. The English horse took to wall-jumping beautifully; but it
was doubted whether, even with his great turn of speed, he had the foot
of the Irish mare--a clipper. Then again, though Fortescue was a cool
and daring horseman, he had not the experience of the Captain, who had
ridden many a hard-contested race before, across country and over the
flat.
The stakes had been made good and deposited according to agreement with
the Colonel. The Captain had found friends to share in the bet, for
though he was generally disliked, yet they had confidence in his horse
and his horsemanship. Fortescue, too, had friends, nor had his
commanding officer been idle. Men from his own regiment had come
forward, so all he stood to lose was two hundred and fifty; this and
other matters made him sanguine and light-hearted. In addition to all,
he had received a beautiful cap and jacket from Miss Gwynne.
The sporting papers, English and Irish, teemed with the forthcoming
match. "Lieut. Charles Fortescue's bay horse Screwdriver, aged, against
Capt. O'Rooney's chestnut mare Mad Moll, six years old, for ONE
THOUSAND guineas a side," appeared in the _County Chronicle_.
The excitement was intense. Such a stiff bit of country had not been
seen or ridden over for years. The betting would have been decidedly in
favour of the Captain, but his mare's well-known dislike to water
prevented anything like odds being laid--so they were both about equal
favourites.
"By George, old fellow!" said one of Fortescue's chums to him one
morning, some six days previous to the race, "I really think your
chance is becoming more rosy every hour. The more O'Rooney's mare sees
the water the less she likes it. A sergeant in my company, a Galway
man, has a country cousin in the barracks who knows all about it. Just
go to Sergeant Blake," he said, turning to a bugler passing by, "and
tell him to come here, and bring his cousin with him. Mr Fortescue
wishes to see him."
The man soon appeared. "Salute your supareor," said the Sergeant, as he
squared his heels. "Touch your caubeen."
"Arrah, now, Patrick, wasn't I after doing it?"
"Well, do it at onst, ye murdering ruffian, and tell all ye know."
"Yes, sir, yer honour," commenced the man, "Faix, the Captain 'av' been
trying the mare day after day at the water. Onst she jumped finely. The
Captain made a brook close by our cabin, and is often wid her there.
Sometimes she jumps and sometimes she won't; and when she won't, mille
murther! maybe don't he larrup her! Long life to your honour! but I
don't think the mare likes water, at all, at all. And by my troth,
there's many a man thinks the same. The devil's luck to him! he's been
all over the fresh-planted praties, and cut them to smithereens, bad
cess to him! But av course, Leiftenent, ye won't tell on a poor boy,
more by token as he is after doing yer honour a little sarvice. I
wouldn't give a handful of prayers for my life if he found me out; for
sorra a one knows the Captain better than myself, death to his sowl!
Tear-an-ages! he's a terrible bad man entirely, is the Captain. The top
of the morning, and long life to your honour!" said the gossoon, as the
Sergeant led him away, pocketing half a crown.
"There, Fortescue, what do you think of that?" said his friend, as they
sauntered away to the anteroom for a whiskey and soda. "It's evident
Mad Moll is no water jumper. By Jupiter! I think you will pull through.
Quite fair my giving the lad half-a-crown. O'Rooney's friends have been
doing the same--fair play is a jewel!"
Somehow the public at last began to lean towards the English horse. He
did his work quietly and openly, without any attempt at concealment.
But what is this excitement in the barrack yard? Officers are rushing
to the mess-room. Two gentlemen have been driven up there in a car.
Lord Plunger and his friend Bradon have arrived. They are old friends
of the Stiffshire battalion.
"By George! Plunger and Bradon, I'm delighted to see you," said the
warm-hearted Colonel, hastening in, while endeavouring to make his
sword-belt meet about his somewhat bulky waist. "I did not tell the
boys I had written for you both. Lunch ready in ten minutes--glass of
sherry first to wet your mouths. Now, Fortescue will have a little good
advice. You will ride the last gallop to-morrow morning, Bradon, and
give us your opinion. Dammee, I'm so glad to see you both in the wild
west. Here, some one tell the captain of the day I won't have another
roll-call. Obliged to do this kind of thing here, Bradon--never know
what's going to happen from one minute to another. Shooting landlords
like the devil. Potted Lambert last week; five shots in him, and the
only one that did no harm was the one that took him in the forehead.
Rest his sowl, as the Irishmen say, a near escape for him. Lucky dog!
Here is the sherry!" In this way did the popular Colonel rattle on.
The gallop is over, and Screwdriver has been tried at even weights
against a good one. George Bradon had thought it better that Fortescue
should ride his own horse in the trial, which he did. "By Jove, you've
got a clipper, Fortescue!" said the former, as they pulled up; "you
don't know how good. I deceived you all when I told you I had borrowed
this nag to try you. Keep your mouth shut, hermetically sealed, old
fellow, and I'll tell you something you will care to know. It is no
commoner you have galloped against to-day. Mind, on your life, not a
word to your dearest friend. It's my own horse, GUARDSMAN, you have had
a spin with--the winner of the Cheltenham Grand Annual!"
The young man thus addressed sat like one in a dream, at this
revelation.
"It's all old Mason's doing, Fortescue," said he. "He advised me to
bring him over. I'm off now. Look at that knot of people coming over
the hill; there are some who crossed the Channel yesterday with me who
would know my old pet, and I would not have it blown upon for a
trifle--the horse has been in Ireland for a week on the quiet. I'm now
off, across country to Athenry, where Mason is, and has a stable for
him. The horse will leave by the late train to-night for England with
a lad; so no one will be a bit the wiser. My old stud-groom will come
to your diggings this evening with me to give you a help. So _au
revoir_ till mess-time, when you will see yours truly;" and putting
his horse at a five-foot wall, he sent him over, hurling the loose
stones behind him in a cloud, and was quickly out of sight.
"So your friend has gone," said the gallant Colonel, as Fortescue
walked his horse up to a host of his brother-officers and friends
assembled in a knot on the hill, amongst which several strangers were
distinguishable.
"Yes," replied Fortescue, carelessly, "he will be with us at mess.
Here, take the horse home, Forester"--to his man--"see no one comes
near him."
"That's a horse to back," said a sly-looking little man in a large drab
overcoat; and coming up to Fortescue he whispered quietly to him: "I'm
on your nag for a plumper. I keep my own counsel, and shall not split.
I never come except with a rush at the last minute. My glasses are
good. You've had a spin with one of the best cross-country horses in
England. Clever and fast as that nag is, he can't give you seven
pounds. You ran him to a length or two. I know George Bradon and
Guardsman well. I've won a pot full of money on them before. There,
don't look scared; you are a youngster. Sit well down on Screwdriver,
hold him together, don't give a lead over the water, and you will land
him a winner. I know more than you think; but for my own sake I'm
MUM!"
"News for you all!" said the Colonel of Fortescue's regiment, bursting
into the mess-room, where some nine or ten officers were at breakfast,
amongst whom were Lord Plunger and Bradon. "Here, Fortescue," continued
the excited old gentleman, "this letter"--holding out one--"concerns
you more immediately. Read it out."