“He 's here; he arrived last night,” said Magennis, as he entered the
room after a short exploring tour through the stables, the kitchen, and
every other quarter where intelligence might be come at. “He came alone;
but the major of the detachment supped with him, and that looks like
business!”
“The earlier you see him the better, then,” said Mas-singbred.
“I'll just go and get my beard off,” said he, passing his hand across a
very grizzly stubble, “and I'll be with him in less than half an hour.
There's only a point or two I want to be clear about. Before he struck
you, did you gesticulate, or show any intention of using violence?”
“None. I have told you that I caught his horse by the bridle, but that
was to save him from falling back.”
“Ah, that was indiscreet, at all events.”
“Would n't it have been worse to suffer him to incur a severe danger
which I might have prevented?”
“I don't think so; but we'll not discuss the point now. There was a
blow?”
“That there was,” said Jack, pointing to the spot where a great strap of
sticking-plaster extended across his forehead.
“And he seemed to understand at once that reparation was to be made for
it?”
“The suggestion came from himself, frankly and speedily.”
“Well, it's pretty evident we have to deal with a gentleman!” said
Magennis, “and that same's a comfort; so I'll leave you now for a short
time: amuse yourself as well as you can, but don't quit the room.” And
with this caution Magennis took his departure, and set off in search of
Mr. Repton's chamber.
“Where are you bringing the mutton chops, Peter?” said he to a waiter,
who, with a well-loaded tray of eatables, was hastening along the
corridor.
“To the ould Counsellor from Dublin, sir. He's break-fastin' with the
Major.”
“And that's his room, No. 19?”
“Yes, sir.”
“They 're merry, at all events,” said Magennis, as a burst of hearty
laughter was heard from within the chamber.
“'T is just that they are, indeed,” replied Peter. “The Counsellor does
be telling one story after another, till you 'd think he 'd no end
of them. He began last night at supper, and I could scarce change the
plates for laughin'.”
Muttering some not very intelligible observation to himself, Magennis
passed down the stairs, and issuing into the street, wended his way to
the barber's.
If the Oughterard Figaro had not as brilliant a vocation as his
colleague of Seville, his occupations were scarcely less multifarious,
for he kept the post-office, was clerk at petty sessions, collected
the parish cess, presided over “the pound,” besides a vast number of
inferior duties. Whether it was the result of a natural gift, or by the
various information of his official life, Hosey Lynch was regarded in
his native town as a remarkably shrewd man, and a good opinion on a
number of subjects.
He was a short, decrepit old fellow, with an enormous head of curly
black hair, which he seemed to cultivate with all the address of his
craft; probably intending it as a kind of advertisement of his skill,
displaying as it did all the resources of his handiwork. But even above
this passion was his ardor for news,--news political, social, legal, or
literary; whatever might be the topic, it always interested him, and
it was his especial pride to have the initiative of every event that
stirred the hearts of the Oughterard public.
The small den in which he performed his functions occupied the corner
of the street, giving a view in two directions, so that Hosey, while
cutting and curling, never was obliged to lose sight of that world
without, in whose doings he felt so strong an interest. In the one
easy-chair of this sanctum was Magennis now disposed, waiting for
Mr. Lynch, who had just stepped down to “the pound,” to liberate
the priest's pig. Nor had he long to wait, for Hosey soon made his
appearance, and slipping on a very greasy-looking jean-jacket, proceeded
to serve him.
“The top of the morning to you, Captain,”--he always styled him by the
title,--“it's a rare pleasure to see you so early in town; but it will
be a bad market to-day--cut and curled, Captain?”
[Illustration: 232]
“No; shaved!” said Magennis, bluntly.
“And shaved you shall be, Captain,--and beautifully shaved, too, for I
have got an excellent case from Lamprey's; they came yesterday,--came
with the writ against Jones Creegan.”
“At whose suit?”
“Mrs. Miles Creegan, the other brother's widow,” said Hosey, lathering
away and talking with breathless rapidity. “There was a clause in old
Sam's will, that if ever Tom, the chap that died at Demerara--you'd like
more off the whiskers, it's more military. It was only yesterday
Major Froode remarked to me what a soldierlike-looking man was Captain
Magennis.”
“Is he in command of the detachment?”
“He is in his Majesty's--1st Foot--the 'Buccaneers,' they used to be
called; I suppose you never heard why?”
“No, nor don't want to hear. What kind of a man is the Major?”
“He 's a smart, well-made man, with rather a haughty look,” said Hosey,
drawing himself up, and seeming to imply that there was a kind of
resemblance between them.
“Is he English or Irish?”
“Scotch, Captain,--Scotch; and never gives more than fivepence for a cut
and curl, pomatum included.--No letters, Mrs. Cronin,” cried he, raising
up the movable shutter of the little window; then bending down his ear
he listened to some whispered communication from that lady, after
which he shut the panel, and resumed his functions. “She 's at law with
O'Reilly about the party wall. There's the Major now going down to the
barracks, and I wonder who's the other along with him;” and Hosey rushed
to the door to find some clew to the stranger. In less than a quarter
of a minute he was back again, asking pardon for absence, and informing
Magennis “that the man in plain clothes was a Dublin counsellor, that
arrived the night before. I think I can guess what he's here for.”
“What is it?” cried Magennis, eagerly.
“There's an election coming on, and the Martins expect a
contest.--Nothing for you, Peter,” said he, to an applicant for a letter
outside. “He's looking to be made barony constable these four years, and
he 's as much chance as I have of being--what shall I say?--”
“Are you done?” asked Magennis, impatiently.
“One minute more, sir--the least touch round the chin,--and, as I was
saying, Captain, the Martins will lose the borough.”
“Who thinks so besides you?” asked Magennis, gruffly.
“It is, I may say, the general opinion; the notion current in-- There
's Miss Martin herself,” cried he, running to the window. “Well, really,
she handles them ponies elegant!”
“Does she come often into town?”
“I don't think I saw her in Oughterard--let me see when it was--it's two
years--no, but it's not far off--it's more than--”
“Are you done?” said Magennis, impatiently. “I told you that I was
pressed for time this morning.”
“You're finished now, Captain,” said Hosey, presenting him with a small
cracked looking-glass. “That's what I call a neat chin and a beautiful
sweep of whisker. Thank you, Captain. It's a pleasure and an honor--not
to say that it's--”
Magennis did not wait for the peroration, but striding hastily out of
the little shop, issued into the street that led to the inn. On arriving
there, he heard that Mr. Rep-ton had gone out, leaving word that he
would be found at Major Froode's quarters. Thither Magennis now repaired
with all the solemn importance befitting his mission.
As he sent in his name, he could overhear the short colloquy that passed
within, and perceived that Repton was about to retire; and now the
servant ushered him into the presence of a smart, light-whiskered little
man, with a pair of shrewd gray eyes, and a high forehead.
“A brother officer, I perceive, sir,” said he, looking at the card,
whereupon the title Captain was inscribed; “pray take a chair.”
“You anticipate the reason of this visit, Major Froode,” said the other,
with some degree of constraint, as though the preliminaries were the
reverse of pleasant to him. The Major bowed, and Magennis went on: “I
suppose, then, I'm to treat with you as the friend of Mr. Valentine
Repton?”
“And you are Mr. Massingbred's?” said the Major, answering the question
with another.
“I have that honor, sir,” said Magennis, pompously; “and now, sir, how
soon can it come off?”
“Don't you imagine, Captain Magennis, that a little quiet discussion
of the question at issue between two old soldiers, like you and myself,
might possibly be advisable? Is there not a chance that our united
experience might not suggest an amicable arrangement of this business?”
“Quite out of the question,--utterly, totally impossible!” said
Magennis, sternly.
“Then perhaps I lie under some misconception,” said the Major,
courteously.
“There was a blow, sir!--a blow!” said Magennis, in the same stern tone.
“I opine that everything that occurred was purely accidental,--just hear
me out,--that a hasty word and a hurried gesture, complicated with the
impatient movement of a horse--”
A long whistle from Magennis interrupted the speech, and the Major,
reddening to the very top of his high forehead, said,--
“Sir, this is unbecoming,--are you aware of it?”
“I'm quite ready for anything when this is settled,” said Magennis, but
with less composure than he desired to assume. “What I meant was, that
for a blow there is but one reparation.”
“Doubtless, if the injury admit of no explanation,” said the Major,
calmly; “but in that lies the whole question. Consider two things,
Captain Magennis: first of all, the equivocal appearance of _your_
friend, the age and standing of _mine_.”
“By Jove! you'll kill me in trying to save my life,” said Repton,
bursting into the room. “I didn't want to play eavesdropper, Froode,
but these thin partitions are only soundboards for the voice. This
gentleman,” added he, turning to Magennis, “is perfectly correct. There
was a blow; and a blow has only one consequence, and that one I 'm
ready for. There may be, for aught I know, twenty ways of settling
these matters in London or at the clubs, but we 're old-fashioned in our
notions in Ireland here; and I don't think that even when we pick up new
fashions that we 're much the better for them, so that if your friend is
here, Captain, and ready--”
“Both, sir; here and ready!”
“Then so am I; and now for the place. Come, Froode, you don't know
Ireland as well as I do; just humor me this time, and whenever I get
into a scrape in Scotland you shall have it all your own way. Eh,
Captain, is n't that fair?”
“Spoke like a trump!” muttered Magennis.
“For _me_, did you say?” said Repton, taking a letter from the servant,
who had just entered the room.
“Yes, sir; and the groom says there's an answer expected.”
“The devil take it, I 've forgotten my spectacles. Froode, just tell me
what's this about, and who it comes from.”
“It's Miss Martin's hand,” said Froode, breaking the seal and running
over the contents. “Oh, I perceive,” said he; “they're afraid you have
taken French leave of them at Cro' Martin, and she has driven into town
to carry you back again.”
“That comes of my leaving word at the little post-office to forward my
letters to Dublin if not asked for to-morrow. Take a pen, Froode,
and write a couple of lines for me; say that a very urgent call--a
professional call--will detain me here to-day, but that if not back by
dinner-time--Captain Magennis thinks it not likely,” added he, turning
towards him as he sat, with a very equivocal expression, half grin, half
sneer, upon his features--“that I 'll be with them at breakfast next
morning,” resumed Repton, boldly. “Make some excuse for my not answering
the note myself,--whatever occurs to you. And so, sir,” said he, turning
to Magennis, “your friend's name is Massingbred. Any relation to Colonel
Moore Massingbred?”
“His son,--his only son, I believe.”
“How strange! I remember the father in the 'House'--I mean the Irish
House--five-and-thirty years ago; he was always on the Government
benches. It was of him Parsons wrote those doggerel lines,--
'A man without a heart or head,
Who seldom thought, who never read,
A witty word who never said,
One at whose board none ever fed,
Such is the Colonel M--g--b--d.'
He could n't call him a coward, though; for when they went out--which
they did--Massingbred's manner on the ground was admirable.”
“Will that do?” said Froode, showing a few lines he had hastily jotted
down.
“I can't read a word of it, but of course it will,” said he; “and then,
sir,” added he, addressing Magennis, “the sooner we place ourselves at
your disposal the better.”
Froode whispered something in Repton' ear, and by his manner seemed as
if remonstrating with him, when the other said aloud,--
“We 're in Ireland, Major; and, what's more, we 're in Galway, as
Macleweed said once to a prisoner, 'With a Yorkshire jury, sir, I 'd
hang you. Your sentence now is to pay five marks to the King, and find
bail for your good behavior.' You see what virtue there is in locality.”
“There's a neat spot about two miles off, on the road to Maum,” said
Magennis to the Major. “We could ride slowly forward, and you might keep
us in view.”
“In what direction did you say?”
“Take the second turn out of the market-place till you pass the baker's
shop, then to the left, and straight on afterwards. You can't miss it.”
“Stop a moment, sir,” said Froode to Magennis, as he moved towards the
door; “one word, if you please. It is distinctly understood that I have
been overruled in this business,--that, in fact, I have submitted--”
“Your point has been reserved,” said Repton, laughing, while he led him
away; and Magennis at the same moment took his departure.
It was, indeed, with no slight feeling of triumph that thia gentleman
now hastened back to the Martin Arms. Never did a great diplomatist
experience more pride in the conclusion of some crowning act of
negotiation than did he in the accomplishment of this affair.
“There 's many a man,” said he to himself, “who 'd have accepted an
apology here. There's many a man might have let himself be embarrassed
by the circumstances; for, certainly, the taking hold of the bridle was
an awkward fact, and if the Major was a cute fellow he 'd have made a
stand upon it. I must say that the Counsellor showed no backwardness; he
comes of that fine old stock we used to have before the Union.”
And with this profound reflection he entered the room where Massingbred
sat awaiting him.
“It's all settled. We're to meet at the Priest's Gap within an hour,”
said Magennis, with the air of a man who had acquitted himself cleverly.
“And though I say it that should n't, if you were in other hands this
morning you would n't have got your shot.”
“I always relied implicitly upon your skill!” said Massingbred, humoring
his vanity.
“Have you anything to arrange,--a letter or so to write; for I'll step
down to Dr. Hearkins to tell him to follow us?”
Massingbred made no reply as the other left the room. Once more alone,
he began to think gravely over his present situation. Nor could all his
habitual levity steel him against the conviction that five minutes of
common-sense talk might arrange a dispute which now promised a serious
ending. “However,” thought he, “we are not in the land where such
differences admit of amicable solution, and there's no help for it.”
A sharp tap at the door startled him from these musings, and before he
could well reply to it Daniel Nelligan entered the room, and advanced
towards him with an air of mingled ease and constraint.
“I hope you 'll forgive me, Mr. Massingbred,” he began. “I feel certain
that you will at some future day, at least, for what I 'm going to do.”
Here he stopped and drew a long breath, as if not knowing in what terms
to continue. Massingbred handed him a chair, and took one in front of
him without speaking.
“I know what brought you here to-day; I am aware of it all.”
He paused, and waited for the other to speak; but Massingbred sat
without offering a word, and evidently relying on his own social tact to
confound and embarrass his visitor.
“I know, sir, that you are likely to regard my interference as
impertinent,” resumed Nelligan; “but I trust that the friend of my son,
Joe--”
“I must set you right upon one point, at least, Mr. Nelligan,” said
Massingbred, with an easy smile. “If you be only as accurate in
your knowledge of my affairs as you are with respect to my private
friendships, this visit has certainly proceeded from some misconception.
Your son and I were friends once upon a time. We are so no longer!”
“I never heard of this. I never knew you had quarrelled!”
“We have not, sir. We have not even met. The discourtesy he has shown me
since my arrival here--his avoidance of me, too marked to be explained
away--is an offence. The only misfortune is that it is one which can be
practised with impunity.”
“My son asks for none such,” said Dan, fiercely. “And if your
observation is meant for an insult--” He stopped suddenly, as if checked
by something within, and then said, but in a voice full and measured,
“I'm magistrate of this town, sir, and I come here upon information that
has reached me of your intentions to commit a breach of the peace.”
“My dear Mr. Nelligan,” began Massingbred, in his most seductive of
manners,--but the other had already witnessed the rupture of the
only tie which bound them, the supposed friendship between Joe and
Massingbred, and cared nothing for all the blandishments he could
bestow,--“my dear Mr. Nelligan, you cannot, surely, suppose that a mere
stranger as I am in your county--scarcely ten days here--should have
been unfortunate enough to have incurred the animosity of any one.”
“I hold here a statement, sir,” said Nelligan, sternly, “which, if you
please to pledge your honor to be incorrect--”
“And this is Galway!” exclaimed Massingbred,--“this glorious land of
chivalrous sentiment of which we poor Englishmen have been hearing
to satiety! The Paradise of Point of Honor, then, turns out a very
commonplace locality, after all!”
“I 'm proud to say that our county has another reputation than its old
one; not but--” and he added the words in some temper--“there are a few
left would like to teach you that its character was not acquired for
nothing.”
“Well, well!” sighed Jack, as he closed his eyes, and appeared as
if indulging in a revery, “of all the mockeries I have lived to see
unmasked, this is the worst and meanest.”
“I have not come here to listen to this, sir,” said Nelli-gan,
haughtily, as he arose. “I waited upon you, intending to accept your
solemn pledge, by word of honor, to commit no act hostile to the public
peace. Now, sir, I shall call upon you to give me the legal guarantee
for this security,--good and sufficient bail, and that within an hour!”
“My dear Mr. Nelligan,” replied Massingbred, with all the quiet ease of
an unruffled temper, “I have not a single friend here, except yourself,
upon whom I could call in such an emergency. I am utterly unknown in
these parts; my very name unheard of before my arrival. If I _did_ by
any unhappy circumstance find myself in such an involvement as you speak
of, I solemnly assure you my first thought would be to address myself to
Mr. Nelligan.”
The easy impertinence of this speech would have been perfectly
successful a short time previous, when Nelligan yet believed in the
close friendship with his son. It came now, however, too late, and the
old man listened to it with something bordering on anger.
“Good and sufficient bail, sir,--yourself and two others,” repeated he,
slowly, and moving towards the door.
“One word, I pray,” said Jack, rising, and speaking with more
earnestness and apparently with more sincerity. “I do not ask you any
details as to the circumstances you impute to me, but perhaps you would,
as a favor, tell me how this information has reached you?”
“I will not, sir,” was the abrupt reply.
“I am sure no friend of mine could have--”
“It is no use, Mr. Massingbred; all your address will avail you nothing.
You shall not cross-examine _me!_”
“You must, however, see, sir,” said Massingbred, “that unknown and
unfriended as I am here, bail is out of the question.”
“The Bench will hear anything you desire to say on that subject,” said
Nelligan, coldly. “Good-morning to you.”
And with these words he left the room, and descended into the street.
The passionate warmth which Massingbred had so successfully controlled
in the presence of his visitor burst forth the first moment he found
himself alone. He inveighed against the country, the people, their
habits, and all belonging to them; cursed his own fate at being ever
thrown into such companionship; and wound up by resolving to submit to
any terms by which he might quit Galway forever, and forget, for the
rest of his days, that he had ever entered it. While he was yet fuming
in this fashion, the waiter entered and presented him with a very
dirty-looking note, fastened by two wafers, and inscribed “Most
private.” Massingbred opened it and read,--
“My dear Mr. M.,--We 're found out--I believe by Hosey
Lynch, where I dropped a bullet-mould this morning when he
was shaving me. At all events, we 're blown, and as I am
under £250 recognizances to keep the peace for three years,
I 'm off to the mountains till this passes over. I 'm sure,
from what I saw of the Counsellor, that he 'll keep himself
open to a proposal elsewhere. Meanwhile, there's nothing for
it but to give your bail and satisfy the blackguards--bad
luck to them--that spoiled the sport! You can go back to
the house when all's over, and I 'll return as soon as it is
safe for
“Your sincere friend,
“T. M.”
Scarcely had he finished reading this epistle, when Major Froode
presented himself in his chamber, the door of which the waiter was yet
holding ajar. Having introduced himself, he briefly informed Massingbred
of his position as Mr. Repton's friend, and as briefly stated that
the Counsellor had been obliged to pledge himself against any hostile
intentions,--a step which, he foresaw, would also be required of him.
“For this reason I have come,” continued he, “to say that any assistance
I can be of to you is frankly at your service. I have learned that you
are a stranger here, and not likely to have many acquaintances.”
“If they would be satisfied with my word,” began Jack.
“Of course they will, and shall,” interrupted Froode; “and now, what is
there in the way of _amende_ my friend can make, for what he is prepared
to confess was a mere accident?”
“The acknowledgment is ample. I ask for nothing beyond it,” said
Massingbred. “I am not quite certain but that my own conduct might
require a little explanation; but as your friend's vigor put matters
beyond negotiation at the time, we 'll not go back upon bygones.”
“And now, sir,” burst in Repton, who had waited outside the door,--“and
now, sir, I beg you to accept the humblest apology I can tender for what
has happened. I 'm not as safe on my saddle as I used to be forty years
ago; and when the nag reared and threatened to fall back upon me, I am
ashamed to own that I neither saw nor cared what I struck at. I 'd have
said all this to you, Mr. Massingbred, after your fire, had we been
permitted to go the ground; and although there is some additional
humiliation in saying it here, I richly deserve all the pain it gives
me, for my want of temper. Will you give me your hand?”
“With sincere pleasure,” said Jack, shaking him warmly and cordially
with both his own.
“There 's but one thing more to be done,” said Repton. “These borough
magistrates, vulgar dogs as they are, will want you to give a bail bond.
Take no notice of them, but just drive out with me to Cro' Martin, and
we 'll settle it all there.”
“I am not acquainted with Mr. Martin.”
“But you shall be. He 'll be charmed to know you, and the place is worth
seeing. Come, you mustn't leave the West with only its barbarism in your
memory. You must carry away some other recollections.”
The new turn affairs had just taken was by no means distasteful to
Massingbred. It promised another scene in that drama of life he loved
to fashion for himself, with new scenery, new actors, and new incidents.
“The Counsellor,” too, struck his fancy. There was a raciness in the old
man's manner, a genial cordiality, united with such palpable acuteness,
that he promised himself much pleasure in his society; and so he
accepted the proposal with all willingness, and pledged to hold himself
ready for his friend within an hour.
Repton and the Major had but just left the room, when the former
re-entered it hurriedly, and said, “By the way, I must leave you to your
own guidance to find your road to Cro' Martin, for there's a young lady
below stairs has a lien upon me. You shall be presented to her when you
come out, and I promise you it will repay the journey.”
“This must be the Mary Martin I 've been hearing of,” thought
Massingbred, when again alone; “and so the morning's work will probably
turn out better than I had anticipated.”