MOHILL.
We must now request our reader to accompany us to the little town of
Mohill; not that there is anything attractive in the place to repay
him for the trouble of going there.
Mohill is a small country town, standing on no high road, nor on any
thoroughfare from the metropolis; and therefore it owes to itself
whatever importance it may possess--and, in truth, that is not
much. It is, or, at any rate, was, at the time of which we are
writing, the picture of an impoverished town--the property of a
non-resident landlord--destitute of anything to give it interest or
prosperity--without business, without trade, and without society.
The idea that would strike one on entering it was chiefly this: "Why
was it a town at all?--why were there, on that spot, so many houses
congregated, called Mohill?--what was the inducement to people to
come and live there?--Why didn't they go to Longford, to Cavan, to
Carrick, to Dublin,--anywhere rather than there, when they were going
to settle themselves?" This is a question which proposes itself at
the sight of many Irish towns; they look so poor, so destitute of
advantage, so unfriended. Mohill is by no means the only town in the
west of Ireland, that strikes one as being there without a cause.
It is built on the side of a steep hill, and one part of the town
seems constantly threatening the destruction of the other. Every now
and again, down each side of the hill, there is a slated house, but
they are few and far between; and the long spaces intervening are
filled with the most miserable descriptions of cabins--hovels without
chimneys, windows, door, or signs of humanity, except the children
playing on the collected filth in front of them. The very scraughs
of which the roofs are composed are germinating afresh, and, sickly
green with a new growth, look more like the tops of long-neglected
dungheaps, than the only protection over Christian beings from the
winds of heaven.
Look at that mud hovel on the left, which seems as if it had thrust
itself between its neighbours, so narrow is its front! The doorway,
all insufficient as it is, takes nearly the whole facing to the
street. The roof, looking as if it were only the dirty eaves hanging
from its more aspiring neighbour on the right, supports itself
against the cabin on the left, about three feet above the ground.
Can that be the habitation of any of the human race? Few but such as
those whose lot has fallen on such barren places would venture in;
but for a moment let us see what is there.
But the dark misery within hides itself in thick obscurity. The
unaccustomed eye is at first unable to distinguish any object, and
only feels the painful effect of the confined smoke; but when, at
length, a faint, struggling light makes its way through the entrance,
how wretched is all around!
A sickly woman, the entangled nature of whose insufficient garments
would defy description, is sitting on a low stool before the fire,
suckling a miserably dirty infant; a boy, whose only covering is a
tattered shirt, is putting fresh, but, alas, damp turf beneath the
pot in which are put to boil the potatoes--their only food. Two or
three dim children--their number is lost in their obscurity--are
cowering round the dull, dark fire, atop of one another; and on a
miserable pallet beyond--a few rotten boards, propped upon equally
infirm supports, and covered over with only one thin black quilt--is
sitting the master of the mansion; his grizzly, unshorn beard, his
lantern jaws and shaggy hair, are such as his home and family would
lead one to expect. And now you have counted all that this man
possesses; other furniture has he none--neither table nor chair,
except that low stool on which his wife is sitting. Squatting on
the ground--from off the ground, like pigs, only much more poorly
fed--his children eat the scanty earnings of his continual labour.
And yet for this abode the man pays rent.
The miserable appearance of Irish peasants, when in the very lowest
poverty, strikes one more forcibly in the towns than in the open
country. The dirt and filth around them seems so much more oppressive
on them; they have no escape from it. There is much also in ideas
and associations. On a road-side, or on the borders of a bog, the
dusty colour of the cabin walls, the potato patch around it, the
green scraughs or damp brown straw which form its roof, all the
appurtenances, in fact, of the cabin, seem suited to the things
around it. But in a town this is not so. It evidently should not be
there--its squalidness and filth are all that strike you. Poverty, to
be picturesque, should be rural. Suburban misery is as hideous as it
is pitiable.
Again, see that big house, with such pretensions to comfort, and
even elegance,--with its neat slated roof, brass knocker on the
door, verandahs to the large sashed windows, and iron railing before
the front. Its very grandeur is much more striking, that from each
gable-end hangs another cabin, the same as those we have above
described. It is true that an entrance for horses, cars, and
carriages has been constructed, as it were through one end of
the house itself; otherwise the mansion is but one house in the
continuous street.
Here lives Mr. Cassidy, the agent; a fat, good-natured, easy man,
with an active grown up son. Every one says that Mr. Cassidy is
a good man, as good to the poor as he can be. But he is not the
landlord, he is only the agent. What can he do more than he does? Is
the landlord then so hard a man? so regardless of those who depend on
him in all their wants and miseries? No, indeed; Lord Birmingham is
also a kind, good man, a most charitable man! Look at his name on
all the lists of gifts for unfortunates of every description. Is he
not the presiding genius of the company for relieving the Poles? a
vice-presiding genius for relieving destitute authors, destitute
actors, destitute clergymen's widows, destitute half-pay officers'
widows? Is he not patron of the Mendicity Society, patron of the
Lying-in, Small Pox, Lock, and Fever Hospitals? Is his name not down
for large amounts in aid of funds of every description for lessening
human wants and pangs? How conspicuous and eager a part too he took
in giving the poor Blacks their liberty! was not his aid strongly and
gratefully felt by the friends of Catholic emancipation? In short,
is not every one aware that Lord Birmingham has spent a long and
brilliant life in acts of public and private philanthropy? 'Tis true
he lives in England, was rarely in his life in Ireland, never in
Mohill. Could he be blamed for this? Could he live in two countries
at once? or would the world have been benefited had he left the
Parliament and the Cabinet, to whitewash Irish cabins, and assist in
the distribution of meal?
This would be his own excuse, and does it not seem a valid one? Yet
shall no one be blamed for the misery which belonged to him; for the
squalid sources of the wealth with which Poles were fed, and literary
paupers clothed? Was no one answerable for the grim despair of that
half-starved wretch, whom but now we saw, looking down so sadly on
the young sufferers to whom he had given life and poverty? That can
hardly be. And if we feel the difficulty which, among his numerous
philanthropic works, Lord Birmingham must experience in attending to
the state of his numerous dependents, it only makes us reflect more
often, that from him to whom much is given, much indeed will be
required!
But we are getting far from our story. Going a little further down
the hill, there is a lane to the right. This always was a dirty,
ill-conditioned lane, of bad repute and habits. Father Mathew and the
rigour of the police have of late somewhat mended its manners and
morals. Here too one now sees, but a short way from the main street,
the grand new stirring poor-house, which ten years ago was not in
being.
In this lane at the time to which we allude the widow Mulready kept
the shebeen shop, of which mention has before been made.
In her business Mrs. Mulready acquired much more profit than
respectability, for, whether well or ill-deserved, she had but a
bad name in the country; in spite of this, however, to the company
assembled here on Wednesday evening,--the same evening that Thady
dined with Father John,--we must introduce our readers.
The house, or rather cabin, consisted only of two rooms, both on the
ground, and both without flooring or ceiling; the black rafters on
which the thatch was lying was above, and the uneven soil below;
still this place of entertainment was not like the cabins of the very
poor: the rooms were both long, and as they ran lengthways down the
street, each was the full breadth of the house: in the first sat
the widow Mulready, a strong, red-faced, indomitable-looking woman
about fifty. She sat on a large wooden seat with a back, capable of
containing two persons; there was an immense blazing fire of turf,
on which water was boiling in a great potato pot, should any of her
guests be able to treat themselves to the expensive luxury of punch.
A remarkably dirty small deal table was beside her, on which were
placed a large jar, containing a quantity of the only merchandize in
which she dealt, and an old battered pewter measure, in which she
gave it out; in a corner of the table away from the fire was cut a
hole through the board, in which was stuck a small flickering candle.
No further implements appeared necessary to Mrs. Mulready in the
business which she conducted. A barefooted girl, with unwashed
hands and face, and unbrushed head, crouched in the corner of the
fire, ready to obey the behests of Mrs. Mulready, and attend to the
numerous calls of her customers. This Hebe rejoiced in the musical
name of Kathleen.
The Mohill resort of the wicked, the desperate, and the drunken,
was not certainly so grand, nor so conspicuous, as the gas-lighted,
mahogany fitted, pilastered gin palaces of London; but the freedom
from decent restraint, and the power of inebriety at a cheap rate,
were the same in each.
There was a door at the further end of the room, which opened into
the one where Mrs. Mulready's more known and regular visitors were
accustomed to sit and drink, and here rumour said a Ribon lodge was
held; there was a fire also here, at the further end, and a long
narrow table ran nearly the whole length of the room under the two
windows, with a form on each side of it. Opposite this was Mrs.
Mulready's own bed, which proved that whatever improprieties might be
perpetrated in the house, the careful widow herself never retired to
rest till they were all over.
The assembly on the night in question was not very numerous; there
might be about twelve in it, and they all were of the poorer kind;
some even had neither shoes or stockings, and there was one poor
fellow had neither hat nor coat,--nothing but a tattered shirt and
trousers.
The most decent among them all was Pat Brady, who occupied a
comfortable seat near the fire, drinking his tumbler of punch and
smoking like a gentleman; Joe Reynolds was sitting on the widow's
bed, with a spade in his hand; he had only just come in. They were
all from Drumleesh, with one or two exceptions; the man without the
coat was Jack Byrne, the brother of the man whom Captain Ussher had
taken when the malt was found in his brother-in-law's house.
"Kathleen, agra," hallooed Joe Reynolds, "bring me a glass of
sperrits, will you?"
"Send out the rint, Joe," hallooed out the wary widow, and Kathleen
came in for the money.
"Sorrow to your sowl then, mother Mulready; d'ye think I'm so bad
already then, that they haven't left me the price of a glass?" and he
put three halfpence into the girl's hand.
"Oh, Joe," said Brady, "don't be taking your sperrits that way; come
over here, like a dacent fellow, and we'll be talking over this."
"Oh, that's all right for you, Pat; you've nothing to be dhriving the
life out of yer very heart. I am cowld within me, and divil a word
I'll spake, till I dhriv it out of me with the sperrits," and he
poured the glass of whiskey down his throat, as though he was pouring
it into a pitcher. "And now, my boys, you'll see Joe Reynolds 'll
talk may be as well as any of you. Give us a draw of the pipe, Pat."
He took the pipe from Pat's hand, and stuck it in his mouth.
"Well, Jack, I see'd your brother in Carrick; and I towld him how
you'd done all you could for him, and pawned the clothes off your
back to scrape the few shillings together for him; and what d'ye
think he'd have me do then? why he towld me to take the money to
Hyacinth Keegan, Esq., jist to stand to him and get him off. Why he
couldn't do it, not av he was to give his sowl--and that's not his
own to give, for the divil has it; and av he could, he wouldn't walk
across Carrick to do them a good turn--though, by Jasus, he'd be
quick enough pocketing the brads. Begad, Jack, and it's cowld you're
looking without the frieze; come and warm your shins, my boy, and
take a draw out of Pat's pipe."
"And Joe," said Pat, "what magisthrates war there in it?"
"Why, there war Sir Michael, and Counsellor Webb, and there war that
black ruffian Jonas Brown."
"And they jist sent him back to gaol agin, Joe?"
"No, they didn't! Counsellor Webb stuck to the boys hard and fast,
while he could; both his own boys and poor Tim; and that he may never
sup sorrow; for he proved hisself this day the raal friend to the
poor man--"
"But it war all no good in the end?"
"Divil a good. That thief of the world, old Brown, after axing Ussher
a sight of questions, was sthrong for sending 'em back; and then
Counsellor Webb axed Ussher how he could prove that the boys knew the
stuff was in it; and he, the black-hearted viper, said, that warn't
necessary, so long as they war in the same house; and then they
jawed it out ever so long, and Ussher said as how the whole counthry
through war worse than ever with the stills; and Counsellor Webb said
that war the fault of the landlords; and Brown said, he hoped they'd
take every mother's son of 'em as they could lay hands on in the
counthry, and bring 'em there; and so they jawed it out a long while;
and then, Sir Michael, who'd niver said a word at all, good, bad,
or indifferent, said, as how Paddy Byrne and Smith war to pay each
twenty pounds, and Tim ten, or else to go to gaol as long as the
bloody owld barrister chose to keep 'em there."
"Jack," said one of the others, "did Paddy, d'y remimber, happen to
have an odd twenty pound in his breeches pocket? becase av so, he
might jist put it down genteel, and walk out afore thim all."
"Well, then, Corney," answered Jack, with Pat Brady's pipe in his
mouth, "av Paddy had sich a thrifle about then, I disremember it
entirely; but shure, why wouldn't he? He'd hardly be so far as
Carrick, in sich good company too, without a little change in his
pocket."
"But to go and put twenty pound on them boys!" observed the more
earnest Joe; "the like of them to be getting twenty pounds! mightn't
he as well have said twenty thousand? and tin pounds on Tim too! More
power to you, Jonas Brown; tin pounds for a poor boy's warming his
shins, and gagging over an owld hag's bit of turf!"
"But Joe," said Brady, "is it in Carrick they're to stop?"
"Not at all; they're to go over to the Bridewell in Ballinamore.
Captain Greenough was there. A lot of his men is to take them to
Ballinamore to-morrow; unless indeed, they all has the thrifle of
change in their pockets, Corney was axing about."
"And supposing now, Joe," said Jack, "the boys paid the money, or
some of the gentlemen put it down for 'em; who'd be getting it?"
"Sorrow a one of me rightly knows. Who would be getting the brads,
Pat, av they war paid?"
"Who'd be getting 'em? why, who would have 'em but Masther Ussher?
D'ye think he'd be so keen afther the stills, av he war not to make
something by it? where d'ye think he'd be making out the hunters, and
living there better nor the gentlemen themselves, av he didn't be
getting the fines, and rewards, and things, for sazing the whiskey?"
"Choke him for fines!" said Jack; "that the gay horse he rides might
break the wicked neck of him!"
"Sorrow a good is there in cursing, boys," continued Joe. "Av there
war any of you really'd have the heart to be doing anything!"
"What'd we be doing, Joe? kicking our toes agin Carrick Gaol, till
the police comed and spiked us? The boys is now in gaol, and there
they're like to be, for anything we'll do to get 'em out again."
Joe Reynolds was now puzzled a little, so he fumbled in his pockets,
and bringing out another three halfpence, hallooed to Kathleen.
"Kathleen, d'ye hear, ye young divil's imp! bring me another half
noggin of speerits," and he gave her the halfpence; "and here, bring
a glass for Jack too."
"Sind out the rint, Joe, my darling," again bawled the widow, proving
that very little said in the inner room was lost upon her.
"Oh, sink you and your rint, you owld hag!" but he paid for the glass
for his friend; "and may I be d----d if they aint the very last
coppers I've got."
"Long life to you, Joe," said the other, as he swallowed the raw
whiskey; "may be I'll be able to stand to you, the same way, some of
these days, bad as things is yet. You is all to be up at Ballycloran
afther to-morrow, with the rints, eh Brady? What'll you be saying to
the young Masther, Joe?"
Joe was now somewhat elated by the second glass of whiskey.
"What 'll I be saying to him, is it? well I'll tell you what I'll
be saying. I'll just say this--'I owes two years' rint, Misther
Macdermot, for the thrifle of bog, and the cabin I holds up at
Drumleesh, and there's what I got to pay it!' And I'll show him what
he may put in his eye and see none the worse: and I'll go on, and
I'll say, 'Now, Misther Macdermot, there is the bit of oats up there,
as I and poor Tim broke the back of us dhrying the land for last
winter; and there is the bit of pratees; and I didn't yet be cutting
of the one, nor digging of the other; and if ye likes, ye may go and
do both; and take them with yer for me; and ye may take the roof off
the bit of a cabin I built myself over the ould mother; and ye may
turn out the ould hag to die in the cowld and the bog; and ye may
send me off, to get myself into the first gaol as is open to me.
That's what you can do, Misther Macdermot: and when you've done all
that, there'll be one, as would have stood betwixt you and all harum,
will then go far enough to give you back your own in the hardships
you've druv him to.' And then I'll go on, and I'll say, 'And you can
do this--you can tell me to go and be d----d, as ye did many a day,
and give me what bad language ye like; and you can send Pat to me
next day or so, jist to tell me to sell the oats, and bring in what
thrifle I can; and then, Mr. Thady, there'll be one who'll not let a
foot or finger of that hell-hound Keegan go on Ballycloran; there'll
be one'--and when there's me, my boys, there'll be lots more--'as 'll
keep you safe and snug in yer own father's house, though all the
Keegans and Flannellys in County Leitrim come to turn you out!' And
that's what I'll say to the Masther; and now, Pat--for he tells you
pretty much all--what'll the Masther be saying to that?"
"What'll he be saying to it, Joe! Faix then I don't know what
he'll be saying to it; it's little mind, I think, he'll have to be
saying much comfort to any of you; for he'll be vexed and out with
everything, jist at present. He doesn't like the way that Captain
Ussher is schaming with his sister."
"Like it! no, I wonder av he did; a black-hearted Protestant like
him. What business is it a Macdermot would have taking up with the
likes of him?"
"That's not it neither, Joe; but he thinks the Captain don't mane
fair by Miss Feemy! and by the blessed Virgin, he ain't far wrong."
"Then why don't he knock the life out of the traitor? or av there
is rasons why he shouldn't do it hisself, why don't he get one of
the boys as'd be glad of the job to help him. Look here, Pat--" and
Reynolds went over to the fire-place, and with his arm against the
back wall and leaning down over the seat where Brady was sitting,
began whispering earnestly in his ear; and then Brady muttered
something dissenting, in a low voice; and Reynolds went on whispering
again, with gesticulations, and many signs. This continued for a long
time, till Corney exclaimed,
"What the divil, boys, are ye colloquing about there; arn't we all
sworn frinds, and what need ye be whispering about? Why can't ye
spake what ye've got to say out like a man, instead of huggery
muggering there in the corner with Brady, as though any one here
wasn't thrue to ye all."
"Whist, Corney, ye born idiot, ye don't know I s'pose what long ears
the old hag there has? and ye'd be wanting her to hang two or three
of us, I s'pose?"
"Divil a hang, Joe; av no one towld of any but her, we'd be safe
enough that way; but what is it ye're saying?"
But instead of answering him Reynolds continued urging something to
Pat Brady; at last he exclaimed,
"Tear and ages! and why wouldn't he side with the boys as lives on
his own land? av he don't make frinds of them, where will he find
frinds? Is it among the great gintlemen of the counthry? By dad, they
don't think no more of him nor they do of us. And is it the likes
of Captain Ussher as'll be good frinds to him? He's thinking of his
own schames, and taking the honest name from his sister. Is that his
frind, Pat?"
"Didn't I tell ye, Joe, he hates Ussher a d----d sight worse nor you
or I; there's little need to say anything to him about that."
"Why wouldn't he join us then? Who else is there to help him at all?
won't he be as bad as we are, if Flannelly dhrives him and the ould
man out of Ballycloran; but av he'll stick to us, divil a lawyer of
'em all shall put a keeper on the lands; and I said before, and I
say it agin,--and av I prove a liar, may I never see the blessed
glory,--av young Macdermot 'll help the boys to right themselves,
the first foot Keegan puts on Ballycloran, he shall leave there, by
G----d!"
"But, Joe, s'pose now Mr. Thady agreed to join you here, what'd you
have him be doing at all?"
"I'd have him lend a hand to punish the murthering ruffian as have
got half the counthry dhruv into gaols, and as is playing his tricks
now with his own sisther."
"But what could any of you do? You wouldn't dare knock the chap on
the head?"
"Who wouldn't dare? by the 'tarnal, I'd dare it myself! Isn't there
two of us here, whose brothers is now in gaol along of him? Wouldn't
you dare, Jack, av he was up there again in the counthry, to tache
him how to be sazing your people?"
"By dad, I'd do anything, Joe; but I don't know jist as to
murthering. I'd do as bad to him as he did to Paddy: av they hung
him, then I'd murther him, and wilcome; but Paddy'll be out of that
some of these days--and I think therefore, Joe, av we stripped his
ears, it'd do this go."
Jack Byrne's equal justice pleased the majority of his hearers; but
it did not satisfy Joe. As for Pat, he continued smoking, and said
nothing.
"Oh, my boys, that's nonsense," said Joe; "either do the job, or
let it alone. Av you've a mind to let Captain Ussher walk into your
cabins and take any of you off to Carrick, jist as he plazes--why you
can; but I'm d----d if I does! I've had enough of him now; and by the
'tarnal powers, though I swing for it, putting Tim in gaol shall cost
him his life!"
Joe was very much excited and half tipsy; but he only said what most
of them were waiting to hear said, and what each of them expected;
not one voice was raised in dissent. Pat said nothing, but smoked and
gazed on the fire.
"Masther Thady'll be in at the wedding to-morrow, Pat?"
"Oh in course he will."
"Will you be axing him, thin?"
"Axing him what? is it to murther Ussher?"
"No, in course not that; but will you be thrying him, will he join
wid us to rid the counthry of him?"
"I tell ye, Joe, he's willing enough to be shut of him entirely, av
he knew how."
"Oh yes, Pat, I dare say he'd be willing any poor boy'd knock him on
the head, and so be rid of him; and av that he who did do it, did be
hung for it, what matther in life to him? That may do very well for
Masther Thady, but by the powers, it'll not do for me!"
"Well, you can be spaking to him yourself to-morrow."
"Yes, but you must be getting him jist to come out, and spake to us;
jist dhraw him out a bit, you know."
"Well then, boys, I've said as much to the Masther already, and he
expects to meet you up there."
"That's the sort, Pat! and av he'll but join us, divil a fear at
all for Captain Ussher. Come, my boys, we'll dhrink the gentleman's
health, as would be only dacent and proper of us, seeing the great
throuble he's at with us."
"But where'll ye get the whiskey, Joe?" said Corney; "I don't think
mother Mulready 'll be too quick giving you thrust."
"That's thrue any way; which of ye's got the rint among yer? come,
Pat, fork out for once."
"Is it for all of ye? I'll stand a glass for myself, and one for
Joe."
"Well, Jack," said Corney, "you and I 'll have a dhrop together; you
shan't say I let you go away dhry."
The rest made it up among them; and Kathleen, having duly received
the price in advance, brought in a glass of spirits for each. The
widow Mulready had only two glasses, and they therefore had to drink
one after the other. Joe took his first, saying, "And there's more
power and success to you, Captain Ussher; and it's a fine gentleman
is the only name for ye; but av you're above the sod this day three
months, may none of us that is in it this night ever see the blessed
glory!"
And they all drank the toast which their leader gave them.
They now prepared to leave; but not so quickly but that Mrs. Mulready
had to give them very forcible hints that she wanted quiet possession
of her bed-room; and much animated conversation passed on the
occasion.
"And now, an't ye a pretty set of boys, the whole of ye, blackguards
that ye are! that ye can't dhrink yer sperrits quietly, in a lone
woman's house, but you must be bringing the town on her, by yer
d----d ructions; and av I niver saw the foot of any of ye agin, it's
little I'd be grieving for ye."
"Quit that, you ould hag of the divil! or I'll give you more to talk
about than'll plaze you."
"Is it you, Joe? by the mortial then, if ye don't quit that, you'll
soon be having a stone roof over yer head. By the blessed Virgin,
I'll be the hanging of you av you don't be keeping yerself to
yerself."
"Is it hanging yer talking of? And where'll you be yerself? Not but
hanging's twice too good for you. Come, Corney, is you coming up to
Loch Sheen?"
After a few more exchanges of similar civilities between the landlady
and her guests, the latter at length took their departure; and the
widow having duly put away the apparatus of her trade, that is,
having drank what whiskey there remained in the jug, betook herself
to her couch in her usual state of intoxication.
Joe Reynolds and Pat Brady had each about three miles to go home, and
the greater part of the way they walked together--talking over their
plans, and discussing the probability of their success.
The two men were very different. The former was impoverished,
desperate, all but houseless; he had been continually at war with the
world, and the world with him. Whether, had he been more fortunate,
he might have been an honest man is a question difficult to solve;
most certainly he had been a hard working man, but his work had
never come to good; he had long been a maker of potheen, and from
the different rows in which he had been connected, had got a bad
name through the country. The effect of all this was, that he was
now desperate; ready not only to take part against any form of
restrictive authority, but anxious to be a leader in doing so; he had
somehow conceived the idea that it would be a grand thing to make a
figure through the country; and, as he would have said himself, "av
he were hanged, what harum?"
Pat Brady was a very different character. In a very poor country he
enjoyed comparative comfort; he had never been rendered desperate
by want and oppression. Poor as was the Ballycloran property, he
had always, by his driving and ejecting, and by one or another art
of rural law which is always sure to be paid for, managed to live
decently, and certainly above want: it was difficult to conceive why
he should be leagued with so desperate a set of men, sworn together
to murder a government officer.
Yet in the conversation they had going home he was by far the most
eager of the two; he spoke of the certainty they had of getting young
Macdermot to join them the next evening; told Reynolds how he would
get him, if possible, to drink, and, when excited, would bring him
out to talk to the boys; in short, planned and arranged all those
things about which Reynolds had been so anxious--but as to which he
could get so little done at the widow's. When there, Pat had been
almost silent; at any rate, he had himself proposed nothing. It had
never occurred to the other, poor fellow, that Brady was making a
tool of him; that though the rent-collector was now so eager in
proving how easily young Macdermot might be induced to join their
party, he would commit himself to nothing when they were congregated
at the widow Mulready's. Had Reynolds not been so completely duped,
he would have seen that Brady made him take the part of leader when
others were present, who might possibly be called upon as witnesses;
but that when they were alone together, he, Brady, was always the
most eager to press the necessity of some desperate measure. On the
present occasion too Reynolds was half drunk, whereas Brady was quite
sober.
"So," said the latter on their way home, "thim boys is fixed in gaol
for the next twelve months any way. Tim warn't thinking he'd get
lodgings for nothing so long, when he went up to widow Smith's there
at Loch Sheen."
"Well, Pat, a year is a dreary long time for a poor boy to be locked
up all for nothing; and poor Tim won't bear up well as most might;
but he that put him there will soon be sent where he'll be treated
even worser than Tim at Ballinamore;--and he won't get out of it that
soon. By G----d, I'd sooner be in Tim's shoes this night than in
Captain Ussher's, fine gentleman as he thinks hisself!"
"But, Joe, will them boys from Loch Sheen let Tim and the others be
taken quietly to Ballinamore? Won't they try a reskey on the road?"
"There arn't that sperrit left in 'em, Pat;--and how should it? what
is the like of them with their shilelahs, and may be a few stones,
agin them b---- pailers in the daylight? Av it had been at night,
we might have tried a reskey; but the sperrit ain't in 'em at all.
I axed 'em to go snacks with me in doing the job, but they was
afeard--and no wonder."
"Well, you'll be up at Mary's wedding to-morrow, and see what the
young masther 'll be saying."
And so the two friends parted to their different homes.