--Requests Widow Lenehan to “Wrestle” for Him--Deaker's Death-Bed--Dies
Loyally Whistling the Boyne Water.
The conversation had proceeded thus far, when Lanty Gorman, already
spoken of, knocked at the door, and asked to see Mr. M'Clutchy.
Val went to the hall.
“Well, Lanty, what's the matter?--how is your master?”
“Plaise your honor,” said the lad, “I think you ought to go to him; he's
at the last gasp, sir; if you'd see the way his face is, and his eyes.”
“He is worse, then?”
“I don't think it's so much sickness, sir, as--”
“As what?”
“As the liquor, your honor; he's at the Glorious Memory, sir, till he's
nearly off; he thinks it's the Boyne wather he's drinkin' it in, sir,
otherwise I don't b'lieve he'd take so much of it. _Sheemus a Cocka_ and
the cart's in the yard, sir; Darby said you wanted them.”
“Take _Sheemus a Cocka_ to h--l, sir,” said Phil, “we don't want
him--he's a kind of papist; take him away to h--l out of this.”
“I can only take him to the gates, sir; unfortunately there's no
entrance there for a papish, Captain Phil; if we could only get him to
turn Protestant, sir, it's himself 'ud get the warm welcome. But,” he
proceeded, addressing Val, “wouldn't it be a charity, sir, to go over
and see the state he's in; Tom Corbet, the butler, says its a burnin'
sin and shame to look at him, widout any one near him but that vagabone,
Miss Fuzzle, an' he dyin', like a dog.”
“I shall be there immediately,” replied Val. “Bring the ass home again;
we do not want him. Now, Phil,” he proceeded, “I shall ride over, to see
how matters are going on; and in the meantime I think it would be well
to get Hanlon, and those other two who were out with Darby for his
protection--for the fellow pretends to be afraid, and carries arms--it
would be as well, I say, to get two or three additional affidavits
against this Easel prepared by my return; for we must make our case as
firm as we can. Whether the fellow's a Popish Agent, or whether he's
not, doesn't matter a curse. I don't think he is myself; but at all
events it will be a strong proof in the eye of the government, that we
are at least vigilant, active, and useful men. I will entrust his arrest
to you, and you shall have the full credit of it at headquarters. I hope
soon to have you on the Bench. Only I do beg, that for your own sake and
mine, you will keep from the brandy. I have remitted the rents to Lord
Cumber, who will soon make them fly.”
In a few minutes afterwards he proceeded at full speed to the edifying
death-bed of his father.
Whilst Phil is preparing the supplementary affidavits for Easel's
arrest, which he stretched out considerably by interpolations drawn from
his own imagination, we shall follow Darby to M'Slime's, observing,
_en passant_, that the aforesaid Darby, as he went, might have been
perceived to grin and chuckle, and sometimes give a short, low, abrupt
cackle, of a nature peculiarly gratifying to himself.
“Devil a _smite_ ever either of them left on any bone thrown me,” he
exclaimed. “Instead o' that they begridged me the very fees that I was
entitled to, bad luck to them! Well no matther!” and here he shrugged and
chuckled again, and so continued to do as he went along.
As for Solomon, he felt full occasion that morning for all his
privileges and spiritual sustainment. A few days previous, he had been
brought before his brother Elders by Susanna's father, whose statement
was unfortunately too plain to admit of any doubt or misapprehension on
the subject. These respectable men--for with but another exception they
were so--discharged their duty as became them. The process of expulsion
was gone into, but rather with a spirit of sorrow for the failings of
an erring and sinful fellow-creature, than with any of the dogmatic and
fiery indignation, which, under the plea of charity for his soul, is too
often poured upon the head of a backslider. The fact now was that the
consequences of his crime were about to come home to him, in a manner
which required the exhibition of all the moral courage he possessed. It
is unnecessary to inform our readers, that he had assumed the cloak of
hypocrisy for the purpose of merely advancing his own interests among
a certain section of the religious world. No sooner, however, did the
history of his expulsion and its cause become general, than all those
religious clients, who felt themselves scandalized by his conduct,
immediately withdrew their business out of his hands, and transferred
it to those of others; and not only persons of a decidedly religious
character, but also almost every one who detested hypocrisy, and loved
to see it exposed and punished. In truth, short as the period was since
that exposure, Solomon was both surprised and mortified at the number of
clients and friends who deserted him.
He was meditating over these things then that morning, when Widow
Lenehan, of whom, mention has already been made, a religious woman,
and notwithstanding her name, a member of the congregation to which he
belonged, entered his office, accompanied by her brother.
“Ah, Mrs. Lenehan, how do you do? and my friend Palmer, I hope I see you
well!”
“Pretty well, Mr. M'Slime; as well as these hard times will let us.”
“Hard times! true, my friend, hard times they are indeed; very
hard--yea, even as a crushing rock to those who are severely tried.
But affliction is good, my friends, and if it be for our soul's health,
then, indeed, it is good to be afflicted.”
To this, neither Mrs. Lenehan nor her brother made any reply; and
Solomon was left to console himself with a holy groan or two--given in
that peculiar style which hypocrisy only can accomplish, but which
is altogether out of the sphere, and beyond the capacity of true
repentance.
“Mr. M'Slime,” said Palmer, “my sister has at present”--which was
the fact--although Solomon did not believe it--“a more advantageous
opportunity of investing those eight hundred pounds which the poor
woman has scraped together, and she wishes to draw them out of the funds
without any delay; she wishes to sell out.”
“Of course,” said Solomon; “and, indeed, Mrs. Lenehan, I am delighted to
hear it. How are you about to have the money invested, ma'am? Only give
me the names of the parties, with the nature of the securities, and I
shall have the whole matter safely managed with as little delay as may
be.”
“She wishes first, Mr. M'Slime, to get the money into her own
hands,” said Palmer, “and, I believe, I may as well state that, as a
conscientious Christian woman, she does not feel justified in availing
herself any longer of your professional services, Mr. M'Slime.”
“Indeed,” observed the widow, “I don't see how I could, Mr. M'Slime; I
trust I am a Christian woman, as he says, and for a Christian woman to
continue you, as her attorney, would be, I fear, to encourage hypocrisy
and sin; and I feel that it would not be permitted to me to do so,
unless I abuse my privileges.”
“Heigho,” thought Solomon, “here am I punished, as it were, in my own
exact phraseology; verily, the measure is returning unto me.”
“Well, Mrs. Lenehan, this is part of my individual dispensation--may
it be precious to me! There is a mystery in many things, and there is a
mystery in this; a mystery which, I trust, shall yet be cleared up, even
so as that I shall indulge in much rejoicing when I look back upon it.
Mr. Palmer, you, I trust, are a Christian man, and you, Mrs. Lenehan, a
Christian woman--Now, let me ask, did you ever hear that it is possible
for an innocent man to be condemned as though he were guilty? Oh! I
could argue strongly on this--but that I know now is not the hour.”
“Well, but to business, Mr. M'Slime; my sister wants the money into her
own hands.”
“And in her own hands it shall be placed, Mr. Palmer; but this, you
are aware, cannot be done for a few days--until, at all events, I go to
Dublin.”
“When will that be?” asked Palmer. “About this day week (D.V.). Term
commences on to-morrow week, but I am generally in town a day or two
before.
“Very well, then, on this day week we shall be in town, too, and will
call at your office about ten o'clock.
“The exact hour, my dear friend--and pray be punctual--and my friend
Palmer--my dear friend, will you confer a great, an important favor on
me? and you, Mrs. Lenehan, for you can?”
“What is it?” said Palmer. “When at family worship think of me. If I am
what the world begins to say I am, oh! do not I require, and stand in
need of your prayers, and most earnest supplications--yea, Mrs. Lenehan,
even that you should wrestle for me--that I may be restored to the
fold:--and if I am innocent--if--if--oh! why do I say if?” said he,
turning up his eyes, and clasping his hands, whilst the tears of
hypocrisy actually trickled down his cheeks, “but it is known--that
precious word innocence is known? Peace be with you both!”
Darby, on his arrival, found him engaged in writing at his desk, and on
casting his eye slightly at the paper he perceived that he was drawing
out a bill of costs.
“Darby, my friend,” said Solomon, after the first salutations were over,
“when will you enter upon the duties of your new office.”
“Plaise God, as soon as Mr. M'Darby leaves it--which will be in a few
days, I hope; and how are you, Mr. M'Slime?”
“Tried in the furnace of affliction, nine times heated, Darby.”
“It's a sad thing to be accused unjustly, Mr. M'Slime,” said Darby
looking him shrewdly in the face with one eye shut; “but then it's well
that this--this--visitation has come upon a man that has thrue religion
to support him, as you have, under it.”
“Darby, my friend, there are none of us perfect--we all have our
frailties--our precious little--ay! yes;--you know, Darby, the just man
falleth seven times a day.”
Darby started, and despite of all the influence of his new creed
exclaimed--“Blessed Saints, seven times! Arra when was this, Mr.
M'Slime? Troth, I think, it must be in the owld pagan times long ago,
when the people were different from what they are now.”
“You see, Darby, that just men, that is the Elect, have their
privileges.”
“Troth, if to fall seven times a day is the privilege of a just man, I'd
never be anything else all my life,” replied Darby; “and myself wondhers
that there's e'er an unjust man alive.”
“Darby, I fear that Mr. Lucre has not improved your perceptions of
spiritual things.”
“Why, as to that, Mr. M'Slime, if you knew Mr. Lucre's piety as well
as I do--however, as you say yourself, sir, it's known, or rather it's
unknown, the piety of that gintleman.”
“Well, Darby, between you and me, I am just as well satisfied that
you did not attach yourself, as I expected you would have done, to our
congregation; for, to acknowledge a truth, Darby, which I do in all
charity, I tell you, my friend, that they are awfully Pharisaical, and
wretchedly deficient in a proper sense of Christian justice; I, Darby,
am a proof of it. I mentioned to another person before, Darby, that the
Christian devotion of an act I did, would occasion considerable risk
to my own reputation, and you see it has done so. I shall bear all the
blame, Darby--all shame, Darby--all opprobium, Darby, sooner than
that precious vessel--hitherto precious, I should have said--and yet,
perhaps, precious still--”
“He is a just man, may be,” said Darby. “He is, I would trust--sooner, I
say, than that precious vessel should be broken up as unprofitable.”
“I suppose he is one of those vessels, sir,” said Darby, “that don't
wish to hould any wather, unless when it's mix--”
“He is, or rather was, a brother Elder, Darby; but then, it mattereth
not; I have covered his trangressions with my charity. I permit you to
say as much among your friends in the religious world, whenever you hear
the name of Solomon M'Slime mentioned. It is also due to myself to say
as much.”
“I'm afther comin' from Mr. M'Clutchy's, sir,” said Darby, “and he
desired me to say that he hopes you'll attend at Mr. M'Loughlin's about
two o'clock, and not to fail, as its to be a busy day wid him. The
sheriffs to be there to put them out.”
“I shall not fail, Darby,” replied the attorney; “but who comes here,
riding at a rapid pace, like a messenger who bringeth good tidings?”
Darby looked out, and at once recognized one of Deaker's grooms, riding
at a smart gallop towards Solomon's house.
The latter raised the window as the man approached--
“Well, my friend, what is the matter?”
“Sir, Mr. Deaker wishes to see you above all things; he is just dying,
and swears he cannot depart till you come.”
“I shall order the car immediately,” replied Solomon. “Say I shall not
lose a moment.”
The man wheeled round his horse, and galloped off at even a greater
speed than before.
“Darby, my friend,” said he, “I shall attend at M'Loughlin's without
fail. Justice must be rendered, Darby; justice must be rendered to that
wretched man and his family.”
Darby looked him in the face with a peculiar expression--
“Yes, sir,” said he; “plaise God, justice shall be rendhered as you
say--no doubt of that.”
He then left the house, and ere he had proceeded a score yards, turned
and said--
“Yes, you netarnal villain--you know the justice you and M'Clutchy
rendhered me--bad luck to you both, I pray, this day! Any how it'll soon
come back to yez.”
In a few minutes Solomon was on his way, with an anxious expectation
that he had been called upon to draw up Deaker's will.
Val, on reaching his father's, heard from Tom Corbet, with a good
deal of surprise, that Solomon had been sent for expressly. A glance,
however, at the invalid induced him to suppose that such a message could
proceed from nothing but the wild capricious impulses under which he
labored. Much to his surprise also, and indeed to his mortification,
he found before him two gentlemen, whom Deaker, who it appears had been
conscious of his approaching dissolution, had sent for, with his
usual shrewdness, to guard and preserve his loose property from his
unfortunate housekeeper on the one hand, and his virtuous son Val, on
the other. These gentlemen were his cousins, and indeed we are inclined
to think that their presence at that precise period was, considering all
things, rather seasonable than otherwise. They had not, however, arrived
many minutes before Val, so that when he came, they were still in one of
the parlors, waiting for Deaker's permission to see him. A little
delay occurred; but the moment Val entered, with his usual privilege he
proceeded straight to the sick room, whilst at the same moment a message
came up to say that the other gentlemen “might come up and be d--d.” The
consequence was, that the three entered the room nearly together. Great
was their surprise, however--at least of two of them their disgust,
their abhorrence, on seeing, as they approached his bed-room, a
female--Young certainly, and handsome--wrapped in a night-dress--her
naked feet slippered, her nice flushed and her gait tottering, escaping,
as it were, out of it.
On passing them, which it was necessary she should do, she did not
seem ashamed, but turned her eyes on them with an expression of maudlin
resentment, that distorted her handsome but besotted features into
something that was calculated to shock those who looked upon her. There
she passed, a licentious homily upon an ill-spent life--upon a life
of open, steady, and undeviating profligacy; there she passed the
meretricious angel of his death-bed, actually chased by the presence of
men from the delirious depravity of his dying pollutions!
“There is no necessity, gentlemen,” said Val, “for my making an apology
for this shocking sight--you all know the life, in this respect, that my
unfortunate father led.”
* This, like most other scenes in the present work, is no
fiction.
“In any case it is unprecedented,” replied one of them; “but if he be so
near death, as we apprehend, it is utterly unaccountable--it is awful.”
They then entered.
Deaker was lying a little raised, with an Orange silk night-cap on his
head, embellished with a figure of King William on horseback. Three or
four Orange pocket-handkerchiefs, each, owing to the excellent taste of
the designer, with a similar decoration of his Majesty in the centre,
lay about the bed, and upon a little table that stood near his head.
There was no apothecary's bottles visible, for it is well known that
whatever may have been the cause of Deaker's death he died not of
any malady known in the Pharmacopeia. In truth, he died simply of an
over-wrought effort at reviving his departed energies, joined to a most
loyal, but indomitable habit of drinking the Glorious Memory in brandy.
“Well, Vulture,” said he on seeing Val, “do you smell the death-damp
yet, that you're here? Is the putrefaction of my filthy old carcase on
the wind yet? Here Lanty, you imp,” he said turning his eyes on the ripe
youth as he brought in a large jug of the “Boyne”--in other words of
St. Patrick's Well water--“I say you--you clip, do you smell the
putrefaction of my filthy old carcase yet? eh?”
“Begad, sir, it's no the pleasantest smell in the world at the present
time; and there's a pair of big, black, thievish look in' ould Ravens,
sittin' for the last two or three days upon the black beech, as if they
had a suspicion of something. Tom Corbet and I have fired above a dozen
shots at them, and blazes to the feather we can take out o' them. So
far from that, they sit there laughin' at us. Be me sowl, it's truth,
gentlemen.”
“Begone, sirra,” said Val, “how dare you use such language as this to
your master; Leave the room.”
Lanty rubbed his hair with his middle finger and went reluctantly out.
“Ah,” said Deaker, “I'm glad to see you bore, Dick Bredin--and you
Jack--stay here till I'm in the dirt, and you'll find I have not
forgotten either of you.--As for the Vulture there, he is very well able
to take care of himself--he is--oh, a d----d rogue!”
Deaker's face, was such a one as, perhaps, was never witnessed on a
similar occasion, if there ever were a similar occasion. It presented
the cadaverous aspect of the grave, lit up into the repulsive and
unnatural animation that resulted from intoxication, and the feeble
expiring leer of a worse passion. There was a dead but turbid glare in
his eye; half of ice, and half of fire, as it were, which when taken in
connection with his past life, was perfectly dreadful and appalling. If
it was not the ruling passion strong in death, it was the ruling passion
struggling for a divided empire with that political Protestantism which
regulated his life, but failed to control his morals.
“Here,” said he, “mix me some brandy and water, or--stop, ring the bell,
Dick Bredin.”
Bredin rang the bell accordingly, and in a minute or so Lanty came in.
“Here, you imp, do your duty.”
“Haven't you enough, sir? more, I think, will do you harm.”
“Go to h--l, you young imp of perdition, do your duty, I say.”
Lanty here mixed him some brandy and water, and then held it to his
lips.
“Here,” said he, “here is the Glorious, Pious, and Immortal Memory! hip,
(hiccup) oh--ay--hip, hip, hurrah! Now, Lanty, you clip, that's one part
of my duty done.”
“It is, sir,” replied Lanty; “you always did your duty, Square.”
“Ay, but there's more to come--lay me back now, Lanty; lay me back till
I whistle the Boyne Water.”
Lanty accordingly laid him back a little, and he immediately commenced
an attempt to whistle that celebrated air by way of consolation on his
death-bed.
“He's not always settled, gentlemen,” said Lanty, “and I see that one of
his wandering fits is comin' on him now.”
“What is the reason,” said Captain Bredin--for such was the rank of
the person he called Dick--“why is it that there is not a physician in
attendance?”
“He would not let one of the thieves near him,” replied Lanty, “for
fraid they'd kill him.”
“That is true,” observed Val; “he always entertained a strong antipathy
against them, and would consult none.”
“Did Solomon M'Slime come?” he inquired.
“Here's a foot on the stairs,” said Lanty, “maybe it's he--” and Lanty
was right, for he had scarcely spoken when the worthy attorney entered.
“Solomon, you sleek, hypocritical rascal,” said he, “I do not forget
you; read that paper; you will find at the bottom of it these words,
on one side, 'sworn before me, this'--no matter about the day--signed
'Randal Deaker;' and on the other, 'Susanna Bamet.' Solomon, I could not
die happily without this hit at you. Your hypocrisy is known,--ha,
ha, ha! Come, d--n me; I never lived a hypocrite, and I won't die one.
Lanty, you imp, the brandy.”
“I'll only give him a little,” said the lad, looking and nodding at
them.
“Come, then, 'the Glorious, Pious, and Immortal Memory!'--hip--ah, lay
me down--hi-p-p-p!”
He now closed his eyes for some time, and it was observed that strange
and fearful changes came over his face. Sometimes he laughed,
and sometimes he groaned, and, indeed, no words could express the
indescribable horror which fell upon those present, or, at least, upon
most of them, as the stillness of the room was from time to time broken
by the word--“damnation” pronounced in the low and hollow voice of
approaching death.
Solomon, who had glanced at the affiliating affidavit made by Susanna,
was the first to break the silence.
“In truth, my friends,” said he, “I fear it is not good to be here;
and were it not that I am anxious to witness what is rarely seen, a
reprobate and blasphemous death-bed, I would depart even now.”
After some time Deaker called out--“Help me up, Lanty; here, help me up,
you whelp.”
Lanty immediately did so, and aided him to sit nearly upright in the
bed.
“The tumbler, Lanty--Lanty, my lad, 'let us eat, drink, and be mer--ry,
for to-mor--row we die;' here's the glor--, pio--, and immor--I,
memo--, hi-p, hi-p-p! And now I swore th--at I wo--uld die whistling it,
and by that oath I will.” He then looked around, and seemed to recover
himself a little. “Ay,” he continued, “I'll do it, if I don't I'll be
d----d! lay me down, you imp of hell; there, that will do.”
He then gathered his mouth and lips, as those do who whistle, and at the
moment a long rattle of death was heard in his throat, then a shrill,
feeble sound, like that of the wind through reeds, melancholy and
wailing; issued from his white and gathered lips, and then was a
silence.
For some minutes it was not broken, at length M'Clutchy went over, and
on looking into his face, and feeling his pulse and heart he announced
the fact of his death.
“Well,” said Lanty, “he kept his word, at all events; he swore many a
fearful oath, that he would die whistling the Boyne Wather, and he did:
but, be my soul, he didn't die drinldn' it, as he thought. I must go and
let them know in the house that he's gone.
“And bring my car to the door,” said Solomon, “as quickly as you can.
Well,” he proceeded, “the man is now gone, and, indeed, my friends, I
fear that Satan is not at this moment without a companion, if he is on
his way to his own dominions.”
Deaker's features at that moment presented the most extraordinary
appearance. As he lay, there appeared evident upon them the somewhat
comic set, which was occasioned by his attempt to whistle the Boyne
Water. He had but one tooth in front, which now projected a little; and
as he always whistled with his mouth twisted somewhat to the one side it
would be difficult to witness such a striking sight. But, when to this
we add the recollection of his life and habits, and mention the fact
that the very act of whistling the Boyne Water brought forward in his
face all the gross characteristics of his licentious passions, we may
fairly admit that the face and features very faithfully represented the
life and principles of the man who owned them.
Lanty, who had gone to acquaint the servants with his death, and to get
round Solomon's car, now came in with a pale face:--
“Gentlemen,” said he, “as sure as life's in me, the two black thievish
ravens that sot on the black beech-tree these two days past, is off;
hell resave the feather o' them's there--it's truth!--The moment the
breath was out of his body they made back to where they came from; they
got what they wanted, you see and it stands to reason, or what 'ud keep
them watchin' there these three days. As for myself, be me sowl the
first thing I'll do will be to make a severe station to St. Patrick's
Well to get the grain o' the sin off o' me that has been committed in
this house.”
Val, for years, knew his father's disposition too well to form any
expectations whatsoever from him, and, indeed, it is but just to say
that old Deaker took care not to allow him an opportunity of falling
into a single misconception on the subject. As a natural consequence,
Val hated him, and would have come long before to an open rupture with
him, were it not that he feared to make him his enemy. He also thought
it possible that Deaker, out of respect for his villany, might in some
capricious moment have thought of rewarding it; and so probably he might
have done, were it not for two traits in his character which his worthy
father especially detested--viz., cowardice and hypocrisy.
Val, on his return home, found fewer carts than he had calculated upon
even among his blood-hounds. Orangemen, in the social and civil duties
of life, are sterling and excellent men in general. It is only when
brought together for the discharge of political duties, by such
miscreants as M'Clutchy, or when met in their Lodges under the united
influence of liquor and mad prejudices; or when banded together in fairs
and markets under the same stimulants, and probably provoked and dared
by masses of less open and more treacherous opponents; it is only then
we say that their most licentious outrages were committed. Meet the
Orangeman, however, in his field, or in his house and he will aid and
assist you in your struggles or difficulties, as far as he can; no
matter how widely you may differ from him in creed.
The fact was that on understanding the nature of the duty Val expected
from them--and which the reader may perceive was not an official one,
most of them absolutely refused to come. M'Loughlin, they said, had
given extensive employment, and circulated large sums of money annually
in the neighborhood, and they did not see why an Absentee landlord, or
his Agent, should wish to throw so many hands out of employment, and to
ruin so many families. They wern't on duty now, which was a different
thing; but they had their own opinions on the subject--they knew Captain
Phil's conduct--and d--n them, if M'Loughlin was a Papish twenty times
over, if they'd lend a hand in any sense to carry away his furniture.
It was all well enough when they were drunk or on duty, but they weren't
drunk or on duty now.
Three or four cars and carts were all that Val found at home on his
arrival there--a circumstance which, added to his recent disappointment
touching Deaker--from whom he had, in fact, to the last, cherished
secret expectations--inflamed his resentment against M'Loughlin almost
beyond all conception.
On leaving Constitution Cottage for M'Loughlin's, he was not a little
surprised to see worthy Phil walking, backward, and forward on the lawn,
accompanied by no less a personage than our friend _Raymond-na-hattha_.
“Ah,” said he to Phil, looking at him and Raymond, “there's a pair of
you.”
“Never mind, old fellow,” said Phil with a grin, “you don't know what's
ahead--a pretty bit of goods; begad, father, Raymond's a jewel:--ah, you
don't know her, but I do--hip, hip, old cook.”
“Phil,” said Val, “you have been at the brandy; I see it in your eye,
and I hear it in your speech.”
“Well,” said Phil, “I have, and what then--that's the chat; who's
afraid, M'Clutchy?”
“Phil, Phil,” said the father, “this won't do.”
“I say it will do, and it must do,” returned the son--“but harkee, old
cock, is Deaker, the precious, d----d yet?”
“If ever man was,” replied his father--“and not a penny to either of
us, Phil; not as much as would jingle on his own lying tombstone, and a
lying one it will be no doubt. Did you get the affidavits prepared?”
“I did, but curse the rascals, I was obliged to make them drunk before
they would consent to swear them. The truth is, I put in a lot of stuff
out of my own head,” said Phil, “and they refused to swear to it until I
made them blind.”
“You must have made devilish stretches when they refused,” said the
father, “where are they now?”
“Locked up in the stable loft, fast asleep,” replied Phil, “and ready to
swear.”
“It is well,” said Val, “that we have affidavits and information enough
for his arrest, independent of theirs. Go in, Phil, and keep yourself
steady--Easel must be my own concern, I see that; he shall be arrested
this day; I have everything prepared for it.”
“Very well,” said Phil; “with all my heart--I have better game in view,”
and he knowingly rubbed his finger along his nose as he spoke.
“If you were sober,” said Val, “I could have wished you to witness the
full glut of my vengeance upon M'Loughlin, inasmuch, my excellent son,
as it was on your account I received the insult, the injury--why, by
h----n, he trampled upon me!--that shall never be forgiven, but which
will this day, Phil, meet the vengeance that has been hoarded up
here--” and, as he spoke, he placed his hand upon his heart. “The
sheriff,” he added, “and his officers are there by this time--for I do
assure you, Phil, I will make short work of it. As for those ungrateful
scoundrels that refused to send their cars and carts, I know how to deal
with them; and yet, the rascals, as matters now stand between Hartley
and us, I can't afford to turn them out of the corps.”
“Go ahead, I say,” replied Phil; “I have better game on hands than your
confounded corps, or your confounded popish M'Loughlins.”
Raymond, who walked, _pari passu_, along with him, looked at him from
time to time and, as he did, it might be observed that his eyes flashed
actual fire--sometimes with an appearance of terrible indignation, and
sometimes with that of exultation and delight.
Val now proceeded to execute his great mission of vengeance. As he went
along--his heart literally beat with a sense of Satanic triumph and
delight; his spirit became exhilarated, and all his faculties moved in a
wild tumult of delirious enjoyment. He was at best but a slow horseman,
but on this occasion he dashed onward with an unconscious speed that
was quite unusual to him. At length he reached M'Loughlin's, whither the
carts had been sent, immediately on his return from Deaker's. All there
seemed very quiet and orderly; the usual appearance of business and
bustle was not of course visible, for, thanks to his own malignant
ingenuity and implacable resentment, there were many families in the
neighborhood not only thrown out of employment, but in a state of actual
destitution. Having knocked at the hall door, it was instantly opened
by one of his own retainers, and without either preface or apology he
entered the parlor. There was none there but M'Loughlin himself, Gordon
Harvey, the excellent fellow of whom we have already spoken, and whom
M'Loughlin, in consequence of his manly and humane character, had
treated with kindness and respect--and Solomon M'Slime who had arrived
only a few minutes before him.
“Gentlemen,” said M'Loughlin, “what have I done, that I am to thank
you both for your kindness in honoring a ruined man with this unusual
visit.”
Val gave him a long, fixed and triumphant look,--such a look as a
savage gives his worst enemy, when he gets him beneath his knee, and
brandishes his war-knife, before plunging it in his throat.
“Indeed, my good neighbor,” replied Solomon, seeing that Val did not
speak, “I believe it is a matter of conscience on the part of my friend
M'Clutchy here, who is about to exhibit towards you and your family
a just specimen of Christian retribution. In my view of the matter,
however, he is merely the instrument; for I am one, Mr. M'Loughlin, who
believe, that in whatever we do here, we are only working out purposes
that are shaped above.”
“What! when we rob the poor, oppress the distressed, strive to blacken
the character of an innocent girl, or blast the credit of an industrious
man, and bring him and his to ruin? Do you mean to say, that the
scoundrel”--he looked at Val as he uttered the last word--“the scoundrel
who does this, and ten times more than this, is working out the purposes
of God? If you do, Sir” he continued, “carry your blasphemy elsewhere,
for I tell you that you shall not utter it under this roof.”
“This roof,” said Val, “in two hours hence shall be no longer yours.”
“I thought you pledged yourself solemnly that you would not take any
hasty steps, in consequence of my embarrassments,” said M'Loughlin; “but
you see that I understand your character thoroughly. You are still the
same treacherous and cowardly scoundrel that you ever were, and that
you ever will be.”
“This roof,” replied Val, “in an hour or two shall be no longer yours.
You and yours shall be this night roofless, homeless, houseless. This,
Brian M'Loughlin, is the day of my vengeance and of my triumph. Out you
go, sir, without consideration, without pity, without mercy--aye, mercy,
for now you are at my mercy, and shall not find it.”
“But my wife is ill of fever,” said M'Loughlin, “and surely you are at
all events an Irishman, and will not drag her from her sick bed--perhaps
her bed of death?”
“That act of kindness to her would be kindness to you and your family,
Mr. M'Loughlin, and for that reason she shall go out, if she were
to expire on the moment. No; this is the day of my vengeance and my
triumph. Harvey,” he added, “tell Jack Stuart to come to me.”
Harvey went out, and in a minute or two Stuart came in; a heavy-faced,
sullen-looking villain, who strongly resembled Val himself in character,
for he was equally cowardly and ferocious. Val met him in the hall--
“Stuart,” said he, “I have sent up three or four fellows--the two Boyds
and the two Carsons--to arrest a fellow named Easel--a Spy or something
of that kind--with orders to lodge him in goal; go up and tell them to
bring him here first. I have my reasons for it; he has taken an interest
in this M'Loughlin, and I wish him to witness his punishment.”
“Hadn't you betther put the rascal in the stocks, or give an ordher for
it, till it's your honor's convenience to see him?”
“No, no, desire them to bring him here immediately--go now, and do not
lose a moment.”
On entering the parlor again, he rubbed his hands with perfect delight.
“Ay,” said he, “this day, M'Loughlin, I have long looked for; this day,
this day, ha, ha, ha!”
“M'Clutchy,” said M'Loughlin, “I always knew you were a bad and
black-hearted man; but that you were such a perfect devil I never knew
till now. What, to drag out my sick wife!”
“Ha! ha! ha!”
“Consider that her removal now will occasion her death.”
“Ha! ha! ha!”
“You will not do it; you could not do it. Would you kill her?”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! M'Loughlin, this is the day of my vengeance, and my
triumph. Ha, ha, ha!”
“Friend M'Clutchy,” said Solomon, “permit me for one moment to
remonstrate--”
“Permit the devil, sir,” said Val, stamping on the floor with fury;
“remonstrate! Don't you know that I have this fellow safely in my
power?”
“I do,” replied Solomon, “and my remonstrance would have been, had
you heard me, simply and humbly to suggest that you might do the
thing---this vengeance that you speak of--in an edifying manner--or, in
other words, in a mild and Christian spirit.”
“Solomon, you are after all but a poor devil,” said Val; “a poor pitiful
scoundrel, that can't understand what full, deep-seated, and lasting
vengeance means. You are only fit to sneak, and peep, and skulk about
after a sly, prim, sweet-faced--but I am losing my breath to speak to
you. Gordon, is the inventory taken?”
“It is, sir; Montgomery has it.”
“That's well, here are the carts then--ay, and here comes the sheriff.
Now for business.”
“So, then, you will proceed, Mr. M'Clutchy?” said M'Loughlin.
“Proceed,” he replied, looking at him, as it were, with amazement;
“proceed--ha, ha, ha!”
“Truly that is unchristian mirth,” observed Solomon; “I must say as
much--even although your cause be a just cause, and one supported by
the laws--by our blessed laws, that protect the rights of the tenant
and landlord with equal justice and impartiality; for it is a glorious
privilege to live under a constitution that protects the tenant from
the malignity and oppression of the landlord or his agents. It is that,”
said Solomon; “oh, it is that precious thing, indeed.”
As he spoke the words there was a slight upraising of the eyes, together
with a side glance at M'Clutchy, which, though barely-perceptible,
contained as much sanctified venom as could well be expressed. He had
scarcely concluded, when the sheriff, having pulled up his gig, entered.
Val, notwithstanding his excessive thirst for vengeance, could not
avoid feeling the deepest possible mortification since his arrival
at M'Loughlin's. There was observable in this honest fellow's bearing
something that vexed his oppressor sorely, and which consisted in a kind
of easy, imperturbable serenity, that no threat could disturb or ruffle.
Nay, there appeared a kind of lurking good-humored defiance in his eye,
which, joined to the irony of his manner, aggravated the resentment of
M'Clutchy to the highest pitch.
“This is an unpleasant visit, Mr. Graham,” said M'Loughlin, when that
official entered; “but it can't be helped.”
“It is unpleasant to both of us, I assure you,” replied the sheriff; “on
my part, of course, you know it is an act of duty, and, indeed, a very
painful one, Mr. M'Loughlin.”
“I have experienced your civility, sir, before now,” returned
M'Loughlin, “thanks to my friends,” and he eyed M'Clutchy; “and I know
you to be incapable of an un-gentlemanly act. But you must feel it
a distressing thing to be made, in the discharge of that duty, the
unwilling instrument of oppression on the unfortunate.”
“It is quite true,” said the sheriff, “and the case you speak of too
frequently happens, as I have reason to know.”
“Pray, what are those carts for, Mr. M'Clutchy?” asked M'Loughlin.
“To remove your furniture, sir, and all your other movable property off
the premises. I act in this matter by the authority of the law, and Lord
Cumber's instructions.”
“Dear me,” said M'Loughlin, coolly, “why, you are very harsh, Mr.
M'Clutchy; you might show a little forbearance, my good neighbor. Upon
what authority, though, do you remove the furniture? because I did
believe that the tenant was usually allowed fourteen days to pay up,
before the process of an auction, and even that, you know, must take
place on the premises, and not of them.”
“There has been an affidavit made, that you intend to remove suddenly,
that is, to make what is called a moonlight flitting, Mr. M'Loughlin,
and upon that affidavit I proceed. As I said, I have the law with me, my
good neighbor.”
“Pray where did you pick up the honest man who was able to swear to my
intentions? he surely must be a clever fellow that can make affidavit as
to another man's thoughts--eh, Mr. M'Clutchy?”
Val's glances at the man, from time to time, were baleful; but, with
his usual tact and plausibility, he restrained his temper before the
sheriff, lest that gentleman might imagine that he had acted from any
other principle than a sense of duty.
Harvey, who heard M'Clutchy's determination with deep regret, now
happening to look out of the window, observed a group of persons
approaching--one of the said group hard and fast in the grip of two of
Val's constables; whilst, at the same time, it was quite evident, that
despite the ignominy of the arrest, mirth was the predominant feeling
among them, excepting only the constables. On approaching the house,
they were soon known, and Val, to his manifest delight, recognized Mr.
Easel as a prisoner, accompanied by Messrs. Hickman and Hartley, both of
whom seemed to enjoy Easel's position between the two constables, as a
very excellent subject for mirth.
“Mr. M'Clutchy,” said M'Loughlin, “whether is it you or I that is about
to hold a little levee in my humble parlor to-day? But I suppose I need
not ask. Consider yourself at home here, my good neighbor--you are now
up, and I am down; so we must only allow you to have your way.”
Just then the parlor door once more opened, and the party already
alluded to entered. Very distant and very polite were the salutations
that passed from M'Clutchy to the party in question, which the party in
question received, on the other hand, with a degree of good humor and
cordiality that surprised and astounded our agent, Val, to tell the
truth, felt rather queer; for, on comparing M'Loughlin's nonchalance
with the significant good humor of the new comers, he was too shrewd not
to feel that there was a bit of mystery somewhere, but in what quarter
he could not possibly guess.”
“Gentlemen,” said he, falling back upon his humanity, “the duties of an
Agent are often painful, but still they must be discharged. Lord
Cumber, I must confess, has not been well advised, to force me to
these proceedings. Mr. M'Loughlin, I acknowledge I lost temper a while
ago--but the fact really is, that I proceed in this matter with great
reluctance, notwithstanding what I said. Here, however,” he added,
turning to Easel, “is a horse of a different color.”
On speaking, he put his hand into his pocket, and pulling out the _Hue
and Cry_ of a certain date, read a description, and, as he advanced, he
turned his eyes with singular sagacity and satisfaction upon the person
and features of poor Easel.
“Browbeater was right,” said he; “you are here at full length in
the _Hue and Cry_--middle size--of rather plausible carriage--brown
hair--hazel eyes--and a very knowing look--the upper lip a good deal
curled; which I see is the case; known to be in the possession of more
money that ought to belong to a person in your condition--and lastly,
before you came here you were hawking high treason in the King's County,
in the character of a ballad-singer and vagabond. You have expended
sums of money among the poor of this neighborhood, with no good intention
towards the government; and the consequence is that Whiteboyism has
increased rapidly since you came amongst us.”
“But on what authority do you arrest me now?”
“I might arrest you at any time on suspicion; but here are affidavits,
in which it is sworn that you are believed to be a popish spy and
treasonable agent; and besides I have instructions from the Castle to
take you.”
“But what am I to do?” asked Easel,--“I am a stranger, and known here by
nobody, This, certainly, is not a very Irish reception, I must say, nor
is it very creditable to the hospitality of the country. You were civil
enough to me when you expected me to become an Orangeman.”
“Ah,” replied Val, “that's a proof of your ability; you overreached me
then, which is what few could have done. No--none but a master-hand like
you could do it. Mr. M'Loughlin,” he proceeded, “would you allow me a
separate room for a few minutes? I am anxious to put some questions to
this mischievous vagabond, privately.”
“With all my heart,” replied the other; “go into the dining-room.”
“Now, you scoundrel,” said Val, “that you may labor under no mistake,
I think it fair to tell you that Browbeater and I know everything about
you, and all the Protean shapes you have gone through for the last three
years, in different parts of the kingdom Now listen to me, you d----d
impostor; listen to me, I say--you have it in your power to become a
useful man to the present government. They have revived the Spy system,
and there is no doubt, from your acquaintance with the designs and
proceedings of Whiteboyism, and of Popery in general, that you can
afford very important information on the subject; if you can, your bread
is baked for life. You know not the large, the incredible large staff of
Spies that we have at work, and believe me, when I tell you that if you
make the proper disclosures to me I shall recommend you in the strongest
terms to Browbeater, who will have you placed high upon the list of
informers--a respectable class of men, let me tell you, and extremely
useful--so that you will be well and liberally paid for your treachery,
I mean that treachery which has _amor patriae_ to justify it. We
will not attempt to control your genius in any way; you can take to
ballad-singing again, if you like, or any other patriotic line of
serving the government which you choose. Having premised me this much,
allow me now to ask you your real name.”
“For the present I must decline answering that question.”
“Very proper--I see you know your business: and it is not my wish that
you should say anything to criminate yourself--certainly not. But in the
meantime, that you may see I am not at all in the dark, I tell you that
your name is Larry O'Trap, a decent journeyman carpenter by trade, but
as much a painter as I am a parson.”
“I won't submit to a private examination,” replied Easel; “examine me
publicly--that is, before the gentlemen in the next room, and I will
answer you to better purpose, perhaps; but I hate this hole and corner
work.”
“You will give no information, then?”
“I don't exactly say that--it is probable I may.”
“Think of it, then,” said Val, “and let me tell you, there is little
time to be lost. I shall speak to you once again before I commit
you--that is, after I shall have punished this villain M'Loughlin,
whom I hate as I hate hell; and mark me, you scoundrel, and reflect on
this,--I am a man who never yet forgave an injury; therefore don't make
me your enemy. This M'Loughlin insulted me some years ago in Castle
Cumber, and it is that insult that I am this day revenging upon his
head--so think of my words.”
“I shall think of them; I shall never forget them.”
“Keep this fellow in close custody,” said Val to the constables, as
they re-entered the parlor--“until the business of the day is over. Mr.
Sheriff, it is time now that you should do your duty.”
“I countermand that order,” said Easel. “You see, Mr. M'Clutchy,” said
the sheriff, smiling, “that here is a countermand.”
“Here is your rent in full, Mr. M'Clutchy,” said M'Loughlin, “and lest
notes might not prove satisfactory, as they never do to you, there it is
in gold. You will find it right.”
“Well, really I am glad of this,” said Val, “it would have been painful
to me to have gone to extremities. Still there is the Ejectment to take
place, as the leases have expired: but that, my good neighbor, will
be merely a form. Of course you will be permitted to go in again as
caretakers; but in the meantime we must get the furniture out, and
receive possession in the proper way. I was angry, Mr. M'Loughlin, a
while ago, as I said and spoke hastily--for indeed I am rather warm when
promoting Lord Cumber's interests; God forgive him in the meantime, for
the disagreeable duties he too frequently put to me--duties for which I
am certain to incur the censure.”
“I countermand the order,” repeated Easel, with a singular smile on his
face; “and desire you, Mr. M'Loughlin, to withhold your rent.”
“You!” exclaimed Val, looking at him. “Yes!” he replied, walking over,
and looking him sternly in the face.
“If it were worth while to ask your name I would--but I believe I know
it already.”
“Perhaps not.”
“Well, perhaps not; and pray what may it be?”
“I will tell you, sir,” replied Hartley. “This gentleman is--”
“Larry O'Trap, a Spy and Whiteboy Agent,” said Val, looking into the
Hue and Cry, and again surveying Easel. “He is imposing on you, Mr.
Hartley.”
“This gentleman, sir,” proceeded Hartley, “is the Honorable Richard
Topertoe, brother to the Right Honorable Lord Cumber--”
“And who has the honor to present you with this communication from that
nobleman,” said Mr. Topertoe, “which contains your Dismissal from his
Agency; and this to you, Mr. M'Slime, which also contains your Dismissal
as his Law Agent. The authority of each of you from this moment ceases;
and yours, my sterling, excellent, and honorable friend, from this
moment recommences,” said he, turning to Mr. Hickman. “This letter
contains your re-appointment to the situation which you so honorably
scorned to hold, when you found it necessary, as his Agent, to oppress
the people. Will you be good enough, Mr. M'Loughlin, to call in Mr.
Harman and those other people? You shall not be left in the dark, sir,”
he proceeded, “as to the extent of our knowledge of your dishonesty,
treachery, and persecution.”
“Truly, my friend M'Clutchy, it is our duty now to act a Christian part
here. This dispensation may be ultimately for our good, if we receive it
in a proper spirit. May He grant it!”
M'Clutchy's face became the color of lead on perusing his dismissal,
which was brief, stern, and peremptory--or as the phrase goes--short,
sharp, and decisive. It was written by Lord Cumber's own hand, and to
give it all due authenticity, had his seal formally attached at the
bottom. Harman now entered, accompanied by Darby, Poll Doolin, and a
number of those persons among the tenantry, whom M'Clutchy had robbed
and persecuted. On looking at them, after having twice perused the
letter of dismissal, his hands and knees trembled as if he were about to
fall, and on attempting to fold the letter, it was visible to all that
he could scarcely accomplish it.
“Now,” proceeded Mr. Topertoe, “I may as well inform you that I have
made myself thoroughly and most intimately acquainted with your conduct
in all its revolting phases; I have read and transmitted to my brother
two letters which passed between you and this pious gentleman, Mr.
M'Slime, here, upon the subject of Messrs. M'Loughlin and Harman's
property--than which, nothing more flagitious could--in the way of
business, or in the performance of any public duty--enter the heart of
man. Just Heaven! a poor creature, perhaps prompted by the cravings of
hunger, will steal some paltry matter, not worth half a crown--perhaps
a pocket-handkerchief--and forthwith out comes justice, oh, not Justice,
but Law in her stead, with sword in hand, and scales most iniquitously
balanced; and, lo! the unfortunate wretch is immediately dragged to a
prison, and transported for life to a penal colony; whilst at the same
time, rapacious villains like you, will plunder by wholesale--will wring
the hearts of the poor, first by your tyranny, and afterwards rob them
in their very destitution. The unhappy, struggling widow, without a
husband to defend her, you would oppress, because she is helpless, and
your scoundrel son would corrupt her, were she not virtuous. You would
intoxicate an aged man that he might, in the unguarded moments of
inebriety, surrender a valuable lease into your keeping. You would
not receive your rents, except in gold, or which you made the wretched
people pay, ruinous, murderous premium, by selling it but to them from
day to day. You--in fact have now neither time nor patience to enumerate
your monstrous corruptions and robberies, although I know them all,
as you shall find ere long. There is one act, however, so refined
in diabolical depravity, so deeply narked by a spirit of cowardice,
revenge, and cruelty, that I might almost question whether, in the lowest
depths of hell itself, anything so damnably black and satanic could
originate--I allude to the plan which you conceived and got executed by
your heartless, cowardly son, aided by that old woman who stands therein
your presence, for ruining the stainless reputation of Mr. M'Loughlin's
only daughter.”
“I can prove that,” said Poll, “and here I am ready and willing to do
so.”
“In this, however, thank God, you have failed,” he continued, “yes, in
this, and every other act of your villainy you have been detected, and
shall be exposed and punished before the proper tribunal. It is you,
sir, and such scourges of the poor and industrious classes as you, who
goad the unhappy, the destitute, and despairing people into crimes that
are disgraceful to the country; it is you, and such as you, who force
them, maddened by your cruelty and oppression, to fall back upon
revenge, when they cannot find redress or justice in the laws of the
land. Unhappily the whole kingdom is studded too thickly with such men,
and until property in this unfortunate country is placed upon an equal
footing between landlord and tenant--until the rights and privileges of
him who farms and cultivates the soil, are as well protected and secured
by law as are those of the other party, so long will there be bloodshed
and crime. The murderer is justly abhorred, apprehended, and punished as
he ought in the sight of God and man to be: but is there no law to reach
unprincipled wretches like you, whose grinding rapacity, dishonesty, and
inhumanity, furnish him with the motives and incentives to the crime
he commits? As for you, gentlemen, and honest men as you are,” he
proceeded, addressing M'Loughlin and Harman. “you remain, of course,
in your farms; you shall have reasonable and fair leases, and, what is
more, your credit shall be re-established on as firm a footing as ever.
You shall be enabled to resume your business on an ample scale, and that
as sure as I am master of two hundred thousand pounds. And now, O'Drive,
a word with you:--I have fully discovered your treachery to both
M'Clutchy and M'Slime; you were a willing agent in carrying out their
hard and heartless excesses. You were, in truth, a thorough bailiff,
without conscience, feeling, or remorse. In no instance have you ever
been known to plead for, or take the part of a poor man; so far from
that, I find that you have invited and solicited their confidence,
only--in case they did not satisfy your petty extortions--that you might
betray them to your relentless employer, whilst, under all possible
circumstances you fleeced them by threats, and acted the vampire on a
small scale. You are no longer a bailiff on this estate, and I have the
further satisfaction to assure you, that in consequence of a private
interview I had with the new bishop, the Right Rev. Dr. Lucre,
concerning your appointment to the situation of under goaler at Castle
Cumber, I have succeeded in getting it cancelled; so that you are at
liberty to carry your low knavery to the best market you can get for it.
In all this, I am authorized by my brother, who, I trust, will soon see
the erroneous notions which he entertains upon the subject of property,
and his duties as landlord. You, my dear friend, Mr. Hickman--my
friend, I say with pride, and the friend of the poor with still greater
pride--you will have the goodness to receive from Mr. M'Clutchy and
M'Slime all books and documents pertaining,to the estate, that are in
their possession.”
“Well, be my sowl,” said Darby, who was the first to break the silence
that followed these observations; “if you were Lord Cumber himself,
instead of his brother, I'd call that same tratement of me as purty a
piece of ingratitude as ever came acrass me;--me that gave you most of
the information--that sould them both, I may say--an' the letthers too
that convicted them, are they forgotten?”
“There is your friend and kindred spirit, Mr. M'Clutchy,” replied Mr.
Topertoe, “who, only that he never forgives an injury, might get you a
secret appointment among the Castle Spies and Informers, with whom,
or rather it would appear, with the gentleman who drills them, he has
considerable influence. It is for such a respectable corps that your
talents are best adapted.”
“Of a truth,” said Solomon, “this is a turning of the tables, to use a
somewhat vulgar adage. As for me, I know it is good to be purified in
the furnace, and scourged with many stripes, as it is a fresh proof that
I am cared for.”
Up until this moment M'Clutchy had not uttered a single syllable, but,
as we have said, he trembled very much, his temples throbbed, and his
brow fell. The squint in his left eye became deeper and more guilt-like.
The revulsion of feeling, coming upon him so unexpectedly as it did, was
dreadful, and the tumult within him quite beyond the power of language
to describe.
He merely said, and this with parched lips and slow enunciation--
“Very well, Mr. Topertoe; your wishes touching the giving up of all
documents connected with the property shall be duly complied with, as
far as I am concerned. That, is all I choose to say just now.”
“And so far as I am concerned,” said Solomon, “I can say that mine
also shall be rendered up with rejoicing--with rejoicing that I have no
further intercourse with a profligate and most unchristian landlord.
I feel that in this thing I have cause to be rather thankful than
otherwise.”
“Now, M'Clutchy,” said M'Loughlin, “I could overlook all your dishonesty
and treacherous misrepresentation of me to Lord Cumber--your attempt
to oust us out of our farms, and to put your son and M'Slime in our
places--your suppressing the fact, besides that we offered a thousand
pounds apiece for a renewal--your whispering away our commercial
reputation, and thereby bringing us in the end to ruin--all that, I say,
I could overlook and forgive; but for your foul and cowardly attempt to
destroy the fair fame of our spotless child--for that, sir, in which,
thank heaven, you failed, I now say, I trust, with honest pride,
and tell you face to face--if you had only the manliness to look in
mine--that I feel this to be the hour of my triumph--but not of my
vengeance, for I trust I am a Christian man.”
“As for me, M'Olutchy,” said Harman, “really, on looking over your whole
conduct--into which there comes not one single virtue belonging to our
better nature--I am so filled with indignation, and a perception of the
baseness and blackness of your heart and character, your revenge, your
perfidy, and above all, your cowardice, that I can feel nothing for
you but a loathing and abhorrence that really sicken me when I think of
you.”
“What could you expect,” observed Poll Doolin, “from the son of Kate
Clank and villainous ould Deaker?”
M'Clutchy never raised his eye, but taking up his hat, he and Solomon,
followed soon after by Darby, took their departure in silence; Solomon
occasionally shrugging his shoulders and throwing up his eyes, like a
persecuted man.
“There is now no further use for preserving my incognito,” observed Mr.
Topertoe, “and as you, Mr. Sheriff, have had your journey for nothing, I
shall feel obliged if you will join these gentlemen at the Castle Cumber
Arms to dinner, where we can have an opportunity of talking these and
other matters over more at our leisure.”
“Do not expect me, sir,” said Hartley, who felt that the delicacy of his
position with regard to Lord Cumber, rendered it altogether impossible
that he could be the guest of a man with whose brother he was likely
soon to fight a duel.
“Well,” replied Topertoe, “if you cannot come I shall regret it.”
“It is really out of my power, I assure you,” replied Hartley, as he
bade him fare-Well.
The sheriff accepted the invitation; and after shaking hands with, and
congratulating Messrs. M'Loughlin and Harman, also took his leave. He
had scarcely gone, when a magnificent carriage and four dashed up to
the door, in which Topertoe, accompanied by Hickman, took his seat, and
again drove off towards. Castle Cumber, where the said carriage only had
arrived that morning from, the metropolis.
Darby was certainly confounded by the unwelcome intelligence respecting
the loss of the Gaolership, which was conveyed to him in such an
unpleasant manner by Mr. Topertoe. He knew his own powers of wheedling,
however, too well, to despair of being able, could he see Lucre, to
replace himself as firmly as ever in his good opinion. With this purpose
in view, he wended his way to the Glebe House, where he understood the
newly made bishop yet was, having made arrangements to proceed the next
morning to Dublin, in order to be consecrated. There was, therefore, no
time to be lost, and he accordingly resolved to effect an interview
if he could. On arriving, the servant, who was ignorant of the change
against him which had been produced in his master's sentiments,
instantly admitted him; and the bishop, who had expected a present
of game from his neighbor, Lord Mountmortgage, desired him to be
admitted--the servant having only intimated that the man was come.”
“How is this?” said the Prelate in a loud and angry voice; “how did you
get in, sir?”
“Plaise your Lordship,” replied Darby, “I came in by the door, of
course--an' that, your Lordship, is generally the right way; for as
holy Scripture says,” he proceeded, anxious to let his Lordship see how
deeply he was imbued with Scriptural truth--“as holy Scripture says,
'Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that entereth not by the door into
the sheep-fold, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief
and a robber,' Indeed, my Lord, I never knewn the consolation that's in
Scripture antil lately, glory be to God!”
The bishop looked at him with an angry and scrutinizing eye; for Darby's
deportment, to say truth, puzzled him very much. Whether his conduct
proceeded from audacity, or shear simplicity, he felt unable to
determine, from anything that he could see in Darby's imperturbable
features.
“What is your business with me now? asked the prelate.
“Why, your Lordship,” replied Darby, “I've made out a couple of
proserlytes, that will be a credit to our blessed Establishment, as soon
as they're convarted. One of them, my Lord, is called Barney Butther,
an' the other Tom Whiskey, in regard of--”
“Go about your business, sir,” replied the prelate, reddening with
indignation; “begone.”
“I will, my Lord; only, my Lord, just before I go--about the Undher
Gaolership?”
“Your appointment to it is cancelled,” replied the other, “for many
reasons; you avoided prosecuting that wild priest.”
“But sure I said, my Lord, that when I'd get into my situation--”
“Your appointment to it is cancelled, I repeat; the fact is, O'Drive, I
have too much regard for your morals and the advances you have recently
made in scriptural knowledge to place you in such a situation. It is
only some hardened sinner, some irreclaimable knave, and not an honest
man like you, that oughht to be appointed to such an office; the nature
of its duties would only draw you into bad habits and corrupt your
principles. The fact is, your very virtues and good qualities; prevent
you from getting it--for get it, you assuredly shall not.”
“Is that your last detarmination, my Lord?”
“My last respecting that matter,” replied the prelate.
“Then, upon my conscience,” returned Darby, “according to that rule,
hell resave the ha'porth of the kind there was to prevent you from bein'
a bishop. I hear you're goin' up to Dublin to be consecrated, and be me
sowl, you want it; but I'd take my book oath that all the grace in your
church won't be able to consecrate you into thrue religion. The back o'
my hand to you, I say; for I hate everything that is ungrateful.”
It often happens that a petty insult, coming from an unexpected source,
excites our indignation more than an offence from a higher quarter. The
new made prelate actually got black in the face, and giddy in the
head, with the furious fit of passion which seized him on hearing this
language from Darby.
In the meantime, we leave him to cool as best he can, and follow Darby
to Castle Cumber, where he thought it probable he might meet Father
M'Cabe; nor was he mistaken. He found that very zealous gentleman
superintending the erection of a new chapel on a site given to Father
Roche by Mr Hartley. The priest, who knew that the other had recently
avoided him, felt considerably surprised at seeing the bailiff approach
him of his own free will.
“Well,” said he, in a voice which contained equal parts of irony and
anger, “what do you want with me, Mr. Protestant? Ah, what a blessed
Protestant you are! and what a hawl they made when they caught you! What
do you want, you shuffling scoundrel?”
“Troth, the grace o' God, I fear,” replied Darby, humbly.
“And what brings you to me then? I mean, sirra, what's your business
now?”
“Why, sir, devil a one o' me but's come jack to the ould creed. Troth,
your Reverence, the impressions you made on me the day we had the great
argument, was, wondherful. Be my sowl, it's yourself that can send
home the whi--word, your Rev-a-ence, in a way that it won't aisly be
forgotten. How-an-iver, sure hell resave the wie o me, but threwn back
his dirty religion to Lucre--an' left him an' it--although he offered,
if I'd remain wid them, to put Johnny Short out, and make me full
gaoler. My Lord,' says I, 'thruth's best. I've heard both sides o'
the argument from you and Father M'Cabe; an' be me sowl, if you were
a bishop ten times over, you couldn't hould a candle to him at arguin'
Scripture; neither are you the mild and forgiving Christian that he is.
Sure I know your church well,' says I up to him. 'It's a fat church, no
doubt; an' I'll tell you what's in it.'”
“'What's that, you backslidin' vagabone?'” says he.
“'Why, then, plenty of mait,' says I, 'but no salvation;' an' salvation
to me, your Reverence, but he got black over the whole face and shullers
wid rank passion. But sure--would your Reverence come a little more this
way; I think the men's listenin' to us--but sure,” continued Darby, in a
low, wheedling, confidential, and friendly voice, “sure, sir, he wanted
me to prosecute you for the religious instruction--for trath it was
nothing else, glory be to God--that you gave me the day of the argument;
an'---now listen, your Reverence--he offered me a bribe if I'd do it.”
“What bribe!”
“Why, sir, he put his hand, under his apron--sure he has a black silk
apron on him now, jist for all the world like a big man cook, dressed
out in murnin'--he put his hand undher his apron, and wid a hitch got it
into his breeches pocket--'here's a fifty pound note for you,' says he,
'if you'll prosecute that wild priest--there's no end to his larnin,'
says he, 'and I want to punish him for it; so, Darby, here's a fifty
pound note, an' it'll be yours when the prosecution's over; and I'll
bear all the expenses besides.'”
“And what did you say to that?” asked the priest.
“Troth,” replied Darby, “I jist bid him considher his fifty pound note
as waste paper--an' that Was my answer.”
“And there's mine, you lying, hypocritical scoundrel,” said the priest,
laying his whip across the worthy bailiff's shoulders; “you have been
for thirty years in the parish, and no human being ever knew you to go
to your duty--you have been a scourge on the poor---you have maligned
and betrayed those who placed confidence in you--and the truth is, not
a word ever comes out of your lips can be believed or trusted; when you
have the marks of repentance and truth about you, I may listen to you,
but not until then--begone!”
“Is that your last detarmination?” said Darby.
“No doubt of it,” replied the priest; “my last, and I'll stick to it
till I see you a different scoundrel from what you are.”
“Ay,” replied Darby; “then, upon my sowl, you're all of a kidney--all
jack fellow like--an' divil rasave the dacent creed among you, barrin'
the Quakers, and may heaven have a hand in me, but I think I was born
to be a Quaker, or, any way, a Methodist. I wish to God I understood
praichin'--at aitin' the bacon and fowl I am as good a Methodist as any
of them--but, be me sowl, as I don't understand praichin', I'll stick to
the Quakers, for when a man praiches there, all he has to do is to say
nothing.” Having uttered these sentiments in a kind of soliloquy,
Darby, after having given the priest a very significant look, took his
departure.
“Well,” said he to himself, “if the Quakers, bad luck to them, won't
take me, I know what I'll do--upon my conscience, I'll set up a new
religion for myself, and sure I have as good a right to bring out a
new religion myself, as many that done so. Who knows but I may have a
congregation of my own yet, and troth it may aisily be as respectable
as some o' them. But sure I can't be at a loss, for, plaise God, if all
fails, I can go to Oxford, where I'm tould there's a manifactory of new
religions--the Lord be praised for it!”
* Darby had better success in his speculations than perhaps
he ever expected to have. We need not inform the generality
of our readers that the sect called Darbyites were founded
by him, and have been called after him to the present day,
sometimes Darbyites, and sometimes Drivers.
On returning home, Val was observed to be silent and morose. The dashing
speed of his ride to M'Loughlin's was not usual to him, for his motions
were generally slow; it was significant, however, of the greedy spirit
which stimulated him to the long wished for glut of his revenge. Not
so his return. He walked his horse as if he had been a philosopher on
horseback; and when Phil (now quite tipsy), who expected to see him
return with all the savage triumph of vengeance in his looks, saw
that he was dumb, spiritless and absolutely crestfallen, and who also
observed the symptoms we spoke of, he began naturally enough to suspect
that something had gone wrong. His interrogations, however, were
fruitless. Val, on his inquiring the cause of these appearances, told
him in a petulant fit of that ill-temper which is pecular to cowards,
“to go be hanged;” a compliment which dutiful Phil returned to his
worthy father with interest. This was all that passed between them, with
the single exception of an observation which fell from Phil's lips as he
left the dinner-table, late in the evening.
“I tell you what, M'Clutchy, you're a confounded ill-tempered old
scoundrel, an-and what-what's more--o-o-over to your disgrace, a d----d
bad, rotten, and unsound Protestant. How do you ex-expect, sir, that a
Protestant Establishment can be sup-support-ported in this country by
such scandalous con-conduct as this? hip, hip, hurra! Instead of-of
being an ex-example to your son, it is your-your son, M'Clutchy, that is
an example to you, hip, hip, hur--, and so good night to you, I'm--I'm
on for a neat bit of business--that's all. Go to bed, you old dog.”