than one horse are in the habit of “joining,” as it is
termed--that is, of putting their horses together so as to
form a yoke, when they plough each other's farms, working
alternately, sometimes, by the week, half-week, or day; that
is, I plough this day, or this week, and you the next day,
or week, until our crops are got down. In this case, each is
anxious to take as much out of the horses as he can,
especially where the farms are unequal. For instance, where
one farm is larger than another the difference must be paid
by the owner of the larger one in horse-labor, man-labor, or
money; but that he may have as little to pay as possible, he
ploughs as much for himself, by the day, as he can, and
often strives to get the other to do as little per day, on
the other side, in order to diminish what will remain due to
his partner. There is, consequently, a ludicrous
undercurrent of petty jealousy running between them, which
explains the passage in question.
“I disremember now what passed between us as to words--but I know I
had a duck-egg in my hand, and when she spoke, I raised my arm, and
nailed--poor Larry Tracy, our servant boy, between the two eyes with it,
although the crathur was ating his dinner quietly fornent me, not saying
a word.
“Well, as I tould you, Dick was ever after her, although her father
and mother would rather see her under boord* than joined to any of that
connection; and as for herself, she couldn't bear the sight of him, he
was sich an upsetting, conceited puppy, that thought himself too good
for every girl. At any rate, he tried often and often, in fair and
market, to get striking up with her; and both coming from and going to
mass, 'twas the same way, for ever after and about her, till the state
he was in spread over the parish like wild fire. Still, all he could do
was of no use; except to bid him the time of day, she never entered into
discoorse with him at all at all. But there was no putting the likes
of him off; so he got a quart of spirits in his pocket, one night, and
without saying a word to mortal, off he sets full speed to her father's,
in order to brake the thing to the family.
* In that part of the country where the scene of Shane
Fadh's Wedding is laid, the bodies of those who die are not
stretched out on a bed, and the face exposed; on the
contrary, they are placed generally on the ground, or in a
bed, but with a board resting upon two stools or chairs over
them. This is covered with a clean sheet, generally borrowed
from some wealthier neighbor; so that the person of the
deceased is altogether concealed. Over the sheet upon the
board, are placed plates of cut tobacco, pipes, snuff, &c.
This is what is meant by being “undher boord.”
“Mary might be about seventeen at this time, and her mother looked
almost as young and fresh as if she hadn't been married at all. When
Dick came in, you may be sure they were all surprised at the sight of
him; but they were civil people--and the mother wiped a chair, and put
it over near the fire for him to sit down upon, waiting to hear what
he'd say, or what he wanted, although, they could give a purty good
guess as to that!--but they only wished to put him off with as little
offince as possible. When Dick sot a while, talking about what the price
of hay and oats would be in the following summer, and other subjects
that he thought would show his knowledge of farming and cattle, he pulls
out his bottle, encouraged to by their civil way of talking--and telling
the ould couple, that as he came over on his kailyee,* he had brought
a drop in his pocket to sweeten the discoorse, axing Susy Finigan, the
mother, for a glass to send it round with--at the same time drawing
over his chair close to Mary who was knitting her stocken up beside
her little brother Michael, and chatting to the gorsoon, for fraid that
Cuillenan might think she paid him any attention.
* Kailyee--a friendly evening visit.
When Dick got alongside of her, he began of coorse, to pull out her
needles and spoil her knitting, as is customary before the young people
come to close spaking. Mary, howsomever, had no welcome for him; so,
says she, 'You ought to know, Dick Cuillenan, who you spake to, before
you make the freedom you do'
“'But you don't know, says Dick, 'that I'm a great hand at spoiling the
girls' knitting,--it's a fashion I've got,' says he.
“'It's a fashion, then,' says Mary, 'that'll be apt to get you a broken
mouth, sometime'.*
* It is no unusual thing in Ireland for a country girl to
repulse a fellow whom she thinks beneath her, if not by a
flat at least by a flattening refusal; nor is it seldom that
the “argumentum fistycuffum” resorted to on such occasions.
I have more than once seen a disagreeable lover receive,
from that fair hand which he sought, so masterly a blow,
that a bleeding nose rewarded his ambition, and silenced for
a time his importunity.
“'Then,' says Dick, 'whoever does that must marry me.'
“'And them that gets you, will have a prize to brag of,' says she; 'stop
yourself, Cuillenan---single your freedom, and double your distance, if
you plase; I'll cut my coat off no such cloth.'
“'Well, Mary,' says he, 'maybe, if _you_, don't, as good will; but you
won't be so cruel as all that comes to--the worst side of you is out, I
think.'
“He was now beginning to make greater freedom; but Mary rises from her
seat, and whisks away with herself, her cheek as red as a rose with
vexation at the fellow's imperance. 'Very well,' says Dick, 'off you go;
but there's as good fish in the say as ever was catched.--I'm sorry to
see, Susy,' says he to her mother, 'that Mary's no friend of mine, and
I'd be mighty glad to find it otherwise; for, to tell the truth, I'd
wish to become connected with the family. In the mane time, hadn't
you better get us a glass, till we drink one bottle on the head of it,
anyway.'
“'Why, then, Dick Cuillenan,' says the mother, 'I don't wish you
anything else than good luck and happiness; but, as to Mary, She's not
for you herself, nor would it be a good match between the families
at all. Mary is to have her grandfather's sixty guineas; and the two
_moulleens_* that her uncle Jack left her four years ago has brought
her a good stock for any farm. Now if she married you, Dick, where's the
farm to bring her to?--surely it's not upon them seven acres of stone
and bent, upon the long Esker,** that I'd let my daughter go to live.
So, Dick, put up your bottle, and in the name of God, go home, boy, and
mind your business; but, above all, when you want a wife, go to them
that you may have a right to expect, and not to a girl like Mary
Finigan, that could lay down guineas where you could hardly find
shillings.'
* Cows without horns.
** Esker; a high ridge of land, generally barren and
unproductive, when upon a small scale. It is also a ridgy
height that runs for many miles through a country.
“'Very well, Susy,' says Dick, nettled enough, as he well might, 'I
say to you, just as I say to your daughter, if you be proud there's no
force.'”
“But what has this to do with you, Shane?” asked Andy Morrow; “sure we
wanted to hear an account of your wedding, but instead of that, it's
Dick Cuillenan's history you're giving us.”
“That's just it,” said Shane; “sure, only for this same Dick, I'd never
got Mary Finigan for a wife. Dick took Susy's advice, bekase, after all,
the undacent drop was in him? or he'd never have brought the bottle
out of the house at all; but, faith he riz up, put the whiskey in his
pocket, and went home with a face on him as black as my hat with venom.
Well, things passed on till the Christmas following, when one night,
after the Finigans had all gone to bed, there comes a crowd of fellows
to the door, thumping at it with great violence, and swearing that if
the people within wouldn't open it immediately, it would be smashed into
smithereens. The family, of coorse, were all alarmed; but somehow or
other, Susy herself got suspicious that it might be something about
Mary, so up she gets, and sends the daughter to her own bed, and lies
down herself in the daughter's.
“In the mane time, Finigan got up, and after lighting a candle, opened
the door at once. 'Come, Finigan,' says a strange voice, 'put out the
candle, except you wish us to make a candlestick of the thatch,' says
he--'or to give you a prod of a bagnet under the ribs,' says he.
“It was a folly for one man to go to bell-the-cat with a whole crowd;
so he blew the candle out, and next minute they rushed in, and went as
straight as a rule to Mary's bed. The mother all the time lay close, and
never said a word. At any rate, what could be expected, only that, do
what she could, at the long-run she must go? So according, after a very
hard battle on her side, being a powerful woman, she was obliged to
travel--but not till she had left many of them marks to remimber her by;
among the rest, Dick himself got his nose split on his face, with the
stroke of a churn-staff, so that he carried half a nose on each cheek
till the day of his death. Still there was very little spoke, for
they didn't wish to betray themselves on any side. The only thing that
Finigan could hear, was my name repeated several times, as if the whole
thing was going on under my direction; for Dick thought, that if there
was any one in the parish likely to be set down for it, it was me.
“When Susy found they were for putting her behind one of them, on a
horse, she rebelled again, and it took near a dozen of boys to hoist her
up; but one vagabone of them, that had a rusty broad-sword in his hand,
gave her a skelp with the flat side of it, that subdued her at once, and
off they went. Now, above all nights in the year, who should be dead but
my own full cousin, Denis Fadh--God be good to him!--and I, and Jack,
and Dan, his brothers, while bringing; home whiskey for the wake and
berrin, met them on the road. At first we thought them distant relations
coming to the wake, but when I saw only one woman among the set, and
she mounted on a horse, I began to suspect that all wasn't right. I
accordingly turned back a bit, and walked near enough without their
seeing me to hear the discoorse, and discover the whole business. In
less than no time I was back at the wake-house, so I up and tould
them what I saw, and off we set, about forty of us, with good cudgels,
scythe-sneds, and flails, fully bent to bring her back from them, come
or go what would. And troth, sure enough, we did it; and I was the man
myself, that rode afore the mother on the same horse that carried her
off.
“From this out, when and wherever I got an opportunity, I whispered the
soft nonsense, Nancy, into poor Mary's ear, until I put my _comedher_*
on her, and she couldn't live at all without me. But I was something for
a woman to look at then, any how, standing six feet two in my stocking
soles, which, you know, made them call me Shane _Fadh_.** At that time
I had a dacent farm of fourteen acres in Crocknagooran--the same that
my son, Ned, has at the present time; and though, as to wealth, by no
manner of manes fit to compare with the Finigans, yet, upon the whole,
she might have made a worse match. The father, however, wasn't for me;
but the mother was: so after drinking a bottle or two with the mother,
Sarah Traynor, her cousin, and Mary, along with Jack Donnellan, on my
part, in their own barn, unknown to the father, we agreed to make, a
runaway match of it, and appointed my uncle Brian Slevin's as the house
we'd go to. The next Sunday was the day appointed; so I had my uncle's
family prepared, and sent two gallons of whiskey, to be there before us,
knowing that neither the Finigans nor my own friends liked stinginess.
* Comedher--come hither--alluding to the burden of an old
love-charm which is still used by the young of both sexes on
May-morning. It is a literal translation of the Irish word
“gutsho.”
** Fadh is tall, or long
“Well, well, after all, the world is a strange thing--it's myself hardly
knows what to make of it. It's I that did doat night and day upon that
girl; and indeed there was them that could have seen me in Jimmaiky
for her sake, for she was the beauty of the country, not to say of the
parish, for a girl in her station. For my part, I could neither ate nor
sleep, for thinking that she was so soon to be my own married wife,
and to live under my roof. And when I'd think of it, how my heart would
bounce to my throat, with downright joy and delight! The mother had made
us promise not to meet till Sunday, for fraid of the father becoming
suspicious: but if I was to be shot for it, I couldn't hinder myself
from going every night to the great flowering whitethorn that was behind
their garden; and although she knew I hadn't promised to come, yet there
she still was; something, she said, tould her I would come.
“The next Sunday we met at _Althadhawan_ wood, and I'll never forget
what I felt when I was going to the green at St. Patrick's Chair, where
the boys and girls meet on Sunday; but there she was--the bright eyes
dancing: with joy in her head to see me. We spent the evening in the
wood, till it was dusk--I bating them all leaping, dancing, and throwing
the stone; for, by my song, I thought I had the action of ten men in
me; she looking on, and smiling like an angel, when I'd lave them miles
behind me. As it grew dusk, they all went home, except herself and me,
and a few more who, maybe, had something of the same kind on hands.
“'Well Mary,' says I, 'acushla machree, it's dark enough for us to go;
and, in the name of God, let us be off.”
“The crathur looked into my face, and got pale--for she was very young
then: 'Shane,' says she, and she thrimbled like an aspen lafe,
'I'm going to trust myself with--you for ever--for ever, Shane,
avourueen,--and her sweet voice broke into purty murmurs as she spoke;
'whether for happiness or sorrow God he only knows. I can bear poverty
and distress, sickness and want will' you, but I can't bear to think
that you should ever forget to love me as you do now, or your heart
should ever cool to me: but I'm sure,' says she, 'you'll never forget
this night--and the solemn promises you made me, before God and the
blessed skies above us.'
“We were sitting at the time under the shade of a rowan-tree, and I had
only one answer to make--I pulled her to my breast, where she laid her
head and cried like a child with her cheek against mine. My own eyes
weren't dry, although I felt no sorrow, but--but--I never forgot that
night--and I never will.”
He now paused a few minutes, being too much affected to proceed.
“Poor Shane,” said Nancy, in a whisper to Andy Morrow, “night and day
he's thinking about that woman; she's now dead going on a year, and you
would think by him, although he bears up very well before company
that she died only yestherday--but indeed it's he that was always the
kind-hearted, affectionate man; and a better husband never broke bread.”
“Well,” said Shane, resuming the story, and clearing his voice, “it's
great consolation to me, now that she's gone, to think that I never
broke the promise I made her that night; for as I tould you, except in
regard to the duck-egg, a bitther word never passed between us. I was
in a passion then, for a wonder, and bent upon showing her that I was a
dangerous man to provoke; so just to give her a _spice_ of what I could
do, I made _Larry_ feel it--and may God forgive me for raising my hand
even then to her. But sure he would be a brute that would beat such
a woman except by proxy. When it was clear dark we set off, and after
crossing the country for two miles, reached my uncle's, where a great
many of my friends were expecting us. As soon as we came to the door I
struck it two or three times, for that was the sign, and my aunt came
out, and taking Mary in her arms, kissed her, and, with a thousand
welcomes, brought us both in.
“You all know that the best of aiting and dhrinking is provided when a
runaway couple is expected; and indeed there was galore of both there.
My uncle and all that were within welcomed us again; and many a good
song and hearty jug of punch was sent round that night. The next morning
my uncle went to her father's, and broke the business to him at once:
indeed it wasn't very hard to do, for I believe it reached him afore
he saw my uncle at all; so she was brought home* that day, and, on the
Thursday night after, I, my father, uncle, and several other friends,
went there and made the match. She had sixty guineas, that her
grandfather left her, thirteen head of cattle, two feather- and two
chaff-beds, with sheeting, quilts, and blankets; three pieces of
bleached linen, and a flock of geese of her own rearing--upon the whole,
among ourselves, it wasn't aisy to get such a fortune.
* One-half, at least, of the marriages in a great portion of
Ireland are effected in this manner. They are termed
“runaway matches,” and are attended with no disgrace. When
the parents of the girl come to understand that she has
“gone off,” they bring her home in a day or two; the friends
of the parties then meet, and the arrangements for the
marriage are made as described in the tale.
“Well, the match was made, and the wedding day appointed; but there was
one thing still to be managed, and that was how to get over _standing_
at mass on Sunday, to make satisfaction for the scandal we gave the
church by running away with one another--but that's all stuff, for who
cares a pin about standing, when three halves of the parish are married
in the same way! The only thing that vexed me was, that it would keep
back the wedding-day. However, her father and my uncle went to the
priest, and spoke to him, trying, of coorse, to get us off it, but
he knew we were fat geese, and was in for giving us a plucking.--Hut,
tut!--he wouldn't hear of it at all, not he; for although he would ride
fifty miles to sarve either of us, he couldn't break the new orders
that he had got only a few days before that from the bishop. No; we must
_stand_*--for it would be setting a bad example to the parish; and if
he would let us pass, how could he punish the rest of his flock, when
they'd be guilty of the same thing?
* Matches made in this manner are discountenanced by the
Roman Catholic clergy, as being liable to abuse; and, for
this reason, the parties, by way of punishment, are
sometimes, but not always, made to stand up at mass for one
or three Sundays; but, as Shane expresses it, the punishment
is so common that it completely loses its effect. To
“stand,” in the sense meant here, is this: the priest, when
the whole congregation are on their knees, calls the young
man and woman by name, who stand up and remain under the
gaze of the congregation, whilst he rebukes them for the
scandal they gave to the church, after which they kneel
down. In general it is looked upon more in fun than
punishment. Sometimes, however, the wealthier class
compromise this matter with the priest, as described above.
“'Well, well, your Reverence,' says my uncle, winking at her father, 'if
that's the case, it can't be helped, any how--they must only stand, as
many a dacent father and mother's child has done before them, and will
again, plase God--your Reverence is right in doing your duty.'
“'True for you, Brian,' says his Reverence, 'and yet, God knows, there's
no man in the parish would be sorrier to see such a dacent, comely young
couple put upon a level with all the scrubs of the parish; and I know,
Jemmy Finigan, it would go hard with your young, bashful daughter to get
through with it, having the eyes of the whole congregation staring on
her.'
“'Why, then, your Reverence, as to that,' says my uncle, who was just as
stiff as the other was stout, 'the bashfulest of them will do more nor
that to get a husband.'
“'But you tell me,' says the priest, 'that the wedding-day is fixed
upon; how will you manage there?'
“'Why, put it off for three Sundays longer, to be sure,' says the uncle.
“'But you forget this, Brian,' says the priest, 'that good luck or
prosperity never attends the putting off of a wedding.'
“Now here, you see, is where the priest had them; for they knew that as
well as his Reverence himself--so they were in a puzzle again.
“'It's a disagreeable business,' says the priest, 'but the truth is, I
could get them off with the bishop, only for one thing--I owe him five
guineas of altar-money, and I am so far back in dues that I'm not able
to pay him. If I could inclose this to him in a letter, I would get them
off at once, although it would be bringing myself into trouble with the
parish afterwards; but, at all events,' says he, 'I wouldn't make every
one of you both--so, to prove that I wish to sarve you, I'll sell the
best cow in my byre, and pay him myself, rather than their wedding
day should be put off, poor things, or themselves brought to any bad
luck--the Lord keep them from it!'
“While he was speaking, he stamped his foot two or three times on the
flure, and the housekeeper came in.--'Katty,' says he, 'bring us in
a bottle of whiskey; at all events, I can't let you away,' says he,
'without tasting something, and drinking luck to the young folks.'
“'In troth,' says Jemmy Finigan, 'and begging your Reverence's pardon,
the sorra cow you'll sell this bout, any how, on account of me or my
childhre, bekase I'll lay down on the nail what'll clear you wid the
bishop; and in the name of goodness, as the day is fixed and all, let
the crathurs not be disappointed.'
“'Jemmy,' says my uncle, 'if you go to that, you'll pay but your share,
for I insist upon laying down one-half, at laste.'
“At any rate they came down with the cash, and after drinking a bottle
between them, went home in choice spirits entirely at their good luck in
so aisily getting us off. When they had left the house a bit, the priest
sent after them--'Jemmy,' says he to Finigan, 'I forgot a circumstance,
and that is, to tell you that I will go and marry them at your own
house, and bring Father James, my curate with me.' 'Oh, wurrah, no,'
said both, 'don't mention that, your Reverence, except you wish to break
their hearts, out and out! why, that would be a thousand times worse
nor making them stand to do penance: doesn't your Reverence know that
if they hadn't the pleasure of running for the bottle, the whole wedding
wouldn't be worth three half-pence?' 'Indeed, I forgot that, Jemmy.'
'But sure,' says my uncle, 'your Reverence and Father James must be at
it, whether or not--for that we intended from the first.' 'Tell them
I'll run for the bottle, too,' says the priest, laughing, 'and will make
some of them look sharp, never fear.'
“Well, by my song, so far all was right; and may be it's we that weren't
glad--maning Mary and myself--that there was nothing more in the way to
put off the wedding-day. So, as the bridegroom's share of the expense
always is to provide the whiskey, I'm sure, for the honor and glory of
taking the blooming young crathur from the great lot of bachelors that
were all breaking their hearts about her, I couldn't do less nor finish
the thing dacintly; knowing, besides, the high doings that the Finigans
would have of it--for they were always looked upon as a family that
never had their heart in a trifle, when it would come to the push. So,
you see, I and my brother Mickey, my cousin Tom, and Dom'nick Nulty,
went up into the mountains to Tim Cassidy's still-house, where we spent
a glorious day, and bought fifteen gallons of stuff, that one drop of
it would bring the tear, if possible, to a young widdy's eye that had
berrid a bad husband. Indeed, this was at my father's bidding, who
wasn't a bit behindhand with any of them in cutting a dash. 'Shane,'
says he to me, 'you know the Finigans of ould, that they won't be
contint with what would do another, and that, except they go beyant
the thing, entirely, they won't be satisfied. They'll have the whole
countryside at the wadding, and we must let them see that we have a
spirit and a faction of our own,' says he, 'that we needn't be ashamed
of. They've got all kinds of ateables in cart-loads, and as we're to get
the drinkables, we must see and give as good as they'll bring. I myself,
and your mother, will go round and invite all we can think of, and let
you and Mickey go up the hills to Tim Cassidy, and get fifteen gallons
of whiskey, for I don't think less will do us.'
“This we accordingly complied with, as I said, and surely better stuff
never went down the red lane (* Humorous periphrasis for throat) than
the same whiskey; for the people knew nothing about watering it then,
at all at all. The next thing I did was to get a fine shop cloth coat, a
pair of top-boots, and buckskin breeches fit for a squire; along with a
new Caroline hat that would throw off the wet like a duck. Mat Kavanagh,
the schoolmaster from Findramore bridge, lent me his watch for the
occasion, after my spending near two days learning from him to know what
o'clock it was. At last, somehow, I masthered that point so well that,
in a quarter of an hour at least, I could give a dacent guess at the
time upon it.