see, we'll say about four to one against you; you may chance to throw
doublets like him I told you of, and then what becomes of the odds I'd
like to know? But let things go as they will, I'll give and take four to
one, in pounds and tens of pounds. There, M'Donough, there's a GET
for you; b--t me, if it is not. Poh! the fellow is stolen away,' he
continued, observing that the object of his proposal had left the room;
'but d---- it, Purcell, you are fond of a SOFT THING, too, in a quiet
way--I'm sure you are--so curse me if I do not make you the same
offer-is it a go?'
I was too much disgusted to make any reply, but I believe my looks
expressed my feelings sufficiently, for in a moment he said:
'Well, I see there is nothing to be done, so we may as well be stirring.
M'Donough, myself, and my brother will saddle the horses in a jiffy,
while you and Purcell settle anything which remains to be arranged.'
So saying, he left the room with as much alacrity as if it were to
prepare for a foxhunt. Selfish, heartless fool! I have often since heard
him spoken of as A CURSED GOOD-NATURED DOG and a D---- GOOD FELLOW; but
such eulogies as these are not calculated to mitigate the abhorrence
with which his conduct upon that morning inspired me.
The chill mists of night were still hovering on the landscape as our
party left the castle. It was a raw, comfortless morning--a kind of
drizzling fog hung heavily over the scene, dimming the light of the
sun, which had now risen, into a pale and even a grey glimmer. As the
appointed hour was fast approaching, it was proposed that we should
enter the race-ground at a point close to the stand-house--a measure
which would save us a ride of nearly two miles, over a broken road; at
which distance there was an open entrance into the race-ground. Here,
accordingly, we dismounted, and leaving our horses in the care of
a country fellow who happened to be stirring at that early hour, we
proceeded up a narrow lane, over a side wall of which we were to climb
into the open ground where stood the now deserted building, under which
the meeting was to take place. Our progress was intercepted by the
unexpected appearance of an old woman, who, in the scarlet cloak which
is the picturesque characteristic of the female peasantry of the south,
was moving slowly down the avenue to meet us, uttering that peculiarly
wild and piteous lamentation well known by the name of 'the Irish cry,'
accompanied throughout by all the customary gesticulation of
passionate grief. This rencounter was more awkward than we had at first
anticipated; for, upon a nearer approach, the person proved to be no
other than an old attached dependent of the family, and who had herself
nursed O'Connor. She quickened her pace as we advanced almost to a run;
and, throwing her arms round O'Connor's neck, she poured forth such a
torrent of lamentation, reproach, and endearment, as showed that she was
aware of the nature of our purpose, whence and by what means I knew not.
It was in vain that he sought to satisfy her by evasion, and gently
to extricate himself from her embrace. She knelt upon the ground, and
clasped her arms round his legs, uttering all the while such touching
supplications, such cutting and passionate expressions of woe, as went
to my very heart.
At length, with much difficulty, we passed this most painful
interruption; and, crossing the boundary wall, were placed beyond her
reach. The O'Gradys damned her for a troublesome hag, and passed on
with O'Connor, but I remained behind for a moment. The poor woman looked
hopelessly at the high wall which separated her from him she had loved
from infancy, and to be with whom at that minute she would have given
worlds, she took her seat upon a solitary stone under the opposite wall,
and there, in a low, subdued key, she continued to utter her sorrow in
words so desolate, yet expressing such a tenderness of devotion as wrung
my heart.
'My poor woman,' I said, laying my hand gently upon her shoulder, 'you
will make yourself ill; the morning is very cold, and your cloak is but
a thin defence against the damp and chill. Pray return home and take
this; it may be useful to you.'
So saying, I dropped a purse, with what money I had about me, into her
lap, but it lay there unheeded; she did not hear me.
'Oh I my child, my child, my darlin',' she sobbed, 'are you gone from
me? are you gone from me? Ah, mavourneen, mavourneen, you'll never come
back alive to me again. The crathur that slept on my bosom--the lovin'
crathur that I was so proud of--they'll kill him, they'll kill him. Oh,
voh! voh!'
The affecting tone, the feeling, the abandonment with which all this was
uttered, none can conceive who have not heard the lamentations of the
Irish peasantry. It brought tears to my eyes. I saw that no consolation
of mine could soothe her grief, so I turned and departed; but as I
rapidly traversed the level sward which separated me from my companions,
now considerably in advance, I could still hear the wailings of the
solitary mourner.
As we approached the stand-house, it was evident that our antagonists
had already arrived. Our path lay by the side of a high fence
constructed of loose stones, and on turning a sharp angle at its
extremity, we found ourselves close to the appointed spot, and within
a few yards of a crowd of persons, some mounted and some on foot,
evidently awaiting our arrival. The affair had unaccountably taken wind,
as the number of the expectants clearly showed; but for this there was
now no remedy.
As our little party advanced we were met and saluted by several
acquaintances, whom curiosity, if no deeper feeling, had brought to the
place. Fitzgerald and the Captain had arrived, and having dismounted,
were standing upon the sod. The former, as we approached, bowed slightly
and sullenly--while the latter, evidently in high good humour, made his
most courteous obeisance. No time was to be lost; and the two seconds
immediately withdrew to a slight distance, for the purpose of completing
the last minute arrangements. It was a brief but horrible interval--each
returned to his principal to communicate the result, which was soon
caught up and repeated from mouth to mouth throughout the crowd. I
felt a strange and insurmountable reluctance to hear the sickening
particulars detailed; and as I stood irresolute at some distance from
the principal parties, a top-booted squireen, with a hunting whip in his
hand, bustling up to a companion of his, exclaimed:
'Not fire together!--did you ever hear the like? If Fitzgerald gets the
first shot all is over. M'Donough sold the pass, by----, and that is the
long and the short of it.'
The parties now moved down a little to a small level space, suited to
the purpose; and the captain, addressing M'Donough, said:
'Mr. M'Donough, you'll now have the goodness to toss for choice of
ground; as the light comes from the east the line must of course run
north and south. Will you be so obliging as to toss up a crown-piece,
while I call?'
A coin was instantly chucked into the air. The captain cried, 'Harp.'
The HEAD was uppermost, and M'Donough immediately made choice of the
southern point at which to place his friend--a position which it will
be easily seen had the advantage of turning his back upon the light--no
trifling superiority of location. The captain turned with a kind of
laugh, and said:
'By ----, sir, you are as cunning as a dead pig; but you forgot one
thing. My friend is a left-handed gunner, though never a bit the worse
for that; so you see there is no odds as far as the choice of light
goes.'
He then proceeded to measure nine paces in a direction running north and
south, and the principals took their ground.
'I must be troublesome to you once again, Mr. M'Donough. One toss more,
and everything is complete. We must settle who is to have the FIRST
SLAP.'
A piece of money was again thrown into the air; again the captain lost
the toss and M'Donough proceeded to load the pistols. I happened to
stand near Fitzgerald, and I overheard the captain, with a chuckle, say
something to him in which the word 'cravat' was repeated. It instantly
occurred to me that the captain's attention was directed to a
bright-coloured muffler which O'Connor wore round his neck, and which
would afford his antagonist a distinct and favourable mark. I instantly
urged him to remove it, and at length, with difficulty, succeeded.
He seemed perfectly careless as to any precaution. Everything was now
ready; the pistol was placed in O'Connor's hand, and he only awaited the
word from the captain.
M'Creagh then said:
'Mr. M'Donough, is your principal ready?'
M'Donough replied in the affirmative; and, after a slight pause, the
captain, as had been arranged, uttered the words:
'Ready--fire.'
O'Connor fired, but so wide of the mark that some one in the crowd
exclaimed:
'Fired in the air.'
'Who says he fired in the air?' thundered Fitzgerald. 'By ---- he lies,
whoever he is.' There was a silence. 'But even if he was fool enough to
fire in the air, it is not in HIS power to put an end to the quarrel by
THAT. D---- my soul, if I am come here to be played with like a child,
and by the Almighty ---- you shall hear more of this, each and everyone
of you, before I'm satisfied.'
A kind of low murmur, or rather groan, was now raised, and a slight
motion was observable in the crowd, as if to intercept Fitzgerald's
passage to his horse. M'Creagh, drawing the horse close to the spot
where Fitzgerald stood, threatened, with the most awful imprecations,
'to blow the brains out of the first man who should dare to press on
them.'
O'Connor now interfered, requesting the crowd to forbear, and some
degree of order was restored. He then said, 'that in firing as he
did, he had no intention whatever of waiving his right of firing upon
Fitzgerald, and of depriving that gentleman of his right of prosecuting
the affair to the utmost--that if any person present imagined that he
intended to fire in the air, he begged to set him right; since, so far
from seeking to exort an unwilling reconciliation, he was determined
that no power on earth should induce him to concede one inch of ground
to Mr. Fitzgerald.'
This announcement was received with a shout by the crowd, who now
resumed their places at either side of the plot of ground which had
been measured. The principals took their places once more, and M'Creagh
proceeded, with the nicest and most anxious care, to load the pistols;
and this task being accomplished, Fitzgerald whispered something in the
Captain's ear, who instantly drew his friend's horse so as to place
him within a step of his rider, and then tightened the girths. This
accomplished, Fitzgerald proceeded deliberately to remove his coat,
which he threw across his horse in front of the saddle; and then,
with the assistance of M'Creagh, he rolled the shirt sleeve up to the
shoulder, so as to leave the whole of his muscular arm perfectly naked.
A cry of 'Coward, coward! butcher, butcher!' arose from the crowd.
Fitzgerald paused.
'Do you object, Mr. M'Donough? and upon what grounds, if you please?'
said he.
'Certainly he does not,' replied O'Connor; and, turning to M'Donough, he
added, 'pray let there be no unnecessary delay.'
'There is no objection, then,' said Fitzgerald.
'_I_ object,' said the younger of the O'Gradys, 'if nobody else will.'
' And who the devil are you, that DARES to object?' shouted Fitzgerald;
'and what d--d presumption prompts you to DARE to wag your tongue here?'
'I am Mr. O'Grady, of Castle Blake,' replied the young man, now much
enraged; 'and by ----, you shall answer for your language to me.'
'Shall I, by ----? Shall I?' cried he, with a laugh of brutal scorn;
'the more the merrier, d--n the doubt of it--so now hold your tongue,
for I promise you you shall have business enough of your own to think
about, and that before long.'
There was an appalling ferocity in his tone and manner which no
words could convey. He seemed transformed; he was actually like a man
possessed. Was it possible, I thought, that I beheld the courteous
gentleman, the gay, good-humoured retailer of amusing anecdote with
whom, scarce two days ago, I had laughed and chatted, in the blasphemous
and murderous ruffian who glared and stormed before me!
O'Connor interposed, and requested that time should not be unnecessarily
lost.
'You have not got a second coat on?' inquired the Captain. 'I beg
pardon, but my duty to my friend requires that I should ascertain the
point.'
O'Connor replied in the negative. The Captain expressed himself as
satisfied, adding, in what he meant to be a complimentary strain, 'that
he knew Mr. O'Connor would scorn to employ padding or any unfair mode of
protection.'
There was now a breathless silence. O'Connor stood perfectly motionless;
and, excepting the death-like paleness of his features, he exhibited
no sign of agitation. His eye was steady--his lip did not tremble--his
attitude was calm. The Captain, having re-examined the priming of
the pistols, placed one of them in the hand of Fitzgerald.--M'Donough
inquired whether the parties were prepared, and having been answered
in the affirmative, he proceeded to give the word, 'Ready.' Fitzgerald
raised his hand, but almost instantly lowered it again. The crowd had
pressed too much forward as it appeared, and his eye had been unsteadied
by the flapping of the skirt of a frieze riding-coat worn by one of the
spectators.
'In the name of my principal,' said the Captain, 'I must and do insist
upon these gentlemen moving back a little. We ask but little; fair play,
and no favour.'
The crowd moved as requested. M'Donough repeated his former question,
and was answered as before. There was a breathless silence. Fitzgerald
fixed his eye upon O'Connor. The appointed signal, 'Ready, fire!' was
given. There was a pause while one might slowly reckon three--Fitzgerald
fired--and O'Connor fell helplessly upon the ground.
'There is no time to be lost,' said M'Creagrh; 'for, by ----, you have
done for him.'
So saying, he threw himself upon his horse, and was instantly followed
at a hard gallop by Fitzgerald.
'Cold-blooded murder, if ever murder was committed,' said O'Grady. 'He
shall hang for it; d--n me, but he shall.'
A hopeless attempt was made to overtake the fugitives; but they were
better mounted than any of their pursuers, and escaped with ease.
Curses and actual yells of execration followed their course; and as,
in crossing the brow of a neighbouring hill, they turned round in
the saddle to observe if they were pursued, every gesture which could
express fury and defiance was exhausted by the enraged and defeated
multitude.
'Clear the way, boys,' said young O'Grady, who with me was kneeling
beside O'Connor, while we supported him in our arms; 'do not press so
close, and be d--d; can't you let the fresh air to him; don't you see
he's dying?'
On opening his waistcoat we easily detected the wound: it was a little
below the chest--a small blue mark, from which oozed a single heavy drop
of blood.
'He is bleeding but little--that is a comfort at all events,' said one
of the gentlemen who surrounded the wounded man.
Another suggested the expediency of his being removed homeward with as
little delay as possible, and recommended, for this purpose, that a
door should be removed from its hinges, and the patient, laid upon this,
should be conveyed from the field. Upon this rude bier my poor friend
was carried from that fatal ground towards Castle Connor. I walked close
by his side, and observed every motion of his. He seldom opened his
eyes, and was perfectly still, excepting a nervous WORKING of the
fingers, and a slight, almost imperceptible twitching of the features,
which took place, however, only at intervals. The first word he uttered
was spoken as we approached the entrance of the castle itself, when
he said; repeatedly, 'The back way, the back way.' He feared lest his
mother should meet him abruptly and without preparation; but although
this fear was groundless, since she never left her room until late
in the day, yet it was thought advisable, and, indeed, necessary, to
caution all the servants most strongly against breathing a hint to their
mistress of the events which had befallen.
Two or three gentlemen had ridden from the field one after another,
promising that they should overtake our party before it reached the
castle, bringing with them medical aid from one quarter or another;
and we determined that Mrs. O'Connor should not know anything of the
occurrence until the opinion of some professional man should have
determined the extent of the injury which her son had sustained--a
course of conduct which would at least have the effect of relieving her
from the horrors of suspense. When O'Connor found himself in his own
room, and laid upon his own bed, he appeared much revived--so much so,
that I could not help admitting a strong hope that all might yet be
well.
'After all, Purcell,' said he, with a melancholy smile, and speaking
with evident difficulty, 'I believe I have got off with a trifling
wound. I am sure it cannot be fatal I feel so little pain--almost none.'
I cautioned him against fatiguing himself by endeavouring to speak; and
he remained quiet for a little time. At length he said:
'Purcell, I trust this lesson shall not have been given in vain. God has
been very merciful to me; I feel--I have an internal confidence that I
am not wounded mortally. Had I been fatally wounded--had I been killed
upon the spot, only think on it'--and he closed his eyes as if the very
thought made him dizzy--'struck down into the grave, unprepared as I
am, in the very blossom of my sins, without a moment of repentance or of
reflection; I must have been lost--lost for ever and ever.'
I prevailed upon him, with some difficulty, to abstain from such
agitating reflections, and at length induced him to court such repose as
his condition admitted of, by remaining perfectly silent, and as much as
possible without motion.
O'Connor and I only were in the room; he had lain for some time in
tolerable quiet, when I thought I distinguished the bustle attendant
upon the arrival of some one at the castle, and went eagerly to the
window, believing, or at least hoping, that the sounds might announce
the approach of the medical man, whom we all longed most impatiently to
see.
My conjecture was right; I had the satisfaction of seeing him dismount
and prepare to enter the castle, when my observations were interrupted,
and my attention was attracted by a smothered, gurgling sound proceeding
from the bed in which lay the wounded man. I instantly turned round, and
in doing so the spectacle which met my eyes was sufficiently shocking.
I had left O'Connor lying in the bed, supported by pillows, perfectly
calm, and with his eyes closed: he was now lying nearly in the same
position, his eyes open and almost starting from their sockets, with
every feature pale and distorted as death, and vomiting blood in
quantities that were frightful. I rushed to the door and called for
assistance; the paroxysm, though violent, was brief, and O'Connor sank
into a swoon so deep and death-like, that I feared he should waken no
more.
The surgeon, a little, fussy man, but I believe with some skill to
justify his pretensions, now entered the room, carrying his case of
instruments, and followed by servants bearing basins and water and
bandages of linen. He relieved our doubts by instantly assuring us
that 'the patient' was still living; and at the same time professed his
determination to take advantage of the muscular relaxation which the
faint had induced to examine the wound--adding that a patient was more
easily 'handled' when in a swoon than under other circumstances.
After examining the wound in front where the ball had entered, he passed
his hand round beneath the shoulder, and after a little pause he shook
his head, observing that he feared very much that one of the vertebrae
was fatally injured, but that he could not say decidedly until his
patient should revive a little. 'Though his language was very technical,
and consequently to me nearly unintelligible, I could perceive plainly
by his manner that he considered the case as almost hopeless.
O'Connor gradually gave some signs of returning animation, and at length
was so far restored as to be enabled to speak. After some few general
questions as to how he felt affected, etc., etc., the surgeon, placing
his hand upon his leg and pressing it slightly, asked him if he felt any
pressure upon the limb? O'Connor answered in the negative--he pressed
harder, and repeated the question; still the answer was the same, till
at length, by repeated experiments, he ascertained that all that part
of the body which lay behind the wound was paralysed, proving that the
spine must have received some fatal injury.
'Well, doctor,' said O'Connor, after the examination of the wound was
over; 'well, I shall do, shan't I?'
The physician was silent for a moment, and then, as if with an effort,
he replied:
'Indeed, my dear sir, it would not be honest to flatter you with much
hope.'
'Eh?' said O'Connor with more alacrity than I had seen him exhibit
since the morning; 'surely I did not hear you aright; I spoke of my
recovery--surely there is no doubt; there can be none--speak frankly,
doctor, for God's sake--am I dying?'
The surgeon was evidently no stoic, and his manner had extinguished in
me every hope, even before he had uttered a word in reply.
'You are--you are indeed dying. There is no hope; I should but deceive
you if I held out any.'
As the surgeon uttered these terrible words, the hands which O'Connor
had stretched towards him while awaiting his reply fell powerless by
his side; his head sank forward; it seemed as if horror and despair
had unstrung every nerve and sinew; he appeared to collapse and shrink
together as a plant might under the influence of a withering spell.
It has often been my fate, since then, to visit the chambers of death
and of suffering; I have witnessed fearful agonies of body and of
soul; the mysterious shudderings of the departing spirit, and the
heart-rending desolation of the survivors; the severing of the tenderest
ties, the piteous yearnings of unavailing love--of all these things
the sad duties of my profession have made me a witness. But, generally
speaking, I have observed in such scenes some thing to mitigate, if not
the sorrows, at least the terrors, of death; the dying man seldom
seems to feel the reality of his situation; a dull consciousness of
approaching dissolution, a dim anticipation of unconsciousness and
insensibility, are the feelings which most nearly border upon an
appreciation of his state; the film of death seems to have overspread
the mind's eye, objects lose their distinctness, and float cloudily
before it, and the apathy and apparent indifference with which men
recognise the sure advances of immediate death, rob that awful hour
of much of its terrors, and the death-bed of its otherwise inevitable
agonies.
This is a merciful dispensation; but the rule has its exceptions--its
terrible exceptions. When a man is brought in an instant, by some sudden
accident, to the very verge of the fathomless pit of death, with all
his recollections awake, and his perceptions keenly and vividly alive,
without previous illness to subdue the tone of the mind as to dull its
apprehensions--then, and then only, the death-bed is truly terrible.