Nothing now could exceed the sympathy which was felt for young Lamh
Laudher, yet except among his immediate friends, there was little
exertion made to prevent him from accelerating his own fate. So true
is it that public feeling scruples not to gratify its appetite for
excitement, even at the risk or actual cost of human life. His parents
and relations mourned him as if he had been already dead. The grief
of his mother had literally broken down her voice so much, that from
hoarseness, she was almost unintelligible. His aged father sat and wept
like a child; and it was in vain that any of their friends attempted to
console them. During the latter part of the day, every melancholy stroke
of the death bell pierced their hearts; the dead march, too, and the
black flag waving, as if in triumph over the lifeless body of their only
son, the principal support of their declining years, filled them with
a gloom and terror, which death, in its common shape, would not have
inspired. This savage pageant on the part, of the Dead Boxer, besides
being calculated to daunt the heart of any man who might accept his
challenge, was a cruel mockery of the solemnities of death. In this
instance it produced such a sensation as never had been felt in that
part of the country. An uneasy feeling of wild romance, mingled with
apprehension, curiosity, fear, and amazement, all conspired to work upon
the imaginations of a people in whom that quality is exuberant, until
the general excitement became absolutely painful.
Perhaps there was not one among his nearest friends who felt more
profound regret for having been the occasion of his disgrace, and
consequently of the fate to which he had exposed him, than Meehaul Neil.
In the course of that day he sent his father to old Lamh Laudher, to
know if young O'Rorke would grant him an interview, the object of which
was to dissuade him from the battle.
“Tell him,” said the latter, with a composure still tinged with a
sorrowful spirit, “that I will not see him to-day. To-morrow I may,
and if I don't, tell him, that for his sister's sake, he has my
forgiveness.”
The introduction of the daughter's name shortened the father's visit,
who left him in silence.
Ellen, however, had struggles to endure which pressed upon her heart
with an anguish bitter in proportion to the secrecy rendered necessary
by the dread of her relations. From the moment she heard of Lamh
Laudher's challenge, and saw the funeral appendages with which the Dead
Boxer had darkened the preparations for the fight, she felt her heart
sink, from a consciousness that she had been indirectly the murderess of
her lover. Her countenance became ghastly pale, and her frame was seized
with a tremor which she could hardly conceal. She would have been glad
to have shed tears, but tears were denied her. Except the Boxer's wife,
there was no one to whom she could disclose her misery; but alas! for
once, that amiable creature was incapable of affording her consolation.
She herself, felt distress resulting from both the challenge, and her
husband's jealousy, almost equal to that of Ellen.
“I know not how it is,” said she, “but I cannot account for the interest
I feel in that young man. Yes, surely, it is natural, when we consider
that I owe my life to him. Still, independently of that, I never heard
his voice, that it did not fall upon my heart like the voice of a
friend. We must, if possible, change his mind,”, she added, wiping away
her tears; “for I know that if he fights that terrible man, he will be
killed.”
At Ellen's request, she consented to see Lamh Laudher, with a view of
entreating him, in her name, to decline the fight. Nor were her own
solicitations less urgent. With tears and grief which could not be
affected, she besought him not to rush upon certain death--said that
Ellen could not survive it--pleaded the claims of his aged parents,
and left no argument untouched that could apply to his situation and
conduct. Lamh Laudher, however, was inexorable, and she relinquished an
attempt that she felt to be ineffectual. The direction of her husband's
attention so unexpectedly to widow Rorke's I cabin, at that moment,
and his discovery of her interview with Lamh Laudher, determined her,
previously acquainted as she had been with his jealousy, to keep out of
his reach, until some satisfactory explanation could be given. Ellen,
however, could not rest; her grief had so completely overborne all
other considerations, that she cared little, now, whether her friends
perceived it or not. On one thing, she was fixed, and that was, to
prevent Lamh Laudher from encountering the Dead Boxer. With this purpose
she wrapped herself in a cloak about ten o'clock, and careless whether
she was observed or not, went directly towards his aunt's house. About
two-thirds of the way had probably been traversed, when a man, wrapped
up in a cloak, like herself, accosted her in a low voice, not much above
a whisper.
“Miss Neil,” said he, “I don't think it would be hard to guess where you
are going.”
“Who are you that asks?” said Ellen. “No matter; but if you happen to
see young O'Rorke to-night, I have a message to send him that may serve
him.”
“Who are you?” again inquired Ellen. “One that cautions you to beware of
the Dead Boxer; one that pities and respects his unfortunate wife; and
one who, as I said, can serve O'Rorke.”
“For God's sake, then, if you can, be quick; for there's little time to
be lost,” said Ellen.
“Give him this message,” replied the man, and he whispered half a dozen
words into her ear.
“Is that true?” she asked him; “and may he depend upon it?”
“He may, as there's a God above me. Good night!” He passed on at a rapid
pace. When Ellen entered his aunt's humble cabin, Lamh Laudher had just
risen from his knees. Devotion, or piety if you will, as it is in many
cases, though undirected by knowledge, may be frequently found among
the peasantry associated with objects that would appear to have little
connection with it. When he saw her he exclaimed with something like
disappointment:--
“Ah! Ellen dear, why did you come? I would rather you hadn't crossed me
now, darling.”
His manner was marked by the same melancholy sedateness which we have
already described. He knew the position in which he stood, and did not
attempt to disguise what he felt. His apparent depression, however, had
a dreadful effect upon Ellen, who sat down on a stool, and threw back
the hood of her cloak; but the aunt placed a little circular arm-chair
for her somewhat nearer the fire. She declined it in a manner that
argued something like incoherence, which occasioned O'Rorke to, glance
at her most earnestly. He started, on observing the wild lustre of her
eye, and the woebegone paleness of her cheek.
“Ellen,” said he, “how is this? Has any thing frightened you? Merciful
mother! aunt, look at her!”
The distracted girl sank before him on her knees, locked her hands
together, and while her eyes sparkled with an unsettled light,
exclaimed--
“John!--John!--Lamh Laudher Oge--forgive me, before you die! I have
murdered you!”
“Ellen love, Ellen”--
“Do you forgive me? do you? Your blood is upon me, Lamh Laudher Oge!”
“Heavens above! Aunt, she's turned! Do I forgive you, my heart's own
treasure? How did you ever offend me, my darling? You. know you never
did. But if you ever did, my own Ellen, I do forgive you.”
“But I murdered you--and that was because my brother said he would do
it--an' I got afraid, John, that he might do you harm, an' afraid to
tell you too--an'--an' so you promise me you won't fight the Dead Boxer?
Thank God! thank God! then your blood will not be upon me!”
“Aunt, she's lost,” he exclaimed; “the brain of my _colleen dhas_ is
turned!”
“John, won't you save me from the Dead Boxer? There's nobody able to do
it but you, Lamh Laudher Oge!”
“Aunt, aunt, my girl's destroyed,” said John, “her heart's broke!
Ellen!”
“But to-morrow, John--to-morrow--sure yo' won't fight him
to-morrow?--if you do--if you do he'll kill you--an' 'twas I
that--that”----
O'Rorke had not thought of raising her from the posture in which
she addressed him, so completely had he been overcome by the frantic
vehemence of her manner. He now snatched her up, and placed her in the
little arm-chair alluded to; but she had scarcely been seated in it,
when her hands became clenched, her head sank, and the heavy burthen of
her sorrows was forgotten in a long fit of insensibility.
Lamh Laudher's distraction and alarm prevented him from rendering
her much assistance; but the aunt was more cool, and succeeded with
considerable difficulty in restoring her to life. The tears burst in
thick showers from her eyelids, she drew her breath vehemently and
rapidly, and, after looking wildly around her, indulged in that natural
grief which relieves the heart by tears. In a short time she became
composed, and was able to talk collectedly and rationally.
This, indeed, was the severest trial that Lamh Laudher had yet
sustained. With all the force of an affection as strong and tender as
it was enduring and disinterested, she urged him to relinquish his
determination to meet the Dead Boxer on the following day. John soothed
her, chid her, and even bantered her, as a cowardly girl, unworthy of
being the sister of Meehaul Neil, but to her, as well as to all others
who had attempted to change his purpose, he was immovable. No; the
sense of his disgrace had sunk too deep into his heart, and the random
allusions just made by Ellen herself to the Dead Boxer's villainy, but
the more inflamed his resentment against him.
On finding his resolution irrevocable, she communicated to him in a
whisper the message which the stranger had sent him. Lamh Laudher,
after having heard it, raised his arm rapidly, and his eye gleamed with
something like the exultation of a man who has discovered a secret that
he had been intensely anxious to learn. Ellen could now delay no longer,
and their separation resembled that of persons who never expected to
meet again. If Lamh Laudher could at this moment have affected even a
show of cheerfulness, in spite of Ellen's depression it would have given
her great relief. Still, on her part, their parting was a scene of
agony and distress which no description could reach, and on his, it
was sorrowful and tender; for neither felt certain that they would ever
behold each other in life again.
A dark sunless morning opened the eventful day of this fearful battle.
Gloom and melancholy breathed a sad spirit over the town and adjacent
country. A sullen breeze was abroad, and black clouds drifted
slowly along the heavy sky. The Dead Boxer again had recourse to his
pageantries of death. The funeral bell tolled heavily during the whole
morning, and the black flag flapped more dismally in the sluggish blast
than before. At an early hour the town began to fill with myriads of
people. Carriages and cars, horsemen and pedestrians, all thronged in
one promiscuous stream towards the scene of interest. A dense multitude
stood before the inn, looking with horror on the death flag, and
watching for a glimpse of the fatal champion. From this place hundreds
of them passed to the house of Lamh Laudher More, and on hearing that
the son resided in his aunt's they hurried towards her cabin to gratify
themselves with a sight of the man who dared to wage battle with the
Dead Boxer. From this cabin, as on the day before, they went to the
church-yard, where a platform had already been erected beside the grave.
Against the railings of the platform stood the black coffin intended for
Lamh Laudher, decorated with black ribbons that fluttered gloomily in
the blast. The sight of this and of the grave completed the wonder and
dread which they felt. As every fresh mass of the crowd arrived, low
murmurs escaped them, they raised their heads and eyes exclaiming--
“Poor Lamh Laudher! God be merciful to him!”
As the morning advanced, O'Rorke's faction, as a proof that they were
determined to consider the death of their leader as a murder, dressed
themselves in red ribbons, a custom occasionally observed in Ireland
even now, at the funerals of those who have been murdered. Their
appearance passing to and fro among the crowd made the scene with all
its associations absolutely terrible. About eleven o'clock they went
in a body to widow Rorke's, for the purpose of once more attempting
to dissuade him against the fight. Here most unexpected intelligence
awaited them--_Lamh Laudher Oge_ had disappeared. The aunt stated that
he had left the house with a strange man, early that morning, and that
he had not returned. Ere many minutes the rumor was in every part of the
town, and strong disappointment was felt, and expressed against him in
several round oaths, by the multitude in general. His father, however,
declared his conviction that his son would not shrink from what he had
undertaken, and he who had not long before banished him for cowardice,
now vouched for his courage. At the old man's suggestion, his friends
still adhered to their resolutions of walking to the scene of conflict
in a body. At twenty minutes to twelve o'clock, the black flag was
removed from the inn window, the muffled drums beat, and the music
played the same dead march as on the days of uttering the challenge.
In a few minutes the Dead Boxer, accompanied by some of the neighboring
gentry, made his appearance, preceded by the flag. From another point,
the faction of Lamb Laudher fluttering in blood-red ribbons, marched at
a solemn pace towards the church-yard. On arriving opposite his
aunt's, his mother wept aloud, and with one voice all the females
who accompanied her, raised the Irish funeral cry. In this manner,
surrounded by all the solemn emblems of death, where none was dead,
they slowly advanced until they reached the platform. The Dead Boxer,
attended by his own servant, as second, now ascended the stage, where he
stood for a few minutes, until his repeater struck twelve. That moment
he began to strip, which having done, he advanced to the middle of
the stage, and in a deep voice required the authorities of the town to
produce their champion. To this no answer was returned, for not a man of
them could account for the disappearance of Lamh Laudher. A wavy motion,
such as passes over the forest top under a low blast, stirred the
whole multitude; this was the result of many feelings, but that which
prevailed amongst them was disappointment. A second time the Dead Boxer
repeated the words, but except the stir and hum which we have described,
there was not a voice heard in reply. Lamh Laudher's very friends felt
mortified, and the decaying spirit of Lamh Laudher More rallied for a
moment. His voice alone was heard above the dead silence,--
“He will come, back,” said he, “my son will come; and I would now rather
see him dead than that he should fear to be a man.”
He had scarcely spoken, when a loud cheer, which came rapidly onward,
was heard outside the church-yard. A motion and a violent thrusting
aside, accompanied by a second shout, “he's here!” gave intimation of
his approach. In about a minute, to the manifest delight of all present,
young Lamh Laudher, besmeared with blood, leaped upon the platform.
He looked gratefully at the crowd, and in order to prevent perplexing
inquiries, simply said--
“Don't be alarmed--I had a slight accident, but I'm not the worse of
it.”
The cheers of the multitude were now enough to awaken the dead beneath
them; and when they had ceased, his father cried out--
“God support you, boy--you're my true son; an' I know you'll show them
what the Lamh Laudher blood an' the Lamh Laudher blow is.”
The young man looked about him for a moment, and appeared perplexed.
“I'm here alone,” said he; “is there any among you that will second me?”
Hundreds immediately volunteered this office; but there was one who
immediately sprung upon the stage, to the no small surprise of all
present--it was Meehaul Neil. He approached Lamh Laudher and extended
his hand, which was received with cordiality.
“Meehaul,” said O'Rorke, “I thank you for this.”
“Do not,” replied the other; “no man has such a right to stand by you
now as I have. I never knew till this mornin' why you did not strike me
the last night we met.”
The Dead Boxer stood with his arms folded, sometimes looking upon the
crowd, and occasionally glaring at his young' and fearless antagonist.
The latter immediately stripped, and when he “stood out erect and
undaunted upon the stage, although his proportions were perfect, and his
frame active and massy, yet when measured with the Herculean size of the
Dead Boxer, he appeared to have no chance.
“Now,” said he to the black, “by what rules are we to fight?”
“If you consult me,” said the other, “perhaps it is best that every man
should fight as he pleases. You decide that. I am the challenger.”
“Take your own way, then,” said O'Rorke; “but you have a secret,
black--do you intend to use it?”
“Certainly, young fellow.”
“I have my secret, too,” said Lamh Laudher; “an' now I give you warning
that I will put it in practice.”
“All fair; but we are losing time,” replied the man of color, putting
himself in an attitude. “Come on.”
Their seconds stood back, and both advanced to the middle of the stage.
The countenance of the black, and his huge chest, resembled rather
a colossal statue of bronze, than the bust of a human being. His eye
gleamed at Lamh Laudher with baleful flashes of intense hatred. The
spectators saw, however, that the dimensions of Lamh Laudher gained
considerably by his approximation to the black. The dusky color of the
Boxer added apparently to his size, whilst the healthful light which lay
upon the figure of his opponent took away, as did his elegance, grace,
and symmetry, from the uncommon breadth and fulness of his bust.
Several feints were made by the black, and many blows aimed, which Lamh
Laudher, by his natural science and activity, parried; at length a blow
upon the temple shot him to the boards with great violence, and the
hearts of the spectators, which were all with him, became fearfully
depressed.
O'Rorke, having been raised, shook his head as if to throw off the
influence of the blow. Neil afterwards declared that when coming to the
second round, resentment and a sense of having suffered in the opinion
of the multitude by the blow which brought him down, had strung his
muscular power into such a state of concentration, that his arms became
as hard as oak. On meeting again he bounded at the Boxer, and by a
single blow upon the eye-brow felled him like an ox. So quickly was
it sent home, that the black had not activity to guard against it; on
seeing which, a short and exulting cheer rose from the multitude. We are
not now giving a detailed account of this battle, as if reporting it for
a newspaper; it must suffice to say, that Lamh Laudher was knocked down
twice, and the Dead Boxer four times, in as many rounds. The black, on
coming to the seventh round, laughed, whilst the blood trickled down his
face. His frame appeared actually agitated with inward glee, and indeed
a more appalling species of mirth was never witnessed.
It was just when he approached Lamh Laudher, chuckling hideously, his
black visage reddened with blood, that a voice from the crowd shouted--
“He's laughing--the blow's coming--O'Rorke, remember your instructions.”
The Boxer advanced, and began a series of feints, with the intention of
giving that murderous blow which he was never known to miss. But before
he could put his favorite stratagem in practice, the activity of O'Rorke
anticipated his _ruse_, for in the dreadful energy of his resentment he
not only forgot the counter-secret which had been, confided to him, but
every other consideration for the moment. With the spring of a tiger he
leaped towards the black, who by the act was completely thrown off his
guard. This was more than O'Rorke expected. The opportunity, however,
he did not suffer to pass; with the rapidity of lightning he struck the
savage on the neck, immediately under the ear. The Dead Boxer fell,
and from his ears, nostrils, and mouth the clear blood sprung out,
streaking, in a fearful manner, his dusky neck and chest. His second ran
to raise him, but his huge woolly head fell from side to side with an
appearance of utter lifelessness. In a few minutes, however, he rallied,
and began to snort violently, throwing his arms and limbs about him with
a quivering energy, such as, in strong men who die unwasted by disease,
frequently marks the struggle of death. At length he opened his eyes,
and after fastening them upon his triumphant opponent with one last
glare of hatred and despair, he ground his teeth, clenched his gigantic
hands, and stammering out, “Fury of hell! I--I--damnation!” This was his
last exclamation, for he suddenly plunged again, extended his shut fist
towards Lamh Laudher, as if he would have crushed him even in death,
then becoming suddenly relaxed, his head fell upon his shoulder, and
after one groan, he expired on the very spot where he had brought
together the apparatus of death for another.