Paddy Fooshane kept a shebeen house at Barleymount Cross, in which he
sold whisky--from which his Majesty did not derive any large portion
of his revenues--ale, and provisions. One evening a number of friends,
returning from a funeral---all neighbours too--stopt at his house,
"because they were in grief," to drink a drop. There was Andy Agar, a
stout, rattling fellow, the natural son of a gentleman residing near
there; Jack Shea, who was afterwards transported for running away with
Biddy Lawlor; Tim Cournane, who, by reason of being on his keeping,
was privileged to carry a gun; Owen Connor, a march-of-intellect
man, who wished to enlighten proctors by making them swallow their
processes; and a number of other "good boys." The night began to "rain
cats and dogs," and there was no stirring out; so the cards were
called for, a roaring fire was made down, and the whisky and ale began
to flow. After due observation, and several experiments, a space large
enough for the big table, and free from the drop down, was discovered.
Here six persons, including Andy, Jack, Tim--with his gun between his
legs--and Owen, sat to play for a pig's head, of which the living
owner, in the parlour below, testified, by frequent grunts, his
displeasure at this unceremonious disposal of his property.
Card-playing is very thirsty, and the boys were anxious to keep out
the wet; so that long before the pig's head was decided, a messenger
had been dispatched several times to Killarney, a distance of four
English miles, for a pint of whisky each time. The ale also went
merrily round, until most of the men were quite stupid, their faces
swoln, and their eyes red and heavy. The contest at length was
decided; but a quarrel about the skill of the respective parties
succeeded, and threatened broken heads at one time. At last Jack Shea
swore they must have something to eat;----him but he was starved with
drink, and he must get some rashers somewhere or other. Every one
declared the same; and Paddy was ordered to cook some _griskins_
forthwith. Paddy was completely nonplussed:--all the provisions were
gone, and yet his guests were not to be trifled with. He made a
hundred excuses--"'Twas late--'twas dry now--and there was nothing in
the house; sure they ate and drank enough." But all in vain. The ould
sinner was threatened with instant death if he delayed. So Paddy
called a council of war in the parlour, consisting of his wife and
himself.
"Agrah, Jillen, agrah, what will we do with these? Is there any meat
in the tub? Where is the tongue? If it was yours, Jillen, we'd give
them enough of it; but I mane the cow's." (aside.)
"Sure the proctors got the tongue ere yesterday, and you know there
an't a bit in the tub. Oh the murtherin villains! and I'll engage
'twill be no good for us, after all my white bread and the whisky.
That it may pison 'em!"
"Amen! Jillen; but don't curse them. After all, where's the meat? I'm
sure that Andy will kill me if we don't make it out any how;--and he
hasn't a penny to pay for it. You could drive the mail coach, Jillen,
through his breeches pocket without jolting over a ha'penny. Coming,
coming; d'ye hear 'em?"
"Oh, they'll murther us. Sure if we had any of the tripe I sent
yesterday to the gauger."
"Eh! What's that you say? I declare to God here's Andy getting up.
We must do something. _Thonom an dhiaoul_, I have it. Jillen run and
bring me the leather breeches; run woman, alive! Where's the block and
the hatchet? Go up and tell 'em you're putting down the pot."
Jillen pacified the uproar in the kitchen by loud promises, and
returned to Paddy. The use of the leather breeches passed her
comprehension; but Paddy actually took up the leather breeches, tore
away the lining with great care, chopped the leather with the hatchet
on the block, and put it into the pot as tripes. Considering the
situation in which Andy and his friends were, and the appetite of the
Irish peasantry for meat in any shape--"a bone" being their _summum
bonum_--the risk was very little. If discovered, however, Paddy's
safety was much worse than doubtful, as no people in the world have a
greater horror of any unusual food. One of the most deadly modes of
revenge they can employ is to give an enemy dog's or cat's flesh; and
there have been instances where the persons who have eaten it, on
being informed of the fact, have gone mad. But Paddy's habit of
practical jokes, from which nothing could wean him, and his anger at
their conduct, along with the fear he was in did not allow him to
hesitate a moment. Jillen remonstrated in vain. "Hould your tongue,
you foolish woman. They're all as blind as the pig there. They'll
never find it out. Bad luck to 'em too, my leather breeches! that I
gave a pound note and a hog for in Cork. See how nothing else would
satisfy 'em!" The meat at length was ready. Paddy drowned it in
butter, threw out the potatoes on the table, and served it up smoking
hot with the greatest gravity.
"By ----," says Jack Shea, "that's fine stuff! How a man would dig a
trench after that."
"I'll take a priest's oath," answered Tim Cohill, the most irritable
of men, but whose temper was something softened by the rich steam;--
"Yet, Tim, what's a priest's oath? I never heard that."
"Why, sure, every one knows you didn't ever hear of anything of good."
"I say you lie, Tim, you rascal."
Tim was on his legs in a few moments, and a general battle was about
to begin; but the appetite was too strong, and the quarrel was
settled; Tim having been appeased by being allowed to explain a
priest's oath. According to him, a priest's oath was this:--He was
surrounded by books, which were gradually piled up until they reached
his lips. He then kissed the uppermost, and swore by all to the
bottom. As soon as the admiration excited by his explanation, in those
who were capable of hearing Tim, had ceased, all fell to work; and
certainly, if the tripes had been of ordinary texture, drunk as was
the party, they would soon have disappeared. After gnawing at them for
some time, "Well," says Owen Connor, "that I mightn't!--but these are
the quarest tripes I ever eat. It must be she was very ould."
"By ----," says Andy, taking a piece from his mouth to which he had
been paying his addresses for the last half hour, "I'd as soon be
eating leather. She was a bull, man; I can't find the soft end at all
of it."
"And that's true for you, Andy," said the man of the gun; "and 'tis
the greatest shame they hadn't a bull-bait to make him tinder. Paddy,
was it from Jack Clifford's bull you got 'em? They'd do for wadding,
they're so tough."
"I'll tell you, Tim, where I got them--'twas out of Lord Shannon's
great cow at Cork, the great fat cow that the Lord Mayor bought for
the Lord Lieutenant--_Asda churp naur hagushch_."[14]
[14] May it never come out of his body!
"Amen, I pray God! Paddy. Out of Lord Shandon's cow? near the steeple,
I suppose; the great cow that couldn't walk with tallow. By ----,
these are fine tripes. They'll make a man very strong. Andy, give me
two or three _libbhers_ more of 'em."
"Well, see that! out of Lord Shandon's cow: I wonder what they gave
her, Paddy. That I mightn't!--but these would eat a pit of potatoes.
Any how, they're good for the teeth. Paddy, what's the reason they
send all the good mate from Cork to the Blacks?"
But before Paddy could answer this question, Andy, who had been
endeavouring to help Tim, uttered a loud "_Thonom an dhiaoul!_ what's
this? Isn't this flannel?" The fact was, he had found a piece of
the lining, which Paddy, in his hurry, had not removed; and all was
confusion. Every eye was turned to Paddy; but with wonderful quickness
he said "'Tis the book tripe, _agragal_, don't you see?"--and actually
persuaded them to it.
"Well, any how," says Tim, "it had the taste of wool."
"May this choke me," says Jack Shea, "if I didn't think that 'twas a
piece of a leather breeches when I saw Andy _chawing_ it."
This was a shot between wind and water to Paddy. His self-possession
was nearly altogether lost, and he could do no more than turn it off
by a faint laugh. But it jarred most unpleasantly on Andy's nerves.
After looking at Paddy for some time with a very ominous look, he
said, "_Yirroo Pandhrig_ of the tricks, if I thought you were going on
with any work here, my soul and my guts to the devil if I would not
cut you into garters. By the vestment I'd make a _furhurmeen_ of you."
"Is it I, Andy? That the hands may fall off me!"
But Tim Cohill made a most seasonable diversion. "Andy, when you die,
you'll be the death of one fool, any how. What do you know that wasn't
ever in Cork itself about tripes. I never ate such mate in my life;
and 'twould be good for every poor man in the County of Kerry if he
had a tub of it."
Tim's tone of authority, and the character he had got for learning,
silenced every doubt, and all laid siege to the tripes again. But
after some time, Andy was observed gazing with the most astonished
curiosity into the plate before him. His eyes were rivetted on
something; at last he touched it with his knife, arid exclaimed,
"_Kirhappa, dar dhia!_"--[A button by G--.]
"What's that you say?" burst from all! and every one rose in the best
manner he could, to learn the meaning of the button.
"Oh, the villain of the world!" roared Andy, "I'm pisoned! Where's the
pike? For God's sake Jack, run for the priest, or I'm a dead man with
the breeches. Where is he?--yeer bloods won't ye catch him, and I
pisoned?"
The fact was, Andy had met one of the knee-buttons sewed into a piece
of the tripe, and it was impossible for him to fail discovering the
cheat. The rage, however, was not confined to Andy. As soon as it was
understood what had been done, there was an universal rush for Paddy
and Jillen; but Paddy was much too cunning to be caught, after the
narrow escape he had of it before. The moment after the discovery of
the lining, that he could do so without suspicion, he stole from the
table, left the house, and hid himself. Jillen did the same; and
nothing remained for the eaters, to vent their rage, but breaking
every thing in the cabin; which was done in the utmost fury. Andy,
however, continued watching for Paddy with a gun, a whole month after.
He might be seen prowling along the ditches near the shebeen-house,
waiting for a shot at him. Not that he would have scrupled to enter
it, were he likely to find Paddy there; but the latter was completely
on the _shuchraun_, and never visited his cabin except by stealth. It
was in one of those visits that Andy hoped to catch him.
--_Tait's Edinburgh Magazine_.
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