[Illustration: "'Farewell, my lord!' said Swift, abruptly."
_Frontispiece_.]
The Cock And Anchor
By
Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
Illustrated by
Brinsley Le Fanu
Downey & Co.
12 York St.
Covent Garden.
(1895)
NOTE.
"THE COCK AND ANCHOR: a Chronicle of Old Dublin City," was first
published in Dublin in three volumes in 1845, with the joint imprints
of William Curry, Junior, & Co., Dublin; Longman, Brown, Green &
Longmans, London; and Fraser & Co., Edinburgh. There is no author's
name on the title-page of the original edition. The work has not since
been reprinted under the title of "The Cock and Anchor;" but some years
after its first appearance my father made several alterations (most of
which are adhered to in the present edition) in the story, and it was
re-issued in the Select Library of Fiction under the title of "Morley
Court."
The novel has been out of print for a long period, and I have decided
to republish it now under its original and proper title. I have made
no changes in such dates as are mentioned here and there in the course
of the narrative, but the reader should bear in mind that this
"Chronicle of Old Dublin City" was written fifty years ago.
BRINSLEY SHERIDAN LE FANU.
_London, July, 1895._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--THE "COCK AND ANCHOR" 1
II.--A BED IN THE "COCK AND ANCHOR" 6
III.--THE LITTLE MAN 10
IV.--A SCARLET HOOD 14
V.--O'CONNOR'S MOONLIGHT WALK 23
VI.--THE SOLDIER 28
VII.--THREE GRIM FIGURES 36
VIII.--THE WARNING 40
IX.--THE "BLEEDING HORSE" 44
X.--THE MASTER OF MORLEY COURT 51
XI.--THE OLD BEECH TREE WALK 62
XII.--THE APPOINTED HOUR 72
XIII.--THE INTERVIEW 75
XIV.--ABOUT A CERTAIN GARDEN AND A DAMSEL 83
XV.--THE TRAITOR 88
XVI.--SIGNOR PARUCCI ALONE 92
XVII.--DUBLIN CASTLE BY NIGHT 99
XVIII.--THE TWO COUSINS 106
XIX.--THE THEATRE 110
XX.--THE LODGING 116
XXI.--WHO APPEARED TO MARY ASHWOODE 122
XXII.--THE SPINET 125
XXIII.--THE DARK ROOM 131
XXIV.--A CRITIC 135
XXV.--THE COMBAT AND ITS ISSUE 140
XXVI.--THE HELL 143
XXVII.--THE DEPARTURE OF THE PEER 151
XXVIII.--THE THUNDER-STORM 154
XXIX.--THE CRONES 157
XXX.--SKY-COPPER COURT 163
XXXI.--THE USURER AND THE OAKEN BOX 168
XXXII.--THE DIABOLIC WHISPER 171
XXXIII.--HOW SIR HENRY ASHWOODE PLAYED AND PLOTTED 174
XXXIV.--THE "OLD ST. COLUMBKIL" 178
XXXV.--THE COUSIN AND THE BLACK CABINET 184
XXXVI.--JEWELS, PLATE, HORSES, DOGS 189
XXXVII.--THE RECKONING 191
XXXVIII.--STRANGE GUESTS AT THE MANOR 196
XXXIX.--THE BARGAIN 199
XL.--DREAMS 204
XLI.--A CERTAIN TRAVELLING ECCLESIASTIC 208
XLII.--THE SQUIRES 212
XLIII.--THE WILD WOOD 217
XLIV.--THE DOOM 222
XLV.--THE MAN IN THE CLOAK 226
XLVI.--THE DOUBLE CONFERENCE 231
XLVII.--THE "JOLLY BOWLERS" 236
XLVIII.--THE STAINED RUFFLES 241
XLIX.--OLD SONGS 246
L.--THE PRESS IN THE WALL 252
LI.--FLORA GUY 259
LII.--MARY ASHWOODE'S WALK 262
LIII.--THE DOUBLE FAREWELL 266
LIV.--THE TWO CHANCES 273
LV.--THE FEARFUL VISITANT 277
LVI.--EBENEZER SHYCOCK 280
LVII.--THE CHAPLAIN'S ARRIVAL AT MORLEY COURT 284
LVIII.--THE SIGNAL 290
LIX.--HASTE AND PERIL 296
LX.--THE UNTREASURED CHAMBER 299
LXI.--THE CART AND THE STRAW 302
LXII.--THE COUNCIL 308
LXIII.--PARTING 311
LXIV.--MISTRESS MARTHA AND BLACK M'GUINNESS 315
LXV.--THE CONFERENCE 319
LXVI.--THE BED-CHAMBER 322
LXVII.--THE EXPULSION 327
LXVIII.--THE FRAY 332
LXIX.--THE BOLTED WINDOW 337
LXX.--THE BARONET'S ROOM 341
LXXI.--THE FAREWELL 345
LXXII.--THE ROPE AND THE RIOT 349
LXXIII.--THE LAST LOOK 354
CONCLUSION 357
LIST OF FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
"Farewell, my lord," said Swift, abruptly _Frontispiece_
Threw himself luxuriously into a capacious
leather-bottomed chair _to face page_ 4
Again the conqueror crowed the shrill
note of victory " 34
Parucci approached the prostrate figure " 156
"Painted! varnished!" she screamed hysterically " 188
He made his way to the aperture " 223
Glide noiselessly behind Chancey " 293
Driven to bay ... he drew his sword " 338
His horse, snorting loudly, checked his pace " 354
THE "COCK AND ANCHOR."
CHAPTER I.
THE "COCK AND ANCHOR"--TWO HORSEMEN--AND A SUPPER BY THE INN FIRE.
Some time within the first ten years of the last century, there stood
in the fair city of Dublin, and in one of those sinuous and narrow
streets which lay in the immediate vicinity of the Castle, a goodly and
capacious hostelry, snug and sound, and withal carrying in its aspect
something staid and aristocratic, and perhaps in nowise the less
comfortable that it was rated, in point of fashion, somewhat obsolete.
Its structure was quaint and antique; so much so, that had its
counterpart presented itself within the precincts of "the Borough," it
might fairly have passed itself off for the genuine old Tabard of
Geoffry Chaucer.
The front of the building, facing the street, rested upon a row of
massive wooden blocks, set endwise, at intervals of some six or eight
feet, and running parallel at about the same distance, to the wall of
the lower story of the house, thus forming a kind of rude cloister or
open corridor, running the whole length of the building.
The spaces between these rude pillars were, by a light frame-work of
timber, converted into a succession of arches; and by an application of
the same ornamental process, the ceiling of this extended porch was
made to carry a clumsy but not unpicturesque imitation of groining.
Upon this open-work of timber, as we have already said, rested the
second story of the building; protruding beyond which again, and
supported upon beams whose projecting ends were carved into the
semblance of heads hideous as the fantastic monsters of heraldry, arose
the third story, presenting a series of tall and fancifully-shaped
gables, decorated, like the rest of the building, with an abundance of
grotesque timber-work. A wide passage, opening under the corridor which
we have described, gave admission into the inn-yard, surrounded partly
by the building itself, and partly by the stables and other offices
connected with it. Viewed from a little distance, the old fabric
presented by no means an unsightly or ungraceful aspect: on the
contrary, its very irregularities and antiquity, however in reality
objectionable, gave to it an air of comfort and almost of dignity to
which many of its more pretending and modern competitors might in vain
have aspired. Whether it was, that from the first the substantial
fabric had asserted a conscious superiority over all the minor
tenements which surrounded it, or that they in modest deference had
gradually conceded to it the prominence which it deserved--whether, in
short, it had always stood foremost, or that the street had slightly
altered its course and gradually receded, leaving it behind, an
immemorial and immovable landmark by which to measure the encroachments
of ages--certain it is, that at the time we speak of, the sturdy
hostelry stood many feet in advance of the line of houses which flanked
it on either side, narrowing the street with a most aristocratic
indifference to the comforts of the pedestrian public, thus forced to
shift for life and limb, as best they might, among the vehicles and
horses which then thronged the city streets--no doubt, too, often by
the very difficulties which it presented, entrapping the over-cautious
passenger, who preferred entering the harbour which its hospitable and
capacious doorway offered, to encountering all the perils involved in
doubling the point.
Such as we have attempted to describe it, the old building stood more
than a century since; and when the level sunbeams at eventide glinted
brightly on its thousand miniature window panes, and upon the broad
hanging panel, which bore, in the brightest hues and richest gilding,
the portraiture of a Cock and Anchor; and when the warm, discoloured
glow of sunset touched the time-worn front of the old building with a
rich and cheery blush, even the most fastidious would have allowed that
the object was no unpleasing one.
A dark autumnal night had closed over the old city of Dublin, and the
wind was blustering in hoarse gusts through the crowded
chimney-stacks--careening desolately through the dim streets, and
occasionally whirling some loose tile or fragment of plaster from the
house tops. The streets were silent and deserted, except when
occasionally traversed by some great man's carriage, thundering and
clattering along the broken pavement, and by its passing glare and
rattle making the succeeding darkness and silence but the more dreary.
None stirred abroad who could avoid it; and with the exception of such
rare interruptions as we have mentioned, the storm and darkness held
undisputed possession of the city. Upon this ungenial night, and
somewhat past the hour of ten, a well-mounted traveller rode into the
narrow and sheltered yard of the "Cock and Anchor;" and having bestowed
upon the groom who took the bridle of his steed such minute and anxious
directions as betokened a kind and knightly tenderness for the comforts
of his good beast, he forthwith entered the public room of the inn--a
large and comfortable chamber, having at the far end a huge hearth
overspanned by a broad and lofty mantelpiece of stone, and now sending
forth a warm and ruddy glow, which penetrated in genial streams to
every recess and corner of the room, tinging the dark wainscoting of
the walls, glinting red and brightly upon the burnished tankards and
flagons with which the cupboard was laden, and playing cheerily over
the massive beams which traversed the ceiling. Groups of men, variously
occupied and variously composed, embracing all the usual company of a
well frequented city tavern--from the staid and sober man of business,
who smokes his pipe in peace, to the loud disputatious, half-tipsy town
idler, who calls for more flagons than he can well reckon, and then
quarrels with mine host about the shot--were disposed, some singly,
others in social clusters, in cosy and luxurious ease at the stout oak
tables which occupied the expansive chamber. Among these the stranger
passed leisurely to a vacant table in the neighbourhood of the good
fire, and seating himself thereat, doffed his hat and cloak, thereby
exhibiting a finely proportioned and graceful figure, and a face of
singular nobleness and beauty. He might have seen some thirty
summers--perhaps less--but his dark and expressive features bore a
character of resolution and melancholy which seemed to tell of more
griefs and perils overpast than men so young in the world can generally
count.
The new-comer, having thrown his hat and gloves upon the table at which
he had placed himself, stretched his stalwart limbs toward the fire in
the full enjoyment of its genial influence, and advancing the heels of
his huge jack boots nearly to the bars, he seemed for a time wholly
lost in the comfortable contemplation of the red embers which
flickered, glowed, and shifted before his eyes. From his quiet reverie
he was soon recalled by mine host in person, who, with all courtesy,
desired to know "whether his honour wished supper and a bed?" Both
questions were promptly answered in the affirmative: and before many
minutes the young horseman was deep in the discussion of a glorious
pasty, flanked by a flagon of claret, such as he had seldom tasted
before. He had scarcely concluded his meal, when another traveller,
cloaked, booted, and spurred, and carrying under his arm a pair of long
horse-pistols, and a heavy whip, entered the apartment, walked straight
up to the fire-place, and having obtained permission of the cavalier
already established there to take share of his table, he deposited
thereon the formidable weapons which he carried, cast his hat, gloves,
and cloak upon the floor, and threw himself luxuriously into a
capacious leather-bottomed chair which confronted the cheery fire.
[Illustration: "Threw himself luxuriously into a capacious,
leather-bottomed chair."
_To face page 4._]
"A bleak night, sir, and a dark, for a ride of twenty miles," observed
the stranger, addressing the younger guest.
"I can the more readily agree with you, sir," replied the latter,
"seeing that I myself have ridden nigh forty, and am but just arrived."
"Whew! that beats me hollow," cried the other, with a kind of
self-congratulatory shrug. "You see, sir, we never know how to thank
our stars for the luck we _have_ until we come to learn what luck we
might have had. I rode from Wicklow--pray, sir, if it be not too bold a
question, what line did you travel?"
"The Cork road."
"Ha! that's an ugly line they say to travel by night. You met with no
interruption?"
"Troth, but I _did_, sir," replied the young man, "and none of the
pleasantest either. I was stopped, and put in no small peril, too."
"How! stopped--stopped on the highway! By the mass, you outdo me in
every point! Would you, sir, please to favour me, if 'twere not too
much trouble, with the facts of the adventure--the particulars?"
"Faith, sir," rejoined the young man, "as far as my knowledge serves
me, you are welcome to them all. When I was still about twelve miles
from this, I was joined from a by-road by a well mounted, and (as far
as I could discern) a respectable-looking traveller, who told me he
rode for Dublin, and asked to join company by the way. I assented; and
we jogged on pleasantly enough for some two or three miles. It was very
dark----"
"As pitch," ejaculated the stranger, parenthetically.
"And what little scope of vision I might have had," continued the
younger traveller, "was well nigh altogether obstructed by the constant
flapping of my cloak, blown by the storm over my face and eyes. I
suddenly became conscious that we had been joined by a third horseman,
who, in total silence, rode at my other side."
"How and when did _he_ come up with you?"
"I can't say," replied the narrator--"nor did his presence give me the
smallest uneasiness. He who had joined me first, all at once called out
that his stirrup strap was broken, and halloo'd to me to rein in until
he should repair the accident. This I had hardly done, when some
fellow, whom I had not seen, sprang from behind upon my horse, and
clasped my arms so tightly to my body, that so far from making use of
them, I could hardly breathe. The scoundrel who had dismounted caught
my horse by the head and held him firmly, while my hitherto silent
companion clapped a pistol to my ear."
"The devil!" exclaimed the elder man, "that was checkmate with a
vengeance."
"Why, in truth, so it turned out," rejoined his companion; "though I
confess my first impulse was to balk the gentlemen of the road at any
hazard; and with this view I plied my spurs rowel deep, but the rascal
who held the bridle was too old a hand to be shaken off by a plunge or
two. He swung with his whole weight to the bit, and literally brought
poor Rowley's nose within an inch of the road. Finding that resistance
was utterly vain, and not caring to squander what little brains I have
upon so paltry an adventure, I acknowledged the jurisdiction of the
gentleman's pistol, and replied to his questions."
"You proved your sound sense by so doing," observed the other. "But
what was their purpose?"
"As far as I could gather," replied the younger man, "they were upon
the look-out for some particular person, I cannot say whom; for, either
satisfied by my answers, or having otherwise discovered their mistake,
they released me without taking anything from me but my sword, which,
however, I regret much, for it was my father's; and having blown the
priming from my pistols, they wished me the best of good luck, and so
we parted, without the smallest desire on my part to renew the
intimacy. And now, sir, you know just as much of the matter as I do
myself."
"And a very serious matter it is, too," observed the stranger, with an
emphatic nod. "Landlord! a pint of mulled claret--and spice it as I
taught you--d'ye mind? A very grave matter--do you think you could
possibly identify those men?"
"Identify them! how the devil could I?--it was dark as pitch--a cat
could not have seen them."
"But was there no mark--no peculiarity discernible, even in the dense
obscurity--nothing about any of them, such as you might know again?"
"Nothing--the very outline was indistinct. I could merely see that they
were shaped like men."
"Truly, truly, that is much to be lamented," said the elder gentleman;
"though fifty to one," he added, devoutly, "they'll hang one day or
another--let that console us. Meantime, here comes the claret."
So saying, the new-comer rose from his seat, coolly removed his black
matted peruke from his shorn head, and replaced it by a dark velvet
cap, which he drew from some mysterious nook in his breeches pocket;
then, hanging the wig upon the back of his chair, he wheeled the seat
round to the table, and for the first time offered to his companion an
opportunity of looking him fairly in the face. If he were a believer in
the influence of first impressions, he had certainly acted wisely in
deferring the exhibition until the acquaintance had made some progress,
for his countenance was, in sober truth, anything but attractive--a
pair of grizzled brows overshadowed eyes of quick and piercing black,
rather small, and unusually restless and vivid--the mouth was wide, and
the jaw so much underhung as to amount almost to a deformity, giving to
the lower part of the face a character of resolute ferocity which was
not at all softened by the keen fiery glance of his eye; a massive
projecting forehead, marked over the brow with a deep scar, and
furrowed by years and thought, added not a little to the stern and
commanding expression of the face. The complexion was swarthy; and
altogether the countenance was one of that sinister and unpleasant kind
which the imagination associates with scenes of cruelty and terror, and
which might appropriately take a prominent place in the foreground of a
feverish dream. The young traveller had seen too many ugly sights, in
the course of a roving life of danger and adventure, to remember for a
moment the impression which his new companion's visage was calculated
to produce. They chatted together freely; and the elder (who, by the
way, exhibited no very strong Irish peculiarities of accent or idiom,
any more than did the other) when he bid his companion good-night, left
him under the impression that, however forbidding his aspect might be,
his physical disadvantages were more than counterbalanced by the
shrewd, quick sagacity, correct judgment, and wide range of experience
of which he appeared possessed.