"THE JOLLY BOWLERS"--THE DOUBLE FRAY AND THE FLIGHT.
At the time of which we write, there lay at the southern extremity of
the city of Dublin, a bowling-green of fashionable resort, well known
as "Cullen's Green." For greater privacy it was enclosed by a brick
wall of considerable height, which again was surrounded by stately rows
of lofty and ancient elms. A few humble dwellings were clustered about
it; and through one of them, a low, tiled public-house, lay the
entrance into this place of pastime. Thitherward O'Connor and O'Hanlon,
having left their horses at the "Cock and Anchor," were led by the wily
Italian.
"The players you say, will not stop till dusk," said O'Connor; "we can
go in, and I shall wait until the party have broken up, to speak to
Ashwoode; in the interval we can mix with the spectators, and so escape
remark."
They were now approaching the little tavern embowered in tufted trees,
and as they advanced, they perceived a number of hack carriages and led
horses congregated upon the road about its entrance.
"Sir Henry is within; that iron-grey is his horse; _sangue dun dua_,
there is no mistake," observed the Neapolitan.
The little party entered the humble tavern, but here they were
encountered by a new difficulty.
"You can't get in to-night, gentlemen--sorry to disappint, gentlemen;
but the green's engaged," said mine host, with an air of mysterious
importance; "a private party, engaged two days since for fear of a
disappint."
"Are they so strictly private, that they would not suffer two gentlemen
to be spectators of their play?" inquired O'Hanlon.
"My orders is not to let anyone in, good, bad, or indifferent, while
they are playing the match; that's _my_ orders," replied the man;
"sorry to disappint, but can't break my word with the gentlemen, you
know."
"Is there any other entrance into the bowling-green?" inquired
O'Connor, "except through that door."
"Divil a one, sir, where would it be?--divil a one, gentlemen," replied
mine host, "no other way in or out."
"We will rest ourselves here for a time, then," said O'Connor.
Accordingly the party seated themselves in the low-roofed chamber
through which the bowlers on quitting the ground must necessarily pass;
and calling for some liquor to prevent suspicion, moodily awaited the
appearance of the young baronet and his companions. Many a stern,
impatient glance of expectation did O'Connor direct to the old door
which alone separated him from the traitor and hypocrite who had with
such monstrous fraud practised upon his unsuspecting confidence. At
length he heard gay laughter and the tread of many feet approaching;
the proprietor of "The Jolly Bowlers" opened the door, and several
merry groups passed them by and took their departure, but O'Connor's
eye in vain sought among them the form of young Ashwoode.
"I see the grey horse still at the door; I know it as well as I know my
own hand," said the Italian; "as sure as I am leeving man, Sir Henry is
there still."
After an interval so considerable that O'Connor almost despaired of the
appearance of Ashwoode, voices were again audible, and steps
approaching the door-way at a slow pace; the time between the first
approach of those sounds, and the actual appearance of those who caused
them, appeared to the overwrought anxiety of O'Connor all but
interminable. At length, however, two figures entered from the
bowling-green--the one was that of a spare but dignified-looking man,
somewhat advanced in years, but carrying in his countenance a singular
expression of jollity and good humour--the other was that of Sir Henry
Ashwoode.
"God be thanked," said O'Hanlon, grasping the hilt of his sword, "here
comes the perjured villain Wharton."
O'Connor had another object, however, and beheld no one existing thing
but only the now hated form of his false friend; both he and O'Hanlon
started to their feet as the two figures entered the small and darksome
room. O'Connor threw himself directly in their path and said,--
"Sir Henry Ashwoode, a word with you."
The appeal was startling and unexpected, and there was in the voice and
attitude of him who uttered it, something of deep, intense, constrained
passion and resolution, which made the two companions involuntarily and
suddenly check their advance. One moment sufficed for Sir Henry to
recognize O'Connor, and another convinced him that his quondam friend
had discovered his treachery, and was there to unmask, perhaps to
punish him. His presence of mind, however, seldom, if ever, forsook him
in such scenes as this--he instantly resolved upon the tone in which to
meet his injured antagonist.
"Pray, sir," said he, with stern _hauteur_, "upon what ground do you
presume to throw yourself thus menacingly in my way? Move aside and let
me pass, or your rashness shall cost you dearly."
"Ashwoode--Sir Henry--you well know there is one consideration which
would unstring my arm if lifted against your life--you presume upon the
forbearance which this respect commands," said O'Connor. "Promise but
this--that you will undeceive your sister, whom you have practised upon
as cruelly as you have on me, and I will call you to no further
account, and inflict no further humiliation."
"Very good, sir, very magnanimous, and exceedingly tragic," rejoined
Ashwoode, scornfully. "Turn aside, sirrah, and leave my path open, or
by the ---- you shall rue it."
"I will not leave the spot on which I stand but with my life, except on
the conditions I have named," replied O'Connor.
"Once more, before I _strike_ you, leave the way," cried Ashwoode,
whose constitutional pugnacity began to be thoroughly aroused. "Turn
aside, sirrah! How dare you confront gentlemen--insolent beggar, how
dare you!"
Yielding to the furious impulse of the moment, Sir Henry Ashwoode drew
his sword, and with the naked blade struck his antagonist twice with no
sparing hand. The passions which O'Connor had, with all his energy,
hitherto striven to master, would now brook restraint no longer; at
this last extremity of insult the blood sprang from his heart in fiery
currents and tingled through every vein; every feeling but the one
deadly sense of outraged pride, of repeated wrong, followed and
consummated by one degrading and intolerable outrage, vanished from his
mind. With the speed of light his sword was drawn and presented at
Ashwoode's breast. Each threw himself into the cautious attitude of
deadly vigilance, and quick as lightning the bright blades crossed and
clashed in the mortal rivalry of cunning fence. Each party was
possessed of consummate skill in the use of the fatal weapon which he
wielded, and several times in the course of the fierce debate, so
evenly were they matched, the two, as by voluntary accommodation,
paused in the conflict to take breath.
With faces pale as death with rage, and a consciousness of the deadly
issue in which alone the struggle could end, and with eyes that glared
like those of savage beasts at bay, each eyed the other. Thus
alternately they paused and renewed the combat, and for long, with
doubtful fortune. In the position of the antagonists there was,
however, an inequality, and, as it turned out, a decisive one--the door
through which Ashwoode and his companion had entered, and to which his
back was turned, lay open, and the light which it admitted fell full in
O'Connor's eyes. This, as all who have handled the foil can tell, is a
disadvantage quite sufficient to determine even a less nicely balanced
contest than that of which we write. After several pauses in the
combat, and as many desperate renewals of it, Ashwoode, in one quick
lunge, passed his blade through his opponent's sword-arm. Though the
blood flowed plenteously, neither party seemed inclined to abate his
deadly efforts. O'Connor's arm began to grow stiff and weak, and the
energy and quickness of his action impaired; the consequences of this
were soon exhibited. Ashwoode lunged twice or thrice rapidly, and one
of these passes, being imperfectly parried, took effect in his
opponent's breast. O'Connor staggered backward, and his hand and eye
faltered for a moment; but he quickly recovered, and again advanced and
again with the same result. Faint, dizzy, and half blind, but with
resolution and rage, enhanced by defeat, he staggered forward again,
wild and powerless, and was received once more upon the point of his
adversary's sword. He reeled back, stood for a moment, his sword
dropped upon the ground, and he shook his empty hand in fruitless
menace at his triumphant antagonist, and then rolled headlong upon the
pavement, insensible, and weltering in gore--the combat was over.
Ashwoode and O'Connor had hardly crossed their weapons when O'Hanlon
sprang forward and sternly accosted Lord Wharton, for it was no other,
who accompanied Ashwoode.
"My lord, you need not interfere," said he, observing a movement on
Lord Wharton's part as if he would have separated the combatants. "This
is a question which all your diplomacy will not arrange--they will
fight it to the end. If you give them not fair play while I secure the
door, I will send my sword through your excellency's body."
So saying, O'Hanlon drew his weapon, and keeping occasional watch upon
Wharton--who, however, did not exhibit any further disposition to
interfere--he strode to the outer door, which opened upon the public
road, and to prevent interruption from that quarter, drew the bar and
secured it effectually.
"Now, my lord," said he, returning and resuming his position, "I have
secured this fortunate meeting against intrusion. What think you, while
our friends are thus engaged, were we, for warmth and exercise sake,
likewise to cross our blades? Will your lordship condescend to gratify
a simple gentleman so far?"
"Out upon you, fellow; know you who I am?" said Wharton, with sturdy
good-humour.
"I know thee well, Lord Wharton--a wily, selfish, double-dealing
politician; a profligate in morals; an infidel in religion; and a
traitor in politics. I know thee--who doth not?"
"Landlord," said Wharton, turning toward that personage, who, with
amazement, irresolution, and terror in his face, inspected these
violent proceedings, "landlord, I say, call in a lackey or two; I'll
bring this ruffian to reason quickly. Have you gotten a pump in the
neighbourhood? Landlord, I say, bestir thyself, or, by ----, I'll spur
thee with my sword-point."
"Stir not, if you would keep your life," said O'Hanlon, in a tone which
the half-stupefied host of "The Jolly Bowlers" dared not disobey. "If
you would not suffer death upon the spot where you stand, do not
attempt to move one step, nor to speak one word. My lord," he
continued, "I am right glad of this rencounter. I would have freely
given half what I possess in the world to have secured it. Believe me,
I will not leave it unimproved. My lord, in plain terms, for ten
thousand reasons I desire your death, and will not leave this place
till I have striven to effect it. Draw your sword, if you be a man;
draw your sword, unless cowardice has come to crown your vices."
O'Hanlon drew his sword, and allowing Wharton hardly time sufficient to
throw himself into an attitude of defence, he attacked him with deadly
resolution. It was well for the viceroy that he was an expert
swordsman, otherwise his career would undoubtedly have been abruptly
terminated upon the floor of "The Jolly Bowlers." As it was, he
received a thrust right through the shoulder, and staggering back,
stumbled and fell upon the uneven pavement which studded the floor.
This occurred almost at the same moment with O'Connor's fall, and
believing that he had mortally hurt his noble antagonist, O'Hanlon,
without stopping to look about him hastily lifted his fallen and
senseless companion from the pavement and bore him in his arms through
the outer door, which the landlord had at length found resolution
enough to unbar. Fortunately a hackney coach stood there waiting for a
chance job from some of the aristocratic bowlers within, and in this
vehicle he hurriedly deposited his inanimate burden, and desiring the
coachman to drive for his life into the city, sprang into the
conveyance himself. Irishmen are proverbially ready at all times to aid
an escape from the fangs of justice, and without pausing to ask a
question, the coachman, to whom the sight of blood and of the naked
sword, which O'Hanlon still carried, was warrant sufficient, mounted
the box with incredible speed, pressed his hat firmly down upon his
brows, shook the reins, and lashed his horses till they smoked again;
and thus, at a gallop, O'Hanlon and his bleeding companion thundered
onward toward the city. Ashwoode did not interfere to stay the
fugitives, for he was not sorry to be relieved of the embarrassment
which he foresaw in having the body of his victim left, as it were, in
his charge. He therefore gladly witnessed its removal, and addressed
himself to Lord Wharton, who was rising with some difficulty from his
prostrate position.
"Are you hurt, my lord?" inquired Ashwoode, kneeling by his side and
assisting him to rise.
"Hush! nothing--a mere scratch. Above all things, make no row about it.
By ----, I would not for worlds that anything were heard of it.
Fortunately, this accident is a trivial one--the blood flows rather
fast, though. Let's get into a coach, if, indeed, the scoundrels have
not run away with the last of them."
They found one, however, at the door, and getting in with all
convenient dispatch, desired the man to drive slowly toward the castle.