It is necessary to say here, that Moylan had not the slightest intention
of sending Mr. Purcel's car to meet our friend M'Carthy, inasmuch as he
never for a moment supposed that this devoted youth was likely to leave
the mountains alive. His own egregious vanity, engrafted on a cowardly,
jealous, and malignant disposition, prompted him, ever since he had
been induced by the pedlar, out of a mere banter, to suppose that he had
engaged the affections of Julia Purcel, to look upon this young man as
a person that ought to be got out of his way. In this manner there was,
indeed, a peculiar combination of circumstances against M'Carthy; for
it so happened that Moylan, whilst anxious to wreak his own jealousy and
hatred upon him, was, at the same time, executing the will of another
individual who stood behind the scenes. On every side, then, M'Carthy
was surrounded by mortal dangers that were completely veiled in
obscurity. During this very night it was resolved to assassinate him,
be the consequences what they might; and if he should escape, in the one
instance, he was to be sought after in whatever house he took refuge,
with the exception only of Purcel's, which his enemies were, for the
present, afraid to attack. Every avenue and road leading to it however,
was watched, with a hope that if he escaped elsewhere, they might shoot
him down from, behind a hedge.
The condition of all secret and illegal societies in Ireland is, indeed,
shocking and most detestable, when contemplated from any point of view
whatsoever. In every one of them--that is, in every local body or
branch of such conspiracy--there is a darker and more secret class,
comparatively few in number, who undertake to organize the commission
of crimes and outrages; and who, when they are controlled by the
peaceably-disposed and enemies to bloodshed, always fall back upon this
private and blood-stained clique, who are always willing to execute
their sanguinary behests, as it were, _con amore_. In other cases,
however, as we have stated before, even the virtuous and reluctant
are often compelled, by the dark and stern decrees of these desperate
ruffians, to perpetrate crimes from which they revolt. It was,
therefore, in pursuance of these abominable principles that the
arrangements for M'Carthy's murder were made on the night in question.
Jerry Joyce perceiving, as he had feared, that M'Carthy did not return
to dinner, at once came to the determination that he would go to
Finnerty's, where, from his connection with Whiteboyism, he knew that
a meeting of them was to be held on that night. He accordingly armed
himself with a ease of pistols, which he had been allowed to keep for
the preservation of his master's family and premises, in case they
should be attacked. He had not gone, however, within two miles of the
mountains, when he met Mogue on His way home, carrying M'Carthy's, or
rather John Purcel's double gun, and other shooting gear.
“Why, Mogue,” said he, “how does this come? Where's Mr. M'Carthy from
you?”
“Oh! that I may never sin--but sure I know I will--for I'm a great
sinner--God forgive me!--but anyhow, that I may never sin, if I'm worth
the washin'! Oh! Jerry, darlin', sick a killin' day as we had I never
passed, an' I'm well accustomed to the mountains. Sure, now, Jerry, if
you have one spunk of common charity in your composition, you'll take me
up on your back and carry me home, otherwise I'll lie down on the road,
and either die at wanst or sleep it out till mornin'.”
“But that's not tellin' me where you left Mr. M'Carthy,” replied Jerry,
whose apprehensions were not at all lessened by this indirect and
circuitous answer. “Where is he, and what has become of him?”
“Of all the mists that ever riz out o' the airth, or fell from the
blessed heavens above as--glory be to the name of God! we had it on the
mountains this whole day. Why, now, Jerry, a happy death to me, but you
might cut it with a knife, at the very least, an' how we got through it,
I'm sure, barrin' the Providence of God, I dunna. But indeed we're far
from bein' worthy of the care He takes of us.”
While speaking, he had, as an illustration of his fatigue, taken his
seat upon the grassy ditch, which bounded in the road, and altogether
enacted the part of a man completely broken down by over-exertion.
“But, Mogue, my pious creature, you're not tellin' us where you left--”
“Why, then, salvation to you, for one Jerry, do you think it's ait him
I did? Sound asleep in Frank Finnerty's I left him, where he'll be well
taken care of. Oh! thin, if ever a poor inoffensive young gintleman--for
sure he's that by birth, as we say, at all events, as well as by
larnin'--was brought to death's door with this day's work, he was. I
thought to flatther him home if he could come, but it was no go. An'
thin, agin, I thought it was a sin to ax' him; an' so for a afraid
they'd be alarmed at home, I was on my way to make all your minds aisy.
An' whisper hether, Jerry--not that I look upon Frank Finnerty an the
man he ought to be, for we all know the narrow escape he had for the
murder of Tom Whisky's son--still an' all, he's safe wid Finnerty,
bekaise he knows that we know where he is, and that if anything happened
him we'd hould him accountable.”
“Well,” replied Jerry, affecting a satisfaction which, however, he did
not feel, “I'm glad he's safe; for, as you say, Mogue, although Frank
Finnerty is pretty well known, still what could tempt him to harm Mr.
M'Carthy?”
“I know that,” said Mogue; “still an' all, the nerra foot I'd brought
him to his house, only we stumbled on it out o' the mist, by mere
accident, an' by coorse it was the next to us. Goodness' sake, Jerry,
carry these things home for me, will you? I'm not able to mark the
ground--do, avick, an' I'll offer up a pathran avy for you before I lay
down my head this night, tired as I am.”
“Well, begad, it's myself that would, Mogue, but you see, as I'm out for
a while, an' so near my poor mother's, throth I'll slip over and see
how she is, the crature; only for that, Mogue, I'd lighten you of the
shootin' things wid a heart an' a half.”
“But sure you can see your poor mother, the crature, any other evenin'?
Do come back, Jerry, an' I'll do twiste as much for you agin. Oh!
oh! milia murther! I'm not able to get on my legs. Give me your hand,
Jerry--oh! oh!--well, well--what's this at all? Jerry, achora, don't
desart me now, 'an me in the state you see. I'll never get home by
myself--that's what I won't--mavrone, oh! what's this?--I'm fairly
kilt.”
“Well, but the thruth is, Mogue,” replied his companion, “that I got
a message from my mother, sayin' that she's not well, and wishes most
partiklarly to see me about my sisther Shibby's marriage. Now, Mogue,
you're a pious and religious boy, an' would be the last to encourage me
to neglect a parent's wishes: ay, or that would allow me to do so, even
if I intended it; throth I know it's a scoulden' you'd give me if I
did.”
Mogue's flank was completely turned; he was, in fact, most adroitly
taken upon his own principle; his egregious vanity was ticked by this
compliment to his piety; and, as he was at no time a person of firm
character, he gave way.
Thought Jerry to himself, as he left this plausible hypocrite, to
proceed home under his affected fatigue, “I know there's mischief on
foot to-night, for if there wasn't I an' others 'ud be summoned to this
meetin'; there will be nobody there, I suppose, but the black squad or
the bloodmen. It'll go hard wid me, at any rate, but I'll send one there
that'll bring Mr. M'Carthy from among them without suspicion; an' so
here goes to lose no time about it.”
He then plunged into the most solitary and remote fields, and pursued
his way, anxious, if possible, to meet no one, much less any of those
who belonged, as he said, “to the black squad.”
Of late, the state of public feeling upon the subject of tithes had
become so violent and agitated, that Mr. Purcel's immediate friends
found it almost a matter involving their personal safety to dine with
him. At all events, such of them as accepted his hospitality took
care to leave his house very early, and to keep themselves well armed
besides. On the evening in question, no one had been invited but
M'Carthy and Fergus O'Driscol. The heroic magistrate, however, ever
since the receipt of the threatening letter, would not suffer his son
(who certainly participated in none of his father's cowardice), to dine
abroad at all, lest his absence and well-known intrepidity might induce
the Whiteboys, or other enemies of law, to attack the house when its
principal defence was from home. The evening, therefore, hung heavy on
their heads at Longshot Lodge, which was the name of Purcel's
residence, especially upon that of the fair Julia, who felt not merely
disappointed, but unusually depressed' by the unaccountable absence of
her lover, knowing as she did, the turbulence which prevailed in the
country. She scarcely ate any dinner, and in the course of a short time
retired to her own room, which commanded a view of the way by which he
should approach the house, where she watched, casement up, until
she heard a foot in the avenue, which, however, her acute ear, well
accustomed to McCarthy's, soon told her was not that of her lover. On
looking more closely she perceived, however, that it was Mogue Moylan;
and, unable to restrain her impatience, she raised the window still
higher, and called down as Mogue passed under it, on his way round to
the kitchen, but in a low, earnest voice, with, as Mogue thought, a good
deal of confidential in it, “Is that Mogue?”
“Eh!” he exclaimed, struck almost on the instant into a state of
ecstacy; “Is that Miss Julia?”
“Yes, Mogue,” she replied, in the same low voice, “I do not wish to run
the risk of speaking to you from this; stay there, and I will go to one
of the windows of the front parlor.”
“Well,” thought Mogue, “it is come to this at last? oh, thin, but I
was a blackguard haythen an' nothing else ever to think of you, Letty
Lenehan, or any low-born miscreant like you. The devil blow her aist,
waist, north, and south, the flipen' blazes, and to think o' the
freedoms she used to take wid me, as if she was my aquils; but sure, dam
her cribs! whatever I intended to do, it wasn't to marry her, an' can I
forget, moreover, the day she gave me the bloody nose, when I only went
to take a small taste o' liberty wid the thief.”
In the course of a minute or two, Julia made her appearance at the
window, with, in fact, a blushing face, if it could have only been seen
with sufficient light. Now that she stood within a couple of yards of
Moylan, she felt all the awkwardness and embarrassment of the task
she had undertaken, which was to inquire, without seeming to feel any
personal interest, as to the cause of her lover's absence. In addition
to the prevailing agitation, and the outrages arising from if, she had
heard of so many accidents with sportsmen, so many guns had burst, so
many explosions had taken place, and so many lives had been lost, that
her warm fancy pictured his death in almost every variety of way in
which a gun could occasion it. Owing to all this, she experienced
a proportionable share of confusion and diffidence in managing her
inquiries with proper address, and without betraying any suspicion of
her motives.
“Mogue,” said she, “I--hem--hem--I hope you don't feel fatigued after
your sport'?”
“Ah, then, there it comes,” thought Mogue; “how the crature feels for
me! an' even if I did, Miss Julia, sure one kind word when I come home
is fit to cure it.”
“And you are sure to get that, Mogue,” replied Julia, who took it for
granted that he referred to Letty Lenehan, “but whisper,” she proceeded,
still speaking in a low voice, from an apprehension of being heard
making the proposed inquiries by any of her family, “are you alone?”
“I am, indeed, Miss Julia,” he replied in a tone of such coaxing and
significant confidence, as would have been irresistibly laughable had
she understood why he used it, “I am alone, Miss Julia, and you needn't
be either ashamed or daunted in sayin' whatever you like to me--maybe I
could guess what you're goin' to say, but I declare to you, and that
my bed may be in heaven, but, say what you will, you'll find me--honor
bright--do you understand that, Miss Julia?”
“Well, I think I do, Mogue, and if I didn't think so, I wouldn't have
watched your return to-night as I did, or been here to speak to you on
the subject you say you--know.”
“An' sure, Miss Julia, you might a known, for some time past that I knew
it; didn't I look like one that was up to it? An' listen hether, Miss
Julia, my family was all honor bright; we wor great people in our day;
sure we owned a big sweep of country long ago an' wor great sogers. We
fought against the Sassenaghs, the dirty English bodaghs, an' because
there was a lot of us ever an' always hanged from time to time, that's
the raison why we have sich a hatred to the English law still, one an'
all of us. Sure my grandfather, glory be to God, was hanged for killin'
a Sassenagh gauger, and my own father, Miss Julia, did his endeavors
to be as great as the best of them, knowin' no other way for to vex and
revinge himself upon the dirty Sassenaghs of the country; for sure, you
know yourself, it's full o' them'--ay, about us in all directions. Be
borried a horse in a private way from one o' them, but then he escaped
from that; he next had a 'bout at what they call'd perjury, although it
was well known to us all that it was only his thumb he kissed, and, any
how, the thing was done upon a Protestant Bible; but, at all events, he
went an' honest and honorably, as far as gettin' himself transported for
parjury. I hope you understhand, Miss Julia, that I'm accountin' for any
disparagin' observations you might a' heard against us, an' showin' you
why we acted as we did.”
“But, Mogue,” said she, smiling at this most incomprehensible piece of
family history, “I hope you don't intend to imitate the example or to
share the fate of so many of your family!”
“You really hope so; now do you really hope so, Miss Julia?”
“Unquestionably; for granting you marry, as, I dare say you intend,
would it not be a melancholy prospect for your wife to--”
“Why, then I do intend it; are you not satisfied, Miss Julia? and what
is more, although it's my intention to violate the law in a private and
confidential way, still I have no intention of bein' either hanged or
transported by it; that I may be happy if I have--No, for the sake of
that wife, Miss Julia, do you understand, it's my firm intention to die
in my bed if I can; I hope you feel that there's comfort in that.”
“To whatever woman you make happy Mogue, there will be. Well, but,
Mogue, tell me; had you a good day's sport?”
“Sorra worse then; God pardon me for swearin',” he replied. “There riz
a mist in the mountains that a man could build a house wid, if there was
any implements to be found, hard and sharp enough to cut it. All we got
was a brace of grouse and a snipe or two.”
“And--hem--well but--hem--why Mogue, you give but a very miserable
account of the proceedings of the day. Had you any one with you?--Oh,
yes, by the way, did I not see Mr. M'Carthy go out with you this
morning?”
“Yes, Miss Julia, you did; he went out wid me, sure enough,” replied
Mogue, drily, and with rather a dissatisfied tone.
“He is a--hem, does he shoot well?”
“He shoots well enough, Miss Julia--when he pulls the trigger the gun
goes off; but as for killin' birds, that my bed may be in heaven but
they fly away laughin' at him.”
“He came with you as far as O'Driscol's,” she said, at once putting a
query in the shape of an assertion, “and I suppose sent some apology to
my father and brothers, for not having been here to dinner.”
“Hem! come as far as Mr. O'Driscol's?” exclaimed Mogue; “troth he's
about the poorest piece o' goods ever carried a gun--God help the
unhappy woman that'll get him; for sorra thing he is but a mere excuse
for a man. I left him lyin' like a half-hung dog, up in the mountains
above.”
Julia started, and almost screamed with terror at this account of her
lover. “Gracious heavens, Moylan, what do you mean?” she exclaimed--“up
in the mountains!--where and how in the mountains? Is he ill, or does he
want aid or assistance?”
“No, Miss Julia; but the truth is, he's a poor cur of a creature that's
not able to undertake a man's task at all; he's lyin' knocked up in
Frank Finnerty's; moanin' and groanin' an' yowlin', like a sick hound; I
had to carry or drag him over half the mountains; for, from the blessed
hour of twelve o'clock this day, he wasn't able to put a foot undher
him, an' he did nothing but blasphayme' an' curse every one he knew;
your fathers and brothers, your sisther, and mother, and yourself; he
cursed and blasphaymed you all, helther skelther; I could bear all,
Miss. Julia till he came to run you down, an' 'tis well for him that
I hadn't the gun in my hand when he did it, that's all; or, that I may
never do an ill turn but I'd a' given him a touch o' the Moylan blood
for your sake--an' now, Miss Julia,” he proceeded, “I hope we understand
one another. As for him he's a pitiful whelp!”
“Are you in jest or earnest?” she inquired, changing her tone.
“That luck may flow on me, but I'm in airnest, Miss Julia--but no
matther for that, don't you let you spirits down, think of our great
family; and remimber that them that was wanst great may be great agin.
Plaise God we'll have back the forwhitled estates, when we get the
Millstone broke, an' the Mill that ground us banished from the counthry;
however, that will come soon; but in the mane time, Miss Julia, I have a
saycret to tell you about him.”
“About Mr. M'Carthy?” she asked, sadly puzzled as to the tendency and
object of his conversation, but at the same time somewhat awakened to an
indistinct interest, respecting this secret concerning her lover.
“Yes, miss; listen hether, Miss Julia; would you believe it that he, Mr.
M'Carthy, is sworn, or any way as good as sworn, to take your father's
life away?”
“No, Mogue,” she replied firmly, but with good humor, “not a syllable.”
“Well then,” he proceeded, “if he did not swear to do it in plain words,
he did as good. You won't braithe a syllable of this, Miss Julia; but
listen still--You know the ruction that's through, the counthry aginst
tides?”
“I do, I am sorry to say.”
“An' that the whole counthry is sworn Whiteboys, and that all the
Whiteboys in sworn, of coorse, to put an end to them. That's the oath
they take now, miss, by all accounts.”
“So they say Mogue.”
“Well, miss, would you believe it, that that fellow, the ungrateful
hound that he is, that same Francis M'Carthy, is at the head of them, is
one of their great leaders, and is often out at night wid the villains,
leadin' them on to disturbances, and directin' them how to act; ay, an'
he doesn't like a bone in Mr. O'Driscol's body, any more than in your
father's.”
“Ha!--ha!--ha! very good, Mogue, but make it short--ha!--ha!--ha!--and
who's your authority for all this?”
“Himself, miss, for a great part of it; it was this day, he wanted
myself to become a White-boy; but I had the grace o' God about me, I
hope, an' resisted the temptation. 'Mogue,' says he, 'you are a good
Catholic, an' ought to join us; we're sworn to put down the tides
altogether, an' to banish Protestantism out o' the counthry.'”
“But is not M'Carthy himself a Protestant?” said Julia.
“Not he, miss, he only turned to get a lob o' money from the Great
College in Dublin above; sure they provide for any one that will turn,
but he's a true Catholic at heart; air when the time comes he'll show
it.”
“And you say he joins their meetings at night, Mogue?”
“That I may be blest, but he does, miss; and since you must know the
truth, he's at one o' them this very night.”
“Then you have told me a falsehood with respect to his fatigue?”
“He put me up to it, miss; and bid me say it; howandever my mind wasn't
aisy undher it; and now you know the truth.”
“And does he blacken his face as well as the other Whiteboys?”
“That hurt or harm may never come near me but he does that same; I have
it from them that seen him and knew him, in spite o' black face an'
all.”
“Ha! ha! ha!--well good-night, Mogue, and many thanks for your most
important and truthful secret.”
“Before you go, Miss Julia, one other word; listen, there a man worth
a ship load of him, that's in grate consate wid you--remember the ould
families, Miss Julia, an' them that suffered for--for--their counthry.
Now here' the kind o' man I'd recommend you for a husband; don't let
a pair o' red cheeks or black eyes lead you by the nose--an' what
signifies a good figure, when neither the handsomest nor the strongest
man can keep off a headache or a fit o' the blackguard cholic--bad luck
to it--when they come on one. No, Miss Julia, always in the man that's
to be your husband, prefer good lastin' color in the complection, an'
little matther about the color of the eyes if they always smile upon
yourself--then agin, never marry a man that swears, Miss Julia, but a
man that's fond of his prayers, and is given to piety--sich men never
use any but harmless oaths, sich as may I be blest, salvation to me, and
the like--that's the kind o' men to make a husband of, and I have sich a
man in my eye for you.”
“Thank you, Mogue,” said Julia, who was too quick-witted to
misunderstand him any longer. “Many thanks for your good advice--and
whisper, Mogue--who knows but I may follow it? Good-night!”
“Good-night, darlin',” he whispered in a kind of low triumphant cackle,
that caused her to shake her very sides with laughter, after she had
closed the window.
Julia Purcel, who could attribute Moylan's extraordinary conversation to
nothing but a more than usual indulgence in liquor, did not for a
single moment suffer herself to become influenced by the unaccountable
information which she had heard respecting M'Carthy. But even if it had
been true, she was so peculiarly circumstanced, that without disclosing
the private conversation she had had with Moylan, she could not without
pain communicate it to her family. As it was, however, she placed no
confidence whatever in any portion of it, and on further reflection,
she felt all her apprehensions concerning M'Carthy revived. If she
experienced anything in the shape of satisfaction from the dialogue, it
arose from the fact that if M'Carthy had suffered injury, Mogue would
not have been so much at ease on his return. When his return was
made known, however, to the family at large, Mogue repeated his first
version, and assured them that he, M'Carthy had laid down in Finnerty's
for an hour or so to recruit his strength. He supposed he would soon
be home, he said--or for that matter, maybe as he found himself
comfortable, he would stop there for the night. Mogue himself had come
home to make their minds easy, and to let them know where he was, and
what had kept him away. To a certain extent the family were satisfied,
but as M'Carthy had communicated to the male portion of them the
friendly warning he had got from the Whiteboy, they said, that although
he might have been, safe enough when Mogue left him in the mountains,
yet considering the state of the country, and that he unquestionably
had enemies, he might not be free from danger on his way home. There
was scarcely a night in the week that the country was not traversed by
multitudes of those excited and unscrupulous mobs, that struck terror
to the hearts of the peaceful, or such as were obnoxious to them.
Accordingly, after waiting a couple of hours, Alick Purcel got a double
case of pistols, and proposed to go as far as O'Driscol's, where they
took it for granted, as he had not been able to come to dinner, they
would find him should he have returned.
“Alick,” said the father, “after all the notices we have got, and
considering the feeling that is against us, it is ridiculous to be
fool-hardy--don't go by the road but cross the fields.”
“Such is my intention, sir,” replied Alick; “for although no coward,
still I am but flesh and blood, and it is death you know, for mere flesh
and blood to stop a bullet. Give me my enemy face to face and I don't
fear him, but when he takes me at night from behind a hedge, courage is
of little use, and won't save my life.”
On arriving at O'Driscol's, he found that M'Carthy had not come, and
after waiting till one o'clock, he prepared to take his departure. At
this moment, a female servant tapped at the drawing-room door, and after
having been desired to come in, she communicated the following startling
particulars:--She had forgotten her washing, she said, and gone out a
little time before to bring it in, and in doing so, she spied several
men with black faces and white shirts skulking about the house. She was
not sure, she said, on having the question put to her, whether she had
been seen by them or not.
This communication, which was given with every mark of alarm and terror,
completely altered the posture of affairs at the magistrate's. Katherine
O'Driscol's face became deadly pale as she turned a glance upon young
Purcel, which he well understood. “Alick,” said she, “under these
circumstances, it would, be absolute madness to attempt going home
to-night. It is very likely they have discovered that you are here, and
are watching for you.”
“But if I do not return home,” he replied, “it is equally probable that
John and my father, wondering at my delay, may come to look for me, and
in that case they might meet these ruffians--or rather might be waylaid
by them.”
“Purcel, my dear fellow!” said the magistrate, who was now pretty deep
in his cups, and consequently somewhat pot-valiant--or at least disposed
to show them a touch of his valor--“Alick, my dear fellow, you are
courageous enough, I admit, but at the same time, you must put yourself
under the guidance of a brave and loyal old magistrate, who is not to be
cowed and intimidated by a crew of midnight cut-throats. You'll gee now,
Alick, my boy, what a touch of loyal courage can do. Upon my honor, and
conscience, I will myself escort you home.”
“By no means, sir,” replied Purcel, “I could not think of putting you to
such a risk, and inconvenience at this late hour.”
“But I say by all manes, Alick--and as for inconvanience, it is none at
all.”
“But Mr. Purcel will expose neither himself nor you, my dear father,”
said Katherine; “he will be guided by good sense, and remain here
to-night.”
“Tut! you foolish cowardly girl, go to bed--you play loo very well, and
have won seven-and-sixpence from me to-night. That's your province.
No, upon my sowl and honor, I'll see him home. What! is it for the
intelligent and determined O'Driscol, as your brother John said--and who
is well known to be a very divil incarnate when danger's before him--is
it for such a man--the terror of evil-doers--to funk from a crew of
White-boys! What would my friend the Castle say if it knew it?--divil
resave the line ever it would correspond with me again. Get me my
pistols, I say--a case for each pocket, and the blunderbush under my
arm--then come on, M'Donough, as the play says, and blazes to him who
runs last.” Here he gave a lurch a little to the one side, after which
he placed himself in something intended for a military attitude, and
drawing his hand down his whiskers, he inflated himself as if about to
give the word of command, “Soldiers, steady,”--here he gave another
lurch--“recover omes (arms)--charge bayonets--present--halt--to the
right about--double quick--:bravo--you see what I could do, if placed in
a military position.”
“We do, sir,” said Fergus, laughing; “not a doubt of it.” The latter
then whispered something to Purcel, who smiled, and immediately turning
to the doughty magistrate, said:--
“Well, sir, since you insist upon protecting me home--”
“Good--that's the word, Alick--steady boys--shoulder omes.”
“I will feel very happy, sir, in your escort.”
“Yes, Alick--yes--exactly so--but then we are time enough, man--the
night's but young yet--we must have another tumbler before we go--if it
is only to put terror into these villains.”
“I am exceedingly sorry that it is out of my power to wait, sir. My
father and John may possibly come over here, and if they do it is
difficult to say what these blood-thirsty villains, who care so little
about human life--especially, sir, when that life belongs to either a
tithe-proctor or a magistrate, may do. You will oblige me very much,
sir, by coming with me now. I wish to heavens I had your courage, Mr.
O'Driscol, and that I-was such a wicked and desperate dare-devil as you
are.”
“Good, Alick, upon my honor and conscience, you've hit me off
there--hallo--what is this?--put these pistols and that blunder-bush
aside, and be d--d to you, we don't want them yet awhile;” this was
addressed to the servant who had brought them at Fergus's suggestion. “I
am a hospitable man, Alick--a convivial man--and I tell you that I don't
wish a guest to leave my house with dry lips--and what is more, I won't
allow it--sit down then, and take your punch, or if you're afraid of
these fellows why didn't you say so?”
“I am then, sir,” replied Alick, who thought that by admitting the fact,
he might the sooner bring matters between himself and the magistrate to
a crisis.
“What!” exclaimed the latter, “you admit your cowardice, do you?--Well,
upon my honor and reputaytion, Alick, I'm extremely surprised at you--a
young fellow like you--and a coward! Now I'll tell you what, Alick, I
hate a coward--I despise a coward, and d--n me if any man who is mane
enough to acknowledge himself to be one, shall have the benefit of
my escort this night. Then stay where you are, sir, and take your
punch--but you are not entitled to any protection; no, confound me if
you are! A nice office for a man of my mettle to escort a coward!--no,
no--take your punch, I say--you are safe under this roof, but as
touching my protection, no fellow of your kidney shall resave it from
me, unless in honest open daylight with a body of police or military at
my elbow; and, besides, you have declined my hospitality, Mr. Purcel,
and with the man--but man you are not--who declines my hospitality,
I will keep no terms. Here's the 'Castle!' long life to it, and may
it never have occasion to read me a lecture for protecting a coward!
Steady, men--shoulder oines!--ah, I'm a pearl before swine here:--upon
my honor and conscience, I'm nothing else--hurra!”
Whilst this manifestation of courage and loyalty was proceeding, his
daughter had sent a little girl by a lonely and circuitous way across
the fields to Longshot Lodge, with a message to the effect that they
had prevailed upon Alick to stop for the night, and that he would also
breakfast there the next morning. The little girl's absence was very
brief, and on her return, Alick had no hesitation in remaining. The
heroic magistrate, having taken another tumbler, began to get drowsy,
and with some assistance, was prevailed on to go to bed, where he almost
immediately fell asleep. The two young men then got together all the
arms and ammunition in the house, which, having made ready for an
attack, they went also to bed, taking only their coats off, where for
the present we leave them--but not asleep--and return to M'Carthy, for
whose absence, no doubt, the reader is anxious that we should account.