We have already stated that the proctors daughters had relieved their
mother from the duty which, that kind-hearted woman had been in the
habit of imposing on herself we mean that of attending and relieving
the sick and indigent in her immediate neighborhood. On the morning in
question Juli Purcel, who, together with her sister, for some time past
been attending the bed of an interesting young female, to one of her
father's workmen, had got up at an early hour to visit her--scarcely
with a hope, it is true, that she would find the poor invalid alive.
Much to her satisfaction, however, she found her better, and with some
dawning prospects of ultimate recovery. She left with her mother the
means of procuring such comforts as she considered might be suitable to
her in the alternative of her convalescence, and had got more than home
when she felt startled for a by the appearance of a person who seemed
to have been engaged in some of these nightly outrages that were then so
numerous in the country. The person in question had just leaped from an
open breach in the hedge which bounded the right-hand side of the road
exactly opposite where she was passing. The stranger's appearance was
certainly calculated to excite terror, especially in a female; for
although he did not wear the shirt over his clothes, his face was so
deeply blackened that a single shade of his complexion could not be
recognized. We need not again assure our readers that Julia Purcel
possessed the characteristic firmness and courage of her family, but
notwithstanding this she felt somewhat alarmed at the appearance of a
lawless Whiteboy, who was at that moment most probably on his return
from the perpetration of some midnight atrocity. This alarm was
increased on seeing that the person in question approached her, as if
with some deliberate intent.
[Illustration: PAGE 445-- Alarmed at the appearance of a lawless
Whiteboy]
“Stand back, sir,” she exclaimed. “What can you mean by approaching me?
Keep your distance.”
“Why, good God! my dear Julia, what means this? Do you not know me?”
“Know you! No, sir,” she replied, “how could I know such a person?”
She had unconsciously paused a moment when the Whiteboy, as she believed
him to be, first made his appearance, but now she pursued her way home,
the latter, however, accompanying her.
“Why, my dear Julia, I am thunderstruck! What can I have done thus to
incur your displeasure?”
“You are rude and impertinent, sir, to address me with such
unjustifiable familiarity. It is evident you know me, but I am yet
to learn how I could have formed an acquaintance with a person whose
blackened face indicates the nature of his last night's occupation.”
The person she addressed suddenly put up his hand, and then looking
at his fingers, immediately disclosed a set of exceedingly white and
well-formed teeth, which disclosure was made by a grin that almost
immediately quavered off into a loud and hearty laugh.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, on recovering his gravity, “it is no wonder, my dear
Julia, that you should not know me. Since I went out to shoot with Mogue
Moylan, yesterday morning, I have gone through many strange adventures.”
“What!” she exclaimed, with evident symptoms of alarm and vexation,
“Frank M'Carthy!” and, as she spoke, the remarkable conversation which
she had had with Mogue Moylan, and the information he had given her with
respect to M'Carthy's connection with the Whiteboys, instantly flashed
upon her, accompanied now by a strong conviction of its truth.
“Explain yourself, Mr. M'Carthy,” she exclaimed, in a tone of voice
which indicated anything but satisfaction. “How am I to account for this
unbecoming disguise, so much at variance with your habits of life and
education?--perhaps I should not say your habits of life--but certainly
with your education. Have you, too, been tempted to join this ferocious
conspiracy which is even now convulsing the country?”
“No wonder you should ask, my dear Julia,” he replied; “but really the
incidents, which have caused me to appear as you see me, are so strange,
and yet so much in keeping with the spirit of the times, that I must
defer, until a more convenient opportunity a full account of them.”
“Do so, sir,” she replied quickly; “allow yourself full time to give
the best possible explanation of your conduct. I probably have put the
question too abruptly; but, in the meantime, you will have the goodness,
either to go on before me, or to fall back, as I presume, you will grant
that it is neither delicate nor becoming for me, who wear no disguise
and am known, to be seen at such an hour holding conversation with a
Whiteboy.”
The impropriety of the thing struck him at once, and he replied, “You
are right, Julia; but I perceive that something has given you offence;
if it be my appearance, I tell you that I can afford you a satisfactory
explanation. Proceed now--I shall remain here for a time;--whether with
black face or white, I should not wish it to be supposed that we held a
clandestine meeting at this hour.”
She then bowed to him with more formality than she had probably ever
used, and proceeded home at a quicker pace.
She had just turned an angle of the road, and got consequently out of
sight, when he heard a strong, but sweet and mellow voice singing the
fine old Irish song of the Cannie Soogah, or Jolly Pedlar; and, on
looking behind him, he perceived that worthy person approaching him at a
tolerably rapid pace. The pedlar had no sooner glanced at M'Carthy than
he grasped his tremendous cudgel with greater firmness, and putting
his hand into his breast, he pulled out a pistol, and with these
preparations approached our friend, still continuing his song, with the
same careless glee, and an utter absence of all fear.
“'I' m the rantin' cannie soogah'--
“God save you, neighbor! you forgot to wash your face this mornin'.”
“That's its natural color,” replied M'Carthy, willing, now that he
was out of all danger, to have a banter with his well-known friend the
pedlar.
“If you take my advice then,” said the pedlar, “you'll paint it
white--it's a safer color in daylight at any rate. I'm thinkin' now, that
if you met a party of peelers on pathrole, they might give you a resate
for turnin' the same color red and white; however, _glunthoma_, (* Hear
me) if you have any design upon the Cannie Soogah, I can only tell you
that I never carry money about me, and even if I did, I have a couple
o' friends here that 'ud standby me; ay, in throth, three o' them, for
I have brother to this fellow (showing the pistol) asleep in my breast
here, and he doesn't like to be wakened, you persave; so whoever you
are, jog on and wash your face, as I said, and that's a friend's advice'
to you.”
“Why, Cannie Soogah, is it possible you don't know me?”
“Throth I've been just thinkin' that I heard the voice before, but when
or where is more than I can tell.”
“Not know your friend Francis M'Carthy?”
“Eh, Mr. Francis M'Carthy! and, Lord o' life, Mr. M'Carthy, how do
you come to have a black face? Surely you wouldn't belong to this
business--black business I may call it--that's goin'?”
“Well, I should hope not, Cannie; but, for all that, you see me with a
black face--ha!--ha!--ha!”
“I do indeed, Mr. Frank, and, between you and me, I'm sorry to see it.”
“You will not be sorry to hear, however, that my black face saved my
life last night.”
“Arra thin, how was that, sir, if it's a fair question?”
M'Carthy then gave him a brief, and by no means a detailed account of
the danger he had passed.
“Well,” said the other, “everything's clear enough when it's known; but,
as it's clear that you have enemies in the neighborhood, I think the
wisest thing you could do would be to lave it at wanst.”
“Such, in fact, is my determination,” replied M'Carthy; “no man, I
believe, who is marked ought to remain in the country; that is, when he
has no local duties that demand his presence in it, as I have not.”
“You are right, sir; start this very day if you're wise, and don't give
your enemies--since it appears that you have enemies--an opportunity of
doin' you an injury; if they missed you twice, it's not likely they will
a third time; but tell me, Mr. M'Carthy--hem--have you no suspicion as
to who they are?”
“Not exactly; indeed I cannot say I have; the whole matter is shrouded
in the deepest mystery. I am not conscious of having offended or injured
any one, nor can I guess why my life should be sought after; but sought
after unquestionably it is, and that with an implacable resentment that
is utterly unaccountable.”
“Well, then, Mr. Frank, listen:--I met about a dozen men--strangers they
wor to me, although their faces weren't blackened--not more than twenty
minutes ago; and one, o' them said to me, 'Cannie, every one knows' you,
and you know every one--do you know me?'”
“'No,' says I; 'you have the advantage of me.'
“'Do you know any one here?' says he again.
“'Well, I can't say I do,' says I; 'you don't belong to this part of the
country.'
“'If we did, Cannie,' said the spokesman, 'it isn't face to face, in the
open day, we'd spake to you.'
“'An' what is it you have to say to me?' I axed; for, to tell you the
truth, I was beginnin' to get unaisy someway.
“'Nothing to you; but we've been tould that you're well acquainted wid
Procthor Purcel, and that you know a young man, by name M'Carthy, that
stops for the present wid Mr. Magistrate O'Driscol.'
“'I do,' says myself; 'I'll not deny but I know them all well--I mane in
the way o' business--for I call there often to sell my goods.'
“'Well,' said the spokesman, 'will you give that letther,' handin' me
this, 'to Mr. M'Carthy?'” and as the pedlar spoke he placed the note
in M'Carthy's hands. “'Do so,' says the fellow, 'as soon as you can--if
possible, widout an hour's delay. It consarns himself and it consarns
me--can I depend on you to do this?' I said I would: and now there's the
letther---my message is delivered.”
M'Carthy read as follows:--“Francis M'Carthy, as you regard the life of
the man that saved yours last night, you won't breathe a syllable about
seein' a young man's corpse last night in the shebeen-house, nor about
anything that happened to you in it, till you hear further from me. If
you're grateful, and a gintleman, you won't; but if you're a traitor,
you will. Your friend, as you act in this.”
“Now, Mr. Frank,” said the, pedlar, “as you know the danger that's about
you, I say that unless you get out o' the counthry at wanst, you'll only
have a hand in your own death if anything happens. You're, goin' now,
I suppose, to Mr. Purcel's; if you are--if it wouldn't be
troublesome--jist say that the Cannie Soogah will call there in the
coorse o' the mornin' for breakfast.”
He then turned off by a different road; and M'Carthy proceeded at, a
very slow pace towards the proctor's, which lay in a right line between
the house to which the White-boy had brought him and O'Driscol's. As
he reached the back yard, by which he intended to enter, anxious to get
himself washed before any of them should see him--he was met by Mogue,
who after a glance or two recognized him at once by his shooting-dress.
“Why thin, good fortune to me, Misther Frank, is this you?”
“It is, Mogue; but I have no time to speak to you now. Only get me soap
and a towel till I wash my face at the pump here. These are strange
times, Mogue, and that was a very suspicious place of refuge to which
you brought me; however, it will go hard or we shall make Mr. Frank
Finnerty speak out, and to some purpose too. Get me soap and towel
quick---I do not wish to be seen with this diabolical-looking face upon
me.”
“That I may be blest, sir, but the same face surprises me. Wisha, then,
Mr. Frank, might one ax--”
“No,” replied M'Carthy, “do as I have desired you--some other time you
may hear it, but not now.”
At this moment, Mogue, who was very circumspect in all his looks as well
as in all his motions, saw by a side glance that Julia, on coming down
the stairs, saw M'Carthy--a circumstance which delighted his very
heart, inasmuch as he resolved to so manage it, that it might be made
to confirm the hint he had already thrown out against M'Carthy--if that
could be called a hint which was a broad and undisguised assertion. He
accordingly watched until an opportunity presented itself of addressing
her apart from listeners; and in the course of the morning, as she went
to look after some favorite flowers in the garden, he met her at the
gate.
“Miss Julia,” said he, “I wish to spake one word to you, i' you plaise,
miss.”
“Well, Mogue, what is it?”
“You know what I tould you about poor Misther Frank last night; and what
I want to say, miss, is, that you aren't to put any trust in it; truth,
I believe I had a sup in--don't be guided by it--it was only jokin'
about him I was--that I may never do an ill turn but it was--now.”
“You need make no apology about it, Mogue,” she replied; “I am not at
all interested in the matter; but I now know that you told me truth;
and as a friend and well-wisher of Mr. M'Carthy's, in common with all my
family, I am sorry to find it so.”
“Oh, well now, miss, what will I do at all? wisha, but that's the way
wid me ever and always; when the little sup is in--and indeed it wasn't
much I tuck--the truth always come out--if it was the killin' of a man,
my heart always gets the betther of ma then.”
“I saw him, Mogue, with his face blackened.”
“Wisha, wisha, but I was a haythen to mention it at all. The truth is,
I like Mr. Frank--but then again, I don't like anything like desate, or
that carries two faces--only as you did see him, Miss Julia, if you're
loyal to me and won't turn traitor on me--you've but to wait for a
little, I'll be able to tell you more about the same foolish--I'd rather
say foolish for the sake of settin' a Christian pat-thern, than wicked
or traicherous--och, ay--for sure we all have our failins--howandiver
as I was sayin', I'll soon be able, I think, to tell you more about
him--things that will surprise you, miss, ay, and make the blood in your
veins run cowld. Only I say, if you wish to hear this, and to have it as
clearly proved to you as what I tould you last night, you musn't betray
me.”
This was spoken in such an earnest, and at the same time in so simple
and candid a manner, that it was actually impossible to suspect for
a moment that there was falsehood or treachery intended. Nay,--his
pretended effort to undeceive her as to M'Carthy's connection with the
Whiteboys, was such a natural step after the drink which she supposed he
had taken on the preceding night, and when cool reflection had returned
to him, that she felt an indescribable curiosity--one attended with
pain and terror--to hear the full extent of her lover's perfidy. Beyond
all doubt, Moylan's treacherous adroitness, and the simplicity and piety
under which he contrived to veil his treachery and revenge, were perfect
in their way. As it was, he succeeded in banishing peace, and trust, and
cheerfulness, from the heart of generous and affectionate Julia Purcel.
M'Carthy found the young men up, and after simply stating that the
previous night was one of danger and adventure, he said that he wished
to go to bed for a while, and that he would describe these adventures at
more length after he had refreshed himself by some sleep. This, indeed,
they perceived to be absolutely necessary, from his exhausted and pallid
look. He accordingly went to rest--and, sooth to say, the sense of
security, joined to his complete exhaustion, and the comforts of a warm
good bed, gave him such a perception of luxury as he had never conceived
before. In a few minutes he fell into a dreamless and unbroken trance.
Breakfast was postponed an hour on his account; for as he had extorted
a promise from John Purcel, that he should either call him or have him
called when the time for that meal arrived, they did not wish to disturb
him so soon. In the meantime, there was many a conjecture as to the
cause of his absence, and as the fact of his black face could not
be concealed, there was consequently many an opinion given as to the
circumstances which occasioned that unexpected phenomenon. Julia did
not at all appear, but pleaded indisposition, and Alick had not yet
returned-from O'Driscol's, so there was only the proctor, his son John,
his wife, and Mary, to discuss the matter. At length, about half-past
ten M'Carthy made his appearance, and after the usual civilities of the
morning, he gave them a pretty clear, but not a very detailed account
of the dangers he had undergone. After a good deal of consideration, he
resolved, in accordance with the wish of his unknown friend, to suppress
all mention of the attack upon O'Driscol's house, and of the young man
who had been shot whilst it was going on.
Breakfast had not been concluded, when the _Cannie Soogah_, who had
already got his hansel, as he called his breakfast, in the kitchen, made
his appearance at the parlor window, which was immediately thrown up.
“God save all here,” he exclaimed, “long life and good health to every
one of you! Here I am, the rantin' Cannie Soogah, as large as life; and
upon my profits maybe a little larger if the truth was known.”
“Cannie,” said the proctor, “dix me, but I'm glad to see you--and how
are you, man?--and do you carry your bones safe--or your head upon your
shoulders at all, durin' these wild times?”
“Troth, and you may well say they're wild times, Mr. Purcel, and it'll
be wisdom in every one to keep themselves as safe as possible till they
mend. Is it thruth, sir, that you're makin' preparations to collect your
tides wid the help o' the sogers and polis?”
“Perfectly thrue, Cannie; we'll let the rascals that are misleading the
people, as well as the people themselves, know whether they or the law
are the strongest. They cannot blame us for the consequence, for we're
forced to it.”
“There will be bad work, thin, I'm afeard, sir; and bloody work, I
dread.”
“That's not our fault, Cannie, but the fault of those who will wilfully
violate the law. However, let that pass, what's the news in the world?”
“I suppose you hard, sir, that the house of your friend and neighbor,
that man that hears nothin'--” here there was the slightest perceptible
grin upon the pedlar's face--“was attacked last night?”
“You don't mean O'Driscol's?”
“Upon my profits, I do--an' nobody else's.
“Hillo! do you hear this, girls? O'Driscol's house was attacked last
night!”
“Heavenly father! I hope Alick is safe,” exclaimed Mrs. Purcel, getting
pale.
“Well, Cannie,” inquired the proctor, quite coolly, and as if it was a
matter of mere business, “what was the consequence? I hope nobody was
hurt?”
“Why, that his son Fergus, sir--that fine young man that everybody was
fond of--”
“Good God!” exclaimed the proctor, now really shocked at what he
supposed the pedlar was about to say; “what is it you are goin' to tell
us? I hope in God--”
“What is this!” exclaimed John; “heavens, Mary, you have spilled all the
tea!”
“Mary, my child,” exclaimed the mother, running to her; “what ails
you?--in God's name, what is the matter?”
“A sudden faintness,” replied the girl, recovering herself as if by an
effort; “but it is over, and I--I am better.”
“His son Fergus, sir--I hope Miss Mary is betther, sir--that his son
Fergus and his father, by all accounts, gave them a warmer reception
than they expected.”
“But was none of O'Driscol's family hurt nor anybody else?” asked
Purcel.
“No, sir, it seems not--and indeed I'm main glad of it.”
“D--n you, Cannie,” exclaimed the other, between jest and earnest, “why
did you give me such a start? You told the affair as if Fergus had been
shot--however, I'm glad that all's safe in O'Driscol's;--but about the
night-boys? Were there any lives lost among them?”
“It's thought not, sir,” replied the pedlar. “They left the marks o'
blood behind them, but the general opinion is, that there was no life
lost; I hope there wasn't--for, indeed, I have such a hatred against the
shed-din' of blood, that I don't wish even to hear of it.”
“What was their object, have you learned, in attacking O'Driscol's
place?”
“Well, then, I didn't hear; but anyhow, they say that a new workin' boy
of O'Driscol's, that dogged them up beyant Darby Hourigan's, was wounded
by them, along with Darby himself, in regard, of his having joined the
young fellow in dodgin' afther them.”
“Are they seriously hurt?” asked John.
“Throth that's more than I can say, but I hope they're not, poor
fellows; at any rate, I'm sure Mr. O'Driscol will have them well taken
care of till they're recovered.”
“Certainly,” observed the proctor, “if he thinks it his duty he will: my
friend O'Driscol will do what he conceives to be right.”
The pedlar nodded significantly, and honored the observation with, a
broad grin. “Well, sir,” said he, changing the conversation, “he may do
for that as he likes, but I must look to number one. Come, ladies--and,
by the way, where's my favorite, Miss Julia--from you?”
“She's not quite well this morning, Cannie,” said her mother; “she has a
slight headache, I believe.”
“Well, Miss Mary, then? Any purchases to-day, Miss Mary?”
“Not to-day, Cannie--the next time, perhaps.”
“Cannie,” said Purcel, “you praised your razors very highly at your last
visit;--have you a good case this morning?”
“Haven't I, sir? Wait till you see them.”
He then produced a case, which the proctor purchased, and thus closed
his sales for that day.
The pedlar, however, notwithstanding that his commercial transactions
had been concluded, seemed somehow in no hurry. On the contrary, he took
up his pack and exclaimed, “I must go back to the kitchen, till I see
what can be done there in the way of business; hearin' that you were
finishin' breakfast, I hurried up here to sell my goods and have my
chat.”
“Very well, Cannie,” said the proctor, “try the folks below, and success
to you!”
The pedlar once more sought the kitchen, where he lingered in fact more
like a man who seemed fatigued than otherwise, inasmuch as his eyes
occasionally closed, and his head nodded, in spite of him. He kept,
however, constantly watching and peeping into the yard and lawn from
time to time, as if he expected to see somebody. At length he got tip
and was about to go, when he said to Letty Lenehan:--“Ah, thin, Letty,
afore I go I'd give a trifle that Miss Julia 'ud see a bracelet I got
since I was here last; divil sich a beauty ever was seen.”
“Very well, Cannie, I'll tell her if you wish.”
“Then, Letty, may it rain honeycombs an you, an' do. I'll go round to
the hall-door, 'say, and she can look at them there; an' see, Letty, say
the sorra foot I'll go from the place till she sees it: that it'll be
worth her while; and that if she knew how I got it, she'd fly--if she
had wings--to get a glimpse of it.”
He had not been more than a minute or two at the hall-door when Julia,
struck by the earnestness of the man's language, which lost nothing in
the transmission, made her appearance.
“Well now, Cannie,” said she, “what wonderful matter is this you have
got to show me?”
“Here it is, Miss Julia,” said he, in his usual jocular and somewhat
loud voice, “here it is, I'll have it in a minute--listed, Miss Julia,”
he added, in a solemn and impressive undertone: “what I'm goin' to
say is more to you than aither life or death. Don't go out by
yourself--don't go at all out early in the morning or late in the
evenin'.”
“Why so, Cannie?” she asked.
“Why, miss, it came to me by accident only; but the truth is there's a
plot laid, it seems, to carry you off to the mountains.”
“By whom, Cannie?”
“That's the very thing, miss, that I don't know; but a strange man met
me on my way here this mornin' and tould me that he was a friend to your
father--who was wanst a friend to him--and that, if I'd see you, to put
you on your guard against goin' either to the poor or sick at the hours
I spoke of; and he bid me say, too, that there's bad work and thraichery
about you--and by no manner o' means to go any distance from your
father's house--ay, thraichery, an from them you'd never think o'
suspectin' for it. Now, miss, keep this counsel to yourself, and
don't say it was I that tould you, but as you love a fair name and an
unblemished character, act upon it. Dang me,” he added, “but I had like
to forget--if any message--I was bid to tell you--should come from Widow
Lynch's, sayin' that her daughter's dyin' and wishes to see you, and
that it's afther dusk it'll come--if it does come--well, if any sich
message is sent to you, don't go--nor don't go for any message, no
matther what it is--hem--ahem--oh! here I have it at last miss,” he
exclaimed in his natural voice, “isn't that a beauty?”
Julia got as pale as death for a moment, and then her brow became
crimson with indignation. In fact, she saw not his bracelet--nor heard
what he said in praise of it; but after a little time she said, “Thank
you, Cannie, most seriously do I thank you--and you may rest assured I
shall faithfully follow your advice.”
“Do so, miss,” he replied, “so God bless you and take care of you! and
that's the worst the rantin Cannie Soogah wishes you.”
Alick Purcel almost immediately joined the family in the parlor, to
whom he related a full and somewhat ludicrous account of the seige of
O'Driscol Castle, as he called it--or Nassau Lodge. As our readers,
however, are already aware of the principal particulars of that attack,
we shall only briefly recapitulate what they already know, and confine
ourselves to merely one portion of it, in which portion our doughty and
heroic friend, the magistrate, was most peculiarly concerned.
“Having tested the martial magistrate's courage,” he proceeded, “by a
hint from Fergus, who was as much amused by it as I was, and finding
that it was of the oozing or Bob Acres quality, we resolved, on hearing
that the house was surrounded, to examine, and prime and load all the
fire-arms in the house, as the case demanded. Some had been already
loaded, but at all events we looked to them, and such as were uncharged
we loaded on the spot, and then threw ourselves on the bed without
undressing, in order that we might be ready for a surprise. Fergus
and I, after having lain awake for a considerable time, taking it for
granted that they had given up all intention of attacking the house,
at length fell into a kind of wakeful doze from which we were at once
aroused by a loud knocking at the hall-door. We quietly opened the
drawing-room windows, and in a firm tone demanded what they wanted, and
the answer was, that a friend of M'Carthy's wished very much to settle
an account with him. We replied he was not in the house, and that even
if he were, they should fight for him before they got him. We also told
them our opinion of their conduct, and said, that if they did not leave
the place, we would scatter the contents of a blunderbuss among them. I
should state that they knew my voice, and said that they didn't want
me then, but that my turn would come soon. When we had done speaking,
a strong mellow voice, which I'll swear was not strange to me, said
something to them in Irish, and the next moment the windows were
shivered with bullets. Fortunately, we kept ourselves out of their
range; but at all events, we had light enough to see them put their
fire-arms to their shoulders, and time enough to stand aside. We
returned the fire instantly, but whether with any fatal effect or not
we could not say. When the smoke cleared away they had disappeared, but
early this morning traces of blood were found on the spot. A servant of
O'Driscol's, named Phil Hart, says they received no injury, for that he
followed them at a distance up as far as Darby Hourigan's, near whose
door they fired a couple of shots. Darby, it appears, joined Hart,
having been aroused by the report of fire-arms; and both, on being
discovered on their track, were fired at and wounded. Hart says it is
his blood that is on the lawn, and perhaps it may be so, but I rather
think the fellows did not escape scot-free at any rate.”
“But where,” asked John, “was the magistrate all this time?”
“That's precisely what I am coming to,” replied Alick; “the fact was
that the martial magistrate, who, I believe in my soul, lay shivering
with terror on his bed the whole previous part of the night, on hearing
our dialogue with the Whiteboys, and the report of the fire-arms,
altogether disappeared, and it was not until two or three searches had
been made for him, that he was discovered squatted three double in the
coalhole. On hearing and recognizing our voices, he started up, and
commenced searching round him in the aforesaid coal-hole. 'Come,
sir!' he exclaimed, in a voice of most ludicrous swagger, 'come, you
scoundrel! I'll unkennel you--whoever may be afraid of you, I'm not--my
name's O'Driscol, sirra--Fitzgerald O'Driscol, commonly called for
brevity's sake, Fitzy O'Driscol--a name, sir, that ought to strike
terror into you--and if it didn't, it isn't here I'd be hunting you--out
with you now--surrendher, I say, or if you don't upon my honor and
conscience you're a dead man.' 'What's the matter, sir?' I asked--'in
Heaven's name, who have you there?' 'Who is in the coalhole, father?'
asked Fergus, with a face whose gravity showed wonderful strength
of muscle. 'Yes, gentlemen,' replied the magistrate 'heroes that you
are--riflemen from a window--upon my honor and conscience, I think
courage is like the philosopher's stone--here have I, while you
were popping like schoolboys out of the window, pursued their leader
single-handed into the coal-hole, for I'm sure he's in it, or if not,
he must have escaped some other way--d--n the villain, I hope he
hasn't escaped, at all events--here, lights, I say, and guard all the
passes--d--n it, let us do our business with proper discipline and
skill--fall back, Fergus--and you, John, advance--steady now--charge the
coal-hole, boys, and I'll lead you on to the danger.' Of course he was
half drunk, but at the same time he managed to conceal his cowardice
with considerable adroitness. I need not say that upon examining the
coal-hole, and every other possible place of concealment there was no
desperate leader found, nor any proof obtained that an entrance had
been effected at all. 'Well, come,' exclaimed O'Driscol, 'although the
villain has escaped, we managed the thing well--all of us--he must have
given me the slip from the kitchen and leaped out of a window. You acted
well, boys; and as I like true courage and resolution--ay, an' if you
like, downright desperation--being a bit of a dare-devil myself--I say
I will give you a glass of brandy-and-water each, and the intrepid old
veteran will take one himself. Ah! wait till my friend the Castle hears
of this exploit--upon my sowl and honor, it will be a feather in my
cap.' Fergus whispered to me, 'It ought to be a white one, then.' We
accordingly adjourned in the dining-room, where after having finished
a tumbler of brandy-and-water each, we at length went to bed, and thus
closed the seige of O'Driscol Castle.”
Julia on hearing of this attack and its object, felt her mind involved
in doubt and embarrassment. She could not reconcile the desire of the
Whiteboys to injure M'Carthy, with the fact of his having, by his own
admission, spent the night among them. Or what if the attack was a mere
excuse to prevent any suspicion of his connection with them at all? She
knew not, and until she had arrived at some definite view of the matter,
she resolved to keep as much aloof from M'Carthy as she could possiby
do without exciting observation. In the course of the morning, however,
they met accidentally, and the short dialogue which took place between
her and him did not at all help to allay the suspicions with which her
mind was burdened and oppressed.
“My dear Julia,” said he, “I see that you are offended with me, but
indeed you need not; I can give you a full and satisfactory explanation
of my black face, if that be the cause of offence.”
“Some other time, Mr. M'Carthy, I may hear your explanation; but not
just now.”
“I cannot bear your displeasure,” he added; “and you know it.”
“I wish you had felt as anxious not to deserve it.”
“I am unconscious of having deserved it--but hear me, dearest
Julia------”
“Well, sir, I do.”
“Do you not go to see Widow Lynch's poor sick daughter this evening?”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir, and well, sir--good heavens! what means this all?--I am
anxious, I say, to give you a full explanation, and if you would only
pay a visit this evening to the widow's, I could meet you and explain
everything.”
The Cannie Soogah's warning here pressed upon her mind with peculiar
force.
“But,” she replied, “I shall not go this evening.”
“Well, will you say what evening you intend to go?”
“No, sir,” she replied; “I don't intend to go in future, either morning
or evening. Good-bye, Mr. M'Carthy, some time must elapse before I can
listen to your explanation.”
“Is this generous, Julia?”
“I believe it is just, Frank. Ask your own conscience, whether you are
entitled to any confidence from me--good-bye.”
And with these words, she tripped up to the drawing-room, where she
joined her mother and sister.
M'Carthy, after having settled down from the tumult occasioned by these
cowardly and murderous attempts upon his life, could not help indulging
in the deepest indignation against the vile and unmanly systems of
secret confederation in crime, by which the country was infested and
disgraced; its industry marred, its morality debauched, and its love
of truth changed into the practice of dissimulation, falsehood, and
treachery. He accordingly determined, as far as in him lay, to penetrate
the mystery, and ascertain the danger by which he was surrounded, and if
possible, to punish his unmanly and ferocious enemies. He consequently
lodged informations against Frank Finnerty, for whose apprehension a
warrant was issued; but thanks to the kind services of his friend Mogue
Moylan, Finnerty was duly forewarned, and when our friend, the heroic
O'Driscol, armed to the teeth, and accompanied by as many police as
would have captured a whole village, arrived at and surrounded his
house, he found that the bird had flown, and left nothing but empty
walls behind him.