--Sentence of the Proctor and His Sons.
Breakfast in the proctor's, on the morning of Christmas Eve, was eaten
as if it had been a funeral meal. The proctor himself could not raise
his spirits, which were generally high and cheerful. John and Alick
were much more serious than usual; and were it not for the presence of
M'Carthy, the meal in question would have been a very gloomy one indeed.
Even M'Carthy himself felt the influence of the spirit that prevailed,
and found that all his attempts to produce cheerfulness or mirth among
them were by no means successful. The two sons, as if acting under the
influence of some unaccountable presentiment, engaged themselves in
casting bullets for the fire-arms with which the house was furnished,
whilst M'Carthy spent his time with the ladies, and endeavored to amuse
them as well as ha could. About twelve o'clock John rode into the town
of Lisnagola to bring home a blunderbuss which he had sent the day
before, by Mogue Moylan, for the purpose of having it furnished with a
new ramrod. Mogue being engaged in some matters of a pressing nature,
John determined to go for it himself, especially as he wanted to lay in
a better supply of powder. Of this Mogue knew nothing.
Mr. Temple soon made his appearance, but, as the pedlar feared, the
object of his visit was not attended with success. He urged all the
arguments in his power upon the proctor and his son Alick, to remove
instantly, and at once, to Lisnagola, or some other neighboring town,
where, for the present, they might be safe. Instead of listening to the
argument of instant removal, they laughed it to scorn. In the course of
the following week, they said, it was their intention to remove; but to
think of breaking up their family on a Christmas Eve, with a guest in
their house too!--the thing was out of the question. A few days made no
great difference; and their mind was fixed not to disturb their family
or their guest, then.
Soon after Mr. Temple had gone, Julia Purcel met M'Carthy in the hall,
and asked him for a moment to the dining-room, in a voice which was
tremulous with agitation.
“Alas! Frank,” she exclaimed, whilst the tears streamed from her eyes,
“I feel a weight like that of death upon my heart. I fear there is some
dreadful calamity hanging over this family.”
“Why, my dear Julia,” he replied, wiping the tears from her eyes, “will
you suffer yourself to be overcome by a weakness of mind so unworthy
of you? The morning is dark and gloomy, and calculated, apart from
such silly anticipations--pardon me, Julia--to fill the mind with low
spirits. Cheer up, my dear girl; is not this season, in a peculiar
manner, set apart for cheerfulness and enjoyment? Why, then, will you
indulge in this weak and foolish melancholy?”
“I would not feel as I do,” she replied, “but the truth is--now do not
scold me, Frank--in fact I had an omen of calamity last night!”
“An omen! how is that?” he asked. “On bidding my papa and John
goodnight, as I was going to bed, about eleven o'clock, I saw them both
standing below me at the foot of the stairs, in the hall. I started,
and turning again into the drawing-room, where I had just left them,
saw that there they certainly stood, without scarcely having had time to
change their position.”
“A mere physical illusion, my dear Julia; nothing else.”
“But is it not said,” she added, “that to see the likeness of an
individual late at night is an omen of almost immediate death?”
“It has been said so, I admit, my dear Julia, as have fifty thousand
follies equally nonsensical. But to hear you, Julia, talk in this
manner! upon my word, I'm surprised at it.”
“You will not think of leaving us, dear Frank, until we get to a place
of safety?”
“Unquestionably not; but you are alarming yourself unnecessarily.”
“Well, perhaps I am,” she said, gaining confidence from his firmness of
manner; “but I assure you, Frank, I am not timid, nor a coward. I
can load a gun, pistol, or blunderbuss, and what is better still, can
discharge them without shrinking; so can my sister; but with respect to
anything of a supernatural character--”
“You are a great coward. I perceive that; but, my dear Julia, to pass to
a subject of the deepest interest to my happiness:--why is it that there
has been an appearance of gloom and distrust about you for such a
length of time? I think there should be nothing but the most unbounded
confidence between us.”
“Have you been perfectly candid with me, Frank?”
“If you remember, dear Julia, you did not afford me an opportunity.
You looked as if you felt offended, and I could perceive that you had
withdrawn your confidence.”
“My mind is too much distracted now,” she replied, “to speak on this
subject; but, if you wish it, I shall tell you, on Monday next, why I
have appeared so.”
“Wish it! alas! my dear Julia, I can only say that my affection for you
knows no bounds. Julia, you know I have loved you; and, happen what
may, I shall carry that affection for you to my grave. Only say that
the affection which you have already confessed for me is not cooled or
diminished; only say it, dearest life, and you will relieve my heart of
a heavy load.”
She fixed her beautiful dark eyes upon him, as if she were in the act of
scrutinizing his very spirit; at length, she seemed to have arrived at a
fixed conclusion; two or three tears slowly followed each other down
her cheeks, and she replied, “I fear, Frank, I have been led to do you
injustice; that is, to doubt your truth or your honor; yes,” she added,
in a low confiding voice, “I feel that I love you as I ever did. But I
am depressed, and my heart is full of an unaccountable sorrow.”
“My ever--ever dear--dearest Julia!” he exclaimed, as he pressed her to
his heart; where she sobbed, and tenderly reacknowledged her love. “On
Monday, however,” she observed, after having somewhat composed herself,
“I shall tell you, at full length, the circumstances that have disturbed
me with respect to you.” Another kiss as they separated, and so it was
arranged between them.
When Mogue Moylan heard that John purcel had gone to the gunsmith's for
the blunderbluss, he stealthily sought the barn where he slept, and,
putting on a great frieze coat, he went to the haggard; approached the
stack, and thrusting his hand up the thatch, secured a case of pistols
that had been left with him and Jerry Joyce for their defence, and
fixing them under his coat, deliberately took his departure.
“I'll have betther luck,” he said to himself, “to join the boys, and as
I have my own party among them that'll stand to me, we'll have the best
chance. I'm to take charge o' the girls for him, after the men's shot;
an' it'll go hard if I don't do him out o' the one he's set upon. If I
sted in the house, as I intended at first, maybe it's a bullet from the
boys I'd get into me. No--no--every way--think of it as I will, it's
my wisest plan to cut; an' at any rate, he'd find me out now about the
blunderbuss. Have her, however, I will, or lose a fall for it.”
This was Mogue's last appearance but one about the proctor's
establishment.
John Purcel, on inquiring for the blunderbuss at the gunmaker's heard
that Mogue had waited until the ramrod was put in, after which the
man said he brought it home; a fact which Purcel never doubted. On the
contrary, he felt annoyed at his own stupidity for not having asked
Mogue the question before he went; and he consequently blamed himself
more than he did Mogue. On his way home, however, he met Mogue; and it
is necessary to state that none of the Purcel family returned to their
house, for a considerable time past, by the same way, unless indeed very
rarely. Mogue had come out upon the road, which he was crossing just as
John turned a corner, and came plump upon him.
“What is the reason, Mogue,” he asked, “That you didn't let me know you
had brought home the blunderbuss?”
“That I may be happy, Mr. John, but it was bekaise you didn't ax me; an'
a beautiful new ramrod it has now, at any rate.”
“Where are you bound for, Mogue?”
“Why, up to Harry Sproule's for paper and writin' things for the ladies.
Any news in Lisnagola, Mr. John?”
“Nothing that's good, at any rate,” replied the other; “except that the
country, Mogue, must be put under martial law.”
He set spurs to his horse on uttering these words, and immediately rode
on.
“Ay,” said Mogue, as he looked bitterly after him, “there you go, you
blasted tyrant!
“Martial law! Ah, if I had her from among you, I didn't care the divil's
blazes had you all, as they will soon; an' that may be, I pray Jasus
this day! Martial law! ah, bad luck to you!”
On reaching home, John Purcel made no immediately inquiry about the
blunderbuss, having taken it for granted that all was right, nor was
Mogue's disappearance or treachery at all suspected, until late in 'the
course of the night.
Twilight was now setting in, when a strange man called at the proctor's
and said he wished to speak with Mr. M'Carthy. M'Carthy came to the
hall-door, and looking at him keenly inquired his business.
“I don't know,” said the man; “I can only tell you what I was desired to
say to you.”
“Well, let us hear even that,” said the other.
“I was bid to ax you, if you wish to sarve this family.”
“I do, most certainly.”
“In that case, then, you're to follow me,” said the man.
“I have no such intention, I assure you, my good fellow,” replied the
other.
“Very well, then, I have done my duty,” said the man, turning to depart.
“But,” said our friend, “will you not let me know who it was that sent
you.”
“I tell you,” replied the stranger, “that I don't know. I was bid to
say to you that the hour is come, and the man, and that's all I know;
barrin' that as I said you wor bid to come wid me, if you wish to sarve
thia family. Now I must go.”
“Stop a moment,” said M'Carthy, “till I return into the house, and let
them know I'm going out.”
“No,” replied the other; “if you do, you won't find me here when you
come back. This instant, or never.”
“To serve this family, you say?”
“To sarve this family, I was bid to say. I know nothing, an' can say
nothing about it myself.”
“Come, then,” said M'Carthy, resolutely, and thinking of the note he had
received in college, “I trust you, or rather I will trust the man
that sent you;” and having uttered these words, he departed with the
stranger. The scene now changes to a hill, three or four miles distant
from the proctor's house, called Crockaniska, at the foot of which was
a small but beautiful lake or tarn, from which a graceful little stream
fell down into a green and picturesque valley, that lay to the south
below it. The shades of evening were beginning to deepen, but for a
considerable time before, the road that went past it was observed to
be more than usually-thronged with men, some on foot and others on
horseback; all presenting a solemn and determined aspect, as if bent
upon some dangerous enterprise that must be accomplished, and all
apparently strangers to the inhabitants of the place, and to each other.
On the brow of the hill stood a picturesque ruin, and the hill itself
was literally covered with men and horses; for it was evident, by the
fatigued and travel-stained appearance of both, that they had come from
a far distance. After dusk had set in, the crowd assumed an appearance
of stern repose, but at the same time, and somewhat contrasting with
this dreadful stillness, pale lights might be seen flitting from time
to time through the ragged apertures, and vacant windows of the ruin.
Inside this dreary old building were those who, from the greater
respectability of their dress, appeared to be their leaders; men of
trust and authority among them, by whose will and opinions they were to
be guided. A table and chairs, provided on this occasion, were placed
for the transaction of business, and on these, after some proceedings,
conducted with a good deal of form, had been transacted, twelve
comfortably, if not well-dressed looking farmers sat, whilst on another
chair, considerably elevated above the rest, a person in the garb at
least of a gentleman, seemed to preside over, and regulate the business
of the night.
After a short silence, the judge asked, in an audible voice, if there
was any business to be brought before “The Court of Right,” on that
occasion. He was immediately answered, in a solemn and almost melancholy
tone of voice, that there was a great deal of business before the court,
but that only one case, that of Captain Right against Purcel Senior and
sons, was for hearing and adjudication on that occasion.
On hearing the name of Purcel, the judge took from his pocket a broad,
blood-red ribbon, as did also each of the twelve farmers who constituted
the jury, and having tied it about his left arm, in which they imitated
him, he composed himself for the resumption of business. The ribbons
were a twofold symbol, signifying, in the first place, that the Purcels
had shed the blood of the people, and were to be tried for murder; and
in the second, that if found guilty, the sentence of Captain Right would
exact from them the fearful penalty of blood for blood. A compact, well
knit, and intelligent young man, about twenty-six years of age, now rose
up, and unrolling a long scroll of paper, read in a low but distinct
voice, a long and dark series of charges preferred by the aforesaid
Captain Right against the said Matthew Purcel and his sons. That person,
on this occasion, was the representative of Captain Right.
The judge then observed, that the charges must be proved to the
satisfaction of the jury, and called upon Captain Right's advocate to
substantiate them. It would spin out our description to a fatiguing
length, were we to go through all the cases of oppression, fraud, and
cruelty, that were brought home to the unfortunate proctor; against
whom, if we are to take him as the exponent of his heartless class,
every one of them was strictly true.
He was found guilty, for instance, of taking--often beforehand, or
in reversion--several small farms over the heads of poor but solvent
tenants; turning them adrift on the world, and consolidating their
holdings into one large stock farm for grazing; there by adding to the
number of the destitute, and diminishing the supply of food for the
people.
He was found guilty of paying to his laborers the wretched sum of only
eightpence a day; which he paid by the vile truck system--that is to say
by forcing them to take potatoes, milk, meal, &c, at nearly twice what
the same commodities brought in the open market.
His sons were found guilty of insolence and cruelty, against such poor
and distressed persons as had occasion to go to the proctor's office,
for the purpose of asking indulgence, or time to meet their engagements.
Their insolence and cruelty consisted in giving abusive language to,
and horsewhipping them as if they were not men, or possessed of the same
rights, privileges, and feelings, as themselves. These were only a
few of the charges, involving petty tyranny, oppression, and rapacity,
against Purcel and his sons; but the last, and greatest, and most odious
of them all, was the ruin he had brought, upon so many, by his tithe
exactions, and the expenses he had heaped on them by processes of
law, in recovering that blood-stained impost, as it was not improperly
called.
Those were all proved by witnesses, and although we must admit, that the
great body of the evidence was true, in point of fact, yet there was not
a word said, of the insolence, threatening language, falsehood, evasion,
and defiance, which Purcel and his sons had in general experienced from
the people, before they had been forced to have recourse, in matters of
tithe, to such harsh proceedings against them. When the case for Captain
Right was about to close, there was a slight stir, and a low indistinct
murmur ran through those who thronged the ruin.
“There is another charge still to come,” said the young man who conducted
the prosecution; “we pass by the three massacres, and all the blood that
was shed in them; and all the sorrow and misery, and affliction that
they occasioned--we pass them by, I say, and to show all here present
that we are not like Purcel and his sons, resolved to avail ourselves of
any advantage against those we prosecute, I will just confine myself to
one case of murder, instead of many--because you all know, that if they
are found guilty upon one count, it will be sufficient for our purpose.
Widow Flanagan, come up and prove your sorrowful case.”
A pale, emaciated woman, whose countenance was the very reflex of
affliction and despair, now was assisted to make her way from the
further part of the building. She was dressed in the deepest mourning,
with the exception of the ribbons, which were, like the rest, a deep
blood-red, as an indication that one of her family had been murdered.
“Widow Flanagan,” said the counsel for Captain Right, “will you have the
goodness to state your distressing case?”
“Oh, no, no!” she exclaimed; “I'll not state it--I'm beginnin' to fear
what your intentions is this night; and as for me, I'll not help you,
by act or word, to fulfil that fearful intention. Oh, change it!” she
exclaimed; “there has been too much blood shed in the country; too much
bad work every way in it. Call upon God to change your hearts, and go
home to your families while your hands isn't yet stained with blood! You
all know what the law is when it's let loose upon you, as it ought be,
whenever you commit murther, and take away your fellow-crature's life.
I forgive Purcel and his sons; it was neither him nor them that took my
boy's life, but the sogers--oh, no!” she exclaimed, “I see what you're
bint on, and why you are sittin' to try the unfortunate Purcels. I
read it in your black fearful looks, and dark faces--may God turn your
hearts, and forgive you for bringin' me here this night! Surely you
ought to know that one like me, who suffered so much by the spillin' of
blood, wouldn't wish to see my fellow-cratures sufferin' as I am? Oh,
no! I forgive the Purcels, and why shouldn't you? an' the worst prayer
I have for them is, that God may forgive them and change their hearts!”
Alas! that we should say so, but the truth is, that no charge against
Purcel, how bitter and malignant soever it might have been, could have
occasioned such a deep-seated and uncontrollable vengeance against
the unfortunate family, as the language of this extraordinary and
great-minded peasant woman. There was nothing further said at the
moment, every attention was paid to her wishes; in accordance with which
a party of men and horses were sent to convey her safely home.
When she was gone, a neighbor of hers, who was present, came forward,
and made an accurate and affecting statement of the circumstances
connected with the death, or, as he termed it, and as we fear it was the
murder of her son.
“The poor, lovin' boy's mother,” he proceeded, “the heart-broken
Christian woman, that you all seen and heard this night, was not long
after a fit of sickness. She was barely able to move about, but not to
work or do anything in the house. When they came out to take away their
property, she had two cows, but only one of them gave any milk. They wor
axed to take the dry cow and any other part of the property they might
think proper, but, 'for God's sake!' said the boy, 'as my poor mother
is only risin' out of her illness, lave us the cow that can give her the
drop of milk; the black water will kill her if you don't.' But no,
this they wouldn't do; but what did they do? Why, they left the dry cow
behind them, and tuck away the one that gave the kindly drop o' milk to
the sick widow and her poor family; they then brought off--ay--swept
away--six times the amount of what she owed; which they bought in for a
song. It's well known that of late Purcel and his sons swore that they'd
execute every process in the sevairest and most expensive manner upon
the people, and as they kept their oath I hope too we'll keep ours.
Well, it was when the poor boy saw the drop o' milk, as he said, goin'
from his poor mother, that he opposed them. You all know the rest; he
was shot stone-dead bekaise he loved that mother. The case is now in
your hands, and this is all I have to say, barrin' to ask you, gintlemen
of the jury, to take a look at this, and think of him it belonged to,
that's now laid low in an airly and untimely grave, through Mat Purcel
and his sons.”
He then placed a lock of fair and beautiful hair, which had been taken
from the youth's brow, in the hands of the foreman, and resumed his
seat.
Oh, human nature! especially Irish human nature, what a mystery art
thou!
The foreman, on receiving it, held it in his hands for some time, and so
completely was he touched by the beauty of the tress, and the affection
of him to whom it had belonged, that the tears gushed from his eyes; and
as these men, who were then in the very act of trampling upon the laws
of God and men, looked at it, one by one, there was scarcely a dry eye
among them. As water, however, is frequently sprinkled over fire, in
order to enkindle it into a more scorching heat, so did the tears they
shed add fresh strength and fury to the vengeance which smouldered
within them.
This closed the case for Captain Right, and the judge asked if there was
any one present prepared with a defense for Mat Pur-eel and his sons.
Our old friend, Darby Hourigan, who dressed himself in rags for the
occasion, then came forward; and, after pulling up the waistband of his
breeches, and twisting his revolting features into what he designed
for, but what no earthly being could suppose, a grin, he spoke as
follows:--“My lard, an' gintlemen o' the jury, it 'ud be a hard case
if we suffered poor Misther Purcel and his two daicent, ginerous,
kind-hearted sons, to be condimed 'idout a word at all in their definse.
First, then, is it fair that we should be angry bekaise one of our own
race and rallagion should spring up from among ourselves, and take his
station over us like the Cromwellian shoneens, that are doin' oppression
upon uz and our shildres! An', hadn't he as good a right to get the
law at his back as they have? an' to make it bring him through the same
hard-hearted coorses that made him rich and keep us poor? What had he
done but what others had been doin' for ages, an' wor doin' still? ay,
by jabers, an' 'ud continue to do unless the people put a stop to it.
Worn't his sons gintlemen no less? Didn't they go out to hunt dressed
in top-boots, buck-skin breeches, scarlet coats, and velvet jockey-caps;
and didn't his daughters ride about upon blood-horses an' side-saddles?
An' why are they called blood-horses do yez know? Ah, by jabers, if yez
don't I'll tell you--it's bekaise they wor bought and maintained by the
blood of the poor? Ay, they do all this, but if they do, who's to blame
them? Poor! ershisin! Arra what was I sayin'? Sure they do it bekaise
we all have plenty to ait and dhrink, plenty to wear; good coats to our
backs, like this”--and here he shook the rags he dangled about him in
hundreds; “good breeches to--hem--no matther--good shoes and stockings
to our feet; good heads to our hats--hut! I mane good hats to our
heads--and fusht-rate linen to our shkins; ay--sich as this,” he added
again. “Whisht!” he exclaimed, with a laugh like an Eclipse, “bad
luck to the fatther of it, but I forgot at home--along wid the other
eleven--or stop--here it is to the good still,” pointing to his naked
skin, “an' be my sowl, boys--my lard an' gintlemen o' the jury, I
mane--it's the weavor of this linen that'll stand to us yet.
“Gintlemin, I do maintain that there's a great dale to be said for Mat
Purcel. To be sure he skrewed the last fardin' out of uz, but where was
there ever a tithe-procthor that didn't do the same thing? An' sure if
he tuck as much as he could from huz, an' gev as little as he could to
the parson, wasn't it all so much the betther? Wasn't it weakenin' their
fat church and fattening our weak on'?--where's the honest Catholic
could say a word aginst that? To be sure, we all know that, by his
knowledge of farmin', and all the ins and outs of our little tillage,
he contrived, one way or other, to take about the fifth of our little
produce; but then if he did, didn't he say it was all by way of
friendship an' indulgence to us? Sure didn't himself tell us that only
he pitied us an' felt for us, he'd a' been ten times harsher than he
was, an' so he would, be coorse, an' 'tis thankful we have a right to
be, an' not grumblin' at all at all.
“I hould half a dozen could an' miserable acres, an' about three weeks
ago, he tuck about one-fourth of the whole produce, owin' to citations
to the bishop's coorts, an' a long string o' costs jined to the tithe
itself--bad luck to it!--an' didn't he prove to me that he let me
off for a song, an' was the best-hearted procthor that ever strewed a
defaulther? Well, an' isn't every small farmer, that doesn't wish to go
law, or isn't able to right himself, as well off as I am--glory be to
God! I declare, thin, I don't see why we should be angry wid so kind an'
merciful a man.
“Thin, again, it made a man religious, an' was aiquil to goin' to one's
duty, to go to ax time or indulgence from his sons. It isn't a clear
case that you'd get the indulgence, but it is a clear case that you wor
sure to get a horsewhippin'. Now, you know a horse-whippin' 'ud make a
man repint goin' to him, an' when a man's in a repintin' state, he may
as well repint for whatever sins he has committed, while his hand's in.
“Altogether, thin, my lard an' gintlemin o' the jury, I think it's clear
that Purcel an' his sons is a great benefit to the counthry about us,
an' that they ought to be acquitted, especially as it's likely that they
have more processes to sarve, more auctions to hould an' may be, more
widow's sons to take on the hands of their poor strugglin' motherss
the crathurs, that's badly able to support them; and anyhow, nobody can
blame a man'll that opens the gates of heaven for his fellow creature's
sowl, and sends him there.
“I hope, my lard an' gintlemen, that I has now done my duty in defendin'
the Purcels and that I've proved to your satisfaction that they ought to
be acquitted.”
This harangue of Hourigan's was received with singular alternations of
fierce rage, and mirth that was still fiercer and more frightful. At the
conclusion of it there was a loud stamping of feet, accompanied by an
exulting uproar of approbation. Silence, however, being called, the
jurors put their heads together across the table, and in less than two
minutes their foreman handed up the issue paper to a person who acted as
register and secretary to the meeting. On receipt of this, that worthy
functionary, in a solemn, deep, and barely audible voice, read a verdict
of “guilty,” which was received in solemn silence by the assembly.
The judge then rose, and in a voice that was also solemn but distinct,
pronounced the sentence of the court to be--“Death and dark destruction
to Matthew Purcel and his sons,” with an order that it should be carried
into execution on that very night. The judge then addressed them at some
length, pretty closely to the following effect:
“Now, my friends,” said he, “there is no man in this building who has
not before now been engaged in affairs of danger and of death. Every one
of you is the leader of a party of determined fellows, who fear nothing.
Our business is--to susteen the oppressed, to crush tyrants, and to
right those who have been wronged. I am not sorry that the person in
command over me is absent to-night, for I look upon the office I hold,
and the exploit we are engaged on, as a high honor. If that person,
however, is not with us he is engeeged for us, and will send us a strong
reinforcement in the course of the night. I don't expect that the attack
on Purcel's house will deteen us long, and after that we have other
visits to meek, and several fields of pasture to dig up. You all know
who I mane when I mention the man that has authority over us.”
“We do,” replied the crowd; “three cheers for _him!_” This was
accordingly responded to, and the speaker proceeded.
“You are to understand,” said he, “that Purcel and his two sons are this
night to die, and their house and pleece to be reduced to ashes. There
is one thing, however, that I must strongly impress upon you--remember
that you are not to injure any of the faymales of the family in the
slightest degree. The second daughter must be taken and brought to a
mounted guard that will be ready behind the garden-hedge, to bear her
off to the mountains--they know themselves where. I will overteek them,
or perhaps be there by the upper road before them. If any of you has a
fancy for the other sister, I'm not the man that will stand in your way;
but in order to encourage you to do your dooty, I now decleer that it is
the man who will best distinguish himself among you that must get her.
You all know what you are to do. The old tyrant, root and branches, is
to be cut off, and his second daughter secured to me. You have been told
the password for the night, and if you find any men among you that knows
it not, put him instantly to death as a spy and a traitor. And now, my
brave fellows, every man to his post, and I, who am for this night at
least' your commander, will lead you on. Come, then, follow me, and
again I say--'Death and dark destruction to Matthew Purcel and his two
sons!'”
In a few minutes the vast multitude was in motion, all dressed in white
shirts and disguised by blackened faces. The were certainly a fierce
and formidable body, amounting, it is calculated, to not less than five
thousand men, collected, as it was well known, from the seven adjoining
counties.
The aspect of the sky, on this awful night, was long remembered by the
inhabitants of that part of the country. Over towards the west, and
away as far as the south, it seemed! to be one long mass of deep,
angry-looking fire, that seemed both frightful and portentous, and made
the spectator feel as if a general and immediate conflagration of the
heavens was about to take place: whilst stretched nearer in point of
space to the eye, were visible large bars of cloud that seemed, from
their crimson color, to be masses of actual blood. In fact, the whole
firmament was full of gloom and terror, and pregnant with such
an appalling spirit of coming storm as apparently to threaten the
destruction of the elements.
It was quite evident, from the disturbed and unsettled appearance of the
country for miles around, and from the circumstance of such an unusual
multitude being on foot in the course of the evening, that some deed of
more than ordinary importance or danger was to be done. The Purcel's,
ever on the watch, soon learned that they were to be attacked on that
very night by those who had threatened them so often, and to whom they
themselves had so frequently sent back a stern and fierce defiance.
Little had they calculated, however, that the onset would be made by men
so well armed and in such prodigious multitudes.
Such was the state of society at that period, that scarcely any one
individual could place confidence in another. The Purcels, knowing that
they were looked upon by the people in a hostile spirit, and aware of
the disguises which those secret confederacies, that are so peculiar
to our unfortunate country, often take for treacherous and vindictive
purposes, came to the resolution of putting every servant in the house,
male and female, from off the premises. This they did on discovering
Mogue Moylan's treachery with respect to the fire-arms; for, in point of
fact, they knew not on whom to depend. M'Carthy's disappearance was also
a mystery which occasioned them considerable anxiety and doubt. That
he should have abandoned them in the very moment of danger, was a
circumstance quite out of their calculation. On the other hand, it was
obvious that he had done so, and that from whatever motive his conduct
proceeded, he distinctly separated himself from them, at the very crisis
when his presence and assistance might have been of service.
In the meantime they began to make preparations for their defence.
Purcel's dwelling-house was a long, two-storied building, deeply
thatched. He himself and his eldest son carried up a large supply of
arms and ammunition to the top room, where they took their station so as
to command the large gate of the recently-built fortress wall, by which
the house and adjoining premises were surrounded. Alick, his mother and
sisters, remained below, in such a position that they could command
the gate also, without exposing themselves to danger. The mother and
daughters had been well trained to load and even to discharge fire-arms;
and now they were both competent and willing to take an important part
in defense of their own lives, as well as those who were so dear to
them.
“Well,” said John Purcel, when every necessary preparation had been
made, “I never could, have dreamt that Frank M'Carthy was either a
coward or a traitor.”
“I very much fear,” replied his brother, “that he is either the one
or the other, if not both. If he has got a hint--ha!--do you hear that
again?--they are firing still as they come along--if he has got a hint
of this attack and abandoned us, I have not words to express my contempt
for him. What a bravo lover you have got, Julia!” he exclaimed, turning
to his sister, “thus to desert you in the hour of danger.”
Julia made no immediate reply, but, after wiping away some bitter tears,
she at length said, “I will not believe it--it cannot be possible:
I know it is very strange and unaccountable, and I certainly cannot
understand it.”
“Do you imagine it possible that M'Carthy could belong to this
confederation of blood?” asked Alick; “I at least have been told so
much: however, perhaps time will tell us more about it. For my part--”
He had nearly pronounced the words, when a heavy trampling of feet,
joined to a deep murmur of suppressed voices, was heard; a horn was then
sounded, and, in about half a minute afterwards, Purcel and his sons
were called upon to surrender and admit the assailants. From the moment
the first shots were heard, on the part of the approaching enemy, the
Purcels concealed all their lights, so that, when the former reached the
outer wall, the house seemed wrapped in obscurity--as if the family were
buried in sleep.
They now assailed the gate, but soon found that there was little
likelihood of forcing an entrance without heavier implements than
those they had in their possession. On ascertaining that this was not
practicable, they began to fire at the roof of the dwelling-house, and
at those of the out-offices, with the hope that some portion of the
wadding, when lighted, might ignite them. In this, after repeated
attempts and failures, they were ultimately successful. A cow-house that
stood detached from the other buildings, and, in point of proximity,
nearest the gate, at length caught the flame, and in a few minutes began
to burn. This, to be sure, might have been of little consequence to
the insurgents, Were it not that the wind, which was gusty and blew
sometimes with a good deal of strength, now and then swept the blaze
over to the other offices, which were, consequently, soon in flames; and
it was now obvious that the dwelling-house, from its position and the
direction of the blast, could not possibly escape.
Hitherto, there was no appearance of either light or life in the
proctor's dwelling, and the insurgents were by no means satisfied with
the progress they had made. It is true, they felt confident that none of
the Purcels had escaped since they approached the house--a circumstance
which was impossible, in consequence of the cordon of the enemy that
had been drawn around the outer wall. Another surmise, however, maddened
them almost to fury. Could it be possible that the objects of their
hatred had abandoned the house in the earlier part of the night, and
thus defrauded them of their vengeance? The thought was intolerable;
but that was a point which they would now be in a capacity soon to
ascertain.
Finding that the gate, as we said, was impregnable, unless with stronger
implements, they had sent to a smith's forge in the neighborhood, from
whence they obtained two or three sledge-hammers. By the aid of these
they soon shivered the gate to pieces, and, having accomplished this,
they--
Before we proceed further, it is necessary to state, that the light of
the burning cow-house fell upon them with the strength and clearness of
a summer noon; whilst, on the other hand, the proctor's family, from the
position of the house, were in complete obscurity.
The advantage was, consequently, all on one side; the Purcels, when the
gate was demolished, saw the crowd clearly and distinctly, but the crowd
could not at all see them. Feather-beds and other defenses had been
placed at the windows, in such a manner that the firing from the house
could be delivered with almost perfect impunity to the inmates, but
with dreadful and deadly effect upon the assailants. The latter, having
accomplished the destruction of the gate, were in the act of entering,
when, all at once, such a well-directed volley was poured among them as
caused every man of the front ranks to fall dead. Four blunderbusses had
been discharged among them--three by the proctor and his two sons, and
one by his eldest daughter Mary. The fatal effect with which this fire
was delivered caused a momentary pause, and the aggressive crowd
was forced to rush back in a kind of wavy motion, that resembled the
undulations of a retreating serpent. An immediate return, however, took
place; and, in about half a minute, those in front, however reluctant,
were forced forward by the pressure from without. Again did a
well-directed fire bring down those who were thrust forward, and the
consequence was that a back action took place, which enabled those in
front to retire for the present from what they clearly saw was certain
death.
So far the proctor's family were triumphant, and would have been so,
were it not for the conflagration of the offices, which every moment
threatened their own house with destruction. There was not now one among
the crowd hardy enough to attempt an entrance by the open gate-which
entrance they knew to be only another name for death. Two circumstances,
however, were at work against the brave and intrepid proctor and his
equally brave and intrepid sons. Crowbars had been procured, and three
breaches were being made in those parts of the wall which the windows
of the house did not command, and what was still equally, if not more
dreadful to the besieged, was the fact of the dwelling-house having
taken fire, from the flames that were wafted to it by the conflagration
of the adjoining offices. The breaches having been effected, the
assailants precipitated themselves into the yard; and now commenced the
work of destruction in reality. The latter were shot down in scores;
whilst at the same time, the windows of the house from which this
destructive fire was kept up so ably, received fifty discharges to one
that had been made from them. The house was immediately surrounded, and
guards were placed at the doors and lower windows, with strict and fatal
orders to allow none of the family to escape, with the exception of
the females--one of whom was to be secured, as the reader knows, for a
particular purpose, and the rest as chance or passion might direct.
The Purcels, in the meantime, ably served and assisted by Mrs. Purcel
and her daughters, continued to deal death and destruction on the
parties outside, without being yet either fatigued or disabled. At
length the terrible light of the roof that was burning over them, and
the stifling heat which began to oppress them, startled the proctor
into a state of feeling so awful, that it obliterated from his awakened
conscience all external impressions of the dreadful havoc of human
life which was taking place about him. The feeling was deepened by a
discovery that the gate had been broken and breaches made in the walls,
as well as by the incredible multitude of armed persons about the
premises, most of whom were now distinctly visible by the glare of the
conflagration.
The life of Matthew Purcel, though unstained by any of those gross
crimes which separate man from his fellows, or draw down the punishment
of the law upon those who commit them, was, nevertheless, in a singular
degree, unfeeling, oppressive, and rapacious. Though plausible and
clever in his manner, and anxious to stand well with the world, he was,
at the same time, relentless and implacable, a tyrant within the petty
sphere of his influence, a despiser of all those principles that were
not calculated, no matter how, to elevate and enrich. He ground the
poor, and wrung, by the most oppressive extortion, out of their sweat
and labor, all and much more than they could afford to give him. With
destitution and poverty in their most touching and pitiable shapes,
he never had one moment's sympathy, nor did the widow or orphan ever
experience a single act of benevolence or mercy at his hands.
There was now a short pause in the work of destruction, but it was
evident to him and his family that some new element of action was at
work among the multitude, though of its character and object they could
form no possible conjecture. The Purcels had now a short space for
reflection, and but a short one, for they all felt, by the increasing
heat that proceeded from the burning roof, that they could not long
abide under it. Alick and the females had joined John and his father
in the top room, and the latter now saw clearly that fate, in its most
dreadful and appalling shape, was on him and his whole family, for
it was clear, as matters stood, that neither he nor his sons, at all
events, could escape the vengeance of the infuriated multitude. In this
condition, his veins swollen, and the perspiration standing in large
beads upon his forehead, he took one fearful and agonizing glance upon
his past life, and felt, now that he stood on the verge of eternity,
that the retrospect was like a glimpse of hell. The change that came
over his features was frightful beyond all belief; his face became
nearly black, and his eyes, which grew bloodshot almost in a few
minutes, had, notwithstanding, a sharp delirious expression of terror
that no language could depict.
“Great God! father,” exclaimed his son John, who first noticed, this
change in his appearance, “what is the matter with you?”
“We are lost!” he exclaimed; “oh, my past life! Great Heaven! if I had
but one act of kindness to look back upon, I could dare death. Children,
the tortures of hell are upon me! Here is death at my throat, but how
will I die? Hallo--look!” he exclaimed, “do you see it?--it is
all black--black and bloody--black and bloody--that life of mine!
Crimes--crimes--crimes against the poor--against the widow and the
orphan! Why did I do it? Eh, why did I oppress, and grind, and murder!
Ay, murder!--where's Widow Flanagan's son?--where's all the blood I
was the means of shedding?--where are the rotten corpses that are now
festering in the grave, because I was rapacious and an oppressor?
Hallo! I say, don't curse me--or rather, do curse me--damn me--damn my
soul--damn my soul--ha! what am I saying?--who brought me to this? Who?
why who but the black and damnable parsons--ay, the parsons and their
d--d heretical church! However, I'll have my revenge, for hell is lined
with them--paved with them--circled with them; and there I'll find
them in burning squads to welcome me--ha! ha! ha! Welcome, Proctor!
Tithe-Proctor! God's Perdition! what a name! what a character?
Tithe-Proctor!--that is rogue, oppressor, scourge, murderer!--and all
for what? For a dead, lazy, gross, overgrown heresy! Ay, lazy parsons
that I brought myself to this for, to perdition for! But then I was
proud too--oh, it was a great thing to creep up from poverty and cunning
to broadcloth and top-boots, to saddle horse, then a jaunting-car, to
shake hands with the great parsons, who despised me all the while and
made me their tool and scapegoat! Oh, yes, and to have my sons able
to hunt in red coats and top-boots, and my daughters to ride on
side-saddles--how do you do, gintlemen?--ladies, your most obedient!
but, where are we?--what is this? Is this the light of hell, and these
the devils with their black faces? And yet, I did intend to repent and
to be merciful to the poor; and now here comes damnation! and why? have
I not murdered you all?--where am I?--who am I? I am not Matthew Purcel,
the Tithe-Proctor, I hope--make that clear, and I'll give you--or
could it be a dream?--no, no, it is real, a real fact; and the gulf of
damnation yawns for me! Ha!--well--come, then, let us die like men;
give me the blunderbuss; now, down with the villains--down with the
villains!”
His family had been standing between the shelter of two windows, almost
transfixed into stone with horror at the blasphemous agonies under
which his frantic spirit was raging and writhing. The truth is, that
the frightful certainty of death to himself and his family, in such an
unprepared state, together with the rapid glance of his ill-spent life,
joined to his exertion and the suffocating heat of the room, had,
all combined, induced what may be well termed this insane paroxysm of
despair and guilt.
On seizing the blunderbuss, he rushed, now distinctly visible in the
light, and forgetful that the multitude were on the watch for him, over
towards one of the unprotected windows, where he was followed by his
son John, for the purpose of being dragged out of danger. He had just
discharged the blunderbuss at their leader, who was on the point of
making his way to the hall-door, when the ruffian fell stone-dead, and
almost simultaneously, he and his son John were literally perforated
with a shower of bullets.
“We must die, also,” exclaimed Alick to his mother and his sisters; “we
must die,--but let us die firmly. Any death, however, is better than one
of fire; here we cannot stay longer. Stoop now, so that we may pass that
part of the wall that is beneath the windows, until we reach the lower
floor; if we expose ourselves only for a moment, we must share their
fate. Great God! what a fate and what a night!”
By following his advice, they reached the lower floor in safety, and had
scarcely done so, when the burning roof crashed in upon the bodies of
the proctor and his son, of whose remains nothing but a few cinders were
found the next morning. The falling in of the roof was accompanied by a
considerable explosion, owing to the powder which they had left behind
them, and the noise of which caused the crowd that was now hemming in
the house to pause for a moment, but only for a moment; for they knew
now by the explosion, that the ammunition of their enemies was gone,
and that “the old fox and his cubs,” as they called them, were probably
incapable of further resistance; a reflection which, as it stood not in
the way of their cowardice, seemed to increase their fury.
“Revenge now, boys,” shouted a hundred voices; “they have shot our
leader along with the rest. Come on then, sledge in the doors an'
windies, an' if we lave a single inch of the villains together, may
we be hanged like dogs! Come on, then, they are helpless now; their
ammunition's gone, an' they can do us no harm. Blood for blood as far as
they go; it's into inches we must hew them--into inches--come on, then!”
A furious assault instantly commenced at the doors and windows. It was,
indeed, a frightful thing to see these men, with their white shirts and
black visages, fiercely at work; panting and inflamed with ungovernable
rage and vengeance, the red turbid blaze of the burning building
lighting them into the similitude of incarnate devils, let loose upon
some hellish mission of destruction and blood. Their own fury, however,
impeded their progress, for as they passed onwards to the door, urged by
the worst passions of man, it was found that their violence, thus broken
and diminished by the struggle, had prevented them from making anything
like a rapid progress in breaking in the powerfully-fortified door.
There was consequently another slight pause, during which a circumstance
occurred that added a terrible sublimity to the scene.
We have said, that the sky looked angry and portentous, and such was the
fact. During the pauses that now occurred, the distant darkness of the
surrounding country was momentarily dispelled by a stronger and more
terrific fire than that which now shot up its red and waving pyramids
from the burning houses before them. All at once the black sky opened,
and from the chasm of angry clouds a sheet of red lightning flashed,
lighting up the darkness of the country around them in a fearful manner;
but above all things, and what gave a super-added horror to the scene,
was the influence which that light, that seemed to proceed from the
vengeance of God, had upon that which proceeded from the vengeance of
man. The sheeted volume swept down, and for an instant poured over
the blazing roofs, the tottering walls, the bleeding corpses and the
black-visaged men who stood in multitudes about the place, panting with
the mad intoxication of crime; it poured upon them, we say, a light
so strong, penetrating, and intense, that its fearful distinctness was
enough to paralyze the heart, and awe those who were present from the
prosecution of their vengeance. It was, in fact, as if the Almighty
Himself had sent down His avenging angel from the heavens, to pour His
light upon them, in order to bear testimony against the dreadful work
of blood in which they were engaged. Nor was this all. Ere the pause was
broken, a burst of thunder, so deep, so loud, and so terrible, in such
an hour, pealed from a point of the sky on their right, taking its
course in the direction of the proctor's house, where, in one terrific
explosion, it seemed to burst exactly over their heads. Some were awed,
but we all know that companionship fortifies the heart in the
commission of crime, and in a few minutes the Almighty, His fires of
vengeance,--and His midnight thunders, were all alike forgotten.
The assault on the door was now renewed with, if possible, more
ferocious violence; and it became evident to the unfortunate and now
helpless inmates, that they must soon fall into the hands of those from
whom they could expect no mercy. We say they were in a helpless state;
and this was occasioned by the explosion, which left them without
ammunition, even if they had had their firearms. Such, however, was
their hurry in escaping from the falling roof, joined to the shock and
stupor caused by the death of John and his father, that they thought
not for a moment of anything but mere self-preservation. Owing to
these causes they brought no weapons of defence with them; and now,
in consequence of the fallen roof and explosion, their fire-arms were
beyond their reach, and useless. They stood now ghastly--their features
rigid like those of the dead--calm and without a tremor--but with a
melancholy fortitude that was as noble as it was rare and unprecedented.
At length Mrs. Purcel spoke:--“Alick,” said she, “you must save
yourself: we may receive some mercy at the hands of these men, but you
will not; hide yourself somewhere, and, when they come in, we will say
that you perished with your father and brother.”
“No, my dear mother,” replied her son, “while I have life I will not
separate from' you and these dear girls.”
“This is madness,” observed Julia; “what can you expect? Have we not
witnessed bloodshed enough to-night already?--or are you determined that
we shall be compelled to witness your murder before our faces? Oh, dear
Alick, be advised by my mother; by secreting yourself, you may escape;
but if you are found here, you will be instantly shot.”
“Dear Alick,” said Mary, “by the love you bear us, and by the blood
of those whom these murdering ruffians have sacrificed, we implore and
entreat you to conceal yourself; and, if that fails--then, by the love
of God, do as we desire!”
She had scarcely uttered the last words, when a single Whiteboy, with
blackened face, made his appearance at the end of the kitchen stairs,
and approached them, waving his hands with a mingled expression of
distraction and entreaty.
“Dear John,” he exclaimed, “be patient; and Julia, be calm, and hear me.
I am,” he added, in a low and guarded whisper, “Frank M'Carthy: as you
hope for mercy from God and life from man, listen! The door will be
broken in in a few minutes; but if you are guided by me, you may yet
be safe. Blacken your face forthwith, Alick; and here is a shirt marked
with blood too--a circumstance that will give you more security--which I
have brought you.”
“Frank M'Carthy,” exclaimed Julia, “and a Whiteboy! Oh, yes, be advised
by him, Alick; as for me, I care not how soon death comes--I have little
to live for now!”
“If there was time, dear Julia, for explanation, I could soon satisfy
you; but, alas! I fear to ask for your father and John.”
“They are both murdered, sir,” she replied; “they have fallen victims to
men who are in the habit of wearing white shirts and black faces--with,
I fear, blacker hearts.”
“Great God!” he exclaimed, “is this so? but time now is life: I must bear
your suspicions, Julia, until a fitter occasion. You, Alick, as you will
not and wish not to leave your mother and sisters unprotected, follow
me--follow me, or, as I hope for God's mercy, you are lost, and your
sisters--I dread to think of it.”
“It is enough,” said Alick, struck now with absolute impatience: “I
consent, Frank--what do you wish?”
He brought him at once to the kitchen, where he took soot from the
chimney, which he moistened with water, and, in a couple of minutes,
blackened his face and put the bloody shirt over his dress. The change
was so completely and quickly effected, that the females for a moment
took it for granted that they were strangers who had forced an entrance
by some other way.
“Now,” said M'Carthy, placing a loaded pistol in Alick's hand, “the
pass-word for the night is '_the Cannie Soogah_'--you won't forget
that?--but, above all things, don't think of using your pistol,
whatever may happen, until you hear me shout, '_the Cannie Soogah to the
rescue!_' and even then, wait until you see and speak to him--the brave,
the noble, the glorious fellow!”
“Good God! and is he here?” asked Alick.
“He's here--he's everywhere,” replied the other: “he's here, at all
events, before now, I hope: the manner in which I shall call upon his
name is this--first, I shout 'the Cannie Soogah!' the very mention of
which will be followed by a general cheer; then, when he appears, I
shall call out, 'the Cannie Soogah to the rescue!' After this you must
be guided by me, as I must be by the Cannie Soogah and circumstances.
Come, now, it is safer to open the door and admit these ruffians.”
“And remember,” added Alick, turning with a look of agony to the
females, “that the men have all been shot, and are lying in the upper
room!”
The ruse of M'Carthy succeeded. The Whiteboys, on being admitted, took
it for granted that those who opened the door belonged to themselves and
had got in by some other entrance. The house was hastily searched;
and the fact of the Purcels having been killed in the upper room, was
corroborated by the limbs of John and his father being visible among the
burning pile. The state of the house now rendered a hasty retreat out of
it necessary. A sudden trembling of the walls and upper joists was felt,
the crowd rushed out, and the next moment the whole building was one
fallen mass of smoking ruins.
The females now found themselves prisoners; but still their brother and
M'Carthy kept near them, and seemed to act as a portion of those to whom
their guardianship! had been entrusted. Julia found herself committed,
as if by general consent, to the care of one individual, who kept her
a little in advance of the accompanying crowd--to! whom, from time to
time, he waved his hand without looking behind him to intimate that
they should not press close upon them, but afford him an opportunity of
holding what he wished to be considered some confidential conversation
with her.
“That I may be blest, Miss Julia, but you're a lucky girl this
night--an' I think I may say that I'm a lucky boy myself. I'm to take
care of you, and to bring you to a safe place; which I'll do, never
fear. You know what I told you afore about my family--how we wor ever
an' always doin' our best against the Sassanach Laws--an ould family
it is--an' sure ould blood is betther than riches any day--an' it isn't
complexion aither, Miss Julia, that a--this way, darlin'--this way--an'
how long now is it since you fell in consate with me? Well, darlin' that
I may die a happy death in a good ould age, if I can blame you for not
spakin'--especially afther havin' lost your father and two brothers this
night. Howandiver, we can have a lob of their wealth, anyhow, yourself
and myself--this way, darlin', there's a party of friends waitin' for
us--wisha' thin, but I'm lookin' forrid to a happy life wid you--but
sure you might say a single word to me, darlin'--jist to let me know you
hear me.”
Whether Julia heard this one-sided dialogue or not, it is difficult
to say. She seemed passive and inattentive, and walked on with an
abstracted and mechanical motion. Her brother and lover could only get
near her occasionally, having found it necessary to watch her mother and
sister also. They could perceive, however, not only that the crowd which
followed Mogue appeared to be a good deal in his confidence, and under
his sway, but that it increased so rapidly as he went along, that they
became alarmed, especially as the Cannie Soogah had not yet made his
appearance.
At this moment they were met by a body of men, who on looking at Mogue
and Julia, exclaimed, “You are bringing her the wrong way--you are
breakin' your ordhers--you know that our captain laid it out, that
you should bring her in the other direction, and to where the guard is
waitin' for her.”
“Ay,” replied Mogue, “but you know our captain had been shot, and is
lyin' stiff inside the gate there behind us.”
“But livin' or dead,” they replied, “do you observe your duty--it's a
bad an' dangerous example you're settin'.”
“But sure if the captain was alive,” said Mogue, “it 'ud be a different
thing--that I may be happy, but I'm bringin' her the right way, and
to the right place, too--amn't I, boys?” he exclaimed, turning to his
followers.
“All's right!” they replied; “to be sure you are--go on, and more
powers!”
About a minute or two before this, a mounted Whitefoot had rode up, and
having heard the words, he replied to Mogue, in a loud voice, “No, sir!
our captain is not shot, but is safe and sound.” And scarcely had the
words proceeded from his lips when the very individual, as it seemed,
who had led them during the night, galloped up to the place of
altercation.
“Who says I am dead,” said he; “I don't look like a dead man, I think.
Meek way there till I speak to this man,” pointing to Mogue. “Why, sir,
did you dare to disobey ordhers by taking this lady to the wrong place?
Answer me that?”
Mogue, seeing that his support was now powerful, looked at them, and
asked aloud--“Am I bringin' the lady the wrong way, boys?”
“No,” they replied; “Go on, and more power!”
At this moment M'Carthy shouted out in loud and powerful tones--“The
Cannie Soogah!” and the words were no sooner uttered than Mogue started,
a rapid stir and murmur pervaded, the multitude, and almost instantly
a most hearty and vociferous cheer awakened the echoes that slept among
the neighboring hills. The moment this had subsided, the same
voice repeated the name with an addition--“The Cannie Soogah to the
rescue--here he is!”
Our facetious friend, for it was he, threw up his hand in a peculiar
manner, that made the act understood by all present, with the exception
of M'Carthy and Alick Purcel.
“Yes, boys,” he exclaimed, “I am here; and I thank you for your
kindness. You have had a full revenge to-night on Purcel and his family;
but, as I have been a long time in search of a good wife, I suppose you
have no objection that I should take charge of the ladies.”
These words were followed by another astounding cheer, and the Cannie,
riding over to the spot where Mrs. Purcel and her daughter stood--for
she and Mary had now joined Julia--was about to speak to them, when the
report of a pistol was heard, and at the same moment a bullet whizzed
past his ear.
“Treachery!” he shouted, “treachery against your commander! Seize upon
that person, in the name of Captain Right.”
His words came late; another report followed the first, with an interval
of less than a quarter of a minute between them, and instantly our pious
friend, who had flattered himself with the prospect of a long and happy
life in the possession of Julia Purcel, fell stone-dead to the earth.
“What!” shouted the Cannie, “is this more treachery? But wait, I'll soon
cure this.”
He put a horn to his lips as he spoke, and having given it a sharp,
quick, and hasty blast, he nodded his head, as much as to say, “Wait a
moment.”
“The last shot wasn't threachery anyhow,” exclaimed Jerry Joyce,
whose voice Alick immediately recognized; “somebody,” he added, with a
significant look, “has ped honest Mogue for his.”
“Is he dead?” asked the Cannie.
“He is dead, captain,” replied several, “and so may every one die that's
a traitor to the Cannie Soogah--our bold Captain Right.'”
A body of about a thousand men now made their appearance, every one of
them personally devoted to the Cannie Soogah; and brought there for the
humane purpose, if possible, of saving Purcel and his sons that night.
“It was a false alarm, my friends,” said he, as they came up; “there was
only one traitor among them, and he has been brought to his account. I
didn't wish for his death, and he might have got some other punishment,
but it can't be helped now; I'm only sorry for the false-hearted
vagabond because he wasn't fit to die.”
He then, after a few words of advice, dismissed them to their respective
homes, with the exception of a certain number of faithful followers,
whom he retained for the purpose of assisting him to escort Mrs. Purcel
and her daughters to the house of our worthy magistrate. Another body he
also appointed to the task of carrying the dead and wounded away to some
remote place, where they could be interred, or so concealed that their
indentification might not involve their surviving relatives.
[Illustration: Destruction of the Castle]
Our narrative, we may say, is closed. The Cannie now having placed Mrs.
Purcel and her daughters on horseback, directed his friends to proceed
to the residence of the redoubtable Fitzy O'Driscol, who was by no means
prepared for seeing such a number of Whiteboys about his house. Alick
Purcel and M'Carthy also got horses, and as they went along, M'Carthy
received from him a solution to the mysterious occurrences in which he
had been involved.
“Mr. Purcel's family,” said he, but not in hearing of the females, “is
the last family that I ought to protect this night. They have shot my
twin brother, the man that went by the name of Buck English. He is now
gone to his reckonin' and may God forgive him! He was tried and found
guilty of murdher in the county of Cork, and the worst of it was that
it was in the act of robbin' a gentleman's house that the murdher was
committed. While he was in gaol I contrived to get into him, and we
managed so well that he escaped, and I was kept in his place. The next
day I tould them the truth, and he was taken again; but it seems that
the gintleman that prosecuted, on hearin' that there was another person
so like him, felt unaisy in his mind and got him off for the murdher,
in dread he might have sworn against the wrong man. He couldn't keep
himself quiet though, for, on the very day before his pardon came, he
was caught, along wid some others, in the act of breakin' out of
the gaol, and for that he got a severe wound and seven years'
transportation. All our lives, I and my other brother--”
“Why, have you another brother, Cannie?” asked M'Carthy.
“Troth, and I have; and you may thank God that I have, or it isn't here
but in heaven, I hope, you'd be this night. Well, as I was sayin', I
an' my other brother spent our whole life in tryin' to defate him in his
plans and skames--may God forgive him! We often did, but not always; for
sometimes he was too many for both of us.”
“But, Cannie, about the night I was in Frank Finnerty's, who was it that
saved my life twice?”
“One of them--he that wounded the fellows--I don't wish to name--but,
indeed I'm crippled here, bekaise you know, gintlemen, that there
are laws in the land. A friend to your family met Mogue Moylan, and,
suspectin' what was in the wind, sent that friend to assist you, and it
was by volunteerin' to take your life that he was able to save you. My
brother, afther meetin' him, and hearin' from him what happened was the
man that met you aftherwards, that gave you the passwords, and showed
you how to open the windey. There were others there that knew you, for I
hope you don't think that every man goin' out at night wid a white shirt
and a black face on him is a murdherer.”
“God forbid!” said M'Carthy, “I've been disguised by both myself, as it
happens. It is difficult, however, for any country to be happy, or any
people either industrious or moral, when such secret confederacies are
made the standard of both law and morality.”
“That's thruth, Mr. M'Carthy, and no man knows it betther than I do;
I and my brother--not him that's gone to his account to night, but the
other--were forced to join them for our own safety, but, as long as we
wor of them, we endeavored to do as much good--that is, to prevent as
much evil--as we could. It was I that sent you, Mr. M'Carthy, the letter
to Dublin, and it was I that sent the messenger for you this evenin'; I
took it for granted that if you had remained in Mr. Purcel's you'd been
shot, and, besides, I wanted you to watch Mogue Moylan, for I had raison
to know that he intended to play a trick on me to night in regard to
Miss Julia. I had my doubts all along whether I could come in time to
save the whole family and defate my brother, and I could not, for I had
an immense number of my own men to get together; however, God's will be
done; I did all that lay in my power.”
On reaching Nassau Lodge, the party anticipated some danger from Fergus
O'Driscol's fire-arms. Alick, however, knocked, and on hearing the
window open, exclaimed:--
“Don't be alarmed, Fergus, we are friends. My mother and sisters are
here, and wish to get in. This has been a dreadful night!--a night of
bloodshed and murder!”
“My God!” exclaimed Fergus, “what is this you tell me? But why, Alick,
are you surrounded by such a number of Whiteboys. I can see distinctly
that they are such by the light of the moon.”
“Boys,” said the Cannie Soogah, “disperse now--and thank you; I feel
your kindness, and I won't forget it--you see the people of the house
are alarmed--but that's not the worst of it--what,” he added, with a
peculiar smile, “if you bring that terrible dare-divil, O'Driscol, upon
you!”
The crowd immediately dispersed, and in a few minutes the melancholy
group were admitted to the welcome shelter of the magistrate's
hospitable roof; for such, in fact, it was.
We do not intend to dwell upon this melancholy meeting of the
neighboring families, nor upon the heart-rending details which were
given of the dreadful circumstances that made that night so hideous. All
the O'Driscols were present, and deeply participated in the affliction
of the late proctor's family with the exception of the magistrate
himself, who, much to their astonishment, was not forthcoming. Every
successive moment, however, he was looked for; but as he did not, after
an unusual period of expectation, make his appearance, some alarm began
to be felt, which gradually increased, especially on the part of his
daughter, until she proposed that a search should be made for him. This
was accordingly done, when--but let it not reach the ears of his friend
the Castle, he was discovered somewhat in the position of Philosopher
Square, behind Molly Seagrim's curtain, squatted upon his hunkers, as
they say, in the furthest and darkest corner of the coal hole.
In about half an hour after this discovery, a knock came to the door,
and it was intimated to Alick Purcel and M'Carthy, that the Cannie
Soogah wished to see them for a minute or two,--but that he declined
coming in.
“Gentlemen,” said he, when they came to the hall-door, “I have made
up my mind since I left you awhile ago, and I'm come to bid you both
farewell. This at present is not a paceful country to live in, and I'm
tired of the work that's goin' on in it. I'm now come to bid you both
farewell, and my brother is goin' along wid me. The other will be laid
in his grave this night. I wish, Mr. Purcel, I could a' done more for
your family; but what's done can't be undone. Farewell, then,” said
he, and, as he spoke, his voice was filled with deep but manly
emotion--“Farewell to you both! When you think of me, let it be kindly,
for from this night out you will never see the Cannie Soogah more.”
He put his two hands upon his face, gave a sob or two, and immediately
departed at a rapid pace, and never was seen in the country afterwards.
It is necessary to say now that Alick Purcel and his beloved Miss
O'Driscol were united;--that M'Carthy, in due time, after having been
called to the bar, was made happy in the possession of Julia Purcel; and
that Jerry Joyce, in imitation of his betters, was blessed by the hand
and honest heart of Letty Lenehan.