THE SAME, CONTINUED.
During the first two months, Eugene had comparatively but little to fear
from the bigotry of his protector at Greenditch; but he was not indebted
for this limited peace to the generosity of Mr. Shaw Gulvert. Indeed,
that ignorant and cruel man dared not to execute his designs regarding
the little confessor of the cross, while his two hired men, named
Devlin, were in his house to enlighten his ignorance and reprimand his
audacity. These two young men, brothers, were hired for a year by
Gulvert, under the impression that they were native born; but after the
contract between them was signed, and especially when Friday came on,
Mr. Gulvert found he was _gulled_, and ran off to the parson, one
Waistcoat, to see what was to be done. The young men told him not to be
alarmed if he thought their presence would endanger his peace of mind,
or that any dangerous consequences were to be apprehended from two such
formidable soldiers of the Pope as they were; that he could easily get
rid of them by paying them their year's wages, and they would go
elsewhere to work; but that, while in his house, they insisted on
perfect religious and mental independence. "And in future," said they,
"we expect to see cooked and on the table, on Fridays and fast days,
such food as we can partake of without scruple of conscience, or
violating the rules of the Catholic religion, of which we are unworthy
members."
"This is strange," said Gulvert; "why did you not tell me ye belonged to
Rome, and were Irish?"
"Why did we not tell you? Because you did not ask us. And besides, boss,
you hired us to work, and not to worship or believe according to your
notion."
"I have never before kept a Papist to work for me," said he, drawing a
heavy sigh.
"Well, boss, you can't know much about them, then. Perhaps you will be
agreeably disappointed, and find that, if we do not join your very long
prayers, we will _work_ as well as the most red-hot Presbyterian."
"I am much in doubt about that," said the boss.
"Why so, boss? Can we not handle the plough, use the scythe, or the
cradle as well as if we were of your school of heresy?"
"I allow; but the good book says that 'men don't gather grapes of
thorns, or figs of thistles;' so I am afraid my crops would not prosper,
if religious men were not employed in my fields."
"O, you need not be alarmed, boss. God makes his sun to shine on the
good and the bad; and though we Papists appear very wicked in your pious
Presbyterian eyes, or in those of your amiable Methodist lady here, we
will guaranty your crops will be as good as those of your neighbors,
otherwise we will ask no pay. Ain't this fair?"
"Yes; but the good book, you know. The Bible says so plainly," answered
the wife, "that men gather not grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles."
"Bless you, madam," said the elder Devlin, "you are mistaken in the
meaning of that text, which has a figurative sense, and has no reference
to corn, pumpkins, rye, or any other crop that your farm produces."
She shook her head in dissent to this speech, and in a most sanctified
tone said, "Our minister, Dr. Waistcoat, always applied that text to the
Papists when advising us against employing Romanist hired help."
"That only proved him a booby, madam," said Devlin. "That text partly
alludes to the Presbyterian sect, and partly to the Methodist, to which
you belong."
"I would like to see how you can show that," said she, affecting great
learning in such interpretations.
"As clear as mud, madam," resumed Devlin. "The Presbyterian religion is
the 'thorn' tree on which no 'grapes' grow; for that sect reject the
Holy Eucharist, containing the blood of Christ, of which the grape is a
figure. It is full of thorns, for it persecutes and stings the head of
the Savior in his representative the pope; and it produces no 'grape,'
no sacrament, no good works, no refreshing food or drink. Again: the
'thistle,' that produces no figs, is the Methodist religion; because,
though it has plenty of stings and prickles to wound the hand that
touches it, the very ass that goes the road can bite off its head. Or,
in other words, though ye Methodists are malicious enough, all your
malice is harmless to the church, and a very fool can refute or crop
the most formidable of your arguments."
This queer _private interpretation_ disconcerted the _learned_ boss and
his better half, and during the remainder of the service of the Devlins
they did not hear much more about the religious interpretations of these
professors of two contradictory sectarian creeds. The Devlins showed,
not only to the boss and his wife, that they knew more about the Bible
than themselves, but the minister, Mr. Waistcoat, was soon convinced, by
conversation with them, that they were not to be duped. The consequence
was, that the persecution to which Eugene was subjected was arrested for
a time; and it was not till after the Devlins were paid off that this
innocent child was again subjected to a series of punishments and brutal
treatment without parallel in the records of modern persecution.
Every Friday that the young confessor refused, after the example of holy
Eleazer, "to eat flesh, or go over to the life of the heathens," (2 Mac.
vi. 24.) he was compelled to go without food till the Sunday following.
He was flogged with a "black snake," till the blood flowed in rills,
every time he refused going to meeting. He was compelled to stand out
under rain and storm, scorching sun and chilling frost, during the time
the family spent in prayer. Yes, tied with a thong to the pump by his
little soft, white hands, the juvenile martyr had to bear the merciless
violence of the elements, or consent to share in the blasphemous prayers
of his persecutors! And, O God! worse than all, they robbed him of his
rosary, and of the little bunch of shamrocks which were the only legacy
of his dying mother to him, and which his sister Bridget and he took so
much pains to keep alive in a small glass vase brought from Ireland. The
"_Agnus Dei_" and "_Gospel_" which it is usual with Irish Catholic
children to wear around the neck, were also forcibly stripped off his
person and put into the stove.
All his much-prized memorials were now gone--his beads, or rosary, with
the crucifix attached, to remind him of his Redeemer; his little vase of
shamrocks, to remind him of Ireland and St. Patrick; and his "Gospel of
St. John," and "Agnus Dei," to recall to his mind his dignity and
obligations as a believer in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and his
confidence in the Lamb of God who took away his sins. These constituted
all the riches and treasure of Eugene, and of these he was plundered and
stripped ere he was confined in the old deserted house that stood a few
rods away from the dwelling house, and where soon all the persecutions
he suffered were terminated.
One evening in October, the team of Mr. Gulvert broke loose from the
post to which they were tied while he was at meeting, and, taking
fright, rushed along at full speed on a narrow by-road by the river that
ran through the village, till, coming in contact with the root of a tree
that protruded from the road, the horses and wagon were precipitated
over a fall of some twenty feet into the channel of the river beneath.
As the night was dark, and the road the animals took in their furious
course was not known, it was not till next morning that the fate of the
team was discovered, though not only Gulvert himself, but his hired
help, including his servant girl and wife even, were out all night on
the search for them.
If the most unexpected calamity had visited these _enlightened_
Christians--if two of their children, instead of two of their horses,
had met with a sudden death,--their grief could not be more heartrending
or despairing than on this occasion. The whole family was in an uproar.
There were wringing of hands, lamentable cries, and bewailings the most
bitter, of the death of the best team in the town of Greenditch. The
very children, down to the youngest of six years old, joined their tears
to those of their parents and the adult members of the family. Not a
wink was slept, not a morsel of victuals cooked, nor even a fire kindled
in Mr. Culvert's house that night, and it was more than a week before
the pious Mrs. Gulvert could be consoled or prevailed on to show herself
down stairs. She was either really sick, or affected sickness, so that
it was doubted whether or not she could survive the loss of her "darling
team." O, what a loss was there! "The team would fetch two hundred
dollars between two brothers, and it was only last month the new wagon
cost seventy or eighty dollars; and all now gone."
"What a misfortune that I went out to hear that preacher at all on the
Sabbath!" said Gulvert. "Had I remained at home, or walked down to
meeting, I would be three hundred dollars richer to-day than I am now."
"Pa, where were the two Paddies, Pete and Bill, that they did not mind
the team while you were in meeting?" said young Harry.
"Hang the cusses, Harry! They wanted to hear the preacher, too,"
answered the father.
"If I were you, pa," said little Libby, "I would keep the price of the
hosses out of Pete and Bill's wages, the ugly fellows, that did not mind
and keep the team from running away."
"That would be but sarving 'em right, Lib," said her mother, heaving a
sigh.
"Yes, wife," said Gulvert, "that I would gladly do; but you know they
are in my debt. I will be glad enough if they wait to work out the money
that I have advanced them."
"You didn't _advance_ them money, did you, Gulvert?" said his wife.
"Yes, I did that," said he, "by the advice of that old fool Parson
Waistcoat, who expected, as he succeeded in converting Pete and Bill
Kurney, that he would also convert the rest of their friends, if they
were out here from Popish Ireland."
"O Gulvert," said his better half, sobbing again anew, "you will kill
me! I cannot live with you, that is the amount of it! How dare you, sir,
lend money, or dispose, of my means, without first having consulted me!
I lay my death at your door!" she added, in a sharp, angry tone.
"Dear wife, don't blame me----"
"Away, old man!" she interrupted, "away, and leave me here to despair! I
fear I will never again leave this bed; and if I find myself able, I
shall never after spend a day in your house, but go back to my native
state, and take out a bill of divorce against a man who knows nothing
but to spend and squander the means of his family."
"O ma," said Libby, "do go away from father, the ugly fool, and I will
go with you, won't I?"
"He ain't nothing else, sis," said she, "but a poor ugly fool, a
shiftless, good-for-nothing old man. O, me! O, me! I could easily have
known that this would be the case, from the dreams I had for two
nights."
"I had a dream too, ma," said sis, who, though only going in her eighth
year, was perfectly well versed in all the arcana of the science of
interpretation. "I dreamed I saw you crying, ma," continued Lib, "and
that there was blood on the stairs, and all way up garret, and that
Shaw, my father, had spilt the blood all round."
"That's just it, sis," said her mother; "the blood signifies the death
of our 'darling team;' my crying is on account of them; and Shaw, the
fool, your father, was the cause of all this trouble, and that is why he
appeared to you to spill the blood. My dream was not so clear as yours,
but I could have guessed that something was going to be the matter."
Poor Gulvert was in great pain, in consequence, among other things, of
the oft-repeated threat of his wife to separate from him; and, to give
vent to his sorrowful reflections, he went up garret as quietly as he
could, and folding himself up in several heavy "comforters," or padded
quilts, he forgot his grief by falling into a sound sleep. Meantime Pete
and Bill Kurney, the two Irish converts of Parson Waistcoat, seeing
things in confusion, thought that now was the time for them to free
themselves forever from the hypocrisy, as well as bad board, of Mr.
Culvert; and, to add to the grief of Mrs. Gulvert, next morning they
were not to be had. These knowing fellows, hearing of Gulvert's
character, put themselves in his way, and being questioned as to the
nature of their doctrines, and finding them suitable to his taste, he
hired them, and brought them home to work on his farm. They not only
became "converts" during the first week in his house, but went to
meeting regularly, where they were complimented on their highmindedness
and independence in shaking off Popery, and got frequent chances to tell
their experience. Besides their hypocrisy, these were thorough
scoundrels; for they not only robbed their employer of the two hundred
dollars which he had advanced them to bring out their parents from the
old country, but in addition to this, and to the severity of the
punishments which their apostasy occasioned Eugene, these consummate
miscreants seduced the two sisters of Mr. Gulvert, one of them an old
maid, whom they imposed upon by their lying representations and profane
discourses. Here was a little more of the natural fruit of Mr. Gulvert's
great zeal for his sect. His two hired men were gone, without having
served one eighth of the two years they had agreed to work for the money
advanced to them; both his sisters, _pious things_, yielding to
temptation, were in a fair road to disgrace; and, to cap the climax of
the unfortunate man's guilt and remorse, Eugene O'Clery, neglected in
his prison in the old house, on the morning of All Saints' day, first of
November, was found dead on its damp floor! Yes, this spotless,
innocent, and almost infant but heroic confessor of Christ, after a
course of worse than pagan persecution continued for more than two
years, in the midst of legions of blessed spirits passed out of this
world, to add to the joy and glory of heaven by his heroic virtues. O ye
mock philanthropists, ye lovers, on the lip, of freedom of conscience,
where was your voice, where your sympathy, where your indignation, where
your meetings, speeches, and resolutions, when this Catholic child, this
destitute orphan, this noble son of Catholic Ireland, this spotless
confessor and glorious martyr of Christ, was being sacrificed, like his
divine Master, to the demon of cruel sectarianism? O, the blood of this
innocent Abel, of this infant martyr, shed by the cruel Herod of
Presbyterianism, will cry to Heaven for vengeance on your heads, and
bring a curse on your hypocrisy and dissimulation.
The news of Eugene's death, communicated by the servant maid, created a
sudden fear, but very little sympathy, in the brutal family of Mr.
Gulvert. Overwhelmed by the loss of their "darling team," and confounded
by the loss of the money which the mock converts succeeded in cheating
them of, they had neither tears nor sympathy to spare for such a trifle
as the death of a "little Papist child."
The servant girl, however, who was a Scotch lassie, called Jane McHardy,
cried bitterly over the death of the "poor orphan laddie," and, in
company with two neighboring workmen, or cotters, who _passed_ for
Protestant Irishmen, watched around the corpse all night, and on the
day of its interment in the pagan cemetery, situated in a barren corner
of Gulvert's farm, they lingered for a considerable time around the
spot, to the scandal of the religious people who assembled to take a
look at the "face of the dead," and who began to suspect that those two
pretended Protestants were Catholics in disguise. Their suspicions were
well founded, as their subsequent conduct proved; for the two cotters,
on the Sunday following Eugene's death, went to the meeting house for
the last time, where they, in giving their experience, boldly professed
themselves Catholics, asked pardon of the people for having deceived and
imposed on the public, inveighing, at the same time, against the system
of persecution and underhand proselytism that prevailed, and which
produced the death of Eugene O'Clery.
"Your ministers think they have great merit," said the Irish cotters,
whose names were Lee and Twohy, "when they succeed in causing a lax
Catholic to trample on every precept of his religion and to perjure
himself; but as God is just, and as those who counsel to evil partake of
its guilt, and will have to suffer its punishment, so will all the sins
that your minister's cruel advice led us to commit be laid to his charge
before the just tribunal of Christ."
After this speech, the two Irish Catholic cotters retired from the
meeting, and ever since these two men have proved, by their repentance,
zeal, humility, and perseverance, that, though they fell from the
external practice of their faith, they did so influenced by the evil
advice and misrepresentations of persons who took advantage of their
inexperience and poverty to lead them astray. They were gradually,
however, becoming reconciled to the hard life of hypocrisy and sin which
they were induced to enter on, and might have forever continued in the
reprobate path on which, in an evil hour, they walked, had not the cruel
martyrdom of the holy orphan child aroused them from their slumbers.
Thus, as of old, does the "blood of martyrs become the seed of new
Christians;" and thus is Erin, even in America, still true to her
Heaven-appointed destiny--which is, that of being a missionary and a
martyr in the new world as well as in the old.