the bed on which Mike lay; but on hearing the groan, and the call for
drink, he leaped rapidly to: his legs and exclaimed, “My sowl to hell
an' the divil, Owen Reillaghan, but your son's alive!! Off wid two or
three of yez, as the divil can dhrive yez, for the priest an' docthor!!
Off wid yez! ye damned spalpeens, aren't ye near there by this! Give
us my cant! Are yez gone? Oh, by this and by that--hell--eh--aren't
yez--” But ere he could finish the sentence, they had set chit.
“Now,” he exclaimed in a voice whose tremendous tones were strongly
at variance with his own injunctions--“Now, neighbors, d--n yez, keep
silence. Mrs. Reillaghan, get a bottle of whiskey an' a mug o' wather.
Make haste. Hanim an diouol! don't be all night!”
The poor mother, however, could not stir; the unexpected revulsion of
feeling which she had so suddenly experienced was more than she could
sustain. A long fainting-fit! was the consequence, and Darby's commands
were obeyed by the wife of a friendly neighbor.
The mendicant immediately wetted Mike's lips, and poured some spirits,
copiously diluted with water, down his throat; after which he held the
whiskey-bottle, like a connoisseur, between himself and the light. “I
hope,” said he, “this whiskey is the raal crathur.” He put the bottle to
his mouth as he spoke, and on holding it a second time before his eye,
he shook his head complacently--“Ay,” said he, “if anything could bring
the dead back to this world, my sowl to glory, but that would. Oh, thin,
it would give the dead life, sure enough!” He put it once more to
his lips, from which it was not separated without relinquishing a
considerable portion of its contents.
“Dhea Grashthias!” he exclaimed; “throth, I find myself, the betther o'
that sup, in regard that it's good for this touch 'o' configuration that
I'm throubled wid inwardly! Doxis Doxis Glorioxis? Amin!” These words he
spoke in a low, placid voice, lest the wounded man might be discomposed
by his observations.
The rapidity with which the account of Mike's restoration to life spread
among the neighbors was surprising. Those who had gone for the priest
and doctor communicated to all they met, and these again to others:
that in a short time the house was surrounded by great numbers of their
acquaintances, all anxious to hear the particulars more minutely.
Darby, who never omitted an opportunity of impressing the people with a
belief in his own sanctity, and in that of his crucifix came out among
them, and answered their inquiries by a solemn shake of his head, and
a mysterious indication of his finger to the crucifix, but said nothing
more. This was enough. The murmur of reverence and wonder spread among
them, and ere long there were few present who did not believe that
Reillaghan had been restored to life by a touch of Darby's crucifix; an
opinion which is not wholly exploded until this day.
Peggy Gartland, who fortunately had not heard the report of her lover's
death until it was contradicted by the account of his revival, now
entered, and by her pale countenance betrayed strong symptoms of
affection and sympathy. She sat by his side, gazing mournfully on his
features, and with difficulty suppressed her tears.
For some time before her arrival, the mother and sisters of Mike had
been removed to another room, lest the tumultuous expression of their
mingled joy and sorrow might disturb him. The fair, artless girl,
although satisfied that he still lived, entertained no hopes of his
recovery; but she ventured, in a low, trembling voice, to inquire from
Darby some particulars of the melancholy transaction which was likely to
deprive her of her betrothed husband.
“Where did the shot sthrike him, Darby?”
“Clane through the body, avillish; jist where Captain Cramer was shot
at the battle o' Bunker's Hill, where he lay as good as dead for twelve
hours, and was near bein' berried a corp, an' him alive all the time,
only that as they were pullin' him off o' the cart, he gev a shout, an'
thin, a colleen dhas, they began to think he might be livin' still. Sure
enough, he was, too, an' lived successfully, till he died wid dhrinkin'
brandy, as a cure for the gout; the Lord be praised!”
“Where's the villain, Darby?”
“He's in the mountains, no doubt, where he had thim to fight wid that's
a match for him--God, an' the dark storm that fell awhile agone. They'll
pay him, never fear, for his thrachery to the noble boy that chastised
him for your sake, acushla oge! (* my young pulse) sthrong was your
hand, a Veehal, an' ginerous was your affectionate heart; an' well you
loved the fair girl that's sitting beside you! Throth, Peggy, my heart's
black with sarrow about the darlin' young man. Still, life's in him; an'
while there's life there's hope; glory be to God!”
The eulogium of the pilgrim, who was, in truth, much attached to Mike,
moved the heart of the affectionate girl, whose love and sympathy were
pure as the dew on the grass-blade, and now as easily affected by the
slightest touch. She remained silent for a time, but secretly glided
her hand towards that of her lover, which she clasped in hers, and by a
gentle and timid pressure, strove to intimate to him that she was beside
him. Long, but unavailing, was the struggle to repress her sorrow; her
bosom heaved; she gave two or three loud sobs, and burst into tears and
lamentations.
“Don't cry, avourneen,” whispered Darby--“Don't cry; I'll warrant you
that Darby More will ate share of your weddin' dinner an' his, yit.
There's a small taste of color comin' to his face, which, I think,
undher God, is owin' to my touchin' him wid the cruciwhix. Don't cry, a
colleen, he'll get over it an' more than it, yit, a colleen bawn!”
Darby then hurried her into the room where Mike's mother and sisters
were. On entering she threw herself into the arms of the former, laid
her face on her bosom, and wept bitterly. This renewed the mother's
grief: she clasped the interesting girl in a sorrowful embrace; so did
his sisters. They threw themselves into each other's arms, and poured
forth those touching, but wild bursts of pathetic language, which are
always heard when the heart is struck by some desolating calamity.
“Husht!” said a neighboring man who was present; “husht! it's a shame
for yez, an' the boy not dead yit.”
“I'm not ashamed,” said Peggy: “why should I be ashamed of bein' sarry
for the likes of Mike Reillaghan? Where was his aquil? Wasn't all hearts
upon him? Didn't the very poor on the road bless him whin he passed?
Who ever had a bad word agin him, but the villain that murdhered him?
Murdhered him! Heaven above! an' why? For my sake! For my sake the pride
of the parish is laid low! Ashamed! Is it for cryin' for my betrothed
husband, that was sworn to me, an' I to him, before the eye of God
above us? This day week I was to be his bride; an' now--now--Oh, Vread
Reillaghan, take me to you! Let me go to his mother! My heart's broke,
Vread Reillaghan! Let me go to her: nobody's grief for him is like ours.
You're his mother, an' I'm his wife in the sight o' God. Proud was I out
of him: my eyes brightened when they seen him, an' my heart got light
when I heard his voice; an' now, what's afore me?--what's afore me but
sorrowful days an' a broken heart!”
Mrs. Reillaghan placed her tenderly and affectionately beside her, on
the bed whereon she herself sat. With the corner of her handkerchief she
wiped the tears from the weeping girl, although her own flowed fast.
Her daughters, also, gathered about her, and in language of the most
endearing kind, endeavored to soothe and console her.
“He may live yet, Peggy, avourheen,” said his mother; “my brave and
noble son may live yet, an' you may be both,happy! Don't be cryin' so
much, _asthore galh machree_ (* The beloved white (girl) of my heart);
sure he's in the hands o' God avourneen; an' your young heart won't
be broke, I hope. Och, the Lord pity her young feelins!” exclaimed
the mother affected even by the consolation she herself offered to the
betrothed bride of her son: “is it any whundher she'd sink undher sich a
blow! for, sure enough, where was the likes of him? No, asthore; it's no
wondher--it's no wondher! lonesome will your heart be widout him; for I
know what he'd feel if a hair of your head was injured.”
“Oh, I know it--I know it! There was music in his voice, an' grah and.
kindness to every crathur on God's earth; but to me--to me--oh, no
one knew his love to me, but myself an' God. Oh, if I was dead, that
I couldn't feel this, or if my life could save his! Why didn't the
villain,--the black villain, wid God's curse upon him--why didn't he
shoot me, thin I could never be Mike's wife, an' his hand o' murdher
might be satisfied? If he had, I wouldn't feel as I do. Ay! the warmest,
an' the best, an' the dearest blood of my heart, I could shed for
him. That heart was his, an' he had a right to it. Our love wasn't of
yistherday: afore the links of my hair came to my showldhers I loved
him, an' thought of him; an many a time he tould me that I was his
first! God knows he was my first, an' he will be my last, let him live
or die.”
“Well, but, Peggy achora,” said his sister, “maybe it's sinful to be
cryin' this way, an' he not dead.”
“God forgive me, if it's a sin,” replied Peggy; “I'd not wish to do
anything sinful or displasin' to God; an' I'll sthrive to keep down my
grief: I will, as well as I can.”
She put her hands on her face, and by all effort of firmness, subdued
the tone of her grief to a low, continuous murmur of sorrow.
“An' along wid that,” said the sister, “maybe the noise is disturbin'
him. Darby put us all out o' the kitchen to have pace an' quietness
about him.”
“An' 'twas well thought o' Darby,” she replied; “an' may the blessin' o'
God rest upon him for it! A male's mate or a nights lodgin' he'll never
want under my father's roof for that goodness to him. I'll be quiet.”
There was now a short pause, during which those in the room heard a
smack, accompanied by the words, “Dheah. Grashthias! throth I'm
the betther o' that sup, so I am. Nothin' keeps this thief of a
configuration down but it. Dheah Grashthias for that! Oh, thin, this is
the stuff! It warms the body to the top o' the nails!”
“Don't spare it, Darby,” said old Reillaghan, “if it does you good.”
“Avourneen,” said Darby, “it's only what gives me a little relief I ever
take, jist by way of cure, for it's the only thing does me good, when I
am this-a-way.”
Several persons in the neighborhood were, in the mean time, flocking to
Reillaghan's house. A worthy man, accompanied by his wife, entered as
the pilgrim had concluded. The woman, in accordance with the custom of
the country, raised the Irish cry, in a loud melancholy wail, that might
be heard at a great distance.
Darby, who prided himself on maintaining silence, could not preserve the
consistency of his character upon this occasion, any more than on that
of Mike's recent symptoms of life.
“Your sowl to the divil, you faggot!” he exclaimed, “what do you mane?
The divil whip the tongue out o' you! are you going to come here only
to disturb the boy that's not dead yet? Get out o' this, an' be asy wid
your skhreechin', or by the crass that died for us, only you're a woman,
I'd tumble you wid a lick o' my cant. Keep asy, you vagrant, an' the
dacent boy not dead yet. Hell bellows you, what do you mane?”
“Not dead!” exclaimed the woman, with her body bent in the proper
attitude, her hands extended, and the crying face turned with amazement
to Darby. “Not dead! Wurrah, man alive, isn't he murdhered?”
“Hell resave the matther for that!” replied Darby. “I tell you he's
livin' an' will live I hope, barrin' your skirlin' dhrives the life
that's in him out of him. Go into the room there to the women, an'
make yourself scarce out o' this, or by the padareens about me, I'll
malivogue you.”
“We can't be angry wid the dacent woman,” observed old Reillaghan, “in
regard that she came to show her friendship and respect.”
“I'd be angry wid St. Pettier,” said Darby, “an' 'ud not scruple to give
him a lick o' my c---- Lord presarve us! what was I goin' o say! Why,
throth, I believe the little wits I had are all gone a shaughran! I
must fast a Friday or two for the same words agin St. Pether. Oxis Doxis
Glorioxis--Amin.”
Hope is strong in love and in life. Peggy, now that grief had eased her
heart of its load of accumulated sorrow, began to reflect upon Darby's
anecdote of Captain Cramer, which she related to those about her. They
all rejoiced to hear that it was possible to be wounded so severely and
live. They also consoled and supported each other, and expressed their
trust that Mike might also recover. The opinion of the doctor was waited
for with such anxiety as a felon feels when the foreman of the jury
hands down the verdict which consigns him to life or death.
Whether Darby's prescription was the result of chance or sagacity we
know not. We are bound, however, to declare that Reillaghan's strength
was in some degree restored, although the pain he suffered amounted to
torture. The surgeon (who was also a physician, and, moreover, supplied
his own medicines) and the priest, as they lived in the same town, both
arrived together. The latter administered the rites of his church to
him; and the former, who was a skilful man, left nothing undone to
accomplish his restoration to health. He had been shot through the body
with a bullet--a circumstance which was not known until the arrival of
the surgeon. This gentlemen expressed much astonishment at his surviving
the wound, but said that circumstances of a similar nature had occurred,
particularly on the field of battle, although he admitted that they were
few.
Darby, however, who resolved to have something like a decided opinion
from him, without at all considering whether such a thing was possible,
pressed him strongly upon the point.
“Arrah, blur-an-age, Docthor Swither, say one thing or other. Is he to
live or die? Plain talk, Docthor, is all we want, an' no _feasthalagh_
(* nonsense).”
“The bullet, I am inclined to think,” replied the Doctor, “must either
not have touched a vital part, or touched it only slightly. I have known
cases similar, it is true; but it is impossible for me to pronounce a
decisive opinion upon him just now.”
“The divil resave the _yarrib_* ever I'll gather for you agin, so long
as my name's Darby More, except you say either 'life' or 'death,'” said
Darby, who forgot his character of sanctity altogether.
* Herb-Men of Darby's cast were often in the habit of
collecting rare medicinal plants for the apothecaries;
and not bad botanists some of them were.
“Darby, achora,” said Mrs. Reillaghan, “don't crass the gintleman, an'
him sthrivin' to do his best. Here, Paddy Gormly, bring some wather till
the docthor washes his hands.”
“Darby,” replied the Doctor, to whom he was well known, “you are a good
herbalist, but even although you should not serve me as usual in that
capacity, yet I cannot say exactly either life or death. The case is too
critical a one; but I do not despair, Darby, if that will satisfy you.”
“More power to you, Docthor, achora. Hell-an-age, where's that bottle?
bring it here. Thank you, Vread. Docthor, here's wishin' you
all happiness, an' may you set Mike on his legs wanst more! See,
Docthor--see, man alive--look at this purty girl here, wid her wet
cheeks; give her some hope, ahagur, if you can; keep the crathur's
spirits up, an' I'll furnish you wid every yarrib in Europe, from the
nettle to the rose.”
“Don't despair, my good girl,” said the Doctor, addressing Peggy. “I
hope, I trust, that he may recover; but he must be kept easy and quiet.”
“May the blessing of God, sir, light down on you for the same words,”
replied Peggy, in a voice tremulous, with gratitude and joy.
“Are you done wid him, Docthor?” said old Reillaghan.
“At present,” replied the Doctor, “I can do nothing more for him; but I
shall see him early to-morrow morning.”
“Bekase, sir,” continued the worthy man, “here's Darby More, who's
afflicted with a comflamboration, or some sich thing, inwardly, an' if
you should ase him, sir, I'd pay the damages, whatever they might be.”
The Doctor smiled slightly. “Darby's complaint,” said he, “is beyond
my practice; there is but one cure for it, and that is, if I have
any skill, a little of what's in the bottle here, taken, as our
prescriptions sometimes say, 'when the patient is inclined for it.'”
“By my sou--sanctity, Docthor,” said Darby, “you're a man of skill, any
how, an' that's well known, sir. Nothin', as Father Hoolaghan says, but
the sup of whiskey does this sarra of a configuration good. It rises the
wind off o' my stomach, Docthor!”
“It does, Darby, it does. Now let all be peace and quietness,” continued
the Doctor: “take away a great part of this fire, and don't attempt
to remove him to any other bed until I desire you. I shall call again
tomorrow morning early.”
The Doctor's attention to his patient was unremitting; everything that
human skill, joined to long experience and natural talent, could do to
restore the young man to his family was done; and in the course of a
few weeks the friends of Keillaghan had the satisfaction of seeing him
completely out of danger.
Mike declared, after his recovery, that though incapable of motion on
the mountains, he was not altogether insensible to what passed around
him. The loud tones of their conversation he could hear. The oath which
young M'Kenna uttered in a voice so wild and exalted, fell clearly on
his ear, and he endeavored to contradict it, in order that he might be
secured and punished in the event of his death. He also said; that the
pain he suffered in the act of being conveyed home, occasioned him to
groan feebly; but that the sobs, and cries, and loud conversation of
those who surrounded him, prevented his moans from being heard. It is
probable, after all, that were it not for the accidental fall of Owen
upon his body, he might not have survived the wound, inasmuch as the
medical skill, which contributed to restore him, would not have been
called in.
Though old Frank M'Kenna and his family felt an oppressive load of
misery taken off their hearts by the prospect of Reillaghan's recovery,
yet it was impossible for them to be insensible to the fate of their
son, knowing as they did, that he must have been out among the mountains
during the storm. His unhappy mother and Rody sat up the whole night,
expecting his return, but morning arrived without bringing him home.
For six days afterwards the search for him was general and strict; his
friends and neighbors traversed the mountain wastes until they left
scarcely an acre of them unexplored. On the sixth day there came a thaw,
and towards the close of the seventh he was found a “stiffened corpse,”
_upon the very spot where he had shot his rival_, and on which he had
challenged the Almighty to stretch him in death, without priest or
prayer, if he were guilty of the crime with which he had been charged.
He was found lying with a, circle drawn round him, his head pillowed
upon the innocent blood which he had shed with the intention of murder,
and a bloody cross marked upon his breast and forehead. It was thought
that in the dread of approaching death he had formed it with his hand,
which came accidentally in contact with the blood that lay in clots
about him.
[Illustration: PAGE 886-- Upon the very spot where he had shot his
rival]
The manner of his death excited a profound and wholesome feeling among
the people, with respect to the crime which he attempted to commit. The
circumstances attending it, and his oath upon the spot where he shot
Reillaghan, are still spoken of by the fathers of the neighboring
villages, and even by some who were present at the search for his body,
it was also doubly remarkable on account of a case of spectral illusion
which it produced, and which was ascribed to the effect of M'Kenna's
supernatural appearance at the time. The daughter of a herdsman in the
mountains was strongly affected by the spectacle of his dead body borne
past her father's door. In about a fortnight afterwards she assured
her family that he appeared to her. She saw the apparition, in the
beginning, only at night; but ere long it ventured, as she imagined,
to appear in day-light. Many imaginary conversations took place between
them; and the fact of the peasantry flocking to the herd's house to
satisfy themselves as to the truth of the rumor, is yet well remembered
in the parish. It, was also affirmed, that as the funeral of M'Kenna
passed to the churchyard, a hare crossed it, which some one present
struck on the side with a stone. The hare, says the tradition, was not
injured, but the sound of the stroke resembled that produced on striking
an empty barrel.
We have nearly wound up our story, in which we have feebly endeavored to
illustrate scenes that were, some time ago, not unusual in Irish life.
There is little more to be added, except that Mike Reillaghan almost
miraculously recovered; that he and Peggy Gartland were happily married,
and that Darby More lost his character as a dreamer in that parish,
Mike, with whom, however, he still continued a favorite, used frequently
to allude to the speaking crucifix, the dream aforesaid, and his bit
of fiction, in assuring his mother that he had dissuaded him against
“tracing” on that eventful day.
“Well, avourneen,” Darby would exclaim, “the holiest of us has our
failins; but, in throth, the truth of it is, that myself didn't know
what I was sayin', I was so _through other_ (* agitated); for I renumber
that I was badly afflicted with this thief of a configuration inwardly
at the time. That, you see, and your own throubles, put my mind
ashanghran for 'a start. But, upon my sanctity,--an' sure that's a
great oath wid me--only for the Holy Carol you bought from me the night
before, an' above all touchin' you wid the blessed Cruciwhix, you'd
never a' got over the same accident. Oh, you may smile an' shake your
head, but it's thruth whether or not! Glory be to God!”
The priest of the parish, on ascertaining correctly the incidents
mentioned in this sketch, determined to deprive the people of at least
one pretext for their follies. He represented the abuses connected with
such a ceremony to the bishop; and from that night to the present
time, the inhabitants of Kilnaheery never had, in their own parish, an
opportunity of hearing a Midnight Mass.
THE DONAGH; OR, THE HORSE STEALERS.
Carnmore, one of those small villages that are to be found in the
outskirts of many parishes in Ireland, whose distinct boundaries are
lost in the contiguous mountain-wastes, was situated at the foot of a
deep gorge or pass, overhung by two bleak hills, from the naked sides of
which the storm swept over it, without discomposing the peaceful little
nook of cabins that stood below. About a furlong farther down were
two or three farm-houses, inhabited by a family named Cassidy, men
of simple, inoffensive manners, and considerable wealth. They were,
however, acute and wise in their generation; intelligent cattle-dealers,
on whom it would have been a matter of some difficulty to impose an
unsound horse, or a cow older than was intimated by her horn-rings, even
when conscientiously dressed up for sale by the ingenious aid of the
file or burning-iron. Between their houses and the hamlet rose a conical
pile of rocks, loosely leaped together, from which the place took its
name of Carnmore.