manin'. When my mother died, didn't my father, the heavens be his bed!
see a black coach about a week before it? an' sure from the first day
she tuck ill, the dead-watch was heard in the house every night: and
what was more nor that, she kept warm until she went into her grave; *
an' accordingly, didn't my sisther Shibby die within a year afther?”
* It is supposed in Ireland, when a corpse retains, for
a longer space of time than usual, any thing like
animal heat, that some person belonging to the family
of the deceased will die within a year.
“It's no matther about thim things,” replied Anthony; “it's thruth about
the dead-watch, my mother keepin' warm, an' Shibby's death, any way, But
on the night we tuck Cassidy's horse, I thought you were goin' to betray
us: I was surely in a murdherin' passion, an' would have done harm, only
things turned out as they did.”
“Why,” said Denis, “the truth is, I was afeard some of us would be shot,
an' that the lot would fall on myself; for the coffin, thinks I, was
sent as a warnin'. How-and-ever, I spied about Cassidy's stable, till
I seen that the coast was clear; so whin I heard the low cry of the
patrich that Anthony and I agreed on, I joined yez.”
“Well, about to-morrow,” observed Kenny--“ha, ha, ha!--there'll be lots
o' swearin'--Why the whole parish is to switch the primer; many a
thumb and coat-cuff will be kissed in spite of priest or magistrate. I
remimber once, when I was swearin' an alibi for long Paddy Murray, that
suffered for the M'Gees, I kissed my thumb, I thought, so smoothly, that
no one would notice it; but I had a keen one to dale with, so says he,
'You know for the matther o' that, my good fellow, that you have your
thumb to kiss every day in the week,' says he, 'but you might salute the
book out o' dacency and good manners; not,' says he, 'that you an' it
are strangers aither; for, if I don't mistake, you're an ould hand at
swearin' alibis.'
“At all evints, I had to smack the book itself, and it's I, and Barney
Green, and Tim Casserly, that did swear stiffly for Paddy, but the thing
was too clear agin him. So he suffered, poor fellow, an' died right
game, for he said over his dhrop--ha, ha, ha!--that he was as innocent
o' the murder as a child unborn: an' so he was in one sinse, bein'
afther gettin' absolution.”
“As to thumb-kissin',” observed the elder Meehan; “let there be none
of it among us to-morrow; if we're caught at it 'twould be as bad
as stayin' away altogether; for my part, I'll give it a smack like a
pistol-shot--ha, ha, ha!”
“I hope they won't bring the priest's book,” said Denis. “I haven't the
laste objection agin payin' my respects to the magistrate's paper, but
somehow I don't like tastin' the priest's in a falsity.”
“Don't you know,” said the Big Mower, “that with a magistrate's present,
it's ever an' always only the Tistament by law that's used. I myself
wouldn't kiss the mass-book in a falsity.”
“There's none of us sayin' we'd do it in a lie,” said the elder Meehan;
“an' it's well for thousands that the law doesn't use the priest's book;
though, after all, aren't there books that say religion's all a sham? I
think myself it is; for if what they talk about justice an' Providence
is thrue, would Tom Dillon be transported for the robbery we committed
at Bantry? Tom, it's true, was an ould offender; but he was innocent of
that, any way. The world's all chance; boys, as Sargint Eustace used to
say, and whin we die there's no more about us; so that I don't see why
a man mightn't as well switch the priest's book as any other, only that,
somehow, a body can't shake the terror of it off o' them.”
“I dunna, Anthony, but you and I ought to curse that sargint; only for
him we mightn't be as we are, sore in our conscience, an' afeard of
every fut we hear passin',” observed Denis.
“Spake for your own cowardly heart, man alive,” replied Anthony; “for my
part, I'm afeared o' nothin'. Put round the glass, and don't be nursin'
it there all night. Sure we're not so bad as the rot among the sheep,
nor the black leg among the bullocks, nor the staggers among the horses,
any how; an' yet they'd hang us up only for bein' fond of a bit o'
mate--ha, ha, ha!”
“Thrue enough,” said the Big Mower, philosophizing--“God made the
beef and the mutton, and the grass to feed it; but it was man made
the ditches: now we're only bringin' things back to the right way that
Providence made them in, when ould times were in it, manin' before
ditches war invinted--ha, ha, ha!”
“'Tis a good argument,” observed Kenny, “only that judge and jury
would be a little delicate in actin' up to it; an' the more's the pity.
Howsomever, as Providence made the mutton, sure it's not harm for us to
take what he sends.”
“Ay; but,” said Denis,
“'God made man, an' man made money;
God made bees, and bees made honey;
God made Satan, an' Satan made sin;
An' God made a hell to put Satan in.'
Let nobody say there's not a hell; isn't there it plain from Scripthur?”
“I wish you had the Scripthur tied about your neck!” replied Anthony.
“How fond of it one o' the greatest thieves that ever missed the rope
is! Why the fellow could plan a roguery with any man that ever danced
the hangman's hornpipe, and yet he be's repatin' bits an' scraps of ould
prayers, an' charms, an' stuff. Ay, indeed! Sure he has a varse out o'
the Bible, that he thinks can prevent a man from bein' hung up any day!”
While Denny, the Big Mower, and the two Meehans were thus engaged
in giving expression to their peculiar opinions, the Pedlar held a
conversation of a different kind with Anne.
With the secrets of the family in his keeping, he commenced a rather
penitent review of his own life, and expressed his intention of
abandoning so dangerous a mode of accumulating wealth. He said that
he thanked heaven he had already laid up sufficient for the wants of a
reasonable man; that he understood farming and the management of sheep
particularly well: that it was his intention to remove to a different
part of the kingdom, and take a farm; and that nothing prevented him
from having done this before, but the want of a helpmate to take care of
his establishment: he added, that his present wife was of an intolerable
temper, and a greater villain by fifty degrees than himself. He
concluded by saying, that his conscience twitched him night and day for
living with her, and that by abandoning her immediately, becoming truly
religious, and taking Anne in her place, he hoped, he said, to atone in
some measure for his former errors.
Anthony, however, having noticed the earnestness which marked the
Pedlar's manner, suspected him of attempting to corrupt the principles
of his daughter, having forgotten the influence which his own opinions
were calculated to produce upon her heart.
“Martin,” said he, “'twould be as well you ped attention to what we're
sayin' in regard o' the thrial to-morrow, as to be palaverin' talk into
the girl's ear that can't be good comin' from _your_ lips. Quit it, I
say, quit it! _Corp an duoiwol_ (* My body to Satan)!--I won't allow
such proceedins!”
“Swear till you blister your lips, Anthony,” replied Martin: “as for
me, bein' no residenthur, I'm not bound to it; an' what's more, I'm not
suspected. 'Tis settin' some other bit o' work for yez I'll be, while
you're all clearin' yourselves from stealin' honest Cassidy's horse. I
wish we had him safely disposed of in the mane time, an' the money for
him an' the other beasts in our pockets.”
Much more conversation of a similar kind passed between them upon
various topics connected with their profligacy and crimes. At length
they separated for the night, after having concerted their plan of
action for the ensuing scrutiny.
The next morning, before the hour appointed arrived, the parish,
particularly the neighborhood of Carnmore, was struck with deep
consternation. Labor became suspended, mirth disappeared, and every face
was marked with paleness, anxiety, and apprehension. If two men met, one
shook his head mysteriously, and inquired from the other, “Did you hear
the news?”
“Ay! ay! the Lord be about us all, I did! an' I pray God that it may
lave the counthry as it came to it!”
“Oh, an' that it may, I humbly make supplication this day!”
If two women met, it was with similar mystery and fear. “Vread, (*
Margaret) do you know what's at the Cassidys'?”
“Whisht, ahagur, I do; but let what will happen, sure it's best for us
to say nothin'.”
“Say! the blessed Virgin forbid! I'd cut my hand off o' me, afore I'd
spake a word about it; only that--”
“Whisht! woman--for mercy's sake--don't----”
And so they would separate, each crossing herself devoutly.
The meeting at Cassidy's was to take place that day at twelve o'clock;
but, about two hours before the appointed time, Anne, who had been in
some of the other houses, came into her father's, quite pale, breathless
and trembling.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, with clasped hands, whilst the tears fell fast
from her eyes, “we'll be lost, ruined; did yez hear what's in the
neighborhood wid the Cassidys?”
“Girl,” said the father, with more severity than he had ever manifested
to her before, “I never yet riz my hand to you, but _ma corp an duowol_,
if you open your lips, I'll fell you where you stand. Do you want that
cowardly uncle o' yours to be the manes o' hanging your father? Maybe
that was one o' the lessons Martin gave you last night?” And as he spoke
he knit his brows at her with that murderous scowl which was habitual
to him. The girl trembled, and began to think that since her father's
temper deepened in domestic outrage and violence as his crimes
multiplied, the sooner she left the family the better. Every day,
indeed, diminished that species of instinctive affection which she had
entertained towards him; and this, in proportion as her reason ripened
into a capacity for comprehending the dark materials of which his
character was composed. Whether he himself began to consider detection
at hand, or not, we cannot say; but it is certain, that his conduct
was marked with a callous recklessness of spirit, which increased in
atrocity to such a degree, that even his daughter could,only not look on
him with disgust.
“What's the matter now?” inquired Denis, with alarm: “is it anything
about us, Anthony?”
“No, 'tisn't,” replied the other, “anything about us! What 'ud it be
about us for? 'Tis a lyin' report that some cunnin' knave spread, hopin'
to find out the guilty. But hear me, Denis, once for all; we're goin' to
clear ourselves--now listen--an' let my words sink deep into you
heart: if you refuse to swear this day--no matther what's put into your
hand--you'll do harm--that's all: have courage, man; but should you cow,
your coorse will be short; an' mark, even if you escape me, your sons
won't: I have it all planned: an' _corp an duowol!_ thim you won't know
from Adam will revenge me, if I am taken up through your unmanliness.”
“'Twould be betther for us to lave the counthry,” said Anne; “we might
slip away as it is.”
“Ay,” said the father, “an' be taken by the neck afore we'd get two
miles from the place! no, no, girl; it's the safest way to brazen thim
out. Did you hear me, Denis?”
Denis started, for he had been evidently pondering on the mysterious
words of Anne, to which his brother's anxiety to conceal them gave
additional mystery. The coffin, too, recurred to him; and he feared that
the death shadowed out by it would in some manner or other occur in the
family. He was, in fact, one of those miserable villains with but half
a conscience;--that is to say, as much as makes them the slaves of the
fear which results from crime, without being the slightest impediment to
their committing it. It was no wonder he started at the deep pervading
tones of his brother's voice, for the question was put with ferocious
energy.
On starting, he looked with vague terror on his brother, fearing, but
not comprehending, his question.
“What is it, Anthony?” he inquired. “Oh, for that matther,” replied
the other, “nothin' at all: think of what I said to you any how; swear
through thick an' thin, if you have a regard for your own health, or
for your childher. Maybe I had betther repate it again for you?” he
continued, eyeing him with mingled fear and suspicion. “Dennis, as a
friend, I bid you mind yourself this day, an' see you don't bring aither
of us into throuble.”
There lay before the Cassidys' houses a small flat of common, trodden
into rings by the young horses they were in the habit of training. On
this level space were assembled those who came, either to clear their
own character from suspicion, or to witness the ceremony. The day was
dark and lowering, and heavy clouds rolled slowly across the peaks of
the surrounding mountains; scarcely a breath of air could be felt; and,
as the country people silently approached, such was the closeness of the
day, their haste to arrive in time, and their general anxiety, either
for themselves or their friends, that almost every man, on reaching the
spot, might be seen taking up the skirts of his “cothamore,” or “big
coat,” (the peasant's handkerchief), to wipe the sweat from his brow;
and as he took off his dingy woollen hat, or caubeen, the perspiration
rose in strong exhalations from his head.
“Michael, am I in time?” might be heard from such persons, as they
arrived: “did this business begin yit?”
“Full time, Larry; myself's here an hour ago but no appearance of
anything as yit. Father Farrell and Squire Nicholson are both in
Cassidys' waitin' till they're all gother, whin they'll begin to put
thim through their facins. You hard about what they've got?”
“No; for I'm only on my way home from the berril of a _cleaveen_ of
mine, that we put down this mornin' in the Tullyard. What is it?”
“Why man alive, it's through the whole parish _inready_;”--he then went
on, lowering his voice to a whisper, and speaking in a tone bordering on
dismay.
The other crossed himself, and betrayed symptoms of awe and
astonishment, not un-mingled with fear.
“Well,” he replied, “I dunna whether I'd come here, if I'd known that;
for, innocent or guilty, I would'nt wish to be near it. Och, may God
pity thim that's to come acrass it, I espishily if they dare to do it in
a lie!”
“They needn't, I can tell yez both,” observed a third person, “be a hair
afeard of it, for the best rason livin', that there's no thruth at all
in the report, nor the Cassidys never thought of sindin' for anything o'
the kind: I have it from Larry Cassidy's own lips, an' he ought to know
best.” The truth is, that two reports were current among the crowd: one
that the oath was to be simply on the Bible; and the other, that a more
awful means of expurgation was resorted to by the Cassidys. The people,
consequently, not knowing which to credit, felt that most painful of all
sensations--uncertainty.
During the period which intervened between their assembling and the
commencement of the ceremony, a spectator, interested in contemplating
the workings of human nature in circumstances of deep interest, would
have had ample scope for observation. The occasion was to them a solemn
one. There was little conversation among them; for when a man is
wound up to a pitch of great interest, he is seldom disposed to relish
discourse. Every brow was anxious, every cheek blanched, and every,
arm folded: they scarcely stirred, or when they did, only with slow
abstracted movements, rather mechanical than voluntary. If an individual
made his appearance about Cassidy's door, a sluggish stir among them was
visible, and a low murmur of a peculiar character might be heard; but
on perceiving that it was only some ordinary person, all subsided again
into a brooding stillness that was equally singular and impressive.
Under this peculiar feeling was the multitude, when Meehan and his
brother were seen approaching it from their own house. The elder, with
folded arms, and hat pulled over his brows, stalked grimly forward,
having that remarkable scowl upon his face, which had contributed to
establish for him so diabolical a character. Denis walked by his side,
with his countenance strained to inflation;--a miserable parody of that
sullen effrontery which marked the unshrinking miscreant beside him.
He had not heard of the ordeal, owing to the caution of Anthony: but,
notwithstanding his effort at indifference, a keen eye might have
observed the latent anxiety of a man who was habitually villanous, and
naturally timid.
When this pair entered the crowd, a few secret glances, too rapid to be
noticed by the people, passed between them and their accomplices. Denis,
on seeing them present, took fresh courage, and looked with the heroism
of a blusterer upon those who stood about him, especially whenever he
found himself under the scrutinizing eye of his brother. Such was the
horror and detestation in which they were held, that on advancing into
the assembly, the persons on each side turned away, and openly avoided
them: eyes full of fierce hatred were bent on them vindictively, and
“curses, not loud, but deep,” were muttered with indignation which
nothing but a divided state of feeling could repress within due limits.
Every glance, however, was paid back by Anthony with interest, from eyes
and black shaggy brows tremendously ferocious; and his curses, as they
rolled up half smothered from his huge chest, were deeper and more
diabolical by far than their own. He even jeered at them; but, however
disgusting his frown, there was something truly apalling in the dark
gleam of his scoff, which threw them at an immeasurable distance behind
him, in the power of displaying on the countenance the worst of human
passions.
At length Mr. Nicholson, Father Farrell, and his curate, attended by the
Cassidys and their friends, issued from the house: two or three servants
preceded them, bearing a table and chairs for the magistrate and
priests, who, however, stood during the ceremony. When they entered one
of the rings before alluded to, the table and chairs were placed in the
centre of it, and Father Farrell, as possessing most influence over the
people, addressed them very impressively.
“There are,” said he, in conclusion, “persons in this crowd whom we
know to be guilty; but we will have an opportunity of now witnessing the
lengths to which crime, long indulged in, can carry them. To such people
I would say beware! for they know not the situation in which they are
placed.”
During all this time there was not the slightest allusion made to the
mysterious ordeal which had excited so much awe and apprehension among
them--a circumstance which occasioned many a pale, downcast face to
clear up, and resume its usual cheerful expression. The crowd now were
assembled round the ring, and every man on whom an imputation had been
fastened came forward, when called upon, to the table at which the
priests and magistrate stood uncovered. The form of the oath was framed
by the two clergymen, who, as they knew the reservations and evasions
commonest among such characters, had ingeniously contrived not to leave
a single loophole through which the consciences of those who belonged to
this worthy fraternity might escape.
To those acquainted with Irish courts of justice there was nothing
particularly remarkable in the swearing. Indeed, one who stood among the
crowd might hear from those who were stationed at the greatest distance
from the table, such questions as the following:--
“Is the thing in it, Art?”
“No; 'tis nothin' but the law Bible, the magistrate's own one.”
To this the querist would reply, with a satisfied nod of the head,
“Oh is that all? I heard they war to have it;” on which he would push
himself through the crowd until he reached the table, where he took his
oath as readily as another.
“Jem Hartigan,” said the magistrate to one of those persons, “are you to
swear?”
“Faix, myself doesn't know, your honor; only that I hard them say that
the Cassidys mintioned our names along wid many other honest people; an'
one wouldn't, in that case, lie under a false report, your honor,
from any one, when we're as clear as them that never saw the light of
anything of the kind.”
The magistrate then put the book into his hand, and Jem, in return,
fixed his eye, with much apparent innocence, on his face: “Now, Jem
Hartigan,” etc, etc., and the oath was accordingly administered. Jem put
the book to his mouth, with his thumb raised to an acute angle on the
back of it; nor was the smack by any means a silent one which he gave it
(his thumb).
The magistrate set his ear with the air of a man who had experience in
discriminating such sounds. “Hartigan,” said he, “you'll condescend to
kiss the book, sir, if you please: there's a hollowness in that smack,
my good fellow, that can't escape me.”
“Not kiss it, your honor? why, by this staff in my hand, if ever a man
kissed”--
“Silence! you impostor,” said the curate; “I watched you closely, and am
confident your lips never touched the book.”
“My lips never touched the book!--Why, you know I'd be sarry to
conthradict either o' yez; but I was jist goin' to obsarve, wid
simmission, that my own lips ought to know best; an' don't you hear them
tellin' you that they did kiss it?” and he grinned with confidence in
their faces.
“You double-dealing reprobate!” said the parish priest, “I'll lay my
whip across your jaws. I saw you, too, an' you did not kiss the book.”
“By dad, an' maybe I did not, sure enough,” he replied: “any man may
make a mistake unknownst to himself; but I'd give my oath, an' be the
five crasses, I kissed it as sure as--however, a good thing's never
the worse o' bein' twice done, gintlemen; so here goes, jist to satisfy
yez;” and, placing the book near, his mouth, and altering his position
a little, he appeared to comply, though, on the contrary, he touched
neither it nor his thumb. “It's the same thing to me,” he continued,
laying down the book with an air of confident assurance; “it's the same
thing to me if I kissed it fifty times over, which I'm ready to do if
that doesn't satisfy yez.”
As every man acquitted himself of the charges brought against him,
the curate immediately took down his name. Indeed, before the
clearing commenced, he requested that such as were to swear would stand
together within the ring, that, after having sworn, he might hand each
of them a certificate of the fact, which they appeared to think might be
serviceable to them, should they happen to be subsequently indicted for
the same crime in a court of justice. This, however, was only a plan to
keep them together for what was soon to take place.
The detections of thumb kissing were received by those who had already
sworn, and by several in the outward crowd, with much mirth. It is but
justice, however, to the majority of those assembled to state, that they
appeared to entertain a serious opinion of the nature of the ceremony,
and no small degree of abhorrence against those who seemed to trifle
with the solemnity of an oath.
Standing on the edge of the circle, in the innermost row, were Meehan
and his brother. The former eyed, with all the hardness of a stoic, the
successive individuals as they passed up to the table. His accomplices
had gone forward, and to the surprise of many who strongly suspected
them in the most indifferent manner “cleared” themselves in the trying
words of the oath, of all knowledge of, and participation in, the thefts
that had taken place.
The grim visage of the elder Meehan was marked by a dark smile, scarcely
perceptible; but his brother, whose nerves were not so firm, appeared
somewhat confused and distracted by the imperturbable villany of the
perjurers.