Very soon after daybreak the Colonel was up and at the bedside of his
young friend.
“Sorry to wake you, Fred,” said he, gently; “but I have just got an
urgent despatch, requiring me to set out at once for Dublin, and I did
n't like to go without asking how you get on.”
“Oh, much better, sir. I can move the foot a little, and I feel assured
it 's only a severe sprain.” #
“That's all right. Take your own time, and don't attempt to move about
too early. You are in capital quarters here, and will be well looked
after. There is only one difficulty, and I don't exactly see how to deal
with it. Our host is a reduced gentleman, brought down to keep an inn
for support, but what benefit he can derive from it is not so very
clear; for when I asked the man who fetched me hot water this morning
for my bill, he replied that his master told him I was to be his guest
here for a week, and not on any account to accept money from me. Ireland
is a very strange place, and we are learning something new in it every
day; but this is the strangest thing I have met yet.”
“In _my_ case this would be impossible. I must of necessity give a deal
of trouble,--not to say that it would add unspeakably to my annoyance to
feel that I could not ask freely for what I wanted.”
“I have no reason to suppose, mind you, that you are to be dealt with
as I have been, but it would be well to bear in mind who and what these
people are.”
“And get away from them as soon as possible,” added the young fellow,
half peevishly.
“Nay, nay, Fred; don't be impatient. You'll be delighted with the old
fellow, who is a heart-and-soul sportsman. What station he once occupied
I can't guess; but in the remarks he makes about horses and hounds,
all his knowing hints on stable management and the treatment of young
cattle, one would say that he must have had a large fortune and kept a
large establishment.”
In the half self-sufficient toss of the head which received this speech,
it was plain that the young man thought his Colonel was easily imposed
on, and that such pretensions as these would have very little success
with _him_.
“I have no doubt some of your brother officers will take a run down to
see how you get on, and, if so, I 'll send over a hamper of wine, or
something of the kind, that you can manage to make him accept.”
“It will not be very difficult, I opine,” said the young man,
laughingly.
“No, no,” rejoined the other, misconstruing the drift of his words. “You
have plenty of tact, Fred. You 'll do the thing with all due delicacy.
And now, good-bye. Let me hear how you fare here.” And with a hearty
farewell they parted.
There was none astir in the cottage but Darby as the Colonel set out
to gain the high-road, where the post-horses awaited him. From Darby,
however, as he went along, he gathered much of his host's former
history. It was with astonishment he learned that the splendid house of
Barring-ton Hall, where he had been dining with an earl a few days ago,
was the old family seat of that poor innkeeper; that the noble deer-park
had once acknowledged him for master. “And will again, plase God!” burst
in Darby, who thirsted for an opportunity to launch out into law, and
all its bright hopes and prospects.
“We have a record on trial in Trinity Term, and an argument before the
twelve Judges, and the case is as plain as the nose on your honor's
face; for it was ruled by Chief Baron Medge, in the great cause of
'Peter against Todd, a widow,' that a settlement couldn't be broke by an
estreat.”
“You are quite a lawyer, I see,” said the Colonel.
“I wish I was. I 'd rather be a judge on the bench than a king on his
throne.”
“And yet I am beginning to suspect law may have cost your master
dearly.”
“It is not ten, or twenty--no, nor thirty--thousand pounds would see
him through it!” said Darby, with a triumph in his tone that seemed
to proclaim a very proud declaration. “There 's families would be
comfortable for life with just what we spent upon special juries.”
“Well, as you tell me he has no family, the injury has been all his
own.”
“That's true. We're the last of the ould stock,” said he, sorrowfully;
and little more passed between them, till the Colonel, on parting, put a
couple of guineas in his hand, and enjoined him to look after the young
friend he had left behind him.
It is now my task to introduce this young gentleman to my readers.
Frederick Conyers, a cornet in his Majesty's Hussars, was the only son
of a very distinguished officer, Lieutenant-General Conyers, a man
who had not alone served with great reputation in the field, but held
offices of high political trust in India, the country where all his life
had been passed. Holding a high station as a political resident at a
native court, wielding great power, and surrounded by an undeviating
homage, General Conyers saw his son growing up to manhood with
everything that could foster pride and minister to self-exaltation
around him. It was not alone the languor and indolence of an Eastern
life that he had to dread for him, but the haughty temper and
overbearing spirit so sure to come out of habits of domination in very
early life.
Though he had done all that he could to educate his son, by masters
brought at immense cost from Europe, the really important element of
education,--the self-control and respect for other's rights,--only to
be acquired by daily life and intercourse with equals, this he could not
supply; and he saw, at last, that the project he had so long indulged,
of keeping his son with him, must be abandoned. Perhaps the rough speech
of an old comrade helped to dispel the illusion, as he asked, “Are you
bringing up that boy to be a Rajah?” His first thought was to send him
to one of the Universities, his great desire being that the young man
should feel some ambition for public life and its distinctions. He
bethought him, however, that while the youth of Oxford and Cambridge
enter upon a college career, trained by all the discipline of our public
schools, Fred would approach the ordeal without any such preparation
whatever. Without one to exert authority over him, little accustomed to
the exercise of self-restraint, the experiment was too perilous.
To place him, therefore, where, from the very nature of his position,
some guidance and control would be exercised, and where by the
working of that model democracy--a mess--he would be taught to repress
self-sufficiency and presumption, he determined on the army, and
obtained a cornetcy in a regiment commanded by one who had long served
on his own staff. To most young fellows such an opening in life would
have seemed all that was delightful and enjoyable. To be just twenty,
gazetted to a splendid cavalry corps, with a father rich enough and
generous enough to say, “Live like the men about you, and don't be
afraid that your checks will come back to you,” these are great aids
to a very pleasant existence. Whether the enervation of that life of
Oriental indulgence had now become a nature to him, or whether he had no
liking for the service itself, or whether the change from a condition of
almost princely state to a position of mere equality with others, chafed
and irritated him, but so is it, he did not “take to” the regiment, nor
the regiment to him.
Now it is a fact, and not a very agreeable fact either, that a man with
a mass of noble qualities may fail to attract the kindliness and good
feeling towards him which a far less worthy individual, merely by
certain traits, or by the semblance of them, of a yielding, passive
nature is almost sure to acquire.
Conyers was generous, courageous, and loyal, in the most chivalrous
sense of that word, to every obligation of friendship. He was eminently
truthful and honorable; but he had two qualities whose baneful influence
would disparage the very best of gifts. He was “imperious,” and, in
the phrase of his brother officers, “he never gave in.” Some absurd
impression had been made on him, as a child, that obstinacy and
persistency were the noblest of attributes, and that, having said a
thing, no event or circumstance could ever occur to induce a change of
opinion.
Such a quality is singularly unfitted to youth, and marvellously out of
place in a regiment; hence was it that the “Rajah,” as he was generally
called by his comrades, had few intimates, and not one friend amongst
them.
If I have dwelt somewhat lengthily on these traits, it is because their
possessor is one destined to be much before us in this history. I will
but chronicle one other feature. I am sorry it should be a disqualifying
one. Owing in great measure, perhaps altogether, to his having
been brought up in the East, where Hindoo craft and subtlety were
familiarized to his mind from infancy, he was given to suspect that few
things were ever done from the motives ascribed to them, and that under
the open game of life was another concealed game, which was the real
one. As yet, this dark and pernicious distrust had only gone the length
of impressing him with a sense of his own consummate acuteness, an
amount of self-satisfaction, which my reader may have seen tingeing the
few words he exchanged with his Colonel before separating.
Let us see him now as he sits in a great easy-chair, his sprained ankle
resting on another, in a little honeysuckle-covered arbor of the garden,
a table covered with books and fresh flowers beside him, while Darby
stands ready to serve him from the breakfast-table, where a very
tempting meal is already spread out.
“So, then, I can't see your master, it seems,” said Con-yers, half
peevishly.
“Faix you can't; he's ten miles off by this. He got a letter by the
post, and set out half an hour after for Kilkenny. He went to your
honor's door, but seeing you was asleep he would n't wake you; 'but,
Darby,' says he, 'take care of that young gentleman, and mind,' says he,
'that he wants for nothing.'”
“Very thoughtful of _him_,--very considerate indeed,” said the youth;
but in what precise spirit it is not easy to say.
“Who lives about here? What gentlemen's places are there, I mean?”
“There's Lord Carrackmore, and Sir Arthur Godfrey, and Moore of
Ballyduff, and Mrs. Powerscroft of the Grove--”
“Do any of these great folks come down here?”
[Illustration: 064]
Darby would like to have given a ready assent,--he would have been
charmed to say that they came daily, that they made the place a
continual rendezvous; but as he saw no prospect of being able to give
his fiction even twenty-four hours' currency, he merely changed from one
leg to the other, and, in a tone of apology, said, “Betimes they does,
when the sayson is fine.”
“Who are the persons who are most frequently here?”
“Those two that you saw last night,--the Major and Dr. Dill. They 're
up here every second day, fishing, and eating their dinner with the
master.”
“Is the fishing good?”
“The best in Ireland.”
“And what shooting is there,--any partridges?”
“Partridges, be gorra! You could n't see the turnips for them.”
“And woodcocks?”
“Is it woodcocks! The sky is black with the sight of them.”
“Any lions?”
“Well, maybe an odd one now and then,” said Darby, half apologizing for
the scarcity.
There was an ineffable expression of self-satisfaction in Conyers's face
at the subtlety with which he had drawn Darby into this admission; and
the delight in his own acuteness led him to offer the poor fellow a
cigar, which he took with very grateful thanks.
“From what you tell me, then, I shall find this place stupid enough till
I am able to be up and about, eh? Is there any one who can play chess
hereabout?”
“Sure there's Miss Dinah; she's a great hand at it, they tell me.”
“And who is Miss Dinah? Is she young,--is she pretty?”
Darby gave a very cautious look all around him, and then closing one
eye, so as to give his face a look of intense cunning, he nodded very
significantly twice.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mane that she'll never see sixty; and for the matter of beauty--”
“Oh, you have said quite enough; I 'm not curious about her looks. Now
for another point. If I should want to get away from this, what other
inn or hotel is there in the neighborhood?”
“There's Joe M'Cabe's, at Inistioge; but you are better where you are.
Where will you see fresh butter like that? and look at the cream, the
spoon will stand in it. Far and near it's given up to her that nobody
can make coffee like Miss Dinah; and when you taste them trout, you 'll
tell me if they are not fit for the king.”
“Everything is excellent,--could not be better; but there's a
difficulty. There's a matter which to me at least makes a stay here most
unpleasant. My friend tells me that he could not get his bill,--that he
was accepted as a guest. Now I can't permit this--”
“There it is, now,” said Darby, approaching the table, and dropping his
voice to a confidential whisper. “That's the master's way. If he gets a
stranger to sit down with him to dinner or supper, he may eat and drink
as long as he plases, and sorra sixpence he'll pay; and it's that same
ruins us, nothing else, for it's then he 'll call for the best sherry,
and that ould Maderia that's worth a guinea a bottle. What's the use,
after all, of me inflaming the bill of the next traveller, and putting
down everything maybe double? And worse than all,” continued he, in a
tone of horror, “let him only hear any one complain about his bill or
saying, 'What's this?' or 'I didn't get that,' out he'll come, as mighty
and as grand as the Lord-Liftinint, and say, 'I 'm sorry, sir, that we
failed to make this place agreeable to you. Will you do me the favor not
to mind the bill at all?' and with that he'd tear it up in little bits
and walk away.”
“To me that would only be additional offence. I 'd not endure it.”
“What could you do? You'd maybe slip a five-pound note into my hand, and
say, 'Darby my man, settle this little matter for me; you know the ways
of the place.'”
“I 'll not risk such an annoyance, at all events; that I 'm determined
on.”
Darby began now to perceive that he had misconceived his brief, and
must alter his pleadings as quickly as possible; in fact, he saw he was
“stopping an earth” he had meant merely to mask. “Just leave it all to
me, your honor,--leave it all to me, and I 'll have your bill for you
every morning on the breakfast-table. And why would n't you? Why would
a gentleman like your honor be behouldin' to any one for his meat and
drink?” burst he in, with an eager rapidity. “Why would n't you say,
'Darby, bring me this, get me that, fetch me the other; expinse is no
object in life tome'?”
There was a faint twinkle of humor in the eye of Conyers, and Darby
stopped short, and with that half-lisping simplicity which a few
Irishmen understand to perfection, and can exercise whenever the
occasion requires, he said: “But sure is n't your honor laughing at me,
is n't it just making fun of me you are? All because I'm a poor ignorant
crayture that knows no better!”
“Nothing of that kind,” said Conyers, frankly. “I was only smiling at
thoughts that went through my head at the moment.”
“Well, faix! there's one coming up the path now won't make you laugh,”
said Darby, as he whispered, “It's Dr. Dill.”
The doctor was early with his patient; if the case was not one of
urgency, the sufferer was in a more elevated rank than usually fell to
the chances of Dispensary practice. Then, it promised to be one of the
nice chronic cases, in which tact and personal agreeability--the two
great strongholds of Dr. Dill in his own estimation--were of far more
importance than the materia medica. Now, if Dill's world was not a very
big one, he knew it thoroughly. He was a chronicle of all the family
incidents of the county, and could recount every disaster of every house
for thirty miles round.
When the sprain had, therefore, been duly examined, and all the pangs of
the patient sufficiently condoled with to establish the physician as
a man of feeling, Dill proceeded to his task as a man of the world.
Conyers, however, abruptly stopped him, by saying, “Tell me how I'm to
get out of this place; some other inn, I mean.”
“You are not comfortable here, then?” asked Dill.
“In one sense, perfectly so. I like the quietness, the delightful
tranquillity, the scenery,--everything, in short, but one circumstance.
I 'm afraid these worthy people--whoever they are--want to regard me
as a guest. Now I don't know them,--never saw them,--don't care to see
them. My Colonel has a liking for all this sort of thing. It has to his
mind a character of adventure that amuses him. It would n't in the least
amuse me, and so I want to get away.”
“Yes,” repeated Dill, blandly, after him, “wants to get away; desires to
change the air.”
“Not at all,” broke in Conyers, peevishly; “no question of air whatever.
I don't want to be on a visit. I want an inn. What is this place they
tell me of up the river,--Inis--something?”
“Inistioge. M'Cabe's house; the 'Spotted Duck;' very small, very poor,
far from clean, besides.”
“Is there nothing else? Can't you think of some other place? For I can't
have my servant here, circumstanced as I am now.”
The doctor paused to reply. The medical mind is eminently ready-witted,
and Dill at a glance took in all the dangers of removing his patient.
Should he transfer him to his own village, the visit which now had to
be requited as a journey of three miles and upwards, would then be an
affair of next door. Should he send him to Thomastown, it would be worse
again, for then he would be within the precincts of a greater than Dill
himself,--a practitioner who had a one-horse phaeton, and whose name was
written on brass. “Would you dislike a comfortable lodging in a private
family,--one of the first respectability, I may make bold to call it?”
“Abhor it!--couldn't endure it! I'm not essentially troublesome or
exacting, but I like to be able to be either, whenever the humor takes
me.”
“I was thinking of a house where you might freely take these
liberties--”
“Liberties! I call them rights, doctor, not liberties! Can't you imagine
a man, not very wilful, not very capricious, but who, if the whim
took him, would n't stand being thwarted by any habits of a so-called
respectable family? There, don't throw up your eyes, and misunderstand
me. All I mean is, that my hours of eating and sleeping have no rule.
I smoke everywhere; I make as much noise as I please; and I never brook
any impertinent curiosity about what I do, or what I leave undone.”
“Under all the circumstances, you had, perhaps, better remain where you
are,” said Dill, thoughtfully.
“Of course, if these people will permit me to pay for my board and
lodging. If they 'll condescend to let me be a stranger, I ask for
nothing better than this place.”
“Might I offer myself as a negotiator?” said Dill, insinuatingly; “for
I opine that the case is not of the difficulty you suppose. Will you
confide it to my hands?”
“With all my heart. I don't exactly see why there should be a
negotiation at all; but if there must, pray be the special envoy.”
When Dill arose and set out on his mission, the young fellow looked
after him with an expression that seemed to say, “How you all imagine
you are humbugging me, while I read every one of you like a book!”
Let us follow the doctor, and see how he acquitted himself in his
diplomacy.