A hurling match in those days was no light matter, particularly when
it was on so extensive a scale as that which we are about to
describe--between two large parishes. They were supposed, and intended
to be, amicable tests of the prowess and activity of the young men at
a healthy game of recreation, as the cricket-matches of the present
day are that of the athletic aristocracy of the land. In all these
great matches, numbers of men, women, and children used to collect to
look on, and cheer as the success of the game swayed one way or the
other; and as most of the players were unmarried men, it is not to be
wondered at if there were many young women amongst the crowd, with
their hearts swaying accordingly.
It had been decided by the committees upon the occasion of this great
match, that a sort of distinguishing dress--they would not, of course,
call it uniform--should be worn by the men. To hurl in coats of any
kind had never in this or any other parish match been thought of. The
committee left the choice of the distinguishing colors to the
respective leaders, recommending, however, that the same manner should
be adopted of exhibiting it. It was agreed that sleeves of different
colors should be worn over the shirt sleeves, with a broad piece of
ribbon tied at the throat to match.
Tom Murdock had chosen green for his party, and not only that, but
with a determination to make himself popular, and to throw his
rival as far as possible into the background, had purchased a
sufficient quantity of calico and ribbon to supply his men gratis with
sleeves and neck-ties.
Poor Emon-a-knock could not afford this liberality, and he felt the
object with which it had been puffed and paraded on the other side for
a whole week previous. He was not afraid, however, that his men would
think the less of him on that account. They knew he was only a
laboring man, depending upon his day's wages; and many of those who
would wield the hurl by his side upon the 17th of March were
well-to-do sons of comfortable farmers. Many, no doubt, were laboring
boys like himself, and many servant-boys to the farming class.
A deputation of Shanvillas had waited on Emon-a-knock to ascertain his
choice of a color for their sleeves and ribbon.
He thought for a few moments, and then taking a red
pocket-handkerchief from his box he said, "Boys, this is the only
color I can think of. It is as good as any."
"I don't like it, Emon," said M'Dermott, the next best man in the
parish.
"Why so, Phil?" said another.
"Well, I hardly know why. It is too much the color of blood. I'd
rather have white."
"Don't be superstitious, Phil _a-wochal_," said Emon; "white is a
cowardly color all over the world, and red is the best contrast we can
have to their color."
"So be it," said Phil.
"So be it," re-echoed the rest of the deputation; "sure, Emon has a
right to the choice. Lend us the handkerchief, that we may match it as
near as possible."
"And welcome, boys; here it is; but take good care of it for me, as it
is the only one I have _now_."
The deputation did not know, but the readers do, that he had given the
fellow to it--off the same piece--to Winny Cavana with the dog. Hence
his emphasis upon the last word.
No time was lost by the deputation when they left Emon. They had
scarcely got out of hearing, when Phil M'Dermott said, "Boys, you all
know that Tom Murdock has bestowed his men with a pair of sleeves, and
half a yard of ribbon each. Now if he was as well liked as he lets on,
he needn't have done that; and in my opinion he done it by way of
casting a slur upon our man's poverty. Tom Murdock can afford a
hundred yards of green calico and fifty yards of tuppenny ribbon very
well;--at least he ought to be able to do so. Now I vote that amongst
the best of us we bestow our man with a pair of silk sleeves, and a
silk cap and ribbon, for the battle. There's my tenpenny-bit toward
it."
"An' I second that vote, boys; there's mine," said another.
"Aisy, boys, an' listen to me," broke in a young Solon, who formed one
of the deputation. "There's none of us that wouldn't give a tenpenny
bit, if it was the last he had, to do what you say, Phil; but the
whole thing--sleeves, ribbon, and cap--won't cost more than a couple
of crowns; an' many's the one of the Shanvilla boys would like to have
part in it. I vote all them that can afford it may give a fippenny-bit
apiece, an' say nothing about it to the boys that can't afford it. If
we do, there isn't a man of them but what id want to put in his penny;
and I know Emon would not like that. It wouldn't sound well, an' might
be laughed at by that rich chap, Murdock. Here's my fippenny, Phil."
There was much good sense in this. It met not only the approbation of
the whole deputation, but the pockets of some, and was unanimously
adopted. The necessary amount of money was made up before an hour's
time; and a smart fellow--the very Solon who had spoken, and who was
as smart of limb as he was of mind--was despatched forthwith to C.O.S.
for three yards of silk and two yards of ribbon, to match as nearly as
possible Emon-a-knock's handkerchief, which was secured in the
crown of his cap.
The very next afternoon--for Shanvilla did not sleep on its resolve--
there was no lion in the street for them;--the same deputation walked
up to Emon's house at dinner-hour, when they knew he would be at home.
He had just finished, and was on his way out, to continue a job of
planting "a few gets" of early potatoes on the hill behind the house,
when he met them near the door.
M'Dermott carried a paper parcel in his hand.
"Well, boys," said Emon, "what's the matter now? I thought we settled
everything yesterday morning."
"You did, Emon _a-wochal_; but we had a trifle to do after we left
you. I hope you done nothing about your own sleeves as yet."
"No, Phil, I did not; but never fear, I'll be up to time. But I don't
wish to change the color, if that's what brought you."
"The sorra change Emon; it is almost too late for that now. But some
of the boys heerd that Tom Murdock is givin' his men, every man of
'em, sleeves an' ribbon for this match. We don't expect the likes from
you, Emon; and we don't mind that fellow's puffery and pride. We think
it better that the Shanvilla boys should present their leader with one
pair of sleeves than that he should give a hundred pairs to them. We
have them here, Emon _a-wochal_; an' there isn't a boy in the parish
of Shanvilla, or a man, woman, or child, that won't cheer to see you
win in them."
"An' maybe some one in the parish of Rathcash," whispered Solon to
Phil.
Here Phil M'Dermott untied his parcel and exhibited the sleeves,
finished off in the best style by his sister Peggy. What would fit
Phil would fit Emon; and she was at no loss upon that point.
"Here they are, made and all, Emon. Peggy made them on my fit; and we
wish you luck to win in them. Faix, if you don't, it won't be your
fault nor ours. Here's your hankicher; you see there isn't the differ
of a _milthiogue's_ wing in the two colors."
Perhaps it was the proximity to Boher-na-milthiogue that had suggested
the comparison.
"Indeed, boys, I'm entirely obliged to you, and I don't think we can
fail of success. It shall not be my fault if we do, and I'm certain it
won't be yours. But I'm sorry--"
"_Bidh a hurst_, Emon; don't say wan word, or I'll choke you. But thry
them on."
Emon's coat was forthwith slipped off his back and thrown upon the end
of a turf-stack hard by, and Phil M'Dermott drew the sleeves upon his
arms, and tied them artistically over his shoulders.
"Dam' the wan, Emon, but they were med for you!" said Phil, smoothing
them down toward the wrists.
"Divil a word of lie in _that_, any way, Phil," said Solon. "Tell us
something we don't know."
"Well, I may tell them that you have too much wit in your head to have
any room for sense," replied M'Dermott, seemingly a little annoyed at
the remark.
Solon grinned and drew in his horns.
"They are, indeed, the very thing," said Emon, turning his head from
one to the other and admiring them. He could have wished, however,
that it had been a Rathcash girl who had made them instead of Peggy
M'Dermott. "But I cannot have everything my own way," sighed he to
himself.
M'Dermott then quietly removed Emon's hat with one hand, while with
the other he slily placed die silk cap jauntily upon his head. There
was a general murmur of approbation at the effect, in which Emon
himself could not choose but join. He felt that he was looking the
thing.
After a sufficient time had been allowed for the admiration and
verdict of the committee as to their fit and appearance, Phil
M'Dermott took them off again, and, folding them up carefully in
the paper, handed it to Emon, wishing him on his own part, and that of
the whole parish, health to wear and win in them on Patrick's Day--
"Every man of as will have our own colors ready the day before," he
added.
Emon then thanked them heartily, and turned into the house, to show
them to his father, and the deputation returned to their homes.