IN THE GLOW OF A PEAT FIRE
"It's a quare world," Jamie said one night as we sat in the glow of a
peat fire.
"Aye, 'deed yer right, Jamie," Anna replied as she gazed into the
smokeless flames.
He took his short black pipe out of his mouth, spat into the burning
sods and added: "I wondther if it's as quare t' everybody, Anna?"
"Ochane," she replied, "it's quare t' poor craithers who haave naither
mate, money nor marbles, nor chalk t' make th' ring."
There had been but one job that day--a pair of McGuckin's boots. They
had been half-soled and heeled and my sister had taken them home, with
orders what to bring home for supper.
The last handful of peat had been put on the fire. The cobbler's bench
had been put aside for the night and we gathered closely around the
hearth.
The town clock struck eight.
"What th' h--l's kapin' th' hussy!" Jamie said petulantly.
"Hugh's at a Fenian meeting more 'n likely an' it's worth a black eye
for th' wife t' handle money when he's gone," Anna suggested.
"More likely he's sleepin' off a dhrunk," he said.
"No, Jamie, he laves that t' the craithers who give 'im a livin'."
"Yer no judge o' human naiture, Anna. A squint out o' th' tail o' yer
eye at what McGuckin carries in front ov 'im wud tell ye betther if ye
had th' wits to obsarve."
Over the fire hung a pot on the chain and close to the turf coals sat
the kettle singing. Nothing of that far-off life has left a more
lasting impression than the singing of the kettle. It sang a dirge that
night, but it usually sang of hope. It was ever the harbinger of the
thing that was most indispensable in that home of want--a cup of tea.
Often it was tea without milk, sometimes without sugar, but always tea.
If it came to a choice between tea and bread, we went without bread.
Anna did not relish the reflection on her judgment and remained silent.
There was a loud noise at the door.
"Jazus!" Jamie exclaimed, "it's snowin'." Some one was kicking the snow
off against the door-post. The latch was lifted and in walked Felix
Boyle the bogman.
"What th' blazes are ye in th' dark fur?" Felix asked in a deep, hoarse
voice. His old rabbit-skin cap was pulled down over his ears, his head
and shoulders were covered with snow. As he shook it off we shivered.
We were in debt to Felix for a load of turf and we suspected he had
called for the money. Anna lit the candle she was saving for
supper-time. The bogman threw his cap and overcoat over in the corner on
the lasts and sat down.
"I'm frozen t' death!" he said as he proceeded to take off his brogues.
As he came up close to the coals, we were smitten with his foul breath
and in consequence gave him a wider berth. He had been drinking.
"Where's th' mare?" Anna asked.
"Gone home, th' bitch o' h--l," he said, "an' she's got m' load o' turf
wid 'er, bad cess t' 'er dhirty sowl!"
The town clock struck nine.
Felix removed his socks, pushed his stool aside and sat down on the mud
floor. A few minutes later he was flat on his back, fast asleep and
snoring loudly.
The fire grew smaller. Anna husbanded the diminishing embers by keeping
them closely together with the long tongs. The wind howled and
screamed. The window rattled, the door creaked on its hinges and every
few minutes a gust of wind came down the chimney and blew the ashes into
our faces. We huddled nearer the fire.
"Can't ye fix up that oul craither's head a bit?" Jamie asked. I brought
over the bogman's coat. Anna made a pillow of it and placed it under his
head. He turned over on his side. As he did so a handful of small change
rolled out of his pocket.
"Think of that now," Jamie said as he gathered it up and stuffed it back
where it belonged, "an oul dhrunken turf dhriver wi' money t' waste
while we're starvin'."
From that moment we were acutely hungry.
This new incident rendered the condition poignant.
"Maybe Mrs. Boyle an' th' wains are as hungry as we are," Anna
remarked.
"Wi' a bogful o' turf at th' doore?"
"Th' can't eat turf, Jamie!"
"Th' can warm their shins, that's more'n we can do, in a minute or
two."
The rapidly diminishing coals were arranged once more. They were a mere
handful now and the house was cold.
There were two big holes in the chimney where Jamie kept old pipes, pipe
cleaners, bits of rags and scraps of tobacco. He liked to hide a scrap
or two there and in times of scarcity make himself believe he _found_
them. His last puff of smoke had gone up the chimney hours ago. He
searched both holes without success. A bright idea struck him. He
searched for Boyle's pipe. He searched in vain.
"Holy Moses!" he exclaimed, "what a breath; a pint ov that wud make a
mule dhrunk!"
"Thry it, Jamie," Anna said, laughing.
"Thry it yerself,--yer a good dale more ov a judge!" he said
snappishly.
A wild gust of wind came down the chimney and blew the loose ashes off
the hearth. Jamie ensconced himself in his corner--a picture of despair.
"I wondther if Billy O'Hare's in bed?" he said.
"Ye'd need fumigatin' afther smokin' Billy's tobacco, Jamie!"
"I'd smoke tobacco scraped out o' the breeches-pocket ov th' oul divil
in hell!" he replied.
He arose, put on his muffler and made ready to visit the sweep. On the
way to the door another idea turned him back. He put on the bogman's
overcoat and rabbit-skin cap. Anna, divining his intention, said:
"That's th' first sign of sense I've see in you for a month of Sundays."
"Ye cudn't see it in a month ov Easther Sundays, aanyway," he retorted
with a superior toss of his head.
Anna kept up a rapid fire of witty remarks. She injected humor into the
situation and laughed like a girl, and although she felt the pangs more
keenly than any of us, her laughter was genuine and natural.
Jamie had his empty pipe in his mouth and by force of habit he picked up
in the tongs a little bit of live coal to light it. We all tittered.
"Th' h--l!" he muttered, as he made for the door. Before he reached it
my sister walked in. McGuckin wasn't at home. His wife couldn't pay. We
saw the whole story on her face, every pang of it. Her eyes were red and
swollen. Before she got out a sentence of the tale of woe, she noticed
the old man in Boyle's clothing and burst out laughing. So hearty and
boisterous was it that we all again caught the contagion and laughed
with her. Sorrow was deep-seated. It had its roots away down at the
bottom of things, but laughter was always up near the surface and could
be tapped on the slightest provocation. It was a by-valve--a way of
escape for the overflow. There were times when sorrow was too deep for
tears. But there never was a time when we couldn't laugh!
People in our town who expected visitors to knock provided a knocker.
The knocker was a distinct line of social demarcation. We lived below
the line. The minister and the tract distributor were the only persons
who ever knocked at our door.
Scarcely had our laughter died away when the door opened and there
entered in the sweep of a blizzard's tail Billy O'Hare. The gust of cold
winter wind made us shiver again and we drew up closer to the dying
fire--so small now as to be seen with difficulty.
"Be th' seven crosses ov Arbow, Jamie," he said, "I'm glad yer awake, me
bhoy, if ye hadn't I'd haave pulled ye out be th' tail ov yer shirt!"
"I was jist within an ace ov goin' over an' pullin' ye out be th' heels
myself."
The chimney-sweep stepped forward and, tapping Jamie on the forehead,
said:
"Two great minds workin' on th' same thought shud projuce wondtherful
results, Jamie; lend me a chew ov tobacco!"
"Ye've had larks for supper, Billy; yer jokin'!" Jamie said.
"Larks be damned," Billy said, "m' tongue's stickin' t' th' roof ov me
mouth!"
Again we laughed, while the two men stood looking at each
other--speechless.
"Ye can do switherin' as easy sittin' as standin'," Anna said, and Billy
sat down. The bogman's story was repeated in minutest detail. The sweep
scratched his sooty head and looked wise.
"It's gone!" Anna said quietly, and we all looked toward the fire. It
was dead. The last spark had been extinguished. We shivered.
"We don't need so many stools aanyway," Jamie said. "I'll get a hatchet
an' we'll haave a fire in no time."
"T' be freezin' t' death wi a bogman goin' t' waste is unchristian, t'
say th' laste," Billy ventured.
"Every time we get to th' end of th' tether God appears!" Anna said
reassuringly, as she pinned her shawl closer around her neck.
"There's nothin' but empty bowels and empty pipes in our house," the
sweep said, "but we've got half a dozen good turf left!"
"Well, it's a long lane that's got no turnin'--ye might lend us thim,"
Jamie suggested.
"If ye'll excuse m' fur a minit, I'll warm this house, an' may the
Virgin choke m' in th' nixt chimley I sweep if I don't!"
In a few minutes he returned with six black turf. The fire was rebuilt
and we basked in its warm white glow. The bogman snored on. Billy
inquired about the amount of his change. Then he became solicitous
about his comfort on the floor. Each suggestion was a furtive flank
movement on Boyle's loose change.
Anna saw the bent of his mind and tried to divert his attention.
"Did ye ever hear, Billy," she said, "that if we stand a dhrunk maan on
his head it sobers him?"
"Be the powers, no."
"They say," she said with a twinkle in her eyes, "that it empties him of
his contents."
"Aye," sighed the sweep, "there's something in that, Anna; let's thry it
on Boyle."
There was an element of excitement in the suggestion and we youngsters
hoped it would be carried out. Billy made a move to suit the action to
the thought, but Anna pushed him gently back. "Jamie's mouth is as
wathry as yours, Billy, but we'll take no short cuts, we'll go th' long
way around."
That seemed a death-blow to hope. My sisters began to whimper and
sniffle. We had many devices for diverting hunger. The one always used
as a last resort was the stories of the "great famine." We were
particularly helped by one about a family half of whom died around a pot
of stir-about that had come too late. When we heard Jamie say, "Things
are purty bad, but they're not as bad as they might be," we knew a
famine story was on the way.
"Hould yer horses there a minute!" Billy O'Hare broke in. He took the
step-ladder and before we knew what he was about he had taken a bunch of
dried rosemary from the roof-beams and was rubbing it in his hands as a
substitute for tobacco.
After rubbing it between his hands he filled his pipe and began to puff
vigorously.
"Wud ye luk at 'im!" Jamie exclaimed.
"I've lived with th' mother ov invintion since I was th' size ov a
mushroom," he said between the puffs, "an begorra she's betther nor a
wife." The odor filled the house. It was like the sweet incense of a
censer. The men laughed and joked over the discovery. The sweep indulged
himself in some extravagant, self-laudatory statements, one of which
became a household word with us.
"Jamie," he said as he removed his pipe and looked seriously at my
father, "who was that poltroon that discovered tobacco?" Anna informed
him.
"What'll become ov 'im whin compared wid O'Hare, th' inventor of th'
rosemary delection? I ax ye, Jamie, bekase ye're an honest maan."
"Heaven knows, Billy."
"Aye, heaven only knows, fur I'll hand down t' m' future ancestors the
O'Hara brand ov rosemary tobacco!"
"Wondtherful, wondtherful!" Jamie said, in mock solemnity.
"Aye, t' think," Anna said, "that ye invinted it in our house!"
We forgot our hunger pangs in the excitement. Jamie filled his pipe and
the two men smoked for a few minutes. Then a fly appeared in the
precious ointment. My father took his pipe out of his mouth and looked
inquisitively at Billy.
"M' head's spinnin' 'round like a peerie!" he exclaimed.
"Whin did ye ate aanything?" asked the sweep.
"Yestherday."
"Aye, well, it's th' mate ye haaven't in yer bowels that's makin' ye
feel quare."
"What's th' matther wi th' invintor?" Anna asked.
Billy had removed his pipe and was staring vacantly into space.
"I'm seein' things two at a time, b' Jazus!" he answered.
"We've got plenty of nothin' but wather, maybe ye'd like a good dhrink,
Billy?"
Before he could reply the bogman raised himself to a half-sitting
posture, and yelled with all the power of his lungs:
"Whoa! back, ye dhirty baste, back!" The wild yell chilled the blood in
our veins.
He sat up, looked at the black figure of the sweep for a moment, then
made a spring at Billy, and before any one could interfere poor Billy
had been felled to the floor with a terrible smash on the jaw. Then he
jumped on him. We youngsters raised a howl that awoke the sleepers in
Pogue's entry. Jamie and Billy soon overpowered Boyle. When the
neighbors arrived they found O'Hare sitting on Boyle's neck and Jamie on
his legs.
"Where am I?" Boyle asked.
"In the home of friends," Anna answered.
"Wud th' frien's donate a mouthful ov breath?"
He was let up. The story of the night was told to him. He listened
attentively. When the story was told he thrust his hand into his pocket
and brought forth some change.
"Hould yer han' out, ye black imp o' hell," he said to O'Hare. The sweep
obeyed, but remarked that the town clock had already struck twelve. "I
don't care a damn if it's thirteen!" he said. "That's fur bread, that's
fur tay, that's fur tobacco an' that's fur somethin' that runs down yer
throat like a rasp, _fur me_. Now don't let th' grass grow undther yer
flat feet, ye divil."
After some minor instructions from Anna, the sweep went off on his
midnight errand. The neighbors were sent home. The kettle replaced the
pot on the chain, and we gathered full of ecstasy close to the fire.
"Whisht!" Anna said. We listened. Above the roar of the wind and the
rattling of the casement we heard a loud noise.
"It's Billy thunderin' at Marget Hurll's doore," Jamie said.
O'Hare arrived with a bang! He put his bundles down on the table and
vigorously swung his arms like flails around him to thaw himself out.
Anna arranged the table and prepared the meal. Billy and Jamie went at
the tobacco. Boyle took the whiskey and said:
"I thank my God an' the holy angels that I'm in th' house ov timperance
payple!" Then looking at Jamie, he said:
"Here's t' ye, Jamie, an' ye, Anna, an' th' scoundthrel O'Hare, an'
here's t' th' three that niver bred, th' priest, th' pope, an' th'
mule!"
Then at a draft he emptied the bottle and threw it behind the fire,
grunting his satisfaction.
"Wudn't that make a corpse turn 'round in his coffin?" Billy said.
"Keep yer eye on that loaf, Billy, or he'll be dhrinkin' our health in
it!" Jamie remarked humorously.
Boyle stretched himself on the floor and yawned. The little table was
brought near the fire, the loaf was cut in slices and divided. It was a
scene that brought us to the edge of tears--tears of joy. Anna's face
particularly beamed. She talked as she prepared, and her talk was of
God's appearance at the end of every tether, and of the silver lining on
the edge of every cloud. She had a penchant for mottoes, but she never
used them in a siege. It was when the siege was broken she poured them
in and they found a welcome. As she spoke of God bringing relief, Boyle
got up on his haunches.
"Anna," he said, "if aanybody brot me here th' night it was th' oul
divil in hell."
"'Deed yer mistaken, Felix," she answered sweetly. "When God sends a
maan aanywhere he always gets there, even if he has to be taken there by
th' divil."
When all was ready we gathered around the table. "How I wish we could
sing!" she said as she looked at us. The answer was on every face.
Hunger would not wait on ceremony. We were awed into stillness and
silence, however, when she raised her hand in benediction. We bowed our
heads. Boyle crossed himself.
"Father," she said, "we thank Thee for sendin' our friend Felix here th'
night. Bless his wife an' wains, bless them in basket an' store an' take
good care of his oul mare. Amen!"