Ormond was wakened at the proper hour--went immediately to ----‘s bank.
It was but just open, and beginning to do business. He had never been
there before--his person was not known to any of the firm. He entered a
long narrow room, so dark at the entrance from the street that he could
at first scarcely see what was on either side of him--a clerk from some
obscure nook, and from a desk higher than himself, put out his head,
with a long pen behind his ear, and looked at Ormond as he came in.
“Pray, sir, am I right?--Is this Mr. ----‘s bank?”
“Yes, sir.”
With mercantile economy of words, and a motion of his head, the clerk
pointed out to Ormond the way he should go--and continued casting up his
books. Ormond walked down the narrow aisle, and it became light as he
advanced towards a large window at the farther end, before which three
clerks sat at a table opposite to him. A person stood with his back to
Ormond, and was speaking earnestly to one of the clerks, who leaned
over the table listening. Just as Ormond came up he heard his own name
mentioned--he recollected the voice--he recollected the back of the
figure--the very bottle-green coat--it was Patrickson--Ormond stood
still behind him, and waited to hear what was going on.
“Sir,” said the clerk, “it is a very sudden order for a very large sum.”
“True, sir--but you see my power--you know Mr. Ormond’s handwriting, and
you know Sir Ulick O’Shane’s--”
“Mr. James,” said the principal clerk, turning to one of the others, “be
so good to hand me the letters we have of Mr. Ormond. As we have never
seen the gentleman sign his name, sir, it is necessary that we should be
more particular in comparing.”
“Oh! sir, no doubt--compare as much as you please--no doubt people
cannot be too exact and deliberate in doing business.”
“It certainly is his signature,” said the clerk.
“I witnessed the paper,” said Patrickson.
“Sir, I don’t dispute it,” replied the clerk; “but you cannot blame us
for being cautious when such a _very_ large sum is in question, and when
we have no letter of advice from the gentleman.”
“But I tell you I come straight from Mr. Ormond; I saw him last Tuesday
at Paris--”
“And you see him now, sir,” said Ormond, advancing.
Patrickson’s countenance changed beyond all power of control.
“Mr. Ormond!--I thought you were at Paris.”
“Mr. Patrickson!--I thought you were at Havre de Grace--what brought you
here so suddenly?”
“I acted for another,” hesitated Patrickson: “I therefore made no
delay.”
“And, thank Heaven!” said Ormond, “I have acted for myself!--but just
in time!--Sir,” continued he, addressing himself to the principal clerk,
“Gentlemen, I have to return you my thanks for your caution--it has
actually saved me from ruin--for I understand--”
Ormond suddenly stopped, recollecting that he might injure Sir Ulick
O’Shane essentially by a premature disclosure, or by repeating a report
which might be ill-founded.
He turned again to speak to Patrickson, but Patrickson had disappeared.
Then continuing to address himself to the clerks. “Gentlemen,” said
Ormond, speaking carefully, “have you heard any thing of or from Sir
Ulick O’Shane lately, except what you may have heard from this Mr.
Patrickson?”
“Not _from_ but _of_ Sir Ulick O’Shane we heard from our Dublin
correspondent--in due course we have heard,” replied the head clerk.
“Too true, I am afraid, sir, that his bank had come to paying in
sixpences on Saturday.”
The second clerk seeing great concern in Ormond’s countenance, added,
“But Sunday, you know, is in their favour, sir; and Monday and Tuesday
are holidays: so they may stand the run, and recover yet.”
With the help of this gentleman’s thirty thousand, they might have
recovered, perhaps--but Mr. Ormond would scarcely have recovered it.
As to the ten thousand pounds in the Three per Cents., of which Sir
Ulick had obtained possession a month ago, that was irrecoverable, _if_
his bank should break--“_If_.”--The clerks all spoke with due caution;
but their opinion was sufficiently plain. They were honestly indignant
against the guardian who had thus attempted to ruin his ward.
Though almost stunned and breathless with the sense of the danger he had
so narrowly escaped, yet Ormond’s instinct of generosity, if we may
use the expression, and his gratitude for early kindness, operated;
he _would_ not believe that Sir Ulick had been guilty of a deliberate
desire to injure him. At all events, he determined that, instead of
returning to France, as he had intended, he would go immediately to
Ireland, and try if it were possible to assist Sir Ulick, without
materially injuring himself.
Having ordered horses, he made inquiry wherever he thought he might
obtain information with respect to the Annalys. All that he could learn
was, that they were at some sea-bathing place in the south of England,
and that Miss Annaly was still unmarried. A ray of hope darted into
the mind of our hero--and he began his journey to Ireland with feelings
which every good and generous mind will know how to appreciate.
He had escaped at Paris from a temptation which it was scarcely possible
to resist. He had by decision and activity preserved his fortune from
ruin--he had under his protection an humble friend, whom he had saved
from banishment and disgrace, and whom he hoped to restore to his
wretched wife and family. Forgetful of the designs that had been
meditated against him by his guardian, to whose necessities he
attributed his late conduct, he hastened to his immediate assistance;
determined to do every thing in his power to save Sir Ulick from ruin,
_if_ his difficulties arose from misfortune, and not from criminality:
if, on the contrary, he should find that Sir Ulick was fraudulently a
bankrupt, he determined to quit Ireland immediately, and to resume his
scheme of foreign travel.
The system of posting had at this time been carried to the highest
perfection in England. It was the amusement and the fashion of the time,
to squander large sums in hurrying from place to place, without any
immediate motive for arriving at the end of a journey, but that of
having the satisfaction of boasting in what a short time it had been
performed; or, as it is expressed in one of our comedies, “to enter
London like a meteor, with a prodigious tail of dust.”
Moriarty Carroll, who was perched upon the box with Ormond’s servant,
made excellent observations wherever he went. His English companion
could not comprehend how a man of common sense could be ignorant of
various things, which excited the wonder and curiosity of Moriarty.
Afterwards, however, when they travelled in Ireland, Moriarty had as
much reason to be surprised at the impression which Irish manners and
customs made upon his companion. After a rapid journey to Holyhead, our
hero found to his mortification that the packet had sailed with a fair
wind about half an hour before his arrival.
Notwithstanding his impatience, he learned that it was impossible to
overtake the vessel in a boat, and that he must wait for the sailing of
the next day’s packet.
Fortunately, however, the Lord-Lieutenant’s secretary arrived from
London at Holyhead time enough for the tide; and as he had an order from
the post-office for a packet to sail whenever he should require it,
the intelligent landlord of the inn suggested to Ormond that he might
probably obtain permission from the secretary to have a berth in this
packet.
Ormond’s manner and address were such as to obtain from the good-natured
secretary the permission he required; and, in a short time, he found
himself out of sight of the coast of Wales. During the beginning of
their voyage the motion of the vessel was so steady, and the weather
so fine, that every body remained on deck; but on the wind shifting and
becoming more violent, the landsmen soon retired below decks, and
poor Moriarty and his English companion slunk down into the steerage,
submitting to their fate. Ormond was never sea-sick; he walked the deck,
and enjoyed the admirable manoeuvring of the vessel. Two or three naval
officers, and some other passengers, who were used to the sea, and who
had quietly gone to bed during the beginning of the voyage, now
came from below, to avoid the miseries of the cabin. As one of these
gentlemen walked backwards and forwards upon deck, he eyed our hero from
time to time with looks of anxious curiosity--Ormond perceiving this,
addressed the stranger, and inquired from him whether he had mistaken
his looks, or whether he had any wish to speak to him. “Sir,” said the
stranger, “I do think that I have seen you before, and I believe that
I am under considerable obligations to you--I was supercargo to that
vessel that was wrecked on the coast of Ireland, when you and your young
friend exerted yourselves to save the vessel from plunder. After
the shipwreck, the moment I found myself on land, I hastened to the
neighbouring town to obtain protection and assistance. In the mean time,
your exertions had saved a great deal of our property, which was lodged
in safety in the neighbourhood. I had procured a horse in the town
to which I had gone, and had ridden back to the shore with the utmost
expedition. Along with the vessel which had been shipwrecked there
had sailed another American sloop. We were both bound from New York to
Bourdeaux. In the morning after the shipwreck, our consort hove in sight
of the wreck, and sent a boat on shore, to inquire what had become of
the crew, and of the cargo, but they found not a human creature on the
shore, except myself. The plunderers had escaped to their hiding-places,
and all the rest of the inhabitants had accompanied the poor young
gentleman, who had fallen a sacrifice to his exertions in our favour.
“It was of the utmost consequence to my employers, that I should
arrive as soon as possible at Bourdeaux, to give an account of what had
happened. I therefore, without hesitation, abandoned my horse, with its
bridle and saddle, and I got on board the American vessel without delay.
In my hurry I forgot my great coat on the shore, a loss which proved
extremely inconvenient to me--as there were papers in the pockets which
might be necessary to produce before my employers.
“I arrived safely at Bourdeaux, settled with my principals to their
satisfaction, and I am now on my way to Ireland, to reclaim such part of
my property, and that of my employers, as was saved from the savages who
pillaged us in our distress.”--This detail, which was given with great
simplicity and precision, excited considerable interest among the
persons upon the deck of the packet. Moriarty, who was pretty well
recovered from his sickness, was now summoned upon deck. Ormond
confronted him with the American supercargo, but neither of them had
the least recollection of each other. “And yet,” said Ormond to the
American, “though you do not know this man, he is at this moment under
sentence of transportation for having robbed you, and he very narrowly
escaped being hanged for your murder. A fate from which he was saved by
the patience and sagacity of the judge who tried him.”
Moriarty’s surprise was expressed with such strange contortions of
delight, and with a tone, and in a phraseology, so peculiarly his own,
as to astonish and entertain the spectators. Among these was the Irish
secretary, who, without any application being made to him, promised
Moriarty to procure for him a free pardon.
On Ormond’s landing in Dublin, the first news he heard, and it was
repeated a hundred times in a quarter of an hour, was that “Sir Ulick
O’Shane was bankrupt--that his bank shut up yesterday.” It was a public
calamity, a source of private distress, that reached lower and farther
than any bankruptcy had ever done in Ireland. Ormond heard of it from
every tongue, it was written in every face--in every house it was the
subject of lamentation, of invective. In every street, poor men, with
ragged notes in their hands, were stopping to pore over the names at
the back of the notes, or hurrying to and fro, looking up at the
shop-windows for “_half price given here for O’Shane’s notes_.” Groups
of people, of all ranks, gathered--stopped--dispersed, talking of
Sir Ulick O’Shane’s bankruptcy--their hopes--their fears--their
losses--their ruin--their despair--their rage. Some said it was all
owing to Sir Ulick’s shameful extravagance: “His house in Dublin,
fit for a duke!--Castle Hermitage full of company to the last
week--balls--dinners--the most expensive luxuries--scandalous!”
Others accused Sir Ulick’s absurd speculations. Many pronounced the
bankruptcy to be fraudulent, and asserted that an estate had been
made over to Marcus, who would live in affluence on the ruin of the
creditors.
At Sir Ulick’s house in town every window-shutter was closed. Ormond
rang and knocked in vain--not that he wished to see Sir Ulick--no, he
would not have intruded on his misery for the world; but Ormond longed
to inquire from the servants how things were with him. No servant could
be seen. Ormond went to Sir Ulick’s bank. Such crowds of people filled
the street that it was with the utmost difficulty and after a great
working of elbows, that in an hour or two he made his way to one of
the barred windows. There was a place where notes were handed in and
_accepted_, as they called it, by the clerks, who thus for the
hour soothed and pacified the sufferers, with the hopes that this
_acceptance_ would be good, and would _stand in stead_ at some future
day. They were told that when things should come to a settlement, all
would be paid. There was property enough to satisfy the creditors,
when the _commissioners_ should look into it. Sir Ulick would pay all
honourably--as far as possible--fifteen shillings in the pound, or
certainly ten shillings--the _accepted_ notes would pass for that any
where. The crowd pressed closer and closer, arms crossing over each
other to get notes in at the window, the clerks’ heads appearing and
disappearing. It was said they were laughing while they thus deluded the
people.
All the intelligence that Ormond, after being nearly suffocated, could
obtain from any of the clerks, was, that Sir Ulick was in the country.
“They believed at Castle Hermitage--could not be certain--had no letters
for him to-day--he was ill when they heard last--so ill he could do no
business--confined to his bed.”
The people in the street hearing these answers replied, “Confined in his
bed, is he?--In the jail, it should be, as many will be along of him.
Ill, is he, Sir Ulick?--Sham sickness, may be--all his life a _sham_.”
All these and innumerable other taunts and imprecations, with which the
poor people vented their rage, Ormond heard as he made his way out of
the crowd.
Of all who had suffered, he who had probably lost the most, and who
certainly had been on the brink of losing the greatest part of what he
possessed, was the only individual who uttered no reproach.
He was impatient to get down to Castle Hermitage, and if he found that
Sir Ulick had acted fairly, to be some comfort to him, to be with him at
least when deserted by all the rest of the world.
At all the inns upon the road, as he went from Dublin to Castle
Hermitage, even at the villages where he stopped to water the
horses, every creature, down to the hostlers, were talking of the
bankruptcy--and abusing Sir Ulick O’Shane and his son. The curses that
were deep, not loud, were the worst--and the faces of distress worse
than all. Gathering round his carriage, wherever it stopped, the people
questioned him and his servants about the news, and then turned away,
saying they were ruined. The men stood in unutterable despair. The women
crying, loudly bewailed “their husbands, their sons, that must waste in
the jail or fly the country; for what should they do for the rents that
had been made up in Sir Ulick’s notes, and _no good_ now?”
Ormond felt the more on hearing these complaints, from his sense of the
absolute impossibility of relieving the universal distress.
He pursued his melancholy journey, and took Moriarty into the carriage
with him, that he might not be recognized on the road.
When he came within sight of Castle Hermitage, he stopped at the top
of the hill at a cottage, where many a time in his boyish days he had
rested with Sir Ulick out hunting. The mistress of the house, now an old
woman, came to the door.
“Master Harry dear!” cried she, when she saw who it was. But the sudden
flash of joy in her old face was over in an instant.
“But did you hear it?” cried she, “and the great change it caused
him--poor Sir Ulick O’Shane? I went up with eggs on purpose to see him,
but could only hear--he was in his bed--wasting with trouble--nobody
knows any thing more--all is kept hush and close. Mr. Marcus took off
all he could rap, and ran, even to--”
“Well, well, I don’t want to hear of Marcus--can you tell me whether Dr.
Cambray is come home?”
“Not expected to come till Monday.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh! not a morning but I’m there the first thing, asking, and longing
for them.”
“Lie back, Moriarty, in the carriage, and pull your hat over your face,”
whispered Ormond: “postilions, drive on to that little cabin, with the
trees about it, at the foot of the hill.” This was Moriarty’s cabin.
When they stopped, poor Peggy was called out. Alas! how altered from the
dancing, sprightly, blooming girl, whom Ormond had known so few years
since in the Black Islands! How different from the happy wife, whom he
had left, comfortably settled in a cottage suited to her station and
her wishes! She was thin, pale, and haggard--her dress was neglected--an
ill-nursed child, that she had in her arms she gave to a young girl near
her. Approaching the carriage, and seeing Harry Ormond, she seemed ready
to sink into the earth: however, after having drank some water, she
recovered sufficiently to be able to answer Ormond’s inquiries.
“What do you intend to do, Peggy?”
“Do, sir!--go to America, to join my husband sure; every thing was to
have been sold, Monday last--but nobody has any money--and I am tould it
will cost a great deal to get across the sea.”
At this she burst into tears and cried most bitterly; and at this moment
the carriage door flew open--Moriarty’s impatience could be no longer
restrained--he flung himself into the arms of his wife.
Leaving this happy and innocent couple to enjoy their felicity we
proceed to Castle Hermitage.
Ormond directed the postilions to go the back way to the house. They
drove down the old avenue.
Presently they saw a boy, who seemed to be standing on the watch, run
back towards the castle, leaping over hedge and ditch with desperate
haste. Then came running from the house three men, calling to one
another to shut the gates for the love of God!
They all ran towards the gateway through which the postilions were going
to drive, reached it just as the foremost horses turned, and flung the
gate full against the horses’ heads. The men, without looking or caring,
went on locking the gate. Ormond jumped out of the carriage--at the
sight of him, the padlock fell from the hand of the man who held it.
“Master Harry himself!--and is it you?--We ask your pardon, your
honour.”
The men were three of Sir Ulick’s workmen--Ormond forbad the carriage to
follow. “For perhaps you are afraid of the noise disturbing Sir Ulick?”
said be.
“No, plase your honour,” said the foremost man, “it will not disturb
him--as well let the carriage come on--only,” whispered he, “best to
send the hack postilions with their horses always to the inn, afore
they’d learn any thing.”
Ormond walked on quickly, and as soon as he was out of hearing of the
postilions again asked the men, “What news?--how is Sir Ulick?”
“Poor gentleman! he has had a deal of trouble--and no help for him,”
said the man.
“Better tell him plain,” whispered the next. “Master Harry, Sir Ulick
O’Shane’s trouble is over in this world, sir.”
“Is he--”
“Dead, he is, and cold, and in his coffin--this minute--and thanks be to
God, if he is safe there even from them that are on the watch to seize
on his body!--In the dread of them creditors, orders were given to keep
the gates locked. He is dead since Tuesday, sir,--but hardly one knows
it out of the castle--except us.”
Ormond walked on silently, while they followed, talking at intervals.
“There is a very great cry against him, sir, I hear, in Dublin,--and
here in the country, too,” said one.
“The distress, they say, is very great, he caused; but they might let
his body rest any way--what good can that do them?”
“Bad or good, they sha’n’t touch it,” said the other: “by the blessing,
we shall have him buried safe in the morning, afore they are stirring.
We shall carry the coffin through the under ground passage, that goes
to the stables, and out by the lane to the churchyard asy--and the
gentleman, the clergyman, has notice all will be ready, and the
housekeeper only attending.”
“Oh! the pitiful funeral,” said the eldest of the men, “the pitiful
funeral for Sir Ulick O’Shane, that was born to better.”
“Well, we can only do the best we can,” said the other, “let what will
happen to ourselves; for Sir Marcus said he wouldn’t take one of his
father’s notes from any of us.”
Ormond involuntarily felt for his purse.
“Oh! don’t be bothering the gentleman, don’t be talking,” said the old
man.
“This way, Master Harry, if you please, sir, the underground way to the
back yard. We keep all close till after the burying, for fear--that was
the housekeeper’s order. Sent all off to Dublin when Sir Ulick took to
his bed, and Lady Norton went off.”
Ormond refrained from asking any questions about his illness, fearing
to inquire into the manner of his death. He walked on more quickly and
silently. When they were going through the dark passage, one of the men,
in a low voice, observed to Mr. Ormond that the housekeeper would tell
him all about it.
When they got to the house, the housekeeper and Sir Ulick’s man
appeared, seeming much surprised at the sight of Mr. Ormond. They said
a great deal about the _unfortunate event_, and their own sorrow and
_distress_; but Ormond saw that theirs were only the long faces, dismal
tones, and outward show of grief. They were just a common housekeeper
and gentleman’s gentleman, neither worse nor better than ordinary
servants in a great house. Sir Ulick had only treated them as such.
The housekeeper, without Ormond’s asking a single question, went on to
tell him that “Castle Hermitage was as full of company, even to the last
week, as ever it could hold, and all as grand as ever; the first people
in Ireland--champagne and burgundy, and ices, and all as usual--and
a ball that very week. Sir Ulick was very considerate, and sent Lady
Norton off to her other friends; he took ill suddenly that night with a
great pain in his head: he had been writing hard, and in great trouble,
and he took to his bed, and never rose from it--he was found by Mr.
Dempsey, his own man, dead in his bed in the morning--of a broken heart,
to be sure!--Poor gentleman!--Some people in the neighbourhood was
mighty busy talking how the coroner ought to be sent for; but that blew
over, sir. But then we were in dread of the seizure of the body for
debt, so the gates was kept locked; and now you know all we know about
it, sir.”
Ormond said he would attend the funeral. There was no attempt to seize
upon the body; only the three workmen, the servants, a very few of the
cottagers, and Harry Ormond, attended to the grave the body of the once
popular Sir Ulick O’Shane. This was considered by the country people as
the greatest of all the misfortunes that had befallen him; the lowest
degradation to which an O’Shane could be reduced. They compared him with
King Corny, and “see the difference!” said they; “the one was _the true
thing_, and never _changed_--and after all, where is the great friends
now?--the quality that used to be entertained at the castle above? Where
is all the favour promised him now? What is it come to? See, with all
his wit, and the schemes upon schemes, broke and gone, and forsook and
forgot, and buried without a funeral, or a tear, but from Master Harry.”
Ormond was surprised to hear, in the midst of many of their popular
superstitions and prejudices, how justly they estimated Sir Ulick’s
abilities and character.
As the men filled up his grave, one of them said, “There lies the making
of an excellent gentleman--but the cunning of his head spoiled the
goodness of his heart.”
The day after the funeral an agent came from Dublin to settle Sir Ulick
O’Shane’s affairs in the country.
On opening his desk, the first thing that appeared was a bundle of
accounts, and a letter, directed to H. Ormond, Esq. He took it to his
own room and read--
“ORMOND,
“I intended to _employ_ your money to re-establish my falling credit,
but I never intended to _defraud_ you.
“ULICK O’SHANE.”