TWO J.P.’S
It was the Tory magistrate, Mr. Flood--the same who had ransacked Walpole’s
correspondence--before whom the informations were sworn against Gorman
O’Shea, and the old justice of the peace was, in secret, not sorry to see
the question of land-tenure a source of dispute and quarrel amongst the
very party who were always inveighing against the landlords.
When Lord Kilgobbin arrived at Kilbeggan it was nigh midnight, and as
young O’Shea was at that moment a patient in the gaol infirmary, and sound
asleep, it was decided between Kearney and his son that they would leave
him undisturbed till the following morning.
Late as it was, Kearney was so desirous to know the exact narrative of
events that he resolved on seeing Mr. Flood at once. Though Dick Kearney
remonstrated with his father, and reminded him that old Tom Flood, as he
was called, was a bitter Tory, had neither a civil word nor a kind thought
for his adversaries in politics, Kearney was determined not to be turned
from his purpose by any personal consideration, and being assured by the
innkeeper that he was sure to find Mr. Flood in his dining-room and over
his wine, he set out for the snug cottage at the entrance of the town,
where the old justice of the peace resided.
Just as he had been told, Mr. Flood was still in the dinner-room, and
with his guest, Tony Adams, the rector, seated with an array of decanters
between them.
‘Kearney--Kearney!’ cried Flood, as he read the card the servant handed
him. ‘Is it the fellow who calls himself Lord Kilgobbin, I wonder?’
‘Maybe so,’ growled Adams, in a deep guttural, for he disliked the effort
of speech.
‘I don’t know him, nor do I want to know him. He is one of your
half-and-half Liberals that, to my thinking, are worse than the rebels
themselves! What is this here in pencil on the back of the card?’ Mr. K.
begs to apologise for the hour of his intrusion, and earnestly entreats a
few minutes from Mr. Flood. ‘Show him in, Philip, show him in; and bring
some fresh glasses.’
Kearney made his excuses with a tact and politeness which spoke of a time
when he mixed freely with the world, and old Flood was so astonished by the
ease and good-breeding of his visitor that his own manner became at once
courteous and urbane.
‘Make no apologies about the hour, Mr. Kearney,’ said he. ‘An old
bachelor’s house is never very tight in discipline. Allow me to introduce
Mr. Adams, Mr. Kearney, the best preacher in Ireland, and as good a judge
of port wine as of theology.’
The responsive grunt of the parson was drowned in the pleasant laugh of the
others, as Kearney sat down and filled his glass. In a very few words he
related the reason of his visit to the town, and asked Mr. Flood to tell
him what he knew of the late misadventure.
‘Sworn information, drawn up by that worthy man, Pat McEvoy, the greatest
rascal in Europe, and I hope I don’t hurt you by saying it, Mr. Kearney.
Sworn information of a burglarious entry, and an aggravated assault on the
premises and person of one Peter Gill, another local blessing--bad luck
to him. The aforesaid--if I spoke of hi before--Gorman O’Shea, having,
_suadente diabolo_, smashed down doors and windows, palisadings
and palings, and broke open cabinets, chests, cupboards, and other
contrivances. In a word, he went into another man’s house, and when asked
what he did there, he threw the proprietor out of the window. There’s the
whole of it.’
‘Where was the house?’
‘O’Shea’s Barn.’
‘But surely O’Shea’s Barn, being the residence and property of his aunt,
there was no impropriety in his going there?’
‘The informant states that the place was in the tenancy of this said Gill,
one of your own people, Mr. Kearney. I wish you luck of him.’
‘I disown him, root and branch; he is a disgrace to any side. And where is
Miss Betty O’Shea?’
‘In a convent or a monastery, they say. She has turned abbess or monk; but,
upon my conscience, from the little I’ve seen of her, if a strong will and
a plucky heart be the qualifications, she might be the Pope!’
‘And are the young man’s injuries serious? Is he badly hurt? for they would
not let me see him at the gaol.’
‘Serious, I believe they are. He is cut cruelly about the face and head,
and his body bruised all over. The finest peasantry have a taste for
kicking with strong brogues on them, Mr. Kearney, that cannot be equalled.’
‘I wish with all my heart they’d kick the English out of Ireland!’ cried
Kearney, with a savage energy.
‘’Faith! if they go on governing us in the present fashion, I do not say
I’ll make any great objection. Eh, Adams?’
‘Maybe so!’ was the slow and very guttural reply, as the fat man crossed
his hands on his waistcoat.
‘I’m sick of them all, Whigs and Tories,’ said Kearney.
Is not every Irish gentleman sick of them, Mr. Kearney? Ain’t you sick
of being cheated and cajoled, and ain’t _we_ sick of being cheated and
insulted? They seek to conciliate _you_ by outraging _us_. Don’t you think
we could settle our own differences better amongst ourselves? It was
Philpot Curran said of the fleas in Manchester, that if they’d all pulled
together, they’d have pulled him out of bed. Now, Mr. Kearney, what if we
all took to “pulling together?”’
‘We cannot get rid of the notion that we’d be out-jockeyed,’ said Kearney
slowly.
‘We _know_,’ cried the other, ‘that we should be out-numbered, and that is
worse. Eh, Adams?’
‘Ay!’ sighed Adams, who did not desire to be appealed to by either side.
‘Now we’re alone here, and no eavesdropper near us, tell me fairly,
Kearney, are you better because we are brought down in the world? Are you
richer--are you greater--are you happier?’
‘I believe we are, Mr. Flood, and I’ll tell you why I say so.’
I’ll be shot if I hear you, that’s all. Fill your glass. That’s old port
that John Beresford tasted in the Custom-House Docks seventy-odd years ago,
and you are the only Whig living that ever drank a drop of it!’
‘I am proud to be the first exception, and I go so far as to believe--I
shall not be the last!’
‘I’ll send a few bottles over to that boy in the infirmary. It cannot but
be good for him,’ said Flood.
‘Take care, for Heaven’s sake, if he be threatened with inflammation. Do
nothing without the doctor’s leave.’
‘I wonder why the people who are so afraid of inflammation, are so fond of
rebellion,’ said he sarcastically.
‘Perhaps I could tell you that, too--’
‘No, do not--do not, I beseech you; reading the Whig Ministers’ speeches
has given me such a disgust to all explanations, I’d rather concede
anything than hear how it could be defended! Apparently Mr. Disraeli is of
my mind also, for he won’t support Paul Hartigan’s motion.’
‘What was Hartigan’s motion?’
‘For the papers, or the correspondence, or whatever they called it, that
passed between Danesbury and Dan Donogan.’
‘But there was none.’
‘Is that all you know of it? They were as thick as two thieves. It was
“Dear Dane” and “Dear Dan” between them. “Stop the shooting. We want a
light calendar at the summer assizes,” says one. “You shall have forty
thousand pounds yearly for a Catholic college, if the House will let us.”
“Thank you for nothing for the Catholic college,” says Dan. “We want our
own Parliament and our own militia; free pardon for political offences.”
What would you say to a bill to make landlord-shooting manslaughter, Mr.
Kearney?’
‘Justifiable homicide, Mr. Bright called it years ago, but the judges
didn’t see it.’
‘This Danesbury “muddle,” for that is the name they give it, will be hushed
up, for he has got some Tory connections, and the lords are never hard on
one of their “order,” so I hear. Hartigan is to be let have his talk out
in the House, and as he is said to be violent and indiscreet, the Prime
Minister will only reply to the violence and the indiscretion, and he
will conclude by saying that the noble Viceroy has begged Her Majesty to
release him of the charge of the Irish Government; and though the Cabinet
have urgently entreated him to remain and carry out the wise policy of
conciliation so happily begun in Ireland, he is rooted in his resolve, and
he will not stay; and there will be cheers; and when he adds that Mr. Cecil
Walpole, having shown his great talents for intrigue, will be sent back
to the fitting sphere--his old profession of diplomacy--there will be
laughter; for as the Minister seldom jokes, the House will imagine this to
be a slip, and then, with every one in good humour--but Paul Hartigan, who
will have to withdraw his motion--the right honourable gentleman will sit
down, well pleased at his afternoon’s work.’
Kearney could not but laugh at the sketch of a debate given with all the
mimicry of tone and mock solemnity of an old debater, and the two men now
became, by the bond of their geniality, like old acquaintances.
‘Ah, Mr. Kearney, I won’t say we’d do it better on College Green, but
we’d do it more kindly, more courteously, and, above all, we’d be less
hypocritical in our inquiries. I believe we try to cheat the devil in
Ireland just as much as our neighbours. But we don’t pretend that we are
arch-bishops all the time we’re doing it. There’s where we differ from the
English.’
‘And who is to govern us,’ cried Kearney,’ if we have no Lord-Lieutenant?’
‘The Privy Council, the Lords Justices, or maybe the Board of Works, who
knows? When you are going over to Holyhead in the packet, do you ever ask
if the man at the wheel is decent, or a born idiot, and liable to fits? Not
a bit of it. You know that there are other people to look to this, and you
trust, besides, that they’ll land you all safe.’
‘That’s true,’ said Kearney, and he drained his glass; ‘and now tell me one
thing more. How will it go with young O’Shea about this scrimmage, will it
be serious?’
‘Curtis, the chief constable, says it will be an ugly affair enough.
They’ll swear hard, and they’ll try to make out a title to the land through
the action of trespass; and if, as I hear, the young fellow is a scamp and
a bad lot--’
‘Neither one nor the other,’ broke in Kearney; ‘as fine a boy and as
thorough a gentleman as there is in Ireland.’
‘And a bit of a Fenian, too,’ slowly interposed Flood.
‘Not that I know; I’m not sure that he follows the distinctions of party
here; he is little acquainted with Ireland.’
‘Ho, ho! a Yankee sympathiser?’
‘Not even that; an Austrian soldier, a young lieutenant of lancers over
here for his leave.’
‘And why couldn’t he shoot, or course, or kiss the girls, or play at
football, and not be burning his fingers with the new land-laws? There’s
plenty of ways to amuse yourself in Ireland, without throwing a man out of
window; eh, Adams?’
And Adams bowed his assent, but did not utter a word.
‘You are not going to open more wine?’ remonstrated Kearney eagerly.
‘It’s done. Smell that, Mr. Kearney,’ cried Flood, as he held out a
fresh-drawn cork at the end of the screw. ‘Talk to me of clove-pinks and
violets and carnations after that? I don’t know whether you have any
prayers in your church against being led into temptation.’
‘Haven’t we!’ sighed the other.
‘Then all I say is, Heaven help the people at Oporto; they’ll have more to
answer for even than most men.’
It was nigh dawn when they parted, Kearney muttering to himself as he
sauntered back to the inn, ‘If port like that is the drink of the Tories,
they must be good fellows with all their prejudices.’
‘I’ll be shot if I don’t like that rebel,’ said Flood as he went to bed.