Advice: It's Better to Use Search Function to See All Our Books! You Can See All Books on Dropdown List! Part 28

Advice: It's Better to Use Search Function to See All Our Books! You Can See All Books on Dropdown List! Part 28

Isn't he obliged to go to his own apartment when they want to make a night of it, and sing a good chorus? Don't tell me! Sure, even as late as Lord Westmorland's time it was another thing--pleasant and happy times they were, and the country will never be the same till we have them back again!'

Being somewhat curious to ascertain in what particular our degeneracy consisted--for in my ignorance of better, I had hitherto supposed the present regime about as gay a thing as need be--I gradually led the Major on to talk of those happier days when Ireland kept all its fun for home consumption, and never exported even its surplus produce.

'It was better in every respect,' responded the Major. 'Hadn't we all the patronage amongst us? There's Jonah, there--Harrington, I mean; well, he and I could make anything, from a tide-waiter to a master in Chancery. It's little trouble small debts gave us then; a pipe of sherry never cost me more than a storekeeper in the ordnance, and I kept my horses at livery for three years with a washwoman to Kilmainham Hospital And as for fun--look at the Castle now! Don't I remember the times when we used to rob the coaches coming from the drawing-rooms; and pretty girls they were inside of them.'

'For shame, for shame!' cried Father Tom, with a sly look in the corner of his eye that by no means bespoke a suitable degree of horror at such unwarrantable proceedings.

'Well, if it was a shame it was no sin,' responded the Major; 'for we never took anything more costly than kisses. Ah, dear me! them was the times! And, to be sure, every now and then we got a pull-up from the Lady lieutenant, and were obliged to behave ourselves for a week or two together. One thing she never could endure was a habit we had of leaving the Castle before they themselves left the ball-room. I'm not going to defend it--it was not very polite, I confess; but somehow or other there was always something going on we couldn't afford to lose--maybe a supper at the barrack, or a snug party at Daly's, or a bit of fun elsewhere. Her Excellency, however, got angry about it, and we got a quiet hint to reform our manners. This, I need not tell you, was a hopeless course; so we hit on an expedient that answered to the full as well. It was by our names being called out, as the carriages drove up, that our delinquency became known. So Matt Fortescue suggested that we should adopt some feigned nomenclature, which would totally defy every attempt at discovery; the idea was excellent, and we traded on it for many a day with complete success. One night, however, from some cause or other, the carriages were late in arriving, and we were all obliged to accompany the court into the supper-room. Angry enough we were; but still there was no help for it; and so, "smiling through tears," as the poet says, in we went. Scarcely, however, had we taken our places when a servant called out something from the head of the stairs; another re-echoed it at the ante-chamber, and a third at the supper-room shouted out, "Oliver Cromwell's carriage stops the way!" The roar of laughter the announcement caused shook the very room; but it had scarcely subsided when there was another call for "Brian Boru's coach," quickly followed by "Guy Fawkes" and "Paddy O'Rafferty's jingle," which latter personage was no other than the Dean of Cork. I need not tell you that we kept our secret, and joined in the universal opinion of the whole room, "that the household was shamefully disguised in drink"; and indeed there was no end to the mistakes that night, for every now and then some character in heathen or modern history would turn up among the announcements; and as the laughter burst forth, the servants would grow ashamed for a while, and refuse to call any carriage where the style and t.i.tle was a little out of the common. Ah, Mr. Hinton, if you had lived in those days! Well, well, no matter--here's a gla.s.s to their memory, anyway. It is the first time you 've been in these parts, and I suppose you haven't seen much of the country?'

'Very little indeed,' replied I; 'and even that much only by moonlight.'

'I'm afraid,' said Father Tom, half pensively, 'that many of your countrymen take little else than a "dark view" of us.'

'See now,' said the Major, slapping his hand on the table with energy, 'the English know as much about Pat as Pat knows of purgatory--no offence to you, Mr. Hinton. I could tell you a story of a circ.u.mstance that once happened to myself.'

No, no, Bob,' said the priest; 'it is bad taste to tell a story _en pet.i.t comite_. I'll leave it to the Captain.'

'If I am to be the judge,' said I laughingly, 'I decide for the story.'

'Let's have it, then,' said the priest. 'Come, Bob, a fresh brew, and begin your tale.'

'You are a sensual creature, Father Tom,' said the Major, 'and prefer drink to intellectual discussion; not but that you may have both here at the same time. But in honour of my friend beside me, I'll not bear malice, but give you the story; and let me tell you, it is not every day in the week a man hears a tale with a moral to it, particularly down in this part of the country.'

CHAPTER XXIV. THE DEVIL'S GRIP

'The way of it was this. There was a little estate of mine in the county of Waterford that I used now and then to visit in the shooting season.

In fact, except for that, there was very little inducement to go there; it was a bleak, ugly part of the country, a bad market-town near it, and not a neighbour within twelve miles. Well, I went over there--it was, as well as I remember, December two years. Never was there such weather; it rained from morning till night, and blew and rained from night till morning; the slates were flying about on every side, and we used to keep fellows up all night, that in case the chimneys were blown away we 'd know where to find them in the morning. This was the pleasant weather I selected for my visit to the "Devil's Grip"--that was the name of the town-land where the house stood; and no bad name either, for, 'faith, if he hadn't his paw on it, it might have gone in law,-like the rest of the property. However, down I went there, and only remembered on the evening of my arrival that I had ordered my gamekeeper to poison the mountain, to get rid of the poachers; so that, instead of shooting, which, as I said before, was all you could do in the place, there I was, with three brace of dogs, two guns, and powder enough to blow up a church, walking a big dining-parlour, all alone by myself, as melancholy as may be.

'You may judge how happy I was, looking out upon the bleak country-side, with nothing to amuse me except when now and then the roof of some cabin or other would turn upside down, like an umbrella, or watching an old windmill that had gone clean mad, and went round at such a pace that n.o.body dare go near it. All this was poor comfort. However, I got out of temper with the place; and so I sat down and wrote a long advertis.e.m.e.nt for the English papers, describing the Devil's Grip as a little terrestrial paradise, in the midst of picturesque scenery, a delightful neighbourhood, and an Arcadian peasantry, the whole to be parted with---a dead bargain--as the owner was about to leave the country. I didn't add that he had some thought of blowing his brains out with sheer disgust of his family residence. I wound up the whole with a paragraph to the effect that if not disposed of within the month, the proprietor would break it up into small farms. I said this because I intended to remain so long there; and, although I knew no purchaser would treat after he saw the premises, yet still some one might be fool enough to come over and look at them, and even that would help me to pa.s.s the Christmas. My calculation turned out correct; for before a week was over, a letter reached me, stating that a Mr. Green, of No. 196 High Holborn, would pay me a visit as soon as the weather moderated and permitted him to travel If he waits for that, thought I, he 'll not find me here; and if it blows as hard for the next week, he 'll not find the house either; so I mixed another tumbler of punch, and hummed myself to sleep with the "Battle of Ross."

'It was about four or five evenings after I received this letter that old Dan M'Cormick--a kind of butler I have, a handy fellow; he was a steward for ten years in the Holyhead packet--burst into the room about ten o'clock, when I was disputing with myself whether I took six tumblers or seven--I said one, the decanter said the other.

'"It's blowing terrible, Mr. Bob," said Dan.

'"Let it blow! What else has it to do?"

'"The trees is tumbling about as if they was drunk; there won't be one left before morn."

'"They're right," says I, "to leave that, for the soil was never kind for planting."

'"Two of the chimneys is down," says he.

'"Devil mend them!" said I, "they were always smoking."

'"And the hall door," cried he, "is blown flat into the hall."

'"It's little I care," said I; "if it couldn't keep out the sheriff it may let in the storm, if it pleases."

'"Murther! murther!" said he, wringing his hands, "I wish we were at say! It's a cruel thing to have one's life perilled this way."

'While we were talking, a gossoon burst into the room with the news that the Milford packet had just gone ash.o.r.e somewhere below the Hook Tower, adding, as is always the case on such occasions, that they were all drowned.

'I jumped up at this, put on my shooting-shoes, b.u.t.toned up my frieze coat, and followed by Dan, took a short cut over the hills towards Pa.s.sage, where I now found the packet had been driven in. Before we had gone half a mile I heard the voices of some country-people coming up the road towards me; but it was so dark you couldn't see your hand.

'"Who's there?" said I.

'"Tim Molloy, your honour," was the answer.

'"What's the matter, Tim?" said I. "Is there anything wrong?"

'"Nothing, sir, glory be to G.o.d--it's only the corpse of the gentleman that was drowned there below."

'"I ain't dead, I tell you; I'm only faint," called out a shrill voice.

'"He says he's better," said Tim; "and maybe it's only the salt water that's in him; and, faix, when we found him, there was no more spark in him than in a wet sod."

'Well, the short of it was, we brought him up to the house, rubbed him with gunpowder before the fire, gave him about half a pint of burnt spirits, and put him to bed, he being just able to tell me, as he was dropping asleep, that he was my friend from No. 196 High Holborn.

'The next morning I sent up Dan to ask how he was, and he came down with the news that he was fast asleep. "The best thing he could do," said I; and I began to think over what a mighty load it would be upon my conscience if the decent man had been drowned. "For, maybe, after all,"

thought I, "he is in earnest, maybe he wished to buy a beautiful place like that I have described in the papers"; and so I began to relent, and wonder with myself how I could make the country pleasant for him during his stay. "It'll not be a day or two at farthest, particularly after he sees the place. Ay, there's the rub--the poor devil will find out then that I have been hoaxing him." This kept fretting me all day; and I was continually sending up word to know if he was awake, and the answer always was--still sleeping.

'Well, about four o'clock, as it was growing dark, Oakley of the Fifth and two of his brother officers came bowling up to the door, on their way to Carrick. Here was a piece of luck! So we got dinner ready for the party, brought a good store of claret at one side of the fireplace, and a plentiful stock of bog-fir at the other, and resolved to make a night of it; and just as I was describing to my friends the arrival of my guest above-stairs, who should enter the room but himself. He was a round little fellow, about my size, with a short, quick, business-like way about him. Indeed, he was a kind of a drysalter, or something of that nature, in London, had made a large fortune, and wished to turn country gentleman. I had only time to learn these few particulars, and to inform him that he was at that moment in the mansion he had come to visit, when dinner was announced.

'Down we sat; and, 'faith, a jollier party rarely met f together.

Poor Mr. Green knew but little of Ireland; but we certainly tried to enlighten him; and he drank in wonders with his wine at such a rate that by eleven o'clock he was carried to his room pretty much in the same state as on his arrival the night before, the only difference being, it was Sneyd, not salt.w.a.ter, this time that filled him.

'"I like the c.o.c.kney," said Oakley; "that fellow's good fun. I say, Bob, bring him over with you to-morrow to dinner. We halt at Carrick till the detachment comes up."

'"Could you call it breakfast?" said I. "There's a thought just strikes me: we'll be over in Carrick with you about six o'clock; well have our breakfast, whatever you like to give us, and dine with you about eleven or twelve afterwards."

'Oakley liked the project well; and before we parted the whole thing was arranged for the next day.

'Towards four o'clock in the afternoon of the following day Mr. Green was informed by Daniel that, as we had made an engagement to take an early breakfast some miles off, he ought to be up and stirring; at the same time a pair of candles were brought into the room, hot water for shaving, etc; and the astonished c.o.c.kney, who looked at his watch, perceived that it was but four.

'"These are very early people," thought he. "However, the habits of the country must be complied with." So saying, he proceeded with his toilette, and at last reached the drawing-room, just as my drag dashed up to the door--the lamps fixed and shining, and everything in readiness for departure.

'"We''ll have a little shooting, Mr. Green," said I. "After breakfast, we'll see what my friend's preserves offer. I suppose you're a good shot?"

"'I can't say much for my performance; but I'm pa.s.sionately fond of it."

'"Well," added I, "I believe I can answer for it, you 'll have a good day here."

'So chatting, we rolled along, the darkness gradually thickening round us, and the way becoming more gloomy and deserted.

'"It's strange," says Mr. Green, after a while; "it's strange, how very dark it grows before sunrise; for I perceive it's much blacker now than when we set out."