"We want the loan o' that young woman there, ma'am," said the ruffian.

Andy and his mother both uttered small squalls.

"And as for who we are, ma'am, we're the blessed society of Saint Joseph, ma'am--our coat of arms is two heads upon one pillow, and our motty, 'Who's afraid?--Hurroo!'" shouted the savage, and he twirled his stick and cut another caper. Then coming up to Andy, he addressed him as "young woman," and said there was a fine strapping fellow whose heart was breaking till he "rowled her in his arms."

Andy and the mother both acted their parts very well. He rushed to the arms of the old woman for protection, and screeched small, while the widow shouted "_millia murther!_" at the top of her voice, and did not give up her hold of the make-believe young woman until her cap was torn half off, and her hair streamed about her face. She called on all the saints in the calendar, as she knelt in the middle of the floor and rocked to and fro, with her clasped hands raised to heaven, calling down curses on the "villains and robbers" that were tearing her child from her, while they threatened to stop her breath altogether if she did not make less noise, and in the midst of the uproar dragged off Andy, whose struggles and despair might have excited the suspicion of soberer men. They lifted him up on a stout horse, in front of the most powerful man of the party, who gripped Andy hard round the middle and pushed his horse to a hand gallop, followed by the rest of the party. The proximity of Andy to his _cavaliero_ made the latter sensible to the bad odour of the pig's bed, which formed Andy's luxurious bust and bustle; but he attributed the unsavoury scent to a bad breath on the lady's part, and would sometimes address his charge thus:--

"Young woman, if you plaze, would you turn your face th' other way;" then in a side soliloquy, "By Jaker, I wondher at Jack's taste--she's a fine lump of a girl, but her breath is murther intirely--phew--young woman, turn away your face, or by this and that I'll fall off the horse. I've heerd of a bad breath that might knock a man down, but I never met it till now. Oh, murther! it's worse it's growin'--I suppose 't is the b.u.mpin'

she's gettin' that shakes the breath out of her sthrong--oh, there it is again--phew!"

It was as well, perhaps, for the prosecution of the deceit, that the distaste the fellow conceived for his charge prevented any closer approaches to Andy's visage, which might have dispelled the illusion under which he still pushed forward to the hills and b.u.mped poor Andy towards the termination of his ride. Keeping a sharp look-out as he went along, Andy soon was able to perceive they were making for that wild part of the hills where he had discovered the private still on the night of his temporary fright and imaginary rencontre with the giants, and the conversation he partly overheard all recurred to him, and he saw at once that Oonah was the person alluded to, whose name he could not catch, a circ.u.mstance that cost him many a conjecture in the interim. This gave him a clue to the persons into whose power he was about to fall, after having so far defeated their scheme, and he saw he should have to deal with very desperate and lawless parties. Remembering, moreover, the herculean frame of the inamorato, he calculated on an awful thrashing as the smallest penalty he should have to pay for deceiving him, but was, nevertheless, determined to go through the adventure with a good heart, to make deceit serve his turn as long as he might, and at the last, if necessary, to make the best fight he could.

As it happened, luck favoured Andy in his adventure, for the hero of the blunderbuss (and he, it will be remembered, was the love-sick gentleman) drank profusely on the night in question, quaffing deep potations to the health of his Oonah, wishing luck to his friends and speed to their horses, and every now and then ascending the ladder from the cave, and looking out for the approach of the party. On one of these occasions, from the unsteadiness of the ladder, or himself, or perhaps both, his foot slipped, and he came to the ground with a heavy fall, in which his head received so severe a blow that he became insensible, and it was some time before his sister, who was an inhabitant of this den, could restore him to consciousness. This she did, however, and the savage recovered all the senses the whisky had left him; but still the stunning effect of the fall cooled his courage considerably, and, as it were, "bothered" him so, that he felt much less of the "gallant gay Lothario" than he had done before the accident.

The tramp of horses was heard overhead ere long, and _Shan More_, or Big John, as the Hercules was called, told Bridget to go up to "the darlin'," and help her down.

"For that's a blackguard laddher," said he; "it turned undher me like an eel, bad luck to it!--tell her I'd go up myself, only the ground is slipping from undher me--and the laddher--"

Bridget went off, leaving Jack growling forth anathemas against the ground and the ladder, and returned speedily with the mock-lady and her attendant squires.

"Oh, my jewel!" roared Jack, as he caught sight of his prize. He scrambled up on his legs, and made a rush at Andy, who imitated a woman's scream and fright at the expected embrace; but it was with much greater difficulty he suppressed his laughter at the headlong fall with which Big Jack plunged his head into a heap of turf, [Footnote: Peat] and hugged a sack of malt which lay beside it.

Andy endeavoured to overcome the provocation to merriment by screeching; and as Bridget caught the sound of this tendency towards laughter between the screams, she thought it was the commencement of a fit of hysterics, and it accounted all the better for Andy's extravagant antics.

"Oh, the craythur is frightened out of her life!" said Bridget. "Leave her to me," said she to the men. "There, jewel machree!" she continued to Andy, soothingly, "don't take on you that way--don't be afeerd, you're among friends--Jack is only dhrunk dhrinking your health, darlin', but he adores you." Andy screeched.

"But don't be afeerd, you'll be thrated tender, and he'll marry you, darlin', like an honest woman!"

Andy squalled.

"But not to-night, jewel--don't be frightened."

Andy gave a heavy sob at the respite.

"Boys, will you lift Jack out o' the turf, and carry him up into the air?

't will be good for him, and this dacent girl will sleep with me to-night."

Andy couldn't resist a laugh at this, and Bridget feared the girl was going off into hysterics again.

"Aisy, dear--aisy--sure you'll be safe with me."

"Ow! ow! ow!" shouted Andy.

"Oh, murther!" cried Bridget, "the sterricks will be the death of her!

You blackguards, you frightened her coming up here, I'm sure."

The men swore they behaved in the genteelest manner. "Well, take away Jack, and the girl shall have share of my bed for this night."

Andy shook internally with laughter.

"Dear, dear, how she thrimbles!" cried Bridget, "Don't be so frightful, _lanna machree_--there, now--they're taking Jack away, and you're alone with myself and will have a nice sleep."

The men all the time were removing _Shan More_ to upper air; and the last sounds they heard as they left the cave were the coaxing tones of Bridget's voice, inviting Andy, in the softest words, to go to bed.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

The workshops of Neck-or-Nothing Hall rang with the sounds of occupation for two days after the demise of its former master. The hoa.r.s.e grating sound of the saw, the whistling of the plane, and the stroke of the mallet denoted the presence of the carpenter; and the sharper clink of a hammer told of old Fogy, the family "milliner," being at work; but it was not on millinery Fogy was now employed, though neither was it legitimate tinker's work. He was scrolling out with his shears, and beating into form, a plate of tin, to serve for the shield on O'Grady's coffin, which was to record his name, age, and day of departure; and this was the second plate on which the old man worked, for one was already finished in the corner. Why are there two coffin-plates? Enter the carpenter's shop, and you will see the answer in two coffins the carpenter has nearly completed. But why two coffins for one death? Listen, reader, to a bit of Irish strategy.

It has been stated that an apprehension was entertained of a seizure of the inanimate body of O'Grady for the debts it had contracted in life, and the harpy nature of the money-lender from whom this movement was dreaded warranted the fear. Had O'Grady been popular, such a measure on the part of a cruel creditor might have been defied, as the surrounding peasantry would have risen _en ma.s.se_ to prevent it; but the hostile position in which he had placed himself towards the people alienated the natural affection they are born with for their chiefs, and any partial defence the few fierce retainers whom individual interest had attached to him could have made might have been insufficient; therefore, to save his father's remains from the pollution (as the son considered) of a bailiff's touch, Gustavus determined to achieve by stratagem what he could not accomplish by force, and had two coffins constructed, the one to be filled with stones and straw, and sent out by the front entrance with all the demonstration of a real funeral, and be given up to the attack it was feared would be made upon it while the other, put to its legitimate use, should be placed on a raft, and floated down the river to an ancient burial-ground which lay some miles below on the opposite bank. A facility for this was afforded by a branch of the river running up into the domain, as it will be remembered; and the scene of the bearish freaks played upon Furlong was to witness a trick of a more serious nature.

While all these preparations were going forward, the "waking" was kept up in all the barbarous style of old times; eating and drinking in profusion went on in the house, and the kitchen of the hall rang with joviality. The feats of sports and arms of the man who had pa.s.sed away were lauded, and his comparative achievements with those of his progenitors gave rise to many a stirring anecdote; and bursts of barbarous exultation, or more barbarous merriment, rang in the house of death. There was no lack of whisky to fire the brains of these revellers, for the standard of the measurement of family grandeur was, too often, a liquid one in Ireland, even so recently as the time we speak of; and the dozens of wine wasted during the life it helped to shorten, and the posthumous gallons consumed in toasting to the memory of the departed, were among the cherished remembrances of hereditary honour. "There were two hogsheads of whisky drank at my father's wake!" was but a moderate boast of a true Irish squire, fifty years ago.

And now the last night of the wake approached, and the retainers thronged to honour the obsequies of their departed chief with an increased enthusiasm, which rose in proportion as the whisky got low; and songs in praise of their present occupation--that is, getting drunk--rang merrily round, and the sports of the field and the sorrows and joys of love resounded; in short, the ruling pa.s.sions of life figured in rhyme and music in honour of this occasion of death--and as death is the maker of widows, a very animated discussion on the subject of widowhood arose, which afforded great scope for the rustic wits, and was crowned by the song of "Widow Machree" being universally called for by the company; and a fine-looking fellow with a merry eye and large white teeth, which he amply displayed by a wide mouth, poured forth in cheery tones a pretty lively air which suited well the humorous spirit of the words:--

WIDOW MACHREE

"Widow _machree_, it's no wonder you frown, Och hone! widow machree: 'Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown, Och hone! widow machree.

How altered your hair, With that close cap you wear-- 'Tis destroying your hair Which should be flowing free: Be no longer a churl Of its black silken curl, Och hone! widow machree.

"Widow machree, now the summer is come, Och hone! widow machree; When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum!

Och hone! widow machree.

See the birds go in pairs, And the rabbits and hares-- Why even the bears Now in couples agree; And the mute little fish, Though they can't spake, they wish, Och hone! widow machree.

"Widow machree, and when winter comes in, Och hone! widow machree, To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, Och hone! widow machree, Sure the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kittle sings songs Full of family glee, While alone with your cup, Like a hermit _you_ sup-- Och hone! widow machree.

"And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, Och hone! widow machree, But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld, Och hone! widow machree.

With such sins on your head, Sure your peace would be fled, Could you sleep in your bed, Without thinking to see Some ghost or some sprite, That would wake you each night, Crying, 'Och hone! widow machree.'

"Then take my advice, darling widow machree, Och hone! widow machree, And with my advice, 'faith I wish you'd take me, Och hone! widow machree.

You'd have me to desire Then to sit by the fire; And sure hope is no liar In whispering to me That the ghosts would depart, When you'd me near your heart, Och hone! widow machree."

The singer was honoured with a round of applause, and his challenge for another lay was readily answered, and mirth and music filled the night and ushered in the dawn of the day which was to witness the melancholy sight of the master of an ample mansion being made the tenant of the "narrow house."

In the evening of that day, however, the wail rose loud and long; the mirth which "the waking" permits had pa.s.sed away, and the _ulican_, or funeral cry, told that the lifeless chief was being borne from his hall. That wild cry was heard even by the party who were waiting to make their horrid seizure, and for _that_ party the stone-laden coffin was sent with a retinue of mourners through the old iron gate of the princ.i.p.al entrance, while the mortal remains were borne by a smaller party to the river inlet and placed on the raft. Half an hour had witnessed a sham fight on the part of O'Grady's people with the bailiffs and their followers, who made the seizure they intended, and locked up their prize in an old barn to which it had been conveyed, until some engagement on the part of the heir should liberate it; while the aforesaid heir, as soon as the shadows of evening had shrouded the river in obscurity, conveyed the remains, which the myrmidons of the law fancied they possessed, to its quiet and lonely resting-place. The raft was taken in tow by a boat carrying two of the boys, and pulled by four l.u.s.ty retainers of the departed chief, while Gustavus himself stood on the raft, astride over the coffin, and with an eel-spear, which had afforded him many a day's sport, performed the melancholy task of guiding it. It was a strangely painful yet beautiful sight to behold the graceful figure of the fine boy engaged in this last sad duty; with dexterous energy he plied his spear, now on this side and now on that, directing the course of the raft, or clearing it from the flaggers which interrupted its pa.s.sage through the narrow inlet. This duty he had to attend to for some time, even after leaving the little inlet; for the river was much overgrown with flaggers at this point, and the increasing darkness made the task more difficult.

In the midst of all this action not one word was spoken, even the st.u.r.dy boatmen were mute, and the fall of the oar in the rowlock, the plash of the water, and the crushing sound of the yielding rushes as the "watery bier" made its way through them were the only sounds which broke the silence. Still Gustavus betrayed no emotion; but by the time they reached the open stream, and that his personal exertion was no longer required, a change came over him. It was night,--the measured beat of the oars sounded like a knell to him--there was darkness above him and death below, and he sank down upon the coffin, and plunging his face pa.s.sionately between his hands, he wept bitterly. Sad were the thoughts that oppressed the brain and wrung the heart of the high-spirited boy. He felt that his dead father was _escaping_, as it were, to the grave,--that even death did not terminate the consequences of an ill-spent life. He felt like a thief in the night, even in the execution of his own stratagem, and the bitter thoughts of that sad and solemn time wrought a potent spell over after- years; that one hour of misery and disgrace influenced the entire of a future life.

On a small hill overhanging the river was the ruin of an ancient early temple of Christianity, and to its surrounding burial-ground a few of the retainers had been despatched to prepare a grave. They were engaged in this task by the light of a torch made of bog-pine, when the flicker of the flame attracted the eye of a horseman who was riding slowly along the neighbouring road. Wondering what could be the cause of light in such a place, he leaped the adjoining fence and rode up to the grave-yard.

"What are you doing here?" he said to the labourers. They paused and looked up, and the flash of the torch fell upon the features of Edward O'Connor. "We're finishing your work," said one of the men with malicious earnestness.

"My work?" repeated Edward.

"Yes," returned the man, more sternly than before--"this is the grave of O'Grady."