"As his honor done a great dale o' good! to the poor o' the counthry, I think it wouldn't be daicent in us, Misther Malcomson, to go for to publish this generous act to the poor priesht; if he is wrong, let us lave him to Gad, shir."

"Ou ay, weel I dinna but you're richt; the mair that we won't hae to answer for his transgressions; sae e'en let every herring hang by its ain tail."

In the meantime, Lanigan, who understood the affair well enough, addressed the audience in the kitchen to the following effect:

"Now," said he, "what a devil of a hubbub you all make about nothing!

Pray, young lady," addressing Esther Wilson, who alone had divulged the circ.u.mstance, "did his honor desire you to keep what you seen saicret?"

"He did, cook, he did," replied Esther; "and gave us money not to speak about it, which is a proof of his guilt."

"And the first thing you did was to blaze it to the whole kitchen! I'll tell you what it is now--if he ever hears that you breathed a syllable of it to mortal man, you won't be under his roof two hours."

"Oh, but, surely, cook--"

"Oh, but, surely, madam," replied Lanigan, "you talk of what you don't understand; his honor knows very well what he's about, mid has authority for it."

This sobered her to some purpose; and Lanigan proceeded to execute his master's orders.

It is true Miss Esther and Malcomson were now silent, for their own sakes; but it did not remove their indignation; so far from that, Lanigan himself came in for a share of it, and was secretly looked upon in the light of the squire's confidant in the transaction.

Whilst matters were in this position, the Red Rapparee began gradually to lose the confidence of his unscrupulous employer. He had promised that worthy gentleman to betray his former gang, and deliver them up to justice, in requital for the protection which he received from him. This he would certainly have done, were it not for Fergus, who, happening to meet one of them a day or two after the Rapparee had taken service with Whitecraft upon the aforesaid condition,--informed the robber of that fact, and advised him, if he wished to provide for his own safety and that of his companions, to desire them forthwith to leave the country, and, if possible, the kingdom. They accordingly took the hint; some of them retired to distant and remote places, and others went beyond seas for their security. The promise, therefore, which the Rapparee had made to the baronet as a proof of grat.i.tude for his protection, he now found himself incapable of fulfilling, in consequence of the dispersion and disappearance of his band. When he stated this fact to Sir Robert, he gained little credit from him; and the consequence was that his patron felt disposed to think that he was not a man to be depended on. Still, what he had advanced in his own defence might be true; and although his confidence in him was shaken, he resolved to maintain him yet in his service, and that for two reasons--one of which was, that by having him under his eye, and within his grasp, he could pounce upon him at any moment; the other was, that, as he knew, from the previous shifts and necessities of his own lawless life, all those dens and recesses and caverns to which the Catholic priesthood, and a good number of the people, were obliged to fly and conceal themselves, he must necessarily be a useful guide to him as a priest-hunter. It is true he a.s.sured him that he had procured his pardon from Government, princ.i.p.ally, he said, in consequence of his own influence, and because, in all his robberies, it had not been known that he ever took away human life. In general, however, this was the policy of the Rapparees, unless when they identified themselves with political contests and outrages, and on those occasions they were savage and cruel as fiends. In simple robbery on the king's highway, or in burglaries in houses, they seldom, almost never, committed murder, unless when resisted, and in defence of their lives.

On the contrary, they were quite gallant to females, whom they treated with a kind of rude courtesy, not unfrequently returning the lady of the house her gold watch--but this only on occasions when they had secured a large booty of plate and money. The Threshers of 1805-6 and '7, so far as cruelty goes, were a thousand times worse; for they spared neither man nor woman in their infamous and nocturnal visits; and it is enough to say, besides, that their cowardice was equal to their cruelty. It has been proved, at special commissions held about those periods, that four or five men, with red coats on them, have made between two or three hundred of the miscreants run for their lives, and they tolerably well-armed. Whether Sir Robert's account of the Rapparee's pardon was true or false will appear in due time; for the truth is, that Whitecraft was one of those men who, in consequence of his staunch loyalty and burning zeal in carrying out the inhuman measures of the then Government, was permitted with impunity to run into a licentiousness of action, as a useful public man, which no modern government would, or dare, permit. At the period of which we write, there was no press, so to speak, in Ireland, and consequently no opportunity of at once bringing the acts of the Irish Government, or of public men, to the test of public opinion. Such men, therefore, as Whitecraft, looked upon themselves as invested with irresponsible power; and almost in every instance their conduct was approved of, recognized, and, in general, rewarded by the Government of the day. The Beresford family enjoyed something like this unenviable privilege, during the rebellion of '98, and for some time afterwards. We have alluded to Mrs. Oxley, the sheriffs, fat wife; whether fortunately or unfortunately for the poor sheriff, who had some generous touches of character about him, it so happened, at this period of our narrative she popped off one day, in a fit of apoplexy, and he found himself a widower. Now, our acquaintance, Fergus Reilly, who was as deeply disguised as our hero, had made his mind up, if possible, to bring the Rapparee into trouble. This man had led his patron to several places where it was likely that the persecuted priests might be found; and, for this reason, Fergus knew that he was serious in his object to betray them. This unnatural treachery of the robber envenomed his heart against him, and he resolved to run a risk in watching his motions. He had no earthly doubt that it was he who robbed the sheriff. He knew, from furtive observations, as well as from general report, that a discreditable intimacy existed between him and Mary Mahon. This woman's little house was very convenient to that of Whitecraft, to whom she was very useful in a certain capacity. She had now given up her trade of fortune-telling--a trade which, at that period, in consequence of the ignorance of the people, was very general in Ireland. She was now more beneficially employed. Fergus, therefore, confident in his disguise, resolved upon a bold and hazardous stroke.

He began to apprehend that if ever Tom Steeple, fool though he was, kept too much about the haunts and resorts of the Rapparee, that cunning scoundrel, who was an adept in all the various schemes and forms of detection, might take the alarm, and, aided probably by Whitecraft, make his escape out of the country. At best, the fool could only a.s.sure him of his whereabouts; but he felt it necessary, in addition to this, to procure, if the matter were possible, such evidence of his guilt as might render his conviction of the robbery of the sheriff complete and certain. One evening a wretched-looking old man, repeating his prayers, with beads in hand, entered her cottage, which consisted of two rooms and a kitchen; and after having presented himself, and put on his hat--for we need scarcely say that no Catholic ever prays covered--he asked lodging in Irish, for the night, and at this time it was dusk.

"Well, good man," she replied, "you can have lodgings here for this night. G.o.d forbid I'd put a poor wandherer out, an' it nearly dark."

Fergus stared at her as if he did not understand what she said; she, however, could speak Irish right well, and asked him in that language if he could speak no English--"_Wuil Bearlha agud?_" (Have you English?)

"_Ha neil foccal vaun Bearlha agum_." (I haven't one word of English.)

"Well," said she, proceeding with the following short conversation in Irish, "you can sleep here, and I will bring you in a wap o' straw from the garden, when I have it to feed my cow, which his honor, Sir Robert, gives me gra.s.s for; he would be a very kind man if he was a little more generous--ha! ha! ha!"

"Ay, but doesn't he hunt an' hang, an' transport our priests?"

"Why, indeed, I believe he doesn't like a bone in a priest's body; but then he's of a different religion--and it isn't for you or me to construe him after our own way."

"Well, well," said Fergus, "it isn't him I'm thinking of; but if I had a mouthful or two of something to ait I'd go to sleep--for dear knows I'm tired and hungry."

"Why, then, of coorse you'll have something to ait, poor man, and while you're eatin' it I'll fetch in a good bunch of straw, and make a comfortable shake-down for you."

"G.o.d mark you to grace, avourneen!"

She then furnished him with plenty of oaten bread and mixed milk, and while he was helping himself she brought in a large launch of straw, which she shook out and settled for him.

"I see," said she, "that you have your own blankets."

"I have, acushla. Cheerna, but this is darlin' bread! Arra was this baked upon a griddle or against the _muddhia arran?_"*.

* The muddhia arran was a forked branch, cut from a tree, and shaped exactly like a letter A--with a small stick behind to support it. A piece of hoop iron was nailed to it at the bottom, on which the cake rested--not horizontally, but opposite the fire. When one side was done the other was turned, and thus it was baked.

"A griddle! Why, then, is it the likes o' me would have a griddle? that indeed! No; but, any how, sure a griddle only scalds the bread; but you'll find that this is not too much done; bekaise you know the ould proverb, 'a raw dad makes a fat lad.'"

"Troth," replied Fergus, "it's good bread, and fills the _boast_** of a man's body; but now that I've made a good supper, I'll throw myself on the straw, for I feel as if my eyelids had a millstone apiece upon them.

I never shtrip at night, but just throws my blanket over me, an' sleeps like a top. Glory be to G.o.d! Oh, then, there's nothing like the health ma'am: may G.o.d spare it to us! Amin, this night!"

** Boast--a figurative term, taken from a braggadocio or boaster; it applies to any thing that is hollow or deceitful: for instance, when some potatoes that grow unusually large are cut in two, an empty s.p.a.ce is found in the centra, and that potato is termed boast, or empty.

He accordingly threw himself on the shakedown, and in a short time, as was evident by his snoring, fell into a profound sleep.

This was an experiment, though a hazardous one, as we have said; but so far it was successful. In the course of half an hour the Red Rapparee came in, dressed in his uniform. On looking about him he exclaimed, with an oath,

"Who the h.e.l.l is here?"

"Why," replied Mary Mahon, "a poor ould man that axed for charity an'

lodgin' for the night."

"And why did you give it to him?"

"Bekaise my charity to him may take away some of my sins."

"Some of your devils!" replied the savage, "and I think you have enough of them about you. Didn't you know I was to come here to-night, as I do almost every night, for an hour or two?"

"You was drinkin'," she replied, "and you're drunk."

"I am drunk, and I will be drunk as often as I can. It's a good man's case. Why did you give a lodgin' to this ould vagabone?"

"I tould you the raison," she replied; "but you needn't care about him, for there's not a word of English in his cheek."

"Faith, but he may have something in his purse, for all that. Is he ould?"

"A poor ould man."

"So much the betther; be the livin' I'll try whether he has any ould coins about him. Many a time--no, I don't say many a time--but twic't I did it, and found it well worth my while, too. Some of these ould scamers lie wid a purse o' goolden guineas under their head, and won't confess it till the last moment. Who knows what this ould lad may have about him? I'll thry anyhow," said the drunken ruffian; "It's not aisy to give up an ould custom, Molly--the sheriff, my darlin', for that. I aised him of his fines, and was near strikin' a double blow--I secured his pocket-book, and made a good attempt to hang w.i.l.l.y Reilly for the robbery into the bargain. Now, hang it, Molly, didn't I look a gentleman in his' clothes, shoes, silver buckles, and all; wasn't it well we secured them before the house was burned? Here," he added, "take a sneeshin of this," pulling at the same time a pint bottle of whiskey out of his pocket; "it'll rise your spirits, an' I'll see what cash this ould codger has about him; an', by the way, how the devil do we know that he doesn't understand every word we say. Suppose, now--(hiccup)--that he heard me say I robbed the sheriff, wouldn't I be in a nice pickle? But, tell me, can you get no trace of Reilly?"

"Devil a trace; they say he has left the country."

"If I had what that scoundrel has promised me for findin' him out or securin' him--here's--here's--here's to you--I say, if I had, you and I would"--Here he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, as much as to say they would try another climate.

"And now," he proceeded, "for a search on the shake-down. Who knows but the ould fellow has the yellow boys (guineas) about him? "--and he was proceeding to search Fergus, when Mary flew at him like a tigress.

"Stop, you cowardly robber!" she exclaimed; "would you bring down the curse and the vengeance of G.o.d upon both of us. We have enough and too much to answer for, let alone to rob the ould an' the poor."

"Be aisy now," said he, "I'll make the search; sure I'm undher the scoundrel Whitecraft's protection."

"Yes, you are, and you're undher my protection too; and I tell you, if you lay a hand upon him it'll be worse for you."

"What--what do you mane?"

"It's no matther what I mane; find it out."