"Will you have anything to ate or dhrink," asked the guide of M'Carthy..

"Nothing," replied the other; "I only wish to get to bed."

"Come, then," said the colossal Whiteboy, "I'll show you where you're to lie."

They accordingly left the kitchen, pa.s.sed through a tolerably large room, with two or three tables and several chairs in it, and entered another, which was also of a good size. Here there was a bed, and in this M'Carthy was to rest--if rest he could under a series of circ.u.mstances so extraordinary and exciting.

"Now," said his guide, for such we must call him--"observe this," and he brought him to a low window which opened at the back of the house, "press that spot where you see the frame is sunk a little--you can feel it, too, aisily enough in the dark--very well, press that with your thumb and the windy will open by being pushed outwards. If you feel or find that there's any danger you can slip out of it; however, don't be alarmed bekase you may hear voices. There's only one set that you may be afraid of--they're on the look-out for yourself--but I don't think it's likely they'll come here. If they do, however, and that you hear them talkin' about you, there's your way to get off. Come, now, I must try you again before I go. What's the hour?"

"Very near the right one."

"Isn't it come yet?"

"The hour is come but not the man."

"When will he come?"

"He is within sight."

"Now, good-bye, you may take a good sleep but don't strip; lie just as you are--that's twiste your life has been saved this night. In the mane time, you must give me back that overall shirt--your danger I hope is past, but I may want it to-night yet; and stay, I was near spoilin'

all--I forgot to give you the right grip--here it is--if any of them shakes hands wid you, mark this--he presses the point of his thumb on the first joint of your fore-finger, and you press yours upon the middle joint of his little finger, this way--you won't forget that now?"

"Certainly not," replied M'Carthy, "I will remember it accurately."

"Very well," he proceeded, "take my advice, get to Dublin without delay--if you remain here you're a dead man; you may never see me again, so G.o.d bless you." and with these words he left him.

It is difficult to describe M'Carthy's state of mind on finding himself alone. The events of the night, fearful as they were, joined to his singular and to him unaccountable escape--his present state of uncertainty and the contingent danger that awaited him--the fact that parties were in search of him for the purpose of taking away his life, whilst he himself remained utterly unconscious of the cause which occasioned such, a bitter and unrelenting enmity against him--all these reflections, coming together upon a mind already distracted and stupefied by want of rest, and excessive weariness--succeeded in inducing first a wild sense of confusion--then forgetfulness of his position, and ultimately sound and dreamless sleep. How long that sleep had continued he could not even guess, but be that as it may, on awaking, he heard, medley of several voices in the next room, all engaged in an earnest conversation, as was evident, not merely from the disjointed manner of their p.r.o.nunciation but a strong smell of liquor which a.s.sailed his nose. His first impulse was to arise and escape by the window, but on reflection, as he saw by the light of their candle that the door between the two apartments was open, he deemed it safer to keep quiet for a little, with a hope that they might soon take their departure. He felt anxious, besides, to ascertain whether the party in question consisted of those whom the strange guide had mentioned as being his enemies. In the meantime, the following agreeable dialogue greeted his ears and banished for the moment every other thought and consideration.

"It was altogether a bad business this night. He was as well set as man could be, but h.e.l.l pursue the pistols, they both missed fire; and thim that did go off hit the wrong men. The same two--we can't names boys, won't be the betther of it for some time. We met them, you see, in the mountains, where we wor goin' on a little business. Here's that we may never ait worse mait than mutton!"

"More power, d.i.c.k--d.i.c.k, (hiccup) you're a trojan, an' so was your father and mother afore you; here's your to--toast, d.i.c.k, that we may ever an' always ait no worse mait than--praties an' point, hurra!--that's the chat, ha!--ha!--ha!--ah, begad it's we that's the well-fed boys--ay, but sure our friends the poor parsons has been always starvin' in the counthry."

"Always starvin' the counthry!" exclaimed another, playing upon the word, "be my sowl you're right there, Ned. Well sure they're gettin' a touch of it now themselves; by j.a.pers, some o' them knows what it is to have the back and belly brought together, or to go hungry to bed, as the sayin' is; but go on, d.i.c.k, an' tell us how it was."

"Why, you see, we went back when we heard that the house was to be attacked, and only he escaped the way he did, it wouldn't be attacked; howaniver, you know it's wid O'Driscol--a short cooser to him, too, and he'll get it--it's wid O'Driscol he stops. So off we went, and waited in Barney Broghan's still-house, where we had a trifle to dhrink."

"Divil resave the bet--bettherer spirits ever came from--a still--il eye, nor dar-lent Bar--ar--ney Brogh--aghan makes--whisht!--more power!--won't the counthry soon--be our--our--own--whips!"

"Ned, hould your tongue, an' let him go 'an; well, d.i.c.k."

"Afther waitin' in the still-house till what we thought was the proper time, we went to O'Driscol's, and first struv to get in quietly, but you see we had no friends in the camp, for the men-servants all sleep in the outhouses, barrin' the butler; an' he's not the thing for Ireland. Well and good, although among ourselves, it was anything but well and good this night; however, we demanded admittance, an' jist as if they had been on the watch for us--a windy was raised, and a voice called out to us to know what we wanted.

"'Neither to hurt or harm any one in the house,' we said, 'or belongin'

to it; but there is a stranger in it that we must have out.'

"'Ay,' said another voice, that several of us knew to be Mr. Alick Purcel's; 'here I am--you scoundrels, but that's your share of me. If you don't begone instantly,' says he, swearin' an oath, 'we'll shoot you like dogs where you stand.'

"'We know you, Mr. Purcel,' says we, 'but it isn't you we want to-night--your turn's to come yet; time about is fair play. It's M'Carthy we want.'

"'You must want him, then,' says young O'Driscol, 'for he's not here; and even if he was, you should fight for him before you'd get him--but what might your business be wid him?' he asked. 'Why,' says we, 'there's a man among us that has an account to settle wid him.'

"'Ah, you cowardly scoundrels,' says he, 'that's a disgrace to the counthry, and to the very name of Irishman; it's no wondher for strangers to talk of you as they do--no wondher for your friends to have a shamed face for your disgraceful crimes. You would now take an inoffensive gintleman--one that never harmed a man of you, nor any one else--you'd take him out, bekaise some blackhearted cowardly villain among you has a pick (pique) against him, and some of you for half-a-crown or a bellyful of whisky would murdher him in could blood.

Begone, or by the livin' Farmer, I'll scatter the contents of this blunderbush among you.' He that wishes to have M'Carthy done for was wid us himself, and tould us in Irish to fire at the windy, which we did, and on the instant slop came a shower of bullets among us. A boy from the Esker got one of them through the brain, and fell stone dead; two others--we can't mention names--was wounded, and it was well we got them off safe. So there's our night's work for us. Howaniver, the day's comin' when we'll pay them for all."

"I think, boys," said a person, whose voice was evidently that of a man advanced in years, "I think you ought to give this procthor Purcel a cardin'. He lifts the t.i.thes of four parishes, and so far he's a scourge over four parishes; himself and his blasted citations to the bishop's court and his blasted decrees--h.e.l.l purshue him, as it will. Ah, the Carders wor fine fellows, so were the s.e.xtons."

"Bravo, Billy Bradly, conshumin' to me but I'm--I'm main proud, and that we met you com--omin' from the wake to-night; I am, upon my sow--owl."

"I believe, Billy," said another voice, "you had your own fun wid procthors in your day."

"Before the union--h.e.l.l bellows it for a union---but it has been a black sight to the counthry! Amin this night--before the union, it's we that did handle the procthors in style; it isn't a cowardly threatenin'

notice we'd send them, and end there. No--but I'll tell you what we done one night, in them days. There was a man, a procthor, an' he was a Catholic too, for I needn't tell you, boys, that there never was a Protestant procthor half as hard and cruel as one of our own ralligion, an' thas well known. Well, there was this procthor I'm tellin' of, his name was Callaghan; he was a dark-haired I'll-lookin' fellow, with a squint and a stutther; but for all that, he had a daicent, quiet, well-behaved family that offended n.o.body--not like our proud horsewhippin' neighbors; an', indeed, his daughters did not mount their side-saddles like some of the same neighbors, but sure we all know the ould proverb, set a beggar on horseback, and we needn't tell you where he'll ride to. Well, I'm forgettin' my story in the mane time. At that time, a party of about sixty of us made up our minds to pay Callaghan a nightly visit. The man, you see, made no distinction betune the rich and poor, or rather he made every distinction, for he was all bows and sc.r.a.pes to the rich, and all whip and f.a.got to the poor. Ah, he was a sore blisther to that part of the counthry he lived in, and many a widow's an' orphan's curse he had. At any rate, to make a long story short, we went a set of us, a few nights afore we called upon him--that is, in a friendly way, for we had no intention of takin' his life, but merely to tickle him into good humor a bit, and to make him have a little feelin' for the poor, that he many a time tickled an' got tickled by the sogar's bagnet to some purpose; we went, I say, to a lonely place, and we dug sich a grave as we thought might fit him, and havin'

b.u.t.toned and lined it well with thorns, we then left it covered over with scraws for fraid anybody might find it out. So far so good. At last the appointed night came, and we called upon him.

"'Is Mr. Callaghan in?' said one of us, knockin' at the door.

"'What's your business wid him?' said a servant girl, as she opened the door.

"'Tis to pay some t.i.the I want,' says the man; and no sooner was the word out of his mouth than in we boulted betther than a score of us; for the rest all stayed about the place to act accordin' to circ.u.mstances.

"'How do you do, Misther Callaghan?' says our captain, 'I hope you're well, sir,' says he, 'and in good health.'"

"'I can't say I am, sir," said Callaghan, 'I haven't been to say at all well for the last few days, wid a pain down my back.'

"'Ah, indeed no wondher, Mr. Callaghan,' says the other; 'that's the curse of the widows and orphans, and the poor in general, that you have oppressed in ordher to keep up a fat an' greedy establishment,' says he, 'but in the mane time, keep a good heart--we're friends of yours, and wishes you well; and if the curses have come down hot and heavy on your back, we'll take them off it,' says he, 'so aisily and purtily, that if you'll only shut your eyes, you'll think yourself in another world--I mane of coorse the world you'll go to,' says he;--'we have got a few nice and aisy machines here, for ticklin' sich procthors, in ordher to laugh them into health again, and we'll now set you to rights' at wanst.

Comes, boys,' says he, turnin' to us, 'tie every sowl in the house, barrin' the poor sick procthor that we all feel for, bekaise you see, Misther Callaghan, in ordher to do the thing complate, we intind to have your own family spectawthers of the cure.'

"'No,' said one of them, a determined man he was, 'that wasn't in our agreement, nor it isn't in our hearts, to trate the innocent like the guilty.'"

"'It must be done,' said the captain.

"'No,' said the other back to him, 'the first man that mislists a hair of one of his family's heads, I'll put the contents of this through him--if this onmanly act had been mentioned before, you'd a' had few here tonight along wid you.'

"Well, sure enough, the most of us was wid the last speaker, so, instead of cardin' the sick procthor before his own family, we tied and gagged him so as that he neither spoke nor budged, and afther clappin' a guard upon the family for an hour or two, we put him on horseback and brought him up to where the grave was made. We then stripped him, and layin' him across a ditch, we got the implements, of the feadhers as we call them, to tickle him. Well, now, could you guess, boys, what these feadhers was? I'll go bail you couldn't, so I may as well tell you at wanst; divil resave the thing else, but half-a-dozen of the biggest tom-cats we could get, and this is the way we used them. Two or three of us pitched our hands well and the tails of the cats into the bargain, we then, as I said, laid the naked procthor across a ditch, and began to draw the tom-cats down the flesh of his back. G.o.d! how the unfortunate divil quivered and writhed and turned--until the poor wake crature, that at first had hardly the strength of a child, got, by the torture he suffered, the strength of three men; for indeed, afther he broke the cords that tied him, three, nor three more the back o' that, wasn't sufficient to hould him. He got the gag out of his mouth, too, and then, I declare to my Saviour his scrames was so awful that we got frightened, for we couldn't but think that the voice was unnatural, an sich as no man ever heard. We set to, however, and gagged and tied him agin, and then we carded him--first down, then up, then across by one side, and after that across by the other. * Well, when this was done, we tuk him as aisily an' as purtily as we could.

"D--n your soul, you ould ras--rascal," said the person they called Ned, "you wor--wor 'all a parcel o' b.l.o.o.d.y, d--n, h.e.l.l--fi--fire cowardly villains, to--to--thrat--ate any fellow crature--crature in sich a way.

Why didn't you shoo--shoo--oot him at wanst, an' not put--ut him through h.e.l.l's tor--tortures like that, you b.l.o.o.d.y-minded ould dog!"

To tell the truth, many of them were shocked at the old carder's narrative, but he only, grinned at them, and replied--

"Ay, shoot--you may talk about shootin,' Ned, avick, but for all that life's sweet."

"Get on--out, you ould sinner o' perdition--to blazes wid you; life's sweet you ould 'shandina--what a purty--urty way you tuk of sweetenin'

it for him. I tell--ell you, Bil--lilly Bradly, that you'll never die on your bed for that night's wo--ork."

"And even if I don't, Ned, you won't have my account to answer for."

"An' mighty glad I am of it: my own--own's bad enough, G.o.d knows, an'

for the mat--matther o' that--here's G.o.d pardon us all, barrin' that ould cardin' sinner--amin, acheerna villish, this night! Boys, I'll sing-yes a song."