This was spoken in a most wheedling and insinuating tone replete with the the confidence of one who knew that the stronger he spoke the more satisfaction he would give his auditor, and the more readily he would avert any suspicion as to his object and appearance at such an hour.

"Yes," returned the priest, giving his burthen an uneasy twitch, "we have had too weighty a load upon our shoulders this many a day, and the devil's own predicament it is to be overburthened with anything--we all know that."

"Sorra doubt of it," replied the other, easing himself as well as he could by a corresponding hitch; "but it's one comfort to myself anyhow, that I done my duty against the same t.i.thes--an' bad luck to them!"

"If you did your duty, you weren't without a good example, at all events," replied the priest; "I taught you how to hate the accursed impost--but at the same time, you know I always told you to make a distinction between the t.i.thes and the--hem--"

"An' what, your reverence?"

"Hem--why you know, Con, that we're commanded to love our enemies, and it was upon this ground that I always taught you to make a distinction, as I say, between the t.i.thes and the parsons themselves. And by the way, now, I don't know but it would be our duty," he proceeded, "to render the same parsons, now that they're suffering, as much good for evil as possible. It would be punishing the thieves by heaping, as the Scripture says, coals of fire upon their heads."

"And do you think, your reverence," replied the other, who was too quick of apprehension not to suspect what the priest was driving at, "do you think that I have been so long listening to your advice, not to know that such a coorse was my duty?"

"That's the way," continued the priest, "to punish them like a Christian."

"Ay, to punish them, your reverence, as you say--an' in troth, I'm the man myself that 'ud go any length to do it."

"But where are you bound to now, Con, and what--ahem--what is that you are carrying?" asked the priest.

"Why then, it's the b.u.t.t-end of a sack o' pitt.i.ties," replied Con, giving an answer only to the easiest side of the query.

"Well, but who are you bringing them?" he asked again, "because, thank G.o.d, there's not much poverty in this neighborhood at present."

"Well, then, G.o.d forgive me!" replied the other, concealing his benevolence by a grin, which he could not prevent at his own ingenuity, but which he endeavored to conceal as well as he could; "G.o.d forgive me!

but hearin' that Goodison the parson here, and his family were in great distress, I thought I might as well have my revenge aginst him, by fetchin' him a load o' praties, which is all I can spare the poor ould--hem--the heretical ould creature--and so, says I to myself, it's a good opportunity of heapin' the coals upon him that you spoke about, sir. And upon my conscience, as far as a good weighty b.u.t.t o' praties goes, I'll punish him this very night."

The priest gave a short hiccup or two, as if laboring under some momentary affection of the throat, which soon extended to the eyes, for with some difficulty he put up his naked hand and wiped away a kind of moisture, that in ordinary cases would have very much resembled tears.

"Ah, I see, Con!" he said, after clearing his throat a little, "you had a grudge against him like myself, and you determined to--ay--just so--you see, Con, here's the way of it; he didn't visit me yet since I came to the parish--do you understand?--and I tell you, flesh or blood couldn't overlook such a slight; so I'm glad, at all events, that you had the spirit to follow my advice--for the truth is, I'm goin' to have my revenge as well as yourself; but when one does take his revenge, Con, it's always best to take it like a Christian. So now that we understand, one another, let us go up to the glebe--otherwise I'll drop.--However, salvation to me!" he exclaimed with a smile, "if we'll bear their burthens much longer! I have a b.u.t.t of meal here, I saw his son to-day, too, without a st.i.tch to his foot, poor boy."

"And so did I," replied M'Mahon; "he sent one o' them over to me for the loan of a lock o' praties."

"Oh, G.o.d help them!" exclaimed the priest. "Come, Con, let us hurry--but why didn't you send them then?"

"Why, sir--why, bekaise I daren't send them in open daylight."

"True enough," said the other; "and it was stupid of me to ask. I myself would have sent what I'm carrying to him by Barney Brennan, but that I feared it would take wind, in which case the people might withdraw their confidence from me, from an apprehension that I wanted to curry favor with the parson of the parish, which I a.s.sure you, Condy, I do not. But listen to me, now; you're never to brathe a syllable of this adventure."

"Ill give you my oath of it, sir, if you wish, takin' it for granted, at the same time, that I'm safe with you."

"Never fear that; I'm not the man to play the traitor on any poor fellow that I might catch at any illegal work of the kind."

Both were now within a few perches of the hall-door, when the priest, who was scarcely able to speak from fatigue, said with some difficulty:--

"Con, as we have met, I think you must take the responsibility of this night's adventure on yourself. Here, now," said he, depositing his burden against the door as he spoke, "I think the best thing to do, in order to spare their feelings--for I need not tell you, that they are, by all accounts, a delicately-minded and highly-educated family--and it will be well to tax them as little as possible; I say then,--let us place, these sacks against the hall-door, and as soon as it is opened, they will tumble in heels foremost upon them, and then you can cut. So now I leave you to manage it, only, on any earthly account, don't name me to a living soul in the business. Good night, now, and G.o.d bless you--as He will," he added, retreating from the hall-door--"as He will, you kind-hearted, good-natured ringleader you."

The matter, however, did not end here, for, as Burns says, "the best-laid schemes of mice and men may gang agree." The aid received by the venerable Mr. Goodigon and his family had escaped through the children, in the early part of the next day, and had spread through the neighborhood; and sooth to say, there was scarcely a voice among them louder in condemnation of the fact than that of Con M'Mahon, who said it was a bad way to banish t.i.thes by a.s.sistin' the parsons. So far as he was concerned, however, the secret did not at all transpire. His reverence, however, was by no means so fortunate. The next morning, he and his curate were under the necessity of holding a station in a distant part of the parish. Father Anthony, however, feeling himself fatigued by his burthen of the preceding night, sent the curate on before him, with an a.s.surance that he would follow him in an hour or two. He accordingly did so, but, with his usual inattention to dress, was seen the next morning, about ten o'clock, riding along the public road--which was a great thoroughfare--towards the locality of the station with the history of the previous night's transaction written as clearly oh his back as if it had been labelled there in large and legible print. The truth is, the humane and charitable priest had neglected to get his coat brushed--an operation which it never underwent unless on a Sunday morning--and the consequence was, that whilst the front part of his dress was tolerably black, the back part of it would have done credit to the coat of a miller. The sagacity of the people was not for a moment at fault. Both circ.u.mstances were immediately connected; his reverence's secret took wind, and before the expiration of forty-eight hours was known to the whole parish.

CHAPTER XVI.--Ma.s.sacre of Carrickshock

--Mogue Moglan's Anxiety for the Safety of the Purcels--t.i.the Distraint--Good News for Mr. Temple.

Matters had now arrived at such a crisis, that either the law must be vindicated, or t.i.thes should be considered as put down by violence on the one hand, and pa.s.sive resistance on the other; for, as the question stood, it had to grapple with both. The clergymen of the establishment, cramped by poverty, and hara.s.sed by delay, were not now in a condition to recover their incomes by the tedious and expensive processes that were hitherto resorted to. Some point, however, was made, or some antiquated statute was ferreted out, owing to the black-letter craft of certain astute lawyers, by which the parson or proctor, we believe, as the case might have been, instead of being forced to incur enormous expense for the recovery of any individual responsibility, was enabled, through what was termed a "Writ of Rebellion," to join the greater part of a parish, if not the whole of it, in the same legal process, by inserting their names in the writ. At first, however, and in the early stage of the proceedings, the resistance was by no means pa.s.sive.

Experience, however, soon taught the people that the law and the executive, when opposed, were anything but playthings, and the loss of several lives on the part of those who attempted, by force, to obstruct the execution of the former, led to the expediency of adopting the pa.s.sive plan. A widow's son had been shot in a t.i.the-levy; and on the other side, a clergyman named Ryder had fallen a victim to the outrage of the people--as, we believe, had other reverend gentlemen also, together with a t.i.the-proctor, who was shot in his own field in open day, his son, a boy of fifteen or sixteen, having also a narrow escape.

Purcel's position was now one of extreme danger and difficulty. The combination against t.i.thes had been carried to such a height, that not only were the people sworn to pay no t.i.thes, but all the proctor's laborers were forced, besides, to quit his employment. No man could work for him, unless at the certain risk of his life. By the mere influence of money, and the offer of triple wages, he succeeded in procuring a number of workmen from a neighboring county; but no sooner were they seen in his employment, than an immense crowd collected from all parts of the country, and after treating them with great violence, swore, every man of them, never to work for Purcel, or any other t.i.the-proctor whatever. This treatment exasperated the Purcels exceedingly; indeed, so much so, that they expressed to the people a wish that their house should be attacked, in order that they might thereby have an opportunity of shooting the a.s.sailants like dogs. In this way the feeling ran on between them day by day, until the acrimony and thirst for vengeance, on each side, had reached its utmost height. In the meantime, a t.i.the auction was to take place at a distance of some three or four miles from the Proctor's. On the morning when it was to take place, Mogue Moylan told Alick Purcel that he wished to speak to him. This scoundrel's plausibility was such, that he had continued to act the spy and traitor in the family, without exciting suspicion in the mind of any one, with the exception only of Jerry Joyce, who being himself involved in Whiteboyism, was placed in a position of great difficulty and danger. To have discovered Mogue's treachery, would not only criminate himself, by the necessity of admitting his connection with this illegal combination, which was a felony at the time, but it would also have probably occasioned the loss of his life, by betraying the designs of his confederacy, and thus proving himself, as it would have been termed, a traitor to the people, and to the cause of his country. Such, in truth, are the multifarious evils that result from illegal conspiracies among our impulsive and unreasoning countryman.

"It's a word or two I'd wish to spake to you, Mr. Alick."

"Well, Mogue, what's the matter? Are you still determined to be hard-hearted to poor Letty Lenehan?"

"That I may never sup sorrow, Mr. Alick, if I can help the foolish creature! I do all I can to let her see that we are not aiquils; but the thoughtless girl won't be convinced. I belong to a family, sir, that always suffered for our counthry. Widin the last six hundre' years, I have it from sound authority, that there never was a ruction on Irish ground that wasn't the manes of havin' some o' them hanged or transported, glory be to G.o.d! An' you know, Mr. Alick, that's a proud boast, an' what every one couldn't say."

"All I can say then, Mogue, is, that if you look upon that as an honor, I have no objection that the fate should follow the family, and, I suppose, neither have you."

"Well, indeed now, and that I may never die in sin, but I think it an honor to oppose these Sa.s.sanagh laws; an', for that matther, to die opposin' them; however, as to myself, Mr. Alick, I am by nature of a peaceable, quiet turn, and not likely--"

"To grace a gibbet, Mogue: well, I believe not; but what is this you wish to say to me?"

"One or two things then, sir. First, I hear that Mr. M'Carthy is comin'

down to stay wid the family here, bekaise they say it's going to be attacked."

"Well, is it not both a friendly and a manly offer for him to make?"

"Granted, Mr. Alick; but instead of help-in' you all to keep the danger off, he'll only be the manes of bringin' it on; for as soon as it becomes known that he's here, there will be ten enemies then for one there is now against you. I happened to overhear a discoorse at the chapel on Sunday last; and it's from that I'm givin' you my advice."

"I don't care a d--n," said the impetuous young man, "about their discourses at chapel. They go there more for the purpose of plotting murders, and entering into illegal combinations, than for that of praying sincerely or worshipping G.o.d! No; we despise and defy them."

"Well, then, Mr.--"

"Silence, Mogue; not another word on that subject. I am obliged to you, in the meantime, for you kindness, and the interest you feel for us."

"That my bed may be made in heaven, thin, but I do feel all you say; and why shouldn't I? But I said I had a thing or two to mention, an'

although it goes against my heart to say it, still I like your family too well, not to throw you out a hint upon it. 'Tis regardin' Jerry Joyce, ay--an' Mr. M'Carthy too, sir."

"Jerry Joyce and M'Carthy; well, what about them? Jerry's a rollicking shallow fool, but honest, I think."

"Well, Mr. Alick, this is to be buried between you and me. I say, don't trust him; an' as for M'Carthy, it doesn't become the likes o' me to disparage him; but if there's not a traitor to this family in his coat, I'm not here. It's purty well known that he's a Whiteboy; he was a caravat it seems, two years agone, and was wid ould _Paudeen Gar_ when Hanly was hanged for--"

"And who was Paudeen Gar?" asked the other, interrupting him.

"He was the head o' the Shanavests, and it so happened, that one Hanly, who was head of the Moyle Bangers, as they wor called, was hanged only for burnin' the house of a man that tuck a farm over another man's head. Now the Shanavests and the Moyle Rangers, you see, bein' bitther enemies, the Shanavests prosecuted Hanly for the burning, and on the day of his execution, Paudeen Gar stayed under the gallows, and said he wouldn't lave the place till he'd see the _caravat_ (* Carvat; fact--such is their origin) put about Hanly's neck; an' from that out the Moyle Bangers was never called anything but Caravats."

"But what does Shanavest mean?"