"Well, I can't say," returned our friend, "but I'm a trifle of your way of thinkin'."

"There's one thing troubles me," added his companion, an' it's this--there was a young lad wid us to-night from my neighborhood, he was near the last of us as we went along the road on our way to the mountains; I seen him whisperin' to some one a good deal as we came out--now, I know there's not on airth a kinder-hearted or more affectionate boy than he is; he hasn't a heart to hurt a fly, and is loved and respected by every one in the neighborhood. Very well! G.o.d of glory! isn't it too bad, that this one, handsome, lovin', and affectionate boy, the only child of his father and mother,--_fareer gair_ (* Bitter misfortune.)--my friend, whoever you are, isn't it too bad, that that boy, innocent and harmless as a child, will go home to his lovin' parents a murdherer this night?"

"What makes you say so?" asked our unknown friend.

"Why," replied the man, "he stood beside me in the ranks, and has been sent to murdher the man that was doomed."

To this our friend judiciously avoided making any reply, the fact being that several individuals in high trust among these Whiteboys were occasionally employed to sound suspected persons, in order to test their sincerity. For about half a minute he spoke not; but at length he said, with something like sternness--

"There's no use in sich talk as this, my friend; every man that joins us must make up his mind to do his duty to G.o.d and his country."

"It's a quare way of sarvin' G.o.d to commit midnight murdher on his creatures," responded the man with energy.

"I don't know who you are," replied our friend, "but if you take my advice, you'll not hould such conversation wid every man you spake to in this body. Wid me you're safe, but at the same time, I say, don't draw suspicion on yourself, and it'll be betther for you."

"Who is this man?" asked the other, who appeared to have been borne away a good deal by his feelings, "that commands us?"

"Don't you know Captain Midnight?" replied the other, somewhat evasively.

"Why, of coorse I know the man by that name; but, at the same time, I know nothin' else about him."

"Did you never hear?" asked his companion.

"Why, to tell you the truth," said the other, "I heerd it said that he's the _Cannie Soogah_, or the Jolly Pedlar that goes about the country."

"Well," said the other, lowering his voice a good deal in reply, "if I could trust you, I'd tell you what I think."

"I'll give you my name, then," replied the other, "if you doubt me;" he accordingly whispered it to him, and the conversation proceeded.

"I know your family well," returned our friend; "but, as I said before, be more on your guard, unless you know well the man you spake to. As for myself, I sometimes think it is the _Cannie Soogah_ and sometimes that it is not. Others say it's Buck English; but the Buck, for raisons that some people suspect, could never be got to join us. He wishes us well, he says, but won't do anything till there comes an open 'ruction, and then he'll join us, but not before. It's hard to say, at any rate, who commands us when we meet this way."

"Why so?"

"Why the d.i.c.kens need you ax? Sure it's not the same man two nights runnin'."

"But I have been only three or four times out yet," replied his companion; "and, sure enough, you're very--right--they hadn't the same man twiste."

They had now reached the road under the Fort or Rath we have alluded to, and as there was no further necessity for any combined motion among them, and as every man now was anxious to reach home as soon as possible, their numbers diminished rapidly, until they ultimately dispersed themselves in all directions throughout the country.

CHAPTER IV.--Mirth and Murder--A t.i.the-Proctor's Office.

The next morning, when our proctor and his family a.s.sembled at breakfast, their usual buoyancy of spirits was considerably checked by a report which had already spread over a great portion of the country, that a very industrious and honest farmer, who lived within about four miles of them, had been murdered in his own house the night before, by a party of fellows disguised with blackened faces, and who wore shirts over their clothes. The barbarous and brutal deed, in consequence of the amiable and excellent character of the man--who had been also remarkable for resolution and courage--had already excited an extraordinary commotion throughout the country.

"Boys," said Purcel, "I have been in C------m this morning, and, I'm sorry to say, there's bad news abroad."

"How is that, sir?" asked Alick,--"no violence, I hope; although I wouldn't feel surprised if there were; the country is getting into a bad state: I think myself the people are mad, absolutely mad."

"You both knew Matthew Murray," he proceeded, "that lived down at Rathkeerin?"

"Certainly, father," said John; "what about him?--no harm, I hope?"

"He was murdered in his own house last night," replied his father; "but it's some consolation that one of the murdering villains is in custody."

"That is bad business, certainly," replied John; "in fact, it's dreadful."

"It is dreadful," said the father; "but the truth is, we must have the country, at least this part of it, proclaimed, and martial law established;--d.a.m.n the murdering scoundrels, nothing else is fit for them. We must carry arms, boys, in future; and by d--n, the first man I see looking at me suspiciously, especially from behind a hedge, I'll shoot him. As a t.i.the-proctor I could do so without much risk."

"Not, father," said Alick, "until he should first offer, or make an attempt at violence."

"I would not, in the present state of the country, wait for it," replied the determined and now indignant proctor; "if I saw him watch me with arms in his hands, or any dangerous weapon about his person, by d--n I'd put a bullet through him, with no more remorse than I would through a dog, and, if the animal were a good one, I think he would be the greater public loss of the two."

Just at this moment, the females of the family, who had been giving breakfast to a number of poor dest.i.tute creatures, made their appearance.

"Where have you all been?" asked Mrs. Purcel, addressing her husband and sons; "here have we been waiting breakfast for you during the last half-hour, and finding you were none of you within, we went and gave these poor creatures without something to eat."

"Ay," responded the angry proctor, "and it's not unlikely that the son, or husband, or brother of some of them may take a slap at me or at one of our sons, from behind a hedge, before these long nights pa.s.s off.

D--n me, but it's throwing pearls before swine, to show them either kindness or charity."

"Something has angered you, papa," said Mary; "I hope you have heard nothing unpleasant; I am not very timid, but when a whole country is in such a state of disturbance, one may entertain a reasonable apprehension, certainly."

"Why, I am angry, Mary," replied her father; "there's as decent and quiet, but, at the same time, as spirited a man as there ever was in the barony, murdered this morning--Mat Murray of Rathkeerin; however, as I said, it's a great consolation that one of the murderers is in custody."

"And who is the wretch, papa?" asked Julia.

"One that n.o.body ever could have suspected for such an act," replied Purcel--"a son of one of our own tenants--honest Michael Devlin's son--James."

"Utterly impossible, father," exclaimed Julia, "there must be a mistake; that quiet and dutiful boy--their only son--never could have been concerned in the crime of murder."

"Well, perhaps not, Judy; but, you silly girl, you talk as if you were in love with him. Why, child, there is such a system abroad, now that a man can scarcely trust his own brother--no, nor does a father know, when he sits down to his breakfast in the morning with his own son, whether, as Scripture says, he is not dipping his hand in the dish with a murderer."

"Mat," said his wife, "you ought not to be out late at night, nor the boys either. You know there is a strong feeling against you; and indeed I think you ought not, any of you, ever to go out without, arms about you--at all events, until the country gets quiet."

"So I was just saying, Nancy," replied her husband;--"hallo! who's this coming up to the hall-door?--begad, our old pleasant friend, the _Cannie Soogah_. Upon my troth, I'm glad to see him. Hallo! _Cannie!--Cannie Soogah_, my hearty,--Jolly Pedlar, I say--this way! How are you, man?--have you breakfasted? Of course not. Well, go to the kitchen and, if you don't show good eating, it won't be for want of materials."

"G.o.d save you, Misther Purcel," replied the pedlar, in a rich, round brogue; "G.o.d save you, young gintlemen. Oh, thin, Misther Purcel, by my sowl it's your four quarthers that has a right to be proud of your; family! And the ladies--not forgettin' the misthress herself--devil the likes of the same two young ladies I see on my whole bait, an' that's the country at large, barrin' the barony of Bedhehusth, where these cruel murdhers is committed; an' devil a foot I'll ever set into it till it's changed for the betther."

"Well, be off," said the proctor, "to the kitchen; get your breakfast first, and then we'll chat to you."

"I will; but oh, Misther Purcel darlin', did you hear what happened last night?"

"Is it Murray's business?"

"What do you call Murray's business, Misther Purcel? 'Tis Murray's murdher, you mane?"

"Certainly, I have heard it all this morning in C------m."