Part 14 (1/2)
* G.o.d save you, Frank! where are you going now, you black rogue?
”Who's this?” exclaimed Frank: ”eh! why, Darby More, you sullin' thief o' the world, is this you?”
”Ay, indeed; an' you're goin' down to Peggy's?” said the the other, pointing significantly towards Peggy Gartland's house. ”Well, man, what's the harm? She may get worse, that is, hopin' still that you'll mend your manners, a bouchal: but isn't your nose out o' joint there, Frank, darlin'?”
”No sich thing at all, Darby,” replied Frank, gulping down his indignation, which rose afresh on hearing that the terms on which he stood with Peggy were so notorious.
”Throth but it is,” said Darby, ”an' to tell the blessed thruth, I'm not sarry that it's out o' joint; for when I tould you to lave the case in my hands, along wid a small thrifle o' silver that didn't signify much to you--whoo! not at all: you'd rather play it at cards, or dhrink it, or spind it wid no good. Out o' joint! nrasha, if ever a man's nose was to be pitied, and yours is: why, didn't Mike Reillaghan put it out o'
joint, twist? first in regard to Peggy, and secondly by the batin' he gave you an it.”
”It's well known, Darby,” replied Frank, ”that 'twas by a chance blow he did it; and, you know, a chance blow might kill the devil.”
”But there was no danger of Mike's gettin' the chance blow,” observed the sarcastic vagrant, for such he was.
”Maybe it's afore him,” replied his companion: ”we'll have another thrial for it, any how; but where are you goin', Darby? Is it to the dance?”
Me! Is it a man ”wid two holy ordhers an him?* No, no! I might go up, may be, as far as your father's, merely to see the family, only for the night that's in it; but I'm goin' to another frind's place to spind my Chris'mas, an' over an' above, I must go to the Midnight Ma.s.s. Frank, change your coorses, an' mend your life, an' don't be the talk o' the parish. Remimber me to the family, an' say I'll see them soon.”
* The religious orders, as they are termed, most commonly entered into by the peasantry, are those of the Scapular and St. Francis. The order of Jesus--or that of the Jesuits, is only entered into by the clergy and the higher lay cla.s.ses.
”How long will you stop in the neighborhood?” inquired Frank.
”Arrah why, acushla?” replied the mendicant, softening his language.
”I might be wantin to see you some o' these days,” said the other: ”indeed, it's not unlikely, Darby; so don't go, any how, widout seein'
me.”
”Ah!” said Darby, ”had you taken a fool's advice--but it can't be helped now--the harm's done, I doubt; how-an'-ever, for the matther o' that, may be I have as good as Peggy in my eye for you; by the same token, as the night's could, warm your tooth, avick; there's waker wather nor this in Lough Mecall. Sorra sup of it over I keep for my own use at all, barrin' when I take a touch o' configuration in my bowels, or, may be, when I'm too long at my prayers; for, G.o.d help me, sure I'm but sthrivin', wid the help o' one thing an' another, to work out my salvation as well as I can! Your health, any how, an' a merry Chris'mas to you!--not forgettin' myself,” he added, putting to his lips a large cow's horn, which he kept slung beneath his arm, like the bugle of a coach-guard, only that this was generally concealed by an outside coat, no two inches of which were of the same materials of color. Having taken a tolerably large draught from this, which, by the ”way, held near two quarts, he handed it with a smack and a shrug to Frank, who immediately gave it a wipe with the skirt of his coat, and pledged his companion.
”I'll be wantin',” observed Frank, ”to see you in the hollydays--faith, that stuff's to be christened yet, Darby--so don't go till we have a dish o' discoorse about somethin' I'll mintion to you. As for Peggy Gartland, I'm done wid her; she may marry ould Nick for me.”
”Or you for ould Nick,” said the cynic, ”which would be nearly the same thing: but go an, avick, an' never heed me; sure I must have my spake--doesn't every body know Darby More?”
”I've nothin' else to say now,” added Frank, ”and you have my authority to spread it as far as you plase. I'm done wid her: so good-night, an'
good _cuttin'_ (* May what's in it never fail) to your horn, Darby!--You d.a.m.n ould villian!” he subjoined in a low voice, when Darby had got out of his hearing: ”surely it's not in yourself, but in the blessed words and things you have about you, that there is any good.”
”Musha, good-night, Frank alanna,” replied the other;--”an' the divil sweep you, for a skamin' vagabone, that's a curse to the country, and has kep me out o' more weddins than any one I ever met wid, by your roguery in puttin' evil between frinds an' neighbors, jist whin they'd be ready for the priest to say the words over them! Good won't come of you, you profligate.”
The last words were scarcely uttered by the st.u.r.dy mendicant, when he turned round to observe whether or not Frank would stop at Larry Gartland's, the father of the girl to whom he had hitherto unsuccessfully avowed his attachment.
”I'd depind an him,” said he, in a soliloquy, ”as soon as I'd depind upon ice of an hour's growth: an', whether or not, sure as I'm an my way to Owen Reillaghan's, the father of the dacent boy that he's strivin' to outdo, mayn't I as well watch his motions, any way?”
He accordingly proceeded along the shadowy side of the street, in order to avoid Frank's eye, should he chance to look back, and quietly dodged on until he fairly saw him enter the house.
Having satisfied himself that the object of Frank's visit to the village was in some shape connected with Peggy Gartland, the mendicant immediately retraced his steps, and at a pace more rapid than usual, strided on to Owen Reillaghan's, whither he arrived just in time to secure an excellent Christmas-eve dinner.
In Ireland, that description of mendicants which differ so strikingly from the common crowd of beggars as to const.i.tute a distinct species, comprehends within itself as anomalous an admixture of fun and devotion, external rigor and private licentiousness, love of superst.i.tion and of good whiskey, as might naturally be supposed, without any great sketch of credulity, to belong to men thrown among a people in whom so many extremes of character and morals meet. The known beggar, who goes his own rounds, and has his own walk, always adapts his character to that of his benefactor, whose whims and peculiarities of temper he studies with industry, and generally with success. By this means, joined to a dexterity in tracing out the private history of families and individuals, he is enabled to humor the capprices, to manage the eccentricities, and to touch with a masterly hand the prejudices, and particular opinions, of his patrons; and this he contrives to do with great address and tact. Such was the character of Darby More, whose person, naturally large, was increased to an enormous size by the number of coats, blankets, and bags, with which he was enc.u.mbered. A large belt, buckled round his body, contained within its girth much more of money, meal, and whiskey, than ever met the eye; his hat was exceedingly low in the crown; his legs were cast in at least three pairs of stockings; and in his hand he carried a long cant, spiked at the lower end, with which he slung himself over small rivers and d.y.k.es, and kept dogs at bay. He was a devotee, too, notwithstanding the whiskey horn under his arm; attended wakes, christenings, and weddings: rubbed for the rose (* a scrofulous swelling) and king's evil, (for the varlet insisted that he was a seventh son); cured toothaches, colics, and headaches, by charms; but made most money by a knack which he possessed of tatooing into the naked breast the representation of Christ upon the cross. This was a secret of considerable value, for many of the superst.i.tious people believed that by having this stained in upon them, they would escape unnatural deaths, and be almost sure of heaven.
When Darby approached Reillaghan's house, he was considering the propriety of disclosing to his son the fact of having left his rival with Peggy Gartland. He ultimately determined that it would be proper to do so; for he was shrewd enough to suspect that the wish Frank had expressed of seeing him before he left the country, was but a ruse to purchase his silence touching his appearance in the village. In this, however, he was mistaken.