Part 23 (1/2)

”He may live yet, Peggy, avourheen,” said his mother; ”my brave and n.o.ble son may live yet, an' you may be both,happy! Don't be cryin' so much, _asth.o.r.e galh machree_ (* The beloved white (girl) of my heart); sure he's in the hands o' G.o.d avourneen; an' your young heart won't be broke, I hope. Och, the Lord pity her young feelins!” exclaimed the mother affected even by the consolation she herself offered to the betrothed bride of her son: ”is it any whundher she'd sink undher sich a blow! for, sure enough, where was the likes of him? No, asth.o.r.e; it's no wondher--it's no wondher! lonesome will your heart be widout him; for I know what he'd feel if a hair of your head was injured.”

”Oh, I know it--I know it! There was music in his voice, an' grah and.

kindness to every crathur on G.o.d's earth; but to me--to me--oh, no one knew his love to me, but myself an' G.o.d. Oh, if I was dead, that I couldn't feel this, or if my life could save his! Why didn't the villain,--the black villain, wid G.o.d's curse upon him--why didn't he shoot me, thin I could never be Mike's wife, an' his hand o' murdher might be satisfied? If he had, I wouldn't feel as I do. Ay! the warmest, an' the best, an' the dearest blood of my heart, I could shed for him. That heart was his, an' he had a right to it. Our love wasn't of yistherday: afore the links of my hair came to my showldhers I loved him, an' thought of him; an many a time he tould me that I was his first! G.o.d knows he was my first, an' he will be my last, let him live or die.”

”Well, but, Peggy achora,” said his sister, ”maybe it's sinful to be cryin' this way, an' he not dead.”

”G.o.d forgive me, if it's a sin,” replied Peggy; ”I'd not wish to do anything sinful or displasin' to G.o.d; an' I'll sthrive to keep down my grief: I will, as well as I can.”

She put her hands on her face, and by all effort of firmness, subdued the tone of her grief to a low, continuous murmur of sorrow.

”An' along wid that,” said the sister, ”maybe the noise is disturbin'

him. Darby put us all out o' the kitchen to have pace an' quietness about him.”

”An' 'twas well thought o' Darby,” she replied; ”an' may the blessin' o'

G.o.d rest upon him for it! A male's mate or a nights lodgin' he'll never want under my father's roof for that goodness to him. I'll be quiet.”

There was now a short pause, during which those in the room heard a smack, accompanied by the words, ”Dheah. Grashthias! throth I'm the betther o' that sup, so I am. Nothin' keeps this thief of a configuration down but it. Dheah Grashthias for that! Oh, thin, this is the stuff! It warms the body to the top o' the nails!”

”Don't spare it, Darby,” said old Reillaghan, ”if it does you good.”

”Avourneen,” said Darby, ”it's only what gives me a little relief I ever take, jist by way of cure, for it's the only thing does me good, when I am this-a-way.”

Several persons in the neighborhood were, in the mean time, flocking to Reillaghan's house. A worthy man, accompanied by his wife, entered as the pilgrim had concluded. The woman, in accordance with the custom of the country, raised the Irish cry, in a loud melancholy wail, that might be heard at a great distance.

Darby, who prided himself on maintaining silence, could not preserve the consistency of his character upon this occasion, any more than on that of Mike's recent symptoms of life.

”Your sowl to the divil, you f.a.ggot!” he exclaimed, ”what do you mane?

The divil whip the tongue out o' you! are you going to come here only to disturb the boy that's not dead yet? Get out o' this, an' be asy wid your skhreechin', or by the cra.s.s that died for us, only you're a woman, I'd tumble you wid a lick o' my cant. Keep asy, you vagrant, an' the dacent boy not dead yet. h.e.l.l bellows you, what do you mane?”

”Not dead!” exclaimed the woman, with her body bent in the proper att.i.tude, her hands extended, and the crying face turned with amazement to Darby. ”Not dead! Wurrah, man alive, isn't he murdhered?”

”h.e.l.l resave the matther for that!” replied Darby. ”I tell you he's livin' an' will live I hope, barrin' your skirlin' dhrives the life that's in him out of him. Go into the room there to the women, an'

make yourself scarce out o' this, or by the padareens about me, I'll malivogue you.”

”We can't be angry wid the dacent woman,” observed old Reillaghan, ”in regard that she came to show her friends.h.i.+p and respect.”

”I'd be angry wid St. Pettier,” said Darby, ”an' 'ud not scruple to give him a lick o' my c---- Lord presarve us! what was I goin' o say! Why, throth, I believe the little wits I had are all gone a shaughran! I must fast a Friday or two for the same words agin St. Pether. Oxis Doxis Glorioxis--Amin.”

Hope is strong in love and in life. Peggy, now that grief had eased her heart of its load of acc.u.mulated sorrow, began to reflect upon Darby's anecdote of Captain Cramer, which she related to those about her. They all rejoiced to hear that it was possible to be wounded so severely and live. They also consoled and supported each other, and expressed their trust that Mike might also recover. The opinion of the doctor was waited for with such anxiety as a felon feels when the foreman of the jury hands down the verdict which consigns him to life or death.

Whether Darby's prescription was the result of chance or sagacity we know not. We are bound, however, to declare that Reillaghan's strength was in some degree restored, although the pain he suffered amounted to torture. The surgeon (who was also a physician, and, moreover, supplied his own medicines) and the priest, as they lived in the same town, both arrived together. The latter administered the rites of his church to him; and the former, who was a skilful man, left nothing undone to accomplish his restoration to health. He had been shot through the body with a bullet--a circ.u.mstance which was not known until the arrival of the surgeon. This gentlemen expressed much astonishment at his surviving the wound, but said that circ.u.mstances of a similar nature had occurred, particularly on the field of battle, although he admitted that they were few.

Darby, however, who resolved to have something like a decided opinion from him, without at all considering whether such a thing was possible, pressed him strongly upon the point.

”Arrah, blur-an-age, Docthor Swither, say one thing or other. Is he to live or die? Plain talk, Docthor, is all we want, an' no _feasthalagh_ (* nonsense).”

”The bullet, I am inclined to think,” replied the Doctor, ”must either not have touched a vital part, or touched it only slightly. I have known cases similar, it is true; but it is impossible for me to p.r.o.nounce a decisive opinion upon him just now.”

”The divil resave the _yarrib_* ever I'll gather for you agin, so long as my name's Darby More, except you say either 'life' or 'death,'” said Darby, who forgot his character of sanct.i.ty altogether.