Part 28 (1/2)
”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 s.h.i.+rt--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.