Part 15 (2/2)
George Johnston isn't the blessed babe to be imposed upon--that's what I say. Come, my good fellow, mark--mark me now. If you let but a quarter of--of--an inch of a lie out of your lips, I you're a dead man. Are you all charged, gentlemen?”
”All charged, sergeant, with loyalty and poteen at any rate; hang the Pope.”
”Shoulder arms--well done. Present arms. Where is--is--this rascal? Oh, yes, here he is. Well, you are there--are you?”
”I'm here, captain.”
”Well blow me, that's not--not--bad, my good fellow; if I'm not a captain, worse men have been so (hiccough); that's what I say.”
”Hadn't we better make a prisoner of him at once, and bring him to Sir Robert's?” observed another.
”Simpson, hold--old--your tongue, I say. Curse me if I'll suffer any man to in--intherfere with me in the discharge of my duty.”
”How do we know,” said another, ”but I he's a Rapparee in disguise?--for that matter, he may be Reilly himself.”
”Captain and gentlemen,” said Fergus, ”if you have any suspicion of me, I'm willin' to go anywhere you like; and, above all things, I'd like to go to Sir Robert's, bekaise they know me there--many a good bit and sup I got in his kitchen.”
”Ho, ho!” exclaimed the sergeant; ”now I have you--now I know whether you can tell truth or not. Answer me this. Did ever Sir Robert himself give you charity? Come, now.”
Fergus perceived the drift of the question at once. The penurious character of the baronet was so well known throughout the whole barony that if he had replied in the affirmative every man of them would have felt that the a.s.sertion was a lie, and he would consequently have been detected. He was prepared, however.
”Throth then, gintlemen,” he replied, ”since you must have the truth, and although maybe what I'm goin' to say won't be plaisin' to you, as Sir Robert's friends, I must come out wid it; devil resave the color of his money ever I seen yet, and it isn't but I often axed him for it.
No--but the sarvints often sind me up a bit from the kitchen below.”
”Well, come,” said the sergeant, ”if you have been lyin' all your life, you've spoke the truth now. I think we may let him go.”
”I don't think we ought,” said one of them, named Steen, a man of about fifty years of age, and of Dutch descent; ”as Bamet said, 'we don't know what he is,' and I agree with him. He may be a Rapparee in disguise, or, what is worse, Reilly himself.”
”What Reilly do yez mane, gintlemen, wid submission?” asked Fergus.
”Why, w.i.l.l.y Reilly, the famous Papish,” replied the sergeant. (We don't wish to fatigue the reader with his drunken stutterings.) ”It has been sworn that he's training the Papishes every night to prepare them for rebellion, and there's a warrant out for his apprehension. Do you know him?”
”Throth I do, well; and to tell yez the truth, he doesn't stand very high wid his own sort.”
”Why so, my good fellow?”
”Bekaise they think that he keeps too much company wid Prodestans, an'
that he's half a Prodestan himself, and that it's only the shame that prevents him from goin' over to them altogether. Indeed, it's the general opinion among the Catholics--”
”Papishes! you old dog.”
”Well, then, Papishes--that he will--an' throth, I don't think the Papishes would put much trust in the same man.”
”Where are you bound for now? and what brings you out at an illegal hour on this lonely road?” asked Steen.
”Troth, then, I'm on my way to Mr. Graham's above; for sure, whenever I'm near him, poor Paddy Brennan never wants for the good bit and sup, and the comfortable straw bed in the barn. May G.o.d reward him and his for it!”
<script>