Part 19 (2/2)
”Sir Robert Whitecraft,” said Mr. Brown, ”how conies such a wanton and unnecessary waste of property?”
”Because, sir,” replied that gentleman, ”it is the property of a popish rebel and outlaw, and is confiscated to the State.”
”But do you possess authority for this conduct?--Are you the State?”
”In the spirit of our Protestant Const.i.tution, certainly. I am a loyal Protestant magistrate, and a man of rank, and will hold myself accountable for what I do and have done. Come you, there,” he added, ”who have knocked down the pump, take some straw, light it up, and put it with pitchforks upon the lower end of the stable; it has not yet caught the flames.”
This order was accordingly complied with, and in a few minutes the scene, if one could dissociate the mind from the h.e.l.lish spirit which created it, had something terribly sublime in it.
Mr. Hastings, the gentleman who accompanied the clergyman, the real owner of the property, looked on with apparent indifference, but uttered not a word. Indeed, he seemed rather to enjoy the novelty of the thing than otherwise, and pa.s.sed with Mr. Brown from place to place, as if to obtain the best points for viewing the fire.
Reilly's residence was a long, large, two-story house, deeply thatched; the kitchen, containing pantry, laundry, scullery, and all the usual appurtenances connected with it, was a continuation of the larger house, but it was a story lower, and also deeply thatched. The out-offices ran in a long line behind the dwelling house, so that both ran parallel with each other, and stood pretty close besides, for the yard was a narrow one. In the meantime, the night, though dry, was dark and stormy. The wind howled through the adjoining trees like thunder, roared along the neighboring hills, and swept down in savage whirlwinds to the bottom of the lowest valleys. The greater portion of the crowd who were standing outside the cordon we have spoken of fled home, as the awful gusts grew stronger and stronger, in order to prevent their own houses from being stripped or unroofed, so that very few remained to witness the rage of the conflagration at its full height. The Irish peasantry entertain a superst.i.tion that whenever a strong storm of wind, without rain, arises, it has been occasioned by the necromantic spell of some guilty sorcerer, who, first having sold himself to the devil, afterwards raises him for some wicked purpose; and nothing but the sacrifice of a black dog or a black c.o.c.k--the one without a white hair, and the other without a white feather--can prevent him from carrying away, body and soul, the individual who called him up, accompanied by such terrors. In fact the night, independently of the terrible accessory of the fire, was indescribably awful. Thatch portions of the ribs and roofs of houses were whirled along through the air; and the sweeping blast, in addition to its own howlings, was burdened with the loud screamings of women and children, and the stronger shoutings of men, as they attempted to make each other audible, amidst the roaring of the tempest.
This was terrible indeed; but on such a night, what must not the conflagration have been, fed by such pabulum--as Sir Robert himself would have said--as that on which it glutted its fiery and consuming appet.i.te. We have said that the offices and dwelling-house ran parallel with each other, and such was the fact. What appeared singular, and not without the possibility of some dark supernatural causes, according to the impressions of the people, was, that the wind, on the night in question, started, as it were, along with the fire; but the truth is, it had been gamboling in its gigantic play before the fire commenced at all. In the meantime, as we said, the whole premises presented one fiery ma.s.s of red and waving flames, that shot and drifted up, from time to time, towards the sky, with the rapidity, and more than the terror, of the aurora borealis. As the conflagration proceeded, the high flames that arose from the mansion, and those that leaped up from the offices, several times met across the yard, and mingled, as if to exult in their fearful task of destruction, forming a long and distinct arch of flame, so exact and regular, that it seemed to proceed from the skill and effort of some powerful demon, who had made it, as it were, a fiery arbor for his kind. The whole country was visible to an astonis.h.i.+ng distance, and overhead, the evening sky, into which the up-rus.h.i.+ng pyramids seemed to pa.s.s, looked as if it had caught the conflagration, and was one red ma.s.s of glowing and burning copper. Around the house and premises the eye could distinguish a pin; but the strong light was so fearfully red that the deep tinge it communicated to the earth seemed like blood, and made it appear as if it had been sprinkled with it.
It is impossible to look upon a large and extensive conflagration without feeling the mind filled with imagery and comparisons, drawn from moral and actual life. Here, for instance, is a tyrant, in the unrestrained exercise of his power--he now has his enemy in his grip, and hear how he exults; listen to the mirthful and crackling laughter with which the fiendish despot rejoices, as he gains the victory; mark the diabolical gambols with which he sports, and the demon glee with which he performs his capricious but frightful exultations. But the tyrant, after all, will become exhausted--his strength and power will fail him; he will destroy his own subjects; he will become feeble, and when he has nothing further on which to exercise his power, he will, like many another tyrant before him, sink, and be lost in the ruin he has made.
Again: Would you behold Industry? Here have its terrible spirits been appointed their tasks. Observe the energy, the activity, the persevering fury with which they discharge their separate duties. See how that eldest son of Apollyon, with the appet.i.te of h.e.l.l, licks into his burning maw every thing that comes in contact with his tongue of fire.
What quickness of execution, and how rapidly they pa.s.s from place to place! how they run about in quest of employment! how diligently and effectually they search every nook and corner, lest anything might escape them! Mark the activity with which that strong fellow leaps across, from beam to beam, seizing upon each as he goes. A different task has been a.s.signed to another: he attacks the rafters of the roof--he fails at first, but, like the constrictor, he first licks over his victim before he destroys it--bravo!--he is at it again--it gives way--he is upon it, and about it; and now his difficulties are over--the red wood glows, splits and crackles, and flies off in angry flakes, in order to become a minister to its active and devouring master. See!
observe! What business--what a coil and turmoil of industry! Every flame at work--no idle hand here--no lazy lounger reposing. No, no--the industry of a hive of bees is nothing to this. Running up--running down--running in all directions: now they unite together to accomplish some general task, and again disperse themselves to perform their individual appointments.
But hark! what comes here? Room for another element. 'Tis the windstorm, that comes to partake in the triumph of the victory which his ministers have a.s.sisted to gain. But lo! here he comes in person; and now they unite--or how?--Do they oppose each other? Here does the windstorm drive back the G.o.d of fire from his victim; again the fiery G.o.d attempts to reach it; and again he feels that he has met more than his match. Once, twice, thrice he has failed in getting at it. But is this conflict real--this fierce battle between the elements? Alas, no; they are both tyrants, and what is to be expected?
The wind G.o.d, always unsteady, wheels round, comes to the a.s.sistance of his opponent, and gives him new courage, new vigor, and new strength.
But his inferior ministers must have a share of this dreadful repast.
Off go a thousand ma.s.ses of burning material, whirling along. Off go the; glowing timbers and rafters, on the wind, by which they are borne in thousands of red meteors across the sky. But hark, again! Room for the whirlwind! Here it comes, and addresses itself to yon tall and waving pyramid; they embrace; the pyramid is twisted into the figure of a gigantic corkscrew--round they go, rapid as thought; the thunder of the wind supplies them with the appropriate music, and continues until; this terrible and gigantic waltz of the elements is concluded. But now these fearful ravagers are satisfied, because they have nothing more on which they can glut themselves. They appear, however, to be seated. The wind has become low, and is only able to work up a feeble effort at its former strength. The flames, too, are subsiding--their power is gone; occasional jets of fire I come forth, but they instantly disappear. By degrees, and one after another, they vanish. Nothing now is visible but smoke, and every thing is considered as over--when lo! like a great general, who has achieved a triumphant victory, it is deemed right to; take a last look at the position of the enemy. Up, therefore, starts an unexpected burst of flame--blazes for a while; looks about it, as it were; sees that the victory is complete, and drops down into the darkness from which it came. The conflagration is over; the wind-storm is also appeased. Small hollow gusts, amongst the trees and elsewhere, are now all that are heard. By degrees, even these cease; and the wind is now such as it was in the course of the evening, when the elements were comparatively quiet and still.
Mr. Brown and his friend, Mr. Hastings, having waited until they saw the last rafter of unfortunate Reilly's house and premises sink into a black ma.s.s of smoking ruins, turned their steps to the parsonage, which they had no sooner entered than they went immediately to Reilly's room, who was still there under concealment. Mr. Brown, however, went out again and returned with some wine, which he placed upon the table.
”Gentlemen,” said Reilly, ”this has become an awful night; the wind has been tremendous, and has done a good deal of damage, I fear, to your house and premises, Mr. Brown. I heard the slates falling about in great numbers; and the inmates of the house were, as far as I could judge, exceedingly alarmed.”
”It was a dreadful night in more senses than one,” replied Mr. Brown.
”By the by,” said Reilly, ”was there not a fire somewhere in the neighborhood, I observed through the windows a strong light flickering and vibrating, as it were, over the whole country. What must it have been?”
”My dear Reilly,” replied Mr. Brown, ”be calm; your house and premises are, at this moment, one dark heap of smouldering ruins.”
”Oh, yes--I understand,” replied Reilly--”Sir Robert Whitecraft.”
”Sir Robert Whitecraft,” replied Mr. Brown; ”it is too true, Reilly--you are now houseless and homeless; and may G.o.d forgive him!”
Reilly got up and paced the room several times, then sat down, and filling himself a gla.s.s of wine, drank it off; then looking at each of them, said, in a voice rendered hoa.r.s.e by the indignation and resentment which he felt himself compelled, out of respect for his kind friends, to restrain, ”Gentlemen,” he repeated, ”what do _you_ call this”
”Malice--persecution--vengeance,” replied Mr. Brown, whose resentment was scarcely less than that of Reilly himself. ”In the presence of G.o.d, and before all the world. I would p.r.o.nounce it one of the most diabolical acts ever committed in the history of civil society. But you have one consolation, Reilly; your money and papers are safe.”
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