Part 30 (1/2)
They accordingly proceeded to the sheriff's house, whom they found at home. On being informed that they had captured the man ”who had robbed him, he came downstairs with great alacrity, and in a spirit replete with vengeance against the robber. The sheriff, however, was really a good-natured and conscientious man, and would not lend himself to a dishonorable act, nor had he ever been known to do so. When he appeared, Reilly addressed him:
”I am here, sir,” said he, ”under a charge of having robbed you. The charge against me is ridiculous. I am a gentleman, and never was under the necessity of having recourse to such unlawful means of raising money.”
”Well,” replied the sheriff, ”your dress is precisely the same as the fellow wore when he robbed me. But I feel confident that you are not the man. Your hair is black, his was red, and he had large red whiskers.
In the excitement and agitation of the moment I forgot to mark the villain's features distinctly; but I have since thought over the matter, and I say that I would now know him if I saw him again. This, however,”
he added, turning--to the constables, ”is not the person who robbed and beat me down from my horse.”
”But he may be w.i.l.l.y Reilly, sir, for all that; and you know the reward that is offered for his apprehension.”
”I know w.i.l.l.y Reilly,” replied the sheriff, ”and I can a.s.sure you that this gentleman is not w.i.l.l.y Reilly. Go, now, continue your pursuit. The robber lurks somewhere in the neighborhood. You know the reward; catch him, and you shall have it.” The constables departed; and after they had gone the sheriff said, ”Mr. Reilly, I know you well; but I would scorn to avail myself of the circ.u.mstance which has thus occurred. I am aware of the motive which urges Sir Robert Whitecraft against you--so is the whole country. That penurious and unprincipled villain is thirsting for your blood. Mr. Hastings, however, has a rod in pickle for him, and he will be made to feel it in the course of time. The present administration is certainly an anti-Catholic one; but I understand it is tottering, and that a more liberal one will come in. This Whitecraft has succeeded in getting some young profligate Catholics to become Protestants, who have, consequently, ousted their fathers out of their estates and property; younger sons, who, by this act of treachery, will get the estates into their own possession. The thing is monstrous and unnatural. But let that pa.s.s; Whitecraft is on our trail in all directions; beware of him, I say; and I think, with great respect to you, Mr. Reilly, it is extremely foolish to go abroad in your usual apparel, and without disguise.”
”Sir,” replied Reilly, ”I cannot express, as I would wish, my deep grat.i.tude to you for your kindness and forbearance. That Sir Robert Whitecraft is thirsting for my blood I know. The cause of that vengeance is now notorious.”
”You know Mr. Hastings, Mr. Reilly?”
”Intimately, sir.”
”He took your property in his own name?”
”He did, sir; he purchased it in his own name. The property was hereditary property, and when my t.i.tle to it, in point of law, as a Catholic, was questioned, and when one of my family, as a Protestant, put in his claim for it, Mr. Hastings came in as the purchaser, and ousted him. The money was supplied by me. The moment, however, that I found Whitecraft was after me, I immediately surrendered the whole of it back to him; so that Sir Robert, in burning what he considered my property, in fact burned Mr. Hastings.”
”And I have reason to know, Mr. Reilly, that it will be the blackest act of his guilty life. This, however, I mention to you in the strictest confidence. Keep the secret, for if it transpired the scoundrel might escape from the consequences of his own cruelty and oppression. In the meantime, do you take care of yourself--keep out of his way, and, as I said, above all things, procure a disguise. Let the consequences be what they may, I don't think the beautiful _Cooleen Baum_ will ever marry him.”
”But,” replied Reilly, ”is there no risk of compulsion by her father?”
”Why, I must confess there is,” replied the sheriff; ”he is obstinate and headstrong, especially if opposed, and she will find it necessary to oppose him--and she will oppose him. I myself have had a conversation with her on the subject, and she is firm as fate against such a union; and I will tell you more, Reilly--it was she who princ.i.p.ally engaged me to protect you as far as I could, and so I shall, you may rest a.s.sured of it. I had only to name you a few minutes ago, and your fate was sealed. But, even if she had never spoken to me on the subject, I could not fend myself to the cruel plots of that villain. G.o.d knows, in consequence of my official situation, I am put upon tasks that are very painful to me; levying fines from men who are harmless and inoffensive, who are peaceable members of society, who teach the people to be moral, well-conducted, and obedient to the laws, and who do not themselves violate them. Now,” he added, ”be advised by me, and disguise yourself.”
”Sir,” said Reilly, ”your sentiments do you honor; I am this moment on my way to put on a disguise, which has been procured for me. I agree with you and other friends that it would be impossible for me to remain in the country in my own natural aspect and dress. Allow me, before I go, to express my sense of your kindness, and believe me I shall never forget it.”
”The disguise, above all things,” said the sheriff, smiling and holding out his hand. Reilly seized it with a warm pressure; they bid each other farewell, and so they parted.
Reilly then wound his way to the cottage of Mrs. Buckle, but not by the public road. He took across the fields, and, in due time, reached her humble habitation. Here he found the disguise, which his friend Fergus had provided-a half-worn frieze coat, a half-worn caubeen, and a half-worn pair of corduroy breeches, clouted brogues, and Connemara stockings, also the worse for the wear, with two or three coa.r.s.e s.h.i.+rts, in perfect keeping with, the other portion of the disguise.
”Well, Mrs. Buckley,” said he, ”how have you been since I saw you last?”
”Oh, then, Mr. Reilly,” said she, ”it's a miracle from G.o.d that you did not think of stopping here! I had several visits from the sogers who came out to look for you.”
”Well, I suppose so, Mrs. Buckley; but it was one comfort that they did not find me.”
”G.o.d be praised for that!” replied the poor woman, with tears in her eyes; ”it would a' broken my heart if you had been catched in my little place.”
”But, Mrs. Buckley,” said Reilly, ”were there any plain clothes left for me here?”
”Oh, indeed there was, sir,” she replied, ”and I have them safe for you; but, in the meantime, I'll go outside, and have an eye about the country, for somehow they have taken it into their heads that this would be a very likely place to find you.”
While she was out, Reilly changed his dress, and in a few minutes underwent such a metamorphosis that poor Mrs. Buckley, on reentering the house, felt quite alarmed.
”Heavenly Father! my good man, where did you come from? I thought I left Mr. --” here she stopped, afraid to mention Reilly's name.