Part 36 (1/2)

'”What a draught there is here,” said I; ”but just step in, and I'll go for a light.”

'He did as he was bid; but instead of finding himself on my beautiful little carpet, down he went fourteen feet into the hay at the bottom. I looked down after him for a minute or two, and then called out--

”'As I am doing the honours of Newgate, the least I could do was to show you the drop. Good-night, Dan! but let me advise you to get a little farther from the door, as there are more coming.”

'Well, sir, when they missed Dan and me out of the room, two or three more stood up, and declared for bed also. The first I took up was Ffrench, of Green Park; for indeed he wasn't a cute fellow at the best of times; and if it wasn't that the hay was so low, he'd never have guessed it was not a feather-bed till he woke in the morning. Well, down he went. Then came Eyre; then Joe M'Mahon--two-and-twenty stone--no less! Lord pity them!--this was a great shock entirely! But when I opened the door for Tom Burke, upon my conscience you'd think it was Pandemonium they had down there. They were fighting like devils, and roaring with all their might.

'”Good-night, Tom,” said I, pus.h.i.+ng Burke forward. ”It's the cows you hear underneath.”

'”Cows!” said he. ”If they 're cows, begad they must have got at that sixty-three gallons of poteen you talked of; for they're all drunk.”

'With that, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the candle out of my hand and looked down into the pit. Never was such a sight seen before or since. Dan was pitching into poor Ffrench, who, thinking he had an enemy before him, was. .h.i.tting out manfully at an old turf-creel, that rocked and creaked at every blow, as he called out--

'”I'll smash you! I'll ding your ribs for you, you' infernal scoundrel!”

'Eyre was struggling in the hay, thinking he was swimming for his life; and poor Joe M'Mahon was patting him on the head, and saying, ”Poor fellow! good dog!” for he thought it was Towzer, the bull-terrier, that was prowling round the calves of his legs.

'”If they don't get tired, there will not be a man of them alive by morning!” said Tom, as he closed the door. ”And now, if you 'll allow me to sleep on the carpet, I'll take it as a favour.”

'By this time they were all quiet in the parlour; so I lent Tom a couple of blankets and a bolster, and having locked my door, went to bed with an easy mind and a quiet conscience. To be sure, now and then a cry would burst forth, as if they were killing somebody below-stairs, but I soon fell asleep and heard no more of them.

'By daybreak next morning they made their escape; and when I was trying to awake at half-past ten, I found Colonel M'Morris, of the Mayo, with a message from the whole four.

'”A bad business this, Captain Mahon,” said he; ”my friends have been shockingly treated.”

'”It's mighty hard,” said I, ”to want to shoot me because I hadn't fourteen feather-beds in the house.”

'”They will be the laugh of the whole country, sir.”

'”Troth!” said I, ”if the country is not in very low spirits, I think they will.”

'”There's not a man of them can see!--their eyes are actually closed up!”

'”The Lord be praised!” said I. ”It's not likely they'll hit me.”

'But to make a short story of it--out we went. Tom Burke was my friend.

I could scarce hold my pistol with laughing; for such faces no man ever looked at. But for self-preservation's sake, I thought it best to hit one of them; so I just pinked Ffrench a little under the skirt of the coat. '”Come, Lambert!” said the Colonel, ”it's your turn now.”

'”Wasn't that Lambert,” said I, ”that I hit?”

'”No,” said he, ”that was Ffrench.”

'”Begad, I'm sorry for it. Ffrench, my dear fellow, excuse me; for you see you're all so like each other about the eyes this morning----”

'With this there was a roar of laughing from them all, in which, I a.s.sure you, Lambert took not a very prominent part; for somehow he didn't fancy my polite inquiries after him. And so we all shook hands, and left the ground as good friends as ever--though to this hour the name of Newgate brings less pleasant recollections to their minds than if their fathers had been hanged at its prototype.'

CHAPTER XXIX. THE DUEL

When morning broke, I started up and opened the window. It was one of those bright and beauteous daybreaks which would seem to be the compensation a northern climate possesses for its want of the azure sky of noon and the silvery moonlight of night, the gifts of happier climes.

The pink hue of the sky was gradually replacing the paler tints, like a deep blush mantling the cheek of beauty; the lark was singing high in heaven, and the deep note of the blackbird came mellowed from the leafy grove; the cattle were still at rest, and seemed half unwilling to break the tranquil stillness of the scene, as they lay breathing the balmy odours from the wild flowers that grew around them. Such was the picture that lay on one side of me. On the other was the long street of a little town, on which yet the shadows of night were sleeping; the windows were closed; not a smoke-wreath rose from any chimney, but all was still and peaceful.