Chapter 6. Unexpected Generosity--A False Alarm

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_ CHAPTER VI. Unexpected Generosity--A False Alarm

At this period, notwithstanding the circumstances which we have just related--and they were severe enough--the distress of the Protestant clergy of Ireland was just only beginning to set in. It had not, as yet, however, assumed anything like that formidable shape in which it subsequently appeared. To any scourge so dreadful, no class in the educated and higher ranks of society had been, within the records of historical recollection, ever before subjected. Still, like a malignant malady, even its first symptoms were severe, and indicative of the sufferings by which, with such dreadful certainty, they were followed.

On that day, and at the very moment when the mysterious attempt at assassination,which we have recorded, was made, Dr. Turbot's worthy curate, on returning home from the neighboring village of Lisnagola, was, notwithstanding great reluctance on his part, forced into the following conversation with his lovely but dejected wife:

"Charles," said she, fixing her large, tearful eyes upon him, with a look in which love, anxiety, and sorrow were all blended, "I fear you have not been successful in the village. Has Moloney refused us?"

"Only conditionally, my dear Maria--that is, until our account is paid up--but for the present, and perhaps for a little longer, we must deny ourselves these 'little luxuries,'" and he accompanied the words with a melancholy smile. "Tea and sugar and white bread are now beyond our reach, and we must be content with a simpler fare."

Mrs. Temple, on looking at their children, could scarcely refrain from tears; but she knew her husband's patience and resignation, and felt that it was her duty to submit with humility to the dispensation of God.

"You and I, my dear Charles, could bear up under anything--but these poor things, how will they do?"

"That reflection is only natural, my dear Maria; but it is spoken, dearest, only like a parent, who probably loves too much and with an excess of tenderness. Just reflect, darling, upon the hundreds of thousands of children in our native land, who live healthily and happily without ever having tasted either tea or loaf-bread at all; and think, besides, dearest, that there are, in the higher circles, a great number of persons whose children are absolutely denied these comforts, by advice of their physicians. Our natural wants, my dear Maria, are but simple, and easily satisfied; it is wealth and luxury only that corrupt and vitiate them. In this case, then, dearest, the Christian must speak, and act, and feel as well as the parent. You understand me now, love, and that is sufficient. I have not succeeded in procuring anything for you or them, but you may rest assured that God will not desert us."

"Yes, dear Charles," replied his wife, whose black mellow eyes beamed with joy; "all that is true, but you forgot that Dr. Turbot has arrived to receive his tithes, and you will now receive your stipend. That will carry us out of our present difficulty at least."

"My dear Maria, it is enough to say that Dr. Turbot is in a position immeasurably more distressed and dreadful than ours. Purcel, his proctor, has been able to receive only about fifty pounds out of his usual half-yearly income of eight hundred. From him we are to expect nothing at present. I know not, in fact, how he and his family will bear this dreadful privation; for dreadful it must be to those who have lived in the enjoyment of such luxuries."

"That is indeed dreadful to such a family, and I pity them from my heart," replied his wife; "but, dearest,Charles, what are we to do?--except a small crust of bread, there is no food in the house for either them or you." As she uttered the words their eyes met, and his gentle and soothing Maria, who had been sitting beside him, threw herself upon his bosom--he clasped his arms around her--pressed her with melancholy affection to his heart, and they both wept together.

At length he added, "But you think not of yourself, my Maria."

"I!" she replied; "ah! what am I? Anything, you know, will suffice for me--but you and they, my dearest Charles--and then poor Lilly, the servant; but, dearest," she exclaimed, with a fresh, and if possible, a more tender embrace, "I am not at all repining--I am happy with you--happy, happy--and never, never, did I regret the loss of my great and powerful friends less than I do at this moment, which enables me to see and appreciate the virtues and affection to which my heart is wedded, and which I long since appreciated."

Her husband forced a smile, and kissed her with an air of cheerfulness.

"Pardon me," he said, "dearest Maria, for two or three minutes I wish to go to the library to make a memorandum. I will soon return."

He then left her, after a tender embrace, and retired, as he said, to the library, where, smote to the heart by his admiration of her affection and greatness of mind, he sat down, and whilst he reflected on the destitution to which he had brought the granddaughter of an earl, he wept bitterly for several minutes. It was from this peculiar state of feeling that he was called upon to hear an account of the attempted assassination, with which the reader is already acquainted.

Our friend, the Cannie Soogah, having taken the town of Lisnagola on his way, in order to effect some sales with one of those general country merchants on a somewhat small scale, that are to be found in almost every country town, happened to be sitting in a small back-parlor, when a certain conversation took place between Mr. Temple and Molony, the proprietor of the establishment to which we have just alluded. He heard the dialogue, we say, and saw that the mild and care-worn curate had been, not rudely certainly, but respectfully, yet firmly, refused further credit. By whatever spirit prompted it is not for us to say; at all events he directed his footsteps to the glebe, and--but it is unnecessary to continue the description, or rather to repeat it. The reader is already aware of what occurred until the departure of Dr. Turbot and the proctor.

Temple, having seen them depart, walked out for a little, in order to compose his mind, and frame, if possible, some project for the relief of his wife and children. In the meantime, our jolly pedlar, having caught a glimpse of Mrs. Temple at the parlor window, presented himself, and begged to know if she were inclined to make any purchases. She nodded him a gentle and ladylike refusal, upon which he changed his ground, and said, "Maybe, ma'am, if you're not disposed to buy, that you'd have something you'd like to part wid. If you have, ma'am, bad cess to the purtier purchaser you'd meet wid--shawls or trinkets, or anything that way--I mane, ma'am," he added, "things that arn't of any use to you--an' I'm the boy that will shell out the ready money, and over the value."

Mrs Temple had known little--indeed nothing--of the habits of such a class as that to which our gay friend belonged; but be this as it may, his last words struck her quickly and forcibly.

"Do you make purchases, then?" she said.

"I do, ma'am, plaise your honor," replied the pedlar.

"Stop a moment, then," she replied. "I have some superfluous articles of dress that I may dispose of."

The whole mother rushed into her heart at the thought; the tender and loving wife forgot everything but the means of obtaining food for her husband and children. She went to her dressing-room, and in a few minutes returned, accompanied by Lilly Stewart, her own servant-maid previous to ker marriage, to whom their recent distresses had been no secret, and who was deeply and deservedly in the confidence of the family.

Whilst she was, absent in her dressing-room the pedlar resumed his song, as was his custom when alone--a circumstance which caused Mrs. Temple to remark, as she and Lilly went down to, the parlor--"Alas! dear Lilly, what a mistaken estimate does one portion of mankind form of another. This poor pedlar now envies us the happiness of rank and wealth which we do not feel, and I--yes, even I--what would I not give to be able to carol so light-hearted a song as that which he is singing! Who is this man, Lilly, do you know him?"

"Why, ma'am, if all they say is true, every one knows him, and nobody knows him. He's known as the Cannie Soogah, or jolly pedlar. They say, that although he prefers this kind of life, he's very wealthy. One person will tell you that he's a great rogue, and would cheat Satan himself, and others say he's generous and charitable. In other respects," continued. Lilly, blushing, "he's not very well spoken of, but it may be false. I have always found him myself very civil; and them that spoke harshly of him were people that he kept at a distance."

The pedlar ceased his song as soon as they made their appearance in the parlor, into which Lilly admitted him for the sake of mutual convenience.

"Here's a shawl--a beautiful shawl, Mr. ---- what's this your name is?"

"The name that I have for set days and bonfire nights," he replied, "is one I seldom tell," and at the same time there was a dry air of surprise about him on hearing her ask the question; "but the name I am generally known by is the Cannie Soogah, which manes, ma'am," he added, addressing himself in a respectful manner to Mrs. Temple, "the jolly merchant or pedlar."

"Well, Cannie," said Lilly, pronouncing the word with more familiarity than could have been expected from their apparent unaquaintance with each other, "here's a beautiful shawl that my mistress made me a present of."

"No, Lilly," said her mistress, with severity--for she neither could nor would sanction the falsehood, however delicately and well intended--"no, do not mislead the man, nor state anything but the truth. The shawl is mine, my good man, and I wish to dispose of it."

The pedlar looked at it, and replied, in a tone of disappointment, "Yes, ma'am, but I'm afeard it's beyant my manes; I know the value of it right well, and it's seldom ever the likes of it was in my pack. What are you axin', ma'am? it's as good as new."

"I think it cost twelve or thirteen guineas, as well as I can remember," she replied; "but it is not what it cost, but what you are now disposed to give for it, that I am anxious to know."

"Well, ma'am, you know I must look upon it as--hem--as a second--ha--at all events," he proceeded, checking himself with more delicacy than could be expected from him--"you must admit that it isn't new."

"Certainly," said she, "it has been more than eight years in my possession, although, at the same time, I believe I have not worn it more than half a dozen times."

"Well, ma'am," replied the pedlar, "I know the value of the shawl something betther even than yourself. If you will take six guineas for it, we will deal; more I cannot afford, for I must at once tell, you the truth, that I may carry it about these twelve months before I find any one that knows its value."

Mrs. Temple was by no means prepared, any more than her servant, for such a liberal offer; and without any further hesitation she accepted it, and desired Lilly to place the shawl in his hands, and in the meantime, with equal consideration and good feeling, he handed Lilly six guineas, adding, "Give that to your mistress, but in troth, ma'am," he proceeded, respectfully addressing her; "it is just robbing you I am, but I can only say, that if I dispose of it at its proper-value you'll hear from me again. Troth, if I wasn't a great rogue, ma'am, I'd give you more for it; but bad cess to the one o' me--ever could be honest, even if I wasped for it."

"I do not think you dishonest, my good, man," replied Mrs. Temple; "on the contrary, I am not displeased with your, plain blunt manner. Lilly give him some----"

She checked herself at once, and passed, a significant but sorrowful glance at Lilly; as she went up to the drawing-room.

She had no sooner gone, than the peddler, with a shrug of satisfaction, exclaimed, in a subdued but triumphant voice: "Oh! by the hokey I've done her, and for that you must suffer, Lilly darlin'. Come now, you jumpin' jewel you, that was born wid a honey-comb somewhere between, that purty chin and beautiful nose of yours--throth it must have a taste, for who the dickens could, refuse the Cannie Soogah, and before Lilly, who, by the way, was nothing, loath, could put herself in an attitude of defense, he had inflicted several smacks upon as pretty a pair of lips as ever were pressed.

"Upon my word; now, Mr. Magrath, you're very impudent," she replied, "I wonder you're not ashamed, you great strong man you, to be kissing girls in this manner, whether they will or not. Look at the state you have my hair in; you're very rude, Mr. Magrath, and I'm really angry with you; you've broken one of my side-combs, too; you're a great rude man, so you are."

"Broke your side-comb, did I? Well, then, you couldn't be in better hands, darlin', here's a pair I make you a present of, and maybe they won't set you all off to pieces; here, darlin', wear these for my sake."

"But are you making me a present of these beauties, Cannie?"

"Troth an' I am, Lilly darlin', and wish they were betther for your sake--what's that I said? a present! oh the sorrow bit, I must have my payment--aisy now, darlin', my own sweet Lilly; there now, we're clear."

"Upon my word, Mr. Magrath, I don't know what to say to you, but you're such a great strong fellow, that a poor weak girl like me is but a child in your arms; are these real tortoise-shell though?"

"You may swear it; do you think I'd offer you anything else? But now listen, my darlin' girl, take this shawl, it's 'worth five-and-twenty guineas at least, troth, poor thing! it wasn't since their marriage it was bought; take it, I say, and go up widout sayin' a word, and lay it just where it was before, and if she seems surprised on findin' it there, tell her you suppose I forgot it, or if she won't believe you, and that all fails you, say that the Cannie Soogah, although she knows nothing about him, is a man that's undher great obligations to her family, and that he only tuck that method of payin' back a debt to her that he honestly owed to them, for, afther all, isn't she one of them?"

Lilly shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears, at the manly and modest generosity of the pedlar.

"Little you know then, Mr. Magrath, the load you have taken off my dear mistress's heart, and the delight you have brought upon the whole family."

"Well, Lilly dear, sure if I did, amn't I well paid, for it? thanks to your two sweet lips for that. Sure, bad cess to me, but it was on your account I did it."

A vile grin, or rather an awkward blank smile, forced by an affectation of gallantry, accompanied the lie which he uttered.

"Oh, yes, indeed," replied Lilly, "on my 'account, don't think to pass that upon me; however, I can forgive you a great many things in consequence of your behavior--just now."

"And yet you abused me for it," he replied, laughing, "but sure I knew that a purty girl always likes to be kissed; bad cess to me, but the same behavior comes naturally to me."

"Go now," said Lilly, with a comic and peremptory manner; "go your rounds, I say; you know very well that I mane your behavior about the shawl, and not your great strong impudence."

The pedlar, after winking and nodding meanings into her words that she had never thought of, slung his pack over his shoulder as usual, and proceeded on his rounds.

We have always been of opinion that there is scarcely anything more mysterious than the speed with which popular report travels apparently with very inadequate machinery throughout a large district of country. Before the day was more than half-advanced, fame had succeeded in circulating a report that Matthew Purcel and Dr. Turbot had been both shot dead in the garden of the rectory. This report spread rapidly, and it is with equal pain and shame we are obliged to confess that in general it was received with evident and undisguised satisfaction. John and Alick Purcel, on their way home, were accosted at a place called "Murderer's Corner," by two of the men who had attended at their father's office that morning, and informed that he and Dr. Turbot had been murdered in the course of the day, a piece of information which was conveyed by them with a sneer of cowardly triumph that was perfectly diabolical.

"God save ye, gintlemen!" said one of them, with a peculiar emphasis on the last word; "did ye here the news?"

"No, Jemmy, what is it?" asked John.

"Why, that Darby Hourigan is very ill," he replied, with mock gravity.

"No thanks for your information, Jemmy," replied the other; "if you told us something of more interest we might thank you."

"Never mind him, gintlemen," replied his companion, "there's nothing wrong wid Darby Horaigan, barrin' that he occasionally rubs himself where he's not itching, but there's worse news than that before you."

"What is it, then?" asked Alick; "if you know it, let us hear it, and don't stand humming and hawing as if you were afraid to speak."

"Faith, an' it's no wondher I would, sir, when it's to tell you that you'll find your father a murdhered corpse at home before you."

"Great God! what do you mean, sir? asked John.

"Why, gintlemen, it seems that himself an' Parson Turbot wor both shot in the parsonage garden to-day. The parson's takin' his rest in his own house, but your father's body was brought home upon the car. The bullet entered your worthy father's breeches' pocket, cut through a sheaf of notes that he had to pay the parson his tides wid, and from that it went on----"

Human patience could not endure the ill-suppressed and heartless satisfaction with which the fellow was about to enter into the details, and accordingly, ere he had time to proceed further, John Purcel turning a hunting-whip, loaded for self-defense, left him sprawling on the earth.

"Now, you ill-conditioned scoundrel," he exclaimed, "whether he is murdered or not, take that for your information. Alick, lay on Hacket there, you are the nearest to him," he added, addressing his brother.

Hacket at once took to his heels, but the other, touching his horse with the spurs, cantered up to him, and brought the double thong of his whip into severe contact with his neck and shoulders. When this was over, the two fiery young men exclaimed:--

"There, now, are our thanks, not merely for your information, but for the good will with which it was given, and that to the very sons of the man whom, by your own account, you have murdered among you. If his blood however, has been shed, there is not a drop of it for which we will not exact a tenfold retribution."

They then dashed home, at the highest speed of which their horses were capable, and throwing themselves out of the saddle, rushed to the hall-door, where they knocked eagerly.

"Is my father at home, Letty?"

"Yes, sir, he's in the parlor."

"In the parlor," exclaimed Alick, looking keenly into her face; "what is he doing in the parlor, eh?"

"Why, he's readin' a letther, sir."

"Reading a letter, is he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank God!" exclaimed both the young men, breathing freely; "that will do, Letty--here, Letty, is half-a-crown for you to buy a ribbon."

"And another from me, Letty, to buy anything you fancy."

The girl looked at them with surprise, and for a moment or two seemed at a loss how to account for such evident excitement. At length she exclaimed: "By dad, I have it; you won the hunt, gintlemen."

"Better than that, Letty," they replied, nodding, and immediately entering the parlor.

"Well, boys," said the father, "a good day's sport?"

"Capital, father! are you long home!"

"Since about two o'clock."

"How did you come?"

"Why, boys, ye must know that either Dr. Turbot or I was fired at to-day. A bullet--a pistol bullet--whistled right between us in the parsonage garden, and the poor frightened doctor refused to come by the usual way, and, in consequence, I was obliged to take the lower road."

He then entered into a more detailed account of the attempted assassination, and heard from them, in reply, a history of their intelligence and adventure at Murderer's Corner with Hacket and Bryan, for so the fellows were named.

"Well," said the proctor, "thank God, things are not so bad as they report, after all; but, in the meantime, the plot appears to be thickening--here's more comfort," he added, handing him the notice which Mogue told him he had found upon the steps of the hall-doer, where, certainly, he had himself left it. John took the document and read as follows:--

"TO PROCTOR PURCEL AND HIS HORSE-WHIPPIN' SONS.

"This is to give you notice, that nothing can save yez. Look back upon your work an' see what yez desarve from the counthry. You began with a farm of sixty acres, and you took farm afther farm over the heads of the poor an' them that wor strugglin', until you now have six hundre' acres in your clutches. You made use of the strong purse against the wake man; an' if any one ventured to complain, he was sure to come in for a dose of the horsewhip from your tyrannical sons, or a dose of law from yourself. Now all that I've mentioned might be overlooked an' forgiven, for the sake of your wife and daughters, but it is for your conduct as a Tithe Proctor that you and your sons must die. Don't think to escape me, for it can't be done. There is not a day in the week, nor an hour in the day, but I have you at my command. Be prepared, then, for your fate is sealed; and no earthly power can save you. There is the sign [three coffins] and the blood that marks my name is from my own veins. You and your sons must die.

"Captain Terror,

"The Millstone-breaker."

"Tut," said Alick, "we have received far worse than this; it has been written by some hedge schoolmaster; as for my part, I despise it."

"Well, boys, at all events," proceeded the proctor, "be a little more sparing with the horse-whip. The scoundrels deserve it to be sure; but at the same time it is not a thing that can be defended."

"Why, it's impossible to keep it from them, father," replied John; "their insolence is actually more than flesh and blood can bear. But had we not better make some inquiries into this precious production?"

"Where is the use of that?" said his father, to whom such communications had lost all their novelty and much of their interest; "however, you may do so; perhaps some accidental clue may be found that would lead us to discover the villain who wrote it."

Mogue was accordingly called in.

"How did this letter come into your hands, Mogue?" asked the proctor.

"It didn't come into them, sir," replied Mogue, with a smile which he intended to pass, for one of simplicity; "it was lyin' I got it, upon the hall-door steps."

"Did you see any strange person about the place, or near the hall-door to-day?" he asked.

"None, sir, sorra a creature--well now, wait--that I may never sup sorrow, but I did--there was a poor woman, sir, wid a whack of a son along wid her."

"Did you see her near the steps?"

"That I may be happy, sir, if I could take it upon me to say--not wishin' to tell a lie--but she might a' been there, the crathur."

"What kind of a looking woman was she?" asked John.

"A poor woman, sir, as I said."

"I do not mean that; of course, I know she was; but what dress had she on, and what kind of features or complexion had she? Was she big or little?"

"I'm just thinkin'," replied Mogue, seemingly attempting to recollect something, "was it to-day or yesterday I seen her."

"Well, but answer directly," said Alick, "what was she like?"

"The son of her was a bullet-headed ownsha," replied Mogue, "and herself--well now, that I may never die in sin, if I could say rightly. I was fetehin' some oats to Gimlet Eye, an' didn't take any particular notice. The ownsha had black sooty hair, cut short, an' walked as if his feet were sore--and indeed it strikes me that he had kibes--for these poor people isn't overly clane, an' don't wash their feet goin' to bed at night, barrin' at Christmas or Easther, the crathurs. But, sure the Lord look down on them, they have enough to do to live at all!"

"You couldn't say what direction she came from?"

"Well, then, no."

"Nor the direction she went by?"

"Well, no sir, I could not."

"But are you certain it was to-day, and not yesterday, you saw her?"

"Then that's what's puzzlin' me--eh! let me see--ay--it was to-day--an' I'll tell you how I know it. Bekaise it was to-day I brought the oats to Gimlet Eye--you know he was harrowing the black park yestherday and was in care of Paudeen Sthuccaun. But sure, sir, maybe somebody else about the place seen them."

An investigation was consequently held upon this reasonable suggestion, but we need scarcely assure our readers, without effect; the aforesaid "poor woman" having had existence only in the fertile imagination of stainless and uncorrupted saint Mogue.

The latter had scarcely retired, when a gentle knock came to the door, and Alick, on opening it himself, found their friend and neighbor, Darby Hourigan, standing outside.

"Well, Hourigan, what do you want now? have you repented, and come to the resolution of paying your tithes?"

Darby gave no direct answer, nor indeed any answer at all to these questions, but simply said, "There's a bit o' paper, sir, for Misther John."

"What is this? Oh, oh, a summons!--very well, Mr. Hourigan, my brother will attend to it."

"This is where John Purcel lives, sir?" proceeded the man, according to some form which he supposed necessary to give effect and reality to the service; "you acknowledge that, sir, do you?"

"Live here!--why, you scoundrel, don't you know he does? Where else did he ever live?"

"Ay, but you are only answerin' one question by another," replied Hourigan; "and I'll sarve you wid another to-morrow if you don't speak the truth."

"John," shouted his brother, "you're wanted. Here is your old friend Hourigan, anxious to get another--ha! ha! ha!--he is off like a shot!" he proceeded, addressing his brother, as the latter entered the hall; "but in the meantime," he added, handing him the summons, "this document is intended for you."

"Well," observed John, laughing, "unless our friend O'Driscol is somewhat change"! I need not much fear Mr. Hourigan."

"He is changed," observed the proctor; "the fellow is beginning to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. If you wish to secure his favor, however, you ought to try and put him on the trail of a Conspiracy, or anything that will give him a tolerable justification for writing to his Friend the Castle, as he calls it! He is a regular conspiracy hunter, and were it not that he is now awfully afraid of these Whiteboys, and naturally cowardly and easily frightened, I think he would be the plague of government as well as the country."

It would indeed, be extremely difficult to find a family so resolute and full of natural courage, and consequently so incapable of intimidation, as that of our friend the proctor. And what was equally striking, the female portion of them were as free from the weakness and timidity of their sex, in this respect, as the males. _

Read next: Chapter 7. A Shoneen Magistrate Distributing Justice

Read previous: Chapter 5. A Hang-Choice Shot--The "Garrison" On Short Commons

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