Chapter 10. The Sport Continued

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_ CHAPTER X. The Sport Continued

Finnerty's house, which had been built for more purposes than were necessary for the accommodation of a caretaker or gamekeeper, was simply a plain apartment, tolerably large, with room enough in it for a couple of beds; to this was added a shooting-lodge for the owner of the mountains, which consisted of three or four bed-rooms opening from a well-sized dining-room, and a kitchen distinct from the apartment which constituted the dwelling of the gamekeeper, being that which Finnerty, as such, then occupied. It was in the dining-room of the shooting-lodge that the Whiteboy meetings were uniformly held, although of late it had been usual for those who attended them to sit in Finnerty's house until the hour had arrived for commencing business, when they adjourned to the other. We should say that the gamekeeper's house, though under the same roof, as it is termed, with the shooting-lodge, was distinct from it in other respects; that is to say, there was no internal communication between them.

"Who was that fellow that we met with you a while ago?" asked one of them a second time, as if having forgotten his name.

"Poor Mogue Moylan," replied Finnerty, "and sadly bate down he was wid this day's Work; I advised him to go to bed as soon as he could, and refresh himself by a good sleep."

"Advise!" said a voice, that almost made M'Carthy start, "it's aisier to give good advice than it is to take it; Mogue's not the only fool in this world that won't take good advice when it's given."

There could be no mistaking his voice. M'Carthy at once recognized that of the unknown friend who had warned him of danger on the night he encountered the Whiteboys, as already described.

"Come," proceeded he, "it is time we should commence business and settle the affairs of the nation at wanst; throth," he added, with a laugh, "if I was the same nation, and had a pair of good legs undher me--"

"Of what?" said the person with the black whiskers, who was evidently their leader, "of what?"

"Of ginerals like Bonnypart and Sarsfield, I'd soon have the country clear and the millstone pavin' the roads under our feet, as it will be before long, plaise God. Come, then, to business."

They accordingly proceeded to the adjoining house, with the exception of Finnerty himself, who, whether for the sake of safety, or rather for the purpose of watching M'Carthy, remained at his own fireside. His wife, on seeing this, pretended to be engaged with some domestic matter about the dresser, on which she placed a freshly lit rushlight, and availing herself of her position behind the back of her husband, who sat with his face towards the bed, she slightly raised her hands and eyes, as if to intimate that escape, she feared, was impossible.

It is incredible, the reaction which a new sensation, especially of joy or terror, or, indeed, of any feeling that is strong, superinduces upon the spirit, under circumstances of peculiar danger or interest. M'Carthy's fatigue, for instance, had now as completely departed from him as if he had not been abroad that day, and in consequence of the significant hint which he had received through the voice of his mysterious friend, he felt that if an opportunity were only offered him he would use the two legs to which his friend had alluded, when checked by the stern voice of their leader, with as much agility as ever they possessed during his life. It was this hint which made him feel certain, for the first time, that he was in imminent danger.

Half an hour had now elasped, and it was evident, from the listening attitudes and frequent stortings of Finnerty, that the debate in the lodge was high and serious. At length, one of the society hurriedly made his appearance, exclaiming; in a kind of condensed and agitated whisper, "Come in and help us--they won't stand the thing, there's only three for us." Finnerty took the candle; and, after signing to the person to go out, brought it close to M'Carthy's eyes, who opened his mouth and assumed with singular success all the deep insensible relaxation which characterizes heavy sleep. Finnerty even shook him, and said, "Hadn't you better get up, sir, and come to meet the car?" He addressed a log, however, and after another more careless and evidently satisfied glance, he laid down the candle, and then said to his wife, in a whisper, which, however, M'Carthy could hear; "The moment he wakens let us know."

Vread, who would not seem to attach any importance to the circumstance, simply nodded, by way of acquiescence, and her husband, went to join those in the lodge.

In every country whose political, commercial, or social relations, are not properly settled, or in which there exists a struggle between the principles at variance with civil order and those of enlightened progress, there will always be found a considerable portion of the population ripe and ready for violence and crime. This is an undisputable fact, and one the more dangerous too, inasmuch as crime is usually stripped by these misguided wretches of its inherent guilt, and looked upon as a necessary instrument, or, in other words, as a means to work out an end. It is true, the relative portion of the reckless and guilty is, in this country at least, considering its population, exceedingly small, for we all know how miserable the number of those who are at any time necessary to involve the character of a district at large, or inculpate the moral reputation of a whole country. At the same time, we must unquestionably admit, that, if we contrast the population of the country at large, and the frequency of crime in it, joined to its character of cool and deliberate atrocity, with that of the sister countries, we must candidly acknowledge, that the conduct of the people, even taking the proportions I have mentioned into consideration, is not only without parallel in modern times, but that religion is not merely a name, but, in every sense, incapable, whether by its internal spirit or maladministration, of discharging to society those great functional duties which mankind have a right to expect from it. But now to return.

Finnerty had joined the meeting; his wife, approaching M'Carthy, said, in a low whisper--

"They have some argument about you, whatever it is. However, with God's assistance, I'll venthur to do a thing that may be dangerous enough to myself, at any rate; but what do I care about that, if I can save an unoffendin' fellow-creature from harm?--Stay where you are then, till I come in again."

She went out as she spoke, and after an? interval of about six or eight minutes again made her appearance.

"I can't hear them plain enough," she said, on her return, "but whatever it is, I can undherstan' that the most of them all is against it. In God's name, at any rate, stay where you are--they're risin' to go home, and as the night's light they'd be sure to pounce upon you if you attempted to escape. Whatever I can do to save you from harm here I will."

The poor woman's escape from detection, while performing the friendly office of listening, was indeed very narrow. Short and hurried as her last advice to M'Carthy was, the words in which she conveyed it had scarcely been uttered, when her husband, accompanied by three persons, their faces still blackened, made his appearance. They took seats in silence around the fire, and one of them, handing over a bottle of whiskey to Finnerty, merely nodded, as much as to say, pass that about. Finnerty accordingly did so, and each of them drank a glass or two, after which they were silent as before. This silence, to M'Carthy, began to wear a solemn and a fearful aspect, especially as he knew enough of the habits of the people to be aware, that in drinking whiskey is often resorted to in order to deaden their moral, perceptions, or, in other words, as a stimulant to crime.

At length, after about a quarter of an hour had elapsed, and three of them--that is to say, two of the strangers and Finnerty--had each drank three glasses of spirits, the fourth, who had taken only one glass, beckoned to the other two to follow him.

"I think," said he, "they are all gone, and the coast is clear."

In this man's voice, M'Carthy, to his infinite delight, once more recognized that of his unknown well-wisher. Be this as it may, he and the other two left the house, and, as the reader is no doubt interested in their movements, we shall permit him to follow them to the dining-room of the shooting-lodge, where the meeting had just been held.

"Very well, then," he proceeded, "it is so best, as none of us can become a traitor against the rest. Shew me your pistols; for, as I'm an ould soger, I'll regulate them for you better than you'll be able to do yourselves."

He accordingly took their pistols, examined them closely, fixed the powder in the pans, adding' a fresh supply of priming from a little goat's horn which he carried in his-pocket. He then took out his own, which he simply looked at, and again returned to his pocket.

"Now," said he, "our best plan is to take him about the small o' the back, when he's before us, one only at a time; you," said he, addressing the tallest, "will fire first; you,"--to the other--"next if he misses him; and, as I'm the boy that doesn't miss my mark, I'll take him down, never fear, if he should escape either of you. Come now, let us go in and get him to his legs, that we may start."

On making their appearance again, Finnerty approached M'Carthy, and exclaimed as before, but on this occasion with a loud and earnest voice, "Come, sir, get up if you plaise; it's time for you to meet the car." To this M'Carthy made no reply.

"Come, sir," repeated Finnerty, "bounce; hillo, I say, Mr. M'Carthy; up wid you, sir, the car will be waitin' for you;" and he gave him a slap on the shoulder as he spoke.

"Hallo!" exclaimed the pretended sleeper, "have a care--easy,' easy--what's that? who are you?--eh--aw--oh, dear me, where am I?"

"In a friend's house, sir; get up, you know Mr. Purcel's car is waitin' for you at the mountain road below."

M'Carthy started to his feet, and on looking about him, exclaimed, "How is this, Finnerty? why are the faces of these men blackened?"

"Never you mind that, sir," replied Finnerty, "they are two or three poor fellows that's on their keepin' in regard to havin' paid their tithes against the will o' the people; an' they don't wish to be known, that's all."

"Well," replied M'Carthy, "that's their own affair, and neither yours nor mine, Finnerty. Come, then, are you ready? for I am."

"These boys, Mr. M'Carthy, has promised to take the best care of you while in their company, an' as they're goin' to the mountain road, where your're to meet the car, they'll bring you safe, sir."

"Most certainly not, Finnerty," replied the other; "I shall be escorted by no person or persons ashamed to show their faces. If you refuse to come, you break your word with me; but, in any event, I shall not travel with these men. I am too well aware of the disturbed state of the country, and that, being a friend of Mr. Purcel, I may not be popular. I consider myself, however, under your protection and under the protection of your roof, and for this reason I shall hold you accountable for my safety; and, at all events, unless you insist on expelling me, I shall remain where I am until morning."

"Why, if you insist upon it, I'll go," replied Finnerty, and four friends about you will be betther and safer than one; but in troth, to tell you the truth, Mr. M'Carthy, I'm a'most fairly knocked up myself, havin' been down the counthry and through the hills the greater part of the day. I have a great number of cattle to look afther, an' am seldom off my foot."

"Don't, sir," said his wife, in tones which were now perfectly intelligible to him, "don't ax poor Frank to go wid you tonight; you'll be as well widout him, especially as the night's so bright and clear; he's tired indeed, and, be the same token, I don't like to be here in the clouds of the night, wid nobody wid me but myself."

"If you're a gentlemen, sir," said the friendly voice, "you won't take this honest man from his wife at such an hour o' the night. If you take my advice too, I'd recommend you to come along wid ourselves at wanst."

There was no mistaking the friendly voice embodied in these words, as well as in those of Mrs. Finnerty. M'Carthy accordingly replied:--

"Very, well, Finnerty, I will proceed with these men. I should indeed be sorry to cause you any additional fatigue, or to fetch you from your house at such an hour. I will therefore put myself under the protection and guidance of these worthy fellows, who, I hope, will remember that although a friend to Mr. Purcel personally, yet I am none to any harshness he may have resorted to for the recovery of his tithes."

"There's nobody here," replied the still friendly voice, "inclined to offer you any offense, bekaise you happen to be a friend to Mr. Purcel"--and there was a marked emphasis laid upon the name--"so now," the voice proceeded, "you may make your mind aisy on that head."

A singular but significant laugh proceeded, from the other two, which, however, was repressed by a glance from "the friend," who said, "Come, boys, turn out; now, sir, the sooner we get over this journey the betther."

"Well, Finnerty," said M'Carthy, "many thanks for the hospitable shelter of your house, and to you also, Mrs. Finnerty, for your kindness and the trouble I have occasioned you."

Mrs. Finnerty's voice had now nearly abandoned her; and, as our young sportsman, after having shaken hands with her husband, now paid that compliment to herself, he perceived that the poor creature's hand was literally passive and cold as ice, whilst the words she attempted to utter literally died away unspoken on her lips.

Having got about a mile from the house, his unknown friend began to become loquacious, and related several anecdotes of successful escape from the meshes and minions of the law, a theme in which his two companions seemed to take singular delight; for they laughed immoderately at every recorded victory in outwitting the legal functionaries aforesaid.

"I was wanst upon a time," he proceeded, "taken up for a resky; (* a rescue) the case bein' you see, that we wanted the rent and the landlord wanted patience; so begad, at any rate, we gev the bloody bailiffs a thrifle for themselves, and the consequence was that we brought the cows back to a neighbor's place that belonged to another property, and the four bailiffs, poor creatures, lay upon the ground lookin' at us, an' never said ill we did it, for a raison they had; do you undherstand, boys?"

"Ay, we do undherstand; the bloddy thieves; divil break his neck that invinted rint, anyhow; sure there's no harm in wishin' that, the villain."

"Ay, an' tides," (* Tithes) replied the other; "however, we'll settle that first, and then the rents will soon follow them; an' sure there's no harm in that aither."

"Well an' good:--no, divil a harm's in it;--well an' good: to make a long story short, they grabbed me in a house up in the mountains--not unlike Finnerty's, I think that's his name--where I was on my keepin'; so what 'ud you have of it, but we were comin' acrass the hills, jist as it might be said we are now--only there's none of us a prisoner, thank goodness--hem! Well, I said to myself, hit or miss, I'll thry it; I have a pair o' legs, an' it won't be my fault or I'll put them to the best use: an' for that raison it'll be divil take the hindmost wid us. Now listen, boys; I started off, an' one fellow that had a pistol let bang at me, but long life to the pistol, divil a one of it would go off; bang again came the other chap's, but 'twas ditto repaited, and no go any more than the other. Well, do you know now, that the third fellow--for there was only three af them, I must tell you--the third fellow, I'm inclined to think, was a friend at bottom; for the devil a one of him struv to break his heart in overtakin' me. Well, by that manes, I say, I got off from two of as double-distilled villains as ever wor born to die by suspin-sion."

This narrative, the spirit of which was so acceptable to his two companions, and, if truth must be told, equally so to the third, was treasured up by M'Carthy, who felt that it ingeniously but cautiously pointed out to him the course he should adopt under his own peculiar circumstances. The consequence was, that on coming within about a couple of furlongs of a dark, narrow, thickly-wooded glen, through which he knew they must pass, he bolted off at the top of his speed, which, although very considerable for a man whose strength had been so completely exhausted by fatigue and the unusual slavery of that day's wandering through the mountains, was, notwithstanding, such as would never have enabled him to escape from his companions.

He had not gone a perch when the click of a pistol was heard, but no report; the fact having been, that the pistol missed fire, and did not go off.

"D--n your blood!" exclaimed the "friend" to the other, "fire, and don't let him escape;" the ruffian did so when click No. 2 was heard, but as before no report.

"Aisy," said the fellow who had fired first, pulling out a long Spanish dagger; "an inch or two of this is as safe as a bullet, any day; and by japers he won't escape it." He sprang after M'Carthy as he spoke, followed by his companion. The third man stepped a pace or two to the right, and levelling a long double-barrelled pistol, deliberately fired, when McCarthy's first pursuer fell; the second man, however, with that remarkable, quickness of wit which characterizes the Irish, in their outrages as well as in their pastimes, suddenly stooped, and taking the dreadful dagger out of the hands of the wounded man, continued the pursuit bounding after his foe with a spirit of vengeance and ferocity, now raised to the highest pitch. The stranger, seeing that M'Carthy was still in equal danger if not in still greater, for the now infuriated ruffian was gaining upon him, once more levelled his pistol--fired--and, as before, down came the intended assassin. He himself then sprang forward, as if in pursuit of M'Carthy, exclaiming, "Hell and fury, why did yez keep between me and him--I think he's hit; give me that dagger, and I'll go bail I'll make his body soon put six inches of it out of sight," and having uttered, these words, he rushed forward, as if in pursuit of their victim.

After he had left them, the following brief dialogue took place between these two worthies:--

"Hourigan, blazes to me but I'm shot."

"Hell's perdition to the unlucky villain--so am I--where are you shot, Mark?"

"By japers, the blood's pourin' out from me in the thigh, an' I'm afeard I'm done for--blast his unlucky hand, the villain; I wisht I had my dagger in him. Where are you shot, Darby?"

"Oh, vo--vo--on the right hip--but--oh, sweet Jasus, what will become of us if we're to die here--may the devil clap his cruibs (* Talons; claws) in the sowl of him that done it!"

"Amin, I pray the blessed Saviour this night! Do you think, Darby, he was a traitor, and done it a purpose?"

"Oh, mavrone, oh!--if I die widout the priest, what 'ud become o' me, an' all the sins I have to answer?"

"I say, was the villain a traitor, do you think?"

"Mavrone, oh!--blessed Lord forgive me--well--I can hardly think so--didn't he volunteer along wid yourself an' myself--oh, sweet Jasus! what a life I lead--oh, Mark Ratigan, Mark Ratigan, what will become o' me!---I swore away the lives of two innocent men--I proved three alibis for three of as black villains as ever stretched a rope or charged a blunderbush! 'Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come'--oh, Lord! forbid that yet a while! could you join in a Leadhan wurrah? "

"Blast you, you thick-headed vagabone! don't you know it's wrong to call me Mark Ratigan--isn't Phil Hart my name now?--no, I tell you, that I can't join you in a Leadhan wurrah--nor I didn't think you wor such a d--d cowardly hound as you are--can't you die--if you're goin' to die--like a man, an' not like an ould woman? Be my sowl, Darby, my boy, afther this night I'll never trust you again. It's yourself that 'ud turn traitor on your country and her cause, if you got the rope and hangman at your nose."

"Holy Mary, mother of God! pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, amin! Oh, sweet Jasus! have parsecution on me this night, an' spare me if it's your blessed will, till I get time to repint properly anyhow. Mark, darlin', are you gettin' waker, for I am?"

"To blazes wid you, and don't bother me--no, I'm not--I've tied my handkerchy about the place I was shot in, an' stopped the blood--eh--here--well done, Mark--hem--Phil Hart, I mane--bravo--see--that now--instead of bleatin' like a dyin' sheep, I've stopped the blood, an' here I am able to stand and walk. Come," said he, approaching his companion, "where are you shot?--let us see?"

He stooped down, and on examining the Wound by the light of the moon, perceived at once that it was not all imagination and evil conscience. He consequently forced him to his legs, then bound up the wound with the fellow's handkerchief just as he had done his own, and in a few minutes they were able to resume their journey, slowly, it is true, and on the part of Ratigan, whose wound was the more serious, with a good deal of difficulty and pain, notwithstanding his hardihood.

In the meantime, M'Carthy was soon overtaken by the friendly Whiteboy, whose speed; of foot was indeed extraordinary. On seeing, the dagger in his pursuer's hand--for such he deemed him to be--he had prepared himself for resistance, the fact being, than in consequence of their blackened faces, and the state of perturbation and excitement in which he felt himself, he was in no condition to recognize any of the party unless by their voices.

"Don't be alarmed," exclaimed the stranger, approaching him, "I have saved your life for this night most likely, by takin' the, life of them that intended to murder you."

"I certainly feel," replied M'Carthy, "that I owe my life to you, and I know not what return I can make you for it. But why should I speak so, since I am ignorant of your name, as well as of everything whatsoever concerning you? As to the other two persons, I cannot understand why they should attempt to murder me, as I am not conscious of having given offence to, any person."

"You have never given offence to them," replied the stranger; "but unfortunately this, part of the country's in such a state of feelin' at the present time, that it's as aisy to find one man to murdher another as it would be to get a man to shoot a dog. No, sir; you never offended these men, but they were set on to take your life by a man who hates you."

"Well, since you have been on more than one occasion so generous to me, can you not let me know who that person is?"

"No, sir; that man has a hundred--ay, ten hundred eyes through the counthry--in the shape of spies--and five times as many hands any time he may wish for them. You may thank a friend of yours for sendin' me to save your life this night. Your family have been friends to him and to me too, although you don't know it. As for me, I go with him heart an' hand in puttin' down the tithes, but I'll always save the life of a friend, if I can; and indeed I have been forced to shoot these two men, in ordher to save yours to-night. I must go now and see what state they're in--whether alive or dead; but before. I go, listen:--tell the procthor that he has a fearful account to meet, and that soon; let neither him nor his sons be fool-hardy; say to him, that the wisest thing he can do is to remove himself and his family into the town of Lisnagola; or, if he won't do that, to keep his house half-filled with fire-arms; for I tell you now, the time is not long till he'll need them all. Tell them not to go out at night at all, or even by day, unless well armed; and do you yourself take the same advice; and now good-night. But, listen again: there, you see, is the spot below there, where the car was to meet you; but there's no car in it, and even if there was, I wouldn't recommend you to go on it; and if you're goin' to O'Driscol's don't go up the avenue, but by the back way, behind the garden, for it's very likely there's another man--and a fearful man, on the look-out for you, in case you should be missed by us. Farewell, for the present."

A few minutes brought this kind-hearted Whiteboy back to the spot where Hourigan and his companion, who was also his cousin, fell. He was a good deal surprised, but still highly gratified, at not finding them where they had fallen, as it was a 'proof to him that his aim at either had not been fatal, as he certainly had no intention of taking their lives, or of rendering them any greater injury than the infliction of such wound as might put an end to their pursuit of M'Carthy. On advancing a little farther, he saw them proceeding, by a different but shorter path towards the inland country; and being now satisfied, from their appearance, that they had not been mortally wounded, he left them to reach home as best they might, and proceeded himself in another direction. _

Read next: Chapter 11. The Sport Still Continued

Read previous: Chapter 9. Sport In The Mountains

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