A Castle in Spain Part 25

"'Oh, a taste av salt an' a plante av praties, An a dhrop av whiskey to wash thim down, An' a tasty dhuidheen to help digistion-- That's the fashion in Limerick town.'"

It had already caused some surprise to Russell that a Spanish chieftain should speak English with the Irish accent; but now to find one who claimed to be the King of Spain lightly trolling an Irish ditty to a rollicking tune was, to say the least, just a little unusual. It occurred to him, however, that "His Majesty" must have learned his English from an Irishman; and further thought showed him that such a fact was perfectly natural, since, being a Catholic, he had of course employed a Catholic tutor, who was almost certain to be an Irishman. Which conclusion led to another, namely, that the Catholic princes and n.o.bles of Europe, including the Pope himself and the College of Cardinals, if they speak English at all, speak it with more or less of an Irish brogue.

"His Majesty" now led the way to the table, inviting Russell to follow. There Russell beheld a tempting repast, whose savory steam penetrated through his nostrils to that heart of hearts--that _corcordium_ which lieth behind all sense, filling it with wild longings. He saw roast capons, obtained from Heaven knows where; rich odoriferous _olla podrida_, and various kinds of game. There was aromatic coffee; there were steaming meat-pies, in which was perceptible the scent of truffles; while modestly, yet all-pervadingly, like the perfume of mignonette in a garden of a thousand flowers, or like the influence of one good man in a community of worldlings, or like the song of the poet in a hard, prosaic age, there was wafted to his senses the steam of fat upland mushrooms.

These two had that banquet all to themselves--namely, "His Majesty"

and "Lord" Russell.

"Me lord," said "His Majesty," "is anything wanting? Tell us. Yer wish shall be gratified. Does ye wish for music? A piper an' a fiddler too are both convaynient, an', begorra, thim fellers can bate out-an'-out all the pipers an' fiddlers this side av the Bay av Biscay. They're both Irishmen, so they are, an' they're our sworn body-gyard, an' there ye have it. But, man, ye're not dhrinkin'. What 'il ye have? Here's port from Oporto--pure--none av yer vile Saxon compounds; likewise here's sherry from Xeres. Here's marsala an'

maraschino. Here's champagne an' cognac. Here's also whiskey. What d'ye say, me lord? Is it whiskey? Divil a doubt! I knowed it--begorra, I knowed it by the twinkle av yer eye. Thrust to me for findin' that out; sure it's meself that can tell a conjaynial spirit, so it is."

Hereupon "His Majesty" began to brew a tumbler of toddy. Russell, who was an experienced hand, gazed upon the royal proceedings with a critical eye, but found nothing wanting. The royal hand was as experienced as his own. The drink that resulted was equal, to say the least of it, to anything that had ever touched his palate. He tasted, and felt like a new man. He tasted again, and all his sorrows vanished. He tasted for a third time, and there came over him a feeling of peace, and content, and brotherly love to all mankind.

"His Majesty" had also been tasting, and with every taste the royal mind seemed to a.s.sume a new phase.

"In our coort," said "His Majesty," "as at prisint constichooted, we cannot offer the injuicemints that are held forth at Vienna, Berlin, an' St. Paytersburg; but we can furnish some lads that can bate the worruld. I'd like to howld a coort an' have the ladies. We'd have a ball. Oh, but it's meself that's fond av dancin'. Do ye dance, me lord? Sure but there's nothiu' in life like it! An' more's the pity that I can't get here the craim av our Spanish aristocracy. But we're too far away entirely. As for dancin'--begorra, I've seen dancin' in my time that 'ud take yer head off!

"'Oh, it bates all the illigant dancin'

That iver was danced at a ball, Whin Teddy came out to the crowd, And danced upon nothin' at all-- Wid a himpin cravat round his neck That the hangman had fixed on his head; An' so he kept kickin' an' prancin'

Long afher he ought to be dead.

Whoor-ooo-ooo!'"

As "His Majesty" trolled out this, Russell could not help feeling that it was decidedly out of accord with his royal character, and ventured even to hint as much. Upon this tears started into the royal eye. "His Majesty" took Russell's hand, telling him, with deep emotion, that he was a true friend, and that he would strive to profit by his friendship.

"An' oh, ye thafe of the worrulil," continued "His Majesty," suddenly changing the conversation, "ye've played the mischief wid thim bonds.

Where have ye hid thim, ye rogue? But niver mind. I'll be ayvin wid ye yit. How much are they? Thirty thousand pounds! Begorra, I'll give ye that amount for thim. I'd like to take up thim bonds for the credit av our monarchy an' our kingdom. I'll tell ye what I'll do.

I'll give ye an ordher on our lord high treasurer for the whole amount in cash! That's what I'll do, so I will. Ye naydn't give yerself any more throuble. I'll give ye the hard cash through the lord high treasurer--that's me way. I'll do it!"

"His Majesty" here mixed another gla.s.s of toddy. After a few draughts he a.s.sumed a more dignified att.i.tude.

"Me lord," said he, "I should like to ask ye now, quite infarrumally, what there is to prayvint a raycognition by your governmint av our claims an' our rights. We are winnin' our way back to the throne an'

crown av our ancistors. A lawless mob howlds our capital, but they'll be kicked out afore a month av Sundays. I should like to make a frindly agraymint through you, me lord, wid your government. Whin I git to be king, I agray to cling to an alliance offinsive an'

dayfinsive wid your governmint. There's one common inimy, the raypublic av America, an' it's ayqually hostile to both av us. We, as sole repraysintative av Conservatism an' the owld proimayval order, will ally ourselves wid you agin the common inimy for paice an' for war. What do ye say to that? Begorra, it's a fine offer intoircly!

Ye'll not find another livin' potentate that 'll make it. Bismarck won't. M'Mahon--Irishman though he is--won't. The Czar won't. Franz Joseph won't. So there's only us. If ye don't accept our proposals we'll go over to the inimy. We'll buy President Grant. We'll make a dayscint on Ireland. I know a man that 'ud be proud to take command av the invadin' armies. His name's O'Toole, that's now in the Carlist camp, an' a divil av a feller he is. He'd sweep Ireland from one ind av it to the other. Give me O'Toole, says I, an' I'll bate the worruld in arrums, says I. Begorra, I would. An' now fill yer gla.s.s, me boy."

"His Majesty" mixed another tumbler for Russell.

"Drink, me lord," said he, "to the fairest av the fair."

And with these words he swallowed another tumblerful, while Russell did the same.

"By 'the fairest av the fair,'" explained "His Majesty," as he proceeded to mix another drink, "I mean yer daughter--the pairless Lady Katie."

"My ward, 'Your Majesty,'" said Russell, correcting him.

"All the same, me lord," said "His Majesty;" "it was a slip av the tongue. It was me heart that spoke. Listen to me now. I've somethin'

to tell ye. It's a proposal."

"His Majesty" paused for a moment, then took a fresh drink, then laid down the gla.s.s, then sighed heavily, and then took another drink.

"Me lord," said he, in a solemn tone, "ye know, no doubt, that we are a bachelor. Ye don't know it? Well, we are. I say, we are a bachelor.

We've been lookin' all around for ages afther a partner--a r'y'l consort. All the iligible faymales av all the coorts av Europe have been solicitin' our alliance. But none av thim wor shuitable. No.

Without love, we won't marry--we won't adopt the infernal system ay state marriages. Where our heart isn't concerned our r'y'l hand don't go--not a bit av it. Now, we niver saw the woman yet that we'd be willin' to raise to the throne av Spain ontil we saw yer ward--the lovely, the charrumin, the baywitchin' Lady Katie. Nay, me lord, start not, an' don't suspect us av onjue praycipitation. We haven't addhressed the Lady Katie yet on that point. We've acted in accardence wid r'y'l usage, an' now make a farrumal offer av our alliance to the parents an' gyarjians av the lovely being. What do ye say, me lord? Will ye give yer consint to our proposal, an' allow yer ward to become the Quane av Spain?"

At this Russell was quite overwhelmed. He had listened with open mouth to this last address of "His Majesty," and at length, when it all culminated in this direct and unmistakable proposal, he was so astounded that he didn't know what to say. He therefore sat silent and staring with open mouth, until at length, not knowing anything better to do, he mechanically raised the tumbler of toddy and poured the whole of it into that open mouth.

"That's right!" exclaimed "His Majesty," heartily, and he at once began to replenish the empty gla.s.ses; "an' mind you, me boy, it's as much for your intherest, me lord, as it is for hers. It's a great thing for a young gyerrel to become the Quane av Spain; an' as for yerself, why, av coorse there's no ind to the honors an' dignities an' lucrative offices that ye'd be afther gettin' howld av. Ye'd be a kind av father-in-law to the Quane. Ye'd be made Ministher av War or anythin' else ye axed for. Ye'd be made a Juke av Gibraltar an'

Prince av the Pyrenees. Ye'd belong to the Privy Council. Ye'd be the chief adviser av our r'y'l Majesty--that's me, ye know; an' av coorse it isn't every day that ye have such a chance as that."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Russell Fell Upon His Knees."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "These Two Had That Banquet All To Themselves."]

"His Majesty" paused for a reply.

Russell stared fixedly before him into vacancy, but uttered not a word. Either the high honor that had been proposed, or the brilliant future that had been laid open, or else the whiskey toddy, or all three combined, had overcome him utterly; and so he sat there staring and silent.

"Sure, I know what yer thinkin' about," said "His Majesty." "There's only one objection, an' that's religion. But that's nothin'," he continued, with airy and pagan indifference; "we can arrange all that aisy enough. Love's stronger than religion any day. Ye know the owld song."

And "His Majesty" trolled out one of his peculiar melodies:

"There was a Ballyshannon spinster That fell in love wid a Prodes'an' min'ster; But the praste refused to publish the banns, So they both ran away to the Mussulmans."

After this "His Majesty" went on in a rapturous way to expatiate upon the subject of Katie, and in this way the remainder of the evening was taken up. Russell said but little: what he said was chiefly an incoherent jumble which expressed with tears of grat.i.tude a full acceptance of "His Majesty's" offer. At the same time he was able to point out that in England it was the fashion to consult the lady herself, and to insist that "His Majesty" should see Katie herself, so as to get her consent.

And this "His Majesty" swore that he would do.

CHAPTER XVII.

HOW HARRY FINDS HIMSELF VERY MUCH OVERESTIMATED, AND AFTERWARD LIGHTS UPON A GLOOMY MYSTERY.

On the day after the departure of Russell, Harry was invited to an interview with the chief. A guard of six Carlists escorted him to the hall. Here there was an imposing scene. All along the walls were lines of armed men in strange wild costumes; overhead rose the vaulted roof, crusted over with the mould of ages; while at one end there hung a canopy formed of the gorgeous banner of Castile. Under this stood a figure in the uniform of a general officer, and as Harry drew near he recognized in him the Carlist chief. At the same moment a shout rang through the hall, a hundred rifles fell with a crash upon the stony pavement, and then followed a loud, long cry, "Viva el Rey!"

Harry's familiarity with Spanish had already been made known to the chief, who now addressed him in that language. What, however, was the amazement of Harry at learning the astounding fact that the chief claimed to be no less a person than Don Carlos himself, and a.s.sumed the airs and claimed the honors of royalty. In addition to this, while the chief claimed such honors, his rude followers bestowed them with readiness and even enthusiasm. That this could be anything else than a pretence--that this rude chief could really be the courtly and gallant Bourbon seemed to Harry an utter absurdity; and in addition to this, the descriptions which he had heard of the real Don Carlos did not at all accord with the appearance of this man. Yet, if the claim was a false one, its very audacity showed him the possible peril that surrounded his party; for if their captor was so unblushing and unscrupulous a villain, what hope could they have of escape?