Adrift in the Ice-Fields Part 3

"'Alice, _colleen_, up and unbar the dure. Come in, neighbor, and tell us what is the matther at all.'

"'O, Tim! Matthew's been gone all day to the bog, and isn't home yet.

Could ye go wid the lad down the road, and see if anything has happened to himself or the bastes, the craters?'

"It was not like Tim O'Connell to refuse, and, calling his a.s.sistant in the forge, young Larry Callaghan, he lighted a tallow candle, which he placed in a battered tin lantern, and hastened out on his neighborly errand, while Katty was easily persuaded by Mrs. O'Connell to 'stay by the fire' until the men returned.

"The party saw nothing of the team or its owner until the dangerous road led into a narrow but deep ravine, at whose bottom an ill-made causeway led across a dangerous slough.

"'Holy Virgin, boys, but he's been upset! There's the cart across the road, and one of the bastes in the wather; but where's the masther at all? Come on, b'ys; we'll thry and save the _garrons_ any way.'

"They found the cart upset as described, and one of the horses exhausted with struggling under the pole. The other, saved only from drowning by the fact that its collar had held its head against the bank, had evidently kicked and splashed until the water was thick with the black muck stirred up from the bottom.

"It was only the work of a few moments to free the horse in the road, and then the three proceeded to unloose the other, and draw him to a less steep part of the embankment, where, making a sudden effort, with a mighty plunge, he gained the road, and stood trembling and shaking beside his companion.

"'Well done, our side,' said Tim, exultingly. 'Now for the masther.

They've run away I doubt, and he's.--What's the matter with you, Andy, at all? What do you see? Mother of Heaven! it's himself, sure enough!'

"Tossed up from the shallows by the convulsive plunge of the steed, whose heavy hoofs, in his first mad struggles, had beaten the head out of all shape of humanity, in the narrow lane of light cast through the door of the open lantern, lay the dead farmer, with his worn frieze coat torn and blackened, and his black hair knotted with pond weeds, and clotted with gore.

"It was scarce an hour later that the emptied cart, slowly drawn by its exhausted span, bore to the little cottage a dead body, amid the wails of scores of the simple peasants, and the hysterical and pa.s.sionate grief of the bereaved wife. It was with the greatest difficulty that she was induced to refrain from looking at the dead body; although so terribly was it mangled that the coroner's jury performed their duties with the greatest reluctance, and the obsequies were ordered for the very next day.

"The body was accordingly placed in a coffin, above which deals, supported on trestles, and covered by white sheets, bore candles, plates of cut tobacco, pipes, and whiskey. Although but little of the night remained after the coroner had performed his duties, yet so quickly did the news of the accident spread that hundreds of the neighbors came in before morning 'to the wake of poor Matthew! G.o.d rest his sowl.'

"The following evening, an unusually large procession followed the remains to their last resting-place. Nothing could have been more heart-broken than the bearing of the widow. Tears, sobs, and cries proclaimed her anguish incessantly, notwithstanding the attempts of friends to a.s.suage her sorrow.

"As they drew near the graveyard, one Lanty Casey, an old flame of Katty's, tried to comfort her in his rough way.

"'Katty, _avourneen_, don't cry so, _avillish_. There's may be happiness for you yet, and there's them left that will love ye as well as him that's gone--if they'd be let.'

"Lanty was a noted lad at fair and pattern, but he got a box on the ear that made his head ring until the body was safely deposited in the grave.

"'Who are ye that talks love to a broken-hearted woman at the very grave? O, Matthew, Matthew, that I should live to see this day! _Ochone, ochone!_ are you dead? are you dead?'

"On her way home to her solitary hearth, Katty saw ahead of her the hapless Lanty, and hastened to overtake him.

"'Lanty, _avick_," said she, sweetly, 'what were you saying there beyant, a while agone?'

"'What I'm not likely to say again. I'm not fond of such ansthers as ye gev me; an' if ye don't know when you're well off--'

"'There, there, Lanty, dear; I'm sorry for that same, but what wud the people say, an' my husband not berrid? But I mustn't be seen talkin'

more wid you. I'll be alone to-night when the _gossoon_ is asleep, and ye can dhrap in, and tell me what ye like, av ye plaze.'

"At about ten o'clock that night, the Rev. Patrick Mulcahy, while talking over the funeral, and the sad events which had led to it, was asked for by the young lad, Katty's brother.

"'Well, Andy, lad, what's wanting now? Is your sister feeling better, _avick_?'

"'Yes, sir; and she sint me, your riverence, to see wud ye come down and marry her to Lanty Casey the night.'

"'Are your wits gone _ashaughran_, ye _gomeral_? Or is Katty run mad altogether?'

"'It's just as I say, your riverence; and she says she'll pay you a pound English for that same.'

"'And I say that if I go down there to-night, that I'll take my whip with me to the shameless hussy. The Jezabel, and she nearly dyin' with grief this evening.'

"'An' you won't marry them, sir?'

"A staggering box on the ear with a heavy slipper flung from across the room sent the unfortunate messenger whimpering out of the door; while the priest, honest man, stormed up and down the room until the housekeeper entered with a waiter, on which were arrayed a decanter, some tumblers, a lemon, and a large tumbler full of loaf sugar.

"'Come, Peter,' said he, more calmly, 'reach the kettle from the hob, and we'll let the jade go. Perhaps she's out of her head, poor thing!

and will forget all about what she says to-night by to-morrow morning.

What are you grinning at there?'

"'Do you remimber the coult ye won from me whin I bet that ye couldn't light your pipe wid the sun?'

"'Yis, Pether. Ah, I had ye thin, sharp as you count yourself!'

"'Well, now, I'll bet the very moral of him against himself that Katty'll send up again--if she don't come herself.'

"'Done! for twice as much if you will. She doesn't dare--'

"'Good evening, your riverence,' said a woman's voice. And in the doorway stood Lanty Casey and Katty Collins.

"'We've come up, your riverence, to see if you'd plaze to marry us this night. They tould us you wor angry, sur, and, indade, I don't blame you; for you don't know all. The man who lies dead beyant was able to give me a home, and to keep a roof over the heads of my poor father and mother, and I gave up Lanty here for him. Now, sir, if you'll marry us, I'll give you the pig down below--and a finer's not in the parish; and if not--'

"The speaker paused, and, touching the arm of her companion, who evidently feared to speak, retreated into the kitchen to await the decision of Father Patrick, who was almost bursting with chagrin at the loss of his wager, and anger at the boldness of his parishioner.

"Peter laughed, silently enjoying his brother's discomfiture, and then suddenly broke out,--

"'Now, what's the use, sir, of spitin' yourself? You've lost the coult, and the woman is bound to have her way. Sure, an' if you don't tie the knot, all they're to do is to sind over to Father Cahill--'

"'The hedge priest--is it? No, I'll marry them. Let them come in, Mrs.

Hartigan, but no blessin' can come on such a rite as this.'

"Without a word of congratulation, the priest performed the service of his church, and in silence the pair proceeded to the cottage of the bride, where they fastened the doors and windows securely, and retired.

The rising moon lighted up the surrounding scenery, and the priest and his brother sat later than usual over their 'night-caps' of hot Irish whiskey.

"'Peter,' said Father Mulcahy, 'sind young Costigan down for the pig.

Perhaps to-morrow Katty will rue her bargain, and we won't get the crathur.'

"Costigan (a tight little lad of fourteen), roused from the settle-bed by the kitchen fire, soon procured a short cord and a whip, and set off on his rather untimely errand.

"A few moments before, a man dressed in holyday garb tried the doors and windows of the cottage, and, finding them securely fastened, murmured,--

"''Tis frighted she is, an' I away, an' tired, too, wid spinnin', I'll be bound. Well, I'll not rise her now. There's clane sthraw in the barn, an' I'll slape there till mornin'.'

"The tired traveller had hardly laid himself down, with his head on a sheaf of oats, when he saw a youth enter the barn, and, deliberately taking a cord from his pocket, proceed to affix it to one of the hind legs of his much-prized pig, which resented the insult with a tremendous squealing.

"Matthew rose quietly, and lowered himself to the floor, catching a bridle rein, and getting between the trespa.s.ser and the wall.