Jack Hinton Part 24

'Ay, and you on the top of them.'

'You don't know how heavy I am,' said I laughingly.

'Begorra, I wish you was heavier.'

'And why so, Joe?'

'Because one that was so good to the poor is worth his weight in goold any day.'

I do not pretend to say whether it was the flattery, or the promise these words gave me of an agreeable companion _en route_; but, certain it is, I at once closed with his proposal, and, with a ceremonious bow to the Grand Ca.n.a.l Hotel, took my departure, and set out for Loughrea.

CHAPTER XXI. LOUGHREA

With the innate courtesy of his country, my humble companion endeavoured to lighten the road by song and story. There was not a blackened gable, not a ruined tower, not even a well we pa.s.sed, without its legend. The very mountains themselves, that reared their mighty peaks towards the clouds, had their tale of superst.i.tious horror; and, though these stories were simple in themselves, there was something in the a.s.sociation of the scene, something in the warm fervour of his enthusiasm that touched and thrilled my heart.

Like a lamp, whose fitful glare flickers through the gloomy vault of some rocky cavern, too feeble to illumine it, but yet calling up wild and goblin shapes on every side, and peopling s.p.a.ce with flickering spectres, so did the small modic.u.m of intellect this poor fellow possessed enable him to look at life with strange, distorted views.

Accustomed to pa.s.s his days in the open air--the fields, the flowers, the streams, his companions--he had a sympathy in the eddying current that flowed on beneath--in the white cloud that rolled above him.

Happy--for he had no care--he journeyed about from one county to another. In the hunting season he would be seen lounging about a kennel, making or renewing his intimacy with the dogs, who knew and loved him; then he was always ready to carry a drag, to stop an earth, or do a hundred other of those minor services that are ever wanted. Many who lived far from a post-town knew the comfort of falling in with poor 'Tipperary Joe.' for such was he called. Not more fleet of foot than honest in heart, oftentimes was a letter intrusted to his keeping that with any other messenger would have excited feelings of anxiety. His was an April-day temperament--ever varying, ever changing. One moment would he tell, with quivering lip and broken voice, some story of wild and thrilling interest; the next, breaking suddenly off, he would burst out into some joyous rant, generally ending in a loud 'tally-ho,' in which all his enthusiasm would shine forth, and in his glistening eye and flushed cheek one could mark the pleasure that stirred his heart He knew every one, not only in this, but in the surrounding counties; and they stood severally cla.s.sed in his estimation by their benevolence to the poor, and their prowess in the hunting-field. These, with him, were the two great qualities of mankind. The kind man, and the bold rider, made his beau-ideal of all that was excellent, and it was strange to watch with what ingenuity he could support his theory.

'There's Burton Pea.r.s.e--that's the darling of a man!

It's he that's good to the poor, and takes his walls flying. It isn't a lock of bacon or a bag of meal he cares for--be-gorra, it's not that, nor a double ditch would ever stop him. Hurroo! I think I'm looking at him throwing up his whip-hand this way, going over a gate and calling out to the servant, "Make Joe go in for his dinner, and give him half-a-crown"--devil a less! And then there's Mr. Power of Kilfane--maybe your honour knows him? Down in Kilkenny, there. He's another of them--one of the right sort. I wish you see him facing a leap--a little up in his stirrups, just to look over and see the ground, and then--hoo! he's across and away. A beautiful place he has of it, and an elegant pack of dogs, fourteen hunters in the stable, and as pleasant a kitchen as ever I broke my fast in. The cook's a mighty nice woman--a trifle fat, or so; but a good sowl, and a raal warrant for an Irish stew.' 'And Mr. Ulick Burke, Joe, do you know him?' 'Is it blazing Burke? Faix, I do know him! I was as near him as I am to you when he shot Matt Callanan at the mills. "There, now," says he, when he put a ball in his hip, and lamed him for life, "you were always fond of your trade, and I'll make you a hopper." And sure enough, this is the way he goes ever since.'

'He is a good horseman, they tell me, Joe?' 'The best in Ireland; for following the dogs, flat race, or steeplechase, show me his equal. Och!

it's himself has the seat in a saddle. Mighty short he rides with his knees up, this way, and his toes out. Not so purty to look at, till you are used to it; but watch him fingering his baste--feeling his mouth with the snaffle--never tormenting, but just letting him know who is on his back. It 's raal pleasure to look at him; and then to see him taking a little canter before he sets off, with his hand low, and just tickling the flanks with his spurs, to larn the temper of the horse. May I never!

if it isn't a heavenly sight!' 'You like Mr. Burke, then, I see, Joe?'

'Like him! Who wouldn't like him a-horseback? Isn't he the moral of a rider, that knows his baste better than I know my Hail Mary? But see him afoot, he's the greatest divil from here to Croaghpatrick--nothing civiller in his mouth than a curse and a "b.l.o.o.d.y end" to ye! Och! it's himself hates the poor, and they hate him; the beggars run away from him as if he was the police; and the blind man that sits on Banagher Bridge takes up his bags, and runs for the bare life the minit he hears the trot of his horse. Isn't it a wonder how he rides so bowld with all the curses over him? Faix, myself wouldn't cross that little stream there, if I was like him. Well, well, he'll have a hard reckoning at last. He's killed five men already, and wounded a great many more; but they say he won't be able to go on much further, for when he kills another the divil's to come for him. The Lord be about us! by rason he never let's any one kill more nor six.'

Thus chatting away, the road pa.s.sed over; and as the sun was setting we came in sight of the town, now not above a mile distant.

'That's Loughrea you see there--it's a mighty fine place,' said Joe.

'There's slate houses, and a market and a barrack; but you 'll stop a few days in the town?'

'Oh, certainly; I wish to see this race.'

'That will be the fine race. It is a great country entirely--every kind of fence, gates, ditches, and stone walls, as thick as they can lie.

I'll show you all the course, for I know it well, and tell you the names of all the gentlemen, and the names of their horses, and their servants; and I'll bring you where you 'll see the whole race, from beginning to end, without stirring an inch. Are you going to bet any money?'

'I believe not, Joe; but I'm greatly interested for a friend.'

'And who is he?'

'Captain O'Grady.'

'Master Phil! Tare-an'-ages! are you a friend of Master Phil's? Arrah, why didn't you tell me that before? Why didn't you mintion his name to me? Och! isn't myself proud this evening to be with a friend of the Captain's. See now, what's your name?'

'Hinton,' said I.

'Ay, but your Christian name?'

'They who know me best call me Jack Hinton.'

'Musha! but I'd like to call you Jack Hinton just for this once. Now, will you do one thing for me?'

'To be sure, Joe; what is it?'

'Make them give me a half-pint to drink your health and the Captain's; for, faix, you must be the right sort, or he wouldn't keep company with you. It's just like yesterday to me the day I met him, down at Bishop's Loch. The hounds came to a check, and a hailstorm came on, and all the gentlemen went into a little shebeen house for shelter. I was standing outside, as it may be here, when Master Phil saw me. "Come in, Joe,"

says he; "you 're the best company, and the pleasantest fellow over a mug of egg-nip." And may I never! if he didn't make me sit down fornint him at a little table, and drink two quarts of as beautiful flip as ever I tasted. And Master Phil has a horse here, ye tell me--what's his name?'

'That, Joe, I am afraid I can't p.r.o.nounce for you; it's rather beyond my English tongue; but I know that his colour's grey, and that he has one cropped ear.'

'That's Moddiridderoo!' shouted Joe, as throwing my portmanteau to the ground, he seated himself leisurely on it, and seemed lost in meditation.

'Begorra,' said he at length, 'he chose a good-tempered one, when he was about it! there never was such a horse foaled in them parts. Ye heard what he did to Mr. Shea, the man that bred him? He threw him over a wall, and then jumped after him; and if it wasn't that his guardian-angel made his leather breeches so strong, he'd have ate him up entirely! Sure, there's no one can ride him barrin' the man I was talkin' of.'

'Well, Joe, I believe Mr. Burke is to ride him.'

'Musha! but I am sorry for it!'

'And why so? You seem to think highly of his horsemanship.'

'There's no mistaken that, ay it was fair; but then, you see, he has as many tricks in him as the devil. Sometimes he 'll break his stirrup leather, or he 'll come in a pound too heavy, or he'll slip the snaffle out of the mouth; for he doesn't care for his neck. Once I see him stake his baste, and bring him in dead lame.'

Here ended our conversation; for by this time we entered the town, and proceeded to Mrs. Doolan's. The house was full, or the apartments bespoke; and I was turning away in disappointment, when I accidentally overheard the landlady mention the two rooms ordered by Captain O'Grady.

A little explanation ensued, and I discovered, to my delight, that these were destined for me by my friend, who had written sometime before to secure them. A few minutes more saw me comfortably installed in the little inn, whose unpretending exterior and cheerful comfort within doors were the direct ant.i.thesis to the solemn humbug I had left at Shannon Harbour.

Under Joe's auspices--for he had established himself as my own man--tea and rashers made their appearance. My clothes were unpacked and put by; and as he placed my dressing-gown and slippers in readiness before the fire, I could not help observing the servant-like alacrity of his manner, perfect in everything, save in his habit of singing to himself as he went, which I can't say, however, that I disliked, and certainly never dreamed of checking. Having written a few lines to Mr. Burke, expressing my desire for a few minutes' interview the following morning, I despatched the note, and prepared for bed.

I had often listened with apathy to the wise saws of people who, never having felt either hunger or fatigue, are so fond of p.r.o.nouncing a glowing eulogium on such luxuries, when the period of their gratification has arrived; but, I confess, as I lay down that night in bed, and drew the clothes around me, I began to believe that they had underrated the pleasures they spoke of. The house clock ticked pleasantly in the room without; the cheerful turf-fire threw its mild red light across the room; the sounds from the street were those of happy voices and merry laughter, and when I ceased to hear them I had fallen into a sound and peaceful sleep.

It was after about a dozen efforts, in which I had gone through all the usual formula on such occasions--rubbing my eyes, stretching, and even pinching myself--before I could awake on the following morning. I felt somewhat stiffened from the unaccustomed exertions of the day before, but, somehow, my spirits were unusually high, and my heart in its very lightest mood. I looked about me through the little room, where all was order, neatness, and propriety. My clothes carefully brushed and folded, my boots resplendent in their blacking, stood basking before the fire; even my hat, placed gently on one side, with my gloves carefully flattened, were laid out in true valet fashion. The door into my little sitting-room lay open, and I could mark the neat and comfortable preparations for my breakfast, while at a little distance from the table, and in an att.i.tude of patient attention, stood poor Joe himself, who, with a napkin across his arm, was quietly waiting the moment of my awaking.

I know not if my reader will have any sympathy with the confession; but I own I have always felt a higher degree of satisfaction from the unbought and homely courtesy chance has thrown in my way, than from the more practised and dearly-paid-for attentions of the most disciplined household. There is something nattering in the personal devotion which seems to spring from pure good-will, that insensibly raises one in his own esteem. In some such reflection as this was I lost, when the door of my outer room was opened, and a voice inquired if Mr. Hinton stopped there.

'Yes, sir,' replied Joe; 'he is in bed and asleep.'

'Ah! it is you, Joe?' replied the other. 'So you are turned footman, I see. If the master be like the man, it ought to be a shrewd establishment.'

'No,' replied Joe carelessly; 'he's not very like anything down in these parts, for he appears to be a gentleman.'

'Tell him I am here, and be d----d to you,' was the indignant reply, as the speaker threw himself into his chair and stirred the fire with his foot.

Suspecting at once who my visitor was, I motioned to Joe to leave the room, and proceeded to dress myself with all despatch. During the operation, however, my friend without manifested several symptoms of impatience: now walking the room with rapid strides, as he whistled a quick step; now beating the bars of the grate with a poker, and occasionally performing that popular war-dance, 'The Devil's Tattoo,'

with his knuckles upon the table. At length his endurance seemed pushed to its limit, and he knocked sharply at the door, calling out at the same moment--