My New Curate Part 19

"Well, there was but one possible way in which she could be helped, and that was to get her a license to sell porter and spirits. I stopped her abruptly, and said: 'My dear woman, you might as well ask me to get you appointed lady in waiting to the Queen. But in any case I'd rather cut off my right hand than help any one to get a license. Nay, I am fully determined to cut down every license in this parish until but one is left.' She looked at me in amazement. Then her Celtic temper rose.

'Wisha, 't is aisy for you to lecture poor people who have not a bite or a sup, nor a roof over their heads, wid your carpets, and your pictures, and your pianney, and your bra.s.s fire-irons; but if you had four little _garlachs_ to feed, as I have, you'd have a different story.' Here she arose to go; and, as a parting shot: 'G.o.d help the poor, however; sure they have no one to go to when their priests desart them.' I don't know what it was," continued Father Letheby, "but I softened a little here, and said: 'Now, I have told you that I cannot do anything towards getting you a license--it's against all my principles; but I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go up to Captain Campion's with you, and introduce you on the strength of these letters from your parish priest; but remember, not one word shall I say in favor of your demand. Do you understand?' 'I do, your reverence,' she said; 'may G.o.d bless you!' The hot fires were ashes again. We both went up in the awful rain. It was rather early even for a morning call, and Captain Campion was not yet down stairs. So I left the widow in the hall, and went out to a sheltered spot, where I could watch the action of the storm on the waves. In half an hour I returned. There was no necessity for an introduction. The good woman had introduced herself, and secured Captain Campion's vote and influence for the next licensing sessions. I was never so sorry--nor so glad."

"'T is a bad business," I said mournfully. "Imagine eight public houses in this wretched village of three hundred souls!"

"'Tis, sir!" he said, as if his conscience stung him; "but I did some good by my visit; I think I have brought Captain Campion around."

"To what?" I exclaimed.

"To recognize his duty to the Church, and the people, and G.o.d, by going to his duty."

"You don't say so?" I said, and I _was_ surprised. I could not help thinking of what a glorious triumph it would be to that gentle saint, whose brow was never troubled but with the thought of her father's perversity. How often, how ardently, she had prayed for that day; how many Ma.s.ses, how many Communions, she had offered to obtain that grace!

Many a time I have seen her, after Holy Communion, straining her eyes on the Tabernacle, and I knew she was knocking vigorously at the Heart of Christ; and many a time have I seen her, a Lady of Sorrows, imploring the Queen of Sorrows to take that one trouble from her life. Oh! if men could only know what clouds of anguish and despair their indifference to the practices of their holy religion brings down upon gentle hearts, that dare not speak their sorrow, the Church would not have to mourn so many and such faithless and rebellious children.

I said to Father Letheby: "G.o.d bless you; but how did you work the miracle?"

"Well," he said bashfully, "it was not the work of one day or of one visit. I have been laying my train to the citadel; to-day I fired it, and he capitulated. Tell me, sir, did you ever hear of the _Halcyone_?"

Did I ever hear of the _Halcyone_? Who didn't? Was there a man, woman, or child, from the Cliffs of Moher to Achill Island, that did not know the dainty five-ton yacht, which, as a contrast to his own turbulent spirit, he had so named? Was it not everywhere said that Campion loved that yacht more than his child,--that he spoke to her and caressed her as a living thing,--and how they slept on the calm deep on summer nights, whilst phosphor-laden waves lapped around them, and only the dim dawn, with her cold, red finger woke them to life? And was it not told with pride and terror in every coracle along the coast with what fierce exultation he took her out on stormy days, and headed her straight against the billows, that broke into courtesies on every side, and how she leaped up the walls of water which lay down meekly beneath her, and shook out her white sail to the blast, until its curved face brushed the breakers, and her leaden keel showed through the valleys of the sea? and men leaned on their spades to see her engulfed in the deep, and the coast-guards levelled their long gla.s.ses, and cried: "There goes mad Campion and the witch again!"

"What do you know about the _Halcyone_?" said I.

"A good deal by hearsay; not a little by personal experience," he replied.

"Why, you don't mean to say that you have seen the famous yacht?" I asked, in amazement.

"Seen her, steered her, laughed at her, feared her, like Campion himself."

"Why, I thought Campion never allowed any one but himself and his daughter to cross her gunwale?"

"Well, all that I tell you is, I have been out several evenings with the Captain; and if you want to examine me in jibs, and mainsails, and top-gallants, now is your time."

Look here! This curate of mine is becoming quite humorous, and picking up all our Celtic ways. I don't at all like it, because I would much rather he would keep up all his graceful dignity. But there again--the eternal environments. How far will he go?

"Don't mind your lessons in navigation now," I said, "but come to the point. How--did--you--catch--Campion?"

"Well, 't is a long story, but I shall try to abridge it. I knew there was but one way to this man's heart, and I was determined to try it. Has not some one said, 'All things to all men?' Very well. Talk to a farmer about his crops, to a huntsman about his horses, to a fisherman about his nets, you have him in the palm of your hands. It is a kind of Christian diplomacy; but I would much rather it were not necessary."

He was silent, leaning his head on his hands.

"Never mind," I said, "the question of honor. Human nature is a very crooked thing, and you can't run a level road over a hill."

"I never like even the shadow of deception," he said; "I hate concealment; and yet I should not like Campion to know that I practised even so innocent a stratagem."

"Oh, shade of Pascal!" I cried, "even you could detect no casuistry here. And have you no scruple, young man, in keeping an old gentleman on the tenter-hooks of expectation whilst you are splitting hairs? Go on, like a good fellow, I was never so interested in my life. The idea of landing Campion!"

"Well, 't was this way. I knew a little about boats, and made the Captain cognizant of the fact. I expected an invitation. He did not rise to the bait. Then I tried another plan. I asked him why he never entered the _Halcyone_ for the Galway regatta. He muttered something of contempt for all the coast boats. I said quietly that I heard she tacked badly in a strong gale, and that it was only in a light breeze she did well. He got furious, which was just what I wanted. We argued and reasoned; and the debate ended in his asking me out the first fresh day that came last September. I don't know if you remember that equinoctial gale that blew about the 18th or 19th. It was strong, much stronger than I cared for; but I was pinned to my engagement. I met him down at the creek. The wind blew off the land. It was calm enough in the sheltered water; but when we got out, by Jove, I wished a hundred times that I was here. I lay down in the gangway of the yacht whilst Campion steered. From time to time great waves broke over the bow of the yacht, and in a little while I was drenched to the skin. Campion had his yellow oil-skins, and laughed at me. Occasionally he asked, Does she tack well? I answered coolly. I knew he was trying my nerve, as we mounted breaker after breaker and plunged down into awful valleys of the sea. Then, as one great squall broke round and the yacht keeled over, he turned the helm, until she lay flat on a high wave, and her great sail swept the crest of its foam, and her pennon dipped in the deep. I thought it was all over, as I clutched the gunwale to prevent my falling into the sea. He watched me narrowly, and in a moment righted the yacht.

"'We were near Davy Jones's locker there?' he said coolly.

"'We wouldn't remain long together,' I replied.

"'How?'

"'Well, you know, you'd go a little deeper, and I should hope I would get a little higher.'

"'You mean I'd have gone to h.e.l.l?'

"'Certainly,' I replied.

"'I'm not a bad man,' he said, taken aback.

"'You are,' I replied; 'you persecute the poor and drag their faces through the dust. You're an irreligious man, because you never kneel to G.o.d; you're a dishonest man, because you profess to belong to a faith whose doctrines you do not accept, and whose commands you disobey.'

"'Hallo, there!' said he, 'I'm not used to this kind of language.'

"'Perhaps not,' I said; for with the thorough drenching and the fright I was now thoroughly angry. 'But you'll have to listen to it. You cannot put your fingers in your ears and steer the _Halcyone_. It will take us an hour to reach land, and you must hear what you never heard before.'

"'I've a strong inclination,' he said, 'to pitch you overboard.'

"'I'm quite sure you're perfectly capable of murder,' I said. 'But again, you cannot let go the ropes in this gale. Besides, there are two sides to that question.'

"Then and there I pitched into him, told him how he was breaking his child's heart, how he was hated all along the coast, etc., etc.; but I insisted especially on his dishonesty in professing a creed which he denied in daily practice. I was thoroughly angry, and gave my pa.s.sion full swing. He listened without a word as we went sh.o.r.eward. At last he said:

"'By Jove! I never thought that a priest could speak to a gentleman so boldly. Now, that d.a.m.ned old landlubber'--I beg your pardon, sir," broke in my curate, "the words escaped me involuntarily."

"Never mind," I said, "go on."

"But it was very disrespectful--"

"Now, I insist on hearing every word he said. Why, that's the cream of the story."

"Well, he said: 'That d.a.m.ned old landlubber and bookworm never addressed me in that manner,'--but perhaps he meant some one else."

"Never fear! He meant his respected old pastor. The 'landlubber' might apply to other natives; but I fear they could hardly be called 'bookworm' with any degree of consistency. But go on."

"Well, you know, he spoke rather jerkily, and as if in soliloquy. 'Well, I never!' 'Who'd have thought it from this sleek fellow?' 'Why, I thought b.u.t.ter would not melt in his mouth!' 'What will Bittra say when I tell her?' At last we pulled into the creek; I jumped ash.o.r.e from the dingey, as well as my dripping clothes would let me, and lifting my hat, without a word, I walked towards home. He called after me:--

"'One word, Father Letheby! You must come up to the house and dry yourself. You'll catch your death of cold.'

"'Oh! 't will be nothing,' I said. He had come up with me, and looked humbled and crestfallen.

"'You must pardon all my rudeness,' he said, in a shamefaced manner.

'But, to be very candid with you, I was never met so boldly before, and I like it. We men of the world hate nothing so much as a coward. If some of your brethren had the courage of their convictions and challenged us poor devils boldly, things might be different. We like men to show that they believe in h.e.l.l by trying to keep us from it.' But now I am sounding my own praises. It is enough to say that he promised to think the matter over; and I clinched the whole business by getting his promise that he would be at the altar on Christmas morning."

I thought a good deal, and said: "It is a wholesome lesson. We have no scruple in cuffing Jem Deady or Bill Shanahan; but we don't like to tackle the big-wigs. And they despise us for our cowardice. Isn't that it? Well, my dear fellow, you are a [Greek: tetragonos aner], as old Aristotle would say,--an idea, by the way, stolen by Dante in his 'sta come torre ferma.' In plainer language, you're a _brick_! Poor little Bittra! how pleased she'll be!"