Peter Simple; and, The Three Cutters Part 33

Chapter x.x.xVI

A letter from Father M'Grath, who diplomatizes--When priest meets priest, then comes the tug of war--Father O'Toole not to be made a tool of.

We continued our cruise for a fortnight, and then made sail for Jamaica, where we found the admiral at anchor at Port Royal, but our signal was made to keep under weigh, and Captain Kearney, having paid his respects to the admiral, received orders to carry despatches to Halifax. Water and provisions were sent on board by the boats of the admiral's ships, and, to our great disappointment, as the evening closed in, we were again standing out to sea, instead of, as we had antic.i.p.ated, enjoying ourselves on sh.o.r.e; but the fact was, that orders had arrived from England to send a frigate immediately up to the admiral at Halifax, to be at his disposal.

I had, however, the satisfaction to know that Captain Kearney had been true to his word in making mention of my name in the despatch, for the clerk showed me a copy of it. Nothing occurred worth mentioning during our pa.s.sage, except that Captain Kearney was very unwell nearly the whole of the time, and seldom quitted his cabin. It was in October that we anch.o.r.ed in Halifax harbour, and the Admiralty, expecting our arrival there, had forwarded our letters. There were none for me, but there was one for O'Brien, from Father M'Grath, the contents of which were as follows:--

"MY DEAR SON,--And a good son you are, and that's the truth on it, or devil a bit should you be a son of mine. You've made your family quite contented and peaceable, and they never fight for the _praties_ now-- good reason why they shouldn't, seeing that there's a plenty for all of them, and the pig craturs into the bargain. Your father and your mother, and your brother, and your three sisters, send their duty to you, and their blessings too--and you may add my blessing, Terence, which is worth them all; for won't I get you out of purgatory in the twinkling of a bed-post? Make yourself quite aisy on that score, and lave it all to me; only just say a _pater_ now and then, that when St Peter lets you in, he mayn't throw it in your teeth, that you've saved your soul by contract, which is the only way by which emperors and kings ever get to heaven. Your letter from Plymouth came safe to hand: Barney, the post-boy, having dropped it under foot, close to our door, the big pig took it into his mouth and ran away with it; but I caught sight of him, and _speaking_ to him, he let it go, knowing (the 'cute cratur!) that I could read it better than him. As soon as I had digested the contents, which it was lucky the pig did not instead of me, I just took my meal and my big stick, and then set off for Ballycleuch.

"Now you know, Terence, if you haven't forgot--and if you have, I'll just remind you--that there's a flaunty sort of young woman at the poteen shop there, who calls herself Mrs O'Rourke, wife to a Corporal O'Rourke, who was kilt or died one day, I don't know which, but that's not of much consequence. The devil a bit do I think the priest ever gave the marriage-blessing to that same; although she swears that she was married on the rock of Gibraltar--it may be a strong rock fore I know, but it's not the rock of salvation like the seven sacraments, of which marriage is one. _Benedicite_! Mrs O'Rourke is a little too apt to fleer and jeer at the priests; and if it were not that she softens down her pertinent remarks with a gla.s.s or two of the real poteen, which proves some respect for the church, I'd excommunicate her body and soul, and every body and every soul that put their lips to the cratur at her door.

But she must leave that off, as I tell her, when she gets old and ugly, for then all the whisky in the world sha'n't save her. But she's a fine woman now, and it goes agin my conscience to help the devil to a fine woman. Now this Mrs O'Rourke knows everybody and everything that's going on in the country about; and she has a tongue which has never had a holiday since it was let loose.

"'Good morning to ye, Mrs O'Rourke,' says I.

"'An' the top of the morning to you, Father M'Grath,' says she, with a smile; 'what brings you here? Is it a journey that you're taking to buy the true wood of the cross? or is it a purty girl that you wish to confess, Father M'Grath? or is it only that you're come for a drop of poteen, and a little bit of chat with Mrs O'Rourke?'

"'Sure it's I who'd be glad to find the same true wood of the cross, Mrs O'Rourke, but it's not grown, I suspect, at your town of Ballycleuch; and it's no objection I'd have to confess a purty girl like yourself, Mrs O'Rourke, who'll only tell me half her sins, and give me no trouble; but it's the truth, that I'm here for nothing else but to have a bit of chat with yourself, dainty dear, and taste your poteen, just by way of keeping my mouth nate and clane.'

"So Mrs O'Rourke poured out the real stuff, which I drank to her health; and then says I, putting down the bit of a gla.s.s, 'So you've a stranger come, I find, in your parts, Mrs O'Rourke.'

"'I've heard the same,' replied she. So you observe, Terence, I came to the fact all at once by a guess.

"'I am tould,' says I, 'that he's a Scotchman, and spakes what n.o.body can understand.'

"'Devil a bit,' says she, 'he's an Englishman, and speaks plain enough.'

"'But what can a man mane, to come here and sit down all alone?' says I.

"'All alone, Father M'Grath!' replied she; 'is a man all alone when he's got his wife and childer, and more coming, with the blessing of G.o.d?'

"'But those boys are not his own childer, I believe,' says I.

"'There again you're all in a mistake, Father M'Grath,' rejoins she.

'The childer are all his own, and all girls to boot. It appears that it's just as well that you come down, now and then, for information, to our town of Ballycleuch.'

"'Very true, Mrs O'Rourke,' says I; 'and who is it that knows everything so well as yourself?' You observe, Terence, that I just said everything contrary and _arce versa_, as they call it, to the contents of your letter; for always recollect, my son, that if you would worm a secret out of a woman, you'll do more by contradiction than you ever will by coaxing--so I went on: 'Anyhow, I think it's a burning shame, Mrs O'Rourke, for a gentleman to bring over with him here from England a parcel of lazy English servants, when there's so many nice boys and girls here to attind upon them.'

"'Now there you're all wrong again, Father M'Grath,' says she. 'Devil a soul has he brought from the other country, but has hired them all here.

Arn't there Ella Flanagan for one maid, and Terence Driscol for a footman? and it's well that he looks in his new uniform, when he comes down for the newspapers; and arn't Moggy Cala there to cook the dinner, and pretty Mary Sullivan for a nurse for the babby as soon as it comes into the world?'

"'Is it Mary Sullivan you mane?' says I; 'she that was married about three months back, and is so quick in child-getting, that she's all but ready to fall to pieces in this same time?'

"'It's exactly she,' says Mrs O'Rourke; 'and do you know the reason?'

"'Devil a bit,' says I; 'how should I?'

"'Then it's just that she may send her own child away, and give her milk to the English babby that's coming; because the lady is too much of a lady to have a child hanging to her breast.'

"'But suppose Mary Sullivan's child ar'n't born till afterwards, how then?" says I. 'Speak, Mrs O'Rourke, for you're a sensible woman.'

"'How then?' says she. 'Och! that's all arranged; for Mary says that she'll be in bed a week before the lady, so that's all right, you'll perceive, Father M'Grath.'

"'But don't you perceive, sensible woman as you are, that a young woman, who is so much out of her reckoning as to have a child three months after her marriage, may make a little mistake in her lying-in arithmetic, Mrs O'Rourke.'

"'Never fear, Father M'Grath, Mary Sullivan will keep her word; and sooner than disappoint the lady, and lose her place, she'll just tumble down-stairs, and won't that put her to bed fast enough?'

"'Well, that's what I call a faithful good servant that earns her wages,' says I; 'so now I'll just take another gla.s.s, Mrs O'Rourke, and thank you too. Sure you're the woman that knows everything, and a mighty pretty woman into the bargain.'

"'Let me alone now, Father M'Grath, and don't be pinching me that way, anyhow.'

"'It was only a big flea that I perceived hopping on your gown, my darling, devil anything else.'

"'Many thanks to you, father, for that same; but the next time you'd kill my fleas, just wait until they're in a _more dacent_ situation.'

"'Fleas are fleas, Mrs O'Rourke, and we must catch 'em when we can, and how we can, and as we can, so no offence. A good night's rest to you, Mrs O'Rourke--when do you mean to confess?'

"'I've an idea that I've too many fleas about me to confess to you just now, Father M'Grath, and that's the truth on it. So a pleasant walk back to you.'

"So you'll perceive, my son, that having got all the information from Mrs O'Rourke, it's back I went to Ballyhinch, till I heard it whispered that there were doings down at the old house at Ballycleuch. Off I set, and went to the house itself, as priests always ought to be welcomed at births, and marriages, and deaths, being, as you know, of great use on such occasions--when who should open the door but Father O'Toole, the biggest rapparee of a priest in the whole of Ireland. Didn't he steal a horse, and only save his neck by benefit of clergy? and did he ever give absolution to a young woman without making her sin over again? 'What may be your pleasure here, Father M'Grath?' says he, holding the door with his hand.

"'Only just to call and hear what's going on.'

"'For the matter of that,' says he, 'I'll just tell you that we're all going on very well; but ar'n't you ashamed of yourself, Father M'Grath, to come here to interfere with my flock, knowing that I confess the house altogether?'

"'That's as may be,' says I; 'but I only wanted to know what the lady had brought into the world.'

"'It's a _child_' says he.

"'Indeed!' says I; 'many thanks for the information; and pray what is it that Mary Sullivan has brought into the world?'

"'That's a _child_ too,' says he; 'and now that you know all about it, good evening to you, Father M'Grath.' And the ugly brute slammed the door right in my face.

"'Who stole a horse?' cries I; but he didn't hear me--more's the pity.

"So you'll perceive, my dear boy, that I have found out something, at all events, but not so much as I intended; for I'll prove to Father O'Toole that he's no match for Father M'Grath. But what I find out must be reserved for another letter, seeing that it's not possible to tell it to you in this same. Praties look well, but somehow or another, _clothes_ don't grow upon trees in ould Ireland; and one of your half-quarterly bills, or a little prize-money, if it found its way here, would add not a little to the respectability of the family appearance.

Even my ca.s.sock is becoming too _holy_ for a parish priest; not that I care about it so much, only Father O'Toole, the baste! had on a bran new one--not that I believe that he ever came honestly by it, as I have by mine--but, get it how you may, a new gown always looks better than an old one, that's certain. So no more at present from your loving friend and confessor,

"URTAGH M'GRATH."

"Now, you'll observe, Peter," said O'Brien, after I had read the letter, "that, as I supposed, your uncle meant mischief when he went over to Ireland. Whether the children are both boys or both girls, or your uncle's is a boy, and the other is a girl, there is no knowing at present. If an exchange was required, it's made, that's certain; but I will write again to Father M'Grath, and insist upon his finding out the truth, if possible. Have you any letter from your father?"

"None, I am sorry to say. I wish I had, for he would not have failed to speak on the subject."

"Well, never mind, it's no use dreaming over the matter; we must do our best when we get to England ourselves, and in the meantime trust to Father M'Grath. I'll go and write to him while my mind's full of it."

O'Brien wrote his letter, and the subject was not started again.