Phelim Otoole's Courtship and Other Stories Part 20

Without saying a word, Owen, when she finished the eulogium on her son, rose, and taking her forcibly by the shoulder, set her down at the table, on which a large potful of potatoes had been spread out, with a circle in the middle for a dish of rashers and eggs, into which dish every right hand of those about it was thrust, with a quickness that clearly ill.u.s.trated the principle of compet.i.tion as a stimulus to action.

"Spare your breath," said Owen, placing her rather roughly upon the seat, "an' take share of what's goin': when all's cleared off we'll hear you, but the sorra word till then."

"Musha, Owen," said the poor woman, "you're the same man still; sure we all know your ways; I'll strive, avourneen, to ate--I'll strive, asth.o.r.e--to plase you, an' the Lord bless you an' yours, an' may you never be as I an' my fatherless childhre are this sorrowful day!" and she accompanied her words by a flood of tears.

* Meldhre--whatever quant.i.ty of grain is brought to the mill to be ground on one occasion.

Owen, without evincing the slightest sympathy, withdrew himself from the table. Not a muscle of his face was moved; but as the cat came about his feet at the time, he put his foot under her, and flung her as easily as possible to the lower end of the kitchen.

"Arrah, what harm did the crathur do," asked his wife, "that you'd kick her for, that way? an' why but you ate out your dinner?"

"I'm done," he replied, "but that's no rason that Rosha, an' you, an'

thim boys that has the work afore them, shouldn't finish your male's mate."

Poor Rosha thought that by his withdrawing he had already suspected the object of her visit, and of course concluded that her chance of succeeding was very slender.

The wife, who guessed what she wanted, as well as the nature of her suspicion, being herself as affectionate and obliging as Owen, reverted to the subject, in order to give her an opportunity of proceeding.

"Somethin' bitther an' out o' the common coorse, is a throuble to you, Rosha," said she, "or you wouldn't be in the state you're in. The Lord look down on you this day, you poor crathur--widout the father of your childhre to stand up for you, an' your only other depindance laid on the broad of his back, all as one as a cripple; but no matther, Rosha; trust to Him that can be a husband to you an' a father to your orphans--trust to Him, an' his blessed mother in heaven, this day, an' never fear but they'll rise up a frind for you. Musha, Owen, ate your dinner as you ought to do, wid your capers! How can you take a spade in your hand upon that morsel?"

"Finish your own," said her husband, "an' never heed me; jist let me alone. Don't you see that if I wanted it, I'd ate it, an' what more would you have about!"

"Well, acushla, it's your own loss, sure, of a sartinty. An' Rosha, whisper, ahagur, what can Owen or I do for you? Throth, it would be a bad day we'd see you at a _deshort_ * for a friend, for you never wor nothin' else nor a civil, oblagin' neighbor yourself; an' him that's gone before--the Lord make his bed in heaven this day--was as good a warrant as ever broke bread, to sarve a friend, if it was at the hour of midnight."

* That is at a loss; or more properly speaking, taken short, which it means.

"Ah! when I had him!" exclaimed the distracted widow, "I never had occasion to trouble aither friend or neighbor; but he s gone an' now it's otherwise wid me--glory be to G.o.d for all his mercies--a wurrah dheelish! Why, thin, since I must spake, an' has no other frind to go to--but somehow I doubt Owen looks dark upon me--sure I'd put my hand to a stamp, if my word wouldn't do for it, an' sign the blessed cra.s.s that saved us, for the payment of it; or I'd give it to him in oats, for I hear you want some, Owen--Phatie oates it is, an' a betther shouldhered or fuller-lookin' grain never went undher a harrow--indeed it's it that's the beauty, all out, if it's good seed you want."

"What is it for, woman alive?" inquired Owen, as he kicked a three-legged stool out of his way."

"What is it for, is it? Och, Owen darlin', sure my two brave cows is lavin' me. Owen M'Murt, the driver, is over wid me beyant, an' has them ready to set off wid. I reared them both, the two of them, wid my own hands; _Cheehoney_, that knows my voice, an' would come to me from the fardest corner o' the field, an' nothin' will we have--nothin' will my poor sick boy have--but the black wather, or the dhry salt; besides the b.u.t.ther of them being lost to us for rent, or a small taste of it, of an odd time, for poor Jimmy. Owen, next to G.o.d, I have no friend to depind upon but yourself!"

"Me!" said Owen, as if astonished. "Phoo, that's quare enough! Now do you think, Rosha,--hut, hut, woman alive! Come, boys, you're all done; out wid you to your spades, an' finish that _meerin_ (* a marsh ditch, a boundary) before night. Me!--hut, tut!"

"I have it all but five pounds, Owen, an' for the sake of him that's in his grave--an' that, maybe, is able to put up his prayer for you"--

"An' what would you want me to do, Rosha? Fitther for you to sit down an' finish your dinner, when it's before you. I'm goin' to get an ould glove that's somewhere about this chist, for I must weed out that bit of oats before night, wid a blessin'," and, as he spoke he pa.s.sed into another room, as if he had altogether forgotten her solicitation, and in a few minutes returned.

"Owen, avick!--an' the blessin' of the fatherless be upon you, sure, an'

many a one o' them you have, any how, Owen!"

"Well, Rosha--well?"

"Och, och, Owen, it's low days wid me to be depindin' upon the sthranger? little thim that reared me ever thought it 'ud come to this.

You know I'm a dacent father's child, an' I have stooped to you, Owen M'Carthy--what I'd scorn to do to any other but yourself--poor an'

friendless as I stand here before you. Let them take the cows, thin, from my childhre; but the father of the fatherless will support thim an'

me. Och, but it's well for the O'Donohoes that their landlord lives at home among themselves, for may the heavens look down on me, I wouldn't know where to find mine, if one sight of him 'ud save me an' my childre from the grave! The Agent even, he lives in Dublin, an' how could I lave my sick boy, an' small girshas by themselves, to go a hundre miles, an'

maybe not see him afther all. Little hopes I'd have from him, even if I did; he's paid for gatherin' in his rents; but it's well known he wants the touch of nathur for the sufferins of the poor, an' of them that's honest in their intintions."

"I'll go over wid you, Rosha, if that will be of any use," replied Owen, composedly; "come, I'll go an' spake to Frank M'Murt.''

"The sorra blame I blame him, Owen," replied Rosha, "his bread's depindin' upon the likes of sich doins, an' he can't get over it; but a word from you, Owen, will save me, for who ever refused to take the word of a M'Carthy?"

When Owen and the widow arrived at the house of the latter, they found the situation of the bailiff laughable in the extreme. Her eldest son, who had been confined to his bed by a hurt received in his back, was up, and had got the unfortunate driver, who was rather old, wedged in between the dresser and the wall, where his cracked voice--for he was asthmatic--was raised to the highest pitch, calling for a.s.sistance.

Beside him was a large tub half-filled with water, into which the little ones were emptying small jugs, carried at the top of their speed from a puddle before the door. In the meantime, Jemmy was tugging at the bailiff with all his strength--fortunately for that personage, it was but little--with the most sincere intention of inverting him into the tub which contained as much muddy water as would have been sufficient to make him a subject for the deliberation of a coroner and twelve honest men. Nothing could be more conscientiously attempted than the task which Jemmy had proposed to execute: every tug brought out his utmost strength, and when he failed in pulling down the bailiff, he compensated himself for his want of success by cuffing his ribs, and peeling his shins by hard kicks; whilst from those open points which the driver's grapple with his man naturally exposed, were inflicted on him by the rejoicing urchins numberless punches of tongs, potato-washers, and sticks whose points were from time to time hastily thrust into the coals, that they might more effectually either blind or disable him in some other manner.

As one of the little ones ran out to fill his jug, he spied his mother and Owen approaching, on which, with the empty vessel in his hand, he flew towards them, his little features distorted by glee and ferocity, wildly mixed up together.

"Oh mudher, mudher--ha, ha, ha!--don't come in yet; don't come in, Owen, till Jimmy un' huz, an' the Denisses, gets the bailie drownded. We'll soon have the _bot_ (* tub) full; but Paddy an' Jack Denis have the eyes a'most pucked out of him; an' Katty's takin' the rapin' hook from, behind the _cuppet_, to get it about his neck."

Owen and the widow entered with all haste, precisely at the moment when Frank's head was dipped, for the first time, into the vessel.

"Is it goin' to murdher him ye are?" said Owen, as he seized Jemmy with a grasp that transferred him to the opposite end of the house; "hould back ye pack of young divils, an' let the man up. What did he come to do but his duty? I tell you, Jimmy, if you wor at yourself, an' in full strinth, that you'd have the man's blood on you where you stand, and would suffer as you ought to do for it."

"There, let me," replied the lad, his eyes glowing and his veins swollen with pa.s.sion; "I don't care if I did. It would be no sin, an' no disgrace, to hang for the like of him; dacenter to do that, than stale a creel of turf, or a wisp of straw, 'tanny rate."

In the meantime the bailiff had raised his head out of the water, and presented a visage which it was impossible to view with gravity. The widow's anxiety prevented her from seeing it in a ludicrous light; but Owen's severe face a.s.sumed a grave smile, as the man shook himself and attempted to comprehend the nature of his situation. The young urchins, who had fallen back at the appearance of Owen and the widow, now burst into a peal of mirth, in which, however, Jemmy, whose fiercer pa.s.sions had been roused, did not join.

"Frank M'Murt," said the widow, "I take the mother of heaven to witness, that it vexes my heart to see you get sich thratement in my place; an'

I wouldn't for the best cow I have that sich a _brieuliagh_ (* squabble) happened. _Dher charp agusmanim_, (** by my soul and body) Jimmy, but I'll make you suffer for drawin' down this upon my head, and me had enough over it afore."

"I don't care," replied Jemmy; "whoever comes to take our property from us, an' us willin' to work will suffer for it. Do you think I'd see thim crathurs at their dhry phatie, an' our cows standin' in a pound for no rason? No; high hangin' to me, but I'll split to the skull the first man that takes them; an' all I'm sorry for is, that it's not the vagabone Landlord himself that's near me. That's our thanks for paying many a good pound, in honesty and dacency, to him an' his; lavin' us to a schamin' agent, an' not even to that same, but to his undher-strap-pers, that's robbin' us on both sides between them. May hard fortune attind him, for a landlord! You may tell him this, Frank,--that his wisest plan is to keep clear of the counthry. Sure, it's a gambler he is, they say; an' we must be harrished an' racked to support his villany! But wait a bit; maybe there's a good time comin', when we'll pay our money to thim that won't be too proud to hear our complaints wid their own ears, an' who won't turn us over to a divil's limb of an agent. He had need, anyhow, to get his coffin sooner nor he thinks. What signifies hangin'

in a good cause?" said he, as the tears of keen indignation burst from his glowing eyes. "It's a dacent death, an' a happy death, when it's for the right," he added--for his mind was evidently fixed upon the contemplation of those means of redress, which the habits of the country, and the prejudices of the people, present to them in the first moments of pa.s.sion.

"It's well that Frank's one of ourselves," replied Owen, coolly, "otherwise, Jemmy, you said words that would lay you up by the heels.

As for you, Frank, you must look over this. The boy's the son of dacent poor parents, an' it's a new thing for him to see the cows druv from the place. The poor fellow's vexed, too, that he has been so long laid up wid a sore back; an' so you see one thing or another has put him through other. Jimmy is warm-hearted afther all, an' will be sorry for it when he cools, an' renumbers that you wor only doin' your duty."

"But what am I to do about the cows? Sure, I can't go back widout either thim or the rint?" said Frank, with a look of fear and trembling at Jemmy.

"The cows!" said another of the widow's sons who then came in; "why, you dirty spalpeen of a rip, you may whistle on the wrong side o' your mouth for them. I druv them off of the estate; an' now take them, if you dar!

It's conthrairy to law," said the urchin; "an' if you'd touch them, I'd make my mudher sarve you wid a _latt.i.tat_ or _fiery-flashes_."

This was a triumph to the youngsters, who, began to shake their little fists at him, and to exclaim in a chorus--"Ha, you dirty rip! wait till we get you out o' the house, an' if we don't put you from ever drivin'!

Why, but you work like another!--ha, you'll get it!"--and every little fist was shook in vengeance at him.

"Whist wid ye," said Jemmy to the little ones; "let him alone, he got enough. There's the cows for you; an keen may the curse o' the widow an' orphans light upon you, and upon them that sent you, from first to last!--an' that's the best we wish you!"

"Frank," said Owen to the bailiff, "is there any one in the town below that will take the rint, an' give a resate for it? Do you think, man, that the neighbors of an honest, industrious woman 'ud see the cattle taken out of her byre for a thrifle? Hut tut! no, man alive--no sich thing! There's not a man in the parish, wid manes to do it, would see them taken away to be canted, at only about a fourth part of their value. Hut, tut,--no!"

As the sterling fellow spoke, the cheeks of the widow were suffused with tears, and her son Jemmy's hollow eyes once more kindled, but with a far different expression from that which but a few minutes before flashed from them.

"Owen," said he, and utterance nearly failed him: "Owen, if I was well it wouldn't be as it is wid us; but--no, indeed it would not; but--may G.o.d bless you for this! Owen, never fear but you'll be paid; may G.o.d bless you, Owen!"

As he spoke the hand of his humble benefactor was warmly grasped in his.

A tear fell upon it: for with one of those quick and fervid transitions of feeling so peculiar to the people, he now felt a strong, generous emotion of grat.i.tude, mingled, perhaps, with a sense of wounded pride, on finding the poverty of their little family so openly exposed.

"Hut, tut, Jimmy, avick," said Owen, who understood his feelings; "phoo, man alive! hut--hem!--why, sure it's nothin' at all, at all; anybody would do it--only a bare five an' twenty shillins [it was five pound]: any neighbor--Mick Ca.s.sidy, Jack Moran, or Pether M'Cullagh, would do it.--Come, Frank, step out; the money's to the fore. Rosha, put your cloak about you, and let us go down to the agint, or clerk, or whatsomever he is--sure, that makes no maxin anyhow;--I suppose he has power to give a resate. Jemmy, go to bed again, you're pale, poor bouchal; and, childhre, ye crathurs ye, the cows won't be taken from ye this bout.--Come, in the name of G.o.d, let us go, and see-everything rightified at once--hut, tut--come."

Many similar details of Owen M'Carthy's useful life could be given, in which he bore an equally benevolent and Christian part. Poor fellow! he was, ere long, brought low; but, to the credit of our peasantry, much as is said about their barbarity, he was treated, when helpless, with grat.i.tude, pity, and kindness.