The Ned M'Keown Stories Part 2

"Sweet as the shepherd's pipe upon the mountains."

Many a time, too, have I been gratified, in the same poetical hour, by the sweet sound of honest Ned M'Keown's ungreased cartwheels, clacking, when nature seemed to have fallen asleep after the day-stir and animation of rural business--for Ned was sometimes a carman--on his return from Dublin with a load of his own groceries, without as much money in his pocket as would purchase oil wherewith to silence the sounds which the friction produced--regaling his own ears the while, as well as the music of the cart would permit his melody to be heard, with his favorite tune of Cannie Soogah.*

* "The Jolly Pedlar,"--a fine old Irish air.

Honest, bl.u.s.tering, good-humored Ned was the indefatigable merchant of the village; ever engaged in some ten or twenty pound speculation, the capital of which he was sure to extort, perhaps for the twelfth time, from the savings of Nancy's frugality, by the equivocal test of a month or six weeks' consecutive sobriety, and which said speculation he never failed to wind up by the total loss of the capital for Nancy, and the capital loss of a broken head for himself. Ned had eternally some bargain on his hands: at one time you might see him a yarn-merchant, planted in the next market-town upon the upper step of Mr. Birney's hall-door, where the yarn-market was held, surrounded by a crowd of eager country-women, anxious to give Ned the preference, first, because he was a well-wisher; secondly, because he hadn't his heart in the penny; and thirdly, because he gave sixpence a spangle more than any other man in the market.

There might Ned be found; with his twenty pounds of hard silver jingling in the bottom of a green bag, as a decoy to his customers, laughing loud as he piled the yarn in and ostentatious heap, which in the pride of his commercial sagacity, he had purchased at a dead loss. Again you might see him at a horse-fair, cantering about on the back of some sleek but broken-winded jade, with spavined legs, imposed on him as "a great bargain entirely," by the superior cunning of some rustic sharper; or standing over a hogshead of damaged flaxseed, in the purchase of which he shrewdly suspected himself of having overreached the seller--by allowing him for it a greater price than the prime seed of the market would have cost tim. In short, Ned was never out of a speculation, and whatever he undertook was sure to prove a complete failure. But he had one mode of consolation, which consisted in sitting down with the f.a.g-end of Nancy's capital in his pocket, and drinking night and day with this neighbor and that, whilst a shilling remained; and when he found himself at the end of his tether, he was sure to fasten a quarrel on some friend or acquaintance, and to get his head broken for his pains.

None of all this bl.u.s.tering, however, happened within the range of Nancy's jurisdiction. Ned, indeed, might drink and sing, and swagger and fight--and he contrived to do so; but notwithstanding all his apparent courage, there was one eye which made him quail, and before which he never put on the hector;--there was one, in whose presence the loudness of his song would fall away into a very awkward and unmusical quaver, and under whose glance his laughing face often changed to the visage of a man who is disposed to anything but mirth.

The fact was this: Whenever Ned found that his speculation was gone a shaughran, (*Gone astray) as he termed it, he fixed himself in some favorite public house, from whence he seldom stirred while his money lasted, except when dislodged by Nancy, who usually, upon learning where he had taken cover, paid him an unceremonious visit, to which Ned's indefensible delinquency gave the color of legitimate authority. Upon these occasions, Nancy, accompanied by two st.u.r.dy "servant-boys," would sally forth to the next market-town, for the purpose of bringing home "graceless Ned," as she called him. And then you might see Ned between the two servants, a few paces in advance of Nancy, having very much the appearance of a man performing a pilgrimage to the gallows, or of a deserter guarded back to his barrack, in order to become a target for the muskets of his comrades. Ned's compulsory return always became a matter of some notoriety; for Nancy's excursion in quest of the "graceless" was not made without frequent denunciations of wrath against him, and many melancholy apologies to the neighbors for entering upon the task of personally securing him. By this means her enterprise was sure to get wind, and a mob of the idle young men and barefooted urchins of the village, with Bob M'Cann, "a three-quarter clift"* of a fellow--half knave, half fool, was to be found, a little below the village, upon an elevation of the road, that commanded a level stretch of half a mile or so, in anxious expectation of the procession. No sooner had this arrived at the point of observation, than the little squadron would fall rearward of the princ.i.p.al group, for the purpose of extracting from Nancy a full and particular account of the capture.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PAGE 656-- Bringing home "graceless Ned,"]

* This is equal to the proverb--"he wants a square," that is, though knavish not thoroughly rational; in other words, a combination of knave and fool. Bob, in consequence of his accomplishments, was always a great favorite in the village.

Upon some odd occasions he was a ready and willing drudge at everything, and as strong as a ditch. Give him only a good fog-meal--which was merely a trifle, just what would serve three men or so--give him, we say, a fog-meal of this kind, about five times a day, with a liberal promise of more, and never was there a Scotch Brownie who could get through so much work. He knew no fatigue; frost and cold had no power over him; wind, sleet, and hail he laughed at; rain! it stretched his skin, he said, after a meal--and that, he added, was a comfort. Notwithstanding all this, he was neither more nor less than an impersonation of laziness, craft, and gluttony. The truth is, that unless in the hope of being gorged he would do nothing; and the only way to get anything out of him was, never to let the gorge precede the labor, but always, on the contrary, to follow it. Bob's accomplishments were not only varied, but of a very elevated order, and the means of holding him in high odor among us.

Great and wonderful, Heaven knows, did we look upon his endowments to be. No man, wise or otherwise, could "hunt the brock," alias the badger, within a hundred miles of Bob; for when he covered his mouth with his two hands, and gave forth the very sounds which the badger is said to utter, did we not look upon him--Bob--with as much wonder and reverence as we would have done upon the badger himself? Phup-um-phup-- phup-um-phup--phup-um--phup-um--phup-um-phup. Who but a first-rate genius could accomplish this feat in such a style? Bob could crow like a c.o.c.k, bark like a dog, mew like a cat, neigh like a horse, bray like an a.s.s, or gobble like a turkey-c.o.c.k. Unquestionably, I have never heard him equalled as an imitator of birds and beasts. Bob's crack feat, however, was performing the Screw-pin Dance, of which we have only this to say, that by whatsoever means he became acquainted with it, it is precisely the same dance which is said to have been exhibited by some strolling Moor before the late Queen Caroline. It is, indeed, very strange, but no less true, that many of the oriental customs are yet prevalent in the remote and isolated parts of Ireland. Had the late Mr. O'Brien, author of the Essay on Irish Round Towers, seen Bob perform the dance I speak of, he would have hailed him as a regular worshipper of Budh, and adduced his performance as a living confirmation of his theory. Poor Bob! he is gone the way of all fools, and all flesh.

"Indeed, childher, it's no wonder for yez to enquire! Where did I get him, d.i.c.k?--musha, and where would I get him but in the ould place, a-hagur; with the ould set: don't yez know that a dacent place or dacent company wouldn't sarve Ned?--n.o.body but Shane Martin, and Jimmy Tague, and the other blackguards."*

* The reader, here, is not to rely implicitly upon the accuracy of Nancy's description of the persons alluded to.

It is true the men were certainly companions and intimate acquaintances of Ned's, but not ent.i.tled to the epithet which Nancy in her wrath bestowed upon them. Shane was a rollicking fighting, drinking butcher, who cared not a fig!

whether he treated you to a drink or a drubbing, indeed, it was at all times extremely difficult to say whether he was likely to give you the drink first or the drubbing afterwards, or vice versa. Sometimes he made the drubbing the groundwork for the drink and quite as frequently the drink the groundwork for the drubbing. Either one or other you were sure to receive at his hands; but his general practice was to give both. Shane, in fact, was a good- humored fellow, well liked, and n.o.body's enemy but his own.

Jemmy Tague was a quiet man, who could fight his corner, however, if necessary. Shane,was called Kittogue Shane, from being left-handed. Both were butchers, and both, we believe, alive and kicking at this day.

"And what will you do with him, Nancy?"

"Och! thin, d.i.c.k, avourneen, it's myself that's jist tired thinking of that; at any rate, consamin' to the loose foot he'll get this blessed month to come, d.i.c.k, agra!"

"Throth, Nancy," another mischievous monkey would exclaim, "if you hadn't great patience entirely, you couldn't put up with such threatment, at all at all."

"Why thin, G.o.d knows it's true for-you, Barney. D'ye hear that, 'graceless?' the very childhre making a laughing-stock and a may-game of you!--but wait till we get under the roof, any how."

"Ned," a third would say, "isn't it a burning shame for you to break the poor crathur's heart this a-way? Throth, but you ought to hould down your head, sure enough--a dacent woman! that only for her you wouldn't have a house over you, so you wouldn't."

"And throth, and the same house is going, Tim," Nancy would exclaim, "and when it goes, let him see thin who'll do for him; let him thry if his blackguards will stand to him, when he won't have poor foolish Nancy at his back."

During these conversations, Ned would walk on between his two guards with a dogged-looking and condemned face; Nancy behind him, with his own cudgel, ready to administer an occasional bang whenever he attempted to slacken his pace, or throw over his shoulder a growl of dissent or justification.

On getting near home, the neighbors would occasionally pop out their heads, with a smile of good-humored satire on their faces, which Nancy was very capable of translating:

"Ay," she would say, addressing them, "I've caught him--here he is to the fore. Indeed you may well laugh, Kitty Rafferty; not a one of myself blames you for it.--Ah, ye mane crathur," aside to Ned, "if you had the blood of a hen in you, you wouldn't have the neighbors braking their hearts laughing at you in sich a way; and above all the people in the world, them Rafferty's, that got the decree against us at the last sessions, although I offered to pay within fifteen shillings of the differ--the grubs!"

Having seen her hopeful charge safely deposited on the hob, Nancy would throw her cloak into this corner, and her bonnet into that, with the air of a woman absorbed by the consideration of some vexatious trial; she would then sit down, and, lighting her doodeen, (* a short pipe) exclaim--

"Wurrah, wurrah! but it's me that's the heart-scalded crathur with that man's four quarters! The Lord may help me and grant me patience with him, any way!--to have my little honest, hard-earned penny spint among a pack of vagabonds, that don't care if him and me wor both down the river, so they could get their skinful of drink out of him! No matther, agra, things can't long be this a-way; but what does Ned care?--give him drink and fighting, and his blackguards about him, and that's his glory.

There now's the landlord coming down upon us for the rint; and unless he takes the cows out of the byre, or the bed from anundher us, what in the wide earth is there for him?"

The current of this lecture was never interrupted by a single observation from Ned, who usually employed himself in silently playing with "Bunty;" a little black cur, without a tail, and a great favorite with Nancy; or, if he noticed anything out of its place in the house, he would arrange it with great apparent care. In the meantime, Nancy's wrath generally evaporated with the smoke of the pipe--a circ.u.mstance which Ned well knew; for after she had sucked it until it emitted a shrill, bubbling sound, like that from a reed, her brows, which wore at other times an habitual frown, would gradually relax into a more benevolent expression--the parenthetical curves on each side of her mouth, formed by the irascible pursing of her lips, would become less marked--the dog or cat, or whatever else came in her way, instead of being kicked aside, or pursued in an underfit of digressional peevishness, would be put out of her path with gentler force--so that it was, in such circ.u.mstances, a matter of little difficulty to perceive that conciliation would soon be the order of the day. Ned's conduct on these critical occasions was very prudent and commendable: he still gave Nancy her own way; never "jawed back to her;" but took shelter, as it were, under his own patience, until the storm had pa.s.sed, and the sun of her good humor began to shine out again. Nancy herself, now softened by the fumes of her own pigtail, usually made the first overtures to a compromise, but, without departing from the practice and principles of higher negotiators; always in an indirect manner: as, "Biddy, avourneen," speaking to her niece, "maybe that crathur," pointing! to Ned, "ate nothing to-day; you had better, agra! get him the could bacon that's in the cupboard, and warm for him, upon the greeshaugh, (* hot embers) them yallow-legs (* a kind of potato) that's in the colindher; though G.o.d he knows it's ill my common (* It's ill-becoming--or it ill becomes me, to everlook his conduct)--but no matther, ahagur! There's enough said, I'm thinking--give them to him."

On Ned seating himself to his bacon and potatoes, Nancy would light another pipe, and plant herself on the opposite hob, putting some interrogatory to him, in the way of business--always concerning a third person, and still in a tone of dry ironical indifference: as--

"Did you see Jimmy Connolly on your travels?"

"No."

"Humph! Can you tell us if Andy Morrow sould his coult?"

"He did."

"May be you have _gumption_ enough to know what he got for him?"

"Fifteen guineas."

"In troth, and it's more nor a poor body would get; but, anyway, Andy Morrow desarves to get a good price; he's a man that takes care of his own business, and minds nothing else. I wish that filly of ours was dockt; you ought to spake to Jim M'Quade about her: it's time to make her up--you know, we'll want to sell her for the rint."

This was an a.s.sertion, by the way, which Ned knew to have everything but truth in it.

"Never heed the filly," Ned would reply, "I'll get Charley Lawdher (*

A blacksmith, and an honest man) to dock her--but it's not her I'm thinking of: did you hear the news about the tobacky?"

"No; but I hope we won't be long go."

"Well, any how, we wor in luck to buy in them three last rowls."

"Eh?--in luck? death-alive, how, Ned?"

"Sure there was three ships of it lost last week, on their way from the kingdom of Swuzerland, in the Aist Indians, where it grows: we can rise it thruppence a-pound now."

"No, Ned! you're not in airnest?"

"Faith, Nancy, you may say I am; and as soon as Tom Loan comes home from Dublin, he'll tell us all about it; and for that matther, maybe it may rise sixpence a-pound; any how we'll gain a lob by it, I'm thinking."

"May I never stir, but that's luck! Well, Ned, you may thank me for that, any way, or sorra rowl we'd have in the four corners of the house; and you wanted to persuade me against buying them; but I knew betther--for the tobacky's always sure to get a bit of a hitch at this time o' the year."

"Bedad, you can do it, Nancy: I'll say that for you--that is, and give you your own way."

"Eh!--can't I, Ned? And, what waa betther, I bate down Pether M'Entee three-ha'pence a-pound afther I bought them."

"Ha! ha! ha!--by my sannies, Nancy, as to market-making, they may all throw their caps at you, you thief o' the world; you can do them nately!"

"Ha! ha! ha! Stop, Ned; don't drink that water--it's not from the garden-well. I'll jist mix a sup of this last stuff we got from the mountains, till you taste it: I think it's not worse nor the last--for Hugh Traynor's * an ould hand at making it."

* Hugh, who, by the way, is still living, and, I am glad to hear, in improved circ.u.mstances, was formerly in the habit of making a drop of the right sort.

This was all Ned wanted: his point was now carried; but with respect to the rising of the tobacco, the less that is said about it the bettor for his veracity.