Book: The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, Vol. 1

C >> Charles James Lever >> The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, Vol. 1




It was now so nearly dark, that her ladyship's further search for the
alpine treasure became impossible, and so we turned our steps towards the
garden, where we continued to walk till joined by Lord Callonby. And now
began a most active discussion upon agriculture, rents, tithes, and
toryism, in which the ladies took but little part; and I had the
mortification to perceive that Lady Jane was excessively 'ennuyee', and
seized the first opportunity to leave the party and return to the house;
while her sister gave me from time to time certain knowing glances, as if
intimating that my knowledge of farming and political economy was pretty
much on a par with my proficiency in botany.

One has discovered me at least, thought I; but the bell had rung to dress
for dinner, and I hastened to my room to think over future plans, and
once more wonder at the singular position into which fate and the "rules
of the service" had thrown me.




CHAPTER V.

PUZZLED--EXPLANATION--MAKES BAD WORSE--THE DEED

"Any letters?" said her ladyship to a servant, as she crossed the hall.

"Only one, my lady--for Mr. Lorrequer, I believe."

"For me!" thought I; "how is this?" My letters had been hitherto always
left in Kilrush. Why was this forwarded here? I hurried to the
drawing-room, where I found a double letter awaiting me. The writing was
Curzon's and contained the words "to be forwarded with haste" on the
direction. I opened and read as follows:--

"Dear Lorrequer,--Have you any recollection, among your numerous
'escapades' at Cork, of having grievously insulted a certain Mr. Giles
Beamish, in thought, word, or deed? If you have, I say, let me know with
all convenient despatch, whether the offence be one admitting of apology
--for if not, the Lord have mercy on your soul--a more wrothy gentleman
than the aforesaid, it having rarely been my evil fortune to foregather
with. He called here yesterday to inquire your address, and at my
suggestion wrote a note, which I now enclose. I write in great haste,
and am ever yours faithfully, C. Curzon.

"N.B.--I have not seen his note, so explain all and every thing."

The inclosed letter ran thus:

"Sir,--It can scarcely have escaped your memory, though now nearly two
months since, that at the Mayor's 'dejeune' in Cork, you were pleased to
make merry at my expense, and expose me and my family for your amusement.
This is to demand an immediate apology, or that satisfaction which, as an
officer, you will not refuse your most obedient servant, Giles Beamish,
Swinburne's Hotel."

"Giles Beamish! Giles Beamish!" said I, repeating the name in every
variety of emphasis, hoping to obtain some clue to the writer. Had I
been appointed the umpire between Dr. Wall and his reviewers, in the late
controversy about "phonetic signs," I could not have been more completely
puzzled than by the contents of this note. "Make merry at his expense!"
a great offence truly--I suppose I have laughed at better men than ever
he was; and I can only say of such innocent amusement, as Falstaff did of
sack and sugar, if such be a sin, "then heaven help the wicked." But I
wish I knew who he is, or what he alludes to, provided he is not mad,
which I begin to think not improbable. "By the bye, my Lord, do you know
any such person in the south as a Mr. Beamish--Giles Beamish?"

"To be sure," said Lord Callonby, looking up from his newspaper, "there
are several of the name of the highest respectability. One is an
alderman of Cork--a very rich man, too--but I don't remember his
Christian name."

"An alderman, did you say?"

"Yes. Alderman Beamish is very well known. I have seen him frequently
--a short florid, little man."

"Oh, it must be him," said I, musingly, "it must have been this worthy
alderman, from whose worshipful person I tore the robe of office on the
night of the fete. But what does he mean by 'my exposing him and his
family?' Why, zounds, his wife and children were not with him on the
pavement. Oh, I see it; it is the mansion-house school of eloquence; did
not Sir William Curtis apologise for not appearing at court, from having
lost an eye, which he designated as an awful 'domestic calamity.'"

It being now settled to my satisfaction, that Mr. Beamish and the great
uncloaked were "convertible terms," I set about making the 'amende' in
the most handsome manner possible. I wrote to the alderman a most
pacific epistle, regretting that my departure from Cork deprived me of
making reparation before, and expressing a most anxious hope that "he
caught no cold," and a fervent wish that "he would live many years to
grace and ornament the dignity of which his becoming costume was the
emblem." This I enclosed in a note to Curzon, telling him how the matter
occurred, and requesting that he would send it by his servant, together
with the scarlet vestment which he would find in my dressing-room.
Having folded and sealed this despatch, I turned to give Lord Callonby an
account of the business, and showed him Beamish's note, at which he was
greatly amused: and, indeed, it furnished food for mirth for the whole
party during the evening. The next morning I set out with Lord Callonby
on the long-threatened canvassing expedition--with the details of which I
need not burden my "Confessions." Suffice it to say, that when Lord
Kilkee was advocating Toryism in the west, I, his accredited ambassador,
was devoting to the infernal gods the prelacy, the peerage, and the
pension list--a mode of canvass well worthy of imitation in these
troublesome times; for, not to speak of the great prospect of success
from having friends on both sides of the question, the principal can
always divest himself of any unpleasant consequences as regards
inconsistency, by throing the blame on this friend, "who went too far,"
as the appropriate phrase is.

Nothing could be more successful than our mission. Lord Callonby was
delighted beyond bounds with the prospect, and so completely carried away
by high spirits, and so perfectly assured that much of it was owing to my
exertions, that on the second morning of our tour--for we proceeded
through the county for three days--he came laughing into my
dressing-room, with a newspaper in his hand.

"Here, Lorrequer," said he, "here's news for you. You certainly must
read this," and he handed me a copy of the "Clare Herald," with an
account of our meeting the evening before.

After glancing my eye rapidly over the routine usual in such cases
--Humph, ha--nearly two hundred people--most respectable farmers--room
appropriately decorated--"Callonby Arms"--"after the usual loyal toasts,
the chairman rose"--Well, no matter. Ah! here it is: "Mr. Lorrequer here
addressed the meeting with a flow of eloquence it has rarely, if ever,
been our privilege to hear equalled. He began by"--humph--

"Ah," said his lordship, impatiently, "you will never find it out--look
here--'Mr. Lorrequer, whom we have mentioned as having made the highly
exciting speech, to be found in our first page, is, we understand, the
son of Sir Guy Lorrequer, of Elton, in Shropshire--one of the wealthiest
baronets in England. If rumour speak truly, there is a very near
prospect of an alliance between this talented and promising young
gentleman, and the beautiful and accomplished daughter of a certain
noble earl, with whom he has been for some time domesticated."

"Eh, what think you? Son of Sir Guy Lorrequer. I always thought my old
friend a bachelor, but you see the 'Clare Herald' knows better. Not to
speak of the last piece of intelligence, it is very good, is it not?"

"Capital, indeed," said I, trying to laugh, and at the same time blushing
confoundedly, and looking as ridiculously as need be.

It now struck me forcibly that there was something extremely odd in his
lordship's mention of this paragraph, particularly when coupled with his
and Lady Callonby's manner to me for the last two months. They knew
enough of my family, evidently, to be aware of my station and prospects
--or rather my want of both--and yet, in the face of this, they not only
encouraged me to prolong a most delightful visit, but by a thousand daily
and dangerous opportunities, absolutely threw me in the way of one of the
loveliest of her sex, seemingly without fear on their parts. "'Eh bien,'"
thought I, with my old philosophy, "Time, that 'pregnant old gentleman,'
will disclose all, and so 'laisse, aller.'"

My reveries on my good and evil fortune were suddenly interrupted by a
letter which reached me that evening, having been forwarded from Callonby
by a special messenger. "What! Another epistle from Curzon," said I, as
my eye caught the address, and wondering not a little what pressing
emergency had called forth the words on the cover--"to be forwarded with
haste." I eagerly broke the seal and read the following:

"My Dear Harry,--I received yours on the 11th, and immediately despatched
your note and the raiment to Mr. Beamish. He was from home at the time,
but at eight o'clock I was sent for from the mess to see two gentlemen on
most pressing business. I hurried to my quarters, and there found the
aforesaid Mr. B. accompanied by a friend, whom he introduced as Dr. De
Courcy Finucane, of the North Cork Militia--as warlike looking a
gentleman, of his inches, some five feet three, as you would wish to see.
The moment I appeared, both rose, and commenced a narrative, for such I
judge it to be, but so energetically and so completely together, that I
could only bow politely, and at last request that one, or the other,
would inform me of the object of their visit. Here began the tug of war,
the Doctor saying, 'Arrah, now Giles'--Mr. Beamish interrupting by
'Whisht, I tell ye--now, can't you let me! Ye see, Mr. Curzoin'--for so
they both agreed to designate me. At last, completely worn out, I said,
'Perhaps you have not received my friend's note?' At this Mr. Beamish
reddened to the eyes, and with the greatest volubility poured forth a
flood of indignant eloquence, that I thought it necessary to check; but
in this I failed, for after informing me pretty clearly, that he knew
nothing of your story of the alderman, or his cloak, added, that he
firmly believed your pretended reparation was only a renewed insult, and
that--but in a word, he used such language, that I was compelled to take
him short; and the finale is, that I agreed you should meet him, though
still ignorant of what he calls the 'original offence.'--But heaven
knows, his conduct here last night demands a reprimand, and I hope you
may give it; and if you shoot him, we may worm out the secret from his
executors. Nothing could exceed the politeness of the parties on my
consenting to this arrangement. Dr. Finucane proposed Carrigaholt, as
the rendezvous, about 12 miles, I believe, from Kilrush, and Tuesday
evening at six as the time, which will be the very earliest moment we can
arrive there. So, pray be up to time, and believe me yours, C. Curzon,
Saturday Evening."

It was late on Monday evening when this letter reached me, and there was
no time to be lost, as I was then about 40 Irish miles from the place
mentioned by Curzon; so after briefly acquainting Lord Callonby that I
was called off by duty, I hurried to my room to pack my clothes, and
again read over this extraordinary epistle.

I confess it did appear something droll, how completely Curzon seemed to
imbibe the passion for fighting from these "blood-thirsty Irishmen."
For by his own showing he was utterly ignorant of my ever having offended
this Mr. Beamish, of whom I recollected nothing whatever. Yet when the
gentleman waxes wrothy, rather than inconvenience him, or perhaps anxious
to get back to the mess, he coolly says, "Oh, my friend shall meet you,"
and then his pleasant jest, "find out the cause of quarrel from his
executors!"

Truly, thought I, there is no equanimity like his who acts as your second
in a duel. The gentlemanlike urbanity with which he waits on the
opposite friend--the conciliating tone with which he proffers implacable
enmity--the killing kindness with which he refuses all accommodation--the
Talleyrand air of his short notes, dated from the "Travellers," or
"Brookes," with the words 3 o'clock or 5 o'clock on the cover, all
indicative of the friendly precipitancy of the negociation. Then, when
all is settled, the social style with which he asks you to take a
"cutlet" with him at the "Clarendon," not to go home--are only to be
equalled by the admirable tact on the ground--the studiously elegant
salute to the adverse party, half a la Napoleon, and half Beau Brummell
--the politely offered snuff-box--the coquetting raillery about 10 paces
or 12--are certainly the beau ideal of the stoicism which preludes
sending your friend out of the world like a gentleman.

How very often is the face of external nature at variance with the
thoughts and actions--"the sayings and doings" we may be most intent upon
at the moment. How many a gay and brilliant bridal party has wended its
way to St. George's, Hanover-square, amid a downpour of rain, one would
suppose sufficient to quench the torch of Hymen, though it burned as
brightly as Capt. Drummond's oxygen light; and on the other hand, how
frequently are the bluest azure of heaven and the most balmy airs shed
upon the heart bursting with affliction, or the head bowed with grief;
and without any desire to impugn, as a much high authority has done, the
moral character of the moon, how many a scene of blood and rapine has its
mild radiance illumined. Such reflections as these came thronging to my
mind, as on the afternoon of Tuesday I neared the little village of our
rendezvous.

The scene which in all its peaceful beauty lay before me, was truly a
bitter contrast to the occasion that led me thither. I stood upon a
little peninsula which separates the Shannon from the wide Atlantic. On
one side the placed river flowed on its course, between fields of waving
corn, or rich pasturage--the beautiful island of Scattery, with its
picturesque ruins reflected in the unrippled tide--the cheerful voices of
the reapers, and the merry laugh of the children were mingled with the
seaman's cry of the sailors, who were "heaving short" on their anchor,
to take the evening tide. The village, which consisted of merely a few
small cabins, was still from its situation a pleasing object in the
picture, and the blue smoke that rose in slender columns from the humble
dwellings, took from the scene its character of loneliness, and suggested
feelings of home and homely enjoyments, which human habitations, however,
lowly, never fail to do.

"At any other time," thought I, "and how I could have enjoyed all this,
but now--and, ha, I find it is already past five o'clock, and if I am
rightly informed I am still above a mile from 'Carrigaholt,' where we
were to meet."

I had dismissed my conveyance when nearing the village, to avoid
observation, and now took a foot-path over the hills. Before I had
proceeded half a mile, the scene changed completely. I found myself
traversing a small glen, grown over with a low oak scrub, and not
presenting, on any side, the slightest trace of habitation. I saw that
the ground had been selected by an adept. The glen, which grew narrow as
I advanced, suddenly disclosed to my view a glimpse of the Atlantic, upon
which the declining sun was pouring a flood of purple glory. I had
scarcely turned from the contemplation of this beautiful object, when a
long low whistle attracted my attention. I looked in the direction from
whence it proceeded, and discovered at some distance from me three
figures standing beside the ruin of an old Abbey, which I now for the
first time perceived.

If I had entertained any doubt as to who they were, it had been speedily
resolved, for I now saw one of the party waving his hat to me, whom, I
soon recognized to be Curzon; he came forward to meet me, and, in the few
hundred yards that intervened before our reaching the others, told me as
much as he knew of the opposite party; which, after all, was but little.
Mr. Beamish, my adversary, he described as a morose, fire-eating
southern, that evidently longed for an "affair" with a military man, then
considered a circumstance of some eclat in the south; his second, the
doctor, on the contrary, was by far "the best of the cut-throats," a most
amusing little personage, full of his own importance, and profuse in his
legends of his own doings in love and war, and evidently disposed to take
the pleasing side of every occurrence in life; they both agreed in but
one point--a firm and fixed resolve to give no explanation of the quarrel
with me. "So then," said I, as Curzon hurried over the preceding
account, "you absolutely know nothing whatever of the reason for which I
am about to give this man a meeting."

"No more than you," said Curzon, with imperturbable gravity; "but one
thing I am certain of--had I not at once promised him such, he would have
posted you in Limerick the next morning; and as you know our mess rule in
the 4_th, I thought it best--"

"Oh, certainly, quite right; but now are you quite certain I am the man
who offended him? For I solemnly assure you, I have not the most remote
recollection of having ever heard of him."

"That point," said Curzon, "there can be no doubt of, for he not only
designated you as Mr. Harry Lorrequer, but the gentleman that made all
Cork laugh so heartily, by his representation of Othello."

"Stop!" said I, "say not a word more; I'm his man."

By this time we had reached the ruins, and turning a corner came in full
contact with the enemy; they had been resting themselves on a tombstone
as we approached.

"Allow me," said Curzon, stepping a little in advance of me; "allow me to
introduce my friend Mr. Lorrequer, Dr. Finicane,--Dr. Finicane, Mr.
Lorrequer."

"Finucane, if quite agreeable to you; Finucane," said the little
gentleman, as he lifted his hat straight off his head, and replaced it
most accurately, by way of salute. "Mr. Lorrequer, it is with sincere
pleasure I make your acquaintance." Here Mr. Beamish bowed stiffly, in
return to my salutation, and at the instant a kind of vague sensation
crossed my mind, that those red whiskers, and that fiery face were not
seen for the first time; but the thumbscrews of the holy office would
have been powerless to refresh my memory as to when.

"Captain," said the doctor, "may I request the favour of your company
this way, one minute;" they both walked aside; the only words which
reached me as I moved off, to permit their conference, being an assurance
on the part of the doctor, "that it was a sweet spot he picked out, for,
by having them placed north and south, neither need have a patch of sky
behind him." Very few minutes sufficed for preliminaries, and they both
advanced, smirking and smiling, as if they had just arranged a new plan
for the amelioration of the poor, or the benefit of the manufacturing
classes, instead of making preparations for sending a gentleman out of
the world.

"Then if I understand you, captain," said the doctor, "you step the
distance, and I give the word."

"Exactly," said Curzon.

After a joking allusion to my friend's length of limb, at which we all
laughed heartily, we were placed, Curzon and the doctor standing and
breaking the line between us; the pistols were then put into our hands,
the doctor saying--"Now, gentlemen, I'll just retire six paces, and turn
round, which will be quite time enough to prepare, and at the word
'fire,' ye'll blaze away; mind now." With a knowing wink, the doctor
delivered this direction, and immediately moved off; the word "fire"
followed, and both pistols went off together. My hat was struck near the
top, and, as the smoke cleared away, I perceived that my ball had taken
effect upon my adversary; he was wounded a little below the knee and
appeared to steady himself with the greatest difficulty. "You friend is
hit," said Curzon, to the doctor, who now came forward with another
pistol. "You friend is hit."

"So I perceive," said he, placing his finger on the spot; "but it is no
harm in life; so we proceed, if you please."

"You don't mean to demand another shot?" said Curzon.

"Faith, do I," said the doctor coolly.

"Then," said Curzon, "I must tell you most unequivocally, I refuse, and
shall now withdraw my friend; and had it not been for a regulation
peculiar to our regiment, but never intended to include cases of this
nature, we had not been here now; for up to this hour my principal and
myself are in utter ignorance of any cause of offence ever having been
offered by him to Mr. Beamish."

"Giles, do you hear this?" said the doctor.

But Giles did not hear it, for the rapid loss of blood from his wound had
so weakened him, that he had fainted, and now lay peaceably on the grass.
Etiquette was now at an end, and we all ran forward to assist the wounded
man; for some minutes he lay apparently quite senseless, and when he at
last rallied and looked wildly about him, it appeared to be with
difficulty that he recalled any recollection of the place, and the people
around him; for a few seconds he fixed his eyes steadily upon the doctor,
and with a lip pale and bloodless, and a voice quivering from weakness,
said,

"Fin! Didn't I tell ye, that pistol always threw high--oh!" and this he
said with a sigh that nearly overpowered him, "Oh, Fin, if you had only
given me the saw-handled one, that I AM USED TO; but it is no good
talking now."

In my inmost heart I was grateful to the little doctor for his mistake,
for I plainly perceived what "the saw-handled one he was used to" might
have done for me, and could not help muttering to myself with good Sir
Andrew--"If I had known he was so cunning of fence, I'd have seen him
damned before that I fought with him."

Our first duty was now to remove the wounded man to the high road, about
which both he himself and his second seemed disposed to make some
difficulty; they spoke together for a few moments in a low tone of voice,
and then the doctor addressed us--"We feel, gentlemen, this is not a
time for any concealment; but the truth is, we have need of great
circumspection here, for I must inform you, we are both of us bound
over in heavy recognizances to keep the peace."

"Bound over to keep the peace!" said Curzon and myself together.

"Nothing less; and although there is nobody hereabout would tell, yet if
the affair got into the papers by any means, why there are some people in
Cork would like to press my friend there, for he is a very neat shot when
he has the saw-handle," and here the doctor winked.

We had little time permitted us, to think upon the oddity of meeting a
man in such circumstances, for we were now obliged to contribute our aid
in conveying him to the road, where some means might be procured for his
transfer to Kilrush, or some other town in the neighbourhood, for he was
by this time totally unable to walk.

After half an hour's toiling, we at last did reach the highway, by which
time I had ample opportunity, short as the space was, to see something of
the character of our two opponents. It appeared the doctor exercised the
most absolute control over his large friend, dictating and commanding in
a tone which the other never ventured to resist; for a moment or two Mr.
Beamish expressed a great desire to be conveyed by night to Kilrush,
where he might find means to cross the Shannon into Kerry; this, however,
the doctor opposed strenuously, from the risque of publicity; and finally
settled that we should all go in a body to his friend, Father Malachi
Brennan's house, only two miles off, where the sick man would have the
most tender care, and what the doctor considered equally indispensable,
we ourselves a most excellent supper, and a hearty welcome.

"You know Father Malachi, of course, Mr. Lorrequer?"

"I am ashamed to say I do not."

"Not know Malachi Brennan and live in Clare! Well, well, that is
strange; sure he is the priest of this country for twelve miles in every
direction of you, and a better man, and a pleasanter, there does not live
in the diocese; though I'm his cousin that says it."

After professing all the possible pleasure it would afford my friend and
myself to make the acquaintance of Father Malachi, we proceeded to place
Mr. Beamish in a car that was passing at the time, and started for the
residence of the good priest. The whole of the way thither I was
occupied but by one thought, a burning anxiety to know the cause of our
quarrel, and I longed for the moment when I might get the doctor apart
from his friend, to make the inquiry.

"There--look down to your left, where you see the lights shining so
brightly, that is Father Malachi's house; as sure as my name is
De Courcy Finucane, there's fun going on there this night."

"Why, there certainly does seem a great illumination in the valley
there," said I.

"May I never," said the doctor, "if it isn't a station--"

"A station!--pray may I ask--"

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