Book: Handy Andy, Vol. 2

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HANDY ANDY

A Tale of Irish Life

IN TWO VOLUMES--VOLUME TWO

THE COLLECTED WRITINGS OF SAMUEL LOVER (V. 4)

[Illustration: Tom Organ Loftus' Coldairian System]

[Illustration: Tom Connor's Cat]




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME TWO


Tom Organ Loftus' Coldairian System

Tom Connor's Cat

Andy's Cooking Extraordinary

Tom Organ Loftus and the Duke

The Abduction

A Crack Shot

The Challenge

The Party at Killarney

_Etched by W. H. W. Bicknell from drawings by Samuel Lover_




CHAPTER XXII


The night was pitch dark, and on rounding the adjacent corner no vehicle
could be seen; but a peculiar whistle from Dick was answered by the sound
of approaching wheels and the rapid footfalls of a horse, mingled with the
light rattle of a smart gig. On the vehicle coming up, Dick took his
little mare, that was blacker than the night, by the head, the apron of
the gig was thrown down, and out jumped a smart servant-boy.

"You have the horse ready, too, Billy?"

"Yis, sir," said Billy, touching his hat.

"Then follow, and keep up with me, remember."

"Yis, sir."

"Come to her head, here," and he patted the little mare's neck as he spoke
with a caressing "whoa," which was answered by a low neigh of
satisfaction, while the impatient pawing of her fore foot showed the
animal's desire to start. "What an impatient little devil she is," said
Dick, as he mounted the gig; "I'll get in first, Murphy, as I'm going to
drive. Now up with you--hook on the apron--that's it--are you all right?"

"Quite," said Murphy.

"Then you be into your saddle and after us, Billy," said Dick; "and now
let her go."

Billy gave the little black mare her head, and away she went, at a
slapping pace, the fire from the road answering the rapid strokes of her
nimble feet. The servant then mounted a horse which was tied to a
neighbouring palisade, and had to gallop for it to come up with his
master, who was driving with a swiftness almost fearful, considering the
darkness of the night and the narrowness of the road he had to traverse,
for he was making the best of his course by cross-ways to an adjacent
roadside inn, where some non-resident electors were expected to arrive
that night by a coach from Dublin; for the county town had every nook and
cranny occupied, and this inn was the nearest point where they could get
any accommodation.

Now don't suppose that they were electors whom Murphy and Dick in their
zeal for their party were going over to greet with hearty welcomes and
bring up to the poll the next day. By no means. They were the friends of
the opposite party, and it was with the design of retarding their
movements that this night's excursion was undertaken. These electors were
a batch of plain citizens from Dublin, whom the Scatterbrain interest had
induced to leave the peace and quiet of the city to tempt the wilds of the
country at that wildest of times--during a contested election; and a night
coach was freighted inside and out with the worthy cits, whose aggregate
voices would be of immense importance the next day; for the contest was
close, the county nearly polled out, and but two days more for the
struggle. Now, to intercept these plain unsuspecting men was the object of
Murphy, whose well-supplied information had discovered to him this plan of
the enemy, which he set about countermining. As they rattled over the
rough by-roads, many a laugh did the merry attorney and the untameable
Dick the Devil exchange, as the probable success of their scheme was
canvassed, and fresh expedients devised to meet the possible impediments
which might interrupt them. As they topped a hill Murphy pointed out to
his companion a moving light in the plain beneath.

"That's the coach, Dick--there are the lamps, we're just in time--spin
down the hill, my boy--let me get in as they're at supper, and 'faith
they'll want it, after coming off a coach such a night as this, to say
nothing of some of them being aldermen in expectancy perhaps, and of
course obliged to play trencher-men as often as they can, as a requisite
rehearsal for the parts they must hereafter fill."

In fifteen minutes more Dick pulled up before a small cabin within a
quarter of a mile of the inn, and the mounted servant tapped at the door,
which was immediately opened, and a peasant, advancing to the gig,
returned the civil salutation with which Dick greeted his approach.

"I wanted to be sure you were ready, Barny."

"Oh, do you think I'd fail you, Misther Dick, your honour?"

"I thought you might be asleep, Barny."

"Not when you bid me wake, sir; and there's a nice fire ready for you, and
as fine a dhrop o' _potteen_ as ever tickled your tongue, sir."

"You're the lad, Barny!--good fellow--I'll be back with you by-and-by;"
and off whipped Dick again.

After going about a quarter of a mile further, he pulled up, alighted with
Murphy from the gig, unharnessed the little black mare, and then
overturned the gig into the ditch.

"That's as natural as life," said Dick.

"What an escape of my neck I've had!" said Murphy.

"Are you much hurt?" said Dick.

"A trifle lame only," said Murphy, laughing and limping.

"There was a great _boccagh_ [Footnote: Lame beggar.] lost in you,
Murphy. Wait; let me rub a handful of mud on your face--there--you have a
very upset look, 'pon my soul," said Dick, as he flashed the light of his
lantern on him for a moment, and laughed at Murphy scooping the mud out of
his eye, where Dick had purposely planted it.

"Devil take you," said Murtough; "that's too natural."

"There's nothing like looking your part," said Dick.

"Well, I may as well complete my attire," said Murtough, so he lay down in
the road and took a roll in the mud; "that will do," said he; "and now,
Dick, go back to Barny and the mountain dew, while I storm the camp of the
Philistines. I think in a couple of hours you may be on the look-out for
me; I'll signal you from the window, so now good bye;" and Murphy, leading
the mare, proceeded to the inn, while Dick, with a parting "Luck to you,
my boy," turned back to the cottage of Barny.

The coach had set down six inside and ten out passengers (all voters)
about ten minutes before Murphy marched up to the inn door, leading the
black mare, and calling "ostler" most lustily. His call being answered for
"the beast," "the man" next demanded attention; and the landlord wondered
all the wonders he could cram into a short speech, at seeing Misther
Murphy, sure, at such a time; and the sonsy landlady, too, was all
lamentations for his illigant coat and his poor eye, sure, all ruined with
the mud:--and what was it at all? an upset, was it? oh, wirra! and wasn't
it lucky he wasn't killed, and they without a spare bed to lay him out
dacent if he was--sure, wouldn't it be horrid for his body to be only on
sthraw in the barn, instead of the best feather-bed in the house; and,
indeed, he'd be welcome to it, only the gintlemen from town had them all
engaged.

"Well, dead or alive, I must stay here to-night, Mrs. Kelly, at all
events."

"And what will you do for a bed?"

"A shake down in the parlour, or a stretch on a sofa, will do; my gig is
stuck fast in a ditch--my mare tired--ten miles from home--cold night, and
my knee hurt." Murphy limped as he spoke.

"Oh! your poor knee," said Mrs. Kelly; "I'll put a dhrop o' whisky and
brown paper on it, sure--"

"And what gentlemen are these, Mrs. Kelly, who have so filled your house?"

"Gintlemen that came by the coach a while agone, and supping in the
parlour now, sure."

"Would you give my compliments, and ask would they allow me, under the
present peculiar circumstances, to join them? and in the meantime, send
somebody down the road to take the cushions out of my gig; for there is no
use in attempting to get the gig out till morning."

"Sartinly, Misther Murphy, we'll send for the cushions; but as for the
gentlemen, they are all on the other side."

"What other side?"

"The Honourable's voters, sure."

"Pooh! is that all?" said Murphy,--"I don't mind that, I've no objection
on that account; besides, _they_ need not know who _I_ am," and
he gave the landlord a knowing wink, to which the landlord as knowingly
returned another.

The message to the gentlemen was delivered, and Murphy was immediately
requested to join their party; this was all he wanted, and he played off
his powers of diversion on the innocent citizens so successfully, that
before supper was half over they thought themselves in luck to have fallen
in with such a chance acquaintance. Murphy fired away jokes, repartees,
anecdotes, and country gossip, to their delight; and when the eatables
were disposed of, he started them on the punch-drinking tack afterwards so
cleverly, that he hoped to see three parts of them tipsy before they
retired to rest.

"Do you feel your knee better now, sir?" asked one of the party, of
Murphy.

"Considerably, thank you; whisky punch, sir, is about the best cure for
bruises or dislocations a man can take."

"I doubt that, sir," said a little matter-of-fact man, who had now
interposed his reasonable doubts for the twentieth time during Murphy's
various extravagant declarations, and the interruption only made Murphy
romance the more.

"_You_ speak of your fiery _Dublin_ stuff, sir; but our country
whisky is as mild as milk, and far more wholesome; then, sir, our fine air
alone would cure half the complaints without a grain of physic."

"I doubt that, sir!" said the little man.

"I assure you, sir, a friend of my own from town came down here last
spring on crutches, and from merely following a light whisky diet and
sleeping with his window open, he was able to dance at the race ball in a
fortnight; as for this knee of mine, it's a trifle, though it was a bad
upset too."

"How did it happen, sir? Was it your horse--or your harness--or your gig--
or--"

"None o' them, sir; it was a _Banshee_."

"A Banshee!" said the little man; "what's that?"

"A peculiar sort of supernatural creature that is common here, sir. She
was squatted down on one side of the road, and my mare shied at her, and
being a spirited little thing, she attempted to jump the ditch and missed
it in the dark."

"Jump a ditch, with a gig after her, sir?" said the little man.

"Oh, common enough to do that here, sir; she'd have done it easy in the
daylight, but she could not measure her distance in the dark, and bang she
went into the ditch: but it's a trifle, after all. I am generally run over
four or five times a year."

"And you alive to tell it!" said the little man, incredulously.

"It's hard to kill us here, sir, we are used to accidents."

"Well, the worst accident I ever heard of," said one of the citizens,
"happened to a friend of mine, who went to visit a friend of his on a
Sunday, and all the family happened to be at church; so on driving into
the yard there was no one to take his horse, therefore he undertook the
office of ostler himself, but being unused to the duty, he most
incautiously took off the horse's bridle before unyoking him from his gig,
and the animal, making a furious plunge forward--my friend being before
him at the time--the shaft of the gig was driven through his body, and
into the coach-house gate behind him, and stuck so fast that the horse
could not drag it out after; and in this dreadful situation they remained
until the family returned from church, and saw the awful occurrence. A
servant was despatched for a doctor, and the shaft was disengaged, and
drawn out of the man's body--just at the pit of the stomach; he was laid
on a bed, and every one thought of course he must die at once, but he
didn't; and the doctor came next day, and he wasn't dead--did what he
could for him--and, to make a long story short, sir, the man recovered."

"Pooh! pooh!" said the diminutive doubter.

"It's true," said the narrator.

"I make no doubt of it, sir," said Murphy; "I know a more extraordinary
case of recovery myself."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the cit; "I have not finished my story yet,
for the most extraordinary part of the story remains to be told; my
friend, sir, was a very sickly man before the accident happened--a
_very_ sickly man, and after that accident he became a hale healthy
man. What do you think of that, sir?"

"It does not surprise me in the least, sir," said Murphy; "I can account
for it readily."

"Well, sir, I never heard It accounted for, though I know it to be true; I
should like to hear how you account for it?"

"Very simply, sir," said Murphy; "don't you perceive the man discovered
a _mine_ of health by a _shaft_ being sunk in the _pit_ of his stomach?"

Murphy's punning solution of the cause of cure was merrily received by the
company, whose critical taste was not of that affected nature which
despises _jeu de mots_, and _will not_ be satisfied under a
_jeu d'esprit_; the little doubting man alone refused to be pleased.

"I doubt the value of a pun always, sir. Dr. Johnson said, sir--"

"I know," said Murphy; "that the man who would make a pun would pick a
pocket; that's old, sir,--but is dearly remembered by all those who cannot
make puns themselves."

"Exactly," said one of the party they called Wiggins. "It is the old story
of the fox and the grapes. Did you ever hear, sir, the story of the fox
and the grapes? The fox one day was--"

"Yes, yes," said Murphy, who, fond of absurdity as he was, could
_not_ stand the fox and the grapes by way of something new.

"They're sour, said the fox."

"Yes," said Murphy, "a capital story."

"Oh, them fables is so good!" said Wiggins.

"All nonsense!" said the diminutive contradictor.

"Nonsense, nothing but nonsense; the ridiculous stuff of birds and beasts
speaking! As if any one could believe such stuff."

"I do--firmly--for one," said Murphy.

"You do?" said the little man.

"I do--and do you know why?"

"I cannot indeed conceive," said the little man, with a bitter grin.

"It is, sir, because I myself know a case that occurred in this very
country of a similar nature."

"Do you want to make me believe you knew a fox that spoke, sir?" said the
mannikin, almost rising into anger.

"Many, sir," said Murphy, "many."

"Well! after that!" said the little man.

"But the case I immediately allude to is not of a fox, but a cat," said
Murphy.

"A cat? Oh, yes--to be sure--a cat speak, indeed!" said the little
gentleman.

"It is a fact, sir," said Murphy; "and if the company would not object to
my relating the story, I will state the particulars."

The proposal was received with acclamation; and Murphy, in great enjoyment
of the little man's annoyance, cleared his throat, and made all the
preparatory demonstrations of a regular _raconteur_; but, before he
began, he recommended the gentlemen to mix fresh tumblers all round that
they might have nothing to do but listen and drink silently. "For of all
things in the world," said Murtough, "I hate a song or a story to be
interrupted by the rattle of spoons."

They obeyed; and while they are mixing their punch, we will just turn over
a fresh page, and devote a new Chapter to the following

MARVELLOUS LEGEND




CHAPTER XXIII

MURTOUGH MURPHY'S STORY; BEING YE MARVELLOUS LEGEND OF TOM CONNOR'S CAT


"There was a man in these parts, sir, you must know, called Tom Connor,
and he had a cat that was equal to any dozen of rat-traps, and he was
proud of the baste, and with rayson; for she was worth her weight in goold
to him in saving his sacks of meal from the thievery of the rats and mice;
for Tom was an extensive dealer in corn, and influenced the rise and fall
of that article in the market, to the extent of a full dozen of sacks at a
time, which he either kept or sold, as the spirit of free trade or
monopoly came over him. Indeed, at one time, Tom had serious thoughts of
applying to the government for a military force to protect his granary
when there was a threatened famine in the county."

"Pooh! pooh! sir," said the matter-of-fact little man: "as if a dozen
sacks could be of the smallest consequence in a whole county--pooh! pooh!"

"Well, sir," said Murphy, "I can't help if you don't believe; but it's
truth what I am telling you, and pray don't interrupt me, though you may
not believe; by the time the story's done you'll have heard more wonderful
things than _that_,--and besides, remember you're a stranger in these
parts, and have no notion of the extraordinary things, physical,
metaphysical, and magical, which constitute the idiosyncrasy of rural
destiny."

The little man did not know the meaning of Murphy's last sentence--nor
Murphy either; but, having stopped the little man's throat with big words,
he proceeded--

"This cat, sir, you must know, was a great pet, and was so up to
everything, that Tom swore she was a'most like a Christian, only she
couldn't speak, and had so sensible a look in her eyes, that he was sartin
sure the cat knew every word that was said to her. Well, she used to sit
by him at breakfast every morning, and the eloquent cock of her tail, as
she used to rub against his leg, said, 'Give me some milk, Tom Connor,' as
plain as print, and the plenitude of her purr afterwards spoke a gratitude
beyond language. Well, one morning, Tom was going to the neighbouring town
to market, and he had promised the wife to bring home shoes to the
childre' out o' the price of the corn; and sure enough, before he sat down
to breakfast, there was Tom taking the measure of the children's feet, by
cutting notches on a bit of stick; and the wife gave him so many cautions
about getting a 'nate fit' for 'Billy's purty feet,' that Tom, in his
anxiety to nick the closest possible measure, cut off the child's toe.
That disturbed the harmony of the party, and Tom was obliged to breakfast
alone, while the mother was endeavouring to cure Billy; in short, trying
to make a _heal_ of his _toe_. Well, sir, all the time Tom was
taking measure for the shoes, the cat was observing him with that luminous
peculiarity of eye for which her tribe is remarkable; and when Tom sat
down to breakfast the cat rubbed up against him more vigorously than
usual; but Tom, being bewildered between his expected gain in corn and the
positive loss of his child's toe, kept never minding her, until the cat,
with a sort of caterwauling growl, gave Tom a dab of her claws, that went
clean through his leathers, and a little further. 'Wow!' says Tom, with a
jump, clapping his hand on the part, and rubbing it, 'by this and that,
you drew the blood out o' me,' says Tom; 'you wicked divil--tish!--go
along!' says he, making a kick at her. With that the cat gave a
reproachful look at him, and her eyes glared just like a pair of
mail-coach lamps in a fog. With that, sir, the cat, with a mysterious
_'mi-ow'_ fixed a most penetrating glance on Tom, and distinctly uttered
his name.

"Tom felt every hair on his head as stiff as a pump-handle; and scarcely
crediting his ears, he returned a searching look at the cat, who very
quietly proceeded in a sort of nasal twang--

"'Tom Connor,' says she.

"'The Lord be good to me!' says Tom, 'if it isn't spakin' she is!'

"'Tom Connor,' says she again.

"'Yes, ma'am,' says Tom.

"'Come here,' says she; 'whisper--I want to talk to you, Tom,' says she,
'the laste taste in private,' says she--rising on her hams, and beckoning
him with her paw out o' the door, with a wink and a toss o' the head
aiqual to a milliner.

"Well, as you may suppose, Tom didn't know whether he was on his head or
his heels, but he followed the cat, and off she went and squatted herself
under the edge of a little paddock at the back of Tom's house; and as he
came round the corner, she held up her paw again, and laid it on her
mouth, as much as to say, 'Be cautious, Tom.' Well, divil a word Tom could
say at all, with the fright, so up he goes to the cat, and says she--

"'Tom,' says she, 'I have a great respect for you, and there's something I
must tell you, becase you're losing character with your neighbours,' says
she, 'by your goin's on,' says she, 'and it's out o' the respect that I
have for you, that I must tell you,' says she.

"'Thank you, ma'am,' says Tom.

"'You're goin' off to the town,' says she, 'to buy shoes for the
childre',' says she, 'and never thought o' gettin' me a pair.'

"'You!' says Tom."

"'Yis, me, Tom Connor,' says she; 'and the neighbours wondhers that a
respectable man like you allows your cat to go about the counthry
barefutted,' says she."

"'Is it a cat to ware shoes?' says Tom."

"'Why not?' says she; 'doesn't horses ware shoes?--and I have a prettier
foot than a horse, I hope,' says she, with a toss of her head."

"'Faix, she spakes like a woman; so proud of her feet,' says Tom to
himself, astonished, as you may suppose, but pretending never to think it
remarkable all the time; and so he went on discoursin'; and says he, 'It's
thrue for you, ma'am,' says he, 'that horses wares shoes--but that stands
to rayson, ma'am, you see--seeing the hardship their feet has to go
through on the hard roads.'"

"'And how do you know what hardship my feet has to go through?' says the
cat, mighty sharp."

"'But, ma'am,' says Tom, 'I don't well see how you could fasten a shoe on
you,' says he."

"'Lave that to me,' says the cat."

"'Did any one ever stick walnut shells on you, pussy?' says Tom, with a
grin."

"'Don't be disrespectful, Tom Connor,' says the cat, with a frown."

"'I ax your pard'n, ma'am,' says he, 'but as for the horses you wor
spakin' about wearin' shoes, you know their shoes is fastened on with
nails, and how would your shoes be fastened on?'"

"'Ah, you stupid thief!' says she, 'haven't I illigant nails o' my own?'
and with that she gave him a dab of her claw, that made him roar."

"'Ow! murdher!' says he."

"'Now, no more of your palaver, Misther Connor,' says the cat; 'just be
off and get me the shoes.'"

"'Tare an' ouns!' says Tom, 'what'll become o' me if I'm to get shoes for
my cats?' says he, 'for you increase your family four times a year, and
you have six or seven every time,' says he; 'and then you must all have
two pair a piece--wirra! wirra!--I'll be ruined in shoe-leather,' says
Tom.

"'No more o' your stuff,' says the cat; 'don't be stand in' here undher
the hedge talkin', or we'll lose our karacthers--for I've remarked your
wife is jealous, Tom.'

"'Pon my sowl, that's thrue,' says Tom, with a smirk.

"'More fool she,' says the cat, 'for, 'pon my conscience, Tom, you're as
ugly as if you wor bespoke.'

"Off ran the cat with these words, leaving Tom in amazement. He said
nothing to the family, for fear of fright'ning them, and off he went to
the _town_ as he _pretended_--for he saw the cat watching him
through a hole in the hedge; but when he came to a turn at the end of the
road, the dickings a mind he minded the market, good or bad, but went off
to Squire Botherum's, the magisthrit, to sware examinations agen the cat."

"Pooh! pooh!--nonsense!!" broke in the little man, who had listened thus
far to Murtough with an expression of mingled wonder and contempt, while
the rest of the party willingly gave up the reins to nonsense, and enjoyed
Murtough's Legend and their companion's more absurd common sense.

"Don't interrupt him, Goggins," said Mister Wiggins.

"How can you listen to such nonsense?" returned Goggins. "Swear
examinations against a cat, indeed! pooh! pooh!"

"My dear sir," said Murtough, "remember this is a fair story, and that the
country all around here is full of enchantment. As I was telling you, Tom
went off to swear examinations."

"Ay, ay!" shouted all but Goggins; "go on with the story."

"And when Tom was asked to relate the events of the morning, which brought
him before Squire Botherum, his brain was so bewildered between his corn,
and his cat, and his child's toe, that he made a very confused account of
it.

"'Begin your story from the beginning,' said the magistrate to Tom.

"'Well, your honour,' says Tom, 'I was goin' to market this mornin', to
sell the child's corn--I beg your pard'n--my own toes, I mane, sir.'

"'Sell your toes!' said the Squire.

"'No, sir, takin' the cat to market, I mane--'

"'Take a cat to market!' said the Squire. 'You're drunk, man.'

"'No, your honour, only confused a little; for when the toes began to
spake to me--the cat, I mane--I was bothered clane--'

"'The cat speak to you!' said the Squire. 'Phew! worse than before--you're
drunk, Tom.'

"'No, your honour; it's on the strength of the cat I come to spake to
you--'

"'I think it's on the strength of a pint of whisky, Tom--'

"'By the vartue o' my oath, your honour, it's nothin' but the cat.' And so
Tom then told him all about the affair, and the Squire was regularly
astonished. Just then the bishop of the diocese and the priest of the
parish happened to call in, and heard the story; and the bishop and the
priest had a tough argument for two hours on the subject; the former
swearing she must be a witch; but the priest denying _that_, and
maintaining she was _only_ enchanted; and that part of the argument
was afterwards referred to the primate, and subsequently to the conclave
at Rome; but the Pope declined interfering about cats, saying he had quite
enough to do minding his own bulls.

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