Book: Handy Andy, Vol. 2

S >> Samuel Lover >> Handy Andy, Vol. 2




"Sure, hadn't he his friends, _sthrong_, outside?"

"No matther, if the door wasn't opened to them, for _then_ YOU would
have had a stronger friend than any o' them present among them."

"Who?" inquired Andy.

"The _hangman_" answered his mother; "for breaking doors is hanging
matther; and I say the presence of the hangman's always before people when
they have such a job to do, and makes them think twice sometimes before
they smash once; and so you had only to keep one woman's hands quiet."

"Faix, some of them would smash a door as soon as not," said Andy.

"Well, then, you'd have the satisfaction of hanging them," said the
mother, "and that would be some consolation. But even as it is, I'll have
law for it--I will--for the property is yours, any how, though the
girl is gone--and indeed a brazen baggage she is, and is mighty heavy in
the hand. Oh, my poor eye!--it's like a coal of fire--but sure it was
worth the risk living with her for the sake of the purty property. And
sure I was thinkin' what a pleasure it would be living with you, and
tachin' your wife housekeepin', and bringing up the young turkeys and the
childhre--but, och hone, you'll never do a bit o' good, you that got sitch
careful bringin' up, Andy Rooney! Didn't I tache you manners, you dirty
hanginbone blackguard? Didn't I tache you your blessed religion?--may the
divil sweep you! Did I ever prevent you from sharing the lavings of the
pratees with the pig?--and didn't you often clane out the pot with him?
and you're no good afther all. I've turned my honest penny by the pig, but
I'll never make my money of _you_, Andy Rooney!"

There was some minutes' silence after this eloquent outbreak of Andy's
mother, which was broken at last by Andy uttering a long sigh and an
ejaculation.

"Och? it's a fine thing to be a gintleman," said Andy.

"Cock you up!" said his mother. "Maybe it's a gintleman you want to be;
what puts that in your head, you _omadhaun_?"

"Why, because a gintleman has no hardships, compared with one of uz. Sure,
if a gintleman was married, his wife wouldn't be tuk off from him the way
mine was."

"Not so soon, maybe," said the mother, drily.

"And if a gintleman brakes a horse's heart, he's only a '_bowld
rider_,' while a poor sarvant is a 'careless blackguard' for only
taking a sweat out of him. If a gintleman dhrinks till he can't see a hole
in a laddher, he's only '_feesh_--but '_dhrunk_' is the word for
a poor man. And if a gintleman kicks up a row, he's a 'fine sperited
fellow,' while a poor man is a 'disordherly vagabone' for the same;
and the Justice axes the one to dinner and sends th' other to jail.
Oh, faix, the law is a dainty lady; she takes people by the hand who can
afford to wear gloves, but people with brown fists must keep their
distance."

"I often remark," said his mother, "that fools spake mighty sinsible
betimes; but their wisdom all goes with their gab. Why didn't you take a
betther grip of your luck when you had it? You're wishing you wor a
gintleman, and yet when you had the best part of a gintleman (the
property, I mane) put into your way, you let it slip through your fingers;
and afther lettin' a fellow take a rich wife from you and turn you out of
your own house, you sit down on a stool there, and begin to _wish_
indeed!--you sneakin' fool--wish, indeed! Och! if you wish with one hand,
and wash with th' other, which will be clane first--eh?"

"What could I do agen eight?" asked Andy.

"Why did you let them in, I say again?" said the mother, quickly.

"Sure the blame wasn't with me," said Andy, "but with--"

"Whisht, whisht, you goose!" said his mother. "Av course you'll blame
every one and everything but yourself--'_The losing horse blames the
saddle_.'"

"Well, maybe it's all for the best," said Andy, "afther all."

"Augh, howld your tongue!"

"And if it _wasn't_ to be, how could it be?"

"Listen to him!"

"And Providence is over us all."

"Oh! yis!" said the mother. "When fools make mistakes they lay the
blame on Providence. How have you the impidence to talk o' Providence
in that manner? _I'll_ tell you where the Providence was. Providence
sent you to Jack Dwyer's, and kep Jim Casey away, and put the anger
into owld Jack's heart--that's what the Providence did!--and made
the opening for you to spake up, and gave you a wife--a wife with
_property!_ Ah, there's where the Providence was!--and you were
the masther of a snug house--that was Providence! And wouldn't myself
have been the one to be helping you in the farm--rearing the powlts,
milkin' the cow, makin' the iligant butther, with lavings of butthermilk
for the pigs--the sow thriving, and the cocks and hens cheering your
heart with their cacklin'--the hank o' yarn on the wheel, and a hank
of ingins up the chimbley--oh! there's where the Providence would
have been--that _would have been Providence indeed!_--but never
tell me that Providence turned you out of the house; _that_ was your
own _goostherumfoodle._"

"Can't he take the law o' them, aunt?" inquired Oonah.

"To be sure he can--and shall, too," said the mother. "I'll be off to
'torney Murphy to-morrow; I'll pursue her for my eye, and Andy for the
property, and I'll put them all in Chancery, the villains!"

"It's Newgate they ought to be put in," said Andy.

"Tut, you fool, Chancery is worse than Newgate: for people sometimes get
out of Newgate, but they never get out of Chancery, I hear."

As Mrs. Rooney spoke, the latch of the door was raised, and a miserably
clad woman entered, closed the door immediately after her, and placed the
bar against it. The action attracted the attention of all the inmates of
the house, for the doors of the peasantry are universally "left on the
latch," and never secured against intrusion until the family go to bed.

"God save all here!" said the woman, as she approached the fire.

"Oh, is that you, ragged Nance?" said Mrs. Rooney; for that was the
unenviable but descriptive title the new-comer was known by: and though
she knew it for her _soubriquet_, yet she also knew Mrs. Rooney
would not call her by it if she were not in an ill temper, so she
began humbly to explain the cause of her visit, when Mrs. Rooney broke in
gruffly--

"Oh, you always make out a good rayson for coming; but we have nothing for
you to-night."

"Throth, you do me wrong," said the beggar, "if you think I came
_shooling._ [Footnote: Going on chance here and there, to pick up
what one can.] It's only to keep harm from the innocent girl here."

"Arrah, what harm would happen her, woman?" returned the widow, savagely,
rendered more morose by the humble bearing of her against whom she
directed her severity; as if she got more angry the less the poor creature
would give her cause to justify her harshness. "Isn't she undher my roof
here?"

"But how long may she be left there?" asked the woman, significantly.

"What do you mane, woman?"

"I mane there's a plan to carry her off from you to-night."

Oonah grew pale with true terror, and the widow screeched, after the more
approved manner of elderly ladies making believe they are very much
shocked, till Nance reminded her that crying would do no good, and that it
was requisite to make some preparation against the approaching danger.
Various plans were hastily suggested, and as hastily relinquished, till
Nance advised a measure which was deemed the best. It was to dress Andy in
female attire and let him be carried off in place of the girl. Andy roared
with laughter at the notion of being made a girl of, and said the trick
would instantly be seen through.

"Not if you act your part well; just keep down the giggle, jewel, and put
on a moderate _phillelew,_ and do the thing nice and steady, and
you'll be the saving of your cousin here."

"_You_ may deceive them with the dhress; and _I_ may do
a bit of a small _shilloo,_ like a _colleen_ in disthress,
and that's all very well," said Andy, "as far as seeing and hearing goes;
but when they come to grip me, sure they'll find out in a minute."

"We'll stuff you out well with rags and sthraw, and they'll never know the
differ--besides, remember, the fellow that wants a girl never comes for
her himself, [Footnote: This is mostly the case.] but sends his friends
for her, and they won't know the differ--besides, they're all dhrunk."

"How do you know?"

"Because they're always dhrunk--that same crew; and if they're not dhrunk
to-night, it's the first time in their lives they ever were sober. So make
haste, now, and put off your coat, till we make a purty young colleen out
o' you."

It occurred now to the widow that it was a service of great danger Andy
was called on to perform; and with all her abuse of "_omadhaun_" she
did not like the notion of putting him in the way of losing his life,
perhaps.

"They'll murdher the boy, maybe, when they find out the chate," said the
widow.

"Not a bit," said Nance.

"And suppose they did," said Andy, "I'd rather die, sure, than the
disgrace should fall upon Oonah, there."

"God bless you, Andy dear!" said Oonah. "Sure, you have the kind heart,
anyhow; but I wouldn't for the world hurt or harm should come to you on my
account."

"Oh, don't be afeard!" said Andy, cheerily; "divil a hair I value all they
can do; so dhress me up at once."

After some more objections on the part of his mother, which Andy
overruled, the women all joined in making up Andy into as tempting an
imitation of feminality as they could contrive; but to bestow the
roundness of outline on the angular form of Andy was no easy matter,
and required more rags than the house afforded, so some straw was
indispensable, which the pig's bed only could supply. In the midst of
their fears, the women could not help laughing as they effected some
likeness to their own forms, with their stuffing and padding; but to carry
off the width of Andy's shoulders required a very ample and voluptuous
outline indeed, and Andy could not help wishing the straw was a little
sweeter which they were packing under his nose. At last, however, after
soaping down his straggling hair on his forehead, and tying a bonnet upon
his head to shade his face as much as possible, the disguise was
completed, and the next move was to put Oonah in a place of safety.

"Get upon the hurdle in the corner, under the thatch," said Nance.

"Oh, I'd be afeard o' my life to stay in the house at all."

"You'd be safe enough, I tell you," said Nance; "for once they see that
fine young woman there," pointing to Andy, and laughing, "they'll be
satisfied with the lob we've made for them."

Oonah still expressed her fear of remaining in the cabin.

"Then hide in the pratee-trench, behind the house."

"That's better," said Oonah.

"And now I must be going," said Nance; "for they must not see me when they
come."

"Oh, don't leave me, Nance dear," cried Oonah, "for I'm sure I'll faint
with the fright when I hear them coming, if some one is not with me."

Nance yielded to Oonah's fears and entreaties, and with many a blessing
and boundless thanks for the beggar-woman's kindness, Oonah led the way to
the little potato garden at the back of the house, and there the women
squatted themselves in one of the trenches and awaited the impending
event.

[Illustration: The Abduction]

It was not long in arriving. The tramp of approaching horses at a sharp
pace rang through the stillness of the night, and the women, crouching
flat beneath the overspreading branches of the potato tops, lay breathless
in the bottom of the trench, as the riders came up to the widow's cottage
and entered. There they found the widow and her pseudo niece sitting at
the fire; and three drunken vagabonds, for the fourth was holding the
horses outside, cut some fantastic capers round the cabin, and making a
mock obeisance to the widow, the spokesman addressed her with--

"Your sarvant, ma'am!"

"Who are yiz at all, gintleman, that comes to my place at this time o'
night, and what's your business?"

"We want the loan o' that young woman there, ma'am," said the ruffian.

Andy and his mother both uttered small squalls.

"And as for who we are, ma'am, we're the blessed society of Saint Joseph,
ma'am--our coat of arms is two heads upon one pillow, and our motty,
'Who's afraid?--Hurroo!'" shouted the savage, and he twirled his stick and
cut another caper. Then coming up to Andy, he addressed him as "young
woman," and said there was a fine strapping fellow whose heart was
breaking till he "rowled her in his arms."

Andy and the mother both acted their parts very well. He rushed to the
arms of the old woman for protection, and screeched small, while the widow
shouted "_millia murther!_" at the top of her voice, and did not give
up her hold of the make-believe young woman until her cap was torn half
off, and her hair streamed about her face. She called on all the saints in
the calendar, as she knelt in the middle of the floor and rocked to and
fro, with her clasped hands raised to heaven, calling down curses on the
"villains and robbers" that were tearing her child from her, while they
threatened to stop her breath altogether if she did not make less noise,
and in the midst of the uproar dragged off Andy, whose struggles
and despair might have excited the suspicion of soberer men. They
lifted him up on a stout horse, in front of the most powerful man
of the party, who gripped Andy hard round the middle and pushed his
horse to a hand gallop, followed by the rest of the party. The proximity
of Andy to his _cavaliero_ made the latter sensible to the bad
odour of the pig's bed, which formed Andy's luxurious bust and bustle;
but he attributed the unsavoury scent to a bad breath on the lady's
part, and would sometimes address his charge thus:--

"Young woman, if you plaze, would you turn your face th' other way;" then
in a side soliloquy, "By Jaker, I wondher at Jack's taste--she's a fine
lump of a girl, but her breath is murther intirely--phew--young woman,
turn away your face, or by this and that I'll fall off the horse. I've
heerd of a bad breath that might knock a man down, but I never met it till
now. Oh, murther! it's worse it's growin'--I suppose 't is the bumpin'
she's gettin' that shakes the breath out of her sthrong--oh, there it is
again--phew!"

It was as well, perhaps, for the prosecution of the deceit, that the
distaste the fellow conceived for his charge prevented any closer
approaches to Andy's visage, which might have dispelled the illusion under
which he still pushed forward to the hills and bumped poor Andy towards
the termination of his ride. Keeping a sharp look-out as he went along,
Andy soon was able to perceive they were making for that wild part of the
hills where he had discovered the private still on the night of his
temporary fright and imaginary rencontre with the giants, and the
conversation he partly overheard all recurred to him, and he saw at once
that Oonah was the person alluded to, whose name he could not catch, a
circumstance that cost him many a conjecture in the interim. This gave him
a clue to the persons into whose power he was about to fall, after having
so far defeated their scheme, and he saw he should have to deal with very
desperate and lawless parties. Remembering, moreover, the herculean frame
of the inamorato, he calculated on an awful thrashing as the smallest
penalty he should have to pay for deceiving him, but was, nevertheless,
determined to go through the adventure with a good heart, to make deceit
serve his turn as long as he might, and at the last, if necessary, to make
the best fight he could.

As it happened, luck favoured Andy in his adventure, for the hero of the
blunderbuss (and he, it will be remembered, was the love-sick gentleman)
drank profusely on the night in question, quaffing deep potations to the
health of his Oonah, wishing luck to his friends and speed to their
horses, and every now and then ascending the ladder from the cave, and
looking out for the approach of the party. On one of these occasions, from
the unsteadiness of the ladder, or himself, or perhaps both, his foot
slipped, and he came to the ground with a heavy fall, in which his head
received so severe a blow that he became insensible, and it was some time
before his sister, who was an inhabitant of this den, could restore him to
consciousness. This she did, however, and the savage recovered all the
senses the whisky had left him; but still the stunning effect of the fall
cooled his courage considerably, and, as it were, "bothered" him so, that
he felt much less of the "gallant gay Lothario" than he had done before
the accident.

The tramp of horses was heard overhead ere long, and _Shan More_, or
Big John, as the Hercules was called, told Bridget to go up to "the
darlin'," and help her down.

"For that's a blackguard laddher," said he; "it turned undher me like an
eel, bad luck to it!--tell her I'd go up myself, only the ground is
slipping from undher me--and the laddher--"

Bridget went off, leaving Jack growling forth anathemas against the
ground and the ladder, and returned speedily with the mock-lady and
her attendant squires.

"Oh, my jewel!" roared Jack, as he caught sight of his prize. He scrambled
up on his legs, and made a rush at Andy, who imitated a woman's scream and
fright at the expected embrace; but it was with much greater difficulty he
suppressed his laughter at the headlong fall with which Big Jack plunged
his head into a heap of turf, [Footnote: Peat] and hugged a sack of malt
which lay beside it.

Andy endeavoured to overcome the provocation to merriment by screeching;
and as Bridget caught the sound of this tendency towards laughter between
the screams, she thought it was the commencement of a fit of hysterics,
and it accounted all the better for Andy's extravagant antics.

"Oh, the craythur is frightened out of her life!" said Bridget. "Leave her
to me," said she to the men. "There, jewel machree!" she continued to
Andy, soothingly, "don't take on you that way--don't be afeerd, you're
among friends--Jack is only dhrunk dhrinking your health, darlin', but he
adores you." Andy screeched.

"But don't be afeerd, you'll be thrated tender, and he'll marry you,
darlin', like an honest woman!"

Andy squalled.

"But not to-night, jewel--don't be frightened."

Andy gave a heavy sob at the respite.

"Boys, will you lift Jack out o' the turf, and carry him up into the air?
't will be good for him, and this dacent girl will sleep with me
to-night."

Andy couldn't resist a laugh at this, and Bridget feared the girl was
going off into hysterics again.

"Aisy, dear--aisy--sure you'll be safe with me."

"Ow! ow! ow!" shouted Andy.

"Oh, murther!" cried Bridget, "the sterricks will be the death of her!
You blackguards, you frightened her coming up here, I'm sure."

The men swore they behaved in the genteelest manner. "Well, take away
Jack, and the girl shall have share of my bed for this night."

Andy shook internally with laughter.

"Dear, dear, how she thrimbles!" cried Bridget, "Don't be so frightful,
_lanna machree_--there, now--they're taking Jack away, and you're
alone with myself and will have a nice sleep."

The men all the time were removing _Shan More_ to upper air; and the
last sounds they heard as they left the cave were the coaxing tones of
Bridget's voice, inviting Andy, in the softest words, to go to bed.




CHAPTER XXXV


The workshops of Neck-or-Nothing Hall rang with the sounds of occupation
for two days after the demise of its former master. The hoarse grating
sound of the saw, the whistling of the plane, and the stroke of the mallet
denoted the presence of the carpenter; and the sharper clink of a hammer
told of old Fogy, the family "milliner," being at work; but it was not on
millinery Fogy was now employed, though neither was it legitimate tinker's
work. He was scrolling out with his shears, and beating into form, a plate
of tin, to serve for the shield on O'Grady's coffin, which was to record
his name, age, and day of departure; and this was the second plate on
which the old man worked, for one was already finished in the corner. Why
are there two coffin-plates? Enter the carpenter's shop, and you will see
the answer in two coffins the carpenter has nearly completed. But why two
coffins for one death? Listen, reader, to a bit of Irish strategy.

It has been stated that an apprehension was entertained of a seizure of
the inanimate body of O'Grady for the debts it had contracted in life, and
the harpy nature of the money-lender from whom this movement was dreaded
warranted the fear. Had O'Grady been popular, such a measure on the part
of a cruel creditor might have been defied, as the surrounding peasantry
would have risen _en masse_ to prevent it; but the hostile position
in which he had placed himself towards the people alienated the natural
affection they are born with for their chiefs, and any partial defence the
few fierce retainers whom individual interest had attached to him could
have made might have been insufficient; therefore, to save his father's
remains from the pollution (as the son considered) of a bailiff's touch,
Gustavus determined to achieve by stratagem what he could not accomplish
by force, and had two coffins constructed, the one to be filled with
stones and straw, and sent out by the front entrance with all the
demonstration of a real funeral, and be given up to the attack it was
feared would be made upon it while the other, put to its legitimate use,
should be placed on a raft, and floated down the river to an ancient
burial-ground which lay some miles below on the opposite bank. A facility
for this was afforded by a branch of the river running up into the domain,
as it will be remembered; and the scene of the bearish freaks played upon
Furlong was to witness a trick of a more serious nature.

While all these preparations were going forward, the "waking" was kept up
in all the barbarous style of old times; eating and drinking in profusion
went on in the house, and the kitchen of the hall rang with joviality. The
feats of sports and arms of the man who had passed away were lauded, and
his comparative achievements with those of his progenitors gave rise to
many a stirring anecdote; and bursts of barbarous exultation, or more
barbarous merriment, rang in the house of death. There was no lack of
whisky to fire the brains of these revellers, for the standard of the
measurement of family grandeur was, too often, a liquid one in Ireland,
even so recently as the time we speak of; and the dozens of wine wasted
during the life it helped to shorten, and the posthumous gallons consumed
in toasting to the memory of the departed, were among the cherished
remembrances of hereditary honour. "There were two hogsheads of whisky
drank at my father's wake!" was but a moderate boast of a true Irish
squire, fifty years ago.

And now the last night of the wake approached, and the retainers
thronged to honour the obsequies of their departed chief with an
increased enthusiasm, which rose in proportion as the whisky got
low; and songs in praise of their present occupation--that is, getting
drunk--rang merrily round, and the sports of the field and the sorrows and
joys of love resounded; in short, the ruling passions of life figured in
rhyme and music in honour of this occasion of death--and as death is the
maker of widows, a very animated discussion on the subject of widowhood
arose, which afforded great scope for the rustic wits, and was crowned by
the song of "Widow Machree" being universally called for by the company;
and a fine-looking fellow with a merry eye and large white teeth, which he
amply displayed by a wide mouth, poured forth in cheery tones a pretty
lively air which suited well the humorous spirit of the words:--

WIDOW MACHREE

"Widow _machree_, it's no wonder you frown,
Och hone! widow machree:
'Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,
Och hone! widow machree.
How altered your hair,
With that close cap you wear--
'Tis destroying your hair
Which should be flowing free:
Be no longer a churl
Of its black silken curl,
Och hone! widow machree.

"Widow machree, now the summer is come,
Och hone! widow machree;
When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum!
Och hone! widow machree.
See the birds go in pairs,
And the rabbits and hares--
Why even the bears
Now in couples agree;
And the mute little fish,
Though they can't spake, they wish,
Och hone! widow machree.

"Widow machree, and when winter comes in,
Och hone! widow machree,
To be poking the fire all alone is a sin,
Och hone! widow machree,
Sure the shovel and tongs
To each other belongs,
And the kittle sings songs
Full of family glee,
While alone with your cup,
Like a hermit _you_ sup--
Och hone! widow machree.

"And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld,
Och hone! widow machree,
But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld,
Och hone! widow machree.
With such sins on your head,
Sure your peace would be fled,
Could you sleep in your bed,
Without thinking to see
Some ghost or some sprite,
That would wake you each night,
Crying, 'Och hone! widow machree.'

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