Book: Handy Andy, Vol. 2

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




Still, however, he resisted the repeated offers of the couch proposed to
him, declaring he would sleep in his clothes, and leave to Bridget the
full possession of her lair.

The fire began to burn low, and Andy thought he might facilitate his
escape by counterfeiting sleep; so feigning slumber as well as he could,
he seemed to sink into insensibility, and Bridget unrobed herself and
retired behind a rough screen.

It was by a great effort that Andy kept himself awake, for his potations,
added to his nocturnal excursion, tended towards somnolency; but
the desire of escape, and fear of a discovery and its consequences,
prevailed over the ordinary tendency of nature, and he remained awake,
watching every sound. The silence at last became painful--so still
was it, that he could hear the small crumbling sound of the dying
embers as they decomposed and shifted their position on the hearth, and
yet he could not be satisfied from the breathing of the woman that she
slept. After the lapse of half an hour, however, he ventured to make some
movement. He had well observed the quarter in which the outlet from the
cave lay, and there was still a faint glimmer from the fire to assist him
in crawling towards the trap. It was a relief when, after some minutes of
cautious creeping, he felt the fresh air breathing from above, and a
moment or two more brought him in contact with the ladder. With the
stealth of a cat he began to climb the rungs--he could hear the men
snoring on the outside of the cave: step by step as he arose he felt his
heart beat faster at the thought of escape, and became more cautious. At
length his head emerged from the cave, and he saw the men lying about its
mouth; they lay close around it--he must step over them to escape--the
chance is fearful, but he determines to attempt it--he ascends still
higher--his foot is on the last rung of the ladder--the next step puts him
on the heather--when he feels a hand lay hold of him from below!

His heart died within him at the touch, and he could not resist an
exclamation.

"Who's that?" exclaimed one of the men outside. Andy crouched.

"Come down," said the voice softly from below; "if Jack sees you, it will
be worse for you."

It was the voice of Bridget, and Andy felt it was better to be with her
than exposed to the savagery of Shan More and his myrmidons; so he
descended quietly, and gave himself up to the tight hold of Bridget, who,
with many asseverations that "out of her arms she would not let the
prisoner go till morning," led him back to the cave.




CHAPTER XXXIX


"Great wit to madness nearly is allied,
And thin partitions do the bounds divide."

So sings the poet; but whether the wit be great or little, the "thin
partition" separating madness from sanity is equally mysterious. It is
true that the excitability attendant upon genius approximates so closely
to madness, that it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between them;
but, without the attendant "genius" to hold up the train of madness, and
call for our special permission and respect in any of its fantastic
excursions, the most ordinary crack-brain sometimes chooses to sport in
the regions of sanity, and, without the license which genius is supposed
to dispense to her children, poach over the preserves of common sense.
This is a well-known fact, and would not be reiterated here, but that the
circumstances about to be recorded hereafter might seem unworthy of
belief; and as the veracity of our history we would not have for one
moment questioned, we have ventured to jog the memory of our readers as to
the close neighbourhood of madness and common sense, before we record a
curious instance of intermitting madness in the old dowager O'Grady.

Her son's death had, by the violence of the shock, dragged her from the
region of fiction in which she habitually existed; but after the funeral
she relapsed into all her strange aberration, and her bird-clock and her
chimney-pot head-dress were once more in requisition.

The old lady had her usual attendance from her granddaughter, and
the customary offering of flowers was rendered, but they were not
so cared for as before, and Charlotte was dismissed sooner than usual
from her morning's attendance, and a new favourite received in her
place. And "of all the birds in the air," who should this favourite be
but Master Ratty. Yes!--Ratty--the caricaturist of his grandmamma, was,
"for the nonce," her closeted companion. Many a guess was given as to
"what in the world" grandmamma _could_ want with Ratty; but the
secret was kept between them, for this reason, that the old lady kept
_the reward she promised_ Ratty for preserving it in her own hands,
until the duty she required on his part should be accomplished, and the
shilling a day to which Ratty looked forward kept him faithful.

Now the duty Master Ratty had to perform was instructing his grandmamma
how to handle a pistol; the bringing up quick to the mark, and levelling
by "the sight," was explained; but a difficulty arose in the old lady's
shutting her left eye, which Ratty declared to be indispensable, and for
some time Ratty was obliged to stand on a chair and cover his grandmamma's
eye with his hand while she took aim; this was found inconvenient,
however, and the old lady substituted a black silk shade to obfuscate her
sinister luminary in her exercises, which now advanced to snapping the
lock, and knocking sparks from the flint, which made the old lady wink
with her right eye. When this second habit was overcome, the "dry"
practice, that is, without powder, was given up; and a "flash in the pan"
was ventured upon, but this made her shut both eyes together, and it was
some time before she could prevail on herself to hold her eye fixed on her
mark, and pull the trigger. This, however, at last was accomplished, and
when she had conquered the fear of seeing the flash, she adopted the plan
of standing before a handsome old-fashioned looking-glass which reached
from the ceiling to the floor, and levelling the pistol at her own
reflection within it, as if she were engaged in mortal combat; and
every time she snapped and burned priming she would exclaim, "I hit
him that time!--I know I can kill him--_tremble, villain_!"

As long as this pistol practice had the charm of novelty for Ratty, it was
all very well; but when, day by day, the strange mistakes and nervousness
of his grandmamma became less piquant from repetition, it was not such
good fun; and when the rantipole boy, after as much time as he wished to
devote to the old woman's caprice, endeavoured to emancipate himself and
was countermanded, an outburst of _"Oh, bother!"_ would take place,
till the grandmother called up the prospective shillings to his view, and
Ratty bowed before the altar of Mammon. But even Mammon failed to keep
Ratty loyal; for that heathen god, Momus, claimed a superior allegiance;
Ratty worshipped the "cap and bells" as the true crown, and "the bauble"
as the sovereign sceptre. Besides, the secret became troublesome to him,
and he determined to let the whole house know what "gran" and he were
about, in a way of his own.

The young imp, in the next day's practice, worked up the grandmamma to a
state of great excitement, urging her to take a cool and determined aim at
the looking-glass. "Cover him well, gran," said Ratty.

"I will," said the dowager, resolutely.

"You ought to be able to hit him at six paces."

"I stand at twelve paces."

"No--you are only six from the looking-glass."

"But the reflection, child, in the mirror, doubles the distance."

"Bother!" said Ratty. "Here, take the pistol--mind your eye and don't
wink."

"Ratty, you are singularly obtuse to the charms of science."

"What's science?" said Ratty.

"Science, child, is knowledge of a lofty and abstruse nature, developing
itself in wonderful inventions--gunpowder, for instance, is made by
science."

"Indeed it is not," said Ratty; "I never saw his name on a canister.
Pigou, Andrew, and Wilks, or Mister Dartford Mills, are the men for
gunpowder. You know nothing about it, gran."

"Ratty, you are disrespectful, and will not listen to instruction. I knew
Kirwan--the great Kirwan, the chemist, who always wore his hat--"

"Then he knew chemistry better than manners."

"Ratty, you are very troublesome. I desire you listen, sir. Kirwan, sir,
told me all about science, and the Dublin Society have his picture, with a
bottle in his hand--"

"Then he was fond of drink," said Ratty.

"Ratty, don't be pert. To come back to what I was originally saying--I
repeat, sir, I am at twelve paces from my object, six from the mirror,
which, doubled by reflection, makes twelve; such is the law of optics. I
suppose you know what optics are?"

"To be sure I do."

"Tell me, then."

"Our eyes," said Ratty.

"Eyes!" exclaimed the old lady, in amaze.

"To be sure," answered Ratty, boldly. "Didn't I hear the old blind man at
the fair asking charity 'for the loss of his blessed optics'?"

"Oh, what lamentable ignorance, my child!" exclaimed the old lady. "Your
tutor ought to be ashamed of himself."

"So he is," said Ratty. "He hasn't had a pair of new breeches for the last
seven years, and he hides himself whenever he sees mamma or the girls."

"Oh, you ignorant child! Indeed, Ratty, my love, you must study. I will
give you the renowned Kirwan's book. Charlotte tore some of it for
curl papers; but there's enough left to enlighten you with the sun's
rays, and reflection and refraction--"

"I know what _that_ is," said Ratty.

"What?"

"Refraction."

"And what is it, dear?"

"Bad behaviour," said Ratty.

"Oh, Heavens!" exclaimed his grandmother.

"Yes, it is," said Ratty, stoutly; "the tutor says I'm refractory when I
behave ill; and he knows Latin better than you."

"Ratty, Ratty! you are hopeless!" exclaimed his grandmamma.

"No, I am not," said Ratty. "I'm always _hoping_. And I hope Uncle
Robert will break his neck some day, and leave us his money."

The old woman turned up her eyes, and exclaimed, "You wicked boy!"

"Fudge!" said Ratty; "he's an old shaver, and we want it; and indeed,
gran, you ought to give me ten shillings for ten days' teaching, now; and
there's a fair next week, and I want to buy things."

"Ratty, I told you when you made me perfect in the use of my weapon I
would pay you. My promise is sacred, and I will observe it with that
scrupulous honour which has ever been the characteristic of the family; as
soon as I hit something, and satisfy myself of my mastery over the weapon,
the money shall be yours, but not till then."

"Oh, very well," said Ratty; "go on then. _Ready_--don't bring up your
arm that way, like the handle of a pump, but raise it nice from the elbow
--that's it. _Ready--fire!_ Ah! there you blink your eye, and drop
the point of your pistol--try another. _Ready--fire!_ That's better.
Now steady the next time."

[Illustration: A Crack Shot]

The young villain then put a charge of powder and ball into the pistol he
handed his grandmother, who took steady aim at her reflection in the
mirror, and at the words, _"Ready--fire!"_ bang went the pistol--the
magnificent glass was smashed--the unexpected recoil of the weapon made it
drop from the hand of the dowager, who screamed with astonishment at the
report and the shock, and did not see for a moment the mischief she had
done; but when the shattered mirror caught her eyes, she made a rush at
Ratty, who was screeching with laughter in the far corner of the room
where he ran to when he had achieved his trick, and he was so helpless
from the excess of his cachinnation, that the old lady cuffed him without
his being able to defend himself. At last he contrived to get out of her
clutches and jammed her against the wall with a table so tightly, that she
roared "Murder!" The report of the pistol ringing through the house
brought all its inmates to the spot; and there the cries of murder from
the old lady led them to suppose some awful tragedy, instead of a comedy,
was enacting inside; the door was locked, too, which increased the alarm,
and was forced in the moment of terror from the outside. When the crowd
rushed in, Master Ratty rushed out, and left the astonished family to
gather up the bits of the story, as well as they could, from the broken
looking-glass and the cracked dowager.




CHAPTER XL


Though it is clear the serious events in the O'Grady family had not
altered Master Ratty's propensities in the least, the case was far
different with Gustavus. In that one night of suffering which _he_
had passed, the gulf was leaped that divides the boy from the man; and the
extra frivolity and carelessness which clung from boyhood up to the age of
fifteen was at once, by the sudden disrupture produced by events, thrown
off, and as singular a ripening into manhood commenced.

Gustavus was of a generous nature; and even his faults belonged less to
his organisation than to the devil-may-care sort of education he received,
if education it might be called. Upon his generosity the conduct of Edward
O'Connor beside the grave of the boy's father had worked strongly; and
though Gustavus could not give his hand beside the grave to the man with
whom his father had engaged in deadly quarrel, yet he quite exonerated
Edward from any blame; and when, after a night more sleepless than
Gustavus had ever known, he rose early on the ensuing morning, he
determined to ride over to Edward O'Connor's house to breakfast, and
commence that friendship which Edward had so solemnly promised to him, and
with which the boy was pleased; for Gustavus was quite aware in what
estimation Edward was held; and though the relative circumstances in which
he and the late Squire stood prevented the boy from "caring a fig" for
him, as he often said himself, yet he was not beyond the influence of that
thing called "reputation," which so powerfully attaches to and elevates
the man who wins it; and the price at which Edward was held in the country
influenced opinion even in Neck-or-Nothing Hall, albeit though "against
the grain." Gustavus had sometimes heard, from the lips of the idle and
ignorant, Edward sneered at for being "cruel wise," and "too much of a
schoolmaster," and fit for nothing but books or a boudoir, and called a
"piano man," with all the rest of the hackneyed dirt which jealous
inferiority loves to fling at the heights it cannot occupy; for though
--as it has been said--Edward, from his manly and sensible bearing, had
escaped such sneers better than most men, still some few there were to
whom his merit was offensive. Gustavus, however, though he sometimes heard
such things, saw with his own eyes that Edward could back a horse with any
man in the country--was always foremost in the chace--could bring down as
many brace of birds as most men in a day--had saved one or two persons
from drowning; and if he did all these things as well as other men,
Gustavus (though hitherto too idle to learn much himself) did not see why
a man should be sneered at for being an accomplished scholar as well.
Therefore he had good foundation for being pleased at the proffered
friendship of such a man, and remembering the poignancy of Edward's
anguish on the foregoing eve, Gustavus generously resolved to see him at
once and offer him the hand which a nice sense of feeling made him withhold
the night before. Mounting his pony, an hour's smart riding brought him
to Mount Eskar, for such was the name of Mr. O'Connor's residence.

It was breakfast-time when Gustavus arrived, but Edward had not yet left
his room, and the servant went to call him. It need scarcely be said that
Edward had passed a wretched night; reaching home, as he did, weary in
mind and body, and with feelings and imagination both overwrought, it was
long before he could sleep; and even then his slumber was disturbed by
harassing visions and frightful images. Spectral shapes and things
unimaginable to the waking senses danced and crawled and hissed about him.
The torch flared above the grave, and that horrid coffin, with the name of
the dead O'Grady upon it, "murdered sleep." It was dawn before anything
like refreshing slumber touched his feverish eyelids, and he had not
enjoyed more than a couple of hours of what might be called sleep, when
the servant called him; and then, after the brief oblivion he had
obtained, one may fancy how he started when the first words he heard on
waking were, "Mister O'Grady is below, sir."

Edward started up from his bed and stared wildly on the man, as he
exclaimed, with a look of alarm, "O'Grady! For God's sake, you don't say
O'Grady?"

"'Tis Master Gustavus, sir," said the man, wondering at the wildness of
Edward's manner.

"Oh, the boy!--ay, ay, the boy!" repeated Edward, drawing his hands across
his eyes and recovering his self-possession. "Say I will be down
presently."

The man retired, and Edward lay down again for some minutes to calm the
heavy beating of his heart which the sudden mention of that name had
produced; that name so linked with the mental agony of the past night;
that name which had conjured up a waking horror of such might as to shake
the sway of reason for a time, and which afterwards pursued its reign of
terror through his sleep. After such a night, fancy poor Edward doomed to
hear the name of O'Grady again the first thing in the morning, and we
cannot wonder that he was startled.

A few minutes, however, served to restore his self-possession; and he
arose, made his toilet in haste, and descended to the breakfast-parlour,
where he was met by Gustavus with an open hand, which Edward clasped with
fervour and held for some time as he looked on the handsome face
of the boy, and saw in its frank expression all that his heart could
desire. They spoke not a word, but they understood one another; and
that moment commenced an attachment which increased with increasing
intimacy, and became one of those steadfast friendships which are
seldom met with.

After breakfast Edward brought Gustavus to his "den," as he called a room
which was appropriated to his own particular use, occupied with books and
a small collection of national relics. Some long ranges of that peculiar
calf binding, with its red label, declared at once the contents to be law
and by the dry formal cut of the exterior gave little invitation to
reading. The very outside of a law library is repulsive; the continuity of
that eternal buff leather gives one a surfeit by anticipation, and makes
one mentally exclaim in despair, "Heavens! how can any one hope to get all
that into his head?" The only plain honest thing about law is the outside
of the books where it is laid down--there all is simple; inside all is
complex. The interlacing lines of the binder's patterns find no place on
the covers; but intricacies abound inside, where any line is easier found
than a straight one. Nor gold leaf nor tool is employed without, but
within how many fallacies are enveloped in glozing words; the gold leaf
has its representative in "legal fiction;" and as for "_tooling_"
there's plenty of that!

Other books, also, bore external evidence of the nature of their contents.
Some old parchment covers indicated the lore of past ages; amidst these
the brightest names of Greece and Rome were to be found, as well as those
who have adorned our own literature, and implied a cultivated taste on the
part of the owner. But one portion of the library was particularly well
stored. The works bearing on Irish history were numerous, and this might
well account for the ardour of Edward's feelings in the cause of his
country; for it is as impossible that a river should run backwards
to its source, as that any Irishman of a generous nature can become
acquainted with the real history of his country, and not feel that
she has been an ill-used and neglected land, and not struggle in
the cause of her being righted. Much _has_ been done in the
cause since the days of which this story treats, and Edward was amongst
those who helped to achieve it; but much has still to be done, and there
is glorious work in store for present and future Edward O'Connors.

Along with the books which spoke the cause of Ireland, the mute evidences,
also, of her former glory and civilisation were scattered through the
room. Various ornaments of elegant form, and wrought in the purest gold,
were tastefully arranged over the mantel-piece; some, from their form,
indicating their use, and others only affording matter of ingenious
speculation to the antiquary, but all bearing evidence of early
civilisation. The frontlet of gold indicated noble estate, and the long
and tapering bodkin of the same metal, with its richly enchased knob or
pendent crescent, implied the robe it once fastened could have been of no
mean texture, and the wearer of no mean rank. Weapons were there, too, of
elegant form and exquisite workmanship, wrought in that ancient bronze, of
such wondrous temper that it carries effective edge and point. The sword
was of exact Phoenician mould; the double-eyed spear-head, formed at once
for strength and lightness, might have served as the model for a sculptor
in arming the hand of Minerva. Could these be the work of an uncultivated
people? Impossible! The harp, too, was there, that unfailing mark of
polish and social elegance. The bard and barbarism could never be coeval.
But a relic was there, exciting still deeper interest--an ancient crosier,
of curious workmanship, wrought in the precious metals and partly studded
with jewels; but few of the latter remained, though the empty collets
showed it had once been costly in such ornaments. Could this be seen
without remembering that the light of Christianity first dawned over the
western isles _in Ireland?_ that _there_ the Gospel was first
preached, _there_ the work of salvation begun?

There be cold hearts to which these touching recollections do not pertain,
and they heed them not; and some there are, who, with a callousness which
shocks sensibility, have the ignorant effrontery to ask, "Of what use are
such recollections?" With such frigid utilitarians it would be vain to
argue; but this question, at least, may be put in return:--Why should the
ancient glories of Greece and Rome form a large portion of the academic
studies of our youth?--why should the evidences of _their_ arts and
_their_ arms be held precious in museums, and similar evidences of
ancient cultivation be despised because they pertain to another nation? Is
it because they are Irish they are held in contempt? Alas! in many cases
it is so--ay, and even (shame to say) within her own shores. But never may
that day arrive when Ireland shall be without enough of true and fond
hearts to cherish the memory of her ancient glories, to give to her future
sons the evidences of her earliest western civilisation, proving that
their forefathers were not (as those say who wronged and therefore would
malign them) a rabble of rude barbarians, but that brave kings, and proud
princes, and wise lawgivers, and just judges, and gallant chiefs, and
chaste and lovely women were among them, and that inspired bards were
there to perpetuate such memories!

Gustavus had never before seen a crosier, and asked what it was. On being
informed of its name, he then said, "But what _is_ a crosier?"

"A bishop's pastoral staff," said Edward.

"And why have you a bishop's staff, and swords, and spears, hung up
together?"

"That is not inappropriate," said Edward. "Unfortunately, the sword
and the crosier have been frequently but too intimate companions.
Preaching the word of peace has been too often the pretext for war.
The Spaniards, for instance, in the name of the gospel, committed the
most fearful atrocities."

"Oh, I know," said Gustavus, "that was in the time of bloody Mary and the
Armada."

Edward wondered at the boy's ignorance, and saw in an instant the source
of his false application of his allusion to the Spaniards. Gustavus had
been taught to vaguely couple the name of "bloody Mary" with everything
bad, and that of "good Queen Bess" with all that was glorious; and the
word "Spanish," in poor Gusty's head, had been hitherto connected with two
ideas, namely, "liquorice" and the "Armada."

Edward, without wounding the sensitive shame of ignorant youth, gently set
him right, and made him aware he had alluded to the conduct of the
Spaniards in America under Cortes and Pizarro.

For the first time in his life Gustavus was aware that Pizarro was a real
character. He had heard his grandmamma speak of a play of that name, and
how great Mr. Kemble was in Rollo, and how he saved a child; but as to its
belonging to history, it was a new light--the utmost Gusty knew about
America being that it was discovered by Columbus.

"But the crosier," said Edward, "is amongst the most interesting of Irish
antiquities, and especially belongs to an Irish collection, when you
remember the earliest preaching of Christianity in the western isles was
in Ireland."

"I did only know that," said the boy.

"Then you don't know why the shamrock is our national emblem?"

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