Book: Handy Andy, Vol. 2

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




"'In the meantime, what are we to do with the cat?' says Botherum.

"'Burn her,' says the bishop, 'she's a witch.'

"_Only_ enchanted,' said the priest--'and the ecclesiastical court
maintains that--'

"'Bother the ecclesiastical court!' said the magistrate; 'I can only
proceed on the statutes;' and with that he pulled down all the law-books
in his library, and hunted the laws from Queen Elizabeth down, and he
found that they made laws against everything in Ireland, _except a
cat_. The devil a thing escaped them but a cat, which did _not_
come within the meaning of any act of parliament:--_the cats only had
escaped_.

"'There's the alien act, to be sure,' said the magistrate, 'and perhaps
she's a French spy, in disguise.'

"'She spakes like a French spy, sure enough,' says Tom; 'and she was
missin', I remember, all last Spy-Wednesday.'

"'That's suspicious,' says the squire--'but conviction might be difficult;
and I have a fresh idea,' says Botherum.

"''Faith, it won't keep fresh long, this hot weather,' says Tom; 'so your
honour had betther make use of it at wanst.'

"'Right,' says Botherum,--'we'll make her subject to the game laws; we'll
hunt her,' says he.

"'Ow!--elegant!' says Tom;--'we'll have a brave run out of her.'

"'Meet me at the cross roads,' says the Squire, 'in the morning, and I'll
have the hounds ready.'

"'Well, off Tom went home; and he was racking his brain what excuse he
could make to the cat for not bringing the shoes; and at last he hit one
off, just as he saw her cantering up to him, half-a-mile before he got
home.

"'Where's the shoes, Tom?' says she.

"'I have not got them to-day, ma'am,' says he.

"'Is that the way you keep your promise, Tom?' says she;--'I'll tell you
what it is, Tom--I'll tare the eyes out o' the childre' if you don't get
me shoes.'

"'Whisht! whisht!' says Tom, frightened out of his life for his children's
eyes. 'Don't be in a passion, pussy. The shoemaker said he had not a shoe
in his shop, nor a last that would make one to fit you; and he says, I
must bring you into the town for him to take your measure.'

"'And when am I to go?' says the cat, looking savage.

"'To-morrow,' says Tom.

"'It's well you said that, Tom,' said the cat, 'or the devil an eye I'd
leave in your family this night'--and off she hopped.

"Tom thrimbled at the wicked look she gave.

"'Remember!' says she, over the hedge, with a bitter caterwaul.

"'Never fear,' says Tom. Well, sure enough, the next mornin' there was
the cat at cock-crow, licking herself as nate as a new pin, to go into the
town, and out came Tom with a bag undher his arm, and the cat afther him.

"'Now git into this, and I'll carry you into the town,' says Tom, opening
the bag.

"'Sure I can walk with you,' says the cat.

"'Oh, that wouldn't do,' says Tom; 'the people in the town is curious and
slandherous people, and sure it would rise ugly remarks if I was seen with
a cat afther me:--a dog is a man's companion by nature, but cats does not
stand to rayson.'

"Well, the cat, seeing there was no use in argument, got into the bag, and
off Tom set to the cross roads with the bag over his shoulder, and he came
up, _quite innocent-like_, to the corner, where the Squire, and his
huntsman, and the hounds, and a pack o' people were waitin'. Out came the
Squire on a sudden, just as if it was all by accident.

"'God save you, Tom,' says he.

"'God save you kindly, sir,' says Tom.

"'What's that bag you have at your back?' says the Squire.

"'Oh, nothin' at all, sir,' says Tom--makin' a face all the time, as much
as to say, I have her safe.

"'Oh, there's something in that bag, I think,' says the Squire; 'and you
must let me see it.'

"'If you bethray me, Tom Connor,' says the cat in a low voice, 'by this
and that I'll never spake to you again!'

"'Pon my honour, sir,' said Tom, with a wink and a twitch of his thumb
towards the bag, 'I haven't anything in it.'

"'I have been missing my praties of late,' says the Squire; 'and I'd just
like to examine that bag,' says he.

"'Is it doubting my charackther you'd be, sir?' says Tom, pretending to be
in a passion.

"'Tom, your sowl!' says the voice in the sack, '_if you let the cat out
of the bag_, I'll murther you.'

"'An honest man would make no objection to be sarched,' said the Squire;
'and I insist on it,' says he, laying hold o' the bag, and Tom purtending
to fight all the time; but, my jewel! before two minutes, they shook the
cat out o' the bag, sure enough, and off she went with her tail as big as
a sweeping brush, and the Squire, with a thundering view halloo after her,
clapt the dogs at her heels, and away they went for the bare life. Never
was there seen such running as that day--the cat made for a shaking bog,
the loneliest place in the whole country, and there the riders were all
thrown out, barrin' the huntsman, who had a web-footed horse on purpose
for soft places; and the priest, whose horse could go anywhere by reason
of the priest's blessing; and, sure enough, the huntsman and his riverence
stuck to the hunt like wax; and just as the cat got on the border of the
bog, they saw her give a twist as the foremost dog closed with her, for he
gave her a nip in the flank. Still she went on, however, and headed them
well, towards an old mud cabin in the middle of the bog, and there they
saw her jump in at the window, and up came the dogs the next minit, and
gathered round the house with the most horrid howling ever was heard. The
huntsman alighted, and went into the house to turn the cat out again, when
what should he see but an old hag lying in bed in the corner?

"'Did you see a cat come in here?' says he.

"'Oh, no--o--o--o!' squealed the old hag, in a trembling voice; 'there's
no cat here,' says she.

"'Yelp, yelp, yelp!' went the dogs outside.

"'Oh, keep the dogs out o' this,' says the old hag--'oh--o--o--o!' and the
huntsman saw her eyes glare under the blanket, just like a cat's.

"'Hillo!' says the huntsman, pulling down the blanket--and what should he
see but the old hag's flank all in a gore of blood.

"'Ow, ow! you old divil--is it you? you ould cat!' says he, opening the
door.

"In rushed the dogs--up jumped the old hag, and changing into a cat before
their eyes, out she darted through the window again, and made another run
for it; but she couldn't escape, and the dogs gobbled her while you could
say 'Jack Robinson.' But the most remarkable part of this extraordinary
story, gentlemen, is, that the pack was ruined from that day out; for
after having eaten the enchanted cat, _the devil a thing they would ever
hunt afterwards but mice._"




CHAPTER XXIV


Murphy's story was received with acclamation by all but the little man.

"That is all a pack of nonsense," said he.

"Well, you're welcome to it, sir," said Murphy, "and if I had greater
nonsense you should have it; but seriously, sir, I again must beg you to
remember that the country all around here abounds in enchantment; scarcely
a night passes without some fairy frolic; but, however you may doubt the
wonderful fact of the cat speaking, I wonder you are not impressed with
the points of moral in which the story abounds--"

"Fiddlestick!" said the miniature snarler.

"First, the little touch about the corn monopoly [1]--then maternal vanity
chastised by the loss of the child's toe--then Tom's familiarity with his
cat, showing the danger arising from a man making too free with his female
domestics--the historical point about the penal laws--the fatal results of
letting the cat out o' the bag, with the curious final fact in natural
history."

[1][Footnote: Handy Andy was written when the "vexed question" of the
"Corn Laws" was the all-absorbing subject of discussion.]

"It's all nonsense," said the little man, "and I am ashamed of myself for
being such a fool as to sit--alistening to such stuff instead of going to
bed, after the fatigue of my journey and the necessity of rising early
to-morrow, to be in good time at the polling."

"Oh! then you're going to the election, sir?" said Murphy.

"Yes, sir--there's some sense in _that_--and _you_, gentlemen,
remember we must be _all_ up early--and I recommend you to follow my
example."

The little man rang the bell--the bootjack and slippers were called for,
and, after some delay, a very sleepy-looking _gossoon_ entered with a
bootjack under his arm, but no slippers.

"Didn't I say slippers?" said the little man.

"You did, sir."

"Where are they, sir?"

"The masther says there isn't any, if you plaze, sir."

"No slippers! and you call this an inn? Oh!--well, 'what can't be cured
must be endured'--hold me the bootjack, sir."

The gossoon obeyed--the little man inserted his heel in the cleft, but, on
attempting to pull his foot from the boot, he nearly went heels over head
backward. Murphy caught him and put him on his legs again. "Heads up,
soldiers," exclaimed Murtough; "I thought you were drinking too much."

"Sir, I'm not intoxicated!" said the mannikin, snappishly. "It is the
fault of that vile bootjack--what sort of a thing is that you have
brought?" added he in a rage to the _gossoon_.

"It's the bootjack, sir; only one o' the horns is gone, you see," and he
held up to view a rough piece of board with an angular slit in it, but one
of "the horns," as he called it, had been broken off at the top, leaving
the article useless.

"How dare you bring such a thing as _that_?" said the little man, in
a great rage.

"Why, sir, you ax'd for a bootjack, sure, and I brought you the best I
had--and it's not my fault it's bruk, so it is, for it wasn't me bruk it,
but Biddy batin' the cock."

"Beating the cock!" repeated the little man in surprise. "Bless me! beat a
cock with a bootjack!--what savages!"

"Oh, it's not the _hen_ cock I mane, sir," said the gossoon, "but the
beer cock--she was batin' the cock into the barrel, sir, wid the bootjack,
sir."

"That was decidedly wrong," said Murphy; "a bootjack is better suited to a
heel-tap than a full measure."

"She was tapping the beer, you mean?" said the little man.

"Faix, she wasn't tapping it at all, sir, but hittin' it very hard, she
was, and that's the way she bruk it."

"Barbarians!" exclaimed the little man; "using a bootjack instead of a
hammer!"

"Sure the hammer was gone to the priest, sir; bekase he wanted it for the
crucifixion."

"The crucifixion!" exclaimed the little man, horrified; "is it possible
they crucify people?"

"Oh no, sir!" said the gossoon, grinning, "it's the picthure I main, sir--
an illigant picthure that is hung up in the chapel, and he wanted a hammer
to dhrive the nails--"

"Oh, a _picture_ of the crucifixion," said the little man.

"Yes, sure, sir--the alther-piece, that was althered for to fit to the
place, for it was too big when it came down from Dublin, so they cut off
the sides where the sojers was, bekase it stopt out the windows, and
wouldn't lave a bit o' light for his riverence to read mass; and sure the
sojers were no loss out o' the alther-piece, and was hung up afther in the
vesthery, and serve them right, the blackguards. But it was sore agen our
will to cut off the ladies at the bottom, that was cryin' and roarin'; but
great good luck, the head o' the Blessed Virgin was presarved in the
corner, and sure it's beautiful to see the tears runnin' down her face,
just over the hole in the wall for the holy wather--which is remarkable."

The gossoon was much offended by the laughter that followed his account of
the altar-piece, which he had no intention of making irreverential, and
suddenly became silent, with a muttered "More shame for yiz;" and as his
bootjack was impracticable, he was sent off with orders for the chamber-
maid to supply bed candles immediately.

The party soon separated for their various dormitories, the little man
leaving sundry charges to call them early in the morning, and to be sure
to have hot water ready for shaving, and, without fail, to have their
boots polished in time and left at their room doors;--to all which
injunctions he severally received the answer of--"Certainly, sir;" and as
the bed-room doors were slapped-to, one by one, the last sound of the
retiring party was the snappish voice of the indefatigable little man,
shouting, ere he shut his door,--"Early--early--don't forget, Mistress
Kelly--_early!_"

A shake-down for Murphy in the parlour was hastily prepared; and after
Mrs. Kelly was assured by Murtough that he was quite comfortable, and
perfectly content with his accommodation, for which she made scores of
apologies, with lamentations it was not better, &c., &c., the whole
household retired to rest, and in about a quarter of an hour the inn was
in perfect silence.

Then Murtough cautiously opened his door, and after listening for some
minutes, and being satisfied he was the only watcher under the roof, he
gently opened one of the parlour windows and gave the preconcerted signal
which he and Dick had agreed upon. Dick was under the window immediately,
and after exchanging a few words with Murtough, the latter withdrew, and
taking off his boots, and screening with his hand the light of a candle he
carried, he cautiously ascended the stairs, and proceeded stealthily along
the corridor of the dormitory, where, from the chambers on each side, a
concert of snoring began to be executed, and at all the doors stood the
boots and shoes of the inmates awaiting the aid of Day and Martin in the
morning. But, oh! innocent calf-skins--destined to a far different fate--
not Day and Martin, but Dick the Devil and Company are in wait for you.
Murphy collected as many as he could carry under his arms and descended
with them to the parlour window, where they were transferred to Dick, who
carried them directly to the horse-pond which lay behind the inn, and
there committed them to the deep. After a few journeys up and down stairs,
Murtough had left the electors without a morsel of sole or upper leather,
and was satisfied that a considerable delay, if not a prevention of their
appearance at the poll on the morrow, would be the consequence.

"There, Dick," said Murphy, "is the last of them," as he handed the little
man's shoes out of the window,--"and now, to save appearances, you must
take mine too--for I must be without boots as well as the rest in the
morning. What fun I shall have when the uproar begins--don't you envy me,
Dick? There, be off now: but hark 'e, notwithstanding you take away my
boots, you need not throw them into the horse-pond."

"'Faith, an' I will," said Dick, dragging them out of his hands; "'t would
not be honourable, if I didn't--I'd give two pair of boots for the fun
you'll have."

"Nonsense, Dick--Dick, I say--my boots!"

"Honour!" cried Dick, as he vanished round the corner.

"That devil will keep his word," muttered Murphy, as he closed the window
--"I may bid good bye to that pair of boots--bad luck to him!" And yet the
merry attorney could not help laughing at Dick making him a sufferer by
his own trick.

Dick _did_ keep his word; and after, with particular delight, sinking
Murphy's boots with the rest, he, as it was preconcerted, returned to the
cottage of Barny, and with his assistance drew the upset gig from the
ditch, and with a second set of harness, provided for the occasion, yoked
the servant's horse to the vehicle and drove home.

Murphy, meanwhile, was bent on more mischief at the inn; and lest the loss
of the boots and shoes might not be productive of sufficient impediment to
the movements of the enemy, he determined on venturing a step further. The
heavy sleeping of the weary and tipsy travellers enabled him to enter
their chambers unobserved, and over the garments they had taken off he
poured the contents of the water-jug and water-bottle he found in each
room, and then laying the empty bottle and a tumbler on a chair beside
each sleeper's bed, he made it appear as if the drunken men had been dry
in the night, and, in their endeavours to cool their thirst, had upset the
water over their own clothes. The clothes of the little man, in
particular, Murphy took especial delight in sousing more profusely than
his neighbour's, and not content with taking his shoes, burnt his
stockings, and left the ashes in the dish of the candlestick, with just as
much unconsumed as would show what they had been. He then retired to the
parlour, and with many an internal chuckle at the thought of the morning's
hubbub, threw off his clothes and flinging himself on the shake-down Mrs.
Kelly had provided for him, was soon wrapt in the profoundest slumber,
from which he never awoke until the morning uproar of the inn aroused him.
He jumped from his lair and rushed to the scene of action, to soar in the
storm of his own raising; and to make it more apparent that he had been as
great a sufferer as the rest, he only threw a quilt over his shoulders and
did not draw on his stockings. In this plight he scaled the stairs and
joined the storming party, where the little man was leading the forlorn
hope, with his candlestick in one hand and the remnant of his burnt
stocking between the finger and thumb of the other.

"Look at that, sir!" he cried, as he held it up to the landlord.

The landlord could only stare.

"Bless me!" cried Murphy, "how drunk you must have been to mistake your
stocking for an extinguisher!"

"Drunk, sir--I wasn't drunk!"

"It looks very like it," said Murphy, who did not wait for an answer, but
bustled off to another party who was wringing out his inexpressibles at
the door of his bed-room, and swearing at the gossoon that he _must_
have his boots.

"I never seen them, sir," said the boy.

"I left them at my door," said the man.

"So did I leave mine," said Murphy, "and here I am barefooted--it is most
extraordinary."

"Has the house been robbed?" said the innocent elector.

"Not a one o' me knows, sir!" said the boy; "but how could it be robbed
and the doors all fast this mornin'?"

The landlady now appeared, and fired at the word "robbed!"

"Robbed, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Kelly; "no, sir--no one was ever robbed in
my house--my house is respectable and responsible, sir--a vartuous house--
none o' your rantipole places, sir, I'd have you to know, but decent and
well behaved, and the house was as quiet as a lamb all night."

"Certainly, Mrs. Kelly," said Murphy--"not a more respectable house in
Ireland--I'll vouch for that."

"You're a gentleman, Misther Murphy," said Mrs. Kelly, who turned down the
passage, uttering indignant ejaculations in a sort of snorting manner,
while her words of anger were returned by Murphy with expressions of
soothing and condolence as he followed her down-stairs.

The storm still continued above, and while there they shouted and swore
and complained, Murphy gave _his_ notion of the catastrophe to the
landlady below, inferring that the men were drunk and poured the water
over their own clothes. To repeat this idea to themselves he re-ascended,
but the men were incredulous. The little man he found buttoning on a pair
of black gaiters, the only serviceable decency he had at his command,
which only rendered his denuded state more ludicrous. To him Murphy
asserted his belief that the whole affair was enchantment, and ventured to
hope the small individual would have more faith in fairy machinations for
the future; to which the little abortion only returned his usual "Pho!
pho! nonsense!"

Through all this scene of uproar, as Murphy passed to and fro, whenever he
encountered the landlord, that worthy individual threw him a knowing look;
and the exclamation of, "Oh, Misther Murphy--by dad!" given in a low
chuckling tone, insinuated that the landlord not only smoked but enjoyed
the joke.

"You must lend me a pair of boots, Kelly!" said Murtough.

"To be sure, sir--ha! ha! ha!--but you are the quare man, Misther
Murphy--"

"Send down the road and get my gig out of the ditch."

"To be sure, sir. Poor devils! purty hands they got into," and off went
the landlord, with a chuckle.

The messengers sent for the gig returned, declaring there was no gig to be
seen anywhere.

Murphy affected great surprise at the intelligence--again went among the
bamboozled electors, who were all obliged to go to bed for want of
clothes; and his bitter lamentations over the loss of his gig almost
reconciled them to their minor troubles.

To the fears they expressed that they should not be able to reach the town
in time for polling that day, Murphy told them to set their minds at rest,
for they would be in time on the next.

He then borrowed a saddle as well as the pair of boots from the landlord,
and the little black mare bore Murphy triumphantly back to the town, after
he had securely impounded Scatterbrain's voters, who were anxiously and
hourly expected by their friends. Still they came not. At last, Handy
Andy, who happened to be in town with Scatterbrain, was despatched to
hurry them, and his orders were not to come back without them.

Handy, on his arrival at the inn, found the electors in bed, and all the
fires in the house employed in drying their clothes. The little man,
wrapped in a blanket, was superintending the cooking of his own before the
kitchen grate; there hung his garments on some cross sticks suspended by a
string, after the fashion of a roasting-jack, which the small gentleman
turned before a blazing turf fire; and beside this contrivance of his
swung a goodly joint of meat, which a bouncing kitchen wench came over to
baste now and then.

Andy was answering some questions of the inquisitive little man, when the
kitchen maid, handing the basting-ladle to Andy, begged him to do a good
turn and just to baste the beef for her, for that her heart was broke with
all she had to do, cooking dinner for so many.

Andy, always ready to oblige, consented, and plied the ladle actively
between the troublesome queries of the little man; but at last, getting
confused with some very crabbed questions put to him, Andy became
completely bothered, and lifting a brimming ladle of dripping, poured it
over the little man's coat instead of the beef.

A roar from the proprietor of the clothes followed, and he implanted a
kick at such advantage upon Andy, that he upset him into the dripping-pan;
and Andy, in his fall, endeavouring to support himself, caught at the
suspended articles above him, and the clothes, and the beef, and Andy, all
swam in gravy.

[Illustration: Andy's Cooking extraordinary]




CHAPTER XXV


While disaster and hubbub were rife below, the electors up-stairs were
holding a council whether it would not be better to send back the
"Honourable's" messenger to the town and request a supply of shoes, which
they had no other means of getting. The debate was of an odd sort; they
were all in their several beds at the time, and roared at each other
through their doors, which were purposely left open that they might enjoy
each other's conversation; number seven replied to number three, and
claimed respect to his arguments on the score of seniority; the blue room
was completely controverted by the yellow; and the double-bedded room
would, of course, have had superior weight in the argument, only that
everything it said was lost by the two honourable members speaking
together. The French king used to hold a council called a "bed of
justice," in which neither justice nor a bed had anything to do, so that
this Irish conference better deserved the title than any council the
Bourbon ever assembled. The debate having concluded, and the question
being put and carried, the usher of the black counterpane was desired to
get out of bed, and, wrapped in the robe of office whence he derived his
title, to go down-stairs and call the "Honourable's" messenger to the "bar
of the house," and there order him a pint of porter, for refreshment after
his ride; and forthwith to send him back again to the town for a supply of
shoes.

The house was unanimous in voting the supplies. The usher reached the
kitchen and found Andy in his shirt sleeves, scraping the dripping from
his livery with an old knife, whose hackled edge considerably assisted
Andy's own ingenuity in the tearing of his coat in many places, while the
little man made no effort towards the repair of his garment, but held it
up before him, and regarded it with a piteous look.

To the usher of the black counterpane's question, whether Andy was the
"Honourable's messenger," Andy replied in the affirmative; but to the
desire expressed, that he would ride back to the town, Andy returned a
decided negative.

"My ordhers is not to go back without you," said Andy.

"But we have no shoes," said the usher; "and cannot go until we get some."

"My ordher is not to go back without you."

"But if we can't go?"

"Well, then, I can't go back, that's all," said Andy.

The usher, the landlord, and the landlady all hammered away at Andy for a
long time, in vain trying to convince him he ought to return, as he was
desired; still Andy stuck to the letter of his orders, and said he often
got into trouble for not doing _exactly_ what he was bid, and that he
was bid "not to go back without them, and he would not--so he wouldn't--
divil a fut."

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