Book: Handy Andy, Vol. 2

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




A short time served to bring Andy and his followers to the private still,
where a little looking about enabled them to discover the entrance, which
was covered by some large stones, and a bunch of furze placed as a mask to
the opening. It was clear that it was impossible for any persons inside to
have thus covered the entrance, and it suggested the possibility that some
of its usual inmates were then absent. Nevertheless, having such desperate
characters to deal with, it was a service of danger to be leader in the
descent to the cavern when the opening was cleared; but Andy was the first
to enter, which he did boldly, only desiring his attendants to follow
him quickly, and give him support in case of resistance. A lantern
had been provided, Andy knowing the darkness of the den; and the
party was thereby enabled to explore with celerity and certainty
the hidden haunt of the desperadoes. The ashes of the fire were yet
warm, but no one was to be seen, till Andy, drawing the screen of
the bed, discovered a man lying in a seemingly helpless state, breathing
with difficulty, and the straw about him dabbled with blood. On attempting
to lift him, the wretch groaned heavily and muttered, "D--n you,
let me alone--you've done for me--I'm dying."

The man was gently carried from the cave to the open air, which seemed
slightly to revive him. His eyes opened heavily, but closed again; yet
still he breathed. His wounds were staunched as well as the limited means
and knowledge of the parties present allowed; and the ladder, drawn up
from the cave and overlaid with tufts of heather, served to bear the
sufferer to the nearest house, whence Andy ordered a mounted messenger to
hurry for a doctor. The man seemed to hear what was going forward, for he
faintly muttered, "the priest--the priest."

Andy, anxious to procure this most essential comfort to the dying man,
went himself in search of Father Blake, whom he found at home, and who
suggested that a magistrate might be also useful upon the occasion; and as
Merryvale lay not much out of the way, Andy made a detour to obtain the
presence of Squire Egan, while Father Blake pushed directly onward upon
his ghostly mission.

Andy and the Squire arrived soon after the priest had administered
spiritual comfort to the sufferer, who still retained sufficient strength
to make his depositions before the Squire, the purport of which turned out
to be of the utmost importance to Andy.

This man, it appeared, _was the husband of Bridget_, who had
returned from transportation, and sought his wife and her dear brother,
and his former lawless associates, on reaching Ireland. On finding
Bridget had married again, his anger at her infidelity was endeavoured
to be appeased by the representations made to him that it was a "good
job," inasmuch as "the lord" had been screwed out of a good sum of
money by way of separate maintenance, and that he would share the
advantage of that. When matters were more explained, however, and the
convict found this money was divided among so many, who all claimed right
of share in the plunder, his discontent returned. In the first place, the
pettifogger made a large haul for his services. Shan More swore it was
hard if a woman's own brother was not to be the better for her luck; and
Larry Hogan claimed hush-money, for he could prove Bridget's marriage, and
so upset their scheme of plunder. The convict maintained his claim as
husband was stronger than any; but this, all the others declared, was an
outlandish notion he brought back with him from foreign parts, and did not
prevail in their code of laws by any manner o' means, and even went so far
as to say they thought it hard, after they had "done the job," that he was
to come in and lessen their profit, which he would, as they were willing
to give an even share of the spoil; and after that, he must be the most
discontented villain in the world if he was not pleased.

The convict feigned contentment, but meditated at once revenge against his
wife and the gang, and separate profit for himself. He thought he might
stipulate for a good round sum from Lord Scatterbrain, as he could prove
him free of his supposed matrimonial engagement, and inwardly resolved he
would soon pay a visit to his lordship. But his intentions were suspected
by the gang, and a strict watch kept upon him; and though his
dissimulation and contrivance were of no inferior order, Larry Hogan was
his overmatch, and the convict was detected in having been so near
Lord Scatterbrain's dwelling, that they feared their secret, if not
already revealed, was no longer to be trusted to their new confederate's
keeping; and it was deemed advisable to knock him on the head, and
shoot my lord, which they thought would prevent all chance of the
invalidity of the marriage being discovered, and secure the future
payment of the maintenance.

How promptly the murderous determination was acted upon, the preceding
events prove. Andy's courage in the first part of the affair saved his
life; his promptness in afterwards seeking to secure the offenders led to
the important discovery he had just made; and as the convict's depositions
could be satisfactorily backed by proofs which he showed the means of
obtaining, Andy was congratulated heartily by the Squire and Father Blake,
and rode home in almost delirious delight at the prospect of making Oonah
his wife. On reaching the stables, he threw himself from his saddle, let
the horse make his own way to his stall, dashed through the back hall, and
nearly broke his neck in tumbling up-stairs, burst open the drawing-room
door, and made a rush upon Oonah, whom he hugged and kissed most
outrageously, amidst exclamations of the wildest affection.

Oonah, half strangled and struggling for breath, at last freed herself
from his embraces, and asked him, angrily, what he was about--in which
inquiry she was backed by his mother.

Andy answered by capering round the room, shouting, "Hurroo! I'm not
married at all--hurroo!" He turned over the chairs, upset the tables,
threw the mantelpiece ornaments into the fire, seized the poker and tongs,
and banged them together as he continued dancing and shouting.

Oonah and his mother stood gazing at his antics in trembling amazement,
till at last the old woman exclaimed, "Holy Vargin! he's gone mad!"
whereupon she and her niece set up a violent screaming, which called
Andy back to his propriety, and, as well as his excitement would
permit, he told them the cause of his extravagant joy. His wonder
and delight were shared by his mother and the blushing Oonah, who
did not struggle so hard in Andy's embrace on his making a second
vehement demonstration of his love for her.

"Let me send for Father Blake, my jewel," said Andy, "and I'll marry you
at once."

His mother reminded him he must first have his present marriage proved
invalid. Andy uttered several pieces of _original_ eloquence on "the
law's delay."

"Well, anyhow," said he, "I'll drink your health, my darling girl, this
day, as Lady Scatterbrain--for you must consider yourself as sitch."

"Behave yourself, my lord," said Oonah, archly.

"Bother!" cried Andy, snatching another kiss.

"Hillo!" cried Dick Dawson, entering at the moment, and seeing the
romping-match. "You're losing no time, I see, Andy."

Oonah was running from the room, laughing and blushing, when Dick
interposed, and cried, "Ah, don't go, 'my lady,' that _is to be_."

Oonah slapped down the hand that barred her progress, exclaiming, "You're
just as bad as he is, Mister Dawson!" and ran away.

Dick had ridden over, on hearing the news, to congratulate Andy, and
consented to remain and dine with him. Oonah had rather, after what had
taken place, he had not been there, for Dick backed Andy in his tormenting
the girl and joined heartily in drinking to Andy's toast, which, according
to promise, he gave to the health of the future Lady Scatterbrain.

It was impossible to repress Andy's wild delight; and in the excitement of
the hour he tossed off bumper after bumper to all sorts of love-making
toasts, till he was quite overcome by his potations, and fit for no place
but bed. To this last retreat of "the glorious" he was requested to
retire, and, after much coaxing, consented. He staggered over to the
window-curtain, which he mistook for that of the bed; in vain they wanted
to lead him elsewhere--he would sleep in no other bed but _that_
--and, backing out at the window-pane, he made a smash, of which he seemed
sensible, for he said it wasn't a fair trick to put pins in the bed. "I
know it was Oonah did that!--hip!--ha! ha! Lady Scatterbrain!--never mind
--hip!--I'll have my revenge on you yet!"

They could not get him up-stairs, so his mother suggested he should sleep
in her room, which was on the same floor, for that night, and at last he
was got into the apartment. There he was assisted to disrobe, as he stood
swaying about at a dressing-table. Chancing to lay his hands on a
pill-box, he mistook it for his watch.

"Stop--stop!" he stammered forth--"I must wind my watch;" and, suiting the
action to the word, he began twisting about the pill-box, the lid of which
came off and the pills fell about the floor. "Oh, murder!" said Lord
Scatterbrain, "the works of my watch are fallin' about the flure--pick
them up--pick them up--pick them up--" He could speak no more, and
becoming quite incapable of all voluntary action, was undressed and put to
bed, the last sound which escaped him being a faint muttering--"pick them
up."




CHAPTER THE LAST


The day following the eventful one just recorded, the miserable convict
breathed his last. A printed notice was posted in all the adjacent
villages, offering a reward for the apprehension of _Shan More_ and
"other persons unknown," for their murderous assault; and a small reward
was promised for such "private information as might lead to the
apprehension of the aforesaid," &c., &c. Larry Hogan at once came forward
and put the authorities on the scent, but still Shan and his accomplices
remained undiscovered. Larry's information on another subject, however,
was more effective. He gave his own testimony to the previous marriage of
Bridget, and pointed out the means of obtaining more, so that, ere long,
Lord Scatterbrain was a "free man." Though the depositions of the murdered
man did not directly implicate Larry in the murderous attack, still it
showed that he had participated in much of their villany; but, as in
difficult cases, we must put up with bad instruments to reach the ends of
justice, so this rascal was useful for his evidence and private
information, and got his reward.

But he got his reward in more ways than one. He knew that he dare not
longer remain in the country after what had taken place, and set off
directly for Dublin by the mail, intending to proceed to England; but
England he never reached. As he was proceeding down the Custom-house quay
in the dusk of the evening, to get on ship-board, his arms were suddenly
seized and drawn behind him by a powerful grasp, while a woman in front
drew a handkerchief across his mouth, and stifled his attempted cries.
His bundle was dragged from him, and the woman ransacked his pockets
but they contained but a few shillings, Larry having hidden the wages
of his treachery to his confederates in the folds of his neck-cloth.
To pluck this from his throat, many a fierce wrench was made by the
woman, when her attempts on the pockets proved worthless; but the
handkerchief was knotted so tightly that she could not disengage it. The
approach of some passengers along the quay alarmed the assailants of
Larry, who, ere the iron grip released him, heard a deep curse in his ear
growled by a voice he well knew, and then he felt himself hurled with
gigantic force from the quay wall. Before the base, cheating, faithless
scoundrel could make one exclamation, he was plunged into the Liffey--even
before one mental aspiration for mercy, he was in the throes of
suffocation! The heavy splash in the water caught the attention of those
whose approach had alarmed the murderers, and seeing a man and woman
running, a pursuit commenced, which ended by Newgate having two fresh
tenants the next day.

And so farewell to the entire of the abominable crew, whose evil doings
and merited fates have only been recorded when it became necessary to our
story. It is better to leave the debased and the profligate in oblivion
than drag their doings before the day; and it is with happy consciousness
an Irishman may assert, that there is plenty of subject afforded by Irish
character and Irish life honourable to the land, pleasing to the narrator,
and sufficiently attractive to the reader, without the unwholesome
exaggerations of crime which too often disfigure the fictions which pass
under the title of "Irish," alike offensive to truth as to taste--alike
injurious both for private and public considerations.

* * * * *

It was in the following autumn that a particular chariot drove up to the
door of the Victoria Hotel, on the shore of Killarney lake. A young man
of elegant bearing handed a very charming young lady from the chariot;
aand that kindest and mos accommodating of hostesses, Mrs. F----, welcomed
the fresh arrival with her good-humoured and smiling face.

Why, amidst the crowd of arrivals at the Victoria, one chariot should be
remarkable beyond another, arose from its quiet elegance, which might
strike even a casual observer; but the intelligent Mrs. F---- saw with
half an eye the owners must be high-bred people. To the apartments already
engaged for them they were shown; but few minutes were lost within doors
where such matchless natural beauty tempted them without. A boat was
immediately ordered, and then the newly arrived visitors were soon on the
lake. The boatmen had already worked hard that day, having pulled one
party completely round the lakes--no trifling task; but the hardy fellows
again bent to their oars, and made the sleeping waters wake in golden
flashes to the sunset, till told they need not pull so hard.

"Faith, then, we'll _plaze_ you, sir," said the stroke-oarsman, with
a grin, "for we have had quite enough of it to-day."

"Do you not think, Fanny," said Edward O'Connor, for it was he who spoke
to his bride, "Do you not think 'tis more in unison with the tranquil hour
and the coming shadows, to glide softly over the lulled waters?"

"Yes," she replied, "it seems almost sacrilege to disturb this heavenly
repose by the slightest dip of the oar--see how perfectly that lovely
island is reflected."

"That is Innisfallin, my lady," said the boatman, hearing her allude to
the island, "where the hermitage is." As he spoke, a gleam of light
sparkled on the island, which was reflected on the water.

"One might think the hermit was there too," said Fanny, "and had just
lighted a lamp for his vigils."

"That's the light of the guide that shows the place to the quality, my
lady, and lives on the island always in a corner of the ould ruin. And,
indeed, if you'd like to see the island this evening, there's time enough,
and 'twould be so much saved out of to-morrow."

The boatman's advice was acted upon, and as they glided towards the
island, Fanny and Edward gazed delightedly on the towering summits of
Magillicuddy's reeks, whose spiral pinnacles and graceful declivities told
out sharply against the golden sky behind them, which, being perfectly
reflected in the calm lake, gave a grand chain of mountain the appearance
of being suspended in glowing heather, for the lake was one bright amber
sheet of light below, and the mountains one massive barrier of shade, till
they cut against the light above. The boat touched the shore of
Innisfallin, and the delighted pair of visitants hurried to its western
point to catch the sunset, lighting with its glory the matchless foliage
of this enchanting spot, where every form of grace exhaustless nature can
display is lavished on the arborial richness of the scene, which, in its
unequalled luxuriance, gives to a fanciful beholder the idea that the
_trees themselves have a conscious pleasure in growing there._ Oh!
what a witching spot is Innisfallin!

Edward had never seen anything so beautiful in his life; and with the
woman he adored resting on his arm, he quoted the lines which Moore has
applied to the Vale of Cashmere, as he asked Fanny would she not like to
live there.

"Would you?" said Fanny.

Edward answered--

"If woman can make the worst wilderness dear,
Think--think what a heaven she must make of Cashmere."

They lingered on the island till the moon arose, and then re-embarked. The
silvery light exhibited the lake under another aspect, and the dimly
discovered forms of the lofty hills rose one above another, tier upon
tier, circling the waters in their shadowy frame, the beauty of the scene
reached a point of sublimity which might be called holy. As they returned
towards the shelving strand, a long row of peeled branches, standing
upright in the water, attracted Fanny's attention, and she asked their
use.

"All the use in life, my lady," said the boatman, "for without the same
branches, maybe it's not home to-night you'd get."

On Fanny inquiring further the meaning of the boatman's answer, she
learned that the sticks were placed there to indicate the only channel
which permitted a boat to approach the shore on that side of the lake,
where the water was shoal, while in other parts the depth had never been
fathomed.

An early excursion on the water was planned for the morning, and Edward
and Fanny were wakened from their slumbers by the tones of the bugle; a
soft Irish melody being breathed by Spillan, followed by a more sportive
one from the other minstrel of the lake, Ganzy.

The lake now appeared under another aspect--the morning sun and morning
breeze were upon it, and the sublimity with which the shades of evening
had invested the mountains was changed to that of the most varied
richness; for Autumn hung out its gaudy banner on the lofty hills, crowned
to their summits with all variety of wood, which, though tinged by the
declining year, had scarcely shed one leafy honour. The day was glorious,
and the favouring breeze enabled the boat to career across the sparkling
lake under canvas, till the overhanging hills of the opposite side robbed
them of their aerial wings, and the sail being struck, the boatmen bent to
their oars. As they passed under a promontory, clothed from the water's
edge to its topmost ridge with the most luxuriant vegetation, it was
pointed out to the lady as "the minister's back."

"'T is a strange name," said Fanny. "Do you know why it is called so?"

"Faix, I dunna, my lady--barrin' that it is the best covered back in the
country. But here we come to the _aichos_," said he, resting on his
oars. The example was followed by his fellows, and the bugler, lifting his
instrument to his lips, gave one long well-sustained blast. It rang across
the waters gallantly. It returned in a few seconds with such unearthly
sweetness, as though the spirit of the departed sound had become heavenly,
and revisited the place where it had expired.

Fanny and Edward listened breathlessly.

The bugle gave out its notes again in the well-known "call," and as
sweetly as before the notes were returned distinctly.

And now a soft and slow and simple melody stole from the exquisitely
played bugle, and phrase after phrase was echoed from the responding
hills. How many an emotion stirred within Edward's breast, as the melting
music fell upon his ear! In the midst of matchless beauties he heard the
matchless strains of his native land, and the echoes of her old hills
responding to the triumphs of her old bards. The air, too, bore with it
historic associations;--it told a tale of wrong and of suffering. The
wrong has ceased, the suffering is past, but the air which records them
still lives.

"Oh! triumph of the minstrel!" exclaimed Edward in delight. "The tyrant
crumbles in his coffin, while the song of the bard survives! The memory of
a sceptred ruffian is endlessly branded by a simple strain, while many of
the elaborate chronicles of his evil life have passed away and are
mouldering like himself."

Scarcely had the echoes of this exquisite air died away, when the
entrancement it carried was rudely broken by one of the vulgarest tunes
being brayed from a bugle in a boat which was seen rounding the headland
of the wooded promontory. Edward and Fanny writhed, and put their hands to
their ears. "Give way, boys!" said Edward; "for pity's sake get away from
these barbarians. Give way!"

Away sprang the boat. To the boatman's inquiry whether they should stop at
"Lady Kenmare's Cottage," Fanny said "no," when she found on inquiry it
was a particularly "show-place," being certain the vulgar party following
_would_ stop there, and therefore time might be gained in getting
away from such disagreeable followers.

Dinas Island, fringed with its lovely woods, excited their admiration, as
they passed underneath its shadows, and turned into Turk Lake; here the
labyrinthine nature of the channels through which they had been winding
was changed for a circular expanse of water, over which the lofty
mountain, whence it takes its name, towers in all its wild beauty of wood,
and rock, and heath.

At a certain part of the lake, the boatmen, without any visible cause,
rested on their oars. On Edward asking them why they did not pull, he
received this touching answer:--

"Sure, your honour would not have us disturb Ned Macarthy's grave!"

"Then a boatman was drowned here, I suppose?" said Edward.

"Yes, your honour." The boatman then told how the accident occurred "one
day when there was a stag-hunt on the lake;" but as the anecdote struck
Edward so forcibly that he afterwards recorded it in verse, we will give
the story after his fashion.

MACARTHY'S GRAVE

I

The breeze was fresh, the morn was fair,
The stag had left his dewy lair;
To cheering horn and baying tongue,
Killarney's echoes sweetly rung.
With sweeping oar and bending mast,
The eager chase was following fast;
When one light skiff a maiden steer'd
Beneath the deep wave disappeared:
Wild shouts of terror wildly ring,
A boatman brave, with gallant spring
And dauntless arm, the lady bore;
But he who saved--was seen no more!

II

Where weeping birches wildly wave,
There boatmen show their brother's grave;
And while they tell the name he bore,
Suspended hangs the lifted oar;
The silent drops they idly shed
Seem like tears to gallant Ned;
And while gently gliding by,
The tale is told with moistened eye.
No ripple on the slumbering lake
Unhallow'd oar doth ever make;
All undisturb'd, the placid wave
Flows gently o'er Macarthy's grave.

Winding backwards through the channels which lead the explorers of this
scene of nature's enchantment from the lower to the upper lake, the
surpassing beauty of the "Eagle's nest" burst on their view; and as they
hovered under its stupendous crags, clustering with all variety of
verdure, the bugle and the cannon awoke the almost endless reverberation
of sound which is engendered here. Passing onward, a sudden change is
wrought; the soft beauty melts gradually away, and the scene hardens into
frowning rocks and steep acclivities, making a befitting vestibule to the
bold and bleak precipices of "The Reeks," which form the western barrier
of this upper lake, whose savage grandeur is rendered more striking by the
scenes of fairy-like beauty left behind. But even here, in the midst of
the mightiest desolation, the vegetative vigour of the numerous islands
proves the wondrous productiveness of the soil in these regions.

On their return, a great commotion was observable as they approached the
rapids formed by the descending waters of the upper lake to the lower, and
they were hailed and warned by some of the peasants from the shore that
they must not attempt the rapids at present, as a boat, which had just
been upset, lay athwart the passage. On hearing this, Edward and Fanny
landed upon the falls, and walked towards the old bridge, where all
was bustle and confusion, as the dripping passengers were dragged
safely to shore from the capsized boat, which had been upset by the
principal gentleman of the party, whose vulgar trumpetings had so
disturbed the delight of Edward and Fanny, who soon recognised the
renowned Andy as the instigator of the bad music and the cause of the
accident. Yes, Lord Scatterbrain, true to his original practice, was
author of all.

Nevertheless, he and his party, soused over head and ears as they were,
took the thing in good humour, which was unbroken even by the
irrepressible laughter which escaped from Edward and Fanny, as they
approached and kindly offered assistance. An immediate removal to the
neighbouring cottage on Dinas Island was recommended, particularly as Lady
Scatterbrain was in a delicate situation, as well, indeed, as Mrs. Durfy,
who, with her dear Tom, had joined Lord Scatterbrain's party of pleasure.

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