Book: Handy Andy, Vol. 2

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




At last, however, Andy was made to understand the propriety of riding back
to the town; and was desired to go as fast as his horse could carry him,
to gallop every foot of the way; but Andy did no such thing; he had
received a good thrashing once for being caught galloping his master's
horse on the road, and he had no intention of running the risk a second
time, because "_the stranger_" told him to do so. "What does he know
about it?" said Andy to himself; "'faith, it's fair and aisy I'll go, and
not disthress the horse to plaze any one." So he went back his ten miles
at a reasonable pace only; and when he appeared without the electors, a
storm burst on poor Andy.

"There! I knew how it would be," said he, "and not my fault at all."

"Weren't you told not to return without them?"

"But wait till I tell you how it was, sure;" and then Andy began an
account of the condition in which the voters lay at the inn but between
the impatience of those who heard, and the confused manner of Andy's
recital, it was some time before matters were explained; and then Andy was
desired to ride back to the inn again, to tell the electors shoes should
be forwarded after him in a post-chaise, and requesting their utmost
exertions in hastening over to the town, for that the election was going
against them. Andy returned to the inn; and this time, under orders from
head quarters, galloped in good earnest, and brought in his horse smoking
hot, and indicating lameness. The day was wearing apace, and it was so
late when the electors were enabled to start that the polling-booths were
closed before they could leave the town; and in many of these booths the
requisite number of electors had not been polled that day to keep them
open; so that the next day nearly all those outlying electors, about whom
there had been so much trouble and expense, would be of no avail. Thus,
Murphy's trick was quite successful, and the poor pickled electors were
driven back to their inn in dudgeon.

Andy, when he went to the stable to saddle his steed, for a return to
Neck-or-Nothing Hall, found him dead lame, so that to ride him better than
twelve miles home was impossible. Andy was obliged to leave him where he
was, and trudge it to the hall; for all the horses in Kelly's stables were
knocked up with their day's work.

As it was shorter by four miles across the country than by the road, Andy
pursued the former course; and as he knew the country well, the shades of
evening, which were now closing round, did not deter him in the least.
Andy was not very fresh for the journey to be sure, for he had ridden
upwards of thirty miles that day, so the merry whistle, which is so
constantly heard from the lively Irish pedestrian, did not while away the
tedium of his walk. It was night when Andy was breasting up a low ridge of
hills, which lay between him and the end of his journey; and when in
silence and darkness he topped the ascent, he threw himself on some
heather to rest and take breath. His attention was suddenly caught by a
small blue flame, which flickered now and then on the face of the hill,
not very far from him; and Andy's fears of fairies and goblins came
crowding upon him thick and fast. He wished to rise, but could not; his
eye continued to be strained with the fascination of fear in the direction
he saw the fire, and sought to pierce the gloom through which, at
intervals, the small point of flame flashed brightly and sunk again,
making the darkness seem deeper. Andy lay in perfect stillness, and in the
silence, which was unbroken even by his own breathing, he thought he heard
voices underground. He trembled from head to foot, for he was certain they
were the voices of the fairies, whom he firmly believed to inhabit the
hills.

"Oh! murdher, what'll I do?" thought Andy to himself: "sure I heerd often,
if once you were within the sound of their voices, you could never get out
o' their power. Oh! if I could only say a _pather_ and _ave_,
but I forget my prayers with the fright. Hail, Mary! The king o' the
fairies lives in these hills, I know--and his house is undher me this
minit, and I on the roof of it--I'll never get down again--I'll never get
down again--they'll make me slater to the fairies; and sure enough I
remember me, the hill is all covered with flat stones they call fairy
slates. Oh! I am ruined--God be praised!" Here he blessed himself, and
laid his head close to the earth. "Guardian angels--I hear their voices
singin' a dhrinking song--Oh! if I had a dhrop o' water myself, for my
mouth is as dhry as a lime-burner's wig--and I on the top o' their house
--see--there's the little blaze again--I wondher is their chimbley afire
--Oh! murther, I'll die o' thirst--Oh! if I had only one dhrop o' wather
--I wish it would rain or hail--Hail, Mary, full o' grace--whisht!
what's that?" Andy crouched lower than before, as he saw a figure rise
from the earth, and attain a height which Andy computed to be something
about twenty feet; his heart shrank to the size of a nut-shell, as he
beheld the monster expand to his full dimensions; and at the same moment,
a second, equally large, emerged from the ground.

Now, as fairies are notoriously little people, Andy changed his opinion of
the parties into whose power he had fallen, and saw clearly they were
giants, not fairies, of whom he was about to become the victim. He would
have ejaculated a prayer for mercy, had not terror rendered him
speechless, as the remembrance of all the giants he had ever heard of,
from the days of Jack and the Bean-stalk down, came into his head; but
though his sense of speaking was gone, that of hearing was painfully
acute, and he heard one of the giants say--

"That pot is not big enough."

"Oh! it howlds as much as we want," replied the other.

"O Lord," thought Andy; "they've got their pot ready for cooking."

"What keeps him?" said the first giant.

"Oh! he's not far off," said the second.

A clammy shivering came over Andy.

"I'm hungry," said the first, and he hiccupped as he spoke.

"It's only a false appetite you have," said the second, "you're drunk."

This was a new light to Andy, for he thought giants were too strong to get
drunk. "I could ate a young child, without parsley and butther," said the
drunken giant. Andy gave a faint spasmodic kick.

"And it's as hot as ---- down there," said the giant.

Andy trembled at the horrid word he heard.

"No wonder," said the second giant; "for I can see the flame popping out
at the top of the chimbley; that's bad: I hope no one will see it, or it
might give them warning. Bad luck to that young divil for making the fire
so sthrong."

What a dreadful hearing this was for Andy: young devils to make their
fires; there was no doubt what place they were dwelling in. "Thunder and
turf!" said the drunken giant; "I wish I had a slice of--"

Andy did not hear what he wished a slice of, for the night wind swept
across the heath at the moment, and carried away the monster's disgusting
words on its pure breath.

"Well, I'd rather have--" said the other giant; and again Andy lost what
his atrocious desires were--"than all the other slices in the world. What
a lovely round shoulder she has, and the nice round ankle of her--"

The word "ankle" showed at once it was a woman of whom he spoke, and Andy
shuddered. "The monsters! to eat a woman."

"What a fool you are to be in love," said the drunken giant with several
hiccups, showing the increase of his inebriation.

"Is that what the brutes call love," thought Andy, "to ate a woman?"

"I wish she was bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh," said the second
giant. Of this speech Andy heard only "bone" and "flesh," and had great
difficulty in maintaining the serenity of his diaphragm.

The conversation of the giants was now more frequently interrupted by the
wind which was rising, and only broken sentences reached Andy, whose
senses became clearer the longer he remained in a state of safety; at last
he heard the name of Squire Egan distinctly pass between the giants.

"So they know Squire Egan," thought Andy.

The first giant gave a drunken laugh at the mention of Squire Egan's name,
and exclaimed--

"Don't be afraid of him (_hiccup_); I have him undher my thumb
(_hiccup_). I can crush him when I plase."

"O! my poor owld masther!" mentally ejaculated Andy.

Another break in their conversation occurred, and the next name Andy
overheard was "O'Grady."

"The big bully!" said the second giant.

"They know the whole country," thought Andy.

"But tell me, what was that you said to him at the election?" said the
drunken one.

The word "election" recalled Andy to the business of this earth back
again; and it struck upon his hitherto bewildered sensorium that giants
could have nothing to do with elections, and he knew he never saw them
there; and, as the thought struck him, it seemed as if the giants
diminished in size, and did not appear _quite_ so big.

"Sure you know," said the second.

"Well, I'd like to hear it again," said the drunken one (_hiccup_).

"The big bully says to me, 'Have you a lease?' says he; 'No,' says I; 'but
I have an article!' 'What article?' says he; 'It's a fine brass
blunderbuss,' says I, 'and _I'd like to see the man would dispute the
title!_'"

The drunken listener chuckled, and the words broke the spell of
supernatural terror which had hung over Andy; he knew, by the words of
the speaker, it was the bully joker of the election was present, who
browbeat O'Grady and out-quibbled the agent about the oath of allegiance;
and the voice of the other he soon recognised for that of Larry Hogan.
So now his giants were diminished into mortal men--the pot, which had
been mentioned to the terror of his soul, was for the making of whisky
instead of human broth--and the "hell" he thought his giants inhabited
was but a private still. Andy felt as if a mountain had been lifted from
his heart when he found it was but mortals he had to deal with; for Andy
was not deficient in courage when it was but thews and sinews like his
own he had to encounter. He still lay concealed, however, for smugglers
might not wish their private haunt to be discovered, and it was possible
Andy would be voted one too many in the company should he announce himself;
and with such odds as two to one against him he thought he had better be
quiet. Besides, his curiosity became excited when he found them speaking
of his old master, Egan, and his present one, O'Grady; and as a woman had
been alluded to, and odd words caught up here and there, he became anxious
to hear more of their conversation.

"So you're in love," said Larry, with a hiccup, to our friend of the
blunderbuss; "ha! ha! ha! you big fool."

"Well, you old thief, don't you like a purty girl yourself?"

"I did, when I was young and foolish."

"'Faith, then, you're young and foolish at that rate yet, for you're a
rogue with the girls, Larry," said the other, giving him a slap on the
back.

"Not I! not I!" said Larry, in a manner expressive of his not being
displeased with the charge of gallantry; "he! he! he!--how do you know,
eh?" (_Hiccup_.) "Sure, I know myself; but as I wos telling you, if I
could only lay howld of--" here his voice became inaudible to Andy, and
the rest of the sentence was lost.

Andy's curiosity was great. "Who could the girl be?"

"And you'd carry her off?" said Larry.

"I would," said the other; "I'm only afraid o' Squire Egan."

At this announcement of the intention of "carrying her off," coupled with
the fear of "Squire Egan," Andy's anxiety to hear the name of the person
became so intense that he crawled cautiously a little nearer to the
speakers.

"I tell you again," said Larry, "I can settle _him_ aisy (_hiccup_)--
he's undher my thumb (_hiccup_)."

"Be aisy," said the other, contemptuously, who thought this was a mere
drunken delusion of Larry's.

"I tell you I'm his masther!" said Larry, with a drunken flourish of his
arm; and he continued bragging of his power over the Squire in various
ejaculations, the exact meaning of which our friend of the blunderbuss
could not fathom, but Andy heard enough to show him that the discovery of
the post-office affair was what Larry alluded to.

That Larry, a close, cunning, circumventing rascal, should so far betray
the source of his power over Egan may seem strange; but be it remembered
Larry was drunk, a state of weakness which his caution generally guarded
him from falling into, but which being in, his foible was bragging of his
influence, and so running the risk of losing it.

The men continued to talk together for some time, and the tenour of the
conversation was, that Larry assured his companion he might carry off the
girl without fear of Egan, but her name Andy could not discover. His own
name he heard more than once, and voluptuous raptures poured forth about
lovely lips and hips and ankles from the herculean knight of the
blunderbuss, amidst the maudlin admiration and hiccups of Larry, who
continued to brag of his power, and profess his readiness to stand by his
friend in carrying off the girl.

"Then," said the Hercules, with an oath, "I'll soon have you in my arms,
my lovely--"

The name was lost again.

Their colloquy was now interrupted by the approach of a man and woman, the
former being the person for whose appearance Larry made so many inquiries
when he first appeared to Andy as the hungry giant; the other was the
sister of the knight of the blunderbuss. Larry having hiccupped his anger
against the man for making them wait so long for the bacon, the woman said
he should not wait longer without his supper now, for that she would go
down and fry the rashers immediately. She then disappeared through the
ground, and the men all followed.

Andy drew his breath freely once more, and with caution raised himself
gradually from the ground with a careful circumspection, lest any of the
subterranean community might be watchers on the hill; and when he was
satisfied he was free from observation, he stole away from the spot with
stealthy steps for about twenty paces, and there, as well as the darkness
would permit, after taking such landmarks as would help him to retrace his
way to the still, if requisite, he dashed down the hill at the top of his
speed. This pace he did not moderate until he had placed nearly a mile
between him and the scene of his adventure; he then paced slowly to regain
his breath. His head was in a strange whirl; mischief was threatened
against some one of whose name he was ignorant; Squire Egan was declared
to be in the power of an old rascal; this grieved Andy most of all, for he
felt _he_ was the cause of his old master's dilemma.

"Oh! to think I should bring him into trouble," said Andy, "the kind and
good masther he was to me ever, and I live to tell it like a blackguard--
throth I'd rather be hanged any day than the masther would come to
throuble--maybe if I gave myself up and was hanged like a man at once,
that would settle it; 'faith, if I thought it would, I'd do it sooner than
Squire Egan should come to throuble!" and poor Andy spoke just what he
felt. "Or would it do to kill that blackguard Hogan? _sure they could do
no more than hang me afther_, and that would save the masther, and be
all one to me, for they often towld me I'd be hanged. [1] But then there's
my sowl," said Andy, and he paused at the thought--, "if they hanged me
for the letthers, it would be only for a mistake, and sure then I'd have a
chance o' glory; for sure I might go to glory through a mistake; but if I
killed a man on purpose, sure it would be slappin' the gates of Heaven in
my own face. Faix, I'll spake to Father Blake about it." [2]

[1][Footnote: How often has the sanguinary penal code of past years
suggested this reflection and provoked the guilt it was meant to awe!
Happily, now our laws are milder, and more protective from their
mildness.]

[2][Footnote: In the foregoing passage, Andy stumbles on uttering a quaint
pleasantry, for it is partly true as well as droll--the notion of a man
gaining Paradise through a mistake. Our intentions too seldom lead us
there, but rather tend the other way, for a certain place is said to be
paved with "good" ones, and surely "bad" ones would not lead us upwards.
Then the phrase of a man "slapping the gates of Heaven in his own face,"
is one of those wild poetic figures of speech in which the Irish peasantry
often indulge. The phrase "slapping the door" is every-day and common; but
when applied to "the gates of Heaven," and "in a man's own face," the
common phrase becomes fine. But how often the commonest things become
poetry by the fitness of their application, though poetasters and people
of small minds think greatness of thought lies in big words.]




CHAPTER XXVI


The following day was that eventful one which should witness the return
of either Edward Egan, Esq., or the Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain as
member for the county. There was no doubt in any reasonable man's mind as
to the real majority of Egan, but the numbers were sufficiently close to
give the sheriff an opportunity of doing a bit of business to oblige his
friends, and therefore he declared the Honourable Sackville Scatterbrain
duly elected. Great was the uproar; the people hissed, and hooted, and
groaned, for which the Honourable Sackville very good-naturedly returned
them his thanks. Murphy snapped his fingers in the sheriff's face, and
told them his honourable friend should not long remain member, for that he
must be unseated on petition, and that he would prove the return most
corrupt, with which words he again snapped his fingers in the sheriff's
face.

The sheriff threatened to read the riot act if such conduct was repeated.

Egan took off his hat, and thanked him for his _honourable, upright, and
impartial_ conduct, whereupon all Egan's friends took off their hats
also, and made profound bows to the functionary, and then laughed most
uproariously. Counter laughs were returned from the opposite party, who
begged to remind the Eganites of the old saying, "that they might laugh
who win." A cross-fire of sarcasms was kept up amidst the two parties as
they were crushing forward out of the courthouse; and at the door, before
entering his carriage, Scatterbrain very politely addressed Egan, and
trusted that, though they had met as rivals on the hustings, they
nevertheless parted friends, and expressing the highest respect for the
squire, offered his hand in amity.

Egan, equally good-hearted as his opponent, shook his hand cordially;
declaring he attributed to him none of the blame which attached to other
persons. "Besides, my dear sir," said Egan, laughing, "I should be a very
ill-natured person to grudge you so small an indulgence as being member of
parliament _for a month or so_."

Scatterbrain returned the laugh, good-humouredly, and replied that, "at
all events, he _had_ the seat."

"Yes, my dear sir," said Egan, "and make the most of it _while_ you
have it. In short, I shall owe you an obligation when I go over to St.
Stephen's, for you will have just _aired my seat_ for me--good bye."

They parted with smiles, and drove to their respective homes; but as even
doubtful possession is preferable to expectation for the time being, it is
certain that Neck-or-Nothing Hall rang with more merriment that night on
the reality of the present, than Merryvale did on the hope of the future.

Even O'Grady, as he lay with his wounded arm on the sofa, found more
healing in the triumph of the hour than from all the medicaments of the
foregoing week, and insisted on going down-stairs and joining the party at
supper.

"Gusty, dear," said his wife, "you know the doctor said--"

"Hang the doctor!"

"Your arm, my love."

"I wish you'd leave off pitying my arm, and have some compassion on my
stomach."

"The doctor said--"

"There are oysters in the house; I'll do myself more good by the use of an
oyster-knife than all the lancets in the College of Surgeons."

"But your wound, dear?"

"Are they Carlingfords or Poldoodies?"

"So fresh, love."

"So much the better."

"Your wound I mean, dear?"

"Nicely opened."

"Only dressed an hour ago?"

"With some mustard, pepper, and vinegar."

"Indeed, Gusty, if you take my advice--"

"I'd rather have oysters any day."

O'Grady sat up on the sofa as he spoke and requested his wife to say no
more about the matter, but put on his cravat. While she was getting it
from his wardrobe, his mind wandered from supper to the pension, which he
looked upon as secure now that Scatterbrain was returned; and oyster-banks
gave place to the Bank of Ireland, which rose in a pleasing image before
O'Grady's imagination. The wife now returned with the cravat, still
dreading the result of eating to her husband, and her mind occupied wholly
with the thought of supper, while O'Grady was wrapt in visions of a
pension.

"You won't take it, Gusty, dear," said his wife with all the insinuation
of manner she could command.

"Won't I, 'faith?" said O'Grady. "Maybe you think I don't want it?"

"Indeed, I don't, dear."

"Are you mad, woman? Is it taking leave of the few senses you ever had you
are?"

"'T won't agree with you."

"Won't it? just wait till I'm tried."

"Well, love, how much do you expect to be allowed?"

"Why I can't expect much just yet--we must begin gently--feel the pulse
first; but I should hope, by way of start, that six or seven hundred--"

"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed his wife, dropping the cravat from her hands.
"What the devil is the woman shouting at?" said O'Grady.

"Six or seven hundred!!!" exclaimed Mrs. O'Grady; "my dear, there's not as
much in the house."

"No, nor has not been for many a long day; I know that as well as you,"
said O'Grady; "but I hope we shall get as much for all that."

"My dear, where could you get them?" asked the wife, timidly, who began to
think his head was a little light.

"From the treasury, to be sure."

"The treasury, my dear?" said the wife, still at fault; "how could you get
oysters from the treasury?"

"Oysters!" exclaimed O'Grady, whose turn it was now to wonder, "who talks
of oysters?"

"My dear, I thought you said you'd eat six or seven hundred of oysters!"

"Pooh! pooh! woman; it is of the pension I'm talking--six or seven hundred
pounds--pounds--cash--per annum; now I suppose you'll put on my cravat. I
think a man may be allowed to eat his supper who expects six hundred a
year."

A great many people besides O'Grady order suppers, and dinners too, on the
expectation of less than six hundred a year. Perhaps there is no more
active agent for sending people into the Insolvent Court than the
aforesaid "_expectation_."

O'Grady went down-stairs, and was heartily welcomed by Scatterbrain on his
re-appearance from his sick-room; but Mrs. O'Grady suggested that, for
fear any excess would send him back there for a longer time, a very
moderate indulgence at the table should suffice. She begged the honourable
member to back her argument, which he did; and O'Grady promised
temperance, but begged the immediate appearance of the oysters, for he
experienced that eager desire which delicate health so often prompts for
some particular food.

Andy was laying the table at the time, and was ordered to expedite matters
as much as possible.

"Yis, ma'am."

"You're sure the oysters are all good, Andy?"

"Sartin, ma'am."

"Because the last oysters you know--"

"Oh, yis, ma'am--were bad, ma'am--bekase they had their mouths all open. I
remember, ma'am; but when I'm towld a thing once, I never forget it again;
and you towld me when they opened their mouths once they were no good. So
you see, ma'am, I'll never bring up bad oysthers again, ma'am."

"Very good, Andy; and you have kept them in a cool place, I hope."

"Faix, they're cowld enough where I put them, ma'am."

"Very well; bring them up at once."

Off went Andy, and returned with all the haste he could with a large dish
heaped up with oysters.

O'Grady rubbed his hands with the impatience of a true lover of the
crustaceous delicacy, and Scatterbrain, eager to help him, flourished his
oyster-knife; but before he had time to commence operations the olfactory
nerves of the company gave evidence that the oysters were rather
suspicious; every one began sniffing, and a universal "Oh dear!" ran round
the table.

"Don't you smell it, Furlong?" said Scatterbrain, who was so lost in
looking at Augusta's mustachios that he did not mind anything else.

"Isn't it horrid?" said O'Grady, with a look of disgust.

Furlong thought he alluded to the mustachio, and replied with an assurance
that he "liked it of all things."

"Like it?" said O'Grady; "you've a queer taste. What do _you_ think
of it, miss?" added he to Augusta, "it's just under your nose." Furlong
thought this rather personal, even from a father.

"I'll try my knife on one," said Scatterbrain, with a flourish of the
oyster-knife, which Furlong thought resembled the preliminary trial of a
barber's razor.

Furlong thought this worse than O'Grady; but he hesitated to reply to his
chief, and an _honourable_ into the bargain.

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