A Subaltern's Story
by J.H.L.
Originally published in The National Magazine (National Magazine Company) #2 (Dec 1856).
Once upon a time, when the Duke of York—God bless him!—reigned at the Horse Guards, and it was an article of faith that the commander-in-chief could do no wrong,—an illusion now happily dispelled,—it was ordained by fate and his Royal Highness that I, John Jollynose, a jovial subaltern in the Royal Fire-eaters, should become a temporary inhabitant of that island which one of her enthusiastic children maintains to be the "first flower of the earth," and which another of her well-wishers proposed should be sunk for ten minutes in that sea, of which, on the same authority, she is asserted to be the "gem." In other words, I was quartered in Ireland.
Not the prosperous, well-behaved, slow-going Erin of these degenerate modern days, when bogs are wilfully drained and cultivated, to the destruction of snipe-shooting; when corn-fields are arrogantly superseding the good old-fashioned potato-gardens; and Irish gentlemen have been occasionally known to pay their tailors' bills;—but the regular whisky-drinking, jig-dancing, shillelah-flourishing, rebellious "ould Ireland" of forty years ago, when the pig had the run of the parlour, and every man's house was his castle, from which he defied the law and all its myrmidons; and when a landlord guilty of the absurdity of asking for his rent was shot, as a matter of course, from behind a hedge by his injured and justly indignant tenant.
Instead of the milk-and-water served up to us now-a-days on this side of the channel as Irish intelligence, chronicling nothing more serious than a shindy at an election, or a row in the Four Courts, the curious in such matters might any day, in the "glorious old times" I speak of, enjoy a thrilling account of some atrocious murder or savage faction-fight, to say nothing of a goodly batch of such minor eccentricities as hunting a bailiff, ducking a gauger, or cutting off the ears of an unfortunate process-server.
One of the most rampant institutions in these rollickin days was the illegal manufacture of whisky; and the duty of assisting the civil power in its suppression was looked upon with almost as much dread as banishment to Sierra Leone. The unfortunate individual engaged in the uncongenial sport of still-hunting was converted for the time being into a regular Robinson Crusoe, with all the exciting accompaniments enjoyed by that illustrious exile; as the distillation of the outlawed spirit was carried on in the wildest and most uncivilised parts of the country, inhabited only by a race of savages, who were accustomed to look upon a house on fire as an amusing pyrotechnic display, and "potting" a Saxon through his parlour-window rather a meritorious action than otherwise. It is therefore not surprising that this duty was unpopular among military men; for though perfectly willing to lay down their lives for the good of their country in a fair fight, there were very few candidates for the honour and glory of being shot sitting by a wild Irishman.
Entertaining strong objections myself to becoming an animated target under any circumstances, and being naturally of a sociable disposition, no language can express the intensity of disgust I experienced on reading one evening in that peremptory volume, the Regimental Order Book, that Lieutenant Jollynose would hold himself in readiness to proceed with a detachment to Ballyblanket, there to be stationed, and assist the civil power in the suppression of illicit distillation. It is unnecessary to repeat the energetic expression I made use of as I sent the offending manuscript flying to the other end of the room, to the no small astonishment of the orderly sergeant who had brought it. "Hold myself in readiness!" I exclaimed bitterly, when the non-commissioned officer had vanished, after gravely picking up the book and saluting without moving a muscle of his countenance. "Just as if I should ever be ready to exchange all the fun and jollity of head-quarters, with a steeple-chase and a dozen balls in perspective, for solitary vegetation in the middle of some Irish bog, with no one to speak to but the priest and the exciseman, and nothing to eat but eggs and bacon." To be obliged to leave unfinished, at a most interesting crisis, a flirtation I was engaged in with Julia Mackintosh, the prettiet girl in the place, to the envy of a score of rivals, and march to Ballyblanket, a semi-barbarous little town somewhere in Wicklow, the female population of which walked about with bare legs and no bonnets,—O, it was too horrible! But I determined not to resign myself to my fate without a struggle. Although an order once issued is supposed to be as unchangeable as the laws of the Medes and Persians, if I could only provide a substitute, I might yet escape the doom that hung over me of exile from mess, and separation from the only girl I ever truly loved in that part of Ireland.
I rushed frantically about the barracks, and expatiated in glowing terms, and quite at random, on the beauty of the mountain scenery, and the excellence of the snipe-shooting to be obtained at Ballyblanket,—of which I knew about as much as I did of Kamtschatka. I pathetically represented to each and every subaltern I met, that by taking my place in the terrestrial paradise I had painted, it would not only be a source of the greatest gratification to himself, but would also everlastingly oblige his attached friend and comrade, John Jollynose.
All, however, seemed to turn a deaf ear to my eloquent appeals; and I was on the point of giving up in despair, when, to my great joy, I discovered a sentimental young ensign, who had just been abominably jilted, and plunged into the lowest depths of despair in consequences. I immediately gave him the benefit of the enthusiastic descriptions, which the others, to their shame, had failed to appreciate, and dwelt affectingly on the calm repose, so soothing to a wounded spirit, that was to be enjoyed at Ballyblanket. He gave in at once; this touching allusion to his dejected state fairly overcame him, and he burst into tears. He didn't care, he said, about snipe-shooting, the only thing he wanted to shoot was himself; it was a matter of perfect indifference to him where he went—his life was a blank now she was another's; and he rather liked the idea of going to Ballyblanket, as the dreary solitude of the Wicklow mountains would fitly harmonise with the desolate void that was in his heart; and should a bullet from the blunderbuss of some vindictive Milesian put an end to his miserable existence, he would consider it the greatest favour that could be conferred upon him: with which cheerful sentiment he left me to commence packing.
"Hurrah!" I exclaimed, in an ecstasy of delight. "I thought that bit about a 'wounded spirit' would hook him. What a lucky thing that his fair one should have thrown him over just in time to save me from Ballyblanket! It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. Now I can keep Julia all to myself." But, alas! I was destined to illustrate in my own person the uncertainty of human affairs in general, and military ones in particular. I was reckoning without my commanding officer, and hallooing before I was out of the wood—or rather bog. My praiseworthy attempt to oblige the interesting victim of unrequited attachment proved an utter failure. I had written to the adjutant, asking him to negotiate the exchange of duties, thinking, of course, no objection could be raised in the orderly-room; when, in the midst of my frantic demonstrations of joy at my release, a knock came to my door, and in walked that awful functionary himself with my note in his hand. I knew something was the matter from the official way in which he clattered into the room, and my heart sank within me at the rattle of his steel scabbard.
"The colonel desires me to tell you," bawled Dumbell, standing bolt upright, and speaking in the loud monotonous tone in which he used to read out the proceedings of a court-martial on parade, "that he regrets exceedingly it is out of his power to grant your request, as he has specially selected you for the command of the detachment about to proceed to Ballyblanket on account of the implicit confidence he places in your judgment, and the admirable qualifications you possess for the satisfactory discharge of the important and difficult duties you will be called on to perform; which means, Jollynose, my boy," said Dumbell, with a wink, dropping his official bellow, and subsiding into my arm-chair, "that you've been bleeding the old gentleman a leetle too freely lately. Here's your route," drawing a hard-hearted looking document from his pocket and tossing it on the table; "you start to-morrow."
"What!" I screamed; "not even twenty-four hours' notice?"
"Case of emergency," replied the adjutant, who on duty-matters spoke in short, sharp, staccato sentences; "gauger disappeared—last seen at Ballyblanket."
"But," I urged appealingly, "I haven't a thing packed; and my servant's a prisoner in the guard-room."
"Can't help it—colonel's order—parade to-morrow—eight sharp. I thought," said Dumbell, poking the fire with the end of his seabbard, "when I saw you crowing over the old fellow every night, and joking him about his bad play, that your fun wouldn't last very long. Take my advice," said he solemnly, as he rose to depart, having successfully smashed a refractory nob of coal into "smithereens," "never make fun of a colonel; and," added he, as he closed the door, "you'll find that winning from him is generally a losing game in the end."
Dumbell was right. I had been guilty of the unpardonable crime of being a better whist-player than my commanding officer—an ill-tempered, blue-nosed old veteran, who cared for nothing but cards and port-wine; and the present opportunity was too favourable a one to be missed of getting rid of an adversary who had a knack of invariably winning the odd trick, thereby considerably decreasing the gouty old field-officer's balance at the paymaster's.
I little thought when I was triumphantly pocketing my commander's half-crowns how dearly I should pay for my amusement, Next morning at "eight sharp," as Dumbell said, I found myself shivering on parade, in a drenching rain; and a few minutes after, with my martial cloak around me, I marched gloomily out of the barrack-square at the head of my detachment, en route for Ballyblanket, the colonel maliciously waving his hand to me as I passed his window, I had besides to run the gauntlet of various satirical congratulations from my brother-officers, shouted after me from the mess-room, including an offer from several to be the bearer of any tender message I might wish to send to Julia, as my last dying-speech, and an affectionate request from the senior ensign to take the greatest care of myself, and on no account to give him his promotion by sharing the fate of the missing exciseman. The rejected lover, disappointed of his "dreary solitude," and the chance of perforation he was so anxious for, was the only one who sympathised with my misfortune; the rest were only too glad to have escaped the "forlorn hope" that my unlucky skill at whist had entailed upon me.
After a march of three days through a never-varying succession of mountain and bog, and a never-ending downfall of rain, I arrived with my small and saturated army at Ballyblanket. And here I may remark, what I have no doubt has been often remarked before, that there is a perseverance and dogged determination about Irish rain worthy of a better cause. In tropical climates, where they have the "rains" par excellence, the water certainly comes down in bucketfuls, and with a hearty good-will, while it lasts; but when once over, there's an end of it—till next year. In Ireland, however, it rains all the year round. From January to December it is one continual shower-bath; and when not actually pouring, there is a thick mist hanging about that penetrates into the inmost recesses of one's flannel-waist-coat; so that the amphibious inhabitants of that excessively moist little island have only two phases of existence—the thoroughly wet and unpleasantly damp, which may perhaps account for their extreme aversion to water in its undiluted state, administered internally.
I discovered on my arrival that Ballyblanket was only occasionally occupied by a military detachment, and was what is technically called a half-billet station, that is, neither barrack nor billet, with the miseries of the one and the discomforts of the other skilfully combined.
A dilapidated old building had been hastily prepared for our reception, in one corner of which I was accommodated with a small kennel that had the door, window, and fire so conveniently situated, that I could open one, shut the other, and poke the third, without stirring from my chair.
The men, however, were too glad to get a roof over their heads after their wet march, and soon made themselves tolerably comfortable; and being no feather-bed soldier myself, and a bit of a philosopher to boot, after I had let of my indignation by the Briton's usual safety-valve—a good grumble, which relieved me very much—I determined to make the best of a bad business; and to my surprise, soon found myself becoming jolly under circumstances that even Mr. Mark Tapley would have allowed afforded considerable opportunities for "coming out strong."
Ballyblanket was not a cheerful place, Situated at the foot of a bleak and desolate mountain, and nearly surrounded by a vast expanse of black and impenetrable bog, it required no great stretch of the imagination to fancy that I had suddenly dropped down into one of those chaotic regions that geologists delight in; and if I had met a megatherium or other monstrosity wandering among those gray rocks, or seen a troop of ichthyosauri floundering about in those inky pools, they would only have been fit accompaniments to the thoroughly antediluvian and uncomfortable appearance of the prospect.
There are few buildings in the town that could be dignified with the name of houses, with the exception of the chapel, the priest's dwelling, and the tumble-down old edifice that formed our temporary barrack. This last had been originally intended for a court-house; but justice had been so little appreciated, and so roughly treated by the inhabitants, that she had long since taken her departure, and her temple had fallen into disrepair. The remainder of the town consisted of a straggling street of miserable hovels, in which a continual battle appeared to be raging between the pigs and the rest of the population, and which I am bound to state, in justice to those sagacious animals, they invariably got the best of, I could not help remarking, that the majority of the human occupants of these sties consisted of women and children; and on inquiring into the cause of the absence of the male sex, I was informed that the "boys" were always busily engaged "cutting turf,"—a professional term, I afterwards discovered, for brewing whisky; in which meritorious occupation it soon became my painful duty to interrupt them.
It is generally admitted that a certain unmentionable personage has not been treated with justice in the various portraits that have been painted of him, and that he is not by any means of so sable a-hue as he has been maliciously represented. In the same way, I discovered that even Ballyblanket had its advantages, consisting in first-rate shooting and a genial parish-priest; and when not officially engaged in persecuting the unfortunate "turf-cutters," I managed—in total oblivion of mess, balls, and steeple-chases, and with only an occasional sigh for the girl I had left behind me—to pass my days very pleasantly, slaughtering snipe 1n the bogs, and my nights, with equal enjoyment, playing chess with Father Patrick.
His reyerence had taken me under his especial protection. All sorts of unpleasant anathemas were invoked upon the head of any one doing me the slightest injury, and no enraged whisky-manufacturer could take summary vengeance upon me for the destruction of his property without incurring certain excommunication and every other disagreeable pain and penalty it was in the power of the jovial Father Patrick to inflict.
It was lucky I had such a friend to stand between me and harm, for the "boys" had no cause to bear me any particular good-will. My arrival had been the signal for the commencement of a vigurous crusade against the al-fresco distilleries with which the district abounded; and when a still had been marked down, though any thing but a labour of love, I had nothing to do but order out my men, and assist the excise-officers in the execution of their duty of destroying the implements and capturing the proprietors. For the first two months we were very busy, and requisitions from the civil power were continually turning us out of our beds, as seizures were generally made at night; but at the end of that time business began to get "slack" as the shopkeepers say, and an alarming rise in the price of the condemned spirit showed what havoc we had made among its producers. Numbers ha¢ been taken, and their apparatus destroyed; others had migrated further into the mountains, where gaugers were unknown; and the few that remained conducted their illegal proceedings with such secrecy as to baffle the attempts of the most sharp-scented exciseman to discover their hiding-places. One man in particular, a Mr. Barney O'Toole,—supposed to be a deserter from some regiment, and celebrated all the country round for the superior quality of his brew,—was known to have an establishment in the neighbourhood in full work; and though a large reward was offered for any information leading to the discovery of a still, the "Old Soldier," as he was called, had hitherto eluded all detection, and continued to supply the population of Ballyblanket, myself among the number, sub rosa of course, with the most delicious mountain-dew that ever gladdened the heart of a lonely subaltern.
Ry the merest accident I became acquainted with the spot where this nectar was distilled. I was strolling one
day along a desolate valley, gun in hand, on my way to a spring tenanted by a lively little Jack snipe that had become quite an old acquaintance. I had nearly reached my small preserve, and, with both barrels at full cock, was expecting my invulnerable little friend to get up with a screech, and whiffle off as usual unharmed through a shower of No. 8, when I found myself suddenly enveloped in one of those heavy mists that were continually stalking like ghosts about the country, which soon increased to a drenching rain. I looked in vain for shelter. Not a creature was in sight, and, as far as I knew, I was miles away from any human habitation; so "reversing" my arms, I made my way to a large rock, under the lee of which I crouched, and having lighted my pipe, philosophically made up my mind for a ducking. My thoughts, I suppose, took their colour from the surrounding scenery, and I soon became wrapped in a study of the brownest description. I settled entirely to my own satisfaction that the colonel was an avaricious old tyrant, and myself a persecuted individual. I speculated as who had taken my place in the elastic affections of Miss Mackintosh, By an easy transition, my thoughts wandered to Mrs. Brown, my sergeant's wife; and I was deciding whether that invaluable woman would hash or mince the leg of mutton that had formed my yesterday's dinner, when my ruminations were disturbed by the figure of a man looming through the mist, and apparently making for the rock under which I was sitting.
He was dressed in a long-tailed gray frieze-coat and hayband gaiters, I could not see his face, for he kept his head down, butting like a ram at the gusts of wind that swept down the valley; and with one hand holding on his apology for a hat and the other grasping a stout blackthorn, he battled his way against the storm till he caught sight of the muzzle of my gun pointing to the centre of his waist-coat, If both charges had been deposited there, he could not have Jumped higher than he did.
"Och, murther!—I'm done for," he exclaimed.
"Halloo, What's the matter with you?" I said laughing, for I never saw a man so utterly taken aback. "You're not shot yet."
At the sound of my voice his alarm seemed to subside, and after scratching his head,—a practice common to Irishmen when they find themselves in a hobble; the irritation acting, I suppose, as a kind of mental blister, and drawing out an idea,—he said, tugging at a carroty lock that was dropping down his face, and lashing out behind with one of his hay-bandaged legs by way of an obeisance,
"Och! is it you, captin' I'm glad to see yer honor looking so well."
"You've a queer way of showing it, Barney," I replied; for by this time I had recognised him as the notorious Mr. O'Toole.
"Faith," said he, with a comical look, "I thought it was Misther Ginger (this was the excise-officer). I ask yer honor's pardon for takin' you for such a snaking ould varmint; but the rain blinded me."
"It's lucky for you I'm not," I said. "I expect you're after no good on the mountain, Barney."
"I was only takin' a sthroll this fine soft day," said he, trying to look the character of an innocent stroller, and failing utterly in the attempt.
"None of your nonsense," I said, laughing at his idea of a fine day, and looking about for some trace of the still, which I guessed from his manner was not far distant. "Where's the shop, eh, Barney?"
This question quite upset his assumed composure; and he whined, dreadfully alarmed, "Ah, captin, you wouldn't
ruin a poor man that's nothing ilse to depind on."
"O, don't be afraid of that," I said; "I'm not on duty to-day."
His face brightened directly. "Then, by me sow], its myself that's right glad to see yer honor; and won't you
walk in out of the rain?"
The offer of shelter was most acceptable, as the weather, to use Barney's expression, was getting softer and softer; but I tried in vain to detect any sign of the habitation he so hospitably invited me to enter. I could see nothing but the rock I had been sitting under, in a crevice of which there grew some stunted furze-bushes. I was not long kept in ignorance of the entrance to Mr. O'Toole's mountain residence; for having first peered cautiously about,—an unnecessary proceeding on his part, as the mist was thicker than ever,—he pulled aside the shrubs I had noticed, darted through a low opening they had entirely concealed, and beckoning me to follow, disappeared into a dark passage, from the recesses of which [ could hear him shouting, "Mind yer head, captin."
This admonition was not unnecessary, as, notwithstanding the greatest caution, that part came several times into severe contact with jagged and unexpected angles of rock, raising bumps unknown to phrenology; and I had to progress some distance in a swimming position before I emerged into a good-sized cavern, smelling unmistakably of whisky.
"Yer honor's welcome," said my host, bareheaded and bowing, as soon as I had exchanged my horizontal for a perpendicular position.
"Why, you've got quite a snug little parlour here," I said, looking about.
"O, snug enough," said Barney, grinning. "It's little I want, if I'm let alone."
"If you could only heighten your passage a little," said I, rubbing my head, "it would be more convenient for your friends."
"I don't care much about convanience, you see, captin. You'll know your way better another time. But sit down, yer honor," said Barney, turning up a suspicious looking tub for my accommodation," while I bar the door;" and he dived into his tunnel.
During the minute or two my host was engaged arranging the shrubbery that formed the cheveux-de-frise of his little fortress, I discovered that I was in a good-sized cavern, lighted from the top by a hole that answered the double purpose of a window and a chimney. The still was not at work; but the various implements scattered about, and the almost overpowering odour of poteen that pervaded the place, left no doubt on my mind as to the unlawful occupation of the proprietor. My conscience was not altogether easy at thus becoming an accomplice of Mr. O'Toole's; but I quieted my scruples with the reflection, that it was no part of my duty to discover stills, any more than it was a barrister's to collect evidence, or a physician's to mix medicine. All I had to do was to administer the coup-de-grace when the excise-officers pointed the game, in the same way that a terrier snaps up an unfortunate rat that the ferrets have frightened out of his hole, or, to use a more dignified simile, as the velvet-clad matador gracefully severs the spinal cord of a wretched bull after he has been worried to a stand-still by the squibs and red pocket-handkerchiefs of the light-heeled picadores.
"If it wasn't for the smoke being seen," said Barney, on his reappearance, "I'd light a fire, for yer honor must be wet and could; but that ould thief Ginger is always prowling about the mountains—bad luck to him."
"And it wouldn't do," said I, laughing, "for him to find a king's officer conspiring with such a notorious defrauder of his majesty as yourself, Barney."
"Niver fear, yer honor," said my host, bringing a jug from a dark corner of the cavern, where he had been engaged in tapping something very like a small barrel.
"And as for being wet," I said, "I have been so accustomed to it since I came to Ballyblanket, that I am rather afraid of getting thoroughly dry, for fear I should catch cold."
"Here's something that'll prevent yer takin' could, yer honor," said Barney, pouring a yellowish fluid from the jug into a cracked teacup. "If I can't warm yer one way, I can another." And he presented the cup with the grace a duke's butler might envy, and stood watching the expression of my face as eagerly as an artist scans the countenance of a connoisseur examining his picture. "Try that, captin."
I did try it; and liked it so much, to Barney's great delight, I tried it again. There is no necessity for me to specify what the jug contained. It is sufficient to say, I found it possessed all the comforting qualities ascribed to it by my entertainer; and I gratefully acknowledged that, with such a heating-apparatus at his command, a fire became a ridiculous superfluity. At my request, he warmed himself at his portable stove; but he did not seem to care much about it,—I suppose on the same principle that grocers hate figs, and pastrycooks are not partial to bull's-eyes. For more than an hour I remained Barney's guest, and found him a most agreeable companion. Under the influence of the jug, he became quite confidential. I found that he had been a soldier in his youth, but had purchased his discharge—(1 was not rude enough to ask to see the document)—on the death of his father, who had left him his stock in trade—(here he indicated the furniture of the cavern, including the tub on which I was sitting)—and a secret recipe that was a heirloom in his family, and had enabled them to command the best price in the market for many generations. He explained to me all the mysteries of his profession, till I believe I could have brewed some uncommonly good whisky myself; and kept me in roars of laughter when he described the various shifts he was occasionally put to in supplying his numerous customers without detection.
"Well, Barney," I said, rising, after the jug had been emptied, and I felt exceedingly warm and comfortable, "by the look of your skylight, the rain must be over; so, with many thanks for your hospitality and shelter, I'll go on with my shooting."
"One little drop more, captin," said Barney, going to replenish the jug, "just to steady yer aim."
"No, thank you; I am as steady as a rock," I replied, stumbling over my tub in a most unaccountable manner.
"Hould up, captin, the place is very dark," said Barney, handing me my gun. "Faith, it's myself that's thankful to yer honor for not being above sittin' down with a poor fellow like me. It's a proud day for Barney O'Toole whin he recaves a frindly visit from a rale gintleman like yerself."
"I sincerely hope, for your sake," I said, "I may never have to make one in an official character, Barney."
"Ah, yer honor," said he, "I know yer heart's not in the work."
"That may be; but I've nothing to do but obey orders."
"That's true, captin; more's the pity."
After he had seen the coast was clear, and assisted me through his subterranean passage, which appeared more intricate and studded with sharper rocks than before, Mr. O'Toole and myself parted, with the expression of mutual good wishes.
"Good-by, Barney," I said, staggering a little,—I suppose at coming so suddenly into the light,[1]—" your secret's quite safe with me."
"Thank yer honor, kindly. I wish yer good sport; and," said he, as he disappeared into his hole, and dragged the bushes into their place, "my blessings follow you wheriver you go."
The most extraordinary part of this affair, however remains to be told. On leaving Barney, I walked to the spring; but whether the light affected my eyes, or the tears were still in them from laughing at his stories, or whether the smell of the whisky affected my vision in some way, I don't know; whatever it was, the little Jack snipes,—there were two of them, strange to say, this time,—went off as lively as ever, wagging their tails contemptuously at me, in the middle of a cloud of shot. They must have borne a charmed life, because I took particular pains about my aim, and fully expected to bring them down right and left. Should any one hint that the portable stove might have had something to do with this, I can only say that Mr. O'Toole assured me that the contents of the jug were "as mild as milk;" and who ever heard of milk affecting one's eyesight?
About a fortnight after this adventure, Father Patrick and I were spending our evening as usual, with a chessboard between us, and a steaming tumbler of punch at our sides, wherewith we occasionally stimulated our strategical talents, when I received an intimation that my services were required to assist in destroying a still, of which information had just been received. Much against my will, I turned out of the priest's comfortable parlour, just when I could have checkmated him in half-a-dozen moves, and started off with my party, under the guidance of the man who had brought the intelligence.
It was pitch-dark, and for more than an hour we toiled silently after him till within a short distance of the doomed distillery. Here we halted, and by the direction of our guide, whose voice appeared familiar to me, we surrounded a large rock, which, on approaching, I recognised as the one containing Mr. O'Toole and his fortunes. Poor Barney, then, had been discovered at last. I was very sorry; but had no alternative but to enter with the excise-officer, who, being rather stout, was a good deal mauled in navigating the narrow channel which led to the interior. I was delighted to find that the proprietor was not at home to do the honours of his establishment, although a cheerful turf-fire smouldering on the hearth showed that he had not long vacated his subterranean residence.
The still was not at work, and no traces of spirit were to be found; so, having destroyed poor Barney's patrimony, which, from its age, must have belonged not only to his father, but to a long line of ancestors, we started home. On our arrival at the entrance to the town, our guide, who had mysteriously disappeared during our search in the cavern, claimed his reward, and vanished without my having had an opportunity of seeing his face, which I was anxious to do, as I wished to know who Barney had to thank for his ruin.
I confess I did not lay my head upon my pillow that night without serious misgivings as to my future fate. Happening so soon after my visit on the mountain, Mr. 0'Toole would naturally associate me with the night's transaction, and in his fury imagine that I had taken advantage of his confidence to betray him to his enemies. So far,—with the exception of a few threatening letters, written 1m blood or red ink, I don't know which, and rudely illustrated with facsimiles of my coffin, and other cheerful devices, which I had occasionally received,—Father Patrick had shielded me from harm; but no amount of excommunication, I thought, would prevent the angry distiller from taking the usual description of vengeance upon me for my supposed treachery. My time was evidently come, and the senior ensign would get his promotion without purchase.
I should be brought home some day on that exclusively Hibernian mode of conveyance for wounded gentlemen—a
shutter; or 1 should quietly disappear, like the exciseman; and be dug up in future ages, and exhibited in some Antipodean Museum as a specimen of a petrified Briton,—probably about the same time as Mr. Macaulay's New Zealander takes his seat on London Bridge, and contemplates the ruins of St. Paul's.[2]
Days, however, passed without my becoming entitled to the privilege of being carried on the shoulders of six British grenadiers to the tune of the Dead March in Saul; nor was I qualified for the somewhat questionable honour of being handed down to posterity as a fossil. I concluded, therefore, that the ruined spirit-merchant had given me credit for good faith, and had revenged his wrongs on somebody else; and I had ceased to think of him, except to pity his misfortune; when soon after, on my attending a fair held in a neighbouring town, the first person I met was Barney O'Toole. He was dressed in a bright-blue coat with brass buttons, and a sprigged waistcoat, and looked altogether the very reverse of the bankrupt-trader I had expected to see. He had evidently taken a considerable quantity of refreshment, and was in the highest spirits. On seeing me, instead of the vindictive scowl I had anticipated, a delighted grin lit up his face, and he rushed up to me, exclaiming, "Hurroo, it's the captin! And how has yer honor been this long time?" he said, doffing a new hat and giving the accustomed kick with his leg, on which the haybands had been replaced by smart blue worsted stockings.
"Pretty well, thank you, Barney," I replied. "I'm glad to see you looking so blooming."
"Niver was better, thank yer honor," he said, cutting a caper.
"And what are you doing here?" I asked, wondering what had put him into such a good humour.
"Why, yer see, captin, havin' a thrifle to spare, thank God, I'm afther buying as swate a little pig as ivir yer clapt eyes on," he said, still in paroxysms of delight.
By this time he had followed me to a room in the inn; and having shut the door, I said, "I'm glad your affairs are in so flourishing a condition."
"I'm a made man," said Barney, snapping his fingers.
"I'm delighted to hear it," I said. "I was afraid that "unfortunate business the other night,"—here Barney grinned from ear to ear; and concluding he was tipsy, I continued gravely,—" that unfortunate business had crippled you for a time; and I wished, when I met you, to offer you any little assistance I could afford to set you up in some more legitimate occupation."
"Yer honor's a good friend and a kind gintleman; and I'd like to see the man who says he knows a better," said Barney, quite fierce.
"I hope, however," I went on, "you don't suppose that I took advantage of the information I gained on the mountain to bring—"
"Be my sowl," said Barney, interrupting me, and flourishing his shillelah at some imaginary depreciator of my
honesty, "if any one else had hinted sich a thing I'd have raised a lump on his head that would have previnted the blaguard from wearing his hat for a month o' Sundays—so I would. No, no, captin, make your mind aisy. I know the man that informed against me." And he winked facetiously.
"And who is the rascal?" I inquired sternly; for I was annoyed at what I considered his untimely mirth.
"Would you like to know his name, captin?" said Barney knowingly.
"Yes, I should," I replied, "very much; for I tried to catch a sight of his face that night; but it was too dark."
"I'll tell you," said Barney, beckoning me close to him, and putting his mouth to my ear; "his name is--are you listening, captin?"
"Yes, yes," I said impatiently; "go on."
"His name is—Barney O'Toole."
"Barney O'Toole!" I exclaimed, staring at him, while he seemed to enjoy my amazement. "Are there two Barney
O'Tooles?"
"I nivir heard of another," he said waggishly. "Whisper, captin,"—and he looked cautiously about him to see that no one was near,—"I gave the information myself!"
"Then it was you, was it, that turned me out of Father Patrick's parlour at twelve o'clock at night?—bad luck to you!" said I, remembering our guide's sudden disappearance and anxiety not to be seen. "I thought I knew the voice."
"I was sorry to give yer honor sich a could walk," said Barney, looking any thing but distressed; "but—"
"O, never mind that," I said. "I'm glad you're going to give up your evil practices and become a respectable member of society."
"Well, I don't know about that," he replied, grinning again from ear to ear. "I shall be glad to see yer honor again in the ould place."
"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled more than ever.
"I mane, yer honor, that the tubs and things were ould and worn out."
"Yes," I said, "I noticed that."
"I got five pounds for giving the information," he went on, his eyes sparkling with fun at the astonishment depicted on my face.
"Well?" I said smiling, for I began to suspect the dénouement.
"Every thing's bran new. I'm hard at work again; and we'll finish another jug, captin dear, whiniver yer come my way." Here he could contain his merriment no longer. He danced a pas seul round the table, and I went into a roar of laughter at Mr. Barney O'Toole's notable device of turning informer against himself.
1. The same remarkable phenomenon is sometimes witnessed, I believe, after a visit to the Docks with a tasting-order.
2. The reader is requested to pardon this anachronism, which slipped out unawares. Mr Macauley had not then favoured the world with his celebrated apothegem. The great romancer at that time, I expect, preferred leapfrog to history.