The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ to follow the words of any single speaker. Their rapid utterance, their vehement gesticulation, and a certain guttural mode of pronunciation, quite new to him, made them totally unintelligible, and he stood confused, perplexed, and confounded for several minutes, staring around on every side.

      “Do, in heaven’s name, be quiet,” cried he at last; “let one or two only talk at a time, and I shall learn what you mean.”

      A renewal of the clamour ensued; but this time it was a general effort to enforce silence – a process which eventuated in a far greater uproar than before.

      “Who, or what are you?” cried Sir Marmaduke, at last losing all temper, at the continuance of a tumult there seemed no prospect of coming to an end.

      “We’re your honour’s tenants, every one of us,” shouted the crowd with one voice.

      “My tenants!” reiterated he in horror and astonishment. “What! is it possible that you are tenants on my property? Where do you live, my poor old man?” said he, addressing a venerable old fellow, with a head as white as snow, and a beard like a patriarch’s.

      “He does not talk any English, your honour’s worship – he has only Irish; he lives in the glen beyond,” said a comely woman at his side.

      “And you, where do you come from yourself?”

      “I’m a poor widow, your honour, with six childer; and sorra bit I have, but the little garden, and the grass of a goat; and sure, fifteen shillings every half year is more nor I can pay, wid all the scrapin’ in life.”

      Sir Marmaduke turned away his head, and as he did so, his eye fell upon a poor creature, whose bloated cheeks and swollen figure denoted dropsy. The man interpreting the look into a compassionate inquiry, broke forth in a feeble voice – “I brought the nine shillings with me, yer honour; and though the captain refused to take it, I’m sure you won’t turn me out of the little place, for being a trifle late. It’s the watery dropsy – glory be to God! – I’m under; but they say I’m getting better.”

      While the poor creature spoke, a low muttering of pity burst from those around him, and many a compassionate look, and many a cheering word was expressed by those scarce less miserable than himself.

      There was now a certain kind of order restored to the assembly; and as Sir Marmaduke moved along the line, each in turn addressed his supplication or complaint. One was threatened with a distress on his pig, because he owed two half-years’ rent, and could only pay a portion of the debt; there was a failure in the potatoe crop, and a great famine the consequence. Another was only recovering from the “shaking ague,” and begged for time, since if he thrashed his oats, now, they would bring nothing in the market. A third entreated liberty to cut his turf on a distant bog, as he was up to his knees in water, in the place allotted to him.

      Some came with odd shillings due on the last rent-day, and anxious to get leave to send their children to the school without payment.

      Every one had some favour to look for – some mere trifle to the granter; the whole world to him who asked – and, for these, many had come miles away from homes far in the mountains; a glimmering hope of succour, the only encouragement to the weary journey.

      As Sir Marmaduke listened with a feigned composure to narratives, at which his very heart bled, he chanced to observe a strange-looking figure, in an old scarlet uniform, and a paper cap, with a cock’s feather stuck slantwise in the side of it. The wearer, a tall, bony youth, with yellow hair, carried a long wattle over his shoulder, as if it were a gun, and when the old baronet’s eye fell upon him, he immediately stood bolt upright, and held the sapling to his breast, like a soldier presenting arms.

      “Shoulder hoo!” he cried, and as the words were heard, a hearty burst of laughter ran through the crowd; every grief and sorrow was at once forgotten; the eyes wet with tears of sadness, were now moistened with those of mirth; and they laughed like those whose hearts had never known suffering.

      “Who is this fellow?” said Sir Marmaduke, half doubting how far he might relish the jest like the others.

      “Terry the Woods, your honour,” replied a score of voices together.

      “Terry the Woods!” repeated he, “and is Terry a tenant of mine?”

      “Faix, I am proud to say I am not,” said Terry, grounding his weapon, and advancing a step towards him, “divil a farthin’ of rent I ever paid, nor ever will. I do have my health mighty well – glory be to God! – and sleep sound, and have good clothes, and do nothing for it; and they say I am a fool, but which of us is the greatest fool after all.”

      Another outbreak of laughter was only quelled by Sir Marmaduke asking the reason of Terry’s appearance there, that morning – if he had nothing to look for.

      “I just came to pay my respects,” said Terry composedly, “to wish you a welcome to the country. I thought that as you might be lading the same kind of life as myself, we wouldn’t be bad companions, you see, neither of us having much on our hands; and then,” continued he, as he took off his paper bonnet and made a deep reverence, “I wanted to see the young lady there, for they tould me she was a born beauty.”

      Miss Travers blushed. She was young enough to blush at a compliment from such a source, as her father said laughingly —

      “Well, Terry, and have they been deceiving you?”

      “No,” said he, gravely, as with steady gaze he fixed his large blue eyes on the fair features before him. “No – she is a purty crayture – a taste sorrowful or so – but I like her all the better. I was the same myself when I was younger.”

      Terry’s remark was true enough. The young girl had been a listener for some time to the stories of the people, and her face betrayed the sad emotions of her heart. Never before had such scenes of human suffering been revealed before her – the tortuous windings of the poor man’s destiny, where want and sickness he in wait for those whose happiest hours are the struggles against poverty and its evils.

      “I can show you the beautifullest places in the whole country,” said Terry, approaching Miss Travers, and addressing her in a low voice, “I’ll tell you where the white heath is growing, with big bells on it, like cups, to hould the dew. Were you ever up over Keim-an-eigh?”

      “Never,” said she, smiling at the eagerness of her questioner.

      “I’ll bring you, then, by a short-cut, and you can ride the whole way, and maybe we’ll shoot an eagle – have you a gun in the house?”

      “Yes, there are three or four,” said she humouring him.

      “And if I shoot him, I’ll give you the wing-feathers – that’s what they always gave their sweethearts long ago, but them times is gone by.”

      The girl blushed deeply, as she remembered the present of young O’Donoghue, on the evening they came up the glen. She called to mind the air of diffidence and constraint in which he made the proffer, and for some minutes paid no attention to Terry, who still, continued to talk as rapidly as before.

      “There, they are filing off,” said Terry – “orderly time,” as he once more shouldered his sapling and stood erect. This observation was made with reference to the crowd of poor people, whose names and place of residence Sir Marmaduke having meanwhile written down, they were now returning to their homes with happy and comforted hearts. “There they go,” cried Terry, “and an awkward squad they are.”

      “Were СКАЧАТЬ