Tom Burke Of "Ours", Volume I. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ was falling, and Darby made not his appearance. When I spoke of him to the others, they expressed no surprise at his absence, merely remarking that he was always uncertain, – no one knew when to expect him; that he rarely came when they looked for him, and constantly dropped in when no one anticipated it.

      “There he is now, then!” said one of the young men, springing up and opening the door; “I hear his voice in the glen.”

      “Do you see him, Maurice?” cried Malone. “Is it him?”

      The young man stepped back, his face pale as death, and his mouth partly open.

      He whispered a word in the old man’s ear; to which the other responded, – “Where?”

      The youth pointed with his finger. “How many are they?” was his next question, while his dark eye glanced towards the old musket that hung on the wall above the fire.

      “Too many, – too many for us,” said Maurice, bitterly.

      The women, who had gathered around the speaker, looked at each other with an expression of utter wretchedness, when one of them, breaking from the others, rushed into the little inner room off the kitchen, and slammed the door violently behind her. The next instant the sound of voices was heard from the room, as if in altercation. Malone turned round at once, and throwing the door wide open, called out, —

      “Be quiet, I say; there’s not a moment to be lost. Maurice, put that gun away; Shamus, take up your net again; sit down, girls.”

      At the same instant he drew from his bosom a long horse pistol, and having examined the loading and priming, replaced it within his waistcoat, and sat down on a chair beside the fire, his strongly marked countenance fixed on the red blaze, while his lips muttered rapidly some words to himself.

      “Are ye ready there?” he cried, as his eyes were turned towards the small door.

      “In a minit,” said the woman from within.

      At the same instant the sounds of voices and the regular tramp of men marching were heard without.

      “Halt! stand at ease!” called out a deep voice; and the clank of the muskets as they fell to the ground was heard through the cabin.

      Meanwhile, every one within had resumed his previous place and occupation, and the buzz of voices resounded through the kitchen as though no interruption whatever had taken place. The latch was now lifted, and a sergeant, stooping to permit his tall feather to pass in, entered, followed by a man in plain clothes.

      The latter was a short, powerfully-built man, of about fifty; his hair, of a grizzly gray, contrasted with the deep purple of his countenance, which was swollen and bloated; the mouth, its most remarkable feature, was large and thick-lipped, the under-lip, projecting considerably forward, and having a strange, convulsive motion when he was not speaking.

      “It’s a hard day. Mister Barton,” said Malone, rising from his seat, and stroking down his hair with one hand; “won’t ye come over and take an air at the fire?”

      “I will, indeed, Ned,” said he, taking the proffered seat, and stretching out his legs to the blaze. “It’s a severe season we have. I don’t know how the poor are to get in the turf; the bogs are very wet entirely.”

      “They are, indeed, sir; and the harvest ‘ill be very late getting in now,” said one of the young men, with a most obsequious voice. “Won’t ye sit down, sir?” said he to the sergeant.

      A nod from Mister Barton in acquiescence decided the matter, and the sergeant was seated.

      “What’s here, Mary?” said Barton, striking the large pot that hung over the fire with his foot.

      “It’s the boys’ dinner, sir,” said the girl.

      “I think it wouldn’t be a bad job if we joined them,” replied he, laughingly, – “eh, sergeant?”

      “There ‘ill be enough for us all,” said Malone; “and I’m sure ye’re welcome to it.”

      The table was quickly spread, the places next the fire being reserved for the strangers; while Malone, unlocking a cupboard, took down a bottle of whiskey, which he placed before them, remarking, as he did so, —

      “Don’t be afeard, gentlemen, ‘tis Parliament.”

      “That ‘s right, Malone. I like a man to be loyal in these bad times; there’s nothing like it. (Faith, Mary, you’re a good cook; that’s as savory a stew as ever I tasted.) Where ‘s Patsey now? I have n’t seen him for some time.”

      The girl’s face grew dark red, and then became as suddenly pale; when, staggering back, she lifted her apron to her face, and leaned against the dresser.

      “He’s transported for life,” said Malone, in a deep, sepulchral voice, while all his efforts to conceal agitation were fruitless.

      “Oh, I remember,” said Barton, carelessly; “he was in the dock with the Hogans. (I ‘ll take another bone from you, Ned. Sergeant, that ‘s a real Irish dish, and no bad one either.)”

      “What’s doing at the town to-day?” said Malone, affecting an air of easy indifference.

      “Nothing remarkable, I believe. They have taken up that rascal. Darby the Blast, as they call him. The major had him under examination this morning for two hours; and they say he ‘ll give evidence against the Dillons, (a little more fat, if ye please;) money, you know, Ned, will do anything these times.”

      “You ought to know that, sir,” said Maurice, with such an air of assumed innocence as actually made Barton look ashamed. In an instant, however, he recovered himself, and pretended to laugh at the remark. “Your health, sergeant; Ned Malone, your health; ladies, yours; and boys, the same.” A shower of “thank ye, sir’s,” followed this piece of unlooked-for courtesy. “Who’s that boy there, Ned?” said he, pointing to me as I sat with my eyes riveted upon him.

      “He’s from this side of Banagher, sir,” said Malone, evading the question.

      “Come over here, younker. What ‘s his name?”

      “Tom, sir.”

      “Come over, Tom, till I teach you a toast. Here’s a glass, my lad; hold it steady, till I fill you a bumper. Did you ever hear tell of the croppies?”

      “No, never!”

      “Never heard of the croppies! Well, you’re not long in Ned Malone’s company anyhow, eh? ha! ha! ha! Well, my man, the croppies is another name for the rebels, and the toast I ‘m going to give you is about them. So mind you finish it at one pull. Here now, are you ready?”

      “Yes, quite ready,” said I, as I held the brimming glass straight before me.

      “Here ‘s it, then, —

      “‘May every croppy taste the rope.

      And find some man to hang them;

      May Bagnal Harvey and the Pope

      Have Heppenstal to hang them!’”

      I knew enough of the meaning of his words to catch the allusion, and dashing the glass with all my force against the wall, I smashed it into a hundred pieces. Barton sprang from his chair, his face dark with passion. Clutching СКАЧАТЬ