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

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Oh! you couldn’t understand it well. But it’s just as if we war n’t to have anything to say to governing ourselves; only to be made slaves of, and sent abroad to fight for the English, that always hate us and abuse us.”

      “And are we going to bear with this?” cried I, passionately.

      “No,” said Darby, laying his hand on my shoulder, – “no; not at least if we had twenty thousand like you, my brave boy. But you’ll hear everything yourself soon. And now, let me attend to your education a bit, for we’re not out of the enemy’s country.”

      Darby now commenced his code of instruction to me, by which I learned that I was to perform a species of second to him in all minstrelsy; not exactly on the truest principles of harmony, but merely alternating with him in the verses of his songs. These, which were entirely of his own composition, were all to be learned, – and orally, too, for Mister M’Keown was too jealous of his copyright ever to commit them to writing, and especially charged me never to repeat any lyric in the same neighborhood.

      “It’s not only the robbery I care for,” quoth Darby, “but the varmints desthroys my poethry completely; some’ times changing the words, injuring the sentiments, and even altering the tune. Now, it’s only last Tuesday I heerd ‘Behave politely,’ to the tune of ‘Look how he sarved me!’”

      Besides the musical portion of my education, there was another scarcely less difficult to be attended to: this was, the skilful adaptation of our melodies, not only to the prevailing tastes of the company, but to their political and party bearings; Darby supplying me with various hints how I was to discover at a moment the peculiar bias of any stranger’s politics.

      “The boys,” said Darby, thereby meaning his own party, “does be always sly and careful, and begin by asking, maybe, for ‘Do you incline?’ or ‘Crows in the barley,’ or the like. Then they ‘ll say, ‘Have you anything new, Mister M’Keown, from up the country?’ ‘Something sweet, is it?’ says I. ‘Ay, or sour, av ye have it,’ they ‘ll ‘say. ‘Maybe ye’d like “Vinegar-hill,” then,’ says I. Arrah, you’d see their faces redden up with delight; and how they ‘ll beat time to every stroke of the tune, it ‘s a pleasure to play for them. But the yeos (meaning the yeomen) will call out mightily, – ‘Piper! halloo there! piper, I say, rise The Boyne water, or Croppies lie down.’”

      “And of course you refuse, Darby?”

      “Refuse! Refuse, is it? and get a bayonet in me? Devil a bit, my dear. I ‘ll play it up with all the spirit I can; and nod my head to the tune, and beat the time with my heel and toe; and maybe, if I see need of it, I fasten this to the end of the chanter, and that does the business entirely.”

      Here Darby took from the lining of his hat a bunch of orange ribbon, whose faded glories showed it had done long and active service in the cause of loyalty.

      I confess Darby’s influence over me did not gain any accession of power by this honest avowal of his political expediency; and the bold assertion of a nation’s wrongs, by which at first he won over my enthusiasm, seemed sadly at variance with this truckling policy. He was quicksighted enough to perceive what was passing in my mind, and at once remarked, —

      “‘Tis a hard part we’re obliged to play, Master Tom; but one comfort we have, – it ‘s only a short time we ‘ll need it. You know the song? “Here he broke into the popular tune of the day: —

      “‘And the French will come again,

      Says the Shan van vaugh;

      And they ‘ll bring ten thousand men.

      Says the Shan van vaugh;

      And with powder and with ball,

      For our rights we ‘ll loudly call:

      Don’t you think they ‘ll hear us then!

      Says the Shan van vaugh.’

      Ye must larn that air, Master Tom. And see, now, the yeos is as fond of it as the boys; only remember to put their own words to it, – and devil a harm in that same when one ‘s not in earnest. See, now, I believe it ‘s a natural pleasure for an Irishman to be humbugging somebody; and faix, when there ‘s nobody by he ‘d rather be taking a rise out of himself than doing nothing. It ‘s the way that ‘s in us, God help us! Sure it ‘s that same makes us sich favorites with the ladies, and gives us a kind of native janius for coortin’:

      “‘'T is the look of his eye,

      And a way he can sigh,

      Makes Paddy a darlin’ wherever he goes;

      With a sugary brogue.

      Ye ‘d hear the rogue

      Cheat the girls before their nose.’

      And why not? Don’t they like to be chated, when they ‘re sure to win after all, – to win a warm heart and a stout arm to fight for them?”

      This species of logic I give as a specimen of Mister M’Keown’s power of, if not explaining away a difficulty, at least getting out of all reach of it, – an attribute almost as Irish as the cause it was ‘employed to defend.

      As we journeyed along, Darby maintained a strict reserve as to the event which had required his presence in Athlone; nor did he allude to the mayor but passingly, observing that he did n’t know how it happened that a Dublin magistrate should have come up to these parts, – “though, to be sure, he ‘s a great friend of the Right Honorable.”

      “And who is he?” asked I.

      “The Right Honorable! Don’t you know, then? Why, I did n’t think there was a child in the county could n’t tell that. Sure, it ‘s Denis Browne himself.”

      The name seemed at once to suggest a whole flood of recollections; and Darby expatiated for hours long on the terrible power of a man by whose hands life and death were distributed, without any aid from judge or jury, – thus opening to me another chapter of the lawless tyranny to which he was directing my attention, and by which he already saw my mind was greatly influenced.

      About an hour after daybreak we arrived at a small cabin; which served as a lockhouse on the canal side. It needed not the cold, murky sky, nor the ceaseless pattering of the rain, to make this place look more comfortless and miserable than anything I had ever beheld. Around, for miles in extent, the country was one unbroken flat, without any trace of wood, or even a single thorn hedge, to relieve the eye. Low, marshy meadows, where the rank flaggers and reedy grass grew tall and luxuriant, with here and there some stray patches of tillage, were girt round by vast plains of bog, cut up into every variety of trench and pit. The cabin itself, though slated and built of stone, was in bad repair; the roof broken in many places, and the window mended with pieces of board, and even straw. As we came close. Darby remarked that there was no smoke from the chimney, and that the door was fastened on the outside.

      “That looks bad,” said he, as he stopped short about a dozen paces from the hovel, and looked steadily at it; “they’ve taken him too!”

      “Who is it, Darby?” said I; “what did he do?”

      M’Keown paid no attention to my question, but unfastening the hasp, which attached the door without any padlock, entered. The fire was yet alive on the hearth, and a small stool drawn close to it showed where some one had been sitting. There was nothing unusual in the appearance of the cabin; the same humble furniture and cooking utensils lying about as were seen in any other. Darby, however, scrutinized everything most carefully, looking everywhere and into everything; till at last, reaching his hand above the door, he pulled out from the straw of the thatch a СКАЧАТЬ