Lord Kilgobbin. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ Ye see, your honour,’ added he, in a confidential tone, ‘it’s one of them tricks the English played us in the year of the famine. They got two millions of money to make roads in Ireland, but they were so afraid it would make us prosperous and richer than themselves, that they set about making roads that go nowhere. Sometimes to the top of a mountain, or down to the sea, where there was no harbour, and sometimes, like this one, into the heart of a bog.’

      ‘That was very spiteful and very mean, too,’ said Walpole.

      ‘Wasn’t it just mean, and nothing else! and it’s five miles we’ll have to go back now to the cross-roads. Begorra, your honour, it’s a good dhrink ye’ll have to give me for this day’s work.’

      ‘You forget, my friend, that but for your own confounded stupidity, I should have been at Kilgobbin Castle by this time.’

      ‘And ye’ll be there yet, with God’s help!’ said he, turning the horse’s head. ‘Bad luck to them for the road-making, and it’s a pity, after all, it goes nowhere, for it’s the nicest bit to travel in the whole country.’

      ‘Come now, jump up, old fellow, and make your beast step out. I don’t want to pass the night here.’

      ‘You wouldn’t have a dhrop of whisky with your honour?’

      ‘Of course not.’

      ‘Nor even brandy?’

      ‘No, not even brandy.’

      ‘Musha, I’m thinking you must be English,’ muttered he, half sulkily.

      ‘And if I were, is there any great harm in that?’

      ‘By coorse not; how could ye help it? I suppose we’d all of us be better if we could. Sit a bit more forward, your honour; the belly band does be lifting her, and as you’re doing nothing, just give her a welt of that stick in your hand, now and then, for I lost the lash off my whip, and I’ve nothing but this!’ And he displayed the short handle of what had once been a whip, with a thong of leather dangling at the end.

      ‘I must say I wasn’t aware that I was to have worked my passage,’ said Walpole, with something between drollery and irritation.

      ‘She doesn’t care for bating – stick her with the end of it. That’s the way. We’ll get on elegant now. I suppose you was never here before?’

      ‘No; and I think I can promise you I’ll not come again.’

      ‘I hope you will, then, and many a time too. This is the Bog of Allen you’re travelling now, and they tell there’s not the like of it in the three kingdoms.’

      ‘I trust there’s not!’

      ‘The English, they say, has no bogs. Nothing but coal.’

      ‘Quite true.’

      ‘Erin, ma bouchal you are! first gem of the say! that’s what Dan O’Connell always called you. Are you gettin’ tired with the stick?’

      ‘I’m tired of your wretched old beast, and your car, and yourself, too,’ said Walpole; ‘and if I were sure that was the castle yonder, I’d make my way straight to it on foot.’

      ‘And why wouldn’t you, if your honour liked it best? Why would ye be beholden to a car if you’d rather walk. Only mind the bog-holes: for there’s twenty feet of water in some of them, and the sides is so straight, you’ll never get out if you fall in.’

      ‘Drive on, then. I’ll remain where I am; but don’t bother me with your talk; and no more questioning.’

      ‘By coorse I won’t – why would I? Isn’t your honour a gentleman, and haven’t you a right to say what you plaze; and what am I but a poor boy, earning his bread. Just the way it is all through the world; some has everything they want and more besides, and others hasn’t a stitch to their backs, or maybe a pinch of tobacco to put in a pipe.’

      This appeal was timed by seeing that Walpole had just lighted a fresh cigar, whose fragrant fumes were wafted across the speaker’s nose.

      Firm to his determination to maintain silence, Walpole paid no attention to the speech, nor uttered a word of any kind; and as a light drizzling rain had now begun to fall, and obliged him to shelter himself under an umbrella, he was at length saved from his companion’s loquacity. Baffled, but not beaten, the old fellow began to sing, at first in a low, droning tone; but growing louder as the fire of patriotism warmed him, he shouted, to a very wild and somewhat irregular tune, a ballad, of which Walpole could not but hear the words occasionally, while the tramping of the fellow’s feet on the foot-board kept time to his song: —

      ‘‘Tis our fun they can’t forgive us,

      Nor our wit so sharp and keen;

      But there’s nothing that provokes them

      Like our wearin’ of the green.

      They thought Poverty would bate us,

      But we’d sell our last “boneen”

      And we’ll live on cowld paytatees,

      All for wearin’ of the green.

      Oh, the wearin’ of the green – the wearin’ of the green!

      ‘Tis the colour best becomes us

      Is the wearin’ of the green!’

      ‘Here’s a cigar for you, old fellow, and stop that infernal chant.’

      ‘There’s only five verses more, and I’ll sing them for your honour before I light the baccy.’

      ‘If you do, then, you shall never light baccy of mine. Can’t you see that your confounded song is driving me mad?’

      ‘Faix, ye’re the first I ever see disliked music,’ muttered he, in a tone almost compassionate.

      And now as Walpole raised the collar of his coat to defend his ears, and prepared, as well as he might, to resist the weather, he muttered, ‘And this is the beautiful land of scenery; and this the climate; and this the amusing and witty peasant we read of. I have half a mind to tell the world how it has been humbugged!’ And thus musing, he jogged on the weary road, nor raised his head till the heavy clash of an iron gate aroused him, and he saw that they were driving along an approach, with some clumps of pretty but young timber on either side.

      ‘Here we are, your honour, safe and sound,’ cried the driver, as proudly as if he had not been five hours over what should have been done in one and a half. ‘This is Kilgobbin. All the ould trees was cut down by Oliver Cromwell, they say, but there will be a fine wood here yet. That’s the castle you see yonder, over them trees; but there’s no flag flying. The lord’s away. I suppose I’ll have to wait for your honour? You’ll be coming back with me?’

      ‘Yes, you’ll have to wait.’ And Walpole looked at his watch, and saw it was already past five o’clock.

      CHAPTER X

THE SEARCH FOR ARMS

      When the hour of luncheon came, and no guests made their appearance, the young girls at the castle began to discuss what they should best do. ‘I know nothing of fine people and their ways,’ said Kate – ‘you must take the whole direction here, Nina.’

      ‘It is only a question of time, and a cold luncheon can wait without difficulty.’

      And СКАЧАТЬ