Willy Reilly Part 17

"Why, they said he was a dacent Papish, I think they called it; and that there wasn't sich another among them. They then lighted their pipes, had a smoke, went about their business, and I saw no more of them from that day to this."

Reilly felt that this conversation was significant, and that the widow's cabin was any thing but a safe place of refuge, even for a few hours. We have already said that he had been popular with all parties, which was the fact, until his acquaintance with the old squire and his lovely daughter. In the meantime the loves of w.i.l.l.y Reilly and the far-famed _Cooleen Bawn_ had gone abroad over the whole country; and the natural result was that a large majority among those who were anxious to exterminate the Catholic Church by the rigor of bigoted and inhuman laws, looked upon the fact of a tolerated Papist daring to love a Protestant heiress, and the daughter of a man who was considered such a stout prop of the Establishment, as an act that deserved death itself.

Reilly's affection for the _Cooleen Bawn_ was considered, therefore, not only daring but treasonable. Those men, then, he reflected, who had called upon her while in pursuit of the unfortunate priest, had become acquainted with the fact of her dependence upon his bounty; and he took it for granted, very naturally and very properly, as the event will show, that now, while "on his keeping," it would not be at all extraordinary if they occasionally searched her remote and solitary cabin, as a place where he might be likely to conceal himself. For this night, however, he experienced no apprehension of a visit from them, but with what correctness of calculation we shall soon see.

"Molly," said he, this poor man and I must sit with you for a couple of hours, after which we will leave you to your rest."

"Indeed, Mr. Reilly," she replied, "from what I heard this day I can make a party good guess at the raison why you are here now, instead of bein' in your own comfortable house. You have bitther enemies; but G.o.d--blessed be his name--is stronger than any of them. However, I wish you'd let me get you and that poor man something to eat."

This kind offer they declined, and as the short rush-light was nearly burned out, and as she had not another ready, she got what is called a _cam_ or grisset, put it on the hearth-stone, with a portion of hog's lard in it; she then placed the lower end of the tongs in the fire, until the broad portion of them, with which the turf is gripped, became red hot; she then placed the lard in the grisset between them, and squeezed it until nothing remained but pure oil; through this she slowly drew the peeled rushes, which were instantly saturated with the grease, after which she left them on a little table to cool. Among the poorer cla.s.ses--small farmers and others--this process is performed every evening a little before dusk. Having thus supplied them with these lights, the pious widow left them to their own conversation and retired to the little room in order to repeat her rosary. We also will leave them to entertain themselves as best they can, and request our readers to follow us to a different scene.

CHAPTER VII.--An Accidental Incident favorable to Reilly

--And a Curious Conversation

We return to the party from whom Fergus Reilly had so narrow an escape.

As our readers may expect, they bent their steps to the magnificent residence of Sir Robert Whitecraft. That gentleman was alone in his library, surrounded by an immense collection of books which he never read. He had also a fine collection of paintings, of which he knew no more than his butler, nor perhaps so much. At once sensual, penurious, and bigoted, he spent his whole time in private profligacy--for he was a hypocrite, too--in racking his tenantry, and exhibiting himself as a champion for Protestant principles. Whenever an unfortunate Roman Catholic, whether priest or layman, happened to infringe a harsh and cruel law of which probably he had never heard, who so active in collecting his myrmidons, in order to uncover, hunt, and run down his luckless victim? And yet he was not popular. No one, whether of his own cla.s.s or any other, liked a bone in his skin. Nothing could infect him with the genial and hospitable spirit of the country, whilst at the same time no man living was so anxious to partake of the hospitality of others, merely because it saved him a meal. All that sustained his character at the melancholy period of which we write was what people called the uncompromising energy of his principles as a sound and vigorous Protestant.

"Sink them all together," he exclaimed upon this occasion, in a kind of soliloquy--"Church and bishop and parson, what are they worth unless to make the best use we can of them? Here I am prevented from going to that girl to-night--and that barbarous old blockhead of a squire, who was so near throwing me off for a beggarly Papist rebel: and doubly, trebly, quadruply cursed be that same rebel for crossing my path as he has done. The cursed light-headed jade loves him too--there's no doubt of that--but wait until I get him in my clutches, as I certainly shall, and, by ---, his rebel carca.s.s shall feed the crows. But what noise is that? They have returned; I must go down and learn their success."

He was right. Our friend the tipsy sergeant and his party were at the hall-door, which was opened as he went down, and he ordered lights into the back parlor. In a few minutes they were ushered in, where they found him seated as magisterially as possible in a large arm-chair.

"Well, Johnston," said he, a.s.suming as much dignity as he could, "what has been your success?"

"A bad evening's sport, sir; we bagged nothing--didn't see a feather."

"Talk sense, Johnston," said he sternly, "and none of this cant. Did you see or hear any thing of the rebel?"

"Why, sir, we did; it would be a devilish nice business if a party led and commanded by George Johnston should go out without hearin' and seein' something."

"Well, but what did you see and hear, sir?"

"Why, we saw Reilly's house, and a very comfortable one it is; and we heard from the servants that he wasn't at home."

"You're drunk, Johnston."

"No, sir, begging your pardon, I'm only hearty; besides, I never discharge my duty half so well as when I'm drunk; If feel no colors then."

"Johnston, if I ever know you to get drunk on duty again I shall have you reduced."

"Reduced!" replied Johnston, "curse the fig I care whether you do or not; I'm actin' as a volunteer, and I'll resign."

"Come, sir," replied Sir Robert, "be quiet; I will overlook this, for you are a very good man if you could keep yourself sober."

"I told you before, Sir Robert, that I'm a better man when I'm drunk."

"Silence, sir, or I shall order you out of the room."

"Please your honor," observed Steen, "I have a charge to make against George Johnston."

"A charge, Steen--what is it? You are a staunch, steady fellow, I know; what is this charge?"

"Why, sir, we met a suspicious character on the old bridle road beyond Reilly's, and he refused to take him prisoner."

"A poor half-Papist beggarman, sir," replied Johnston, "who was on his way to my uncle's to stop there for the night. Divil a scarecrow in Europe would exchange clothes with him without boot."

Steen then related the circ.u.mstances with which our readers are acquainted, adding that he suggested to Johnston the necessity of sending a couple of men up with him to ascertain whether what, he said was true or not; but that he flatly refused to do so--and after some nonsense about a barn he let him off.

"I'll tell you what, sir," said Johnston, "I'll hunt a priest or a Papish that breaks the law with any man livin', but hang me if ever I'll hunt a harmless beggarman lookin' for his bit."

At this period of the conversation the Red Rapparee, now in military uniform, entered the parlor, accompanied by some others of those violent men.

"Steen," said the baronet, "what or who do you suppose this ragged ruffian was?"

"Either a Rapparee, sir, or Reilly himself."

"O'Donnel," said he, addressing the Red Robber, "what description of disguises do these villains usually a.s.sume? Do they often go about as beggarmen?"

"They may have changed their hand, sir, since I became a legal subject, but, before that, three-fourths of us--of them--the villains, I mane--went about in the shape of beggars."

"That's important," exclaimed the baronet. "Steen, take half a dozen mounted men--a cavalry party have arrived here a little while ago, and are waiting further orders--I thought if Reilly had been secured it might have been necessary for them to escort him to Sligo. Well, take half a dozen mounted I men, and, as you very properly suggested, proceed with all haste to farmer Graham's, and see whether this mendicant is there or not; if he is there, take him into custody at all events, and if he is not, then it is clear he is a man for whom we ought to be on the lookout."

"I should like to go with them, your honor," said the Red Rapparee.

"O'Donnel," said Sir Robert, "I have other business for you to-night."

"Well, plaise your honor," said O'Donnel, "as they're goin' in that direction, let them turn to the left after pa.s.sin' the little stranie that crosses the road, I mane on their way home; if they look sharp they'll find a little _boreen_ that--but indeed they'll scarcely make it out in the dark, for it's a good way back in the fields--I mane the cabin of widow Buckley. If there's one house more than another in the whole countryside where! Reilly is likely to take shelter in, that's it.

He gave her that cabin and a large garden free, and besides allows her a small yearly pension. But remember, you can't bring your horses wid you--you must lave some of the men to take charge of them in the _boreen_ till you come back. I wish you'd let me go with them, sir."

"I cannot, O'Donnel; I have other occupation for you to-night."

Three or four of them declared that they knew the cottage right well, and could find it out without much difficulty. "They had been there,"

they said, "some six or eight months before upon a priest chase." The matter was so arranged, and the party set out upon their expedition.

It is unnecessary to say that these men had their journey for nothing; but at the same time one fact resulted from it, which I was, that the ragged mendicant they had met must have been some one well worth looking after. The deuce of it was, however, that, owing to the darkness of the night, there was not one among them who could have known Fergus the next day if they had met him. They knew, however, that O'Donnel, the Rapparee, was a good authority on the subject, and the discovery of the pretended mendicant's imposture was a proof of it. On this account, when they had reached the _boreen_ alluded to, on their return from Graham's, they came to the resolution of leaving their horses in charge, as had been suggested to them, and in silence, and with stealthy steps, pounce at once into the widow's cabin. Before they arrived there, however, we shall take the liberty of preceding them for a few minutes, and once more transport our readers to its bright but humble hearth.

About three hours or better had elapsed, and our two friends were still seated, maintaining the usual chat with Mrs. Buckley, who had finished her prayers and once, more rejoined them.

"Fergus, like a good fellow," whispered Reilly, "slip out for a minute or two; there's--a circ.u.mstance I wish to mention to Molly--I a.s.sure you it's of a very private and particular nature and only for her own ear."

"To be sure," replied Fergus; "I want, at all events, to stretch my legs, and to see what the night's about."

He accordingly left the cabin.

"Mrs. Buckley," said Reilly, "it was not for nothing I came here to-night. I have a favor to ask of you."