Jack Hinton Part 23

'I'm the ouldest man in the town-land,' said an old fellow with a white beard, and a blanket strapped round him.

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While bursting through the crowd came a strange, odd-looking figure, in a huntsman's coat and cap, but both so patched and tattered, it was difficult to detect their colour. 'Here's Joe, your honour,' cried he, putting his hand to his mouth at the same moment. 'Tally-ho! ye ho! ye yo!' he shouted, with a mellow cadence I never heard surpa.s.sed. 'Yow!

yow! yow!' he cried, imitating the barking of dogs, and then uttering a long, low wail, like the bay of a hound, he shouted out, 'Hark away t hark away!' and at the same moment pranced into the thickest of the crowd, upsetting men, women, and children as he went--the curses of some, the cries of others, and the laughter of nearly all ringing through the motley ma.s.s, making their misery look still more frightful.

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Throwing what silver I had about me amongst them, I made my way towards the hotel--not alone, however, but heading a procession of my ragged friends, who, with loud praises of my liberality, testified their grat.i.tude by bearing me company. Arrived at the porch, I took my luggage from the carrier, and entered the house. Unlike any other hotel I had ever seen, there was neither stir nor bustle, no burly landlord, no buxom landlady, no dapper waiter with napkin on his arm, no pert-looking chambermaid with a bedroom candlestick. A large hall, dirty and unfurnished, led into a kind of bar, upon whose unpainted shelves a few straggling bottles were ranged together, with some pewter measures and tobacco-pipes; while the walls were covered with placards, setting forth the regulations for the Grand Ca.n.a.l Hotel, with a list, copious and abundant, of all the good things to be found therein, with the prices annexed; and a pressing entreaty to the traveller, should he not feel satisfied with his reception, to mention it in a 'book kept for that purpose by the landlord.' I cast my eye along the bill of fare so ostentatiously put forth--I read of rump-steaks and roast-fowls, of red rounds and sirloins, and I turned from the spot resolved to explore farther. The room opposite was large and s.p.a.cious, and probably destined for the coffee-room, but it also was empty; it had neither chair nor table, and save a pictorial representation of a ca.n.a.l-boat, drawn by some native artist with a burnt stick upon the wall, it had no decoration. Having amused myself with the _Lady Caher_--such was the vessel called--I again set forth on my voyage of discovery, and bent my steps towards the kitchen. Alas! my success was no better there. The goodly grate, before which should have stood some of that luscious fare of which I had been reading, was cold and deserted; in one corner, it was true, three sods of earth, scarce lighted, supported an antiquated kettle, whose twisted spout was turned up with a misanthropic curl at the misery of its existence. I ascended the stairs, my footsteps echoed along the silent corridor, but still no trace of human habitant could I see, and I began to believe that even the landlord had departed with the larder.

At this moment the low murmur of voices caught my ear. I listened, and could distinctly catch the sound of persons talking together at the end of the corridor. Following along this, I came to a door, at which, having knocked twice with my knuckles, I waited for the invitation to enter. Either indisposed to admit me, or not having heard my summons, they did not reply; so turning the handle gently, I opened the door, and entered the room un.o.bserved. For some minutes I profited but little by this step; the apartment, a small one, was literally full of smoke, and it was only when I had wiped the tears from my eyes three times that I at length began to recognise the objects before me.

Seated upon two low stools, beside a miserable fire of green wood, that smoked, not blazed, upon the hearth, were a man and a woman. Between them a small and rickety table supported a tea equipage of the humblest description, and a plate of fish whose odour p.r.o.nounced them red herrings. Of the man I could see but little, as his back was turned toward me; but had it been otherwise, I could scarcely have withdrawn my looks from the figure of his companion. Never had my eyes fallen on an object so strange and so unearthly. She was an old woman, so old, indeed, as to have numbered nearly a hundred years; her head, uncovered by cap, or quoif, displayed a ma.s.s of white hair that hung down her back and shoulders, and even partly across her face, not sufficiently, however, to conceal two dark orbits, within which her dimmed eyes faintly glimmered; her nose was thin and pointed, and projecting to the very mouth, which, drawn backwards at the angles by the tense muscles, wore an expression of hideous laughter. Over her coa.r.s.e dress of some country stuff she wore, for warmth, the cast-off coat of a soldier, giving to her uncouth figure the semblance of an aged baboon at a village-show. Her voice, broken with coughing, was a low, feeble treble, that seemed to issue from pa.s.sages where lingering life had left scarce a trace of vitality; and yet she talked on, without ceasing, and moved her skinny fingers among the tea-cups and knives upon the table, with a fidgety restlessness, as though in search of something.

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'There, acushla, don't smoke; don't now! Sure it is the ruin of your complexion. I never see boys take to tobacco this way when I was young.'

'Whisht, mother, and don't be bothering me,' was the cranky reply, given in a voice which, strange to say, was not quite unknown to me.

'Ay, ay,' said the old crone; 'always the same, never mindin' a word I say; and maybe in a few years I won't be to the fore to look after you and watch you.'

Here the painful thought of leaving a world, so full of its seductions and sweets, seemed too much for her feelings, and she began to cry. Her companion, however, appeared but little affected, but puffed away his pipe at his ease, waiting with patience till the paroxysm was past.

'There, now,' said the old lady, brightening up, 'take away the tay-things, and you may go and take a run on the common; but mind you don't be pelting Jack Moore's goose; and take care of Bryan's sow, she is as wicked as the devil now that she has boneens after her. D'ye hear me, darlin', or is it sick you are? Och, wirra! wirra! What's the matter with you, Corny _mabouchal?_'

'Corny!' exclaimed I, forgetful of my incognito.

'Ay, Corny, nayther more nor less than Corny himself,' said that redoubted personage, as, rising to his legs, he deposited his pipe upon the table, thrust his hands into his pockets, and seemed prepared to give battle.

'Oh, Corney,' said I, 'I am delighted to find you here. Perhaps you can a.s.sist me. I thought this was an hotel.'

'And why wouldn't you think it an hotel? hasn't it a bar and a coffee-room? Isn't the regulations of the house printed, and stuck up on all the walls? Ay, that's what the directors did--put the price on everything, as if one was going to cheat the people. And signs on it, look at the place now! Ugh! the Haythins! the Turks!'

'Yes, indeed, Corny, look at the place now,' glad to have an opportunity to chime in with my friend's opinions.

'Well, and look at it,' replied he, bristling up; 'and what have you to say agin it? Isn't it the Grand Ca.n.a.l Hotel?'

'Yes; but,' said I conciliatingly, 'an hotel ought at least to have a landlord, or a landlady.'

'And what do you call my mother there?' said he, with indignant energy.

'Don't bate Corny, sir! don't strike the child!' screamed the old woman, in an accent of heart-rending terror. 'Sure he doesn't know what he is saying.'

'He is telling me it isn't the Grand Ca.n.a.l Hotel, mother,' shouted Corny in the old lady's ears, while at the same moment he burst into a fit of the most discordant laughter. By some strange sympathy the old woman joined in, and I myself, unable to resist the ludicrous effect of a scene which still had touched my feelings, gave way also, and thus we all three laughed on for several minutes.

Suddenly recovering himself in the midst of his cachin-nations, Corny turned briskly round, fixed his fiery eyes upon me, and said--

'And did you come all the way from town to laugh at my mother and me?'

I hastened to exonerate myself from such a charge, and in a few words informed him of the object of my journey, whither I was going, and under what painful delusion I laboured, in supposing the internal arrangements of the Grand Ca.n.a.l Hotel bore any relation to its imposing exterior.

'I thought I could have dined here?'

'No, you can't,' was the reply, 'av ye're not fond of herrins.'

'And had a bed too?'

'Nor that either, av ye don't like straw.'

'And has your mother nothing better than that?' said I, pointing to the miserable plate of fish.

'Whisht, I tell you, and don't be putting the like in her head: sometimes she hears as well as you or me.' Here he dropped his voice to a whisper. 'Herrins is so cheap that we always make her believe it's Lent--this is nine years now she's fasting.' Here a fit of laughing at the success of this innocent ruse again broke from Corny, in which, as before, his mother joined.

'Then what am I to do,' asked I, 'if I can get nothing to eat here? Is there no other house in the village?'

'No, devil a one.'

'How far is it to Loughrea?'

'Fourteen miles and a bit.'

'I can get a car, I suppose?'

'Ay, if Mary Doolan's boy is not gone back.'

The old woman, whose eyes were impatiently fixed upon me during this colloquy, but who heard not a word of what was going forward, now broke in--

'Why doesn't he pay the bill and go away? Devil a farthing I'll take off it. Sure, av ye were a raal gentleman ye'd be givin' a fippenny-bit to the gossoon there, that sarved you. Never mind, Corny dear, I'll buy a bag of marbles for you at Banagher.'

Fearful of once more giving way to unseasonable mirth I rushed from the room and hurried downstairs; the crowd that had so lately accompanied me was now scattered, each to his several home. The only one who lingered near the door was the poor idiot (for such he was) that wore the huntsman's dress.

'Is the Loughrea car gone, Joe?' said I, for I remembered his name.

'She is, yer honour, she's away.'

'Is there any means of getting over to-night?'

'Barrin' walkin', there's none.'

'Ay; but,' said I, 'were I even disposed for that, I have got my luggage.'

'Is it heavy?' said Joe.

'This portmanteau and the carpet-bag you see there.'

'I'll carry them,' was the brief reply.

'You 'll not be able, my poor fellow,' said I.