Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon Volume Ii Part 22

"If I might be so bold," cried Maurice, "how long?"

"Half an hour, by a stop-watch," said the other, pulling up his stock; "and I had quite enough of it in that time."

"Pray give us your experiences," cried out Bob Mahon; "they should be interesting, considering your opportunities."

"You are right," said the cornet; "they were so; and as they ill.u.s.trate a feature in your amiable country, you shall have them."

A general knocking upon the table announced the impatience of the company, and when silence was restored the cornet began:--

When the 'Bermuda' transport sailed from Portsmouth for Lisbon, I happened to make one of some four hundred interesting individuals who, before they became food for powder, were destined to try their const.i.tutions on pickled pork. The second day after our sailing, the winds became adverse; it blew a hurricane from every corner of the compa.s.s but the one it ought, and the good s.h.i.+p, that should have been standing straight for the Bay of Biscay, was scudding away under a double-reefed topsail towards the coast of Labrador. For six days we experienced every sea-manoeuvre that usually preludes a s.h.i.+pwreck, and at length, when, what from sea-sickness and fear, we had become utterly indifferent to the result, the storm abated, the sea went down, and we found ourselves lying comfortably in the harbor of Cork, with a strange suspicion on our minds that the frightful scenes of the past week had been nothing but a dream.

"'Come, Mr. Medlicot,' said the skipper to me, 'we shall be here for a couple of days to refit; had you not better go ash.o.r.e and see the country?'

"I sprang to my legs with delight; visions of cowslips, larks, daisies, and mutton-chops floated before my excited imagination, and in ten minutes I found myself standing at that pleasant little inn at Cove which, opposite Spike Island, rejoices in the name of the 'Goat and Garters.'

"'Breakfast, waiter,' said I; 'a beefsteak,--fresh beef, mark ye,--fresh eggs, bread, milk, and b.u.t.ter, all fresh. No more hard tack,' thought I; 'no salt b.u.t.ter, but a genuine land breakfast.'

"Up-stairs, No. 4, sir,' said the waiter, as he flourished a dirty napkin, indicating the way.

"Up-stairs I went, and in due time the appetizing little meal made its appearance. Never did a minor's eye revel over his broad acres with more complacent enjoyment than did mine skim over the mutton and the m.u.f.fin, the tea-pot, the trout, and the devilled kidney, so invitingly spread out before me. 'Yes,' thought I, as I smacked my lips, 'this is the reward of virtue; pickled pork is a probationary state that admirably fits us for future enjoyments.' I arranged my napkin upon my knee, seized my knife and fork, and proceeded with most critical ac.u.men to bisect a beefsteak.

Scarcely, however, had I touched it, when, with a loud crash, the plate smashed beneath it, and the gravy ran piteously across the cloth. Before I had time to account for the phenomenon, the door opened hastily, and the waiter rushed into the room, his face beaming with smiles, while he rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of delight.

"'It's all over, sir,' said he; 'glory be to G.o.d! it's all done.'

"'What's over? What's done?' inquired I, with impatience.

"'Mr. M'Mahon is satisfied,' replied he, 'and so is the other gentleman.'

"'Who and what the devil do you mean?'

[Ill.u.s.tration: DISADVANTAGE OF BREAKFASTING OVER A DUELLING-PARTY.]

"'It's over, sir, I say,' replied the waiter again; 'he fired in the air.'

"'Fired in the air! Was there a duel in the room below stairs?'

"'Yes, sir,' said the waiter, with a benign smile.

"'That will do,' said I, as seizing my hat, I rushed out of the house, and hurrying to the beach, took a boat for the s.h.i.+p. Exactly half an hour had elapsed since my landing, but even those short thirty minutes had fully as many reasons that although there may be few more amusing, there are some safer places to live in than the Green Isle."

A general burst of laughter followed the cornet's story, which was heightened in its effect by the gravity with which he told it.

"And after all," said Maurice Quill, "now that people have given up making fortunes for the insurance companies by living to the age of Methuselah, there's nothing like being an Irishman. In what other part of the habitable globe can you cram so much adventure into one year? Where can you be so often in love, in liquor, or in debt; and where can you get so merrily out of the three? Where are promises to marry and promises to pay treated with the same gentleman-like forbearance; and where, when you have lost your heart and your fortune, are people found so ready to comfort you in your reverses? Yes," said Maurice, as he filled his gla.s.s up to the brim, and eyed it lusciously for a moment,--"yes, darling, here's your health; the only girl I ever loved--in that part of the country, I mean. Give her a b.u.mper, lads, and I'll give you a chant."

"Name! name! name!" shouted several voices from different parts of the table.

"Mary Draper!" said Maurice, filling his gla.s.s once more, while the name was re-echoed by every lip at table.

"The song! the song!"

"Faith, I hope I haven't forgotten it," quoth Maurice. "No; here it is."

So saying, after a couple of efforts to a.s.sure the pitch of his voice, the worthy doctor began the following words to that very popular melody, "Nancy Dawson:"--

MARY DRAPER.

AIR,--_Nancy Dawson_.

Don't talk to me of London dames, Nor rave about your foreign flames, That never lived, except in drames, Nor shone, except on paper; I'll sing you 'bout a girl I knew, Who lived in Ballywhacmacrew, And let me tell you, mighty few Could equal Mary Draper.

Her cheeks were red, her eyes were blue, Her hair was brown of deepest hue, Her foot was small, and neat to view, Her waist was slight and taper; Her voice was music to your ear, A lovely brogue, so rich and clear, Oh, the like I ne'er again shall hear, As from sweet Mary Draper.

She'd ride a wall, she'd drive a team, Or with a fly she'd whip a stream, Or may be sing you "Rousseau's Dream,"

For nothing could escape her; I've seen her, too,--upon my word,-- At sixty yards bring down her bird, Oh, she charmed all the Forty-third, Did lovely Mary Draper.

And at the spring a.s.sizes' ball, The junior bar would one and all For all her fav'rite dances call, And Harry Dean would caper; Lord Clare would then forget his lore; King's Counsel, voting law a bore, Were proud to figure on the floor, For love of Mary Draper.

The parson, priest, sub-sheriff too, Were all her slaves, and so would you, If you had only but one view, Of such a face and shape, or Her pretty ankles--But, ohone, It's only west of old Athlone Such girls were found--and now they're gone-- So here's to Mary Draper!

"So here's to Mary Draper!" sang out every voice, in such efforts to catch the tune as pleased the taste of the motley a.s.sembly.

"For Mary Draper and Co., I thank you," said Maurice. "Quill drinks to Dennis," added he, in a grave tone, as he nodded to O'Shaughnessy. "Yes, Shaugh, few men better than ourselves know these matters; and few have had more experience of the three perils of Irishmen,--love, liquor, and the law of arrest."

"It's little the latter has ever troubled my father's son," replied O'Shaughnessy. "Our family have been writ proof for centuries, and he'd have been a bold man who would have ventured with an original or a true copy within the precincts of Killinahoula."

"Your father had a touch of Larry M'Hale in him," said I, "apparently."

"Exactly so," replied Dennis; "not but they caught him at last, and a scurvy trick it was and well worthy of him who did it! Yes," said he, with a sigh, "it is only another among the many instances where the better features of our nationality have been used by our enemies as instruments for our destruction; and should we seek for the causes of unhappiness in our wretched country, we should find them rather in our virtues than in our vices, and in the bright rather than in the darker phases of our character."

"Metaphysics, by Jove!" cried Quill; "but all true at the same time. There was a mess-mate of mine in the 'Roscommon' who never paid car-hire in his life. 'Head or harp, Paddy!' he would cry. 'Two tenpennies or nothing.'

'Harp, for the honor of ould Ireland!' was the invariable response, and my friend was equally sure to make head come uppermost; and, upon my soul, they seem to know the trick at the Home Office."

"That must have been the same fellow that took my father," cried O'Shaughnessy, with energy.

"Let us hear the story, Dennis," said I.

"Yes," said Maurice, "for the benefit of self and fellows, let us hear the stratagem!"

"The way of it was this," resumed O'Shaughnessy. "My father, who for reasons registered in the King's Bench spent a great many years of his life in that part of Ireland geographically known as lying west of the law, was obliged, for certain reasons of family, to come up to Dublin. This he proceeded to do with due caution. Two trusty servants formed an advance guard, and patrolled the country for at least five miles in advance; after them came a skirmis.h.i.+ng body of a few tenants, who, for the consideration of never paying rent, would have charged the whole Court of Chancery, if needful. My father himself, in an old chaise victualled like a fortress, brought up the rear; and as I said before, he were a bold man who would have attempted to have laid siege to him. As the column advanced into the enemy's country, they a.s.sumed a closer order, the patrol and the picket falling back upon the main body; and in this way they reached that most interesting city called Kilbeggan. What a fortunate thing it is for us in Ireland that we can see so much of the world without foreign travel, and that any gentleman for six-and-eightpence can leave Dublin in the morning, and visit Timbuctoo against dinner-time. Don't stare! it's truth I'm telling; for dirt, misery, smoke, unaffected behavior, and black faces, I'll back Kilbeggan against all Africa. Free-and-easy, pleasant people ye are, with a skin, as begrimed and as rugged as your own potatoes! But, to resume. The sun was just rising in a delicious morning of June, when my father,--whose loyal antipathies I have mentioned made him also an early riser,--was preparing for the road. A stout escort of his followers were as usual under arms to see him safe in the chaise, the pa.s.sage to and from which every day being the critical moment of my father's life.

"'It's all right, your honor,' said his own man, as, armed with a blunderbuss, he opened the bed-room door.

"'Time enough, Tim,' said my father; 'close the door, for I haven't finished my breakfast.'

"Now, the real truth was, that my father's attention was at that moment withdrawn from his own concerns by a scene which was taking place in a field beneath his window.

"But a few minutes before, a hack-chaise had stopped upon the roadside, out of which sprang three gentlemen, who, proceeding into the field, seemed bent upon something, which, whether a survey or a duel, my father could not make out. He was not long, however, to remain in ignorance. One, with an easy, lounging gait, strode towards a distant corner; another took an opposite direction; while a third, a short, pursy gentleman, in a red handkerchief and rabbit-skin waistcoat, proceeded to open a mahogany box, which, to the critical eyes of my respected father, was agreeably suggestive of bloodshed and murder.