Stories of Waterloo;
and Other Tales.
by William Hamilton Maxwell
London: Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley
1829
Vol. 1.
———
—Chapter 8—
Frank Kennedy.
Sure now this is much better than being in love! ha! ha! ha! There's some spirit in this! What signified breaking some score of solemn promises?—all that's of no consequence, you know. Perhaps they may be ill-natured enough to hint that the gentleman grew tired of the lady, and forsook her; but don't let that fret you!
——The Rivals.
MY
father left the carbineers some years before the Irish rebellion of ninety-eight. Like greater warriors, the crop of laurels he collected in that celebrated corps, was but a short one. It is true he had seen service; his sword, like Butler's knights, of "passing worth," had been unsheathed in executing "warrants and exigent;" and more than once he had stored a private distillery, under the leading of a desperate gauger.
He was, however, a stout, slashing-looking fellow, and found favour in my mother's sight. She had reached the wrong side of thirty; consequently she made but a short resistance, and bestowed her hand and fortune on the bold dragoon. My mother was an heiress; but the estate of Killnacoppal owed "a trifle of money:" now a trifle, in Connaught, is sometimes a sweeping sum; and you cannot safely calculate on rents in Connemara being paid exactly to the day.
I never exhibited precocity of intellect; but before I was sixteen I discovered that our establishment occasionally suffered from a scarcity of specie. At these times, my father was sure to be afflicted with cold or rheumatism, and never left the house; and, I suppose, for fear of disturbing him, the hall door was but seldom opened, and then only to a particular friend; while an ill-favoured tradesman, or suspicious-looking stranger, received their commands in the briefest manner, from an upper-window.
What was to be done with me had cruelly puzzled both my parents; whether I should ornament the church, or benefit the revenue, was for a long time under consideration. The law, however, held out more promising prospects than either; and it was decided that I should be bound to an attorney.
Duncan Davidson, of Dorset Street, was married to my father's sister. He was of Scotch descent, and like that "thinking people" from whom he sprung, he held "a hard grip of the main chance." Duncan was wealthy and childless; and if he could be induced to bring me up at his feet, God knows what might be the consequences. My father accordingly made the application, and the gracious Duncan consented to receive me for a time on trial.
What a bustle there was in Killnacoppal when my uncle's letter arrived! due preparations were made for my departure; and as the term of my absence was computed at seven years, I had to take a formal and affectionate leave of my relatives to the fifteenth degree of consanguinity. My aunt Macan, whose cat's leg I had unfortunately dislocated, and who had not spoken to me since Candlemas, was induced to relent on the occasion, and favoured me with her blessing and a one-pound note, although she had often declared she never could banish the idea from her mind, but that I should travel at the public expense, if my career were not finished in a more summary manner.
I arrived safely in Dublin. Awful were my feelings when first ushered into the presence of my uncle Duncan. He was a short, fat man, in a brown coat and flax-coloured scratch, perched upon a high office stool. Considering his dimensions, I used to marvel much how he managed to get there. Holding out his forefinger, which I dutifully grasped, he told me to be steady and attentive, and that my aunt would be happy to see me up stairs. On leaving the room, I heard him softly remark to the head clerk, that he did not much like my appearance, for that I had "a wild eye in my head."
I was duly put to the desk, and the course of trial was not flattering to me, or satisfactory to my intended master. It was allowed on all hands, that my writing was abominable; and my spelling, being untrammeled by rules, was found in many material points to differ from modern orthographers. Nor was I more successful in comparing deeds. My desk and stool were unluckily placed beside a window which looked into a narrow court, and a straw-bonnet maker occupied the opposite apartment. She was pretty, and I was naturally polite, and who with a rosy cheek before him would waste a look upon a tawny skin of parchment? I mentally consigned the deed to the devil, and let the copy loose upon the world "with all its imperfections on its head."
The first trial was nearly conclusive. Never before had such a lame and lamentable document issued from the office of the punctilious Duncan. I had there omitted setting forth "one hundred dove-cots," and, for aught I know, left out "one hundred castles," to keep them company. My uncle almost dropped from his perch at the discovery; and Counsellor Roundabout was heard to remark, that a man's life was not safe in the hands of such a delinquent. I was on the point of getting my congé, and free permission to return to the place from whence I came; but my aunt—good easy woman, interfered; and Duncan consented to give me a farther trial, and employ me to transport his bag to the courts, and his briefs to the lawyer.
Any drudgery for me but the desk. With suitable instructions the bag was confided to me, and for three days it came back safely. On the fourth evening I was returning; the bag was unusually full, and so had been my uncle's admonitions for its security. I had got half way down Capel Street, when, whom should I see, on the other side of the way, but Slasher Mac Tigue? The Slasher was five akin to my mother, and allowed to be the greatest buck at the last fair of Ballinasloe. Would he acknowledge me, loaded as I was like a Jew clothesman? What was to be done? I slipped the cursed bag to a ragged boy—promised him some halfpence for his trouble—prudently assured him that his cargo was invaluable—told him to wait for me at the corner, and next moment was across the street, with a fast hold of the Slasher's right hand.
The Slasher—peace to his ashes! for he was shot stone dead in the Phoenix Park—we never well understood the quarrel in Connemara, and it was said there that the poor man himself was not thoroughly informed on the subject—appeared determined to support his justly-acquired reputation at the late fair of Ballinasloe. Not an eye in Capel Street but was turned on him as he swaggered past. His jockey boots—I must begin below—were in the newest style; the top sprang from the ancle bone, and was met midleg by short tights of tea-coloured leather; three smoothing-iron seals, and a chain that would manacle a deserter, dangled from the fob; his vest was of amber kerseymere, gracefully sprinkled with stars and shamrocks; his coat sky-blue, with basket buttons, relieved judiciously with a purple neck-cloth, and doe-skin gloves; while a conical hat, with a leaf full seven inches broad, topped all. A feeble imitation of the latter article may still be seen by the curious, in a hatter's window, No. 71, in the Strand, with a label affixed thereto, denominating it "Neck or Nothing."
Lord, how proud I felt when the Slasher tucked me under his arm! We had already taken two turns—the admiration of a crowded thoroughfare, when I looked round for my bag-holder; but he was not visible. I left my kinsman hastily, ran up and down the street, looked round the corners, peered into all the public-houses; but neither bag nor boy was there. I recollected my uncle's name and address were written on it, and the urchin might have mistaken his instructions, and carried the bag home. Off I ran, tumbled an apple basket in Bolton Street, and, spite of threats and curses, held on my desperate course, until I found myself, breathless, in my uncle's presence.
He sternly reproached me for being dilatory. "What had detained me? Here had been Counsellor Leatherhead's servant waiting this half-hour for his papers;—bring in the bag." I gaped at him, and stuttered that I supposed it had been already here; but it would certainly arrive shortly. Question and answer followed rapidly, and the fatal truth came out—the bag was lost!—for the cad, advertised of the value of his charge, had retreated the moment I turned my back; and although, on investigation, he must have felt much disappointed at the result of his industry; yet, to do him justice, he lost no time in transferring the papers to the tobacconist, and pocketing the produce of the same.
For some moments Duncan's rage prevented him from speaking. At last he found utterance:—"Heaven and earth!" he exclaimed; "was there ever such a villain? He was ruined:—all the Kilgobbin title-deeds—Lady Splashboard's draft of separation, and papers of satisfaction for sixteen mortgages of Sir Phelim O'Boyl!—What was to be done?"
I muttered that I supposed I should be obliged to give Sir Phelim satisfaction myself. "Oh! curse your satisfaction," said my uncle; "these are your Connaught notions, you desperate do-no-good. What an infernal business to let any one from that barbarous country into my house! Never had but two clients in my life on the other side of the Shannon. I divorced a wife for one; and he died insolvent the very day the decree was pronounced, and my costs, and money advanced, went along with him to the devil. The other quarreled with me for not taking a bad bill for my demand, and giving a large balance, over my claim, in ready cash. I threatened law, and he threatened flagellation. I took courage, and sent down a writ; and the sheriff returned a non est inventus, although he was hunting with him for a fortnight. I ran him to execution, and got nulla bona on my return. As a last resource, I sent a man specially from Dublin: they tossed him in a blanket, and forced him to eat the original; and he came back, half dead, with a civil intimation, that if I ever crossed the bridge of Athlone, the defendant would drive as many slugs through my body as there were hoops on a wine-pipe!"
I could not help smiling at the simile: the client was a wag; for my uncle, in his personal proportions, bore a striking resemblance to a quarter-cask.
"But, run every soul of you," he continued, "and try to get some clue by which we may trace the papers." Away clerk and apprentice started; but their researches were unsuccessful; for many a delicate cut of these was before now encased in my Lady Splashboard's separation bill; and the Kilgobbin title-deeds had issued in subdivisions from the snuff shop, and were making a rapid circle of the metropolis.
My aunt's influence was not sufficient to obtain my pardon, and mollify the attorney; and I was dispatched, per mail, to that refugium peccatorum, as Duncan styled Connemara.
The gentle auditor may anticipate that on my return no fatted calf was killed; nor was there "joy in Aztlan," as the poet-laureate has it. I re-entered Killnacoppal without beat of drum; and indeed my demeanour on this occasion was so modest, that I had been in undisturbed possession of the front attic for two whole days before my worthy parents were advertised that I had retired from the study of the law, with no future intention to "stick to the woolsack."
To communicate the abrupt termination of my forensic pursuits to my aunt Macan, was an affair of nice and delicate management. When acquainted with the unhappy incident which had drawn down the wrath of my uncle Duncan, she particularly inquired "if there had been any money in the lost bag," and requested to see the last "Hue and Cry."
God knows whether I should have been enabled to weather the gale of family displeasure, as my aunt had again resumed the mantle of prophecy, when, luckily for me, the representation of the county of Galway became vacant, by the sudden decease of Sir Barnabas Bodkin; the honest gentleman being smothered in a hackney coach, returning comfortable from a corporation dinner at Morrison's.
On this distressing event being known, Mr. Denis Darcey of Cunaghahowhy castle declared himself. He was strongly supposed by Mr. Richard Martin, the other member; and his address, from the pen of the latter gentleman, was circulated without delay. In it he stated his family and pretensions: pledged himself to supposed Catholic emancipation and the repeal of still fines;—humanely recommended his opponent to provide himself with a coffin previous to the opening of the poll;—professed strong attachment to the House of Brunswick, and the church by law established; and promised to use his utmost exertions to purify the penal code, by making accidents in dueling amount only to justifiable homicide; and abduction of heiresses and dogs, felony without benefit of clergy.
A person of Denis Darcey's constitutional principles was a man after my father's own heart: the Killnacoppal interest was accordingly given him, and I was dispatched at the head of sixscore freeholders, "good men and true," untrammeled with tight shoes or tender consciences, to give our "most sweet voices" in the ancient town of Galway.
But I was not entrusted with this important command without receiving full instructions for my conduct on the occasion. My father, no doubt, would have led the Killnacoppal legion to the hustings in person had it not happened that the sheriff was on the other side; and, therefore, his public appearance within the bailiwick of that redoubted personage would have been a dangerous experiment. "Frank," said my father, "don't overdo the thing: poll your men twice! and more cannot be expected; but mind the outwork, for its there the tinints will shine."
I obeyed him to the letter; and without personal vanity, I ascribe the happy return of my esteemed friend Denis Darcey to the unwearied exertions of the freeholders of Killnacoppal. What between pelting the military, smashing the booths, and scattering the tallies, we managed to keep up such eternal confusion, that our adversaries could hardly bring forward a man. If dispersed by a charge of cavalry here, we were rallied in a few minutes in the next street, cracking heads and crashing windows: if routed by the riot act and a row of bayonets, before the sheriff was well round the corner we had a house pulled down to the tune of "Hurrah for Killnacoppal!"
At last, all human means being found unavailable by our opponents to bring in a freeholder, the booths were closed, and Mr. Denis Darcey declared duly elected.
After such feats, how could it be wondered at that I was
"courted and caressed,
High placed in halls a welcome guest;"
seated within seven of the chairman, at the election dinner, drank wine with by the new member, toasted by the old one, I mean Dick Martin—and embraced by Blakes, Brownes, and Bodkins in endless variety; nor did the reward of "high desert" end here; for in the next gazette I was appointed to a lieutenantcy in the —— Mayo militia.
With very different feelings, I now returned to my paternal mansion—I, who had left the little lawyer in Dorset Street in disgrace, and been happy to effect a sort of felonious re-entry of the premises at Killnacoppal—I now came home a conqueror; an hundred blackthorns rattled above my head; an hundred voices yelled "Kinnidy for ivir!"—a cag of pothein was broached before the door; a stack of turf was blazing in the village; and all was triumph and exultation. We had brought back, of course, the usual assortment of broken bones, left some half-score damaged skulls to be repaired at the expense of the country, and carried back one gentleman totally defunct, who had been suffocated by tumbling, dead drunk, into a bog-hole. My fame had travelled before me, and my aunt Macan had taken to her bed, not from vanity, but "vexation of spirit."
My leave of absence having expired, I set out to join my regiment. My mother consulted the Army List, and discovered she had divers relatives in my corps; for there was scarcely a family from Loughrea to Belmullet with whom she was not in some way connected. Some of her relations in the —— Mayo she mentioned as being rather remote; but there was Captain Rattigan: his father, Luke Rattigan, of Rawnacreeva, married Peter Fogarty and my aunt Macan were cousins-german. No doubt the gallant captain would know and acknowledge the relationship, and take that lively interest in my welfare which was natural; but, for fear of mistakes, she wrote a letter of introduction with me, having very fortunately danced fifteen years before with Mr. Rattigan, at a fair ball at Ballinasloe.
For the second time, I left my father's house. The head-quarters of the regiment were in the Naas, and there I arrived safely; was recognised by Captain Rattigan; presented by him in due form to the colonel; introduced to the corps; paid plate and band-fund fees; dined at the mess; got drunk there, as became a soldier of promise, and was carried home to my inn by a file of the guard, after having overheard the fat major remark to my kinsman—"Rat, that boy of yours will be a credit to the regiment; for, as I'm a true Catholic, he has taken off three bottles of Page's port, and no doubt he'll improve."
A year passed over—I conducted myself creditably in all regimental matters, touching drill, duty, and drinking, when an order suddenly came for a detachment to march to Ballybunnion; in the neighborhood of which town the pleasant part of the population were amusing themselves nightly in carding middlemen, and feathering tithe proctors. Captain Rattigan's company (in which I was an unworthy lieutenant) were selected for this important service.
The morning I left Naas for Ballybunnion will be a memorable day in the calendar of my life. My cousin Rattigan frequently boasted, after dinner, that "he was under fifty, and above five feet three;" but there were persons in the corps who alleged that he was above the former and under the latter:—but let that pass—he is now, honest man, quietly resting in Craughane churchyard, with half a ton of weight of Connemara marble over him, on which his virtues and his years are recorded.
Now, without stopping to ascertain minutely the age and height of the departed, I shall describe him as a thick, square-shouldered, undersized man, having a short neck, and snub nose—the latter organ fully attesting that Page's port was a sound and well-bodied liquor. The captain, on his pied pony, rode gallantly on at the head of "his charge:" I modestly followed on foot, and late in the evening we marched in full array down the main street of Ballybunnion, our fife and drum playing to the best of their ability the captain's favourite quick step, "I'm over young to marry yet."
My kinsman and I were peaceably settled over our wine, when the waiter announced that a gentleman had called upon us. He was shown up in proper form; and having managed by depressing his person, which was fully six feet four inches, to enter the apartment, announced himself as Mr. Christopher Clinch; and, in a handsome speech, declared himself to be an ambassador from the stewards of the Ballybunnion coterie; which coterie being to be holden that evening, he was deputed to solicit the honour of our company at this occasion. Captain Rattigan returned our acknowledgments duly; and he and the ambassador having discussed a cooper of port within a marvellous short period, separated with many squeezes of the hand, and ardent hopes of a future acquaintance.
There was a subject my kinsman invariably dwelt upon whenever he had transgressed the third bottle. It was a bitter lamentation over the numerous opportunities he had suffered to escape of making himself comfortable for life, by matrimony. As we dressed together, for we were cantoned in a double-bedded room, Rat was unusually eloquent on the grand mistake of his earlier days, and declared his determination of even yet endeavouring to amend his youthful error, and retrieve his lost time.
The commander's advice was not lost upon me. I took unusual pains in arraying myself for conquest, and in good time found myself in the ball-room, with thirty couples on the floor, all dancing "for the bare life," that admired tune of "Blue bonnets over the border."
The attention evinced in his visit to the inn, by Mr. Christopher Clinch, was not confined to a formal invitation; for he assured us on our arrival, that two ladies had been expressly kept disengaged for us. Captain Rattigan declined dancing, alleging that exercise flurried him, and he could not abide a red face, it looked so very like dissipation. I, whose countenance was fortunately not so inflammable as my kinsman's, was marshalled by Mr. Clinch to the head of the room. "He was going," he said, "to introduce me to Miss Jemima O'Brien—lady of first connexions—large fortune when some persons at present in possession dropped off—fine woman—much followed—sprightly—off-handed—fond of military men. Miss O'Brien, Captain Kennedy." I bowed—she ducked—seized my offered hand, and in a few minutes we were going down the middle like two-year-olds starting for "the Kirwans." Nor had Captain Rattigan been neglected by the master of ceremonies: he was snugly seated in a quiet corner at cribbage, a game the commander delighted in, with an elderly gentlewoman, whom my partner informed me was her aunt.
Miss O'Brien was what Rattigan called a spanker. She was dressed in a blue silk lute-string gown, with a plume of ostrich feathers, flesh-colored stockings and red satin shoes. She had the usual assortment of beads and curls, with an ivory fan, and a well-scented handkerchief.
She was evidently a fine-tempered girl; for, observing my eye reset on an immense stain upon her blue lutestring, she remarked, with a smile, "that her aunt's footman has spilled some coffee on her dress, and to save him from a scolding, she had assured the dear old lady that the injury was but trifling, and that it would be quite unnecessary to detain her while she should change her gown: it was quite clear she never could wear it again; but her maid and the milliner would be the gainers." Amiable creature!—the accident did not annoy her for a second.
The first dance had concluded, when the long gentleman whispered softly over my shoulder, how I liked "the heiress?" The heiress!—I felt a faint hope rising in my breast, which made my cheek colour like a peony. Rattigan's remorse for neglected opportunities rushed to my mind. Had my lucky hour come? and had I actually an heiress by the hand for nine-and-twenty couples? We were again at the head of the room, and away we went—she cutting and I capering, until we danced to the very bottom, "The wind that shakes the barley!"
I had placed Miss O'Brien, with great formality, on a bench, when Rattigan took me aside:—"Frank, you're a fortunate fellow, or its your own fault—found out all from the old one—lovely creature—great catch—who knows?—strike while the iron is hot," &c. &c &c.
Fortune, indeed, appeared to smile upon me. By some propitious accident all the men had been provided with partners, and I had the heiress to myself. "She was, she confessed, romantic—she had quite a literary turn; spoke of Lady Morgan's 'Wild Irish Girl;'—she, Jemima, loved it—doated upon it;—and why should she not? for Lieutenant-Colonel Cassidy had repeatedly sworn that Glorvina was written for herself;"—and she raised her fan
"The conscious blush to hide."
Walter Scott succeeded. I had read in the Galway Advertiser a quotation from that poet, which the newspaper had put in the mouth of a traveling priest, and alleged to have been spoken by him in a charity sermon, which I fortunately now recollected and repeated. Miss O'Brien responded with that inflammatory passage—
"In peace love tunes the shepherd's reed."
"And could she love?" I whispered with a look of tender inquietude. "She could; she had a heart, she feared, too warm for her happiness: she was a creature of imagination—all soul—all sympathy. She could wander, with the man of her heart, from
"Egypt's fires to Zembla's frost."
There was no standing this. I mustered all my resolution—poured out an unintelligible rhapsody—eternal love—life gratefully devoted—permission to fall at her feet—hand—heart—fortune!
She sighed deeply—kept her fan to her face for some moments—and, in a voice soft as the harp of Eolus, murmured something about "short acquaintance," and a gentle supplication to be allowed time, for ten minutes, to consult her heart. Rat again rushed to my mind; procrastination had ruined him; and I was obdurate—pressed—raved—ranted. She sighed, and in a timid whisper told me she was mine for ever!
Heavens!—was I awake?—did my ears deceive me? The room turned topsy-turvey; the candles danced a reel; my brain grew giddy. It was true—absolutely true; Jemima O'Brien had consented to become Mrs. Kennedy!
Up came Captain Rattigan, as my partner left me for an instant to speak to her aunt. Rat was thunderstruck—cursed his fate, and complimented mine. "But, zounds! Frank, you must stick to her. Would she run away with you? These damned lawyers will be tying up the property, so that you cannot touch a guinea but the half-year's rent—may-be inquiring about settlements, and ripping up the curses mortgages of Killnacoppal. At her, man—they are all on the move. I'll manage the old one:—mighty lucky, by-the-bye, at cribbage. Try and get the heiress to be off—to-morrow if possible—early hour. Oh! murder—how I lost my time!"
All was done as the commander directed. Rat kept the aunt in play; I pressed the heiress hard; and so desperately did I pourtray my misery, that, to save my life, she humanely consented to elope with me at twelve o'clock next day.
Rattigan was enraptured. What a chance for a poor lieutenant! He shrewdly observed, from the very unpretending appearance of Mrs. Cogan's mansion, that "my aunt's" purse must be a long one. We settled ourselves joyfully at the inn fire—ordered two bottles of mulled port—arranged all for the elopement—clubbed purses—sum total not burthensome—and went to bed drunk and happy.
Next morning—the morning of that day which was to bless me with fortune and a wife, Captain Ratty and I were sitting at an early breakfast, when, who should unexpectedly arrive but Cornet Bircham, who was in command of a small party of dragoons in Ballybunnion, and was an old acquaintance of my kinsman. "How lucky!" whispered Rat; "he has been quartered here for three months, and we shall hear the particulars of the O'Briens from him."
While he spoke the trooper entered. "Ah! Ratty, old boy, how wags the world?—Just heard you had been sent here to exterminate carders—cursed scoundrels!—obliged me to leave a delightful party at Lord Tara's; but, Rat, we'll make them smoke for it."
"Mr. Bircham, my cousin Kennedy. Come, cornet, off with the scimitar, and attack the congo. Any news stirring?"
"Nothing but a flying report that you had determined on sobriety, and forsworn a drop beyond the third bottle;—but, damme, that shake in your claw gives a lie direct to the tale. And you were dancing, Rat, last night. How did the carnival or coterie go off? Any wigs lost or gowns tattered? Any catastrophe?"
"Why, no—pleasant thing enough—some fine women there."
"Were there, faith? Why, Rat, you're a discoverer; for such a crew as figured at the last mortal eye never looked upon."
"I only particularly noticed one—by Jove, a fine woman!—a Miss O'Brien."
"Miss Jemmy O'Brien, as the men call her. Why, Rat what iniquity of yours has delivered you into the hands of the most detestable harpy that ever infested country quarters?"
"Detestable harpy!" Rat and I looked cursedly foolish. "Bircham—hem!—are you sure you know the lady?"
"Know the lady! to be sure I do. Why, she did me out of an ivory fan one unlucky wet day that the devil tempted me to enter Mrs. Cogan's den. Phoo! I'll give you what the beadle calls 'marks and tokens.' Let me see. Yes, I have it. Blue dress cursedly splashed with beer—she says coffee; soiled feathers, and tricked out like a traveling actress."
I groaned audibly—it was Jemima to a T:—Captain Rattigan looked queer.
"My dear Bircham—hem!—you know among military men—hem!—honourable confidence may be reposed—hem! My young friend here danced with her. Represented as an heiress to him——',
"By a cursed hag who cheats at cribbage, and carried off negus by the quart."
"True bill, by——!" ejaculated the captain. "Complained eternally of thirst and the heat of the room, and did me regularly out of thirty shillings."
"Ha! ha! ha!—Rat, Rat, and wert thou so soft, my old one?"
"But, Birchy," said the captain, "the devil of it is, my young friend—little too much wine—thought himself in honourable hands, and promised her——"
"A new silk gown. Ah, my young friend, little didst thou know the Jezebel. But it was a promise obtained under false pretences. She told you a cock-and-bull story about Lady Morgan—sported Watty Scott—dealt out Tom Moore by the yard—all false pretences. See her damned before I would buy her a yard of ribbon. What a pirate the woman is!"
Rat jumped off his chair, drew his breath in, and gulped out—"A gown! Zounds, man, he promised to marry her!"
Up jumped Bircham.—"To marry her! Are you mad, or are you hoaxing?"
"Serious, by St. Patrick," said Rat.
"Why then its no longer a joke. You are in a nice scrape. I beg to tell you that Jemmy O'Brien is as notorious as Captain Rock. She has laid several fools under contribution, and has just returned from Dublin, after taking an action against a little, drunken, one-eyed Welsh major, whom her aunt got, when intoxicated, to sign some paper or promise of marriage. The major, like a true gentleman, retrieved his error by suspending himself in his lodgings the day before the trial; and it is likely that Jem and her aunt will be jugged for the law expenses."
Rat and I were overwhelmed. We looked for some minutes in silence at each other. At last I told Bircham the whole affair. The dragoon was convulsed with laughter. "So," said he, "at twelve o'clock the gentle Jemmy is to be spirited away. But come, there's no time to lose. Sit down, Rat, get a pen in thy fist, and I'll dictate and thou inscribe."
"Madam,
"Having unfortunately, at the request of his afflicted family, undertaken the case of Lieutenant Kennedy of the ——— Mayo regiment, I beg to apprise you that the unhappy gentleman is subject to occasional fits of insanity. Fearing, from his mental malady, that he may have misconducted himself to your amiable niece last night at the coterie, I beg, on the part of my poor friend, who is tolerably collected this morning, to say that he is heartily sorry for what has occurred, and requests the lady will consider any thing he might have said only as the wanderings of a confirmed lunatic.
"I am, Madam, &c.&c.
"Your obedient Servant,
"TERENCE RATTIGAN,
"CAPT. ——— M——— MILITIA.
"To Mrs. Cogan,
&c. &c. &c."
How very flattering this apology was to me, I submit to the indulgent auditor. I was indubitably proven to have been an ass over night, and I must pass as a lunatic in the morning. We had barely time to speculate on the success of Bircham's curious epistle, when my aunt Cogan's answer arrived with due promptitude. The cornet separated the wet wafer with a "faugh!" and holding the billet at arm's length, as if it exhibited a plague-spot, he favoured us with the contents, which were literally as follows: —
"Captain Ratigin,
"Sir,—I have red your paltrey appollogey for your nephew's breech of promis. I beg to tell you, that a lady of the famuly of Clinch will not submit to be ensulted with impunnitey. My neece is packed and reddy; and if your friend does not apear acording to apointment, he will shortly here as will not plase him, from your's to command,
"HONOR COGAN, otherwise CLINCH
"Hawthorn Cotage,
"Friday morning."
Twelve o'clock passed. We waited the result of Mrs. Cogan's threats, when the waiter showed up a visitor, and Mr. Christopher Clinch, the prime cause of all our misfortunes, presented himself. He persisted in standing, or more properly, stooping—for the ceiling was not quite six feet from the floor—coughed—hoped his interference might adjust the mistake, as he presumed it must be on the part of Lieutenant Kennedy, and begged to inform him that Miss Jemima O'Brien was ready to accompany the said Mr. Kennedy, as last night arranged. Captain Rattigan took the liberty to remark, that he, the captain, had been very explicit with Mrs. Cogan, and requested to refer to his letter, in which Mr. Kennedy's sentiments were fully conveyed, and, on his part, to decline the very flattering proposal of Miss Jemima O'Brien. Mr. Clinch stated that an immediate change of sentiment, on the part of Mr. Kennedy, was imperative, or that Mr. K. would be expected to favour him, Mr. C., with an interview in the Priest's Meadow. Captain Rattigan acknowledged the request of Mr. Clinch to be a very reasonable alternative, and covenanted that Mr. Kennedy should appear at the time and place mentioned; and Mr. Clinch was then very ceremoniously conducted down stairs by the polite commander.
Through motives of delicacy, I had, at the commencement of the interview, retired to the next apartment; and as the rooms were only separated by a boarded partition, I overheard, through a convenient chink, with desperate alarm, Captain Rattigan giving every facility to my being shot at in half an hour in the Priest's Meadow.
No wonder Rat found me pale as a spectre, when bursting into the room he seized me by the hand, and told me he had brought this unlucky business to a happy termination. He, the captain, dreaded that Jemima would have been looking for legal redress; but, thank God! it would only end in a duel.
I hinted at the chance of my being shot.
"Shot!" exclaimed my comforter. "Why, what the devil does that signify? If, indeed, you had been under the necessity of hanging yourself, like the one-eyed major, it would have been a hardship. No funeral honours—no decent wake—but smuggled into the earth like a half-bale of contraband tobacco;—but, in your case, certain of respectable treatment—reversed arms—dead-march—and Christian burial:—vow to God, quite a comfort to be shot under such flattering circumstances! Frank, you have all the luck of the Rattigans about you!"—and, opening the door, he hallooed—"Myke—Mykle Boyle, bring down the pace-makers to the parlour."
In a few seconds I heard the captain and his man busily at work, and by a number of villanous clicks, which jarred through my system like electricity, I found these worthies were arranging the commander's pace-makers for my use in the Priest's Meadow.
At the appointed hour I reached the ground, which was but a short distance from the inn. Rattigan and Bircham accompanied me, and Myke Boyle followed with the tools. Mr. Christopher Clinch and his friends were waiting for us; and a cadaverous-looking being was peeping through the hedge, whom I afterwards discovered to be the village apothecary, allured thither by the hope of an accident, as birds of prey are said to be collected by a chance of carrion.
The customary bows were formally interchanged between the respective belligerents—the ground correctly measured—pistols squibbed, loaded, and delivered to the principals. I felt devilish queer on finding myself opposite a truculent fellow of enormous height, with a pair of projecting whiskers, upon which a man might hang his hat, and a pistol two feet long clutched in his bony grasp. Rattigan, as he adjusted my weapon, whispered—"Frank, jewel, remember the hip-bone; or, as the fellow's a hell of a length, you may level a trifle higher;" and, stepping aside, his coadjutor pronounced in an audible voice—one!—two!—three!!!
Off went the pistols. I felt Mr. Clinch's bullet whistle past my ear, and saw Captain Rattigan, next moment, run up to my antagonist, and inquire if he was much hurt. Heavens!—how delightful! I had brought the engagement to a glorious issue by neatly removing Mr. Clinch's trigger-finger, and thereby spoiling his shooting for life.
With a few parting bows, we retired from the Priest's Meadow, leaving Christopher Clinch a job for the vampire apothecary, and a fit subject for the assiduities of Mrs. Cogan and the gentle Jemima.
If Captain Rattigan had registered a rash vow against port wine, it is to be lamented; for never were three gentlemen of the sword more completely done up at an early hour of the evening than we.
Next day we were informed that Clinch was tolerably well, and that their attorney had been closeted with the ladies of Hawthorn Cottage. We held a council of war, and while debating on the expediency of my retiring on leave to Connemara, where I might set Jemmy and her lawyer at defiance, the post brought us intelligence that "a turn-out for the line was wanted;" and if I could muster the necessary number, I should be exchanged into a regular regiment. Off Rat and I started for Naas, and with little difficulty succeeded in making up the quota; and the first intimation the prototype of Glorvina received of our movements was being seduced to the window by the drums, as I marched past Hawthorn Cottage, with as choice a sample of "food for gunpowder" as ever left Ballybunnion. I saluted the once-intended Mrs. Kennedy with great respect; the fifers struck up "Fare you well, Kelleavey;" and Captain Rattigan, who accompanied me the first day's march, ejaculated, as he looked askance at this second Ariadne, "May the devil smother you, Jemma O'Brien!"
And now, my dear boys, having brought my autobiography to that interesting period when I left the militia for the line, I shall pause in the narrative, to direct your attention to the moral of the tale. It is quite evident that a young attorney should never compare deeds within duelling distance of an accomplished bonnet-maker, nor an elderly one divorce a sickly gentleman's wife without securing his costs before he announces his instructions to proceed. No bilious bailiff should ever cross the Shannon, for it is not every stomach which will digest a tripe of parchment; and exercise, a good thing enough in its own way, may, taken on a tense blanket, be very inconvenient to persons of sedentary habits.
I have a mighty affection for the army, and therefore I supplicate young soldiers never to propose to a lady in a public ball-room the first night they arrive in country quarters, and to shun, as they would the chorea viti, that seductive tune, called "The wind that shakes the barley!" and, finally, to give no credence whatever to any apology offered for a soiled silk, unless they have perpetrated the offence in person, or have seen it committed in their own actual presence.
Here Captain Kennedy paused, and the attendants of the Red Cow, marshalled by an Irish bat-man of Mac Carthy's, entered in due form with supper. Whether its arrangement would have been lauded by Ude, or its quality commended by Kitchener, we shall not stop to determine; but certainly either artist would have pronounced it sufficiently substantial.
When supper had given place to roscrea, a liquor which Captain Mac Carthy admired mightily, Colonel Hilson expressed much curiosity to hear the rest of the history of the grenadier: the latter willingly assented, and thus continued his adventures.
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Stories of Waterloo
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